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We should really have a forum for this
Former Member
Posts: 1,876,323 The Mix Honorary Guru
So I can stop pestering all you lovely people to read my shit, but there is about one person I know here who I would trust to read it, so anonynimity rules!
After the particularly helpful comments from I think twisted_trinity and mist, I reworked the beginning.
Do the twist
I have never loved with rules. There are no real rules in an emotional reality. Justification is obsolete. Love these days, is free. We need not blindly close out eyes and say that 'you are all i need, there is no one else but you'. A long time ago I cut the cords that tied me to 0ne. I absolved my future lovers from guilt or the necessary regret that comes from the bindings with which we ties ourselves together. There exist more than dances just for two. I prefer a more democratic choreography, where I and they dance freely; drifting between partners, unhurt. And so, in mocking tones I denounce the stiff pomp of old romance, and with high words and loose gestures usher in the new steps for modern lovers.
But then to every rule - or non rule - there is an exception. My exception is you. You know that I am different, and treat me so. We are still at the beginning. We rationalise our differences, and with conspiratory voices we recount our faults and failures. With our wounds comes empathy. With our temptations comes respect. With our secrets comes trust. We learn each other with mutual liking; pulling the threads of our histories together to weave a present between us. We talk close, dance closer, playing the game, revolving and rotating; that line of mutual liking tugging at us both.
Finally, you present me with those timeless words 'you are all I need, there is no one else but you'. This is somehow different though, and for first time, I close my eyes and let my ears believe them. Love is still free; it is still a dance for more than two, but not for us. Now it is for other people, in other halls, and I am content with that because I trust you.
Do the twist.
I arrive late, and seeing you already involved in words, I take pleasure in our momentary apartness and keep my distance. We flit from group to group, occasionally glancing at this invisible connection, threading its way through the crowd between us. The dancers fill the floor, making me invisible to you. Eventually the figures part, and I see you with a friend. Nothing is wrong, but I draw you closer along the line, pulling you in. Just in case.
I direct my cheerfulness upon you; animating the conversation into lurid neon lights. Forcing you to feel the strength of my felicity. It is returned by brittle smiles, and eventually my chatter slips from your ears, as you recede into the conversation with the other. You offer her your drink; I had to pay for mine tonight. You hand her the cigarette; the one I had to ask for. You think nothing more on me, than as a mute figure trapped at the side of your vision. My words remain unformed - dry and shrivelled in my throat. You still hear them though; the same phrases fall from her lips. The two of you converse in a language I cannot speak, and slide into a place I cannot see. Together.
Do the twist.
In pity, your friend plays with me: he the clown, and I the fool. A big game of bigger smiles and backs turned in the right direction. Finally I give in. I turn and see the reason that we are playing. You are pouring your midnight thoughts into some other ear. Your bodies turn in unison; coiling together in co-operation, in blind satisfaction. With every twist you make - staring into her eyes - you tug and yank and jerk until finally my gaze is dragged along that sacred line that we drew with mutual like. In an instant it extinguishes itself; recoiling from the dropsickstomach sight of you - and her - back into the plummeting heart of a bystander.
I am no longer part of the game and some other has replaced me as the prize. To the girl pressed against you, I am unknown: only suggested in the way that she is being kissed. An unquestioned component of your past. The oblivious can't see, can't know the circles they are made to dance in. For a beat, her eyes rest upon me - nothing but another obscure flashing figure. I smile a hard smile that cracks the lipstick upon my lips - for your benefit. For mine, I smile again, and close my eyes and dance numbly.
Do the twist.
The night sets, and the people depart in twos or threes or drunken parties roaring into lamplight, marching with shoulders locked into the sunlight. I now nothing more than a bystander. You are a pair, talking close, standing closer. There is an unspoken agreement of how the night will end, and you both delight in the tortuous silent heat of tantalising proximity.
Apart, we drift towards the motor that will carry us into morning, this time in different directions. Voyeuristically opposite you, I plant a hand on either side of shivering thighs, pressed into the cold metal. I lean backwards, back pressed against the wall searching for something to heat the chill that settles inside. The smile is not so easy now and settles on my face as a grimace. In front of me, on the other side of the platform, you are deliberately oblivious. The track becomes a wall between us. Your bodies mirror mine - arms splayed, pressing into metal, you lean into her, finding her warmth. Finding her mouth.
Do the twist.
You know what you are doing is not wrong. You know this, and relish in it. I can't say. I can't confront you. I have practiced these steps that you dance around me now - running rings around my words with your actions. You are tearing me from you, and it hurts. These are the fruits of my open morals; my easy liberality. I was too busy making my own rules to notice that you were ardently putting them into practice. Everything I feel, every dropsickstomach, every dry earth-filled mouth is of my own creation.
Do the twist.
But some habitual steps are hard to forget, and once again, under the covers, I am twisting with you. Eventually I mellow, but this time, not entirely. You try to bind my eyes and ears with confidences once again, but I struggle. A moment's caress, one whisper, does not stoke a heat to melt a heart. Attached, entwined. Skin pressing beaded, pulsing skin. 0ur hips are locked, but our minds drift far, entirely cold to one another. 0nly unsmiling eyes betray the wary circles we are still dancing around each other. My cynicism has fulfilled itself. We are at the end now, and your breath, misting into my hair fails to warm the chill I cradle in my unseen arms. Your rhythms no longer determine the ebb and flow of the pulse that colours me pink.
After the particularly helpful comments from I think twisted_trinity and mist, I reworked the beginning.
Do the twist
I have never loved with rules. There are no real rules in an emotional reality. Justification is obsolete. Love these days, is free. We need not blindly close out eyes and say that 'you are all i need, there is no one else but you'. A long time ago I cut the cords that tied me to 0ne. I absolved my future lovers from guilt or the necessary regret that comes from the bindings with which we ties ourselves together. There exist more than dances just for two. I prefer a more democratic choreography, where I and they dance freely; drifting between partners, unhurt. And so, in mocking tones I denounce the stiff pomp of old romance, and with high words and loose gestures usher in the new steps for modern lovers.
But then to every rule - or non rule - there is an exception. My exception is you. You know that I am different, and treat me so. We are still at the beginning. We rationalise our differences, and with conspiratory voices we recount our faults and failures. With our wounds comes empathy. With our temptations comes respect. With our secrets comes trust. We learn each other with mutual liking; pulling the threads of our histories together to weave a present between us. We talk close, dance closer, playing the game, revolving and rotating; that line of mutual liking tugging at us both.
Finally, you present me with those timeless words 'you are all I need, there is no one else but you'. This is somehow different though, and for first time, I close my eyes and let my ears believe them. Love is still free; it is still a dance for more than two, but not for us. Now it is for other people, in other halls, and I am content with that because I trust you.
Do the twist.
I arrive late, and seeing you already involved in words, I take pleasure in our momentary apartness and keep my distance. We flit from group to group, occasionally glancing at this invisible connection, threading its way through the crowd between us. The dancers fill the floor, making me invisible to you. Eventually the figures part, and I see you with a friend. Nothing is wrong, but I draw you closer along the line, pulling you in. Just in case.
I direct my cheerfulness upon you; animating the conversation into lurid neon lights. Forcing you to feel the strength of my felicity. It is returned by brittle smiles, and eventually my chatter slips from your ears, as you recede into the conversation with the other. You offer her your drink; I had to pay for mine tonight. You hand her the cigarette; the one I had to ask for. You think nothing more on me, than as a mute figure trapped at the side of your vision. My words remain unformed - dry and shrivelled in my throat. You still hear them though; the same phrases fall from her lips. The two of you converse in a language I cannot speak, and slide into a place I cannot see. Together.
Do the twist.
In pity, your friend plays with me: he the clown, and I the fool. A big game of bigger smiles and backs turned in the right direction. Finally I give in. I turn and see the reason that we are playing. You are pouring your midnight thoughts into some other ear. Your bodies turn in unison; coiling together in co-operation, in blind satisfaction. With every twist you make - staring into her eyes - you tug and yank and jerk until finally my gaze is dragged along that sacred line that we drew with mutual like. In an instant it extinguishes itself; recoiling from the dropsickstomach sight of you - and her - back into the plummeting heart of a bystander.
I am no longer part of the game and some other has replaced me as the prize. To the girl pressed against you, I am unknown: only suggested in the way that she is being kissed. An unquestioned component of your past. The oblivious can't see, can't know the circles they are made to dance in. For a beat, her eyes rest upon me - nothing but another obscure flashing figure. I smile a hard smile that cracks the lipstick upon my lips - for your benefit. For mine, I smile again, and close my eyes and dance numbly.
Do the twist.
The night sets, and the people depart in twos or threes or drunken parties roaring into lamplight, marching with shoulders locked into the sunlight. I now nothing more than a bystander. You are a pair, talking close, standing closer. There is an unspoken agreement of how the night will end, and you both delight in the tortuous silent heat of tantalising proximity.
Apart, we drift towards the motor that will carry us into morning, this time in different directions. Voyeuristically opposite you, I plant a hand on either side of shivering thighs, pressed into the cold metal. I lean backwards, back pressed against the wall searching for something to heat the chill that settles inside. The smile is not so easy now and settles on my face as a grimace. In front of me, on the other side of the platform, you are deliberately oblivious. The track becomes a wall between us. Your bodies mirror mine - arms splayed, pressing into metal, you lean into her, finding her warmth. Finding her mouth.
Do the twist.
You know what you are doing is not wrong. You know this, and relish in it. I can't say. I can't confront you. I have practiced these steps that you dance around me now - running rings around my words with your actions. You are tearing me from you, and it hurts. These are the fruits of my open morals; my easy liberality. I was too busy making my own rules to notice that you were ardently putting them into practice. Everything I feel, every dropsickstomach, every dry earth-filled mouth is of my own creation.
Do the twist.
But some habitual steps are hard to forget, and once again, under the covers, I am twisting with you. Eventually I mellow, but this time, not entirely. You try to bind my eyes and ears with confidences once again, but I struggle. A moment's caress, one whisper, does not stoke a heat to melt a heart. Attached, entwined. Skin pressing beaded, pulsing skin. 0ur hips are locked, but our minds drift far, entirely cold to one another. 0nly unsmiling eyes betray the wary circles we are still dancing around each other. My cynicism has fulfilled itself. We are at the end now, and your breath, misting into my hair fails to warm the chill I cradle in my unseen arms. Your rhythms no longer determine the ebb and flow of the pulse that colours me pink.
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Comments
AND YES, I WANT A FORUM FOR THIS SO I CAN BOMBARD PEOPLE WITH MY STORIES TOO
So yeah, moved it for now, hope you don't mind
I would if it existed!!
Could be worth a four week trial at least Jim but in the meantime I'll try and pop something up here in the next couple of weeks. It might be an idea for posters to say if they want constructive criticism or not. Might save a few arguments.
And in that spirit I have deleted the rather less than constructive comment (and where it was quoted) from earlier.
A trial might not be a bad idea btw, but I think we really do need some evidence it might work? I'll chat with the rest of the team tomorrow to see what people think