here i plan to write more personal and elaborate bits plus some context or elaboration because my writing can get very laconic tbh
"alienated"
"essence of my attraction"
"shedding hard work"
"Sizifo atmaina"
"definition"
i love making lists.
I think it’s cruel that we are our strongest enemies. It seems counter intuitive - shouldn’t we be the biggest fans of ourselves? Shouldn’t we strive to have the best conditions, eat, drink, sleep appropriately? And yet, in the moments of stillness after dizziness passes, when the stress pulls back like a wave I’m haunted by all the simple things I could do to make life easier for myself. I could eat well. I could drink enough water. I could find time to exercise. I make life harder for myself, not on purpose . Like a child who has yet to learn that stealing cookies will result in a stomach ache. Clear as day I see the steps I need to take. So why am I denying myself all of this? When did living well became a chore?
Lately I've been thinking about my art, writing especially. With some exceptions like a few hundred to more than ten thousand word long fanfictions, my writing is short, though I'm not sure it's concise. In real life I can talk for hours and I delve into scenes as I describe them, yet when it is something that opens me up I become lost for words. Actually, that's not right. I don't loose the words I know or want to say - this uncharacteristic laconic quality just barges in. "solidify my pain" "wanna know the lines of your palm" it seems that's all there is to say. Nothing more and nothing less. It feels fake to wrap it up in some narrative or didactic sermon. I think I'm greatly influenced by web-weaving: they take small bits, usually one or two lines from greater stories. Maybe that's what my writing subconsciously tries to emulate?
This website is probably just another one of those tries to let people read my mind without having to actually open up myself. I mean, it's fun to toy with the idea that someone who knows me will take enough interest and read it and then suddenly everything will click into place. Or maybe they will come to a realisation about me. Me, me me. Selfish.
Though anyone reading what i wrote here is a heart warming idea. Neocities tells me this site has hundreds of hits/views but i'm sure 100% of them are bots and such. Well i wouldn't know anyways lol haven't coded any sort of interactive (as in comments or guestbooks) elements yet. They may be a little bit out of my league. Tommorow i have school and yet i havent showered in like a week at best jfc i need some luck.
This is my third time being a D&D DM. My party of newbies surely love combat right now, but they will probably grow out of it lol. This game truly tests your patience and focus abilities, because my brain lags severely after dm'ing 4h sessions. But my friends love playing it so that's really all it's about :DDD I've always wanted to try dm'ing and overall playing the game often, so i'm really happy this opportunity came by. :)) Our rogue is currently stuck in jail dghghjskk
I'm searching for simplicity in my form. That is the place where I'm most comfortable putting my feelings into. I've always loved that art is foremost a conversation, a continous synthesis happening between the viewers psyche, the artists shadow and the art. So I'm really happy with this piece - it reasonates perfectly with the experience that birthed it and yet it leaves enough room for the readers feelings and interpretation.
I've been tense for a good while now - feeling like I'm on the edge of something big: an epiphany, a catharsis, a mental breakdown. I think I'm getting to the point of breaking, my breath picks up, my hands shake and yet, I never reach it. The build up always agonisingly slowly crawls away. I once had to simply laugh at the absurdity that even my pain is disappointing. This simple feeling was the sole reason behind this short work.
This is probably one of the most straightforward writing I've ever done. Though it really may not seem so lol. It is a relevant feeling in my life - to be confused whether I'm hungry and food will fill me up or whether I need some emotional fulfillment (from art lets say). Just how weird is that? And how weird it isn't.
While I do think that people are entirely entitled to their own interpretations of art (and most of the beauty or any art form is the dialogue that always happens betweeen the viewer and the art piece itself), I want to offer my personal idea behind this little piece :)).
The worm represents my transness, my genuine gender identity. It is seen as invasive, the other, because of the obvious alienation that happens in the process of coming to terms with a non traditional gender identity. Plus that's how most people see it anyway lol. It ate away my body parts, a metaphor for my past idea of what being a "girl" even is and especially so on all "biological proof" that I am one. While I have accepted my honest gender identity, my looks, "my skin" (gender expression) that the worm left behind, still fits within traditional idea of femininity. Because of that, people naturally assume I am a cisgender girl and a lot of times... I just let them - in a transphobic society it is surely easier than explaining and defending your identity all the time. I masquerade as a part of me that's pretty much dead.
I consider myself bisexual aroace for multitude of reasons. It does sound paradoxical, but it fits my experiences with attraction, romantic or sexual. And all sexualities are a spectrum anyways. One of the reasons for the ace label is my non traditional connection of attraction towards peoples bodies. I constantly forget that bodies are made out to be sexual, political and mostly shameful. To me it has become so mundane and neutral, it takes me a second to realise why my friends hastily close the door when they see me changing (and I understand it is done out of respect!). Same goes for the bodies of people I was ever interested in, one way or another. They were aesthetically pleasing sure, but not much more than that.
So I was intriguided by my own self when I realised I couldn't keep my eyes off a few shirtless men in a mosh pit. The dance of bright colored lights and shadows on toned muscles drew me in, but I knew it wasn't sex I was attracted by. Instead, I realised I was attracted to idea of controlling them - their bodies moving or being constricted in ways I, not anyone else, wanted them to. It was quite interesting to spot this sort of attraction just out in the wild like that. I felt greedy. It was pleasant.
Showing a part of your soul to someone is hard. Really, it’s redundant to say that at this point. I cannot look people in the eye when I’m being open emotionally - not about what I consider small, inconsequential problems, which I neglect to even mention most of the time, but about the good, vulnerable stuff deep down. When I open up, I truly feel vulnerable, like if you say a word it might slice me through, meat, viscera, bones and all. I turn away, I hide my face and the fear and hope of being actually heard eats me alive. Quite dramatic.
This poem is a wish many people relate to. Wouldn’t it be so freeing if someone else could do the heavy lifting of the heavy burdens of the mind? Wouldn’t it be so so easy to just sit there while someone else takes the effort to spy, plan and then “slither” their way in? You don’t even have to open the door! You don’t have to do anything and boom you are known, seen and loved! Though thinking about it further it’s sort of scary as well…. welp the speaker definitively doesn’t think so!