comment
them
for that I came
12 April 2026 @ 03:15 pm
12 April 2026 @ 02:45 pm
I feel like I've probably oversold this post as well-put-together meta when it is mostly a lot of bullet points with me going "WTF? WTF?," which I guess is basically the Dungeon Crawler Carl experience in a nutshell. Anyway! It's a month until Parade of Horribles comes out, so I figured I'd better post before the post was obsolete. *g*
This is mostly stuff that I've picked up on in reading/rereading and am wondering what will be resolved (and when, given that there's supposedly 3 more books, and ( spoiler ) I also wanted to do a little speculation about endings. Because despite people on reddit being very vocal about Dinniman being a horror writer and how it's not going to end happily and everyone will die, I don't believe that to be the case, necessarily, based on my reading of the books. (I mean, is it likely? Sure. Do I want that ending? Nope!)
The first, less salient, point in my favor is that the books open with Carl telling the story in a way that sounds like he's looking back on it, that he's been through it and lived to tell the tale. This is typical in novels written in first person past tense; however, ( spoilers )
The second, more important, point, to me, is the theme of the story that's being told – one of resistance and revolution, anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism – and having that be snuffed out in favor of late stage capitalism and status quo antebellum being restored is just...I don't see it (especially not now). I guess even if everyone dies, the changes Carl et al. have forced on the galaxy will linger, at least for a while, but I am not sure anymore that even Carl dies at the end (I would have said 98% yes he does, but I read some interesting meta on tumblr that made me wonder if he will in fact survive and why, rooted in his own past trauma to make it make sense).
I do think a lot of our favorites will die, probably horribly, but I also think Donut will make it out alive. I cannot imagine killing the cat at this point. It would be interesting and somewhat surprising to make Carl live in the new world too. (I am not just saying this because he's my blorbo, but that might be a major factor in it.) Though how – given his primal race – could be as something new and different (or its own horror, given the givens), which might as well be death in some ways? Metamorphosis, at least. Idk.
Anyway, I've wrestled with how to organize this – by character? by theme? – and decided to go with *drumroll* location! It seemed to make the most sense to me, anyway.
There's spoilers for all 7 books (I am not a member of the Patreon so I haven't read any excerpts from book 8 or the extra material from the print versions of the books) from here on out.
We'll start wide with ( the galaxy )
Which brings us to ( earth's surface )
And then, the most important location, ( the dungeon )
I'm sure there are things I've forgotten/missed/am making too much or too little of, but there is just so much going on that I needed to track it all somehow, and so here we are. If you've read the books, what do you think?
*I said this on tumblr, but I do hope someone makes a Carl vid to Springsteen's Trapped - it's definitely #1 on the Carl playlist I did not actually make but which lives in my head while I contemplate inchoate fic ideas I will never write.
***
This is mostly stuff that I've picked up on in reading/rereading and am wondering what will be resolved (and when, given that there's supposedly 3 more books, and ( spoiler ) I also wanted to do a little speculation about endings. Because despite people on reddit being very vocal about Dinniman being a horror writer and how it's not going to end happily and everyone will die, I don't believe that to be the case, necessarily, based on my reading of the books. (I mean, is it likely? Sure. Do I want that ending? Nope!)
The first, less salient, point in my favor is that the books open with Carl telling the story in a way that sounds like he's looking back on it, that he's been through it and lived to tell the tale. This is typical in novels written in first person past tense; however, ( spoilers )
The second, more important, point, to me, is the theme of the story that's being told – one of resistance and revolution, anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism – and having that be snuffed out in favor of late stage capitalism and status quo antebellum being restored is just...I don't see it (especially not now). I guess even if everyone dies, the changes Carl et al. have forced on the galaxy will linger, at least for a while, but I am not sure anymore that even Carl dies at the end (I would have said 98% yes he does, but I read some interesting meta on tumblr that made me wonder if he will in fact survive and why, rooted in his own past trauma to make it make sense).
I do think a lot of our favorites will die, probably horribly, but I also think Donut will make it out alive. I cannot imagine killing the cat at this point. It would be interesting and somewhat surprising to make Carl live in the new world too. (I am not just saying this because he's my blorbo, but that might be a major factor in it.) Though how – given his primal race – could be as something new and different (or its own horror, given the givens), which might as well be death in some ways? Metamorphosis, at least. Idk.
Anyway, I've wrestled with how to organize this – by character? by theme? – and decided to go with *drumroll* location! It seemed to make the most sense to me, anyway.
There's spoilers for all 7 books (I am not a member of the Patreon so I haven't read any excerpts from book 8 or the extra material from the print versions of the books) from here on out.
We'll start wide with ( the galaxy )
Which brings us to ( earth's surface )
And then, the most important location, ( the dungeon )
I'm sure there are things I've forgotten/missed/am making too much or too little of, but there is just so much going on that I needed to track it all somehow, and so here we are. If you've read the books, what do you think?
*I said this on tumblr, but I do hope someone makes a Carl vid to Springsteen's Trapped - it's definitely #1 on the Carl playlist I did not actually make but which lives in my head while I contemplate inchoate fic ideas I will never write.
***
emotions: 
thoughtful
thoughtfulsounds: Mets vs A's on tv
12 April 2026 @ 11:05 am
Today's poem:
July
Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz
The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.
The gelato we consumed greedily:
coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.
How we'd dump hot espresso on it
just to watch it melt, licking our spoons
clean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,
the salt we'd suck off our fingers,
the eggs we'd watch get beaten
'til they were a dizzying bright yellow,
how their edges crisped in the pan.
The pink salt blossom of prosciutto
we pulled apart with our hands, melted
on our eager tongues. The green herbs
with goat cheese, the aged brie paired
with a small pot of strawberry jam,
the final sour cherry we kept politely
pushing onto each other's plate, saying,
No, you. But it's so good. No, it's yours.
How I finally put an end to it, plucked it
from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.
How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.
How good it felt: to want something and
pretend you don't, and to get it anyway.
***
I caught up on Abbott Elementary last night and ( spoilers )
***
July
Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz
The figs we ate wrapped in bacon.
The gelato we consumed greedily:
coconut milk, clove, fresh pear.
How we'd dump hot espresso on it
just to watch it melt, licking our spoons
clean. The potatoes fried in duck fat,
the salt we'd suck off our fingers,
the eggs we'd watch get beaten
'til they were a dizzying bright yellow,
how their edges crisped in the pan.
The pink salt blossom of prosciutto
we pulled apart with our hands, melted
on our eager tongues. The green herbs
with goat cheese, the aged brie paired
with a small pot of strawberry jam,
the final sour cherry we kept politely
pushing onto each other's plate, saying,
No, you. But it's so good. No, it's yours.
How I finally put an end to it, plucked it
from the plate, and stuck it in my mouth.
How good it tasted: so sweet and so tart.
How good it felt: to want something and
pretend you don't, and to get it anyway.
***
I caught up on Abbott Elementary last night and ( spoilers )
***
sounds: Feelin' Alright - Joe Cocker
emotions: 
shocked
shockedScorched Earth is described on its website as a piece of dance theater about a detective reopening an Irish cold case, a description which fascinated us so much that we made a second patently absurd decision to once again park in NYC just exactly long enough to see a show before continuing on our multi-state travel.
If you'd forced me to describe what I expected from this show, I would have hazarded something like 'Tana French book, adapted as a ballet?' Not at ALL correct. The cold case is not a mystery, not full of twists: we've got one detective, one suspect, one victim, one piece of land (and one ambiguously metaphorical donkey.) The ninety-minute show begins with a series of projected documents explaining the history of Irish Land Dispute Murders before establishing a more-or-less regular pattern: short interrogation scenes between the detective and the suspect, interspersed with bursts of emotion and memory, some dramatized and some in dance.
Sometimes -- often -- this worked extraordinarily well. The land under dispute is represented, personified, by a dancer in a ghillie suit who slithers in and out of the central interrogation/morgue table* like a giant muppet, or the Swamp Thing and dances a violently romantic duet with the suspect -- and it could have looked so silly, as I'm describing it it sounds silly, and instead it was haunting and evocative, perfectly elucidating the narrative themes of the show while also just being a gripping and powerful piece of performance.
*remarkable piece of set design, that table; afterwards we all agreed it was the hardest-working table in show business
Other times, the balance felt a little off; the dialogue would tell us something and then a duet would be danced and I'd think, well, you didn't need to tell us both ways, one or the other would have worked fine. Or I'd start to admire the dialogue for its spareness in suggesting the complexity of a dynamic -- who's from here, who isn't, who has rights to land, who doesn't, what's worth punishing on behalf of the community, what isn't -- and then it say it again more explicitly and I'd be like, well, okay, but you didn't have to. What I'm saying is that I think the show probably could have been just as powerful at sixty minutes as at ninety minutes. But I wasn't at all unhappy to be there for ninety minutes! I was compelled the whole time! If the show sometimes told me things about the situation more times or more explicitly than I needed to hear them, it did an admirable job of not telling me what to think about them, and trying to decide what I did think about them left me plenty to occupy my mind.
A lot of the creative team seem to have a history with Punch Drunk and have worked on Sleep No More explicitly, and it was interesting for me to compare/contrast -- the style of expressive choreography is notably similar, but Sleep No More is a piece of theater that has almost no dialogue, that draws a lot of its power from being oblique and ambiguous to the point of fault. Finding that exact right point of convergence for dance and theater seems to be an ongoing challenge and point of interest for the people coming out of the Punch Drunk school and I'm very curious to see other explorations of it.
If you'd forced me to describe what I expected from this show, I would have hazarded something like 'Tana French book, adapted as a ballet?' Not at ALL correct. The cold case is not a mystery, not full of twists: we've got one detective, one suspect, one victim, one piece of land (and one ambiguously metaphorical donkey.) The ninety-minute show begins with a series of projected documents explaining the history of Irish Land Dispute Murders before establishing a more-or-less regular pattern: short interrogation scenes between the detective and the suspect, interspersed with bursts of emotion and memory, some dramatized and some in dance.
Sometimes -- often -- this worked extraordinarily well. The land under dispute is represented, personified, by a dancer in a ghillie suit who slithers in and out of the central interrogation/morgue table* like a giant muppet, or the Swamp Thing and dances a violently romantic duet with the suspect -- and it could have looked so silly, as I'm describing it it sounds silly, and instead it was haunting and evocative, perfectly elucidating the narrative themes of the show while also just being a gripping and powerful piece of performance.
*remarkable piece of set design, that table; afterwards we all agreed it was the hardest-working table in show business
Other times, the balance felt a little off; the dialogue would tell us something and then a duet would be danced and I'd think, well, you didn't need to tell us both ways, one or the other would have worked fine. Or I'd start to admire the dialogue for its spareness in suggesting the complexity of a dynamic -- who's from here, who isn't, who has rights to land, who doesn't, what's worth punishing on behalf of the community, what isn't -- and then it say it again more explicitly and I'd be like, well, okay, but you didn't have to. What I'm saying is that I think the show probably could have been just as powerful at sixty minutes as at ninety minutes. But I wasn't at all unhappy to be there for ninety minutes! I was compelled the whole time! If the show sometimes told me things about the situation more times or more explicitly than I needed to hear them, it did an admirable job of not telling me what to think about them, and trying to decide what I did think about them left me plenty to occupy my mind.
A lot of the creative team seem to have a history with Punch Drunk and have worked on Sleep No More explicitly, and it was interesting for me to compare/contrast -- the style of expressive choreography is notably similar, but Sleep No More is a piece of theater that has almost no dialogue, that draws a lot of its power from being oblique and ambiguous to the point of fault. Finding that exact right point of convergence for dance and theater seems to be an ongoing challenge and point of interest for the people coming out of the Punch Drunk school and I'm very curious to see other explorations of it.
11 April 2026 @ 11:58 pm
I keep forgetting to post about this: we've been troubleshooting the "missing notifications" problem for the past few days. (Well, I say "we", really I mean Mark and Robby; I'm just the amanuensis.) It's been one of those annoying loops of "find a logical explanation for what could be causing the problem, fix that thing, observe that the problem gets better for some people but doesn't go away completely, go back to step one and start again", sigh.
Mark is hauling out the heavy debugging ordinance to try to find the root cause. Once he's done building all the extra logging tools he needs, he'll comment to this entry. After he does, if you find a comment that should have gone to your inbox and sent an email notification but didn't, leave him a link to the comment that should have sent the notification, as long as the comment itself was made after Mark says he's collecting them. (I'd wait and post this after he gets the debug code in but I need to go to sleep and he's not sure how long it will take!)
We're sorry about the hassle! Irregular/sporadic issues like this are really hard to troubleshoot because it's impossible to know if they're fixed or if they're just not happening while you're looking. With luck, this will give us enough information to figure out the root cause for real this time.
11 April 2026 @ 05:55 pm
Yesterday, after I logged off work, I made these banana blueberry muffins, which used up the last of all the fruit that I got last week in the wrong grocery order (well, the raspberries got moldy before I could use them, so they just got thrown out, but I used the strawbs, the bluebs, and the bananas in the end). They're good!
Then this afternoon, I tried out this vanilla cupcake recipe, which I had originally planned to make for Easter. As written, it makes 40 mini cupcakes, so if I make it next weekend to take to work on Tuesday, which is what I am thinking, I will double it. And make that KAB whipped ganache frosting. I might do that tomorrow, just because I can, once the last of the ground meat I received last weekend is thawed and used to make meatballs. I have ravioli in the freezer so I can free up even more space (I used the frozen tortellini last night). Anyway, I want to see if these vanilla cupcakes really do stay moist for a few days. I already replaced vanilla with funfetti for Christmas, but I feel like you should always have a good vanilla cupcake recipe in your back pocket, and the one I like for cake was never the best for cupcakes.
Now I've got a chicken roasting in the oven and it smells so good.
Anyway, here's today's poem:
Hurry
by Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.
And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.
***
Then this afternoon, I tried out this vanilla cupcake recipe, which I had originally planned to make for Easter. As written, it makes 40 mini cupcakes, so if I make it next weekend to take to work on Tuesday, which is what I am thinking, I will double it. And make that KAB whipped ganache frosting. I might do that tomorrow, just because I can, once the last of the ground meat I received last weekend is thawed and used to make meatballs. I have ravioli in the freezer so I can free up even more space (I used the frozen tortellini last night). Anyway, I want to see if these vanilla cupcakes really do stay moist for a few days. I already replaced vanilla with funfetti for Christmas, but I feel like you should always have a good vanilla cupcake recipe in your back pocket, and the one I like for cake was never the best for cupcakes.
Now I've got a chicken roasting in the oven and it smells so good.
Anyway, here's today's poem:
Hurry
by Marie Howe
We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.
Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?
To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?
Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.
And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.
***
emotions: 
hungry
hungrysounds: Rangers vs Stars on tv
11 April 2026 @ 05:39 am
Max’s replacement looks ready to make Peter Gyrich look like Edwin Jarvis. But maybe he won’t be so ba--
( Never mind, he just held a three-hour efficiency meeting and spiked the donuts with Scarecrow fear toxin ‘‘to instill respect.’’ )
10 April 2026 @ 07:02 pm
Today's poem:
The Other Woman
as I picture her
she has no basil
no cumin
no sun-hardened hyssop
nor sage around her eyes
she never catnips
but laughs comfrey
tansy with a primula smile
as I think of her
she's angelica
foxglove and jasmine
somewhat peppermint
not letting you see
all her saffron at once
one day I’ll meet her
that rue woman
that wild indigo teasel
somewhere neutral
free of woodruff and of dropwort
some summer savory
she's the nose
set to lavender
eye full of sesame
ear ringing rosemary
she's wind
through wild thyme
--Twyla M. Hansen
*
The Other Woman
as I picture her
she has no basil
no cumin
no sun-hardened hyssop
nor sage around her eyes
she never catnips
but laughs comfrey
tansy with a primula smile
as I think of her
she's angelica
foxglove and jasmine
somewhat peppermint
not letting you see
all her saffron at once
one day I’ll meet her
that rue woman
that wild indigo teasel
somewhere neutral
free of woodruff and of dropwort
some summer savory
she's the nose
set to lavender
eye full of sesame
ear ringing rosemary
she's wind
through wild thyme
--Twyla M. Hansen
*
sounds: Mets pregame
emotions: 
full
full
09 April 2026 @ 10:24 pm
The sort of beauty that's called human (5727 words) by lotesse
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Bran Davies/Will Stanton
Characters: Bran Davies, Will Stanton (Dark is Rising), Owen Davies, Herne the Hunter (Dark is Rising)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Loss of Parent(s), Immortality
Series: Part 4 of Wherein was bound a child
Summary:
Chapters: 5/?
Fandom: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Bran Davies/Will Stanton
Characters: Bran Davies, Will Stanton (Dark is Rising), Owen Davies, Herne the Hunter (Dark is Rising)
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Loss of Parent(s), Immortality
Series: Part 4 of Wherein was bound a child
Summary:
“We have to go,” Bran said, his voice coming out hoarser than he’d expected. “Rhys called. Trouble with my da. A stroke.”
No more needed to be said aloud. They were going back to Wales.
Made a extremely silly decision this past weekend, which was to break up our long drive to and from Philly by Exactly long enough to see one (one) show in NYC on the way down, and another on the way back. Literally put the car in a garage by the theater, went into the show, got the car out of the garage, and kept driving. And to make matters even sillier the show that we saw on the way down was Bad -- and we knew it was going to be! Or at least we had a reasonable suspicion! But were we not going to go out of our way to see Norm Lewis play Villefort in a Count of Monte Cristo musical? Of course we were. The path before us had simply been prepared.
Q: When you say it was bad, do you mean it was a bad musical as a musical, or a bad adaptation of Count of Monte Cristo?
A: Oh, both! Absolutely both.
Q: What made it a bad musical?
A: Well, the music. And the lyrics. They hit exactly every beat on the Musical Sheet while constantly feeling like less subtle knockoff versions of other songs you might know slightly better. The song you might know slightly better is not a subtle one, you say? Well, I guarantee you that songs such as "Dangerous Times," in which the full cast explain that they are living in dangerous times, and "How Did I Get So Far Away [From Me]," in which Mercedes sadly wonders how she has gotten so far away from herself, are less so. When the best you can say of a song is that it felt like pallid diet Frank Wildhorn -- as in, lacking the noted power and vibrancy of real Frank Wildhorn, composer of such deathless works as Death Note: The Musical -- then you know we're scraping the bottom of the barrel. And that's not even mentioning the frenetic stream of mediocre jokes.
Q: And what made it a bad adaptation?
A: I mean I know there are probably people in the past who have said that Edmond Dantès literally did nothing wrong but I want you to understand: in this show, Edmond Dantès literally does nothing wrong. His backstory takes up the entire first act, and by the time we hit intermission I was already like "huh, there's not going to be a lot of time in here for revenge schemes," but I didn't actually understand how dire the situation was going to be until ( this part of the Q&A gets into quite detailed plot spoilers )
Q: So do you regret your objectively silly decision to go out of your way to see this musical?
A: No I do not, not in the least, and I would have regretted missing it. There is something very nutritious in bad theater, I think. It forces you to consider what good theater might look like. Also, the surprise appearance of Lucrezia Borgia was one of the funniest things I experienced all weekend.
Q: When you say it was bad, do you mean it was a bad musical as a musical, or a bad adaptation of Count of Monte Cristo?
A: Oh, both! Absolutely both.
Q: What made it a bad musical?
A: Well, the music. And the lyrics. They hit exactly every beat on the Musical Sheet while constantly feeling like less subtle knockoff versions of other songs you might know slightly better. The song you might know slightly better is not a subtle one, you say? Well, I guarantee you that songs such as "Dangerous Times," in which the full cast explain that they are living in dangerous times, and "How Did I Get So Far Away [From Me]," in which Mercedes sadly wonders how she has gotten so far away from herself, are less so. When the best you can say of a song is that it felt like pallid diet Frank Wildhorn -- as in, lacking the noted power and vibrancy of real Frank Wildhorn, composer of such deathless works as Death Note: The Musical -- then you know we're scraping the bottom of the barrel. And that's not even mentioning the frenetic stream of mediocre jokes.
Q: And what made it a bad adaptation?
A: I mean I know there are probably people in the past who have said that Edmond Dantès literally did nothing wrong but I want you to understand: in this show, Edmond Dantès literally does nothing wrong. His backstory takes up the entire first act, and by the time we hit intermission I was already like "huh, there's not going to be a lot of time in here for revenge schemes," but I didn't actually understand how dire the situation was going to be until ( this part of the Q&A gets into quite detailed plot spoilers )
Q: So do you regret your objectively silly decision to go out of your way to see this musical?
A: No I do not, not in the least, and I would have regretted missing it. There is something very nutritious in bad theater, I think. It forces you to consider what good theater might look like. Also, the surprise appearance of Lucrezia Borgia was one of the funniest things I experienced all weekend.
09 April 2026 @ 09:51 pm
Not time’s fool (13040 words) by lotesse
Chapters: 8/?
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Caspian/Lucy Pevensie
Characters: Lucy Pevensie, Caspian (Narnia), Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil, Edmund Pevensie, Peter Pevensie, Polly Plummer, Digory Kirke, Eustace Scrubb, Lord Rhoop (Narnia)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Romance, Sailing, Prophecy
Series: Part 3 of An ever-fixèd mark
Summary:
Chapters: 8/?
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Caspian/Lucy Pevensie
Characters: Lucy Pevensie, Caspian (Narnia), Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil, Edmund Pevensie, Peter Pevensie, Polly Plummer, Digory Kirke, Eustace Scrubb, Lord Rhoop (Narnia)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Romance, Sailing, Prophecy
Series: Part 3 of An ever-fixèd mark
Summary:
By remaining in Narnia, and not going home again, Lucy had purposefully thrown herself in the path of fate, making herself the obstacle to derail the terrible train of events from its determined track, which had the prophesied end of all Narnia at its end, and her own premature death in a ruined railway carriage. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She had made of herself a lodestone, pulling fate out of its accustomed course. Inevitably, she would leave change in her wake. She meant it to be so, for the preservation of all.
09 April 2026 @ 06:00 pm
"The Dark Knight faces off against his most villainous adversary — The Joker — in this 5-issue miniseries written and illustrated by Sam Kieth (SCRATCH, The Maxx)! Kieth weaves a dark tale of violence and mayhem, and how heroes are treated by the media and viewed by the public. As Batman and The Joker face off, their confrontation is inadvertently caught on film — and Gotham's protector appears to be pummeling Joker without mercy, much to the delight of the frenzied press! Plus, a secret from young Bruce Wayne's past is revealed!" -- DC
( Scans under the cut... )
09 April 2026 @ 05:50 pm
Today's poem, for which I had to turn on the rich text editor and still couldn't get the spacing quite right sigh:
Seaside Improvisation
by Richard Siken
I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don't
want them, so I take them back
and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark,
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
the book on the table is about Spain,
the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns
of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,
counting birds.
You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
You do the math, you expect the trouble.
The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone
of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea's not ready,
a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still
hasn't hit bottom.
*
Seaside Improvisation
by Richard Siken
I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don't
want them, so I take them back
and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark,
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
the book on the table is about Spain,
the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you're thinking of cities under crowns
of snow and I stare at you like I'm looking through a window,
counting birds.
You wanted happiness, I can't blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
but tell me
you love this, tell me you're not miserable.
You do the math, you expect the trouble.
The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone
of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea's not ready,
a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside you still
hasn't hit bottom.
*
emotions: coughing, still
09 April 2026 @ 03:08 pm
The time sequence between these two is a little ambiguous, but best I can tell, JLA Annual #5 comes first.
When last we left the League, J’Onn and Fire were screaming at Guy, Guy was depressed and pushing Ice away, Beetle was depressed and injured, General Glory was ineffective, and Max just had to top everyone else by getting shot. ( Rich people always make it all about THEM, don’t they? )
09 April 2026 @ 10:00 am
"What a thrill it is to write Jessica Jones. The original Bendis and Gaydos run is legendary, the Kelly Thompson and Mattia de Iulis books are amazing, and Jessica is on TV again. It is the Year of Jessica Jones for the 25th year in a row, let's go. It's not often you get to witness the birth of an iconic character in your lifetime, and it's even rarer when you get to write them too. She's relentless, sharp, and sarcastic as hell, three things we all need in 2001 and 2026. All love to Bendis and Gaydos; they really snapped with Jessica Jones." -- Sam Humphries
( Scans under the cut... )