tally the body whole, sby, may 2023

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@crippledwordsmith
tally the body whole, sby, may 2023
im not so sure id be the same person without my pain. i walk with a bottlecap in my shoe and a nail in my knee and a cane in my hand and i know im not anything i could have been. i dont know if im better for it.
they say that cold is only the absence of heat. dark the absence of light. me without the bottle cap in my shoe and a nail in my knee and a cane in my hand is a different beast entirely. i walk in his shadow and he lives in mine.
Moira is standing in the kitchen, and she is washing the dishes. Moira is washing the dishes, and I am sitting on the couch one room over. I can see her- she is putting soap on the greasy plates and scrubbing them forcefully, like the grease has wronged her personally.
I have just woken up from a nap, and Moira is washing the dishes. I’m aimlessly scrolling through my notifications like a ritual. Twitter first, then tumblr, then discord. Rinse and repeat. Moira is washing the dishes, though, and the water is running hot.
The consistent noise of water rushing out of the faucet is so loud I can’t hear the snapchat I’ve opened from my friend. I look into the kitchen, the source of the noise, and Moira is standing over the sink, over the dishes in the sink, and she looks over to meet my eyes. It’s not that important to watch the video, I decide, and switch back to discord.
The sun is going down behind me; not that I’m aware of the sun, per say, but more so that the screen in front of me has become brighter and brighter. It is giving me a headache behind my eyes. The sink is still running, loud as Niagara Falls, where Moira took me one summer in 2010. I hear Moira say something about not sitting in the dark, about how it will give me a headache, and I look up to see her flip the lightswitch on, flashbombing me. Then, Moira returns to the dishes. How long has Moira been doing the dishes? I look over to the pile of cookware and plates and bowls on a towel next to the kitchen sink that Moira is at. It seems like a lot, but Moira is still doing the dishes.
What day is it now? I open my notifications tab to see the date, and they are meaningless numbers. It is Saturday, March 12th like it is the 9th of Adar II. We don’t do Shabbos anymore like how I don’t write my classes in my calendar anymore. A gesture doesn’t mean shit if there’s no intention.
I stand from the couch and pocket my phone, wandering into the kitchen where Moira is drying the dishes. I am hovering near her. I am a helicopter above an ocean. Moira is drying the dishes and I find myself unable to speak, going through the card catalog of words in my brain. I clench and unclench my fist in the opposite pocket from my phone. The sink is off now, possibly has been for a while. I blink. Moira asks me what I need without looking up from the dishes, and there’s a bite to her words, and I feel their sharpness find purchase in the soft flesh of my stomach. Like a knife wound, like appendicitis. What is the root of -ectomy in appendectomy? I blink again.
Greek, I think. It’s always Greek.
-- Untitled, SBY, March 2022.
"Asteroid," poem assembled from quotations from Wikipedia articles
[Text transcription:
An asteroid is
the protagonist of a tragedy.
A force, such as gravity, pulls an object into a curved path as it attempts to fly
On Frail Wings of Vanity and Wax
"I know the voices dying with a dying fall" (52) echoes Orsino's first lines in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.
In current usage, "soulmate" usually refers to
As two objects orbit each other,
Tidally-locked satellites
Each half seeks the other
Common messages are that love is predestined, love at first sight is possible, and that love with the right person always succeeds.
In physics, an orbit is the gravitationally curved trajectory of an object, such as the trajectory
the Fall of Icarus
The search for El Dorado
The Fault in Our Stars,
Gilgamesh, driven by grief
The "Wrath of Achilles".
"How do I get out?"
An asteroid is
Fate
"Everything Burns" (2005)
Fortune
"Flight of Icarus, down into flames." And "Daedalus, your child is falling and the labyrinth is calling." respectively.
A Head Full of Dreams (album) - "'I know it's over,' Icarus says to the sun"
"If you fly like Icarus to the edge"
"I am Icarus falling out of the sun"
Pearce compared it to the earth asking a question and the sky answering it.
At perihelion, Icarus comes closer
Enkidu faces Gilgamesh
Main article: Orbital decay
Further information: Stella collision
The Planets Bend Between Us
Please Forgive Me
As the object is pulled toward the massive body, it falls toward that body.
Minor flaw
Fatal flaw
Tragic/fatal flaw
- which means death is destiny.)
to say the name of a play inside a theatre is believed to doom the production to failure, and perhaps cause physical injury or death to cast members. There are stories of accidents, misfortunes and even deaths taking place during runs of Macbeth.
This may leave space and time as its only dimensional constants, implying dissolution between the line of "art" and "life";
During the September 11 attacks, television viewers supposedly saw the face of Satan in clouds billowing out of the World Trade Center after is was struck by the airplane. Another example of face recognition pareidolia originated in the fire at Notre Same Cathedral, when a few observers claimed to see Jesus in the flames.
An asteroid is
To love those who mean the most. Every life you touch
knowingly commits the same sin. He declares to Eve that since she was made from his flesh, they are bound to one another — if she dies, he must also die.
mortal : immortal, exit : entrance, exhale : inhale, occupied : vacant.
"rise" and "fall,"
"Icarus is bullshit, that's why it's called 'mythology'"
"Soon there'll just be feathers and the quiet of the fall"
and the gods will have completely forsaken humanity: "there will be no help against evil."
In April 2018, the B612 Foundation reported "It's 100 percent certain we'll be hit [by a devastating asteroid], but we're not 100 percent certain when." Also in 2018, physicist Stephen Hawking,
states that romantic love introduced the idea of a narrative to an individual's life, and
a soulmate is separate entity with whom one has spent many lifetimes as a friend, lover, co-worker, or partner, and to whom one is usually drawn to
descend. The word "checkmate" is derived from the Persian shāh māt ("the king is dead").
An asteroid
willingly offers herself to the beast and discovers he is an enchanted prince. She helps him break the curse and they both live happily ever after.
An asteroid
is created as a rival to king Gilgamesh, who tyrannizes his people, but they become friends and together slay the monster Humbaba and the Bull of Heaven; because of this, Enkidu is punished and dies, representing the mighty hero who dies early.
An asteroid
become more human, and therefore
burns, explodes, or otherwise breaks up in the larger object's atmosphere; or for object's where the primary is a star, ends with incineration by the star's radiation (such as for comets), and so on.
An asteroid is
thought to be an expression of an ordering of the world; "instead of asking what tragedy expresses, the derivative definition tends to ask what expressed itself through tragedy".
We Belong Together
We Can Last Forever
Can this love be actualized? After having conceded everything up to this point, you perhaps will say:
[according to whom?]
Too many people want to read about love in order to find out what love is. Kierkegaard says one must act,
kowningly choose to listen in order to feel sadness
find a truth to live and die for.
Renaissance humanist Erasmus asks, "For what else is the life of man but a kind of play in which men in various costumes perform until the director motions them off the stage."
An asteroid is
A sensation of falling
Enkidu has a dream
End text transcription]
i wasn't a girl when i was a child before the dysphoria enforcement of gender roles and puberty brought, before i experienced misogyny and sexualization because of the traits puberty wrought, i am not and never was a girl in the woods pretending i was fae or a cat or a hunter or prey, breaking rocks with hammers to see them gleam or wearing my older sisters makeup or catching bugs til dark or kicking my feet in a stream, squeezing into a binder or packing my pants or wearing boxers and briefs or shirts to make shoulders look wide, no matter what i wear or how I choose to spend my time or the tone that I speak in or what emotions i dare to share i am what i say i am inside and I've set my mind on being genuine
I kneel at my place of worship, the bathroom sink, as you preach your love to me, the buzzing vibrations of my clippers caressing my head like your gentle hands.
The offerings fall in dark brown clumps, so thick they choke the clippers at times, but it never waves.
I guide your hands as you sculpt me, reshaping this ductile form of mine into something new. I yield to your tenderness.
I am reborn again and again under your hands, my body made livable by your love and care.
a butch’s ode to quarantine haircuts, Gale Juniper, 2020
terror coils like a snake in my stomach,
eating my organs from the inside out
til i am left a shaking husk
trapped in a loop of recollection
gale juniper, 2020
I'm 5 years old.
My favorite colors are pink and purple.
I like them because that what girls are supposed to like,
but I'm possessive.
When I meet my new neighbor, also my age, the first thing I tell her after asking her favorite colors,
Is that she can't like pink and purple too.
How else can I separate my concept of self from her?
---
I'm 11 and my favorite color is green.
Forest green, same as my mother.
I call myself a girl because that's what I've been told. When I start growing body hair I am terrified of razors, and even more terrified of the taunts I get for my hair, though I try to hide it.
Secretly I love my hair.
I wish others could see it the way I do.
---
Im 16 and I don't have a favorite color
I start shaving my armpits out of shame and fear,
The constant teasing,
stares,
and questions,
even from friends
gets to be too much.
My leg hair can stay, because that is still in the acceptable realm of womanhood.
even though I'm not really sure if I'm a woman anymore.
---
I'm 22.
My favorite color is a vibrant cyan blue, that almost burns your eyes,
but not quite.
I look in the mirror and my childhood nightmare daydream looks back at me, finally.
My butch heart has found it's home in my crippled,
fat,
hairy body
at long last.
Gale Juniper, 2020
We are all imperfect beings.
So take my hand,
And we will love and learn together
Gale Juniper, 2020
just write a shitty poem, what do you have to lose
I am going to get better.
I am going to be better.
Or I keep telling myself.
I can't get out of bed.
I take an aching step forward and I fall down, paralyzed in amber and tar and painful memories.
I will still try again the next day.
I don't really know what hope means anymore,
And I can't remember the fearlessness I used to be able to put on so easily,
Hiding the twisted knots in my stomach.
I'll take another step tomorrow
2 am ode to trying. Gale Juniper, 2020
The menthol burns on my ribcage
Pain begets pain or maybe pain conquers pain
I can't tell anymore
How do you say goodbye to someone who's hurt you,
When their honey sick words make your stomach heave.
They didn't mean it that way, so why does it hurt so much?
I won't grieve for you the way I should.
Maybe I'll move on one day
Meaningless numbers
[image description: an edited pic of the forearm of the artist on a red plaid blanket. They have a grey compression gloves on, and are holding a green lighter loosely in their hand. Next to their arm is a white candle, a glass jar of pain salve, and a black flask. Wax from the candle has been dripped onto their arm. There is a filter distorting the image, twisting the arm and leaving a rainbow doubling effect around the hand and the candle. Pink text at the bottom left reads "on a scale of 1 - 10 how would you rate your pain"]
I feel like I'm trapped in bed more often than I'm not
Getting up is a Herculean task which I have failed countless times.
My blankets weigh me down like snow on fragile branches
But I hope they too will melt with the coming spring
untitled winter poem, Gale Juniper, 2019
my piles of pills and lavish lingerie
do make a thrill for chasing able hands
my body twists and turns as if to sway
away from all that tragedy demands
the agony of touch upon my skin
does say more than i could begin to speak
i wish we could try to be whole within
i did not think that one could feel so weak
but all of the fear and all of the pain
does near to nothing to tear up my pride
and though this form takes so much to maintain
i will not let them crush the soul inside
my body damned, i choose each day to love
because i walk the path yet undreamed of
-SBY + Gale Juniper, 2019
my piles of pills and lavish lingerie
do make a thrill for chasing able hands
my body twists and turns as if to sway
away from all that tragedy demands
the agony of touch upon my skin
does say more than i could begin to speak
i wish we could try to be whole within
i did not think that one could feel so weak
but all of the fear and all of the pain
does near to nothing to tear up my pride
and though this form takes so much to maintain
i will not let them crush the soul inside
my piles of pills and lavish lingerie
do make a thrill for chasing able hands
my body twists and turns as if to sway
away from all that tragedy demands