Sunday, 21 December 2014

An ode 2

It’s an aftermath of despair and confusion on stupidity
And even if I am the sole one to know that I’ve torn it out, it still bothers me as if I would’ve been on a big board.
How hard is it to kill a love once dead and how does it circulate, some cult following and tumbling as all ideas seem to be wandering off and coming back, the photo already peeled back and as if exposing her neck? How hard is it far away when she seems to solely be circulating, as if watching me, hair exposed and still black as I had been watching, a love distant and fair. 

Why is it hard and how come the solitude of a woman seems attractive, the melancholy and the lack of moves on a chess board when a man would solely make sure to make moves, to contaminate themselves with action and then I recall I had read Mishima, confused about my own gender, flinging myself onto female at the time and it was far too destructive, but if I were the one not to create, was it that why I was in the middle, somewhere far stretched and deviant to my own mind?

And how far does the emptiness stretch and where does creativity truly seep through and is the pain and the fighting coming from sole hatred between two genders (which seem to think they are the only ones?) and flinging upon one to desire, is even weirder as I observe his room, how cluttered it is and how there is even a mannequin and I wonder if all what is missing is a hamster as I had been told by a previous landlord that they couldn’t navigate even to the bed due to the junk and on top was a happily corn-nibbling hamster. And I wonder if the man himself now was the hamster or was I the one who would manage to do all this torture?

And when does it actually clutter? Is it when the soul is empty or is it solely withdrawal because there is nothing else to do? How do we consciously reach that state and how come life seems to be constantly moving with all places I’ve lived in to change as if they were seasons and how come everything withers? How come all the seasons change and how come we ourselves still happen to remain the same, only wounded but never renewed like everything else around us and how come we lose the ability to smile?

He gives an odd sense of deja vu and I think we always fall in love with the same person and we just keep taking off the beloved mask to give it to someone else or maybe I’m just too heartbroken from venturing with women far too long and I would be accused for bashing women, solely because they are women, just like women were joked upon prior, now it happens upon men and it doesn’t even touch me, but I just observe or maybe it’s because I seem to be attracted to a man now and sometimes I wonder if it is solely my mind that worries and they seem to care about something else?

I look around. 

And I wonder who were even the one to introduce themselves and it becomes a question of how much do you even reveal on your sleeve? How much is even described at first, I go through the hair, now chin-length in need of a cut for no reason, just the sole feeling of scissors against the cheek, because self-harm doesn’t do just, it never went through, it just makes everything worse, sometimes a ripple in water, but barely, it still floods and what else does it do? It feels as if there is some method of torture I’ve yet to know, as I keep thinking deeper and deeper as if unleashing an inner demon, as if asking if I were possessed with something mute, but then all pain is gone, just paranoia and a feeling of emptiness and confused love only seems to be the only thing speaking, because I am the sole sufferer to my own love and questions.

It’s not that I had even known how her lips had tasted, only presumed and soon enough she withered, not even during a bike break, magazine reading evening, under the foggy moonlight, everything becoming damp and laying on the grass as if a cross. 


And stale cigarettes seem to yank me back.


I had a better opening line for the back story but I started shuffling music and Lana's Diet Mtn Dew showed up, which made it more ironic since well, it's still discussing Alison in this chapter and names are revealed in the next chapter XD I have no idea why I've held suspension xD and yeah, if you're on tumblr I advertise the story with photos of Callie as I wanted photos of someone actually who defines as androgynous and I really wanted Callie as well. 

I guess the irony of putting Diet Mtn Dew is that I had always listened to it when I was dating my ex and frankly it is the queerest Lana song, which obviously made me relate a lot. Whenever I have something triggering, my gender shifts to the opposite of the person had harmed me, because I get PTSD easily and I dunno, but basically I got refused to get a parcel for two days and the guy was a total ass to me and made me cry twice and would lie to the post manager three times and then I told him, hey, I know you're lying and he went in cold sweat. He even put a post-it so that even if I show up and he's not on shift for him to be called. Pure breed asshole, so that quite harmed me and I was in fuck knows what gender, then I just read more female bullshit as usual and realized there's no way I'm female anyway, so I guess I'm back and gay.

But either way, I had a craving because I'm still fluid to write a bit more regarding queer women, so I wrote quite a fair bit of Disaster, so expect a new chapter soon:3 I dunno, I also wrote some To Miles today and realized how much I miss it and y'know you've just got those awful dysphoric days and I just felt much more natural writing To Miles, I dunno, I get happy when I am like, yeah, Jamie you're male and all is great, really.

I'm fluid but it never goes to androgynous, so it's of course a bit harder to write and I ask Callie a bunch of questions, naturally and base a lot off her and ask all the time, am I getting this right xD

I dunno, I feel quite anxious about my writing and since I'm heading back to fiction lightly, if you like it, please tell me I'd love to hear something:3 honestly:3 make a nervous gay's day XD

My mind is a mess so An ode has pretty much a vomit of everything: Callie, exes, crushes, dysphoria, politics and anger, the usual bunch really xD

I can't even recall why but I had decided to check on Valentine Fillol-Cordier at the time and I watched a few recent interviews and whatnot, it's very odd to watch a gender you were forced into and see how far away you're from it and well, it's interesting to see how should I show distress or a broken heart, so yeah, I dunno if my stories become more oh yeah, that regarding gender. Maybe they do. 

I'm a big fan of Mishima even if he's frankly I think one of the most problematic writers, but when I had read him I was female and I felt very crushed by reading phrases such as "women stand in the way of creation/creativity" and Forbidden Colours is frankly impossible to read if you're female but really opens your eyes in a way and I guess what I liked is that Yuichi eventually even if he's gay, he's still has fondness for women which is something you absolutely do not see in gay or lesbian literature, it's pretended as if it's fixed and as you read on, all characters are amazing even if it's a harsh read. I'm still sad it got knicked XD fucking thieves. Anyway, speaking of literature I've started reading Billy Martin (Poppy Z. Brite written on novels) and I dunno, he doesn't seem too… appealing like as an author I've been recommended him once by a trans friend I had and I couldn't read it due to the bad writing (I had started with the first novel, I'm sleepy now to recall) and I had thought it was a woman writing since well that's all you were told and I'm happy that it's gay literature written by a gay trans man. I've been binging Exquisite Corpse and it's amazing. The new stuff which I scrolled through was boring. Anyway, what revolted me is the horrid negativism towards fanfiction. I've read Anne Rice also being a dick about it. I really don't see why people are against fanfiction, in Billy Martin's case Exquisite Corpse was based off 2 murders and Anne Rice is writing about vampires at all times. 

I really really don't understand it, frankly and I find it revolting when people are against fanfiction. Credit and you're fine. State your influence, say you're writing fanfiction of someone. Although I had a Russian Fiji stolen, they edited and removed the sex bits from the first chapter and posted it, but that was pure stealing work, so yeah. 

So that was my point, sorry back onto the backstory, I talk a lot… journal-esuque style. What goes in my mind. So the novel also assured me I'm male, it gets hard when you get shoved you're not and then you go Velvet Goldmine style like Arthur wanting to point at the telly to your parents and yell "DAD, THAT'S ME I'M INTO BLOKES JUST LIKE BRIAN SLADE". 

The mannequin was stolen from the Kill's flat since I guess the proper title should've been An ode to Alison Mosshart. I wrote this chapter still awfully depressed and shattered, heartbroken is not me, but the main character but Alison was my idol previously years ago.

The hamster was a story I had heard when I lived in a Student Accommodation.

I think I quite spit out what I think in the story, it's awfully raw:)

I hope you enjoyed it and please tell me if you did so



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