#cormorant’s chatter

[cormorantcolors]

“Yeah, queer tf2 hedcanons are fun, but personally I really just see them all as straight dudes.”

Me seeing aro Sniper:

[fruitcd]

[bonni]

SHE WAS SO CRAZY FOR THIS. there were so many ways she could have said this and I understand it was very spur-of-the-moment and ultimately it didn’t matter how she phrased it because the danger would have been the same, but I really really love the fact that she said it this way because she refused to classify her deepest most dangerous desire within the realms of the homophobic language they taught her. she didn't say she's a "tribadist" or that she has "unhygienic thoughts" about women, even though she has no problem using this language in daily life. when it's just between her and this secret-keeper who could destroy her, between her and a god, this thing that's been hinted at for the entire book thus far but never said outright is finally laid bare, no frills, no innuendo. I want to fuck women.

[fortheloveofrunning]

Sunday, February 11, 2024

Played "Abel Township Saga Season 10: How the Mighty Have Vision"

Runner’s Log:

ZRS10M25 (incomplete); 9:09 am; 73° at 87% humidity; 2 miles; 25:37; 12:47/mi. Morning run after morning mass. It’s cloudy and warm. Today’s run was kind of difficult and the whole time felt like I was running through sludge, but looking at my time really it’s on par with what I’ve been doing recently. I wasn’t really feeling it when I first went out and considered just walking instead but I’m glad I ran. Was only intending for 1.5 miles but when my ZR mission wasn’t finished, I thought I’d go until 2. Unfortunately, my ZR mission still isn’t finished :/ oh well (I wonder if it’s the zombie chases that are throwing off the time?). Evaded two zombie chases set to 12% (I lowered it from last time). I saw nine dogs on my walk today! There was one little black shih tzu who really wanted to kill me. Heard some birds chattering and saw some ducks, geese, cormorants, and egrets. I even did stretching on my balcony after the run.

[patchbadger]

Dizzying are the heights of a church at night, deeper still for the one who believes themself a sinner. Lit only by a candle the weary soul trudges into the door, coat shiny and sleek from the rain. Ignoring their trail of footprints left unscrupulously on the stone tile the behemoth proceeds.

Their dive a cormorants feat into the sacred cove. As they slows their pace a soft murmuring reverberates off the glass.

" here is the knife. Where is the sheath?"

Silence followed saved by a cricket, taking refuge from the rain. It's chirps twist into the rains persistent chatter on kodachromes of glass.

" here is the knife. Where is the sheath?"

Once more it reverberates through the empty chambers. The figure is still now , all but save the eyes. Dark and blood shot. They haven't seen a pleasant night's rest in decades just the unending torment of counting spiders clinging to the rafters.

" here is the knife- where is the sheath?"

Again it comes but this time with a melodic quality that trickles through the storms rapture.

" here is the knife! Where is the sheath?"

Raising the candle, the traveler surveys the pews for their prey. For if they could catch it maybe they would be one to emerge that night from the holy arms.

" here is the knife! Where is the sheath?"

Instead their candle trembled, wick dancing to an unheard rhythm, one that threatened to claw its way from their chest.

All they could hear was swallowed by wind and rain. The elements banished their defenses. All was a void.

" here is the knife! Where is the sheath?"

Blood races in the travelers ears, a pounding which becomes the rain overhead. Had that been the lightning over there? Or had that been the glint of a knife?

" here is the knife! Where is the sheath?"

The chill supercedes any feeling the traveler once held, the blood once hot in their ears has frozen. Upon hearing the scraping of a brass door knob. The unceremoniously click of the release.

Hand clutching their mouth the traveler suppresses a word so fowl the lillies surrounding them would wilt had they ears. Fortunately they were flowers and therefore did not comprehend human speech or have ears. Lucky for them because they didn't heart the scrape scrape scrape against stone.

But the traveler did.

They heard every metallic clash, each one a shadow that fell upon their flesh. The phantom wounds grew in number, footsteps ever steady with the beating rain.

Taller the shadows reach into the heights. Dizzying and expanding into the pews around them. Black holes sucking in the trembling candle light with unspoken promises.

Hey are thankful for the Thunder. Without it they are certain they wouldn't have a heart beating between their ribs.

" here is the knife! Where is the sheath?"

The traveler hears a door slamming and shrinks back against the slick stone wall. Eyes straining through the candles despair. But all they could render was wraiths gilded in swatches of shadow, whipping through old halls. They vanished before they could give birth to form, diminishing into the never ending darkness above and below.

" here is the knife! Where is the shea-" just the rain now. The Thunder beats for them above

Oh where had they tread? Where had they gone?

A gasp rips from their chest, ascending from the gloom a figure cast. Knees buckling as it grew before them the traveler was voiceless.. trapped..

Bellowing and moaning despairingly the figure erupted from the shadows.. so great was the agony not even the devil itself would dare question its source.

" you ruined it!!!" She shrieks, the knife oversized for her very small hand " you ruined it I know you're not my future husband!!! You're too OLD!!"

And that's my first draft on the Welsh folk belief of divining who your husband is " by walking around a church at night 7-9 times while chanting ' here is the knife. Where is the sheath.'

Curiously this is also seen in other areas without the church or night time atmosphere but rather with a simple trade of shoes,gloves, yarn, dinning plates, and to no one's surprise- leeks.

[reysim]

Saturday January 14/2023

It was raining today, but our hotel was kind enough to provide free umbrellas. So Simon planned a garden day.

Our first stop was Kyoto botanical gardens. Unfortunately, nothing was in bloom but it was nice to hear birds chattering while walking through great gardens in light rain. We stopped on a river bridge to watch a dozen hawks circling the water for fish, while a heron and cormorant were also feeding. Then we walked through the alleys to the temple that was famous for its zen garden.

There was a long walk between this temple and the next, but it was worth it. This temple was covered in gold leaf for two of its three stories, with a surrounding pond and Japanese gardens throughout. They didn’t allow visitors to go inside, but outside wowed us at every turn. Then we took a bus to Ryoan ji temple that was used as a zen training temple. It was said to be a prime example of dry landscape in a Zen garden. We took lots of pictures every where we went!

We took a bus back to our hotel for well deserved rest.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

[from Killarney Clary from “Who Whispered Near Me”]

I always daydream good dreams, make imaginable only the best. I would say that we should leave this place, start over, knowing change is destined to be right. You would say, “Yes, we could do anything.” I would tell you I admire you and you would believe me. The grand confrontations and cozy chatter are in my head constantly while I try to work or sleep or listen.

I try to think of anything else -- complicated ideas, puzzles, or money. I would ask Jim to tell me if I make it difficult for him somehow and he would say I do. Though that kind of clearness is only fantasy, I pretend it strengthens me, that anyone could tell me anything and I would understand. I don’t know if imagining is fair. I don’t know how it works into me, convincing me of friendship and success, but it’s a chronic music to me now.

The sky would be cold over the city park, but I’d walk alone miles from there, out here, in Redlands, the “Friendly Place.” And I’d wonder as I crossed to the fragrant groves if that long, low boom was the end of Los Angeles, about my sister, her new baby, and the uncountable bits of color and talk. Still, I would be telling them, they would be telling me. Still, someone’s back is turned and the ugly worry leaks.

It’s a real dream now, the patient one, the one that moans “hold on” but offers no handle, no features. After straining in the haze, I carve out old photographs -- of Kathleen and me in matching bathing suits in Balboa, of Chris the day his glasses were broken. Am I only juggling, like the cormorant fisherman, the lines between us, the tangle I mustn’t doze from? “Attend,” the birds whisper. “We quicken.” But their wings don’t move; their hearts don’t beat; and the tiny earth attaches to body with invisible threads to the arguable melody.

~ Killarney Clary from “Who Whispered Near Me”

[thatesqcrush]

Fall From Grace, Pt. 5

Brian Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Smut because when in doubt, fall back on writing about this guy’s cock. YOLO. Warnings for finger fucking and p in v sex.

AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

AN2:  Brian remains my favorite a snarky lawyer asshole. Shh, don’t tell Barba.

WC: 1700

***

You woke up in a few hours later to an empty room. You frowned and looked around for Brian. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and made your way towards the private balcony. You wrapped a sheet around you as you carefully peered out. The pool below was pristine and motionless. You pivoted and tossed the sheet back onto the bed and re-dressed. You made your way out of the room and back downstairs looking for Brian.

You jumped, startled, as you ran into the house manager.

“Have you seen Mr. Kneef?”

“He’s in the garage.” The house manager replied. You noticed he spoke with a slight English accent.

You nodded and thanked him before making your way outside. The garage had an overhead range Brian was leaning against a beautiful Harley Davidson motorcycle, with leather saddlebags with chrome-cast aluminum wheels. A cigar dangled from his mouth.

“Hey.”

Brian turned towards you and he removed the cigar from his mouth before his mouth curved into a devilish smile.

“Slept well?” Brian asked, reaching for you. He pulled you close to him and kissed you. You could taste the cedar, maple and dried fruit notes of the cigar. The arm that held the cigar was wrapped around your neck and another hand reached down to grab your ass, squeezing gently. His tongue traced your lips before probing seeking entry to gain further access to your mouth. You sighed into the kiss, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation of his mouth on yours before pulling away.

Finally, you pulled way. Your hands rested on his chest. He wore a blue button down guayabera shirt which undone and open. The light blue shirt was accented with darker blue contrasting details at the inside collar stand and dobby fabrication with white shorts giving off a smart, but casual look.

“I slept well. Bed was lonely.” You walked past him and ran your hands over the sleek, and very expensive, motorcycle, letting out a low whistle. “You ride?”

Brian nodded. “I do.”

“Maybe since I gave you a ride earlier, you can take me for one as well.” You winked.

Brian’s eyes darkened. “You bet I will.”

You shivered at his double entendre.

“Get ready for dinner. I know a place.” Brian gruffed. 

“Of course you do. I am so shocked.” You deadpanned while rolling your eyes. “What time is it anyway?” You eyed the Rolex that graced his wrist.

“Half past five.” You nodded and as you turned to leave, Brian swatted your ass. You looked back at him and gave him a cheeky grin.

--

You wore a cream colored short-sleeve wrap dress that had a ruffle hem and an adjustable tie at waist. The dress hit mid-thigh. You finished it with dainty hoops and silver Jack Rogers sandals. Your hair was slightly tussled and your makeup was light. You had finished spraying your wrists with perfume that you found in the en-suite bathroom in the bedroom when Brian came in.

Brian raked in your appearance – with you, it was like he was a moth and you were the flame. Brian’s cock twitched in his pants. Wordlessly, he approached you and pulled you into his embrace. His hands slipped to your waist and wordlessly, his fingers made way to the ties of your dress, undoing them. Just as his hand went to touch your bare skin, you grabbed his wrist. Brian’s seafoam green eyes met yours.

“Dinner, first.” You murmured, brushing your lips against his. “Dessert later.”

--

You wrapped your arms around Brian’s waist as he kicked the motorcycle into gear.  You regretted wearing such a short dress – you were certain you’d be flashing your bits to all of the social elites. The trip was only 20 minutes from where you were staying. First you had drinks at Cormorant Cove, a bar/restaurant located off Shinnecock Bay. After a few drinks, Brian led you on a walk around the corner to the Southampton Social Club, an exclusive restaurant where dinner was had in a private cabana overlooking the burgeoning sunset.  

Picking up your drink, you peeked through the curtains that are draped over the four-poster frame watching people dance. You let the curtain fall back, enjoying the sensation of the fabric run through the tips of your fingers and brought back your attention to Brian who was watching you intensely. You almost couldn’t bear to look at him – it’s almost as if his attractiveness was too much. You were Icarus – he was the sun and your wings were melting.

The smell of the saltwater from the beach nearby, the intimacy of the small space, yet still out in the open, the smell of his cologne, the music outside of the cabana… the sheer recklessness of it all. You knew deep down, for all intents and purposes, none of this should be happening – not to you at least, the mousy paralegal. You should be home, in your bed, curled up with a book or watching some re-run of your favorite procedural drama. Not living the high life with one of the top lawyers in all of Chicago.

Brian wrapped his hand around your neck and brought your gaze towards him. You bit your lip in anticipation as you felt another hand slip up the hem of your dress. His hand caressed your thigh before it moved to the juncture of your thighs, encouraging you to part them.

“Enjoying yourself?” Brian asked, as he kissed along the slope of your neck. You let out a small moan as his fingertips stroked you through your panties, which were quickly becoming ruined. Brian nimbly pushed your panties to the side and continued to tease your folds with one hand. A thick finger slid into you easily and Brian languidly stroked you from the inside out.

You quickly fell into what was happening, being finger-fucked in near public. The outside world didn’t matter – or well, maybe it did and it made everything that more exciting. You didn’t know.  Your pulse was pounding in your ear, your body was warm with desire and anticipation.

“You’re such a cock tease Y/N. Do you know that? In those tight little skirts you wear, flaunting your shit all over the office.”

“Because of you,” you panted, as Brian rubbed concentric circles on your clit. “It’s all for you. All of it. I waited for so long after that time in my office. Oh fuck!”

Brian chuckled low, before slipping his fingers out. You began to whine in protest but he enveloped you into a kiss, pulling you on top of him. You could feel how hard he was and you didn’t care who saw what – you wanted him inside you.

Your scooted back on his thighs briefly, just so you could work the zipper of his pants. You reached in and pulled his cock out of his pants and boxers. Brian groaned, watching under heavy lidded eyes as you stroked him.

You leaned forward. “I am going to fuck you now.”

You held your hem up with one hand, and kept your panties pushed to the side with the other. Brian braced his cock with one hand and his eyes roll back as you sink down. Brian’s cock stretched you from the inside in the best way.

“God your pussy is so fucking tight.” Brian grunted.

You braced your hands onto his shoulder and began to roll your hips, craving more. Brian gripped your hip with one hand and with the other, he cupped your breast through your dress, squeezing.

You moaned your approval in his ear and began bouncing more fervently. You both chased your orgasms, with Brian thrusting up in long, hard strokes. You fell forward, crashing your lips against his. Your nails dug into his forearms and your pussy began to clench around his cock.

“Mmmm… just like that Y/N. Come on this cock.” Brian groaned.

“Give it to me, oh God give it to me. Fuck me.”

“Such a sweet little slut. This pussy is mine.” Brian grunted, as he pumped into you harder. You reached down to rub your clit and just a few strokes sent you over the edge, your orgasm peaking quick.

“Yes, yours - oh fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

The sensation of your tight, wet pussy sent Brian over the edge too and he let loose, coming deep inside of you. “Yes Y/N!” Brian hissed as he filled you with his hot come.

You captured Brian’s mouth with yours once more and you stay connected as each of you catch your breath. The music and chatter from outside comes back into focus for the two of you.

“Now how’s that for dessert?” You asked, climbing off of him. You crossed your legs in a futile attempt from making a mess on the cushion. Brian smiled as he tucked himself back in.

“Let me go get the check. I am going to make you come a lot more tonight.”

--

You rapped your fingers in annoyance as the presentation wore on. Between the monotonous drone of the associate and the dimmed lights, you were headed to snoozeville.

“If you can turn to slide 35, you can see that the firm’s billables have increased substantially…”

You opened your interoffice messenger. You looked around the board room. Everyone was too busy listening to your colleague’s ramblings. You hovered over Brian’s name and clicked open.

[YN]: Rescue me.

[BK]: Bored are we?

[Y/N]: Yes.

[BK]: That’s a shame. I’m busy in a meeting with Diane. You know this is a STR computer. People are probably monitoring.

You rolled your eyes at Brian throwing your words back at you.

[YN]: And seeing what I have to say to you would be the most exciting thing to happen in their mundane lives.

‘Ha!’ you thought victoriously, using Brian’s own words back at him as well.

There was no response from Brian. After a minute or two passed, you felt something in your guts twist. You were about to give your attention back to the boring presentation when one of the STR Laurie gatekeeper’s rapped on the glass door.

“Ms. Y/L/N – Mr. Kneef would like to see you. Immediately.”

The group of your colleagues let out a low whistle, as if you were in trouble with the teacher.

You bit your cheek to keep you from smiling. If they only knew.

--

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader- anyone else, just ask! xo 

[robertjamesberry]

Coast

Behind the spit the ocean cusses a profound boom

enough to obliterate the scrunching feet of whitebaiters

the mournful chatter of racing cormorants which is erased.

Under the blue cliffs sea foam makes fabulous rainbows

and the presiding mountains murk over their snowcaps disarmed.

Robert James Berry

[arasakas-ronin]

Time is running through Goro's fingers like water, no matter how much he tries to hold on to it.

The chatter of Arasaka’s security network washes over him, a no-longer-familiar source of background noise. The blank overlay in the bottom-left of his HUD is displaying a data feed once more, showing him details of whatever Oda happens to be looking at.

Goro now knows how many snipers are stationed on the higher levels of Japantown: Three. Security is substandard indeed.

read on

[dansnaturepictures]

01/02/2021-Goosander and more on a peaceful Lakeside walk at lunch time 

I took the first picture in this photoset of Collared Doves and Woodpigeons on the roof visible from my room out the back adding to a lot of these types of photos I have taken recently which is nice. Before going on my walk I also enjoyed seeing the beautiful flowers on the balcony shown in the second picture in this photoset looking very bright and colourful which I loved seeing. 

I then went out on my lunch time walk and I noticed how very peaceful it was as I entered to the north, other than a relatively distant (at this point) road and the unceasing chatter of House Sparrows in the bushes by the allotments it was silence and this was bliss. Something I had rarely noticed on my working from home lunch time walks so far. I took the third, fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset here. I also enjoyed speaking at a safe social distance and with a face covering to two gentleman I have seen and spoken to before at Lakeside over the past months having a particularly great wildlife related conversation with the first person I had seen which was nice. 

The second person told me the Great Crested Grebes were showing well I was a bit pushed for time by this point so ultimately didn’t see these stunning birds that close today as I didn’t get over to the concorde lake where they mostly are but I’ve done well for them recently at Lakeside and at Weston Shore too yesterday. 

But as I approached the western most lake from the east north of beach lake I was stunned to spot the distinctive shape and glow of a male Goosander on the westernmost lake. This was an absolutely monumental bird to see at this urban country park. I have seen one here before in my childhood, and that was massive news. I remember after school one Friday night back when we lived further into the town at my Dad’s house/our childhood family one - so much further away that my lunch time walks would not be possible in the hour if I still lived at my Dad’s house or at least to this degree - my Mum took me and my childhood best friend who used to come round every Friday who was never really interested in birds back then he humoured me now and again to Lakeside something so exciting for us both with varied interests to do nonetheless as it is now for me and we saw it on the lake. I remember sitting on the big bench on stilt things that I walked past today and has featured in my pictures over the last year and there is an inscribed line about moments in life that take your breath away and I remember I described seeing a Goosander at Lakeside as a moment to take my breath away! Another connection is that in one of the most magical moments of my life at Lakeside on a day in March 2007 when we first saw Great Crested Grebes one of my favourite birds a pivotal building block in my early birdwatching days and starting to love birds, but they were early as me and my Mum agonised over what the grebes were eventually working out via an internet search, probably my best moment of my young birding days back then and the rest is history. But two birds I had in my bird sticker book the book that got me into birdwatching that looked most like what we were seeing and therefore became as I learnt later on far-fetched candidates was Goosander and Red-breasted Merganser so ever since I’ve always associated Goosander and Great Crested Grebe I saw a grebe briefly today so this was nice. 

And today’s sighting on the same lake also took my breath away and was one of my best birding moments since working from home. I absolutely loved seeing this elegant bird here, a second I’ve seen this year after one in a New Forest walk just before national lockdown, and I enjoyed taking the sixth and eighth pictures in this photoset of this stunning bird today. It was on the water with the Cormorant that now seems regular at Lakeside quite nicely and this bird flew over me too today this bird is visible in the sixth picture. I was pleased with these and left feeling so happy and amazed at seeing a truly special water bird at Lakeside so close to home today. A definite standout bird of my days working from home joining that great club of rarer ones for this site since I began working from home. 

I also took the seventh picture in this photoset today of a lovely Moorhen and final two pictures in this photoset of a view on my walk. I hope you’ve all had a nice day. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: One of my favourite birds the Great Crested Grebe, Goosander, Coot, Moorhen, Black-headed Gull with some flying right at my head going through the nature reserve area along the path which was nice, Cormorant, Carrion Crow, Jackdaw, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Starling and loads of Pied Wagtails on the green at the front of the house which was amazing to see again. 

[cormorantcolors]

Hobie Brown is such a fun character because he’s simultaneously the favorite character of the leftist tumblr girlies, and my 50 year old dad because That Was Him In The 80s

[fruitcd]

baru’s worst enemy in the first book is herself

baru’s worst enemy in the second book is lesbian terminator

[bonni]

Closing thoughts on The Traitor Baru Cormorant

I love when a book is good enough to make me passionate about reading again.

First, the ending. When I was at around chapter 20 I made a post that was like "oh I think Baru will probably betray the rebellion but I'm not sure" but honestly if I was a more careful reader I would have already been sure at that point, and within another 2 or 3 chapters I understood that there was no alternative, nothing else that the narrative could be implying with the constant references to some great guarded secret and Baru's nervous fixation on red hair. The foreshadowing is certainly not subtle, but it doesn’t need to be. I don't think that Seth Dickinson set out with the intention of surprising the reader with Baru's betrayal, instead it's supposed to be something that we're constantly aware of, that we know is coming, but that only becomes obvious in the briefest moments, because the narration reflects Baru's own mental state. It's not that her betrayal is a shock, the signs are everywhere, but she only openly acknowledges them in moments of internal strife, and never states her intentions outright, because in order to deceive others, she must also deceive herself. It's a really clever narrative tactic and it's rewarding to careful readers.

The epilogue, on the other hand, was a bit surprising to me (in a good way). I guess it shouldn't have been, but I kind of figured Tain Hu and Xate Olake would stay missing and come back at a climactic moment in a later book to punish Baru for the mercy she showed them and stir turmoil in her heart. Instead, it seems her turmoil will be entirely self-inflicted. I really like the choice to give Baru hemianopsia, it's a condition that we don't see a lot in fiction and the way it's used to represent the divide in her heart is really interesting.

Onto more general praise, this book is incredibly gripping. Combat scenes in books are often boring, but the imagery in these ones are so rich. Tain Hu's duel against Cattlson, the bombing of the tax ships, the final battle at the Inirein, all fantastic.

Tain Hu's death is cathartic. It works really well. It's devastating, of course, but that's what makes character death meaningful. Muire Lo's death was also necessary for Baru's character, but in a way that made me a lot more depressed. Tain Hu got closure, but Muire Lo didn't, which makes his death infinitely sadder. I'm not criticizing the writing choice, it just kind of bums me out. I liked him a lot as a character.

Xate Yawa was evidently too interesting as a foil to Baru to get rid of. I'm excited to see more of her, she's such an interesting character in that she's utterly despicable which says a lot about our protagonist considering how blatantly similar they are.

Baru's closing letter emphasizes Xate Olake's death, but... this guy has faked his death what, 3 times now? It would be cool to see him return at some point, but perhaps that's just wishful thinking. He had become one of my favorite characters by the end of the book.

[desaparecidos]

The logic of rotting it is the scratch that gets infected and the microbe that delights when the boil is engorged. it's the crack that laughs and the laugh that splits its face the shoe takes the water it's the paint that is flaking mold becomes comfortable. The logic of rotting The logic of rotting it’s the shirt that’s the trunk the frock coat which is in crisis to have been overly worn soiled washed and starched and sewing can't take it anymore the crisis laughs at the recovery a small chain stitch on the right a small cross stitch on the left a small back stitch in front a small dot in front behind The logic of rotting The logic of rotting It's the power plant that pisses death and the liver-ailing river it is the shrimp that makes the soul and the bread tree that has the blues it's coconut water in cart I’m telling you soon! this is the yam mother's rope strangling the same yam mother. The logic of rotting The logic of rotting it's when the mackerels land with their mines of sex shops we sell sand on the white market for melanin-poor skin and when our beaches are on the sidewalk under their brothel licenses our naked children can no longer make love to them in the great sun The logic of rotting The logic of rotting It’s the trees that are getting bogged down in a concrete neurosis the birds are drifting the cops are fattening their butterflies the p.-v. play dead leaves cars waltz the pound dream of cemeteries the roadway suffers from corns on the feet the city has a hard time The logic of rotting The logic of rotting This is the baby we paid for in the father's credit store he rules the house he shits where he likes to sing even in the skull of little ones we don't talk to each other when he chatters we don't get along when we talk with its rectangular head it's the portrait of his dad his mouth is made of barley sugar it's risette and it's all pink his eyes are clogged with wars and injected with apocalypse however it passes from time to time a blue bird in its iris. The logic of rotting The logic of rotting It’s when the sinus gets blocked that the canned is fed up tin swells and then fly and the rubble piling up have quickdraws of skyscrapers like a big laugh on the edge of a chasm a matouba of shards of throats and like an injured cormorant laughter soars in gliding flight and dig a volcano mouth to satisfy its excess. The logic of rotting The logic of rotting It's a destiny that we bargain for in a bone-marching country a land of the south that loses its gold a love song that we mortgage two sisters tearing each other apart in an open-air asylum hope lug a taste of bad luck the moon ruminates on its fears words have elephantiasis rhetoric drags the leg and the shrink gets his butter when neurons make bile. we sell faith by heart and the gurus have long arms we sell joy with bank shots we pay gangs to kill time in Nirvana agencies Santa Claus is computerized and culture is being smeared young people ride in their ghettos high-pitched paradise the Devil balances his mirrors, Vaval refuses to die and madness kneads its days as she hisses an air of ashes. The logic of rotten… It's in the swing of this logic that one Ash Wednesday evening a hard-working bald dog in the middle of a vague macadam near a heap of lost souls and stolen bags told me that he had designed between two stomach ulcers: the prodigious problematic of decay tactics rotting logistics the dialectic of rotting decay statistics decay ballistics. and from kindergarten the civic education of rotting a whole ethics of rotting a poetics of rotting that of an unknown flower or almost sidereally transparent at the edge of the absurd hatches.

The Logic of Rotting, Joby Bernabé

[burlveneer-music]

My WVUD playlist, 3/24/2019

(filling in on The Morning Fog)

Andrew Wasylyk - Flight of the Cormorant Cara Stacey & Camilo Ángeles - Cederberg Hugh Marsh - She Will Kaya Project - Rain Bless Earth Takashi Kokubo - Underwater Dreaming Yoshio Ojima - Glass Chattering Dawda Jobarteh - I Met Her By The River Rymden - Homegrown Time Grove - Second Attention Khidja & Balabaș - Chloe