hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2002-08-07 02:54 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2002-08-07 02:54 pm
phew, for a minute there i lost myself.
i just had an extraordinarily long talk with a very good mate of mine. someone who knows me much better than i'd like and has a tendency to make me answer questions to things i'd rather not think of at all. it was very cathartic.
she reminded me of who i am and who i'm not.
for a minute there, i think i forgot.
Contact Dermatitis
The lies make Lex itch. Not the incessant sort of scratching that comes from contact with a shiny green plant, but the kind of discomfort that sits under the surface, quietly making itself known but never truly going away. Lex’s itch is the sort of niggling sensation that he can’t help but acknowledge, even if he can’t get rid of it.
It’s not as though he’s not trying, but the itch is relentless.
At times Lex's inability to fix the itch makes him violent, and other times he finds himself subdued. Resigned to not knowing, to the itch never going away.
Lex’s itch is a lie that is always there and never comes out. He can scratch around it, like it’s a mosquito bite, or press against the itch softly but it never gives. So Lex's need for release, for satisfaction, never goes way.
The itch is like a splinter that’s embedded for all time, or until someone comes along with a safety pin and a match. The problem is that not just anyone can take care of Lex’s predicament. Lex has tried; he’s made offers and orders and gestures, people have come and knelt in the Court of Alexandros, but none were worthy.
None *are* worthy, except for one. The one who put the bug under Lex’s skin in the first place. However, Clark won’t help Lex, instead Clark blinks and looks sheepish and scuffs Lex’s hardwood floors with his sneakers.
But he won’t scratch Lex’s itch.
Of course, Lex’s mother used to do things like that for him, but he doesn’t have her now. Maybe if he did, though, he wouldn’t have this sort of problem, maybe if she was around then she could take of it.
People always confide in mothers, maybe Lex's mom would be able to take care of the lies. Make the itch go away, but wishing is fruitless and hopeless, and all Lex has is himself. All Lex can see are the lies that surround him – that are working so hard to penetrate his skin, to penetrate the wall he’s worked too hard to build.
Just the idea of this sort of infiltration makes Lex itch. It makes Lex scratch at his head, at his arms, at the chair in his office. So much frustration, so much anger, Lex is at the mercy of lies and an itch that doesn’t respond to Calamine lotion.
Clark's lies makes Lex itch, and until Lex learns the truth, he doesn't see the itch going away.
she reminded me of who i am and who i'm not.
for a minute there, i think i forgot.
Contact Dermatitis
The lies make Lex itch. Not the incessant sort of scratching that comes from contact with a shiny green plant, but the kind of discomfort that sits under the surface, quietly making itself known but never truly going away. Lex’s itch is the sort of niggling sensation that he can’t help but acknowledge, even if he can’t get rid of it.
It’s not as though he’s not trying, but the itch is relentless.
At times Lex's inability to fix the itch makes him violent, and other times he finds himself subdued. Resigned to not knowing, to the itch never going away.
Lex’s itch is a lie that is always there and never comes out. He can scratch around it, like it’s a mosquito bite, or press against the itch softly but it never gives. So Lex's need for release, for satisfaction, never goes way.
The itch is like a splinter that’s embedded for all time, or until someone comes along with a safety pin and a match. The problem is that not just anyone can take care of Lex’s predicament. Lex has tried; he’s made offers and orders and gestures, people have come and knelt in the Court of Alexandros, but none were worthy.
None *are* worthy, except for one. The one who put the bug under Lex’s skin in the first place. However, Clark won’t help Lex, instead Clark blinks and looks sheepish and scuffs Lex’s hardwood floors with his sneakers.
But he won’t scratch Lex’s itch.
Of course, Lex’s mother used to do things like that for him, but he doesn’t have her now. Maybe if he did, though, he wouldn’t have this sort of problem, maybe if she was around then she could take of it.
People always confide in mothers, maybe Lex's mom would be able to take care of the lies. Make the itch go away, but wishing is fruitless and hopeless, and all Lex has is himself. All Lex can see are the lies that surround him – that are working so hard to penetrate his skin, to penetrate the wall he’s worked too hard to build.
Just the idea of this sort of infiltration makes Lex itch. It makes Lex scratch at his head, at his arms, at the chair in his office. So much frustration, so much anger, Lex is at the mercy of lies and an itch that doesn’t respond to Calamine lotion.
Clark's lies makes Lex itch, and until Lex learns the truth, he doesn't see the itch going away.
no subject
I wish someone would slap me with the catharsis stick.
no subject
will a glow-in-the-dark butt plug suffice? i bought too many from hope.
no subject
Cool fic, too. Is the writer's block broken?
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not even. i couldn't get a spark from a piece of flint or a box of matches.
Re:
Sorry to hear that. Knowing the feeling! ::wry grin::
Anything I can do to help?
no subject
Re:
I'll be here 'til . . . oh, probably 6pm eastern.
no subject
(Though the extended itching metaphor combined with Lex thinking about Clark predictably reminded me of Spider Robinson's "if you think poison ivy of the penis is an amusing affliction, may you get it someday.")
no subject
I do have block, really! Ignore the story that's coming out next week. *g*