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cesabutterflywrites · 5 years ago

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A Roman Rose

Word Count: 1504

A/N: Just a little writing exercise. I used some randomizers as prompts. Hope you enjoy, feedback is appreciated.

Warnings: blood mention, sexual intimacy implied, request more if needed

Ao3

“No. Not really red, but the color of a rose when it bleeds.”

— Anne Sexton, excerpt of “Song for a Red Nightgown,” The Complete Poems.

Logan walked down the dark street. He was hungry, though all the restaurants around him were closed. He checked his watch. 1 am. He smirked, looking for his next meal would be easy. The type of people who were roaming the streets at that time of night were the types that tasted best.

He had traveled everywhere. His feet had taken him farther than any human would ever walk. He had many lovers, many friends, and many enemies. He had learned so much. Immortality meant that he could forever study. As his mind aged, however, he had no need for people. He was tired of the changes the world had made. So quickly, humanity had built a great empire that he hadn’t been able to imagine.

He thought of these things as he smelled the air. His first meal of his new life, in the city of New Orleans, had to be special. He had just moved to the city under a new name. Logan Gaines, going back to a classic. A particular favorite alias of his. He had so many names, so many different lives. He kept his nose slightly lifted. He wanted to be invigorated. The first meal of this new life should be only the finest.

His particular tastes were unconventional to the others of his kind. Some called him a snob, or told him that all humans tasted the same. However that was not his experience. He found that he desired a particular...type. He preferred creators. Poets were very sweet to him, while playwrights were a specialty. Painters were good appetizers. Authors, oh authors, those were the juiciest of all. The greater the talent, the greater the taste.

One other thing his kind also found baffling about him is that he never killed. He only used his ability to thrall his victims into never remembering their encounters. It also was a good way to keep leftovers around. He had no desire to try to cover up a murder, plus he still held some form of morals from his first life.

He paused at the corner of the street. He smelt a very sweet, yet somewhat familiar scent. Had one of his previous meals come to the city? Very likely, given humanity's ability to move was more convenient than ever before. He walked toward the scent. Perhaps it was a poet. From the strength of the aroma he knew it was an intellectual, great taste. Definitely worthy of a celebratory first meal.

As he grew closer, his mouth watered. Still, he couldn’t place where he had the blood. The faces of his meals blurred, but surely someone as delicious as this would be memorable. Or perhaps, he had only tasted this blood long ago. He could never be too bothered to remember every bite for long. He did admit to himself, the curiosity helped increase the thrill of the hunt.

He came upon a hotel that would give anyone goosebumps. It definitely looked what humans would consider ‘haunted’. Logan knew better, ghosts were only a reality in the memories of the mind.

As he climbed the stairs and wandered the halls, he felt his fangs start to drop. Must be a very delicious drink.

He stopped outside the door of the source. He paused before knocking. His hesitancy bothered him, but he couldn’t place a finger as to why. Where was the excitement? It had just been there a moment before. Now he felt...was that nervousness?

His mouth still watered, and his headache reminded him of why he was there. He shook his head, hoping to dismiss the foreign feeling. Perhaps it was over-excitement at what he was about to do.

He rapped on the door quietly enough for other visitors not to be disturbed, but loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.

He heard the grunt, male, definitely. He wanted to guess more, but this familiar unfamiliar situation gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in over a decade. Not since he last had a lover. He felt a ping of pain at the fleeting thought. Then it hit him as the scent grew closer. He nearly made the connection but it was too late, for the victim had opened the door.

“Roman…” he breathed. The former lover on his mind must have been conjured by cruel fate to be standing there. He was wrapped in a plush red robe with golden trim. His body was definitely many years older, but he aged well. The man before him was thirty five years old. More beautiful than when Logan had last left him as he slept all those years ago.

The man tilted his head in confusion. “Do I...know you?” Logan noticed his eyes squinting. Probably due to late night exhaustion.

“It’s me, it’s-” Logan nearly choked on the words so they came out in a squeak, “Foster.”

Roman’s eyes widened. Then he rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. Then he looked back to Logan. “No...no, it can’t be…”

Logan opened his arms. “Yes, it can be, and it is.”

Of all the reactions Logan expected, he was not expecting to be pulled inside the room by his collar with the door being slammed behind him. Roman took advantage of his surprise by pushing Logan against the wall, forearm to Logan’s throat. The movement of the other caused the smell of the sweet blood to waft into his nostrils. His fangs fully dropped. Roman, now very alert, was able to see the change to his mouth.

“Oh, I see. You’ve come to finish the job? Huh? You’ve come to finish your meal,” Roman growled. “What gives you the right to show up at my door, fangs dropped and shock in your eyes? Why leave for over a decade, then return when I am no longer youthful and full of beauty?”

“But you are beautiful,” Logan said without thinking. He had a habit of speaking without forethought around Roman. He was baffled. “You’ve aged well, my rose.”

Roman shut his eyes and loosed his grip. “How dare you call me that after all these years…”

Logan took the moment to strike. With inhuman speed, he turned Roman in his arms so that he was against the wall. Logan couldn’t help the growl that escaped his throat.

“These years have meant nothing to me, my rose.” Logan ran his nose along Roman’s neck. He felt the heart rate of the smaller man increase. The blood thirst grew stronger, as well as Logan’s desires. “I have been away from you for over ten years, yet the moment I come into town your blood has called me to you.”

Roman squirmed. “You-you have no right,” he protested, but his voice was wavering. Logan could tell by the tension that grew upon his thigh that Roman did not mean his protests.

He drew a finger over the other side of Roman’s neck, finding deep pleasure in the flesh growing warmer at his touch. “May I drink from you, my rose?”

“Yes,” his prey breathed, “Yes please.” So easy

Logan did not hesitate before indulging himself in his desires. Roman gripped his collar, moaning in pleasure. He never seemed to fear the vampire when he drank. That, or he felt some sort of sick pleasure from the pain. Perhaps he was a masochist. Most writers were.

Logan paused when the grip on his collar started to grow lighter. With great control, he pulled away. He licked over the wound so as to stop the bleeding. He pulled away to see the desire in Roman’s eyes. Oh, how he had missed those eyes in his isolation. How he never realized before the affect this man had on whatever soul he had, Logan did not know.

Roman leaned up on his toes to kiss Logan, his tongue moving delicately past the sharp fangs. The taste of his blood mingled on their breaths. He pushed his hands in Logan’s hair. “Foster…” he whispered against his lips.

Logan chuckled. “I’m sorry to correct you, but I am Logan now.” He pulled away to see the curiosity in Roman’s eyes. Leaning down to nibble at his ex-lover’s ear, he whispered, “Nice to meet you in this life, my rose.”

Roman trembled. “Logan,” Logan moaned into the man’s neck. The new name coming from those tantalizing lips made him feel a new desire he hadn’t experienced in the old life as Foster.

“Logan, can we please continue to our other...post meal activities?” Roman begged, “I haven’t been nearly as satisfied in so long,” he whined.

“Much obliged.” Logan stated before lifting Roman up. They never broke their kiss as they made their way to the bed.

Definitely a good first meal in my new life, Logan thought as Roman fell asleep on his chest after. He closed his eyes as the sun rose. His dreams were filled with secret desires for a longer time with his no-longer-ex lover.

Let me know if you wanna be added to a ship’s taglist!

#Logince #Romantic Logince #vampire AU #Mama Cesa writes #writing exercise #sanders sides #logan sanders #roman sanders #blood mention tw #tw mentions of sex #vampire logan #human roman

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kingsofeverything · 5 years ago

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when you see this post a snippet from your wip

They stand just inside the door for a moment, watching through the window as their friends and families mill around in the backyard, but then Harry sends Niall a quick text that they’re ready, and Niall starts to strum his guitar. Everyone quiets down and when Harry cracks open the door, the first few notes of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” float over the yard, and Louis stiffens.

“Shit. Okay.” Louis brushes the front of his jacket and checks that it’s buttoned for the millionth time, glances at Harry and says, “Smiles on, don’t trip and fall because we’re holding hands and you’ll take me down with you, and remember that…” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “we’re already married, so there’s really nothing to be nervous about.”

With a smile pasted on his face, Harry grips Louis’ hand tightly and says, “None of that was helpful. I feel like throwing up.”

“Well, don’t do that if I’m supposed to kiss you.” Louis pulls the door fully open and as they step outside. Harry trips over the threshold, stumbling sideways into Louis who steadies him with his free hand on Harry’s chest. “What did I just say?”

“I hate you,” Harry mumbles through his wide grin as he reaches up to fix his clover crown.

They walk slowly, hands linked between them, through the yard and over the clover strewn makeshift aisle, and Louis tries to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Harry’s grandmother stands in front of the rose covered arbor, holding a large, dark green book that, at first, Louis thinks is a bible, but as they approach he can make out the book’s title: The Hobbit.

Harry must see it at the same time or else he senses Louis’ confusion because he whispers, “She’s a huge Tolkien fan. Just go with it.”

They stop a few feet in front of her and she loudly clears her throat and begins, “Welcome! Welcome, everyone. It’s wonderful that so many of you were able to be here on such short notice to celebrate the union of these two souls in the bonds of matrimony.” She opens The Hobbit and Louis can see that she has a few pieces of paper stuck inside. “I always like to start a wedding ceremony with a reading and most couples request a poem or excerpt, but as no one asked me for anything specific, I’m going with my gut here, which seems to be the theme of today’s nuptials.”

There’s a quiet murmuring from their friends and family and someone — it sounds like Niall — giggles.

She continued, “I’d like to open with one of my favorite quotes from my very favorite book. I find it quite appropriate for a celebration such as this: ‘I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone.’” After pausing for effect, she says, “How true! Life is but an adventure, and how amazing to find someone to share it with. And so young! As young as you are, it’s rare to find your person, and that makes it even more special.” Harry squeezes Louis’ hand, and nudges their shoulders together. “I ask that you two face each other and join both hands to make a circle.”

It’s easy to do as he’s told, and Harry’s warm hands are surprisingly dry considering the beads of sweat gathering along his hairline. Harry comically widens his eyes, wiggling his eyebrows, and Louis has to press his lips together and look up at the sky to stop himself from laughing.

“These hands,” she says, voice carrying over the yard and drawing Louis’ attention back to earth and to Harry. “These hands that you hold will be strong when you need them to be and soft when you require tenderness. These are the hands that will support you — as they did when you tripped on the way outside, Harry. Don’t think we didn’t see that.”

A chorus of chuckles from their friends and family bring a sputtering laugh from Louis’ lips, and Harry pouts, turning to look at his grandmother. “Yes, I’m clumsy. Thanks, Grandma.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “These hands will encourage you, comfort you, guide you when you’re lost, and reach for yours today, tomorrow, forever. They’re full of love on this special day, as you make this promise to love each other for the rest of your lives. And now, I believe you gentlemen have written your own vows. We’ll start with Louis, as I’m quite curious to know what he plans to promise my grandson.”

#a marriage of convenience #snippet

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abalonetea · 5 years ago

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Patreon Month In Review - February

hi, guys! this is where we review all the goodies that were posted this month, so you can get an idea of what’s gonna be posted next month!

_-_-_

right off the bat, $10 tier Patreons got a PDF copy of my new poetry collection, Putrescent Poems!

outside of that we had FORTY FIVE POSTS go up in February!

_-_-_

12 full colored pictures

2 updates to Break The Bones, 2.5k+ words each

7 sketches

7 short stories

2 playlists

5 excerpts from Bound For Providence

8 recipes

2 kitchen hacks

that’s something posted every day and often, more than one thing!

_-_-_-_

next month, there will be five excerpts from my upcoming book, We Come Undone, and an equal amount of cool goodies as was seen this month!

and don’t forget, $5 tier patrons can make up to three writing requests every month!

so this is the perfect time to consider checking out patreon.com/abalonetea and seeing what i do! or if you like my work and just want to support me, consider stopping by my ko-fi!

#month in review #patreon

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icecoldflames · 5 years ago

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The Pinnae Flower Chapter 3

Masterlist

Pinnae: Spelunca, Set in China?

Now that Raz Keeran released that tidbit on his Twitter about Kaida and the stone dragon, Pinnies are going mad posting about headcanons and writing little one-shots. The fandom seems as lively as ever.

People are even theorizing about an upcoming movie? While that would be epic, there is no real source about such a thing. Sadly. I guess we’ll see.

In any case, Logan and I are back for more theorizing!

Today, we’re going to be looking at what kind of dragon and where Pinnae: Spelunca will be set. We personally think it will be set in China or some kind of Chinatown. Why? The excerpt from Raz’s Twitter says this: He had a ball clutched in his right paw. Here, Kaida is referring to the stone dragon that turns into a real one.

In China, there are these stone dragons that are known as Chinese guardian lions or imperial guardian lions. Often, there are two of them, normally made from stone, that are thought to protect a building from harm. While they have spread to other parts of Asia, they originated in China. Normally there are two of them, a male and a female. The female is often depicted with a cub while the male—get this—is depicted with a ball. A ball.

We know from descriptions and dialogue in the Pinnae series that Arel’s family is Asian. More specifically, Chinese.

While we do not believe Arel’s family would go on a trip to China without Arel, we think that Kaida might take a nice visit during this story. Maybe on the wings of a dragon? Time will only tell.

Thanks for reading my loyal plebeians,

Prince Roman Falco

~~~

Roman normally was a morning person. But staying up late at night and trying to find a specific rock in opaque bags could make a person sleep in.

When he did wake up, however, it was close to eleven o’clock and the curtains were drawn open to let in some light.

Roman heard the distinct clicks of a phone typing and he turned his head over just a little to see Logan sitting against the headboard of the other bed, fully clothed.

He hated the sound of clicking keys on phones. It was annoying and loud. But Logan liked it because he found it soothing.

The clicking stopped and through his bleary eyes he could see Logan crack a small smile before beginning to type once again.

Roman wondered who he was texting? A family member? Whoever they were had managed to make Logan crack a smile which was pretty good considering most jokes flew over his head.

He stayed in bed for a couple more minutes, listening to the incessant clicking.

Weird. Roman frowned. The clicking was kind of soothing. It reminded him of the rain hitting against the window panes back at home. The noise seemed to flow through one ear and out the other.

He closed his eyes for a split second, letting the clicking wash over him. What had changed? Why was this suddenly so soothing instead of annoying?

Roman decided he didn’t want to know. Maybe it was just something that happened gradually. Or like when you’re a kid and hate a certain food and then you grow up and actually enjoy it.

“Who are you texting?” Roman rolled around to his side. If Logan was surprised that he was awake, he didn’t show it.

Logan shrugged. “Just a friend.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “You have other friends than me?” He put a hand to his heart.

“Ha ha ha,” Logan said, rolling his eyes before typing out something and then turning his phone off.

“Who?”

Logan pulled himself up off the bed and leisurely to the coffee maker Roman hadn’t noticed was on. He had his lips pursed and his eyebrows were drawn down.

“A crush? What’s his name?” Roman persisted, getting out of the bed. They normally always told each other about their crushes.

Except Virgil. Roman shook that thought from his head in an instant. No. It was totally fine not to tell Logan about his feelings for Virgil. Besides, it might not even be a crush. He was still trying to figure out his feelings for the dude.

“It’s not a crush.” Logan shook his head.

Roman frowned as he opened the little closet to look for the day’s outfit. “You know you can trust me, Lo. Who is it?” He pulled his homemade Pinnae shirt off of one of the coat hangers—the red button up one with the pinnae flower embroidered on the back and the quote “Do not struggle for perfection. Strive to do your best” stitched around the collar in gold.

It was one of his favourite quotes said by Lewis to Parisa in the first book when she’s trying to communicate to the nest of rabbits, claiming to want to be the perfect at speaking in their language of various sounds.

The quote just really spoke to him that none of the other memorable quotes did.

He didn’t have to be perfect at what he did. Nobody was ever perfect. It was an impossible standard. Roman just had to be himself. He had to do the best to his own abilities. The quote reminded him that perfection was unattainable.

“Okay. Fine. You know theazureflower?” Logan sighed, taking a large gulp of coffee and looking over the rim of his mug at Roman.

“The user who always comments on my posts first?” Roman asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Him. That’s who I was talking to.”

“What? Really?” Roman pulled off his nightshirt and put on his button up. “Since when?”

“Since at least three years ago.”

Roman’s button down fell from his fingers. “Three years ago?” If he had a drink he would have spit it out by now.

Logan nodded nonchalantly as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Yeah.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

Logan took another sip of coffee and shrugged. “It was never important. You never asked.”

Roman felt slightly betrayed that Logan hadn’t told him of this before. Didn’t friends—best friends since high school—tell each other these things? He opened his mouth to speak but Logan cut him off.

“I say we go back to Patton’s and wait for Cherry.” He placed his coffee mug down.

“I would have told you.” Roman said, picking his shirt back up and putting it on. “If I had a friend for three years.” He paused. “Do you even know the person? Have you seen each other in person? Would you have told me then?”

“We haven’t met face to face. I don’t even know his actual name.” Logan said, sliding on his shoes.

“How do you know he’s not...like…?” Roman tried to find the right words.

“He’s a real person.” Logan sighed, rolling his eyes. “Come on now, we can have breakfast again at Patton’s while keeping an eye out for Cherry.”

“You go on,” Roman said. He didn’t really know why he was reacting so strongly to this. Maybe it was a wake up call to how far he and Logan were drifting apart. “I’ll be over in a bit.”

Logan looked over at Roman as if he wanted to say something. Roman waited for it.

But, in the end, Logan just nodded. “Okay.” And then he walked out the door.

Roman waited five more minutes after Logan left to leave the hotel.

The sky was overcast and dry and the town was in full swing.

Roman bought a croissant filled with chocolate from a vender on the side of the street and just walked through the streets in complete silence.

Why didn’t Logan tell him about theazureflower? Were they in a relationship? Relationships were important in people’s lives. Why would Logan keep such a thing from him?

Before, if Roman ever got a boyfriend, he would have definitely told Logan. But now...now that he knew Logan kept something from him he wasn’t sure if he would anymore.

Maybe it was symbolism for something. How their friendship was fading.

“What’re you doing?” Jo’s voice slithered into Roman’s head.

His head shot up and the word “nothing” almost rolled off his tongue until he realized that Jo wasn’t talking to him.

Roman turned his head just slightly to see who Jo was talking to.

A familiar mop of dark brown hair met his eyes. Virgil.

Roman stopped in his tracks and pretended to check his phone, leaning against the brick wall next to him.

Virgil was sat alone at a picnic bench, an open leather journal in front of him. He was quietly closing it up as he responded to Jo. “Nothing much. Just writing some poems.”

Jo slid herself in the bench and snuggled up closely to Virgil.

Roman felt himself stiffen and watched as Virgil became increasingly uncomfortable.

“About what? I do love a philosophical trait in a man.” Jo cooed.

Virgil slumped even lowly in his bench and flinched as Jo put a delicate arm around him.

Roman began panicking. Was Virgil straight? He had assumed earlier that he was gay or at least not heterosexual. Did he have a crush on a straight guy? His heart dropped and he suddenly felt lightheaded. His already cruddy mood was becoming even cruddier.

“Um...just about stuff. I’m not...I’m not really comfortable with talking about it.” Virgil muttered quietly.

“Ah,” Jo nodded, honey sweet. “A private man.”

Virgil bit the bottom of his lip and tried to scooch away from Jo. He slowly grabbed his journal and pulled it towards him.

Roman shoved his left hand in his pocket, making a fist.

Jo smacked her lips and looked at Virgil. “Why don’t you and I go out for supper? Get to know each other better?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could shut his ears so he wouldn’t hear anything.

Even though he could just walk away, Roman just couldn’t. He was rooted to his spot on the pavement.

There was no response for a moment. Roman opened his eyes and watched through his eyelashes.

Virgil’s eyes were wide and Roman watched intently as his mouth began to form words.

“I’m gay.”

Roman’s shoulders slumped in relief.

Virgil’s words were fast and quick and came out in a panic. He instantly stood up and hugged his journal to his chest, fast walking down the street. He looked close to collapsing then and there on the sidewalk.

Roman quickly walked after him, discreetly glancing back to see Jo in stunned silence still at the picnic table.

Virgil stopped in an alleyway, leaning against one of the buildings. His breath was shallow and quick and his face was pale. He had his hood up.

As Roman came close, Virgil noticeably tensed. He stopped in his tracks, not coming too close so he wouldn’t look like a threat.

Virgil glanced over at him and then slightly relaxed. “Oh. It’s just you.”

“Are you okay?” Roman asked, keeping his voice low. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m–I’m fine.” Virgil stuttered. He slid down the wall so he was in a crouched position. “I...I just need to breathe.”

Roman sat down on the ground where he was, unsure of what to do.

Part of him felt sad for Virgil but the other part was self-congratulatory because he was right.

From the first and only time he saw Jo, he knew that she was a bad apple. And did Logan believe him? No sir. But he just witnessed the woman practically accost Virgil minding his own business.

And also because his gay-dar was still spot-on.

But mostly because of Jo.

Roman rummaged in his jean pocket for the small plastic package of the Pinnae collectable rock, opened but taped back into its original package. “I hope this helps: I got you something to apologize for making you uncomfortable yesterday asking about your grandmother.” He outstretched his arm to give Virgil the package.

Virgil mutely took the package and looked at Roman suspiciously, opening it up expertly.

He shook the contents out into his palm and a folded collection list came out along with a pitch black rock. On the flat side was an engraving of a pair of fairy wings.

Virgil blinked down at the rock for multiple seconds before speaking up. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t have this one yet.”

Roman smiled a bit. “Yeah. I asked Patton if there was a way to make it up to you and he told me you collected them.”

A small hint of a smile spread across his face. “Thanks.”

“Although, I gotta ask. How have you gotten 40 out of fifty of them already? They literally only came out a couple days ago!” Roman exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down but slightly failing.

Virgil winced at the volume of his tone. He said the next words very carefully. “I don’t know.” He then shrugged. “I’m just such a big fan.”

Roman loved meeting Pinnies in real life. Behind the screen and in real life were two totally different things. Roman could connect better with someone in the flesh than behind a computer.

“I’m a big fan too!” Roman said, twisting his body slightly to show off the back of his shirt and his collar.

Roman watched as Virgil’s eyes widened. He hesitantly raised his arm up to touch. His eyes rose to meet Roman’s as if to ask for permission.

Roman nodded.

Virgil softly touched the embroidery of the flower on the back and Roman’s arms broke out into goosebumps.

“You made this?” Virgil breathed quietly.

Roman felt Virgil’s breath fan against his neck and he had the strongest urge to blurt out “I’m gay.”

“It’s incredible.” Virgil muttered, his finger following along the stitches of the flower petals. “Wow…”

“My dad taught me.” Roman explained. “He always patched up my jeans and other clothes with cool embroidered shapes and when I was older I begged him to teach me.”

There was a stretch of silence in the conversation but Roman had no intention of filling the space. It felt comfortable and peaceful.

“So how did you get into the Pinnae series?” Virgil asked, his fingers still ghosting over the back of Roman’s shirt.

“My other dad knows how much I love fantasy books so when the first book came out he gave it to me for my birthday.” Roman said, remembering the exact wrapping paper he had used. A red wrapping paper with golden stars that shimmered under light. “What about you?”

“Nothing as heart touching as your story,” Virgil chuckled slightly. “I just happened upon it when I was at Patton’s. Someone left a copy at my table where I normally sat and I just...picked it up.”

“Someone left a copy?” Roman said, wanting to turn around to look at Virgil in surprise but also wanting to stay in his crouched position with Virgil and his feather light touch.

“Well, it was the library’s copy.” Virgil explained.

“And your favourite character?” Roman questioned.

“I love them all. I kind of feel like they’re all my babies.”

“But?” Roman prompted, feeling a but coming along.

“But I can relate to Sidney so much.” Roman could head the smile in his voice.

“What do you think happened to him?” Roman asked curiously. “I mean, my friend and I, Logan, own this blog where we’ve made a theory but I do like to hear other opinions.”

“I have no clue.” Virgil said honestly.

Roman then asked the question that he loved asking other Pinnies. “What do you think of Raz?”

He immediately felt Virgil stiffen behind him and wondered what he had said wrong.

“I...um...I think h-they’re...they’re cool. I can’t wait for the fifth book to come out.” Virgil stuttered. He retracted his arm.

Roman turned himself around and leaned against the other wall, opposite to Virgil. “What did I say?” He was truly confused. He had thought their conversation was going well.

“N-nothing.” Virgil stammered.

“Then why did—“ Roman started but was cut off.

“I just…” Virgil paused. “I have an unpopular opinion that a lot of...um...Pinnies don’t agree with.”

“Which is what?”

“I think that Raz should be able to choose whether they want to stay anonymous or not.” Virgil said slowly.

If Roman was in this conversation just a mere week ago, he would have probably begun an argument.

But something was different this time. It was kind of hard to explain. Maybe it was because of Roman watching Jo try to flirt with Virgil who was obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Roman imagined Raz Keeran, wherever they were sitting in their house and enjoying their peaceful day. And then multiple Jo’s just barging in on them and ruining their perfectly good morning.

He thought of all kinds of celebrities presently and the paparazzi and the fans and just all of it.

While he, personally, wouldn’t find it all that bad he could now understand how overwhelming that could be.

What did that mean for him? Did he still want to find out Raz’s true identity? Of course. But would he release the knowledge to the world? Roman wasn’t so sure anymore. In the past, he would have done it in a heartbeat. But now he was unsure.

“I agree.” Roman said, looking up at Virgil. “Raz Keeran has a choice and they chose to stay anonymous.”

~~~

Logan was sat down at a table for two in Patton-ly Perfect. But he was the only one at the table.

He was nursing a cup of coffee and a Chinese steam bun with barbecued pork in it to his left. In front of him was a computer with an empty The Prince’s Crown post.

Patton was in the kitchen with the door open, humming the tune Jingle Bells even though it was summer, while washing the dishes.

Logan’s brain was too busy. Normally working on something would quiet down everything but today it wasn’t working. He was staring at the blinking cursor on the screen like a broken robot.

There were plenty headcanons he could choose to do more research on. Like Sidney’s death. Or why the pinnae flower was so important to the fairy king. Or what was the significance of Sidney’s cloak? Keeran never really explained what was beneath it.

Patton came out of the kitchen and wandered over to Logan’s table with a chocolate chip cookie in his hand. “What are you working on?” He sat down in the empty seat across from him. Patton drew his eyebrows down and his face scrunched up before he finally said, “are you working on a post for The Prince’s Crown?”

Logan wanted to spit out his coffee in surprise. But he didn’t. Instead, he swallowed the coffee and placed it gently back down on the table. “What?”

“When you guys first came in you introduced yourselves as Roman and Logan. Who else could it be?” Patton was grinning from ear to ear. He took a big chunk off of his cookie and popped it in his mouth.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Logan asked curiously, closing his laptop and picking up his Chinese steam bun.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up.” Patton said. He shifted in his seat and looked away from Logan for a split second.

“What is it?” Logan prompted.

Patton took the small flower pot in the center of the table into his hands and inspected it.

It had the same fake look the other flower looked at Virgil’s table. But, instead of clear petals they were a deep blue colour. Ironically, Logan would have called it azure.

Patton placed the flower pot down again. “I think another introduction is in session.” He pushed the flower pot towards Logan slowly, his face serious. “Hello. I’m theazureflower.”

At first, Logan wasn’t sure he heard it right. He blinked a few times as his brain processed this sentence.

theazureflower, the guy who Logan had been texting for at least two years, was right in front of him. The guy who he thought of as another best friend and nothing else.

But his feelings for Patton were different than his feelings for theazureflower.

“...Are you okay?” Patton asked slowly.

“Y-yes.” Logan nodded. “You’re theazureflower.” He stated after a moment’s pause.

Patton nodded. “Yeah. I really love Roman and yours’ blog. It’s the only Pinnae blog that I read.” His mouth was growing into a wide smile.

Logan felt his mouth twitch and Patton’s smile must have been infectious for his own mouth slowly morphed into a smile. “Wow. I can’t believe it. We always talked about meeting in person and now...now it’s actually happening.”

“Is this trip part of your top secret mission you talked about in your second last post?” Patton asked.

“Yes. Although I don’t think I can disclose much information about it.” Logan did kind of want to tell Patton about their mystery. About how he almost felt like a real Sherlock Holmes and how, while he never really planned on exposing Raz Keeran, he just wanted to be the one to figure out who they were. Just the self-pride fact and knowing that he—Logan Holmes—cracked a mystery no one else could.

Patton nodded solemnly. “I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Logan pushed up his glasses and rubbed his chin, biting his bottom lip. Should he? Logan thought for another second before saying, “do you know where I could find a woman named Cherry? Round, circular glasses? Brunette? Short hair?”

Patton frowned. “Cherry Quill? Virgil’s sister?”

“Virgil’s sister?” Logan repeated.

“Yeah. Cherry’s a couple years older than Virgil. She lives out in New York now as a journalist. She came back here over the summer to spend time with Virgil but she left just yesterday to head back out.” Patton explained. “Why do you need her?”

Logan’s shoulders slumped. New York. New York. How would he ever figure this mystery out? Was there a way to ask Virgil about Cherry and make assumptions from there? Or actually travel to New York and try to find Cherry in the multitude of people living there? It would be like looking for a speck of dirt in a haystack.

Patton waited patiently and Logan wasn’t sure how he was going to respond. How was he supposed to explain that he thought Cherry was possibly Raz Keeran?

Luckily the door opened and Roman and Virgil came inside, the two of them speaking quietly to each other.

Logan watched as Roman helped Virgil into his regular seat with the flower pot and the fake, clear, flower. “Do you want a glass of water? Some coffee?” He asked him gently.

“Just some water please, if you don’t mind.”

It occurred to Logan that Roman did care about Virgil. Quite a bit, actually. Whether Roman knew it or not. Or, whether Roman admitted the fact to himself or not.

“What happened?” Patton asked worriedly, standing up and quickly walking over to Virgil, forgetting about his question to Logan. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine Pat.” Virgil said as Roman brought over a glass of water. “Just a little shaken.” He paused as he noticed Patton’s still worried face. “Seriously Pat, I’m fine.”

“What happened? Was it that woman again?” Patton said, pulling out a chair from another table and sitting down with Virgil.

“Again?” Roman looked absolutely outraged. His face was becoming as red as a tomato and his hands were balled into fists. “That woman flirted with you multiple times?”

Logan watched closely as Patton looked at Virgil, Virgil looked at Roman, and Roman looked at Patton.

“It was no big deal, I had it under control.” Virgil said, waving his hand away and taking a large gulp of water.

Logan noticed how Roman pressed his lips together tightly and sat down across from Logan, in the spot where Patton had just vacated.

“You ought to tell the police or something, Virge. If she’s constantly harassing and trying to flirt with—“ Patton began but was cut off by Virgil.

“I told her this time that I was gay.” Logan glanced at Roman and expected to see surprise written all over his face. But he looked as cool as a cucumber. Which meant Roman already knew that. Probably learned rather recently too. “So she should back off on the flirting.”

“But that doesn’t mean she won’t harass you again—“

Logan couldn’t help but interrupt. “I’m sorry to intrude but who are we talking about? It sounds incredibly serious and you should go to the police about it if this woman tries to harass you again.”

Roman looked at Logan square in the eyes. “It was Jo.”

“Jo?” The woman that he had spoken to in front of the hospital? That same Jo who had told him about the donor? The Jo who had seemed so kind and intelligent?

Roman seemed to read his mind and nodded in confirmation. “That Jo.”

Logan remembered Roman’s words after his and Jo’s conversation. That woman gives me bad vibes. “You have to tell the police.”

Virgil scrunched up his nose. “I’ll do it if she does it again.”

Patton bit his lip. “Alright. But I still think you should do it now.”

“I could tell her to back off.” Roman exclaimed. “Or Logan could. Jo seemed to like Logan. Maybe she’ll listen better to him.” He looked over at Logan hesitantly. “If he doesn’t my mind,” he added in quickly.

Logan nodded. “Of course I’ll do it if you want me to.”

This seemed like a thaw in the ice from their previous icy conversation earlier about theazureflower. Which made him remember…

“Roman, guess what?” He asked. He gestured to Patton. “That’s theazureflower.”

Roman looked shocked. “Wait. Seriously? Are you kidding me?”

Patton grinned. “No. I’m not kidding. I just told Logan before you came in.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier!?” Roman said, coming over to Patton and opening his arms up for a hug.

Patton gladly took the offer. “I was wondering how to ask. It just never felt right to tell you any other time.”

“Wow! I can’t believe it!” Roman exclaimed. He collapsed in a chair by Virgil, a dopey grin on his face. “Wow.”

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infinityskitchen · 5 years ago

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Andrew Brenza and Concrete Poetry: "Playing with the Material of Language"

What if a poem is modeled after a rock garden and each letter is transformed into a stone?

If anyone would explore this idea, it would be Andrew Brenza. Brenza is an experimental poet and librarian, whose work creative work merges language and visual art. His mini-poetry collection, “Rock Gardens,” organizes language into, well, a rock garden. This poetic masterpiece appeared in 8th issue of Infinity’s Kitchen Literary Journal.

What does “Rock Gardens” look like? The piece consists of five separate poems that each use a single word to create intricate visual patterns (see excerpt images below). The issue describes Brenza’s concrete poetry as a “linguistic Japanese rock gardens: simple in presentation, highly ordered, but open to the air.”

Image excerpts from the Infinity’s Kitchen vol. 8.

These word-gardens use repetition and organization to evoke something maddening and beautiful. It’s the transformation of word into abstraction and design. The first image above repeats the word “Reset” while the second one uses “Heathiest.” I fell in love with these poems’ airy complexity the second I saw them.

You might be wondering why “Rock Gardens” matters…well, buckle up, because this post will talk about visual poetry and how it captures the ‘in-a-pickle’ mess of life and the soul.

Brenza’s Art and Experimentation I had the chance to email Brenza some questions about his creative life and work. He was generous enough to dig into his motivations and creative process.

‘Experimentation’ can be a shifty word—not because it’s sketchy in nature, (although its definition can be), but because it means different things to different creators. So, thinking back to “Rock Gardens,” I asked Brenza if he still considers his work experimental.

While he does believe his work is “very experimental,” (his words!), Brenza doesn’t concern himself with this label during his creation process. Or, as Brenza says,

I do not really think about whether my work is experimental or not these days. I just do it.

This might be one of the healthiest approaches to writing and art. Don’t concern yourself with labels and genres, just create. Follow the impulse and see where it leads.

Not surprising, Brenza recommends young poets (who want to experiment) take a light-hearted approach to new projects. Just play. Let creativity flow through you and see where it leads! Let yourself become part of the process and the experimentation.

In Brenza’s own words,

I would say, try not to take yourself too seriously. Play around, see what happens, let the piece come into its own. If the work stinks, try again. Rushed judgment can easily shut down the creative process. So take your time, and let the piece breathe.

I love this piece of advice. It reminds creators that good writing (or good art) takes patience and try-and-error. Its okay to mess up, to revise, to start again.

Automatic Souls and the “Predicament of the Soul” Over the years, Brenza’s poetry has become increacingly visual. Recently, Brenza published two books of visual poetry.

One of these books is Automatic Souls (Timglaset: Publisher of Visual Poetries). This collection merges language and icons to create visual wonder. Brenza told me that he is very proud of this book and that the publisher did an amazing job, doing his visual poetry justice.

Text is inserted within or underneath visuals, captioning and contextualizing robotic scenes (see images below). Using Bauhaus era typography, Brenza evokes mechanical creatures that capture predicaments, to use his word, of human life.

Images taken from the publisher’s website

There is something archaic and futuristic, organic and mechanical, in this world. The images pull me in with their glyph like nature.

In the afterword, Brenza said

The characters in this world did not ask for their predicaments. They did not ask for the nature of their compositions. Yet they respond to those predicaments given the nature of their compositions. This is how it goes in the half-light of a fading free will.

The publisher sees this book as “a chilling reminder of the predicament of the soul,” and I’m inclined to agree. Genes dictate our compositions; circumstances we have no control of surround our birth. The world doesn’t give us much consideration either. How do we respond to our own predicaments?

Album, in Concrete and How it Draws on Art, Music, and Writing Brenza also recently published Album, In Concrete (Alien Buddha Press).

This book, as the title suggests, is like an album. It contains Brenza’s visual poetry and asemic writing, which Brenza’s website says “explores visual representations of melody in specific keys/letters.” Ah, the merging of music, art, and poetry!

Art (usually) strives to express something real or felt. Music also works to reveal or support something—I mean, haven’t you ever listened to a song to feel happier, or maybe even listened to one to feel even sadder?

Visual poetry and asemic writing function on this premise. Because our world and our emotions are complex, its natural to explore reality in hybrid and cross-genre creations. Album, in Concrete arises from such a wonderful overlap (see image below).

Image taken from Brenza’s website

Brenza’s Creative Process Now that we’ve seen some of Brenza’s concrete and visual poetry, you may be wondering what his creative process is like. At the very least, I was super curious to learn how Brenza’s unique style came to life.

Brenza said this about his craft:

much of my process in making these [experimental] works comes from playing with the material of language until I stumble upon something that looks interesting to me.

We see this play with linguistic materials in “Rock Gardens” and Automatic Souls for sure. There is a deconstruction and rebuilding of meaning, words, and symbols.

Brenza’s creative process begins each morning, before he heads off to work. Running on coffee, Brenza spends about an hour writing. He says “all of [his] recent work has come out of this daily ritual.”

Writing rituals are pretty important. They force your mind to take the time to create and may involve you going to a café, using paper and pen, or meditating before you sit to write.

According to Brenza, experimentation is central to his creative process. It guides his creative play.

Brenza pulls, pushes, massages, and rearranges language “until something interesting happens.” That takes a lot of patience, but Brenza doesn’t stop until he feels “a piece is done, or hopeless, or [he] runs out of time and have to go to work.” Experimentation gives Brenza the freedom to play with language’s building-blocks, to explore, mess up, and find something strange yet compelling.

Time, of course, limits how much anyone can do. Experimentation is not as constraining.

I asked Brenza what makes his creative process effective. For this visual poet, it boils down to the emotions he experiences as his creation unfolds. I guess an effective creative process is one that makes the artist feel something extraordinary.

As Brenza says,

I suppose it is the feelings that are unleashed as a result of the creative process, of the thing that is created.

Obliviously, Brenza’s creativity demands digital platforms. His craft requires a proficiency in publishing software.

I’m sure many contemporary artists and hybrid writers would agree that mastering digital art and publishing applications is central to producing compelling visual poetry.

Life as a Motivation What drives Brenza onward? What compels him to create and stretch language into the visual? Like any artist and writer, he must have some sort of inspiration or motivation. Brenza claims the latter.

Brenza creativity is a lifeline. Expression and creation give him an outlet and the opportunity to get in touch with his selfhood. He wants

to feel human despite [his] often-stultifying middle-class existence. In short, it is the making of and exposure to art that allows life to be bearable.

I wanted to add in Brenza’s own words because so many of us feel trapped by our circumstances or limited one way or another. Writing and art alleviate our stagnation.

—

Andrew Brenza’s recent chapbooks include Poems in C (Viktlösheten Press), Bitter Almonds & Mown Grass (Shirt Pocket Press), Waterlight (Simulacrum Press), and Excerpt from Alphabeticon (No Press). He is also the author of three full-length collections of visual poetry, Automatic Souls (Timglaset Editions), Gossamer Lid (Trembling Pillow Press) and Album, in Concrete (Alien Buddha Press). He can found somewhere in North America.

Learn more about Brenza’s work here.

Huge thanks for Brenza for taking the time to discuss his creative life!

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marculees · 6 years ago

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Soft Bias Tag <3

Tagged by the lovely @pikachulein, thank you! ^-^

Prepare for soft cringe. So because I’m selfish and lowkey narcissistic hahaha, I kinda have two so this is going to be a 2-in-1 yay. I haven’t even started yet and I’m already laughing?? Anyway lets go~

1. Who is my Bias?

💛 Jackson Wang

💜 Mark Lee

2. What made you notice him?

💛 His laugh, sense of humor and energy! It was contagious and I couldn’t help just OwO at him in every video lololol

💜 Lmao we have the exact same birthday so I was like omg yes finally someone I can relate to. So I looked up his profile and noticed we were basically the same person and was shook O.o

3. What’s your favorite thing about him?

💛 His heart of gold (aha get the emoji reference yeeeah i did that).He’s honestly such a kind and generous person and sjkglsgfdkjf he makes me cry. Like when I see him helping others or taking care of his members or his family especially, my heart skips a beat. He’s my ideal type tbh, as cringey as that sounds. Here’s an excerpt from a letter to my bias thing I have in my drafts cx

“Ideal types may be just a charade to some, but ultimately you are everything I want in a partner. Your kindness and generosity is one of my favourite things about you and is hugely underappreciated by others. How you always go out of your way to help others, be it strangers or loved ones, is so inspiring. You truly have a heart of gold and I feel like it isn’t said enough. Yes, you are fucking gorgeous and a huge idiot but its the kind soul underneath that I love most.”

💜 That he makes me feel more confident and loving towards myself <3

“I’ve always been the black sheep, odd one out, and I still struggle with finding others I can relate to. When I was in school I was friendly with everyone but with my friends I wasn’t really considered part of the group. I didn’t fit. I was an afterthought, an outsider. I’m in college now and while I do feel a sense of belonging with my new friends, with you I feel not just that but a sense of understanding, a sense of empathy NCT 2018. Since the very first day, I settled on biasing you for these probably selfish reasons alone. I was a kid back then, we both were. And now that we are barely considered adults, I am still following you. But my initial fascination has become much deeper than just that. The more I’ve fallen in love with you, the more I’ve begun to love myself also. You show and teach me things I’ve discredited or put down about about myself. The more interest I showed in you and your group, the more similar I realised we are. From our attitude, ethic, gestures, sense of humor and way of speaking, it became apparent to me that I had finally found someone. Someone who makes me feel like it’s okay to be who I am, because I am not alone. What I perceived as flaws in myself, I saw as endearing in you.”

*pukes from cringe at myself* I am never going to post the full thing

4. Who would initiate skinship more?

💛 HIM WITHOUT A DOUBT. He’s a touchy baby. Tbh it would probably piss me off slightly, like I’m just being honest ahaha. I don’t mind people touching my thigh or my arm for a second but he’s the type to just touch and then stay there lol

💜 Him too, I think. I’ve noticed he’s become a bit more touchy with the members recently! I’m not very touchy but if someone is more chill about it and doesn’t feel like its necessary or has to be like all the fucking time, then I’m more inclined to actually engage in it surprise surprise.

5. Who would hog the blankets more?

💛 I would say him but then I remember him saying he gets really hot at night (it was in one of those GOT2Days with JB lol). I get hot too so he can hog them if he wants cx

💜 He’s pretty chill, like so long as he has his pillow to hug then I don’t think he would mind much. I would insist on covering him up still though. I’m not a hogger at all, in fact usually I end up with literally half/no blanket in the morning because I’ve kicked it off at some point

6. Who would be more clingy?

💛 HIM. I honestly don’t think I need to explain XD

💜 Oooh tough question. I feel like it could be him? I would be more clingy on the inside, if that makes sense?

7. Who would say I love you first?

💛 I think it would be me but just as like a casual thing like, “Ahh you’re lucky I love you”. But he would take it serious and be like “...I love you too”. And then I’d get all giggly and embarrassed because that’s all I ever do T-T

💜 Maybe me? Idk like it would a kind of ‘in the moment’ thing? I’d be thinking it but I wouldn’t say it until I realised I actually had. I’ve done this before ;-;

8. Who would be more easily flustered?

💛 Me!!!! I bet that would be his favourite thing to do too. He’s such a little shit like he’d be all “Aww is someone all blushy?” and then make me even worse and kjdsgfldfmdsfg I would lowkey enjoy it tbh XD

💜 I think him actually! I wouldn’t be over-the-top romantic or cheesy so if I ever did something, it would catch him by surprise and make him uwu haha. I’m not the best at speaking my thoughts but I would write lots of poems and songs for him and I think that would make him get all flustered since he likes writing too c:

9. What cuddling position would you two have?

💛 Aww I honestly love backhugs so anything where I could just wrap my arms around him and lie against his back. The big spoon! But I feel like he would give the best hugs so like sitting in his lap with his arms around me and djkfhdjfhj fuck this shit I’m out T-T

💜 We’re both quite childish and awkward when it comes to cuddling so I feel like it would be just playwrestling and then forgetting that we’re supposed to wrestle so we just lie in a big tangle on top of each other ;-;

10. Which colors remind you of them and why?

💛 Yellow because his blonde hair is beautiful, plus he’s so bright and cheerful like the colour itself ^-^

💜 Pink! He looks adorable in pink plus he’s mentioned the colour a few times on broadcasts and stuff so I feel like he has a fondness for it~

11. Which season would you like to spend with them?

💛 Summer because he’s probably be sleeveless all the time or even shirtless... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I have no shame ahahaha

💜 Winter because I think if it was snowing, it would remind him of his home and then it would be cute af and we’d have a snowball fight and hot chocolate after <3

12. Who would bake the cookies and who would steal the batter?

💛 Tbh we’d bake and steal it together XD

💜 I think he would try so hard not to fuck the baking up but I’d tempt him into stealing the batter with me cx

13. Which one of you would make bad puns and how would the other react?

💛 Ohhh definitely me. And he’d either scream with laughter or just get pissed off oops. I’d just laugh even more though lmao

💜 We share the same sense of humor so it would be kinda mutual! I’d make a shitty pun and he makes an even worse one on top of that and then we end up getting into a spiral of awful puns and rhymes and before you know it we’ve written possibly the worst rap of all time

14. Who would want to adopt 50 dogs and cats?

💛 Me. I don’t want kids but I’m g with furbabies. 50 is a bit much though XD

💜 ^^^

15. Which one of you would nearly burn down the kitchen trying to microwave a pop tart and who would come to the rescue?

💛 I’d be the dumbass burning down the kitchen, no questions asked. He’d be having a heart attack and be screaming, like I can actually hear his scream right now just picturing it XD

💜 Oh dear, again it would probably be mutual... >.<

16. Who likes to lean over trail railings and who pulls them back?

💛 I’m really protective so I’d help steady him and make sure he doesn’t fall because we know how excited he gets XD

💜 ^^^ But I have seen him holding the members and looking out for their safety in general, so I think it would be him in this case actually~

17. What would watching a horror film with them be like?

💛 “This isn’t even scary. Like look, nothing is happening. Stop hiding behind the cushion, Niamh.” “THE MOTHERFUCKER IS RIGHT ON THE SCREEN, YOU LIAR. I HATE YOU.”

💜 “If you get scared, you can hold onto me” .“You mean, cuddle you because you’re scared, right?”. “Ah...yes, Niamh. Thanks.”

18. Who would be the cheesy flirt and who would be the smooth flirt?

💛 He’d be sooooo cheesy, like to the point where its not even flirting but just straight up cringey. I don’t flirt often but when I do, its like wow I see what you did there. But I’d get embarrassed around him so it would be less smooth and more stuttery unless I got a sudden burst of confidence. He would have no shame flirting though, like he legit would be the type to say “Omg damn girl, that ass” and I’d slap him XD

💜 Eww he’d be cheesy like he’d be walking around and see something and try make it a rap like in the LA vlog lmao. Something really dumb like “You’re so pretty, those flowers don’t compare because you have a cute face and nice hair” and I’d just be like “uhhh....thanks?” and burst out laughing and blushing out of secondhand embarrassment XD

19. Who is more competitive?

💛 We’re both so competitive but I think with his history in sporting competitions (whereas I was too shy to do them T-T), it would give him just a bit more. I’d always encourage him though, like I’d love seeing him try his best and would always ask if there was anything I could do to help. But if it came to games, I don’t take the “I let you win” excuse cx

💜 Me? I take my passions very seriously and throw myself into what I do, like I get VERY into my work. I was v competitive in debating and any time I hear the word challenge, its like yasss bring it on bish. Mark is competitive too but I think he’d prefer taking a support role. He’s so encouraging of his members and I honestly need a little cheerleader like him in my life ;-;

20. Who would be given constant reminders? (Don’t forget your keys, things like that)

💛 As much of a nagger I can be, I feel like he is the type to do this even at random moments. Like we’d be chilling together and then he’ll just say out of nowhere, “Did you eat lunch btw? I’m going to make you lunch”. He wouldn’t listen to any bullshit. He’d take care of me whether I liked it or not haha

💜 Hhmm kinda mutual here but for different things, if that makes sense? Like he’d be telling me to “take your meds and vitamins, bring a jacket, text when you get there”, etc. I’d be like “take a break for a few minutes, I’ll be there soon with some food”, etc, I need reminders for taking care of myself but I give reminders for others to take care of themselves lol

21. Who sends memes and who sends cute ‘i miss you’ texts at 3am?

💛 He’s the sappy bitch with “I miss you” texts haha and being the idiot I am, I would send him memes of himself in response XD

💜 Honestly, unless he was maybe drunk I think it would be me. Like it would very out of the blue and probably make him panic a bit oops. He’d write a long ass ride message in response though because he’d be so worried ^^’

This was very soft and cringey ahaha but I’m going to tag @jaexmins @cosmicrailwaybisexual @happysmilebtr @kikitsaaa @nctdoingthings @castielsinwhite @thefroghyungwon @seulgii-princess and if anyone else wants to do it then just say I tagged you XD

#tagged #soft bias tag #this was jfgfgdfmgd #too many feels #ult #twin

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femmesfollesnebraska · 4 years ago

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Feature with Andriana Minou, writer/musician

So pleased to present this q-and-a with London-based writer and musician, Andriana Minou about her new book, being an artist today, advice for aspiring artists/writers and more...

Andriana Minou profile picture | photo by Evi Minou

Where are you from? How did you get into creative work and what is your impetus for creating?

I was born in Greece and lived there until 2004. I’ve been living in London since then, so I consider London to be home. When I was little, being creative was a game I would play with myself to pass the time and escape boredom or loneliness. This is still part of my creative impetus combined with a need to construct a personal space-time I (and whoever I share it with) can be immersed in. I started with writing, then also studied music and lately I’ve been trying to paint/sketch too.

Cover of ‘The Fabulous Dead’ | ink sketch by Andriana Minou

Tell me about your new book and why it’s important to you. What do you hope people get out of your work?

My book of flash fiction, ‘The Fabulous Dead’ has just been published by Kernpunkt Press. Although I have published 3 books in Greek and my work in English has been included in several journals or anthologies, this is my first full length book to be published in English. ‘The Fabulous Dead’ is a book about the relentlessness as well as the boundlessness of human identity. In ‘The Fabulous Dead’, famous and fabulous dead characters find themselves in dream-like situations that influence the living in unexpected ways. Brahms is a sauerkraut addict having telephone troubles, Marlene Dietrich lives in an ice-cream freezer, Gus Grissom has a secret affair with Dante’s Beatrice, and Virginia Woolf, Sarah Kane and Sylvia Plath drink bloody Marys in the living room; it is a sort of game with the infinity of possibilities contained in single identities. I find it a bit ironic that it is released in the midst of a time of (to say the least) physical restriction and I hope readers will connect with the book’s playfulness and find some comfort in it.

Does collaboration play a role in your work—whether with your community, artists or others? How so and how does this impact your work?

As much as I enjoy working in solitude, I always have collaborative projects running at the same time as my personal projects. For example, at the moment I recently worked on the libretto of queer opera ‘Orfeas 2020’ for the Greek National Opera with a fantastic team of artists, I prepared some weird cabaret shows with Coocoolili, a music performance group I regularly perform with in London and the texts for ‘Prayers of Incompetence’, a music performance by composer Thanasis Deligiannis that was performed in March in Amsterdam. I take collaborative work really seriously as it feeds my creativity, it often gives me material for my personal projects and is also one of the few ways for me to experience a sense of “belonging”.

Sketch from the book “αλ��ουterra” | published by Strange Days Books

Considering the political climate, how do you think the temperature is for the arts right now, what/how do you hope it may change or make a difference?

I guess the Covid crisis and its political implications will have a dramatic impact on all aspects of our lives; artists – as usual – are the first to suffer in crises as such, with many of us losing work and struggling to survive. However, I have also seen a lot of solidarity and support from art-lovers to artists in many ways in the last couple of weeks. And I have also seen a burst in creativity. I think this crisis is already changing the way we see the world and I hope this change will be for the best. Perhaps this catastrophe will form a new perspective, in which art is not simply a product but a valuable and valued expression of humanity.

Sketch from the book “αλλουterra” | published by Strange Days Books

Artist Wanda Ewing, who curated and titled the original LFF exhibit, examined the perspective of femininity and race in her work, and spoke positively of feminism, saying “yes, it is still relevant” to have exhibits and forums for women in art; does feminism play a role in your work?

I certainly wish there will be a time when feminism will not be relevant but for the time being I think it should be supported and promoted by all means. There are still many parts of the world where women are not considered equal and – unfortunately – misogyny is still very much alive and kicking even in so-called liberal societies. Lately, we’ve even seen disputes over women’s rights that were supposed to (and should) be taken for granted. I don’t tend to write about feminism per se but my work is inescapably feminist, as the work of any woman who is concerned with the place of females in the world.

Sketch from the book “The Fabulous Dead” | published by Kernpunkt Press

Ewing’s advice to aspiring artists was “you’ve got to develop the skill of when to listen and when not to;” and “Leave. Gain perspective.” What is your favorite advice you have received or given?

My favourite piece of advice I’ve been given was also the toughest to take in. I actually spent years pondering on it, questioning it, even trying to prove it wrong. ‘Stop trying’; in other words, do what you do as best as you can and things will fall into place in the end. It was (and often still is) very hard for me to tell the difference between being passive and being active in a quiet/confident way. Trying too hard about something has never worked for me.

Website: www.andrianaminou.com

Flash Fiction at Fiction Kitchen Berlin: https://fictionkitchen.berlin/2019/12/07/timeo-musas/

Song included in album “Album Photo” by TRUC: https://compilationstruc.bandcamp.com/track/andrianette-chromophobia

Coocoolili band recording: https://soundcloud.com/andrianette/coocoolili-waltz-plus

Soundscape&reading at Anti-Lang: https://antilang.ca/2019/01/05/soundbite-preview-andriana-minous-lake-labyrinth/

Enchantment (song on a poem by Baroness Elsa von Freytag Loringhoven, a pioneer but not-so-well-known Dadaist): https://soundcloud.com/andrianette/enchantment

Review for “The Fabulous Dead” at Heavy Feather Review: https://heavyfeatherreview.org/2020/03/24/minou/

Les Femmes Folles is a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world with the online journal, print annuals, exhibitions and events; originally inspired by artist Wanda Ewing and her curated exhibit by the name Les Femmes Folles (Wild Women). LFF was created and is curated by Sally Deskins. LFF Booksis a micro-feminist press that publishes 1-2 books per year by the creators of Les Femmes Folles including the award-winning Intimates & Fools (Laura Madeline Wiseman, 2014) , The Hunger of the Cheeky Sisters: Ten Tales (Laura Madeline Wiseman/Lauren Rinaldi, 2015 and Mes Predices (catalog of art/writing by Marie Peter Toltz, 2017).Other titles include Les Femmes Folles: The Women 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016 available on blurb.com, including art, poetry and interview excerpts from women artists. A portion of the proceeds from LFF books and products benefit the University of Nebraska-Omaha’s Wanda Ewing Scholarship Fund.

Current prompts:

What does a womxn mean to you/your work?

Home Studios: Show us where you create!

https://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/post/614036096689504256/new-series-call-home-stud

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bettsfic · 7 years ago

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for fanfic authors considering a creative writing graduate degree

i’ve had a few people PM me about the grad program i’m in, and i thought maybe i would share some information i’ve learned about creative writing graduate degrees plus all the stuff i wish someone had told me before i started applying.

to give you some context: i own a house (that i purchased, i didn’t inherit) and i support myself completely. i’m not married or in a relationship and i don’t have kids yet. my undergraduate degree is in psychology. i came from a lower-class upbringing. i had never written an original work of fiction before applying; i had only written fanfic. i worked in finance for ten years at a dead-end job before i decided to go back to school. i applied to six schools and got accepted into one.

basic info

usually a creative writing graduate degree is called an MFA, or a Master of Fine Arts. it’s considered a terminal degree, that is to say, it’s the highest degree you can attain in the field of creative writing.

however, some programs are also MAs, and usually those are combined with literature or pedagogy. there are also a number of creative writing PhDs, which are less about the craft of writing and more about teaching and research.

MAs are generally two years, MFAs are anywhere from two to three years, and PhDs are around four. most schools offer the MFA, so going forward that’s the type of degree i’ll be discussing. the MA doesn’t stray far from the MFA, and the PhD is a whole other beast.

you’ll need to choose a focus for your degree. most MFAs offer fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. some offer scriptwriting or experimental/hybrid forms. some expect you to play around with multiple genres.

MFA classwork revolves around the creative writing workshop. a workshop is a class where you meet with your peers once a week to discuss the work you’ve read the prior week. you take turns submitting a story, poem, or excerpt, and while you’re the one being workshopped, you take notes while everyone talks. when you workshop your peers, you offer a letter of critique and participate in the discussion. workshop is also the place where you can ask about craft, publishing, or anything else you have questions about. workshops are run by a leader, usually a professor, someone who has a significant publishing history and experience teaching.

other classwork for MFAs include literature seminars, where you read already published work and discuss it with your peers while applying it to established theory.

an MFA thesis is generally a book-length work of your given genre, due at the end of your studies to grant your degree. it may also include some research component, like a craft essay or reading list, and an oral examination. you work with an advising committee throughout your degree to hone and revise your thesis, and generally use workshop to get peer feedback on early drafts.

MFA extracurriculars include working on your school’s literary magazine, doing readings of your work, and participating in your English department’s student organizations. there are usually additional opportunities that pop up throughout each semester, including meeting with established visiting writers (and hopefully these are writers of the super famous variety, which makes for great networking).

applying to an MFA involves a writing sample (the most important piece of the application), undergraduate transcripts, letters of recommendation, and a letter of intent. some also require the GRE. many have a $50-100 fee, but sometimes you can request a waiver.

assumptions debunked

here are some misconceptions i’ve come across and some i had when i began researching.

expectation: i can’t afford it

reality: that’s possible, but consider that many programs are fully funded, that is to say, the school will pay you to go there. no tuition, no loans, just a stipend that you’ll receive in monthly disbursements. it’s not a lot, but usually enough to get by.

the way it works is that in exchange for grad classes, you teach undergraduate english. this is usually a class called english composition, and many schools make it mandatory for all incoming freshman, which is how the english department gets funded, and they can return those funds to you, the grad student.

personally, teaching has become one of my favorite things i’ve ever done. i want to continue teaching when i graduate because it’s just really fun and incredibly rewarding. i highly recommend this route for an MFA because you won’t end up in debt afterward and you’ll gain a marketable skill (pedagogy) if your writing career doesn’t take off immediately.

expectation: i can’t quit my job

reality: there are a growing number of what are called low-residency MFAs. the above fully funded scenario are programs called full-residency, where you have to be on campus a few days a week, but low-res programs are mostly online, with 1-2 weeks per year spent on campus.

the downside to this is that there is usually minimal funding for these programs, which means you’re paying for them out of pocket or with loans. the people who go into low-res programs are usually people firmly established in their lives with some disposable income and a desire to improve their work. this is a great option if you’re currently working full time and can’t move to be near a fully funded program.

expectation: but my undergrad degree isn’t in english or CW

reality: GOOD. that’s what’s so great about writing as an academic discipline -- when we get nothing but formally trained writers, we get too many stories about the formally trained life.

your background, your work history, and your life experiences are all enormously valuable to a writing program. the weirder and more diverse you are, the more intrigued admissions people will be. they want people who can bring new perspectives to workshop, who see the world in different ways than those who have been trapped in academia for ages.

it’s definitely valuable to have an english undergrad degree, but it’s equally valuable to have life experience.

expectation: i’m just a fanfic writer

reality: GOOD. do you know how amazing fanfic is? of course you do, you write it. now imagine the sense of community and purpose and drive you have while writing fanfic, and put that in a physical place, and you basically have grad school. so if you like fanfic for all those things -- community, purpose, drive -- you’re going to love getting an MFA.

from a skill perspective, fanfic authors have something major that non-established ofic writers are missing: an audience. if you write fanfic to post on tumblr or ao3, you’re writing it with a specific audience in mind. you are probably acutely aware of how that audience will react, how to entertain them, and most importantly, HOW TO DEVELOP CHARACTERS.

i really thought i would get into an MFA and turn into some kind of holier-than-thou snob about fanfic, like suddenly my eyes would open and i would gain such an appreciation for, idk, Hemingway or some shit that i would completely forget about my fanfic roots.

N O P E. i’ve found a lot of published authors i like, sure, but i like them because their writing reminds me of my favorite things about fanfic. you will not have to sacrifice your love of fanfiction* to pursue an MFA, and you won’t have to change the things you love writing. people may think what you write is weird, but fuck ‘em. write what you want to write.

*you won’t be able to write actual fanfic in grad school, but there’s nothing stopping you from filing off the serial numbers. if str8 white men can do it over the entire span of civilization, so can you.

expectation: i don’t need an MFA to be a writer

reality: god, so true. if you write fanfic, you probably already have all the skill necessary to begin the publishing game if you want to go that route, and potentially all the feedback you need to keep improving. which begs the question, why would you even want an MFA?

i can only tell you why i applied:

i had reached a ceiling in my writing and wanted to explore and experiment with things i knew would never fly in the land of fanfic

i wanted to belong in a physical community of people who took creative writing as seriously as i did

i wanted ofic reading recommendations and a structured environment in which to work

i wanted to teach!!

i wanted to learn about and discuss literature at a level that is difficult to find outside of academia

i didn’t feel like my education was complete, and while i could have gone back to school for psychology, my qualifications more closely aligned with creative writing programs and honestly, it just sounded way more fun

i wanted access to databases beyond jstor

i had a lot of perspectives and opinions i wanted to learn to voice more articulately and in an artistic or research-based form

i was tired of my job and looking for a different career path

you might have different needs, or maybe some of these resonate with you. people get MFAs for all sorts of reasons. plus, your perceptions might change when you get there; mine definitely did.

expectation: i only write genre fiction, not “literature”

reality: you can write whatever the hell you want for whatever reason you want. you’re going to get feedback regardless, and your peers are going to care about the things you care about, and if they’re worth a damn, they’ll give you crit on their perception of your priorities, not what they think is important to the field of literature.

in the past year, i’ve read workshop submissions ranging from the onion style satire, to children’s literature, to hard sci fi. the point of an MFA is that you’re there to explore the work that interests you. you don’t have to conform for anyone for any reason. you are there to do your work, and the program is there to guide you and offer you support.

expectation: i’m not qualified because don’t have any publications

reality: you don’t need to be published to apply for an MFA. most people aren’t even published by the time they graduate. what you do need is evidence of your commitment to writing and the discipline thereof, that is to say, you write consistently, you’re passionate about writing, and that your writing sample shows both a command of writing as well as promise of improvement.

expectation: i don’t have what it takes to pursue a graduate degree

reality: i promise you do. the reason i’m writing this is because the fanfic community has some of the most humble individuals i’ve ever met, who are compulsively shy about their craft, and who have no concept how good they actually are. i see so much self-defeated mentality, so much impostor syndrome. but please believe me when i say

LITERATURE NEEDS YOU

literature needs the way you see humanity, your compassion, your interest in telling stories without want of profit, your eye for character, your drive, your commitment, your voice.

you are so much better than most of what’s out there. you may not see it now but it’s true.

expectation: i won’t be able to get a job with an MFA

reality: ehhhh kinda true, but if that’s the only thing stopping you, ignore it. a (full-res) MFA trains you for three things: writing, editing, and teaching. all of these are lucrative careers that are no more difficult to establish yourself in than most other fields. the graduate chemist has the same concerns about the job market as the graduate writer. it’s all gatekeeping rhetoric steeped in a terrible economy. you just have to trust you’ll be ok.

expectation: i don’t know what i would write about

reality: you can figure it out when you get there. no one else knows what they’re doing either.

i’m happy to answer more questions if you have them! i hope this helps some of you who are curious about how MFAs work. i’m sharing this because i never thought i would be able to do a graduate degree, and now that i’m here, even though it was a huge risk, it’s the best decision i’ve ever made.

[writing advice tag]

#writing advice #dow17

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fabelgis4680 · 8 years ago

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Module 7

Malcom X’s “The Ballot or the Bullet” – I appreciate the prologue on religion differences and how though their practice is different and may be conflicted over, the true conflict that needs to be united over despite differences is the overall oppression black people are experiencing under the white men in power. It is immediately stated right after that it does not mean that they are anti – white, but that they are anti-exploitation, anti-degradation, and anti-oppression. If white men don’t want to see it as them then they should stop exploiting, degrading, and oppressing. 1964 was only a few years before my parents were born. This illuminates the reality of post slavery oppression that continues to today. I have heard before of Malcolm X’s opinion on voting. What I am understanding is that he considers voting as a waste because their vote will give them nothing in return because the system is not in their favor and is under means to oppress them. I haven’t heard of a dixiecrat before.

W.E.B. DuBois’ “Strivings of the Negro People” – 1897 – I can compare the oppressed question that DuBois is given of “How does it feel to be a problem” to being persisted to today with people of color and specifically and almost identically to the book “How does it feel to be a problem” by Moustafa Bayoumi on being young and Arab in America. I had to google shades of the prison-house and it took me to a poem called “Immitations of Immorality.” He recounts the double consciousness and struggle of being black and an American. DuBois states over 50 years before Malcolm does “The power of the ballot we need in sheer self-defense, and as a guarantee of good faith.” To quote “there is to-day no true American music but the sweet wild melodies of the Negro slave; the American fairy tales are Indian and African; we are the sole oasis of simple faith and reverence in a dusty desert of dollars and smartness.” Is this contributing to the truths of music / stories being sourced from African Americans but not given the rightful accountability or profits?

Frantz Fanon’s “Reciprocal Bases of National Culture and the Fight for Freedom” – 1959 – The whole first paragraph lends to a lot of information on colonialism, disrupting and conquering people, a cultural obliteration that is over simplified. Occupying power and banishing natives and systematically enslaving. Fences and signposts being an basic factor. Brings me to reflect on the start of property and claiming land just by fencing it off. Can be compared to the idea of walls that are a buzz of today. “The poverty of the people, national oppression and the inhibition of culture are one and the same thing.” And “Colonial exploitation, poverty and endemic famine drive the native more and more to open, organised revolt.” Then it goes into literature and colonialism and the different narratives and consciousness and national consciousness.

Stokely Carmichael’s “From Black Power to Pan-Africanism” – the listen is different from the read, but in the listen he states, “Brothers and sisters” uniting being African in America because there is unity from America’s history of all being stolen and brought to America and experiencing the same struggles and oppressions under slavery and post slavery. He is calling the fighting an extended war that America. Revolution relying on truth and justice. The read delves into many critical comparisons with pan Africanism, Malcolm x, Marxism-Leninism, Muhammad Ali getting paid substantially less, and continued consequences under capitalism.

Melvin B. Tolson’s “Dark Symphony” – “Thorns of greed on labors brow” and “Black slaves singing” their verses give visualization to the words. These rhymes remind me of what DuBois was talking about with original music / stories being sole from African Americans. The poem is expresses the grim, bloody, and pain. “Barricades of Jim Crowism” and calling to advance past.

Amiri Baraka’s “Black Dada Nihilismus” - *May I just add I really appreciate the audio reads* There is low New York Art Quartet music playing in the background with Baraka in the recording. The website gives highlighted words with given definitions are very useful. It is explained that Baraka doesn’t actually want the gruesome stated lines to be true, but the gruesomeness needs to be accounted for to understand / hear the narrative that is given a shy eye when black people have been systemically fallen victim to the gruesome. It stated in the side bar “The New York Times critiqued the song for its violent imagery, specifically in these lines. The article goes on to describe Baraka’s “highly-political avant-garde” as a “call for black revolutionaries to rape and murder in the service of liberation.” I don’t think they understand.

three poems by Aimé Cesaire – To the Serpent – A little hard to read, searching for the right animal to adore then it gets to the serpent. “God gives not you hold supremely.” And “Serpent delirium and peace” going to how the serpent is a threat and that though “threat a sagacious hand that does not pardon cowards” I do not quite understand this poem or what it may be critically analyzed to be compared to. There may be euphemisms beyond my awareness. It sounds a little religious mentioning the fig and altar.

At the Locks of the Void - This poem is more understandable than To the Serpent. There is more imagery and metaphors. There are a lot of comparisons. Cesaire is giving full amounts of detail to the text. Things that stick out to me are thirst, hunger, blood, disease, graphic, religion, and Europe. “Europe, eminent name of the turd”

Forfeiture – This poem is interesting. Closing with the line, “ay I am standing and in the sole whiteness that men have never recognized in me.” But preceding this includes mentioning genitalia, gruesome descriptions involving urine, snakes, the planets, and earth.

“Bread” by Kamau Brathwaite – I do not understand this poem. The lines touch a little on a realistic bread “adding water” or kneading. But I do not understand what the words are making around it. The ending states “rolled into night into night w/out morning rolled into dead into dead w/out vision rolled into life into life w/out dream” which I think is comparing the rolling of bread to these. I will search for a guide / explanation to this poem.

Decolonising the Mind by Ngugi Wa Thiong’o – Language and Culture. I remember in class talking about how language should be saved and continued through natives. I think written language differentiated from spoken language was also conversed about of importance. Like how Ngugi states him and his family speaking Gi kuyH in the fields and at home and the importance of telling and retelling stories. After some schooling with his native language, colonizing and nationalism had the schools taken over to formal English education. Because of the declaration of a state of emergency over Kenya in 1952, others had to “bow” before English in differences involving corporal punishment for using native Gi kuyH.

excerpt from Aimé Cesaire on Negritude – a revolt against the European feeling of superiority and the result of an active and attitude of the mind on the offense. Stating to refuse oppression and to be against inequality. The system to revolt against is “characterized by a certain number of prejudices, of assumptions which generate a very strict hierarchy” For Africa to forward on from colonialism.

Jean Michel Basquiat paintings – I really enjoy his art. I believe I have been exposed to Aaron Douglas’ Birth of the blues before or at least its color scheme style may have been used as inspiration elsewhere. I did a project on an artist Chris Ofili who also uses culture and music aspects in his art similarly.

“The Radiant Child” by Rene Ricard – On tags, graffiti, rapping. “Graffiti refutes the idea of anonymous art where we know everything about a work except who made it” therefore comes the tag. As talked about in class, Basquait’s was “SAMO”.

material on Aaron Douglas: - a part of the “New Negro Movement” or “Harlem Renaissance.” Used silhouette forms in a friezed format, is this like a “freeze” or paused picture? The commotion in his art does look like a paused moment. Aspiration itself shows many chained hands all paused in an upward reaching moment.

YouTube playlist of Black political music – The variety in this playlist is very wide. With Billie Holiday, Kendrick Lamar, NWA, Beyonce, Sun Ra Jazz, Sam Cooke and many more.

On NWA – I’ve heard Fuck The Police, Seen Ice Cube in the family movie “Are We There Yet” and in 21 Jump street, Heard Dr.Dre with some 2000’s hits but that just might be all I know. Reading into the socially conscious rap I perceive the wave returning and persisting with Kendrick Lamar, Vic Mensa, and Beyonce to “expose the truth” as well.

Fela Kuti – Lagos Nigeria, in the 70’s created the bold Afrobeat music. A style and movement inspired by the Black Panthers and Malcolm X, voiced anger and protest against military rulers and corrupt oil industry. Music for revolution.

Amiri Baraka articles – Diz, or Dizzy Gilliespie, the late 40’s to 60’s music to Sun Ra with Afro American Jazz with Brazilian Samba styles, Pan American Funk, and orchestras making music that drives itself and transforms.

Music & black – the Black Power playlist shows substantial music that is meant for revolution and exposing the truth on an artistic platform. With the political messages in soul, funk, and jazz this music expressed problems that need accountability and change.

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shortgirlwrites · 4 years ago

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Let me set the stage for you.

It’s March, perhaps April. I’m fourteen years old and in the eighth grade, in Pre-AP English. Sitting next to me is my best pal, Ethan. We’re being thoroughly unproductive and sending each other memes back and forth via email. Surrounding me are the typical cast of characters for a story from my eighth grade year, and I look about the same as I always did in eighth grade–insufferably awkward.

Look, here’s some pictures from my eighth grade yearbook for proof. Eighth grade was the one year I was on a school sports team (cross country!) and also the year I wore pigtails an alarming amount. And yes, in one of these pictures I’m dressed up as Reepicheep from Chronicles of Narnia and yes, I wore that outfit to school. Yeouch.

Aren’t y’all glad that middle school is over?

But I digress.

My English teacher informed us that we would be studying a poem by a guy named T.S. Eliot called The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock to prep for our state tests. Yuck. So glad I’m in college and done with that stuff. A few weeks later, for our exam, we could memorize a poem and perform it for the class. I exempted that exam but went to the exam period anyways (mostly to goof around with my friends) and got to watch a guy in my class attempt to perform the aforementioned (very long) poem after having not memorized it at all.

And thus began my enduring love affair with the poetry of T. S. Eliot. I even performed his poems at speech and debate tournaments in high school. Nerd much?

Born in the far off time of 1888, in the great state of Missouri (the land of my birth, even though I didn’t grow up there!), T.S. Eliot is considered one of the greatest poets of the 20th century. He eventually became a British citizen in 1927 (having moved there in 1914) and yeeted America from him. He also converted to being a member of the Church of England (part of the Anglican communion, as is my church, the Episcopal church–we love being best religion bros!).

Despite the fact that he’s considered one of the greats and was even friends with Ezra Pound (dedicating his poem The Wasteland to him), Eliot didn’t produce a great deal of poetry. Okay, well….relatively, he didn’t produce a ton of poetry. Compared to other great poets. But what he lacked in relative prolificness he made up for in content and style. And boy do I love his style.

The poetry of T.S. Eliot is haunting, complex, ethereal. Take these various excerpts from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —

(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —

(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

*******

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep … tired … or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

******

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

He speaks often, and prolifically, on the matters of death, life, and everything in between. Every moment, every whisper adds up to something in T.S. Eliot’s poetry. Take this from The Wasteland (my favorite of his works):

Datta: what have we given?

My friend, blood shaking my heart

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender

Which an age of prudence can never retract

By this, and this only, we have existed

Which is not to be found in our obituaries

Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider

Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor

In our empty rooms

Dayadhvam: I have heard the key

Turn in the door once and turn once only

We think of the key, each in his prison

Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison

Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours

Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus

He begs us to ask: What have we given? And what does it all mean? Or, perhaps, is it is okay if it means nothing? I myself, am in this place, at this time, and he is in his place, at his time, and we are connected across the eras by his words. Although he died 35 years before I was born, his words still ring true to me now.

At the risk of this post becoming too gushy over the nature of T.S. Eliot (combined with the fact that his works will be involved in the super secret project I keep hinting at), I will stop here and leave you all with the first portion of his poem “Ash Wednesday”:

Because I do not hope to turn again Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope I no longer strive to strive towards such things (Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?) Why should I mourn The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know The infirm glory of the positive hour Because I do not think Because I know I shall not know The one veritable transitory power Because I cannot drink There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time And place is always and only place And what is actual is actual only for one time And only for one place I rejoice that things are as they are and I renounce the blessèd face And renounce the voice Because I cannot hope to turn again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us And pray that I may forget These matters that with myself I too much discuss Too much explain Because I do not hope to turn again Let these words answer For what is done, not to be done again May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly But merely vans to beat the air The air which is now thoroughly small and dry Smaller and dryer than the will Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

Peace (and tell me who your favorite poet is!),

Edith-Marie, aka Short Girl 🙂

I love T.S. Eliot and here’s why Let me set the stage for you. It's March, perhaps April. I'm fourteen years old and in the eighth grade, in Pre-AP English.

#poems #poetry #reading #t.s. eliot

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floreatetona-a · 7 years ago

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“The mind is its own place, and in itself  Can make a heav'n of hell, a hell of heav'n.” –Paradise Lost, John Milton

James Hook stood very still.

His eyes were fixed on the windowpane, glassy. Blank. It seemed as if a shadowed veil was drawn around him; the cloak only those buried deep in thought feel resting on their shoulders. And so James felt it, and did not shrug it off. He pulled it closer. “And does it keep you warm?” The pirate captain’s eyelid twitched. “James! Listen to me!” A raspy sound rattled the air, hollow and windy. James closed his mouth and swallowed. “No,” he whispered, the rasp gone. For a minute there was silence in the stateroom and the man’s mind. The stillness pressed itself on the cabin, the furniture and books, until the echo of it touched James’ thoughts. Calm and quiet. Then a memory began to flutter about like a dead leaf in the wind:

Only one lamp illuminates the book stacks and tables. He twists another two on. The light feels garish to my tired eyes.

“Do we need those?” I ask, squinting.

He doesn’t answer. He is busy at the shelves housing English poets, fingers poking and brushing spines. His hand falls over one, hovering for a moment, then he yanks it free and throws it to me.

“She likes these,” he says, and continues his search.

I turn the faded book over. Poems of John Keats declares the title, gold paint long rubbed off by countless boys’ handlings. I flip to a page at random–

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

Ah, Keats. I close the book, wondering if she likes Coleridge...

And then another memory!

January, 1904 (?), 3:12 PM S. Nev., stateroom desk— The Boy has brought another child to the island – I caught sight of him when last on shore. That makes seven in total. Not yet a full set. Still, he’s attacked with fewer than nine before… I’ve alerted S. and he assured me that a watch would be posted, but I’ll have to be sure to check in some early morning hour. They only take their duties seriously when they have a metaphoric scythe grazing their necks. Or a literal one.

My sleep has been more disturbed of late. I thought it would improve with time, but it has not. I have been staying up later, trying to exhaust myself and so avoid the restlessness and hideous dreams, but hitherto this has failed to work. Perhaps a tincture is in order this evening.

And then yet another... scrawled onto the pages of his great brain like one had used a dagger tip as an ink dipped pen...

J. 1904?, 1: 3 0 des k—

dreaming. still? I was dreaming of

Black bl a ck all around me.

No air and no light dripping. burning, stinging Blackness. and there was no air, Cannot move. What happened to my hands ?

still dreaming I fall but rest here now, waiting in the this black for—- cupio dissolvi an end?

...

James Hook regained consciousness on the floor of his stateroom. For several minutes he lay where he’d fallen, counting the seconds as his head stopped spinning and the memories “on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone” scurried back into their dark recesses. Eventually he picked himself up and wiped his eyes. He glanced at his pocket-watch – 6:57 – and knew a knock for his dinner was coming shortly. He absently allowed himself to wonder what would be brought to him. There might be wine left… Burning, stinging Blackness. And there was no air.

When the knock came, he sent it away. James tapped his thin hand on the desk and considered the swiftly approaching night with icy, unfocused eyes.

~Concordia -The poem excerpt featured in James’ memory is from Keat’s sonnet “When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be”. It was written in 1818 and published posthumously in 1848. -Influenced by Arvo Pärt‘s Tabula Rasa, Mvt. I and Ross Edwards’ Enyato 1.

#MORE WITH THE ANGST #this one is way more into hook's head than the last one #concordia i stg you are a better writer than me #{ long post }#{ drabble }#x; MULTAS GRATIAS VOBIS AGO { thanks concordia! }#x; CAVE { heavy stuff }#x; THE SOLITARY { portrait }

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janetgannon · 8 years ago

Text

Cumberland Island to Georgia Marshes

After six months in Florida, we will cruise into Georgia on April 16. (Delayed posting, so bear with me).

ATLANTIC BRIDGE ANCHORAGE

An easy 34.8 miles today, and a popular anchorage next to a bridge.

Before stopping for the night, we went into a marina and filled up with diesel. First full fill since the Bahamas; at $2.60 gallon, $510 .00 for 195 gallons.

Deep hole for anchorage – hard to find a spot to drop the anchor in less than 25 feet.

Its been a long time since our inflatable kayaks have been in the water. Colleen wanted to make sure they still hold air. It was a brief paddle into the muddy creeks through the salt marsh.

Then paddled out toward the bridge, only to find the current is very strong, making it a fairly unpleasant paddle. We were concerned about going too far and not being able to paddle back to the boat! Paddling against the tidal current to get back on our boat was a challenge. Good news; they do hold air. Dave is such a trouper, going kayaking after a long day navigating the currents and shallows.

We got a reminder to watch the tides- we saw Towboat US working to drag a beached pontoon boat near our anchorage. They must have pulled up to a sand bar, and several hours later it was a mud flat!

GOOD BYE FLORIDA!

Yeah… we crossed the border into Georgia on Monday April 17th at 12:30—leaving Florida for now.

A QUICK LOOK BACK:

We entered Florida on election day, November 8th, 2016 at Fort McCree near Pensacola . Cruised east along the Florida panhandle then cut across the Gulf of Mexico to Tarpon Springs.

– Thanksgiving was celebrated in Clearwater Beach.

– Christmas was at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglade City.

– New Year’s (and January) in Marathon

– Feb. 3rd we visited Key West, the most southern point of the Atlantic ICW.

At this point we turned around to start north. (March was in the Bahamas- then we returned to complete the Eastern Florida coast). Stops included Palm Beach, St Lucie, Vero Beach, Cocoa Beach, Daytona and St Augustine… Florida has a lot of coast line!

We cruised Florida’s 1415 miles of shoreline then crossed the northern Florida/ Georgia border six months after entering Florida! What a memorable winter!

ATLANTIC ICW MILE MARKERS REVIEW

The Atlantic ICW runs 1245 miles from Norfolk Virginia to Key West. Mile marker 0 is at Norfolk Virginia The most southern mile marker at Key West is marker 1245. Cruising from south to north, we will be counting down the miles. Entering Georgia is mile marker 711. If you do the math- we have 711 miles ahead of us to reach Norfolk Virginia; and we are 534 miles north of Key West.

The mile markers are handy in reading the charts, calculating the distance we travel each day, and estimating where the next anchorage or marina is located. We jot down the mile marker location in our log book, and at any time it’s easy to calculate distances and find where we are on a chart.

HELLO GEORGIA

With some discussion regarding taking the outside Atlantic route to bypass the marsh land of Georgia; we chose to stay inland on the ICW. This is the 10th stated we have visited on our Great Loop Trip. Entering the state at mile marker 711 , we get our first introduction to the Salt Marshes of Georgia.

GOLDEN ISLES – GEORGIA SALT MARSHES

“By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea. Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band of the sand beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land. “

Excerpt from a poem “The Marshes of Glynn” written by Georgia poet Sidney Lanier in the 1870’s , inspired as he stood and beheld the vast marshlands that embrace the Golden Isles. Georgia’s coastal marshland encompass about 378000 acres in a four to six mile band behind the barrier islands. The term Golden Isles refers to the swaths of golden grasses. . for more information just Google Salt Marsh for fascinating information on the eco -system of tidal marshland.

The photo shows a Shrimp boat in the distance- it reminds me of a combine crossing a wheat field. (showing my Minnesota farm roots). This is low country- flat flat flat. You can see boats in the distance across the marsh flats. Here is the shrimp boat close up.. The marshes must be prime property for shrimping.

CUMBERLAND ISLAND – WILD HORSES AND SAND DUNE BEACHES

This island suffered some damage last October from Hurricane Matthew. The docks are closed during the week to allow repairs to be worked on. We got permission to anchor out and tie our dinghy to the dock for a few hours on a weekday. Hiked to the beach side and trekked across a long boardwalk/pier over the sand dunes.

Some of the trees are several hundred years old Oak trees.

What a different sight from any beaches we have seen to date. First the walk was serene with overhanging trees covered with hanging moss. Then the wind swept beaches so packed that the sand was smooth as glass- even showing reflections once the waves receded . Made for great photos! (and hopefully will show up in Colleen’s art journal too

Next was a hike to the other side of the island to the Dungeoness museum sight. Along the path we saw an armadillo and also saw several of the wild horses near the old ice house

. Renewed respect for folks that do nature photography – these creatures are hard to snap- so are dolphins, manatee, turtles and birds. (and we still see dolphins daily, still trying for a perfect picture) LESSON IN TIDE AND MUD

Arriving at Cumberland Island, we anchored comfortabley in 18 feet of water near the center of the channel. Prepared for a 7 foot drop in the tide. When we returned to the boat on our dinghy after the hike, we promptly went aground just 50 feet behind our stern! Ankle deep in mud we both got out to pull to deeper water; by the time we got on Moon Shadow, we looked out over mud flats! Moon Shadow was still fine, it was a hump in the middle of the channel behind our boats.

The tide drops a foot per hour; and swings about 7 feet in this area. Low tide is 6 am; then high tide noon. Low again at 6pm. Then high at midnight. We are anchored with half a dozen other boats. With a light wind, we all swing in the same direction. A good sign someone is aground– they don’t swing with the rest of us! Our neighboring boat was not swinging- soon we saw them pulling anchor to try to move into deeper water.

Looking ahead on the charts, we noted many locations with shallow water at low tide. We plan to be on the move on rising tides- This way if we hit shallow water, we can count on the tide coming in to lift us off the mud. If you get stuck on a dropping tide, it’s a call to the tow company or sit for 6 to 8 hours for rising tide!! It all takes daily calculation of tides, depths and currents. The tides are affected by the moon so they are ever-changing- from inlet to inlet as well as week to week!

TUESDAY ANCHORAGE AT TEA KETTLE CREEK

Cruising along with clear skies and no wind makes for an enjoyable day on the water. As we cruised by buoy channel marker # 49, we are at the most western point of the Atlantic ICW. Looking at a state map, we are due south of Buffalo New York and will be traveling in an Easterly direction before heading North again. Tea Kettle Creek is a creek leading back into the salt marsh at mile marker 647. Today we traveled 67 miles. Here is the entrance to Tea Kettle Creek: and here is how it looks on our chart plotter: Next morning, we left Tea Kettle headed for another anchorage. We had planned for a short day, however with the tides and currents it seemed prudent to get past the next tricky spot today. Our route through Hells Gate turned out to be uneventful, at rising tide there was plenty of water, even with the challenging side- sweeping current it was doable. (at low tide Hell Gate may have less than 4 feet in areas due to the 8 foot tide swing). We maneuvered through the narrow, shoaling Creighton narrows, and up Little Mud River, also known for shoaling and shallow areas. Boaters refer to this as “skinny water”.

THE WATER DOESN’T SEPARATE US, IT CONNECTS US

Step up on soap box: With all the warnings about shallow spots on this trip, I googled Maintenance and dredging of the ICW. There is a recent article in at www.postandcourier.com with current information. Here is a recap of what’s news; The water is wide but not deep. Keeping the ICW dredged needs federal funding. The ICW moves many things from recreational boaters to gravel, coal, grain to jet fuel for the jets that operate out of Marine Corps Air Station in Beaufort. Historically, there have been limited funds allocated for dredging and the result is shoaling in many areas causing shallows. I may consider writing the congressmen to encourage funding of dredging along the Atlantic ICW!!

According to tradeonlinetoday.com article and Boat US; An estimated 13,000 recreational boaters , or “snowbirds,’ make the annual boating migration from the Northeast to Florida each year. Averaging $300 a day in spending that supports small business jobs along the way. There is a group called Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway Association (AIWA) that is lobbying Congress and the Trump administration to request a priority to funding and maintenance of navigation projects.

ANCHORING ALONG THE MARSH CREEKS

We traveled 50 miles total, and anchored for the night near Hammock Island at Possum Point. We are traveling with our buddy boat Enterprise:

Early morning boat checking his crab pots:

The miles are flying by – we are only 8 miles from Isle of Hope Marina just south of Savanah Georgia.

Check back for photos and highlights from the genteel southern charm city of Historic Savanah.

Filed under: America’s Great Loop Adventure, Moon Shadow Log Tagged: photography Read More Here ….

The post Cumberland Island to Georgia Marshes appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/cumberland-island-to-georgia-marshes/ from https://yachtaweigh.tumblr.com/post/160013223086

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yachtaweigh · 8 years ago

Text

Cumberland Island to Georgia Marshes

After six months in Florida, we will cruise into Georgia on April 16. (Delayed posting, so bear with me).

ATLANTIC BRIDGE ANCHORAGE

An easy 34.8 miles today, and a popular anchorage next to a bridge.

Before stopping for the night, we went into a marina and filled up with diesel. First full fill since the Bahamas; at $2.60 gallon, $510 .00 for 195 gallons.

Deep hole for anchorage – hard to find a spot to drop the anchor in less than 25 feet.

Its been a long time since our inflatable kayaks have been in the water. Colleen wanted to make sure they still hold air. It was a brief paddle into the muddy creeks through the salt marsh.

We got a reminder to watch the tides- we saw Towboat US working to drag a beached pontoon boat near our anchorage. They must have pulled up to a sand bar, and several hours later it was a mud flat!

GOOD BYE FLORIDA!

Yeah… we crossed the border into Georgia on Monday April 17th at 12:30—leaving Florida for now.

A QUICK LOOK BACK:

We entered Florida on election day, November 8th, 2016 at Fort McCree near Pensacola . Cruised east along the Florida panhandle then cut across the Gulf of Mexico to Tarpon Springs.

– Thanksgiving was celebrated in Clearwater Beach.

– Christmas was at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglade City.

– New Year’s (and January) in Marathon

– Feb. 3rd we visited Key West, the most southern point of the Atlantic ICW.

We cruised Florida’s 1415 miles of shoreline then crossed the northern Florida/ Georgia border six months after entering Florida! What a memorable winter!

ATLANTIC ICW MILE MARKERS REVIEW

HELLO GEORGIA

GOLDEN ISLES – GEORGIA SALT MARSHES

“By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea. Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band of the sand beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land. “

CUMBERLAND ISLAND – WILD HORSES AND SAND DUNE BEACHES

Some of the trees are several hundred years old Oak trees.

Next was a hike to the other side of the island to the Dungeoness museum sight. Along the path we saw an armadillo and also saw several of the wild horses near the old ice house

TUESDAY ANCHORAGE AT TEA KETTLE CREEK

THE WATER DOESN’T SEPARATE US, IT CONNECTS US

ANCHORING ALONG THE MARSH CREEKS

We traveled 50 miles total, and anchored for the night near Hammock Island at Possum Point. We are traveling with our buddy boat Enterprise:

Early morning boat checking his crab pots:

The miles are flying by – we are only 8 miles from Isle of Hope Marina just south of Savanah Georgia.

Check back for photos and highlights from the genteel southern charm city of Historic Savanah.

Filed under: America’s Great Loop Adventure, Moon Shadow Log Tagged: photography Read More Here ….

The post Cumberland Island to Georgia Marshes appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/cumberland-island-to-georgia-marshes/

0 notes

jeantparks · 8 years ago

Text

Cumberland Island to Georgia Marshes

After six months in Florida, we will cruise into Georgia on April 16. (Delayed posting, so bear with me).

ATLANTIC BRIDGE ANCHORAGE

An easy 34.8 miles today, and a popular anchorage next to a bridge.

Before stopping for the night, we went into a marina and filled up with diesel. First full fill since the Bahamas; at $2.60 gallon, $510 .00 for 195 gallons.

Deep hole for anchorage – hard to find a spot to drop the anchor in less than 25 feet.

Its been a long time since our inflatable kayaks have been in the water. Colleen wanted to make sure they still hold air. It was a brief paddle into the muddy creeks through the salt marsh.

We got a reminder to watch the tides- we saw Towboat US working to drag a beached pontoon boat near our anchorage. They must have pulled up to a sand bar, and several hours later it was a mud flat!

GOOD BYE FLORIDA!

Yeah… we crossed the border into Georgia on Monday April 17th at 12:30—leaving Florida for now.

A QUICK LOOK BACK:

We entered Florida on election day, November 8th, 2016 at Fort McCree near Pensacola . Cruised east along the Florida panhandle then cut across the Gulf of Mexico to Tarpon Springs.

– Thanksgiving was celebrated in Clearwater Beach.

– Christmas was at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglade City.

– New Year’s (and January) in Marathon

– Feb. 3rd we visited Key West, the most southern point of the Atlantic ICW.

We cruised Florida’s 1415 miles of shoreline then crossed the northern Florida/ Georgia border six months after entering Florida! What a memorable winter!

ATLANTIC ICW MILE MARKERS REVIEW

HELLO GEORGIA

GOLDEN ISLES – GEORGIA SALT MARSHES

“By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea. Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band of the sand beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land. “

CUMBERLAND ISLAND – WILD HORSES AND SAND DUNE BEACHES

Some of the trees are several hundred years old Oak trees.

Next was a hike to the other side of the island to the Dungeoness museum sight. Along the path we saw an armadillo and also saw several of the wild horses near the old ice house

TUESDAY ANCHORAGE AT TEA KETTLE CREEK

THE WATER DOESN’T SEPARATE US, IT CONNECTS US

ANCHORING ALONG THE MARSH CREEKS

We traveled 50 miles total, and anchored for the night near Hammock Island at Possum Point. We are traveling with our buddy boat Enterprise:

Early morning boat checking his crab pots:

The miles are flying by – we are only 8 miles from Isle of Hope Marina just south of Savanah Georgia.

Check back for photos and highlights from the genteel southern charm city of Historic Savanah.

Filed under: America’s Great Loop Adventure, Moon Shadow Log Tagged: photography Read More Here ….

The post Cumberland Island to Georgia Marshes appeared first on YachtAweigh.

source http://yachtaweigh.com/cumberland-island-to-georgia-marshes/ from http://yatchaweigh.blogspot.com/2017/04/cumberland-island-to-georgia-marshes.html

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