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[personal profile] bleodswean
 
That shattering glass, not a windshield but a doorway of shock and awe, into another place. As though she had left a place for the sole reason of arriving at another place. No wandering in between. She had never been good at telling a story, not like Daddy could be around a fire, but if she had survived then perhaps, she would have been able to say out loud those moments in a way that would capture the sheer impossibility of a human body in flight. Not falling but flying, the propulsion of her skeleton, all bone projectile, into the headlight lit darkness. The impact of her head with the windscreen was the killing blow, of course it was, yet she traveled onward still alive, through the glass, over the crumpled hood and into the forever night. Leaving both sneakers behind as she went. Did she see the stars in their firmament? In this strange leave-taking she lingered on a while, the air above and surround her insubstantial, the pavement solid beneath her, the summer scorched heat of it a small comfort to her cooling body, the bloody halo of her long blonde hair creating a vision of such suffering, such loss, hers a miraculous martyred death. Our Teenaged Lady of the Automobile Collision. The shattered shoulder bones, the leaking skull. The impossible sense of soaring passing through her nerve endings, dissipating through her pores. Simultaneous departure and arrival and departure. The touch and go of her short life. 
 
The afternoon of the day had grown hot. Morning spent working in Daddy’s garden. It was time for the leafy branches to be snipped off close to the stem to allow the lengthening buds all the sunlight. He didn’t pay her out, they had nothing extra for allowances, but after the harvest late in the fall, just before winter, he could be generous with the crumpled bills that began to stuff his pockets. She’d walk her brothers to the store, cold winds blowing through them, and buy the boys candy bars and herself a fashion magazine.
 
Daddy had two other daughters before she was born. One lived up in Alaska with her own momma and the other one of them lived in an old camp trailer on Daddy’s property with her baby. She was her momma’s oldest, after her came four more, all boys and of course Daddy was partial to them on account that they were boys, but he was good to all his children and just the day before this day Momma said she was expecting another one come springtime. She whisper prayed that it would be a girl, a sister, another sister.
 
Now the day was bending open the bars that held her prisoner, soon she would be freed. It was just gone noon. She had made sandwiches for her brothers, cleaned the kitchen and Momma told her she was allowed to walk down the road to the swimming hole. She longed to go on her own and Momma said that was fine, too, but only on account that two of her brothers seemed to be suffering from the heat and Momma wanted to keep a closer eye on them. It was hot and had been hot for going on a week. They’d taken to sleeping out of doors on the wood slatted porch, but the night before a bear had woken them up pawing through garbage and the compost and Daddy said they had to be back inside the house until he either could get a decent shot off or someone else on the hill got him first. Dressed bear in the chest freezer would be a treat. 
 
She was fourteen years old that summer day. Highschool in the fall and she couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Tried and failed. Thought she might be more than what she was, if such a thing was possible and even then, couldn’t tell you accurately what that more looked like. Knew that somewhere out there more was waiting to be had, one just needed to get to where it was at. Arrive with eyes wide opened and announce themselves with attention.
 
Cut off shorts and a bikini top, knock off Converse low tops, and her waist-length hair swinging over her shoulders, near white it was so light colored, and she swung it back and forth with a practiced toss of her head. Girl we known it was you from way down the road, he said to her when he pulled over. Driving his uncle’s truck leaning out the window at her diesel exhaust smelling so dangerously sweet and another boy she didn’t know jumped out and opened the passenger side door for her like they’d been expecting her and no one but her, and she climbed up into the cab and knew her daddy wouldn’t be at all happy because he said Levi’s family was one to steer clear of whenever mannerly possible. But Levi had his hair shorn short dagger sideburns delineating his jaw line and a swagger in his long-legged stride. On the bus, he sat way at the back while she had to sit in the front with her younger brothers, sometimes holding Caden’s hand to keep him from crying, which he was prone to doing because the only thing he wanted in the wide world was to be home in the kitchen with Momma. The high schoolers got off the bus first stop and when it came springtime, Levi started tapping her on the shoulder as he walked past and then that last week of school he sat himself down right behind her on the way home every day and caught the ends of her hair in his loose-fisted palms. Sometimes his fingers, dirty and sticky with cannabis oil would tap tap the knobs of her spine. You’re real skinny, he would tell her in a voice so quiet and low it could only be meant as a secret of some kind. And the nerves would explode across her shoulders and at night in her bed she would think about the heat of his fingers and roll over onto her stomach believing that wings could be coaxed out of the two thin blades in her back. Those shoulder bones were a storehouse inside her body for all that tingling sensation caused by his fingers on her flesh. 
 
Now she was sitting on the bench seat right up next to him. Don’t be shy girl he laughed. Bet you ain’t brave enough to jump off that high rock. The other boy had his window rolled down open too and he craned his body out of it and whooped loud. Levi gunned the big truck and black exhaust rolled out of the dual pipes and he fishtailed a bit and she gasped but the boys laughed. And soon she was laughing too. 
 
They raced one another down to the swimming hole but the boys veered up the narrow path to the high rock. She kept on down to the rocky beach, looking up. Can you see me from there? He called down to her and she nodded. What? He yelled. I can, I can see you! She visored both hands over her eyes and watched him watching her as he leaped off the rock.
 
There was no way not to be alive that afternoon.
 
She felt no pain outside the hurt of leaving. She couldn’t close her eyes as though to sleep; her soul was exiting through her vision itself. What’s the time, she asked. Her world spinning now, the dizziness of the calling fade. No more thought everything a retinal remembering. 

That day in the rain when I was almost turned sixteen telling him I had missed that month and he began to speed down and down the winding dirt roads? Or later while we raised up three young’uns and he had a bad spell with liquor and somehow it all came to a screaming head that afternoon in the truck? Or was it only the two of us again, that morning of such sadness, driving in the snow back from the hospital? Or before all that, the first sweltered day of summer when he drove us down to the swimming hole, before ditching his friend because he said he had something he wanted to show me, just him and me, and I knew without knowing how that this was my arriving. 
 
donutsweeper: (Default)
[personal profile] donutsweeper
Whoops, I completely forgot to mention in my last post that there was a Friday the 13th tattoo related flash and I wrote an Iron Triangle triple drabble for it: As Evening Slowly Slides Into Night. Summary: An evening, like many others, for the Iron Triangle. (And their shared big bed.)

The Hurt/Comfort exchange has (finally) opened! Lots of fandoms to peruse here. Authors will be revealed on the 11th. I got great Guardian art and a fic for The First Shot and, as always, there's just a ton of amazing things in the collection.

Battleship hit its signup cap within 36 hours of opening so now it's just a random prompt period for a few more days until teams are assigned and then it actually starts on the 12th I think. If you want the chance of getting stuff created (fic, art or podfic) for you, prompting is open to anyone. As prompting is a bit complicated, a few different people have written up guides on how to do it: guide #1, guide #2, and guide #3. All are tumblr posts but I checked them in a private tab and they all work when not signed into tumblr. You might not get anything, but, then again, you might so feel free to peruse the tagset (also linked in all the tumblr posts) and see if there's some fandoms and a few freeform additional tags (500+ ranging from the most E rated things to very, very G) that catch your eye and consider throwing in a prompt or two (or 50, the max).

I've only done 11 prompts so far and haven't decided if I want to do more or not. I tend to keep mine pretty simple as I find my eyes glaze over at huge walls of tags so I pick 10-20 and leave it at that with a few comments in the prompt box along with my DNWs but everyone does it differently. If you want to prompt and have any questions, I'd be happy to help.

Well into the ramp up of this year's Battleship it randomly changed its rules to no longer accept crochet art. I'd already started planning a project to fulfill the 'battlesheep' additional tag and decided to finish it anyway. Behold the 'fearsome' (major use of airquotes there) Battlesheep!! (And I now make up 12.7% of AO3's entire crochet tag between my main and birthday bash account.)

I still haven't gotten any of the links from Pocket posted to any of my research link posts, I really need to start working on that. Ugh. So much to do, so little time.

Last but not least, a single [community profile] recthething fic rec (MDZS/Untamed):
Burn with the sun, die with the sun (series). Summary: A collection of works in which Wen Xu picks Wei Wuxian off Yiling's streets and makes him an integral part of the Wen Sect. (An interesting AU series where shortly after getting his sword WWX is sort of thrown out of the Jiang/Madam Yu sends him to Yiling and tells him he can't return until he's tamed the Burial Mounds but after saving Wen Xu's life there he is taken in by the Wen, currently 3 works, 21k total)

TV report

Jul. 5th, 2025 11:20 pm
sasha_feather: She is played by Tig Notaro and is on Star Trek disco (Jett Reno)
[personal profile] sasha_feather
My eyes are bothering me lately; anything close-focus is hard. Really challenging as most of my hobbies involve close focus. I have a lot of pain in my mouth and face so concentrating is also difficult.

TV seems to be the way to go but I feel like I've run out of shows.

Enjoying: Murderbot. Also loved The Pitt, and the Old Guard 2. Task Master and DropOut (Game changer, etc), continue to delight.

Other things I've watched:

Mr Robot. Gave up after one season. It's grim and humorless. I liked some of the actors a lot but the aesthetic was so gray on gray, and a high preference for very thin bodies and baggy eyes, like heroin-addict chic. For a thriller it's weirdly slow.

The storied life of AJ Fikry: A cromulent romance / drama on Netflix. Cute if not particularly memorable. It's about people who love reading and live on an island only accessible by ferry. Has multiple characters of color.

I watched 2 episodes of "Nobody Wants This", a rom-com with Kristen Bell. Her character falls in love with a rabbi. The characters felt really thinly drawn and so I did not care about them. There was just no there there, as they say.

The Last Breath: a drama about a survival story involving deep-sea construction workers (based on a true story). I liked this pretty well but think it would have worked better with some documentary-style explanations of what was happening.

Clean Slate: on Amazon Prime, a sitcom about a trans woman reconnecting with her father. I dropped this because I could not see what was happening! There seemed to be a gray film over everything! I might try it again later as it had some good humor and characters.

I tried season three of the Bear but it was unpleasant.

I played Dragon Age: Inquisition through twice, which was very restful for my brain actually. I think it would be a good idea to invest further in video games, which help me pass the time when I'm ill. I don't know much about gaming systems. I'd love to play Dragon Age Veilguard and some other newer games but how to decide on what kind of system to get? They are expensive. I got the Xbox 360 used and have absolutely loved having it.

What are you enjoying watching or playing?

(no subject)

Jul. 3rd, 2025 10:36 pm
lycomingst: (Default)
[personal profile] lycomingst
I went to another new store. It’s odd in that there are 3 different hardware stores situated next door to each other. This one specializes in animal feed; I wasn’t there for that but for garden soil. I couldn’t figure out their system. It seemed to involve getting a ticket and going somewhere around the corner to pick up the package. But there were no instructions or floor workers to ask. So I went back to reliable Jerry’s where I knew where things lived. The weird thing about Jerry’s is that they stop stocking bedding plants by the end of June. One big sale and then empty shelves.

It’s been hot here off and on; the heat index is always about 10 degrees higher than the temperature. So, hot.

Agents of Shield is a lot to take as a binge. The writers are working through a lot of trust issues that they probably should see somebody about. Every story involves betrayal. Can’t trust nobody. Also, aliens are interesting; nazis are not. Kyle Maclachlan is having the time of his life actIng out as Crazy Dad. Bust that furniture!

I just read actor Kenneth Colley died. I was a fan of his since I saw him in Pennies from Heaven on tv in the 70s. Always a welcome sight in any tv show or movie.

(no subject)

Jul. 1st, 2025 09:01 pm
ursamajor: Tajel on geeks (geeks: love them)
[personal profile] ursamajor
When [livejournal.com profile] belladonna shares a tweet that got screencapped and put up on Insta:

@ madisontayt_: imagining a vegan who won't drink nyc's tap water because of the microscopic shrimp
@ TheWappleHouse: The what now


and I was like "Yeah! There was this whole thing about NYC's tap water possibly being not kosher because of copepods in the water supply a few years back. Which might've meant that NYC bagels, whose lauded taste and texture were credited to the tap water used to boil them, were potentially treyf. But then other rabbis weighed in and said as long as the proportion of these microscopic crustaceans was less than 1/60th of the total volume, it was okay by the principle of בטל בשישים (bitul b'shishim/beteil beshishim), thank you Shabot6000."



... and then I realized "a few years back" was 21 years ago.
bleodswean: (Default)
[personal profile] bleodswean
If it’s any …
 
It isn’t.
 
I just thought …
 
Don’t. Your thoughts are. Hesitation. Rudimentary. But sincere. I recognize that.
 
Well. For most …
 
Stop. Please. I’m not most.
 
Silence, broken then with. 
 
There is no comfort, no consolation, you see? There is only a letting go. My releasing. Mine. It is a great sluicing of water from off the skin when surfacing out of the depths. A leprosy in which the body sheds its recognizable humanity. Akin to fire, flooding, all the great equalizers of the human spirit is loss. 
 
No pain can be endless.
 
Time lessens, nothing heals. Perhaps the final loss, the dissolution of self. There is that momentary pause in which the soul tells the self rest rest rest now. With those strange urgent shushings the mind exhales and closes an interior eye and the soul sighs and the body relaxes. 
 
Always with the most extreme of analogies.
 
It’s how I process. How I’m formed. The shape of me in this incarnation is allegorical. I admit it. Is it unbearable of me to explain a poetic inclination? 
 
Of course not. 
 
Catch me in one of those expirations then. That numbing prelude to a sleep brought on by the physical and existential exhaustion of the quivering small beast caught in the snare incapable of the final severing of the trapped limb. Perhaps, between respirations I will show gratitude for whatever platitude you long to utter. With such kindness in the dulcet tones of your compassion. 
 
So insulting. But I forgive you.
 
It is no kindness to me. I’m admitting this to you now so that there can be no misunderstanding between us afterwards. In the quiet of acceptance, in the weaking of the bleeding out. You offered me not a ligature, not even a bandage, only the word bandage. Followed by an expectation of a deed done well. Yet, I will nod and listen insomuch as I am able before the next suck breath moment in which I am once again filled with not a gain but a loss. Filled with loss, if you can imagine such a thing. You who have been unlucky to suffer not. Yes, I say unlucky, yes, I call you cursed for your wholeness, your innocence of these mortal woundings, of the soul’s agonies. 
 
And you, I suppose, are blessed by this devastation?
 
Confounded and cast out by the privilege of cataclysmic injury yet I finger the beads and whisper the prayers and allow my eyes to roll back in their sockets from the sheer unknowingness of meaning, the definition of absolutes. Our mother, our father. All these soulful beings arting in their heavens. There is a consecration in catastrophe. 
 
I disagree. You are martyring yourself to this.
 
Martyr? Laughing. This laying on of hands while the blade is hidden in the sleeve, dropped into the palm, the knife snicking out plunging into the heart between the ribs through the lungs a great sucking sound when its pulled back out. Taking life itself with it. The body heartbeating to death through the collapsing arteries.
 
All this because I wanted nothing more than to offer succor.
 
Are you familiar with the consolation prize, my friend? 
 
Certainly, narrowly failing to win.
 
No, finishing last. 
 
Yet recognized! 
 
I don’t want to be recognized for my wounding. Your sympathy is of no value to me. Only to you. So, in an earnest effort to be brotherlike, to recognize that you too will one day bleed, I bite my tongue at refusing your solace. Give it here. In great bucketloads. Pour it out and over me. I’ll hold my breath to keep from drowning in your mollification. It offers some respite, admittedly, to others. 
 
It’s that you can’t bear to be likened to others.
 

the squirrels are in the tree

Jun. 29th, 2025 12:03 am
ursamajor: people on the beach watching the ocean (Default)
[personal profile] ursamajor
[personal profile] hyounpark and I wrapped up our extremely concert-filled June last weekend with two shows in Wine Country, backing up Andrea Bocelli and friends. Three rehearsals in ten days with almost entirely new-to-me repertoire - it felt good to have that kind of intensity of practice again. It's different from regular rehearsal, where we have a month, two, sometimes even three to slowly, steadily polish a single piece. Harder to cram into daily life, but always worth it.

Saturday was also Hyoun's birthday, so I was highly amused when the sound check opened with La donna è mobile from Rigoletto. Because I originally learned that melody in fourth grade as a birthday song!

Archiving the lyrics here because I know I was able to find it on the internet at some point in the past, but no longer. )

the rest of the Bocelli concert experience )

And now, my Wednesday nights are free for a (very) few weeks! (Summersings start July 23, and then after that we're right into rehearsals for Verdi; I hope I'll be able to cram in one or two Wednesday night Friends With Bikes rides during the time off, but we'll need to see.)
donutsweeper: (Default)
[personal profile] donutsweeper
The fifth season of Battleship is about to start. Freeform tag suggestions has closed and is being made into a final list while canon/pairing/character nominations continue. It's looking to be a huge exchange again this year, they've even put a hard cap of 280 signups in the rules. (Last year, when sign ups absolutely exploded, they debated closing early if they reached 280 but it ending up closing just shy of that which was still SO much more than earlier years. According to the AO3 profile pages-which will be vaguely but not 100% accurate for various reasons-it went from 63 signups in 2020 to 62 then 80 then 131 then 263). I'm always a little torn about Battleship, I love aspects of it, but some others are oooof. Apparently signups won't be on AO3 itself this year but via some kind of signup form and will be separate from the AO3 signup/prompt collection? But you have to do both? Or Something. IDK, hopefully it'll make more sense once it actually opens. We'll see how it goes.

Since my last post I finished the Use-Up-This-One-Stashed-Yarn afghan I'd been working on (I had to redo the border 4x to not lose at yarn chicken, but I succeeded eventually!) and made another rug. This time I tried something different with the rug and just followed a green->blue->brown order of adding new strips and didn't stress over making full rounds of any one color nor bothered to try to match up the runner with the color being knotted over it. The result was quite different, but I like it.

Grey crocheted afghan 53”x42
53”x42" give or take 'Vintage Lace' afghan
Green, blue and brown knotted rug
Three tshirt rug, 27” x 18” give or take

And, last but not least, 2 weeks of [community profile] recthething recs (Tumblr art for Batman, Discworld, Dungeon Meshi, Guardian, MDZS/Untamed, Sherlock Holmes-ACD, ST:TOS):

Batman (DCU)
- The Oracle’s hand (love the way the computer circuitry lines mimics spiderwebbing in this)

Discworld
- Nanny Ogg (love this art's take on her and the witches)

Delicious in Dungeon | Dungeon Meshi
- Farcille witch AU- nothing better than crafting potions with your gf (this is so cute)

Guardian
- Sleepy cats (absolutely adorable art of Da Qing sprawled over Zhao Yunlan with both sacked out, sleeping on the couch)

MDZS/The Untamed
- Lan Wanji's morning hair routine (hilarious comic)
- The Headshaker (The animation on the fan is incredible)
- I’ll settle for the ghost of you (this is jut gorgeous)
- when you’re starting to forget your soulmate’s face and there’s nothing you can do about it (oh ooof the feeling behind this one)

Sherlock Holmes- ACD
- doctor, soldier, poet, lover (wonderful set of Watson art, love the gun in the rain one in particular)

Star Trek: TOS
- Whale Song (love this ST IV: The Voyage Home art)
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