#glen granatas

[glengranatas]

DISCOUNT HEART by glen granatas

[godisaknife]

BROTHERHOOD IS A TOOL by g. granatas

[geryone]

hi you're my favorite poetry blog on this website and im sorry if ive recommended this before but he's a super uknown writer who i like a lot so i try to spread the voice jdsklf anyway you should check out glen granatas on substack, i feel like you'd like his poetry! anyway have a good day!

Hello! Yes I follow his substack! Was so excited to wake up this morning to a Cain & Abel poem in my email ❤️ I really loved Brotherhood is a Tool

[heavensghost]

hi! ive been folowing you for a while and i think you'd enjoy glen granatas' poetry! he's pretty uknown but his stuff on substack feels like it'd be up your alley ^^

just tried to search him up and couldn’t find him! could you send a link please I would love to check out his stuff

[ruralboysgod]

a rural boy's god

[ a rural boy has only ever eaten rabbits and drunk milk

at every meal. he's an atheist praying

for the meat to make him human, to keep him

                                  down to earth with his feet

                     buried into the mud, into the dirt

       of all the graves he's been digging for himself.

because he's lonely because

he thinks he's dead. he must have died, must be dead.

must find the right grave soon must learn what he looks like

what he's made of

(is he flesh or is he rabbit

is he human or is he animal).

a rural boy has only ever known himself as words

stolen from the local cemetery.      loving husband one day,

     adored son another,         gentle lover in the morning,

   dearest friend on a tuesday.

he asks permission before stepping into the church

like a vampire, like a thing

    outside   of   god

    outside   of   human

like a

thing.

not even the priest loves him. greets him with scissors,

doesn't allow him to pray or the roof will fall upon them.

he's a thing not even god loves,

not even god loves.

a rural boy only has only ever learned how to kneel.

he needn't nothing else than his own knees

scraping on the gravel at the bottom of the church's steps.

the priest didn't

   (hold his head down to baptize him

    in a river of blood of lambs that he killed himself

    with his hands red

    red names slipping past his sorry lips

    as he apologized to the sacrificial animals

    because they had to die for him

    but couldn't love him.

    not even the lambs could love him)

                                   teach him how to pray.

a rural boy needn't to apologize for asking god to

   come down on earth for him, punch him

in his guts in his face in his heart,

   spit in his mouth like it was holy water

   kiss him with tongue kiss him hard kiss him senseless,

   press his hands on his shoulders until they bleed,

   fuck him in the confessional, in the fields, in his head,

   bite him like a mad dog like a lover like a holy war.

love him love him love him love him. ]

[negahc]

March 2021

It is with great regret and sadness that we announce History Center Board Member, supporter, and dear friend Jackie Cooley passed away On February 9.  She had been a Board member since 2016, but she and her husband Counte had been involved with the History Center for much longer, especially in relation to the White Path Cabin. Along with Counte she had operated Electronic Sales Company for 23 years. She was incredibly active in the community, including as co-founder of For Her Glory, an organization that helps cancer patients in need in medical assistance.  Jackie always had a smile, an encouraging word, and a sharp insight, and she will be truly missed.

We have lots of exciting livestream programs for the month of March! Every Wednesday at 2 PM EST we host free livestream programming to the general public. Every Friday at 2 PM EST we host special Members Only programs.

Become a Digital Member today for as little as $3/month or $35/year at www.negahc.org/member.

View our entire March lineup at www.negahc.org/events

Homeschool Connection is going great. It is hard to believe we are approaching the midterm point of our 2nd semester already! We have just entered the 20th century in our American History Course. Last week we learned about WWI and we time traveled to meet a German Imperial Soldier who had been fighting in the trenches in France.

Is the pirate life for you? Come to the Northeast Georgia's virtual family day made possible by the Ada Mae Ivester Education Center on March 14th from 1PM to 5PM EST and find out. We will have lessons on the history of piracy, the weapons and tactics used by pirates, and you'll get to meet some of the most famous pirates to ever sail the seven seas! We will also talk about pirate legends and why are pirates are so popular today. And to end the family day be sure to join us live at 5pm to play our Pirate Trivia Game. If you win you may just get some treasure!

Thank you to everyone who joined us for our February Family Day: Voices for the Vote! It was held on February 14th which we learned is the League of Women's Voters Day. We had a wonderful time learning about the women's suffrage movement through the virtual tour of our special exhibit, crafts, fashion, and dance. We even had famous suffragists Sojourner Truth, Lucy Stone, and Frederick Douglas come and speak about their views. This program was made possible through the Ada Mae Ivester Education Center and viewers like you!

March Forum: Plagues in History

I know, we're all tired of hearing about, thinking about, and living through COVID-19... but what about some of the other pandemics from the past? Join us for a socially-distanced, mask-free virtual presentation on Tuesday, March 9, at 7PM ET for a MEMBERS ONLY Forum as we look back through history at some of the not-so-good days where plague walked the land and what our ancestors thought about disease and it made it through... Eventually.  

Not a member?  It's not too late!  got to https://www.negahc.org/member and become one in just a few minutes!

We exceeded our February donation goal! Our goal was $200 and our generous viewers and members supported us with $215. Thank you to all of our donors: Eric Falls, Dale Granata, Sue, Leigh Elkins, Rosann, Phil Fortin, Jeanne, Arrelina Bernal, Stella, Anonymous, and HandsOnHomeschool Academy!

In March, we are going to try to reach $250. If you donate toward our March goal, you will be automatically entered into a raffle to win a $15 gift certificate to our online museum shop. Every $5 gets you one raffle ticket! So if you donate $20, you will be entered into the raffle four times. Donate today at bit.ly/march21goal

In our latest episode of Then Again, Glen discusses the geological history of Appalachia with geologist and professor Jim Buecheler from Northern Virginia Community College. Learn the effects of continental collisions, mountain formations, and more in this ROCKIN' episode! You can also follow Jim on his Twitch channel to watch his fascinating geology lessons at www.twitch.tv/geojim2006

Visit our website to listen to this episode (and all other episodes) at: thenagainpodcast.com

The brand new online Museum shop is now open! We have over 70 items currently in the store, with many more items soon to come. We also have discounts of up to 70% off on select books!

Visit our new store at: http://negahistorycenter.square.site

CJ Payne: Digital Studio Intern

My name is CJ Payne, I’m a recent graduate of the University of North Georgia. I got my bachelors’ degree in Film & Digital Media with a minor in Graphic Design. I’m passionate about bringing stories to life through editing videos. I love working on documentaries because true stories have much more of a lasting impact with their message, in my opinion. I am interning at the Northeast Georgia History Center because I want to gain more experience working as a video editor. I enjoy learning about the lifestyles of people in past time periods especially those from cultures other than my own like the Cherokee nation. There’s much to learn from people living in a different era than mine.

I love spending time on set with friends, watching movies, and hiking. I dabble with outdoor photography and take way too many pictures of my dog. I also love to read and take my dog for long walks.

Andrews Gless: Digital Studio Intern

Raised in North Georgia, I fell in love with music and movies at a young age. From  action movies to historical biopics and classic hip-hop to opera, music and movies are something that I have always loved. History is very special to me. Apart from being one of my favorite subjects in school, I love learning about different figures and events through time. There is always a lesson about life that can be learned through the study of history.

I have a Bachelor's Degree in Film and Digital Media with a Production Concentration from the University of North Georgia, where I was able to work on several different award winning films throughout Georgia and the South, (A Devil in God's Country, Dead Winter,  Halfway). I wanted to continue to hone my editing and production skills. The History Center offers the unique opportunity of being able to help produce different types of content for all ages with a  variety of professionals. I hope that I will be able to assist in bringing more stories of North Georgia and the United States to life. I love good stories, great food and movies of all types. I'm an amateur vinyl collector, avid gamer and I can always be found sharing a laugh with my close friends and family.

From Cheryl and Jerry Vandiver in memory of Dinah Wayne, Jack Frost and Frank Norton Sr.

From Cathy and Tony Herdener in memory of Frank Norton Sr., Dinah Wayne, Jack Frost, Jackie Cooley, Jim Walters and Jo Ann Adams.

From Sandra Williams in memory of Jackie Cooley and Jack Frost.

[glengranatas]

FERAL DOG by glen granatas

[glengranatas]

BROTHERHOOD IS A TOOL - glen granatas

[godisaknife]

"sunday's prayer" by g. granatas

[geryone]

i just saw the other anon and you should check out glen granatas on substack! i think his poetry is really your style? if that makes sense

Oh thank you for the rec! I’ll got check him out!! ❤️

[ruralboysgod]

introduction to a rural boy

[ he's a rural boy,

    he thinks that no one can tell and that certainty taste like

s h a m e .

he sticks his hands out, his arms are arrows, and

    (begs) asks

for someone to look and them and see past the elegance

of his fingers,

to dig underneath the new skin and see them (so old that

  they were young) work the earth, sink into the dirt, touch life.

he rips his clothes off in desperate urgency and

    (begs) asks

for someone to look at this stranger of a body and see

the marks that time didn't leave on his anatomy

(and the absence of physical memory tastes like

p u n i s h m e n t )

his bones and scars suffering from atrocities that aren't

    familiar.

he trashes his non-house in search of a knife and

    (begs) asks

for someone to carve his flesh into a statue,

marmorean teeth and scalpel scratches and painted veins,

to make his body into

a thing that speaks of fields and wood and cold and

s a c r i f i c e ,

to make him into

a rural boy. ]

[ruralboysgod]

untitled poem

transcription:

The road sign at the end of my street has

        the name of this town, teeth white letters,

      my grandma's chairs white line crossing it out

like a car crash drawn by a child's hand.

               "You don't exist anymore," he says,

clutching a pencil till his knuckles get spoiled milk white

and draws an unfinished X:

if it's only one line then it doesn't get to kill,

doesn't make you a sinner;

if it's only one line then it doesn't get personal

because even a murder is a duet;

if it's only one line then you're still a human,

one line shot across the blinding darkness of the universe;

if it's only one line then you're not the bullet

         not the gun but

         the hand;

if it's only one line then it becomes a ghost,

takes the ending away from God.

                 "You don't exist, you are eternal."

You cannot kill a thing that shoots through time,

a dimensional plane that no knife can reach.

So you get God to sit down on the dirty floor

of your mother's old apartment to teach them how to

draw

           one

                   aseptic

                                 diagonal

                                                  white

                                                             line.

God is in the pencil, in the hand that holds the gun, in the road sign, in the knife, in the knife, in the knife, in the knife.

                     "Now it can never die!

                      Hallelujah!"

[ruralboysgod]

you asked for a story so i will tell you a story. let's pick a character, i say. but this is a soliloquy, it isn't right to imply your involvement when you cannot speak. it isn't right for me to make this your fault too. but they say that this is human. sharing. commuting. so i make up a story to tell you because you asked me to. a deer appears in the middle of the road. i give it baby teeth and baby eyes, and you give it a name. give it a name, please. thank you. we're in a car but we aren't driving. we're both sitting in the passenger seat. don't tell me it isn't possible, this is just a story and you never told me it was supposed to be realistic. i can't drive, will never get my driver's license because i'm scared to death. you aren't driving in my story because i don't know you, and making you guilty of witnessing this story is cruel enough, i can't make it worse by assuming things about you, creating facts about you. i dare not to put you at one end of the thin red line called doom. so the only solution has to be that neither of us is driving. you're reading a book, out loud but with a voice almost too soft, so that it blends with the dull lullaby of the car's engine. you read it out loud so that i can hear it, you know that i have motion sickness and can't do it myself. it would be a nice story if the car didn't hit the deer. the bump of the wheels turning my guts into a noose. the red line of doom, thickening and smearing on the asphalt. you could reason that it doesn't have to, that i could tell this story differently, push it until it fits into a different shape. i'd say that there was no other path that this story could possibly follow, no other path for this rusty old sedan to take. i don't know how a sedan really looks like and you don't know how a dead deer looks like. the car is of a dirty green, all ugly. the deer is of a dirty crimson, uglier. but you don't have to know what death looks like to kill. i'm sorry i made you an accomplice in this story but i realized it is the only thing i can do to get revenge. the only way for me to cut that red line that ties my wrist to the corpse of a baby deer and to the steering wheel of a car that i'll never get off from. because when you asked me to tell you a story you set me up as a god, to create for you. so be it. i'll be god and make you a murderer, and ask you to find the difference.

[ruralboysgod]

VACATION

Vacation by Glen Granatas

(keep reading for the transcription)

This is a brochure for a place called Vacation.

Now, you are going to turn this piece of paper in your hands,

study it from every angel in search of what will hurt

because you already know that anything that comes out of God's 

foul mouth hurts like hell and teeth and baby weeping and mom's eyes.

This is a brochure for a place called Vacation.

On the cover there's a place,

I can't tell you what kind of place it is because it changes

every time you look at it 

every time your heart remembers what your hometown looked like.

This is a brochure for a place called Vacation. 

It is not a scam, not like those terrible ads on the internet that promise 

to bring you back to the summer of your childhood memories.

Now, you are to put it in a drawer and tell yourself you forgot about it

even though I will howl every night to keep the thought awake in you.

This is a brochure for a place called Vacation.

Now, you will call your mother for the first time in years and ask her

if she's okay, if her husband is alive, if your sister has forgiven you,

and tell her to come on vacation with you.

I will kiss your eyelids and your knuckles to distract you from her crying.

This is a brochure for a place called Vacation.

There's a contact number on the back of it.

I call in sick for work in your place already knowing 

that you will spend a week worth of nights

telling the dead line about your childhood trauma only to forget it.

This is a brochure for a place called Vacation.

Inside there are no pictures, no faqs, no coordinates,

but a splatter of your own blood from your first nosebleed 

like a baptism that comes back to haunt you down.

Now, you are to weep as you read the only words printed blue on the paper.

No Vacancy. 

[ruralboysgod]

YOU ARE ACHILLES

[ruralboysgod]

You Called Me Achilles

There's a billboard, somewhere in the middle

of Ohio, because I'm not American and that sounds

like a place that could be haunted,

but      haunted      for real:

by hands that are flesh and are war and are love.

Am I derailing, Patroclus? I apologize.

There's a billboard in a place that is probably Ohio,

probably not the country you live in,

and it say:

          YOU ARE ACHILLES.

It's your writing. Printed, nameless and antique,

old like something that made the Trojan war

a war, a filthy touch, a delicate violence;

old like something like us, Patroclus-

a little queer family of two natural catastrophes.

You'd be the weather,

a weather that is music

    (like a poorly inserted reference

     that no one but us will get),

I'd      be      the      war.

I make you breakfast and over the little ugly table

         YOU CALL ME ACHILLES.

In summer I wear baggy and flowery shorts

so that I can raise my martyr legs and drag

my strong ankles to your working face, asking

you to touch my tendons and see

if     I      die.

In winter I roll up the earthy green jeans

so that I can raise my legs and drag

my weak ankles to your working face, asking

you to clean up the blood around them.

I     never     die.

         I AM ACHILLES.

I don't know how to end this poem.

It might be because I never understood war,

so in a way I can never lose.

The sweet violence has become a friendship,

the brute tragedy has become a pause,

as the dead rise up again with blood pooling

at their devoted ankles. They salute me,

and pray to me, for me, that me

      -      Oh, Achilles     -

                        , that we 

      -     Of, Patroclus     -

come back home.