Jude

Some of my hobbies are writing, reading, watching movies, going on nature walks, baking, witchcraft, tarot, and i wanna get into urbexing.

My interests: philosophy, politics, sociology, religion, cannibalism, true crime.

DNI: basics, if you are under 17 please do not follow or dm.

You assume your source of warmth must feel like heaven to the touch, only to find yourself burning up when you push too far.

My wings are more than tattered, and to say that I’ve been bruised would be a severe understatement.

Still, I’ll heal, for my wings can be reconstructed and my body bandaged, though it’ll be harder, scarier, I’ll learn to fly once more.

Finding the balance isn’t the hard part, it’s learning how to not give into your desire for more, especially when you know you deserve it.

Dear God,

I hope this finds you well. For years, I’ve desired your presence. To know the feeling of worshipping a higher being, or, at the very least, communicating with one. I’m finally starting to really see you. It’s been fun finding you in places the church told me not to look. I see you in the garden, roadkill, rotten fruit, the preservation of bones, rushed moments of intimacy. I wonder, sometimes, if I’m seeing myself in these things as much as I see you. Are they one and the same? Could I be the God I claim to worship? Blasphemy.

I’m not one of your sacrificial lambs. I won’t stain my knees blue and black for you, I won’t enter the lion’s cage. I am a sinful creature and, as the saying goes, the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn’t, my guilt will not purify me and I don’t wish it to. I will scream to the angels above and they will hear my prayer. I’ll let them know how much I ache, not because of my sinful nature, but due to the expectation of perfection. I was made in your image, was I not? You gave me teeth and claws and then punished me for discovering the use. Sadist. You put me here only to make me suffer. And yet, I come back to you. A broken, abused dog and I still allow you to pet me, flinching at your touch as your hands graze over my wounds. Do forgive me for my anger, it comes from fear.

Maybe it’s not quite accurate to say I worship you. I think of you more as an acquaintance. A friend of a friend perhaps. I’ll hesitantly invite you to my birthday party. You know me more than I thought, it’s shown in your gifts. It’s almost scary. Right now, everything I thought I knew about you feels like it’s falling apart. I don’t think you exist in the version of you that was shaped by fear, guilt, or control. I don’t think you’re in the parts that made me feel small or ashamed.

I’ve been disappointed. Hell, I’ve been angry. There were times I felt like if you were there you weren’t listening, or you were something I didn’t see a reason to believe in. I’m still not sure what to do with that, but I know that disappointment doesn’t have to be the end of it.

I was told you were something fixed and unchanging, something I was supposed to understand without question, but the more I try to find you like that, the more distant you feel. Maybe that’s because I’m not meant to inherit an idea of you, I’m meant to build one. I hope you’re something that can handle being questioned and you’re not as fragile as the versions of you I’ve been shown. I need to think and take apart everything I’ve been given and decide what actually feels true. If you are there, will you meet me as I am?

Your son,

I am a rotting deer, lying on the shoulder of Southern State.

Dried blood seeped into the asphalt.

Flies gather and sit on my exposed ribcage.

How did I end up here?

I once had a purpose, a life, now all I am is meat.

And not even the good meat.

This body of mine doesn’t get to be savored.

Maggots are all that feed on me.

have my nightmares been contained in this pillow since I was young?

Are these the screams of a 9 year old me

or of the pillow itself?

It must be maddening experiencing nightmares over and over again,

but, behind those screams, I can almost hear a heaven.

Many choose stay within the boundaries of what is “ethical” and legal. While I do not shame their choice, there’s something to be said about so-called morality and ethics. Do you really believe that cannibalism, even when consensual, is immoral? Monstrous even? Or were you fed those ideas by the very same people who commit these atrocities? And please, don’t take this as me saying your parents or grandparents are to blame for this, since I know they likely played a part in your morals; they are victims of the system as well. All I’m saying is you should take more time to unpack the ideas that have been instilled in you. Is it really so abhorrent for someone to get a taste of the deepest parts of you, both metaphorically and physically? Is it so wrong to kiss with the copper tang of life on your lips—the very blood that sustains you—while the love of your life tends to your wounds?

It seems to be a common misconception that cannibalism has to be violent and non-consensual, could this be because that is what we see in our meat industry? Our industrialized farming system often involves extreme confinement and brutal slaughter, which primes us to believe that "eating" and "cruelty" are inseparable. The shock value of violent cannibalism in media distracts from the abstract possibility of it being non-violent, further strengthening the link between cannibalism and a violation of bodily autonomy. If we only understand the act of eating meat as a one-sided imposition of power over a "lesser" being, then consensual cannibalism becomes unimaginable. The horror of cannibalism often has less to do with the physical act of eating human tissue—which can be done without murder or cruelty—and more to do with the manner of acquisition. If the meat industry were not based on violent, non-consensual exploitation, our cultural perception of "consuming flesh" might be different.

do you have any cool fun facts about cannibalism?

1. The human body is roughly 125k calories.

2. Cannibals often note the palms, fingers, toes, and the breasts as the most favored parts.

3. Fiji was formerly known as “the cannibal islands” due to the widespread practice in the region before colonial influence.

4. Some cultures ate their deceased relatives as a sign of love and respect, believing it was more honorable than leaving them to rot or be eaten by worms.

5. In the 16th and 17th centuries, Europeans used ground-up Egyptian mummies as medicine for various ailments. Other remedies included drinking fresh human blood to treat epilepsy and using human fat as a balm for arthritis.

6. The Korowai are often cited as one of the few groups that practiced cannibalism into the 21st century. They reportedly believed they were eating a khakhua (a witch-like demon) rather than a human being.

The other is something softer, and far more unsettling. This one is guided by tenderness, by the unbearable weight of distance. They don’t consume for spectacle, but because separation itself feels intolerable. It’s a kind of love that twists into something physical, something with teeth—a tragic, aching devotion.