Visa and MasterCard have made of their own employees the mildly annoying trash mobs farmed as part of a daily quest whose reward is stripping points away from their own, once eldritchian, health bars.
I started writing this as a sort of follow up to yesterday's story, but wow, I don't want to let that shit keep taking up space in my head.
I'm trying to write more in general, it's something I find too easy to simply put off over and over again until I suddenly realize I haven't posted on my site in a month. It's always felt odd because I enjoy writing. I love feeling the words flow out of me onto the page. (I don't love that I keep having to use my tablet to shoo away wasps!)
Sure, call your reps, see if they answer the phone. But, first, call and email Visa, Mastercard, PayPal, and Stripe. Tell them, respectfully, those customer service folks didn't do shit to you, what you want and what you will do if you don't get it.
Stop letting white suprematists and Nazis decide what artist is allowed to eat or have a roof over her head because making a phone call or writing an email is hard.
Yeah, it was the Fibonacci sequence.
Apologies, this was supposed to be out a few days ago but between a therapist mandated grieving day and a date; well, explaining my poetry rules sort of fell by the wayside.
While Oh Sweetest Succor might be the gayest poem I ever wrote, I think this might be the most… rhetorically and politically vitriolic, even including that one I wrote about how First They Came was written by a fucking Nazi white washing his own history.
Besides that… well I think it speaks for itself.
Cultivar is one of my favorite words ok? I didn't mean to use it in two poems in a row, but it was that or use what will be the final piece in between and… well I guess it and this are both… heavy at best.
There we go, made it to the final of the three poems I wrote together. To Be… What? and Joy certainly had a different vibe. Apparently that’s what happens when I’m inexplicably inspired to write weird number sequence poetry while watching my girlfriend/mate/handler and her friend play DDR.
I did say I was interrogating some heavy shit and especially dog/puppygirl idiosyncrasies. I don’t want to talk too much about this one, as I fear speaking to my intent or perspective would read as prescriptive. So I leave you to contemplate.
Yes, I saved the extremely lesbian poem as my opener for the final day of my silly Pride poetry project. A lot of my other final day poems are going to be heavy, complex, or are directly interrogating some of my own, seemingly universal, dog girl idiosyncrasies.
I’ll be honest, this one was an attempt to be cute, but ended up with something kind of heavy. I really shouldn’t be able to make something this harsh when my seed word was “fib” but I ended up sort of fixating on the banal ways the lies of those with power are framed.
