shippers [explicit]

Is there a special place in hell

For fandom shippers?

I certainly hope so.

Because there are other sites on the internet

                    (porn)

          other genres of literature

                    (porn)

          and other genres of porn

                    (fan fiction)

Where one can find a venue

To support the romantic relationship of two fictional characters

          And WITHOUT any disservice to the supporting female character

                    formerly strong, with differentiated integrity

                    formerly the personification of hope

                    formerly engaged in a physical relationship with another man
                              with healthy consequences

                    formerly capable of self-composure without the validation

                              of the protagonist male character

                                        still brooding

                                        still haunted

                                        still broken

                                        still joyless

                                        still inaccessible

                                                  even after she accessed him

I don’t know

It’s like you guys just…

          wanna see two imagined people fuck

Is there a special place in hell

For showrunners

Who shamelessly cater to the groundswell of these assholes?

I think not.

I think that happens when

Okay

I hope that happens

When you guys realize

          She

          was

                    something else

                    before you caved

If that occurs to you in between trips to the bank

Concerning the Matter of the Disowning, However Imagined

Eggshells are things better spared

Than to have my weight imposed upon them

Not unlike that time

My presence was demand-requested into the debriefing on a near 

     tragedy

Concerning which I was quite pleased to have been present and helpful to the only real suffering individual concerned

     As far as I was concerned

Until I had to sit through the 

                              HISTRIONICS 

                      of the affected cohort group

     who

     while 

I have no doubt 

     sad for their anguished companion

Were probably a little more sad not to have been present

And to not have the opportunity to have really joined with her in her suffering

An uncomfortable realization:

     I had been present

          For all that glorious anguish

     I got to see the empty package of generic pain-reliever

          the drained liquor bottle

     I got to call the ambulance for Christ sake

And now I was the only one request-demanded to the debriefing

Because I was witness

     The first-hand conduit

          of all that suffering

For this beleaguered group

I was to be the Fluffer of their Shared Anguish

And I suppose I gave it to them

  Good

I was recently unfriended on Facebook

by the fellow who demand-requested that I be there

All he indicated was

Something about my cover photo 

     which depicts an angry self-absorbed man

     dressed ironically as a sad clown

He really seemed to take it personally

concerning that matter of some racial bigotry in Oklahoma

I must name names:

          Yukon, Oklahoma

          Independence Middle School in 1992 if I’m to be incredibly blunt

The last situation I thought I wanted to be in that I was forced to be in?

Being the new kid in town, forced to get undressed in a boys locker room

          with other neo-pubescent boys, complete strangers

The last situation that I in fact did not want to be in that actually happened?

Being the new kid in town, forced to get undressed in a boys locker room

          with other neo-pubescent boys, complete strangers

          while they chanted the following

          Hail, Angels, Dressed in White

         Killing N——ers, Left and Right

Well

I don’t remember the rest for some reason

But there was more

I said nothing

And I tucked that incident away amidst the rest of the unpleasantness

          of the aforementioned circumstances (…middle school…Yukon, Oklahoma)

Now, I can’t help but think

Had I a device to record and capture that moment 22 years ago in a middle school locker room

Participants no more than 14 years old

And if I had to guess—

          Not their first recital

          Nor their original composition

          But an homage that was doing someone proud

          I wouldn’t say they pulled it out of the air

But I would say it was in the air

Now then

          The thing to do

          is not to say 

                    Well, I never…

          Oh it is tempting
But for some grace perhaps I hadn’t come from another Bible Belt town with a tad more

                     diversity

                    Not really embraced

                    But diversity nonetheless

          Wherein my best friends had been individuals of color

                    Which excuses me nothing from the fact that my ancestors

                              UNDENIABLY 

           Considered their ancestors to be property

                              of THEIRS mind you

Did I personally do anything?   i.e. RESPONSIBLE for that

No

          and that’s rarely going to be my conversation

But I’m vulnerable to breathing air like anyone

And also to saying nothing

          Which is exactly what I

                                        terrified?

                                        shamed?

                                        unsure

                                                  did that day

And that, G-d willing, will be my conversation from here on

And I fear (though I don't know)

          All that having it on video would have accomplished

Would be to reiterate to the world that I didn’t do anything else when I could have

http://www.route66news.com/2014/01/21/route-66-towns-former-sundown-towns-apologize/

the hero of the rest of that story

It was a dream

About this thing that used to happen all the time

     in our adolescence and adolescent adulthood

You and I were at one of those parties

     thrown by the larger circle of friends

Which we’d only agree to go to provided we had one another’s back

In this version, though

We’re actually not who we used to be

But who we’ve grown up to be

     You with the wife and kid, and the 9 to 5

          (or, the 7 to 5, in your case)

Me splitting time between perpetual student and clinic

And we’ve all returned, as if to a very specific sort of reunion

     You and I having a tacit agreement

     That my emotional entanglements of the past
(of which you’re well aware and we need not detail for these purposes)

     would not make me timid

It was going quite well

But I had one of my moments

     Someone requested you for something

     You were gone for what seemed an eternity of a few minutes

     I panicked

     I ran

I mean I really ran

     Somehow I had my shorts and shoes

     And I just started jogging off

          Down a neighborhood street that was a little bit like

          any street in every town I’ve ever lived in.

I worked up the requisite sweat after a couple of miles

Which seemed to get it out of my system

     But there I was returned to my senses and stranded

     Though with a phone in my pocket

               (which should tell you it definitely wasn’t the 90s)

And even in my dreams

Yours is the only number I still have memorized

“I’m sorry, man
     I pulled a John…”

“You pulled a John,”

     you laughed, not in the least disappointed

“But can I pick up some ice cream for everyone since I’m out?”

          (which should tell you I wasn’t 19 anymore)

You conferred with the rest of the guests

And decided on the spot this was the best way to explain why I wasn’t there

I woke up right after buying the Blue Bell

There’s no doubt in my mind you came and got me

First Response

The Brewery in Bricktown

     Some Saturday afternoon

     Days after?

     Weeks?

Whenever it was

It was still happening

In walked the firefighters, the EMTs

‘Wearied’ might be a description

     so long as descriptions

     and the grossest of understatements

     can be on mutually inclusive terms

Up to the second floor they immediately proceeded

     Not expecting

     Nor requiring

The standing ovation that erupted

     as they marched

I do not remember a lot of smiles lighting up their faces

But it was a part of them

To serve

To respond

To rescue

And that they wore this as they marched up the stairs

     was visible

I’ll never know how long they’d been toiling that day

     If the human toll

     Blended with the Federal debris

What a toll it ultimately took

Nor if a complimentary burger and beer on the house

     could ever be thanks enough

Nor if our first response as a grateful public

Could ever make theirs worthwhile

This boy, he bleeds

I have taken to metaphor-ing severe depression

     as an open wound with profuse bleeding

     the stopping of which is not necessarily the resolution

          i.e.

               the healing

     of the wound

nor the removal of the injuring agent

but a bandage that might at least help

     stop further loss

     clear up the light-headedness

     prevent infection

     clean you up  for the requisite appearances

          birthdays, high school graduations

          your own wedding

               what have you

And when the dejected 18 year-old

     for whom melancholia is something of a contact sport

 says to me:

“But what if you like the bleeding?”

Which I wasn’t expecting

But am in no way surprised to hear

Well, that’s the thing you see…

     I respond, not missing a beat

     Because I really do know

          the thing

          in question

That would make this

a peculiar

          yet undeniable

form of self-harm

          no?

     As if I myself haven’t engaged in this sweet romance

          Once…

                    Mm, twice, sorry I forgot that one time, nonetheless

Still an affective discomfort

Still a wound

     of the higher order cognition kind

Screaming

          I have been hurt

Not that that’s any of my business ’til you choose to share that

Fortunately for you, I’m patient

     As others were patient with me

I wouldn’t be here playing this game with you if they hadn’t been

Now then

This boy, he bleeds

And I’m really excited because I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else

Who could, potentially

     (oh, how he hates that word)

Really make it work for him

          And the 18 year-old he’ll get to meet someday

a bemoaning

That warmth of having a song stuck in your head

     that was some B-side of a single from a few years back

          but only recently have you discovered it

     You find it so infectious, you just want your brain to soak in it

And so soon you can’t get it out

You begin making up words to it that are sort of like the right words

But not exactly

     Those are your lyrics you’re putting to it

If it was that easy to come up with those words

Why couldn’t you have just come up with this melody and instrumental arrangement

     for which you have such a star-crossed affinity?

You could have been the one to record it, and reel in those royalties

God

     damn this retroactive talent

going rate

I think the most surreal revelation

     of working in private practice

     at which my going rate is determined by the higher ups

Is that I don’t really think I could afford myself

And I might be the one who needs me the most.

two things, one not being so much a thing, and another couple things

One thing:

A supernatural occurrence
A confrontation
of otherworldy forces
Bringing quakes and tremors
Volcanic ash
Hellfire
scorching and razing
The Devil rising 
out of a chasm in the earth 
that wasn’t there a moment before
Demanding the unconditional surrender of our head-of-state
and unequivocal submission
an effective refutation of our economic philosophies
and geo-political ranking


-OR- another thing:

the public lynching of an innocent


Which one would it be easier for me to believe happens everyday?

     which would be one thing

Then to die just so the truth of it has the chance to be known?

    which would be another thing all together

tasted

The politics
were really some matter
for me
Like a taste of blood
accidentally got in the way
and I got it in my head
the fruit was supposed to taste like steak
when
in actuality
Probably was the wax stuff supposed to be left on display

Better left in the past
If it was to be anything at all
the wax figure on display
standing in for something

That I could
change?
A puzzle I could
complete?

          Maybe...

But I would live for the politics of the thing
I would pore over it
Learn
Study
Digest
Live
Speculate
Expound upon

And it wasn’t cheap

Bleed
  for
with
and from

For me, it was sport
While for everyone else
a struggle
and blessing
Which is what I hoped for myself too

but for that taste

On it goes without me
And me a bit lost at times without it
I still hear faint echoes sometimes
As if it knows it could draw me back in
Anytime it wanted

Perhaps I run from it
Because it’s a worthwhile thing from which to run
Or a worthwhile thing to run into
once the circle unbreaks

But I’ve still a really bad taste in my mouth until it does

where

Following the Reckoning
once I have renounced all privilege and capital of my social location
be it through coercion of the new order
Or
I’m just that nice of a guy
I will be in the very safest of places:

A dizzying series of panned shots
Portraying scenes of my life
that didn’t…really…happen

But it will be edited and choreographed
as if a music video
to a song by The Killers
inspired visually by Baz Luhrmann
for good effect
And the memories will be
a tad wistful
angst-y, yes, because adolescence was pretty good to me after all
Bittersweet even
but ultimately good


I will have laid down my test kits and scoring templates
I will have critiqued my last empirical study
I will have entered the last bit of raw data
Clicked the mouse for the calculations

The results will be the most significant EVER

And I will be shown the door
Going in
Going out
Either way

The benediction will be something like
“Well done, buddy…
THAT
was impressive.”

Or
Something else
Which I am very happy at present
Not even able to fathom

But you’ll know where to find me