brother R

[cutthroat]

<center>


brainless, stagnant,
ain't it magic?</center>

<font color="#ffffff" size="1">[ October 24, 2006 11:37 PM: Message edited by: black cats and cunnilingus ]</font>

[cutthroat]

<center>fuck the "what happened?", i got stuck
they can peel pieces of me off the grill of her truck
used to walk with luck, used to hold her hand
fell behind then played the role of a slower man

i want to stand on top of this mountain and yell
i want to wake up and break up this lake of hell
i feel like a bitch for letting the she twist me up
the last starfighter is wounded, time to give it up

on a pick it up mission, kept it bitter
gettin' in a million memories just to forget her
the difficulty in keepin' emotions controlled
cookies for the road, took me by the soul

hunger for the drama, hunger for the nurture
gonna take it further, the hurt feels like murder
interpret the eyes, read the lines on her face
the sunshine is fake, how much time did i waste?

fuck you lucy for leaving me
fuck you lucy for not needing me
i wanna say fuck you because i still love you
no, i'm not okay, and i don't know what to do

do i sound mad? well, i guess I'm a little pissed
every action has a point, five points make a fist
you close 'em, you swing 'em, it's hurts when it hits
and the truth can be a bitch, but if the boot fits


i got an idea: you should get a tattoo that says "warning"
that's all, just a warning,
so the potential victim can take a left and save breath,
and avoid you, sober and upset in the morning


i wanna scream, "fuck you lucy!"
but the problem is i love you lucy
so instead i'ma finish my drink and have another
while you think about how you used to be my lover


and everyone in his life would mistake it as love


- atmosphere</center>

[cutthroat]

<center>but i know she's been put through hell
i can feel it
and i know she's touched heaven as well
tryin' to steal it</center>


<DIV style="text-align:justify;">
"well, where do you think she'd like to go?"

shy's question didn't have far to go, their mouths close enough to deliver whispers to skin, clumsily stitched into each other's arms. and while her reassurances should've soothed the whitehot bundle of his nerves, her question only brought the truth into the hollow of his chest, like the steel-punch of a exploding bullet that shredded his guts, made his face warp in misery.

he knew exactly where pais would've wanted to go.

and he begged her to make it different, this stranger girl he couldn't escape, splashed in paint and jack daniels, endlessly seduced by her long, clean arms and her steady hand. he could see his life with her, long bright mornings under a canopy of her canvases, blanketed in the heavy wool sense of domesticity. and he made his heart skip beats, excited by the idea of living a life above the gutter.

early in the morning, his joints creaked and his body bucked in resistance as he tore from her tangle of limbs and stole from her apartment in his own clothes this time. scratching bowery between the ears and kissing her temple through a web of black hair before finding sunshine.

"tara, 's rents. ay want t'take pais back 'ome." and because he knew she was there, hanging over the answering machine like a fire-plumed vulture, his voice collapsed into desperate tones to tempt her into answering, staggering over the jagged cliff of his lips and dying in the cold air against the payphone's mouthpiece. "please pick up .."</div>

[cutthroat]

"She is human."

[cutthroat]

"Ay'm excited t'go. Wif' yew. Feels like it could really b'm'chance.."

"Your chance for what?"

"M' chance t' rilly make somethin' work this time. T'fucken make things right fer once."

[cutthroat]

"Tell m' stories baby, from b'fore.."

The women who filtered in and out of Renton's life usually only had two things in common: A beginning and an end. He preferred to keep their middling histories secret, using unfamiliarities to keep them at arm's length, refusing any emotional baggage that he might trip over one dark night when he finally decided to run (because he always did). And he shared the same courtesy, keeping his ex-family and sketchy past cloaked in a stubborn veneer of liquor and drugs.

But Scotland would strip him clean, to the fine white bone. And he wanted Shy there, to help pull him back up in case his lungs filled with water instead of redemption at the baptism.

Out of his city's skin and writhing on the clean sheets of an Scottish ocean-side motel, Renton crooned confused, tumbling deeper and plying Shy's gentle mouth for the stories that made her eyes so sad, fables from her childhood that would explain the way her mouth would bow into thoughtful frowns, reaching past the flutter of her heart for the ties that seemed to bind her so tightly to her privacy. As Shy's fingers found his spine and started strumming a comfort melody, he could've sworn he felt tears come to his eyes as they met at the impasse of their mouths, wideyawning and empty, telling nothing.

But when he woke up, her fingers knotted through the slick of his long black hair, he couldn't help but feel like it should've been his brutal gutter-gaunt princess tied in those sheets.

[cutthroat]

Renton didn't expect the welcome mat to be rolled out when he finally crawled up the un manicured walkway of the house the fall-apart twins shared, but the empty gaping windows (cloaked in black sheets from the inside) coaxed a shiver up the damaged whip of his spine and the silence draped over the house (like it's belt of bulletholes) made his feet scrape slower and slower up the crooked brickwork. He would've rather had Jeuls out on the stoop in nothing but rollers and her zebra coat and a pair of six inch fuck me heels, shrieking his name up in down the block in a magpie massacre's fury. The door was left unlocked, as always, and the doorknob spun dizzyingly against his palm as he opened the gateway to a deranged winter wonderland.

A coal colored bare-branched tree, scorched with branches mocking claws created the centerpiece, decorated with chicken feet and little animal bones painted gold and silver, a baby doll's head replacing the angel on top. Plastic shreddings of fake snow collected in drifts across the hardwood floor and glittered under the candy-colored wash of a million blinking Christmas lights spider webbing the ceiling, a lifelike plastic reindeer herd posed across the empty living room, across from the crowded nativity scene of amputated manniquens and huge slabs of raw beef. Maybe the smaller animal corpses were lamb. But the baby Jesus was a festering baby pig, curled in the arms of a headless torso, beautifully lit against a background of huge plastic blow up palm trees.. The maggots made Renton's stomach turn, but he had to appreciate the artistry.

And underneath the Christmas tree, he found a pile of glossy eight by tens, his sewerslick princess, strawberry haired and looking so calm exposed in a breathless moment of time over and over and over, tumbling between his palms and sticking in the synthetic snow drifts, his heart immediately leaping into his throat, but not useless, instead pumping harder than it ever had before.

<font color="#ffffff" size="1">[ December 13, 2006 01:52 PM: Message edited by: black cats and cunnilingus ]</font>

[cutthroat]

<center>this is the story of the boys who loved you
who love you now and loved you then
and some were sweet, some were cold and snuffed you
and some just laid around in bed.

some had crumbled you straight to your knees
did it cruel, did it tenderly
some had crawled their way into your heart
to rend your ventricles apart
this is the story of the boys who loved you </center>

[cutthroat]

the sun was just fondling the swollen curve of the earth after a night spent sprawled on a soot-slick rooftop as clumsy fists battered an unyeilding answering machine until it started puking up his messages in that flat synthetic voice.

"you have one unheard message. . . first message, sent yesterday, at 1:31, AM."

"hi renton, it's tara. i'm just.. just calling to thank you for the check."

sweating under the heat of a dozen sunlamps jeuls had arranged around the plastic pool that served as the front room's only furniture, the junkie prince leaned in as brows humped down his forehead and knit in knots of confusion over his hook nose. his demon sounded soft and grateful, and even through the wires it was like a punch in the gut.

"it.. it really means a lot that you're thinking of ryn. but it's too much, renton. what kind've trouble have you gotten yourself into?"

even before the tape had reeled into it's grave, the swamp eyed degenerate was gasping in disbelief, frayed nerves lighting up in panic.

"end of messages."

"w..wot .." and with a howl loud enough to make dorothy scratch and slip in a couple of frenzied laps around her pool, the rancid hearted junkie slapped the answering machine off it's rickety wooden perch and staggered for the stairway. "JEULS!!!"

<font color="#ffffff" size="1">[ July 24, 2007 11:04 PM: Message edited by: black cats and cunnilingus ]</font>

[cutthroat]

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