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 "Sex. Pain. Angel. Love" by Ankhesenpaaten Ra Следующая тема
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Почетный Член Ноосферы

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Зарегистрирован: 12.08.2009
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СообщениеДобавлено: Вс Апр 05, 2015 7:24 pm Ответить с цитатойВернуться к началу

Here is the place to discuss "Sex.Pain.Angel.Love", a novel about complex interactions inside a Depeche Mode band, including love triangle and over 30 years history of love, sex and devotion.

Feel free to share your comments and feelings on this novel, quotes that you found compelling, thoughts, etc. If you have some illustrations you'd like to share, please do so here as well Smile

and if you haven't read the story yet, I highly recommend it. You'll never be the same again! Very Happy
You can find it here ---> http://ankh.ru/dm/spal_eng.html


Personally, my story as a Depeche Mode lover has begun after reading this novel. I found it super touching and filled with meaning.
And still I am rereading some parts of S.P.A.L. .. and every time I am astonished how believable this story is!
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СообщениеДобавлено: Вс Апр 05, 2015 8:13 pm Ответить с цитатойВернуться к началу

The story covers different time periods, e.g. 80's when Dave just joined the band.

"- I’m Dave.
- Andy - said Andy and pouted his cheeks to look more impressive. He was red-head and very tall and skinny so it turned to be rather funny then impressive.
- Dave.
- Ma-a-artin, - second lad answered with little aspiration. It wasn’t intended it just was his way of pronouncing. His cat pronounced this way the sound that he is hungry. It was something between "meow" and "now", - Will you sing for us?
- "Heroes" - Dave sniffed, - I will sing "Heroes".

I will be king
And you
You will be queen
Though nothing
Will drive them away
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be us
Just for one day*

Martin was staring at him almost not blinking. Dave was scared at first. Scared and confused with the intensity of his stare. Martin told him after that he just has bad eyesight. But now he was looking right at Dave’s face and smiling. Not because HE was smiling to him. He had very strange lips’ line. They were smiling by themselves without his participation or participation of his tiniest emotions. His smile existed independent from him. Dave could never get accustomed to it.
But this time the Cheshire Cat descended from Lewis Carroll's book, made him really nervous. Dave’s voice almost broke a few times, thanks God, hysterical manner of performance was just decorating this song, moreover there was even written in the score: "To perform higher an octave, desperately". Well and he was performing it. Desperately.

And you
You can be mean
And I
I'll drink all the time
'Cause we're lovers
And that is a fact
Yes we're lovers
And that is that.*

Martin approached him.
- I like you - he said looking somewhere above his head.
- I like you too…I mean you all, - Dave corrected himself.
- And I love Bowie, - Martin said.
- Uh…I’m…kinda… punk…but, yeah - Dave said, - Bowie is Bowie…yeah. By the way, my name is David too.
- I remember, David - Martin smiled, - will you come tomorrow to rehearsals?
- Uh, well…you mean I should?"

Mim писал(а):
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СообщениеДобавлено: Пт Апр 10, 2015 11:13 pm Ответить с цитатойВернуться к началу

Tender moment.. one of my favorite..
and great photos to illustrate it


"The air blast of excitement made a short circuit in his nerves and knocked out all protective devices with the ringing in his ears. Dave was panting. The tiny part of his brain was truly offended by his body’s hysterical reaction, being unhealthily turned on in second only by a thought of future sex. He was feverishly grabbing Martin, clutching the sheets on the bed with his both hands, as hard as he could, he wasn’t thinking what he was doing, making Martin not delay, not hesitate no more and not stand upon ceremony, yelling him to do anything, otherwise he will fucking come right now and without his fucking help.

From this time it was happening traditionally. Once in two weeks, in hotels, it was lasting several minutes. No one was hurrying them, but they forgot the last time they have kissed. Today they’ve managed to take off their trousers, and it was evident progress. One movement, another one and another and he felt like burning waves of orgasm raggedly pushing his blood up in his veins with the pressure of the steamer.

Later, Martin just rolled off him and they were lying down, side by side, panting. Dave was thinking that they deceived him a long-long time ago, and swindled and played a cruel trick on him, when they said that time is deadening feelings. No, some feelings were deadening in time but why no one told him about this trick. No one warned him that erotic impulse had a short way into the excitement center his brain was turned into getting one or another familiar signal. Those signals hit him harshly and immediately right into the solar plexus taking away the ability to think and to breathe. Fast sex without prelude and tenderness – rushing up higher to the climax feeling more like painful spasms, just to fall down, find a breath, loosing his interest in everything around, to feel a sudden rush of fucking hot blood again from every little thing, from the sound of His voice, from the turn of His head, from His occasional touch. And even worse. He became turned on from the banal smell of the hotel rooms, because it started to mean sex for him.


Dave turned his head to the window. Sunbeams hardly showing through closed satin curtains color of the baked milk. Painfully familiar LA’s Four Seasons’ suite with high ceiling, modeling walls all in golden white.
- This chandelier is like in Paris Grand Opera, - said Dave, bringing his hands over his head, staring at the ceiling.
- That one that fell down on audience’s heads and they all died? – asked Martin, laying in the similar pose gazing at the chandelier.
- When? – Dave asked frightened, - I didn’t watch news for a long time.
- Uhm,… - said Martin, - You know, it’s not a news’ repertoire. It’s more like Carnegie Hall’s repertoire, I think. The Phantom of the Opera.
- Oh, fuck, you scared the shit off me, fucking musicals, - Dave giggled, - I thought something had happened. Why? So this Pinocchio in mask was fucking hit by the chandelier?
- They say. It was a real story from in the beginning of twentieth century.
Martin’s cellar phone rang. Dave wanted to say something, but Martin put his finger up to his lips, asking Dave to keep silence, turned around and grabbed his trousers that fell somewhere onto the night -table.
- Yes? Yes, honey I will be home tomorrow. No everything’s alright, just need to do something here. Yes. Santa-Monica, - Dave raised his eyebrow in surprise, - Weather? - Martin thoughtfully gazed into the thin line of light between the curtains, - The weather is fine, I think. Okay. Yes. No, I won’t forget to visit a bank. No, this time I won’t.
Dave set up on the bed and showed his hands with crossed fingers right before Martin’s face, shaking his head, his facial expression means «A-ye…Like we gonna trust you this time». Martin needed a big effort to hide his smirk.
- What? Who am I with? Oh honey, of course I am alone. Kiss my girls from me, tell them daddy miss them much.
Dave hid his face in his hands and fell down onto pillows. Martin showed him his fist in silent threat. Then he pushed the off button and hid put cellar phone onto the bedside table.
- So you are in Santa-Monica then, - Dave repeated.
Martin shook his shoulders in silence.
- Your wife hates me; - Dave pouted his lips thoughtfully looking at the ceiling.
- For what exactly she might love ya? – Martin retorted.
- HEH-HEH-HEH – spelling clearly each sound said Dave, - your influence, huh? Well…if to think…probably…
- Because you are desperately in love with her for so long? – Martin tried to help him.
Dave laughed out loud, and Martin too in his own genuine manner and Dave decided that it is not repeatable in any case.
- You know, my studio improvement is almost over, let’s go and see? – said Martin, laying on his side and propping his head with his fist.
- Santa-Monica?
- No, Santa-Barbara.
- Triumph of Royal Idleness? Home studio… - Dave smirked, - what about lion skins and brazen cups and leather couches?
- Mmmm…yeah, - Martin said, - I’ve already thought about leather couches.
- Leather couches are hot, - said Dave.
- Mmmm…yeah, - Martin repeated smirking, some purring notes became audible now in his voice, and Dave realized in terror the fatality of this attack of boiling lust inside, getting him high like an ideal substitute for drug. He turned to Martin and kissed his mouth hot, grabbing his head with his hands and messing his fingers with his hair, not because of tenderness, but just knowing for sure that Martin couldn’t stand this caress."

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