Tuesday, 10 March 2015

Explaining Death to a Baby

I yank myself out of the water at the first cry and I don’t even know how are you supposed to tell a child that mom is not coming back, let alone talk properly about death. How do you explain that the evening will no longer be bathed in people they trust? How do you even explain when it becomes a chanting mantra, beginning for some resolution, making itself a harsher metaphor just because it’s a child, because there has never been such loss and as you learn to live, you need to learn how to die and accept all those which pass away and we all lose our parents eventually whether it’s spiritually or death. All that matters is who had brought the axe into the house if it wasn’t a scythe and for what reason. 

And how is it to hold down things since you’ll never drown a person to get them out of their own misery, because they cannot yet understand it. 

I yank my head lower one last time to have a quick feeling of knowing what grasping death is like and then I head right out, towel quickly wrapped around myself and holding the child in a firm grasp, rocking back and forth on my feet, feeling their sobs go entirely through me as well, as I hold like the mother would, because I would never be her, feeling my back ache already from now and all the previous times. 

A broken heart does not mend anything.

If you throw a bucket of red paint on walls people will presume it’s blood.

We say the most ignorant things when we vent, because it comes from one naked visibility to death threats on the other and things you’d never say to those who died for that matter. It becomes a notion of rocking a child and knowing what day is on the calendars that soon enough it’ll be a year of alienation because people don’t really go shaking your hand once you come out, people never care, because if you’ve got a uterus you’re a traitor and it will never matter what you juggle on your hands or what good you will do, because if you become an enemy to the majority, society will never like you, just like tides of history change and become obsessed with issues often they’ve created or supported, it’s never enough for people to look beyond their lawn. A neighbor’s dying cow is not as fatal in the eyes of an American woman as her own blister. And it’s more than a sacrifice of oneself to actually let themselves be under threat because they want to be themselves. And neither will we have a proper day celebrating the living, because only the dead are deemed as saints.

Hate is the best fuel, because there’s so much to do. 

Like carrying a child. Will never make me female, will only make me a caring parent.

It doesn’t matter that there is no one present between me and the child. My own fears will never affect them, because we split ourselves to protect others-

I hear the door knock and I presume that the bell is broken again. I hesitate to even reply, as if I could scream when nothing has happened. I just twist the door open, waving my arm inside, never looking up, because eyes never truly meet due to two’s mutual, prickle fear.

What if the world will end with holes in the ground for us to fall into hell, because just like a fabric breaks, maybe so does life.

Everyone who says that opinions of others don’t affect them is a fucking liar. We all get affected whenever someone tells us we are unnatural, because we’ve heard it so many times and whenever I hear someone saying that one death threat affected them doesn’t understand that they’ve sent twenty. My anger just keep boiling, as I end up pressing buttons to heat up the kettle until I end up pressing the right one. 

I come back to see Jamie just leave the shopping bags I’ve left and by night I start counting the cigarettes I’ve missed and the calls just keep coming with announcements, with paper work and disaster of situation and when misery strikes no one asks if you even want it. But if happiness will not save us, misery does at times. 

And you’ll never be able to film a sex scene without getting turned on if you’re sexual.

Love is more than a broken misery, it’s an unfinished dialogue in the wrong hands. 

Never speaking out again will be a slow death but not as painful as rejection, that’s why we use it as a pigeon’s wing and we will never notice the feathers we’ve grown because there’s no point in flying if you’ve trimmed yourself down, so the cognitive question becomes what is worth and what is the worth of self-

I say fuck it, as the hours go by, relfecting in each deja vu window, legs propped as the child sleeps and I push my head lower between my legs, feeling nothing, not believing in myself, becoming mechanic just not to speak and now even texting for food as I would end up paying him back, never able to head outside and counting hours rather than days.

Misery will come in pairs, because if there is no love, misery will be your veil as you’ll try to give up on a red death.

And all is a repetition of fear, because there is nothing to give up but a love you’ve walked upon and there is nothing new in a road you’ve known and let go.

Give yourself up, for you’re never truly done that for love.

And the first day I head out with the child, my heart pounds with desire of knowing.

The child becomes a metaphor of myself and I become the metaphor of the child, because you’ll grow to love someone or a few eventually, maybe. I smoke the next few days alone, before venting the room again, legs propped against the table and knowing where I would lay if I were under the table, scrapping the wood with my nails as I would strangle myself.


I was going to post this a bit later, but I wanted to write this down (coz I'm still ill with this annoying flu and I'm dying to sleep xD) I started musing on the last paragraph talking of suicide and I started recalling how many novels and etc, end frankly with suicide to free themselves, while in this case it would be more about ending something or rather wishing for it to be over, rather than to be free, not all of us want that if something is intense. And I've been rather ill to write properly, so I've been awfully shy and I guess because I wanted to keep this as a weird short story like the ones of Alison/Jack I used to write rather often a few years ago. And choosing Alison was really simple as well, as I had wanted to write some fanfiction and I guess digging on the fact that I think Alison identified as androgynous was a nod I guess since I date Callie who is androgynous and made it easier and natural to write really, I just wanted fanfiction of someone who I think is/identfied previously and it's my head canon really, well, until recent Alison obviously. 

I also wanted to push this out 9th to 10th really coz it's an anniversary since I came out as genderfluid and male and I guess after thinking and musing, I know I'm fluid, but it's more natural for me to be male, so yeah. I'm not erasing my past, but it's who I am and who I want to be. So yeah, here I am. I was frankly solely male for the last year and I've never been so happy about my identity, I may be fluid even sexually, but I'm still a gay man and yeah, this is who I want to be for the rest of my life. It never means that I will never be attracted to anyone else, that's why I acknoledge my fluidity or that I maybe will have a few years where I will be agender again, but that doesn't change who I am. 

So I guess this was more significant for me to push out as man and give heads up. Also small dedication to the fact that tumblr has been revolting me to no end, so that's why I've been finding it awfully hard considering that all I'll see is chopping off men's head for 8th March, so fuck all of you. 

I'm happy to those who stopped talking to me as I've been accepting myself as a man and I'm happy that those will leave or left. Fuck you, honestly.

So yeah, I have to speak out on my anger. 

I've been awfully angry and even more closed up online, but I still push out openness here which I will continue and I'm happy that all of you enjoy. Thank you. 

The idea came from, I should start doing notes on backstories because I write them once I publish them, so I'm so fucking knackered that I'm scrapping my memory and Callie's as I told her when I just wrote the first paragraph and I had been bottling the idea the whole day, thinking which story to put it in. I think I randomly got the idea before the shower, how do you explain death to a baby? Basically I've been rather open, but I'm not too fond of parents which have no fucking idea what to do with children and I was talking as a child kept chanting mom on repeat and it was frankly like a mantra, because the mom was out, so was the dad and the babysitter and etc were doing their job, but you can't cover up for stupidity regarding parents, so it kept going on and on, everyone going on to calm the child down and I just I always wanted to be a parent and it's frankly the only thing why I'm being cautious about hormones and etc. So I just get revolted at people which just see themselves as baby machines. I'm a loud mouth, but I promised myself to be honest.

So then I was just depressed about it and how the child's line of thinking is so simplistic and how would you even explain if a mom in this case would never come back? 

That got me depressed and I started thinking which story should I even throw it too.

Also I was weirded out why I've been killing off mothers in the past stories, but mother in the black light I show is a metaphor to someone I've been hurt by who is not my mom, thankfully, so I've used mother in two meaning of my life, to degrade them in an argument and well, to my mother, who I love dearly. 

It's always a bit weird to speak of family, because you've got so many people you end up discussing and family is a very introverted institution really. 

But who are we not to speak the truth?

So yeah, I can keep doing things like Thicker than Blood, but people end up being mothers and I want to address that, because it's blind and ignorant to state that all family is amazing. It rarely ever is. And yeah, it's a touchy subject, so yeah. 

So those are the mother's I'm discussing if you must.

And I just ended up studying child psychology a lot back when I was in college and I was musing on going onto child psychology, we'll see xD and yeah, I would just look at the child and think of everything really, everything learnt.

And I guess the third subject would be love and attraction. I'm not going to lie, I get angsty I start writing about people I'm attracted to or just like anyone I sulk on paper, openly. It varies from people I've lost yet had crushes, people I'm deeply attracted to and I'm waiting for things to happen and my own doubt of not being good enough. It becomes a harsh and dark way of venting, even if I don't agree with a lot of things I write, I say them like the character would, in this case, Alison. So then what are my views, ahahah? Anyway, my views are easy to see. 

I get odd images or ideas and one was red paint on walls as blood. Usually such ideas end up one-liners but hey, the death baby thing ended up a whole short story or things end up being novels as well x) 

I get really annoyed and depressed at the amount of "kill all men" on tumblr so I get pissed at myself that sometimes I just wish I could yell the same things back whenever I get someone telling me they would love to split me open to make me bleed to death. I would never do that or say, but it's awful when you get cornered by fear. 

I hate how trans people are only cared in death and trans men frankly not at all. Like I said I wanted to address the hate AFAB people get if they're trans, because we're just seen as butch dykes always, which revolts me or traitors to women. I hate how American women are hailed above all considering that tumblr is crawling with them (shout out since it's my break-up anniversary as well, got inspired to write angry stories for a few months, but I'm thankful you made me realize how revolted I was by some many women and I came out as a man). I do get annoyed that so many issues are ignored becaus ethey don't concern American women, yes, I do get annoyed that their blisters are more important and then they'll send me death threats yet cry over Emma Watson's death threats (Emma Watson proudly ranks some high space on people I hate the most and I wish would shut the fuck up for her transphobia and homophobia), but hey if it's a woman how dandy, let's forgive her. Ugh. I'm so revolted. 

I think of my own parenting because you end up thinking of how you'd want a child to address you and it comes with time to fully detach that giving birth doesn't make you a woman in any ways unless you are one, of course. 

I made a point of making the baby gender neutral. Never gender your child. Don't be an asshole. 

One of those one liner phrases end up like the holes, I was reading on the enormous Siberian Crater and how it was called something among the lines of a hole downunder and that made me think a lot and I used it. (Sorry the backstory is long xD Special day, special backstory and story :3)

I get annoyed at the people's opinion don't matter. Do you honestly expect me to go on calmly after seeing how "badass women are which kill men"? 

The happiness and misery helping is a good saying I love. Let happiness help you better though:)

The sex scene was me musing on House of Cards (yes, I gave in, I honestly wish someone shoved in face that it's so fucking queer that I should watch it. I was depressed about Frank and his old classmate. My headcanon is that he's gay and his attraction to Zoe is merely to keep her. And Claire the more I look seems like a beard and there's too much questioning.) specifically there was a crotch shot of Frank and I was like, fuck... where's the erection xD and that made me write the line frankly (pun pun pun not intended though xD) 

The end spoke everything I wanted to say and I'm happy and thankful for the past year and the support from everyone. I love you all dearly and thank you so much

If you enjoyed it please tell me :3

Thank you

And here's to my one year open anniversary

I've never been happier as myself finally



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