I've been locked into editing recently, which will be my personal theme for the rest of the month (that, along with sending out poetry and short stories of my own), but I hope to offer some advice and reflections on the process.
I hate referring to anything as "The Process." It sounds mystical and mundane at the same time.
Anyway, today I give you Blood Remedy and other vintage pharmaceuticals.
I actually gave the Blood Remedy to my spouse for Valentine's
Day...because it was used for syphilitic conditions, and nothing says "I
burn for you" quite like a syphilitic fever.
Don't worry, we're okay...just a little odd.
And the Heart medicine still has a pill in it (look at it, lower, left corner of the bottle)...
Sometimes I hate being curious...
Currently, that single pill is just good for generating story ideas and questions.
Why didn't they take the last one?
Did they die? Did they get better?
Did they misplace it?
Were they reaching for the bottle in their final moments?
That final glass bottle, marked with "The Dill Medicine Co. Norristown, PA," is otherwise unlabeled, but I see that company sold things like "The Balm of Life," opium tinctures, alcohol-based cough syrups and extracts used for cooking.
I have no idea what was in this particular bottle, but I can think about it.
I was going to do this nicely thought out post about how I've been busy because I got a part-time job. And I'm also preparing to move to Pennsylvania.
Instead I found this on WTF Fanfiction tumblr-- Words Used to Describe Genitals
It's just awful, but I'm a sucker for dirty euphemisms.
My favorites include: glossy rod of muscle and blood, fuck stem, rippling sausage, Throbbing lavender man-fruit thing, cherry splitter, flaccid love truncheon, whispering eye, assular regions, magic toothpaste of love, love spuds...
Oh and also during the time I've been away there was a week without electricity...and poor cell phone service. Apparently, tonight, there's supposed to be a storm much like that one. So, I'm enjoying electricity while I have it. And will be sending out submissions early.
Because the last storm prevented me from doing that altogether.
And my laptop has a bad battery and must be plugged in in order to work. So, that's going to be fun.
On the bright side, though, most of the trees were knocked down in the last storm, so there's far fewer branches to fall on our neighborhood.
...the last storm got my grandmother's car. When the insurance company totaled it out they said it had the nicest interior that they had ever seen in a 20 year-old car.
And I don't have pictures of the rest of the neighborhood, but many other cars were more impressively crushed. That included a truck with the cab completely flattened. I'm sure the people whose porches were smashed by trees, or their roofs ripped apart by the wind are looking forward to tonight's storm.
My neighbors across the street just got their roofing materials delivered the other day.
Hi. Thanks for stopping by. I'm J. Lannan and it may not be the best time to host my first giveaway and be involved in a blog hop when my first m/m romance-type story won't be out until later this year-- I also have a job interview this morning, and will be out of town for a memorial service for a couple days-- but this is the time I have so I might as well use it.
Each blog is doing a giveaway of some sort and here is mine. Since I don't have any extra copies of magazines with my poetry and essays in them I am giving away some random LGBT swag. (Note: I'll probably find something else to add before the hop is over and will add that to the list, or just include it as a surprise)
One Pack of Meiji Hello Panda cookies--they're cute, strawberry-flavored and could be considered snacks that pair well with reading-related activities...
One Rainbow Wristband--I notice a 50% increase in flirting when I wear my rainbow wristband so it must be imbued with magical powers of some kind. (Blog owner not responsible if your wrist band does not have magical powers)
Two Badges--One has a hot dog in a raincoat with "always protect your weenie" printed on it, and the other says "Deal With It" in rainbow lettering
That list almost made me sound orderly...almost. So, in order to be entered to win my giveaway leave a comment on this post and include your e-mail address, or twitter info so I can contact you. When I get back in town on the 21st I'll randomly pick someone and send you a message to get your info.
Here are my two comments on homophobia since the blog hop tackles that issue. The first section discusses Iran's death penalty for homosexuality, and the second is a look at bullying and suicide through imagery I pulled from Dante Alighieri's Inferno. Intermission is exactly as it sounds.
Iran Executes Gay Men
I've been told that I have a gift for shining a different kind of light upon dark subjects, but as I write this I realize that I have trouble bringing my kind of light to a situation that is so horrific and extends far beyond the harassment, name-calling and rock-throwing that I've personally been on the receiving end of.
In college I majored in History and studied Iran's judicial system. It's a sad and corrupt system that often forces confessions via torture. I've always found myself drawn to the study of injustice because I have grand schemes about making the world a better place for everyone. I know that's a Miss America World Peace kind of statement, but it's true. One of the only things I kept around from being raised Catholic was the concept of do unto others as your would have done unto yourself, but even that is a pretty common sense concept.
Several years ago Mahmoud Ahmadinejad claimed that there were no gays in Iran. His American audience laughed. While his delusional nature may be amusing sometimes, the treatment of gays in Iran is no laughing matter. It may surprise you, or may not if you know the region, that consensual sex between men is punishable by death in Iran (and in other parts of the world). During my research I even watched an interrogation video in which a man had kidnapped another man to keep as a sex slave. One was obviously a victim (his teeth were bashed out), but when punishment was handed out both men were executed.
The Iranian judiciary just determined that four men will be executed for consensual sexual activities. The Jerusalem Post has that article. In 2005 two gay teenagers were executed for the same crime.
These events are happening in this day and age, and I feel stranded on an island of inability because I can't do anything substantial about it other than pass the information along wherever I am able. So this is the information I give to you.
Intermission
Being a Historian left me with this empty feeling of inability. I've heard stories about Historians being epic alcoholics for this very reason--well, that, and no one listens to Historians and History repeats itself if left forgotten...it's a frustrating field. So, where does an angsty, detail-obsessed person who harbors a compelling case of nascent alcoholism turn? Yes, become a writer. It was so obvious.
I still write essays, but now I write other things as well because I want to explore topics instead of theories. Writing gives me a platform, and if you're going to stand on a platform you better have something that you want to say.
The Grove
As I've mentioned before, I was raised Catholic and you can probably guess where I'm going with this...or not. Where earning a History degree left me frustrated with my lack of ability to change History the conformity of Catholicism I attempted to force upon myself left me with a lack of identity. It took me a long time to figure myself out after being told that everything I did could send me to the hell fire. Catholics are a little more subtle than other denominations, but the hell fire is still there. And it can give you quite a sense of hopelessness to live in a constant state of internal and external scrutiny that is simply incompatible with what you feel is true about yourself and the world. I now bring you to the universal topic of bullying and suicide that plagues so many kids in the LGBT community as well as those kids who are just different. I was twelve when I first attempted suicide. I don't really want to discuss the why, or how, or what right now because they're not part of this story, but this next section is the story.
Due to my long-term intimate relationship with suicidal thoughts, the Catholic belief system, and my Italian heritage I took a morbid solace in Dante Alighieri's Inferno. In the middle ring of the 7th Circle of Hell the people who committed suicide exist as gnarled and bleeding thorn bushes that are terrorized by harpies. The suicidal will never regain their bodies after The Final Judgment, but will have their corpses hung from their thorn bushes. (I told you it was morbid) This is the imagery I always return to when thinking about suicide, but I think of it differently because my relationship with nature is stronger than my relationship with the concept of hell.
I invite you to walk with me through the grove of the suicides. At first I feel peace because there is the notion of a quiet comfort in death. The struggle is over, it's true, but that's it...death is the end. We can just keep walking, though. We're not staying. The trees are all thorns and scabs. It's a sign of obvious pain, and the trees now bleed when injured, but in life the pain is not as obvious as a twisted mass of bleeding thorn branches. The scabs reopen old wounds, and the thorns harm those who get too close. It is a desperate situation. Depression puts up barriers or causes people to lash out, but suicide creates a death with painful memories for those who longed to be closer to the victim. Each memory doesn't simply contain the sadness of loss, but also an added nuance of pain because they could not reach the victim.
To me the harpies represent the reasons and torments that lead people to take their own lives, but as you'll notice the harpies are alive and still active to continue their torment. And even trying to understand this torment assails those left behind. Schools do too little, people don't care enough, and pain goes unrecognized, but after another life is lost everyone looks back and points to incidents and people. What good does it do now? Maybe we can stop them from tormenting anyone else, but I think the most important approach is to teach love and compassion. I think people don't love enough.
I want you to know that if you've wandered through the grove of the suicides you should know that you're not alone even though the path seems empty when you're there.
Wow, that was more of a downer than I expected... and I wanted to end with some love.
I was given the opportunity to review an erotic novel by I.G. Frederick, so here is what I thought of it:
Playing With Dolls by I.G. Frederick has an intriguing plot and brings insight into the realm of male submission. Jesse has always been led to believe that he should be gay just because he prefers to wear women's clothing and enjoyed playing with dolls as a child. His exposure to gender identity and sexual preference has been dictated to him by his therapist who fails to separate expression from orientation, and the theory is rather forced upon him by his parents because gay is an easier answer on the surface. His father accepts him, and his mother expects him to be a gay rights activist.
Over time Jesse explores his sexuality starting in a lackluster relationship with David, where he loses his virginity on his 18th birthday in a scene that is written in a way that easily conveys his disappointment with the encounter. He is then introduced to BDSM by a lesbian couple (Ashleigh and Rachel) that more or less accepts him unquestioningly, but thinks that they know what is best for him much like his parents believed. He does enjoy the experiences of "flying" that they provide. Ashleigh and Rachel pass him off to Tony, a leatherman who further brings him into a Dominant and submissive relationship. Jesse is unsure of this arrangement, but goes along with it and continues to let others decide for him. It's entertaining to watch his attempts to make the best of some scenes that he finds to be not quite the right experience for him.
In general I found the progression of encounters to be appropriately more exciting and sensual as Jesse discovers what he enjoys. The book is oddly insightful in regards to the main character's slow revelation of finding himself through gender expression and sexual exploration. He begins to assert himself by choosing a career and life path that he wants rather than appeasing his parents. I enjoyed the varying degrees of information on the BDSM community, and even the fact that some of the characters didn't quite know the proper guidelines that go along with BDSM, but that's also an aspect of Jesse's education. This book is a delightfully sexy read that effectively evolves into Jesse pursuing possibilities for himself rather than just accepting what others have planned out for him.
Playing With Dolls can be purchased on Amazon.com and All Romance ebooks, and will be available on SmashWords later this week.
I.G. Frederick can be found online and on Twitter
This is a poem I wrote as part of a contest for an online writing group. We were to write a piece based on a picture we were given, and my picture was of a knight and a lady in the woods. She had a blue scarf wrapped around his neck like he was trapped by it and her gaze. Pretty sure the gaze would have held him there. Anyway, the scarf itself reminded me of this blue Armani scarf I had just bought that same day. I didn't feel compelled to write about my scarf, though. I think it's interesting to post this without the picture to see how it stands on its own, but it was inspired by a picture...
May I have of you this favor?
To the woods, to slip away with me
Caught up in shivering silk and a gaze
The hint of perfume, traced pleasures and intermingled sweat
From yearning, starlit blue and piercing steel
Daggers as Shakespeare hinted at
Chivalry sanctioned arousals between courtesy and a kiss
Of an arms-length love in hearts that cannot say forever
Because love was made evanescent
Like filtered sun through the leaves
Or a breeze dispelling swelter upon those things laid bare
