being part of the dead parents club fucking sucks. it sucks to see people your age with their families and knowing you can’t have that. it fucking sucks. everything sucks.
art by Glen Martin Taylor / First Love / Late Spring by Mitski
The other day when talking to friends I jokingly said - there is a lot of anger in me - they laughed at me - you? don’t say that - but at night as a lay in bed engulfed by rage, trembling and grinding my teeth, your inherence clear in my chest. There is a particular kind of pain with hating someone you love so much, I could feel your anger seeping in the walls and floor a special kind of miasma in the air, but it still wouldn’t, couldn’t stop me from cutting your food and catching the knife on the floor.
I felt so small, like a tall child looking at you from across the room. An adult but still so small, and I expected you to still cover me from the world with your back. But now you were the small one with your back curved, and I stood straighter than ever.
I once dreamt of you sitting in the kitchen as flames licked the walls, us crying outside looking in. My heart is a house on fire with you and old furniture turning to distant memories, and I feel like a tall child that can’t go home because where once were walls only ashes remain. When I woke up I felt smoke trapped in my lungs but now that your time is past I can breathe slowly feeling the crisp winter air.
sometimes i sit down and think. it 2017 really gave ben mike's personality and narrative function and people think its canon. mike my poor boy i love you so so much im sorry the movies stripped you of personality and charm
last time i watched the body i had.to stop watching multiple times bc my dad died in a very similar circumstance as joyce and erm. it hurts. like the anniversary of his passing recently happened andni forgot bc that whole week is still like a black hole of memory even yrs later
hello friends -
i hope the honda days were good to you. tomorrow is my last day visiting my mom before i travel back to my home. the 27th is my travel day/my dad's birthday, which is hitting me a lot harder than it does most years.
on top of that, i start a 7 show run over 6 days at my work that same day (hahahaha).
i'll be a bit sporadic here && there, just wanted to give a heads up with the on coming chaos.
I wrote about my Mom, AIDS, Vampire: The Madquerade (with a brief shout out to New York by Night), and Buffy for Polygon. I hope you read and share, and most of all, that you, too, find yourself in a vampire story.
Morgiah paced, restless, around the clay pit holding the ash that was once Symmachus. Ash that had once formed the arms that held her as a little girl. Ash that consisted of the blood, sweat, and tears of her father, her protector.
“You should have fought harder. You could have. I know it. I don’t care if you had to cut through a thousand mer to survive. You should have come back to me, protected me, protected us.”
A lifeline, a soldier, a husband, a father, a king; all reduced to nothing but the fine, grey power nearly indistinguishable from the dust that sat on the surfaces of the tomb. For all the Empire had done in memoriam of her father after his death, there was nothing to show of it. No one had entered this part of the tomb in years. Not even Barenziah nor Helseth had visited when they returned. Morgiah wished she hadn’t. She remembered little of ancestral tombs from her childhood, and to her now they seemed like a cruel rest. Ash that was once a life, a good man, for all she’d known at eight years old. Maybe all she’d been told were lies, maybe her own memories were lies. If he were still alive, perhaps he’d be an unforgiving ruler and a harsh father. Perhaps he’d withdraw in his old age, abandoning his wife and children in all but formalities. There was nothing to show for who he’d be. Nothing but ash.
“I know I wouldn’t be here,” She continued aloud, her voice monotone but betraying a slight tremor. She glanced at the ground and noticed the dust was dirtying the hem of her skirts. “At least I wouldn’t be here, at your grave, wondering who you’d be to me. Longing for the life I’d have in Mournhold, the life I deserve. Do you have any idea what it was like? The things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done, the things done to me, across the continent and throughout decades, all because you couldn’t-“
This time her voice cracked, betraying what she fought hardest to hide, even in the absence of everyone she felt the need to hide it from.