alrighty, so imma comment right now only because i want to unload all the feelings i'm burdened with at the moment after reading this. my intestines are seriously a little twisted, so thanks for that sadim - you find such cute ways to do that sadim; imma throw up on you someday. as far as truth and objectivity go, i think they don't really concern to the merits of literature - if anything, they steal from it. so, i won't really ask you personal shi
now coming to the piece - i'm in fucking awe of your writing man. this was a masterclass in subversion! this felt like a handbook in romanticising abuse. i felt it as very poignant of you to not mention the perpetrator because they don't matter. this is all you - your feelings, your life now and how you've lived through. another commendable aspect of the piece was that no matter how repulsive i found it at times - there wasn't one instance where i felt the tiniest bit of pit. we empathise with the narrator but don't really get to garner any sympathy for them because they continuously evade that. it was really beautiful and felt like the beacon call for a smarter lolita (i'm sorry if that was offensive).
the graphic-ness of your words distill your writing in my bones from the very first paragraph. you use such intense imagery - teeth, hand sliding down the skirt, legs and even the compliments feel like the daggers that float mid - air. i loved evrything about it - especially the aspects i so dearly quivered at. and the nauseated feeling that you instill in my mind with the word slut is gonna stay there for a while now (now i feel conflicted about calling the boys trip slutbrigade).
i, camphor, turned 18 is such a pretty line. because you describe assault as sublimation - not fusion! you were 8 and then suddenly 18 (maybe you're associating adulthood) with the single act of heat that you described earlier and later with sweat beads on foreheads. exception shi right there. i dont know f you intended this or not but you also somehow characterised this limbo that traumatised people usually live in where their childhoods kinda get ended by a vile act but they never really feel 'in control' enough to be a growwn up. 8 then 18, never got to growup.
alll in all, i could say a million things about this and i'd only have a million left to say then. but all that talking won't come near enough to distill the feeling that was left in me after reading. THANK YOU SO MUCH for sharing this with us. i feel amazing to have such talented friends! amazing work!
Truly at a loss of words. Some pieces you read and everything around you stops from the weight of what you're reading. You do it so well, Sadim, the pain, the graphic-ness, the guilt. This is heavenly, and simultaneously bloody and hellish to read.
A powerful exploration of reclaiming agency and identity in a world quick to label. Your reflections challenge societal norms and encourage a more nuanced understanding of autonomy.
alrighty, so imma comment right now only because i want to unload all the feelings i'm burdened with at the moment after reading this. my intestines are seriously a little twisted, so thanks for that sadim - you find such cute ways to do that sadim; imma throw up on you someday. as far as truth and objectivity go, i think they don't really concern to the merits of literature - if anything, they steal from it. so, i won't really ask you personal shi
now coming to the piece - i'm in fucking awe of your writing man. this was a masterclass in subversion! this felt like a handbook in romanticising abuse. i felt it as very poignant of you to not mention the perpetrator because they don't matter. this is all you - your feelings, your life now and how you've lived through. another commendable aspect of the piece was that no matter how repulsive i found it at times - there wasn't one instance where i felt the tiniest bit of pit. we empathise with the narrator but don't really get to garner any sympathy for them because they continuously evade that. it was really beautiful and felt like the beacon call for a smarter lolita (i'm sorry if that was offensive).
the graphic-ness of your words distill your writing in my bones from the very first paragraph. you use such intense imagery - teeth, hand sliding down the skirt, legs and even the compliments feel like the daggers that float mid - air. i loved evrything about it - especially the aspects i so dearly quivered at. and the nauseated feeling that you instill in my mind with the word slut is gonna stay there for a while now (now i feel conflicted about calling the boys trip slutbrigade).
i, camphor, turned 18 is such a pretty line. because you describe assault as sublimation - not fusion! you were 8 and then suddenly 18 (maybe you're associating adulthood) with the single act of heat that you described earlier and later with sweat beads on foreheads. exception shi right there. i dont know f you intended this or not but you also somehow characterised this limbo that traumatised people usually live in where their childhoods kinda get ended by a vile act but they never really feel 'in control' enough to be a growwn up. 8 then 18, never got to growup.
alll in all, i could say a million things about this and i'd only have a million left to say then. but all that talking won't come near enough to distill the feeling that was left in me after reading. THANK YOU SO MUCH for sharing this with us. i feel amazing to have such talented friends! amazing work!
did you rip my heart out my chest? oh my god.
Truly at a loss of words. Some pieces you read and everything around you stops from the weight of what you're reading. You do it so well, Sadim, the pain, the graphic-ness, the guilt. This is heavenly, and simultaneously bloody and hellish to read.
dear sadim,
You weren’t born a slut. that word was put on you by hands and mouths that should’ve protected you.
Not screaming wasn’t consent. surviving doesn’t make you guilty.
You carry pain like poetry, but please remember, you are not what they did to you.
You are what you choose now.
I believe you. and I hope one day, you will too.
with care,
someone who understands
A powerful exploration of reclaiming agency and identity in a world quick to label. Your reflections challenge societal norms and encourage a more nuanced understanding of autonomy.