daisypreaker

[daisypreaker]

mindhunter and true detective may have taken place at different times but they live in the same box in my head.

[daisypreaker]

every time i make eye contact with an older man in public and he smiles in that way it equates to one entire therapy session dissecting my relationship with my father.

[daisypreaker]

Angela Carter, from a poem titled "Unicorn", featured in Unicorn: The Poetry of Angela Carter

[daisypreaker]

Antony at the Season 5 wrap party…i need that old man to fuck me up (sexually).

[daisypreaker]

EDIT: this finally has a temporary name...starlight creek.

[daisypreaker]

i consider myself first generation immigrant purely because my dad migrated from kashmir when he was 30, but in truth, i think i'm fourth (?) my maternal great grandfather fought in WW2 in the british navy, and was killed before my great grandma gave birth to my grandpa, who then worked here for ten years and lost his eye in an industrial factory accident, and then of course my aunts/uncles/mum were schooled here before they sent my mum to kashmir for a decade.

[daisypreaker]

Just another Me

[daisypreaker]

[daisypreaker]

"Something real domestic in the way you and your partner operate." It's a joke, uttered as such with a throwaway jerk of her head and a twinkle that dies the longer he stares. He wonders if a joke like this, at another time, in a different setting, worked on a man with a badge just like his, disguising the fact that her skin wasn't white and that she was going home to a place he wouldn't deem respectable enough. It must have, because she's still here, twin-braided and defiant in that lazy way that reminds him of Marty, right up until it doesn't. She's just a girl, and she's frightened. He glances down at the ledger because he realises he's forgotten her name.

"Tula." He rolls it over his tongue, plays with the two syllables like chaw passed from one corner of his mouth to the other. "What's your last name?"

"Abram, officially. But I don't use it no more, on account of my Daddy - " she tap dances two fingers through the air and whistles.

"D'you use your mother's?"

"She doesn't really have one." He's staring at her again, and she twists, uncomfortable, turning to play with the wind chime of hewn off deer bones dangling from the doorframe. "He was a reverend. Not a real good one."

His eyes slip down to her legs, like silk falling away from skin, and a rotting sensation spreads over the back of his neck. He knows exactly who her Daddy is; it hadn't clicked at first. The snubness of nose is shared with his little girl - not so little - as well as that playfully dry click of tongue when their insides are being squeezed in a trap. But that's about it. He wouldn't have mistaken her for mixed unless she told him.

She's watching him now, out the corner of her eye, and her father is pressed into those cherubic features again, a wicked slant of knowing criss-crossed with hurtled mania. A crown of antlers leaks from her head in deep strokes of ivory ink, dripping in spanish moss and cobwebs. It's only when it pierces the doorframe and the wood of the house creaks in panic around her that Rust closes his eyes tight and forces himself back to reality.

[daisypreaker]

1991

“Hey there.”

She still wasn’t used to being accosted by strange men for no real reason save for the usual. She glanced in his direction and went back to scooping tadpoles through her fingers. And then she did a double take. Not because he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen - he was - but because he had a cottonmouth twitching between his hands. 

“Lil fella was this close to nipping at your pretty ankle.” Anyone else came out with such a line and it would sound lecherous. He had a twinkle in his eye that suggested he knew how it might come off and that turned her from object to participant. They were both in on the joke now. “Should be careful. There’s worse lurking in the swamp grass.” 

Aiyana stood up, shielding her eyes from the shards of sunlight cutting through the trees. Taxodium distichum. She liked their Latin name - it was crunchy on the tongue. “You shouldn’t grab them like that. S’dangerous.” 

He gave an easy shrug. “Just gotta notice them before they notice you.” His fist squeezed tight around the base of its head, but then he looked at her and seemed to change his mind. Aiyana didn’t realise she wasn’t breathing until he flicked his wrist and the snake went flying towards a shallow stream. It dove in like black liquorice sucked into a greedy mouth. 

[daisypreaker]

if rust was a fraction less chronically depressed he'd be a cracking cult leader.

[daisypreaker]

[daisypreaker]

grizzly man (2005) dir. werner herzog

[daisypreaker]

Trauma recovery never made much sense. The few times she had taken a chance at a therapist, the woman encouraged her to visualise her own ‘recovery process.’ Aiyana described trying and failing at one instead. Like the child version of me has her leg stuck in a beartrap. And I can hear her wailing, but I can’t really help her. I’ve tried. Countless times. The only thing left to do is walk away. Except the thing is, her voice doesn’t fade the further I get. I still hear her just as loud. Her childhood was a thing printed on tintype, dripping in tree sap and bone fluids. It was ridiculous to pinpoint a thread that could be pulled and turned into ‘recovery.’

And if the talk turned to Lucas, it was an open-and-shut case. 

The devil you know over the devil you don’t. I knew that devil. I was in love with that devil. Love releases a slow-acting poison. Y’know how those nutjobs think fluoride is ruining our kids by way of the water supply? Like that, if it were true. Which I don’t think it is. 

She wasn’t a very good therapist. Aiyana had her debating the merits of the fluoride tinfoil theory for the last fifteen minutes and then they never saw each other again which suited her just fine. 

[daisypreaker]

too late.

if i do make an OC for him, i may just use Aiyana and her back story because of how much it fits the general theme of the show. not that i'm saying i'll write anything yet (literary self-esteem in the pits etc etc hate everything that comes out of my shaky fingers). but it's hot and humid here and what better weather to write something dripping in tree sap and bone fluids?

may the lust i bear for rust cohle not strike me like a sledgehammer as i do my annual true detective rewatch...it's really distracting.

[daisypreaker]

may the lust i bear for rust cohle not strike me like a sledgehammer as i do my annual true detective rewatch...it's really distracting.

[daisypreaker]

Wait can you elaborate what you mean about recovery being a myth?

it isn’t real. you just find deeper and further rooms of the torture prison you have different sadomasochistic relationships with. I’m in one of the more beautiful ones right now where my partner is still alive and her flower garden is still going strong.