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abandoned-never-finished · 6 years ago

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Dance in the Rain (ExR)

Scene: Enjolras’s and Grantaire’s little apartment in France. The living room light casts a yellow hue on the small space.

Enjolras peeks around the door frame carefully, curious as to why classical music was playing in their flat at nearly 1 AM. His eyes scan the room and land on Grantaire, wine glass hanging in the crook of the fingers of his right hand, his left on the shoulder of an invisible dance partner. He waltzes around the room, stumbling over wrinkles in the carpet and his own feet. The wine sloshes lazily in the glass but never quite reaches the rim. Enjolras follows Grantaire’s movements quietly, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth, pulling at them ever so slightly. He enters the room slowly, leans against the door frame and clears his throat softly. Grantaire glances over his shoulder, throwing a smirk in the blond’s direction before raising his glass in a toast and swallowing the remaining wine.

Enjolras: [gently, playfully] What the hell are you doing?

Grantaire: [holding up the empty glass and gesturing at the radio] I’m dancing of course. Don’t you know it’s a rather common ritual among humans?

E: [rolls his eyes a little] You call that dancing?

Grantaire saunters over slowly, his eyes holding Enjolras’ gaze gently. He licks the taste of wine from his lips, exaggeratedly placing the glass down as he approaches. He stops mere inches away from Enjolras’s gaze, his eyes unwavering, a small smirk on his lips.

G: Well if you’re so smart, you teach me [he winks]

E: [scoffs, having anticipated R’s typical snark] Oh sure you- what?

G: Teach me.

He keeps his eyes trained on Enjolras while his right hand slides in Enj’s softly. He lifts the blond’s hand as his left hand slides onto his shoulder. Enjolras’ confused expression fades and he slips his hand around R’s waist, holding him a little more firmly than is necessary for a classical ballad. He raises a brow slightly, before stepping in time with the music, guiding R’s steps around the room.

After the first song, Grantaire glances out at the open balcony where a light rain is falling. The breeze makes the curtain move gently. Enj groans softly at the sight of the rain, but relents when he sees Grantaire’s pout and furrowed brow. He allows himself to be dragged out onto the cold tiles, fingers intertwined, feet falling in step to the next song. His right hand has softened to the contours of Grantaire’s back, holding the man as closely to himself as possible. Grantaire’s hand has moved from Enj’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, tangling gently in the blond waves there. Grantaire’s mess of curls lay slick against his forehead as they dance and Enjolras can’t tear his gaze away from the man’s twinkling eyes. He’s never been more entranced by him.

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abandoned-never-finished · 6 years ago

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An Investi(gay)tion Into Existing as Queer

Societies operate off a culturally and historically entrenched set of norms, or rules and standards by which that particular society functions and organizes itself. These norms can be informal (e.g. walking on the right side of a sidewalk) or formal (e.g. laws). Individuals who comply with these norms are described as normative, whereas those who fail to follow norms in some respect are labeled as deviants. Deviating from social norms can result in sanctions, or consequences for not heeding an established rule. Again, these can range from informal (e.g. people giving you a dirty look for bumping into them) to formal (e.g. prison time for committing a crime). In order to function in a society, individuals learn these rules through a process called socialization. Family, peer groups, school, work, and larger institutions are all agents of socialization. They teach people the social norms and expectations, as well as how to comply with them. It is important to note that there are certain norms that individuals break simply by existing. This is most clearly seen among minority groups; disabled people, for example, deviate from the norm that prizes and acknowledges able-bodied people.

In this experiment, I breached the heteronormative norms surrounding romantic relationships by appearing with my partner in public. Essentially, I went about my normal life with my partner and recorded what it’s like to be publicly viewed as a queer couple. In American society, heterosexual relationships are assumed to be the norm. Couples that present as anything other than heterosexual (e.g. male-male, female-female, androgynous, etc.) are seen as deviant. This norm stems from homophobic (or perhaps more accurately, queerphobic) attitudes and beliefs that are historically rooted. Events including Hitler’s murder of homosexuals, the AIDS epidemic initially attributed as a “gay disease,” and the belief that homosexuality was a diagnosable psychological disorder have contributed to these attitudes. One may argue that as a society, the United States has come far since the days of brutal stories like those of Matthew Shepard and the Stonewall Riots. However, I hope to point out how many openly discriminatory behaviors have been replaced by microaggressions. Though these acts may seem inconsequential, the additive stress of experiencing them repeatedly has been demonstrated to be damaging across minority groups. I believe it’s important to note that I am speaking from limited experience: I only came to terms with my queerness and have been in a queer relationship for roughly a year and a half. I have never experienced acts of violence or explicit threats as a result of my sexuality, but I do know other queer people who have. Thus, I can only speak for what I have encountered, but I’m sure that other queer people can relate to some of these experiences.

When I am out in public with my partner, we make an effort to not read as a queer couple, largely for fear of repercussion or negative reactions. We rarely hold hands in public. We hardly ever display affection without first checking that nobody is watching or present. To members of their extended family, I am always introduced simply as a friend. These precautions seem minor, but when one considers how they permeate so many daily interactions, it becomes apparent just how draining they can be.

A small café in our hometown in Connecticut is one of the few places we generally feel safe. Still, we’re conscious of who’s in the room when we want to be affectionate. If there are people belonging to particular groups (e.g. older white people, people meeting for bible studies or other religious gatherings, etc.), we usually revert to acting as if we are just friends. One such instance occurred fairly early in our relationship. We were sitting next to each other in a booth-style table in the back corner of the empty café. While we were sitting close to each other, there was no other obvious affection being displayed. A white woman (maybe in her 30s) walked in with her young daughter who appeared to be about 6 years old. They ordered drinks and sat down at a table near us. About 10 minutes into their stay and after glancing over at us repeatedly, the mother physically moved her daughter to sit so that her back was towards us. They stayed seated that way until they left some time later. As someone who was just coming into my queerness, this incident stuck with me. I was hurt not only by how blatant the action had seemed, but also by the fact that it had involved this woman’s young daughter. Children learn from their parent(s)’ actions and beliefs, and this little girl was implicitly being taught intolerance. She may continue to perform small actions such as these without realizing how they affect the intended recipients. I remember pointing this out to my partner (who has been out for several years) and they shrugged, remarking that this was nothing new to them. Although I had known beforehand that queerphobia was alive and well, I didn’t exactly realize just how much it would impact my own reality.

Several weeks ago, my partner and I went out for an early dinner at an Olive Garden restaurant. Considering the time (around 4:30-5:00), the majority of the clientele were elderly. We did receive a few sideways glances, but nothing too terribly out of the ordinary. Our waitress, a young woman in her 20s or 30s, seated us at a four-person table, placing our menus next to each other instead of across from each other. I didn’t think much of it; neither of us was exactly dressed in “date-like” attire, nor were we necessarily acting explicitly as a couple. After we had finished eating, the waitress brought us the (digital) check and slid the machine over to my partner, rather than placing it in front of me or at the center of the table, despite the fact that I was the one paying. I’m sure she meant no harm and likely didn’t realize she had done that, but it made me wonder how she might have perceived us. Could she have assumed my partner is the more dominant or “male” member in the relationship, considering they are older than I am and present as more masculine? Could this be a reflection of implicit biases? Or maybe it meant nothing at all, that there was no intent unconscious or otherwise behind the action. But therein lies the reality of existing as queer people (or as members of other minority groups): you learn to read into things and assume that there is always the potential for a threat to be present. You learn to censor your existence out of fear of people’s reactions.

Recently, my partner and I were again at the local café, seated at a table and working on our respective assignments. Two heterosexual couples came in, apparently stopping for coffee before traveling together to a show. All four individuals were white and 65+ years old, which is unsurprisingly a group neither my partner nor I expect much acceptance from. We continued doing our work, not touching and hardly talking to each other during the time they were there. At one point, my partner got up to use the restroom. One of the men (I’ll call him George for clarity’s sake) had to use the restroom while my partner was still inside. Realizing the door was locked, he sat back down with the group. A few minutes later, the other man asked, “Are you sure there’s someone in there?” to which George responded, “Yeah, her partner went in there, I saw her.” Putting aside the misgendering, George’s use of the word “partner” caught me completely off guard as we hadn’t been affectionate (and frankly had interacted very little) since the group had arrived. I then wondered if we read as queer. The use of “partner” doesn’t bother me, because that word should be normalized, but the context and realization that we read as a couple when we make a conscious effort not to “act gay” in front of people left me uncomfortable and honestly a little freaked out. It reinforced the realization that there is always the potential for us to be unsafe if people perceive us as different.

As a result of this fear of being seen as different, deciding whether to present as queer or to pass as straight is something that I’ve struggled with thus far in my experience with queerness. It’s a large part of the reason it took me so long to cut my hair short again. It’s the reason that, while I’m very comfortable in “masculine” clothing (e.g. button downs, oxfords, bowties/ties), I worry that when wearing them I’ll be perceived as queer. This experience is a double-edged sword, however. While there is the concern surrounding presenting as queer, I don’t want to hide my identity and dislike being perceived as heterosexual because I’m not heterosexual. This seems to be a balancing act a lot of queer people struggle with. They want to feel safe, but they don’t want to grapple with the invalidation of being assumed to be heterosexual and/or cisgender (especially if this has happened many times before).

This balancing act between presenting as queer or not is often met with an outside perspective that asks questions like, “Why does it matter if people think you’re straight?” On the one hand, it’s true that my sexuality is not all that there is to my identity, and in theory, being assumed straight seems a minor issue (especially when compared to the dangers faced by many queer people who cannot be out as a result of both legal and societal repercussions). But it does matter, because heteronormative perspectives are so pervasive, and hearing them constantly results in a never-ending string of (usually unintentional) microinvalidations. My doctor doesn’t ask me if I’m sexually active or having safe sex, she asks if I have a boyfriend. Relatives want to know if I’ve met any cute boys at school. My parents hint (sometimes not so subtly) at things that I should do, like wearing makeup, removing body hair, letting my hair grow out, dressing “femininely”, or using perfume, because men won’t find the alternative attractive. These small acts that imply that some part of my existence should serve to impress men simply because I am a woman are draining, nevermind incredibly invalidating. These are not “big” instances of discrimination. I have never been harmed or threatened for my queerness. But hearing those remarks and putting in the energy to always check my queerness at the door can get exhausting. Many minority groups experience something similar to this, and for those who cannot present as the majority group (e.g. people of color), it’s even more impactful.

Now of course, this is not all to say that I haven’t had positive experiences with being public in my queerness. Just this week, my partner and I went apple picking together and held hands and kissed throughout, regardless of who else might have been in the field or the orchard’s market. We received no staring, glares, or commentary. But there are also dozens of instances in other settings where we noticed people staring at us or glancing over far too many times to be accidental that I don’t remember in enough detail to recount here. There are the countless times I’ve struggled to find a label to describe my partner to friends on campus if I didn’t know their feelings towards queer people and nonbinary terms. I’ve used the term boyfriend instead of partner to avoid the dreaded “oh” that really means, “I didn’t know you were gay,” or to deter boys who wouldn’t take “girlfriend” to be an indicator that they should stop flirting. There are all the times where I’ve debated if outing myself to someone was worth the possibility of losing the friendship. Navigating queerness often feels like a very calculated existence of shifting between scripts depending on their recipients.

More positively though, there is something to be said for the type of people my partner and I are among and how that impacts feelings of difference. If we go out on a double date with another queer couple for example, or spend time with friends who are also queer, we are more likely to be comfortable acting publicly queer. Being around other queer people provides a sense of ingroup, a certainty that we aren’t the only “deviants” in the room, so to speak. It takes some of the pressure off of us to behave in a way that will make heterosexuals the least uncomfortable. This safety-net provided by being around other queer people is more obvious in settings like gay bars and pride parades. There is an understanding that you are occupying a space that is both safe and intended for you. Being out with a friend group that also identifies as queer offers some of this same feeling, just on a smaller scale.

So, what does all this mean for queer people who deviate simply by existing and going about their lives? How does one grapple with that concept? In truth, I’m not really sure. It seems the only available option is to become aware of this reality (not doing so isn’t exactly a choice available to queer people), exist in it, and whenever possible, fight against it. For those who are not queer, awareness is critical. It is all too easy to exist in a bubble without understanding how social norms affect people’s everyday lives. Even I did not realize how subtle and pervasive queerphobia was, and I would have considered myself a fairly aware and accepting person. People often say they would be afraid to travel back in time because any small action could cause a butterfly effect, rippling out and changing the course of history. Yet, they rarely seem to think that small actions now will have any larger impact in the future. Taking the time to understand people’s experiences as members of “naturally” deviant groups and using that knowledge to guide small actions is the first step towards effecting change that cannot come soon enough.

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abandoned-never-finished · 6 years ago

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A reminder that I love you as you are now, but also as you will be one day

You say “I hate my-” I say Wait Listen I say let me travel the landscapes of your body Baby You make me want to be an explorer Give me your soft, your firm, your “I don’t show this to anyone” I want to know you by touch alone The way my fingers know the ivories upon A keyboard if I lay them down just right Let them play you like a Beethoven symphony Syncopated and timeless I say make my lips familiar with your topography I say I’ve never been good at geography But I’m An eager student We both know I have no sense of direction Maybe that’s Why I can get lost in you I say Hey Babe As my fingertips find the contours of your jaw Sliding along it lightly I say Hey As my eyes seek the stillness of your gaze A place I’ve always felt safe I say Let me whisper against your lips Listen Wherever your body may travel However its landscape may change So that you too can look at it and smile Whatever storms it weathers I say Let me follow Let me learn Let me know it Dance me through these new realms that you have made of yourself Your hands guiding my steps 1, 2, 3 1, 2, 3 Count me through them with your eyes And I’ll say Hey Listen

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abandoned-never-finished · 6 years ago

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Insecuri-tea

I don’t know who invited Insecurity to the tea party of my life

I sure as hell didn’t

But somehow she got the memo and she never fucking leaves

She shows up clad in beige pants

And a beige shirt

And beige flats

She doesn’t like to stand out in a crowd you see

She wears a small hat, foregoing the floral appliques and beading we’re all posing in

She’s never sported a tea dress or cute sandals

Despite the fact that its 80 fucking degrees at the table

Maybe that’s why she can get so hot headed

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much” she mutters over the rim of her cup

Glancing at the other guests with skirts billowing in the breeze and brightly painted toenails peeking out between blades of spring grass

She always takes her tea black

No milk

No cream

No sweeteners

She feeds her bitterness and acts under a guise of simplicity

“It’s ok I don’t need sugar” she titters nervously, despite the foul taste in the back of her throat

She has a tendency to be a bitch to other guests

She locked Confidence and Self-esteem in a closet once and swallowed the key

I’ve yet to call a locksmith

She tells Dream to be more realistic

Don’t be so gullible, so easily led on

Can’t you see the world isn’t built for that?

She makes Happy second guess himself like,

Are you sure that’s how you feel?

Everything is temporary after all

And you are so easily misled

Maybe this is just temporary

Maybe you are just temporary

Maybe you don’t really exist

She hid Ambition under a table once

Tugging the table cloth down to cover up her gangly legs jutting out by the edge

Now Ambition doesn’t visit as often as she used to

When she does come she eyes the gingham cloth warily, almost choked by it

Ambition used to be a talker

Now there are times when she is mute

Love is scared of Insecurity

She lowers the brim of her flower covered hat whenever she spots her

Her cheeks flush pink, and not just from the heat

Love has always been shy, but she had never been afraid

She used to pass the afternoon hours talking to Dream, her eyes lost in the softness of the clouds

She doesn’t look up anymore

Insecurity has begun to bring Doubt as her tea party date

They are nearly inseparable

I told them there was no more room at my table

They pulled the chair out from under Optimism declaring they had made room

I introduced Insecurity to hobbies to try and keep her busy

But she can’t seem to be bothered with cross stitch or croquet

I tried putting up a fence, but she kicked the gate in

Bringing my white picket ideals to a halt

And leaving my future more grass stained than the knees of a toddler’s overalls

I’m thinking of building a moat but I get the impression she’ll either swim across it or die trying

And I’m not sure I can let her die

I’m not yet sure how to live without her

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abandoned-never-finished · 6 years ago

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Untroping Blue Eyes

Don’t call them oceans

Oceans are finite

Blue eyes are never finite

They are beyond the vastness of our basic imagination

The average human being can only imagine the number of people that can be seated in a football stadium

We think in small numbers, can’t wrap our minds around miles of open waves

So how can we imagine the vast that is blue eyes

They cannot be simply oceans

Don’t call them oceans because you will never catch yourself drowning in them

You will never feel directionless

They do not scare you, they have never scared you

Just call them vast

Say that they leave you in awe

That the innate curiosity that makes you human finds its spark again when you look into them

But do not call them oceans

Don’t call them galaxies

Even if you feel breathless when you look into them for just a moment too long

When your oxygen levels begin to decline, take a breath and remember

They are not galaxies

Though you will want to explore their seeming endlessness

Though you will seek out every twinkle and glimmer they offer in the hopes that maybe

Just maybe

There’s a new planet waiting to be seen

When you catch yourself lost in their depths, seeking out the next brightest star

Remember

They are not galaxies

They will not elude you

They are here

Within your reach

And you need no telescope to search them

You will not float under their gaze, weightless, invisible, and unknown to anyone else

Instead they will hold you steady

Plant your feet firmly until gravity makes your acquaintance again

Remember that they are not silent vacuums

That they speak to you, sometimes loudly with excitement

Other times softly, gently, carefully

Tell the world you have indeed discovered something new and beautiful within those eyes

Something never seen before

But do not call them galaxies

Don’t call them forget-me-nots

Or more properly

My-o-so-tis

A word that hangs foreign in your mouth

Tripping your tongue unapologetically

Something they have never done to you

In fact

Do not call them flowers at all

Do not compare them to fields of hydrangeas, cornflowers, or irises

Flowers rise and bloom and wilt and fall and often fail to rise again

You don’t ever want to see them wilt

You would rather they dance in the light

And flit around the room

Unrestrained by anchoring roots

They were not made to be trodden underfoot by uncaring passerby

Or clipped down for being too unruly

Too lively

Too much

Let them be too much

But do not call them forget-me-nots

Don’t call them storm clouds

No matter how they seem to change and diffuse the light

First blue, then green, then something closer to grey

They are not storm clouds

Though they might invigorate your soul

And cause you to look up into them, softly and admiringly,

They are not storm clouds

They have never left you stranded or cold

They don’t leave for weeks on end, only to show up loud and unexpected, if strangely welcome

They are constant

You look for them even when you have seen them recently

You do not wish them away and always long for their return

Remember these blue eyes that remind you of the beauty and calm of rain

But do not call them storm clouds

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abandoned-never-finished · 6 years ago

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Another Angry Gay Poem

From one queer to another

I bring you this comprehensive explanation

Of all the ins and outs of being gay in front of other people

Recommended reading activity: share this guide with your partner and walk through the steps together

How to Be Gay in Public: A step by step guide

Step one: don’t.

This is the first and only step you will learn

It is also the hardest to learn

And yes

You will hate it

You will hate not being able to instinctually reach for your partner’s hand as you walk together

Your fingers will grow tired of bumping into air and long for more than emptiness

You will tell them that air is not empty! its full of molecules and particles–

They will not listen to you, of course

They are longing for warmth

But you must remember that warm isn’t always safe

That sometimes cold is your best weapon and as much as you hate it, you will wield it, see

You don’t get to be a lover instead of a fighter

So instead you will take up your weapon which is to say

You will grow used to the feel of your jeans against your fingerpads

You will hate the inches of space between shoulders when you sit together on a café couch

Legs touching but no further contact is allowed

Under the gazes around you

You will feel yourself lean towards your partner and then pull back abruptly,

Remembering that you have unspoken rules with your mind

Know that your mind will be hell bent on breaking those rules

It will scream at you to move closer, yowl for warmth

It will plead for gentle looks

You cannot let it break the rules

You will play by the book

When the door chimes open you will catch yourself shifting away

And you will hate your legs for moving even though all they were doing was heeding battle strategy

You will scold them for compromising the line of warmth up the side of your thigh

But you won’t move back immediately

You will shift slowly, eyes on the room, vigilant

You will hate the missed kisses goodbye

Hate the waiting for empty rooms

Parking lots

Store aisles

Hallways

Street corners

You see empty will become your normal

You will hate the briefness of your embraces

With fingers overly conscious of where they’re placed and how tight they hold

You will hate the lost “one for the road”s

In public you will relearn the meaning of no

And wish you could let the words “not now, there are too many people” get lost in translation

But your mind has already learned the rules

The room is not empty

Your mind is in survival mode and it does not want–

Cannot want

To be touched

Or held

It knows better than to ask for a kiss that has already been stolen from your lips by the sideward glances of the woman at the adjacent table

It already knows its battle cry

“I am a fighter. Here, I cannot be a lover”

And yes

You will hate it

I hope you find this guide useful, fellow queer

Follow these steps carefully and you too can be gay in public

Acknowledgements

To the man in the corner of the café glaring at my datemate and me out of the corner of his eye

Instead of drinking his coffee and minding his own business:

I’m sorry you cannot understand the value of our relationship

I’m sorry that you live so close mindedly and try to erase all that is different from you

Actually, do your retinas shoot laser beams?

I’m sure that would be way more effective than staring through the steam of your drink

–Which is getting cold, by the way

To the woman who actively turned her daughter away from us:

I’m sorry your child will be raised in intolerance

That you will teach her to think in restrictive binaries

Instead of teaching her the beauty of diversity

To the politicians who wish to erase what few rights we have been granted:

Fuck you

I’m sorry that I have nothing to be sorry about

To the friends who have supported my partner and me regardless of our labels

Who have offered to open their doors to me should I need a new home:

Thank you

To the people who would like to dismiss my anger as frustration, annoyance, or inconvenience,

Allow me to clarify:

I am angry

Frustration, annoyance, and inconvenience don’t write poems.

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abandoned-never-finished · 7 years ago

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Those People

An open letter

To that boy in my junior year study hall:

I’m going to tell you a story, a sexy, sultry one,

Brimming with unbearable tension-

Don’t get your hopes up, I don’t write love poems

One day, we had a conversation, chatting about the war in Iraq, conflict with the Middle East

You turned and with a smirk replied,

“Oh yeah, you can’t trust those people”

Insha-allah [God willing] that smile will be gone after this

Let me tell you something about those people, my people

We are a loud, sharp tongued fellowship

We bleed pride for our families, for our culture, for our country

We do not back down, we can take the heat, so to speak

Think back to your Western biased history class

Have you forgotten that land between the rivers

That crescent of fertility that introduced everything from the wheel to geometry?

The land that grew like no other civilization its time,

Do you fear us, or just our distant cousins the so called “extremist jihadists”

A race is not defined by its deviants

Let me give you a lesson in linguistics

“Allah ou Akbar” means “God is great” not “slay the West”

“Ana arabiyeh” I am Arab

We too have words for peace, love, forgiveness, and trust

“Walah” allegiance

“Horiyeh” liberty

“Adaleh” justice

“Watun wahad lilah” one nation under God

Did you think only your language could have such alluring diction?

Our culture is vibrant and gregarious, always riddled with kicked up dust because we can’t stop dancing

Our accents are thick, too heavily coated in sultry, energy-ridden sounds to yield to the flat, concrete tones of American English

They’ve got too much dabkeh, too much spice, too much to live for

It’s hard living in the scorching heat

Feeling the scalding breath of prejudice down the back of your throat

But we learn, we habituate, we adjust to take it all in

Absorb that burning mistrust because what else can we do to stop the burn?

Sand grinds at our feet the same way the words of some may grind at our souls

Raghead

Terrorist

Towelhead

Go back

Back to your country

Back to your homeland

Back away from this freedom

Back off, you’re just those people

Back away from the barbarism on our tongues

The one that slices and leaves wounds salted as the dead sea

You must change

You must accommodate

This is America and you are just those people

And who’s to say you’re wrong?

I am those people

I do change

I do accommodate

I dread replying to the question “Where are you from?”

Because I know I won’t tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth

The truth is that being Middle Eastern is no blessing

I hide my ethnicity because thanks to you, boy in junior year study hall

I know that my father allowing people to shorten his name to Tom is much more than a nickname

Thanks to you I know that his caution for years after 9/11 isn’t just habitation, but a measure he couldn’t say no to

Thanks to you

White, American, Christian, conservative boy from junior year study hall

I let my pale skin do the talking

Let my lack of an accent speak for itself

Let my family’s Christian faith drown out the jeers

But none of them speak the truth

I am proud of my heritage

Of my language

Of the spices and dark pigments that dwell beneath my skin

You just couldn’t see them because I wouldn’t let you

I know how they will be received

Esalam Wa-aleykum [Peace be upon you] boy from junior year study hall

The next time you try to be charmingly informed

Find yourself a poet who’ll write a love poem to the tune of your dated and ignorant judgments

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