Yuck, I hate them. When you're too warm and half-awake and the dream's getting lucidelirious but you can't get up? They're always icky. First one had my parents... fun fun. There was some marriage thing going down, though thinking back I wouldn't really object to the possible groom other than we weren't spending much time together. We were picking out a new house and redecorating it? So that part was fun, the rest was loaded with tension. Second one kind of merged in, I was doing a show at this Shiseido makeup lab but the damn demonstrators were talking so I lost this take. I told them I had ten minutes to make the damn ten minute spot. They got snippy, but the director was on my side. I was hoarse from shouting. Like my voice just didn't work right. Last was me being late, the ten minutes being up. Then it got bizarre. I'm running through the streets, half American half European, and little blond boys and girls in scout uniforms were walking down the street singing some old 1940s songs and my dreamself realized they were Hitler Youth, mixed in with the contemporary crowd.
Jeez, I'll take a parental dream any day over that.
~~~
His lover's hands hung limply from the silken cords above the bed. Fast asleep, his face was pillowed on his outstretched arm. Kujuurou leaned over him, binding the sleep spell fast. It was the only anesthetic Touma wanted for this task.
Yami Masho sat back to admire the body before him. Windblown hair, such pale smooth skin, sinewy arms and a strong back, and pectorals that might look womanish if they didn't flex when he moved. His legs were still spindle thin despite his quickfootedness; what lay between them lent as much to the air of boyishness as those sparkling blue eyes. Kujuurou had memorized every bump and blemish of his lover's body. Yet as relaxed as Touma was when bound, he preferred those eyes to be open and alert.
Even in sleep he spread for him. His long, slender member reacted to his touch. In no time it jutted proudly, exuding a familiar musk that drove Kujuurou wild. But speed was of the essence, and he prepared a little orb of chi to spread over his hand.
Dark hand on pale skin. He started with the pubes first, gently sweeping between navel and the base of the penis and the crevices of his hips. In the candlelight he watched the bluish stubble fall away like dust, leaving goosepimples where the chi had grazed the skin. His fingers slipped down the inner thighs, like playing the koto all over again, watching the muscles shiver where he'd lingered too long. A fine rain of hair covered the white cloth beneath.
Kujuurou paused to clear his mind. Touma's breathing was starting to quicken, but he'd left the most delicate task for last. A sword-calloused thumb traced the hemispheres of his balls, stardust hairs in his wake, the flesh firming at the cold bite of pain. It had been difficult to accept that Touma wanted that pain to spice his pleasure. For the Masho, pain meant only suffering, and it was the only thing he knew how to give. But each time his lover opened for him, each time he flinched but then clung tighter, as though afraid Kujuurou would bolt at the sign of discomfort.
Such a sweet boy, Kujuurou thought, as he deftly smoothed the flesh before him. He'd thought only servants could submit so sweetly, but Touma had taught him otherwise. Touma actually relished his awkward silences, his gruff uncultured words. A man like Touma would have been a philosopher or a monk or even a daimyo in his time, but he wanted a common warrior like Kujuurou. How did that sun-bright boy lose such a lover to him? Seiji was more adept at pleasing his partners, and most certainly had more grace. Kujuurou used his other hand to soothe the reddened skin. Touma was like a bolt of finest silk. He only had to turn his gaze towards him and Kujuurou would forget such questions.
He felt the spell uncoiling just as Touma roused himself. "Cold," he complained, but his smile was only for him.
"You say that all the time." Kujuurou blew on the skin to clear the last bits of residue.
Touma's hands clenched in their bonds. He failed to keep himself from squirming. "Stings..."
The Chibi Project. When science and anime collide.
The Truth is Backwards. The original backwards audio site for The X-Files.
Overanalyzations of Cartoons. Yeah, the guy knows the word doesn't exist. There's lots of American cartoons in here, and people who don't know jackshit about Japanese anime, but a nice childhood-busting site.
~~~
And now, some lemon. This is like fic'ing my own RPG charas. >.< Ah well. Enjoy.
Seiji knew he shouldn't be here. This wasn't some intimate club, it was Explosion, the largest gay disco in Japan. It was Saturday night. The paying crowd would be at Garcon and Homme but Explosion was where the dollars were. And even though he was out of the business, the clients knew who he was.
Music and hands tugged him along, prodding, jerking, touching. Seiji endured. He could navigate the cacophony because the buyers knew a wrong touch would result in broken fingers. And he was asking for the attention. Everyone else was in loose-fitting stylish clothes, ideal for dancing. Seiji was in white slacks, a white ribbed top, and white elbow-length gloves. Whether through Korin or his pale complexion, he shone like a minor god in the sea of darkness.
He turned for a moment to make sure Touma was all right. Supernaturally acute eyes allowed him to spot the glitter-smudged blue figure that was his best friend. Touma was on his third drink, but Seiji thought he'd be fine after that monstrous dinner. Only Touma could eat out with his mother and then go clubbing till the sun came up. Touma had accompanied him on the pretense of meeting up with some of his rent-boy friends. One of them was currently under the table, sucking his balls. Touma had many such friends from his stint in the business. He had a penchant for returning cash gifts for small favors such as this.
Seiji felt a too-inquisitive hand grabbing his ass. A gaijin, most likely, just flown in and unaware of the courtesies that had to be afforded an expensive boy like Seiji. The blond whirled, narrowed eyes looking over the brunette behind him, his hands clamped around the offender's wrists. Seiji licked a trembling finger. Then he twisted, knocking the man's own wrist bones on his chest. Enough to stun. There was only so much one could do in the press of bodies. In case the gaijin didn't get the message, Seiji leaned in and repeated it in German. A Slavic language was probably closer, but the man nodded in understanding.
The scuffle gave him away. In the whirl of lights something flickered. Smaller than a firefly, but Seiji caught the movement with some help from Korin. He moved so the little laser dot over his chest recentered on his shoulder. No reason to endanger others by moving out of the way. The light flicked off. Heart beating faster, Seiji cut through the crowd, looking for his prize.
Seiji found a buyer waiting for him at one of the corner tables. A regular customer who liked full geisha dress and leather whips, and paid handsomely to get it. Seiji never minded what they looked like. As long as they had condoms and a good attitude, Seiji didn't mind. It was so difficult to find courteous people in this day and age. Seiji whispered a request as the ex-client looked quizzically at him -- mumbling something about retirement -- and as soon as it was understood, the blond straddled the eager man.
Seiji writhed in time with the music, pleased that the man was keeping his white-knuckled hands on the table. 'No touching' was the rule of every lap dance. This one had been a very loyal client. Even as he bared his neck a few centimeters from the man's leering lips, he knew he would not be kissed. So he could focus his amethyst eyes on the prize.
There he was. Resplendent in black leather, here an inch showing skin, there another hiding weapons. Designer shades slid further down his nose, watching Seiji back even as those soft smirking lips kissed some green-haired jailbait. Seiji tilted his head, aching, humping the flat of his hand. He moaned as the boy's legs were spread and long fingers darted down and the boy's eyes opened wide at the intrusion.
Seiji caressed his chest, holding the man's rapt attention with the glide of his hands, until he bowed forward and unzipped. Seiji flushed as he exposed himself to the air. They were shielded from the dance floor by lighting towers, but the intimate crowd gathering among the tables could see the show. Tourists, regulars, university students, a couple of babbling gay boys from the country -- he felt their eyes on him but he felt his eyes as well, catlike in the darkness that hid too little.
A shout, and strong arms lifted Seiji and toppled him onto a nearby bench, pinning his arms to the wall and trapping his legs. "You let him go!" One of the regulars yelled, but those even white teeth were biting Seiji's neck, fingers were knotting wire around his wrists, the other hand was unfastening his slacks.
"Look at me, Seiji," those sensuous lips spoke, and Seiji looked down into verdant orbs. He cried out as his weeping cock was pressed against the black leather.
"Yohji," he breathed, as roving fingers kneaded his ass. He fell forward as a finger pressed inside him, white gloves on either side of the black-clad assassin. Yohji's smooth cheek was wet with sweat or tears. Seiji shuddered as Yohji's thick cockhead parted his ass. The music throbbed on.
"This was dangerous," hissed Yohji, just before thrusting up and into him, capturing Seiji's scream in a kiss. Touma had lubed him up in the restroom but it had only been thirty seconds since Yohji had laid hands on him and oh gods he wasn't ready. Then Yohji nipped gently at his lips, those wonderful hands calming him, his flesh splitting him open. Seiji managed to slip his tongue into Yohji's mouth, and they devoured each other, clinging as they tried to communicate missed you missed you missed you missed you...
"Hey, he isn't even wearing a condom," someone said, and although they knew they were clean, something ignited behind their eyes. Seiji was shoved back against the wall, still riding, and he had to lock his entangled legs around Yohji to keep his balance. They kept their eyes on each other, Seiji's token struggle only impaling him deeper. The shocked and hungry crowd probably didn't even notice they were gyrating in time to the music. Yohji kept a hand on his wrists as his kiss pinned Seiji in place.
Seiji reveled in wantonness of his lover. He sucked desperately at the invading tongue, fucked so perfectly, intoxicated by the scent and feel and sinuous movement that could only be Yohji. He sobbed when he came -- too soon, he didn't want it over yet -- and sobbed again when Yohji met his eyes and kept going.
Green eyes seemed to darken in the strobe lights, and Seiji held him close as hot wet spilled into him. "Been so long," Yohji whispered, and Seiji nodded.
And the moment passed. Yohji withdrew, zipped up, and hauled Seiji up by the wires so he could pull up his slacks in the cover of his long coat. Seiji leaned back, Yohji leaned forward, they kissed. The wires snapped away. Then he was only a shadow among shadows, a green-eyed stranger with death on his hands.
"You all right?" Touma leaned over him. He and some of the rent-boys had dispersed the crowd. He wiped up the mess on Seiji's front, his expression neutral.
"How long has it been?"
"Ten minutes."
Seiji took his own long coat from Touma. The taste of Yohji was on his lips. The words "Come home" were on his lips.
Acoording to Animal in You, I'm a bat. I think small people can only be a few things. But I'm definitely a swooper.
I think when I'm euphoric I get a little Otter-ish, but I definitely lean towards Snake when I get depressed. Heh... "For all their vulnerabilities, snakes exude mysterious sexual ooze that seeps into the senses of even the most discriminating people. This is not love that we're talking about -- it's a deep reptilian desire for forbidden fruit -- of which we are all familiar."
So really I'm more of a Bat-Snake. That way, I get to swoop in and out of social situations... yet still have sexual ooze!
I wanna curl up and let the rest of my brain melt. Why does something inside want to sabotage my life?
I guess I'm so smart my brain knows how to make its own drugs, no track marks, no smoke trail, no scars. On command, pain. On command, numbness. On command, the hours fly past and I can't even cry although I really need to.
Gods, the joy of articulation. I keep telling people and it's like pushing needles out of my throat, but I feel better that they know. I just hate knowing it myself. Diagram every little step... now you hate yourself because your parents are smothering, now you can't speak because you can't trust anybody. Time, I have so little time. I just want to run and hide but I have to go home, I have to keep reading, because the only thing feeding me is this adrenaline high of being in trouble. That's the drug of choice, my friends. You can't go cold turkey 'cause that doesn't solve anything. Something good has to displace the bad, not something not-bad. So I spoiled my morning and I spoiled my first read of Walking with the Dead (which was a joy, it was opium, it was heroin, and the irony's not lost on me, oh-silly-smart-one-that-I-am.) For what? To be in trouble.
Don't be alarmed. It's like my asthma... if you can hear it, it's coming out. Be wary of me when I don't say anything. Then it's most dangerous. But thanks for reading anyway.
My roommate has just been gifted with a complete immaculate Cowboy Bebop CD soundtrack mix!!!!!! Kill me! We are so so so happy! We are beyond happy! GAAHHHH!!! This is too cool. The next best thing would be Spike knocking on our door, looking to bum a smoke.
*dies in pleasurable musical excess*
Tank! Bad Dog No Biscuit. Car 24. Chicken Bone. Rush. Rain. Green Bird (!!!). Too Good Too Bad. Flying Teapot. Cats on Mars. Mushroom Hunting. Cat Blues. Elm. Go Go Cactus Man. Adieu. Gateway. Memory. Wo Qui Non Coin. Stella by Moon. Real Folk Blues. There's some quoties too! Yay!
Ooooh traffic jam Got more cars than a beach got sand
suck it up
suck it up
suck it up
fill it up until
no more
I'm no crazy creep I've got it coming to me because I'm not satisfied the hunger keeps on growing
~~~
Seiji: This place is nice.
Touma: We really get to start over here?
Yohji: *puffs on a cigarette* Guess so. That's what she said.
Duo: It's absolutely huge! Lookit, she has a kitchen!
Yue: And a bathroom.
Touma: We are never gonna live this posh again.
Seiji: *settling on the couch* Nope.
Duo: Why didn't she show us earlier?! Her other places were like closets!
Naotoki: O_o Maple's grown up... she's... she's must be 40 inches long!
Takeru: Awesome... most of the tapes are in here! We can watch these all night...
Ken Ichijouji: I think it'll take all weekend. *goes through the titles* All week.
Touma: How're you doing, 'Rou?
Kujuurou: There's a bite in the air. My power will be greater before the month is out.
Seiji: Brrr....
Henry: Hi, I'm new here... my name's Jenrya.
Yue: *looks down disdainfully at Henry*
Takeru: Hey dude, over here! *yanks Henry* I'm TK, and this is Ken.
Ken: May I challenge you to a game of evil Snood?
Henry: *beams*
Duo: *finds the Pocky stash*
Shiro: Maxwell, you gonna help me finish the film? It needs to be developed.
Duo: Shnoo publem! *munchmunch* Pocky?
Yohji: *looks up at another newcomer* Spiegel, is it?
Spike: Kudoh. *holds out his hand*
Yohji: *tosses the cigarette*
Spike: *catches it, takes a drag, looking around*
Yohji: There's no smoking in here.
Spike: *grins, tosses the cigarette back*
Kayura: Hmm... no roughhousing on the bunk beds.
Suzuka: A pity.
Koma: Yue-san, would you like to spar with us outside?
Piccolo: *carrying a few wooden staves under his cape*
Yue: *narrows his eyes* I accept.
Seiji: *toasts champagne* To our new home.
Touma: Hear, hear.
Naotoki: Kanpai.
Kujuurou: Kanpai. *coughs a bit as bubbles get up his nose*
Touma: *giggles*
Seiji: *looks around again* A really lovely place. Now all we have to do is keep her sane.
Okay, all I have to do is get lunch and make a long list... and unhook the Ethernet cord from my room. No, I did not just hear the browser call my name.
Oh, btw... lovely Pic of the Week from Lelola.com. Touya x Yukito! Only thing better than a CLAMP boy is two...
Just a few goodies, good for yaoi fic research...and inspiration. If you want to write fic that isn't just Americanized anime boys, here's a touch of reality. Cock is a universal language ^_^.
Asian Cock Warehouse. YO! It's graphic porn! If you wanna stick to ink, don't click. Two big plusses besides the yummy meat... the guy's completely un-PC, and there are no pop-ups! Hallelujah.
It is so hard for me to stay focused. Productive. I go looking for shiny things, easy things, ways out...
This kick in the pants is working, but it's negative. It will not cover up all the other things holding me down. It will not cover up the fact that I don't have much that's positive. It's going to be teeth-gritting for a while, with no one to really tell me how to do it, or why.
Okay. I see the stick. Now I need a carrot.
9:06 AM Jupiter Jazz, Part 2 :: One Eye Sees the Past
Link for you! Dictionary of Color! I'll have to reread the dude's definition, but he's got every official color name with the color itself mapped next to it. Great for poets and HTML mavens.
So cool to actually see the color difference in Spike's eyes.
I'm in no shape to expound on the tragic downward arc of a star, an episode, or a bishounen. Poor tragic bishounen. I've yet to find the official original definition for bishounen... the beautiful warrior cut down too early, like sakura raining from the trees. You notice it's the sakura falling, never simply adorning the cherry tree. It's young beauty ended before it can wilt and die. The term, according to Jeffrey's Japanese / English Dictionary, is shogyoumujou, the impermanence of worldly things. Shogyou means all worldly things, including those done to seek enligtenment. Mujou is how I originally read the term; it's an adjective which means bitterness or cruelty.
So that's all. After the tension of the first part, a slow letting-go, overlaid with Green Bird and cathedral glass and flower petals (of course). Other things swirling around, like the idea of comrades, the listlessness of a woman, breaking open a music box. Negative slope of the trajectory. The second episode was pure fun. Bebop really reminds me of The X-Files in its prime. Except Bebop is perfect. The rhythm of the scenes and episodes, the writing, music, "acting", the direction, all coming together in this funky blend of cool. People don't know what's cool anymore. Everything looks trendy next to Bebop.
Hmm. Weird to be talking about impermanence on an impermanent medium. Flash, it's gone. One eye sees the present -- Spike always catches the action, d'you notice? -- and one eye sees the past. In between, well... what happens, happens.
*Fade out*
Sunday, October 14, 2001
5:31 PM Close Your Eyes, and the Darkness Finds You Faster
Just a little quote from one of my teasing fics. (You can probably figure out which one.)
I finally watched the Samurai Jack with the evil wishing well in the middle of the snowy forest. What a lovely concept... show sight without sight, in a visual medium. You just become so aware of the little flutterings in the stillness, the shape of sound, the feel of it. The best part of Jack is the use of shapes to suggest real things. The details are blocky technicolor but they are still details, lovingly rendered. They managed the same effect with the audio too. That episode was a beautiful painting on a white canvas and an empty palette -- like a white-out blizzard, when the crunch of snow and the howl of wolves become your world more fully than what's in front of your eyes.
In this age of flash and fury, it's easy to flatten our vision. Even live performances are difficult to witness, our minds having to pull out that third dimension, that immediateness. (I may be biased since I have a bad sense of smell, and I'm less likely to be affected by the chemical aura of a live event.) Sometimes it's good just to close your eyes and feel... because sometimes what's clamoring for attention isn't what is most profound.
... is a disease of the eyes. A life that you live for someone else. A body ten years younger, a face twenty years older, stretching too little hide on too big of a rack. Balled up, packed, curled, flippered fingers, a heartbeat in water, deaf as a child not in the room.
The bloody rain is falling. And even as the roots suck it up, greedy, needful, the tree drowns, the flesh rots, until there is nothing left but smallness.
An old soul in a child's body... the time for play is over. The child is a woman. The body is small-- but if that is all they see, then they shall have it. When this long walk is over, a child in a box, deaf, dumb and blind.
~60K of graphics :: Koani by
Alice in Wonderland :: Scorpion by Ushikai Background and buttons by Triple Orbit Graphics ~ Sadly it's no longer at its former website.
