The Blades

A Femme Shark + Eco-dystopian Sci-fi piece by Tongtong (Petra) Yang

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“We have no categories. No gender, no mentally normal or ill, no official language, no government, no marriage, no money as currency, no race or ethnicity, no class. We make our own blades and our own moon.”

– Blade of HalfMoon Manifesto

How long can you stay mad/furious/enraged/irritated/indignant before losing it? I’ve been asking myself that question for a few weeks. People back in 2020 might use the pumping balloon and explosion metaphor. Plastic balloons, essentially fossil fuel, are extinct. Why do I know they exist? My generation’s kids grew up learning that history with balloons of all shapes and colors standing at the front of parking lots greeting customers to fast food places, clustering like grapes in birthday parties and graduation ceremonies, and carrying handwriting in oil black pen flying in the hallway of a gallery. They said the forests here avenged after going bald. The revenge lasted for a whole month when it was snowing and deadly quiet. A perfect time to bury bodies. Do you know pre-Blade people paid a lot to maintain their relevances’ graveyards? They could have gone into the ocean or flushed themselves down the K-toilet. During the revenge, people were silent like chickens and the recreation industry gradually died out. Bladers got to canoe (extravagant stupid tomato red like someone’s choked) from time to time, with wildflowers in our hair. Green is Bladers’ color. 

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[Ebral singing]

Renovate

Add a B to your name

Study all Blader 

languages

And make a 

new one

新生

Walk barefoot in the Paper Excellence 

Remain

Iced lake

Gulp the now stream

Previous steam

Men hand logging 

Timber. Lean on

One and visit often

Visit The Shade

Stare at the newcomers

Through

Their waxing Gibbous Phase

Carve a Glittering Cave

Dry

A linen cloth

Put it on your Blade

Try

Double moon

Hunt a rabbit

Pick rosemary

Harvest a lemon

Cook in The Jut

Sit with solar panels

Charge a camera

Direct 

Film

Dance. Music. Art.

Mud

おやすみ

[Tonkba strolling in The Bmain]

Tonkba: Zeb will send me to North America Arm #4 next week to start my first-ever mission. I will then fly to #70 in Sept and #41 next year. I hope there’s coffee and Levofloxacin and moxifloxacin and all on that list. Ebral will take care of my eagles. Bladers prepared artworks, bows and arrows, some climbing stuff, and  Šebfika the healer. We will depart at dawn.

Nabomi: Oh, you got Zeb. Who were my first mission tutor again? Can’t remember. I see you got your double moon.

Tonkba: They’re all tight and sharp. Still practicing the Loi move. Can you show me?

Nabomi: Like this.

Tonkba: Can you do it again, please please please?

Nabomi: It’s deep in the night. I can’t hear my eagles.

[Tonkba blinking their starry eyes]

Nabomi: I’m hungry, sneak to The Jut and cook me proper ramen. I don’t get bribed by your beautiful face.

Tonkba: !!!I’ll be back in 20, before you fall asleep.

[Nabomi waving their hands, turning to their side]

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“A group of sustainability advocates flooded the beautiful BC forests and set up another cult. Many young boys lost their lives there. These people do not use money. You can find photos of their exotic farms taken by our journalist Paul Bristle. They don’t get married. Naked dirty bodies run in those forests. They eat whatever they want. They are against human civilization. Do not go.”