#THIS POST IS SO LONG

[staff]

tumblr tuesday: the greatest mafia movie

There's so much lore. An original soundtrack (masterlist here, thanks to @thisisnotjuli). It all began with a pair of boots. Then, a movie poster by @beelzeebub:

And here's how it's going:

@ms-musers:

@lspy:

@monsterhospital:

@waldwynde:

@fireleaptfromhousetohouse:

@mjulmjul:

@marella-moon:

@holl-horse:

@bricktoygrapher:

@greenscircus:

@theshitpostcalligrapher:

@sweetdollface:

@onion-souls:

@onemagpie:

@gregspectations:

@mimiadraws:

@flurgburgler:

@shrugsinchinese:

@runfreebirdrun:

@when-sanpape-arts:

@marblellous:

@ynngaa:

@vanwizard:

@inthefallofasparrow:

@1percentcharge:

And lastly, before she was Wonderwoman, @reallyndacarter was "Dancer #2." She has kindly revealed this hitherto unreleased photo from the world premier of the film:

Obsessed with Goncharov? Need more? If you want to join in, please be sure to use the tags #goncharov (for posterity) and #unreality (for those who need it). Take care out there!

[sciderman]

Sci what's your opinion on Cablepool? What's holding them back, why can't they just bite the bullet and go for it? In your comics it seems like Nate's all in, so what's the problem?

short answer: it's complicated

as much as wade would like it to be so very uncomplicated

[x]

bad communication on both sides, me thinks.

i think the main thing for me that's the most important thing that makes wade and peter work where nate and wade fail is the balance of power! i think in wade's relationships as a whole there's often an unfair power dynamic because - not only does wade often feel unworthy, he's often in relationships with characters that literally overpower him. shiklah, ness and nate are all crazy freaky powerful, and even carmelita was domineering over wade.

historically, wade's always with very dominating partners who kind of want to control him. even nate - with all his best intentions - wanting to change wade for the better. i think it's why peter's breech of wade's trust during the break-up stung so much. he's tired of being constantly policed and judged and controlled in his relationships.

the theme of control is so prominent in the cable & deadpool series. it's everywhere. even in the costuming. the harness? the choker? y

LOOOOOAAAAADED.

(it's why when the popular demand for the choker to return won out, i had to give peter one too. for me the choker will always be loaded with metaphor. and the balance of power between wade and peter is so, so important to me.)

i've joked a little about how in most of 9319 wade's relationships prior to peter, he kind of exclusively bottomed. peter's the first male relationship where wade's been on top at all (save for bob. but there was no penetracíoné in that arrangement.) so this is all new territory for wade. he's never been in a relationship like this one before, where it's a mutual give-and-receive, and peter is just as emotionally vulnerable as he is.

in fact - you're more often to see peter wearing his choker than wade, because more often than not wade's in the position of power - power that's only granted to him by withholding his emotions, and peter often feels powerless with wade because of it.

wade's coming to terms with that - how much power he actually holds over peter. i think it kind of takes him aback constantly, because he's so used to being the fragile party in his previous relationships, and it's made him all the more guarded.

(it's also why he expects something sinister. peter's hiding something. there's no way this boy is actually this soft and well-intentioned. surely peter's somehow still holding the cards.)

fact is, neither of them are holding the cards. they've dropped the cards all over the floor and neither of them want to pick them up and they're both going to cry about it.

sorry - i got sidetracked. ough. cable. right. that's what we're here about.

the theme of power and control is so, so at the forefront of the cable and deadpool series. it's kind of always a see-saw of wade trying to navigate morally complex situations and nathan constantly interfering to sway him this way or that - and you're left questioning whether wade's really learning anything, or if nate just tricked him again.

the fact is, nathan wants to play saviour for wade. wants to save him. nathan has a god complex, and oftentimes messing with wade's free will in attempts to teach him a moral lesson.

nate wants to be wade's saviour, but wade doesn't need a saviour. wade needs to save himself.

in the end-up with the cable & deadpool series there is a resolution for wade, and it proves that wade did grow beyond just seeking nate's approval. (which he does, tirelessly.)

in the end-up, nathan's gone. and wade still steps up, in nate's stead. he doesn't need nate to be there anymore, holding his hand.

i think it's something the series could've done better - i think nate's kind of a jerk who's redeemed by self-sacrifice and i'm not about that. so while 616 wade's all sentimental about it in canon - 9319 wade is not so sweet about it at all.

9319 wade differs from 616 in that he stays salty. he doesn't learn a lesson. he stays needy and selfish and mad - mostly sad. i think i like that in characterisations of wade - that actually, he's not a hero. and he doesn't have to be. he's selfish. we all are. we don't have to save the world. sometimes it's enough to just survive it. i think that's what wade embodies, to me.

i don't think - practically - nate could've been everything wade wanted from him (what with all his gargantuan responsibilities and self-sacrificial tendencies etc. etc.) and wade, realistically, can't match nate's hopes for him either. he relapses practically every time nate leaves him, and his progress resets constantly because he's consistently hit with brick wall after brick wall of overpowered messiah bullshit that makes him feel inept and undeserving.

wade might want so very badly to be deserving of nate's love and approval, but the heroic stuff isn't built into his fibre. it's just not.

i can't stress it enough. wade does not want to be a hero. he just wants to suck and fuck and retire to the bahamas with the man of his dreams. he's a simple man.

the only reason he even tries playing hero is for the promise of love.

he does not want to have to prove himself over and over and over again to be worthy.

for god's fucking SAKE can't a guy just suck and fuck and retire to the bahamas with his loving boyfriend without having to fucking save the world every week! what the fuck! what is wrong with this fucking economy!!

in that way - nate just can't give wade the companionship he needs. nate has way too many responsibilties weighing on his massive shoulder pads. nate is always going to be making sacrifices. it's in his nature. but wade - wade's constantly losing what he loves, non-voluntarily. he's sick of the sacrifice. he doesn't want to lose anymore.

for once, wade just wants his fucking happily ever after.

[simswoon]

Atlas is a Toddler!

German forgave Erin for leaving... shes not gonna tell him about her affair

[hopepaigeturner]

Hope's Review of S3: Other Subplots

There were some interesting subplots this season. I feel that the real problems was that they added little weight to the story. You could remove them, and they wouldn’t have any impact on the story.

AND THAT IS A PROBLEM.

Bridgerton does not have the time to put in plots like this that don't wither push Polin's story, or set up a future Bridgerton romance. And even worse, most of them were solved within an episode or within one conversation.

E.g. Lady Danbury and her brother. Legit one conversation and decades of resentment suddenly crumbled away. I think such a disservice to the characters.

Violet & Lady Danbury

Concerning Violet and Lord Anderson. It was cute and I understand that they set stuff up in QC but they really didn’t need to give that much screen time to establishing yet another couple. 2 couples in one season is a lot, 3 made it feel stuffy—and we lost precious Polin time because of it.

If the problem was that you wanted Lady D and Violet to do something, then that is easily fixable.

Let Lady Danbury have her OG book role. Have her be Pen’s champion through the season! Have her meddle with Colin. Have her good naturedly question Pen about Debling. The plot is literally in the books!

Violet storyline with Francesca was so good this season. A really interesting subplot that gave insight into both characters. That would have been plenty enough to do for Violet. As for her desire for companionship? Why not let the storyline with Francesca teach Violet not to close herself off to a slow match, let her realise that it might not be like Edmund. Why not let her have a convo with Anthony about it? Why not have her meet someone at the final ball? Then allow it more space in later seasons.

Featheringtons

Again, I loved the moments, like this one. ICNOIC. But not so much the writing.

Albion Finch and Phillipa were undoubtedly the cuties of this season. PERIOD.

But the whole baby making plot whilst funny was unnecessary. Especially as it was mostly forgotten about in part 2. Perhaps the writers could have spread out the storyline of Penelope becoming friends with Penelope and Prudence's jealousy?

Their subplot was a little more justified because they were connected to Penelope, but that is now gone. Polin have finished and there is no need for them to have substantial plots going forward. Moments? Yes. Subplots? No.

Will and Alice

I ADORE Will and Alice. I love their relationship and how it is so unproblematic--just two people deeply in love. Also their personalities are brilliant, especially Alice's. I would much rather watch them over Featheringtons any day. And being the only working class couple in the show is so refreshing.

But, if I am going to say that the problem with other subplots were that they didn’t impact the main story…then I’ve got to apply it to everyone.

It was nice that their storyline was separate from the Bridgertons, but that was also its problem. It was separate from the Bridgertons. You could take it out and it wouldn’t make a difference just like the Violet & Marcus plot. And that is a problem in a show already stock full of characters with only 8 episodes.

I also think they’re subplot could have been more interesting and useful to expand the Bridgerton world. I've touched upon it here.

I am also going to do a separate post about some other things I found…interesting with the way they wrote that storyline.

JUST GIVE ME THEIR OWN SEASON--PLEASE!

Queen Charlotte

Now, while I don't have much to say, it was a great example of how you can utilise a subplot that pushes along the story.

QCs 'journey' this season was sort of understanding that she actually likes the competition of Whistledown and secretly wants it to stay--but that journey pushed the main plot (Polin) along due to the announcement of the reward. Tf, for me it didn't feel out of place or disjointed unlike other subplots.

Also, I'm not mad at all that the Queen was the one who started the hunt for Whistledown. it made a lot more sense for it to be that way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Don't worry ladies and gentlemen. I'm almost done. Just one more post that ofcourse I kept to last.

Can you guess who?

[mystic-orb88]

Sketch Book O.C.s:

I'm sort of trying out Vivienne Medrano's art style to see if I can add elements to mine. 'Cause her style is amazing. So here are some O.C.s I randomly made. I also drew some of Viv's characters. I hope y'all like 'em and their average names I made up uncreatively. :)

[lumpyrock]

This is going to be a very long post about Pufnstuf. It has some unpopular opinions. I had no clue where my DVD copy was, so I watched it on Internet archive, some of the notes will by biased because of that. You have been warned.

My notes on H.R. Pufnstuf from August and September of 2022

Ranking of the episodes

The Birthday Party (episode 7)

Jimmy Who? (Episode 17)

The Visiting Witch (episode 14)

The Golden Key (episode 6)

The Magic Path (episode 1)

The Wheely Bird (episode 2)

Tooth For A Tooth (episode 13)

The Almost Election Of Witchiepoo (episode 15)

The Mechanical Boy (episode 4)

You Can't Have Your Cake (episode 9)

The Stand In (episode 5)

Show Biz Witch (episode 3)

Dinner For Two (episode 11)

The Box Kite Kaper (episode 8)

Flute, Book, And Candle (episode 12)

Whadda Mean The Horse Gets The Girl? (Episode 16)

The Horse With The Golden Throat (didn't even watch it, episode 10)

I took statistics, because of course. (This discounts episode 10, because I am kind of scared of it, (and also I am an imperfect human) so take this with a grain of salt)

Number of times "witch" was said (discounting Witchiepoo but includingthe intro): 245

Average per episode: 15.3

Number of times "Flute" was said (including the intro): 86 (why so low?!)

Average per episode: 5.3

Number of times someone got whacked (as in a witch (including Jimmy in that one episode and the lackeys) hitting someone else): 70

Average per episode: 4.3

Number of times someone (Freddy) said "I'm scared" (again, discounting episode 10): 10

Average per episode: 0.6

Number of times it was the full intro: 13

Number of times it wasn't: 3

"I sure hope so": 7

"Keep those cards and letters coming": 8

This is already so long. ☆ means I thought the episode was notable. W is how many times "witch" was said in the episode, F is same for "flute", WH is for whacks. (This means I'm adding context or new notes), 'this means it is not a quote from the show but is supposed to be said by a character', "and this is a quote from the show". Let's get this long post even longer. Will use shortened titles, and the notes are in order of The Magic Path to Jimmy Who?. I have no clue what I was thinking for a lot of these, please forgive me.

Magic Path notes ☆ (full intro)

Why don't ya just get rid of the witch? You're the mayor!

Pufnstuf seems really fed up with Dr. B (Blinky) in one scene.

Dr. B is comedy gold!

This song feels really close to home.

Judy! *starts screaming*

The idea that those skeletons are real.

Even though we never saw him in the real world, it feels like he was actually there. (I think that was in comparison to the movie)

Unlike the coloring book, the order they run out of the castle Jimmy, Judy, Pufnstuf. (Had just done a coloring book video)

Other episodes have more characters, so it's harder to say goodbye, they've been here like a day.

How does the Magic Path work?

It didn't dissappear! It's still there!

Just runs away.

Racist. I love Jimmy's reaction shot right after.

80's freeze frame in 1969.

I sure hope so!

I love this, I love this so much.

W 16, F 10, WH 5

Wheely Bird notes ☆ (full intro)

It's wheely bird, not whirly bird.

Are the other candies alive?

"Nothing, we wanna do nothing."

'I would die for him', that sounds pretty gay.

"I just gotta protect Jimmy", that sounds pretty gay.

Forget about Freddy song.

I think Dr. B is just like that.

"All the good guys (...)", thousands died because of them.

And the trend of using real fire goes on.

Cling and Clang seem like toddlers.

Pufnstuf flirting with Orson joke.

Orson is one of those people.

"It worked too well, he's fallen in love with us!"

"Now, how do we get rid of our boyfriend?" (Not sure if that's an actual joke)

'I'm kidnapped and my first thought is Jimmy', these jokes write themselves.

'I would die for you!' 'I would die for you more!'

Another gay joke.

Are wands guns?

Forget about Freddy song, again!

This episode was gay.

I sure hope so!

W 10, F 12, WH 1

Show Biz Witch notes (full intro)

Judy's in the background doing what I do. (I think I ment stimming, but I'm not sure)

Jimmy's face.

They don't tell you about buttons until episode 3.

Jimmy says MC.

Pufnstuf saying weird things.

Love yourself like a witch.

A pear isn't square. (What?)

Dr. B and LL (Ludicrous Lion) are the only two that don't run off and instead hug each other.

I never realized how gay this show is.

Breaking up the band will come back later.

The idea that Witchiepoo has killed and is willing to kill.

Assault the guards, great morel for a kids' show!

'I cannot live without Jimmy.'

'We just threw someone into boiling water.'

Pufnstuf and Jimmy are kinda jerks in this one.

I sure hope so.

W 11, F 7, WH 4

Mechanical boy notes ☆ (full intro)

Wow, the Jimmy Diaries were based on something. (Old fanfic I wrote when I was 12)

First time (pretty sure only) Jimmy gets misgendered.

"Big dumb-o!"

Again with the real fire.

Cannon, Cling and Clang make bubbling sounds.

"I am sorry, I can not give out that information!" (ICONIC!)

How the hell do you know it's a time spell?

First time Jimmy gets brainwashed.

'Here Dr. B, take Freddy!' *throws Freddy*

Outside of backgrounds, first time we see the clock people.

"I have 24 hours." 'Jimmy, sit down.'

Pufnstuf is cute to the women of the island.

Time dohicky, only works once!

I love the Cuphead music in the background! (???)

I sure hope so.

W 15, F 10, WH 4

Stand in notes (full intro)

Very jarring, all of a sudden in wide screen. (That is on internet archive)

There's a second floor to Pufnstuf's cave.

Hi Shirley, thanks for confusing Pufnstuf lore.

The only Pufnstuf girl I didn't want to date.

It's as if they took all the pink and put it on her, she sticks out like a sore thumb.

"If it wasn't for this man," turns to Puf, "my producer, Toadinof!"

Shirley with her dead arms.

Jimmy's face.

Jimmy always plays the bad guy in Shirley's films.

Make up!

Jimmy and Pufnstuf saying goodbye makes me sad.

"I don't think of you as a woman, I think of you as a witch!"

Sweet karma with setup and payoff!

Again with real fire! At least it has a cute story. (Cute long story.)

Keep those cards and letters coming!

W 17, F 4, WH 7

Golden Key notes ☆ (full intro)

(This is a better magic path, sue me.)

This is hyping up a lot more than magic path, and we aren't even a minute in!

"A secret, genuine, escape map which leads to the golden key which opens the magic golden escape door." (Magic Path never that world building!)

"Quick, let's hide!" Someone found them in two seconds.

"Makes every war sound!"

Use the magic compass key!!!

At the end of the road, halfway through!

Does Witchiepoo use Amazon? (No!)

Jimmy sounded like he was in a horror movie.

They said it! They said it! (What did they say?!)

I sure hope so!

I really like this episode!

W 9, F 8, WH 3

Birthday! Notes ☆ 💔 (full intro)

Jimmy Diaries was based on something.

The camera's shaking like crazy.

Oh Jimmy, be happy! It won't last long.

This makes me feel really happy!

I love this song!

Now I'm mad cause Witchiepoo has to ruin it!

We're getting the band back together!

I'm really sad now.

Why can't this episode just be happy?

"When the witch finds out, *ha ha*, she's gonna kill me!" *laughs then faints*

This got really dark really fast.

At least Judy's in this one.

The witch is willing to kill a flute!

Very relevant.

The freaking puppets wear it (the masks) right.

Witchiepoo seems like such a Karen.

I sure hope so!

This broke my heart. 5 stars.

W 10, F 8, WH 2

Box kite kaper notes (full intro)

How much is a gold button worth? Is it like gold standard? (Fun fact, a normal button is worth $2.50 USD!)

LL is a gambler!

LL would pay off the four winds. (What context would lead to that?)

'Hey dad, can we get a box kite? For going home reasons.'

Jimmy just looked at Puf like he said an F bomb.

I love the Witchiepoo costumes.

There's a top level entrance. (Huh?)

(Drawing of a wand being broken I think?) Does it snap? (What?)

She's drugging them, again!

Like I said, it'll get harder to say goodbye.

Kite pun.

Don't say anything until you're safe!

Bomb an 12 year old!

Almost murder a 12 year old!

Joke from the movie.

I sure hope so!

Not very good, too much filler.

W 4, F 9, WH 2

No cake notes ☆ (full intro)

Judy! Moon walk! Argh!

When measles wasn't almost gone!

Maybe I should memorize it! (Refering to the moon walk, if I need to prove my endurance, I'll do it.)

Clang's hat tip.

"How stupid do they think I am?" "Very." "Very what?" "Very stupid."

"That's what I think, I think."

First full Judy episode since Magic Path!

"He's drunk with power!"

'I'm just gonna jump out and scare some toddlers!'

'Let's defeat them with dancing!'

And Judy is safe!

Keep those cards and letters coming!

I rank it Judy, I love her!

W 4, F 4, WH 10

Dinner for 2 notes (cut intro)

Time dohicky: probably not gonna go right!

Is it bad I can relate? (I think it's a note to loneliest witch but I'm not sure)

Jimmy, you're never going home.

Alright, it is stated he's 12.

"At least I think he's alive."

"Is that your nose, or are you eating a banana?"

Hot milk and cookies: the way to Jimmy's heart!

Find the witch a man! It's for your own sake!

Witchiepoo was a baby at some point!

Keep those cards and letters coming!

Meh, not very notable.

W 16, F 2, WH 1

Flute, Book, & Candle notes (full intro)

Terrible video quality. (This is on all platforms)

Mushrooms, just mushrooms.

Books can have siblings.

His name is just Candle.

Artful Dodger reference.

*kicks them* "Bye now!"

The book has a beard.

It just cut off half the song!

There was no see you next week!

Worst episode so far.

W 9, F 2, WH 3

A Tooth For A Tooth notes ☆ (cut intro)

So a love potion?

The fact that a witch raid is par for the course.

A doctor has to treat a patient.

"Yoo hoo, feathered medicine person!"

7:08 (on internet archive), this scene cracks me up.

The origin of the 'oh, my poor ace friend' meme. (Meme I created. It's not a real meme.)

Witchiepoo's face.

This episode's giving me tooth rot.

This was the closest he ever got to going home.

Keep those cards and letters coming!

I like it but I don't know what to say about it.

W 22, F 0, WH 11

Movie Episode notes ☆ (cut intro)

Slowed down, yay! 🙄 (on internet archive.)

Judy! And others.

Yay! Their gonna kill off horse!

If I get a kiss from Judy, Hell yeah I'll go! (No. Shut up. Don't don't do this to us.)

Stupid bat and horse have the same voice.

That means Judy has to leave... 😥

Another kiss?! Sign me up! (SHUT UP!)

Why do they have to say witch so much?

Buy our Pufnstuf plush!

Judy is the idea frog!

Jimmy does drag!

'How dare you say I'm not pretty.' (I think it was supposed to be an incorrect quote, but I'm not sure.)

*lifts up wand* *recoiled*

*breaks wand*

"I hereby banish you from Living Island, forever!" (Why can only boss witch do that?)

Keep those cards and letters coming!

W 69, F 0, WH 10

Election notes ☆ (full intro)

Slowed down (on internet archive), again!

No one wants to run against Pufnstuf.

"If a lumpy dragon can be mayor, why can't a pooped out pigeon?" (I'm not a dragon, I'm changeling!)

"We women have a right to change our minds!" Take that as you will!

Jimmy writes his own songs.

Judy!

Yeah, but Judy kissed you too! This is why I don't like horse. (No, you hate him because he's a backstabbing hypocrite and because of episode 10.)

"There's only one thing to do... PANIC!"

Jimmy shrugs.

'I'm a shooter and I'm running for president. See? I didn't bring my gun.'

The witch just did a Trump move.

'Uh, uh, he's honest!'

I love Pufnstuf sobbing.

You went down to her level!

Keep those cards and letters coming!

W 10, F 2, WH 2

Western Horse notes (full intro)

Horse has a crush on Shirley. Ugh...

You need to make money to get rid of the witch?

Freddy's a background character nowadays?

I forgot about the witch.

Nothing about Freddy. It's the forget about Freddy song all over again!

This is why I hate horse.

'Jimmy doesn't need to go home, let's make a movie!'

Not even a word about Freddy.

"I ain't Mary Poppins!"

"What happened to Horse and Shirley?" And Freddy.

Suicide joke! You know, for kids!

What happened to Freddy? I want my dude in distress!

"Now, I got the whole gang." What about Freddy?!?!

Keep those cards and letters coming.

😒 0/5

W 10, F 2, WH 1

♡ Jimmy who? Notes ☆ yes! (Full intro)

Jimmy falls and almost cracks his head open.

Horse.

"No, who's Jimmy?"

Yay! Freddy's back!

I love a jump cut.

"I'm an owl, I'm supposed to say who!"

'Jimmy, sit down.'

Birthday flashback.

'I'm getting outta here.' 'Jimmy, sit down.'

Artful Dodger flashback.

'Let's leave the kid who wants to leave alone! He totally won't leave!'

And Freddy's gone. Well, it was fun while it lasted!

The trees go into the castle.

They mentioned him! (Freddy)

Mechanical boy flashback.

Milk and cookies. Our hero, lady's and gents!

"Why did you break in here? Leave this poor lady alone!"

He chooses wrong!

'Witchiepoo who?'

Keep those cards and letters coming!

W 13, F 6, WH 4

And that is all my notes. That was so long. I'm sorry.

[razorsadness]

I’m not obsessively tagging this one, so just a few content warnings: there’s nothing graphic, but there’s some TMI stuff about sex and masturbation; talk of food and alcohol; discussion of grief, death, and illness; and a brief mention of transphobic/transmedicalist stuff. Also it might come across like I’m bragging about some compliments I’ve gotten for my writing recently. Also it’s long.

This is a really long entry, because I started writing it like, ten days ago, but then more stuff happened. This is a common thing for me, with letters and journal entries; I start writing them but don’t have time to finish, then more stuff happens, and I start adding the new stuff, but don’t have time to finish, and then more stuff happens and…you get the idea.

Anyway, these past two weeks have been jam-packed. There’s been a lot of luck & magic & beauty, with some hard stuff mixed in. (That’s life, that’s what all the people say…)

…

The evening of Thursday the 16th, I sent the ‘Mats-inspired vignettes to the editor of a zine I thought it’d be perfect for. Friday morning, I opened my email, and read his response. He loves it, and wants to run it in the next issue. He said I “perfectly captured that lonely midwestern feeling that certain Replacements songs have,” and that my writing is “romantic, but also real, like Kerouac mixed with Cometbus.” And if you know me at all, you know why I practically swooned over those particular compliments.

I also got an email saying our local library’s free seed library was newly restocked for the year, and I wanted to get there before it was all picked over. So, C. and I went to the library and picked up seeds for this year’s garden, along with an info packet on where and when to plant everything. We got seeds for: cayenne and poblano peppers; pickling cucumbers; spinach, mustard greens, collard greens, and kale; eggplant, squash, broccoli; Roma and Wisconsin organic (heirloom) tomatoes; carrots, and radishes. I’m so excited. Last year’s garden was our most successful ever, but we also made a couple mistakes which we learned from, so I’m thinking this year’s garden might be even better.

After that, C. and I popped over to my friend D.’s house. We got to meet his new pitbull-mix, Leonard, who is less than a year old and is therefore super high-energy, but so sweet. And we got to see their two-week-old foster kittens (and their mama), and C. even got to pet one! D. also gave me some cayenne and habanero, which he grew in his garden last year, then dried and ground—he’s been giving it to anyone who wants some, as he grew so many peppers that he can’t possibly use it all. (He also offered me some Carolina Reaper, but I passed on that.) I told him if there was ever anything I could give him in trade, to let me know, and he said: “Just listening to your spoken world album is trade enough,” and went on to say that he’s in awe of my poetic abilities.

All these compliments, a guy could get a big head! Except, I often think my writing is okay at best and I should just quit; when I get compliments like those it just offsets that and makes me realize that if other people are getting something from what I write, I should keep going.

Our last stop was the grocery store, where I got the rest of what I needed for the Dublin coddle, and got my flirt on with a beautiful redhead girl.

I had thought about putting green dye in my hair and painting my nails green for St. Paddy’s Day, but after all that running about town, I didn’t have time. I did, however, put my hair in braids (it’s long enough to braid now!), and put on green eyeliner.

I spent the next while putting together the Dublin coddle and getting it into the oven. I listened to the St. Patrick’s Day mix I listen to every year, then I listened to Hozier’s new EP, which holy fuck, I am trying so hard to be normal about, but it’s difficult. I truly wish I had a close friend who was into Hozier that I could nerd out about it with. Then I made a cup of tea and sat out in the backyard for a bit. One of the neighborhood crows came and lit on the fence, and it was cawing loudly about something. I asked it what was wrong, and we had a little ‘conversation.’

Me: “What is it, what’s wrong?” Crow: *cocks its head from side to side* caw caw. Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that.” Crow: squirrr-wakkk. Me: “I’m sure it will turn out fine.”

Funnily enough, the crow quieted down after that, stayed there for a while looking at me, then flew off.

It was really windy that day. To paraphrase myself: the wind, my lover, had returned, so I flirted with him a bit.

In the evening, I drank a pint of Guinness and a small glass of Jameson. In the old days, I would have easily downed three pints of stout and at least half a bottle of whiskey, not even because it was St. Patrick’s Day, but because it was a day, and to paraphrase myself, again—if you’re really Irish, you don’t need an excuse to get drunk. But I don’t do that anymore. The thing I do still do is get nostalgically sad (sadly nostalgic?) about old flames, and I had a few moments of that on St. Paddy’s Night. I found myself missing Ruby, and Jack of Spades, who I always miss most at this time of year; and Derry, whom I miss all the time, but always hardest in the spring and fall.

And then I emailed Derry. When I saw him back in October, I told him why I never respond to his periodic emails. And since then, he hasn’t emailed me; we left each other with the ball in my court, with it being up to me if I wanted to ever be in contact with him again. I probably shouldn’t have. I wasn’t even drunk, so I didn’t have that as an excuse. My only excuses are that I miss him so, so, so much, and I’m addicted to bad ideas.

Then P. and the kiddos and I watched Darby O’Gill and the Little People, which I hadn’t seen since I was a child. The movie left an indelible impression on me when I was a kid, though—I was deeply, deeply terrified of the banshee. Watching it the other night, I was no longer afraid, but I do understand why it scared me so back then. The sound she makes is absolutely bone-chilling.

…

Saturday, the temperature dropped, drastically—it was the coldest day we’ve had in weeks, felt more like midwinter again—but we braved the cold to go downtown and see the St. Paddy’s Day parade. It’s a small parade, even smaller this year because some people dropped out due to the weather, but it was still nice. A marching band started it off with a rendition of “Whiskey in the Jar.” One of the bars on Main Street was selling drinks, both alcoholic and non, in to-go cups, so you could grab one and take it outside while you watched the parade. P. and I both got Irish coffees, the kids got hot chocolate. The kids grabbed handfuls of candy and green plastic beads that some of the floats were tossing to the crowd. I sipped from my drink, and half-watched the parade, half-watched the other spectators.

There was a super sexy man standing near us. He was fat and also just big, like over six feet tall. He had a long, gray beard, but it was a very well-kept long beard, not ratty or dirty in any way. He was wearing a black beanie, a black leather jacket, an Irish kilt (with the tartan for County Derry; yes, I looked it up when I got home), and these tall, intricately patterned leather boots. I guess he caught me lookin’, cuz he fucking winked at me, and then I blushed so hard that my face felt hot despite the cold. Jaysis.

The best parts of the parade were the Root River Rollers (our local roller derby team; they looked hella cute in their green plaid skirts and black leggings and derby gear; I have a major thing for derby girls and have for a very long time); the float from McAuliffe’s Pub (they had someone on fiddle and someone on bodhrán, playing a reel); the pirates of Will’s Revenge (they’re a local group who cosplay as pirates for various events, I always love them, but this time they’d added little Irish touches for St. Paddy’s; of course I thought of B. saying of me all those years ago: …you’re and Irish pirate, that’s the best kind); and the girls from a local dance school (they were wearing black hoodies and black leggings and sparkly green tutus; they did a wildly impressive hiphopjazz dance routine).

Later that day, I made some minor edits on my ‘Mats vignettes (at the editor’s suggestion), while listening to The ‘Mats, and “Treatment Bound” came on and for the first time it hit me how much it sounded like some of my old friend L.’s music. I mean, I knew he was a Replacements fan, but it had honestly never hit me until then how much his sound was influenced by some of their stuff. Particularly the stuff off Hootenanny. And then I sat around missing L. for a while. I’ve written about him a lot before. He was one of those friends I had an intense crush on, and I thought I wanted to smooch him or maybe even bone him, but the most we ever did was cuddle/spoon. And then I realized it was better that way; I could get really close to him without worrying about sex making it weird. And then years later, I realized I never had actually wanted to fuck him, I had wanted to be him (or, well, be more like him, anyway). He had such a huge impact on my writing, my music, my life. We never had a falling out, just lost touch, got busy with our separate lives, never ran into each other anymore. The usual. I think of him often, though, and decided to web-search him the other day just so see what he’s up to. I found out that all his albums are now up on Bandcamp, and I’m so excited, because I lost my copies of them ages ago, and I love his music so much.

…

The next day was warmer again, though still windy. I took a long walk by myself. I trysted with the wind, again; he yanked my hair and slapped my cheeks pink. I walked down to the Little Free Library that’s in my neighborhood; I’ve found some great stuff in it before, and it had been months since I’d checked it. This time, I found nothing. I did, however, spot a tow truck with the words Anywhere and Anytime on it, and I snapped a picture. It seemed like a good sign, as the title of my ‘Mats memoir series is Anyplace or Anywhere or Anytime.

When I got home from the walk, I spent the rest of the afternoon writing.

…

Monday, I woke up and got the bullshit stuff I had to do but had been dreading/putting off out of the way first. I am not always able to do that, but the Executive Function fairy truly blessed me that day. Then I did school stuff with the kids. It was warm enough that we could do a (partially) outdoor science experiment. First, the kids designed protective casing for eggs, then we took them out in the backyard and dropped them from various heights to see how far they could drop without breaking. We even recorded our results! It was a lot of fun.

After that, I did some witchy stuff to celebrate the first day of spring. I redecorated my altar, lit some incense, did a little spell/ritual. Then I did a Spring Equinox tarot reading for myself, and it was so clear and right-on that I reached out to Emchy and was like: “Hey, the cards are really talking to me today, want me to pull a few for you?” She said yes, so I did.

Later in the afternoon, I took another solo walk. This time I took photos of some of the sidewalk date stamps in my neighborhood. I also spotted the first crocus of the season, and snapped photos of those. Trysted with the wind again. Sang (quietly, but out loud) as I walked—first Jolie Holland’s “Springtime Can Kill You” (because it is one of my all-time favorite songs), then the Counting Crows’ “Sullivan Street” (because I’d thought of something ‘hanging on the air,’ and it made me think of that song).

When I got home, I wrote a short poem, and then I started working on translating it into Gaeilge. I find that when I’m learning a new language, translating my words/thoughts from English into said language helps.

After that, I checked my email. There was one from Derry; his response to the email I’d sent on St. Patrick’s Day. I am not going to quote from it directly, not here; some things have to be kept just for me. Suffice it to say: we’re not trying to hook up or get together or start things all over again, but we’re mutually unsure where that leaves us; he misses and loves me just as much as I do him.

P. and I made dinner together that night. He made the sides and I made the main dish. We’d already planned on making roasted potatoes with dijon and rosemary (because we already had all the ingredients) and green beans with onions and bacon (because we already had the bacon and onions); we’d already decided to have pork chops as the main dish. But the night before I got a craving for French food, so that morning I looked up “French pork chops,” and found a recipe for pan-cooked pork chops with paprika, in an onion-dijon cream sauce. It was amazing.

We finished off the night by having passionate sex. It was a perfect ending to the first day of spring.

…

Tuesday was kinda crappy. The kids were cranky, and I had some unspecified physical yuck happening; my stomach hurt and I was just exhausted the whole day. But I managed to take another walk, this time with C. And it was World Poetry Day, so I read some poetry and worked more on my translation.

…

Wednesday was a happysad day. It was the ten year anniversary of my grandma’s death, so of course I was thinking about her. I was also thinking about Jason Molina. The 18th had been the ten year anniversary of his death, and my grief over losing my grandma is inextricably bound up with my grief over Jason Molina’s death. When my grandma got seriously ill, and we knew she wasn’t going to live much longer, I was deeply depressed, and I was listening to a lot of Songs: Ohia and Magnolia Electric Co. at the time, and then Jason died, and four days later my grandma died, so yeah, they’re always linked in my mind.

Wednesday was also my dad’s birthday. I wrote a birthday poem for him, and collaged a card to put it in. In the afternoon, P. and I went to a local job fair and found out about some potential employment opportunities for him. Fingers crossed that one of them pans out, because they’re pretty good ones. As we were leaving the job fair, we saw a seagull and a hawk fighting. Then we and the kiddos went to my folks’ house to celebrate my dad’s birthday. We had a nice dinner and some cake, and I gave my dad the card I’d made.

My mom and I reminisced about my grandma (her mom). Then she told me about an old friend of the family who is battling a serious illness. Later, Joni Mitchell came up in conversation, and my mom and I were talking about Joni and her music, and the memories we have attached to it—for both of us, Joni’s songs specifically remind us of being in our twenties. So we were both in our feelings about my grandma and the old family friend and our own pasts and Joni’s music, and we listened to “River” and cried a little together, and it was probably the closest I’ve felt to my mom in a long while.

Later that night, as I lay in the dark trying to fall asleep, I heard coyotes yipping as they wandered through the neighborhood.

…

Thursday, the kids were in bad moods again, and I was feeling anxious about various stuff. But I managed to get past it. I read some, made a collage, drank some tea. I signed up for a temporary money-making side gig. I finished writing/editing the poem about the time Ali and I visited Nancy Spungen’s grave; I have been working on it on-and-off for years, and I’m glad to finally have it in a place where I feel like it’s ready to be out in the world.

Then I watched the crows in the yard. That crow I talked to on St. Patrick’s Day? It returned, and brought its mate, and they are building a nest in the tree that hangs partially over our yard! Maybe that’s what it was making a racket about the first time; maybe it was scouting locations for a nest and was trying to get its mate to come see? In any case, we’re gonna have crow neighbors, and they’re gonna start a family! Oh my god, there are gonna be baby crows! The crows in the area are probably already familiar with me, because I have left out food for them before, and said hello when I’ve been near them; and I’m very glad that my talking to one of them the other day did not deter them from building their nest in/near our yard. (I’ve now started leaving peanuts for them in the backyard, since at least this pair has been coming around that side more often, and they’ve been back every day, but more about that later.)

Thursday night, I had a dream about my old friend J.C. I’ve known him since I was in the sixth grade, and we’ve been in and out of each other’s lives since (again, no falling out, just life drifting us apart), but I haven’t seen him in almost fourteen years now. It was good to see him in the dream, though, and I hope he’s doing well.

…

Friday, I spent most of the day getting ready for that evening’s spoken word gig. I collated zines, gathered together all the merch I wanted to take with me. I gathered together the poems I might want to read; timed a few newer ones/ones I’d never performed at a reading before. I drove to the bank downtown; to get some cash in various smaller denominations of bills, so I’d have change to give when people bought my merch. At one point on the drive, I was behind a car, and I noticed one of their bumper stickers: the background was the pride flag, and the text over it read Make America Gay Again. Awesome. Back at home, I started enacting even more pre-event rituals. (I say ‘event’ because I have long enacted some or all of these rituals whether it’s a spoken word gig, a music gig, a zine fest, an art show, a burlesque performance, a circus performance, etc. etc. Basically, I enact some or all of these rituals, or other, similar ones, whenever I have any kind of event where I’m performing and/or selling stuff, whether it’s in-person or online.) I cut the sleeves off my Keep Books Dangerous tee (a sure sign of spring for me, cutting the sleeves off a t-shirt), and changed out/added to the pins on my leather jacket. I freshened the color in my hair. I did all this while summoning the Undying Spirit of Punk Rock, by blasting the Daycare Swindlers.

Listening to the DC Swindlers of course made me think of N., as he was the lead singer of that band. I know I’ve written about him before, but I was hit with a wave of missing him so hard on Friday. We were platonic soulmates. I was never sexually or romantically attracted to him; as far as I know he was never into me that way either. (In fact I had a huge crush on his girlfriend!) But we just clicked; from the first time we met we had people saying we were like twins. We didn’t look anything alike, but there was just something about us. The way we dressed, our predilections, obviously our taste in women; just our general vibes. Twins. Soulmates. Because not all soulmates are romantic or sexual in nature; in fact, for as many romantic/sexual partners as I’ve had, I’ve had far more platonic soulmates.

Other rituals I enacted pre-gig were putting on my necklace of charms and dabbing a bit of the “Follow Me, Boy” scent on my pulse points.

P. actually got to come with me for once, which was amazing. I’ve said before that my parents are real weird about watching the kids, but this time they offered so P. could go with me, and of course I jumped at the chance.

At about five, we dropped the kiddos at my parents house, then headed north/west, to the far west side of Milwaukee, right on the border of Wauwatosa. Drove up on old familiar roads, saw some excellent graffiti. Parked near the gallery where my reading was, in front of a beautiful soft-yellow house with a pride flag hung from their porch, and a sign in the yard: We Back the Vag. Again, awesome.

The gallery was great, full of funky-cool art. Everyone that worked there was super friendly, so were all the other performers (both featured and open mic). At least half the people there, performers and audience, were some flavor of queer, and there were also several POC and several Jewish people! (I know that last part for a fact because a few of the poets read pieces that mentioned Judaism/being Jewish.) I felt so comfortable and happy. Like, obviously, as a queer person, I get tired of being around only cishets; but even as a white goy, I also get tired of being around only white, (culturally) Christian folks. I guess I just spent enough of my life in big cities and other diverse spaces that I am actually less at ease when everyone looks like me and/or has a similar cultural background. And it’s just fucking boring, ya know? Why would I only wanna be around people who look and act like me?!

Soon after we arrived at the gallery, I was setting up my merch, and the queer kid (I say ‘kid’ because they were in their early 20s, which, now that I’m in my 40s, is definitely in ‘kid’ territory for me) who was the musician for the evening saw my spoken word album—Self Portrait with Ghosts & Trains. “That’s definitely something I would listen to,” they said. “I like ghosts, I like trains.” Pause. “Damn, too bad I only know one train song. I mean, I only know how to play one train song. I know lots of train songs in general.” I told them that I’d made a playlist of train songs a few years ago, and that even though I’d spent time narrowing it down from the original list, it still had 50+ songs on it. “Have you ever seen Metalocalypse?” They asked. “How come all they sings about is trains?” I replied. “That is actually the name of my train song playlist, no kidding.” They laughed, said, “What else is there, really?,” and then we fist bumped.

Then it was time for the open mic part of the evening, and the other featured poet-performers. All of the other poet-performers were really good, in their own ways. Some of them were just good all around, both poetry-wise and performance-wise. Others were not my jam, poetry-wise, but performed their stuff really well. And still others were people whose poems were fantastic but who were fairly new to performing; I know that if they keep at it they will be absolute fire in the not-too-distant future.

Then it was my turn. I opened my set with a poem that is not my own. See, it would have been Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s 104th birthday that day, so I opened with “See, it was like this, when…” Then I did a bit of improv. What I mean by that is—I had brought way more poems with me than I could feasibly read, and I had a couple I knew I for sure wanted to read but for the rest it was like, I’ll just go with what I’m vibing with at the time. And some of the other performers inspired some of my choices. One of the poets read some of their sonnets, so I read two of my sonnets; one of the performers opened with an a capella rendition of “Cabaret,” so I read my Cabaret-inspired poem. I also read two of my Wisconsin poems—a Milwaukee one, and my Beast of Bray Road poem; an excerpt from The Loneliest Show On Earth; and the poem about visiting Nancy’s grave. The crowd was so, so attentive and responsive. Like, they were there to hear poetry. I heard some laughter during parts of some of my poems (not laughing at, laughing with), and also some gasps and ohs. Afterward, I got so many compliments. I mean, people were telling me my stuff was funny but also moving, or saying it was like I cast a spell, saying they got chills at certain points; someone noticed the Diane Di Prima influence on my work, someone else noticed the Lynda Hull influence…god damn. I sold some stuff and got a cut of the door, and it was enough to cover my gas money to and from the gig and still have like thirty bucks left over; gotta love that sweet, sweet poetry money. (To quote myself: How no one warned you it’s hard to make a living writing about your heart. How you don’t make a living, but you sometimes make enough money for wine.) I also got approached by the guy who runs the weekly Poetry Nights at Linneman’s River West Inn, and he wants me to be the featured poet there sometime in July or August. I’m so excited! I haven’t been to Linneman’s since early 2009, but back when I lived in MKE I used to perform there all the time—though back then, I performed on the music open mic nights, as that’s when I was more focused on music than poetry. Speaking of music—when the kid I’d talked to earlier in the evening got up for their set, they played the one train song they knew how to play—“Freight Train,” by Elizabeth Cotten—and dedicated it to me. My heart.

P. and I left, then crossed the border into ‘Tosa, and got a round at a beer & whiskey bar called Draft & Vessel. I had an imperial stout that had chai spices in it, and it was so fuckin’ good.

On the drive home, I got to experience that magical thing that happens on the road at night. You know, where you look down at your lap, and the lights coming in through the windshield from above have striated your skin and clothing, and as you move the stripes move, moving stripes of light/shadow/light/shadow. I wish I could think of a better way to describe it; if I can, I’m going to put it in a poem.

…

Saturday we got a bunch of snow. Early spring snow is not uncommon in the upper midwest—in the immortal words of Prince: sometimes it snows in April. And anyway, we had nowhere we needed to be that day, so we just had a cozy-at-home, creative day. P. and I made meal plans for the coming week. I wrote a bit. I made a necklace, inspired by some I’d seen at the gallery and couldn’t afford. I took some knolling photos of my bottlecap, key, and souvenir penny collections; for no other reason than that I felt like it. I recorded an audio version of my VU-inspired poem from Left of the Dial.

My knee and ankle were hurting all day. The poetry reading had been packed full and there were only about eight chairs available, and there were people in their sixties and seventies there, and I never think of my disabilities as real enough, so I gave the chairs to those I thought needed them more, and I stood the whole time. And yeah, I paid for it, bodily. It sucked to be in pain all the next day, but I did kind of chuckle at the “I’m getting old”-ness of it all. Like, I used to go wild in the pit at punk shows and maybe I’d get banged up and sore but I’d be mostly okay (with the notable exception being that time I broke my ankle in the pit), and now I stand for a couple hours at a poetry reading and I’m in pain for days.

I thought of Sinclair, another old flame, that day; possibly because of that kid playing “Freight Train” the night before, as that was a staple of Sinclair’s repertoire. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in somewhere close to 14 years now, and I haven’t even web-searched him in a decade. Unlike with some of my other exes, it’s not that I fear I’ll decide to contact him and open everything up again, it’s that— Well, I’ve worried that he might be dead or in prison. He was a sweetheart, genuinely one of the best, kindest people I’ve ever known—but he was also an outlaw, and he lived a rough life. He was a queer train-hopping hobo/crusty/circus performer/musician; he was often homeless, and had bouts of trouble with the law and various addictions. Saturday, I decided to look him up to see what I could find…and I was relieved to know that he’s not just living but seemingly thriving, back in his hometown of New Orleans, where he just had a music gig on March 23rd. I’m so relieved. Just knowing that he’s out there, still doin’ his thing, is enough for me.

That night, P. and I had hot, wild, rough sex, and I fell asleep more easily than I normally do. Unfortunately, I did have a terrible dream that woke me up in the middle of the night, and then it took me hours to get back to sleep. I don’t even want to go into detail about it because it was so gruesome and bloody and involved terrible bodily harm being visited on some of my loved ones, including one of my kids. I actually had to go into D.’s room and make sure he was okay, and sit watching him breathe for a while, before I could calm down at all. I don’t have vivid, horrific dreams as much now as I did when I was in my teens and twenties, but when they come? They’re fucking doozies. A lot of horror doesn’t even scare me because I’ve had dreams that were just as graphic, but even worse, because the harm was being visited on me and/or people I love.

…

Sunday, I woke up to the notification that someone had bought some stuff from my online shop, which is always a nice thing to wake up to.

Later in the morning, it snowed a little more, and I saw the crows again. And this time, they’d brought a friend. My first thought was: “They’re a polycule!” Which, okay, I know crows don’t work that way, but I recently read something that said crows are ‘socially monogamous but genetically promiscuous’ so maybe? In any case, they were with a third crow; probably another member of their murder. And they were playing! I watched them leap down from the tree to the top of the neighbors’ garage roof, then slide to the bottom edge near the eaves, from which they’d fly back up to the tree and do it all over again. I was so fucking thrilled; I’ve seen videos of crows playing before, but I’ve never seen it so clearly in person. I wanted to get my own video, but of course by the time I got my phone and got ready to record, they’d stopped. I know, pics or it didn’t happen, but this has just been one of the many amazing things I’ve witnessed or experienced in my life where I do not have any ‘factual’ documentation, and it doesn’t even matter because I know it happened and it lives inside me, now.

In the late afternoon, D. had the worst meltdown he’s had in a while. His anger is getting worse as he edges towards adolescence, but at least now he has a therapist that can help us through it.

For dinner, P. made shrimp, pork, and andouille jambalaya, with a side of greens. We had sex again that night; this time, it was slow, lazy, and deeply sensual.

…

Monday morning, D. had his therapy appointment, then I did schoolwork with the kiddos. Then I got dinner going in the crockpot (one of my favorite go-to meals: Moroccan chicken tagine with chickpeas and apricots) while listening to my favorite radio station; they played banger after banger after banger, and I discovered a bunch of new (to me) favorite songs.

Monday evening, before dinner, we filed our taxes. We’re not getting back as much as I’d hoped (because the fucking Republicans decided to axe the expanded Child Tax Credit), but we’re still getting enough that it will make a positive difference in our lives over the next couple months.

That night, we had sex; wild and hot and fast again, that time.

…

Despite all the sex we’ve been having, I woke up ridiculously horny on Tuesday. I was also really restless and a little bit anxious, but I had to do all this sitting-at-my-desk bullshit like attending the Zoom training session for my new side gig, and applying for energy assistance. In between sit-down tasks, I worked through my restless, horny energy by either pacing around or jacking off. Seriously, it was like, bullshit task, walk up and down the stairs a few times; bullshit task, lock myself in the bathroom to jack off; and so on. I ended up jacking off three times that day. (Twice during the day, once at night in bed after P. had fallen asleep; his chronic back pain was acting up so we couldn’t mess around that night, alas.)

The best things of that day were: 1. Finding out I was such a hit at the gallery on Friday that they want me to be one of their features again in May. Like, according to the person who is my point of contact there, even after I left, people were coming up to her saying: “Wow, Jessie was amazing; when can I see them again?!” 2. The burgers we made for dinner that night: blue cheese, bacon, Buffalo sauce, and tomato burgers.

…

Yesterday I clocked a couple hours for my new side gig. It’s kinda tedious, but at least I can do it on my own time, and I need the money.

After that, I did school stuff with the kiddos, including some art time. They both painted, and I sat down to draw something that I thought was kind of inspired by Paradise Lost (cuz I’m on a Milton kick lately) and Nick Cave, but which turned out to be a figure straight out of that horrifying dream I had on Saturday. And I am  actually entirely freaked out by the drawing; I had to hide it so I won’t see it.

I spent most of the afternoon laying in bed, drinking tea and reading, as my sinuses were acting up and I couldn’t do much else.

Fortunately, I felt better by evening. For dinner, I made fish tacos (with shredded lettuce, pico de gallo, fresh avocado, and lime wedges for garnish) with beans and rice on the side.

And P. and I got to have sex last night, and it was great, again, as it has been lately.

…

Today I woke up restless, horny, and anxious, again. Mostly the anxiety stemmed from a phone call I had to make. Before I made the call, I did yoga, ate a small breakfast, and took my ashwagandha and magnesium supplements, which helped ease my anxiety a little. Then I made the call, and it sucked, but not as bad as I had feared it would, and hey, at least then it was done.

Late morning, I took the kids to the library. They got to play in the play area for a while; I talked with a mom who was there with her three kiddos (all of them true gingers!). We checked out a bunch of books, as per usual. Then came home to make lunch—mini quesadillas, plus avocado & pico de gallo & beans & rice left over from last night.

After lunch, I decided to take a walk. It’s chilly and a bit windy today, but it had been over a week since I took a walk, and I get even antsier/more restless without them. So I bundled up, and took some hot coffee in my travel mug to keep me warm.

When I stepped out the back door, my crow friend was in the tree where it’s building its nest. It saw me and cawed, then went flying toward the front yard, like it wanted me to follow. I was like: “Oooh, side quest!” When I got out to the sidewalk, I saw the crow in the front yard a few houses down, pulling at something in the mud. I got to the crow just as it pulled the object free, and I saw it was this long, silvery piece of something—like maybe tinsel, or part of a mylar balloon. I said: “Oh, good for you, you found a shiny for your mate!” The crow then flew back towards our backyard.

As I said above, I’ve been feeding the crows in this neighborhood on and off for years, and occasionally saying hello to them, but I do not understand why this particular crow (and by extension, its mate and family/friends) has decided we’re besties. I do not understand, but I am fucking delighted.

I took my walk around the block, got home, promptly locked myself in the bathroom and jacked off.

Tonight, for dinner, P. made chicken cacciatore. The recipe he uses has a white (white wine, lemon juice, olive oil) sauce as opposed to the usual tomato-based chicken cacciatore, and it’s so good. And I’m hoping we get to fuck again tonight, cuz like I said, I’m wildly, insatiably horny these days.

…

This weekend is looking like it will be another jam-packed one. I have to meet up with K. to pick up the Joe Strummer piece I commissioned for Ali’s birthday. There’s a couple activist things I’m participating in; tomorrow’s rally for queer youth, plus some voter outreach stuff I signed up to do prior to next Tuesday’s very important election.

Saturday is the start of National Poetry Month/NaPoWriMo. I plan to attempt a 30/30, because I generated so much work last April (and had fun doing it). I’m also working up some curriculum to teach both the kids about reading and writing poetry, at age-appropriate levels.

One of my first projects for NaPoWriMo is gonna be trying to finish translating that poem I wrote last week from English to Gaeilge. It’s been tricky because, though it’s a short poem, it has an odd structure that does not lend itself easily to Gaeilge. Also, my grasp on Gaeilge is rudimentary at best. But then, that’s why I’m doing this, to help me learn.

Next week, I’m hoping to finish getting the New Wave anthology ready for print.

…

Other than all that? Well, there have been more realizations and epiphanies.

I’ve been getting braver, again. Doing things even if I’m scared to; because I remembered that most of the best things in my life have come from moments of “Am I scared? Yeah, but fuck it, I’ll do it anyway.”

I’ve been reincorporating elements of my old life, my old personality. From things as simple as drinking lapsang souchong again, taking walks whenever I can, rereading old favorite books, rediscovering old favorite albums; to things more esoteric. For so long I’d been lamenting the days when I was a mystical romantic lovesick dork, wishing I could be that way again but thinking I was too old. But now I’m allowing myself to behave that way again. I’m romanticizing my daily life, singing as I walk down the street, talking with the crows, cavorting with the wind.

A lot of those things (the tea, the walks, the mystical romantic lovesick dorkiness) sort of rhyme with a very specific time in my life, namely 2006-2008, and it’s funny that I’ve been asked to do a reading at Linneman’s, which was a place I frequented in those years. I know, you can’t go home again—except, sometimes you can.

And I’m also glad that I’m managing to reintegrate the positive aspects of those days without the self-destructive ones (i.e., drinking to excess and hooking up with people I didn’t even really like very much).

Another thing I’m reincorporating into my life is the DIY? Because I Gotta attitude. It’s not that I’ve ever fully lost it, but I’ve been doing a lot of it lately: things like making that necklace for myself, writing the poem and making the collage-card for my dad, etc. I used to get down on myself because I’ve never had enough money to buy gifts for all my loved ones for every occasion, but now I’m like, wait, this is actually a good thing about me. Not the lack-of-money part, but… I might not have money to buy people gifts all the time, but I do things like make them art, write them poems, make them personalized zines, make them mix tapes or playlists, bake them bread or cookies, give them veggies from my garden, give them tarot readings, etc. That’s actually pretty fucking cool.

I’ve been re-redefining success re: my writing career. Once again reminding myself that as long as my words get out in the world and the people who need them find them, that’s the most important thing—doesn’t so much matter what route those words take to get there. Reminding myself that I can look for agents for certain projects, submit to the more established lit journals, enter big name contests, etc., but that I can also continue to publish my own zines and chapbooks, and send stuff out to indie mags and presses. I don’t have to choose! I can try it all!

Speaking of not having to choose—I’ve been re-embracing the fluid nature of both my gender/gender expression and my sexuality.

For a while I was reading too much of that baeddelism stuff, and even though I objectively know it’s bullshit, it kinda got to me. I started thinking to myself: “You’re not currently pursuing medical transition, you have long hair, and you still wear skirts and makeup sometimes. Those people are right—you’re just a penis-obsessed cis woman LARPing as nonbinary.” And then I was like, wait. First of all, though medical transition is an important part of transitioning for many trans people, it is not the only valid way to transition. Second of all, plenty of men, trans and cis, have long hair or wear skirts or makeup; why am I letting a handful of people who are basically TIRFs (trans-inclusive radical feminists) dictate how I present and what that means about my gender? My gender and sexuality have always been fluid, that’s just who and how I am; that’s why I have always preferred the term queer—because it states that I am not cishet, but doesn’t box me into some narrow definition of gender or sexuality that might change the next moment, anyway. So, once again: I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it. And: You cannot misgender me in a way that matters.

Speaking of fluid sexuality—the way my desires are changing lately is fascinating.  Some things that used to turn me on no longer do it for me; other things that I was never into are now super hot.

These past two weeks have made me think of that Aaron Cometbus quote, about the kind of days I’ve been having: Simple days but with little surprises and long walks and good luck.

And it’s spring, it’s spring! Still chilly, but it stays lighter later every night, and the birds are out squawking and singing at all hours, and of course I’m restless and horny, it’s spring!

Overall, I’ve been full of gratitude and joy. I have amazing friends, all over the world. I get so overwhelmed with love for my kids, and for P. Seriously, every day I look at P. and think how lucky I am to have him as my partner in life; as the person I get to raise kids with and have hot sex with and cook good food with and wake up to every morning. And every day, I get to read books and listen to music and make art and write.

Of course things aren’t perfect, with the kids or with P., and I’m tired of being broke, and there’s the anxiety and executive dysfunction, and there’s a lot of bad shit in the world. But I have plans to make my and my family’s future better. And I’m getting more involved with activism again—apparently, when I allow myself to do things that bring me joy, I have more spoons for helping other people! Shocking, I know.

And I cry a lot, and I get nostalgically sad and long for old faces and places I once knew, and I get restless and long for new faces and places and adventures. And my heart breaks every day, from the beauty of the world, and the pain. But if that’s the tax for being a poet, for being a mystical romantic lovesick dork; if that’s the tax for not being closed off to any part of life—then I will gladly, gladly pay it.

[climbingthefloors]

obsessed with this baby hippo from thailand's khao khew zoo.. she has been so utterly betrayed by the world

[willinghands]

i think r/BenignExistence is my favorite subreddit 🥲 i love these pleasant little glimpses into strangers' lives

[whiteshipnightjar]

Zoozve, my beloved

[christadeguchi]

MONKEY MAN (2024)

[coffinwoodx]

ok so for those of you who don’t know, there’s this twitter account of a japanese local hero mascot named dentman who went viral recently due to this tweet

but yeah he saw the tweet. and his response went viral as well (which is how i found his account)

and he just has like. hourly posts reminding you to brush your teeth

oh and his rival? his name is mr. mutans. whenever dentman posts he makes a post of his own, ofc

but THAT’S NOT ALL. literally while making this post i found a THIRD ACCOUNT that’s all about taking your meds

safe to say i’m losing my mind

anyway the point of all this was that people are ALREADY beginning to draw them ship art 😭

and the reactions are everything

I CANT ADD ANY MORE IMAGES BUT TRUST ME THIS IS SO FUNNY

toxic one-sided dentman yaoi wasn’t on my 2024 bingo card but it DEFINITELY IS NOW!

[hoofpeet]

14 year old artists listen to me right now (gripping you by the shoulders) STOP caring about your "internet presence" right naow. Draw slower and stop trying to boil your art down to an acceptable marketable brand

[powdermelonkeg]

Important rules/tips I've learned as an adult that helped with anxiety

If people are mad at you, it's their responsibility to tell you, not your responsibility to guess

If they're mad at you in secret anyways, they're the ones in the wrong, not you

If people don't like what you're doing, it's their responsibility to tell you

If they say it's fine when it's really not, they're the ones in the wrong, not you

People are allowed to be wrong about you

If they are wrong about you, wait for them to bring it up, because if you try to, you will inevitably overcorrect

Some people are committed to misunderstanding you. You will not win arguments against them. Yes, even if you explain your point of view. They do not care. Drop it

The worst thing that will happen from a first-time offense is being told not to do it again. Maybe with a replacement if you broke something

You can improve relationships and gauge willingness to talk to you by giving compliments. It's like a daily log-in bonus and nobody thinks twice about it

Most things are better after you sleep on them

Most things are better after you have a meal

Most things are better after you shower

Your brain makes up consequences that are irrational. If the worst DOES come to pass and someone acts like they do in your head, they are overreacting, and you are entitled to say "what the fuck"

If your chest hurts after you feel like you've made a social error, that's called rejection-sensitive dysphoria. It means your anxiety is so bad that it's causing you physical pain, which is a good indicator that you're overreacting. Tense yourself, hold it for 20 seconds, let it go, then find a distraction

If you're suddenly angry at someone after you feel like you made a social error, that's also rejection-sensitive dysphoria. You are going to feel annoyed about it for awhile, but being genuinely pissed off is your anxiety trying to find something to blame to take the responsibility off your shoulders, and getting scared because it can't justify itself. Deep breaths, ask yourself how much you ACTUALLY want to be angry at that person, then find a distraction

"Sour grapes" is more healthy for you than stewing. Deciding you don't like someone who's perpetually annoyed with you, won't talk to you, etc. makes letting go of anxiety over them easier

If people don't like you, they will find reasons to be annoyed with you when they otherwise wouldn't. If people do like you, they will find reasons NOT to be annoyed with you when they otherwise would. People do not ping-pong between the two

You DO have to make a conscious choice not to think about something. If you're having trouble circling back to it, say out loud that you're done thinking about it and why. Then find a distraction

When you're upset, part of you is going to want to make false bids for attention (suddenly texting differently, heavy sighs, etc. but when someone asks you about it, you tell them it's nothing). Do not listen to it. You gain nothing from it except more misery

People like to help people they care about. It makes them feel good about themselves

If you think you're insufferable for needing help, see above. Yes, really. They get a serotonin kick from it

If you think you're insufferable for mannerisms you have, you either have to consciously choose not to do them, or accept that they're part of the package that comes with you. Being apologetic about existing does nothing except make you more miserable

If you do things you don't like when you feel meh about it, it makes it easier to do them when you hate it

If you avoid things you don't like when you feel meh about it, it reinforces and magnifies how bad it feels when you hate it

Seriously. Read those last two points again. If you can make yourself make a phone call when you've got nothing to lose, you will slowly lose that panic you get when you have to make a phone call you haven't prepared for. You do have to CONSCIOUSLY take that step

Hobbies that make you care for something get rid of that nagging feeling that you're not doing enough. Go grow some rosemary

If you don't engage with your hobbies regularly, you will feel miserable, and anxiety will spike

Hobbies are things that give you a bit of happiness. They do not have to be organized or named to do that. Go be creative in something. Play with coins. Make up lists. Start a new WIP

No one cares what you look like

If people point out things they don't like about how you look unprompted, they are being rude. You are entitled to say "what the fuck"

People who like you will find you pretty to some degree. Minor things about your appearance go completely unnoticed. Literally, scars and dots and blemishes do not register to someone who likes your company

You looking at yourself in the mirror is 10x more closely than anyone is going to look at you

If you're anxious about your body type, and you're creatively inclined, make/write an oc with that same shape. Give them nice things and make other characters love them. Put them on adventures. You'll start to see yourself in the mirror more kindly

You care about wording and perfect lines/colors way more than anyone who views your work ever will

Sometimes when you're upset, you're going to feel like not eating. Do not do that. Not eating makes you more miserable

Same with things you normally enjoy. Denying yourself helps no one. You are punishing yourself for being sad. Stop it

Both of these will take conscious decision to break the habit of. Make yourself do it anyways, and it will slowly get easier

And again, to reiterate: If someone is mad at you, it is THEIR responsibility to tell you, not your responsibility to guess

[wingsoffury]

My Alterhuman Journey

Hello!! For my second post, I thought I'd write an abridged timeline for my alterhuman journey! I wrote down only notable points in my journey & kintypes I still identify as now, since the others were flickers, or I didn't journal/post/blog about them at all on old accounts.

This post is… a bit long, I glimpsed a 1.5K wordcount as I was drafting this. So, the rest of the post will be visible under the cut!

On May 18th, 2019, I began identifying as a therian

Since childhood, I had been obsessed with wolves. I watched a lot of Wild Kratts when I was really young, and I suspect that my wolf-obsession might've started from the series' "Little Howler" episode?

Either way, I was really inspired to create. I started drawing so that I could depict the creature that I admired so much. I made my own xenofiction comic series about wolves. It was inspired by Warrior Cats, which I also really liked at the time. I really wish I knew where I could find those comics today.

Later on, when I was around 13, I recall having a dream where I was physically a wolf with white fur. I ran around in the deep snow around my school, then went away, deep into the woods, guided by another wolf. I don't have dreams very often, so I cherished and remembered this one for a long time.

When I would go to school, I felt phantom appendages that weren't really there. Pointed ears at the top of my head that would twitch and swivel to capture sounds. A tail that would swish as I walked. Folded, feathered wings that would impossibly clip into my backpack.

Eventually, I began searching online for what could be causing this, and I found Therian Guide. I learned about the terminology, and when I made an account, I wrote that I already suspected that I was an 'angel wolf' in my introduction. In the subsequent replies, someone introduced me to winged wolves, or pterolycus. I immediately jumped on it. That was me.

However, later in May, I went from calling a winged wolf a kintype, to calling it a copinglink. I can't understand my reasoning for this change, and I really wish I had been journaling at the time so that I could explain it.

My cycle of experiencing flickers, misinterpreting them as kintypes, and confirming them after questioning, only to deconfirm a week or two later began.

On November 8th, 2023, I discovered that I'm a Zoroark.

Please bear with me in this section; everything I'm about to say will tie into how I discovered I was a Zoroark.

In 2021, I identified as a fox-like creature for about a year. I thought that I was a kitsune, or sometimes I'd call myself a 'intelligent fox' instead. This was due to my impostor syndrome, because my phantom shifts only featured one tail instead of two or more. Despite this, I felt like I finally had finally found myself.

At some point, I stopped considering myself a kitsune, and started identifying as a Vastayan, a species from League of Legends. I was still a fox, just anthropomorphic instead of a quadruped. I still have art of what I believe this form looked like here. Other than that, I considered this kintype to be stable.

But in June 2022, my stable Vastayan fictotype suddenly became unstable. I shifted between feeling like a leonine Vastayan, like Rengar, to something werewolf-like, similar to Warwick multiple times a day. Eventually, it settled on being werewolf-like. You can see my art of this form here. I dubbed it a 'lycan vastaya'.

Due to this sudden change, I started looking into polymorphs again, and it felt right to describe the circumstances. I wasn't happy with it, admittedly… I wanted my identity to be stable, and I didn't want my kintype to be a creature that I felt was the exact opposite of it. However, I didn't know anything that fit better, so I stuck with the polymorph label for a while, in addition to calling myself a Vastayan.

Zoroark has its mane in a ponytail. Ever since I was young, I've always worn my hair in a ponytail because it was more comfortable to me.

This is a huge jump in time, but on November 4th, 2023, I made a short list of Pokemon that I'd like to be if it was possible to be one physically. Zoroark was on this list.

I had questioned quite a few Pokémon over the years, but like many of the other creatures I had questioned, they ended up being flickers. I was discouraged from being wrong so many times, but I still felt like I was somehow drawn to the Pokémon universe.

I found a bunch of similarities between me, my previous kintypes, and Zoroark:

Zoroark has red marks around its eyes, just like how my kitsune kintype did.

Zoroark is a facultative quadruped, like my previous lycan vastaya kintype. It walks on two legs, and gets on four legs to run. This is noemata I specifically had about my lycan vastaya 'type.

Zoroark imitates other Pokemon by using extremely realistic illusions.

Zoroark is based on kitsune, but it is also said on Bulbapedia that it "…also resembles a werewolf, due to the fact that it is an anthropomorphic canid with a propensity for shape-shifting".

And when I discovered that line, I suddenly realized that maybe it wasn't a coincidence that I was both a kitsune and a werewolf, one right after another? All of these similarities made me realize that I am a Zoroark. And that… maybe I'm not a polymorph, but a Zoroark who got lost in my own illusions. Ever since I made that realization, it feels like everything makes so much more sense.

On May 30th, 2023, I discovered Shyvana.

I was playing ARAM with my friends, a gamemode in League of Legends where you're assigned a random champion. I rerolled, and then I got Shyvana. I also got a random skin shard of her Ruined skin beforehand from a chest, so it was a perfect opportunity to try it.

By the time the game was over, I realized I loved playing this champion! I played her with an AP build, and that playstyle was so appealing to me! I was never obsessed with any other champion like I was with Shyv, and this persisted for months before I even considered that maybe this means something.

On January 12th, 2024, I discovered that I am Shyvana.

When I confirmed Zoroark, I no longer believed I was a Vastayan, and so any idea that I was from the League of Legends universe disappeared.

But when Smolder released, and I found out that someone discovered that they were him, it made me start wondering if I could be Shyvana, because I was still really obsessed with Shyvana and any new content including her. Again, no other champ (or characters in general, even) was like this for me. Any interest I had in a League of Legends champ usually faded after a week or two.

It's a bit too personal, so I can't list out every similarity, but Shyvana really fit the draconic feelings that I've noted since around 2021, when I thought I was dragonkin. In some skins, she even has a mix of fur and scales, exactly like what I had imagined my previous dragon kintype to have.

On August 1st, 2024, I began questioning wolves again.

I haven't confirmed anything yet - but I still have shifts that don't fit either Zoroark or Shyvana. I still have the same feelings of a set of ears and a tail that I've had since May 2019. And so, I started questioning from the Canid family (this was determined by a history of shifts, mental and phantom that I've had) and narrowed things down all the way to a subspecies.

I've done a lot of research in the past two weeks, so now I'm giving myself time away from what I'm questioning to figure out if this is a flicker or a kintype! :D

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.