Saturday, 31 January 2015

We've all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. 2

I hate that everything in life becomes a risk, because we hate each other so much that even crawling out of the flat for bread, becomes a task of, will I get yelled at by the cashier? Will my card get refused? What other fucking atrocity of a being will yell at me?

Miles tries to keep calling me whenever Alex is not available and sometimes even Alex drops by and then I surely have to get out of the bed. I feel like just because I do the deadlines, everyone seems to be doing okay. And I quietly drink black coffee with Alex, as I never even dare to ask him, how does it even feel to be cheating on a person who loves you back, that is presuming that Arielle does love him back. He shows up with different pastries which seems to be vegan from what I observe, as I look at the bottom of the box, as he tells me that Miles had warned him. Miles was the one who was fucking and behind deadlines, I was the one who was miserable and precisely not missing deadlines. That’s because I had nothing else, besides many things nagging on the back of my mind.

It starts getting delusional as the nights get worse and I end up fucking calling a helpline and besides them yanking me out, I recall how the guy stated that he had eaten fish and chips to which I replied that I haven’t been to the UK in years and I wondered how tainted had my accept become and how long has it been and flings of some faith in a country which stormed me out makes it even worse, considering that I still find certain things helpful.

Brian isn’t British, but watching British sitcoms without him becomes unbearable, that I just keep closing links, knowing where my deadlines are and when I drink one shot and watch some American sitcoms, I call Miles, just confirming his confusion.

“People actually fuck-



Not like hookup, they just fucking do it... like machines, like that’s it, that’s why it’s so fucked up, they don’t trust each other and neither do you trust whomever you’re fucking. It’s all fucked up.” I wondered how long could a voice message even be. “Like how the fuck can you even have sex without loving?”

Miles responds eventually, as I pick up, dying my nails black from Brian’s leftover polish, at this point all I think is of fish and chips wrapped in a newspaper.

Miles isn’t sensitive either and I don’t ask him about Alex.

“Well, doesn’t Brian cruise?”

“He doesn’t fucking say that he’ll think before putting on a goddamn condom.” I change ears. “I mean, it’s more sexual, at least...come on, think of Weekend or any other fucking gay hookup, Jesus, I’m sure you and Alex weren’t like that. So-”

“Why the fuck do you even care, Hince?”

I look down, my nail got smudged on my mug. 

“I don’t know. Probably scrapping at the past.” I sigh. “I don’t see any blokes around me and even you’re going after some straight guy-”

“As far as I’m aware of both me and Alex are two blokes and that is pretty fucking queer, Jamie. I think our sex is different.” He pauses. “Yeah, they’re fucked, they don’t get raised in families where you’re s’posed to go to Uni and then have an office job and once your parents find out you’re gay or... you leave yourself and you make nothing as a freelancer and then you have to sort your shit out, you really see life differently. You know what to value, because you know what it’s like to have nothing. That’s why we’re scared... of having nothing.” 

“Even nothing in sex, I guess.” He adds, yawning. “It’s quite fucked, but to understand you’ve got to lose and... we’ve lost enough in our lives, Jamie, so calm the fuck down.”

I hear a lighter and muffled voice. I’m guessing it’s a post-coital Alex and insightful Miles, for some reason I’m grateful to Alex as well. 

“You won’t lose anymore, for fuck’s sake you of all...” He inhales. “Deserve anything you damn please, now fucking do your deadline, wanker.”

I laugh. Miles doesn’t change his tone.

“I’m not due until end of next week.”

“Fine, keeping my eye on you, mate.” He sighs. “You can come over if you want-”

“No, I’m fine, honestly.” I sigh. “It’s just odd, I guess-”


“I called the hotline, I’m fine now. Bloke said he ate fish and chips. It’s just odd... y’know being away and all.” I bite my lip. “Anyway, I did go out. I bought myself a sweater, you happy enough?”

I feel anxiety riding up a bit, but Miles smiles sadly, I’m sure, but he doesn’t say anything for a while, as if switching topic himself in his mind.

“We’ll all be fine, Jamie. Call me again, if you need me, darling. Even I’ll fucking make you chips.” I listen to him holding, still and he doesn’t let go.

“But that’s the thing, Miles, the media just tells us that y’know women don’t orgasm during sex, all is mechanic, that no one cares about anyone and queer people don’t exist. Fuck, it was like what back in 50s there were those ads around with a man likes a woman in the kitchen or whatever? Well, now we’re saying that everyone wants a shite man and an even more horrendous woman in bed, that we should all just make sex like 1984, reproduction and oh, no condoms, when the fuck was even the whole no condom trend even starting? Since when the fuck does that make you less of a man? If you can get your partner pregnant-” I pause. I didn’t even notice my uplifted speech and mood, I look down at the phone, as Miles calls out to me. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was babbling.”

I bite my lip.

“Either way, we’re not breathing, no one is, we just get told that all is fine, when frankly we’ve got the same ads, for all genders, they always were, heck, we’ve always been fucked over for being gay, everyone was, just because some get beat up with bats and some get torched, doesn’t mean... Basically we are all fucked. We all hate ourselves and that’s why the media is so fucked in the head. Because there’s nothing to describe, because those who get the pen given don’t understand what to write about

Because by them...” I light my own cigarette, inhaling. “They don’t know anything, they never got told it’s bad so they never knew that there was something ‘wrong’-”

I do inverted comas with my right hand. 

“So they never figured out what the truth was. You don’t blame someone for not knowing. You blame someone for ignorance, so yeah, I’m ticked off that people don’t speak about sex.” I exhale. “And why the fuck is anal a fetish?”

Miles sighs.

“What’s normal to you isn’t normal to some asshole which doesn’t even know what to do with his penis, Jesus. I’m not even sure he looked down to look at it...” Miles pauses, as Alex adds and Miles laughs. “Or he measured it with Red Bull or some other shite. Fuck it, have sex-”

“I’m not having any sex, Miles.” He pauses after my words.

“I dunno, cruise? Wank, jerk off?” Miles suggests. 


I know, I've been hogging up on the 50th chapter of To Miles but the ending is quite well, war is going on there and my stories are already very war in the back, so I wanted something different because some things we can change and some we can. I can change gay representation, I as a gay man can write more and speak more, that is what I do

I was sad because Looking is really short and I wanted to just watch something realistic and I'm failing so I'm sticking to Ikuhara but I watched some shite regarding straight cis girls and that just shook me to the core, allowing this stream of thoughts and allow my thoughts and I guess depressed state to write, so yeah, I was just shocked

Women don't orgasm and this is a thing. Like, what the fuck is wrong with the US? Ok, it's like everything, but when you go down to people, it's even more fucked up. People just don't even sex, they just penetrate and there's no love, there's no connection and the stupidity and everything, it just shook me to the core

Because Callie has always been my sexual partner for many years now and we frankly blink at the average of people which have sex, I'm very sex positive and open, I understand how hard it is to speak up, but it's just so so fucked up. Jesus, now I see why Sex and the City was so revolutionary at the point despite it's homophobia, transphobia and cissexism, it was still better than what we have now. That fucked me up, that really fucked me up thinking and I kept watching to feel how it's like and I made Jamie a freelancer here since that's what I am and I guess I wanted to vent on what was going on with me and my thoughts, I always do that and this story was fitting, so it's a nice long rant and conversation between Jamie and Miles. 

It's set a bit ahead of No. 1 Party Anthem and I like it, because it's much more darker than No. 1 Party Anthem and it's pretty much Start Finding Passion to Blue/Jacket really. In general I don't like Miles' new gf, it's another cut out of Alexa Chung, so yeah, I was musing on Valentine and I guess I do have the whole, wow, she's different kind of vibe, she's pretty much what well they should be really. 

And I guess now, I'm near my bedtime, so I'm just honest and I guess I just never realized how much different it was, I mean I knew, but still. It's so so so fucking fucked up.

So this was written over the past two days and everything else is just depressed and I wanted something more uplifting if you must? xD

I didn't have a great week, far from it and I ended up calling a hotline and what stood out was that the guy calmed me down by asking about food and told me he had fish and chips and it was odd, because I never really had them even living in the UK and being for so long, because I am allergic to fish, but y'know and that was oddly nostalgic and odd, so I had given that to Jamie, my accent becomes more British these days and I always get assumed I'm British since I've spent so much there and lived, so yeah and English being native and all.

So I watched some crap to make myself make this story daily, I watch things to inspire me, often pretty shitty and embarrassing and yeah.

Whenever I'm axnious I get characters to say things I would tell to myself if I could, so Miles calming Jamie down was one of those things, about life, Jesus, not getting laid

Today my whole question was how the fuck do cishet people really reduce sex to nothing? And sex really isn't exciting or telling you how crap it is isn't better, at least it really fucked me up growing up and then I met Callie and er, go on, discovered the joys and whatnot, that's why I make sex an explicit topic because I grew up where parents forbid the school from Sex Ed thinking it would prevent children from having sex when people were fucking without condoms, abortions discussed widely and unprotected sex a big thing.

It's the 2nd time I use 1984 in the past few days, I was editing Poison the Rose from stupidity I've written and I included that, so here it is again xD

Regarding breathing and Jamie's quote is from that odd time where you find Scarfo interview quotes and one of them was that "England's not breathing". I loved it. 

Hmmm Idea.

I've been writing Gramon slowly, so yeah, back to that for me :D or rather back to my bandfic roots I've never written. So I used that quote here and yeah:)

I dunno, I got revolted by how sex is reduced to shaming and something discussing when it's not (I'm also writing post-coital so I'm honest, but I'm just so fucking annoyed at the lack of sex-positivity that yeah). 

I hope you enjoyed this and please please tell me if you did, because I've been really obsessed with this story and binging it xD and yeah:3



Thursday, 29 January 2015

And it's a dull Monday 2

And it’s a dull monday as we finish our cups. 

And his eyes, his voice still drives me crazy, as if we had never broken up, as if nothing had ever started and the passion with desire was fresh as blood and an open wound, a desire for all to intertwine and he knew it. Jack held his gaze upon me, drinking his coffee and soon enough our time would be up and maybe our silence would be our conversation. I tried to look away, but it was getting out of hand. You can never bury love alive. 

His dark eyes told me all my secrets and reflected all my emotions. It was as if it was some critical verdict, that I would never get over the man I loved no matter who had I tried touching, that it would all just drive me wild with lust, no drug to replace the withdrawal and make me stand still, as if tied to a chair again and let him walk in circles around me, maybe allowing his fingers to leave traces on my cheeks as we would both be bathing in lust as he would straddle me, kissing me-

I look up-

It’s worse-

He checks his phone again and my lips feel chapped all of a sudden and there is nothing I can do, to get rid of his current girlfriend besides letting the turmoil fling through my bed once more, Jack out of all people has never been mono as I had discovered of the rumors of him and other men, other women with Alison supposedly not knowing, that all had been some lost game which he had lost eventually-

And I had wanted to gain, not even for myself

but just

he was the sole words. 

I wonder how come life seems to be the same old tape we rewind and keep watching, for some reason never properly learning how the scenes go or who even the actors are, just some odd hazed deja vu of life which had flashed during an argument which had gone deadly and how come we had never shattered is only for the stars to answer. Anxiety seems to be sewing our mouths and our coffees have gone cold and Jack speaks up, by offering to buy me the next coffee, but I shake my head, perhaps stating that I would get my own later and I dread not taking my medication with me. 

The soundtrack can lead you to an endless loop of depression and bleeding.

“Are those all the photos you’ve needed?” You’ve drained all my recent desire to take photos and I’ve just been taking photos of the people I’d force myself to meet, a bit curious until I wouldn’t be anymore, but other than that I felt as if I were laying on my side, counting the left finances and a bit too uncomfortable knowing in my future, many things were left uncraddled, but knowing that the gallery was pleased with the photos and they caused a stir seemed pleasing, but once you start getting your name around it start being a wonder you don’t want to be a household name.

Being anonymous in the beginning didn’t help either, it felt as if every single shade of my mood was used. If I would have a manic attack at the night I would just take many snapshots, nearly tossing the cigarettes aside and keep the lights off, using the camera’s flash and praying, finding the way my boots lay and scribbling over old poetry seemed appealing it seemed to be telling the story I lacked. I tapped the cup.

You can never tell a love how fucking broken you feel. I thought when I had sat with Valentine last night, when she walked over, when I asked her about her child, that perhaps admitting something I didn’t want to would make it easier

But admitting someone is the love of your life makes things worse and makes you call helplines as the queues for the psychiatrists are too long and the medication is not working, withdrawal is awful and going up a dose will make withdrawal worse and all the stress and buzz in the current wars makes it worse, for I don’t want to be happy when people kill others even if it’s been like that since the dawn of time. I don’t raise Poland to Jack and its own stupidity, even if he’s dragged me to Warsaw twice, pulling me around and I found the place pretty, its own history made it even more revolting to allow and support genocide in another place. But we must all keep silent and maybe mutter through art.

I went to an old vintage store that morning, browsing through discarded medals and wondering through old postcards, wondering how come the nearly murdered never condemned killings. His dark eyes focus too harshly on my own. 

“How’s your depression?” I quickly shoot Jack’s question down, I apologize before taking a  shot of his surprised face, but he’s used to it, the exact moment before he realized how fucked up I’ve become. I’m tired, I’ll document the look of people’s faces when I announce that I have bipolar. 

“I got diagnosed with bipolar. Escalated, I guess. I don’t know.” I shrug, I really need a cigarette and the fact that this coffee is the first thing I’ve eaten today at five p.m. is slowly starting to alarm me, as my mania and fears get to me, because I know that even I am limited and contradiction comes as I can’t calm down, because there’s too much blood. I read a novel where a girl’s thoughts were racing as she described her lover, tracing her tongue on his veins as she would watch the revolution in Moscow in 1991. I can’t do that. All races, thoughts race and love flees. I don’t want him back, but he wants me, he lures me, would be the right word and the right lips to press. I don’t say anything, as he sighs, listening to the last clicks and that’s before I switch the film in the camera, now humming. I have to manage mixed episodes somehow, I still don’t understand when I have what, the most common complaint about mania is depression. 

It’s as if imagination and production is the only way I can make myself believe that something might happen, photos taken and neither utters the word to leave.

You’ll never admit to a lover how much you break and how fear crumbles you, it becomes a twist of waves of fear and paranoia and they swallow and the only thing seen above is the sharp teeth as you enter the esophagus. 

Fear rides us for we are at war with ourselves, the sinner which allowed themselves to kill and we’re under the gun. The sinner is no longer us and roaming. The sinner was never us and for that those who sin are greeted, those who don’t are banned on the tainted land, but if heaven doesn’t exist yet, where do you go? Up to faith.

I drink up nothing, pretending.

And now we’re all left to deal with all of this mess, God’s help with us, but anxiety thinks otherwise.

“I wonder if I should get a cupcake.” I turn to Jack, as if we haven’t aged a day, but I always felt old. “Do you want a cupcake?”

He still looks at me with a confused, yet worried face and I know I’m already stamped as more ill with him, as I stand up, Jack walks besides me, as if we were dating again. I try not to look at him, as I choose the cupcake and my legs start shaking and I try to ignore all the deja vu he gave me, because I’ve lived in it. I can relive all the vivid times we’ve kissed and lived and all of his insecurities and his promises which were kept and I wonder if him trailing behind me is one of them now. But how do you convince yourself you’re okay, when you’re not?

I feel as if I’ve got a fuse.

“Look, I’ll be fine. I get through the night, that’s all that matters.” I don’t need you just scraps my mind. I took the photo, that’s all I need. 

That’s all I need. I buy the cupcake, as he just keeps watching me, maybe counting the years in his head. 

I slightly pull the wrapper back, feeling fear strangle my chest, punching on it and sitting, making sure that I don’t breathe without knowing. 

“I just still think you should be kinder to yourself.”

“That’s what my last therapist said.”

“What happened? Why did you stop seeing them?”

“They were against me being religious. I don’t feel comfortable discussing faith with someone who would rather spend my money debating and convincing me thing.” I get a bite, as we head off the queue and he still watches me and he knows his time is up, but because it’s just us two and neither of us have the courage, that’s how I think it ends. I put the last bite, as we both keep walking, Jack going out of habit and myself just because I want to. I wait until I see a trashcan to throw the wrapper out, the camera dully hangs around me. 

“I will be kind to myself, just because it was from wrong people, doesn’t mean that I don’t advice seriously.” I mutter and I know I’m not the one he’s kind to. He struggles to find the words, but then takes a deep breath, looking down, I think I caused enough stir for both of us.

“Can we talk?” He asks, looking at me and I look at his black coffee eyes, as if I were to pass out. 

“We talked.” I am the one who causes myself harm. But I nod, despite my own words.


Frankly by the end I was like is this the end? But I really go on to touch very often the whole on/off relationships because I've had that for many years with my first ex even if it was never on and I guess writing this was weird, recalling that when well he didn't inspire it but I had to recall how it had felt and the hesitation from both sides which is a bit weird, when you both want it and other well, y'know if think and ok, how is this close to personal, y'know would be my ex which I was on and off with as well.

I think on/off even applies when you have arguments, some escalate, some y'know go that way, but it's a theme I frankly explore very often and I like exploring because I guess I find it more natural to describe built couples since I've been with Callie for a so long time and I vary from y'know falling in love and staying in love.

I do get scared what if this is a similar You're Not Coming Back Again, frankly, but y'know, you'll see and I'll have to realize that it's not.

When I'm very depressed I guess I just stop doing proper distinctions and I've made Jamie religious here. I've always turned to religion when y'know the time calls for it. And well quoting what made me accept myself and so on is that the church is open to everyone. It's really interesting and well, I'm very sensitive to spirits. I never encountered anything like what I did before, so yeah.

So I gave my faith to Jamie and the psychology discussion and the recently diagnosed bipolar and my uncomfortableness with people gasping at my diagnosis even if it makes me calmer but at the same time, it's good knowing that you can be kinder to yourself.

The first phrase was written with the first chapter and given as the first title because I still like Mondays and we've all had bad ones, but I still like Mondays. I want to stay positive, I'm tired of people telling me that anxiety and PTSD passes by looking the thing in the eye

I did, what now?

So that ticks me off. I'm happy to any small YOU'LL DO IT AND ALL WILL BE WELL messages so yeah:)

I also wanted Jamie more of a kind of closer to freelance where you're always thinking and stuff job, less grounded if you must and yeah he was decided as a photographer earlier on. 

I still enjoy pursuing even if I've got no ideas at the moment, I didn't and then the story was vividly playing in my head and here it is. I hope you enjoy it, I kind of focus on things like I frankly both me and Callie had to make everything ourselves fast and etc and no one really talks about those, you've either got people from high and end high or from working class and remain working class, you don't really have the ones where we came from where you're just left on your own in ways you've never been before. No one talks of the well due to the crisis now defunct middle-class and that's something I guess, because well, you just see people jumping from that. You don't see crashes and I guess I want to address that and Gandalf's Inhaler is one of those examples for instance.

I hope you enjoyed it and please please please tell me if you did, anon or not, I need support now

thank you



Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Poison the Rose 4


I stare ahead.

“Alison!” I flinch as he nearly grabs me and I hiss unwillingly, my eyes and my whole body dry and drained from lack of love which she would give in the mornings. Apparently we had descended into something else and people nearly took shifts to sleep at mine’s as if the thought which people wanted to avoid would happen exactly at the time of their shifts. 

It seemed like a natural continuation but the puzzle didn’t fit making me wonder about the death and keeping me to linger on Lana’s remains. 

“What did you tell them? What did they ask?” Jamie asks both questions not to overflood me but rather yank me back into reality, where I didn’t want to be. I refuse the milkshake at first before I actually try it and I leave it halfway after the first few sips, because I didn’t realize that I had a sugar craving just now because my body couldn’t handle it anymore. Everything stings.

“That we were recording and then you wanted wine, so you dragged us to Tesco. The CCTV saw it.” I sigh and get a hand to my forehead as I start sobbing with no tears, shoulders shaking and Jamie pushing his chair away and rocking me in his arms and I feel the faint scent of cigarettes which gets weaker every year.

He’d tell me we’d get married and I refused. I cough, my nose stuffed from all the crying I’ve never reached. 

But for some reason, my throat clogs up on the fact that there are surveilling everyone to see who could’ve done what and any evidence and the shorter days go, the worse the energy fades and storms arise due to weathers, blowing things away and sitting in an empty apartment in the floor, is no longer comforting, so I try behind the couch, where Jamie still greets me from time to time, getting take away and rejoicing at every bite I’ve eaten.

And it goes on, until they announce that they have no clue.

I sit there, Jamie waiting outside the door with his promise that we would walk Archie later, he insists that I join him every morning at 10 am for his walks, even if I hadn’t slept the day before. 

I think the hate starts settling, once they tell me they have no idea, that the killer could be anyone and that’s when I walk out, knowing all they had found, taking out my notebook and writing down the few things, as if my mind could tell me something or maybe Lana herself would come to my dreams

As me and Jamie sit on the bench, I observe how different his silence is from my own and maybe that’s where hate should be buried, it stops being a competition of genders, people yelling to erase labels, we just have different wiring and we are all interesting to observe, just like I had observed him, with years to realize that I was solely into women, Jamie keeping his thoughts and lovers to himself. His own misery was for him to share, so I just sipped more on the coffee, my mind clearing up, maybe some mania would catch up on me as the past few months even to Lana’s death my mood was flaring and talking with Jamie, me behind the couch, only asking for nail polish, made me realize that maybe I should yank myself out, just to see if my depression had escalated to bipolar.

“I don’t think I hate you. I just didn’t understand you.”

“Same.” He smirks, offering a cigarette, just because we might be interesting, we’re never really interested, lovers from friends is a long way, as some mean nothing on the death bed. To Lana I had meant something and so had she is my arms, dying-


A bunch of my stories take course and I don't edit, but Poison the Rose had to go under um some editing due to my own fucked up state. So things are getting revised, I'm not going to lie, I'm going story by story, so it's taking a while, that's why things aren't categorized properly yet:)

Basically I mused on the initial thinkings and I'll see but I have always held a strong head canon about Alison's gender, since there's a lot of quotes when they started on Jamie talking how Alison defies gender and going head canon on head canon, Jamie has an attraction towards people who identify as androgynous and close, so yeah. I might be playing with that, because I love fanfiction and I want more trans characters and I've explored my theories on Alison's gender in Stale Smoke In A Running Circle which I miss dearly, so I will continue that with Poison the Rose again and I guess it's a middle finger to all the things I've said really xD

I started writing this chapter ages ago and detaching myself from female, finally felt free and I started seeing characters as characters and I guess I went full Ikuni or Almodovar on many of the characters like in One For The Road. Poison the Rose is a bit of a different story since I'm thinking to go Alison explore her gender and discover androgyny which is also pretty much something close to home, regrading Callie 

I also kind of went on with the intention of making Jamie more of a side-kick here, kind of none-romance Close-style. Frankly, I need to think a lot regarding the murder and etc even if I know the killer if you must and reason and etc, I need to plan out everything else xD which is fun, considering that the story is very Twin Peaks-esque.

There's a very very old Kills interview where Alison says that Jamie said they would get married eventually.

I am very often depressed, behind the couch is good place to hide, because I get very agoraphobic and I need a very closed space.

When it comes to murder investigations they obviously raid everything and rinse through.

I've been giving my characters bipolar now, sorry xD

The small interaction at the end was a big reply to my fuckups in earlier chapters, so feel free to revisit and reeler the plot.

I hope you still love Poison the Rose

thank you



Poison the Rose 5

Monday, 26 January 2015

sultry room

I push my head back, feeling the fingers tighten around my neck, in a strangular motion, as all deja vu is recalling and all feelings flare up, like a forest fire, my mind playing cards with too much flashes of PTSD, as I keep working in the said room, cigarette dangling as I manage to take the said mop and do a circle, nearly slipping in the needle heels, grasping onto the mop as if it were a steady source to hold, but maybe it is when you’re left in queue to find out whether how much would it develop and how should you greet something people tell you you’ll start enjoying

The head is pushed back in a thicker motion, as the music nulls my ears, as I spread my hands, feeling the emptiness emit from both sides as I have no sense of self anymore, just wondering how much more theatrical do I look for myself, wondering how much more pale will I look in the mirror, detaching the acne for a moment

How much more tanned will I even look when the skin only reaches the colour of snow under any fucking light

As more photos were hung in the night, as I were told to sit down, eating peaches, only watching the taken photos of him with partners in different sex positions and I would only recognize pieces I had seen on television

I know we’re both dead letters to each other, as I mop the floor from the blood which is the just innocence of the photos which were taken, as if the person walking outside would be the sultry evidence

“Let there be the countdown to our deaths, then.”

You’re always the same and you cradle my mind in your hands, I don’t even need to give you a face anymore, you toy with all my emotions, playing with every single essence I’ve given you and crucifying me with every belief of every religion I’ve been given.

I’m in love and it boils me down.

I don’t want you to let me go, because you’ve given me a warming image of yourself and you’ve stripped me down to know everything for you’ve penetrated my mind

and i’ve never realized how pleasant it may be

to be oneself.

I scrub harder on the blood, now taking the mop in hands, humming and spinning, as if I could clean the walls with it

As if the blood could be cleaned from a red room. 

And all the smells which had brought me misery will go away, because you’re here, you give me the belief

you give me the belief

of intertwining illusion and faith

crucifying me

explaining and feeding.

don’t let go.

detach the image that i’ve been a woman.

let me believe my mania is my body’s new defense to thrive life.

P.S. Push my head even further, my eyes will surely be closed as you play with my breath, the desire sultrier that any letter I’ve written as you dismantle me

And coital makes no sense as the photos are of us in different positions, I bite the mop stick harder, watching as your fingers barely touch my neck, but they feel piercing as the details of our clothing is more evident that anything we’ve ever done and I wonder how could you have taken the photos and how much have you even pushed me further, how much have I clung onto your waist, leaving marks, wondering how fragile would you be with every motion

every fucking photo has some articled detailed of clothing

me pulling your fucking scarf

you hiking up my new gold skirt

it’s all about the clothing and not the sex

and I wonder when had I stopped believing or when had you told me you had stopped loving

or had I never even wanted anything

the thoughts of doubt shift with every song, as I trace the photos for no truth, no ending, no false




and why you’ve put on red docs on my feet and why am I exposing both you and me,

for you have left in my head

you play with my breath, increasing the grip, giving me a heavier orgasm. giving me anger, giving me the belief when you play with yours and I wonder who was even the one dancing in needle heels

and how come I had gotten your mania

and when had we even started dancing with the mop.

they say a person is a soul split in two

so would our mania makes us two?

i don’t know how to end when there’s no end to us, just the dance we’ve never had at the beginning and I don’t like the ending so far.

please end it with your desires, because you’ve been me longer.

it’s not an outcry, it’s your love which stains the walls

and do you choke me?

i’ve realized i liked hypoxyphilia

play with me.

let me pull you by your scarf, fucker


I guess you've those works which make yourself blush, so I'm just posting this nearly silently. I had a manic episode this evening and I had written desperately, every single thought, realizing that all of the Axe for Cork Extraction and all my surreal things were written in manic periods and so is sultry room.

I really enjoy being sexually open, so I keep being so.

The idea came from me discussing how I had become a dead letter to a crush. I'm more than explicit and it's one of those works, just like many sex scenes which I publish and because they're too revealing you just close your eyes. That's what I wanted. 

I was thinking the other day of Poppy Z. Brite's Exquisite Corpse which I'm reading and I enjoy gore, but I usually cary on weird novels like this, so I'll keep silent. Then I started thinking of Jean Genet's Maids which is a play I had seen live entirely acted out by men which had left the deepest of impressions on me. With tumblr recently it's been rather rough being trans and male, so I guess theatrical things have been a big line of thinking for me. And in the said play, the encore had one of the actors dance in needle heels and that left a profound impression on me and I have needle heels myself but they're frankly hard to walk in xD so I've been I guess accepting my male-side and opening my eyes to many things and reclaiming things I've enjoyed as my own such as heels and make-up. 

The story itself is very explicit and I have heavy PTSD, bipolar so those were described and used. I didn't bother with characters, it's all very from the heart and open, I guess. I'm in love and when you're manic it's not the best of state to fully write love is great when you're in an odd place. 

The P.S. was done when I realized that I hadn't written about the sex photos which were described in the first part properly which frankly to be honest, I had the thought of in a euphoric/orgasmic state? That's fucking explicit, but we're talking bout sex here. I kept wondering why I had a fetish of clothing on and it was rather vivid. So I wondered if I should draw it and the idea ended with being used as photographs in a story.

And I don't edit so I like well, Jamie, suck it up, write more and I was getting anxious where do I end it so that's why it's so panicky. When I'm manic I really push myself to the limits, I would close my room up and listen to Penderecki and Ligeti, so this is even subtle, pushing to make a proper love ending if you must.

I just wrote the last line, actually, realizing that I was holding back on the scarf bit. I have a thing for people with scarves, being a scarf person myself, I even recall Callie's scarves with massive detail.

I was triggered by cissexism on a cancer post, so that's where the only speech comes from, bacasue I've got very strong cancer background.

I guess I'm rather vers, so I always openly spoke about it, so naturally I spoke about penetration. I don't always talk about me penetrating. 

I love the blood and red room line, I like my own lines ok? xD I'm in a manic state I barely think, I write every single thought down, that's how my stories come out xD

I recently got diagnosed with bipolar and well, you become one with the person you love at times, so that was a play on that.

Dancing metaphor as usual, it's my story, sex, dancing and death xD

I love the sex ending, I love how sultry and I kept the bdsm feel I had intended even if the story ended up being different, but then I might continue. I always write about gay men, so why shouldn't I ? XD

Thank you for reading on me talking about sex



Thursday, 22 January 2015

We’ve all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. (No. 1 Party Anthem spin-off)

The question is, when you strike a depressive mode, how come a social setting is supposed to even make you feel better, yet I go along with Miles, feeling weeks nest on top of me, reminding me how much had passed and how Brian had left with Stefan, with a wave, as I would see his newly acquired Swedish boyfriend even ask himself why was Brian leaving me. It was odd to see someone sorry for their new boyfriend’s mistake even if Stefan was just as guilty. If you honor me so much, how come you had done everything as well? Miles mops around with me, before Alex approaches us with his newly crafted quiff and I know that my bed hair clashes with everyone’s appearance here. I wait for the unspoken smoking ban to be over and I see no point in the music, which has no appeal and neither do I feel like publicly browsing on my phone anyway, sometimes I even get shy to do it on the tube.

I see Arielle approach all three of us and I pray that I didn’t look as clueless with Stefan, as she does and once I actually start feeling awfully bad for her, she vanishes, before I can even speak and before I even can, what should I say? I’m sorry for us to be so stupid when it comes to being in love?

But then was she even in love? She barely spends the evening with Alex, as I manage to wait until the DJ gets high and I gingerly go through Alex’s and Arielle’s music collection before I feel the cigarette smoke ban lift off and I turn to see a much younger than the surroundings girl. She focuses her eyes on me for a while, before taking the discarded record pile, as if to make sure that I hadn’t missed anything, so we keep our silence and I watch her tussled light brown hair lie on her shoulders, playing with an innocence look, as if ironically highlighting her age, yet in baggier, vintage clothes, radiating of some allure.  She felt like everything a teenage woman would aspire to be, but the others got tangled in the way of being some desperate Alexa Chung. I continue flicking through the newly bought records, now, feeling myself interested in the much younger girl besides me.

I can’t tell her to piss of because frankly the room is already crowded and it only makes sense that she sits next to me, observing and smoking, watching me and I always wonder what I make people think. Misery makes sure you’re still alone and I figure that I didn’t even notice the records I had put aside, as she chooses one and looks at me, interested if I would say anything. Instead, I just excuse myself, standing up and recalling Miles’ story how he had seen Alex with the fridge and I grab a beer, as if I had been here before and soon enough Miles comes back to me, patting my shoulder and taking a sip from my beer, before finding his unopened one.

“And when can I pretend that I am not your tag along and I can leave?” I mutter at him, quiet enough, as I watch Arielle pass by and Miles smirks, holding a pause, perhaps to say some pun, but instead he just shrugs his shoulders and I wonder how can you even sleep with someone who is dating someone else and I wince, recalling Brian and I just take a harsher gulp of the bad beer. 

“C’mon, people are going to start leaving soon and so will we.” My friend moans, trying not to plead too much as he seems to be getting impatient with the party himself.

“I’m not in this fucking triad, Miles. Neither am I fucking the taken bloke and... I beg your pardon, straight.” I add, snarky and Miles just avoids me, looking over the crowded corridor, maybe looking forward to seeing Alex, but I just start tearing off the beer label, counting the hours to make sure my medication doesn’t mix with alcohol. Maybe some should be called lost lovers after all.

“Yeah, well, neither is he.” He adds, swiftly. I shake my hand in front of his face, holding a laugh.

“Last time, Alex told me, no, ‘m straight.” 

“Yeah, well, at this rate you might just get a girlfriend then too, since we’re blurring lines of sexuality here, Hince.”

“Last time I had a girlfriend was when my mother set me up at age 5 with a neighbor, probably wanting to have pure bred children from Andover or whatever.” I smirk, Miles quickly glancing at me, as we quickly share laughter. I take another gulp. “It didn’t even work behind my back and platonically, Kane. Tough luck.”

Miles makes a shocked, open mouth expression, as we both seem to be tied, uncomfortably with the newly made straight and cis couple making out in the corridor either earning whistles or shoves from any passerby, as we hog the tiny kitchen. 

“Speaking of, Hince, ain’t that the girl you talked to? Or is she your long lost sister?” Miles lowers his voice, as the girl with the records slowly approaches us and I look at her high heels, as her tights most likely touched something causing a rip. My friend leans closer to me. “How fucking old is she, Jamie? Is this like a trend, you become straight and go for younger women? D’you ever read Nabokov?”

Before I can even go on the plot of Lolita, she grabs a beer, avoiding either of us, before looking around and going towards Arielle’s direction which had started jumping and waving from the living room. I bite my lip, holding laughter.

“I think that’s where my attraction to women went, Kane.” I wave at the girl’s back, just to tick off Miles. 

“Fuck off. I need more straight friends, traitor. Maybe then you’d explain Turner to me.” Miles mutters, stretching, both of us getting far too bored from our own behavior. 

“I can just explain in your mindset, you’re fucking up.” I state and I leave him in the kitchen for no good reason, back into the living room, walking past the girl and back to the record player because at least there I can space out with no one reminding me that I should be talking. 

It’s odd how in one day, one moment everything can change for the better or worst and it makes it even hard to get out of the bed or even make it through the night and it’s not even luck which makes it running, it feels more and more like a void only which happens to be a pop-out book I seem to be going through, irritated at my own self that nothing can be done until the snap of the fingers happens again and it stops snowing. Love has nothing to do with it sometimes, it’s just the fact that nothing goes well no matter what the hands touch and you get reminded in every essence that you don’t matter to the world.


I've been in an awful state and mood and situation. I'm really tired and I'm in that state where you just look at the world and ask what the fuck, because I've always tried to make it a better place, but I guess when you fight for everyone's rights yours don't end up mattering.

Either way, I still will keep this blog up because it's where I know I care to the end and well, I hope I do change lives. 

I speak here and I've discovered my sexuality and gender through my writing. I guess I still wonder on my sexuality, because I'm still attracted to women but I think it happens when I'm agender and I've been trying different labels and everything, because I'm male and fluid, but my sexuality is just as ambiguous and I guess one of the things I've been musing and touching subjects on is when you're gay and you fall with frankly someone who is not the same gender. This story is pretty much like no other. Because well, our sexualities even if we take labels can be much more ambiguous by the end of the day. 

Oh and apparently by assessment I do have bipolar, so I'll be addressing it as well.

And I've been sad about many things and Ultraviolence by Lana which has been the only record I've been listening now, makes me sad, because she's literally THE woman in rock to me right now. I get sad about many things. 

Either way, this story was because I was thinking of Jamie's character in No. 1 Party Anthem and his backstory, I was thinking to take Alison as his love interest, but I can't recall why but I got intrigued by numerous photoshoots of him and Valentine Fillol-Cordier when they had dated and he had taken the most beautiful photos I have ever seen of her. They kind of reminded me of the part of I Hate The Way You Love when he and Alison were dating. I don't know how wrong is it to claim people's sexuality as your own, so he fascinates me because he's had relationship with women while in the 90s there's much more different said and well, that's when I have to keep my mouth shut for some respect. But if I ever speak of something it's because it's accessible by old interviews, frankly.

So, I guess he is comforting to me in a way and now, when frankly people in my situation break, I just want to go under the covers and I pray for all to be well and I'm called brave for that. Ok, fine.

I had this odd moment when I was in the train bathroom and I looked at myself in the mirror and it never dawned on me how I still make sure to maintain my image even if I'm breaking. My foundation was on, lipstick and eyeshadow because I feel dysphoric without them. It's weird to realize that even if you're breaking inside, you're holding. I guess that's what I want to address, I'll give Jamie some social issues later, just like I've touched things in GI and Blue/Jacket. Don't worry, I always speak out, I just need a while to think and decide, as I write something else.

Basically Jamie's backstory of his relationship with Valentine which I've been itching to write, but err the next chapter of No. 1 Party Anthem is focused on something else xD (is sex too obvious? xD) and it's quite a while, since the story is rather long or will end up rather long, I got impatient and started writing this. I dunno, I just got intrigued in how beautiful his photos of Valentine where which comes for the title and I chucked the last bit of the first paragraph of the second chapter for the story, so here it is. And Valentine is gorgeous with him, so I quite side eye all the Alex/Miles beards, I mean, girlfriends and I guess Getting Down being an angry song about his break-up with Valentine really spoke a lot to me because I'm an angry ex, I guess xD so yeah, Jamie really fascinates me and I guess is there when I need him, his music and interviews and everything. 

I wanted to make it an echo of the first chapter of No. 1 Party Anthem naturally and both of them deal with breaking I guess the barriers of labels, really. So they both really fill up each other, maybe something similar to Blue/Jacket and Start Finding Passion, but I think more like Used Lighter and Bar Eyes frankly. Also, this is set a bit in the future of No. 1 Party Anthem, like perhaps a few weeks or so? 

I find it hard to go outside after I have unpleasant encounters with people, yet I get told to go outside and it helps, but it's still a dunking yourself in a cold pool when you can't swim sort of thing. 

Also No. 1 Party Anthem followed my analysis of cheating, so here it is, really, a proper parallel since Miles is the lover and usually I show lovers rather than people cheated upon besides Alex in Snap Out of It and Jamie here. I really like chewing topics profoundly. 

I frankly just find Valentine attractive during that period and I dunno, I've seen too many shoots which reminded me of Alison's style now and recently, so that influenced me but I'll keep silent. I dunno, watching their photos was rather intimidate and that Jamie had used a few Valentine (maybe just one, can't recall one or two) in Echo Home his exhibition, but there's plenty on The Kills website. 

Er, I think it's a tongue-in-cheek joke regarding Jamie and his partner's age different, it was like 10 with Alison and like 15 with Valentine? I really can't recall. Something like that. 

I'm bitter when it comes to cheating and I didn't spare Jamie that, but I can't really speak for the non-fictional him. I can only do my head canons and whatnot or interview evidence. Either way, we're all into someone we admire, because it gets hard to know there is no one like you at times and I guess taking Jamie and Valentine here I just wanted to show that sexuality isn't something unacceptable, we fall in love with who we do and yeah, we'll go yeah, I wouldn't bang them, but we're banging each other by the end of the day and that's what I always speak of, my love to Callie

and as usual, this is dedicated to her, because she's lovely and I was just as baffled when I met her.

Thank you, please drop a note if you liked it, as I'm having a rough time and I'm trying to keep a blog pace somehow.

Thank you



Saturday, 17 January 2015

The Blunderbuss Angel Said The Union Is Forever 9

The rebellious of the soul knifes the soul.

The more homophobic country, the more blind it would be to pair up two men on a dancefloor, it won’t be gay, it will be seen as pure friendship even in the eyes of men, for just like the movie would state, the platonic is the most dangerous for it doesn’t have a direct confession, but it’s the liquid poison for the two or more, but never for those around. And that is how it would be, for those two. If we were to be reborn, if all were paired and me and Jamie had to be paired

If two are one soul, if the soul had been divided as such, then it doesn’t matter who tells the tale of depression until love consumes and both are brought together to the extend the human body can stretch, our misery has worn us

Because prior to the dance, there had been nothing to speak of because homophobic jokes aimed and thrashing trans people, which makes me wonder how many choose to reside with a trans person as beards, playing on society’s trans ignorance? How many of us hide under it? How many straight couples are actually gay in disguise? And he looks at me across the dancefloor, as my previous partner has been a disaster and he had come along, staring at me, my own sexuality had been stashed then and I wondered before we had been paired up to do the most ridiculous exercises before we would be reassured that we had a chance in the partner exchange to be with other fair ladies. 

“For if you’re able to think who you were, that’s enough to make a past, because we are our own keys to the past. Our shattered minds and loopholes if are not able to see the world clearly, it would be able to see what had been happening to us before we had existed now. Maybe it also holds the future, how the fuck do you even know?” Jamie would say, as we would head out, his own silence barely speaks for him anymore as once you dance, you know where to pin the person down and you can easily count their bones and where had it been broken by the weight of the world restrained above. I wondered if smoking would ease him, but too many things had been going through his mind, as we walked on as if we would know when the world would shattered and when people would live under war, bringing society to make sure that the explosions would never bother them, because with depression you forgive places easier and you wish they were never a target of destruction. You even forgive your own killer, because love had managed to be the cough syrup to your own agony.

Depression is eased by someone else’s depression, because when you’re the same substance you float, rather than sink. 

“I guess, that makes sense.” As he offers to get us both ice cream, as we stand in queue, muttering the crowd and the middle schoolers who think they have reached some age milestone, but we weren’t better at our own time. Some places remain with the same popularity and purpose and thought, perhaps since I had been taken here. We still listen to the same records we consider flawless. I don’t think we even mentioned changing partners, as we had changed roles in every dance we knew where we would know the moves better. That seemed to suffice.

My own mania seems to be pushing me forwards, not making me do anything, as we depart my own past catching up to erase it all, to remind me how it is to be alone and know that I have no number, only his sole word of seeing me the next week. 

We’re sold that we will always be in offices, where we will be spinning in our chairs but I even wonder how long would it even last until we all get fired or will it be solely because the ground will be taken away from us? Is it all we will see on television as my own mind feeds to remind me that he is some long lost lover and I wonder why am I even here to see the government feed me lies and people ignore facts which I even forget people denied in their own war interests.

I wonder how delusional am I, as I think of him, the next day I come back home and everything seems to be happening fast as I muse on getting a dog and I get nagged, that the girl which I had no interest in taking as my dance partner and lied that I would never go back, just not to have someone corner me again, stating that we should both be married at our age and the idea of her wanting me less as a dance partner seemed to intimidate me until I had called her that night before, stating that I didn’t want to see someone who had cornered me and demanded a reply, when I hadn’t even been able to even think anything of her. 

My own memories don’t build up my mind entirely and maybe mania does seem to be the ribbon which aids for me to be even interesting. 

The night fuels with the idea that one day, we will have all moves memorized instead of asking and observing other couples, just to do so without speaking and maybe then the platonic would be dangerous for both of us and maybe that’s when it would be sufficient, if I were to drink again at your stag party, just to recall both of us laughing until you would lie to me about everything that is happening, because love is more than a metaphor, it’s the desire for you to erase my memories and fill them with your dreams. 

I love selfishly too much to believe in anything else, those fools who state that you can let go, just don’t mention how much waiting we would all be.

A lot of stories intertwine with others, because the theme is always life or lack of it and what fills it to be moist. 


I find this story rather hard to update as frankly I have to be very depressed or apparently manic to write it xD that's why I'm pushing out this chapter after writing it yesterday:) 

I've had terrible insomnia and I had thought of my own dancing lessons back when I was in my mid-teens and it was because I had always wanted to frankly go and learn how to waltz and etc. I had this friend I was awfully close to and we had decided to go and she had a partner (ironically which is the only person whose association I had with the Russian version of Jamie, actually xD) which was her classmate, so I was left partnerless. I had this other guy who I was sort of friends with and we spent a few summers in the same errr hotel thing? Basically so I called him up because frankly no guy I asked wanted to be my partner and I did. Eventually the guy was a creep who cornered me for not texting him back, I think I stood him for two sessions and he was just really really creepy and I remember how scared I was to even see him again. Brrr. Anyway, so that was around the basis. I still love dancing and I guess my fondest memory, well, all of them are with Callie now, as we had done Scottish country dancing and we were awful at it, but then we caught up as we even crashed another prom to do it during one summer xD (well we had people we knew there and randomly entered for a few dances xD) so I dunno, I really enjoy that, so I wasn't falling asleep and I was thinking how a small sub-plot would be good for Blunderbuss Angel really, since it's such a frankly surreal and bizarre thing.

The only thing written was the first phrase, everything else was binge written:)

The setting was where I spent those mid-teens and looking back, I'm amused how everything is more tainted with "friends" and how many things were covered by such and still are. 

The platonic phrase was something which stuck to be as me and Callie had watched online the new Juliette Binoche movie with K. Stewart (I love Binoche so much gdjsgc) anyway, it was great and what killed the fact which could've got me from yelling why there was no PDA was the whole idea that platonic was worse and it just gave the whole movie a different light. It's a great and very very weird movie, so I recommend it. So it was just me thinking it through. And regarding this chapter, I just wanted it out frankly xD

I was in a state of mania, so I used it, I was shifting through views and I was in a state of I will fucking use my mania to make everything as surreal as possible, kind of going back to my teen roots where I would even drive myself to absolute depression to write stories, only now I was using my state rather than forcing it. Doors and Cure helped me a lot to write it, frankly xD and I realized how much Cure's Pornography is my favourite album of theirs. 

So it was all intended to make views shift and the whole point of one person (maybe also inspired by the movie hmmm, but not really I've been doing that since the beginning xD)

I actually wondered how many trans people are bearding around for society and happily and gay in their own house with their partner, because that is brilliant (ah, I give myself plots xD)

I've watched too much NGE you can see me thinking of the Instrumentality Project too much and connecting people, which I've also used in stories prior to watching NGE.

The depression quote and substance is about how I had found it easy to listen to The Cure again after years, since I was in an odd new state of mind, I'm not used to mania yet. So yeah, I'll start speaking of bipolar more often now:)

I wasn't sure if I should mention locations, you get sick of people holding Starbucks mugs sort of thing, so yeah.

I also described that place where I would be around, not necessarily after dancing, but it's a popular meeting spot. Actually me and Callie got kicked out of there for PDA when she visited me the first time xD

I freelance from home, so an office job sounds rather abstract to me now and I had wanted to imagine that for the story and how I guess for me it seems to be dying off, as I've lived on freelance for quite a while now and I'll be returning to uni so it's really bizarre:) 

The guy was used here as well, as you can see, only I changed genders, since we're trying to blatantly stick heteronormativity and I hadn't been out then or aware of everything regarding myself back then:)

Ending is me being angsty as usual and I dunno, I guess I'll end with today's thought, I get really bored if a story has no love line, so yup.

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you so much for everything, all of you