Otherwise known as - How Many References Can I Reasonably Put In This?
This is here (at least) for archival purposes and that I really like the setting even if it's one of those manic blank-page writing "exercises". That and the boys kept me up last night while they made out in the sound booth and told me about why Hugh never fucks on the full moon.
Okay, so oldie-goldie writing:
Somewhere in the darkness, goth girls are doing things to boys that push their screams an octave higher. It wasn't what it had been - the Darkness. Once it had enveloped their souls like a dark blanket drowning away their last breath as they pressed themselves into the walls and broke through rooms, roaring and biting with all the passion available to the lost. And they had lost themselves in the heaving, breathing darkness of rider lists and broken guitar strings garotting notes with their vicious efficiency. Every note lost was one more step towards perfection as high-heeled feet demonstrated high-school physics more effectively than a thousand elephants - and they kept the attention of their adoring students as blood licked down the stage to the long-abandonned dance floor. Somewhere in an abandonned hotel, Callum looked down from the skeletal ruin of the lighting booth as Hugh held him against the wall and slowly sank to his knees. Hugh was no suplicant and his strange almost-animal crouch as he tore away at Callum's jeans did more than reveal his own ardour. Ardour and harder - a smile into a kiss into a bite into a bullet that killed all thought. Callum keened and howled - no longer mindful of the company that had invaded the hotel, invaded their space, infiltrated their den - as stubble scraped along his thigh and sharp nothings ghosted around his cock. Callum could feel it in his blood as the night changed the world into something that would always and forever be theirs. The wolf pack of two, the lost boys, the canadian actors. Behind the stage, half a lifetime ago, they had fought with lust and abandonment -- Hugh had shat upon everything of their freindship and it doesn't work like that, doesn't end like that and this isn't about the drugs. There was something in Hugh, something that needed, something bad in his blood. Callum's mouth still tasted of Frank's Cock, don't forget that, Dillon, do not forget that. Callum had - in that moemnt - had seen more lovers die than men live. Live true and live free. And what letter of the alphabet was that - had he broken the fucking typewriter again and just pounded the eighth letter again and again in the hope that it would break something. Self destruction was such an attainable game, but it wasn't the only game in town. Callum didn't know shit about this game, didn't understand what was under Hugh's skin. You want this, you fucking want this, you want to be lost and starving alive. It tore at him and the deep dark dreams where hte only place left to hide. The only place he couyld trap himself - make sure of his imprisonment around the ecstacy of the new moon - and dance. There had been blood and a trail of deaths that Joe Dick could not even dream of. Waking smeered with blood and darkness - smelling of decay the sharp taste of fear and only the mirror could tell the story, there was nothing beyond that, nothing beyond hald a dozen polariods caught with a dead man's switch and the old bloody moon beating him down. Red letter days had more of a meaning here - in this place - as he walked into the darkness and stepped out another thing entirely. The drugs were safe, the drugs meant no more bite marks to hide and no more bodies to hide someplace between sleeping and waking. All things dead and nasty, broken birds and broken wings and floride and florasine and there it was clean
And Callum wanted that, wanted that only thing Hugh could never lose, the poison in his blood and the darkness in his soul.
Unfortunately, I couldn't start on this earlier because Real Life made demands on me etc...
[b-a-t-h, computing for the inept, more etc] which means I am trying to get back into the groove and somehow mainlining Headstones isn't doing it. Or at least not Teeth and Tissue Gah. Every page in my notebook has a different working title - currently "underwearwolf" because the boys think it's hilarious.
Okay, so oldie-goldie writing:
Somewhere in the darkness, goth girls are doing things to boys that push their screams an octave higher. It wasn't what it had been - the Darkness. Once it had enveloped their souls like a dark blanket drowning away their last breath as they pressed themselves into the walls and broke through rooms, roaring and biting with all the passion available to the lost. And they had lost themselves in the heaving, breathing darkness of rider lists and broken guitar strings garotting notes with their vicious efficiency. Every note lost was one more step towards perfection as high-heeled feet demonstrated high-school physics more effectively than a thousand elephants - and they kept the attention of their adoring students as blood licked down the stage to the long-abandonned dance floor. Somewhere in an abandonned hotel, Callum looked down from the skeletal ruin of the lighting booth as Hugh held him against the wall and slowly sank to his knees. Hugh was no suplicant and his strange almost-animal crouch as he tore away at Callum's jeans did more than reveal his own ardour. Ardour and harder - a smile into a kiss into a bite into a bullet that killed all thought. Callum keened and howled - no longer mindful of the company that had invaded the hotel, invaded their space, infiltrated their den - as stubble scraped along his thigh and sharp nothings ghosted around his cock. Callum could feel it in his blood as the night changed the world into something that would always and forever be theirs. The wolf pack of two, the lost boys, the canadian actors. Behind the stage, half a lifetime ago, they had fought with lust and abandonment -- Hugh had shat upon everything of their freindship and it doesn't work like that, doesn't end like that and this isn't about the drugs. There was something in Hugh, something that needed, something bad in his blood. Callum's mouth still tasted of Frank's Cock, don't forget that, Dillon, do not forget that. Callum had - in that moemnt - had seen more lovers die than men live. Live true and live free. And what letter of the alphabet was that - had he broken the fucking typewriter again and just pounded the eighth letter again and again in the hope that it would break something. Self destruction was such an attainable game, but it wasn't the only game in town. Callum didn't know shit about this game, didn't understand what was under Hugh's skin. You want this, you fucking want this, you want to be lost and starving alive. It tore at him and the deep dark dreams where hte only place left to hide. The only place he couyld trap himself - make sure of his imprisonment around the ecstacy of the new moon - and dance. There had been blood and a trail of deaths that Joe Dick could not even dream of. Waking smeered with blood and darkness - smelling of decay the sharp taste of fear and only the mirror could tell the story, there was nothing beyond that, nothing beyond hald a dozen polariods caught with a dead man's switch and the old bloody moon beating him down. Red letter days had more of a meaning here - in this place - as he walked into the darkness and stepped out another thing entirely. The drugs were safe, the drugs meant no more bite marks to hide and no more bodies to hide someplace between sleeping and waking. All things dead and nasty, broken birds and broken wings and floride and florasine and there it was clean
And Callum wanted that, wanted that only thing Hugh could never lose, the poison in his blood and the darkness in his soul.
Unfortunately, I couldn't start on this earlier because Real Life made demands on me etc...
[b-a-t-h, computing for the inept, more etc] which means I am trying to get back into the groove and somehow mainlining Headstones isn't doing it. Or at least not Teeth and Tissue Gah. Every page in my notebook has a different working title - currently "underwearwolf" because the boys think it's hilarious.