#which was hella rushed and very shitty because I had to fit it in between yesterday and today after 8 hours shifts on my feet

[low-sodium-sri-rachaa]

rant because I need to blow off steam

[postfuguestate]

Not the End of the World

I wrote a Life is Strange fic called Not the End of the World over a year ago (?!). If you haven’t read it, it’s a Pricefield AU which is sweet, pretty funny, and (best of all) short!

I was and am proud of it; I worked hard on that one, and I think there’s some pretty good writing in there! But there was always one thing that bugged me about the fic. I introduced a subplot involving Victoria Chase that I ended up doing nothing with.

Well, I was poking through some old files and I found said subplot pretty much in its entirety as an alternate version to the opening of the fifth and final chapter of the fic. So I’m bunging it here, below the cut, for the amusement of anyone who wants to see what might have been.

Two fun facts! I cut this because I wanted to keep the focus on Max and Chloe. But the interaction between Chloe and Victoria became the foundation of another fic I’m still writing, called Grit.

Max suspects that her personal karma is still in beta. That can be the only explanation why her reward for disposing of the styrofoam remains of their thoroughly broken fast is Victoria Chase.

She's prowling the waterfront with a camera and a scowl.

Victoria is talented. She's intelligent. She's beautiful. She is better presented than Alfred Hitchcock Presents. She's richer than a triple chocolate muffin. She always smells nice.

But...she is not nice. She's disagreeable.

Just like blast furnaces are lukewarm.

Max has seen girls like Victoria. Usually on TV. There was even a giddy rush in the first few minutes of discovering the Platonic ideal of the spoiled rich brat in Max's new school. Until she realised that there was no screen separating her from Victoria and that, in Nietzschean fashion, Victoria had also noticed Max.

It seems that Victoria always notices Max, no matter where she hides.

She spots Max now with her arm halfway into a bin.

Max flinches, and yanks her arm away, but not before Victoria takes a snap shot.

As she always does when she comes face to face with Victoria, Max reviews everything she knows about self-defence. This amounts to: curl up into a ball and hope that the bear goes away.

It's not very useful. Bears can't get at your kidneys with thei heels, after all.

Victoria says, "Well, well. I wondered where you found those outfits, Maxine."

"Good morning, Victoria. Goodbye, Victoria."

"Oh, don't mind me, Maxine. Please, dumpster dive away! Let me just get a few more shots..."

Max folds her arms and half turns away. That's as much of a response as she can muster. Victoria hoists her expensive camera and clicks merrily away.

"You know, Maxine, there are these places called stores? Where you can spend this stuff called money? And buy nice things called clothes?"

"I'm wearing clothes, Victoria."

Victoria finally lowers her camera. "Y'know, it's almost cute that you think so. You might even be cute, if you could dress yourself."

"Please just leave me alone...wait, what?"

"N-nothing! You're stupid!"

Max isn't quite sure, but it seems like there's a brief moment of panic on Victoria's face. Max is still trying to process that when Chloe scrambles up onto the sidewalk.

"Hey, Max, let's go! We've got place to be, remember? Oh."

Victoria factory resets to a scowl. "Oh, my God! Is this the Bay's Biggest Losers Club? Maxine, don't tell me you've stooped so low as to actually hang out with the only girl to ever be expelled from Blackwell?"

"Expelled?"

Chloe's crimson with rage. And embarrassment. She avoids Max's eye.

Chloe snarls, "Victoria-"

"Chloe...Price, was it? Shouldn't you be chained up in a junkyard somewhere, barking at trespassers? Or curled up in Rachel Amber's lap? Careful you don't bring fleas back to the dorms, Max."

"Hilarious. My sides are splitting." Chloe stares Victoria in the eye. "Just like your lip."

Math isn't Max's strong point. There's an equation that her subconscious has been working on, though, and the last unknowns yield their values to Max in the face of Victoria's shittiness.

Max will not endure people hurting Chloe.

Max moves to Chloe's side and touches her arm. Not restraining. Supporting.

Max trembles. Her voice doesn't. "Shut up, Victoria. Chloe's shown more kindness and humanity in five minutes than you have in the month I've known you. I may not know everything about her, but I can't wait to find out more. I wish I could say the same about you. Now, unless you are going to start biting, we're going to skip the rest of the insults. I want to get back to my date."

Seeing Victoria Chase reduced to a sputtering, red-faced wreck isn't the worst time Chloe's ever had. But it's not even close to being the most interesting thing about what Max just said.

Before either Victoria or Chloe can mistress themselves, Max grabs Chloe's arm and drags her away from Victoria.

Chloe finds the impulse to look back is a bit like a tachyon. Theoretically it exists, but she just can't locate it.

Max says, "I...can't believe I just said that."

"That's because it was unbelievable. Max, you're a badass!"

"I think I'm having a heart attack. And I know I'm going to have hell to pay tomorrow."

Now Chloe does look back. Victoria's walking away, hunched and stiff.

Chloe remembers what Rachel said about Victoria. She thinks about what Max just said about her.

Chloe groans.

Max looks up at her. She tries on a reassuring smile. It's not the best fit. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"Max...look, I need to do something real quick. Could you wait for me where the trail starts? It's just over there."

"What? Why? Chloe, don't get involved, it's-"

"Hey. Trust me. It won't take long, and it's nothing bad. I swear."

"Chloe...were you really expelled?"

Chloe sighs. "Yeah. I kinda gave up on school. They were pretty quick to return the favour. I'll tell you more. If, uh, you still want to...?"

Max snorts. "I just told off Victoria Chase for you. What do you think?"

Chloe grins. "That you're really pretty, and sweet, and the sooner I go, the sooner I can get back to figuring out how to spend as much time as possible with you?"

Rachel was right about Max's eyes. When they widen like that, they are just ridiculous.

"Oh. Well. Uh, okay," she says, dazedly.

"Thanks, Max. We'll be back to our date in ten minutes, tops!"

Max gasps, "Oh, dog! I can't believe I said that, either!"

Chloe has to sprint to catch Victoria. "Vic...wait..."

Surprisingly, she does. Chloe takes a second to make sure she doesn't lose her breakfast and crosses her fingers so she can swear off smoking for life.

Victoria's chin is held at the Euclid-approved angle to project disdain. Her shoulders are squared. Her glare is set to charbroil.

"If you're going to threaten me again, don't expect me to wait for you to get a lung transplant."

Chloe waves her hands. "No threats. Talk."

"What do you want? Come to plead on Max's behalf? Or to admit that someone dared her to spend time with you-"

"It can be tough. Coming out. In a place. Like this. Where everybody's into everone else's shit all the time."

Victoria scoffs, but it's a weak scoff, by her standards. More cough, than scoff, really. "I'll wait for the Audible version of your lesbio, thanks."

But she doesn't turn away. And her geometry is that bit less aggressively aligned.

Chloe sucks in air, pitches her voice like she's talking to a spooked horse. Not a trust fund princess with the apparent moral restraint of actual medieval royalty. "I'm just saying. Maybe you feel like you've got no one you can talk to. Well. I'm way out of the Blackwell loop. If you need an ear."

Victoria whispers, "What the fuck?"

"Maybe I'm totally wrong. And I'm not trying to pry. Just...

"Are you...?" Her eyes narrow. "Is this some kind of blackmail attempt?"

Chloe sighs. "That's just fucked up, dude. I'd never out anybody. Or push them to out themselves. I just...thought I'd make the offer." She holds up her hands. "If it's even relevant to you. Anything you might tell me stays between us. That's all I wanted to say."

Victoria tugs her earlobe. She folds her arms. She drums the fingers of her left hand on her right forearm. Chloe just waits and lets her lungs reacclimate while the pressure builds and builds.

And blows. "What the fuck is this? I'm horrible to you and...are you and Max really dating?"

"Honestly, and in order: because I may not like you, but I don't really hate you. I've kinda been in your shoes." Chloe glances down and grins wryly. "Well, cheap knock-offs anyway. And...I hope so. If I don't screw things up."

Victoria snort. "The odds are against you there, you're a walking...ugh. Don't make it so easy if you expect me to be..." Her face twists into an agonised grimace. "Nice." She shudders. "Whatever. I'll hunt you down if any of this conversation gets out there. Goodbye." She hesitates, looks away. "I mean...ugh...maybe..."

Chloe laughs. "Right. Maybe we'll talk again. But I know you'll be okay, because you're smart Victoria."

That earns her a wary look. "What are you talking about?"

Chloe grins. "My biography will be epic. And detailed. Going for the hands-free format is a great call!" The wink is maybe overkill, but Chloe just goes with the moment.

For the second time, she leaves Victoria sputtering, and lopes off Maxward.

Chloe comes jogging back to Max looking lighter and happier.

"Hey, super Max!"

"Hey. Uh, is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just had a quick, civil word with Victoria. Tried to smooth some ruffled feathers, y'know. That's all."

"You? Unruffling Victoria?"

"That's a bigger job than even I can manage, no matter how hella smooth I am. I tried, though. I mean, she's an asshole, but...everybody goes through stuff, right?"

"I guess. Like...getting expelled stuff?"

"Yeah...like that. I guess I'd better explain, huh?"

Max's voice is tiny. "Only if you want to? No pressure, remember?"

[isotuan]

Nutrition (Yoongi x Reader Fluff/Crack)

Genre: Fluff/Crack

Word: 1,634

Summary: Are you a fruit? ‘Cause honeydew you know how fine you look right now?

Note: This is set in Stupid!universe where Y/N and Yoongi are best friends that annoy the fuck out of each other. It was mentioned in the fic how Yoongi had to drag her to the grocery store at some point, and I got INSPIRED. Also, I’m not that witty, these pick up lines and jokes are from the internet, with a bit of iteration to fit the story line. Other than that, I really like this one. Maybe it’s bc I’m equally of a lazyass as Y/N? The banter is really my style... SO GET READY FOR SOME HELLA CRINGE LMAO.

CHECK OUT STUPID (YOONGI X READER FLUFF) HERE

“Can I ride the cart at least?”

“Jesus fuck. For the third time, Y/N.—

—No.”

Y/N grumbled loudly, kicking at the tiny rocks under her her shoes. Yoongi pulled a large cart out of the store’s several rows, figuring that this grocery run would turn out to be quite a big one. 

After countless attempts of convincing Y/N that PostMates and UberEats of grease-drenched Chinese food were not exactly the healthiest option, he had finally dragged her to the local supermarket. That was, after telling her that they were going for frozen yogurt and had ‘accidentally’ made a wrong turn to the store, “so we might as well, right?”

“This is no fun,” Y/N bemoaned as they made their way through the second set of sliding doors.

“When was the last time you’ve step foot in a grocery store?” 

Y/N shrugged, “Last year maybe?”

“Jesus,” he huffed. “I should’ve guessed by that leftover salad rotting in your fridge.”

“It was a good salad, I was saving it for later.”

Yoongi tilted his head, “For six months?”

Y/N puffed out her cheeks and shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding the question. Yoongi knew that Y/N knew herself how bad her eating habit was. She was just too stubborn to admit it, Yoongi would know after all these years. And of course, he was very much expert now at dealing with her stubborn ass. He snorted, “Just stay by the cart, I’ll do the shopping.”

They made their way over to the produce section, but not after Y/N insisting that they should make a pit stop at the snack aisle first. To which Yoongi quickly denied and pulled her away with a tug of her wrist.

Yoongi began strolling around the section. The vibrant colors made each fruit look as if they were little gems and each vegetable look as delectable as ever, Yoongi grabbed a strip of plastic bags and began shopping.

“No, no, no. Not tomatoes!” Y/N ran up behind Yoongi as picked up the bright red fruit. “I hate tomatoes.”

“Well that’s too bad,” Yoongi placed it into a bag along with another. 

“Dickhead,” she hissed.

In defeat, Y/N groaned and dragged her feet off to somewhere else. Yoongi watched her and made sure he could still see her out of his peripheral vision before returning to picking out more fresh produce.  

She likes avocados, he thought to himself. But not too ripe. He took his time picking out the perfect avocado out of the large pile.  

She can’t have mushrooms. Once he ordered had ordered her a stuffed Portabello at dinner which resulted in a night beside the toilet bowl. So he passed them without hesitation.

He gathered stuff he knew well Y/N could eat and stuff he thought she’d be able to tolerate. The produce in the cart quickly piled up with much consideration for each item and researches of recipes Yoongi could (with his utmost culinary skills of boiling an egg) attempt in order to have Y/N at least try something new. He made himself two mental notes: one, when he makes these, have 911 on speed dial (just in case), and two, to search up how the fuck to pronounce “açaí?”

Yoongi was choosing a bunch of spinach with ease when suddenly something popped up in front of him. And just a couple of inches away from hIs nose was a—

A pineapple?

“Hey, baby. Are you a pineapple? ‘Cause you’re one fine-apple.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Y/N stood next to Yoongi and, still, with a pineapple held to his face, she answered, “I’m picking you up, gorgeous.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes and swatted the yellow fruit away, “Fuck off.”

“Come on,” Y/N followed Yoongi as he stuffed the bag with spinach and made way back to the cart. “They might be corny, but I think they’re a-maize-ing!”

“I said fuck off,” Yoongi spoke. He pushed the cart over to the dairy section, where he grabbed a carton of milk and scanned the variety of cheese for a possibly healthy option—

“Hey, I know I may be cheesy. But I know you’d want a pizza this,” she gestured to herself. “Or do you prefer the whole pie?”

“Oh, fuck you for that,” Yoongi’s face twisted with distaste before pushing the cart away fast, letting Y/N shuffling behind him to catch up.

“Hey, at least take me on a date first,” Y/N pointed at the shelve of raisins and— Dammit. “But don’t worry I’ll go out with a cute-cumber like you.”

“I hate you,” he grumbled a tried focusing on the recipe he had pulled up on his phone, even he wasn’t processing a single word in front of him. 

“Oh, donut be like that,” she nudged his side. “Anyone would be glazed to hear these.”

“Look, if you want to eat decent food for once,” He turned to face Y/N who trailed behind him. “I have to follow this recipe, so shut—”

“Oh, what’s on the menu, sweetheart?” Y/N tilted her head and pointed back and forth between her and Yoongi. “Is it me-n-u?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he groaned.  

“Because I’ll have whatever you’re having if it means getting those sweet buns of yours.”

Giving up entirely, Yoongi rushed out of the aisle with a hurry, plus, the old couple beside them weren’t giving the two the kindest of looks. He sped towards an open checkout and began loading the conveyor belt Even if he hadn’t gotten all of the things he intended to buy, this was good enough if it meant leaving this shitshow of a stand-up. 

“Can we go to McDonald's after this?” Y/N came up beside Yoongi.

“No—”

“Oh, nevermind. I forgot I already have a McGorgeous right here,” and she poked his side, making him bend the slightest bit. Fuck being ticklish.  

“Yah—”

From the other side of the register, the cashier chuckled and Yoongi snapped his head over to the young lady saying, “You guys are a really cute couple.”

Yoongi’s jaw dropped and he could feel the warmth creeping up at his cheeks, but before he could deny her—

Yoongi felt arms wrap around his torso while he stood frozen with kale in one hand and a bag of oranges in another. Y/N spoke as she hugged Yoongi with a wide grin, “Thank you, at least someone appreciates my jokes.”

She looked up at Yoongi with a snarl. 

Yoongi wondered if she saw his face turn a blush color in the split of a second he took to pry off her embrace with much embarrassment. He also wondered if she heard how fast his heart pounded when she had her face that close to her head. 

He hoped her stupid ass didn’t. 

God, he hoped.

“Why the hell did you do that?” 

“Do what?”

“Run off your smart ass mouth,” Yoongi continued his path towards his car still keeping the space between himself and—

“Oh, I know you were McLovin’ it.”

“Shut up, you fucker.”

After they loaded his trunk, the two got into the car without a second loss of Yoongi's continuous nagging of how publically humiliating the grocery trip that was. 

“I’m never taking you anywhere ever again, you know that right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Y/N drummed her finger against the dashboard with a lack of interest in what Yoongi had to say. “It’s not like I go out much often anyway.”

It was silent for a while, Yoongi thought about what Y/N had just said and, hell, it was true. You could practically mistake her for a hermit crab. She wouldn’t get out of the house, that was if it wasn’t for Yoongi and school. And he would try his best to visit her often, being the wonderful best friend he was.

“You have to get out more,” Yoongi spoke. 

“I don't see why when I can just sit in the comfort of my bed and watch ‘How I Met Your Mother’ for the fourth time.”  

“That’s not even that great of a TV show.”

“You’re point?” 

“My point is...” Yoongi turned on to the main street. The car came to a stop at a red light, the engine hummed lowly and the radio tunes sounded gently in the background. The sun was about to set and he watched its final golden rays bounce off the hood of his car. The weather was cooling and he could feel the soft breeze entering the car with the windows rolled down. Yoongi glanced over at Y/N in the passenger seat with her legs tucked against her chest, how she always sat. She was busy giggling at whatever was on her phone screen that she hadn't noticed the way the corners of Yoongi lips curved up just the slightest bit. But, that was how it had always been. 

And Yoongi hoped it would stay that way. 

"My point is," Yoongi finally continued, eyes returning back to the road. "Instead of making shitty puns. Don't you want to, I don't know, explore the world or something?"

That same way.

“Do you want to see a picture of the world?”

“What—” Yoongi turned once more although what greeted him was not Y/N but Y/N's phone. The screen illuminated brightly, it was on selfie mode and it was a display of—

“Get it?—"

—’Cause you’re my world?”

That same old stupid, stupid way.

[artificialqueens]

Teal Post-its, sale Greenies and artsy portraits can build something resembling the Sun (Sashea) - Nox

A/N: Hi! I’m Nox, a loooong while ago I used to post here, and I’m back from the dead. I’m obsessed with anything Sashea right now and I stumbled with this prompt: “i hired a dog walking company and i’ve never met the person who comes to my apartment but they leave me really cute notes and they give my dog presents and i kind of love them because my dog does and ALSO one of the artists at this gallery opening is hella cute and i want them to paint me like one of their french girls, plot twist is the same person all along AU” and all the sudden I had a 6k+ words written down, so yeah. This is dedicated to all the WONDERFUL Sashea writers here, you are all awesome and this doesn’t make you any justice but is my small contribution to the fandom.

I apologize if this doesn’t make any sense, and for any grammar mistakes. Hope you enjoy n.n

A post-it note should not put her world upside down.

Humble letters shouldn’t go through her like the flight of butterflies spreading from the tip of her pointer finger to her chest, words shouldn’t make her stomach do uncomfortable flipflops, small phrases shouldn’t mirror the effects of a long walk on the beach which burnt slightly her cheeks and tinted them red. A small, teal piece of paper probably shouldn’t be important, nothing more than a simple reminder tool, an office supply anyone could buy at any supermarket. Words laid out in simple handwriting were probably not meant to go beyond a simple greeting, a good vibes wish, a polite gesture.

Yeah, a teal post-it stuck on her fridge probably wasn’t meant to be a big deal.

But it was.

Vanya, the Italian greyhound, napped in Sasha’s lap after being satisfied with the welcome home he had provided his owner with. The day had surely being a very active one for him, as he had fallen asleep with barely 5 minutes of fussing around her feet. She had gathered him off the floor and brought him to her bed, the teal note tightly clutched on her left hand. A new smile formed in her ruby lips as she scratched his back. Who knew this little dog would get her in such a roller coaster of emotions?

Her grey-blue eyes returned to the note, scanning it for the eleventh time. She had already memorized the message, words carved into her being, every syllable for some reason enticing to her.

–Hey darlin’. Vanya was super excited about his walk, such a good boy! Hope your day was as good as ours, you’ve been working like crazy this couple of days. Vanya told me ;)  Give yourself a treat today. Love,   -Shea

Shivers went and came in erratic patterns, travelling up and down her spine as every word made white noise in her mind. She shaked her head a little bit, trying to fade the haze she was submerging into. Sasha sometimes wondered if she was a bit crazy. Sure, moving across the Pacific to an unknown country just by the desire of becoming an artist and live openly as a queer woman was bold. Moving from Urbana to Brooklyn out of a hunch and the need to have brighter lights and stranger people in the city she called home was somewhat risky. Leaving her shitty paid job as a receptionist for a shittier paid job as a assistant curator was kind of nuts is you considered her rent, but hey, she was slowly accomplishing the life  she set her mind into many years ago as she boarded that Aeroflot flight, on the heavy russian winter.

However, it was moments like this, when she arrived home and kicked her shoes out of the way to make a beeline to her fridge in the raw hope of finding a new note on it, that she really questioned her judgement on sanity.

Because Sasha was obsessed with a stranger.

She placed the note inside her sketch pad on her night stand, with all the others she had received in the lapse of three months, safely storing them to re-read later. She rubbed her hands together, fingers twitching, aching to do anything right now as she was high on emotion and sensations. This obsession, or however she could call it,  wasn’t something that she could quite explain, couldn’t quite pinpoint where it came from and where it was going, but oh it was all so very strange and uncommon that it became addictive to her.

Three months back, when she first adopted the mischievous dog from an animal shelter, the last thing she imagined was she might find someone to fantasize about thanks to dog walks.

She knew she would adopt Vanya the second she laid eyes on him. His long face and skinny legs make him look like a cartoon, dark orbs wide open when they met. She had taken him home without much hassle, just to start freaking out the second she remembered the insane amount of time she spent outside her apartment in between meetings, exhibits, late curatorial processes and overall mayhem a gallery generated. After an all nighter making schedules, budgets and a few calls, it was obvious she would need to hire someone to entertain the poor little pup as she was away. She had called a walking dog company first thing next morning as a solution. They assigned her a walker, one that usually worked with little troubles like Vanya was promising to be. Her name was Shea.

They had never met in person, and they haven’t really talked  since the day Shea sent her her number over a text and asked for her to leave a spare key somewhere she could fetch it every time she went to walk Vanya. Her avatar didn’t tell Sasha much about her physical appearance, as the picture was something between a photograph and an illustration, outlandish colors flying in quirky organic figures and toon body parts (breasts, Sasha thought) covered some of the features of a woman’s face- supposedly, Shea’s.

(She did try to analyse this better, but the tiny resolution for it made it quite impossible. Maybe this should have been hint number one, as she quickly became obsessed with the picture.)

She left that morning on a rush and returned home eight hours later, feet sore and swollen in her shimmery red pumps, completely depleted and a bit discouraged as the gallery owner, a southern belle called Trinity, changed last minute the queer exhibition she and the chief curator had been collecting for months for some kitschy landscape showing. The change brought not only tons of extra work but a low blow to Sasha’s ego as she had designed herself the museography. It felt very disrespectful to throw away a subject so dear to the russian.

She closed the door behind her with a sigh as she stepped into her small studio in Brooklyn, Vanya’s paws scraping over the floor in his dash to get to her. She leaned down and petted him, making then her way to the kitchen to get him some food and water, and stirring something up for herself to calm her growling stomach.

As she was about to open her fridge to get some fresh water for Vanya’s bowl, she noticed something- a note, a post-it note adhered to the door of the fridge, next to some polaroids of her and a few friends from Illinois she kept there.

–Hey girl! Vanya loved me. We had tons of fun today. Love,

-Shea

Ps. Hope you smiled a lot today. You look cute smiling in your polaroids ;)

The immediate heat that spread across her fair features was inevitable as she read the note. Vanya ran around her ankles, occasionally propping himself on his back legs, paws against her chins trying to get her attention back on him, as Sasha seemed to have spammed out of this universe completely, eyes wide and a blushed dusting her face and neck. The russian blinked in quick succession, mechanically opening the fridge and pouring water to the dog, who drank happily. Walking towards the small island that served as the dining table, Sasha felt the warmness of her face taking over her entire body.

Sasha was usually lonesome, sometimes too outside-the-box to fit in with the crowd. Brooklyn had proven to be a tad more open-minded to receive her, but still, there were few people that saw in a petite woman with blond wild hair, thick brows, a mind full of thoughts and opinions and a love for clothes with striking patterns and odd accessories as someone they wish to have close to them. She was opinionated, clumsy and most of the times what she said was perceived as overly academic and pretentious, which was exactly the opposite of her intentions. But Sasha didn’t know any better as to how to express herself. She wanted to be heard and she was going to be, no matter what.

Sasha wasn’t good with people, so she mostly kept to herself.

And maybe that’s why coming home from another day without real human contact, having lunch alone on a room cramped with stored paintings and sculptures, a lot of disastrous meetings and having ideas and opinions crushed under someone else’s feet, that she found this little piece of paper as something that had her at the verge of tears. This unknown woman, who walked her dog once, wished she smiled a lot during the day, just because she thought her smile was cute.

Sasha thought of writing Shea a text, thanking her for the note, but thought better of it. The last thing she needed was to scare off her dog walker just because she came on too strong, thinking too much about a simple gesture of courtesy.

The notes didn’t stop though. That was the first of many, many notes, and very, very much awareness over this person she couldn’t even put a face on. This random woman, who she might’ve never meet on the outside world, made her feel treasured and special with simple silly messages written down on a post-its that kept appearing on her fridge. Was she like this with other owners? Sasha liked to think that she wasn’t, that this was their special little thing. Sometimes, when she felt bold enough (probably after a couple glasses of wine late at night too), she would leave a magenta post-it on the fridge, with a silly cartoon or doodle, some message maybe answering whatever Shea had written, sometimes a lame joke, sometimes a simple “Thank you”.

The magenta post-its were always gone and replaced with teal ones, with new messages and new cute non-sense. It wasn’t exactly conversations, as more of signals out in the world that acknowledged both their existences.

Was this borderline insane? Yes, probably. But long ago had Sasha lost the sight of what might be real and what might be her mind playing her over her loneliness. And goodness knew this was the kind of love infatuation someone like her would find irresistible: dramatic, impossible and psycho-ish. It was art at it’s best.

It would make a great book.

_

A friday night Sasha came home soaked to the bone, a mild storm catching her off guard. After closing her door, she stripped to her mismatched underwear, trying not to get water everywhere as she definitely didn’t feel like cleaning. She could hear Vanya barking, probably on the kitchen. She skipped her way down there, her clothes and shoes in one hand, looking for the reason her little one was so distressed. Usually, Vanya was well behaved, and for him to bark inside the apartment was quite odd.

She found him propped on his rear legs, eyes set on a  paper bag over the counter of the island in her kitchen. He barked stubbornly to it. Her sculptural eyebrows shut up almost to her hairline, that wasn’t there on the morning. More surprising (and what made her heart do a painful summersault) was to find a teal post-it stuck to it. Her stomach did something resembling to a cartwheel, her knees felt quite wobbly. What was this? She threw her clothes to the floor, be damned the puddle of water that she’ll have to clean later, and with shaky hands, she took the note.

–So, I thought giving Vanya a treat today was a good idea. Turns out, he really like them and won’t stop crying if I don’t give him one very couple of hours. My bad :( I’ll work on it with him, I promise! For now, these should last him a couple of weeks. Didn’t meant to spoil him, Xx, -Shea. Ps. Who am I kidding? I love to spoil his pretty face.

Sasha read over and over again the note, feeling way dizzier each time she did. The white fuzzing in her brain seemed to stop time as her eyes scanned the piece of paper as if she was a robot. Vanya’s barking eventually brought her back, for her to realize she was steadying herself gripping the counter. With her eyes open as wide as she could, she opened he bag and emptied it, two bags of Hickory Smoke flavour Greenies were inside. The dog began jumping at the sight of the bag, whimpering, running in circles in excitement. Sasha opened one bag and grabbed a treat, tossing it to the impatient dog. Vanya beamed and catched the treat, later to nudge his face against his owner chins in appreciation.

She crouched to the floor, taking the note with her as she let Vanya lick her face. The dog looked at the paper in her hand and touch it with a paw, barking once.

Yeah, you know who wrote this, don’t you?

Vanya barked again and she giggled. It seems like he really liked his walker. And Sasha couldn’t blame him. She really liked her as well.

Another whole bunch of thoughts invaded her mind, never a moment of utter happiness lasting long. Was this a normal thing walkers did with their assigned clients? Why did that woman bought the treats? Were the double X meant to be kisses? Why did she love spoiling Vanya? Why did Sasha love the fact Shea cared so much about her dog?

It was less than likely that walkers went around buying treats for the dogs they took care off, and them just giving the bags to the owner because the dog liked them a little bit too much. Also, anywhere on the contract Sasha signed obligated the woman to do so, she could just have let her know Vanya would cry all night if he didn’t get a treat before sleep and let her deal with it. It would be the normal thing to do, as Vanya wasn’t Shea’s dog. Shea seemed to be very fond of Vanya as she just thought of spoiling him herself today. That made Sasha’s heart flutter. Sasha had never given a treat to Vanya as she wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, or even which would be a healthy one to give him. But Shea did know about this things, and Shea wanted to spoil little Vanya. Anyone who treated Vanya this good had a special space on her heart, and Shea seemed to be adding points in her favor on the imaginary score Sasha kept.

Nonetheless, the blond felt uncomfortable to leave it like this, after all, she was paying Shea to walk Vanya. If the dog needed anything, it was Sasha who needed to pay for it. She took her phone, and shaky fingers looked out Shea’s contact.

She’s had the woman number all along, but had never gather enough courage to message her ever since Shea asked her to leave a spare key for her to use. Unsure of how to even begin a conversation, she just plainly greeted her with a simple hi and asked her how much she owed her for the treats.

Txt from Shea: Hey girl! Don’t be silly, those are on me ;) Vanya quite liked that flavor.

Sasha giggled again. Indeed, Vanya seemed to be really into the Hickory Smoke flavor (of course her dog would like such kind of fancy named taste). She insisted a couple more times on returning her the money, not wanting to put the other woman in the obligation to pay for the treats.  Shea refused.

Txt from Shea: I mean it, don’t worry about it, Anything to keep the smile on my special boy. But, if it makes you feel any better, those were for sale.

Txt from Shea: I really think he is the only dog that likes that flavor.

The blond grinned to the screen of her phone. Shea calling Vanya her special boy make her feel giddy. Was it creepy she ached now to have walks on the park with her dog and a woman she didn’t even know besides the fact she was a dog walker and had  pretty handwriting?

Yes.

Sasha sat laying her back against the island, shivering as she did so as she was still in her underwear. She was giggling at her phone like a highschool girl with a crush. Vanya took his opportunity to wiggle his way into her lap, resting there with his head in between his paws. He seemed to be very happy to see his mom laughing and smiling, and Sasha wondered if he’d like to have two moms to spoil his little bonny ass.

Knowing Vanya, he’d love it.

_  

Bright eyes scanned paintings and sculptures on the O’Hara Gallery opening on a Thursday night. Sasha clicked her black heels against the marble floor, red fringy dress swaying and messy blond hair bouncing on her shoulders at the compass of her strut as she walked among the pieces that were exhibit, examining them and taking notes about the different techniques and authors. The artists featured were all former students of the Arts School of Brooklyn College, and Trinity had sent her to the exhibition to get some new contacts for their own gallery. The southern woman would rather die before placing a high heeled feet on her eternal rival’s gallery, so Sasha had filled in the Yes RSVP in Trinity’s behalf.

Sighing, she wrote down the name of a landscape painter she knew her boss was just going to love -a style somewhere between Aivazovsky and Coubert- ,  and moved on without paying too much mind to the painted canvas.

Most of the pieces, even though great in the technical display, were lacking uniqueness for her taste. Thinking on the easel with yet another unfinished painting she had back in her apartment, she sighed, somewhat jealous. Most of the former students featured on the exhibit were likely to find more galleries to feature their work- a prestigious college and regurgitated yet popular thematics endorsing them. Sasha, having studied Arts and Art History under a less known art college and using heavy discourses as gender and deconstruction to sustain her heavy analytical references to make portraits that haunted her mind, struggled a bit placing her work in big galleries like this one or Trinity’s.

Strolling past yet another hyperrealist pen-drawing she didn’t even bother to look closely -really, how many Juan Francisco Casas-like drawings can one display?-, something caught her eye. At the end of a hall, on the photography section, a splash of colors and figures make her turn around. She stepped up to there, gawking at a series of photographies- no, a series of digital work, something between photography and illustration. The models were posing on the most colorful streets Brooklyn had to offer, Sasha could recognize, all dressed in fashions belonging to subcultures and overall queerness, heavily influenced all by color blocking. Every picture was intervened with figures and comical illustrations, sometimes interacting with the model, sometimes just hiding parts of them out of sight. Every picture was weirder than the previous one, the illustrations taking over the picture as the series went on. Sasha stared at each picture in admiration, the overall visual effect was an explosion of diversity among all the other artists that mirrored each other.  

This was something Trinity would never in her life show on her gallery, but the kind of art that screamed at Sasha. Her ruby tinted mouth was slightly agape, wondering eyes trying to catch every single detail each work had to offer. Little new details were found wherever she took a deep look: the portrait of the tall, asian girl dressed in Harajuku fashion had small lolitas and Hello Kitties dancing around her modelesque pose, splashes of lavender, teal and yellow surrounding her in an echo effect, eyes crossed out and augmented with a heavy black wave over each orb, to the likes of very dramatic eye liner. Next to it, the barbie-doll like blonde woman  posed next to a old teal Chevy, dressed in a pin-up swimsuit, jewels and 80’s plastic dolls doodled over her, arrows and smileys pointing at her wide hips and tits, over drawn lips covering her natural features, a cartoony big ring draping one of her fingers. A blond drag queen, with heavy leaded eyes and dressed in a feathery white gown with teal accents had smoky waves of color around her, weed leaves forming a halo around her head, a blunt sketched lit on her hand. Her cleavage was overdrawn with a dark chocolate color that contrasted with the pale skin, her legs were draw out exaggerating them to the point they were twice their length.  These last three were Sasha’s favorites, as they seem to have something to do with the author’s life, the small additions maybe too clear in reference and meaning, probably implying whoever was behind this knew very well these those models.

Her trained eyes started looking for a signature, not wanting to wait till the last picture on her right to read the whole information about the artist. A small inscription on the corner of the pictures rewarded her: Couleé.

Vaguely familiar, she thought, maybe I have read the name somewhere on the Internet.

Sasha was mesmerized, moving several times over the first seven pictures, not wanting to get to the last one just yet, as that would mean this series would be over and she’ll have to move on. She didn’t want to, she desperately thought that perhaps, she could fit between those models. She could devise herself, maybe laying on an old couch, perched on the middle of a traffic filled road, posing like one of those french models Ingres and Delacroix painted back in the day. She would probably wear a gown, see through, with lots of sparkles and adorned with patterns and beads typically Russian. Her hair would be down, teased out of it’s curls, frizzy, clad with a head wrap of extravagant-printed fabric and feathers and beads. She would probably had giant eyes with thick lashes drawn over her natural ones, maybe a bushy brow. She could picture crowns and very Mondrian-esque lines around her. She smiles, dreaming what might be.

However, as she saw people approaching she felt the pressure to hurry up not to bottle up the hall. As her eyes landed on the last picture, her knees felt weak and her jaw dropped.

It was the portrait of a black woman, looking directly at the camera lens, her hand delicately touching her right shoulder. Her face featured her pouty lips slightly ajar,  eyes a bit overdrawn on the inner corners, making them look bigger. Around her were drawings of tits and asses, melting on some kind of gooey matter, odd cartoony eyes popping up everywhere, completely deviant and strange. Orange, purple, white and teal took over the picture, both the illustrations and the colors contrasting the sensual and provocative look on the woman’s face.

This was the most stunning piece of them all, and Sasha gasped in both shock and annoyance at herself. She had already seen this one. She could not believe she hadn’t associated the style before.

What kind of art curator are you Sasha!?

This was the profile picture she has checked at least twice a day on her texts ever since the Greenies incident. She had analysed a very lower resolution version of this on her phone, over hours of meditation and clutching a teal piece of paper in her left hand like a lifeline while doing so because it was loony stalking.

Couleé. As in Shea Couleé. That’s were she knew the name from.

She saw that name the day she signed the contract with the dog walking company. Of course Shea had to be the artist behind these amazing artworks. Sasha’s evening had been way too normal up until now. How many people on New York could have a last name like Couleé?

Sasha backtracked a bit, stepping clumsily backwards as her heart stammered loudly on her ribcage. So Shea seemed to be a photographer. And she was exhibiting her work. Here. At the very same gallery Sasha was at. And it was opening night. She might be here. That would make sense. Was that last photograph a self-portrait? Maybe, as Shea used it as a profile picture, it might make sense as well. Not that anything else on this very moment made sense to Sasha, as she kept stumbling with her not so anonymous dog walker everywhere. She kept walking, until her body felt a pair of hands stopping her by the arms.

“So, you like’em?”

Sasha yelped, turning around to her right, to find the most stunning woman she had ever laid eyes on. The woman from the last picture was standing in front of her, small skittish smile on her pouty lips, eyes shining under thick dark lashes. Her hair was slick, dark and barely grazing her shoulders, parted in the middle, framing her face giving her a supermodel twist with her high cheek bones. She was wearing a rosé sweater dress with a belt, which hugged all her curbs, from her ample bosom, her tiny waist and thick legs, hitting right below the knee. She played with her hands, left middle and pointer finger clutched nervously on her right fist. However, her stance was secure, planted firmly in both of her feet, wearing gold sandals that sparkled with the light of the gallery.

“Hey Sasha. I’m Shea, your dog walker. How’s Vanya?.” Shea said, her voice a bit timid.

Sasha’s mouth felt like a cotton ball, she could barely swallow as her eyes scanned up and down Shea’s body, shamelessly. Shea towered her a few inches, even with Sasha wearing pumps higher than Shea’s sandals. She seemed to notice Sasha’s wondering eyes, although she didn’t comment anything about it. Sasha knew she should say something, as she might look really stupid at her complete loss of cool. Her mind betrayed her though, as it sped on a turmoil finally putting a face to the name she had all but worshiped for months, a hundred questions maken her overthink.

How was this happening? Was all this really possible? Why was Shea talking to her so casually? Why was Shea so damn gorgeous? Why hadn’t Sasha worn the black and white dress Trinity often told her she good look with? Was her hair even combed?  What was Shea thinking of her? Why did it matter so much?

Sasha opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, like a fish out of the water, making Shea smile widely, crooked rows of teeth showing. The taller woman turned her body to face her photographs, feeling Sasha’s anxiety. She crossed her arms under her chest, tilting her head a bit to the left.

“You know, I studied photography because I really thought I was going to be this famous fashion photographer for Vogue and Marie Claire. Adolescent Shea Couleé, filled with fierceness and big dreams, ready to fight anyone on her way.  It turns out that you need one of them fuckers with long ass careers with the magazines to either endorse your work or die to leave a slot open for new talent. And before you ask, some of them had call my work a bit to banjee for high fashion so they don’t think they can mentor me.” Shea spoke, to Sasha, to herself. The blond woman looked at her with doe eyes, her mouth finally shut close, body angled towards Shea. The taller woman’s voice was soothing and enticing to her ears. She was trying to talk to Sasha as if they knew each other, confidence exuding from her like water down a waterfall. Sasha could feel herself relaxing into the situation, a strange feeling of familiarity blooming in her chest.

After all, they technically had talked before.

Shea leaned in a bit towards her left, her voice lowering a bit in a conspiratorial tone, “And I haven’t managed to take out anyone yet, but I’m working on it. So, for now, I’m stuck photographing my friends.”

Sasha snorted, the comment so out of place and ironical that she couldn’t help it. Shea smiled again, still looking forward.

“So, you are kind of a dog walker on the day, fashion photographer at night?” Sasha asked, looking at Shea’s side, trying to follow Shea’s coolness.

“Well, I’m sending books everywhere now and then, however one does need to pay bills, and I happen to like dogs a lot, so I get a buck and pet cute dogs while at it. It’s a win-win situation really.”

Sasha nodded, understanding Shea’s point perfectly. That was the reason she worked as a curator for now, until -hopefully- she kickstarted her career as an artist.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“Work keeping you that happy, huh?” Shea asked, taking a small step to the side, getting closer to Sasha.

“I’m here for business actually, “ Sasha said, shaking her notepad a bit, trying to purse her lips not let Shea know she saw her move towards her, “talent hunting.”

“Oh! You work on a gallery right? Taylor’s Gallery?”

Sasha glanced at Shea, raising a brow and looking how the woman flinched. Her face scrunched up a bit and she sank her head between her shoulders, probably acknowledging it might sound a bit creepy that she knew what Sasha did for a living and where she worked.

“Ok, I read that on your file after you signed with the company, I swear.”

Icy eyes twinkled, Sasha biting her inner cheek to avoid grinning like an idiot. She fancied the idea that Shea was just as nervous as she was in this utterly weird situation. The photographer’s hands, though resting in her forearms as they were crossed under her chest, shifted warily, fingers drumming against her sleeves.

The coy smile on Shea’s lips make the whole room seem a hundred times brighter, the golden sparkle from expensive gallery lights dusting her features, making her look like a magical creature who’s glow tinted her surroundings. And maybe she was a magical creature, as Sasha instantly understood she was falling in love with this woman, this mysterious woman she knew a lot of and nothing about at the same time, who seemed to be linked to her life in the most ridiculous ways possible, the universe throwing them together at every chance at hand.

Sasha was not upset about any of that.

The russian woman took a small step towards Shea, the distance between them closing.

“I do work on a gallery” Sasha smiled, looking at the portraits in front of her, “I’m surprised you actually remembered reading that.”

“I have a great memory, girl.”, Shea half chuckled, half said. She dipped her head a bit, aiming to disguise the dark blush spreading across her cheeks. “In all honesty though, your apartment is filled with paintings and canvas. You had to do something related to art. I thought you were a restaurator, with all the fresh stuff you keep around.”

Sasha smiled amused, “Actually, I’m a curator. Assistant curator. That’s why they send me off to the exhibitions neither of my bosses want to attend. The paintings back home are actually mine.”

Shea’s face beamed at that answer, her ebony eyes back on the russian woman, “You are really talented. You should be featured here.”

“I don’t really think I fit here, with all… this…” Sasha waved her hand, dismissively, “and honestly neither do you. Your work is fantastic, like seriously genius. Everything else here is so boring,  I’ve been studying these for at least half an hour now.”

“Genius? Why you think they place my portraits here, and not on the main hall? The curator here hated all of the portraits. They were not going to let me show anything, but some dude cancelled last minute.” The taller woman smirked, “And don’t go all flattery on me. I might start believing you!”

“They are good! Extremely so! I’ve been obsessed with your profile photo for quite some time. I actually felt real dumb that I didn’t matched the styles until the very last picture.” Sasha admitted, unblinkingly.

Shea seemed to be a bit taken aback. Shyly, she tilted her face a bit

“Why didn’t you text about it? I mean, if you liked it that much. We could’ve talked about it, you know?”

“I didn’t want to, uhm- be creepy?” Sasha excused herself, feeling lame.

“You wouldn’t have been creepy at all girl. I mean, I left you post-it notes every day. I couldn’t get worst than that.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Sasha could see Shea slightly nibbling her lower lip, something crossing through her eyes she couldn’t quite name.

“Can we, like, talk about that? I mean, why did you do that? Do you, uhm, leave notes to every dog owner or something?” Sasha tried to pick her words carefully, trying to sound purely curious instead of extremely clingy.

Shea bit her lips, pursing them, avoiding eye contact again.

“No, I don’t leaves noted to… anyone else.” She sighed, “You are gonna think I’m crazy.”

“Well, we are here at an opening night, talking like we were old friends when this is the first time we have actually seen each other. You didn’t even needed to tell me your name for me to know who you were, and the other way around. I think we’ve long past the line of crazy here.” Sasha shrugged, trying to sound reasonable within possibility.

After a few bits of silence, Shea spoke again.

“I- I feel like I know you, you know? Like, I read your file and saw your photo there, the one that you have to give to make sure I can recognize you in case you try to jump me or something, and- it was like I’ve already seen you? I could read there where you lived, where you worked, but something about you just… clicked with me. And then I got to your apartment, and to your dog, and I can kind of pieced together a life for you. How you keep very few pictures of you with other people on display, how everything is extremely organized except the living room that is a mess of paintings and brushes, how this little guy is always near your bed when I arrive because he misses his mom. I didn’t know if any of the stuff I imagined was real, but it felt like it was getting to know you without actually meeting you. And then I started leaving you notes because I wanted to talk to you and you started answering back some of them and I just kind of saved them because they had cute drawings and-” Shea covered her mouth with her hand, eyes completely opened. The word panic was written all across her face.

“Oh god, I’m sorry I don’t want you to think I’m a stalker or something I just-”

Sasha took both of Shea’s hands in between hers, pulling them down from their frantic parade as Shea tried to explain herself. The russian had a shit eating grin plasttered on her face, her teeth showing, that confused Shea, as she had stopped rambling at Sasha’s movement. Sasha slid slowly her thumb over Shea’s skin in small circles, liking the velvety sensation of it under her touch.

“I keep your notes too. I sometimes read them before I sleep because they are very relaxing to me, I mean the idea of someone actually talking to me because they wanted to. I thought I was going crazy, asking Vanya about you, as he seemed to like you a lot and honestly so did I, more of what I was supposed to,” she laughed, not letting go of Shea’s hands, “I was very obsessed with you- No, I AM really obsessed with you, that’s why I was panicking when you found me. Because you clicked with me too…”

Sasha’s smile was sincere, and she could see how something inside Shea melted away, her breathing going back to normal, her hands relaxing in between Sasha’s. The blonde took a step forward, the distance between them almost gone by now. Sasha could feel the heat radiating from Shea’s body. She liked the feeling of it against her skin. She wondered if, perhaps, she had never gotten Vanya, if they had met somewhere else. Maybe on an art exhibition, maybe on the train home, maybe on a bar in which they might be sitting alone and decided to keep each other company. She was almost sure that yes, they somehow would have met, as this was the kind of bond the universe works very damn hard to build.

Shea’s eyes scanned Sasha, a new full smile spreading in her face. Sasha liked the sight of it, she wanted to make Shea smile more, she had a cute smile.

“So maybe… We can get to know each other? Better? Like we know a lot of the other and nothing at the same time. Maybe we could go to the park and get some ice cream, it’s still not that chilly like for ice cream to be a terrible idea and I’m free tomorrow, and the leaves are beautiful this time of the year, all shades of orange and yellow contrasting with the sky. Vanya might have to tag along, however, as he gets cranky if I don’t spend the whole weekend with him. But it’s not like I want you to feel you are at work or something! Oh dear, it’s a terrible idea, that’s basically what you do in your work and-”

The pull on her hands stopped her mid sentence, plush lips softly touching hers, asking permission. Sasha let go Shea’s hands and placed them on her waist, pulling her flush against her body, lips parting a bit to kiss Shea deeply. The taller girl’s arms snaked around her neck, playing with her frizzy curls, as she sucked a bit on Sasha’s upper lip.

The kiss didn’t last long enough, in Sasha’s opinion, but it was a promise. Shea’s smile as she kept her hands on Sasha’s shoulders was smouldering, bright like a hundred suns, warming every cell in Sasha’s body.

“I’d love to go to the park with you and Vanya tomorrow. I can’t say no to either of you.”

Sasha beamed and she felt childish as to be this happy about a simple date. As Shea’s hand slipped through her arm into her hand, fingers intertwining as if this wasn’t the first time they have done so, Sasha knew that yes, this was the kind of love she ached: uncanny, passionate, unique and oh so very them.

[pinelife3]

Montezuma 2EEE

This is MF DOOM on the Jake One track 'Get 'Er Done':

Make no mistake son, it's Jake One, he makes beats well like I likes my steaks done with sauteed onions and hella worcestershire, a gush of beer to wash it down.

First of all, whew that internal rhyme! Worcestershire//gush of beer. Yes! I feel like only MF DOOM can do this shit. I read a really interesting write up on MF DOOM from Ta-Nehisi Coates recently. Coates seems like the nicest guy ever - he's so smart but also completely unpretentious. He writes for Marvel and The New Yorker and seems to easily move between those worlds. (I was in a comic book shop today and feeling kind of out of place but the bald, bearded goth guy behind the counter was super nice, and declared the book I put on the counter an “awesome read” and then he recommended some other stuff to me as well. This is a wildly irrelevant anecdote - was just thinking about comics.) Anyway, Coates talks about DOOM, but also his own experience as a hip hop fan:

I kept the assembled works of Wu-Tang Clan on repeat and stewed, convinced that somewhere around 1998 hip-hop had run out of things to say. I was not alone. Disaffected music fans began to refer to the halcyon days of the eighties and nineties—when every rapper had a d.j., and label owners didn’t vamp in videos, confusing themselves with artists—as “the Golden Era.”

We were the kind of fundamentalists that haunt every genre of popular music. By the end of the nineties, we had started seeking a sound that offered something other than guns, girls, and drugs. Some of us found neo-soul. Others got lost in our parents’ jazz records. And still others were radicalized and turned to U2 and Björk.

Not to be picky, but I feel like Wu-Tang talks about guns, girls and drugs plenty. But they also talk about the Shaolin, martial arts and poverty and I guess that's the difference. Anyway, I never knew why DOOM wore the mask, but he says:

I wanted to get onstage and orate, without people thinking about the normal things people think about. Like girls being like, ‘Oh, he’s sexy,’ or ‘I don’t want him, he’s ugly,’ and then other dudes sizing you up. A visual always brings a first impression. But if there’s going to be a first impression I might as well use it to control the story. So why not do something like throw a mask on?

Huh. This other musician I like, Brock Berrigan (he makes really nice beats -you should check him out), always wears a chicken head mask - possibly for reasons similar to DOOM's. For me, that reasoning doesn't check out though, because aren't people obsessed with unmasking? I guess if nothing else it creates an iconic image around your act without that having to literally be your face the way it is with most other artists. ANYWAY, I guess lyrics don't need to be technically amazing like DOOM's to be entertaining - this dude Open Mike Eagle has some good lines. From his track "Ziggy Starfish (Anxiety Raps)":

I log into my Twitter page And start bending over like Gollum This dumb cred is like crack rock And I never seem to hit bottom

Sweet Gollum reference - I had to look this one up. The "bending over" kind of threw me: I thought he was maybe saying something about hoes on social media but then why would he be bending over? Then I thought maybe he was saying he was gay and hoeing on social media himself but it still seems weird to invoke Gollum in that context, right? I like Gollum as much as the next person (i.e. a lot), but I would not be super keen to draw comparisons between his appearance and my own (although we do share the same sickly pallor and blue eyes - plus, I too have spent many years living in a cave). According to Rap Genius (and the line's context - I am truly an idiot for not getting it sooner. Maybe I just wanted it to be something sexual to do with Gollum) he's just saying that he's addicted to Twitter and the praise/attention it affords him, similar to how Gollum is addicted to the ring (and crouching).

From age 18 - 21 I was super into Fleet Foxes (I think they hold up. They're pretty irresistible, right?). They have this song "Montezuma" which finishes like this:

Oh man what I used to be Montezuma to Tripoli Oh man oh my oh me

I guess I'm an idiot because when he sings "Montezuma to Tripoli" I always heard "Montezuma 2 Triple E" and imagined it stylised like this: Montezuma 2EEE. Tripoli obviously makes more sense but it never even occurred to me that he was saying that. I thought he was referring to something mysterious and abstract. (Writing it out like EEE makes it look like a bra cup size. I don't know if they do triple cup sizes (they do!). Even doubles make no sense to me. Okay, so I've quickly Googled it. If you're curious: it turns out that a double or triple letter cup size indicates that the boob being cupped sits somewhere between two cup sizes - so a DDD breast is bigger than a DD breast which is bigger than a D breast, and all of them are smaller than E. That's what this website says anyway. But this whole framework really falls down with the AA cup, because a AA is smaller than an A. It should at least be consistent. I've been wearing bras for years (big shot coming through) and am only now learning about all of this. To be honest, I am incredibly guesstimate-y with my bra shopping: band size is pretty consistent but cup size swings wildly across the alphabet. Should probably get fitted but I feel awkward being fondled by a shop assistant. Plus, it's not like I walk into a bra shop and immediately think that the shop attendants have great breasts - why should I take their advice?) 

Montezuma 2EEE: I imagined some weird website which was techy and totally opaque to me, but also somehow involved Aztec emperors. I kind of want to make a weird, pointless website ("isn't that what this blog is, Kath?") because I have pinelife.net and nothing is happening there - I post all my Pinelife blog posts there too (which I know is a real waste of effort - my time is worth nothing so I don't mind wasting that) but I kind of prefer Wordpress' text editor to Tumblr's so it has that advantage. I found this really weird website (please please check it out) a while ago via the House of Leaves subreddit and found it so intriguing and exciting. I don't know why, but I had this insane rush of adrenaline while I was exploring the website. It was cool. Maybe I should make a weird, labyrinthine, pointless website of my own: it'll have shitty navigation, the font and background will be the same colour, possibly other things will be wrong with it too. It'd be something to do anyway. Maybe instead of making a book object I could make a website object - is that a thing? This might be a good way to waste some (more) of my time anyway. I do kind of want to make something. I’ve been bored with blogging for a while. Or, I don’t know - I enjoy doing it and looking back on my old posts (out of the vault: remember this one about cynicism and church? I was so proud of that. Weirdly, my favourite post from last year is this stupid one about pizza which was really low effort) but I don’t know if there’s anything I’ve written in the last year that I’m that proud of. The year went really fast and I feel like I’ve change a bit (or maybe a lot, I’m not sure). 

Montezuma2eee.com is available. Hmmm. I already have pinelife.net. Is it greedy to want another domain? I doubt Montezuma2eee is going anywhere (but I’d feel like quite the fool if someone did take it from me - I can’t really be the first to think it’s 2EEE - it literally sounds exactly like it). Anyway, I should play around on pinelife.net for a bit before making the $0.99 commitment to a new domain. 

Urgh. I’m an idiot. I nuked pinelife.net and all of the images I’ve uploaded to Wordpress there are gone and I’m lazy and never bothered to upload them to stupid tumblr, I just copied them and now they’re gone. I hate myself. Why didn’t I think for like half a second before deleting everything? Plus, there must be a better way to delete Wordpress beyond FTPing in and trawling through all my folders and deleting anything with a wp prefix. What happens if I just delete everything, like all the folders, and just start from scratch? I’ve forgotten how all this works. (This blog post is a real, rambling steam of consciousness. If I had any editorial credibility I would not publish this thing.)

Hey, talking about me trying to be creative: I was just hunting around my writing folder (basically untouched since 2015) and found this monstrosity I made to mourn the demise of Google Reader (wtf is/was wrong with me?). Jesus I have no memory of making this. Troublingly, I feel very pleased with this thing and its weirdness (obviously if I was genuinely embarrassed I wouldn’t share it here). This would have been 2013.

Also, I won’t post this, but I found an old poem I wrote (lame) in 2012 for uni which is all bullet points and features the word “pre-cum” in the first line. 22 year old me: why?

More? This is the start to a novel I was writing when I was 22/23:

Sirens by the swamp. The river doesn’t move in the summer heat: green carpet of scum across the surface. Two police cruisers are parked on the grass, another blocks the footpath. An officer unfurls yellow tape.

In a local 7/11 the Slurpee machine releases its hold on life and a stickiness of Cola flavoured low calorie slush spills forth. Potato salad is left to putrefy at a hundred backyard barbeques. In a thousand shitty sedans the steering wheel is too hot to hold. In a million armpits sweat prickles through dark hair to find cool air.

The body is partially submerged in the swamp. Obscured by slime and dark water, her hair is tangled in water grass, an eel nuzzles her cheek. From the waist down she is naked, seething with ants and flies. There is a tattoo of a dragon on her hip. If there was a lot of blood it’s now vanished into the mud. Someone has performed a riverside hysterectomy: it was not tidily done.

Sirens by the swamp. Five girls stand in the shade under the bridge: jutting hips, bare feet, iPhones, string bikinis, denim shorts. One pops gum as a police officer asks her preliminary questions. Another discretely photographs the crime scene with her phone. Their families are not expecting them for lunch. It’s Werribee and it’s Christmas day.

****

ppl made a new word for wh@ happened. they said th@ she had been uncunted. 2 b fair it was pretty bad nd even sum of tha sirens said they thought a line had been crossd. dead girl wasn’t even from werribee. actually th@s probably why she was dumb enough 2 go down by tha river

the thing th@ made me haha was th@ channel 10 made such a big deal about her being found by tha sirens b/c theyre young girls and tha news ppl tried to make out like its not a safe town 4 girls nd like girls shouldnt go out alone nd they tried to use tha sirens as an eg of young women in peril. but it was like oh man have u got it wrong. those river girls are bad

honestly werribee is fine so long as ur not fool enouf 2 go down by tha river. th@ is the ao for sirens nd eeeeevery1 nos not to go their less they want they dick sucked nd there future ruined. haha 4 real the news crews + police r lucky they didnt get uncunted 2