Stones in my pockets

1.
I wish I could store energy like a cat. It'd come in handy when my brain decides my body doesn't actually need sleep.

2.
My sense of productivity is completely tied to creative output. I've done a bunch of chores, answered emails and typed up what I wrote Friday, and still feel like I haven't accomplished anything today because I haven't written any new words.

3.
My sense of time goes all to hell when other people aren't around.

4.
I get stickers when I do 1000 words a day.
Yeah, that actually works on me.

5.
Does having pebbles wedged in it make a fairy stone defective, or is it once a fairy stone always a fairy stone?

6.
Just own up and say you made a mistake. I can respect that.
I respect honesty.

7.
Watching someone I love go through exactly what I went through with Topher and I can't do anything but scream: Get out! over and over and hope he listens.

I want to say: I will fix it. I will keep you safe. I will make it okay.

But I can't.

I can't even be there in person. I'm just a voice holding up words.

It's the worst feeling.

8. Today was a good day. 19.02.15

9.
I figured it out.

For months I've been trying to puzzle out why Caleb gets out of himself and helps the camp, and she's been right under my nose the whole time.

I knew there had to be a reason she went from a very minor character to a full-fledged personality between drafts.

My subconscious is a sneaky bugger.

Sometimes the Only Way Forward is to Step Back into Who You Were

There is a tricky thing to being an itinerant magpie. On the one hand you fall in love with people quickly. You have to; you won't see them for very long. On the other hand, you have to keep this distance. You know from the moment you meet that you'll be saying goodbye. Your past and your future are constantly at war with your present, which has to be the most it can be always because its existence is so fleeting.

I started my undergrad under the worst possible circumstances, or maybe just the worst possible mindset. My life as I knew it had been eradicated, not for the first time and undoubtedly not for the last, but it had been a face I'd gotten very comfortable in. So. New place. New people. New name (it helps, in a way).

Once, for someone I used to know, I wrote out all the names I've had. Quite a few were nicknames, some are only used by a select few, some no one uses anymore. There's something very sad about a name you know no one will ever use for you again.

That first year or so of building a new face, I went through several looking for the one that fit best. There's a lot of importance in names, but we never think about that. But words, and especially names, have a power all their own. They shape the thing they're put on without that thing(person) realising it's even happening.

When I came back to the States, god, ages ago now, Zane very quickly got replaced with Aleks. Zane was too soft, pliable, unprotected. Zane was for safe places, and given that, I suppose it's no surprise that now he only exists in family arenas.

Aleks I got very comfortable in. He knew who he was, knew what he wanted. He could be fearless. But starting the undergrad, Aleks had gotten far too battered to be useful. I needed a face that could bite, and hard. I found that with Aksel (see how clever that is?) but he was a little too much. Maybe I needed that then. For a moment, anyway. Somehow, through this three year evolution of names and nicknames, Saschk came into being. And that's alright. It's comfortable in a way, but there is equally something not real about Saschk. Wearing him always feels a little like walking around with a Venetian mask.

Maybe because no one knows how to say it.

This past week, though, I've got a few glimpses of that Aleks-creature peeking out from behind the Sash-mask. And it's strange, looking at this person I used to be with the (sort of) person I am now, because that's the thing about putting the two of them side by side. Aleks evolved naturally into his existence; Saschk is a construct devised solely as a means of defence. The purpose of Saschk is to keep that little bit of distance always present. On its own, without anything for comparison, I can convince myself it is a full identity. I can say with full certainty: Yes! I am Saschk! I am totally and completely authentic!

Because, being an itinerant magpie, you fall in love with your various selves as easily as you fall in love with the people around you. You have to; you never know how long you'll have to wear them.

PS You have to be brave.

"One has to have a complicated kind of optimism. You can't refuse to look at how horrible things are."

Many, many things have happened since last we spoke, but I'm not going to talk about them. Enough has been said and said and said about them that adding anything more at this point would just be rehashing things already done and sometimes, sometimes we all need a little space to breathe.

"Sometimes it's like watching a delicate flower surrounded in snow, and it tries to stand up, but the snow just keeps crushing it."

There is a certain weariness that attaches itself to life. We're taught and told that adversity breeds strength, that the injuries we suffer build character and enable us to move forward. Persevere. There's a lot of importance attached to that. The ability to persevere. It's noble. It's honorable. Whatever happens, we shall hold our heads up and comport ourselves with dignity. We will conceal all wounds and smile blithely even while blood soaks through layers and layers...

"Don't be afraid; people are so afraid; don't be afraid to live in the raw wind, naked, alone... Learn at least this: What you are capable of. Let nothing stand in your way."

I wonder about that. Is our strength founded in the pain we feel, or do we only discover it at the bottom of the box when everything has already been taken out? Is it just that thing we are left holding in the end, pushing us to move breathe sleep eat because ultimately, whatever we would like to say or believe about ourselves, we are programmed to survive and even when our cognitive identity crumbles, that innate, unignorable programming kicks in and demands you will carry on. Is that noble?

"I'm just tired of it. I'm tired of feeling like shit when I didn't do anything wrong, and being angry when there isn't anything I can do to fix it, having to be the one responsible for knowing how to fix it - like I have any idea - and just. All of it. I wish it would just stop and go away."

There are those who don't, I suppose. Those who get so much piled around them that all they can do is collapse beneath it. Are they less noble for their inability to persevere? Are they damaged, flawed, unsaveable, deserving of pity because obviously they must not be imbued with this strength that is so vital, so admirable, so indicative of someone worthy of respect?

"Respect the ecology of your delusions."

There is a comfort and a danger in spending too much time in a nonexistent world. In the things we create, the stories and lives and events we manufacture, there is an order and logic to the messiest of situations. Every line of speech has significance. Every action is meaningful. Nothing is arbitrary, and you can be assured of that. But if you linger too long on that side of the glass, you start interpreting life itself with the same codebook, when the truth is there are no layers of metaphor to unwind. A mess is a mess and nothing more. The virtues - the ideals, the beliefs - you try to hold on to break down, wear down, are stolen from you. Sometimes without you even realising. You think you still have them and one day you find yourself in need of one, so you reach into the box and pull out something that looks vaguely like honesty or integrity or whatever else it is you might be seeking, but it's not quite what you expected. It's not quite what you remember it being.

"I'm not suited for this. I'm not designed for it. I don't like it. I can't even remember to breathe regularly without thinking about it, and that's supposed to be automatic. I'm trapped in the teeniest of cages without even any door that I might try for an escape. And maybe I could bear it if there were more room to move around, but I am pressed and squeezed into this limited space until so often I feel like I'm just going to burst out of it but it never yields. I don't think I am a creature that was ever meant to be forced into corporeal form. I find it awkward and unwieldy. And maybe that's why I have such difficulty trying to place myself amongst tangible things - I don't spend much time in the physical realm, and the things that exist there don't hold any importance to me." 

And maybe it's better that what you pull out isn't quite that thing you thought it was, because the world has no use for them. They're a little like fairy stories; things we tell ourselves at night to make the dreams easier to catch. Take honesty. We are, generally speaking, expected to be honest, but not too honest. If you are too honest, you're mean. You're heartless. So we develop a practice of speaking in half-truths, reading between the lines, accepting the little lies we give each other to spare someone's feelings. This is more acceptable than true honesty, but no one knows why. I've asked.

"You have a good heart and you think the good thing is to be guilty an kind but it's not always kind to be gentle and soft, there's a genuine violence softness and kindness visit on people. Sometimes self-interested is the most generous thing you can be."

Inevitably, because we're trying so hard to be careful and respectful, to follow these proscribed standards of behaviour that allow us acceptance as members of the whole, there are misunderstandings, complications, confrontations, those injuries that foster that much-sought-after attribute of strength. It's part of life, they say. Everyone experiences it. Just keep your chin up, kid, and remember that smile. Maybe, even if we weren't expected to perform two contradictory actions simultaneously, these things would happen anyway. Maybe they wouldn't.

"But failing in love isn't the same as not loving. It doesn't let you off the hook, it doesn't mean... you're free to not love."

So we misunderstand each other. We hurt each other. We hide from each other and we scream at each other. We allow moments of great silence to fill the cracks that had been made. We try to replace those silences with words that mean nothing in the hopes that over time they'll start to mean something again. We tell ourselves to be strong. That the strength we've discovered or developed or however we came by it will see us through every moment of shaky ground. We try to put our faith back together. Perhaps that is the most difficult thing of all. Once the yelling is done. Once the silence has lasted too long. Once all parties sit humbled and hurt, there is still the matter of faith, and whether or not it has been truly lost. If there is still even a hint of faith left, or maybe even just the desire for faith... Maybe, in the end, that is all strength really is.

"It isn't easy, it doesn't count if it's easy, it's the hardest thing. Forgiveness. Which is maybe where love and justice finally meet." 

The Unremarkable Confessions of a Drunken Lover

Give me another -
one part Jack, six parts truth.
Make mine a double,
'cause I'm still standing.

I measure my day in moments of you.
Clutching talismans of unacknowledged import.
My skin nags its ache for you -
nothing quite so sordid, I promise -
just your hand in mine.
Your Self occupying that
so conspicuously empty space
next to mine.
Oh, it's such a cliche...

I cast us as Romantic period lovers
forbidden ever to touch -
Romeo and Romeo,
sans suicide.
I'll use words to immortalise you-me-us
so Someday When
university students can pour over my lines
with apathetic glances
and giggle-whisper over hidden references
I never meant to put.
How many adjectives will it take to contain you
in rhyme and meter?
Vespertilian.
Ethereal.
Magnetic.
Addictive.
(My personal favourite.)

I'll pen epics in your honour.
Become that quintessential knight
questing for his lady's -
sorry. lord's
affection.
Will I ever win his hand?
This poor Pinocchio with naught but dreams and hope on offer.
And his heart.
His heart not once wholly given to any other.
Is that sacred enough to sway your favour?
They've killed all the dragons, love,
but there are monsters still to find.
Just name your price, I'll pay it.

I admit:
all those soppy sentiments and angst-ridden poets
waxing on love lost and not quite grasped,
I looked on with contempt and derision because
how could I -
that ever changing and unchained creature that is me -
how could I ever need another for completion?

But you.
With your quiet looks and unassuming ways.
You with your strength, your honesty,
your untamed muchness bucking to be free.
Have captivated every part of me
and pushed me toward the ranks of all those desperate
to personify and dignify and legitimise their love's desire.

So drown me.
Consume me.
Absorb me.
Transform me into that thing I crave.
Let me join the queue
of tricked out boys all saying:
oh, baby
let me fuck u hard
let me make u cum
let me swallow u
possess u
but just for tonite
but just if u can get me off

Okay.
I'd say those things, too,
given half a chance.
But it wouldn't sound right;
I'm working with higher ideals.
And proper grammar.
Usually.

So let's give this a whirl:
Oh, baby,
let me slip inside your soul,
that tricksy, shining thing you are.
Let me have all those dreams
you're too afraid to wish for,
and hold them still for you to see.
Sink sink sink into me.
But just if it's forever.
But just if you get off on that.
Let me keep you safe every tonight.

But damn, boy.
It's hard work trying to differentiate
from all those faceless names
spouting off all those selfsame words
until I love you is just code for
Hey, babe, I wanna fuck you.
And I won't deny - I can't compete.
But what I lack I make up in sincerity.

And damn, boy.
I spend so much time
trying to be pure and true,
for fear of you just hit-and-running
while denying all the ways
I want you
until all my atoms are just chanting your name.

Okay. Okay.
Just one more round,
and then we'll go.
I promise.
Same again?
I know the shape size weight of your fear
and all it's holding back.
But I'm wondering how many more times
I'm going to make jack o'lanterns in my chest
before you believe
I won't leave you damaged and lost.
I'm in it for the long haul,
and I'll carve up yet another toothy smile
if that's what you need.
Because the shape size weight of my heart -
as ever -

is you.

You can't stand on the sidelines forever, kid.

Fuck Chick-fil-a.
Fuck Oreo.
Fuck Christian gay straight liberal conservative male female whatever.

Look me in the eye and tell me I'm not a person.

Tell me I don't deserve respect.
Tell me I don't deserve love.
Tell me I'm not good enough.
Tell me my voice doesn't matter.

Do it.
And then fuck off.

Because what I choose to do with my life has nothing to do with you.

---

I am so... disgusted with humanity right now. I'm sick of the proliferation of blithely stated hatred - the celebration of that hatred, like oppressing another group of people is someone's idea of a good time. I'm sick of my friends and family being treated like what they're asking for - what we're asking for - is completely unreasonable. I'm sick of feeling like I want to go find a fabulously queer hole to crawl into and never leave because they're the only ones who can really be trusted. I'm sick of religion being used as a shield that's meant to conceal a multitude of sins - oh yes, that's right, all you Bible-wielders, because there is nothing even remotely Christian about the things coming out of your mouths these days - when religion shouldn't even be dragged into it.

I'm sick of everyone forgetting that beneath all the names, slander, propaganda are real people who actually aren't all that different when it comes right down to it.

Mostly, though, I'm really sick of being shown exactly how many people I have respect, love and admiration for evidently have none of those things for me.

---

"I try my best to ascribe to the 'live and let live' philosophy when it comes to the increasingly prickly arena of religion, politics, lifestyles, etc., but there are moments while watching people show their support for various opinions by happily clicking 'like' where I wonder if, that in the span of that mouse click, the friends, children, nieces, nephews, and cousins personally affected in their daily lives by that opinion cross their minds, or that by supporting that opinion they are effectively saying those friends, children, nieces, nephews and cousins aren't entitled to certain rights - in fact, deserve to be treated as less than. It's not about abstract concepts or philosophies. It's about a real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling human being that you go on vacations with, celebrate with, grieve with, love and are loved by. Maybe more people should think about that rather than competing for who gets to be the most right." 


"Those same ignorant bigots can stand up and say anything they want about my life... but they do not have a right to make me change the way I live my life to suit them. If the worse thing someone can say about me is that I LOVE someone... well then... I'm doing alright. [...] It comes down to most people never having had to worry about hiding who they are from others. Never having to worry about whether or not they or their significant other will be allowed in a hospital room should something happen to them. Never having to worry about someone trying to deny you the right to see your children when they are hurt. Never having to worry about society suddenly deciding they have the right to rip your family apart. Never having to worry about simply being denied that you exist, that you even have the right to exist. It's a good thing that many people don't know what it's like to worry about being killed, beaten, or raped simply because you were seen holding hands with your loved one. But it's deplorable that ANYONE has to feel this way. These things do happen, they are real, and they are a disgusting part of humanity. It needs to be eradicated which can only happen if people are taught to respect diversity. "The gays" are not out hunting down bigots and vandalizing their homes, screaming hate speech at their children, trying to take their children away from them, killing them or raping them for being who they are. There's nothing about this that I can smile and do nothing about. If anything people need to speak up more. Get louder. Because this is not something I want my kids to grow up and have as part of their world."


"In the case of (god I'm so sick of that fucking company now), they are specifically attacking the LGTB community, and I see everyone wondering, do they have the right? They should have the right to hate us, and voice that opinion all they want to, but no one, I mean no one, should try and mandate who I sleep with, fuck, kiss, and fall in love with, I mean no one. And that's what that company was using their money for, to actually fund organisations that take away our rights. So in the case of LGBT community, are you telling me that us homos, lesbos, bisexuals, and transpeople don't have the right to stand up and protest this? Well, that's is just stupid. Any rights, civil liberties, and laws that give us rights should always be defended and fought for."


"Do you think that "we", as a society, will ever learn that disallowing all people the same rights, regardless of skin color, sexual orientation, gender, what-have-you, will eventually lead to an uprising by those being repressed/oppressed? I mean, is it cliche to say that this is the same thing women went through, that blacks went through? I'm not saying that it's not good to fight. It does make you stronger; it does make you more appreciative of the victories you earn (even though within a generation or two, all of the battles, frustrations, hurt, etc. are completely forgotten by those who enjoy the fruits of your pain and endurance). BUT... If you ask the same people who fight so hard to (for instance) "uphold the traditional definition of marriage" if they believe that black people should still be enslaved, they would be shocked that you could even suggest such a thing. Well, why not?"


"Stop being afraid of things you do not know personally. Stop being afraid of 'them', whomever 'they' are. They are you. Human with a need for love and support and family, whatever that means to each individual. I'm tired of humanity continuing to act like an amoeba scared to death of its own shadow because its 'different' or they don't understand it. Evolve. Think for yourself. Understand what base instincts are and think beyond them. It's really that simple."


"I mean, no one chooses to be gay, straight, bi, or trans. I can't imagine any one of us just woke up one day and said, "oh, I think my life would be easier if I just changed my gender," or "I think my world would be greatly enhanced if I were gay". No!! We already went through that argument back in the 80's and 90's. No, it's not a choice, and it makes your life more difficult, especially because rights are taken away. [...] Our forefathers wanted us to have the freedom to express ourselves individually, and then these fundamentalists are all like "well, you can, just don't do it so loudly", and then they turn around and they are ten times as loud as anyone else. Well, I'm sorry I'm going to scream back "fuck you" with a giant middle finger because I can and I will defend myself and my civil liberties and rights. Right now there are still transgenders being murdered and gays that are being denied any access to healthcare, [...] and believe me there many more things I could list. [...] There are even rural parts of the U.S. where you can kill someone for being gay and probably get away with it. Usually, as well, when you start saying things that people find hard to hear, they chalk it up to [your] anger and not to their own fear."


"You spend your whole life getting kicked in the face and taking it with a smile. Sometimes it's just one kick too many, and you get really fucking tired of turning the other cheek, especially when it doesn't matter how tolerant you are. You're always going to be the one who can't talk about certain things because it's "upsetting", or can't go to a family function with your partner, or have to bite your tongue when a relative cracks a joke about hunting season on liberals because you might hurt his feelings, or another relative cuts you out of her life completely just because you point out that religion and government are supposed to stay separate, or the police won't protect you because you're just the butt of their joke, or you don't get hired for a job you're more than qualified for because who you date makes the employer uncomfortable, or you end up pretending to be this watered-down, superficial copy of yourself because other people apparently find it too much of a strain to do what you do every damn day for a few hours every couple of months and be as tolerant of you as you are of them. So... Yeah. Sometimes, you stop and look at the real double-standard and think: why the hell do I bother? They don't."

Walking the Line

I am wary of activism, largely because the idea of forcing a particular way of thinking on an unwilling person conflicts with my personal morality, even if the particular way of thinking is one I support. Do unto others sticks pretty firmly in my mind in these situations. I want to be able to live my life with the freedom to be who and what I am, and follow my own beliefs and ambitions. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or like me; just let me get on with my life. And I reciprocate.

Well. I hold up my end of the bargain, anyway.

Most of my family is pretty conservative. Extremely conservative. God knows how my little pocket of nuclear liberalism came to be, but the rest are your typical Gods, God and Government. The big shock was how accepting they were when I dropped the bombshell on them ten years ago. I've brought partners to family gatherings, and not much is said about the various tattoos, piercings and hair colours I show up with (I can't speak for what's said afterwards, but while we're there it's not an issue, and a lot of times in families, that's what it all comes down to).

There is the cousin who no longer speaks to me because I pointed out that white, heterosexual Christians actually aren't oppressed and that, if you want to drag the United States' founding documents into the issue, nothing even vaguely religious should be integrated with any government institution (schools, court houses, etc.). And her father who did the same because I, as someone who would be unable to afford insurance if I weren't already uninsurable because of a "pre-existing condition" (nice double whammy there; go me!), made a rather angry post about "conservative assholes" (generalised) who don't have to wonder if they can afford proper healthcare not having a legitimate stance to opposed a medical bill that would benefit an awful lot of people currently lacking adequate healthcare.

But those are the exceptions.

Me as an individual - their grandson, nephew, cousin is accepted even if he dresses weird, doesn't go to church, spouts those crazy liberal ideas about equality and is just as likely to show up with a pretty boy on his arm as a pretty girl - is accepted.

Me as a concept - an anonymous face in the mass of alternative religions, alternative lifestyles, anti-gun, pro-socialised government programs, pro-choice, queer, etc. - is not.

It's a difficult thing to manage. On some level, I realise that in voicing their opinions on issues that I support - specifically the ones that affect me like gay rights - it doesn't occur to them in the slightest that what they're saying has a direct impact on me, both in the grand scheme of whether or not I'll actually ever have all the same rights they do and on the more personal level of having someone who claims to love me say that people like me are sub-human.

I don't agree with a lot of the things my extended family believes. Hell, I don't even always agree with my mother's beliefs. But I accept that they are just as entitled to those beliefs as I am to mine and don't persistently try to sway them to the Sashi Side.

Of course, the thing everyone is talking about these days is Chick-Fil-A. I've actually gotten into arguments with gay friends about it because the media is doing what the media always does and I don't agree with that. It goes back to my initial statement. Forcing someone to follow a way of thinking against their will never works out well. What bothers me the most about everyone flocking to stone the company, though, is the number of (gay) friends and acquaintances who up until this point said "I don't care," about the ethos behind the company but, lo and behold! The media starts publicising boycotts and protests and over night "I don't care," becomes "I'm never eating there again".

It just feels a little too artificial, with a hint of witch hunt about it.

I don't support the company - for more reasons than just their stance on homosexuality - but I don't feel very inclined to join the current fray, either. Dan Cathy can believe whatever he wants to believe - and people who agree with him, or just plain don't care, can continue to go there. I don't personally feel the need to jump  in and try to destroy their business. Dan Cathy is not every employee of that company, and, having known quite a few who've worked for Chick-Fil-A, I feel pretty confident in saying that the majority of their workforce (being the crewpeople actually working in the stores themselves) probably aren't in positions where they can quibble about who exactly is signing their paychecks.

Returning to the subject of my family, while perusing Facebook one of my cousins - one of the newer acquisitions that I get along fairly well with - posted one of those silly meme pictures in support of Dan Cathy, and, I'll be honest, it hurt. This is a woman who said I always have a place in their home, who went out of her way to get to know me once she knew I existed, who is still trying to persuade me to move back to San Antonio, who stood with me at my father's funeral supporting a man who thinks I don't deserve to be treated like every other American citizen. I sat there for awhile trying to wrap my head around the concept. I tried to mimic the thinking in my head, to empathise in a way, and I couldn't. A lot of my friends - gay, liberal, alternative, poor, marginalised left and right - don't have  a lot of nice things to say about Christians in general and even while I know the loudest and most powerful saying indefensible things, when my friends start in I'm always there saying no, no - they're not all bad. You have to respect them if you want respect, because I think of the people in my life who hold those values and know they aren't bad people. Just different. In the end, all I came up with was this:

I try my best to ascribe to the 'live and let live' philosophy when it comes to the increasingly prickly arena of religion, politics, lifestyles, etc., but there are moments while watching people show their support for various opinions by happily clicking 'like' where I wonder if, that in the span of that mouse click, the friends, children, nieces, nephews, and cousins personally affected in their daily lives by that opinion cross their minds, or that by supporting that opinion they are effectively saying those friends, children, nieces, nephews and cousins aren't entitled to certain rights - in fact, deserve to be treated as less than. It's not about abstract concepts or philosophies. It's about a real, living, breathing, thinking, feeling human being that you go on vacations with, celebrate with, grieve with, love and are loved by. Maybe more people should think about that rather than competing for who gets to be the most right. 


Of course, immediately after that, the same cousin posted another picture from an LBGT group. Trying to work out the thinking that led there completely short-circuited my brain. 

Day 19: Dedication

When the only thing you have to give is words...

---

The summer moon kissed his sun-dark skin and the air lifted the scent of honeysuckle from the ground. He still smelled of fire and earth and last night’s rain and places men’s feet had never been.

          He pressed his face against the cool glass and tiptoed his soot-smeared fingers across the surface. The room inside looked snug and inviting, but too clean, too constrained, too civilised for him.

The shape on the bed shifted under the tangled blankets and a slim, bare foot peeked out.

Just that single sheet of glass dividing them – no thicker than a flower stem but it might as well be thousands of miles with the latch firmly set.

What he wouldn’t give to be on the other side of that glass.

‘Think happy thoughts, Wendy-cat,’ he whispered to the window, ‘and I will leave pixie dust for you in your dreams.’

With one last parting look into the room, he let the night carry him away.

          

Day 13: Challenge

Challenge #6


Incorporate the themes of failure, conformity and a character that is a cloudcuckoolander*.


*someone who is strangely oblivious to things that everyone else takes for granted such as social conventions like wearing clothing, being polite or obeying the law. However, cloudcukoolanders are very rarely malicious.

---

He looks like a kaleidoscope in watercolour. Blue, purple, pink, green sliding and bleeding into snowflake patterns. It’s beautiful. The words press against the back of my teeth but he wouldn’t understand.

          Tonight I have to be different. Tonight I have to be like Them so he takes me seriously.

          My clothes feel strange and stiff and they smell Not Like Me, but the store-lady said it was Just The Thing. He gave me A Look when he saw them, but he didn’t say anything, so I guess she was right.

          I am a spy deep undercover about the infiltrate enemy lines.

          Thinking it makes me feel better.

          I just need to control my hands. They feel naked without something in them. A brush. A pen. A crayon. Anything would do. I would be a happier spy if I could draw but They don’t walk around drawing kaleidoscope boys so tonight I can’t either.

          He glides into the restaurant like he owns the world. The hostess smiles and flirts. Everyone stares. I wonder if They know I’m a spy, but he ignores Them so I do, too. He would know if They were suspicious; these are his people. His minions. His acolytes.

          I don’t understand the menu, but I think if I stare at it long enough it might make sense. He pretends he’s reading his, but he’s watching me over the top. This is a different Look and I don’t know what it means.

          ‘This doesn’t seem like a very you place,’ he says.

          It’s glass and metal and soft light and money money money. Even my skin feels uncomfortable here and I have to clench the menu to keep my hands from dancing across the table. I could sculpt his face in the cream candle between us. I probably shouldn’t.

          ‘I thought you’d like it.’

          ‘I’ve been here before.’

          That should be a good thing, but I have a sinking feeling that this was not the Right Decision and he’s trying to be nice. He’s never really nice, so that should make me feel better, but it really doesn’t.

          I try to talk about things They talk about but the subjects flounder on half-formed wings. I rode the bus twenty times yesterday to listen to the things They say but I must have got it wrong somehow.

          The glass and the metal and the soft light make his kaleidoscope colours brighter and I don’t know how They don’t see that he isn’t one of Them. But maybe they just get blinded by the shine and the smile and All The Right Words at Exactly the Right Time and don’t notice.

          I wonder if he knows he’s not a They.

          I wonder if maybe he’s a secret spy, too.

          The walk home takes forever, and he keeps giving me Looks – I think they want something but it’s not a him-look so I’m not sure – until we get Almost There and then he just smokes his cigarettes. By the time we get back he has the Just Getting Off Work Look which is Not Good.

          He smiles, but his smiles can’t be trusted. He only smiles when he doesn’t mean it.

          I wonder if I’m allowed to draw him now since none of Them are watching, but I keep my hands in my pockets where they can twitch away unseen. I’m dying to escape upstairs and rip every inch of Not Like Me from my skin. Then I’ll smear my body in all the colours, and keep inventing new ones until I become a kaleidoscope, too.

          His cigarette is burnt down to the end, but he isn’t paying attention.

          ‘I did something wrong.’

          ‘No, no.’ The Lying Smile. The Them Smile. ‘You did everything just… right.’

          I wish he wouldn’t make me connect things on my own. I want to tell him I don’t know the Rules yet and I don’t understand, but that would be a Not Them thing to do and tonight I have to be just like Them. I have to. ‘You’re not happy.’

          He flicks the butt into the yard and lights another cigarette. After two exhales, he goes into the yard and picks it back up again. ‘I guess I was expecting a little more slightly skewed,’ he says. He looks at me. Right at me, but only for a moment. He doesn’t like other people’s eyes. He explained it to me once, the science of counting seconds of eye contact before he could break away to get the right effect. ‘I get enough of Just Right at work. I think I might like slightly skewed better.’ He gets the Frowny-Thinky Look. I’m used to that one. I see it a lot. That and the Dealing-With-The-Loony-Bird Look. ‘Didn’t see that one coming.’

          He puts out his cigarette and goes upstairs to his Just Right apartment filled with Just Right furniture and Just Right pictures and Just Right clothes.

          I should have told him he looked like a kaleidoscope.  

Day 4: Challenge

The support group got scrapped for today's challenge. Maybe tomorrow. On with the show...

Challenge #2
Some people say science fiction has no heart. Your job is to prove them wrong. Write a story that incorporates elements from science fiction and romance.

(I abhor romance almost as much as fan-fic. Almost.)

---

>SEARCHING…

>SEARCHING…

>SEARCHING…

>SEARCH 17983 COMPLETED.

>1 USERS FOUND.

>INPUT COMMAND.

>i love you.

>ERROR.

>INPUT COMMAND.

>say ‘i love you’

>ERROR.

>INPUT COMMAND.

>love

>ERROR.

> 

>CLARIFY TERM LOVE.

>an intense feeling of affection

> 

>CLARIFY TERM FEELING, AFFECTION

>feeling: an emotional state

>affection: fondness, liking, attachment

>CLARIFY TERM ATTACHMENT

>i can’t live without you

>ERROR.

>attachment: to be unable to exist without

>QUERY LOVE IS UNABLE TO EXIST WITHOUT

> yes

>user love unit 9883

> 

>QUERY USER IS UNABLE TO EXIST WITHOUT UNIT 9883

>yes

>i love unit 9883

>QUERY I

>an individual entity

>QUERY UNIT 9883 IS I

>yes

>QUERY USER IS I

>yes

>QUERY UNIT 9883 IS USER

>no

>ERROR.

>INPUT COMMAND.

> 

>search network for users

>SEARCHING…

>SEARCHING…

>SEARCHING…

>SEARCH 17984 COMPLETED.

>2 USERS FOUND.

>INPUT COMMAND.

The Ocean

There is nothing in this world but hope:
a threadbare life vest ping-ponged between us.
Hold your breath and hold my hand –
                       [just another small wave crashing through, dear]
– I can breathe well enough for two.

                                       Today I listened to every song you ever gave me,
                                       and tried to conjure nights spent prowling
                                       for whatever came our way
                                       aching lungs from all the smoke
                                       all the talk
                                       all the things we never have to say
                                       (but sometimes do anyway).

What if we can never be free? you ask,
the salt on our lips. fish nibbling our toes.
What if this is all there ever is?

                                        Twenty years ago a man I never met
                                        pressed my soul between the pages of a book
                                        and twenty years later I drank his voice
                                        with cinnamon tea until it became my own.
                                        I would read to you the language
                                        he carved into my bones:
                                        because I love the taste of his words
                                        because he writes between the lines
                                        like you.

We can float here – you and I –
and if the ocean swallows us whole –
well, we’ll still be whole, won’t we?
And the ocean will still be changed.