#purple fiddle

[solentdreams]

Purple Fiddle Hummus Cayenne pepper, cilantro, and cumin are used to give traditional hummus a little kick. Serve with pita chips and vegetables! 2 cloves garlic finely chopped, 1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro, 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper, 1 teaspoon ground cumin, 1/4 teaspoon sea salt, 1 teaspoon lemon juice, 1 can garbanzo beans drained and 1/4 cup liquid reserved, 1/2 cup chopped onion, 1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil or to taste

[dumpstergxrl]

Cat dead, details later

[bewitchedmold]

I remember I used to be so desperate for JoJo's content that I'd chant inti the speaker if my phone "JoJo's. JoJo's bizarre adventure. Jojo. Jjba. Bizarre. Araki. Joseph joestar. JoJo no kimyou boken. Jonathan joestar. Dead dog" hoping it would finally put my stolen data to use and give me some jjba😭

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Monday 16 October 2023

This seed mix was developed to be attractive to bees, butterflies and other pollinating insects and contains both annual and perennial plants. A major annual component is Phacelia tanacetifolia (scorpion weed, purple tansy, fiddle neck, fernleaf fiddle neck) which is often grown as a green manure.

Jill Raggett

[lunaryhues]

Sad Shell

[blujayonthewing]

why did I build my watercolor palette with two different PV19 pigments and no green

[lilly11]

[statementlou]

sometimes I think about how the 1D boys knew the signs of impending tears from Louis well enough to refer to "Louis' cry face" but Nizam was in AOTV saying Louis was someone who never showed emotion or cried and about the relationship the band formed with each other outside of the lives they'd lived and people they'd been at home and who would they have been if none of it had never happened is unanswerable because so MUCH happened, but... you know?

[plumbogs]

yayy the tinkers! harmony is oblivious to the emotional states of her parents. she has so many friends though :)

Stephen invited Melody and her roommates to visit so she could meet her new sister, and Brittany also happened to show up, so it's a great time to also meet her.

kent was roped into the "greet everyone" by walking into the lot right on time. he spoke to nobody at first and instead loaded up a film.

melody jumped into action for no reason and took care of Lyric for a few minutes. which was very kind. good thing they are bonding

Harmony brought Oleander Delarosa home. she wants to become friends with him. She didn't quite succeed today, but there's plenty of time to get around to that.

meanwhile Melody turned her old room into a dance chamber.

Oleander seared his vision by standing 4 inches from the giant television while Kent stood menacingly over Beau, who was clearly not able to see much of the screen anyway.

is it really a sims 2 visitor session if they don't all move to stand in the filthy bathroom and play red hands?

[creaturefeaster]

Well her main color used to be orange before tanner so I was like “maybe wire will go back to her being orange :3”

I missed her orange accent too much 😔 i had to bring it back

[trickster-but-also-a-star]

(You put in the tape labeled "NO".)

(...)

(...)

(That's enough tapes for now.)

[kiwibubbles5]

Ahaha whoopsies

Listen, it's still the 3rd somewhere, right? I am such a night owl this is ridiculous

Unnecessarily complex fit!! (It didn't quite feel unnecessary to me yet, but it is far more detailed than what I normally do. Sooo ye)

[cosmicbrine]

[landofequestria]

thinks abt twilight thinks about twilight thinks about twilight

[ashtheadventurecat]

Hello friends! Thank you for coming along with me on my newest adventure! My last post ended when I followed the peculiar scent of magic to a secret tunnel underneath the Alter of an abandoned church. Since then I’ve been sniffing around the opening and casting seeking spells in an attempt to find traps and danger, so far I’ve found nothing of concern (although I do find the sudden smell of unidentifiable magic a bit off-putting) so I make sure Maria’s harness is secure and I set off down the tunnel making sure to stay as quiet as possible and desperately trying not to sneeze at the dusty breeze that occasionally comes through the darkness. It’s so dark not even my usually well adjusted eyes can see what’s in front of me so I will my whiskers to lengthen enough to brush the sides of the tunnels (being a changling has its perks you know). I follow the tunnel steeply downward finding it a bit unnerving that it doesn’t branch off or turn at all I’m so consumed in my thoughts of curiosity that I don’t notice the sound of rushing water suddenly breaking the silence I pause and angle my ears forward in an attempt to hear how far away it is (good it doesn’t sound like it’s coming towards me for a second there I thought the tunnel was flooding! Yikes!). I begin to bound forward towards the sound when suddenly the gentle slope dropped into a rounded and very steep water filled hill. I try my best to stop but the water pushes me downward, I let out a shocked (and less than dignified) squeal and going slipping, sliding and sprawling down this round tunnel for several minutes when it finally spit me out into a massive and ridiculously bright cavern. I close my eyes quickly against the painful brightness and attempt to find my footing once more. I’m able to stand up a bit now and open my eyes narrowly to allow them to adjust looking down at the floor. I take my first step forward slipping slightly but I can open my eyes now and fall straight back into the pool I came out of in shock! As I scan my surroundings properly this time I find the bright cavern covered entirely in glowing mosses, crystals, and in the far end (where it is much drier) a bejeweled chest. I pull myself clumsily from the water shaking out my long dripping fur. Casting a quick warming charm (the would’ve been a fun trip if it hadn’t been so bitterly cold), I pad over to the closest bright blue moss patch and give it a sniff. Surprisingly it smelled deeply of old books, lavender, and soap! Nothing at what I thought squishy glowing moss to smell like. Excited I run to a crystal covered in glowing pink moss and breath deeply. It smells like pine trees and the ocean! How perplexing and fun! I continue to sniff at patches of brightly colored moss patches and make my way over to the strange chest to investigate.

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.