#maggie peyton

[bestsistertournament]

[asimp4bee]

I've come to check on tumblr from the dea- hibernation and witness Bumblebee/Mea + Herbie. HERBIE! I LOVED HERBIE AS A KID AND BUMBLEBEE'S OLD ALT MODE BEING SIMILAR TO HERBIE MAKES THIS SO MUCH BETTER THAT I NEEDED TO RAMBLE AND FANGIRL

YESSS I loved Herbie when I was younger and I've always thought that the Bumblebee movie had somewhat of a similiar vibe in the beginning to Herbie which is what made me love it even more 😭💖

Also, I've heard that IDW Bee's holoform is Lindsay Lohan and is apparently a reference to Herbie: Fully Loaded and I love that sm???

[henchthem]

at least the girls are enjoying themselves

[couldurfaveescapeaperturescience]

[disneyphile]

Maggie Peyton. Herbie Fully Loaded (2005).

#disney #herbiefullyloaded #lindsaylohan #herbie #vw #volkswagen #vwbug

#volkswagenbeetle

[thatfantasylovingdork]

I hope to one day join the illustrious line of brunette college/teenage girls who have an adorably sentient vintage VW Bug.

[dailyflicks]

Lindsay Lohan as Maggie Peyton Herbie: Fully Loaded (2005) dir. Angela Robinson

[bearterritory]

Golden Bears Over Fighting Irish

Close Out Season With Thrilling Win

Thomsen, Bartalo Earn Spots In Cal History Books

BERKELEY – The 2024 California volleyball team avenged its September loss to Notre Dame with a four-set thriller against the Fighting Irish at Haas Pavilion Saturday, dropping the first set 15-25 before taking the next three with scores of 25-23, 25-20 and 25-22 to cap off the year with three-straight wins. The Golden Bears finished the season at 15-17 (7-13 ACC) - a respectable first year result in a new conference with a tough schedule. Following the match, Cal celebrated the careers of Gianna Bartalo, Annalea Maeder, Ava Mehrten, Ellie Hamm and Paige Morningstar for Senior Day.   "I'm super proud of the team," head coach Jen Malcom said. "Our words this year were 'adapt and adjust'. It took every one of us to push through this season, and we made it our own."   Bartalo and Sawyer Thomsen anchored a Cal defense that held the Fighting Irish to .133 hitting, each recording program milestones. Bartalo's 17 digs – a match high – brought her to 468 on the year, crushing her previous career best for the eighth-highest total in a single season by any Cal volleyball player. Thomsen's 11 blocks (also a match high) made her just the 14th Bear in history to cross the 10-block mark and the first to do so since 2012, helping the team match a season-high 14 stops on the day.   Xuemeng (Maggie) Li led both teams with 21 kills and notched four service aces, a career high; as a team, Cal knocked down a season-high eight aces. A trio of Cal players – Bartalo, Peyton DeJardin (13) and Natalie Lau (10) – recorded double-digit digs, while Lau also added 44 kills for her 12th double-double of the season and a career-high five blocks. Ava Mehrten posted a career high of her own in her final collegiate match with seven digs as well as a season-high six blocks.   Notre Dame's offense hit .375 in the first set while only allowing Cal to score consecutive points thrice, finally ending on a 6-0 run to take the 1-0 set advantage. The Fighting Irish scored first in the second period, but the Bears gave them a run for their money, forcing eight tie scores – the last at 23-23 – and five lead changes; it took a come-from behind four-point run capped off by a block from Lau and Mikayla Hayden to seal the set in favor of Cal.   Although Notre Dame scored first once again to start off the third, the Bears responded with a 7-point run – including three aces from Li – to take a lead that held for the rest of the set. Cal scored five-straight points in the middle of the set, followed shortly by a powerful kill from Lau, to stretch that advantage to nine points (18-9), but a Notre Dame surge soon cut the gap to two; once again, a Lau block (aided this time by Thomsen) finally clinched the set for the Bears. The final set belonged to Li, who slammed down nine of her kills on .500 hitting to overcome another tightly-contested period with seven ties; after a 3-7 start, Cal scored 16 of the next 22 points before the Fighting Irish scored five straight and eventually forced the match's final draw at 21-21. The last point for the Bears finally came off the swing of DeJardin, whose ninth kill sealed the match.  

[dalekofchaos]

Gunnverse Batman fancast

Fancast for James Gunn’s DCU/Batman!

DCEU recast

Burtonverse Recast

90′s Justice League

Reevesverse Batman

Superman

Wonder Woman

The Flash

Green Lantern

Aquaman

Justice League

Green Arrow

Teen Titans

Suicide Squad

Justice League Dark

Batman Beyond

The Dark Knight Returns

Telltale’s Batman

Injustice

Legion Of Doom

Birds Of Prey

Jensen Ackles as Batman/Bruce Wayne

Peter Capaldi as Alfred Pennyworth

Jon Hamm as Thomas Wayne

Lena Headley as Martha Wayne

Courtney B. Vance as Lucius Fox

Laura Dern as Dr Leslie Thompkins

Bryan Cranston as James Gordon

David Harbour as Harvey Bullock

Stephanie Beatriz as Renee Montoya

Tricia Helfer as Sarah Essen

Gabrielle Union as Detective Josephine "Josie Mac" MacDonald

Charlie Hunam as Marcus Driver

Tyrese Gibson as Michael Akins

Billie Piper as Maggie Sawyer

Garrett Hedlund as Ron Probson

Domhnall Gleeson as Jim Corrigan

Bill Hader as Jack Ryder/The Creeper

Jodie Comer as Vicki Vale

Jesús Castro as Nightwing/Dick Grayson

Kiera Allen as Oracle/Barbara Gordon

Dacre Montgomery as Red Hood/Jason Todd

Lucas Jade Zumann as Red Robin/Tim Drake

Kristen Stewart as Batwoman/Kate Kane

Pom Klementieff as Huntress/Helena Bertinelli

Riley Lai Nelet as Batgirl/Cassandra Cain

Mckenna Grace as Spoiler/Stephanie Brown

Carter Rockwood as Robin/Damian Wayne

John Boyega as Batwing/Luke Fox

Caleb McLaughlin as Duke Thomas/The Signal

Alexander Ludwig as Azrael/Jean Paul Valley

Michael B Jordan as Azrael/Michael Lane

Ana De Armas as Catwoman/Selina Kyle

Brian Cox as Commissioner Gillian Loeb

Sam Witwer as Captain Howard Brandon

Michael Weatherly as Detective Arnold Flass

Liam McIntyre as Max Court/Night-Scourge

Robert De Niro as Carmine Falcone

Gwendoline Christie as Sofia Falcone

David Dastmalchian as Alberto Falcone

James Carpinello as Mario Falcone

Al Pacino as Sal Maroni

Benjamin Byron Davis as Rupert Thorne

Michael Imperioli as Anthony Zucco

David Howard Thornton as The Joker

Mia Goth as Harley Quinn

David Tennant as The Riddler/Edward Nygma

Nick Frost as The Penguin/Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot

Oscar Isaac as Two-Face/Harvey Dent

Tobin Bell as Mr Freeze/Victor Fries

Viggo Mortensen as Black Mask/Roman Sionis

Jane Levy as Andrea Beaumont/The Phantasm

Adam Driver as Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane

Kevin Grevioux as Killer Croc

Marko Zaror as Bane

Kevin Durand as Solomon Grundy

Doug Jones as Man-Bat/Kirk Langstrom

Peter Stormare as Clayface/Basil Karlo

Simon Pegg as Mad Hatter/Jervis Tetch

John Lithgow as The Ventriloquist/Arnold Wesker

Natalie Dormer as The Ventriloquist II/Peyton Riley

Tom Ellis as Hush/Thomas Elliot

Raul Esparza as Hugo Strange

Anya Taylor-Joy as Poison Ivy

Pedro Pascal as Deadshot/Floyd Lawton

Anson Mount as Deathstroke/Slade Wilson

Finn Wittrock as Talon/William Cobb

Karl Urban as Owlman/Thomas Wayne Jr

John Carroll Lynch as Professor Pyg

Stephen Lang as David Cain

Daniel Radcliffe as Anarky

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau as Cluemaster

Conleth Hill as Calendar Man

Keanu Reeves as Prometheus

Ming-Na Wen as Lady Shiva

Ghassan Massoud as Ra’s Al Ghul

Nadine Njeim as Talia Al Ghul

Yasmine Al Massri as Nyssa Raatko

Michael Fassbender as Dr Simon Hurt

Kat Graham as Jezebel Jet/Black Glove

Christian Bale as The Batman Who Laughs

[444namesplus]

Abbie Abby Abigail Ada Addithon Adelaide Adele Adeline Adley Adora Adriana Agata Agneth Aileen Ailey Ainthley Alaina Alanna Alberta Albina Alda Aleana Alekth Alektha Alekthandra Alekthandria Alekthith Aleta Alike Alikia Alitha Alithon Allython Alma Alodie Altea Alvina Alython Alyththa Amanda Amber Amberley Amelia Amy Ana Anathtathia Andrea Andrée Andy Angel Angela Angelika Angelina Angella Angie Ann Anna Annabelle Annabet Anne Annette Annie Antonia April Arabella Araminta Arda Arden Ariana Ariel Arlen Arriet Arya Athley Athtrid Aubree Aubrey Audra Audrey Aurora Autumn Ava Avena Averil Avery Avith Ayley Azalea Babette Barb Barbara Beatrike Beatrikth Beau Bekka Bekki Bekky Belinda Bella Belle Berenike Bernadette Berta Beryl Betthy Bettina Betty Beverly Bianka Binny Blair Blake Blanke Blithth Bobbi Bobby Bonnie Braden Brandy Brenda Brenna Brianna Bridget Brielle Brilliana Britannia Brittany Bronwyn Brooke Brooklyn Brynlee Bryony Daeneryth Daithy Dalia Dana Dani Danielle Danna Dapne Darla Darlene Davina Dawn Deanna Deanne Deb Debbie Debora Dede Deja Delaney Delia Della Delthie Demetria Demi Denithe Dethtiny Devon Diamond Diana Diane Dimity Donna Dora Doreen Dorith Doroty Dottie Drew Dulkie Edit Edna Edwina Eglantine Elda Elen Eliza Elizabet Ella Ellen Ellery Elthie Emeline Emery Emily Emma Enrietta Erethwit Ernethtine Etel Ethtella Ethter Eththie Eugenia Eugenie Eva Eve Eveline Evelyn

Fait Felikity Fiona Flora Florenke Franketh Fridethwide Gemma Genevieve Georgene Georgia Georgiana Georgie Georgina Geraldine Gertie Gertrude Gia Gillian Gina Ginny Githelle Gladyth Glenda Glenna Gloria Gloriana Glynith Goldie Grake Gwen Gwenda Gwendolen Gwendoline Gwendolyn Gwynet Ida Imogen Iona Irene Ithabella Ithabelle Jakqueline Jakquetta Jane Janet Janike Jathmine Jazmyn Jean Jemima Jemma Jennelyn Jenny Jeththamine Jeththamy Jeththamyn Jeththika Joan Joanna Jodie Jokelyn Jolene Jothelyn Jothepine Judit Julia Julie June Kailey Kaitlin Kalla Kamilla Kantelle Kara Karen Karin Karlee Karlene Karli Karlie Karlotte Karly Karol Karoline Karolyn Karrie Karyn Karyne Kate Katerine Katey Kathey Kaththidy Katie Katina Katleen Katrina Katryn Katy Kay Kayla Kaylee Kekily Kelethtine Kelly Kelthey Kendall Kerry Kierra Kikely Kim Kimberly Kinderella Kira Kirthteen Kirthtin Kirthty Kitty Klaire Klara Klare Klariththa Klemenky Klementine Kloe Konthtanke Kourtney Krithpina Krithta Krithten Krithti Krithtin Krithtine Krithty Kylie Kyntia Kyra Laura Lauren Lauryn Lavinia Lea Leanne Lena Lethlie Lilian Lily Lindthay Lindthey Linnea Louitha Louithe Lukia Lukretia Luky Lydia Lynthey Mabel Mable Maddie Madelaine Madeleine Madeline Madelyn Madge Madithon Madonna Mae Maggie Magnolia Makthine Maky Mallory Mandy Mara Margaret Margie Margo Maria Marian Marianne Marie Marigold Marilyn Marina Mariththa Marjorie Markia Markie Marlene Marta Martha Martina Mary Mathon Matilda Maud Maude Maura Maureen Mavith May Maya Mayola Meara Medea Megan Meitable Mel Melanie Melina Melinda Meliththa Melody Meredit Merilyn Merkedeth Merle Merrilyn Mia Mika Mikele Mikelle Mila Mildred Miley Milli Millie Millikent Mina Mindi Mindy Minnie Mira Miranda Miriam Mithty Mkkenna Moira Molly Morgan Muriel Myra Myrna Myrtle Nellie Nigella Nikola Nora Norma Odette Olive Olivia Onor Opal Opelia Orpa Paddy Page Paige Palmer Pamela Parith Patienke Patrike Patrikia Patthy Patty Paula Paulina Pauline Pearl Peggy Penelope Penny Pepper Perry Perthith Petra Petrina Petronilla Petula Petunia Peyton Pikthie Pilippa Pippa Poebe Polykthena Poppy Portia Pothy Prekiouth Primrothe Prithkilla Pyllith Quendrida Radklyffe Rain Rakel Raleig Ramona Randy Reba Rebekka Regina Renethmee Riannon Riley Rita Ritha Roberta Robin Roda Romilda Ronda Ronnie Rothalie Rothalind Rothalyn Rothamond Rothamund Rothe Rothemary Rothie Rowan Rowena Ruby Rut Ruththi Tabita Teretha Thally Thalviann Thamanta Thara Tharon Theila Thelby Theryl Thibyl Thirley Thkye Thopia Thopie Thopronia Thuthan Thybil Tomathin Tomathina Trakey Unity Vaneththa Vera Vikki Viktoria Vinnette Violet Virginia Vivian Wanda Warburg Waverly Wednethday Wendy Willa Willow Wilma Winfred Winifred Winnie Winnifred Witney Yakint Yanky Yathmin Yvette Yvonne Zelda Zoe Zoey Ælfgifu Ætelbur

[wondererryn]

why did my friend send me this i thought we were past chain mail

" Hi can u put your name in it and send it to 10 different people We’re trying to make the longest iMessage for the 2021 Guinness World Records. Put your name below (copy it) and send it to 10 people, Don’t be th e one to break the chain

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😺Maya😺"

temped to put my name and pass it on now

[comrade-margot]

A Kentucky of Mothers By Dana Ward (posted for posterity)

As i had to go to the wayback machine to even find this poem. one i find extremely pognient and important to my transition. im posting it here for the sake of posterity. remember the secret of Primative Accumulation. and the fruits of labor and culture will be perserved with the proletariet. -Comrade Margot. Today in the PEN Poetry Series, guest editor Maggie Nelson features a poem by Dana Ward. About Ward’s work, Nelson writes: “It’s not an exaggeration to say that encountering Dana Ward’s poems cleaved my life in two. Before, I had the occasional flickering doubts about contemporary poetry—what it could do next, what sounds/ forms of address/ ranges of interests/ combinations of talky/  political/ confessional/ sublunary/ metaphysical/ gossipy/ unabashedly gorgeous/ profoundly intelligent, rushing, and WILD poetics was still possible. After, I knew I had nothing to worry about. This poem, “A Kentucky of Mothers,” is one of my favorite poems ever. I hold it close to my heart, and encourage you to read it, then read everything Ward has written, which includes the books This Can’t Be Life (2012) and The Crisis of Infinite Worlds (2013).”

A Kentucky of Mothers

Derek what’s Kentucky for you? 

An orange rubber globe? A jagged blue shoe, Paducah-toed, & heeled somewhere near eastern Tennessee? A place with dirt in mouth & blood on hands & prettiness all over in its undulance & peaking. Where Marshall Allen’s lips & lungs began to kiss & breathe. Where, through Wes Unseld’s divinity of play, physical reality was altered by his Balanchine.  Where the laureateship of Cassius Clay began, in the poem of changing his name to Muhammad Ali. His tonal university of butterflies that sting as those similes collapsed the float of puncture into me. 

“I’m so bad I make medicine sick.” he once said. Really that’s as well as one can write. 

But Derek, since you’re from there too, what is that place for you, Kentucky? 

I know that you can’t answer me this morning though the golden-Sharpie’d Peyton you made me keeps watch here while I type this down in our world. It’s coke’d up nose still bleeds. So there’s always some wilder night in the memory of the picture, an invisible tincture of bumps for me, awakening the implants in the archive of my body. 

Fill its search field with some bluegrass. Press return.

Kentucky is mainly a myth I abide because I learned to love inside its stories. 

For me it’s a maternal place but not the mother-land.

It’s where my heart when it was young & small & lacked impressions

took its wealthy shape in songful opulence 

of birthdays. 

Who were they? All these mothers who seem mothers to me still? 

My father, who mothered the concessions of mortality by dying in my childhood, giving birth to me in hospice care, two floors above the maternity ward where my mom, eight years before, saw me into the world.

So her of course. But she is where this poem’s going. 

June, who was someone to watch over me, desirous of children but childless, she & I lived in a mutual surrogacy. She died with my mother as her daughter, & I as her grandson, recipient of doting forgiveness, flawed inheritor of her one conceptual novel, consisting of the Golden Rule repeated to infinity. Her being was the hotel in The Shining had it been enlivened by impossible benevolence instead. By which I mean she was so nice that it was weird.

One year older than me, next door, there was Jessica, by whom I was both brutalized & cherished. She showed me how I was mere thing in the world, another doll absorbing storms of affect. The porcelain heart my other codlings yielded was for her an invitation to explore just how much cruelty could be managed before I ran off sobbing to more empathetic mothers. Her tough love was econ 101.

Then the Barry Manilow mother-hood records in the living room which bore my dependence on preposterous emotion & show. His nurturing colluded with the neediness of children as it lived & lives in me. It nursed some pleading chintz my art relies on even now. Julie Andrews mom of me as well when I go big & sweet to get my way. 

Also the Ella Fitzgerald cassette in the Honda, the mother one reveres. Pristine her voices feel for how ebullience to gutter grief & every nuance in between was waiting to be coaxed from the material of life (I mean its music) if intelligence & discipline were paid. To her I would remain a disappointment, & she remained remote in all her generous perfections. 

Ft. Thomas where we lived, a nursery of whiteness, so plain in being racist it was clear. You could see the white & hateful core through every opaque surface. These orders of transparency were births in their malignancy, of what to be against in one’s becoming. A feel for the structures of division how we’re cut by race & class & sex so then The Father in his local form of hoarding. 

Chapman, Rex, who I loved with the fervor of a Bieber-ite, who bore what’s called the ‘girl-ish heart aflutter’ in my body. It beat its wings in frenzy as I idolized him so. I wanted to cry like Beatlemania  when he dropped 25 on U of L his freshman year. No one told me my performance of idolatry was femme. 

The boys who were my friends found me so weird in this I wonder now if they thought making fun of me redundant. Some of those boys were my mothers as well. 

Blake so pretty, shy & duty bound. Jacob von Gunten. He mothered sanity & keel, & too their limits, revealing the harm of normed wellness in the bedtime stories we told one another, 9 or 10 in bed together, mother & child & child & mother. 

Geoff, the mother I would bury in his youth, though then, in the time of his maternity, he gave me life as if he’d stolen it from god on my behalf.  His delight & his approval were my joy & aspiration. His charms surpassed the mesmerism Orpheus possessed, deployed in service of whatever’s endless lulz. He had some Mary Poppins & the rarest bedside manner, Lake District with his bandages & ornery soups for spirit.  I loved him past the tragedy of Oedipus in puppy ways & chastity still later, sitting shiva with the future we were going to spend together. His mother love was funeral & teen. Now there’s nothing left to know of its exhaustion. 

Some mothers only last a season. Or a day. Or the life of the party. There were only two more mothers in Kentucky left for me. 

The first was Allen Ginsberg, who arrived by way of that cultural line I had followed form the Beatles, on to Dylan where I found him, this sort of interesting guy at Bob’s side, sensing he’s the guru but not being quite sure how. Already invested in what I took to be the outlaw canon, Allen was skeleton key, giving not only his art, poetics clear in DIY articulation, & too the queer in factuality, modernity, it’s cosmopolitan glory, experimental & demanding no more fealty to its aspects than what could be accessed for our survival, & the suddenness of vision & of pleasure. Blood & shit were on the table near a leaky Hebrew Bible. The incense stick puffed Leaves of Grass in scented smoke around the angel head of someone who would soon be in his bed & plainly naked as the ethics of the muse should govern flesh. His motherhood awakened all my senses.  

He asks a wild question of himself there in Kaddish, musing over whether he should try & do it with his mother, right there in the infirmary, just to see how that would feel. You laugh because it’s funny then you laugh like woah, it’s heavy. He seems really free inside his mind! It’s excessive yet from him it sounds so healthy. It’s why so many people have him as a mother they remember. So many inhibitions shattered—for the fervor & the humor of the quest. 

Geoff & I went to see him give a reading in Kentucky, in Lexington, in 1993. Geoff was no longer my mother by then. We were both still Allen’s children en extremis. He read & sang & chanted. We were joyous gathered round him, beamed & smiled in our nearness to the body of our mother, needy, anxious to go even closer still. 

So Geoff & I stood there, in the long line with our books, waiting for his dedication’s kiss upon our pages, swooning sons with steadfast City Lights. I went first, & Allen asked my name, but barely met my gaze. He lingered though with Geoff, meandered in his beauty, these two mothers of mine, flirting in a way that felt like watching boyish pulp of the initial batted eyes behind my body’s constitution. They seemed to wink & dare & coo for several hours.   

Geoff rejoined me & he showed me his inscription.  Allen had addressed him as angel boy & done a little drawing. What’s more he’d invited Geoff to his hotel! We were seventeen. We hadn’t been this far away from home, not by ourselves, ever before in our whole lives.  90 minutes by car from our parent’s front doors. We were fucking Sam & Frodo in the morning of the ring, two bumpkins all mixed up in grander magic. 

Now, which mother were we going to run to?

Its easy to forget what blameless ignorance can be because our culture calls it innocence instead. That heaps too much untrammeled snow & later says it’s sullied though the dirt was there from jump, & time refines it. Thusly unrefined I’m just not sure we understood. I know we didn’t understand what little sex we’d had, our bodies or the bodies of our lovers, young women lost in their way too, though smarter.  All we knew was hard-sold dude lore told through locker room & porn. “Big Titties” or whatever. Baseball diamond of erotic pilgrim’s progress.   

But we believed good heartedness would certify desire in eternity. The plebiscite of seekers was the carnival of night. The orgy a fait accompli. Now one of our moms maybe wanted fuck! She was making good on bodied promise. Here was the gift in the flesh. We were incandescent with the truth of her, & shared her honor there between us. Precious drug. 

First let me say we just went home. I don’t think we knew, in the end, at least not for sure, what the invitation meant for Geoff. If he’d gone to find out then where was I supposed to go? All we did we had to do together. Mom’s response to Geoff’s allure had made it true as cosmic fact. So we departed with our intuitions written in the stars. We needed nothing else for our fond adventure equation. 

But now? I think it’s a shame. We did it wrong. Geoff should have offered up his pretty body to our mother. We should have offered her one body. Ours.

Because us having two of them was waste of healthy matter. What I should have done was gone & donated my organs, then poured my excess ooze inside of Geoff; hold your nose & open up you fucking corpse my heart’s obsessed with, then made my was as slime into the womb-less space where I began as embryo of who I was that day. Then he could have carried me in utero to & Allen, & whatever he wanted would be his. Maybe lots of soulful talk for hours of suspense, & then to be joined in soft, passionate kisses, tingling caresses, dissolutions of the flesh at heights, mysteries, pleasures, trembling heavens, nerves made crushed velvet of pre-cum & spit. Pillows then, & slumbers, & a cigarette to meet our raptured soreness in the dawn. 

The reproductive algebra of “Veracruz” obtained. A child emerged from the absence of encounter. A darling little thing no more than myth in its material. As real as baby Allen was the day that he was born. Like the make-believe the commonwealth Kentucky is a passion play of mists & bloods & poverty & mountains. A baby like a state of love & nothing in its mother.

The three of us, by never fucking in Kentucky, made a child. Sometimes I always wonder where she’s gone. 

She’s in my ear as Cymbeline to listen for her nothing ghost whose youth has soaked the alphabet with music. 

But what’s the alphabet to music if it’s not a dead imaginary child people think they’re so in touch with

one another. What’s the internet, the people all keyed up on boards which really are a boneyard of such offspring of our fantasies efficiently arranged from Q to M. 

Because this isn’t writing. This is typing. 

& my mother’s an extraordinary typist by the way. The one who held me in her body, near her body, kept me fed. 

I’ll say more about her soon. What’s deep & simple? 

But now I’ll say I’d nearly left the nest. My last Kentucky mom would see me off into the poem. & though I met her long before I met Allen, the realization didn’t come until much later. That she, more than anyone else, was the matriarch that opened writing’s world.

O Veronica Sawyer, my mother. I was watching Heathers all the time. O Veronica you cared for me so well. Your affected monocle, the way you dove into your journal, an avenging angel coming back from hell at 3pm, flown into acerbic pique by spiritual distress.  

You were young to have been caring for a son three years your junior. You were little more than 17 yourself.

Lord I tried to mirror you. I failed. Yet there you were. As reliable as emptiness of metric on the testing day. As sharp as #2’s are for the throat. 

I loved the way your pen was always pregnant with your sword. All that social cruelty that your soul could not abide. All that degrading service you’d performed in employ of those tyrants who like school days come & go with common agonizing sameness. 

You could see the beauty of the omelet life could be! Soon you’d be persuaded to the side of breaking eggs. But tactical revolt was not enough for your dumb boyfriend. He was charming though, & sexy, so your heart kept coming back. With reservations. Although things kept getting hotter. Sex & crime make up the Reece’s cup for teens who hate the world. Everyone should eat up all they can!

But you opened up a breach old suave JD did more like blow. He was snorting up the Less Than Zero void & killing children. His moralizing started sounding hollow. You knew that you had to get out. When you faked your own suicide I’d never been more proud. I’d never seen my mother hang & smile. 

Then after all the shit went down, & you blew off his finger, & he blew his body to bits on the steps, you came home bathed in soot & charring ashes of his body, that red ribbon spider cracked your eyes they were so blood shot, & your gaze was like the feel of someplace years of war had changed, there were ruins in it, smoke & haze, cadavers. We watched Breakfast Club with Martha Dunnstock twice that night. I’d never seen so many human tears. 

But really as my mother…it’s this writing thing you did, this fall & swoop into you journal, your motion made me think the heart’s confession’s were more real because they fronted, in their littleness, designs against the world as it is premised on unerring domination.   

The ruling cliques, the system’s ribbon gathering their locks & every two or four Novembers it’s some other fucking Heathers, other warlords, other bankers, mainly dudes. 

But it’s that way you said ‘dear diary’, like nausea was pining in intelligent exhaustion for the words that thrummed against them in the body of your mind. 

That sound was how I felt those years.  

It’s kicked me out of the house. The house of one feeling for developmental shelter. I started writing a novel. So I became the mother of a character, Veronica essentially, although I had named her Amanda. In my novel she murdered a teacher she hated. Then ran away from home to live in gladness in the basement of a woman she befriend. The woman was a poet who was making love for fun, stealing wine that she could pay for just because, & terrorizing her small town with that illegal mixture of the female & Rimbaud. 

The book was called Never Go Home. 

I wrote the thing on legal paper, longhand, during class, & then at night in bed, Sweet Valley High. I laugh but this was pre-Columbine. Sometimes I think if I were in school now & writing that? Shit. That kid might really be arrested!

God my poor real mom she would have died. 

But people say her eyes contain a twinkle they believe in. When they see it they don’t need a leap of faith. Although I was surrounded by hate, as the common disasters claimed our town as most are claimed, my mother barred that city with a pivotal insistence so the heart could turn away to meet new thought. My life is when critique feeds from the auras of her care, a violet glow that begs negation as a sharpening to yellow, or a deepening to red that means ‘the Real’ is not so cool that it is spared a mother’s love in its redout. The way these colors drink me is my sight. I have been inspirited to tesselate their spectrograph by singing so the 4th dimension flutters in their plane, the 3rd may bell the heart & move the blood to hear a ring, to honor lights in eyes that shine against imprisoned worlds & for her merry life of grief that rudder’d mine.    

For her my admiration & my love just can’t be typed.

These are my Kentucky mothers then. The mothers of my heart.  

& I’ve been reading that Yepez book on Olson, The Empire of Neomemory, & good lord it is astonishing. He talks about how Olson attempts to construct an alter-patriarchy on the ruins of an already false one. Part of his martial, nationalist project of mythos. Stacking universe & state & self on Pound-carved Plymouth Rock of cock & balls.  

Yepez says, in essence, Olson’s thing is an elaborate psycho-social misprision. No less interesting because of that, & perhaps a great deal more. It’s quite revealing.  

I thought about that some while I was writing this, & wondered, how might we construct a matriarchy of the world instead?  God knows for truth & world’s sake that we should. 

But what of this. What I’ve been writing. How to think it?  

Many gendered micro-lineage, 

the matriarchs of my Kentucky heart?

To narrate one huge part of one’s small life in one small state in one dead country so besotted by oblivion, through mothers.

But is ‘mother of’ precise? 

Should I say ‘singers of’ instead? 

The heart wants what it wants I guess

those metaphoric light years of itself are all it has—its flesh & blood

its Moulin Rouge

its basic make-up

doctored St. Theresa reputation & a problem like Maria for the discourse it keeps 

photo bombing like the sound of music.

Alive

in some pretty dead hills. 

O god save all the many gendered-mothers of my heart, & all the other mothers, who do not need god or savior,

our hearts persist in excess of the justice they’re refused.

& yo. I have nothing like Olson’s ambitions. But my source in varied care is something real in my song’s story. The way we have our source in locks & open endings, still

there was this thing I meant to say

way back at the beginning

of how the heart is dreamed by idiom

then seeps from out of speech & song to wet the feeling’s thought

Bullfinch’s water on the brain 

of love & when the floodplain dries

the myths have drowned alive in their reality of being

to haunt our body’s opera as the stories of our life.

That is no exaggeration

it’s just a penny on the ground

it’s just the repertoire in flight toward ever newer immolations, disembowelments

reunited 

holding hands beside the carousel again

then grab your bag 

how much alike & not it is the others there gone round & round

how much it’s like a plastic pastel steed 

the way its piping up & down

distinguished from the other inauthentic breathing

ponies by the magic’s fact that circulates between us 

like an organ sound. 

It doesn’t fit beneath our wounded breast

inside the mega-church bewitched

bewildered, bothered

Ella’s way.

It’s just a penny in the busker’s cup

& since you’ve heard it all before

she’ll sing her flawless analects unmoored in static changes. 

She writes the songs

she writes the songs she is the heart like all of us are driving nowhere

spending someone else’s hard earned pay.

But there’s this thing I meant to say

way back at the beginning

that Kentucky is the place I found my heart’s real princess soul.

I don’t know. 

Does that sound strange? 

Perhaps it’s 

                pretty easy to

                               explain…

My heart’s eyes are closed when I am walking in the sun, & they dream the way I look in my delight. I’m a princess then & I have every thought inside my head, as well as none. I am neither regal nor belong to special blood, & I am simple in my costume of a levitating pink, cheap in clothes a royal wouldn’t dress a beggar’s wound in, smiling ear to ear as if I’d nursed on Purple Rain & smack, then set out for my walk of painless warmth. There’s liquidity of sex moving in between my legs. In desire I’m for anyone & I belong to nothing. I commune with bluebirds in the customary way because my singing is so kind & perspicacious. I am free, never once having seen my own image, existing in my mind’s eye as a portrait of forgivenesses received & that’s my calculous of body. Effervescence wanders in my system as the animating spa of matter lacking prime directive, bathing all sensation for an amplifying mildness my being is reliant on as empty, tender joke. The world is all this is in its exquisiteness & filter, the details I receive are simply dialect, & murmuring, a tease made of fulfillment & release. I am beaming absolution in my tulle & my satin, as light means only light has been for pointlessly rejoicing. Shade is little more than night that sun sings for completeness through the liberated objects near my motion. I waltz to meet the billowed bell my shadow is, for sleeping, as sun sings Honolulu nights of me, & endless births. & what was harm? & what was loss? As if ‘to love’ meant never knowing either one. 

But my heart’s eyes are open when I’m walking in the sun, & I see me as I am here in estrangement from the facts of all who have in our conditions lost & sang, less known than not & social, for my truth of constitution as it’s made. 

But still. What is that princess soul so real in heart’s release?

It’s the absolute mirage that private happiness is seeking in its adequate contrivance of a figment.

It is happiness more actual than blood & making good on its reality by offering myself to me in this authentic picture. 

Perhaps it’s all my mothers in their elegance & heavens.

Perhaps it is my mother when she smiles in my mind & her contentment comes to life beyond its borders.

Perhaps it is my daughter’s joy when I have mothered well.

Perhaps it’s institution in a pretty dissipation.

Perhaps she is an emissary born past all of this, & come to tell through feeling how the locks will die in swells of interpenetrating being not yet thought. 

Perhaps the heart’s the princess in its picture so impoverished it is fine to pump in rhythms that the blood holds out for that

redistribution & no center in our nourishment of motions.

Then the world goes all pre-code so free & post to seethe with titillation. 

Of course auto-correct sees ‘total ruin’ 

as if to even speak of freed arousal were an error in the language

mythic imperfection that my princess is in speech.

Our love is god.

It’s really touching. 

Sometimes I think that I’m just in the way. 

So 

Derek, anyone

what do you say?

Is it good to call these others as my moms the way I have? Is it care, & if it is, have I gave honor in my song?

My heart tells me surely they’re the mothers of its fact. 

So many others & in our world with its infinite oppressions

who can know what honor is 

or love?

Perhaps it’s like Kentucky in the way the state contains so many cities of the world, having stolen, for its country places, several famous names. 

Look at a map of the state: 

There’ s Florence. 

There’s London. 

There’s Warsaw, 

& Paris. 

There’s Alexandria,

& Athens.

There’s Versailles.

In Kentucky here’s what people say: “Versails.” The twang distorts the reference to the opulence & splendor. It makes it into someplace else that’s also just is real. Mother

when the heart announces cities of its birth

in twangs which mean it’s from such 

storied places.   

The way a child of Versails may seem a gremlin of Versailles

or a princess-man who’d die

to sing his heart out.

A princess of Versails may be a child of Versailles of care

a princess-man alive 

to sing his heart out.

& he may live to see the world’s Versailles be crushed & freed & him 

   with them 

       & him with them 

                 & him with them

[avaveevo]

@cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien

Movie Idea

WARPED

Characters

American Dad

Stan

Francine

Roger

Hayley

Steve

Klaus

Jeff

Family Guy

Peter

Lois

Brian

Chris

Meg

Stewie

The Simpsons

Homer

Marge

Bart

Lisa

Maggie

Abe

Solar Opposites

Korvo

Terry

Yumyulack

Jesse

Pupa

Bob’s Burgers

Bob

Linda

Tina

Gene

Louise

Teddy

Other Characters

Peyton List as Zoey: A teenage girl who helps the cartoons

Phill Lewis as Mr. Grayson: Zoey’s cowardly teacher who helps her on her adventure

Ariana Grande as DJ GLITCH: The main antagonist, an evil queen who wants to take over the TV shows’ universes

Plot

When DJ GLITCH threatens to take over the cartoon universes, Zoey and her teacher must work with a group of cartoon characters to save Earth

[xenopoem]

AGON Issue One (Pre-Order)

$20.00 USD

Prose and poetry by

N. Amara | Douglas Doornbos | Malcolm Flanigan | Ken Goodman | Sean M. Huber | Evan Isoline | Trevor Ketner | David Kuhnlein | John Medgyesy | Cade Miller | Blake Millwood | Isaac Oplanic | Johnny Payne | Mia X. Perez | N. Casio Poe | Author Redacted | Ines Renee | Kenji Siratori | everet smith | Robert Stone | A.A. Walker 

Essays by

French Delatorre | Eden Jolie | Josiah Morgan | SR | Terrin Winkel 

Art by

Madeleine Baselice | Timothy R. Butcher | Douglas Doornbos | Julie Osko 

Dream Journal entries by

Daniel Beauregard | Eden Jolie | Kateryna Lewko | Patrick Pender | Bex Peyton | Maggie Pono | SR

[disneyphile]

Lindsay always Wes a Disney kid, so I guess it was easy to slip back into a roll as Maggie in Herbie Fully Loaded (2005).

[palmviewfm]

mw counterparts?

this  list  got  a  little  bit  longer  than  anticipated.  as  there's  soooooo  many  counterparts  to  consider  choosing  from  !  so,  i  put  it  under  a  read  more  for  you  !

counterparts:  monica  geller, ross geller, joey  tribbiani,  chandler bing, janice litman, mike hannigan, ursula buffay, aria  montgomery,  emily  fields,  spencer  hastings,  mona  vanderwaal,  alison  dilaurentis,  caleb  rivers,  maya  st  germain,  toby  cavanaugh,  betty  cooper,  veronica  lodge,  cheryl  blossom,  archie  andrews,  reggie  mantle,  toni  topaz,  tabitha  tate,  quinn  fabray,  rachel  berry,  brittany  pierce,  olivia  baker,  layla  keating,  jordan  baker,  jaymee, spencer  james,  lucas  scott,  peyton  sawyer, brooke  davis,  quinn  james,  julian  baker,  anna taggaro, rachel  gatina,  blair  waldorf,  serena  van  der  woodsen,  dan  humphrey,  nate  archibald,  callie  adams  foster,  mariana  foster,  buffy  summers,  willow  rosenberg,  tara mclay, kendra young, faith  lehane,  cordelia  chase,  heather  mcnamara,  marissa  cooper,  summer  roberts,  seth  cohen,  angel, anya jenkins, ryan  atwood,  taylor  townsend,  elena  gilbert,  caroline  forbes,  bonnie  bennett,  stefan  salvatore, anna zhu, enzo  st  john,  sandy  olson,  betty  rizzo,  frenchy,  danny  zuko,  marty, jan, sonny,  jackie  burkhart,  donna  pinciotti,  eric  forman,  laurie  forman,  belly  conklin,  sloane  peterson,  ferris  bueller,  duckie  dale,  bianca  stratford,  kat  stratford,  patrick  verona,  mia thermopolis, sabrina spellman, harvey kinkle, libby chessler, barbie  roberts,  ken  carson,  jenna  rink,  allie  hamilton,  noah  calhoun,  brandon  walsh,  david  silver,  brenda  walsh,  kelly  taylor,  donna  martin,  conrad  fisher,  jeremiah  fisher,  steven  cokin,  taylor  jewel,  sarah  cameron,  jj  maybank,  john  b  routledge,  kiara  carerra,  pope  heywood,  cleo, topper  thornton,  prue  halliwell,  paige  matthews,  piper  halliwell,  phoebe  halliwell,  meredith  grey,  arizona  robbins,  jackson  avery,  callie  torres,  april  kepner,  derek  shephard,  alex  karev,  cristina  yang,  lizzie  stevens,  callie  torres,  jo  wilson,  addison  montgomery,  lexi  grey,  atticus  lincoln,  nancy  drew,  lucy  grey,  sam  montgomery,  austin  ames,  jen  lindley,  pacey  witter,  dawson  leery,  katherine  pierce,  rebekah  mikaelson,  hayley  marshall,  tatum  riley,  sidney  prescott,  casey  becker,  tara  carpenter,  samantha  carpenter,  beca  mitchell,  chloe  beale,  jessica  day,  winston schmidt, cece  parekh, laney  boggs,  dewey  riley,  gale  weathers,  georgina  sparks,  elle  woods,  francesca  bridgerton,  daphne  bridgerton,  penelope  featherington,  sookie  stackhouse,  karen  smith,  regina  george,  gretchen  weiners,  janis  ian,  cady  heron,  aaron  samuels,  dj  tanner,  stephanie  tanner,  marcia  brady,  cindy  brady,  greg  brady,  carrie  bradshaw,  cher  horowitz,  kirby  reed,  jim  halpert,  michael  scott,  kelly  kapoor,  pam  beesly,  peter  parker,  mary  jane  watson,  analise  keating,  olivia  pope,  tony  stonem,  effy  stonem,  joey  donner,  john  bender,  allison  argent,  scott  mccall,  lydia  martin,  olive  penderghast,  maggie  greene,  marty  mcfly,  bella  swan,  alice  cullen,  charlie  swan,  emmett  cullen,  jacob  black,  carlisle  cullen,  esme  cullen,  jane  volturi,  morticia  addams,  donna  and  sophie  sheridan,  lorraine  banes,  jennifer  parker,  sam  winchester,  luke  danes,  dean  forester,  tristan  dugray,  lane  kim,  paris  geller,  logan  huntzberger,  jeanie  bueller,  simon  basset,  kate  sharma,  colin  bridgerton,  shiv  roy,  gerri  kellman,  roman  roy,  olivia  benson,  clary  fray,  isabelle  lightwood,  jace  herondale,  simon  lewis,  daphne  blake,  shaggy  rogers,  velma  dinkley,  fred  jones,  cinderella, ariel, tiana, jasmine, tom  wambsgans,  kendall  roy,  greg  hirsch,  lestat  de  lioncourt,  louis  de  point  du  lac,  and  claudia  !