DISCLAIMER: All of Velvet Goldmine belongs to Todd Haynes, not me. All subtexts interpreted solely for my own enjoyment, don't sue.
Needles in the Camel's Eye
He sat, watching the flickering tip of his idol's cigarette, wondering when that silhouette would speak. His usually sharp, witty tongue had completely deserted him. He was simply a follower, Jack the real leader in this game of chance.
"Just one little break, that's all it takes…" Jack murmured to him, his sing-song voice reminding them both that the children inside of them had to be kept satisfied too.
Malcolm gave a contented sigh, intertwining their glitter-stained hands and their glittering destinies.
He knew it was his destiny to be a rock n' roll star. Beyond that, there was nothing.
Paw-Paw Negro Blowtorch
"You have to make the choice." Curt snarled, wiping his mouth viciously with the back of his hand, "You can't just come to our room smelling and tasting like…her."
Brian's sigh sent his hair fluttering about his face, like blue fire. "Curt, I can't do anything about her…"
Curt's fist came out of nowhere, smashing into that pristine face. "Yes, you damn well can. You just won't."
He got a fiery satisfaction out of watching Brian's ass out the door of his hotel room, off his turf.
Wolves always fight better on their own territory, he reflected over a cigarette.
Baby's on Fire
You had to be senseless not to feel the tension, the sparks. When the show finally ended, Maxwell Demon flew away and Brian Slade came back to earth, sweaty and smeared in makeup.
Curt sent Trevor a telling glance across the amp, and two pairs of platform boots crossed the glittering stage.
"You set us free." Curt whispered, suddenly breathless.
Brian flipped his blue fringe out of his eyes, his fingers tracing obscene patterns across Curt's leather hips as his tongue replicated those same patterns on Curt's guitar.
Trevor stood, transfixed, sure that he was on the outskirts of perfection.
Cindy Tells Me (v. 1.0)
Mandy hated cheap hotels, but that was all they could afford in the beginning. Usually advertised as being 'quaint', they ended up having walls like cardboard and tiny, cramped kitchenettes full of old-fangled devices. She, like any sensible girl, ordered out for pizza instead.
Brian let her do what she pleased, most of the time, watching indifferently as she slept with sailors and drag queens and rich, businesslike wankers. In the end, the two of them always ended up kissing beneath the flashing neon signs of whatever city they were in, the world spread out like a stage before them.
Cindy Tells Me (v. 2.0)
"So, tell, tell…how were the girls last night?"
"Much more enthusiastic than usual, no thanks to you, darling…And stop trying to look innocent, you couldn't pull it off in your life…"
"Pass the mascara, won't you?"
"…and Cynthia was absolutely devilish, but she's gotten a ring from Bryan, so she'll be out of the picture soon, and…"
"Right, I'm off, and I'm borrowing your scarf, all right, love?"
"…But Pamela says that it's entirely possible…"
Brian backed out of the door, tipping his top hat in a shining gold arc as the door swung shut on his wickedly chatty wife.
Driving Me Backwards
Arthur could feel his heart rate rocketing, his eyes stretched wide as he watched ball sail toward him, and reaching out, he almost had it, but then all he was catching was air. He stumbled, skinning his knee on the pavement.
The other kids just looked at him, a row of masks smeared with dirt, the girls playing at being sympathetic, the boys disgusted. Who was this crazy freak, anyway?
"Can't you even catch a ball?" They were incredulous at first, and then the giggles broke out, and Arthur scrambled away, hiding his brimming tears behind one frilly, purple sleeve.
On Some Faraway Beach
As soon as the wickedly cheerful doctors let him out, he went to the beach.
The sand was littered with dirty needles, and the tracks of those like him, who were just trying to push their own limits.
He was weak, shaking. Wishing for the cool calmness of the water to penetrate his worthless, babied soul.
The scream left him in waves that rose and fell over the water, in the hopes that some other drifting soul would hear.
He was bound to the needle, and to this single moment in the glittering sand, letting the wind mangle his mind.
Blank Frank
"I've been hired to kill you, but it's not you. You're tearing apart a million children's realities." His chuckle was cold.
"It's hardly a laughing matter." Brian sat up, nostrils stinging, breathing out white.
The assassin's pale hand fit the gun like some sort of sick machine, and Brian wondered if they had chosen someone who was a tad too good at this. Paranoia flirted with a love of danger, and he knew the end was near. At long last, it would all be behind him.
One bloody blank later, the Demon would be shot down. Bang bang, bye bye.
Dead Finks Don't Talk
You're not alone.
Go away, you flying saucer fink. I gave you a voice once, but you are silent now.
Pardon me, sir, but I should like stay a while longer.
No one's pardoning you. You failed, lost me everything when I thought I had it all. You got the death sentence, take it like a fucking superstar.
The bubblegum shadow faded, a mockingly familiar chord progression left ringing in his ears. He could breathe again, now that the voice was gone. Brian Slade stood lonely and helpless on the empty stage, and reached in vain for the glittering white.
Some Of Them Are Old
Curt, can't you remember me?
He was turning to go, his heart sinking in despair, when he noticed a silver something shining on the filthy floor in front of him, beside the remains of Curt's earlier cigarette.
Arthur picked the crooked quarter up,pressed it into the jukebox's slot, and glanced through the crimson letters until he found what he was looking for. It started slow, anthemic, just those life-changing guitars.
Not a single head turned as Brian Slade's voice floated over them, and it was with a bittersweet feeling of triumph that Arthur followed Curt out of the door.
Here Come The Warm Jets (v. 1.0)
Like the roar of a rocket ship, the realization hit him.
"So you like watching me piss, kid?" He laughed, leaving his silver trousers unlaced.
Arthur blushed, and said the most courageous thing, "Love anything to do with you."
This was that kid, that boy, that old lover, old friend. Arthur Stuart was all of these things, and they'd only been together one night. He turned, heart sinking now, knowing that once again, Curt Wild had blown it.
"Not now, not again…" he muttered, hands clenched subconsciously into angry fists.
"Never again." Arthur whispered huskily, and suddenly everything was right.
Here Come The Warm Jets (v. 2.0)
He'd been a crooked child, a tormented teenager, an awkward adolescent. But Jack had long ago decided that he was going to find happiness when he grew up.
Rock only scratched the surface of ecstasy's void.
He'd flown on drugs and aeroplanes before, but rockets were a new adventure.
And when that emerald hull had gleamed before them, the same shade as the pin, he'd known he hadn't been searching in vain.
They watched the stars fly past in a blur of white and black, wondering if their love could live any longer on a planet miles and miles away.