Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Yay

I'm divorced, I'm divorced, I'm divorced!!

Monday, June 12, 2017

Only be carried

"Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried." - Megan Devine I like that a lot. Found in an Upworthy article here.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

There is a Beautiful Thing and the story she tells about how it is in her house, on her hearth, by her feet, is not true. The story started almost as soon as we bought it. It was somehow not enough that it was a Beautiful Thing and that it spoke to her, to us, and she loved it. There had to be more.

And there is. It's a better story. A meaningful narrative addition that makes it make sense to spend that money on a Beautiful Thing with no utility.

 Other than its beauty and the story of how it came to be in her house, on her hearth, at her feet.

Funny the stories we tell ourselves to give that narrative arc to our lives. Sometimes we rip the whole thing up and rewrite. Is that benefit of hindsight, the truth we didn't see before, or rewriting history to suit our sense of self, as heroes of our own lives? (Well, who else is going to be.)

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Right on

Leather elbow patches, the '80s, hippie - ish leanings and Ben Elton.

Those are the things that bubble up about being 'right on'.
I'm showing my age.

 But it's a label I am comfortable with, despite it's fluffy wuffy,  butt of the joke connotations.

I've been the pc brigade.
 Which is often oddly conflated
 with elf and safety gone mad.
 I don't let you play conkers
or sing baa baa black sheep.
I'm banning Christmas!

 I look forward to winter for those populist daily mail lies.

Feminist was one that took longer to accept. Because feminists hate men
 and burn bras
and most ghastly of all,
have no. sense. of. humour.

But it's a warm bubble bath to me now,  it's where I belong*.

So these days, it's social justice warrior as a label I'm trying on. Hmm. Does it fit?

It does confuddle me that social justice can be seen as a Bad Thing.
 But you know what: it's cos we're Doing it Wrong.

Too shrill,
too serious,
no. sense. of. humour.,
taking it too far.

 It's always taking it too far.  It was fine up until.. When? You started feeling uncomfortable? We're living in a post-feminist post-racism world now.

Well apart from those folks.

But I'm alright Jack,  and you're giving me the sad in my feels.

The pc brigade, the social justice warriors - funny how we're all going to war. And there are lots of us, lots, hosts, like locusts, against - who?

 Not like the old days when I was right on and never did anything. Some of the marchers had balaclavas and rocks and the riot shields rattled and we weren't like that, but we were there, and my throat was raw.

Now I'm mowing down the unfortunate with my keyboard  . Cos that's all I do.

I'm thinking social justice warrior is a conflation with keyboard warrior, because that's the assumption, isn't it?

 Like words aren't important, but if they're not,  why is changing the language you use such a big deal, eh? What does it matter to you? And there are always more important things we should focus on and why aren't you doing something about that other thing.

But if it's true. That what we say makes no difference. Then.

It is like the old days when I never did anything, after all.
That's a relief.




* That said, as ever, when writing about being a feminist,  I feel the need to rush in and explain my feminism is intersectional. That patriarchy hurts men too with its toxic version of masculinity, where men showing emotion makes them weak, and they are stigmatised when not fitting into the rigid stereotypes. But I won't go on,  because this isn't an essay about feminism. Go read some feminism 101. There's plenty of resources. I'm not one.

Thursday, April 27, 2017

The sound of fire in words

The paper blackens, smoulders
Flicker-flames licking up
They whisper and sputter
Sing, whine and mutter
Your words
Into smoke.

Words of heat
Pain and desire
Burning hot
Shrinking me inside
Crinkled small
"I will never let you go"
Furl and billow
And gone.

Smell of kerosene
On my fingers
Ash smears on my hands
And face
Sink in the grate,
Singed scorched and sighing
Flames ebb dip and dying
Fall into embers
Exhale into ash
To float free.

Monday, January 09, 2017

Reading Record 2017

The Road - Cormac McCarthy

This felt very familiar, although I haven't read it before or seen the movie. I guess I read a fair amount of post-apocalyptic fiction. It was compelling - I read it in one sitting - but as I say, it felt quite familiar. The relationship between father and son was nicely depicted.