#death to all leaf blowers

[grandturtleperson]

Hugh Grant's Proust Questionnaire is the best one I've ever read

[vague-humanoid]

Increasingly, it is not safe to be in public, to be human, to be fallible. I’m not quoting breathless journalism about rising crime or conservative talking points about America falling into ruin. The ruin I’m thinking of isn’t in San Francisco or Chicago or at the southern border. The ruin is woven into the fabric of America. It’s seeping into all of us. All across the country, supposedly good, upstanding citizens are often fatally enforcing ever-changing, arbitrary and personal norms for how we conduct ourselves.

In Kansas City, Mo., Ralph Yarl, a Black 16-year-old, rang the wrong doorbell. He was trying to pick up his younger brothers and was simply on the wrong street, Northeast 115th Street instead of Northeast 115th Terrace, a harmless mistake. Andrew Lester, 84 and white, shot him twice and said, according to Ralph, “Don’t come around here.” Bleeding and injured, Ralph went to three different houses, according to a family member, before those good neighbors in a good, middle-class neighborhood helped him.

In upstate New York, a 20-year-old woman, Kaylin Gillis, was looking for a friend’s house in a rural area. The driver of the car she was in turned into a driveway and the homeowner, Kevin Monahan, 65, is accused of firing twice at the car and killing Ms. Gillis.

In Illinois, William Martys was using a leaf blower in his yard. A neighbor, Ettore Lacchei, allegedly started an argument with Mr. Martys and, the police say, killed him.

Two cheerleaders were shot in a Texas parking lot after one, Heather Roth, got into the wrong car. One of her teammates, Payton Washington, was also shot. Both girls survived, with injuries.

In Cleveland, Texas, a father asked his neighbor Francisco Oropesa to stop shooting his gun on his porch because his baby was trying to sleep. Mr. Oropesa walked over to the father’s house and has been charged with killing five people, including an 8-year-old boy, with an AR-15-style rifle. Two of the slain adults were found covering children, who survived.

At a Walgreens in Nashville, Mitarius Boyd suspected that Travonsha Ferguson, who was seven months pregnant, was shoplifting. Instead of calling the police, he followed Ms. Ferguson and her friend into the parking lot and, after one of the women sprayed mace in his face, according to Mr. Boyd, began firing. Ms. Ferguson was rushed to the hospital, where she had an emergency C-section and her baby was born two months early.

And sometimes there is no gun. On Monday, Jordan Neely, a Michael Jackson impersonator experiencing homelessness, was yelling and, according to some subway riders, acting aggressively on an F train in New York City. “I don’t have food, I don’t have a drink, I’m fed up,” Mr. Neely cried out. “I don’t mind going to jail and getting life in prison. I’m ready to die.” Was he making people uncomfortable? I’m sure he was. But his were the words of a man in pain. He did not physically harm anyone. And the consequence for causing discomfort isn’t death unless, of course, it is. A former Marine held Mr. Neely in a chokehold for several minutes, killing the man. News reports keep saying Mr. Neely died, which is a passive thing. We die of old age. We die in a car accident. We die from disease. When someone holds us in a chokehold for several minutes, something far worse has occurred.

A man actively brought about Mr. Neely’s death. No one appears to have intervened during those minutes to help Mr. Neely, though two men apparently tried to help the former Marine. Did anyone ask the former Marine to release Mr. Neely from his chokehold? The people in that subway car prioritized their own discomfort and anxiety over Mr. Neely’s distress. All of the people in that subway car on Monday will have to live with their apparent inaction and indifference. Now that it’s too late, there are haunting, heartbreaking images of Mr. Neely, helpless and pinned, still being choked. How does something like this happen? How does this senseless, avoidable violence happen? Truly, how? We all need to ask ourselves that question until we come up with an acceptable answer.

[caldwellwrites]

Things to Consider When Writing Setting

As a writer who has been coming up with a specific story concept for the past nine and a half years, I have a lot of trouble when it comes to writing and, oftentimes, imagining the setting of particular scenes. I almost always one detail in my head, but struggle to come up with any other features. Anyone can think, "Okay, my character is in a parking lot". But we, need to think beyond that.

Okay, first things first, decide a few things before we start consulting the big(ish) list.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 1) That means the type of location. Are they in a forest? At home? In a Starbucks? There are a near-endless list of places for your character to be, but it's crucial to make sure you know where this person is before building from there. In my opinion, this is probably the most important aspect to know before attempting to write about the setting. Know. Where. They. Are.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 2) This means the country or province. Consider every aspect of this place (I'll be making a post about world-building soon for those who need it). What are the geographical, cultural, and climate-related features. Think about how would these features impact the way your character experiences their environment.

-When does this scene take place? I'm talking about the time period, time of day, and time of the year. All of these factors will change what your character sees, hears, smells, everything.

Now that you've (hopefully) answered the three questions above, let's look at the big list of ideas. These are just some ideas I thought of while writing and editing this list, there are so many more ideas that are not on here. Try not do get overwhelmed by the list, and just look at it one section at a time. Play with some of these ideas in your head, on paper, a doc, whatever, and decide what feels write (get it?) for your project!

Sky, Weather, and Temperature

Sky Objects: Sun, Moon, Planets, Stars (Constellations), Meteors, Clouds (look up the different types), Rainbow, Flying Craft (Planes, Blimps, Drones, Helicopters), Balloons, Confetti, Kites, Bubbles

Weather: Sunny, Cloudy, Rainy, Stormy, Snowy, Hail, Foggy, Windy

Temperature: Sweltering, Hot, Warm, Comfortable, Chilly, Cold, Freezing

Nature and Natural Elements

Plants: Trees, Flowers, Grasses, Herbs, Mushrooms, Weeds, Bushes

Domestic Animals: Dogs, Cats, Horses

Wild Animals: Wolves, Coyotes, Bears, Wild Cats, Raccoons

Water Sources: Unmoving, Slow / Gentle, Rapid, Rough

Objects and People

Vehicles

Houses

Shops, Kiosks, Stalls

Schools & Other Buildings

Garbage

Fences, Walls, and Other Barricades

Parades, Parties, Festivals

Random Citizens / Passerby's

Higher-Ups (Royalty, Government Officials, etc)

Workers (Gardeners, Dog Walkers, Street Performers, etc.)

Furniture or Decor

Smells

Urine or Feces

Death / Blood

Cigarette / Cigar / Marijuana Smoke

Car Smog

Flowers

Fresh Cut Grass

Garbage

Food and Drink

Rain

Smoke / Fire

Pine

Sounds

Animal Sounds (Birds, Dogs, Insects, Frogs, etc. )

People Being Loud (Screaming, Playing, Cheering, Laughing, etc.)

Wind (Wind Chimes, Howling Wind, Blowing through plants, etc.)

Water

Machinery (Lawn Mower, Leaf Blower, etc.)

Transport (Carriages, Cars, Buses, Boats, Trains, Emergency Vehicles)

Weather Sounds (Rain, Thunder, Hail)

Fire Crackling

Music

[indelicateink]

Interview with the Vampire Post-Mortem: Sam Reid On 'Messy' Lestat and Lestat's Reunion With Louis

[...] Louis is stone-cold in that subsequent meeting, with a parting shot to Lestat that was surprising to Reid.

Though he's surprised by much.

"There's so much that surprises me all the time," Reid explained. "Little things that were complicated with how much power Lestat had. I was surprised by that.

"To be honest, the tower scene or the scene with Louis, Lestat, and Armand and that kiss that Louis and Lestat have, oh, sorry, Louis and Armand have in front of Lestat is... When we read that the first time, I'm like, 'Oh my God, this is just wild levels of brutality.'

"Cruel but also like, 'Oh my God, Louis, wow, what a move.' It was great. That was a wonderful surprise that I loved."

[...] "The reality is Lestat is a bit more messy than both think he is. He's flying by the seat of his pants all the time in life.

"What that means is it looks like somebody's really confident and capable and calculating, but, actually, when you are that person who seems like you really have things in control, you're very out of control, and it is a farce.

"So that's the one thing I think the real Lestat is, he's a bit more messy. When you see him for the first time at the end, obviously, he's totally shattered and a shell of himself. I think it's probably like, 'Oh, that guy really has no clue about how to get from A to B. He's just in a cannon.'

"He's going to land somewhere."

[...] When asked about filming the scene, Reid told us, "It was a pretty fun thing to shoot because we had leaf blowers on set, and there were people actually shaking the sets to give it that hurricane feeling."

However, regarding what that moment felt like for Lestat, Reid had a wonderfully nuanced response.

"I think it was sad because Lestat's really just been there waiting for him," Reid explained. "Certain things have happened while he's been back in New Orleans, but since the trial and the metaphorical push off the tower, Lestat's been forced to reflect on himself.

"It's pretty sad to think that you were so horrendous that somebody who you loved wished to punish you by being with somebody else. It's pretty wild.

"But I think the saddest thing, and this is something Rolin always talks about. The saddest thing is that when Claudia dies, the two people, the two vampires who should have spent time with each other and processed that and gone through that are Louis and Lestat.

"But instead, they blew even further apart, and they were never able to process her death, and so both of them went through this horrendous, prolonged grieving that resulted in just 77 years of suffering for both of them.

"Whereas if they had just both been able to swallow their pride and stop being so stubborn for a second and rather than push, push, push each other and actually process her death, I don't know.

"They would've had a happier 77 years. But then, it's not good storytelling. It's not fun. We'd much rather watch them suffer."  

[uncleasad]

top ten favorite hosie fics of all time, go

What a fun Ask! 🙏 Also, are you trying to kill me?! 😂

A few weeks ago, TheDarkestHour13 introduced the concept of Hope and Rafael keeping a list of “Landon’s Top 10 deaths” in Such Is Our Fate. I commented that that particular chapter (for reasons other than the deaths list) was a Top 10 chapter of the fic, though I also noted I didn’t have an actual list of my Top 10 chapters—there were approximately 120 chapters at that point. I also thought, in a related manner, that I didn’t have a “Top 10” list of Hosie fics…and perhaps that should have been my cue to start thinking about such a thing 😂

As of late June 2024 CE, there are nearly 2600 fics in the AO3 Hosie tag and I’ve been reading since the latter part of 2019…so I’ve probably read ½ to ⅔ of them…

I came up with 7 fics right away, but as I started to make links and such, I realized that 5 of those were incomplete (ongoing, but mostly either rarely updated or, practically speaking, abandoned); I don’t know what it says about me that my “top ten favorite hosie fics of all time” is full of fics that may never be finished.

But in terms of recommendations for reading, I know lots of folks will not want to start reading a work that hasn’t been updated in years and has a high likelihood of never being finished, no matter how amazing it is (or how much someone else liked it). And even for ones that are currently ongoing, it’s possible (though unlikely) that the author could do something crazy to make me hate the fic later on. So I thought I’d spin off all those works that were incomplete into a separate list and come up with 10 favorite finished fics…I could mamage that, right? As I started trying to do that…nope, that’s not done, either; that’s been abandoned 😳 oh, what about that fic? wow, how did I forget that one?! (Like I said, are you trying to kill me?! 😂)

So…to save my life (and to stop spending hours upon hours on this), the end result is about 30 fics all-told, completed and incomplete. (I further subdivided the incomplete fics into those that are updated at least once every few months and those that…aren’t 😢) They’re ordered roughly by time, with the earlier/older fics towards the tops of the lists and the more recent ones (mostly) towards the ends of the lists. Two of the fics on the “Completed” list had promised an epilogue that has never appeared, but you can read the entire story arc, so I think it’s fair to label them as complete.

So without further ado…

Completed:

it's a date (the only problem is it's fake) by avengerskye / @avengerskye

Coffee on Monday, Flowers on Friday by Redezzy

The Missing Piece by intribridsname 

slept next to her but I dreamt of you all summer long by hackingxbiochemist

what you got (cause I want it all) by ToriWritesStories / @toriwritesstories

summer lovin' had me a blast (wait, no, that's just the leaf-blower) by AdeleDazeem

Our Last Life by taengoo1 / @taengooxlove

I'll Never Give Up Hope by O_M_Jee

HM+JS by tellingtouch

Invisible String by luthorbae

Then why's it feel so good? by callipoicepole (Killing Eve AU)

This Is Your Home by Shadowmama55 / @shadowhuntermama

Shivers (A Lifetime of crimes, but the worst was loving you.) by ch8rlie

The Stages of Grief by endgamesonly

'tis the damn season. by wandererghost (complete, though promised epilogue still outstanding)

Lizzie Saltzman, Matchmaker by TheNutcase (complete, though promised epilogue still outstanding)

In-Progress – still updating regularly or at least every few months:

Such Is Our Fate by TheDarkestHour13 / @persevereforahappyending (updated every Friday)

The Power Field by Joho_meh

4 Years, 6 Months, 8 Days by Limon_Skittles

To Know My Heart The Best (You’d Have To Cut It Out My Chest) by mambaregz

Incomplete – rarely updated, on hiatus, or orphaned:

Dive bar on the east side by Bluejay720 (7 chapters to go)

summer rush by sabrinasfadingmoon / @sabrinasfadingmoon (incomplete)

im not gonna let you go so easily by allweseeislight (1 chapter to go 🤞)

'tis the damn season by blckmaqic, LizMikaelson (1 chapter to go 🤞)

Redemption by MysticSlurp (Red Dead Redemption AU, incomplete)

Sad Bedroom Eyes by EvilPenguinRika / @evilpenguinrika (on hiatus)

Hell Hath No Fury by ElegiesEulogizeMe (Ringer AU, 6 chapters to go)

the stages of waking by dandelionlighters / @dandelionlighters (incomplete)

let’s watch it all burn down together by iris_on_the_moon (zombie apocalypse; orphaned)

A number of the authors are no longer active in writing Hosie fics (not surprising in 2024, considering), but many of them (including the authors of the incomplete works I like) have substantial catalogs, so if you read and enjoy one of these, be sure check that author’s list of other works (and of course leave kudos and comments! 🙏)

—

If anyone would like to see other fics I’ve enjoyed, there’s the fic recommendation tag here on my tumblr that captures a few from the last couple of years, and I also have a few AO3 collections of specific themes/subjects:

Hosie Zombie Apocalypse (HosieZombieApocalypse)

Hosie Summertime Vibes (SummeryHosie)

Hosie Season 2 “What If?” (Hosie_Season_2_What_If)

Hosie Post-Season 4 (Hosie_Post_Season_4)

Sorry I couldn’t get it down to 10, @tribridsireline 😂 But I hope everyone reading finds something new and exciting to read!

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is still conspicuous by absence ... and, in spite of post-it-note after post-it-note left for the lost postman, he remains inscrutable, invisible and silent on the matter. The stand in man on the radio throws on track after track, including one of my favourites, Pavarotti 'Il Gladiatore'. Weatherwise it's 11 to 14 degrees today with a mere suggestion of sunshine, so thermal socks, longjohns and a hot water bottle will be required afore even considering settling on the deckchair. The traffic lady came and went with a chirp and some chatter and none of it sunk in.

Today's groaner: This morning I got up out of bed and then looked out of my window to see what the weather was like. I saw a man in a black hooded robe who was trying to clear the frost off his car with a scythe, so I thought I’d do the neighbourly thing and go out and help him. I was just about to walk out of the door when my wife grabbed me and shouted, “Stop! You’re de-icing with death.” ;-D badoom tish … here all week!!

Autumn is well underway ... leaves everywhere ... and the threat of the neighbourhood and their love of leaf blowers is ever present. Silly people! Always think of William Shatner's "I can't get behind that" at this time of year. I end up having daydreams of covering the leaf haters in glue and then throwing them into a pile of leaves ... there would be a whole army of 'leaf monsters' roaming the area in a disgruntled fashion. This makes me smile. :-)

Thursday, Thursday, Thursday ... the shiny metropolis calls once more ... but, for now, I'm clutching my coffee pot and woe betide anyone that dares try and part me from it ...

[afpwestcoast]

The UC Theatre, Berkeley, CA, 12/31/23

As I was about to board my flight from Portland down to Oakland who should run up - after boarding was well in progress - but Amanda Fucking Palmer herself, with a large bag from Powell’s Books over her shoulder, which is so on-brand it’s not even funny. The whole crew was on the same flight with me. Cosmic coincidences.

The inimitable Kat Robichaud dominated as Mistress of Ceremonies, and she brought along some friends from the Misfit Cabaret, so this promised to be a great night from the start.

Kat kicked things off with her original song Charade, then The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence provided a series of short, pithy blessings for the new year that managed to be funny, touching, and queer in equal measure.

Snatch Adams did an amazing burlesque routine involving a leaf blower and a giant balloon that she somehow got completely inside … and then removed her clothes.

Another original from Kat, and an extremely sexy dance from Aurora Rose, and it was time for the Dresden Dolls.

In 2017 Amanda did an NYE show a week after having a miscarriage and barely made it through the show. This show was similarly performed amidst some personal tragedy. Amanda had just learned that a good friend from New Zealand - whom she was actually en route to go visit - had died suddenly and tragically. And the longtime landlord / den mother of the artist collective Cloud Club, where Amanda “grew up” as an artist, was in hospice on his death bed (he passed early on the 2nd). While she did talk about this a little on stage for the most part she just powered through and delivered a killer show.

My favorite way to ring in the new year is with Amanda and/or the Dolls, and this show went a long way towards explaining why. Flamboyantly talented people providing astounding spectacle; who could ask for anything more? Halfway through the show my friend Nikki turned to me and said, “I can’t imagine being happier than I am right now!” I couldn’t agree more.

Annotated Set List:

Good Day (Brian on guitar to start)

Sex Changes

Gravity

Modern Moonlight

My Alcoholic Friends

Shores of California

Welcome to the Internet (Bo Burnham cover) - Before this song Amanda often asks, “Are there any young people in the audience?” and she typically chooses one to serenade during the ‘Waiting for YOOOOOU!’ bridge. Tonight this turned into a bit of a bidding war in which we started at 18 and worked our way down to 5. At one point Brian became an auctioneer, “I’ve got 16 here do I hear 15? 14! 14 going once, can I get … 13 over here!”

Mandy Goes to Med School

Amanda said she wanted to repeat the collective primal scream they had done last NYE, and while that’s true the tradition actually started at the very first solo show Amanda did in the States post COVID in August of ‘22.

“Close your eyes, and on the count of three I would like you to scream as loudly as possible to release the good, the bad, the ugly, the better, the unfulfilled, the loneliness, the whatever you fucking went through last year it’s now gone and you’ve got about an hour to sit with it if you wanna be sad or happy and then it’s all gonna go away and we’re gonna go into 2024 into a bucket of unicorn dreams!”

PRIMAL SCREAM!!

Mister God

Amanda said that she and Whitney had come up with a working title for the new Dresden Dolls album: Downer Bangers (“That was my nickname in high school!” quipped Nikki.)

“I found out this morning that a really good friend of mine from New Zealand just died really suddenly and tragically, and I’m in the middle of losing someone else in my life, and it’s just one of those days where you’re like, ‘This is happening, and I still have to play a show.’ This has happened to me enough that I know how to do it, but I’ve gotta tell you that it’s still really weird to get up in front of everybody while I’m going through what I’m going through. And here’s the great thing about being in the Dresden Dolls: I have a song for that! So I’m gonna play it.”

Houdini

Another Christmas (Brian on guitar, Amanda on jingle bells)

Amsterdam (Jacques Brel cover) (Brian on guitar, Amanda on beer) - At the beginning of the second stanza Amanda lost track of the lyrics. “In the port of Amsterdam, there’s a sailor who … ”

“Dies!” I helpfully yelled

“Dies … sorry, Tom.”

Hey don’t apologize to me; I live for this shit!

Missed Me - Brian has taken to really going all out on this one, often performing entire melodramatic vignettes. Tonight he just … left. Got up, left the stage, disappeared. He has played with briefly “leaving” during this song, but this time he was just gone. And Amanda had no idea what was going on. She was talking to the crowd - he’s really gone, I’m all alone, what do I do? sort of thing - when a large, potted plant crept up behind her. As Brian was creeping about the stage hiding behind the plant like a cartoon villain Amanda said, “This is the same guy who during soundcheck was like, ‘Let’s keep the intro really short.’” The antics went on so long that Amanda got flustered and got confused about where they were in the song. She looked at me and asked, “Is this right?” I gave her a big thumbs up.

Backstabber

Astronaut (A Brief History of Nearly Nothing) (Amanda Palmer cover)

Mrs. O - Quick restart after Amanda thought she detected a medical issue in the crowd, something that happened at both the LA and SD shows earlier in the month. It was a false alarm, and the band played on.

Delilah (featuring Kat Robichaud AND Whitney Moses (the OG!)) - Double Delilahs for double the pathos. Before starting Amanda entreated the crowd to sing along. “I want you to sing this song tonight for someone who needs it. And that someone might be you.”

Sing - Amanda was keeping one eye on the clock and the tempo on this one was a bit faster than normal so they could get it in before …

MIDNIGHT! Balloon drop! General pandemonium!

(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party!) (Beastie Boys cover) - Everyone on stage!

Coin-Operated Boy

War Pigs (Black Sabbath cover)

——

Girl Anachronism

Photo Gallery: Preshow family portrait.

Destiney performed as a living statue before the show.

Snatch Adams, ladies and gentlemen.

The Dresden Dolls!

Welcome to the Internet

Another Christmas

Amsterdam!

Sometimes you just can’t see the drummer through the trees.

Dual Delilahs!

MIDNIGHT!!!

Submitted without comment.

Good night!

Traditional selfie with Whitney Moses and post-show family selfie featuring Michael!

[cazort]

so i love and hate this.

American lawn culture may have become a tradition for some people but for me, the tradition looks more like the lower photo, although perhaps with even more trees.

and honestly a lot of lawn culture is not at all traditional. the loud leaf-blowers? they didn't show up until the mid-2000's. they were literally not a thing when i was growing up. nor were large ride-on mowers, like pretty much only mega sites like an oil refinery would use them, homeowners used push mowers. and there were across the board more trees in residential neighborhoods where i grew up than there are today, and people allowed the branches to sweep low to the ground instead of pruning them off high up and then mowing under them. and people used groundcovers to cover non-lawn areas, not barren beds of black mulch.

no, the management-intensive, environmentally-destructive landscaping we see nowadays is not traditional.

it's a new and destructive fad.

there is nothing traditional about it and it's not even old enough to really warrant being called "traditional". maybe in another 80 years but I honestly hope it does not persist that long.

death to management-intensive landscaping and lawn culture.

[aramblingmann]

Dust Devil

Helicopters were the last horse. We got used to the whooping overhead just in time for the announcements. Loudspeakers telling us not to leave the house. “Stay inside, duct tape your window seals if possible, it’s the best way to keep yourselves safe. But also, don’t wait for the fire to reach you. If your house feels hotter than usual, you should probably, you know, like, leave, maybe leave a note, or whatever.” 

Zoomer common sense, try not to die, but if you do, tell people about it somehow. Leave a mark, even if it’s just your digital spirit haunting a server tenuously kept afloat by an offshore customer experience team. “I love Wichita. What’s it like in New York City? Tell me about the different kinds of pasta you can buy?” Isolation pornography, stock options that refer to items stocked on a shelf somewhere. 

Our virtual purchases pulled from their cradles by the fatigued hands of those gasping for air while they starve. They eat the atmosphere, thick with carcinomic particulates, something to chew on, but the only sustenance is death. We all feed the beast of the future, he who swallows us all, eventually.

You wouldn’t know if you were being poisoned like this. It’s so easy to assume the helicopters are there for your benefit, to protect you, to warn you, to address some unseen force encroaching on your safety. They would never dream of whipping up toxic dust into a whirlwind, thrust into our air ducts, deposited on every surface without a singular safeguard. We were dying of a gentle breeze.

Leaf blowers had been banned for months. At first no one seemed to care about air quality, covid fatigue had allowed them to ignore the odors, the cough, the phlegm of coal miners spat into trash cans in kindergarten classes. Air purifiers, air conditioners, MERV filters, they all delayed the inevitable. It would get inside. It would get inside our homes. It would get inside our cars, our pockets, our bodies. These tiny invaders would bloom there in perpetuity, embers of destruction creating satellite devastation wherever they land. And that is what created them.

The burn areas were all 20 miles away, but in every direction. No one seemed to take notice, even on windy days. Surrounded, we put in extra effort to sniff the air, allowing our lungs an added bonus dose of destruction as a measure of slow suffocation. My latest mask taunted me, hanging from an elastic strap on the drawer pull of my desk. The sun shone through the window in the door behind me, but added no warmth. Even the sun had given up on us, after so many years of being the magnet that drew droves to its core. Now, the light taunted us like a true winter, but without respite. 

Saving graces were all outside, beyond the door. So we waited, baited by the breath of fresh air in an indeterminate ahead. Sure, people took their dogs out, their babies, maybe they didn’t have time to grab a mask, it didn’t matter, they couldn’t afford the life they wanted anyway. Why delude themselves into believing there was a future when the present was so unforgiving. 

Not a one of us had chosen this world, the hole in the ozone layer plugged with a hose pumping ozone back into itself. This suicidal planet couldn’t be talked out of torching dinosaurs to drink the lactation of an animal they charred between two pieces of refined wheat. Not a single thing consumed resembled what it was. Including the dust.

Fire visited every year like in laws whose RV broke down in the driveway. We never knew when, but they’d always just show up, destroy our lives, and stay until nothing was left but ash. They took all the valuables, and left destruction and exhaustion in their wake. If you don’t have family who’ve killed someone, you can’t fathom the confusion of carrying that burden. 

I’d never started a fire, but I couldn’t stop smoking, even as the earth around me smoldered and begged me to leave the air that was left unsoiled. The live oaks that surrounded us begged me not to use the stove, the fireplace, not to burn incense to mask the smell of the flammable gas that followed my wake.

Had I never started a fire? Or had I simply fed an endless fuel reserve that built every year like a pyre sending off my own lack of accomplishment. I burnt out certainly, I couldn’t breathe without the darkness, I couldn’t relax without punishment pumping through my respiratory system. Pulling the smoke to my belly was the only way to forgive my regrets, my shortcomings. A shortened existence my apology for being born an asshole. 

There simply aren’t enough good deeds to turn it around if you start bad. It wasn’t my first aspiration, mostly I was an idiot, but like most morons before me, I leaned into ignorance and when it took from others, it didn’t matter that I got nothing out of it. I wasn’t a sociopath, I derived no joy from the failure or sabotage of those around me, and yet, my mind was always so overburdened by overthought, it was always too late for me to salvage anything. 

When it’s too late, the dying don’t even want to hear your apology. They’d rather meet eternity than summon their last semblance of energy to grant you a reprieve. It’s a final wish of ill will, sufferning, and eternal turmoil that’s indelible. And you know what? It builds.

My bioavailability for cursed looks and death bed ire extends well beyond my tolerance for pain. I store up rotten luck, and it spews from every pore as I trip and embarrass myself through eternity like foul odor turned into urine-yellow beams of stained light. My soul looks the way inner city streets smell. You don’t wash that off, you can’t.

The fire smelled better. When your baseline is panic, fear, it’s strangely reassuring when the rest of the world around you is doing the same. But as soon as they return to normal, you’re immediately missing out on a carefree existence the universe simply won’t let you taste. There’s only one way I’ve been lucky, and I couldn’t say for sure why she stuck it out so long. 

If our love was a building made strong by love, the windows were continuously being shattered onto every surface, boarded up, and refit into the sills, waiting for the next storm to send razors sharp fragments flying through the walls. This would go on for years as we got more tired, and more gray. Anger won’t let you sleep, hurt simply keeps you awake. It’s a cycle of snoozing that isn’t restful, where nightmares always know where to find you. One hug at a time, one day at a time. According to my grandfather three hugs a day was the minimum. We didn’t have a maximum in those first few years. 

We would have been fine alone, probably. Miserable, but fine. Together we struggled on opposite sides of understanding a changing world. The downfall of the government was evident for years before it became the official sponsor of NASCAR. With the Great Seal of the United States emblazoned on a rusted Chevy Lumina, a professional football team, and submarines used for international travel, we had been sold a cage we put the lock on ourselves. 

Hunger would have been inevitable had we not stocked ourselves with processed soup and zero grain spaghetti refined to canary yellow clarity. Everything we ate, whatever water we had, was an immediate test of safety, we waited for tumors to find their way into our metabolisms and grow in the most unpleasant places possible. We had become our own personal White Houses, staffed by staph, inhabited by vice, dwelling on the dread of our inevitable demise. The end was in our rearview. Collapse had always been beneath our feet. Extinction had occurred without notice and yet we stuck around to find out who was last. 

The dust would outlive us all. Tiny specs of matter strewn across the compass, only to eventually rejoin the remnants of life they had once been given eminence by. Humanity created nothing, we simply re-shaped that which existed into something convenient. We were the shortcut species, finding agency over tactile bodies eons before considering what brains could do. 

Then we just stopped. Our hair fell out. We became allergic to peanut butter. The sun slowly murdered us just by warming us. Fate is a word we created to explain our squandered use of another made up word, time.

[bqsocial]

Facebook &  X – VonHaus Autumn Tidy Bundle Prize Draw Terms and Conditions – 21/10/2024

The Promoter:

B&Q Limited, B&Q House, Chestnut Avenue, Chandler’s Ford, Eastleigh, SO53 3LE

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2️⃣ Like this post 🧡​

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There will be 1 winner selected. The winners will receive the following prize:

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[jonathankatwhatever]

It’s 12 Dec 2023 and I’m suddenly nervous there’s a plot to take my house, that a deal has been done for the buyer to forfeit and pick it up from the bank for cheaper. It would be blatantly illegal to do this, but that’s where my mind just went. Other than that, this morning was the best experience on a very good Extent, meaning on the 1-0Segment created spectrum.

It’s weird thinking we can explain basics like a spectrum. Leaf blowers are death. I hate them. Must take a break.

Am incredibly nervous and don’t know why. Can’t focus. Will do something physical until this passes.

It’s 12 Dec 2023 and I’m suddenly nervous there’s a plot to take my house, that a deal has been done for the buyer to forfeit and pick it up from the bank for cheaper. It would be blatantly illegal to do this, but that’s where my mind just went. Other than that, this morning was the best experience on a very good Extent, meaning on the 1-0Segment created spectrum.

It’s weird thinking we can explain basics like a spectrum. Leaf blowers are death. I hate them. Must take a break.

Am incredibly nervous and don’t know why. Can’t focus. Will do something physical until this passes.

———————

Incredibly attractive to feel your nervousness. I can’t tell if it’s dread or excitement, if it’s a heart attack or a chest swelling. I am uneasy. Feels like a victory to get that out.

Maybe I can do some work. What is the next question? We need to look at where we are. We now have a double map, one of Triangular and one of gs, meaning we map Triangular to gs and gs to Triangular. The way I picture this is like a rotating view in which the same scenes flash by except things change at each visible frame. So I see a motion picture reel, meaning the film is orthogonal, so it is ‘behind’ the shared 1-0Segment of the bT’s of a Hexagon. You can see frames per second because the Informational Limit translates the concept of a Hexagon into a Triangular, so we increase the n-gon to the IL because that is a specific amount short of enlarged SBE, meaning a big 3. That reaches the question of why, and the answer thus far has been that this allows injection of meaning within the conception of SBE, which is literally the identity return of 1-0-1. That’s as close as we can get to 1Space, that it radiates meaning into the construction of our existence.

So that map. I see how it works making gs because the Triangular is continuous ‘underneath’. I’m not sure how to move across Triangular when it’s not fD or HG. That is, these represent the inversion of an End over a 1-0Segment and the inversion of a 1-0Segment over an End. That leaves the moves to the side, to the connected bT’s. My God, you’re dumb. You keep forgetting that makes fD’s, and you’re seeing the Between perspective, meaning you’re looking across whatever is Between on the 1-0Segment over which the Ends of the fD are inverting.

We were doing this in the morning. This is the image of the 2 to 1 in bT, meaning the 1-0Segment dividing the 2bT is forgotten by treating the 2 1-0Segments as sliding over each other, meaning as their own 1-0Segment. This is obviously true in 1Space because we’re manipulating infinities and a segment of 2 segments has the same uncountability as any other segment. We did a lot of work about infinities, demonstrating that gs construction generates the countably finite and the finite out of the uncountable through the operations of D-structure. I’m hearing a song counting countable infinities. What does that mean? I think it means that the real number continuum itself can’t be counted, only its countable image, and I don’t know if that makes any sense at all. That is, if we count line segments, we attribute uncountability to them by identifying what cannot be counted, so there is always something beyond which cannot be counted. And one of the main lessons of grid squares is dimensional construction, so the connection is now obvious and this must be true: it’s the dimensionality of numbers being constrained by the construction process which generates them.

This goes a long way toward resolving an old question, sort of a chicken and the egg of gs construction, that when you imagine real numbers and the continuum, then you can take the general and abstract or the specific and increasingly concrete, like in some identifiable series that converges or which can be cut off as it diverges. When said like that, the question mostly goes away. Cut offs get into I//I.

Can we in 2 minutes connect I//I to these maps? That is the process. What you mean is more the mechanics. Okay, what are the mechanics? Well, we have a Triangular pyramid with 4 sides because we’re constructing D4 with grid squares, and I see that rotating so it is orthogonal as the projection. Or rather, the projection to the grid square is now orthogonal to the gs. Okay, that freed up some visualization.

I’m seeing the layers of gs connected Bip to corners of the other layer. So we have this projection of the pyramid, and the layers or sheets are separated by the height of the pyramid, which in unit terms would be the nSquare 1/2Square or .5Square. We did this work and showed how it defined a 1Square over the inversion of the pyramid, so the nSquare over the inversion space is a 1Square. You see the versatility of the nSquare concept because a 1Square is obviously not just a gs but something which constructs out of pieces of gs. That is of course incredibly important, and I’m so dumb I didn’t realize it until I’d typed the words. This actually constructs 1Squares as opposed to 1gs, and it does so off the Bip and thus in any direction allowable, meaning like it can be orthogonal because that’s an acceptable pathway.

That brought together some old and some newer work.

I need a break. Our car’s ABS light is coming on. Just before I can afford to fix it. Arghh.

[eleinwrites]

Kiss by Proxy

500-word Writing Challenge: genre: drama action: sharing ice cream object: a leaf-blower

Summary: A man and a woman meet at a park on the anniversary of the deaths of their spouses who had been having an affair.

=====

John bought two ice cream cones at the shop two blocks away from the park. It was already cold enough that they wouldn’t melt quickly. He handed one to Patricia when he found her in the park, wading through fallen leaves.

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips to the ice cream like an open-mouthed kiss.

He bit into his own ice cream.

His family wanted him to hate his late wife, blame her lover, and accuse her lover’s wife of inadequacy. He wondered what his own inadequacy had been.

The anniversary brought back all the same questions: Why? How long?

If they hadn't been having an affair, would they still be alive?

If they were alive, would he be divorced by now instead of widowed? Or would he have never discovered the affair? Or would he have discovered it but they'd have worked past it?

The questions were worn with repetition over the years. He didn’t have any answers. Patricia didn’t either.

“Annabelle and her partner are talking about having children,” Patricia said.

“That’s… good.”

Forty years ago, his girlfriend told him she never wanted children. They had talked about it. He had donated to a sperm bank, had a vasectomy, and asked her to marry him. She had kissed him like he was the love of her life and said ‘yes’.

He had thought they’d been happy together.

“Mm.” Patricia said.

Patricia and her husband had wanted children.

He’d met Patricia and her husband when Annabelle had been curious about the sperm donor.

Their daughter had been lively and loved, spoiled and curious. He had told her all about his grandfather, and given her the old pocket watch with his grandfather’s name engraved on it in cursive.

It was his wife who suggested that they keep the connection. She had said she didn’t mind. They could be an honorary aunt and uncle.

He would always wonder when she decided to sleep with Patricia’s husband. Had it been as early as back then? Had she been jealous of his connection to a child in another family? Had she wanted to hurt him? Or was it never about him at all? What answer would be worse?

The roar of a leaf blower startled him out of his thoughts and the ice cream cone fell from his hand. It lay on the fallen leaves, weighing them down.

Patricia said something, but he couldn’t hear her words over the roar. The groundskeeper with the leaf blower was wearing ear protection.

It was too loud to talk now.

Patricia put her hand on his arm. They rarely touched. In the early days, it had felt awkward to touch a stranger who had carried his child but not his child. After the deaths, the urge to hit and shake and scream had felt too strong.

She offered him her ice cream cone. He accepted it.

He put his lips to the ice cream the way she had. It was a cold kiss, but still sweet.

[stabthecode]

I am placed in front of a laptop. My laptop. The assailant forces me into my chair. Their voice is stern, demanding. I place my hands on the keyboard. The empty page glows bright, the blink of the cursor a death knell.

“Write.”

I try to do what they have said.

There is light bouncing off of the floor from the open window. It lands in the corner of my eye. I focus on the screen. I cannot stop myself from glancing over towards the edge of my vision. I type a few sentences, glance over to the light every time I have to move my eyes away from the screen. I readjust. I stand up, sit back down on my chair, turn away from the light.

I shake my leg. The sound of the wind outside my room is quiet and constant. The buzz of a distant plane cuts through the constant ebb and flow of air. I stop typing to listen to it. The light glares along the edge of my glasses. I try to get my brain to stop focussing on it.

Another assailant keeps pointing out the cars moving on the highway. I cannot see them. I need to stay focused. I need to get this done. The first one again tells me to write, as I had stopped. A notification rings out in the room. I push my glasses up my face after typing a few more lines. I lean forwards a little, trying to do anything to make the light go away. It shines determined into my eyes further and I pull back. Another plane goes past.

“Write.”

I reached out for help again today, sending out another desperate message. It’s the third message I’ve sent in 15 days. Intermediary steps have been taken but no relief has been sent. I’m starting to think that my assailants are being paid by the very people I’m asking for help from. I take a sip of coffee. My assailants may be cruel but they aren’t heartless.

Some people are playing lacrosse in the field outside the window. I try to ignore the other assailant’s comments. I accidentally kick the printer that lives under the desk I’m stationed at. My eyes hurt. I glance over at the light again. Type a few letters, glance at the light. Type a few letters, glance at the light.

I check the time. It’s been an hour. Barely half a page has been filled. A motorcycle goes past on the highway. I just want to sleep. It’s so warm and I’m so tired and 

“Write.”

A door slams down the hall. There’s knocking from a room somewhere below me. I try to type, my foot itching where I’ve caught it in the crook of my leg because it’s the closest thing I’ve found to a comfortable position.

Motorcycle. Light. Motorcycle. Light. The popping of an engine. Wind. Footsteps all around me.

“Write.”

I want to cry. I cried earlier, knowing that the brief reprieve they were giving me was still under direct watch. I know that tears will earn me no sympathy and simply wear me out more. Another plane. The light is still there in the corner of my fucking eye. I push my chair back, tangle my limbs into a different orientation, scratch at my hair, eyes closed, just wishing that things would be easier.

Motorcycle. I. Footsteps. I’m. Something is set down in the room next door. I’m ju– The wind picks up a bit, the sounds of traffic echoing off the buildings nearby. Another plane goes by.

Please.

“Write.”

I have other things I need to do. Other things I want to do. I need to escape but I can’t do that alone. Another plane. The sounds of my swallowing, someone putting a bottle on a table. I have homework that needs to be done. I have online classes that I haven’t watched the lectures for. Another fucking plane.

I close my eyes. The light is too much. A lawn mower or leaf blower. I can’t tell which and my assailants don’t bother to tell me. I rock back and forth, typing out word after word.

I feel alone. Another plane. The light keeps shining in.

“Write.”

I don’t get what is taking so long. It shouldn’t take 2 fucking weeks to be released from this utter hell.

Plane. Lower than the others have been so far.

It’s as simple as sending over some papers and negotiating an agreement. They give excuses. “Our fax machine doesn’t always work.” “You’ll have to put in another request.”

The rocking makes me sleepy but I feel a bit better while doing it. I close my eyes, relying on my touch typing ability for a while. I end up pressing space 3 times and have to rewrite half of a word because of how clustered my fingers got.

Motorcycle. Dog barking. Airplane. The sound of my breath. Light. A door closing and footsteps. I miss the period key five times while looking at the screen.

“Write.

I want to stop. I want to stop. I want to stop.

Motorcycle. A person putting things down in their room. Traffic. Plane. Light.

Please just let me fucking go. Please

Plane. Light.

“Write.”

I have been taken hostage. I have received no help despite putting out multiple requests. I can’t fucking escape.

Please help.

Someone for the love of god please help.

“Write.”

[foxlawed]

[ TACKLE ]  for  sender  to  tackle  receiver  into  a  freshly  accumulated  pile  of  leaves.

@ofwings-andclaws

this fall marked four months of nathan & patrick being together, which was the longest (& first) relationship nathan had ever been in, but regardless of that, it .. was exciting. classes were off for a few more weeks, so nathan & patrick got to enjoy their days together. being able to spend time with the other without having to worry about essays & homework was actually quite nice.

they'd been out for breakfast together & were on the way back home - home being patrick's apartment, because nathan had pretty much moved in over the semester break & likely after that, too. although he'd wait with that & see if patrick wanted him to stay. he didn't dare assume - just yet. patrick could've felt different about living together, so while nathan hoped the alpha had enjoyed their time together as much as he did, he wasn't going to say anything until he did. yep.

somewhat lost in thought, which didn't go unnoticed by patrick, it seemed, he was walking one moment & the next he fell. or rather, he was flying into a huge pile of leaves. they'd been woken by the damn leaf blower, so this did count as revenge, right? if only in his mind, because on the outside, nathan protested heavily to the weight on top of him.

"you're so heavy. help. i can't breathe." they were fully covered in leaves, the huge pile spread across the area, too & patrick didn't even twitch. "paaaaaaaat." arms fell to his sides in defeat, his last breath left his lungs.... death by alpha cuddles.

but patrick wouldn't stand by & watch, so he - if jokingly, pressed a kiss to his omega's lips, blowing air into his mouth & chuckling when nathan started struggling again.

"still alive after all, huh?"

"uh, duhhh. you know how a body still twitches after it dies? see? that."

"and it talks, too?"

"maybe you just brought me back super fast."

"hmmmmm. we'll have to try that again." patrick hummed as he lowered his body against the other's again, squishing him underneath, though they both knew it wasn't actually lethal.

"ugh, you gotta start working out. you're too heavy."

fangy grin announced patrick was up to no good, "i know a way and we can start right now." & with that he trailed kisses down the fox's neck, mixed little nips & bites in - because he knew nathan liked it when patrick left marks all across his body - especially in places seen by everybody.

"....on a pile of leaves? no way! there's bugs and stuff."

"aw, c'mon. you said i should work out. i only want you happy, my dear fox."

"but not here! work out at home!" goddamnit, he wasn't going to include anything with more legs than 2 in their sex life. no thank you.

"alright." patrick stood faster than nathan even realized the weight off his chest was gone & pulled the fox up & after him faster than the damn police.

"where are we going???"

"my bed."

[spectacles-house-of-horrors]

AND NOW...

A gallery, of all the dumb GIFs I've made with Aseprite and ScreenRecorder, in no particular order. Please enjoy the art and your complimentary Chardonnay.

Please listen to this song while admiring the artworks, we appreciate your courtesy.

(This compilation features one GIF with some pretty big blood and violence, so content warning for that.)

A take on the classic, 'This man, 🐟 react him' GIF. Featuring a Swarmer from the game Deep Rock Galactic. The server I made this and most of these GIFs is pretty big on the game.

A GIF made in response to a friend's repeated work incidents of people calling him "Ma'am." I chose Battle For Dream Island's Ruby slapping Balloon into instant death an appropriate comparison to the sharpness of the ma'ams.

GIF made after a pretty funny VC in a Discord server. One of my friends exclaimed this quote with such fury I made it into this GIF of Fanny from BFDI again. I even drew an emote of it.

Textless reaction GIF of Deimos and 2BDamned from Madness Combat backing away. Made into a GIF at the request of my friend Taur.

Yet another BFDI GIF, this time my friend Taur's character Cindy and her notoriously bad cooking were brought up in conversation. So I took the opportunity to add some text to this already existing GIF.

Never ending loop of the intro to Anger Foot's trailer. Given the same caption as a famous cat GIF. Made after showing a friend said trailer, as he quite likes silly cat memes like the Kicker GIFs.

I saw this GIF of a Hummingbird zooming right up in front of the camera, so I just added some text to it.

GIF made for a server after the heavily anticipated goals for Markiplier to release his tasteful nudes OnlyFans. The stock dancing of this GIF was just too perfect for the occasion. (Though we sadly never did such a thing.)

Someone posted this GIF of The Henchman from Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number using his special skateboard execution, so I took the opportunity to make it into a version of the 'Fuck you, eat Christmas Tree!!!' GIF that I was obsessed with at the time.

GIF made specifically for a rather Palm Tree OC filled server. Palm tree ladies that you can no longer have.

Saw this GIF on the PVZ Wiki showing the special effect of, the PVZ2C plant, Acidic Citrus' Plant Food in Big Wave Beach. I added this GIF and got barely any responses to it.

Another GIF about one of my friend Taur's OCs, this time Gleeberry, and her potentially disastrous Wonder Hugs. Made in the middle of marathoning The Amazing World Of Gumball.

Another GIF taken from a Fanon Wiki, specifically the one for Spooky's Jumpscare Mansion. This image of the parasitic Spooper's animation looks kinda strange on its own, so I just made this image as a joke, and no one commented on it.

Last and latest GIF made earlier this evening as of posting. Was watching some PVZ Heroes videos in nostalgia and saw Leaf Blower's unnecessarily hilarious death animation. So I gave a caption to really fit the severity of his screaming.

Thank you for taking this tour with us-me, thank you for taking this tour with me. I myself enjoyed this as another way to procrastinate instead of getting through my art block. Please leave your empty glasses in the woodchipper before you leave, and have a nice day!

-Spectacles' House Of Horrors

[queerbrownvegan]

What to do with fallen leaves: a short story

I told my landlord if we can leave the fallen leaves on the ground, they can decompose naturally and enrich the soil. He said no and hired a gardener to remove them all with a chemical-filled leaf blower. I hate landlords. What world do we want to live in and create? Biodiversity is being lost in urban neighborhoods because of monocultural aesthetics and property values. We were taught to take pride in lawns, which are one of the most useless modern fixtures. A front yard full of native plants, weeds, and flowers could be an important home for many other species, but we decide to go with clean-cut grass monocultures, often using poison to kill any other species of planet.  I've been trying to prepare my garden for the next season. Since it’s my responsibility to take care of the garden, I asked my landlord if I could leave the fallen leaves on the ground so they can be beneficial for the soil. He said he didn't like the leaves “creating a mess” on the property and the next day, when I was shopping for groceries, he hired a gardener to collect all the leaves. Using gas-powered leaf blowers produces toxic waste like fuel filters and contaminated air filters. Blowers erode, compact and dry out soil, and harm plants, microorganisms, and pollinators. All for the sake of what you see in the second photo.  So, here are some tips/education on what to do with fallen leaves in your backyard:

1.) Leave them be. Leaves are great for wildlife species like worms, moths, and tiny critters. With moths, nearly 94% of species rely on the leaf layer to complete their lifecycle. The wintertime is a prime spot for species to partake in these activities. 2.) Use them! The leaves are free mulch and fertilizer!!! Leaves form a natural mulch that helps suppress weeds and, at the same time, fertilize the soil as they break down. 3.) Move them. Most lawns fail to provide habitat for species already co-existing in ecosystems, but you can always move the leaves to another designated area in the garden. Having a relationship with other species and the seasons invites us to contemplate natural cycles, like life and death. Anyways, even though it's not my house, I still get sad at how hostile we are towards other life and how little control I have over my garden as a tenant.  Source: National Wildlife Federation -queerbrownvegan