Tag: mine

I got scabies!

epicene-writings:

I got scabies!
Hundreds of bugs roam
At my surface instead of dust.
My skin
Lives! I am but
An offering, raw,
My bugs biting their way
Into me. Don’t approach me! They’re still
Hungry,
And their cult would mad you.
I got scabies!

;

I got scurvy!
My mouth is a stink hole,
Half-full of black,
Half-full of pus;
I radiate rot when I tell you
About – what? – love!
I refuse acidity, I refuse intimacy
For I got scurvy!

;

But wait – don’t leave!
I got also dyke disease,
So do not get close
To me!
Do not touch and do not stare
Or you’ll end up like me
Gnawing your lonely bones
Again, and again, ripping them
Apart, until
It all crumbles between your teeth,
Drying your throat –
And makes you cough
And makes you puke.

See this? Do not caress!
I got dyke disease.

Contemplating

epicene-writings:

Well, actually,
i dont think it was a pretty day
for her, or a pretty weather
altogether.

;

The soiled sky and cement waves
met only torn cloth, stained
with wine, sweat, mucus, maybe
vomit. I know
what i’m talking about! and I’m saying
Those rocks aren’t pretty.
Covered in dead fishes (still slimy, or carcasses already), dried-up
algae, and seagull poop
– sticky, gross, and, well,
hard to climb. It made
her nails go black
before time.
It wasn’t – at any rate –
a pretty day.

;

Not that there was no sun;
It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t hot, either,
when she stripped the wind that    
quickly reformed behind her body
– that pile of dirty laundry.
Really, there was nothing left
and there was nothing where
the air meets water
already.

;

Well: actually,
she didn’t feel it happening
she just fell
and you know how sea is
when you fall
from that high.

;

Torn
Cloth, a
broken hairpin,
that wasn’t even
made of gold. That’s about it.

;

I’m telling you:
it wasn’t a pretty death
it wasnt a pretty day
it wasnt a pretty sea
it wasnt a pretty
it wasn’t

;
pretty
pretty
pretty
pretty
pretty…

epicene-writings:

Just another regular anecdote

… She had said, and i

Was sitting on the bed

I had not a right to anymore.

*

C’mon, i thought, you knew

This was bound to happen!

You’ve rehearsed the play over

And over again;

You know exactly

What to do.

No suitcase, yet, but eventually

They’ll probably allow you one

Since she likes it when things are done

The way they ought to.

For now, your school

Backpack, your laptop, phone, and chargers;

Your textbooks, notebooks, school books

So as not to fall behind – Remember,

You have to get out of there.

(You know exactly

What to do.)

Then underwear, some pants, and shirts

And don’t forget

Your poetry book.

You’ll stand

Outside, on another street,

And give her a call; she’s your friend,

And got her own flat

In the city, after all.

She’ll surely offer shelter

For a few nights, and you’ll tell her

You’ll do the dishes, take no space

And be quiet. You know

How to be quiet; it’s been so long!

Quick! You’re running out of time,

And it’s not

As if you had ever liked this house

And the whole life she carved out

For you anyway.

You know exactly

What to do!

So why won’t you do it?

Now, why are you still sitting

On that bed? The cat

Isn’t purring in your lap;

You have no excuses

To delay your not-so-dramatic exit.

Quick! They want you

Out, so get out, and take

Your things, since

You know exactly

What to do!

*

And the door

Squeaked slowly, and he

– My father –

Stepped in, declared

– Somber, and looking

At the window:

“Dinner’s ready. She

Changed her mind. You stay,

But she won’t eat with you

Or have contact anymore.

Now think

Of a proper apology.”

*

And i followed him

Through their house,

Then sat in the kitchen,

Eating her dinner.

this has to stay confined to tumblr since my father reads my bigger professional blog. also this is Important™ to me pls validate my traumatic experiences

Shame

epicene-writings:

For the smooth-looking

Pretending to be blank, you

You.

– Melted wax,
Still cold –
Still wax.

For the scribbled paper
Crumpled, and thrown
Right into the bin.

– Open it: it’s blank,
Blank, a void, yet
Again. You.

For the uncrumpled, the deceiving
And the paper.
You –
Stamped bodies
Bizarre breasts, distorted
Them. You.

Seal the void
Of sex
With the wax
Of shame.

epicene-writings:

Just another regular anecdote

… She had said, and i

Was sitting on the bed

I had not a right to anymore.

*

C’mon, i thought, you knew

This was bound to happen!

You’ve rehearsed the play over

And over again;

You know exactly

What to do.

No suitcase, yet, but eventually

They’ll probably allow you one

Since she likes it when things are done

The way they ought to.

For now, your school

Backpack, your laptop, phone, and chargers;

Your textbooks, notebooks, school books

So as not to fall behind – Remember,

You have to get out of there.

(You know exactly

What to do.)

Then underwear, some pants, and shirts

And don’t forget

Your poetry book.

You’ll stand

Outside, on another street,

And give her a call; she’s your friend,

And got her own flat

In the city, after all.

She’ll surely offer shelter

For a few nights, and you’ll tell her

You’ll do the dishes, take no space

And be quiet. You know

How to be quiet; it’s been so long!

Quick! You’re running out of time,

And it’s not

As if you had ever liked this house

And the whole life she carved out

For you anyway.

You know exactly

What to do!

So why won’t you do it?

Now, why are you still sitting

On that bed? The cat

Isn’t purring in your lap;

You have no excuses

To delay your not-so-dramatic exit.

Quick! They want you

Out, so get out, and take

Your things, since

You know exactly

What to do!

*

And the door

Squeaked slowly, and he

– My father –

Stepped in, declared

– Somber, and looking

At the window:

“Dinner’s ready. She

Changed her mind. You stay,

But she won’t eat with you

Or have contact anymore.

Now think

Of a proper apology.”

*

And i followed him

Through their house,

Then sat in the kitchen,

Eating her dinner.

epicene-writings:

Just another regular anecdote

… She had said, and i

Was sitting on the bed

I had not a right to anymore.

*

C’mon, i thought, you knew

This was bound to happen!

You’ve rehearsed the play over,

And over again;

You know exactly

What to do.

No suitcase, yet, but eventually

They’ll probably allow you one

Since she likes it when things are done

The way they ought to.

For now, your school

Backpack, your laptop, phone, and chargers;

Your textbooks, notebooks, school books

So as not to fall behind – Remember,

You have to get out of there.

(You know exactly

What to do.)

Then underwear, some pants, and shirts

And don’t forget

Your poetry book.

You’ll stand

Outside, on another street,

And give her a call; she’s your friend,

And got her own flat

In the city, after all.

She’ll surely offer shelter

For a few nights, and you’ll tell her

You’ll do the dishes, take no space

And be quiet. You know

How to be quiet; it’s been so long!

Quick! You’re running out of time,

And it’s not

As if you had ever liked this house

And the whole life she carved out

For you anyway.

You know exactly

What to do!

So why won’t you do it?

Now, why are you still sitting

On that bed? The cat

Isn’t purring in your lap;

You have no excuses

To delay your not-so-dramatic exit.

Quick! They want you

Out, so get out, and take

Your things, since

You know exactly

What to do!

*

And the door

Squeaked slowly, and he

– My father –

Stepped in, declared

Somber, and looking

At the window:

“Dinner’s ready. She

Changed her mind. You stay,

But she won’t eat with you

Or have contact anymore.

Now think

Of a proper apology.”

*

And i followed him

Through their house,

Then sat in the kitchen,

Eating her dinner.

wholesome student life things that we should collectively start romanticizing

  • waking up and being genuinely thrilled to go to class because today is THAT CLASS you love so much you’d like it to never end
  • coffee breaks with friends, chatting and joking about this particularly hard essay and the prof’s mannerism
  • coffee breaks on your own, as you absent-mindedly watch the people around you, while thinking about what you’re working on
  • finding this book you’ve been dying to read for so long, and borrowing it from the library
  • the feeling of excitement that goes through you whenever you remember The Book is in your backpack
  • understanding everything during demanding classes and being genuinely interested in the subject
  • buying a New Special Pen and taking colorful notes that look super pretty
  • not being able to shut up about your school projects (no your friends dont really care about the intricate details of what you’re working on, they don’t even have the same major as you, but they’re happy to hear you rant with such a burning passion)
  • actually doing the extra reading and having your curiosity so piqued by what you’re reading that you go on and on and suddenly its 1am and what happened
  • printing the project you’ve spent so much time and energy on and feeling the paper’s warmth
  • actually submitting that project without feeling awful about it because you know you did your best and aren’t responsible for what happens next
  • when you finally finish this Super Hard And Important Essay at like 3am, open the window and feel the cold night air on your burning cheeks and everything is dark and quiet and you can see the moon and you’re at peace with everything for a few minutes
  • when this professor you admire says you did a great job and/or that you’re talented!!!!
  • realizing two concepts that seemed so far away from each other and that you discovered in wildly different contexts are actually interlinked, then Realizing™ things and linking concepts/works/articles to each other at the speed of light & being super excited about it
  • being so deeply immersed in your work that you didn’t realize two hours have passed
  • finding the Perfect Spot at the library
  • that Pure Joy moment when you FINALLY understand that super obscure sentence/text
  • when you feel anxious because you’re not done with your homework & the deadline is super tight & your friend tells you they aren’t done yet either
  • same but with an even more intense relief feeling when you realize you both haven’t even started yet
  • when the professor starts a new reasoning and you can predict what the next idea/the final conclusion will be
  • when the professor mention your favorite novel/author/fictional character in class and you feel like your internal screech of joy could shatter glass
  • the Academic Salt™ that has you like 👀👀
  • when the professor tears apart an author or scholar you hate and you’re like YES I WANT BLOOD GIVE ME BLOOD
  • when you learn that Cool New Fact that makes you reconsider your whole life
  • leaving the library after a long productive day and feeling like nothing is real but experiencing everything more intensely
  • leaving the library at night after a long study session and everybody has left already and its just you and the long neon-lit corridors then stepping outside and smelling the crisp night wind

feel free to add your own!!!

a very slurry guide to why french is Like That, Actually

SO

yall
remember that post that went like…… “why is french… Like
That”?

well,
time for An Education from ur
local french literature student

SO,
BASICALLY, WHAT HAPPENED

first
of all, well, it’s like the 9th
century and the king is like…… hey what if….. and bear with me
on this one but….. what if…….. we wrote………. the
things about our country………… in the language……. actual
people living in this country….. speak?

and
people were like “holy shit youre the king so okay” and then the
king was like “i want YOU to write this laws and THINGS in FRENCH!”
and the monks were like “aw okay” so they started doing that

EXCEPT

that
they had a big fucking problem. what
was that problem, you may ask? well,
the problem was thaT THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS DIDNT HAVE AN ALPHABET TO
WRITE THIS FUCKING EXCUSE OF A LANGUAGE

lemme
explain. all
they knew was latin and the latin alphabet. bc
like knowing latin was the whole thing when u were a monk. also
latin was like… the Serious Language. but
french doesnt sound like
latin like at all. french
sounded like some bitch ass demon had bitten their tongue and was
trying to order a latte in the middle of an exorcism incantation. and
i
say “sounded” on purpose bc their pronunciation was wild,
man. like
ultra wild. like
even WORSE than what we have to deal with now. and
it had NOTHING to do with motherfucking
latin.

so
what did the monks do? well,
they were like “aw this is a mcfucking embarrassment of a
situation, ay” and had a choice. basically,
they could invent a whole new mode of transcription for french weird
ass sounds… OR they could do their best to try and adapt the latin
alphabet to its demonic sprouting.

which
is, pretty sadly if you ask me, what they went for.

so
they started planning strategies that were complex at shit bc like
how tf are you gonna write “cheval” with
a fucking LATIN ALPHABET???
so basically they all went with whatever felt best to write in
the moment and there were no
rules and it was a weird fucking mess of a situation lemme tell you,
ive seen the manuscripts, those men went APE SHITT

and
like…. some
of them never used the same spelling twice. also
there were like no accent and punctuation and things that allow you
to write like a fucking normal human being so jot that down

so,
that was a big fucking mess and they started adding letters e v e r y
w h e r e like……….. ok some of them were actually smart like
they did their best to add letters that no one pronounced
but it made it look like some latin thing. like
basically they put up a pink hairband on a fucking DEMON CHILD and
went “aaaawww look how CUTE it is, looks like its mommy so
much!!!!” and prayed to god it would end up
well (spoiler: no. no
it didnt. bitch)

so
you got things like “veult” for “veut” bc the “l” made it
look a bit like the latin “vult” or something. but
then as i said
some of them went APE SHITT and were like, WOOHOO FREE LETTERS and
started adding weird letters to words that had literally no
etymological link to that letter. so
they were writing “peut” like “peult” just because….. idk
they felt like to??

so
its Like That in the middle ages and then people started thinking
about french as a language and they went like….. MAAAAW THERES A
WEIRD FUCKING STRAY WRITING OUTSIDE!!! MAAAAAAAW!!!! IS THAT EVEN A
FUCKING LANGUAGE???? BLINK
MOTHERFUCKER!! AAAAAAAAAAAA
and everyone was losing their shit alright

so like english students started
going to college in france and they were like “bitch
you live like
this??” and the french were like :/// whelp

and like they did their best to like
help non-native writing
french but it had no rules so it didnt work out well and like….. in
the 1500’s some guys were like “okay guys this makes no
sense from now on well use a
RATIONALIZED WRITING i
built MYSELF” and their idea was basically to write french as they
spoke it which i
know SOUNDS like a good idea but actually AINT

bc first of all there are a shitton
of words that have the same pronunciation in french and you
need those weird spellings to actually know what the word is there
for like….. they wrote like “me” for “mai” and “mais”
and “mes” and “met” and basically that was wild

and some
of those guys who knew a lot about grammar went like “ooookayyyyy
so were removing those letters we dont pronounce buuuuuuuuuut its not
alwayyyyyys like thiiiiiiiiis” and like…. right-wing
people like the 1550 equivalent of republicans or some shit went
like, foaming at the mouth like rabid fucking dogs when they saw “pe”
instead of “peult” “oooooohhhhhh but you DIDNT and its not EVEN
REALLY RATIONAL” and like they had a ton or arguments and it
actually became a kinda linguistic war and all

plus they didnt pronounce the same
things everywhere in france so in paris they wrote “otr” for
“autre” and in lyon they wrote “aotr” and they were like………
“we got a problem here” bc the whole thing was to get a language
that was the same everywhere in the country basically

so u got those reformist guys on the
one side and the reactionaries on the other side and honestly,
reactionaries’ arguments are so fucking funny they were like…

“okay so some of the letters are
useful bc it helps understanding that the word comes from latin”
this ones rational alright

“also some mute letters are used to
link the words from an
identical background together and
create semantic links like
“sang” (blood) does have a mute “g” bc it links it to
“sanguin” (sanguine) and other words like this” alright cool

but THEN you got some weird fucking
ideas like

“but actually writing IS the
standard bc written things Are More Noble, Actually” which is
like……. weird
flex but ok

“yes, it makes it harder to learn,
but so it repels women and non-educated people who would soil The
Language if they could write
it” like DUDE are you
FUCKING SERIOUS

and finally – their main idea –

“bUt iT loOkS FaNcY” aka
#aesthetics and thats basically it

also. the
printing press workers were like……… guys are you SURE you
want to get us to COMPLETELY CHANGE AND UNLEARN OUR WHOLE JOB LIKE
C’MON so it kinda weighed in favor of the reactionaries

also the reactionaries won in the
long term

tl;dr so french is Like That because 1.
its a demonic language that monks desperately tried to tie back to
latin and 2. old white men with bizarre aesthetic tastes hated women and The Poor

thanks for coming to my ted talk my
language makes no sense and neither does its history