Raccoons Can't Use Power Tools
A grey-haired man with an uneven stride walks purposefully down the middle of a quiet street. He carries a small bouquet flowers the same red-orange color as his shirt. He generates a rift in nature, in time and reality. A soft blur, similar to a fog, trails him as he makes quick, confident, fluctuating steps. He has reversed his direction, and there is no clear indication of his way. We separate at a stop light. I, to buy yogurt, and he to his destiny.
I've been trying to write more descriptively.
Let's be honest: I threw up in the hot tub. I think we could all assume, but I wanted to be direct. I didn't want you to think I was hiding anything from you. At least, I didn't want to waste what I was hiding on that factoid.
It was almost all Oreos, I think. And the tub had been emptied, so it wasn't so much gross as sensible. At least that's how Maeve has spun it for me. She and Ryan thought it was pretty amusing. "Of course you would throw up in the big porcelain bowl in the middle of the room! It's so perfect!" Maeve laughed. Issa only confirmed that it had occurred and added legitimacy to my claim that I cleaned both the tub and myself before passing out.
Now I am left to weigh whether I would like to have more black-out drunk nights in the future. I think the answer might be yes, but perhaps not all the biggest events. I guess it would be better to reach the edge and not go over, but it's hard for me to find that line in the dark.
I have started rewatching Hannibal. I recently misheard the lyrics to a Sufjan Stevens song in a way that reminded me of the show, and of my own feelings toward love. "Be my grudge, be my fantasty." is the way I heard it. I had to look it up, because Sufjan so often says things that perfectly describe my overall listless life of imagined drownings that I almost couldn't endure him so succinctly capturing more of it. Luckily, or unluckily depending on the level of my want to be understood, that was not the real phrase. His was a much kinder plea. "Be my rest, be my fantasy." If you watched Hannibal, you'd understand that Sufjan and I have created concepts that fit quite well with the murder husbands central to the story. I think I've always understood Will a little more, and so my idea fits his relationship with Hannibal and my relationship to everyone. Sufjan, who has written songs to humanize serial killers before, fits Hannibal's longing for Will perfectly. I don't know if Sufjan would understand Hannibal better. He does seem to sing with the air of someone who deeply wants to be understood.
In my latest viewing of my favorite show it occurred to me that there's little need for a critical read of it. While very well written, a lot of the characters are poetically direct about their feelings and intentions. The whole show just wants you to "see." The thing that struck me most was Hannibal's unrelenting pursuit of Will. This is what I've always enjoyed about the show, but for the first time I saw Will reciprocating under duress. Will wanted him, too. At first there was an honest bond. But Hannibal undid that in his quest to make Will like himself and for himself...and that makes the love and desire that grew in Will so tragic. I think the most critical read of the show would be in relation to it's fan-base. While discussing it with Esme, who is another adoring fan, I was informed that the bulk of "Fannibals" are women and queer men...who I think, I assume in probably the most condescending read of other people, could probably relate much more easily with the content because so much of the story is about growing through the haze of a controlling and abusive relationship. Season 1 is fundamentally about a mutual respect transforming into a obsession, a perceived right of ownership, and gaslighting. I think this makes it harder for men, beyond just the romance brewing between two intelligent men who aren't stereotypical examples of gay/bi men. I'm probably being unfair. And I do still love their love story...and it is still the clearest indicator that I am broken and could never be a good partner.
I've been having nightmares of losing all my teeth. I feel them crumbling at the roots and falling out as I sleep. Like most good nightmares it takes a moment when I wake up to establish what the truth is. I run my tongue behind each tooth. During the day I touch them compulsively to make sure they're still there.
I guess I should floss more.
I've started doing the thing I assumed I would when I moved: writing. Not really here. I have wanted to do so more as well, and I thought last night that I might do some reviews and open thinking about Hannibal because I started watching it again immediately after finishing the last run. I wonder if there's anything else I've been missing, misreading or have an evolved opinion on...But- I've been working on a romcom. Pretty diligently. I started a new medication. I started studying a little more. Not necessarily sleeping any better. Drinking more water out of necessity: it makes me very dehydrated. I'm finding it easier to engage with activity. I like running again, once I get started. It was much more of a chore to workout since I moved. Especially because I can't just pop a few blocks over onto a trail anymore. Everywhere you run you have to drive to. Or I do. Because I am not in a fancy condo or townhome. From my last excursion on a trail it seemed to be primarily situated around offices, but dotted with living spaces that seemed a little too well manicured for a simple apartment complex. Maybe I've just always been in shitty apartment complexes.
I miss apartment complexes. Even if it was sometimes too loud. It's better than the silence of air currents. There were never bouncy houses. The grating sound of a child's joy was infrequent. Light pours in from the lamps that line the walkways for people stumbling in from work and bars. It's brighter than the dusky pink light pollution that streams in through the blinds. When I turn off all the lights figures reach out from the darkness, They wait in the black of the hall to consume me. This doesn't happen in apartments. In apartments it's just intruders who could easily have gotten in through the large window or the frequently unlocked door. They don't disrupt to pull you into another plane, out of existence, into the acid boiling inside them. They are the shadows that just creep to steal, or perhaps a quick stabby murder. Most people don't know how to take your soul.
And they spray for insects at apartments. There's so many insects. And I feel guilty killing them, so they remain.
Anyway. I'm working on a romcom. I think it's going fine. I think it's reminded me that I am not as good a writer as people have told me. Which reminds me that people are very kind. We all tell each other small lies about level of talent, and tacitly agree not to steal coffee someone else ordered through an app.
The hardest thing about this project has been trying to envision a healthy relationship when I've never been in one. Nor have I been privy to one. My parents, my sister and I have not had much luck. I guess her current boyfriend could be okay, but I don't hang out with them often. I grew up with my ex-brother-in-law in my circle of influence. There's no way to know whether my friends have stable relationships. People are kind. People will put up with a lot. People are unkind. People will do a lot.
So I have been struggling with an idea. I want something healthy and realistic. There are a few things I can think of- maybe? Like Leslie and Ben. Randall and Beth. Chidi and Elanor? That last one is a little iffy. I like them, and they have helped each other to grow, but as individuals they're pretty broken...which I guess is kind of what I'm going for, so it's probably the best example.
I guess I'll go rinse out my hair now.
I've been trying to write more descriptively.
Let's be honest: I threw up in the hot tub. I think we could all assume, but I wanted to be direct. I didn't want you to think I was hiding anything from you. At least, I didn't want to waste what I was hiding on that factoid.
It was almost all Oreos, I think. And the tub had been emptied, so it wasn't so much gross as sensible. At least that's how Maeve has spun it for me. She and Ryan thought it was pretty amusing. "Of course you would throw up in the big porcelain bowl in the middle of the room! It's so perfect!" Maeve laughed. Issa only confirmed that it had occurred and added legitimacy to my claim that I cleaned both the tub and myself before passing out.
Now I am left to weigh whether I would like to have more black-out drunk nights in the future. I think the answer might be yes, but perhaps not all the biggest events. I guess it would be better to reach the edge and not go over, but it's hard for me to find that line in the dark.
I have started rewatching Hannibal. I recently misheard the lyrics to a Sufjan Stevens song in a way that reminded me of the show, and of my own feelings toward love. "Be my grudge, be my fantasty." is the way I heard it. I had to look it up, because Sufjan so often says things that perfectly describe my overall listless life of imagined drownings that I almost couldn't endure him so succinctly capturing more of it. Luckily, or unluckily depending on the level of my want to be understood, that was not the real phrase. His was a much kinder plea. "Be my rest, be my fantasy." If you watched Hannibal, you'd understand that Sufjan and I have created concepts that fit quite well with the murder husbands central to the story. I think I've always understood Will a little more, and so my idea fits his relationship with Hannibal and my relationship to everyone. Sufjan, who has written songs to humanize serial killers before, fits Hannibal's longing for Will perfectly. I don't know if Sufjan would understand Hannibal better. He does seem to sing with the air of someone who deeply wants to be understood.
In my latest viewing of my favorite show it occurred to me that there's little need for a critical read of it. While very well written, a lot of the characters are poetically direct about their feelings and intentions. The whole show just wants you to "see." The thing that struck me most was Hannibal's unrelenting pursuit of Will. This is what I've always enjoyed about the show, but for the first time I saw Will reciprocating under duress. Will wanted him, too. At first there was an honest bond. But Hannibal undid that in his quest to make Will like himself and for himself...and that makes the love and desire that grew in Will so tragic. I think the most critical read of the show would be in relation to it's fan-base. While discussing it with Esme, who is another adoring fan, I was informed that the bulk of "Fannibals" are women and queer men...who I think, I assume in probably the most condescending read of other people, could probably relate much more easily with the content because so much of the story is about growing through the haze of a controlling and abusive relationship. Season 1 is fundamentally about a mutual respect transforming into a obsession, a perceived right of ownership, and gaslighting. I think this makes it harder for men, beyond just the romance brewing between two intelligent men who aren't stereotypical examples of gay/bi men. I'm probably being unfair. And I do still love their love story...and it is still the clearest indicator that I am broken and could never be a good partner.
I've been having nightmares of losing all my teeth. I feel them crumbling at the roots and falling out as I sleep. Like most good nightmares it takes a moment when I wake up to establish what the truth is. I run my tongue behind each tooth. During the day I touch them compulsively to make sure they're still there.
I guess I should floss more.
I've started doing the thing I assumed I would when I moved: writing. Not really here. I have wanted to do so more as well, and I thought last night that I might do some reviews and open thinking about Hannibal because I started watching it again immediately after finishing the last run. I wonder if there's anything else I've been missing, misreading or have an evolved opinion on...But- I've been working on a romcom. Pretty diligently. I started a new medication. I started studying a little more. Not necessarily sleeping any better. Drinking more water out of necessity: it makes me very dehydrated. I'm finding it easier to engage with activity. I like running again, once I get started. It was much more of a chore to workout since I moved. Especially because I can't just pop a few blocks over onto a trail anymore. Everywhere you run you have to drive to. Or I do. Because I am not in a fancy condo or townhome. From my last excursion on a trail it seemed to be primarily situated around offices, but dotted with living spaces that seemed a little too well manicured for a simple apartment complex. Maybe I've just always been in shitty apartment complexes.
I miss apartment complexes. Even if it was sometimes too loud. It's better than the silence of air currents. There were never bouncy houses. The grating sound of a child's joy was infrequent. Light pours in from the lamps that line the walkways for people stumbling in from work and bars. It's brighter than the dusky pink light pollution that streams in through the blinds. When I turn off all the lights figures reach out from the darkness, They wait in the black of the hall to consume me. This doesn't happen in apartments. In apartments it's just intruders who could easily have gotten in through the large window or the frequently unlocked door. They don't disrupt to pull you into another plane, out of existence, into the acid boiling inside them. They are the shadows that just creep to steal, or perhaps a quick stabby murder. Most people don't know how to take your soul.
And they spray for insects at apartments. There's so many insects. And I feel guilty killing them, so they remain.
Anyway. I'm working on a romcom. I think it's going fine. I think it's reminded me that I am not as good a writer as people have told me. Which reminds me that people are very kind. We all tell each other small lies about level of talent, and tacitly agree not to steal coffee someone else ordered through an app.
The hardest thing about this project has been trying to envision a healthy relationship when I've never been in one. Nor have I been privy to one. My parents, my sister and I have not had much luck. I guess her current boyfriend could be okay, but I don't hang out with them often. I grew up with my ex-brother-in-law in my circle of influence. There's no way to know whether my friends have stable relationships. People are kind. People will put up with a lot. People are unkind. People will do a lot.
So I have been struggling with an idea. I want something healthy and realistic. There are a few things I can think of- maybe? Like Leslie and Ben. Randall and Beth. Chidi and Elanor? That last one is a little iffy. I like them, and they have helped each other to grow, but as individuals they're pretty broken...which I guess is kind of what I'm going for, so it's probably the best example.
I guess I'll go rinse out my hair now.
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