I am haunted by humans.

[jacktellslies]

I fell asleep after coming too soft for trying for too long. And I dreamed it dirty, and graphic to a hard fault. I've only had two such dreams, now, and both were of people I'd never want to touch, and both sickened me. Usually these dreams could have been true, or fail. They are soft and lack sense, like dreams do. But these ones are reasoned, and I know I won't forget them. I hate the things I know I won't forget. I wake up breathing hard and moving to it. I've come back from sleep coming, but only when I'm crushed breathless with disgust before it has even had the grace to end.

There are bits of mirror and tile in the alleyway closest to my street. It started as faces on plates, then lines, and then today, all at once, a little broken world found its way onto the walls. I passed them working in the rain as I walked home. "You did so much today! Thank you for decorating my block." Isaiah was there, and his wife (I sell her fish!) and some others. "Just keep walking here," he told me. I changed the way I walk as soon as the faces were there to watch. It is beautiful. It goes south. We do not deserve it, but we need it.

I finished The Book Thief, finally, after years and years (or something more like a few months). And this whole time I couldn't bear the thought of it ending, although I'd always known where the end would be. I cried until my bed was wet, until my boat slipped under everything. I'm holding it with me, although it isn't mine anymore. And despite that, four pages are creased, for remembering. I'll keep them, although you won't hear them. Not yet.








Immediately.
Her brother was next to her.
He whispered for her to stop, but he, too, was dead, and not worth listening to.
He died in a train.
They buried him in the snow.




2. Such a position of selflessness was a good
place to ask Liesel for the usual favor.
How could she possibly turn him down?
"How about a kiss, Saumensch?"
He stood waist-deep in the water for a few moments longer before climbing out and handing her the book. His pants clung to him, and he did not stop walking. In truth, I think he was afraid. Rudy Steiner was scared of the book thief's kiss. He must have longed for it so much. He must have loved her so incredibly hard. So hard that he would never ask for her lips again and would go to his grave without them.




When Papa came in, she did not turn to face him but talked across Max Vandenburg, at the wall. "Why did I have to bring all that snow down?" she asked. "It started all of this, didn't it, Papa?" She clenched her hands, as if to pray. "Why did I have to build that snowman?"
Papa, to his enduring credit, was adamant. "Liesel," he said, "you had to."




Those images were the world, and it stewed in her as she sat with the lovely books and their manicured titles. It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words.
You bastards, she thought.
You lovely bastards.
Don't make me happy. Please, don't fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this. Look at my bruises. Look at this graze. Do you see the graze inside me? Do you see it growing before your very eyes, eroding me? I don't want to hope for anything anymore. I don't want to pray that Max is alive and safe. Or Alex Steiner.
Because the world does not deserve them.






Megan Etzel, thank you. Thank you. It will go to the next one. We should talk. I am cain son of eve. Thank you.

She worked so much today and yesterday: she is out of my bed by six thirty. She'll only be leaving the shop at midnight. I've made a midnight picnic: good rosemary bread and strawberries and apples and goat cheese and roasted tomatoes and even chocolate cake. I hope that she is awake for it. I hope on strong arms and on body scent for her happiness tonight, even if it is the exhausted kind. I hope hard.

I posted to vintage_sex today for the very first time, I believe. It won't at all surprise you, or if it does, it will be a matter of your confusing your history; it won't be me.

Oh, yes, this is fun. I'll play this once. Have I interests you do not understand? You should ask me. And then you should ask, too, if you like.

Comments

[swirl-girlx.livejournal.com]

I went inside of the South Street Garden for the first time. it was...exceptional. anything I say cheapens it. You've been there, right?

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

Yes, yes!

[etzelism.livejournal.com]

It means so much to me that it meant that much to you.

When I had sent your copy, I wasn't even halfway finished- but I knew it was yours. And mine.

We will talk. I am etzelism. You're welcome.

interests

[lelapin.livejournal.com]

what is desideratum? who is saint brighid?

Re: interests

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

Desideratum is Latin for "the thing desired". The Enlightenment thinkers were all about the word, but I still like it.

Saint Brighid was a goddess, but when Christianity came to Ireland, she converted and became a nun, and then by virtue of an accident/miracle the only female bishop, and almost instantly a saint. When Christianity replaces native religions, elements of the native religion tends to replace bits of dogma at the same time. Besides inserting herself in as saint, she became a replacement Virgin Mary. There are wonderful stories about her monastery/convent at Kildare. It was the only one to house both male and female religious. She had a best friend/roommate/probable lesbian lover. One of her nuns had an affair and became pregnant, and rather than kick her out of the order, or allow her to be killed, Brighid gave her a miracle abortion. She told her not to do it again, but that it was better to be a forgiven sinner with good work to do than dead. The nuns at Kildare continue to tend Brighid's eternal flame, even though the Vatican has declared that she never existed and revoked her sainthood.

[brni.livejournal.com]

i think the thing that i don't quite understand is "being a boy." i've been one, and frankly, it's quite limiting.

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

Yeah. I wonder, sometimes, especially after I've watched a bit of tv. Tv really doesn't make it look like a good idea.

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

Or watched them in public. Or lived with them.

[brni.livejournal.com]

the problem is this - in the 50s the scope of acceptable behavior for women was very restricted, in the subordinate role. over time the scope of acceptable behavior for women has really expanded, as part of a movement of liberation.

what is not typically recognized is that the scope of acceptable behavior for men was likewise equally limited in the 50s, though in the dominant role. being the dominant role, however, no need was seen to "liberate" men (and in fact, what little effort i've seen on this front has met with hostility from the mainstream, and even greater hostility from many feminist women), so there's really been very little change on that front (which i think is partially to blame for the current levels of anti-feminism in america).

there was a comic who described this when he said (paraphrased): "have you ever noticed how when men hug each other, they always pat each other on the back? sort of like they're saying, 'i'm hugging you, but i'm hitting you too.'"

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

I agree completely. I've been aware of this for a while. Sometimes boys even start to bring it up. I try to tell them that they have work to do, but they always back away from the subject immediately once I've said it. I'm not sure I understand why.

[brni.livejournal.com]

for a number of reasons, i suspect.

the most obvious is similar to the corporate concept of "golden handcuffs." this is when the corporation offers all sorts of incentives and benefits that kick in later, or incrementally over some time period. it's very difficult when you're two years into a job like this, where you know there's a really nice payout at the end of 3 years, to extricate yourself when the job starts to suck, for you and for others, and even when all the evidence is indicating that the company is going down the tubes and there won't be anything there in a year, you still hang on, just in case...

so, it's very difficult to give up what's perceived as a position of privilege, even as the privilege part of it withers away.

more powerful than that is the social conditioning, that thing that makes us hesitate before we can hug.

another thing to think about - if a woman said to a man, "women are oppressed in our society, and should have equal rights and equal pay and freedom from sexual harrassment and (etc)," and the man replied by saying, "well, you've got work to do," how would the woman react? even if/though it's true... it's a different reaction than if the conversation were between two women.

i have a book for you, btw.

[earlofgrey.livejournal.com]

Meow. Yes. You are correct.