Jan. 7th, 2017

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I spent most of the morning tidying my living room with my sister, which was pleasant; she’s judgy about some things, but not about the state of my house, I think because I’ve spent so much time cleaning hers. She’s extremely clean and tidy, as a person, but also runs a farm and has a black Lab mix so I’ve done some pretty heroic things trying to get her house presentable for visitors. (Her house is basically a public space, that’s just how it is.) 

Anyway. My sort of resolution this year at New Year’s was not to declutter, which concept and word I detest in an uncordial fashion for many reasons, but to actually make my way through some of the stuff I’ve saved to use in projects. I’m trying to spin it sort of positively, is the thing– I am an exceptionally handy/crafty/creative person, I can do some pretty impressive things especially with thread and paint but also with other fine motor skills, and I do a lot of really creative stuff with repurposing and found objects and the like. I really do. So I’m not crazy for collecting stuff to use, and I’m not crazy for resisting the Tidying Up Industry that has sprung up in response to the Buy More Shit Industry. 

So my resolution is to work on one of my bajillion projects every day, even if it’s only a little. And in my tidying, I rediscovered a lot of said projects, which was lovely– including a gorgeous painting I did of a magpie on canvas, which I’d intended to then embroider and bejewel and frame in a frame I was going to decoupage, and give to Middle-Little, who identifies strongly with magpies for their love of shiny things– and I know I planned to give that to her for Christmas 2013, and I meant to revisit it in 2014 and couldn’t find it, so that’s been missing three years at least. Anyway.

One of the projects I found was a bit of linen I’d begun to free embroider an inscription onto, and I’d taken it from a bit of silver-gilt from the Staffordshire Hoard. It says, Surge domine et dissipentur inimici tui et fugiant qui oderunt te a facie tua, which translates to “Rise up, O Lord, and may thy enemies be scattered and those who hate thee be driven from thy face”, and I thought it was actually kind of a nice inspirational message for this particular dark January so I’ve started working on it again. The linen is natural-colored, a nice variegated gray-brown, and the thread is handspun blood-red silk that’s kind of inconsistent and a bit of a hassle to embroider with but fucking phenomenal for this purpose, I think.

I’m just going to do as far as “inmici tui” I think– “and may thy enemies be scattered”– I’d laid the text out in wet-erase marker but it’s faded now so I’m kind of just winging it. 

I got as far as most of the word “out” in my other project, a hanky that says “No Way Out But Through” in rainbow on beige osnaburg. But the thread ran out and I need to find the right skein to cut another one; the proper one got filed somewhere and I am so blessed I have several different skeins of rainbow embroidery floss, so I have to paw through and find the correct one, or decide to switch to super-brights halfway through and figure that’s part of the Aesthetic.

I haven’t done any great amount of work on any project so far this year, but I have done at least a handful of stitches on one every day, and the focus of my sister’s rearranging was to give me a handy spot where I can stash individual, labeled Ziploc bags with discrete projects in them so that I can always find one if I want something to work on. 

She proposed a system to limit how many projects I could have going on at once, and i vetoed that: that’s a great way to make sure I get paralyzed and don’t work on anything, telling me I’m not allowed to work on something until something else I’m blocked on gets finished. No, but– the countersolution is to have a culling system, where the projects I pass over every time get put into a bin to Re-Evaluate, where I decide why they’re never going to get done and maybe repurpose, rethink, or recycle them. 

I’m done subscribing to other people’s systems, because my brain doesn’t work like other people’s, and trying to be pointlessly mean to myself to “motivate” me is counterproductive, and I have thirty-seven years’ worth of results to prove it so I’m over trying it.

Another project: I’m finally going to commit to sewing this lil guy down onto a vest or jacket or bag or something:
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argumate:

sysice:

relatedly, my all-time favourite translation note concerning a single word

Yo,
via http://ift.tt/2i1CCzf:viktuuridance mentioned you in a post “@bomberqueen17 replied to your post: some…”

@ bomberqueen17 replied to your post: …

The Wheel Of The Infinite is probably not anywhere near as interesting as what you’re reading now in terms of satisfying fantasy things– it’s really well-constructed, but it’s a oneshot and it’s mostly action, so you just get hints at it all. It’s mostly really cool because the main character is a dark-skinned older woman– I don’t know that her age is specified, but it’s eventually revealed that she has an adult son, and not like, a young adult son– and as part of her Epic Quest she’s on by herself, she accidentally rescues a (blond, green-eyed) barbarian, and it turns out that his prior line of work was as a nobleman’s bodyguard before he got banished, so he hardcore latches onto her and winds up as her sidekick. And she tries to get rid of him but he won’t go, so she winds up taking him as a lover, and it’s just great because he’s clearly, like, twenty, and she’s gotta be fifty, and there’s all kinds of angst about other things but that part’s not anything anyone’s worried about. 

And it’s just a minor character detail, but she can see that he’s got holes where he used to have earrings; when he was banished, he lost all his honor, and so clearly took those earrings out himself because he no longer merited them. We get very little of his POV, but at some point the main character has a little extra money so she casually buys him earrings and gives them to him, and he’s obviously in total shock about it and it’s clearly got some deep significance she knows she doesn’t get, but she figures she gets the gist, and sure enough, for the rest of the book he’s wearing her earrings.
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oh i forgot to mention that on friday i gave myself princess leia endor hair. (is it endor, where she’s wearing the utilitarian braid crown?)

I combed coconut oil through my hair first because everything is so dry– partly to be a treatment for my hair, and partly because it’ll make the hairstyle look better for longer.

 Actually I have this jar of something my sister put together and gave out as christmas gifts last year– it’s coconut oil, almond oil, and cocoa butter I think, and it smells lovely, and i use it on my hands and hair but not my face because coconut oil makes me break out. Almond oil by itself, though, is something I’ve really come around to. 

But coconut oil is great in hair, so. I mixed a little castor oil in too, and then I braided my hair and sewed it to my head, which used to be my go-to hairstyle. That’s how you take care of long thin hair you can sit on: you sew it to your damn head, and then it’s comfy as shit. Oiling it first means you don’t get fuzzies as fast. I’m on day three before I remembered to take pictures.

It’s so damn easy to do, too. If you have shorter hair, you just do it in more braids. As long as your hair is long enough that the end of the previous braid can get tucked under the beginning of the next one, you can do this style. 

I did pigtails, one braid starting over each ear, and then the ends, I tied off and then wrapped around themselves and put a thick hairband over, so that they’d be tidy and not fluff out. I should take a picture of that next time I do it. A consistent problem I’ve had with this hairstyle is the very ends of my braids somehow escaping and sticking straight out, so this solves that.

Then I wrap the braids, secure them with a couple giant bobby pins (and you need, like, the three-inch kind, and then you can use four for your whole head) and a couple claw clips.

Then you get a plastic yarn needle and thread it with narrow ribbon, satin or grosgrain or whatever. Yellow is the last color I should ever wear but that’s what I had handy, so. As far as length goes, IDK, this one’s way too long. The length of your arm is probably about right.

Start right behind your ear or at the base of your neck, and carefully just ram that needle through as many layers of hair as you can, and do a big overhand stitch. Pick a direction– either sew from the front or from the back, and go the same way every time. Pull the ribbon through and leave a longish tail where you started, and then go all the way around your head. The the beginning and ending tails together, then kinda poke them into the hair so they don’t hang down, and voila. 

Now you have Fancy Hair that also doesn’t pull or give you headaches. You can innovate and come up with prettier ways to sew the ribbon, or like, put a thicker ribbon down and sew over the top of that so it’s decorative, or like, whatever, or you can just do it minimally like me.

There’s a line of ribbon across the back of my head because this ribbon was too long, so when I finished at the back of my head, I pulled the tails tight and wrapped it around my whole head again to tie it off in the front, and one of the ends wound up not where I thought. It doesn’t look great but I did this for comfort not looks so I’m not worried– that’s just why there’s a weird line there. Don’t be a wuss, just cut the ends off if it’s too long. I have this weird horror of cutting ribbons too short, I don’t know. 

I also like this because this is the only way I can wear headbands. Otherwise they just slide from my mega-forehead straight off the back of my head. But with this lump of braid, I can keep the headbands from sliding back too far, and it’s nice. 

I often leave this style in for a week or so; just be careful that while you’re sleeping on it you don’t wind up matting the hair on the back of your head. Feel that and if it’s getting too fuzzy, take the hairstyle down. 

Otherwise I take it down when it starts to get too fuzzy and looks like I have a halo. I don’t mind, but it does give me a really pronounced Wacky Character Actor kind of vibe, and i try to avoid that in professional settings.  

(However. I also have found that this hairstyle is great for wearing silk scarves wrapped around my head, which otherwise just don’t work for me because of the Endless Forehead Extending Into Sloped Skull situation. I have zero hair texture so nothing holds a bandana on me. I love wearing scarves but this is the only way I can make that work.)
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also guys trust me i have been not really able to write much these last couple of days but an inordinate amount of my brainpower has been spent on the advanced choreography particulars of that han/kes/leia/shara scene I was writing the other day and believe you me

uh

i mean just believe, that’s all i got, i was gonna have a punchline there or something but i got distracted

“Well,” Shara says, “if Kes says so, let’s do this,” and she uncoils herself from her chair and pulls Leia to her feet and right there, puts a hand on her face and bends her head and kisses her, and Kes is the one who stumbles this time, watching them.

I’ll post when I have enough for an update but let me just assure you it’s the choreography that’s been keeping me… occupied.
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megbiediger:

samael:

becausebirds:

Flying chickens

fly my children

TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE!!!

in the last second tho you can see one totally fail to even get halfway across and he’s just this little cockerel like aw heck i hecked that up
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icantbearsedtothinkofone replied to your post: oh i forgot to mention that on friday i gave…

…we have really different definitions of easy, I fear. Like, I fall over at plaiting my jungle.

Ha. Fair enough, most days I actually don’t do anything to my hair, not even brush it. (People are always like ohh your hair is so long it must take so long to do it and I’m like no i grew it long because short hair takes so long to cope with, fuck that. If I braid it I can go like three days just clipping that up. If i don’t braid it I might have to brush it and that’s a pain in the ass.)

But by ‘easy’ I mean, unlike every single beauty tutorial I’ve ever tried to do, there’s no magic step where you have to be super-coordinated to do it. If you can do a braid, you can do this, and even if you screw up some of the stitches, if you get enough of them through a few layers this will hold together. The only really tricky part is making sure it’s clipped in the right place when you start. For sleeping on, it works best if the back of it dips under the knob of bone at the back of your skull, and I didn’t this time so it’s hard to get the pillow just right at night. 
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damn I wish I knew this back when I had long hair. It was down to my waist and heavy enough that it started to give me headaches depending on how I wore it. I usually did french braids, regular braids and ponytails and tried a low bun on occasion. This would have been so cool. I finally chopped all of it off at once and now keep it very very short because I’m too lazy to grow it out again

Mine’s heavy enough that I get headaches sometimes if I wear an ill-advised bun or something. It’s also really thin and tangles like fuck, so I can’t wear a ponytail or anything down.

I actually am not coordinated enough to do a French braid and have it come out. Never have in my life. Everyone assumes I must be, and I literally can’t do it, so I don’t. 

Oh, I forgot my advice for doing this with layered hair– either re-divide your hair halfway down the braid, or braid in a ribbon or something so you can have your loose ends at the bottom be as short as possible. I worked this out in great detail once and made a whole elaborate tutorial post back when there was an incredibly active Livejournal community based around the long hair forum.
This is a placeholder for a series that I'm doing on Bodhi Rook and Cassian Andor, if I can manage.
I wanted to do a tropetastic modern A/U that crosses over with my Poe Dameron/Finn fluffy/tropey modern AU series Lost & Found, but we'll see if I manage. In the meantime, this is where I'm collecting what I have so far.

UPDATE: Here's the whole opening scene. I think I have an idea of where to go from here. Alas, it doesn't really involve basically any of the tropes I wanted to use, but maybe! Also I know how it can cross over with Found Cat, I think, without it becoming unmanageable.


Bodhi Rook sat in his truck watching the defrosters and wipers try and fail to make any appreciable dent in the frost on his windscreen. He was trying to update his logbook but his fingers were too cold to properly hold the stylus, and he was approaching a crisis point of existential despair as he realized that the frost was on the inside and so the wipers weren’t going to do a bloody thing, now, were they, and what was the point of continuing to live in this godforsaken wasteland-- but there was no real heat behind it, because there was really no heat in anything, and he was a kind of dried-out shriveled-up husk of a human, now, wasn’t he.

Into that spiral of mental non-function came a sudden interruption, that of his unlocked passenger door suddenly opening and closing, and a man got in with a burst of cold air, startling because it was already fucking freezing in this van, and it was only after he’d had this incredulous thought that it suddenly struck Bodhi that surely, he was being carjacked.

“Shit,” Bodhi said, staring at the man, who was wearing a fur-hooded parka and giant gloves and looked something like a sled-dog-musher, only if he had sled dogs why was he carjacking a van-- of course he would be carjacking a van, sled dogs were a horrible form of transportation surely, especially in a city?

“Shh,” the man said, “don’t mind me, I’m just hiding from someone.”

“I don’t have any money,” Bodhi said, something reasonable finally winding its way through his brain’s nonsensical chatter about sled dogs. The man looked at him, and Bodhi started to get mad that he was surely going to be shot to death over six dollars and twenty-three cents and a wrapped tuna sandwich, which were the entire contents of his messenger bag. Oh, and a smart tablet, but it was totally a proprietary one with like zero resale value. And his phone, he had a phone, but it was like, four years old and the camera was all scratched up. “I mean it! We’re not paid in cash for these jobs, I’m a repair technician and it’s all billed remotely, I don’t have anything--”

“I’m not mugging you,” the man said, and he had the nerve to sound offended; he wasn’t even looking at Bodhi, he was peering out the fogged window. “Jesus Christ! I’m just trying to avoid somebody seeing me!”

Bodhi stared at him. “What?”

“I’m not mugging you,” the man said, as if it were an outlandish suggestion. “Christ, just because I’m Mexican-- we don’t steal from everybody, you know!”

“Now hold on one fucking minute,” Bodhi said, “you’re dressed like a fucking sled-dog musher, I thought you were a local. The locals are fucking savages. But who the fuck leaps into people’s repair vans and then doesn’t carjack them? What the fuck kind of backwards hole is this goddamn place anyway?”

The sled-dog musher peered at him uncertainly through the enormous fur fringe of his hood. “Oh,” he said, “you’re not from around here either.” He did have an accent, come to think of it, but so did Bodhi, as far as everyone around here was concerned. (Bodhi talked like a normal person, but nobody else here thought so. This was his native language and he was getting really fucking sick of explaining that.)

“No fucking shit I’m not from around here,” Bodhi said. “I’m from civilized places where you can park your van at the curb and not get accused of racism by random sled-dog mushers who just let themselves in and judge you for reacting to that like a person who knows they live in Hell now.”

The sled dog musher started laughing; through the ridiculous fur fringe Bodhi could make out that he had a long straight nose and dark eyes and there were crinkles around them like a nice person had. “This place is hell, isn’t it? And horrible people live here.” He peered out the window. “I think he didn’t see me, but is it okay if I sit here a couple more minutes to make sure he isn’t waiting?”

“Now you ask,” Bodhi said. “Now you ask?”

“Well,” the man said. “I mean, there wasn’t time to knock, I’d tried three other car door handles and they were all locked. I actually didn’t notice your engine was running until after I got in.”

“I can imagine the entire animal in your hood probably dampens the sound,” Bodhi said. “This is a work vehicle, I’m not allowed to take on passengers.” He looked glumly at the windscreen, which was still stubbornly coated in frost.

The sled dog guy looked, too, and said, “Oh shit, is that on the inside? Oh what a pain in the ass.”

“I don’t even know how to scrape that,” Bodhi said glumly. “The defrosters aren’t even making a dent. Why do I live in a place like this?”

“Why do you?” Sled Dogs asked.

“It’s a long story,” Bodhi said. “And I mean. Don’t get me wrong, I’m from England, it’s not like I’m some wilting tropical flower, but like. It should rain in winter and have a bit of ice, maybe an inch of snow now and then for the aesthetic of it, not do this for six straight months.” He gestured at the impenetrable frost. “Humans shouldn’t live in this.”

“Where I’m from it doesn’t freeze,” Sled Dogs said. “That’s much more reasonable than this.” He kicked his feet around, found the ice scraping brush thing, which Bodhi had chucked over on the floor there. He picked it up and started scraping at the inside of the windshield. “This is bullshit, humans shouldn’t live like this.”

“It never freezes in Mexico?” Bodhi asked. “How did I not know that?”

“I mean, in some parts it does,” Sled Dogs said. “Just-- not where I’m from.” He shot Bodhi a sly look. “It’s a big country.”

“No doubt,” Bodhi said, who knew basically nothing about Mexico. He grimaced at the way the scraper was just leaving narrow little marks in the frost and not really removing enough of it to be useful. “That’s just plain not going to work, now is it?”

“Sometimes you just have to believe in yourself,” Sled Dogs said, redoubling his efforts. Little flakes of frost were falling onto the dashboard, and you really still couldn’t see out the windscreen at all.

“I don’t see how self-confidence is going to melt that ice,” Bodhi said.

“Oh,” Sled Dogs said, shooting him an unexpectedly charming crinkle-eyed look, “you’d be amazed what self-confidence can do.”

“Mostly, terrible things,” Bodhi said. “It generally hasn’t worked out for me, you know. Okay, I have to ask, where do you even get a parka like that?”

Sled Dogs kept scraping, and gave him a look. “I bought it in a store,” he said, “I don’t remember, but you know, that’s an amazing hat.”

“I know it is,” Bodhi said. “My neighbor gave it to me.” It was an absurd piece of knitwear, with ear flaps and a pom-pom, in a stunning colorway of variegated yarn, and it was the only winter hat Bodhi owned. Sled Dogs stopped scraping and stared at him for a moment.
“Does your neighbor hate you?” Sled Dogs asked, and resumed scraping. He was, improbably, making progress, but he’d probably be making just about the same progress using a toothpick. Somehow despite the broad flat end on the ice scraper, it had only a couple of points of contact with the smooth surface of the glass, and was approximately the least effective possible tool for this job. It worked fine on the outside but Bodhi supposed the curvature was opposite. Sled Dogs didn’t seem to care.

“No, no,” Bodhi said, “my neighbor’s quite sweet, but, well. He is blind. I don’t think he understood what this hat actually looked like.”

Sled Dogs laughed, and scraped some more. “I’m getting there,” he pointed out.

“The defrosters are finally working because the engine’s warm,” Bodhi pointed out.

“Hush,” Sled Dogs said, and laughed. He sat back, holding the ice scraper, and looked over at Bodhi. “Are you colorblind?” he asked.

“No,” Bodhi said, “I’m aware it’s hideous, I didn’t exactly prepare for the weather when I moved here. That’s why I’m asking where you got that parka.”

“I wish I remembered,” Sled Dogs said. “It was fucking expensive but I spend a lot of time outdoors and this climate is no joke.” He put the ice scraper down and gestured to the windscreen. “See, look, there, I helped you, maybe that makes up for me scaring you when I burst in here.”

Bodhi looked skeptically at the mostly-defrosted windscreen. “Those marks are going to be there until the end of time,” he said.

“True,” Sled Dogs said. “Isn’t that the worst? Stuff on the inside of the windshield never comes off. If you breathe wrong it leaves a mark and then you try to clean it and it’s worse.”

“At least I don’t always drive this van,” Bodhi said, looking on the bright side.

“Good,” Sled Dogs said. He put the ice scraper down. “Hey, thanks for letting me hide in here, it’s been fun, I gotta go.”

“Anytime, I guess,” Bodhi said. “Stay warm.”

“You too,” Sled Dogs said. He reached over and shook hands with Bodhi, a firm grip inside enormous gloves. Bodhi got his first really good look at the man’s face: youngish, paleish-skinned, very dark eyes, little moustache and goatee not particularly well-trimmed but not shaggy either, and a kind of sly, lively intelligence to his look. “See you around.”

 

“Sure,” Bodhi said, and it was only after the man got out and shut the door behind him and vanished immediately behind the frost still on the windows that he thought, should’ve got his number.

Not, like. For anything creepy or like. Dating or whatever. Bodhi wasn’t here to do that. He just. Never mind.


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septembriseur:

Drive-by Rogue One fic rec:

Afterimage by galacticproportions

Bodhi makes it off Scarif. But he doesn’t think he should have.

Great worldbuilding. Wrestling with ethics. Manages to effortlessly and coherently reach forwards to TFA. 
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bendingsignpost:

roane72:

tygermama:

Where are the fic where the super-slick super-spy is thwarted by their seduction target’s complete lack of self-esteem and inability to believe for one second that someone that hot wants to fuck them?

….
I don’t know if I need to read this or I need to write this, but I need this.

This desperately needs to be a thing.

I think I found my Cassian/Bodhi trope???
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Rules: tag nine users you want to get to know better.

I was tagged by @magickedteacup !

How old are you?: I keep forgetting, but I did the math and I’m 37.

Current Job/Dream Job?: Currently I work half-time as an online camera-store order-processing minion, and half-time doing odd jobs on my sister’s organic farm, including poultry evisceration and finish plucking, so boy howdy do I know a lot about the literal inner lives of chickens. My dream job currently is, I suppose, to go full-time on the farm, mostly so I don’t have to drive across the state so often (it’s 300 miles each way), but I’m conflicted about it. My real dream is, and always has been, to make my living as an author, but that’s kind of like winning the lottery. 

What are you talented at?: I mean, talent is one of those things that’s kind of… not real, I dunno. But I do have some pretty good aptitudes; I’ve always been good at expressing myself in writing, and I have just enough talent in drawing and copying shapes that I can freehand embroidery and paint signs like a mofo. I had aptitudes in singing and art, but I never pursued those and they atrophied. That’s the thing about “talent”, it’s mostly hard work. 

What is a big goal you are working towards (or have already achieved)?: My big goal for 2016 was to finish that Star Wars epic fic, which I did. The big goal I’m working towards is to figure out how to be able to afford to quit the camera store job, and make up the difference in various other ways. I don’t need a ton to live on, but I can’t live on nothing. 

What is your aesthetic?:  My aesthetic is cozy clutter, bright jewel tones and rich embellishment, a cold room and a warm blanket, layers and layers of clothing, layers and layers of story, indirect lights and oil lanterns and mirrored embroidery and handmade clothes. 

Do you collect anything?: Not on purpose.
If you mean, like, Collectibles, no. I have enough clutter with just pragmatic things. I mean… I compulsively collect craft materials, but I do actually use them, at least in theory, so. I don’t know! 

What is a topic you’re always up to talk about?: Ha, you name it, I’m probably interested in discussing it. Except if it’s a movie or TV show, because I probably haven’t seen it. Or a book, which I probably haven’t read. Or a video game, because I’ve never played one in my life and can’t comprehend them. I consume very little media and it makes me slow at any conversation that involves them. But you’d be surprised how much else there is in the world. I’m sure it limits me, I just don’t have the attention span for most of it. 

What’s a pet peeve of yours?: when people are inconsiderate. but i do get oversensitive about some things. And then other times I’m oblivious, so it mostly makes me a big hypocrite. 

Good advice to give?: oh man. I’m super good at situational advice but not always on demand. I guess, you gotta do you, and you gotta do you the best that you can, because only you can do you, and all you can really do is you, so– anything else usually just winds up being a waste of time, and you can save a lot of heartache and exhaustion by just doing you. Which isn’t simple, but it’s your last option. 

Recommend three songs?: man my musical tastes are so fucked. I’ll recommend songs for singing, then, to get a kid to go to sleep. Number one is Oh My Darling, Clementine, which is great because it’s a parody of a sad song but it has a funny ending and mostly kids don’t care but it keeps you sane. Number two is Green and Dumb by Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers, because it’s pretty, doesn’t require a huge vocal range but isn’t droning or monotonous, and can be sung either loudly or quietly depending, plus it’s a waltz tempo and who doesn’t like that, and number three is Colonel Burnaby, which alas I can’t find any recordings of, but my copy is ripped from a worn-out tape my father duplicated off an out-of-print LP by the Druids. The sheet music’s at the link, surely a recording exists somewhere. I can’t explain why that one’s so good at making kids pass out– it’s kind of a stirring tune and the lyrics are theatrical, but there’s a great satisfaction in feeling a child go dead-weight in the backpack as you’re stood over the sink washing dishes singing, “He died as he had often wished, his sabre in his hand!” 

phew nine people? IDK, I’m going to tag people who show up in my mentions a bunch. @deputychairman, @torrilin, @anhamirak, @buttons-beads-lace, @bibliophilecellistsoulsearcher, @laughingacademy, @sugarspiceandcursewords, @meanderings0ul, @icantbearsedtothinkofone

man nine is a lot! No obligation, and if you see this and wish I’d tagged you, please feel free to do it and tag me back. I’m awful at keeping track of people on this site. 

Maybe?

Jan. 7th, 2017 09:52 pm
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Bodhi Rook sat in his truck watching the defrosters and wipers try and fail to make any appreciable dent in the frost on his windscreen. He was trying to update his logbook but his fingers were too cold to properly hold the stylus, and he was approaching a crisis point of existential despair as he realized that the frost was on the inside and so the wipers weren’t going to do a bloody thing, now, were they, and what was the point of continuing to live in this godforsaken wasteland– but there was no real heat behind it, because there was really no heat in anything, and he was a kind of dried-out shriveled-up husk of a human, now, wasn’t he.

Into that spiral of mental non-function came a sudden interruption, that of his unlocked passenger door suddenly opening and closing, and a man got in with a burst of cold air, startling because it was already fucking freezing in this van, and it was only after he’d had this incredulous thought that it suddenly struck Bodhi that surely, he was being carjacked.

“Shit,” Bodhi said, staring at the man, who was wearing a fur-hooded parka and giant gloves and looked something like a sled-dog-musher, only if he had sled dogs why was he carjacking a van– of course he would be carjacking a van, sled dogs were a horrible form of transportation surely, especially in a city?

“Shh,” the man said, “don’t mind me, I’m just hiding from someone.”

“I don’t have any money,” Bodhi said, something reasonable finally winding its way through his brain’s nonsensical chatter about sled dogs. The man glanced at him, and Bodhi started to get mad that he was surely going to be shot to death over six dollars and twenty-three cents and a wrapped tuna sandwich, which were the entire contents of his messenger bag. Oh, and a smart tablet, but it was totally a proprietary one with like zero resale value. And his phone, he had a phone, but it was like, four years old and the camera was all scratched up. “I mean it! We’re not paid in cash for these jobs, I’m a repair technician and it’s all billed remotely, I don’t have anything–”

“I’m not mugging you,” the man said, and he had the nerve to sound offended; he wasn’t even looking at Bodhi, he was peering out the fogged window. “Jesus Christ! I’m just trying to avoid somebody seeing me!”

Bodhi stared at him. “What?”

“I’m not mugging you,” the man said, as if it were an outlandish suggestion. “Christ, just because I’m Mexican– we don’t steal from everybody, you know!”

“Now hold on one fucking minute,” Bodhi said, “you’re dressed like a fucking sled-dog musher, I thought you were a local. The locals are fucking savages. But who the fuck leaps into people’s repair vans and then doesn’t carjack them? What the fuck kind of backwards hole is this goddamn place anyway?”

The sled-dog musher peered at him uncertainly through the enormous fur fringe of his hood. “Oh,” he said, “you’re not from around here either.” He did have an accent, come to think of it, but so did Bodhi, as far as everyone around here was concerned. (Bodhi talked like a normal person, but nobody else here thought so. This was his native language and he was getting really fucking sick of explaining that.)

“No fucking shit I’m not from around here,” Bodhi said. “I’m from civilized places where you can park your van at the curb and not get accused of racism by random sled-dog mushers who just let themselves in and judge you for reacting to that like a person who knows they live in Hell now.”

The sled dog musher started laughing; through the ridiculous fur fringe Bodhi could make out that he had a long straight nose and dark eyes and there were crinkles around them like a nice person had. “This place is hell, isn’t it? And horrible people live here.” He peered out the window. “I think he didn’t see me, but is it okay if I sit here a couple more minutes to make sure he isn’t waiting?”

“Now you ask,” Bodhi said. “Now you ask?”

If I write more of this it’ll be linked to here.
via http://ift.tt/2jfJlqm:
aw i put on makeup and a sparkly dress to leave the house (glitter for carrie fisher! it’s like her version of GNU right) and came and sat on the couch, and dude saw that and was like oh, are we fancy tonight? and i said no, i just wanted to wear glitter, and he said ok, well, I should get out of my PJs, and left, and I wasn’t really paying attention but he’s been gone a while and now I can hear that he’s shaving.

oohhhh boy oh boy that definitely means it’s date night! I better get laid, y’all. 

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