Beloved, you are the cure for every malaise.
My plinking around in Photoshop today (I've become addicted) yielded this little pictoral in-joke. Who's that boy with the foul mouth and the demonic shadow climbing the walls? Who do you think?

Labels: Anfini, Art, Procell

A brief point before I begin my spiraling: B, you have to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Anfini is there. In the fucking flesh. I'll elaborate tomorrow if you wish.

Onward.

This is a great song, beautiful. I smile and I laugh and I see what I'm doing to you, or maybe what you're doing to yourself... you are freer already. Do you notice how our conversations all seem to dovetail? Talk of loving you, talk of Procell's views on vampires, talk of wanting you, all come down to animal, to instinct, to this, the primal inside.

We wear masks and they unsettle us both, sometimes, not because we are too close to them, too immersed in them, but because we are not immersed enough. My characters interact with you, each in a different way, but while I wear that face it is me, if I have the courage to let it be. And it's all true.

I am Procell, serving you, vulnerable but accepting anything you choose to throw at me. I am your experiment, your mark, your wild card. I am your uncontrolled animal, I am your vicarious villain, smooth criminal. I am the world you sold.
I am Rivaine, forgetting everything, knowing nothing but your eyes. I am bound to you, by necessity and desire, your mate in more than life, in more than soul. I am yours, your responsibility, your child, your helpless madwoman, leaning naked on your arm and trying to reach the stars. I am your shapeshifter, shedding skins for your pleasure, wearing faces and discarding them at the speed of love. I am your blank slate, silence in my soul for you to draw on, believing everything you tell me, even as you agree with everything I tell myself. So we build up a web of fantasies that are all foundationless, but bring us closer together because we do not let anything divide us--not even the truth.
I am Noir, your mother, your destroyer, your protector, your savior, your hunter, the murder in your world. I am your masterpiece, your unfinished work, your first love. I am the end of your world and the beginning of another for you to conquer. I am your check and balance, I am your bodyguard and your prison-guard, I am the one who remembers and knows and forgives even the unforgivable. I am your secret and secret keeper, wearer of masks, but never intending to hide. I am your safety and your safeguard.

You will be here... our eyes will meet with a blue spark like a firecracker, our whispers like leaves, like rushing blood... our bodies will meet like waves crashing, breaking apart and into one another, becoming one overwhelming tide to wash the world away in a fiction-worthy wind. I'll wear any face you like, I'll be anyone you please... for it is in this permutation, this protean nature, that I am most myself, and it is myself that you love. I do not hide behind these masks, lover... I am revealed by them.

For your love... anything.
In your love... anything.
Ask it.

Labels: Anfini, Brendon, Love, Procell

I was making a comment on your post, B, but then I started thinking and it got lengthy, and I discovered I had a lot more to say, more of an actual answer than a comment. So here it is.

I dreamed a long time ago, the first time I saw him in my dreams, of walking through halls, looking through windows, and of wearing masks to show him and make him smile. Masks and faces, disguises, costumes are a recurring theme between us--we're both storytellers, both dreamers, and both frequently yearn to be freed from the limitations of the form we occupy. Both aching for magic, for wings, for a sword or a spark, a deus ex machina, a spanner in the works to force a change in our lives like the ones in our dreams.
The irony here, the beautiful irony of the way we relate is that it flies directly in the face of the way a lot of people think about "relationships." You could say, and we do, with some hilarity, that we started off with a broken promise, and that's true. It's also true that we both spend a great deal of time wearing masks, speaking to each other through faces and people that, in many cases, bring us into direct conflict. Our characters frequently fight, sometimes physically, and with the catalyst of their respective foibles (Anfini's curiosity, Procell's neuroses, Rivaine's innocence) do things to each other that are, in civilized society, considered quite horrible.
There are a lot of reasons why our relationship is odd, and I love it. The way I think of it is that we spend... all of our time, really, telling each other stories. Telling each other things, in general, sharing information, trading media, showing each other stories, in pictures, in writing, in movement. It's all stories, and we're in all of them. I want you all to read the short story by Kurt Vonnegut called "Who Am I This Time?". It's exactly what I'm talking about. We wear faces for each other, not to hide from each other, always in total consciousness of who we really are, but evolving that concept of who we are by wearing faces that allow us to feed off of each other, to change, to wield magic, to fly. Together. Becoming greater, reaching new heights... I defend him with my sword, with my fire-breath. He lifts me and saves me with his wings.

Judged: Good
QOR: 15% evil, 85% good.

Labels: Anfini, Brendon, Dreams, Lies, Love, Procell