#got high wrote haiku

[blackbeardsheartbreak]

Kicked off the Revenge

Complementary dinghy

Banishment sandwich

[starlitwishforu]

青玉案 · 元夕 - 辛弃疾 english translation (and notes!)

ok well. all this chinese poetry posting has put me on a bit of a translation high so i wanted to share my most recent translation project, which i actually just finished recording and uploading yesterday after two whole months of waffling. the poem itself is SO fucking cute but SO hard to translate and i'm honestly very proud that i stuck with it to the end. it instantly became one of my top favourites the very first time i heard it so i hope other people can also find some joy from it!

here is the original:

青玉案 · 元夕

【宋】 辛弃疾

东风夜放花千树，更吹落、星如雨。宝马雕车香满路。凤箫声动，玉壶光转，一夜鱼龙舞。

蛾儿雪柳黄金缕，笑语盈盈暗香去。众里寻他千百度，蓦然回首，那人却在 灯火阑珊处。

and here is my translation:

Qing Yu An: Lantern Festival at Dusk

by Xin Qiji

Fireworks blossom beneath the touch of evening's eastern breeze; flurrying as they fall, sparks shower like stars. Prancing steeds pull chiseled carriages, sweeping fragrance across the path. The xiao’s decadent notes adrift, the jadelike light’s prismatic shift; the dragon-fish dance as the night-hours pass.

Combs shining in their hair, golden, silver, silken sway; sweet perfume and tinkling mirth linger in their wake. My searching gaze is futile as I scan the thronging crowds; at last I turn, and you are there, in the quiet dark of evening wane.

translation notes beneath the cut! there is a LOT, be warned!

translation notes:

so to start from the very top, let's first introduce the title 青玉案 · 元夕.

青玉案 (pinyin: Qing Yu An, lit. the matter of the verdant jade) is actually the name of a 宋词排名 (song cipaiming, song dynasty poetic/musical form). just as shakespeare wrote sonnets and basho wrote haiku, so the poets of the song dynasty wrote, among hundreds of other forms with fun names like this, Qing Yu An poems.

each 词排名 had a set number of characters per line, set rules for its tone patterns, and even came with its own tune. maybe a better western parallel would be twinkle twinkle little star, which uses the same tune as the alphabet song and baa baa black sheep.

the end result is that there are many titles under the heading of Qing Yu An, and even, according to chatgpt, another 青玉案 · 元夕.

anyway, this one by Xin Qiji, the most famous one, is titled 元夕 (yuanxi); 元 refers to 元宵节 (yuanxiaojie), the lantern festival held on the fifteenth day of the lunar new year which marks the end of the spring festival/chinese new year, and 夕 is dusk. hence a very naturally poetic name, lantern festival at dusk.

before i get into the text of the poem, i want to note that i often sacrifice rhythm/rhyme for precision of meaning. i ✨artistically✨ speed up/slow down some syllables while recording to preserve some sense of metre lol, but it does read quite awkwardly on paper. i'm a very inexpert student and have a lot to improve on!

ok so! line by line!

东风夜放花千树

--is a literally genius pun. it transliterates as: the east wind in the evening blows open the flowers of a thousand trees. very spring, right? haha spring festival get it.

however! its a chinese celebration, so what will there definitely be? fireworks 😎 and it just so happens that one word for "setting off fireworks" in chinese is 放烟花 (fang yanhua). yep, that's the same 花, which means flowers, but when combined with 烟 (smoke), it becomes a "fire-flower" 🎆!!

it's also the same 放, which in the context of actual flowers means the opening of petals, but in the phrase 放烟花 means to set off (the fireworks).

together, this line evokes both the blooming of the spring flowers under the eastern breeze* and the blooming of a thousand fireworks in the evening sky.

*spring comes from the east ofc; this is folklore and not science i think but lends to the spring-ness of the line

更吹落，星如雨

this one is pretty straightforward. lit. blown through the air by aforementioned wind, falling like a rain shower of stars.

宝马雕车香满路

oh boy. when i tell you my mom (who is my chinese teacher) and i got in several petty arguments over baomadiaoche...

so 宝马 (baoma) are just well-bred horses, prize steeds with a pedigree. a 雕车 (diaoche) (lit. carved chariot) is a very expensive carriage carved with lots of intricate decorations. in other words, these ppl are RICH.

however, it was difficult to convey the sheer decadence of 宝马雕车 without either using a miles worth of syllables or entirely losing the original cultural context. carved was too direct and ugly to hear besides, etched was not elite enough, sculpted conveyed entirely the wrong image... also, for some reason, "proud" to describe steeds was vetoed for being inaccurate???? hence the arguments.

in this scenario, the final word choice really is a matter of the least bad option.

at the same time, the second half of this line 香满路 (lit. fragrance fills the path) implies movement: the carriage is passing by, leaving the fragrance of rich people perfume in its wake. for the sake of syllables, i shifted that movement to the fragrance part of this line. i also like that this evokes a high-headed noble sweeping elegantly through the crowds.

overall, this line adds to the picture of a decadent, bustling market street during the most joyous celebration of the year.

凤箫声动，玉壶光转，一夜鱼龙舞

lit. the notes of the phoenix xiao (chinese recorder) move, jade gourd light shimmers, the fish dragons dance all night.

chinese ppl, ok, use two motifs to describe the beauty and virtue of every artistic thing ever: phoenix and jade. phoenix xiao means NOTHING. it's like virtuous xiao. jade gourd is a little harder; some say it's the moon, some say it's the lanterns. jade and light put together kinda implies moon anyway, so i just sidestepped the problem entirely.

as for 鱼龙 (lit. fish dragons), theyre a type of dragon lantern which supposedly has some characteristic of a fish. they are puppet-danced on sticks - dragon dancing, the classic. my mom and i both had a vivid image of this dragon-lantern-dancing, but we couldn't find it ANYWHERE. if anyone knows the right search query to pull this up, please lmk how to tame 谷大哥*. anyway, i left the lanterns implied because idk how the fuck to explain this whole thing in four syllables.

*lit. big bro google. its funnier in chinese

蛾儿雪柳黄金缕

this is the line that, when i finally bothered to properly research it, made everything about this translation click into place. these are all hair decorations. 蛾儿 (lit. li'l moth) are silk moths, 雪柳 (lit. snow willow) are silver tassels, and 黄金缕 (lit. yellow-golden cords) are gold cords lmao. hence golden silver silken sway, which was SO satisfying to come up with.

笑语盈盈暗香去

lit. laughing speech tinkles and faint fragrance goes by. this one is also fairly straightforward. 去 means to go, so we specifically want the image of a group of giggly teenage girls fading into the crowd.

众里寻他千百度。蓦然回首，那人却在 灯火阑珊处。

and finally we reach the most famous line, the 千古名句 (qiangumingju) - iconic line of a thousand histories!

lit. within the crowd, searching for him* in a thousand hundred directions; suddenly the head turns, it turns out that person is standing in the darkness where the lights have gone out.

*"him" is highly debated. 他, used in modern chinese like the pronoun "he", was historically a catchall pronoun for people of any gender. iirc, 她 for "she", and the gendered distinction, was only introduced when china started integrating to the west. in this line, 他 could be the teen girl that just passed by, or her beau. whichever way, one is the searcher, the other is the searched. i chose here to sidestep this by using i and you bc fuck gender.

anyway, when the searcher's head turns - even this bit had to be suitably poetic, a nightmare - they find their lover in the 灯火阑珊处.

灯火阑珊处 this phrase refers to a very specific image. imagine, in the early hours of the morning, a dwindling market street; the stands are closing one by one, lights winking out, leaving a gentle blanket of dark and calm behind. it is the quiet after the rain, the breath after the shout; it is the sigh of closing your front door at the end of the night. it's not the absence or complete lack of light, but rather the exit of it. a place of that just-left-behind dark is a 灯火阑珊处.

this sentence gave me so much grief and i am so proud to have done it even just a little bit of justice.

so after all that, the scene described by this poem is something like this: a lively late-night market street. people from many walks of life fill the path, celebrating the lantern festival, the turn of a new year and coming of spring, a riotous party of light and noise and joy. as the night slips into the sixteenth, the market begins winding down, stalls closing and lights winking out. amongst the teeming crowds ambling their way home, a young person searches for the their lover from whom they were separated; on some sudden instinct, they turn, to find their lover already looking back from the darkness of the fading festival, gaze caught in the divide between light and dark, wake and sleep: a quiet young love on the edge of spring, something fresh and new.

if anyone made it to this point, thank you and i hope this was an interesting read! please feel free to add comments questions and observations!! i would love to discuss at any level with someone other than my mom and chinese poetry truly is one of my passions even when it makes me want to kill, so i'm always down to talk. :] <3

[honeyviscera]

i saw a post about "how did you get into writing" and i was going to reblog but i realised this is too long winded for tags lol. anyways in terms of writing poetry, i remember it started back when i was in seventh grade, and i started to write haikus on small post-it notes. i ended up losing a lot of them, so i decided to start a poetry notebook. i would write very short poems in it, or rather, stanzas, just whenever inspiration struck. it wasn't until like grade 8 that i remember writing my first Good Poem, that is, the first poem that i was really satisfied with, the first poem where i wrote it and was amazed i had written something like that. it was called "whimsical mind". i remember reciting it to my friends i was so excited about it. throughout the rest of junior high, i would carry that notebook around, and write little poems in it. eventually, around the end of grade 9, i switched to writing my poems in google keep (basically a notes app, but you can sync on your computer, organise with tags, etc) because it was faster to write on the computer rather than in a tiny notebook.

for all of high school, i just kept on writing. in grade 10, i wrote a very long free-verse prose poem, "the sea". it was the first poem i had written that was that long. previously, all the stuff i wrote was really short, split into stanzas, only a few words in each stanza etc. but "the sea" changed how i wrote poetry. (it was also the inspiration for my old url, the-ancient-ocean.) there was a shift after that, my poems became a lot longer, more winding. more complex. sometime in grade 11, i got into writing body horror, because i needed a way to talk about my mental state. using anything other than my own body for a poetic device felt too distant, or detached.

i can kind of trace the overall theme of my poetry-- when i started back in grade 7, i wrote about the world, its beauty, observation.... then i began to write about immortality and existentialism..... "the sea" was kind of a waypoint between those two themes. then, from existentialism to..... body horror. there's another poem that i can't think the name of, that was a transition between those two as well. (i'm remembering the line "string your bones together, needle and thread, remember, you're already dead. it sucked the life from you.") my body horror poems are my favourite.... it's where my new url comes from, too.

anyways now all i know how to write is body horror. again, anything else feels too detached......... too impersonal. anyways that's how i got into writing lol. it's been about 7 years.... wow.

[bouncyballextraordinaire]

got high and wrote a haiku. in my defense i like to count and the syllables were right there

[adultswim2021]

Space Ghost Week

Space Ghost Coast to Coast #60: “Lawsuit” | August 21, 1998 | S05E03

Yet another unique opening; this is meant to look like a more staid network program; I get an 80s primetime soap vibe, such as Dynasty or Falcon Crest. Honestly, I’m not sure what the actual reference is, if anything. Snard describes the theme as Mork-and-Mindy-esque. The final credit says it was created by the Arlington Sisters. 

This is an Evan Dorkin Sarah Dyer episode, and it’s a pretty good one. I had my suspicions when the characters referenced “Harvey”, referring to Birdman. Man, those two really should’ve gotten a piece of that Harvey Birdman.

This one is rather scripted; a huge chunk of the episode is comprised of animated characters talking to one another. Dr. Nightmare, a villain from the 1960s iteration of Space Ghost, shows up in Tad’s monitor on behalf of Jan, Jace, and Blip; Space Ghost’s old teen and primate sidekicks. He’s now Dr. Nightmare, Attorney at Law (Jesus, just cut those two a check already). Another way you can tell it’s a Dorkin/Dyer script: they actually care about the 1960s lore of Space Ghost and you can tell they get a lot of joy out of including old characters in their episodes.

Jan and Jace are suing for back wages, trauma, and accuse Space Ghost of preventing them from enrolling in school. Eventually Greta Van Sustren shows up to talk to Space Ghost about representing him in the upcoming case. She’s wearing a cool jacket. 

In addition to the references to the 60s show, we also get several references to past episodes; Cameron Diaz, Flip Orley, Sean Medlock, The Hoover Dam, and Paris France are all in talks to sue Space Ghost. Flip Orley was the magician that was on the Late Night episode, and Sean Medlock, hilariously, was the aggrieved Space Ghost fan who got on the show via a haiku contest and was disgruntled because he was lead to believe that he’d be the focus of the entire episode. He now has a substack under the pseudonym Jim Treacher, and is reportedly a massive wad.

Among the funny moments are: Brak, the little fella who shows up “from time to time” as Dennis Miller put it, shows up briefly to pointlessly reference I’m not Rappaport. The beginning of the episode actually has a lot of the show’s funniest jokes: Space Ghost’s spit-take, his invoking the name “Jack Lord”, and accusing Dr. Nightmare of stealing fizzy lifting drinks all tickle me. I need to confess that I stole the fizzy lifting drinks line in high school for an unfunny sketch I wrote. I also love the bit where Space Ghost meets Greta Van Sustren and then blinks, using Zorak’s blinking sound-effect. Zorak gets pissed. 

Shout out to Matt Harrigan and Isabel Gonzalez who play Jace and Jan respectively. Isabel is the insanely beautiful woman who portrayed Fran Drescher in “Woody Allen’s Fall Project”. Dave Willis also has a brief turn as Jace’s post-puberty voice.

MAIL BAG

from peopletellmeilooklikehansolo:

Space Ghost's dialogue at the start of Terminal is lifted from Terms of Endearment. When I saw the movie a few years ago I was smiling inappropriately as soon as I recognized the words coming out of Debra Winger's mouth. (she's speaking to her sons while dying "in hospital")

THANK YOU! I can’t believe I missed that. I’ve seen the movie and somehow didn’t make the connection! It was a somewhat recent watch, even, and I easily could have connected the two. My main takeaway from that movie was the cool photo of Jack Nicholson in the astronaut outfit, which is shockingly hard to google. Where is that prop?

[theasianinfluence]

back in high school I never got the nerve to tell the girl that was translating her haiku poems for class into japanese via google translate that the 5-7-5 syllables that she wrote in english do not carry over that way. she had like 17 syllabes on the first line alone and she was so proud of her handwriting that I couldn't do it

[serendipitous-mythicality]

With ever-lasting madness Gazing through empty, flashing eyes Golden wheat sounds fill my head Over something seldom sung  Wandering with broken feet Over hills in distant sands While white birds battle black In thunder-strewn winds  Drunken mercies shattered, From screams, escape desperate times Still, outlawed hope beats with heavy wings Amongst tombstone-blackened minds   Winding maze concealed With parting drifting seas Finds poets’ dying whispers Over abandoned love’s remains Buried deep without compassion Crazed within the storm Lost without redemption Will it all be mourned?

Years ago, I used to write poetry. I keep meaning to pick the habit back up. It's been somewhere shy of twenty years now since it was a regular habit. Couldn't even begin to guess at how long it's been since I've written anything. The first one on this post was completely outside anything I'd ever done. I was inspired by Paul McCartney of all people. This was when I was really researching The Beatles. I used to come home from school (high school and college) and listen to music, write, and play solitaire. All day long, I'd fill notebooks full of my favourite lyrics and write story ideas, poetry, etcetera. Been going through various past writings of mine looking for loose papers I wrote in regards to the novel that has been in my head for most of my life. It's funny that I thought I had majorly changed the plot as I finally sit down to write it instead of only researching mythological lore. Instead, I'm finding scraps from many, many years ago with these same plotlines in them. It's been with me for a long time. I'm been finding various things as I go. Such as: Butterfly playing skip rope with the dog's tale A wrinkly hound With a long nose of butterscotch And: A day without days is like a moment without moments. Broken wings flutter sobbing on the wind while lopsided suns salute frivolously from a grey-bent sky. All the while, tears well within the dusty cracks of civilization proving to be too much for the sinner to hold fast in trembling hands. You can't escape them and the moments become moments as the grains of sand join the tears. Sighs lament over lost words and broken hearts as brooding trees echo the wind's rage over being left to face the truth. Really not sure WTF was going on in my head as I wrote some of this stuff. The first line makes no sense.

Then there's this:

THE BLACK ROSE

Faded yet vibrant Its beauty cuts like a knife A haunted, forlorn quality Its darkness shimmering Like the water's reflection Reflecting nothing Its thorns hold a sacred price Forsaken life A single cut rose - in black Mistaken Wild darkness A commitment made unaware Beware 

I was certainly moody back in the early 2000s on. It's an interesting time capsule. Really got going on haikus and their 5-7-5 form for a while there too. Should pick that habit back up as it's a simpler way to be creative throughout the day.

The only writing I've done since is Rhett and Link fan fiction. Was reading some of it today (a couple of years old now) and was tempted to tinker around and fix them up better. Still have a chapter to go on the one. However, this is how I always lose track of my novel. Not pausing it. Need to get a good schedule going.

[cuubism]

I wrote some for them. Dream the professor who's much beloved by his students, and Hob who's... not... but IS much beloved by Dream.

---

Hob knows by the time he makes Dream's tea in the morning that Dream's going to have to cancel class again. The poor thing is slumped on the couch, looking very sad, presumably at that very realization. He hates cancelling class. But Dream's health is... not that good, generally speaking. And on top of that, he somehow manages to get the flu every year, vaccine or no. This is the lucky week.

"You're not going in today, are you?" Hob asks, settling in to work at the table. Fortunate that he doesn't have class today himself, so he can keep an eye on Dream.

"No," Dream moans. "I am dying."

"You aren't dying, love."

"I am." Dream merges deeper into the couch. "I cannot move."

"I'll make you some soup in a second," Hob promises. "Do you want me to call you in sick from work?"

"Can you email my students? My head hurts too much to look at the screen."

Hob opens Dream's laptop and pulls up the email chain with his students. Scrolls briefly through the prior messages, Dream's first email from a few days ago announcing that class was canceled because "I'm afflicted by forces beyond my control", one of the students replying-all to say "Anything we can do to help?" and Dream replying "Don't worry, my beloved husband is caring for me in my convalescence" complete with the 🥺 emoji. He's so silly.

"Got it," Hob says. "What do you want to say?"

"Dear students," Dream dictates from the couch, face still smushed in the pillows. "Regrettably, I remain beset by the immortal foe known as 'seasonal influenza' and cannot bring my feeble, fatigued physical form to campus today. In lieu of class, please go outside, find something that inspires you, and write a haiku about it. For example:

he becomes my hands and voice when i cannot speak so: he carries me

That's called, 'My Belov'd Husband.' Hob--"

"Dream," Hob says, choked up.

"--be sure to spell Beloved with an apostrophe, I want the title to be five syllables as well."

"I got it. Dream."

Dream turns his head on the pillow, looking at him blearily. "Hm?"

"Just." Hob reaches across the arm of the couch to pet his hair. "I love you."

Dream hums, settling back into the cushions. "Hob. You must finish the email."

"Right. What else you got?"

"Remember a haiku is 5-7-5," Dream continues. "You can also consult Google if you forget this, but be wary of where that path may lead. Please don't use ChatGPT, it betrays the magic inside you. It also hurts my feelings.

We will discuss the haikus in the next class, unless I perish.

All my love,

Dream."

Of course he lets his students call him Dream, Hob thinks fondly. "You won't perish," he says.

"I believe I will," Dream whines, somehow sinking even further into the couch cushions.

Hob sends the email, then goes to sit beside him, lifting Dream up to rest his head in his lap. "You want anything? Paracetamol?"

"Heated blanket?" Dream begs.

Hob pulls it down off the back of the couch and wraps it around him, setting it on High. Dream always likes to burn himself alive that way.

"You're so easy on them," Hob says, petting Dream's hair again. "Why do I get the feeling you won't even be upset if they don't write the haiku?"

"That depends on what they bring to class in its stead. I would accept an interesting leaf or perhaps some biscuits from the dining hall, but I can't abide anyone showing up empty handed."

Hob chuckles. "They don't know how lucky they are to have your class."

"They know how unlucky they are to not have yours."

"Oi!"

Dream laughs, sounding terribly congested, poor thing.

"You ought to push them more," Hob tells him.

"I am," Dream says. "To ask students used to working nonstop without ever taking a breath to slow down enough to write one haiku? Not twenty of them for practice, but one? It asks more of them than you think."

"If they don't bring a leaf instead."

"Even then, they will have paused to appreciate nature," Dream declares, then descends into a coughing fit. Hob rubs his back until he quiets again.

"Soup?" Dream begs when he can breathe again. "Please?"

"Alright, my love. I'm going to have to get up, though."

Dream whines, but permits Hob to move him. After a few minutes Hob brings him back some soup, and Dream eats it slowly with trembling hands, looking wholly wretched. Hob wraps his blanket around his shoulders.

Afterwards he lays down in Hob's lap again while Hob picks back up his grading. He gives Dream the remote in case he wants to put something on as a distraction, but Dream, predictably, falls asleep quickly instead.

It's some time later when a knock comes at the door, and Hob frowns, looking up. "Expecting anyone?"

Dream mumbles something incoherent into Hob's thigh.

When the knock comes again, Hob carefully dislodges Dream and goes to answer.

He doesn't know who he was expecting. A package delivery? Dream's sister maybe? Instead it's a gaggle of teenagers-- or, well, eighteen-year-olds probably-- and Hob's meager deductive reasoning is capable of putting together the University branded sweatshirts a few of them are wearing and extrapolating that they must be Dream's students, because they certainly aren't Hob's. But also, what?

They stare at him. Hob stares back. One of them appears to be carrying a cake.

"Are you... here to talk to Dream?" Hob asks. "He cancelled class."

"Wait," says the befuddled student who appears to be in the lead of... whatever this is. "So this is the right address?"

"Professor Gadling?" squeaks another, who Hob vaguely recalls from one of his ill-fated attempts at teaching Intro to Medieval History. Fuck intro classes honestly. He doesn't know how Dream does it.

"Yeah, I live here, too," Hob says. The students still look whiplashed. Hob raises an eyebrow. "He talks about his husband often enough in class, doesn't he?"

The students only look more confused. And alarmed. One whispers to another, "Wait, seriously--?" And Hob becomes aware that he, and maybe Dream as well, are out of the loop on an entire circle of gossip.

Footsteps sound behind him, and Dream appears beside him, leaning on the door frame. He's still in pajamas, wrapped in one of Hob's cardigans. He looks awful, poor dear.

"You ought to be working on your haikus," he says to the students. How did they even find Dream's address? Hob wonders.

"We brought you tea!" says one of the students, thrusting a takeaway cup into Dream's hands. "We felt bad you were sick."

Dream holds the tea close. "That is very sweet. But you needn't worry. I have my darling husband taking care of me."

"Apparently," says one of the students in the back, sounding strangled.

"Ah. You haven't met. This is my husband, Hob."

"Yeah," says a student, wide-eyed. "Um. Good-- good to see you, Professor Gadling."

Dream seems oblivious to their alarm. "So you see, I am in good hands."

"Um," says a student, then shakes themself, rallying. "We also brought you a cake! For-- for when you feel better. You said you liked chocolate and strawberry."

"I do," Dream says, smiling. "Thank you, my loves." He steps forward to take the cake, but sways, exhausted. Hob catches him by the arm and sets him back upright, then takes the cake from the student himself. It says, in slightly ominous red icing, Get Well Soon.

"Alas," Dream says, "it seems I must return to my convalescence. And you all should return to your haikus. I look forward to seeing them."

"I'll take care of him," Hob assures the students, carefully balancing the cake in one arm so he can wrap the other around Dream's waist to steady him.

The students look at him, wide eyed, but gradually seem to reach a state of acceptance.

They wish Dream well, bid Hob an extremely frightened sounding goodbye, and then the group is gone.

"Ah, that was sweet," Dream says, stumbling his way back up the stairs.

"You've just set off a storm of gossip," Hob tells him.

"Have I?"

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it next class, beloved husband."

"I can't believe I never introduced you," Dream muses as they reach the living room, setting his tea down on the coffee table and collapsing again onto the couch. "Though I suppose some of the students must know you from your classes. Or by reputation."

Hob snorts. "Seems like." He sets the cake down in the kitchen, then goes to resume his place on the couch as Dream's pillow.

"They don't truly know you, though," Dream says, settling in with his head on Hob's thigh.

"Only by your stories." Hob pulls the blanket down off the back of the couch and drapes it over Dream again. "And I think I like the way you tell things better than I like the truth."

"it is the truth. I always tell truth in my poetry."

Well, so long as Dream believes that, Hob will keep doing what he's doing. He does love Dream more than anything. "Whatever you say, love."

i feel like dream in human aus is usually characterized as being more stoic and stern while hob is more easygoing, but i think it would be funny to have a university au where hob is the professor who's like "no work is deserving of 100%. find 27 more sources and do it again" while dream is just like "they put their dreams into it, hob 🥺 A+! A+! A+! A+!"

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Genshin Men and Where You First Meet Them

This is my first time writing Genshin Impact, so please bear with me if I don’t get their personalities right. Includes using a haiku in Kazuha’s that I found on the net because I couldn’t be asked to write one myself.

Pairings: Kaeya, Childe, Diluc, Zhongli, Ayato, Kazuha, Thoma x fem reader

-

Kaeya had been someone you didn’t think you would hold a conversation within such a bustling party, the extravagant man was so very noticeable even amongst the crowds. you bumped into whilst at the bar, ordering for your friends whilst he was waiting for his to be made, accidentally bumping shoulders with you, intrigue lighting up his face, “Oh~ I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” the rest of the evening was spent ignoring each other’s friends, found in a secluded corner in hopes of getting to know one another better

-

When you first met Childe, he was like any other person training at the gym, easily doing pull-ups on the bar, a sight to be seen. broad, muscular back on show through the measly tank top, the main character moment he knew of when all eyes were on him. you could only bet he could see or even sense you watching him, occasionally locking eyes with you as he flashed a dazzling smile and flirty wink, and he coming over when he spotted an ego lifter trying to hit you up, discomfort written all over your face. he didn’t have to say much when he came over to get the guy to leave, calmness washing over him like heavy waves from the ocean, “I’m sorry he had to get up in all your business, Girlie. If you ever need help, you know who to call~.”

-

Diluc had been a friend of yours since childhood, a friendship that slowly grew colder the older you got. it had rekindled like a familiar old flame when you found him working as the bartender to a popular bar, refined and stoic to all the goggling from those who snapped their drinks being made on social media, attempting to make small-talk with him. although he looked the same, the Diluc from childhood was different, cooled down from the years you knew of the boisterous yet charismatic boy. “You know, if you ever want to meet up, I’m down to know what you’re doing and finally catch up.” maybe he had always been charismatic to you

-

Unlike what you expected from a man of such knowledge, meeting Zhongli came as a surprise. he didn’t exactly follow the looks for a librarian, a striking gentleman who no one knew just how old he truly was. he had helped you collect books from the top shelf when he saw you struggling to reach them, highly intrigued in sharing his passion for the book you were wanting to read. the two of you spent what felt like hours listening to each other, the man being an entire encyclopaedia with the number of things he knew in general and of the topic of your book, “If you ever wish to speak more of this topic, I would happily spend my time doing so.”

-

Meeting Ayato had been through mutual connections. you had known his younger sister through high school and to college, always been invited to his house when it had been the two of you. you had heard tale of her brother whilst growing up to who you were today, never catching a glance of him when he would’ve been at college himself, but it had been from a business trip abroad where he had finally travelled home, finally meeting him face to face. he was as suave and charismatic as you had predicted, and when Ayaka had gone off to the bathroom, you felt his unexpected gaze on you, moving towards you as he poured himself and you a drink, “Who knew my little sister had such a lovely friend~ Let’s hope I get to see you more often.”

-

Kazuha had been a regular at the café you worked at, yet you had never had the chance to serve him. he usually came alone, a pen and notebook always attached to his hip, never leaving his side and never did you see him without it. whatever he wrote was of passions of words, your co-workers predicted it was for a lover he had, one overseas or one never intended to be his. beautiful and bittersweet. yet, when he had slipped the note to you with a warming, kind smile, you couldn’t help but read the note with fondness in your heart, “In just the right light, the cracks in his heart spell out, the word ‘beautiful’”

-

Meeting Thoma was as if life had brought the two of you together by accident, a beautiful, warming accident. taking your dog to the usual park was a treat for both of you: to inhale the present and future and exhale the past, to dispel your qualms. you didn’t think your precious little friend would go off and playfully attack another owner, ignoring his pet as she rolled onto her back for his attention only. you scrambled to grab your dog again, profusely apologising to the young man: handsome, blond, with gentle green eyes. “It’s no problem at all! I’m glad she’s eager to meet new friends. She’s just as cute as her owner.” even his laugh was warm like sunshine, and you craved to see him again one day, reminding yourself to go to the park more often

[coco-goat-milk]

hi!! can you do a kanao!reader (demon slayer) x Childe, Kazuha, and Zhongli (separately), I’d prefer the reader to use a coin and then stop using it after getting into a relationship, emotionless kinda but then starting to warm up, !!IF ITS OK WITH YOU!! and also have the same backstory as her, of course, you don’t have to do the last part since it’s really dark- you don’t have to do this request tho! :D

Kanao! reader x Childe, Kazuha, Zhongli

Pronounce: she/him/they,, pronounce isn't mentioned! so I won't mention it either!

Warning: slight spoilers for Kanao’s past (and Kazuha and Zhongli), violence and cursing (it's just a little bit nothing very bad or anything! and if i forgot anything please remind me!)

A/n: Moshi moshi~ dear, ofc i'll do your request! And if you check out my rules page you will see all the characters i write for and if i write for those characters that means that i also write for the characters their past! I hope this is okay and what you wanted! If it's not just tell me and I will try again hun!

Childe

First time meeting:

He was very curious about you when he first saw you.

When he approached you, you just kept smiling, while tried to start a conversation with you.

Keyword: tried

You just kept staring intently at him with a smile, ngl he got kind of scared.

But the moment you pulled out a coin and flipped it into the air, he was so confused, huhh???

When the coin landed on your palm and you smiled at him, he waited patiently for you to answer him.

But what you did next is something he really didn't expect.

“Sayonara” You smiled at him and ran away leaving Childe in a confused daze.

After that he would keep searching for you, and try to make conversation.

When you two get together:

You would slowly try to have a conversation without the use of your coin. (but Childe luckily didn't try to push you)

“Childe…”

“Yes love!”

“Do..you..like rocks?”

“???”

He will be very patient with you, and even though he still teases you and flirts with you, he knows when to stop.

If you decide to tell him about your past and about your dead sister who decided to take care of you, he will first of all feel a lot of grief and anger. Not anger towards you but towards the people who treated you like shit.

He will let you take your time, while he teaches the people who treated you badly a..few lessons.

This bastard is very clingy while you are...not. So he likes to cling onto you like a koala bear, and you just let it be.

He flirts a lot with you but you don't respond most of the time, but when you flirt back he will be shook and flustered.

If he has seen you fighting, he will want to spar with you.

Masochist.

You usually just spend time together eating or sparring.

It's a cute relationship while he supports you all the way!

Kazuha

First time meeting:

He just wanted some peace and quiet in nature, maybe reciting some haiku.

But as he got to the clearing he saw a person calmly sitting there with butterflies flying around (her/him/them), he just stood there shocked.

As you turned your head around your eyes met, and it felt as if there was an invisible connection with each other.

After that day you often meet him at the exact same place, sometimes he tells you haiku’s or you two just sit in a comfortable silence with butterflies surrounding you two.

When you two are together in a relationship:

You both are very calm people and you don’t talk that much but his calming presence, makes you use your coin less.

“Kazuha can you...can you..”

“Take your time Y/n”

“Can you tell me a haiku about butterflies..?”

He is very happy that you try to talk without the coin, but of course he is curious why you don't talk without your coin. He won't push you for answers though.

If you tell him about your past and your dead sister, he can relate to you losing your loved one.

If you want to he will comfort you, he is actually very amazed by your mental strength and compliments you for it.

He wrote a haiku about his admiration for you.

You are really bad at comforting him but he takes great comfort in your presence.

You didn't really know what to do with physical affection, but it's okay because he eases you into it.

Usually hand holding or kisses on the cheek.

If he told you about his past and how he is a wanted criminal, you will become quite protective over him.

If he saw how you defeated your enemies, he would be amazed and proud of you.

Has several haikus about you, and he usually tells you about them before bed time.

Ughhhhh him telling you about all his love and adoration for you in the most poetic way and before bed time!?!?! SIGN ME UP 🤲

It's a very wholesome and sweet relationship, with you both being closeted simps for each other.

Zhongli

First time meeting:

You basically became Zhongli’s assistant, he found your company very comforting and nice.

He was certainly very curious about you and why you only answered with your coin.

He talked...a lot.. like a lot, you just let him talk because you had high respect for the man.

And his voice is just *chef’s kiss*

When you two get together:

In your relationship he is the one who talks the most, and you just listen with a smile on your face.

He knows you don't really make decisions without your coin, but actually it's just you who already made a decision but didn't want to embarrass yourself.

He cares a lot for you, so when you tell him about your past;

He will have order! *summons giant rock*/j

No but seriously he will comfort you with his words if needed, he will brew you some tea.

He has been through some hard stuff as well so he isn't that bad at comforting.

He knows you're not very cuddly or anything but he lets it be, so he is very surprised when you hold his arm out of nowhere.

“And so- oh…” You just wrapped your hand around his arm like you had done it so many times, his gentle smile widens even more.

“Ah okay as i was saying-!”

When he tells you that he is a god, you don't react that much. you already knew.

He is actually kind of glad and surprised that that was your only reaction.

With physical affection it's usually him holding your hands or your hand wrapped around his arm.

You are basically his mom; when he is going out and forgot his Mora for the hundredth time, you will come to the rescue with a bag of Mora.

Things like that are your way of showing you care, and of course you are not using your coin with him anymore.

When he sees you fighting he is very curious and proud, he will want to ask questions about your fighting styles over a cup of tea.

Aww such a sweet relationship, even though he is a god y'all don't care; just living in the moment!

[shinsengumi-archives]

Facts about Shinsengumi members

Some of the more famous, or rather well-known anecdotes include:

Kondo Isami

He was able to put his whole fist into his mouth.

He once sent a letter to his wife, Tsune, in Edo, saying, “I am troubled by the prevalence of shudo (love between men) in our unit.”

Hijikata Toshizo

His hobby was haiku, and he wrote haiku in a book called “Hogyoku Haiku Collection” (豊玉発句集)

He was very popular with women, and would send love letters from women to his family home to boast about it.

When Hijikata Toshizo was serving his apprenticeship at Matsuzakaya in Ueno, he was fired from his job after he got a woman pregnant (according to various theories). 

A descendant of Toshizo's brother told an anecdote that when he sent a package from Kyoto to his relatives, the contents included numerous love letters from maiko and other women, and a letter from Toshizo stating that he was "so popular and irresistible", which made his relatives laugh.

Sannan Keisuke

It is said that he had high self-esteem and was angry when he went to the August 18th political uprising, because Kondo and Hijikata were dressed in armor but Sannan was not given armor (wikipedia).

Okita Souji

Kondo was beheaded and died while he recuperating from tuberculosis, but he did not know about it until the end of his life, and even until his death, he would say things like “I wonder how Kondo-sensei is doing”

Miura Keinosuke, son of Sakuma Shozan, a samurai of the Matsudai domain, was teased by a certain Shinsengumi member. Later, when Hijikata and Okita were playing Go, Miura slashed the one who was making fun of him from behind. Okita was furious at Miura’s cowardice for  attacking from behind, yelling "Bloody idiot", grabbed Miura by the collar and dragged him around with his head pressed against the tatami mat until Miura's nose was scraped bright red. (from wikipedia).

Nagakura Shinpachi

In his later years, when he took his grandson to a movie theater in Otaru to see a movie, he got entangled with a thug, so he glared at the thug, threatened him and chased him away. The story must be true, because his grandson told it in an interview later in life.

Todo Heisuke

There is a theory that he is an illegitimate son of the Todo clan, the feudal lord of Tsu, Ise. In fact, the sword he carried was not cheap enough to be owned by an ordinary samurai, so it is possible that this theory is true.

Harada Sanosuke

When he was a servant of the Matsuyama clan, he was told that he was a "lowlife who did not know how to commit seppuku" when he got into a fight with his superior, which caused him to lose his temper and show that he really did commit seppuku. The wound was shallow and not fatal, but it left a scar, and it is said that whenever something happened to him, he would show off the scar. Incidentally, Harada's family crest is also based on this wound, with a single line scar inside of a circle.

Yamazaki Susumu

He had studied medicine from Matsumoto Ryojun, who was a medical examiner for the Shinsengumi in Kyoto.

Saito Hajime

In the early Taisho era (1912-1926), a child was practicing swordsmanship when an old man walked by. The old man suddenly pulled out his sword and threw a small wooden board into the air, and he stabbed a hole through the center of the board with his sword. The child later heard that the old man was the captain of the third squad, Saito Hajime.

Saito Hajime, after serving as a police inspector in the Metropolitan Police Bureau, worked as a guard at the museum attached to Tokyo Higher Normal School (now Tsukuba University) and later as a general affairs officer at Tokyo Women's Higher Normal School (now Ochanomizu Women's University).

It’s said that when he passed away, drew his last breath sitting up in a kneeling position. 

[versadies]

Helloooo, Can I have Capricorn with Kazuha, hc scenario?? Thank youuuu Stay safe ^^

poems of you (hc scenario, high-school!au)

penpal: stay safe as well anon! hope you don't mind me making this req into more of a modern!au theme <3

prompt: capricorn the sea-goat, first-word au

pairing/s: kazuha x gn!reader

sypnosis: hc on how you meet your soulmate, kazuha.

includes: high-school!au, fluff/no-angst, lots of haikus being mentioned

when it comes to writing precious haikus, kaedehara kazuha's inspiriation is his soulmate.

anyone who's close to the reserved and mysterious guy would agree that all of the haikus they've seen from him are all about his destined other, with different words and theme that makes each and every poem unique from one another but all have the same direct topic. though, they'd all admit that it's getting old. (and one of them being irritated with how they’d have to listen to kazuha’s haikus.)

however, kazuha could care less if his poems are boring or not new to tohers. all the poems he wrote with his heart are all precious to him, especially since his own soulmate can say the same thing as well.

"your poems are nice." are the first words that will come out from his soulmate's mouth to him.

if his lover thinks his poems are nice, he'll think so too.

the moment kazuha started making poems, he bought himself a notebook that he brings around with him should he ever think of a new poem to write and write it down on the notebook.

he wonders if his soulmate would ever read his poems that lies in his valuable book.

there was never a single night where he doesn't think about his soulmate. his mind often made scenarios of his first encounter with his soulmate, scenarios of which includes his soulmate hearing him read his poem out loud to the class for a presentation, or his soulmate curiously reading his poems if he trips and drops his notebook down– either way, all the scenarios ends up with going out together to eat in a certain restaurant that kazuha likes.

however, none of the scenarios are not what his actual first encounter is like.

it was another day in class. while his teacher is chatting away about the new student standing next to her, kazuha finds himself writing yet another haiku, not paying attention to the discussion without a care.

he was so focused on finishing his haiku that the student didn't notice that classes has ended.

"oi," scaramouche, his classmate, calls out with an annoyed huff. "aren't you going to go to your next class with me? or are you at it with that stupid poems again?"

his classmate's question falls on deaf ears as kazuha continues to focus deeply about his next words for his stanza, not noticing his friend standing beside him with an irritated look plastered on his face.

scaramouche suddenly closes kazuha's notebook, causing him to look at his classmate in confusion. "what are you–"

"are you seriously not noticing how everyone's no longer in this class?" scaramouche asks, scoffing in disbelief. "come on, let's go to alchemy class before professor timaeus starts nagging about how important alchemy is when he notices that we're late."

before kazuha could protest, his friend suddenly drags him up from his seat and starts walking towards the door with kazuha, the two not noticing the notebook that was left behind on the white haired student's desk.

kazuha immediately noticed his notebook's disappearance as soon as he and scaramouche sat down on their seats in their next class.

to everyone else around him, he looked distracted and not paying attention, but internally, kazuha is panicking about the situation.

what if the janitor picks it up and throws it away? what if someone sees it and steal it for no reason? the student prayed and begged to celestia above that his beloved notebook is still on his desk waiting for him to pick it up and continue writing his unfinished haiku.

he'd rather give his life than let the notebook that holds all of his dear poems disappear.

by the time class was over, kazuha immediately rushed outside and head towards the other classroom that was far from his recent one, his heart pacing at the thought of what happened to the notebook, ignoring scaramouche calling him in confusion.

the moment kazuha opens the door, his eyes widens at the sight of another student standing by his seat.

the man wouldn't be phased by the student's presence in the class, had it not been the fact that the said student is holding his notebook.

the two of you continue to stare at each other in surprise, unsure what to do or say to one another.

it took a solid minute for you to realize what kazuha was here for, glancing at the still-shocked student and back to the notebook you just read out of curiosity.

kazuha felt embarrassed to say the least. although he doesn’t mind his close friends to read his haikus, it’s quite embarrassing about the fact that someone he doesn’t know has read his haikus.

you then laugh nervously, closing his notebook in an awkward manner. "your poems are nice." you complimented, hoping it would uplift the awkward and tensed atmosphere in the room.

it felt like kazuha got hit by a train.

what did you say?

"...did you say my poems are nice?" he asks. it can't be, can it?

he watched as you're taken back by surprise from his question. "...no way."

kazuha took a few steps forward, his heart was beating so fast that it felt like it would get out from his chest. "you're... i didn't expect you to be in the same school as me." he admits.

you smile. "i honestly didn't think i'd meet you this soon. who knew curiosity could bring me to meet my soulmate?"

he copies your expression, feeling like time has slowed for the both of you. he honestly didn't care about the fact that he's probably late for his next class, what mattered to him is the fact that he finally met you after years of yearning and writing.

"so uhm," you felt your cheeks start to warm as you look away from his gaze. "what do we do now?"

kazuha's eyes lights up even more from your question. "...for starters, we could talk in a restaurant nearby after our last period. it's on me, of course."

you look back at your soulmate and nodded. "i'd like that..?”

“kazuha,” he clarifies for you. “my name is kaedehara kazuha.”

unnoticed by the two of you, scaramouche was standing outside of the room, listening to the room with a relieved look on his face.

"thank god i don't have to hear him reading his haikus to me anymore." he mumbled to himself before walking away from the room.

[eurydicees]

I don’t know anything about Sakuatsu so…what defines each of them? What makes their dynamic compelling?

Also just for fun, write a haiku about them if you’re willing?

oh man. oooohhooohhhh mannnnnn. you do not understand the box you just unlocked. i have SO MANY thoughts about them. under the cut bc i’m insane and this got too long. also i didn’t proofread because i got bored of hearing my own voice in my head, so sorry if it’s incomprehensible lmao

so, for ur first question !!

atsumu:

he’s an absolutely fascinating character to read/watch and to write, which is obviously the best kind of character for me. i’m gonna limit myself to two things that i Love about him.

the first is the sheer level of ambition. i think that the most interesting characters are the ones who knows what they want and who are going to get it if it kills them (then, as a fic writer, i like making it as hard as possible lmfao, sry tsumu). i get the impression that he knows where he wants to be in life, and he has these grand dreams and plans— some of which do not come true, and his reactions to them are really interesting. alongside this ambition is just a general intensity that i’m more than a little obsessed with. i very much see myself in that part of him, and so i obviously gotta write about it.

the second thing is that he’s just so unafraid of what the people around him think about him. he’s absolutely dedicated and loyal to the people he cares about— to his friends, his family, the teammates he’s close with— and those are the only opinions that matter. he is shown to be rather disliked in junior high, but he’s also shown to not really mind it. he’s absolutely filled to the brim with confidence, and what i really love is that, tbqh, that confidence is, like, 99% earned. there’s a really good post analyzing him and the idea of love that i can’t find rn (which sucks bc i know i rbed it), but just. like. a character who is so loyal to the people he cares about but who doesn’t care to change his personality or knock himself down a notch for the sake of other people? i have to stan.

kiyoomi:

ok so not gonna lie to you, a lot of my interpretation of him comes from my personal fanon rather than from canon sources. like, i 100% draw from the actual work, of course, but i also have a very extensive fanon that lives in my head rent free, and a lot of my writing about him includes those headcanons. look…… he just makes it so easy to project all of my issues onto him. it’s not MY fault !!

but for real lmao— i think that he’s also a really interesting character for very different reasons than atsumu. they’re pretty similar people in a lot of important ways (the pride, the ambition, the confidence), but where they really vary is in the things that they’re afraid of, and that’s what’s most interesting to me about kiyoomi. in his first appearance, he doesn’t talk about himself so much as he gets talked about by his cousin— that in of itself is really interesting, but that’s a different post— and one of the things that’s mentioned is that he needs to know everything about everyone who might pose a threat to him. idk why but this is just really interesting to me, especially as a character trait in, like, a sixteen year old volleyball player.

he’s a very anxious person, with my personal fanon being that he has ocd and/or is a major hypochondriac, and that’s something that i have a lot of fun looking at. but what’s most interesting about this is that, at the same time as he is anxious about loss in every sense of the word, he’s so assertive about his own boundaries and his own wants/needs. he isn’t willing to make compromises if it means sacrificing his feeling of security, and that’s really interesting (and god, as a fic writer, all i want to do is take it away).

re: their general dynamic:

i wrote in a fic once that “they are not men who are easy to love” and i think that part of their relationship is just personally curated to my interests. the idea of two people, neither of whom are especially loveable in the way other MCs are (ex. hinata) and neither of whom are particularly interested in changing their assholery for the sake of something as intangible as being liked, finding solace and love in each other is just *clenches fist at the sky* so good.

i think that there’s a certain level of competition that comes with their friendship/relationship that i’m really obsessed with. they’re two people who are incredibly competitive— you don’t become a professional volleyball player unless you are, tbh— but this is just forcing them to get better; they push each other further. this is something that atsumu kinda does for all of the people around him, which is another reason i’m obsessed with him specifically, but i think that it’s especially apparent with kiyoomi (and kageyama, but that’s a different post).

one of the other things i love about them is just having a friendship rooted in general banter/sarcasm, which is always fun to write. it’s also really interesting to look at their shared history in canonverse— meeting in hs and then again as adults, ~5 yrs later? there’s SO MUCH to unpack there and i absolutely love it. the idea of meeting this person you knew as a 15/16yo again as an adult, and how they’re different but the same and you never knew them well but you know you missed them and maybe it’s a sign or it isn’t but wow, they’ve grown and so have i, and maybe this is a chance to start again? god. man. deep breaths.

i’m not gonna write a haiku bc this took so much energy and i’ve been staring at this blank screen for, like, ten minutes trying to think of a start a good poem about them. but one day. one day i will get back to you with a poem.

[jbarneswilson]

15, 16, & 20 <3

hi grace! thank you so much for this ask!!!! i did answer 16 already but ooh the other two 🥰🥰

15) why did you start writing?

well, it all began in third grade with some bell work. my teacher assigned us a short story to write and i decided to make it about going for a horseback ride. then she suggested i submit a haiku i wrote to our art contest. i got an A++ on the story and honorable mention for the haiku and have been chasing that high ever since. there were a number of years where i wasn’t in any particular fandom nor moved to really create but one look at bucky barnes and the old mental typewriter started firing up again.

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

kind of both, really. i usually wait to write until the kid is in bed because for some reason my child wants my attention during waking hours? not sure what that’s about but it is super inconvenient! but i also have adhd like a motherfucker so even if i wanted to sit down and write for hours, it’s not always possible. unless i get ✨inspired✨ and lose track of time. which is rare. i typically do short writing sessions for fifteen minutes at a time, take a break, scroll pinterest, look over what i wrote and wonder why i ever thought i could be a writer lmao

send me author asks :)

[willowstreetstories]

Featured Poet: Nicholas A. Virgilio Edited by Alan Pizzarelli

Reading Nick’s letter now, years later, I can fully appreciate the truth of his words. The hard work ethic is especially relevant and essential to the seemingly simple poetic genre of haiku.

I first met Virgilio back in December of 1974, when we appeared on a television show in Philadelphia, along with Cor van den Heuvel, Bill Higginson and Virginia Brady Young to promote The Haiku Anthology. Later, back in our dressing room, Nick took me aside saying: “You know, you got a gift, kid. Stay with it and you’ll be one of our greatest poets.” “But, Nick,” I kidded, “I already am.”

Nicholas Anthony Virgilio was born at West Jersey Hospital in Camden, NJ on June 28, 1928, “under a full moon” he would later say. He attended Camden City Schools, graduating Camden High in 1946. He served in the US Navy for two years, and returned to Camden attending South Jersey College (now Rutgers University) and then Temple University under the GI Bill. He graduated from Temple University in 1952, and set out into a career in Radio and Sports Broadcasting.

He’s best known in South Jersey and Philadelphia as “Nickaphonic Nick” who worked dances and radio gigs with Jerry Blavat in the 1950s. He began his haiku apprenticeship in 1963, after reading Kenneth Yasuda’s A Pepper Pod.

His first published haiku appeared in The American Haiku magazine in 1963. His most famous haiku:

Lily: out of the water… out of itself

served as a model for original English language haiku form by dropping the common 5-7-5 syllable count in favor of shorter forms. This poem is particularly unusual because the majority of what Virgilio wrote in those early years adhered to the 5-7-5 dictum then prevalent.

In 1971, he co-directed the First International Haiku Festival in Philadelphia. He helped establish the Walt Whitman Center for the Arts and Humanities in Camden, and was its Poet in Residence for five years.

After his Selected Haiku was first published in 1985, Virgilio was interviewed on NPR’s Morning Edition and later become a regular commentator on Weekend Edition Saturday aptly combining his love of haiku and his earlier radio experience.

Nick Virgilio died of congestive heart failure while taping a television interview for the CBS program Nightwatch on January 3, 1989. His well-known "Lily" haiku is engraved upon his gravestone at Harleigh Cemetery, near Whitman’s tomb in Camden.

Though his work has been designated as haiku through the years, among Virgilio’s poems are a number of excellent senryu inspired by urban life and the death of his brother Larry in the Vietnam War.

January 2009 marks the 20th year of Nick’s passing. On January 25, 2009, the Nick Virgilio Haiku Association paid a tribute to the life and work of Nick, hosted by Rutgers University, Camden, NJ.

Simply Haiku joins this tribute and salutes the senryu poetry of Nicholas Anthony Virgilio.

SENRYU

taking a hard look at myself from all angles — the men’s store mirrors

-

my spring love affair the old upright Remington wears a new ribbon

-

in the singles’ bar magnifying loneliness her thick eye glasses

-

my palsied mother pressing my forehead on hers this Ash Wednesday

-

Thanksgiving alone ordering eggs and toast in an undertone

-

alone on the road in the wake of the hearse dust on my shoes

-

Thanksgiving dinner placing the baby’s high chair In the empty space

-

telegram in hand the shadow of the marine darkens our screen door

-

My gold star mother and father hold each other and the folded flag.

-

my dead brother hearing his laugh in my laughter

-

adding father’s name to the family tombstone with room for my own

Nicholas A. Virgilio

Credits:

Photograph of Nicholas A.Virgilio, copyright © 1974 by Bob Bartosz, Courier News.

All poems from Selected Haiku, Burnt Lake Press, © 1985 by Nicholas A. Virgilio; by permission of Tony Virgilio.

Grateful thanks are here given to Kathleen O’Toole, Raffael de Gruttola, Henry Brann, Tony Virgilio and the Nick Virgilio Association for their dedicated assistance.

[epersonae]

4, 19, 39 👀

What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

I don't know if I have a word like that? I have this very funny memory of a guy I dated briefly right after college who was obsessed with the word "ennui", and yes, it's the guy who said he was too busy studying ancient Greek to keep dating, and so that's always the word that comes to mind when people ask for a word.

Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

OH BOY THIS IS A LONG STORY. (added a cut here, because wow it got very long, because it is more or less my entire life story lol)

The first time I remember writing is when I was 7 or 8 years old; we were doing something with poetry, and my teacher sent my poems to a district-wide thing, I don't remember what now, and they picked one of them for it. And it was the one I didn't like, that's the part I remember most clearly. I'd written one poem about a color, I think, and I liked that one a lot, but they picked the one that was a more straightforward metaphor about storms. So that's my first memory of writing.

I started writing stories on my own probably when I was 10 or 11. I was obsessed with both Little Women and Anne of Green Gables, and so I wanted to be a writer like Jo and Anne, and I loved making up stories about the family that lived in my dollhouse, or the adventures my Barbies went on, that sort of thing. By junior high I was a precocious reader: Animal Farm, Gone With the Wind, Jane Eyre, James Bond novels, which what the fuck, Sherlock Holmes and a fuckton of Agatha Christie, so the first story that I wrote that I still remember was a terrible Christie pastiche in which I was the detective and a boy I was mad at was the murderer. (you may be amused that this is the guy I told you that long story about recently)

I wrote all through high school, both poetry and fiction (not fanfiction, notably), and when I got to college I was an English major with an emphasis in creative writing. Because literally all I wanted to do was write. I won some awards for my poetry in college, had some stuff published in the college literary magazine, and wrote probably the better part of two novels, including a sci-fi piece that I still have fond feelings for. (there was also a ton of bad Anne Rice-inspired writing; again, not strictly fic, but definitely in that neighborhood)

I tried to keep it up after college -- I did not go for an MFA, because I knew I didn't want to teach, and I couldn't see what else I would do with it, and I had a job, and I got better jobs, etc etc -- and for a while, I was working on that scifi novel and I published a couple of poems. I was in a writers group in Seattle; we even published a little chapbook together. (I have a copy of it around here somewhere!)

[deep sigh]

From probably 2003 until 2017, I wrote almost nothing. I guess that's not strictly true: I wrote a lot for work, and I wrote professional pieces about work. I wrote stuff for D&D campaigns. I even had a brief stretch in 2009 and 2010 where I got earnest about writing again: did NaNoWriMo seriously twice, finished it once even, and I wrote a bunch of haiku for some reason.

But mostly I didn't write for pleasure. Close to 15 years of nothing, and no writing community, and guilt about it, and of course it's all tied up with everything else about those 15 years. 15 years can go fast when you're busy and miserable.

And then The Adventure Zone happened? Like, a bunch of other stuff happened to, but in the winter of 2016-17 I found fanfiction, somehow, for the first time as a forty-two year old. God. And then the whole Stolen Century thing happened, and it was like OH FUCK I HAVE THINGS TO SAY. I have feelings and opinions and all of this is just clawing its way out of my brain and I HAVE TO. And then Ryn and I started writing, and it was an entirely different experience, transcendent, invigorating. And finally, literally life-saving.

After I left my ex-husband, I started writing poetry again. The fanfiction trailed off after we finished Reckoning, because that was the big thing that we had to say (I say that, and we definitely wrote like another 20k or whatever after that). But I did some TAZ Amnesty fic, and I was still writing poetry, and then Ryn and I started dating and the poetry went thermonuclear again lol.

And then the fucking pandemic. During the period March 2020 to August 2021, I wrote 3 tiny fic, maybe a couple of poems, and Ryn and I did a little work on the last Reckoning epilogue. It just.... I didn't have any spirit to write, really.

And then the fucking surgery and Ryn's death. As you know, I wrote poetry the whole time I was there with them. It was my way of keeping present in the moment, when I knew from past trauma that it would all be muddled up in my head, later. I actually even think it's good poetry. And god, I've written so much poetry since then. A book's worth, probably, although the idea of doing something about it is too daunting.

Towards the end of my FMLA leave, I started writing something prose: it started because an online friend had asked about the story of the day Ryn died, which I had only been able to talk about in person or in poetry, but one day I just started writing and it poured out. And then I kept writing, thinking about one of Ryn's last tweet's talking about "the memoir I'll never write about being an adult in the children's hospital", and they had meant that they wouldn't want to write it, and then it turned out that they couldn't write it, because they were fucking dead, which is still the worst stupidest cruelest thing that has ever happened to me (and there's some competition for that!). That project has slowed down, initially because HEY WORK SUCKS ACTUALLY, and now because I've been sidetracked by gay pirates, but I plan to keep writing it. (Sometimes I feel like I'm a TERRIBLE PERSON because I've been writing silly gay pirates instead of the Important Work of Ryn's Legacy, but that's between me and my dumb brain.)

Speaking of gay pirates, I am doing that now, and enjoying it a great deal. I am writing Yet Another S2 Take, with at least one twist I haven't yet seen before, and Processing Grief Liek Whoa but also having fun with character voices. (Mary's narrative voice is a delight; Calico Jack is the literal worst but it's fun to write his dialogue.) Plus a bit of :you_know: that is so close to done if I can just get the slapstick bits the way that I want them.

I honestly don't know if I will end up writing original fiction again? Maybe? Sometimes I think about revising that 2009 NaNo, because I actually think it was good, but then I feel daunted again. But who can say; in any case, I feel like writing is one of the things that makes me most happy in this world, and people seem to like my writing, so I'm going to keep doing it as much as I can.

What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

These days, and I think always but I didn't know it consciously until the last couple of years, there's two things:

First knowing that someone wants to read the thing. In college, that was my friend Kat; then it was our writers group, and I think losing that and not having a community is one of the reasons I stopped writing. Now there's our discord, fic commenters, the guy friend and Emi who have been reading the memoir draft; I don't feel like I'm just throwing words into the void. (GOD FUCKING DAMN I MISS SHARING WRITING WITH RYN SPECIFICALLY THO)

And then knowing how much better I feel for having written. With fic it's the sheer creative force of the thing, nailing the voices, figuring out a plot beat, having a weird idea come together. With poetry it's finding the right image for the feeling, or the right mood for the image. And then the memoir is...a little bit like running ahead of the waves that erase the memories written in sand, and a release of feelings I can't hold in my body.

So after all these years, writing is one of the things keeping me alive, both in the "it is an outlet when brain is bad", and "I want to be alive to finish these projects" senses.