#guest editor

[snowwhitelass]

Nobu Hotels Magazine…

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https://www.nobuhotelsmagazine.com

[diannepearcefuckingwrites]

CRITIQUE... UNIQUE~

See you at the California Creative Writers’ Conference!

[selphplusplus]

Beat Rush

Wake up.

The atmosphere is already burning.

We’re bracing for impact.

Mornin my darling.

I’m reeling from exhaustion,

but I wanted to remind you

how much closer it’s getting.

So intense,

roiling,

the most savory of

indulgent contradictions,

an antipodal mercurial fusillade,

auto cross-bow and bows crossed,

the divine and malefício,

the umbra and a miasmática extático (is this what you intended to say here?)

the esoteric, most essential

electric eclectics,

pin pricks and a pensive pen,

upend or amend the unpinned ends,

dim Din’s extant insensitivity.

Incense or incense…

It burns either way.

In which sense

the way inmate conflicts

are intimate convictions,

or shunned Akon music-

-filled shunts

or shouts off walls

and concave clashes.

Content to smash,

convex below,

from the cave

waves bellow,

beakon, a beacon,

oh siren song,

“come climb aboard,”

in the freezing cold.

Of course I go .

Feigns or feints,

in fact lit lace

deface our graces

well beyond too late

to officiate any dignified response

other than repose…

only to suppose

I just want, need,

would burn this entire place…

…just one more taste…

thats when photons froze.

Four below, so icy cold

the ice floes flow slows so so,

so glacial growing was the only thing turbid enough to crack the walls

of the hardest stone,

unsheathed Stump,

Patrick a star,

reminds us why it’s no use to fight fair, when the addled light on the other side

is a broken bulb,

and a melted snow globe.

I’d rather be swallowed

by the coldest, most abyssal lips,

frigid like snow cones,

before I’d let this fire die,

a dry, deplorable stillbirth,

a passionate stirring

that never got to see the light of earth, from what could very well be

the Kobe beef,

the one more time,

our eternal screech into the future…

Do we want to bleat out defeat?!

Defeat and disbelief,

in turn to disappointment

in moments meet,

to utter a too-much-rehearsed jamais vu, said so many times that,

despite its pretty words,

it was too-well-rehearsed,

reversed the course

of the corpuscles,

left a salty taste that has no soul,

for words are pretty but oversold.

I just don’t buy it,

not a nickel an iota or a petty cent;

I don’t buy that the hardest thing

for us to do is to relent.

I relented already,

my heart is on credit,

and I don’t even need it back.

In fact I oh-so-fitting,

but unremittingly recommitted

to setting fire to it as a decoration

after we’re forced to retire,

lit up atop my funeral pyre,

my life house cage,

has been a page-by-page,

some how you’re on

each and every single page.

In some my priestess’s exaltation,

in others both deprivations and depraved, dampened deep vibrations

deep down,

rounded mouths on your holy grounds, moan sounds bounced and clapped down across all the echoed rooms,

balanced anew

entranced the soul

of the eternal universe—you,

in between my lips parted

two by two to drink from you,

communion cups are but vessel and chalice wounds.

I refuse to, I refuse,

39 days, 39 that’s it.

Never will you make that

40 days and 40 nights.

You may top that mountain,

ain’t ever coming down.

Don’t wander up that mountain,

little mose-ette;

you’ll never find water in that red rock, that burning bush

you’re supposed to be talking to,

I’ll mosey over and burn it down,

I’ll rewrite the entire fucking Exodus,

do my fucking best,

no jests no boasts,

not a speck of pessimist,

most assured I do profess,

that when my will manifests,

it’s utterly unbreakable,

throwing talc against diamonds,

a tacit reminder,

the design is realigned,

this time, this time,

we won’t count past 9.

Useless commandments—time is up,

new times, new conclusions come, mortified at the history,

this time it’s story time,

I’m the editor,

hear to head up,

get a leg up,

secure the holy grail,

stand atop the stony mount,

—those flat rocks—

let the surf inside her swell,

I’m here to inscribe the Real

instead of some dumbass rules

on some some dusty stone tablets

we take in evidence, exhibits,

how these flat rocks,

after I’m done,

are soaking

fucking

wet.

Over-flowed,

not reached my peak though,

no limit to the depths I’ll take you.

Reload, concrete flow,

foundational, and concrete

like my re-bars.

Entwined, we’ll find ourselves,

but not by the nine,

useless lies,

inscribed by the blind to lead the blind

with ties that bind,

stifle minds,

and deny our real inner sides.

Earlier I said, I had a surprise,

I said 39, would be all you’ll get,

when the mount was climbed

and the fig bush burns no more fire,

and the scribes hadn’t the strength

to chisel instructions

to the unthinking public,

for how they could hold them down,

but instead found my crown

of moon and ice,

and the goddess of war,

Artemis of the hunt,

sat on my shoulder,

along with Athena the wise,

as you crested to mount

to get the message

heaven-sent

there is a quill, of leviathan,

and here’s the secret that I had in store. You courtiers couldn’t put even a dent, into the tablet

that would make You

Adam’s Ash Wednesday,

were wrought by coldest flames

in hottest hands

—what a match—

the girl that strikes like a meteor

and burns the world around her into air, was to be the sign of Ramadan,

of Lent,

of fasting.

Oh you’ll be fasting,

but I cannot accept in good faith

you be cursed with Lent.

Oh baby be my vice and my virtue,

be my only one left,

forever be my last last cigarette

and you, oh you, only you,

the beauty of land and air,

who tastefully placated me

and won my sea;

Let’s take the world

the day it was to make you martyr,

let us take it further than the rest,

let us consume the other as if

we’re the very last of everything,

the good, the bad,

the bright, the shade,

and know there was simply journey

but never mistake.

And once we meet anew,

in the miasma,

wallowing in the afterbirth of space,

that, despite our forms,

we know the energy just the same.

Barrage with structure. A special thanks to S. W. Young for putting form to my AK empty clip of a poem.

Barrage, turned Beat Rush

[taxinealkaloids]

the unwanted guest faux theatrical poster because i too wanted a chance to draw all the ianthes

[fuckrealityfictionisbetter]

Not to be a bitch but if Watcher wanted more money maybe they should of produced more then 1 project a month

[peach-moths]

Shark illustration I made at work and had to get the IT guy to smuggle off the computer for me

[marlenacantswim]

every so often my professors pass out real physical paper and my monkeybrain goes fittingly apeshit as i return to my highschool and middleschool days of doodling whatever interested me in the margins and blank spaces.

so here, tumblr dot com: have a doodle of The Editor, two of Nandor Fodor, and a single confused Nicholas Angel.

[oldshowbiz]

[wirwerdensiegen]

Gong Jun for VOGUEplus 10/2023.

[innytoes]

Jukebogs (Julie/Luke/Reggie/Bobby), Ghost Hunters AU

"Like every episode of Ghost Bros," Luke was giving his usual spiel to the camera. "Reggie and I will be doing our investigation in the house, trying to capture evidence. Then, our resident psychic Julie will tell us if this place is actually haunted, or if our camera man Bobby used his weed dealer's connections to find another random creepy abandoned house with no ghosts."

"Stop antagonizing him!" Reggie said nervously. "Last time you antagonized him, he nearly made me pee myself during the solo investigation."

Bobby turned the camera around to film his own unimpressed face. "Luke was supposed to find that ventriloquist dummy with the knife covered in ketchup, not you," he deadpanned, before swinging the camera back around to Luke and Reggie.

Julie sighed. She knew the boy's shenanigans was part of the draw of the show, but she was the one who usually had to deal with Reggie clinging to her all night, before ghosts generally listened when she told them to buzz off. Not that they usually slept in haunted locations, except for the season finale.

"Sooo," the cute boy in the crop top who hadn't been there two seconds ago started. "Can I mess with them? Please tell me I can mess with them."

"We are not messing with them!" Another boy in a pink hoodie said. "If we mess with them, we're going to have every ghost hunter with a shitty Youtube Channel clamouring through our house, messing with our stuff. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get that dent in the couch right for my ghost butt?"

"Don't worry," Julie whispered, as to not alert the (alive) boys. "We never give up our haunted locations unless the ghosts ask us to."

"Holy shit she is psychic!" Crop Top whispered gleefully.

"Tell them to stay off my couch!" Hoodie said urgently.

"I will," Julie promised. She could let Bobby know, and he'd keep them off. "But only if you promise to go easy on Reggie."

"What about the camera man?" Crop Top asked.

Julie blinked. None of the spirits had ever really interacted with Bobby before. The ones who knew what a camera was respected his position, and the ones who didn't were usually distracted by the two idiots loudly asking questions and waving around various gadgets and asking them to touch flashlights.

"You should totally mess with the camera man," she decided. Bobby was not so much a skeptic - none of the boys were, they believed in what Julie could do- but he was pretty un-phased by pretty much everything. "That would make a great season finale."

(Send me an AU and a Pairing and I'll write you a thing.)

[palfriendpatine66]

Breaking news: we have a guest editor joining us this evening

[snowwhitelass]

https://www.nobuhotelsmagazine.com

Sam Heughan’s Instagram Story, July 6th 2022

[diannepearcefuckingwrites]

I LOVE FOOD

It’s no secret. I have “battled” my weight my whole life, and I think almost nothing is a fun as trying a food I have never tried before. I’m getting better at accepting my body as it is, but I still want to try that food I’ve never had before. Like this one, pure coconut yogurt. I might also be called a foodie too, and perhaps a bit of a super-taster, because I tend to like foods with strong…

[i-am-in-serious-trouble]

The Wakanda Forever test audience must have been old people because there is no way.

They took out the romance yet people still see the incredible romance. That's how you know the chemistry between the actors/characters are insane.

With all the love Namor/Shuri have, they are about to be one of the biggest Marvel ships ever.

YOU! YOU GET IT! On screen and off screen Tenoch and Tish have so much chemistry, I am so hoping that Ryan is able to do more with their characters

[bastard-of-a-bog-being]

Those funny bursts of inspiration and motivation that are just like “yes! It’s brilliant! The solution was there all along! JUST WRITE! If I sit down and Just Write and finish my stories I can send them to agents and try and get them published!

And then I look at my laptop like “now what the fuck are words and how do I use them”

[righteousruin]

I genuinely love and hate that Bane went through this intensely transformative arc in Gotham Knights with meeting his father thanks to Dr. Thompkins and Bruce, and having his life saved by Batman, and it’s meaningful to the point where he’s like ‘I’m not Bane anymore actually’, and then we don’t see him again until two random panels in infinite crisis in which he is just. Out here. Fighting heroes. Zero context between points A and B, go girl give us nothing