LITANY- chptr 5
(Copyright policy…. This is where I explain that, unless otherwise noted, I am the legal copyright holder of the material on this blog and it may not be used, reprinted, or published without my written contest.)
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Sem
iHidden=”false”
UnhideWhenUsed=”false” Name=”Medium Shading 1 Accent 2″ />
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6″ />
It was problematic though, extremely problematic. He had skipped out of a number of lessons he was supposed to teach in favour of working out the basic structure and the extension of the tonic chords of each cadence. These structures are all nevertheless expanded versions of the same fundamental syntactic structure after all. He needed the money, he just didn’t really gig enough to get by on just that income. He was going broke getting his dick wet and writing sand rewriting someone else’s stuff for no writing credit what so ever and there was no other way of looking at that puddle of problem.
He had slept in his own bed once, to the best of his recollection, in the last wee few weeks in order to spend countless hours with her sitting beside him at the computer desk or at her gorgeous piano. He talked to Channing about some specific musical phrases he had bee infusing the piece with; commencing with an opening section made up exclusively of a single alternation between the first chord and the fifth. It made logical musical sense, didn’t she think, since the harmony does not move but merely oscillates between chords the harmony is static?
to the best of his recollection, in the last wee few weeks while spending countless hours with her sitting beside him at the computer desk or at her gorgeous piano he had slowly but surely become wholly preoccupied with experiencing things through a sense modality. He recalled how good it would feel to rub her inner self over his stubbly face. How good it would feel to hold his face still while smearing the dew from her flower all over his face. How good it would it feel to have her set her moisture all over his feet and feel her licking her own love off his toes. He had been wholly preoccupied with this kind of sexual sense modality. It made him feel like a drooling animal but couldn’t stop it anyway.
He had been wholly preoccupied with how it would feel inside his body if he could dip his favourite paintbrush into her flower like a schoolhouse inkwell. He had been wholly preoccupied with doing this painting during that very special time of the month and painting a Celtic circle on her belly in her own fresh blood. Naturally he had no inclination toward this sanguine invention, never ever crossed his mind until three weeks ago when he met her in Barry’s trying only to pick up weed and not the obsession he ended up going home with. He felt fucked up, there was no other way of putting it.
That rush of adrenaline Liam got just thinking about it became addictive. He was experiencing somewhat of a chemical dependency to his own adrenaline. The blood and the art could create such an animalistic feeling and when the animal takes over and you know you’re going to break the skin. He did break her skin, more than once getting, for lack of a better way of putting it, getting carried away by that same rush. That rush of thick, warm fluid that sustains life, the coppery taste as it slides down your throat and the feeling of your pulse beating in your temples. The way she could shiver when they
<p class="MsoNormal”>would kiss her own blood off his lips. They both got fucked up, there was no other way of putting it.
Over the last wee few weeks Liam’s body and his mind had become mortal enemies. Not that they hadn’t always have been. He could participate in a sexual encounter and the sex can be technically quite good but his mind would shut down and when that happened there is no manner of sexual acrobatics or nuances or tricks that will get him off. He was like a woman that way. It doesn’t matter what he does or the other person does, he stays aloof, or at least his mind remains physically and emotionally distance. With Channing that was all different. His chakras were all in a panic. He couldn’t shut off, couldn’t shut down. Actually it was the opposite, he was absolutely and utterly on, absolutely and utterly shut up. He got fucked up, there was no other way of putting it.
When Liam was with Channing he could no longer just stand back and watch what was going on in his mind. Emotionally, well, emotionally his mind remained absent. There was this mental aloofness Liam could tap into. It’s entirely possible that Liam was that aloof with almost everything. He had to keep his distance from what’s happening, to Channing or else become the mock turtle again.
Liam didn’t want to be aloof, at least not with Channing. He figured it was that aloof attitude that pushed Little Miss No Idea away. God, how he hated it when he was right but rather late about it. He didn’t really have words for that devastation. He had no concept of the truth so he could no longer tell any more if someone’s actually telling the truth of not.
There was no way he could tell if Channing really liked him or was just using him to finish her music. He had reworked enough of per pieces that she could record and entire album at this point, hadn’t he? Liam would love to cry out all my tears for Little Miss No Idea and be done with it but it’s this very aloofness that gets in the way. Once Liam had poured enough caffeine into his system and figured he had given his head enough of a shake he headed back to his apartment.. Tim Horton’s is pretty much the cornerstone of every amazing good and amazing bad experience especially growing up in Southern Ontario and it had served him well on this shattered morning in November and almost December. Channing would have already left for work. The coast would be clear again. He headed 2 blocks in a specific direction to his apartment from Tim’s.
His big plan was to tell Channing tonight that the next time they see each other they get together it will be to work on Channing’s music project and not to fool around; that there’s a danger in mixing business with pleasure. Here’s the thing, though: she might be mad, she might be offended, she might not leave him enough verbal space to explain himself properly. He wasn’t even sure there was a way to explain himself because he wasn’t sure himself what was going on. Only that he was obsessed and it had to stop even if he wasn’t sure what was the object of his obsession.
Liam figured a hot shower could wash all the tension out of him. It would be a good respite despite the fact he was going to have to cool things off with Channing right away, tonight even. No two ways around that. He had skipped out of a number of lessons he was supposed to teach in favour of working out someone else’s material and unconsciously become obsessed with finishing it and it was causing problems.
He was thinking about how mad she would be and taking off his shirt and that’s when he saw them. Four huge scratch marks down his back that looked like someone had dragged four straight edge razors down his back tearing the flesh as they glide along. He just stared at them in another worldly kind of manner. He couldn’t feel the lacerations even though they were bruised and bloody and had the look of being infected.
He couldn’t remember them either. He remembered not being able to resist her, and when he couldn’t resist not a moment longer. He remembered grabbing her and sinking his teeth into the fleshy part of her shoulder. He remembered the adrenaline ripping through his blood. He remembered leaving light teeth marks over the nape of her neck. He remembered being incredibly passionate and even a little more aggressive than that. Liam remembered the feeling of wanting to practically tear her flesh from her bones and leave nothing else. Then he remembered nothing more. Just waking up, feeling freaked out and heading to Tim’s.
Four purple and blue and bloody lacerations down his spine, a mountain of obsession, a monkey on his back and he was fucked. The unqualified consternation at how badly he had fallen for a female, or a piece of her music, or whatever the hell had made these marks down his back. Sure Channing had a set of those expensive acrylic nails that look real that she gets done every two weeks by the Asian lady in Jackson Square.
Liam was plagued all day long with nagging questions about why he had more or less blacked out the night before and he just really couldn’t figure out how deeply he had to be out to not feel and wake up when someone was ripping your flesh open with those expensive Jackson Square acrylics that are so popular with all the ladies.
He fiddled around with green machine fuzz rock for awhile. He decided he could appreciate Prong for their mi