rotoscoped men you were a rotoscoped animation in black in white lines blurred into each just enough to look real colorless to the point where i could imagine what the colors would be if they were there. you had jagged edges from where the animator mismatched the cells, blurry lines around your eyes, because he was so desperate to make them blink, blink, blink, like a natural human, almost good enough to make believe you were real. after a time the lines smoothed, colors burst into the spaces between your cells and your animator stopped shading over a real person and i could see purple and grey and pink and white colors you don’t even wear but colors that i see in you. you became real to me, and i think i became real to you, when we awkwardly discussed our not romance, and i early on, asked you to dance. i think i’d like to dance again, a pocket of quiet inside of the loud of my head and the world outside it. for i too was a rotoscoped man, unsure if i was nothing more than a badly drawn image of someone else’s movement. you helped me see that i exist as myself as radioactive blue and white and grey. that’s something i’ll always be grateful for even as you go away.
poem i wrote (er, i'm very happily atheist in this one, so if you don't want to see that i'm putting it in spoilers) I'm referring to the abrahemic god, actually. I identify heavily with the muse Calliope (she's often portrayed with a writing utensil in hand, so :)) I dunno. Spoiler: My Choice To Be Godless I’ve heard people say that as they get closer to nature They get closer to god. What I’ve found for myself Especially today As I walked in the rain and the mist And heard the sound of the run off from the snow Finally draining away, Signally Spring Has Come, Spring Has Come The Heat Is Soon And School Shall Soon End, Is that today, As I felt close to nature In that fog In that rain And raindrops rendered my phone unusable temporarily, That god had never seemed farther away. And I was glad, I was so fucking glad because finally, Finally I had some clarity. I could see it, the world is better without god because even though that means that The Crusades are on us, The Plague is on us The fucking Holocaust is on us, And on chance, It also means that we could have ended up in a world with only winter Or a world with rains that poured day after day after day, We didn’t. We ended up with a world with foggy days that are somehow still warm Hellish winters that are somehow still beautiful even if they clog up everything. And it means Picasso’s on us, Poets and writers and singers and actors all on us. Without god the world is more beautiful Without god, the world is a hopeful place, A place where good exists even in the dark, Where people, are, at their very core, People, not vessels for chess games played by immortals. People say sometimes that nature brings them closer to god. Today she brought me far from the man upstairs and into myself, And I couldn’t be happier.
An old poem of mine, written for a "write like a dead poet" high school english assignment. I chose Emily Dickinson. I'm still really proud of this.
