🦍 @saddormentdragon - Tumblr Blog

I am good. I am loved.

this is sort of pathetic, but when you were younger, you were sort of puzzled by the cartoon representations of fathers: how a kid would be outside with a mitt, waiting to play catch.

it's not that your father never played catch with you, but you also didn't like when he did. something about a hard ball coming quickly towards your face doesn't seem exciting. not that you'd ever say you don't trust him. you trust him, right?

it's not like he never tried to teach you anything. or never tried to parent. on rare days, a strange person would walk in your father's skin. bright, happy, magnificent. this version of your father was so cheerful and charismatic that you would do anything to keep him. and this is the version of your father that would laugh and gently coax you try again. this is the version of your father that would break down the small elements of a problem and point them out so you have an easier time with them.

as a kid, those days happened more often. but somewhere around 11, you started being too much of a person, and he was often cross about it. when he'd try to sit you down to learn something, you spent the whole time with your shoulders around your ears, nervous, uncertain. terrified because you didn't immediately understand how to navigate something. worried you will run out of his goodwill and then you will have the Other Father back, and you will have ruined a good day for your entire family. something about you being visibly afraid - it just made him angry. he would accuse you of not wanting to learn and storm away.

on tv, it's not like there's a lot of versions of men-who-are-mostly-fathers. they can be good dads, but usually their stories are not told in the household. so it's normal that your father is there, but he's never around. you know he was in the house, somewhere, it's just not that you guys ever... "hung out". he just seemed to get kind of bored of you, annoyed you weren't made in his perfect image. frustrated with how much energy it took to raise a kid. over time, you kind of adopt a bittersweet band around your throat - he knows nothing about me. he says at least i never abandoned my family.

and it's technically - technically - true. he was there for you. sometimes he even made an effort and made it to the big moments; the graduations and the dance recitals. he grins and tells everyone that he taught you. it almost erases the days in between, where he complains because you need a ride to school. the weeks that go by where he doesn't actually ever speak to you. the times you say i am struggling and he says figure it out on your own. i can't help you.

and that's fine! that's all fine. you can call him if you are having a problem with your car. or if you need a ride to the hospital. he loves playing hero, he just doesn't like the actual work that comes with being a father. and you've kind of made your peace with that; because you had to, because you don't want to live your life like he does; the whole world at a managed distance, a little rotating and controlled orb he can witness and take credit for but never truly love.

as an adult, you are rewatching some dumb cartoon - and again, the child standing in the rain, with a mitt, waiting for their father to come play catch. as an adult, there's this strange creeping dread - this little thing? this little thing, and their dad can't even show up for that? oh god, holyshit, it's not about the mitt, is it. oh god, holyshit, your father spent most of your life leaving you hanging.

elycwinters

sea people

Sea people, singing softly on vessels to safeguard them from storms, from mermaids who would have them be forever lost.

Sea people, singing softly, uplifting the spirits of seamen who long for the comfort of home and are still months away from shore.

Sea people, singing softly on sea funerals so that at least some kindness goes with those who will never make it home.

Sea people, singing softly beneath the moon and stars and that merciless sun until their voices ache and forced to stop.

Sea people, singing softly even after they are old and only at home, no more vessels nor waves to ride anymore, just songs of the past.

~ Ely C. Winters. ( @nosebleedclub #10 )

runaway-thoughts

Google, how do you love yourself in a world that kills queer brown people everyday?

inkskinned

the term "objectification" feels so watered down, lately. it is used almost like a joke, an ostentatious bow on a horrific experience. how many movies have i seen where the single female, wearing barely-anything, snaps - don't objectify me. the joke is, i think, that the movie will continue to objectify her. that her complaint is vapid and ignorant. objectification is to be expected, it is innate.

it is casual dehumanization.

how many podcasts by men about a woman's value. as a lesbian, this is funny when it isn't heartbreaking. men listen to other men talk about how to "get bitches"; these men are known to be detested by said bitches. it seems their methodology is one of a numbers game: to obtain the bitch in question, one simply has to keep trying an infinite number of times - they are not looking for a particular person or personality. yet if a bitch does seem interested; their value is inherently lowered by that desire. after all, why would you want to date someone who you pick up at a bar? this bitch - you do not need to get to know her. she is an object for your sexual desire, and should be discarded. every other bitch that denies your advance is a real bitch and you should discard her as well, it's not worth your time.

the male loneliness epidemic, i'm told, has nothing to do with sexism. rather, it is actually the fault of women, who are neglecting an emotional labor that is unpaid and unrewarded. women are supposed to be a man's entire emotional support structure; their sole nurturer, teacher, therapist (regardless of the number of women who reply that feels like i'm his mom). if a woman does not want to adhere to this incredibly luxurious one-sided effort, that is her fault. she is encouraging his loneliness. and sure, true, these men have often been told to view other men as potential threats, as rivals. true, these men have been cautioned against ever actually trusting a woman.

but after all, how are you going to feel emotionally close to an object?

the term is candid in its approach, and maybe that is half of the problem. something in the honesty of the word itself (object-ification) has rendered it unable to translate the sheer desolation of the experience.

there's an incorrect idea that to be objectified, one must be beautiful. that the objectification is only about desire. any fat woman can tell you differently. any person who is not an able-bodied white male can tell you differently. the law at times will tell you differently - treating a useless clump of cells as being more important than your human life.

and it is so pervasive as to become almost subatomic. how many times have women said when i find out a guy friend has only been my friend because he wants to fuck me, it ruins me. how many times have women said i love him but he literally sees me as a piece of meat. how many times have women begged and cajoled and pleaded their case, even in the smallness of their personal lives. how many of us have said i feel like you have no idea who i am. you aren't listening.

it can be fun to play in this space, of course. who doesn't like putting on lingerie and reminding him what he is dating. still, later, in bed and sticky, you'll think - shit. why do i need to be an object in order to be sexy? there's a thrill in being wanted, certainly.

an object in comparison, kind of. the object of the female body is so pervasive as to not even register to other women. the other day while playing a mobile game, my brother let out a little cry of alarm at what he saw on my phone - i hadn't realized the ad that had loaded was a gambling app's almost-porn.

i was told once that the reason models are so skinny is that they are not supposed to exist. the idea is that they are objects, that since the clothes are the art on display, these human people are actually more akin to coat hangers. why is it that i have been taught all models are stupid and vapid? surely they have internal lives and experiences, right? there's maybe a level of attractiveness a woman is allowed to be before the assumption is that she's stupid (but pretty).

it is very often in my life that i find myself trying to figure out what degree of attractiveness will force people take me seriously. if you are attractive in the "right way," that is acceptable. to be too-attractive or not-attractive-enough is abhorrent. even in professional spaces: my acceptance as a human person is somewhat defined by the aesthetic of my body.

an object to sell cars. an object to sell the video game. an object to sell gambling apps. an object to decorate your house as a live-in mother/maid.

at a bar with a coworker, he tells me that he isn't like other men; he reads books and paints his nails (and good for him). he takes a moment to sip his beer and then adds, "but i mean, i'm not like crazy about it."

like a person can be crazy about feminism.

inkskinned

no, i understand the only way out is through, i know this and i am very familiar with the concept and i have forced myself through and through and through and through, like an arrow to an apple; like a bird to the air. i push myself through mesh and sieve and stormdrain.

i am saying this thing is like stone to me. i am saying i have taken a pickaxe and a plow and a chisel and a spoon to it and i have made no dent or scratch in the surface. i have pushed and pushed, sisyphus beside me, and still my skin gave before the stone could.

i am telling you if there is a passage i do not see or some kind of clever way to thwart this enemy i'll take it. i've been up down and sideways of it, i've whispered to it and cajoled it and sang to it. i have tended to it like a kitten and i've kicked it to the curb. i have exhausted all available avenues and approaches as are available to me. i'll do whatever stupid fetch quest or answer the riddles three. i am standing here and every part of my body hurts and the stone is unmoved. please. if you know how to resolve this, i'm begging you.

and still, you say. the only way out is through.