i love people's willingness to get hype over dumb shit.
I was driving home today and pull up to a light. As i'm slowing down i 👁️👁️ lock 👁️👁️ eyes with the dude in the car next to me. I spring into action, this is the moment I've been waiting for.
Now, something you must know about me is I drive around with several small plastic 🦀crabs 🦀 on my dashboard, One: for the whimsy of it all and two: on the off chance i encounter another driver who i think could benefit from witnessing them.
This young gentleman was one such someone.
As i pull up, as previously stated, our eyes lock and I hold up
one☝️ finger☝️
Perplexed by my unprompted gesticulation, the young man rolls down his window, "what the devil could this perfect stranger be about to tell me?" he might have been thinking.
I present a singular dashboard crab, green and brown, homely but not without its charm.
I study his reaction, grinning encouragingly. He's nodding, obviously intrigued by my plasticine crustacean.
I wag my finger and shake my head, removing the crab from view. Confusion again, but he leans forward, invested. I have him now.
I grab my second dashboard crab, a rotund white and brown crab, easily the most beautiful of my crabs as it sports large discernible claws of an attractive size and silhouette.
✌️ TWO ✌️ i tell him.
He's cheering now, and rightly so, as these are delightful little beasts that anyone would be happy to encounter. But now comes the clincher, time to seal the deal.
My finger wags once more. He's awestruck, I have him completely enraptured. If a car had come and smeared us both into the pavement we would not have noticed, so wrapped up in my display were we.
I bring out my showstopper: a bright pink spider crab with delicately long legs the likes of which had never before nor since been seen in mid afternoon traffic.
As emphatically as i can express, I display all three of my dashboard crabs to this man, three fingers pressed triumphantly to the glass.
the guy is losing it in his car, mouth wide in what i assume to be a primal shout of crab derived excitement. His arms are pumping so vigorously its shaking his stationary vehicle.
We sit there, sharing in a moment of mutual jubilation, and then the light changes, and we move forward in line. He drives off, honking his horn in rapturous exultation,
and we part ways, exactly the same perhaps but changed nonetheless.
🦀
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yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."
i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.
the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.
mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.
later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.
sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.
but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.
i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.
every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.
wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?
the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:
he wants to say i love you
but keeps it to goodnight
because love will take some falling
and she's afraid of heights.
every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.
mahler's fifth still makes me sick.
give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.
give me back what you took from me.
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“Shauna tries so hard to be a good person but sucks at it” vs “Natalie tries so hard to be an awful person but sucks at it.”
Shauna is fully capable and willing to kill and lie and cheat while maintaining this perfect apple pie illusion of a wholesome life and her family stays by her but even they’re starting to see the cracks in the veneer.
Natalie believes she destroys everything she touches, is constantly on a downward spiral of self-destruction, and hates herself for everything she did and yet she can’t even kill a goldfish on purpose and despite being openly antagonistic to everyone in the wellness center, they all seem to really like her.
FASCINATING dichotomy here.
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Shauna and the baby were probably both going to die. depending on your interpretation of the dream realm, maybe for a time Shauna did die. something brought her back, or kept her from staying there. but it wasn't Mari's "wilderness, I hope Shauna doesn't die" or Travis' well intended but useless blood magic (recall Lottie "can't this just be enough? please?" it was never enough) or even the baby's death covering the symbol on the blanket in blood. those are futile hopes and bargains. the baby was already doomed. and the wilderness doesn't trade, we know this. it chooses. someone has to die. it took Crystal and spared Shauna. Shauna thinks she's been snubbed by the group and by extension the wilderness when it takes Javi and Nat is crowned, but what she fails to see is that she was chosen first. she keeps being chosen! not to die, to live. Coach Martinez dying to put her oxygen mask on. Jackie dying to later feed her. the wilderness taking Crystal (where is her body? it belongs to the wilderness now) to get Shauna through a dangerous labor. Nat dying in her place as the queen of hearts twenty-five years later. maybe it always did like Nat best, but it killed for Shauna first. and it kept killing for her. for girls like Shauna (and for girls like the Wilderness) isn't that just the shape love makes? a knife wound.
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