Cultverse Javey unfinished

Dark eyes glanced up into the mirror before him as he watched the outline of his hair, fall perfectly around his shoulders. In the background was the pulsing beat his dear sweet focus had created just for him, playing over a fairly large radio system. It was nestled in the corner of the partially dark room, the curtains drawn tightly around it to protect it from the bright harsh light from the sun. His lips moved slightly with the soft vocals, that had been provided with the music from his dearest sweet Jade. Davey's melodic voice rose up, and completely and perfectly matching the vocals with a higher pitch, one that could not be competed with. His Jade had a pleasant voice, but it was nothing like his, never as strong or as moving as his own siren call. But it could be shaped and form, perfection is easily attained with a helping hand, and Davey would be there every step of the way to shape and mold, his muse. For where was a God without his right hand man?

But he had wasted enough trivial thought over things that constantly wracked his ever running mind. He should be worrying about more important issues at hand, such as the location of his guitarist. The thin man had been disappearing on end almost around the same time once a month, Davey knew the vanishing act coincided with the patience his cohort had with his iPod. The constant buzz of the small white machine around Jade, was a simple comfort in a sea of movement and noise but Jade could only put up with the music for so long until his mouth watered and his hands itched for some new music, for any kind of music he could get. But the man had better taste than to search among all of the levels for the music that could quench his thirst, and David knew exactly where he went for it each and everytime. Another guitar genius in the sea of music, Ray Toro. It's not that Davey had anything against the callosed fingered, fro sporting man. No, it was against the frontman of that fastly rising band.

Gerard Way was a source of bain for Havok, he was slowly encompassing all of David's fans under his own message. His own words brusting forth from each line and each word that passed through that mans mouth. He was taking his Dark Flame and turning it into his Black Parade. All of the followers of Decemberunderground were leaving it's hollow and icy depths, leaving the Despair Faction boards, and their AFI band merch at home, and for what? To pull on Way's arm bands, to paint their faces like the dead, and ink their bodies in the words of Revenge, Bullets, and the Parade. They chose to repeat not the soul searing, heart wrenching and utterly enchanting words of Davey Havok himself, but to repeat the screaming, raw, farfetched notions of a man who repeatedly falls to his knees and can't help but to lead his troops through the eyes of the Patient, whom never know that they are not following the Patient, but their new god, Gerard Way.

What drove him to that sweet and simple edge of insanity, was that these children, his fall children, were falling over each other to listen to the words of a con artist, a simple man who could never compete with the one they should be worshipping. They should be falling at his feet. They should be attending his shows, to hang on his every word, and they should bow down before him, and catch him as he walked over them. To feel lucky to even be touching the dirt on his shoes, to have their hands in the air just to brush against his perfect and hairless body, to feel whole just from a smile from their God. For that is what he is. He a God among men. A specimen of perfection and transcendence, that all of the infected of humanity should praise, and beg to be taught in his ways. Only one has ever come close to his purity, and he has been cultivating him for many years now, his Jade. But his exquisite companion, sometimes comes to close to falling and failing, and this happens once a month. If Gerard Way, were to just open his eyes and glance at Jade's way, then he would fall to his knees before the man.

There was another issue clinging and hooking itself around the shoulders of the flawless singer. And that issue came in the form of two influencial musicians in the scenes of their own music. Pete Wentz and Gabe Saporta, two leaders trying to get their own messages out, one with the words of the Cobra, and the other through another voice a softer and easier one to listen to. But because their words and messages are hidden by snappy catch phrases that will soundtrack stores like Old Navy and Abercrombie and fitch while the masses worship it for making the countdown of TRL, it will never be like anything his soul could pour out onto that paper. His words were not hidden by thousands of phrases and yet they were not written outright on the paper for the world to see, the message that is AFI came together to create an ambient tune that would grace the lips and ears of many.

And once again the great Davey Havok was getting sidetracked once more. He had one more important task and venture on his hands, and that was getting his guitarist back from the clutches of the leaders of the Black Parade. His lithe body stood up from the seat in front of the vanity, and glance himself over once more. He had to be perfect for his visit, had to look delectable and make all eyes wander to him, right in Gerard Way's territory. Smirking at his reflection, Davey wiped a single finger underneath both eyes to make sure his eyeliner wasn't smearing too badly, already, and turned to leave the room, vinyl clad behind moving gracefully and cat-like from his bedroom. The look on his face and written across his eyes was feral and alluring. Many would stop and stare, he knew, but he had a goal in mind and that goal would be met tonight.
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