Galatea & Acis

THE LAST DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

I have spent a significant portion of my life sick in bed. This means I have read... a lot of fanfiction. I do not want to run the numbers (for my own sanity) but there is a nonzero chance that I have read a greater volume of fanfiction than most of you will in a lifetime (yes, even in a tumblr crowd, where I have some real competition 😆).

For a number of years I was really embarrassed by this because for most of my life, I've fit best with the 'socially elitist nerd' set. You know - the ones who don't care if you make a little less eye contact, as long as your performance of intelligence can make them feel intelligent too. I "passed" there. So more than a decade of constant fluff and rom-com "junk" really felt like something I should be ashamed of.

But I've realized recently what fanfiction (or any free web fiction) really is. It's the author's hopes. It's the author's fears. It's all the things you wouldn't write to publish because they feel too sad, or sinful, or sacred.

Without really thinking about it, I've been drinking from the well of human desire - from fear, and love, and lust. I've been reading your precious wishes for family, or protection, or connection. I've been learning how you dream life could be.

Thank you to every writer whose work I have read or will read someday. Thank you for sharing the most precious parts of your heart, even when you didn't realize what you were doing. To every writer out there - every middle schooler with dreams, every suburban mom wishing her life could be something more. You reached out into the oblivion with the piece of yourself you probably don't even share with those closest. And somewhere in this world, a person noticed. Your dreams and hopes and wishes became a piece of me too.

do you know what’s so funny? a couple months after posting this, i ran into the main guy i was thinking of when i wrote it!!!! we were both doing so much better than we were in high school, and he held no hard feelings against me. he didn’t really remember me “wronging” him in the first place and he was kind of like well i also didn’t show up for you so…

idk if there’s a lesson here apart from acknowledging that being a young adult is hard and stupid. maybe what we can start with is this: if you’re being haunted by this sense of not showing up for your friends during a really hard time in your life, ask if what you’re actually doing is projecting memories of not showing up for YOURSELF onto showing up for others. (because of course your relationships are going to suffer as a result of this… but the solution isn’t ‘show up for yourself less’ which at this time in my life, i thought it was. learned the hard way it isn’t.)

the lines on the bottom say do not microwave but i have been microwaving it for 7 years now. i put it away wet and it must have slid off the counter. it broke into 6 pieces. my girlfriend says this is proof a ghost that lives in my house; particularly because it is a black mug with a ouija board design. i think it is proof that i should dry things before i put them away.

i had superglue from an abandoned art project. it took me four days. inspired by kintsugi, i painted the seams golden. it is my first time doing anything like this, and it was more error than trial. i do not have any fancy materials. there is a thick band of gold across the no, so it reads like a diphthong now, N\O. a part of it broke in an almost-perfect peace sign, oddly round.

it will not be watertight anymore, it cannot be a mug. i'll reuse it as a flower pot. it will go on my back porch. it is kind of ugly, really. i didn't do an excellent job.

i spent every minute of this repair thinking about how often i had used it. how many little rituals it has been a part of. it is a big mug, but not a soup mug, which i loathe. it is perfect for two hands to hold. i have used it almost daily, so often that many of the details have worn off. my own skin did that - almost a decade of shared warmth.

none of the times i have told this story has a single person said what do you mean you have a favorite mug. not a single person who has seen the resulting half-maimed piece has said why would you put that back together? not a single person has said this is a waste of time. not a single person has told me what's the point of this? if you want to find a new mug, just use AI.

somewhere someone is probably using AI to draw an image or write a poem, i know that is true. but i think it is also probably true that most of us are going to write and read and draw and dance just because. that the process of doing so is not for a goal or a specific benefit, but because for thousands of years now - when a piece of pottery breaks, we try to fix it. for thousands of years - long before capitalism had any say in it - humans have been doing things just for the experience of it. for the fuck of it. for the love of the game.

ai is not going to win because i cut my thumb while i did it. ai is not going to win because i kept thinking about my all friends who do ceramics, how they're always asking me if i want to join them for a lesson. i was thinking about every person i've ever shared a coffee with. i was thinking about who i was when i bought this mug (graduate student. could barely afford the off-season thing on clearance). i was thinking about how many hands have held this, how many people i've been since.

ai is not going to win because i didn't do a perfect job of it.

my sister-in-law and i recently had a conversation about how one of her coworkers uses Chat instead of reading self-help books. and we both looked at each other about that, the stunned silence of rabbits. "can you imagine?" we said. what's even the point to it.