It amuses me to no end when men try to be passive-aggressive in order to get me to do something. Mostly because nothing makes me more likely to shut down completely faster.
And I’ll be honest; that fact does amuse me. Keep trying, little boy. You think I’ll lower myself to spar with you? Like I don’t have anything better to waste my time on.
Maybe I’m not as Seelie as I’d like the world to believe. Probably not. I’m probably just outright evil and desperately attempting to swallow it out of some internalised shame, or something.
Not right now, though. Right now I feel…nothing. I feel like I’m speeding and floating at the same time. Unhinged. A little feral. A snarling fox. A black hole for a heart. Sucking up all the light I find because I can’t make my own.
Maybe my ex was right all along; maybe I am a dead star.
Or maybe I’m a new kind of light altogether, and only some people can see it. Or want to.
Also, I’m not going to define myself using any other label than “queer” from now on. Not because I’m confused — I’m not. I’m physically attracted to men, but never romantically or sexually (not if they’re not fictional). I’m romantically, physically, and sexually attracted to women. Trans women, cis women, just women. It’s how I’m wired and I’ve known it for a long time, but the world and its insistence on labels just complicates something that is, at the end of the day, very simple.
My Estel will be a woman, or at the very least, not a cis man.
That’s all there is to say about that.
The dying fall of my sentences The magic of lost consequences The seduction of a fading power In a hotel room in the middle of nowhere I’m running out of fantasy…
I don’t expect your sympathy I’m old, I’m strange, I’m confidential Has my fantasy run out of delusion? Has my fantasy reached its logical conclusion?
Okay, I admit it, I gave in. I’ve listened to Björk’s two singles released BEFORE “Fossora” is released. Usually I treat Björk albums like boxes of superfine chocolates that I save until release day and then just glut myself on wholly and completely — I mean, it’s Björk. How can you not? But it’s been a butt of fortnight, so I decided to treat myself.
If I can be half as creative and flexible as she is, one day, I’ll consider myself an artist. “Ovule” is a bloody gem, pun wholly intended, and “Atopos” is LIFE.
Folks, I dislike JK Rowling with every fibre of my being, but can we clear something up? Her pen name actually belonging to the shitwit that created conversion “therapy” (torture is torture is torture) is overwhelmingly likely to be a really creepy coincidence.
Firstly, ‘Robert’ is one of the most popular names in Scotland, and also tends to be a family-name handed down — my OzScots ass has a family tree littered with Roberts for the boys and Lilliases for the girls. ‘Robert’ also tends to be one of the most popular names in the whole English-speaking world; it’s not what you’d call rare.
Also, in Scotland, if not the whole UK? Galbraith is not a rare name. It’s not madly common, but it’s definitely a surname that everyone has heard before, at least once or twice.
How do I know? Uh, because I am a Galbraith; or of the Galbraith line, if you want to get super technical about it. And I can tell you that right now, in the UK, there are probably about fifteen to twenty-five Robert Galbraiths in existence, if not more — that’s a conservative estimate.
So, no, it’s not like choosing “Adolf Hitler” for a pen name whatsoever. I’d probably wager that Rowling didn’t even know who created conversion therapy — few people did before this.
Guys, I get it. JK is a stain on humanity, but we really, really don’t have to reach for reasons as to why she is one. Especially not in an onomastic sense.
The doctor gave me pills to take To stop me feeling quite so awake To take the edge off of this big black cloud But now it is quarter to ten I’ll sit with a paper and a pen Just writing shit until I fall asleep
I’ve got a heart I think it’s bigger than yours Because it lets people in Who constantly disappoint me And I’ve got a soul And it’s as sad as they come Because it used to feel everything And now it’s just numb, numb, numb
TAKE A XANAX AND GO TOUCH SOME GRASS. One random girl on the internet saying they don’t want to listen to your lady and saviour won’t effect her career, nor your enjoyment of it, in any way at all, literally.
Just have a kiwi and relax, babes.
Or, in failing to do that, please grant me permission to go completely nuclear on your lovely faces when you tell me you have no interest in listening to MSP or Suede. I mean, come on. Fair play, etc!
love,
me
PS: I’ve been hearing her voice NONSTOP for the last…however long it was since she released her country songs; trust me when I say that by now, I know her voice is not to my taste. Returning to the same bottle of wine won’t change its flavour, even when you put a new label on it.
Arwen. (Or Kirryn; take your pick.) Actual elf. Seclusive bohemian, weaver of webs, rara avis.
basically...
dob - 15 March locale - Brisbane, Queensland, Australia image song - "Little Baby Nothing", Manics likes - music, dogs, Middle-earth, magical girls, sleeping, reading, poetry, red wine, static webdesign dislikes - summer, false niceness, TERFs, bad webdesign, Christian bigotry/zealotry contact - em@il (that's it)
currently...
working on - revamping the umbrella network + a semisecret project reading - "The Two Towers", J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Ghosts of Rose Hill", R.M. Romero listening to - Suede, Manics, and plenty of Enya (for chill/sleeping reasons) watching - nothing currently playing - also nothing, unless Unpacking counts wishing - It would stop raining for five goddamn minutes
favouritism...
band - Manic Street Preachers, Suede, BTS, U2 (bite me), The Moody Blues, BUMP OF CHICKEN singers - Tori Amos, Vienna Teng, John Farnham, Dar Williams authors - J.R.R. Tolkien, R.M. Romero, Francesca Lia Block, Yoshimoto Banana poets - Lenore Kandel, Langston Hughes, Shinji Moon, Simon Armitage book - "The Lord of the Rings", J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Pillow Book", Sei Shounagon
colour - jacaranda purple, sea blue