obsolete-fear - Tumblr blog

[obsolete-fear]

Why do we need approval so badly

Why do I?

Because I am 12, looking into the face of a gruff man who was always so good with kids

Because I see his meticulous notes, the celebration when he flies into town, the joy of my grandmother when her prodigal brother returns and removes his cassock to reveal an orange T-shirt and suspenders

Because I am 14 and dreaming of getting to move away and live in a monastery, like he did at my age

Because I don't understand

"Joining a fraternity means nothing, but when you have really worked for it, sweated for it, cursed it, and loved it, you have something"

Repeated again and again so that every piece of myself that I give for approval can be justified, and the pieces of myself that I give are good

I give my labor

I give my love

I give far too many bottles of cheap vodka

But that isn't true for everyone

And when I meet brothers from other chapters and learn their sacrifices in the name of "earning it" I can't help but feel as if the same darkness is here

The wheel of victim into perpetrator spins ever on, and my fear that my uncle has been abused by his teachers only to abuse his own chain of alter boys runs unsaid in the same rivulets of repulsion I feel when I find out that one of my brothers has been forced through a trial of flames only to be the one setting the flames for their successors.

These phlegm-like rivulets run together into rivers which wash over me when I consider that my urge to become a monk was an urge to be accepted by men, to be accepted by academics, as a man and as an academic

An identity based on those which poison everything that they touch

Given that, what am I but a traitor to every value I hold dear?

Clinging to nostalgia for a religion that has only harmed me

To institutions which hoard knowledge like greedy dragons, which make suffering a prerequisite for power

To fraternal letters which I bear proud on my chest knowing that elsewhere they might mark me a cruel hypocrite

Clinging to the hope that not every man I have made myself equal to has been interested only in the boons my efforts could afford them, has been making me chop myself to size

[obsolete-fear]

"If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.”

And yes, I've lain with a woman but it's not how I lie with you now

The first few times I kneed you in the groin, not thinking, and that was indeed an abomination but no blood was upon us and I learned

And yes, you lie with me as you might have lain with a woman, but you haven't

So when you lick and suck and thrust at me there is no abomination, only pleasure and beauty and warmth

And when I wake up and kiss you it is unlike any of the women I've kissed before, though they were all different from each other

So maybe man cannot lie with anyone as he does with any other

And maybe if we start screwing other people, together or separately, you may lie with a woman as you have with mankind, with me, but that's not the line, is it?

And I can't help but wonder what it means to be an abomination, because certainly there have been times when our blood was upon each other, and more times upon ourselves, but there was no death then

For the only death I've been put to is the little death of the French, and even then it is no strange thing to be warned against, at least not by any god who can love

Any god who can feel

[obsolete-fear]

I've found a new type of wanting.

A type of wanting that doesn't leave me feeling anxious to the point of nausea, wondering if I am wanted in turn

A type of wanting that is secure in the fact that it will be fed, will in a few days time be far more than wanting

I've found a type of wanting that makes me feel like a fat cat begging for food - I will be allowed to gorge myself again soon.

In good time I will be filled to the brim with love and desire, I will be satiated, and I am without fear.

[obsolete-fear]

I hear so many strange things second hand

Find myself wondering (vainly) if they're messages for my ears, if the gossip chain exists by design

Or if a person can really be that alone

I don't know which is kinder.

[obsolete-fear]

Going to Vegas

We drink cheap beer and talk about going to Vegas

There's nothing in that desert for either of us, I don't gamble and you can't afford big city coke

Neither of us wants to watch beautiful women strip

The flashing lights and defiance of nature seem insufficient reason for such a journey

Unless we get married in the Taco Bell chapel

Get tax benefits and laughs, sign our divorce papers in a competing chain

And when my love across the table protests, and you say that maybe they're who I should be vowing myself to, I can't help but silently agree

But there's no joke in that

You're my friend, I can consider eloping without meaning, and I do of course love you, not that way, but dearly

With them, though, I've learned a new way to love

A safe and warm way to love

Without fear, without posturing, without leaving so much unspoken

But we're young still, and I'll pretend I can't be tempted

[obsolete-fear]

First Mornings

The first morning I spent on Prozac, I made a quiche. 

Not because I was hungry, or because I had any particularly relevant ingredients- I used pepperoni and chopped lettuce and many tiny ends of cheeses- but because I realized that I could be a person who loved the world

The morning- though I apply that term loosely- I spent after she said that she was leaving, I was too queasy to drink, and praised my body for its temperance. 

I met up with a friend who let me speak my piece and made me eat and be in company. He helped me remember that I can still learn to love this world.

The first morning we woke up together, we walked downstairs glowing, two twin suns, and found our housemate in equally good spirits, making breakfast. 

We shared coffee and bacon and cinnamon rolls, and knew that we loved the world. 

The only morning we woke up on opposite sides of the bed, I was afraid that we had fought, and you were afraid that we had fought, and neither of us considered your bad back or the unseasonably warm weather. 

Every morning since, there’s been no reason for that fear, and on mornings that I find it hard to love the world, because capitalism is cruel, because I cannot learn correctly for my exams, because I have a lecture on another genocide at 10, because it’s cold, because I have too much to do in too few hours, because I’m simply tired, and don’t think I’ll ever stop being tired, when all of these reasons keep me from loving the world as I ought, I am still able to wake up and I am still able to love.

[obsolete-fear]

Acts of Revolution

The idea that revolutionary hope lies with those without means is flawed, argues Orwell- Hope cannot lie with those who care for nothing but gambling, sex, and getting drunk. 

That said, when my grandma buys a scratch ticket and I see her joy, that is revolutionary. Her face holds hope, her face holds transgression, her face holds a set independence that is still an powerful choice long after my grandfather’s death, and that is revolutionary. 

When I have sex with someone I ostensibly ought not have sex with, that is revolutionary. To fuck, rough-and-fast-and-eager in full denial and rejection of the submissive pliability society asks of me, is revolutionary. To make love, softly, gently, joyously, in full disregard for the evilness that I have been informed my actions bear, is revolutionary. 

Perhaps most importantly, when I drink a toast to the successes I have committed and plan to commit, that is revolutionary. To fix a drink and make myself unproductive, a bad laborer, forced to rest, is revolutionary. 

The indulgence of “vices” is not only itself a virtue, but also a key component to healthy revolution. This is not to say that all must be expected of people who are worn to thin, but that derision of our power as a result of the things that keep fire alive in us is folly.  

[obsolete-fear]

Upon Knowing Someone II

For a while I thought

If I didn't know what it was to be in love

I could convince myself I was in love with you

If I had never learned what it meant to be in love we could be happy

And I did know

And I was happy

And that life was good

But the bit of nostalgia for how well I could have lived if I had never learned how to be, what I thought was truly, honestly, happy

Should have suggested that I wasn't

Or at least that happiness lies down many paths, some soft and winding and some with what seem at first to be too sharp of corners and yet

Losing some joy can mean letting go of some grief

And finding a path to different joy

[obsolete-fear]

The Brave Little Tailor

A story from my childhood Of a feat of strength fit to fill a giant with fear The tailor squeezes water from stone Except the stone is cheese, and filled with whey

That is how my heart feels Squeezed, seeping, a cool liquid running out  The fluids that run from it very much water, but very much more And I not a stone, but soft

A satyr’s mouth blows hot to warm the hands And yet can equally chill hot soup Does this make them false That from one mouth can blow two breaths? This is how my bones feel Cold and burning A confusion of what should be and very much more And I not whole, but splintered

Balor had a single eye  With this he caused destruction And when he died his lid was pried To fling a rock square through it

This is how my skull feels The top full lifted A stone thrown through and very much more And I not whole but rended.

[obsolete-fear]

Introductory Letter

       I am filled with existential dread. 

       This is not to say that there is nothing else which entertains my mind, that there is nothing else which sparks passion for my work, but without the realization that there is nothing to do to fix the world and that we must instead learn how to survive has been a major motivating factor. In a world where any attempts to avoid climate catastrophe are branded too extreme, the study of how to make the most of overtaxed soil, of ruined weather, and of polarized rainfall patterns cannot exist without the understanding of our powerlessness to slow the press of corporate greed. 

       One of the defining events in GMO law was a case which decided that the saving and replanting of genetically modified seeds from year to year was prohibited under a Monsanto patent. Saving seeds allows farmers to keep a portion of their crop in order to avoid the cost of seeds for the next season, and is essentially how farming has been conducted for more than 10,000 years. Allowing for full corporate control of seeds by a company which has already secured a corner in the pesticide and fertilizer markets, including in weed deterrents that are only complementary with their own seeds, provides a level of power that could create a monopolized agricultural sector. 

       By my reckoning, the only response that I can have to this is to find a way to create essentially open source solutions which allow farmers greater control over how they choose to operate. 

       That said, there is a lot which I find beautiful about my field. I am deeply in love with the hand coordination required for manipulating tubes one handed, the way that I feel when a gel comes back with bars where I need them, and the ability to watch the growth of my plants knowing that they have been altered through techniques that were not understood even early in my lifetime. In a way, I also love the knowledge that if God is dead, we have replaced them, and if they are not, we will render them obsolete. I am in love with the tenderness required to plate bacteria, with the way that my initials look in sharpie above the date I saved a sample, and with the ability to identify the edible flora I pass as I hike. I am filled with adoration for stories such as that of the multi-disciplinary collaboration between genetics and anthropology that led to the identification of teosinte as the ancestor of modern maize. I am filled with love for every shaking step we take towards understanding the driving forces of life. 

Best wishes, 

Q.

[obsolete-fear]

Mixing Bowls II

We walk through an antique store together, I comment upon my pyrex pattern. You don’t know about the mixing bowl I bought, its cheap craft store hanging over me like a sword But you pick up a different set of mixing bowls that match my containers Turn them over in your hands Gentle on the cold glass, contrasting their bright reds  These match yours?

Yeah. I don’t know that I want to pick them up though, I have a bowl and they--

No. I think I will. 

Oh. And suddenly everything seems to come full circle. You’ve transferred the symbol of my fear and I am not alone in planning this future and I can let it go for now, trust and accept.  Until, of course, we realize the paint leeches lead. 

[obsolete-fear]

Oh, And, Uh, How The Turns Have Tabled (also a 2020 application essay for a program I’m reapplying to because I don’t know when to stop throwing myself at internships that don’t want me)

The life sciences have a complicated relationship with underrepresenting women, and I have a complicated relationship with being one, so I’ve decided to set aside the question of whether or not my being a “Woman in STEM” will add diversity to Cornell. I am, however, able to commit to diversity in other ways.

[obsolete-fear]

Fuck it here’s a goddamn application essay from 2020 because why the hell not

One of the things I pride myself on is a willingness to learn, and to love learning, anything. As a small child I memorized the names of dinosaurs I found in a little field guide, learned their habitats and habits. I have a work study position currently in the costume shop on my campus, learning to sew a new person into being, learning to find that piece that takes an actor and transforms them into a character. I volunteered for three years at a public library and spent the spring watching eggs develop into larvae develop into salamanders in a vernal pool a two-mile walk from my home. I have little flings with information, fixating for a time on whatever strikes my fancy and moving on before I can become too attached, before I can center myself. 

For most of middle and high school, I wanted to crossbreed a perfect potato for astronauts. I had other interests, but the idea of such a nutritionally complete food being even better, hitting perfection? It enraptured me.  Once The Martian became popular, though, I felt like I was somehow cliché, so I turned my interest to plants that I knew were edible because I was raised foraging, bright berries that tasted like the woods, boiled acorns making the whole house stink, a leaf or twig here and there to chew for flavor. Pawpaws, for example, delighted me. They’re sweet, ferment quickly. Their custard flesh and large seeds feel somehow obscene, too smooth, too sticky, too sweet. Cut in half to share with the person next to you traipsing through the woods, they granted the whole world their visceral but fleeting quality- perfect for the end of summer when they ripen. 

Pawpaws aren’t a typical grocery fruit, but there’s an old man in a tiny town who has a small orchard of them growing in his yard. He seemed like a wizard to me when I first heard of him and drove out, and seeing that made me realize the thing I wanted to commit myself to: learning how to increase crop hardiness, and how to increase shelf life. The dream of the perfect pawpaw was still with me, ready to become a passion project for me down the road, but so was the paper I’d read about increasing the efficiency of photosynthesis, and the thought of the work being done to increase maize’s ability to defend against fungal infection. I began committing myself to hard study. 

I committed myself to the idea of hard studying, but my lack of funds and the fact that I was graduating from a vocational high school (even though I was the first in my class) kept me close to home. This was far from a worst case scenario, however, as Frostburg State University, a mere seven minute walk from my door, had one of the only ethnobotany programs for undergraduates. Not my field, but promising- where there’s ethnobotany there’s, well, botany. I enrolled as a Biology major and began. When, after a semester, I was assigned an advisor in Biology, I made an appointment for as soon as possible. I spoke to him about my interest in plant molecular biology, and he responded with a project that he needed an undergraduate for. I began working on an oral vaccine against B. burgdorferi, which causes Lyme disease, the next semester. The goal was to insert a portion of B. burgdorferi’s ospA into a pCambia vector, which would then be used to transform A. tumefaciens for a floral dip for A. thaliana. Over the course of the (continuing) project, I have been able to become proficient with a large number of lab skills, including the use of PCR kits, electroporation, gel electrophoresis, programing thermocyclers, and preparing plates. I also have become quite skilled at accepting that some plans fail and some progress is lost. Between the loss of a refrigerator and the extended closure of labs as the result of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have had to redo a large number of procedures, while staying positive about the process. The ability to keep moving on from setbacks is a skill that will be incredibly useful in my future, as although it is ideal to avoid issues, it is not always possible to anticipate every problem that may arise, and is valuable to be prepared to accept them and be prepared.

Having an opportunity to work in another lab, on another project, at another institution would be an incredibly valuable experience. As I begin to consider what it will take to be ready not only to apply for graduate programs, but to be prepared for graduate level work, the largest factor in my mind is research experience. Being able to broaden my experience while being able to remain in my field would be a spectacular asset. Having the opportunity to build professional relationships with people who I might not have otherwise met will also be useful, both in that I will be able to build a relationship with a mentor who I can ask for advice and learn from, and because it will be helpful to meet people who are at similar stages in their education and looking into similar paths. 

Although there are many pragmatic reasons for my application, I’m applying for the opportunity to have new experiences. I’m applying because I want to keep learning things that fill me with wonder, and I’m applying because I want to be a part of growing the future.

[obsolete-fear]

Upon Knowing Someone

Do you ever think

If I didn't know what it was to be in love I could convince myself I was in love with you

If I had never learned what it meant to be in love we could be happy

But you do know

And you are happy

And this life is better

But there's a bit of nostalgia for how well you could have lived if you had never learned how to be truly, honestly, happy

[obsolete-fear]

The moon existed once 

[obsolete-fear]

Water Bottle

A simple question

One I hadn’t answered Didn’t feel I could But answering it would fix so much Because when you have a cup on your desk it’s so easy to move it But so impossible to start the action Your simple question  Do you want to take that downstairs Do you want to start this  Are you?  Yes. 

[obsolete-fear]

Mixing Bowl

Last week I bought a mixing bowl  Not an abnormal purchase, I’m working on moving out and homemaking. It seemed right with my knives and hand towels, my shaker and juice glasses.  But it’s not just a mixing bowl.  My nesting anymore hasn’t just been for my own place, my freedom and joy. It’s been about the idea that we might have a place of our own, that I might settle down with you.  Because I was looking at rings. I was planning our future. My grad school health insurance, our too little money while you pay off debt and I accumulate it.  And here I was, in a craft store that I’d walked into for a bathroom, standing by the mixing bowls. Why do I feel the need to buy something in exchange for the use of a bathroom, for the privilege to judge myself still too lacking, accept defeat, and walk a way I sorely want not to?  I stand by the mixing bowls and think of all the things I’m not, all the things I can’t be. The way I can’t be for you, for my parents, for my friends, for this craft store bathroom. And I pick a mixing bowl to hold all of the things I desperately want but can’t ask for. The future I yearn for that’s become less certain because I came off the assembly line malformed.  And I leave the mixing bowl in my car to mock me because it feels to heavy to carry into my home, even as my car becomes more and more my home. Because it’s mine, except for the mixing bowl, which can’t be.