I have been thinking about how fictional worlds

thread with our realities,

how if you read a book,

watch a film,

see a play,

the subject matter and themes will

unconsciously make their way into your

daydreams,

I had been watching pride and prejudice,

thinking of Pemberley Estate,

the countryside,

how English hills can flood with hanging low

mist,

overcast and soft,

mild, almost ethereal,

or how it may tear itself open,

on ripe summer days,

the ground verdant and full,

I see an image of us, by a lake,

perhaps an old-fashioned picnic basket,

cherries, peaches, strawberries, plums,

feeding each-other grapes,

we could dip our feet in the water,

laze and kiss and,

have all in the time in the world somehow.

I would have a book of poetry,

Sappho perhaps, Elizabeth Bishop, Emily

Dickinson,

I could show you the ones I think you might like,

feed you a strawberry,

read you wild nights,

our hair and hands all tangled,

our words and thoughts entwined too,

and we forget all about the beautiful

countryside, and the fruit, and the poetry,

60 days down the road till I am,

rippling like a pond for you,

make me writhe with wet storm clouds shaking

my horizons sending waves,

still me with heavy heat summer days where

nothing moves and earth is coarse with love

and honeyed thick air,

move me gently with a cool autumn breeze soft

mornings strolls,

commence my tides to enter and draw back

steadily day after day never quit pushing me

out and pulling me in,

the moon and the wind fight bitterly over who

owns the water who moves who stills,

The heart wants,

What it wants,

And oh, I am miles from safety, now.

No going back.

There is no mechanism in the heart,

To bring it down if it overheats,

To bring it down at all, darling,

(But would you want to?

Don’t you like it when I make you heat up?

Bubble over…?)

I suppose what I’m saying is this:

Remember when people didn’t know you

should only heat oil in a deep fat fryer?

We would put hot oil in pots and pans and we

would leave it there because,

Human beings have a tendency to be

distracted?

And the oil would get far too hot and catch fire,

And we’d try to put it out with water,

But because of the oil it sinks and expands and

makes the oil shoot out of the pan in a fireball,

And consume the kitchen in flames,

But,

Isn’t that love?

Pancakes and apple tart,

And stays in bed all day,

My grandmother thinks that,

She is trying to maintain,

Her figure,

But she is 97 and I think,

I think she is doing what she must,

To survive,

They had to take her bike away from her when

she was in her early 90s,

And more recently had to tell her to stop going

for walks.

I come from a long line of people,

Who refuse to acknowledge their old age.

My grandfather on my father’s side wrote

poems and painted and had a girlfriend,

He went to the theatre,

Nobody stopped him from living,

Like he was in his 20s.

My great aunt has surely but slowly had

everything,

Taken from her grasp,

And I think she is just,

So tired,

So she eats pancakes and apple tart,

Northern Ireland):

You pushed me from my home,

The moment you mentioned sanctity,

That I‘d be dirtying something,

If I touched it,

I’d be ruining it for everyone else,

If I took part,

But what is sanctity anyway?

Am I capable of being god’s child?

Must I strip back layers of my love first?

But can I love god,

If I cannot love myself?

Can I love myself,

If I am not myself?

I can’t help but love.

And I’d quite like to get married,

And maybe to have my first dance to Elvis,

And to throw the bouquet,

And to hear the words:

“You may now kiss!”

Does that sound unclean to you?

I want to honeymoon, somewhere in Italy,

I want us to cook dinner for one another.

Is that impure?

I want to have and to hold in sickness and in

health till death do us part.

Is that fucking dirty?

Does it make you sick?

The moment this country said no,

You are not love,

You want,

To kill,

Love.

Even when other people were saying,

We understand you, you are good, you are

clean,

You are love.

This stopped being my home,

You tore the ground from under me,

in the name of “sanctity”,

I’d love to stop being angry about it,

I would love to,

But my policy has not changed my policy has

not changed my policy has not changed,

My policy will not change,

And that is all you and I will ever have in

common.

/ˈhiːlɪŋ/

noun

1.

the process of making or becoming sound or healthy again.

*

Healing as a process and not a one-time action,

As a continuum.

As a pathway that doesn’t exactly end.

Recovery as a repetition,

Learning and re-learning.

Leaning healing doesn’t happen,

Overnight.

I am not going to wake up one morning and

realise I’m better.

In fact I don’t believe I will ever be “better”.

But I might in retrospect,

Look back at myself and think,

“Hey I don’t worry about that little thing

that I used to anymore”,

And repeat.

And to me, that is healing.

*

On June, 20th the JURI of European Parliament approved of the articles 11 and 13 of the new Copyright Law. These articles are also known as the “Link Tax” and the “Censorship Machines” articles.

Articles 13 in particular forces every internet platform to filter all the contents we upload online, ending once and for all the fandom culture. Which means you won’t be able to upload any type of fandom works like fan arts, fan fictions, gif sets from your favourite films and series, edits, because it’s all copyrighted material. And you won’t also be able to share, enjoy or download other’s contents, because the use of links will be completely restricted.

But not everything’s lost yet. There’s another round of voting scheduled for the early days of July.

What you can do now to save our internet, is to share these informations with all of your family members and friends, and to ask to your MEP (the members of the European Parliament from your country) to vote NO at the next round, to vote against articles 11 and 13.

Here you can find more news and all the details to contact your MEP:

https://saveyourinternet.eu

Also, sign and share this petition:

https://www.change.org/p/european-parliament-stop-the-censorship-machinery-save-the-internet?recruiter=50668942&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial

We have just a couple of weeks to stop this complete madness, don’t let them dictating the way we enjoy our internet.

https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=CELEX:52016PC0593

https://creativecommons.org/2018/06/20/european-parliaments-legal-affairs-committee-gives-green-light-to-harmful-link-tax-and-pervasive-platform-censorship/?utm_source=social&utm_medium=twitterfacebook&utm_content=JURI-vote-june-20

https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/article-13-european-parliament-internet-censorship-copyright-a8408531.html?amp&__twitter_impression=true

https://amp.theguardian.com/technology/2018/jun/20/eu-votes-for-copyright-law-that-would-make-internet-a-tool-for-control?__twitter_impression=true

http://www.wired.co.uk/article/eu-meme-war-article-13-regulation

Also ao3 has spoken out about this

https://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/10637

me:

me:

me:

My love,

You are the sun moon stars,

Familiar like trees behind my home that I’ve

known since I was maybe 2 foot tall,

Giving like water in a river that spreads life

throughout the forest,

In you I see nature’s greatest works,

In you I understand the belief in divinity,

I have devoted myself to you,

Devoted my body to you,

I understand what I saw in the holy book again,

Know what it’s like to feel wholly compelled

towards one being,

What it’s like to feel wholly committed to one

singular celestial body,

My line of orbit surrounding you,

I plant my heart in the soil of your body,

Entrust it’s growth to you my love’s convent,

I’ve been thinking about comets my love,

I’ve been thinking about planets colliding,

Connections that cannot be denied,

Birth of supernovas,

Birth of Aphrodite in the seashell womb,

How roses unfurl slowly as they grow into their

delicate bodies,

How your love feels,

Delectable,

Rich,

Transcending any other pleasure,

My love is,

Larger than Jupiter,

Sweeter than honey,

Wider than the body between us,

I know it is fatuous, cliché, over-sweet,

But I only wish to be wrapped up

In your soft edges,

Like a bee,

Enriched by golden nectar,