gaeln9796: (icon political_two boys)
My question:
Two guys are together, committed to each other for the long run even though, for the present, one wants an open relationship while the other doesn't, but who, because of fear-of-abandonment issues and an honest belief in their love, their destiny, chooses nonetheless to go along. What might happen within him internally as opposed to what he shows externally when he inadvertently finds his partner with someone else in a club where they are somewhat known?

TitleAcross The Room
Word Count: 1,111
Fandom: none but my own

Master Post

gaeln9796: (icon interest_writing_pen)
For me, doing [ profile] mission101 was, and continues to be, about finding balance and consistency in my life -- something I'm not good at being easily distractable -- and not only about accomplishing tasks. I will draw...or write...or whatever for two three months consistently and then some other thing will come along and I won't pick up a pencil...or type a word...or whatever for months.

So on my [ profile] mission101 list I put a lot of 'do this' or 'do that' ONCE A MONTH.

I should also have included OR ITS EQUIVALENT just to cut me some slack. Because while I am getting better at CONSISTANTLY, I am by no meas there.

That having been said, I put on my list to write and post an experimental story...or poem...or writing of some sort ONCE A MONTH. Well, summer came along and vacationing came along and writing went out the window. Now I'm trying to catch up...July is a letter and August is the beginnings of a memoir-like story.

I'm including the letter -- a fan letter to an older artist the words of which I could NOT get to stop buzzing around in my head until I wrote them down & then mailed away-- because, although I currently have the post locked,  I find it all a little too embarrassing, should I recieve a positive response -- highly highly unlikely, I don't even know if I have his right address -- I will unlock the post and be very very happy. It's an experiment because I have NEVER written a fan letter before and am seriously a little too old to start now. Whatever.

Title: Dear Mr.>>>>>
Written by: gaeln
Word Count: 1,115
Fandom: none

a link to that which, currently, is not

awhie back, an lj friend did a post wherein he wrote about his growing up, until the age of three, I think, on his grandparent's farm. I thought, at the time, that it was a cool idea and very well done. That he could remember more up until the age of three than I can until the age of twelve, or so, was helpful to his story.

Still, I figured...whatthehell? My August experiement, and it really is because I DO NOT write about myself, is some little family history along with my very brief memories until the age of three-ish in San Diego CA..

I think I'm really kind of doing this for Lauren.

Title: From the 1640s to the 1950s in 2000 Words or Less
Written by: gaeln
Word Count: 2,115 (From the 1640s to the 1950s in 2000 Words or MORE just doesn't sound right and this will give you  just a little idea about how I've written this story although I am as faithful to the truth as I am able to be)
none and, like the others, not beta'ed

Once Upon a Time )

gaeln9796: (icon words_poetry)
When I was Sixteen…           
            I stood
a novice among the heirs to the Moderns, dumbfounded,
struck to the core by a new way of feeling, of seeing.
            I was
an empty vessel needing, patiently waiting
for the cool waters of a relevant vision to fill me.
            Yet, I would make
the required pilgrimages: to both cities and countries
near and far, ancient and new, expected and unexpected where
            I would kneel
at the alters of pigmented flesh made tangible. Of illusion
made actual. Of devotion made from blood, from tears, divine.
            I would spend
countless hours dedicated to unknowable allegory. To
dreams long dead, written in a untraceable and silent code.
            To stories
misread because I’d never been told them. Stories
created for the glory of the Kings of God and
            the Kings of Men.

            Still, I longed for
a different kind of story, one told in a clear language. A language
that spoke for the disintegration of a singular and harrowing age.
Not made for but by. The creators’ visions created. Visions of
shock, disbelief, power, remorse, enlightenment, understanding..
            I needed
like O’Hara, to almost ‘fall in love with painting’. To feel
that gut-wrenching, spine-tingling, awe-inspiring
            lust for more.

            So I stand
among immense images, jubilant colors, enthralling ideas,
that everywhere engulf me. That play against my eye,
            my mind
as if alive. Pulsating pigment, luscious texture, tactile
surfaces of beeswax and of pigment, of the New York Times
            and of silk.
I want to run my fingertips over them, to caress them.
I want to run my tongue over them, to savor them.
I want to understand their related allegory,
    their unconscious dream,
    their wild and passionate stories of a time so near.
I want to take them inside me, and in so doing, to
    make them a part of who I am and will always be.

I look
centuries back with respect.
I look
decades back with belonging.
I look
years ahead with anticipation.
I know
who speaks for me and
I know now
where I belong
gaeln9796: (icon political_two boys)
TITLE: Golden Watchman
FANDOM: my own
PAIRING: OMCs_Jameson & Ethan
          AUTHOR'S NOTES: Attempt to show the dichotomy between actual internal confusion as opposed to seeming external calm when one person is wanted by and wants someone he knows he shouldn't have.
          PLUS I've added a small twist for fun. I'm to incorporate the titles of ten paintings by one of my favorite painters in a meaningful way. Some are obvious, some really aren't..
SUMMARY; I like the chase, the build-up, the need to struggle for someone over a span of time with tangible obstacles and with no certainty of winning. I like the dance, or maybe should I say the fight.

Golden Watchman

…don’t touch me because when I tremble it makes a noise
like a Chinese wind-bell it’s that I’m seismographic is all…

Frank O’Hara
For The Chinese New Year & For Bill Berkson”
Lunch Poems’

“Whatever you want I’ll do, anything you want please. Please. I’ll do anything” – hesitation – “anything you say.”

Your words, coming from somewhere behind me sudden and deep as the night, break over me, and I tremble. Your desire want need, and mine, all combine to splinter the stillness of this perilous night, and the silvery stars tremble with me. Their compassion being mine, I follow them, and not you. “Like I told you last time, there’s nothing I want from you. Nothing.” False starts lead only to false endings, my words sounding a sham even to me.

“Lair.” I am and you know it. “You can’t even look at me” – anger frustration -- “look at me.”

Racing thoughts, racing thoughts slamming through me, colliding together in me, shattering me into chaos. I can’t look at you. I can’t I can’t because, I want you. I have wanted you for so long. But I shouldn‘t. I have begged for you in my sleep, in dreams so tangible, and I have longed for you, your hands, your mouth, your body, when I’m awake. But I shouldn‘t. Not a man of any god, even I understand this is wrong, this shouldn’t be. The God-men say I can‘t understand, but I can. It’s wrong to want you. It’s wrong to need you. It’s wrong to ache for you. But I do. “Go back inside.” -- calm concern -- “Before your friends miss you, go inside.”

“No, I won’t.” Closer, closer still, you sound even closer to me now. “Look at me.”

I turn, I look behind me, but I can’t see you; you remain hidden in back alley shadow, lost in nighttime obscurity. You haven’t really moved any closer to me at all. I focus back on my silvery stars sheltering me “Go.” I almost sound, even to me, as if I mean it.

“No. I won’t” -- soft low even -- “Please. I won‘t.” There’s no hint of the anger at rejection that I know lies just beneath your surface. Your voice sounds only of pain. “I want you. I want to be with you. Please”

Your words are closer to me now; soon they will be with me, surrounding me, binding me. I am at land’s end, there is no way forward. Racing thoughts, racing thoughts beg you please please just go. I don’t want to deal with this. With you. “Just go.” Go and leave me alone. Don’t don’t touch me. Even if I know you already have in some other time, in some other place, if only in dream. I scent you, know your need as mine, a need that blinds us to what is supposed to be, and binds us to what can never be.

“Look at me” -- begged growled -- “I need you I need you please.” A whisper, “Look at me.”

I want to. I want to do more, so much more. I want to take you in my arms, and push you hard against the back alley wall, my body pressing against every inch of yours just so I can hear you moan. I want to make you moan. I want to make you whimper and cry. I want to make sure you go on begging me, just like you are now. I want you. Fuck I want you. “Go back inside.”  Watchman moon rises golden among silvery stars, arching across the blue-black sky reminding me of who I am, and of who you are supposed to be.

I feel your heat, and I lean away from you, steadying, grounding myself against the cool stone wall. Moving into me, you find your place behind me. Shaping yourself to me, you wrap your arms around me, and I don’t push you away. You lay your hands over my heart, and I lean back into you.

“Don’t say no. Don’t say no to me. It’ll be alright baby, it will. I promise. I promise you, this will be right.”

You beg your need into me, into my being, and I want you to. Please I want you to, but this is wrong. You are wrong, and I’m right. “This can’t be.”

“It can be. I’ll make it be alright I will I promise.”

Your words smooth across my skin, they flutter into my mouth, they quiver over my eyes, and I almost sigh. I barely tremble “You can’t, and you know it. You can’t make this right.” Your silence confirms what I know, what we know. We’re dancers on a plane, we’ve been sparing across time, we’re balanced between what‘s right…what is supposed to be and what‘s wrong…what is hungered after. But that would be betrayal. I lay my head back against your shoulder. “So, where’s your wife? I couldn’t help but notice that she isn’t here with you, with you and your friends. What? She doesn't like my restaurant, the food, the atmosphere, the service? What?”

You are quick in front of me. You move as an atom would, as an electron of light would, in an instant from behind to in front of me. You look more desperate than you have ever sounded, so shaken to your core. Your eyes reveal only confusion. Like what? I’d forgotten she exists? What else could this be about? I’m sorry, so sorry, but I haven’t forgotten, and neither have you

“Home. She‘s…she isn’t feeling well, a cold, but she didn’t want me to miss out on dinner with our friends, so….” Your hands cradling my face, your thumbs stroking my eyebrows, you try to soothe me, to pacify me. You try to stave off what is yet to come. Your eyes now show fear. “Why?”

“You live what, ten minutes away?” I look into your eyes, your warm brown eyes, your bedroom eyes, I look at your lips, your soft sweet lips, your just parted lips, and you barely nod. “Then – eager glad -- here’s our plan. We'll go by your place, it‘s early yet, she won‘t be asleep…yeah? and we’ll tell her how you want to fuck me and how you want me to fuck you. Because once--”

“No.” As breath, as nothing more. Your hands tighten, your fingertips digging into my temples. Your eyes now show panic.

”Once she agrees, then, I can give you everything that you want. Then, I can take from you everything that I want. Then, there won’t be any guilt. Once she agrees.” Your panic vibrates sharp from you, scaring me. I want nothing more than for this to be done. “Then, what you want between us won’t be wrong. Then, like you said, it will be alright. So there shouldn’t be any problem with us just dropping by your--”

“There’s no need.” Your fingertips digging, hard into my skin, there will be bruising tomorrow. Your mouth teasing, barely an inch from mine, just a flick of my tongue and I would taste you. “She’s my responsibility so--”

“Yeah?” My hands on your chest, pushing shoving you away, away from me, getting that teasing mouth away from mine, getting those bedroom eyes the fuck off of me. “Well, thing is, I can’t have your woman come screaming into my restaurant about what I’m doing with her husband. Being a well respected businessman and all, such behavior would be unseemly.” Self-preservation always being my main motivation, just ask anyone, always the self. Except, “And another thing, you made a promise. Not me. You took a fucking vow. Not me. So, fucking live up to your promises, your vows.” Go away please please before I can’t let you go. We’re dancers on a divided plane, travelers without a bridge across, with no possible way to each other without the stain of guilt, of shame.

“You don’t give a fuck about promises, about vows. You don’t give a fuck about any marriage bull--”

“No. I don’t. I don't give a fuck. But you baby, you do…yeah? You give a fuck, and so does she. So be a man and go home, go home to your woman. Go home to your wife, and leave me alone.” I can’t let you into me; the odds aren’t in my favor. Why should I play if the odds aren’t in my favor? “Ethan, go back inside before someone comes looking for you. I don’t want trouble.” Christ you make me ache, make me need. I want to reach for you, to pull you down into me, to make you mine.

“Jamey please please want me, I need you--”

“You made your choice, so tell me, what do I want with some fucking married man? What do I need with that? Tell me. Tell me. What do I need with you?” You shrink back, you shrink away, down into yourself. I scent your defeat, as I have before. “Get the hell away from me. Now. And stay the hell away. Got it?” You wanting to say more, you wanting to beg more, you wanting me wanting me, but I can’t let you have me. I can’t let you in. “Go the fuck away.”

You shove me -- pain frustration rejection -- hard against the back alley wall, and you leave. Alone with the emptiness of you no longer with me, I focus into the swirling universe over Manhattan, and I mourn. Silvery stars mourn with me even as I can see that golden watchman moon is proud. When it begins to rain, I go back inside where I find that you’ve gone, even if your friends, her friends, haven’t. I should be satisfied that you’ve left. I should be relieved. I should even be grateful. But I’m not.
The End

gaeln9796: (icon political_two boys)
Every now and then, I'm going to post little stories I've written that are writing experiments I give to myself. Questions I ask and answer for myself. These will be unbeta'ed since any decent beta would go nuts at the number of sentence fragments, the lack of commas, the general disregard for opening and losing quotes, basically, all the rules.

TITLE: Across The Room
AUTHOR:  gaeln
FANDOM: my own
          AUTHOR'S NOTES; Two guys are together, committed to each other for the long run even though, for the present, one wants an open relationship while the other doesn't, but who, because of fear-of-abandonment issues and an honest belief in their love, their destiny, chooses nonetheless to go along. What might happen within him internally as opposed to what he shows externally when he inadvertently finds his partner with someone else in a club where they are somewhat known?

Across the Room

Room twists and spins, dissolves and melts, finally becoming nothingness when I see you with him, Closing my eyes, I remember how to breathe and the room refocuses, refocuses into the clearest of crystal clarity, but only just where I see you with him, holding him, only just where I see you touching him with fingertips just as tender, just as caring, just as knowing as when you hold me, as when you touch me. Just as tender, just as caring as when you, only you, know me.

Everywhere else, everyone else fades, pales to sheerest white, shimmering all around me, everywhere else, everyone else loses all relevance except just where you are with him, only what is real is just where you are dancing with him. Closing my eyes for a second, only for a second, I fear what I don‘t understand. Why? Why him? Please tell me why you need him?

At my side Cody says, You alright? I nod. At my side Charlie says, You want to leave? I say, No. They lead me to the bar. Our friends at my side. Ours.

Watching tender fingertips, your fingertips stroking a stray curl behind his ear, drifting easy across his cheek and the room quiets, all the chatter of existence silences into nothingness. Except for my heart which pounds a deafening beat only I hear. Closing my eyes, just for a second, only for a second, I remember how to breathe. I turn away.

Cody says, Sure you’re alright? I nod. Charlie says, Sure you want to stay? I say, Yes. Taking a swallow of my drink, I turn back again, back toward you, I walk toward you and Cody says, Jaxon? and I hesitate, only for a second, I close my eyes only for a second and I smile to him and still, I walk toward you

Now, watching you cup his cheek in your palm, now, watching you caress your thumb down his throat, I stop. Ducking your head, you search his eyes and the space widens immeasurably between us, becomes infinite, impassable. Paralyzed with abrupt understanding, with the mind-fucking understanding that swallows me whole and complete, I stop.

All lies. You said nothing matters to you but me. All lies. That your love is given only to me. All lies. That the others mean nothing to you. Lies. Lies. Les. Truth is, when I see you smile at him. Truth is, when I see you kiss him. We are nothing but lies. Fear smelling hot of rage washes over me, pulses through me, pounds into me. Fuck you. Fuck you and your fucking lies.

Leaning into you, your arms accepting surrounding defining him as a part of you, he finds his place where I am supposed to be, where I am meant to be. His head on your shoulder, you move with him slow and easy to some far away rhythm when his eyes find mine and from across the room his slight and shimmering smile slaps me nearly blind. Closing my eyes for a second, only for a second, I remember how to breathe.

Claiming you as his, moving even further into you, melting even more into you, he shields you from me, shields you from even knowing that I’m there as a hundred a thousand a million eyes are on us. On me. On you. Waiting, just waiting so patiently to see what we will do. Even as, with each new kiss he dusts over your face, along your throat, the pain grows, demanding of me, why?

Charlie comes up behind me, says, Jaxon, let’s go, but again, I shake my head. Why do I make myself stay? as pain needed? as punishment deserved? as anguish required? Don’t know. I don’t know.

Seeing me, when you finally see me, you hesitate. Before you come to me, you hesitate, still holding his hand. His hand. Fuck you. Fuck. You. Stepping back, stepping away from you, from him, putting distance, even more distance, even more fucking distance between me and you, from him, I wait and I see confusion in your eyes. I don‘t know why.

You say, Thought I left you home.

I say, Cody and Charlie called, wanted to go out. Wouldn’t have come if I’d know you were here? Closing my eyes for a second, only for a second, I remember how to breathe.

You say, Well, you’re here now…so --

I glance to him, then back to you, I  say, Yeah, have been for awhile. Listen, not a problem, ya know? No big deal. But you’re looking at him. At him. Have eyes only for him. Have to go. Have to go. Have to get thefuck out. I say, We’ll just be going, No big deal anyway, right? Plenty of other bars in this town. I never would have --

Stop. You say, Jaxon, stop. Just. Stop.

So I do. Even if my shaking doesn’t. Even if the room still shimmers white. Even if I can only just remember how to breathe. Even if I know, even if I have always known, I will only ever love you. I stop. What else?

Talking to you, holding on to you, he tries to wipe the cloud of darkness he sees in your eyes, so I turn away, retreat to the place where I know you aren‘t. Back to Cody. Back to Charlie. Back. Walk with me. They walk with me to the door. They walk with me away. Away from you. We just walk the thefuck away from you.

Then, you call out to me, Baby?

And again I stop, I turn to you, I say, See you tomorrow, alright? You’ll be home tomorrow? Their hundred their thousand their million eyes are on us, I won’t let you down.

You say, I’ll be home tonight.

I say, Hey, like I said, no biggie, right? Come home when--

Tonight. You step towards me, towards me, you say, Tonight.

And I want to touch you. I want to breathe in your breath, your scent; I want to tell you that you are mine. I want to feel the sweat of your skin on mine, your hands touching, calming me; I want to know the grip of your fingers in my hair holding, claiming me. I need the sweet taste of your lips on mine reminding me, don’t let me forget, why I’m alive, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t step toward you.

I say, Later. And I turn from you, I walk through the door away from you, I walk out to the street and facing the darkness of my night, I leave you behind.

to personal short stories

gaeln9796: (icon words_poetry)
Questioned Expectation
I look around wondering
Why I’m even here
I look around realizing
I can't recall why…
Why I ever came

I’m cut loose, have become separate
I float free and against the tide
A single silk tether only remains
So I wonder why…
Why I ever tried

New world has gone deaf
Implied trust has gone blind
Knows my well-intentioned failure
Devoid of me but still…
Still I want to believe

Old world calls, its wild ways remembered
A world where I exist, where I know
Songs sung are answered
Released from apathy
Finally understanding why I’m alive

I’m no longer a cat needing a clan
Its invisible walls feared beyond instinct
New world falters, turns away, collapses
I lick my wounds and run
Run unafraid toward the silence

Finally sensing
Finally realizing
Finally touching
The truth that looms great
Telling me…please show me
which way is home

gaeln9796: (Default)
It all began, or so the legend goes, when judith [profile] plumduff challenged alex [profile] adrtylilsecret to write for her a drabble.
But not just any drabble, mind you...for her, not just any kind would do.
For this challenge only a kissing drabble would meet her that would make her swoon.
After intense concentration, alex adrtylilsecret skillfully met her challenge with not one BUT two most sensuous drabbles...
Kissed & Like This

And so was born, from what is know, the Kissing Drabble Challenge.

Next it was Rena [personal profile] elyxer, challenged by alex adrtylilsecret -- her bother_friend -- to write a drabble on the same theme.
Rena elyxer, being the minstrel she is, took up his challenge most beautifully with...
Just Kiss Me

I read and most heartily agreed with the praise bestowed upon them each and to show my thanks, and after the fashion of others who inspired me, I gave back by commenting with my own unworthy contribution to alex adrtylilsecret.
He generously suggested I post my attempt publicly offering...

And He Waits
Quick glances exchanged across the crowded room...unknown to each other yet wanted, already needed. His tongue sweeps, caresses the curve of his invitation, intoxication and I am mesmerized but I also know not yet...not quite yet. He smiles a soft smile...understanding, he lowers his eyes and time slows, swelling into a bubble of hope and desire...surrounding us, translucent and real. I imagine, can almost feel how yielding, how adoring his mouth will be when I take him to me And I know, when his gaze finds me again, I am his. I cross the room slowly...and he waits.

Whether there are more to be found or not, I cannot know...only hope.

And who next will take-up the Kissing Drabble Challenge thereby keeping its inspiration from disappearing from us into the distant mists of time, waits to be seen.


gaeln9796: (Default)

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