Hey

Hi!
Who are you?
Seriously, who are you?
And how did you end up here?

Honestly, I'm not sure who ends up seeing this blog.
Or what kind of person.
Judging by the name of the blog and the tags, either you were looking for an actual cult, or you're a depressed and/or misguided teen.
I dunno.

But I wonder constantly.

So tell me about yourself
Tell us about yourself.

What kind of person are you?
Why are you reading this?

I can't promise you that we won't judge
But hell
I think we'll understand.

--Julie and the gang

Rebuttal to the Pessimist

You say society's going to hell in a handbasket. You say humanity's causing problems it will never solve. I think you're forgetting that we're humanity; we invented handbaskets, hell, and the problem, and we've never met any of either we couldn't eventually tear apart.

You say our social mentality's full of sexuality and drugs today, which according to you means we're rapidly degenerating as a society. Has our species not had alcohol ever since we could farm? Did kings of ancient cultures not have harems? Did the ancient soldiers not rape the women of conquered enemy tribes? Have we not had lust and drink and highs for all of the human race? 

You say we glorify slaughter and violence and death. Did not our forefathers judge each other by how many of their enemies' heads they had taken? Were the highest ranked nobles not also the fiercest warriors? Did men not once rule by the sword rather than the ballot?

The human race is inherently flawed. We are naturally ignorant, we are naturally quick to violence, we are naturally fearful of that which we do not know (all fear is technically fear of the unknown). It is simply the way we were made or the way we evolved or the way the Flying Spaghetti Monster threw us here or any and all of these things you may choose to believe. Some people nurture these flaws, while some consciously avoid them, but either way they are all present in each of us in at least a small quantity.

However, this does not make the human race inherently bad. In fact, the human race IS inherently good. Why? Simply put, our naturally good qualities outweigh our naturally bad ones. 

We're naturally inclined to defend what we believe is right. This has led to so many wars and so many conflicts and so many struggles, it's hard to believe this is a blessing and not a curse. However, deep down there are beliefs shared almost completely throughout the human race. If given two choices, both equal in end consequence to us and others, except one saves a life, who would not choose to save? If given the option of starving the world or feeding it, with the end consequence to ourselves the same, who would not choose to feed? Maybe you don't believe in love, but few of us would kill without any sort of motive. Maybe you don't believe in God, but few of us would do something we know and feel is unjust. 

We're all naturally curious; though it's been many a man's downfall, it's also what brought us to the moon and under the ocean and to all the four corners of the Earth. It's what cured smallpox and is curing malaria and WILL cure cancer. It's why we have stories and why we have poems and why we have religions and why we have rants. In fact, curiosity is the reason you in your present form are sitting here today reading this rant (or, more likely, skimming it). Think about it-- your ancestors wouldn't have been in America, and (if you're of anything but 100% one particular ethnic origin) wouldn't have even met. You-- EXACT you-- would be in pieces spread across Europe or Asia or Africa or the world. And you-- EXACT you-- wouldn't even truly exist, because what is a concept of self without a mind, and what is a mind but a collection of thoughts, and what are thoughts but a lovely and delicious stew of beliefs and morals and memories and experiences all bouncing off various synapses, coordinating at the speed of light? I think, therefore I am; I am, therefore... who knows? Let's find out. I know I'm curious.

We all naturally love; maybe you don't believe this, but I do. Maybe it won't always be romantic. Maybe it won't always be requited. Maybe-- definitely-- it won't always be pain-free... but if a man does not love, it is not because he CAN'T love. It's because he won't let himself love. Deep down in all of us, somewhere, there is someone who needs love and gives love. Even the most atrocious gang-banger joins to protect the things he loves: his family. His neighborhood. His freedom. His life. His chance for a way out. His pride... 

What a word that is: pride.

Above anything else, we're all naturally prideful. Above all else, this is what makes us human, and above all else, this is what gives us the ability to redeem ourselves. Look around, and you'll see pride in each and every person you encounter. Maybe it's not even the "boastful" ones... Look at the boy with no friends, and see his pride in his math skills. Look at the jobless construction worker, and see his pride in his family. Look at the angry, lonely old woman at the DMV, and see her pride in her cats. Look at the fat, ugly, perpetually single girl in the baggy man-clothes who nobody wants to partner up with flopping about ineffectively during gym class, and see her pride in her music, her language, her mind. We have ten synchronized organ systems that keep our bodies alive, but it's our pride that keeps us LIVING. To some, pride is a bad word; pride is a vice; pride is what's going to destroy the human race. In reality, pride is the sweetest of blessings; pride is the greatest of virtues; pride is what makes us screw ourselves over, but pride is what gets us back on our feet again. 

We're intrinsically flawed, but we're naturally good; we might screw each other over, but we'll help ourselves back up. 

We're human beings. We can make it work.


--Patti

Signs point to love.

I turn on the TV and I see the protesters: angry, yelling, carrying signs. 

LEVITICUS 20:13

THE JEWS KILLED JESUS

GOD HATES FAGS

Click! I quickly flip the channel.

There's a senator on TV, making a speech. He's saying he's happy about the earthquake in Haiti, that he's glad God sent that disaster to punish the Haitans for their "sinful" local customs and beliefs. 

I reach for the remote once again. Click!

They've banned the burqa in France-- click-- violence in Israel and Lebanon--click!--  and Glenn Beck is on the screen, shouting, saying Obama should go back to the Muslim-loving Arab country he was born in and-- click!-- 

I turn off the TV; I can't stand it any more. 

Because the one thing all or most of these people have in common, apart from their inexcusable bigotry, is their professed belief in the teachings of Jesus Christ. 

Maybe I'm wrong about Jesus. Maybe all my years of Sunday school, and all the hymns I've sung, and all the sermons I've listened to (intently or not so much) didn't quite get through. Maybe I'm not interpreting Jesus' message quite right, maybe he DID say somewhere to hate our neighbor because they're a little bit different, maybe the Bible is dripping with some kind of sarcasm I didn't get, but the ONE message I've gotten above all the others out of being a Christian all my life is that God loves you no matter who you are or what you do, and we're supposed to love each other because of that. 

We've all failed at this. Of course we have. We are all human, after all; that's what forgiveness is for. The thing that really bothers me, though, is the people who deliberately preach hate against other human beings in God's name. "Well, God OBVIOUSLY hates these people," they say. They point to people's suffering, to natural disasters, to isolated incidents, as proof that "these people"-- gays, Jews, Muslims, the poor, what have you-- have sinned, somehow, enough to make God stop loving them. But the truth is, that just isn't possible.

Yes, people make mistakes sometimes. And yes, bad things happen sometimes. And I honestly don't really know how to explain either except by saying that life is a messy ordeal and no one knows why. But the answer isn't in blame or hate or fear; it's in love. In the end, love is what God gave us: not answers to everything or absolute perfection or a reason to point fingers at people and shout that we're right, but love. And the point of Christianity-- the point, I think, of any life well-lived regardless of your particular religious creed-- is to share that love with people, whether in the form of the missionary who goes to Guatemala with food and Bibles and free dental exams, or the school full of kids donating toys and socks and blankets so that some poorer kids can have a nice Christmas, or even just in that one friend who seeks you out on your worst days and asks you what's wrong and just listens. Because for those of you asking yourself, that, not yelling or blaming or carrying angry signs, is what Jesus would have done. 

I turn on the TV again, and there are the signs. Except I'm not angry anymore, just sad. I want to make signs of my own:

JOHN 3:16

JESUS WAS A JEW, THEY'RE PRETTY OKAY

GOD LOVES FAGS EVERYONE

GOD LOVES YOU

--Patti

Bible verses mentioned:

"If a man lie with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them." (Leviticus 20:13)

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

jokes

-you know what i dont like about you?
arthur glanced at the teen next to him, his hands gripping the steering wheel even tighter for a second before he loosened his grip.
-you are too serious.
-i'm too serious?
arthur echoed, before repeating it loudly.
-oh really now? Vinny, Ronaldo, do you agree? Am I too serious?
Vinny just looked away from Arthur and Ronaldo coughed awkwardly into his hand.
Michael next to him grinned at their responses.
-See? you are too serious.
-what do you want me to do then?
-i don't know... how about a joke?
-a joke?
-yes a joke. tell us a joke.
Michael laughed as vinny and ronaldo agreed from the back seat.
-alright. here's one, Knock Knock.
-who's there?
michael ventured
silence.








-go fuck yourself.

The attic story

1.) introduction.
---what's your name?
---i don't have one.
---you don't have a name? why not?
---i don't know? i was never... given one?
---never given one? BAH. i'll give you a name!
---oh...kay?
---yes! i shall name you...
---...?
---ann. your name shall be ann.
---thanks, i guess?
---you're welcome, ann.

2.)love
---ann, have you heard about the new boy at school?
---no, i don't go to school with you, remember?
---oh, right. where do you go to school, anyway?
---i'm not sure.
---well, you should go to my school!
---i hope i could
---anyway, there's this new boy at school
---a new boy?
---yes! he's really pretty too! my mother told me that everyone is pretty! do you think he thinks im pretty, too?
---who knows?

3.)light
---hey ann?
---yes?
---why is it so dark in here?
---i'm not sure. it just always is.
---i'm sorry! you should get some light in here!
light rustling, before blinds are pulled
---you see! it's light in here!
---i...guess.
---i never really saw what you're wearing before; that's a pretty dress you're wearing!
---thanks, i guess.
---it is! i like how it gets lighter at the bottom; almost like it's see-thru.
---hmm.

4.)dark
---hey ann?
---yes?
---aren't you ever afraid of the dark?
---what do you mean?
---i mean, you're always in the dark, what's it like in here?
---i guess... it's very quiet.
---...quiet?
---yes, quite so. it's actually very pleasant
---in the dark, listening to quiet?
---yes.

5.)seeking solace
---ann! ann! it's raining outside!
he's leaning against the window, hands perched on the window rail
---it's raining? gross.
---nah, nah, look outside.
---still, it's just rain.
---well, i happen to like rain.
---oh? explain.
---well, in english today, my teacher told us rain it just gods way of cleansing the world of sins
---sins? like?
---you know, loving thy neighbor, hatred, evil, homosexuality, racism; sins!

6.)break away
---hey, ann?
---yes?
---i think i have a problem.
he's sitting in the old chair, legs curled up against his chest
---what's wrong?
he glances at her, the familiar semi-transparent pattern flashing in the corner of his eye
---i think there's something wrong with me, that's what.
---what's wrong with you? i think you're just swell
---why, thank you. but, i think there is something wrong with me
---what? i bet it's nothing.
---no, no. no. no. i... there's this boy in my class. richard.
---wasn't he the boy who moved here years ago?
---you remember that?
---you were so excited.
---well... i think... he's really nice.
---so you like him?
---yes.
---what's wrong with that?
---i like him more than i should. what should i do?
---...
---i... i think im going to stop talking to him. if i stop talking to him, it'll all go away right?
---....

7.)heaven
---ann.
---yes?
---do you think heaven and hell exists?
---what do you mean?
---we talked about it in religious studies today; and i'm wondering what you think of it
---well, i'm not sure, myself
---i thought you would be
---why?
---because you... you're... nevermind.
---do you think i belong in either?
---i think you belong in heaven
---i think you belong there too. you've been a very nice friend over the years
his smile is lethargic as he glances out the window
---i'm glad i met you, ann
---and i you. it was very lonely here, before you first came.
her form is flashing and blinking like an almost dead light bulb

8.)innocence
---ann? are you there?
silence.
---ann? what happened? are you okay?
silence.
---ann? ann? Ann? Ann?
his voice has a tinge of hysteria in it.
---ann, please. i need you. please. ann? ann?
tears are falling down his face
---ann, please. please show yourself. ann, i'm sorry if i ever offended you or hurt your feelings. ann; ann please. ann please, please. please, ann!
he's hugging his arms around his form, fingers digging into his unnaturally thin sides
---ann, please, help me. ann, please. i don't... ann...
ann never showed.

9.)drive
he's flipping car keys through his fingers quickly
---hello?
---ann! hello there!
---what is with the keys?
---i'm driving somewhere, later today
---you're driving somewhere? where are you going?
---oh, you know. just a trip into the woods.
---camping?
---sort of.
---oh how delightful! i wish i could go with you
---i heard it's going to rain though, and i know how much you hate the rain
---i'd still go, just because it'd be a fun adventure with you.
his smile is bittersweet
---i'm sure it would have been.

10.)breathe again
ann is sitting quietly in her seat
---i wonder where he went
her transparent dress is flicking on and off all around her
---i hope he had fun on his trip.
she glances out the window, seeing nothing but sunshine
---i wish i could have come, it's all sunshine outside!
she glances away, still smiling
---ahh, well, i'm sure he enjoyed it.
she pauses, before glancing back out the window
---why, it's his car! ooh, he's back, isn't he!
she's watching with her fingers lightly touching the window
---why... is that not his family? oh, did they go with him! oh how much fun!
ann taps her fingers against the glass lightly
---oh but i do hope they didn't get over-heated during the trip
she pauses to glance back to her chair before back out the window
---black surely is a dreadful colour to wear, while camping.

cassandra (a last appearance).

you see, it was my problem. i was the one crying all morning because i forgot about rule number six and took myself too goddamn seriously. i was the one who finally snapped underneath all the stress and the pressure after the proverbial last straw of a bad test grade. it wasn't her business or most people's business for that matter. it was mine.

i suppose that being in the same room as a crying person is never comfortable, and most nice people at least try to provide some comfort. it's a natural reaction. but when you're on the other end of the scenario and you can't hear the words "are you okay?" without the tears starting up again, unstoppable, all you can think about is how much you hate being like this. vulnerable. weak. out of control. and you can't stand the thought of anyone seeing you at your worst besides the people who already have and still love you anyway.

the problem was not that cassandra tried. it wasn't that she made the usual promises that she would always be there for me, even though i pushed her away with repeated "i'm fine"s. it wasn't even that she offered me a hug (goodness knows i didn't want one from her). no, it was that after about ten minutes of silence, she looked up at me and said, "christie? you know, it's okay if you don't want to talk to me. i understand that. but you should at least talk to somebody, maybe somebody closer to you. i'm sure you didn't do anything bad; i know you're a good girl. but you need to talk to someone."

need? she was telling me that i needed to talk to someone? all i needed was for her to stop telling me what i should and shouldn't be doing, because right then i felt so goddamn vulnerable and and all i wanted was to regain my foothold on my life. this may have been my one moment of weakness, but she had no right to infringe on my power to make my own decisions. it didn't matter whether she was right or wrong. she had no right to me.

maybe i was overreacting. maybe that was too mean of me to think so harshly of her. i don't care. to place confidence in another person is to give that person power, and every ounce of sincerity i produce puts me at a greater degree of dependency because then i owe mutual human connection. that's how friendship works, right?

goodness knows that it's supposed to be beautiful. human connection is something that everybody is forever searching for in intertwined hands and intertwined lives, hoping to feel some transfer of empathy from heart to tangled heart. all i really wish is that she would see what i see, and what i see is that between the two of us, it doesn't matter how much she strives to make that connection. there will always be a short circuit somewhere, in some place where her memory in my cortex is meant to spark with the beating of my heart.

take a leap.

--what's the point in faith?

--i'm sorry?

--well, i thought i'd ask someone who'd know. i mean, you go to church and say your prayers every sunday, right? what i was wondering was, do you ever question why you do it every week? or what god has planned for you? or even what god is? how do you know he's there at all?

--sure i question, sometimes. but then i think, what's the use in that? he has given me so many good things, so many good people in my life. i think he just wants me to live a life full of love and personal growth, and so i thank him every sunday for the opportunity he has given me.

--he has given you many good things, but what about other people? how do you explain poverty into his grand plan? and disease? 

--i don't think he means for everything to be perfect. i think he just hopes every person tries to be the best person they can be...

--and the way he lets people be evil to each other, like in war. or crime. or lying. or just...shutting out someone who loves you.

--...

--i just don't see how he could let these things happen, if he was there and he loved us.

--i think he does love us. i think he loves you. 

--for what reason?

--just...have some faith.

--faith in him? in people?

--try it.

--i can't.

--not even try?

--i am trying. but no matter how hard i think it through, i don't believe in it.

--well, what do you have faith in?

--...

--let's try this. who do you have faith in?

--...i don't know.

--there's got to be someone.

--nope.

--well, i have faith in you.

--do you?

--of course i do.

--i wish i could say the same.

--christie

i need to stop watching self-help videos on youtube

clasping their hands together

they're swinging their arms widely

laughing with each other for a change

their feet silent in the midst of others

stomping and racing along this chicago sidewalk

splashing their feet in the fountains

and swinging around the trees

they're swerving through and through the people

chasing each other like a cat and a mouse

but with no ill intentions

and as they smile at each other

they ignore how one is 45 pounds underweight

and the other has over 100 scars over their body

'what do you see, what you look in the mirror?'

he breathes to her, smoke curling out of her mouth

she does not respond, her head leaning against the wall, back curled against the floor, feet kicked up towards the ceiling

'i am serious. what do you see when you look in the mirror?'

his voice grows as she stares at her, cigarette balanced between his teeth

she finally responds

'what does it matter?'

he groans and palms his face slowly

before facing her, 'so what anna-marette told me was true?'

her face goes blank, before looking away from him

'i want you to stand up.'

he declares, standing up himself and holding a hand out for her

she ignores it.

his face is suddenly distorted by anger as he reaches down

and grips her arm painfully and yanks her up

and she cries in response, a cigarette fallen to the ground

'what do you see, when you look in the mirror?'

he asks her again, and her breathe is shaking, but she glances

to the mirror to the left of them

and she sees them, covered in bruises and messy clothes

hair and makeup is everywhere, and their skin is pasty

but their noses and eyes are bright red

and she glances at him

hands on his hips staring at her defiantly

before she wets her lips nervously, before speaking,

'beauty.'

you're gazing at the fry for a few seconds, before shrugging, easily popping it into your mouth

your face is blank for a few seconds as you chew it, before suddenly your eyes are wide and your hands fly to cover your mouth

and we're watching confused and amazed all the same as you're jumping from your seat and running down the length of the table

before grabbing the garbage can with all your might, and tucking your head in

we don't need to be genius' to know what you were doing.

we just all look away awkwardly as you star there for ten seconds

20 seconds

30 seconds

before slowly you lift your head up, and stumble over to the water fountain

and by now we're glancing silently at our lunches

and he moves to throw his away

as she slowly walks back over to us, silently collapsing into her seat

face white and ashy

--lynn

An Ode to Levelheadedness

The President is a Muslim. 

It's 2076, and the President of the United States is Faisal Mahdi, and he is a Muslim. The Capitol hasn't sprung minarets and the Bible belt is still full of old people with Bibles and we aren't all fluent in Arabic, although it's a common option in schools alongside Spanish and French and Mandarin Chinese. It's just that the President is a Muslim.

There was one who was a black guy a while back, and some people were mad about that. And then there was one who was a woman, and half the country didn't take her seriously. Then there was an Asian guy, and only the truly out-of-it made jokes about Coca-Cola and pee-pee, or how they couldn't tell the president apart from somebody else. (Jay Leno did a couple of those, but nobody really listened to him because most of his fan base had died.) And then that Brazillian lady got elected, and so few were surprised when things all of a sudden started working again. And there were a few white guys in between that nobody really remembers. Now the President is a Muslim. 

Sometimes the media gets a photo release of the President and his two teenage daughters, one of whom has chosen to wear a hijab and one of whom has not. Sometimes meetings are interrupted for prayers. President Mahdi and his wife still have a Christmas tree in keeping with tradition, but they also have a Ramadan party every year that is out of this world. I've heard the White House chef makes fantastic hummus. There are old traditions and there are new traditions, because the President is a Muslim.

It's 2076. The President is a Muslim, and nobody really cares. 


--Patti

the candles of saint mary.

there we are, gathered before a corner of the college campus that is alight with rows and rows of candles on racks.

this is saint mary's place, the tour guide says. this is where students can say a prayer and just let go of all the worries in our lives.

or at least something along those lines. i'm barely listening.

she invites us to each light a candle, if we like. she assures us that even though the school is catholic, it's okay if we're jewish. it's okay if we don't even reflect about god if we don't want to.

i follow all the other girls to the crate of unlit candles,

watch each of the girls in front of me take one.

but when it is my turn to take a candle, i start to reach for one and pause.

i know the light is supposed to symbolize hope and spirituality and all, but all i can think about is the not the light, but the candles. there are hundreds of them burning in this place. hundreds of candles made of tons of wax. and as i stand there, i can't help but question. if there's a god, then why is he letting all of this candle wax be consumed by college kids and visitors for a symbolic manifestation of prayer when there are other places in this world where symbolism is useless because real warmth and comfort is so impossible to come by?

i can't keep standing here for much longer. there are people waiting behind me who want their candles too. a small part of me still wants to take that lump of wax, just to experience lighting its fresh, unburnt wick and seeing the little flame blossom from nothing. but it seems pointless now. i put my hand back into my coat pocket and step towards the racks of candles. i watch the other girls light theirs with wooden sticks provided for that purpose, placing them in empty places in the rows. each candle in this array of illumination is meant to embody a different person's hopes and prayers. can a candle really do that?

as the other girls kneel at the gate and pray, i stare for a while at the sight before me. it feels like so much human emotion is put into these dots of flickering light, but the candles themselves are solemn. they themselves don't feel a thing. for some reason it reminds me of the vietnam memorial, with all those names on a stone wall expressing loss. no matter what it's supposed to represent, the engravings in the stone are cold. silent. nothing more than a tool for man to help come to terms with himself. that's all it really is, in the end.

continuing to look at the candles seems useless now. standing apart from everyone else, i turn to face the night sky. it's silent, starless, indifferent, and the air is quivering with the chill. but i have more faith in this than i have in the countless candles flickering behind me.

it's time to go. the girls are wordless as they rise from their prayers. there's no sound as we gather around our chaperones. and as we slowly walk out of the place with saint mary's candles, we don't say a thing.

is this dream too stupid, she thinks

as she folds the paper

she bits the pencil held between her teeth

rolling it around as her nimble fingers expertly folded the paper

before dropping the finished project behind her

adding to the already large collection she had acquired

before picking up the next piece of paper

and she plucked the pencil from between her lips

the pencil already stained red from her lipstick

as she quickly scribbled down something on the paper

before she started to fold that piece as well

pencil back between her lips

rolling around slowly between red-stained lips

it wasn't until late that night

the early morning hours flashing at her from her cellphone

as she creeps out her front door, breath held in her throat

as the door clicks closed behind her, before she's quickly scuttling away

pencil held between ruby-covered lips

as she clutches 3 plastic bags delicately, each filled with folded pieces of paper.

10 minutes later she was in the forest

almost stumbling over roots that were hidden by the almost pitch darkness

if except for the light of the cheese moon, and the lone streetlight in the parking lot, over 250 metres away

as years of traversing these woods finally payed off, she reached the cement bridge

and slowly started to climb the steep steps

gray boots clicking slightly with each step vibrating against the silent forest

as she reaches the top of the bridge, she pauses

and glances upward, staring at the butter moon

surrounded by stars and planes, and Jupiter to the bottom right

occupying herself with glancing up,

she slowly walks to the middle of the bridge, but trips on the old, uneven flooring

one hand reaches out, and catches the railing

but the plastic bags are ripped open

and her projects are deposited to the ground

not stirred by the lack of wind.

she stares at their faint outline in the dark

before she feels tears stirring in her eyes

but she ignores it, squatting downward to pick up her projects

one by one, she picked them up, putting them back in the plastic bags

that have been tied together messily to prevent them from leaving

and the tears won't stop falling

finally she collects them all, and she rubs the base of her palm

against her left eye, feeling the mascara, eyeliner, eyepencil, primer, and eyeshadow

trail against her eye to her temple

she hisses lightly as she steps onto the first step of the railings

the sharp uneven wood and nails digging into her legs

but she ignores in, in favour of pulling out her first project

and bringing it to her lips, she kisses it

and pulls back, pleased with the red lip-stain she left on the top

before rearing her arm back, and pitching it forward

and in the dark highlighted by the night

she watches as the first airplane twinkles

negatively attracted from the stars as it sinks towards the river below

before it finally lands perfectly on top wavering as it is drawn out of sight

from the dark of the night, and the rushing of the river

and she's kissing another before letting it fly

and she's wondering to herself,

will anyone ever find these paper airplanes?

decorated with a kiss on top

and inscribed with a secret

written inside with a pencil that has scarlet lipstick marks on

that was written with an unknown amount of siblings

that are one by one

let out into the world

under the light of the twinkie moon

Wires

and there was his carcass.
limp.
lonely.
lifeless.
hanging in the twisted barbed wires.

sangre de cristo,
sangre de cristo.
I know what it means father,
but i'm not him.

cuts across his wrist.
forearms.
chest.
thighs.
abdomen.
back.
quadriceps.
everywhere.

his once brown hair now a shock of red.
blood was still creeping down his body towards his face.
upside down.
his eyes were open.
his shoes were on.
his clothes were torn.
his book was on the floor.
his book was in the blood.

forgive me father for I have sinned.
I have sinned and sinned and sinned.
forgive me.
don't let the devil take me.

the small triangular bristles along the wire were scarlet.
the concrete bathed in a pool of crimson.
the walls splattered with cerise.
his head a shade of carmine.

bad blood.
bad bad sinful blood.
deserved to be spilled.
he was the sin.
he took the blame.
he was the blame.
the book was a prop.
the clothes material banter.

If I pray, nothing bad can happen.
I'll be preserved.
I'll be sustained.
oh fuck just help me.

God's soldiers sent for him.
pushed him into the dragon's den.
knowing he'd be devoured.
even with the protection of His book.

so there he hung.
limp.
lonely.
lifeless.

stuck.
lost in translation.
stuck in purgatory.
or was it hell.
or was it heaven.
did it matter.
he was dead.
the blood of a christ was spilled.

I'm not ready yet.

--mark

chivalry.

is it still worth it?

it may not be dead

but it's ebbing.

chivalry is good because most of the time

it just means a level of respect that isn't seen that much anymore.

besides, it is absolutely adorable when a guy holds the door open for a girl

or when he offers to carry her books.

on the other hand

if it's my books that are offered to be relieved from me

i've found that i'll get offended

even though the boy probably means well.

but i happen to be both smallish and proud and pseudo-self-reliant

so my immediate thoughts will be "YOU THINK I'M HAVING TROUBLE CARRYING MY OWN DAMN BELONGINGS".

and that's the type of attitude that doesn't mesh too well with the concept of chivalry. :3

Modest vignettes that don't deal with anything

we're messing with the tabs of our coke cans as we watch as the curator of the party stumbles over to us, two beer cans held within his hands.

'you know what ladies? you two... you two are beautiful.' he gasp at us, and for once, he's serious looking.

we look from our drinks to his face as he continues to talk to us.

'don't don't tell yourself that you are not. don't be don't be one of those stupid girls who say, oh, he doesn't like me, i must not be pretty. you are pretty. you two are beautiful. and. and if he doesn't think you're pretty? well then. he must not be smart.'

we smile at him and nod our heads and we forget that he has beer swishing around in his stomach.

-------------------------------------------

we're giggling to each other, doodling with sharpie

on the walls of your basement

and your iPod is playing music in the corner

and you lean over to me and grin

breathing out smoke between teeth

as you whisper to me,

'you're my firework'

and you lift your fingers to your lips, taking a quick drag

before flicking the stub again, smoke again

whipping out of your mouth,

and i glance back at the wall

covered in pictures

slogans

swears

jokes

dreams

------------------------------

dear mister mystery;

do you know who you are?

you know who you are

but you don't know who you are to me.

i bet you don't know

that when i see you in the hallways, my heart goes just a tiny little smudge faster?

i have a feeling that maybe you did not.

will you ever? probably not.

[is this a public way of me saying that i perhaps like someone? possibly.]

i just know that it's 2:45 A.M. November 3rd

I've given up on NANOWRIMO

and am spending my time listening to Katy Perry.

andithinkilikeyou

-----lynn