#forster places to stay

[forsterwallismotel]

https://forsterwallismotel.com.au/index.php/contact-us

[swindledin77]

Johnny Rotten and BDSM

Nora was meeting someone. She just drove to the Speakeasy and said, “I’m going now.” She wouldn’t even let me walk into the club with her. I had no money. She said in her thick German accent, “I’m not payings.” Nora was so cruel, and I love cruel women.

— John Lydon's Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1994)

Before John and I were close I used to see him with Linda. She was a very nice girl, but I didn’t know who or what she was. I was a bit intimidated by that. I was so naive in that aspect. John wouldn’t tell me, but Ariana used to come around her place at the St. James Hotel. John used to tell her not to come around.

— Nora Forster, John Lydon's Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1994)

I moved in for a short time with Linda Ashby later at the St. James.

— John Lydon's Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1994)

A mutual friend, Linda, had a flat in Victoria at the St. James Hotel, a place where we’d all go to stay over because none of us had flats in London. Most of us were still living with our parents, so we’d stay at Linda’s, waiting for things to happen, making things happen. Linda was…kind of a dominatrix.…

— Steve Severin, John Lydon's Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1994)

I did a series of photos in a straitjacket. I really liked being in that straitjacket, so I wanted gear on stage that wouldn’t be quite so restrictive but would look like it.

— John Lydon's Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1994)

We broke into a room they had way up in the back. It was bare brick with a thick wooden chair, like a throne, in the center. It had hand bands and straps attached to it. They had all these weird implements of torture hanging on the walls—whips, spikes, objects of cruelty—things that were designed to go places that weren’t designed to receive them. Odd things must have gone on up there. I grabbed some whips and stuff. That was the major reason for the moaning from those Maltese geezers. “Where’s our whips, you bastards?”

— John Lydon's Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs (1994)

I never could feel comfortable in his presence because I felt this dreadful Catholic guilt, this masochism. Ultimately he got off a little by Paul Cook beating the living day- lights out of him. Jones pulled Cook off of him, otherwise John would have been a hospital case. He turned around to Paul and said, I admire you for that, I really do. We all looked at him, we couldn’t believe what the group had inherited here.

— Malcolm McLaren, Jon Savage's The England's Dreaming Tapes (2009)

He quite liked Paul, cos he gave him a good hiding.

— Malcolm McLaren, Jon Savage's The England's Dreaming Tapes (2009)

And then when he left his primary he went on to the next school and got on very well with one particular teacher who was there. He got on very well with him for about three years. And he was a very strict teacher as well. He wasn't a teacher that would go running to the headmaster with anything. If he caught you doing anything he'd punish you himself and that was it.

— Eileen Lydon, Fred and Judy Vermorel's Sex Pistols: The Inside Story (1978)

I liked some of the classes a lot, but I hated the physical education nonsense, because they made you feel really poor, because you had to wear certain uniforms for certain things, like a rugby kit or whatever – just unacceptable to me. If you turned up without your kit, it meant you couldn’t do physical education – great! – but you’d get, ‘Bend over!’ and get whacked on the backside with a slipper by the PE teacher. So I volunteered to be beaten every single time. It stung like mad.

— John Lydon's Anger Is An Energy (2014)

That was the night that John stubbed out cigarettes on the back of his hand while he was singing.

— Jonh Ingham, Jon Savage's The England's Dreaming Tapes (2009)

Johnny performing with the Sex Pistols at The Fforde Grene, Leeds, Yorkshire, 1976. Note the cigarette burns on his arm.

Johnny in Roberto Faenza's Copkiller (1983)

[woso-dreamzzz]

I think about guppy, osita, forster!reader so much. also, mary’s kid has been v present. the kids you haven’t written too much about stay with me a lot.

I hope you had a good vacation, i’m glad you got a good break 💚

Sometimes I feel like I can predict if a kid isn't going to be too popular but it just gives them a very special place in my heart

[kairbun]

"The Forgotten Experiment"

Vanessa Shelly x Hybrid bunny!Fem reader

Description: One rainy night, Y/N is able to escape from the lab where she has been held as a test subject for most of her life. Drenched and alone in the dark and stormy night, she makes a run for it, searching for shelter.

By chance she stumbles upon an abandoned, old building that was once called "Freddy Fazbear's", and takes refuge inside it. There she is found by Officer Vanessa, who soon realizes Y/N is no regular stray, and decides to help her and take her in.

Warning: the reader has trauma, trust issues, touching issues,

Note: this is my first attempt at writing a story, so I would appreciate it if you could tell me if I'm missing anything in the warnings, heh. English is not my native language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

I stumbled down through the dark and rainy night feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, I feel free and alive for the first time in my life. On the other hand, I'm scared. Where will I go? How will I survive? What will I be? I was created with only one purpose in life, and that was to be a subject of experimentation in the lab.

I stop to catch my breath, hoping I find somewhere to shelter soon. Just then I see something... something old. I squint to see the building better through the rain. It may not have been attractive in appearance, but I had no other choice, without thinking I ran towards a building that was a kilometer away.

As I neared the mysterious, old building, I could feel the rain dripping down my body, and my clothes sticking to my skin. The walls of the building seemed to tower over me as I approached them, making me feel small and insignificant. I see a broken sign on top of the building that reads "Freddy Fazbear's." I'm shivering from the cold rain, but I know I can't stay here, and I desperately need a place to stay.

I try to open the door, hoping it's not locked. Unfortunately for me, they were closed, so I decided to look for another entrance to the building. When I found the window, I tried to open it, I was relieved when it opened and as I was about to enter, my bunny ears perked up at the sound of heavy carriages coming in that direction. I darted back out of the window and hid behind a pile of old boxes. A cold shiver ran down my spine as remembered what had happened to me in the past. Surely these carriages belonged to the lab, and they had sent someone after me.

My heart started pounding in my chest as I heard what sounded like human footsteps. My ears instinctively perked up and twitched with every sound. Then I heard the sound of the door opening... fortunately not to the room I was in. I hugged my legs to my body for warmth and my ears dropped down to my face. What I would give to shrink myself now and be invisible to the eye.

After some time, I heard several cars stop nearby and someone started knocking aggressively and loudly on the metal door. I tensed up and stayed as still and quiet as possible as I listened to the banging on the metal door. My ears twitched occasionally, trying to hear any sound from outside that could clue in on my location. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my breaths were becoming shallow and rapid.

— Vanessa's POV —

When Vanessa opened the door, her eyes immediately fell on the head lab manager, Mr. Forst. As a police officer, this was not Vanessa's first encounter with Mr. Forst. She had dealt with him a few times regarding various events in the city and had developed a certain respect for him.

But this time it was different. For some reason, there was an air of tension around Mr. Forst that she had never seen before. His usually calm demeanor seemed to have been replaced by urgency, and his eyes suggested a sense of urgency.

However, Vanessa did not give up and did not let her emotions come to the surface.

"Mr. Forster, what is the purpose of this visit?" she spoke confidently.

[aromanticannibal]

mha characters physical headcanons (does that even make sense idk im french). this is in absolutely no order im just popping these up as I go

shouto is blind on his burnt side, the good ol headcanon. his eyes is a very dull blue

shinsou has a scar across his face from forster parents putting muzzles on him

bakugou is hard of hearing

aizawa has a single tattoo and it's a cat sleeping on a cloud

mic has a shit ton of tattoos including but not limited to : a matching tattoo of a cat meowing on a cloud, a lot of clouds, aizawa's goggles and capture weapon, music notes and partitions of his favorite songs, his own hero name, etc

midnight is tall as shit, shes taller than aizawa. mic is only 1cm taller than her but she wears heels all the time so she's still taller. she loves to tease people about it

I know it's just a funky thing horikoshi does to his characters sometimes but shinsou is actually one of the only people in the show to have white pupils. people's eyes mimic his pupils when shinsou brainwashes them.

aizawas hair is really thick and curly, but he takes terrible care of it.

on the topic of aizawas hair, sometimes it floats a bit when he's flustered, surprised, angry, excited etc

shinsou's hair just does that. it stands on its own and it's terrible and shinsou used to hate it but he comforts himself thinking it kinda looks like aizawas.

midoriya and mina are blasian i am right

mina has vitiligo

kaminari has a bunch of lighting shaped scars. also he's south asian and brown skinned because I said so

this is literally just how I edit hori's sketches now lmao (cough cough @lunejump)

iidas legs are fucking covered in scars and he refuses to say how he for them

ochako's cheeks are naturally really pink.

ochako's has chubby muscle dad bod vibe kinda. she'll beat the shit out of you anyway. she's also super small and wears discreet platform shoes sometimes

tsuyu's skin is just straight up green. I really just want her to be more frog like lmao. she got frog eyes too. toad skin in places with the little bumps and shit. also she's autistic I KNOW I SAID PHYSICAL HEADCANONS BUT SHH

dabi desperately needs glasses. he also has terrible dry eye because of the whole no tear duct situation, so in general he just doesn't see shit. he pays a lot fo attention to noise because of that.

dabi's hair is very fluffy and thick naturally, but dying it (+yknow the burning) made it really damaged (its why it's spikier than when he was young)

toga has a bunch of vampire features, notably : glowing eyes, pointy ears, the good ol' fangs, naturally sharp nails, pale ass skin from being sensible to sunlight, etc. she really likes garlic tho dont get her wrong

toga also got tattoos at some point, not a lot tho cuz she started only a bit after joining the league. she has : a lot of hearts, a bat, couple of knifes, "stainy <3" (she did this one by herself so it's a bit wobbly). she wants to get tattoos that ressemble her friends from the league, especially for twice, magne, dabi and shiggy.

mic has piercings. obviously. he has nipple piercings (listen im just a man), a nose ring (he doesn't wear it when doing hero work), a bunch of ear piercings, and an eyebrow one.

when they were in high school, mic got aizawa to get snake bites. aizawa stopped wearing them somewhere in his 20s so they closed back, and mic is constantly trying to get him to get them redone.

midnight prolly has matching nipple piercings with mic honestly they'd do that

shigaraki's hair is surprisingly soft because kurogiri makes him take care of it. when kurogiri gets arrested, his hair starts to get more tangled because no one brushes it anymore.

fuyumi, rei and dabi have the same hair type (wavy, thick fluffy hair)

shinsou stays pretty skinny no matter how much he muscles up. he has a fast metabolism and struggles to take on weight

aizawa is so fucking hairy its terrible

mic's mustache is like that because it's the only thing he manages to grow

mic's hair is like the opposite of aizawa's. it's straight and stringy, and its pretty damaged despite mic's efforts to take care of it because of all the hair gel

bakugou has heavy acne on his face and back, which is why he takes very good care of his skin. he doesn't really care if people think it's ugly, he just doesnt want it to hurt like a bitch

hagakure is really pale because the sun technically never really touches her skin. her eyes and hair are a weird pale color for a similar reason. not like anyone sees it much though.

MOMO IS TRANS MOMO IS TRANS I AM RIGHT. she was able to transition early on thanks to her parents acceptance and money.

momo is a bit chubby and taller than most of the boys in the class. she's never shy about eating a lot, especially since its what makes her quirk work, and she tends to get really hungry after using it a lot.

jirou often gets overwhelmed because of how much she can hear. think of dolores from encanto she can hear a lot.

her earjacks are really sensible too, but she doesn't really have anything to protect them.

jirou's irises are a very bright red.

hatsume is blasian, she has pink dreads

her arms are pretty muscly from working a lot on heavy stuff. she also has a lot of different scars on her hands and some on her face from her lack of care for safety

concerning shouto, the carpet does match the drapes. he isn't that hairy tho.

shouto has a couple of burn and frostbite scars on his arms from training too much. the burn ones are older, since he didn't use his flames for a long time.

shinsou is the type of pale thats so pale you can kinda see veins under the skin. he calls himself a corpse pretty often. it's also why his eyebags are so visible.

mirko is probably albino tbh (this is 100% inspired by that one edit)

while bakugou's palms are always super hot and sweaty, midoriya's are very cold for no reason.

midoriya bites his nails and the skin around them, often 'til it bleeds, so his fingers are. in a state (im just calling myself out at this point lmao)

mic has heterochromia and is hard of hearing

all might's eyes weren't blue before he got ofa. I like to think ofa modifies the user's appearance a bit, notably with the eyes. all might's eyes changed so luch because he went from no quirk to mastering ofa.

midoriya's eyes are very green naturally but when he uses ofa a lot, there's a blue tint as well (think the overhaul fight)

kirishima's hair must be so fucking damaged man. his hair is naturally black but he dyes it a very bright color, so he probably needs to bleach it a lot. it's probably permanent dye too since he wants to keep it like that, and he probably dyes his roots often too. plus the hair gel. he probably went through the elastic hair pain

bakugou's eyes are an orangey red, while kirishima's are blood red.

similar to all might and midoriya, aoyama's eyes became that bright sparkly blue when he got gifted his quirk. they're probably kinda glittery looking. his eyes were probably brown originally

kendo has stretch marks and some scars on her hands from them changing size so often. it doesn't really hurt tho.

shinsou probably had braces at some point

kaminari has a tooth gap

sero is part latino. he has brown eyes also.

sero's skin gets sticky sometimes. he hates it because people think he's dirty. It's really just a side effect of his quirk.

because I'm trypophobic I refuse to think sero has holes in his elbows. his tape is probably a sort of extension of his skin, and the weird shape in his elbows are here to help produce the thing.

denki has an eyebrow piercing

shinsou's eyes glow slightly when he's using his quirk, but it's not that noticeable.

aizawa's eyes glow yellow (like in the manga because I love yellow). otherwise his irises are completely black. it's unnerving

aizawa actually isnt that silent when he speaks, unless he's trying to. he has a big voice.

mic is actually very silent when he wants to because he's used to controlling the volume of his voice. also, he's very good at doing weird shit with his voice.

similarly, shinsou is very good at mimicking voices and sounds. he struggles a bit with high voices because his voice is naturally deep, but he's good at imitating birds and cats. he can purr also because I said so.

im losing inspiration unfortunately. feel free to share ur headcanons in the tags or in reblogs (even if they go against mine it's fine lmao). have a good day

[gruesomejack]

A week. Three days stuck a basement, four days stuck in a hospital. He couldn't take much more of this. Rabbit sat curled in the corner of his bed, tired from both the medication in his system and from just... existing. He knew he promised Alex he would behave, and he'd been trying his hardest, but he wasn't sure he'd get through another day without freaking out. Tugging his blanket up and around his shoulder, he grabbed the radio to cradle in his arms as he stared at the blank wall in front of him.

Rabbit wanted to pace. He wanted to pace and scream and cry, but his body stayed glued to his corner as a testament to the hot-and-cold game hid brain was playing with him. Mere seconds ago, he was worrying about breaking his promise to Alex, and now he was stuck wondering if he'd ever have the strength to move again. Clenching his jaw, he wrapped himself a little tighter and forced his eyes closed. He didn't want to sleep anymore, but it was better than this.

The sound of Blondie's soft, distinctive voice filled the four corners of the room as he dozed. Her heart was glass, and his was heavy like a stone, but still shattered all the same.

"That's mine!" Jack snatched the book from his foster brother's hand and frowned. His fingers were shaking as he checked the bound cover, running over the new dents on the outside. Maurice, E.M. Forster. It'd quickly become one of his favorites despite it being outside his usual interests of high fantasy and nonfiction survival books. He didn't dare peek through the pages; he was already terrified of the implications of Desmond knowing he was reading it in the first place. Without looking at him, he stepped back and swallowed, hoping to God the other boy would just pass by and leave him alone for the night.

"How old are you now?"

Jack blinked and brought his gaze up to his brother. "...Thirteen." He answered, his voice soft.

Desmond leaned closer to appraise the young man in front of him. What a little creepy freak. Since the moment his parents dragged him home five years ago, he'd been nothing but trouble with his crying and his tantrums and the running-- He was annoying and weird; he couldn't fucking stand him. A few weeks back he'd been found in the back yard with a lighter and now he'd been caught red handed with some book about a couple of homos? Desmond took him by the chin and pasted a smile on his face. "Old enough to learn to shave."

Jack's eyes widened. Before he could deny the suggestion, a flash of silver metal caught his eye. The moment he saw the knife in Desmond's hand, he wrenched himself free and stumbled into a sprint. No! No, no, no!

The click of the door had Rabbit shooting up and reaching for his face, grabbing at his upper lip. His whole body was trembling, and his heart was racing, drumming and shaking beneath his ribs. He was fine; his lip was fine. It'd healed over five years ago, leaving only the thick scar tissue there as a physical memory.

Eyes shifting to the door, he watched as the nurse tottered in. No cups. She wasn't here to medicate him?

"Jonathan. You're being discharged." She said and offered him a small smile. "You're free to go home. Do you want me to call anyone for you?"

Rabbit stood up slowly. He glanced around the room to make sure he wasn't still asleep before padding his way over. The nurse moved, pushing the door back open and holding it for him, watching carefully as he moved outside. They moved him through the motions, had him sign his paperwork, and gave him a bag of the things he'd come in with. He had the check-in nurse give Jen a call before they escorted him outside the ward.

Brows pinching, he glanced down the hospital hallway and sucked in a small breath. He was free.

@purposefully-lost

[justforbooks]

With his shrewd eyes and his forks of corn-yellow hair, Julian Sands was a natural choice to play the valiant, romantic George Emerson, who snatches a kiss from Lucy Honeychurch (Helena Bonham Carter) in a Tuscan poppy field in A Room With a View (1985). “I wanted him to be real, not a two-dimensional minor screen god,” he said. “I liked him in his lighter, sexier moments, less so when he was brooding.”

Sands, who has died aged 65 while hiking in mountains in California, was dashing in that film, but he could also project a dandyish, effete or sinister quality. He was blessed with a mellifluous voice and a lean, youthful, fine-boned face, even if, as a child, his brothers insisted he resembled a horse. (He agreed.) In James Ivory’s film of EM Forster’s novel, he was pure heart-throb material. His participation in the notorious nude bathing scene was no impediment to the picture’s success.

Prior to that, he had played the journalist Jon Swain in The Killing Fields (1984), Roland Joffé’s drama about the bloody rise of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. The picture marked the beginning of his friendship with his co-star John Malkovich. “I’d been cautioned by Roland to keep my distance from John because he was an unstable character,” Sands recalled. “And John had been told by Roland to stay away from me, because I was a refined, sensible person who didn’t want to be distracted. In fact, we bonded instantly.”

Malkovich directed Sands in a one-man show in which he read Harold Pinter’s poetry. First staged in 2011, the production had its origins in an occasion six years earlier when Pinter, suffering from oesophageal cancer, had asked Sands to read in his stead at a benefit event in St Stephen Walbrook church in the City of London. The writer “sat in the front row with his stone basilisk stare”, Sands recalled.

Not all his work was so highfalutin, and a good deal of it fell into the category of boisterous, campy fun. In Ken Russell’s Gothic (1986), he played the poet Shelley, who indulges in sex, drugs and séances with Lord Byron (Gabriel Byrne) and the future Mary Shelley (Natasha Richardson), and is prone to recite verse naked in thunderstorms.

In a similar vein but far less deranged was Impromptu (1991), which brought together other notable 19th-century figures including George Sand (Judy Davis) and Frederic Chopin (Hugh Grant). Sands, who played Franz Liszt, described it as “Carry On Composer”.

Born in Otley, West Yorkshire, he was raised in Leeds and Gargrave, near Skipton; he later described his childhood as “part conservative and part Huckleberry Finn”. His mother, Brenda, was a Tory councillor and leading light of the local amateur dramatic society, while his father, William, who left when Julian was three, was a soil analyst. Julian made his acting debut in a local pantomime at the age of eight.

At 13, he won a scholarship to Lord Wandsworth college, Hampshire. He moved to London to study at Central School of Speech and Drama, and while there became friends with Derek Jarman. He played the Devil in an extended promotional video that Jarman directed in 1979 for Marianne Faithfull’s album Broken English. The role had been intended for David Bowie, who dropped out at the eleventh hour. “You’re devilish,” Jarman told Sands. “You can play it.”

The actor’s first film appearance came in an adaptation of Peter Nichols’s stage comedy Privates on Parade (1983), starring John Cleese and Denis Quilley, from which his one line of dialogue was cut. There was more rotten luck when he won the lead in a new Tarzan movie, only for the financing to fall through. It was eventually filmed as Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes (1984), with Christopher Lambert donning the hallowed loin-cloth.

On television, he starred with Anthony Hopkins in the miniseries A Married Man (1983). In Oxford Blues (1984), he was a rower butting heads with a Las Vegas parking attendant (Rob Lowe) who has tricked his way into a place at Oriel College. He was in The Doctor and the Devils (1985), inspired by the Burke and Hare case. “I had a roll in the hay with Twiggy which took about 15 takes,” he said.

Following A Room With a View, he agreed to play the lead in Ivory’s next Forster adaptation, Maurice (1987), before abruptly dropping out and fleeing to the US. In the process, he left behind his wife, the journalist Sarah Sands (nee Harvey), who described him as “restless” and “dramatic”, and their son, Henry. “I’m not the first person to create stability and security and then dismantle it even more effectively than I created it,” the actor said.

Once in America he took on an array of film parts. In Warlock (1989), he played the son of Satan, wreaking havoc in modern-day Los Angeles. Investing this pantomime villain with lip-smacking brio, he was likened by the Washington Post to a “hell-bent Peter Pan” and nominated for best actor in the Fangoria Chainsaw awards. He reprised the role in Warlock: The Armageddon (1993).

As an entomologist in Arachnophobia (1990), he was called upon to have as many as a hundred spiders crawling all over his face. Alternating these mainstream projects with arthouse ones, he played a diplomat in pre-war Poland in Krzysztof Zanussi’s Wherever You Are … (1988) and a monk in Night Sun (1990), the Taviani brothers’ adaptation of Tolstoy’s short story Father Sergius.

For the Canadian horror director David Cronenberg, he starred in the warped and witty Naked Lunch (1991), which disproved those who had declared William S Burroughs’s original novel unfilmable. Just as outré but less accomplished was Boxing Helena (1993), directed by Jennifer Lynch, daughter of David. Sands played a surgeon who keeps a woman captive by making her a quadruple amputee.

After starring as a young classics teacher in his friend Mike Figgis’s film of Terence Rattigan’s The Browning Version (1994), Sands worked a further six times with that director, appearing in his movies even when he was an unorthodox choice for the job in hand. One example was the part of a menacing Latvian pimp in Leaving Las Vegas (1996).

Later roles include a mysteriously unblemished Phantom in Dario Argento’s version of The Phantom of the Opera (1998), Louis XIV (whom Sands described as “the first supermodel”) in Joffé’s Vatel (2000), a crime kingpin named Snakehead in the Jackie Chan vehicle The Medallion (2003), a computer security wizard in the comic caper Ocean’s Thirteen (2007), a younger version of the businessman played by Christopher Plummer in David Fincher’s take on The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2011) and a sadistic paedophile in the gruelling wartime odyssey The Painted Bird (2019).

On television, he was a Russian entrepreneur in the fifth season of 24 (2006) and the hero’s father, Jor-El, in two episodes of the Superman spin-off Smallville (2009). For the BBC, he played two very different actors in factually based one-off specials: first Laurence Olivier in Kenneth Tynan: In Praise of Hardcore (2005), then John Le Mesurier in We’re Doomed! The Dad’s Army Story (2015).

His recent work includes Benediction, Terence Davies’s haunting study of Siegfried Sassoon, and the thriller The Survivalist (both 2021), which found him back in the company of Malkovich. One of several titles still awaiting release is the drama Double Soul (2023) starring F Murray Abraham and Paz Vega.

Sands never stopped wandering, walking, running and climbing. “I am on a perpetual Grand Tour,” he said in 2000. Asked in 2018 about his eclectic career, he explained: “I was looking for something exotic, things that took me out of myself. I think I found myself a little boring.”

He was reported missing while out in the San Gabriel mountains, north of Los Angeles, in mid-January 2023. His remains were found in June.

In 1990 he married Evgenia Citkowitz. She survives him, along with their two daughters, Imogen and Natalya, and his son.

🔔 Julian Richard Morley Sands, actor, born 4 January 1958; died circa 13 January 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[nnato]

🔀 Norman/Sacha ?

(Also wanted to say 'thank you' for always bringing the Norman content to my dash, you're the best 🌻)

Aw, thank you dear 🥺💕 it’s my pleasure. He’s my fav frenchie after all haha gonna have to share some love for him

194 Länder - Mark Forster

—

Sacha always loved to travel. He thinks it’s the second best part of being a racing driver, with racing being the best of course. Moving from Super Formula to Formula E helped him to tick some more countries off his list. Sacha plans to visit every country in the world at least once and so far he has over 30 of the 195 countries sorted.

He’s stumbling out of a club somewhere in Krakow right now, celebrating yet another country point. Well, technically he’s here for a friend’s birthday but details. Sacha checks his phone, his smile turning soft when he sees a new message.

Don’t over do it. Can’t hold your hair when you’re hundreds of kilometres away 😜♥️

He puts his phone away without typing a reply. With the amount of alcohol running through his system it wouldn’t be a coherent message anyway. After a moment of consideration he takes it back out again though, sending a red heart.

*

Sacha knows he agreed to try something different for the season break this time around. He didn’t think it would mean hiking through the Wicklow mountains in Ireland. Don’t get him wrong, the view is amazing, but he’s always been more the southern type. He wants a pool to relax at in between sessions, the sun shining down with palm trees lining the area he can seek shade from. Now all he gets is grass, rocks, and a tent.

“I-“

“If you say you want to go home one more time I will tell Norman you’re being annoying and to go on vacation without you,” his trainer threatens and Sacha shuts up immediately. He still pouts a little and shoots Norman a text saying that his training is bullying him.

I’m sure he got his reasons, cheri 😘♥️

Yes, Sacha hates them both. Yes, he still sends a red heart back.

*

Sacha is tired, so so tired. His eyes keep falling shut but he desperately tries to stay awake. He intends to wait until Norman tells him he landed, and maybe he can also manage to welcome him home as soon as he walks through the door.

But the hiking trip tired him out enough already and a cancelled flight gave him the rest. They want to start their vacation the day after tomorrow and while Sacha is excited about it he’d rather not see an airport again for the next time.

He checks his phone again but there isn’t a new message from his boyfriend. Grumbling, Sacha sinks deeper into the soft cushions of the sofa. He knows it’s a mistake to get comfortable, that he had enough trouble to stay awake sitting at the kitchen counter. It’s just that Norman should be in the air by now but there hasn’t been a single message about the departure yet. And Norman always texts him before and after a flight.

Sacha contemplates making himself a coffee but the coffee machine is so far away, plus it would mean he has to move yet again. He’s not keen on doing that.

His phone lights up, almost blinding him in the darkness of the room. Sacha opens one eye first, peaking at the notification. When he sees it’s a message from Norman he opens both eyes.

Ready for take off! See you in the morning ♥️

Norman doesn’t seem trust him to stay awake then. Sacha doesn’t blame him. Knowing his boyfriend is on the way, that he will actually be here when Sacha wakes up in the morning, is enough to calm his mind. He pushes himself up to move places one last time for tonight. He stumbles into the bedroom, taking off his clothes once he’s standing in front of the bed. Sacha doesn’t care where they fall, that’s a problem for next-day-Sacha.

Climbing into bed on Norman’s side is an instinct. He seeks out the remnants of his scent, and his more than happy to find it still lingering on Norman’s pillow.

Sacha opens the chat with Norman once again, typing out a message.

Can’t wait to see you again ♥️

He falls asleep, his phone still in his hands. When the reply comes he is already fast asleep but it’s alright. Tomorrow, Norman will be here again, reunited at least.

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Thread: A Memoir in Woven Poems by Janet McMillan Rives

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In Thread: A Memoir in Woven Poems, the author reveals connecting filaments of nature, place, family, and friendship over her lifetime. From a “Snow Day” in childhood to years living “In Paris” to the “Blaze” of a southwest desert to being “Called to Stay” in the Midwest to finally moving “Ahead” into retirement, she weaves prose narrative through her #poetry. These #hybrids capture the transitions of life in a lyric tapestry.

Janet McMillan Rives resides in Tucson, Arizona. She was born and raised in Connecticut and spent most of her adult life in Iowa where she retired as professor of economics from the University of Northern Iowa. She has published her poetry in many journals and anthologies and is the author of two chapbooks���Into This Sea of Green: Poems from the Prairie (Finishing Line Press 2020) and Washed by a Summer Rain: Poems from the Desert (Kelsay Books 2023).

PRAISE FOR Thread: A Memoir in Woven Poems by Janet McMillan Rives

This refreshing memoir weaves poetry and prose into a tapestry depicting a childhood of wonder and joy bound to the days of “our long and lucky lives,” as Janet McMillan Rives can write now. With chapters moving around in time and place, with lines of poetry that sharpen the focus, she takes us vividly into what the child once saw as a cathedral of trees, to explore memory and beauty and poetry itself, to discover the connections threading past to present. In that green cathedral, the child wonders what friends and details and experiences she will remember when she’s old. This tender, lyrical book is the answer.

–Meg Files, author of The Beasts.

“Only connect!” wrote E.M. Forster. “Live in fragments no longer.” Janet McMillan Rives exemplifies this calling. “I remember connections,” she declares, and it’s true. Rives’ recollections are painterly. She shows us “blue green agave, muted orchid skies at sunrise, subtle pink reflecting off the mountain side, cool cloudless azure skies.” But the thread that securely binds together this hybrid of memoir and poetry is Rives’ “open-hearted, open-minded” capacity to connect—with history, place, and most of all, people, especially her readers. “There is no one left in my circle who lived through these moments with me, no one with whom to share. So I write,” writes Rives. And—lucky us!—we read. We connect. Thread widens the circle of the writer’s life to welcome and include anyone fortunate enough to become interwoven with this honest, lyrical book.

–Rachel M. Srubas, author of The Desert of Compassion, The Girl Got Up and other books.

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry

[forsterwallismotel]

https://forsterwallismotel.com.au/index.php/facilities

[pallastrology]

what i read in 2023

hello! here's what i read over the last year, including some stuff i read/re-read for uni. all in all, it was a great year for reading, despite having a newborn who didn't sleep much lol. i haven't been able to write detailed reviews because i never take notes (oops) but here are my thoughts on what i read. hope you enjoy :-)

the prophet, kahlil gibran - 4 ⭐️ i originally rated this a 3.5 but have revised that rating... reading anything deep when sleep-deprived with a newborn is not a good idea, although i believe this was a lovely novel, i can't remember it all that well and will have to read it again to write a fair review.

lady chatterley's lover, d.h. lawrence (audiobook) - 4 ⭐️ i think i would prefer to just read this myself, rather than listen to it as an audiobook. i'm not really one for "spicy" books but this is very tame going by today's standards, and the story was gripping. when you consider the historical significance it makes it all the more interesting too in my opinion.

the professor, charlotte brontë - 3.5 ⭐️ i usually love anything brontë but was a little bored reading this. i didn't really like the protagonist and just found the plot a bit dull. not a bad novel by any means, but not my cup of tea.

watership down, richard adams (audiobook) - 5 ⭐️ beautiful!! just beautiful. i watched the film as a kid and was slightly traumatised, but the book runs rings around it. it's something that can be enjoyed by all ages and balances fantasy with reality. as a bunny servant, i really appreciated the level of detail the author went to to ensure he wrote rabbits correctly too!

the turn of the screw, henry james (audiobook) - 3.5 ⭐️ didn't hugely like this. i'm not a massive horror fan because i'm sensitive lol, but i find classics like this aren't too much for me. if anything i almost wished it were a bit more intense at times, it felt more sad than anything.

the time machine, h.g. wells - 4.5 ⭐️ really interesting story with a thought-provoking ending. i read it over the course of a day and it stuck with me ever since. it's also become inextricably linked with joanna newsom's album divers for me, with its themes of time travel, war and walking through ruins. would definitely recommend!

the fellowship of the ring, j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook) - 5 ⭐️ a completely and utterly beautiful book. i could probably write a whole book myself on how much i adore the lord of the rings, but now isn't the time or place. i was hooked instantly and as someone who grew up with peter jackson's trilogy, it was lovely to get to know the hobbits more at the start and explore the world more fully.

the cats of ulthar, h.p. lovecraft - 4 ⭐️ sinister and gripping short story. it takes something like ten minutes to read so i'd recommend it to anyone to be honest, especially if fantasy or horror are your cup of tea. i haven't read anything else by lovecraft to compare it to, but as a fan of lots of games that borrow from his lore i think the story probably fits into his world nicely.

the two towers, j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook) - 5 ⭐️ the opening to the second novel in the series was just heartbreaking, but still, i was glad to be back in middle earth. again, the level of detail in the books compared to the films is just astounding, and i found myself going back to relisten just to take it in fully.

a room with a view, e.m. forster - 4 ⭐️ i started this years ago and ended up putting it down. i'm glad i came back to it, though i still found it hard to get into actually. it was definitely a slow burn for me, but i do really enjoy books about the lives of regular people.

the return of the king, j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook) - 5 ⭐️ cried a little bit when i finished this. i truly love lord of the rings and this first listen to the audiobooks will hopefully stay with me forever. this year i hope to read the physical books and dive into middle earth all over again.

icons of the iron age: the celts in history and archaeology, susan a. johnston (audiobook) - 4.5 ⭐️ only because i listened to this through audible and sometimes found the presentation a little hard to follow. very informative and a great intro to the subject of the celtic peoples.

the silmarillion, j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook) - 5 ⭐️ definitely one to reread later on down the line, with a notebook so i can take notes, it’s so detailed and dense that it’s hard to remember recurring plot points and characters at times. but a beautiful book depicting a mythology.

the lifted veil, george eliot (audiobook) - 3.5 ⭐️ an interesting but, for me, unmemorable novel. i think i'll come back and read it again before i write anything significant about it however.

the last of the wild days, volume one: the howling hunt is nearing..., daniel j. loney - 3.5 ⭐️ a lot of potential, with engaging characters and intriguing lore and story, but lots of technical errors and issues with pacing and wordiness. looking forward to more instalments, but the book is definitely in need of an editor.

ogwen blues, george veck - 4.5 ⭐️ very dark, very gritty. left me feeling quite depressed afterwards to be honest, though the novel was an excellent and immersive read. not something i'd usually pick up but i'm glad i did.

cranford, elizabeth gaskell - 5 ⭐️ a really lovely little book. very quaint, exactly the kind of thing i love, just the goings on of regular people. i really enjoyed it, especially as 'brain bleach' after ogwen blues.

tender is the flesh, augustina bazterrica - 3 ⭐️ a quick and intense read but not a book i can say i’d recommend… very well-written but the content is highly unpleasant and not for the faint-of-heart. an interesting and horrifying commentary on the meat industry and, i suppose, how far humanity will go to keep up appearances of civility.

sir gawain and the green knight, pearl, and sir orfeo, j.r.r. tolkien - 5⭐️ really beautiful translation, with especial care taken to retain the alliteration of the original poems.

sir gawain and the green knight, brian stone - 4.5 ⭐️ loved it, but skipped through much of the original text section as i can’t read medieval english (maybe someday).

[gaytobymeres]

its interesting reading something that was published after the author/artist died because i always think like did they want this published? what would they have changed if they decided they were going to publish it? did they only write/create because they thought it was going to stay private? would they be upset that it was published? ofc some people give permission for things to be publish posthumously (e.g. maurice by em forster). but there are many things that were published probably without any actual consent from the person who created it. and thats not even getting into letters or diaries being posted. idk what my point is here. my point is not 'things should not be published posthumously because the artist hasnt consented' (thats a different discussion) but rather 'how different would this work be if the person who made it knew it was going to be published? would they have even written it in the first place?

[charlesandmartine]

Thursday 16th February 2023

Four weeks and we shall be home, sadly.

The river was very sluggish this morning; completely still. The only ripples on its surface caused by early rising fishermen in their tiny crafts slowly making their way along to fruitful waters causing a slight wake behind but hardly a disturbance. This is such a beautifully peaceful spot to sit and watch the river, serenaded by an army of Cicadas. Last night we watched a lad fishing from the riverbank who managed to land a couple of prize specimens which he swiftly put back. We asked him 3 times what they were but are still none the wiser. He told us there were also bream and whiting in there which clearly weren't on his shopping list.

Sunset across the river was stunning last night, although a photograph fails to capture the full spectrum of colour; vermilions, crimson, yellows. An artist's pallette would be fully stretched to mix such colours.

Very interesting conversations with our neighbours. There's an elderly couple Hary and Karen staying in a caravan in the grounds of the old school. Originally from Whitby 50 or 60 years ago and now in their 80s are clearly retired and continually travelling around Australia. Although the lady is now suffering onset of dementia, they still enjoy the challenge of new places and also meeting up with fellow travelers from time to time. They have been here since before Christmas, but will be moving on soon. They showed us their collection of precious stones, sapphires, gold and opals they have panned, dug and metal detected for in the last 10 years. Really quite inspiring lifestyle but despite encouraging us to do something similar, I think we most likely won't.

This morning we popped into Forster Tuncurry. Forster sits at the entrance to Wallis Lake which is fed from the Wallamba and the Coolongolook Rivers. Firstly we took a look at the estuary area where the natural harbour meets the Pacific. Pelicans had already hit town and appeared to be forming an orderly queue to be fed by well-meaning fish dispensing people. All donations were well received by the bird recipient's.

Lunch was on the shore of Wallis Lake which was so tranquil. It's hard to believe that you can simply pull up and park freely in such a beautiful place. Unusually they even had a café close by for flat whites.

Larry Lizard was waiting for us when we got home. I opened the door and he ran in and disappeared straight under the fridge. No further sign of mouse.

Tomorrow we break camp and travel some 4 hours up the road to a place called Yamba. We shall be sorry to leave here but we think it is time to go.

[clubwnderland]

Irene turns surprised as the wolf's hands slide around her waist, not having expected him to show up that night and least of all dressed the way he is. Chris can see the glint of amusement and curiosity in her eyes, excitement, the woman scanning the boy up and down slowly as he chuckles–After all, it's not always she gets to see him all dressed up in a suit; blazer making his shoulders look somewhat wider and buttoned down shirt stealing all of her attention as her fingers grace the exposed skin.

"I know it's not quite your birthday yet, but it's never too soon to start celebrating, right? " Kissing her shortly, Chris sends the woman off to get changed, letting her know he's got her booked for the night and they won't be staying at the club much longer.

Chris doesn't say much, even when Irene gives him puppy eyes, even when she calls for his name in the sweetest way possible, the wolf doesn't break as he insists there's a reason why surprises are secret. And also, he's nervous as hell. It's not the first time Chris has tried this, and it'd be a lie to say he's got higher expectations this time around, but he promised himself to make this special and he'll do whatever it takes. Or well, he'll try.

Chan had once again helped the wolf book a restaurant, this time also taking the time to get him a properly fitted suit for the occasion. The older made sure to pick a smaller, more exclusive place to allow them some extra privacy and also help Chris's nerves. It's silly, really, just how anxious he gets about dining in an expensive place as if for being who he is he got less of a right to be there. But he's working on it, not only for himself but also because he wants to be able to do this.

Chris wants to take Irene to fancy restaurants. He wants to give her luxurious hotel nights. The wolf would give it all to show the woman just how much she means to him, to give her the treatment a Queen deserves.

The drive to the place is calm, streets still empty as the night finishes settling. Irene figures it out quite quickly, the road her boyfriend takes, the specific turns, and the way his leg bounces, fingers drumming against the wheel. She doesn't say anything as Chris finally pulls over, car coming to a stop as the restaurant waits just some steps ahead of them.

"Wait," The wolf places a hand on the woman's leg, stopping her from moving or saying something as he reaches onto the back seat, soon enough placing something else on her lap. "I–Ah. Chan told me I should give it to you after dinner when 12 hit, but I'm afraid the flowers aren't liking my car much." Chris bites his lip, slightly embarrassed at how silly he sounds. "Uh... I'd say happy birthday but that's bad luck, isn't it? Fuck... Ah, let's just go inside."

" “Eccolo!” he exclaimed.

At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.

“Courage!” cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. “Courage and love.”

She did not answer. From her feet the ground sloped sharply into view, and violets ran down in rivulets and streams and cataracts, irrigating the hillside with blue, eddying round the tree stems collecting into pools in the hollows, covering the grass with spots of azure foam. But never again were they in such profusion; this terrace was the well-head, the primal source whence beauty gushed out to water the earth.

Standing at its brink, like a swimmer who prepares, was the good man. But he was not the good man that she had expected, and he was alone.

George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her. "

[Fragment from "A Room With A View" - E. M. Forster.]

She had tried to match him, a beautiful black dress that hugged her figure with a mid thigh slit, her hair in an up-do and light make up that fit such an occasion; Irene had thought that it might make him feel less like he stood out if they matched but his leg bouncing shows how nervous he is. Her hand reaches over, giving him a gentle squeeze and letting him know it's okay, even if they don't make it inside, even if they eat hotdogs in the park - his effort to try is what matters the most.

She knows how much Chris wishes he could give her all of this, how much he wished he was able to give her fancy things and take her to fancy places but Irene loves the life they share. She can pay for it all, give him the life he never thought he could live while he keeps her feet on the ground.

Irene chuckles, not really able to get a word out amongst his nervous babble, just letting him talk as he places the book and flowers on her lap, the book neatly wrapped as it always is and she wonders what he wrote her this time. She hasn't told him that each book he's given Irene, now her special collection, has been noted in her diary with the excerpts Chris has written taped underneath - memories detailing the occasion and date so that she could forever keep them safe with her.

The restaurant is beautiful, much different to their usual diner that they visit when taking trips out of town or that burger place they always order from. Irene places the flowers down on the chair next to her, giving the beautiful white roses a final smell before she does and smiling at their soft fragrance. "How long have you been planning this?" Her voice is soft, barely heard over the ambient music playing as Irene places her hand on the table and takes Chris' hand. Her thumb brushes over his knuckles as she meets his dark eyes. "This place is beautiful but I heard you needed to book at least a month in advance to get a table." It shouldn't be a surprise if he had been planning this for that long but it still surprises her because... nobody has ever put that effort in before.

Except Chris. He's certainly set a standard and made her more certain about her choice than ever.

The smile she wears throughout the night shows how happy she is, a smile that should be hurting her cheeks because it doesn't fade one bit the entire time they were at the restaurant. Even while Irene is eating, it's there and obvious. "You are amazing, baby," they clink their glasses and take a sip of the champagne given to them for her birthday. "Thank you for this, it's a real treat. My handsome wolf all dressed up for me and a delicious dinner, it's a lovely surprise for my birthday." Her heart swells with love as she speaks, causing her to stand up and move around the table to sit on Chris' lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands wrap around her instinctively and their lips met for a brief moment before they rest their foreheads together.

They stay like that, in their own little world, even as the waiter comes to deliver dessert.

[fineartsjournal]

213341 Art Studio IIIA ⋆ Week 6 - The Trenches

Back in the weeks of July, I got three books from the library. I've had them sitting around for a hot minute, about time I actually got to talking about them:

The September 11 Syndrome: Anxious Days and Sleepless Nights by Dr. Harriet B. Braiker

The Nostalgia Factory: Memory, Time and Ageing by Douwe Draaisma

Nostalgia: A History of Dangerous Emotion by Agnes Arnold-Forster

Why the general focus on nostalgia? Beyond my exhibition group, it's worth establishing that the action of sampling is a few logical steps away from remembering.

For my Introduction to Fine Arts hand-in report a few weeks back, I wrote the following about this conceptual link:

"Through the sonic traversal of yesterday and today driving the process of sampling, it was only natural that if any concept were to drive my workings in this second semester, it would be cultural memory. To reinvigorate the past through music will just as easily reinvigorate its memory, a collective longing visible in resurfacing trends, genres… and sentiments. 

"In Nostalgia: A History of a Dangerous Emotion by Agnes Arnold-Forster, she recalls a survey ran by Spotify prior to the introduction of ‘Your Time Capsule’ – an auto-curated playlist feature on the platform, letting the user “Throw it back with nostalgic tracks picked just for you.” In the survey, Spotify found nearly 70 percent “…said that nostalgia can help ‘change or improve their mood…” Music was outlined as the “number one trigger” for nostalgia. (Arnold-Forster, 140)."

A societal obsession with 'disco' seems to reappear every 5 years or so. The ubiquitous symbol of the Ouroboros - the perpetually self-eating snake - serves as a good metaphor for these cyclic actions; which Arnold-Forster demonstrates through the character of Don Draper from Mad Men, in the episode The Wheel.

Draper worked in advertising, where evoking nostalgia had the power to bond the customer with a product on an emotional level, to which it "...takes us to a place where we ache to go again." A 'carousel', as Arnold-Forster compares it to , which "...lets us travel the way a child travels. Around and around, and back home again . . . to a place where we know we are loved...." (Arnold-Forster, 130).

I'm not alone in my longings for bygone eras, it seems. Just last year, a rose-tinted TikTok video came into online ridicule, with users quick to point out the variety of horrendously artificial foods that adorned supermarket shelves at the time.

People still bake their own goods, too. But the memory matters more.

"In 1966 [...] Cadbury made a [...] advert for television to promote their new cake range. 'The Years to Remember' started with three simple questions: 'Do you remember when bakers still baked their own bread, and cheeses still came from the farmhouse? And good cooks would only bake with butter?' [...] "Attempts to prompt memories of childhood among viewers were common throughout the seventies and into the eighties. An advert for Heinz cream of tomato soup from 1981 began with the injunction, 'Remember your very first soup bowl.' [...] "The idea that certain products had maintained their quality and stayed reassuringly the same while the world around them pitched and rolled was a theme that ran through advertising in this period." (Arnold-Forster, 131)

In a closer example, such relationships apply to music taste, too. The Nostalgia Factory by Douwe Draaisma tends to hone in more on the psychological side to nostalgia, although noting in pages 69-70:

"There seems to be a sensitive period for pop music just as there is for memorable reading experiences. What people regard as the music of 'my generation' begins at around the time they are fourteen or fifteen and ends in their late twenties, a window of some fifteen years. Their appreciation of that music remains almost constant from then on. [...] A graph showing their preferences can be summarized very simply: 'Pop music was at its best when I was around twenty and went downhill rapidly from then on'. Such studies are often derived from market research, since anyone choosing music for use in a commercial aimed at people in their late forties will benefit from the knowledge that 'Sledgehammer' by Peter Gabriel was a hit in 1986. The target group was around twenty then - [To which Draaisma cheekily summarizes] - that ever-shifting cohort lucky enough to have grown up at a time when good music was still made.

Scanning these three texts, the central emotions behind nostalgia, behind a constant rekindling of the past in search of a familiar comfort, stems from exactly that: Comfort.

"For James Abraham, nineties nostalgia is less to do with the internet and more about reassurance, commerce and even a lack of creativity" 'Everyone is cycling back to things that they might have seen or done, because they are safe and tested,' he said. Nostalgia works in this way, supposedly, because it makes people feel good. The argument has been the same since the 1970s: particularly in a time of global unrest, like the one we are living through now, [Note: I do wonder when there has not been a time of global unrest!] nostalgia is a grounding force, something that, provided we part with enough money, has the capacity to calm our nerves." (Arnold-Forster, 142)

The September 11 Syndrome: Anxious Days and Sleepless Nights by Harriet B. Braiker can explain this most bluntly:

This is a self-help book for a specific age range of people, relating to a specific reaction to a specific event two years before I was even born - the intrigue here is how the traumas of the 9/11 attacks are dealt with by the individual.

Step (chapter) Five is called "Creating a Comfort Zone", sees recovery through the home nest. Bundling up with familiar media and childhood reminiscing is the strategy: "...by creating comfort in our safety zones, we develop a psychological advantage over the bad guys."

This is furthered in the subsection "Actions You Can Take to Enhance Your Comfort Zone", which, among other homely activities, suggests: "Rent some great old movies on video or DVD. Make some popcorn, cuddle up, and have a movie marathon." As well as - "...listen to a wonderful book on tape or to recordings of old-time radio shows." (Braiker, 129)

Nostalgia has the capacity to dramatically reframe past histories, sure. But this time-specific writing by Braiker demonstrates it as a coping strategy. The new is of no use here, it is discomfort, it is fear. When she suggests how to "Enhance the comfort of your personal "safety zones", is it a personal archival? A sampling of bygone glory? Utterly misguided?

If I knew the answer, I'd probably write my own self-help book about reminiscing on the good old days of the early 2000s as a coping strategy for post-Covid society.

⋆⋆⋆

Some 'break' that was. It felt no different than going to class again. By this point, we had all our resources prepped for the big day. Mike had reserved my mixers. We had speakers, cabling, and spotlights galore. A lot of my time was spent formatting the pamphlet with Olivia as we kept things in check.

From there I could step back a little, as the actual printing, room painting and vinyl cutting was delightfully not my responsibility.

I found out more about the mixer that I'd be using, a snazzy ZOOM LiveTrak L-8. I hope I don't drop it!

I started editing up some images to display on the MP3 players, which would also serve as titles for each of the four pieces. This incorporated the SM64 font, as well as some textures from the game.

I tested the MP3 players and they worked just fine - finding the proper charger had been a hassle for Mike, so this much being sorted out was a weight off the shoulders. The drawback? The images can't be loaded onto them. There goes 30 minutes of my life...

Back at uni again, and Mike was showing me the ins-and-outs of how to get everything wired up. Initial tests were a success, and I was starting to see it all come together.

Ruby and Stevee-Renee handled the vinyl side of things, and kept the group updated via the team chat.

With a completed brochure, Ariel and I headed to the library for printing, and got 20 sets of 5 pages each completed in no time... and with no printing cost, either! Olivia and the others had installed a file holder, and Ruby and Stevee-Renee applied the vinyl.

The yellow files originally planned to house our brochures were not available in the size we wanted, so we had to go without. Regardless, our presentation was snazzy.

[cursedsummmer]

As I leave places, cities, homes, roads, my heart always aches for a voice. A voice that will ask me to stop, to breathe. A voice that teaches me how to belong. David Forster Wallace wrote on the walls of his room in a rehabilitation centre, "Everything I've ever let go of has claw marks on it." His words pierce through my heart and reach the very opposite side, spilling blood on my white sheets.

Oh, the timing of it all is a great tragedy.

The timing of it all.

I claw at things being snatched away from me. I dig my nails in till they break and bleed. I cry like a child in a grocery store. I inconvenience all with my broken screams.

"Please don't do this to me," I say. "Don't shred my heart into strips that you will use to decorate your new life. Without me." "Don't do this to me," I scream. "Then what am I supposed to do for myself?" the voice echoes. As if the only way a soul can save itself is to crush another being. Why would you kill someone fighting in your very own team?

You told me I taught you kindness and the only thing you gave me was my ability to flee.

I must be a really bad teacher. I must be a really horrible teacher. This is my cue.

My cue to pack all my bags, catch a flight to a foreign country.

Where I can start my life anew. With daisies growing on my windowsill, heartbreak a distant memory, my orange cat meowing at me. Instead I stay. I let out a scream. I decide to linger a bit. Wishing I was someone else, wishing my heart wasn't this blue and red.

Is this what we are supposed to do for ourselves?

People say Plath was never the same after doctors put back her together after she tried to take her own life, on a random day.

I think about the people trying to find the perfect combination of coloured pills that will atleast make this resemble to an earlier version of me. She was happy. Never satisfied. She went to an art show where everyone awed at Van Gogh. You stole that smile. That perfect girl with the missing piece. You never could have solved me. So, like a toddler in a playing field. You toss me outside.

Look. Look, your muddy hands still left some dirt sticked onto me.

oh, what a tragedy.