I'm sitting here with no socks on. It's mundane. I'm watching my father who is listening to Ozzy Osbourne because it's that kind of day. I disagree. With music, there is organization, there is rhythm . With today, there is no organization, no rhythm, only chaos. I wish that I could say I knew what was going to happen, but I don't. I hate it. I can't reasure myself, because there is no way to know what's going to happen. Nobody knows what is going to happen. We all just have to wait. Wait, and swear, and wait, and swear. I can only wait.
Last night, the dreaded question striked again. In sickly voices, "Who do you like???" I gave it a look of pure disdain and I gave the same answer I always do.
"Oh come on, tell meee!!"
"OMG Yes you doooo."
Why is my answer not good enough? It's the truth.
If you really want absolutely cold open honesty, here you go.
I'm asexual aromantic. No, that's not redundant.
I don't feel sexual attraction, stop telling me that I do. I don't feel romantic longing, at least not in the same way as you. I might make a friend who happens to use male pronouns. And you jump to conclusions.
Stop planning my wedding, stop telling me I just need to find the right one. Stop teasing me, stop poking fun.
What if someone suddenly teased you for being straight?
I am living in chittenden county. Last month I could say "I'm proud to live here, where we are handling the virus appropriately." And now I say, "What? What happened?"
but I know what happened. It has happened before; it will happen again.
When you put people together, the virus can spread. Measures can be taken to prevent it, but one slip up means it can spread. And if it can, it will. It's like a 4 year old confronted with a cookie jar.
I know you want to be invincible. You want people to see that you are brave. But really? Disobeying the new social construct when it comes to COVID guidelines isn't brave. Admitting that this virus is dangerous is brave. Wearing masks in public shows you care about other people. And we need you to care. More than that, we need you to show that you care.
I'm tired of seeing the numbers rise. But they're not just numbers. They are people.
I sat on a street corner, watching two women across the street gamble. The streetlights were flickering on and off, and whenever the street was periodically plunged into darkness I heard them swear. To my left was the old dairy, the stench of old cows and rusting metal wafting over me despite the fans that the town had voted to put in there to move the smell. Why they don't tear it down, I don't know. The Governor said something about history, and tradition. The Doctor said something about illnesses that could spread from the dust involved in taking it down. The Naturalist said something about preserving ecosystems. To my right were two vaguely familiar children, running around in the middle of the road. It's ok though, because no cars ever come this way anymore. There's talk of officially banning them (tourism, how despicable, says the Governor). It wouldn't affect me much, I haven't got a car.
Ruth, your words touch on things so sensitive so real and now that you're gone, I don't know how to feel. On one hand, we all have to say goodbye one day but why today? We need you. For on the other hand we haven't finished the work you started but how to start? You're a general commanding fleets of equality and hope but my hope's starting to deplete. Ruth, you've raised a mighty movement, a snarling butterfly of anger and denial and demands so long denied but Ruth, we can't do what you can! No, could; that's death, a shift. Can to could. Ruth, would you show us a way to do the good that you did, now that you're gone? We'll learn to live without you, but I don't want to move on. Fragility is everywhere, and yet it's taboo. I don't know how to be strong without you.
The president is squabbling, disregarding your wishes and
you are part of me and i am part of you but some people don't think so. some people will tear us apart even though you are beautiful, like a midnight sky full of stories. but you are black. and so they oppress you hurt you and strangle you until you can't breathe. they kill you.
It's. Just. Wrong.
unfortunately they don't realize that we are all descended from one person and that person was black.
for christians, i can't say for sure but it's likely that your Jesus was brown skinned.
Black people are human. They deserve to be treated like humans, not like animals. They deserve rights, and education and compassion.
you are a part of me, and i am a part of you and although i can not speak for other people i promise to respect you. i promise to care about you.