#native story

[hang-on-lil-tomato]

Frybread Face And Me

Taika had recommended this on his Instagram. It’s a lovely film! Taika is one of the executive producers. So nice to see him involved in this type of filmmaking and supporting native experiential stories. This felt like an extension of “Boy”. Very personal story, relatable even though it’s not my culture. Still hits home.

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

It's not what I expected by 我是阿彪叻

[bizarrelittlemew]

i can't wait to be 30+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 40+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 50+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 60+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 70+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 80+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 90+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to look back on my life and know that i loved things deeply and passionately and was inspired to create and was part of communities with incredible people from all over the world brought together by the stories that touched us

[nerdpoe]

Danny, running from the GIW in Metropolis, gets a knock to the head.

Which is super unfortunate, because he is now mildly concussed and apparently not speaking English.

He was in Metropolis on a field trip, accidentally slipped up, and the GIW had apparently not been that far behind. He'd been hit with something that drastically contained his powers (not all of them, not flight and strength), and the chase had begun.

So after dodging them again, he gave up and just flew into the air-and ran straight into Superman.

And even knowing his fuzzy brain was stuck on some language other than English, he can't help but spit out

"Watch it, man; I don't wanna end up on a dissection slab because you slowed me down!"

Clark, for his part, goes through a series of emotions.

First is confusion; why is this kid being chased by strange men in white suits? Why can he fly?

Second is disbelief; this kid just spoke in perfect Kryptonian, conjugating verbs like a true native, while snapping at Clark to move.

Third is actual rage; this teenage Kryptonian, clearly not a clone from his accent alone, an actual honest to Rao Kryptonian, was being chased by madmen intent on dissecting him.

[inkskinned]

so one time i got bit by a brown recluse which is one of the only types of spider in my area that's actually dangerous and at first i didn't know what had happened to me, only that it was nasty. the swelling wasn't going down and the wound started to get ugly. i don't want to like get into the details because that's gross but it got to the point 2 weeks later that i was worried enough to go to the doctor, which i hate doing.

i am not afraid of spiders but other people are so i'd been covering it with this big ole square bandage (i needed more landscape coverage than a simple bandaid) and sat in the university medical waiting room, kicking my heels and playing BOTW. the nurse who admitted me was like, oh, we have got to get Tom to cover this one. she wrote spider bite under my ticket.

i waited in the near-empty building for like an hour and then nurse tom shows up in spiderman scrubs, out of breath. "sorry," he says, "i saw - your slip - and I had," he heaves in a breath, "to run home and. get. these scrubs. i literally. ran. felt like a job. for. spiderman."

i laugh. he puts his hands on his knees, thumbs-ups at me. fishes a pamphlet out from under his clipboard that basically says spiders can be scary but you don't need to be scared, there's very few dangerous spiders in new england. "honestly," he wheezes, "we probably don't need to get you into an exam room. just..." he waves his hand at the pamphlet, "read that."

i look down at my arm. then back at him in his scrubs. and then down at my arm. i like that he made an effort to make a joke, but now it does not feel like a good joke, because they are mistaking my calm for a lack of injury. "can i. like. at least show you the bite?"

he gives me kind of a weird look, which is fair, but then says. "if. i mean, if you have to."

i peel the bandage off. his face goes green.

"oh," he says.

"yeah, man."

"a... spider bit you?" his voice is high and tight and trembling. he backs up a few steps.

"i think a brown recluse," i offer. "i know it's nasty, sorry."

"excuse me for a moment." he looks over to the administering nurse on the other side of the small room. "i need to find someone else to take care of you."

the administering nurse smiles over to us with a degree of pleasure that is almost salivating. for a moment, like a window opening, i am briefly aware of what must be a psychic message floating amongst the in-between. her jaguar teeth all say this is like a party for me and i know exactly what i'm doing.

"oh no, tom," she says, grinning. "i gave her to you specifically."

[bakastandotsukai]

"that movie where Oscar Isaac plays the dad of a soon-to-be messianic figure" which one?

[rightwriter]

Indigenous Storytelling

A lot of the stuff I've posted so far is pretty white western-centric views of telling stories. The whole article is very informative! An excerpt: "Many of the main characters in Plains Indian mythology never end. Not only are they immortal and indestructible—where they may be killed in one story and are right back at it in another—they also age with the listener. Coyote stories for children have childlike morals; for teens Coyote is a much rougher character; and, for elders only, grandpa Coyote is smart, and his stories are deep and filled with complicated plots and plans."

[dokushoclub]

Short Story Collections for Learning Japanese

Short stories are very popular with language learners – and rightly so. Being able to finish even a short tale aimed at native speakers will feel like a great accomplishment.

I had a look at three approaches for intermediate and advanced learners to enjoy Japanese short stories. For each I can also recommend a few matching short story collections:

Short Stories in Easy Japanese

Japanese Short Stories with English Annotations

Parallel Readers

I give my more detailed thoughts on all these short story collections for learning Japanese in my blog post. You can find it here:

[finelythreadedsky]

Ursula K. Le Guin, interview with Brian Attebery (2007)

[cupidle]

zazie

[mimi-0007]

African American history is American History!! You can't hide it!! Can't sweep it under the rug!!

[somecunttookmyurl]

"english speakers vastly overestimate the spread of so called '''world literature'''. dracula isn't that well known you just think it is because you speak english"

yes this is an english language thing. famously only native spanish speakers know don quixote. only italians know the divine comedy. only french speakers know les miserables or dangerous liaisons. war and peace? knowledge of that never left russia. don't know what you're talking about. never heard of her

stories are known for never becoming widespread actually

[bit-dodgy-innit]

HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHHA WHAT?!

Can’t tell if this an upgrade or downgrade from Joseph?!

[walkswithmyfather]

“Who can add to Christmas? The perfect motive is that God so loved the world. The perfect gift is that He gave His only Son. The only requirement is to believe in Him. The reward of faith is that you shall have everlasting life.”

—Corrie Ten Boom

[rs-hawk]

Fluff only for this one. Woman Reader (sex irrelevant)

Your Godly lover had given you immortality after They nearly lost you. They couldn’t bear the idea of losing you. You hated Them for it even all these centuries later. You had to watch your family grow old and die. Your younger siblings. Their children. Their children’s children. Eventually you couldn’t even be around their descendants. It was too hard. All you could do was set up a trust fund each time you found out another had been born. You still had to take care of them somehow. They were all that was left in this world of your family.

You were a whispered legend in the county you lived in. Some thought you were a Spirit of the Forest that was from the pre-Colonization of the area. Some said you were a monster, lurking and read to eat unsuspecting youth who wandered into your trees. Others said you were stolen by a man who killed you. Very few whispered the truth, because those who had eventually were forced away from the area to allow it to be settled.

It wasn’t until some of your youngest sister’s descendants moved back to the area that you allowed yourself to peek at them. You’d find excuses to go to town, to find them. Your sister had been gorgeous. Maybe the most beautiful woman aside from your mother that you’d ever seen. She was tall, with eyes like clay, hair like midnight and skin so smooth you always wanted to be the one to paint it. Her descendant was none of those things aside from beautiful.

Her eyes shun like the midday sky, with hair that curled and twisted in ways you’d never imagined before the settlers came. Her face was round and childlike despite the life line that aged her face. Her skin burned easily in the sun that your sister loved, but there was ink on that skin. A permanent painting of a bird. You couldn’t help but smile. The more you saw her, the more you wanted to get to know her. You were attached. You did get to know her. You two chatted, and her voice sounding like a melody. You loved her. She was almost like her sister had come back to you.

Then she died.

You felt like your heart was torn out of your chest. You screamed, cried, begged your Godly former lover to let you die, but They didn’t. Then, a few days after, you stood at the edge of her funeral, watching her cold body be lowered into the ground. You saw her husband standing there with their child. A beautiful little girl who reminded you so much of her mother.

It wasn’t long until you saw that same beautiful little girl curled up in a ball in the middle of the woods, sobbing. Her father said he wanted to go camping, then left her. You couldn’t let the search party find her. They would give her back to that man who said she ran off, and she was too young to deny it.

As you sat with her head in your lap and she started to fall asleep, having washed the dirt out of her golden hair, your Godly former lover appeared before you.

“This will hurt. It always does.”

You look at Them, your lower lip trembling. “I know, but I had to save her. He would have just done something else if this didn’t work.”

They look down at the little girl, tilting Their head. “Her heart reminds me of hers. Pure. Soft. She will grow up to be kind, just like her.”

“I miss her,” you whisper, voice cracking as you look down at the sleeping child.

Your Godly former lover lays Their hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I love you.”

“I know. I wish you didn’t.”

“I know… me too.”

[inkskinned]

i. about 2 weeks ago, i was told there's a good chance that in 5 or so years, i'll need a wheelchair.

ii. okay. i loved harry potter as a kid. i have a hypothesis about this to be honest - why people still kind of like it. it's that she got very lucky. she managed to make a cross-generational hit. it was something shared for both parents and kids. it was right at the start of a huge cultural shift from pre to post-internet. i genuinely think many people were just seeking community; not her writing. it was a nice shorthand to create connection. which is a long way of saying - she didn't build this legacy, we built it for her. she got lucky, just once. that's all.

iii. to be real with you, i still struggle with identifying as someone with a disability, which is wild, especially given the ways my life has changed. i always come up against internalized ableism and shame - convinced even right now that i'm faking it for attention. i passed out in a grocery store recently. i hit my head on the shelves while i went down.

iv. he raises his eyebrows while he sends me a look. her most recent new book has POTS featured in it. okay, i say. i already don't like where this is going. we both take another bite of ramen. it is a trait of the villain, he says. we both roll our eyes about it.

v. so one of the things about being nonbinary but previously super into harry potter is that i super hate jk rowling. but it is also not good for my mental health to regret any form of joy i engaged with as a kid. i can't punish my young self for being so into the books - it was a passion, and it was how i made most of my friends. everyone knew about it. i felt like everyone had my same joy, my same fixation. as a "weird kid", this sense of belonging resonated with me so loudly that i would have done anything to protect it.

vi. as a present, my parents once took me out of school to go see the second movie. it is an incredibly precious memory: my mom straight-up lying about a dentist appointment. us snickering and sneaking into the weekday matinee. within seven years of this experience, the internet would be a necessity to get my homework finished. the world had permanently changed. harry potter was a relic, a way any of us could hold onto something of the analog.

vii. by sheer luck, the year that i started figuring out the whole gender fluid thing was also the first year people started to point out that she might have some internalized biases. i remember tumblr before that; how often her name was treated as godhood. how harry potter was kind of a word synonymous for "nerdy but cool." i would walk out of that year tasting he/him and they/them; she would walk out snarling and snapping about it.

viii. when i teach older kids creative writing, i usually tell them - so, she did change the face of young adult fiction, there's no denying that. she had a lot more opportunities than many of us will - there were more publishing houses, less push for "virally" popular content creators. but beyond reading another book, we need to write more books. we need to uplift the voices of those who remain unrepresented. we need to push for an exposure to the bigotry baked into the publishing system. and i promise you: you can write better than she ever did. nothing she did was what was magical - it was the way that the community responded to it.

ix. i get home from ramen. three other people have screenshotted the POTS thing and sent it to me. can you fucking believe we're still hearing this shit from her when it's almost twenty-fucking-twenty-three. the villain is notably also popular on tumblr. i just think that's funny. this woman is a billionaire and she's mad that she can't control the opinions of some people on a dying blue site that makes no money. lady, and i mean this - get a fucking life.

x. i am sorry to the kid i was. maybe the kid you were too. none of us deserved to see something like this ruined. that thing used to be precious to me. and now - all those good times; measured into dust.

/// 9.6.2022 // FUCKING AGAIN, JK? Are you fucking kidding me?