City Lover

This is a picture post.

Sun, 03 Jan 2010 21:51:15 GMT

From my parents' dinner party visit and the awesomeness that was New Year's Eve...

The chefs!

Blah blah blahdee blah

One of my housemates & I being cozy.

Old friend from college. You can't tell from these pictures, but we all ate a LOT of lasagna.

Pretty for Gridlock! With Sara.

A closeup of the glittery goodness.

Gridlock 2010 at Paramount Studios. They took this at the entrance and wanted to charge us 20 bucks for it. Patrick just took a picture of the screen. A+, Patrick. [l-r: Trey, me, Shinta, Sara, Patrick.]

Patrick & I. You can't see the glitter in his hair, but it looked gorgeous. Sparkled under the streetlights. :)

The man himself. Oh, dear Velvet Goldmine-loving glitter-encrusted Adam Lambert, where have you been all my life? He was so spot-on, vocally, all fucking evening. Kept taking drinks out of a silver flask. Tommy [bass player] instigated a lot of fanservice, which I kind of love him for. Monte [guitarist] kicks ass, but he's not exactly fanservice material.

Basking in the post-coital Adam bliss. We were all walking around in a daze mumbling 'I want to have his babies... I want to have his babies...' Coincidentally, Shinta is actually pregnant. Her baby's been weaned on Adam Lambert - probably going to pop out with 'glitter on her face, her baby clothes made of leather and lace...'

Music of the decade and shit.

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 00:13:43 GMT

Hey, everyone else is doing it. Peer pressure!

The more I look back on ‘the decade’, the more I realize that I was really not listening to the same music as everyone else. I discovered Japanese music in 2000 and the Manics in 2001, so with the exception of the past year or so, I was really not listening to much America-friendly music at all.While everyone else was cheesing out over Justin Timberlake, I was headbanging to D’espairsRay. While the radio played Amy Winehouse, I had Magic Dirt and MUCC on repeat.

So my list might look a little weird. But it’s more interesting to me than having three Radiohead albums on there [I’m looking at you, Rolling Stone.]

Bright Eyes, I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning (2005)
Craig Armstrong, As If To Nothing (2002)
D’espairsRay, MIRROR (2007)
Dir en grey, Vulgar (2003)
Dishwalla, Dishwalla (2005) [Funny how a band's best album is always the least appreciated.]
Gackt, Crescent (2003)
Inme, Daydream Anonymous (2007)
Inoran, Photograph (2006)
Jonas Brothers, A Little Bit Longer (2008) [Say what you want, but it's a fucking great record.]
Kenna, Make Sure They See My Face (2007)
Magic Dirt, Tough Love (2003)
Manic Street Preachers, Know Your Enemy (2001) [Nobody liked it but me, but pffft.]
Miyavi, This IZ the Japanese Kabuki Rock (2008) [The defining album of the decade for me, pretty much. It encapsulates what I was listening to.]
Muse, Black Holes & Revelations (2006)
Oblivion Dust, Butterfly Head (2000)
Pierrot, HEAVEN: The Customized Landscape (2002) [Probably the best album on this list.]
Plastic Tree, Chandelier (2006)
Silverchair, Young Modern (2007)
The Vines, Highly Evolved (2002)

Songs of the decade are definitely a different beast, seeing as I tend to buy albums and not singles. That said, I tried to keep my defining songs to ones that actually made an impact and didn’t just sit back as an obscure b-side somewhere.

Bright Eyes, ‘Poison Oak’ (2005) [One of the best songs ever written, bar none.]
Violet UK, ‘Blue Butterfly’ (2008)
Six.by Seven, ‘American Beer’ (2002)
SADS, ‘Strawberry’ (2000)
Rob Dickinson, ‘Handsome’ (2005) [Okay, so this is an obscure b-side. Fuck it.]
Oblivion Dust, ‘Designer Fetus’ (2000)
Muse, ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ (2006)
Muse, ‘Knights of Cydonia’ (2006)
MUCC, ‘Libra’ (2007)
Magic Dirt, ‘Girlboy’ (2003) [My personal theme song.]
Luna Sea, ‘TONIGHT’ (2000) [Can you believe they were still together this decade? I can't.]
Imogen Heap, ‘Hide and Seek’ (2005) [Fuck you, Jason Derulo. Fuck you.]
The GazettE, ‘Filth in the Beauty’ (2007) [Pretty much the awesomest song of the century.]
Gackt, ‘Birdcage’ (2003)
DJ Shadow, ‘Blood on the Motorway’ (2002)
Dir en grey, ‘Obscure’ (2003)
Dir en grey, ‘Saku’ (2005)
Lady Gaga, ‘Bad Romance’ (2009) [I'm obsessed with this song and had to include at least one from this year.]
Miyavi, ‘Saihokoru hana no yo hi’ (2007)

Mmm, now I want to make a mix of my songs of the decade.

FACE ME.

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 05:51:43 GMT

I'm giving out mixes for the holidays. One acoustic and depressing as hell, the other not so acoustic and fairly upbeat. For me, anyway.

FACE ME.

A sort-of-Kradam mix.

GUARDIAN ANGEL - JUNO REACTOR

If there’s anything you want, anything at all
Come to me… I’ll be your guardian angel

Do I really need to explain?

THE FIXER - PEARL JAM

I’ll say your prayers, I’ll take your side
I’ll find us a way to make light
I’ll dig your grave, we’ll dance and sing
What’s saved could be one last lifetime

Haven’t bought a PJ album in years. Bucked the trend. Worth it.

RAIN DOWN ON ME - KANE [TIESTO REMIX]

If only for a day
Oh, if only for one night
I could tell you this is everything
That I have ever lived for

Ironically, the original isn’t nearly as poignant as the remix. I blame my love for electronica. And cheesy trance albums.

MUCHI NO NAMIDA - BUCK-TICK

Love and peace tear them to pieces
The tin soldiers sally forth

Bass-heavy Japanese sarcasm. Ouch.

POKER FACE - LADY GAGA

I wanna hold em like they do in Texas please
Fold em let me hit em raise it baby stay with me

Kris has no poker face. And this song is kind of awesome.

MK ULTRA - MUSE

How much deception can you take?
How many lies will you create?
How much longer until you break?
Your mind’s about to fall

I repeat: Kris has no poker face. It’s only a matter of time.

CHASE THE MORNING - SARAH BRIGHTMAN & ALEXA VEGA

Let your life be your dream
Integrity, honesty
It’s too late for me
Don’t look back until you’re free

Sarah Brightman, crazy digital eyeballs, steampunk, and Yoshiki production. It’s crazy but gorgeous all the same.

BITE THE BULLET - THE UNDERNEATH

A familiar voice in my heart—
Sink your teeth in and grab hold of it

Hope in desperation. So depressing and yet so inspiring. The definition of Japanese lyrics.

MASQUERADE - D'ESPAIRSRAY

I wanna flake out... flake out...
Everything that's smashed up
came from weakness that hides the truth
Just like a mask...
somewhere crying...
What is truth?
Tell me...
What is truth?
liar, liar... like a masquerade...

I love D’espa like whoa. They always bring it – poetically and musically. And the lyrics, well. Can we say PR MACHINE?

ATOM BOMB - FLUKE

Baby got a master plan
a foolproof master plan
baby got purple hair
baby got a secret lair
baby got an army there
I ain't ever seen baby scared

Master plan. Sigh. So much to idealize.

GASOLINE - THE AIRBORNE TOXIC EVENT

All the time awake
You’re still on my mind
But we’re on our own
Almost all the time
And she’ll step away
For a second or two
And I close my eyes
And I think of you

The rest of their album kind of irritates me, but this song struck a chord for some reason.

ON MY BALCONY - FLUNK

Here comes summer
I guess I´ll stick to
my master plan
Stay away from sea and sand
And do, well, whatever…
Please, make summer last forever
All I wanna do
Is sit here on my balcony
And think about you and me
And how happy we could be

Again with the master plan. And summer. And being wistful. I was trying to make this mix a happy one, I swear!

OCEAN - SIX.BY SEVEN

29 and you ain’t
quite ready for me
45 and i’m
waiting to see
what our love
can do for me…
I need a chance
and I’m willing
to try now

The ocean is endless. So is love. Ba-dum-ching.

PICK U UP - ADAM LAMBERT

They won't ever find me
After all, we'll have a ball
Imma pick you up, Imma pick u up
We're gonna see where we can go
This is how I live, this is what I give
And you're the one I want to know

I had originally lined up ‘Fever’ for this mix, but ‘Pick U Up’ worked sonically, and it segued into the final track like a seamless relay race.

UTOPIA - GOLDFRAPP

It's a strange day
No colours or shapes
No sound in my head
I forget who I am
When I'm with you

This has nothing to do with Adam saying it’s his favorite makeout song. Really. I swear. It’s… ah, fuck. It’s Adam’s makeout song. And it’s a great mix closer, anyway.

Well, would you look at that.

Tue, 01 Dec 2009 02:29:31 GMT

Ways to boost your writer ego, #293: Write a semi-coherent review at amazon.com [featuring humor and metaphors] and watch 200+ people upvote it and comment as if it's the greatest thing that ever happened to literature.

http://www.amazon.com/Your-Entertainment-Adam-Lambert/dp/B002QEXN3O/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1

Glam gods: a comparison.

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:35:48 GMT

I've said this so many times, but I'm going to say it again.

ADAM FUCKING LAMBERT IS FUCKING HIDE REBORN. If that were generationally possible.

Hideto 'hide' Matsumoto: A campy, crazy, neon-hair-colored rock god who had a penchant for performing sexually, fucking with people's heads, and creating party-ready music.

Adam 'Glambert' Lambert: A campy, crazy, neon-hair-colored rock god who has a penchant for performing sexually, fucking with people's heads, and creating party-ready music.

I've spoken about this in a professional article:

Adam’s outrageous performances and spitfire personality give me a feeling of pride that I haven’t had since I first discovered Japan’s Hideto ‘hide’ Matsumoto back in 1999 – not because they sound anything alike, but because they represent similar ideals. People have come up with all sorts of comparisons for Adam – a new Freddie Mercury, a new David Bowie, even the reincarnation of Elvis Presley. But to me, he has always recalled hide, that little pink-haired imp from X Japan, who not only stole the spotlight from everyone else but had a transcendent outlook on life that can only be summed up as, “I’m here, I’m me, I’m outrageous, and fuck it, because that’s okay.”

Adam's album cover really drove it home for me. LOOK AT THESE GLAMOROUS FUCKERS:

I could say so many things here. The space-agey ridiculousness, the 'look at me I'm glam' factor, the 'I make out with men [and women] whenever I want to' statement.

hide was too much for the world and killed himself at age 33, but I have full confidence that Adam is going to carry on hide's 'FUCK YOU, WORLD' legacy with snarky pride.

If you are not yet acquainted with hide, I recommend you watch this video. The song isn't him, but the attitude sure as fuck is. Pink hair FTW.

Oh, and he wrote a song about having sex with Jesus. Your argument is invalid.

Fanfiction is love.

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 07:58:36 GMT

There's a cliche that goes with fanfiction - something about all the writers and authors just being sexually repressed losers without the balls to go out and buy real porn.

I am a writer. As in, I get paid. To write. For a living. And I fucking love fanfiction.

I think people who denounce it aren't giving the good stuff a chance. They've just read really awful pornos written by 15 year olds who haven't had sex in their whole lives and assumed that it's all like that. There is some really, really beautiful writing in fandom.

Tonight's revelation: I used be just as bad in the way that I told myself for the longest time not to read AU [alternate universe] fics, because fanfiction needs to feel like it could really happen. But tonight I finally buckled down and made myself read through Apples Are Not the Only Fruit by bexless, and I realized, a bit retardedly, that - oh. Just because something isn't 'authentic' doesn't mean it can't be believable. I feel like I've fucking trolled myself all these years by convincing myself that AU is silly and impossible. It's just as impossible and just as true as ALL fiction - on that beautiful bridge between myth and reality.

I can't believe I was depriving myself of gems like this:

Kris’ stomach dropped into his shoes when he heard Adam’s sleepy, grumpy voice.

“I swear to God, Neil, you better actually be in jail this time or I am going to beat your face in with a butt plug.”

The Viper Room: Cassidy Haley, Punk Bunny, Elephant.

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 09:35:47 GMT

I am not going to LJ-cut this. Be warned. It is long, but it deserves a full viewing.

I’m honestly terrified to write any of this down because the evening was so fucking epic that I know I’m going to forget something. But I have to start somewhere.

I’ve stopped writing ‘timeline’ concert reviews – that is, those that give a blow-by-blow of every event, song, and emotion experienced by the author. Nobody reads those things because they are tedious as all hell. Thus, I always try to find an angle, or several parallels that can be listed in order – ‘points of entry’, as I call them [insert sex joke here].

This past Sunday at the Viper Room was connected by personalities. So many people, so much awesomeness.

First of all, Ron, my concert buddy, who is awesome for many reasons, not the least of which being that he is the kind of straight boy I can drag to an all-out gay party full of queens and spandex without worrying if he’ll feel awkward or uncomfortable. Because he won’t. Because he is just that awesome. [He also manages to cockblock the creepy people and encourage the cute ones to get my number. Have I mentioned that he is awesome? Ron, you rule.]

Second of all, Cheeks, because he was literally the first person I laid eyes on as I walked up the club stairs. He was sashaying across the floor looking incredibly fierce, and as such, it took me at least an hour to grow the balls to say something to him. He said I was like the eighth person to tell him he rocked, so I felt kind of retarded until he said I smelled good, which made everything okay. Then I felt retarded again when I was chatting with him later and gesticulating wildly and managed to knock the straw right out of his cocktail, because I am just THAT awesome. Thankfully, he was a sweetheart about it all, and when he flailed outside the club with us after the show, I think I was gazing at him adoringly.

Thirdly, there were half-naked gogo boys, and every single one of them was made of awesome. I wanted to give them stripper-tips and eventually grabbed some dollar bills and shoved them into their underwear, which earned me an impromptu lap dance. Later on in the evening, I was feeling feisty, and I told the one named Matt [sooo cute] that I would tip him again if they made out like they meant it. So they did. And I tipped him again. And there was a guy there taking multiple pictures. WHERE DO I GET MY HANDS ON THESE?

In the interim, here is a crappy BlackBerry photo of me with one of the boys:

And then… Punk Bunny. Following a pair of identical twin rappers called Elephant, a group of spandex-clad man-things took to the stage, and Ron and I kept exclaiming the same thing afterwards: Never. Seen. Anything. Like. This. They were like some raunchy, transgendered, neon-colored version of the Village People, with a hint of Sex Pistols snark and lyrics borrowed from your local XXX video store. There is nothing quite like watching a quartet of raging queens perform ridiculous choreography while roaring the words to an original song called ‘Glory Hole’. I can’t even begin to describe their sound or performance – the main singer growled like a death metal vocalist over electro-beats while prancing around in a revealing Richard Simmons-like exercise outfit, and his backup band did knee-bends in time to lyrics about being a ‘Nineties Tranny’. I can’t even. Like. Wow. It blew my fucking mind. And Ron described the best part of the night as being the ‘gay mosh pit’ that sprung up during their heavier songs, composed of tall boys in silver belly shirts doing punk-dance bouncing while yelping out the lyrics to wonderfully ironic tracks like ‘Bromance’.

Moving on…

There was a faux-German man wearing white rabbit fur who introduced himself as ‘Das’ and then later confessed that the German thing was an act formulated to feel important and pick up gullible chicks.

There was a very, very cute boy wearing plaid named Jared who bought me a beer, and he seemed reasonably sane and uber-cool, unlike some of the other people invading my personal space that evening. [I must have looked like hot shit, because there were guys and girls hitting on me left and right like I was some kind of celebrity – I don’t pretend to know why.] He even accompanied me and Ron to the Hustler after the show, where I bought a vibrator [Shay Jordan-approved] and a silver and white spandex dress, which is a nice start to my heroin-fairy costume for Halloween. Wings coming later.

There were various glittery residents of WeHo, all who seemed to think I was pretty and worth talking to. Not complaining – just surprised.

And then, of course… Cassidy. Oh, Cassidy. You have linked me onto your fucking charm-chain of childlike awe. You have caused my love to snowball into an extremely inconvenient celebrity crush of the highest order. You are too amazing to be real.

I saw him come in and tried not to freak out, but who the fuck am I kidding? As cool as I might act, as level-headed as I might pretend to be, this was fucking Cassidy Haley, and I was slain. He is amazing. His fashion is amazing. His music is amazing. And he is seriously the most attractive person I have ever laid eyes on. I cannot even properly articulate how ridiculously hot this man is. I might have been salivating in his presence. I could have drowned the entire fucking Viper Room in drool.

So I sauntered up to the bar, all prepared to deliver my stupid speech about being a huge fan but not a scary one, when I was caught off guard. He leaned in and said, “Hey! Holly, right?”

Heart, meet stomach. KABLOOSH.

“… you remember me?”

“Yeah! I remember you from Model Mayhem! I’m glad you made it!”

I was incredulous. We had messaged a few times on modelmayhem.com, and I assumed I had been catalogued into his endless list of ‘freaky fangirls’. But no. He actually remembered my fucking name.

I think I stammered a few things about being stoked for the show, along with something pathetic about the headliners getting free drinks [I totally would have bought him one], and then he excused himself to get ready for his set, and oh. God.

I went over to Ron, and I positively PEELED APART. I was going ‘OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD’ over and over again like some retarded teenager. I kept faceplanting and feigning fainting. I haven’t acted like that since fucking Yoshiki came into my bookstore four years ago. It was that bad. Ron was laughing.

Oh, and the show? Brilliant. I had told everyone there how awesome Cassidy is, and he converted the masses without fail. Opened with ‘Little Boys and Dinosaurs’, then stripped off an army-colored burlap sack [hello, black leather!] and segued straight into ‘Whiskey in Churches’. He played several new songs as well as ‘Daylight Breaks’, and his backup band, the Sunshine Rebels, complemented him perfectly. The guitarist, Jason [who introduced himself to me afterwards] was the kind of dreadlocked, pierced guitar-guru you’d expect to see at a metal show, except he fit in perfectly, and they all wore paper mache masks at one point, adding to the poetic mystery. I sung along to every word. Honestly, if this boy does not get signed, I will lose all faith in the human race.

A crappy BlackBerry photo of me watching Cassidy in awe:

We hung around long enough afterwards to become acquainted with several more fans, all of whom were dressed to the nines and completely courteous. Also, kudos to the chicks who brought Cassidy the guitar-shaped cigarette lighter, as it gave me an excuse to ask Cheeks for a cigarette, though I eventually gacked one from a random German guy. I didn’t even care to smoke all that much; I just needed to partake of the epic that was Cassidy’s new lighter, and it was a total success.

Went to Hustler afterwards, and did I mention that I ended the night with a Halloween costume, a Shay Jordan-brand vibrator, and the phone number of an adorable boy?

Seriously – Best. Night. Ever.

Nostalgia & revelations.

Thu, 08 Oct 2009 23:36:39 GMT

Lots of epiphanies in the past few weeks. One in particular though. It would seem to be a DUH, although it took me ten years to figure it out. Why I obsess over epic love stories even though I think regular relationships are bullshit, why I need to rockstars to understand how close they are even if it takes them ages to realize it, why it always makes sense to me when sex is a result of emotional intensity rather than physical attraction. [Even shallow things, like why I have a thing for redheads. Ding ding!] The story repeats itself in all of my favorite creations/fandoms - Subaru and Seishirou, Steve and Ghost, Nicky and Richey, even Kradam. Why is that?

Well, hello. I have fucking lived this story. Failed miserably to resolve it beyond mutual acceptance, but there you go. It's a good thing I have literature to play these things out in the ideal way. Real life never does that, which is possibly a good thing. I don't even know. I just can't believe it took me so long to figure it out. [Yes, I know that YOU knew long before I did. 'I told you so' is right.]

Oh, and for the nostalgia bit of this entry: recently found a video of Pearl Jam [a nostalgic favorite band of mine] covering 'Crown of Thorns' by Mother Love Bone, which is one of my favorite songs of all fucking time. I had no idea they ever did that cover, although again, it makes PERFECT FUCKING SENSE seeing as Mother Love Bone is essentially just Pearl Jam with a different singer. But still. I can't get over it. And now I'm going to rush out to buy the new PJ album. Makes me wish I had gone to the show, too.

Moral of the story? I need to start fucking figuring things out faster. I hate treating everything as a wish-I-would-have-done.

Manics.

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 01:30:43 GMT

Oh, Manics. Where to begin?

I’ve spent half my existence having discussions about their lyrics. I’ve based stories and books and poems on them. Their words have gotten me through some of the most difficult times of my life. I never thought I’d be priveleged enough to see them live.

The show at the Avalon was everything I had hoped it would be. After a ten year wait with my nose in lyric sheets and my eyes glued to concert videos, I had certain things I needed out of this experience, and I got each of them, almost without exception.

I needed a halfway decent opening band, and Nico Vega nicely filled the bill, coming across as a kind of kidneythieves-meets-Bjork experiment that I fully enjoyed.

I needed a loud, un-PC Nicky rant, and I got one – featuring ‘fucking Coldplay’, which had me grinning in satisfaction, since I’m pretty sure I hate them as much as he does.

I needed timeless Manics stage antics, and I got them – James twirling in a circle on one leg like he always does, Nicky doing his high-flying scissor kicks with gusto.

I needed ‘No Surface All Feeling’, and I got it – two songs into the set, no less. I don’t think I succeeded in keeping a straight face during the ‘No not blood, just liquid from you’ line, though I sang along like a champ.

I needed to glimpse some hardcore fans, and about halfway through the show, I discovered that I was standing two feet from a boy dressed entirely as Richey from head to foot – velvet jacket and tousled hair included. I told him he looked wonderful, and he looked appreciative, especially because he had seemingly come to the show alone. He was so adorable that I was tempted to invite him out with us afterwards, but my shy nature got the better of me. Perhaps I should take a trip to ‘missed connections’ on craigslist…

I needed to feel young again. Like an obsessed fan again. And every chorus sung – ‘A Design For Life’, ‘Your Love Alone’, ‘Everything Must Go’, ‘Motorcycle Emptiness’ – had me screaming the words so emphatically I woke the next morning with swollen lymph nodes. I wasn’t expecting to bounce up and down the way I did, especially in three-inch wedges, but it was my first time seeing the fucking MANICS, and my first real club show in who knows how many months. Rabid does not begin to describe my behaviour. Had a been a Doberman, I would have been foaming at the mouth.

The set was virtually flawless. They even pulled out some songs I wasn’t expecting, like ‘Let Robeson Sing’ [a charming example of Nicky’s inability to write a political song without mentioning Richey in some capacity]. James did his expected acoustic set, and the oldies abounded, with everything from ‘Faster’ to ‘Motown Junk’.

Somewhere during the bridge of ‘If You Tolerate This’, I got a full-body chill akin to those that occur when you settle into a hot bath after a long day.

It was so fucking surreal to look at these men in 3D. I named a main character in my book after Nicky, for gods’ sake. It’s impossible to describe the effect that his smile has on me, particularly since he’s penned lines like ‘I’ve got to stop smiling / It gives the wrong impression…’ in reference to his huge grins in old videos from the Richey days. Every glimpse of Nicky’s teeth, every rare cheer or thumbs-up look of glee made me feel fuzzy and happy like some kind of proud mother hen. I suppose I relate to him in a slightly unsettling way.

A few songs in, James took to the mic and said, ‘We haven’t been to America in ten years or so, so, uh, thank you for your patience.’

And I wanted to say, oh James. You have no idea. You have no fucking idea.

The only thing I wanted that I didn’t get? Nicky in a skirt. Yellow eyeshadow and rhinestoned cheeks notwithstanding, I really want to see him in drag before I die. But James mentioned their coming back in the near future, so there’s always next time. EEEK for that.

I’m slow & I’m easy & I’m waiting for delivery

And just for fun, here are some links to Manics lyric analyses I've written over the years:
Revol: http://everything2.com/user/morganlight/writeups/Revol
Little Baby Nothing: http://everything2.com/user/morganlight/writeups/Little+Baby+Nothing
The Love of Richard Nixon: http://everything2.com/user/morganlight/writeups/The+Love+of+Richard+Nixon
Intravenous Agnostic: http://everything2.com/user/morganlight/writeups/Intravenous+Agnostic
Mausoleum: http://everything2.com/user/morganlight/writeups/Mausoleum
Love Torn Us Under: http://everything2.com/user/morganlight/writeups/Love+Torn+Us+Under

Lookie what I have!

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 03:49:28 GMT

A t-shirt to wear to the Manics concert on Friday! Thanks to my awesomesauce cousin.

The sentiment is so, so true. And it was penned by the Manics themselves. So huzzah. I am prepared!

I confuse myself.

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 21:36:50 GMT

WHY THE FUCK AM I WANTING TO CRY OVER TWO PEOPLE I'VE NEVER EVEN MET.

Someone dies and I feel nothing. Traditional 'sad news' does not affect me. It takes a couple of fucking rockstars and their goddamn story.

No wonder I'm so terrified of crying in front of people. I'd have to explain myself, then.

Pre-work babbling.

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 22:09:49 GMT

Wow, I've really rediscovered this journal recently. Thanks, ontd_ai.

As usual, I'm sad about the summer ending, but it feels even more pronounced this year. It's been a hazy summer of Adam Lambert and fanfiction, but I don't want it to go anywhere. I don't want to go back to real life. I've gotten lost in tragedy and epic. I feel so fucking helpless in the face of real life.

I talk about stories the way some people discuss their beliefs in God, so bear with me.

I mean, obviously my favourite stories are sad because that's what makes them attractive and brilliant in the first place. Once a couple rides into the sunset [like at the end of Disney's 'Robin Hood', which always depressed the fuck out of me], the story is over. And stories should never end. So the best ones never do. Summer SHOULD be endless, along with stories.

It's poetic to say stuff like 'In order for love to exist, it must elude' - especially when it rings true in my own life [I could go on more about that]. And conflict - i.e., unhappiness, and uncertainty - is what makes a story ring true.

But for once I AM FUCKING SICK OF FUCKING DEATH AND TRAGEDY. If real life comes with September, then having it bring some beginnings, please. Enough change and emotional conflict. LS/Nicky/Drey, I'm talking to you. Once I finish this last revision, you are going into a drawer.

Stupid rockstars and their goddamn epics. I should read a book about murderous aliens with lots of explosions.

Mon, 07 Sep 2009 23:52:32 GMT

Crazy fires last week. The whole world smelled like a barbecue.

I knew the beat cause it matched my own beat...

... and being at work today was like walking through a fog. My mind is so wound up in other people's stories it doesn't even recognize itself. I am going through the motions; I am getting what I deserve. I am mooning over fictions; I am forgetting my own schedule. My chest is bursting with so many words I could write War and Peace, except that love would be war and peace would be live music. I have modeled, flirted several times, made enemies of some friends and new fans of others. But my brain keeps coming back to being in bed, pen in hand, fantasies looming and real life hiding just beyond the window.

Question: Why am I still awake?

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 08:19:47 GMT

Answer: Because once I start making a mix/playlist, I DO NOT STOP until it is done.

I make a lot of mixes. More often than not, they are set to a story. More often than often, that story is a tragic rockstar love story. Because I am lame, and I never get sick of writing about rockstars.

The results this time: 'WHAT IF: A Kradam fanmix.'

1. IF THERE’S A ROCKET TIE ME TO IT – SNOW PATROL

I said I knew the beat cause it matched your own beat
It’s become my engine, my own source of heat
The sea between us only amplifies the sound waves

I hated their ‘hit single’ [Chasing Cars], but the entire new album makes me feel fuzzy, and this song is just fucking gorgeous with its musical metaphors. I think someone named a fanfic after it, too… ?

2. MYSTERY – INDIGO GIRLS

Maybe all that we need is to meet in the middle of impossibility
Standing at opposite poles, equal partners in a mystery

I’ve been a fan of theirs since I was about twelve. I love taking old songs and finding a new meaning for them.

3. THIS JOKE SPORT SEVERED – MANIC STREET PREACHERS

This joke sport severed,
I endeavoured to find a place where
I became untethered

Richey’s lyrics are pretentious enough to be almost nonsensical, but this one is plaintive and simple, and Nicky and Richey have always reminded me of Kradam.

4. DAYLIGHT BREAKS – CASSIDY HALEY

I’ve been building some kind of life
But I’d leave it all behind
Just to be with you

I love Cassidy like whoa. And this song is so heartfelt and just… wow.

5. I DON’T BLAME YOU – CAT POWER

The last time I saw you
You were on stage
Your hair was wild
Your eyes were bright
And you were in a rage

This has more to do with sudden rockstardom and the craziness of fame than of any relationship per se, but it’s still perfect.

6. ONLY STAR – FOR STARS

You are the only star
You are the place that people say they’ve been
But I don’t know – I’ve never seen one
Sometimes I want to be one
I’ll travel far for you

Really conveys the awe of something or someone. Random unknown indie bands FTW.

7. WHERE IS MY BOY – FAULTLINE

Have I seen you before
In some kind of dream?
In a place you’ve forgotten
In a place I’ve forgotten

I hate Coldplay, but I love this remix, and the lyrics are so haunting and of a sort of ‘How do I know you so well already?’ scenario.

8. OUT OF THIS WORLD – THE CURE

When we look back at it all as I know we will
You and me, wide-eyed – I wonder
Will we really remember how it feels to be this alive?
And I know we have to go – I realize we only get to stay so long
Always have to go back to real lives where we belong

Robert Smith could sing ‘blah blah blah’ into a phonebooth and I’d probably think it was heartbreaking, but this. This especially.

9. COME HERE BOY – IMOGEN HEAP

Why are you taking so long?
You need to come and find me, honey
To set your mind at rest
And let your dreams run free

So beautiful and sad and lusting, all at the same time. It’s like the breaking point, so to speak. The point of no return.

10. POISON OAK – BRIGHT EYES

And I never thought this life was possible
You’re the yellow bird that I’ve been waiting for
The end of paralysis – I was a statuette
But now I’m drunk as hell on a piano bench and when I press the keys
It all gets reversed – the sound of loneliness makes me happier

Fallout time. I think I’ve used this song for every mix ever, but I don’t care. It’s one of the best songs ever written and turns me into a pile of goo every time.

11. FAIR – REMY ZERO

Hey, are you lonely?
Has summer gone so slowly?
We found the ground and that damage was done
It’s cold as you fade into the sun
Where you’d go? To me?

It’s my doom to discover bands right after they break up. So painful. But Remy Zero left gems behind. And the melody? Guts me out.

12. TURN RIGHT – JONAS BROTHERS

So turn right, into my arms
Turn right – you won’t be alone
You might fall of this track sometimes
But I hope to see you at the finish line

STFU, I don’t even care; I’m a Jonas fan. Listen to the song, it’s fucking perfect. And this is what Joe has to say about it: “The idea stems from the course that racecar drivers take out on the track, always turning left, and here, if you take that one chance to go against the grain, you find yourself in the arms of safety. It’s a song about taking a chance, doing what you are not necessarily comfortable with and discovering solace in the unknown. And I think, most importantly, trusting those who mean a lot to you.”

13. HEART TRANSLATION – ART OF FIGHTING

Wanna hold you like a secret wanna hold you like a hand
Wanna hold you like a prisoner in the arms of my remand
Caught for good
Because to leave you with those days is never something I could do
There’ll always be a part of me that needs to be with you
That’s just what’s true
There you were in black silver dressed in gold
Like every story ever told
A million words in so few sentences
When you spoke to me it rang out like a song
That dared all ears to hear it wrong
To never know to never see to never reach a place to be
To never understand your way has put a limit on my days
So long it’s too late
So I said heart, translate
Cause I don’t understand a thing that you say
Maybe we’ll see it all as it’s fading away
Different memories will come
Different seasons and days
And as long as it takes
Oh the heart, it translates
It can never be wrong
It can only be late

I had to quote the entire song. I couldn’t pick just a few lines. It’s the fucking perfect love song, acknowledging that things take time, and… gah.

14. WHAT IF – SAFETYSUIT

What if what I want makes you sad at me
And is it all my fault or can I fix it please
Cause you know that I’m always all for you

Pretty much the fault of an epic fanvideo, but god. Turns me into a cheesehead, and the sentiment – ‘What if?’ – is so painful it’s like swallowing glass.

15. FALLING SLOWLY – KRIS ALLEN

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Hearing Kris sing this song makes me want to bawl my eyes out. He even SOUNDS sad and wanting. The parallels are uncanny, and his voice just is so… unperfect, which is what makes it work. I really love him now. I don’t know how I didn’t before.

And with that... fuck, I have to be up at 6am.

So this was fun.

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 21:12:44 GMT

That recent Manics post inspired me to go back and read a parody-thing I wrote about them a while ago. I still find it funny, because it's totally absurd but basically true.

Manic Street Preachers: The Five-Minute Version

Once upon a time…
[Nicky and Richey hold hands and run around skipping]
Nicky and Richey: La la la la la la! Happiness! We are very happy! Childhood is good.

Richey: I don’t like girls very much.
Nicky: Me either.
[sex stuff happens]

Nicky: I’m going to follow you to college now and sleep in your room.
Richey: Right, okay.

James: We need a new bass player.
Nicky: I can play bass. Richey could play guitar.
James: … he doesn’t play guitar.
Nicky: I’ll teach him.
James: But we already have me as a guitarist—
Nicky: He’s hot and writes lyrics and gives good head!
James: …
Nicky: Pretty please?
James: The things I put up with.
Nicky: Yay!

Richey: Let’s make out in all the videos so everyone thinks we’re fucking!
Nicky: … aren’t we?
Richey: That’s beside the point.

Nicky: So yeah, I think I’m probably in love with you.
Richey: Gah! Religious guilt! Love is a lie!
Nicky: Fine then. [marries girl]
Richey: Fuck you! You were just pretending! Stupid experimental bisexual people! Love is a lie! I hate you!
Nicky: It’s your own damn fault.
Richey: It’s because I’m not a girl, right? What if I were a girl? I wish I were a girl. I’d beat up your evil wife.
James and Sean: …

Richey: Now I’m going to write songs about how mean you are.
[writes Revol, Yes, Mausoleum, She is Suffering, etc.]
Media: Wow, what powerful political statements!

Richey: Now I’m going to starve myself and go insane.
Nicky: Gah! I’m sorry I’m sorry!
Sean: What’s going on?
Nicky: Nothing. Everything’s peachy.
James: What are all these lyrics about—
Nicky: POLITICS! And WAR! It’s all about falling between the cracks of capitalism and communism! And being sexually – I mean, religiously – confused!
James: Uh huh.

[Richey has period of reflection in decaying mental hospital ward]
Richey: Screw this.
[disappears]
Nicky: WTF?
Richey: Oh, by the way, I love you. Yeah, like that. [leaves note]
Nicky: [reads note] YOU ASSHOLE!

[media attributes note to ‘mystery girl’]
Richey, somewhere in Middle America: Morons.

Nicky: Dude, this is fucked up.
[writes No Surface All Feeling, Further Away, Sepia, Design for Life, Enola/Alone, etc]
Good lyric fodder though.

James: We could try playing without Richey.
Nicky: NO.
James: Dude. The only reason he got into the band is because of you.
Nicky: [sniffles] But we have to use his leftover lyrics!
James: Er, okay.
Nicky: And I know we’ve never done a love song before, but here’s one.
James: …
Nicky: And this is another one. It’s not gay. Nope. Completely and totally heterosexual.
James: … just one man giving another man his liquid.
Sean: Okay, but on the next album—

Nicky: Hey, I just finished a bunch of tragic lyrics about how I still love Richey! Cool huh?
Sean: Er.
James: Okay, but on the next album—

Nicky: Guys! I stopped writing about Richey! For real this time! I’m totally over him.
Sean: Really?
Nicky: Yeah, see all I had to do was use all kinds of metaphors and hard words and it looks like I’m talking about something else.
James: …
Media: Wow, what powerful political statements!

Nicky: Fuck. Writer’s block.
[Manics release multiple compilations]

James: Dude. This isn’t working. Just write about fucking Richey already.
Nicky: But I’m so over him!
James: Dude.

Media: So what’s this lyric about?
Nicky: Richard Nixon. And Richey.
Media: And this one?
Nicky: Richey.
Media: And this?
Nicky: Oh that one’s REALLY about Richey.
James: At least he’s admitting it now.

THE END

I also realized that recently, I've begun to notice crazy similarities between Nicky and Richey and Kris and Adam [from AI]. I started out as an Adam fan, and I've never fangirled over anything mainstream before, let alone a reality television show, but these two are just so fucking epic I can't help myself.

So I went back and wrote my parody version of THEIR story, which is much shorter since it hasn't ended yet.

Once upon a time...
[season begins]
Adam: I’m your new roommate! I’m big and gay and sparkly and gorgeous!
Kris: Hi! I’m Kris! I’m… Kris.
Adam: Wow, you’re cute.
Kris: I’m married.
Adam: Fuck.

Adam: So I told Rolling Stone I’m gay.
Kris: Good for you.
Adam: I also told them I have a crush on you.
Kris: Oh, this will be fun.

Media: Ha ha, Adam has a crush on you!
Kris: I know. I have a crush on him too.
[teases Adam mercilessly with comments about wanting to ride his surfboard, ride in his mustang, take a ride on his disco stick, etc]
Adam: Er, you still have a wife.
Kris: What?

[a few weeks pass in close proximity on the Idol tour]

Media: So how’s the tour going?
Kris: Oh I love Adam, and he’s amazing, and we spend all our time together, and he’s the second coming of Christ, and oh wait what I’m married?

Adam: Dude. This sucks. [gets boyfriend]
Kris: … fuck.
[gets jealous]
[gets boner onstage watching Adam sing]
[gazes longingly into his eyes]
Kris: Okay, maybe I am in love with you.
Adam: Dude. I have a boyfriend now. And you’re still married.
Kris: But.
Adam: Sucks for you.

[to be continued]

If their rockstar story continues on its properly epic & properly tragic Manics-like path, the next logical step is for Kris to release an album full of plaintive love songs about Adam.

I am looking forward to this. Even if I hope there's a happy ending this time.

This will be incoherent---

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 08:41:11 GMT

THE MANICS. MY MANICS. HERE. IN AMERICA. IN SEPTEMBER.

I might be seeing the Manic Street Preachers live at the Avalon. This is too much for me to comprehend. I have been obsessed for nearly a decade. I have spent hours dissecting lyrics and sqeeing over the epic tragedy that is Nicky and Richey. I own every single one of their eleven albums.

I have said previously, 'I must see Nicky Wire in a skirt before I die.' Because he is Nicky and he wears skirts [often] for shows. And feather boas.

THEY ARE PART OF MY EPIC IDEAL ROCKSTAR STORY. And they are playing Los Angeles on 25 September.

I knew I moved here for a fucking reason.

Some fiction.

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 04:25:44 GMT

The stories I've been writing lately. I realized I hadn't posted them yet, in proper places.

Please be advised, however, that is is ROCKSTAR FANFICTION. If the thought of singers & hotel rooms & buses & sweat & alcohol & awkward backstage sex freaks you out... stay away. [Of course, I don't know why I even bother writing fiction about Adam, seeing as he's practically fanfiction by himself. But whatever.]

Bitter-Sweet

Author's note: Didn't think I would actually DO the Kradam thing, but a scene-bunny stole me and I haven't been able to concentrate since. The Nicky/Drey thing is a reference to some characters that Kris & Adam remind me of and thus, they really made me write this down instead of stewing in it overnight.

Sometimes I'm quite amused
To see it twist and turn
To taste both sweet and dry
-The Venus in Furs, ‘Bitter-Sweet’

“You probably think I’m crazy.”

There was laugher. “Kris, seriously, do you KNOW who you’re talking to?”

“Right.” A pause. “So.”

Adam gave him a grin behind a lock of black slicked hair. “I am so Nicky, and you are so Drey.”

“Er, what?”

“Nothing. Just something I read once.” Beat. “Well, it’s just like kissing a girl, except with more stubble.”

Kris laughed. “Like rug burns?”

“Dude, it’s worse than rubbing your face in the carpet, sometimes.”

Kris stared duly at the hotel room rug.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to try that.”

“… I might.”

“Okay, you win. I think you’re crazy. Still cute, though.”

Kris frowned. “I thought we went over this.”

”Right, right, NOT gay, completely and totally heterosexual, blah blah blah. I remember.”

“It’s just curiosity!”

Just idle... burning curiosity. And Kris suddenly had one of those moments when
he felt so open-minded he thought his brains were going to fall out. Among other things.

He sighed. “I miss… Katy.”

“I know. I miss people too. Drake. Westboro might think I’m gross for it, but.” A hitch in Adam’s voice. “What’s so GROSS about missing somebody?”

“Some people are fucking idiots.”

It didn’t seem to help, at first. Adam’s face was already crunching into the downward spiral of emotional resentment. “Shit,” Adam said, and covered his eyes with his polished hands.

“Hey,” Kris said, “don’t think about it so much.” He crossed the bed-gap, almost against his own will, and tried to bring some sense of physical contact to the situation that wouldn’t suggest being naïve and condescending. He settled for a half-hearted pat on the back.

“I wasn’t, before. But it’s worse here, in the South. I hate them,” Adam said.

“Me too,” said Kris. “I mean, they didn’t do anything to me personally, but I hate them for hating you.”

Adam smiled. “You ARE crazy.”

“Maybe.”

A tilt, a half grin, a shake of the head, and then Adam showed something that could be construed as eagerness. “You still curious?”

Kris said nothing. The hotel clock was painfully digital; there wasn’t even a ticking-second-time-bomb to justify the suspense he suddenly felt.

“Hold still,” Adam said.

Kris did.

Breath rushed between them. Kris felt heat on his face – he felt oxygen, tasted a dry tongue. And well, he liked this guy, after all, liked him a lot, but it wasn’t…

Adam’s lips cut him off. Colors bled. Lines faded.

Adam pulled back, and then he mumbled, “You can pretend I’m a girl if you want,” but there wasn’t a pause as he closed to Kris’s lips again, softly.

A burn crossed Kris’s lower middle. Despite the awkwardness, despite denial. It was like being a kid again and trying to suppress laughter at something juvenile and stupid, but the giggle always came from his gut, defying societal expectation and disappointing his parents.

Adam giggled into his mouth, then, and the sudden irreverence made Kris forget everything he thought he had established. The giggle echoed down his throat and freed him, let his buried, irreverent lackey loose.

And there was sucking at tongues, at once. Heat. Kris felt desperation in the exploration, couldn’t even grasp logic. There was a hand in his hair, and who cared about anything else? They were both breathing hard.

Then – “I DID mention stubble, didn’t I?” Adam’s chin was away again, but only by inches.

“Sorry,” Kris said.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Kris let Adam lead him. Let him lead back to basics. It was almost like a first time all over again, but with a little bit more licking.

“Tell me when to stop,” Adam said.

Eyebrows, forehead, nose, lips, chin – it all felt different, a different nuance each time, like being led down a banqueted buffet table. Bittersweet. “Don’t stop,” Kris found himself saying, against his better judgement.

So Adam didn’t. Not until they had explored the crevices of each others’ clothes, not until their limbs were tangled into one another’s hair, in protection, in a kind of pact against the rest of the world – one that said, this is what it is, and screw everything I thought I knew before, or wanted to think.

“Ungh,” came Adam’s mumble. “I’m sorry.”

Kris wanted to say, if I could get any closer to you, if I could grow more skin somehow so that it could stretch further over yours, then I would.

But he didn’t.

“I’m not,” he said, instead.

He felt a crinkle against his cheek, which he knew was Adam smiling.

There was still no clock noise, so Kris couldn’t feel the seconds, nor the sweat that had somehow formed in the crook of his neck despite himself.

There were no implications, as yet. Just temporary comfort.

They woke up spooned.

Give Me Tonight

Author's note: Notes: I actually wrote this immediately after reading Adam's RS interview, but it's taken me this long to figure out what to do with it. I also loved Kris's reaction, and it made me wonder. Lyrics are from Art of Fighting's 'Give Me Tonight'.

“Do you always mean it? About my being your type, and the crush, and…”

“Absolutely,” Adam said. “I mean, honestly, Kris, when was the last time you heard me say something I didn’t mean?”

Kris smiled widely. “Point.”

Adam tried to read Kris’s face. “So it doesn’t make you feel weird, then?”

“No,” Kris said, a little too soon. “Definitely not. I mean…”

He fidgeted and looked at the floor. Adam stared straight at him. A crashing noise came from the other end of the tour bus, but neither seemed to hear it.

“I mean,” Kris continued, “that you’re amazing. I mean, if I were into guys—”

“Stop,” said Adam. “Just… stop. You’re going to make it harder.”

Sometimes when you’re like this I want no part

There was silence for a moment. Then Kris started giggling. It took Adam a few minutes to get the joke.

“Make it harder?” Kris laughed, falling over sideways into his bunk.

“GODDAMMIT,” Adam cried, also laughing. “I DIDN’T EVEN MEAN TO BE DIRTY!”

There was an explosion of intense laughter. They both burned calories giggling for several minutes, Kris lying askew with his hand over his eyes, Adam bent forward, almost kissing his own knees.

The chuckles died down in stages, like popcorn kernels in a microwave bag.

“I can’t laugh with anybody else like that,” Kris said softly.

Adam wanted to say, Why not?, but he settled for a soft look, slightly inquisitive, still resigned. Kris said nothing.

If you give me an answer that I can hold onto
Something that we can belong to

Adam scowled internally. The fluidity of crush situations had always seemed so natural to him – why was the world so obsessed labels, with rules, with boxing people in? Why was he so obsessed with it?

“C’mere,” he said, and Kris got up from the bedframe, trusting him – he had no reason not to – and Adam enveloped Kris into a tight hug, having to scoot back on the bunk to make room for both bodies.

Will you make it last?

“I wish…” Kris began.

Adam had always considered their hotel room experiment to be just that: an experiment. But his heart opened at those words. “What,” he whispered. “What.”

Like every start you make is a false start
that’s holding you back in the past

“I don’t know.”

“Kris, honey,” he said without even meaning to, “not knowing is usually the best way to start.”

Kris’s muscles came unclenched then, like a fishing line going slack, and he had to be reeled in. No predatory intentions, Adam convinced himself – just a rod and a reel. Just a catch. Like a what-if. What if I trusted you completely?

With relaxed muscles also came tension in other perhaps more obvious areas in which subtlety was impossible.

“Um?” Adam started. “Kris—”

“Shut up,” came the statement. “Just shut up. I don’t know and I don’t care, okay? I don’t fucking care.”

Cause now your indifference has grown
I don’t want to follow your shadow home

Kris pulled his body back – thus far buried against Adam’s shoulder – and closed his eyes.

Adam waited.

The kiss came faster this time. Earlier.

Your whole world is an early night

But again? Was it really a repeat? There was something different, something more earnest, less speculative. A first-time want.

“Oh god,” Adam breathed. “Don’t do this and then stop.”

“I’m not going to stop.”

Echo over echo, it was cavernous, like he had three ears.

Mouth over mouth, now, except less direction, and more of a Who cares?

So won’t you do something with me tonight?
Under this pretty sky

The beer, the tour, the stage, the fans, the surreality of it all, said who cares? Something shook the bus, likely the engine, but who heard it?

Not Kris, who was taking this, whatever it was, and running with it. Not Adam, who could barely fucking believe his good fortune. They were too busy testing each other. Testing, tasting.

They unfolded just long enough to morph from a hug into a sprawl, moving against the sheets, grinding from sternum to stomach. Adam had to hold himself back—“I don’t want to scare you – oh god, not you,” he said, amidst panting.

“You could never scare me. Never.”

It was like something Adam would have scripted if he could have, if he would have.

But he hadn’t. It wasn’t. There was no script. There was only spontenaeity.

Give me tonight
Say that you might
I’ll make it all right

“Unghhhh,” came his groan, in a lost attempt to be eloquent.

I love you more than anyone.

Was this spoken, or sworn in silence?

He didn’t know. It could have been either.

Adam’s jeans were chafing him. The whole fucking world was chafing him. The daily grind was laughing, defiant.

Rug burn was nothing compared to crotch burn, Adam thought – and then thought again.

It didn’t stop him. Didn’t stop either of them. Friction knows no enemies – not even ‘totally straight’ ones.

Give me tonight
Say that you might

Heat was overtaking. Hips were grinding like the sides of a wrench freed to grasp a screw. There was an existential gap between the heaving breaths and gasping of names – then wetness – then release.

Adam couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten off with his pants still on.

And yet, here were two pairs of wet jeans – one gay, one supposedly straight.

How did this matter? How would it end?

“I,” Kris began. “I wish you weren’t.” Weren’t what?

Adam thought, it doesn’t matter.

Because it didn’t. Not tonight.

I’ll make it all right.

Chrome

Author's note: I wrote this while I was drunk and high on an AI concert cellcast. When I woke up the next morning I found that it was nearly incomprehensible. Some major edits later, it became a sort-of-sequel to Bitter-Sweet and Give Me Tonight, except not nearly as idealistic. Apparently I'm an emotional drunk. Oh, and the opening scene is intentionally ambiguous.

So let us be done with this.
You said, I want you, I don’t want another.
—Nicole Blackman, ‘Chrome’

“Seriously, I love you guys, but it’s kind of… awkward, I guess.”

There was a palpable silence. Kris looked at Anoop, then said, “Honestly, I thought you would be the last person to have issues.”

“Issues with with what?”

Adam had entered the room – the bus bunk section, which was smaller than a real room but still effectively sectioned.

Kris looked at him, tried to smile. But as Adam glanced at Matt and then Anoop, he collected the situation as easily as a bored child stumbling upon shells.

“Look,” Kris tried — but it was done.

“Yeah, look, I’ll ride on the fucking girls’ bus, all right?” Adam snapped. He tried to leave absolutely, but there was no nearby suitcase for him to grab, no shoes to pick up, so he had to make do with his iPod, iPhone, and a bookmarked copy of Dangerous Angels.

Matt began, “We didn’t mean—”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Kris. “Just… shut up.”

Then he followed Adam.

Buses never seemed too big until you were trying to find someone behind one. Trying to see over it, under it, like an astronaut in awe of a metal planet, taking in the view but in need of something else, some other space beyond.

He found Adam with his head against the door.

“Adam,” Kris said.

“What,” Adam said back.

Kris tried not to remember experiments, hotel rooms, clothes kept on, or broken what ifs… and failed. Something was speaking to him, and for once, it wasn’t common sense. “I’ll come with you.”

“What the fuck,” Adam said. “You have no reason to.”

“Yes I do.”

“Forget it.”

“No. You’re not going to be kicked out. This is not going to be some kind of EXILE. This is not the BIBLE. I may be a Christian, but I know the fucking difference between myth and real life.”

They were on the back side of the bus – the long side – next to the entrance, next to the luggage carriers. The doors were closed. Sleeping arrangements had already been bartered, already claimed.

The details of an unaddressed evening reared their untimely head.

“Did you tell them,” Adam asked, not even forming the question with proper inflection – expecting memory, instead.

Kris shook his head. “No.”

“Do you hate me.”

“No.”

“Do you feel like you OWE me something?”

“God no.”

The conversation jerked around like they were on the highway hitting potholes.

“It’s never going to be easy,” Adam said. “Not like this. It’s not like we can hold hands on street corners.”

“I know.”

“And when the tour is over—”

“Stop. Don’t go that far. We’re still against the bus. We’re still right here.” Kris was almost desperate. He stepped up and pushed Adam against the bus’s cold metal, just above the double wheels. “I’ll admit that I was fucking around, before now. Maybe it was to test myself. But right now, I am not fucking around.”

Adam sighed, blue eyes electric. The bus door seemed to collect energy, seemed to amass particles behind him like a chemical cloak of honor. The moment lingered, then slowly lapsed.

“I mean…” Kris said, softly, trying to keep the silence from threatening. “You’re you, you’re amazing, and you’re a guy. When I was growing up, some of the pastors tried to beat that out of me, mentally. I love God, but not the same God they do. Not the one that thinks I’m wrong, for…” Hesitation.

“… for what?”

“For falling a little in love with you. Or maybe even a lot.” Kris hiccupped. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You never do.” Pause. “Well… me, too. But you knew that already.”

“I did?”

“You must have.” Adam was blushing. He looked so fucking third-grade. It was adorable. “You’re perfect and brilliant, and I love you. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

The bus whined. The drivers were about to leave, and the wheels were feeling the pressure.

“So what happens now?”

Kris took a breath. “Like I said before… I don’t know. I’m not trying to ignore anything. I didn’t care, then. But there was no one else around, so it always felt safe. Like we were on another planet.”

It doesn’t matter. Not tonight.

“Well, we’re on earth now. People picked up on it. And I thought I would change things, in front of them. I thought I would say, well, this is the wrong thing to do. And maybe I’m wrong and God wants men to love women. Maybe he wants me to love my wife and live happily ever after.

“So maybe I fucked up. Maybe I’ll get punished for it. But I’ve fucked up, and I’ve got no brakes on this, and now I can’t stop it, so burn me. Because I think you’re just about perfect, too, and I can’t control that. I can’t.” Kris’s voice broke, like he was a nervous little kid. And with it broke all façade. There was nothing set on sexuality, circumstance, or even the past – often a killer.

Sometimes things happen. Sometimes we are helpless.

They just looked at each other, counting seconds. Wondering whey they had lied, cajoled, protected, expected – even taken awkward interviews in stride.

“God,” Kris said, not sure whom he was speaking to. “You might not get this, but I’m not even drunk and I’m acting on instinct.”

“Oh, I get it. It’s like being a kid again – not thinking about consequences.”

“Yes.” Kris paused.

“C’mere,” said Adam, only this time it was for something beyond comfort.

The vehicle was so hard behind Adam’s back that Kris felt like he was kissing metal. But the bus was still comforting, somehow. The hard wall kept him from driving past everything into the middle of nowhere— past judgement, promises, premade attachments. So Kris had to settle for hard metal. Hiplocking against the steel that was there to protect him, against this strange person who had defied his entire conscience. It was a steel case, holding him in place. For he knew the lust of love’s indifference could only go so far. But he wanted to ride it. Ride as far as this bus’s hard angles, its stale, straight sides; as far as its dull, deft chrome.

American Idols, Staples Center. A concert review.

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 02:11:52 GMT

Going to a show at the Staples center was so bizarre. I haven’t been to a venue that big since I saw Stars on Ice back in 2004; yet there I was, walking through the big front doors with my ‘American Idols Live!’ ticket firmly grasped in one hand. It’s still very surreal for me to share an obsession with mainstream America – let alone when the obsession is a sexed-up, makeup-sporting glam rock diva who’s practically made a career out of making middle aged housewives wish they were gay men.

Michael, Jeanie, and I were glammed out in our Glambert best – glitter and all. I gooped it on so bad I’ve been picking pieces of glitter out of my eyelashes all day at work. And of course, we weren’t the only ones. From the sounds of the crowd, it seemed everyone had come for the glamtastic glitter god that is Adam Lambert. Whenever one of his body parts showed up on the video screen before the show, there was a chorus of screams. It became almost comical in its predictability – (flash of Adam’s face) “EEEEE!” (flash of Adam’s eyeballs) “EEEEEEE!” Pavlov would have loved this. I was amused mostly by the knowledge that half the screamers were my age or older.

The bevy of singers leading up to (my) main event ranged from good to surprisingly wonderful. Michael Sarver? Grin-inducing. Megan Joy? Fun and funny – particularly when she hit her nose on the microphone and laughed about it afterwards. The biggest surprise for me was Scott MacIntyre. Where did I get the idea that his voice was weak? He sang two plaintive crowd-pleasers at the piano with a voice smoother than Newcastle brown ale. It was during his set when I leaned over to Michael and said, “I forgot how much I fucking adore live music.”

Lil Rounds made me ruminate on the fact that, as much as I malign a lot of mainstream pop music, there’s something to be said about catchy, crowd-pleasing tunes. Anoop was entertaining even when he dug out a Britney Spears song, and Matt Giraud – though obviously not the greatest vocalist at the show – managed to maintain the excitement with his piano playing and high energy.

Allison rocked it out, especially during ‘Barracuda’. I think it might be impossible not to love this girl. I even liked Danny Gokey’s set, despite the inspirational drudgery that sounded like evangelical preaching. Still, all through their sets, my stomach was doing flip-flops. I was so excited to see my glamboy that I genuinely felt sick – which I don’t think has happened since I went to see Silverchair for the first time in 1997.

I figured a beer would settle things down, and it did. While returning to the arena with my drink, I came within a few paces of Cassidy Haley, a gorgeous friend of Adam’s who works for SkinGraft and makes music of his own. I recognized him immediately and thought about getting a picture, but then thought better of it. How on earth would I explain myself? “Hi, I know who you are because I’m obsessive and I’ve watched Adam’s SkinGraft videos about 50 times, and you’re bloody hot, and I sort of want to be you and jump your bones at the same time.” Er… awkward.

He looked fantastic, at any rate. Not that I expected less.

Even though I’d watched countless YouTube videos of Adam’s opening moment, I was still unprepared for the adrenaline rush that ‘Whole Lotta Love’ brought crashing into the building. Everyone was standing, the explosion of guitar was phenomenal (great job, band people!) and unsuspecting families were assailed by Adam’s wail, as well as his tendency to gyrate, grope himself, and molest the microphone stand – instantly negating anything that made the show ‘family-oriented’ and simultaneously impregnating everyone within a three-mile radius (men included). It was epic, sexy, and effortlessly poetic.

He followed it up with ‘Starlight’, of course, bringing revolving lights into the huge crowd and inspiring awe. Adam’s voice simply SOARS in a live setting – it’s beautiful, silken, and virtually flawless. There was underwear thrown during ‘Slow Ride’, which had become a regular occurrence during Adam’s set. The boy has probably seen more female lingerie on this tour than in his entire adult life.

The Bowie medley was perfection – Mars backdrop and all – and it was punctuated by my favorite moment of the night: Adam’s insisting that we all stand up and dance, only said in so many words that it made all the stingy old parents cringe. “Get up outta your seats, BITCHES!! And DANCE!”

He called us bitches. And oh, it was brilliant. What? Family show? What family show?

Of course, no-one needed coaxing at that point – the entire arena was on its feet, even the dumbstruck boyfriend types behind me who had obviously been dragged to the show by their significant others. They had stayed quiet until Adam, but were now looking at each other in disbelief. I heard one of them yell desperately, “He is so good. WHY IS HE SO GOOD?”

‘Course, the boy has a notorious reputation for making straight boys question their sexual orientation, so I can’t say I blame them for freaking out.

I love Kris Allen, I really really do, but no matter how hard I try, I still find him musically unexciting. I think he’s wonderful and and adorable and I love the way he interacts with Adam, but… meh. I never got the ‘acoustic singer-songwriter’ thing, and I still don’t. The best moment of his set for me was the end of ‘Hey Jude’, when a bunch of the other idols joined him onstage and rocked out, audience lighters waving.

Following a cheesily awesome rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ during which Kris and Adam did chicken dances and basically acted like flirtatious dorks, the arena released soap bubbles at us from the ceiling. Nice touch.

There were far too many people hanging around at the barriers outside to even bother waiting around. I’m not sure a quick smile and a signed paper is what I want out of my first meeting with Adam. I don’t have anything in particular to say – I just have the urge to see him up close, in the flesh, in person, so I can finally believe that he’s real and not just a fictional figment of my writer’s imagination. Because if what he displayed last night is any indication, he has sprung fully-formed from the pages of my ideal rockstar story.

Right now, I'm just reveling in it.

Self-indulgent squeeing over rockstardom? Yes please.

Fri, 10 Jul 2009 04:16:56 GMT

[You have been warned.]

It’s like no matter how many times I tell this story, there’s still something to say.

Something that still reeks of sweat from the back room, waiting for a cue.

I still feel that I must capture the height and breadth of the city & its most alarming residents – the rockstars. It’s not like I have a cold ceiling bearing down on me, or livestock in the back yard, or no social contact. There’s some ultimate story I’m trying to find, some all-encompassing epic that speaks to all my sensibilities at once, and I feel that the pivotal scene must take place post-rock-concert in a West Hollywood high rise.

There is heart in idolatry. Rockstar characters write themselves. So ubiquitous, and yet so completely unavailable to everyone.

When I try to explain my lack of a love life, I always think of it in the third person:

“She doesn’t see anyone. She is already taken. Not by a person, but by the sky, by stories, by the weight of the world. She has stars in her eyes, and not of the celestial kind, but the dream-seekers, the rockstars, the prophets, the artists who stay up all night smoking. She needs to get closer to this idea. To the glamour, the pretty, the poetry of it.”

There must be some tragic encounter. Some missed opportunity. Some city lights flickering on some rockstar’s face as he smokes a cigarette. Someone’s mouth dropping open in revelation. Someone’s free ride forgetting to pay. Love. Stiffed love. Set against music, with glittering lights.

The only novel I’ve ever completed, The Last Song,, comes the closest to that I’ve ever achieved. And I keep revising it, keep trying to make it fit that perfect story in my brain. I’ve made mixes and soundtracks and countless attempts at describing its fictional rock band – both in sound (InMe) and story (X Japan). I make comparisons to the main character, Nicky, as if he were really alive. I take all the best parts of all my favorite rockstar stories (Nicky and Richey, Velvet Goldmine) and try to make it into the ULTIMATE ROCKSTAR STORY OF ALL TIME. (Yeah right.)

Honestly, I think the reason I’m so gaga over Glambert right now is because he embodies that poetry. He sort of represents every fictional thing I want to create. I don’t want to meet him or marry him – I want to marry his poetic power. I want to make love to the art he carries around with him, effortlessly. He personnifies my perfect story arc. And for that reason, if The Last Song were ever filmed, I’d want him to play Nicky.

I feel like I’ve said stuff like this before… oh wait, I have.

I would post a caption, but I don't think it needs one.

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 06:14:09 GMT

Oh, the epic.

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:58:07 GMT

I am massively sore and sick right now. I spent about two hours last night drunkenly chicken-fighting with a bunch of guys in a swimming pool.

It was pretty amazing. Best July 4th ever.

I went to Ron's friend's barbecue, and despite meeting a bunch of new people in a small time frame, I quickly came to adore all of them. They're all actors and makeup artists and theatre geeks. It was like partying with the cast of my old high school plays.

The girls generally stuck to the hot tub. I got thrown in the pool a couple of times and attempting to dunk guys twice as big as me. I failed, but it was still fun.

There was also a climbing wall in the garage. And we did Jager shots.

Of course, the elephant in the room all evening for me was that Megan and Adam are personal friends of the other Adam [Lambert, that is] from his 'Wicked' days. I tried so hard not to bring him up all evening lest I completely make an ass of myself. Luckily, Annie did it for me, and it seems that his friends are just as fangirly as regular fans, which I find hilarious.

Eventually I walked up to Adam [Wylie] and was like, 'I'm embarassed about this, but I am a gargantuan, ridiculously obsessive fan of your friend.'

He just went, 'Cool! Me too!'

I didn't feel so stupid after that. They were really nice about it.

I eventually became very drunk and started soapboxing to people about the nature of the Kinsey scale.

It was an epic night, deserving of today's epic headache.

Christ.

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 06:54:43 GMT

Okay, okay, I get it, I suck, & people hate to think at one in the morning.
You know something? Crowds are alienating even online.

Accepting community is not accepting, as they would say.

No wonder I live in fiction. Fiction is universal.

Okay, okay, so I have no life.

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 03:46:33 GMT

But this amuses the fuck out of me.

And last but not least...

A little bit indulgent, sure, but completely from the heart.

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 04:03:54 GMT

I've just read Adam Lambert's Rolling Stone article.

It could just be that my fangirl-jizz is on overdrive from the revelation that Adam Lambert had a fucking crush on Kris Allen [OMGCUTECUTE], but...

I can't get over how much I love this man. Almost like I've always loved him.

In a completely platonic way, of course. My love for Adam is nothing like my love for Yoshiki [which remains as the want-to-be-eternally-with-you-forever kind] - it's like my love for a long lost brother. A soulmate I didn’t know I had. It sounds cheesy, but god, I’m sitting here practically tearing up over the fact that a fucking American Idol contestant sees the world in the same way I do.

Aside from the most basic, superficial similarities – a love for Velvet Goldmine, glam rock, and Bret Easton Ellis, and a hatred for Creed and Nickelback – he sees the poetry in existence. He ‘lives the dream,’ as he puts it.

He sees the crazy LA skyline and asks, “Is that because of the smog? Or is it glitter?”

With a wink, of course. Like Oscar Wilde.

He doesn’t understand gender divisions, and calls the world’s obsession with masculinity and femininity 'gross.' [Yes, yes, a million times, yes.]

He emphasizes that the only thing gay people have in common is that they’re gay, so why does everyone lump them together? ‘What about a HUMAN community?’ he says – taking the fucking words right out of my mouth.

He also has a tattoo of the Eye of Ra on his wrist. Anyone who knew me in highschool can understand this connection. [He actually wrote a song once called ‘Oh My Ra’… a phrase I thought I fucking MADE UP when I was fourteen.]

And he can’t say no to booze!

Okay, so maybe that one is superficial.

But god, seriously, how fucking brilliant can one person be? And it’s even not that he’s like ME, particularly – but that he’s so fucking unapologetic, so flirtatious with everything [hide, anyone?], so charismatically curious about the world, so intelligent and yet so completely unafraid to say ‘fuck’ and ‘dick’ when called for…

It’s like I dreamt him into existence. Fiction come to life. What I’ve always worked so hard to portray in my stories. Complete, uninhibited love for androgyny, art, and yourself. It's all I've ever admired - from Daniel to Yoshiki, from hide to Miyavi, from Richey to Nicky.

And yet, Adam is somehow… popular? Mainstream? Loved by millions?

How did this happen?

It’s like the second coming of… hide, or Elvis, or Freddie Mercury, or something. Except this time I’m here to witness it. I’m along for the ride.

Oh, and Rolling Stone? Thank you so, so much for not putting ‘I’m gay’ on the cover. I’m sick of all this ‘he’s made it OFFICIAL’ bullshit. It’s like, what, does he need a fucking STAMP on his forehead? Sexuality has always been fluid; it’s never ‘official’, and the fact that Adam didn’t slap his face on the cover of People magazine with the declaration just makes me love him more.

And is anyone else getting serious Jim Morrison vibes from the Rolling Stone cover? Maybe it’s the green reptile and the ‘lizard’ connection, but even the open button-down shirt is Doors-tastic.

And with that… gosh. When he sings, even all of THAT just falls away.

This might just be the awesomest thing ever.

Wed, 03 Jun 2009 04:38:26 GMT

If you are a heterosexual male and haven’t seen Adam Lambert’s insane mastery of song and dance on American Idol, then you’ve never really had your natural inclinations towards women put to the test. Consider this a warning. Mr. Lambert will groove his way into the deepest, darkest recesses of your being until you look down and are surprised to see that you still have a penis. How exactly does he operate? Nobody knows yet. All I know is that 15 minutes ago I was totally imagining an adult encounter with Lil Rounds and now there is ambiguity in the situation. So now I’m left trying to pick up the pieces of my manhood and figure out what just happened.

Thinking back, I remember that Mr. Lambert did not strike me any differently than, say, Rob Thomas, i.e., a man I can objectively call attractive but who doesn’t move me as much as his model wife. But then came the fabulousness of Adam Lambert: the perfectly asymmetric, jet black, sculpted hair, the form-fitting pants, the stage makeup, the soft, wispy voice suddenly changing in tone and decibels, the exact and sudden movements of his various limbs, and, most of all, the passion. I find myself sucked into his sick little world and I’m angrier than hell. I’m angry because I was just touched by Adam Lambert and I don’t know what this means. Will you someday be able to Google a photo of me on the receiving end of a Lambert stage grind? I would like to say “no” but that would be a bald-faced lie.

So, where do I go from here? I could simply stop watching Idol but that would be running away from the problem. I want to know what buttons he is pushing in me that makes me want to lose weight, buy new clothes, and have really great hygiene. I don’t want him off the show; I actually need to watch more. For this critical introspection of self to take place I need him to continue in the competition. So, please, for the sake of my journey of self-exploration keep voting for Mr. Lambert. My ministry depends on it.

--Fr. Fred Stevens
First Grace United Church of Christ

Oh, and this is just in case you need a visual aid. ;)