i would start a revolution
Aug. 9th, 2007 11:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7You would drop your recalcitrance, and maybe realise that someone, out there, was trying to do you some good. We'd meet in a hallawy, after a censored play, and I'd ask everyone who'd been offended by the censorship which censored words had offended them. Fuck? Bloody? Buggered? Cock? Shit? Magic? I would mark the predictable answers, and someone would try to draw your indignation into the fold, but I'd stop them. I'd tell them "no," and I'd look you in the eye, and words would pass between us, that weren't words we could ever speak, only ever understand. And our conversation would end with you, wrapping yourarms around my neck, having finally found a family, and a home, and a place. And the image would shift, and I would be being carried, by you, looking over your back, down the beach, as a bigger sister would a younger brother, and I would recognise that this is where that well-known and well-used Icon came from.
We would walk back into the auditorium, years later, and on the door I would see the comment thread, playing itself out, and someone who loved and exalted me would be continuing the movement's most pertinent discussion; "Where did the hate come from? When did it all become about hate, rather than love?" And by walking into the auditorium, preparing to speak to everyone, your answer would be added to the comment thread, and the reason you left would be clear for everyone to see: "With Him." Your words pick me out, point me clear as day, for everyone to see, and I, not being as puissiant as you, must, perforce, write my reply on the door, with a knife, knowing that it will post online, instantly (such is our legacy). My reply is simply "Me."
I can hear and feel the cognitive dissonance of several hundred thousand members of the movement. They never understood what you did; they never saw the full twist of my hatred, love, disgust and disdain, my willingness to burn it to the ground, to find the foundation. You found a home in it, but my hatred, my penchant for destruction without follow-up creation caused you to leave. But that's exactly why I needed you. The seeds I'd sown weren't good enough to grown, you see, and I realised, too late, the power I'd lost, the balance I'd over turned.
I was a flame, but you were a Fire, as the song goes. I could do things no one else could, and I was held in awe and worship, for it. But you could do anything, and you were respected and loved for it.
Something else, about conversations with my dad and my mom, travelling north and south, through the stipmalls, rest stops and outlets, along the eastern coast, conversations and my dad laughing. Everything was shortened, because everything was like everything else. Walk into one bathroom, in Gaffney, SC, come out in Virginia. Get the car you have, there, and travel to the next itteration of the next omnipresent social construct.
Easy.
I didn't post much, or reply much, yesterday, and for that I apologise. Comcast is... Well, it's a whore, sometimes. In the bad way. The service for my area was out from 12pm-ish, yesterday, until sometime this morning. It was working when I woke up. In the down-time, I watched The Dunwich Horror, the 1970 psychosexual adaptation of Lovecraft's work, starring Dean Stockwell (Thanks again,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wacko1138), and I read half of the graphic novel edition of Stardust, in preparation for tomorrow. I'll be finishing it, today, and possibly going to go see Sunshine, again, this time with Patrick and raoin.
And now, breakfast.
We would walk back into the auditorium, years later, and on the door I would see the comment thread, playing itself out, and someone who loved and exalted me would be continuing the movement's most pertinent discussion; "Where did the hate come from? When did it all become about hate, rather than love?" And by walking into the auditorium, preparing to speak to everyone, your answer would be added to the comment thread, and the reason you left would be clear for everyone to see: "With Him." Your words pick me out, point me clear as day, for everyone to see, and I, not being as puissiant as you, must, perforce, write my reply on the door, with a knife, knowing that it will post online, instantly (such is our legacy). My reply is simply "Me."
I can hear and feel the cognitive dissonance of several hundred thousand members of the movement. They never understood what you did; they never saw the full twist of my hatred, love, disgust and disdain, my willingness to burn it to the ground, to find the foundation. You found a home in it, but my hatred, my penchant for destruction without follow-up creation caused you to leave. But that's exactly why I needed you. The seeds I'd sown weren't good enough to grown, you see, and I realised, too late, the power I'd lost, the balance I'd over turned.
I was a flame, but you were a Fire, as the song goes. I could do things no one else could, and I was held in awe and worship, for it. But you could do anything, and you were respected and loved for it.
Something else, about conversations with my dad and my mom, travelling north and south, through the stipmalls, rest stops and outlets, along the eastern coast, conversations and my dad laughing. Everything was shortened, because everything was like everything else. Walk into one bathroom, in Gaffney, SC, come out in Virginia. Get the car you have, there, and travel to the next itteration of the next omnipresent social construct.
Easy.
I didn't post much, or reply much, yesterday, and for that I apologise. Comcast is... Well, it's a whore, sometimes. In the bad way. The service for my area was out from 12pm-ish, yesterday, until sometime this morning. It was working when I woke up. In the down-time, I watched The Dunwich Horror, the 1970 psychosexual adaptation of Lovecraft's work, starring Dean Stockwell (Thanks again,
wacko1138), and I read half of the graphic novel edition of Stardust, in preparation for tomorrow. I'll be finishing it, today, and possibly going to go see Sunshine, again, this time with Patrick and raoin.And now, breakfast.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-09 09:59 pm (UTC)Tomasz MaroĊski. He's awesome.
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Date: 2007-08-09 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-10 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-10 12:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-10 04:17 am (UTC)Yeah... I found it through this blog. Of which nearly everything reminds me of you... But that art was especially awesome, so I thought you'd like it.
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Date: 2007-08-10 04:30 am (UTC)Pretty interesting group. Still don't look at them nearly as often as I should...
double checked my html this time...
Date: 2007-08-10 04:47 am (UTC)So, LE and I were talking about Italy and how it's shaped like a boot. But it has to be a stiletto boot. And he said he wanted knee high, red leather stiletto boots. Which resulted in a Google search for said stiletto boots.
Oddly enough, one of the images was this, from here.
Because of this article, containing, "Thus the dove and the octopus trump the thigh high red leather boots," in the caption...
In the end, I ended up looking at the pictures on the blog, just skimming while doing something crazy with my hair, to pass time.
Long story short, that one dude's surreal sci-fi-ish art is totally awesome. I'm glad you liked it.
...or not!
Date: 2007-08-10 04:48 am (UTC)this, from here.*
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Date: 2007-08-10 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-10 04:27 am (UTC)