On Westboro Baptist, Religion, & Heterosexism

Where to begin? I was going to make a video out of this material, but I figured I would be more eloquent if I wrote it down. And hopefully more people view this than my YouTube videos (lolz).

You’ve heard of how horrific Westboro Baptist is. You probably saw that interview with Russell Brand. They’re messed up, right? 

We have to remind ourselves that Westboro Baptist is, yes, horrific, but an extreme example of horrificness. They are not alone in their views. You can be heterosexist and be much more subtle about it, and when Westboro speaks [some] people toss their shit in the air and scream because they can’t handle such extremist views, when actually, that same extremist view is filtered down and dissipated onto, like, all of us. From the time we’re born we’re taught being straight is right. It’s normal, that’s why it’s lawful.

Here’s your friendly reminder that heterosexism and its effects come in a ridiculous array of forms. I am emphasizing the effects because most people would not agree that it is necessarily heterosexist for a countless amount of people to glare at my girlfriend and I holding hands or kissing in public. A glance is not necessarily heterosexist. But it can not be separated from heterosexism. Heterosexism is a belief. It can be acted upon in any number of ways, from subtle (mean looks) to extreme (Westboro. I’m not saying they’re THE MOST heterosexist thing ever, but hopefully you get the point).

As far as subtle goes, I’ve heard my whole life that “homosexuals” need “praying for.” Okay. Let’s take a step back for a second. Is it the 1950s? Do we really have to use “a homosexual” to define people? How often do people come out and say “I’m a homosexual”? “A homosexual.” As if it is the dirtiest, most condemning disease you could contract. Can we just drop “homosexual” as a noun? Shit.

I digress. So why do we need praying for? We don’t. I first kissed a girl when I was about 6 years old (that’s a different story) and I didn’t start realizing I had feelings for girls until I was about 12 and I was falling in love with my best friend. This is because society screamed silently at me, endlessly, to make me believe that IT’S ADAM AND EVE, NOT ADAM AND STEVE! Straight is the way, damn it!

Recently my parents have taken to buying my brother’s girlfriend nice things and treating her like a daughter. My cousin just got married to his girlfriend and more family attended their wedding than we even have. My other cousin who’s a year younger than me just got engaged today and is moving into a house with his girlfriend. My other cousin is keeping his and his girlfriend’s new baby from his family until they get “their shots updated.” Imagine those situations with a gay couple and how outsiders would view them. Meanwhile, my girlfriend has always been “Tianna’s friend” and nothing more. And it shouldn’t be that way.

I have had the amazing opportunity to attend a college with a lesbian chaplain, and as a co-president of our Queer Student Union I hosted a Religious & Queer Identities Panel at our school. That chaplain said, “Your sexual orientation is not a sin.” At the same panel, a religion professor said, “Anyone who says ‘love the sinner hate the sin’ is just trying to excuse their bigotry.” The same professor also said that you should not be ashamed for cutting ties with people who preach “love the sinner, hate the sin.” These women’s words will stay nestled in my heart forever, because I know what they said is true, and for once I had someone voice that truth back to me. If theists knew their religious texts so well, they would know that your sexual orientation is not a sin. I have distanced myself without shame from people who ridiculously believe that I need prayed for by a god I don’t even believe in.

Which leads me to my next point. As an atheist, I am torn between anger and laughter when someone says I am going to hell or that they are praying for me. In case you haven’t noticed, atheists do not believe in the concept of hell. So, yeah, empty threat there. Also, why are you praying for me? Why? Look at your life, look at your choices. I don’t need you to pray for me. I would not ask for that. I do not need it. It makes me sick to think about. Stop it. Stop it right now. I am a queer atheist. I am a queer atheist. I am a queer atheist and I don’t need your shit.

Lastly, stop being creepy. Stop prying into my life and worrying about what I do in bed. Would you even know if I “act on my homosexuality” without me telling you? Are you imagining me in various lesbian sex positions at all hours of the day? What is your fascination with queer people? Stop praying for me. Just stop. And start realizing the effect heterosexism has on not just society, but on you as an individual.

semester 3, done

how do you stop
when there's so much to see
how do you sleep
when there's so much to do
how can you break
the second hand
and act like you've got more important
things on your plate?

i don't see time like a bird
or a train
or cups of coffee
or smiles or laughter
or themes or years
or anything
but time
the ticking of the clock,
the ringing of the alarm,
and the times i open my mouth to sing.
maybe i'm more sentimental than i thought.

the semester is over tomorrow
and i think i might start counting time in sleep.

the future

i am writing this on 3:35 am november 23rd, 2012. it is thanksgiving break, and we are home from college. you are sleeping hundreds of miles away and i am laying on my back with my laptop propped up on my legs. safari tells me that my tumblr and facebook and vegan recipe and goodreads and musiciansfriends tabs are waiting for my attention. just now i was trying to get some sleep, but then i thought of your warm body behind my back and i had to write this down.

i doubt these will be complete thoughts, but they will be thoughts nonetheless.

we are sophomores in college. i only chose to go to our school thanks to a desperate last minute search on collegeboard.com. ours turned out to be not too far from my house, in an area familiar to me, and they had a good english program. they accepted me past their application deadline, and i almost peed myself with excitement.

and then we started talking on facebook and i thought "this is one cute lesbian and i am scared i may have feelings for her some day." but you know that. you know all of that. you know how i knew before you came out to me and you knew how i fell for you because we've talked about it a dozen times already.

we've been dating for over a year, and our future is not too far away. and when i say the future, i mean the "real world." that scary faceless entity that i've feared for as long as i can remember. and that "real world" is barely 3 years away. whether we choose to go to grad school or not, wherever we choose to live, whatever we choose to spend our lives doing, it's all so close. decisions are zooming toward us like it's no biggie. and though i doubt i'll get over my fear of death any time soon, i think i'm starting to get over my fear of the future.

in college, we take turns buying groceries and cooking and washing dishes and doing laundry and making the bed (ok, that's mainly you) and taking the trash out (pfft mainly me) and other chores. we both get lazy sometimes but we push each other to get the hell out of bed and do our work. and it seems meaningless, all of our school work, because when you're there i don't know why i'm writing about jane austen when i could be telling you some little story about my childhood. and yes, women's studies is relevant, but if i'm not sharing it with you, what's the point? but there's not time to share everything about our homework, and it makes me sad that so much of our time being together at college is spent doing... well, college things. but when we're not at college, we're 7 hours apart and it hurts.

but you know what? fuck that pain. because i have you, and that forces me to realize that we have a chance in our crazy futures. i have you, and we've already made decisions that could take years for other people. i have you, and i have made decisions that i could not have come to without you.

we will get an apartment in some city that has a lot of gay people. and we will try out a lesbian bar and laugh if there's any shanes or alices or helenas. we will look for tumblr meetups in the city and meet all the weird foodie bloggers and doctor who nerds and liam hemsworth lovers and i'll laugh and go "yshisha marryyyyy" and you'll crack up and we'll get weird looks. and then we'll leave and try to find vegan cupcakes but there won't be any so we'll go back to our apartment and plan our own vegan bakery. and then we'll open it and get rich from all the vegans who desperately wanted more cupcakes in their lives.

and every day we'll wake up and i'll be sprawled out with my left leg on top of your stomach and your arm pressed up against the wall - oh, wait, no, it won't be that way, because we'll have a real bed and not a mini college twin mattress with egg crate foam that slips off every so often. it will be a king sized bed, set up in the middle of a room that could be a closet or a master bedroom and i probably wouldn't notice because you'd be there. we'd have 3 cats. one of them would be calico and two would be black cats from the shelter, because black cats are cheaper on black friday and we'd be jumping on that as soon as possible. and we'll have a framed map of middle earth on the wall and an endless supply of candles.

and i will dye and cut your hair and you will rub my feet and read me to sleep and i'll clean our room and it won't be perfect, but i won't care. i will love you until i lose my ability to love, and then some.

and when you get home from work, i'll smile and say "baaaaby" until you come over and lay on top of me and we smile and roll around and hug until we're smiled and rolled out and we will just kiss because words will be too overwhelming. i will rub your belly and be glad to see you and we will be making our own living and our relatives will visit us with advice and we might take it or we might laugh it off. and we will have published books and go on book tours and play concerts in the local bookstore sometimes and we will have comfortable furniture

and an exorbitant amount of gay books.

and the rest is up to you.

i can't wait to live the future with you.

Stereotype

I cut my hair

so now girls know.

I’ve left my lair

and come out, so

I let them stare-

confused, although

it matches me.

My head is free.

‘Short, long?’- it’s wrong.

Butch/femme: pick one!

Do I belong?

It could be fun

with locks so long.

My girlfriend’s won;

she’s label free.

Could that be me?

Fandom friendship reflections: bitter working on better.

Last night I was lying in bed, attempting to explain to Katie my experiences at Terminus, a 2008 Harry Potter convention in Chicago. It was marvelous and exquisite. There is a reason I’ve written about Terminus extensively. My friend at the time, Liz, told me not to get too sad when it ended. I was like, “okay.” And then I got really depressed when it ended. And not just an, “I miss my friends a lot” kind of way, but in a, “my friends all hate me because now they don’t talk to me since the convention is over and it wasn’t real friendship anyway and fuck them we’re over.”

Four years ago, I’m finally getting over that feeling.

As I was explaining to Katie the awkward Terminus hallway heart-to-hearts, meet-ups, concerts, and drama, I realized that I was talking about a different person. Certainly not me. Certainly not even the four-years-ago me, but a different person entirely. But I can’t tell whether I’ve grown up since then. I think I’ve just grown… on.

I was part of (what I thought was) a very tight knit group of six friends for the first time in my life in 2008. I had gotten over my best friend of 5 years who I was in love with, I was still dealing with my sister and dad moving out and refusing contact with my mom and I, and I was a depressed high school freshman. So I met these people through the Internet who I thought were going to be my life. They were so much like me, they had so much passion for Harry Potter, and I could be myself around them - on screen and, it turned out, off. 

I was immersed in this group of friends for what seems like most of my life. I was the messenger in the “he likes him, but does he like him back” and I was in the middle of the “don’t tell them, you’re the only one that can know”. I was the backstabber, I was the liar, I was the sweet girl, I was the trustworthy young’un, I was the playful redhead, I was the only one that kept in touch with all of them at the same time.

Because none of them cared about each other like I cared about them all. And it took me way too long to realize that.

Four years later, I am only loosely friends with two of them. One of those relationships is merely because we live in the same area. The other is because she and I started out as best friends before the other ones came into play, so there will always be something special between us. 

I’ve bitch-blogged countless times about how I don’t believe friendship to be the “oh! You’re in town? Let me visit you!” kind of ordeal. I don’t see friendship as the talk-to-you-every-other-year guy or the  ”oh girl you so pretty”-on-my-photo-comments girl. They’re acquaintances. And acquaintances I’m not that fond of having. I’d rather refer to them as “some girl” or “stranger”.

I’ve accepted that some people find me really ridiculous for this. But I have to do it for myself, I have to. I can’t keep thinking of past conventions and meet-ups as divine or OMGSOKOOLIMISSITSOMUCH!!! I have to just think of them as normal, regular people who fuck up and ignore each other, just like they did, and do, to me. They don’t think about me anymore. If they did, they’d get in touch. And I won’t do that for them, because I’ve tried. There’s only so many times you can be like, “Hey, let’s hang out/catch up” before you stop fucking trying.

It’s strange to think back on Terminus and realize those friends are now just another name on Facebook. Here’s to you, past. And here’s to a brighter future, one with real friends who will stay, regardless of geographical convenience or potential drama. 

“Remember when Zach said this and everything was fucked up from there?” “Who is Zach?” is supposed to be funny. I’m supposed to laugh at something I cherished, but I won’t. And 99% of people I know would suggest that I laugh rather than sulk, but I just can’t make myself smile when I think about the awfully dramatic conventions I’ve gone to. Because I was happy then, and now I see what I was missing that caused me to be happy - perception.

I think it’s just miraculous how something so dear to me destroyed my mind, my world view, so much.

I just want new.

I am so proud of myself.

Last week I did sort of a “trial week” of makeup. You might’ve noticed from the pictures of me kissy-facing the camera and wearing eyeliner.

Well, let me give some backstory. When I was in sixth grade, I would have done anything to be labeled feminine. I tried pretty hard, but not hard enough. People who I used to be friends with passed me mean notes in class saying, “hey dyke!” and, “you’re a loner”. Comments from 99% of my class consisted of, “you look like a man” and “does your face hurt? no? well it’s hurting me.”

So I started trying to be feminine and work myself to pretty. I started plucking my eyebrows when I was 11, plucked them so thin you could hardly tell they were there. Then I drew over them in an attempt to make them look perfectly arched and defined. Then came the eyeliner - thicker every day. Within a year I was using up one stick of retractable eyeliner every 10 days. I never wore much lip gloss or lipstick, but if you’re friends with me on facebook, you might be able to catch a glimpse of how heavy my eyeliner used to get. It was ridiculous.

In ninth grade I would skip lunch and spend the entire period in the bathroom, fixing my makeup and waiting until I could go back in the halls, convinced I wasn’t pretty enough to socialize. Between sixth grade and twelfth grade, not one day went by that I didn’t wear makeup - at the very least eyeliner. It may not seem like a big deal, but I specifically remember having a “makeover party” with my friend Danielle. 

“Do you want purple eyeliner?” she asked.

“Well, I would, but I already wear black,” I replied as if her question was absurd.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s like, our base look.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Danielle and I believed that our BASE LOOK was an inch of eyeliner surrounding each eye in any direction. Base. Look. We couldn’t even imagine there being bare skin underneath it. In that case, we would be - gasp - ugly!

I was at a photography class downtown when I was about 14 or 15 and I remember a pretty, natural-faced girl leaning across the table and telling me, “You should get rid of that makeup. It kills your eyes.”

“No, it’s just my face,” I replied, totally offended. I vowed to myself to never take it off. I thought it made me pretty, even though I was not oblivious to the fact that still I wasn’t making friends.

In 10th grade I uploaded a makeup-less facebook picture with the caption, “I apologize in advance.” Friends commented telling me I was pretty even without eyeliner, but I didn’t believe it. I scoffed and returned to makeup the next morning. 

I stayed with a friend in California for several weeks in 2009 and, when leaving, on the drive to the LAX airport I realized I’d forgotten my makeup bag at my friend’s house. I was panicking, wringing my hands and hoping I’d be able to find makeup at the airport. It was an obsession. I knew how my makeup looked around my eyes without needing a mirror. I knew it was terrible, I knew my zits would show soon enough and my friends would see me as the ugly, manly sixth-grader I was inside.

We stayed in LA that night before our red eye flight in the morning and I found a Sephora on Hollywood Boulevard. I bought a $5 three inch eyeliner pencil (I hated the pencil kind, anyway) and prayed that my other friend who I was flying to Baltimore with would take me to a beauty store ASAP so I could get the rest of my essentials. I couldn’t wait for my California friend to send my makeup bag. Nope.

As soon as I got to Baltimore I demanded to go to a Sally Beauty’s Supply where I bought concealer and tweezers. Concealer and tweezers. For the one week I’d be there.

In twelfth grade, I started to realize I was being ridiculous. Petroleum oil around my eyes was not making me more beautiful. I tried uploading a youtube video without makeup, declaring to the Internet that I was going to stop wearing it. I cringed the whole time I edited it and played it back. I was back to eyeliner the next morning.

I’ve had one or two more spurts of “let’s try to go au natural!” in which I usually take a couple pictures, call it a day, and go back to makeup the next day. I started wearing even more, actually - lipstick and lipgloss and lipliner and lipeverythingyoucouldeverythinkof.

In my freshman year of college, I met some absolutely amazing people, my girlfriend Katie being the one closest to my heart. She never wore makeup, and yet she was radiantly gorgeous. My friends Olivia and Carina absolutely never wore makeup, and yet there I was with my makeup mask day in and day out. So I just stopped. One weekend in November, I just let the eyeliner fade with every shower. I couldn’t find any vegan makeup removers at the time, so it was easy to let it fade and see my face coming through, see my hazel eyes, so tiny without the black circles.

I didn’t wear makeup all through December, and so I decided I would do “No Makeup 2012”. I didn’t necessarily believe that I would not wear any makeup ever, but just that I was going to stop with the 24/7 eyeliner (I never ever took it off before bed). Now the most I do is chapstick and rare lipshine stuff. 

But I did it. Seeing my friends so naturally pretty and seeing so many girls around campus not bothering with makeup, I felt stupid wearing as much makeup as I did. So I left my makeup bag alone, although I’d still carry it around out of habit. And I went makeup free from December to today.

Last week I did a ~trial run~, where it was almost the opposite of what I used to do during my days of makeup obsession, where I’d attempt au natural. I tried to wear makeup. I’d forgotten how to even apply eyeliner when I used to be able to do it without a mirror. I felt like a drag queen. I felt pretty, but no prettier than I did than the last 10 months without makeup. I did it for a week, and I am so much more comfortable without it.

I can rub my eyes and not have smeared dirty hands, I can have conversations with people and not think, “what does my face look like? Is it decent?” 

I just don’t give a fuck anymore. My face is my face with or without being dolled up. And I am so proud of myself for being able to go back and forth without worry. 

You can still be beautiful, sexy, pretty, lovely, gorgeous, you can be YOU - without makeup.

taking sides

you and i
are on different sides
you try
to make your feet rhyme with mine
from all the way over there
every time i think about it
i just
wonder
why

you make friends and i don't

but then i remember that you don't

really like your friends anyway

and if there's one thing i've learned 

in these past few years

it's 

when you complain about someone 

you can't expect the listener

to like the someone

gloves

you're gonna have to wear gloves
to protect you from my storm.
you're gonna have to stand taller
to dance on my stage.
as long as you're feeling
my heart break in yours,
my words will hug each other
and teach you yours.

sophomore

I’ve felt so unlike a writer recently. Wondering if it’s the right life choice for me and everything. I’ve wanted to be an author since I was in elementary school, but then I decided it was more practical to aspire to become an editor or a publisher. Apparently that’s still not very logical, but it’s just that I’m not good at anything else. I really like proofreading and giving people feedback and if that’s not what earns me money, then… I guess I just won’t be rich and that’s all there is to it. I have no regrets so far about being an English major; I just want to be the best at it that I can be. And not slack off or anything like that. If I can accomplish that then I think I’ll be happy with myself. Even though I’ll be paying off college loans for the rest of my life. But isn’t that what so many other people do? I won’t be put off from education because of a ~dark looming future~.

I’m realizing that this reflects my philosophy on pretty much everything. “That’s just the way it is.” I’m very simple in that way. I didn’t really enjoy my sociology classes for that reason – I like learning about current events and issues, but I don’t like thinking about them too much or asking why. It’s just that things will be the way things will be and we have to accept them as they are. I don’t know if that’s a particularly positive way of thinking and I’m sure I’m not making any sense, but… YOLO.

Yep. I just went there.

I’m going to be starting my sophomore year of college in a couple days and I can’t believe I just typed that. I’ve written so many online blog posts about starting the first day of a school year in a couple days and it’s just mind blowing that time goes by so quickly like that. I feel like I really haven’t even accomplished very much. 

cool

i told you it was cool,
cause i wanted to shrug it off at the time.
hide behind the bushes and jump out,
"guess what? i forgive you!"
and you were proud of me, you said,
"i'm glad we're cool."

and i guess we were, we were cool.
we even shared a few words afterward.
but then the blanket of silence fell,
snow inside my head,
and i knew you never gave a damn about me
in the first place.

i know it was just an online thing,
but my heart could've sprinted a 5k
just thinking about your smile.
i wish i would've been more honest now,
told you how i'd spend a whole half hour
thinking of what to say to you.
i took it so seriously
and you probably still think we're cool -
a silent friendship,
cool.

puppet

i am not your puppet.
you will not wield me, bend me, mold me and make me yours.
you will not decorate my body with words you deem appropriate,
cut out from magazines,
carefully pasted on my pasty legs.

i am not your enemy.
though it may seem so, with my fiery temper
licking up your ocean breeze. .
you can try to tame me,
but this firestorm ain't cracklin for you.

you can take all the offense you want,
but i'll be fine with just water
and maybe a couple packets of
idon'tgiveafuck.
goodbye.

love letter to my copy of order of the phoenix

baby,

i love you so much. you've been with me through it all. i first purchased you at a walmart the morning you were released in 2003. i had to wait until about 11am because i was only a wee 9 year old at my grandma's house, where the nearest place (walmart) to purchase you was 40 minutes away. i got into the series in 2nd grade, after goblet of fire came out, so i never got to purchase a potter book on the day it was released. i hardly slept a wink while i awaited your arrival. in mere hours i ran into the chilled walmart in altoona, my goose bumped legs carrying me toward the books section.

even though i knew millions of other people purchased you from midnight onward, i felt SO special sitting in the backseat of our subaru, opening the fresh binding and grinning like i was about to discover the secret of the universe (i was). i saw "dudley demented" and felt pretty intimidated. i suddenly realized how big of a book you were. but then the gryffindor in me reminded myself that my fourth grade teacher had told me i couldn't read goblet of fire because it was too big. so therefore, i vowed to myself that i'd get to the end of you. 

i remember having to ask my mom what "bespectacled" meant. and what "enough - effing - owls" meant. "they said effing?" my mom asked incredulously. "well...yeah..." i thought i knew what that meant, but i wanted proof. 

i remember when reading you how harry's humor struck me for the first time as seriously funny. i would have laughed out loud at "we're not stupid, you know" "well, that's news to me" if i wouldn't have been such an awkward child. 

before i left for tour i found pictures in the basement of me at a family reunion at age 10 or 11, rereading you. my family was gathered inside the pitcairn park building but i was sitting outside with my huge thomas edison shirt, with you propped up on the picnic table in front of me, bigger than my head. i didn't care how it looked, i just wanted you alone, baby, and nothing more.

my dad dated the first page of you, and i remember feeling violated for your sake. i didn't want anyone touching my precious. "they say the third time you read a book is when you truly start to understand it," my dad told me. but i knew better. i knew i'd read you only once and understand every little thing about you. i judged you from your cover, and i couldn't have been more correct about your brilliance.

over the years i've brought you to the high school cafeteria and read from your pages instead of eating, stuffed you in my purse and brought you everywhere, and defended you from the hating muggles. once i even screamed and cried to get my way out of a bad situation, all the while focusing on your open pages for support. you've helped me more than you know.

you've accumulated various pen marks (i honestly don't know) and eyeliner stains when the sad parts came. you are waterlogged from when i cried and when my brother spilled water on you. you are taped up in some places and the back cover of you has flower and grass stains from when you tipped over the wooden porch railing and smashed onto my grandma's newly planted plain purple-and-red flowers. i thought i was so cool, underlining specific passages or words in pen as if they'd have a deeper meaning in the future. one time i was so tired reading you at the dining room table i fell asleep on the tablecloth, and another time i used you as a pillow on accident and woke up with your words imprinted on my face.

i was so excited and proud when i finished you. i ran to my sister's bedroom door - mine, now - and knocked, jumping up and down with my news. "i finished!" i squealed. "what happens?" she asked, and so i began to read to her.

every so often, i go back and read the first four books published before you. i did this recently, before looking at your size and getting overwhelmed and unwilling to bring you to college and carry you around since you were so damn heavy. but now i'm home, baby, i've come home and i'm sorry for neglecting you.

if possible, you mean more to me now than you did then. i will never forget the 'THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!' and how i could relate to your depiction of harry more and more as i got older. thank you for everything.

i will now open your pages and once again fall under the spell of 9 year old tianna, with no doubt that the world is magical.

can we still be married?

love, 

your part time lover and full time friend,

tianna

july

i have an odd way of thinking about the people i used to like.
i would say exes, but i didn't actually date all of them.
it's like i want them to talk to me, but at the same time,
i fear growing too close and liking them too much again.
it's scary.

before college, i never used to believe people
when they said things like "you're about to enter a
stress free zone, leave your worries outside"
it seemed impossible

but then i was in that circle of freshmen
and i knew i could get there, if only
with a couple extra shoves.
as long as i don't end up like
the girl in that video, i'm fine.

it's not just songs

there's something charming about the way
you talk to me.
through drugged brain cells and sleepy fingers,
your words don't skip a beat,
they keep in time with my heart.
all these months later,
again,
you're not something i'll give up
easily.

i don't know if it's possible to write
an appreciative poem
without it being labeled love.
but i do appreciate you, in the highest sense.
you saw me when i was chameleonized,
as hungry as the exotic hotel carpet,
threatening to swallow me whole.

you are your smooth hands,
the ones that remind me of how well you're living.
they say that's the best revenge,
but i hope that's not how it is for us.
i want it even,
a flat, smooth line,
from your house to mine,
linking us, knotted
and a glass half filled -
no, empty -
with regret.

when i think of justice

when i think of justice, her face shines through the clouds:
clear, opaque, grinning.
the sky loses pixellation,
the sun sheds its seasonal fur.

she is so heart stoppingly handsome i feel tears
wriggling from my ankles
all the way up my shins,
meeting with their wet tear friends
to form one gigantic waterfall
that will punch the back of my eyelids until the waters have spilled over,
a victory explosion.

it's not, "how did i score someone like her?"
but-but-
how did my decisions (poor and healthy)
lead me to demanding her arms,
knowing they're shared property?
did the fork stabbing me left or right know
she'd be waiting?

i will plant my lips upon hers
in any country, any town, any street
the amount of fucks we give will be equal
to the number of bricks beneath our feet
(times zero)

my most unattainable dream.

nevertheless, it's this image i will push to the forefront

of my purple head, my woozy brain, my tired mind,

and shove the silence of ignored messages,

(love the sinner, hate the sin)

the pain, the boycotts

to the wayback

where they belong

pixellated, but not in the sky,

maybe in the alleyway

with the trash can

where oscar can take care of them.

This is several days old but I'm posting it anyway. (tour blog!)

We’re either somewhere in Ohio or West Virginia. I’m sleeeeepy. It’s 1:58 pm and we have a show at 6. It’s in the Pocahontas County Opera House in Marlinton, West Virginia. Weird. I’m not expecting anyone to be there or to make any money. But I guess I didn’t expect that yesterday either, and there were 20 people and I made $8. Woooo.

We left Thunder Road this morning with Steph and Justin in Steph’s car since she won’t be at the show tomorrow. Matt, Lauren, Grace, and I stopped at Hibachi a little bit ago and I got some rice noodles with tofu. And soy sauce. Yummmmm. I feel a pee storm coming on though cause I had like 4 cups of water.  It was really really good though. I’m glad we didn’t have to have our food cooked in front of us. The only time that happened all my friends ordered meat and I had to watch it get cooked. It was disgusting.

Anyway, it’s WEIRD how happy I am on tour. I’m scared that this feeling will disappear once it’s over. I’m with people that understand me and don’t judge me for talking a certain way or doing anything silly. It doesn’t matter that I’m only 18 and the youngest of my tour mates is 24. We all fit and laugh together and coexist and that’s all that it really takes to make me happy. Sure, there’ve been a couple instances of disappointment, like when friends told me they’d come to certain concerts and then didn’t show. However, that’s infinitesimal compared to the overall glee that touring has given me.

I bought a shit ton of food yesterday in Indianapolis. Katie and I went to Walgreen’s and I got tortilla chips, salsa, strawberry fig newtons, applesauce, spoons, and lemonade. Probably too much for tour, but whateva. We’ll be in Pittsburgh tomorrow. I’m pretty excited to see Bobby, Erika, Caity, and Lisa. Also, apparently my dad’s going to be there. So we’ll see how that goes. We’re playing under the pavilion in Schenley Plaza, so that’s super awesome because there hasn’t been a show there since 2009. They’ve moved them across the street right in front of the library, which is kinda lame cause it’s just a sidewalk.

We’re staying in a Super 8 tonight. I’m pretty excited for wifi. The place we’re playing at apparently has no cell phone service for 30 miles in any direction. KEWLLLL. So I’m expecting no wifi too. Times are hard. LOLZ.