#like they think we’re trash bc that’s what they act like to copy us | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

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hello hi! if ur ever looking for ideas/prompts for spidey stuff i have an idea i've wanted to see but havent really yet: i have a sensory processing disorder so i personally always really connect w spidey when fics talk about him kind of having sensory issues, but they almost always only talk about getting too much sensory input. which is super valid! but a lot of people also have issues w not enough sensory input (i have issues w both! its gotta be a balance). (pt. 1 bc i talk to much)

(pt. 2 bc i talk too much) not having enough sensory input still needs grounding techniques and stuff! i know for me i'll start kind of pulling my hair, scratching too violently, etc. and then my service pup will lick my face to replace harmful sensory cravings with safe ones! i just feel like this might be interesting to see w peter and the avengers trying to give him safer/better sensory input bc it might be cute. totally no pressure though! just thought i'd yell this idea into the void

Oh god never apologize for talking too much! I love this idea, thanks so much for the request. Funny story, as I was reading I was just like...wait not everyone does this??? So...thanks for helping me realize things!

Just Right

Read it on Ao3

Warnings: descriptions of a meltdown, sensory deprivation (kinda), some self-injury

Pairings: none. found family is my shit

Word count: 2667

If you could see Peter’s lab in Stark Tower or the Avengers Compound, you’d wonder if it’s some mad-scientist abomination or a storage room gone crazy.

There are screens upon screens upon screens, little things scattered across almost every available surface, and even ones that aren’t technically available. There are haphazardly balanced books and sheets of metal and overflowing trash cans and more random trinkets scattered around than you can think of. And yet, Peter knows precisely where everything is.

Organized chaos. Entropy. There’s some scientific explanation for it.

Peter works in a state of 'a lot.' There's a reason for that, and a reason it's a bad idea for him to not have that.

If you could see Peter’s lab in Stark Tower or the Avengers Compound, you’d wonder if it’s some mad-scientist abomination or a storage room gone crazy.

Organized chaos. Entropy. There’s some scientific explanation for it.

Even Tony, the resident doer-of-so-many-things, is baffled when he walks in to see Peter looking at three separate screens, two sets of earbuds—one in each ear—texting as he calls out things for FRIDAY or KAREN or EDITH to help him with. Sometimes he’s talking to all three at once and texting.

“Kid,” Tony says, coming up behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder, “you know you gotta pay attention to the stuff you’re doing, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m doing things!”

Cue an impressive rant that even Tony struggles to keep up with in places, all the while Peter’s fingers fly over his keyboard and beat out rhythms on his crossed legs. He looks up at Tony with a bright smile and sometimes, sometimes Tony wonders what goes on in that head of his.

Because if he’s only seeing the little bits that manage to make their way out of the kid’s mouth…god.

Can you blame him for giving Peter a technological playground? Kid lights up better than an arc reactor.

Tony just shakes his head and says: “Kids these days.”

It’s not an uncommon sight to see Peter doing his work with screens scrolling and music blasting over his earbuds. It drives Steve nuts, his mother-hen instincts trying to make sure Peter’s paying enough attention that he won’t hurt himself.

“I know, I know, Pete,” he laughs when Peter glares at him, “I know you can do it, and I trust you, I’m just…”

Peter softens the smallest bit, dropping his project to scurry over and hug Steve. “I know. You worry.”

Steve smirks, running his hand through Peter’s hair. “Gotta make sure you’re in good enough shape for our walk this weekend.”

“Are we gonna do just the anti-homeless benches or are we doing the ramp bars too?”

“We’ll see how fast we can run, hmm?”

“May wants pictures too.”

“Ah yes, for the Baby’s First Act of Civil Disobedience book.”

“Steve!”

“Nope, that’s what she called it. She sent me a photo.”

Peter’s fine. And Steve told the truth, he does trust Peter. They all do. Kind of a side effect of the whole superhero gig, you learn to trust your people.

Doesn’t necessarily mean you understand them.

It’s been a long day. They’ve had to do some interview with this-or-that news station about their stances on some issue that is ‘complicated on both sides.’ Long enough that even Steve’s—frankly impressive—public service mask is slipping. Natasha gave up trying to masquerade as someone who cared ages ago, glaring daggers at anyone who so much as suggested something unreasonable. Tony shoos the last of the day’s worries out the door as Clint flops down on the sofa.

“Why,” he groans, “did we have to do that?”

“We’re role models,” Steve recites, even as the slump of his shoulders says ‘no’ in every possible way, “it’s our duty.”

“Yeah well, I never signed up to be a fucking role model.”

“Clearly.”

“If you dare tell me off for cursing I swear—“

Bucky just smacks Steve upside the head before he can say anything.

“Ow!”

“Don’t, Stevie,” Bucky warns, “just don’t.”

“Peter?”

Everyone turns around to look at Sam, crouched in front of Peter. He’s hunched over, almost curled up completely in his chair. His curls bounce back and forth, small muttering sounds coming from under them.

“Peter,” Sam calls again, “Peter, can you look at me?”

Peter’s head raises slowly and Sam’s glad for the training he’s had that keeps him from reacting visually. Peter’s face is a mess, thin red lines, and tense muscles everywhere.

“Hey, Pete,” he says softly, “you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Peter shuffles. “Need something.”

“Okay. You hungry?”

“No. Need something.” He starts beating out a frantic rhythm on his legs, hard enough to make Sam wince. “Something, I gotta—“

“Where are your earbuds, Peter?”

“Counter.”

Tony tosses them their way without even hesitating. Sam hands them to Peter and almost immediately his hands fly to plug them in, jam the buds into his ears. The room waits, no one willing to move until Peter takes a deep breath and his shoulders slump. After a few seconds, he starts tapping his fingers again, this time much less frenzied. Judging by the pattern, it’s probably to the beat of the song.

“…sorry,” he mutters after a few moments, “sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sam says, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You wanna talk about it?”

“Uh…not really, not right now.”

“Okay. Is that a ‘you don’t wanna talk about it at all’ or a ‘you wanna talk about it later?’ Either is fine,” Sam says quickly when Peter shifts nervously, “I just wanna understand a little bit more so we can help.”

“M-maybe later.”

“Sounds good.” Sam stands up. “You want us to leave you alone or are you fine if we hang out?”

“Stay,” Peter says, “please.”

“Sure thing, kid.” Sam makes his way over to the others, shaking his head when a couple of them shoot him curious looks. He glances back over at Peter to see him doing some motion that involves all four of his limbs. It’s…oddly mesmerizing, actually.

“I think he’s doing a music exercise,” Natasha murmurs, “eighth-notes, quarter-notes, half-notes, whole notes.”

Bruce stares at her. “He’s doing what?”

Natasha eases her way onto a stool, her left hand tapping along with Peter’s left. “This hand,” she says, still staring, “taps out every quarter note. One, two, three, four.”

“The right hand,” she says, tapping twice as fast with her right, “does the eighth notes. One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and.”

“Then the feet do…one…three…one…three.” She starts gently tapping her feet in time with Peter’s. “And one…one…one…one…”

Steve just shakes his head slowly. “That’s…complicated.”

“It’s a good way to immerse yourself in music,” Natasha murmurs, smiling slightly, “helped me too.”

“What’s it for?”

“I think our Baby Spider is trying to ground himself.” Natasha gives Peter a smile when he catches her doing the same motions. “And it’s fun.”

His other hand never missing a beat, Peter plucks out one of his earbuds and holds it out to Natasha. She smiles and joins him, sitting by his side and carefully inserting the bud.

“Ooh,” she says softly when she figures out what song it is, “nice choice.”

“Thanks.”

They sit like that as the others bustle around quietly, getting all the interview stuff tucked away and Steve starts the cooking for tonight. He shoos Tony out with a spatula as the genius pouts, quickly picking some innocuous bickering fight that makes Bruce roll his eyes and take the book Thor offers him. Bucky and Sam crash onto a nearby couch, Bucky half-heartedly trying to copy Peter and Natasha for a few moments before laughing and giving up. The dinner passes in relative quiet until Peter sighs and plucks out his earbuds, collapsing onto Natasha’s shoulder.

Natasha barely flinches, reaching up to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Hey there, Baby Spider. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, “sorry.”

“Told you,” Sam says easily, “you got nothing to apologize for.”

“No, I…I should’ve told you.”

“Peter,” Steve chides gently, “you’re allowed to not tell us things if you don’t want to.”

“But it’s also important that I tell you things,” Peter says stubbornly. “It’s not fair to you guys if I don’t tell you what bothers me and then you can’t do anything about it or it takes you by surprise.”

“That’s fair, Peter.” Natasha leans her head onto his. “Do you have something you want to tell us, then?”

“Yeah, I, uh…” Peter twists his fingers together, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. “Actually, uh, do you mind if I…have my earbuds in while I tell you? I’ll—I’ll play it on low volume, I’ll still be able to hear you, I just—“

“Shh,” Natasha hushes, “you don’t need to justify your needs. Go ahead.”

“…thanks.” A few seconds later and Peter visibly relaxes, running his hands through his hair as he sits up. “So, I, uh, I have a sensory processing disorder.”

Most of them nod. He’s not the only one. Bucky and Bruce in particular make some gesture of solidarity.

“But I, um…mine’s weird.”

“Weird how,” Sam asks.

“Uh, you know how most people get overwhelmed from too much sensory input?” When he gets an answering nod, Peter takes a deep breath. “I have, uh, I have the opposite.”

“…yours is triggered by having too little sensory input?”

“Yeah. That’s why I have…all the screens going all the time.”

Tony huffs. “Little bit of an understatement.”

“I-it’s easier for me to think!”

“It’s okay, Pete, I don’t mean anything by it,” Tony says instantly, raising his hands in surrender, “just wanna make sure this old man can still keep up with you, that’s all.”

“He admitted he’s old!” Clint throws his hands up in triumph. “All hail Peter Parker, the One Who Got Tony Stark To Admit He’s Old.”

“Alright, alright,” Thor says when it looks like Tony’s going to throw Steve’s salad across the table at Clint, “that’s enough. Peter,” he says, turning back, “how do we help?”

“H-help?”

“Surely it can’t come as a surprise that we wish to help you,” Thor chuckles, “now come on, out with it.”

“Uh…you did good today,” Peter mumbles, “getting me my earbuds and stuff.”

“Is that what we should do, then?”

“Yeah. Just, um, get me stuff that’ll occupy my sense. Optimal levels of arousal and all that.”

“Does that include physical contact,” Steve asks, “or no?”

“…sometimes? I gotta ask for that though.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Steve smiles and reaches out to squeeze Peter’s hand. “Thank you for telling us. I’m proud of you.”

“Ah, jeez,” Peter mumbles, his cheeks flushing, “do you have to say it like that?”

“Like what,” Steve asks like he obviously doesn’t know.

“Like—like that.”

“Steve, you’re such an asshole.”

“I agree with Bucky.”

“Both of you hush or there’ll be no dessert.”

The cry of protest that goes up around the table is enough to make Steve almost fall out of his chair from laughing too hard.

It’s pretty easy after that. They all keep an eye on Peter during functions where they’ve gotta sit still for long periods of time. Often they’ll hide Peter in the back and one of them will reach down, let Peter play with their hands, or sneak some new piece of tech in for him to tinker with. They always keep his earbuds close by and there’s never a problem if Peter needs his earbuds in while he’s at dinner with them or watching a movie.

Then May texts Tony one day when Peter’s scheduled to come over.

May: Peter’s earbuds broke.

Immediately, Tony sends it out to the others. They’re all on high alert, scouring the floors for where they may have been left, if they’ve got extras Peter can borrow, just for a little, come on Tony, you run a tech empire, what do you mean you don’t have headphones?

They’re all so busy looking that they completely miss Peter’s arrival.

Peter’s been floating ever since he got on the bus. Everything feels like it’s happening behind a whine of static. He’s floating in this weird bubble of a fish tank and he can tell there are things beating on the glass outside but he can’t do anything about them. He’s floating and he hates floating. He can’t feel anything. Can’t feel anything.

Something, something, he needs something.

Does he still have a body? Does it still feel? He doesn’t know as he stumbles down hallways and through doors. The walls don’t feel like anything. His hair catches on a catch and it feels. It sends a zing down his spine and he can feel. So he does it again. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel.

His nail catches on his cheek as he raises his other hand to his hair and there’s a bright flash that shudders his body. It’s warm. He likes warm. He likes to feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel.

He can’t feel his arms. So he moves to his arms. The flare spreads. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel.

Where else can he feel?

He should be able to feel everywhere, shouldn’t he?

Feel.

He can’t feel his hands but he can tell his hands are making him feel.

It’s stopped being a word now.

Something tangles in his hand, at least he thinks it does. Something tangles in his other hand. They squeeze. Oh. Oh, he can feel that. He can feel his hands. He can feel…he can feel a lot.

He hears the gentle whine of metal against metal, feels the hardness of a claw in each of his hands. He blinks and looks up.

DUM-E and U are holding his hands, squeezing them gently the way he does to them. When he murmurs their names, DUM-E lets his hand go, leaning down to start stroking his forehead with his claw. Peter watches, trace the parts of DUM-E’s machinery, mapping it out in his head, grounding himself in the expansions of wires.

It’s better now, it is. U still sits there, patiently squeezing his hand, even as DUM-E whistles and chirps. Peter starts mumbling back that he’s fine, thank you, he’s okay now, can DUM-E move a little to the left, please?

“Peter?”

“Uh, h-hi, Fri,” Peter mumbles, “I, uh, guess you should tell them I’m here.”

“They’re on their way, Peter.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Steve will stumble in first, Natasha hot on his heels. Steve won’t be able to hide his shock at seeing the red lines drawn harshly on Peter’s skin, even as he tries to smile and call out for him. Natasha will look him over and softly ask permission to patch him up a little.

Tony will praise the bots as Sam and Bucky rope Peter into some inane fight that pulls him out of his head. Bruce and Clint will offer him their earbuds as they’re the only two who’ve managed to find some. Thor will offer to carry Peter for a little while.

But for now, Peter will sit here, on the floor of the lab, while the bots kiss his face, and feel.

It’s just right.

#dragonbabbles #fic #peter parker #avengers #spiderman #marvel #mcu #self-harm #sensory overstimulation #sensory processing disorder #steve rogers #tony stark #natasha romanoff #sam wilson #bucky barnes #bruce banner #thor #clint barton

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parkjmini · 6 years

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bts as fuckboys

[a/n]: inspired by @sweetersuga | original post: x i wrote it as the perspective that you’re already close friends w them/have been with them before !!

Seokjin

he’s the funny, sarcastic one where he could be kind of mean bc he takes it a lil far

“you’re such trash you sleep with every girl”

“at least I can get someone to sleep with me”

he flashes a smile in the hall bc he KnOws iT GeTs oN YouR NeRveS

“When’s my birthday”

“January 1st bc u set off my fireworks baby”

“i am disgusted”

piggy back rides on those goddamn strong broad set of shoulders ooffff

“I’ll call you, ya?”

He never calls u bc he probably forgot too busy improvin himself

you have a streak with him and all he sends are selfies with the caption “I hope your day is as beautiful as I am (:”

He catches you staring in class one day and he’s like “take a pic, it’ll last longer babe”

And omg he ACTUALLY TELLS YOU TO TAKE A PHOTO OF HIM

so now u have a gallery full of jin and he wont let u delete them bc he thinks they’re all masterpieces you do too but youd never admit it

the only fuckboy that’s tolerable bc he’s rlly just a big goof

“why don’t you ever have sleeves on your shirt jin”

“these shoulders are on display, honey, can’t cover up the jewels”

he’s kind of obnoxiously loud that u want to shove ur fist into his mouth to sh u t him uP

“dude, jimin’s hot”

“okay but so am i ??”

“ok ya youre really hot but so is jimin”

“jiMIN (Y/N) THINKS YOU’RE—-”

“–ANNOYING THANKS SEOKJIN PLS SHUT UP WHY R U STILL TALKING WOW”

“just trying to get my baby some more dick jeEZ”

Yoongi

“hey yoongs why dont we go on a date??”

“uuhhhhhh since when were we dating? lmao dont trip”

gets a new number every 2 months bc he loves fucking w them crazy bitches too much

“sometimes you need to mess around with the ones who can bite off your dick, being risky is hot (-;”

“BEinG riSkY iS hOt ya u wont have a penis anymore at the rate you’re going”

kind of smells like a mixture of alcohol and cologne

hand-on-ass-when-he-hugs

“let’s play a game, if u lose u have to take off ur clothes, if i lose u have to take off ur clothes”

“wait but yours stay on ?? wtf yoongi??”

“no mine will come off right after i see u naked (;”

the one to play with the ends of your skirt/dress/shirt bc it gets u so flustered and he lives seeing u flustered

straight up Arrogantᵀᴹ at times its hot but ur so annoyed by it that u wanna knock some sense into him

wont ask for nudes but will ask to see some goods

“can i see ur tits”

“for the 4039th time, no”

“well, a man can try”

SMIRKY MC SMIRKY HERE like it just comes OUT of NOWHERE and it is OUT to ATTAC

u dont have a snap streak w him bc it always breaks bc he replies every 3 years bc he was “busy”

but he’s always the fourth person to like your instagram posts???????

and to comment the water droplet/eye/tongue emoji combo ????

loves when u swat his hands away from gripping your thigh

Hoseok

(i wanted to use this gif but it was so big and rectangle and didnt fit but u need to see that gif to really take in the fuckboy bc i cannot find a representation as accurate as that gif is)

always greeting you whenever he sees you

“hey babygirl”

“hoseok we just saw each other in chemistry”

“ok and????? can’t i say hi to my baby?”

“but im not”

“lmao every girl is my baby”

raises his eyebrows any time you fix your dress or your shirt

asks to borrow a pencil and never returns it

“where is my pencil hoseok”

“where is my kiss (y/n)”

“we didnt agree to that”

“well i didnt agree to give it back”

“dO u NoT kNOW whAT BoRRoW meANS”

loves to share so he shares a lot of his snacks with u

“omg i love snacks!!”

“oh baby me too” and trust me, he’s not talking about the food

has the brightest, kindest smile so it catches you off guard when he says some snarky fuckboy comment

loves physical contact !!!!! always has a hand on your back, or shoulder, or thigh, or hand, or arm

lip LICKING PARDON ME HIS TONGUE IS UNCONTROLLABLE

lets you wear his hats/jackets/hoodies bc he thinks youre sooo cute in his clothes

he walks around school with his hands in his pockets like a doUCHEBAG

catches you off guard by spinning you around with his arm around your waist

uses the line “im a dancer” to get girls what an eyeroll

the type to drag you onto the middle of the dance floor at a club just so he could show off his skillz which are actually super bomb like even ur impress and uve seen them 308443 times

he got that sweatpants dick print

Namjoon

changes his contact name to Daddy on your phone

Mr. Ass Man he loves ass ASS ASS ASS SO MUCH ASS BIGGEST ASS LOVER

“oh shit did you see her ass”

“look here bootylover123 stfu”

winks at you a lot in the halls

“do you have a fucking eye problem namjoon”

“its a wink”

“u do it so much that im beginning to think youre eye is having a spasm

lets you copy his homework if he got a hug in return

the type to comment a peach emoji on your instagram photos even if there is no butt involved

loves when you sit on his lap

one time there weren’t enough seats on the bus and he patted his leg for you to sit

“i know you hate standing (y/n), take a seat itll be fine”

“why can’t u be a gentleman and give up your seat for me?”

*alMOST CHOkES from LAUGHING* “me???!!! a gentleman??? wow u expect too much, just sit your big ass down on daddy’s lap or suffer standing”

buys you lunch bc he loves showing off his e x p e n s i v e w a l l e t

he could go from having a full blown brilliant monologue as to why he exists to giggling about how your moles r arranged into the shape of a penis

calls girls mami or ma

asks for ass pics at like 1:32 AM

and u send him pictures of ur elbow crease

and he actually thinks its ur butt

BLASTS baby makin music from his car and causes a public disturbance

has the highest count of broken beds, not bc of a high body count, but bc he actually breaks the bed everytime he sleeps w someone

Jimin

spaces out when ur wearing a low cut top bc hes too busy staring at ur cleavage

his streak snaps are either mirror pics, his abs, mirror pic of his abs, and occasional dick pics

“wanna play 20 questions (;”

“we’ve played 20 questions like 20 times already”

“ok gr8 ill start first: will u let me hit it from the back??”

offers to netflix and chill all the time and it sux bc he actually knows all ur fav shows

ok let me reiterate, jimin knows all ur favorite anythings bc he listens to u 75% of the time bc he thinks ur voice is sexy

will never fail to compliment you when u look good

“damn baby, is this all for me????”

“no i just dont want to look like a hobo today”

gets super jealous when any other guys speak to u even tho hes piping down like 8 other girls

“jimin they’re my frIENDS ur not even my bf why u tripping”

“they arent acting like theyre ur friends. i know fuckboy behavior when i see it (y/n) its my occupation, i do the same shit w girls”

“thats good then, someone else wants me too”

“not good bc ur HOT ASS IS MINE )-:”

youre saved as #1 babygirl on his phone no objections

walks into class with a new hickey in a new place every day

he has SEX EYES u could never look him directly in the eyes bc theyre so captivating

fucking walks like an arrogant prick down the hall and whistles when u pass

brags about his big dick when its honestly not as exaggerated as he says

has a picture of you in one of his shirts as his homescreen wallpaper

Taehyung

“i wont show anyone, im not messed up like that” yea be careful w this one honey, pretty sure jungkook, hobi, yoongs, namjoon all know how ur tits look like

has the perfect innocent face where u have no idea that he’s fucking 4 other girls

always responds after 12 am and calls u at 3 am

“tae im fucking sleeping”

“damn thats hot what else u doin??”

“hanging up on u goodbye im going to block ur number”

“pls don-”

uses the line, “i just dont think we’re compatible” on E V Ery GIRL

offers to hangout but never follows up with it bc he’s never seen out in public with a girl unless its his momma

“jasmine is telling everyone you gave her chlamydia, u get checked bro??”

“dont worry about it”

body count means a lot to him

loves hugs bc he likes feeling boobs squished against him

sometimes INTENTIONALLY lowers his voice bc he KNOWS ur into that shit

thinks youre playing hard to get when rlly u just dont care lol

“i know u want all of this, (y/n)”

“i think ur mistaken”

“right bc i want all of u (:”

“ya tae let’s not get ur feelings mixed w mine ok thx u”

NO SUCH THING AS PERSONAL SPACE the boy is a koala and will latch onto u

Jungkook

the biggest fuckboy of them all

has slept w almost every girl in the school and is v proud of it

“what’s your name again”

“rlly jungCOCK”

“ok (y/n) i know ur fkcing name so can u learn mine”

u dont think he’s ever had a gf b4 bc he doesnt believe in labels OR commitment which hes pretty vocal abt

unlike jimin, he doesnt own up to his dick pics and swears that they were “”accidents””

SCrEENsHOTS! but ur smart so ur face is NEVER in ur pics

“who’s boobs r on ur phone kook”

“yours”

“you WOULDNT DARE”

“i dont have photogenic memory (y/n) i wanted to remember those cuties without a shirt on (;”

looks too fucking good w a fresh cut that u need to avoid him in the halls or ull melt to goo

only owns white tees and timbs lmao hahahaha

smirks when you bend down to pick something up

that or he yells, “one more time, babe!”

“wat u doin”

“showering”

“without me!!1???”

he’s on tinder too so once he’s done with the sampling pool at school, he can broaden his horizons

a car enthusiast and will get offended if u dont think his rims r cool

thinks youre really hot when you yell at him or hurt his feelings

youre his prized possession bc he actually likes talking to u but will never admit it

has a specific nickname for u that he doesnt call his other girls bc its YOURS !!

“hey cutie”

“hey jungCOCK”

hates the nickname jungCOCK

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hime-guma · 7 years

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takanori (inazuma) saturday 💖

i just got back from Shiga and I need to put down everything in my brain before I forget it! (It will mostly be me yelling about TMR and finally seeing him live)

Sorry that it's looong, I'm on mobile and I can't seem to add a read more!

Unfortunately tomorrow is canceled because of the typhoon ☹

it literally rained all day. not heavily but constantly enough that my clothes were completely soaked through. umbrellas aren't allowed in the live area so i brought a collapsible raincoat but it didn't help much lol. i did end up buying a giant raincoat/かっぱ (CHEERS, learnt a new word 2day) later when i saw them selling them at the venue, but it was a bit late... already soaked.

when i got to the platform for biwako line I was like "wow I'm actually goin... GOIN' what a good song" (not knowing how relevant this would be later)

i was impressed with all the organisation of it? everything had been thought of in advance. like we all got off at kusatsu station to walk down biwako road to the shuttle bus stop, and there were IRF staff on the streets helping to direct traffic so we didn't annoy all the shiga residents (there were a LOT of us haha)

i want everyone to know there are cans of shoushuu riki in all the toilets.

i accidentally went in the "goods for each performing artist" queue first, not realising that T.M.Revolution doesn't fit into that category because he has surpassed all the mortal artists to become a god. my bad.

eventually I ended up with one TMR shirt and towel, 3 IRF shirts and various bracelets. yeah i went a bit wild...

it was nearly 12 so i wandered around looking for the live area entrance. i think this was the only time i got a bit lost bc you had to queue along a footpath which was kind of secluded/off to the side/hiding behind stalls? anyway you then had to find the queue for your block - I was B1.

they started calling us in by ticket number then, mine was like 1540 or something. i was rly glad i knew japanese so i could listen for my number lol

when we got in i was shocked at how close i was to the stage despite being in a B block! Also the stage and live area somehow seemed smaller than they do when they televise IRF. it was really surreal seeing the stage as well.

they had some radio hosts MC'ing for the next hour or so, introducing all the artists performing for the day, reminding us of the rules (take ur trash to the trash area and sort it! alert medical staff if u feel unwell! don't take photos of perfornances! if you see someone doing it please dob them in to staff!)

at one point the MC said "so i was supposed to have a part here where i warn you about heatstroke and how to prevent it but uh.... nevermind. stay hydrated tho" she also went through all these leg stretches we could do to keep our circulation going while we're standing all day, cheers!

the opening act was kankaku pierrot, a group from osaka i think? the singer was at inazuma in the crowd in 2013 and he couldn't believe he was standing on the stage in 2017. he said something like "i thought the distance from the crowd to the stage was massive, but here i am four years later on the same stage!" you go buddy, chase ur dreams!!!

when it came up with FIRST ARTIST: T.M.REVOLUTION i was still not believing i was actually about to see him! they had people squeegee-ing (?) the rain off the stage before he came on and i was like damn he is totally gonna do thunderbird it's perfect conditions for it

when his set started i swore i heard a bit of "We Make Revolution" and i was like NO WAY... and then it segued into JUST A JOKE and Promised FORCE and all these album instrumentals???

he opened with AMAKAZE and he was in a black shirt with "T N" on the front and "FEAR OF BUDDHA" on the back (internet tells me this is a parody of the brand Fear of God?)

I could actually see him on the stage from where I was standing, unbelievable tbh. when the staff were wiping down the stage some people behind me were saying "I wonder if Nishikawa is gonna run around like he usually does..." but he totally ran all over the stage and I got to see him from the left side! I couldn't see his face that well but I could see him grinning!

at the end of one of the songs he got down on the stage and started doing pushups ALRIGHT TAKANORI WE GET IT YOU LIFT... after another song he just lay down on the stage in the rain #big mood

He played Pearl in the shell second and I started crying a bit lmao... I remember Pearl in the shell was the new song he debuted at IRF in 2010, and it was the time just before CLOUD NINE came out and everything was exciting because we were getting new all these new TMR songs for the first time in ages! Pearl in the shell is also one of my faves and I've loved it ever since I heard the first live version of it in 2010. Anyway it kind of hit me all at once that I was seeing it live NOW and I was actually at Inazuma and TMR was not only right in front of me but also a Real Person?

Then I heard the synth riff from ウルワシキセカイ and I could NOT believe my ears. No way is he playing this obscure album track from 2004 that is one of my faves?? BUT NO HE WAS ABSOLUTELY PLAYING IT. he could have ended the live there and I would have been satisfied

Then he played Juggling, Goin', and Pied Piper!?!?!!!!?? As someone who knows his discography back to front I was absolutely beside myself. I expected to hear his popular anime songs and a couple of his singles (which I'd be very happy to hear too!) but here he was playing B-sides and album deep cuts. Also Pied Piper totally goes off

The last song was Wheel of Fortune which is also the first TMR song I ever heard, so that was weirdly fitting. (he played it 4 me obvs thx m8)

His voice is amazing and he sounded so good live!!! At one point he was being extremely extra with the vibrato on purpose to make everyone laugh. And he has so much stage presence. it was just a REALLY GOOD TIME and it lived up to all my expectations.

He tweeted later that he chose songs with special meaning in relation to today's IRF performance, interpret that how you will!

After he left I headed to get food and Keytalk came on next, blasting WHITE BREATH as their entrance music which I was living for since that's my fave TMR song

I hung around the free area for a bit and caught migimimi sleep tight's performance which was really fun and had good basslines! I swear the vocalist kept making eye contact with me hahahaha

Later I went back to the live area to catch Fear, and Loathing in Las Vegas. I'd looked up some of their stuff on youtube and they seemed like a lot of fun (great synths, dance beat BUT ALSO SCREAMING). I really enjoyed their set! I love that they seem to have simple choreography to each of their songs (at least I thought so, I was copying everyone's hand movements?) But then you get these metalcore screaming sections so you gotta start thrashing around. It was an experience! Gonna try to pick up their album while I'm here.

I thought about staying for UVERworld but I only know their Bleach song and I thought I had better conserve my energy for tomorrow... (I'm sure they were great though!) I made my way out of the block and tried not to get stuck in the mud as I walked to the exit gate...

When I got out someone approached me with a camera and introduced himself as someone from a TBS program. I said something super brief like "oh wow really" in japanese and he was like "ah so you can speak some japanese? is it okay if I interview you?" me: 😂😂😂 sure you can but my japanese is not that great...

we talked about where I'm from, why I'm at the festival, what I like about TMR, fave things about the festival, did you know Nishikawa-san did all this what do you think about that, wow you came from Australia all by yourself but people in Australia mustn't know much about TMR, what made you get into him? Also I went on about the setlist lmao

Afterwards he said it was for an IRF special and apologised that I probably won't be able to watch it in Australia "but maybe Nishikawa-san will see it!" We thanked each other and I walked off to the bus in total disbelief. (Also later I thought of more things I wanted to say but didn't in the heat of the moment 😭)

wow. I was supposed to see him again tomorrow but the typhoon says no! Such a shame. But I'm so grateful that I got to see TMR live just once! FINALLY 😭

I'd love to go back and see Lake Biwa in nice sunny weather - it was very foggy and hard to see today. I also want to come back and see TMR when he tours again at some point! 😊

#t.m.revolution #takanori nishikawa #inazuma rock fes #irf #irf17

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tnp4tbowm · 7 years

Text

THOTS & PRAYERS FOR THE BROTHERHOOD OF WHITE MEN

is what I’m gonna call this mess

since we’re the demo that does them best

if thots and prayers mean acting less

or voting against marginalized groups with minority stress… as if women at conference tables… and brown folks in dorms… need white guys subtracting more… and I know we use categories for making sense… and giving names to groups we haven’t met

but no

WHY DO YOU HATE WHITE MEN THAT’S LIKE ME SAYING I HATE FAGGOTS AND LATINAS

my brother

on the phone while I’m at an intersection

but what about flesh in the grass and women in ironworking and los trumpistas in southern california and pixie boys in kootenai county and ill-eagles fireworks on the skokomish reservation and mothers nursing children in rocking chairs at spokane international airport… and steer ropers staring in horses’ eyes… and words so strong they become actions like “guilty” and “I hereby pronounce you”

I want to say

it comes down to

while animals aim for physical victory bc they’re rewarded by evolutionary gain… my brother aims for high-volume sucker-punching bc… well same

no no no I reassure myself… I’ve prepared for this moment… covering my bedroom walls with butcher paper and definitions for agápē and wisdom and grace

the light turns green

in seattle where my boyfriend and I saw a band named “boyfriends”… consisting of three guys some with girlfriends maybe play-acting “gay”

not the faggot town I grew up in

did I say faggot town

flipped my thoughts

I live with faggots now

bc of course I moved away

from where I was raised… where ladies in subdivisions filled rusted bathtubs with dahlias… and re-arranged living room sectionals and side tables… and guys in trailer parks worked on TVs in their yards

I never smeared deer blood on my face after a kill… and neither did my brother

we never paintballed stop signs… or climbed trees to catch squirrels (the unofficial after-school workout of the wrestling team)… or nailed the bloody skins to the weight room wall… or chilled in the parking lot with the tenth-grade science teacher slash security guard

where I grew up

white trash was designated white as opposed to other dodgy colors

wonder if the cafeteria table at school still says derek smith is a fag… I see blocky letters behind my eyes… nirvana on the lawn… holding a stick next to a praying mantis… hoping she’ll crawl on

live in the same place long enough and the frogs will be gone

each year I bike a block further

find certainty in school

lay around and think about what's true

leave cleats books water bottles in the living room

train for x-country in july and august… dream of anthropology and art history in college… parents fill out FAFSA forms

unconscious

at the intersection of my privs

square jaw wide grip

I give in

I say to my brother

driving by the gaybucks

are you serious? I ask... you want to do this rn? you think I hate white men? you didn’t show much interest in my self-hatred when we were teens

we were raised to read widely on top of doing our homework for English class… stories about white men unable to find work or shelter… I stayed awake by reading one chapter in the basement of our three-story home and another chapter in the bath… and another chapter in the basement… and another in the bath

it was 1997 and everyone was wearing ck jeans and eternity cologne and disappearing into the wood paneling of their basements

not everyone wrote a 5-paragraph paper on why abortion was wrong

but I did

most people ate the pro-life sundaes at youth group

as the tin man in our high school production of “The Wizard of Oz”… I dreamed of a fabulous life in the emerald city… while listening to conservatives in the community complain about the presence of witches and pagan values in the play… a few token liberals described how the Wicked Witch’s green skin and Glinda’s button nose… equated virtue with appearance

I worked on a farm for $

hi-ho the derrrrrrrrry-o

faggot on the farm

flesh in the grass

telling stories and pulling weeds as I acknowledged “weed” was a human category… for life distinct from other forms of life… standing out in color and shape… budding out of place

when I got home I studied Zanie’s backwoods dialect in Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God”

four years later

ash-covered New Yorkers crossed the Brooklyn Bridge with their hands on their faces

I picked blueberries on Mount Rainier… asked if subalpine flowers should smell like dryer sheets… if lakes should be toilet tab blue

¾” threaded galvanized pipe two chain links eye bolts flag

supplies list from the guy at the rest-stop on the way home… old glory should stand up to a 96 mile trip up to 70 mph

I went to work folding taco wrappers into triangles like nothing had happened… and made food with beef that showed up in boxes marked “fit for human consumption”… staging mexi-fries under heat lamps in groups of two or three

while boy george (w.) signed the Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism act

after work I slept in self-inflicted poverty in a house full of guys who did backyard enemas and drank jars of pee and kept mushroom journals… and changed my opinion about property ownership… bc why bother storing up treasure when human possession is an illusion… and condoleeza rice has a chevron tanker named after her

we argued about earth history and theological precepts like pre-destination

but agreed

god’s complacent

should be more like the hippie guy in the volkswagen van… with Eden Before The Fall painted one side… and Eden After The Fall on the other… and a nice patch of grass growing on top

textbooks copied screens

fireplaces provided intimacy w/o heat

virtual experiences dominated references in speech

green-tongued goats on forest service roads licked antifreeze

we asked if the phone was real or surround sound prestige... did the spin instructor in the windowless gym want sixty percent on hills or ninety percent on streets… is the norway maple transplanted to the front lawn of the new house conveying a line of aristocratic family wealth

an old-growth tree

the entrepreneur in an education workshop talked about “products” metaphorically

a patriot/explorer on a mustang/bronco went on an expedition/excursion to the frontier/tundra… passing through the winnebago tribe saying

srry bout it

the kids on the makah reservation don’t want whale sandwiches

wal-mart got blue and target red

white wonder bread

happy meals

j. christ

c.e.o.

5 lb cereal

4 brown ghosts

the speaker at the commencement ceremony joked, “what’s the difference between Pullman and a cup of yogurt?”

the cup of yogurt has more culture

zuckerberg’s hoodie went from “disregard for convention” to “purity of intention”… for someone too focused to worry about clothes… monastic gray was helping folks

now we’re here

we’re here

at the mindfulness weight loss retreat… three raisins… six almonds… the right herbal tincture… twenty minutes in the redwoods

dragging

the past in front of us bc it happened

we’re at home eating pancakes with butter and syrup and powdered sugar… but the sugar is crushed-up hydroxycut

city buildings capture sun for the 20%

hey shadows

and data-mining companies have been adding my places of employment and the mesh shorts I almost bought… and the dreams I deferred and the shows I watch… to their digital dossier of me… and I guess the gazing goes one way but not the other… like church… where predictive analytics play upon thirsts… and hunt me down like unicorn shirts

what’s next

trees drop plastic fruits

domesticated deer eat out of troughs

stunt-double bears rent suits in parking lots

forest rangers lasso the last of the orioles and roll up the sky

we learn

the last time I had a long island iced was... the last time I had a long island iced tea

seeeeeeeeeeeeeee

bro

I’m doing better

you’re like me

except I’m a busybody

with no kids

wish: “pc lecture with moral authoritarian tone by urban elite who reflexively rejects critiques of globalization”… reads “fearless inventory in a world where ‘quinoa empanadas’ are a thing… and platters of deviled eggs watch the horizon”

so even as I call your baby’s bedroom view of the skyline from your island home

privilege bestowed

I call out myself

for lavender cookies and oatmeal soap

never noticing appropriation in cartoon indian smokes

white peace pipe under a red sun on a yellow box

database of ruin snapshots

you know how I spent those years teaching high school in gig harbor… what you don’t know is I had two Hispanic sisters… Maria and Paula… spend a quarter translating children’s books on sticky notes

they

smiled

yawned

bored

I was their teacher and offered “support”

(but if you need more… in 2009 I was plucking spraying spiking shaving shoving… like the guys on jersey shore… watched every episode and called it my reward… for getting through two president bushes)

the founding fathers designed our branches of government to withstand the likes of King George

(also: granted love to gather more of it, shirked a wrong but lorded over it)

psychologically spiraling… debating if I should share the video of the first lady in the blue dress staring at her feet during inaugural prayer… wondering if I’m feeling personal irritability or existential despair… if I have “compassion fatigue” from doing “emotional labor” in my newsfeed

why someone hasn’t invented a female-friendly pee trough between the knees… why menopausal sensuality gets teased… why testosterone means feeling confident about incorrect answers

have the decency to feel guilty

living off the massive retail workforce stocking big-box brick-and-mortar stores and online fulfillment centers

what did we expect

detaching personal accountability from global effects

what did you think

watching nature documentaries frame lions as villains… positing giraffes as victims… when we know aggression isn’t something “we get out of our systems”

but confessing rings wrong

I say to my brother

pulling up to my apartment home

ear hot from the phone

how’s the kid

peeing blood

good… he’s got a kitchen set with a stove and dishwasher… he cooks plastic things while he toot-toots… farts on command... he says

I hope he’s reading “Radical American Women A-Z” and “The Adventures of Toni the Tampon”… I say… and playing with the nine new ken dolls with ethnically ambiguous face-sculpts… developing new play patterns… bc brown kids asked to play with “the good doll” choose the white doll… and still grow up overly disciplined at school… by administrators analyzing “racial predictability and dis-proportionality in achievement categories”… without saying the word “racist”

I like body positive post-holiday ken his paunch

also our white immigrant ancestors got rich enslaving Blacks

(the rest of the starter kit for understanding institutional injustice can be found online @ www.google.com)

(intermediate: people of color fight against constructed realities… internally and externally… and the racial imaginary overlaps with the gay imaginary bc invisible people need some space to practice their fkn moves… but what about time and place… whose ear does the hearing… which mouth translates)

o say can I… being me… understand how corporate restructuring shows one face and sublimates others… contributes to oppression where double consciousness affects women and people of color

o say can I hear the oppressors’ voices renegotiate my thoughts decolonize space

where do I fit in? will there be room for me? how do I make room for others?

my brother suddenly has to go asks if you’ll be him on the phone

yes

it's complicated

but yes

(if you're not my brother and the request is nbd bc you've always heard the voices of white men… I invite you to continue… if you’d rather not… peace be with you… let’s hang soon… I love you)

and right there did you feel that [ [ [ [

in actual life we aren’t there yet… I hung up the phone after “faggots and Latinas”... bc my hands were shaking so hard I could barely steer

typical of you to back out of conversation before we say the hurtful things you say

before we say the hurtful things? before? I ask

1) well at least I finally have the upper hand with you thinking you can threaten broken bonds 2) I’ve never seen two belief systems more perfectly in line 3) I guess you stand for democratic values most of the time

we’ll never know what’s depraved and what's divine… I can’t read hearts and I can’t read minds

already I had escaped into the televised self-help seminar in my head… where I am the host rolling up my sleeves… ready to hear from household cleaner huffing sisters… and visualize problems worse than mine

after the commercial break I engage the girls in patient-therapist interactions... mixing hard-hitting realism and hypersensitive dialogue… as intolerable and inauthentic as my wife’s bouffant

basically I’m dr. phil… but also… if it’s okay with you… I’d love to try being the girls… who haven’t seen their father since they were two

and later during the re-tape… the visiting expert with a new self-help book… explains the “colorization of the soul”… saying “I think it makes sense to nurture the ‘daily me’ before skimming the news… look here… on the color rubric… reds before blues”

red apples picked by farm workers with multiple SSNs

blue mechanics in overalls twirling ballpoint pens

white eggshell enamel over pink or saccharine

symbols up for grabs… by anyone… bc that’s what I was told growing up and believed… I can be anyone I wanna be

hope the same for Muslim girls wearing spandex hijabs in P.E.

our country is not exempt… when campaign rallies look like nests… but I know I’m like… eighty-two percent spoon-fed/tone-deaf

tomorrow

is a child’s flying drone-wish… where native plants have extraordinary ability visas like the biebs… germinate round-up ready soft white wheat… and facial recognition software on my self-driving truck beeps… bc I’m not wearing guyliner… and lack ethereum cryptocurrency

so I walk into a bar and borrow liquid pencil

apply it in the mirror by the urinal

remembrance of things pabst

love comes in spurts

the worst

hasn’t

hap-

pened

be around

thanks

I’ll be a morel mushroom full of vitamin d in the dark

an emerald city queer in the shadow of Rainier where bark is bark

mist from the Nisqually River rolls above the fast part

torrent > P2P file sharing

a robot hands me a warm towel after yoga… scans my sweat for communicable diseases

construction workers buy baguettes out of a wheelbarrow… from my kids

paid in no-nuance knockoff dramatized black lady gifs

blood on their faces hunting feral pigs

allahu akbar… on the fortieth click… means more than the first search results about jihadist battle cries… jihad… means more than the first search results about holy wars

as-salaam aleikum… peace be unto you

saw-lahm

all-lay-koooooooom

while keeping an eye on the horizon

for crowd estimation software in weather balloons

across the un-crossable Puget Sound

not really

we live in western wash.

what I’m saying is… I’m not traveling down Tolkien’s path… climbing Silverstein’s precipice… crossing a toothpick pier… or boarding a balsa wood boat… for a “dialogue event”… when I see you across this metaphorical inlet

not everything overlaps… smoke + fog = smog… marionette + puppet = muppet… enchilada + burrito = enchurrito… intermingling > provinciality…but apple slices on guacamole is white people saying to Mexicans we want your food and want to “touch” it too

eww

I want the queer bar full of queers… and that’s true of any gathering place… the identity shifts with who’s there and who stays… for physical touch and feeling safe... and cultural intensification... we congregate

I could never hate feminist separatists reading sappho by lyre

agrarian nationalists and queer energy collectives disappear

cross the cascades… to north idaho… passport in hand to show agents at the skin of the bubble… preparing for my cousin the welder… who can’t get out of his trailer… and my dad who says seat belts and metric measurements are communist and has a legal pad with instructions for working the computer

the girl on the greyhound says she didn’t go to college for four years to sit on her ass and bake cookies

been awhile

a few days later I ride in the back of our uncle’s truck to the parade… where grandma reminds me to keep my beer tabs so kristy will get a party for her class… as we set up folding chairs on the sidewalk… to watch shriners on little cars… and wave at hooters girls on the make-a-wish float… the mayor… always pooping in other people’s pants… grandma says… as we find ourselves standing and clapping for the coeur d’alene tribe

after mayor and police go by

later help grandma make tater tot hot dish... wrap the pan in a bath towel she pulls from a cabinet full of towels stacked vertically like pizza boxes

small talk

fawn over the s’mores pie with graham cracker crumbs on bottom and top… especially the marshmallowy middle

oh oops

did I go there

pre-prayer

here’s the thing… the alliances we need to overcome the monster are never what we think they are… and seeing anti-american sentiment in the firmament… and indicator species’ temperaments… reminds us the world collects… and/or usurps the throne… the debt is more than we think we owe… there won’t be polite knocking or ceremonial drumming… by so-called “others” we didn’t see coming

solution… testing limits… and I don’t mean excusing myself to get the wings by the jumper cables in the trunk… walking back in and telling everyone angel gabriel is here… saying… oh I guess this isn’t… is this not the sexy jesus party with a crucifix selfie station?

omg that hoe over there

our arguments are basically light divisions… internal-only obstacles where I go back and forth debating

I know

this makes you wanna scream into the phone

well

here’s a semi-autobiographical lyric novella in the form of an epic poem

typical passive progressiveness… I can’t even talk to you face-to-face… when you wanna chill by the water tank… I communicate via popsicle stick messages in the gutter / everyone on tumblr

one thing’s for sure… we’re giving up some things... s’mores pie is on the table… but it’s not on the table… of sacrifices I’ll be making… bc I love s’mores pie

we don’t wanna give up anything but we have to try

our lives are characterized by conveniences with steep costs

like celery and bell peppers and onions already chopped

people with invisibility powers can’t be stopped

rowing outside San Diego and the Gulf

above cracked pipes and pvc

clouds of oil

grass and reeds

dragonflies and damselflies with heavy wings

on multi-generational round-trips without breaks to breathe in juniper trees

addition: we had a seed vault… a plan b food bank… to take care of us... in case a plague trapped in siberian ice destroyed our crops… but ten years went by without permafrost… and car-less urbanites with mileage plans... shrugged and said there was nothing they could do

a collapsed ice shelf is another place for cargo ships to pass through

our ecosystems depend on conversations among interlocking interdependent parts… more than mermaid toast or zombie shows… or mother nature wish-fulfillment fantasies… where we ask quail and cranes in the forest… to come out of the trees and lift us away by our shoulder pads

our second eye watches the ground… as we pace sidewalks disrupted by roots… thank inchworms for decompositions…. trace the paths of ants on the side… turn our ears like ferris wheels on the sly

inner vision attuned

wilderness survival guide

I do not have superior autobiographical memory like my faggot boyfriend does… brother… but if I remember right you beat up the guy who peed on my backpack in ninth grade… bc the next passing period… he apologized

I’m in bed rn… thinking about how I hate your muscular public practice… but needed it… srry for being confused

the word is not the thing

the menu is not the food

the plan

after I’ve figured out what I can give up

is to invite people to a park

grand theft auto fans

promote

slacktivist slash accent coach

mom in dallas… cashier cleric caregiver… competing for section 8 vouchers

developer counting kickbacks and calories... at a housing tax credit industry gathering

middle-aged man afraid to lose… leaving Buenavista for Baton Rouge… parents of dead black kids don’t know what to do… Saudi women barred from carpools… El Salvadoran sugarcane harvesters… closeted Egyptian police officers… Filipino nannies tinikling to Lil’ Wayne… trans women fighting the state… Miss Texas 1988… Harlotte O’Scara Hellen Tragedy… snake handler crab trapper… adjunct professor qualitative researcher… world’s most prolific fortune cookie writer… Bible Jim… shirtless guy next to him in briefs and “This man gave me a blowjob” sharpied on his chest

salmon in gasoline

up the bank across the street

pipeline burst on whatcom creek

hyper-empathic hatchimal colleggtor

trained to serve but not hit back

except in tennis lessons

the male coach

flips that

srry

gay hater cake maker cradle labeler

homo-plausible bi-logical

floral arranger

retain it or give it away

intellectual property is three chords

and the person with less power says you're not allowed

your brother

it’ll be the opposite of when I showed up at your house after my wife left me… and you opened the door… and I collapsed in your arms in the hallway… and bc you’re a few inches taller than me… and my knees wouldn’t work… you saw the nail marks on the walls of my subconscious

we’ll play a game… where we introduce ourselves

recall times in our lives with less repetition more repair

describing versions of ourselves adding post-scripts unaware

listing words we never use: farce, fatuous, machination, myopic, subterfuge

sorting beliefs by size date modified proof

discuss satire-less south park

duraflame start

galvanize flake n rust

behave spontaneously n not combust

help hippielandia hostel in flames

learn ancient proto-langs

repeat shit we wanna forget

like, has anyone checked on the family in the nuclear train car yet

we’ll discuss what should change… what should stay the same… believe ourselves capable of restraint… revive the practice of communal processing… where townspeople gather side by side… to watch events from the day reenacted in light

practice… on a page

like in a play

oceans and lands… dna strands… airspace… electromagnetic spectrums… gridded and privatized… but the public square

ACT I

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE GATHER IN HALF-CIRCLE. MISSILE, WEATHER BALLOON, AND RED SUN HANG OVERHEAD

NICO: “I’ve been thinking about how I might convey my progressive morals in a way that sounds wholesome to my family.”

ISSA: “I’m done with that. I spend ten dollars on tampons at the store and my husband gets a bowlful of condoms every time he orders a jaeger shot. Then if I mention the disparity he blames ‘red tide.’ When I needed postnatal care to stop my fourth trimester pants-pissing, my doctor’s visit wasn’t covered. Society isn’t family friendly. I spend forty-minutes on the couch organizing housework and childcare each week, and regardless of what society says, that’s project management.”

JASLENE: “Last year my teacher gave everyone two bathroom passes and if you didn’t use them they were worth extra credit, so I left bloody circles on the chair para mostrarle que esto es lo que sucedería.”

CROWD SILENCES. BOY IN “WANNA LIFT?” SHIRT LEAVES. DARLENE STEPS TO THE MIDDLE.

DARLENE (to vacated space, then to group): “We’ll miss you… Every manifestation of good and evil has part of the answer, but also, immovable people will not be moved. We will show civil inattention by giving him the space he needs.”

MARK: “I’ll never represent my beliefs adequately since I have trouble telling the barber how I want my hair without the assistance of visual aids, but I’m here to talk anyway.”

JAMES: “We're standing on varying levels of culturally constructed oppressive frames and the only way to deconstruct the artifice as it exists is to stand on the ones that are more entrenched and take apart the ones that are less entrenched.”

SOFÍA: “I’m so confused by the fact that I’m not supposed to feel shame, except for all the things I’m supposed to feel shameful about, which aren’t the things I thought were shameful. Am I supposed to know what a ‘gender illusionist’ is? I thought liking men made my nephew gay.”

CURTAINS CLOSE

overheard in audience:

they’re not connecting… just waiting turns and expressing

let’s not underestimate the hard work of avoiding moral outrage

dismayed at the repetition of “but” while conversation disintegrates

hang on

looking up cognac insta chef’s recipe for caramel-drizzled hennessy cupcakes

unwilling to listen generously… while aiming for an ending other than intensifying favoritism is like nailing jelly to a tree

using a chainsaw to cut butter

jumping from flower to flower in a fern gulley type situation

pragmatism is a dangerous alternative to conviction

ACT II

CURTAINS OPEN. CHARACTER ‘YOU’ GAZES OUT OF HOUSE WINDOW ON AN ISLAND, STAGE LEFT. CHARACTER ‘ME’ LOOKS OUT APARTMENT WINDOW IN A CITY, STAGE RIGHT

In unison: I promise me: to fight for-profit prisons, schools, and kidney-dialysis centers. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I think I can give up me: the scholarship I got in college and give it to someone who needs it. But don’t touch the s’mores pie. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I’ve been thinking about me: what you shared with me about China building artificial land around the Spratly Islands. And how prison construction companies look at standardized test data from second grade children of color. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I believe I am owed me: a reply. Not long, but something. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I care about me: how Ryan and Jesse’s mom used to put Carl Budding lunchmeat with mayonnaise and mustard in a blender… set it on ‘mash’ for a game of Duck Hunt… scoop it into Tupperware… and smear it on white bread throughout the week. I would eat that over apples on guacamole. The real globaloney. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I hope me: we find space to show real love to kenyan baboons in garbage dumps and dioxin babies walking like spiders with red septic skin and people in apartments named after species they’ve displaced and women planning the clean-up of their suicides. you: [ [ [ [

CURTAINS CLOSE: INTERMISSION

overheard in lobby:

coming up with a formula for interacting in common space

himalayan crystals from the mystic utilikit dude

maybe we’ll see them agree… or calm down… or point towards partial truth… or connect idealism to privilege

not youth

we know old folks are idealistic

planting seeds without expecting fruits

going to target and payless shoes

ACTS III+

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE HUDDLE AROUND A RADIO, AS IF IN A SNOWSTORM.

RADIO: ... let it be that great strong land of love… where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme… that any man be crushed by one above…

DARLENE: “Starting sentences with ‘I’ is a good place to begin, but feelings of belonging go deeper. Shift responses bring the attention to ourselves. Support responses ask for more. Let’s be more than cannibals with knives and forks.”

MARK: “Food metaphors. We want to think about asking better questions. ‘What place most inspires you?’ instead of ‘Where have you traveled?’ ‘What work are you passionate about?’ instead of ‘What do you do?’”

JASLENE: “What's your weightiest belief? What's your most potent fear?”

RADIO: … clutching the hope I seek… and finding only the same old stupid plan… of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak… it never was America to me…

ISSA: “The desperate search for an ethic, a specter.”

JASON: “I am willing to give up my authority but don't touch my autonomy.”

RADIO: ... say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? and who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

YOU: [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [

EPILOGUE

Before sharing my brother’s response, I want to say I wrote “Thots & Prayers” because women get fewer obituaries than men in newspapers. Because the Baltimore Orioles lost way back when they had no tree canopy in which to land. Because trauma squats in the valley and anxiety raps her knuckles on the hill. Because Taco Bell spent 10 years and $15 mill developing stretchy cheese. Because men look at other men working in daycare centers and think they’re dumb for frittering away perks that should have been theirs from birth. Because my older brother yelled about faggots and Latinas after visiting the site of the Orlando Pulse shooting.

I am not looking to be comforted or assuaged.

White men need to educate each other. It’s not anyone else's job. We need to listen to the cultural conversation, see connections, and act on behalf of people who aren't seen. We need to be friendly in crowded places, and pull each other aside and be bridges.

I hope my family understands how many things will break if we don’t accommodate fragility. I’m not a metaphysician and don’t know about quantum mechanics or particle physics, but I know the phrase “I hope” is a glimmer of light living outside my rage. “I hope” signals my privilege. I hope to understand more about “I hope” in the context of everyday life in coming days.

As a beneficiary of entrenched systems, I work for everyone to have equal voice and access. I work for what’s best in my neighborhood and nation, on this striking and stunning and astoundingly polluted planet. I avoid asteroid-bashing. I avoid the ossification of stalemate. I avoid co-opting languages of the oppressed. I save room for warmth and time for children. I learn about neuro-diversity in the workplace and nutrient density in school lunches, and communicate generously about these issues and other issues, like the shared struggle for justice.

Mantras I’m saying and acting upon.

What’s mine is yours.

We do not need all the parts of the old society to create a new one.

If you feel inspired, please comment. I’d love to hear your weightiest belief, most potent fear, frustrations, considerations, qualifications, corrections, assessments, and agreements. No presh. I get nervous sharing my feelings, and words impact and behave differently for different people. The spaces between known grains of wood make wood strong.

I wasn’t sure if my brother would be a grain or a space. He’s the first person to admit he doesn’t read much and would rather talk on the phone or hash things out in person. Before sharing this, I called him up and said, “I’m about to send you a piece of writing. You don’t have to read the whole thing. You can always ‘Ctl. F’ and look for ‘brother.’”

Here’s what he wrote:

FYI, I don't really like you writing somewhat rude things about me and my house (which I take as jabs towards my wife and kids), etc. I don't do that towards you. I know there was some nice stuff too… I am communicating by e-mail as I know email is your preferred method, but at some point you need to realize I have feelings and opinions too, and don’t share them with everyone.

Right now I’m looking at 40+ people smoking joints outside the subsidized housing across the street. Wish I had that option. I wonder if their chronic drug use is helping out the health care system – I know they're not paying into it? I was up at 4:05 a.m. today to keep working toward losing that 20 lbs. so I'm not a burden on the system in the future. Learned that from Mom and Dad. I guess sometimes I feel ripped off. Need to get back to work now as I need to pay bills.

I’m sorry about the hate stuff that one day, you know I don't feel that way.

On another note, is hydroxycut good stuff?

He attached a document where he continued the conversation.

I promise to… take care of my kids and not cheat on my wife.

I’ve been thinking about… how to lose 20 more lbs. so I’m not dead when my kids are 40.

I feel like I am owed… nothing. I don’t feel I’m owed anything. Everyone chooses how to spend their money.

... and gave me prompts of my own.

In unison: I’ve been busy me: working about 12 hours per day if I count commuting and working on my house. you: [

In unison: I save my money for me: the future. I think I’m responsible for taking care of my own problems instead of hoping someone will help me out if something happens. you: [

In unison: I feel I’m privileged because me: I had a good Mom, Dad, and brothers growing up. I was never given any money, but having someone in your corner is more valuable. I am in your corner if you are in a pinch, and I know Mom and Dad are too. you: [

Working for a great strong land of love,

COLOPHON

Published on tumblr on Thursday, Aug. 10, “Thots & Prayers” is a phone transcript, visual essay, poem, and interactive self-help manual. I edited my brother’s written response for clarity. My mom took the pictures of my brother and me. My friend Jonathan Ursin took the pictures of me kneeling on the amphitheater stage and laying in the grass with rosary beads. I took the rest. Spanish phrases were proofed by Alè Barrientos. Radio broadcast lines are excerpted from Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.” Endorsement by Seattle performer Nico Pecans (they/them) / Miss Texas 1988 (she/her) is available. Lines from “James” and “Jason” are from interviews with James and Jason. PDF with original formatting shared upon request.

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stylessemantics · 7 years

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"You're such a bitch!" For the prompt thing please!

also: “Anonymous said: "you’re such a bitch" prompt bc honestly it’s me 😂”

honestly dear anons, I did not know how to end this. Sorry! but thanks for leaving a prompt!

“ Really? ‘You’re such a bitch?’ ” The sight of Harry pacing in front of you in his office was giving you anxiety, and honestly, you felt like a child, getting scolded this way, getting in trouble after saying a bad word to someone or screaming to your teacher. Instead this time you had screamed the words at your co-worker. “ No… I said you're such a bitch. There’s a difference in intonation.”“ Y/N…”“ She said it first!” It was true. Your co-worker was a bitch and she had been since day one. She always crammed your space, and she acted innocent and naive, milked the new employee card for as long as she could and made mistakes that later on she threw on you and your boss always fell for it.“ It doesn’t make it ok y/n”“ I know that! You think I don’t know my job’s on the line?” you say sinking in his couch with arms crossed and pouty lips. “and before you say it, I know that I’m responsible for it being on the line…”

Harry sighs coming from behind his desk to sit next to you, placing a warm comforting hand on your knee, fingers spread out wide.“ I could talk to -““ No” you instantly interrupt him knowing exactly what he was going to say. There was no way you were letting him talk to your boss and put in a good word for you, like you’re some trouble-teen that needs her mom to beg the principal to let you retake an exam or something.“ Baby, I could do something”“ Yeah, make it worse” you scoff and his eyebrows raise in confusion. Oh he’s so cute and naive. “Harry…” you start and turn to him holding his hand. “ Listen to me closely. Lillian” your boss “has the hots for you… as does every woman in this building” He is quick to roll his eyes and chuckle at you. There was no way. Lillian was just another co-worker. His equal in another department. And here you are saying this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is. Even male co-workers knew that whatever chance at an office romance they could have dreamed of, was sunken and thrown in the trash the moment Harry started working there. “ Ok, let’s say that’s true.” he gets up and paces “Wouldn’t that make it better? If Lillian likes me she’ll listen to me”“ She’ll know something’s up with us.” you groan and lay on his couch covering your face with one of his soft red cushions. There’s a moment of silence and then you feel Harry’s weight next to you on the little space you left on the couch next to your head, he scoots over as close as he can careful not to sit on your hair, and removes the soft pillow. When you open your eyes he’s there with a bright smile and warm eyes. “ Yeh know… I’ve been thinking s’ about time we told everyone we’re dating” he leans down to kiss you upside down, and although it’s a funny feeling and uncomfortable position, you kiss him back however you can. You and Harry started dating about 2 months ago. When he got promoted after a year of being assistant, to being head of department, he threw a little party at a nearby club and had invited his friends from the office as well. You both ended up slightly drunk and kissing, secluded from the prying eyes of any co-worker, in a small balcony on the second floor. For the following weeks, almost month and a half, you avoided each other around the office, scared to bring it up and act up on the tension that was then heavy between the both of you, until he decided he’d had enough and trapped you in the copy room for a sneaky snog. The rest was history, and to this day no one in the building knew. It was better to keep those things a secret, as they leave an ocean of gossip and problems in its wake. But Harry wanted the people to know. He wanted the people to know you were with him, he wanted people to know he was taken and very happy, to know that you were taken and very happy. He wanted Jason to stop getting his coffee at exactly the time you got your coffee but Harry would never tell you that.

“ We will. Let’s just not start with my boss” you get up from his couch, ready to go back to your desk. “As for this incident, I’ll talk to Lillian myself. I’ll be the bigger person and not drag stupid Emily across the floor, and hopefully Lillian will see that I’m right and Emily is a bitch and never does her work” Harry laughs.“ how are you doing that?”“ I have two things she doesn’t have. Witnesses and all my paperwork done” you wink at him turning to the door.“ Ok then.” Harry follows and before you could open it and leave his office he turns you around to give you a kiss. “No more calling anyone a bitch… even if they deserve it”“ No promise”“ God you're impossible woman” he laughs and gives you a soft pat to your behind as you walk away. Later that night he knows he’ll be glad to cook you dinner at your place and hear all about your meeting with Lillian, and you’ll be very happy to let him know you’re keeping your job and one little person isn’t.

Prompt taken from THIS four-word-prompts list

Masterlist

#anon love #FOOLISH!#prompt list #four word prompts #fun #writing exercise #you're such a bitch

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their-misplaced-wings · 3 years

Text

Long letter to myself about growing up trans without knowing it and accepting myself and sharing bc pride inspired it so #happypride

tw: mentions of self hate, self harm, and some other stuff that might be stressful but it doesnt get specific or graphic

Dear me,

I know Pre-k is scary. I know that you’re worried about change and how much your life is going to be different. Sorry to tell you that happens every school year, and it happens every time there’s a change in your adult life too. It’s okay. I know that when the class is playing house the other kids tell you that you can’t play-pretend to be the dad, the uncle, or the brother so you decide to be the pet- either cat or dog you don’t care. I know that you become friends with two boys and don’t really ever pay attention to the girls in the class unless they speak to you first. I know that you prefer Pokemon, Power Rangers, playing in the creek, and riding the four wheeler to dolls or dress up. I know that even your friends and cousins would tell you that you had to be the pink or yellow Power Ranger when you were playing and wouldn’t even let you pretend to be Blue and you all hated the Blue one. I know it made you want to cry because it was the time you got to pretend to be anyone you wanted and they were still trying to fit you into a role that you didn’t get to choose. I know that you didn’t understand exactly why, because how could you? You were five and everyone told you were a “tomboy” like that was supposed to explain everything. It’s okay.

Dear me,

I know everything became more confusing in third grade when the nice fifth-grade girl became your friend. I know that she was so nice and you thought she was pretty. I know that made you think there must be something wrong with you. Not only because you had a crush but because you wondered why you didn’t look pretty like her if you were both girls. I know that she made you feel like you were an imposter but you didn’t have that word to use to express yourself. I know that you were secretly angry when she told you she had a crush on your neighbor and I know we didn’t know why we were angry at the time so we played the role we were given and encouraged her. I know that you lied when she asked you if you had a crush on any boys. I read our diary about that a few years later and I know we just copied girls in our grade and said we had the same crushes. It’s okay.

Dear me,

I know that fourth-grade is the worst so far. You were told that you had to start being friends with girls and when your friends that had been sleeping over for years slept over now you had to wear shorts to bed. I know you thought they were idiots because why would you and your friend even think that about each other? No one had told you anything yet but there were new rules now because he was a boy and it was no longer appropriate. I know that the girls that you tried to be friends with were mean and made fun of you because you weren’t like them. I know that they made you watch movies you didn’t want to because they were scary and they laughed at you when you cried. I know that they wanted to shop at Claire’s and do their nails and that when they talked you really never listened to them because you didn’t understand.

I know that when you started playing softball instead of tee-ball you felt so incredibly overwhelmed and out of place. I know that when you started to make friends with the other people on the team that liked wearing boys clothes, liked cartoons and playing outside you finally felt a little more at ease and felt like you really had friends since the boys from Pre-K stopped talking to you.

Dear me,

I know that sixth grade is even worse than fourth and fifth. I know that all of the girls you made friends with acted like they had never known you. I know that you loved having your friends from softball at school at least. I know that it changed when your one friend said they wanted to kill themselves so you told your mom. I know that she freaked out and never spoke to you again. I know that until your teacher reached out about joining the DI team you felt so incredibly lonely. It’s okay. I know that you became great friends with a girl that was silly like you and that you spent two years closer than anyone could possibly be, you thought. I know that when she went to high school you didn’t think anything would change. I know that you made another friend who felt and acted like you in your grade and you guys grew so close. I know that they were your lifeline and that you still felt lost. We’re still friends today so really it’s okay.

Dear me,

I know you lost everything including yourself in eighth-grade. I know that you feel like a shell and there is no one around to care. I know that when that man killed your dog you were so beyond broken that we became angry and numb to handle the pain, anger, fear, loneliness, confusion, and self-loathing. It’s okay. I know that the school counselor told you we have Depression and you felt like you committed a crime. I know that we cried and she accused you of proving her right. I know that you were so afraid you were going to be in trouble that you told Her we were fine and the counselor was exaggerating. I know that the poems we were writing were exaggerated versions of the very real truth. I know that the counselor failed so miserably that we no longer trust any of them again.

Dear me,

I know that you never really processed being in ninth-grade, or really tenth for that matter. I know that even though you had been friends for years, your friend that was a year older started to treat you like you were the most annoying person in the world out of the blue. I know that she dug into every insecurity you had about yourself and you still couldn’t hate her. I know you screamed into the woods asking what you did wrong and that you were so afraid to talk to her in case she made you feel worse about yourself. I know it left you confused and hollow even when you thought you couldn’t be any more than you had been for years.

I know that you stared at yourself in the mirror every night, sobbing, scratching, and hating yourself. I know that you wondered why you weren’t pretty and why you didn’t look like other girls or feel like other girls must feel. I know you wondered why no boys liked you and what must be wrong with you. I know you hated your chest. Sorry to say that doesn’t go away.

Dear me,

I know the past few years you wish you hadn’t been born. I know you’re too afraid to hurt the people you love to do anything like that though. I know really you just wish how you’re feeling would just stop for a minute so that you can breathe. I know that eleventh-grade is the hardest academically, socially, and personally so far. I know that you felt like He hated you and was disappointed in you. I know that you were afraid of him and that no one took you seriously. I know that he had a way of looking at you that made you feel five again. I know he never hurt you but his threats were enough to have you living in fear. I know that She was so busy dealing with her own things that She didn’t really see. I know that you carved PERFECT at night because at least you could control that much. I know that you thought something was wrong with you. It’s okay.

Dear me,

I know senior year is big. I know that you were so tired of the fog and the self-hate and the tears that you finally were brave enough to talk to your doctor. I know that all he did was give you a giant prescription and sent you on your way. I know that they start to help but I know that they also start to take away our personality. I know that we start to care less about everything. I know that we feign confidence because the dose is too high and the doctor never bothers to change it or recommend a therapist. I know that eventually we lose that little last bit of ourselves and just start copying others. I know that we don’t care where we go to college. I know that we don’t care what our major is. I know that we really just don’t care anymore. That’s okay.

Dear me,

College really did a number on us. I know that we wanted to feel loved and supported so badly that we didn’t focus on learning. I know that we started talking to every boy we thought was cute. I know that they were all trash bags. I know that the first boyfriend was charming but judged you. I know that we changed to share his interests because then he wouldn’t leave us like our friend had right? I know that we know he cheated on us but we were so insecure that we ignored it or forgave him. I know that he broke our heart. I know that we were so broken again that we let ourselves listen to the next one. I know that we let that one break us more. I know that it felt so great to be needed and loved that we ignored all the signs and the fighting. I know that we let him tell us what to do and how to act. I know that we went off our medication because of his conspiracies. I know you told him you were depressed and he yelled at you. I know that you were as afraid of him as you were for him. I know we left in the middle of the night and he walked to our campus the next day. I know you tried therapy to process the abuse but I know it brought up too many things we weren’t ready to process.

Dear me,

I know that we’re doing so much better now. I know that this One has been helping us heal. I know that he’s teaching you so many things and that we’re starting to understand things about ourself. I know that there are new terms that we’ve learned and new identities that we never even fathomed. I know it’s overwhelming but I promise it’s okay. I know that when you tell the One about ourself it feels like an answer. I know that it was scary to ask him to use neutral pronouns despite knowing that he would understand. I’m so glad that we did. I know that we’re still healing, understanding, and processing everything and that some days are easier than others. I know that we wish we had know all of this about ourself back in elementary school but we have made it this far and we will keep growing. We’ll be okay.

#personal growth #Trans #nonbinary #letter to myself #queer pride #pride month #dear me #growing up queer

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