peoplewho

You're asexual? But...

“but sex is what makes us human!”

 

in 1916 a French officer in his twenties writes his

doctoral dissertation under

heavy mortar fire.

he sends it by mail, a page

at a time, to his wife.

a week before he’s to step up to the podium and

defend his work rather than hiscountry

he is killed in action.

even as the bullets rip

through him he still wishes he could have become a professor

in French literature and

the university awards him a posthumous Ph.D.

sex is

 

a woman breaks down in tears on the phone because

a week is not enough time to

get over a breakup.

her sister drives an hour across town,

comes up the front steps with

a gallon of ice cream and somebeer

and together they eat moose tracks and marathon

every

single

Godzilla movie

ever made.

 

sex is

she’s late for work but her car isn’t

starting and even through her coat and hat she’s cold.

she knows she can’t be late again because she’s missed

one time too many already because her

father’s nurse was sick with the flu and someone

needed to help him bathe.

the clock ticks past fifteen after and she hits

the wheel like it’s a heavy bag as though that will help

steps on the gas like the car will go

and wonders how she will pay rent

and how she will feed her father.

sex is

 

it takes three people to hold the predator down because

even with the cover over his head

a bleeding eye and shattered wing

he is trying to hurt them.

none of them have seen this bird before in their lives but

they bandage his wing and head and give him a painkiller and

put him in a warm place to sleep and heal because

it is right.

at first he is paralyzed and cannot

fly but soon he is taking steps

and then fluttering, and then soaring, and

six months later he is whole and healed and hunting.

once he is gone they never see him again

which means they’ve done their jobs right.

sex is

 

in 1969 a girl watches grey-and-white footage on her parents’ tiny television and

can’t quite believe that what she is seeing is not a movie set but

another planet.

the men on the screen look a little like

aliens with bulbous heads and no faces and fat

marshmallow arms

but they are still men.

her mother puffs on a cigarette behind her and declares that

this is progress

even if it was just a small step.

the girl grows up to be not an astronaut but a secretary

and her boss calls her ‘sweetheart’.

but sex is

 

a boy is taught that real men don’t cry so

he doesn’t.

when his best friend dies from a self-inflicted

gunshot wound, he locks himself

in the shower every day and sobs under scalding

water until it runs cold

so nobody will see him grieving

so nobody will see that tears are just love that

has no place left to go.

he learns to dull love rather than suppress its expression and

soon the owner of the liquor store knows him by name.

three DUIs, two evictions, and twelve steps later,

he is feeding people at a homeless shelter,

and telling them it’s all right to cry.

Sex is

 

the broken man tells the comedian

that he didn’t mean to step in front of the car but the rain

made it hard to see.

he seems okay but his leg

does not.

the comedian clutches a grubby receipt with the driver’s

plate number scrawled on the back

in pink pen, stands out in the rain so the broken man

can have his umbrella,

and gives him the comedy routine that ruined his career

so the man doesn’t think about the pain in his leg.

once he’s out of the hospital, the fixed man sends him a thank-you card

with kittens on it.

what makes us human

 

yawning is contagious,

and there is a species of bird whose young we call “pufflings”.

melodic collections of sound, spaced by silence,

can move us to tears.

the tallest building in the world is

two-thousand seven-hundred and seventeen feet tall.

in less than eighty years we went from our first powered flight

to touching the moon,

and in one-hundred from the first phone call

to instantaneous connection between thinking machines of our own creation.

we make pies out of tree organs

and let cow’s milk ferment until it hardens and then

we put them together, because apple pie with cheddar cheese is delicious.

what makes us human is

the earliest fossils of anatomically modern humans are

two-hundred thousand years old .

we have had pet dogs

for sixteen-thousand of those years, longer

than corn

or the wheel.

the steps we take are part of

one of the most energy-efficient gaits the

animal kingdom has ever seen.

we invented the concepts of love

and hate

and justice, and mercy

and we invented the language to convey them.

we sharpened rocks, then metal, to convince other people

who don’t hold the same idea of those things as we do

because we think

it’s right.

we are two hundred millennia of love and disappointment and

sorrow and innovation and

mercy and kindness and dreams

and failure

and recovery.

but sex is what makes us human.

Dear Straight People - Denice Frohman

Dear straight people
Who do you think you are?
Do you have to make it so obvious that I make you uncomfortable?
Do you know that makes me uncomfortable?
Now we’re both uncomfortable.

Dear straight people
You’re the reason we stay in the closet.
You’re the reason we even have a closet,
I don’t like closets
But you’ve made the living room an unshared space
And now I’m feeling like a guest in my own house.

Dear straight people
Sexuality and gender: two different things,
Combined in many different ways,
If you mismatch your socks you’ll understand.

Dear hip hop
Why’re you so fascinated with discovering gay rappers?
Gay people rap,
Just like gay people ride bikes and eat tofu.

Dear straight people
I don’t think God has a sexual orientation
But if she were straight she’d be a dope ally,
Why else would she invent rainbows?

Dear straight women
- I mean ‘straight’ women,
Leave me the fuck alone.

Dear straight men
If I’m flirting with you it’s because I think it’s funny,
Just laugh.

Dear straight people
I’m tired of having to prove my love is authentic
So I’m calling for reparations on your asses.
When did you realise you were straight?
Who taught you?
Did it happen because your parents are divorced?
Did it happen because your parents are not divorced?
Did it happen because you sniffed too much glue in fifth grade?

Dear straight people
Why do I have to prove my love is authentic?
Why do I have to prove my love is authentic?
Why do I have to prove my love is authentic?

Dear straight people
Why do you have to stare at me
When I’m holding my girlfriend’s hand like I’m about to rob you?

Dear straight people
You make me want to fucking rob you.

Dear straight allies
Thank you,
More please.

Dear straight bullies
You’re right, we don’t have the same values,
You kill everything that’s different,
I preserve it.
Tell me,
What happened to
Jorge Mercado?
Sakia Gunn?
Lawrence King?
What happened to the souls
Alienated between too many high school walls
Who planned the angle of their death in math class,
Who imagined their funerals as ticker tape parades,
Who thought the after life was more like an after party?
Did you notice that hate is alive and well in too many lunch rooms?
Taught in the silence of too many teachers,
Passed down like second hand clothing from too many parents.

Dear queer young girl
I see you,
You don’t want them to see you
So you change the pronouns in your love poems to 'him’
Instead of 'her’.
I used to do that.

Dear straight people
You make young poets make bad edits.

Dear straight people
Kissing my girlfriend in public
without looking to see who is around
Is a luxury I do not fully have yet,
But tonight I am drunk in my freedom,
Wrap her hand on the busiest street corner in Philadelphia,
Zip my fingers into hers and press our lips firmly
Until we melt their stares into a standing ovation,
Imagine that we are in a sea of smiling faces even when we’re not,
And when we’re not we start shovelling,
Digging deep into each others eyes we say
“Hey baby ain’t nothing can stop us tonight,
'Cause tonight this world is broken and we are the only thing
That’s gonna keep it together”.

math hat

i had a teacher in school tell me
i was one of those people
who couldn’t do math.
when you’re a little person
you’re taught to listen to
and believe big people,
so i did.
and he was right.
all through my pre-college schooling
i couldn’t do math.

when i got to college
i had learned that adults
weren’t always right,
and i could do math.
i killed it at math.
i was a fucking rock star at math.
so fuck you, mr. johnson,
you ass hat.
i wish i’d had the balls back then
to say
you’re just one of those people
who can’t teach kids.

© j.a. carter-winward

From Work In Progress coming in Spring 2017


“The question ‘Who am I?’ is not really meant to get an answer, the question ‘Who am I?’ is meant to dissolve the questioner.                    —                Ramana Maharshi

You do not know who you are, because you are attempting to define yourself based on the responses and reactions of other people
who have no idea who they are either
We are all filled with contradictions and inner battles, Mars is a battle, Saturn is too critical, Uranus is demanding change, Venus wants us to chase something delusional, each of the archetypes reflects through us in a self that does not exist as Walt Whitman the great Gemini says
“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes.”
You are special

she’s already empty
long before you
tried to leave her

she’s afraid of filling up the void
with parts of other people
who just want to play

she said if she could be with 
her own self for a day,
she’ll do her best to 
to make herself stay

two funerals

On the way to the funeral, I say that I don’t love you anymore.
And then we hit traffic.

That is the tragedy of our relationship,
crammed into small places -
we have too much time when we don’t want it,
never enough time when we do,
each of us too stubborn to say anything
as we glare out of opposite windows.

-

When we had our first kiss last July,
you stuffed yourself into a tiny subway beam
just to prove that you could.
Your shoulders collapsed around your ribcage,
and you crossed your legs, and you tied your arms,
and you fit.

We kissed in a crowd of forty-five people
who stank with sweat and rain and pizza grease.,
yellow puddles full of pride parade glitter,
fallen flower petals from tired debutantes.

-

Hour two of the car ride. My playlist has run out.
You ask me when I stopped loving you.
I start the playlist from the beginning.

-

Distance. When we weren’t crowded in,
there was distance,
hundreds of miles that we didn’t know how to cross.
I didn’t trust the men in your life,
and you didn’t trust me around the women in mine,
and we got tired of holding pillows for warmth.
Perhaps that’s why whenever we were in the same city,
we crashed together like sharks fighting to swallow each other,
to make the distance disappear.

-

Hour four. You have rolled down your window,
letting in the smell of car exhaust and cigarette smoke
from the station wagon in front of us.
You whisper, “I don’t love you, either.”

-

Maybe you were right not to trust me around those women.
They weren’t better than you
- worse, even -
but they were there.
And when we lay in the same bed,
we never fought for space.
I spooned them without touching;
they said good morning without looking at me.
We never did anything —no, I never cheated,
not with my body —
but I couldn’t have fallen asleep without them.

Hour six. You have pretended to fall asleep
three times. I would have done the same
if I weren’t driving.
We should have arrived four hours ago.
I shake your shoulder.
Almost there. Show me where your aunt’s house is.
How long has it been? The two-hour ride became six.
Just like our two-day fling became a six-month relationship
that inched down one long road.

We pull up to your aunt’s house.
“She’s going to want to meet you,” you say limply.
“She’s heard so much about you.
Just come inside and pretend that everything is okay.”
And I would, I really would,
but her driveway is small and the street is so crammed with cars
that there is nowhere for me to park.

-

You do not wave as you watch me go.

We have a new power couple!

And no, it’s not Kamiyan x the author of Arakawa under the Bridge lol.  I can still taste the fandom’s salty tears (including mine) during that hectic period.  Good times indeed lmao.

Anyway, please give a round of applause for these two beautiful people

who have joined hands to become-  Wait a second, that picture doesn’t do them justice. 

Let me see what I can find

Not feeling that one either?  Yeah I also pretend Prince of Stride doesn’t exist. But okay okay, I’ll get serious

But seriously, congratulations to the happy couple!  May they have long-lasting happiness being with each other and overcome hardships bound to strike their way, especially in an industry of such nature.  I’ve known of them for a roughly equal amount of time, so they being an item doesn’t feel out of place for me at all.  In fact, it is almost too good to be true, for I’ve always come to expect hot people to end up with someone less good-looking than them.  It happens way too frequently, man.

And now for a trip down memory lane and a bit of detective work.  I believe their earliest interactions as parts of the cast within the same anime stemmed all the way from Magi in late 2012?

Which I believe lasted for a good 2 years with two 2-cour seasons and a series of OVAs?

Edit: Another anime they’ve both appeared in (thanks anon for your input!): 

(Junketsu no Maria in 2015)

Then fast forward to 2016 they both starred in this hot mess

as well as in Bungou stray dogs


so I’d say they have their fair share of time working together.  And bonus points for hot characters.

Wow, I haven’t been this excited about seiyuus’ romance since SuzuKen and Maaya came out with their marriage in public.  Well what can I do, it’s not my fault I adore them.

and I can guarantee that I’ll be eyeing like a hawk for more candid moments of them together in any public event now muahaha.  This so much fun <3

Excuse me but

  • muggleborn Jack Kelly
  • who had imaginary friends that he insisted were real until he got his letter, when his parents finally realized they were
  • who’s scribbles came to life and that’s why he worked so hard to get better at drawing
  • who learned to draw mouths and eyes particularly well so his pictures could see and talk
  • who was able to get away from whoever was chasing him but was never sure how
  • who never really felt normal until he was surrounded by other magical people
  • who was never prouder than the first time he painted a portrait imbued with the actual personality of the person he was painting, because it meant he was an accurate painter
  • who can’t get enough of magical history mostly because he can go to magical museums and talk to the people who were there and were preserved in ghosts and portraits
  • who adores walking slowly through the halls of Hogwarts talking to the paintings
  • who befriends Sir Cadogan and the drunk monks
  • who probably has magical pictures of his friends at home so he’s not lonely when he’s home for the summer
  • who painted the walls of his dorm room with scenes that don’t even include people but he made come alive so it always looks like sunrise only without light coming from it
  • just muggleborn Jack Kelly, yeah?
Calling The Les Mis Fandom!

@probably-pride-related and @everything-isconnected are excited to announce a new project!

 Given the world’s current state, what everyone needs is a positive pick-me-up. Something that brings a whole lotta people together whilst simultaneously inspiring rebellion and change. Well, perhaps this could be it. 

We’re inviting all the les mis fandom, whether you play music, sing, or draw to help make a collaborative piece of art which promotes unity and solidarity despite all the stuff that’s going on.

 What You Have To Do 

  • submit a video of yourself singing ‘Do You Hear The People Sing?’ and the reprise in ‘Epilouge’ in your native language to us with your name and country. 
  • (seriously, the less english the better)
  •  AND/ OR submit a video of yourself playing the song with your name and country.
  •  AND/ OR submit a piece of art with your name and country. the only rules are: no nsfw, no specific ships and nothing potentially triggering (we want this to be accessible for everyone)!

 EVERYONE who participates will be added in some way

 Extra points for cosplay! 

Under the cut I’m gonna put the lyrics in english just in case you’re not sure on what exactly to sing. (if anyone would like to add their own language’s lyrics, please feel free! 

Keep reading

Museum
Samaa Ahmed

It’s this very weird feeling
watching white people take photos and ooh and aah over the artwork and artifacts
of ancient Chinese dynasties
and walk so respectfully by monuments
built by brown hands
in Egypt
Iraq
Afghanistan
stolen from their natural habitat

to be put in a sterile
I mean sterilized
I mean white
museum
that they would otherwise never give a fuck about had they not been displayed so pretty
with captions
I mean explanations
in English, of course
next to them.

These people
who bring their children here over their summer vacations
and sign them up for ‘cultural’ field trips at school
and buy replicas of our temples
and deities
and fake pashminas in the gift shop
are also the same people who
can’t be bothered to pronounce my name right
or find our countries on a map
they tell us to assimilate
to lose our accents
they won’t hire us
or think about how imperialism is so low key insidious

I’m getting ahead of myself here

I mean these people who
broadcast their anti-immigrant xenophobic hatred
I mean the ones who
sign racist bills into laws

I mean who is on display here for whose entertainment?

Apparently we’re lovely
I mean exotic
in antiquity
and behind glass
and if we are for sale.

Disheartening

My God,
What is wrong with us?

A girl is raped on Facebook live
The video is uploaded
And out of the 35 who watched
Only 1 person called the police

A grandfather was shot and killed
His murderer posted it

My God, my Lord
What is WRONG with us?

I still recall
The feelings I felt
When I saw Alton Sterling
Trembling and shaking like a leaf
As he took his last breath
I kept telling myself
I didn’t just watch a man die
Something told me not to view that
–post

I still haven’t been
Quite the same since
Seeing someone die like that
Does something to you
Or at least…
It should

Sometimes I regret
The day I willing tainted
My own innocence scarlet
That childless naivety
“People don’t get blown away like
–that in real life.
It only happens in the movies.”
And then again,
I’m grateful I did…
Because I’ve been exposed to
–a whole new
Reality
A world beyond myself
Where justice doesn’t always prevail
Where people are dying
Where bad things happen
And we
Can’t always seem to determine
The reason
Even though we so desperately
–look for it

And again,
I’m looking for it today…

I don’t know what’s more sickening

The man who uploaded his killing
Or the thousands of people
Who watched, commented, and shared it

Like it was nothing

Like HE was nothing

Perhaps
Those people are still in shock
And unlike me
They are still believing
That these things
Only happen
On TV screens,
“I didn’t really watch a man die.
I only watched the trailer
For the next action thriller…
Yeah…
That’s what it was.”

Watching to the very end…
But that release date never did show up,
Did it?

I’m so sorry to say,
But it won’t
And it’s not going to

Welcome to the real world,
Ladies and gentlemen
Where you are the guest feature
Starring: modern day society

I feel…so overwhelmed

As I sit here wondering
How do you think
That man’s family feels?
Better yet,
That killer has a family too…
How do you think both of the families
Of the victim and the suspect
Are doing right now?

Or have we become
Too desensitized to give a flip about
–anyone
Except ourselves?

The standard American way, right?

“It isn’t happening to me, so it isn’t happening.”

Jesus, my God, my Lord
O’ precious, precious Savior
What is wrong with us, God?

What on earth is WRONG
With US?

PEOPLE LIKE US

for James Wright

There are more like us. All over the world

There are confused people, who can’t remember
The name of their dog when they wake up, and people
Who love God but can’t remember where

He was when they went to sleep. It’s
All right. The world cleanses itself this way.
A wrong number occurs to you in the middle
Of the night, you dial it, it rings just in time

To save the house. And the second-story man
Gets the wrong address, where the insomniac lives,
And he’s lonely, and they talk, and the thief
Goes back to college. Even in graduate school,

You can wander into the wrong classroom,
And hear great poems lovingly spoken
By the wrong professor. And you find your soul,
And greatness has a defender, and even in death you’re safe.

ROBERT BLY

A Beautiful Annoyance

we are but spiders

frail, defenseless

yet feared by irrational people

who believe that we are a threat

to their perfectly constructed society

our lives are spider webs, carefully woven

out of seemingly thin air and while some look over them

some go

out of their way

to destroy them as

they believe webs are

a blight

a blemish

something easily

destroyed or forgotten 

yet a few very special people

look at spiderwevs and realize their

amazing complexity and intricate designs

durable, yet frail, not easily destroyed by rain or wind

sun or storm

yet can be brushed

aside by the back of a hand

knotted up

tangled

by people

who don’t realize

the time and effort put into

creating a life, creating a web

yet no matter how many spiders

are killed, feared, hated, cobwebs still seem

to appear everywhere, don’t they

and I hope they never 

disappear

because

the

patters

created

are

quite

beautiful

4

“Maybe soulmates
are just two ordinary people
who are too stubborn
to let the world pull them apart”
(x)