Band-aid

Sep. 10th, 2011 8:44 AM

Ian came running, holding his face in his hand. "Do you know where I can find some band aids? Have you got one?" Ian asked, sounding totally shaken, or otherwise excited about something.

"What happened?" Will asked, not helping but thinking there's a story behind the nick on Ian's face and thinking it might be interesting.

"Bowie. I was shaving in front of the mirror, and he came to me, and he started TALKING to me, and I jumped startled, so erm, I cut my face... Oh, Will, he's so gorgeous!"

Will laughs.

"It took an injury to make you laugh, didn't it? Well, at least I made you laugh." Ian grins at Will, with a sense of accomplishment.

Clowns

Sep. 10th, 2011 8:15 AM

"You know what they say about clowns…" Will says reflectively.
 
"They wear bad make up?" Ian shrugs heavily, holding his large glass.
 
"Their smiles are painted on." Will provides the oh-so familiar cliché.
 
"Why are you telling *me* this?" Ian cocks his head at Will, thinking he really is way too drunk for a serious conversation now - and where did Will pull that out from anyway?
 
 "I just wanted to know if you're alright I guess, although you seem to be doing good." Will says, and Ian has a flash of realizing that maybe Will used an all too beat up phrase, but he'd actually managed to get the point across rather well, the bastard.
 
Ian chuckles. "Seriously, Will, if you think you're going to get a confession out of me, you are sorely mistaken."
 
"I didn't think so." Will says frankly, and from that point on they haven't spoken to each other that night, Ian leaving with some girl, and Will getting another couple of drinks and then going back home to sleep.

Self-denier: More Adventures in Anti-Survivalism

Posted 10 August 2011 - 04:01 AM

I can't pretend it gets easier, are those pills making you bitter?

Last time I saw you, you were a balloon, tied up in a string.

You don't know the ghosts of your past, whose lives you've left for dead. You're hiding under the table again, talking to a chimpanzee, a snake; spitting out the cake and watching old film on a new movie screen - but you're still so lost for thought, for inspiration, for a clue.

Post-modernist or scientist, you're running from the pain; but you'll read it in a book, where the sarcasm's not snide, it's all subtle and dry, and for once the words don't judge you, the illustrations don't whisper secrets; and even the stories you read - of glorious everydays, of troubled existence- are all muted. 

Prompt 1: Moon

Aug. 2nd, 2011 at 9:06 PM

'Under blue moon I saw you, so soon you'll take me...'

Ian scribbles his words on the notepad, concentrating. In moments like this, he can almost feel some kind of presence next him, but he knows it's not real, so he ignores it.

Right now he's all alone, which is how he prefers it. This part - the writing - is all his, and with this one he felt compelled to write the lyrics before the music, so he can properly devote himself to it and not just rely on his quick wit - which was still in good condition, thank you very much.

He can feel now, more than just Pete's drums clanking in his ears, Will's soaring or twiddling guitar parts, and Les' rhythmic bass. Rest assured, they would all have a time and a place - as he contemplates the structure of the verses, the length of each syllable, the right feel for this song - he has more or less of an idea of what this baby would sound like, and he hopes his friends won't let him down on that one. Each time he picks up a phrase, a melodic idea, a wordplay - he can feel his toes curl up. He feels his back slumped heavily over the brick wall outside where he's standing, the weight abstractly shifting from his lower back to his feet and back up - still leaning, but his legs are dangling forward in an angle. He curls his lips along the metallic end of his pencil, seemingly absent-mindedly - but he sucks gently and bites it in order to grasp onto *something* now, to know his words are coming from within, and not by any outside source. The image in his head is so striking, but clear, like gazing at your reflection in the water. 

The paper sheet is darkening before his eyes, and he needs to strain them to look at the words. He knows he's been hanging around for hours, and the night's beginning to fall. There's no use of trying to read what he'd written, everything he sees is just a smudge of greys now, and he's trying to shake off that feeling, that there are just things in life that you have no control of, and you can't will them away.

All he has left now are those images in his head, and some of his words, though he forgets them, so now his visual memory takes over, captivating him on a different level - before the night falls down and takes his soul away - No, wait, why would the night consume him? Where did that thought come from?

He shuffles his feet and moves down, until he sits with his back at the wall. Just a little dark figure crumpled over the wall at night, and if someone gives him hassle he would say he's looking for his muse, people often just think he's weird and leave him alone.

He can't be bothered to keep his eyes open - he often doesn't - and in-between dreaming about home-made cooking and football, he dreams about the moon over the Mersey river, and how magical it seemed to him when he was a kid; How gorgeous and mysterious it was to him. He could hear it call for him, whatever it means. He's sure it would call him again one day.

He wakes feeling a lot calmer, though in his mind, he estimates he hasn't been dosing off for long - his biological clock is never wrong on these things. As he puts his notepad under his arm and gets ready to leave, he can feel someone touching his shoulder, but he turns around and sees no one. He shrugs it off, huddling because he's gotten colder.

The Ten Commandments

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WIP - Ian McCulloch/Johnny Marr talking at a bar

Jul. 22nd, 2011 at 4:21 AM

"Johnny Marr! What are you doing here?" Ian asks with enthusiasm, as if he hasn't seen Johnny around before, making Johnny – no doubt – turn his head to Ian. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, I was with someo… Some people. They just left."

"Well, then, what were you waiting outside for? Let's go back in. Come on, it's still early."

With that, Ian puts his arm around Johnny, dragging him back into the pub.

They order drinks. After a small talk, it seems like there's something on Ian's mind that he feels the need to air.

"You know, that guy you were seeing a few years ago, that weird bloke with the hair, where is he? You know who I mean, don't you?"

"That guy… You mean Morrissey?" Johnny sighs, but keeps a small smile.

"Oi, yeah, that's the one!" Ian grins, his change in pitch could be possibly mistaken for real joy of being reminded about Morrissey's name. Johnny's not buying it, but he wishes to keep Ian entertained. "Is he still alive?" Ian asks.

"Yeah, I suppose." Johnny says, smirking. Many times people try to talk to him just to pick some pieces of info on his ex…bandmate. Ex-bandmate, yeah, and he's gotten wary of those conversations, but it's different this time – if anything, Ian's taking the piss out of people who do that.

"Noooo. Really?" Ian straightens up in his chair, concentrating his eyes on the chip in his hand. "He was a dodgy fucker, though. I never liked him."

"You didn't?" Johnny asks. He knows Ian has said less than favourable things about the Smiths, and about Morrissey in particular, but he assumes Ian's always playing it up a bit.

"I suppose I liked 'Reel Around the Fountain', it was a good one." Ian says in a serious, impassioned tone which voices his appreciation. "And the one which goes…" He sings Johnny's guitar part, perfectly.

"This Charming Man." Johnny pitches in.

"You know what I mean!" Ian looks at Johnny appreciatively.

"It was a very good vocal impression." Johnny says in return.

"Well, you wrote the tune, didn't you?" Ian asks. "Some of your tunes were good, like. Some were excellent."

Johnny nods. "Alright, cheers." Ian is feigning some kind of cool objectivity, isn't he? I bet he listens to the Smiths at home, having a good time to our songs, like everyone.

"Your singer, though-" Ian continues. "He's a bit mental. Way too much of a purist, in every way. I don't believe him. Maybe it's because I'm the complete opposite of him, I don't know."

"What do you mean?" Johnny asks. Are we still talking about Morrissey? It was a long time ago, mate, let it go. Ian must be really pissed, does he even know what *year* it is?

"He's vegetarian, he doesn't eat meat." Ian provides both info and literal definition, which are invaluable, especially to Johnny. "Will is vegetarian too; he says it's good, he believes it's healthier, you know, not eating dead things. I tell him he still smells." Ian grins proudly. Something about the timing and the way Ian delivers his childish joke makes Johnny chuckle wholeheartedly.

"The truth is, I don't know if you've heard about it, but I'm vegan." Johnny says. Although it has been dropped off in various interviews and articles (which Ian would have known if he'd bothered to read them), Johnny secretly hopes Ian doesn't know about his veganism, so that Johnny could shock and titillate Ian with that fact.

"Really? You're vegan?!" Ian asks with a mix of genuine curiosity and surprise, which pleases Johnny. "Wow, um… pfff." Ian breathes out. Johnny can't help but feel Ian's a lot more impressed than he'd expected him to be. It could be that Ian never got to talk to a vegan about veganism, or at least he hasn't been aware of any vegans around him; Johnny considers that. But maybe - Johnny thinks - there's a whole different reason why Ian is thrilled, and it involves Johnny specifically, in contrast to any other persons Ian had mentioned.

"So… um… Could you tell me what you eat?" Johnny could see Ian was searching for the right words; and although that question may be trite – Johnny would normally answer dryly 'Anything you do, except for products which cash in on the abuse and killing of animals', as the definition already implies – he wants to indulge Ian's sudden interest, so Johnny actually goes on in lengths about his favourite foods, cruelty-free products and the like.

"No way, man…" Ian squints, deep in thought. "You're looking good." Ian says decisively. "Did I ever tell you you look good?"

Johnny shakes his head, smiling weakly. He doesn't think Ian had ever told him that, and even if he had, Johnny would have had no real reason to remember it – Ian may be quick to slag off other musicians, or criticize individuals, but when it comes to talking about personal feelings or wants, he could be described as vague at best; simple and direct, but maybe too simple and not direct enough.

WIP - Will/Ian and some chocolate

Jul. 22nd, 2011 at 4:19 AM

Ian: "Omnomnom…"

Everyone looks over at Ian.

Les points, "You can't sing that over the music."

"I'm eating chocolate!" Ian declares through a mouthful.

                                  

Will looks at Les, who looks at Pete, and they all look back at Ian again.

Will: "We can see that, you've got chocolate all over your mouth."

Ian, smiling: "No, I don't, you cunt."

Will looks at Les. Les just shrugs, and plays his strings a bit.

Will: "You do."

Pete, raising up his drumsticks in defeat: "This is rubbish; I want chocolate."

Ian snorts, looking at Pete defiantly. "Get your own!"

Will chuckles to himself.

Pete: "Where did you get it?" perhaps small-talking would convince Ian to share.

Ian, sullenly: "A girl."

Will sits down, since not much playing is getting done now.

Pete looks at Ian, and arches his eyebrow. "Is it someone new?"

Will rolls his eyes at Pete disapprovingly. He figures Ian might have been teasing Pete with his last comment, like he did with the chocolate. Will doesn't think Ian got the chocolate off some girl, and even if he had, saying there was a girl who gave him chocolate isn't to say he's seeing someone else now... The last time Will had brought it up with Ian, Ian had a girlfriend. Ian wouldn't refer to her as just 'A girl', Will knows it. And if there's more than one girl – Will doesn't want to consider it, but even if there were – they shouldn't be speaking about it publicly.

Pete is unconcerned with Will's disapproval, as he goes on. "Do we know her?"

Ian licks his lips nervously, looking back at Pete. "Well, what's in it for you? Where are you going with that? You wanted me chocolate, and now you're after me girls?" He stands closer to Pete, squashing the chocolate and putting it in Pete's hand. "There you go." He begins to walk off, passing Will on his way out. Will notices Ian's hand is covered in chocolate, as Will would expect.

"Mac, you've got chocolate all over your fingers…" - A split second before he finishes talking, Ian marches back to him."Oh really? You want to suck on it, Will?"  Ian pulls Will off the chair, taking a moment to think if he wants to hit him, or put his fingers in Will's mouth not so subtly, and have him lick off all his hand clean. He's grabbing Will by the collar, moving to eye-level with him.

The two begin to scrap and Will pushes Ian down on the floor, straddling him. Ian's chocolate covered hand-print ends up on the floor as Will pins Ian's hands down.

Will didn't plan for it to go into a full-on fight, he doesn't want to hurt Ian accidentally. However, Ian's doe-in-the-headlight look indicates to Will he may have put more force into it than he'd intended to do. Will moves off Ian, and tugs on Ian's shirt for him to move up as well; lightly, so he'd understand they're no longer fighting. He tiptoes and puts a gentle kiss to Ian's cheek. Ian moves his lips and brushes them against Will's. It's OK– Will thinks to himself - it's only a kiss. He doesn't flinch when Ian prolongs the kiss; in fact he kisses back sedately, the adrenaline from their fight still in affect.  At last, Ian ends the kiss and takes a step back. Will feels the warmth from Ian's lips and body moving away slowly from his own.

"You alright, then? Do you want to finish the song now?" Will asks Ian sincerely.

Ian shrugs, putting his hand in his pocket. Damn, all out of fags. "Whatever. I'm off to buy more fags."

And just like that, he walks off.

Will looks over at Les and Pete. It only now registered to him he'd been ignoring them for a while - from the moment he and Ian and he had locked gazes and the two got entangled in each other's limbs, until the moment they rolled off each other. And then the kiss, He reminds himself.

Les, who'd taken to reading the paper in the minutes past, looks at Will – as if Les knows he witnessed a moment he shouldn't have. Will grumbles, moving over to Pete's side.

Will looks over at Pete's towel, which is hanging over a chair next to Pete at the moment – the one Pete uses to wipe himself with when they're taking a break from playing. It appears as though part of the somewhat-melted chocolate must've stuck to Pete's hand when Ian had passed it to him, and then in turn got pasted on to Pete's towel. Will wipes his hands with the clean side of the towel, just in case he got some on himself as well.

Crawlers

Posted 15 July 2011 - 11:32 PM

As I went out
No, I didn't go in there again

I don't remember why
Though it may have been a matter of principle

And as I moved out
And opened my arms to the sunlight
The world wore fresh colours

People were smiling
Children were laughing
Making noises with their skaters
Going in circles around us

When everything turned out alright
Though we didn't get it right this time

We were all on the booze
We had nothing to lose
Just our guiltless lives

On pebble-studded sidewalks 
And river-crossed streets of our city
Where our destinies were chosen
When the night turned into day

It really turned out alright this time
Yeah, it turned out OK 

Rumbles.

Posted 06 July 2011 - 02:18 PM

In the darkness
In my sadness
Where the buffaloes roam
Where the wheels turn round

Tell me, how does it feel to be the eye of the storm?
How does it feel to be the only one? 

Parade

Added on February 26, 2011

I had a fake birthday.

There were real people; With real families, real leisure activities, and real back pains.

It was two days late. It wasn't my birthday.

Candystore Tramp

Added on February 26, 2011

I didn't get a Valentine's this year
am I not as sweet as a rose?

Am I cheap - not as precious as a gemstone,
as lovely as rhyme, as soft as a teddybear?

What possible good have I done,
to not be futile in the eyes of lovers, of serpents?

To scrub clean tiles. To remember a train.To not be deceived that the rain should awaken nature.

Terminal Young Thing Pt. 1

21 FEBRUARY 2011 @ 02:20 PM

When Wayne had first met James Dean Bradfield – James was looking for supporting musicians for his solo tour, and Wayne got the job – he really thought he'd hit it off well with James. He remembers James shook his hand, and complimented his hair – Wayne doesn't remember the details exactly, he had such a head-rush from meeting James Dean Bradfield.

He'd only seen pictures of him sometimes, when he was going through guitar magazines, and his expectations weren't elevated – he had set out to be professional about it, as he is when meeting any other musician.

But James was so cool in person – so warm and affectionate with everyone, and he seemed to have taken a liking to Wayne – he interviewed him for a very long time, although it didn't seem like he was scrutinizing Wayne, or trying to figure out if he really is the best option, but asking him questions out of genuine interest; And then Wayne realized, he wanted to be liked by this man.

When Wayne had told his friends about this encounter, and how happy he was that it turned out well, and how excited he was that James had liked him, and even looked him in the eye and said something – maybe it was 'Hi, great hair', right after he shook his hand, or maybe Wayne's mind just idealized what had really happened – they didn't understand it.

They thought Wayne was being odd about it, and maybe even a bit star-struck. In all fairness, Wayne had never been so fascinated by another man before, for all they knew; it did seem a bit out-of-character for him.

They told Wayne that if it had been Nicky, then they would have understood – he wore dresses; or Nicky's friend – the one who disappeared - with a fuck-load of foundation, and his stage make-up, he could be mistaken for a girl. A butch, angry goth girl, with a razor-sharp jaw… But still, they thought it would be more excusable if Wayne had been sexually confused by those two. After all, they'd crafted their image to do just that, get a reaction from your average straight bloke who never had their heterosexuality challenged that way before.

However, they didn't seem surprised that James may have hit on Wayne; they only got a kick from Wayne's reaction. The rest seemed perfectly normal to them. It made sense that everyone who's been with the Manics must be somewhat bi.

Perhaps Wayne isn't confused, perhaps he knows exactly what he wants. But talking to people he trusts about it, made him think twice about his feelings. He decides to slow down, and have a calmer, more detached approach over James Dean Bradfield. He decides to let it go, and see what happens.