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pranklinfierce · 29 days

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you're having a party, which presidents are you inviting?

Good question, very fun. I'll invite all of the ones I like, and whichever ones I'd like to see in a party setting.

James Madison is chronologically the first that I would invite. I think it'd be funny to see him at a party. I think of "nearly gets trampled on the dance floor..." I, myself, will trample him unless he brings Dolley.

Jackson is invited and I hope he leaves cheese around the house in secret spots like he did at the end of his presidency.

Van Buren is invited unless @presidenttyler continues to insist that I have to marry him or he'll summon a deadly fog (please die, Mr. Tyler.)

I would invite William Henry Harrison, but tragically, as I'm sure we've all heard, he is no longer with us </3.

John Tyler is invited unless he tries to insist I marry Martin Van Buren lest a deadly fog be summoned. Also I swear to God he's not allowed to use my bathroom. I hope he and Jackson start fighting (no weapons allowed in my house) and I get to see their skinny bones fall out.

James K Polk is invited. I want him to bring his Lady Presidentress as well. Double invited if he is the presidentress.

Zachary Taylor is invited. His daughter can come too. His daughter's husband cannot come. His daughter's husband's dog, Bonin, can come. The murderer who shares a name with Zachary Taylor's daughter's husband's dog cannot come.

Millard Fillmore is invited. He can bring the whole boiler room with him. It wouldn't be a party without him.

Franklin Pierce is invited, of course. As an old @/deadpresidents posts that I can longer find clarifies, he would indeed be a welcome party guest, even if people on Reddit don't seem to think so (I have beef with 90% of reddit tier lists, save for any of them made by @starlight-tequila.) As I've come to understand, there're no less than 4 fictional interpretations of Pierce where he's being haunted. I request he keeps the haunting at home; I don't want the watchmojo demmons to mess up the vibe.

James Buchanan is invited. I want to see him in his worst outfit, behaving as he did at Dickinson before his expulsion. He needs to bring Harriet too. WRK too, unless I decide that he's also dead.

Andrew Johnson can come because I once saw an image of him smiling.

Ulysses Grant can come. He may play with the non dog animals (unfortunately, they're all just different Martin Van Buren government assigned rodentsonas in a pen.)

As can Hayes. Hayes can bring his wife, Lucy. She actually allowed drinking in the White House on special occasions, so she would not be a party pooper.

Garfield may come, but only as Lucretia's plus one. It's what he deserves. Since Guiteau did so much for Garfield's election (and was basically the president, let's be real, guys) he can come as an honorary president. So can David Rice Atchison, even though that story is complete bs. Dr. Doctor Bliss will be shot on sight by Boston Corbett.

Arthur is invited, but Julia Sand needs to pre-approve everything that he does. Conkling may come as a plus one, but he will go in the pen with the Martin Van Buren government assigned rodentsonas (it's okay, that's where Grant is anyway.)

On no other day would I ever allow Benjamin Harrison and his shortness within my sight, but I just found a song about him and it's stuck in my head, so I think it's only right that he attends 1 single time before my kind feelings toward him dry out.

McKinley is invited. He must sing to me.

Wilson is invited. But I will lock him in a room like a creature. You-know-who gets the key. The second female president, Edith Wilson, may attend.

Warren Harding gets to come. Gaston Means may, as well. Also Calvin Coolidge and Herbert Hoover. That's about it. If Nixon were to show up I wouldn't turn him away.

I'd like the party to end by sending an anonymous tip to Carrie A. Nation, telling her there is alcohol. She can come in, destroy everything, and all's well because if everything is destroyed, there's nothing to clean. She and Guiteau can ride into the sunset, combining to be a person of a normal height. I hope they invite me to the wedding.

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robbersinaforeignlanguage · 11 months

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// Chicago Bulls game // 27.10.23 //

#the 1975 #matty healy #ross macdonald #george daniel #john waugh #polly money #gabi king #james monger #jordan curtis hughes

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nikolasongsa · 1 year

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"A good soldier follows orders, but a true warrior wears his enemy’s skin like a poncho.”

-James Mattis

#James Mattis #war #quote #warrior #soldier

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celebsbyseb · 2 years

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🤤

#ross haslam #tom daley #daniel goodfellow #james heatly #matty lee #jack laugher #chris mears

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joe-spookyy · 3 months

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something i find intriguing about re-animator (1985) and its sequel bride of re-animator (1990) is how truly similar they are to frankenstein (1931) and bride of frankenstein (1934), SPECIFICALLY in regards to their queercoding. the original re-animator stories were of course, according to lovecraft, written as a parody to mary shelley’s frankenstein. however in the cases of both films and their sequels, they differ significantly from the original source material. interestingly, though, it seems they have a lot in common with each other. sound interesting? read on.

obviously, there are base level similarities in the original frankenstein movie and original re-animator movie. both feature a classic mad scientist figure with the goal to conquer death. and both films end with the supposed death of their mad scientists, along with their creations. but where the real similarities, as well as the heavier queercoding comes in, is with bride of frankenstein, and of course, bride of re-animator.

so, to draw the comparisons and explain the queercoding, we first have to establish the characters, and who they tie to in the other film. first, we look at the classic queercoded mad scientist. in the first movie, herbert west is mirrored by henry frankenstein. however, in bride of frankenstein, the character that more lines up with his character archetype and plot line is dr. septimus praetorius. for those unfamiliar with the character, dr praetorius seeks out henry frankenstein, a former student of his, hoping for his assistance in creating life. although the relationship between dan cain and herbert west is not that of a teacher/student arrangement, we still see herbert seeking out dan’s help in building the bride. and of course, both west and praetorius are often read as queer. with west as praetorius, dan cain falls in as henry frankenstein. both are reluctant to return to the whole re-animating dead bodies business, clinging onto the life of “normalcy” they think they can have, and pushing back against the other man who is trying to draw them back in. dan and henry are both less often read as queer, but if you step back, it’s very easy to see.

now, we can look at the plot and how it influences a queer reading of the characters. aside from the similarities in name, there’s a lot in common in the two movies. early in the bride of frankenstein, praetorius tries to draw henry in with some of his own miniature creations - several small homunculi. this actually sort of mirrors the scene we all know and love from bride of reanimator, where herbert brings the finger/eyeball puppy to life. there’s a little more queercoding in the scene from re-animator. herbert reads almost like a proud father, showing the critter to dan, and it’s then followed by dan telling herbert that he’s “moving out”, coming across as almost a breakup/i’m leaving you moment, which is met with extreme dismay.

of course, in both cases, these small demonstrations aren’t quite enough to sway henry and dan to the cause. praetorius starts by promising henry his original creation, the creature, as long as henry helps him craft a bride, but ends up having to step things up and uses henry’s fiancée, elizabeth, as bait to convince him. sound a bit familiar? in bride of re-animator, herbert convinces dan to join in again on the reanimation with promises that he can return his dead fiancée meg to him. again, this scene plays out significantly more homoerotically, with herbert producing meg’s heart and offering it to dan. yeah. herbert offered dan his heart. and it works. dan’s sold. now, you’re probably thinking, what’s so homoerotic about joining forces with a man just to get your girl back? well. listen. it’s more, in this case on the part of herbert and praetorius. there’s something very homoerotic in using love to entice a man into creating life with you. and yes, technically it is heterosexuality being taken advantage of here. but there’s still a bit of seduction that’s happening. if herbert and praetorius can’t draw the others in the way they’d like to, they know they can take advantage of the emotions on dan and henry’s end.

additionally, we know west and praetorius are queercoded from more than just this specific scenario. it comes through simply in the way the actors portray them, their lines, and their actions. praetorius was intended that way, despite the movie being produced in an era where the hays code was enforced. actor ernest theisger was allegedly told by director james whale, an out gay man, to play the character as an “over the top caricature of a bitchy and aging homosexual.” which. is kind of hilarious. and herbert west is. well. where do i even begin. actor jeffrey combs chose to play him in a Way, and there are nods to herbert’s lack of interest in women throughout both films (to me beyond reanimator does not exist), most overtly shown when one of his coworkers asks herbert if a recently female deceased patient was attractive, and is met with the single most effective “are you fucking stupid” stare i have ever seen. this, in my opinion is clearer than if he would have just declared then and there that he was a homosexual. but i digress. he also shows nothing but disdain and frankly, a little jealousy, towards dan’s girlfriends, slinking away to sulk in the basement and reanimate some random limbs, or, in the first movie, pushing meg out of the frame and physically coming between her and dan in the shot, symbolic of how he promptly pushes her out of dan’s life entirely.

but what about dan and henry? as far as we’ve discussed, they don’t seem to be reciprocating any of herbert or praetorius’s advances. BUT when it comes time to create the titular brides, both dan and henry seem to finally give in to the temptations. of course, there’s the inherent homoeroticism of creating life with another man. and of course, dan choosing to stick with herbert despite what he’s been put through doesn’t make a lot of sense if you don’t consider there might be more than friendship involved there. but what really matters is how they both lean into it towards the end of their respective films, throwing away their chance at a “normal” heterosexual life with elizabeth (in henry’s case) or francesca (in dan’s) to stick with their own queercoded little mad scientists and continue the work. the moment where each of them finally gives in is clear. henry’s comes when the first heart they attempt to put in the bride is not worthy, and he makes an Active choice and asks for another heart. dan’s is in the final seconds before re-animating their bride, when he makes an Active choice, taking the syringe from herbert and asking that he himself be the one to start the process. both men finally go from passively following their counterparts, in dan’s case rather like a dog to its master, to finally making that active choice and turning to the other side. and the other side, represented by west and praetorius and blasphemy and evil science, can also be a symbol of that queerness. they really step into and embrace creating life with that other man, despite the perfectly fine and normal life that they Could have with their fiancées. it can sort of be read as an allegory for homosexuality alongside bisexuality - praetorius and herbert both only have the scientific way of creating life, and no chance at societal “normalcy”, if we read them both as gay. and they bring henry and dan into their queerness, who can be read as bisexual: they have the opportunity to pursue a societally “normal” life. but they also have the opportunity to do the very opposite.

and finally, in true bury your gays fashion, dan and francesca, as well as henry and elizabeth, escape unharmed, while herbert and praetorius along with their creations, are left to die as the building collapses. the creature leaves us with the haunting line “we belong dead”, referring to himself, his bride, AND praetorius. they’re all, in their own ways, a part of a world they don’t belong to. and the same goes for herbert and his creations. in both movies, heterosexuality triumphs, since that’s what we’re supposed to see as “good” and “normal”, fitting in with our good and normal protagonists who both make the last minute choice to save their girls and escape, abandoning the other men to die. despite being queercoded, the idea of being queer cannot be endorsed by the narrative, and so the story must end this way. even in 1975’s incredibly queer film The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which is another frankenstein esque story, the queer creator frank n furter and his creation rocky both die, while janet and brad, a “straight” couple, manage to survive. it’s an interesting take on the idea of being doomed by the narrative that seems to appear in a lot of frankenstein adaptations.

anyways. sorry for yapping so hard but bride of frankenstein and bride of reanimator are so similar to each other that they end up queercoded in very similar ways and follow the same pattern as many frankenstein adaptations. yeah.

#sorry for posting reanimator #matty’s media essays #re animator #reanimator #bride of reanimator 1990 #bride of reanimator #bride of frankenstein #the bride of frankenstein #frankenstein #mary shelley #james whale #brian yuzna #jeffrey combs #dan cain #herbert west #dr praetorius #queercoding #queer #queer horror

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ateepmelfart · 1 year

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april 2023

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trumanbluee · 28 days

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woww 500 followers!!!! thank u guys !!! <3333 this is a representation of me every time i open tumblr;

#gracie speaks!#deadpool #wade wilson #matty healy #marauders #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #spider-man

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upontherisers · 3 months

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if you're feeling it, could i please request "playing with each other’s fingers" for an oc of your choice👀 — @shoshiwrites

happy (belated) bday my dear shosh. here is a very very belated prompt to celebrate. this is an AU i've had for years but @loveduringthewar's beautiful West Wing AU inspired me to get some real writing done on it. summary: poet laureate mattie james is dutifully protected by secret service special agent joe toye.

a friday in autumn, 2:19 pm

Joe finds himself in a chair across from Mattie, who’s surrounded by a gaggle of vigilantly curious middle schoolers as she holds his palm and moves his hand around.

“See?” she says, angling his fingers toward the fluorescent lights overhead, “it’s too big. So,” she lets his hand down once more and slips her wire work off his finger. “We gotta make it smaller but if we squeeze it—”

“There’ll be a bend, like, a little point.” One of the kids makes a ‘V’ with his hands and Mattie beams.

“Exactly! Let me show you how to avoid that.” She sits back with the paperclip ring and the circle of kids closes around her once more.

Joe takes a moment to look around for help from any of the other adults in the room, hoping someone else is willing to jump in and play model while he gets back to his very serious job of protecting a representative of the state, but he’s only met with endeared smiles from the teachers and duty-bound refusal from his fellow agents. Bull’s at the door with a sympathetic but ultimately unmoved nod, Bill’s glancing over with a smug, thrilled sneer between chatting to one of the instructors, and Johnny shakes his head before looking at the floor. Joe knows what that means—you made your bed, now lie in it.

Or, as Mattie likes to say, grow a spine.

It’s not like Joe doesn’t have a spine. He spends his days telling people what they can and can’t do, where they can and can’t go, and who they can and can’t speak to, all without getting caught up in their pleas and compromises. This job does not allow for missteps; he’s not a man who takes chances. But this, and but is doing a lot of work here says the Mattie in his brain because she lives there now, this is different.

This is the fourth school they’ve been to this week and it goes the same every time. They arrive to a warm, overenthusiastic welcome from the teachers and an excited-slash-confused-to-borderline-hostile reception from the students. Mattie’s music isn’t necessarily targeted toward the middle grades, her poetry even less so. But she gets up there nonetheless.

Hi, I’m Mattie. I make music and I write poems.

Are you good at it? a kid will ask, always a boy—this one proudly introduced himself as Tyler, always towards the back of the room, always accompanied by giggles.

Mattie shrugs. Some people think I am, some people think I’m trash. And the shock of that admission, from an adult, from a capital-I important adult, breaks the spell of awkwardness and within a few minutes, she’s charmed the whole room. The kids are eating out of her palm. Even the ones who were determined to be difficult have either bought in or are about to.

Joe is now familiar with the mix of admiration and jealousy on a teacher’s face when they realize that Mattie’s nearing a participation rate that Maria Montessori would be jealous of. Johnny leans over to them with a grimace of empathy. It’s not you, it’s her. She’s a magician with this stuff.

Then, her least favorite part. She asks for a volunteer, just for a moment, just for a prompt. We can’t theorize our way into making art. We gotta do it. All the energy that had built up and the excitement on the kids’ faces fizzle. She’ll give it a few seconds and look at the adults in the room rather than the kids, half-pleading, half-resigned, then laugh like that was expected, like she asked them to skydive with no parachute.

She’ll let off steam about it later, when they’re in the car, when they’re back in her suite at the Library of Congress. How hard is it to set an example? They introduce me like I’m Nelson fucking Mandela but as soon as I ask them to engage for the sake of their kids, crickets.

Mattie, Johnny’ll say, it’s not that—

It’s because they don’t take this seriously. All this talk about how important artistic outlets are, but God forbid you have to do that art yourself. Because that’s not serious, that’s not real. She lets her bag hit the ground harder than necessary and runs her hands over her face before ripping open her beat-up laptop, mumbling to herself. It’s fine. It’s about the kids, it’s about the kids.

Bill’ll send a get a load of this guy eyebrow around to the other three, but Joe usually finds himself nodding in agreement with Mattie. Poet Laureate is quite a title, but it doesn’t mean anything when no one’s listening. People should listen.

So, on this particular Friday as Tyler, who reminds Joe of Bull—well-built and curly blonde—takes the awkward silence to look at him and the rest of the agents rather than his teachers or Mattie, Joe decides that it changes today. He knows the answers to her prompts already—think of a fruit, apple; think of a color that’s not also the color of an apple, purple. A four-man detail has one redundant agent and all entrances and exits have been secured; the other three can spare him for a while.

He pushes off the eastern wall or the room and half-raises a hand before fully raising it when he sees Mattie’s eyes light up upon realizing what he’s doing. He answers her questions only slightly disquieted by the sudden amount of eyes on him, but as she starts her poem building exercise with a thankful wink, he feels pretty good about it. He’s doing the thing, making art instead of theorizing, setting the example.

More like sitting the example. In his two months with Mattie, he forgot that making art could mean… y’know, making it, not just writing it down. It’s the whole point of the exercise, actually. Ten minutes of silent work, discussion, ten minutes of work with light conversation—Mattie’s the queen of light conversation, then presentations from anyone who wants to. The only rules are that you have to make something, whether it be using the poem prompt she walks them through or something from the classroom supplies at your teacher’s discretion.

The kids who wanted to write set off with their paper and pencils and Mattie walks around for a bit before settling into an empty chair and fiddling with the paper clips a girl is using crafts. Tyler wanders by first, then two of his friends, next a few of their friends, and soon, there’s a bundle of 7th graders watching Mattie make a paper clip ring. And of course, they want to make one too and of course, Mattie needs a model for show because if all of the kids are making one and she’s teaching, then who’s driving the boat? And of course Joe gets pulled in because he volunteered so nicely before.

The circle of children parts like the Red Sea and he’s face-to-face with Mattie again as she wraps the ring around his finger, her hands working around his to fit the metal securely. She’s full of focus, eyes locked on where their skin meets, still in her shoulders and steady in her breathing in the way she only ever is when she’s in the zone. He wants to laugh at the dedication to this tiny strip of wire, but he won’t, not in present company; he can’t have them think he’s laughing at her.

Maybe you don’t have to have volunteers, Johnny offers after their third visit with no adult participation.

Mattie sighs. It’s about the principle of the thing.

Oh, Bill snarks, the principle of the thing.

The kids don’t need to follow the teachers, they follow you just fine, Bull says from his spot at the door.

Johnny nods sagely. Yeah, monkey see, monkey do.

Well, Mattie says, tilting her head in sad consideration, maybe I’d hoped there’d be better monkeys.

Joe is being a better monkey, so no laughing. Instead, he looks from her face to their hands, wondering as always what she sees and how she sees it. It’s not just metal and space to her because nothing is ever just anything to her.

Her brain’s wired different than ours, as Bill says. And Johnny says, your brain isn’t wired at all.

He’s sure she’s watching the steel atoms bump into each other or she’s far beyond, watching the solar system spin on its galactic arm, just a blip in the rapidly approaching collision with Andromeda. Or she’s in both places at once, and here with him, too, capable of holding onto every eon and tense and time zone at once. He doesn’t understand it, not yet, where the poet ends and the person begins.

“There!” Mattie says, sitting back. Joe holds still for what seems like far too long as the kids investigate her handiwork and investigate him. Their inquisitive gazes wander from the ring to his face, some of them leaning in to squint at him, evaluative and unimpressed.

Most of them have figured what he’s doing here, with three other guys who have similar enough haircuts and stand with hands clasped at rest in front of them, plain clothed but suspiciously so. He likes kids, or at least, he’s discovered that he likes them more than he thought he would. They don’t understand that it’s some people’s job to fly under the radar. They meet his gaze as much as they meet Mattie’s instead of politely ignoring him and his fellow agents like adults know to do. And when they do look at him, they don’t care. He has to respect that.

He’s watching Mattie shape a paperclip for a kid when Tyler suddenly fills up his entire field of vision, staring wide-eyed like Joe is a fish in a tank. “Do you have a gun?”

“Okay,” Mattie says, reaching out and clapping Tyler on the shoulder, “it seems like we’re ready for presentations! Let’s take our seats.”

Joe bolts out of his chair and takes his place along the wall again as Mattie wraps up.

He doesn’t realize he still has the heart-shaped ring on until they’re back at the Library of Congress and walking into Mattie’s suite. It’s so light that he forgets he's wearing it and it’s only as she sets her bag down and the flower ring one of the girls gave her catches the sun that he remembers what sits on his finger.

He slips it off and holds it out to her. “Here.”

She takes it gently, turning it over in her decorated hands before flipping it back to him like a coin. “It’s a gift,” she says with a wink, “for being my guinea pig.”

His mouth opens to say something, anything, but the words die in his throat. Taking a moment, he studies it for the first time. It’s a delicate thing, slightly springy if he squeezes the sides, more of a square than a circle, and so very Mattie that he’d pick her if someone had him guess at the maker. The heart has been roughly colored by a red Crayola marker which she’d gotten all over a desk and apologetically wiped up and the imperfections of it—the bends that won’t come out from the original shape, the matte sheen from all the handling—makes it more beautiful.

He doesn’t know where to put it. It’ll fall right off the chain of his cross, and he can’t wear it and risk it getting snagged on something, but he wants it around. He wants to be able to see it and remember a day that was good, a day when he felt like they made a difference, that he made a difference. He hadn’t had a day like that in a long time.

It ends up in his locker at the D.C. headquarters office. Bringing it home feels too… too close, but this is a good spot, halfway between head and heart. He places it on the little shelf in the back next to his spare sunglasses and his old dog tags. He can’t seem to bring those home, either.

Johnny shakes his head as he passes on the way to his locker.

Joe pauses. “What?”

“You can’t say no to that girl.”

This is what Johnny’s amusement was about earlier in the classroom. There was nothing wrong with Joe stepping up or sitting down for a demonstration—it’s encouraged actually, especially at schools, something about giving the Service a friendlier face. Johnny’s gripe is with who Joe stepped up for and why he did it.

“No favorites, Joe.”

“You think I’m playing favorites?”

“I think you don’t understand her.”

“And you do?”

Johnny shrugs and shuts his locker. “No, but I don’t try to. You can’t let it go.”

“I think,” Joe starts as he follows the other agent down to check-out, “that if we understand her, we can understand this guy and get him.”

It’s the one thing that bothers Joe about this case. Lots of people get threats—protecting those people is eighty percent of his job—but there’s something about the ones Mattie gets that doesn’t sit right with him, hasn’t since the beginning. The letters are the one inroad that anyone has to solve this thing and as more show up with diminishing progress from the combined efforts of the Service and the FBI, he thinks it’s time to get a move on. Maybe the missing link is in the protectee and not the thing they’re protecting her from.

What’s the harm in trying? He keeps thinking about where Mattie gets stuck in her job, where she’s given status but no authority, and how she keeps returning to her painted corner with a brave smile, gracious to wait there until she gets called up to do her tricks again. People listen to poetry but they don’t understand it, she says and that’s not fair. When he looks at Mattie, he sees a girl who should be understood as completely as possible, if ever possible.

Johnny flashes his badge at the front desk sensor and looks back at Joe. “It’s not your job to understand. It’s your job to stand there. What if something happened while you were getting your ring sized?”

Joe’s offended. “Sitting down means I’m compromised?”

“Getting involved means you’re compromised.” Johnny’s facing him now that they’re both in the exit lobby, a pensive look on his face as his bag is slung over his shoulder. “Look, Joe, they’re not paying us to think on this one. If you think something’s up, talk to Dick, otherwise, this is not the kind of work you bring home.”

Right, ‘cause Johnny’s a family man now, with a wife and a kid and a baby on the way.

“I didn’t bring it home,” Joe says.

Johnny nods but his eyes are far away. “Yeah, but you thought about it.”

Silence falls for a moment before Johnny sniffs and shoulders his bag. “Who’s on duty tonight?”

“Talbert and Grant,” Joe replies.

Johnny nods. “Make sure they take a look at the cameras, see if they can figure out why they’re down.”

“Yeah,” Joe sighs and heads out with a nod.

The drive home is quiet except for the radio and as he pulls into the parking lot, one of Mattie’s songs comes on the folk station he’s been lurking on. He sits for as long as it takes to play—eyes closed, head rested on his seat—and lets her voice wash over him. She sings like she speaks, brassy and casual, effortless, not having to reach for what she wants, alluring, magnetic in a way that gets under his skin. He listens for anything that could teach him something and he’s so caught up in the mystery of the girl and the thing that goes bump in the night, that he doesn’t listen to the lyrics until the chorus.

But I’m in so deep, she sings, you know I’m such a fool for you. You got me wrapped around your finger, oh. Do you have to let it linger?

“What the hell do you know about The Cranberries?” he asks to the air, smiling softly.

It ends too soon, but the cool night outside shocks the spell of Mattie’s voice from his system as he enters his dark apartment. His nights off-duty are more and more standard as this assignment goes on; he’ll check in with his older sister as he gets dinner ready—Mom’s arthritis is flaring worse than usual and his niece is deciding between swim and soccer camp, catch the Pirates highlights on ESPN, do the dishes, then do his readings.

He started them on a curious whim, just to see what the hype was about and ended up standing in the aisle of a Brentwood bookstore for fifteen minutes, engrossed, until the attendant asked him if he was going to be making a purchase. He bought three books, none of them very long, but he’s not a book guy so they’ve been a task to get through.

He read Letters from a Convict Child first because it’s the book that put Mattie on the map and wrote a man out of incarceration and he’s not sure that he got all of it—he’s not sure that he got any of it—but he understands her now, at least more than he did two months ago. Each poem that paints a picture of the world paints a picture of the writer, too, and sometimes he wants to look away as Mattie touches her own raw nerves to get the words out. But he stays for her, he stays because people always look away. That’s why she writes.

As of yesterday, he’s officially halfway through reading grow lemon grow poem by poem and as he finds tonight’s selection, he’s struck by the opening lines.

Wire hurts my hands, makes my fingers stink But I bend another paperclip

He underlines in his shitty pencil and reads the poem over and over again until his eyes start to droop close and he drags himself to bed wondering what Mattie’s night was like, if she offered her dinner to Tab and Chuck like she does he and Johnny, what music she played. It was Nina last week, but she’d spent the morning humming the Lumineers. Did she skip eleven songs before settling on the twelfth, or did she demand silence and curl up on the chair in the corner of her patio, legs tangled together, and write until Tab had to shuffle her to bed?

Did she make them rings despite the way the metal presses lines into the pads of her fingers? What did she say? Did either of them listen?

He jolts up in the dull gray light of morning, scrambling to shut off his alarm as his chest heaves. In the bathroom, he splashes his face with cold water until the scenes of his dreams—lemon trees, paper clip rings, the shredded and smoking hull of an armored vehicle in the desert, a shadowed figure slipping a letter under Mattie’s door—wash away with the chill. His phone dings.

From B. Guarnere: Ur on coffee duty. Hurry up

#mail call #Anonymous #shoshi's bday bash #i meant to publish this yesterday but when i went to reread it i added two more pages oops!#mattie james #mattie x joe #my writing #wordsmith au #shoshi tag

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