Twitter Sonnet #82
Buzzy beetles have headaches in their backs.
Endoskeletons sleep in flesh solder.
Walter Neff's trolley is on iron tracks.
Atlantis is found under tap water.
Real beauty lines the walls of a wormhole.
Torn windows living regardless of health.
Bloody nets bind a flesh engine and soul.
There's always an excuse to blame yourself.
Colour filters alter film impressions.
Nosferatu's cast from greens to ambers.
New data's made from broken transmissions.
Static is tyranny of wrong numbers.
Some stale IEDs explode with wet clay.
Muddy missile shields block the light of day.
Feeling better to-day than I expected to, though I've still got some mild cramps. You know, with the cramping, bloating, and bleeding, this may be the closest I ever get to having a period. It's not outside the realm of possibility that a witch cursed me to make me more sensitive to women.
I went to the mall to-day and saw a massive line of people stretched the length of half the mall and snaking around some shops. At first, I thought these were people waiting to sit on Santa's lap, and then I noticed they were almost all hot young women, many with fuzzy blankets and books. Say what you will about Twilight, it brings in the pussy. I wondered if I could figure out how to glower just right and make the women melt like dominos. Of course, they're mostly abstinent dominos, so there's not much point.
I wonder what these girls would make of all the silly old romantic comedies I like, The Lady Eve, His Girl Friday, movies with all that talking. There's a lot less to suspect about pure, blank faces.
I can be snide all I want, but I still found myself watching the sixth episode of Kimi ni Todoke to-day, which is another work of fiction that indulges young female audiences with simple, vain fantasies about being a sort of misunderstood outsider with a heart of gold. What can I say, I'm still digging the design and animation. And I found myself pulled in a little by a story arc in the past couple episodes, about Sawako and two of her friends not speaking to each other, as the two friends are confused by nasty rumours about them spread supposedly by Sawako (but actually by Sawako's nemesis, to make her look bad), and Sawako's not speaking to them for some vague fear about damaging their popularity.
Even after everyone's figured out that the smartest thing to do is to talk directly to one another, the show still spends a lot of time on the characters speculating by themselves, coming up with explanations for the other party's behaviour based on half statements and bits of things overheard that they eventually reason indicate dislike and a desire for distance.
Most of the circumstances surrounding the situation were silly, but I couldn't help thinking about when Sonya stopped talking to me. Sometimes, people really are that silly--I was that silly, chewing through all kinds of different possibilities until I came to the conclusion that this is exactly the response Sonya wanted from me, to drive me crazy. Either that, or she was totally indifferent.
I came across some of her old e-mails to me when I was looking for someone else's e-mail address last week. It still seems unreal to me that she could hate me as much as she does now. It really felt like we had a rapport like I've had with few other people I've known. It still looks to me like she likes me in those e-mails, and though I tried to underplay it later, in part in some attempt to make her more comfortable, I loved her. I still love her, even though I haven't looked at her journal in at least a month, and haven't spoken to her in two years, and I saw that she was happy to join in with the torch and pitchfork crowd against me on Elizabeth Bear's journal earlier this year. Which was the first, solid indication, outside my speculations, of how she felt about me since she'd stopped speaking to me more than a year previous. I still looked at her online journal, and kidded myself things could be better one day, but I realised about a month ago that I had to go cold turkey, because what I was doing was intrusive, even if it is a public journal. The fact that I don't read anything new from her, and I still feel for her, feels me with reflexive shame, too. I suppose since it's obviously something can't help, I shouldn't let it bother me so much.