allegedly a writing blog

kc | she/her | lonely and resistant rearranger of things

[allegedly-writing]

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night

- Howl, Allen Ginsburg

[allegedly-writing]

"I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me."

- Richard Siken, War of the Foxes 

[allegedly-writing]

Rising From the Ashes Is Not Reserved For Phoenixes

OR Like Persephone, Aphrodite and Medusa Would Roll Over And Let the Gods Fuck With Them.

When Persephone was born, all Demeter wanted to do was hold her. Shelter her. Wrap her in a stifling embrace forever and ever and never let go because the world was a scary dark place (read: Zeus).

When Aphrodite was born (what do you call rising from seafoam), all the world wanted to do was love have her. Aphrodite and Hephastus were borne of jealousy. Of a wrathful queen, twisted plots and cruel amusement.

When Medusa was made (legends are made not born), they christened her μεδω. To guard. Protect. Rule over.

–––

If flowers are not given sunlight, they die; wither away, plain and simple.

Isn’t it lonely? Surrounded by the lust of the gods and the envy of goddesses? Yes it is.

Μεδω. The right to rule her own body. To have sacred authority over herself.

–––

Persephone found her sunlight in a dark, deep gloomy cavern. When his strong hands pulled her down, when that first tart seed burst at her lips and Hermes uttered those fateful words, she did not surrender. He was willing to make her his queen, elevate her on a throne of the souls of the damned. She had lived her entire life under her mother’s shadow, that was perhaps the most tantalizing offer she had ever heard (yes, even more than the pomegranates).

Hera did not give (give, like an object, like she wasn’t an Olympian, like she wasn’t their equal?) the one who rose perfectly shaped to the twisted, malformed blacksmith in hopes of a happily ever after. The proud, proud gods would scoff at the notion that the one that they had shunned, cast out from their golden palace, might have succeeded where they failed. Yet, what if she found solace in him?

Strong, calloused hands held Medusa against frigid marble, salty lips pushed against hers. That’s when a part of her died. What they call a goddess’s wrath was her rebirth. Greece sang praises of Athena the Wise. She who once vied for a golden apple to prove her the fairest of them all, the justest of them all. Do you really think that she would have been so blind as to punish Medusa? After that little incident actual, traumatic, life-altering event, do you think Medusa desired the male gaze?

–––

So she took his love, and became the Queen of Shades.

What if she loved the one man capable of resisting her charms, the one that wouldn’t trip over himself for her?

Writhing snakes were not her sword, she never aimed to kill; they were her shield.

–––

When Demeter came calling, believing she was bringing hope, she was thriving. In this darkness, in her kingdom, she was blossoming. But she left anyways. Back to the surface, back to shelter and security and the life she had always known. But it wasn’t the same. She had known control of a realm so much more vast than this. For the sake of humanity, every spring she returns. For her own sake, every winter, she descends ascends to her husband, her kingdom, her home.  

When Ares came calling, believing he was bringing salvation, she was annoyed. How dare this man come in, eyes blazing with a dangerous righteousness, like he knew what she wanted. Yeah, no. Her husband was not particularly handsome, but he was of a clever mind and cleverer hands. The humiliation of a golden net was a small price to pay. Revenge is sweet, peace and solitude with her husband was sweeter. And, in the retreat, the Gods wove their story together. Cheating whore, they’d say, of course she’d want a real man. Love is not a mystery (to the gods, maybe it is), not to Aphrodite and Hephaestus.

When Perseus came calling, believing he was bringing justice, she was tired. The gods still weren’t done with her. He entered that cave, armed with the sword of Hermes, the cap of Hades and the shield of Athena (against her very own, the traitor). Do you think her snakes couldn’t hear the flutter of his wings or his clumsy attempts at avoiding her statues would-be murderers? She was done with being a plaything for the Fates. So as he “crept” up to her “sleeping” form, she didn’t twitch once. At least her sisters wept for her. At least she (or her severed head) saved Diane and Andromeda from paying for another’s crime.

[books-n-quotes]

People think being alone makes you lonely, but I don’t think that’s true. Being surrounded by the wrong people is the loneliest thing in the world.

Kim Culbertson, The Liberation of Max McTrue (via books-n-quotes

Alone is not a word that flies off the tongue

Alone is a teardrop, hitting the pavement

Alone

The definition — having no one else present

But I disagree

Stand in a bustling mall or airport

Watch the people walk around you

Around you

Like you are

a prickly bramble or

a forcefield or

a contagious disease

keeping you at bay

But those are strangers

Yet, surrounded by friends

Crowded around a table

Watching conversations fly past you

Not at you

Not to you

But around you

Alone is an all-consuming emptiness

Alone is an ever-expanding void

Alone is more than a mere word

Pain

Fear

Loss

Can only encapsulate a fraction of alone

Alone is a flashing freeze

Flames turning to ice

Slowly numbing your body to the pain

Until alone is all you know

Until it becomes so much more than an abstract noun

Until it becomes reality

Your only truth

Alone is a girl, crouching in the corner of her room,

surrounded by wet Kleenex

Alone is a silent cry

Hey guys! Here’s some original poetry inspired by this quote. I think all of us have experienced times of incredible loneliness and I tried to put those feelings into words with this poem. 

[allegedly-writing]

“You must stay drunk on writing so that reality cannot destroy you”

- Ray Bradbury

[thependragonwritersguild]

Prompt #8229

“A mad scientist being enslaved by his creation?”

[allegedly-writing]

At first, I was disappointed. I wanted it to be more. For thirteen years, I had toiled over this, yet, as I connected the final wire, it only creaked. In the past few decades, amazing changes had been made in the field of Artificial Intelligence, I myself leading many of the research teams. Thirteen years ago, I had been struck with an idea. Thirteen years ago, I decided to do what no one else could. I dropped off the face of the planet. And now I was asking myself. For this? I abandoned family, friends, and everything in between for this. 

I checked the code. Once, twice, three times. No errors. The wiring? Flawless. So with a disappointed sigh, I shelved my life’s ambition and went to sleep. I floated about, repeating the motions of life. No Frankensteinesque nightmare had happened. Yet, I had become a slave. To disappointment. To ambition. My own creation

[allegedly-writing]

Hello!

Hi! Welcome to my blog! I’m an aspiring writer and this is going to be a space for me to share the things I’ve written. Honestly, this blog is mostly for me to keep myself accountable to my writing, but I hope you like anything I post! ^_^