dearestaeneas
nature, i guess
writer, student, comic book asshole. i do writing requests/commissions- feel free to message me for info! (she/he)
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my dealer: got some straight gas 🔥😛 this strain is called Ancient Roman sexual mores, you'll be ēbria ab tuā cucurbitā
me: yeah whatever. i don't feel shit
5 min later: a man's status as a fully gendered uir is not only not compromised but in fact bolstered by his penetration of other males
my buddy Gaius Valerius Catullus, pacing: Ō Mēmmī bene me āc diū supīnum / tōta īstā trabe lēntus īrrumāstī 😭😭
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hiiiiiiii. lil update. book stuff is gonna be labelled “abc” (ardan, branwen, celeste) from now on. book’s still titled Hauntingly Human! new tag for the sillies, though. okay loveyoubye
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April 25.
Two weeks left. I just have to make it through two more weeks. I hate to admit how appealing unemployment is beginning to sound. I should be more worried, but it’s not as though I’m paid enough to cover my bills, anyway.
I cannot wait to be free of this place. It’s been…different lately.
But I’ve been here for years. Maybe it always felt like this, and now that I can see a finish line, something unconscious is trying to take it all in in these last moments.
Still, though. It’s like the roof is buckling over my head, like the air itself is boxing against my ears. I sound crazy. I know I sound crazy, but it’s like the building itself can sense that I’m leaving. Maybe the headaches are the only way it knows how to tell me.
Three years. I have worked here for three years.
I’ve spent more time here than anywhere else. And they pay me less than minimum wage to do it.
I’ve reflected a lot on my last few shows here. I doubt I’ll ever get a job like this again. I’d like to be paid, but I’ll miss knowing the gallery more than anyone else.
There have never been themes between exhibitions before. Our last big show was from an illustrator and puppeteer. Lots of kids came in to see that one, and I loved calling out from the desk, “Would you like to see one up close?” when I saw them get just a little too close to the stanchion. The kids were usually shy, but their associated adults would respond enthusiastically. Graciously.
I would cross that border between exhibit and audience: the only person allowed to do so. I would let them choose a puppet, and then I would make it dance for them.
I would make it wave. Sometimes, I made it speak.
I let them pick as many as they wanted, and they never crossed closer into my world. I would lift the marionettes from their pegs, reverently.
When I locked up for the night, I would turn off the stage lights of the puppet theater first. I don’t know why. It wasn’t convenient.
I would never look into their space after those lights were off. Not if I could avoid it. It felt…wrong. They weren’t meant to be seen like that. They weren’t meant to be viewed when they were asleep and so far away from the next performance.
I did look once, though. I even took a photo. I liked the cool, dark light on them, the way the varnish on the wood still shone in such low light. Their faces weren’t cruel, they didn’t change. I know that.
I also know that that photo was not blurry when I took it.
Whenever I tried to zoom in on their faces after I left, it was like they had looked away at the last moment.
I had felt personally offended whenever someone called them creepy. There was a public safety officer who often came in to bullshit with me and walk around the gallery. He called them creepy. He talked about the job like it was a burden. A burden that the marionettes made so much worse.
I think he was hitting on me. He always stands around, waiting. As if he has more to say to me. I pretend to not notice. I pretend to be busy. I agreed with him when he called the puppets creepy, or that the job was a pain. It was easier. Made everything go faster.
I apologized to the marionettes once. He just didn’t understand, I explained. When a patron told me they had scared her when she was younger, I praised them. Being from a culture that values this sort of thing for storytelling helps, I suppose.
I didn’t take any photos of them after that one time. I always said goodnight, though.
I hope they were packaged well when the show ended. I know the correct protocol, but I mean actually packaged well. Were they handled with the care I would have shown?
This show doesn’t have the same heart. Some senior art student bullshit. Lifeless. Soulless. Just like the kids who make them, no doubt.
One girl yelled at me because she misplaced her prints. I saw her project in full today- it’s a fake ad for gum. She didn’t even have the decency to make something good after treating me like that.
There is one piece, though, in a sea of fake-deep graphic design, that hints at being created by someone with some kind of light behind their eyes.
It’s a sheep.
It’s massive. And it’s hanging from 13 feet above. Its wool is golden, and its hooves look as though they were taken from the real thing.
There are smaller accompanying pieces next to it, one of which is a digital print of a golden sheep with a halo around it, and the other is a small embroidered portrait, featuring the same golden lamb, although much smaller. Two red strings fall from it and fill a vial beneath, the blood in all its shades swirling within.
I wonder how much the largest part, the hanging sheep, weighs. It is suspended by ropes. Not the thickest, sure, but ropes nonetheless. It hangs from what I assume is a handmade wooden bracket.
I was not here for its installation. What hangs from the ceiling now is nothing like what I imagined when I first saw the draft prints.
I do not know how the artist made the eyes look so realistic.
#anway. i have two weeks left at my job.#original writing#original story#first person pov#first person writing#writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#short story#original short story#gallery#gallery work#unreality#suspense#creepy
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3rd international tumblr mutuals forum; panel topic 'who was the most impregnatable roman senator'?
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lana del rey was actually invented in 88 bce when lucius licinius lucullus hallucinated every lyric in order while he marched on rome with sulla. admittedly the lines about his pussy tasting like pepsi cola were somewhat lost on him due to it not being invented yet but he understood the idea perfectly
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thinking about how the aeneid is accused of just being the iliad and the odyssey. do you not see that that’s on purpose? how history can only be written by the victors and aeneas is very much not that? that the aeneid is about how he loses his humanity to be a tool for the glory of others? that aeneas forgets what he sees on the shield so that he, and all of italy, becomes trapped in a cycle of not being able to learn from the past, because his past never actually mattered?
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have you ever thought about writing big time rush fan fiction?
ruchika get out of here
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was going to say does anyone else miss the spectral absence of atticus but like. the 43 bce letters just have a different type of spectral absence of atticus
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Artiste Jodie Herrera. (Venus de Willendorf)
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Minoan household shrine discovered at the archaeological site of Hagia Triada, Greece. 1600-1450 BC.
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the polyamory couldn't save them in the end. but it matters that it was there
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