calcify

Light Skin Girl Rant

If you believe all light skin black women live privileged lives please unfollow me. I mean have u seen my life? TF.  If I say “we are all black” you say i’m ignoring my privilege. I’m saying “we are all black” and i’m living a black womans life. Where is my privilege…more brain washed fk boys wanting to hump me than they do u? I’m not even being rude because this is what I see yall using as examples…black men like light skin girls more than dark skin girls. This is what I see yall saying everyday….But who is checking for these brain washed calcified fk boys? I been with my man for like 7 years. Its a revolution going on outside….real men are not still only looking at “redbones”. The ones that do are zombies and no one should b offended or hurt by a zombie….a soulless body. Ijs my hair gets kinky and nappy like urs….i’m in the hood with u…..i need to make sure my son gets to live a full life like u….i worry when my man leaves the house like u do….why do you want me to be an outcast? I cant fit in with the whites….i’m not white. Im black. WTF is wrong with yall….how can we get passed the “glorification” of light skin females if yall dont want to accept “we are all black”?

6

I figured this post would be fitting considering this is October, a time for creepy and scary stuff to come out in full force. These pictures were taken by Nick Brandt on the shorelone of Lake Natron in Tanzania. The lake, which reaches temperatures as high as 60 C(140F), also has a basic pH between 9 and pH 10.5 and can calcify any animals that die in the lake. Supposedly, the reflective nature of the lake’s surface confuses the birds and they dive into it, much like how birds in some areas crash into windows. These pictures are downright haunting, but very beautiful. Pretty much showing both the beauty, and cruelty of nature.

Crotas End raid from Crotas POV.

>is crota
>pops is God
>section 8 gave me moon
>real estate was shit, got mad, scratched the moon, broke a nail
>shit
>might aswell listen to the Golden Age conspiracies and dig tunnels for the homies
>get a few slutty wizards to blow my Knight bretheren
>Acolytes need love too
>ogres must be awake at all times
>wait
>-blam!-ing Guardian rung my doorbell
>sent Thralls to rek him
>9 months later, door opens
>shit
>wakes the sword princes up
>makes them get sword
>guardian takes sword, kills princes
>fuck
>takes sword, hides in green rock
>makes top 4 slutty wizards protect me with magic and tits
>calcified tits
>guardian finds me somehow
>banishes me soul to home dimension plane world thing
>6 more guardians find me
>thought soul was banished
>thought i was safe
>is this the center of the moon
>do i talk into this to reach daddy
>shit
>sends out Top 4 boomers
>shots can’t reach middle ledge
>fucks sake
>splurges emergency glimmer on best Ogres in town
>guardians sit on ledge on top of Ogre house
>runs to side door
>tense
>silence
>roar
>explosions
>dead ogres
>god damnit
>sends out ninja-knights
>they dead
>wait
>don’t take the sword
>what are you doing
>i didnt put this rock here
>fucking section 8
>dead
>crux?hahahahahaa

intelligent design was an acceptable explanation
and, more than that, a story sweet enough to swallow
for the first thousand years or so, but
i’m sorry, darling
i’m too old for fairytales

only objectivity can pour enamel and dentin
and pulp and cementum into the same mold
and calcify them into the separation of ligament from muscle,
tendon from bone
it’s not an opinion
it’s the truth:

i am strung up by opposing forces,
the electrical impulses that charge me
with personality were once merely
coins shook and silvered in some
cosmic cup (poured out over
the counter in a splash of salivating
light), and it’s only mathematical predictability
that got me where i am today

and urges me to take
just one step further

please understand
that the fear of the dark is innate
in most human beings
(there is inherited vulnerability hiding
under my bed)
please understand
that anything can happen out there
transformative events and acquired traits
that will die when i do
you’ve got to understand
that i was assembled from loose fists,
tally marks, and chattering dice
but i am no gambler

i’m not
ready

i love what has coagulated into humanity
but they say we’re beating the odds now —
evolution rises only from necessity
and with hospitals and higher education
we have removed the struggle for survival from the equation —
they say we’ve gone as far as we can go,
reassumed the tower’s construction and touched god
but you must know that the only beautiful things
are the ones in motion

—  ascent with modification (oliver hope)
its like my dad always said

she might be cute and she might be right with God but if her pineal gland’s calcified its a no from me

a bootblack's scold

*
arise from slag of stasis stained
cast it forth in smelting bray

the slang of ages uptick’d crest
morose rejoinder of modern day

decode and recode the paces well
‘neath technologies raptured gaze

modify the primal cast at last,
more deftly run us thru the maze

unto abundance, into grasp
onto coteries, and thru dirt

yet calcified, their pineal core
misstruck, misfired & inert

on beggars plea, on gamblers chance
luck dances with the courtesans

erstwhile, endurance saves the day
of battered heads, of bloodied wall

pride goest where it will
as we goest, if at all.
*
4/15

The Catastrophe

I turned to salt, having
halted my steps and
given my back to the
forward route,
I turned around, one
more glance of home,
And as though a Gorgon vista
I was calcified and doomed,
The mouth curved and
frowned, the eyes releasing
tears; Some commemoration
in stone of a misfortune
and expulsion. 

17/04

you build yourself a castle out smoke and mirrors
you do not listen when they tell you to stop
their words fade to echoes in your ears, barely worth your attention at all
you pour your time, your passion into building your palace
if you believe enough in anything, it will become real
eventually, your castle becomes an estate of marmor and bone.

you decorate the grounds with flowers from all over:
peonies and roses and narcissus
on the outskirts, you will plant lupines
you will plant alders and birches and oak

the upkeep of the grounds is
occasionally
paid in tears
those gone uncried, those you feel that have long calcified in your tear-ducts
other times,
the upkeep of the grounds
is paid in joy
the kind of laughter that makes you shake and makes your stomach ache from it

eventually
there will be birds
there will be bees and butterflies and bird-song that can sometimes be heard even from inside of your house

your world,
built from the dust of those that came before it
will show you that no matter what happens
you will rise again
you will rebuild yourself
you will not be the same
remember: do not be afraid to ask for help
remember: you will be different
but you will rise

(aldergroves)

Crying happy tears.

The CT scan showed all of the nodular masses previously affected by disease were completely undetectable aside from one which is calcified and has not grown.
I had a lot of spots on my left lung which are likely from an infection (I had a fever of nearly 103 Monday) but the symptoms will need to be monitored until they subside.
I can now say with just about 100% certainty that this hodgkins journey from hell is now completely behind me. It’s now been 2 years and there is absolutely no evidence of recurrent disease.
Sometimes things just work out. (But not with you, cancer.)

On the Beat

It was cold and freezing. But he didn’t care. Not anymore.

Being alone on the dark streets was one of the vague peaceful moments he enjoyed in his eternal misery.

Each step he took was stiff. He could hear the decayed muscle crackle. He could feel the heaviness of his calcifying bones.

But the worst was the pain. A pain that dug into his still heart, and burned his very soul.

The pain of the dead being alive.

Her, Unwritten

I took a crowbar to Odessa’s clavicle and stepped right in. Her bones crooned out like calcified moons in dark-blooded orbits, lighting the way along the contortions of tendon and muscle. I gathered myself, called to her, and waited until I saw her lungs inflate with affirmation before I trekked on. 

I’m not sure what I was doing or what I was looking for, but I knew I needed to walk like I belonged between the body and its mind. I hiked on down the traipse of an artery to somewhere darker than her chest, scanning every ligament for a reason and every whisper of vein for a philosophy. I looped around her shoulder like the back of a necklace, dropping onto her spine in a chain of silver steps. 

I paced her vertebrae, the steep punctuations of bodily brail that spelled out her living. I was too close to read the words, but I knew each knob of bone was part of an essay on a girl. I looked up the length of the brainstem to where she was, or at least, where I thought she had to be. I did not dare walk farther in that direction, her direction, so I clambered back uphill and went out the way I’d gone in.

Odessa looked at me with small pleas in her eyes, but I only said I did not know her, could not know her, by how or what she was organically. She nodded, capitulating her hope that her body could tell her where her head had gone. 

                                - C. Essington