the problem is,
with his sad lips
and sharp hips,
he draws you
but, he only ever
the problem is,
with his sad lips
and sharp hips,
he draws you
but, he only ever
A phrase I say a lot. I’ve realized though that, more often than not, this phrase prefaces things that I don’t think are very funny at all. But, I don’t have any better words for that particular feeling. I often don’t have the words for it at all. It feels wrong to say that an example of human beings being terrible towards each other or towards the world or towards other animals (because we are, after all, nothing if not animals) is “funny,” but I often can’t explain it any other way.
So, when I say that it’s “funny” that a woman has been persecuted for attempting to prosecute her rapist – I don’t mean that I find it amusing. I mean that I find it horrific and just so very typical of our society and, honestly, not really all that surprising and so I can’t say “I find it odd” or “I find it surprising,” because I don’t. But, it’s so horrific and typical and not surprising in any way that I just say that it’s “funny” instead of crying or starting a petition or strangling the people who actually DO think it’s funny.
When I say it’s “funny” that a black man can be struck by a car and not receive justice because the driver “couldn’t see him because he’s black” and therefore BLENDS IN TO THE GREEN TREES, APPARENTLY, and not ONE PERSON asked what the hell the driver was doing swerving about the road and going on to the shoulder, I’m not ACTUALLY laughing. Really, it kind of makes me want to cry or break something or just scream and scream at the top of my lungs about the injustice of it all until my voice is gone.
When I say that it’s “funny” that a group of teenagers can be so human in one moment to “normal” people, and yet immediately follow that up by saying something is “so gay” or calling someone a “fag” or a “dyke,” I don’t mean that they’re making me laugh with their juvenile antics (though perhaps that would be a better reaction than what I’d like to do). I mean that I find it strange and sad and that it makes me want to find every gay/lesbian/trans student in the country and just hug them tighttighttight and cover their ears and eyes and never let go until they’re old enough to realize that they are beautiful no matter what anyone else says.
And, yes, I do think that these situations are indicative of the state of patriarchal, racist, homophobic saturation that we’ve reached as a society. I do think it’s also indicative of the changes that need to be made. But, apparently, most of all, I find it funny.
Anyway, I just was thinking about that phrase and thought I’d get it out there. Sorry if it’s nonsensical or whatever. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to let me know any phrases that YOU say that are weird or phrases with words that don’t mean what YOU mean when you say them. I’d like to know!
This is going to be a weird dream post, but I wanted to write it down so I could always remember the good bits and pull them out as nuggets for future stories. Feel free to ignore! This is mostly just for me.
I dreamt last night that someone I love was serial murdered. Of course, they were somehow dead/not-dead, and I knew that, so I didn’t act terribly upset. I was also touring a college – Carnegie Mellon, I think? – and the tour guide and president asked me why I wasn’t crying.
Instead of responding, I ran away and found my dead/not-dead loved one and took them out of the ground, pushing aside dirt and rock and washing the mud from their eyes. I brought them into my house, sitting them in the kitchen and grabbing a serrated knife so I could cut open my hand and trace bloody sigils on their flesh to protect them. I brought them back to life and safety with my own life and safety.
I can’t get this image out of my head, of me having trouble cutting my thumb and not being able to protect them with blood magic (I guess I was a necromancer in this dream). My dream was like a choose your own adventure book, because it had one ending where I couldn’t get the regular knife to cut through my skin, so they were taken from me. It also had another ending where I used a serrated blade and successfully protected them, running back to the college just in time to have a screaming, hysterical fit about how they were dead.
Maybe this is unfinished, but I think it stands alone as is. Enjoy!
Anne was certain she’d heard something behind her. Her father had always told her not to go near the woods at night. But, she’d been sharing margaritas and stories with her oldest friends, and one thing led to another as they so often do. The next thing she knew, they were trooping down the road toward the creaking dock, planning to skinny dip in the warm river.
The street was a bare outline in front of her, white light dripping between the leaves overhead. The grey moss draped over the branches blocked most of the moon, but she could still catch a few stars glinting when the wind forced the trees to dance.
She lagged at the back of the group, definitely not thinking about the mud people that lived in the marsh and ate bad children her father used to tell her about.
“Annie, come on! We’re gonna leave you and you’re gonna be all alone in the dark,” Lexi said.
Anne winced at the shrill taunt, waving them on and smiling.
Lexie shrugged and ran ahead, falling back into step, and laughing at some joke Rob had made as they walked on.
She heard the noise again, a rustling in the bushes she passed. She stopped, sucked in a deep breath and held it, considering her options. She could run ahead to join the group, or she could face her fears head on and investigate the noises.
Stumbling a bit, she blew the air out between pursed lips and veered into the trees, hoping to see a squirrel or a deer. Anything to prove her father wrong.
As she walked further from the fluorescent buzz of the streetlight, a moan sounded behind her.
“Alright, y’all, I get it. It’s ‘let’s scare the tiny blonde one’ time again, right? It’s not gonna work! I’m unscareable!”
No one responded.
She shook herself, and thought she heard a sharp crack from the darkness in front of her.
What in the hell is going on?
She pressed onward, pausing every couple of steps, but all she could hear were the 17-year-cicadas screaming in her ears.
She bit her lip and glanced back, but only for a moment. Her chapped lip still firmly caught between her incisors, she looked back at the deer path and noticed a person in front of her, schlumping out of the darkness.
“Rob, quit that. It’s not funny.” Her voice trembled, catching in her rapidly closing throat. The figure, of course, did not respond. Instead, he stumbled towards her, reaching his clawed hands out for her.
Anne automatically stepped forward, putting her hands out to help him if he fell. She didn’t think she’d made that many drinks, but clearly she’d either underestimated the number or overestimate Rob’s tolerance.
She smirked, taking a breath to poke fun at him for being so drunk, but gasped loudly instead when he — it — stepped into the light.
It wasn’t Rob. It wasn’t even human. Its skin looked like melted soy wax dripping from its bones, plopping wetly on the leaves beneath his twisted feet.
“Ho-lee shit. They’re real.”
So, I wrote another thing. Here it is, in all it’s unedited glory. Enjoy.
black out your eyes
lying girl, lying eyes
how bright your eyes (lies) shine in the night.
but, you can’t be a girl
and a liar, too.
that’s what they say over your body
reassurances sung like hymns
rosaries hung like a chrysalis over your bones.
they hope you’ll grow back right.
grow into something new.
just grow, really.
but you won’t, can’t, grow anymore.
not for them.
besides, you always were afraid of butterflies.
I don’t usually like to plan what I’m going to blog about. Sometimes, I just like to write. I sometimes have an idea or a general subject, but mostly I just like to go off, you know? Maybe that’s why my previous incarnation on here didn’t really work. It was too structured.
Anyway, I’m writing this poem and my manfriend, Riley, says he likes it, but I don’t really know how I feel about it yet. It’s certainly unfinished, but I don’t know where it’s going from here. Anyway, here it is, as of yet just called “Rainy days.”
walking past crowds
huddled between the columns,
i feel your hand tugging me
as you whisper secrets into my neck.
i can’t see anyone’s face
past the rain filling my eyes —
past the image you’ve been painting
crowding out my sight.
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