Wednesday, 17 December 2014

An ode

There is something in cowboy boots bought in a thrift store back home, they give a sense of walking away because I’m no longer there and even when lying on the couch, hair in a tight bun, those which pull the face, it’s still somehow enough to stare at them getting worn and feel a bit cosmic, as if attached to random words as if I could scribble stars on the soles just to be a cosmic cowboy because the words match today.
There is a laziness which seems to stretch into the small kitchen where my couch is, as I stretch, feeling the toes reach the tip as I unravel, turning my head to see him.
It’s not a sense of déjà vu because we’ve never met and he doesn’t even place his eyes on me, as if I were a legend of my own, instead I see a need of a heavy shave and shattered traces of insomnia. He’s far from the only one who asked me why am I here, but questions don’t materialize, curiosity dies when given the right dose
And even dies is not the right word.
Everything not working out is enrolled with everything going wrong in my head, the fear precise and just as moving as the idle reality I am judged for.
And the charm is no longer a charm.
And surely doesn’t belong in a locket with the right news.
And I still feel the glossiness under the heel, digging in, reminding me of the uneasiness and my own forgetfulness. And maybe it’s uneasiness which digs in, once you pull your eyes away and I just get back to my couch, closing my eyes, as if the uneasiness and the void being filled with some sort of elevating substance isn’t the best thing ever, so I try to focus on said portrait, tucked under the heel of the foot, above the hell and slowly getting worn out.

But maybe it shouldn’t even be time, which should wear it out, but myself. 

It’s not even discarding a lost love when you find a new, it’s about discarding those whose mouth is too wide and open for the wrong causes. There is nothing attached and it’s like loving an old, dead person.

I take off the boot, when he already heads back up with coffee and I can only imagine the silence will be locked and I’ll think whatever he does in his room, recalling how mysteries evolve from silence.

And with a loud sigh, from all the headlines no longer repressed in my head, even if there were none and as if something symbolic, I take out the small photo, which I had chosen years ago and figured that jeans can be nicked, boots somehow weren’t and that under the heel is something to make her maybe closer to the ground-

And it’s not like memory is erased even if it’s one-sided and doubtful, because mind portrays a beautiful image of love and adoration. I give one quick glance and I wonder if I even want to be there on the moment of decapitation.

Before I even think to get a cigarette, I tear the small photo of VV ironically in two and that is suffice, as I stand up, in the blink of an eye opening the lower cupboard doors to see the trashcan and-

There is no ideology, there is just the fear and illusional sense of an apocalypse and I throw her out, as if she could be hit with a meteor because not even the dark haired makes sense anymore, it feels like a dream which never made it to reality-

I make my way upstairs to properly introduce myself for once, the heel not so empty, revealing a new polished, untouched space ready to wear out with the end. 


I've spoken of it enough, but I was really knocked down by Alison's ignorance back in November and the fact that well, people really don't care and one death matters more because it was on American soil revolts me than an official toll of 5000 people. So obviously that angered me. 

An ode was something I even thought I would never publish because it gets very heavy and political later, but I've decided with the whole Pakistan children deaths, that I don't care. I want to speak even if I'm ignored, because I am ignored. People with the same blood as me are killed every day and no one cares and due to America frankly blinding everything and fucking up it's harder and scarier to speak up. But well, if I can speak through fiction I will. Alison is used her as a very heavy image and frankly the first chapter was s'posed to be the ending, I was thinking of a sole short story, but decided to expand it and whenever I get angry I just chuck down quotes, so I'll be going through the more heavy chapters later, maybe I'll even edit them, after all I'm not American so my words mean nothing to everyone. 

So An ode is a unfortunate depiction of our world today through a magnifying lens, because we don't see a lot and we try to obscure ourselves from it, while An ode doesn't. 

I am still very angry at Alison, but I really dissociated her and VV her persona or who she used to be, so yeah, I'll just be finishing the stories with her and that will be it, because it's still my work of fiction just with the wrong image chosen unfortunately. I wonder if that's why people read my Kills stuff less because I'm against killing people and she isn't. Ironic, the fact that people are killed means nothing if you're an ignorant skinny American bitch who happens to be female and on a guitar, because fuck yeah, girl power. Scumbags like her make the media blind.

I never had an androgynous character before and Callie is androgynous, so I had really tried to capture it as well as I could because I wanted representation and I guess it's maybe a bit self-obsessed by sticking a gay male character and androgynous, I dunno, I find it hard to hold a dialogue with myself because I get triggered for being called to be silent. 

I was angry and annoyed at Alison, I had started writing this story with her, Jack and Jamie which has the sharing apartments and Jamie staying up stairs setting. I was sad that I had just started writing it and I was then thinking that I would stop all stories with Alison, but alas, I feel selfish, but I don't want to drop fiction I've written and started, it is fanfiction after all. So I just grabbed the setting and started writing some fiction in it, the other story will be published eventually, as you can see I'm getting new written stories out every day xD there's really a lot xD 

Also that is the reason of the short chapters, because I associate my Kills stories with length so I've got around 10 chapters of An ode, so far XD I know, so keep poking me XD please, I'd love some positivity :)

For some reason I pictured (I'll avoid using names for now, they are called in the second chapter) the main character in boots and I was actually going to sleep and that just prompted them and if I recall correctly I just grabbed my phone and started typing with the lights off, just telling Callie that I said fuck it, I'll write this other story for Nanowrimo as well xD

there's also a third story written during Nano, I might put it up tomorrow, I'll see :3

The image of boots and the small photo of VV are what you should be athnkful which made me write the story xD and it was also my sort of goodbye to VV, because she had just slapped me across the face. If I knew I would've said something to her, I wouldn't have been nice when she was rude, but y'know you never know those things, I just get sad because I really held my mouth from spreading that she was a rude bitch to me, but y'know, you should never idolize and defend, people are scum. I only believe in lovers and myself. 

To those who didn't get the link via tumblr, I had stated at the top of the post: "inspired by Alison's ignorance, therefore tagging. An ode to Alison Mosshart, in a way."

And yeah, I pretty much said everything and thank you

Let's pray to all who need it, not just your own sandbox. 

Please tell me if you liked it



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