Saturday, 2 May 2015


There’s too much love forgiven and loops which should’ve ended and ends which don’t match, because I still love her and I didn’t even pretend to care when she told me more tour dates were scheduled, one after another and I could only think of seeing her, just like I’d seen her before flinging herself on stage only for someone else, just like some part of the crowd, wishing that she were flinging herself for me. 

I feel distant pleasure in the ritual of kissing her before a show, not just because Jack doesn’t do it, because we’ve reached the level of intimacy where it doesn’t matter if we kiss.

We stumble into relationships and like morons we start taking the old ones, as if it means that some bitch in the past was better than the present. None end up making sense and all seems spiteful, but love becomes like an allergic reaction, you don’t know why you’re still eating chocolate and why you’re going to the same seller again, probably to see him rather than the chocolate.

I don’t even know sometimes why I love her, because she had been quiet while we had been touring, in herself and wanting to head out and Jack had been there, so then I wondered what if I had painted that she would be with me again and under a pillow I would remember that it was her words which said that I needed someone with me at all times and her life wasn’t supposed to be with someone unless it was her own, she would contradict herself, so why had I been doing all of it?

Wasting money from hotel to hotel was less than helping as well. But by the end of the day I wondered maybe drinking myself to death was more healthy after all than this at least.

And some things seem to escape the mind if she had wanted nothing why was she with Jack suddenly and my mind played games to the second hotel, which while smoking dawned on me that they shared the room next to me as I nearly saw Jack walk out as I just  lit my cigarette.

They left in the night with the door open and with too much alcohol I wondered how did their room look like and childish faith made me pray they weren’t sleeping together and the room had solely been booked prior.

In a world where Kate burnt Pete’s teddy bear she didn’t question my absence and I hoped crossing balconies in haste was on the same level. Smoking whilst trying not to fall into the small gap and getting stuck seems to be justified that they smoked inside as well, but I throw the cigarette outside once I’m in. The room is far neater than my own and there’s two of them, besides Alison’s things thrown around with notebooks and a few pens, an opened suitcase. The bed is a double and I wonder what even is there to see with the bed done in the morning, left alone besides perhaps someone sitting on it last time they were in. I don’t even see a point of going into the bathroom. I don’t even see a point in being here, but my thoughts march on their own, as I end up opening a closet, just to kill time before I can hear the door open.

I sneak into the closet, holding the door shut, praying they’d think they’re jammed. Instead Jack walks in and falls face down on the bed, followed soon enough by Alison, who takes off her shirt.

Great, before I can even think that maybe I should fling my mind onto Jack again just to calm down, and she sits besides him, running her fingers through his curls. I wonder how much do we not know about the people who know us. What do they know about us that we don’t? Does Alison know the small hole in her already customized with holes t-shirt?

I don’t think misery passes with age or jobs, because we never get over anyone, so I just close my eyes, barely peeking at any activity from them, hearing the moans and I tell myself I can’t smoke and I’m thankful for nothing as my head gets fuzzy, I start losing touch and I clutch onto the closet walls, hearing the hum mute the reality I’ve been prying on. And I still watch and it feels surreal just like a dead animal would the split second before you realize that they’ve been dead all along now in your mind, because the way to accept something which is happening is to allow it play like this forever in your mind. 

Life will never make sense, because as long as blood will flow through my body I will continue to be irrational and it’s a lie if you say that people who do drastic things don’t think, in the split second which will be buried in memories, there was never regret, just fear, hope and some ecstasy of doing the right thing perhaps. You’ll never tell someone how fucked up you are, because you’ll reveal an image which is worse than people think.


I like picking up old stories, because they never really escape my mind and it's odd and refreshing to update something which is... 2 years due? xD So yeah, I've got things which get updated roughly at the same pace or take ages, there's old stories which get updated now and ended such as Close or Bar Eyes which was entirely picked up. And in general it's quite a weird, interesting story. I have bad days, I have good days and my good days aren't the manic ones which people seem to say, mania is usually my worst. So I guess kind of not feeling well made me finish off this chapter of fucked to be very honest because Jamie is literally in a fucked up place here xD 

I think the intimacy line was quite significant in a way to convey that you forget or don't sense something which would be close or like lovers if you happen not to be engaged. I can't recall what inspired me but it kind of goes from telling kind of bigger compliments to people you're still friends with or even sharing something with an ex which you wouldn't with anyone else (I actually am talking about food here and that one time I kept in contact and then ended up breaking it years later because I ended with a drunk call at night and my patience burst). 

It's weird to go here with no Jamie/Jack or none in the spotlight as it kind of goes on to muse on the myth The Kills/The Dead Weather give obviously with a darker stalker story. So it goes on a bit ignorant if you must from my side, me and Callie were watching an old movie today and it just drove me a bit sort of scared and sad, because I never wanted to be a straight woman (oh genitals=gender, thanks for fucking my life up) and kind of watching movies which show the whole roles of a man and a woman, a woman lying to get attention, a man pushing it that he gets more to say, it just fucks me up so obviously that confusion and fear gets portrayed in mostly straight stories as I try to analyze them as they are, as before I would get angry but once you step out and realize that it was never you, you can't really care, because it's not your fight, if people are happy great, but I'll fight for them of they need actual change, but it's refreshing to be away and truthful to myself. So kind of that goes into describing love I guess as well, it's odd to say negative things or in such light, obviously memories help and etc, but it's... not something I understand now, but feel my characters and whomever. 

I also muse on Alison's cliche I want to be alone and independent but where is my Jack and take different spins on that, like in Relationship Values I still took that if to blow away all the ashes, took it in a positive and inspiring light, but Fucked isn't one of them and kind of shows... reality as it is because she's frankly known to being miserable at times. 

I get anxious about the pacing here because I'm unused now at the fast pace which I had in earlier stories so kind of going back to it, even if I do it, makes me anxious if it's too fast and kind of makes me doubt the earlier chapters obviously xD 

I was napping and the idea of Jamie climbing and watching them have sex came to me for some reason and I thought of doing an explicit scene but I don't think he'd watch that much, I think, but he's still in there xD

Last paragraphs are just me being miserable with bipolar really nothing else and shoving it into my story.

I hope you enjoyed it and tell me if you did

Thank you



No comments:

Post a Comment