I get triggered by my own behavior and there is something neo-something in my own thoughts.
“Yeah, well, you don’t always get gay representation. Straights just don’t care about anything-” He stops. “Sorry, I don’t know...”
He gestures at me, pausing and musing on his own dart which could land on my face rather than the apple on my head, even if he’s done this a bunch of times or perhaps I would be Burroughs’ wife.
“I’ll speak for myself.” He scratches his head, some strands going up in the back, as if electrified and gelled. Maybe he had done some hairspray last last night and this is the leftover moon dust for the morning to hoar frost. “Not really, there’s a lot of subtext and just like when you watch Full Metal Jacket, it makes you happy that someone sneaked in a love line just for someone else rather than you to feast your eyes upon. I always wondered why would someone who supposedly is straight do that, I don’t care about straights, why should they and why would they? And it’s not like our world is great, if we had nothing, no wars...”
Daniel pauses, tugging his bottom lip, honey locked on mine.
“No duality of man and no peace badges on ‘born to kill’ helmets, although who am I fucking with. They’re like that guy who just kept shooting, we don’t even have proper people on the front, everyone escaped. There is no age for patriotism these days, we all flee, because we understand that only we ourselves value our lives, only neutral governments won’t touch, who will close their eyes and that is better, it’s better to be nowhere and watch.” He pauses, inhaling, exhaling. “It is a stance. I’m not getting killed for a cause I don’t believe because we’re not allowed to even choose the right political side, because all is intertwined in some conspiracy the conspiracy itself doesn’t even believe in it.”
“If I can’t even recall what I dreamt last night, if I repeat my own thoughts aloud, what is the point of me even fighting and even if I were to shoot in the air, no would care, I don’t think even a bullet would be wasted against my back.” I speak up and Daniel just now sits, legs crossed, jeans ripped on the knees and I wonder why would you even wear a belt this red, but once a name is given, all builds up in a bizarre way. Maybe you can make the present with the right delusions and the right mental illnesses to paint the sky black, like it actually is. The sky is dark, no fear even controls us and everything seems to be discarded and the glamour of watching everyone downstairs without moving up is ridiculous and it’s as if breaking my own fear, I decide to move up. I speak it out fast, not to even follow my own decisions and Daniel, just shrugs, asking if I need help to lift up the suitcases, it’s not even that long that we’ve moved in, it’s been a few weeks with other inhabitants, pleased that the house was empty, yet charged all of us and comedies make us all much worse, giving us as if a death toll and a death date.
Words are barely spoken, due to anxiety and my suitcases are nearly pushed up, to the last floor, amused at all the commodities, but then maybe sharing makes us far less scared of everything and more trigger immune to recall all of our war memories and what the media had told us all?
And why do we write about war when we are in it? What is the pleasure of thinking depressed?
"Basically all representation makes me happy." He says, carrying a suitcase up, lifting it entirely and I even feel a sly envy because due to my own traveling I have no energy left. Maybe we just set everything in our lives and that’s ok. "Again, I don’t know about you-"
"I’m gay." I interrupt, but I realize that doesn’t help him a bit, yet I don’t smirk. I wish we didn’t have to know gender for sexuality, I wish queer were as gay only less white girl political or global warming men who seem to be unique, something steers me off the word and I would be called a hypocrite. But when females are transphobic it’s always ok and I’m the transphobe for being androgynous.
Daniel shoots a look back.
"I’ll take that as however you put it, I guess." He puts the first suitcase down, kicking a door open, screech with old rust, yet no ghosts and the room is as spacious as my mind, clutter still needed in it. It’s next to his.
I've been a bit behind, so sorry, but here's the next chapter of An Ode, I still find it hard to write, but I'm happy I'm back to my usual shifting through stories so yeah xD
This chapter and story was written when I was really pissed off and I hate that we have awful and really small representation, I mean we are moving somewhere but it's barely going there. Also Daniel is quite a fiery and loud mouthed character compared to Quentin.
When it comes to Full Metal Jacket, I'm a sucker for gay love lines and kind of the fact that it was sneaked there really made my weeks and I love that movie for that and how subtle it was as well. Breaks my heart though, so that's why I talked about it here because I had just finished watching it and I wanted to discuss it really.
An Ode was written when things were really bad regarding the war really and I really needed to vent and in general I guess I just felt very dystopian at the time and I wanted to discuss that. We still live in a very dystopian world, we can't really argue against that.
I hope you enjoyed it and if you did, you know the drill, you make my month by telling me so really and I've been down so it would be great to hear back really