Actaeon & Artemis
Mar. 25th, 2005 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI cut out of the show early. Trailer park rocket ship head rush of too much psychobilly and PBR at once. Two bands in and already a busted lip, bruised ribs, swollen fingers from sucker punching some thick skulled gorilla skin, who registered my shot with a laugh, and even when he lifted me up by the belt and t-shirt and sent me hurtling head first into a rabid pack of hairheads, did not lose that little boy grin chisled into his face. A true maniac moment. I actually fly. For maybe two seconds tops. Crash, skip, skid and slide, a tumble weed performance across the floor. Have you ever seen it rain boots down on you, as you laid in a puddle of spilt beer and sweat, guarding your face with your wrists, waiting. Waiting for it to pass like it was nothing more than the weather?
I get a stamp on the way out the door. Bored barge ship of a door girl doesn't even register me. Day dreams looping of 'Angel' and 'Spike'. I head out and head 'round the back of the club and catch some teenage mall punks on their way in. Toys, chains and locks worn like tribal fetishes of a cartoon skulled God. Clean darkness and baby rage coming off their practiced pouts. They wear bands on their black t-shirts that broke up before they were born: Bauhaus, the Deadboys and one of them, (god bless 'em), has on a plain white tee with the Dead Kennedy's symbol stretched across his chest like a comic book superhero symbol. I keep striking conversations across the shell of their silence until I get one of them to break down and address me. Chit chat on idle- 'Hows the show? Have the Harvey Kietel's gone on? How 'bout the Pillz?'- I nod and play it easy, make it seem like they came up to me, like i'm world weary from knowing it all, and eventually I let'em in on a 'Secret', take them under the wing for a moment and tell them how I can sneak them in, (you know we're all in the scene together and all that shit). But it's gonna take a bit more than a lick to the back of my hand and a quick press to theirs, no way will a simple salvia forgery get the Junior League of Doom in the door! So I take them on back, behind the rows of dumpsters, where I know that some of the clean up staff sneak out for a joint here and there between the bands. They always crack the thick iron fire exit door open with one of the mop handles they keep in the back. I point out the sliver of light designating it through the cluster of buckets and trash receptacles.
"If security gives you any shit" I tell them all seriously, "Tell them you came out here to sneak one--- got it?" I add with a coy wink.
They nod. Apprehensive, suspicious, looking at the blurry patch of ink on their hand. Their designated alpha male, or whoever the hell he's supposed to be, looks like he's gonna say something, but it's too late i'm already on my way out, along with the ten bucks I charged them as 'a gesture of good karma'.
Ten bucks gets me a small bottle of Jack and a pack of Reds. It also gives me a bit of change, so I can call someone who gives a fuck, should the need come up. I've walked a few miles under the empty night. Walking dead. Not even the cop cars crusing by can bother to pull over and check me out. I'm that far gone, where my destitution is no longer a threat to society, but rather a sad consequence of it. I don't know how long i've been stepping, but finally, when the bottle is dry and my feet ache under the steel toes, I find a place to stop to gather up my fading spirit. I'm apparently in one of those parts of town that's making it's mind up between ghetto and/or condo. I stop on the steps of one of the old factorys that have been gutted out like a fish and turned into a big box of pricey studio apartments. It looks nice and done up, and you can almost forget that your only a block away from MLK Blvd, where "I have a dream" is ironically a term for getting by one more day alive on that long strip of private hells.
I don't know how long i'm sitting there on those steps, wrapped up in my private hopes for oblivion, waiting for the ribs to stop aching, footprints left across my chest, when I hear the music. Faded humming, I assumed was some after echo in the brain after being boot checked right by the amps. I get up and strain the ear forward, scanning the air with Scene Radar, it's some of that industrial stuff my ex used to listen to. Some of it's alright, when they remember to pick up the guitars and leave the fucking casio's and mixing boards alone for a minute, what the hell a party is a party and it beats waiting to sober up. It's coming from one of these little squares of room, I cut down a side entrance where the factory has been divided into little sub buildings. I hear giggling now. But better than that it's women giggling. I follow it to a door and give it a yank. Nothing. After A few pushes and pulls it occurs to me theres one of those locks on the handle with the button codes. Shit! I hear a sudden roar of laughter. Second floor.
Options- Knock and hope they hear. Push as many buttons as possible and see if I get lucky. Go home and forget about it. Or...
It takes a few dry runs, a practice round, but I finally manage to leap up and grab the old time fire escape ladder, it doesn't budge down, but I manage to do an old fashioned pull up and lift myself onto the platform. This is soooo cool. I haven't done this since I was a kid in Chi-Town. I creep sneak to the window, debating leaping through like a mad man or casually tapping on the pane of the glass. I take a glance through the blinds and see her. She's standing there, and HOLY SHIT,naked in the middle of the living room, surronded by all these other honeys, lounging around in the nude, listening to her read some kind of poem or shit out of the notebook she's clutching. Sweet she must model and shit because maaaan I ain't seen nothing that fine in real life in a long time. She's got skin the color of a full moon, and there's a bright red halo of shock red hair that cascades down into her shoulders, small breasts of compressed desire, rising out of her chest, nipples that arc into deep pink missile silos, and follow down the curves she's soft but not fat, flat belly but not cut, the strong thighs of a dancer or a fighter, shaved bush revealing a Celtic weave that seems to rise out of her and flower across the hips. Her dark eyes wildly dancing across the text, the slash of lips cutting the words she reads into the air, she moves a strand of hair out of her eyes and It hits me that every woman in the room repeats the gesture after her, wired deep into her personal heat. I take them in, and hell they ain't nothing to pass up either, sure they got that whole Tori Amos vibe about them, and you can see them smoking cloves and reading Neil Gaiman and all that other good shit, and hey I'm down with The Feminism, y'know, if that be when two girls get going at it- but these honeys, fine as they are, got nothing on my girl there who turns her back to me and bends down to pick up another book, and seeing it all I almost lose it right there, i'm ready to pop without a touch, i'm sweating, I can't feel my bruises anymore, just this fucking raging hard on trying to burst through my jeans for air. Be Cool, gotta keep it together. I light myself up a Red to steady the nerves. I lean in a little closer and see Red standing there.
Standing there and looking right at me. There's shouting now. A scattering of nymphs who are all covering themselves up, running back and forth to find their clothes, but not Red. She stands there with her beauty naked before me but with a look of steel hate in her eyes. I know that look, the look men get when they decide jail is definetly worth what they are going to do next. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't scared or nothin', I just figured it was time to leave, quick, and I scramble over the railing almost forgetting the story drop and dangle by one hand and I drop the cigarette out of my mouth and it hits me in the leg and I yelp out in pain and now all the lights in the buildings seem to be coming on, I can hear the window open behind me
"What the fuck do you think your doing you piece of shit" some bitch is yelling at me, more lights, shadowed faces peering out at me, oh Jesus I'm gonna have to let go. I hear footsteps rattle the fire escape and let go.
For the second time tonight, I fly, and crash within the eternity of a second and land more on ankle than foot. I pick myself and hop-limp a few steps, when on, y'know pure instinct and shit I turn around and look up at the window and see her- Red- standing there watching me like i'm some kind of insect or something, still naked, not ashamed, just pissed, and the light from the window frames her in the illusion of flames.
Voices! Apartment doors opening! The courtyard is filling with them. I've never seen so many pissed of women in my life. Fuck the pain and the limp I attempt a full throttle sprint only to find myself tackled by some diesel dyke who slams me down with the force of a hit and run. I spill the air out of my lungs, she turns me around and pins me down, soon i'm surronded and it starts up again.
You'd think I'd learn. But learnings for guys who quit the first time around.
Not me. I'm hardcore. I take it like a man, all of it, the barrage of kicks, the slow fist fucking of my face, and I know God hates me because not one of them manages to knock me out. Eventually but not finally, they stop and the bigger one grabs me by my devil lock and drags me towards the building. I only got one eye to see with, and so many different parts of me hurt, my nervous system doesn't know where to start. I try to move, but nothing but a numb wave of warmth meets my command. One good eye and I can see Red up there watching the whole thing go down. That same evil fucking look in her eye, the one that says I'm nothing more than the meat of a beast to be served. Hell and damnation in a few minutes, but still even here at the gates of some horrible fate my brains in too much shock to even contemplate, I feel the same rush of lust looking at her. Maybe it's the fractured skull, but I know if I had it all over to do again...
I get a stamp on the way out the door. Bored barge ship of a door girl doesn't even register me. Day dreams looping of 'Angel' and 'Spike'. I head out and head 'round the back of the club and catch some teenage mall punks on their way in. Toys, chains and locks worn like tribal fetishes of a cartoon skulled God. Clean darkness and baby rage coming off their practiced pouts. They wear bands on their black t-shirts that broke up before they were born: Bauhaus, the Deadboys and one of them, (god bless 'em), has on a plain white tee with the Dead Kennedy's symbol stretched across his chest like a comic book superhero symbol. I keep striking conversations across the shell of their silence until I get one of them to break down and address me. Chit chat on idle- 'Hows the show? Have the Harvey Kietel's gone on? How 'bout the Pillz?'- I nod and play it easy, make it seem like they came up to me, like i'm world weary from knowing it all, and eventually I let'em in on a 'Secret', take them under the wing for a moment and tell them how I can sneak them in, (you know we're all in the scene together and all that shit). But it's gonna take a bit more than a lick to the back of my hand and a quick press to theirs, no way will a simple salvia forgery get the Junior League of Doom in the door! So I take them on back, behind the rows of dumpsters, where I know that some of the clean up staff sneak out for a joint here and there between the bands. They always crack the thick iron fire exit door open with one of the mop handles they keep in the back. I point out the sliver of light designating it through the cluster of buckets and trash receptacles.
"If security gives you any shit" I tell them all seriously, "Tell them you came out here to sneak one--- got it?" I add with a coy wink.
They nod. Apprehensive, suspicious, looking at the blurry patch of ink on their hand. Their designated alpha male, or whoever the hell he's supposed to be, looks like he's gonna say something, but it's too late i'm already on my way out, along with the ten bucks I charged them as 'a gesture of good karma'.
Ten bucks gets me a small bottle of Jack and a pack of Reds. It also gives me a bit of change, so I can call someone who gives a fuck, should the need come up. I've walked a few miles under the empty night. Walking dead. Not even the cop cars crusing by can bother to pull over and check me out. I'm that far gone, where my destitution is no longer a threat to society, but rather a sad consequence of it. I don't know how long i've been stepping, but finally, when the bottle is dry and my feet ache under the steel toes, I find a place to stop to gather up my fading spirit. I'm apparently in one of those parts of town that's making it's mind up between ghetto and/or condo. I stop on the steps of one of the old factorys that have been gutted out like a fish and turned into a big box of pricey studio apartments. It looks nice and done up, and you can almost forget that your only a block away from MLK Blvd, where "I have a dream" is ironically a term for getting by one more day alive on that long strip of private hells.
I don't know how long i'm sitting there on those steps, wrapped up in my private hopes for oblivion, waiting for the ribs to stop aching, footprints left across my chest, when I hear the music. Faded humming, I assumed was some after echo in the brain after being boot checked right by the amps. I get up and strain the ear forward, scanning the air with Scene Radar, it's some of that industrial stuff my ex used to listen to. Some of it's alright, when they remember to pick up the guitars and leave the fucking casio's and mixing boards alone for a minute, what the hell a party is a party and it beats waiting to sober up. It's coming from one of these little squares of room, I cut down a side entrance where the factory has been divided into little sub buildings. I hear giggling now. But better than that it's women giggling. I follow it to a door and give it a yank. Nothing. After A few pushes and pulls it occurs to me theres one of those locks on the handle with the button codes. Shit! I hear a sudden roar of laughter. Second floor.
Options- Knock and hope they hear. Push as many buttons as possible and see if I get lucky. Go home and forget about it. Or...
It takes a few dry runs, a practice round, but I finally manage to leap up and grab the old time fire escape ladder, it doesn't budge down, but I manage to do an old fashioned pull up and lift myself onto the platform. This is soooo cool. I haven't done this since I was a kid in Chi-Town. I creep sneak to the window, debating leaping through like a mad man or casually tapping on the pane of the glass. I take a glance through the blinds and see her. She's standing there, and HOLY SHIT,naked in the middle of the living room, surronded by all these other honeys, lounging around in the nude, listening to her read some kind of poem or shit out of the notebook she's clutching. Sweet she must model and shit because maaaan I ain't seen nothing that fine in real life in a long time. She's got skin the color of a full moon, and there's a bright red halo of shock red hair that cascades down into her shoulders, small breasts of compressed desire, rising out of her chest, nipples that arc into deep pink missile silos, and follow down the curves she's soft but not fat, flat belly but not cut, the strong thighs of a dancer or a fighter, shaved bush revealing a Celtic weave that seems to rise out of her and flower across the hips. Her dark eyes wildly dancing across the text, the slash of lips cutting the words she reads into the air, she moves a strand of hair out of her eyes and It hits me that every woman in the room repeats the gesture after her, wired deep into her personal heat. I take them in, and hell they ain't nothing to pass up either, sure they got that whole Tori Amos vibe about them, and you can see them smoking cloves and reading Neil Gaiman and all that other good shit, and hey I'm down with The Feminism, y'know, if that be when two girls get going at it- but these honeys, fine as they are, got nothing on my girl there who turns her back to me and bends down to pick up another book, and seeing it all I almost lose it right there, i'm ready to pop without a touch, i'm sweating, I can't feel my bruises anymore, just this fucking raging hard on trying to burst through my jeans for air. Be Cool, gotta keep it together. I light myself up a Red to steady the nerves. I lean in a little closer and see Red standing there.
Standing there and looking right at me. There's shouting now. A scattering of nymphs who are all covering themselves up, running back and forth to find their clothes, but not Red. She stands there with her beauty naked before me but with a look of steel hate in her eyes. I know that look, the look men get when they decide jail is definetly worth what they are going to do next. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't scared or nothin', I just figured it was time to leave, quick, and I scramble over the railing almost forgetting the story drop and dangle by one hand and I drop the cigarette out of my mouth and it hits me in the leg and I yelp out in pain and now all the lights in the buildings seem to be coming on, I can hear the window open behind me
"What the fuck do you think your doing you piece of shit" some bitch is yelling at me, more lights, shadowed faces peering out at me, oh Jesus I'm gonna have to let go. I hear footsteps rattle the fire escape and let go.
For the second time tonight, I fly, and crash within the eternity of a second and land more on ankle than foot. I pick myself and hop-limp a few steps, when on, y'know pure instinct and shit I turn around and look up at the window and see her- Red- standing there watching me like i'm some kind of insect or something, still naked, not ashamed, just pissed, and the light from the window frames her in the illusion of flames.
Voices! Apartment doors opening! The courtyard is filling with them. I've never seen so many pissed of women in my life. Fuck the pain and the limp I attempt a full throttle sprint only to find myself tackled by some diesel dyke who slams me down with the force of a hit and run. I spill the air out of my lungs, she turns me around and pins me down, soon i'm surronded and it starts up again.
You'd think I'd learn. But learnings for guys who quit the first time around.
Not me. I'm hardcore. I take it like a man, all of it, the barrage of kicks, the slow fist fucking of my face, and I know God hates me because not one of them manages to knock me out. Eventually but not finally, they stop and the bigger one grabs me by my devil lock and drags me towards the building. I only got one eye to see with, and so many different parts of me hurt, my nervous system doesn't know where to start. I try to move, but nothing but a numb wave of warmth meets my command. One good eye and I can see Red up there watching the whole thing go down. That same evil fucking look in her eye, the one that says I'm nothing more than the meat of a beast to be served. Hell and damnation in a few minutes, but still even here at the gates of some horrible fate my brains in too much shock to even contemplate, I feel the same rush of lust looking at her. Maybe it's the fractured skull, but I know if I had it all over to do again...
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no subject
on 2005-03-25 06:14 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-03-25 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2005-03-25 07:52 pm (UTC)hehe great stuff dude!!
no subject
on 2005-03-26 04:54 am (UTC)