As Your Eldritch President

Tweet from Solomon Georgio: “Bush was so bad, we got to elect our 1st black president. After Trump, our president will be a 50 ft tall militant feminist Latina lesbian.”

It is with quivering delight that I accept your nomination for president of the United States of America. As my heaving mass pulsates in the sky above you, know that it is exactly 50 of your Earth feet tall, and know that I am prepared to alter the amount of my dimensional overreach that I divert into this timeline in order to be much, much larger, with or without the service of additional, smaller lesbians and a trench coat.

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As Your Eldritch President

The Horror Is Mine

My social circle has been remarkably supportive of the traumas and challenges I’ve faced over the past year.  A few of its members, however, haven’t yet grasped the nature of the rift that has emerged between me and my parents.  They keep telling me to watch how viscerally I criticize them and to intersperse my rage with acknowledgement that the people who raised me are doing “the best they can” to wrap their heads around my situation.  At their worst, they tell me not to “air the family’s dirty laundry,” failing to grasp that one of the foremost weapons against their particular secrecy-based abuse dynamic is the cleansing light of day.

Every time I hear those phrases, my mind flits back to the worst nightmare I ever had, in June 2015.  This was around when my parents first started losing their minds over seeing my long hair and painted nails over webcam, and sent the first of an onslaught of Emails that stabbed directly at what I was going through.  I was terrified that, in their bigotry, they would do something extreme.  They threatened to cut off my financial support if I breathed too loudly in their direction; what “punishment” would they impose for joining what my culture regards as its most outré abomination?  What would I face if I ever again put myself at their mercy by sleeping under their roof, as I did for two weeks every year?

Those are the fears they tell me to put aside when they plead for reconciliation.

Those are the fears I dreamed about that night.

Those are the fears I wept about that morning.

Content note for oneiric horror, kidnapping, and emotional trauma.

Continue reading “The Horror Is Mine”

The Horror Is Mine

Lovecraft Letters 1: The Beautiful Disaster of Your Eyes

Men.  What are they even?  So many of them are so, SO bad at sending OkCupid and similar missives that one wonders if they aren’t any of various Lovecraftian monsters pretending at typewritten humanity in order to seduce lovely victims.

In this ongoing project, I take examples of dating-profile ridiculousness and weave it into the all-caps messages such eldritch abominations might send.  Our first example is a little too solicitous of a contact’s eyes.

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Lovecraft Letters 1: The Beautiful Disaster of Your Eyes