#they always make me think of that Mary Oliver quote

[whyisntketchupasmoothie]

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[t1erradelfuego]

[hedgehog-moss]

Loved your mentioning of learning poetry by heart: this is something I haven’t done since school! What are some of your favs that you’d suggest to ease my brain back into it?

(Française ici donc les options 🇫🇷 autant que anglais sont welcome :) merci!)

Hi :) You can look at the poem tag of my quote blog if you want—some of the ones I've learnt by heart (or excerpts from them) include this one by Sara Teasdale - Nanao Sakaki - Velimir Khlebnikov - Wallace Stevens - Rabindranath Tagore - Archibald Macleish - Howard Nemerov - and these paragraphs by Henri Peña-Ruiz which I consider prose poetry... My favourite French verses (from Corneille, Aragon, Anna de Noailles, Hugo, Valéry...) are all alexandrines and I find it to be the easiest type of verse to remember, as the structure is so rigorous and consistent. I sometimes translate English poems into alexandrines (like this one) to make them easier to learn in this more familiar form—I think even after all this time English prosody still feels foreign to me; the patterns of sound and rhythm in French are more deeply embedded in my brain so it can more easily predict what comes next...

Re: easing your brain into it, I guess that depends on your style of learning? For me the best way to learn a text is to spend time with it in written form, be it by translating it, or by writing it down by hand (slowly) and then (sometimes) keeping it for a while in a place where I often stand idle, like taped to my microwave so I re-read it as I wait 1 minute for something to heat up.

One thing I like about learning poems is that it's a costless, always-accessible way to get a sense of personal accomplishment. Beyond that, I've got three categories of poems I like to learn for different reasons—I'll go into some detail in case it can help you figure out what you're after :)

1. Classic poetry, because it's just fun to have little snippets of ancient tragedies or epic Victor Hugo poems living at the back of your mind and accompanying you through your own everyday tragedies—as an overdramatic person who tends to feel devastated or exasperated over tiny stuff, it helps me to take some distance from my feelings. Like if I spill a bucket of manure on my boots and my first reaction is rage and despair and my second thought is a couple of verses by Euripides where Iphigenia bemoans her relentless fate, it's a way to make fun of (and get over) myself.

My grandmother did this a lot, she knew so many poems by heart and often used them ironically. If I went whining to her when I was little she'd recite to me the last few verses of Alfred de Vigny's La Mort du Loup (it sounds better in the original but):

[...] With all your being you must strive To that highest degree of stoic pride [...] Weeping or praying—all this is in vain. You must instead shoulder your long and heavy task In the way that Destiny has seen fit to ask Then suffer and die without complaint.

(Let me tell you, that's just what a five-year-old wants to hear after scratching her knee at the park) But really I admired this treasury of poetry she carried within her, especially as she only went to school until age 14 and came upon most of it thanks to her own curiosity; as well as the way she used it playfully in everyday life, using dramatic classical verse to de-dramatise minor annoyances.

2. Nature poems are great in the opposite way, to magnify minor positive things :) Like seeing a fox and having a few lines by Mary Oliver come to mind, seeing a frog and thinking of that Basho haiku... I recently discovered Jean-Michel Maulpoix and I also love his nature poems, like 'The recovery of blue after a downpour', the way he describes snow melting in the spring, or golden-blue evenings:

[Snow] takes some time to leave, but delicately. She doesn’t insist, hardly persists, never roots… She gives way. No one else dies so merrily With such good humour Unmatched is her disdain for eternity…

L’azur, certains soirs, a des soins de vieil or. Le paysage est une icône. Il semble qu’au soleil couchant, le ciel qui se craquelle se reprenne un instant à croire à son bleu.

3. And then there are the poems that proudly serve no purpose. <3 I mean beyond distilling language in a beautiful way. No deep meaning—or no meaning at all, e.g. surrealist poetry. I learnt this passage from Les Champs magnétiques back in middle school:

La fenêtre creusée dans notre chair s'ouvre sur notre cœur. On y voit un immense lac où viennent se poser à midi des libellules mordorées et odorantes comme des pivoines. Quel est ce grand arbre où les animaux vont se regarder ? Il y a des siècles que nous lui versons à boire. . . Prisonniers des gouttes d'eau, nous ne sommes que des animaux perpétuels. . . Nous ne savons plus rien des astres morts ; nous regardons les visages. . . Quelquefois, le vent nous entoure de ses grandes mains froides et nous attache aux arbres découpés par le soleil.

—and I've often recited it to myself just to enjoy these gratuitously nice sentences that aren't here to deliver information. Like Kay Ryan said, "Poetry makes nothing happen. That's the relief of it." It's a nice break, a way to remember that communicating isn't all language is for; beyond the social dimension there's also an intimate one that relies on our own aesthetic sensitivity. Most of the time we look through language, to access ideas, meanwhile enjoying poetry means looking at language, for a change, appreciating it for itself.

I just realised I'm paraphrasing John Brehm here—in The Poetry of Impermanence he wrote something that can be read as an ode to learning things by heart:

When you read lines that seem especially lit up—that move or intrigue you in some way, or that are simply pleasing or even dazzling—don’t focus on being able to formulate a statement about what they might mean, as if you might be called upon to explain the poem, to yourself or to someone else. Just linger with those poems or passages that resonate with you. . . Rest your mind on them; let them live inside you.

[poetrysmackdown]

what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?

Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:

“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”

Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.

That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.

Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,

“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”

In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,

“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”

I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.

I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask

[gordisaquaberrymodel]

Hey… Yeah. Me and @redfielddoesthings decided to create OC together!

This is @redfielddoesthings, btw, lol. And this here is our son, Miguel “Mica” Laurent! Thank the owner of this blog for ACTUALLY convincing me to make an OC with her when I said I wouldn't. Life sure is full of surprises!

So, this is our child, Mica! 🙌✨

[ Template by @jimothy-hopkins ✨]

BASIC INFO ☆

Miguel “Mica” Laurent is a regular student at Bullworth Academy, although he isn't very academically bright. He is a Greaser and ex-prep. Mica carries the personality of a “Badboy” and is proud of it. He is into arts and music. His favorite hobbies are: stealing, drawing, mysticism, skating and mercilessly flirting. Despite that record, he is very friendly and easygoing, will greet you and be kind if he finds you okay.

You can find Mica by New Coventry, in the Autoshop and around the School pulling pranks and bullying others.

RELATIONSHIPS ☆

Mica has a good reputation with Greasers, Bullies and Townies, and will rarely be hostile towards a Bully or a Townie. He is specially close to his clique and tries to hang out with all of them. His best friend in the clique is Juliet Bellucci, he is one of the medium kids so he's sometimes paired up with Lucky or Ricky.

Mica dislikes Preps due to his background growing up as one and feeling unable to be himself in the clique, he used to be friends with Mary Brown and Oliver Bonville but once he left the clique, he became resentful to all Preps and will always taunt them.

Mica dislikes Jocks. Mica dislikes Nerds.

QUOTES ☆

✧ GREETINGS ✧

“Greetings! I mean–… Ey!”

“Wassup, hot stuff?”

“Oi! How're ya?”

“Hey there, man, wassup?”

✧ CHATTER ✧

“…I kinda wish I was an actual Greaser. I still speak weird sometimes. Gotta stop.”

“Oh, man, I really need finish that book. And return it, someday, maybe, who knows… Haha.”

“Dude, do I hate preppies.”

“Do these chokers make me look tough or pathetic?”

“Mysticism is kinda dope.”

“After music class today, I think I'mma go steal something from Harrington House.”

“Am I Mean bad boy or like, Hot bad boy?”

“Sometimes, I can't decide if I wanna be a Townie or stay a Grease. I think I wanna dropout…”

“…I hate feeling insecure. I miss home.”

✧ SAYING GOODBYE ✧

“I got some stuff to steal– I mean, do! I'll be heading out now. See ya.”

“Fun talking to ya, but I have Art class now. Catch ya later.”

“I'd like to stay more, but I can't. Imma hit the road now. Au revoir!”

ART by @redfielddoesthings ♡

[perpetualproductions]

I saw your post about depression and wanting asks/distractions so, do you have a single favorite jordan li moment like a quote, scene, or anything where you're like "this melts me every time" or the moment that cemented your love for them ? mine was early on at the club the slicked back hair, THAT fit and attitude and the glint in their eyes AHHH

Dude. My love for Jordan Li is unimaginable. Like, I don't think I've related to a character this much. I want to say love at first sight (when they first shifted in Brink's office), but if I'm being honest, it probably wasn't till episode 2 where they were asking Marie to give them credit for fighting Luke. That's around when I warmed up to the character a bunch, but the moment I fell in love with them was probably the moment they had with their parents at the Think Brink gala. I just related so hard with that whole scene.

"I'm just a kid who's addicted to their PlayStation, that goes to Olive Garden just for the bread sticks[...] I didn't change, I've always just been me."

I cried. Literally almost word for word and actual convos I've had with my folks before. So yeah, that scene always gets me.

Some honorable mentions include: "tag team cocksplotion" , "It's fucking Saturday" (or Jordan that while fucking episode, Jesus), and "You have sex hair". Classic Jordan Li, my love. (And anything Limoreau).

Thanks for the ask! Appreciate it very much! Talking about this wonderful show, and these amazing characters really does make me smile. Much love 😎👍❤️

[septembersghost]

maybe it's because i'm melancholic, maybe it's because i'm a Romantic romantic, maybe it's some innate jewishness latched onto the DNA of remembrance, but noting "lasts" to me is valuable, even if there's a sorrow in it, in the finality. the wisp of fear and grief. it makes me think a bit of that mary oliver quote (and i know i'm giving it different meaning in saying this) - someone i loved once gave me a box full of darkness. it took me years to understand that this too, was a gift. it makes me think of why, in death, we say: may their memory be a blessing. it's the hope that we keep and lift up the flame. moments are precious because they end.

the thing about a last is no one ever knows when they're having one until long after the fact, and if you're here to recognize it, then it becomes a treasure. if someone isn't here to understand, then we hold it for them. you can only see it looking back at it. almost no one knows when the very last is going to be, but there are so many other little pearls of them before that. they stopped making something that was your favorite, but you had it one last time. lovers parting not knowing they've had a last kiss. a friendship that drifts apart and they didn't realize they were sharing a last laugh. a writer unwittingly penning their last word. a singer doesn't know when they've given an audience their last song.

except. someone new takes a hand, reads the passage, puts on the last song decades later and sways in their room, and then it's neverending. i think that's why i hold onto dates, look back at memories, even final ones, sad ones. it's not closing the door forever, it's reverent. they may take on a gloom or an iridescence, depending on the view, but if we don't remember they were the last, it steals something. tight hugs, hand-written letters, tail wags, cups of tea, sunrises, melodies. these are the ephemeral things that make up a life, and the more we think they don't linger forever is the more they actually do. there are things which are lasts, and there are things which last. for always. sometimes they're the same.

[butimnotasexyrussian]

1, 2, 7, 13, 18, 27, and 30. :D

So it turns out that I can only access my inbox from mobile because when I log in through desktop, Tumblr still says I have no asks, which is so fucking annoying but we're making do.

Anyway.

From the unique writing asks post:

1. What themes would you like to write about that you feel don't get explored very often?

I think it's the nature of fanfic that most people that stumble across stuff I've written are looking for romantic pairings, which is great because if I've written for them, it means their dynamic makes me want to chew concrete and I love being able to share that with readers! But as someone on the ace/aro spectrum (we're still figuring this out), I think it would be really interesting to explore themes of asexuality and/or aromanticism through characters in a respectful and meaningful way. I don't think I'm at the point in my personal development where I can do that quite yet, but I'd love to some day.

2. What are some common elements of stories you are tired of seeing? What would you avoid writing about?

This one's a tough one because I'm genuinely pretty open to whatever. Like whenever I'm like, hmm don't think I like that, something will come up and inevitably prove me wrong. I didn't think I'd ever be into cheating, but then there's like every canon Roisa fic ever. Also Rose being Luisa's stepmother is still weird but hasn't stopped me.

Oh, one trope I do hate though is magic babies. I spend most of my time in wlw fics and while I'm fine with adoption fics, I hate it when someone in a wlw couple magically ends up pregnant and everyone's weirdly happy about this and no one is freaking out about it. It just doesn't do it for me. It's a huge commitment and the fact that a biological baby is like the "next step" to fulfillment in their relationship and doesn't strain it at all is so icky to me.

7. Favorite description in your wip?

I am literally so bad at descriptions but please enjoy this brief excerpt from my gap princess diaries 2 au I haven't updated in a year lol.

Mon fidgets for a bit before Sam takes off her suit coat and drapes it around her shoulders.

"Oh," Mon says. Sam's wearing suspenders and that distracts her. It takes her a while to remember to say, "Thank you."

"You looked cold."

She was not cold. It's actually a pretty mild night. Mon does not mention this as she pulls the coat tighter around herself. It smells fresh, vaguely like saltwater air.

13. What traits do you share with your original characters or what traits do you wish you shared with them?

I think whenever I do end up writing original characters, they're always like plucky sidekicks who are only there to give the protagonists a kick in the ass. I'd like to be able to not overthink as much and just see the situation clearly and tell it to people as bluntly as my OC's seem to.

18. What writers have inspired you with their use of language? What are some of your favorite quotes?

It's been so long since I've read anything so my mind is blanking right now, but I'm always amazed by how much feeling poets can put into their words. I remember sobbing throughout Ocean Vuong's On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous. The older I get, the more I identify with everything Mary Oliver has written ever. My mentally ill boy Kafka is always a mood. I wish I could remember anything any of these people have ever written but I have nothing but dryer fluff in my head. I'm sorry.

27. Do you have playlists for your wip? What are some of the songs in it?

Sorry, I usually don't have playlists for writing! I should actually start though because it has gotten me over writer's block a couple times, but for the most part, I just play whatever song I'm currently obsessed with. My ADHD means that I tune the lyrics out and I'm just vibing with the beat, although if I loop a song enough times while writing, every time I hear that song afterwards, I'll always associate it with the process of writing that fic, which is pretty cool. I don't think I've written anything over the past twelve months, but my current song on repeat is Animal by VEAUX if you wanna check it out!

30. What is some of the best writing advice you've read or received? Why does it work for you?

The thing about advice for me is that I'm always seeking it out and hoarding it like wow, I bet this would work for me and then...not doing anything to implement it. One thing I did end up using though, is from a Tumblr post that was like, "order everything in your sentences the way a movie scene would play out so the emotional punch comes at the end, like she came into the kitchen, saw the creeping puddle of blood, and discovered her brother's body." I'm paraphrasing obviously because no one can find anything on this hellsite, but this really made me realize that I kinda just threw everything together and hoped it made sense (once again, probably due a little bit to the ADHD). I'm not sure if anyone's even noticed, but I like to think it's made my writing a bit more coherent and easier to follow.

Thanks for asking! I'm love you!

[moraxsthrone]

Violet, Crocus (ehe), Bluebell and Tigerlily goooooo -w-

ohhhhkay...you asked for it!

violet— do you like to cook or bake? if so, what is it that you like to make?

i do like to cook! it's one of the few things i'm good at lol! my favorite is japanese cuisine (esp rice bowls and chirashisuhsi), but with the drought in california (the us's main sushi rice supply source) it's been so difficult/expensive to get any and you kinda need rice to make most japanese dishes lol? so i've been making italian food instead (and it shows in the way my clothes fit tighter 😩). not so much into baking, but i will sometimes.

crocus— do you have any significant dreams that you remember? what were they about?

bruh. all my life, i've had crazy ass dreams. and i remember a lot of them. probably the most vivid/profound was one i had 15+ years ago. i was a little girl (in the dream; i can't remember if i was late teens or early 20s irl) and there were 2 snakes: one red, one black and they were kinda wrapped around each other? they were HUGE but i wasn't scared of them. in fact, i was sliding down their backs, laughing and having a good time. i got the sense that they were protecting me? i came to learn much later on that what i dreamed about was a double ouroboros, which looks like this and is a very powerful symbol with several meanings:

bluebell— do you have any pets? if so, what are their names?

nope, no furbabies. but i do have a lot of plant babies! probably close to 50 of them. between them and my son, i don't need anything else to take care of lol.

tigerlily— do you have any favorite quotes from any movies, tv shows, books, or poetry? (or from people in real life)

gahhhh so many! here are a few...

"repugnant is a creature who would squander the ability to lift an eye to heaven, conscious of its fleeting time here" - lyrics from the song "right in two" by tool (fave band ever)

"build a man a fire and he'll be warm for a day. set a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life." - sir terry pratchett

"light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. no matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it." - sir terry pratchett (again)

"great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds." - albert einstein

"i am not what you think i am. you are what you think i am." - the buddha

"someone i loved once gave me a box full of darkness. it took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift." - mary oliver

+ listen, buddy wakefield is my favorite poet. there are so many of his that i love so much, but here are my faves:

"i no longer need you to fuck me as hard as i hated myself. make love to me like you know i am better than the worst thing i ever did."

"...the moon...it did not have to be full for us to love it."

"we can stretch van gogh paintings from seattle, washington to binghampton, new york and you still won't find the brilliant brush strokes it takes to be a single mother."

"it takes a long time to make love with someone who hates themselves."

...there are so many more, but i've already listed too many!

[be-side-my-self]

Rewatch of ONLY Murders In The Building to prepare for season 4 (V)

<Part I> // <Part II> // <Part III> // <Part IIII>

Block #OMITBRewatch if you don’t want to read notes that will have spoilers up to seasons 3. Just to make it clear, while quoting, I use M, O, C for the main characters.

Also I’m putting this under a read more because it gets long. (also, also this is the fifth part and I finally added "only" to the title.)

S2 E7

Episode of Mabel.

There is Theo and that is a really nice apartment.

M: "Is that me? Did I stab someone? Again?"

Detective Williams baby is so cute! Keith.

Mabel: "Nice accesory." Theo: *Looks down at his ankle* Mabel: "You steal jewelery from dead people, and the state gives you and anklet. Kind of poetic." Theo: *slams the mug, pissed off.*

THEO DIMAS I'm deaf. I write, or use ASL _I catch only 1/3 of what you say,_ through lip-reading.

*insert that video from american psycho about the business cards.

Theo: "When you got off the train, you were in shock so I took you to my place like creep."

Theo is really nice.

Detective Williams is so great.

.... they are so stupid it's amazing... but also that apartment is poorly soundproofed

Talking about a two-men job on the toilet is a really weird thing to say.

M: "Ah, yes. The adventures of a teenage grave robber. Got it."

Theo likes the simple solutions. Nice.

Someone with frustration is playing Whak-a-mole

Crane game... my sister is so good at it. Better than Theo.

So, how did he manage to get the ring in the crane-game? Sleight of hand? He could have put it in there when Mable did not look.

Oliver probably has probably flash-back to the time Will was a baby.

The dads are consulting.

Oh Mabel :(

Of course she is angry, her dad is dying and he can't keep his promises and she does not know.

Uh oh... glitter.

That is such a good scene.

So, the background on Mable's phone... is that her fursona?

Omg... please... I know you need to look at the lips Theo, but please look at the street.

M: "Thank you for stealing my fish."

Oh right! A blackout!

S2 E8

Sith-Avenue Slasher

Something about this was correct...

Also love the fan-made merch. All the tie-die stuff.

You always get Oliver with dips.

Howard! Go for it!!

Psycharatist: "There may be more to life than cats."

... lmao Charles and Oliver bonding over the guy who operated their knees. Besties.

Howard: "Sevenlyn Marie Morris, num num!"

Smooth, Howard!

It's actually nice to see some side-characters in that episode...

Howard and that other guy are a match made in heaven... pity it does not last :/

Also the scene with Nina and the door-man is really good.

Oh... the whole house singing sound of silence. That is such a nice scene.

:(

Mabel takes the dips with her!

lmao everyone getting drunk in the lobby XD

M: "But why are you here? Other than interrogating teenage girls? Detective Kreps: "That's just one part of the job I happen to like."

YIKES YIKES YIKES

The GLITTER!!

S2 E9

Rose Cooper and Leonora Folger are the same person iirc.

Well the alimony is probably partly your fault, Kreps.

Kreps: "And she, or he, if that is your thing, they smile at you, and your whole goddamn universe turns upside down. And that's when shit gets really crazy."

M: "That is ASL for glitter." C: "Oh, that is kind of fun."

Congrats Oliver! You are the father!

O: "There's no real difference. All the European countries are esentially the same."

... boy.

Hey, Alice!

As I said, I did not like Alice but this is really tragic. It would have been nice for Mabel to have an artist as a girlfriend.

Oh lol... Rose just acted like she was Leonora.

And... now I think I remember that Oliver is lying about being greek... but it's a white lie?

25 Willow Dr Lake Placid New York

"Excessive Force Fighting Gym" ... that sounds fun and not serious at all. But gosh the upcoming scene is so good.

Hey, Teddy!

Lmao... Oliver just going for Teddy's throat.

O: "You're my son's father, you piece of shit!"

Kreps: "If I'm so stupid, how come I was able to land the smartes woman on the planet?"

It they weren't murderers their story would have been kinda cute.

Teddy: "Ow!" O: "Can I get you something!? Coffee? Water? A swift kick in the dick?" Teddy: "Look, Oliver, let me explain--" O: "Oh no, no, no. You know you don't have to. I was up all night talking to Roberta. She told me what happened." Teddy: "Did she tell you it only happened once?" O: "She said twice." Teddy: "One night, two times." O: "Well, now you're just bragging."

Mabel figures it out but comes to the wrong conclusion... I mean I would too.

Teddy's whole family was a bunch of crooks.

Teddy: "Aren't we square at this point? You send me to jail, I fuck your wife?"

Well, shit.

S2 E10

I remember that I really enjoyed the episode.

Poppy really had a shitty life.

The Mayor... yikes, yikes, yikes...

Cinda is such a bitch.

O: "Torture? Can we torture her? Charles, get your concertina and whatever you consider your 10 most intersting stories." C *rubbing his nose with his middle finger*: "Hm, let me just muse on that, uh, for a second." O *smirks*: "Mm."

No, Oliver it does not feel like a finale yet... but at least we got to see Poppy's background story.

M: "Oliver, what did we agree on?" O: "You and Charles do the talking."

I know people who are disgusted by the inside of the tomatoe but also someone who gets an allergic reaction when eating unprocessed tomatoes. I on the other hand can eat a tomatoe like an apple. And I enjoy it.

Liverwurst? Yum. Marmelade? Yum. Togther? ... nonono

Uma is great.

Lester's (Doorman) story is hardcore.

Oliver is so fast with giving away Charles' money.

O: "The sexual energy between you two was obvious. I'd say more, but this is a family murder podcast."

Charles and Oliver doing slow motion is so hilarious.

Don't waste food.

... love how Mabel ist using the ego of Poppy to confess.

Holy shit what a scene.

I remember the first time I saw that I was so freaked out.

And the fact that Cinda is now complimenting Mabel...

Again... if they weren't murderers, I would have wished Krebs and Poppy all the best.

C: "Hallelujah! It's a miracle cure!" Lucy: "Nice. you got de-dementia'd."

LMAO... How Charles tries his best to ask out Joy and luckily she understands his grunts.

Pity, that the mural is painted over.

Also it seems like Mabel and Alice stayed friends at least. Maybe dated some longer, who knows?

Awww... Will and Oliver having a moment.

I screamed when I saw Paul Rudd in that role.

But like what kind of ass do you have to be to get on the bad side of Charles?

*dramatic yodeling*

[enashinonome]

Hello aya! 10 and 30 for the ask game 🌸

hello noemi 🫧 thank you for sending!! your new theme is soo pretty by the way!

10. do you have a creed?

vaguely, yes. one that isn’t strict but flexible and forgiving. to gain something from everything i do, which is fun and joy most of the time, to never withhold love from others despite any fears, to embrace being easily moved, to trust that i have the strength to persevere through anything, to have the awareness to see and celebrate the divine wherever i may find it, to express gratitude always, to live in every day instead of passing through it…and fuck it we ball, of course. i’m sure there’s more, but these are the things that i feel come up most in my daily life. it’s hard to be gentle when i have only ever raised myself to be sharp because i thought it’d be safer, more impressive, what have you; i feel like i stopped only now because i realized i want to be loving and loved. and i can’t have that if i’m withholding my love!

that reminds me of something i wrote in my notebook for my creative writing class in school. it was a freewrite—with the prompt being “what color do you feel like today?”—and in it i’d misspelled withhold with only one H. then i kind of ran with it: “i play with fire (not red) and it thrills and scares me. everything scares me. and i love too much. i just withold it. misspelling withhold is kind of clever. i hold my wits instead of others’ hands. i think it makes me stronger, holding things close to the chest.” that kind of thinking has been so ingrained in me since i was young, but now i’m trying to correct that. and i think that is what my creed means to me.

30. pick one of your favorite quotes.

OH this is TORTURE how could i ever pick just one??? when asked questions like these i immediately forget everything i’ve ever read that struck me so hard that it moved me to contemplate myself and my heart as well as uncap a highlighter.

you don’t know this, but i got out my well-loved copy of on earth we’re briefly gorgeous just for you, noe. thank god i used those little sticky tabs to mark my favorite quotes from it.

“is that what art is? to be touched thinking what we feel is ours, when, in the end, it was someone else, in longing, who finds us?” this was my yearbook quote in middle school, actually! god, middle school…i don’t think on earth is something you’d find a middle schooler reading, but i’m so glad i read it then. i could talk about that book for hours. i put sticky tabs on many other quotes, but that one means the most to me.

i also think about that one richard siken tweet all the time, the one where someone asks him, “mister siken, what do i do when i’m always the one that loves more?” to which he responds, “congratulate yourself.” god. that changed the way i perceived my own love. before, i saw it as useless if not expressed, appreciated, reciprocated in full. but now i know it’s something beautiful that i’m grateful to carry, even if it means intense suffering sometimes. most times i walk out of situations being glad that i loved.

well, anyways. i also pulled out my copy of war of the foxes for this. with the way i talk about him so much, you’d think siken is my favorite poet, but he’s not. he was just formative in my poetry-reading journey. this line from ‘self-portrait against red wallpaper’: “shame comes from vanity. / shame means you’re guilty, like the rest of us, / but you think you’re better than we are.” FUCKKK god. just kill me, why don’t you. and if that didn’t make me keel over before, right after that: “what would a better me paint? there is no / new me, there is no old me, there’s just me, the same / me, the whole time.”

and this from ‘the stag and the quiver’: “this is the testimony / of the deer: solitude, the long corridors, love from a distance.” FUCK MY LIFE!!!!!! i could get into my love of deer for this one but we’d be here for eons. so i will stop there.

an honorable mention to everything mary oliver has ever written. i love her spiritual awareness. in my theology class, when we were talking about sacraments, my teacher linked ‘the summer day’ in her slides, as well as pat schneider’s ‘the patience of ordinary things’, which made me very happy because the day before i told her it was a poem that fit with what we were learning very nicely. and she agreed and liked it enough to include it in her slideshow! i melted. thank you mary oliver, thank you pat schneider, thank you to everyone who has written something that i told myself i could never forget. and my apologies for forgetting.

[steelycunt]

love the sirius talk he really is just so all over the place in fact I think one of the reasons I like r/s as much as I do is because of the fact that genuinely no body else knows sirius as well as remus does no one else knows exactly how kind and cruel he can be and through it all remus is still obsessed with him. even when he doesn’t know if he’s a good person or even when he thinks he’s a terrible one and same honestly he’s got me wrapped around his finger even if I wish he didn’t. and I’m always thinking about that scene in POA when he’s talking to harry about the ministry administering the dementors kiss and he doesn’t want sirius to get the kiss even though he doesn’t know he’s innocent yet, or just how emotional and jumpy he was whenever sirius was brought up at all.. and then how completely cold he was to peter when he learnt the truth. even though he loved him once like family and spent 12 years mourning him he’s completely unattached and cold to peter but he’s spent 12 years hating sirius and still couldn’t detach himself from him. he had 12 years to move on and he just! couldn’t! he’s obsessed!! i love the way that they didn’t have the kind of relationship that could withstand anything cause they’re barely able to keep themselves together let alone a relationship and they were just always in the worst circumstances but no matter what they always came back to each other. it’s like the complete opposite of destined lovers or whatever it’s called it’s like they weren’t supposed to be together but there was nothing the universe could throw at them that would make remus not be completely consumed by sirius no matter how much he might hate him or how long they were apart he could never move on. it reads like such a Tragedy, reminds me of that post on here that’s like the love was there even if it couldn’t save the day or didn’t make a difference in the grand scheme it was there and that’s what’s important. he was nothing short of devoted to sirius truly the Best sirius is the one through remus’ eyes cause he could look at this insufferable posh asshole and know the hurt he could evoke better then anyone and be in a constant loosing fight against fucking fate itself and still go ‘yeah he’s worth it’

hii yes especially love ur point about remus' varying responses to peter and sirius when he thinks they're each the traitor!! insane!! and such a testament to how inescapable his feelings for sirius are like. that's it that's the whole thing he could never manage to rid himself of it...twelve whole years and he couldn't cut it out of himself they're just SO. yeah. they don't by any means fix each other but they need each other anyway because honestly the alternative is just as bad. they are just as useless without each other. remus went without him for twelve years and that still did no good. i don't like the term soulmates nor do i necessarily believe in higher powers/the kind of predestination that might be implied by the term fated, but i don't know what else to call them they're just stuck with each other. and there comes a point where they are sooo tangled up in each other's lives--that mary oliver quote about not knowing where to drop the knife of separation--that everything will inevitably come back to each other. time and the course of their lives ensures that they remain the only two people who could possibly understand each other, and in that way they're sort of fashioned into soulmates. not in the sense that they were predestined but that they had little control over how absolutely their relationship consumed them both, past the point of choosing to love each other when they were fucking. sixteen or something.

[fairycosmos]

I don’t get how you can be so kind to people, I’m not like a mean bitch to people but I’m definitely a hateful jealous bitch and I don’t think I’ll ever know peace or heal, I’m probably gonna end up by killing myself and the thought always brings such peace to me anyway I admire you cause I would have exploded by now.

for me it's that i think i find it much easier to communicate clearly and with patience online/in writing, whereas in real life i can be snappy and defensive and extremely closed off, and i have a bunch of my own boundaries and baggage that i think are going to take forever to work through, if i ever do. i can be extremely bitter, negative and thoughtless. i think it's just a matter of social media flattening your perception of me, maybe. i do want to be kind and i try to be. but it is not effortless when you are a really hurt person, and that's just the nature of the cycle i think. it's a good sign that you're able to recognise your negative behaviour and that you want to make a change. i think that is always possible, it's just slow and difficult and non-linear. a lot of work, you know? i'm really sorry to hear you're in such a bad place. it's alright to struggle with the whole spectrum of human emotion. it doesn't mean you're evil or beyond help or any of the shit your brain is telling you, and i mean that. it sounds like bullshit until you survive long enough to see it from a new perspective, which can happen gradually, or all at once. i really hope you're able to talk to someone you love or a mental health professional about this if these thoughts of harming yourself are beginning to take over your mind to the point that you can't function. you do deserve better and self-forgiveness is the first step toward building a life where pockets of peace are consistent. tell me to fuck off for quoting mary oliver in this situation if you want, but it's exactly like her famous poem "...you do not have to be good. you do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. you only have to let the soft animal of your body loves what it loves." i think there is a lot of truth in that and i think it is worth at least trying to live by it if that's what is going to get you from one moment to the next. you really don't exist in one fixed state, doomed to be hateful or in pain. your life is fluid and malleable, the self is ever-changing whether or not we can see it. please, consider calling the authorities or a loved one if you are at risk of hurting yourself. learning how to cope with these thoughts in a healthier way, and processing them rather than internalising them, can make all the difference. it's not easy, and it is annoying as fuck. but the point is there are options, and i hope you never forget that. also, thank you for being sweet. i want to combust into flames, all the time. sending you a lot of love. please take care, and take it one day at a time. x

suicide hotlines

[catilinas]

Any poems you like that are about fire? (Better even if it’s fire and travelling or going home or rebirth) I’m looking for ones and you always have good taste in poetry :)

would it be bad if i said like. the aeneid. the pharsalia. stoic ekpyrosis counts as Being About Fire, right??? but seriously thinking abt this question made me realise how much of the poetry i enjoy is more focused on water. whoops.

anyway:

vergil, aeneid books 2&4 :-)

also the third stanza of catullus 51 :-)

rosanna warren, bonfires (Roman epic is painted / in black fire on black ground. / When the rhythm holds, anything burns on those canted / lines: oxen, swine, the stunned // still bleeding human victims, hands tied / behind their backs. The hero's / head aches, his lungs sear as he stands aside / and greasy smoke billows. // fire by now has consumed an entire day.)

andrea gibson, tonight (offer your body as a burning building / without fire escapes)

mary oliver, the fire (then over my head the red timbers floated, / my feet were slippers of fire, my voice / crashed at the truth, my fists / smashed at the flames to find the door—/ wicked and sad, mortal and bearable, / it fell open forever as i burned.) (this one is probably closest to what you're looking for but. the home is perhaps a little bit On fire)

jay bernard, surge (the entire book. it contains a long sequence of poems abt the new cross fire in 1981 and is one of the best poetry books i've read in the past few years. here is a review that is better than what i can say! the emphasis on archives / how to remember/memorialise small details / decontextualisation and forgetting makes it feel weird to quote (and so decontextualise) like. one good stanza About Fire but extremely check this book out bcs it's amazing)

[roseforthethorns]

“Wild Geese”

For the end of 007 Fest 2022 Nights are the hardest.

For James Bond, the nightmares never really bothered him. He simply accepted them as his due, a reward for being MI6’s best spy. He’d been everywhere, seen everything, done everything and (most) everyone. He had a list of kills longer than most in the business, and not all of them had been dispatched with a bullet. Sometimes, Bond would wake, body alert and mind racing, convinced he’d felt hands around his throat again, or the crushing weight of water, or his shoulder exploding in pain. Other times he would wake and have to check that he wasn’t still holding his gun.

When Bond and Vesper had been together, he’d still been so green as an agent; there had been some trauma, but nothing some Scotch and a good fuck couldn’t handle. Her death still hurt, but the dull ache of an old scar, and the nightmare of her drowning almost never happened anymore.

But when he started sleeping with Q? When the lanky boffin with a sharp tongue and a voice that always brought Bond home had found his way into Bond’s bed? When Bond had to finally begin to acknowledge to himself that he did, indeed, care for Q and was finding it harder and harder to understand what Q saw in him? 

One particularly sleepless night found Bond standing near one of the windows in his flat, wrapped in his dressing gown. Snow was falling softly outside, blanketing the streets and muffling the sounds of a sleeping London. Bond took another mouthful of Scotch, the liquor burning with a pleasant familiarity as it went down. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Q walked up softly beside him, though not quite with the cat-like tread of a double-oh.

Bond glanced at him and then back out the window. “You should be sleeping.”

“As should you.” Q’s lips twitched slightly. “There, now we’ve both said something incredibly obvious.” He reached out and gently laid his hand on Bond’s shoulder. “You got up a while ago.”

“I thought you were sleeping,” Bond replied, taking another sip.

Q shrugged. “The bed’s colder alone.” They stood in silence for a moment, before Q spoke again. “But really, James, why are you up?” 

The silence stretched for a long time before Bond finally sighed. “Why are you here, Q? Why are you here- with me?” He didn’t look at Q, just continued to stare out the window and sip his drink.

Squeezing Bond’s arm gently, Q said, “Because I want to be.”

Bond chuckled darkly. “You make it sound so simple, like it’s easy for you to be around someone like me.”

“You mean a spy?” Q asked.

“I mean a killer, Q.” The words hang in the air for a moment, finally said, and Bond drains his glass.

Q is silent for a moment, and if Bond had looked at his face, he’d have seen Q thinking. But when Q speaks, it’s not at all the response Bond expects.

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.”

Squeezing Bond’s arm gently again, Q presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I didn’t write that, but I meant every word. I chose this, James, and I still choose to be here. No matter your past, I’m here. Now, come back to bed.”

The nightmares don’t ever end for a double-oh, but finding someone to share the burden with makes them easier to endure.

Author’s note: the poem quoted in the story is “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver (hence the title)

[derangedrhythms]

hello, do you happen to have any quotes on being foolish in love (thinking of Joyce's "and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood")?

thank you! your blog is such a nice place, I've gotten some lovely reading material from here ✨

I’m so happy to hear that! Thank you 🖤

"Friend, I am lost. She can do what she likes with me."

— Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, from ‘The Sorrows of Young Werther’ tr. David Constantine

"…for when I glance at you even an instant, I can no longer utter a word: my tongue thickens to a lump, and beneath my skin breaks out a subtle fire: my eyes are blind, my ears filled with humming, and sweat streams down my body, I am seized by a sudden shuddering; I turn greener than grass, and in a moment more, I feel I shall die."

— Sappho, quoted in ‘A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments’ by Roland Barthes, tr. Richard Howard

"This morning, I must get off an “important” letter right away—one on which the success of a certain undertaking depends; but instead I write a love letter—which I do not send. I gladly abandon dreary tasks, rational scruples, reactive undertakings imposed by the world, for the sake of a useless task deriving from a dazzling Duty: the lover’s Duty. I perform, discreetly, lunatic chores; I am the sole witness of my lunacy."

"What is stupider than a lover?"

— Roland Barthes, from ‘A Lover’s Discourse: Fragments’, tr. Richard Howard

"I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed / And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. / (I think I made you up inside my head.)"

— Sylvia Plath, “Mad Girl’s Love Song”

"I have become an idiot like Gertrude Stein. That’s what love does to intelligent women."

— Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller 1932-1953

"…I have missed you greatly and I have been thinking of you at moments when, God help me, no sane, normal man ought to…"

— Henry Miller, quoted in 'Henry and June' by Anaïs Nin

"Falling in love, it seems, dislocates your view of what is significant. Aberrant behavior ensues. Rules of decorum go by the wayside. This is the common experience (pathos) of lovers, Sokrates says, to which men give the name Eros."

"As soon as eros enters his life, the lover is lost, for he goes mad. But where is the point of entry? When does desire begin? That is a very difficult moment to find, until it is too late. When you are falling in love it is always already too late: dēute, as the poets say."

— Anne Carson, from 'Eros the Bittersweet: An Essay'

"…it is folly to be sunk in love, / And madness plain to make the matter known,"

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, XIX from ‘Fatal Interview’

"I stared, I blushed, I paled, beholding him; / A sudden turmoil set my mind aswim; / My eyes no longer saw, my lips were dumb; / My body burned, and yet was cold and numb."

— Jean Racine, from 'Phaedra', tr. Richard Wilbur

"Here is my heart, raving mad and in love!"

— Rumi, Love Is My Savior: The Arabic Poems of Rumi; from ‘Have Mercy!, tr. Nesreen Akhtarkhavari & Anthony A. Lee

"Like a gale smiting an oak / On mountainous terrain, / Eros, with a stroke, / Shattered my brain."

— Sappho, Stung with Love: Poems and Fragments, tr. Aaron Poochigian

"My head is magnificently empty, / my heart dangerously full;"

— Marina Tsvetaeva, from Bride of Ice; from 'Girlfriend, tr. Elaine Feinstein

"Not anyone who says, “I’m going to be / careful and smart in matters of love,” / who says, “I’m going to choose slowly,” / but only those lovers who didn’t choose at all / but were, as it were, chosen / by something invisible / and powerful and uncontrollable / and beautiful and possibly even / unsuitable — / only those know what I’m talking about / in this talking about love."

— Mary Oliver, Felicity; 'Not Anyone Who Says'

"If I chase after you madly, implore you to listen, stand outside your door and wait for you, it is not that I am trying to humiliate myself. There is no humiliation for me in this struggle to keep you. This is only the proof that I am intensely aware, intensely alert, eager, profoundly eager and desperate to make you realize that my great love for you is a terribly real and beautiful thing."

— Henry Miller, from 'A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller 1932-1953'