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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2024-01-16 10:00:21 -08:00
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writing/post-self/motes/007.html
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@ -137,7 +137,13 @@ This was bullshit, patented and trademarked, registered as a copyright and servi
<p>It was not a pair of rose-colored glasses. She was not burying her head in the sand to avoid some unpleasant facts. She was as realistic as ever she had been, as Sasha/Michelle had been before her and Michelle Hadje before that.</p>
<p>It was an expectation of herself and others. It was a standard to which herself and others were held. It was a trust that others would aim for joy and friendship as she did.</p>
<p>And thus it was an expectation one might fall short of. It was a standard one might not reach. It was a trust that could be breached.</p>
<p>At some point in the past — there were so many admonitions against joy that she could choose from! — A Finger Pointing&rsquo;s friendship with Hammered Silver came to an end. The most visible of these was perhaps when Sasha joined Au Lieu Du Rêve as stage manager in . That was when Hammered Silver had moved beyond cutting
<p>At some point in the past — there were so many admonitions against joy that she could choose from! — A Finger Pointing&rsquo;s friendship with Hammered Silver came to an end. The most visible of these was perhaps when Sasha joined Au Lieu Du Rêve as stage manager in systime 231, five years after she became Sasha. That was when Hammered Silver had moved beyond cutting off Sasha herself and the entirety of the eighth, first, and part of the ninth stanzas, and had included the entirety of the fifth stanza.</p>
<p>For the rest of the fifth stanza also included this expectation, this standard, this trust that there was within all people something worth friendship, some kernel of joy, and none of them shunned Sasha, either.</p>
<p>Cutting contact is one hell of a way to end a friendship, yes?</p>
<p>But no, the end of their friendship came far earlier. Decades earlier.</p>
<p>Some time back around systime 176, back around the time the clocks ticked over to 2300, Hammered Silver sent one of her longest letters yet. It was in some ways a screed. It was beyond simply admonition, note, or missive. It was an epistle, some general letter intended to be a point of instruction not just to her but to the world as a whole.</p>
<p>The screed, well worth embodying as a physical letter if only to be torn up, ripped to shreds, burnt to ash, soaked with tears to douse the fire, ground into a paint, and used to spell out anger and despair, spelled out in nigh-unintelligible detail all of the ways in which she and hers had fallen short.</p>
<p>Motes had existed. She had tested the limits and found them flexible. She had found the boundaries negotiable. She had poked her nose out into the world and found it largely amenable to her existence. She had lived her life in play. She had played as a child and played as an adult. She had gone down slides and been bitten during sex and died on-stage, all countless times.
((the past: family))</p>
<hr />
<p>((Contacting Hammered Silver))</p>