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Postkarte aus Tarragona	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 1740 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Postkarte aus Tarragona (4/9)
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr Naked
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Surprise
Disclaimer: Never happened
Beta: flowers, candies and thank yous go to hannelore_k
Author's note: mentions of songs by Tool, Emigrate, Nine Inch Nails, John Lennon, Puscifer, U2, Saul Williams, Chris Isaak and Deftones.

Puzzled and amused...

You start doing things, various things – an endless restlessness, and an endless search. What are you looking for? For yourself? For understanding yourself? For a way to start liking yourself and dealing with who you are? Do I want to understand myself or to make others understand me?

Your brain is a machine working full speed, and sometimes you cannot stop it or at least make it rest a bit or slow down. I thought everyone was like that. And it shocked me to see that they didn’t get it.

One day I realized that there was a “me” and there was a “they”, and that these two were on opposite sides. Like that day I realized that there would always be some guy that I would like in a very special way, and that this was me. Much later, I realized that it was worthless to fight against it. I saw that the world wouldn't end, no one was going to die or such if I just went with the flow.

There is this story with the squirrel that one day found some nuts in a cage; it reached its paw through the bars of the cage and grabbed some nuts. But when it tried to get away it realized that its paw was stuck between the bars. It tried different ways, clutching its paw over the nuts, turning it, rotating it – nothing. Then, when it let go of the nuts, it was able to retrieve its paw and go.

Sometimes we have to let go. We have to know when those times are though. But it takes a lifetime, or at least precious years of your life, to learn that. It took me more than one day to let go.

People aren't the way you want them to be!

And when I touch you, you don't feel a thing...

I stopped at this intersection, wide and plain. On my right , something like a very small park, on the other side of the street, old buildings. In front of me, a long wall, not too tall and made of ancient huge bricks glittering in the sun, and a tower, hexagonal, not too tall either. In the middle of the intersection, in a small rotunda, three columns of white stone, as well.

The whole place was shining in the bright light, yet the light had a golden tint. All the questions vanished from my mind, I only wanted to get to that building and see what it was. I couldn't see the sea from where I was. That old building, like a tower, was drawing me to it like a magnet.

On a different corner of the intersection, another tower; square in shape, with only three small and very narrow windows. It looked medieval.

I used to collect images from the places we were touring and then find someone, somewhere to send them to him, for me. All the corners of the world, in a pile of cards. I wondered if he kept them or threw them away.

He never told anyone about it, as far as I knew. Did he feel threatened? A lunatic knowing where he was, all the time? It must have been a fan, since the postcards started arriving after our band got big. Our band!

It wasn't a real kink, but the thought that his hands… have you ever watched his fingers closely? I was closing my eyes, thinking of how all the indentations on the skin of his fingertips would touch the smooth surface of the small pieces of cardboard – usually only a few inches wide or so (I think in inches because I'm more American now). But it felt as if it was my whole body he would be holding. It was me between his palms - me, to do with as he pleased. Did he throw me away in disgust, or was he amused, and collecting all these pieces of me, of us, of this awkward relationship?

Keep my feet on the ground...

It did hurt, oh how it hurt! But I was allowing and even encouraging Till to fill me in on all those details. Obscene details. Disgusting. But this way I knew how his hips feel against the stomach, when he kisses you passionately. This way I knew how the color of his irises appear to distill as he approaches climax. This way I knew the tones of his voice as he moans, how he grabs the flesh on your arms into his palms, his fingers almost piercing through as he lies under you.

Till was despicable for telling me all these things, like a horny teenage girl, sneaking into the toilet to smoke and tell secrets while ditching class. But I so loved him for that.

We couldn't do it, so we had this, instead.

Someone up there made fun of us in this way. Of course his well-formed body was attracting me – only running my fingers gently along the rounded shapes of the muscles on his arms was enough to get me really close. You know.

Yet, we couldn't go further. There was always this barrier between us, that stopped us from going further. We did touch a lot, and when we finally gave up on trying, he would wrap that huge palm around me. It was enough. It would melt away any frustrations. We would cum long, catching each other's roughened breath between our lips, biting on each other's tongue and skin, and that was it.

It wasn't like we met especially for this. No. It was like: “What the fuck was that, I kept telling you to move the fuck more to the side with that flame-thrower, but you never do!” And he would explode worse than the flames on the stage; the thunder of his voice would echo in the hallways of the venue. He would occasionally hit something – a loud bam would follow the last remnants of his groan. We would end up shoving each other into a corner, away from the others, away even from our consciences to realize what we were doing there. To realize where all those touches were leading us. All the push and grab. It had to be one way or another.

All the unspoken frustration, jealousy, hatred, love and lust between us were solved in those moments. Temporarily. Unfortunately.

You thought I ran away...

I found myself among these old buildings, so near to one another that on some streets I could extend my arms and touch the walls on both sides. But the walls had been recently painted in cheerful, warm colors. Some even had designs painted on them. Others, different statues, virgin Marys and angels. Beautiful ornaments around windows and entrances, some only painted, usually in white, others made of white marble. Balconies and flowers.

And people. Talking in that quick language that makes me think of a dance.

All those times we were on tour with the band, when we got out to visit the new places, the new towns, we were stopping only for a few hours of our lives. As he was walking by my side, was he thinking about those postcards? Was he wondering about who kept sending them? Was he wondering if he would receive one that evening?

He was receiving this mute declaration each time, hidden in the 50 cent image.

Of course I touched him, and I even saw him, but not the way I wanted it to happen. Accidental touches – actually avoiding them, as if there was a fear in me that through that touch I would make him aware of how I felt. Actually, he knew how I was - how I am - but he decided he was no longer “one of us”. As if it’s a fucking religion you convert to. And then, when you fucking feel like it, you throw away the fucking Bible, and all the cult insignia, and go back to that other fucking religion you had decided to abandon in the first place!

I wanted to yell at him, during those fights about the band, I wanted to yell to him “WAKE THE FUCK UP!” You are who you are man, and no matter what you do, or how big the denial, you always end up being who you are.

And you knew it very well, since you were a young boy. Since that day, that fucking day when it dawned on you – when you saw that particularly cute guy and you wondered just what the fuck was wrong with you!

It's bright and blue and shimmering...

With him I avoided fighting. He usually avoided arguments. He usually tried to make us, the rest of the band, make up.

I looked up, from between those two narrow lines of houses, at the blue strip of the incredible sky.

I was looking for a bank. That's why I was wandering through here.

A small plaza, between two, three or more stores, high buildings and a church that looked like a hangar with no other decoration than the painted patterns on the walls and three small statues in a niche above the simple entry door. On one side of the plaza there were the tables and chairs of a coffee shop.

Maybe I should just call one of the guys, I thought.

I walked to one of the corners of the plaza, I wandered on that narrow street, until I turned that corner. And I stopped. Breathless. I remained there, stunned, on that tight street. Between the three corners of those buildings with old, yellow bricks – and afar, the endless blue line of the sea.

I was close to that intersection, near the ancient square tower. Was I walking in circles? What was I looking for, after all?

Sometimes I felt tired. Tired of dragging myself around. It was choking and strangling me. That place. The demons in me. Everything. I was drowning.

I would pick up the phone at night, and hours later, when the stupor was gone, I would find myself standing there. My telephone conversation with Till would have ended long ago. What did we talk about?

In the end the fights were between him and I. Even if not directly. But somehow he was in that combination too. And I knew they were hating me. Their hatred was turning into thick and slithery snakes, coiling around us all, trying to suffocate and to terminate us. And my fights with Till weren't ending up in those touches, kisses and caresses anymore either. It wasn't about that anymore.

Did I hate them in return?

I only wished that at least he would have been on my side. He, who?

Look! A cat!

My glance slid over the ruin of that ancient wall – on one of the bricks there was this cat sitting and dozing in the sun.

Difficult to see, when this life...

Under my fingertips, the ancient brick felt like a living creature, gentle and warm. Years had built colonies in those bricks, leaving rounded marks.

Of course I had been touched by Christoph numerous times, but only one time had gotten fixed in my memory. After that, every time I thought of him holding those cards - every time I thought of how it would feel to have him touching me - I would feel that touch on my skin. Soft, warm and dry. Not pressing against my flesh, more like covering it, protecting me from all those demons, and from myself.

It was as if I was splitting into these numerous voices, each repeating all the bad stuff I've been told or reminding me of all the nasty stuff that‘s been done to me. I needed that to stop. It was spring, cold, one gray rainy day after another, and yet, there I spotted her, with that bright purple dress waving in the wind and her orange umbrella propped on her shoulder. This time she was standing near a bus stop. People were passing by her in a hurry, buses would stop – people would get off or climb into them – cars would drive by, speeding as if chased by that cold and never ending rain. Yet there she stood, her eyes staring at the horizon.

And the gray shadows moving around her – were they dead or living people?

So many times I would be confined to my room, as a child. Maybe that's why only later I noticed all those movements, those shadows. That flickering. Back then I had to sit between four walls with my anger and my hatred, and thus we became such good friends. Then I spent my youth running away from them. But I didn't know they were my Siamese twins, tied to me by thick veins, feeding all of us.

I ran away from home, then I ran away from this dying country; I have always been on the run toward the land in which I knew my dreams were living. I wanted to make them my friends.

To be continued...
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Postkarte aus Tarragona