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Aaron Versailles

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1/19/10 12:31 am - Writer's Block: Time may change me ...

People often focus on the things they'd love to change about their lives. What parts of your life would you choose to keep exactly the same?



Him.
No, not him. He can change all he likes.
I want to keep him.
And I like it that way.

1/17/10 06:21 am - Writer's Block: If you're not part of the solution ...

Are there any political issues or civil liberties you actively promote or defend (through volunteer/grassroots efforts)? What are they? Do most of your friends feel similarly?


I promote the love of all people, the upholding of all that is good.
That means taking my excess - be it time, money, possessions, space, whatever - and meeting others' needs. And maybe that shows best in not ignoring the guy on the street who lost his somewhere to go home to, or in offering the girl on the corner a warm place to sleep some nights...or remembering to come home to him a little more often.
That means not merely ignoring the weird looks I get (whether they be directed toward my tattoos or my piercings or my lusts or my love), but shedding a little light before the intolerance is passed on.
That means remembering that love is always a verb before it is a noun.

1/15/10 06:57 pm - that.

I have not posted to my journal yet. Huh.

Summer heat. Lighting dimmed, browns turned to indistinct grey, metal threatening to burn anyone who touches the wall. Slowly cycling lights, green on the stage, purple on the floor, dulled and impossible to focus on. Someone's burning sage in the corner, a little weed sits in the humid air waiting for sweat's steam. A few old gargoyles sit on the sidelines observing, smoking clove, hiding as harmless adornments like they're born to. The demons are biding their time and for once not claiming their prey, easy grins on their faces beneath somber stares - tonight is a bit of Virgo flair, tasting the air and readying for a night of picky gorging. Gathering bodies pack together so tightly that the barest of pulsing, sourceless red light blurs one and all, a pensive shell of energy waiting to be released and consumed. There are a few outlaws and a few outcasts, but tonight no one cares - it's just past sunset and the storm inside shall be asylum tonight.
Slip through the crowd, nip here and there, and there she is. I catch her eye and she grins, and I grin right back. Tonight, we let go. And we have every right; I'm in charge, no one notices, and that is how it should be. Look back at him and wonder how close he'll come, forward at the other and know he'll be two before long. Haze sets in, sight becomes obsolete and now the sea of color and murmuring tension begins to roar, band's on-stage, doors shut.
And then, then there is bass. That one, controlling, haunting note, tethering my chest so tightly, so freeing, that when it stops I won't know whether to be high or heartbroken. He braces behind me, she closes her eyes beside me, he bows his head before me, and I breathe. Their scents, their emotions, their readiness, so separate from the mass we stand within yet so atuned to it. And I smile. Beat. Beat. Beat. There...writhe.
Cloying, sticky, muddled haze, and it's heaven. Seamless music pulls me forward and back in endless rhythmic ecstasy, lights flicker and send the one before me into seizures of one and two, one and two. He behind me growls and sways; I feel him grow jealous of the bruises darkening my sides and I arch toward him, clawing at the back of his neck as I reach for him, and he presses his chin to my neck, fingers to my hips, no room to be shy. I feel the bass in his throat as the drums echo in the air, she roars in delight, and I grin. He before me is a gorgeous sight, throwing himself into the pandemonium and fighting as much as dancing.
Bass. Singled out in my mind as the only thing stronger than the demand in he behind me as he fights himself, grinding against me, day's stubble scratching my neck...he's losing, because he's biting. A nip or two and he's lost, nails embedded in my hips, teeth raping my neck in controlling, claiming, pleading bursts, until he doesn't let go. He gnaws and the bass rises and I growl, low and plaintive, and it's right. She smiles and I grow oblivious, pain and bass and sweat and him all too much to pay attention to, so I feel. I feel and he gnaws and slides his hand between my legs and grins against my skin and he's so, so close, he's already lost. And he drags and my skin is burnt and cooled at once against the wall, and sound fades and we're hidden. And I am certain I'm insane. And his jeans rub my thighs and one hand races up my side, my throat, and he snarls and I understand and I...I am not nearly in charge of him. Not now, not anymore, not with my bones branded by his name.
Deliriously we find our way back. She's high and struggling and euphoric, he's bloody and shuddering, and we are trembling, the change to right so stark. Bass is resonating through the walls, through the anger and the lust and the intoxicated breath of us all, and my wrists are bound by his hands, hands that are barely still hands. We pulse. He doesn't let go, he smirks, and for my sake she pretends not to mock me.
I close my eyes for the end, the one before me bows once more, and she watches bleary-eyed as the horde straggles out...but the four of us wait. Give the night its proper funeral. Thank the walls and nod toward the gargoyles. Weakly stumble out, gasp in storm-thick air as if it were our first breaths, and the two demons bid the two lycans farewell as the thunder brings the bass anew, as the rain soaks through our clothing, as the mutt bows in its rightful place.
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