#New Year 2019 Poems

[amalgamationink]

[thinkingimages]

Gherasim LUCA (Bucharest, 1913 - Paris, 1994)

Madeleine, undated, autograph manuscript, images cut from magazines with autograph poem, ms 860

Of Romanian origin, Gherasim Luca established close ties with French artistic circles in the early 1930s, most notably with the Surrealist group, before settling permanently in France in 1953.

Described by Gilles Deleuze as "the greatest poet of the French language", Luca developed a work of "limit-hero", to use the title of one of his works (1953), where the deconstruction of language is based on the refusal of political, identity or ethical categories and the recourse, twenty-five years before Deleuze and Félix Guattari, to the notion of anti-Œdipe. His atypical path, where the creative process is inseparable from his personal life, naturally led him to transpose his poetic experiments into the visual arts. In particular, from 1945 onwards, Luca began a series of collages - in which this autograph manuscript is included - made from photographs of various illustrations or, more importantly, reproductions of paintings, cut into squares of equal dimensions. Luca then glued these squares side by side to form a new, original and surprising image, following a process deeply inspired by the Surrealists. He gave these works the name "cubomania", a way of recalling the founding role of the square shape but also probably a way of mocking the heirs of cubism. Beyond the influence of the Surrealists and Marcel Duchamp's scandalous L.H.O.Q. (Musée National d'Art Moderne, Paris, 1919), Luca's "cubomanias" feature a personal dialogue with the most famous works of art of the past, from Leonardo da Vinci to the van Eyck brothers, Caravaggio and Ingres. This manuscript joins one of them acquired in 2019, Madonna of the Bourmestre Meyer (after Holbein).

[sad-boys-book-club]

"&" Ampersand - A Literary Companion

Selected stories with the themes of Bastille's upcoming project "&" Ampersand. And, of course, a love letter to my favourite band.

PART 1

Intros & Narrators: Wallace, David Foster. Oblivion: Stories. Little, Brown and Company, 2004./ Nancherla, Aparna. Unreliable Narrator: Me, Myself, and Impostor Syndrome. Penguin Publishing Group, 2023.// Eve & Paradise Lost: Bohannon, Cat. Eve: How the Female Body Drove 200 Million Years of Human Evolution. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2023. / Milton, John. Paradise Lost. Alma Classics, 2019.// Emily & Her Penthouse In The Sky: Dickinson, Emily. Emily Dickinson’s Poems: As She Preserved Them. Harvard University Press, 2016. /Dickinson, Emily. Emily Dickinson: Letters. Edited by Emily Fragos, Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2011.// Blue Sky & The Painter: Prideaux, Sue. Edvard Munch: Behind the Scream. Yale University Press, 2019. / Knausgaard, Karl Ove. So Much Longing in So Little Space: The Art of Edvard Munch. Random House, 2019.//

PART 2

Leonard & Marianne: Hesthamar, Kari. So Long, Marianne: A Love Story - Includes Rare Material by Leonard Cohen. Ecw Press, 2014./ Cohen, Leonard. Book of Longing. Penguin Books Limited, 2007.// Marie & Polonium: Curie, Eve. Madame Curie. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2013./Sobel, Dava. The Elements of Marie Curie: How the Glow of Radium Lit a Path for Women in Science. Atlantic Monthly Press, 2024.// Red Wine & Wilde: Wilde, Oscar, et al. De Profundis. Harry N. Abrams, 1998./ Sturgis, Matthew. Oscar: A Life. Head of Zeus, 2018.// Seasons & Narcissus: Ovid. Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation. Penguin, 2004./ Morales, Helen. Antigone Rising: The Subversive Power of the Ancient Myths. PublicAffairs, 2020.//

PART 3

Drawbridge & The Baroness: Rothschild, Hannah. The Baroness: The Search for Nica, the Rebellious Rothschild. Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, 2013./ Katz, Judy H. White Awareness: Handbook for Anti-racism Training. University of Oklahoma Press, 1978.// The Soprano & Her Midnight Wonderings: Ardoin, John, and Gerald Fitzgerald. Callas: The Art and the Life. Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1974./ Abramovic, Marina. 7 Deaths of Maria Callas. Damiani, 2020.// Essie & Paul: Ransby, Barbara. Eslanda: The Large and Unconventional Life of Mrs. Paul Robeson. Haymarket Books, 2022./ Robeson, Paul. Here I Stand. Beacon Press, 1998.//

PART 4

Mademoiselle & The Nunnery Blaze: Gautier, Theophile. Mademoiselle de Maupin. Penguin Classics, n.d./ Gardiner, Kelly. Goddess. HarperCollins, 2014.// Zheng Yi Sao & Questions For Her: Chang-Eppig, Rita. Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2023./ Borges, Jorge Luis. A Universal History of Infamy. Penguin Books, 1975. // Telegraph Road 1977 & 2024: Kaufman, Bob. Golden Sardine. City Lights Books, 1976./ Wolfe, Tom. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Pan Macmillan Australia Pty, Limited, 2008.

Original artwork created by Theo Hersey & Dan Smith. Printed letterpress at The Typography Workshop, South London.

[uwmspeccoll]

Voices of the Land

What better way to celebrate Indigenous Peoples’ Day than to highlight this landmark anthology that commemorates the Indigenous Peoples of North America? When the Light of the World was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through: A Norton Anthology of Native Nations Poetry, edited by Joy Harjo with Leanne Howe, Jennifer Elise Foerster, is a curated collection that features the poetry of 160 poets each showcasing a distinct voice from nearly 100 Indigenous Nations. This is the first edition from 2020, published by W. W. Norton & Company in New York.

The anthology is the first to provide a historically comprehensive collection of Native poetry. The literary traditions of Native Americans, the original poets of this country, date back centuries. The book opens with a blessing from Pulitzer Prize winner American Kiowa/Cherokee N. Scott Momaday (1934-2024) and contains introductions from contributing editors for five geographically organized sections. Each section begins with a poem from traditional oral literature and closes with emerging poets, creating a rich and diverse tapestry of Indigenous voices.

Joy Harjo, a member of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, is a prominent figure in the literary world. She is known for her work as a poet, musician, playwright, and author. In addition to her contributions to literature, Harjo is also a celebrated performer and has released several albums combining poetry and music. In 2019, she made history by becoming the first Native American United States Poet Laureate and only the second to serve three terms. Throughout her career, Harjo has been a vocal advocate for Indigenous rights and has used her art to shed light on the experiences of Native peoples.

The following is an excerpt from Harjo’s introduction to this work:

“The anthology then is a way to pass on the poetry that has emerged from rich traditions of the very diverse cultures of indigenous peoples from these indigenous lands, to share it. Most readers will have no idea that there is or was a single Native poet, let alone the number included in this anthology. Our existence as sentient human beings in the establishment of this country was denied. Our presence is still an afterthought, and fraught with tension, because our continued presence means that the mythic storyline of the founding of this country is inaccurate. The United States is a very young country and has been in existence for only a few hundred years. Indigenous peoples have been here for thousands upon thousands of years and we are still here.”

View other Indigenous Peoples' Day posts.

View other posts from our Native American Literature Collection.

-Melissa (Stockbridge-Munsee), Special Collections Graduate Intern

We acknowledge that in Milwaukee we live and work on traditional Potawatomi, Ho-Chunk, and Menominee homelands along the southwest shores of Michigami, part of North America’s largest system of freshwater lakes, where the Milwaukee, Menominee, and Kinnickinnic rivers meet and the people of Wisconsin’s sovereign Anishinaabe, Ho-Chunk, Menominee, Oneida, and Mohican nations remain present.

[fiercynn]

palestinian poets: hala alyan

poetry has been keeping me going the past week and i thought i'd share some of my favorite pieces by palestinian poets. i was originally going to repost my favorites but just realized that might not be appropriate, so instead i'm going to feature a poet in each post and share my favorite pieces by each.

HALA ALYAN

hala alyan is the author of the novel salt houses, winner of the dayton literary peace prize and the arab american book award, and a finalist for the chautauqua prize. her latest novel, the arsonists’ city, was a finalist for the 2022 aspen words literary prize. she is also the author of four award-winning collections of poetry, most recently the twenty-ninth year. her work has been published by the new yorker, the academy of american poets, lit hub, the new york times book review, and guernica. she lives in brooklyn, where she works as a clinical psychologist and professor at new york university.

IF YOU READ ONLY ONE PIECE BY HALA ALYAN, MAKE IT THIS ONE

OTHER POEMS I LOVE BY HALA ALYAN

“The Interviewer Wants to Know About Fashion” at lithub

"Interactive: House Saints" at the poetry foundation

"1999" (from her 2019 collection The Twenty-Ninth Year) at lithub

"When They Say Pledge Allegiance, I Say" at the adroit journal

[yenqa]

POEMS IN VERSE(S)

sypnosis — you meet jay randomly on a subway, and soon your conversation turns into more than just the silly poem book he’s reading

warnings — profanities, mentions of insecurities, angst, they’re so gross (in a “i’m jealous” way), food/eating/drinking, lmk if there are any more :)

pairing — jay x fem!reader

word count — 3.8k+

yen’s note — i worked very hard on this and i’m pretty happy with this so i hope u enjoy :) also this is a scheduled post

Spring Break, 2019

You counted down the amount of days it would be until you turned 17.

17 was the golden age—Or at least it was supposed to be. But the thrill of turning a new age was over by the next 15 minutes. Your big smile that had originally been processing the newfound year of your life slowly dropped, as your age didn’t really matter much to anyone else than your mom or dad.

17 was when you first realized that people didn’t really care as much as you thought they did. No one would care if your hair was slightly frizzy and tangled from the light wash of rain or the fact that you enjoy reading and writing poetry.

You realized no one cared, but it was hard to stop believing it.

So, you brought a hairbrush around, or quickly hid your journal and pen anytime someone got close to you. 

You’re still 17. And you still felt like how you felt 15 minutes after midnight. You felt dull. Washed-out. And the rainy season hasn't helped enlighten your mood at all.

You decided to take an impulsive day trip south, to the buzzing city of Seattle, and also wanting to take a break from everyone and the life you knew. You rushed to the subway, the tote bag that hung on your shoulder had collided with your body every step you took.

You stand right in front of the entrance, scanning the cart to see one empty seat. Sitting down, you address your surroundings, trying to read if maybe it would be a better idea to stand.

Next to you was a man around your age. Silently reading a book with a familiar cover. Staring at the book longer than you realize, you can see the man next to you no longer focused on the book, but you.

“Oh—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be staring, I just recognized the book, Lee Jieun right?”

You almost dreamily sigh every time she’s mentioned. Lee Jieun had been your favorite author for longer than you can remember, one of your favorites by her being the one the unnamed man happened to have been reading.

“Do you know her?” He asks.

Looking up at you he jerks his head to the left, his light brown hair moves out of his eyes revealing his full face. You almost forget to answer the question, busy goggling at the sight of him. His eyes laid in yours, awaiting your answer patiently.

“Yeah, I-um she’s one of my favorites actually.”

His eyes subtly check you out, you quickly realize how stupid you must’ve looked with the amount of frizz in your hair from the light drizzle outside. Slowly but not too obviously, you bring your hands up, brushing through whatever you could. Explaining to the man that the book he was reading was one of your favorite poem books. Accidently sharing that you look up to her poems and hope to have the ability to write and share your writing as inspiration for others.

He listens intently, before asking, “You write?”

Your ears grow warm as you answer every question he asks. An unusual thing that happens to you. The conversation grows into each other's lives. And you feel as if you know every part of him as he continues to talk. 

Park Jongseong is his name but his English name is Jay.  His favorite color is green. He likes fashion and cooking. He enjoys autumn and poetry as much as you do. He’s allergic to cats—which is a shame considering the amount of cat hair over your bag that you discreetly try to brush off while he’s talking. His favorite ice cream flavor is Pistachio and he’s not a huge fan of mint chocolate.

You’d usually argue that mint chocolate is the perfect flavor for a hot summer day but you keep quiet, just this once.

Something must’ve snuck into your brain and rewired it because you don’t seem to mind him knowing that you write. In fact you even offer to let him see your works. He reads each word intently, as if it was the most shocking news of the year. 

His favorite is the one you spent the most time on. But it didn't feel as if it was your best work. You didn’t keep quiet about that fact, you hesitated to even let him read that page, but the one line seemed to have piqued his interest. Almost as if his eyes had been glued onto the small stanza.

Together we’re complete

Our perfect harmony 

is truly beautiful.

You were always one to believe in soulmates, or finding someone that perfectly fit next to you. Like the final piece to your complicated puzzle. Your belief often appeared in your writings. Hoping that maybe one day, you’ll meet the missing piece from your board. That day hadn’t come yet. But you were counting down the days just as if you were about to turn 17 again.

“I like that line. What does it mean?” He asks.

“I don’t know, it just sounded right.”

That’s a lie. You know exactly what it means to you. But even as comfortable as you had felt with Jongseong. It was something too personal to share.

If you could name anyone who was the biggest sucker for romance you would name yourself. But it’s been 17 years, and you don’t even think that it was a possible option for you. Sure, you hoped to find your soulmate. But your soulmate could’ve easily been a truly platonic one. And you were losing hope for any romance coming your way. Writing about romance made you feel as if the small ball of hope was still there, and you just had to wait for the right time. 

Those 17 years had told you that you couldn’t be loved. No matter how hard you tried, or even begged. This epiphany randomly hit you in the middle of buzzing parties or small group hangouts, the thought of nobody ever loving, let alone liking you constantly consumed you. Constantly bringing down your mood. That’s why you’re so fond of the idea of soulmates. Because soulmates are perfectly perfect together, and that's ensured by the universe.

He lets out a chuckle, with an understanding nod. Skimming through the small notebook you handed him.

“Why are you heading to Seattle?” You ask as he finishes, placing the notebook neatly in your bag. His mouth parts slightly, carefully choosing what to say. “I’m just taking a day trip, wanted to go explore alone.”

A small smile breaks out of you. “Would you want to travel around Seattle together?”

Jongseong lets your smile grow onto his lips, accepting your bold offer.

The conversation ends and he reopens his book, continuing the page he was on. The ride still had at least thirty minutes to go, and you didn’t want to use all your phone battery now.

You glance over to his book, cursing at yourself for forgetting to bring something to do other than play the stupid games on your phone. He silently reads as your head moves to his shoulder, laying it down and reading with him. You can feel him flinch ever so slightly, his shoulders relax before he moves the book over to the middle of you two, not uttering a word while doing so.

“Thank you,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you’re not sure if he even heard it until he responds.

After around 45 minutes the subway comes to a stop and you tap Jongseong, pointing at the moving text on the sign to show you that you’re at your destination. He hastily picks up his stuff, grabbing your hand and walking out the doors. 

“Where do we go?” You ask, looking around for any sort of sign that states the direction.

“Just follow me, I've been here a few times.” His warm hand leads you through the busy people trying to get in, pushing through the loads of people heading towards the small amount of doors in the cart. Jongseong looks back every so often, making sure the hand he’s holding isn’t a ghost. Your eyes lock, and you show him a small smile of appreciation. He smiles back, raising his eyebrows before turning back around, leading you through the clusters.

Finally, you walk up the stairs, stepping into the daylight. Still hand in hand, you use your off hand to cover your eyes from the shade. “Didn’t think it would be so sunny after all the rain this month,” You squint at the bright sky, looking over to Jongseong. He’s rummaging through his bag, pulling out a small box, opening it to reveal sunglasses. You chuckle at how prepared he is, until he places the sunglasses on you. 

Your stomach erupts in butterflies as your mouth parts slightly, a smile grows on his face. “Oh no, keep them. I don’t need them” You hastily take off the sunglasses, handing them to him. He takes them, putting them back on you. You’re about to protest when he says. “Stop—just take them. I want you to wear them,” He mumbles. 

You smile at him, “Thank you Seong.” The nickname comes out naturally, like you’ve known him for years. He smiles, looking away to hide the growing redness of his cheeks. You let out a breathy laugh, covering the bottom half of your face to hide the flustered state you’re in.

“Where do you wanna go?” He asks with a shy smile still planted on his face. You shrug, answering, “I have no idea. Do you have any ideas?” 

His smile becomes less shy and somehow forms into a slight smirk “I have an idea.” his hands encase yours once again, and he whisks you two off to the unknown direction. 

The walk is around twenty minutes, but it goes by quickly. While you two are racing to see who can hit the crosswalk button, you notice the crowds of people around the big red letters stating, “Seattle’s Farmers Market.”

You squeal, a hand coming up to cover your mouth. “I’ve always wanted to go here! You’re like a mindreader, Seong.”

With his other hand he pinches your cheek, squeezing your hand and leading you to the entrance. The growing crowd of the market pushes you to bump into each other every so often,  you both laugh it off, placing your attention to whatever shop you’re checking out.

Coming across a tropical fruits stand, you start looking around, picking up a tray every so often. Not realizing the missing warmth from your hand, you scan the selection of fruits. Picking up a Rambutan, you move the tray around, trying to see if the fruit will be worth the price. You’re eye level with the fruit until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You whirl around, to see Jongseong. A big grin planted on his face as he revealed why he’s smiling so much.  A bouquet of tulips, wrapping in brown paper with twine wrapped around it waiting for you to take. But you’re frozen—Did he really just buy flowers for you?

He thrusts his hands out towards you, gesturing for you to  take them. You let out a giggle, taking the brown wrapped plants out of his hands. “Gosh you’re so sweet. What did I do to deserve all of this?” You ask, the corners of your mouth slowly upturn when you look at the flowers, admiring the arrangement of light pink tulips. “Can’t I spoil you?” He responds smoothly, not letting you respond before linking your arms and heading to the next stalls.

Passing—What felt like hundreds of stalls, your feet started to cramp up. Both of you decide to take a break and sit down, finding a cafe nearby. You order for the both of you and pay—Which he strongly protests but you feel too bad for him spending too much money on you. Sitting down you let out a sigh, finally letting your feet take the much needed rest.

You two make small talk, talking about your favorite shops or something you wish you had bought. When the barista calls out your name you shoot out of your seat, exchanging a glance with Jongseong before walking over, thanking the lady and grabbing your drinks.

A wave of comfortable silence washes over you two as you try your drinks, glancing out the huge window by your table. You watch as families, couples, or just one person pass by that window. Trying to figure out something about them as they quickly pass by. 

After an hour of quiet conversations of whatever intrigues you, you decide to leave the cafe. Dinner time was approaching and you wanted to beat the rush. Surprisingly, you both quickly decide on a restaurant to go to, a nice restaurant that perfectly suited your cravings. During dinner you exchange numbers, not being able to wait for the next time you’ll see each other.

The sun starts setting when you both decide to go home, walking to the subway station hand in hand. Paying for your fare you both head on the subway, sitting down next to each other. A yawn washes over you, laying your head back and closing your eyes—It’s not like you’ll fall asleep right?

It’s a shame that you did fall asleep. You feel yourself being gently shaken awake by Jongseong. You lift your head up from his shoulder, looking around the subway. 

“Your stop is the next one. Can’t have you half asleep walking home.” He chuckles, you rub your eyes. Trying your best to stretch with the little space you have. “Thank you Seong.” You yawn, letting out a small smile.

He nods, inviting the smile from your face onto his. The subway comes to a stop once again and you look at him with a slight sadness. Planting a chaste kiss on his cheek you let out, “I had fun today, Seong. Let’s do it some time again, yeah?”

“Okay,” He says, smiling. “Text me when you get home okay?” You salute him, walking away with a lovesick smile on your face.

Jongseong holds the same one, still feeling the linger of your kiss on his cheek. He lets his hand touch his cheek, embarrassed by the amount of warmth that flooded his cheeks.

Spring, 2021

It had been around a year and a little over a half since the two of you had even talked.

You don’t know if he got a new number or randomly ghosted you. Even though you had met a bunch of times after, it seemed like he realized that he didn’t like you as much as you thought he did.

You should’ve expected it, I mean—It’s not like anybody could like you that much.

Sighing, you open the messaging app. Typing something in his chat before deleting it. Scrolling up to your old messages.

You hated the fact that you missed him even though you never even dated. You hated the fact that you thought you could be something more than just a failed situationship. You hated the fact that you thought someone could prove you wrong and that someone could love you.

But, of course. All good things came to an end. And what seemed to be like the only good thing in your life, completely ghosted you. You like to believe that he got a new number and forgot to tell you, or lost his phone and had to get a new sim card. But it still hurt.

So, everytime you thought of him, you reopened those messages, trying to reiterate the happiness you felt while texting him.

Looking down to the bottom of your phone you see the empty textbox, mocking you for opening the chat once again. You decide, What’s the harm in messaging him? Maybe he just missed your last few. Clicking on the textbox you type slowly, carefully thinking about your words before sending it.

hey, are you still there? didn’t take you for the type who ghosts girls

You sigh, deleting the text quickly. Looking over to see the ungodly hour of the night displayed on your clock you place your phone down, tucking yourself nicely under the blanket, praying to every god that maybe, he’s okay.

Autumn, 2022

“Have you heard Enhypens recent album? It’s so good!” Hanni exclaims, changing the music playing in the background to listen to the album.

“This is like a few months old, but anyways—Shout out is the best song ever, you should play that song.” Minji answers. They both look at you, asking for your opinion. “Who’s Enhypen?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing as you look up from your phone.

Minji scoffs, “My seven boyfriends. Listen to this song! Isn’t it so good?”

You listened to the background, bopping your head to the upbeat guitar in the instrumental. The lyrics were sweet, and meaningful. Even though you quit poetry, words still had lot’s of meaning for you, and you loved when they found significance in songs. One guy’s voice sounds so vaguely familiar, you brush it off. You probably just saw a clip of him singing a while back and didn’t remember. Getting to the second verse you pay much attention to the lyrics. Your jaw drops hearing one of the lines.

“What’d he just say? Can you rewind a few seconds Hanni?” You ask and she shrugs, opening her phone to go back a few seconds.

Listening to the same verse again you hear those awfully familiar lyrics.

Our perfect harmony

Is truly beautiful

You know those words like the back of your hand. You wrote these exact words in a poem two or three years ago. Could this be a coincidence? Probably, right? You’re too consumed in your own thoughts to hear both of the echoes of your name, following with Hanni asking why.

Slowly pulling out your phone, you quickly search “Enhypen” into the bar. Looking at the members you scan the faces. Looking at them all you see—

Jay.

That’s Jongseong.

No way, it can’t be. Clicking on his link you’re met with a collage of images. Your body seems to be moving faster than your mind because immediately you scroll down to read the small box of information about him. Oh and of course his name is Park Jongseong too but that's a coincidence, right? Switching apps, you open a selfie you and Seong took on one of your few dates.

You feel as if your eyes will shoot out of your brain, blurting out “I know him.”

Minji and Hanni both exchange weird looks, “You know who? Enhypen? Letting out a hesitant nod, they both rush over to see Jongseong’s information box on your screen. Switching apps to show them the selfie, then each side by side.  “Y/n, you know Jay? As in Enhypen’s Jay?” Hanni gives you a bewildered look. You turn your head up to see Minju sharing the same one. Blinking profusely, you try to figure out how this is even possible. 

“Yes! Remember the guy who ghosted me like two years ago? That’s him!” You exclaim, aggressively pointing to a picture of him. Minji’s mouth opens, forming an “o”. You all sit in silence processing this information.

Breaking the silence, Minji scoffs, “You’re telling me you had a situationship with Jay Park? 

Another long silence follows, you all try to process the fact that the one you deemed as “the one who got away” was globally famous. Maybe he realized his worth, and left you. Maybe, he didn’t bother contacting you because he secretly disliked you. Or maybe he—

“Y/n, he’s coming to Seattle.”

You whip your head to the incoming voice. Instead of seeing a face, you see a phone, straight in front of you listing tour dates. You grab a hold of the phone, making sure you read the words right. “Seattle, Washington. 9/28.”

“They’re coming in a week?” You exclaim, eyes not leaving the phone for a second. Hanni rushes over and you all huddle around the phone. Your breath quickens as you process even more information. And you felt like your brain was about to explode, he would be. in city? in a week?

Hanni practically screams, shaking your shoulders harshly. She seems much more excited than you did, blabbering about how you would reunite and fall in love again. Rolling your eyes, you hand Minji back her phone. You start to question every life decision you had made in the past three years. Would he even remember you? What if it’s a different Jongseong who just happened to have the same name and look exactly like the Seong you once knew? Would you even run into him for the few days he’s there?

These thoughts circle in your brain as you lay down in bed. You thought you were over him—you weren’t even anything to begin with. Maybe it's the quickening beat of your heart to the thought of him , or the smile you hold in whenever you look back at your texts, or maybe even the loneliness you felt after him that keeps you going.

Autumn, 2022

The light breeze engulfs your body. Even though the sun seems to be blinding everywhere it’s still as chilly as ever. Looking at everyone’s outfits on the sidewalk you realize how stupid you look. Fully clothes but with sunglasses covering your eyes. Was it a necessary choice? No—but you realized that after you had left the house. It didn’t matter anyways, you could just take them off (you weren’t but it was still an option). 

Taking your lunch break you walk to the cafe around the corner from your building. Recognizing the cafe as one you visited a few years ago. You ordered the same drink you did three years ago—also ordering a sandwich to eat. You sit down at a table two tables away from the one you once sat at. Placing down your sunglasses you glance around the cafe while waiting for your food. 

Noticing a man in a baseball hat and a mask, you squint trying to see his face. Giving up seconds later and observing someone else. Eyes latching onto the pretty barista making your order. Watching as she quickly makes your sandwich and starts on your drink, not wasting a second to spare.

“I think those sunglasses are mine?” The masked man comes up to you, taking off his baseball cap. You get a better view of his eyes, recognizing the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles.

“Jay?” It’s barely above a whisper, but he still hears it.

He pulls down his mask, showing the face you once knew three years ago, but much more mature now. “Y/n, can we talk?” He sounds nervous, almost jittery. Constantly looking around at the strangers walking by.

“Yeah, of course.” The light tone of your voice calms him down every so slightly, sitting down in front of you with a lopsided smile. 

Never in your life would you have thought you’d meet a celebrity that actually wanted to talk to you, And never in your life would you expect it to be him. Seong—Your Seong, sitting in front of you, carefully selecting every word he utters to you. The one who always knew what to say, can’t seem to get the right words out.

taglist : @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick

hope u liked 😍

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #57 – Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson

Introduction

Kim Stanley Robinson is one of those names I’ve been meaning to around to since approximately forever ago, one of the real Canonical science fiction writers I’ve always felt slightly ashamed I’ve never read (see also: Gene Wolfe). Ministry for the Future in particular is a book I remember getting an immense amount of buzz and downright hagiographic reviews when it came out, even well beyond the usual science fiction circuit. So I went into this with vague impressions and high expectations – which, as it always does, turned out to be a rather dire mistake.

I do not regret having read this book, but that’s on its merits as a cultural artifact rather than a work of literature. Which is to say, I think this is interesting more than it’s good. It’s more or less equal parts a (rather experimental) novel, a work of futurism, and a political manifesto – and despite being incredibly sympathetic to the latter project, I’m not sure it really succeeds at any of them. Which might just be because I’m reading it now instead of when it came out – it is incredibly of its time, in a way that’s genuinely impressively dated even just a few years latter, and which continuously took me out of it.

It was, at least, very formally interesting. The tiny chapters and constant bouncing between different areas of interest kept it from ever becoming too much of a grind, too.

Synopsis

The book is, roughly, a history of the struggle against climate change and to restore the biosphere to equilibrium, beginning with the signing of the Paris Agreement in 2015 and continuing over the next half-century so until the world has been nigh-unrecognizably transformed and victory in that struggle seems more or less assured.

It is, nominally, focused on its only explicit divergence from our own world before the book was written (so, somewhere in 2017-2019) – the titular Ministry, a subsidiary body created by the Paris Accords to pursue and safeguard the interests of future generations – at first this is basically conceived of as a meaningless goodwill gesture by most of the really powerful people agreeing to it. But after a monstrously deadly heat wave across South Asia kills tens of millions of people in a matter of days, more and more people around the world start to wake up to the necessity of drastic action.

Over the next generation the Ministry plays a major (though less so than you might imagine) role in the transition of the world to a sustainable and just future, and the book follows both their efforts and the changing conditions around them that make any of it possible.

The story is told through a dizzying variety of perspectives – there a couple of what you might call protagonists (the minister for the future herself, a Scottish aid worker caught in the heat wave who barely survives and spends the rest of his life failing to cope with PTSD), but they occupy what has to be much less than half of the book. The rest is short persuasive essays, meeting minutes, anonymous vignettes from everyone from an Antarctic research scientist-turned-geoengineer to a de facto enslaved miner in Namibia, and odd little prose poems from the perspective of ‘the market’ or ‘photons’ or similar. It’s all mixed together quite thoroughly – few chapters are more than six or seven pages, many much less, and each new chapter marks a perspective jump. It’s a fascinating reading experience, if nothing else.

Taken As A Novel

...The Ministry for the Future is just not a very good one.

Partial blame goes to I think the very admirable instinct to avoid making some select group of technocrats and activists the Protagonists of History and instead try to maintain something like a global perspective. But the unfortunate reality of it is that the world is very big, and even at 500 pages the book is comparatively quite small. The result is that this is a story where the overwhelming majority of the plot is told in the passive voice, exposition relaying how trends never before mentioned and institutions not yet introduced are conveniently doing this or that to help fix the world, and then rarely if ever mentioned again. One wonders why the titalur Minister was chosen as a protagonist at all, given how the vast majority of her narrative could just as easily been filled by another other ‘life-on-the-ground’ level perspective (her great contribution is convincing the assembled centrall bankers of the world to do something about two thirds of the way into the book).

Also – while the instinct to avoid making ones main characters the perfectly agentic and hypercompetent engine of history is certainly admirable, it’s rather undercut by then still having one of those, but just giving us no real insight or perspective into it.

The mystique of the shadowy, untouchable terrorist syndicate has a powerful hold in the minds of action and science-fiction authors, and Robinson is apparently no exception. The energy transition in the book is greatly sped up by a near-omnipotent ecoterrorist movement that, through everything from sabotage and assassination to drone strikes and missile barrages, (literally) decapitates the entire fossil fuel industry and destroys so many planes and cargo ships so as to cripple the global airline and shipping industries. I’ll leave aside plausibility (for now) – but it just seems so self-evidently obvious that these are the main characters of the story. But with the exception of a single anonymous vignette, the story refuses to ever give the people involved names, faces, or personalities, nor dive into the whys and hows of specific operations. It’s quite frustrating, all the moreso because it feels like the author just saving himself the work of figuring any of that out.

Our two ostensible main characters themselves also just feel like – not a wasted opportunity, but definitely one more could have been made of? The world changes dramatically, almost unrecognizably, through the course of the novel, but their lives really don’t. Here and there sure, there’s not nothing, but the overwhelming majority of their pagecount is spent living what could very easily have been somewhat atypical lives in contemporary Switzerland. Despite all the talk of a ‘super-depression’ and the crippling of global trade, no shortages ever particularly affect them, no natural disasters touch ther homes. A lot of Mary’s chapters really just kind of read like tourism ads for the country Robinson clearly fell in love with at some point.

Taken as Futurism

Which is to say, taken as an exploration of how the world might actually develop, and a plausible prediction of the future based on current trends. Which, given the sheer amount modern frontier technologies, economic and political theories, and just general social trends are all discussed (not to mention a great deal of the breathless marketing and reception it received) the book is clearly trying to be. And which – woof, it does not work out.

The book is full of generational political upheavals occurring mostly because it’s a dramatically convenient time for them to. Most glaringly, the cataclysmic heat wave that sets off the book’s plot also conveniently utterly discredits the BJP and leads the landslide election of an entirely fictitious political movement across all of India, who then spend the next decades dramatically transforming the nation’s politics and economy with unbroken success and to a reception of thunderous applause. There’s no characters with names or faces actually involved in this, no more than a couple paragraphs of encyclopedia-like exposition devoted to it, but it’s the example and engine the whole rest of the book hangs on. The transition of the African Union to a powerful and legitimate supernational entity and the granting of permanent autonomy to Hong Kong (and much of southern mainland China why not) are even less dwelt on.

Now, this all could be excused as just the inevitable causalities of trying to write a book with a global scope – and I am sympathetic to that. But to begin with, I know just barely enough about the politics and the economics of a lot of several of the places touched on or used as dramatic examples to see how surface level and implausible the predicted changes are, and I can’t help but think it’s probably a similar story with all the other lightly touched on placed I don’t know much about (I remain agnostic on the accuracy of the geoengineering and carbon-clearing technologies projected, except that a lot of them suspiciously amenable to a single coherent aesthetic of the future).

More damning, to me at least, is the matter of agency – only the ‘good’ people seem to possess any of it. The conservative opposition exists as this vague, undifferentiated mass – standing athwart history and slowing things down in vague ways, but never really vital or active, never a danger to the political movements that have won or the progress that has been made. There are references to xenophobia and anti-refugee sentiment, but despite a refugee crisis that makes that of the 2010s look like a rounding error, it never leads to any really dangerous political backlash. Given how the world’s actually trending, the book’s vision of politics goes beyond optimism and into outright delusion.

This is especially true for how the book conceives of violence. Political violence is, in the book’s telling, near-universally the province of the ecological Left (with the exception of two events that provide excuses for dramatic set-pieces but fail to actually achieve anything at all). As mentioned above, seemingly omnipotent and untouchable eco-terrorists assassinate dozens of hundreds of the global elite for their crimes against the planet, destroy so many jet liners and cargo ships to force the adoption of new transportation methods, and sabotage so many coal- and oil-powered plants they help force the abandonment of the as fuels. They do this with no real blowback or reverses, no ruthless campaigns of state violence breaking apart the networks or destroying the infrastructure, no loss of public support from the disruptions in food and fuel their attacks would cause – it is not a realistic vision of what ecoterrorism might look like in the coming decades, it’s a plot device in the form of Robert Ludlum villains with no action movie secret agents around to stop them.

As a Political Manifesto

Which is, after all, clearly the real motivation behind the book, and the reason it received as many accolades as it did. It’s also where the book is easily at its most interesting – if, tragically, rather incoherent. Which might be me holding it to a higher standard than is fair but look, there’s only so many essays extolling the failure of the market or the coming obsolescence of war or whatever you can put in your book before I start holding it to the standard of actual rigour.

Mostly it feels like the book is undercut by its commitment to relentless optimism and need to jump around – a great deal of the book is spent giving the most positive possible gloss on particular phenomena or institutions from across the world in a paragraph or two, then say it needs to be scaled up on a national or global scale with no further thought or consideration of costs. Even when it’s not wrong it just feels unserious.

The subject the book spends the plurality of its time on – the main thrust of its program, if anything is – is economics and monetary policy. The great project of the Ministry is convincing the assembled central bankers of the world to create a new currency – a ‘carbon coin’ minted as a reward for sequestering or preventing the removal of a single ton of carbon for at least a century, with a guaranteed minimum value and appreciation over the same period – which would in time replace the us dollar as a global reserve currency and medium of exchange. The arguments around which are frustrating, because they go from plausible and compelling to wildly optimistic to the social science equivalent of star trek technobabble and back again without warning or any detectable pattern. It’s an interesting idea, at least, though one you get the sense is being imperfectly relayed – and the arguments for why the uncrowned monarchs of the global financial system would actually agree to it just aren’t convincing in the least.

Given the amount of times the book uses standard progressive language about how vital empowering minorities, women, the traditionally excluded and so on is to the fight to save the planet, it’s honestly kind of amusing the degree to which the big dramatic set pieces involve appealing to the conscience and principles of the most embedded representatives of The System imaginable. Running through the book are both a disdain and dismissal of economics as a field and a strongly felt technocratic sensibility and desire to have seasoned experts at the helm managing their areas of expertise – it can never quite decide whether bringing the world’s central banks under increased political control is something to be fought for, or a threat to hold over the bankers heads to get them in line and focused on the important task of creating a de facto world state (the quasi-utopia envisioned at the end of the book could just as easily be the globalist dystopia from any conspiracy theorist’s screen with no changes but the valence of the adjectives used to describe it).

It’s more peripheral, but Robinson’s clear affection for the nation of Switzerland and continuous praise of its many virtues in both politics and society does clash a bit with, well, reality. It’s weird to go from a chapter about needing to abolish tax havens to talking about how enlightened self-interest has left the Swiss government entirely behind the mission of fighting climate change.

A Product of it’s Time

Is a weird thing to call a book written barely more than five years ago, I’m aware. But it’s honestly kind of shocking just how aged and dated the book feels, reading it in 2024. Despite just everything I’ve written above, I’m trying not to judge it as harshly as I might, because I feel like I’d have been much more generous if various things didn’t keep taking me out of it.

Some of them are things that can’t really be held against it – the passages about Russia and it’s relationship with Europe reads as almost comical now, to be sure, but so does every sci fi book in the ‘80s talking about the USSR – but that doesn’t mean they don’t hurt the feeling of reading the history of the future. The book was published in October 2020, so the complete non-mention of not even COVID specifically but just any pandemic or major disease outbreaks feel positively unreal.

Other things are less the book already being falsified by history and more just seeing what turned out to be pretty transient intellectual fashions immortalized in print. Seeing a serious, celebrated book talk about the revolutionary potential of the blockchain to create a democratic new economy is enough to turn a hair grey. And on a less extreme level, talking up Modern Monetary Theory as this revolutionary hack of solve economics just feels so very incredibly pre-pandemic.

Too Long; Didn’t Read

Not angry I read it, but more because writing this review was fun and engaging than for its merits as a work of art. Can’t judge it too harshly, given that the task it set for itself is basically impossible – but Robinson’s written enough books that he probably should have known that before he started it.

The set piece at the beginning of someone living through the dead heat wave was incredibly compelling drama, at least.

[oftlunarialmoon]

75 Agere Journal Prompts MEGALIST

Ciao lovelies! The first time I wrote about Age Regression Journals was in 2018, a whole 4 years ago (that feels weird to say omg). So I thought, since I’ve had 4 years to compile it for myself, I would share my MEGALIST of 75 Age Regression Journal Prompts with you all!

For more info about Agere Journaling, see THIS POST from 2018.

For Nightsong’s article about Vent Journals, see THIS POST from 2019.

For 8 Journal Prompts, see THIS POST from 2019.

And finally, for 52 creative writing prompts/quaintrelle prompts, see THIS POST from 2019.

And now, let’s begin this list!

75 Agere Journal Prompts - MEGALIST

*PS* scroll to the bottom, for pictures of examples from my personal journal! 

Draw yourself a kawaii bento lunch!

Write down any chores for the day as a to-do list or sticker check off list

Design a smol outfit

Make a playlist for your littlespace

Draw portraits of your stuffies

Write your headcanons for your comfort characters as caregivers

Write down some animal facts from different parts of the world that interest you!

List items that are your favorite color

Make a magazine collage with a specific theme

List ideas you want to do in certain seasons

List your favorite agere nicknames

Write down any agere headcanons you have for fictional characters or OCs

List stuffie name ideas

List all your current stuffie names

List your favorite phone apps for littlespace

Make a tier list of your opinions on different types of candy

Draw what your favorite characters would look like as stuffies

Invent a new kidcore fashion trend

List 5 facts about your favorite sea animal

Design your Jolly Roger if you were a pirate

Draw yourself as a Pokemon Trainer

List how you deal with stress in agere methods

Write out any recipes you can make while regressed

List crafts you’d like to make

Make a page about your morning routine when regressed

Make a page about your night time routine when regressed

Write out any rules or guidelines you have when regressed

What’s on your Agere/Littlespace Movies list?

Write about what you would do on a visit to the beach

List any animes you like when small

List your favorite agere books

Dear Past Me - What would you tell your past self?

Dear Future Me - What would you tell your future self?

List songs that make you regress

List your regression triggers (positive or negative)

Write about how you would comfort a friend in need

Write about your dream vacation

Make your christmas/birthday/holiday gift wishlist

List your fave agere video games

List your favorite stims

Write a letter to your favorite fictional character

Write a letter to a friend or family member

Play I spy and write down the categories and things you find

Make a page of your top 5 agere songs from the last month

List free activities you can do when regressed

Make a collage page from a coloring sheet and stickers

Play scavenger hunt with stickers of your preferred theme

Use a page to write down word games like word scrambles and mad libs

Fill a page with positive messages for yourself to read later

Write down tarot interpretations if you do tarot reading while smol

List ideas for kandi bracelets you could make

Declare a random day a holiday of some kind, write down how you celebrate it

Use a page to “braindump” all of your current thoughts, even if it’s babbling

Make a sticker collage inspired by your caregiver

Make a sticker collage inspired by the seasons

Trace your hand onto the page and give yourself fun nail art, tattoos, or accessories

Draw a race track for a toy car, add obstacles or scenery with stickers

Write a social media profile page for a comfort character

Make a “top secret” file with your stuffie’s secrets >:)

Make a collage inspired by yourself

Dedicate a page to facts about one of your special interests

Write a poem for your pet (or fave stuffie!)

Draw a scene around a sticker of your favorite animal

Draw the inside of a house and use stickers to furnish and decorate it

Draw a scene to play with your toys in

Try a mindful reset page (List problems you’re facing, then list more positive mindset changes to each one)

Document the stories you play out with dolls or toys

Write down “this or that” prompts in one color then answer them in another color !

Use stickers to tell a story or make a fun comic

Fill a page with word art, using any words that make you feel smol

Make a list of all of your OCs

Use a page to document Minecraft coordinates of your favorite builds

Draw the outline of a purse or bag, and use stickers to show what a character of your choice would have in their bag, or-

Use stickers to show what you would put in your dream agere bag!

Draw a face on a page in marker or pen, and use makeup to decorate it! (or face paint :p)

Examples From My Journal:

[qbdatabase]

Hello!! I was looking for non-fiction books of butches and femmes that mention bisexual butches and femmes too! I guess that's a very specific thing and difficult thing to ask for but I was hoping if you knew some? In the end, I'll take any and all butch femme non-fiction books you know of please! 👉👈💖

Most of what I have for non-fiction butch/femme culture is centered around lesbians, with bisexuals being a chapter or discussion within a larger book, mainly because women-loving-women historically drew less of a distinction between lesbians and bisexuals (as that would have shoved out a lot of closeted/married women in a time when many women could not afford to not be married). But here's everything I have about butches and femmes, and I'll note if bisexuality is also discussed!

History of Butch/Femme Culture

Femme/Butch: New Considerations of the Way We Want to Go by Michelle Gibson - #1 recommendation, even if it is 20 years old

100 Crushes by Elisha Lim - contributions from butches and genderqueer folks

Challenging Lesbian Norms: Intersex, Transgender, Intersectional, and Queer Perspectives by Angela Pattatucci Aragón - more history of lesbian culture that looks beyond cisgender lesbians, discusses trans, intersex, gnc, butch, and bisexuality

The Life & Times of Butch Dykes: Portraits of Artists, Leaders, and Dreamers Who Changed the World by Eloisa Aquino - can't confirm if it includes any butch bisexuals, but it's from 2019, not twenty years ago!

Unsuitable: A History of Lesbian Fashion by Eleanor Medhurts - #2 recommendation for butch/femme culture, although I can't confirm if it includes bisexuals; published this year

Memoirs by Butch Authors

Leaving Isn't the Hardest Thing by Lauren Hough - butch lesbian

Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H. - butch queer Muslim

Burning Butch by R/B Mertz - Catholic butch trans / nonbinary

Tomboy Survival Guide by Ivan E. Coyote - butch nonbinary

Pregnant Butch: Nine Long Months Spent in Drag by A. K. Summers - butch lesbian

Butch is a Noun by S. Bear Bergman - butch lesbian who later transitioned as a transgender man

Memoirs / Poetry / Self-Help by Femme Authors

Rust Belt Femme by Raechel Jolie - queer femme

Yoke: My Yoga of Self-Acceptance by Jessamyn Stanley - queer femme

You Grow, Gurl!: Plant Kween's Lush Guide to Growing your Garden by Christopher Griffin - queer femme nonbinary

HoodWitch: Poems / A Map of My Want by Faylita Hicks - queer femme nonbinary

[april-is]

April 1, 2024: vocabulary, Safia Elhillo

vocabulary Safia Elhillo

fact:

the arabic word هواء (hawa) means wind thearabicwordهوى (hawa) means love

  test: (multiple choice)   abdelhalim said you left me holding wind in my hands                           or   abdelhalim said you left me holding love in my hands

           abdelhalim was left                empty                                              or            abdelhalim was left                full

  fairouz said                   o wind, take me to my country                            or   fairouz said                   o love, take me to my country

           fairouz is looking for             vehicle                                              or            fairouz is looking for             fuel

  oum kalthoum said       where the wind stops her ships, we stop ours                            or   oum kalthoum said       where love stops her ships, we stop ours

                oum kalthoum is           stuck                                                    or                 oum kalthoum is           home

--

It's here, it's here; happy National Poetry Month! In case you forgot: I'll be sharing a poem every day in April.

Want it as an email? Sign up here and it'll be whisked to your inbox by a team of digital carrier pigeons.

Or follow along on Tumblr, Twitter, or RSS. (Want to see it mirrored elsewhere? [Instagram, Substack, Bluesky, etc] Please let me know!)

==

This is, uh, the 20th year of this project??? See many years of past selections by browsing the archives or exploring the poems sent on today's date in:

2023: Reasons to Live Through the Apocalypse, Nikita Gill 2022: New Year, Kate Baer 2021: Instructions on Not Giving Up, Ada Limón 2020: Motto, Bertolt Brecht 2019: Separation, W.S. Merwin 2018: Good Bones, Maggie Smith 2017: Better Days, A.F. Moritz 2016: Jenny Kiss’d Me, Leigh Hunt 2015: The Night House, Billy Collins 2014: Tim Riggins Speaks of Waterfalls, Nico Alvarado 2013: Nan Hardwicke Turns Into a Hare, Wendy Pratt 2012: A Short History of the Apple, Dorianne Laux 2011: New York Poem, Terrance Hayes 2010: On Wanting to Tell [ ] about a Girl Eating Fish Eyes, Mary Szybist 2009: A Little Tooth, Thomas Lux 2008: The Sciences Sing a Lullabye, Albert Goldbarth 2007: Elegy of Fortinbras, Zbigniew Herbert 2006: When Leather is a Whip, by Martin Espada 2005: Parents, William Meredith

Thank you for being here!

[blueiscoool]

Notre-Dame Restoration Reveals Renaissance Poet's Coffin

The tomb of one of France’s best-loved early poets has been discovered during post-fire restoration work in Notre-Dame cathedral.

Scientists say they are nearly certain a lead coffin found beneath the transept is that of Joachim du Bellay, who died in Paris in 1560 at the age of about 37.

The 2019 fire, which destroyed Notre-Dame’s roof and spire, has provided a rare opportunity for archaeologists. Their findings will be on display at an exhibition from November, shortly before the cathedral’s re-opening.

Born near Angers in western France around 1522, du Bellay was – with Pierre de Ronsard – founder of a circle of poets known as La Pleiade which championed French, rather than Latin, as a language of poetry.

It was known from records that du Bellay was buried in Notre-Dame, where he had served as a minor clerical official. But his tomb has never been found.

Analysis of the skeleton inside the lead coffin revealed it to be of a man aged about 35, who suffered from bone tuberculosis in his neck and head, and spent a lot of time in the saddle.

Du Bellay suffered in later years from deafness and debilitating headaches – symptoms consistent with the researchers’ findings. It is also known he was a regular rider, having notably made the journey from Paris to Rome on horse.

One remaining question is why the body was where it was, and not in the side-chapel where it was recorded as being interred.

One theory is that it was moved to the new site after his name became famous with publication of his collected works some years after he died.

Du Bellay is still taught in French schools, and a few of his poems are widely-known.

The most famous Heureux qui comme Ulysse (Happy he who like Ulysses) is about nostalgia for one’s childhood home.

By Hugh Schofield.

[naamahdarling]

Do you have a favorite musical?

If so, what are your favorite lyrics from it, and why?

ALW's CATS.

Is it a surreal mess? Yes! But I love it before everything else.

The lyrics are silly but very clever. Most are at least partly by TS Eliot, drawn from a wonderfully nonsensical book of poems.

I think my favorite song is the Invitation to the Jellicle Ball, neck and neck with Mr Mistoffelees.

My favorite cat is Mistoffelees by a lot, followed by the Rum Tum Tugger. They are in love.

But the part that makes me feel the most in my heart is Grizabella. The only cat I relate to is Grizabella.

Memory is the big number that everyone knows and I do absolutely love it, it's one of my favorite songs and probably the best in the musical as it was before CATS 2019 introduced a new song, but I feel that out of context it simply doesn't have punch. It gets trotted out to showcase a singer's skill, as a bit of a tearjerker if you're a sentimental person. It is so much more than that.

I didn't understand Grizabella properly until I was well and truly an adult and had taken in multiple cats off the street, and lived near a colony, and watched my own cats become frail, which are all painful things in many ways; AND until I had begun to really feel the weight of my marginalization as a disabled person and an ill person, which means confronting almost daily the fact that I am unlikely to come to the sort of end I would like.

Hold on because I'm going to be unhinged about this cat for a minute.

Grizabella is an aged stray, once welcomed, now abandoned and unloved, considered ugly even by others like her (who are shown to supposedly accept differences and value, or at least respect, most everyone...but not her).

She lives in a haunted, lonely state unacknowledged by anyone except to be driven away. She can no longer care for herself, she is filthy and matted and scarred and probably in a lot of pain, she is starving, and she has nothing but her memories of better times, and every single dawn is both a gift and a miserable curse. She gets to remember. She has to remember.

If you watch, Grizabella is onstage a LOT, she's just off in the background, usually poorly lit, where she tries to mirror the dances happening on the main part of the stage, dances she knows because that was once her, there in the spotlight, shining. But now she's in too much pain to dance and her body isn't working right anymore. I have no doubt Grizabella is dying. The question is whether she will get to do that well, comforted and with dignity, or do it badly and alone.

I cannot HANDLE Grizabella.

If you have even the tiniest inkling of love for cats, if you believe every cat's life is worth something, her story should destroy you.

The legendary Jennifer Hudson's performance in the movie brought a really angry and confrontational turn to her, and it was flat out amazing. A rebuke of a performance. It really hurts to watch but it's what the role has always needed. She isn't just weak and sad, she clings to the tatters of her dignity and is angry that the others don't see her as a whole person. Just a miserable shadow to be avoided. A cautionary tale. We are never told what terrible thing she did to deserve her fall, and given that most of the Jellicles are young, I don't know that any of them really remember.

I will physically fight anyone who says she should not have been selected to ascend to a new life. She was the only choice. Even Gus. Even him. He can have his turn next year. Grizabella does not have another year in her.

And I'm going to make some folks mad but I love the 2019 movie (it's bad) and the new song, Beautiful Ghosts, is amazing, and I DO prefer Taylor Swift's version as the movie version is a little more timid (fitting the role and musical way better) but TS fucking BELTS IT and I get chills every time.

The lyrics are incredible and the song is gorgeous, gorgeous. And strung together with Grizabella's song, it finishes the musical in a way that it was a bit unfinished before. It uses an actual full song to connect Grizabella to the Ball and the Choice more directly than any choreography ever did or could:

Victoria, the White Cat and viewpoint character, still almost a kitten, has been dumped in the street and into a terrifying and beautiful new life.

After being swept up into its wonder, she sees Grizabella, utterly rejected, hissed at, made fun of, despised, and aches with the injustice of it -- Victoria was snatched right up by the other cats the instant her paws hit the ground, but nobody will take in Grizabella. Not even her own kind.

Victoria sees how strangely similar they are and feels a kinship that has no pity in it at all, but wonder and respect.

So Victoria sings this new song expressing the first admiration Grizabella has heard in god alone knows how long, reminding her she has had an amazing life worth envy and renown, and she pulls this horrible decrepit old mess of a cat into the Jellicle Ball, where she is FINALLY relieved of her pain.

Like? I'm crying right now?

It isn't a serious musical, but Grizabella's story runs through it like a cold current, something real and terrible, surrounded by absolute ridiculousness. Her numbers are deadly serious, never played for laughs. And ultimately it is her story that turns out to be the most important one, the truest one, and it is dark, and it is hopeful but only in only the most painful and grief-stricken way. She isn't brought back into a comfortable life with other cats to be happy and surrounded by love. She essentially...dies and goes to cat heaven. She embodies hope itself to the others, and her ascension represents a deeply humbling lesson in humility and grace. Her suffering and her ascent represent the possible future of every one of them, and now they have to confront that, and their treatment of her. She was rewarded, and for all their beauty and charm they were not.

Anyway I'm not normal about it.

The lyrics from Beautiful Ghosts that I love are:

Perilous night, their voices calling. A flicker of light, before the dawning. Out here the wild ones are taming the fear within me. Scared to call them my friends and be broken again. Is this hope just a mystical dream?

and

And so maybe my home Isn't what I had known, what I thought it would be. But I feel so alive With these phantoms of night, and I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!

Like, come on. It's a lovely song and it took my breath away in the theater.

Ugh this musical touched me as a feral cat girl of 10 and it touches me again as a sad catguy in their 40s. Truly a very stupid work of weirdly meaningful art and one for the ages.

There are much better musicals, but none of them are part of me.

[sleepanonymous]

Two quick things (since I've seen confusion about one and panic around the other). Firstly, "Nothing lasts forever" has been a theme of Sleep Token's social media for a long time now (since at least the Sundowning era). Here's a screenshot of a Facebook post from November 2019 with the quote.

Sleep Token aren't ending, I promise. They're just switching gears. Sundowning + Tomb + Eden was a trilogy, and now Vessel and Sleep Token are working on something new. I'd bet money they're writing/recording new music right now. We might not see it until the end of this year but it fits their timeline of record releases.

Secondly, "Teeth of God" comes from a poem that was on a Sleep Token jumper back in Jan/Feb 2023. The full poem is as follows.

I am hunting something And in turn That same thing is hunting me The beholder The void beyond I am the line between I am the Teeth of God.

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

What is the ‘Thesis’ of Tortured Poets? (+ Fortnight Deep Dive)

After 4months of listening to TTPD I was recently wondering what the 'thesis statement' of this massive album is, if I had to give it one. Is it "Female rage: the musical" as Taylor has named the TTPD set on the Eras tour? Anger is certainly evident in the album a lot, but, no, I wouldn't say that's quite it (that's just the parts she's picked for the tour set). I would say it's more than that, and usually a good clue is the lead single and music video. Anti-Hero (and the mv), the lead single for Midnights, made it pretty clear what Taylor's main message for Midnights was: Taylor Swift™, you're the problem. Lover's lead single was Me! and then YNTCD, which for a lot of people seemed like a dumb choice when Cruel Summer was right there, but we know that for what that album SHOULD have been, it needed to be those two. That was the statement. So what is TTPD's statement? And what is Fortnight as the lead single telling us about it?

Fortnight single and music video

The first line of the first verse immediately connects to where Midnights left off: They were coming to get her to take her away in Hits Different and now she was supposed to get sent away but they forgot to come and get her. So we are still very much circling the same issue as Midnights: The duality of Taylor Swift. And I am now fairly certain that Post Malone is also portraying a different version of Taylor in the music video, just like the two Taylors from Anti Hero. When she wipes her face, the same face tattoos are revealed, they are both writing the music/poetry together and they face each other like a mirror image in the pile of papers that make up Taylor's silhouette.

Though while Taylor and Postie are writing together here (Postie perhaps as the 'male POV') and their creations join together, the two Taylors in the Anti-Hero mv are less unanimous, one creating the music and the other one destroying it. Otherwise I find these two scenes very similar:

The setting has also notably changed: She's not in her house anymore, she is in this government institution, kept chained in a cell and only allowed out when medicated to do her work. And there are other people there too, seemingly with the same fate. (A not so subtle hint at the music industry...) The first verse continues

I was a functioning alcoholic 'til nobody noticed my new aesthetic.

This strongly reminded me of the In Summation poem which comes with the album leaflet, but kind of like an epilogue rather than a prologue. And also the introduction post that Taylor posted with the album release.

Confirming yet again that this album, much like Midnights, is a debrief/a rewinding. And she even tells us for what reason: a warning. Are you afraid? You should be! (Yes I think that could easily have been the lead single too). And what is she reflecting on? A “fleeting and fatalistic moment in time”, a sensational, yet sorrowful one that led her to having to tell her saddest story to be finally free from it. So in this context, I think the line about new aesthetics and alcoholism is a throwback to the summer of 2019 and the failed Lover coming out/masters heist. A lot happened and had things gone differently she’d be an out queer woman now. It must feel like a strange parallel universe to still be closeted at 34 years old. And losing your life’s work and your relationship (at least temporarily) in the process I think qualifies as someone’s saddest story. If you’ve seen any of Taylor’s performances from July/August 2019 dressed in all black, you’ll probably agree that it felt like a woman at rock bottom. When she couldn't get out of bed (loml) but still did it with a broken heart. THAT is the context and thesis of TTPD: This twist of events that led to her still being in the closet five years later, and everything that she reflected on when she thought she'd lost everything. The regret, the anger, the heartbreak, even the resentment towards your family for the path they guided (pushed?) you down when you needed someone to fight your corner. "Blood is thick, but nothing like a payroll" is one fucked up thing to say and I'm still shocked seemingly everybody moved on from that so quickly. Those are sentiments that Taylor, the people pleaser, would never have put out into the world before, but this is a debrief, an exorcism even. She needs to get her ugliest truths out before she can move on.

The Fortnight pre-chorus continues with

All of this to say, I hope you're ok but you're the reason And no one here's to blame, but what about your quiet treason?

Now there's a 'you' coming into the picture, and I know there are varying opinions, and maybe multiple possible interpretations of who the you is. Remember, this is the lead single, the thesis song, so to speak. And in that context, I don't think the You is another person, it's another version of Taylor, perhaps the one from the Anti-Hero mv, or the one she hoped she'd be after 2019 if everything had gone to plan. You (brand Taylor) are the reason I'm feeling unstable and I don't blame you but you betrayed me by leaving me here in the closet (similar sentiment to Peter).

She goes on say how she and the 'you' were together for only a short time (a fortnight), the loss has turned all her days into depressing Mondays and that no "miracle move-on drug" can fix that. It sounds like her bemoaning the what could have been, the you being the public persona that she was hoping to merge her true self with by coming out. And I think, yet again, the music video supports that interpretation with Taylor and Postie being the same person but not looking the same. She could have easily played both parts herself, but she cast a different person, a man no less, to play this other side of her, maybe to highlight that she has to take a man's perspective (James/The Man, etc.) to express her true feelings.

Taylor and the You then go on to sing the line "I love you, it's ruining my life" to each other. So they're both feeling that way. And it is a very key sentiment, because it was also one of the first we ever read from the album during the roll out and it's written on the dress during the TTPD set on the Eras tour. The separate existence is ruining both of them. It then changes to "I touched you for only a fortnight" and these two sentences alternate through to the end of the song where we end on "But it won't start up till I touch (touch, touch) you". So, uniting with this other person/version seems to be the key to Taylor's happiness. And we've seen this before. It's exactly the same outcome as the Anti-Hero mv: As everybody is fighting, Taylor finally manages to make peace with the other versions of her and share a bottle of wine. Just like when Postie steps out of the phone box in the final scene and joins Taylor in the rain to touch her hand.

That's my interpretation anyway. as always, feel free to disagree or share your interpretation in the comments.

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Richard unfollowed other Rammstein members on instagram 😀 I am terrified.

At the end of 2019 he unfollowed everyone all in one swoop, i remember how dramatic that seemed at the time; at some later point all of his IG posts disappeared. equally dramatic, but luckily they showed up again (most of them anyway) In 2021 interviews he mentioned that he had been at a real low point at the end of 2019/start of 2020, fortunately he managed to get out of that again. Richard has had many ups and downs (some self-inflicted, some that were done to him) through the years, but he is very resilient and always manages to pick himself up again. (And eventually followed all the official accounts of the bandmates again, at least the active ones.)

These new unfollows look dramatic, at least in part because they follow soon after Till's poem. If they are, we won't know until he has bounced back and is ready to tell us.

But Richard seemed in a really good place all through the tour, not just on stage, also at the little glimpses we got from backstage and 'out and about'. The end of the tourcycle must be difficult for him, the man lives for his music, and with Rammstein taking a year or two off touring, maybe he is a bit lost and wondering what to do next. Maybe he took 'a step back' to ponder about it and only now realised that while he followed the bandmates, the bandmates don't follow eachother (well, Schneider follows Paul, but that's it)

And actually i know many people of their generation (well...'my' generation...i assume you all know my age 😊) who think it's a bit silly to follow people on social media who you know in real life anyway. I have colleagues who ask not be followed by co-workers. I follow only very few irl people, mainly ex-colleagues who i liked but went to work for another company, so now i don't see them anymore or relatives who live on the other side of the world. But mates i see regularly...no...we do connect through internet, but through private chats, not in public pages (some of them don't even have IG or X or something, they think it's for younger generations).

I don't rule out that Richard was trying to be youthful, using social media like his kids do, but when the topic came up at a Rammstein hang-out session (like all topics in life come up there, as we know from Flake's podcast), he realised he was the only one...maybe they made fun of him a bit...and since they all only post 'official' stuff on their public pages anyway and they share so much more among eachother in private, he may have thought 'oh what the h.. i'm going 'official' too

As always with everything Rammstein: we will only know more if they want us to know, so all we can do is patiently wait and appreciate what we get when we get it, if we ever get it 🌺

[jheseltheunswerving]

Bill Cipher is an Icarus

Originally posted on the Gravity Falls Amino in August, 2019.

In Greek mythology, Icarus was the son of Daedalus who was ordered by King Minos to build a structure that could contain a creature called the Minotaur. Rather than building a prison, Daedalus constructed a labyrinth so complex that anyone who entered could never find their way back out. 

Wanting to keep the Minotaur a secret, King Minos locked away Daedalus and his family, including Icarus. 

But Daedalus was clever. He built two pairs of wings out of wax and feathers. One for him and one for Icarus. Once the time came to make the attempt to escape, Daedalus warned Icarus not to fly too close to the sun or the wax in his wings would melt. With that, the two started flying toward freedom.

Caught up in the sensation of flight, Icarus forgot his father’s warnings. He went higher and higher, seizing as much of that freedom as he could. He didn’t even notice the wax holding his wings together was melting. Suddenly, the feathers became too loose, and Icarus fell to his death in the sea. 

The story of Icarus is referenced to a couple times in Journal 3 by Ford. The first time he’s talking about how jealous he is of his “Muse” (Bill Cipher) for being free from all physical limitations. If a person spends eight hours of every day asleep, then they would be wasting about ⅓ of their life. While working on the portal, Fiddleford was the first to give into fatigue, and warned Ford not to stay up too late:

“‘Don’t forget what happened to Icarus,’ he told me as he packed up his things and left.

‘He didn’t flap hard enough,’ I replied.”

When Ford finds out what Bill was really planning, he admits Fiddleford was right. 

“If only Icarus could see me now.” Ford’s confession that he has flown too close to the sun, a consequence that almost resulted in his and the world’s undoing. 

But we know how that story ended, and it wasn’t just Ford’s wings that burned. The moral of Icarus’s story is to never forget your limitations. This is why I argue that the other Icarus in “Gravity Falls” is Bill Cipher.

Over the course of his story, Bill had one goal: to be free from all limitations. How this ambition developed doesn’t matter. What’s important to understand is that Bill’s ultimate goal was to be free from laws and restrictions, and that is why he burned his dimension.

Oh, and for some reason there is still some question if Bill burned his dimension. Let me clear that up. 

It’s in the Axolotl’s poem 

It’s in the journal

He admits to it

I hope that cleared up any doubts anyone may still have had.

However, burning his dimension didn’t give Bill the freedom he was after. After the fact, he was trapped in the Nightmare Realm for one trillion years, only able to interact with the physical world by means of possession or through the mindscape. That’s a pretty big limitation. That’s why whenever he came close to overcoming that barrier, and failed, he got visibly frustrated and angry. 

Absolute freedom is what Bill preached to justify what he was doing. It was his way of convincing himself that what he was doing, however messed up, wasn’t wrong. Why does he need to convince himself? Because freedom, the one thing he’s after, is the one thing he can never truly have. 

The Axolotl’s poem, as I showed you before, gives hints to Bill’s possible return. It’s not a particularly new discovery. Most everyone knows this by now, but for the sake of completion, let me recite those hints one more time:

“If he wants to shirk the blame, he’ll have to invoke (the Axolotl’s) name

One way to absolve his crime. A different form, a different time.”

Basically, if Bill wants to further avoid punishment for the arson, he can invoke the Axolotl. But this proves something about Bill. He’ll never be truly free from the responsibility of burning his dimension. He knows this, and it enrages him. 

I mean, how infuriating it must be that the one limitation he can never be free from is the one he imposed on himself. And it’s almost poetic that his downfall happened in a blue fire, similar to his blue fire that he ignites when he makes a deal. Almost like the deal he made with Stan was the moment he flew too close to the sun. 

Since the show ended, there has been a debate whether Bill is evil or tragic. This is my way of arguing both. The truth is, I don’t think there is an evil character who isn’t tragic. Anyone who believes that instigating fear and chaos is the right thing to do must have gone through a lot of pain themselves. That doesn’t make it okay. But it is tragic. 

I think what makes an Icarus is when a person gets too cocky and too comfortable, and they start to think they’re invincible. That’s when they fly too close to the sun. But I don’t think the moral of the story should be “remember your limitations”. I think it should be, “stay grounded”. Don’t be afraid to take risks, just remember that they’re risks. And be prepared that you might fall. 

2024 Review: This is the second of two posts from Amino I'm posting on this blog. I will be creating one more, original post that briefly summarizes my opinion on Bill as of today, which I will later reblog after The Book of Bill comes out.