the longing lives. as i do

pride felt sad this year. for me. maybe for others. it felt empty. soulless. i talked and talked about the ways i hated cops and hated corporations. i did nothing about it. i couldn’t get the time off work to protest, build community, even feel for a moment like i was even symbolically challenging something i feel so intensely about. i got high and drunk in the evening, and i complained. i did nothing about it. i did not radicalize my hurt, my joy, or my righteous anger. here i am talking and doing nothing about it. i got heckled and harassed while drunk and high, and i made light or did nothing about it. i feel the shame and hurt and sadness control me in stagnation. my body is shriving up with the texture of a detailed plastic meeple from risk or maybe a shewed on plastic bottle cap while my skin stretches outward and weighs my body into an arch desiring collapse. i can breathe fine despite feeling a hole where my throat dissolved into. i desire community so passionately. i am also easy to ridicule. trying to form an understanding of the problems around me have forced me to desire coalition. i want to talk about my qualms and feel listened to. i shout into the void of a long tumblr dot com post that no one sees. i do nothing about it. i want to express what ive observed and researched and discovered and read and been challenged by learning and i desire this expression to be met with compassion and not contempt. I want to explore the ideas without feeling i must argue them prove them or prove myself worthy of having them. I want to implement the ideas I’ve worked through for years. i do nothing about it. pride is joy to so many. i sometimes envy not knowing or caring and partying and putting yourself first in every situation and getting to be an asshole because it’s catty or because someone else will be an asshole first. but i can’t and i won’t do anything about it. despite the frustration i do still desire community with these people and i desire a world where this joy doesn’t feel so dissonant with the world i live in with them. i am so sad about something i desire desperately want. i will find a way to do something about it.

i have been itching to do queer discourse in a way that may require intervention. i have so many thoughts tumblr dot com. i have qualms tumblr dot com. it’s the last weekend of pride month tumblr dot com.

i have been dead long enough. it is not conducive to a life i wish to live. i have lived in a dead world that lives on borrowed time. i have borrowed time i have not yet lived. i have outlived a death i assumed was due. i have lived the life i would have wanted. i want the life i have to live. i have to live the life i want. the life i want has to be a life undead. i dread a life i have not been. i have been dead long enough to live.

maybe it is the world. maybe i am of the world. the world i live in. the world i love in. there is a world i would love to live in. it lives in the love i live.

sometimes it is my circus and it is my monkeys, but also idrc what my monkeys are doing in their own time. go crazy monkey, love that for u.

awareness exists in a heaven unknown, that feeds hell in its ignorance. dying will find neither in yourself but ultimately create it for others. heaven is a hole in the wall. hell sits in your throat in a moment you can’t spit out. purge the purgatory from my vision, i can’t sit and see horror and greatness. let my eyes gaze upon the steps that lead to objectivity. fill my optics with binary divinity and disgust, and let me become overwhelmed with the resentment to the evil inside. ignite the good in me and illuminate the evil. let me toil with this in cycle until the world of compassion and shame can come to exist. let me step back into the world i live and see that view again. let grief consume and empathy persist. the world knows no evil in a world i can be kind.

haven’t i died here. this is more than déjà vu. the postmortem acknowledgement of a memory. a haunting of a place outside of time. the reminiscence of the pain i cannot examine. i am here to examine it so maybe i did not. maybe i lived passed a past moment i know only in a death unknown. i may pass judgment on a soul i can only sense subconsciously, my own.

i fear i have died on this hill already, enough to make this hill a necropolis. the echos yearn for completion of thought as they take another life on this hill. this hill i love.

mumbling of summer consume me. may my embrace be interrupted by sweat, and reengaged by the cool breeze that sweeps below my sundress. let this moment inebriate my judgment enough to see past the horrors of the passing moments. let my breath sober the air, while i release the season past. i have earned this, but i should not have had to. i will linger in this for how long i please