Tuesday, 31 March 2015

mimosa 2

March always reminds me of the awkwardness when you're back in school and you can't properly take off your coat, so you end up carrying it like the rest of the school year and as eyes go by, March ends up being just as idle with our own fuck ups of wanting to make it more exciting. All months are dull, we are the fuck ups. And when it comes to today's March it's because it's filled with the same regret, time badly spend, like in school, like in love.

And I’m reminded of the break up with the catsuit, as if it were something close to that again and no dice are even rolled, as if I would walk away from a woman again, confused and this time it’s a bit different than from holding onto beliefs and desires which would never seem to be fulfilled, it just becomes a reminder that there is always something dull and some break up will be less messy, some won’t have that much yelling, broken plates never escalate into disasters of two men not talking and life is far too simple to put everything in boxes, as I sit on the swing, breathing in the air which promises snow tomorrow. 

And if all were to collapse, what do you even say to yourself?

What do you even write about now, when all ideas are dry and eventually deadlines will start rolling and the night is much more than shallow and desire to simply end up giving candy to whomever, as if all could be bought just proves how simple everything is. 

The desire to spread oneself as shards and it’s much harder than detachment. Confusion becomes the soul of the streets and disaster that I’ll never know myself and the feeling of being so small never strangled me so much as loneliness and no contacts on the phone to call, while holding a cigarette, phone against the ear and shoulder. Credits never roll, we go on and no one really tips at the blade of suicide that often anyway. Instead we all wither. Is suicide even a way out when there’s nothing? Wouldn’t that just be a plain transfer?

It’s as if you can’t capture anything in songs anymore, because the person who people see me as becomes no longer myself and the desire to tell who you are is far from flattering. A role is easier when you can’t stand yourself, because if you hate who you are to people, it’s easier to hate even deeper, cutting without the scalpel to see nothing inside of the body, anyway. And if I bang my head against a tree, I would forget it all, thankfully. I smoke instead, pushing myself up into the air, a bit anxious on how would people take someone nearing their thirties on a swing when people usually walk dogs here, as if children never existed. Maybe it’s because we killed them all.

Women started revolting me like cut down flowers from the amusement that it’s men’s faults when they’re the ones which raise sons and end up taking rugs from between men and by the end of the day Mishima doesn’t seem so radical. Anyone who fails to accept you and grabs you by the collar because you looked at a man instead of her skinny legs and told me that they would split my veins open-

I would split theirs too

But I think torture is a bigger crime than death

Therefore let them watch as they see other men with men and they cry into their motherfucking granolas never gaining weight because they think if they’re slim enough to hide behind a broom, I would love the thin air, because they hold an even lesser value. 

It makes more than obvious state to bathe in solitude, as if it’s always supposed to be that way, as you lie in bed and you get told that gay men produce the most beautiful of art because they are miserable and that’s when you see opinions blossom and actually emphasize on what happens on later. Because it’s always as if the regret is placed far onto the shoulders which are supposed to build into some wings, even if I have intense vertigo of flying and why is solitude never called misery or loneliness these days?

And I decide to buy alcohol on the way home and see how much will I consume on the way back, musing on how much had anything changed, seeing nothing as if the streets always go back to the 1950s and the fear remains to the core, hard enough to bite and easy to just shatter teeth against it. 

We will never admit love to the people we’ve lost or wrap our head around when do we stop, and how selfish it is of us to never talk and try to amend something. I’m selfish for never wanting to dance his dance and expecting him to dance mine.

I just end up wanting him to know that I’ve never stopped loving him if there is a cold gun pressed against my lip, as the snow grazes March again and Miles is the one pointing at me with all his fear and homophobia lashes through our system because our misery and desire to do the most natural seems like an easy sin, because loving women had always been so hard. And I would exclaim that I never stopped loving him. But for one, besides the gun because he would wish that he could get over the love which consumes him and thrashes him on a morning and the dawn on night, the misery counting the pain and sharpness of the stars, that our love is a hedgehog. But we’ve left in on the shelf, because we thought love was an innocent thing like a stuffed toy, not a prickly living thing which leaves trails of each other’s blood in our hands, reminding us that we have sinned as brothers just to toy with our mind, because accepting love to a man is harder, because it becomes more genuine for us, apparently. And then the pain of solitude becomes more realistic, because when one hates themselves pain is an easy solution.

We never give up on love, we give up on ourselves or each other, because we can’t stand swimming in someone else’s blood this spring, when snow pollutes the city again, reminding that the past is closer then tomorrow, because we never let go and never accept.

Being lonely feels like being a crushed fruit, where the juice seeped through the pores of the skin, leaving it shrunken, withered, somehow alive and serving a purpose which the fruit seems to disagree with. I push my legs against the ground to gain flight and I know that all comes to an end and that’s funny to say, when the day will go on, giving the torch to another one to repeat in a different way. Life becomes a mirrored repetition with disasterous weather raining on tomorrow’s mirrored from the back reflection and I say that in a room full of mirrors and the sky being the globe. Loneliness is a silk glove among the lips, becoming some temporary state of solitude. Maybe that’s self-acceptance.

It’s hard to let go of someone who never loved you. I need to stop crying about the trees. 


It’s not that it’s entirely over, the point of mimosa is that it goes on. Yeah, writing-wise I think I’m done with it, but it’s not the end really. I had no intention properly of continuing but I ended up thinking far too much and writing well parts of a second chapter which frankly wouldn't be able to fit anywhere else and I figured to go ahead with it and I figured maybe a few more chapters and it's a rather solely Alex centric story which frankly I haven't done any character solely centric ones as I always have someone end up with someone or have a relationship take the spotlight, so it was rather nice to do those. And I kind of getting yanked out of reality when I'm depressed, manic or have a mixed episode so it ends up rather isolating in the head and that's why a lot of mimosa was born obviously and thinking and musing other relations with Callie, like I usually do.

And March is a weird month for me coz I ended up dating a disaster many years ago and I broke up last year with my ex on March and if I could recall the exact dates I think it happened on the same date. So March is rather weird and always feels like a weird graveyard and it's not really April yet which is frankly jumping to my birthday xD And kind of working I think with my derealization a bit down, it feels weird to be grown up I guess, kind of being more in control, it's surely a good thing, but it's really weird to see how much things really change and I guess that's what March is about. I had started writing the beginning of the chapter back in a sort of playground to be honest.

Another 'inspiration' was frankly Alex's excuse me but poor lyrics in Vertigo. I've really said it, it feels like a really bad repetition of lyrics because he can't really go writing I dunno your cigarette breath and freshly pressed suit and whatever. So we've got a fucking catsuit going around and around, ugh.

I get rather torn from reality and I get random paranoias or fears like the fact of waiting for everything or days in general, so I tried to push it out there. And in general I think I write explictly in this story that the backstory is more like, yeah, I said that there xD

I got angry at tumblr, so I ranted, I kept it. By Mishima being radical, he's got this... stingy phrase which sticks to me and I've quoted, he said that women stand in the way of creation and art and that really got to me and it ended being metaphorical, because I couldn't come out, so it ended up meaning a lot to me but I twist it and use it for frankly what he had said it really.

I was thinking the other day how angry I was at different issues like weight and I realized that it thankfully doesn't apply to me anymore and a gender which is fucking content with idolizing such homophobes (specifically towards lesbians) as Emma Watson I decided that well, it's not exactly my fight, I will still rant, but I kind of became less angry since it's women who shoot themselves in the foot, don't get me wrong, I hate her guts and if I could I would yell at her. So the rant went that direction due to the whole skinny obsession which is just toxic and everyone loses weight dramatically and the whole expectation of having to be into women regardless of who you are was getting on my nerves. It's frankly a hateful paragraph but if women can vent, so can I for fuck's sake. And I do acknowledge it's harsh, but it's an eye for an eye of what I've read and my own venting. 

I got told that gay men produce art because they're miserable. Not really, but I can't argue much against it, either, because I do write when I reach my lows mentally health-wise.

Sexuality is very complex and I think that's why I like the whole loving men and women sentence, coz it's rather odd really. And I like Mimosa for it's constant Milex thrill through. 

The last phrase came to me and I was thinking to do a 3rd chapter and Callie suggested to stick it in, so here it is, making the ending even angstier, but like I said mimosa doesn't really ends, the writing does. I want to go on with more couple, relationship stories, but I might always pick it up, but for now, we're good



Saturday, 28 March 2015

500 6

When I get back to the house, not even turning back and the cat stops to look at me, a bit confused, as I walk up the stairs, I just start feeling heavier that I head back to bed and I black out, as swirls fill my vision and I no longer feel like anything holds me and I can feel fingers stroking my cheek entirely as I feel myself go warmer and warmer, as I start hearing footsteps and I sit up to see Jack enter the apartment. He quickly glances at me, before he goes to the kitchen and stays there until I fall asleep and we spend the night with lights on in different rooms. 

I grabbed the mirror in the morning, my vision going a bit blurry and I looked around feeling a heavier presence which didn't make much sense, a bit draining and if I would close my eyes I would feel a bit sinking and I just opened them to keep looking at the mirror. Looking closer I would still see nothing, closer and closer that I could only see my eyes and the birthmark on my nose-

"Jamie?" And he startles me as I drop the mirror, looking back at him, standing up and not even looking at the turned over mirror. The selkie jumps towards it and flips it over to reveal not even a single crack.

"That's for good luck then." He muttered, looking at me briefly 

"Maybe it's your luck, not mine. If I flipped it over it would at least have one big crack right through it." And I presume he takes himself as the crack metaphor and leaves the room again, as I grab the mirror again, closing my eyes and my own curiosity taking over me as I try to concentrate on the soft ends of my mind.

The days passed, walls creaking due to the wind, cats would walk around the whole house, bewildered and after midnight they would rub themselves even harder against the wall, now either making sure to nest at my feet or solely watch me from afar, sometimes hissing, but they themselves started feeling peeved, as I would notice much more scratches trailing down by hand, as if tracing my bones and I sat, lighting a cigarette, looking at my left hand, wondering what was even wanting to get out or get in. I started raiding my backpack, getting a small cross which was now nearly pitch black as I started seeing a shadow head to the kitchen where Jack was sitting and reading, barely talking to me since I burnt the skin. In the morning he sat next to the river, not even dipping his hands at first, before entirely undressing and going into the water and holding his breath far too long, coughing as he headed out biting his lip, annoyed as he dressed up again and the cold would never be as harsh as the winter’s and I wonder how the fact that memories were slipping by me were solely lifting me and giving me the end to no hope.

“You’ve got a scratch under your eye. Shouldn’t you like exorcize yourself or something?”

“I beg your pardon?” I say to his claims in the evening, when even Jack seems to be noticing the shadows by telling me that in very small and odd phrases, like scribbled notes and I seem to be suffocating closer by the night and I don’t tell him how long I’ve ended up scrubbing the cross off with nothing, wondering how deep would the wounds go which don’t even ache when I try to sanitize them. I click my tongue. He just stares at me. 

“It’s not that... you think everything is okay. Right?” He asks, voice a bit shaken and Jack speaks as if he were tied up to me and I don’t recall any selkie rules, since he’s just human now forever but I don’t think he is supposed to be devoted to someone he doesn’t even care about and I would think of that tracing mirrors and seeing everything crawling from the corners of my eyes and I wonder how long would it even be until I decompose. I can’t even get the memories right. 

“What? Because I’m attracted to you, is that it?” Jack looks a bit taken back.

“C’mon, some shitty guides to possession state that homosexuality is a sign. Is that it?” I snarl adding. 

“I used to squat in apartments and I would make a point of waiting until other neighbors would show up just to hear them discuss something and try and build their lives out of hearing them once on Wednesday and then twice on Saturday morning. I tried to make the same assumptions people make of me as I speak, it becomes a broken telephone, I end up telling people by being a medium some fragment of conversation, maybe that’s why I enjoy rather than help, I get curious about people, as if I was never one.” Jack just stares at me, wondering who is speaking for me as I just excuse myself to get milk out of the fridge and boil the kettle. Something intertwines. 

He follows me throughout the rest of the day, as I even walk outside, go into the woods and pet a cat which trails confusedly after me and he watches both of us as I manage to pet it. The cat still shows some discomfort and I wonder how long will it even take until I find out its name since I’ll never meet the owners and neither I am one to start a conversation when it comes to asking what the cats’ names are and I wonder if it would be some secret for the names to die with the cat’s ability to speak. Jack just like the cat has nothing to tell me and neither do I. We watch Alex’s and Miles’ house. It seems far too calm and I wonder how they live and what would their age actually be or if by the end of the day the house is haunted and they would be some sort of two keepers of Hell. And maybe they are the gateway, just right over the river, watching over Hell.

I don’t voice it to Jack, as he still takes the cigarette from me. 

I never tell him that he can leave and when I sleep at night, Jack pushes the bed even further and he sleeps near the angel, which I figured could be a guardian with it’s wings. I end up dreaming of lost airports which no longer depart and seem much more than a memory stamp, just like a dream in which I would never get back and McDonald’s which runs until late and where people tuck in as they wait for their flights. 

And I wake up suddenly, sitting and seeing how the forest looks much brighter as if the night veil could be lighter and soon enough a car passes by, flashing twice and then I feel how loud the room is, not in a way you would be scared of the shadows as a child, but they’re far wilder and I can’t really capture all of their emotions and I feel a hand on my hip as I turn around. Jack stirs and his black eyes look back at me as if he would hold all the secrets of the night and he would manage to sit up with all the stars engraved in his skin and he would tell me how everything was created and what was the right combination of dice.

I can’t tell him even in the deepest of night how I managed to get so attached to him darkly and how I feel the shadows pull my hair, exposing my neck to him and how love always becomes a person’s vulnerability and one’s end. 

I ask him to turn on the lights and once he stands up and I look back at the bright forest and I see birds, wondering how come we all know it’s a pitch black day-

and he’s gone

the room feels like a void, a sudden, ugly disgusting void

My last thoughts are a wonder if a burning of a selkie’s skin would be selling its soul or just locking it away for the burner to hold as an item. And I could see the skin, only now with his eyes in my hands as I feel its weight and the room becomes brighter, heavier as I hold onto the skin again, all of it burnt to crisp just to see water and feel my own eyes haven. 

“What’s your favourite The Cure album, Jamie?” And Brian’s voice comes within. 

“Why?” I reply, watching the water build to my feet and slowly go further, making a black shore. And that’s when I see Brian or rather the Devil. You’ll always know when you see him, your soul entirely squeezed out as if you would be looking into the depth of a black hole itself and it’s never looking back at you as it’s within you. I quickly look around, before I feel his hands upon my shoulders then taking my chin and pulling it up for me to see nothing and the crisp stars fly back, as Jack’s skin is still within my hands.

And indeed what love is there if it had always been one-sided and I can feel Brian seeping away from me, I can feel him dig out holes through me and how time is far more trapped than it had ever been as it seems like time’s mysteries stretch to every cell in my body as if I could always carry all of the dead and each imagination of the fated deceased. And I know he has nothing to offer.

Absolutely nothing.

Our discussion doesn’t even take place as he stretches his arm to the empty rowing boat and I drag Jack’s skin, as I reminder of some life I have had. 

And I pin Jack down on the boat, some metaphor of all life and death, knowing that I can look back and forth, pinning him harshly down as he pulls me harder, maybe some Devilish blessing as I feel my whole body ache, disastrously as I know that I am screaming in my sleep, I can see Jack pulling me, telling me that it’s noon and sunlight but I can’t stop screaming and feeling the skin, now Jack, push me lower and lower, kiss me in all the ways I had ever wanted. 

Desire limits and pushes you beyond it-

And life is never a twisted fairy tale, unless we had all cut off our fucking toes and sold them to the Devil.

He has nothing to offer and I look behind on the isle of dead I had taken Jack from,

from the river-

Jack was dead.

And I watch him, as he is pinned down now, watching me, his old hair cut and skin slashed to pieces around him, as I watch the blood

A medium connects two worlds

And I can feel his blood trickling down my lip as he traces it

And I wonder how many times before have I asked myself why had I been a medium with the loss of time, to lose one’s humanity which keeps us sane and how the tickling of time doesn’t matter for war, if life loops

And never


ends. Jack grabs me just like I had yanked him before, defying time and I wake up, coughing up blood. And I look at him, shaking as he kisses me and my bones ache.


There is literally nothing pleasing about finishing a story. I usually tend to feel when the end is nearing, so it even makes it even worse. I knew the plot outline for 500 and I was awfully sad when I already had Jamie have the cuts that it was nearing to a close. I think the biggest thing which happens when you end something is the anxiety that you're leaving out things which you had in mind. Like I literally have a few things, so I was thinking to do a sort of epilogue-sort of thing maybe later, because there's a bit more backstory and it actually dawned on me, so I'll have maybe a breather and I'll write the sort of spin-off which ties up a few loose ends, because I really thought hard on a few things and I didn't want to write them down here, because there's a few. So yeah, I'll have the extra one-shot and yeah. Fuck, this makes me so sad. I finished this last night and I couldn't stop thinking about how depressed I was that this story is over. I honestly loved it and I would end up binging it a lot and I think I even spent weeks in the beginning just writing it and considering that it's based where I am now, kind of makes it more interesting and obviously many things get put here.

I am honestly really sad, because I've loved the dynamic between Jack and Jamie in the story. And yeah, at some point, I'll be happy to sit and properly re-read it. 

Also, I guess the weirdest thing is that this story ended up with literally one sex scene which was between Alex and Miles, while Jamie was peeking on them. I was thinking to have a longer love/hate and with some sex relationship between Jack and Jamie, but in the end I like how painful it had been and I was discussing it with Callie, I'm rather I guess... airy when it comes to my stories, so I usually write and then I realized kind of looking at how deep the plot ended up being with the universe and I'll be honest, I got happy and impressed that it all was in my head. 

I'll miss it and at the same time I was getting scared how to finish it off, how to write it properly and to keep it on the same motion. But I am very content and actually very pleased with the ending. I am very pleased with it.

Also, I'm thankful to The Cure which never ever let me down and I used in the last part of this chapter to wrap things up and I am actually listening to now. I've been going back to music which built me as a teenager and I guess I know which is magnificent to write dark stories under. Never fails. 

We've got this mirror in the bedroom which frankly, like the whole house is interesting and it's not attached to anything, just a frame mirror standing and we both use it, obviously. And frankly I enjoy taking many things and using them, so that mirror ended up as being one. I'll miss using this location to be honest. Maybe I'll use it again. 

Well, broken mirrors mean bad luck, so it's a play on that, for Jack that it doesn't get broken in his hands. 

I lose time to be honest due to mental health and I find it hard to pierce memories back and I enjoy that sort of sense, but when I get very bad, it entirely starts floating around and I checked with Callie (since she read enough on possession and attachment when I had the incident and I wasn't keep on checking again), so yeah, time loss goes with that. And in general I guess with my no sense of time, I enjoy the trope or following the concept that time doesn't exist eventually at all and that is something I use and I think the other one which touches that only in a different way would be the Used Lighter/Bar Eyes universe. 

Somewhere around the whole incident I had, I don't speak of it much because it's personal, but I do wear a cross around my neck and it's rather often that I started wearing it and it went nearly entirely black and I couldn't scrub it off with anything, it's just plain silver. And it's not really needed to be cleaned and it's really easily done now. So I wanted to add that for Jamie here.

For some reason Callie is the one which ends up with encounters these days, than me. I usually end up tiptoeing around and making sure that I'm always careful, but Callie ends up with quite often, so that kind of makes me wonder a bit, because I'm more sensitive, so I dunno if she also became more sensitive or just so happens to be. I'm guessing so happens to be and being around me when isn't too aiding here either xD So the figures is something Callie encounters. I end up with different usually.

I think one of the most annoying things when you read about possesion/attachment is that there's a lot of links which go, being gay means that something is within you and other crap, so I addressed that through Jamie and Jack's unacceptance. 

The sudden talk or shift was most likely written back when I was just adding different ideas in my head and just plastering them onto the story and it ended up being a shift which was rather interesting and realistic in this case. What inspired me was we've got this thin wall and I wondered what can you gather from listening to really small conversations and what can you build from a person. And what can people build from me in that case and I thought of the balcony analogy, probably because when I was growing up I would watch other people's balconies frankly when you head out and you see people and etc. 

I guess Jamie's "as if I was never one" is a bit of a spoiler to what comes ahead really and how what he is becomes literally really.

I wasn't sure about the cats, so I made them unsure too 8)

Alex and Miles as the guardians of Hell/Undead was planned rather early, considering that I based their house of what was abandoned previously, now it's refurnished and etc, so me and Callie were like... wtf happened there xD so yeah. I have no idea and neither am I going there 8) Hello to inhabited areas. So I always liked them and the point where I was happy and surprised on how deep the story was that Jack was taken out of the river and Alex and Miles guard on the other side, while Jamie inhabits a specific house. I'll have that in the extra chapter:) I originally thought that Jamie's side would be Hell, but not really, it's different due to that reason. Props to whomever reads back a certain encounter and figures it out :3 

Speaking of items, the guardian Angel statue, also in the bedroom. 

I ended up dreaming of airports and McDonald's so I gave that in for the story. 

Also, what tempted me to I guess or gave the idea was that I couldn't fall asleep at all, the night before last night and I just kept feeling that there was too much around and then there was this car passing by and it was like flashes. I remember asking Callie to turn on the light and in general I am very good when it comes to presences awfully and I had lost her then as she headed and I freaked out before she turnt on the light. And then I realized that I had that for the ending then. And I wondered in an odd way, okay, so that gave me the idea. Okay, thanks, so yeah. And then I started thinking on and I always liked the Death of Eurydice myth and the whole lake to the Dead kind of was something I had also used in Axe for Cork Extraction, which I guess was my first and kind of push to write all the stories like Schizomilk, Used Lighter and 500 among many many others. But I used it again and I liked the idea, I don't even recall how I had linked those two but I wrote that down in a notebook to write it as the ending of 500. 

Before that I've been using a lot of imagery when it comes to describing people as the night, I guess because I miss certain bits of Used Lighter which I had used as well. It's weird, saying I used this and this, when there's barely and it's very different. But I guess shout outs? xD 

I guess due to adjusted ages I could see the pitch black trees in the night and it felt bright, so I used that imagery from that night.

The selkie skin thought was also written down by my to insert from the said notebook. 

The random question from Brian is frankly random, solely because I was euphoric from listening to The Cure and wanted a shout out for them too and I mused on Jamie stating that he prefers the non-Goth Cure, while I can't say I'm that much in love with the first album as I love the Goth period. But all Cure is good, frankly.

And of course, the description which had to be done and described again.

The 'original' ending was Jamie carrying Jack's skin on the boat. Yup, that aching bit, but instead I dropped, started musing on how there was much more to tell (well, rather end of chapter) and I continued after spacing out for a while xD

And the whole break of two places with Jack trying to wake up Jamie is awfully refreshing and feels kind of in the face in a good way, making me question how deep was Jamie away fro reality, which is a big mental health metaphor for me, kind of to realize what's going on and the love really.

And if I go on such topics, I kind of end them rather tragic and kind of immersed in the Devil, if you must, so I wanted something different and here is 500 really, even if Jamie muses on my usual really xD

Also I couldn't wake a long while after that night and I recalled Callie telling me that it's noon and that I should wake, so that was used as well.

This is really detailed because I used a lot of thought, I'm sad to let it go and I wanted to make sure to tell everything as I recall and yeah, because I really love this story a lot, a fucking lot and perhaps this would be my favourite Jack/Jamie.

The last kiss which is frankly the happiest moment I guess from the whole novel, was sort of an ode to fairy tales and how love kind of yanks you out in a way and before that Jamie spoke of it and my musings on it when it comes to the story, sort of Jamie breaking the fourth wall. So I really wanted that kiss in in a way that they both saved each other in the end.

I think another point is well, you'll get offered what you most desire, but always decline and acknowledge that you don't gain it, really, so yeah. And I guess like Jamie said, that he has nothing to offer, because you'll get what you want the most always.

Jack being dead was something I hadn't thought of and I am proud I thought of and the skin as well. So that was a surprise to me if you must as I was writing and I was awfully pleased with the whole concept of them both helping each other, really. 

And Jamie kind of being between two was frankly making the fact that he connects two worlds kind of in a more physical sense in the story. And I loved the setting, I will honestly miss it and I always think of it very often. Life looping is also a Neon Genesis Evangelion reference rather than an explanation and more of Jamie thinking.

Jamie coughing up blood, now looking back, is more of a way that he is no longer possesed actually, but I had written it showing that he had come back rather than thinking that in a more strict way, same for the bones.

And just like the story ending, it ends with their kiss, kind of showing everything all along. 



Wednesday, 25 March 2015

One For The Road 4

“I feel like we’ve shared our girl part of the talk, regarding exes and currents.” I chuckle as we are both finishing off and the question remains do you sleepover or do you just get home back alone to wallow in your own tears and tiredness of some empty hole which had been covered before, as distraction and now you’ve lost the cover and you don’t even know why were you so happy in the first place with a rug replacing concrete on a road. Drunk doesn’t seem to cover it, as tipsiness takes me that I can even trip on flat spaces in ballerinas and Alison grabs my wrist, laughing. 

“Enough of that, enough... boy talk. Let’s shift to something more practical.” Alison says, covering her mouth from a hiccup as we both just get more drunk, going up the street to the next pub and I can’t even recall how many small notes I’ve given already.

“Practical? Like drinks?” I can’t stop laughing, looking at her and she slows down for a while, still holding my wrist tighter. 

“Cocktails.” She says out, randomly and I feel her hand on my cheek. I look at her, alcohol only making a bizarre fog of confusion and I can’t even remember which song is it which I hear from the pub along with screams, as the fog seems to be sharp as I feel her lightly chapped lips against mine, I kiss her back, her arms around my back, the warmth of Alison’s lips wrapping the fog around my mind thicker and I think, I think I yell at myself through the fog as she slips her tongue against mine,

and then I yank myself back, rewinding now her hand on my breast, I look down flushed and she doesn’t look better-


“I have a boyfriend.” I say with haste and Alison just nods, looking down, the music still lulls. She keeps looking at my shoes. She doesn’t say anything. “Alison-”

“If he’s fucking around, why can’t you fuck around?” Alison’s head snaps back at me, as she puts her hands around her thin body. The alcohol gives us boldness we would never wish we’d have. I always turn off my phone on some random password, write it down and then unlock after the hangover. “He is.”

I close my eyes. 

“He fucking is. He’s fucking Miles. What’s the big deal? You know that, you fucking know that, so why can’t you fuck around? Why do you have to sit and mop around while your fucking boyfriend is having sex?” She asks a bit too loudly, as people look, one guy even whistles, but we’re both too absorbed in this argument we’ve gotten ourselves into. “Jesus Christ, you’re even tense. Maybe a fuck would make you realize where you stand.”

She throws her arms to the sides now, looking at me, hurt. 

“You.” She points at my chest. “Don’t even know what you want. I remember when you speak of your ex-”

“Don’t!” I hiss and Alison, bites her lips, avoiding her name. 

“You were happier with her.” I just keep my eyes closed, as if the theatre will give me a different play.

“What’s stopping you?” She raises her voice again.


“He’s fucking Miles. An eye for an eye!” She gestures now at the pub where I see more men gathered, to watch, I wonder if people are drunk enough to realize or sober enough to realize. 

“What is stopping YOU?”

I shrug. 

Alison takes a step and I allow myself to see how her freckles start showing in the night and I sigh, but we don’t touch, as if watching each other’s faces before Alison takes a step further and starts walking downhill as I follow her. She gets the first cab and says my address, looking out of the window. I wonder if anything I’ve spoken says anything.


“M?” And as she turns around I quickly press my lips entirely against her, as she gasps a bit surprised as I lace my hand with hers, pulling her close, moaning in her mouth, as I feel her clench her hands and keep them to herself. 

It’s hard to admit attraction when you don’t know where you’re going. And I can’t imagine her anywhere with anyone these days, she always seemed interesting with how she would live alone and she seemed to give out something I could never get, the fruit of actual solitude, where the mind stays without any thought and she would show me that she could do it, it felt like I could walk through the stars with her, as we kissed and I could feel her entirely against me and I wanted to taste her entirely, I wanted her

It was a sort of twisted lust, where I wanted her exposed entirely in front of me, for her to show me everything and for some rush, I had wanted her physically under my lips and my thoughts. 

The darkest of thoughts come to the lonely, as I wish I could split her open and be with her at least for the end of the night, when the dark veil tears off and reveals the morning with the reminiscence of the night which shouldn’t be the wine of regret. Sometimes I feel like I sell a life which I’ve always wanted and I seem to have, but I don’t really, because I need to remind myself at all times that I am somehow happy when it’s the opposite from the thoughts I’d have as a last night smoke when the stars are dim and I won’t ever admit the time. And it’s not like you can fast forward anything, you’ll just go through life with anxiety blinding you as you’re the deer on the road. Desire becomes less tamed as I clench onto her, devouring her mouth, pressingly myself desperately against her. Her beauty lures me in like a darkened sexual fantasy.

“I think it's the last winter we will ever have." Alison says and why should I even care about Alex’s heart broken state, when I had broken both hearts in one plate under the last winter Alison had coloured now with her night coloured lips which seemed like hypnotizing liquor, trailing too many paths on my neck, as we paid for the cab and walked out to have light of sidewalks and empty dreams of lonely passerby serve as ribbons and accessories as we walk out, holding hands, like school girls shredding everyone’s beliefs of innocence. 

She leads the way, like the cloak of night wrapping in mystery flavors the candy as we enter the heated up apartment and it only becomes more than reasonable to undress, as she just takes my clothes off and I get flared, feeling exposed and her arms as she goes on the floor, pulling me with her, as I sit on her face, feeling her tongue right away as I gasp, holding my mouth at first, as Alison keeps licking and she’s still clothed, eating me out further.

Her hair smells of acryl paint when she’s pinned down kissing me against the floor and I get turned on by thinking of her drawing naked now, as she pulls me closer, rubbing her fingers against my hips, her tongue pushing me much closer to her and to desire.


I was really angry today and this is frankly posted to piss off and frankly I already feel insignificant every day of my life and because I don't fall under society's concerns when I say I do this to piss people off, I feel insignificant because I am ridiculed each day.

and frankly fuck you to all those transphobic cunts. 

And onwards, I had written a back story to this, so I thought it was too angry and radical, but fuck it, I've never held my tongue. My sincerest apologies to anyone who I didn't mean to hurt. I do care about women issues but not at the night when I get a blog dedicated to calling me a joke. 

So here it is, in all it's glory:

I feel like feminism and female expression is a problem I do not hold and I do not understand the struggles of granola crying and staying natural, excluding make-up. I would fight in a way, asking myself why and that women should be entitled to cut their hair short but in the end it only made me realize that I do not hold the granola views for I am not a woman, I seem to be further away from it, not understanding the gender I never seemed to be and I never held, which makes me question my sexuality or gender, since women I’ve been attracted to seemed to push it further, but nevertheless I am a feminist even if it is not my struggle, not my problems to hold in this light of feminism where the problems are very Americanized and consist of hating men, feminism has derailed, and I just get irritated by not being accepted by women for being a transman and their transmisandry. The struggle becomes that because we tell women that they can be anything, we still think we are women when we stop being one. 

Nevertheless, my attraction to women may exist due to my fluidity and they can bend my gender down to become one and that’s all.

Accepting that I am not one, makes it freer and easier to write to women whose struggles I do not understand at times and I feel like I am Almodovar explaining a drama with them and men, because you’re not all your characters but that doesn’t mean you can’t write about them and get to know them and sympathize and frankly I have maybe 20 ongoing stories and only 2 are about women.

If you want honesty, that is. 

So the women I write are just like any other character, really, only I am not one and do not identify as such. I find them interesting and they are built, in this case made from two problematic celebrities which made me get a plot I couldn’t get rid off, I was fascinated by doing a woman in an a sad open relationship, because we need to healthily discuss all relationships, poly relations fall apart like monogamous and we discover our sexuality through the years. 

Hate turns you bitter and shallow so I may sound like that at times because it so happens specifically if it’s aimed at you.

And this backstory was written when I was revolted and coming out as a trans man and I leave it as such. For the angry statement if you must.

Thank you for the support and reading fiction by a trans man. I honestly mean it.

And read my stories clearer instead of sending me random bullshit. I'm more open in my stories than I ever can. From small phrases like "I feel like this is the last winter we'll have" written in haste on my mobile to the desire between Alexa and Alison or the themes of cheating I explore through out, musing and trying to understand because I had a different story, I'm open. 

Thank you and fuck those which will stab my back because I'm a man. Suck it up. 



Monday, 23 March 2015

I Can't Wait9

“Can I ask, why me?” I ask, now back to my seat, letting darkness and the hum of the big screen give me the illusion of anonymity, more like some gay sex cinema and we’re about to have anonymous sex. I look to see Alex shrug, but staring at the screen and denying his laughter to the rest of the laughing audience. 

“I know it’s daft, but I really found you good looking. People really started talking about you, y’know the whole stupid rumor about you and Alison. You try hard sometimes at English and you give good analysis when you want to and I guess, I figured since you liked Beatniks maybe you were a bit gay, so it seemed a bit obvious of a choice, once you dissect it.” He speaks slowly, as if choosing each word and allowing his eyes to be shallow enough to reflect the action on screen rather than what’s going from his mouth. Alex turns to see me, uncomfortable with myself, my classmate watches me as I prop my knees against the seat in front, earning a long piercing glare that I show my tongue, before the woman hisses to her ugly laughing companion. Work out your life first, I mutter.

“I’m... actually not... gay or anything.” I continue a bit louder, Alex’s shoulder’s tense up. “I really never thought of it. I was never attracted to any bloke, I was barely attracted to anyone really.”

We continue to talk quietly, just to make the laughter the music to fill our anxiety since the movie is crap. 

“But doesn’t mean, that I would turn you down.” I hug myself. “I mean, I’m single... I could see where it goes. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow. But I really, really wouldn’t mind some company, even if we become friends, if that’s ok.”

Alex blinks at my openness, gives a sad smile.

“Well, friends was surely not what I was aiming for at this time now.” He blushes. “But I wouldn’t mind you seeing what you wanted.”

Alex’s smile speaks more than it should. I look back at the screen.

“It’s daft, but I really like you.” He rubs the back of his palm against his arm. “If we’re being honest.”

I turn my head to face him. There is nothing to lose. I just give a small smile.

“Jesus, give me time to know you.” I chew on my words. “I don’t want to know where have I gone in your mind. All I know is that I don’t mind this date.”

Alex seems pleased with my recognition and I grin at his cockiness to myself. A suit does speak something. 

“Blank screens make you think, the illusion of some night will make you open up. I guess that’s why I like cinemas, because you’ll get the illusion, that just like a movie you’ll have a film reel which ends and that the ending credits will go on the right time.” Alex looks back at me and I wonder how much at ease will end up crumbling him at the sight of mere light outside. “There’s love which is supposed to be painful, so it kind of stretches onto every aspect of life. You don’t have to date or anything, sometimes even admiring someone from afar and ending up knowing them in the process is painful enough.”

I smirk.

“Bold words.” I say.

“I already did the bold part.” I just nod at Alex’s words, wondering where does it even go wrong from being attracted or why it never properly ruffled through my mind, instead we continue watching the movie now in silence, as if the only proper motion is never the screen, but glances back and forth. 

“So what happened to you, then?” Alex asks as soon as we head out of the cinema and I wonder if I should’ve gotten him a proper Christmas gift back, figuring that I could do it later and sleeping in the morning, snoozing at all times until I felt the urge to actually go and feeling a bit of excitement in

“Excuse me?”

“You’re really heart broken, if you don’t mind me asking.” And he raises his coat collar and I notice again how much younger he looks than I ever had seemed to be and he’s my age. I just stare back at him, quietly guilty that the months have slipped past me before I could even realize how my attraction to Alison was withering and how seeing her would make the wounds worse, but they would heal, never allowing me to stop feeling numb, making sure that the shutters would be closed to not show light which my migraines weren’t allowing me to see. “If you don’t speak, I’ll think it’s Alison.”

He glances at me, as I take out a cigarette pack.

“I’m taking the piss, mate, honestly.” Alex smiles at me, as he takes an offered cigarette, he keeps his thoughts to himself, but he’s more interested in my disposition more than anything rather than the past he’s not sure he should even be trailing behind if I wouldn’t be interested. 

Flirting becomes uncomfortable or once you realize that the other person has other intentions and it becomes more than unbearable as if I was holding a cube of ice in my mouth, as we had made our way to eat and stood waiting for a table and offering my Christmas gift to pay for both meals, since I wouldn’t manage to make it to any store and hold his eyes closed at the same fucking time. And when he leaves to the restroom that’s when I grab a cube in my mouth, quickly looking around, as if knowing that I would see Mr. Hince dining alone, flicking through his phone and drinking coffee.

He doesn’t pay attention, just like we both wouldn’t and it’s uncomfortable to know about each other’s existence when no one else does. And I keep looking at him, feeling my blood boil again as if I were to expose all my wounds all over again and if lost love makes us feel alive all of a sudden and when Alex comes back, while he keeps choosing from the menu, humming as I keep looking at Alison’s current boyfriend, I wonder that we both ended up on dates with men.

I wonder if it’s love which makes us inspired and anxious enough to think properly, so should we constantly be in sudden affairs our entire life? And how much does anxiety fuck us up or is it just love all along?

And when Jamie leaves I feel even more irritated as he didn’t even notice me, but I recall how Alison would say that you never know him entirely even when he’s looking at you, you’ll never know anything fully and hearing her talk made me realized how well I ended up knowing him, drawing back to Alex’s words minus the love and attraction, he was like a relative I’ve never known personally, maybe someone dead who was always mentioned like a mantra on the table, but I couldn’t wait for him to be gone and I never thought the dead would rise. But they do and that’s when all humanity falls and the living die.


I frankly was awfully anxious today and knackered, also tumblr has been getting on my nerves far too much, regarding all the transphobia so I got triggered and yeah. So I've been pushing myself that I haven't really been writing too much (even if I have a few chapters of nearly everything up my sleeve xD) so yeah:) But I got asked about I Can't Wait and I got excited to catch up on it because I wrote half this chapter back in December, all excited about writing Jack/Alex again (To Miles tears my soul up XD) and in general the way this story is going and yeah, I muse on the ships and where to go with them, but I like where this is going now and of course there's more to come and yeah. So I got motivated to pick it up and in general I've been in weird moods, I feel rather happy when people approach me but I can never believe that people actually enjoy reading this, so it's weird thinking that people read backstories (even if I've been told very often of that) because whenever I write them I always go, eh, whatever, no one is gonna read this one, which is frankly not fucking true, maybe I do it to be more honest. I am honest here and it's easier to be honest thinking that no one hears you (I say big nice phrases when I need to binge, but I'm tired now xD and I already binged the whole evening xD) So when I start thinking of people and it's like, okay, so I get a bit selfish, because I don't filter much out for the blog, I explicitly speak of things. So yeah, I feel alive when I see people interested in me and I'm not going to lie, it sparked me to write this story, to which I was nagging to Callie about, but I'm too poly for my own good. 

I guess it's rather obvious that we've all observed people and kind of dazed off after them, rereading this now reminds me of this guy who I had a crush on who partially served into my obsession with the Beatniks. It's also a pun because Callie always tells me stuff like, dude, you were obsessed with the Beatniks, that's obvious so yeah xD 

Also when I write I don't really think if I'm capturing or not, I just retell what I see in my head and then rereading or Callie discussing the chapter with me makes me go, yeah, I see you're right I did that it matches, like Alex's stumbling from words to words:) 

I always have trouble with people in the cinema, I can't shut up, ever.

I think it's not exactly what I had but some reminiscence when I identified as female and I had my first thoughts about other women (ah, being fluid at the time xD) so I kind of had the... oh, shit, okay xD let's see. I kind of had a bunch of girls on my back, a few very close friends specifically and I wasn't really attracted to them. But here it's a different case:)

I get shy after writing confessions and etc and then I shelf things, but now it's back and kicking >:D (I'm falling asleep, holy fuck xD)

I started writing it from the love being painful line and then edited everything else and wrote up and half of this was supposed to be the next chapter, but ended up chucking it in to have more and the whole binging session (I binged other stories too, don't worry xD) The painful love was far too much musing on my end.

It's always flattering to have people into you or listen, but a bit weird when self-esteem is low, it's like... really, me? xD I saw Alison and Jamie sitting, but I figured that it would be better to have Jamie alone for now and I recalled the few photos of him dining can't even remember when, but alone and that kind of inspired me honestly. 

I think paragraph or metaphors of the day is regarding Jack knowing Jamie and in general I love fanfiction because you juggle the same characters in different situations, so it all becomes very blunt parallels of everything and a bunch of what if scenarios and interesting to write because they are not making a Jack/Jamie ship here, fuck no XD but they're my OTP elsewhere:) 

Either way, I hope you enjoyed it and I love Alex here and etc:3

I hope you enjoyed it

And thank you for your love, all of you

I am so grateful and loved

I love you all back



Saturday, 21 March 2015

Broken Black Varnish Requiem 9

It’s intimidating to know that nothing passes, that the screams should always be silent and if you write anywhere about how depressed you are, on any piece of social media, everyone you’ve ever known or will know will know as well. The cries can never be silent if you want to be heard, the problem is the wind and there is nothing you can do about it.

I wake up drooling on the pillow, as Jamie keeps fixing his hair and I just sit up, as if I had some morning hangover and he helps me dress up not to be late for the party, as I quickly wonder if I should call Alex. What do I even say? I just text him, so that he’d see when he can, that we’re invited to Jack’s divorce party and I make sure to add that Jamie wants to fuck Jack. As I keep finishing my eyeliner, I get a text back from Alex, wishing Jamie luck.

I look down at the marital ring, which Jack was clearly lacking yet I have and back to the mirror. I redo my eye twice under Jamie’s insightful loud sipping of more cocktails to make sure he throws up on my rug in the morning as if he were seventeen again. Jamie remained a friend to us both and he seemed to be one to remind us of it nearly every day, as he started fiddling with my foundation, showing me as he put a stripe on his cheek, causing me to laugh sleepily, before putting a pillow on my face, so that I wouldn’t talk and anxiety would draw stars. I find it odd to have our stories unfold we must do stuff through the veil of social anxiety as well as other insecurities, it becomes far too interactive. 

When you freefall, you know that you’ll land in the arms you’ve imagined and that’s how it’s always been with Alex, so the question is why do you try to fly twice when you’ve got a home and you pretend as if you’re a baby bird again? 

I take off the ring and hastily put it back on, as I hear Jamie walk back into the room, not even realizing he had left in the first place and I looked at him, as if to remind myself that I was the same when I had chosen and loved Alex as much as I do now. We all age, but nothing changes, we tell ourselves we do, but we stumble in love and other disasters at all times. 


I've been awfully tired and busy, so I've been either making odd notes of further chapters which are one-liners or binging. But in general, I've just been awfully tired, so that's why and when I push out shorter chapters because it's much easier to write backstories to them and I want to resume to the at least 1 per 2 days update.

I wrote this chapter ages ago and kept stalling it, frankly. I was depressed one day and I started thinking that if I posted an update about me feeling like shit, those people will see and so on and it felt weird, knowing that frankly you end up knowing people on all social media and they will know.

The foundation line was frankly from musing on a few photos were Jamie looked like he literally chose a foundation way too white for him, as if it had been Alison's so yeah.

It's weird and interesting to I guess put my polyamory to use in a twisted way, because well, I'm open with Callie when it comes to other relationships so it's quite straight-forward there's no ring taking off, but yeah.

I hope you enjoyed it and please tell me if you did

Thank you



Thursday, 19 March 2015

Relationship Values 2

You’ll draw the ugliest, most twisted things when you’re not okay, as if you could do them but never would, it becomes a dead letter to your desires and demons.

Desire becomes shredded and eventually destroyed, allowing nothing but self-doubt in as the calmest of days will have the biggest inner turmoil. 

The noise in the head becomes awfully loud, wishing to destroy the whole canvas, not being able to focus on anything detailed and no ideas coming out due to anxiety, just a trickle of something and that’s enough to make the day productive.

And I avoid her at the funeral the next day, making everything bleak and reminding of how everyone had avoided everyone else in the same city, making sure the streets would be free of memories no one had wanted after the glue had died off, no one wanted to waltz with anyone, the hate was just as bitter as it could’ve been on the moon. The illusion of parental love is just as sane as the illusion of some everlasting love. I had seen Jamie a bit before I had seen Lana. He shuffled and nodded at me, before taking a seat in the church, on the opposite side and behind as well. Lana had walked in a bit late, heels clicking just before the service and I had watched how her hair had now a soft chestnut from the blonde I would’ve cherished her in. I turned back, hugging myself among friends and relatives which disliked me as much as I had then. The small part with food was even more quiet, those who cried barely contained themselves while the rest would just eat slowly or refuse at all, it was as if I could’ve taken photos and done an exhibition of them, Jamie would’ve back in the day, but we all decide which lovers to keep in our life.

It’s even weirder to see Jamie choose Lana as a conversational partner as I approach them. Lana then looked at me, barely smiling and hands carefully holding her black clutch.

“I was just telling Jamie that I know that you’ll be trying to get the house, but mom told me she would leave it.” 

“I know. But she also said the same thing to me-” 

“She left no will, Alison. Neither do I want a half-half.” Lana shrugs, holding herself under her nails, stating the obvious as well. 

“I don’t think either wants to split the house, Lana, you can get everything else-” I insist, shoving my hands deeper into the black pants I seem to be wearing, matching everyone else even mom in the grave. 

“No, I just want the house. I don’t care you moved in it, you can keep mom’s living house, it costs more.”

“No, I want the house I’m in. My childhood was spent there, while I have no fond memories of the house she lived in.” I feel even more vulnerable as I see Jamie step a bit back and quickly wink at me, probably shoving me quickly as a client, already. I fume at him, but ease at his own management.

“Fine. We’ll see that in court, anyway.” Before she even gets to say anything, I mutter that Jamie’s my lawyer and she just shrugs, excusing herself as then I’m left with my ex-husband with no visible dog for a change. Excusing myself is more than obvious as I seem to be numb all day and not even Jamie or Lana stir any visible emotions in me, as we both head out and he passes me the cigarette box without thinking and I light myself a cigarette and we awkwardly brush off that we would share a cigarette before, now lighting two separate. As if now the misery of life requires far more tranquilizers. 

“Funny, both you and Lana changed hair colour... like an exchange.”

“Is that supposed to be some backstab, Jamie?” I add his name fast before calling him an ex-husband to his face, because sometimes I don’t even want to recall that he even has a name. 

“Switch over.” He ignores me and I regret saying nothing degrading, as he finds the words he had been searching for and possibly sharp feelings of annoyance, as regret is a childish thing.

“Fuck off.” I snap, holding from blowing smoke in his face, as my head spins lightly from the exhaustion and the desire to push away the image of a dead mother. 

Dreams are distant memories which never happened.

I had dreamt that night that Lana had been in my bed, naked again and like in any odd dream it contained the cliche gun against my forehead and I had sat up, not even bothering to smoke or drink water, as I had gone back to sleep to walk upon the odd dream now with Jamie right in front of me, to remind that a given heart is never taken back to you, even if you can see them walking with it around their neck. Sometimes I wonder what even is the point in confessing when you don’t know what you want and what should’ve been expected and where to even strut forward. Either way I’ve got my heart right in front of me as we both smoke and I know what I have done and what he has done. 

And it gets awkward not to offer good places to eat, because we’ve been to all of them. And it ends up with us embracing the night as if it were a morning and choosing a cab on the streets just confirmed how we’ve both decided to get wasted and we always discuss our silences during food, because all melancholy and bitter relationships repeat, because life makes no sense besides bright traffic lights in the face and lost misfortunes. 

Bewilderedness fills the streets outside, as I keep looking outside, both of us getting impatient as we wait for the food and I wonder how much longer would we even last and how much of it was plain used to to dine outside after some crucial event and how many more years would we be clinging onto each other, because the same knife nulls out in the end. 

“Have you even talked to Lana, yet? I mean, properly or you waiting for actual official meddling, then?” He answers my own questions before I can even present them, fiddling with his hands first, before checking his empty e-mail box and I wonder if we can even say that when everything we’ve ever bought seeps it’s way into our inboxes these days, because spam becomes our only friend and once I had printed out a bunch of letters, torn them and made a collage, damn thing didn’t sell. 

“No.” I shake my head. “We haven’t talked in years-”

“Since when, exactly?” I don’t even have to count the numbers as he asks me that and orders more wine for both of us, confirming with me beforehand even if we both know each other inside out on the bed. And it becomes free flow now. I still pretend to count.

“You weren’t talking to her when we divorced-”

“We barely talk since we were teenagers, Jamie.”

“I’m more than aware of that. You’ve spoken about it, sober and not.” But nothing specifically goes through his eyes and I just sigh, thankfully, as he smirks at his own knowledge. And it’s as if neither of us wants to cut the chase too fast. I glance at him, allowing myself to properly catch his gaze, as I straighten my back lightly, trying to shoo off my sister away.

“So how are you, Jamie?”


I wrote this chapter actually quite a while, I was either too sleepy and/or tired (which I am now, but I'm cool so I'm posting it finally xD) or decided to push out something else.

I think of it rather often in where it goes and it's quite constantly being written in small portions because I like the whole Lana/Alison and Alison/Jamie on the side. I honestly see this as my way of not to sulk at Poison the Rose because I still need to think where this goes and all theories and etc go into this story, so I'm awfully happy that I don't sulk but rather write RV viciously xD

I have rather bad mania or mixed episodes and when I was writing this chapter, the beginning I wasn't feeling too well (bless medicine now xD) so I would cope by writing really heavy stories such as mimosa or explaining death to a baby and on one day it landed on RV:) it's more about that the creepiest things are always written when you're fucked up and to make it even odder the thought properly came to me weeks ago when I was reaidng Exquisite Corpse and checked on the German cannibal and how he stated that you do that when you're fucked up, looking back at many of my stories ranging from Path to I dunno, this NaNoWriMo novel I wrote years ago which I have no idea how it's even publishable because it's frankly a very dark version of maybe A Clockwork Orange and I still think of it, because I'm proud of it, but it's... too fucking violent. So when you're fucked up we all find relief and I always got a kick of writing sick, twisted things because I liked stories like that, it would make me feel better too and I still think Naked Lunch is one of the best novels created, so yeah. 

When I was growing up I was just like anyone shrouded with the fact that art has to be created on drugs and I never understood why because I could drive myself up the wall while listening to Ligeti at 4 a.m. or be so depressed or angry that I would write the oddest things and it became a flip, that I can write anything as twisted and vivid without drugs. I've written a few things drunk, but not too much, maybe 2 from the top of my head and most likely poetry. 

Obviously the calmest days will have the worst inner turmoil. Hi, anxiety.

One of the things I "edit" is I sometimes write long dialogues and right away as I finish writing the conversation I go back to fit in some phrases after each or so line of speech. 

I will just keep quiet plot-wise coz I'm still putting things together and of course, I don't want to spoil anything 8)

The gun and Lana was due to the constant imagery of guns and Lana in Ultraviolence ranging from 'guns in the summertime' to 'got your bible, got your gun' and I'm really obsessed with the album. I'm obsessed with Lana T__T

I love the story, my mouth is shut and I hope you enjoyed it :3 I frankly openly talk about everything there and yeah, please tell me if you like it so far :D since I'm nearly done with chapter 3, then I'll push it out sooner :3