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Hir; A Poem

This is a beautifully done piece of spoken word, I recommend it.

 

Yours in Queerness,
Duo Spiritus

Bellatora of Valens

Bellatora of Valens whirled and slashed at her foes with her sword, Sagax, her face hard but calm even as sweat dripped off the tip of her nose.  Sagax cut through her foes as soon as they dared face her, the heat of battle giving Bellatora the strength to continue the fight for her own life and that of her child.

As she fought, Bellatora thought back to the events of the past ten months. In such a small window of time she had fallen in love, wed, become pregnant and given birth to a beautiful baby boy…  It all started when she returned from the border war, when she spent a good deal of her time off in taverns and pubs blowing off steam.  While she was spending time at one of the local taverns, she met a man with whom she shared an evenings entertainment, despite her plans for him to be gone come morning, when she awoke, he was still there.  A week later she found that she had forgotten the fact she didn’t want a real relationship.  Soon she found she was in a solid relationship–spending all of her time with her new love–they sparred together and dined together, they rode together and whiled away their nights.

Bellatora was in love with this man, and the man loved her in return, they decided to wed.

After weeks of the bliss of a new relationship, Bellatora was needed back at the border–she said her goodbyes and departed as soon as she could.  Within a few days of her return to battle, Bellatora realized she was pregnant.

Bellatora continued to fight until she couldn’t hide the bump of motherhood, and by then she was too far along to take the trip home for birth.  When her time came she gave birth alone, hoping nothing would go wrong. Her only concession was her good friend, a male healer, waited outside of her tent, in the event there was a problem.

A mere week after she gave birth, the Perduellisi attacked and Bellatora armed herself and hid her child in the hope the fight would end before any enemy got near her tent.  Her hopes were soon proven wrong.

Bellatora began to fight for her life, and that of her child, when the first enemy soldier cut his way into her tent.  He was quickly followed five more Perduellisi men and women at arms.  Bellatora braced her feet against the solid ground, smoothed her face into the stone mask she wore in battle and began her fight.

An endless hour later Bellatora had slain four enemy fighters and held the last three at bay with the strength and ferocity of a mother bear protecting her young.  Reinforcements arrived and the three remaining soldiers were slain, Bellatora and her baby boy, Fictilius, were safe.

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This is the penultimate installment in my short story series featuring elements.  This one was inspired by the strength and stability of earth.

Yours in Queerness,

Duo Spiritus

Person Anachronism

 

Lyrics: (Revamped)

1, 2, 3, 4

you can tell
from the scars on my arms
and the cracks in my hips
and the dents in my car
and the blisters on my lips
that I’m not the carefullest of girls

you can tell
from the glass on the floor
and the strings that are breaking
and i keep on breaking more
and it looks like i am shaking
but it’s just the temperature
then again
if it were any colder i could disengage
if i were any older i would act my age
but i don’t think that you’d believe me
it’s not the way I’m meant to be
it’s just the way the operation made me

and you can tell
from the state of my room
that they let me out too soon
and the pills that i ate
came a couple years too late
and I’ve got some issues to work through
there i go again
pretending to be you
make-believing
that i have a soul beneath the surface
trying to convince you
it was accidentally on purpose

i am not so serious
this passion is a plagiarism
i might join your century
but only on a rare occasion
i was taken out
before the labor pains set in and now
behold the world’s worst accident
i am the girl anachronism

and you can tell
by the red in my eyes
and the bruises on my thighs
and the knots in my hair
and the bathtub full of flies
that I’m not right now at all
there i go again
pretending that i’ll fall
don’t call the doctors
they’ve seen it all before
they’ll say just
let her crash and burn, she’ll learn
(the attention just encourages her)

and you can tell
from the full-body cast
that you’re sorry that you asked
that you did everything you could
(like any decent person would)
but i might be catching so don’t touch
you’ll start believing you’re immune to gravity and stuff
don’t get me wet
because the bandages will all come off

you can tell
from the smoke at the stake
that the current state is critical
well it is the little things, for instance:
in the time it takes to break it she can make up ten excuses:
please excuse him for the day, its just the way the medication makes hir…

i don’t necessarily believe there is a cure for this
so i might join your century but only as a doubtful guest
i was too precarious removed as a cesarean
behold the worlds worst accident
I AM THE GUY ANACHRONISM
(I’M THE GUY ANACHRONISM)
I AM THE GIRL ANACHRONISM
(I’M THE GIRL ANACHRONISM)

I am the guy …
I am the girl …
I am the guy …
I AM THE GIRL ANACHRONISM

Life’s Flow

Several years ago lived a person well into hir golden years; ze had a body that was unable to do much of what it had before, but ze was not concerned because ze knew that what ze passed ze would be reborn as had happened countless times before. Ze had been born into many bodies and many lives; some lives cut short by tragedy and some were as long as this life had been. Most were average lives; ze learned a little, made some mistakes and did a little good, but some were fantastic lives and during those ze truly changed the world.

This person soon fell asleep, and ze slept for quite a while, when ze awoke ze was in a new place. Hir skin felt tight and the light was too bright for hir eyes, as they were used to such darkness, ze tried to use the words that ze had used thousands of times before but all that came out was a screeching wail. Into hir sight walked a giant of a man dressed in pale green whose voice was so loud all ze could do was scream again when he spoke “How lucky you are little one, we thought we’d lost you.” The man picked the baby up, and ze was in fact a baby, and handed hir to another giant clothed in a scratchy blue fabric “Here’s your little girl, isn’t she a perfect angel?” he said as Mother took the baby, handling her with perfect gentleness “She’s perfect.”

And for many years to come she was a perfect little girl, a little strange perhaps but a perfectly normal little girl none the less. She was strange for many reasons; how quickly her mind grew, how slowly her body grew and how much she seemed to “just know.” As she reached age five the adults in her life saw just how strange she was and worried, the children in her life saw how strange she was and shunned her. But the girl didn’t mind because, unlike any of her other lives, she remembered her past lives. She knew that this life must be special, she must be destined to do great things or she would have forgotten her past when she was born as she had done before.

As the girl reached her teen years the isolation her strangeness caused had turned from pure isolation on the part of most adults and all the children to isolation from adults and cruelty from her “peers.” The jackal-children taunted her, spread rumors and made her life, at school and at home, a place of anger and sadness. The adults told themselves, and each other, that what they saw was not happening when inside they truly sympathized with the Jackal-children and understood the need to torment the “strange one.” The few times the girls went to one of those adults for help she was told to “try and make friends,” “try to tough it out, they’ll respect you for it” or “it’s just a phase, they’ll get over it.” But the girl knew that these were lies, the witch hunt of the Jackal-children would never stop, just change and morph as they matured.
Despite the wisdom from all her other lives despite the “reassurances” of her teachers and parents she knew she could not live like this forever, she hungered for that deep sleep that would bring her new, better, life. The next day dawned bright and warm, a perfect summer’s day; the girl ate her breakfast and conversed with her family until one by one her family left for the activities of the day. The girl undressed and went outside to their pool; she dived in and fell asleep.

When she awoke she was in a new place. Her skin felt tight and the light was too bright for her eyes, as they were used to such darkness, she tried to use the words that she had used thousands of times before but all that came out was a screeching wail. Into her sight walked a giant of a woman dressed in pale green whose voice was so loud all shee could do was scream again when he spoke “What a handsome baby boy you have here.” The man picked the baby up, and she was in fact a baby, and handed her to another giant clothed in a scratchy blue fabric “Here’s your little boy, isn’t he a perfect angel?” he said as Mother took the baby, handling her with perfect gentleness “He’s perfect.”

As the boy grew he remembered all of his past lives, as he had in his previous life, and he knew that this life was a better life.  He grew into his wisdom well, his body fit well around his mind and his mind worked well with his body.  He began writing at an early age and shared his stories with adults and children alike. At first his stories were sweet and happy, but they grew darker, stories of hatred and it’s results were most prevalent until one day he wrote a story of a girl who drowned.  It was hauntingly beautiful and so mirrored the story of a suicide earlier that year that it stuck a chord with all who read it.

That story made a real difference in the world for it opened people’s eyes to the torment of “strange ones” all around them.  Teachers and parents began to step up and support those children who were slowly being torn apart by Jackal-children, and parents began to heal the anger within the Jackal-children.

Many generations fell asleep, and new ones were born, and soon there was a world where Jackal-children did not exist and “strange ones” were accepted and loved by adults and children alike.  Children were children, and that is the end of that.

****************

This is the second installment of an element themed collection of short stories, I intend to cover the elements of fire, water, air, earth and spirit.

This story was in fact inspired by water, the idea of a seamless flow from place to place, from form to form and how much water can change the world around it.

Yours in Queerness,

Duo Spiritus

Child of the Inferno

The story I’m about to share with you is not one of the past, nor of the present, but a story of all time. This is a story that occurred today and yesterday, a story of tomorrow and next year… A story of forever.

There once was a young boy who lived in a house of wood. His behaviors had always set him apart from the other youth in the area; he had always possessed a penchant for causing drama and dissent wherever he went.

As he grew the boy developed a skill for starting fires that quickly turned to obsession, the boy’s mother began to worry for her son as he would go out alone for hours at a time and return with burns on his hands and arms, but no matter what she tried he would not stop.

One afternoon as the boy was napping the house began to get warmer and warmer; the boy awoke to a tickling sensation enveloping his body. When he opened his eyes the boy saw that he, and his bed, was engulfed in flames. The flames spread away from his bed slowly devouring his home, climbing the walls and crossing the floor, the boy rose and walked through his home spreading the fire as he went until at last the heat consumed him.

He was a part of the flames now, both at one with the inferno and against it. As his body was no more his spirit began to fly through the blazing walls of his former home and into a new place, a dark place.

Once his entirety had arrived he heard a voice, both within and without his being, and it spoke in a deep, rumbling voice “Welcome home Ignis, my son.

****************

This is the first installment of an element themed collection of short stories, I intend to cover the elements of fire, water, air, earth and spirit.

Yours in Queerness,

Duo Spiritus

Curfew!

So I live in a city with a curfew law for minors, 10:00 PM.  Unless you are running an errand for a parent, or don’t get caught.

I break curfew all the time, with parental consent, sometimes I actually AM running an errand for my mom but most of the time I’m hanging out with friends and my fiends do the same, we have yet to be stopped.  We walk around like we know what we are doing and are doing what we need to.

I understand that curfew laws are supposed to lessen crimes by and against youth, but the youth who commit crimes are just going to break curfew, and curfew infringes on the legal rights of youth in the first place, breaking laws in a way that affects youth.  So that argument invalid.  I’ve also heard that the curfew law is supposed to give the police a reason to stop youth who look like they are misbehaving but the fact a person looks suspicious IS reason to stop them, so that argument is as valid as the first one.

The arguments AGAINST curfew laws are so plentiful I could not begin to list them here, but I will share my own.  The people who follow the curfew laws are the people who would not be outside after 10 PM, unless they had an errand for their parent, without a curfew.  Everyone else is going to ignore the curfew, especially the subset of youth who need it.  I say let parents set a curfew, let cops stop anyone who suspicious and let humans under 18 have the same rights as those humans over 18 years of age.

Do you have a curfew law where you live?  Is it as stupid as mine? Do you agree with curfew laws? Do you agree with me?  Let me know in a comment.

 

Holiday Sadness and How You Can Help

For most the holiday season is a time of great joy, family, kindness and so many other good things, but we should not forget that there may be someone near us for whom the holiday season brings naught but pain.  There are those who have no family to turn to, no home to decorate or funds for festivities, there are people who have had awful things happen in their life around this time and the yuletide greetings do nothing for them but return them to those horrid times and there are people for whom this is their first holiday alone.

Look around you, and at yourself, if while you look you see someone who is saddened by the holiday cheer then do what you can to help.  Listen to them, give them a hug or suggest resources for them.  I’ve included a few depression and suicide prevention resources for you yo use yourself or share with someone who needs your love right now.

 

This is a site that has a more comprehensive list of suicide prevention hotlines then I could ever create:  http://www.befrienders.org/

The Trevor Project has both online IMing and a hotline for queer youth dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts or feelings, as well as resources for their friends and loved one:  http://www.thetrevorproject.org/

And remember that I am here to answer questions or just give friendship.

 

Yours in Queerness,

Duo Spiritus

 

You want chivalry?

When my friends talk about finding love they often wonder aloud why they can’t find a person who thinks they are attractive when they first wake up, who will open doors for them, who stands when they walk in the room and who really listens when they talk.  Even the wonderful man I find myself falling for has said these things.  I do these things for most people most of the time, and all the time if I “like-like” the person, but nobody notices.

If this is truly what people want then why don’t they see it when I hand it to them on a silver platter?

I see the pictures on tumblir, facebook and other assorted sites about how “girls just want to date a gentleman” and in my head I scream silently because I know that they mean they want a gentleman who is perfect in EVERY way; tall, white, buff with a penis. (and no boobs)  They don’t mean they want someone who will act like a gentleman, treat them well and see them as beautiful.

I guess for the time being my flirting, my romancing, will continue to be ignored and I will continue to act with chivalry, bravery and honor.  I only hope that eventually someone comes along who actually wants that…

What do you look for in romance? What do you find instead?

Yours in Queerness,                                                                                                                              Duo Spirtus