wrensdoodles

[wrensdoodles]

As I rock in my chair, looking off at the edge of the sparse woods with my grandkids beside me, the sky is uniformly dim. The sun has long since gone to cash out for the night, but the world is coated in the smooth shine of the streetlights. A perfect gray, all around. For a moment, we're all quiet, watching it.

"I remember the lights," I say without thinking. "Like stars."

"You remember the stars?" Little Haileigh asks. While most of her peers wouldn't know Sirius from Saturn, she went through a phase of memorizing constellations. She likes Ursa Minor- the little bear.

"No, they weren't stars," I say, thinking of another time. "They were alive. Floating lights."

I'm sure she thinks I don't see the way she looks at her mother.

"She's right," my daughter confirms. "You remember learning about anglerfish? What makes anglerfish glow?"

"Bioluminescence!" her brother Michael chips in, tongue careful but quick over the long words.

"Why Haileigh, your voice sounds different." She scolds, sounding so much like myself at her age. I suppose some things never change. "But that's right. Bioluminescence. Animals that glow. There used to be bugs like that."

Haileigh's small forehead furrows with the effort of trying to picture it. Her and Michael's concept of a bug is the roaches that crawl through the drains despite our best efforts and then the occasional ant.

"They used to be everywhere," I add softly.

[wrensdoodles]

Their days were long

When the word "aliens" reached land, people thought of many things.  Bulbous green heads with extruding dark eyes. Unfeeling, calculating robots. Spindly bugs. Parasites and predators, forces of destruction. No one's imagination could stretch enough to conjure a good picture of the Damaris.  

We had come in peace, we had said, as well as one can communicate with those you share nothing with. And they accepted us in peace, as well as one can true strangers.

Loathe as I am to describe the aliens just by the ways they were similar to humans, they really were quite similar in a lot of ways. They were bipedal, and not mammalian, but not so odd-looking as to cause a stir. Really, they were beautiful. And they had their own cultures, sure, but all of those cultures had philosophy and art and music and food. Their planet was covered in oceans- as they suspected was necessary for the evolution of any kind of life at all- and actually somewhat resembled Earth. That one continent looked a bit like an elongated Italy, if you squinted.

The big difference was that their planet, Domov takes twice as long to complete a rotation in its orbit than Earth does. Their days were twice as long. Long enough to call your friends and still get your work done. Long enough to finish the task you'd been putting off. Long enough to get home and have time to clean up before bed. Long enough to travel [Domov was small compared to Earth, small enough and their technology advanced enough that one could travel between the furthest settlements within a few hours. Adolescents might move away, but never so far they couldn't visit home when things were hard. So really, no two Damaris had ever lived so far away from each other they couldn't find time to meet if they wished. This concept terrified many of the researchers, the astronauts who'd made a career of running from home. "Isn't it scary, being so easily known?" The Earthlings had asked. "I wouldn't know any other way to be," the alien people replied. They seemed happy enough.] The days were long enough to study arts, sciences, math, and history, to eat and enjoy, to talk with family, to catch up with friends, to exercise and play and explore, and then go home and sleep soundly, enjoying the long night. (Damaris were strangers to insomnia). None of them could find a translation for the concept of procrastination- they were generally unperturbed people, and when they had important tasks to do, they sucked it up and went back to enjoying their wealth of art and friends.

They had all the time that had slipped from your fingers, and they used it well.

I may have mentioned that the Damaris were beautiful, and even the most fervent anti-contact activist would begrudgingly agree with that. But something about them struck the eye as wrong, as unsettling, like the feeling of watching ants swarm in death circles- though for no discernible reason. They were beautiful, after all. Maybe it was jealousy. Or no, not jealousy- distrust. They seemed too good to be true. Surely, their apparent beauty must belie something beneath the surface.

Really, the important thing was this: every person has at some point asked themselves if suffering is a necessary part of life. They all wanted to know that it was, that the things they were going through were all part of something that would lead to something bigger. How could anyone stand to see a race live meaningful lives with such less complication than themself? There must have been something darker going on here, people whispered amongst themselves.

It started with a faux pas. One Damaras diplomat had slapped a Japanese diplomat in a traditional greeting. Then another. In an attempt at friendliness, a Damaras scientist had poisoned a dog. Murmurs spread like oil on the back of a duck, sticking into the minds of those who heard them. What kind of violent culture did these animals have? Were they causing harm on purpose? Who could do something so cruel to something so innocent. Could they not be trusted? Something needed to be done.  Murmurs became public outcry, and protests, and calls-for-action, and then it became promises from politicians. "If elected, I'll be the one to protect you. I'm the one who has what it takes to do what needs to be done."

The Damaris were beautiful and evolved. They had rich healthcare and excellent medicine. And of course, as any densely populated species will, they had known conflict. But they were used to resolving conflict through methods somewhat gentler than apes and cats. So they had known conflict, but never war. Their fine golden instruments had noted incoming objects from Earth, and the scientists had gathered round to ponder what gift they were about to receive from their new allies, but they had never recognized what was coming. When the nuclear weapons ripped through, all the ears of Domov in their different shapes and sizes heard a sound like nothing they recognized. Those scientists up in their towers survived the first blast, insides melting out, bleeding blue from their pores. The military estimated about 20% of the population survived the first bombing, in fact. They waited while the mutilated survivors straggled into squares, their first instinct being to find fellows. They fell into masses like writhing snakes, their twisted screams joining together, and their doomed medics attempted to patch wounds while their own skin boiled quietly. The military waited for all of this and they sent down the second round of bombs. A kindness, you'd think, if you'd seen the survivors.

It was better this way, the diplomats agreed. The Damaris with their advanced technology surely could've destroyed Earth first. Communication between races with no shared homeland would never be perfect, so there was no way of knowing what might set them off or what they really wanted. The aliens were shifty, others mused. Their facial expressions were so unreadable. Yes, no way of knowing what they'd planned- better to defend ourselves while we still could.The people rejoiced at the overwhelming victory. Some protesters sat on street corners with signs declaring bombs always wrong and they were mocked, some arrested, and the cause got some attention. But then they moved on to protesting the new book bans, and the common people of Earth largely moved on, safe and secure in their knowledge that they were the greatest species out their, and in their leaders' ability to crush all others. They slept a little more soundly at night, familiar stars twinkling above. Their children grew up knowing Earth was the only planet inhabited by intelligent life, and that the humans living on it were the greatest species of all.

[wrensdoodles]

Women's rights buttons.

1920s-1980s.

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x

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Carolina Wren, attempt 1

(don't look too closely, this was just a quick practice)

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[wrensdoodles]

there is no soul of an artist that distinguishes them from some 'non-artist' category of person that could simply never comprehend what it is like. anyone can make art. you should know this by now. from ratatouille

[wrensdoodles]

I like to keep an eye out for bumper stickers whenever I'm on a walk. Here are a few of my favorites

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@fairycosmos / Comic by @shhhitsfine / Comic by @incendavery

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lesbian pins by StrawberryPrism

[wrensdoodles]

So sick of dog motif what about cat motif.

I love you but we don't love the same. I can't be near you when you want me to be. Your love is smothering and your need to keep me safe is trapping me. I'm my own person but I don't know how to show you that. I lash out and hurt you even though I don't mean to. I need you to move slowly around me or I'll bolt. I love you, even though I don't say it. If you stay still I'll sit next to you, and even though we don't understand each other we can be together like that.

[wrensdoodles]

social alert buttons by wordforwordfactory (4)

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button pins from GoodLuxeVintage

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“A Burmese Map of the World” (date unknown, but prior to 1906).

The Himalayas are shown by a horizontal green line: above is the magical land of seven lakes and Mount Meru; below is where strangers come from.

Available as a print from our online shop: https://publicdomainreview.org/shop/search/?q=The+Thirty-Seven+Nats

[wrensdoodles]

I think as adults with our own living spaces it’s important to have your friends over periodically for a sleepover. And i mean a real sleepover. Staying up late to watch movies with junkfood and popcorn and then going to bed only to stay up even later talking in the dark and laughing because you’re so exhausted that everything’s funny but you still don’t want to fall asleep.

[wrensdoodles]

this is going to sound like such a little sibling ass take but i genuinely believe that being a little bit annoying is actually a greater sign of maturity and self awareness than being universally likeable and on good terms with everyone