The House fic "I Love You, But I've Chosen Darkness" is on hold, I have not advanced anything in months and I feel very bad about it. The new season so far I like, more romance, but without neglecting the medical mysteries and also did not think the relative calm will last long, not knowing House.
Meanwhile, a song from the band that gives its name to fic:
I think a tour of I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness, A Place to Bury Strangers, The Mary Onettes, Russians and Interpol Motorama (some known for people to go, lol) not a bad idea.
Well, what I've been?, Write an original that is pure distrscción never liked me as I write, but I write because ... I do not know, is like a necessity or something rather cliché. That
original, called "A Love Supreme" (as Coltrane's song) was born from what was originally going to be a one-shot, so like I have nothing to add, or anything else to put, here is a one-shot, which is not much, but pssss .... S &I have endeavored to look like him, since I have memory, since he was a boy and dance "Blue Suede Shoes" to the rhythm of my father's old vinyl. Now I have 22 years and my hair with intricate crest, as the first Elvis, the "Heartbreak Hotel", the pre-military service, not the Elvis of Las Vegas, not the fat Elvis that makes me sad see in old recordings. That Elvis is the balance of all drugs and alcohol in previous years, the years that I like. And
been stuck with jeans, too, and striped shirts, and my arms are full of tattoos, this is not copied it to the king, of course, that's because I like cOntar my story through my skin. Wonder what kind of story can have a boy of 22 years. For a history of partying until dawn, and drugs, many drugs and alcohol, rivers of alcohol. Party of DJs that are so in name only, as they arrive and connect your iPod and put stoner rock while all smoke marijuana. Kyuss is the soundtrack of how I take whiskey straight from the bottle, and then they get another and make us dance to the Black Lips. I like the Black Lips, is rock as it should be the rock. And then I insist that I put some of my music, and drugged and drunk I do not know what the hell do, and I put the Stray Cats and Wau and Arggghs!brother plays drums in what is supposedly my band. The Scooby Doos. Not trying to be famous, and we do not think it someday. But Alonso ... yes it will be great, is a Keith Moon rockabillero, a heroin addict with Bonzo the complexion of Iggy Pop and crest as high as mine, but look very sad. Will be great if not killed, or killed. It's my best friend. A man of few words, but when he speaks, it is cunning. All the time, since I know, Alonso told me about Tristan. Only in that character I've heard expressed so well. Intelligent and lover of music were the main qualities that stood out. ButTristan was before I knew Alonso, and my friend is not someone who likes to keep pictures, so I had no idea what it was that other great friend.
Until that night.
was a warehouse, and the party just at the beginning. Chord garage band sounded from the speakers, I came up with Lara, Alonso said that we would reach the place, I shrugged my shoulders and I warned, on pain of death, You'd better get the party. With a face like a smile she told me to go to hell, never doubted he would come. would 2 or 3 beers to turn me over when I saw talking to her friend Laracute, by the neck and he smiled a shy smile and said something about it was good seeing you again. Then I looked at something similar to hatred, I could translate as jealousy, I was the one he had taken from Alonso, and feared, that guy was huge, taller than himself Alonso, apple of discord in this dispute without Paris as an intermediary. ERide cursed.
The four talk, but Tristan did not stop me, suspicious, afraid to anger Norse god, in divine punishment. But I tried to ignore it, tried to follow the discussion. A couple of minutes later, Lara had returned with her friend, and AlonsoAryan Alonso). But mostly because I could not see the perfection of the Aryan face stained by sticky red blood. ─
And you, know where Alonso? ─ let me deep voice, deep as a tomb, raising the chin with scorn. ─ ─ From the school said.
He nodded and looked to the side with boredom. I understood, I was bored, do not blame him, I've never been a very interesting subject. I imitated getting my hands into the pockets of my pantalóny moving my foot to the beat of drums from that song, that battery as character &; Iacute; stica of crust punk, with its stepped
beat. ─
you also know that Lara ─ boyfriend told me that voice again with haughty. All that remained was that he had always been in love with my girlfriend and I were the bastard that took everything in his absence. What is long?, It was not my fault ─. I love her like a sister ... ─ despuésy said it sounded like a kind of threat, then I looked at him and shrugged. came to us one of the organizers of the festival, Santana, Santana conocíaa everybody, everybody was friends with Santana, Santana was the poorest boyErez ─ loud music. Elvis is king, you know? ─ it was my turn to speak.
Suddenly we both were laughing and joking, and criticizing two or three ridiculous from the party that did everything for attention. ─
Look at that, is pathetic ─ told me we were on our third beer made in the company of another ─ believe their three-song riffs
can save the world ─ noted a guy with dreadlocks and white checkered tie and black suspenders and a shirt with Elmo, yes, the Sesame Street ─. No offense ─ then I said, I smiledute, l instinct. Good self
─ ─ Tristan told me I could hear better now that the music was muffled by the walls of the place ─ a classic. ─ Very rare these days to find a fool I ─, holder of this diamond in the rough, that relic of automotive engineering, that witnessed the 50, my beloved 50. With its defenses still full of rust, and paint still battered, but with the engine fully functioning, with the upholstery ripped, but with a stereo that plays Elvis always, always, because it is the king, and it is my time machine, because I travel at 50, my beloved 50. Tristan &
aventamp; oacute; beer bottle onto the sidewalk. "Crash," a great "crash" flooded the street and caught my attention, I turned to see him, turned away my eyes from my car and I saw Tristan crouched looking at the pile of crystals were once amber bottle. I did not know what was happening. ─
You okay? ─ asked sincerely concerned. Javier ─ ─
called me by my name, had told him my name?, Do not remember, but pronounce it so clearly hear a strange chill ran down my back. Alz & oacute; the look, again was the Thor Punisher, cold as the permafrost of Siberia, and walked toward me, boots, heavy and sounded great on wet pavement and became backward s, topándome Chevy Bel Air with my battered, cornered, I was going to hit, I feel, maybe he did not agree with all the black trash metal, but no doubt it was just as violent that mu ; music. I closed my eyes waiting for the first blow.
What I felt was his hand on my cheek. His hand was huge, and cold. I opened my eyes and my teníaa inches from his nose, turned up and perfect, almost touchingto clear. We took a couple of beers and small audio system that put a record of John Coltrane, something neutral, he said. We sat on the edge of colchóny suddenly I heard him laugh, I looked for an explanation. ─
hate your kind, you know? ─ finally told me and gave me a look ─, ─ punks topped with contempt. Rockabillero ─ ─
I clarified and emphasized his laughter, laughter that I did not take me long to join. What did it, I could hear Lady Gaga and no matter. That guy was beautiful, and nothing else.
kiss me again, butacute; s. I took one of my hands to his erection, I thought it was just what I thought to get the two together was the best orgasm. Her moans told me that he was right. We
rough men, he can kill us all with his club, with his divine justice, son of Odin, can kill us all with their torches and cold as Norway. I do I can break a pool cue to anyone who gets in my way. We are rough men, not sissies.
Lara and Alonso, who knows, and who knows what will happen with Tristan. If he leaves, if he stays. I do not know. John Coltrane lulls us and destroy us with "A Love Supreme & amp; rdquo;. The Viking in my lap caresses my crest disheveled, like Elvis, because Elvis is king, you know?
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