A Real Goddess has No Time for Martyrdom

It’s been a hot minute since I have posted, but I attribute this to several factors. Chiefly among these I would count being happy as a reason I have not blogged. Also, I’ve been busy doing stuff! It’s funny, but I’ve always found it’s easier to put up a blog post when I am hopping mad or feeling a little low. Not to say that I haven’t been writing everyday, because (yay me!) I have. I am working on my freeverse poetry stuff as well as a new novel that is really twisting my brain…in a good way. It’s got layers, involves a complex idea of reality, and involves the search for meaning in an alternate universe. I’m loving it. It’s about 120  pages in, and is reaching a conclusion of sorts, which is why I am stalling for time by writing a blog! Endings are so difficult for me. I get caught up in the story and I want it to just go on and on. Yet, I do realize when an end has come. I worry about doing it justice and therefore I make excuses not to end it. Because…the Internet. There’s so much to distract me on here! And so, while I have been doing a good job of keeping my nose to the grindstone, I am taking a little break to update the readers out there. 

Furthermore, I am happy because my job is still my job, but it is a stress I can handle. It’s a reality and it works for the time being. I hope to use these degrees I have, but I know patience and dilligence will get me further than being all pissed off about it. (Although that is fun too) I am glad to have a job that allows me a freedom to take time off to go see film and culturally significant theatre. I have been hanging with my singles group and talking nonsense, comics, film and grammar and it’s always a wonderful time.

This weekend we went and saw the Oscar Nominated short films: animated and live action. The best of these was a film that was an honorable mention called “The Missing Scarf.” Narrated by George Takei, it’s a realist perspective on some heavy issues. And it has cute animated animals. SOLD! The best live action short, in my opinion, was the one featuring Martin Freeman called “The Voorman Problem.” It plays with the idea of God and his power, and what you would do with such endowments were they your own. Another good one was the animated adaptation of the children’s book, “Room on the Broom.” It features Simon Pegg as the narrator, and has some really cool claymation type workings. These I reccomend.

The real downer of the selection of films was one from Spain that was directed by Amnesty International and featured child soldiers, rape, and guilty college lectures. I’d talk about it, but I don’t really want to. I know there are real issues there that should be addressed in film. I just don’t think that short film did much for me or the message in general. It was a shock value sort. There was another short film in the mix that accomplished the same, but on the level of spousal abuse. Not to say these shorts were not good. They were just heavy, and I mainly went into the theater that day to be entertained. Seeing it in a different mindset might have a better effect. 

The weekend before, the Left Handed Singles and I went to see a live National Theater production of Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus” featuring Tom Hiddleson and Mark Gainess. I went for Shakespeare, but I gotta say…tight pants. Mercy. All these actors in tight jeans and wallowing in blood. It was something to see. I think the group got more milage out of the jokes about the screaming fangirls in the audience than they did about the cultural value of Coriolanus as a message of speaking your peace and resting in peace when the public doesn’t like what you have to say. 

The group and I are planning on seeing a Shakespeare Tavern production of “Much Ado about Nothing” later this month, attending 221 B Con (the all things Sherlock Holmes convention), doing the Dragon Con thing again, and doing a trip to Columbus to check out the town. I’ll keep you readers updated on the shennanigans we are sure to find. I’m also going to be giving an informal writer’s lecture to a group at the end of this month! What progress! I get to talk about my craft to others who enjoy the written word. It’s a minor dream come true. I think the community of writers should be open to sharing work, secrets, tips and tricks. It’s competitive, but there can be commraderie there too.  

Furthermore…I’m very glad to have the aforementioned group of people that works to expand my intellectual bounds, allows me to go places outside of my four wall-work bounds, are unashamed about being smart and into geek culture, and have real passion about things. I think everyone needs this in a capacity that is not neccessarily romantically linked. If you can focus on self improvment and enjoying every moment of an outing experience rather than trying to impress someone or be a certain way, I think it helps you be comfortable in your own skin so that when you do go on dates you can just be unashamedly yourself and know what you are looking for in a companion. At any rate…good stuff. And so I end with a little freeverse I wrote last week that I enjoy. 

“A Real Goddess Has No Time for Martyrdom” 

In the absence of companionship, you tell yourself the stories you would want friends to share. In a slow gathering of dark, the light is not shunned so much as forgotten against the novelty of night when existence and the drudgery of being real are not so bright. 

It’s hard to play when you don’t know the rules all too well. You should know to never bring up your sordid history and damp laundry in polite chat forums. You should have learned by nigh that this is what you get for asking. That is what you get for not asking. This is not the third world, but you are starved in maddening ways, sometimes purposefully just in order to fit into small awkward places where you had imageined some false warmth might linger. 

Stretch those fingers to the sky, naked and beautiful as a razor’s edge as your breasts sag with no perkiness you could ever recall. Stay stock still in your posturing to the goddess you once imagined lived inside your womb, creating even as you fought against her will to make you one of her own. Her son is our son. And your sun is arson. And then you remember rule no. 1 (It’s only a movie) and you throw another faggot on the pile aflame. “Your sun is arson.” It’s the story you retell again and again. 


-Anna R. Kotopple


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