An ode 2

It’s an aftermath of despair and confusion on stupidity

And even if I am the sole one to know that I’ve torn it out, it still bothers me as if I would’ve been on a big board.

How hard is it to kill a love once dead and how does it circulate, some cult following and tumbling as all ideas seem to be wandering off and coming back, the photo already peeled back and as if exposing her neck? How hard is it far away when she seems to solely be circulating, as if watching me, hair exposed and still black as I had been watching, a love distant and fair. 

Why is it hard and how come the solitude of a woman seems attractive, the melancholy and the lack of moves on a chess board when a man would solely make sure to make moves, to contaminate themselves with action and then I recall I had read Mishima, confused about my own gender, flinging myself onto female at the time and it was far too destructive, but if I were the one not to create, was it that why I was in the middle, somewhere far stretched and deviant to my own mind?

And how far does the emptiness stretch and where does creativity truly seep through and is the pain and the fighting coming from sole hatred between two genders (which seem to think they are the only ones?) and flinging upon one to desire, is even weirder as I observe his room, how cluttered it is and how there is even a mannequin and I wonder if all what is missing is a hamster as I had been told by a previous landlord that they couldn’t navigate even to the bed due to the junk and on top was a happily corn-nibbling hamster. And I wonder if the man himself now was the hamster or was I the one who would manage to do all this torture?

And when does it actually clutter? Is it when the soul is empty or is it solely withdrawal because there is nothing else to do? How do we consciously reach that state and how come life seems to be constantly moving with all places I’ve lived in to change as if they were seasons and how come everything withers? How come all the seasons change and how come we ourselves still happen to remain the same, only wounded but never renewed like everything else around us and how come we lose the ability to smile?

He gives an odd sense of deja vu and I think we always fall in love with the same person and we just keep taking off the beloved mask to give it to someone else or maybe I’m just too heartbroken from venturing with women far too long and I would be accused for bashing women, solely because they are women, just like women were joked upon prior, now it happens upon men and it doesn’t even touch me, but I just observe or maybe it’s because I seem to be attracted to a man now and sometimes I wonder if it is solely my mind that worries and they seem to care about something else?

I look around. 

And I wonder who were even the one to introduce themselves and it becomes a question of how much do you even reveal on your sleeve? How much is even described at first, I go through the hair, now chin-length in need of a cut for no reason, just the sole feeling of scissors against the cheek, because self-harm doesn’t do just, it never went through, it just makes everything worse, sometimes a ripple in water, but barely, it still floods and what else does it do? It feels as if there is some method of torture I’ve yet to know, as I keep thinking deeper and deeper as if unleashing an inner demon, as if asking if I were possessed with something mute, but then all pain is gone, just paranoia and a feeling of emptiness and confused love only seems to be the only thing speaking, because I am the sole sufferer to my own love and questions.

It’s not that I had even known how her lips had tasted, only presumed and soon enough she withered, not even during a bike break, magazine reading evening, under the foggy moonlight, everything becoming damp and laying on the grass as if a cross. 

Nothing.

And stale cigarettes seem to yank me back.

-

I had a better opening line for the back story but I started shuffling music and Lana's Diet Mtn Dew showed up, which made it more ironic since well, it's still discussing Alison in this chapter and names are revealed in the next chapter XD I have no idea why I've held suspension xD and yeah, if you're on tumblr I advertise the story with photos of Callie as I wanted photos of someone actually who defines as androgynous and I really wanted Callie as well. 

I guess the irony of putting Diet Mtn Dew is that I had always listened to it when I was dating my ex and frankly it is the queerest Lana song, which obviously made me relate a lot. Whenever I have something triggering, my gender shifts to the opposite of the person had harmed me, because I get PTSD easily and I dunno, but basically I got refused to get a parcel for two days and the guy was a total ass to me and made me cry twice and would lie to the post manager three times and then I told him, hey, I know you're lying and he went in cold sweat. He even put a post-it so that even if I show up and he's not on shift for him to be called. Pure breed asshole, so that quite harmed me and I was in fuck knows what gender, then I just read more female bullshit as usual and realized there's no way I'm female anyway, so I guess I'm back and gay.

But either way, I had a craving because I'm still fluid to write a bit more regarding queer women, so I wrote quite a fair bit of Disaster, so expect a new chapter soon:3 I dunno, I also wrote some To Miles today and realized how much I miss it and y'know you've just got those awful dysphoric days and I just felt much more natural writing To Miles, I dunno, I get happy when I am like, yeah, Jamie you're male and all is great, really.

I'm fluid but it never goes to androgynous, so it's of course a bit harder to write and I ask Callie a bunch of questions, naturally and base a lot off her and ask all the time, am I getting this right xD

I dunno, I feel quite anxious about my writing and since I'm heading back to fiction lightly, if you like it, please tell me I'd love to hear something:3 honestly:3 make a nervous gay's day XD

My mind is a mess so An ode has pretty much a vomit of everything: Callie, exes, crushes, dysphoria, politics and anger, the usual bunch really xD

I can't even recall why but I had decided to check on Valentine Fillol-Cordier at the time and I watched a few recent interviews and whatnot, it's very odd to watch a gender you were forced into and see how far away you're from it and well, it's interesting to see how should I show distress or a broken heart, so yeah, I dunno if my stories become more oh yeah, that regarding gender. Maybe they do. 

I'm a big fan of Mishima even if he's frankly I think one of the most problematic writers, but when I had read him I was female and I felt very crushed by reading phrases such as "women stand in the way of creation/creativity" and Forbidden Colours is frankly impossible to read if you're female but really opens your eyes in a way and I guess what I liked is that Yuichi eventually even if he's gay, he's still has fondness for women which is something you absolutely do not see in gay or lesbian literature, it's pretended as if it's fixed and as you read on, all characters are amazing even if it's a harsh read. I'm still sad it got knicked XD fucking thieves. Anyway, speaking of literature I've started reading Billy Martin (Poppy Z. Brite written on novels) and I dunno, he doesn't seem too… appealing like as an author I've been recommended him once by a trans friend I had and I couldn't read it due to the bad writing (I had started with the first novel, I'm sleepy now to recall) and I had thought it was a woman writing since well that's all you were told and I'm happy that it's gay literature written by a gay trans man. I've been binging Exquisite Corpse and it's amazing. The new stuff which I scrolled through was boring. Anyway, what revolted me is the horrid negativism towards fanfiction. I've read Anne Rice also being a dick about it. I really don't see why people are against fanfiction, in Billy Martin's case Exquisite Corpse was based off 2 murders and Anne Rice is writing about vampires at all times. 

I really really don't understand it, frankly and I find it revolting when people are against fanfiction. Credit and you're fine. State your influence, say you're writing fanfiction of someone. Although I had a Russian Fiji stolen, they edited and removed the sex bits from the first chapter and posted it, but that was pure stealing work, so yeah. 

So that was my point, sorry back onto the backstory, I talk a lot… journal-esuque style. What goes in my mind. So the novel also assured me I'm male, it gets hard when you get shoved you're not and then you go Velvet Goldmine style like Arthur wanting to point at the telly to your parents and yell "DAD, THAT'S ME I'M INTO BLOKES JUST LIKE BRIAN SLADE". 

The mannequin was stolen from the Kill's flat since I guess the proper title should've been An ode to Alison Mosshart. I wrote this chapter still awfully depressed and shattered, heartbroken is not me, but the main character but Alison was my idol previously years ago.

The hamster was a story I had heard when I lived in a Student Accommodation.

I think I quite spit out what I think in the story, it's awfully raw:)

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

<3

Jamie

working mica4

The news about the world travel like wildfire and outrage with a burning ceiling is now covered, triggering all of our moods, glasses start to get broken and I’m sure this is not how the revolution went, but one guy lights the blood-stained American flag with a lighter, it barely catching fire at first. I don’t say anything, Margaret just watches the flag and it frustrates us all how long it burns.

It is also the fault of the people, who believe in a government which doesn’t exist. Some people believe it’s a black man. I know there is no God for none can erase the illusion of whoever brings war on all soil, with me getting raped, no God would be as cruel, no God would kill so many people, unless God has problems with accepting the sexuality God gave themselves. 

So the flag burns and our screen shows a bunch of channels talking about which blood is shed in non-western countries, how everything gets bombed daily and only some’s blood is above the rest just because Americans decided that anything is better, they become the new ideology, making allies just to prove supremacy, being gay they say is something they can provide in countries where you can get killed, but then never say that they kill as well. Soon enough me with a bunch of people leave the main hall, scattering into rooms into other homosexual embraces and soon enough, I wish that even television would be banned upon this place, kill the flame before it spreads.

I start getting scared as we all get prescribed pills, the ceiling feeling as if it is shattering, the news of the UK spreading as well with its racist fingers, but a country which many people come from is shocking and the bad always takes over the good. The pills have stars on them and someone calls them American as you can split it in stripes and we are all forced to wish we were American, because we are all welcome from McCain’s mouth, all have the same desire to kill us all, regardless. In our club we do weddings, as if we were our own bunker to death, even if they don’t last long enough, soon enough scattering into other lovers, because in the end, we’re all the same or maybe they start getting out of the club to grow old and forget about eternity. 

Soon enough the club is all covered in silk and some people come back to marijuana for some reason and I have to cough past, to hint that some people are actually allergic. But all of a sudden this feels like war and there is nothing to deny, we are suffering from a new holocaust, a stronger bone called xenophobia, gender and sexuality stop mattering, the fact is what goes in your blood, we’ve got the new holocaust upon us. 

My neck is strangled by the silk which falls into my hair and blossoms, the silk of depression, which takes my dreams and gives me a glimpse of the mistake of heterosexuality. I stop thinking and I even lose my orgasm, apologizing to women who started waking up from the tragedy, some leave to fight, some remain and soon enough I feel we will be selling bullets and the posters of the people we fought against are our allies, silence is better than death, have a new meaning now. 

I feel his cold hands upon me, holding something as sacred to his dirty nails as silk and I feel the silk fall, depression getting replaced by the fire of anxiety as I close my eyes and I can see the bleak eyes of my brother, who is enjoying himself, himself who is the law. I can see him lighting a cigarette in the dark, homosexuality dead at his feet with my language and it scares me, because according to him I should speak what he desires me to, but it doesn’t matter what the person wants. But their problem is that he covers our mouth with fingers which rot so easily, so we can speak. 

My brother is my depression and my anxiety, my devil and my sin. I still feel that I have blood which can go cold and wrong. I feel as if I could be given a scythe and I would murder everyone and be raped by a man, become a housewife with children who are like the offsprings of cabbage, people who I wouldn’t even love and would drown at a well and hopefully they would die soon enough, as I wouldn’t even give them my breasts and watch them rot on my husband’s plate. People like my brother are the saviours in America’s eyes for they hold nazi ideology. Because nazism is the best tool to overthrow everything, some paths are learnt through blood and bones, because as long as it’s not the sacred blood split, American, we don’t matter. Or those who thrive to be American. 

My brother is placing the gun in my mouth, pulling the trigger and I feel my eyes close, my arms spread out and I hope to hear what I do here.

I hear the possibility of nothing and I pull the gun backwards, the bullet going through my hair unwanted like licorice and I see my head dissolve with the last thoughts of fear and conclusion riding my lips. I’m still scared, crying and screaming, panic back to me like death and Margaret yanks me out of the water. 

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” She screams, her hair now short and blonde, her hat gone and she is shaking me, my face still wet, sweat now draining my energy until I collapse in her arms as if she would something like Utena and as she carries me away I hear the place getting redecorated and people coming back, but not saying anything and I don’t know how they are back but they are soon told to leave.

It makes me nervous, how she carries me and my teeth chatter as she gives me vodka, saying that it’s softer and it’s still cold and she kisses my forehead. I start crying, never to tear off the silk of depression and the brother who had nearly murdered me with my own hands. For I don’t speak the words he wants. For I will not kill those who are like me. 

Gender blends, it doesn’t matter now what gender, what sexuality, it becomes a question of blood and all assumptions prior are shameful for we had not known the war in our hands. 

When I was young I would always dream of libraries and bookstores filled with queer literature and as more as I walked through life, I wondered if it would be better if I could just imagine libraries alone with the books holding nothing, allowing me to believe that a miracle existed, allowing me to have some exploitation of the mind.

Maybe that’s why we have a library in the club. Because all the stories you’d ever think of are here, because dreams take a harsh shape when here are too many for them to collapse here until the hard sky. People still talk, some watch, some shake, but we all feel stripped down to the bone, all nationalities discarded and never mentioned in the fear of a traitor. A utopia becomes a dystopia once a brother murders a brother. 

You lose trust in all, all stops being everything, all morals said become nothing

because you’re reduced that your blood is different

that your blood isn’t blue

that you’re blood isn’t pure

just because a bully had said you had cooties, only now they have guns.

-

I guess it's just ridiculous not to speak of politics these days when I do. An ode is further far more explicit, but I'll just post this. My mindset changed a lot since the last chapter, but all of a sudden I wanted to write about queer women, I was torn between working mica and disaster to be honest. I missed working mica, so here it is. It's odd, this chapter was started written back when well, the world had more lies up it's sleeve when there was a fucking cult which there still is of blaming Russia and I was no other. It's a frankly difficult matter on one hand and on the other it isn't. Outer politics, I don't think I have to speak much. We've got the whole world frankly falling, people getting killed and the only cult we have is of a few numbers of Americans, which were awfully killed, but so do thousands and thousands die from the same bloody hands.

The same ideology follows the world in it's bloody hands, killing people.

My words won't change much, but I still write and I always have. I have written and I do write about LGBT rights, well, maybe I shouldn't be as silent when it comes to war.

And I don't like speaking of what happens in countries which my ancestors are from, which touch me as well, but I speak clear enough.

I edited the chapter shifting the change to the fact that sexuality is just now a tool, by claiming to be LGBT friendly it's like those ads which were shown to Jews by Germany that it's accepting. It is. All I know is that the statistics are awful, experiences and the hands are bloody, very bloody. 

I think working mica has an harsher atheist view than I have which is interesting to write and address. 

The UK has been making the news loudly as well for it's own internal fuckupness. 

McCain was chosen because I had been browsing through people I had known and they claimed that they met McCain and he promised a future because the US would save.

The bunker and marriage image is quite a losing image, thinking of nuclear bunkers and whatnot.

Originally the rape scene was due to Heather's sexuality and I edited it. 

People murder others for ideology. If you don't believe in something, you get murdered and I think what is ironic is that in it's literature it's an awful canon trope. Kill the one who didn't follow, it's  famous trope, I think it's obvious.

I don't speak much of siblings which is an issue I am planning to address further and frankly have only properly shown between Alison and Miles in To Miles.

I dunno, I honestly think my fiction now speaks louder than the backstories, I am sorry if I was harsh, but just like those who protest, so do I in my own written way. People cannot die for being who they are. A person's life is a person's life regardless of their nationality and blood.

Thank you, tell me if you enjoyed it

<3

Jamie

No. 1 Party Anthem 3

It’s the lock of fear and the roll of the dice with anxiety and my own trust and recklessness which should be the one taking hold, but it doesn’t leaving me with a crisp sane mind to see Alex who seemed to shrug off the homophobic show for Jamie, yet still remains the leftovers of the latest fetish in the scene apparently which is a cult of fucking straight men, but the problem is if the walk of shame didn’t work, how far do you even go? And the initial sex appeal wears off and the porn doesn’t work anymore.

And it’s as if Alex is a dinosaur among queer men and me and Jamie would sit wondering sometimes a bit too drunk if people honestly considered themselves straight. And I’m sure we even look at him a bit too weirded out as we all hail in silence, the television still on. And frankly some things don’t seem to make sense, like why he’s still here or maybe I’m just too daft and all the world is queer after all. I keep looking at him until he raises his dark eyes at me and then I just glance at Jamie to cool off and remind myself that it’s still about him. 

The offices opposite me have a palm tree and by their light and activity that’s how Jamie would understand the actual time, who was walking around to cure their sleep and stay awake to make sure the illusion of getting robbed was solely in their head.

And Alex’s carefullness seems to give both of us a slap of reality, that to him we are indeed deviant in our own ways, as if he were in this appartment for the first time, as if it were truly something new even if we had sex last night and just like a person can change overnight, so can they change back and I wondered how much would he even dip his feet now. What were the motives now? Was anything even worth it?

I wish we were forever in a post-coital state where we believe. But instead we are left in the cumbersome grotesque reality where I forget that some people don’t even believe in me. 

But then, he doesn’t seem to fiddle with his thinking regarding his girlfriend, even if he had fucked around and maybe he would be a bit better for Jamie? Would that mean I am solely handing him over? Would that mean that he’s just the straight guy who people happen to fuck around with? I won’t say it wasn’t hot and I wonder if the cult of straight men is like some fucked up virginity cult we queer men seem to have lately. It is a category and maybe even considered a “fetish”, well, it is fucking a virgin of sorts, so maybe it’s just as fucked up. It was hot, but nothing like it would’ve been different from fucking a queer man, just someone with a lack of experience perhaps, but in the end fetishes are still in our minds, what we think we find hot or what we do find hot, rather. It’s attraction and attraction can be more than fucked up. 

“Either way, I’m back to the dating pool, I guess.” Jamie sighs, tapping against his mug as Alex just looks at us and I wonder if we are the dinosaurs to him. He looks uncomfortable with his own curiosity and perhaps expired fear, since now we no longer seem something scary or a subpressed desire. We are the desire accomplished. I wonder if he even thought of fucking us both, since sex is more than a strive here among all these heads. 

Alex seems to muse out and I just look at him, nodding, asking what’s on his mind and he just runs a hand through his morning hair. Maybe the walk of shame wasn’t a walk after all but a stumble and I wonder if I would ever get to touch him again or I’ll be crossed out as harshly as if I were an ex and never spoken of, if he goes back to solely being straight and stating such. I always wondered how do all those girlfriends feel, do they get some gut feeling? Recalling Arielle, I presumed not. Jamie looks at me, still sunken, but his own curiosity looking at Alex, before I realize he decides to drop his attempts, even if Alex had seemed appealing.

“Ok, I’ll head off, I’ll kick Brian’s things out.” My friend states, standing up and before I open my mouth, he just shakes his hand, making a few steps to the already near corridor. “Don’t bother, Miles, it’s ok. He can stay at Stefan’s or whoever he’s fucking or trying to commit in some fucked up ways.”

He pauses, putting on his coat.

“I don’t mind if he’s polyamorous, it’s more about him lying, really.” And he pushes the door open, waving at us, eyes still looking down. I remain quiet until we’re sure he had left. 

“You sure, Miles, you can head over to help him.” He says quietly and I see him tense up. I wonder if he wants to leave to Arielle already and maybe the walk of shame is a delayed run and I wonder how much would I even see him again, even if we had managed to get some friends and end up at the same goddamn party. I wonder what would’ve happened if I fucked him on the sheets of the same said party. I expect him to stand up, just like Jamie did, instead he feasts on his own silence and none spoken words. I hope I don’t look hurt and desperate enough. Fear is now my cradle. 

“You can head back... to Arielle.” I state, I don’t even know why I even bothered to mention her name, but I do anyway, feeling a shiver and frankly the downside to fucking straight men, they’ll go back to their girlfriends or lovers, doesn’t matter, you’re always second unless they happens to be a proper open relationship and no hierarchy among partners and you happen to fall under another lover or boyfriend. 

“No, I’m ok.” He shrugs. “I’m sure she presumes that I would take a while, anyway.”

Alex holds the pause and takes out a pack of cigarettes. 

“I’m sorry for walking out on you.” He holds the silence again. “I’m just... I’m not really inetrested in being gay-”

“You don’t necessarily have to be exclusively gay, you do realize that?” I ineterrupt, reminding of his fucked up thinking. I get angry slowly, as if regretting that I even fetched him, that I had allowed him in and the whole act in front of Jamie was perhaps to get some other gay guy to fuck his brains out, since that what he seems to be lacking in his fucking relationship. 

“Like, I said... being gay-” I close my eyes and he continues. “I’m just... not interested.”

“Yet you still had sex with me.” I rant. “It’s not about orientation, I don’t give a shit what you identify as, you still had sex with a man, you do realize that, don’t you, Alex?”

I feel my voice being an inch away from getting properly raised. 

“Maybe you’re right, maybe I should leave-” He states coldly, puting the mug which seemed to be in his hands until now. I feel my chin shake lightly and I keep my eyes closed and I open them to see him avoiding my gaze and as if speaking to the window, lie to himself. 

“Yeah, have fun. Knock yourself out, fuck Jamie next. Since you seem to be very into sex between two men. Or maybe just fucking log in Grindr, you’ll have a bunch of guys down your pants once they hear that lie of yours. And maybe all of a sudden, you’re not so fucking straight now, are you?” I snap, digging my nails into my skin, as he just turns to look at me. Neither of us starts a fight even if it’s taste is vivid in the air like an old hallucination and resolution. Alex pushes me harshly on the floor and goes on top of me.

Fuck.

“Go on, tell me now you don’t want me.” Alex is pinning me down and I can feel him hard against me. Fucker. My hands are pinned down, so all I can do is raise my head and kiss him. He bites my lips back, moaning, defying himself as our tongues rub harshly against each other and he even bites too hard, as he lets go of my hands, travelling down to my belt. 

“I’ll fucking have sex with men, if I want to.” He pauses. “You in?”

He undoes my belt, but doesn’t go further than that and it’s more than ridiculous with me with a full-on boner stating that I don’t want it at all. He grabs my chin, leaning in and breathing against my already swollen lips.

“Like you said... A bunch of men would be interested in fucking a straight guy. Doesn’t matter if I’ve fooled with others.” He hisses, eyes closed and licking my lips.

“I dunno, you seem awfully eager to be fucking me specifically, Alex.” I state, playing fire with fire. I put my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. We kiss without saying anything, solely grinding harshly over the fabric that Alex touches the pre-cum stain on my underwear, grinning as I just push his jeans down. 

“You’re the one fucking the said straight guy, though. Mind you, cheating. All scores, Miles.” He smirks, stroking my cock over the fabric, now sitting up before he pulls the underwear down and takes me painfully turned on and starts stroking as I just bite my lip, holding the moans down, still ticked off and frankly eager to keep torturing both of us to the point of no return. But then, we’ve reached it. We’ve fucked up. 

“I’m not the one with the fucked up conscience.” I snarl back, grinning, giving out a moan, as he strokes harder and he smirks, as I close my mouth, back to biting my lip. Alex stops stroking and before I can protest, he catches up on his distractional line of thinking. “Tell me your fantasies.”

“What the fuck? Can’t we just keep... fucking?”

“I want to stay longer.” He shrugs. “Let’s hold a conversation.”

“With hard erections? I thought we were fucking around, not a fucking relationship.” Alex ignores the last bit, looking up and I wonder how the fuck does his underwear even still covers his dick. I shrug and he motions for me to talk. 

“I dunno, I wanted to fuck a pizza guy. Why?”

“Isn’t that like cruising?”

“No, cruising is like when Brian dumped Jamie and next day was asking people near the bathroom ‘wanna fuck’. It’s a bit different.” I pause, he seems intrigued. “I dunno, I just watched this awful porn, back when I thought I was interested in women-”

He snorts.

“Anyway, this guy was a pizza boy and this woman fucked him. I never bothered to check porn on it, but I guess that’s what crawls in the back of the mind.” I pause. “Like how the fuck do you even do that? I don’t even want to. I’d be too creeped out on both sides, so.” I pick it up. “Can we fuck now?”

“No.” He starts thinking, yet he traces fingers down my stomach, wanker. I bite my lip harder, also not bothering to properly do anything, clutching the rub under my hands and I see Alex’s eyes check as if I am as sexually frustrated as I seem. He lowers his head and sticks his tongue out to slowly start licking me. I groan, clutching harder. Morals out of the window. He stops, grinning at me. “I think we should order a pizza to make your fantasy.” 

And he reaches out to his jeans. I sit up.

“You’re going to wait half a fucking hour? How the fuck are you even holding?” I moan, crossing my legs and shifting my weight unto my arms, trying to relax with my fucking dick nearly up in the air. Alex just flips at me as he starts looking for the number. I blink. “Can we not have a threesome with the pizza guy, please?”

“Who said we’ll be using him. We just need the fucking pizza and it’s a good idea, anyway, pizza after sex, before we both doze off.” He mutters, now putting the phone against his ear, shaking his leg, at least I’m not the only sexually frustrated. I feel even more turned on by looking at how the situation frankly is in his underwear, so I try to concentrate on the fucking ceiling instead and I nearly bite to blood as he slowly sits next to me and starts stroking my cock. The order is done and I try to dislocate my mind, so that I wouldn’t be thinking, but he only sees it even more as a game and goes down, slowly taking me in his mouth. I hear him gag.

“Relax your throat.” I mutter, as if teaching him as he gives me a thumbs up. I moan, before he takes me out of his mouth, now biting his lip. “You’re honest going to wait for the fucking order?”

“Yup.” He’s oblivious to my groaning and to tick him off, I grab my phone and frankly the only person I can even text is angsty Jamie, who I’m not sure I can help at the moment and he would be travelling to his apartment now anyway, so it wouldn’t help by reminding him of what awaits him and he’s more of a sole person unless he wants to speak out, but he’d always listen to you. Besides sexual frustration I have honestly nothing to tell. I press the phone against my lips, wondering if I am even allowed to dress up. It dawns on me. 

“What is your sexual fantasy then...” I quickly resume to add something to my left question. “Or any of them, really.”

“Fuck a guy. Isn’t that obvious?” He smirks, scrolling on his phone, as well, still in his boxers, now sitting besides me on the floor. I’m the only one fully naked. Alex raises his dark brown eyes to look at me. My breath stops slightly, I wonder how the fuck he even manages to be so striking, when he looks younger than the age he is given by the time he’s lived, I wonder what had even went on in all the time he’s been here. I wonder how his school years went and even the daft stories with girls. 

“No, you’re as cloudy as a rainy day.” I smirk back, twisting my own words with hesitation if I should even be laying with him, here, as I can’t seem to pull my eyes down, as he holds them. I wonder what would the actual thoughts running through his head be. What is it that actually holds him down? How does he feel with cheating on his girlfriend? How come he’ll be able to pick her in my arms? I wonder how bad has his poetry been in the high school years? “Anything else?”

Perhaps cheating?

I’m still the one allowing him to use me as a tool to break Arielle, unless he decides to open the relationship, which seems something far too away of a concept for straight couples, even if my own gay friends are entangled in the struggles of denial. 

Alex still seems to be thinking on my question for a bit, but then just shrugs and I feel like we are perfect for those commercials which state that communication is dead. 

Being with Alex just highlights how alone I feel and how much I don’t let anything hint that I might actually be missing a significant other, like renting a small apartment not to feel space where someone else could be. Being alone is admitting that you have a problem with yourself because you can’t glue yourself together, because there is no point in holding yourself together in any damn way because everyone who you know will leave and our silence feels as bad as being lone. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, lifting his arms up to scratch them. “That was always the main one, crawling in the back of the mind, but I never really tried to push it. I wouldn’t have it if I haven’t followed you-”

“So I was the catalyst in your dipping into the queer pool, adventure then?” I smirk, raising my eyes from the phone. Alex just grins back at me and I wonder which one of us is the devil on the chessboard here. He holds the pause, scrolling in his own phone awkwardly, before putting it down and lying besides me, against his arm, watching me. I notice that nothing is really on his phone anymore and he just pulls me into another kiss. It’s not even a kiss of life or lust, it’s something much more destroyed, shattered and seems to hold a lack of a moral edge as Arielle quickly jumps through my mind as he pins me down, lower, as we start making out, his hand against my cock again and instead I take his hands and push them behind Alex just to hold them together. I had some handcuffs somewhere but it’s as if I am the one needing them, as I thrust my hips lightly against his, rocking them sweetly, Alex moaning as my other hand goes into his boxers, pulling them off.

I push Alex to be under me, as he grins against the kiss, moaning audibly as I start stroking his cock, slowly making my way down with harsh kisses and bites which leave him wincing, his hands let out to grasp anything, which happens to be the rug underneath and my short hair with no avail. I trace my fingers up to his nipples as I squeeze each before taking his cock in my mouth and pressing the fingers back against the skin, as he moans louder. 

The fucking bell rings. I jump up, as Alex groans, banging his fist against the floor, as I quickly pull on my jeans, taking the other end of the rug and covering him in it.

“Fuck you, revenge, asshole!” I say, stepping over him, as he grabs my leg and I shake it off, making my way shirtless to the pizza. The pizza guy doesn’t seem to catch my eye as Alex does wrapped in the IKEA rug on the floor, naked and hard. I swallow, quickly glancing back, as I make sure that the hole between the door and me is minimal, as I just stretch out the banknote, the guy handing the pizza over and I tell him to keep the tip. 

Alex has his arm over his eyes. I grab his jeans. I don’t really have a Domino’s snapback or t-shirt. I quickly head into my room and grab a random white polo. I shouldn’t be kicking someone out into the cold in a shirt and I hope the guy is gone already.

“Go freeze your balls off, pizza boy.” I grin and Alex just groans, not even bothering to put on underwear under his jeans. It’s not like it’s even gonna stay long there anyway. I quickly peek out to see if the pizza boy left, before I push out Alex outside, as he already shivers from the open door as I seem to be pumped with this ridiculous idea, as I throw him outside. 

I close it and before Alex even gets the chance to knock, I yell at him.

“Don’t! We need to make it realistic, I need to be rock hard, wanker!”

“Oh, you’re suggesting for me to fucking jerk off in the cold then too?” I hear Alex’s muffled noises and I’m sure everyone gets a taste of some queer morning now, with Alex in a white polo and a pizza box, no sweater, no nothing and snow being something delayed on the menu these days. 

“Sounds hot!” I yell back, guessing that he’s groaning now and shifting from foot to foot, the pizza box being a deluxe heater now. 

“That wasn’t the fucking fantasy, deal with this one, first!” Alex groans, now banging against my door.

“Oi, oi, pizza boy, calm down otherwise no one is even going to eat the pizza, let alone the crust!” I smirk, actually starting to touch myself but it’s not much of a hard deal to do with the fact that me and Alex were making out a while ago. I get too turned on by thinking of pinning Alex down and riding him. I open the door.

Alex hands me the pizza over. I’m shirtless and we stare at each other as if we’ve never had sex before and I see how lost he looks and yet consumed by touching desire. The man knows the sins he’s committing, willingly. I seem more shallow than I expected myself to be. I pretend to open my wallet, as Alex still shifts from foot to foot. How much does it take for one to break the reality they had built? 

I wonder what tips what over and I pull him against me, kissing him, as Alex first doesn’t kiss back, confused, before opening his lips under mine, easing in my touch, kissing softer, feeling something rather harsh dissolve into something far more extended than we had both expected, 

I get scaredconfusedfreakedout

I break the kiss. I try to use Arielle as the catalyst now.

I shouldn’t be the one backing out

from something tender, yet I do, going down on my knees. 

“Sorry, I’ll tip you properly.” I grin and take his cock out, mocking surprise as I lick the underline of his cock, looking at him in the eyes, as he just watches me mesmerized. “You came prepared.”

“No, actually.” He smirks, as I close my eyes and take all his length in my mouth, slowly. 

“You see, I’m not into men.” Alex continues a satire of himself, grabbing the hanging coats behind him, moaning, thrusting against my mouth, as I gag lightly, digging my nails into his hips, getting harder and eager, frankly desperate for Alex. My mind shuts down, pulled apart. 

-

I'm sorry that it's taking so long to write, because each chapter is around 3.8 k xD (this one is lacking like maybe 40 words to the mark) and in general the choice of what I chose to write is frankly, I don't know how and why, so I might end up picking up stories which I hadn't updated in years and binge until they are done. An ode for instance has like 10k written with each chapter being something around 600 words so yeah xD it really varies from story to story:) so yeah, frankly I had a bit written before I started Nano and I didn't manage to make it in time so I shifted to writing all the three Nano novels:) which all have at least one chapter up xD being To Miles (obviously), Return of the Peppermint Killers and An ode. 

I think it's funny because I had used I guess the classic trend of "fuck yes, let's fuck a straight guy" and then he deep throats in one go. Well, yeah, it's a hot concept I guess, but it still goes on the whole is it because they've never fucked a guy and I really kind of get my deepest thoughts out when I write and I started thinking of the cult of virginity and wondered on it. I dunno, I'm not a person who goes "fuck yes, I'll go for a person who has never been with a gender before or anyone", like Callie never dated anyone else before me, which didn't repulse me or attract me in any way. I've had exes with had their first shot at dating my gender and I really don't get the appeal, like in bed frames-wise yeah, sure, go role-play, we have weirder fantasies in bed, but I dunno, I'm not one to say keep them in bed and not on the streets. I dunno, I just think love isn't as shallow as that but I'm demisexual so maybe I'm not the best to judge. I also try to make my characters as less demisexual as possible whenever they are not, because my thinking is "get to know->get attracted->fuck" xD so I dunno is No. 1 Party Anthem a thrash of that? I think that's for Miles to muse on. I also have an upcoming interesting other storyline (yes, ignore me, y'know where this is heading xD) I dunno, I started liking having many subplots after writing To Miles, so I use that xD 

But yeah, I think the whole story deals with kind of those things, what is the border and what is it to someone else, really. But Al and Miles really play on that, so it does go into sheets, well, sides the fact that he is cheating on Arielle. That's where it becomes… the streets?

The offices opposite was something I had written as in the previous apartment we had some and it was odd that I could observe an office life well, when I didn't close the shutters off. I preferred weekends to that xD 

Maybe because I'm still rather torn from reality and derealization but I dunno I kept musing on, well, a person can change overnight, so I went on that, because anything can change us really. Drastically if we want to or well, y'know it happens. 

Cumbersome is my favourite word now, because I use the word in Russian rather often and I hadn't know it's English translation until now XD which is odd because my Russian is very very poor xD well, not that bad, but could be better, I still can converse and my grammar is well:) I'm just taking the piss because it's rather weak for having it native xD

Heh, the dating pool is something I say since I'm poly, but yeah, I'll see where everything goes. I'm a demisexual closed poly, so yeah, it's hard for me to like someone and I've got my eyes on someone and yeah, patience is a bit rusty sometimes. 

I like having contrasting characters and I realized that I will have a contrasting character to Alex later on and I've been musing on No. 1 Party Anthem so I think it will go a fair way xD be happy? XD Rejoice? XD

My friendly reminder that don't cheat, open up x)

I do have to make Alex a bit ignorant here, comes with the "fucking a straight boy" really, it's not a fucking field in the park, if someone is doubtful or closeted, have fun, it's a minefield if it's you whose closeted or them. 

I do get angry at bierasure, but not everyone is bi, some are pan, some are straight but y'know a 1 on the Kinsey Scale, some just have exceptions, some are queer, some are fluid (waves). 

So yeah, I do get ticked off at times, but Alex has to define his own sexuality if he wishes so. I know, it's weird, I feel like they tell me the story or I watch it in front of myself and I just describe it, it's rather visual when I write to be honest:)

I dunno, they're both fucked up, but yeah, it was something which needed to be addressed. 

I was struggling with writing, frankly. I was like, shit, I need to finish this, this is wanted XD and yeah, I kept musing it and trying to make my mind instead of yelling TODAY WE'RE DOING SNAP OUT OF IT, I was like, fucking go and think as I'm doing daily things and me and Callie for some goddamn reason were talking of porn we've seen in our teens. Callie's first was some disastrous pizza straight het porn which involved titty fucking or whatever. So I was like, that would be a good milex sex one-shot and then I went to myself, Jamie, you fucker use that as fantasy, you of all people barely show people roleplaying in your sex scenes, which is odd, I tend to give my characters other things than I do, kind of, so yeah, for some reason I haven't use sex role-plays as much as I should've xD I am too open. Ah, fuck it, I talk about anyone with bikini waxes. Speaking of, I love Brazilian. 

Anyway

Now you're closer to me, you've read that I love the Brazilian wax. 

I honestly fucked up and it was Kate who would stand near the bathrooms in the 90s asking to fuck, not Brian, so I borrowed that xD sorry!

Anyway, have fun, there's pizza porn now XD

What, tip? Relax your throat? Yeah, relax your throat and if you have dildos, dicks, have a one-off with your partner who can take more in their mouth XD

I did a twist the cloudy on a rainy day, was really the opposite of as clear as day:)

Catalysts are kind of a running metaphor through this story and thing really, what does cause cheating in Miles' mind really?

Of course everyone starts off with a rock hard erection. Pure life.

I think it's obvious well, that something starts between those two, so it's more of a 'yeah, I feel that, but this wanker is cheating on his girlfriend, but I'm fucking him' for Miles.

I love how they play on it, really

I hope you enjoyed it and yes, pester me PLEASE

see, it was out sooner XD trust me xD

I hope you enjoyed it and tell me fi you did :3

<3

Jamie

No. 1 Party Anthem 4

Return of the Peppermint Killers

Sometimes fury takes the best of you, sometimes fury makes you do irrational things like picking up an old phone book, where numbers which should be lost in a more significant point, that it should remained cluttered at the end of some yesterday’s scribbles and notes which pile up to a month and it’s solely done because it resembles the mind, you never really forget anything, do you?

I don’t seem to.

And the phone call is useless, that I’ve lit three cigarettes and thrown them out of the window, solely because when you get a paycheck you seem to discard things easily and then live on cup noodles for the next month. And she doesn’t pick up, because the idea would seem insane drunk and sober it doesn’t even make sense, but anger seems to cool down with a curiosity and excitement which previously I would calm down with medicine, but now don’t, letting everything escalate and downfall into some uneven spiral.

And when she does pick up, it’s not even a question of alcohol.

“Meg?” I drop the fourth cigarette, surprised she even picked up and all I hear is silence and her attention. If Archie was downstairs he would chew it. And I don’t know if she would even pick up and her silence seems to be far more taunting and threatening than I’ve ever seen before or even a lone Wob’s breath after a very long friday night as if it were something worse than Bobby Gillespie’s Glasgow and I wonder how the fuck would I even manage the courage to speak out and I even wish that Archie were somewhere to take our all my cigarettes as if all the sobering in the world could do something tonight but then it’s somewhere stuck between midday and nothing and I wonder how long would her silence even stretch.

"Hey, it’s me, Jamie", I say to Meg and I wonder how long even passes before I can even hear her blink and I think I hear the telly in the back but instead she speaks and I can always imagine her in something stylish, her hair just as long and silky and the childish adoration just pouring out of her, begging a hug which I would always give her and I wonder if I would ever manage to again in a friendly manner.

"I heard that you and Alison broke up" is what she says and usually when people say that they tend to mean that we broke up as a couple rather than as a band and I just sigh, nodding, exhaling and she just makes a weird noise and now I am the one who is the keeper of long and prolonged silence.

Maybe I should’ve done something else and instead Meg keeps talking.

"I don’t like Jack’s solo, it’s too vulgar, I never liked rap" is what comes from the White Stripes drummer’s mouth and I couldn’t agree more and I just try and see if she would be able to state something else to follow up this discussion and instead of anything she just keep following her own peppermint Meg trail of thought which had always been adored and loved by many.

So what would you be doing then is the key holder of my silence and I know that my shaking head isn’t vocal enough so instead I speak up.

"Would you ever be interested in drumming again, we don’t have to do gigs, I think it even killed it off for me, I was never a big fan of the stage ever since…" I hold a pause, Alison’s hurling and whatever the fuck on stage, it just stops becoming about the music, the mystery and the atmosphere.

“I was going to call you…” Meg keeps talking. “But I never really had your phone and I wasn’t sure where you lived, since I only had Gipsy Hill-”

“I am in Gipsy Hill, actually.” I bite my nail harshly. “Everything fell through.”

She gasps lightly.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Jamie.” And I hear my own and concise finale of a long sexual joke trip with Alison, which she had given up on, tearing the picture in two with her teeth, ruining the reflection I had wanted us to be. Echoes of sadness and something eternal seem to keep tearing me apart, pulling me lower and lower as if I could drown on air and see bubbles of water emerge in a shallow hallucination. Maybe it’s not such a sad day after all, I go through Archie’s fur, as he looks at me knowing at the long discussion we’ll have. 

-

I think this is one of those stories where I was just laughing my ass off. This is the third and final secret Nano novel xD I[ve never had so many notes for a novel ever written xD 

I'm letting it see the light of day today because…

IT'S FUCKING JAMIE HINCE'S BIRTHDAY!!!

I'm actually really really speechless, because he's pretty much been with me through many many years, being an inspiration, because he means an awful lot to me. So if you follow me on tumblr, I'll have the whole day dedicated to him, so I'll be posting random Jamie-related things and mumblings

I just honestly adore him for everything he does and he's the most talented human being to ever grace this earth. He's amazing and I honestly hopes he has an amazing birthday today :D 

He's one of those people who deeply inspire me every day and make me get out of bed. 

I'm thankful for everything, so of course I'm at a loss for words. 

All the best.

I chose this story because frankly I wanted something different for his birthday and well, something not too shipping as well, which is odd, but I'll keep my mouth shut on this one.

Perhaps it's not the cheeriest but yeah:)

Anyway, it was written as I got the idea, me and Callie were discussing Kills and where the fuck were they headed, if it was going to be a break eventually, and then I went what what if Jamie and Meg did something then I did this beautiful font and etc for the title and I'll edit it later, not now xD 

Also a big chunk was written me trying to do the 5 headed hydra for Nano (500 words in 5 minutes, I failed and got a big chunk full of typos xD)

I hope you enjoyed it and let's all drink, celebrate and get drunk to Jamie's birthday.

I'm off to a good start, I'm going to sleep at 7 am XD

Tell me if you liked it :3

<3

Jamie

An ode

There is something in cowboy boots bought in a thrift store back home, they give a sense of walking away because I’m no longer there and even when lying on the couch, hair in a tight bun, those which pull the face, it’s still somehow enough to stare at them getting worn and feel a bit cosmic, as if attached to random words as if I could scribble stars on the soles just to be a cosmic cowboy because the words match today.

There is a laziness which seems to stretch into the small kitchen where my couch is, as I stretch, feeling the toes reach the tip as I unravel, turning my head to see him.

It’s not a sense of déjà vu because we’ve never met and he doesn’t even place his eyes on me, as if I were a legend of my own, instead I see a need of a heavy shave and shattered traces of insomnia. He’s far from the only one who asked me why am I here, but questions don’t materialize, curiosity dies when given the right dose

And even dies is not the right word.

Everything not working out is enrolled with everything going wrong in my head, the fear precise and just as moving as the idle reality I am judged for.

And the charm is no longer a charm.

And surely doesn’t belong in a locket with the right news.

And I still feel the glossiness under the heel, digging in, reminding me of the uneasiness and my own forgetfulness. And maybe it’s uneasiness which digs in, once you pull your eyes away and I just get back to my couch, closing my eyes, as if the uneasiness and the void being filled with some sort of elevating substance isn’t the best thing ever, so I try to focus on said portrait, tucked under the heel of the foot, above the hell and slowly getting worn out.

But maybe it shouldn’t even be time, which should wear it out, but myself. 

It’s not even discarding a lost love when you find a new, it’s about discarding those whose mouth is too wide and open for the wrong causes. There is nothing attached and it’s like loving an old, dead person.

I take off the boot, when he already heads back up with coffee and I can only imagine the silence will be locked and I’ll think whatever he does in his room, recalling how mysteries evolve from silence.

And with a loud sigh, from all the headlines no longer repressed in my head, even if there were none and as if something symbolic, I take out the small photo, which I had chosen years ago and figured that jeans can be nicked, boots somehow weren’t and that under the heel is something to make her maybe closer to the ground-

And it’s not like memory is erased even if it’s one-sided and doubtful, because mind portrays a beautiful image of love and adoration. I give one quick glance and I wonder if I even want to be there on the moment of decapitation.

Before I even think to get a cigarette, I tear the small photo of VV ironically in two and that is suffice, as I stand up, in the blink of an eye opening the lower cupboard doors to see the trashcan and-

There is no ideology, there is just the fear and illusional sense of an apocalypse and I throw her out, as if she could be hit with a meteor because not even the dark haired makes sense anymore, it feels like a dream which never made it to reality-

I make my way upstairs to properly introduce myself for once, the heel not so empty, revealing a new polished, untouched space ready to wear out with the end. 

-

I've spoken of it enough, but I was really knocked down by Alison's ignorance back in November and the fact that well, people really don't care and one death matters more because it was on American soil revolts me than an official toll of 5000 people. So obviously that angered me. 

An ode was something I even thought I would never publish because it gets very heavy and political later, but I've decided with the whole Pakistan children deaths, that I don't care. I want to speak even if I'm ignored, because I am ignored. People with the same blood as me are killed every day and no one cares and due to America frankly blinding everything and fucking up it's harder and scarier to speak up. But well, if I can speak through fiction I will. Alison is used her as a very heavy image and frankly the first chapter was s'posed to be the ending, I was thinking of a sole short story, but decided to expand it and whenever I get angry I just chuck down quotes, so I'll be going through the more heavy chapters later, maybe I'll even edit them, after all I'm not American so my words mean nothing to everyone. 

So An ode is a unfortunate depiction of our world today through a magnifying lens, because we don't see a lot and we try to obscure ourselves from it, while An ode doesn't. 

I am still very angry at Alison, but I really dissociated her and VV her persona or who she used to be, so yeah, I'll just be finishing the stories with her and that will be it, because it's still my work of fiction just with the wrong image chosen unfortunately. I wonder if that's why people read my Kills stuff less because I'm against killing people and she isn't. Ironic, the fact that people are killed means nothing if you're an ignorant skinny American bitch who happens to be female and on a guitar, because fuck yeah, girl power. Scumbags like her make the media blind.

I never had an androgynous character before and Callie is androgynous, so I had really tried to capture it as well as I could because I wanted representation and I guess it's maybe a bit self-obsessed by sticking a gay male character and androgynous, I dunno, I find it hard to hold a dialogue with myself because I get triggered for being called to be silent. 

I was angry and annoyed at Alison, I had started writing this story with her, Jack and Jamie which has the sharing apartments and Jamie staying up stairs setting. I was sad that I had just started writing it and I was then thinking that I would stop all stories with Alison, but alas, I feel selfish, but I don't want to drop fiction I've written and started, it is fanfiction after all. So I just grabbed the setting and started writing some fiction in it, the other story will be published eventually, as you can see I'm getting new written stories out every day xD there's really a lot xD 

Also that is the reason of the short chapters, because I associate my Kills stories with length so I've got around 10 chapters of An ode, so far XD I know, so keep poking me XD please, I'd love some positivity :)

For some reason I pictured (I'll avoid using names for now, they are called in the second chapter) the main character in boots and I was actually going to sleep and that just prompted them and if I recall correctly I just grabbed my phone and started typing with the lights off, just telling Callie that I said fuck it, I'll write this other story for Nanowrimo as well xD

there's also a third story written during Nano, I might put it up tomorrow, I'll see :3

The image of boots and the small photo of VV are what you should be athnkful which made me write the story xD and it was also my sort of goodbye to VV, because she had just slapped me across the face. If I knew I would've said something to her, I wouldn't have been nice when she was rude, but y'know you never know those things, I just get sad because I really held my mouth from spreading that she was a rude bitch to me, but y'know, you should never idolize and defend, people are scum. I only believe in lovers and myself. 

To those who didn't get the link via tumblr, I had stated at the top of the post: "inspired by Alison's ignorance, therefore tagging. An ode to Alison Mosshart, in a way."

And yeah, I pretty much said everything and thank you

Let's pray to all who need it, not just your own sandbox. 

Please tell me if you liked it

<3

Jamie