Thursday, 30 July 2015

Relationship Values 6

I don’t sleep in his arms that night, I feel trapped even after our discussion and how he had seen me flushed and I had more than many reasons to do so, to be entirely opened and blossomed. I keep tossing and turning with no understanding of the fear, but just some sense of overwhelmness and still stiff from the conversation and it blurs out in my mind so much, that I can barely remember it. He came in to check how I was, just to see me with my hair forming a halo on the wall, not raising an eyebrow but concern and it so happens that sometimes a touch requires two people and he was one of them. I didn’t dare to look down or even properly at him, still standing and wondering if that would’ve changed anything at all. Would we have still divorced then? Would I still feel lonely in a trapped marriage? 

But what traps did I even have, when we both decided to keep the question of children open and just kept going with our lives and I had quit my job to paint and he had supported me in the end. Just like he was now.

So the question is why can’t I love? Why can’t I just forget and love with nothing at all to be afraid of?

Why had the same happened with Lana? 

After him barely getting anything out of me just with body language and our own tension getting the worst of us, we walked outside just to have the cold greet us and he had handed me his jacket. It felt to see every moment under the frost of the grass and just like having a crush, you ask yourself what would you do if it all became true?

And you never seem to speak again and suddenly it becomes an unpleasant accident to even do so, in the mind. Have we all lost our minds to even imagine the people we love in our heads? How come are all of our lullabies so insane, when we had started off with stories and now we end up with pure frustration. 

Jamie tries to stomach to speak up, but I’m enjoying the cold, that no matter how much you can layer up in favourite sweaters and we would still always have a smoke and even as I was signing the divorce papers I knew what I would miss and where the world would split. And how come I was never a free spirit again and why would I mourn my husband.

As we stood there smoking, he ended up getting a text notification, which I only briefly saw as someone called Jack. I grinned, feeling as if we were old friends again. I always wanted to be friends with him and I even dreaded the day I had fallen in love with him, allowing all the posters to fall on my face the next morning and I was all curled up in lost past lovers, knowing that my life after tasting the apple of love wouldn’t be the same. Then I thought that my sisterly love with Lana was just something else, that it wasn’t love and just like anyone else I just thought we were messing with too many lines, streamers, fireworks and Christmases. 

“Who’s Jack?” Jamie just paled lightly, which was enough for me to ask again, as if we were alone and much younger again and we hadn’t wasted so many years together being lovers. I missed him, but an ex spouse never says that unless they want troubles and trying the same burnt crepes in the morning again. “Is he your boyfriend, Jamie?”

He just shook his head, rubbing his eye from sleep and I watched his pajama pants catching up with the wind. 

“No, he’s just a bloke from work. We text occasionally, somehow. He mourns about his girlfriends... But he’s too clingy to me, so we’ll see.” He widens his eyes, quickly replying before explaining. “Both me and him text each other if we can’t sleep-”

“No guts to call, then?” I ask as he holds his cigarette between his teeth.

“Nope.” And maybe it’s all in my head and he doesn’t want me anymore. 

And why is it that we always remember the end to divorce again but never the begining with all the love we’ve had? I don’t even know how come he’s still listening to me as he puts the cigarette away and I just keep staring at him and we excuse each other, because nothing had changed, I just had found myself really. But I did wish that my story had been more ambiguous than gendered, but when it comes to such, the past is instantly scrapped and explained as if a murder case.

Why can’t we romanticize the day as much as we do the night?

A funeral becomes a family reunion and a family reunion is when everyone decides to call everyone who isn’t working a gold digger and me and Lana ended up as those. Because being pretty in marriage or selling art doesn’t seem to sell well when you need to discuss anything. It had been next morning then and with the lack of sleep both me and Lana just stood near the wall, as if we were young again, together as I would watch Jamie mingle and check his phone from while to while and I guess that’s when I wound change feet that my sister noticed.

“He’s banging someone already?” She sniffs, looking ahead, nodding as if confirming her own words without my reply. “Well, that’s far faster than you.”

Lana pauses and we look at each other.

“Not as fast as me, though.”

I would laugh with her or at her, but instead I’ve known of all of her heartbreak and how she had gone through with all the bones of ours I hadn’t known properly. I never apologized and I wanted to end up being the only one at the cemetary never to realize why had it been so that I would always bury all the memories scattered around me, as if they were the halo I had never wanted upon my neck to hang me like a rope.

I don’t reply and instead I excuse myself with the drink, not knowing how to even hold in a social setting and thinking of Jamie pinning me down and I feel angry all of a sudden, that Lana didn’t follow me, that Jamie never told me that I had never been a woman, allowing me now to free fall with my own confusion about gender and acceptance that I had never known myself. 

When there is something that a partner doesn’t say, you start wondering if there is something else they are hiding and what lies do they even hang up on the cloak along next to the doorway?

And I had been burying Lana, with my face all in dirt and fingers sticking with no plot twist in mind, all had been bleak and understanding like a long soul screech because I had killed my own sister by just leaving her behind for another man. And if you would ask me at gunpoint why had I done that, I would say that it had been the same thing with Jamie, I had never wanted to love anyone, because when you grow up and you get told that no one will ever love you, it gets to you and that’s when I started thinking maybe I should be the one not loving back before someone else gets to me.

That’s why single nights are a bit fuller than a bottle filled with liquid, glittering.

I don’t notice myself dreaming against the stairs, holding the drink between my knees, wondering why were they even serving beer. Lana had gone already and I couldn’t blame her at all, as I had started dreaming of Jamie throwing dishes all over the place and Lana breaking plates both of them yelling at the sudden noise and I wondered how come I could even love two people at the same time. I had then dreamt that I had gotten lost in the supermarket only to find some kid mock kung-fu fighting in the aisles. 

Everyone was moving in life, not just in the dream and I was the one standing with forgotten feelings. And I wasn’t even jealous of Lana’s marriage as much as I was furious and jealous of Jamie’s latest partner.

Maybe I should’ve figured something when he had told me about past lovers and how I had been the second girlfriend he’d ever had, but that never told me anything because we are no one in other people’s words, were what they had fallen in love with, not ourselves. 

I was used to Lana and I could convince myself that we had twirled in a different life, while when it came to Jamie it was still fresh blood and I had never buried him, I hadn’t walked away with someone else from the graveyard, instead I had been left there all alone and I had been mad at the lawyer for everything he had ever told me and how he could talk to all of my relatives as if he still had the ring on. 

When I was growing up I would imagine all of exes sitting on chairs around me, well he was still behind me rather than sitting, holding me close because

everything. And he was stroking my face. My eyes closed.


I think I tried like finishing the chapter like 3 times xD and I was really sad and anxious as I was writing it, so that seeped through and I kind of started touching on emotional abuse which I'm constantly getting reminded of these days, so I kind of chucked that in.

Also before I go on analysis bit by bit, I started touching on the whole Alison leaving Lana for Jamie bit, but I wanted it as an ending but once I get an idea unless it's To Miles, I can't hold it in my head until it's supposed to show up xD I'll go back on it in a bit xD

RV has actually got to be my fave stories to constabntly keep writing and also to think about, since I've got my fave or one of my fave love triangles here and this is my constant medicine for ending Poison the Rose, as I get to discuss more things in depth and play with different scenes like the ending of Alison holding a dead Lana and vice versa is seen in a different light here with Alison burying Lana. So in a way it's a sort of AU/spin-off/not related at all story to PTR. 

The beginning of this chapter kind of has all the questions up in the air, while the end just answers the abuse and why Alison ended up leaving two lovers behind for her own solitude. And I know I quote it a lot, but it is something which had been said to me and fucks me up along with that your partner will lie just to keep face. I've heard enough. 

I've written this such a good while ago that I actually go like... wait, I thought this was posted xD like the Alison and Jamie scene. I've also been listening to Echo Home on repeat as I'm writing the backstory and story itself, so I guess that explains the sudden Jamie turns. The song is absolutely gorgeous and is the one which stands out the most to me and I'm looking forward to the studio version so so so much. 

I love the cold, so that explains why I like in Sweden, at least the weather aspect of it, but I am sad that we're not getting any warmish weather, it's a bit odd and unusual I guess for me xD but I do wish we had it a bit warmer to be honest :)

I should've done Grindr xD

I see that Jamie is more of a calling person, but hell, for this story I needed texts, so here they are xD

I'm a night person, but sometimes I try out of the best to be a day person, but fuck, you just can't be as creative and I just can even be bored in the day while in the night I just feel like doing everything at once xD

I had the image of Alison being angry at Jamie, so I had used that really.

Alison's words are rather harsh about partners but some of them are my own paranoia as well.

I saw a kid today while I was grocery shopping actually doing that and I just wrote it down to make sure and I had dreamt of Callie breaking plates so I had taken that into the dream sequence here as well.

The chairs is something I would imagine growing up and my first ex had always been behind me until I had met Callie so yeah. 

Callie pointed out many things as she read it, I kind of wrote naturally like Alison being a sad drunk and how the recent break-up hurts more.

I kind of felt in angsty sort of need to write about longtime crush mood, so that had been a bit inspiration for Jamie even if the Alison/Jamie loveline has a stronger obviously past and I'm babbling. That's why I had thought so much of the scenes between Alison and Jamie in this story, anyway xD

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

Thank you



Monday, 27 July 2015

24 hours

There was a stabbing
Of the foot with the belt,
Two drawn paintings on the wall,
A broken plate
Sleep at eight am,
Broken phone calls,
Cat bites,
Confused second desires as a reply to an echo,
It's alright
And a spinning head.


Me and Callie had a very eventful past day and Callie was joking that all this happened and then I just got inspired to write a poem. It started off with a broken plate going to Callie piercing her foot with a belt which was lying on the floor to me painting to hearing Kill's Echo Home (just a snippet but it's AMAZINGGGG) and since we're catsitting, cat bites. XD

I hope you enjoyed it and don't mind when I post poetry again :)

tell me if you liked it, obviously xD



Friday, 24 July 2015


Me and Miles weren’t friends out of convenience, it seemed to me that if I were attracted, we’d be dating and I wasn’t because I didn’t want to be with him, while even without knowing Jamie something triggered me, which shook me, because it’s odd when you don’t realize when Jamie would walk with Miles from class, a cigarette behind his ear already. 

I just pause to see him, also a bit lost with a small smile. Miles does a quiet click with his tongue and I see him rocking on heels, about to leave but besides to stay to observe us and drink his bitter tea feelings. Falling asleep next to Miles, knowing was comforting, yet alert for the first time of the change of scenery. It still felt odd, the taste still within my mouth, lips burning and the conversation just ended up being wood thrown into the fire and I wished that I had been in bed with him, an arm wrapped around me.

Dog barking woke me up and Miles as well, both of us dazzled. 

Jamie takes the cigarette into his mouth and his eyes wander to the glass door to exit the college and I wonder if I can grab his cigarette just to make him walk after me, but instead he bites the tip lightly and he motions to join him and we walk, Miles with his amused grin as if he had caught us fucking. Jamie quickly glances at Miles and my best friend just puts his hands in the air and makes his way back to the canteen, I presume. Once I glance back, Jamie is already inhaling his cigarette, his hair messed up already by the strong gust of wind. I wonder if I had imagined the kiss, his lips, a cold shiver runs through my body in excitement as I recall, but either of us doesn’t move. But neither of us are dating and that has to be kept in mind.

That was just a kiss.

Not that I even jerked off to him. And neither can I imagine anything since I don’t even know his feelings, all I know is that he’s a bit too good to be true now and I feel like I’ve entirely unraveled in his arms due to a mere kiss, as if in a fairytale I’ve been woken up. And as I think a girl approaches us with dark hair and they briefly exchange a peck on the cheek, causing me to shiver before she looks at me, rather doubtfully until Jamie whispers something in her ear and she eases just slightly. She also takes a cigarette from Jamie and he offers me one as we all hold our silence, until the bell rings and we all have to depart to different first lesson schedules and I can only think that I need to catch up with Miles and somehow believe that coincidences and actions make up our life and no matter how much we tell ourselves what is accidental and coincidental it makes up our entire existence and there is no denial. Repetition becomes the colours of life as a routine establishes where we can no longer call something a coincidence and even our own actions become sudden and unpredictable, so how can we call all an odd coincidence when the other person had decided to do so? 

I can only think of his dark eyes and how his touch had felt with the sudden kiss he had decided to grace me with and all the words, all the answers came out crumbled in my mind as I would only replay how we had parted, promising to solely meet up at lunch since a five minute break would do us no good and I wondered where would our actions sail us next. I felt awful that my mind had been blank the whole lesson and I couldn’t even try to concentrate to even participate in any way, only been able to send a note to Miles once a few minutes before the break, since we would part and I was waiting for his answer as much as I was waiting for the end of the lesson.

He told me that the girl was Alison and that Jamie had been living at hers, because he had no one else to go to, but he shouldn’t be the one telling me the whole story as Jamie would open up eventually and before Miles could even ask me about anything else, I stood up as soon as the lesson ended, allowing myself to glide through out the whole lessons with him in mind. 

And what is it that causes us to be attracted to a person and how come can a kiss shift tides and regain balance on sexuality, when you’re not sure about anything? Would Jamie be a sole crush who had managed to get physical with or was it something truly else to blossom and how come I had gotten attracted from one brief kiss? And what was attraction anyway and how come we could write with it like chalk on a blackboard? And how come it scared me to death to be rejected by someone who I knew only knew Miles and I had seen live and is that enough to fall in love with a musician no matter how small and local? And since when does a kiss make you delusional? Where does fear end in the dark? 

The last half until I get to see him gets even worse, because there is literally nothing to do once you’re done with your math exercises, but you still have to sit, musing what else is there to do and wondering what to even say. How do you even get to know a person? And I just think of how different we both seem to be in the morning instead of tongue in the cheek jokes which he had been filled with in the night or his confidence, as we both seem to be wrecks of society and confusion and -

Miles nudges me again, concerned and I see in his eyes confusion from my fire because he’s never seen me like this, hell, I haven’t seen myself like this. And Miles isn’t the one who would be seeing me like this either. 

Only by the end of the lesson, I actually start wondering how come he has to actually live at Alison’s and how come it so happened and I seem to be so absorbed into my love bubble that I don’t even feel jealousy solely because he had kissed me and I seem to already have faith in him. And I were to be called an idiot, I would understand the rush of faith, because isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? 

I’ve always been a late bloomer, wondering how come I’ve enjoyed Miles’ presence and going to gay bars with him, even if I would have my nose into the phone, that maybe it was because I knew that I would fit in or maybe I always have and just wasn’t interested in the men around there? And the bell rings when I imagine how it would’ve been meeting him there and sharing some drink, talking, about music or literature but just talking and not making a fool out of each other in karaoke and maybe kissing again. My mind does wonders and draws swirls, as I just head downstairs to the canteen. 


I once there's some love progression sometimes freak to be awfully honest and that's why Canteen had been pushed away for so long, because I was terrified that it wasn't good enough. 

I still kept coming back to this story and I randomly felt like it and binged it through, so that's pretty much all the magic. The part where I paused was where he meets Jamie really.

Me and Callie ended up in a discussion where I thought that I had told about the Alison plotline but I didn't, so I still have that wrapped up, but we both swore that it had been written down. So there's more of that ahead. 

I was dead terrified writing this and this actually ended up playing in my favor and I ended up writing something I hadn't written in a good while and kind of roughly growing up made me I guess grown-up so I forgot what was it, to have your heart rushing from your crush and awaiting to see them in the corridor or whatnot or how does it feel not to know what will be going on, what will happen. That slipped my mind, that it existed since I kind of have different loves now and in general you grow up from different things and I guess that rush of emotions is one of them which my anxiety gifted back to me to experience through a story. It's odd to write backgrounds now because most of it ends up being either story telling or nostalgic or based off loves I've got now, really, so yeah, it's all more about shoving everything into the story now and being more of a story teller rather than saying what inspired me, but hey the backstories remain and this is a part of it.

Also being so airheaded you don't care about competition ahahhah xD I didn't even notice I was cheated on twice or more. 

I guess the closest I could relate to was being randomly kissed without knowing by a girl which I really didn't have a crush on, but unlike other girls which have kissed me, I didn't mind that one and that shifted my mind a bit at the time. I had to stop talking to her because she stole my close friend's boyfriend and had sex with him or something, which when you're a mid teen is a big deal.

The last word canteen is obviously intentional xD

and in general I like stories which discover sexuality and this is one of them.

I hope you enjoyed it and please tell me if you did, I've been rather anxious lately

thank you



Tuesday, 21 July 2015

Untitled 5Silence Seems To Feed Us 14

She wakes me up with a sudden long loud noise, as I can’t even comprehend who even takes the couch these days anymore, as it becomes a competition who goes to sleep earlier and she wins with her four a.m. to my loss. 

Maybe love is like friendship where both of us end up drifting and because she thought you don’t have to tell the other, you don’t and then we drifted and because neither of us never stated anything, nothing was ever broken off and then we don’t have to count it as love. 

I just watch her as she drops numerous bottles of paint on the canvas, silently, not even talking, her hair picked up into a rough ponytail as I wonder what had even happened, last night she saw me coming from the gay bar and was just blank for a while. Maybe Brian had come over and made his way inside her mind, telling her of a past I was desperately trying to forget and perhaps more than telling her that I had never been with a woman prior and the only closest thing was Brian who hadn’t been sure of his gender, but our relationship was pretty much gay.

I repress things so badly that I forget they even exist and all I can hear is maybe their hum, once the painting is done in the night and I’ll just assume it’s anger and bits of cigarettes lying all over them with collages, that it was her telling me to fuck off and rightfully so. I watch trash television to the end of the night, as she just walks around, bumping into other people as they go to sleep and she dissents into insomnia and I wake up drooling all over the floor, perhaps wishing that I had been attracted to women from the beginning after all, because then I wouldn’t have a bitchy smoking queen of an ex telling her how gay I had been or even was for that matter and that she had been dating someone who jumped out of the gay pool for a while. 




as said this chapter is done as a birthday gift or rather it's update and I'm sorry that it's been rather long since I updated, so that will be fixed now and I'll be picking up the story as I've been fiddling with older Kills stories I've been writing and I should include this one in my list, because I love them loads and it's now over a year that I saw them. Still can't believe it. 

This was pretty much written in one binge and I just had the telly on and no music and I just kept listening to the sound of keys and the telly and that kind of ended up being enough background noise for me to get inspired and write it, to be fairly honest. 

I had to edit it, because my style changed significantly since I wrote the last chapter, so I had to slice up the big paragraphs a bit and then change the second point of view I usually talk to these days in stories to solely Jamie talking to himself here. 

What inspired this, even if I don't enjoy Alison's art much was her desire to paint and I had just read that recent interview with her and I kind of couldn't get the image out of my head of how she was painting really during the specific period I'm writing about.

I got nervous about the whole Brian inclusion in the story today, but I don't think he left so easily that's why I put him for turmoil even if I'm not sure what happened, but we've got to have Jamie's sexuality struggles which seem... obvious

I hope you enjoyed it and once again, Happy Birthday, dear

Tell me if you liked it, regardless of who you are xD



Saturday, 18 July 2015

Thicker Than Blood 2

The problem with a family is that it always becomes a tumbling pair of cards and ignorance which always seems to be fluttering with ignorance and snarky remarks, because if you don’t fit the misery a person wants you to achieve in their heads, they will always ask how does it feel to have it. It’s like if they give you a plant and you told them you threw it out, they will ask how is the gardening, because they cannot see you as anything else other than a gardener. 

We drive past a huge house, all snow neatly put in piles with sledges outside, windows opened to revealed the rich inside and I would tell myself one day and houses like such always reveal women in the kitchen, hairs in a sloppy ponytails pushed down by housework and I always wondered what emotional value do they even hold and would the house be just an excuse to accept life and such houses end up reminding me of Alison's how you exterior will look lovely but looking inside at the end of the well you'll always see misery of a working or not housewife and I don't even know what to say to such women until my empathy is gone and I recall their heated speeches and child abuse. Jack glances back at it and then back at me. He holds my shoulder. I should really stop rambling somehow. The nicest house on the street will always belong to the one with the most misery. And will end up looking down upon the rest for the rest have not sold their soul for it.

I wondered if I could ever be honest with myself. If I could look at her in the eye again and how would it even feel, knowing that the ground beneath me would never make her happy, that she would always look down and how bitter she will be once she will finish sucking on her regret to tell me that she hates my hair, how I should look more masculine and how I should finally find a woman because the family wants more children as if her being a nursery isn’t enough.

And it’s not just her who suffered at the divorce and that Christmas becomes something in two households with puppet shows of me being alone and then crying under the covers to Jack, it’s not the first Christmas he’s been over but it’s the first where we stop lying and at a higher age. And I’d manage to have toxic relationships until Jack picked me up, forgetting what even divorce was by the time I woke up and I knew what I’d be doing with the man besides me and that I had been gay apparently.

Not only it holds with Alison being the abusive sister but it ends up being a card game with the rest of the family, who I have no idea how would they even react of me locking lips with Jack before telling or not. Jack being calm becomes even more annoying because he doesn’t worry with his family being sorted right now and mine is the one with all of them on the treadmill as if we’re running somewhere. 

When it comes to even discussing it in your head, it becomes torture even playing it backwards. And we keep driving as I don’t even know to properly jumble all my feelings together, watching Jack and even wondering how does the world even properly work, not even trying to think much of the family, which some had had their suspicions and everyone just remained hush, at least dad did, stating that it’s far best to keep this from my sister at all costs, since then Alison would blame everyone for even having me much later than her that it was all the root of all problems. 

Worrying wasn’t helping as it just seemed everything worse and tiring, as if I were there already. And it wasn’t as if I was the only one, just that people prefer not to talk about it, people think if you’re white and gay you’ve got it easy, but it’s far from that, but hey what’s not trendy won’t be talked about and people will forget all the hunts and tragedies about being a gay bloke. No one talks about how the conversation will be raised and no one talks that not everyone accepts and some just ignore those programmes which should be beneficial to one to understand that being gay is okay. I still don’t understand how people find it to be okay, as I open the window and me and Jack don’t speak for a good while, as he allows my inner turmoil to be eaten away by the caterpillar of fear, before he’ll end up killing it with conversation.

I am thankful for the silence, as I know everything he’s thinking and so does he. I wish we had an open car I could climb out of, but instead there is nothing but the AC barely working over the heater and it becomes far too hot, and we end up quickly stopping in the middle of the woods, opening every single window, nagging that we should’ve fixed it before, speaking of inner turmoil slowly, how it seems to start crossing my mind that perhaps it’s far from the best of ideas. It becomes fun to see all the trees become naked and throw inkful patterns on the skies, slashing it, giving it a dead eerie feel, as I would be on a sledge, my dad dragging me when I was a child, before my parents had divorced and I wondered if I could ever put all of this to paper and become a Xavier Dolan somehow, nagging about said family and I even wondered how much would I even change. What would I even tell? I could barely form sentences as we drove even further and the woods were peculiar but all I would do was concentrate on the music and know how deep dipped in the night everything always was here. 

We end up making it there by deep night when it’s just a bit past six o’clock and the house is more than a sole reminder of what Christmas is like and as we were approaching, Jack suggesting stopping to even discuss everything more, but I had wanted to get over it more than anything to see Alison and my parents as soon as possible and find the right words somehow to utter and even sell. 

Walking to the door becomes a small nightmare from all the fallen snow, even if a lot of it was taken care of, the night still brings it tucked in as if candy canes which no one wants by the end of February with their classic peppermint flavor, no one wanted the snow anymore maybe besides Santa and my own mother. I end up knocking, seeing mom and dad pull me into a harsh hug, Alison still not seen as I feel my body slowly start shaking and all I can mutter is that indeed, Jack will be here.

“So, Jack you’re spending Christmas with us, again, then?” My dad grins and I wonder how forgetful can you be when I came out as queer once and so had Jack been mentioned in this sly conversation I once had the guts to even utter. All was regretted from my end and apparently forgotten from his. 

“Yeah, I will be.” And he quickly glances at me, as I quickly shrug and nod, allowing him to say anything since Alison is nowhere to be seen anyway. “Yeah, me and Jamie do spend Christmases together always.”

Jack quickly grabs my hand for my dad to quickly see, before I discard it, as I start hearing a baby scream and Alison appears in the doorway, already cooing at me, her little brother. I feel my whole body even shake, recalling her words, locking the door and calling me a faggot and I know that if Jack doesn’t speak we will end up kissing each other on the cheek under the mistletoe and silently opening crackers because I didn’t have the faith for even Jack to say something. All I can think is of her glossy fake eyes. 


I guess I not only found it hard to write because it's rather personal even if I've twisted many details around and around, but I've been ill so my energy has been drained, but even when you're ill you have needs for your sanity and mental health and writing is one of them for me. I kind of really wanted this chapter out, so I ended up realizing that it's not November and there are no word wars going on, just nanowrimo sprints which are fab. By the way I'm always up for a word war if you're up for it xD So I ended up doing those whenever any of them were on twitter, so yeah, so everyone needs some facilitation from while to while really:)

There's a big house if you walk down our neighborhood and it's a lovely house and what stood out was seeing a literally destroyed by life housewife with nothing glamorous about the house and that kind of struck a familiar cord to me, kind of going back to those discussions if money can actually buy you happiness, because that house is gorgeous. And that inspired me since that echoes with what I write about and my own personal experiences and I remember I was listening to Interpol writing that paragraph as I was walking back home. I get a kick out of walking in neighborhoods and seeing stories unfold really.

This story has always been personal, so there's not much to add and it's odd to state but I do want to sometimes hold back on this story and state what is based of real events and what is not, like the emotional abuse is based off my own since I had to keep my mouth shut for years and since people erase female on male abuse, so yeah.

So unfortunately the back story is short here, because I'm so vocally explicit here on everything and I don't want to go saying, oh, I thought of that, I based that off real events because everything mostly is, the parents not as much, but it is a focus on siblings and that's what I wanted to address.

Jack is heavily based off Callie here and her reactions, attitude towards me, not always, but I guess what for me is a supportive partner and how she sees everything unfold. So there's that. 

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you



Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Settle A Quarrel 4

The anxiety spreads onto the sheets we lay and on all the men we are infidel with, turning back to the other and watching each other’s curves and how the wrinkles are supposed to grow and how ages catch up on one or the other, who diets and who had drank enough caffeine, who had bought eyeshadow the last week and who leans in for a kiss. And it all became a struggle where the love is overworn and the taste similar to gum which I’ve been chewing for an hour straight is what she would tell me, but it was like a song on an never ending loop, only she’s the one leading in her heels, my flats always thrown out, my height never showing the dominance and her bony figure adapted to the diet and the jealousy spread out and no longer we greet each other in airports.

So the question is why do we even try?

How can you even try when the person you love the most isn’t the one who does back and it’s not a question of polyamory or her own fidelity, but herself as she raises from the bathtub and she wraps herself in the towel, is about to leave the room and curses, hastily opening every drawer for a box of cigarettes I presume and soon enough I wrap myself in a different one and we get her cigarettes as she lights one for herself. Her own hate and love dwells in her eyes. 

“I don’t even know what I want myself.”

“Maybe that is your problem.” And we would take the bracelets off, but we don’t. It’s been too many years and the gum still tastes. 

“Yet you are the person which will buy the right amount of roses for the dead.” She snarls as we wait for our bodies to dry naturally, never sharing the cigarette, just letting the smoke intertwine without any of us touching our natural attractions, never letting ourselves burn together with the sole belief that we can do this alone and that a lit cigarette is a lost life and we’ve lost ours. 

I think love doesn’t go lifeless, so what is the feeling that we had killed? Is it some curse or disaster due to difference?

Watching her smoke feels like I’ve got the recipe for disaster, that I know what to do and who to pull. That all her charm had been whispered by confidence with the love I once held, just as she had smoked, looking differently and wrapping her in covers just to reveal herself young and confused now.
I wish I had known more but many things are solely beyond my reach, more simple actions taking place than average thinking of where to go and what to say.
It’s loving a person that never was. Maybe you can’t fall in love with a person if you change them for your lonely needs. I feel as if I had been doing an experiment of enforcing John Rymer to be female and I shudder, how I had gone around speaking of her gender, because she had mused on it only for her in years to shove that we had been a girl/boy band to my own irony, as if everyone who I had known had gone back tp their assigned gender, killing off the persona they had been with me. 

The death of Nancy Boy had spread out in some more vile death of androgyny, because I had been far too angry and my choice of medication had numbed out everything at the time to make me seem harmless and to proceed doing somersaults and feeling the world at my feet only to realize that it was never seeing who I had love but the confusion of the self. Dismantling everyone including myself to see one’s misery and lack of life. Maybe I had been the lifeless one, wondering how much had I wasted own’s life?

Fear of not knowing what was happening was even deeper and would strike the bone far more than expected, it was no longer numbness due to a dream, but the harsh jaw of reality giving one’s problems. 

Sex becomes more of a mind’s chore if you dissociate yourself from it, if you even close your eyes on yourself, you’re your own enemy for allowing yourself not to feel anything and gain no pleasure. 

It’s so obscure that it seems to boil down to gender, because I’m not the one calling the shots anyway, if she were to speak of the differences, it would be Alison rather than myself these days, because I had decided that a bad peace is better than cutting each other off and this waltz was no longer a waltz at all. 

We will never admit the love we’ve had, because nothing goes away, we all leave traces whether it’s in someone’s heart, ashtray or land. And love will spring into branches of regrets because it becomes up to us to actually like the love we have or not. You’ll never stop the grass from growing, but you can always pretend it never exists and as long as you live, you’ll keep slipping, because somewhere deep down you want to act on the love you’ve gained and the misery you’ve shared, because by the end of the day it is us which decide to have fear, as if the growth never changes. 

It’s as if you should never say I love you to someone else, because the wind still blows and all will be twisted from one’s fear. We are the ones who strangle ourselves from our own fear and I don’t know why we waltz with any regards to ourselves, anxiety becomes a shallow strain as we start thinking on the lunch. 

And looking at her properly, entirely naked as myself, as if we had regained some lost deja vu, as if this would the postcard of the feeling and we were trying to find the love we had told ourselves we sold for photos, all memories now forgotten and erased as we would try and stay from each other, to make sure we die without thinking of the other. I sometimes wonder how much regret should I hold by pulling her by the string and never understanding how many layers she’s got and how many have I even been under, listening to her and reminiscing on my own past, which she’s now discarded. 

And loving her seems more than futile, because I don’t know who I’m loving.

Yet, she’s the one dragging it all, so take all actions as speech then. We end up dressing up silently and browsing through the small cd section until I stop at a best of Blur, which is a bit typical, but pleasant to find.

“I don’t think anyone doesn’t like Blur, besides my ex and rabid Oasis fans.” 

“How come they didn’t like Blur?”

“I don’t know but they told me that late, when we were dating, so I couldn’t do anything.” I chuckled.

“What about your other exes?” She says it stingily, as if reminding me of some dark secrets I’ve hidden, but mostly just not talk about like I wouldn’t speak of my past in front of a flashing light just not to get it reminded in the tabloids at all times while walking around and then feel it printed as if on the back of my hand. And she knows of all the things I’ve hidden and somehow it becomes a big deal if you’ve slept with a man and I wonder how come the fear is so deeply penetrating for some reason that it ended up keeping her awake, thinking that I would leave her for a man? And when it’s around five a.m. you wonder why even is there a fear of man, why is there a fear of women if someone who I thought was queer would tell me that? Would I even have fear and why do we think we can be the better of our gender but not the best of another gender?

And how come we would have to create different things and cling onto how we had once driven around all over the states, laughing at the run out gas, because now when the ashes are blown away and I can think of all the places we’ve toured I can only think of the love we hold and all the times we’ve pinned each other against the wall before opening the car windows and letting the wind become the scented scarves of an argument so that if we step outside of the plane we would know what we had thought and I wondered how long would it take death to erase our skull memories entirely? 

And why do you have to paint love and how come we’re always miserable and love can never cure us? Sometimes I don’t understand the laughter we’ve had and how come we had managed to read each other’s emotions so carefully to just shatter, break, fall apart and end up doing nothing at all. 

We also need to remember that we are here because we want to be, we all need to understand that we are alive because we simply want to be alive and as daft as it is there is nothing else to decide or to tell why it so happens to be so. Because we’ve always pulled through anything we’ve ever done and we’ve contradicted ourselves to the point that I had thought that I would love her forever. I’ve contradicted myself enough to end up in her arms year after year until I couldn’t feel her at all anymore or even know her and whenever one apologizes it so happens that you believe that the person you’ve loved is back. 

And all the scents and tastes of her chapped lips will go from place to place, reminding everything and every fear which had tingled from my body as either of us have wrapped the other around as a safe house. I remember how angry we had been at each other for missing the ferry in Sweden long ago, how we had started screaming and for a few years I’d recall because I could never forget her face and how much I had wished that no one had seen us, even in an argument, because I didn’t want to share her with anyone. It ended up being as if obsessive, but I had just loved her and no matter how much water I drank I couldn’t dissolve it and when you’re cheated or betrayed the love doesn’t go away, because like death you always think the person will come back.

She still goes through the CDs as Blur keeps playing and I just inspect the house which still screams bizarrely intimacy as if there was never enough. I look around the room with the love things scattered and heart filled backgrounds. She barely looks at me and I just want no regrets from her, because I’ve never told her that I recall that screaming because nothing was ever ugly. All was just a memory, which I’ve taken away. You can never say I love you too much, that’s why we fight.

Alison angrily goes through the DVDs now, not enjoying the content or at least trying not to as she had already chosen three different titles or maybe they’re rubbish worthy and that’s the pile.

I know that on the worst of days I’ll have her and on other worst days I won’t. That’s why it becomes as if you’re living with a friend rather than a lover, because you’ll hide everything until it’s done because you’ll never hear a soft word unless you’re breaking down, as if it’s a seesaw with her and her platforms on the other side and I don’t know why she’s playing alone again. 

I don’t want to even tell her, as she just keeps going through all of the DVDs and it makes more than sense that by the end of the day it’s never the rooms which hold us, but it’s us which should be fixing anything from start to finish and maybe it doesn’t even matter where do we start, but we need to do anything, yet the problem is what do we even want? Have we reached the final stage where we no longer want each other and our love has withered? And was it even ever the love we had always wanted, because moving out for both of us was breathing inside with everything? Was it always like this when you don’t know where you’ve lost your love, not even for the person in question but for everyone else?

So where does love go?


I took a day longer because I was knackered and frankly I still am knackered and I've even napped twice today. Basically, I wanted this out really badly and I was awfully sad in general today. Also, I felt awful that this hasn't been updated in nearly a year when I've been writing it rather often so yeah. But alas, here it is finally. 

I think it's more of an in-depth analysis as usual when it comes to The Kills and Alison is androgynous to me, so I use it obviously, I'm not sure how it is now but it's the Alison I stick with or how I thought Alison would age, if you must. 

I don't know what to write, because I wrote it rather often nearly line a day really, because I love them and my emotions was more about story telling these two and how odd it is to still be in love with someone you're no longer with, I can't say I share these emotions today or have in a while, but y'know we've all had it in different ways and there's a reason this is story telling. 

Regarding backstories, I remember I just asked people around and everyone said that my backstories were always good when I just started this blog, that's why they're always here and I'm sorry if this one will be short or less interesting, but I really do just open the laptop, think of things and start writing these days, I guess something like I've wanted, just story telling rather than painfully nagging which is something I do in stories like Thicker Than Blood (guess what's being written then xD) or Mimosa. 

I still find it funny that this was supposed to be the light Kills story and look at it now but it does have comedy elements and will proceed, don't worry xD

I won't recall why I wrote it down, but my ex confessed to me not liking Blur and I had a similar conversation to Callie about it.

I still think writing it, just like any story is a big part of thinking yourself, really. Not lying.

I liked that story where they get stuck in Sweden due to the ferry for five hours and there's a photo and Alison is wearing a Weekday tote bag and they're the best brand ever and very trans friendly from my experience and the whole store is unisex and all fits are lovely. Anyway, so I love that photo and story coz I can relate to it naturally since I live in Sweden so yeah. 

The DVD thing reminded of Alison nagging that she hates rom coms and in another interview Jamie was saying how she had rented them all when he was working on the album.

I don't know where does the love go or why does it stay for that matter.

Thank you and I hope you enjoyed it, tell me if you did



Saturday, 11 July 2015

We've all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. 6

No matter what everyone tells you, the morning will rise and the sun will shine through the forgotten blinds, reminding of a summer with no one to share and confusion of how to be someone else. And I don’t even who to call because my head becomes noise and listening to Joy Division isn’t even depressing in the morning with toast and coffee. It’s odd how once you lose sense of reality and take a carefree job people will start telling there’s something wrong with you, that small jobs don’t make a whole and just because you’re not in an office from morning to evening with a wife at home, all is wrong. That it’s wrong to not do anything in the morning which starts at 3 p.m. and then go shopping for the rest of the day to kill time until the night becomes productive because you have deadlines. People don’t talk about that, because we can only praise what we have, because we’ve forgotten how it’s like to be nice in any of the conditions. 

I met her in a toy store, as I’ve done all the puzzles I have, realizing that perhaps my mania will stay for a few days after crying in a ball, a bit immune to wine and she’s there choosing dolls for a gift and it takes me a while to register as Valentine approaches me. When you don’t have enough malls, you’ll find everyone in the same part. She waves at me and continues choosing through some other ones. And that’s when I feel odd that she doesn’t even try to approach me. I hadn’t even read her text from last night. I ended up opening it, quickly glancing back as she was still stuck between toys. 

Valentine’s text was pretty much that she was well and that had been it. Taking the said 1000 piece puzzle made me feel odd leaving the store without even talking to her, but then she hadn’t approached me either and it ended up with her raising her eyes, holding her dark gaze and back to the said dolls. I pretended to choose between two puzzles as well, holding up some really bad drawn polar bears and then she had been watching my peculiar choices. It felt rather odd to even talk to anyone who hadn’t been Miles or Alex these days, since Brian had seemed to move on at least in my mind, so it was even bewildering as it was someone who wasn’t even a neighbor or a landlord where you had to make sure your mouth was shut for your own sane night. It was odd that she had also known me from word of mouth. And I hadn’t known anything besides presuming that some gossip had come around since they assumed me and Miles had been an item and also that just like Miles we would seem to stick out for being gay and not slept with each other while everyone else seemed incestuous, as if the people who enjoyed another gender’s company were as rare to find as the gay ones. 

And when she waved away, I wondered if she figured that it was better to avoid me at some extent and that ended up giving far too much thought and come to some conclusions I hadn’t wanted in any way. 

Brian would always come clearly to me, this time it was when he had grown his hair the longest and he had tried red lips for a while, leaving everything in the same patches of red and I would only wash everything away after he’d get back home and this time I actually regretted I didn’t have any lipstick traces anywhere, as I recall we were playing cards and he had started nagging that no one really speaks of sex realistically, that even when you read sex scenes they’re supposed to arouse you. Yeah, maybe some shallow ones which included thrusting in and out and that had been it would capture the shallow ones. But no one writes how you can abruptly quit sex to adjust pillows, because anxiety storms down or some random PTSD flash takes over you, the discussion who would be ready to take it frankly and all the implications of heavy pounding. Anything at all ended up always being taboo, Brian would nag, smiling at me as I would just shrug and he would scratch his already built up to the night stubble. That sometimes if you do thrust deep enough you could get a random pain spasm and then you need to cool off. That perhaps you have to shower before bottoming. None of that was discussed and nothing was addressed, BDSM was seen as just spanking and tying up and it was getting worse. People would start saying that the only sexual visibility was already sexual enough so we should stop. But that ends up in a bunch of gay men not even knowing what they’re doing cis or not. Neither is the importance of safe sex in gay relationships. It’s as if everyone finds out but you never speak of it. Everything is forbidden, frowned upon an judged as if people accepted gay men overnight, because everything with sex is wrong. Because if you want to get laid and you can’t you get cranky and you’ll never ask advice from someone who is getting laid. We never ask for help, so why would they regarding sex?

And sleeping is more than an escape, it’s a way to forget and pretend everything you’ve done is gone.

But what if we do fall in love with people we talk? What if we blindly do so because we’re so lonely? What if there is no love after all but just desperation and the need to survive if you fall down during a stroke, because being alone will leave you nowhere, while if you’re paying someone with attention they will stay

So survival of those who can get laid? And then what if sexuality means nothing so does it really matter who you’d prefer your whole life if you find solace in someone else entirely and curiosity just because they had heard a snippet of what it had been slowly to be you in a moment and from your own words rather than rumors? So where does love lay and what would friendship be then if Miles had been my friend and we had known why had we moved out. And what would that have meant in Alex’s case and I had barely talked to him on sexuality, realizing that he’d speak of it first if it properly crossed his mind. And it’s still odd to recall her as if she is a lost fragment of my imagination, a lost letter’s corner I had found again hidden in between a good pile of books.

And I find myself with Miles standing outside my door and it’s odd to know that we still have spares of each other’s apartments as it was far too sad to let go of both when we moved out and I wondered what went wrong with us and why couldn’t I even force myself to look for blokes instead of sulking at the lack of them.

"So you and Alex are dating now, then?" I asked, scratching my head and letting Miles into the apartment which he had the key too because I let him into me too easily. It feels tense specifically from Miles' side and I can only think of things which Brian had told me, laughing, high after some party I refused to go to that Miles was utterly in love with me and there was nothing I could do because I would never love him back that way, it wasn't even Brian speaking but he was saying the truth, my love was confusing because it would take so long to water and fall in love. He was right, I would never love Miles back but seeing him settle wasn't very nice to see either and specifically with Alex who loved him at the same time and was fucking him up. Alex was perfect if he had opened up to his sexuality or the fact that he was in love with a man and that didn't seem to be happening.

I don't even give him the chance to speak and I don't even know where exactly does my anger come from, because I was fine on the phone calls with Miles and everything, I was even okay with Alex who was the culprit of this whole mess, but I kept my mouth barely shut for now. 

"Don't you think you should really tell Arielle?" To which Miles stared at my past silence. He doesn’t say anything, shrugging and then we just both head in and I can feel him stare as I kick off my boots and he just stands in the corridor as if he was never welcome. I just nod at him, confused but then the problem about unresolved tension is that anything you’ll ever say will cause you both to break up as if you were a couple all along. So the troubles are why have we never tried at any point of our lives if we all depart anyway? Why can’t we ever say that even if we love, that we had said that one time, that we meant it in that way and we would’ve gone to bed in a different mood, knowing that everything would progress and we could do at least something instead of departing with nothing in hands. 

But maybe that’s because we don’t recognize the other we were dating and like a couple we depart. 

“Look, if it doesn’t satisfy you... I don’t even know, man.” And I see that he’s near breaking point and I’m sure he would’ve thrown flowers in my face if he ever had any. Two can play with game.

“Miles, I just don’t think it’s fair on Arielle-”

“And who is your friend, mate, Arielle or me? Bloody hell, you don’t even speak to Arielle, you don’t even fucking bother to cover me up at all, all you do is mop around, Miles ain’t my boyfriend or anything. You don’t bother-” And I stand up, he’s taller than me and we lock eyes. 

“And what the fuck should I be saying then, Miles?” And I grit my teeth. “Maybe if you didn’t run away with Alex, you’d have more of me on your fucking bowl since you never speak u-”

Miles stares at me wide eyed and it feels like a tea party where I’ve mentioned the murderer when no one talks about the spilt blood and we never discuss that one of us has ever killed and I pause, not wanting to even go there. 

“I fucking miss you as a frien-”

“As a fucking friend. Exactly, Jamie. As a fucking friend.” And he spits every single word out and we take a few steps back, both of us shaking no longer even wanting to know how lips of each other feel like as I don’t know why I even bother with someone who is allowing his boyfriend to be cheating on his girlfriend where they could all at least tell and try to open it up instead of flirting under the table for months. 

“And what the fuck do you want then?” I snap. I press my hands against the wall, leaning against it, digging my nails into the shitty wallpaper, hoping that I don’t hit him and we just watch each other up close when there’s a few steps between us. Miles doesn’t say anything, instead he sighs, I don’t know if his eyes are filled with anger or tears and he leaves. I head out, slowly as he storms out of the apartment and I don’t care, lighting a cigarette. 

“Au revoir, darling.” I yell.

And I think long. 

I can’t think of anything.

“Love you, Miles.” And let that sting, somehow, because words is all I have since no actions will make it sting under the bedsheets in the night after he’s done fucking Alex. 


It's a bit weird not to talk about the elephant in the room, but I'll go kind of as the story went. I had a struggle whether I wanted things to be as they would happen to me IRL or based off or how they would match up and here's the result really. 

I think I've spoken about it more openly, that when you're depressed, because you're so depressed listening to stuff like Joy Division doesn't put you down, because the mood is frankly the same. 

Also I guess I've learnt that no matter how shit things are, the sun shines through somehow.

I freelance and I kind of become open on what it is here, so I have nothing to add really.

I used to do puzzles a lot before I was medicated, I miss that, I should do some actually. It's really nice and all, but now it's for fun rather than maintaining mania. I wrote the Valentine chunk ages ago, actually. 

I missed writing this story because it's so... story telling if you must rather than spilling my emotions at times, I guess besides the elephant in the room which was based off a few conversations I've had kind of going on the platonic vs dating sort of thing and that inspired this and other stories such as Mimosa really. I'm sorry if the back story is short but it's very me telling stories and I was speaking of it to Callie as I wrote it and maybe coz I'm medicated but I was really happy and proud of myself for the love lines here which are the plot really. 

I'm an anxious person and I think I'm a nightmare during sex sometimes, because I can get anxious and when I write sex scenes I still make them flow like frankly any ideal sex session but that doesn't mean that sex is always like that. Sex is like that, but sometimes you drop and hyperventilate from some PTSD flash, sometimes you need to fix those pillows or sometimes you won't feel like that position at all and you're near. Neither does anyone talk of the misfortunes of bottoming at times or preparation for it. 

I actually started writing the chunk from Jamie and Miles talking in the bus because I was bored and I was going to write this today, so I gave myself a kick start really xD and this was very carefully planned so yeah, ages ages ago and before I even made IRL connections

I think the piece just speaks for itself and I like it the way it is, I love it

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you

Please tell me if you did, we'll mourn together xD and don't worry the next chapter will be soon :D 



Wednesday, 8 July 2015

The Blunderbuss Angel Said The Union Is Forever 11

Anxiety shows you that things will never be okay, it becomes the compass telling you that even if the things will be okay, you won’t because you’re digging out your soul with bloody fingernails and you become your own worst enemy because you hate yourself so much and you’ll never be loved, never fulfilled, just like your parents had told you so.

And I don’t know why shaving has ever been so sexual and why do I always look at him, holding the razor no matter electric or not, if not electric washing off the foam and wondering how it would have been before with an actual knife and how he would be on my mercy

and seeing that artwork made me remember how it had felt to shave him, watching him close his eyes and then back at me, dark and sunken, funny and swollen, entirely smitten 

entirely built up to the feeling but never touching

we had been like that for years

and we will remain as such because when you’re platonic you believe you have it all, but in reality one of you sometimes doesn’t love back. I’ll never love and he’ll never love.

How do you say goodbye when it’s been months?

And life is the least of pretty. 

No one really knows what goes on stage, they see what they want to see, that’s why all interaction is kept hidden, as if observing fish in a fish tank, you’ll never hear what they hold dear.

He shows up on the telly screen and he’s breathtaking just as he as on the dancing classes. I can’t recall anything besides his face and the fact that I dance with him tomorrow as he shifts from leg to leg in the talk show in all red, never saying a word among the crowd which is supposed to be curious and asking about sexuality. 

I kept watching him on television recalling how it had felt, being younger and peeping on the right side of the fence where men would please each other, that one had jerked off to two men on television and that’s what I do, imagining him on me, pleasing each other in a reckless way, teasing and driving each other mad that I come on my hand, but I watch the rest of it as he doesn’t speak and neither will I tomorrow.

When you can’t piece the past together you become nostalgic even for the faces you wouldn’t see under a death knife to reminisce your life before it flashes. I don’t even know why do we think so much of the past and of all the lost lovers and it’s all because they once knew us so we think that they still carry the same knowledge we had once lent them.  Or is it because we want the self we had known while we were with them? What if we just want ourselves back before everything had collapsed and we had decided that time means nothing and we had never grown much wiser and all we were given is just misery and in that one step of suicide contemplation it turns out waiting to see what awaits was never worth it?

And is that why we kill ourselves in any way, no matter how deep the forest, no matter how many kilometers you’ve ridden yourself to death to because you thought it would be okay with the shards of arguments which only shone break ups?

And it would go day after day, as I wouldn’t be able to call up on him, now feeling more than unease from all the flashes and picking up headlines which would have me somewhere in the middle of the press, giving some deja-vu as people would muse on what would’ve been wrong. And I wish I had always been the same, no matter how much has the flesh ever grown. 

When he does call, it feels a bit odd and I can only imagine him with hair much shorter than he’s had before I met him, no longer having some halo of androgyny stuck in his curls and it feels as if I am talking to death and I know how I would have reacted in a pocket of nostalgia, but all I want to do is to cry, while listening to his voice like a spicy lullaby and I wonder why is this even fed to children when I’m deep rooted in my forties. We both feel that way and he keeps telling me to try and pay attention but all I can think is that I’ve skipped my medication, allowing myself to free float

and feel blood on the back of my lips as I’d get told that faggots can’t be blokes. And I would rarely hit back, which possibly explains why now I would hurl people across rooms, screaming, because I knew how deep would blood draw paths on my skin, making small flows and drying up as if it were all sand. 

Dancing had become more intense and when people get used to what they see, it’s harder to get annoyed and it felt odd, but then neither of us would think that either would end up kissing each other anywhere and we would reverse the roles session after session, holding each other either on the waist or shoulders. I wondered if we would manage to compete somehow, but then we would surely be given other partners for the pleasing look and that was something neither of us wanted. 

It became harder to listen to Jamie eventually with his voice and I would catch myself just listening to it as if it were a scarf and he were my night companion and even when it got significantly cold what happened was that we would still get ice cream, so that during winter it didn’t melt in our hands, as we would sit outside where the rebels would in the summer, allowing ourselves to collect snowflakes and wonder how much more would the town go gray. We wouldn’t speak, because if we would we say too many things. 


This chapter is split into three I guess tenses or what not: the alternate dancing thing which could serve as an odd past, the present and in general fluidity of progression and kind of up in the air.

I guess what I love the ambiguity of this story which shifts plot lines and points of view that even I don't know who is where to be honest, so that's why I love it. I was feeling rather tired and looking back at my past with the dancing, not the creep which was my partner but rather the whole setting and that before I got a shit partner I enjoyed it and I wasn't obviously romantically interested in the friend which ended up getting a classmate of hers which was lovely to be her partner and I was left with said creep. 

I speak briefly of abuse but I don't like being too cliche and always making an abusive sibling which I had. 

The shaving sexual was because I often make shaving sexual, maybe because Callie always shaves my face, I'm awful at it. But also my first sexual Jack/Jamie involved shaving as well, so I made a mock stating that it's cliche. 

I was on telly once and I took that experience of Jamie watching Jack, I had worn a gorgeous red and black plaid suit and it was the first time I showed up to my middle school class wearing red lips and I remember how mocked I was for it, because where I grew up it wasn't seen that women would wear bright lipstick, it was lipgloss, mascara, blush and so on, so red lips was seen as ridiculously bright, it's interesting and maybe that influenced my obsession with red lips, I honestly don't know but all the make up I did growing up was never seen as feminine so yeah. So I took that for Jack being there.

Another scene is Jamie jerking off to Jack, it was confusing growing up and I dunno whether my sexuality just changed over the years or it was because I could relate body-wise at the time, but I recall reading a lesbian fiction online which was rather hot and it was just some erotica about a girl wanking to I think two twins touching each other on telly and I took that for this. And I took that for this really, since we're talking about the past here.

I get lonely when I'm depressed and nearly nothing can patch that up and I started thinking of old friends and then I binged until now really, I'm better now xD but we do need to speak more of depression

I also started recalling places where we've lived and biked through thick forests for that matter and made it angsty really story-wise purposes xD

The present is set from all the current headlines which go "Oh, where's Kate, why is Jamie Hince alone" sort of thing. 

I broke down through writing half of this with really heavy dysphoria, scared that I'm not like my characters since I'm trans and then I calmed down a lot thanks to Callie which always helps me like this and well, I'm still a man and hopefully such intense dysphoria is temporary but I do dread this body with all my soul. So Jamie getting beat up and the faggots can't be blokes line is more of me screaming about things I've heard that I can't be a man due to my body really.

I also mused on reading Jamie's past so yeah and bullying specifically.

and the last bit is from alternate Jack and yeah. I quite like that bit, I was listening to Eye by Smashing Pumpkins, so that explains the love really. I love that plot line.

I hope you enjoyed it and if you did please please tell me that you liked this chapter

Thank you for all your support loves