Done playing possum*
In the past couple of months, I have:
Seen Timothy Hutton at a street fair;
Been kayaking down the Charles river;
Walked to work for four blocks before realizing my trousers were unzipped;
Watched the Avengers;
Eaten a surprising amount of clams and chicken feet.
Avengers: Natasha/Black Widow is my absolute favorite and I ship her and Bruce. Or her and Maria Hill. Because I can. Also maybe Hawkeye. Also the whole team together in a giant pile of action/adventure and/or mushy genfic.
I am taking part in the SGA Reversebang, the SPN bigbang, the Star Trek Reversebang, running & taking part in the Kurt/Blaine Reversebang while simultaneously trying to rehaul my professional portfolio and not get too distracted by tumblr...HELP!!
Here, have a lovely poem to end this jumble of a post:
What Lot's Wife Would Have Said (If She Wasn't A Pillar of Salt)
Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbors did
in the dark?
When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?
What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbor.
When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.
Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?
Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.
Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbors
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.
I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you
run.
~Karen Finneyfrock
*I thought of using something cooler like Lazarus or Phoenix for posting after ages as a risen from death metaphor, but possum seems to fit a lot better on me...
Seen Timothy Hutton at a street fair;
Been kayaking down the Charles river;
Walked to work for four blocks before realizing my trousers were unzipped;
Watched the Avengers;
Eaten a surprising amount of clams and chicken feet.
Avengers: Natasha/Black Widow is my absolute favorite and I ship her and Bruce. Or her and Maria Hill. Because I can. Also maybe Hawkeye. Also the whole team together in a giant pile of action/adventure and/or mushy genfic.
I am taking part in the SGA Reversebang, the SPN bigbang, the Star Trek Reversebang, running & taking part in the Kurt/Blaine Reversebang while simultaneously trying to rehaul my professional portfolio and not get too distracted by tumblr...HELP!!
Here, have a lovely poem to end this jumble of a post:
What Lot's Wife Would Have Said (If She Wasn't A Pillar of Salt)
Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbors did
in the dark?
When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?
What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbor.
When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.
Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?
Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.
Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbors
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.
I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you
run.
~Karen Finneyfrock
*I thought of using something cooler like Lazarus or Phoenix for posting after ages as a risen from death metaphor, but possum seems to fit a lot better on me...