I don't want to be known for my writing or clothes.
I want to be known for my anger.
Writing just seems to be the form where examples are the simplest and situations the realest.
My frustration is the fuel which my characters face and just limiting the value of my writing to good prose is Kubrick cutting the end of A Clockwork Orange to make a shallow movie about violence.
My work is my anger and everyone's anger at ignorance at those who will limit anyone to the background.
The further work is not about love, love is the aid to get us through society which we've created, born into and have to struggle with every day.
And love is the fuel, the fuel to the anger which I have to bear for being queer and deviant.
And I am not a love story. I am not something to cry over. I am something which should make you realize if you are at a privileged position that you should make a change, if you are discriminated, that you are not alone, that we should all have this fuel and should never just be limited to love.
Because our anger is valid.
We became our anger, so that the love will not only nourish us now, but later when all is done and we are no longer deviant to a society who hates itself.
Jamie. Gay. Genderfluid. Polyamorous.
Cursor made by: jamiecooksays.tumblr.com
I also wrote this on the course.
Would a dream be death?
What would it be?
If you closed your eyes
The question upon one’s lips
Which were once.
What is the point?
What would the breaking point be?
What urges a person to just bite a vein,
Instead of playing it?
Some horrifyingly sweet self-abuse,
As you’d take photos of it
To sell them in kiosks
Next to scandals
And ugly ladies
Who people masturbate to.
kpuc said: Love the glasses girl! Looking good!
Thank you! I am tickled with these new...
Theme by Lauren Ashpole