This one hits like a cold front rolling off the Gulf ... hot, heavy, then suddenly sharp enough to make your ribs ache. My dear, you have that strange gift of writing grief sideways, through the bluebells, through the booze, through the hallucinated rope, until a person isn’t sure if they’re reading a confession or a spell.
For me, it isn’t about suicide so much as it’s about the terror of losing someone twice ... once in reality, and once in your own mind when the grief won’t sit still. How the brain can turn a friend into a ghost even while they’re sitting right beside you. That’s a real thing for me. That’s what grief does when it’s got its claws in you.
And bluebells ... ugh, you picked the perfect flower.
Fragile, easily bruised, bowing to something ancient. Renewal and rot at the same time. Exactly the kind of thing I’d notice on a walk, especially in my Southeast Texas garden‑wanderer heart.
May the bluebells mind you kindly, and may the wind carry the weight you can’t.
Support your local food bank, hunger is real for children.
Somehow, nature takes the form of the grotesque darkness within this piece. It temporarily becomes compassionate, sad; it moves in a dissociative space where hallucination, rage, and tenderness meet. I love that.
So beautiful and so heartbreaking at the same time. This is masterful, stuff, Anomie. You have such a unique voice and you know how to use it. And, without wanting to join the committee and get pesky, I hope you're okay today <3
“It’s my father. It’s my mother. It’s my latest fuck. It could be all three of them, honestly, trapped in some bureaucratic cosmic committee, calling to audit the exact percentage of disappointment I’ve managed to achieve by mid-afternoon.”
So many great paragraphs elegantly dancing with the razor cutting thoughts. Loved it! I like how you wove rhymes neatly into each theme.
Fuck you. I can't decide whether I like horny or dark Anomie more now 😿
Why can’t you like both?
Can one share his heart between the queen of spades and the queen of hearts?
Ah, come now. A true King handles the whole deck.
I have no idea how we manage to like each other, despite all the mindset differences 🤣
You’re wrong! But I agree 🤣
Okay, maybe not handle the whole deck, weather it? 🤣 I was being poetic.
I don’t know either, it’s what happens when you’re both hotties. We get away with murder. And that’s just facts. 😏
Things I learn here...
Gonna test it out tomorrow.
Feeling’s mutual.
Looks like we’re both fucked.
I’ll be your alibi, if you need one.
I’m a saint like that.
Sure. You will be.
My doom.
Dear Anomie,
This one hits like a cold front rolling off the Gulf ... hot, heavy, then suddenly sharp enough to make your ribs ache. My dear, you have that strange gift of writing grief sideways, through the bluebells, through the booze, through the hallucinated rope, until a person isn’t sure if they’re reading a confession or a spell.
For me, it isn’t about suicide so much as it’s about the terror of losing someone twice ... once in reality, and once in your own mind when the grief won’t sit still. How the brain can turn a friend into a ghost even while they’re sitting right beside you. That’s a real thing for me. That’s what grief does when it’s got its claws in you.
And bluebells ... ugh, you picked the perfect flower.
Fragile, easily bruised, bowing to something ancient. Renewal and rot at the same time. Exactly the kind of thing I’d notice on a walk, especially in my Southeast Texas garden‑wanderer heart.
May the bluebells mind you kindly, and may the wind carry the weight you can’t.
Support your local food bank, hunger is real for children.
Steve
Somehow, nature takes the form of the grotesque darkness within this piece. It temporarily becomes compassionate, sad; it moves in a dissociative space where hallucination, rage, and tenderness meet. I love that.
So beautiful and so heartbreaking at the same time. This is masterful, stuff, Anomie. You have such a unique voice and you know how to use it. And, without wanting to join the committee and get pesky, I hope you're okay today <3
This is amazing
“It’s my father. It’s my mother. It’s my latest fuck. It could be all three of them, honestly, trapped in some bureaucratic cosmic committee, calling to audit the exact percentage of disappointment I’ve managed to achieve by mid-afternoon.”
So many great paragraphs elegantly dancing with the razor cutting thoughts. Loved it! I like how you wove rhymes neatly into each theme.
Masterpiece!