Vague memories of this— not in the something fucked with my head way, but in a way where he's pretty sure he's seen it before, or parts of it, in an adult theater bookended by actual pornography, back when adult theaters were a thing. As trashy as one would expect, but the were fine places to sleep through hangovers and occasionally watch other men jack off. Honest and open filth, opposed to the private, shuttered shame of the internet. At least then you were getting out of the house.
He wonders of Armand's luring songs into darkness would take to a place like that, or if he would sit in the vaguely sticky theater seats and stare unblinking at the screen for the entire duration of each absurd reel, smiling now and again at the least glamorous moments, ignoring the rest of the world. He wonders if they ever missed each other in passing at some grindhouse showing mondo films and old Disney filler cartoons.
Posture he's become near expert at by now: shifting to allow an openness that Armand might curl into, when he decides to. Daniel lets him pick the pace of it. Sometimes during this stage he thinks frankly deranged fucking thoughts, like workshopping different answers to a question posed to him in 1973. Do you think I'm boring?, and Daniel had said No, but was there something better? Something truer, if worse? How could you be boring, you're the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen, and the other monster keeps complaining about his ex and wouldn't even fuck me.
The problem with all of this is that Daniel looks forward to it. He just has to pretend not to, because thinking about it too often is going to drive him insane, and there's too much else in his life that could also easily drive him insane.
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He wonders of Armand's luring songs into darkness would take to a place like that, or if he would sit in the vaguely sticky theater seats and stare unblinking at the screen for the entire duration of each absurd reel, smiling now and again at the least glamorous moments, ignoring the rest of the world. He wonders if they ever missed each other in passing at some grindhouse showing mondo films and old Disney filler cartoons.
Posture he's become near expert at by now: shifting to allow an openness that Armand might curl into, when he decides to. Daniel lets him pick the pace of it. Sometimes during this stage he thinks frankly deranged fucking thoughts, like workshopping different answers to a question posed to him in 1973. Do you think I'm boring?, and Daniel had said No, but was there something better? Something truer, if worse? How could you be boring, you're the scariest fucking thing I've ever seen, and the other monster keeps complaining about his ex and wouldn't even fuck me.
The problem with all of this is that Daniel looks forward to it. He just has to pretend not to, because thinking about it too often is going to drive him insane, and there's too much else in his life that could also easily drive him insane.