#i'm experimenting with some poetry tools

[inkskinned]

my father told me he read it, but he hasn't read it. that's okay. my friends keep picking the words out of my throat.

someone once told me that the more trigger warnings that go on a book, the better it is. i didn't mean to write something with so many conditional phrases - i was writing about what i felt while being a human. sometimes you are a person and sometimes you are a statistic. sometimes it is falling upwards and sometimes it's sliding back down again.

my father tells me that it will be difficult to get people to read it. i didn't like the idea of a singular genre. i'm not going to lie to you - it is actually a difficult book to get through. i change the rules in it. it's not poetry or prose explicitly. it's neither false nor reality. i give you the tools to "solve" the book, but i let you do the thinking. my father says people don't care to think. i don't know about that - i think we just, like, enjoy reading.

the thing is - i was tired of stories about survival where someone with depression goes to therapy and wakes up okay. i didn't live like that. i was tired of books about violence, where the gore of what i experience was splashed in glitter to lick off the page. like, i was a person, you know? i had a life and a job and a family. and in books, i watched my story get ripped up so people could explore the viscera of my body. so they could feel good. my brother once called it inspiration pornography. we had walked out of a suicide-prevention seminar, both of us disgusted while the increasingly-elated presenter kept listing methods-of. i remember the look on my brother's face. like i would tear that man apart given the right time and place.

my father says that kids these days. he warns me against writing about things that are too-serious. he says that they don't want it. i don't listen. he does make me take out a scene from the book where i go to church after having sex with a woman. it used to be the 7th scene in the book. i don't think he's read further than that, it rocked him too hard to continue.

it's a book about being queer. it's a book about being raised catholic. it doesn't have monsterfucking, i'm sorry. it's just about, like.

at some point you have to choose to stay here. and then you do have to stay here, which takes practice. this is about forming the habit. this is about what happens after you've already started doing the work. because, like. you keep going. you have to. and it's like. very imperfect.

i should make a post on instagram. i should make this announcement less bittersweet. but like -- i'm giving it you, specifically, because i think you know why i had to write it. you and me. this little community.

body's a bad monster. here's the link if you're interested in ordering.

[redlyriumidol]

My thoughts/headcanons about the different styles of magic across Thedas. I'm skipping avvar and elvhenan because... idk i don't feel like it (we also can't really comprehend the extent of elvhen magic yet. perhaps we never will.):

SOUTHERN CIRCLES: perhaps the one we've been most familiar with until now. Solas criticises Vivienne on a few counts with regards to her magic and I think this sums it up: "Your rigorous training lays a solid foundation, true. It also creates boundaries, limits, where none need exist." I think that's indicative of the Southern approach to magic in general. The Chantry needs to keep its mages under a tight leash, but it also has a vested interest in training them to be useful, especially in a military capacity. Within the Circles there is some room for experimentation and advancement, but it's always limited by fear and the harsh regulations imposed on their use of magic.

Therefore I think Southern Circle magic tends towards the practical, the utilitarian, somewhat of an inflexible, blunt approach. They likely favour elemental magic, though spirit healing seems to be reluctantly tolerated for its sheer usefulness. There's some variety, though, such as the Kirkwall Circle favouring Force Magic.

TEVINTER: obviously Tevinter mages enjoy a great deal more freedom in terms of magic, and can freely experiment and push the limits, in fact they're incentivised to do so. Leaving aside blood magic for now, magic is an intrinsic part of Tevinter culture, and Circles are regarded as prestigious academies-- I think magic there is viewed as an art, a science. Obviously from a banter between Solas and Dorian we know that Tevinter stole techniques from the ancient elves. There are likely some similarities although obviously Tevinter magic has evolved since then.

Imo Tevinter magic is about precision, skillfulness, refinement, elegance, subtlety. There's almost a certain poetry to it, though it is also showy, ostentatious. They appreciate magic for magic's sake, not just as a tool. I talked in a different post about how I don't like Necromancy for Dorian and I wish he'd had a specialisation that showcased an aspect of Tevene magic other than blood magic- like I said I think this could have been glyph-based magic, which is showy but also might require skill and dexterity.

DALISH: The Dalish mages we've met have been very capable and well-trained, so I think it's unfair to say their magic is inferior to anyone else's. I think it's simply different. Since they live so closely with nature I tend to think they have an intuitive, instinctual approach to magic, almost a natural ease. To Dalish mages, magic is like breathing, though there is a lot of study that goes into it as well.

Obviously we have direct examples of Keeper magic in both Velanna and Merrill, so apart from the typical thornblades-type spells I'd also say they favour primal magic (lightning, stonefist/petrify etc)- based somewhat on the fact that Merrill doesn't have access to the elemental tree in da2. Not that I don't think they can summon fire, but I think they view fire magic differently. This is my headcanon/inference but, like healers, Keepers follow Sylaise's Vir Atish'an, the way of peace. Sylaise represents healing, but also fire. For someone who lives in a forest, fire is useful, but can be destructive if it gets out of control. I believe they don't view fire as an offensive tool primarily, but as something healing.

QUNARI: again, Qunari magic is severely limited, even more so than in Southern Circles. I think the Qunari view their mages as basically walking rocket launchers, but magic is their blind spot. They're terrified of it, so they'll never get the most out of its possibilities. I mean, their mages can't even talk to each other, so what chance is there of exchanging ideas and advancing? This might be the reason why they haven't totally crushed Tevinter tbh. It does seem that Qunari/Vashoth likely make naturally powerful mages, it's just that their magic is unrefined, brutal, basic but destructive. I imagine they favour the most basic elemental or primal magic, hardly venturing into any other schools at all. The Saarebas seem to have lightning abilities in-game, which fits a society which is technologically advanced but limited when it comes to magic.

NEVARRA: so obviously we've got the Mortalitasi. Tbh I'm not as interested in the Mortalitasi as I could be, I think necromancy just doesn't appeal to me in terms of vibes lol. But anyway, it's clear that magic in Nevarra has a ritualistic importance, it's dark and secretive, subtle, and even though it can be used offensively that seems to be a secondary purpose. I think, like in Tevinter, magic is likely an intellectual or a scientific pursuit, but here it also has a religious significance. Obviously they favour spirit magic and necromancy. Unlike Rivain and the Avvar, though, they seem to view spirits as tools/slaves- in Tevinter Nights we see a Mortalitasi using a wisp to stir her tea for example.

RIVAIN: ugh my faves. There's a good chance we'll get to see this in the next game and I couldn't be more excited. We know that the women are trained as Seers and commune with spirits. The Circles there are really just a front to appease the Chantry, while the unique brand of Rivaini magic is a natural facet of life. I think it's probably witchy, obviously spiritual, intuitive, likely also ritualistic. Obviously a lot of it is spirit magic, probably spirit healing, but I like to think they also use Entropy magic (my beloved) because the idea of curses just kind of fits the witchy vibes of it all. Since their culture is so entwined with the sea, storm magic also might make sense.

[anamelessfool]

𝔓𝔞𝔭𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬 (1907-1983) and fic!

Reign 1942-1954, Satanic Bishop of New York City (1954-1983)

Everybody needs a mentor, especially delusional people like Young Nihil. So enter Papa Camino, a Papa Emeritus who is heavily influenced by Cab Calloway. (And is wearing an actual Schiaparelli silk tie from the 1950s) Notable Ghouls: Phantom, Dewdrop, Cumulus

The Path (AO3 Link)

GEN Young Nihil & OC Papa, Young Nihil & Family 3K Words

Tags: Mentor Figure, Deal With The Devil, Family Angst, 4 Year Old Primo Is In This One, This is Officially the Most Self Indulgent Fic I've Written and Yes I'm Including the Smut, Alternate History, Ghost Scenes from the Void AU, Ministry Lore and Dramaaaaa

1957, New York City: Bishop Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

More Art and the Fic Below the Cut!

1957 New York City

Camino was a man who demanded what he wanted, and created for himself what he was denied. After his wildly successful tour as Papa Emeritus of the Satanic Church of the Void, he brought his expertise, his talent, and his cunning to his new post as the Satanic Bishop of New York City.

After the fourth rejection of his application to join the most prestigious gentlemen’s social club in the city (and it was definitely not because he was a Satanic Anti-Pope) Camino decided to run his own club out of the New York Ministry location. The music was hotter, the skirts were shorter and the booze flowed higher than the runoff in the gutters after a rainstorm.

The New York City chapter of the Satanic Church of the Void soon became less a place of organized worship and more the most chaotic and happening nightclub no one dared talk about in the sunshine. No act was denied, no artistic experiment too bizarre— almost twenty-four hours of the day there would be something to see for everyone. At two PM there could be a poetry reading for moody folks in black turtlenecks. At four PM was a 1920s Big Band Revival stint, six to ten PM Camino himself took command as bandleader. Midnight to two AM was reserved for drag shows. Often at three AM some interpretive dancer could be writhing on stage wrapped in tinfoil wailing about his daddy issues. It was vibrant, sometimes exhausting but never ever boring. Just like the Bishop.

And any high society man caught sneaking in would be promptly hogtied and left out in the alley with the rest of the trash.

Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

As Zero sat uneasily in a plush armchair he could pick himself out from the posters and photographs covering the wood-paneled walls of the bishop’s office. He was often in the background— a blur holding a guitar, a trombone, hiding behind a mountain of drums. In six years Zero had become an established character in Camino’s church. He had stopped his rail-hopping life and settled in with a pretty blonde poetess, living just outside earshot of the church turned nightclub with a couple of potted plants and a young son. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the ebb and flow of a domestic existence. But then again, living and working in a place of constant change and noise and life and art is like wandering without ever leaving home.

“Brother Zero, I can hear your knees knocking from over here!” Bishop Camino closed the humidor cabinet and returned to his massive desk with a choice cigar. He winked his eye, his human eye. The Infernal Eye, his gift and his curse from his time as Papa, leered into Zero. It was as icy and silvery as the tools Camino used to delicately trim and light his smoke. “You'd know if you were in trouble! Relax, stay a while! How's junior?”

“Oh, swell, just swell,” said Zero, slowly uncurling himself in his seat.

“I got box seats at the Polo Grounds whenever you two want to see a game,” Camino replied. “Owner of the Giants owes me. Funny how many folks owe me, hm?”

“You're more than generous, all the time.” Zero couldn't help but feel a fondness for the man. “You helped me.”

“Alley cats are hungry, feed ‘em. Keeps the rats away. Now…” Camino noticed the smallest mote of dust on his suit, frowned deeply, and brushed it off. Camino never wore formal vestments outside of Mass, preferring instead a red silk suit with razor-sharp shoulders. Firstly because that was his look during his time as Papa Emeritus, and secondly because there was no one in New York City who would dare tell the bishop otherwise.

“Have you ever thought about the path?” He continued. Bishop Camino leaned back in his leather chair, settling in to a languid taste of his Cuban cigar. “I think you have what it takes to be Papa. Believe me, I know.”

Zero’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching open cartoonishly in shock. “You really think that?”

“Claro. Really. You've played in the house band many a time. You know more instruments than most, and catch on so quick. You're more Ghoul than man sometimes,” Camino chuckled. Zero had indeed performed for a few years in Camino's exclusive club for degenerates, and his saxophone playing was described as “a good start” which was a big compliment coming from the Bishop.

“Times are different. Big bands are out. Five pieces are in. More flexible. Digestible. What with television everywhere now.” Camino nodded. “Jazz clubs are gone, thing of the past. I'm not too proud to admit that.”

“Oh, you got more talent in your little finger than most in their whole body!” Zero piped up. “Don't sell yourself short!”

Camino gave him a wry look. “Hermano, I didn't say anything about that. Of course I'm talented. I'm the most talented motherfucker you ever saw. But times are changing. The Church needs fresh blood. And you'd be perfect for it. You got a face for television!”

Zero looked through the wooden blinds of the window, at the lines of taxis dutifully filing past. A limo turned the corner, its black and silver form sleek amongst the herd of yellow and checkerboard. Zero saw the shining sweep of the Rolls-Royce maiden perched on the hood, bowing low with her steel gossamer cloak frozen forever against the wind. A face for television, Zero thought. He never really had a television, or an actual home to plug any sort of luxury into since leaving Milwaukee, but everyone that did had the potential to see him. To hear his music. To see his face.

“That sounds swell, how would I even start?”

Camino grunted a laugh, his teeth gripping his cigar. From his place behind his massive desk he elegantly poured a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two equally opulent glasses. “Well, you have to let everyone know your intention. Even when you're not saying a word. Especially then. Your whole body must…vibrate…with that desire.”

Zero took a glass from him, nodding eagerly. “I can do that. I can vibrate with desire!”

“Naturally,” said Camino. “I'll put you in touch with Mother Imperator’s assistant, a em…a Sister Rebecca. She'll help me authorize a transfer and you can move to the heart of the Ministry.”

They clinked glasses, and Zero took a sip. It burned across his throat, tore a hole in his belly. He coughed in surprise, making every attempt to choke as politely as possible. “Move? There's somewhere else?”

“Yes, a few hours drive up north,” Camino replied. His perfectly sculpted thin moustache twitched as he frowned. “And how the hell you choking on that, boy? That's a goddamn forty year.”

Zero mumbled an apology, then felt Camino’s strong hand on his chin, jerking his face upwards for inspection. His hand was surprisingly soft, well manicured. The floral scent of hair oil drifted down from his clothing. The older man smirked, his eyes crinkling as thoughts passed through his mind. The Infernal Eye glared down at Zero from its socket in Camino’s skull, its glow removed from this realm, a separate entity also holding judgement towards him. He could have sworn the steely pinprick of a pupil moved independent from the human eye just across the bridge of the jazz singer’s nose. Zero swallowed. “Face for television,” Camino murmured, and with his other hand took a thoughtful sip of his own glass.

Zero stretched his mouth into a submissive smile. “Maybe.”

Camino gave Zero a rough pat, nearly a slap on the side of his face, and stepped away to pick up his cigar again. “Listen here, I sent my successor up to their headquarters, had them start meeting people, gather friends— boom! They're now Papa Emeritus and gaining traction in the charts every day. The trick…is to be underfoot.” Camino let out a satisfied puff of smoke. “Thing about that place is that running the Ministry is the only thing anyone can do up there in that godforsaken wilderness. So if you want something you're front and center!”

“But…moving?” Zero had just finally put roots down after a youth of wandering. He thought of Nance, of little Primo waiting for him back at their apartment. Nance with the baby on her lap as she sat by the plants on the fire escape, her red lips smiling contentedly out at the symphony of asphalt and blaring car horns.

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Camino. “Kids love it out there. At least I'm pretty certain they do.”

Camino was met with an awkward silence, and he settled into his chair, the leather offering a tired wheeze. “Yes, the city is difficult to leave,” Camino continued, steepling his fingers. He grinned. “Which is why I came back.” And promptly at midnight a town car would pick him up and drive him back to his home in Queens. “But, I've done my time, and did the work. I'm here to guide now. And I think you need to take bigger risks.”

“Nance loves it here. She was born here.” Zero smiled slightly into the middle space. “Primo was born here.”

“It's not easy raising a child in the city, believe me. My sisters complain enough. And me…well, I became a jazz singer.” He chuckled. “That tells you everything you need to know about that.”

“Could be good for junior,” Zero mused.

“Would be good for his old man too,” Camino replied with a wink. “You just say the word. I'm serious about you.”

Horns blared from outside on the street, followed by shouts and curses. The chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce rolled up up his sleeves and unbuttoned his vest as his cap fell on the sidewalk. Across from him, an equally irate taxi driver wrenched himself from the crumpled yellow door of his taxi. A woman was trapped in the back of the Rolls, hanging out the window and screeching while the rat-like dog in her arms barked. The taxi driver jumped across the hood of the limo and delivered a heavy-fisted crack to the chauffeur’s mug that Zero could hear all the way from his spot by the window. He winced as he unconsciously massaged the same place on his jaw. Camino clapped his hand across Zero’s shoulder, laughing, his lips peeled back over sharp white teeth in a roar of amusement. The Infernal Eye shone. “Fresh air and sunshine, hermano!”

-------

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Zero as he and Sister Nance held hands on a park bench and watched their young son totter around the steel playground. “Would be good for junior, yanno?”

“This sounds rehearsed,” Nance snorted, flashing him one of her elfin grins. “What's the deal? Why all of a sudden you want to move?”

Zero shrugged. “No deal. Just…need a change, maybe.”

“Zero, dear. Don't even try to lie to me.”

“Bishop Camino… thinks I should be Papa Emeritus.”

“You?” Nance made a face. “You haven't held a single job for more than a year. And you…want to run this whole thing? You want to be Papa?”

Zero frowned back, a little wounded but willing to fight. “None of those gigs were ever that interesting.”

“And you can't just up and walk away from this one,” Nance said. “No session musician or delivery boy or taxi driver ever had to commit his soul.” She tapped the place under her left eye. “Camino and the others…got a piece of their immortal soul committed to the Void. A chunk of it is just…it's just gone.”

That whitened eye of Camino burned in Zero’s brain once more. The sharp-toothed wicked grin, the bone-chilling tension of that pinprick pupil sliding across him and passing judgement. Zero had a face for television, sure— but Camino…Camino’s visage came from someplace else.

Like any blow he's ever taken, Zero shrugged it all off. “Wasn't using my immortal soul much anyway,” he chuckled.

“Goddamit Zero.” Nance crumpled into a fussy search of her coat for her silver cigarette case. He felt the cold air return to the palm of his now abandoned hand as it rested on the park bench.

Primo zoomed over from across the playground, falling into his mother’s arms. Irving Robert, really, but Primo was a better nickname for him than Uno.

“Push me on the swings?” asked their son, grinning under the hat Nance had knitted for him last week.

Nance cupped his face in her hands, smiling sweetly. “In a few minutes, Primo, your father and I are talking. But I bet you know how to do it yourself. We want to watch.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Good, now run! We're watching!” And Primo spun around and raced over to the swings across the park, leaving them for a few precious moments. Nance lit the cigarette in her mouth and took a drag, sighing on the exhale.

“Feels like the only thing that sticks in your brain are bad ideas, Zero,” Nance muttered. “I'm saying that affectionately.”

“You're one of ‘em,” he teased back, and she shoved him with a little laugh.

“Fine. You want to move to the Ministry Headquarters. Work right under Mother Imperator and Papa Emeritus and their whole shitty retinue.”

“And bring you along, of course,” Zero added in an attempt to reassure her. He was glad that she was even considering his idea now.

“I've been up there,” Nance continued. “Not much to do, so siblings get obsessive. I didn't want to stay long.”

“Obsessive?”

“Mother Imperator…” Nance stifled a laugh. “Absolute bag. A good hundred years old, easy. Refuses to speak anything but Italian. There's two siblings waiting for her to drop dead. Any day now, it feels.”

“Oh really now?” Zero mused, half listening.

“Sister Rebecca, for one. She went right to the top as the Dark Mother's Personal Assistant. Fluent in six languages, Italian especially. Comes from a bloodline of senators and government officials. Family's got mob money. She's next in line, for sure. And then there's…” Nance winced, as if an icy wind passed through her. “Maestra Eunice.”

“Oh, she's important?” Zero had seen her from time to time, conversing with Camino. Her hooded eyes, her deep scowl. He remembered her because he thought it a shame when blondes scowled like that. And Camino always looked queasy after their meetings.

“Leader of the Conclave,” Nance explained. “Old, old Ministry family. She's been shuffled around. She doesn't make too many friends.” Nance smiled crookedly. “And Rebecca would easily cut her throat in her sleep if Eunice doesn't get to Rebecca first. It's no good out there. Too heavy while those two wait for old Imperator to croak. You really want to live in the middle of that?”

“Two broads in a spat,” stated Zero. He figured early on that if there were two women left on the entirety of this Earth they still would think the other was talking behind their back.

“One has the keys to the entire global network of our Church, the other the deepest understanding of the magic that comes from the Void,” said Nance. “These are the two broads no one wants to stand in between.”

“Who says I have to stand between ‘em? I can make my music. And that's all I got to do.”

“There's no budging you, is there.”

“Camino…believes in me.” It was the first sincere thing Zero had said in a long while, and it left his heart with a wrenching whine that was carried through into his voice. It held such a sad little timbre that Nance shifted in her seat to look at him. “He believes in what I do.”

Zero knew few people in his life ever put their faith in him. Teachers thought him stupid. Fellow tramps on the road thought he was easy pickings. Not even his own father had much to do with him; his father, who's only belief was in his own ability to pick winning dogs at the track.

“You got to take risks on what you believe,” Zero added as she continued to contemplate his expression.

“But…moving…”

“Six years is the longest I've been in a single place,” announced Zero. He wanted to add “and loved someone”, but the thought felt intrusive and not at all something Nance wanted to hear. She knew his feet got restless if he sat for too long. She had been good to him, good for him, and he owed her his affection.

Nance grabbed his hand, turning his attention to look into her soft brown eyes. “Robert,” she began quietly, and she only used his real name when she wanted him to really listen. “What about your son? Robert…what about me?”

“I want to live my dream,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “And my dream includes you. And Primo. I…I promise I'll do right. You know I always try to do right.”

Nance smiled faintly back. “You always try,” she said quietly. “I can't argue with that. I'm happy…you found someone else who believes in you.”

“Mo-om!” Primo called to them both from his place on the swings, his arms and legs dangling as his body lay across the steel seat.

Nance got up and dropped her smoke to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Just…give me a few days to think about it."

Zero gave her a thin smile as he watched her cross the playground. He felt he had moved the pieces in the way he wanted them, needed them to move. And he was pretty sure of the rules of the game, so how hard would all of this be? Except he felt a queasiness now instead of relief. The feeling of his words being more of a wager than a sign of honesty hung about his shoulders. He had the faint memory of being on the other side of that conversation. And in those moments what he thought was a promise, was really only a way to buy time.

It would be well worth it in the end, he assured himself. Good ideas always are, and Camino had said himself how much of a good idea Zero was. Zero got to his feet, brushing off his knees as his good-natured smile returned to his face. There was nothing to worry about. He always came out on top. He always pulled through, and folks always leant him a helping hand. And of course he'd always support Nance, and Primo. He promised her and so he owed her. What more is a promise than an IOU to someone else?

Funny how many folks owe me, said Camino as his dead eye flashed. Great men are owed. And Zero was ready to be a lender.

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Papa Camino & Dewdrop, Phantom Fic

[yvesolade]

i need u to know that ur poetry has fundamentally changed me as a person & idk if thats a weird thing to say out loud but i believe that everything we consume shapes us as people & im glad that ur writing was one of those for me.

also no pressure to answer this ask but if u had any advice to give to someone in their last teenage year(outside of generic stuff like "you're still young don't worry too much" "you'll figure it out as u go") like. something that u learnt way later bc nobody talks about it but u wish u knew. twenties sound daunting. again, i just hope you know you've made more of an impact than u could ever guess. thank u

hey, this is super kind, I'm glad my writing has meant so much to you + thank you for sharing what with me.

the advice is a tough one, first because (at least for me) any advice that would genuinely be helpful, I was not and still am not ready to hear and will have to learn to learn the lesson myself for it to stick + second because I also think the idea of 'figuring things out' is kind of a myth. like I'm definitely happier and more settled now than when I was 19 but also I just have like . different problems now & am working through totally different things and that's basically just going to be the rest of my life lol . so it goes. + that might sound scary and daunting but also, like, thank god I am a different person with different problems, what a relief

so maybe (if I had to give advice) I would suggest that you learn to pay attention to urself. maybe u do it with meditation or therapy or journalling or w/e but just find some way of finding out who you are. what do you like, what don't you like, how do you feel in x situations, is this discomfort or fear or disgust? are you anxious or excited? angry or sad? do you like going to the cinema alone, do you think free painting is fun, do you prefer cherry coke or cherry pepsi ?? just like develop a practice of introspection and experiment w different experiences and situations because having a sense of who you are and what you like (and the tools to find out!) + the ability to be honest about those things is something that will actually serve you for the rest of ur life

[laddersofsweetmisery]

There's nothing I can't stand more than elitist perspectives from supposed academics. Academia is a PRIVILEGE to pursue. You were lucky. You had just the right foundation, just the right experiences, and just the right support.

I was homeless, raised by addicts, and severely malnutritioned from the ages 12 to 20. I remember having to melt snow in the winter just to wash my hair and it was still a privilege for me to acquire a literary degree. I had just the right people looking out for me and just the right life experiences to encourage my interests. I've never considered myself without privilege nor have I believed 'I worked hard to get here, so I deserve it.' The truth is that thousands of people work hard and everyone deserves it, but their resources differed from mine and yours. I just had the right circumstances to encourage my educational pursuits.

Not everyone has that.

Even in my most unluckiest moments, I was lucky to receive an education.

If someone stumbles into dark/light academia for the vibes alone and ends up learning about art history, poetry, new books to read and obsess over...then THAT'S A GOOD THING. I view the aesthetic as a gateway towards learning. Telling others they have no place in academia is so counterintuitive and can make them resentful. If you can make education more palatable and more easily digested, why wouldn't you support that? If you truly love academia, then you will love all facets and not just the parts that allow you to stroke your ego.

I believe education is a privilege and we must take our privileges as a chance to educate ourselves so that we can educate others at a more affordable rate. To me, having the opportunity to receive a quality education means you now have a civic duty to pass on that knowledge to those who couldn't afford the same opportunities.

Education is not a pathway to superiority, it is a journey towards empathy and civic engagement.

I share my poetry and other writings not because I think I'm good. I share because someone somewhere might need to hear it. I found my love for literature when I stumbled into Instagram poetry at 13 years old--a realm of poetry that receives immense backlash from supposed 'lovers-of-the-written-word.' Now, I obsess over John Milton, the Brontë's, and Mary Hays.

Accessibility is vital to academic communities. These communities that utilize the aesthetic to encourage involvement are doing good in the world even if you think it to be frivolous. They are exposing those who may not have originally been interested in education due to their foundations and experiences to wear a cozy sweater, make some tea, pick up a book, head to their local art museums, and pursue something they didn't know was available to them.

I support the Colleen Hoover girlies, I support the Instagram poets, I support the aesthetic followers, I support ACOTAR, I support fanfiction. I support words and what they can do for others no matter the form.

In a world where literacy rates are at a low, encouragement and accessibility are our greatest tools.

Do not weaponize education for your own egocentric objectives. It is a selfless communal endeavor to enrich the way we understand, interact, and positively influence the institutions around us.

Most children enjoy learning about the world around them, ask yourself, 'What made them stop loving it?' and then, ask yourself, once more, 'Could it have been people like me?'

Mary Hays via Mr. Francis said it best: "When the minds of men are changed, the system of things will also change...Let us remember, that vice originates in mistakes of understanding, and that, he who seeks happiness by means contradictory and destructive, is emphatically the sinner. Our duties, then, are obvious--If selfish and violent passions have been generated by the inequalities of society, we must labour to counteract them, by endeavoring to combat prejudice, to expand the mind, to give comprehensive views, to teach mankind their true interest, and to lead them to habits of goodness and greatness...Let it, then, be your noblest ambition to co-operate with, to join your efforts, to those of philosophers and sages, the benefactors of mankind...everyone in his sphere may do something; each has a little circle where his influence will be availing."

-Memoirs of Emma Courtney, by Mary Hays

For those interested in learning from the security of home when you can't afford the privilege of a classroom, here are some links that I've enjoyed and perused multiple times throughout the years. They are FREE OF ANY COST. Have fun with education in whatever ways you can and feel free to ask me if your interested in further resources or just want to chat. I don't know everything, but I'll do what I can to help. Check out Perseus at https://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/

Holy shit, they've got it all! I use it for their Dictionary of Greek and Roman biography and mythology, but there is so much more to learn to and explore. The Mission of Perseus: "Our larger mission is to make the full record of humanity - linguistic sources, physical artifacts, historical spaces - as intellectually accessible as possible to every human being, regardless of linguistic or cultural background."

Check out Project Gutenberg at https://www.gutenberg.org/

Project Gutenberg is a library of over 70,000 free eBooks! They have a lot of free classics, so if you're struggling to afford books for school, this is an excellent resource!

Love poetry? Interested in Emily Dickinson? Then, read The Prowling Bee at https://bloggingdickinson.blogspot.com/?m=1

The Prowling Bee is a blog by Susan Kornfield. I love hearing her insight into the poems and hearing from someone passionate about Dickinson's work!

Check out the John Milton Reading Room at https://milton.host.dartmouth.edu/reading_room/contents/text.shtml

This one is a favorite of mine! It includes the complete poetry and selected prose of John Milton, with introductions, research guides, and hyperlinked annotations.

Interested in journalism? Check out The Outlaw Ocean Project at https://www.theoutlawocean.com/

The Outlaw Ocean Project is a non-profit journalism organization based in Washington D.C. that produces investigative stories about human rights, labor, and environmental concerns on the two thirds of the planet covered by water. The content they produce is so vital, I couldn't recommend it more highly.

Additionally, you can sign up for some newsletters so you can receive articles in your inbox everyday! My favorites are:

The Literary Hub at lithub.com

The Literary Hub is an organizing principle in the service of literary culture, a single, trusted, daily source for all the news, ideas and richness of contemporary literary life.

JSTOR Daily at https://daily.jstor.org/

JSTOR Daily is a daily magazine that contextualizes current events with scholarship found on JSTOR. They are published by JSTOR, the nonprofit digital library of scholarly journals, books, images, audio, research reports, and primary sources. JSTOR Daily stories are what we like to call academic adjacent—they are carefully researched and written by experts for a general audience. Each piece  provides historical, scientific, literary, political, and other background for understanding our world. 

[shinysoroka]

Insider baseball rant incoming...

I'm a broken record about AI being a destructive technology for the arts. But what infuriates amazes me is how many people become willing cheerleaders for the thing that is actively contributing to the degradation of their craft, just because it comes wrapped in an attractive, non-threatening package by glorified HR managers. So let's break down how this all got pitched in the translation industry, just so you can spot potential parallels when it inevitably spills over into other areas.

Say you are a professional translator. You have been making a modest living over the last decade by translating instruction manuals, technical brochures and other assorted nonsense companies put out every year into... let's say Sindarin. You've built knowledge, experience and speed, you've put in your 10k hours and you're currently doing 3k words per day, which is on the high end of what a professional like yourself should be able to do. Your rate is 0.05 cents per word, which is about the average for your language combination. Life is often stressful but decent.

Suddenly, every translation company you freelance for comes to you with this wonderful idea. They call it post-editing, where they give you a machine-translated text and you merely review that output and you no longer charge per word but per hour. "Don't worry," they say. "This is not replacing you, it's just a tool that will help you be more productive. And hey, just to make sure we're fair, we'll calculate your new hourly rate based on your current rate per word. Just so you can see that this is great for both of us and we are not treating you unfairly. Sounds good, right?"

Right.

So you take the offer, start post-editing instead of translating and... Eru be praised! You are now doing 6k words per day, double your previous output and your pay remains pretty much the same. Sure, the quality is lower and sometimes it takes you a bit longer to fix the nonsense the machine spits out but it's not like you were translating Gil-Galad's poetry and nobody reads all this stuff anyway, right? The Elven market is thriving and we are still doing relatively good.

Except...

Who is this newfangled productivity really for? Your output has doubled, sure, but your rate remains the same. Your company is swimming in cash, the line goes up for them but not for you. Since the end customer doesn't really care about quality that much, you're now even more replaceable than you were before. But that's not even the worst part.

The worst part is that the longer you rely on that machine translated text for your work, the less you are able to work without it.

Think that's bullshit? Think again. Ask any immigrant who, after living in a different country for years, becomes progressively worse at their mother tongue. Every skill is a muscle that you build and the moment you stop exercising it, you start getting weaker. You've spent countless hours perfecting your craft and now, you've outsourced it to some machine, traded it in so that you can spit out subpar texts and the CEO of some translation company can buy a third luxury car. And you kind of had no choice in it, because your 3k words per day pale in comparison to the 6k words per day a post-editor can deliver. Sure, they technically haven't replaced you. But they sure as hell devalued your craft and made you dependent on them.

Don't be fooled, this isn't progress. This is, in fact, the opposite of it. For God's sake, don't let this happen to writers. And do not be dazzled by the sparkle of GenAI if you want your brain-cells to keep braining.

[cozza-frenzy]

When does it stop being systems georg and start becoming a whole different problem?

I'm assuming you're talking about the fact there's a lot about us that's not typical of systems? Unfortunately we've had a number of anons approach us with the intent of like... armchair-psych-just-trust-me-bro "diagnosing" us with Maladaptive Daydreaming, Schizophrenia, or even outright accusing us of faking or being endogenic in some respect.

But if this ask is genuine - it depends. Sometimes systems do have Maladaptive Daydreaming, and it makes it difficult to tell the difference between the false world created for escapism full of imaginary friends, and the actual visualisation-based inner world full of dissociated parts. Sometimes systems are schizophrenic, and it makes it hard to tell which voices and tactile sensations are hallucinations, and which are alters and IW-related things. We hang around other systems with a host of co-morbidities - but while we try to help them when they're in crisis, we don't look at any of their experiences and think "this sounds like what happens with us". We have an active imagination; we're a system of creatives, and have dabbled in everything from art to writing to poetry our entire shared life. We wrote our first story with illustrations when we were just six. So it didn't surprise us when what started out as an extremely basic IW (just a mostly-featureless grey room with a screen where the front was) became far more complex over time. Our IW is heavy on metaphors, and we're under no delusions as to what it is; we see it as our brain telling us a story about itself, giving us information in the only way it knows how. By telling stories back at it - by taking actions in the IW that are meant to achieve a specific goal - we can help heal ourselves. We can put a stop to things that are hurting us, like intrusive thoughts and harmful impulses. So, given our Inner World is ultimately a semi-controlled visualization tool? It makes sense from our perspective that our subconscious interpreted a real-life trauma that caused a massive disruption to our system's structure, as absolutely everything going to shit. And Yggdrasil rose from the ashes when the 11 of us that remained from an original count of 39 pulled ourselves together and refused to give up. Our brain tries to pull the plug, reset the system and start again? No, fuck you. United we stand, our head in the clouds and our roots sunk deep in hope. If this ask is just someone trolling again... Let me be frank; this is us. You can take it or leave it. If you think we're annoying or cringe, the unfollow and block buttons are right there. I, personally, am more focused on important things like getting laundry and cleaning done, balancing the grocery budget, making three home-made meals a day, and preparing nutritionally appropriate food from scratch for a sick, elderly cat with multiple food allergies than making shit up about ourselves to get attention and sympathy online. We're well past the point of giving a fuck what people think.

[gothhabiba]

I am curious: do you tend to craft a poem around a specific form that you have in mind or do you write a critical mass of imagery/ideas before trying to structure it more strictly? I would like to get better at playing with poetic forms other than free verse, but really struggling to not go completely blank when I have constraints

I almost never set out on purpose to write e.g. a sonnet or a villanelle—a few images and phrases come to mind and I notice that they're iambic, or that there's a good rhyme in there somewhere, or that it would sound good repeated, and I go from there. sometimes I have to insert these words and phrases into a few different "places" in the poem (so, what I thought was the second quatrain of a sonnet is actually the first, &c.) before I get something that sticks. I interpret this as noticing that a poem is "asking" to be a sonnet and attempting to oblige it. on occasion this doesn't work and it ends up free-form after all.

I often experience the constraints of fixed forms as generative, rather than restrictive. maybe I only have three lines written—but the fourth has to rhyme with the second, so I have a limited pool of words to work with, so I try out a few lines that end with a few of those words before deciding on the best direction to go—like the poem is generating itself from a set of initial conditions. I experience found poetry the same way, particularly if the set of words I'm working from is small.

eventually as you write (or read!) more metred poetry, you will get a 'sense' for what works rhythmically and will spontaneously think of metred lines more (rather than thinking of something that doesn't 'fit' and then going about trying to make it 'fit'). practice with working around limited rhyme sets (do not be too proud to use a rhyming dictionary... it is a tool that is there to help you) should also help.

you say you're "struggling not to go completely blank when [you] have constraints"—as if you think of a next line or a direction to go that would only work if the poem were free-form, but won't work in the fixed form? maybe trying start a poem without knowing in advance what you want to "say" with it. exercises where you describe a physical object, start with one word or phrase and see where it takes you, &c. rather than a poem where you have a message that you feel you're struggling to make 'fit.'

it's entirely possible that the first few fixed-form poems you write will be rote ones that technically fit the form but don't gain anything from it—that's to be expected. just push through this phase until you get some experience with it—try writing exercises such as taking news articles and trying to make them iambic, rewriting other people's poems as sonnets, &c. it probably won't feel so mechnical forever.

it's possible that any given poem just simply doesn't want to be in a fixed form, and it's also possible that you'll try fixed forms for a while and find that they're not for you! but if you're trying to find a place to 'break in', this kind of thing could get you started

[ladyofriverrun]

I don't know about anyone else but I feel like I am seeing people talking about hating Taylor Swift more than people talking about liking her. And the haters are always going on about how fans and 'Swifties' (I feel they're two different things) won't shut up about her, and it's like 'dude, all I'm seeing on social media is you guys moaning'.

But it makes me think how true it is what Jameela Jamil recently said. That in the media they big up a woman, build her up, say how amazing she is, and then suddenly it's problematic and not amazing and it's average and over-saturation, even though the woman in question isn't doing anything any differently than before. Taylor is not the first woman to experience this in media, and she won't be the last.

So those of you who are engaging in posting constantly on how much you hate it, or how basic she is, or how lame her fans are, or how lame her music is (Please, show me your own music writing skills if you're capable of such critique), be aware that all you're really doing is engaging in the machine that constantly builds women up just to tear them down.

If you don't personally like her music, fine, if you, for some reason, don't appreciate the poetry of so many of lyrics, that's also fine, it wouldn't do for us all to like the same thing (I, personally, am not a fan of Lana Del Ray, though a lot of people are), but stop making bitching and moaning and being a tool of the patriarchal machine your whole personality, and stop bullying people for liking something, especially when it's liking something so innocent. There's a lot worse things for people to enjoy than a singer-songwriter.

And yes, just in case anyone decides to bombard me with the 'but private planes' argument, yes I agree it's a problem. I also think it's a problem when any other singer or celebrity uses private planes; if we're going to attack one, can we please attack them all? Beyonce uses a private jet far more than Taylor Swift in 2023, in fact she's in the top 4, while Taylor isn't in the top 10. Kardashians use it more, Celine Dion. This is a problem across the entire spectrum of celebrity, so if you're attacking Taylor for it, also attack the rest. Otherwise you're showing yourself to not care about the environment at all, you just care about being able to justify hating on a woman.

[welcomingdisaster]

Tell me more about this guide on torture WIP narrated by Maedhros then pls 👀👀

hi hi hi hi!!

i'm very excited about that wip! (currently it's on pause as i desperately scramble to finish my trsb, and i'm feeling the loss).

it is, more or less, exactly what it says on the tin. the full title is going to be "A guide on advanced interrogation techniques, attributed post-humously to Maedhros Feanorian," i think, and it's an in-universe text distributed in himring, in which mae discusses his experience being tortured, his experience torturing, and a little of the healing process. he's soo over it and normal, he promises. look at how detached this text is! could a traumatized elf make this, maglor?

here's an excerpt from the introduction!

I will say few words in introduction, for far too much has been written already in these times about the nature and effect of pain upon the elven psyche. Some claim it is as acid, dissolving the body and the mind alike until naught is left; others posit it cuts away only the unnecessary and reals true nature, as cold river water washing sand off a stone. Others yet say it twists and disfigures, turning the fair foul, twisting clear song into discord. 

I shall not let that philosophical debate lead me astray in this text; closeness to the subject here only serves to obscure truth, for hope and anger both serve to obscure truth in such matters. Indeed this text shall serve only as a description of the practicalities of pain; of the methods of delivery, the devices of particular importance to such foul arts, the manner and personal characteristics of torturers. 

Another word of warning: to any seeking to obtain information or loyalty by use of methods described in this text would do far better to seek their tools elsewhere. No means are too foul to be used in the war against darkness, but my own experience as torturer has shown me the folly of such things. Information given in torture is rarely accurate; indeed it is only given to obtain momentary relief from pain. Loyalty won so, likewise, is rarely kept. I shall describe my own experiment in interrogation of that nature, particularly against orcish foes. Learn from them what you may, and take counsel as much from my failures as my victories. 

This text, then, is a scientific chronicle of the unpleasant, as a study of the enemy, and, perhaps, guide to survival. The power of the enemy is finite; the means of the enemy are predictable,  base, and boring in the banality of their cruelty; pain passes, and flowers bloom again even on burned ground. 

But perhaps I obscure my true motives in writing this text; perhaps I seek to make poetry of a private annoyance. Perhaps I seek only to answer the questions with I see in the faces of all those who lay eyes on the scars carved into my flesh. What? Where? Why? And how awful had it been? 

Read, now, and trouble me no more. 

i'm still very much figuring out the exact voice and structure but it's a very fun thing to write! thanks for asking about it. <3

[softgrungeprophet]

i write obviously, i took a lot of language and linguistics classes in college. it's a mix of art, science, it's deeply intertwined with anthropology and culture

anyway

it's rare (but possible; there are no universals in language) that a word is brought into the world bad. a word is a tool. it can be used to describe, to free, to find community and like minds (whether going on the adhd subreddit or being like, wow i'm gay too, let's chat) and of course it can also be used cruelly or twisted, to hurt people and confine them. words old and new can be used for all kinds of purposes of varying shittiness, varying goodness, varying neutralities...

but it's the people behind the words, not the words themselves making them tools/weapons/beauty etc.

on the one hand this means there are always new ways to use words and new words to exist, for better and for worse, and on the other hand this means that the problem is rarely the word itself (though obviously slurs are a bit more complicated in that regard) (and rarely straightforward among the people they are applied to) and rarely is a cultural or social problem addressed by something as black and white as "stop making words, stop using words, stop labeling experiences"--etc etc, take your pick of argument

the thing is, with words... is that stuff like that (restriction of any and all descriptions) is never going to happen (and if it did, that would be bad, imo), that's what words are and what language is

i think the most key thing i've ever kept in mind both during and beyond my language studies (and my general passion for linguistics, even as very much a low level non-professional--a hobbyist with a BA, if you will) is that words, grammar, intonation, all of it--language is context.

that might legitimately be the only universal in language now that i think about it lol. context. it's key--KEY--to meaning, to intention, to metaphor and color and poetry and all these other things. What language are you speaking? that's context. the fact that i'm writing this in english is context. it tells you how the letters and words i'm using should be interpreted.

context is the way language joins with culture (in all interpretations of the word: community, sexuality, ethnicity, class, etc.), with humanity and so on. they're linked so closely imo. this why any language class that's even halfway decent will generally have small mini-lessons, side paragraphs, tangents, about the culture in which they're spoken. Why IS this idiom? What DOES this word's use need? (though of course at a certain point you get into etymology there and ime most classes won't go too deep into that lol. it's essentially an entire field.)

now, listen, I don't buy into the sapir whorf stuff. for the most part, i think they were full of shit. at least when the hypothesis is taken to its most strict reaches. its highest concreteness. (not that there isn't sooome aspect of truth; i don't necessarily discount the hypothesis entirely and linguistic censorship and control 100% is a real, fashy thing, it's just... what i said. people make new words and find ways to talk about things they don't have words for. i don't think the nonexistence of a single or a few words necessarily prevents the entirety of a concept from existing, personally, though i won't argue that it can't mold perception or anything like that. what is propaganda after all...)

i'm rambling.

you know, last year around 8 months ago, a year or so after i first got diagnosed with adhd (was almost 28 at the time, am now 29 (and a half), took me... 5 years to find someone who would do anything) i was looking around, because i was physically allowed to begin stimulant medications after a couple of years of some serious health issues that prevented me from being prescribed anything other than non stimulants (probably reasonable at the time but still frustrating)--i went on reddit (i know 😂 but it's not that kind of story) to see what others' experiences were like.

the recurring thing people would say most often, of course, is that everyone on the board is different, that everyone's experiences will be (have been, are) different. not just medication but holistically. ADHD may have many commonalities but nonetheless, everyone's brain is different.

the other thing was me looking at threads of people saying, "am i the only one who does this?" and "no one i've ever met irl has this thing" and then seeing dozens of people say, yes i do this too, i also have not been able to meet other people doing this, i also thought i was alone,

and so on. little struggles and strangenesses that often felt like a pressure from everyone around them (us) irl asking why can't you just do X? (if you just cared more/tried harder) and you get a bunch of people saying, you're not actually alone, we're all here and not all of us do that but here are six or twelve or twenty or two hundred people who do.

it's funny because until my mid twenties (around senior year of college i think is when i began to look into it, thanks to posts i had seen online describing various aspects of adult adhd, adhd in girls, etc (not that i necessarily go with "girl" atm)) i had no word for describing what i was.

but the thing is i could tell there was something. so without the word to actually find other people like me or to learn about ADHD in a practical way, what i ended up with was not a lack of boxing myself in or of confining myself to a label. lol. lmao. prior, without "ADHD" as a reference point, what i had for myself was instead, "lazy" and "stupid" and "broken."

i don't trust any post that declares a cure to a cultural issue being to remove a word or words. rarely if ever will that solve anything. what it almost definitely will do, however, is deprive. when you do not have a word you can share with anyone else, it is very hard to find people who are like you (bisexual, ADHD, possibly a "drop of autism" as one of my therapists said) but people, including yourself, will still notice the things that make you yourself. that's the context, so where are the words?

(you know something funny? in either 6th or 8th grade (i only remember it was not 7th because we were in a different building in 7th grade) a friend of mine, in the gym, named Sadie, asked me "are you autistic?" Because she noted that i almost never make eye contact. i told her no. now, of course, with an unquestionably autistic younger brother (and me finally w an ADHD diagnosis like... 10 years later) all of us have begun to wonder about for example me and my sister but also about others in our family. we are a strange bunch. for some of us it's definitely ADHD, though some of my uncles are dyslexic, and for others... well you know how it is lol)

anyway what the fuck was i saying (how the fuck do i get my gboard to recognize context and stop suggesting "duck" no matter how many times i delete it?)

i just think it's always key to remember that the thing about words is that it's how you use them.

("born this way" is not innately a confinement; it was made that way out of a phrase intended to mean "this is who i am and there is nothing wrong with me"--not to restrict oneself to being only one immutable thing but to say I Was Born Me. Who "me" is doesn't have to be set in stone) (that's how i feel at least)

[blorbologist]

Hello! How do you get over writer's block? i'm writing for a poetry competition and the deadline is at the end of the month. The poem I'm working on now is halfway done but for some reason I'm hitting a wall when it comes to the part I really want to write if that makes sense? I feel like I have no inspiration to finish even though I know how I want it to go, and the worst part of it is that I want to start another project T^T how do I do this??

Hi anon!

It's a really, really tricky question to answer, especially due to the deadline. My usual advice would be related to not rushing it, which is... not great if you do have a timeline to adhere to.

Here's what I've got to offer:

Skip ahead. There's no hard rule that you have to write this bit before the next. Even if some of what is to come relies on it, you can make little notes and go back to edit it later.

Write an outline of the scene. No, really - you might know exactly how it goes, but writing it down both puts something on the blank document and might clarify bits you hadn't realized you were struggling with. Even better, there's often a natural inclination to just... dig a bit deeper, which might get you writing some dialog or paragraphs that occur to you that you don't want to forget. Breaking it down really helps!

Take a break. Yes, there's a deadline. No, stressing yourself silly won't help. If the muse just won't flow, be kind to yourself. If you've been bashing your head into a wall and are getting frustrated, take a break. Get away from a screen, or read a book, or take a walk.

Once that's done, though, if you aren't making headway, start brute forcing it. It's not nearly as gritty as it sounds: you just want to get words on a page, whatever way works best for you. I like to do speedwrites (short, timed writing with a friend where we just get as many words as possible onto a page and edit later), because the friend participating holds me accountable and makes me Competitive! And I'm forced to write without Overthinking, which sometimes takes the scene in a new and interesting direction! You can also set writing goals per day, like NaNoWriMo, or write it like a script with just the bare bones of what you want to happen. A little pressure helps some people stay on track.

Change your perspective. Write in a coffee shop or a quiet corner of the library, or make a nest in your closet. Switch up the environment!

Likewise, get yourself into work mode. For me that means a drink (water or coffee) and I must be wearing pants and socks to convince my brain that this is Not goofing off time.

Find ways to stay motivated. Do you have any friends you can share snippets with? The enthusiasm is a great way to keep muse flowing. Or if one part is giving you trouble, hashing it out with a kind listener is great. Reward yourself for reaching your goals! Snackies!! Reread what you've written before bed - I like to do it to catch typos and marvel at what I half-remember writing.

Break out a dictionary, or an old-ass book. Look for some weird but cool words. I compile ones that inspire me. Recently I've added grotto (from a tumblr post), ream of paper (from a fic) and appetite (from a paper) as far as words that Hit Me with some muse. Maybe you'll use them, or maybe they just give vibes. Collect them like flowers.

Finally... you know yourself best. Be honest about your goals, your comfort zone, what you know will motivate you... and then shove yourself just a bit past that. One of these ideas might be just what you need to get yourself where you want to go, but you'll never get there sticking in the same space that caused writer's block forever. Those tools clearly don't work - try out that jackhammer, even if it seems a little scary. Apparently they're really fun to work with!

I know most of this is focused on longer form writing, but I have limited experience with poetry, woop.

Please let me know if any of this helps, I'm cheering you on anon! <33

[modernmonkeymind]

We all want to be entertained, distracted from our lives. There's nothing wrong with a Netflix or YouTube binge, but perhaps its not so great that its become the default for us, or at least for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love me some TV, but watching the crew of the Discovery getting themselves into trouble, or the Click (wholesome though he is) making jokes about goofy memes doesn’t actually accomplish anything, and it takes time that could be used in more fulfilling ways.

Social media can be a great resource, and a serious distraction. I decided to back away from social media almost entirely once I realized I was letting people I didn't know piss me off, especially when I wasn't going to change their mind (hello Dunning-Krueger, didn't see you over there).

To challenge myself and get my head on straight, I'm embracing Cal Newport's Digital Detox for March, eliminating social media and all streaming video. I'm letting myself have access to a limited number of sites, primarily 84000, Suttacentral, and the Storygraph. I'm also planning to post to Mastadon twice a day (a poem and 3 good things), and Tumblr. I'm not restricting podcasts, audio books or music. I'll be using Basecamp, Meetup, and Zoom for personal development and to keep commitments I've made. I'm planning to revert my phone to something akin to what Steve Jobs originally intended, a sort of smart dumb phone that can make calls, texts, access messaging apps, maps, the app for my smart scale, One Bus Away, Streaks, audio, YNAB & my bank, and thats about it. In other words I'm making my phone a tool again. The question of course, becomes what to do without access to technological pacifiers. The answer really is most anything that doesn’t require a computer or smartphone, but some of my favorites these days include:

Meditation: I've been practicing based on the teachings of the Nalandabodhi, and Shambhala lineages recently and plan to meditate for seven minutes in the morning and/or evening, in addition to short sessions sporadically throughout the day. I'll also be single tasking for the most part, using activities like reading, walking, reading/composing poetry, and painting, as meditative practices.

Yoga: I got into yoga asana because I was stiff and not very grounded, and I decided to train to teach for similar reasons, since yoga is so pigeon holed as something only bendy acrobats can do. I've not gotten on the mat in a few years at this point, but want to get back to it, inspired by my teacher starting to teach again earlier this week after an extended health crisis. I'm planning to just do a couple minutes to start, probably just Sun Salutations/playing around.

Walk: A great form of exercise most anyone can do, and it doesn’t have to cost a thing as long as you have a decent pair of shoes and appropriate clothes for the weather. I've been taking daily walks more regularly recently, but most of the time this is a bookstore circuit that leads to lots of temptation. Going forward I'm planning to walk more in nature and go to libraries instead. I'm setting a 12k goal in Streaks, and shooting for 20k. I've already been hitting in this range most days which has helped with some serious weight loss.

Read: I’ve always got a couple books going. At the moment the list includes a commentary on the 37 Practices of a Bodhisattva, and Donut Economics by Kate Raworth. Books are magical things. You can learn most anything you might be interested in (I highly recommend Raworth's book), you can learn about another person’s experience of life in their own words (Montaigne basically invented the personal blog before the internet or computers were a thing when he thought up the essay format). You can also exercise your imagination and relax with a good novel (the human imagination has one solid advantage over TV & movies in that it isn’t restricted by a budget!) The plan is to dial back and do my best to only read one or two books at a time instead of the four or five I've usually got going. I'm also planning to read more poetry after my interest was reignited by Sister Jina's wonderful collection, which leads to the next item.

Write: Mostly when I say write I'm thinking of journaling and composing poetry by hand. I'm shooting for spending some time every day writing, but not worrying about getting a polished poem at the end. Just fifteen minutes of concentrated work.

Paint: I've taken a couple classes on watercolor and messed around a bit with acrylics. I'd like to spend some time each day painting, actually focused on having something to show for it each time, though that could be childish goofing around. I'd like to take a shot at using acrylics to recreate ukiyoe, get inspired by Zen/Chan watercolors, and take a shot at Sumie, though I definitely want to take a class in the latter at some point sooner than later!

PLAYING WITH MY CAT: Do I need to explain?

NOTHING: Seriously, we've become so obsessed with "productivity" and "getting things done" that as a culture its as if we've forgotten what it is to be alive as a human being. I'm going to try to do this more often, whether standing in line, walking somewhere, or just having nothing in particular to do.

I'm not expecting March to be easy, but thats kind of the point. I'm getting rid of some things I enjoy , but the fact that something isn't easy just means its more worth doing. I'll be journaling about it, and plan to post here once a week.

[preserve-or-raze]

situational poetry

so i'm making a tag list and i got to #situational poetry and couldn't succinctly describe it so i'm gonna try to explain here

Situational poetry is a description of an experience that is too saturated with emotion or poignancy to be explained with the conventional tools used in poetry. Those posts about the painted ceiling star and the mother's sunflower for example, or this screenshot.

One form of situational poetry could be thought of as the textual description of a snapshot memory, a frozen moment in time within your mind. Sure, if analyzed by scholars there could be dozens of essays analyzing it, but realistically there's obvious implication that sort of suggests any analysis would be wasted because there's such a plain message there. Even a purely objective description would be interpreted as some artistic expression because it's just that poignant.

Another may be an image or maybe a few that need no caption or editing. As soon as the audience encounters the artistry, they realize its appeal to the presenter, why it was worth experiencing. It could also be some interaction with those around you that, as mundane or uninspiring it may have been at the time, upon simple reflection reveals quite intently some truth about humanity that is only understood through it's nature as a work of art.

I bow to @canthaveshitingotham-crucified's description:

i hate it when i cant even write a poem about something because its too obvious. [...] like that's a poem already what's the point [...] you get it. you get the themes. i dont have time to do it justice.

To try to express the thing in any traditional method of artistry is but wasted time. The humanity a situational poem exudes is art enough.

I guess it bears a lot of resemblance to my #on being human tag, but there's a particular reverence that these pieces attract that seem to be something more

[joeys-piano]

Saw @flowercrown-bard doing this and wanted to play along as the year's wrapping up. Thought it could be a nice summary to how 2022 came along.

rules: post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular), your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year, your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year, your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year, and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year!

Top 5 Works

You Find A Way | dreamling - a 5+1 with a twist, The Oldest Game is in progress between an immortal and his infernal creature on if and how long he stays in bed when he clearly needs to go to work.

Damn, You're Reckless | grimmichi - a very, very long 5+1 featuring 11 revolving perspectives in a fist fight for the lifetime. Ichigo's hours away from graduating high school when he defends a memorial from desecration, and a certain hollow isn't far away to watch the smackdown from beginning to end.

Amateur | corintheus - worship is a two-syllable word for what The Corinthian has in store. First, he will break Dream. Second, he'll rebuild him. They say art is a reflection of the troubled artist who made it.

His Violet Delight | grimmichi - grimmjow thinks he isn't made for good things until a certain snot-nosed, annoying shit named Ichigo decides otherwise.

Stumbling Once We Found It | tomarry - winter wonderland vibes as Tom and Harry enjoy a nice date during New Year's. And Tom is a weak, weak man if he can say Harry will be the death of him.

4 Current WIPs

His Favorite Thing is Laughter, If It's The First Thing Out of You - a 5+1 dreamling new year's eve oneshot about the things Hob will learn about Dream as they play the pining game in the background.

The Longest Night - a medieval suspense horror + dreamling; what if The Corinthian went rogue during the 1300s and Dream, stripped of his tools and like a monster from your nightmare, seeks refuge and assistance from an immortal mercenary who thinks he's the second coming of Jesus (aka Hob).

I don't have any other WIPs I'm currently working on, so just two :p

Top 3 Biggest Writing Improvements

Experimenting with perspective and the form of telling a story. Embracing the poetry and lyricism in my writing and the challenge of how to make it work. Doing the avant-garde things I've been wanting to do; didn't do it all, but got through some items on the bucket list.

Top 2 Resolutions

Experiment with every work: it doesn't matter in which way or how, but incorporate something I wouldn't normally do to keep myself from growing complacent. Keep up with the 2 days of writing, 1 day of resting rinse-and-repeat cycle while working on a project - gives me motive and there's built-in rest for when I'm tired of keeping myself so I can go write.

Top 1 Line(s) of the Year

Our Father, our Dream Lord, Morpheus upon a dream. Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Name is a Kingdom. Let our splendor know how little it compares to Thine Eyes, allow the art of any world to know the Artist in our sight. Thy Work is the universe Thou breathes out of sand. Are we not the many gems Thou polished into diamonds? To wear upon Thou and know that Thou have seen us for what we are. We humble at Thy Gift, give us our every color as we may warn that we are Thine, not the masterpiece of another. And forgive us for our trespass, as we scorch our blasphemy. And lead us not from salvation, but deliver us in Dreaming. Amen.

Tagging, if you wish to participate -> @duplicitywrites, @voxofthevoid, @fellshish, @thechaoscryptid, @backwardshirt, and anyone else who wants to play along ^u^

[titoist]

philosophy might be more akin to poetry than to a hard science, but it's no less valuable for it.

i received this ask on the 6th of may of this year. for some time, perhaps a week or so, my internal rhythms & thought processes were organized around the idea of "replying to it". not actually sitting down & choosing to write out a reply. at no point during that period did i even write out a small draft of what i'd like to say, nor any kind of general outline. but, all the same, i was very much obsessed with the idea of doing so, a kind of hypothetical action that ought to be happening. it actually occurring felt uniquely out of the question - i was too preoccupied with a kind of bliss to devote any slice of time from it. on may 5th, for example, settling down on the couch beneath my curtains at 2pm & staying quiet as the dim tan light shone on me, feeling exceptionally & unprecedentedly loved. disrupting an entire month of moments like these merely to ruin them by forcing them to be actively thought about, put to words - it would have been a crime. i could not have lived with myself. it was beyond question! but the bliss is more-or-less gone now, & so is the pretense of me having to focus on "More Important Matters" - like some duke who can't spare a glance for the hoi polloi. i'm sorry about taking so long!

i think this ask was in response to a post along the lines of, uh, like… me wanting vaguely to read badiou's "in praise of love", but finding no drive to read about love when i felt i already had it surrounding me, how it would feel kind of absurd & backwards, etc. something super maudlin like that. so, ok, here's, uh, like, uhmmmm, uh, something akin to a response i've been able to finally muster my energy into:

in my original post there might have been a kind of false dichotomy i inadvertently established, inwhere philosophy was (to some degree) "less valuable". i think this is potentially true only to the extent that philosophy is distinctly unrelated to actual lived experience - it's a set of theoretical tools you can point at lived experience, like a weapon. but even with that clause in place, i agree - in any case, i've always been hopeless at hard sciences, so philosophy and poetry are the only hopes i've got!