About the Author
Alister Flik grew up in a fundamentalist Christian home in the Midwest with a healthy variety of crazy available to her, and her middle child syndrome hardly affects her at all anymore. At 18, she moved to the West Coast, got a tattoo, and now lives happily as a quirky theist amidst the Portland heathens she so dearly loves. Her idols are Joan of Arc (crazy or not), Flannery O'Connor, and Daria. Her favorite superhero is the perfect superhuman combination of Joan of Arc, Flannery O'Connor, and Daria dressed in a cape, armor, boots, and armed with wit and a pen. She is currently looking for someone to illustrate this into a comic book.
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medusa rising
medusa rising

were i a man of the same, or any, age
this wouldn't exist.

seeing since a suckling child
stories of violence where men clash in combat.
run and run with their hard honor,
their rock-like restraint, their guns, knives,
or swords that slice through monsters
throwing blood on walls to stop the claws
for the lips of the young girl, skin pale and
trembling in her white dress.

seeing slowly led to the smirk that
from the start was not
actually mine, much like the sinister look that
crept low into my eyes.  but

there formed a dark woman inside who defied
woman and whose eyes cut
into all mankind.  she stalked
sideways, steady, and strong--
slinking and swaying each step
in sync with her dark hum.

but were i a man
she wouldn't exist.
her evolution could never have risen
from the glue of grey matter to stick in the quick
synapses snapping
eyes at the world.
pictures of men with weapons out,
their authority commands
this must stay in.  can only hide
in the secreted folds
of the flower they fight to win.

until the moment she slides in my mind, dark
woman, all knowing eyes and smirk.
confident in violent sins.
teeth under skin--soft scarred skin
where bruises glint
and grin at the eye like tattoos--
bold blood slithering hot within.

all parts of her coiled,
waiting to strike, to set
against a smile with a cool bite and say,

if you stand in my way, I will take your life
when you race at my strength
with all your rage, I will bleed you by
your lips until you, rock-like restrained, stand
as still as stone.  

and they will know i stayed closed in
this secret until i might reflect all my own.


Last edited by Alister Flik on June 13, 2011, 4:06 pm
"I do not think, therefore I am a mustache."
-Sartre *Nausea*
Francis Meyrick

My favorite lines are:

"there is a dark woman inside who defies
woman and whose eyes cut
into mankind all."

It's interesting to see the hints and suggestions, and the measured obscurity.
The choice of expressions is so varied, that we are free and/or obliged to interpret
as we see fit.

"imagined dark woman, all eyes and smirk.
confidence in violent sins.
teeth under skin, soft scarred skin
where bruises grin at the eye like tattoos.
bold blood slithering hot within."

That's rich language.  Very intense.  "where bruises grin..."

Good job.

We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
Posted on Sunday, May 15, 2011 at 10:39:18

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