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emmyemmy0 commentsdiaries, non-fiction, the truth

future emily,

you’re here. hello, and thank you. it’s the nineteenth of july in the year 2022. you are currently (as of writing) on a gap year. you have been enjoying the immense rest.

             i have many questions. mostly, i want to know what you are doing. are you happy? are you grateful. how is everyone? mum; dad; the rugrats. how’s your health? i’m sure you’ve been thinking about that a lot, too. it’s always so up and down.

             when i think about the future, i’m not sure exactly what excites me most. i’m thrilled and nervous about all of it. i have my moments of intense restlessness because i often want everything, all at once, right now. are you still impatient like that? or do you have it all?

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emmyemmy0 commentsdiaries, non-fiction

writing advice 22/05/22

why do i write?

            well, the list is long and in no discernible order. but i’ll start with the fact that writing brings me an inordinate, unnecessary amount of pleasure and joy. pleasure in every common and rarefied sense: it is a gustatory enjoyment, both cerebral and base, and as indecent as any other imaginable sin. words are like ingredients to me, or musical notes played in the scale only allowed in religious fantasies. learning new words feels like a treat i have not earned in any way, but have been given regardless. playing with words is as furtive and frenzied as all the great pleasures of the world. writing is an act of creation that never stops feeling blasphemous; it is every bit as divine as a mutiny.

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emmyemmy0 commentsfiction, odin and ada

sometimes beautiful

it is easy to recall the moment our friendship fractured. it is still readily available to relive in my mind, just as technicolour and bursting and tragic as any other momentous wound.

           thinking back, i am just surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. we were awful for each other from the very beginning, i now understand. but stitched through the awfulness, we really were sometimes beautiful.

           like the time we sat under his family’s blossoming peach trees in the backyard and philosophised with the melting sun. his voice, i remember, was so soft and candy-sweet that the quiet animals of the outdoors tentatively approached to listen, too.

           he’d always had that welcoming miraculousness, that inviting aura, which seemingly took effect on every earthly creature. myself included, which is why at the time, i didn’t think to bring up my mild peach allergy. i didn’t want to ruin the idyllic scene—wanted even less to interrupt his careful, dulcet musings—and when he handed me a freshly-plucked peach to eat, i pretended the buzzing against my lips was a kind of secret, tormented kiss.

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emmyemmy0 commentsfiction, pineapple upside down cake

pineapple upside down cake

Pineapple Upside Down Cake is a double-voiced narrative poem, concerned with the fluctuations of power in a turbulent relationship.

In the following story, the character’s personalities, motivations, lifestyles, and emotions have been sculpted only through their dialogical choices. Mikhail M. Bakhtin’s philosophy of language—namely, that life is experienced and evidenced through dialogue—was a key component in the crafting process.

This piece contains sexual references, abusive and mature language, dysfunctional relationships, and violent imagery. Please proceed with caution.

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emmyemmy0 commentsand ever more stranger, fiction

and ever more stranger

i. duodenum

so i stooped by the pond and opened my mouth as wide as it would go and that’s when the fish slid out. all slimy and cold, it was a big, white fish, with splotches of red and black; it fell with a splash into murky water where it looked like it belonged. i gaped and shuddered as the now-emancipated creature darted away. my unhinged jaw wouldn’t close.

           my open palms pressed flat and hard against the cool pavestones that lined the shallows. with my bare knees pressing painfully into the semi-damp earth, i’m sure i looked like i was trying to summon a deity from the ground / single-handedly reverse the axis of the world / split the brick right down the middle. my throat was dilated and coated in stringy mucus. my intestines were swollen, twisted ribbons.

           i clutched my stomach and doubled over again and my nose touched the surface of the water as meters of seaweed slithered out of my throat and into the depths of the pond. my stomach went from distended to calm as it all unfurled. then the nausea dissipated.

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emmyemmy0 commentsfiction, so in raptures

so in raptures

i swear i had never heard a man so in raptures before. his voice like an incantation — all at once, i was falling through the floorboards, transported to the last time (birthday party, beach) where he and i had first created / shared / indulged in our (this) tremendous illicitness. it was bad then, so it must be doubly bad now — a year later to the date — this time indoors (his place, poker night) instead of all sunshine and sandy.

            he was bad for me. bad for me like really really very bad for me. he was wrong for me and yet i was wondering where next he might grab me ;; take me hold me grip my thighs (his hand compressing pliant flesh my eyes ignoring his ring finger with that awful damning tan line) — i wasn’t sure if he knew just how much i knew that what we were doing was at best immoral. at worst …

            “we’d better not again; there’s no way,” i said, “we couldn’t though, do you think?”

            “i think i need to,” he said, and the way his voice was light and breathy and airy like he was on the precipice of the most divine pleasure and too gone to hold it back made me shiver with delight. and after needing twice before … !

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