#they told me to read a fucking poem i liked to get my mind off shit
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#pro tip#do not use online recommended tips for controlling your anxiety#they told me to read a fucking poem i liked to get my mind off shit#and now im breathing wrong and crying and shaking and clammy for two reasons#it wasnt even a sad poem or anything it is one thats always brought me joy#but like thats the thing about depression its gonna make you not enjoy the things you love#and you forget how to love them because it takes your memories your thoughts it takes everything#and iky im like this its anxiety its depression its a (open) secret third thing thats worse than both combined#and i cant will it away with a lovely poem at least not this one maybe but every pretty word i can think of rn#they taste acrid its burning my throat it feels like the worst heart burn yet because it feels like my heart is on fire#and the smoke is suffocating me from the inside out#and im screaming im screaming but no noise is coming out the soot is choking me the ashes are all that’ll be left#i wonder if i’ll be exhausted extinguished still existing by the end of this#because i have to believe theres an end even tho i cant see it rn#its like god in a sense because i have to have faith in the ever unknown#but i have a shitty relationship with religion with devotion specifically#i cant like myself much less want better for her#i miss the person i was before#i see pictures and i looked happy and i was bigger but i miss her#every year i mourn the person i was and the person i couldve been and i hope the best for who i might be but i dont have any hope myself#anyway wake me up when september ends please i need to put this month behind me#more than that im a coward and i was raised in a nonconfrontational household that never resolves issues just#spend three days being weird and moody w each other and then pretending like it never happened#i was set up w the generational trauma and homosexuality like pick a struggle god said no <3
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Paper Trail
Kyle x Poet!Reader
Story: Being too shy to confess face to face, you decide to give Kyle a challenge to figure it out himself.
Gender neutral reader!
Requested? No!
TW: Cartman.
Note: P2 anyone?
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He sighed loosely, sulking off to his locker. Valentine's day was coming up and everyone had someone to celebrate it with... But not Kyle. Not poor, sweet Kyle.
Three days til... He thought glumly, opening his locker. To his surprise, a piece of paper fluttered out. He grasped it quickly, desperately, even, to read it.
Hope you don't mind,
I want to be your valentine.
Each day brings a poem,
Each day gives a hint,
Find me out early and you might earn a kiss!
Three days' all you have,
Now here comes the hint!
You know who I am,
Just as much as I know you.
Maybe ask a friend or two,
Like someone in a hat that's red and blue.
Xx,
Your secret admirer
Kyle felt his heart soar abruptly, reading the note over and over. He slammed his locker shut and leaned his back to it, note pressed to his chest.
So the hint was with Stan, huh? He thought excitedly. This was it! He would get a Valentine! He dashed off to the lunch table his clique shared to talk about it.
Quickly grabbing lunch from the line, he slid into his seat and spoke quickly, "Stan! I got a Valentine's poem in my locker and it says you have a hint on who wrote it!"
Stan, who was sipping his milk, choked on it at the statement and shot milk out of his nose. Kenny instantly burst out laughing. When the coughing fit ended and the ravenette settled back down, he glared over.
"Yeah, I do. But next time wait til I'm not drinking something?!"
"I neeeed that hint, though! I have until Valentine's day to find out who it is!" Kyle brought up, shovelling a spoonful of corn into his mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, here you go..."
Stan scoffed and recited what he was told.
"We share our pottery class."
"Pottery class?" He remained puzzled, but kept it in mind for the rest of the day.
"Hah! Some fucking sissy in a pottery class likes Kahl!" Cartman wheezed, "Probably a dumb trick to make fun of him being a lonely jew!"
"Shut up, fatboy! At least I have a valentine!" He sneers back.
"AYE!"
So lunch came and went, the poem still on his mind day in and day out. In pottery class, he eyed around at every person there. He had to weed out just who exactly wrote that poem!
He knew it couldn't be anyone he didn't know, so a majority of the class was off the table. He couldn't recognize the handwriting either so it can't be any of the guys there.
The day ended and like in school, the romantic words written just for him were locked in his brain all afternoon and far into the night.
Morning of the next day came and he rushed to his locker for the next note. Sure enough, it was there!
Two days to go,
You should find your flow,
Like the way your curls dance in the wind.
Never in my life, would I give such advice,
To a boy that's as charming as you.
So get hint number two,
That's all I ask of you!
Find what you can,
Piece by piece, that's my plan.
Ike should know the next hint.
The kid has lots of wit.
Xx,
Your secret admirer
Kyle chewed at his lip and looked over a paper where he had written the names of his pottery classmates. Who does he know that knows Ike and shares a pottery class with him? He narrowed down more people by crossing our more names.
He groaned and set his head on his desk. The others looked at him sympathetically (except for Cartman, who started laughing his ass off.)
You give a slight smile to Kyle and his struggle, shaking your head and slipping out of the doorway unnoticed...
.
.
.
.
.
.
The day came and the final poem was received...
The final day's come.
Hope you found my game fun.
I saw the frustration that was on your face...
But now it's time to show my shape.
Go to locker 3.2.5,
Place a note with my name inside.
At 4:23, head down Cherry Street,
Turn the corner and me you shall meet.
His breath shuddered as he slid the paper into the designated locker and left to start his school down, a determined smile on his face. He hoped he got it right... He spent so long trying to figure it out.
.
.
.
.
.
You paced around the corner. It was 4:18 and he was nearly there, you presumed. You gripped the paper from the locker that has your name on it. He got it right... And that was about to be proven to him.
.
.
.
.
.
Kyle took a deep breath. 4:22, and he rounded the corner.
.
.
.
.
"H-Hi, Kyle..."
#south park x y/n#southpark#southparkxreader#south park x you#kyle#kyle broflovski#kyle broflovski x reader#kyle x reader#south park x reader
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baldur log day 1 + 2
day 1
i dont have much to show for this day visually bc i wasnt actively documenting... but essentially, i:
made my character, went through the beginning tutorials and stuff, took the little brain guy with me, saved shadowheart, and crashed on the beach. then i stopped playing. here is the only image i took before i got off LOL
day 2
ok. so:
shadowheart is cool as fuck. i LOVE her already. cannot wait to strengthen the social link with her or whatever the hell you call it. get the friendship numbers up.
this fuckass poem had me dead:
shoutout the bitch queen ig whoever you are. keep serving
also i love this fucking guy. i can tell hes a conniving fuck but ohhhh hes kinda hot though!
like why is he kinda cunty.
but yea anyways he joined my party.
also met this guy. gale. he is strangely charming. but he also gives me zephyr breeze vibes (which is bad) and jack sparrow vibes (which is very good). told my friend speves that and that i thought he looked like a smart himbo and she was like "i dont blame you for that read" + "we'll see" which i Dont Know how to take. my judgements were based off the literal first minute of conversation btw
+ really stupid visual glitch i almost didnt notice. theyre fusing
shadowheart talk your shit man.
"just waiting, like a lovesick puppy?" ...... thats a bad thing? whatever you say man. gonna scare shadowheart with commitment. COMMITMENT JUMPSCARE BOO
also little parentheses shadowheart is the most fucking dementia raven way ass name and i love it but it was hard to take it seriously for a little bit. warrior cats ass name.
also i got crazy fucking lucky with my rolls. dont have many screenshots but i kept getting high numbers it was lucky as shit up until gale talked to me about needing to consume magical items like crack
i read his mind with the mindflayer tadpole and found out it was cus he consumed some crazy ass Dark Magic or something, got a critical failure first, then just used some inspiration i had to get it right, and rolled high as shit LMAO
hit the rolls TWICE btw. read his mind once and then went deeper into his mind which had a 15 dc and got that too. hell yeah baby.
also afterwards i was totally honest with him about reading his mind and he freaked the fuck out which fair i read your mind. i get it. but still
then i calmed him down by being like "hey man i had to know. youre dangerous" and passed the persuasion check :sunglasses: easiest game of my fucking life
oh i talked to shadowheart abt her pains before that which was cool every conversation i have with her makes me like her more.
i met wyll. great guy. i went to camp to long rest and he dropped some INSANE fucking knowledge on me. like. i could live by this
so i switched gale out in my party with him LMAOOOOOOO
and had a conversation with astarion about how hed kill me if i started turning. i asked what he would prefer personally and he said decapitation. which was CRAZY. so i was like yeah sure king decapitate me if i turn. do your thing. i trust your judgment
also talked to shadowheart bc i will seize every chance to learn more about her
then i left camp, talked to kagha while looking for a healer, got them to free a tiefling girl through more persuasion rolls (BECAUSE IM GOATED) and talked to the healer nettie who was fixing a Regular Bird
she told me how strange it is that we arent turning, to swear on my life id drink a poison if i saw any symptoms (which i of course agreed to, shadowheart approved and astarion did not) and stopped playing on the way to rescue halsin. fun times!
p.s. days doesnt necessarily mean im playing this daily but rather just what happens when i play per irl day... days just works as a way to categorize tbh
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A B S T R A C T I O N
October is a
conspiracy
cold covering the
mind like
kudzu vines
i’m ready to take a
stab at those March
winds
maybe fly a damn
kite with the
kids
that's when the
absurd dream
sets in
dreams from the
silver resort
...for all the glory
there must be a
secret golden
truth
hiding in black halls
of unknown
hospitals
to bend
around rebellion
&
smash dark windows
&
piss on golden truth
while Buddha sits like
a lump of lying shit
damn!
how you messed up
my life for years!
to get caught in a
cycle of daily
paralyzation
plastered to an
easy chair
you watch from a
grand vantage point
while i’m rolling in
the mud
thirteen times you
nailed bad news onto
my chest
13 times you cut my
sentence off with a
razor
thirteen times
&
times
&
times before that
time is meaningless
don’t you know?
you know about your
blue veins popping
in my neck?
i grunt
&
take a shit
while boiling water in
the shower
it burns like hell!
that's just the way
she likes it
i can’t take the
heat
i step backwards
&
tell her she’s
insane
my brain tells me to
write this poem
some sorry attempt at
earthly immortality
i recon
the effort is met with
anxiety
&
dread
well
that’s not true is it?
it’s interesting
(for me at least)
to scan meaningless
words
slammed together in
random patchwork
growing this dead
thing
from inside out
it’s been done before
probably many times
but i’ve never
so fuck off!
oh
non reader
if you click on this
pretentious shit
&
read my words
i won’t believe you
i’ll say you’re a liar
because there’s
something in the voice
makes me feel sick
so
i went and got a
broken ankle
while trying to
run away
run from that
sound
it's a good
thing
i didn't elect to
come here every time
or we’d all be
chewing onions
nothing in hell
could evoke
such madness
was it a scheme
i’d fallen into?
you hermit!
spiritually poor!
a reject!
desperately scrawling a
biography for a
life un-lived
with nothing but loose
powder on the
ground
eyes burning
&
snow blind
light comes to drink
me up
when the darkness is
just too much
i see your face
burnt into my
eyelids
i drink your beautiful
soul
i do!
Kathleen comes to me
with a gut punch
(love)
to knock my
soul out!
i met you with the
crazies
while you cut hair with
the keys in the
hidden room
you even wiped their
asses
wiped their
hearts
the one with
cancer
the one who killed
a horse
the one who
sketched your house
the one who danced
with me
the one who
loved you
the one who
hated me
in that dusty brick
hallway
making greeting cards
with your left
while you
scrubbed dishes with
the right
you don’t copy anyone
don't dance around
the subject
you face this shit
head on
we were with
the crazies
now we may be
them
so now i drive to
these houses
houses of dying
people
or
dead people
a grieving
old man told me
(with a grin)
that his wife had
given up the ghost
thought about it the
whole drive home
i know
what that meant
but i’m not sure
i also met a
15 year old boy
with cancer
he hasn't given up
the ghost yet
i’m not looking forward
to that day
i’ll pick his stuff up &
tell the family
i’m sorry
i have a feeling they
won't be talking about any
ghosts on that day
the dying boy’s gun is
cold metal black
he knows a dude
with night vision
goggles
that guy doesn’t play small ball
he told me
even the fat
cross eyed
retared kid gets a
bronze metal
&
a pat on the
back
he’s a first place
winner
so fire up a
glitchy video game
blow into the cartridge
&
remember childhood
even though it’s not
for human consumption
we smoked that shit
all day
&
all night long
i think i’m still
a little fucked up
from fake
still
i’ve never beat a
video game but i’ve
watched a warped
videotape full of
tracking lines
just as in my fever
dream
i see the demons
ripping apart the
people i love
&
i wonder if the
angels eavesdrop on
conversations
about us not believing
in them
do they dance to
our music
&
read our fucking
poetry?
now with our lineage
traced back for
200 years
&
our children's hands
bent behind them
the president checks
his email
it cracks me up
when I think that
nobody will be
here in reality to
make
an official report
when the world
finally ends
screaming
&
clawing!
i have zero idea
what poetry
actually is
brain droppings that
most people can’t
stand
i’d bet money
on it
this poetry is
Clint Eastwood movies
in VR headsets
while the president
still checks his
email
get it?
now the ashtray is
overflowing
&
it's only 8am
my lungs are full
of snot
&
i’ve deleted my
Facebook
thank Jesus
too many trash
bags to count
truck broke down so
there's no way of
hauling all the
shit off
listening to classical
music to drown out
the world
&
its buzzing
bullshit
all week i look
forward to writing
this garbage
composing in little
bursts between work
&
sleep
i’m already sick of
oxygen tanks
&
people struggling
to breath
i don't know how
doctors look death
in the face
everyday &
come home to their
mansions
&
sleep like
babies
now there's soggy
cereal spilled on the
counter
&
no one better be up
&
awake before coffee
has been
chugged
i ask
how does a man
keep discipline?
keep his mind in a
straight line?
to stop flashing
between Channels?
trudging through a
marsh full of sin
&
nasty devils
the number of the
beast is 100%.
with all the cut
sensitivity
that's
blood red under
the foreskin
with a closed mind
i listen to the
Dracula soundtrack on
repeat
through my
earbuds
coffee is my
life’s blood
weed don’t hurt
me either
beans with hot water
&
dried up plants
lit on fire
the amazing instant
life changers
i know that everything on
this earth
is a ministry
we wake up in the
cold morning
with outlandish
expectations
hopes that people
will stay in their
own lanes
&
not just walk with
confidence into your
unlocked home while
the woman is
still fast
asleep
to this degree
everything is
wrong
how unpredictable this
motherfucker
can be is
truly stunning
i think i will
withdraw into
abstraction
deep
absurd
uneducated
abstraction
#poem#poetry#original poem#original poetry#spilled ink#typewriter#artists on tumblr#art#digital art#drawing#daily poem#poemsociety#poemblr#poets corner#tumblr poetry#my poems#prose poem#sad poem#poems and quotes#poets of tumblr#poetic#poems on tumblr#poems and poetry#poets on tumblr#poetsandwriters#spilled poetry#poetrycommunity#writers and poets#prose poetry#spilled poem
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I am not seeking any validation. I was wrongly portrayed by someone here. So I just wanted to make my stand clear. That's all. What would I gain by being acknowledged as his tf/fs. Nothing.. Nada.
I think it is a bit harsh to judge a person whom you haven't even met in real life. If being honest felt like I was trying to be a wanna be I don't know what to say.
Earlier I said I was feeling all angsty and heartbeat rising up. I took some time off. I needed some solitude to reevaluate my thoughts. Why would I hate a person who has no idea of my existence? The best thing to do is to detach. I felt better after that.
Everyone is reading only the parts they want to read. It is always the case. He is not even my type. I would rather have chosen Namjoon or yoongi who are actually my type if I wanted to "fantasise" as being a BTS fs . We don't even know if they will ever marry at all. So why JK? I am not someone to fall for all that grandiose.
I don't watch his lives nor his videos nor his interviews. Out of all the lives he has done I have seen maybe one ? Still you say I am obsessed with him. Tell me how?
Aww he is so good looking he sings so good he is good at everything, he is the heartthrob of millions of girls. Let me make him my fs. So that I get some leverage. U think this is the case for me?
Why would I want him as my fs. Is it money? I would rather use mine. I would only want things which I can afford. So pls. Is it the status he holds in society? Again no it is not it. Is it the looks, nope. I am sorry. Also pls don't ever fall for looks guys. It is not everything.
Do I spend hours looking at his photos or videos? again nope. Still there is some undeniable pull. I can't explain. Pls don't start picking me on it. I beg you.
I can't say if I have a connection to him unless I meet him right? I repeat I did not talk like yeah I am his tf what about it. I just wanted to write there (on YouTube) as a warning to other girls who might be having similar experiences to be wary of what they are experiencing and to be mindful and now I am a wanna be??
I don't care if the whole world is against me. If I am truthful to myself it is enough. To people still nitpicking on me I have nothing to say. Pls stop trying to portray someone as this and this when you don't actually know them in person. It is easier to point a finger.
On an ending note I will write a poem here
Can I love you?
Not for what you are;
Not for what you were;
Not for what you are going to be;
Can I love you
For just being you?
Oh! Let us rest for some time,
Letting go of all this chase,
On my mind all day;
Can't free myself from you,
You are the drug that keeps me high;
Baby you are my fantasy,
I am too drunk on your love.
It is a lame poem but I wanted to end this post on a good note. Bye!!
Why do you feel such a need to justify yourself anon ? If you wanted to talk privately with me i can answer not anonymous asks privately and my DMs are open.
The reason why people on the blog currently act about you as if you were a wannabe is because according to all the information you have given them anon, you are one. YOU are the one burying yourself deeper and deeper in your justifications. It would have been enough to just read my PSA silently. If you felt targeted that is between you and your conscience. If you are the person I think you are, i told you specifically what behaviors you had and why they would put you in danger. You chose to act dodgy again, not my problem. You chose to come here multiple times, to justify yourself for no reason, to expect emotional labor from strangers.
Im gonna repeat myself again, but i dont give a shit about what you think or dont think yourself as.I dont give a shit wether you are more attracted to jungkook or yoongi or namjoon. I DONT GIVE A SINGLE FUCK ABOUT YOUR YOUTUBE HISTORY EITHER.
What i care about is your actions. And what you did, anon, is repeatedly come into my asks box bc you felt targeted and wanted to justify yourseld repeatedly for things no one accused you of but your conscience. And if you are the person i think you are, your actions are trying to create "hints" inviting people to think you are jks fs, or at least a bts fs. Repeatedly. I warned you of the risk to be harassed or bullied, of falling into spiritual psychosis or obsession. All the cards are in your hands now.
I will not take this matter publicly anymore. You either come talk privately in my dms or I block you, but I will not play this public,guilty telephone game anymore.
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Genuinely the academia fic makes me want to read every poem you cited!! Oh my god. Obviously I looked up Staying Quiet and I had a moment of stunned silence and wonder that you specifically knew the poem and exactly where it would be at home. Insane. Also reminded me of other great academia AUs in that now I almost want to write my english lit end of semester essays, thank you for the motivation. Anyway I'm here and not in the AO3 comment section because in the author's note at the start you mentioned having planned out what the characters would be doing and since you were on point with what you showed I am so so curious what else you've got for this setting 👀 in any case thank you so much <3
up top, thank you so much!! amongst my friends, i am a known poetry heaux. i go to poetry readings and feel my feelings; my partner got me a necklace that's engraved with a buddy wakefield quote. i have one of his collections signed to me. i fucking Love poetry.
hieu minh nguyen is one of my personal favorites and something was pinging around in my skull being like "hey! listen! there's a poem from them that perfectly fits astarion!" it fell Perfectly into place, shout out to my adhd background thoughts that were So Sure that hieu minh nguyen's poem should be there.
i'm going to put the rest below the cut, because. i have A Lot of thoughts and feelings
let's start with what i directly used in all my visions converted to blurs:
wyll is a low-rung english professor at a state school when he Could be at an ivy league bc of his dad’s nepotism. but wyll doesn't want a position his dad gets him, obvi. i want wyll to want to be out of his father's shadow, damn it.
(ulder is dean of a business school at an ivy league in my mind. it just fits. as a person with an english/linguistics degree: ulder ravengard has hella business major energy.)
astarion has taken a year or four off from school at this point. i hinted at substance abuse being the main reason that it's taken him so long to graduate from the law program? when he was the same age as his classmates, i think he partied A Lot and ended up having to retake some classes during his undergrad. i think i landed on coke being his chosen vice? idk it's vague for a reason. he's trying to get his life back on track
wyll and gale share an office space.
now here's what i left on the cutting room floor:
astarion is Still older than wyll, but not by more than six years
mizora is head of the english department. wyll has to play nice bc he's waiting to defend his dissertation and she'll be on the panel. she uses this to push her work or responsibilities onto wyll
lae'zel is doing her doctorate in anthropology/paleoanthropology. she's researching ancient war strategies and how social norms impacted them.
minthara is lae'zel's advisor because they'd have a Great dynamic. she specializes in biological anthropology. she can ball park which century any given human skull comes from.
shadowheart is working on her doctorate of psychology and specifically writing her dissertation profiling the susceptibility of cult victims mixed with religious studies to compile information about modern worship
1000000000% there are rumors about shadowheart's personal experience with cults. people say she goes by shadowheart so the cult she escaped from can't find her. she's heard every joke in the book about midsommar. there's some frat boy in the greek row that swears up and down that she bit his buddy hard enough to draw blood when they hooked up.
halsin and jaheira do ecology and agriculture, respectively. environmental sciences people. they both have tenure. halsin runs an internship for wetland management in the summer. jaheira is like a leading expert in soil science.
jaheira told mizora she was a bitch during a whole university department head meeting once and that's why halsin's the department head now.
minsc is literally just a coach. he does not teach Any classes and hangs out with the university's mascot Constantly. he coaches rugby and crew in the summer, basketball in the winter.
gale is a double discipline professor for history and cultural anthropology. So Close to getting tenure. his rate my professor score is mid as hell bc students either love or hate him because boy does this man drone onnnnnnnnnn
he's been on like four different digs in egypt and will talk about them at length but does that thing of "my second time in cairo. wait.... no. it was my Third time in cairo."
i posted this on twitter, but here's the couch lore: the couch in their office is a hand me down from gale's apartment because tara scratched it to hell on the corner of the armrests + the reason why the couch doesn't have any throw pillows is because gale didn't want to be tempted to nap and he already has a terrible time maintaining a work life balance
karlach is in sports medicine. she coaches the track team and works with weightlifters that have olympic aspirations. she was good enough to go to the last summer games for weightlifting, but an accident with a treadmill that she doesn't like to talk about prevented her from going.
she still has beef with gortash because he was on the shortlist for open spot availability.
she's Convinced that he's on steroids
#lana talks#'behind the music' for all my visions converted to blurs#look i built this whole sandbox in my mind but only used a shovel and one of those molds you press sand into?#if that metaphor makes sense
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Babylon 5 S01e16: Eyes
First
Previous
Shaal Mayan is coming back! Maybe this time we will get to hear one of her poems. She's super badass, I'm glad she's a recurring character! edit: Maybe she'll be back next episode? I guess she might have present on the station, but only been offscreen, which would be a bummer.
The motorcycle hobby is potentially cool. And Lennier hanging out with anyone makes them seem nicer by association. He is too good for this world.
Partner (who isn't not watching this episode with me) says "[Garibaldi's] going to be real upset when [Lennier] reads the whole manual and puts it together before he gets back." Don't be too impressed if that's super accurate though; he saw some episodes as they originally aired and half-remembers a lot.
The last gas powered motorcycle is made in 2035. Wow. We're about to enter an era of badass electric bikes! Going ahead and integrating that into my expectations for the future.
Sinclair is right. No one needs a corporate lawsuit.
Garibaldi: "you know me?"
Ben Zayn: "Intimately. Can I fix you a drink?"
Garibaldi: "I don't drink."
Ben Zayn: "Really?! Good."
pffft, hilarious. But also.Everything we learn about psi corps and the rising authoritarianism of Earth's government along with hate groups and xenophobic attacks is painting an increasingly terrifying picture.
Harrison Grey the telepath really wants to be buds. Trauma dumping on Ivanova who does not give a flying fuck. But he cannot stand in the face of her extremely inventive threats.
Don't be mean to Lennier, Garibaldi! He's too earnest, and if you kill him it will start a war.
Ivanova is having the craziest dream.
Ivanova: "Momma?"
Sofia: "Will it makes the voices go away?"
Masked ominous figure: "No, but it will make them sing like birds, Sofie."
Really, seriously wondering if Susan is an undiscovered, untrained telepath. How heritable is the ability??
Ivanova is absolutely adamant that no psi corps will scan her, not for any reason whatsoever. But thankfully, Sinclair's all-night studying binge has revealed a loophole!
Bester (my guy <3) has a hand in this.
It is odd how Ben Zayn wants to be buds with Garibaldi. A stratagem, perhaps, to get the inside scoop?
Harriman cannot help but put his foot in his mouth with his presumptive familiarity. It's the exact right way to put her hackles all the way up. As evidenced by her literal shouting at him. Nevertheless, she's got a lead on arms smuggling!
Sinclair is usurped! Er...relieved of duty pending a full military tribunal, unless Sinclair can successfully maneuver pedantically enough to dodge. Get on the phone with some other officials, Sinclair. But no help is forthcoming from that attempt.
That was a very weird cut away from Ivanova with a drunk, aggressive dude taking a fistful of her hair. Did they cut out part of this episode? Cut back to her successfully kicking the ass of every single person in the bar.
Ivanova: "Going to arrest me, Garibaldi?"
Garibaldi: "No way! I wanna live to see the future."
Sinclair is playing mind games! Was it enough to intrigue Harriman into scanning Zayn?? Yes. He's great at pissing people off and goading them into doing what he wants.
"Colonel, pain."
Sinclair: *knockout punch to the jaw*
Extremely badass, lol.
"Told you. Who called it? Make sure to note that in your blog." - Partner
Whoa, Garibaldi is capable of being gracious and he likes the fancy Minbari power source. Lennier really makes everyone nicer just by being unflappably kind and diffidently confident, as odd as it is. Lennier has been having little bonding episodes with so many characters lately. I will accept any number of future Field Trips with Lennier eps. ^^
to the next!
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I'm currently reading ATA and your writing style is so beautiful and... unique? It's charming and recognizable and always feels so filled with emotion & passion..... I still have some chapters to read but it's already one of my favorite patho fics (and just fic in general) of all times.
If you don't mind me asking, what inspires you? Other writers, or just Things In General! And how's the general writing process for you, if you feel comfortable sharing?
HI BESTIE... SO HAPPY TO HEAR YOU'RE WIKING IT SO FAR... it was the fic i had the most fun writing in a long time even though she Drained me she sucked me dry (not even in the fun way)
and i don't mind you asking... let me see if i can answer you thoroughly...
Inspirations:
i had already given a quick overview [here] but i have a few things to add:
symbolism and surrealism as art/literary currents have been my very favorites since i studied them first in middle school.
symbolism has all these manners to conjure the dream-like, the esoteric, and it's a big thing To Me; so think Baudelaire, Verlaine, Mallarmé...
surrealism pushes that even more and gives a big part to "écriture automatique" (automatic writing) which i will come back to in a sec (surrealism, think Breton, Mallarmé again, a number of "previously" symbolist writers since they all kinda hung out together...)
a number of texts and poems from these movements have in some way a very deep inclination to like... the sensory/sensible/sensitive. about synesthesia in some way (this is very present in Les Fleurs du Mal, where the sense of smell with mentions of incense, perfume, the smell of sweat; the sense of sight with mirrors, reflections; the sense of hearing with songs, whispers, etc etc, are Pivotal themes of the poems.
people have already mentioned it to me (if you were here then, that anon who told me "do you have scent hcs for pathologic characters, you seem like the type to have"... so classic) that my writing & worldbuilding is Heavy on like. The Senses. yeah babey that's my Baudelaire upbringing.
re:écriture automatique, a lot A LOT of parts of ATA have been written as écriture automatique in some way, as I've mentioned in my fic disclaimer, meaning BRAIN OFF. VIBE RECEPTORS ON. it's all about conjuring and bringing to the surface all things from the esoteric, the subconscious, the... subterranean in some way. for me, it works way better when I'm Fucking Tired/really seepy, because the veil between the conscious (awake) and the subconscious (seepy & dreaming) is the thinnest, so words flow more naturally from one state to the other.
this leads into The Writing Process:
ATA was written non-linearly. like ooooh girl. for example i had finished writing chapter 9 before I even had gotten to chapters 1 to 8. ATA was written A Lot as phone notes typed furiously in bed just as i was getting ready to sleep -> because the Flow of words from conscious to un/subconscious was denser then. it was not exclusively written like that and thank god, because otherwise it'd have taken one more year to come out. i cannot Force écriture automatique/Da Flow, and if i force myself to be sleepy in order to write, I'm not going to write at all. so ATA was written as écriture automatique notes/sudden Not Automatique But Really Sleepy notes that then my Conscious Self had to re-work so they actually made human sense & then wove them together with the linear thread of time & canon events.
other things that inspire me that are not strictly surrealism and symbolism are for example Solange Knopff's, Agnes Pelton's, Ernst Haeckel’s, Hilma af Klint’s artworks (all mentioned in the post i linked above). while not about senses/sensory experiences, a very good... exercise I guess? is to describe these visual works with words. the shapes. the senses, again.
i've also recently read david batchelor's Chromophobia, an essay on color theory mostly but which discusses the part and the place of color within sensory experiences, sensory bonds, links, mirrors... very very interesting read btw. relatively short and accessible too.
other inspirations: The Patterns. i do not actively seek, but bear witness to how patterns bodily and natural (= of the body and of nature) reciprocate, mirror, call each other back. it's a big narrative language of pathologic which is Just Right Up My Alley as i have a personal spirituality tied to nature and a "mother" earth in some way, which i think made the writing of ATA easier/quicker/more like. Oh Yeah Bro I'm In My Element.
SORRY FOR DA RAMBLING... hope you enjoyed this horizon tour though and feel free to ask whatever else 🕊️👍
#ring ring (answers)#anonymous#ATA fic#refs#i didn't even say proper thank you i'm wicked... THANK YOU SO MUCH... means so much to me that you think that... worms my heart
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since fob just came out with a new album, i figured i would give you my reaction to it
does anyone care? probably not lol
feel free to read and if not, whatever haha
Love From the Other Side
10/10 love this song, loved it since it came out. this is EXACTLY what i have needed.
Favorite Lyric: I'd never go, I just want to be invited
2. Heartbreak Feels So Good
i know this song came out before the album, but i never got around to listening to it. so this is my first time hearing it.
it was pretty good song for the most part. the lyrics are a little meh, but i do like the "heartbreak feels so GOOD" part. vocals on point as usual. kinda zoned out at one point lol
Favorite Lyric: We'll cry later or cry now, but baby / Heartbreak feels so good
3. Hold Me Like a Grudge
omg… i love this??? so fucking much????????
it has such a good bassline, such a good song to groove to. i think patrick's vocals get a little bit lost in the music, but it still sounds really good. i love the lyrics. i wasn't sure what to expect with this song but i genuinely loved it the entire time i listened to it.
Favorite Lyric: Part-time soulmate, full-time problem / Hold me like a grudge
4. Fake Out
heard the first chords of this song and i was like 'oh, this is gonna be a sad one' and i was right.
the lyrics are such a gut punch. if you're someone like me who kinda lives in fantasy and daydreams to get by, this song hurts a lot. this song reminds me of a lot of a paramore's song - super upbeat but lyrically melancoly. i love it and it almost made me cry.
correction, i was looking over the lyrics for one i liked the most, and i started crying. so… thanks fob.
Favorite Lyric: We did it for futures that never came / And for pasts that we're never gonna change (but honestly there are so many in this song i could have picked any of them)
5. Heaven, Iowa
in the first half of the song, i was like ehh, idk. it was reading like a phil collins song or just like pure 80s, and i was kinda on the fence about it.
but the chorus. omg the chorus. patrick…. THEM VOCALS. seriously he is so good.
i like the lyrics a lot. the ending was fantasic.
Favorite Lyric: Talking to the mirror say, "Save your breath / Half your life you've been hooked on death"
6. So Good Right Now
love the general vibe of this song - upbeat but everything crashing and burning around me. that's me everyday lol
i think the lyrics are so personal in this song. i think we can all relate to changing ourselves for someone else, especially when we love them and want to be with them as long as possible.
song was super fast, kinda wish it never ended lol
Favorite Lyric: I got this doom and gloom in my mind / I got this doom and gloom but I feel all right
7.The Pink Seashell
not really a song, but it was very pretty.
idk where this monologue is from, but… ouch.
8. I Am My Own Muse
very dramatic, reminds me so much of folie.
love the heavy as guitars and all the orchestral instruments too. they had such a dark touch to the whole song.
totally didn't start tearing up at my favorite lyric…. who told you that??
Favorite Lyric: I'm just trying to keep it together / But it gets a little harder when it never gets better
9. Flu Game
fob is really coming for my neck rn dear lord.
as i've kinda mentioned on here before, my ex best friend of 10 years decided to randomly end our friendship and subsequently i lost all of our friends in common, and it's been a bit of roller coaster emotionally. and these lyrics…. fuck me, they are just connecting with me so much.
Favorite Lyric: Oh God, kinda please would you kill me now? or Last night I dreamt I still knew you, you / I carved out a place in this world for two / But it's empty without you
10. Baby Annihilation
first off love that the previous song blended into this one. always a fave of mine when songs on albums do that.
interesting, another poem/monologue on the album. love when pete does his whole speech at the end of a song, but making this it's own is fun.
11. The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)
again, they're trying to make me hurt, that's all i will accept at this point.
this feels like such a nostaligic song, too. god. didn't think this would be the third song on fob's album i would be crying to, but here i am.
Favorite Lyric: I felt you at the beginning / But needed you at the end
12. What a Time to Be Alive
never thought i would full on CACKLE at a fob, but oh my god???!?!??!?!?!?!
i love this. no other words. 1000+/10
Favorite Lyric: 'Cause everything is lit except my serotonin or When, when, when I said, "Leave me alone" / This isn't quite what I meant
13. So Much (for) Stardust
this reminded me so much of marianas trench and how they will make the final song on their albums an accomulation of all the other songs on the album. and i really love that for fob.
this song is such a sad ending, but also not?? like it just feels like almost admitting you were upset all this time, and now you're left with what to do with finally telling everyone how you felt.
seriously so good. vocally, i mean… cmon.
Favorite Lyric: I used to be a real go-getter / I used to think it'd all get better
OVERALL: this is seriously one of fob's best albums to date. it isn't the same as anything else they've released, and it's so much more mature than previous album. musically, it has a lot of similarities to past projects, but i think it takes on a life of it's own and is unique amongst all of their other works. a lot more groovy than i ever expected them to sound like. lyrically, gut punching. thanks for making me cry three times. wish i could see you guys in concert but yall REFUSE to come to philly. and coming to camden does not count !!
i'm gonna go listen to this for another week and half, see yall on the other side lol
RANKING OF THE SONGS
What a Time to Be Alive
Love From the Other Side
Hold Me Like a Grudge
Fake Out
The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years)
So Good Right Now
Flu Game
Heaven, Iowa
I Am My Own Muse
So Much (for) Stardust
Heartbreak Feels So Good
The Pink Seashell
Baby Annihilation
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Hi, I'd like to ask for a match-up if you don't mind. This might be fairly lengthy or idk sorry about that. I use she/her and I think I'm pan although I would much rather not use labels for something as fluid as sexuality. My love languages are quality time and acts if service.
I've been told that I seem unapproachable to those who dont know me, which is understandable since I'm reserved around others most of the time. However, that's not the case at all with my close friends. I'm far more relaxed and expressive around them.
I'd say I have very low self esteem and find nothing to like about myself so I rely heavily on external validation, but only from people who mean somethingto me. I fear being perceived in a way i don't want by them so that sometimes leads to me being insincere with them at the start of relationships.
This will be a cliche but I've had my gifted kid burnout lol. It lead me to have a horrific work ethic like even right now I'm procrastinating on revising for an exam lmao. As for my grades they vary according to how much the subject interests me. Like I score really well on subjects like Math, English and psychology but in subjects like chemistry and physics, they're insanely unpredictable depending on if I liked that topic or not (anywhere from 40-100[which is sad tbh wish I was more consistent💀 also idk the us grade equivalent]) so I'd say interest plays a really important role in my actions.
That being said I gain and lose interest in stuff pretty quickly so it is really hard to talk about hobbies or likes and dislikes lmao. But a general trend that I've noticed is I unironically like pretentious shit lol. Psychology, law, philosophy and literature interest me very much. Other than that I've recently been getting into astrology bc of a friend and it's kinda fun?? Lol. Oh and for what it's worth I'm a Capricorn sun and moon and Virgo rising.
I also really like writing and have a collection of poems, some of which are embarrassingly edgy but in my defence I wrote them while having an emo phase back in middle school. But I still enjoy writing poetry and other short pieces. I also like singing and I think I'm slightly above mid at it idk. Other than that I like spending time with people who don't drain me on good days.
I tend to mess up a lot in relationships bc idk I somehow end up convincing myself I'm not worthy of them so I self sabotage a lot. Idk if this is relevant but I struggle a lot with mental health but I sought help this year so slay. I can also get pretty obsessive over them due to my pretty bad mental health. And uhhh like idk but if those feelings are not returned it just crashes and burns lmao like I end up hating them, which is honestly awful on my part, but I have to hate them too get over them. But eventually that hatred fizzles out into indifference but idk.
But uh sad stuff aside, I love passionately lmao. Like I spoil the fuck out of my friends and people I love. Handmade gifts, surprise trips, playlists or idk, just lying on the bed vibing in silence I just like hanging around with them. I make all of their problems mine and don't stop until I make them go away completely, or if I can't, I feel guilty about it. I'd say I like helping people. I want to be a therapist because I want to help people feel better or at least let them have some semblance of peace. Seeing that my efforts have made someone feel better makes me inexplicably happy.
And after all that would looks matter lol idk. But like it's safe to say that I'm conventionally ugly lmao. But I don't really mind it. I've made peace with it.
Ok that was genuinely long so sorry about that ahaha. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and have a great day!
I match you with...
Jumin.
You're the kind of person that is hyper-vigilant about everything that you do. No matter how you came to be this way, it's something that you're aware of and you have a hard time turning off. You are aware that actions have consequences and decisions can do things to other people. One of the things about being an empathetic person is you are constantly checking yourself. It means that you're a good person who always tries their best, but it also means that you wind up limiting yourself in other ways because while you try to emotionally regulate others, you forget to emotionally regulate yourself.
In that case, you need somebody in your life who knows how to remind you that you come first. It's important to help other people but don't take off all of your clothes in a blizzard to protect somebody else and leave yourself with nothing. So having somebody in your life that knows how to take care of other people is important. It makes you a powerful duo in your own right when you're having a good day, but it also keeps the two of you in check when you need a reminder that you need to be taken care of. Jumin is your man for that reason. He can be there for you and you can be there for him.
You’re passionate, too. You like to create with your hands and that leads to you sitting around with Jumin as you work, and he chuckles in approval, working on his projects at the same time. He loves to watch you make something out of the tools you have! It inspires him to focus harder on the hobbies he has. It’s meant to be methodical... but you remind him that it’s a creative endeavor, too. A labor of love molded by your hands. You inspire your lover every day just by being the person that you are. Love is strong and true, and you never have to be afraid of looking over at him and not seeing the same love-filled eyes. It’s always there in his heart.
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America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It’s always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature that jetplanes 1400 miles an hour and twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I’m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles more so they’re all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor the Silk-strikers’ Ewig-Weibliche made me cry I once saw the Yiddish orator Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don’t really want to go to war.
America its them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader’s Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts factories, I’m nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
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ABOUT JEVA/COLLECTION OF WORK
Hey! I'm who you'll call Jeva!
Jeva is not my irl name, but it is my chosen initials irl. It will work for here!
I'm a novice at writing, but I definitely use it as a coping mechanism. Even further, it's some of my art, and I want to share my art dammit! Even if it usually comes from my pain. Especially since writing is one of my healthier coping mechanisms, and it should be encouraged.
My poems are usually written while having an emotional "high," which so far has only been negative or somewhat bittersweet. Some of my poems were written years ago when I was still a teenager, and I think they contain that specific youth. Two of them (the love poems) were written more recently. I'm planning on getting into writing more as it's always been an interest of mine, just not one I thought was personally achievable. I don't think it's healthy to restrict myself like that, and I'm trying to work on that part of myself to be more free.
The story I'm writing is something I've been planning in my head for years with no idea what to do with. I was hung up on it being just right and everything. so hung up that I became worried that I wouldn't bring it into existence at all! So I decided to just wing it! It's never going to be perfect anyway, so why not embrace chaos!
That was a lot about my writing,
I should probably talk more about myself. I'm 21 year old trans man, and I'm gender nonconforming, so my pronouns are he/they, I'm also bisexual, demi aroace and in a T4T relationship with my boyfriend/partner/comrade of 13+ years. So I'm with all that I'm just a .little gay boy, I don't care.
I'm officially diagnosed with ptsd/left open to c-ptsd, generalized anxiety, major depressive disorder, and autism. So if you're ever looking at my art and wondering "what the fuck is wrong with this guy?" that's just what I have medically recognized. I believe I have more going on, in terms of I think I have adhd/add, dyslexia, a dissociative disorder from trauma, etc...
I want to organize everything somehow attached to here so everyone can have a base to go off of, including myself. I'm okay with people giving me notes on my writing. Depending on what is said, I might implement it into my writing and poetry. It also depends on how what is said is said to me. If you come at me being a dick I probably won't respond well, I don't listen to dicks, I suck them. I believe respect is earned, not given. That being said, if you see anything you believe to be a word error, misspelling, bad or lacking punctuation, grammar errors, it would be appreciated if it was pointed out to me. Sometimes, I purposefully use grammar in a way people may think is off because it conveys the point better. Grammar and language is subjective, and I tell you whether it was intentional or not! As for spelling mistakes and whatnot, as I mentioned, I'm probably dyslexic or idk just illiterate. I legitimately don't see it. It's actually really helpful to have it pointed out. Just be a meany. My excuse for but punctuation is that I legitimately was never taught, like I didn't understand when I was taught and when I asked for extra help I was just told, "well what do you think needs to go there?" So, um, I have a fragile understanding of how punctuation works, I just fake it till I make it. Thank you if you end up helping me!
Thank you for reading this, If you did! I hope you enjoy my chaos!
My poem collection...
My AO3
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Committing to being a Swiftie: [Final] Part X Midnights (Til Dawn Edition)
Song: Lavender Haze
Saved: yes
Best lyric: Get it off my chest, get it off my desk
Thoughts: Read a theory that this was always a break up album... I could see it
Song: Maroon
Saved: yes
Best lyric: How'd we end up on the floor? Your roommates cheapass screwtop rose // the rust that grew between telephones
Song: Anti-Hero
Saved: yes -- but it's overplayed
Best lyric: Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism
Like some kind of congressman?
Song: Snow at the beach
Saved: no
Best lyric: Weird but fuckin' beautiful
Song: You're on your own kid
Saved: no
Best lyric: So make the friendship bracelets, Take the moment and taste it -- You've got no reason to be afraid
Song: Midnight Rain
Saved: yes
Best lyric: & I never think of him, except for midnights like this...
Song: Question...?
Saved: no
Best lyrics: It's just a question
Song: Vigilante Shit
Saved: yes
Best lyrics: Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man // they say looks can kill and I might try // Now he was doing lines, and crossing all of mine
Song: Bejeweled
Saved: yes
Best lyrics: I can still make the whole place shimmer
Song: Labyrinth
Saved: no
Best lyrics: You know how much I hate that everybody just expects me to bounce back just like that
Song: Karma
Saved: yes
Best lyric: I keep my side of the street clean, you wouldn't know what I mean // Karma is a cat purring in my lap cuz it loves me
Song: Sweet Nothing
Saved: no
Best lyric: I write a poem, you say "what a mind" this happens all the time
Song: Mastermind
Saved: no
Best lyric: If you fail to plan you plan to fail // what if i told you none of this was accidental?
Song: The Great War
Saved: no
Best lyric: I'm never gonna meet what what could've been, would've been, should've been you
Song: Paris
Saved: cute but no
Best lyric: I'm so in love that I might stop breathing, Drew a map on your bedroom ceiling
Song: High infidelity
Saved: no
Best lyric: You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love. The slowest way is never loving them enough
Song: Glitch
Saved: Cute but no
Best lyric: "But it's been two thousand one hundred and 90 days of our love blackout"
Song: Would've, Could've, Should've
Saved: yes - since the summer.
Thoughts: Best song of all the extended midnights tracks. Fuck John Mayer. I always scream these lyrics as if I too was in a predatory relationship
Best lyrics: "If i was a child did it matter if you got to wash your hands?" // "Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first"
Song: Dear Reader
Saved: no
Best lyrics: Get out your map, pick somewhere and just run // Bend when you can, snap when you have to
Song: Hits Different
Saved: on this listen
Best lyric: I pictured you with other girls in love then threw up on the street // They say that if it's right, you know. Each bar plays our song
Song: Snow on the beach ft more Lana
Saved: no
Best lyric: weird but fucking beautiful
Song: Karma ft Ice Spice
Saved: no
Best lyric: Karma is the fire in your house // Ask me what I learned though all those years/tears, cuz I'm still here
Overall thoughts: this album got me back into being a swiftie as I liked over half of the original 13 songs (leading me to own the vinyl) and going back to explore more. 9/22
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Benjamin Zephaniah
I woke up especially late today and discovered that Professor Benjamin Zephaniah had died following an ongoing battle with a brain tumour and it wasn't sadness I felt, it was shame. And it hasn't been the first time.
Benjamin Zephaniah has a strange, almost subliminal effect on my mind and possibly the collective consciousness. I don't think about his impact on my life and my creative upbringing and how he was integral to both until he finds his way back into my conscious through kismet. Then I realize what he has done for me in that moment and only that moment.
One time semi-recently, I was rooting through old, wrinkled books in my parents' room to decide what to keep and what to give away. Whatever exact books you are envisioning in your mind right now - let me tell you they were all there. Rankin, Patterson, Gerritsen but not just Sunday Times Bestsellers; C.S Lewis and Roald Dahl featured heavily from my parents' distant past as well.
There was another book that I don't remember owning but was apparently mine. I remember reading it in Year 8 English Lit but never buying it. It was a play called Face by Benjamin Zephaniah, a cautionary tale of how the reputation of a popular boy in school declines due to an accident that disfigures his face despite being essentially the same person.
It is disappointing to report to you, the reader, that my class did not like this play and it not being officially on the curriculum, it was sacked off. What I did as a 12 year old boy was knock one of the class copies of the book to read it in my own time. It was deeply interesting to me on a subconscious level because I grew up with people not liking me and not understanding exactly why.
I had forgotten all about this though and it's only sitting here now and remembering the several instances where my paths had crossed with Benjamin Zephaniah's work. Year 8 (8th Grade) was a tumultuous and impressionable time for me as I was at a crossroads between falling in with a bad crowd or concentrating on my love of books and writing and it's bizarre that that is the trade-off but societally, it is in school. If I hadn't read that play of my own volition, fuck knows what might have happened to me.
I'll share one more story.
Courtesy of De Montfort University
At my university, we had a surprise visit from the man himself where we were all made aware just a week in advance and excitement and tension shot through my veins. The only feeling I think I can compare it to is the combination of giddiness and dread thst cultivates in your stomach before you have your first kiss. It was a 10am lecture which I frequently struggled to get out of bed in the morning for. I was having difficult times in my social life and was suffering with anxious and depressive feelings a lot of the time. Knots and dread every morning. On that day, I was on campus two hours in advance.
I remember waiting in the lobby outside the theater for what felt like a lifetime and getting cold feet. I wanted to head back just because something in my head told me I was undeserving of being there. I don't know why those feelings existed in me but it's probably because I didn't have any questions for him, any books for him to sign and I was too scared to ask for a photo. I regretfully ended up having no interaction with him whatsoever.
As for his talk, he was as great as you'd expect him to be. He talked wondrously about his life story, the background of some of his most iconic poems as well as some perhaps lesser known tidbits but my main takeaway was how humble he was; putting himself below everyone in the room because he has zero academic achievement in his field. If nothing else, its indictive of the false credibility of the mechanics of academia. Especially after he had told us all of world experiences that would make your teeth itch.
From the official social media of Benjamin Zephaniah
And today, like every other time Benjamin Zephaniah has entered my conscious, it has been at a crossroads in my life where I struggle to sleep and wake up for my night job. It has been at a time when there have been doubts on my mind about my creative ability, where I'm going in my writing career and even if I will have one. I woke up to discover Benjamin Zephaniah had passed away and before I knew it, I was reading and watching everything that he had ever done.
And once again, I remember why I do this. Why I love this and why I want to achieve big things through prose and poetry. My will to not leave behind my dreams and accept consumption by the zeitgeist. Especially, in attitudes to how art is commercialized and capitalized in our modern world. Zephaniah preached absolute creative freedom. Anarchy in writing. He never shut up for anyone. He told the absolute truth and told it beautifully, no matter how stark the reality is.
Thanks to him, I will not throw this away.
This wasn't really a tribute so if you want to read one, I'd recommend reading this from my former lecturer, Prof. Simon Perril of De Montfort University.
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I obsess about being fat.
I count back the food I ate in the day before I decide what to eat and if I feel I ate too much I torture myself.
I stopped bringing lunches to work because I felt like if I skipped a meal then maybe I could have more to eat at night
It’s so embarrassing, to actually say out loud. Not because it’s shameful but because I feel vulnerable saying it. Writing this.
I want to count back the food I ate today so badly but I’m writing those poem as a distraction
It’s called urge surfing, you should try it.
Eating disorder brain has BIZZARE rules.
I never drink my calories.
I can’t have SPECIFICALLY chipotle burritos.
I have to eat protein bagels for breakfast.
Just when I say the mental part is the worst and truly mean it, my mind is quickly swayed again back to the torture of the physical part, when you’re so sick, or your stomach hurts so bad, or you want to eat so bad, or you do things to avoid doing worse things
Oh fuck, I think I have an eating disorder.
I’m testing out my theory that saying it out loud and writing it down will make it feel more valid. I guess that’s super common for eating disorders dietician told me, that i, or we?, think we’re making it up or exaggerating.
So ya I still don’t know if I have an eating disorder and idk if I actually don’t or if I do am this is a classic symptom?
I wonder what this will be like to read for the writer? Ugh I don’t want to think about that. I hate thinking about how people perceive me. What they think of me? No, that sounds too shallow. Ugh, I’m worried that makes me shallow, for caring what others think when I really DONT CARE but my mental illness makes me fake care. Which I worry comes off as inauthentic. That wants likes and validation and reassurance that I’m pretty.
I try to set people up to give me validation and positive feedback and praise. I want to be seen in a way that feels intangible. Put words to it. I feel what….
As attractive, funny, smart, cool, well read and spoken, empathetic and kind, cute, hot, beautiful, deep, person
All those things are true
I’m unsure about the physical parts but I want it to be true
So I think I worry they won’t see that because I’m fat and ugly
I’m obsessed with the idea that I’m fat and ugly
I look at myself, at my face, and think about how fat I am
And I hardly let myself look in the mirror naked because I think I’ll be disgusted.
Woooooow that sounded fucked up
Lol
If feels so good to get this out
It sounds disordered and still I feel like this will be embarrassing to read back
Wow maybe getting high and journaling is my catharsis
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Last night i was writing a poem on the 580 east coming back from point reyes. Driving fast to give off an air of confidence. And not an air of “i am actually writing a sort of sad really sad poem behind the wheel of a car going at least 20 mph over the speed limit on the freeway at night”. Its not like i havent learned enough lessons. I know the risks. I have been in car accidents, like more by the age of 24 than most people have in their entire life. And still i am risking my life to write a poem. Is that poetic?ughhhh Maybe but also corny and just self destructive. I have stopped romanticising self distruction mostly. I take care of myself now and find reality quite enough to keep me…entertained? Occupied? Satisfied???? I enjoy making my bed every day. I am disgusted by the vacancy in the darkness that once seemed to promise so much to me.
I think about cars a lot. The potential and power they hold. These big metal dogs. And we can hold their leash for a time and pretend we have control. All day! Every day! As a means to an end! We do this forgetting that the dog isnt really a dog but is a machine and was not programmed for empathy. Because you cant program empathy. Machines areimpartial. Like the ocean or a forrest fire in some ways. Undiscerning. Unforgiving. A carless power…but there is no beauty in cars the way there is in the careless power of nature. Because the earth cares in a very differnt way. It does care. And because behind the invention or creation of the bloodless metal car beast is someone who did care and that is where it starts to unravel.
Whatever.
I find i do my best thinking while driving. I cant stop my mind from making poems. And then there is the desperation to not forget! The words that first fit that feeling! Is it worth dying over? The answer is sooooo obvious when i am judging from here in my bed. What the fuck.
I met two 5 day old goats last night. Behind a tarp in a hutch on a property in santa rosa. I was there to see the art of someone i met once and there was a cheesboard and everyone was middle aged and there were no lights by which to see anyones faces. The tiny goats seemed a cold and were shockingly passive to my touch. It was unsettling that something so young and new and small should trust me. I might have bad intentions. I dont even know my own intentions half the time. I have the power to kiss them or to kill them. The capacity or potential or whatever. Like a coiled spring, like how sometimes you think about saying the worst possible thing but you dont. But you could! But it seemed like maybe it wasnt about trust for the little goats? Like they just dont even know enough to trust or distrust. Like they didnt care. Their hair was soft and white still softer than grown goats but maybe not as soft as a lambs. And they were vaguely oily the way any farm animal is. But not smelly. And they did not shy from my touch. Nor did they really seem to welcome it. I dont think either one would have put up a fight if i had picked it up and left with it under my arm. I think it might have gladly slept in my warm bed with me. Impartial. Undiscerning.
When I saw the goats I played out some sort of fairy tale trade in my head. I lost my baby…so i earned this baby. ? Or something? But i forfeited? my baby. I do not get to take another one. A goat baby to replace the baby i know i could not have. Because because i am not ready? I would not love it the way i want to? The way a mother should? The way it would want? It? My baby. My baby.
Oh what do i know…i am living within a hypothetical. Not that the choice wasnt obvious. But the what ifs are soooo tempting.
The things that i wrote in the notes app on my phone while i was driving last night were mostly about the relief in giving up hope. Hope is so exhausting. My friend told me that they read somewhere that hope is similar to fear in its detriment to the mind and body. And i can attest. Like…the way you let out your breath when a door finally closes. Or when you try on something and it doesnt fit. The decision was made for you. Shows over. The relief in saying goodbye and meaning it.
I was thinking about how there is tissue/matter coming out of me following the abortion. It is somehow more clinical than blood. Less romantic. Grosser. I was thinking about how i had the weird urge to eat it. Maybe because in some way it wouldnt feel like a loss. Like in this way im capable of holding on or something. But whatever that metaphor doesnt even work cause id have to shit one day. But also the urge didnt feel metaphorical…just sudden and disgusting.
In my notes I wrote:
I hold onto the rag i used to clean up the spill of you
I live with it under my pillow
Weeping over whats unsung
Or what is sung and never heard because that is sadder
Repeating the lyrics under my breath
So i wont forget
And i got home and i did forget entirely until I read my note. I forgot all about how i would never sing a song to this particular baby. Or maybe any baby of my own. And how that made me want to break for a moment. A moment. Because longer than a moment might be self indulgent. And i am not broken. I just want to be able to break. For a moment. Like i am asking permission. A moment? Is it ok if i just break? I swear just for a moment i will be broken? And then i promise to put myself back together again just like before as quick as i can as good as i can. I promise. But there was nobody there to ask for permission. So i didnt.
The nurse (the one that wasnt my hinge match) asked if i wanted to know if it was twins.
I whispered “i want a hug” to the dark house. And then i cried for the person who said something so sad.
Like a child.
I am doing better though! I make my bed. I make my bed and and i think i am mostly doing better.
I hold myself up to an old picture for size. I use new language to describe my pain. Or whatever. And share the blame. I take the pill. I forgo the rest. I dont even have sex anymore.
Yea yea but here i am. And the blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere.
I didnt write it all down though. In my head i was turning over a line about waking up in the night and confusing the crescent of the face on the pillow next to me –– momentarily illuminated by the passing light from a car––for the moon
Thinking a lot about the moon. About confusing things for the moon. Man made things or earthly things for that big glowing moon. I dont have a good word for the power of the moon though. It is again an undiscerning sort. Is that power? Freedom from the sway of emotion? Freedom FROM choice? Freedom TO choose is one kind of power but its a human kind of power and it only gets you …to like a certain level of power…And dont get me wrong I am not trying to say that a prisoner is more free than the man that takes the train past the prison….
On my drive I was listening to fulsom prison blues (obviously) and also fast car. And those songs are about chosing. And disappointment. And consequence. The consequences of being human and having choices and how lonely and how insatiable. And freedom also. (A beautiless and boring oversimplification of these bangers)And i was thinking about how free I feel driving a car with a full tank on the open road at night with the windows down and the music up (and i am alone and choose the soundtrack without fear of judgement…) and a cigarette and even if that is some synthetic version or trope of freedom it still feels good when it hits the blood stream and ill take that over nothing.
Because i am girl and not a god or the moon.
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