#clockless

[mutant-what-not]

[watchmakr]

please forgive me i whispered “no clocks???” to myself and proceeded to have a moment

[neo-shitty]

and i would like you to love me — l.mk

excerpt. “i loved her hard and at a distance, which made it easier to do, experienced brief but powerful compulsions to hug her and almost never did.” - our wives under the sea, julia armfield.

pairings. mark lee x gender-neutral reader, (slight) na jaemin x gender-neutral reader

genre. angst, slight fluff, best friends!au, one-sided pining

warnings. swearing. mark is so...whipped...it’s almost pathetic.

word count. 4.6k

soundtrack. drunk text - henry moodie

notes. i haven’t written much this year and if i did get around to writing, it was either self-indulgent (read as written to appease my delusions) or nothing good. | taglist. @mosviqu​ @by-moonflower​ @lovesuhng​ @emvrd​ 

Your name was but a whisper in the wind; minute against the rustling of crisp dry leaves as the breeze picked up and blew down the sidewalk, but he spoke it loud enough to be heard over the distant bustling of the city night, half a world away from where they were. 

“______,” he called out, the name spilling out of his mouth long before he could think of what to say afterwards. The impulse trigger had left him, just as suddenly as it came and by the time his mind had caught up, she’d already stopped and turned to him.

“What?” Your eyes met his and all the words he’d bottled up inside him fizzled up right when he needed them most.

“Leaving?” Mark watched as a blur crossed the room, moving past him on the way somewhere he—in his sorry state of insobriety—couldn’t quite figure out just yet. The blur is you, on your merry way to take the unconventional route to the kitchen to fetch more drinks or heading for the backyard to take a dip in the pool. 

Or leaving, because you stop by the doorway, picking up the sneakers you came in with as you bid you goodbyes to the others around you. “Already?” 

The room Mark was in was a clockless one and with his phone dead, he had no way of knowing how late the night had gotten. Was it late enough to warrant heading home or just another one of the days you were up for hanging out until you weren’t? Either way, he still pushed himself off the couch, anticipating the nauseating world-spin that came with the sudden jerk of motion and waited for it to pass. Then he was fine—the world stilling momentarily—and he’s saying his ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you next time’s until he was out the door.

You hadn’t gotten that far yet, less than a house away when he stumbled down the front porch steps and trampled the front lawns of the Lees. He was debating calling out to you to wait when he noticed you slowed your steps to match his, waiting until you walked side by side on the sidewalk.

He wasn’t sure how far down on the way home his thoughts shifted from keeping his walking straight to the rabbit hole he’d fallen into. Ever since the seed sprouted in the depths of his mind, he never was able to get away from it—tangled in its grasp and dragged down every time he was reminded of it. It was hard not to think of it when he saw you almost everyday, your image ingrained into his eyelids with the permanence of all those years of friendship. 

Tonight, the thoughts loomed just beyond the horizon; from the moment you ran out the front door waving to your parents by the doorway, to the bus ride you spent standing together and trying their best not to fall over, to enjoying the party all the while looking out for where the other had gone. 

It was always like this between you, a seemingly mismatched compatibility outlasting the average lifetime of a pair with a dynamic like theirs. People like you grew into something more or diminished into nothing, unable to withstand the test of time. Not you, though. Your friendship mirrored the way the tides shifted through the months, reaching far into the shore only to pull far back later on. He was the static sand of the shoreline and you were the tide, moving with the push and pull of lunar gravity; growing closer to each other until you overlapped then backing away but never entirely apart. Nothing more, nothing less and Mark was content with that.

Until one night—mid-summer—in a drunken haze he wondered if it would be wrong to want something more than just this and nothing had been able to quell the thought ever since. 

It spread through his mind like a plague, an obsessive fascination of this possibility happening because it wasn’t off the table. They might work. And he would think of what it would be like to call you more than just a friend, to hold you closer than their current unsaid boundaries allowed, to feel your warmth against his—chest to chest with your hearts beating in sync. 

The thoughts led him here, verbalized in the form of your name for the first time since its inception in the recesses of his mind.

You were still looking at him, arms finding their ways back to your side after pretending to keep your balance on levelled ground. It took one glance at your face, your curiosity warping into impatience, for him to remember what he was really up against. Every con listed itself in bullets in his mind, matching up against his established list of delusion-fuelled pros. What if you didn’t feel the same way? He’d thought about it before. People have taken bullets to the chest and lived to tell the tale, so why couldn’t he? But he knows it wasn’t just about the ache of the potential rejection, it was about every ripple and repercussion following the confession because...

What if he lost her?

And somehow that was enough to snap him out of the deluded trance, every inch of mustered courage dwindling as he weighed the possibilities—his losses always heavier than the probable benefits. Certainties, such as your being a part of his life, would remain as such until factors that could potentially affect it would surface, and uncertainties will, well, remain uncertain until further evidence would prove it closer to certainty than the former. 

So, Mark shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just be careful.” It was a stupid excuse but he knew you’d never look into it more than the fact that a man just tried to dictate your actions.

“How about you be careful and start minding your own business?” you answered, keeping a feisty fit until you broke into a laugh, filling the air of the silent evening. When he didn’t laugh along with you, you stuck out your tongue, leaping onto the next square on the pattern across the sidewalk with your arms stretched out. 

You were right though. Between you and him, he had more chances of falling over even if he wasn’t hopping around. And if that happened, he’d be more than happy to lie there gazing at the semi-starry night sky—the road not taken lingering as a daydream in his mind.

In the same way recent thoughts sometimes slip into dreams in the form of ridiculous symbolism, anything the senses pick up in sleep have the chance of transcending reality and making itself known in dreams in some wild interpretation the mind comes up with unconsciously. In Mark’s case, it was the crescendo of banging on his bedroom door that intruded the peace of his slumber and turned its peaceful air into a full-blown apocalyptic nightmare.

In the dream, he was making his way down the sidewalk of a busy highway, still in a filler part of his dream. He had no recollection of where he was or how he got there, just that he was headed somewhere and that events would pick up from there. Unfortunately for him, he won’t be asleep long enough to find out what awaited him.

The first of the crashes was faint, loud enough to draw his attention but far enough to not worry him. It sounded like a bomb exploding from underground, muffled but powerful. and as his mind registered the connections he made, the second boom came—louder and closer now—shaking the ground where he stood. 

Fear surged through his system, adrenaline pumping into his veins as he broke into a sprint. Then the crashes came first, as if seemingly sensing his fear and coming for him. There was a third, a fourth, and a fifth, all barrelling closer and closer towards him until one detonated behind him, finally knocking him out.

Mark Lee woke up with a start. He's alive, breathless right on his first waking minute. A thin layer of sweat glazed the skin of his upper torso, the dream vivid enough to leave remnants in reality. He turned to his side, reaching over to his bedside table when he heard it, the same loud crash that killed him in his dreams and it was right outside his door. He sat up, startled, slowly realizing that it wasn’t a bomb but knocking loud enough that it might as well be. 

“I'll be down in 10, mom!”

Bthe knocking persisted. what it diminished in volume it made up for in its frequency, coming in half-beats.

He groaned, throwing the covers off of him to walk over to the door. “I said I’ll be there in 10!”

The door swung open. It wasn’t his mom knocking dents into the wood.

“Happy birthday!” The candle goes out with a concentrated exhale, a thin line of smoke being only its remnant that it was ever lit up. 

The cake was simple; store-bought chocolate with a Happy Birthday, Mark! scribbled in red icing, held up by someone who looked up at him expectantly. What were you expecting? 

“Oh shit, sorry.” Mark fought the urge to laugh at your little fuck up, leaning against the doorway as you fumbled your pocket for the lighter. You found it eventually, striking it twice until a steady flame relit the candle. “Happy birthday, Mark! Make a wish,” you greeted again, holding the cake out further from your face and closer to Mark’s. 

He doesn’t tell you that his wish had already been granted. “Thank you,” he took the cake from your palm, killing the candle’s light a second time. “You really woke up early for this?”

“I did,” you answered, hands on your waist like a superhero; proud. Mark could tell from the shadows beneath your eyes that you’d probably forgotten the date and panicked the second you realized it was his birthday, bought the cake right as the bakery was closing and somehow forgot to bring a lighter on your way here.

But there was always plus points for effort.

He could feel the corners of his mouth twitch up, the telltales of a smile making its way to his face no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. “Thank you, ______.”

He’d done this a hundred times before but this one felt different. Pulling you closer, he wrapped you in a half-embrace to which you melted into. Your own arms curled languidly around his frame, slowly enclosing him in your own squeeze. Pressed chest to chest, he was conscious of every muscle twitch. He felt as if his arms would lock and keep you there, where his lips could brush your temple if you wanted him to, where your perfume was too strong it was all he could inhale. 

“You’re old.” You mumbled and he felt the vibrations on his chest as you spoke.

“Your birthday’s in a few weeks too, idiot.” Did you feel it in your chest too? 

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself, the moment too fragile in his hands. So he left it in yours even when he knew you’d be quick to drop it, pulling away from him right before he could beg you to stay a little longer. 

You stood at a fair distance away from him again. “Get changed and come down. Breakfast’s ready.”

Breakfast was omelettes and a mug of coffee. Before him were two plates of the same meal, one more overcooked than the other. It was easy to point out but he opted to keep his mouth shut, glancing over at you.

“Go on, try it!” you said, beaming at him with an air of confidence.

So he does, slicing a portion with his fork before shoving it into his mouth. Surprisingly, it’s better than he expected it to be, but judging from the few too many egg shells on the kitchen counter, it took a few tries. “Good, but not as good as my mom’s.”

His mom’s hearty laughter filled the room, warmth spreading where the sunlight couldn’t reach. “You’ll get the hang of it someday, _____.” 

It wasn’t the first time you tried it but this was the closest you’d ever gotten to getting it right. Across all his birthdays and the mornings you dropped by, this was the first time you didn’t burn the eggs completely. Just slightly, just enough for Mark to notice the difference. But his mom had the edge, what was 20-something consecutive years of practice to several tries months apart?

The rest of breakfast is spent in small talk, filling in the gaps between the last time they’d been huddled together and today. Mark spent most of his time listening, the information exchanged no longer anything new. But he’d speak in the silences, when his mother attended to other things or when you had your head down, smiling at something but telling him nothing when he asked. 

Oh. That.

Mark knew for a while now, he was just waiting for you to admit it. The gradual shift was subtle but enough for him to notice; this wasn’t the first time this had happened, the last time being a lifetime ago. Shortened, occasional replies and half-distracted responses meant you were hiding something or budgeting time across people and failing to keep up. He would know, because he’d done it before. But unlike you, his temporary fixes proved to be temporary and he’d somehow find his way back, retracing his steps and ending up on your doorstep with a story of a lifetime you’d be willing to hear out on the front porch. But he was rarely on the receiving end of these stories, never the one to keep the friendship alive despite the growing distance.

He first noticed it on a weeknight mid-semester, when he was staying up late to finish something. He camped in a server with a bot playing music in the background when he heard the ding, an intruder entering his safe space, but it’s you so he doesn’t bother. It’s half-past 3AM and,

“You never sleep do you?” you asked.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked.

Mark answered work and you answered nothing. Nothing was an avenue for a lot of things, just not something you wanted to say out loud. Just not something you wanted to say to him. 

Your camera blinked on, the same old familiar face greeting him—the dim light of your laptop screen reflecting on your skin. The pixels that made up your eyes stared back at him, which meant you were staring at the black orb of your camera just to look at him directly. Then you turned away, laughing.

“Something funny about my face?” 

He expected some sarcastic reply. But you only shook your head, looking elsewhere. He could hear the keys clicking as you typed, your eyes scanning across the screen that, as Mark realized, isn’t just composed of him. 

“Are you talking to someone?” Mark asked, even if he wouldn’t like either response. No, I’m not talking to someone—a blatant lie. Yes, I’m talking to someone—the truth he didn’t want to hear. But he asked anyway, getting a firm answer would be better than mere speculation. He just didn’t get why the thought of it stung.

On his screen, you cocked your head, your heads now side by side as if they were leaning against each other. At least, that was how it was on his end. He noticed your lips, the way the edges curled when you fought hard not to smile. Mark heard about Na Jaemin for the first time that night.

Mark got out of his shift a little past midnight, bursting out the door in a frantic rush straight into the empty streets of the city. His mind had been locked onto one thing since he got the voicemail: to get to the pub as soon as he could. Hi Mark, your best friend’s voice came through the speaker. I know you’re working, But could you pick _____ up after your shift? I would drive them home but I came with Jeno and I don't think they’re in the right state of mind to be riding a motorcycle right now so... The line goes silent for a while, the talking distant before he overhears ‘Is _____ here? Are they ok?’. I know, I’m sorry, it’s so late. You don’t have to do it, I’ll just call up their dad.

No, he replied, not even thinking of how he’ll get there. I'll come get them. Because they both knew calling your dad was the last of all last resorts. Your best friend replied with an okay and an address that was on the other side of the city.

Mark walked into an unforgiving downpour, raindrops thick enough to blur the rest of the avenue. His jacket wasn’t enough to shield him from it, the thick denim soaking in not even seconds in. It offered some form of protection but it wasn’t a coat nor an umbrella and the closest bus stop was still a block away. He dashed head first into the pouring rain, down the sidewalk and across the street, straight into the bus shed.

The few people who rode the bus along with him cast glances of disgust, keeping an unrespectful distance away from him as if the rainwater that drenched him was some vile toxic liquid. He stood the whole way, not wanting to dampen dry bus seats and risk getting ejected off the bus. His bus card was declined thrice and he ended up paying in cash before hopping off, only to find himself on the wrong street. His phone shut down somewhere along the way and he spent a few minutes walking in the wrong direction before he eventually turned around and found the pub.

For a pub, it wasn’t crowded enough for him to get more lost than he already had been. In fact, it was relatively empty. He spotted familiar faces close to the back, Jeno specifically who had a beer can in hand—ready to offer it to him. They welcomed him as he approached, asking where he was, why he only arrived now and why the fuck he was drenched. He ignored everyone, though he would soon regret not taking the can of beer from Jeno’s hand. “Where’s ______?” he asked.

“Mark, you’re here!” Your best friend came up from behind him, eyes running over his figure. “Oh my God, what happened? Didn’t you get my text?”

Mark fished his phone out of his pocket, showing the black screen and the useless effort of trying to turn it back on. Whether it was drained or drenched beyond repair, he wasn’t sure.

Your best friend chewed the inside of their cheeks before speaking. “_____’s fine now,” they said and he noted the hesitance in their tone, as if they knew something he didn’t. After a quick sigh she resigned and continued, “Jaemin came. They’re still here, I think, down the hall by the comfort rooms.”

He wished your best friend didn’t notice when his expression hardened from worry to a stoicism meant to keep his emotions in check. But their lingered, pity and concern dancing across the glossy surface of their eyes. He thanks them as he excused himself, thanking them a second time for saying the truth instead of shielding him from the truth he’d uncover on his own eventually.

A cue stick hits a cue ball, scattering the multi-colored balls across the table. The crowd erupts into cheers, the music playing in the background drowned out by the amused laughter. It’s a lucky shot because a few make it into the holes, the player earns another opportunity to strike. One of their friends called him over and he glanced, suddenly torn between stalling or confronting what was waiting for him.

He holds a hand up, opting to come back for them later. He'd need the distraction, anyway. The short walk to the bathroom ends at the mouth of another hallway, a narrow one that led to the lavatory and the comfort room doors that stood side by side to each other.

You sat with your back against the wall, somewhere at the end of the hallway. And across you sat Jaemin, cross-legged on the same floor, mirroring the way you were curled up against the corner because it made you laugh. Mark feels like he’s interrupting something, feels that his presence—though not yet acknowledged—was not welcome in their little space.

“_____?”

Jaemin is the first to look over, dark eyes bearing down on Mark’s. and though the man was seated on the floor, Mark suddenly felt small. When he searched the blonde’s face for a sign of hostility, he found nothing but mere indifference, nothing beyond how someone would treat a stranger. Jaemin leans forward, closing the distance between you. Only then do you glance over at Mark—head spinning instantly, eyes wide like a doe in headlights. You always moved that way when the alcohol overtook your system. Where others found their actions dulled, yours became sharper. Mark found it comforting that you weren’t too far gone yet to lose the snappy movements. 

The blonde man rose up to his full height and they finally saw each other eye to eye. Then he turned to reach a hand to you to help you pull yourself up with a firm grip on the other man’s wrist.

In that moment, Mark slipped out of the hallway and into the recesses of his mind, revisiting the last time he’d seen you—that night in his room, the altercation. He remembers the way you beamed at him when you walked in, the brightness of your presence permeating the thick air of his room. Whatever reasons he had, he could no longer remember. Why was he that irritable that day? At what point could he no longer bear to listen to you? And why did he have to say what he did? 

You talked about your day, at first, and just like every conversation since you introduced Jaemin, the topic inevitably steered to him. How you went from passing glances at each other, to exchanging socials, to talking all night, to hanging out in person—and Mark listened on for the justification as to why his own messages had gone unanswered for longer periods until he couldn’t bear it any longer.

He shouldn’t have scoffed but he did. “Are you even sure that he likes you?” he said, cutting you off as you spoke. He regrets it the second it rendered you silent. You didn’t look hurt, no, it was disappointment and the weight of your gaze that made the guilt surge within him.

“_____,” he tried but you were already slipping off the bed, passing behind him as you picked up your things and slamming the door without even looking back. He should’ve stood up right then, ran after you before you could leave the house and apologize. Say that he didn’t mean it that way, say that he didn’t mean it at all. But he just sat there, his guilt gobbling him whole and his pride keeping him rooted there.

Like clockwork, he eventually apologized and you eventually told him it was fine, even when it wasn’t for the sake of dismissing it. Nothing was the same ever since; the rift evident, as if you hadn’t drifted far enough already.

But there were times like this when pride was an easy thing to overlook. You had done it for him once or twice before. He recalled running late one too many times for a class you had together; and you, despite not being on speaking terms with him, took the blame for it. And your friendship was always fixed that way, non-verbal ways, as if to prove that actions spoke louder than words if they failed. 

“What the fuck happened, Mark?” you asked, slurring through your words before bursting out in laughter. 

Mark raised an eyebrow, “What the fuck happened to me? What the fuck happened to you?” he watched as you stumbled over, wobbly as you stepped.

Behind you, Jaemin leans to mumble something in your ear. Something about letting him know if you were ready to leave. Mark didn’t mean to eavesdrop on it, nor could he help butting in.  

“It’s fine,” he says, to the blonde’s surprise and his own. “I’ll take her home. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Not a bother at all,” Jaemin replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll take her home. Besides, it’s raining. Glad I brought the car instead.”

And Mark debates whether it would be worth sparking an argument with the man. Didn’t he know that the rain had stopped? Maybe he would’ve known if he wasn’t busy flirting in a pub bathroom. And did he really have to shove it in his face that he had a ride after seeing him drenched? 

But Mark noticed you looking and he bites his tongue. You were no longer looking over with eyes glinting with both worry and amusement at the same time. You looked at him imploringly, as if begging for him to take the hint. If he was honest, Mark didn’t want to. And it wasn’t because he tread through a storm just to get here but because it was an opportunity to make things up to you, to finally apologize and break the ice. But it seemed you were taking apologies in other ways today and it didn’t necessarily involve him.

Mark sighed and hoped that his voice wouldn’t betray him as he spoke. “Alright, be careful both of you. Her dad’s kinda strict.” He even mustered up the courage to wink at the blonde man.

Jaemin chuckled lightly and he watched as your face flared up in a blush. Mark stepped aside to let the pair pass, looking away when he noticed the blonde resting an arm over your shoulders—like he used to. But he sees you through the mirror hanging over the lavatory and that’s how he noticed that you looked over a final time. Your eyes met on the glass and for the first time since your little quarrel. You looked at him warmly; he missed this. You mouthed a little thank you before you turned back, walking away and disappearing into the main room. 

By the time Mark joined the others, you had long left the place for a night out on your own. Everyone knew better than to bring it up. Beer bottles were passed, along with cue sticks and unlit cigarettes. He hoped the alcohol would dampen out how he felt even just for that night. 

They were at the pub until it closed in the early AM, saying their goodbyes when they were out on the street. Mark’s house was far from everyone else’s, close only to yours, but because you were no longer around, he ended up alone. He would’ve sent you a text to ask if you got home safely, to tell you that he walked all the way home again, to say what he’d been meaning to say for years now. Good thing his phone was dead long before he could do so.

© neo-shitty, 2023

[astraeye]

when i was younger, my grandparents had a huge house in the countryside. it had 4 big dogs, a football field, lots of sheep, a small forest we loved to explore, a pool.

by the pool there was a shower that to this day is the best shower i've ever used. it was big and round and with a lot of pressure and the warmest water. showering there was like showering in a warm waterfall. sometimes i still remember the feeling of its heavy warm water falling on me, the sounds of the pool close and the chilly afternoon breeze carrying the chocolate smell from the chocolate factory nearby

my grandparents sold the countryside house 7 years ago. i get it better now than i got at 13. they were almost in their seventies. it was getting hard to take care of a large property full of ups and downs. i still miss it though.

here in brazil most houses have electric showers. maybe you shouldn’t mix electricity with water to take a shower but we do and it works. in this type of shower the more you open the faucet, the colder the water gets. so in hot days, we open the faucet like our life depends on it so we can have a refreshing shower. and on cold days we barely open it, hoping for the warmest water we can get.

so, sometimes, when i'm alone at my apartment, when i know my roommates won't arrive for a while i go take a barely-open-faucet shower. i leave the bathroom door and the windows open so that the breeze will come. and then as the warm water and the chilly afternoon breeze i close my eyes

and it's summer 2011 again. i am 7 years old, taking a shower by the pool at my grandparents' countryside house. i can see a bit of the pool around and hear its sounds. i know once i finish my mom will hug me tightly with a towel so i don’t catch a cold. my brother is upstairs playing a game with my father and uncle. the dogs are laying by the door's carpet always waiting to be petted. my grandparents are preparing a post pool snack for us.

time feels clockless. childhood feels adultless. i'm showering in a warm waterfall, i feel the smell of chocolate breeze.

[voiid-vagabond]

Call me Erebor the way I'm a clockless, timeless hole.

[bechdelexam]

It’s 10:55 a.m. on a Thursday in early November, and I’m on the clockless, windowless main floor of Calgary’s Elbow River Casino watching a woman with a wispy grey braid and seafoam-green sleeves play Lamp of Destiny. Her slot machine is a Genie-emblazoned behemoth with two high-definition video screens (“set against a smooth black surface,” says the manufacturer, “to create a cinematic feel”). The woman pushes a button. Lights flash, music plays, reels spin. She pushes it again. And again. And again. Her body is still. Her face glows golden. I move along. Dozens of people are hunched at dozens of other machines: Lucky Buddha, Texas Tea, Strike it Rich, Merlin’s Wand, Lotus Land, Sparkling Nightlife, Lucky Ox, Mighty Cash, Buffalo Gold Revolution, Rakin’ Bacon, Money Link, Rising Fortunes. I push through the music and lights, past the green-felt baccarat tables where balding Asian men fiddle with their chips, past the off-track betting room (Wager on the Sport of Kings!), through Jackpot Junction, a battery of slots beneath a giant locomotive smokestack spewing cartoon coins and bills. None of this is meant for me: I’m not a customer, I’m a volunteer. In five minutes my shift starts in the cage, a locked room with barred windows along the far wall filled with plastic chips and real money, where I’ll be banker and cashier, paying out the table-game players—poker, blackjack, roulette. Instead of spending money, I’ll be funding my 8-year-old daughter’s education. A portion of today’s casino take will go to her school, some $65,000 for field trips, books, cultural shows, an artist in residence, iPads and basketball nets. Countless Albertans know these shifts, having volunteered for schools, community leagues, environmental groups, even churches. (And only Albertans do: no other province allows “charities”—this includes schools’ parent-fundraising-councils—to conduct casino events.) Experience isn’t necessary. Neither is police clearance. The job is just to count money and pay players, and the cage is ringed with surveillance cameras besides. As my shift starts, I’m handed $1.1-million in chips, lined up in trays, and a neat pile of elastic-band-wrapped blue, purple, green, red and brown bricks of cash totalling $350,000, more than I paid for my house. The main rule, I’m told, is to not congratulate customers. I might be handing them $600, but maybe they started with a thousand.

[northwest-by-a-train]

Dear friend now in the dusty clockless hours of the town when the streets lie black and steaming in the wake of the watertrucks and now when the drunk and the homeless have washed up in the lee of walls in alleys or abandoned lots and cats go forth highshouldered and lean in the grim perimeters about, now in these sootblacked brick or cobbled corridors where lightwire shadows make a gothic harp of cellar doors no soul shall walk save you.

The opening sentence from Cormac McCarthy's Suttree (1979)

[jhavelikes]

With the slowing down of Moore's Law, there has been an increasing demand for domain-specific hardware. A probabilistic computer with naturally stochastic building blocks (probabilistic bits, or p-bits) is a representative example due to its potential capability to efficiently address various computationally hard tasks in machine learning (ML) and artificial intelligence (AI). Just as quantum computers are a natural fit for inherently quantum problems, room-temperature probabilistic computers are suitable for intrinsically probabilistic algorithms, which are widely used for training machines and computational hard problems in optimization, sampling, etc. Recently, researchers from Tohoku University and the University of California Santa Barbara have shown that robust and fully asynchronous (clockless) probabilistic computers can be efficiently realized at scale using a probabilistic spintronic device called stochastic magnetic tunnel junction (sMTJ) interfaced with powerful Field Programmable Gate Arrays (FPGA).

Researchers develop spintronic probabilistic computers compatible with current AI

[brookston]

Holidays 7.17

Holidays

Air Conditioner Day

Constitution Day (South Korea)

Crank Call Day

Disneyland Day

Ethnographer’s Day (Russia)

Feast of the Clockless NowEver

Flag Day (Norway)

Guelaguetza (Primer Lunes; Mexico)

International Firgun Day

International HIV Prevention Day

International Tim Brooke-Taylor Day (UK)

King’s Day (Lesotho)

National Air Conditioner Day

National Asshole Awareness Day

National Cory Day

National Heart-Brain Disorders Awareness Day

National Lottery Day

National Physiatry Day (Philippines)

National Tattoo Day

National Voice Actor Day

President’s Day (Botswana)

717 Day (Pennsylvania)

Sewing Machine Day

TWA Flight 800 Crash Anniversary Day

U Tirot Sing Day (Meghalaya, India)

Victims of Baton Rouge, Louisiana Attack Day

Wear Crazy Socks to Work Day

Wheat Day (French Republic)

World Day for International Justice

World Emoji Day

Wrong Way Corrigan Day

Yellow Pig Day (Celebrating the Number 17)

Yellow Submarine Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Indie Beer Shop Day (UK)

National Peach Ice Cream Day

3rd Monday in July

Global Hug For Your Kids Day [3rd Monday]

Guelaguetza (a.k.a. Festival of Lunes del Cerro; Oaxaca, Mexico) [Monday after 16th]

Marine Day (Japan) [3rd Monday]

Munoz-Rivera Day (f.k.a. Birthday of Don Luis Muñoz Rivera; Puerto Rico Day) [3rd Monday]

National Get Out of the Doghouse Day [3rd Monday]

National Prosecco Week begins [3rd Monday]

Perseids Meteor Shower begins [Varies; thru 8.24]

Umi No Hi (Ocean Day/Marine Day; Japan) [3rd Monday]

Independence Days

Negaunee Republic (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

Slovakia (Remembrance Day; from Czechoslovakia, 1992)

Feast Days

Alexius of Rome (Western Church)

Andrew Zorard (Christian; Saint)

Ba-Maguje's Day (Hausa; on Eid al-Fitr)

Boccaccio (Positivist; Saint)

Caligula Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Cynehelm (Christian; Saint)

Cynllo (Christian; Saint)

Ennodius (Christian; Saint)

Feast of the Carmelite Martyrs of Compiegne

Feast of the Holy Royal Martyrs of Russia

Festival for Victoria and Virtus (Goddess of Victory & God of Bravery in Warfare; Ancient Rome)

Furgus Fuzz (Muppetism)

Gion Matsuri (Japan)

Inácio de Azevedo (Christian; Saint)

Jadwiga of Poland (Christian; Saint)

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (Artology)

Jowls (Muppetism)

Kenelm (Nun’s Priest Tale; Canterbury Tales)

Kurman Ait Day (Kyrgyzstan)

Magnus Felix Ennodius (Christian; Saint)

Marcellina (Christian; Saint)

Martyrs of Compiègne (Christian; Saint)

Pavel Peter Gojdič, Blessed (Greek Catholic Church)

Piatus of Tournai (Christian; Saint)

Leo IV, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Romanov sainthood (Russian Orthodox Church)

Skinny Dipping Day (Pastafarian)

Solstitium XII (Pagan)

Speratus and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Turninus (Christian; Saint)

Why Not? Day (Pastafarian)

William White (Episcopal Church))

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Tycho Brahe Unlucky Day (Scandinavia) [26 of 37]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [40 of 57]

Unglückstage (Unlucky Day; Pennsylvania Dutch) [19 of 30]

Premieres

All You Need Is Love, by The Beatles (US Song; 1967)

Ant-Man (Film; 2015)

Arthur (Film; 1981)

The Case of the Velvet Claws, by Erle Stanley Gardner (Novel; 1933) [Perry Mason #1]

Cherokee, recorded by Charlie Barnet (Song; 1939)

The Dark Knight Rises, by Hans Zimmer (Soundtrack Album; 2012)

Disneyland, in Anaheim, California (Theme Park; 1955)

Egghead Rides Again (WB MM Cartoon; 1937)

Endless Love (Film; 1981)

(500) Days of Summer (Film; 2009)

From Up on Poppy Hill (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 2011)

Greyfriars Bobby (Film; 1961)

James and the Giant Peach, by Roald Dahl (Novel; 1961)

Jungle Cruise (Disneyland Ride; 1955)

The Mask of Zorro (Film; 1998)

Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride (Disneyland Ride; 1955)

Multiplicity (Film; 1996)

My Neighbors the Yamahas (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 1999)

North by Northwest (Film; 1959)

Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag, by James Brown (Song; 1965)

RoboCop (Film; 1987)

The Secret World of Arietty (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 2010)

Splash Mountain (Disneyland Ride; 1989)

Trainwreck (Film; 2015)

Turbo (Animated Film; 2013)

Victory Through Air Power (Documentary Film; 1943)

Water Music, by George Frederic Handel (Orchestral Movements; 1717)

Who Goes There? (a.k.a. The Thing), by John W. Campbell Jr. (Novel; 1938)

Yellow Submarine (UK Animated Film; 1968)

You’re the Worst (TV Series; 2014)

Today’s Name Days

Alexius, Charlotte, Donata, Gabriella (Austria)

Marin, Marina (Bulgaria)

Aleksije, Branimir, Leo, Nadan, Rufina (Croatia)

Martina (Czech Republic)

Alecius (Denmark)

Meeme, Meemo (Estonia)

Ossi, Ossian (Finland)

Arlette, Charlotte, Marcelline (France)

Alexis, Charlotte, Gabriella (Germany)

Alexandra, Aliki, Marina (Greece)

Elek, Endre (Hungary)

Alessio, Marina (Italy)

Ainārs, Aleksejs, Aleksis (Latvia)

Aleksas, Darius, Girėnas, Vaiga (Lithuania)

Gorm, Guttorm (Norway)

Aleksander, Aleksy, Andrzej, Bogdan, Dzierżykraj, Januaria, Julietta, Leon, Marceli, Marcelina, Maria Magdalena (Poland)

Bohuslav (Slovakia)

Alejo, Alexis, Jacinto, Marcelina (Spain)

Bruno (Sweden)

Codie, Codey, Cody, Dakota, Dakotah, Ismael, Kody, Vesta (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 198 of 2024; 167 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 1 of week 29 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 8 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 30 (Bing-Zi)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 28 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 28 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 18 Lux; Foursday [18 of 30]

Julian: 4 July 2023

Moon: 0%: New Moon

Positivist: 2 Dante (8th Month) [Boccaccio]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 4 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 27 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 27 of 31)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 7.17

Holidays

Air Conditioner Day

Constitution Day (South Korea)

Crank Call Day

Disneyland Day

Ethnographer’s Day (Russia)

Feast of the Clockless NowEver

Flag Day (Norway)

Guelaguetza (Primer Lunes; Mexico)

International Firgun Day

International HIV Prevention Day

International Tim Brooke-Taylor Day (UK)

King’s Day (Lesotho)

National Air Conditioner Day

National Asshole Awareness Day

National Cory Day

National Heart-Brain Disorders Awareness Day

National Lottery Day

National Physiatry Day (Philippines)

National Tattoo Day

National Voice Actor Day

President’s Day (Botswana)

717 Day (Pennsylvania)

Sewing Machine Day

TWA Flight 800 Crash Anniversary Day

U Tirot Sing Day (Meghalaya, India)

Victims of Baton Rouge, Louisiana Attack Day

Wear Crazy Socks to Work Day

Wheat Day (French Republic)

World Day for International Justice

World Emoji Day

Wrong Way Corrigan Day

Yellow Pig Day (Celebrating the Number 17)

Yellow Submarine Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Indie Beer Shop Day (UK)

National Peach Ice Cream Day

3rd Monday in July

Global Hug For Your Kids Day [3rd Monday]

Guelaguetza (a.k.a. Festival of Lunes del Cerro; Oaxaca, Mexico) [Monday after 16th]

Marine Day (Japan) [3rd Monday]

Munoz-Rivera Day (f.k.a. Birthday of Don Luis Muñoz Rivera; Puerto Rico Day) [3rd Monday]

National Get Out of the Doghouse Day [3rd Monday]

National Prosecco Week begins [3rd Monday]

Perseids Meteor Shower begins [Varies; thru 8.24]

Umi No Hi (Ocean Day/Marine Day; Japan) [3rd Monday]

Independence Days

Negaunee Republic (Declared; 2016) [unrecognized]

Slovakia (Remembrance Day; from Czechoslovakia, 1992)

Feast Days

Alexius of Rome (Western Church)

Andrew Zorard (Christian; Saint)

Ba-Maguje's Day (Hausa; on Eid al-Fitr)

Boccaccio (Positivist; Saint)

Caligula Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Cynehelm (Christian; Saint)

Cynllo (Christian; Saint)

Ennodius (Christian; Saint)

Feast of the Carmelite Martyrs of Compiegne

Feast of the Holy Royal Martyrs of Russia

Festival for Victoria and Virtus (Goddess of Victory & God of Bravery in Warfare; Ancient Rome)

Furgus Fuzz (Muppetism)

Gion Matsuri (Japan)

Inácio de Azevedo (Christian; Saint)

Jadwiga of Poland (Christian; Saint)

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot (Artology)

Jowls (Muppetism)

Kenelm (Nun’s Priest Tale; Canterbury Tales)

Kurman Ait Day (Kyrgyzstan)

Magnus Felix Ennodius (Christian; Saint)

Marcellina (Christian; Saint)

Martyrs of Compiègne (Christian; Saint)

Pavel Peter Gojdič, Blessed (Greek Catholic Church)

Piatus of Tournai (Christian; Saint)

Leo IV, Pope (Christian; Saint)

Romanov sainthood (Russian Orthodox Church)

Skinny Dipping Day (Pastafarian)

Solstitium XII (Pagan)

Speratus and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Turninus (Christian; Saint)

Why Not? Day (Pastafarian)

William White (Episcopal Church))

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Tycho Brahe Unlucky Day (Scandinavia) [26 of 37]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [40 of 57]

Unglückstage (Unlucky Day; Pennsylvania Dutch) [19 of 30]

Premieres

All You Need Is Love, by The Beatles (US Song; 1967)

Ant-Man (Film; 2015)

Arthur (Film; 1981)

The Case of the Velvet Claws, by Erle Stanley Gardner (Novel; 1933) [Perry Mason #1]

Cherokee, recorded by Charlie Barnet (Song; 1939)

The Dark Knight Rises, by Hans Zimmer (Soundtrack Album; 2012)

Disneyland, in Anaheim, California (Theme Park; 1955)

Egghead Rides Again (WB MM Cartoon; 1937)

Endless Love (Film; 1981)

(500) Days of Summer (Film; 2009)

From Up on Poppy Hill (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 2011)

Greyfriars Bobby (Film; 1961)

James and the Giant Peach, by Roald Dahl (Novel; 1961)

Jungle Cruise (Disneyland Ride; 1955)

The Mask of Zorro (Film; 1998)

Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride (Disneyland Ride; 1955)

Multiplicity (Film; 1996)

My Neighbors the Yamahas (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 1999)

North by Northwest (Film; 1959)

Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag, by James Brown (Song; 1965)

RoboCop (Film; 1987)

The Secret World of Arietty (Studio Ghibli Animated Film; 2010)

Splash Mountain (Disneyland Ride; 1989)

Trainwreck (Film; 2015)

Turbo (Animated Film; 2013)

Victory Through Air Power (Documentary Film; 1943)

Water Music, by George Frederic Handel (Orchestral Movements; 1717)

Who Goes There? (a.k.a. The Thing), by John W. Campbell Jr. (Novel; 1938)

Yellow Submarine (UK Animated Film; 1968)

You’re the Worst (TV Series; 2014)

Today’s Name Days

Alexius, Charlotte, Donata, Gabriella (Austria)

Marin, Marina (Bulgaria)

Aleksije, Branimir, Leo, Nadan, Rufina (Croatia)

Martina (Czech Republic)

Alecius (Denmark)

Meeme, Meemo (Estonia)

Ossi, Ossian (Finland)

Arlette, Charlotte, Marcelline (France)

Alexis, Charlotte, Gabriella (Germany)

Alexandra, Aliki, Marina (Greece)

Elek, Endre (Hungary)

Alessio, Marina (Italy)

Ainārs, Aleksejs, Aleksis (Latvia)

Aleksas, Darius, Girėnas, Vaiga (Lithuania)

Gorm, Guttorm (Norway)

Aleksander, Aleksy, Andrzej, Bogdan, Dzierżykraj, Januaria, Julietta, Leon, Marceli, Marcelina, Maria Magdalena (Poland)

Bohuslav (Slovakia)

Alejo, Alexis, Jacinto, Marcelina (Spain)

Bruno (Sweden)

Codie, Codey, Cody, Dakota, Dakotah, Ismael, Kody, Vesta (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 198 of 2024; 167 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 1 of week 29 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Tinne (Holly) [Day 8 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Wu-Wu), Day 30 (Bing-Zi)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 28 Tammuz 5783

Islamic: 28 Dhu al-Hijjah 1444

J Cal: 18 Lux; Foursday [18 of 30]

Julian: 4 July 2023

Moon: 0%: New Moon

Positivist: 2 Dante (8th Month) [Boccaccio]

Runic Half Month: Ur (Primal Strength) [Day 4 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 27 of 94)

Zodiac: Cancer (Day 27 of 31)

[neo-shitty]

(teaser) and i would like you to love me — l.mk

excerpt. “i loved her hard and at a distance, which made it easier to do, experienced brief but powerful compulsions to hug her and almost never did.” - our wives under the sea, julia armfield. 

pairings. mark lee x gender-neutral reader, slight na jaemin x gender-neutral reader

genre. angst, slight fluff, best friends!au, one-sided pining

warnings. swearing. mark is so...whipped...it’s almost pathetic.

word count. 0.9k (teaser), 4.6k (fic)

notes. i wrote this way back when i first heard drunk text by henry moodie on the radio in february but i only got around to finishing it this week. ah, i still feel detached towards kpop but i feel like this would be something my old audience would enjoy :)) also, thank you @sulfurcosmos​ for helping me decide which dreamie to put under inexplicable emotional suffering HAHA 

“Leaving?” Mark watched as a blur crossed the room, moving past him on the way somewhere he—in his sorry state of insobriety—couldn’t quite figure out just yet. The blur is you, on your merry way to take the unconventional route to the kitchen to fetch more drinks or heading for the backyard to take a dip in the pool. 

Or leaving, because you stop by the doorway, picking up the sneakers you came in with as you bid you goodbyes to the others around you. “Already?” 

The room Mark was in was a clockless one and with his phone dead, he had no way of knowing how late the night had gotten. Was it late enough to warrant heading home or just another one of the days you were up for hanging out until you weren’t? Either way, he still pushed himself off the couch, anticipating the nauseating world-spin that came with the sudden jerk of motion and waited for it to pass. Then he was fine—the world stilling momentarily—and he’s saying his ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you next time’s until he was out the door.

You hadn’t gotten that far yet, less than a house away when he stumbled down the front porch steps and trampled the front lawns of the springers. He was debating calling out to you to wait when he noticed you slowed your steps to match his, waiting until you walked side by side on the sidewalk.

He wasn’t sure how far down on the way home his thoughts shifted from keeping his walking straight to the rabbit hole he’d fallen into. Ever since the seed sprouted in the depths of his mind, he never was able to get away from it—tangled in its grasp and dragged down every time he was reminded of it. It was hard not to think of it when he saw you almost everyday, your image ingrained into his eyelids with the permanence of all those years of friendship. 

Tonight, the thoughts loomed just beyond the horizon; from the moment you ran out the front door waving to your parents by the doorway, to the bus ride you spent standing together and trying their best not to fall over, to enjoying the party all the while looking out for where the other had gone. 

It was always like this between you, a seemingly mismatched compatibility outlasting the average lifetime of a pair with a dynamic like theirs. People like you grew into something more or diminished into nothing, unable to withstand the test of time. Not you, though. Your friendship mirrored the way the tides shifted through the months, reaching far into the shore only to pull far back later on. He was the static sand of the shoreline and you were the tide, moving with the push and pull of lunar gravity; growing closer to each other until you overlapped then backing away but never entirely apart. Nothing more, nothing less and Mark was content with that.

Until one night—mid-summer—in a drunken haze he wondered if it would be wrong to want something more than just this and nothing had been able to quell the thought ever since. 

It spread through his mind like a plague, an obsessive fascination of this possibility happening because it wasn’t off the table. They might work. And he would think of what it would be like to call you more than just a friend, to hold you closer than their current unsaid boundaries allowed, to feel your warmth against his—chest to chest with your hearts beating in sync. 

The thoughts led him here, verbalized in the form of your name for the first time since its inception in the recesses of his mind.

You were still looking at him, arms finding their ways back to your side after pretending to keep your balance on levelled ground. It took one glance at your face, your curiosity warping into impatience, for him to remember what he was really up against. Every con listed itself in bullets in his mind, matching up against his established list of delusion-fuelled pros. What if you didn’t feel the same way? He’d thought about it before. People have taken bullets to the chest and lived to tell the tale, so why couldn’t he? But he knows it wasn’t just about the ache of the potential rejection, it was about every ripple and repercussion following the confession because...

What if he lost her?

And somehow that was enough to snap him out of the deluded trance, every inch of mustered courage dwindling as he weighed the possibilities—his losses always heavier than the probable benefits. Certainties, such as your being a part of his life, would remain as such until factors that could potentially affect it would surface, and uncertainties will, well, remain uncertain until further evidence would prove it closer to certainty than the former. 

So, Mark shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just be careful.” It was a stupid excuse but he knew you’d never look into it more than the fact that a man just tried to dictate your actions.

“How about you be careful and start minding your own business?” you answered, keeping a feisty fit until you broke into a laugh, filling the air of the silent evening. When he didn’t laugh along with you, you stuck out your tongue, leaping onto the next square on the pattern across the sidewalk with your arms stretched out. 

You were right though. Between you and him, he had more chances of falling over even if he wasn’t hopping around. And if that happened, he’d be more than happy to lie there gazing at the semi-starry night sky—the road not taken lingering as a daydream in his mind.

taglist? send an ask. | © neo-shitty, 2022

[leejungchans]

gonna patiently wait for someone to make one for me 😋

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

Chaos

Chaos never died. Primordial uncarved block, sole worshipful monster, inert & spontaneous, more ultraviolet than any mythology (like the shadows before Babylon), the original undifferentiated oneness-of-being still radiates serene as the black pennants of Assassins, random & perpetually intoxicated.

Chaos comes before all principles of order & entropy, it’s neither a god nor a maggot, its idiotic desires encompass & define every possible choreography, all meaningless aethers & phlogistons: its masks are crystallizations of its own facelessness, like clouds.

Everything in nature is perfectly real including consciousness, there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Not only have the chains of the Law been broken, they never existed; demons never guarded the stars, the Empire never got started, Eros never grew a beard.

No, listen, what happened was this: they lied to you, sold you ideas of good & evil, gave you distrust of your body & shame for your prophethood of chaos, invented words of disgust for your molecular love, mesmerized you with inattention, bored you with civilization & all its usurious emotions.

There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you’re the monarch of your own skin — your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.

To shed all the illusory rights & hesitations of history demands the economy of some legendary Stone Age — shamans not priests, bards not lords, hunters not police, gatherers of paleolithic laziness, gentle as blood, going naked for a sign or painted as birds, poised on the wave of explicit presence, the clockless nowever.

Agents of chaos cast burning glances at anything or anyone capable of bearing witness to their condition, their fever of lux et voluptas. I am awake only in what I love & desire to the point of terror — everything else is just shrouded furniture, quotidian anaesthesia, shit-for-brains, sub-reptilian ennui of totalitarian regimes, banal censorship & useless pain.

Avatars of chaos act as spies, saboteurs, criminals of amour fou, neither selfless nor selfish, accessible as children, mannered as barbarians, chafed with obsessions, unemployed, sensually deranged, wolfangels, mirrors for contemplation, eyes like flowers, pirates of all signs & meanings.

Here we are crawling the cracks between walls of church state school & factory, all the paranoid monoliths. Cut off from the tribe by feral nostalgia we tunnel after lost words, imaginary bombs.

The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the courthouse corridors. If I were to kiss you here they’d call it an act of terrorism — so let’s take our pistols to bed & wake up the city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a fusillade, the message of the taste of chaos.

[thatsit-thatsthepost]

Now we’re down the hole..

[click for quality]

[extras under the cut]

Wordless & Clockless w/ Alice upright

Alfred

Alice

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

WHOA this is SOOOOO funny for S4E2 they used the unedited clockless version of dean's death scene 😥😣😂😂😂 literally pick a struggle

[drmorbius12]

I dream of roaring waterfalls and floating lions swept along beside a man alone in a rocking boat riding wild rapids cataracts roaring all round carried down a swifting river look across the empty island reaching back arms outstretched quickly recedes from view aftermath waking up to drifting bed flowing pillows land of clockless fragrant meadows in timeless bliss of ignorance dreaming of a new born butterfly or is the butterfly dreaming of me?