#fish fear me where's froggy?

[sunnyaliceart]

Getting ready to go fishing

[sirfrogsworth]

FFFF: Froggie's Fuckin' Fancy Foray

In a previous post I was debating whether I should go to the Sam's near me, which requires a short 11 minute drive, but the path to get there is quite stressful due to traffic and construction and frustrating detours onto narrow side streets.

There was even a time when a bunch of signs got knocked over or removed and I accidentally went down an unfinished road that dead-ended into a pile of rocks. That was a fun moment. Especially when people stared at me as I did some improvised off-roading to get turned around.

Like I said... STRESSFUL.

Or I could head the other direction across the river into Illinois.

A scenic 22 minute drive with empty highways to a much nicer Sam's. The extra 20 minutes of total drive time is a lot, especially after all the walking required to collect my groceries. And I feared it would test my energy limits, since I had to go to Sam's and Schnucks to get all of the groceries I needed. Sam's is great, but sometimes I just don't need seven dozen of something.

I was having a decent energy day, so the scenic route won.

My plan was to go to Sam's for the bulk of my groceries and then drive all the way back across the river, past my house, and go to the Schnucks that stocks my favorite new fancy Fitz's soda. Which would add another 30 minutes of driving. Though I figured if I wasn't feeling up to it, I could go to Schnucks another day.

But as I stood in the Sam's parking lot holding a five dollar rotisserie chicken, an idea struck me... "Maybe there is a Schnucks near here."

I opened Maps and to my dismay, there was a Schnucks just down the street and for three entire years I never thought to check.

Literally half a mile down the street.

I think we are all familiar with the concept of chain stores varying in quality depending on the area they are located.

There is a Schnucks only 1.2 miles from my home. It is what I would call "tolerable."

Let's deem this location "TS" for Tolerable Schnucks.

TS is clean and has all of the essentials but they try to shove ten pounds of Schnucks into a five pound bag. It is cramped and poorly stocked and the lighting is somehow extra florescent.

They managed to squeeze in a decent deli, but that is where the niceties end. They usually have one register open even if the checkout line wraps around the dairy section. I have yet to find a less busy time to go. It's always filled to the brim with people—morning, noon, and night.

And, frustratingly, they rarely stock my new botique soda obsession, Fitz's.

I allow myself one occasional sugary treat to manage the cravings and I never know if they are going to have it.

However, if I travel an extra 15 minutes then I can upgrade to the Schnucks I would call "nice." So we'll go with "NS" for Nice Schnucks.

Weirdly the NS is near the "tolerable" Sam's (no acronym because that would be confusing with Tolerable Schnucks (TS)). They are only 3 minutes apart but the store quality difference is pretty drastic. If I have the energy, I will try to stop at both places in one trip since they are so near each other.

NS is a much bigger store than TS and they even have a bigger selection to go with that extra space. I have to get my fancy soda there because I guess TS figured "let's just fill the aisle with Diet Coke and nothing else." NS has a much bigger deli and full bakery and a fish person and even a quaint little floral department. They usually have multiple registers open and they stay open past 8pm so you can go when it isn't busy. The lighting is a little better, they keep things in stock, and they even have half-sized shopping carts that are easier to push if you only need a few things.

I thought that was the gold standard for Schnucks.

As nice as it gets.

But then I discovered this new Schnucks near the Nice Sam's and that assertion was about to be shattered.

Let me introduce you to the FFS.

The Fuckin' Fancy Schnucks.

The first thing you notice at the FFS is the front has well-maintained landscaping. Like, proper shrubbery.

That's fuckin' fancy.

The second you enter the store you are greeted with a fully staffed floral department.

It felt like if Valentine's Day could manifest a jungle. Brightly colored flowers everywhere surrounded by mylar balloons wishing people happy whatevers.

Then I turned the corner to see the biggest Schnucks of my life. With one entire side of the store dedicated to bespoke food items.

They got a deli. They got a bakery. They got a fish person. They got another fish person who just makes sushi all day.

They have an entire wall of prepared food items made at the store daily. Sandwiches and salads and pastas and full chickens. They even make their own frozen pizzas.

And then I noticed... the Meat Masters.

They have their own damned butcher on staff!

I found myself just going up and down all of the aisles and discovering new things the other Schnuckses never stock. The soup aisle was ridiculous. I was getting pretty tired and I was paralyzed by too many choices. So I decided to just get my normal boring soups and come back another time to explore the Fancy Soup Section.

The FSS at the FFS, if you will.

And the lighting was just so much more pleasant. It didn't feel like a 90s office building.

And look at that flooring. Did they hire an interior designer?

TS & NS just have generic square tiles.

I mean, I guess making some of them blue is something. But even the ceiling is drab comparatively.

And look at the TS Zapp's display compared to the displays at FFS.

I will say, TS takes much better care of their robot friend. FFS stuck their robot in a very undignified location.

This Roomba with a giant erection spends all day counting stuff and they stick him next to the men's room? Let him hang out with the Meat Masters or the fish people.

This is how a robot uprising starts.

The soda aisle was at the end of the store so I arrived there last. I was nervous they might not have my beloved bottled soda pop. Not only did they have it, but they also had 4 other flavors I didn't even know existed.

I guess you could say the FFS had an FFFS! (Fuckin' Fancy Fitz's Section)

I got that same feeling when you unlock bonus items in a video game. I don't know what the difference is between cream soda and "cardinal" cream soda... but I'm gonna find out!

Update from Future Froggie: It's fuckin' tasty!

So...

Future Froggie approves of Fuckin' Tasty Fitz's Soda from the Fuckin' Fancy Fitz's Section at the Fuckin' Fancy Schnucks and is sad Nice Schnucks and Tolerable Schnucks Failed Future Froggie with their Lacking Fancy Fitz's Soda Section.

Or...

FF approves of FTFS from the FFFS at the FFS and is sad NS & TS FFF with their LFFSS.

Got all that?

I loaded up the FTFS and my frozen pizzas and my non-fancy soups and headed over to the registers. They had 3 lanes open despite hardly anyone shopping at the time. I didn't have to wait in the dairy section for 25 minutes. So I justified that extra drive time and then some. Because standing in line is harder than sitting and driving.

So I guess I answered my question about which path to choose. If only I had known about the FFS earlier I would have forgone NS and Tolerable Sam's and just drove the extra 20 minutes across the Mississippi River to and from MO & IL.

On the one hand, it is kind of depressing that just like public schools, property taxes dictate the quality of vital stores in our communities. I mean, these are stores run by the same company. I know the physical property can necessitate some variation due to size and configuration differences. But it's clear they are pumping a lot more resources into the FFS. Not just more cashiers with a bagger on every lane, but actual experts in flowers and fish and baking and deli.

And who knows how much a MoM costs. (Master of Meat)

On the other hand...

We live in a society and can't fix capitalism overnight and all that.

I need my FTFS and FSS at the FFS, okay?

[safety-frog]

Your Weekly Tunes: Squid

It’s Gordon’s turn this week! His playlist wouldn’t be complete without some good island and year-round summer tunes.This one was crazy fun to put together and both Froggies think this is the best one we’ve made, so we’re stoked to share it with y’all! Hope you enjoy listening this week! 💛

YouTube

Spotify

Under the cut are Gordon’s top five!:

Vacation: Dirty Heads- “ A-a-aye, I'm on vacation/ Every single day 'cause I love my occupation” and “Close my eyes sometimes it feels as if I float away/ I love the life, I live and enjoy the ride along the way/ "I make a living out of living,"/ Yeah, that's what I say/ I've got one life to live, and I wouldn't live it no other way”

Dirty Heads are all about the island rock sound. And who better to represent the first song in this list than them for our own resident island, good vibes Fish that loves what he does with a burning passion?

Could Have Been Me: The Struts- “ I wanna taste love and pain/ Wanna feel pride and shame/ I don't wanna take my time/ Don't wanna waste one line/ I wanna live better days/ Never look back and say/ It could have been me” and “Don't wanna live as an untold story/ Rather go out in a blaze of glory/ I can't hear you, I don't fear you”

Gordon is never one to pass up taking a chance, a risk, a maybe. If it turns out bad, then it turns out bad. If it turns out great, then it turns out great. If he never tries, he’s stuck with all the regret of not knowing and having fun while learning.

How Far I’ll Go: Auli’i Cravalho (Moana)- “ See the line where the sky meets the sea?/ It calls me/ And no one knows/ How far it goes” and “I'll be satisfied if I play along/ But the voice inside sings a different song/ What is wrong with me?”

 Moana meets Gordon Tracy? Jury says: heck yes!

History Maker: Dean Fujioka- “Can you hear my heartbeat?/ Tired of feeling never enough/ I close my eyes and tell myself/ That my dreams will come true” and “Don't stop us now, the moment of truth/ We were born to make history/ We'll make it happen, we'll turn it around/ Yes, we were born to make history”

Yes, this song is from a sports anime about ice skating. And yes, it fits scarily well with the pure devotion and strength Gordon holds towards and swimming, and simply being great.

Axolotl: Cosmo Sheldrake- “Scream and shout/ Trickle down and down/ I'll build a home at sea” and “Sailing seas in bathtubs green to grimy shores/ Waging war to wading fores/ And sway off course”

So, in all honesty, Cosmo Sheldrake songs can’t really be explained. They’re about kooky things: being a fly or tardigrade, breakfast items, mushrooms, and whatever else Alice-in-Wonderland thing you can think of. This one always felt in line with the odd boy that Gordon is in the best of ways!

[ariel-seagull-wings]

The Tsarevna Frog

@superkingofpriderock @sunlit-music @mademoiselle-princesse @amalthea9 @princesssarisa @astrangechoiceoffavourites

(Russian Tale)

In old, old Russian tsarstvo, I do not know when, there lived a sovereign prince with the princess his wife. They had three sons, all of them young, and such brave fellows that no pen could describe them. The youngest had the name of Ivan Tsarevitch.

One day their father said to his sons: ''My dear boys, take each of you an arrow, draw your strong bow and let your arrow fly; in whatever court it falls, in that court there will be a wife for you."

The arrow of the oldest Tsarevitch fell on a boyar-house just in front of the terem where women live; the arrow of the second Tsarevitch flew to the red porch of a rich merchant, and on the porch there stood a sweet girl, the merchant's daughter. The youngest, the brave Tsarevitch Ivan, had the ill luck to send his arrow into the midst of a swamp, where it was caught by a croaking frog.

Ivan Tsarevitch came to his father: "How can I marry the frog?" complained the son. "Is she my equal? Certainly she is not."

"Never mind, "replied his father. "You have to marry the frog, for such is evidently your destiny."

Thus the brothers were married: the oldest to a young boyarishnia, a nobleman's child; the second to the merchant's beautiful daughter, and the youngest, Tsarevitch Ivan, to a croaking frog.

After a while the sovereign prince called his three sons and said to them: "Have each of your wives bake a loaf of bread by tomorrow morning."

Ivan returned home. There was no smile on his face, and his brow was clouded.

"C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Dear husband of mine, Tsarevitch Ivan, why so sad?" gently asked the frog. ''Was there anything disagreeable in the palace?"

"Disagreeable indeed," answered Ivan Tsarevitch; "the Tsar, my father, wants you to bake a loaf of white bread by tomorrow."

"Do not worry, Tsarevitch. Go to bed; the morning hour is a better adviser than the dark evening."

The Tsarevitch, taking his wife's advice, went to sleep. Then the frog threw off her frog skin and turned into a beautiful, sweet girl, Vassilissa by name. She now stepped out on the porch and called aloud: "Nurses and waitresses, come to me at once and prepare a loaf of white bread for tomorrow morning, a loaf exactly like those I used to eat in my royal father's palace."

In the morning Tsarevitch Ivan awoke with the crowing cocks, and you know the cocks and chickens are never late.

Yet the loaf was already made, and so fine it was that nobody could even describe it, for only in fairyland one finds such marvelous loaves. It was adorned all about with pretty figures, with towns and fortresses on each side, and within it was white as snow and light as a feather.

The Tsar father was pleased and the Tsarevitch received his special thanks.

"Now there is another task," said the Tsar smilingly. "Have each of your wives weave a rug by tomorrow."

Tsarevitch Ivan came back to his home. There was no smile on his face and his brow was clouded.

"C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Dear Tsarevitch Ivan, my husband and master, why so troubled again? Was not father pleased?"

''How can I be otherwise? The Tsar, my father, has ordered a rug by tomorrow."

"Do not worry, Tsarevitch. Go to bed; go to sleep. The morning hour will bring help."

Again the frog turned into Vassilissa, the wise maiden, and again she called aloud: "Dear nurses and faithful waitresses, come to me for new work. Weave a silk rug like the one I used to sit upon in the palace of the king, my father."

Once said, quickly done. When the cocks began their early "cock-a-doodle-doo," Tsarevitch Ivan awoke, and lo! there lay the most beautiful silk rug before him, a rug that no one could begin to describe. Threads of silver and gold were interwoven among bright-colored silken ones, and the rug was too beautiful for anything but to admire.

The Tsar father was pleased, thanked his son Ivan, and issued a new order. He now wished to see the three wives of his handsome sons, and they were to present their brides on the next day.

The Tsarevitch Ivan returned home. Cloudy was his brow, more cloudy than before.

"C-r-o-a-k! C-r-o-a-k! Tsarevitch, my dear husband and master, why so sad ? Hast thou heard anything unpleasant at the palace?"

"Unpleasant enough, indeed! My father, the Tsar, ordered all of us to present our wives to him. Now tell me, how could I dare go with thee?"

"It is not so bad after all, and could be much worse," answered the frog, gently croaking. "Thou shalt go alone and I will follow thee. When thou hearest a noise, a great noise, do not be afraid; simply say: 'There is my miserable froggy coming in her miserable box.'"

The two elder brothers arrived first with their wives, beautiful, bright, and cheerful, and dressed in rich garments. Both the happy bridegrooms made fun of the Tsarevitch Ivan.

"Why alone, brother?" they laughingly said to him. "Why didst thou not bring thy wife along with thee? Was there no rag to cover her? Where couldst thou have gotten such a beauty? We are ready to wager that in all the swamps in the dominion of our father it would be hard to find another one like her." And they laughed and laughed.

Lo! what a noise! The palace trembled, the guests were all frightened. Tsarevitch Ivan alone remained quiet and said: ''No danger; it is my froggy coming in her box."

To the red porch came flying a golden carriage drawn by six splendid white horses, and Vassilissa, beautiful beyond all description, gently reached her hand to her husband. He led her with him to the heavy oak tables, which were covered with snow-white linen and loaded with many wonderful dishes such as are known and eaten only in the land of fairies and never anywhere else. The guests were eating and chatting gaily.

Vassilissa drank some wine, and what was left in the tumbler she poured into her left sleeve. She ate some of the fried swan, and the bones she threw into her right sleeve. The wives of the two elder brothers watched her and did exactly the same.

When the long, hearty dinner was over, the guests began dancing and singing. The beautiful Vassilissa came forward, as bright as a star, bowed to her sovereign, bowed to the honorable guests and danced with her husband, the happy Tsarevitch Ivan.

While dancing, Vassilissa waved her left sleeve and a pretty lake appeared in the midst of the hall and cooled the air. She waved her right sleeve and white swans swam on the water. The Tsar, the guests, the servants, even the gray cat sitting in the corner, all were amazed and wondered at the beautiful Vassilissa. Her two sisters-in-law alone envied her. When their turn came to dance, they also waved their left sleeves as Vassilissa had done, and, oh, wonder! they sprinkled wine all around. They waved their right sleeves, and instead of swans the bones flew in the face of the Tsar father. The Tsar grew very angry and bade them leave the palace. In the meantime Ivan Tsarevitch watched a moment to slip away unseen. He ran home, found the frog skin, and burned it in the fire.

Vassilissa, when she came back, searched for the skin, and when she could not find it her beautiful face grew sad and her bright eyes filled with tears.

She said to Tsarevitch Ivan, her husband: ''Oh, dear Tsarevitch, what hast thou done? There was but a short time left for me to wear the ugly frog skin. The moment was near when we could have been happy together forever. Now I must bid thee goodbye. Look for me in a faraway country to which no one knows the roads, at the palace of Kostshei the Deathless;" and Vassilissa turned into a white swan and flew away through the window.

Tsarevitch Ivan wept bitterly. Then he prayed to the almighty God, and making the sign of the cross northward, southward, eastward, and westward, he went on a mysterious journey.

No one knows how long his journey was, but one day he met an old, old man. He bowed to the old man, who said: "Good-day, brave fellow. What art thou searching for, and whither art thou going?"

Tsarevitch Ivan answered sincerely, telling all about his misfortune without hiding anything.

''And why didst thou burn the frog skin? It was wrong to do so. Listen now to me. Vassilissa was born wiser than her own father, and as he envied his daughter's wisdom he condemned her to be a frog for three long years. But I pity thee and want to help thee. Here is a magic ball. In whatever direction this ball rolls, follow without fear."

Ivan Tsarevitch thanked the good old man, and followed his new guide, the ball. Long, very long, was his road. One day in a wide, flowery field he met a bear, a big Russian bear. Ivan Tsarevitch took his bow and was ready to shoot the bear.

"Do not kill me, kind Tsarevitch," said the bear. "Who knows but that I maybe useful to thee?" And Ivan did not shoot the bear.

Above in the sunny air there flew a duck, a lovely white duck. Again the Tsarevitch drew his bow to shoot it. But the duck said to him: "Do not kill me, good Tsarevitch. I certainly shall be useful to thee some day."

And this time he obeyed the command of the duck and passed by. Continuing his way he saw a blinking hare. The Tsarevitch prepared an arrow to shoot it, but the gray, blinking hare said: "Do not kill me, brave Tsarevitch. I shall prove myself grateful to thee in a very short time."

The Tsarevitch did not shoot the hare, but passed by. He walked farther and farther after the rolling ball, and came to the deep blue sea. On the sand there lay a fish. I do not remember the name of the fish, but it was a big fish, almost dying on the dry sand.

" O Tsarevitch Ivan!" prayed the fish, "have mercy upon me and push me back into the cool sea."

The Tsarevitch did so, and walked along the shore. The ball, rolling all the time, brought Ivan to a hut, a queer, tiny hut standing on tiny hen's feet.

"Izboushka! Izboushka!" -- for so in Russia do they name small huts -- "Izboushka, I want thee to turn thy front to me," cried Ivan, and lo! the tiny hut turned its front at once. Ivan stepped in and saw a witch, one of the ugliest witches he could imagine.

"Ho! Ivan Tsarevitch! What brings thee here?" was his greeting from the witch.

"O, thou old mischief!" shouted Ivan with anger. "Is it the way in holy Russia to ask questions before the tired guest gets something to eat, something to drink, and some hot water to wash the dust off?"

Baba Yaga, the witch, gave the Tsarevitch plenty to eat and drink, besides hot water to wash the dust off. Tsarevitch Ivan felt refreshed. Soon he became talkative, and related the wonderful story of his marriage. He told how he had lost his dear wife, and that his only desire was to find her.

"I know all about it," answered the witch. "She is now at the palace of Kostshei the Deathless, and thou must understand that Kostshei is terrible. He watches her day and night and no one can ever conquer him. His death depends on a magic needle. That needle is within a hare; that hare is within a large trunk; that trunk is hidden in the branches of an old oak tree; and that oak tree is watched by Kostshei as closely as Vassilissa herself, which means closer than any treasure he has."

Then the witch told Ivan Tsarevitch how and where to find the oak tree. Ivan hastily went to the place. But when he perceived the oak tree he was much discouraged, not knowing what to do or how to begin the work. Lo and behold! that old acquaintance of his, the Russian bear, came running along, approached the tree, uprooted it, and the trunk fell and broke. A hare jumped out of the trunk and began to run fast; but another hare, Ivan's friend, came running after, caught it and tore it to pieces. Out of the hare there flew a duck, a gray one which flew very high and was almost invisible, but the beautiful white duck followed the bird and struck its gray enemy, which lost an egg. That egg fell into the deep sea. Ivan meanwhile was anxiously watching his faithful friends helping him. But when the egg disappeared in the blue waters he could not help weeping. All of a sudden a big fish came swimming up, the same fish he had saved, and brought the egg in his mouth. How happy Ivan was when he took it! He broke it and found the needle inside, the magic needle upon which everything depended.

At the same moment Kostshei lost his strength and power forever. Ivan Tsarevitch entered his vast dominions, killed him with the magic needle, and in one of the palaces found his own dear wife, his beautiful Vassilissa. He took her home and they were very happy ever after.

[eldritch-elrics]

memes of 2020

so for the last couple years i’ve been keeping very casual lists every year of the most prominent memes - or, more precisely, whatever memes happen to make their way into my sphere of the internet. here is my list for 2020!

do x or take 25

world war 3

yanderedev discord server ban speedrunning

bernie “i am once again asking for x”

iowa caucus results

a man has fallen into the river in lego city

froggie chair

“do you fart” fish

penis music

animal crossing and doom eternal

disney’s first gay character

person in lab coat with test tube: finally / x

caramelldansen resurgence

babe! it’s 4pm, time for your dick flattening! / yes honey

coronavirus handwashing

biden burying a dog

characters explaining pickle rick

nice cock

hehe x go brrrrr

are ya winning son

music make you lose control / dancing triangle

when the x is y idk i never played the game

choose your quarantine house

gossip girl

the man behind the slaughter

x is returning to nature. we are the virus

facebook group where we all pretend to be ants

redrawing album covers with kk slider

coffin dance

raymond drama

how tf am i an essential worker

random chimp event

me? gongaga

x æ a-12

knuckles meme approved

brazilian football n64 intro

you do not deserve to have raymond on your island

women want me fish fear me

say so by doja cat

i hope this email finds you

trump coin

i heart hole

wait it’s all x? always has been

500 dollar mareep

big book smaller book

femboy hooters

i want to hurt you

straight ship for straight people, gay ship for straight people, etc

x be like “i know a place”

hannibal speech

hello jon apologies for the deception

microwaving ants

you’re crying from x? you’re seriously crying from x?

big buff dog and small dog

cutting up characters and they’re actually realistic cakes

deepfake singing videos (usually of baka mitai)

comic: is that your fucking fursona? that’s cringe

get stickbugged lol

thank goodness, you’re awake! x? y? z? what are you talking about?

pokemon master sex

you’re laughing. i asked x and you’re laughing.

your mother fucking life ends thirty minutes from now

good afternoon girl i’m in the water / girl help

mp100 is leftist propaganda

destruction caused by gender reveal parties

who’s watching? person who pays for the account, girlfriend free pass, parasites

jfk from clone high

my day be so fine, then boom

nothing bad ever happens to the kennedys

good morning to people who x, people who y, people who z,

petting gif maker

da vinky

fall guys anatomy

snapchat anime filter

WHAT… your Trans Gener…….

smack barm pey wet

cheesed to meet you

one bad gloop

hey shitass wanna see me speedrun

i wish all x a very pleasant evening

raybans sunglasses sale

he was forced to eat cement when he was 6

enrichment in enclosure

election memes

destiel canon

castiel went to super hell for being gay

finding out putin resigned because destiel canon

the entirety of nov 5

supernatural resurgence

bingus

so you’re non biney?

four seasons total landscaping

i’m not a fruitcake am i lad?

fruit (derogatory)

obama reading foucault to impress girls in college

i love you in spanish

i guess you are my little pogchamp

story of undertale

person at party: they don’t know that i x

glup shitto

if you x, don’t worry about what’s in the vaccine

twitter carp

biden getting the covid vaccine but he’s actually getting a tattoo

among drip

malewife + girlboss

year in show gifs

[soymimikyu]

Hannibal S1:E13 and S2:E1,2,3,4,5

Yeah...

I didn’t take notes mostly because I watch this show early in the morning while exercising. That said, I shall now attempt to cover the 6 episodes named above from memory and the descriptions on Netflix. Is there something worse than chicken scratches? Puppy doodles? Froggy Frescos? Birdy Ballads? Let us go with Snakey Scherzos...

S1:E13:

OOOO the end of season 1! The parallels are fantastic to how the show started and imagery grows progressively darker. Looking back (and this might be where my memory starts to fail as this was last week (?)), I wonder if Will’s mental state can be correlated to the use of lighting in the show. This has been done before, but warrants more examination.

Veal. That is a very interesting choice for a meal. Given the preparation he described to Gillian Anderson, I wonder where Hannibal gets the time to do all this fancy cooking. He probably does not need much sleep.

The scene with Winston broke me. Poor doggos. Alana will take care of them and many Uncle Hannibal will visit with snack-oms. The will be happy.

S2:E1,2,3,4,5

I am not even going to try to separate these episodes. So much happened in such a short span of time.

Hannibal has an amazing set of knives. I am really jealous. I have 1 shitty knife that I use and another, much nicer knife, I received as a gift that I have not touched yet out of fear something will happen to it.

Hannibal prepares Fish occasionally. I am struggling to believe that any part of the human body under any kind of preparation can produce the particular texture of fish. The way fish muscle is structured does not seem the same -- but I also have not studied anatomy in over a decade.

Music Question: I watch almost all shows with subtitles (stemming heavily from how I watch anime to having other noise while the show is going on). Whenever there is classical music playing, the subtitles show either ‘? classical music playing ?’, ‘soft classical music playing’. Is there a reason they can’t name the piece being played? Everything I have been able to recognize (a lot of Chopin -- I think) should be in the public domain, or do they just think people using closed captions don’t need this information...

So far, I have really enjoyed the trial scenes. All the outfits were so fancy! (Freddie has a hat!!!) Also the way will and hannibal get dressed -- good parallelism (this show just does that really well)!

The show continues with a good level of artsy squick. Caravaggio would be pleased (probably?).

Episode 4 and 5....Episode 4 reminded me why when the movie Hannibal came out, I had nightmares for months. Not even from watching the film...just the trailer. There is something about being pursued in claustrophobic situations that deeply troubles me.

Hannibal would swim. Seems like an excellent, low impact way to get exercise and I absolutely miss it.

I should go through all the terms used for episode names and identify them. It would be fun.

[thinkingagain]

“But many penguins feel they haven’t really been asked. Maybe Demesne decision-makers are a little too used to listening to the same prominent voices?”

Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest (A Novel of the Revolution) Book Two: Empire Chapter 31

The same morning as the puppet show, Maximillian the Emperor Penguin was on duty beside the Demesne Lake. He spoke with other Magic Animals who emerged occasionally in the lake and asked for information. Plump and calm, Maximillian took in the unique sweet and heavy smells, the wide array of sounds, and the strange colorful sights of the earth this far north from his home. He liked working with the broad range of the Magic Animal public. He remained watchful for anything out of the ordinary.

Up out of the lake came a penguin Maximillian had never met. His black back and white tummy were both shiny with water. He smelled boldly of recently eaten fish.

“I’m here to bring back any news.” The penguin shook off some water. “I’m one leg of a whole penguin relay communication team spreading information all the way to the poles.”

“Oh yes.” Maximillian came closer in a friendly penguin greeting. “I’ve been expecting you and others like you. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Maximillian.”

Shiny as he was, the penguin shuddered with distress. “I guess it really is as hopeless as everyone says?”

“Excuse me?” Maximillian startled. “Who’s been saying that what is hopeless?” He noticed that the penguin hadn’t given his name.

“This whole struggle against the Commandant.” The penguin looked frightened and tucked his beak closely against his chin. “We can’t win, given his firepower and the size of his forces. A lot of us penguins are wondering why we’re bothering to fight the Commandant directly at all. It seems rash.”

Maximillian looked questioningly at the penguin. “I’m sorry, which penguins have you been speaking with? All the penguins I’ve talked to either knew nothing about the situation and were pleased to hear about what the Demesne is doing, or already knew about the Commandant’s goals  and agreed that they must be stopped.”

“I do see that the insider discussion has gone that way.” The penguin shuddered again and made an expression so horrified that it almost seemed fake. “But many penguins feel they haven’t really been asked. Maybe Demesne decision-makers are a little too used to listening to the same prominent voices? Maybe they aren’t always concerned with the larger world of animals? Maybe too many decisions get made by your bunny rabbit leader demanding what he wants, and others just give it to him?”

“That’s not how we make our decisions at all.” Maximillian flapped his flightless wings thoughtfully, considering. “Sir Sleepy of the Bunny Nest is not our leader. He’s our inspiration, and all he does is help us coordinate our abilities in order to realize a set of goals that we all share. But if other penguins are feeling this way, I want to know. It could mean that there’s a need to communicate better with those outside the Demesne. I’m a firm supporter of the penguin belief in group cooperation. How would any of us survive without each other in our beautiful and dangerous snowy homes?”

“True.” The other penguin puffed out a bit more boldly. “So when a group of insiders makes a risky decision, probably even a doomed one, just because someone wants it, without consulting many who are threatened by it, it’s only right that those who have been left out of the process speak up.”

Maximillan’s expression grew pained. “I agree with you about the importance of community process, and I’m sorry to know that you don’t understand what we’re doing or why. Please tell me what you and others have been thinking.”

-----------------------------

Matilda the beautiful hippo was lounging in a big muddy puddle. She remained alert for any sign of impending assault on the Demesne. The mud covering her back kept her cool. Days in the Piedmont could be hot, although rarely as hot as those in her original homeland. She thought often about those times, when during the day she went to the river to play with and protect hippos.

On those evenings, she would go back to the house of her human family, opening the latch and walking in and eating dinner in the kitchen. A variety of grasses and plants and fish parts well-chosen and arranged by the Madam of her human family were thrown directly and lovingly into Matilda’s mouth by different family members.

After dinner, Matilda sat or lay quietly in their living room as the family discussed the news of the day. At night she went to the outside porch where she slept on a cool and comfortable floor. Sometimes, when nights were chilly, she was covered by the family’s Madam with a soft, bright pink blanket.

Matilda rarely used the word “Beast” in reference to humans. She understood the reasons for the term and had certainly encountered individuals and hunting groups who earned the name, but she reserved it for those individuals whose behavior deserved it. Surely the Commandant did, as did many who worked for it. Yet Matilda also realized that even some of those in the Commandant’s pay had come to be there because they wanted to help animals. If a hippo couldn’t understand that appearances could be misleading, Matilda had often explained to others, who could?

Still, she wasn’t one to let empathy for others confuse her about their intentions. The life of a hippo wasn’t easy. One had to be always aware of the possibility of being attacked.

She had just plopped some wet mud on the back of her neck when the ground ahead of her vibrated heavily. Thick brush under a patch of trees wavered and then flattened.

Matilda took a defensive stance. Another hippo stepped out of the trees. “Oh, it’s terrible, just terrible,” this hippo was saying, in a masculine voice gruff even for a hippo.

“Hello.” Matilda shook off some of her mud and introduced herself. “What’s so terrible?”

“I don’t see why hippos have to be treated like this.” The other hippo was big, a match and more for Matilda’s impressive bulk. “Everybody always calls us ugly and thinks we’re mean. And I am ugly, aren’t I? I’m a hippo. How are hippos like you and me ever going to receive proper respect if other animals think we’re ugly and fear us?”

“It’s a shame you feel that way.”

“Don’t you feel that way? You’re an ugly hippo just like me.”

“I’m a beautiful hippo.” Matilda stood calmly, not looking affronted. She recognized that this hippo had a self-image problem that she didn’t share.

“Beasts always describe us as ugly.” The hippo opened his mouth, snapped angrily at the air.

“What better proof that we’re beautiful?” Matilda fluttered her hippo ears slyly.

“How are we supposed to trust the Demesne leadership if they continue to fear and dislike the image of hippos?”

Matilda startled. She stared at the hippo, trying to figure out what was happening. “I don’t think they do. Why do you say so?”

“Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to be a mistreated hippo,” the other hippo said petulantly.

Stung, Matilda blinked and flinched. She was aware that her experiences with humans were not those of other hippos. “I’m sad to know you’ve had such a hard time. Will you to tell me about it?”

“Would you really listen?” the other hippo asked. “Do you really care? I’m not sure anyone at the Demesne cares. All they do is just whatever their bunny rabbit leader tells them.”

Matilda’s eyes retreated to a cautious distance under their big lids. “I have to keep my eye out for potential invasion,” she looked around, “but right now everything seems quiet. I’m glad to listen as much as you need.”

-------------------------

McAlister and Smoochie were relaxing on the shallow edge of a small stream. In the mud, they dozed and woke and sang, then dozed again. It was daytime and they weren’t on duty, although they knew their aid could be needed. Even at dangerous moments, it was pleasant to be a frog at the Demesne, with its big lake and little streams and plenty of rain.

Out of the brush, another frog rushed up to them, a little one they had never seen. Smoochie immediately kissed him, then backed up coyly. “Auch, wee froggie,” McAlister said, “I don’t think we know ye.”

“Oh my gosh,” the little frog said breathlessly. “I’m glad I found you in time.”

“In time for what, wee froggie?” McAlister’s frog grin showed friendly concern that acknowledged the small frog’s panic without giving way to it.

“The Commandant’s war on frogs has begun,” the small frog’s body jerked around erratically, “in retaliation against the Sir’s pointlessly extreme assault. “We’re all going to die, and just because of arrogance! All the frogs are going to die!”

 “Hold on there, wee froggie.” McAlister lifted himself from the mud. “Getting worked up like this does nae do you any good, and cannae help other frogs, whate’er their situation might be.”

“It’s just so terrible,” the little frog said. “How can we stand around talking sagely and let the world of frogs be devastated forever?”

McAlister’s tone grew firm. “Enough. Either ye have sumpthin’ to tell us or ye di nae. What is it?”

Smoochie, concerned, reached out one of his legs and placed it on the small frog’s shoulder.

“It’s so horrible,” the little frog said, and began his tale.

-------------------------

Little Sy, that small, valiant koala, was walking the Demesne grounds, looking around carefully. The forthright polar bear Frank trotted beside him, careful not to get overheated. They were discussing strategy and tactics. Sy was also talking about the weight of his duty. He knew how to perform the Sir’s role at the Demesne, but conditions this time were dire. He didn’t want to let anyone down.

“I think we’re well organized,” he said to Frank, “but we’ve seen before now that the Commandant’s actions can’t predicted.”

“Your knowledge of the Sir’s philosophy and guidelines serves us well.” Frank’s voice was purposefully reasonable and direct. “Flexibility in response has been key so far to the Demesne’s success. The Commandant has a range of approaches larger than most Beasts, but it’s still limited to certain habitual paths. Beasts are creatures of instinct and habit. Too much logic or imagination are foreign to them.”

Little Sy looked quickly into the bushes off to his left. “Did you see a small pair of ears?”

“I wasn’t looking for small ears, I’m afraid.” Frank strained his eyes in the direction Sy was staring.

This time they both saw a brief bit of ears, which immediately vanished.

“A small someone is indeed following us,” Frank said.

“Show yourself, friend,” Little Sy said in his loudest, most graciously scratchy voice. “We greet you and would be glad to talk.”

The ears poked up again, and beneath them a pair of eyes. Then the whole animal, a small rabbit, came into view. “You’re Little Sy,” he shouted back. “I know all about you.”

Little Sy startled and looked at Frank. “That’s more or less how I first greeted the Sir. Curious.”

Frank nodded. “This situation may not be as straightforward as it appears.”

The small rabbit walked over to them. “I’ve been studying your work ever since you came to the Demesne,” he said to Sy. “I really appreciate your ability to imitate and learn from others.”

“Thank you.” Sy bowed.. “I’ve hardly done anything worthy of significant study or appreciation.”

“Following in the path of a great Magic Animal is not something anyone can do.” The small rabbit followed his respectful disagreement with a small bow. “In the particular case of your struggle against the Commandant, your role must be stressful.”

“It is. But how exactly do you mean?”

“Is it possible that this time the Sir has overreached?” The small rabbit’s face took on a questioning, skeptical look. “Has he put all of us Magic Animals in circumstances in which we’re doomed to fail? We have to follow his script. What happens if something that has never happened before takes place?”

“So far, all the news I’ve heard suggests that everything seems to be going fine, and the Sir has given no one any script.” Sy looked first at the small rabbit, then at Frank. The conversation was odd, but nothing definitive was wrong. “Are you expecting some new twist from the Commandant? How do you know so much about its actions?”

“Word gets around.” The small rabbit’s eyes danced furtively as he avoided looking directly at Shy. “Didn’t it to you? Isn’t that why you’re here? I thought maybe I could help, given the overwhelming power advantage the Commandant must have. I don’t think we can defeat such a terrible opponent. Aren’t you scared?”

“I’m not sure there’s reason to be scared.” Sy looked at Frank again, who looked back and shook his head slightly. “The Demesne team in the field is expert at resisting Beasts. We can trust them to do what they know how to do.”

“What if it’s not enough?” The small rabbit, frightened, blinked his eyes rapidly. “What if he Commandant is too powerful?”

“No evidence suggests that he is. We’ve scouted him well.”

“I know that’s how it seems.” The small rabbit’s voice grew shriller. “I’m still worried. Maybe we’re doomed. Maybe the challenge is going to fall directly on you and me to save the Demesne. Maybe we’re not up to it.”

“It’s important to be alert,” Frank frowned, “but there’s no reason to panic before anything dangerous has even happened.”

“Are you trying to silence me?” the small rabbit nearly shrieked. “I’m here to warn you, and you’re just trying to shut me down? Is that what it’s like here? A big polar bear shutting down the worries of a small rabbit, even if facing those worries might be the difference between success and failure?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” Sy’s voice was urgent and insistent. “If you know something, you need to tell us.”

“It’s terrible what I know,” the small rabbit said. “I don’t know if we’ll ever recover.”

[owletstarlet]

Excessively Detailed Headcanon Meme: Natsume Takashi for @saeryenkalador

Hey all, so @saeryenkalador asked me the following three questions from this headcanon ask meme, they were great ones and I had fun with it. 

(18) Favorite beverage? (20) Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them? (47) How do they express love?

18: Favorite beverage?

I don’t have one specific thing in mind but I think he’d enjoy sweet soft drinks, like pretty ordinary stuff you can get out of any vending machine, because they were never something he really got to have growing up and probably hasn’t tried many of. The ones that came to mind immediately are milk sodas and milk tea because to me those straight up taste like a soft lovely dessert in a bottle, or something overly sweet and colorful and clearly intended for kids, like (magnificent, inspirational) unnaturally green melon soda. (Milk soda as a side note sounds gross but it’s surprisingly really not, Calpis in particular is pleasant and candy-like.) Also, I’m dead sure Nishimura’s made it a mission to make sure Natsume gets to try every drink/sweet/junk food that Natsume never got to try during his Terrible Childhood, and he’d probably spend his own allowance to make that happen because he is a Good Friend. And of course whether Natsume even ever said anything or not about what he likes (most likely he would not), Touko would figure it out anyways, maybe from some bottles he left in the recycling, and start buying it for him.

20: Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Inevitably a whole host of awful things can crop up as a result of not being consistently well fed or physically looked after, especially when you’re a little kid. And one of those problems is a compromised immune system. And any family that’s not even giving him enough food sure as hell wouldn’t take notice or care if he was getting sick, or if he was getting steadily worse, until it got serious enough that it could no longer be ignored. That’s probably a situation that’s repeated itself a few times with a few different homes he stayed in, but as to the way I imagine the worst occasion of it playing out:

It’d have been not so long after he saw that youkai in the park that impersonated a human to try to talk to him, so when he’s still very little and in elementary school. It’d have started as a cold, or what seems like one anyways, and he spends a week or two sniffling/coughing/feverish/all-around-miserable, but he’d just slap on a flu mask and go to school anyhow, because what else can he do, really. Until at some point he passes out at school or on the way, and ends up in the hospital with pneumonia or a bad flu or somesuch. (And this likely after he’s already spent at least an entire day just sleeping in the school nurse’s office because nobody was there to pick him up, and after said school nurse explicitly told whichever guardian finally came to get him that day that he needed to go to the doctor.)

Anyways, I also imagine there’s some tiny, harmless youkai that’s been hanging out watching him. (Let's say he’s a frog youkai because frogs are superb, and there was a frog youkai in some fantastic official art once, just be-boppin’ in a yukata and trying to steal some snacks.) This lil froggy dude probably doesn’t want to get super close and chummy with someone who radiates sheer power like Natsume did even when he was small, but it’s good at staying out of sight. And it’s fascinated watching this cute little human that the other humans don’t seem to like, who is constantly trying to run from all these spirits after him when he seems like he’s actually stronger than most of them. And the youkai considers it a good way to kill the time anyhow. So when he winds up in the hospital the youkai just kind of follows him there out of boredom/curiosity. It mostly just hangs out outside the window of his room and watches, but then it notices that even here the strange child is always alone; the humans who are supposedly his guardians are rarely ever there even though he’s so sick. So it works up the nerve to go inside and keep him company, because it’s not right for anyone to be left alone when they’re so ill. And Natsume probably doesn’t necessarily appreciate the presence of an uninvited youkai, but he’s really in no state to make it leave, especially if he’s on oxygen or something and just generally out of it. So this lil dude probably forgets its fear pretty quick when it sees Natsume close-up, and just sits at the foot of his bed and chatters away about some big ugly fish it caught and swallowed whole the week before, and leaves behind a small collection of rocks/leaves/snail shells that it found interesting (baffling the hell out of the nurses who keep finding them in Natsume’s sheets), and Natsume eventually reaches the conclusion that he’s gladder to not be alone (because he is tiny and he is scared). And that at least this youkai never tried to lie to him about being a youkai in the first place. Anyways. When he eventually leaves the hospital, he likely never sees the youkai again, because after the hospital staff and the school have both caught on that at the very least he’s being neglected at home, he’s quickly shuffled right off to the next family.

Bonus points if, at any point during his hospital stay, he grabbed the youkai in his sleep and held it close like a teddy bear. The youkai would initially be quite jarred by this but ultimately decides it’d rather let him rest than try to wriggle free.

47: How do they express love?

By being himself. He shows love by being open and genuine with someone. This is so hard for him to do; I think for him it’s the equivalent of straight-up exposing the jugular—but, as Nishimura notes in his character chapter/episode, despite the overall impression he first gives off of fakeness and a polite facade, he slowly allows that to fall away when he’s with Nishimura and Kitamoto (“—but once I got to know him I realized he was really kind of a kid.”) Even if he can’t be honest with them about everything for obvious reasons, or still has a tendency to hide/downplay/straight up lie about things (even where Taki and Tanuma are concerned), he still feels like he’s free to safely be Natsume Takashi and not some courteous soft-spoken ghost of a person who carries himself with the knowledge that nobody wants him around.

I can’t really say that he also shows love by being willing to risk his life and safety for others, or by being really ridiculously thoughtful (Touko’s probably lost count of how many times this sweet child has brought her flowers by now), because even though of course he behaves that way towards the people he loves he also acts that way towards people who don’t really deserve it— as an example, towards Matoba in chapter 91-92ish. His actions are fueled by a kind of reckless compassion about 90% of the time, towards humans and ayakashi both…

(I do think it’s hard for him not to see acts of kindness or of love shown towards him as some kind of transaction, that he’s not required to give some gesture in return, and I could go on and on about that…)

It bears mentioning that the people he finds it the most difficult to be open and feel free to be himself with are in fact the Fujiwaras. This doesn’t mean for a second that he loves them less, because he loves them so much, but. The people who hurt him the most in his life up to this point were the adults he was supposed to be able to rely on to take care of him, and they’re the ones that made his defense mechanism of withdrawing into himself to protect himself necessary. So understandably the process of opening up to the Fujiwaras is going to be terrifying to him, and of course he’s also just got this innate sense from an entire childhood of experience that if anything goes wrong, or that if he’s not at his best at all times (anything that another family would’ve chalked up to him being “troublesome,”) he’ll just be shuffled off to the next family. I think this is the most clear in the episode where he wrecked a room trying to do an exorcism and was just so afraid when Shigeru walked in to find him standing in the mess, that this was it and he’d have to leave. I think it’s getting better as the series progresses, he’s learning the Fujiwaras love him and he’s slowly allowing himself to be loved, which is all they want, really. (“Will he ever open up to us? Tell us what he wants to do, or wants to have? ...One day, we’ll be just like a family. Slowly, little by little, surely we will…”)

Sorry I didn’t really touch on romantic love, here, but I think it’d be more of the same: learning to let his walls down, and learning that love is not merely a transaction of kindnesses he has to uphold. (And being patently terrible at the Science of Flirting.)

Cheers, and once more I’m sorry for the lateness of this! I answered some of these about Tanuma as well here.

[missvalerietanner]

Story: Straitjacket Sisters Words: 683 Summary: Nash and Caroline, a couple of nine years, return to Caroline’s hometown in Georgia to visit her mother on her death bed and reconcile with her two sisters. Less than a month into their troubling visit, Nash vanishes. Everyone believes he simply ditched Caroline and left. She refuses to believe the man she knew so well would leave her without even a goodbye, choosing instead to hunt for proof that he was taken by force.

This scene takes place after Nash has been missing for one entire week.

Caroline rolled onto her side in her fitful sleep, seeking any manner of peace in the shifting darkness of the bedroom. She pinched her eyes shut; the shadows behind her eyelids danced in a flurry of colors, growing brighter the harder she squeezed. Exhausted and eager for rest, she relented, opening her eyes in defeat.

Lying beside her was Nash.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and joy swelled her mind. He was here; he was safe. The how or why didn’t bother her; she was so relieved to have him back. She pried one hand free from the folds of her pillow and reached to him. Tears leaked from her weary eyes when he reached for her in return, hugging his palm to hers and threading his fingers between her own.

“Nash,” she breathed out. “You’re here.”

He squeezed tighter to her hand. “I’m never far from you.”

His voice sounded wrong, distorted. His words were coarse and uneven, delivered by a froggy throat and an unfamiliar tongue. Droplets of water dripped from the corner of his mouth and soaking into the bed sheets below, darkening their surface.

Caroline lifted her other hand from beneath the sheets and pressed her fingers to his lips; they were cold. Tears welled heavy against her eyelids.

Nash parted his lips to speak, but only murky water, brown and distorted by the filth it carried, leaked out. She tried to withdrew from him, but he gripped their interlaced hands so tight she winced. And he snatched hold of her other hand around the wrist.

With a roar—or a scream—clouded by the water forever running from his throat, Nash leapt on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. She struggled beneath, but his weight was insurmountable. The more she pushed to be free, the heavier he became, sinking knees and elbows into the mattress to hold her still. Her hips were bound by his thighs; her chest crushed by the pressure of his, and her arms shackled to the bed with his calloused hands as the chains.

He flattened his body against her, and she felt her own form sink beneath the rising mattress like the surface of the ocean. She could feel every piece of him against her skin, and she whimpered, so longing for his touch. But not like this. Never like this.

He leveled his face before hers, and his bold blue eyes stared at her. The kindness she loved was still there, hidden beneath a darker fog of terror. He brought his mouth to her lips where she gasped for breath, incapable of filling her crushed lungs. She had no choice but to part her lips, a fish out water desperate to live by any means reachable.

He opened his mouth to hers, but his lips never touched. More of the distorted and discolored water flooded from his throat and drenched her mouth, her nose, her entire face, plunging her beneath the surface. She shut her eyes against the filthy water’s sting but couldn’t stop her throat from gurgling through the sludge.

She fought harder against his bindings, thrashing wildly while caught between the mattress and his strength. But he only pushed harder. She sank faster, and the dingy water overtook her, consuming her lungs until the blackness called her home.

A scream tore from her dry throat, and she lunged upward from the pillows. In the blurring shadows of her bedroom, she swept her head from side-to-side for clarity of her surroundings.

No Nash, and no water.

Breathless from her torture, she sank against the flattened, sweat-soaked pillows for support and wiped at the drying tears streaked across her cheeks. When her heartbeat eased, she slipped out of bed and trotted to the window. She pressed her hands to the glass and peered through its stained surface to the river flowing strong through the property—the same river that claimed her father’s life.

“He’s close,” she whispered to herself, a reminder of the truths the nightmare had offered.

She felt the weight of time more than ever. Nash didn’t have much longer.

Author’s Notes: Been watching A LOT of symbolism videos on YouTube, mostly ones pertaining to Silent Hill, and wow wow WOW, they are hella inspiring. Digging deeper into a series I already love to uncover all the layers I didn’t recognize is very cool.

I highly recommend thegamingmuse if you’re a fan of the series. She does other games too, but the Silent Hill ones are by far the best.

Inspired by all the symbolism I’ve got bouncing around in my head, this scene came to life. (It actually came to me late last night as I was drifting off to sleep.) 

It’s primary goal is to deal with Caroline’s fear of loss and hint at a fear she harbors but wasn’t fully aware of: a fear of drowning, the cause of her father’s death and now, if her dream is a premonition, the possible cause of death to her boyfriend, Nash. :D 

[sherlocklexa]

50 Baby & Toddler Pool Floats for Summer

Summer is right around the corner! It's time to outfit your little ones for days at the pool, whether that be in your own backyard, your local community center, or vacation destination. There are so many pool float options out there it can be hard to know where to start. Never fear–the searching has been done for you!

Here you'll find 50 baby and toddler pools floats broken down by age range. Whether your baby is dipping her toes into the water for the very first time or your toddler is getting ready to be more independent, you'll find a pool float for every stage. All of these pool floats are both affordable and fun. They're guaranteed to bring you and your kiddos hours of fun in the sun.

Let us know which of our finds are your favorite in the comments section below.

50 Baby & Toddler Pool Floats

This post contains affiliate links for your convenience.  Click here to read our full disclosure policy.

Ages 6-18 months

Swim School Fun Fish Baby Boat

Intex My Baby Float

Aqua Leisure Sunshade Baby Boat

Aqua Leisure Sparky The Shark Baby Boat

Swim School Lil' Skipper Baby Boat

Aqua Leisure Bouncing Butterfly Baby Boat

Swim School Baby and Me Combo Boat

Sun Smart Egg Sun Shade Baby Float

Floaties The Original Swim Seat

Ages 6-24 months

Little Tikes Cozy Coupe Baby Float

Speedo Kids' Begin to Swim Fabric Baby Cruiser with Canopy

Uleade Baby Float Yacht

UClever Baby Swim Ring Seat Float

Nai-B Hamster Swim Mom Mint (For Baby)

WXDZ Baby Pool Float Inflatable Swim Ring

Ages 9-24 months

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Activity Center with Canopy

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Sun Canopy

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Sun Canopy

Oima Baby White Swan Inflatable Pool Float

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Mommy and Me

SwimWays Baby Spring Float with Canopy

Poolmaster Baby Buggy Baby Rider

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Sun Animal Friends – Monkey

SwimWays Baby Tug Boat with UV Spring Canopy

Poolmaster Frog Baby Rider

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Animal Friends (Giraffe)

SwimWays Sun Canopy Baby Boat (Crab)

Learn-To-Swim Transportation Baby Rider (Tug Boat)

Poolmaster Baby Bear Rider

Ages 1+

Intex Kiddie Float

Intex Whale Baby Float

Intex Fish Baby Float

Arshiner Babies Inflatable Swimming Pool Boat

Inflatable Yellow Duck Pool Swimming Ring

Topwon Inflatable Airplane Pool Float

Play Day Baby Float Fish Pink with Sun Canopy

Justtrue Baby Underarm Swimming Rings Swim Float

Swim School Grow-With-Me, 4-In-1 Swim System

Swimline Me and You Baby Seat Pool Toy

UV CarefulTM 50+ UPF Baby Care Seat

Intex Stingray Ride-On Baby Float

SUPOW Baby Swim Float Seat, Rose Red Cartoon Car

Ages 2+

Splash & Play Baby Care Seat Pool Float ABC Racer Car Twin Pack Bundle

Swim School Tot Trainer

Uclever Flamingo Baby Swim Ring

Ages 3+

Intex Inflatable See Me Sit Pool Ride

Intex Animal Split Ring Pool Floats – 3 Pack

Intex Froggy Friend Shaded Baby Float

Intex Toy Story Inflatable Swim Ring

H2OGO! Lil' Animal Inflatable Pool Float

  More summer fun ideas for kids:

  The post 50 Baby & Toddler Pool Floats for Summer appeared first on Remodelaholic.

from car2 http://ift.tt/2rXV4z0 via as shown a lot

[chocdono]

50 Baby & Toddler Pool Floats for Summer

Summer is right around the corner! It's time to outfit your little ones for days at the pool, whether that be in your own backyard, your local community center, or vacation destination. There are so many pool float options out there it can be hard to know where to start. Never fear–the searching has been done for you!

Here you'll find 50 baby and toddler pools floats broken down by age range. Whether your baby is dipping her toes into the water for the very first time or your toddler is getting ready to be more independent, you'll find a pool float for every stage. All of these pool floats are both affordable and fun. They're guaranteed to bring you and your kiddos hours of fun in the sun.

Let us know which of our finds are your favorite in the comments section below.

50 Baby & Toddler Pool Floats

This post contains affiliate links for your convenience.  Click here to read our full disclosure policy.

Ages 6-18 months

Swim School Fun Fish Baby Boat

Intex My Baby Float

Aqua Leisure Sunshade Baby Boat

Aqua Leisure Sparky The Shark Baby Boat

Swim School Lil' Skipper Baby Boat

Aqua Leisure Bouncing Butterfly Baby Boat

Swim School Baby and Me Combo Boat

Sun Smart Egg Sun Shade Baby Float

Floaties The Original Swim Seat

Ages 6-24 months

Little Tikes Cozy Coupe Baby Float

Speedo Kids' Begin to Swim Fabric Baby Cruiser with Canopy

Uleade Baby Float Yacht

UClever Baby Swim Ring Seat Float

Nai-B Hamster Swim Mom Mint (For Baby)

WXDZ Baby Pool Float Inflatable Swim Ring

Ages 9-24 months

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Activity Center with Canopy

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Sun Canopy

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Sun Canopy

Oima Baby White Swan Inflatable Pool Float

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Mommy and Me

SwimWays Baby Spring Float with Canopy

Poolmaster Baby Buggy Baby Rider

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Sun Animal Friends – Monkey

SwimWays Baby Tug Boat with UV Spring Canopy

Poolmaster Frog Baby Rider

SwimWays Baby Spring Float Animal Friends (Giraffe)

SwimWays Sun Canopy Baby Boat (Crab)

Learn-To-Swim Transportation Baby Rider (Tug Boat)

Poolmaster Baby Bear Rider

Ages 1+

Intex Kiddie Float

Intex Whale Baby Float

Intex Fish Baby Float

Arshiner Babies Inflatable Swimming Pool Boat

Inflatable Yellow Duck Pool Swimming Ring

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from mix1 http://ift.tt/2rXV4z0 via with this info

[castlehead]

mx pharaoh -b-side u-

Ideals and notions slash into every oblivious dawn, which now I can only see through windows in the visiting room Clark 8 has. My friend on the outside came to visit today. He said I was living on “Borrowed Time” and that I should be lucky. I listen to him and do not quite know what he means by that.

. . . . . .

Ether swirls forlornly.

Merit in people, like merit in poets, according to poet Wallace Stevens, is a bore. Well seems to me a baseless assumption but I have not a friend in a single bloodvessel so maybe I am doing something wrong. But contra standards everything is baseless, sideless, endlessly sidereal. In a lit World. In a leaning, lit up, bloodshot World. But that is where I am in the night under a cloak of meds turning me robotic or like something.

. . . . . .

Generally, if the sky fell, which it has, would to me the sun in actuality be the burning pyre of a onceplanet, diffuse now, back then, though, home to matter unfeasibly unfreezeable, in regards the fiery heat, and lurking in their heat those burning bodies, knowing the surface of the sun as theirs, or at least learning like as we do of the grand mirror of consciousmind.

Under a newer cloak of mild hospital patterns I live a milder life than once I knew in being thrust indeterminedly blank, into sideless nothing. Knowing not.

A thing unto myself like a sack of carrion carried. Locked in a thrust of obligation and to trudge through my blazes and situations and then come to crisis.

Frame of reference disappears. Seeing God, whether true or untrue, which really doesn’t matter, produces doubts you hoard like a magpie. They are special to you. In the moment of seeing, there it dawns, lets itself be seen, is seen, but for you only, and never again: then you are forced to find understanding within yourself. You will be at inward war for endless time, I think silently: finding kinship with hope and an impossibility.

You experience the thing. It lights up your flesh like the last burnt being on an inhabited sun. Once. Once I could relay a moment with another, focus my thoughts, have a diameter more than an inch of reason around my headspace. Different however than phrenology. Old World cures. Trepanation. That guy Geoffrey Dahmer drilled acid like LSD into the brains of 14 year olds. And turned them into idiotzombies. Like he drilled holes in their heads. And poured pure acid into the drilled holes. But maybe that’s just an urban legend. In any case.

Who? Is? On? My? Side? Slipping slipping slipping dawn proves this abstract to think about when there is nothing to grab onto. Like in that moment of reckoning, even; you forget your confusion and say, “The star was never a planet, nothingness can exist godlessly most sensibly.”

But not that no. Not a farrow for the plow there. Just old rusted junk and the skeleton of old mouse of Burns. I frame it as a remark not a question needing appeasing: Who is on my side. Words on the life and soul of one, whose difference between life and death relied on a fucking air conditioner, and hence, a fall broken.

Then and then only can it be seen what it is. Something I guess not like expecting anything. There’s an old bluff in every answer to a personal question I use and it’s, Well that’s just me. Or. Something of the sort. Nearly draconian my sense of self whips me. Lashing a handsome leather one.

And maybe I block myself out of my own portrait or maybe others do that I wouldn’t know I’m not a fan of blaming people like I wasn’t there man I didn’t geographically locate the body of another and install myself fucking into their fucking harddrive. And see their thoughts about where he was and also reflections in sensations and impressions of emotions. I am the static field my space proclaims, and the static reality is where I am in the moment however the soul is often placed where I long to be and suffer to be.

. . . . . .

In this fecal birdcage I am hassled by the names I call myself. Hateful little whispers my own mind builds together and that unto itself, is unto itself, it is pressing, it is a pressing matter, it presses on me like a lover of a kind. Cosmos, touching. My evicted head, squeezed head, attenuating.

There is nothing different going to happen besides some screams. In answer is the clogged place the sound releases me from, once again, into the World, the whirly World, filled with friends or not with friends or not with friends but family or not family but just my Dad.

So I am injured greatly at heart. I am very sad. What is my sadness I do not know what my sadness is but it remarks on a soul hurt as if it knew more than that, more than little horrors, here and there, and mere, stubborn names, frames of mind, or all of it observed through a still glass, time then seen in and as frames, each: memory nearly real as present, and all of it a polaroid, a stillness made from the primordial clay by some mindfuck cretin upstairs.

So I knew perhaps a stubborn, loud thing of being had, which invaded all possible analysis with its goofy inverted visions. Trembling under disregards. You know, cutting myself out; or do I make nothing for nothing is real? Maybe the only real thing one does is his laps around his true character, his head waiting for an end to the meanwhile. As if to prove through the effort that truth is present there somewhere in the greymatter and would present itself, living and fecund and like a mirrored life maybe drumming in some morsecode blather of an arc I’d travel to in that life, a clime mine, and away from that picture in the glass, a face which even by the mundanest observance causes ringing in my ears.

And yet an observance guttural and still viewing the spectacle of nothing there. Dear everyone, my sumptuous actions. Are of bloom or like I guess to say in bloom sorta. These my fatted acts. Rosebud caught not in the bud, left unfed anyway to fetidness, roaming lights in the mind revolving, as would alive stones, real expanses of mind, of a mind of leafy strands of hair, soupy lectures on an element about me unfulfilled.

Well spare me, me. Or do I speak or have I ever spoken; I do and have. Logic’s remaining drug will be unapproved by the FDA. It will go waxing, first waiting to draw closer these stones, these eerie feelings about a glutton replenished again, a waterglutton again, rose budding again. Tears. Amor Fati. Winsome of incipient chance. Out of a straight line a knot. Something a definition. Not what I was. Who I was.

Will I not be owlish in eye, stretch rude features? Generous little snot. Begin. Provoke me. Tell me you matter, do you. Drain me out like foul blood. I am. Say breaths. Este loco. Este loco. Este loco. Precarious rich flowershoots fished risky out of a vase on the ledge of leaning dawn. Or I am fucked up and leaning on my friendless self. Or am I somewhere weightless and dark in a dried out morbidity, this horseman of myself pacing, clicking, clicking around his halls of hell, chiseling out aggressive conversation with himself despite me, whether I engage him or not. I am the place droopysnouted humankind takes their feelings, a place to browse through them, be a dog at. It is just some people walk in the shade and think it’s more than that.

. . . . . .

Staring down a bottle of expired Roxicet, right there, and my eyes glued there, and my face plain and stoic, and I already nearly under the table with five shots of Jäger and three lines of good shit. Like I mean fucking fire. But I guess blow and liquid shitface didn’t drown out the noise of my own mind, harping at itself, again, batty again.

Besides the talk of different friends at this guy’s house I mean, which was like thousands of pianos tapping a variety of keys. An eager discord I thought, eagerly. To drown out with.

Weird half-convos and I guess a few pills. Yeah, it was reason enough to ingest that shit. Reason enough to eat half the bottle nearly, and wind up passed out on the side of the street at 3 A.M., picked up to my shaky haunches, heaved rather, by a few preferably [in my mind] anonymous ex-friends, them all bodies for the carnage, this disturbing wastefulness, nearly a tale for Fitzgerald to read and think of abandoned

Airdales. I was green. Froggy. But at least I wasn’t blue.

But from that day on I figured out how easy it was to steal pills. How easy it was to lose people. Everyone. A few simple turns and you can be throttled forever until you put down the brick. Left me with a massive headache. The loss of trust people had in me is a gift doe. And, at least now, I take an aspirin or two, maybe. I was fourteen. In a word I have started recovering from my own illness that is yet too much a choice for me to call disease. Been shattered by drugs, this time bundles of heroin.

Spent four months in and out of seedy places in Windsor Locks, CT, cultivating this addiction, ignoramus that I am, who does not listen to his body. Tried quitting seven times; sick sick sick, unending sick, physical convulsions, puking black grease, needing water that yet when I drank it burned my throat. Physical addiction is the story of Narcissus embodied. Wasted money, wasted years.

I am clean now I guess and scared of drugs generally, but will probably pick up cocaine again. Perhaps this reasonable fear comes too late to retain the whole of what (or who) I once was. But I pick up the scraps and call it a day like anyone does.

So as of now I am clean. Only fitting I’d push myself to the extremity at the very end. I am doom-eager as Orpheus, my solitary lady, haha. I have thirty days clean and feel higher now than I ever was quenching my habit by the coming of the sun, my girlfriend and I driving to Hartford to pick up and sick as hell.

Every morning that was what it was. Blank sleep, maybe too disturbed to call it sleep, waking and heading to resume my disembodiment etc. Ah,

  Hell,

I am done, I am serious, life is no joke; I tell myself this. If one doesn’t take what they have been given seriously life will respond and turn them into a joker, and their life an exposed punchline, meaningless, detrimental to everyone. A bug is in every family as Kafka said. But we are all bugs, sweaty, stinking, plain, thoughtless, wrong. I have in such and such a way quit my buzzing against the window and resigned myself to dying in this place, this World, this planet: this imprisonment etc., between two walls of infinite glass. It’s lovely. For we are all resigned. We as a race of people are stuck with life’s retaliation against those who do not celebrate the gift that it is. The positivity here is muddled I guess but it exists here in the words.

I am staying sober. Alright? For good. For my brain. For my body; I can make out a few of these directives without stalling. I still stall. But I am healing. Just like you. I am healing forever. We heal by affirming the awesome power that takes our ommateum and feelers to the glass walls and reveals our painful futility etc. which is grace. Life is grace. So we shall live and continue to live gracefully.

i don’t regret surviving anymore from that long fall a subsequent long haul i know it yes through these days of insidious boredom after too long a while walking the halls brought to me like unto me like 'unto’ like a thunderous punishment or a poison’s delay creeping stiffness over my slouching heart

a ‘wellnesss’ now and faked well for all time over itself, over itself and out i go into a dreamt stop of it all one of these days that encircles vulturelike round me whom is in this senseless room ordinarily and draped in an ordinary at least for the place a hospital a gown greeklike and soiled kind of by the wiping of snot and snot the more

i was listening to m83’s “soon, my friend” and came up with an idea. the idea was being stabbed in the chest. i thought this was a good idea because it hurts to be stabbed in the chest but life also hurts so to not be stabbed in the chest would hurt but maybe just later or over time collectively. i guess it’s a metaphor or something.

[Fecal ape. No remonstrance to that in this tattered brain, thank Lordy. None but the blare. And then these swaying things. Meretricious, subdued talk, of something hungering wealth in something aside from this field in my dandy head. Grope, grope, youth. File the truth. Mister, she came by but in the end asked for nuffing like you didn’t say. You don’t say. Well laddie churn about on that liquid sea. Black as regular. Another day on the Hudson, another yearned conversation, another bandaged head against the wind.]

so then i thought abt what love was and it was like being stabbed in the chest the first time you love and they leave you, then you meet someone else and you leave them, and they remove the weapon. and it’s like there’s this blind pain for years before that: you’re telling people, “Hey man, I’d love to hang, but I have a knife in my chest,” or “There are things I wish I could have done before this knife was sticking out of my chest,” or “The additional six inches of this leather knifehandle protruding from my chest make it very hard to navigate crowded rooms.”

[Embattled in scorn, years of shouts, foreign eye, a foreign, bleeding eye, yes, an evil one of those a better evil than the finest smile’s chancedisgust seen by that very communicated evil. In the eye. Shivershivershiver. Oh and what did the lady say a'you. Well sire she said I had not got a melon ripe enough but my head’ll do. Cheers. Tripe, well gone’s miss. Feel around in the dark for some verb, aside, you know, from anything like 'feel.’ Dread upwards, vertical people pounding pulpit. I’d say. Mmmmsmash.]

and then the other person comes along and they ask why. so i explain to them. and they hold my hand for awhile and maybe sit under a tree with me. then i say to them will you take this thing out please and they do it and i finally bleed out and die, after all these years. then they walk away, heartbroken. i left my girlfriend of three years a week ago. she finally let the wound be a wound. and then i think there is this subtle exchange of stabbings between rejector and rejected. and i think, we have enough blood to get us through the year, we have enough temperance to hide ourselves this last time, until the last time ends, and even she, thinking she saved you in removing whatever offending object, has unknowingly conspired to rid you of her. for death takes all, and where a relief begins another ends.

[Sad sad sad. My noise, but a ghost’s achoo through paper floors.]

. . . . . .

—To understand the interconnected conversation or to just somehow prove that something impossible could happen. How is nothing impossible you may ask well let me tell you. Our hero taps his crooked index on the chalkboard. That is life. And our life is rational thought. Not in a solipsistic sense, wherein the five senses are overseen by some abstract Will For Things More Pleasing. But in that reason gives us the pleasure of life for that is synonymous with purpose. So then. For something to be Impossible, besides conceptually, is impossible, because for it to exist as a word it needs to in its extremity pinpoint something absolute in words that do not exist in reality. It says that words are realer than beings in at least our three dimensional reality. It does not matter what this image, object is, or looks like, -but is this even logical for a word to etymologically call for itself to get gone to nothingness and exist, impossibly in its own fourth dimension logic, as an example that is not itself, within the ballpark of its opposite meaning at most. Words literally make more sense than reality doez. Which basically tells us we are the result of words and can be draped with whatever context makes the most sense. Look at, and I mean really look at the idea of Being. To me, the universe seems to have an aim, that is, expands itself with everything because not to include everything would imply not only that something could exist and calls for something other than everything in order to be/.-after but that if manifested would be absurd, nonsensical, for yet there. This statement proves the absurd. At the end of the day the word is pretty clearcut. Not possible. To make it possible is a logical fallacy. Well then haven’t we figured this out? Do you want me to spell it out for you. Ok then: It is not possible, so it is possible, as itself a word, qua a word. This has some catastrophic consequences. It means that language is fleet. It can simultaneously make sense and not. The Meaning, confined to the word itself, is one that exists as much and as light and heavy as money. Yet why is what is possible possible? How do we mark that. It means a load of assumptions. It means that there need be a lifeline for the universe. That at its most far reaching, Throughout its life, the universe itself denied that this would happen, when, and this is crucial -when there was more to add. That possibility were a matter of duality. Impossible cannot be called possible bc that is absurd. It is not the definition of the word. An infinite universe says this: impossible is an impossible word. It assumes something other than it’s own infinity.

Conservation of energy. No loose ends is the assumption here, which can be used if they are put in this environment to simultaneously justify and call their existence false. Everything that exists is everything that exists and impossible is a literal lie and proof of this, I feel, because it is a word that needs itself, you know -in order to be. Said MX Pharaoh through miraculous whiteness and white ethersglow a ascending him to a head of breathed punk until he realized he is too late for this car. The monolith. It will get HIM. I will give up my HIM. And Cherryblossom my own, forever, yet that will kill us both. I give up my myself to words that don’t exist.

—The stunt of a wonderful, broad nascence too ill stemmed to not screw out at every board’s unclung fangs. This thick meteoric chamber. Guide us willful. Plank to plank, threadless way, pushed mechanic feet -Dickinson //

To start out on the water and end in the meadow. To deny the distance between anything in my reach, everything, the least or perfectest touching The Mind Of Cosmos with ye own bare lurid looking. You look long when you lose me. Then you lose me I am back to the nurses harping on old fellas who stroked out. Endless debate in the brain, then nothing, k-holekablooiy. But nah. She doesn’t give up not for nothin. Dwelled hard in my brain and barely there before. What difference was there ?? well the loose chains to myself, makes clouded things. With its armor. Making it perilous to merely move.

—Honestly the only dead writer I relate to Is Antonin Artaud. A'saith. Love can drive a man to cruelty. His mind can rebel against its borders and piss off into nothing. I took my hand and petted the venetian blinds with my hand. “Touch with my tactile impressions.” I remember. Pessoa.

Monolithic as it was there was space enough to hit him. Made in no debt to anyone but himself, to reason, to find sonorous reason compiled

In this ship of mates. Long groveled he. Atop his vestibule shedding cuticles. And some mute drone like a cateye’s dearth in it o such a thing, and such

a thing as would insist me past deliverance, working wicks at both ends and driving the conversation. Looted, but not unemployed. Free hat. Free HAt !

–What    . [?] –Keeps getting better. It does. PRomise, I.

… …

Few rue the slain, even in these irrational days. Corruption is seen from afar when it is right in front of you. Begging rhetoric, gold mountains of rhetoric. Feasibly HE was as far away as the floor. Busiest one. Soaked not in sun. For one day to bruise through venetians, that day, some part in the mix, or a lost umbrella or unoriginal ideas or faked curiosities I seize myself and slap him up right well to unhook his jaw M8 just a tiny flaw HE had nothing to do with ye ruining. Sun aslant. Sun given. OR a one his own. Where circles fix one of their ends.—

—That Shia Leboeuf or whoever’s motivational speech got to me. MX Pharaoh, a'saith. Extend the pause between period and period ol patcheyes say it is I JJ I have come to blight you, strike you, be like you like me to be and something carried with that black as art, as the puppetmasters speak again for you -M8 these are not real quarterstones through the suck. Sneak in the creaking bed, surrounding me like folds of weatherdd sheet, wooly mup of hair stickin, embracing into an egg of lightness, outside of a world filled with truisms, hiccuped persuits hosing down the interest like a brainwash: club me silly: So some by the dreaded thousandhead come like thunderheads. Stuff not lasting awhile. The only way to do it is to do it. I was abt to hit post on a status and two text messages. This is what that happens after the book. It was like i was abt to drop a bomb or something, which is why similar things happen in reality we call ‘dropped bombs’ -and just furiously held myself alone, but together. Strike, my patience.

“Yr so sexy.” They fuck. And that no more I would feel. And that no more I would but try and strain myself out of, instead of undeveloping the complacent rut. To not feel something different that impossible time in Bantam CT.

… …

The hanging pendulum, famous pendulum, I brought a disguise. That ippie Jesus lad was he. Round squat lad. That’s right. Annour away from here. Ye. Das Righ. When cannit. Some guy talking to the police bout a crash somewhere. We had this great blanket that had ciggie holes in it it was Black one side White the other, forget leavening, have liquor be the rise always, and forevour, she had a worst part of life, dolour, cherry, feast of I admit another’s blocked chemistry, gangly ganglion fretting the nethers’re fed well worser then and as the corroding jism implies and implies all day long. Playing skermish his index with words on the board: Don’t! Perceive! Doubt! Make it like he dinna think of doing it the night before in this the dim place, of a city [THE FOLLOWING IS A TRANSCRIPT OF THE WELLKNOWN “STRIDENT BAT” NSA RECORDING, DISLODGED FROM ITS SAFE AND BROUGHT TO THE BLEAK PUBLIC] lording over his width and graveness obsoletely,ekin -int o- INTO the air. We was playing catch. Teleophne. The sars scare -Why –Cali hipsters -Bay Area, true heroes Fazzfazz. Fazz. Lonely mean men off to the sides of the street looking you. Fortunate you look. MX Pharaoh. Lonely alien plains their eyes. Ghost meat. Feel them burn a hole in ye back as ye cross. And called her that, for she is blossoming, for she limitless, pigs raining down to the world in droves of ström, lorilee the chance was -Ear -Wax parents.Searin-bet- stridenscimist. Then to the anchoring felicity that night feet in me lap. Stringy memories launch by like a list of buzzfeed. He struggled to notice fingers of him in hers. delicate cross, small, pink foison of bushytail, or a thing we had, or when it was it was had. Feeble embers these. The tap of a shoe is like a kiss and there’s, a sopping tongue there’s, white guilt there’s, manic, seeing figures in the tar of a television’s blank screen, of which frightened Cherryblossom, fidgeting her psyche to recall and experience and re-live a done for sure thing. Worried told her he was. And now this. MX Pharaoh left the door open all night. He says he means the window said patcheyes. Lost delivery, hope those vapethings get here. Squatting to piss public. Glad I don’t got to do that. Pharaoh said. Massagin a bad neck hoping madness to bend him back to life. It was never that I was back HE said. I was neck. I broke my neck in the crash. Is this even real. And all this looking into her eyes that day speaking lil wayne fashioning pigeon grills, good movies and tainted moments and their audacity to be tainted. Comforting things like that song in my head most times.

Simone to my Jean Paul. Delineating skyscape in the night waging itself free into the starry Staten Island chasm. Hope little prose roses lift him. Croon. Empty now. I was poor once. Less of an appetite now. Can starve for a few days and be fine. I had a little house in Bantam in Connecticut where I did that. Furtherance. Lift me now and ever in good stead. Such sadness. Such inexplicable maddening stabs of sadness. A knife’s throat drinking up quaffing up. Bloodblood. Bloodspew. Recoil at me she do. Fear symperanekromenoi for they are those who know not they are dead. Lifted lies, old father. That’s what they are and I read them to you for my video in the coffeeroom. Pharaoh shirking his moral duty. Pishyynallalastersheppalalalalalala. For when you can’t think of a word for omnipotent eyes. Teacher, teach. Little ones one day sighted in my possibility will too wag from me o sorrow. Pharaoh took his last drag on her porch.

“Rose the tenant. Crazy bitch.” This, Simone. “You put her out soon.” I say. Then her:

“Granma makes me hold her papers when she’s trying to get things in order.” “Soon enough. Seems nice.” I say.

… …

Well it goes faulty. Drip. Drip. Drip. The faucet singing her tone row into the night. I stayed on the couch that night embodying soft abstractions. Dripdripdrip. Into faculties my night emits like systems, unlike faculties, like the mechanism of dripping itself as consummate, like they each were in their drops blessed whole: not form, unformed, but reaching into form through concept, concept, generality by generality elucidating the complex: a'saith the poor-sighted phantasm in his eyepatch. Dragged her into this. Pharaoh was bleeding thoughts. He says to himself did I see all this time a lie shining broken light all over the fleeting like it would make it lift, make it see itself through into clarity. My thoughts. He thinks man what a day what a day. Something of kin I feel. After this book is over, there will be a part of the life of Pharaoh where he thinks clearly of his epitaph. It will say A Just Death. For he thinks, at least it will be his, and if so, some moral measure could exist in the world, if by these granted hallelujahs a punishment makes me rescind back into the wordworld like some rite of passage, but writing nothing. Meets a good friend halfway. Tries to get back her, begging for Cherryblossom. And all these repetitions. Are they with gusto ah, enough? Or twirling leaves. Senselessly from the tree. Deciduous as mine pineal perspective, growing anew, growling anew, then dead, dead again, faced again, risen. He believed, then, that if T. were to kill himself he would feel for him, and her, and not be glad it happened, and not have such a secret to keep. For it is not to stomach without a bitter feeling in the right way of how that feeling is in that pit there.

No beginning no end. Stone heart, pealing laughter. Cherryblossom he wanted some sifting through. Some irrational need to. Maybe to make sense. Find GOD. But GOD would not have any multitude be in his creamy lap. Lost folds of sheet. Or lost in them. I would have marked another blight. I would have come again in six years to leave Cherryblossom thought Pharaoh. Thought Pharaoh: my inkling of prescience was not a rudiment doubt but one more complex chink for the place the hole. Chest cavity’s ache. I shouldn’t have done. Well now who is that young squanderer: he makes to heave his cutlasslegs and paint the street with kicking blood. Can goes: blunkunk! Blunkunk! He kicks the sodacan like an old maid he does. Well that’s what they think of me, he thinks; and he channels HIM who gives Pharaoh the thoughts of others. More trained. More the luckier. I still learned to use the words Pharaoh thought. And when they gently there in my head manifested as actual words -that limited the whole scenario. GOD-train. Mellifluous summer and home again from a stay in Staten Island. Waging silent postures waiting at the curb. Fat tangle of feelings:

[So it would have easily been the soft gloaming, so it would, so it would have righted itself in the encroaching rheum, and yet he was here, now, Pharaoh was here: and in his grace met something nondescript amongst big waves of time, something like when he smoked a ton of Angel Dust and thought of the rain, and himself, and all the lightning in the distance, opining and scary, the faced, the unfaced, the lorded morals of a scared kid in the corner, the corner an eye and an eye a flick away from being a movie for our lives to look at, and we see the movie: and he thought of her silly, raven hair, and the somber grate outside by the sitting trash; and of Cherryblossom, by now but the trillionshadow’s abrupt gaze, waveful and timely, back into the night of a substance, like perhaps the remembered reality of drugs, drugged reality, embracing the life of him who falls: Saw my feet a'saith. Hanging in the air. And HE was not the cause. HE had the very first knife that broke the spring in his gut. HE kept it on his celestial mantlepiece, you know, that towering muttering spaceconstruct through wild byways, where once HE hanged Pharaoh by the tits of void. But Pharaoh. Oh my lovely by his docks biking to the piers the metal napes sinking slovenly into abusive, hurtling waters. Like a thousand pounds. Andandand. Food for thought: life’s done. I can uncreate HIM. But for the plied wares I would not have reckoned HIM, thought Pharaoh. So then out the speckled iris the man shunned doubts and things and claptrap shaped into these light, fitful unnamables, seeking their tide yet really the wreck, the blind misery in the heat lightning of that alien Connecticut night, wherein I [and this the voice the woodwork wouldn’t have guessed] was this GOD in the moon, and the moon a plane’s drifted glint a distance resized and resized. Fly fly fly. Oh my Cherryblossom, and my friends, and specky hipsters, and the delicacy of life, and ooo the righteous glint a sand speck dries the eye to. And so he go scoffed at the feeble reed he but was. He thought of himself as he was, and of you as well, strange, omnipotent eyes, and of all the hankering voices singing from their last climes. licking yon wounds of wonder. Usurper and usurped in union and none in charge. No last buck. No trinity of sleepless nights giving him his religious stomachbutterflies. So it was neon yellow morning finally across the last day and Pharaoh smudged in his eyesocket once out into his breach, once that eking bit of the unreal panted into thought and out of strange scope and thoughthindrance. Tempted by dreams to punch through floorboard and in him a wandering wastrel’s presence a fertile eye like a dunce nudged into the chair in his corner. Forgone this, foregone that, so much had happened. Pharaoh needed more time to understand this but was tired of waiting and the light poured and the mouth of the window was all gripping and finding views here and there he made a wizz on the sides of the toilet kind of. Shaped crass the eye. The umlaut of moon and sun above the brow of mankind. Pharaoh smudged in his eyesocket and thought of his patronage, absurd ghosts, and his histories within him and all aflame like sightless ruin, like something needful in the dark.]

[These connections, these feeble relations I have forged, between myself and myself, and others with others, they are nothing, they are dull words in the dark, when still I have not bridged myself to those others, nor them to me, for then is left but GOD to mangle.]​