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[movesliketacitus]

The Rucksack of Love

To carry a name on the back of one’s mind 

through the mountains and stretches of time, 

that is love in its truest paradigm.

[movesliketacitus]

O, what a tangled web we weave when we first practice to deceive

Walter Scott

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Karens are the Marie Antoinette of the present

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What is the universe outside the cage of our brain?

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-Ibn al-Farid in his diwan

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It's so strange that autumn is so beautiful...          yet everything is dying

Unknown

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Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

Shakespeare

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I'd trade it all for a little more

C.M. Burns 

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We fall from womb to tomb from one blackness and towards another remembering little of the one and knowing nothing of the other

Stephen King

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Stars, hide your fires. Let not the light see my black and deep desires.

William Shakespeare 

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Have you ever felt so alone that you cannot convince yourself of the fact that other people exist anymore?

Presentable Liberty 

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More than a Number

My name is Lily, and on the Eugenic Scale, I am ranked a 4 out of 10. 

Immediately after birth, each baby is tested for common mutations known to evoke certain disorders, and the results are used to quantify the child’s fitness and future usefulness in society on the Eugenic Scale. 

As a 4, I am classified as a “detriment”, or someone whose undesirable genes and medical needs will cause them to leech off the public’s resources more so than produce them. 

7s and above are the creme of the crop– a dream come true for any parent. A child ranked below a 5, on the other hand, is a punch in the stomach; few resources are allocated towards healthcare nowadays due to the heightened military budget, and it is considered kinder to have such children terminated before their predicted ailments mercilessly consume them. 

The rare parent will refuse to yield their newborn to the lethal injection table, as was the case with my own mother. 

I have never met either of my parents, and I doubt that I ever will. But I am grateful for their decision. I now live in a foster home with other detriments like me, and my life is a hurricane of blood-stained hospital gowns, pillows soaked with burning tears, acquaintances made and lost in weeks, and the constant, all-consuming fear of my ever-nearing future. And yet I am grateful still. 

Because I am a 4. Not a 1 or a 2, fated to die young as my body rapidly disintegrates from the wretched poison bubbling within. 

My genotyping results came back positive for Huntington’s Disease, where the nerve cells that coordinate my movement, speech, and memory are defective and will gradually consume themselves until my body gives out between the age of 50 to 60– 70 if I’m lucky. That gives me decades to enjoy the beauty of this world– almost a full-fledged life. And so I am grateful. 

Sometimes, in the dark of the night when nothing but my own thoughts are awake to occupy me, I wonder what it will feel like when the icy grip of my disease triumphs to finally claim my voice, my limbs, and eventually, my mind. What will it be like to watch my own body forget how to laugh, to know that everyone in my life may suddenly become strangers to me when I wake up the next morning, to lose everything and everyone I have lived for? Who will be the last person I ever hug before my arms lie forever limp by my sides? 

I used to languish over this constantly, as if I could somehow will my future away or cleverly plan out an escape. But why suffer the sensation of my death now, when I am still in good health, when it will certainly come someday anyway?  

I live alongside several other detriments who, like me, struggle with their prognoses from time to time. But we are still able to laugh; we still find joy in everything from the rich smell of undergrowth and pine that permeates through the air every spring to the sly winks of the stars during those tranquil, cloudless nights when even the wind seems to gasp faintly in awe. And so I am grateful. 

The first friend I recall ever having was named Adrian. He was radiant, his warm presence saturating every corner of the room until even the gloomiest of souls could be found hiding a shy smile. 

We met at a precipice that overlooks the city where the genetically acceptable families live and work. Every night, I would watch the town light up at sundown, mesmerized by the tiny cars zooming across winding highways and the billboards glittering with flashes of pinks and golds in the distance. I observed the liveliness down below with an unquenchable longing, until I met Adrian. 

He was gaunt for a fourteen-year-old, but I forgot about his appearance the moment he smiled and stuck out his hand. It was a toothy grin, and yet his eyes captured the glow of the city, his unkempt hair tussling with the mountain wind. His frail body swayed, but his sprightly spirit was interwoven with the world around him. At the recognition of the melancholy in my demeanor, he asked me why I lusted after the synthetic glitter of the city when an endless array of stars danced right above our own heads. I laughed then, but from that night onwards, we lay together on the grass, making up ridiculous constellations and dozing off to the lull of crickets chirping and nearby streams gushing. 

We never told anyone about this, but, once the sun had set every Christmas Eve, we both would put on our most expensive clothes, sneak a little money from our savings into our pockets, and head for the city. The journey down was always streaked with a tinge of fear, the petrifying nightmare of getting caught and maligned for entering an “uncontaminated” space constantly looming in our heads. But once we were safe within the main gates, oh man. 

The town was always cloaked with a delicate white blanket of snow; sleigh bells tied to door fronts tinkled as the breeze carried their music to our ears. 

We caught snowflakes on our fingertips. Watched toy trains filled with laughing children snake around the downtown ice rink. Sat in empty coffee shops scalding our tongues with overly-saccharine peppermint teas. Pulled our coats snug around our shoulders while strolling past bustling bakeries, the fresh scent of gingerbread and hazelnut enveloping us in a cozy joy. Hid bittersweet tears trying to swallow the fact that we were never meant to see any of this. 

Returning home was snapping awake from a dazzling but implausible dream. Each step forward felt infected with the dreary lilt of shackles, and when we reached the top of our mountain, the city was once more a mere twinkle in the distance. 

A fictional world untainted from our presence once more. 

A reminder that we were the sick. The unwanted. The worthless. The detriments. 

But we would always get back on our feet eventually. Anyone on the mountain can tell you a detriment’s life is teeming with hurdles and disparities. Yet we still persist. We laugh, we sing, we love, together. 

“Hey! Lily! Did you know that our stomachs can dissolve steel? Isn’t that nuts?”

Adrian was full of the wildest facts, thirsting for anything he knew would make us smile. He could tell you how long the smallest snake in existence was (4 inches) and theorize about the creation of the universe for hours. 

“”Yo Lils! Did you know that 40,000 Americans die from toilets each year?”

Somehow, basic lessons from class escaped him, but he could memorize the periodic table song backwards in half an hour. 

“Lily! Lilyyy– hey, wait up! I just– *cough*– wanted to thank you– *cough*– for helping me study for my math test last weekend. I’m pretty sure I saw Mr. Valdez give me a thumbs up after class!” 

He was sweet. But life wasn’t kind back to him. 

“Lils. Hey Lils, look at me. It’s all– *gasp•–  gonna be all right.” 

He was a blazing star, all the way until the end. The brightness gleaming in his eyes never wavered, even as his body quivered with fragility. 

*Pant. Pant. Pant. Pant.* 

On his last night, Adrian stared at the ceiling, his crackling breathing heavy and brisk. In the dim light, I could see that his forehead was speckled with droplets of sweat and that, for the first time since I had met him, he looked exhausted. His face had hollowed, and his eyes were nestled above dark bags. At 2:37 AM that night, his chest rose one last time, and those beautiful eyes faded forever. 

We all used to think Adrian was lucky. You see, Adrian had hope. More so than any of us, at least. On the normal genetic scale, he would probably be at least a 6, possibly even an 8. He should have been perfect. He should have lived. 

But his mother had smoked. Heavily. All throughout her pregnancy. He was born a measly five pounds with an abnormally small heart and a diagnosis of chronic lung disease. No one knew when he would die, or even how: would his feeble heart be the one to fail him, or would his lungs collapse to strangle him first? Either way, his body was too weak to function “normally”. So he was sent to us, where he transformed an overstuffed facility of forgettable children into a snug home with hope. 

I still lay on the grass at night, albeit alone now, in the hopes of grasping even a fraction of what Adrian understood about this vast universe. Sometimes I see him in the stars, and I wave to him until I feel tears streaming down my cheeks, until my vision blurs and his image dissolves to nothingness. 

Occasionally, I’ll look at my palm. Wiggle my fingers. Make a fist. Crack my knuckles. And smile. My body is in my command, and though it won’t be forever, it is in this moment. So I will live, because my number does not define me. I am a 4, but I am Lily first. I will jump, scream, cry, and laugh because that is what Adrian taught me to do with the beautiful life I have ahead of me. I will live for the both of us, because an angelic soul was seized too early from this bleakening world. And when my time comes, I will have a kingdom of priceless memories to remind me to smile when I meet Adrian this time around. 

And for that, I am grateful.

[movesliketacitus]

Gutta cavat lapidem– a water drop hollows a stone

Ovid, Roman poet

Even the grandest of kingdoms will fall to rot amongst maggots and worms. Do not forget your mortality and the omnipotence of the indestructible elements. 

[movesliketacitus]

Viam Inveniam Aut Faciam– I will find a way or make one

Hannibal

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Aliens Dislike Human Clothes

“What is this strapped fabric contraption?” 

“Um, that’s probably a bra?”

“How am I supposed to wear this bra?”

“Ah, well- you know what, just leave it and throw on a t-shirt or something. Check my closet,” Cam sighed. 

An affirmative grunt came from the other side of the bedroom door, followed by the rummaging of clothes before the doorknob lock clicked open to reveal Ju478460, now clad in Cam’s camo joggers and overworn “free the nipple” shirt. A true style icon, no doubt. 

“I hate this.” 

“Hate what?” 

“This body. These clothes. Why do you humans constrict yourselves with such irritating bonds all day so voluntarily?”

“Now that is a millenia-long question that I am too conditioned to answer, Ju,” Cam grinned. Sure, it would be nice to breeze out her body on those scorching summer days when the stagnant air clings heavily to your skin, but the countless years of teachers screaming “YOU CAN’T HOLD HANDS WITH GOD IF YOU’RE MASTURBATING” during sex ed class and pulling out rulers to make sure that your skirt was no more than 2 inches above the knee successfully hampered any inkling of bodily autonomy that had ever surfaced within her. 

“Besides, if you want to complete your mission, you’ll need to leave the house. So unless you plan to work on a nude beach, you’ll definitely be sporting some clothes.” 

Ju muttered something under their breath in distaste, but complied. The alien had journeyed to Earth from their colony on Jupiter, landing in Cam’s backyard before IDing themselves as Ju478460 and morphing into a very naked female human disguise. Assigned to collect various plant species and soil samples to bring back for analysis, Ju requested that Cam assist them in this “honorable crusade of science and exploration”, as in “please drive me around town as I scoop dirt into Ziploc bags and mercilessly tear flowers from their stems in public parks” (“Have I convinced you, human? Are you compelled yet?”). 

“And remember, if anyone asks, your name is Julia- not Ju478460. I’m pretty sure they’d call child protection services if you introduced yourself with your ID.” 

“Noted,” Ju hummed as they walked towards the car together, ready to wreak havoc upon the flora of the town.

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*ten minutes later* 

Stranger: What’s your name :) 

Ju: Ju4- Jufor. My name is... Jufor...

Cam: 

Stranger:

Stranger: aH

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“I wanna go home.”

“…And by that, you mean you want to leave your physical body and return to the days when your particles were infinitely spread across the multiverse.” 

“Yes. You don’t happen to have the ability to do that for me, do you?” 

[movesliketacitus]

Tacky quote to live by