Saturday, 20 December 2014

working mica4

The news about the world travel like wildfire and outrage with a burning ceiling is now covered, triggering all of our moods, glasses start to get broken and I’m sure this is not how the revolution went, but one guy lights the blood-stained American flag with a lighter, it barely catching fire at first. I don’t say anything, Margaret just watches the flag and it frustrates us all how long it burns.

It is also the fault of the people, who believe in a government which doesn’t exist. Some people believe it’s a black man. I know there is no God for none can erase the illusion of whoever brings war on all soil, with me getting raped, no God would be as cruel, no God would kill so many people, unless God has problems with accepting the sexuality God gave themselves. 

So the flag burns and our screen shows a bunch of channels talking about which blood is shed in non-western countries, how everything gets bombed daily and only some’s blood is above the rest just because Americans decided that anything is better, they become the new ideology, making allies just to prove supremacy, being gay they say is something they can provide in countries where you can get killed, but then never say that they kill as well. Soon enough me with a bunch of people leave the main hall, scattering into rooms into other homosexual embraces and soon enough, I wish that even television would be banned upon this place, kill the flame before it spreads.

I start getting scared as we all get prescribed pills, the ceiling feeling as if it is shattering, the news of the UK spreading as well with its racist fingers, but a country which many people come from is shocking and the bad always takes over the good. The pills have stars on them and someone calls them American as you can split it in stripes and we are all forced to wish we were American, because we are all welcome from McCain’s mouth, all have the same desire to kill us all, regardless. In our club we do weddings, as if we were our own bunker to death, even if they don’t last long enough, soon enough scattering into other lovers, because in the end, we’re all the same or maybe they start getting out of the club to grow old and forget about eternity. 

Soon enough the club is all covered in silk and some people come back to marijuana for some reason and I have to cough past, to hint that some people are actually allergic. But all of a sudden this feels like war and there is nothing to deny, we are suffering from a new holocaust, a stronger bone called xenophobia, gender and sexuality stop mattering, the fact is what goes in your blood, we’ve got the new holocaust upon us. 

My neck is strangled by the silk which falls into my hair and blossoms, the silk of depression, which takes my dreams and gives me a glimpse of the mistake of heterosexuality. I stop thinking and I even lose my orgasm, apologizing to women who started waking up from the tragedy, some leave to fight, some remain and soon enough I feel we will be selling bullets and the posters of the people we fought against are our allies, silence is better than death, have a new meaning now. 

I feel his cold hands upon me, holding something as sacred to his dirty nails as silk and I feel the silk fall, depression getting replaced by the fire of anxiety as I close my eyes and I can see the bleak eyes of my brother, who is enjoying himself, himself who is the law. I can see him lighting a cigarette in the dark, homosexuality dead at his feet with my language and it scares me, because according to him I should speak what he desires me to, but it doesn’t matter what the person wants. But their problem is that he covers our mouth with fingers which rot so easily, so we can speak. 

My brother is my depression and my anxiety, my devil and my sin. I still feel that I have blood which can go cold and wrong. I feel as if I could be given a scythe and I would murder everyone and be raped by a man, become a housewife with children who are like the offsprings of cabbage, people who I wouldn’t even love and would drown at a well and hopefully they would die soon enough, as I wouldn’t even give them my breasts and watch them rot on my husband’s plate. People like my brother are the saviours in America’s eyes for they hold nazi ideology. Because nazism is the best tool to overthrow everything, some paths are learnt through blood and bones, because as long as it’s not the sacred blood split, American, we don’t matter. Or those who thrive to be American. 

My brother is placing the gun in my mouth, pulling the trigger and I feel my eyes close, my arms spread out and I hope to hear what I do here.

I hear the possibility of nothing and I pull the gun backwards, the bullet going through my hair unwanted like licorice and I see my head dissolve with the last thoughts of fear and conclusion riding my lips. I’m still scared, crying and screaming, panic back to me like death and Margaret yanks me out of the water. 

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” She screams, her hair now short and blonde, her hat gone and she is shaking me, my face still wet, sweat now draining my energy until I collapse in her arms as if she would something like Utena and as she carries me away I hear the place getting redecorated and people coming back, but not saying anything and I don’t know how they are back but they are soon told to leave.

It makes me nervous, how she carries me and my teeth chatter as she gives me vodka, saying that it’s softer and it’s still cold and she kisses my forehead. I start crying, never to tear off the silk of depression and the brother who had nearly murdered me with my own hands. For I don’t speak the words he wants. For I will not kill those who are like me. 

Gender blends, it doesn’t matter now what gender, what sexuality, it becomes a question of blood and all assumptions prior are shameful for we had not known the war in our hands. 

When I was young I would always dream of libraries and bookstores filled with queer literature and as more as I walked through life, I wondered if it would be better if I could just imagine libraries alone with the books holding nothing, allowing me to believe that a miracle existed, allowing me to have some exploitation of the mind.
Maybe that’s why we have a library in the club. Because all the stories you’d ever think of are here, because dreams take a harsh shape when here are too many for them to collapse here until the hard sky. People still talk, some watch, some shake, but we all feel stripped down to the bone, all nationalities discarded and never mentioned in the fear of a traitor. A utopia becomes a dystopia once a brother murders a brother. 

You lose trust in all, all stops being everything, all morals said become nothing

because you’re reduced that your blood is different

that your blood isn’t blue

that you’re blood isn’t pure

just because a bully had said you had cooties, only now they have guns.


I guess it's just ridiculous not to speak of politics these days when I do. An ode is further far more explicit, but I'll just post this. My mindset changed a lot since the last chapter, but all of a sudden I wanted to write about queer women, I was torn between working mica and disaster to be honest. I missed working mica, so here it is. It's odd, this chapter was started written back when well, the world had more lies up it's sleeve when there was a fucking cult which there still is of blaming Russia and I was no other. It's a frankly difficult matter on one hand and on the other it isn't. Outer politics, I don't think I have to speak much. We've got the whole world frankly falling, people getting killed and the only cult we have is of a few numbers of Americans, which were awfully killed, but so do thousands and thousands die from the same bloody hands.

The same ideology follows the world in it's bloody hands, killing people.

My words won't change much, but I still write and I always have. I have written and I do write about LGBT rights, well, maybe I shouldn't be as silent when it comes to war.

And I don't like speaking of what happens in countries which my ancestors are from, which touch me as well, but I speak clear enough.

I edited the chapter shifting the change to the fact that sexuality is just now a tool, by claiming to be LGBT friendly it's like those ads which were shown to Jews by Germany that it's accepting. It is. All I know is that the statistics are awful, experiences and the hands are bloody, very bloody. 

I think working mica has an harsher atheist view than I have which is interesting to write and address. 

The UK has been making the news loudly as well for it's own internal fuckupness. 

McCain was chosen because I had been browsing through people I had known and they claimed that they met McCain and he promised a future because the US would save.

The bunker and marriage image is quite a losing image, thinking of nuclear bunkers and whatnot.

Originally the rape scene was due to Heather's sexuality and I edited it. 

People murder others for ideology. If you don't believe in something, you get murdered and I think what is ironic is that in it's literature it's an awful canon trope. Kill the one who didn't follow, it's  famous trope, I think it's obvious.

I don't speak much of siblings which is an issue I am planning to address further and frankly have only properly shown between Alison and Miles in To Miles.

I dunno, I honestly think my fiction now speaks louder than the backstories, I am sorry if I was harsh, but just like those who protest, so do I in my own written way. People cannot die for being who they are. A person's life is a person's life regardless of their nationality and blood.

Thank you, tell me if you enjoyed it



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