Creepy Country


You want me to hang around in corners.
You want me to beat my breast,
keen, cry, cavalier to
the monstrous wails that extort
as much from skin as lips.

You want me to linger
in vast wastelands, accrue coral
on the skeleton of our lovely schooner met
by squal and siren, silence and sneer,
as much from skin as lips.

You want me to knit my shadow
to your long ankles, stride your stride, bent
light burnishing the thistle, drag the catch
of this corps always calling “come back, come back”
as much from skin as lips.

Turns out, darling, I don’t
have that kind of time.


It was better than it might have been considering how exhausted I crawled out of bed.   I didn’t think I was even going to be able to keep my eyes open if I glued them open.  Stress, caffeine, and the remnants of Hemlock Grove rattling through me which kept my thinking and zipping about until 1:30a.m. last night.

Hemlock Grove.  Man, that’s a show.  If you haven’t seen it, I don’t know if I should recommend it to you.  I loved Supernatural, for as long as I watched it, and some day, when its run/death march is finally over, I’ll pick it back up and watch Sam and Dean’s adventures again.  When I say I loved it, I mean, I went to conventions, I wrote fanfic, I found friends (some of whom are hugely critical in my life even now), I bought books, I flew places to see the actors in things, I donated money to causes, I was on the periphery of some dramas, I sang songs, I made art (of a sort), I mooned over the characters.  All of this is to say, as similar in some ways as Hemlock Grove is to SPN, in theme, in content, in creep factor, in two hot boys with a creepy relationship to one another, I don’t think I could ever have that kind of level of engagement with it.    It is, even as batshit crazy as it often presents itself to be, not all that memorable.  I was surprised that it has a third and final season coming.   I’m curious, and will catch up with it when it’s out, but I don’t really feel some desire to rewatch or find clips or make those first, delicate steps towards fandom with it.

Okay, enough of that.

It is necessary to have some extra sleep tonight.  Necessary to release and turn off this burning brain.   Just one little thing out of the normal, one little thing to fuck with the muscle memory, with one day becoming the next and time becoming so fluid that to stand still in it makes your head swim.

You think you can keep pushing it and today, I think, I’m seeing the failing of that philosophy.  I need to recharge.  I would, I think, rather not post at all tonight.  Leave it at the poem which just came out of nowhere, let my neck soften into the pillow.  Too late.

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