PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
i don't do bad sauce passes
JBB: An Artblog!
Claire Keane
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Game of Thrones Daily
styofa doing anything
No title available
$LAYYYTER
★
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
noise dept.
almost home
Three Goblin Art
trying on a metaphor
todays bird
dirt enthusiast
🪼
cherry valley forever
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@eyelessdoll
⌗ EYELESSDOLL : you're sad because you're sad . it's psychic . it's the age . it's chemical . go see a shrink or take a pill , or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll you need to sleep .
¹. ( muse directory ) , ². ( open starters ) , ³. ( pinterest ) .
“ sit, if you want, he was just leaving. ”
“ you know, i never once thought of leaving you. even after i realized. ”
“ and that’s how you ended up here, is it ? ” syllables are hummed, a glint in his eyes, “ underneath my window .. ” he’ll entertain the notion with a knowing smile he fails to conceal. in the same manner he’s scarcely subtle about how his gluttonous gaze drinks her in, relishing her frame from head-to-toe — like a forbidden fruit he shouldn’t indulge in. “ in a see-through night dress. ”
“ hm, ” it’s the littlest of laughs, or something closely akin to one. a hum of gentle disinterest imbued so very thoroughly with the sweetness of stupidity. “ there’s only so many windows .. so many little alcoves to disappear in .. ” so there she is, beneath his, raw pink and humidly shining and pressed so cleanly flush against the cultivated filth of moss and limestone. her hair still wet and running rivulets of gauzy translucence down the swathe of muslin and lace gum stuck to every part of her that swells, her finger trailing one half of her hem up and up and up the still damp of her thigh like a stage curtain, “ i can’t help that this is my favorite of them all. ” she slips a cigarette case rattling indecorously with prescription sedatives and lazily rolled joints from beneath the taut elasticity ribboning demarcation lines into the flesh of her hip, she unspools the fistful of too delicate fabric from the taut twist of her hand and lets it sway so chastely back to its full length. all this passes in an instant, and what is left of her peep show is an old and slightly unraveling joint. unlit and slotted in disappointing substitution into the aperture between her lips. “ shouldn’t you be somewhere else ? ” innocuous. insouciant. “ i thought maddie had an early bedtime on weekdays. ”
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“ i’m not speaking to you when you’re like this. it’s not productive. ”
“ i’m not upset, i just don’t feel like playing tonight. go find another toy to wind up. ”
“ everybody was asking about you. ”
“ you wanna know what i think ? i think you’re projecting your own guilt onto me. ”
“ for someone that’s got me blocked, you’re sure goddamn invested in my personal affairs. ”
“ now you can’t possibly believe i’m that stuck up, johnny. ” honeyed manner she utters his name is almost intimate, giving the pretense of two old friends catching up, if not for the months of ceased communication. and there’s the evident discrepancy of her well-groomed attire, decked out in designer from head to toe, sticking out like a sore thumb as she sought him out to obtain the little baggy in his possession, to sustain that insatiable appetite. “ i come all the way here to see how you’re doing and this is how you repay me ? ”
“ and here i was thinking you just happened to be in the neighborhood. i’m touched, really. ” he thrusts himself erect from a shoulder set slouch against the barstool with the loose boned length of his arm. almost gallant in the dim, dust furred light swaying overhead, almost perverse, how he stoops to splay the wear soften skin of a shed coat across the dried beer treacly layering itself night after night after night into a gummy, peel back scab on the bowled indentation of his ceded seat. “ thing is — happy hour's ten a.m. to noon, ” he drops his hand against the dressed wood, motions for her to sit. if the intent was to mock, he’s made a rather princely parody of himself in the process. “ if you came all the way here for a good deal, you're a little late. ”
she scoffs, a sound resembling a hollowed laugh — not malicious but rather disbelief. there’s nothing amusing about the tension lingering in the space between them. an unspoken strain that has existed for a long time now. “ i just don’t get it. ” but she does, she’s all too aware of fabricating excuses for someone less than deserving. she feels a distinct pang in her chest at the notion, “ why are you still with him ? ”
“ i guess i just don't know who else to be, ” if it is, perhaps, a grotesquely diminished thing to say, it's simply because she is. a salt - encrusted and vanilla stoli steeped bauble cross - legged in the center of the sofa and sweat - stuck to its leather. odysseus' debauched penelope excised, not so charmingly, of all complexity, “ i guess i just wouldn't know where to put it all down. ” she lights another pall mall with the ruby - red glower of the last and drops the still hot excess into the crevasse between the cushions. a writhing little thing asphyxiating itself to leave the faintest of marks. she watches it dutifully like she understands, like she owes it at least that. a witness. “ if it's a scene you're all worried about, you can tell him i'm calm. ” a hot, solid pause. cryptic silence. long enough for a sillage of chewed - up smoke to thread itself through the stale humidity of the room, obscuring, blurring, until it's opaque enough to almost believe this is something else entirely. she finally lifts her head and looks at her so closely it hurts the starved wide blacks of her eyes. “ but really, i guess i just don't see why it matters. ”
“ would’ve been slightly more fun as a threat “ holds her gaze for as long as he manages, then finally allowing his eyes to find the bottom of his glass, liquid tossed down his throat in a quick move before he refocuses his attention. “ but i’m sure we can find something that won’t make that necessary, for neither of us “ and with that, he removes the gun from his waist, resting it against the table in a pathetic move.
“ how disappointing, ” polished steel is lain delicately, intolerably so, against inlaid mahogany like a sacrificed pawn. a terribly trivial gambit to have been made, but she feels put in her place all the same. she doesn't flinch. she simply drops the weight of her head into a hard jutted, no fripperies, brutalist tilt. raw concrete swathed in raw silk. “ i almost thought you clever. what is it about a little girl tying up her father's loose ends that you can't seem to handle without a few extra inches ? ” her own meager hand is played then, a stack of paper miming a desperately dubious deck of all the gossamer, rare paneled cigar room dealings and scotch soaked information she wished to rid herself of. an unauthorized investigation. an unauthorized visit. in other words, a sitting duck with a belly full of canine teeth. slice her open and see what happens. “ i like my life. i like my job. you understand the importance of trust, don’t you ? how imperative it is that i keep it ? ”
“ i’m trying to keep my head above the water, you know things are never that simple “ surely, she’d crossed lines she swore to never getting close to and the game she was playing now — having too many important man on her roster of clients — was far more dangerous than she ever imagined could happen. “ we can’t all afford to keep our hands clean “
“ no, but there's plenty of mud pits to roll around in, ” there, in the low light of a 24 hour a day bar, she's all packaged up like a parcel in the cigarette razed booth across from him. a domestic item among a specialist's taste of rare, foreign, vintage debasements for sale. someone comes, or perhaps someone goes. in any case, there's the delicate clinking of beaded curtains undulating and obfuscating the graffiti scrawled entrance to signal the dissolution of backlit reverie. he glances quickly away, like he's been caught wanting something he can't afford. “ peddle your shit to someone else's client book, or find somewhere else to go the next time you're in over your head. ” bought things are so often discarded when inconvenient, and they're both a different brand of quick - fix commodity. “ it's as simple as that. ”
"see the problem with leaving it is the fact that you haven't said a word worth me listening to since i got here ." drawls over the music pounding outside the bathroom door . "so tell me again , chaz . make it believable this time ."
“ just don’t have much left to say. ” voice drags lazy and slow as the smoke unfurling from the red roach end of a cigarette. he leans back to put it out, put it down, in the white basin of the sink, beer soaked and white powdered laminate sticky slick beneath the weight of denim and skin. something caught and writhing in a nostalgia damp glue trap. “ you want your shit, silver ? is that it ? ” fingertips dip into the depths of his front pocket to extricate a lighter, her lighter, and come up clean. or rather, cleaner. there’s still a faint sheen of insinuation glittering on the raw flesh of his fingertips. something that clings. he braces a palm against the back of her neck, free hand moving to tuck that slip of a thing, cheap and plasticine, behind her ear. “ that's everything i've got, ” gaze sloshes to the side like a long - necked bottle tipped over and frothing with backwash and asphyxiated things. blunts, cigarettes, promises. grotesque reminiscence. a half something lilts his lips upward. neither grin nor leer. “ might still be a pair of panties you forgot beneath the couch, but you never did leave much of anything behind. ”
