When I told you that my parents were supportive of my coming out, I lied. I had this friend when I was fourteen, Eliza Wilkie. We’d hang out in her parents’ basement watching horror flicks and smoking cigarettes. I- She was the first girl that I knew that I liked in a way that was different. And I thought that she liked me too, so on Valentine’s Day I put a card in her locker declaring my feelings and asking her to the dance. Well, she gave that card to her parents.
You see a sentence
written in cyrillic. Some of the letters are familiar. You see the
meaning shimmering underneath the surface. You almost grasp it, but it slips away. The letters on the page mock you silently.
You know this Czech word. You’ve already learnt it in Polish. It is not the same word. It is a grave insult. Your slavic friends are shocked and embarassed for you when they hear you speak it.
There is a sentence in
Croatian. There is a sentence in Serbian. There is a sentence in
Bosnian. They are all the same sentence.
You have to write about your day in Slovak. You spend the night polishing the draft. You fail your assigment. It’s written in Czech. You don’t know Czech.
P is not what it seems. You have to remember that.
The Croatian sentence
does not mean what the Bosnian sentence means. They both mean the same in Serbian.
That word has a diminutive. The diminutive has its own diminutive. The diminutive of the diminutive also has a diminutive. Nobody knows what the final diminutive of a word is. Some say the knowledge had been lost in centuries past and matrioshkas are the echo, the tangible warning left for us to remember. No living creature should hold the means of diminishing something into nonexistence. Others say you may still find some of them in old soviet textbooks, if you dare to look in abandoned schools of Chernobyl.
Someone is speaking to you. Is that a he or a she? You aren’t sure. It’s an abstract concept. Why does it have gender.
You see a word in a
dictionary. It has seventeen letters and only one vowel. You close the dictionary very carefully not
looking at the phonetic transcription. The shape of it haunts you in
your sleep. You wake
up face damp with tears, a bitter taste on your tongue. The clock blinks 3:03AM. You do not dare look up that word again.
This word means the
same thing in the five slavic languages you’re familiar with. You use
it in the sixth one. That word does not exist in this language. It never
did. There is now a word-shaped void in the fabric of this language.
The natives look at you uneasily. There is a new quality to the silence and your palms start to sweat.
H is not H. H is not H. H is not H. H is not H.
One day you flip through your dictionary. A page is missing. What was the word? You can’t remember. There is pressure building at the back of your head. The clock blinks 3:03AM.
You write my name
is in cyrillic. There are shadows dancing on the walls. They grow
longer with each letter you write down. It is not cyrillic you’re
using. You keep writing my name is. The shadows now bleed from
the tip of your pen. It’s irrelevant. You need to remember the right
N is not N is not N is
not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N
is not… If only you could remember the letters. The letters are important. What was it, that wasn’t N?
There are nine different prefixes
you can add to a verb to change its meaning. There are fifty three different suffixes you have to add to a verb to make it
work. In the end the only thing left of the original is a vague shape
of one of its middle consonants.
You can feel the anguish radiating from the verb’s mutialted form. A desperate sob escapes through your clenched teeth.
You’re so, so sorry, you didn’t meant to. You didn’t. It doesn’t matter.
You now read a text in
Russian. You’ve never learnt Russian. Why are you reading that text? The words burn your eyes,
the meaning searing your mind.
There’s a shot of vodka in front of
you. You don’t drink alcohol. You don’t care. All existence is
meaningless, your soul’s in eternal pain. A broken matrioshka lays at your feet. There is no salvation, she says boring into your eyes. You open your mouth to answer, but there is only a burst of harsh rustle. It dies in whispering echoes a moment later. Your glass is empty again.
the get down fans: maybe shaolin should get out of the abusive environment he’s in with fat annie and then the writers can focus on developing him as a character and really connecting with his identity as a potentially lgbtq+ black man in the 70s!
Aesthetic: Bruce and Dick sitting in a restaurant, the check comes in, jokingly fighting with each other they open their wallets to take care of it, and you can see that both of them have a photo of Damian in it.
voltron characters as things i have heard people actually say in my ap classes part two:
sendak: “i would willingly stab out my own eye with this pencil if it means i look more badass”
haxus: “sometimes i just look at myself in the mirror and think ‘holy shit i’m so attractive’ or ‘who the fuck dragged this piece of shit out of the garbage’ and there’s just no in between”
thace: “sometimes i sigh so loud that i’m genuinely surprised my lungs aren’t catapulted from my chest cavity”
prorok: “wow can you believe you get to breathe the same air as me ??? you must be blessed *finger guns*”
rolo: “wanna hear about the time i saw jesus after mixing four shots of caffeine with two red bulls and a redline ??? lol i don’t know how i’m alive either but i got my essay done in like twenty minutes”
nyma: “i got an 89 on the last essay and a 36 on the one we just got back and all i can say is get you a girl that can do both”
shay: “*shoving cloth into her bag from the theater department* i keep telling everyone that i own cats but it’s a lie. its a dirty dirty lie these are for the raccoons that visit my backyard. i also buy cat food for raccoons can you believe the predicament i’m in”
kolivan: “bitch i would punt you into the sun no hesitation”
ulaz: “my life is the bee movie except every time someone says ‘essay’ i die just a little more inside”
antok: “everyone says i’m a chill guy but my life is crashing down around me and my internal monologue is one giant keyboard smash on caps lock *takes sip of coffee*”
Listen I don’t care what the Boruto manga says Naruto is everyones dad and he’s super invested. Shows up to all the academy PTA meetings. Sits in the front row to cheer on Inojin at the spelling bee. Has tea parties with Himawari and her stuffed animals. Hosts Sarada’s favorite book club every thursday night. Oh Shikadai fucked up? Shikamaru, Temari, and Naruto are very disappointed.
Have a moment between two characters that doesn’t know much about each other than they should.
Abel the rebel angel…
Axel the fallen Angel…
Two creations with two different live. Your creators trying to hurt and save them for the sake of their lives. Joshua has some explaining to do.
This is a special project from me to @the-vampire-inside-me
And I hope we have more things like this with Abel and Axel. All the love 💚💚💙