There are moments in my life when every cliche about being adrift in an ocean makes sense; moments where I know nothing, of myself or this world.
There are other moments when, if I find it ridiculous, it is because life has made that understanding inconceivable--or, perhaps, too deep to cast aside completely. In those moments, I am Tessa Gray, I am Cassel Sharpe, I am utterly myself--and the world itself will open to me. Thief and warlock and human, more human than not, that little ocean is far from me, and I will do as I will.
For all such thoughts do not bode well for impulse or temptation, I still know my own heart; and I will still go home one day.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Monday, March 7, 2016
wild: a suggestive pile of quotes
"Toward the end of his speech, Trump can be seen addressing the crowd forcefully. He tells them to raise their right hand and asks them to repeat after him that they will vote for him for president, no matter what.
'Don't forget you all raised your hand, you swore,' Trumps says to the crowd afterwards. 'Bad things happen if you don't live up to what you just did.'"
"There is a great deal of interest in “cults” which can take many forms: They may bereligious or racial, political or mystical, self-help or pseudo-psychological, but they all have half a dozen recognizable characteristics:
- Powerful and exclusive dedication/devotion to an explicit person or creed.
- They use of “thought-reform” programmes to integrate, socialize, persuade and therefore control members.
- A well thought through recruitment, selection and socialization process.
- Attempts to maintain psychological and physical dependency among cult members.
- Cults insist on reprogramming the way people see the world.
- Consistent exploitation of group members specifically to advance the leaders goals.
- Cults nearly always go in for milieu control signals: a different,unfamiliar setting with different rules, terms, behaviour patterns.
- Ultimately using psychological and physical harm to cult members, their friends and relatives and possibly the community as a whole."
http://www.crosswalk.com/family/marriage/12-traits-of-an-abusive-relationship-11606848.html
http://www.hiddenhurt.co.uk/warning_signs.html
I may actually comb this into one long, factually-based essay....but for now, at work, the links are enough. Suffice it to say, it is very clear to me that Donald Trump is a clear representative of most of these traits....
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Wild: War and battle, blood and gore
I am not meant to thrive. I crash and burn and offend and, cuttingly, even harm the people trying to help me. I am unequal to the barest of performance. Today, I am so utterly depreciated of spirit that I empathize with the homeless souls in the streets of New Orleans, understand their reasoning. Empty and hard and too upset for bitterness....
Tears and sobs and wild screams. I hang up the phone and force myself not to crumple onto the cold, snow-dusted concrete. As I enter the suspiciously-empty break room, Kirk comes in, his walk quick and expression agitated. He sits in a chair on the table ahead of my own, the one closest to both window and TV. He carefully says, "Hey. I heard you were a little unwell. Do you want to talk about it?"
I don't want to bother you, I think. Somehow, that care for the fare of other people has surpassed by threatening hysteria. I don't want to further inconvenience the office that I've left on you for too many days as it is, with dying dogs and dreams of adventure and emergencies that level my existence unto that of a child's.
I swallow, saying something quietly to reassure him, my thin voice thick with rib-racking sobs, barely contained; but he shakes his head: "I came to check on you, because I care about you. Do you, err, want to be alone right now? Are you going to be okay to come back?"
I nod. "I will be back," I say lowly. Awkwardly, for it is clear he is torn, he leaves with a little nod.
He is a good person, but I can't bring myself to share. I can't do it. I can't do anything. My fist hurts from pounding it against the wall, throwing myself against the walls in anguish. Shivering from the cold as I sob.
A kindly technician next, also armed with chivalry. Somethin' happened, he says. He's "no idiot." He asks again if I'm all right, if there's anything he can do--and, when I apologize for the inconvenience, he is startled, shaken to his bones. As if the thought of his own comfort didn't occur to him, because he is busy serving propriety and delicate young women who collapse on the street instead. "Don't apologize," he protests sternly. "Just.... you'll be okay? Right?"
I smile and say something comforting to him, and he leaves, clearly and utterly relieved that my effeminate madness has passed me.
Lori next. My coworker, who, along with Kirk, have been unfortunately responsible for teaching me manners these many months, brings in an empty bowl--a pretext that will assure her entry into the empty break room. A shield against my grief. She opts to open with a good-old-fashioned, Kirk told me you got into an accident!! Why didn't you tell me?
Slowly, starts and stops, level voice, I tell her everything. The license, the whole thing. She expresses sympathy. Tells me of a story she suffered through, slipping on black ice, hitting a stop sign--they gave her failure to yield. That it could be me, and she much prefers it was the car that suffers the damage.
I barely force myself to go back. I slip into the bathroom to smear something on my eyes, makeup, so I don't look like a blotchy mess. The tears, unsurprisingly, make my eyes as green as mossy water, as algae, with sunlight streaming through.
Kirk, his feelings hurt by my rejection--poor thing, poor dear, I meant to spare him and hurt him instead--leaves for lunch quietly. I try to smile at him, but it stretches my face and comes out like a grimace.
Trish comes over.
"I'm not trying to upset you," she begins, and waits a moment, as though testing me for stability in case I start sobbing again, "but you flipped--right on K, right? On the way from Stoughton?" I tell her the whole thing, beginning to end. As is the instinct of good mothers, she helps me pick through it: there was freezing rain, right? And this happens ALL THE DAMN TIME. The Stoughton police, she said, would not have deigned to ticket me, this is a regular occurrence--"I'd fight it," she finishes firmly. "They'll probably just throw the whole thing out."
I dearly hope that she is right.
Tears and sobs and wild screams. I hang up the phone and force myself not to crumple onto the cold, snow-dusted concrete. As I enter the suspiciously-empty break room, Kirk comes in, his walk quick and expression agitated. He sits in a chair on the table ahead of my own, the one closest to both window and TV. He carefully says, "Hey. I heard you were a little unwell. Do you want to talk about it?"
I don't want to bother you, I think. Somehow, that care for the fare of other people has surpassed by threatening hysteria. I don't want to further inconvenience the office that I've left on you for too many days as it is, with dying dogs and dreams of adventure and emergencies that level my existence unto that of a child's.
I swallow, saying something quietly to reassure him, my thin voice thick with rib-racking sobs, barely contained; but he shakes his head: "I came to check on you, because I care about you. Do you, err, want to be alone right now? Are you going to be okay to come back?"
I nod. "I will be back," I say lowly. Awkwardly, for it is clear he is torn, he leaves with a little nod.
He is a good person, but I can't bring myself to share. I can't do it. I can't do anything. My fist hurts from pounding it against the wall, throwing myself against the walls in anguish. Shivering from the cold as I sob.
A kindly technician next, also armed with chivalry. Somethin' happened, he says. He's "no idiot." He asks again if I'm all right, if there's anything he can do--and, when I apologize for the inconvenience, he is startled, shaken to his bones. As if the thought of his own comfort didn't occur to him, because he is busy serving propriety and delicate young women who collapse on the street instead. "Don't apologize," he protests sternly. "Just.... you'll be okay? Right?"
I smile and say something comforting to him, and he leaves, clearly and utterly relieved that my effeminate madness has passed me.
Lori next. My coworker, who, along with Kirk, have been unfortunately responsible for teaching me manners these many months, brings in an empty bowl--a pretext that will assure her entry into the empty break room. A shield against my grief. She opts to open with a good-old-fashioned, Kirk told me you got into an accident!! Why didn't you tell me?
Slowly, starts and stops, level voice, I tell her everything. The license, the whole thing. She expresses sympathy. Tells me of a story she suffered through, slipping on black ice, hitting a stop sign--they gave her failure to yield. That it could be me, and she much prefers it was the car that suffers the damage.
I barely force myself to go back. I slip into the bathroom to smear something on my eyes, makeup, so I don't look like a blotchy mess. The tears, unsurprisingly, make my eyes as green as mossy water, as algae, with sunlight streaming through.
Kirk, his feelings hurt by my rejection--poor thing, poor dear, I meant to spare him and hurt him instead--leaves for lunch quietly. I try to smile at him, but it stretches my face and comes out like a grimace.
Trish comes over.
"I'm not trying to upset you," she begins, and waits a moment, as though testing me for stability in case I start sobbing again, "but you flipped--right on K, right? On the way from Stoughton?" I tell her the whole thing, beginning to end. As is the instinct of good mothers, she helps me pick through it: there was freezing rain, right? And this happens ALL THE DAMN TIME. The Stoughton police, she said, would not have deigned to ticket me, this is a regular occurrence--"I'd fight it," she finishes firmly. "They'll probably just throw the whole thing out."
I dearly hope that she is right.
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Wild:
Get up off this couch. You've got to.
Why?
People are depending on you. Katie is. Katie is going to a bad situation today, and your clean home will provide succor to her, as well as any potential guests.
Nobody cares. I want it but it isn't worth it. Some invisible force holds me down, mental instead of magic. Black despair covers me like a blanket.... I drink more diet coke, turn on a television show I'm hoping will help me shake it off, and try again.
Don't you want a clean house? You don't mind doing it. You used to enjoy it. Used to like being useful, keeping your home as a woman's home ought. Serving your heart. You didn't even have to think about it.
You're worthless. Can't even bring yourself to a land where you could find peace and magic, why do you deserve to get up off this couch? Aren't you sick of disappointing people? Even if they come, they aren't coming for you. They're coming for Katie.
None of that's true. You've got to. You have to.
So what? Lay on the couch and eat yourself into a coma. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. You carry shame and awful choices, and trying to make it up isn't any good. Worthless.
Have to. Want to!
Piece of shit. Hopeless from birth, almost. You're a copy of a copy. Your pancreas couldn't wait to fail on you. You're fat. You deserve the filth.
I have to. I have to. I have to try.
Why?
People are depending on you. Katie is. Katie is going to a bad situation today, and your clean home will provide succor to her, as well as any potential guests.
Nobody cares. I want it but it isn't worth it. Some invisible force holds me down, mental instead of magic. Black despair covers me like a blanket.... I drink more diet coke, turn on a television show I'm hoping will help me shake it off, and try again.
Don't you want a clean house? You don't mind doing it. You used to enjoy it. Used to like being useful, keeping your home as a woman's home ought. Serving your heart. You didn't even have to think about it.
You're worthless. Can't even bring yourself to a land where you could find peace and magic, why do you deserve to get up off this couch? Aren't you sick of disappointing people? Even if they come, they aren't coming for you. They're coming for Katie.
None of that's true. You've got to. You have to.
So what? Lay on the couch and eat yourself into a coma. It doesn't matter. None of it matters. You carry shame and awful choices, and trying to make it up isn't any good. Worthless.
Have to. Want to!
Piece of shit. Hopeless from birth, almost. You're a copy of a copy. Your pancreas couldn't wait to fail on you. You're fat. You deserve the filth.
I have to. I have to. I have to try.
Friday, February 26, 2016
Wild: Drink it to the dregs before you'll recognize its poison, but you still call me a fool
- *smile twitches* And, as a writer, I'm always looking for a good villain to write. Who better than a corrupt politician?
- subterfuge that he claims he will end, or is immune to. I want an answer. Please, explain it to me, because I am lost....so confused....
- Belittles and tears down his opposition to make himself seem grand and find and wise. A talented liar--the very spirit of the political
- The people who are interviewed say, "nothing has gotten done in the White house!" And your answer is a TYRANT? Yea, a tyrant, one who
- I honestly, very seriously, want to know what could make a liar like him, a fraud like him, viable as a candidate for you.
- insult his competition? Why is he a serious candidate? Are you valiantly translating his black heart into politically forward thoughts?
- How can you believe in him? How can you believe in a man like that? A man who smirks as someone else endorses him, then takes the stage to
- All he's said and done and supported, hatred and misogyny, open distrust of our neighbors, protecting himself with fallacy-heavy arguments..
- I don't want "you're too young to understand!" or one of those barely-hidden insults to Obama. Give me one good reason to vote for him.
- First hating on Muslin People, now putting Christians on a Pedestal... Why are you listening to him? Seriously. Not offensively.
- How can a Presidential Candidate not know about Separation of Church and state?
- hated for a long time, is a "wonderful" human being now that he's endorsing Trump. Things of this vein. I'm so angry I can't even start....
- That the "merry Christmas" banners will be held high for the Christian Americans, so harshly oppressed! That Christie, who Trump has openly
- Trump endorsed by Governor Christie, apparently as a response to being roasted by Marco Rubio. Trump makes a speech:
Peter Gracey
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)