Archive for October, 2006

FatLand: The Early Days – 32

October 30, 2006

As they came in sight of the Western checkpoint, Margaret asked the driver to stop the car.

 She got out and looked around.

To the right she saw the flanks of the Colorado rockies, already bathed in snow. To the left she saw the town of Valhalla.

In her mind’s eye she saw a man and an edition of a newspaper.

 He promised, she thought. I probably should have accepted, and will regret not doing so.

 But she couldn’t imagine having to clear design and editorial policy with anyone else, and especially him.

If I deal with the devil, I become like the devil or at least devilish.

She got back into the car. “I’m ready,” she said to the driver.

The car sped up to the Western checkpoint. The driver said something to the soldier on duty, who took Margaret’s passport without a word.

Silent world they have here now, she thought. Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing, to be getting out of here into a world in which people still talk to each other.

She was motioned out of the car.

She waited and watched in astonishment as the soldier gave the car and trunk a thorough going over.

What in heaven’s name does he expect to find in here, she wondered. Contraband cakes?

“Is there a problem?” she asked the soldier, surprised to hear her own voice, but glad somehow that she was saying it.

“No, ma’am.”

The soldier searched the car for about five more minutes.

She thought, Stark? Can he have ordered or bribed his way to this?

The soldier looked over her passport, then handed it to her, reluctantly, it seemed. No mention of a nice trip or even having a good day.

She said to the driver, “Let’s get out of here.”

The car accelerated toward the FatLand Eastern checkpoint.

 As they came within sight of the checkpoint, she was astonished to see a group of people waving and smiling.

A band started to play.

Margaret, to her own outrage and shock -both of which didn’t last very long- started to cry.

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FatLand: The Early Days – 31

October 27, 2006

Angela dutifully relayed the advice given by Francis and Bellea when she returned to FatLand. But she could see Charla wasn’t exactly pleased.

“What do you suggest we do?” she asked Charla.

“Hire the detective. Let him tell us at least if he’s okay before anything else.”

“I’ll second that,” Evan said.

The motion was voted on and approved.

“We’ve got a concert hall in progress and another restaurant,” Brenton said. “Or rather we did, when- ” He stopped as he saw Charla’s face.

“I’m sorry, hon,” he said, and offered his handkerchief.

“Thanks,” Charla said, accepting it.

“Now that’s chivalry,” Angela said. “You don’t find that these days.”

Charla dried her eyes and tried to smile.

If I cried, Angela thought, would he offer me a hanky, too?

FatLand: The Early Days – 30

October 25, 2006

“Anything you can do to help, we value,” Angela said. “Including suggestions. Would you hire someone private from Colorado?”

“Yes,” Francis said.  “But I would also advise you not to ask him to try to spring Bill, if he is being held. Just find out where he is, and basically if he is all right.”

“Absolutely,” Bellea agreed.

“I value your understanding,” Angela said. “But if there were a way to get him out?”

“What are you going to do?” Francis said. “Create your own army?”

“You know, we never talked about that,” Angela said. “We have a few border agents who serve in the capacity of police, but we never thought of defense or armies or such. We didn’t think we’d need them. Now I wonder.”

“It wouldn’t help in this case anyway,” Bellea said. Her soft brown eyes looked troubled. “And that kind of discussion would be more likely to divide than to help or unite.”

“You are so right,” Angela said. “And so wise.  I can’t convince you to come to FatLand, but I do appreciate your suggestions. I’ll take them to the Board.” She sighed. “I guess you’re all right as long as you can keep eating here.”

“We grease the right palms,” Francis said. “Everyone wants a yummy meal and dessert, even though a lot of it is forbidden.”

“For skinny people too?”

“They can show cause. We can’t. But they still have to keep to the weekly allowance of fat and sugar if they don’t get some kind of note.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t sent officers and cameras in here.”

“Are you kidding?” Francis said. “Officers are one of our mainstays. They love it here.  No one sees them and they get to chow down.”

“Wonderful arrangement,” Angela said.

“You bet,” Bellea agreed. 

FatLand: The Early Days – 29

October 24, 2006

“Well, what else could happen to him?”

“Usually Stark’s approach isn’t through force. It’s subtler.”

“You think he might try to buy Bill?”

“That’s one possibility.”

“What are the others?”

“Variations. Might try to offer him some kind of partnership. Or a couple of houses.”

“What if Bill doesn’t accept?”

“Ah.”

“And that means?”

Bellea put down her fork. “We’ve never seen it, mind you,” she said.  “It’s always been a rumor.  But we’ve had some evidence that it exists.”

“Stark’s house in the mountains?”

“More than just a house,” Francis said. “It’s an underground fortress, according to the rumors.”

“He might try to hold Bill there?”

“That is very possible. Especially if he kidnapped him or had him kidnapped.”

“Oh God. How do I tell this to Charla? And what can we do about it?”

“Police won’t help,” Bellea said. “You need private people.”

“To do what? Save Bill?”

“At least to find out if he’s there.”

FatLand: The Early Days – 28

October 21, 2006

This is surreal, Angela thought as she met Francis and Bellea outside the brand new Laurels Diner.

She said to them, “Do the guards at the Colorado border always hold your passport for ages?”

“Depends,” Francis said. “So what do you think of our diner?”

“Looks splendid, actually.  I don’t see Stark’s gym anywhere around, though.”

“We don’t, either,” Bellea said. “Just as well.”

“I wonder what he’s waiting for,” Angela said. “Hey, is this place actually open?”

“Open and running,” Francis said. “Try the mud pie with whipped cream.”

“Try the brown betty with caramel sauce,” Bellea said.

“If I ate either of those now, I’d get high,” Angela said. But she ordered the strawberry cake sherbet delight.

“We don’t know what happened to Bill,” she said. “He was in a quadrant supervising and then…”

“Are you sure he’s not in FatLand?” Francis asked. She ordered the rum raisin bread pudding with amaretto cream..

“Yes.”

“What makes you think he might be here?”

“He had some former connections with Stark.”

“Aha,” Francis said. “In that case, there is a possibility that he may be in Rocky End.”

“Is that an amusement park or a sea resort?”

“Hahahah,” Bellea laughed. “Closer  to the former.”

“Where, exactly?”

“Mountains. On your eastern side, actually.”

“So you think Bill may be there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think – ?” Angela hesitated.

“He’s probably not in any physical danger,” Francis said.

“What other kind of danger would there be?” Angela asked.

“That depends,” Francis said.

FatLand: The Early Days – 27

October 19, 2006

When nightfall came, Bill still hadn’t shown up.

The Board kept looking at Charla, then at each otther.

“I know this was supposed to be about getting a few amenities associated with a downtown,” Brenton said, “but I think our focus has shifted.  So. Let’s have suggestions as to what we should do about Bill.”

“I was going to say call the police,” Ronnie said. “But then I remembered how the police used to treat us.”

“Some of them were okay,” Charla said. “Some weren’t. It depended.”

“Sorry,” Angela said, “but I still remember when they used to call me big, fat, ugly behind my back.”

Darren said, “As distasteful as it may seem, they may be our only recourse. Who else would be able totrack down someone in the mountains that way?”

Angela sighed. “You may be right. What do you think, Evan?”

“I think we should call them, or get someone to call them. How about FatandProud? We should get in touch with them too to see if there is something else we might not know.”

“Good idea,” Brenton agreed.

“You know,”Angela said, “I’ll get in touch with them first.  Maybe they can advise us as to whether we can call the police also, or call them for us, or know which ones we should work with.”

“Is that a resolution?” Brenton asked. “Would you like to make it one?”

“Be it resolved,” Angela said, “that I shall get in touch with FatandProud with the objective of obtaining their advice as to whether the police should be called, and if so, which section should be called.”

“Second,” Charla said.

“Hands,” Brenton said.

All hands went up.

“So be it,” Brenton said. “Angela shall contact FatandProud to get advice on calling the police and anything else they feel should be done.”

“And,” he added, “I know we had the amenities item on our agenda, but I think that we’ll get to that  tomorrow.”

As the meeting adjourned, Angela said to Charla, “Do you want to come to my bunk for tonight?”

“I’d better stay here,” Charla said. “In case there’s a phone call or something.”

“I know how you feel,” Angela said. “I’ll be around if you need to talk.”

“Thanks.”

Rant for Love Your Body Day

October 18, 2006

How ironic..I was thinking of Love Your Body Day as a time to put some kind of wonderful-smelling lotion on myself or sit back and enjoy some wonderfully sensual movies (I may yet have the chance to do that when I get home). I truly didn’t dream that I would have to try to convince a member of a Fat Acceptance Blog that fat women and fat people are beautiful or that Fat Rights should be celebrated along with Love Your Body Day!! 

It is a good sobering lesson for me, though. We have a lot of ground to travel. Old attitudes toward beauty and toward fat people die very hard.  The media saturates the airwaves and net and print with admonishments about fat being bad and with the unbelievably wrong and pernicious junk science that has already been disproven, but that they still trot out with such enthusiasm, often because Diet Centers and Fitness Centers and pharmaceutical conglomerates advertise on all of these media.  And it is very very difficult to contradict a lifetime of dieting brainwashing and the wonderfully simple, entirely wrong equation of “People get fat because they eat too much and don’t exercise enough.”

But we have to keep on fighting. Otherwise even more people will die from BLS complications and from incorrect and lazy diagnoses by bigoted medical personnel. Otherwise superbly talented people will never be encouraged to raise their voices in literature, drama, music and art.  Otherwise it will still be considered okay to make fat people uncomfortable.

I like to think of “Love Your Body Day” as a *real* Independence Day for women of all shapes and sizes. May our diversity sparkle and light up a nation.

Love Your Body Day – Four Poems

October 17, 2006

Love Your Body Day, October 18, celebrates the bodies of women and the right of women to love their bodies as they are, in whatever shape they appear, and to be comfortable and happy in them.  Here I feature four poems by people in FPS, Fat Poets Society, that celebrate the beauty of the bodies of fat women and their right to enjoy them.  Two are by Lesleigh Owen, one is by Kathy Barron, and one is by yours truly, Frannie Zellman.

 Enjoy and revel in the wonder and beauty of fullness!

Frannie 

Mirror, Mirror

 An earthy, breathing image
 of wonderland
 like nothing Rubens ever painted.

 I turn my head and see her:
 Drowsy, sated, fat goddess
 lying on her side,
 breasts straining toward the soft tousle
 of hotel bed covers,
 reddened eyes spilling into mine,
 laughing, her teeth inside her sore red lips
 and above her chafed chin
 as white as the
 puckered expanse
> of kneaded bread dough belly.

 I reach toward her
 and she toward me,
 clasping each other’s smooth, cool hands,
 we whisper giggling, sisterly secrets
 above the gentle hiss
 of falling water.


> by Lesleigh Owen,
> written 10.14.6, copyright 2006
 

 

Ceres 

 

Autumn’s smooth, puffy bronze cheeks,
 salty sweet chin
 Gently creaking sounds of awakening,
 Bones groaning like the cracking
 of a rusty cellar door,
 Autumn, with her dusty-wheat-scented breaths,
 whose round, curving, gently drooping body
 polishes the world into
 smooth, gray contours

 Her eyes,
 like newly-discovered amber
 with never-popped air bubbles,
 warm the room like vanilla-scented candlelight
 as she envelops the world in her
 spicy rolls of flesh

 Summer’s not the time for me:
 Sunlight that casts angular shadows in wide-open mouths
 No more feeling the scrape of sand
 sloughing over my dense curves,
 trying to whittle down my folds of flesh
 into smooth, plastic expanses of cookie cutter skin
 No more poppy-scented laughs
 that chime like dissonant dinner bells
 and abrade my delicate ears

 Bright white light
 Take away my sight
 Thin, hungry, sweaty bodies,
 arms shaking, smiles flaking, biceps quaking
 Frozen in flashes of sunlight on teeth
 False idols of perfection
 that die before they can ever
 live a full-bodied life

Autumn, that sweet, round, wise, dangerous old woman
 arrives slyly in her orange, Cinderella-like pumpkin —
 as round and majestic as people —
 tossing dried, crackling, russet leaves like confetti or candy:
“Throw me something, grandmother!”

Autumn: Happy, crisp, nutmeg, rounded season
 My mouth opens and closes in happy little O’s
 over words like “orange” and “clove,”
 circular, bouncing words,
 round, rich, and warm.
 Leaves bend and snap beneath my ponderous weight
 while the scent of earth weaves like cinnamon
 through my sinuses.

 Yawning, indolent light puffs gently through
 twisted branches and desiccated leaves,
 shining golden orange
 like heaps of buttered, cinnamon-scented, steaming mashed yams
 or lightly-oiled strings of spaghetti squash

 Walking this cooling, linear stretch of sidewalk,
 I am tempted to bite into the toothy, yellow winds
 that crease around my body like well-starched sheets,
 to jump high and far,
 passing through the low-hanging laundry
 snapping in the sky,
 jump miles away from all scents of limestone and exhaust,
 to throw my gray, woolen poncho over the clouds
 and roll in the decaying scent of leaves
 that stick to my face
 like allspice on a baker’s hands

 I can finally breathe beneath this nubby grayness
 that stretches like a fluffy headscarf
 over the dome of the sky.

 Seasonal bounty,
 Harvest time, time for rest
 Shelving our immature dreams
 And discovering reverence for plenty

 At night, I eat ginger carrot soup for supper
 and slurp pumpkin custard from heirloom dishes
 My squash-shaped body, —
 honored for its softness,
 its abundance,
 its life-affirming heaviness —
 snuggles into the scratchy red blanket
 crocheted for me by my mother
 while I bounce children and tradition
 on my plump, arthritic knees
 and sip cocoa and warm candlelight.

 Fatness and autumn:
 Round, pumpkiny, bountiful:
 A sensual feast

Fatness and autumn, —
lush and earth-scented as mounds of warm flesh —
dance together in gentle spirals
 like leaves in a windstorm

 Come evening time, Autumn and I sit
 like old friends,
cackling on the front porch,
 bellies bouncing together
 while heavy, purple mugs of chamomile tea
 warm our loving, generous,
 fleshy hands.

Lesleigh Owen, written 10.9.6, copyright 2006

 

 

 

 

Feast of Fruit

Long watermelon thighs,
round, firm, heavy,
solid, ripe, weighty
roll apart easily
exposing
the tender fig
husband-lover pulls open
licking the fruit
before he sucks it
gently into his mouth,
pulling the fruit
away from the skin
steadily,
his tongue gripping
delicately.
Drinking.
Feasting.

Pear breasts
with peach nipples,
raspberry points,
sway gently
as the pumpkin belly
quivers.
Fat, round McIntosh arms
move freely
as though floating
in water
waiting to be claimed
with splashing teeth
and happy laughter.

Plum cheeks
and cherry lips
redden with desire
satiating.

by Kathy Barron
Copyright, 2006

My permission is granted to share this poem as long as it is attributed to
me and is not changed or altered in any way. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Making Movies
The woman’s large soft dangling breast
Rests in his strong muscled meaty hand.

The man’s luscious flowing belly
Touches her dimpled succulent thighs.

The woman’s gently rippling bottom
Kneads her husband’s sleek wide chest.

Their creamy bodies shake and dissolve
Into each other, the pooling massive, engorged,
Wildly long.

One day their epitaph will read:
These two fat gorgeous people loved each other.
If you loved them, love yourself.

One day my epitaph will read:
This person loved fat people and found them gorgeous.
If you loved her, love them. 

 

by Frannie Zellman, c. 2006

FatLand: The Early Days – 27

October 16, 2006

At the meeting, Angela said, “I know we can’t exactly create an instant downtown, but we do need one.”

 Brenton said, “You don’t create a downtown. You sort of get one when and as you need it.”

“Then think of it this way, ” Charla said. “Let’s start to put in a few things we need anyway, like stores and a concert hall.  If it turns into a downtown, so be it.”

“Is Bill around?” Darren asked Charla.

“He’ll be back this afternoon. He was looking at a new development in the south quadrant.”

But when afternoon came, Bill was nowhere to be found. As afternoon drifted into evening, Charla became concerned.

“That is so not like him,” she observed to Angela as Angela oversaw the assemblage of scallops newburg and a vegetable terrine.

“He’ll be back soon,” Angela assured her, though a bit uneasy herself. “He probably got held up by some questions or some glitch.”

“That must be it,” Charla agreed.

“Here,” Angela said, picking up a tray. “Have a cheese and mushroom canape.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Charla said and put one in her mouth. “Mmmmm.” She took another. “I hope you have more.”

“Loads,” Angela said. “And please don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be back. He never misses our dinner.”

“True,”Charla agreed.

FatLand: The Early Days – 26

October 15, 2006

“Guess what!” Charla burst into the restaurant as Angela was supervising the crafting of Belgian waffles with strawberries and double cream.

“What? Angela asked.

“She’s coming.”

“By that,” Angela said, “I take it you mean Margaret is coming?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In a couple of weeks. She said she had to get everything cleared up first.”

“Where will she be staying?”

“In the center of town. She likes urban living, she said.”

“We don’t have much of a center yet,” Angela observed. “I guess we should do something about it. Centers need stores and restaurants.”

“And life and movement.”

“I think we need a meeting about this,” Angela said.

“Yes,” Charla agreed. She reached for a strawberry. Angela took one as well.

“Let’s call it as soon as the waffles are done,” Angela said.

“Good way to start a meeting.”

“That’s the idea.”