twice as much

writing • art • activism 📸: @twice_asmuch

[twice-as-much]

Stand the tension

Surprise, intrigue me, make me blush

I want to feel that uncertain rush

Put me at ease

I’m not comfortable so

Try to play it cool, lay low

Don’t acknowledge we have feet

Sit beside me while we eat

Do not attempt to hold my hand

First I want see that you can stand

The tension between

What we will and will not yet show

Make me wanna to stop

Make me lose track of time

We’re out of step, awkward

With the feelings we caught

Then we’re fine and in the flow

Inhale my perfume

Bury your nose

In my signature scent

Before I put back on my clothes

I wear it for me not you, but that

You don’t really need to know

You were sweet and a bit naive

I was difficult, and a little smiley

We could only manage

Our discomfort for a few short days

Before we let it go

Remember how it used to be

When we could get close

So quick, so easily

On those first dates

To be able to kiss or yearn

To be able to not —

Out of preference, and not concern —

This is a thing I never expected

I’d ever have to forego

Now that we’re in fewer spaces

And with less people

To take it fast or take it slow

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May 18 2020

Photo credit: @twice-as-much​

Credit/inspo: Musings on the prompts “can we hold hands?” and “perfume”

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

A prelude to Descent

Ariadne, where is your home?

For my entire life and up until two months ago, Crete was the place I called home.

Home was a physical space. It was where I was from. It was where I resided.

Home was where I found refuge and where I had family.

It’s all slipping away from me now. In here. On this island alone, with my thoughts and the images manufactured by the structures in my brain.

I learned when I was very young that I am not normal, whatever that means to the masses, the makers of histories, their monsters and men.

That is, I am not made entirely of this world, as others may assume. But I can blend in.

I realize now that until I make peace with my body and all of Her constituent parts, then what makes me Exceptional Will eat away at me until I self-destruct.

And I will never feel at rest nor ever feel at home.

Given this truth, which resonates deeper than any passing wisdom, story or song, what now is the place I call home?

Where can I find it? And how do I get there?

I don’t yet know, but I promise:

I will search to the to greatest heights, the most terrifying depths, Across the land, within the gardens Of my heart, and through the fires of my soul to figure it out. I owe myself that much.

I commit to this spiraling path.

Deeper into the labyrinth I go...

Following the thread...

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May 16 2020

Photo credit: Pixabay from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Midnight dancing

Pro tip for apple users: When you’re having difficulty finding the song that will get you moving, loop some beats on GarageBand. Feel like a DJ and dance.

The more I write

The more I listen

The more I love music

The more I am convinced

Of its magic ability to move us

                — Physically

                — Emotionally

                — Spiritually

Gently reminding us to

Do what our bodies were wired for

Even if it’s dancing at midnight

Because these days we’ve been

Hardly moving at all

How good it feels to let go

Headphones on

With wild abandon

All f***s gone

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May 16 2020

Photo credit: Burst from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Ex-friend

As frustrated as I feel, I am also so grateful to be able to spend at least a little bit of time imagining and experiencing other dimensions — what a gift of the mind.

What can be done — My dreams feel more real than my waking life.

Do I go deeper into the dream?

Is there more to be found there —where I can go on a date, joke with my dad, solve a mystery, play a basketball game, be a part of the story?

I have been expending all this energy trying to crawl my way back to the surface when my all options lead back to: Trapped.

I want to be with people again.

I want to be out in the world again.

I don’t want to take it for granted — this feeling of freedom that haunts me with the other ghosts of my past.

To my dear ex-friend, my former life, I guess what I’m trying to say is

I miss you.

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May 15 2020

Photo credit: Daisa TJ from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Remnants

Some more notes from my self care journey, as I learn how to be with the greatest love of my life.

I drop the plate on the floor, and flour goes everywhere. My first response is to curse. My second is to get the dustpan.

Then a moment of awareness washes over me, and I dry my soapy hands.

A memory — of watching someone cleaning a mess that I was dreading and unable to face that day.

Earlier I had said, “Please don’t make me go home,” admitting the shame of not being able to do what comes so easily for others —

Cleaning up.

Taking care.

Being with me.

Being alone.

Being ok with that.

It was one of the purest displays of unconditional care — listening to my fears when I’m at my worst and doing what I am struggling to do for myself — without complaint and without judgment.

The posture of I will be there for you, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

Out of necessity or survival I have learned to let go, and still my lovers leave behind their remnants. They pop in from time to whisper their little words of wisdom.

The ones I appreciate most remind me what it looks like, what to say, what works and what doesn’t when it comes to loving me.

Now that it comes down to Me loving me. Finally.

And so I sweep it up for her. I keep washing, whenever we get to it. I give her space, as much as she needs.

I ask, “What’s going on?” And I listen to her. Not always on the first try, but I’m showing up. And I am trying. Because —

Yes, I’m talking to you now —

I’m not going anywhere, My love.

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May 13 2020

Photo credit: Tasha Kamrowski from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much​

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Alright, a lie

The world is full of situations where we ask each other ‘How are you’ out of courtesy, and yet are not truthful when we’re having a hard time. There are social consequences, and there is shame. We have difficulty holding tension, but life can be really uncomfortable.

So it’s not surprising that when I check in with myself, the truth doesn’t come easy.

I am seriously working on being more honest with me about my feelings and body sensations, because resistance to what is often makes me feel worse. Living in integrity means not lying to Her of all people.

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May 13 2020

Photo credit: @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Exceptionality

Finally! The prompt “endangered” sparked a writing session where I figured out a semi-coherent start to the backstory for Elemental Ariadne. I’m having a lot of fun world building with her.

I’ve known for a while that Ariadne was going to be a scientist, but I’m still working out the details of the timeline/future/setting where this new take on her myth will play out. Feels good!

So Ariadne, all anyone is talking about is the arrival of Theseus, the man who claims he can put an end to the Minotaur “problem.” The project has been the primary focus of your scientific career, and you know more about the monster than anyone else on record. Care to comment?

Well first let me tell you a little bit more about what my lab has been working on, as was announced at our press conference last month.

Here at Crete Industries we are developing and will soon be testing a groundbreaking human-digital interface called Thread® that will revolutionize the treatment and rehabilitation of so-called monsters. We prefer to use the term Exceptional.

Exceptionality is a spectrum that applies to humans who have had biotechnological alterations, including those who opt for elective anthro-biotech versus those who had them imposed without their consent. So in the scientific community, Theseus Iroas and Minos Taurus alike would be considered Exceptional.

This work and the work of many others in the field is just a small part in a long history of standing up for human rights in the age of anthro-biotech. And one way of helping to squash out the stigma of the word monster is by having more terminology that unites us rather than divides us. The way we are headed, I wouldn’t be surprised if most people will be Exceptional in some way in the near future.

We know that some in the Greek monster community have reclaimed the word as their own, but monsters are still considered endangered from stigma alone, as people refuse them care and threaten to incite violence against them.

And I’m just wondering as Mr. Iroas arrives here how he sees his initiative as part of the solution. From my vantage point, to storm in there and just “take care” of Minos Taurus is hasty, not a well thought out plan, and a violation of rights.

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May 10 2020

Photo credit: Athena Pedro from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much​

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

This is why I read

As much as I love having books on my shelves, shout out to public library audiobooks as they really help me read and retain more.

To play with words

To feel more free

Get lost in imagination

Transcend duality

To meet with the impossible

To enter someone’s dream

This is why I listen

This is why I sing

To love what has been written

This is why I read

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May 9 2020

Photo credit: @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Dear planets

Dear planets,

Square

                sextile

                                 trine.

You draw the Sacred Geometry of space and time.

You orbit,

                oppose,

                                 align.

Stevie says planets of the universe go their way,

But studied disciples see that you been there,

Holding us tight to the ground.

With magnetism, you teach us to stay.

And you instruct us how to care.

Minds wander, they wonder

What our places might be

Among the heavenly, these bodies.

We are so minuscule yet also

Expanding —

As is the way of all things.

It may not always be fair.

We might not be able to pay.

So we look up. And we lean in,

Pondering the mysteries.

Each according

To the karma of our humankind.

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May 9 2020

Photo credit: lumina_obscura from Pixabay

Credit/inspo: Reference to Planets of the Universe by Fleetwood Mac, written by Stevie Nicks, demo on Rumours (1977)

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Goodbyes

A poem about Community of all things...

They get to me, these moments.

And they get me.

Troy Barnes just left Greendale —

A hero about to embark on a great voyage.

He is fortified by the childlike worlds he can

Create eternally with his best friend.

Their gift gives rise to clones of themselves,

Who at long last, are the ones able to face

gut wrenching change

And salutations like grown Men.

Maybe it’s these plantains I just made.

Or the gin with tonic and lime.

If I was simply watching TV,

This wouldn’t be the hardest cry I’ve had in weeks.

So I’lI savor the sweet and the sour of their years-long goodbye.

Because I know what it’s like.

I have been on both ends.

And I have been a part of many ends.

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May 8 2020

Photo credit: Arcturian from Pixabay

Credit/inspo: Community, episode 504: Geothermal Escapism (2014)

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

To never greet again

Ariadne, do you have any regrets?

Sometimes I am grateful to Theseus for being the one who left. They have the thankless job, the heartbreakers.

I’m not the one who slipped away in the night. I was never afraid to look me in the eye and tell me, I'd rather do anything else than to feel stuck here with you.

I didn’t tell myself, Don’t turn around, only to look back anyway, the sight of me sleeping soundly, and feeling the acute awareness of my unawareness of the plans that were underway.

I don’t need to wonder if what I did, and the decisions I made were right. I don’t feel guilty about what I sacrificed for him.

I get to take the high road. I am venerated, for I went after my dreams. I chased them, and I chased him all the way to the end.

I will never question if I am a coward, or a realist, or both. I know I am neither.

When I look back, it’s more about understanding what happened — the ah-ha, the ohhh, this is that lesson.

My path is accepting the truth and reconciling what is with what will never be, and putting it all to rest again.

Until my next dream…

Until the next reckless abandon…

Or abandoning.

I pause now pondering my contradictions. Was Theseus not also living according to his deepest desires?

We tell any kind of story to be able to live with ourselves, without constant suffering.

Perhaps it’s not my place to say definitively what is right, as what I think is good for me may be miserable for someone else, even — maybe moreso — when it comes to love.

Regrets, if they exist, belong to the dead lovers we will never greet again.

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May 6 2020

Photo credit: Max Andrey from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Hot/cold

Reading a book about emotional inflammation.

Hot with irritation,

to the point of distraction. 

What was I saying? 

What was I thinking? 

The noodles’ve gone cold again.

Coffee’s cold too.

I forgot I was eating.

I need a break.

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May 6 2020

Photo credit: malcom garret from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Deserted

Ariadne gets a little biblical

Ariadne, would you consider yourself lost in the wilderness?

In your world there are quite a few Hebrew stories about ἔρημος (érēmos). A modern English speaker may be perplexed as to why this word was translated in those sacred texts to mean — at times, desert — other times, wilderness — as if they mean the same thing. 

The island of Naxos is no desert — There is water, and there is the sea. 

Naxos is not wilderness either — It is populated, cultivated, habitable and hospitable. 

So like all good narratives, we ask semantics to step aside, because it’s the spirit of the story that matters more to us anyway. 

How many of us know that familiar feeling of exile, of being alone, of going without one’s resources, of thinking to oneself: How did I get here? 

Ariadne deserted on the island of Naxos, I dare say, yes I was lost. I was at a loss. I lost so many things the day I woke up alone. 

In my wilderness I confronted the death of the fantasies of my life. 

I crawled through the hell of my own making to understand what I had done and what I had become.

The only way out was to choose — I chose what all great heroes do and I said yes to The Call.

When you’ve already traveled far and wide — because that’s what they tell you adventure is — what is the next uncharted territory? 

I knew if I kept running, I wouldn’t ever stop. So I went back into the Labyrinth — the one in me — to see what I could do to save myself. 

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May 4 2020

Photo credit: Adnan Uddin from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much 

Credit/inspo: Did some research for this one in the concordance on Bible Hub and playing around with the Oxford definitions of words

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

A letter to my pet

Ariadne (the character I have been interviewing) is taking a rest today, and I’m not sure yet if she has a familiar. But I’ll take the opportunity to brag about my little one any day. This is a revised version of a gratitude piece I wrote last year.

Hello bubba,

The day I picked you up and took you home, I never could hyave imagined that we’d be where we are now. Everyday you wake me up is a gift. You tether me to the Earth plane. 

Your talent for expressing your needs is profound. You tell me clearly what you need when you need it. This inspires me to better attend to the voice inside me, reminding me to take care of myself.

I admire your ability to set boundaries. You always take your time to allow people the privilege to touch and spend time with you. You communicate when you are upset. Or if you’re charged up and need to play. You are self-sufficient, so I know when you insist on something, it is important to you. And I respond. 

You are so loving and affectionate. You give the best greetings when I come home, telling me all about your day, stretching out and then sitting on my lap. And if I haven’t seen you around in a while, I know I can simply call out for you and you will find me. Every day you make me feel loved. At times when I feel very much alone in this world, you remind me that I am needed and appreciated.

I love how you follow the light. You are excited by sunbeams and reflections from mirrors, and you spend the day lounging in the brightest, warmest spots. It reminds me to chase after good things. 

And I love how you can make yourself at home anywhere. The first burrow you made for yourself was in my open suitcase under my bed. Then you started taking items out of the suitcase, like old curtains and made a little place for yourself across the room. Ever since then, I learned that one of your love languages is creating these little beds, so now I help you make them all around the house. This way you have lots of choices of where to rest when you’re tuckered out from your day job as my guardian angel. 

I can’t say it enough. Everyone who knows me hears me brag about how awesome and beautiful you are. And you have even started making appearances in my video calls, so they can see for themselves. 

Thank you for being my companion and for the extraordinary honor of being your caretaker. I love you more than you could ever know. 

Mom

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May 3 2020

Photo credit: @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Tell me who you are

Ariadne recalls an encounter on a starry night

Ariadne, what does a starry night make you think of?

My world up to that point had been so full of Kings. Ruling over this and fighting over that. In my isolation, at least I was free from their material oppression. 

The dynamics of my internalized tyranny, however, was a different animal. 

A lifetime of putting yourself in your place is not something that just falls away because you leave. 

When he appeared at my feet, my first thought was that he looked like royalty. Except he knew my name. How could he know my name?

I had fallen asleep on the beach on the night of the new moon. The sky was particularly bright, and the stars kept me company until I laid my head down in the sand. 

In my confusion and irritation, my first response was silence. 

So he continued as I sat there perplexed. 

He reached into his coat and pulled out a bulb. He held it up to the sky, as if to inspect it. And then it began to glow.

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May 2 2020

Photo credit: First image Dominika Roseclay, second image Matheus Bertelli  from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Someone who decides to answer

I am getting to know a character who has been with me for a few months, the mythical Ariadne. I’m going to ask for her take on the prompts this month to help me storyboard.

Thanks for hosting @ullawrites!

Ariadne, what is a writer?

Every person in their life knows what it feels like to be called. 

A writer is someone who decides to answer. 

A writer acknowledges the voice inside her head, humming. It does not sound like thoughts. It whirls on the winds as a song trying to escape the mouth. 

A writer feels as if she is not the one writing, that she is merely a vessel to receive the message. 

A writer chooses to either grab a pen or the closest apparatus, or else surrender to the channeling of the words through the body. 

And then they’re gone. As dreams that one savors upon waking, and forgetting soon thereafter.

I said that writing is a choice, but for me writing is necessary. 

Or else I get all stopped up. And it feels like madness, all those words crowded in with my thoughts. I can’t keep it all straight. 

I look forward to the sweet release. To share. To let go of what I have written or spoken, as birds on their way to their next destination. 

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May 1 2020

Photo credit: Manideep Karne from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

#imaywritethismonth hosted by ullawrites

[twice-as-much]

Waiting room

Write the post-pandemic story: a) from the perspective of a three year old, b) from yourself in five years; c) from yourself on your deathbed.

How about all three?

That’s all folks. What a bittersweet joy and an honor to write and read along with you through this pandemic.

I’m going to devour my fellow pandowriters’ posts now, because I was waiting until I had finished all my prompts for the month. Stay as well as can be and stay connected ♥️

And THANK YOU @adriennemareebrown!

It is quite a rare thing to have one’s life put on pause. And rarer still to have everyone in the world doing it at once.

In those days, we were children in a waiting room. Waiting for the dying. Waiting for a cure, for an answer. Waiting for our loved ones. Waiting alone.

We were confused, trying to keep ourselves occupied. We were distracted by fluorescent lights, scared by unfamiliar surroundings and strange smells, and intimidated by the uncertainty of everything.

We could not grasp the gravity of this waiting, nor understand why it was needed. All we knew was we did what we were told. We were with our families, but we still felt alone. They sat across the room and kept their eyes on us. They made us follow the rules.

Wash your hands. Wear this. Don’t do that. Keep quiet. Stay there.

When the doctors came, they spoke seriously and softly. What they said was beyond our comprehension. And it seemed like just about everyone else knew more than us.

So we did the only things we could do as children.

We told ourselves bed time and daytime stories. We got lost inside our imaginations. We became our own best friends. We played, quietly. We peaked out the window and dreamed of flying away.

Sometimes we cried. Other times we threw tantrums. But we had to soothe ourselves, because our parents had other things they needed to do.

And when they told us, “Alright, time to go,” we went.

A little more grown up than before.

And forever changed.

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April 30 2020

Photo credit: First image Guilherme Rossi, second image VisionPic.net from Pexels, edited by @twice-as-much

adrienne maree brown’s work

Guidelines for Pandemic Wrimo