For 36 years I had a secret grey spiral
hooking the convolutions of my brain in all the wrong directions.
I had no friend to see what I meant with
though occasionally I think it happened, the exchange of looks that says: I heard that too.
So it was just me turning to me turning on me turning away turning towards turning around
around the enemy question:
who am I?
So all action turns around it or looks out from inside it searching.
While I was alive I was only what I wasn’t
or I was a terrorist
or I was a murderer
or I was a woman
or I was the nice lady
or I was a girl
or I was part of a pest of a people
or I was a foreigner
or I was in disguise
or I was a Muslim
or I was a Christian
or I was the shame of blending in.
I could pass for many things
I could pass through them also
but under the bed in the evening the sun kept on rising
rising and rising on the enemy question.
They keep you turning around it so you don’t see what they do
so you can’t do what they fear.
Worse: they make it so you want them
want them to open their jaws for you you
want them to say you are not crazy for you
want them to say your difference is beautiful
want them to say this is yours, but this is ours
want to rot inside the acids of their digestive systems
you want them to know you are not like them but to shut the fuck up about it
you want to know that when they look at you they know they cannot see you.
But how about when you look at them?
What happens to the enemy question?
What happens to its asker?
What happens to its object?
They keep you turning around
so you never have a direction
but when you draw back your arm and throw
the question ceases to function.
Your hand the air your aim the stone
A breath your spit a wall a tank.
If all routes are closed the path is clear.
When I wrote this the other day I was thinking of this from Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth:
it is a systematic negation of the other person and a furious
determination to deny the other person all the attributes of
humanity, colonialism forces the people it dominates to ask
themselves the question constantly: ‘In reality, who am I?’ The
defensive attitudes created by this violent bringing together of the
colonised man and the colonial system form themselves into a
structure which then reveals the colonised personality. This
‘sensitivity’ is easily understood if we simply study and are
alive to the number and depth of the injuries inflicted upon a native
during a single day spent amidst the colonial regime.’
Brought to you by Doodling during bingo™
I just read the usual post about the thief stealing someone’s heart. So I thought about a thief!AU.
Where Harry is a thief who steals a car to get as far away from London as possible and doesn’t notice that the owner of the car is asleep in the back seat.
Road trip. From enemies to lovers. Thief.
There were 13 enemies mentioned by President Donald Trump a total of 39 times on Twitter in the last week:
1. the fake/lame/mainstream news media = 14 tweets
2. The New York Times = 4
3. the Democrats = 4
4. CNN = 3
5. COVID-19 = 3
6. the Washington Post = 2
7. Nancy Pelosi = 2
8. China = 2
9. Congress = 1
10. NBC = 1
11. Canada or Justin Trudeau = 1
12. John Kerry = 1
13. Barack Obama = 1
Congratulations to The Fake/Main/Lame Media, the top Trump enemy this week!
happy birthday @spnhell!
Dean has never quite gotten along with his roommate.
They’re just different people. Dean’s idea of fun is having friends over for games and movies and getting drunk together, whereas Cas is more the type to stay in with a book and have a quiet evening. Dean tends to leave his stuff lying around a bit more haphazardly than Castiel would like, especially considering the way he keeps his own stuff organized with near-military precision.
But the worst thing?
Castiel is a morning person, while Dean most definitely is not.
Every fucking morning, Dean is woken up by the sound of the shower running. That he would be okay with—but the classical music, and the clatter of him making his breakfast that echoes through the thin walls before it’s even reached eight in the morning… that’s a fucking issue.
In any other situation, Dean would have requested a new roommate, a room swap, anything to get himself away from someone who seems so hell-bent on destroying the sanctity of his mornings and someone so quintessentially not the same as Dean. But there’s something about Cas that makes him stay. He’s hot as hell, and that certainly helps—Dean has walked in on him doing shirtless yoga enough to know—and there’s something about the friction between them that, while it pisses Dean off to no end, also drives him crazy.
So despite all the things about Cas that drive Dean crazy in a bad way, he stays for the things that drive him crazy in a good way. As long as they each have their outlets and their escapes, they’re not at each other’s throats, and they continue to exist in the precarious balance that they’ve figured out.
Until Cas comes home from a trip to visit family, and starts coughing a few days later. Dean doesn’t think anything of it—until his mom calls to let Cas know that his father is sick, and he’s been in direct contact.
And so Cas has to quarantine.
Which means Dean has to quarantine.
Which means that they’re stuck in their apartment together for two full weeks, with no way out and no one to talk to but each other.
You are in the sky.
I know this because the stars
Outline you in my subconscious,
Always there but always
Staying too far away.
You are in the air.
I know this because it leaves
The same as you and returns
Insincerely meaning more
To me than I could for it.
You are in the sea.
I know this because it hurts
To be around you and yet
I go back just to feel
The release of you letting go
Again. Again. Again.
You are promises and lies
Dancing in deceit, you
Are anger and apathy
Rolled into numbness,
Sullenness, and angst,
Don’t you know?
You’re everything you hate
But part of me
Loves part of you.