going back to mundane

8

There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are the moments of newfound hope, extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

I wrote about this on Facebook and have seen a lot of references to it elsewhere but I just think for archival purposes I might as well write it down here: Trump is a puppet and Republicans of all stripes are desperately scrambling to force through as much absolutely repugnant shit as they possibly can, so that when his downfall comes (and someone, somewhere, probably has a careful plan for how to bring that about, and maybe even a schedule; impeachment most likely, and they’ll drag it out but let it happen), they can disavow everything terrible that happens, and spend just long enough dragging their feet on “repairing” all the “damage” he did (and it was all him! all on his own! he and his people! such rogues!) that the things they wanted will still happen, the people who were getting paid off for various corporate deals can still cash out, the assets can still get stripped out of the various government agencies, the outrage can burn itself out a bit, hopefully the few thousand sickest and most expensive patients stripped of healthcare will up and die already, the most annoying activists can get declared felons, a good collection of undesireables can get rounded up and deported or whatever, it’s all to the good even if it’s morally and legally indefensible. 

But by the time midterms roll around, they can all pin the blame for everything terrible that has happened on Trump, and campaign for re-election and maybe even swing some *more* seats red because of the terrible consequences of the things they pushed through. They were helpless, you see. It was all that horrible man’s fault.

So. I’m thinking maybe we need to spend a little less energy frantically protesting everything he does, and a little more energy carefully taking note of just who wrote each of those executive orders, who the authors of those bills were, and who, especially among the Democrats, collaborated. 

Take note of your Republican reps’ actions, and write to them and tell them that you see what they’re doing, and when Trump falls you’re not going to let them blame it on him; you see what their actual actions were in this ridiculous and confusing time, and you’re not going to fall for it.

Take note of your collaborators and write to them and tell them you’ll be backing a primary challenger against them in the next elections, if they’re Democrats. 

We surely need to be planning for 2018, and these are the first steps for that. This is all meant to be overwhelming and distracting. Look to the long view. There’s not much more we can do in the short view– obstructionism is the only way to minimize the damage before Trump is eliminated. 

(And, of course, keep the pressure up so that he does actually get eliminated.) 

2

There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown.

2

And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

Transness And Shakespeare

So I’ve been thinking a lot about theater recently. Particularly ways that trans performers and trans readings can enhance rather than distract from a play or musical.

This is something that’s relevant to me personally because I used to do a lot of shows back in high school. I was actually in a performing program that would have morning classes before each schoolday. But I kinda lost touch with that side of me when I went off to college, and now that I’ve realized I’m trans, I’ve been thinking a lot about the relationship between my gender and my involvement in theater.

Back in my morning program, we used to do a lottt of Shakespeare, and there certain roles that were available to me then that I had a lot of strong, albeit conflicted feelings about. So I want to talk about Twelfth Night and Macbeth in particular and trans takes on the characters that have been kinda spinning around in my subconscious for close to a decade now and should probably come out (no pun intended).


Really Viola Or Really Cesario? (Twelfth Night)

So I’ve always had mixed feelings about Viola, the protagonist of Twelfth Night.

On the one hand, I was always at the edge of my seat during the scenes where she was disguised as a man named Cesario. To live as a man was thrilling to me, and so I loved any opportunity to play this character. Especially since actual male roles were closed off from me, even in high school. My teacher would always tell me it wasn’t “professional” for me to play a dude. Nevermind that none of this was professional but whatever.

On the other hand, Twelfth Night spends a lot of time emphasizing how Viola is ~really~ a heterosexual woman, and that always made me feel uneasy and confused. For instance, when Viola pines for Duke Orsino and wishes he could see her as a woman, I’d just think, “Viola, why can’t you just be a gay man? There, problem solved.” At the end of the play, when order is restored as Viola sheds her disguise and becomes the duke’s wife, I was always disappointed. Why go back to what felt to me like a mundane, tedious existence? Why celebrate that? It felt forced, like a betrayal almost. Like Viola’s queerness was somehow a threat to society that had to be resolved neatly. Like maleness was just an outfit you could just put away at the end of the day.

Some would say that there is a trans-masculine element to Viola. And my younger self would’ve agreed to this. Certainly I felt a connection to the character that was uniquely trans-masculine. But a trans guy like me could never play Viola convincingly. Sure, I’d be great as Cesario, but any time that the real Viola peeks through in the script, I’d only be able to read that half-heartedly. I wouldn’t be able to say as Viola that I AM really a woman, not the way an actress could. So, no, I’m not sure that part is for someone like me.

But I know who would be excellent for that role. Trans women, of course! Who else would know better the struggle of being forced into a male role when all you want is for people to see you as a woman? Who else could get that deep longing for the duke not just to fall in love with the lead but specifically to fall in love with Viola, not Cesario? And who else could actually make that ending satisfying and empowering to watch, rather than oppressive? A trans female take on Viola could bring so much to the role.


Who Wields The Dagger? (Macbeth)

Even back in high school, I was incredibly aware of Lady Macbeth’s transness. I actually wrote an essay about it in my English class. Which was, you know, a totally cis interest that had nothing to do with my own gender identity or anything.

Lady Macbeth is pretty up-front about her interest in maleness. In one of her first monologues, she prays that the evil spirits “unsex” her, which means she wants her femaleness removed (back then, the only sex was the female sex because the male sex was normal). She goes into longwinded and disturbing descriptions about doing violent things to her breasts or to breastfeeding children.

But more than that, her whole character arc revolves around using her husband as a proxy for herself. Lady Macbeth is wayyyyy more interested in killing Duncan and taking the throne than Macbeth is. Throughout the play, Macbeth is deeply reluctant about the atrocities he commits, and usually Lady Macbeth is the one urging him into doing it. Even in the scene before Duncan’s murder, Macbeth’s “Is This A Dagger Which I See Before Me” monologue makes it seem as if he is being led by the dagger rather than actively ascending the stairs himself.

Plus, there’s the ways that Lady Macbeth repeatedly calls Macbeth feminine. For instance, referring to his nature as “full o’ the’ milk of human kindness” where previously she had equated breastmilk and femaleness with kindness.

So in a lot of ways, Lady Macbeth seems to be living out her male power fantasies through someone who isn’t really interested in that at all. Which is why I think Macbeth and Lady Macbeth would be much happier if they swapped places with each other. Maybe Lady Macbeth wouldn’t be suggesting murder so quickly if she was the one actually doing it anyway. Just a thought.

Of course, I think some of this trans coding is deliberate on Shakespeare’s part. I think that the transness of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth was probably meant as a way to quickly code them as evil to the audience. But they’re still iconic characters so I’m gonna claim them for our community anyway.

So mostly this post was just a lot of nerding out, but I hope it was enjoyable. Also, I haven’t read through these plays in years, so if there are any historians or literary experts out there reading this, please don’t kill me. And I’m interested in reading other people’s thoughts about these plays or about theater and gender in general.

2

“There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.”

10

And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope, extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, RED

6

taylor swift + red era music videos

When we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

3

There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

8

There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt the exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are the moments of newfound hope, extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown.  

Till I See You Again (part 2)

Fandom: THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS

Summary: Jace Wayland was 4 years old when he first fell in love. When he was 9 years old he lost the little girl he loved and he’s been blaming himself ever since. Seventeen years later a mundane girl with an identifying necklace walks into his life and changes him forever.

Jace Wayland X Reader

Words: 907

part 1

Author’ notes: Sorry this took such a long time guys. I’ve been crazy busy. I hope you guys like it. 

Originally posted by sapphicalexandra



“ Woah woah! Calm down! My name is Y/N Y/LN. I’m a reporter for The New Yorker, I’m investigating the recent murders of the four young women. I…. I fallowed one of the detectives here.” I put my hands up in the air and slowly backed away from the group.

“How can you see us?” The man keeps his arrow pointed at me, not believing my story.

“What do you mean? You’re here, that’s how I can see you. Look, if you don’t believe me, I have my reporter badge in my bag.” I open my bag and riffle through my things to find my badge. Once I find it I hold it up in front of me, the blond man grabs it from me and studies it.

“Jace, she has the sight, she’s one of us.” A woman steps forward, she’s stunning, I stared at her in awe and notice that she’s holding a whip.

“Guys, remember when I saw you kill that demon at Pandemonium? I didn’t know about the shadow world then, but I was a Shadowhunter. What if she’s the same as me? Maybe she’s a Shadowhunter.” A red-haired woman looks at me along with the others.

“What are you talking about? Who was that man and why did he have fangs? Why is the dog still here?” I step towards them cautiously as they study me. The dog steps forward and becomes smaller and smaller until he morphs into a man, Detective Garroway to be exact. He steps forwards and I take a step back in shock, tripping over my heels and landing on my hands.

“Miss Y/N you’re relentless. Looks what you’ve gotten yourself into.” Detective Garroway crouches down and looks at my hands, they were cut open from the sharp rocks on the ground and my neck has been spurting blood since that man cut it open, I didn’t realize how much blood I’ve lost until my vision started to become hazy.

“She’s definitely has angel blood in her, I can smell it.” I hear someone say before my head hits the ground and I close my eyes.

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echosonstairs  asked:

favorite ts album?

There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

My experiences in love have taught me difficult lessons, especially my experiences with crazy love. The red relationships. The ones that went from zero to a hundred miles per hour and then hit a wall and exploded. And it was awful. And ridiculous. And desperate. And thrilling. And when the dust settled, it was something I’d never take back. Because there is something to be said for being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in head first without looking. And there’s something to be learned from waiting all day for a train that’s never coming. And there’s something to be proud of about moving on and realizing that real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust. Maybe I’ll write a whole album about that kind of love if I ever find it. But this album is about the other kids of love that I’ve recently fallen in and out of. Love that was treacherous, sad, beautiful, and tragic. But most of all, this record is about love that was red.

taylor swift appreciation week: day 2 - favourite album/song/lyric

“There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red. My experiences in love have taught me difficult lessons, especially my experiences with crazy love. The red relationships. The ones that went from zero to a hundred miles per hour and then hit a wall and exploded. And it was awful. And ridiculous. And desperate. And thrilling. And when the dust settled, it was something I’d never take back. Because there is something to be said for being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in head first without looking. And there’s something to be learned from waiting all day for a train that’s never coming. And there’s something to be proud of about moving on and realizing that real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust. Maybe I’ll write a whole album about that kind of love if I ever find it. But this album is about the other kids of love that I’ve recently fallen in and out of. Love that was treacherous, sad, beautiful, and tragic. But most of all, this record is about love that was red.”

3

There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

My experiences in love have taught me difficult lessons, especially my experiences with crazy love. The red relationships. The ones that went from zero to a hundred miles per hour and then hit a wall and exploded. And it was awful. And ridiculous. And desperate. And thrilling. And when the dust settled, it was something I’d never take back. Because there is something to be said for being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in head first without looking. And there’s something to be learned from waiting all day for a train that’s never coming. And there’s something to be proud of about moving on and realizing that real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust. Maybe I’ll write a whole album about that kind of love if I ever find it. But this album is about the other kids of love that I’ve recently fallen in and out of. Love that was treacherous, sad, beautiful, and tragic. But most of all, this record is about love that was red.

“There’s an old poem by Neruda that I’ve always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says “love is so short, forgetting is so long.” It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope, extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me. I see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.”

2

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“love is so short, forgetting is so long.
It’s a line I’ve related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we’re trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren’t the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren’t really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning. These are moments of newfound hope extreme joy, intense passion, wishful thinking, and in some cases, the unthinkable letdown. And in my mind, every one of these memories looks the same to me.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI see all of these moments in bright, burning, red.

I Like You a Latte

Commission for @strawberrysweetlove35! I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for commissioning me!

pairing: jerza, with little bits of gajevy

prompt: coffee shop au with pickup lines

rating: k

word count: 1366

characters: jellal, erza, gajeel, levy


Every morning was the same. Jellal would hand the caffeinated to the groggy, grouchy customer and go back to making the coffee for the next one. It was mundane and dull, but Jellal somewhat liked it that way. He enjoyed busy work and keeping to himself. He never liked being out in the open or the center of attention.

This morning, however, was different. And that was because she came in.

Ignoring everything other than the strawberry cake in the display, she intently stared at the decadent dessert that was made early that morning. Jellal was instantly struck by Cupid’s arrow as her mouth upturned into a beautiful smile. Her red hair flowed in long layers down her back, and it was the color of those strawberries she was drooling over.

Despite being quiet, he knew he had to approach her. This may be his only chance to talk to the woman he had just fallen in like with.

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