#where are your wings and my wings of lead?????? for example. sprouting behind us like asparagus.

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

okay i'm officially seeing shit again. why does this look like a fuckingggg van gogh painting? we're not that crazy again, are we?

when i called you a starry night this isn't quite what i meant but it's a bit like coraline how the angels swirl around her.

[arewelemmings]

Downward Spiral

Downward Spiral written by Are We Lemmings, 2022-12-07

Right wingers hate everyone who is isn't a right winger. It's fact.

Evidence? There's plenty. Let's look at one example.

Remember the phrase, "There goes the neighborhood?" It's a well-known fact that right wingers hate gays. The why doesn't matter. They will make up any reason. Basically, it's because gays are different from them; right wingers hate anyone who's different. I remember being a kid and hearing someone saying, "Those homos better not be moving into the neighborhood. The next thing you know they'll be having disgusting sex on the front lawn. We can't have that." Really? Did they really beleive that? I'm sure some did. But for all my life, I've never read, seen or heard a news story about anybody having sex on the front lawn, gay or straight. It's not homophobia. They don't fear gays. The right wing hates gays. They hate anyone who isn't another right winger. It's just that simple.

They did their best to drive gays into hiding. "If they stay out of sight, it will be okay because we can pretend they don't exist. Out of sight, out of mind." But that wasn't good enough. Gays created their own bars and nightclubs. Gays were behind closed doors. And the right wingers broke down these doors and murdered them. It's not enough for people who are different from right wingers to be invisible. They weren't doing it on the front lawn. They simply can't be allowed to exist. That's the right wing agenda.

These days they're in a tizzy about transgenders. The recent Oklahoma bill HB1011 is a step toward preventing people from transgendering, making it a crime to aid a person in the process. They are trying to erase anything other than straight sex. Next thing you know, they'll try to erase anything creative, so we are all forced into heterosexual missionary exercises of the dull and boring kind while we secretly fantasize of all the wonderfully creative things we would choose if we were given the choice to indulge ourselves. It's puritanical and authoritarian. It's anti-freedom.

Okay, clearly we can't allow this kind of terrorist tyranny take root in America (or any other part of the world where you live). But let's think for a frightening moment about what happens if the right wing wins. And the way they cheat, it's not impossible. It has been proven with abundant evidence that conservatives, far above any other group, will lie, cheat, steal, betray and do whatever necessary to sieze power. They need to be in control.

Imagine right wing hatred and bigotry has eliminated all humankind except those who are radically right wing. There are no other groups of people to hate and fight against. But, no, they won't settle for that; they can't. I remember when I was young, the people in the Irish neighborhood hated the people in the Italian neighborhood, who hated the Polish, who hated the Greeks. They were all white, but there was still bigotry between them. That will happen again. Terrorism and fighting will continue until there is only one group left. And then, within that group, they will begin looking for differences between them to divide up and fight some more. "You hate bean sprouts? How could you?! That's it, buddy. You'll find I don't have your back anymore. I can't believe people like you exist. Maybe you shouldn't exist. I wouldn't have anything to do with you if you were the last person on Earth." And before you know it, there is a literal last person on Earth. And then we're extinct. Of course, it wouldn't proceed nearly as simply as this, but it would gradualy follow this sort of path through hatred and destruction.

Right wing thinking leads us in only one direction. Down. Right wing hatred is a downward spiral of destruction that leads to nothing but death and decay, and nobody left to get sick about it.

Is there a solution? Education will help tremendously. Which is why conservatives cut school budgets to keep us all ignorant and easier to control. Re-educating deplorables won't be easy, but we've got to try. It will surely take a Herculean effort.

What about faith? Jesus teaches kindness, forgiveness, empathy and compassion. But today's Christians don't teach what Jesus taught. So, religion isn't the answer. In fact, the right wing uses religion as a weapon, and are bigoted toward other religions, too. Beyond beefing up education, and possibly passing laws to ensure freedoms, and reforming police to actually do the job of protecting and serving, I don't know anything else that will help. If you've got good ideas, let's hear them. Really. Speak up. Use your voice. That's one of your freedoms that we need to protect.

[twistednuns]

February 2020

I managed to use my iPad as a second monitor for my computer. So tech savvy. Yay me!

Joking about developing a sex-based cardio programme with Manu. Powerfucking! Might help against aggression as well.

A late night phone call with Tom. Not saying much.

Making a huge pot of my grandmother’s signature veggie stew.

More Bon Appétit test kitchen videos. Chris recreating tacos. Claire making Ben&Jerry’s. Priya making her mum’s Indian curries.

Writing a letter to Lena. Drawing upside down bats (which makes them look like they’re having a wicked dance-off). Just the act of writing. I thoroughly enjoy looking at my handwriting.

Using the Salted Coconut handscrub by Lush. Especially now that I wash my hands so often when we’re working with clay at school. I feel like the peeling triggers some pressure points on my palms.

That Saturday productivity high. Cooking and preparing heaps of stuff, cleaning the windows, doing laundry.

Painting my nails like an expressionist artist.

Some portrait studies. Accidentally drawing Sirius Black.

Being really motivated to improve my Spanish. Working with Lorena, the Duolingo app and even starting my own grammar/vocabulary book.

This ultra quirky ASMR video. Also: watching videos with Erin an her boyfriend Chris. It’s amazing how well they work together. How you can almost feel their connection, how similar they are.

Carrot cake oats.

Seeing the The Darkness live again, this time with Margit. Justin’s outfit and personality, singing along, especially to Time of my Life, the band’s traditional first song after the show.

Meeting Chris. Having a Bramblette cocktail at Pusser’s. I like that place. Feels very old-timey with a rowing boat right under the ceiling. We made out in front of a tiger slide in a toy store window on our way to the next bar.

Peeling fresh carrots.

Pickling onions and making kimchi. My fermentation game is strong these days!

Looking through Dominik’s sketchbook. I loved the tree whose bark resembled a mole burrow with its underground tunnel system.

The flu. Yes, really. Fewer pupils at school. Quiet times. I’m actually surprisingly healthy. I’d guess my probiotics must play a role here… Who knows.

More sourdough experiments. Writing about it (DELICACY - a haiku. Oven-warm sourdough / salted butter, alpine cheese / and a strawberry).

Finding a really interesting list of SanFran hippie era book recommendations at the end of Robin Sloan’s Ajax Penumbra: 1969. In the mood to read Maya Angelou, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Richard Brautigan.

Even more beautiful books: I really enjoyed Die weiße Stadt by Karolina Ramqvist, a feminist author from Sweden, and the graphic novel version of To Kill a Mockingbird. But two books that literally (well, figuratively obviously) blew my mind were Circe by Madeline Miller (mythology, loneliness, animals and plants, magic and monsters, some desperate kind of feminism, independence and strength) and Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo (magical realms, university setting, psychological depth, unexpected twists and turns). I haven’t read anything comparable in a very long time and I desperately hope that there’s more to come from these authors.

A beach collecting all the world’s single socks in The Magicians. Oh and of course seeing them break the moon. What a sight. The show is super confusing, obnoxious and absolutely fabulous at the same time. Best example: the Freaky Friday szene in which Margo and Eliot switch bodies. I love how the actors took on each other’s speech patterns and behaviour.

A new addition to my colour vocabular: celadon (a greyish green; there is a type of ceramics you’ll only see in this colour which is not surprising since the shade provides such an interesting contrast to the the earthy, rusty orange of burnt clay.)

Manu telling me that he had rarely seen people with more joy in their eyes than me (“Ich habe schon Freude in deinen Augen gesehen! So ein Leuchten kann man nicht simulieren.”) after complaining about being bored and lifeless. / Making curry with or, well, for him the other night. Drinking Liqueur 43 with cinnamon and milk. Playing the Jackbox party games for which you can use your phone as a controller.

Finding myself in a well-known sitation from the past. Lying in Frank’s bed in the early morning hours, not that tired yet, when he starts talking about his life and his depression. In English, obviously, because that’s our emotional filter. Relating, since I feel quite similar. Coming up with a suggestion for a reciprocal support system. Let’s see what we can do for each other.

Looking at travel photographs. The sea, the cenotes. Longing to go back to Mexico or Australia. Diving. Taking it all in.

Dreaming of my grandmother talking about her biggest regrets in life. Weirdly she was in a little bundle under a coffee table, much like Voldemort in the last Harry Potter movie.

My weird, weird brain. How both pleasure and pain enhance my sense of smell and increase my brain activity, almost causing hallucinations and fixations on ideas. Like geometric shapes in gloomy off-colours and a beige silicon-like surface the other night. All I could think of was a benchscraper.

Blue eyeliner.

Brainstorming three-letter-words with Frank since I’m thinking of getting personalised Nike Blazers. Sad cat. Yes but. Dat ass. Why tho.

Flying squirrels. Watching them wobble through the air. How they look like cute exhibitionist when they’re extending their limbs and thus stretching their, well, let’s just call it wings.

The fact that red cabbage has an intricate pattern like brain convolutions when you cut it open.

Talking to Sonja for the first time in over two years. What a strange person. Interesting, too. At least in homeopathic doses.

Ripe strawberries and nectarines. Oh my god. I love fruit.

Meeting Eve at Pub Quiz. She identifies as female, loves swing dance, used to be an animator and I love her style. Also, I realised that really like Betty. And Dennis wasn’t mean to me for once. I love my nerd friends <3 And I learned that Starbucks was named after the first mate in Moby Dick! Also, coincidentally they asked a question about the city where To Kill a Mockingbird takes place (Maycombe, Alabama) after I had read it the week before.

Inviting Lorena to the Botanical Gardens. I always feel very happy and very much myself when I’m there. I sometimes wish I was a gardener. Lorena was late so I walked along the Spring Path outside and it might have been the first time I’ve seen a brussels sprouts plant. Inside I learned lots of Spanish words and marveled at the incredible butterflies. The huge yellow one right behind the entrance was my favourite. Its delicate feelers were fascinating.

Washing my hands at the Keg’s bathroom. Looking into the mirror. Suddenly thinking of the perfect karaoke song… Rescue Me by Bell Book and Candle! I kept singing it for days on repeat. My neighbour must hate me (nothing new here) especially since my voice is too low for the chorus.

It isn’t hard to see how such attachment patterns can undermine mental health. Both anxious and avoidant coping have been linked to a heightened risk of anxiety, depression, loneliness, eating and conduct disorders, alcohol dependence, substance abuse and hostility. The way to treat these problems, say attachment theorists, is in and through a new relationship. On this view, the good therapist becomes a temporary attachment figure, assuming the functions of a nurturing mother, repairing lost trust, restoring security, and instilling two of the key skills engendered by a normal childhood: the regulation of emotions and a healthy intimacy. // An interesting article on attachment styles and why theraphy works; it makes me want to learn more about attachment theory. This School of Life video is a nice addition as well.

That dream. About a book shop modeled after my picture of Penumbra’s 24-hour bookstore. There was an old man in a very narrow but high-ceilinged room full of books. There was no light source except for moonlight or some street lights. There were loads of stairs, very steep, leading to the back of the house. Upstairs the man would set out cat food and on the rooftop there was an old sailing boat. One day the man decided to open the door to the roof and let visitors see the ship, much like a museum; perhaps to attract customers. However, in the next night a cat-shaped ghost appeared who reminded me quite a lot of Kot Behemoth character in Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita. The ghost was not amused about the old man’s decision and took away his key, a big golden one adorned with a red ribbon.

Toasted sesame makes pretty much every dish so much better.

Watching High Fidelity with gorgeous Zoe Kravitz (I adore her effortless style and her outfits), getting in the mood for making a playlist and listening to more music in general. There are all these great songs out there I forgot about.

Remembering the xkcd storm chaser comics.

Making a wicked good batch of Pho for Tom.

Spending a nice evening with Alex at Shamrock. Singing along to American Boy by Estelle. Confirming the hypothesis that the nerdy, quiet ones usually have a freak streak. That moment in the morning. Eye contact and kegel exercises.

Karaoke with Margit and Betty. Meeting Manu’s doppelganger. Same type, looks, voice. Eerie.

Making a BA Gourmet Makes meme for Steffen after he had passed his law examps. Strangely Gaby kinda looked like him after I was done with it.

Saturday morning in bed. Reading comics and graphic novels. Fresh bedclothes, surrounded by books. Since it was February 29 I thought about leap years and asked a few friends what their inner seven-year-old would have done that day (based on the thought experiment that your birthday was on February 29 and you’d age in 4-year-steps which would divide your age by 4 obviously).      

I came up with: visiting grandma / eating Cini-Minis / falling asleep with my face buried in a cat / beating my neighbour Anna at Memory / drawing while listening to a Bibi Blocksberg cassette.

Alex said he’d have been outside all day, building a snow igloo. Not noticing his mum telling him to come to dinner. If the weather had been bad he would have played with his dinosaur collection. His inner 7-year-old was a hopeless dreamer who got agitated whenever his parents had a fight. Who came home late from school every day because he forgot about time when he was talking to his friend next to a hedge with thorns that looked like tiny airplanes.

Lena said she would have been outside all day long, playing in the mud with the neighbours’ kids. Of course.

[patrickcharlton-oshea-author]

Death Becomes Him: An Age Of Steam and Sorcery novel

Chapter Two:

    “Tarah!”

    The trumpet blast would have knocked Peter out his chair had he been sitting in one. He quickly set the volume slider much lower. The trumpets continued their fanfare as the “video” began to expand beyond the bounds of the page to become the whole environment.

    “A full sensorium video, nice.” He thought.

    A cobbled street faded into view bounded by Victorian era houses. People approached and passed completely ignoring Peter. One passed through him and wandered up the street as they looked at the stalls that had faded in to line the roads. The hawker's mouths opened and closed and Peter imagined he'd have been able to hear them selling their wares were it not for the music reaching a crescendo.

    “Welcome, to the Age of Steam and Sorcery. A world of yesteryear – where the heroes are made, not born.” A voice intoned. Another person passed through Peter but this one was much different. He, no, she was massive. A hulk of iron bearing a massive axe and sword crossed over her back. Beside her ambled a large dog with a small humanoid astride it. On the rider's hips were a pair of glowing flintlock pistols.

    A third figure stepped forth, then kneeled down to greet a small child. This figure was a tall lithe man who appeared to carry no weapons at all. He pulled a gold coin from a pouch at his belt and gifted it to the child who beamed at him and ran back to their mother. As the man stood a wave of what looked like clockwork tattoos rippled across his skin. He snapped his fingers and a mechanical spider popped out of the back of his hand and ran up his arm to sit on his shoulder.

    Peter felt himself lifted into the sky as the voice continued. “This is an Age where anything is possible. When dedication and inventiveness bring rewards beyond your wildest dreams. A time for change, when all that you were can fall away and you can become whatever you choose.” The vista Peter had been brought to was breathtaking. The people he'd been standing amongst just moments ago were now as ants scurrying about the city. The city itself had been reduced to a model though one that stretched all the way to the horizon. In its’ centre was a gleaming edifice of brass and crystal. A magnificent castle that defied physics. Peter swore to himself that he'd stand atop that marvel of architecture one day.

    In that instant he knew he was hooked. He'd never been a gamer before. They were regarded as weirdos at his school. Sad cases that couldn't take life and hid themselves away in their parent's basements. Well, apart from the basement part, that was starting to sound pretty good. No more screaming. A world where he didn't have to deal with quinoa. What did he have to lose?

    Whule he'd been distracted the video had retreated back to the usual dimensions within a page. There were links to character races, monster compendium, maps of the starting areas and a photo gallery of heroes who'd already distinguished themselves. The last link was to a class of NPC called “Avatars”. Curious, Peter tapped it.

    Avatars, the page read, are the embodiment of basic forces in the Age. Moreover, they are alive. Each Avatar is controlled by an Artificial Intelligence that has been learning and growing since the Age began.

    “Well,” thought Peter. “This is why it showed up in the community.”

    These Avatars both embody and control their aspect, the page went on to say. They live, full time in the world that is the Age of Steam and Sorcery. For example: the Avatar of Magic, Xular, resides in an incredible tower at the nexus of all ley lines. From Him, all magic flows.

    “This sounds amazing!” Thought Peter, skimming the rest of the text. “Blah, blah, blah, many races, blah, classless advancement, blah, be the greatest, blah. Where’s the download button?”

    Finding the what he sought, a large red button at the bottom of the page emblazoned with a cursive Enter The Age Of Steam & Sorcery!, Peter slammed his virtual hand down on it. Red liquid splashed outwards as though he’d plunged his hand into a pool of crimson water, then rushed back inwards pulling him through the surface.

    On the far side Peter found himself floating in a red prism with a variation of his own visage reflected back from every surface. As he focussed on each different facet it came forward to give him a better view of how it would affect his character in game. There were slinky cat versions of him, short and stocky dwarf versions, even a large rock-skinned behemoth version.

    Peter turned and twisted as he floated, watching the various incarnations of himself perform the same contortions. He examined the differences between each permutation but interestingly no status screens appeared to indicate how they would differ statistically. “Maybe they're only cosmetic differences?” He thought to himself. “Or hidden from the players to enhance the mystery? Well, I guess I'll have to go by feel.”

    Examining the figures again, Peter reached out to each in turn, and as they too reached out to him he set them gently spinning with a touch. A few began to stand out from the others as he thought about how he felt about his distorted doppelgangers. Three came to the fore as the rest faded back into the sanguine background. Three mahogany picture frames encircled them and a small brass plaque blossomed in the bottom centre of each. The first, a small, lanky Peter with pointed ears that was identified as a Halfling. It stopped mimicking Peter's movements and began going through a series of demonstration actions, showing how it would look moving stealthily, then casting spells, then twirling a sling above his head. Peter waved the reflection away. He was tired of feeling small and helpless. If he were entering a fantasy land, he needed a body that felt nothing like the one he was used to.

    The second was the behemoth. It's plaque identified it as a Gregarii. It's stone like skin rippled as it pulled a massive warhammer from behind it's back and slammed it into the ground. The hammer vanished as the Gregarii raised its hands outwards, palms up, muscles straining as though lifting a massive weight and then stone spikes burst from the ground. These too disappeared as it continued the gesture into a double flex. The flex deepened as muscles inflated and stood even more proud. Though Peter doubted that these demonstration animations represented the whole of the progression options for the race, they were representative of the races' strengths (in this case literally). Nevertheless, this hulking form didn't fully capture his imagination. It was, as per his desires, very different to his current experience, but in the end, was too alien to him. It too was dismissed with a gesture.

    The final option was mostly human. Taller and thinner than a regular person, moving fluidly from stance to stance in a series of martial arts forms, then drawing a great flaming sword from nowhere and flourishing it effortlessly only to have it vanish as he released it to draw a series of flintlock pistols out of the air to fire once and discard. As this figure turned to fire an unseen target behind it a small pair of white feathery wings sprouting from its back were revealed.

    “Wings!” Peter exclaimed. “I won't even have to climb that tower. If I can build those babies up I'll be able to fly myself up there. Done and done.” He reached out and the Celestii, as it's completely ignored plaque identified it as, turned around and  took the proffered hand and shook once to seal the deal.

    The faceted walls gently smoothed back into a single surface and the frame around his chosen avatar dissolved. The avatar itself turned its back on him and spread its arms. A dark oval formed on the wall on the far side of it and with a momentous roar he was thrust through the avatar, merging with it, and on through into the darkness. It felt suffocating, like he was drowning in the rapidly thickening air that was nearing the viscosity of water. He thought could almost hear a small voice whisper “you're welcome” as he was swept away.

A timeless instant later, which could have been as second or an eon, he burst forth from the surface of a fountain and flopped gasping on the rim. As his breath returned he stood on shaking legs to take in his surroundings.

    A great vaulted ceiling above domed a well-lit cathedral. He was standing in a font of glowing pink water at the focus of the room. There was no sign of the portal that had brought him here in the water. Around the edge of the cavernous room lit sconces provided flickering but bright illumination. Massive tapestries adorned the walls depicting epic acts of valour performed by mighty heroes.

    Peter stood gawping long enough that the small cough from his side almost sent him tumbling backwards into the pool again. A small priestess enshrouded by a habit that completely covered her from head to foot stood to his left, proffering a towel.

    “Welcome Traveller,” she intoned. “It is my  great honour to greet and induct you into the Age of Steam and Sorcery. Take a moment to dry yourself before you head out to the Garden of Tranquillity.”

    Peter accepted the towel with an inquisitive look on his face. “Garden of Tranquillity?”

    “The Garden is a safe space where Travellers new to their bodies can acclimate. Very few enter this world with the form they wore on the other side of The Divide.” Peter could hear the capital letters dropping into place as the little lady spoke. “Often they need quite some time to gain their footing and stop walking into overhanging branches and doorways.”

    “Ah,” he thought as he finished rubbing himself down, “a tutorial level. Probably a good idea, all things considered.”

    He handed back the damp cloth with a word of thanks and padded down the carpeted aisle to the archway leading outside. It was a nice thick carpet and Peter was thankful for that on a couple of occasions. His new avatar, no, his body, was taller than the one lying on his bed so near and yet so far away. He stumbled a few times, falling to his knees and having to stand again and take smaller steps until he was confident of his stride. By the time he passed under the arch he felt his legs were once more under his control – just in time to be blinded by the bright sunshine, miss the top step of the stairs and tumble down to lay in a heap on the flagstones at the foot.

    The sharp pain of each impact stabbed more intensely than he'd expected but as he lay sorting out his limbs a warmth coursed through his body and soothed the hurt. He opened his eyes to see another priestess standing over him with her palms out and a warm yellow glow emanating from them.

    “Pay no heed to this minor injury,” she said with a hint of a giggle. “Most Travellers make the same mistake, even some who’ve passed this way before. Besides, it gives us a chance to demonstrate the wonders of magic to those who haven't experienced it yet. ”

    “Passed this way before?” Peter felt uncomfortable, and not just from the bump on the head. The priestess’s garb made it impossible to see her face and he couldn't be sure she wasn't laughing at him.

    “Some Travellers find that their journey is not to their liking. Unlike those of us born to this world, Travellers have the opportunity to be reborn and begin their life anew. They must release all they have accumulated in order to do so, but when they've walked too far down a path that is no longer to their liking, sometimes it is the only option.”

    Trying to think of it in real-world  terms as he lay on the ground, Peter figured that what she was saying is that you can only have one character at a time and that in order to create a new one you must first delete your old character. An interesting choice given that most games he'd heard about you could have multiple characters per account. He wondered if he'd find it limiting? Only time would tell.

    The pain from his fall had faded completely and the priestess had resumed her position at the foot of the stairs. Peter stood and straightened his clothes, looking at them for the first time as he brushed the dirt off. That was an interesting touch, and very realistic, as was the small tear in the sleeve of the long white shirt that covered his torso. Patting himself down produced a small cloud of dust from the thick black cloth trousers, a material that resembled denim. Stomping his feet elicited a squelching sound that indicated that his calf high leather boots were still very damp. He sat on the bottom step and took off his boots and socks, which turned out to be black woollen ones. Laying them on the stone stair to dry he turned to the priestess, who was looking at him and seemed to be radiating curiosity. It was hard to tell for sure under the hood and veil, though.

    “Uh, thank you for healing me.” As uncomfortable as he was feeling, Peter had been raised to be polite. “I have to go now.” He gathered his footwear and set off down the path barefoot. Small stones dug into the soles of his feet, reminding him of how realistic this alternate reality was. He had yet to see anything like an inventory screen, health bar or damage numbers – all hallmarks of games he'd been expecting. This was something entirely different.

He paused to look around and gauge his surroundings. The arch he'd emerged from was set into a mountain, the stairs he'd fallen down leading from it to the path he was on. There was little choice in direction; thick green hedges ran right up to the sheer face of the mountain where the arch was, and down to another archway, this one of wood. A small grassed area bracketed the cobblestone path, separating it from the hedge. The path itself meandered back and forth, curving around small, well-trimmed bushes. It was clearly an area for helping people adjust to their new shape without harming themselves. A bright warm sun shone in a cloudless sky, with a slight breeze that was warm with a hint of lavender.

    Peter made his way further down the path to where he could no longer see the entrance He set his shoes and socks down again to finish drying and enjoyed the serenity. Not even any bugs buzzed here. It was so peaceful that he began to doze off...

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

'"the real form...."'

why do we look like a fucking van gogh painting?

we're not that crazy again, are we?

when i called you 'a starry night,'

this isn't quite what i meant —

it's a bit like in coraline, how the angels swirl around her

like you and me and the sun into the set.

we don't quite look like ourselves, baby —

where are your wings and my wings of lead,

for example,

sprouting up behind us like asparagus?

like, where's junior?

it's more like junior mints:

that chemical fresh kinda clean shave.

wash away the silver and gold to hide our status —

do you think they'll recognize us like this?

like, 'hey! that's Daddy! that's Daddy!'

'Cleanliness is next to G-dliness....'

OH, fuck....

i just blinked and saw us,

but mostly you,

like you were burned into my eyes.

i guess it makes sense since you came prepared

(with sweet, hot(,) cream; with that bitter edge

that drives me up the wall,

serves me up on the sidelines)

and i just came in my tights

because i thought it'd do the trick.

unlike that,

this has never happened to me before and i'm scared....

am i a fluke and you're living proof?

i thought stepping out of the shadows would help,

and i'd like to believe that it is,

but obviously even the starlight can burn me.

- ellie revenge