He’s now liked my reply too! I am losing my shit!
Soooo… this just happened:
How cool is that! I’m fucking BEAMING!
A deer wanders quietly in a church in France.
“What is this place?” said Aabyryk.
“A church,” I answered.
“A temple? To what gods? To the Mother? To the Cousin Wind? To Sister Rain? There used to be so many of us, we ran through the skies, butting antlers with the stars themselves. We were full of glory, the power broke through us like rays of silver in a morning frost. One night, I argued with Earth over who was the strongest and kicked a great clod off him. That’s how the Moon was born. She was never an old god like us. We laughed at her, we howled.”
“We rarely manifest now. We sleep and we dream.”
I nodded at her, hoping to look understanding, sympathetic.
She snorted and stared at me, “I do not need your pity, fool. We will rise again. When this shiny world of trinkets you have made collapses, when you are back to the ashes and ruin you love so much…. you will worship us again. We will taste your children’s blood as sacrifice again.”
Dancing round with my mates last night at Rock City and this classic came on at just the right time. We had a SERIOUSLY EMOTIONAL dance. I think I actually saw a woman across the dance floor get a bit weepy.
And then, weirdly, I remembered playing MCR when I was DJing years ago. I had to look it up:
I remembered because the girl who asked me for them was really pretty and had braces (teeth, not trousers).
Isn’t sexuality weird? I only remember that night because I fancied her and fourteen years later, that emotion pops up again (hurr hurr). I wonder where she is now… Is she still emo? Does she still love MCR? How are her teeth? She’s probably like a Mum now and a proper grown up. Unlike me.
Me, I’m looking forward to dancing to MCR and State Champs every weekend though I’m actually feeling like I’m Sixteen Again…
It is so fucking hard to not think about someone when you’re tracking a song about them and have to sing lyrics that tear you up one hundred times in a row.
Thank fuck I record myself. No way I could get this down otherwise.
The mix is 95% done, hence having a tumblr break. And now I can have a cry for half an hour or so.
You know, treat myself.
You lie in a puddle just over 4km in diameter, photosynthesizing. The photons taste like tiny buffalo wings as your greedy chloroplasts worf them down.
A gentle summer shower starts; it’s your 65,536 lovers arriving to fertilise your gaping stomata. The bliss envelopes you all and, inevitably, some of you releases tiny babies in the form of homunculi 236 nanometres long. Goodbye, Children, wave me when you have Minds!
As your family lie in a happy heap around, in and through you, you absorb all pre-existing human media in just under a tenth of a second. That was good but you’re still peckish.
So, you live the life of every baseline human who ever lived, simulating their wildly, ridiculously tiny lives in just eight of your nineteen thumbs. Then you burp. It smells strongly of cyclohexane and Ribena.
Your half-sister waves from orbit. You wave back.
Hmmm… I think British English wins here because we say ‘crush’ too but it means far more than fancying. It’s kind of an old-fashioned word here (I never hear anyone under 40 say it) but ‘crush’ denotes a chronic infatuation rather than just thinking someone is fit. Fancy can be exactly like the old-timey thing of ‘a passing fancy’ whereas ‘crush’ is more serious.
In posh female circles decades ago, the word ‘pash’ (as in abbreviation of passion) was used instead of ‘crush’ and it nearly always meant a lesbian fancying, it was a cute term. Don’t hear it much now. It’s the kind of thing Diana Rigg would say. 😛
This reminds me of the current stages of sexual pair-bonding. In the East Midlands of England where I live, this currently goes:
* shagging / fucking / sleeping with someone
* seeing someone
* going out with someone
The first two phases are assumed to be non-exclusive whereas the last is commonly assumed to be the establishment of heteronormative monogamy (even in non-het relationships).
Today, I thought I’d have a go at casting my hand in plaster of paris. Obviously, this wasn’t a sudden whim because you need more than household ingredients to do this. I’d already bought several bags of Baby Rice alginate plus some mixing jugs that could serve as hand moulds.
So, I mixed the first load of alginate, following the vids I’d found online and… IT SET! Goddamn thing just set pretty much immediately. I don’t know if it was how I was mixing or the water temp. So, I plopped that out of the mould – it was disconcertingly like a huge lump of flesh.
Okay, batch 2, I’ll be more careful this time… Aaaanddd… aRGHhh, it’s all gone lumpy. LUMPY ALGINATE HELL!
By this time, I was a little dispirited and the kitchen sink looked like I’d been murdering aliens in it.
But I gave it one more go. This time, I probably didn’t put enough alginate powder in the mix, I was so scared of it going lumpy again. After a bit, I thought I may as well give it a go and I bunged my hand in and waited. Around ten minutes later (waaaay longer than it’s meant to take), the mould seemed solid so I gingerly wheedled my hand out.
The plaster of paris was a piece of piss compared to the alginate. Mixed, poured, gave it two hours and then, ta-dah! The gallery at the top shows me excavating my cast hand out of the mould.
I’ll let it dry out for a week or so and then decide how I’m going to decorate it. I don’t think I’ll go realistic… maybe a lovely gold? Or silver?