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I have changed the wording that claims James leeches of GNR to say that he still works with them. I feel that the phrase "leeches off of" may be potentially libelous. WesUGAdawg (talk) 21:37, 2 September 2009 (UTC)[reply]
Any chance someone can add a link so we can access some stories from "The Language of Fear" AndrewHart500 (talk) 10:32, 23 June 2023 (UTC)[reply]
Without YouBy Del JamesAlthough he wanted to share the dance, Mayne could not bring himself to interrupt such beauty. Her well-toned body swayed childlike, peacefully, slowly moving to the rhythm. Her innocence was enchanting, her beauty breathtaking. Mayne knewshe
d be angry at him for sneaking about, watching without letting her know, but the teenage voyeur inside his adult body encouraged him and didn
t care about the consequences. Besides, this was for his eyes only. Her eyes sparkled, reminding him of the ocean, vast with beauty and mystery. A slight breeze danced through her lion
s mane. A full-length see-through dress covered her shapely body and a light glaze of sweat made her glisten. She seemed too beautiful to be real. During this split second of visual euphoria, Mayne conceded that she was the only womanhe ever truly loved. Her eyes flickered. She must have heard me, he thought as she turned toward him. He didn
t want to ruin the beauty, only to enjoy it. Her thick lips smiled sympathetically. Then the song started growing in volume.A sharp twinge of panic shot through him when he realized which of his songs itwas. Cold sweat seeped out of his pores and dread consumed him. His vision spiraled as reality distorted. Breathing became difficult, complicated. Desperation attacked and twisted every muscle in his thin body. Much worse than the pain washis fear. Unsuppressable anxiety swept through him as he started toward the stereo. Everything lost its natural texture; the walls, the floor, the air became surreal. The louder the music, the more difficult he found it to move. He had to remove the compact disc but his feet felt like large concrete blocks. He couldn
t move fast enough. She already had the pistol
s barrel against her temple.BLAMM!Mayne awoke covered in sweat, a mute shriek still lodged in his throat. The past six hours had been spent in a drug-and-alcohol-induced coma that he put over as sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity and was impossible to achieve without some assistance. It didn
t matter whether he slept six hours or six minutes, the nightmare always managed to creep in. No sleeping pill or antidepressant could spare him. He had written the song and was forever damned by it. With unsteady hands, hewiped sweat from his brow and rubbed his fingers against the satin sheets. His silver and gold bracelets clinked together. Rolling onto his side, he stared at the digital alarm clock on top of the black night table that had a built -in refrigerator as its base. On top of the clock was a half-empty pack of Marlboros. He stared at the green digital numbers but they made no sense. It really didn
t matter what time it was anyway, his time was other people
s money. Next to the clock was something more important than cash or time. Slowly he sat up. Tortured eyes scanned the black marble tabletop, searching for any leftover precious brown powder. There were burned matches, bent cigarettes, and empty bindles, but no dope.It didn
t matter. He could always have more delivered. Sitting on the edge of thebed, Mayne reached down and opened the night table
s refrigerator door. Inside were several Budweiser
s, baking soda, and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. He grabbed a cold can, killing half of it in one sip. He did this every morning. Instantly, his aching head began to feel better. Although he didn
t want to admit it, the time had arrived to rejoin the living. He knew he had to be at the studio soonbut didn
t feel up to it. Besides, the recording of his latest album, Alone, had been finished over a month ago. The album was now in the final mixing stages. IfMayne liked what he heard, he
d approve it and the record would be released on schedule. If not, it would have to be remixed until he did approve. So then, what the fuck did they need him for? He procrastinated for as long as he possibly could before finally standing up.Much like his bedroom, the bathroom was a disaster area. Discarded clothes, creams, trash, cassettes, and towels dominated the view. Using radar to locate the bowl, he found the porcelain, fought off the urge to puke, and relieved himself. AndrewHart500 (talk) 03:52, 21 March 2024 (UTC)[reply]
