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sirona_ficsStill feeling rather weary of spirit. Ugh, stupid hormones. :((( Doesn't help that half of what was supposed to be my day off was spent wrangling deliveries and filling in documents and mostly not resting at all. DX
On the plus side, bought myself a cute wee 4GB mp3 player, and have stuffed it full of fanmixes and podficks and the like! \0/ \0/ Now I can carry fandom's awesomeness everywhere with me!! <3333 Rather pleased with that purchase! :) It's been ages since I've had an mp3 player -- mostly used my phone for music and stuff, but it's crammed full of crap right now and I just don't have the energy to tackle it. This was really the perfect solution! :D And it's so easy to use! I'm impressed! :D
Words are still being an utter bitch and extremely uncooperative. Thank god for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
foxxcub and the snippets she keeps sending me from her bb!Steve/bb!Tony verse, which, my endorphine levels spike every time I see a new email in my inbox. <333 Teenage bb boys in loooooove!! ♥________♥ She knows me so well. :')
Right, okay, time for tea and a blanket and watching something disgustingly fluffy. Yes. <3 Saw (finally) Jane Eyre the other day, and UGH, FASSY, MUST YOU BE SO FUCKING AWESOME IN EVERYTHING WHEN I HAVE TO WAIT FOR YOUR OTHER NEW STUFF TO COME OUT. :((( Failing that, a few episodes of White Collar S03 ought to do the trick. It's back on tonight!! \0/ \0/ Can hardly wait.
Oh, what the hell. Let's have a meme as well.
The Poetry Meme
If you see this in someone's journal, post one as well. Saw a gorgeous poem insomehowunbroken's journal the other day, and thought, hey, neat. So here is a poem that, despite not necessarily having anything to do with who I am, still had a profound effect on me the first time I read it.
How To Make Love to a Trans Person by Gabe Moses
Forget the images you've learned to attach
To words like cock and clit,
Chest and breasts.
Break those words open
Like a paramedic cracking ribs
To pump blood through a failing heart.
Push your hands inside.
Get them messy.
Scratch new definitions on the bones.
Get rid of the old words altogether.
Make up new words.
Call it a click or a ditto.
Call it the sound he makes
When you brush your hand against it through his jeans,
When you can hear his heart knocking on the back of his teeth
And every cell in his body is breathing.
Make the arch of her back a language
Name the hollows of each of her vertebrae
When they catch pools of sweat
Like rainwater in a row of paper cups
Align your teeth with this alphabet of her spine
So every word is weighted with the salt of her.
When you peel layers of clothing from his skin
Do not act as though you are changing dressings on a trauma patient
Even though it's highly likely that you are.
Do not ask if she's "had the surgery."
Do not tell him that the needlepoint bruises on his thighs look like they hurt
If you are being offered a body
That has already been laid upon an altar of surgical steel
A sacrifice to whatever gods govern bodies
That come with some assembly required
Whatever you do,
Do not say that the carefully sculpted landscape
Bordered by rocky ridges of scar tissue
Looks almost natural.
If she offers you breastbone
Aching to carve soft fruit from its branches
Though there may be more tissue in the lining of her bra
Than the flesh that rises to meet itLet her ripen in your hands.
Imagine if she'd lost those swells to cancer,
Diabetes,
A car accident instead of an accident of genetics
Would you think of her as less a woman then?
Then think of her as no less one now.
If he offers you a thumb-sized sprout of muscle
Reaching toward you when you kiss him
Like it wants to go deep enough inside you
To scratch his name on the bottom of your heart
Hold it as if it can-
In your hand, in your mouth
Inside the nest of your pelvic bones.
Though his skin may hardly do more than brush yours,
You will feel him deeper than you think.
Realize that bodies are only a fraction of who we are
They're just oddly-shaped vessels for hearts
And honestly, they can barely contain us
We strain at their seams with every breath we take
We are all pulse and sweat,
Tissue and nerve ending
We are programmed to grope and fumble until we get it right.
Bodies have been learning each other forever.
It's what bodies do.
They are grab bags of parts
And half the fun is figuring out
All the different ways we can fit them together;
All the different uses for hipbones and hands,
Tongues and teeth;
All the ways to car-crash our bodies beautiful.
But we could never forget how to use our hearts
Even if we tried.
That's the important part.
Don't worry about the bodies.
They've got this.
On the plus side, bought myself a cute wee 4GB mp3 player, and have stuffed it full of fanmixes and podficks and the like! \0/ \0/ Now I can carry fandom's awesomeness everywhere with me!! <3333 Rather pleased with that purchase! :) It's been ages since I've had an mp3 player -- mostly used my phone for music and stuff, but it's crammed full of crap right now and I just don't have the energy to tackle it. This was really the perfect solution! :D And it's so easy to use! I'm impressed! :D
Words are still being an utter bitch and extremely uncooperative. Thank god for
foxxcub and the snippets she keeps sending me from her bb!Steve/bb!Tony verse, which, my endorphine levels spike every time I see a new email in my inbox. <333 Teenage bb boys in loooooove!! ♥________♥ She knows me so well. :')Right, okay, time for tea and a blanket and watching something disgustingly fluffy. Yes. <3 Saw (finally) Jane Eyre the other day, and UGH, FASSY, MUST YOU BE SO FUCKING AWESOME IN EVERYTHING WHEN I HAVE TO WAIT FOR YOUR OTHER NEW STUFF TO COME OUT. :((( Failing that, a few episodes of White Collar S03 ought to do the trick. It's back on tonight!! \0/ \0/ Can hardly wait.
Oh, what the hell. Let's have a meme as well.
The Poetry Meme
If you see this in someone's journal, post one as well. Saw a gorgeous poem in
somehowunbroken's journal the other day, and thought, hey, neat. So here is a poem that, despite not necessarily having anything to do with who I am, still had a profound effect on me the first time I read it.How To Make Love to a Trans Person by Gabe Moses
Forget the images you've learned to attach
To words like cock and clit,
Chest and breasts.
Break those words open
Like a paramedic cracking ribs
To pump blood through a failing heart.
Push your hands inside.
Get them messy.
Scratch new definitions on the bones.
Get rid of the old words altogether.
Make up new words.
Call it a click or a ditto.
Call it the sound he makes
When you brush your hand against it through his jeans,
When you can hear his heart knocking on the back of his teeth
And every cell in his body is breathing.
Make the arch of her back a language
Name the hollows of each of her vertebrae
When they catch pools of sweat
Like rainwater in a row of paper cups
Align your teeth with this alphabet of her spine
So every word is weighted with the salt of her.
When you peel layers of clothing from his skin
Do not act as though you are changing dressings on a trauma patient
Even though it's highly likely that you are.
Do not ask if she's "had the surgery."
Do not tell him that the needlepoint bruises on his thighs look like they hurt
If you are being offered a body
That has already been laid upon an altar of surgical steel
A sacrifice to whatever gods govern bodies
That come with some assembly required
Whatever you do,
Do not say that the carefully sculpted landscape
Bordered by rocky ridges of scar tissue
Looks almost natural.
If she offers you breastbone
Aching to carve soft fruit from its branches
Though there may be more tissue in the lining of her bra
Than the flesh that rises to meet itLet her ripen in your hands.
Imagine if she'd lost those swells to cancer,
Diabetes,
A car accident instead of an accident of genetics
Would you think of her as less a woman then?
Then think of her as no less one now.
If he offers you a thumb-sized sprout of muscle
Reaching toward you when you kiss him
Like it wants to go deep enough inside you
To scratch his name on the bottom of your heart
Hold it as if it can-
In your hand, in your mouth
Inside the nest of your pelvic bones.
Though his skin may hardly do more than brush yours,
You will feel him deeper than you think.
Realize that bodies are only a fraction of who we are
They're just oddly-shaped vessels for hearts
And honestly, they can barely contain us
We strain at their seams with every breath we take
We are all pulse and sweat,
Tissue and nerve ending
We are programmed to grope and fumble until we get it right.
Bodies have been learning each other forever.
It's what bodies do.
They are grab bags of parts
And half the fun is figuring out
All the different ways we can fit them together;
All the different uses for hipbones and hands,
Tongues and teeth;
All the ways to car-crash our bodies beautiful.
But we could never forget how to use our hearts
Even if we tried.
That's the important part.
Don't worry about the bodies.
They've got this.
