#I'd like to think the income helps the city but there's simply not space in that town for that many people

[jellogram]

reblog to kill it faster

[musingsofmum]

So, you ladies have always said I need to record my words..do a TEDtalk or something similar... So I trawled the DuckDuckGo pond and came across Tmblr and here I am 😘

My plan is to fill up a space in here with my ramblings and musings for you to reflect upon later. So my words may "live on" 😌

Life's been hard for us lately, for this I feel so sorry. I just want you to know how proud I am of you and how you've faced these challenges and not surrendered into a dark funk like I know would be most natural to do.

To be homeless in the country is different to being homeless in the cities, for this I am most grateful. I am grateful for you both, my gorgeous twin girls who have learned so many new skills in these last month's of our crazy dance. Without your kind attention and fuck, your PHYSICAL help with lashing ropes, holding poles and carting water- I don't know where I'd be .. See you have done so very much to ease the pressure on me - the Matriarch of our nestless flock.

I remember wondering how "good" people ended up homeless. If you pay your bills and treat people with respect you will always be alright, right? Sadly, no. That is not always the case in this life filled with variables. Sometimes being a good human isn't enough and sometimes the next "break" doesn't happen and things simply don't fall into place. For me, when such a time came I chose to be super positive and flexible : no house? No worries we will make one on wheels so we will get by. No where to park up? That's okay we can stay on a mates paddock. Mosquito plague and sick kids? Okay then, we shall move to a hotel for a few nights or a week..until now, being camped with a broken down car on a site with limited water & excessive noise, having just received notice.

All the while searching for homes day and night but being beat to the punch because of a limited income ..Thankyou my ladies for being there when I simply couldn't stop crying back when we first arrived at this shed. Thankyou for being great big sisters and helping the babies deal with a constantly tearful mum.. Thankyou Tahnee for seeking your gratitude and for reminding me to seek mine... Your suggestion that served to slowly lift the Black Dogs breath from off my nape . Thankyou Storm for being my mirror - in you I see myself and I think you are fantastic..so in some weird semi narcissistic way- being around you helps me to love myself. And that's really big honey.

So in ALL ways..from relational to physical to deep within my inner psyche..having you gorgeous women by my side has helped me greatly. For that I am so very thankful..

I hope you see me trying to get us out of this. You see the ways every day I try an gift us all comfort. These things are all for you guys..every day I breathe. I breathe for you kids. I know it will get better..as much as I've said that and still we are homeless..I have gotta maintain faith that it WILL GET BETTER.

I love you girls.

Thankyou for loving me

❣️

#BlackDog

#Homelessness

#GreatAustralianHousingShortage

#fromMetoYou

#Mum

#LittleWomen

#Twinsattwenty

#gratitude

#Mumsfirstpost

[jacksgreysays]

I tend primarily to feel the most like writing when I've just seen someone else write something (or when I've promised someone else I'd write, lol), and I've loved what you've done with the Sakako and Fear To Tread stuff, and you were the first person I thought of when I came up with this (in the next ask):

Peeling away from your flesh leaves a lot of detail behind. The shape of “You” isn’t the same as the shape of your body; the shape of you grows to fill whatever space it’s given. And when I step away from things, just for a bit, I feel bigger and bolder than I have ever grown inside. But I take the bags beneath my eyes with me, and the scar on my left arm (though I don’t take the arm to go with it). I take my aches and my pains with me; I only leave behind the things that aren’t me at all.

A/N: Not to curtail your prompt again, lionheadbookheads, but I’m getting very strong vibes of Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye as well as that one other time you sent me a prompt about the songs “It’s Thunder and It’s Lightning” and “Thunder” and I guess what I’m saying here is that I want to do a Tetsuki Kaiza piece for this prompt, I hope you don’t mind.

Basically, given the whole “who I am is not my physical body” theme, there is a very definitive spiritual over physical and reincarnation message going on here and Tetsuki does do that so… please enjoy?

—

Viridescent: Or, Tetsuki Follows Her Dreams

She closes her eyes, feels the sunshine warm on her face, and takes a deep breath; the spring breeze carries hints of winter still, cool and slightly damp, but the scent of early blooming flowers layers over that.

Her mobile phone buzzes in her pocket, a staccato vibration, a summoning. The man who pays her income but will never be her Boss, the man who supports her lifestyle but doesn’t provide her survival, the man who determines her waking and sleeping hours but never her thoughts or dreams.

She opens her eyes, raises a hand, and lifts a gun to her temple. Inelegant, but efficient. It reminds her of home.

She pulls the trigger.

She wakes up.

///

She is born in the late autumn months, as both year and century draw to an end. She is born to Fuyuko and Toichi Kaiza in a hospital technically but barely within Tokyo. She is born a wailing, red-faced, and thoroughly average baby girl.

What happens to her after is far from from average.

///

For all that dream-sharing is a largely international industry, it would inaccurate to say that it is one homogenous community. They do not always match official country borders, but there are enclaves within dream-sharing with its own customs and cultures and rules.

Japan is one such enclave.

For the most part, so long as there is no immediate conflict of interest, foreign dreamers may conduct their business without any interference from local entities. This rule is but the second that broadly reigns over the Japanese dream-sharing community.

The first is simply: do not mess with Azuma.

///

The thoroughly average baby girl that will one day be known in certain circles as Azuma does not have a good or even average childhood. She tries to run away from her parents at age six and manages to elude the very expensive private detective service her parents hired for two weeks before getting caught.

Despite the broken arm, it is not the last time she does this. It will be another eight years and twenty or so attempts before she manages to definitively escape her parents’ clutches and that perhaps has equal amount to do with them getting bored as it is with her expertise.

She is searching for people and places that don’t exist anywhere but her own mind, but at least it’s better than staying where she was.

///

Saito of Proclus Global has three executive assistants, all of whom speak a minimum of four languages, are qualified as triple-A certified bodyguards and emergency medical technicians, and have extensive counterintelligence training, among other varied and useful talents.

Though the woman known as Azuma can also be described as such and is frequently seen in proximity of Saito, she is not one of said executive assistants.

Her talents are a little more varied and useful than that.

///

The knowledge she has is helpful–blades and human vulnerabilities the same no matter what, languages and critical training filtering through as needed–but she remembers having powers beyond physical possibility and that’s what ultimately betrays her.

A teenager, no matter how skilled or smart or shrewd, will never be completely safe in the criminal underbelly of a big city. A lone teenager without any ties is a tempting target for many parties.

When they grab her, she fights. Foolishly, she thinks she can win. She forgets she doesn’t have endless lightning at her fingertips, energy bolstering her muscles, superhuman and unstoppable.

When they grab her, she loses. She is just a teenager, and they are a unscrupulous, government funded company trying to pioneer an entirely new method of espionage.

///

Azuma’s patron is a matter of public knowledge. It is not a weakness.

Most professional dreamers in Japan have a primary sponsor–another company, a yakuza family, a government official–and while Azuma’s patron does not have technically have the most influence in Japan, well… Proclus Global. Money is its own kind of power. And that’s not even including what Azuma can bring to the table.

Dreamers in Japan know better than to go after Azuma’s patron. Even non-native dreamers who have heard secondhand of Azuma know better than to attempt it.

Which is why, when Cobol Engineering tries to hire extractors to go after Saito, they are forced to outsource to an unhinged suspected murderer, his loyal point man, and a mediocre architect.

///

The early stages of Somnacin were riddled with problems. Unstable, inefficient, addictive–anything that could have gone wrong, did.

Her body hated every second of it, every drop that coursed through her veins. She spent the next few years in a constantly nauseated state of misery, sick and shaking, more asleep than awake and so terribly weak.

Physically, that is.

Mentally, everything she had lost was regained. The power that eluded her in the waking world flowed easily at her command, the dreamscape the most welcoming place she had been in years.

The other subjects washout–brains fried, suicide, crumbling under the pressure–but she remains. No, more than that, she thrives.

///

Azuma is not an extractor; she is not a point person or architect or chemist either. She can do all of those jobs, of course, but she thinks dividing roles that way is arbitrary and limiting. She is a professional dreamer, with all the responsibilities and capabilities involved.

Her outside reputation is as a forger, though that isn’t quite right either.

Even in dreams, no one can do what Azuma can.

///

Tetsuki is happiest when she dreams.