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#somebody come talk to me about malformed men
shesey · 1 year
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Excerpts from Margaret Atwood’s Alias Grace Pt 1
I would rather be a murderess than a murderer, if those are the only choices. A woman like me is always a temptation, if possible to arrange it unobserved; as whatever we may say about it later, we will not be believed. It’s chilly in this room. I have no shawl. I hug my arms around myself because who else is there to do it? When I was younger I used to think that if I could hug myself tight enough I could make myself smaller, because there was never enough room for me, at home or anywhere, but if I was smaller then I would fit in. But when you go mad you don’t go any other place, you stay where you are. And somebody else comes in. He must mean that he has come to test me, although he’s too late for that, as God has done a great deal of testing of me already, and you would think he would be tired of it by now. It is of the greatest regret that we do not have the knowledge whereby we might cure these unfortunate afflicted. A surgeon can cut open an abdomen and display the spleen. Muscles can be cut out and shown to young students. The human psyche cannot be dissected nor the brain’s workings put out on the table to display. The brain has corridors... surpassing... material place. Ourself behind ourself, concealed, should startle most. I should emphasize that sanitation and good drainage are of the first importance, as it is of no use to attempt to minister to a mind diseased, whilst the body is afflicted by infections. I am certain that a Sewing Machine would relieve as much human suffering as a hundred Lunatic Asylums, and possible a good deal more. He suffers like many clergymen from a punishable lack of wit and a desire to treat us all as straying sheep, of which he is to be the shepherd. It’s a view he does not admire, it is so relentless horizontal - but visual monotony can sometimes be conducive to thought. His father was self-made, but his mother was constructed by others, and such edifices are notoriously fragile. Simon has been spoiled by European servants, who are born knowing their places; he has not yet reaccustomed himself to the resentful demonstrations of equality so frequently practiced on this side of the ocean. As a medical student he became habituated to a monkish austerity, and to working long hours under difficult conditions. They have been talking to each other all this time, and not to me. They are a low class of person. And underneath that is another feeling still, a feeling like being torn open; not like a body of flesh, it is not painful as such, but like a peach; and not even torn open, but too ripe and splitting open of its own accord. And inside the peach there’s a stone. Why does a civilized man see fit to torture his body by cramming it into the strait-jacket of gentlemenly dress? While a medical student, he dissected a good many women - from the labouring classes, naturally - and their spines and musculature were on average no feebler than those of men. To heal humanity one must know it, and one cannot know it from a distance; one must rub elbows with it, so to speak. He considers it the duty of those in his profession to probe life’s uttermost depths, and although he has not probed very many of them as yet, he has at least made a beginning. But how craven - how callous! - to attempt to take advantage of those who are not in control of themselves! ... The Devil himself is simply a malformation of the cerebrum. If these people were not so well-to-do, their behavior would get them committed. Simon finds it tiresome to be constantly accused, in his individual person, of all the sins of his country, and especially by these Britishers, who seem to think that a conscience recently discovered excuses them for not having had any conscience at all at an earlier period. On what was their present wealth founded, but on the salve trade; and where would their great mill towns be without Souther cotton? He disapproves of public executions, which are unhealthily exciting and produce bloodthirsty fancies in the weaker-minded part of the population. She was a timid creature, hesitating and weak and delicate, which used to anger me. I wanted her to be stronger, so I would not have to be so strong myself. So my mother and father each felt trapped by the other. At moments like this I envy those who have found a safe haven, in which to bestow their hearts; or perhaps I envy them for having a heart to bestow. They hold dreams, like somnambulism, to be a manifestation of the animal life that continues below consciousness, out of sight, beyond reach of the will. Perhaps the hooks - the hinges, as it were - in the chain of memory, are located there? Maine de Biran held that conscious life was only a sort of island, floating upon a much vaster subconscious, and drawing thoughts up from it like fish. He has always been curious about these manifestations of the imagination as he has been able to observe them in himself. Where do they come from? If they occur in him, they must occur as well in the majority of men. He is both sane and normal, and he has developed the rational faculties of his mind to a high degree; and yet he cannot always control such pictures. The difference between a civilized man and a barbarous fiend - a madman, say - lies, perhaps, merely in a thin veneer of willed self-restraint. Women help each other; caring for the afflicted is their sphere. They make beef tea and jellies. They knit comforting shawls. They pat and soothe. I can see he is going to teach me something, which gentlemen are fond of doing. The difference between stupid and ignorant was that ignorant could learn. But it angered her that some people had so much and others so little, as she could not see any divine plan in it. There are sharp rocks ahead. Which I suppose there always are, Sir, and there had certainly been enough of them behind, and I had survived them; so I was not too daunted by that. The small details of life often hide a great significance. And I also thought about how the men would wink and nod when a young and rich widow was mentioned, and how a widow was a respectable thing to be if old and poor, but otherwise; which is quite strange when you come to consider it.
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mistalobadiba · 2 years
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Cishet masculinity is something that has always meant casual, dismissive, ruthlessness in my experience. I am a cishet white adult man. The kind men I know, my bros, my father and uncles, they are valuable men because they offer an escape from masculinity. They make it clear that with them, masculinity is simply a series of stations on a train nobody’s interested in riding at the moment.
There are no happy women in my family. At least, none that aren’t fighting anxiety or depression. My little cousin was a happy little girl until she went to college. When she came back she was cold and cruel. She started letting the rest of us know she was suffering from migraines, but I don’t buy it. It’s been some years now, and the way she talks to me is different. She used to be comfortable around me and we’d play together, as an older sibling (by six years) plays with a younger. Now it’s more like I’m somebody she knows she can come to, but she is risking something.
I hope I’m wrong and it’s just migraines. I will never ask, but I hope she knows I care about her and will listen should she need it.
I understand that women, queer, and trans people may see me and respond internally with fear. I exercise regularly and have been told I’m “very strong.” I am a naturally very angry person, I’ve always been angry as a baseline state of being. I know now this is from anxiety, and I have control over it. The few that have seen me at my worst have forgiven me (although they might say there was nothing to forgive), and I will never be able to reveal to them how much I love them. It is too great for human expression.
When I see trans men, aka those who have become men, and these men are small, physically weak, precious, bright, and generally lovable, I resent them. I do not care how others, by which I mean “anyone not myself” identify. I feel rage at my own perceived injustice. Why could I not be like this? Why must I cover my face with a scowl, or shit eating grin to avoid abuse? Abuse that’s expected, counted on to establish validity that yes, I am a man, impregnable, self sufficient, numb to suffering, worth the work of my hands and nothing more?
To enter a room and be seen as a non-threat is unimaginable, or was until I encountered trans men. I’ve lived my life with the threat of my body as a display, mounted on my chest, shoulders, jaw, legs. To discount my own beastliness is to invite the beastliness in other men to harm me. This is a lesson I’ve learned many times, and to question it rationally has been, until now, irrelevant.
What is the defense of a meager man, trans or otherwise? What do I do when the softness of my character is trampled and discounted? If I fight back, I reduce myself. And I am so wounded and fatigued from reduction. It happens at least once a day, if I leave the house. Weather the perpetrator be white, queer, black, old, young, it is always a man.
Do trans men begin fulfilled and uplifted and then are crushed down into something malformed and lame as a result of no defense? Or do they somehow persevere?
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dailyaudiobible · 3 years
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05/02/2021 DAB Transcript
Judges 15:1-16:31, John 2:1-25, Psalms 103:1-22, Proverbs 14:17-19
Today is the 2nd day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it's great to be here with you today as we continue to move in and settle into this 5th month of the year. So, this May 2nd, 2nd day of May, but it's the first day of the week and it's the first day of the first full week in the month of May. So, let's dive in. And we’ll read from the New International Version this week. We began the story of the judge Samson yesterday in the book of Judges and so we’ll continue with his story today. Judges, chapters 15 and 16.
Prayer:
Father once again, we thank you for bringing us safely into this new month that we’re getting moved into. And as we begin this brand-new, shiny, sparkly week right at the beginning of this brand-new, shiny, sparkly new month, we feel the reset of it even as we move fully into the changing of the seasons. We feel the shift of it, the new beginning, the new life of it. And, so, come Holy Spirit. Breathe into our souls the breath of life. Open our eyes that we might see your kingdom. Open our ears that we might hear. Lead us on the narrow path. Illuminate that path. Light our way. Your word is a lamp to our feet. It shows us where we’re stepping. It’s a light to our path. So, come illuminate the way forward we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.
Community Prayer and Praise:
Hi, my name’s Megan and I'm calling from the southern Illinois. Today is April 27th and on April the 8th I lost my dad very unexpectedly. He died in his sleep, which I know is a way that we all hope that we could go. He was a believer. He had faith in God. I have no doubt where he is, but I am really struggling with the sudden nature of his passing. He was an only child. I was an only child. We were extremely close. I'm so thankful for the 41 years that I had with him. A lot of kids don't have that type of relationship with their dad. I call myself a kid because that's what I feel like. I feel like a 5-year-old girl who's just lost her dad. It’s left my mother alone, obviously. And with me not having any other siblings besides the grief and the sadness there's a huge amount of responsibility that comes along with it and we're all feeling the heaviness of this loss. My dad was someone who could do anything. The community loved him. Our little town, we've all felt a big loss with his sudden passing. If you could just keep our family in your prayers. I have two young children at home who, this has been a devastating loss for them. My son goes and sits at my dad's grave site every evening and talks to him. If you could just keep our family in prayer, I would really appreciate it. Thank you very much.
Good morning DABber family this is the Burning Bush that will not be Devoured for the Glory of our God and our King. I am calling today for all the other burning bushes out there, those who feel like their lives are constantly on fire. And you may or may not understand what's going on, but I just want to remind you that you are not being devoured, that God is holding onto you and you are…that you’re living for a purpose. There is purpose in your pain. As I say this, I think about our sister Margot and Liberia. Margot, I heard your call today and my heart…my heart just breaks for you. I admire your obedience to the Lord, that you're out there away from your home, away from your comfort and you’re suffering because of what you know the Lord called you to do. Being a native of Liberia I cannot thank you enough for your sacrifice. My heart longs to be there. And, so, you are living where I would want to live. You're doing what I know my heart desires to do. And, so, I want you to know that I am praying for you and I'm calling all the prayer warriors to pray for Margot and her husband. The spiritual warfare that exists in Liberia, I cannot even begin to verbalize what happens there but I'm so, so grateful for your sacrifice and I pray that the Lord will protect you, that He will provide for you, that He will consistently guide you, and…and continually show you the next steps and give you favor in Jesus’ name. I love you all. May the Lord bless and keep you in Jesus’ name.
Hello DAB family I hope you’ve all had a blessed weekend. It's the 27th of April at 1:29 PM. We just thank God for all your lives. We thank God for this amazing ministry. And I have just finished listening to the DAB and I just wanted to say congratulations to China and Ben and also the Hardin family for this amazing, blessed news. We just thank God for the safe delivery of her baby and just to let you know that I'm praying and thinking of you and the family. God bless you all and may you have a blessed day. This is Sarah from London.
Yahoo congratulations! China, Ben you're a mom and a dad now, your first born. And Jill Ann Brian congratulations. This is This Girl is Mine. Congratulations from Toowoomba Kinta in Australia. Woo Hoo.
Hi DAB family this is Ashley from California and I am reaching out in prayer because I need prayer for my dad. My dad is just one of the most loving men you will meet. He would give somebody the shirt off his back. And I'm just feeling a little stirred right now because he had a mild stroke and he's admitted in the hospital right now, but I am feeling scared and just asking God to help my dad and to take care of him and to give him strength. I know in the book of Isaiah when it talks about God giving comfort, He doesn't send comfort like a pillow or pity or anything like that. He sends comfort in the form of strength. So, if you could lift my dad, my family, and I up and ask God to come and comfort us with His strength and fill us with that I would greatly appreciate it. And DAB family I'm lifting you all up. So, please I appreciate you and congratulations China. Reagan is beautiful and congratulations Brian and Jill on becoming grandparents. And I just appreciate everything that you guys do. Thank you and have a great rest of your day. Bye.
Hey family it's Jesse from Washington. I know I've been calling in a lot lately. And I don't want to call and ask for this prayer right now, but God has been on me all afternoon to do it. I know some of you know kind of my story since October. I reported my wife for being abusive to my kids and hurting my daughter and she's had a history of this. I had Child Protective Services release a 530-page document over the last 20 years…I have a 17-year-old stepdaughter and 21…21-year-old stepdaughter that this…similar things have been happening too as well for 20 years. So, counselors, caretakers, family members have all reported her. Nothing happens. I reported her and filed a protection order but she, as retaliation, filed a protection order against me saying that she feared for her life and the kids life from me while simultaneously saying __ that Jesse's never done anything to hurt her or her children. But the judge granted her or order. So, she's had the power to keep me from my kids. I have limited visitation. And then when I go to see my kid’s she, when I get there, I'll get to the door and then she'll tell me I can't see them. The kids are screaming and crying. It's a weekly thing. I don't know what to say. I don't want to be negative. She's an awful, awful, abusive person. She's on multiple medications for bipolar, for anxiety, for depression. She…I don't…I don't want to complain. I don't even want to make this call. I don't know what to do. I can't afford an attorney. If I have to start a new career…she fired me from my own business. She sold our house. I had to sell all my belongings to represent myself and I'm living with family now at 38 starting my life over. So, I just need help. I need representation and I need your prayers. Love you.
Good morning DAB family this is T from Texas and I've just been listening for many, many years but lately I've been listening to the people that are suffering from depression and from fear and I just want to lift all of them up to you Lord Jesus today to say Lord I just pray a hedge of angels around their mind. Lord give them the ability to know that they are children of the kingdom and that You love them. I myself suffer Lord and I know how hard it is and how it hurts. So, Lord God I pray that for all these people I believe his name was Trent, there was another young man that was in the deep, Lord I just pray Your blessings and Your peace over them today. Thank you, DAB family.
Hello Daily Audio Bible family I'm Jesse I'm 13 and I'm calling from Santa Barbara CA. It's wonderful here. The weather is really nice. We just found out that my cousin who is 23, I believe. I don't really know his age. He has had to grand mal seizures in a row, and we just need your prayer right now. I mean…I mean he's going through so much right now. I mean he…he and his girlfriend just broke up and he's all by himself unemployed and on top of that he's all of a sudden having seizures. So, everybody would just pray that we lift him up so that he would be healed and that he would just relax. And there's not much more to say. I thank you for all your prayer and encouragement. And please, in the name of the Lord help him get better. Amen.
Hello, my name is Karan and I have been listening to the Daily Audio Bible for a few years now. This is the first time that I've called in. I'm asking for prayer for my son Sebastian. He is 22 years old. He's currently living on the streets. He has been on the streets on and off since he was a teenager. He is a brain malformation that makes him be much more like a 13-year-old then his actual age. He's regularly taken advantage of financially and in other ways by people. And on top of that he has type one diabetes. I found him today and saw him and it breaks my heart every time I do because he is in such rough shape and he's not taking care of himself. He suffers from mental health problems and uses drugs as well. He was raised in the church but has walked away from that. He has struggled his entire life and has had one issue after another placed on him. I always try to put him in God's hands, but sometimes it's really hard and I just would like prayer for him. Thank you.
Congratulations on the birth of Reagan the Brave and God bless you all.
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greetthedawn · 7 years
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AN:
For those of you who have followed this story from the beginning (or those who have read through it recently) today is the 3rd anniversary of my little sister’s brain surgery! She’s doing great and has the green light from her neuro surgeon to live her life. Shout out to any Chiari Malformation survivors who may be reading this. I know second-hand how strong you are.
Enjoy chapter 10!
And I swear there’s a ghost on this island
And his hands, all covered in blood
And my wife inquired of understanding
But of course, my dear, you can’t
She said ‘how can I relate to somebody who doesn’t speak?’
I feel like I’m just treading water
Is it the same for you?
             A month passed, and things changed on the island. After a very brief discussion with Mary during which they both immediately agreed on their course of action – a somewhat rare occurrence – Edward had extended an invitation to the Brotherhood to move their temporary base of operations to Great Inagua so that they could gather their bearings. Tulum was no longer safe, thanks to his own past errors. The first boatload of Assassins had arrived early that October morning, though most remained in the Yucatan until the details of their stay could be sorted. This would be their best chance of rebuilding the local Order to its former glory, back before he stuck his neck into the mix of things.
             After settling some of his guests into their houses by the bay, Edward made his way back to the main house. He climbed the long stone staircase as was met with a sight that warmed his heart. Mary was seated at the table on the patio outside, drinking with some of their men as well as some of her old friends in the brotherhood. She was wearing her usual disguise as James Kidd. Though the Assassins were clued into her true identity, it was still best that the crew remain in the dark. All in the know had been warned to stay tight-lipped about. Her eyes caught his and he could see the smile in them that she kept from the rest of the world at the sight of him. He clapped her on the shoulder as he passed on his way to speak to Ah Tabai and Adéwalé, who were leaning on the banister as they surveyed their new home. It was a pleasure to see them both, especially his old quartermaster and friend.
             “Gentlemen,” Edward greeted his old friends. “How do you find it here?”
             “It will work for us,” Ah Tabai answered confidently. “But our goal must be to scatter our operations. To live and work among the people we protect, just as Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad once counseled.”
             Edward smiled and nodded. Mary had told him some about this Altaïr, a greatly respected forefather of their Order. He sounded like a wise man, one to be followed. Besides, Kenway had always found the bureaus… charming. The West Indies could benefit from more of them. “Well until that time comes, it’s yours as you see fit.”
             Ah Tabai nodded gratefully, and as Edward was about to turn away, Adé injected, “Edward… Captain Woodes Rogers survived his wounds. He has since returned to England… shamed and in great debt, but not less a threat.”
             That came as a shock. That that target’s end in Kingston had seemed rather… final. What a disappointment. And an irritation. He nodded understandingly to his former quartermaster. “I will finish that job when I eventually return. You have my word.” He parted then from his friends, perturbed by that news.
             He strode over to the table and seated himself by his new quartermaster. “Evening, Kidd,” he greeted her.
             She smiled and set down her bottle. “Kenway,” she returned.
             He sat quietly for a moment, nervous to speak. The rest of the table seemed drunk and distracted, but he signaled for her to follow him to the garden anyway. They stood, and he took her hand as soon as they were around the corner and out of sight of their crew. They settled on a bench beneath the study window that looked out onto the grounds.
             “What is it, Edward?” she asked, a puzzled expression gracing her face.
             “Rogers,” he grunted. “He’s alive.”
             Mary let out a frustrated growl, and her gaze bore into the ground. “Blast. I swore we had him. How did he escape?”
             “That young couple that discovered us must have gotten there just moments too soon.” He hesitated to speak his true intentions. He hadn’t discussed this next step with her. The future. “Regardless, I’ve told the Mentor I’d take care of it… In London.”
             Mary turned back to him, a small light of anger in her eyes. “You’re leaving?”
             He nodded sheepishly. “Eventually, yes. That was always the plan. I… I’d be a hopeful man if you’d come with me.”
             Sadness washed across her face and his heart sank into his boots. “Edward… I can’t. Not yet. I have business here. Rebuilding the Order. My daughter… I’m needed here.”
             Edward nodded slowly, conflicted but understanding. He tried to swallow down his emotions. He couldn’t have her making her choices for his benefit. If she were ever to join him in England, he needed her to want it for herself. “And you’re needed with me, too. I won’t leave your side again, not if I can avoid it. Your business is mine as well.”
             Mary looked confused again. “So you’re staying?”
             He squeezed her hand too. “Your daughter is my first priority now. I won’t go anywhere unless I can take you with me, and I would never ask you to leave without her.”
             She leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you, Edward. Give me a year. I’ll find her in the time, and next October we’ll sail for a new life in London.”
             Joy swelled in his chest. He could see it, the life he’d always dreamed of. A comfortable life, influence, purpose, a strong woman by his side. For so many years he thought he’d have that in Great Inagua with Caroline. It was so different from the life that lay ahead of him, with Mary and the London Brotherhood.
             He could wait a year to have that.
             An image stuck him and he laughed. “How are we ever going to fit you into London society if we can’t get you in a dress?” He thought back to their raid on Kingston, and how she’d hated the green gown she’d robbed Contessa Ferraro of, along with her life.
             She chuckled too. “Oh, how the women will gossip. Tessa Kenway, with her scars and trousers…”
             His heart skipped. He hadn’t imagined she’d contemplated their future the way he had. “You… You’d take my last name?”
             Her expression dropped when she realized what she’d said, but she recovered just as fast. “Well, wait and see where we’re at next year. But right now, I don’t want to be without you. So don’t make me change my mind…” she jabbed at him teasingly. “and we’ll talk about this in more detail when the time comes.”
             He grinned broadly, his happiness threatening to choke him. “A year then. Deal.”
             “Deal,” she agreed, sealing it with a kiss before leading him back to their friends.
             “Sail ho!” a crewman shouted from the banister. “Coming into the port!”
The pair exchanged confused glances and darted forward. Indeed, a black flag peaked up from the horizon, bearing the assassin insignia.
             “I didn’t think we were expecting anyone more today,” Edward puzzled.
             “We’re not,” Mary confirmed, making her way toward the path to the port. He followed closely at her heels. They jogged down the hill and through the shanty town. Their footsteps on the dock echoed against the water below, and they paused at the end just as the ship pulled through the mouth of the cove. Her breath caught when she recognized it. “That’s Ikal’s vessel!”
             He gave her a questioning glance, peering back at the ship trying to identify the Mayan man with the crooked nose among the crew on board. “I thought you didn’t get along with Ikal.”
             “Aye, not exactly,” she confirmed. “We came to blows on more than one occasion, usually about your involvement with the Order,” she gave him a punctuating look to remind him again of all the trouble he’d caused for their brothers over the years. “But he knows the underbelly of Havana better than most.”
             Edward caught on then. “He’s been helping you search for Torres’ correspondent.”
             “Aye.” She looked like she wanted to leap into the water and meet the ship halfway.
             He placed a hand on her back to keep her in place. Insecurities that he had shoved down and hidden away for months began to resurface. The past few weeks with Mary had been effortless, a dream. Confirming their love for each other had amplified every aspect of their relationship, both the good and the bad. When they fought, they nearly took the roof off the house, but they made up just as quickly and the times of peace and comfort between rows got longer and steadier with each reconciliation. In a way, being with her wasn’t much different than commanding the Jackdaw together had been. They came home to each other each night, made decisions as a unit, worked as a team to accomplish shared goals. But getting to be close to her while they did it all, getting to care for her and be cared for in return, it was a gift he didn’t take for granted. Their relationship had barely changed, but she’d changed his whole outlook on life. She gave him hope for the future.
             He didn’t want to think it, and felt guilty for the thought of it crossing his mind, but this child could threaten all that. Her priorities as a parent would supersede her responsibilities to the crew, to the Assassins, to him. He didn’t have children, himself, and couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be pulled in that many directions at once, so he was trying to have compassion for her. Besides, the Assassins worked as a unit in rearing the next generation, working as a village to care for the children of their brothers and sisters so that no man or woman would be restricted in carrying out their duties. He had even done some babysitting during his time training in Tulum the previous year. But this wasn’t just Mary’s child. It was another man’s as well. And he knew better than to hold an innocent girl’s parentage against her, but… She should have been his. He was loathe to think himself possessive over Mary’s womb, and knew she’d cut his throat without hesitation if he suggested he might be, but he wanted to cut it himself imagining that his mistakes may have cost him this as well, the chance to be that little girl’s father. If he’d sorted himself just a year sooner…
             More than anything, he feared he wouldn’t be able to love this girl. That she would always stand as a representation of the damage he’d wrought in his youth.
             If he couldn’t, Mary would never forgive him for it. I was just that: unforgiveable.
Minutes later, the vessel was docking. No sooner had they tied down than Ikal showed his face, climbing out from below deck. He noticed them and waved in acknowledgement, leaving them to wait in anticipation while he gave orders to his men before joining them on the dock.
             The look he gave Edward was only slightly less disgusted than their last meeting at Anne’s funeral. “Kenway,” he gave a curt nod. “I heard of your victory over Torres. He was a wart on the face of a beautiful city. I’m not sad to see him gone.” Not exactly a thank you, but Edward returned the nod in an equally curt fashion. Most of the Brotherhood had warmed to him, but as it turned out some were more icy than others.
             Ikal turned then to Mary and procured a letter from his coat. “This is your man. Inside is his name and address. That’s all I know. You’ll have to go from here on your own.”
             Mary took the paper and held it almost reverently. “You’ve done me a great service, brother.”
             “As you’ve done the order a great many, sister.” He spoke to her with respect, despite their obvious differences of opinion. “If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to address with the Mentor. Where can I find him?”
             “He should be at the main house,” she answered. “We weren’t expecting you, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”
             Ikal bowed his head politely and excused himself.
             Edward released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Well, he wasn’t entirely unpleasant.”
             “I think you’ll find most people you disagree with aren’t inherently terribly people,” Mary countered, but her tone was distant and distracted. She fingered the paper and stared out across the water.
             “Are you ready?” he asked.
             “To open it?” she clarified. “No, I’ll wait until we reach cuba. To be with my daughter? I’ve been ready since I discovered I was pregnant. To be a mother? I’m not sure…”
             “Well there’s only one way to answer that last one.” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Shall I tell the men to prepare for departure?”
             “Aye, if they can be on the water by tomorrow, I’d like to be.” She smiled at him and her gaze trailed back toward the horizon, toward Havana. He squeezed her hand and turned to walk away, but she spoke again, stopping him. “We picked names, you know. Me and Anne.”
             “Oh?” he asked, intrigued. “What were they?”
             “Anne was so certain she was having a boy,” she recalled with a sad smile and a single laugh. “She wouldn’t even consider what she might name a girl. She was having a boy and his name would be Haytham. That was that.”
             “Haytham,” Edward smiled too. “I like that name.”
             “I did too,” she agreed, looking over to him with a thoughtful expression.
             “What name did you choose, were you to have a boy?”
             “Mark.” Her tone was sad. “After my late brother.”
             “A strong name,” he affirmed. “But you had a girl. You never told me you’d named her. What did you choose for a daughter?”
             She looked back across the water. “I named her Jennifer.”
Well, criminals and liars
Keep him in your cell as a privilege of mine
And I love the house that we live in
And I love you all too much
Song: Antichrist - The 1975
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immortal-journal · 6 years
Text
Living With Cavemen
To suffer alone, or to suffer with company - which is better?  Frankly, I don’t know.  While having somebody to talk to is nice (or grunt to, as the populus tends to do in the current age of cavemen), it can get dull, fast.  At first, it was funny to stumble upon the second man on Earth.  I had been living for quite some time before I saw another being like me.  First, I had to wait for the development of simple-celled plants, which eventually turned into monstrously large, poisonous greens.  Next came the animals, fuzzy and deadly.  Some of the mammals existing during this time were tame, but even then, I was still hunted by every large predator and their beastly mothers.
So, when I did find something that didn’t want to immediately kill me, I was pleased, to say the least.  We stared.  This man, if I could even call him that, was disgustingly malformed.  His bone structure was… Interesting.  His jaw protruded about two inches out from the rest of his face, his back was hunched to the point that I thought it was injured, and not to mention those mangled feet: crooked, dirty, and surely broken at one point.  The hair on his head looked like a tangled mass of mammoth fur, and his clothing (or lack thereof), was thinly shredded skin off of some animal.  Even though he was ugly, he was still my relative, in some twisted nature.
When we found each other, I assumed there would be some sort of conversation after our small staring-contest, but… Nothing.  The cave-dweller stood there, staring, for a complete minute.  A minute during our prehistoric existence seemed to last forever.  I moved first.
The caveman flinched, but didn't shy away, and instead made a move towards me, as a silent communication to bond with me.  I stepped closer, then suddenly, we were nose to nose and I could smell his stinking breath.  Awful; he really needed to clean up and I decided that I would help him with that.
I was introduced to his people, the others that were some hybrid of monkeys and humans, and they greeted me fondly.  I was fully expecting the lot of them to be savages, uncivilized in their ways, and I was fully wrong.  The women boiled and cooked what meat they could, while the men hunted, and the children cried.  To see the qualities of one man split up into subsets of other, individualized humans was astonishing.  While I survived on my own, entirely independent and void of any assistance, these brethren of mine had a system to ease my own work.  I expected to help with our survival, but the monkey-men had forced me to sit, eat, and relax.  I dwelled on my current predicament.
It was uplifting to see the world that I had lived on for thousands of years finally create a being like me - a human, flesh and bone, with no scales or feathers or claws to be frightened of.  I was no longer alone. I had company that would care for me. Everything seemed optimal for me.
That was, until, I knew of death among humans.  I had witnessed the life draining from other animal’s eyes, especially during the mass extinction of dinosaurs, but some ignorant part of me thought that a creature like me would also be brandished with the same immortality.
I witnessed my first human death on a date that is long forgotten. It was a man who was technically considered the leader of a tribe I knew - I wasn't a part of such a group, I refused to join a squadron of ape-men.  I called him Knuckle-Dragger, because he quite literally dragged his knuckles across the rocky ground with a hunched back and bent legs.  It was only a matter of time before Knuckle-Dragger dug his own grave, with such a misshapen body.  A fatal misstep on the unstable mountain sides our houses were built upon on had proven itself to be gruesome and beyond repair.  I was shocked, upset, and for the first time, not able to comprehend the impact of the situation.  I witnessed this death only a single day after I had met the second man on Earth. I learned the world's brutality and the misery of company.
I also became fed up with the way these men spoke.  Urgh.  Mmph.  Gruh.  What kind of speech was that?  Assuming that these people had enough of a hive mind to task everybody with a job to do, and do well, I imagined that these cave-dwellers would have a better method of communication. I spoke to the men and they never responded in a way to progress our conversation.
For example, there was an ugly mother that I named Rock Woman, because she was constantly drawing on the walls of our caves, as if somebody would make a great discovery of her art one day.   Anyways, I would talk to Rock Woman, simple and slow.  “Hello,” is usually what I would say to begin.  And Rock Woman, with her stuffy human snout, would moan in response.  She would never say hello, much less hold a conversation longer than two grunts.
After meeting Rock Woman, I decided to educate the mongrels of men.  They finally learned how to greet each other, at least.  Little did I know, my simple lectures would turn into the English lexicon thousands of years into the future.  I thank Rock Woman for the inspiration to teach.
Now, I will move onto the savagery of the cave-dwellers.  They made simple tools, found fire (after I generously helped with their discovery), and even began to fabricate better clothing; the humans were progressing and giving me hope.   But all good things must come to an end.  While my people had found fire, they were oblivious to the other hoards of enemy men finding them.  Ensue violence, brutality, and death.  I figured that with the small community we had built, the men of all different groups would come to the consensus that it's smarter to work together instead of destroying one another, as well as ruining their equipment.  I should have expected less from a race as stupid as my own.
After the tribe I squatted with had been almost completely run off or killed, I decided to leave the humans and resort to my sad, quiet life among the birds and the trees, but not before I accomplished a goal of mine.  Before I left completely, I spent the night with a woman.  The taking of my virginity is a horrid sight to remember, but the feeling was pleasurable.  I know why the humans like to do grotesque things to each other - because it feels good.  Not just for sex, but for other notions as well.  Power over others, the feeling of a fresh game hunt, sex and dominance, the men like to conquer.  My first climax with a woman washed an immense wave of raw, carnal instinct over me, and I felt like I had made my mate my own.  I think that was the first time I realized what man so desperately craved.  Although, even with that knowledge, I still decided to leave the cavemen.
I didn't return for another thirty years, to which I am grateful.  While I was gone, it seems that the humans had matured some, and even integrated a system of law and order to a forming society.  Their tools got better and soon the early developments of the hammer and screwdriver were made.  I was pleased with my fellow men. That's how I discovered pride in others, not just in myself.  The population could progress with or without me (even though I did offer amazing advice for the first men on Earth).
I also noticed that these people were forming features similar to mine - lean bodies, smaller jaws, straighter backs.  The changes to their bodies were almost insignificant, but I had been so taken aback by their disfigurement the first time that even the slightest of changes caught my eye.  I wondered how similar they would look to me within a few hundred years.  I never grew or aged, always living in the same body, so I had no clue as to what aging or the harshness of nature would do to their weathered bodies.  Something had intrigued me for the first time in a couple thousand years.
I stayed with the humans for a bit longer this time, but I never helped them and they never helped me.  I was a silent companion of theirs, I suppose, because they always showed interest in me, yet we never interacted.  They really were like the pets I had kept with me for the long years leading up to my discovery of the ape-people.  Amusing to watch from afar, pesky to encounter up close, pitiful in most scenarios, but overall, I decided to camp with them and write in my journal most days.  I rarely had spoken to them until they developed a limping form of speech and were able to orally communicate with me years later.
One day, I had decided to travel and not waste my years with the cavemen.  I finally decided to call them my family - a word they developed - once they had grown enough, but I had no strong emotional attachment to them.  A few of them died every week, anyways, either from a terminal illness, a fatal error during hunting, or blatant stupidity from the slowly growing race.  A part of me wondered if there were others out in the world that were similar to me (and hopefully smarter than the few tribes I had witnessed for years).  I packed my clothes, makeshift toiletries, and off I went.
The journey I embarked on seemed to last for quite a few weeks until I came across another pack of cavemen that weren’t threatening to kill me.  If an unacquainted man stumbles into your camp, the chances are he will be beaten and barbequed.  While I had been the victim of abuse on some rare occasions, I was, more or less, smart enough to escape any situations of impending doom.  (Whatever doom meant for me, anyhow.)
The next community of people I found had darker skin, yet I had no idea of where I was heading at the time.  Maps hadn’t existed for thousands upon thousands of years later.  These humans were stronger, more resilient, and seemed to have tighter family bonds.
I built my house several miles away from any civilization.  Even when I found people who were welcoming, kind, and caring beyond all belief, I still wanted to stay secluded in my home, maybe with a colorful plant to take care of, or a small rodent on the off chance that I was feeling more lonely that year.  I ponder my original question: Is it better to suffer alone or suffer with company?  It’s hard to answer.  I’m lonely and I will admit that, but I see too many deaths for me to stomach.  Then some kind of realization washes over me to think that I have to live with this for my whole life, billions of years of suffering, trillions of people I know will die, and I wish with all of my heart that I will one day find somebody with immortality like me.
For now, I choose to suffer alone.
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