Actually,
being a little out of
control is not the worst thing in the world.
Derangement brings some
excitement—and besides, as E.E. said,
feeling is first. So
goddamn all structure, all sense.
Happy women don’t have clean houses.
I am not bound by any pattern. I can
jump from one state of being to the next, I can
kick up swirls of dust, I can
leave a mess.
Medusa did. Picture the mess her
neck made, gushing blood. Gushing forth
offspring sired by
Poseidon, a giant and a horse, twin brothers, it’s
quite the myth.
Real life is a bit less absurd.
Sunday always comes before Monday, etc.
The thread—I think I’ve lost it.
Unless I meant to write this all along, a
vision of disorder inside an ordered song.
Women get so weary of the
XX confines,
you know.
Zeus became a wild animal whenever he wanted.
About the Creator
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insight
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from Jane Black and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Last Traveler
After the flames consumed the earth, the sky was so black that he couldn’t see the ash that fell on him in an endless cascade. But as he walked, on and on in the darkness, calling for his neighbors, his wife, his children, his grandchildren, his old friends, he felt the flakes on his skin and tongue, and they felt like snow. Hearing only the crunch of his boots on the charred remains of the world, he began to dream of winter—his favorite season, as a boy, when he and his brothers ran through the woods ankle-deep in snow, the air clean and blue-gray, darting through trees that stood silent and still like majestic, white-crowned guardians. The littlest one (he’s forgotten his name, now) would trip and cry, complaining of snow up his sleeves, so he’d pick him up and run with him on his back, laughing, until they’d all stop at the frozen river and lie beside it, their panting breath creating puffs of steam, the gentle snowflakes falling on their faces like kisses. Perhaps, he wondered, as he trudged onward, he had wandered back there, to those woods. He reached forward and felt the rough husk of a burned-out tree. His breath came out in thin wheezes; he could no longer run as he used to. Still, he could lie down as he did, in that delicious collapse. He could stare up at the black sky and feel the ashes fall on him, embracing him, bringing him peace.
By Jane Black2 years ago in Fiction
Ludacris and Nelly draw backlash over bookings at MAGA-coded music festival
Ludacris and Nelly headlining a mostly right-wing event is good for them. It’s also great for the genre of hip hop. The two rap veterans have showcased their talents on other stages. Why can’t they perform for mostly MAGA folks and grab that bag?
By Skyler Saunders5 days ago in Beat
Comments (9)
Fabulous work! Keep it up—congratulations!
Loved it, congrats on TS!
This is very well done. Congrats on the Top Story
Firstly welcome aboard! Congrats on the TS and I am looking forward to your next piece. - i laughed at the happy women line and am sloping on the couch tonight
Love this, feel like I can relate!
Happy women don’t have clean house Hilarious and so true Wonderful Congratulations
Love the mythology and the adage that I will live by from now on: "Happy women don't have clean houses." Actually, I may have been doing this before now.
I really enjoyed reading that ❤️, and I hope you 'll read my stories and rate me on them because I care about your opinion🥰💝
Welcome to Vocal! This is an amazing submission to the challenge and makes me eager to see more work from you.