#and i had to live with the knowledge that my packer was just in my dads truck

[attachablepenis]

in honor of my packer arriving ive changed my name

[nocturnal-dreams]

I might take this down later tonight so if you want to screenshot it so you can use my words against me like in 2 months again go the fuck ahead but I've heard so many anons going on my account that I will not be responding to because well I really couldn't give less of a fuck. Anons are pissed off at me for multiple reasons. While its 1am and I'm kind of drunk, I feel like I can quickly explain myself.

⚠️ Stop reading now if you really couldn't give a damn ⚠️

➖Okay so I've seen a lot of people pissed off at me for writing for c!Schlatt. Now I completely agree that you can be mad at Schlatt, he's said some fucked up things but to be attacking his fans and the people who are a fan of his character, no that's fucked up and if you're a follower of mine and hate on Schlatt fans, you can kindly fuck off, you're no follower of mine. Look I'm sorry but I'm not gonna stop writing for a character that I enjoy because the internet isnt a fucking perfect picket white fence.

Another thing related to Schlatt is JustAMinx or the chuckle sandwich crew in general but I'll just talk about Minx. I'm still gonna write for her since I genuinely enjoy her content. Do I like that she's friends with Kacey? Absolutely not but Minx is an adult and it's up to her to make her own choices. Do I wish she'd not support Kacey, absolutely but once again she's an adult and its up to her to be responsible when looking at who she's to be friends with

➖Okay number 2, my dress pictures or just the pictures I post of my irl life in general. I've been getting a lot of hate anons lately that are mad at me for wearing a dress because people think I'm faking being non-binary for clout, shut the fuck up. I can wear my packer and binder and I'm still gonna be non-binary, what's so different about me wearing a fucking dress that shows a little cleavage? Grow the fuck up

Another few anons I've been getting are about my weight in the photos, people claiming they're worried about my health, no bro you're just being a dick. Look I am afab and I have a little thing called a uterus, now something that this uterus causes me to do is bloating, but I also have a thing called tits. Now I dont know if you knew this but porn stars may have huge fucking tits and no fat but you know what that is? That's surgeries and dieting to one piece of food every week. Now do I feel like doing any of that? Fuck no, I'm confident in my body and I'll wear whatever the fuck I want no matter my size.

So here's for you fucks:

➖Number 3, some people are mad at me for keeping myself private? I made a post like 2 months ago I think now telling people that they dont know me, they only know what I wish to tell them and that I like to live a private life. The reason for this post? Because I had an anon send me a ask of my exact location and birth name, I am safe dont worry but the second that happened, I felt like I needed to set some kind of boundary because that was fucking creepy especially because at that time, I was living with my friend and her two year old daughter.

In that post I said "I care about all of you guys but I dont know you and you dont know me, what I say is what I choose to tell you guys." People took that is me referring to everyone as a number, once again my words being taken out of context

➖Number 4, look I'm not a licensed therapist so stop treating me like I am one. I'm human to and need my breaks. You can message me and send me as ask if you need somewhere to vent but how about we dont get pissed off at me if I dont answer immediately or if my advice isn't good enough. I dont have all the answers, I try to help with the knowledge that I have.

Also please put a trigger warning at the start of your ask, it just helps me be able to filter everything better and also stops people if they skim read and might be put into a bad place, it's just so helpful to do and it takes two seconds

➖Number five, calling me a groomer for interacting with minors...

*inhale* WHAT?! So you're telling me that me supporting talented writers who happen to be minors and being someone they can talk to and be like a parental figure to is me being a groomer? Huh?!

I'm sorry but that is completely bullshit, want to see a groomer? Look at someone like James Charles or Onison, get your head out of your ass

➖Number 6, the one that pisses me off the most. "You dont write enough", do you really think in any kind of small pea brain mind that people being rude to me about not writing enough is gonna make me want to write more? I took a break from writing in the first place because people were being dicks to me about it, saying oh you spelt this wrong, or this is so cringy, or stop making the person ooc.

I write for myself and I'm gonna be honest, I have many finished drafts and fic ideas but I dont want to post them because well I'm tired of being shitted on for every minor mistake.

➖look I'm not a perfect person and have never tried to come across as one. I fuck up and I'm sure you do too. At this rate with all the hate anons recently, I'm very close to turning off anon asks or just asks in general. But I don't want to do that because my anon asks are for people who want to vent but want to stay anonymous and I feel like that would take away that security of I turned it off.

Just let people exist and get your head out of your ass

[edename]

The Handicapped Path

“Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Why is the earth moving round the sun? Floating in the vacuum with no purpose, not a one Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Why is life made only for to end? Why do I do all this waiting then? Why this frightened part of me that's fated to pretend? Why is life made only for to end? In the city only for a while Here to face the fortune and the bile I heard you on the radio, I couldn't help but smile In the city only for a while “ -Fleet Foxes

     Recently I was doing some thinking and I love it when you start thinking about something innocent and out of nowhere it gets like crazy deep. Well that’s how this one is a little bit. I was looking at the lives of people around me. Disclaimer, I’m jealous of none of these lives, but I really had to think about it. I had friends with 3 children. Friends with a strong and healthy established retirement fund. Friends with authority, and friends who have been married no happily for years. I even have some friends happily going it solo, and have been for years. But then when I look at myself, and I am not dunking on myself here, I put myself up there with everyone. I just feel like I haven’t accomplish as much as most of them. And life is not a race I know! And we all live differently but that’s my point here actually. We all live differently.

     When I think of the praises I her about myself, some frequent things pop up. That I have a strong memory, most people know I love people and knowing their stories. I am talented in some areas, especially music. I collect things well, And I have a great appreciation for things. I’m understanding and patient, and have decent manners. Some of this is influenced by my upbringing. But when I tried to use words to explain my life in this way or even try to understand it in an image I was stumped for awhile until I made an interesting connection.

     You see I realized that some of my friends are the ones who will beat a game, and then put it down, and move onto the sequel, or perhaps another game. Some of my friends make games. Some of my friends complain about every single game they pick up, waiting for the perfect one. But myself? Along with some others in my life, and I bet a bunch of you guys reading. I realized that I am the gamer who falls in a deep passionate love with a series or two and put all of my time and energy into making sure I have done every single thing in all of those games, and then did my best to remember and share those experiences. And as new games came around. I took everything I learned from those older ones, and used that knowledge to make up little side goals for myself that made me smile. 

     So what the hell am I talking about? Well, at work I don’t just do my job, I look for other things I can do that will improve the job. I learn more than I need to know about what I am working with, and set myself in worse case scenarios constantly so that I can be prepared for every aspect of my job. Although I haven’t been around as much lately, when I joined the Fire Department I had asked what extra things I could do for the department. Got to know some of the members quickly and worked on forming bonds. I have some things I used to check at the department on my way home from work each night. And on scene, I’d immediately think about what additional support I could provide beyond our immediate task and often surprised myself with great success. 

     When I find a new vocal artist or an author, I need to learn everything about them, and listen to all of their works and make them a part of my life experience. In football I only follow one team but dive so deep into it, you already know where this is going. Surely you are starting to get the picture. I kind of live my life sideways. The more I think about it, the more it reminds me of when I was a child. I would go to my aunts church every Sunday, and my mother would take me bowling after. But when we got to the steps, I took the handicap ramp. It was long and turned 2 or 3 times. I took it every time because it was fun to me. I’d sometimes get in trouble for taking too long because I’d stop along the way and stare at insects or gum, or play on the railing. The more and more we went is the more I just looked forward to going up the handicap ramp. I did it at the post office too.

     I never really wanted to learn when I was at church. Sometimes I didn’t want to go, I just wanted to bowl. Regardless of how I felt that day I was always excited to go right to my ramp. And I always had to explore and check on my ramp. My fishing lakes. My small towns and business owner friends. My 100% completion Jrpgs. My instruments, my Green Bay Packers, my way of life. And I’m not alone. there are tons of people like me. I just hope they aren’t sitting around looking at the bookshelf wishing they had beaten more games. If you love that one game you’re playing so damn much that you keep finding things to do, and you don’t see the need for more. Then love yourself because that’s beautiful. If you wont move on to the next game until you’ve fully completed one, that’s beautiful. And if you’ve played every game ever made that’s beautiful. 

     We hear it all the time but never take it seriously. It’s all about quality not quantity. And for some people Quantity is what gives them quality personally, and that’s okay, it really is. But if you love and chase quality like I know a lot of you do, stop getting upset over quantity. Life can be easy even when it’s hard. You just need to embrace it. There’s nothing wrong with taking the handicap ramp.

“The world is hard and cruel. We are here none knows why, and we go none knows whither. We must be very humble. We must see the beauty of quietness. We must go through life so inconspicuously that Fate does not notice us.” ~W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence, 1919

[criticalrolo]

Hey Hope you're doing okay It's a really random question (feel free to ignore it) but it just happened and I saw your ex-mormon tag My cousin who grew up in a very strict mormon family and got married at nineteen and had two kids very young Just came out as a lesbian and left her ex husband As someone who was in this religion, do you think she can stay in it and will be accepted? Like is there lgbt space there ? And even if there is what's the general view on the inside ?

Short answer: no

Longer answer: Mormons will talk about how they “love” lgbt people but you have to know that this is pretty much. just a straight up lie when you compare their beliefs and practices to how they want to be perceived as loving Everyone No Matter What. 

In mormonism, it is required that gay people stay completely celibate for their whole lives until they die and God “sorts things out” in heaven, meaning that a gay man would be “given” a wife or a lesbian would be “given” to a husband. And by celibacy, they mean no having any sort of romantic inclinations ever. All gay thoughts must be repressed, no holding hands, no kissing, CERTAINLY no marriage. They are required to just stick out being alone in this life until God can make you straight in the afterlife. Hopefully I don’t have to explain to anyone that telling gay people “everything will be better and God will fix you once you die” is. not great.

The additional problem with this is, Mormons believe in an “Eternal Plan of Happiness” which necessitates marriage in the mormon temple for someone to be truly happy. Other kinds of marriage/living together without being married outside of mormonism (referenced specifically in a gay way lmao) aren’t “real” marriages.

Iconic quote from a church apostle Jeffrey Holland:

“Can you see the moral schizophrenia that comes from pretending you are one [in marriage], pretending you have made solemn promises before God, sharing the physical symbols and the physical intimacy of your counterfeit union but then fleeing, retreating, severing all such other aspects of what was meant to be a total obligation?” (Ensign, 1998, pg. 76-77)

From 2015-2019, it was mormon doctrine that if a gay person got married, they would be automatically excommunicated and their children would not be allowed to join the church until they were 18, no longer lived with their gay parents, and specifically disavowed their parents’ marriage. Making being gay a more heavily punished sin than murder/rape/etc.! If your parent commits a crime in mormonism, then you personally are not judged or restricted at all. If your parents are gay, then you have to take specific steps to distance yourself from them. From a church that thinks that the only way to be truly happy is to be Mormon and take all the necessary steps in mormonism such as baptism and being sealed in marriage you can see why this is such a huge deal to them to deny it to people! (This policy was reversed in 2019, which makes it kind wild to think that god apparently changed his mind about how severely to punish gay people within a span of four years. don’t worry now gay marriage is just equivalent to murder/rape instead of being worse)

The church has been staunchly opposed to every form of progress for lgbt rights for decades. In 2008 they advocated heavily for prop 8 in california, which would deny lgbt people the right to marry. They’ve also been vocally anti-gay marriage in their own sermons and addresses to the mormon population in a service called General Conference. As a lesbian who was mormon until I turned 18, I can tell you without any doubt that an anti-gay message was worked into nearly EVERY lesson/sermon/etc. It’s been their THING for the past 20 years or so, once everyone called them out on being racist and they had to try to stop that. (the insanely racist aspects of mormonism is ANOTHER post for another time)

Let’s go through some of my favorite anti “same sex attracted” quotes from the past couple of years!

“Our knowledge of God’s revealed plan of salvation requires us to oppose many of the current social and legal pressures to retreat from traditional marriage or to make changes that confuse or alter gender or homogenize the differences between men and women,” Oaks said in an address to the church's General Conference in October. Those pressures, he said, come from none other than Satan, who “seeks to confuse gender, to distort marriage, and to discourage childbearing, especially by parents who will raise children in truth.” -Dallan H. Oaks, General Conference Oct. 2018

“There are no homosexual members of the church.” David A. Bednar, Feb. 23, 2016

pretty much anything Boyd K. Packer ever said, fuck this guy for real

more boyd again I hate this man

“There are some men who entice young men to join them in these immoral acts. If you are ever approached to participate in anything like that, it is time to vigorously resist. While I was in a mission on one occasion, a missionary said he had something to confess. I was very worried because he just could not get himself to tell me what he had done. After patient encouragement he finally blurted out, 'I hit my companion.' 'Oh, is that all,' I said in great relief. 'But I floored him,' he said. After learning a little more, my response was 'Well, thanks. Somebody had to do it, and it wouldn't be well for a General Authority to solve the problem that way.' I am not recommending that course to you, but I am not omitting it. You must protect yourself.“ - Boyd K. Packer, 1976

There’s about a million more, but a good summary exists here on wikipedia about the church’s changing homophobic stances. Including all the electroshock therapy at BYU! good times.

Here are some good videos that explain why mormons trying to say they’re not homophobic are Complete Bullshit

On a more personal level, I can tell you that my experience with homophobia in the mormon church has been pretty devastatingly awful and I’m still experiencing the repercussions of being raised in an environment that actively told me what a horrible thing I was for Being Gay. Not all experiences are universal of course, but I can pretty much guarantee that any lgbt people still in the church are experiencing some major cognitive dissonance in order to justify their treatment there and keep believing that this is what God wants for them.

The homophobia usually isn’t outwardly violent and obvious -- it’s always couched in “language of love” while still conveying the meaning that gay people are inherently bad and will be better off once they die. Some people are still trying to change the church’s general opinion about this, especially the younger generation. The fact is, though, that the mormon church is inherently homophobic and that its doctrine cannot be separated from that. So, your cousin might know some good people who will do their best to accept her in spite of their mormon beliefs. Just know that those people will also probably be believing all the above things I’ve stated as absolute truth/doctrine at the same time. 

[ghostsray]

kin assigned fenton pt. 3

(compared to the two previous 8k-word chapters, this one is really short...also i kind of made myself sad while writing this so oops)

(pt 1/pt 2) (ao3)

summary: danny remembers a fond memory uwu

.

Danny wished he could starve.

That was a sentence most people didn't say. But even as he ate the cereal bar he had stolen, he knew he didn't need to eat it. It didn't give him any energy or quench any hole in his stomach. It just went...who knows where, because it wasn't the other end. He hadn't needed to use the toilet in days. Worst of all, the food didn't even taste the same--everything he ate tasted like ectoplasm.

Not that that stopped him from eating it.

"Dude, what's wrong with your skin?" a man said. Danny looked up and found the person...the human...standing in the bus stop next to him, squinting at his face.

Right--he had lowered his scarf to free his mouth to eat. Danny covered his face again and mumbled, "Skin condition."

The man didn't question him. Most likely, a blue-skinned, slightly glowing teenager wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen.

Okay, so Danny was pretending to still be a human. The hoodie he wore did a good job of covering his white hair and most of his jumpsuit. The sunglasses he wore hid his glowing eyes. The scarf covered the rest of his unusually-colored face.

So what?

Dying was what Jazz would have called a traumatic experience. Danny was desperate to cling onto any semblance of his old life as a human, or he would have lost it. So, he walked and rode buses instead of flying. He breathed even though he couldn't suffocate. He ate and drank even though he didn't starve or become thirsty. At night, he lay down and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep but always failed because he didn't need to.

He didn't need to do any of those things that kept him alive because he was dead.

He missed being a human. He missed being able to starve.

There was the rumbling of an engine as a bus rolled into view. The doors slid open. The man climbed aboard, and Danny followed.

He picked a seat toward the back of the bus and sat down. Logically, he knew he would have reached his destination days ago if he had simply chosen to fly, but he couldn't help it. As exhilarating as flying was, it was foreign...inhuman. So, he had spent his days walking and stopping to rest even though he didn't need to because he never felt exhausted.

He leaned his head against the window, making sure not to accidentally phase it through, as the bus began to drive. The road outside was dark, the stars hidden behind clouds. The landscape passed by in a blur.

His destination was, of course, in Wisconsin.

His parents were not the only ghost experts in the human world. He remembered visiting their old college friend when he and Jazz were little. Uncle Vlad was as knowledgable as Mom and Dad were in ghost matters, but he was less trigger-happy.

There was one time years ago when their family came to Wisconsin for a ghost expo, and Uncle Vlad offered to let them stay over. Danny must have been four or five years old. He considered himself a big boy, and for that, he insisted on sleeping in his own guest bedroom in spite of his parents' reluctance. He regretted that decision when he woke up in the middle of a night from a frightful nightmare.

Shivering from the image of a ghost trying to eat him, he left his room and attempted to search for his parents. Unfortunately, the mansion was so big that he quickly became lost. After turning another corner and being greeted by a wall of Packers merch but no bedroom door, his bottom lip trembled. Somehow, a deep part of his five-year-old soul was certain that a ghost was out to get him.

"What are you doing here, little badger?" Vlad's voice spoke, and he looked up to find the man standing before him.

Danny didn't want Vlad to think he was a scaredy cat like his classmates in kindergarten did, so he didn't tell him he was scared. Instead, he stood as straight as his little body could allow and said truthfully, "I want Mommy and Daddy."

"Mommy and Daddy? Sure, I was just on my way back from the potty. I can bring you there." Vlad pouted and added, "But tell me, why do you want them? I thought you were a big boy now. That's what you said."

"I'm not scared! I..." he fidgeted and said, "Mommy and Daddy always protect me from ghosts."

"You're worried a ghost might hurt you?" Vlad said, eyebrows raised. Danny nodded.

"Ghosts are bad."

Vlad smiled. He crouched until he was at eye level with the young boy. "Did Mommy and Daddy tell you that?"

"Yes. They know a lot about ghosts! And they hunt them down so they don't hurt us!"

"I'm sure they do," Vlad said. "But you know, I also know a lot about ghosts."

"Are you a ghost hunter, too?" Danny asked, tilting his head. He never saw Vlad carry any weapons like his parents did. And he didn't wear a jumpsuit either, which his parents insisted was an important part of their job.

"No, I'm not. And do you want to know why?" He leaned forward and whispered, "I know of a way to stop ghosts without weapons."

Danny widened his eyes. "How?" he asked curiously.

"It's easy..." He suddenly thrust his hands out in a scary gesture and said with an exaggerated growl, "You scare them before they scare you!"

Danny jumped at Vlad's scare--then laughed. "That can't be right!"

"Oh, it is," Vlad said with a very serious expression. "Do you want to know how I'm sure? Because no ghost ever got the best of me."

"Really?" Danny said, still not quite believing him.

"Of course. Ghosts are only scary if you let them scare you. But if you scare them instead--well, they'll leave you alone!"

He grinned, and Danny couldn't help but grin back. Vlad then stood up and asked, "Do you still want me to take you to your parents?"

Danny thought about it for a second, then puffed out his chest and said, "No. I'm not scared!"

"That's the spirit," Vlad said and ruffled his hair.

That single conversation was not enough to end his fear of ghosts, of course. But for that night, at least, he didn't have any nightmares when he went back to bed.

Later that week, when they had to return to Amity Park, he asked his parents why they didn't visit Uncle Vlad more often. His mother smiled and explained that Wisconsin was very far away.

"Then why don't we move?" he asked.

He vividly remembered a brief moment where Mom looked uncomfortable, though he didn't understand why. However, Dad quickly answered for her by saying, "I, for one, like our house in Amity Park. Don't you?"

Danny grumbled and let it slide. But as they went to pack their things, and Jazz caught him without their parents, she said in her stuck-up big sister tone, "It's obvious why Mom and Dad don't want us to spend time with Uncle Vlad. He's crazy."

Danny frowned. "No he's not."

Jazz rolled her eyes. "He is. You're just too dumb to notice."

Danny didn't understand why she said those things. He thought she was being mean. After all, Vlad was a perfectly rational man!

It was not until years later that he thought back on their encounters and realized Jazz told the truth. Danny always focused on the nice memories he had with Vlad, but there were times when Vlad went from calm and collected to agitated and paranoid in the blink of an eye. Sometimes Vlad changed personalities so violently that it was almost as if two souls lived inside him. Those memories always scared Danny, so he kept them in the back of his memory.

Still, despite how crazy Vlad might have been, Danny still thought of him fondly. Recalling their encounters brought a smile to his face--such as now.

He was sure there must be a way to reverse the switch between him and Phantom. His parents, the leading ghost experts he knew, were too biased against ghosts to listen to him. But maybe Vlad could help him. He had all of their expertise and none of their irrational hatred toward ghosts.

So, here he was, on his way through Wisconsin.

There was a kid in the seat in front of him, watching him over the seatback curiously, probably wondering why he was dressed in a way that covered his glowing face. Danny ignored him and continued gazing out the dark window.

All of a sudden, a chill gripped at him and caused him to shiver. He knew temperature did not affect him as a--you know. He widened his eyes just in time to see his breath turn to mist.

He turned his head away from the window and stared to the front of the bus. the inside of the vehicle was nearly empty, carrying only a few passenger beside himself. The bus driver was a regular, unimpressive dude. Outside the bus, through the front windshield...

Danny saw the glowing figure approach before the bus's headlights did.

It moved too quickly to observe clearly, but it looked like a person riding a motorcycle--and they were headed right at the bus. The bus driver jolted and turned the wheel hurriedly to avoid the crazy biker. The bus lurched violently to the side. The kid in front of Danny screamed and gripped his seat.

Whether they avoided the biker or not was unclear (though Danny doubted it mattered), but now they faced a bigger danger. The bus drove off the road and into the uneven terrain. Soon, everyone was screaming as the vehicle toppled down the hills and into trees, threatening to land in a wrecked heap.

The only one who wasn't affected by the movements of the bus was Danny. he was untouched by gravity and inertia. As he watched the scene play out before him, he knew he had to do something--anything--to help these people.

He stood. He placed a hand against the shuddering window and focused, sending his energy across the bus's frame and through the passengers inside. A few of them gasped at the sudden sensation that overtook them. The bus stopped--right in the middle of a tree.

Danny ignored his self-placed no-flying rule and, still keeping his hand to the wall, moved up until he pressed against the roof. He grunted and pushed upward. The bus was actually pretty easy to lift since Danny kept it intangible from gravity, but he did feel his energy drain as he maintained the ghostly power (hey, turns out he can grow tired).

He carried the bus back to the road and set it down. As soon as he removed his hands, it returned to normal, and he landed on his seat, feeling tired for the first time since he left home.

Everybody stared. Many of them backed away from him. The kid in front of him gawked until his mother pulled him away from Danny and hugged him to her. Even the bus driver gaped.

"What are you?" the kid's mother demanded.

Danny couldn't blame them. Even if he didn't just show an obvious display of ghost powers, his hood and sunglasses had fallen off in the action. Everyone saw how glowy, how unusual, how ghostly he was.

They stared at him with fear.

"I'm..." He wanted to say he was a normal human, but that wasn't true, was it? He was a ghost--a monster. Everyone looked at him like one, and everyone was right.

He trembled. His bottom lip quivered. Suddenly, he felt like he was a lost five-year-old again, looking for his parents.

He wished he could disappear.

Several gasps sounded, and he looked down and realized he literally did disappear. Great. He didn't even think about turning invisible; his ghost powers simply worked according to his emotions.

Well, since he was already gone from view....he ran across the bus to the doors and phased through them. He didn't look back until he made it to the woods on the side of the road. Finally, he dropped his invisibility and collapsed on his knees.

There were many things he hated about being a ghost, but in that moment, he realized the cruelest thing was that he couldn't even cry. He had no tear ducts to make his eyes water. The most he could do was whimper and whine while the emotions boiled inside him.

He wasn't sure how much time he passed that way, but eventually, he stopped whining long enough to hear two voices speaking nearby. His breath misted over. He gulped, then gingerly picked himself up and crept around a tree to see two people--two glowing people--arguing next to a motorcycle.

"Ancients, I said I was sorry, okay?" one of them, a guy ghost with gray skin and blonde hair, said. "I thought we were invisible!"

"You could have killed them," said the other, a girl ghost with wild green hair and blue skin. Her red leather jacket stood out beside the guy's dark gray one.

"Why do you care if they live or die?"

"Excuse me for not wanting a bus load of vengeful spirits after us!"

The guy held up his hands placatingly and said, "Fine, fine! I'll be more careful next time! In my defense, we haven't been to the human world in ages."

The girl rolled her eyes. They landed on Danny, and she paused. "Hey, who're you?" she asked.

The guy followed her vision and saw Danny. Danny squirmed under his glowing eyes. He almost considered turning invisible again, but he didn't know if that would hide him from them.

The guy grinned and said, "Another ghost, eh? Did you come through the portal, too?"

"How did you get past the ghost hunters?" the girl asked. "Those were awful to sneak past."

The guy smirked. He wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders and said, "Good thing you have a boyfriend who's excellent at sneaking, right?"

"Sure, one who forgot to turn invisible while driving head on toward a bus full of humans," the girl grumbled and rolled her eyes, though she didn't make a move to remove his arm from her.

Danny stayed silent, watching them with wary eyes. The last time he'd encountered a ghost, it didn't go so well. But these two didn't seem to have any malicious intent toward him.

When Danny gave no response, the guy smirked and said, "What? Worried we might attack?" He turned up his palms in a peaceful gesture and said, "Don't worry, no territorial disputes in the human realm. We're all tourists here."

"I'm not a tourist," Danny said before he could stop himself.

"No? What are you here for, then? Hoping to fulfill some unfinished business?"

Danny clenched his jaw. He wasn't sure what made him decided to talk to these ghosts. Maybe he was tired of keeping everything to himself. Maybe he didn't want them to act like he was one of them. But he held his head up and said, "I won't stay a ghost for long."

"So you are moving on?"

"No," Danny said. "I'm going to be human."

For a moment, the ghost couple was speechless. Then the girl gave him a pitiful look while the guy barked with laughter. "Yeah, right. Let me guess--you read about some elixir of life in Ghostwriter's library, and now you're going to find it and revive yourself? If that stuff were real, someone would have found it ages ago. Just give up and accept that you're dead like the rest of us."

Danny clenched his fists. "What if my body is still alive?"

The guy raised his eyebrows. "Well, now you're just delusional."

"He must be a new ghost," the girl said, still eyeing him sadly. "The poor guy's in denial."

"I'm not in denial," Danny argued. "And I'm not delusional! My body really is still alive."

"Oh yeah, wise guy?" the guy taunted. "Then how the hell are you a ghost?"

"It's...it's complicated," Danny told him. "Someone else is in my body. It was an accident with the portal. We switched places."

"Yep, definitely delusional," the guy said, shaking his head slowly. He steered the girl to their motorcycle and said, "Come on, we don't need to waste time with someone in denial like him."

"I'm not in denial!" Danny said. But the ghost couple had already ridden on the bike. He caught the girl giving him one last sorry look before the vehicle revved into action, driving down the road without any smoke.

Danny was alone. He swallowed down a lump in his throat and ignored the tremble in his chin. "I'm not in denial," he whispered to himself.

Because a person in denial would not pretend to be alive when he's not.

Danny bit down his emotions and turned to the road. The bus had recovered from its shock and driven off without him (or maybe they wanted to get away from him). The road was empty.

He took in a deep breath and let it go. He wished that did anything, though. Not needing oxygen meant breathing exercises did little to assuage his nerves.

Still, he sighed and faced the long road. And he walked.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 43

~*~Emma~*~

 I remembered Will from a couple of parties and Kirk and Boone's wedding. Nice guy. Apparently, he and some of his friends thought I was the extra in a three-way with Eli and Angie. Eli didn't see a reason he should correct them. Angie invited Alissa out on one of our girls’ nights and she became one of the group. It had probably been six months since I’d last seen her. I liked her and we got along well. The friendship had never progressed past those nights. I can't remember if I met her before or after Jimmy and I broke up. Either way, I moved, and we only ever saw each other on nights out. Now I find she's married to one of Sebastian's best friends. We have at least three friends in common and our friends' group overlaps. Very cool, but very weird. Almost like we were supposed to meet.

 Wednesday I got the photoshoot "before" picture about fifteen minutes before my kids arrived. Looked like Sebastian in the morning. Hair a little messy, a crease on his face from his pillow, and his eyes not quite awake. His beard had grown in more and I ran my fingers over it in the picture, knowing it would be gone in the after. I didn’t dislike either version. I was just used to the way I’d met him.

 My aide took the kids to lunch and I went in search of my after. The first thing I noticed was his beard was trimmed super close, where it was long stubble, but it was still there. I guess they'd changed their mind. His hair was styled not that different than he did except every hair was in place and I was betting it was fixed where it wouldn't move. Makeup perfected his skin tone and somehow made his eyes even bluer. Maybe it was the dark blue robe he was wearing. It had been hours since he'd sent, but I still sent a text telling him how handsome he looked.

 I grabbed my lunch out of my mini-fridge and headed down to Mallory's room. I'd made some pasta salad loaded with veggies while talking with Sebastian last night and was looking forward to eating. Our secretary was walking toward me with a bouquet of cookies. They were shaped and iced like crayons, rulers, apples, notepads, and glue. Outside of teacher appreciation week that usually signaled a parent had gotten pissed at a grade or consequence and sided with their kid. At least, until they got both sides of the story. Cookies were good apologies and could be shared with the other grade level teachers who were sure to know every word you said and the tone of voice you used.

 "Who got yelled at this time, Jamie?"

 She lifted an eyebrow, "You."

"No one’s yelled at me." That meant they were from Sebastian.

"Then your new boyfriend sent cookies instead of flowers."

I laughed, "Good possibility." I took them from her. "Take one for you and Kim."

"I was hoping you'd say that. They smell delicious."

 I walked into Mallory's room with my healthy pasta salad and not at all healthy cookies. "I brought dessert." Our lunch group made appreciative noises.

Cindy laughed, "Who's parent did you piss off?"

I shook my head, "No one."

Mallory snatched the card while my hands were full, "I believe these are from the new man." I went ahead and sat down, trusting the card would be G-rated. Mallory read, "Halfway into the last full week. Hope this helps you all make it through. Sebastian." She looked to me, "Sebastian? That's a mouthful."

"Yes, he is."

 Before we dug into the cookies, I had everyone take one and gather together. I'd send the picture as a thank you. They'd heard about him Monday after the tournament and I talked more about him today. I wasn't ready to share him yet. I was a little surprised word hadn't traveled from the tournament, but I guess there wasn't enough overlap. Outside of my team, where I worked wasn’t common knowledge. This was an advantage of not working and living in the same school district. If there was gossip it was more than likely identifying me as the setter on that team than a teacher. The moment his last name entered my school it would be a topic of conversation in all three buildings. I don't know exactly what that would mean. I'd been here four years and it was common knowledge where I went over winter break. Ed may eclipse Sebastian, but not when you throw Marvel in the mix. We have superhero day during our anti-drug week. I see the Marvel costumes and t-shirts. There'd be a lot of talk. Once the kids were gone, I’d feel more comfortable sharing who this new man is. The kids could make this a zoo.

 Mallory, Cindy, and I were the last left. Cindy asked, "Will we ever meet this Sebastian? See a picture."

 "I’m sure." I smiled, "We haven't known each two weeks yet. It's good and I'm protecting the new relationship like you do a new kitten. It needs to grow a little more."

 Mallory agreed, "You know the Barbie Bitches at the high school are going to want all the details."

 I did know that. "I’m not ready to share."

Cindy took our trash to the cafeteria while Mal and I cleaned up the tables. We sat down to finish our drinks, stretching out our break as long as possible. Her kids coming into the room was my cue to head back to my room as mine would be a few minutes behind them. It wasn’t quite time yet.

My text alert went off with a picture of Sebastian. I reached for my phone, but not so quick that Mallory didn’t see. Her eyes went wide and I held up a finger, “Give me one minute and I'll show you.” He was wearing a dark blue suit, with an unbuttoned white shirt, and an untied bow tie. He looked amazing and about two seconds away from sex. I put my hand over the screen and pushed it toward Mal, "Can I trust you to tell no one. I'm not ready for this to be here."

 Mal put her hand over mine, "You know I'm not telling anyone. If that's who I think it is, the kids finding out will make Field Day crazy. Too much unstructured time to gossip and ask you questions." She started lifting her hand, "Let me see."

I moved my hand from the phone to my mouth.

Mallory looked at the picture a long time before she said, "Yep, that’s a Sebastian. Damn, Emma, you met him," she tapped my screen, "in the grocery?"

I nodded.

"Now I really wish I would have come to volleyball. Although, I probably would have just stared."

 "No, you wouldn't. A few minutes and you would see he's like anyone else. Nothing special."

 She grinned, "Except to you." Her kids started coming into the room.

 I stood, "Except to me."

 As I headed to the door she called out, "We're sitting in the back at faculty meeting."

 Sebastian had sent another picture by the time recess rolled around. He was in black jeans and a t-shirt a least one size too small.

 Emma ~ Might have to cut you out of that shirt. This is not a complaint.

Sebastian ~ It was stretchy.

 Emma ~ How is it going?

Sebastian ~ Good. I'm sitting in a chair having my hair changed.

 Emma ~ What are they doing to it?

 Sebastian ~ Making it look like it did when I got here. Apparently, people sleep in very expensive watches. I' II be done soon. No tommorow.

Emma ~ What will you do with the unexpected free time?

Sebastian ~ Clean my apartment.

 Emma ~ I was going to say you don't have to, but you do. Ha Ha, the first time at least.

Sebastian ~ Exactly. I’m pretty neat. Bathroom is a wreck.

Emma ~ Bathrooms always need cleaning. I have to run. Argument on the monkey bars.

Sebastian ~ Talk to you later.

 It would be Thursday night before we talked. Real-life set in. I had a volleyball game Wednesday night and Sebastian went out for drinks with the photographer once the shoot was over. I got home and was exhausted. We lost. I don't like to lose.

 Thursday during the day there were no texts. My guess is he got home late and drunk. Overslept. Busy at gym. Returns home to sleep off the night before. I was driving home when a call from Sebastian came in.

"Buna ziua, Sebasti-an.” <Good afternoon>  

 “Ce mai faci?” <How are you?>

 Thankfully he kept it simple. “Bine, tu?”  <Good and you?>

Sebastian switched to English. “I broke my phone. I pulled it out to text some woman, got elbowed by a guy on the sidewalk, and threw my phone on the ground. Screen shattered and I held it in my hand watching it slowly die. It just glitched and sputtered away in front of me."

"My poor, baby. Are you mourning the loss?"

 "Nope, an hour in an Apple store and I have a shiny new iPhone. They were able to transfer my data over. Good as new. That's why you hadn’t heard from me."

I smiled, "I thought you were sleeping one-off."

"I barely drank. Too much to do today. Sheets changed, bathroom clean, kitchen has some food, and the family room is clean. When are you going to be here?"

 "I got permission to leave a little early. I’ll definitely make the three o’clock train, but I’ll try and do the two. If that's ok with you?"

 “I'm not going anywhere after the gym. I'll be here waiting."

 "I'm excited. Seeing you. You with my friends and your friends. It’s going to be fun."

"It is."

Just to be sure. "Most excited about you."

"I like hearing that."

 I set my alarm a little early to give myself time to finish packing. I’m not normally an over-packer, but I couldn't decide on a dress for dinner. Or anything else. Insane. At least today wasn't a theme day I need to wear a costume for. I wore a pair of black capris and a bright pink top with rolled sleeves and a long zipper up the front. Up for school, a little less so for Sebastian.

 First text of the day.

Sebastian ~ Are you here yet?

 I had nothing but fun things planned for the day. Yesterday I'd had them vote for their favorite books and we read those at the top of every hour. We played math games, a science and social studies game show, and our top music and movement videos. I ate my lunch getting the STEM Lab cart and prepped everything for my assistant. The kids had been wonderful all day and I didn't feel the least bit guilty when I fled the building when she took them outside for recess.

 I waited until I was safely on the train to text Sebastian.

Emma ~ On my way

Sebastian ~ Early!

Emma ~ I’ll beat the worst of the traffic

Sebastian ~ Exactly what I was thinking.

Sebastian ~ I should shower.

 I put in my ear pods, clicking shuffle on my "Current Faves" playlist. This one changed all the time. Some never left the list. Recently there'd be an influx of happy love songs and sexy mood music. I think I even dozed off a couple of times. The closer I got the more butterflies were in my stomach. I was excited to see him, but a little nervous. I was going to his place. It would be different than surrounded by my stuff. I’m nervous about stupid stuff like where do I put my toothbrush, is it ok to look through the books in his extra room, what I do with my dirty clothes, and what if I get thirsty in the middle of the night? It's making me think back and wondering if I'd made him welcome... comfortable.

 I took a cab from the train station, looking out the window at the city I used to call home. I wasn't familiar with where he lived so I watched the numbers on the buildings. His building from the outside looked like an old converted warehouse. The brick was red with a gray stone line between every floor. Looked about seven floors. He'd texted me the entry code and I hopped on the elevator to the fifth.

 Sebastian opened his door so fast it was like he was standing beside it and I almost fell over. He was barefoot in ripped jeans and a Rutgers t-shirt. He held the door open with a hand high on the door. Add in the finger styled hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile that said he was happy to see me and he was the sexiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. It was the barefoot part that got me.  "I'm here."

[spiffypony]

Some thoughts on amateurism and “high performance” in sport

Alright @thehorsethief and @sanddancingwithanxiety, I have a 5 hour layover and no desire to do real work so here goes. Also fair warning, chrome isn’t playing nice w tumblr on my computer so this is all from mobile.

First let’s define a few things. 1) an amateur is someone who participates (in this case) in a sport without receiving any substantial compensation in the way of goods or currency. 2) high performance is a modifier referring time athletes, programs, strategies etc at the top of their sport (the highest level/most competitive/what have you). 3) a professional athlete is someone who participates in a sport for compensation, often from sponsors.

Additionally, this is coming from my own experience as an amateur equestrian, highschool varsity athlete (basketball and powerlifting), and NCAA Division III athlete (rowing). I am not a professional, I have never been, and, and this is something I’m going to emphasize: I’m not a high performance athlete. While my experience with amateurism in sports runs the gambit from v casual to quite structured, and I do participate in a program that prioritizes competitive success, I really want to be clear, I am not the pinnacle of amateur athlete.

Now then, something I see in a lot of (highschool) programs and a mindset that seems pretty common amongst horsblr is people believing themselves (or their children) in their athletic pursuits to be on a path to or on par with high performance athletes, often pros in the horse world. This is usually an inaccurate notion and in highschool sports it leads to parents pushing their kids into toxic and/or overbearing programs where kids end up burnt out or permanently injured or both before they could ever reach the desired outcome (often getting monetary assistance for college). This affects parents, it affects coaches and it fucks kids up. I have lots of feelings on it having been through it and having witnessed it, but that’s another post quite frankly. In the equestrian world, it is the primary fodder of self identified underdogs and outcasts. In the equestrian world it seems to translate into an overly high regard for one’s own knowledge and training program. This is ultimately less damaging than the highschool case generally. Also as a note here, participation in sports, and especially equestrian sports is a huge privilege of time, money, and location, and participation at a high performance level is even more so and lack of privilege is a major limitation to most people’s participation. That doesn’t diminish the importance of this conversation though.

To give an idea of what I mean, I’m going to compare the commitments of collegiate rowing to dressage in my own life. We’ll start with dressage, currently it’s in the backburner because I’m a college kid with no money and less time, I take lessons with a trainer who has a good name and has proven themself in competition and with other students weekly when I’m home. When I had a horse, I rode 3-4 times a week when I was home (about 4 months out of the year) and at school I take lessons through a club at a h/j barn for about 8 weeks a semester. In highschool I rode 2/3 times a week and spent another 2/3 hours a week on education for dressage. This adds up to an average of ~10 hours a week when you include transit time, it’s easily down to 6 or 7 if you cut the drive time out though. Additionally, dressage didn’t impact much outside of itself in my life, I was already lifting for powerlifting and rowing and it never had an effect on my diet, sleep schedule, or life rhythm. I’d say that this level of commitment is about average, and I don’t mean to disparage it, I love dressage and I do want to consistently improve in it and build skill in it. But that’s nothing compared to rowing. Rowing has two seasons a year, a 6 week season in the fall and an 8 week season in the spring. In season I have morning practice 5 or 6 days a week with one day also having an afternoon weights session and another being back to back practice and weights, so average 8 hours of practice a week, and that’s rounding down. Now add regattas (meets), they are invariably 5+ hour events, and in the spring we have them every weekend, so I’m up to an average 13 hours a week in season. Out of season we have captains practices. 5 days a week, so 5 hours a week. Additionally mid semester breaks we practice between 1.5 and 2 times as much. And over summer and winter break, we’re expected to work out 4 days a week. And that’s just pure practice time. Rowing isn’t like dressage, I get up at 5 am for practices, so I have to go to bed before 11 or I fall asleep in classes, I’m doing Hard physical exercise daily, so I have to make sure I’m not only eating enough, but eating well. Having regattas means I can’t pick up work shifts on the weekends usually. Hour wise it’s double what dressage is, at their most intense, but it’s also a more sustained substantial commitment and it has a material effect in most aspects of my life (food, sleep, work, free time). Oh, and my rowing program? It’s DIII, it’s Collegiate AthleticsLite™️. They can’t even give athletes scholarship for being on the team.

Real high performance athletes are always training, their diets, their sleep schedules, and everything else in their lives revolve around their sport. It’s why NCAA DI sports are rife controversy about whether the technically amateur athletes should be able to receive compensation. Those horror stories you’ve heard about college athletes? That’s DI. The football coaches who make more than double a professor’s salary? That’s DI. NCAA DI Sports are almost without exception high performance programs. They obtain and produce athletes who are at the top of their sport and the consequence of that is that the sport is the athlete’s life.

To be clear, not all equestrian pros are high performance athletes. Even if we rightfully exclude the “pros” who teach beginner lessons to offset board or who schooled the problem lesson horses in their youth, there’s a huge proportion of equestrian pros (specifically trainers and riders) who compete primarily at lower levels and provide basic guidance and safety to their clients. But like high performance athletes, regardless of the level of the sport, the truth remains that for pros, as with high performance athletes, the sport is their life. It’s literally how they live. They certainly do it at a greater scale and more frequently than most of their amateur clients. This has gotten rather lengthy, but really the point is this: if you do not compete at the highest level, you are Not a high performance athlete and quite frankly there’s nothing wrong with that, realistically, you probably don’t want to be a high performance athlete.

What is bad is equating yourself with a high performance athlete. It sets you up for disappointment and digs you into a pit of self pity that’s very difficult to dig out of. In dressage in particular one must be careful, because if one fancies themself on par with a pro, one will be let down always and may eventually determine that the guidelines of the sport they’ve pursued are wrong and be driven from the sport rather than learning to set reasonable goals and balance desired progress with leisure. To be clear, falling into the pit of self pity so to speak is not a moral failing, it’s a mis judgement. And it’s one most people make at some point in their life. Certainly it can have bad consequences, like a loss of drive to critically analyze ones own actions and a tendency to reject any actual outside input, but these things are temporary and are best overcome not through self brutalizations but through careful, constant consideration of the context of our participation in sport.

Now for the actual point: this has an application to conversations about high performance in sport. Namely: your experience as a non high performance athlete is of limited if any significance to such discussions. The things said and suggested in those conversations are also of limited application to your pursuit of your sport. Charlotte Dujardin’s hand tailored Pilates routine is going to do a low level rider whose only exercise is riding about as much good as going for a jog a couple times a week. Michael Jung’s favorite bit in the hands of a novice eventer on their packer is not going to shave even seconds off a xc run. Likewise, just because you wouldn’t run your bucket list foal through a jump chute at a year old doesn’t mean it’s inappropriate for a breeder advertising to higher performance athletes than you to do so on occasion. So. Stop comparing yourselves to high performance athletes. Stop pretending high performance athletes participate the way you do. You are not them. You cannot fathom being them. There’s nothing wrong with your current level of participation but for your own sake, stop equating yourself with that. Accept that your trainer gets the best out of your horse because they are on a different level than you. Accept that you cannot understand the practices of a horse pro through the context of your own experience. When you read prescriptive posts about how to be a better horse person that frustrate you think: “is this targeted at someone of my participation level” no? Move on.

Anyways I’m done now.

Tldr: A lot of equestrians are very casual in their participation if their chosen sport which is fine, good even. This means their experiences are not comparable to pros and those at the highest level. Equating ones casual participation with that of those at the highest level can cause distress to ones self as well as hinder their progress. Additionally it can cause one to make a fool of themself. For the sake of your own enjoyment take stock if your participation level and keep it in mind when setting goals, seeking advice and judging the choices of other athletes.

[aaknopf]

The poet Quan Barry is also a fiction writer, whose mischievous We Ride Upon Sticks has just been published. In the fall of 1989, the seniors on the losing Danvers Falcons field hockey team avail themselves of some locally-sourced Salem witchery, in the hope of concocting a winning season. They make a pact, signing their names in a spiral notebook with Emilio Estevez on the cover, and rip and tie strips of Falcons-blue tube sock around all their arms, sealing their dark bond. In the scene below (which includes a special guest appearance by the poet Philip Larkin), the team mingles with members of the football team at their favorite pizza joint. We meet one of the more mysterious players, Girl Cory, so-called because there’s also a Boy Cory on the squad; Boy Cory’s story, like that of Girl Cory, their teammates Jen Fiorenza (whose awesome, high-teased bangs are known to all as “the Claw”), Abby Putnam (ancestor of an original Salem accuser), and others in the mix here, is a journey of identity, community, and the magic of high school friendships.

from We Ride Upon Sticks

“Our butts are going to States this year,” said Jen. “Where are your butts going?” Just then Girl Cory walked in. For a moment the air in Rocco’s filled with the scent of aquamarine waters and palm trees, the harmonies of steel drums, then just as quickly it was back to cheese pizza and the crackling of the deep fryer. “ ’Sup?” Log called out. Most guys at Danvers High didn’t talk to Girl Cory. From what we could glean of teen-boy-dom it seemed most teen boys only have a finite amount of confidence, and they couldn’t afford to go blowing it willy-nilly on a hopeless case like Girl Cory. It was plain to see she was out of everyone’s league. Most people accepted this. It was pure science, like the apple falling from the tree. Girls like Girl Cory didn’t date regular human boys. Historically, since the invention of written records in the girls’ third-floor bathroom concerning who was banging whom, Girl Cory had never dated anyone at Danvers High. Mostly she left in her wake a trail of names from the local private-school universe, places like the Prep, Pingree, even some faraway boy at Deerfield. Log’s “ ’Sup?” was still hanging in the air. Only he among his brethren had confidence to burn. Little did he know but “ ’Sup?” was an excellent question, one we’d been secretly wondering all our lives. Yeah, Girl Cory, what’s up? As she stood at the counter, Girl Cory nodded at Log but didn’t say a word or even take off her Ray-Bans. “And what does your soon-to-be captain have to say about you hosers going to States?” whispered Brian Robinson in a small voice, only looking at Girl Cory indirectly via a shiny plaque mounted on the wall, as if she were a Medusa with the power to transform flesh to stone. “Which is it?” he said. “You guys going to States, or 2-8 again?” “For your information, we haven’t voted for captain yet,” said Jen. Her Claw gave him the stink eye. Rocco’s adult son Vinny slammed her order down on the counter. Ceremoniously, she rose to retrieve her Diet Coke and two slices of Hawaiian. She noticed Log Winters was still staring at Girl Cory. “Take a picture, my friend,” she said, bending over and whispering in Log’s ear. “It’ll last longer.” Then she raised her voice so that all of Rocco’s could partake in the annunciation. “Besides, Cory already has a boyfriend.” “Who’s that?” said Log. “Nobody you’d know,” Jen projected. “He sent her flowers today. Isn’t that right, Cory?” Girl Cory turned and flashed Jen a look that simultaneously said both shut up and keep talking. She was an enigma like that. Honestly, none of us really knew her. Even now that we were all part of the sisterhood of the blue sweat sock, it was like she had constructed a wall to keep us out, a sunroom off the kitchen where she could sit and drink her Earl Grey in peace while the rest of us crowded around a plate of stale bagels in the breakfast nook. Girl Cory pulled a wad of napkins from the dispenser and went over to where Little Smitty was sitting with Mel. What’s up, Girl Cory? All season long, the rest of us standing around wondering, Girl Cory. What. Is. Up? And then one day we’d take a big juicy bite of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge, and to our everlasting sorrow, we’d find out. “Philip” made his first appearance during the ’88 season shortly after Girl Cory passed her driver’s test. It was late October, one of those autumn days when the afternoon sky prematurely takes on a hazy shade of winter. We were just off the school bus after returning from a massacre in Gloucester, 4-0. Truthfully, the score didn’t accurately reflect the gutting we’d endured at the hands of the Gloucester Fishermen. The two senior co-captains, Gina Packer and Mary Ellen Sommers, had gotten into a fight during the coin toss over whether to pick heads or tails. At one point, Gina reached over and ran her finger through the blue face paint where Mary Ellen had spackled the letters DHS on her cheek. We winced. It was like watching someone ruin a beautifully frosted cake. When we finally arrived back at Danvers High, Julie Kaling stopped reciting that part of the Nicene Creed about God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, her crucifix glinting in the dark of the bus. To be honest, after the kind of outing it had been, some of us found her religious yammering weirdly comforting. We’d grabbed our stuff from the locker room and headed out to wait for our moms to come get us or to bum rides with the seniors who lived in our neighborhoods. Girl Cory had hit the two-fecta, having recently passed her driver’s test and been given her own wheels to boot. Her brand-new white Fiero was parked in the student lot. The Fiero had been purchased weeks before her driving test and was just sitting around in her multi-car garage collecting dust. Driving was still a novelty to her, the monogrammed fingerless gloves still fun to slip on. That day she was giving Abby Putnam a ride home. It was Abby who pointed out the mint-green envelope stuck under the windshield wipers. Girl Cory peeled the envelope off the wet glass and held it between her fingers like a dead roach. “This is a wicked bummer,” she said. “Can you get ticketed here?” Abby shook her head. She watched as her friend tore open the soggy envelope. Girl Cory’s face betrayed nothing. If anything, she looked a little more bloodless. “Lemme see,” said Abby. She took the slip of paper in her hands and stared for a long time at the blurred writing, the washed-out words as if painted in watercolor. Roses are Red— Your Fiero—it’s White— With seating for two. Don’t! Put up a fight—take me with you! The next day before practice we showed the letter around. Heather Houston performed a close reading on it worthy of a 5 on the AP English test. She commented on the juvenile use of the Dickinsonian em dash, the strange imperatives, the elisions, the contradictory tone of both fight and flight. “Whoever wrote this is not playing with a full deck,” she concluded, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It doesn’t even make sense. Like this part. ‘Don’t!’ Don’t what? Use your words, people!” She was practically spitting she was so worked up about it. Poor Heather Houston took weak syntactical choices as a personal affront. Julie Kaling patted her comfortingly on the back. “I dunno, I think it’s sweet,” said Little Smitty softly. This was back in the days before Emilio and the blue tube sock, back when Little Smitty ate all the spinach on her plate happily with a big smile as though it were cotton candy. “What I will say,” said Heather, offering a second conclusion about the note, “is Philip Larkin he is not.” Becca Bjelica looked at AJ Johnson and silently mouthed, Philip who? We were all thinking the same thing. Nobody rolled their eyes at her. How were we supposed to know some curmudgeonly British poet, even one who’d written: They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. And thus “Philip” was born. That first year “Philip” mostly left little things lying around in plain sight, like a cat who brings its owner dead robins. A tube of Chanel lipstick without the actual lipstick in it. A box of chocolates, but instead of sweets slotted in each compartment, there were rocks. Girl Cory took it all in stride. We didn’t tell anyone in the adult world because what was there to say? Some poor slob had the hots for a girl so beautiful she should have been in a music video, and he left her crazy presents? Back then the word “stalker” wasn’t really part of anyone’s vocabulary. Fatal Attraction had come out the year before, but that was just stuff that happened to sexy creeps like Michael Douglas, who banged complete strangers and mostly had it coming. And so Girl Cory learned to live with it. And so we learned to live vicariously through her. In time, we began to look forward to “Philip’s” offerings. They made us feel like maybe somewhere down the road, somebody, anybody, might possibly want us. Even the time he dropped a note in her schoolbag that said, “I hate you, you stupid peckerhead,” and signed it “Much l♥ve.” We were a bunch of mostly inexperienced teen girls. We thought that’s what true romance was supposed to look like. A boy telling a girl she was a stupid peckerhead, but she was his stupid peckerhead. Lord, make us worthy, we prayed. God from God, Light from Light, Boyfriend from Boy Who Considers Us a Peckerhead. It seemed like the thing to ask for. None of us ever thought to pray for a better caliber of boy.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about We Ride Upon Sticks by Quan Barry

Browse other books by Quan Barry including her four poetry collections published in the Pitt Poetry Series

Read the full text of Philip Larkin's "This Be the Verse" at the Poetry Foundation

Peruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series 

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[theyearoftheking]

Book 2: ‘Salem’s Lot

Success is my only motherfuckin' option, failure’s not Mom, I love you, but this trail has got to go, I cannot grow old in Salem's lot So here I go is my shot Feet fail me not 'cause maybe the only opportunity that I got

-Eminem, Lose Yourself

The mere mention of ‘Salem’s Lot has had my brain playing this song on repeat for weeks. And after reading ‘Salem’s Lot, I’d like to point out to Eminem that it’s actually quite difficult to grow old in ‘Salem’s Lot. You’re more likely to be turned into a creepy vampire than grow old and die of natural causes in The Lot. But I feel like if I were to ever address this with one Marshall Mathers, he’d punch me in the face. So I guess I’ll just rest comfortably with my superior Stephen King knowledge. 

This was my first reading of ‘Salem’s Lot, and while I enjoyed Carrie; I feel this was the book that made the Stephen King “style” a thing fans are all familiar with. I’m not going to dive into the entire plot and every character, but the format of the book, and the relationships the characters form will be familiar to all King fans. Let me explain.

Part One: The Introduction 

The book is divided into three parts. In Part One: Marsten House, we learn about the lovely little town of Jerusalem’s Lot, and start feeling a creeping sense of dread every time the Marsten House is mentioned. We don’t know why we feel creepy dread quite yet, but the feeling is lurking in our stomach like a slimy gas station burrito. We also experience a meet cute between Ben Mears and Susan Norton. Ben is a writer, hanging out at the park, trying to forget all the negativity and bad juju he experienced the first time he lived in ‘Salem’s Lot. But now he’s back, living at Eva Miller’s boarding house, working on his next novel. Susan sees him in the park, and just so happens to be reading one of his books. She asks for an autograph, and he inscribes it, “For Susan Norton, the prettiest girl in the park...” The rest is history. Well, vampire, bloodshed history. But romantic history none the less. 

Later on, Ben Mears references The Haunting of Hill House, which was an inspiration for this novel. He tells Susan the subject of his newest novel is,          ”...it’s about the recurrent power of evil...” Art imitating life, ammiright, Steve??? 

Part one also gives us our first (of three!) Wisconsin references. Ben decides to hit up the local watering hole, Dell’s, where he runs into fellow boarding house resident, Weasel Craig. To hear Ben describe it, “...his breath alone could have made Milwaukee famous.” I mean... we do love and brew a lot of beer in this city. But you can imagine my disappointment when in the next paragraph, Weasel orders a pitcher of Budweiser. Gross, Weasel, You deserve to be taken out by those vampires. 

Part one continues to give us plenty of local color, and describes the residents of the town (spoiler: don’t get too attached to any of them). Part one ends with some creepy goings-on at the cemetery, and some children disappearing, and later re-appearing in slightly alarming form. Oh, and a lot of bodies at the morgue start disappearing. Never a good sign. 

Part Two: The Dread Explained, and the Start of Shit Going Sideways 

Part Two: The Emperor of Ice Cream is when the beat drops. But before all of that, we have our final two Wisconsin references. King twice mentions a Packers Patriots game everyone in town is anxious to watch. Ok. I have questions. So many questions. How did Steve decide on this particular football match-up? We’re not division rivals, we don’t even play in the same division. The Packers and Patriots play each other once in a blue moon. Wouldn’t the Bills or the Jets have been a more sensible selection? Maybe the Dolphins? Maybe they were good back in 1975? I don’t know. I do know I personally love Packers/Patriots games because I love seeing Tom Brady pout like a little bitch on the sidelines when our inconsistent defense shows up and decides to tackle him. Repeatedly. It’s a miracle Brady doesn’t trip over that lower lip more.

But I digress. Part two is where shit really starts to go wrong, and we understand the problems plaguing ‘Salem’s Lot are the result of a powerful vampire, Mr. Barlow and his keeper, Mr Straker, moving into Marsten House. That’s right... it’s a vampire book, kids. These two keep a low profile by buying a creepy old murder house, and running an antique store full of old junk in town. As you do. 

King holds true to a lot of the traditional vampire stereotypes: they only come out at night, they are burned by sunshine, they sleep in coffins or boxes, they need to be invited in, and they can be repelled by a crucifix or some holy water. No glittery, pretty vamps here. Sorry, Twilight fans. This probs isn’t the book for you.

Part two of the book is filled with creepy passages full of suspense. You know, those parts when you find yourself cringing and chanting, “No! No! Don’t crawl into the creepy old murder house during the day! I don’t care if you think the vampires are sleeping! This isn’t going to end well!” I know most people have those moments when watching movies... but this book (and King in general) usually brings out all the creepy, cringy feels for me.

So, Ben, Susan, and their ragtag band of friends begin to understand the vampire problem, and realize they need to address it before everyone in town either flees, or becomes part of Barlow’s vampire army. One member of their merry band of vampire killers is a little boy by the name of Mark Petrie. Mark lost two of his best friends in the initial round of vampire attacks, and feels guilt about this. If they weren’t on their way to his house to play with his models, maybe they wouldn’t have ended up as part of the un-dead. As a result of this guilt, Mark wants to help the grownups fight the vampires. He’s a bad ass kid. I hope my kid would behave the same way if we were fighting a vampire onslaught in Milwaukee. 

King best sums up their crew of vampire killers as, “An old teacher half-cracked with books, a writer obsessed with his childhood nightmares, a little boy who has taken a post-graduate course in vampire lore from the films and the modern prenny-dreadfuls...” 

Accurate af. 

Part Two ends with a passage I have to share... “The ordinary fellow isn’t half so leery of the superatural as the fiction writers like to make out. Most writers who deal in that particular subject, as a matter of fact, are more hardheaded about spirits and demons and boogies than your ordinary man in the street...” 

Part Three: The Real Action, All the Deaths & the Conclusion

Part Three: The Deserted Village wraps everything up. Almost all the residents of ‘Salem’s Lot are turned into vampires, including almost all of the vampire hunters with the exception of Ben and Mark. They ‘nope’ right on out of ‘Salem’s Lot and head for Mexico. Because they’ve seen some shit, and they need to live in perpetual sunshine where they never have to fight vampires again. Only, Ben can’t stop reading the Portland Press-Herald and realizes shit is getting real in Maine again, and they eventually need to go back. Poor Mark; it’s bad enough he lost his friends, had to stake both his parents, and killed the vampire’s keeper. But now he needs to go back? Ugh. 

Part three also gives us two coveted Dark Tower references (because, The Beam). 

“Ann Norton drew the .38 from the pockets of her wrapper like some creaky gunslinger from beyond time...” 

Oh snap. It’s coming. Da da chick, da da chum! 

I’ve also failed to mention much about Father Callahan. He was the Catholic priest of ‘Salem’s Lot who suffered a vampire bite despite his crucifix and holy water bath, and was last seen on a bus getting out of town, drinking cheap truck stop liquor. But we’ll see him again. ‘Tis ka. 

All and all, a very satisfying book, and I’m very glad I’ve finally gotten around to reading it.

In summation:

Total King Wisconsin Mentions: 4

Dark Tower References: 2

Book Grade: B+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books:

Salem’s Lot

Carrie

Next up is The Shining; which is perfect since Wisconsin is expecting its first major snowfall this weekend. Fun times. 

Until next time- long days and pleasant night, readers!

Rebecca

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Put the Message in the Box

“Put the message in the box

Put the box into the car

Drive the car around the world

Until you get heard”

- World Party

Yes, I have enjoyed my break, thanks for asking, but it’s time to get back to work.  While I was off, I had plenty of time to read through all of the wonderful questions you sent.  Well, actually, it was only one.  But, given my difficulties sometimes grasping with reality, I couldn’t be sure if it was the only one I got, or if there were more just coming from my head.  Turns out, I was mixing up the voices in my head with the radio.  So, to avoid any confusion, I’ve included all of them here in my version of (bow to David Letterman) viewer mail.  Here we go:

“Astrology. Do you believe there is something to it? I mean like real astrology - like Ptolemy, Cassini, and Nostradamus practiced - not the one-size-fits-all horoscope you find in the newspaper.” - anonymous

Great question.  I definitely agree that these silly newspaper horoscopes are a waste of time, but the notion that the stars and planets somehow dictate what happens to us here on Earth is not something that I dismiss.  The problem I have is how could anyone possibly figure that out.  I am a very analytical person, and I just can’t believe someone like Nostradamus could have had the tools and data available to him at that point in time to make any sort of informed conclusions.  Frankly, I think he was just throwing a lot of shit up against the wall and just seeing what sticks.  That being said, the vastness and grandeur of our universe certainly suggest that there are forces out there that could have a significant impact on our lives. Unfortunately, I’m a bit too cynical and/or agnostic to believe that anyone will ever be able to prove that, in my lifetime anyway.  I guess that relegates me back to the astrology section in the newspaper, but I pass right by it to the crossword puzzle anyway, so I guess I’ll just have to keep finding things out one day at a time for now.  But, I’m open to any foresight that can be given to me, with proof of course.

“What’s going on?” - Marvin G., Detroit, Michigan

Gee, Marvin, where do I begin?  It seems if you even take a couple of days off there is “shocking” news that has already been replaced with something even more unbelievable.  I think, however, that this most recent story of a certain lawyer who worked for a certain boss who made him pay certain porn stars and committed a bunch of laws in the process is going to stick.  I think what everyone has to remember, including our president, is that impeachment is a political process and not a legal one.  Whether he can be indicted for a crime, or even if one exists that can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt is irrelevant.  If the legislative branch feels from a political standpoint that the president needs to be removed due to his actions (or inaction) then they must proceed with impeachment proceedings.  If you look at impeachment processes in history, notably Andrew Johnson, Bill Clinton, and even Richard Nixon, what got them in trouble pales in comparison to what this guy looks to have done.  I happen to think that means this is going to be going on for a long time and well into the 2020 election cycle.  No matter which side you are on, this is going to be political theater at its highest level, so enjoy it if you are into that thing.

“Can you get to that?” - Mavis S., Chicago, Illinois

Personally speaking, Mavis, I can definitely get to impeachment proceedings commencing at some point in the next six-to-twelve months.  The question is where do they go once they start and do they ever leave the committee level?  Even if they do, it seems unlikely to me that things could move fast enough to the House voting for impeachment by the 2020 primaries.  Furthermore, a Senate trial with a conviction appears even further far-fetched given eighteen Republican senators would have to flip on their sitting president (remember that a 2/3 majority is needed to convict).  I’m actually okay with that scenario playing out as it allows a lot of probing and debate that hasn’t happened in the past two years and gives the voters in the next election much better information than they had last time.  I also think that it gives other Republicans cover to challenge a sitting president in the primaries, which hasn’t happened seriously since Ted Kennedy took on Jimmy Carter in 1980.  My prediction is that impeachment never really gets off the ground, but it damages Trump so badly that he never makes it out of his party’s primaries.  Of course, this could all change tomorrow with the next bombshell that drops, but for now that’s what I see happening.

“What’s the frequency, Kenneth?” - Michael S., Athens, Georgia

Thanks for the note, Michael.  The name’s Jim, actually.  Anyway, if you happen to be driving through the Chicago area, I’ll recommend two frequencies for you to try on your FM dial.  The first, of course, is 93.1 or WXRT.  It is the last true FM rock station left in Chicago that plays everything from blues to classic rock to 80′s new wave to 90′s grunge up to new music from today and everything in between.  The DJ’s are knowledgeable and stay out of the way of the music.  My favorite is Terri Hemmert on weekday mornings from 10:00 to 1:00.  Saturday mornings are also a can’t miss with the three-hour flashback show to a particular year in rock.  The other frequency to try is 88.7.  This one is fun because in the city it will be Loyola University’s WLUW, but as you drive out west (around Harlem on the Ike) it turns into Elmhurst College’s WRSE.  WLUW is the quirkier of the two as you may find an obscure Icelandic electronica song played right after Glen Campbell’s “Southern Nights”.  Nothing wrong with either song, but it helps to be in college and on drugs to enjoy those so close together and I am not in or on either.  As such, I’m more partial to WRSE as they focus on rock variety with the occasional surprise thrown in.  They actually remind me a lot of an amateur version of XRT in many ways.  Whichever you listen to, it’s fun to hear college kids learning their way and it makes me feel just a little hip that they let me tune in.

“How bad do you want it?” - Don H., Linden, Texas

You have no idea how bad I want it Mr. H.  We’ve been waiting over thirty years in this town for a football team with a real shot at winning the Super Bowl, and I think we have one here.  This defense is that good.  Plus, as well as the D played against the Rams, I thought seeing the running game going well was a really good sign.  We’ll still need Mitch to get it back after hurting his shoulder, but I don’t think the Bears have to ride his arm to the Super Bowl.  Now, to get there, they are going to have to win two road games, probably in New Orleans and L.A., but I really think they would have an outside chance at a run if the momentum carries from last week.  If they do get to the Super Bowl, I predict they dominate any team that represents the AFC as I think they are better than them all (including the Chiefs and the Pats who they should have beat a few weeks ago).  The best thing about this team is that they have a ton of young talent that still has a lot of upside, so even if a Super Bowl isn’t in the cards this year, the Bears are a team to be reckoned with for a while in the NFC.   But, first let’s take care of business and win the NFC North title at home over the Packers.  After so many years of misery, I can’t think of a better way for this team to make a statement that it is back and the rest of the league will be messing with them at their own peril for years to come.

“Who are you?” - Pete T., London, England

I get it, Pete, I know that I have no authority to really speak on any of these subjects, but I can’t help myself.  I just love to answer questions and was very grateful for the one question that came to me from a blog reader.  I also think I have done a service by answering some of these additional questions that you all have been singing about for years.  I mean, as far as I know, there never have been any real responses to questions like yours.  I know there are a lot more out there too, so I’m happy to do it again.  I will, so long as I can get some blog reader questions to go along with them.  You know, just so people don’t think I’m completely insane. So, Take a Chance and Read Some Crap readers, hit that question button and keep this going as I’m sure Bob M. (Could You Be Loved?), George H. (What is Life?), and Whitney H. (How Will I Know?) would love answers to their questions too.  Until then, I hope at least some of these answers have satisfied your nagging questions, but the job is never complete.  I think the tide has finally turned for the question and 2019 is going to be full of them.  It may get uncomfortable at times, and maybe even downright nasty, but that is part of life and we are never going to evolve without continuing to challenge those with power and always asking why.

It’s good to be back everyone.  Until next time.

- Jim

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CwPWHM: They/them reaction

So...I was going to post something like this on Dylan Marron’s youtube, so I could directly discuss it with other listeners, but I didn’t realize Dylan stopped posting his Conversations episodes on his channel, or something along those lines (I didn’t find the episode on youtube, so I don’t know if it’s not there or I just looked in the wrong place?)

Anyway, this episode is probably the only episode so far that actually made me feel angry while I was listening. It’s probably because the legitimacy of they/them pronouns is a sore point for me, since I am an agender individual who is currently living with my family, of which my father is outright transphobic. So, I admit that I have a bit of a knee jerk reaction to people calling non-binary genders and gender identity fake, because I’m used to that reaction usually being followed by insults. So, I will recognize that I have a bias against Lennox, and feel a but defensive.

(full reaction under cut)

That being said, I feel like Lennox used very circular logic. His whole defense felt like it was “This is the way things are because that is the way things are” and even when Lindsey and Dylan tried to tell him about how things are from the opposite point of view, he mostly shut them down without really even considering things? Like, I understand that going from believing in a strict binary system to accepting gender as a spectrum separate from biological sex is a big step, and I was happy that he did budge a little bit by the end, but I just feel that Dylan and Lindsey were actually taking what he said and directly responding to it, while Lennox just responded to Lindsey’s explanations with outright refusal, no matter how much she tried to explain it in a way that, even if he doesn’t accept it as truth, he could instead see as a different point of view instead of, as he said it, a “delusion.”

One thing that I do think could have been used a lot more was the fact he viewed trans identity as a mental illness, and from what I have seen from both within and without the community, this is something that can often be used as a point of conversational compromise, where people can come to some agreement, even if some of the finer points of identity is still complicated. Yes, gender dysphoria is a mental illness. It is a mental quality that can and often does disrupt the life of the people who experience it. However, what a lot of people who don’t agree with trans identity (I’m trying to avoid words like “transphobes” because it might be too weighted a word for this particular discussion, especially because he specifically mentioned feeling offended by being called a bigot or homophobe), is that:

1. treating gender dysphoria does not “cure” someone of transgenderism. A person has dysphoria because they are transgender and their mental make-up relating to gender does not match their sex-based characteristics. A cis person does not (to my knowledge, at least.) doesn’t suddenly develop gender dysphoria overnight, save for maybe cases where dysphoria is not noticeable or acknowledged until later in life (and in that case, I still consider the person trans, and they just did not realize it prior, rather than calling them “a cis person who became trans”).

and 2. in most cases, treating mental illness always means giving the person what they need to cope with symptoms and function in life. Even if you want to call being trans a mental illness, rather than an identity that predisposes a person to certain types of mental illness, it does not change the fact that the best treatment is to help them make their body match what their mind thinks it should to the extent that is healthy, whether that involves surgery, medication, or clothing items that help to reconcile the disconnect. If you meet a person who has depression or anxiety, you don’t tell them that they’re wrong about the world and punish them when they show symptoms (no matter what my dad thinks thinks this method works *cough* >_> ). You give them medication, talk about what makes them feel that way, and then, once you learn what is triggering these feelings, you remove the triggers that you are able to and give them the tools and treatments necessary to cope with the rest. So, why should it be any different for trans people? Even if you see being trans and being mentally ill, you should still use their pronouns and allow them to have the tools to minimize their dysphoria (binders, packers, access to the right bathrooms, etc.) instead of telling them that being trans is “wrong” and telling them that their symptoms are unimportant and that they shouldn’t have access to treatment. Because guess what: every psychologist I’ve encountered, either personally or online, has agreed that accepting a person’s gender identity is better for their mental health than trying to convince them otherwise.

Furthermore, there is lots of evidence that gender and sex are not the same thing. Sex is only what role you play in reproduction (assuming you choose to participate in it) and the associated parts you develop to fulfill that role. A person who does not want to reproduce, or who chooses to engage in non-reproductive intercourse, does not experience any pain for doing so, just as changing the parts you use for intercourse does not affect anyone except you and your chosen partner(s). Gender, on the other hand, is the way your brain processes your body, your role in life, and the world in general, regardless of what it looks like in your pants. Science has already found evidence that the brain activity of the binary genders are different, and that the brain waves of trans people more closely resemble those of their identifying gender than those of their biological sex’s corresponding gender. Also, when looking at world cultures, both binary and non-binary gender non-conformance to  birth sex has a long history, rather than being the new-age “snowflake” identity that so many people accuse non-binary identity of being. For this reason, among a few others that I’m aware of but not knowledgeable enough in to fully discuss, many scientists are fully open to the idea that gender as a spectrum may be able to be proven through scientific observation someday, once detailed study into the brains of non-binary individuals is able to be done. So, the idea that here being only 2 sexes proves that their are only 2 genders is already in doubt, if not fully disproved.

But even if you ignore both the psychological and scientific implications of the debate, refusing to use a persons pronouns just because you doubt the legitimacy of their identity still just sounds like stubbornness, at least from where I’m standing. Dylan pointed out multiple times it doesn’t cost a person anything to call someone “they”. Even if Lennox doesn’t 100% agree with the reasons behind it, it doesn’t affect his life to say “Okay, Lindsey (or any other nonbinary person). I respect that being referred to as ‘they’ makes you happy and more comfortable. So, I will do it.” in fact, there are points in the episode it sounds like he is willing to do so for some people, if they ask politely. However, the fact he still complains endlessly about being “forced” to do so, even in cases where the person is just calmly asking for him to acknowledge their view of their own identity, does not sit right with me, and kind of makes me doubt any hope for him that I had begun to feel. It comes off more like he’s just trying to earn brownie points at the beginning of the conversation, to give the illusion he’s more open-minded than he is, before immediately proving without a second thought how close-minded he actually is on he issue.

I don’t know. I open to people who aren’t quite so close to the issue saying that he was more open-minded than I saw him as, just as I try to be open to people who say “I don’t agree, but I’ll still accept that you think that way”. He wasn’t the worse person in the world - he didn’t insult Lindsey for being non-binary or say anything outright harmful - but I still feel like he could have been better, at the same time, even without outright accepting Lindsey’s point of view.