Author Archives: blacklotuschronicles

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About blacklotuschronicles

Beautiful, vibrant flower who can grow and flourish atop even the murkiest of waters.
May20

Why Game of Thrones Needs to Cut the Crap

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“Poetic License” is one thing. Game of Thrones (GoT) has vexed the spirits of those who love the books for the entirety of the show’s existence by taking poetic license. And while I completely understand the need to tweak the screenplay to make translation from novel to television screen flow better and provide the viewer with maximum entertainment value, one such adjustment just went too far for me. You probably already guessed that I am referencing the rape scene of Sansa Stark by the disgusting sociopath Ramsay Bolton. And, your guess would be correct.

To be perfectly honest, I have not watched Sunday’s GoT episode. I was exhausted and fell asleep. And I will not be watching the episode as it is just too much. For one thing, Sansa was never married to Ramsay in the books, and though he does rape his bride in the novel, to have the show use his character in such a manner to strip Sansa of the last bit of dignity she has is…obnoxious. Now I do not like Sansa’s character. I blame her for the deaths of her father, mother and brother (Lord, how I miss Ned, Catelyn and Rob Stark!!!), but she has already been brought lower than a snail. She has nothing left but her name and memories. She has been separated from her home, her remaining family members and is, for all intents and purposes, hated by everyone. Still, I would not wish sexual assault on ANY woman!

I would like to believe that no viewer hated Sansa that much. Were the writers trying to concoct an event that would endear her to us all? Newsflash: WE DON’T NEED THAT!!! It’s perfectly okay to dislike a character in a fictional television series! We are all adults (goodness, I HOPE only adults are watching GoT) and our lives will continue as normal despite us thinking Sansa is a complete dipshit. I simply fail to understand the show’s decision to deviate so substantially from the novels to portray a horrific, traumatic event that so many of us understand can forever (and ever and ever and ever) haunt and terrorize a woman.

I read an article yesterday about Senator Claire McCaskill’s tweet  expressing that she is done with GoT. I also found another regarding The Mary Sue’s decision to no longer promote GoT. While I provide the link to the actual articles, I originally accessed them by following links on Facebook. I think we can all agree that Facebook can be a horrible, terrible place, and the comments on the articles’ posts demonstrate my point. Commenters wanted to know why everyone was so up in arms about this particular deviation from the novels when there had be so many others. Also of particular concern with many men was why there had been no outcry by fans when Theon was being flayed or when his male parts were cut off and mailed to his father; why no one seemed upset by the general rampant violence of the show: the beheadings, the maulings, the dragons breathing fire on villagers and killing children. WHY, oh why was THIS scene so different? I will try to make you aware of why with a few questions that will require a small bit of research on the reader’s part:

1. Please speak to someone you know, or have heard of, who has been flayed, who has had a family member or friend flayed, or who works with victims of flayings, and ask how the scenes of Theon’s flayings affected them.

2. Please speak to someone you know (perhaps it’s you) who has had his penis cut off while being tortured at the hands of a psychopath (and maybe subsequently mailed to a family member or friend) and inquire whether this depiction in the show caused them to have flashbacks, nightmares or in any other way affected him.

3. Please speak with someone, who has access to HBO, HBO Go, or HBO OnDemand, and ask whether the scenes of beheadings, maiming, mauling, murder, or dragon fire breath remind them in any way of the last time they personally witnessed these things occurring in their city or town, thereby causing them to be upset.

4. Please speak with a rape victim, someone who works with rape victims, or someone who is a family member or close friend of a rape victim and ask the same questions from 1, 2, and 3 regarding the Sansa Stark rape scene.

Cheat: Go straight to #4. Someone close to you should come immediately to mind.

May19

A Taste of Freedom

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I finally have managed to peel back most of the layers the world told me I needed to wear, either because it was cold…or raining…or the sun was too hot, and I needed to protect myself from them all. As a result of taking on these burdensome and heavy layers, I was unable to feel the coolness of the winds of life. They kept from the experiencing the cathartic beauty of a cleansing rain to my soul. They thwarted any attempt of my inner sun to provide me with warmth, to dry my tears or to paint my face with a shine that only comes from basking beneath its rays.

I have at last succeeded in ditching the weights the world told me to carry either because they are my personal burden to bear, or because I am (for some reason) expected to bear those of others around me. As a result, I have been delayed in arriving at the destination of becoming who I have always been meant to be. But now that I have arrived, I shall neither accept nor carry weights offered to me either through guilt or coercion.

The simplicity that is the true me has been hidden under cloaks of denial of self, and blankets of trying to be that which I am not. It has been weighted with rocks of making others comfortable with me, and bricks of accommodating the beliefs of others to my detriment.

I won’t ever be able to go back to the place where I was not comfortable being myself with EVERYONE in my life. Once I was relieved of the burden of presenting myself (at least part of the time) to others in a way that made them feel comfortable, I became free. And one thing about freedom: once you get a taste…you crave seconds, thirds…and an unlimited supply thereof.

May12

Dear Mom, You Are a Bully

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I read an article the other day about the damage parents do to their LGBT kids when they bully them. It left me in tears because I realized that you, mom, are a bully. You bullied me with religion and with God, or rather, your idea and interpretation of who and what God is. You bullied me with your so-called reputation in the community and among your friends, and as a result, I have not been free to be myself around you, or in the very city where I grew up. Are you wondering why I left town in the first place? It’s because one random evening you called and yelled at me because “someone” had seen me walking downtown holding my girlfriend’s hand…which embarrassed YOU. I didn’t even remember running into anyone I knew that night, but I decided then and there that I had to get out, and soon. It was ridiculous. I was 29 years old.

Two weeks ago you called to ask what was “going on” with me and my fiancee. Though I already knew that YOU knew what the deal is, I boldly said to you, “We’re getting married.” “MARRIED?” you pretend asked. And for the first time in my life, I found myself smiling and looking forward to the conversation to be had. You went on to tell me that we are “living in the last days” and that God would surely “deal with me.” That I would witness his wrath and his anger at this thing which, by the way, was very embarrassing to you. (I find it quite interesting that you are able to make most things your children do with their lives be about you; that what I do and who I date somehow reflect on you. But, I digress…) I was proud of myself that at the conclusion of that conversation, I was unbothered.

And guess what? God has already “dealt with me.” He has sent me the woman of my dreams and made me happier than I have ever been before. I have never experienced this level of sustained joy in all my life. I have never smiled so much as an adult. I have never experienced unconditional love given to me in human form. That which you were unable to give, God has brought to me. So though you told me you do not, nor will you ever accept her; that she is not welcome in your home and you refuse to meet her, I remain content and confident in who I am and decisions I have made. I will not give up my happiness to allow you to save face before your friends who have never liked me and who have no effect on my daily life. I will not exchange this new found peace for the misery I endured and let go of only recently. You have never supported or accepted me for who I am and for that which I cannot change. If my inability to be who I am not causes you to stop being in my life (again), then so be it. Because finally, I choose me.

Jun4

(Not) Happy Birthday

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I thought I would be okay today, but it’s the birthday that gets me every time. Not the day you died. Not holidays. Birth. Day. I guess because it serves as the most stark reminder that you were here. There was a day on which you were born and came onto this planet…where you existed for a time and were a real person. With feelings. Who could be touched, loved and hurt. Who often got frustrated with me…with life. And then you were gone, but left June 4th to forever remind those of us who loved you that you were once here with us. There are so many things I’d like to tell you. So much has happened in the nearly 5 years since you decided to leave us. But, if I saw you, I would not waste time talking. I would just want to feel your skin and stare at your face and the way your eyes lit up when you smiled. Because…there are no words in any language to say what I want to say.

May13

MPS

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I’ve nicknamed my hot flashes “MPS”…short for “mini personal summer”. I use the acronym as a code to alert my family of the imminent misery I’m about to suffer. The announcement means “get the heck away from me, lest be punched in thy throat.” The family has been trained to scoot away, turn any fans that may be in the vicinity towards me, or retrieve an ice pack. They know not to touch me anywhere on my body for the next 5 to 10 minutes. that I will fan myself with any available and appropriate object I can grab, or that I may yelp, cry, or feign passing smooth the hell out. I honestly WISH I could pass out, but alas, I inevitably remain conscious for the entirety of each incident.

Hot flashes come out of nowhere, fam. They. Suck. They do, however, announce themselves in a variety of ways – a fact I’ve actually grown to appreciate. I’ve learned to recognize the subtle warnings and take the few moments, albeit brief ones, to prepare myself for the coming physical roasting.

During they day, they start with a tingle in my upper bosom. It feels like the tiniest of pins and needles pricking me inside my chest. Next, I get a sudden feeling of super alertness. At night, I experience a surreal “wide-awake” feeling, which can jolt me from being almost asleep. Those experiences are actually almost painful. Imagine being jerked away from your journey to unconsciousness only to have to go through a hot flash right after. Rude.

Initially, there’s no heat…just a rapid heartbeat. Then it starts: the ball of heat under my sternum. It slowly spreads up my neck, then fills the core of my body. The whole of my physical being is victimized: the under-titty, back, arms, legs, forehead, you name it. Sweat pours from everywhere like I’ve just run three blocks in 90 plus degree temperatures. During the event, I’m unable accurately discern the temperature in the room, or outside, or wherever I happen to be at the time. It could be 60, 85, or 105 degrees…it all feels the same to me in those moments. Boiling hot.

Another warning is an odd feeling of impending doom. There’s no tingle. Just a creepy feeling of sadness accompanied by a supernatural awareness that “the heat” is coming. I can’t explain how or why I know I’m about to have a flash, I just do. In fact, I feel it right now. Lawd, ain’t this ’bout a blip? Hold please…

Yup. I for real just experienced an hot flash while writing about hot flashes. What. Is. Life???! And before anyone considers arguing that hot flashes are “psychological”, they happen WHILE I’m asleep, too. I wake up drenched in sweat at least once every night. Haven’t had an uninterrupted night of sleep in weeks because of them. In short: I am miserable.