#i've wanted to use this poem for about 3 years and just realized it fits them perfectly

[johnslittlespoon]

It just makes so much sense that you were writing in 2013, you have the unhinged vibe that the golden fics from that era had.

I'm just here to compliment you really lol, mostly because I am giving a try to write a lil something for the first time and god I can only dream of ever being able to write as good as you. I've been writing poems and music for years now but i find writing actual coherent storys with characters and dialogue so so hard.

I was wondering if you have any tips, or like little rules you follow when you write.

all the love, xxx

🌷

I'M GONNA CRYYYY this was the sweetest thing in the world to wake up to wtf wtf <333 thank you SO much, i really appreciate this wahh my heart :'))) but also you are SILLY. don't compare yourself to others!! if we all did that constantly we'd never get anything written!! there are SO many authors i adore on here that will always have me chasing the "i wish i could write like that" feeling and it's a great motivator but alsooo at the end of the day. you gotta fall in love with your own words and characters and stories <33

and i feel that so much!! we are twinsss, i also started out writing poems and music and then realized i had stories i wanted to tell that wouldn't fit in shorter form, then discovered fanfic in middle school in the early '10s and it was all downhill from there LOL. truly such a golden era tho oh my god. growing up reading the hat fic and borderline illegible wattpad stories was certainly... formative!

yapping ahead vv (i don't have much advice bc i'm still just learning as i go but hopefully some stuff i picked up on can be a bit helpful!)

i have zero method to the madness when writing so it's a relief to know it doesn't come off that way LOL but i do have a few little things that i follow and i always look for them when beta–ing as well! they're pretty small technical things and they're generally up to personal preference, but some of them come from authors i admire and i think they can really take anyone's writing up a notch <3

i don't feel qualified to give advice because i'm just raw–dogging everything lmao i've never taken classes or anything, so take all this yapping with a grain of salt bc it's just what's worked for me!

– i try to use descriptors like "the man" or "the blond" or "his friend" etc sparingly. i wish i could remember the source, but i read a great piece about why it's better to just go with the character's name 99% of the time, and then i went through so many of my works to edit them and i felt so much more confident in my writing afterwards– it made a big difference in readability (imo).

ofc there are exceptions, like if the name of a character is unknown, or if there are too many names being thrown around in one sentence and a "the man" or "the soldier" etc just sits nicer. i definitely still use them occasionally! but it does sometimes put some distance between the reader and the story when those descriptors are used too often instead of names, so it's a good thing to keep an eye out for when it comes to flow. sometimes less or more or whateva ??

– sorta on the topic of less is more, i love challenging myself to show vs tell when i can! whether it's by keeping dialogue short and letting actions speak instead (can add to intimacy/realism– we communicate so much through body language yk), through metaphors (literally how my whole '#john egan is dog coded' fic was born LOL), or describing feelings rather than spelling them out (his heart ached vs he was sad, his pulse raced vs he was scared, you get the gist). you said you've been writing poems so i feel like stuff like that would already probably come easily to you tho! <3

– this guide on ao3 is great for smut writers! whether someone's a beginner or just looking for ways to elevate the filth, i found it really helpful, it's a fun read as well lol. it calls out stereotypes/cliches and teaches you how to reword them, gives lists of slang and reactionary words, do's and don't's, etc. i don't follow everything in it but that's the beauty of writing; we all have things that work for us and things that don't and that's so okay. :-)

– in the same way that artists use references to practice and find their style, you can do that with writing too! i know a lot of writers have a doc or note where they jot down stylistic things they find while reading that they'd like to emanate, or words they want to use, specific phrases, descriptors, etc. if i'm reading a fic and find an auditory descriptor i like, i might take note of it, stuff like that. sorta like a text document version of a pinterest board!

– thesaurus.com is my best friend truly. often going with the 'simplest' version of a word makes for smoothest reading so someone isn't taken out of the story being like wtf does that word mean lol but sometimes things can feel repetitive, or like there just needs to be a little bit more spice; i probs go back and forth btwn my doc and thesaurus a dozen times an hour tbh.

that's all i can think of rn and ik those are pretty basic so i'm sorry about that!! i really do just kinda write what evokes emotions in myself, and then i hit post and hope it translates over to whoever is reading too :') drawing from your own experiences if you can/really sitting with what the characters would be feeling in whatever scenario you're writing is probably the most powerful way to present what you see in your mind.

i have a hard time writing about emotions/things i haven't personally experienced, so i usually stray away from it out of fear of not getting across what i want to, but some people are great at winging it and putting themselves in unfamiliar shoes so!! it's again just personal preference really.

and alsooo be kind to yourself! i'm an anxious wreck every time i post any of my writing, i am very much not confident when posting new fics and i agonize over my docs so much and trash a lot of works, but i know at the end of the day i can't grow or learn if i don't get the words down, and i can't get feedback or gain confidence if i don't post. becoming your own hype man and giving yourself the opportunity to improve is essential <33

sooo much love and best of luck!!! lmk if you end up writing smth, i'd love to read it (◠‿◠✿)

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

2022 Wrapped

Tagged by @seriouslysam8

Sorry for not doing this in 2022, I was busy last night!

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

Well since I only published 5 works this makes my life easy!

i wrote a poem (you say what a mind) - my first ever fanfic! just a nice sweet moment between Harry and Ginny in OOTP. I feel like it's not a secret that I love missing moments between those two in OOTP.

island breeze with the lights down low - I WROTE SMUT?!?

up on a roof with a school girls crush - written for several sunlit daylights! Also a New Year's Eve fic, so very fitting for the day!

the road not taken looks real good now - also written for several sunlit daylights (not that it had to be, all of my fics are slightly based off of Taylor Swift songs). Harry and Ginny just get a much needed moment of peace before the horcrux hunt

god rest my soul - a quick oneshot I wrote a few days ago about the impact Tom has on Ginny. I am really proud of the prose on this fic.

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

I will be honest, not sure I have 4.

the breaks in your soul - a oneshot about a double date between Lavender/Ron and Ginny/Dean. It is like 99% done, I just am not happy with the last paragraph and honestly I hate the title. I have been scouring Taylor Swift lyrics to find something better and nothing has clicked yet. So it will stay a WIP until I find a better title!

barefoot in the kitchen - I posted a scene of this for Several Sunlit Daylights. It is just a bunch of missing moments of Harry and Ginny in the kitchen over the years!

time can't stop me quite like you did - this is my baby. I've been thinking about this fic for maybe 2 years now. Some dark magic happens while cleaning Grimmauld Place causing Harry and Ginny to get stuck in a time loop. They must work together to figure out how to get out of the time loop and why they are the only two stuck in it. Originally it was a one shot and then I wrote a lot and now its a multi-chapter fic. Hopefully you see this in 2023.

I have ideas post time can't stop me quite like you did, so in theory those are mental WIPs

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

Well to start off I posted a fic this year! I got over that huge mental leap and started to share my work!

I think my detail in my prose have improved. I try to paint more and more of a picture of the scene.

I used to struggle with dialogue, and not I think I have some natural banter and flow! Still needs a little improvement, but that is okay!

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year

To focus when I write. I often write 100 words and then go off and do something else. I want to dedicate some time to writing each week.

I want to build more of a community with my writing! That is my favorite things about fandom, and I just want to continue to build on what I have! (love you to all of my mutuals!)

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year

I'll be honest, I am not 100% sure this is my favorite, but I do really like it! A scene from the road not taken...

Her bed was much colder now that Harry no longer occupied it with her. Now that she had experienced fire, everything else felt cold. The frigid feeling froze Ginny as she realized this new bitterness would stick with her when Harry really left for good.

Tagging (sorry if you have already been tagged I have no clue who has participated!)

@displayheartcode @nuatthebeach @thegirlwhowrites642 @ginnyw-potter

[serephinastardust]

Mother and daughter lament

Growing up female is hard,

Raising a female is worst.

The constant comparing,

To all those around you,

No matter the era its true.

My girls, please stop comparing,

You know I will never judge your size.

Just know genetics will be favorable.

For you...

A twig means starvation,

Anemic or bulimic.

Here's what my childhood shows.

Not twiggy or skinny or perfect.

Overweight and thick I always was.

From swimming to softball,

To musicals and colorguard,

I was doing it all.

When puberty hit my fat disappeared,

Gaining curves and boobs and butt,

I struggled with my own self image,

A demon still latched to me now,

Always called fat by family,

I didn't realize I blossomed so well,

From ugly duckling to swan,

So you have alot to anticipate still.

My girls, so young,

Don't grow up yet, please,

Though genetics will bless you,

I fear you won't see it,

And forever compare what you see.

Being a female is hard,

Society is evil, its the truth,

The perfect body will never exist.

Being a female is not a competition,

Across the world, I make this promise,

Eating well, and being active,

Is the best body for all.

So I beg you my girls,

Don't let this demon latch on you,

It's whispers are extremely dangerous.

I hope my words and prayers protect you.

The last thing I want,

For my vision to see,

Are demons like mine latch on you.

My girls, please smile,

My girls, please stop comparing,

My girls, please stay you, all your life,

My girls, my girls, beautiful girls.

Remember being female is hard,

Remember society is evil,

Remember you own your image,

Remember our home is free of judgement.

Remember I'm weighed down by these things.

Remember I'll help, just use your voice.

And finally your life if your choice.

‐--------

(Poem inspiration/backstory)

This came to me today, after my 6y daughter freaked out because her jeans weren't fitting right. The back of her pants kept lifting off her back, giving her the feeling that they were too loose. And had to search for some childhood pictures of myself to prove that I was never skinny. It took until puberty for me loose belly fat.

What I didn't tell her was I grew up being called fat, mainly from father, so when I became a beautiful young women, i felt ugly. I was always about 150lbs from elementary to now. But always active. I never understood that my thickness was because of muscles, i never understood strong muscles were heavier than muscles. I was scared of looking muscular. It was only in the last few years, I got that demon to shut its ugly face. Though it keeps trying to speak me. And this past year was the worst with my demons. I've been slowly losing my desire to eat, it's hard to find food I can enjoy without getting sick of it. Things I used to like a month or two ago make me figuratively sick. And working out at the gym has born no obvious signs of change because I can't properly eat. I know I'm not fat, fat. Having 4 kids weakening the ab muscles and all. But having stubborn, is self doubt inducing. Even if I'm 20xs stronger than I was a year ago.

I hope my girls ages 7 and 3, will never struggle like I do at age 32 with body image, and feeling right about myself. I pray they dont try and compare themselves to their brothers, one a twig but can easily hold 170lbs, the other with meat on his bones but probably just as strong.

[married-to-google-translater]

Who is your top 5 charaters?

Werty's official top 5 husbando list. This usually doesn't change at all.

#5 Juuzou Suzuya

This boy needs a hug. A really big and warm hug.

By the way, the important question is does Juuzou count as an albino? I only realized it while writing this.

But to the point. I really like Juuzou's backstory and how his "madness and murderousness" are given reasons. Juuzou is just a good character who has experienced hell. Just the kind of character who does "bad" things but who you still want to succeed. Also, he has a really good voice actor.

Juuzou's character is just well executed. And now I know I'm not the only one who likes to poke holes in them skin with a needle.

.

#4 Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato is just really relatable. And I don't mean that I carry a teddy bear with me inside which I keep my mother's ashes. I mean asperger traits that Kanato clearly has.

The following asperger traits are taken from the everydayhealth website, the source material can be found here.

Fascination with certain topics, Problems expressing empathy, controlling emotions, or communicating feelings, Tendency to engage in one-sided conversations (about oneself), Lack of common sense

I think these fit the Kanato character well. He doesn't understand sarcasm, is obsessively interested in his "dolls", Not really good at showing empathy or controlling his emotions, can't stand touch and assumes others think the worst of him.

And no, I'm not going to start diagnosing Kanato now. I'm just saying that he has many traits that an Asperger person can identify with.

( Honorable mention to Idia who held the #3 spot for over a year. )

#3 DOUMA

Ladies, Gentlemen and others Douma is here and he is really hot.

Werty has been a Douma simp since 2020.

Yes Douma Finally made it to this list. I have always liked Douma.

His backstory and character is just really well done. Douma has always been something that interests me. Even at the beginning, when I really hated his desing and eyebrows. But no matter what I did, I always ended up reading Douma fanfiction. I could start watching Hentai and then after half an hour I found myself reading Douma yandere writings. I still don't understand how it happened. I just really love him.

# 2 Leviathan

I remember at first I hated him too. "Once again someone is making fun of us anime/manga enthusiasts" I thought.

But the more I played the game, the more relatable Leviathan's character felt. I actually didn't even know what an Otaku was until I met him.

Leviathan also has autistic traits and is one of my comfort characters. I have never identified with any character so much. He is also funny and his voice actor does a good job.

#1 Azusa Mukami

Roses are red, violets are blue i love this masochistic vampire more than i ever can love you.

A poem I would recite to my boyfriend if he ever asked if I loved Azusa more than him. No wonder I'm single.

I have been an Azusa simp since 2018 or 2019.

And let's be clear right away that I like Azusa 100,00 times more than Leviathan. So there's really no competition for the number one spot. The day I say I love a some character more than Azusa I've lost my mind.

I love his personality, his backstory, how he really gets a lot of development throughout the game, and how masochistic he can be in creative ways. Also, the fact that Azusa thinks pain is love is really sweet.

His voice actor does a really good job and I can even listen to the English dub without internal bleeding.

Azusa is love Azusa is life

......

I guess I have a thing for characters with mental health problems.

[anonymous-swiftie]

If you are on twitter, please retweet this:

https://twitter.com/ASwiftie00/status/1334245577933148164?s=19

Dear #Swifties,

I'm new on tumblr, and I really don't know how to use it.

I know you are the best supporters of the music industry and I'm here to ask your help.

I'm fighting with a crippling depression, that due this covid situation just got worse.

I'm at my lowest, I truly don't know if I will make it through this time.

I always dreamed to talk to Taylor, since I was a teenager. She is the only one that make me feel like I do fit in this world.

I've created this account because I know she is very active here, and I'm trying to reach her with this part of my story.

You can read everything below.

I didn't write any personal information because I don't want this to be seen by my family or somebody that can recognise me.

I don't want upset anyone.

I know that everyone hope to meet or chat with her, and so you are probably wondering why you have to share this here.

You're totally right, maybe it's a stupid idea to ask you this, but I haven't anything left in my pocket to fight this situation, and you're my only hope right now.

Thank you.

#taylor #swift

*******************************************

Dear Taylor,

I keep writing and deleting this, over and over again.

I feel so dumb to write my personal story here, but this truly is my last chance to feel better and try to overcome this giant monster called depression.

I genuinly don't know if I can make it through this year. It's the worst period of my entire life and i don't even know if it's worth living this hell anymore.

I know you have millions of supporters (that probably write you every single day, and they are all better fans than I am, that's for sure) but I know that you proved, time after time, to be so down to earth and to use your time to read your fans messages.. so, in this moment, I'm just trying to share a part of my story with you.

You are the one that make feel understood, since I was like 13teen.

I'm so sorry if my English isn't very good but I'll do my best.

I'm not very active on social media , because I'm very shy when I have to talk about myself.. but If this could work, I must do it.

I will try to send a letter, If I can find the strength to mark this feeling on paper.

**IF I'M WRITING TO SOMEBODY FROM HER STAFF, PLEASE JUST LET THIS MESSAGE REACH TAYLOR**

I'll try now to resume, because I don't want to bother you too much.

This has been a crazy year so far, and the all the time I spent by myself during the lockdown didn't help at all.

This situation brought me back to childhood.

I spent a lot of my days back and forth in hospitals, due to my allergies.

I had to wear a mask all the time I wanted to go outside to avoid severe allergic reaction (that's why this Covid thing awakened some hurting memories)

I didn't have real friends back then, 'cause I've spent most of the summers at home, watching other kids playing around, from my window, or from the windows of my classroom.

It was so hard to make new friends, because the only thing that other kids saw was my mask.

I was the masked kid.

I was the strange kid.

I couldn't play with them.

Everytime I tried to play with them, the only thing I heard was "oh you are ill , I don't wanna be like you so stay away".

This situation made me start to write things in my personal diary.

I wrote small sentences, as a kid, and that was the only thing I could do alone inside an empty classroom during all summer.

This situation continued  for many years.

I wasn't the cool kid before, I wasn't the cool guy after.

The only things that let me enjoy those days were writing and listening to your songs.

I started to listen to your music thanks to my English teacher. She was a fan of folk and country music and she gave me a pic in which you were singing near a lake (I still have that photo somewhere, I strongly remember the white banner with your name written in red on it) and told me to listen to the cd she gave me that day.

I immediately fell in love (I think I still have a crush on you, I'm sorry).

I loved your album. I loved your voice. I loved the lyrics.

I remember having a "test" in school: each one of the class had to write their favourite lyrics and let the others guess the song.

If the someone guessed It, We could play the cd.

I chose Love Story and I translated it in Italian.

The class guessed the song, and I played it.

After the lunch break I went back to my desk and I saw some bullies that were breaking my cd-album and they started to laugh at me because I loved your music an I loved writing poems.

I was a boy so I was a loser because I enjoyed those things.

That felt terrible, but I continued to love your songs even more .

Those were my inspiration to write and to study english.

I felt so good when I listened to your album and this still happens.

Then I went to a private high-school.

Nothing changed, I still was the nerd guy that always got good grades and I have to say that the first year was quite good, but the second year was the start of the apocalypse.

I choose that school because two girls that I knew from childhood went there.

One of the cool new guys started to spread a fake "news" about me.

He said to everyone that I was the boyfriend of one of the two girls that I mentioned before.

So he was the cool guy and one of the girls believed him and told me to f*** myself.

The other girl was her best friend, so you could imagine by what happened next.

After 14 year spent together, I was nobody.

I didn't have "friends" in that class anymore.

I didn't say hello to anybody for 4 years, and nobody would say anything to me.

Nobody to talked with me.

That's great when you're a teenager.

I hated to wake up every morning.

I had an eating disorder, I lost like 22pounds in less than a month. Got hospitalized twice. I kept vomiting for 3 years, every single morning before school.

During that time I only talked with one of my cousins, who lived like 2 hours by car from me.

He was older than me but he always tried to help.

He knew that I loved to write poems so he started to give me guitar lessons.

I made it through a lot of things thanks to him.

I'm sorry, It's hard for me to write this part of the story.

I still get emotional when I think about this.

On the 10TH of December 2013 (some days after his birthday) we received a phone call from his mother: She warned us that he didn't return home after the last working shift.

I wrote a message to him like 3 hours prior to that phone call.

Never had the opportunity to get a reply again.

This year is the seventh year that he is missing.

That destroyed me.

I felt empty.

I felt like nothing couldn't help me.

I still feel that everytime I care about someone in my life, it will disappear someday.

This have happened several other times.

You know when ignorants say that men don't cry, is real bullshit. Men cry. I cried a lot.

I wrote so many poems , lyrics, thoughts in that period of time, that I destroyed my hands.

That was the only way to close my eyes and let me reach another reality because the real one was way too much for me.

Be a sensible man in this world is somehow a curse.

All these things made me afraid  even to hug someone 'cause I feel I'm too ugly or just to scared to be refused.

I will stop here my story, but there's so much more to tell.

I make it through all of these things and memories because I keep dreaming that one day I could meet you and we could talk together.

Dreaming about the fact I could spend a day with you made me find the power to battle my depression.

I'm 25 now and this year I'm not dreaming anymore.

I was going to start again university, I wanted to get a degree in marketing and have the chance to live in the us.

For years I believed that I would make it and hopefully be part of your marketing team.

I'm so stupid. All these years I kept dreaming to avoid pain.

I wanted to pursue my passion and continue to write lyrics but all I was doing was putting myself in unrealistic realities.

This covid situation made everything clear.

When everyone had someone to facetime (or video call) I was alone.

When everyone had someone asking them "how are you?" I only had myself looking in the mirror saying: "Will I ever feel better?"

I've never been the one for anybody, and I think I'll never be.

I won't be the one among all your fans to realize his dream.

Nobody likes me, and I'm exposing myself once again just because I want the opportunity to smile at something that could happen to me.

I'm tired to smile only for others best moments.

I've always seen the sun through a window.

I want to feel happy.

I want to burn my face with the sun.

I'm so sick of hiding my pain,

sick to cry when I'm alone in my car before going to work,

sick to let my eyes rain on my pillow every night.

I'm sick to say to my mother that I'm fine, just because I don't want to make her feel bad.

It's not her fault.

She is battling with a degenerative autoimmune disease, why I should put other weight on her shoulders?

I didn't give up to my weakness before because I don't want to hurt her.

I always say to her that soon she will feel better, that's why your song It's stuck in my head.

But when she won't be here anymore, how I can go through all of that?

I don't even know if will ever get better for me.

Will this pain ever stop?

Sometimes it's so hard to live and so easy to die.

Hope that my dream to spend some time with you can become true.

Thank you for everything, you gave me the strength to go on for many years.. But this time is so hard to put on my armor and continue this battle.

But is this even worth if thy I try to surround myself with people and I always feel lonely?

D.

@taylorswift @taylornation @jackleopards-thedolphinclub

[shanastoryteller]

Saw your post mentioning reading your favorite poems and I was wondering what they were? I've never really liked poems but I really liked that one by Emily Dickson you put in the front of that teen wolf fic so you probably have really good taste in poems, and I've been trying to find some to like.

Good Bones by Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.Life is short, and I’ve shortened minein a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,a thousand deliciously ill-advised waysI’ll keep from my children. The world is at leastfifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservativeestimate, though I keep this from my children.For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,sunk in a lake. Life is short and the worldis at least half terrible, and for every kindstranger, there is one who would break you,though I keep this from my children. I am tryingto sell them the world. Any decent realtor,walking you through a real shithole, chirps onabout good bones: This place could be beautiful,right? You could make this place beautiful.

~

Because I could not stop for Death (479)

Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no hasteAnd I had put awayMy labor and my leisure too,For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children stroveAt Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us – The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemedA Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yetFeels shorter than the DayI first surmised the Horses’ HeadsWere toward Eternity –

~

this one is an old nursery rhyme:

One bright day in the middle of the night, Two dead boys got up to fight. They turned their backs and faced each other, Drew their swords and shot the other. One was blind and the other couldn’t see, So they chose a fool for their referee. A mute eyewitness screamed with fright.A cripple danced to see the sight. A deaf policeman heard the noise.He came and shot the two dead boys.A paralyzed donkey passing by,Kicked the copper in the eye, And knocked him through a rubber wall, Into a ditch and drowned them all.If you don’t believe this lie is true,Ask the blind man. He saw it too.

~

She swearsshe will nevergive birthto a daughter.Won’t evenplant a garden.— Adira Bennett

~

Do not go gentle into that good night

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,Old age should burn and rave at close of day;Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,Because their words had forked no lightning theyDo not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how brightTheir frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sightBlind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.Do not go gentle into that good night.Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

~

My mouth is a fire escape.The words coming outdon’t care that they are naked.There is something burning in here.

— Andrea Gibson

~

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

By Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weepI am not there; I do not sleep.I am a thousand winds that blow,I am the diamond glints on snow,I am the sun on ripened grain,I am the gentle autumn rain.When you awaken in the morning’s hushI am the swift uplifting rushOf quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

~

Never regret thy fall,O Icarus of the fearless flightFor the greatest tragedy of them allIs never to feel the burning light

— Oscar Wilde

~

Annabel Lee BY EDGAR ALLAN POEIt was many and many a year ago,   In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know   By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought   Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child,   In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love—   I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven   Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago,   In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling   My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came   And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre   In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,   Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,   In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night,   Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love   Of those who were older than we—   Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above   Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,   In her sepulchre there by the sea—   In her tomb by the sounding sea.

~

self-parodies & psalms for shit-scared twenty-somethings by gyzm

is perhaps my favorite poem and just gut punches me whenever i read it but they are a tumblr person who’s poem deserves more attention so please reblog/comment on their poem directly :)

1.

most of what i’ve learned in the first half of my twenties is to embrace statistics i’m not smart enough to verify; theones about black holes and how much of the universe is justempty space: between atoms and from one planet to another.it makes it easier, to stare at my overcrowded sink and thinkthat to get from the floor of this filthy kitchen to the neareststar would take more lifetimes than i could borrow or steal.maybe there is a single withered raspberry molding beneath every single plate i own but in the scheme of things that’s insignificant, a non-event in the life of a non-event, and so canwait until tomorrow, when this hangover is gone.

2.

please, god, don’t let me die before i turn thirty. i’ve heardthat that’s when it all comes together, and i know those’re allfish stories, probably, the lies of those who need to pretend justlike me, but hell, i choose to believe. because the thing is, god, if idie tomorrow, a few years from now, i can pretty much guarantee it’ll be in torn underpants, on a bad hair day, in a bra that doesn’t fitthe way i’d like it to; please, god, don’t let me die before i work outhow to drag myself out of bed in time to dry my hair every morning. i’vebeen promising myself for years i’d learn to get off the couch on monday nights and do laundry, god, okay, i don’t mind living in dirty jeans but i don’t want to die in them, i’m begging, i thank you, i’m sorry, amen.

3.

there should be a page at the back of every baby book thatsays “baby’s first moment of cold realization that they are an gigantic shitheaded asshole.” it’s important, as milestones go. iknow it’s not as glamorous as a first word or a graduation but i’dargue that developmentally, it means at least as much — god knows i put more thought into the bleak portrait of myself at two a.m., staring haggard out from the filmy surface of my mirror, than i did in my ham-fisted infant attempts to say my father’s name. it would benice, is all, to have a warning, to flip through pages of childhood accomplishments and see that placeholder, at the end; to know that the future was coming, inevitably, to make dipshits of us all.

4.

don’t put liquid soap in the dishwasher. don’t put your vibrator in the dishwasher. don’t forget that your mother is coming over until fifteen minutes before she shows up and put every scrap ofevidence that you are a disaster zone living underneath a veneerof overdone eye makeup and slapdash dreams of better tomorrowsin the dishwasher. don’t put your grandmother’s china, that vase you bought at the flea market, a bowl half-full of aged guacamole,in the dishwasher. on the mornings that will keep coming — when the shower does not seem like enough, when you can feel your long history of mistakes pockmarking your face and oozing out from beneath your armpits — don’t put yourself in the dishwasher.

5.

the human body replaces skin cells so quickly that two weeks from now, every part of me will be brand new, and i will still feel as though i have spent my first quarter-century on this planet touching both too much and not enough. that feels profound atthis moment but the human body replaces humiliations fastereven than skin; two weeks from now i will remember saying this,stare at the ceiling above my bed and think: no one has ever been as big of an asshole as you are. there are billions of stars in our galaxy and billions of galaxies in our universe and my ceiling is the only clean part of my apartment. i know it’s a fish story, but c’mon, god, okay — i’m just asking to believe i’ll make it to thirty better dressed; less selfish.

[aridangiab]

I posted 1,022 times in 2021

7 posts created (1%)

1015 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 145.0 posts.

I added 12 tags in 2021

#mythoughts - 3 posts

#fullmoon - 1 posts

#flowers - 1 posts

#aesthetic - 1 posts

#feelingblue - 1 posts

#me - 1 posts

#exerpts from my journal - 1 posts

#i wanna start writing here more often - 1 posts

#since i've been so out of touch with writing - 1 posts

#womp - 1 posts

Longest Tag: 44 characters

#since i've been so out of touch with writing

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

These were fun to make and delightful to eat with family and friends!

2 notes • Posted 2021-03-23 12:21:54 GMT

#4

5 notes • Posted 2021-03-06 00:08:11 GMT

#3

My realizations...come so late? I suppress them because I "can't bother" addressing them, but when I'm ready a whole year later I'll finally be like "ah so I was being used in x manner and therefore feeling y emotion" "oh no wonder he feels this way" "damn I really be bending my back for this" "but I wasn't really happy with that tho" "I'm sacrificing my values for this??" "I easily could have won that argument had I chosen to fight" "I was such a coward during x" "woops that was a huge blunder" "maybe I should have done y".

AND THEY HIT ALL AT ONCE idgi is it immaturity from my part or am I neglecting my processing skills lololol

Maybe it really is "I can't bother"....cuz I know my actual priorities in life are elsewhere. But I can't continue to ignore things that matter in the long-term at the cost of my self-preservation now, can I?

Well, the more you know. Better late than never.

7 notes • Posted 2021-07-02 03:12:22 GMT

#2

It's those...things that are mundane for everyone that I've made special to myself. Like running to Tim's during break. Being offered a snack and sharing my own. Getting down all class notes without zoning out and finding pen marks for scars littering my hand at the end of the day. Slipping into the comfiest clothes in preparation for a long day. Leisure banter with family, goofing around with friends. Respecting and being respected. Getting my portion of Quran done after Fajr, just in time to squeeze in a bit of sleep before class. A phonecall that lasts an hour and regrounds a friendship. The smell of grinding coffee beans while packing my meals.

Those seemingly normal things are exciting to me. Like walking to Subway on a rainy Friday to explore new food with friends. Cracking open a book I bought because this itch of interest just wouldn't go away. A conversation with quality people that's so engaging I just do all the listening. The golden morning sun on the drive to school, and the pink clouds on the drive home. Catching sight of the moon when walking with my brothers. Baking something new. The smell of espresso filling a sleepy classroom. And running to the Chinese grocery store across school to grab some ramen for the weekend.

All these little things, that heal the wounds of grief and death. The self-made support group of little bits of happiness to make up for the lack of support from family and friends when I actually needed it. And even now, when I'm wide awake at night with uncontrollable thoughts and memories about a loved one no longer here on this earth, my heart sinks into a familiar, familiar sea. A sea I once drowned in but now learn to sail through. A sea I occasionally dip into, now that I know how to swim. A sea of bittersweet truth. Of a past so dark and stormy I could not bear to look ahead.

Whether happy or sad, my soul does not fit in this earth. It wants to go somewhere else.

So remember these. Sweet bits of happiness. And the horrific sadness. I become my own support group as I have my entire life. Maybe because my soul knows what it's seeing and it trusts that I listen to it. Because it taught me that I'm lonely, but not alone.

- Nadira B.

13 notes • Posted 2021-05-31 02:18:18 GMT

#1

There are poems I've written that I'll never post or share. Journal entries I can't help but skip when reviewing my progress.

They are too raw, too dark, and expose too much of my scars and demons. There's a heaviness with which they cling to my throat when I come across them, neatly handwritten and thinly veiling an anger only I can detect.

Maybe one day when I can smile at those verses instead of freeze, I can show them off to friends disguised as aesthetic angst, and laugh it off with them.

Looking back, it took alot of violence to become gentle.

14 notes • Posted 2021-09-06 16:28:31 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[vagabondpainter-blog]

Catching up

It all is so far away now, counted as well in days as in weeks, in kilometers, in miles or in impressions, in encounters and insights, or measured by fruitless attempts to write this blog.

To catch up while still keeping this Text readable, I will shorten things, I will have to be unjust.

The people I met, friends I visited, friends I found, even strangers who gave advice or help before quickly disappearing again along the ever winding road, they all deserved more words of gratitude, the landscapes I've seen, the early morning mists, birdsong, rough hills and gentle streams, they are all worthy of poems, paintings, and some day hopefully I will find the rest to praise them rightly.

And about people, about friends: I will not talk in depth about them here, maybe some of the closest not even talk about at all or just mention briefly. That is because trust and friendship are sacred, I don't want anyone to have to worry about being displayed and evaluated here, or conversations being put on public display. That's why my tale will sound probably egocentric at times. Besides some points I take out of conversations I'm determined to keep this a blog only about the experiences and lessons I came across, to share and hopefully inspire, but leave people their privacy.

So informations about others I'll keep vague and brief except for some relevant points now and then if they are required as context.

For now it's these fragments, learned lessons and impressions:

1] The Kindness Of Strangers

The boat leaves in the late afternoon, yet I'm here already. It wasn't easy to say goodbye to friends. Its the moment when you painfully realize what you leave behind before you find the courage to let things go and to jump into an uncertain future. I'm grateful that there have been friends to be missed, friends waving when I left and many people, places and memories to cherish, so rather say 'Thank you' than 'Good bye'.

Now I'm here, not sure how to store a bicycle on the ferry, what to do and where to go. A fellow cyclist reassures me that everything will be ok and shows how to secure the bicycle before we part and enter the huts.

It is a smooth sailing on calm waters. I take position on the south side and watch, watch how Ijmuiden floats away, see Zandvoort passing in the distance, let memories rise out of the parting waves until much later the last dim reflection of the sun is swallowed by the darkness of the water.

Next morning I watch the sunrise from the front-deck before later slowly the shore of Britain appears on the horizon.

Back in the belly of the ship, bicycle is packed and we wait for permission to get on land. My fellow cyclist is here again and we find out that we worked in the same field, be it in different positions, until lately when I quit my job. Healthcare in general, and psychiatry in particular seems to struggle with the same problems on both sides of the water- lack of resources combined with an abundance of expectations and many self-declared specialists eagerly waiting on the sidelines to tell you how exactly you should do your job. I don't regret my step.

Soon we change the subject, talk about more uplifting things, like freedom, travels, cycling and living life.

I'm glad he offers to accompany me for the first few miles, show me the way and help me get accustomed to cycling on the left side of the road.

While traveling the shore, he realizes that my journey later would take me along the A1, the most dangerous and deadly road of Britain. Plans change and a bit later I find myself in a nice cozy house, greeted by a friendly dog. The family is gathered now, they brought dutch scones and there I am, arrived in Britain, eating dutch bread and being made welcome.. and grateful.

Later they even offer me a lift along the A1 so I can continue my journey quite a few miles north on a safe bicycle path.

Actually- actually I made a promise to myself when I gave up my home- to leave every place I visit a little bit nicer, tidier or kinder then I found it, be it a small bit within my powers only.

Yet here I am, receiving all this kindness and struggling to find a way to give a tiny thing at least.

A small contribution I might be able to make after all- the lady of the house is an artist and I hope to come back and spend some time, exchanging tips and knowledge about painting.

It won't really be able to repay the welcome, they didn't know how much it meant- this first encounter on the new path, a sense of home in the world out there.

2] Of Hunters, Vegans, Spiders, Flies, and Shamans too

For my first working assignment I arrive one or two days late.

The bicycle paths in Britain are made for leisure, not for means of transportation, to get from A to B, you sometimes get sent along the beautiful yet rough and rocky road uphill through E to G.

In the morning my host comes to town to give me a lift uphill so I don't need to climb up to the cottage. We soon find out a difference in lifestyle, that either might lead to conflict or to very interesting talks-

While I myself took up a vow years ago to restrain from eating or even using animal products, he is an outspoken and passionate hunter and skillful hunting guide.

Greeted by a friendly dog and a flock of even friendlier chickens I put up my hammock next to a cottage that has seen many years, some of them hard, now regaining its beauty under its tenants committed work.

Not only the growing vegetables outside provide some common ground to get along, we soon find out, as the Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh once said: “If you wish to be understood, you should listen very carefully”

I put aside any prejudice and get a chance to actually learn- a hunter may just as much care about nature and all life in it as the convinced vegan.. not every hunter of course, some are in it for profit just as some vegans are in it for pride.

Those others, those on both sides who actually do care, more and more appear to me as devoted parents arguing about the best cure for their sick child. Later I will briefly encounter a native American shaman and will have to realize that those revered ancient cultures are hunters too.

And when I rescue a little spider after that the other day, it strikes me, how many other insects I might have sent to certain death by saving this one predator...

In the end it seems that our technological power has by far outgrown our human wisdom and it's estrangement from nature what deceives us to take extreme positions- on one side some are abusing sensible, breathing, childbearing live as if it where an industrial product, which makes us a parasite in the organs of life, while on the other side we might not interfere when necessary and so get complicit in catastrophes out of fear of causing individual harm, which is neglect of our responsibilities as intelligent life form.

Life is sustained by devouring itself in any form. In the complex web of interdependence I will continue to avoid harm, but I also learned to judge less those who are willing to intervene, it's the caring about nature, the respecting of life and the willingness to learn about them, what defines whether our actions are righteous and wise, there is not one answer that fits all circumstances.

3] Anam Cara

The path up north led me through the green hills of a land where all the places sound like echoes of long forgotten songs and ancient tales.

Shelters where ready, arranged by friends of a friend, all without expecting anything in return, just out of kindness, setup in beautiful places, the shore of a river, a comfortable trailer in a wide meadow with view on the distant chain of snowy hills, hosts welcoming the traveler, helping and showing me around, and I had to learn that sometimes all one has to offer in return is humble gratitude.

What a strange and beautiful paradise waits in the hills behind Inverness. Anam Cara is the retreat center I work and paint for here.

Lodges and huts are made of timber, stone, from large barrels and from caravans..

I sometimes get lost on the terrain, nothing here is put in a straight line, everything has grown naturally accordingly to the apparent conditions at the time.

It's a place just like its founders and inhabitants, a marriage of Buddhist Dharma and shamanic teachings, enforcing and helping each other by aiming at the same goal from different angles in perfect eclectic harmony.

4] Of Tunnels and Light

At Scottish Borders it is. We follow the shore along the stream, up in the hills, where a long abandoned railroad left its trail, and a tunnel between the trees.

Here, our kind host and guide tells us, many found an experience of transformation.

On a dark day in his life he decided for the first time to go inside.

With the courage of despair he had entered and faced inside this darkness that other darkness which at the time needed to be released. On the other side of the tunnel the light that welcomed him brought the beginning of the change to the better.

We are glad he 's willing to share the experience and I opt for walking first.

Beforehand it all sounded quite easy, just going inside the darkness alone without light and walking through, blindly, until the eyes capture a dim light from the other side.

Now in front of the big black hole amongst the green I doubt for a moment whether I really want to go in.

Threads of fog, hovering at the entrance, weave a mystical web. A chilly breeze greets me as if it where the breath of the earth.

One of the dogs accompanied me on my first steps towards the huge mouth that will swallow me in a moment, and for some time I have the impression the dog is still with me in the dark. I hear my own footsteps and feel this other presence right behind me. Later I learn the dog left me at the entrance already...

Once the darkness surrounds me completely and I should probably feel lost in the void, a deep calm sense of serene silence comes over me, a trust that whatever happens here, is supposed to be and is just perfect as it is. I wander in the timeless spaciousness, listening to my ever slower footsteps.

There is no hurry, no need anymore to get anywhere. While the feet calmly keep going I suddenly loose all intention to either stay or leave. Everything is just about now and now is exactly, perfectly well as it has to be.

Maybe due to a lack of external input, the sense of self dissolves into the black empty space and only a floating undefined feeling of wideness and joy vibrates on.

The first glimpse of light some time later doesn't seduce me to rush, I could just as well stay here, in this very moment for eternity, yet I keep moving.

Never thought the greens of the trees and the grasses, the gentle mos could look as vibrant and intense as they appear while I leave the tunnel. It rather seems, I'm watching the surroundings steadily passing by, then moving myself.

I enjoy the forest with a joy I haven't known so far- like a child looking at trees and clouds and pebbles for the first time ever. I keep walking and keep looking, perceiving without judgment, without naming, without wanting, only looking, smelling, listening, just sensing the stream of impressions calmly arising and taking course.

And I know that nothing ever will be the same, also know now that nothing ever has been the same before. It's freedom to ride on the stream of ever changing appearances without grasping or rejecting, I heard of that, I knew it, could have said these words any time, yet now the tunnel showed that truth in a way, so that I actually could see it too .

5] What is Home?

Back in the Netherlands, coming home from being home, not sure how and why I would deserve this. It must be a natural human kindness I didn't notice before that strongly. Now when I need it, there are friends to let me stay in their place, people offering shelter without expecting anything. I visit friends, I'm humbled and touched by all generosity, and I suspect I might know now, why in some lineages Buddhist monks are obliged to beg for their food- it's only when you depend on others in a way, that you get a chance to realize that, contrary to what the news might tell, human is in essence a very kind and giving being.

I have, for now, just to practice in gratitude to hopefully some day be able to give back.

6] Cow-dung is not Bullshit

Cycling in Germany is a challenge, most roads are forbidden for cyclists, they send you along long winding tracks and don't care to close a path without alternative.

After days of sweating under threatening thunderclouds, in heat, having my navigation gone with the broken phone, getting lost in unknown places, climbing hills without knowing where I am and how to get on, I arrive, days late again.

Now I work at the Schwäbische Alb, there's a small Village on top of a hill and I live here, take care of the garden and paint the portals, just paint, nothing artsy :) but besides being invited to feel at home and greatly being cared for, its my first real encounter with alternative building and painting materials what makes it extra special to be here.

The paint is the etching, burning, kind of chalk that was used for centuries here, but the main lesson is a little building project inside the large shed, a storage room made from clay and dry cow-dung.

I learn from mistakes and from what went well, getting an idea to – one day, some day, after the journeys – maybe build my own alternative home based on experiences and learning ahead.

7] The naked Truth

One more fragment, one I doubted if it was ok to tell, but decided that it should not matter if people think I'm weird, I'm a fifty years old guy giving up a comfortable stable life to cycle around and work without predictable income, not even a pension-plan. I AM weird probably and as long as no one gets hurt I'm free to be as strange as I choose to be.

It's the evening of a hard and hot day, the sun burned my skin dark red and any sweat from cycling uphill dried quickly without cooling me off. I finally find a great spot to spend the night, near a small town or village, but out in the green, well hidden and comfortable.

Before I rest I need to refill my water-supplies and rehydrate myself, also the new used phone I was lucky to receive, does act up, the batteries run quickly, didn't recharge anymore and I want to give it one more try.

It's good as well, to check the vibes of the area, to know the territory and get familiar with the place.

So instead of getting ready for the night I enter the place for a drink and general recharging in the local pizzeria. I'm the only customer inside. The friendly owner refills the bottles and tries to help me with the phone. After a tough day through the hills in merciless heat I enjoy talking to someone before I get back out into the fields. Yet when I tell about the travels and my new life, he offers me to seek shelter at the small terrace next to the house where the guests sit in daytime. It's right at the fairly busy street, surrounded by houses and I'd like my first shelter more, but there are two good reasons to gratefully except the offer- one, it is an act of kindness and that counts more then comfort, two, I slept in fields and woods, in trailers, tents and under bridges, but never in the open air in the middle of a town.

So I set up my shelter, sleeping bag as isolation and the raintarp as cover on one side tied to the fence, the other attached to the bicycle.

A thin tarp provides the illusion of privacy and I lay down in the noise of passing cars and voices on the street.

Now the overheated body starts boiling and burning, however I move or turn, a layer of inescapable

fire keeps me awake. Everything I wear sticks to the skin. Half asleep and half in fever I guess, I remove it all.

A gentle nightly breeze cools me off and sings me to sleep. While I see the stars through the fence it occurs to me, that whoever would find me here, would think I was drunk or crazy. Laying there amongst all cozy houses, bare and naked, not showered for days, hair and beard growing wildly I have finally become a drifter.

And then the image comes before my minds eye, of me laying there, bare of any sign of social status or role, looking like an abandoned corpse, but there is no shame, no fear, only deep calm peace and freedom.

That takes me back into the tunnel. It's the same sense of serenity, nothing to achieve, nothing to loose, nothing to be done, only being.

I will loose this peace of mind again on several occasions, when the wind stands against me, when I loose direction, when I set up goals, but there are more and more times of this deep relaxing equanimity, the acceptance of whatever might be.

[libraford]

(part 1)hi i'm drunk so here's all the things i've been meaning to send you: a) the sweeney tarot is the only tarot deck i've ever really felt drawn to and felt like i could work with, i honestly thought i didn't even like the tarot system and would only use oracle cards and alternative systems till i found it, b) what makes it even better is my wife tells me the art looks the way my writing feels, so c) i hope you take comissions because someday i hope i can commision you to illustrate my novel

(part 2) c) also i didn't actually realize the sweeney tarot was named after eliot's works until i took a closer look at The Poet and noticed what the poem was, and this is important because eliot is so important to me that when i changed my name i picked eliot for my middle name, d) speaking of changing my name it's because i'm trans, and the Illusion card KILLS my (in an important good way) every time it appears, e) and meanwhile, unrelated to the tarot deck, i realized like yesterday that

(part 3) that i guess you're my "tumblr crush" whatever that means, cause i think you're the only person who i follow on multiple blogs and keep up with what's going on with you and frequently say to my friends "so this crazy thing happened to the artist who made my tarot deck!" Anyway I hope this all comes off as supportive and not creepy, you rock and your art and tarot are so important to me, i hope you have a lovely day/week/year :)

(part 4 i think?) incidentally i am also so appreciative of your posts about pence's anti-lgbtq measures/movements, i'm sure i wouldn't even know how awful he was if it weren't for those posts.

Oh my gosh, what an amazing thing to wake up to, Anon! Thank you so much!

Yes!- while the art is not entirely based off of TS Eliot, the name is and I have a really cool reason for that. My very first tarot deck was a Rider-Waite-Smith that used to belong to my dad. He got his in college and he rarely ever used it, but occultism was going through another wave in the 70′s and these things were becoming a bit of a fad. But the reason he got his was because he became very interested in TS Eliot’s work and noticed that he would occasionally reference tarot cards. And my dad was all about that symbolism and he wanted to learn more. 

Now, the reason I got into Eliot is a little bit more petty. When I was in high school we were supposed to do a biography of a famous poet. And the first thing coming out of the teacher’s mouth was ‘Don’t do TS Eliot. He’s too complicated, you won’t pass.’

15-year-old me is like ‘whatever lady.’ So I go to my dad, tell him that I’m doing a report on TS Eliot because no one can tell me what to do, and he gives me like this bounty of resources on his symbolism. He didn’t give me his cards until later because he couldn’t find him. But he got so excited because finally he’s got someone to talk to about this. 

And he tells me about Sweeney, the character he made up to be a mockery of the lower class and how, even though the character was a joke he stayed with him for his other poems and began to take on a life of his own... and became mentioned in The Wasteland. 

So this is how I got interested in the history of occultism, for a start, but I also carried the idea of a Sweeney with me when I decided to become a writer. And maybe this is a neurodivergent thing or maybe its just a writer thing, but sometimes a character gets inside your head and says ‘write me.’

I’ve based a lot of my personal beliefs on these characters and the way they talk to me. I have little shrines to some of them. Until they self-identify, I don’t call them gods or spirits. I call them Sweeneys. 

So when I started working on the deck, this was the best word for the work. 

The other reason I called it Sweeney is because its a fairly benign name. I couldn’t name it something flowery or poetic because nothing I could come up with fit, and the name of a thing often gives you the first impression of it. I wanted people to go in without any particular expectations of how it reads. And I have weird feelings about naming things after myself when its something that other people are going to use. So I named it Sweeney, which means something to some people but to most people its just a name. And I’m very proud of  that decision. 

The Illusion card always gets me a little choked-up. I think I was crying when I drew it. 

I am definitely open for commissions, I just don’t post it publicly because I’m bad about pricing myself. So hit me up when you get to that point and we’ll talk. =]

I’m glad that the Pence Post really helped someone! I think a lot of times it circulates around blogs of people who are in or from Indiana and it becomes kind of an echo chamber. Now if only there was a way to get rid of him...

Thank you so much for this- it was very sweet and probably the best thing to wake up to!