Author: aroceu

a sentiment or two

your words are in my mouth, but
i do not think of you anymore.
i do not think of the shape of your
skeleton, that have once haunted
my mornings, when the blood was
still fresh.

my mind is full of the history of you,
but i do not wonder if you think of
me every day. i do not think of you
anymore, & i remember what it was
like to put you on & be you and
now it is mine.

once upon a time we could have
been great together; now you do
not have me to shine for you. i do
not think of you anymore. so write
your sins & tragedies & find your
way back home.

Wonderland (fanvid)

Summary: Haven’t you heard what becomes of curious minds?

Mirror Links: @ Archive of Our Own

Description: A fanvideo for Mark/Eduardo as depicted in the movie The Social Network, to Taylor Swift’s “Wonderland.”

Password: markwardo

HEARTBREAK, IN THEATERS NOW

you are a thousand meteors crashing into earth
pouring rain against my ice thin windowpanes
screaming thunder beating against my chest
rattling my nerve endings roaring my throat
sore you are the way imaginary numbers are not
real what metaphysicians dream to discover you
are lightning piercing down my spine
crackling down my frail bones.
you are winter nights in overheated college dorms
and thirty six hours in front of a laptop screen and
my touches between your shoulderblades you have
forgotten — you are the choice
between a thing that you will never touch only
see (i squared) (an algorithm) and me, and

you did not choose me.

Talkback Culture: A Transformative Work

Description: An analytical essay on fanfiction and the culture surrounding its existence.

October 2024: This was written prior to Rowling’s public dedication to being a TERF. I actively oppose this, and no longer engage with her work or anything related to it.

Regardless, I have not modified this essay because it is still reflective of my authentic feelings at the time. Think of it like a time capsule, or a transformative work in itself. Sometimes the things that meant so much to us in the past become dead to us in the future. But that doesn’t contradict the meaning it used to give us, nor should our past be the source of any shame.

Though my beliefs are ever changing, this essay is representative of some beliefs I had at the time; I did some minor editorializing to make them come off a little less judgmental to a degree I’m comfortable with still sharing. But despite the aspects of this essay I don’t stand by anymore, I feel like the thesis is still valuable and important, and remains to reflect my overall opinion on transformative culture.

Continue reading Talkback Culture: A Transformative Work

all wounds

Sometimes, I do not believe
that you really happened.

There is no other world, where
you are still by my side, passing
laughs over to me like
we share the same air. Your
feet are on a different earth,
and when you look at the sky, it
is not mine. And it has been long
enough for the trees to forget the
carvings on their old bark, and
the width of your hips.

I do not know the sound
of your voice anymore.

across the table

Like the bottom of the sea,
you do not say the words
you want him to hear.

(4.
What was I to you? A
memory you forget
about a decade later
when success is a
familiar taste under
your tongue? The
bruisemarks under
your thighs that hurt
like a bitch, colored
yellow branded white
with my teethmarks
that I will never give you?)

(3.
Before you I did not know how to hate, but
now I have grown it at the insides of my throat
like I have learned to rip knives out from my
wounds.)

(2.
When will you look at me with
spite again? You are ugly in grey
scale, and I miss your accents, when
the ground of the world was beneath
our feet. I would like you to pretend
that I at least was pyrite,
or someone you regret
fucking over.)

(1.
Are you sorry?)

He is the sky,
the echo of you.

tomorrow looks like

so the world has not stopped turning and we have become
partners overnight. you signed my papers (i set you up) and we are
natural disasters, opposite hemispheres, and the earth
has not missed a beat on its axis. we are natural

disasters, your mouth touches my neck like the tiger in the
antelope, my legs your harp strings you play mercilessly, shamelessly,
around your thighs hips waists i open up for you but i am not at your
command (your name is at the roof of my mouth, signed by your tongue.)
we are oceans land sky we fight on mattresses across seas in

between your schedule and mine we make time we make time we make time
for me. when will you leave again? when will we be nothing but two
men who made the same mistakes again? you will leave me. i will
leave you. you will look at me like i have broken you, when it is your
scent in my sheets. and you will ask me for your heartbeat back when i cannot breathe. you will say i have
no heart (but

it is in your hands. your
absence is the wound in my lungs.)