bemorecharlie

[bemorecharlie]

Gosh how many listening to this wondered what a "telephone answering machine" was? And then, a "phone book" did he mean a kindle? #ThingsWhichShowOurAge

New vocal stim, word for word repeating the Harlan Ellison voicemail he left Neil gaiman

[bemorecharlie]

Hello! My friend is a huge fan of yours. You have inspired her to write and create in amazing ways and I want to thank you for that. Especially with good omens - season two was amazing and we both did quite a bit of screaming at the tv - you are a huge inspiration. I would love to get her a signed copy of good omens for her birthday next year, but I haven’t been able to find any up to date information on how to do that. I looked into buying something used but there were too many sketchy options. Do you have any sources that are more official or a way for me to send a book? Thank you again!

The Golden Notebook in Woodstock. It's my local bookshop and four or five times a year I pop in and sign a few thousand books for them.

Here's a film on reddit of what that looks like:

And you can order it from them here:

They actually will ship books outside of the US, but you will need to email them about it.

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

Learning about one's own needs

One of the key things I've learned over the years of managing my mental health is this: What is recommended for most people might not be a good fit for me. I have to listen to myself, my body, my mind, my experiences. It's helpful for me to have someone to express those too. Not because I need their insight, but rather because by voicing things "out loud" I somehow understand them better myself. Thus, for me "unconditional positive regard" in the form of active listening has been the thing which has had the most and best positive impact on my mental health. That level of listening cannot be achieved by anyone who knows me personally, because they get to experience the negative brunt of my short comings… and it's impossible to completely filter one's own feelings out. A professional at least has experience understanding "their own stuff" and has a supervisor to work through things, rather than project onto clients. This last year has been the worst mental health experiences of my life. I finally feel like I'm through the other side, fragile, broken but me again. one of the biggest things I see talked about is how "positive mindset" and changing one's thoughts has on mental well being. This does not work for me at all. It's only been when I've resolved what's happening physiologically in my brain that "managing" thoughts and actions is possible. Again, might work for most people, doesn't work for me. So I'm sharing that if something hasn't worked for you, please keep looking. For me the biggest change happened when I finally got professional support, medication and then large amounts of vitamin D (I thought I'd been taking enough but I wasn't and was deficient). The support of someone caring about my well being, and being able to simply be there FOR ME, without their own "stuff" was massively helpful. I was in a very dark place, caused by many different factors. Not having secure housing being a massive one, relationships ending that had previously been supportive, and physical health deteriorating. I could not get out of the hole on my own. I'm still in the hole, I feel like I'm sitting at the bottom but I'm no longer being buried. I finally have hope that I can get out of the hole. That was only possible once my brain began working properly again.

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

AO3 Top Relationships Bracket- Quarterfinals

This poll is a celebration of fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[bemorecharlie]

Okay, here's my idea:

The British should put a time limit on the Monarchy.

Not like declaring a republic tomorrow, but deciding on a date in the future that ends the British Monarchy.

And there's a perfect date for it coming up!

October 14th, 2066.

A thousand years since the Battle of Hastings. A thousand years of this one specific bloodline ruling England.

Call time on the Monarchy after exactly one thousand years. Nice, and neat.

Even better: Charles isn't living 44 years. He'll be gone in about twenty. Now William? He's what, 40? Yeah, he can live another 44 years. His great grandmother was over a hundred, his granny was 96, William can make it to 84 barring accident or assassination.

So on October 14th 2066, William the Last steps down a thousand years after William the First won the crown.

Nice, neat, and fair. William gets the crown he's been waiting forty years for already, but ten-year-old George grows up without expectation of it.

Have a nice big abdication ceremony, even.

[bemorecharlie]

[tweet from Writers Guild of America West @/wgawest that says, "The WGA and AMPTP have reached a tentative agreement. This was made possible by the enduring solidarity of WGA members and extraordinary support of our union siblings who stood with us for over 146 days. More details coming after contract language is finalized. #WGAStrike". Attached is an image of a crowded room, over which the text TENTATIVE AGREEMENT REACHED is placed. end ID]

What does this mean for us now? -> Contract language is still being finished and the agreement must be voted upon by WGA membership before the contract is ratified. Look out for more news in the coming days.

Also, now is not the time to lessen your support, especially financially! Coming out of the work stoppage, WGA members will still need financial and moral support as they get back on their feet and look for employment again. The best way to support the union members is to donate to funds like the Entertainment Community Fund and the Green Envelope Grocery Aid, which will continue to provide grants.

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

The Blackness

She was a young girl when she first ravished, devoured science fiction.  She plucked the paperback books from the book cases her Father had filled over many years.  In some small way, she understood her father more by reading the books he too had read and loved. He wasn’t a talker, except when he’d had a drink, and then it was 50/50 whether it would be friendly talk or not.  She remembered vividly the smell of the pages when she picked up the books which hadn’t been read in decades. Mmmm.. the delicious smell of pulp fiction. 

Reading was something her teachers encouraged as a way to expand her vocabulary, and she had spent many sleepless nights with her body lying in her bed, and her head, heart and soul stuck into other worlds, in the depths of a book.  Unable to break free from the spells the authors cast on her young soul, she would often read until she could no longer keep her eyes open to roam the worlds captured on their pages.  

Often the stories which she could not let go of, the ones she was so very desperate to know what happened next… Those ones contained things which disturbed her soul, but she could only enjoy the ones which also had a vein of good.  A branch of security, safety, to hold whilst the horrors were navigated, challenged, overcome. Too much blackness was, too black to stomach.  

As she looked out into the vast blackness which was now her forever home, she noticed the hum of the air ventilation systems, and the faint whirring of cogs that kept her alive. She remembered those spells, they were still weaving their magic. They were the reason she was here, in the vast nothingness of space. They gave her the desire to create her own story, and it had to be one that had never been told before.  Nothing else would ever satiate her curiosity except exploration of the unknow. Nothing else would be worthy of her legacy. 

She had not anticipated being quite this alone when the voyage commenced, in spite it always having been one possible outcome. 

She stood up and walked towards the kitchen, then stood and stared blankly at the myriad of dehydrated culinary delights.  Thankfully the taste and texture had improved significantly since the inaugural space voyages.  One giant mouthful of minestrone soup later, and she’d be feeling much better about her situation, of this she was certain. Soothing soup for the soul. She sighed. 

Since she’d woken she was surprised to find the counter displaying the number of miles from earth steadily increasing, oddly reassuring.  Even though it was showing the ever increasing aloneness that was now her permanent existence. 

In the 24 hours since she’d awoken, (as planned)  from cryogenic stasis she had been plunged into the deep end of the pool of her own scifi horror story.. When past, teenage Charlie had first wondered, what exactly would it be like, out there in the blackness of space, to actually leave Mars? She never quite imagined it like this. 

She still was the teenager who had devoured her father’s science fiction books.  Even the ones written centuries before her, or her Dad’s time, they surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, stood the test of time.  Perhaps humans can only grow and develop as far as we can imagine?  Perhaps.  

But that girl’s voice was strong inside her, still insanely curious as to what was really out there. Was it possible to truly explore the black nothingness of space, and for what ends, really?  Satiating curiosity seems such a trivial endeavour, but then, what development of human kind had not been driven by curiosity? She sometimes wished she had opted for a cat companion for this stage of the journey, but she’d made that decision believing she would be one of twenty alive and kicking, enjoying the journey into the great beyond.  Things were not as planned. It did not, at that point, occur to her that other crew members’ cats might still be in cryogenic stasis.  Not at that point. 

When she did ponder on the plethora of genetic material which was cryogenically stored on this space exploratory vessel her thoughts turned to how to utilise it now the great plans of humanity had, well been somewhat ineffably scuttled. 

Her mind had been focusing on the plans she had had, but she quickly realised she needed to set those aside and consider this new problem to solve, without hindrance from the problem solving strategies of a problem which no longer existed. This was a vastly different game, one in which the winning goal was yet to be declared, the reward yet to be decided. Ineffable one might say. 

So, she got out her flipchart pad and sharpies, so she could get out her thoughts from her brain, onto the paper.  Seeing her thoughts with her eyes always helped her make more sense of them, see the patterns and threads, finding solutions. This was how she created all her strategies.  This was her favourite decision making tool, and right now the question was “what the fuck should Charlie do now?” Billions of miles from her home solar system.  A billion miles away from the original plan, a billion miles from any other sentient being?  Now was time for the new plan to be created.  She didn’t need the whole journey, but she did need to understand what the next step was, and it needed to be clearer than, do your yoga, feed your body, check the ship’s efficiency, check the scanners.  It needed to lead beyond the situation she presently found herself in. And in order to get that first step she needed to be clear what the final destination was. She was the only one left to work it out, to decide. 

_______

She was so fucking glad that the whole of the ship was intact, especially the hydroponics bays, even though right now they were empty.  They signified hope.  Teenage Charlie had once imagined them to be open to space, a glass view into the universe beyond.  She was massively reassured that she could lie on the ground and look up at the holographic sky and enjoy watching the trees swaying in the wind. Just like she had done throughout her entire life on her home planet.  Her favourite place to think, to be.   Even though she no fucking idea what the fuck she was doing, really. 

Her very existence was beyond words, so what hope did she have of devising game play, a plan, strategy, route?  When she had not a baldy notion what she should do.  In good news, it was at least her choice to make, which meant she wouldn’t have to compromise, or spend needless hours trying to explain to others what was to her, was as obvious as the need for humans to breathe. 

Day 3, and the sense of black despair now had an inkling of hope.  She had begun to believe that she could.  She knew that hope was the past tense of disappointment, and she also knew that like curiosity, without hope, there was no adventure, no nothing really.  If you didn’t hope something would happen, why would you do it? Hope was an inevitable ingredient in her ineffable plan. Essential, perhaps. Delicious?  Maybe edible, with a bitter after taste perhaps. 

Every two hours (she had set an alarm) she broadcast her position, by voice and using base 2 system, it wasn’t because she wanted to be heard, well no, she did want to be heard, but she had no hope that she would be.  She did it, simply so she could hear herself.  Hear the progress being made, the progress she was making, onwards on her journey, creating a new step in her ineffable plan. 

She had her journal too of course, but that was for reading back to herself, reflecting, understanding, being present with herself.  Announcing to the universe the progress the ship was making, that she  was making meant she could hear it, it was heard. 

In many of the science fiction books she had consumed, there would be a voice of the ship’s computer as the companion for the lone, lost space survivor.  But this wasn’t science fiction, this was reality, her reality.  Front row seat to infinite blackness. 

One of the first things she did, once she had caught her breath from waking, alone….  Was to calculate how long it would take to reach Pleuritan, 50 years meant she wasn’t guaranteed to arrive alive, even if every single variable went her way.  Given the luck on the journey so far, leaving her the only person alive from a 120 person crew… she needed to find ways to improve her luck. 

Her genetics were good, no hereditary conditions, that she could be confident of, or else she wouldn’t have passed the first selection screenings, she would not be here if she had any genetic weaknesses. 

________________________________________

So she was faced with an empty page upon which she could chose her own adventure, a truly blank slate.  She wondered whether any human had ever quite had this experience.  And thought probably those monks who meditated most of their lives had.  It was weird to think that human could desire to be in such blankness, but she was beginning to understand the lure. The freedom of The Blackness.

[bemorecharlie]

[bemorecharlie]

If I read something on the asks that feels genuinely threatening or dangerous, or that's actually abusive, I just delete it and block the person.

If I'm answering an ask here you can assume that as far as I'm concerned even if it's apparently threatening or angry, it's meant humorously or with love.

It's never appropriate to dogpile people. Never appropriate to threaten or abuse them, even if you think you are doing it for me and with the best of intentions. Don't.

If you are upset on my behalf, or on behalf of all Tumblr users, just think "this is probably a tone-deaf attempt at humour" and let it go.

[bemorecharlie]

At the #EroticArtExhibition again today, I was inspired to return because of the art, and the people I met. #artistsofinstagram #ArtistofLondon (at Oxo Tower Wharf) https://www.instagram.com/p/CdBNedIu7ib/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bemorecharlie]

Rejection, it’s not you, it’s them...

I've been rejected a gazillion time (ouch, yeah it hurts).

I've been rejected for being...

Too ugly Too fat Too bossy Too direct Too demanding Too curvy Too friendly Too intelligent

I've been rejected for: Laughing too loud Having too long a profile Saying exactly what I want Having curly hair Having a mole on my chin Not agreeing with them Not liking musicals Creating art For knowing stuff they didn't Because they fancied someone else more Because they only wanted sex Because I only wanted sex Because I was an HR Manager Because I love Right Said Fred (I know, forgive me please?) For singing along to songs I love For getting angry that my boundaries were violated For having boundaries

Are you beginning to get the picture?  Practically every single thing about my personality, my body, who I am is a reason for which someone has rejected me.

When I was younger, I thought people were rejecting me because I was actually ugly, I was too loud, I was too bossy, I was too fat.

The reality is I was these things for them, it was not, is not an accurate assessment of my worth or value as a human being.  What I am is simply not what they value, and that is perfectly alright.

I am a gloriously, hot good looking, powerful, confident, intelligent human being who is very caring, ferociously protective over people she loves.

I learned, eventually that I needed to find the people who enjoyed me as I was, I stopped compromising who I am.  I started shining brightly as the person I am.

You know what happened?  I connected with more and more people who like who I am!  Who enjoy my bossiness, who like direct communication, who love my curves, who don't give a shit that I have a mole on my chin.

I found my people, and I found it easier to let go of the rejections (ouch). They still hurt when I feel attracted to someone and it's not mutual, ouch.  But I know now that that rejection is nothing to do with my value, my attractiveness, my desirability.

That rejection is because they are looking for someone who is not me.  And that is perfectly fine.

I am happy being me, and the more I am, the more I find people who really enjoy me exactly as I am.

In case you didn't know, I'm hot as fuck, I'm attractive, I'm a whole person who is ok if you don't like how I am, I wish you luck finding what you're looking for.