Marc4Marc

WRITING, THEORIZING, WHINING.
IMMARCYOURENOT [AT] GMAIL
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"I ate a salad earlier and now I want French fries and do you have any idea how quickly and unhealthily I develop crushes? It’s certifiable; a man says something sort of interesting or is halfway decent and I think to myself “oh there could be a future here” which is ok because it’s good to remember that I can have a future as a black queer person but you know it makes it super devastating when that person is like racist or misogynistic or just kind of a dick or even worse when there’s nothing wrong with them but it’s not really a “match” because there’s no “chemistry” (which I know is real because I’ve felt it but I still don’t understand why my emotions can’t respond to an objectively good thing) and then I just sort of phase them out or break things off and then I’m the one who’s the dick and I guess what I’m saying is that it’s getting harder to remember the names of people after I meet them and it’s getting harder to forget the things that happened before and maybe I’ve run out of memory or maybe I’m just sad today, right now, in this place, and it’ll pass because time passes but sometimes you just know the universe is ramping up for some new moment and you know beyond knowing that it’s really gonna sting."



- a text I sent to Ben for no reason



Why is your friend J now homeless? Are you going to invite him to stay at your place, why or why not? Anonymous

So because I am meticulous about my archiving you should check the J tag for related information.

But when J finally left me (or I finally left J depending on your perspective) I said, Please don’t ask me for anything anymore. and he said I thought you loved me and I said I do, and I always will. Which is why I’m asking you to not ask me for anything.

J was not a friend. He was one of the greatest loves of my life. And he destroyed me. And I won’t stop loving him. That’s the secret to love. Once it’s there it doesn’t just go away—you have to understand your own parts better, more perfectly than ever before. I won’t invite him to stay with me because I know that story and I know the bruises—the midnight places he finds in me. So I make the choice I know I should make even when it feels inhumane—even when I want to do something different.

Tonight I beat the same two boys in pool 4 times and I thought about all the times I thought love was a competition and J.A. said it was time to go, that we should be friends because he was leaving and congratulated me on my honesty for telling him about my feelings about him and I said Please, not this speech.

I’ve gotten older and I understand now what it means to say no to the thing you want because you know about the rest of the world—and you are beginning to know your place in it.

J is as close to me as my own heart. I would do anything he asked. Which is why he ended our conversation with I’m not asking for anything; I just needed to vent.

Love is when you can put the other person before your needs—when you can prioritize another person above your hunger; your shelter. J loves me. And I love him.

And so he can’t stay here.

THAT SHIRT WAS MINE ONCE BUT I’M GLAD IT FOUND YOU

PSA - Blog Protocol

Hi all,

I am bad at responding to asks/comments in a timely fashion. But I do see them and I will try to respond. Sorry if it takes me awhile and sorry if you feel ignored. If you are asking advice about a time sensitive situation it helps if you don’t ask anonymously because I respond directly to people as often as I can.

All of this is to say that I didn’t start this blog to become an Internet Person so I’m kind of bad at some of those functions. But I’m not trying to be haughty or annoying. Sometimes I let something sit for awhile just because I want to think about it. You are free to send me follow up asks if you are in need.

As per usual don’t be a dick, don’t ask me about Ben, don’t be racist, etc. I’ve left anon on since the beginning and I like that y’all act right. So thank you.

image

dumbfaggotry replied to your post:

But here’s a question: when you back the card or piece of paper and the one attribute was crossed out, did you even consider the two things that weren’t? Or did you only see the scribble? I’m just curious.This was beautiful, as usual. Thank you.

You are a sweet baby elephant. Which sounds weird but baby elephants are the greatest. And I didn’t. Trauma does this thing where it forms itself at your core and so without the trauma you lose the ability to locate yourself. It is, finally, the most unfair thing about the trauma. It displaces all other notions of self and you’re left rooting yourself in the darkest moment you’ve ever had which means that in order to operationalize yourself you reference the darkest place inside you.

I don’t know who I am outside of this wound. I know it better than I know anything.

gaptoothbetch replied to your post:

seriously, everything you write is so beautiful

Thank you. I am an idiot who understands words better than people. I hope you’re well. I hope your life is abundant.

so fab it hurts badcatmatt

You are very nice thank you

Who are some of your favorite tumblr users that you would recommend following? Anonymous

Hello tiny grey friend. I don’t really promo blogs anymore cause I feel like it inevitably pisses off someone that I really enjoy and didn’t mean to piss off, you feel me?

Maybe I’ll post my “most liked blogs” in a little bit, but that list is not definitive.

Sorry for being A Disappoint.

Seven years ago today I took this picture of a man (boy) I was in love with. He was straight and it’s an old story I don’t tell anymore. Today I said, It’s important find the people you like andI can’t get this feeling out of my head that I’ve misplaced something and J sent me a bunch of messages today because he broke up with his girlfriend and is homeless and he didn’t want anything from me but to tell me his latest story so I took it and bundled it up with all the other stories that I’ve been carrying about him andI’ve been stuttering my way through it, you know? I’ve been deep in the seams of it; I’ve been looking at the light on the water and listening to the sounds of a summer that’s ending andSomeone planted sunflowers on our block and they’ve just bloomed which is not a metaphor andI’m worried I’ll never learn to sleep through the night.

Seven years ago today I took this picture of a man (boy) I was in love with. He was straight and it’s an old story I don’t tell anymore. Today I said, It’s important find the people you like and

I can’t get this feeling out of my head that I’ve misplaced something and J sent me a bunch of messages today because he broke up with his girlfriend and is homeless and he didn’t want anything from me but to tell me his latest story so I took it and bundled it up with all the other stories that I’ve been carrying about him and

I’ve been stuttering my way through it, you know? I’ve been deep in the seams of it; I’ve been looking at the light on the water and listening to the sounds of a summer that’s ending and

Someone planted sunflowers on our block and they’ve just bloomed which is not a metaphor and

I’m worried I’ll never learn to sleep through the night.

"The artist’s memory is a dangerous, necessary thing. Never disavow what you see and remember—it’s your brilliant stock-in-trade: remembering, and making something out of it. Artists remember the world as it is, first, because you have to know what it is you’re reinventing; that’s a rule, perhaps the only one: being cognizant of your source material." You'd like Hilton Als' commencement speech at Columbia School of Arts. Most immediately, it's keeping me from disavowing last night's missteps. withdrawals

This works for me.

you are a drama queen, honey. That's all. Trying to be philosophical and stuff? Drama queen! Period. Anonymous

I almost just deleted this but it was so funny to me that this got sent to me by a person using the middle of their day to send rude anonymous messages to internet strangers.

This call is coming from inside the house, “honey.”

The Uses of Sorrow | Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

One day I will use this photo to recall something and the best part is that I’m not sure what it is yet.

One day I will use this photo to recall something and the best part is that I’m not sure what it is yet.

I started running again but I still haven’t managed to quit smoking. Not since J.A., not that I blame him. The choice was mine and I’ll own it with the rest. My great-uncle died and as usual I’m skipping the funeral. I’m not good at them and it’s a selfish move so I’ll call it self-care. The other day at work we had to do an exercise where we wrote three defining attributes about ourselves and give them to a co-worker who would cross one out and give it back to us. The exercise was about power—about understanding what it means to have people remove parts of your life that they deem unnecessary. I wrote I have PTSD and when I got my card back it was crossed out. I started to think about all the things that would be different if I didn’t have this knot of memory humming beneath my sternum. What would I remember instead? Where would I have been able to go if it hadn’t been for the hospitalizations and the knives and the thin places I try to pack a whole person into because I’m running out of space for new things. This morning I found a sparrow wing, perfectly severed and I thought of water, of light, of all the times I thought I’d found a way home and instead only wound up covered in blood—trying to figure out how to retrace my steps. To someone else I say, I’ve been practicing confusion as praxis. I read the news and wonder how many people have died because of our obsession with solutions. The singular pursuit of the right way. The smell of the ocean blowing in over the river reminds me that there are still more ways I could be lost.
Zoom Info
I started running again but I still haven’t managed to quit smoking. Not since J.A., not that I blame him. The choice was mine and I’ll own it with the rest. My great-uncle died and as usual I’m skipping the funeral. I’m not good at them and it’s a selfish move so I’ll call it self-care. The other day at work we had to do an exercise where we wrote three defining attributes about ourselves and give them to a co-worker who would cross one out and give it back to us. The exercise was about power—about understanding what it means to have people remove parts of your life that they deem unnecessary. I wrote I have PTSD and when I got my card back it was crossed out. I started to think about all the things that would be different if I didn’t have this knot of memory humming beneath my sternum. What would I remember instead? Where would I have been able to go if it hadn’t been for the hospitalizations and the knives and the thin places I try to pack a whole person into because I’m running out of space for new things. This morning I found a sparrow wing, perfectly severed and I thought of water, of light, of all the times I thought I’d found a way home and instead only wound up covered in blood—trying to figure out how to retrace my steps. To someone else I say, I’ve been practicing confusion as praxis. I read the news and wonder how many people have died because of our obsession with solutions. The singular pursuit of the right way. The smell of the ocean blowing in over the river reminds me that there are still more ways I could be lost.
Zoom Info
I started running again but I still haven’t managed to quit smoking. Not since J.A., not that I blame him. The choice was mine and I’ll own it with the rest. My great-uncle died and as usual I’m skipping the funeral. I’m not good at them and it’s a selfish move so I’ll call it self-care. The other day at work we had to do an exercise where we wrote three defining attributes about ourselves and give them to a co-worker who would cross one out and give it back to us. The exercise was about power—about understanding what it means to have people remove parts of your life that they deem unnecessary. I wrote I have PTSD and when I got my card back it was crossed out. I started to think about all the things that would be different if I didn’t have this knot of memory humming beneath my sternum. What would I remember instead? Where would I have been able to go if it hadn’t been for the hospitalizations and the knives and the thin places I try to pack a whole person into because I’m running out of space for new things. This morning I found a sparrow wing, perfectly severed and I thought of water, of light, of all the times I thought I’d found a way home and instead only wound up covered in blood—trying to figure out how to retrace my steps. To someone else I say, I’ve been practicing confusion as praxis. I read the news and wonder how many people have died because of our obsession with solutions. The singular pursuit of the right way. The smell of the ocean blowing in over the river reminds me that there are still more ways I could be lost.
Zoom Info

I started running again but I still haven’t managed to quit smoking. Not since J.A., not that I blame him. The choice was mine and I’ll own it with the rest.

My great-uncle died and as usual I’m skipping the funeral. I’m not good at them and it’s a selfish move so I’ll call it self-care. The other day at work we had to do an exercise where we wrote three defining attributes about ourselves and give them to a co-worker who would cross one out and give it back to us. The exercise was about power—about understanding what it means to have people remove parts of your life that they deem unnecessary. I wrote I have PTSD and when I got my card back it was crossed out.

I started to think about all the things that would be different if I didn’t have this knot of memory humming beneath my sternum. What would I remember instead? Where would I have been able to go if it hadn’t been for the hospitalizations and the knives and the thin places I try to pack a whole person into because I’m running out of space for new things.

This morning I found a sparrow wing, perfectly severed and I thought of water, of light, of all the times I thought I’d found a way home and instead only wound up covered in blood—trying to figure out how to retrace my steps.

To someone else I say, I’ve been practicing confusion as praxis. I read the news and wonder how many people have died because of our obsession with solutions. The singular pursuit of the right way.

The smell of the ocean blowing in over the river reminds me that there are still more ways I could be lost.

(Source: twitter.com)