Words Ever Flowing

Remember the spark

We watched hit the rocks and die?

Wildfire conditions

Are never the ideal time

For a new and hungry flame.

#NaPoWriMo #poetry #reblog

“Be good,” the mother says,

and she means to think of others

before you choose to act

and make your choice the kind one

“Be good,” the mother says,

and the brother thinks this means “be safe”

so he checks the ground

before leaping from the tree

to avoid landing on the dog

and the sister thinks it means “be nice”

so she eats the last Easter chocolate

because it was dark and that’s not even

the best kind

“Be good,” the mother says,

and the sister thinks this means “be careful”

so she’ll walk a little slower through the house with her overflowing bowl of water — sorry,

“Barbie pool” —

so the puddled splashes are tiny and dry up faster

and the brother thinks she means “do the right thing”

so he is sure, as the eldest child, to correct

vehemently and with no regard for nuance or context

everything anyone ever says for the rest of time

Today's Adventure is that I, after an unintentional 13-hour power nap,

Got woken up at 6AM by a phone call from a friend stranded in Montana because of the heat wave and almost no cell service because of their crap provider.

OhSoThat'sHowIt'sGonnaBe.jpg

Ok.

I somehow summon a week's worth of spoons and in less than 30 minutes and 5 phone calls, get them

A hotel

An appointment with a mechanic from 2 states away

A perscription refilled from 2 states away

and A Pizza

Go me.

But then it's 8AM and there are unscheduled live humans at the door and while EVERGENCY MODE is still on, I have already blown through a ton of spoons, and also probably shouldn't meet whoever it is wearing just a pair of bootyshorts that say "CRYPTID" in Gothic Font on my ass.

So I greet them in those shorts and a T-shirt that I manage to put on both inside out and backwards

#nailedit

It is, Fortunately, not the mormons.

it is, Unfortunately, two UPS guys trying to deliver my other in-house friend's new phone except the new guy doesn't know how to operate the "sign for package" device, and the old guy that's supposed to be mentoring him is like, 92, deaf as a post, and doesn't actually know how to operate the device either.

by the way

it is already

over 100 out

it takes almost 30 minutes to sign for the phone

when i get back inside, i discover that apparently the Corgi has learned how to open his kennel from the inside because he is now out of the kennel and waiting for me to come in.

he also has cat litter all over his face because while he was waiting for me he also learned how to open the baby gate to the cat's room and help himself to a cat shit breakfast.

He'll be fine

He's a cattle dog, they're legally required to have at least 1 really disgusting snack they love.

but

more to the point

i have no idea at what point he learned to open his kennel from the inside

has he been staying there out of politeness this whole time??

And

I got other shit to do today.

namely.

I'm seeing a realator

The Devils most pathetic yet effective demons

I get a reminder text that I have an appointment with her

at least

I think that's what it is because what she sends me is: "🏡⏰12:00 ❔"

With the time typed in the middle like that.

She is, according to her profile, at least 80.

so I reply "😎👍"

and then she sends me a string of GODDAMN POST-MODERN EMOJI HEIROGLYPHICS THAT TAKE UP MY ENTIRE SCREEN.

She's on an iPhone so half of them don't even translate across platforms

It takes me half an hour and three different software programs and goddamn wingdings to translate, but she has sent me the address and rules about masking and not wearing shoes inside.

in emoji

instead of like

literally any other format

I am

FASCINATED

and simply must meet the woman so if I don't come back to update I got stolen by the fairies but I'm taking the Corgi with me as protection so I'll see y'all later.

Update:

It's not fairies

It's Doris.

might be about to get a sewing machine and/or start an ACAB riot.

Ok, so:

I'm going to see a prospective house because due to various circumstances, I'm probably going to be moving to the other side of a major metropolitan area in the next few months, but that's not important.

I get to the house

I get a text from the realtor

The realtor is not the person who has been texting me in emoji

The person texting me in emoji is the homeowner, who the realtor says will let me in if I want, she's running late.

Sure

Why not

I put Herschel on leash and go to the front door

As much crime as he commits at home Herschel The Hanukkah Goblin has terrific public manners, and is Very Cute so I'm about 90% sure the emoji fairy is going to let me take him through the house

Door opens.

90-something blue haired old lady with a spine like a question mark and glasses that could be used as telescope lenses opens the door.

"OH [Gallus]! How lovely to see you!"

This woman clearly knows me because she remembers my anniversary was last week and that my sister is back from Australia.

Problem is

I know about 500 geriatric ladies with blue hair, scoliosis and extreme prescription glasses, because I am a member of 2 quilt guilds, the scientific illustration guild, the rocky mountain SCA and stagehand for three different theater companies, so I know everyone's grandma and fuck me if I can tell them apart.

Wait

There's a quilt in thekitchen, visible front hall

I don't know faces but apparently I can recognize applique techniques at 40paces.

"...Doris? From SAQA?"

"YES! Who is this handsome little man?"

Herschel speaks enough English to know that "handsome little man" means "this person will feed me milk bones and bacon if I'm cute enough"

Immediately does a Sit Pretty and Shake.

Doris is bewitched

This is fine, but I also know I'm about to severely disappoint the realtor because there is no way in hell I'm moving into this House.

Because

The reason Doris is moving out is that her neighbor is a Cunt Magnifique and has been harassing Doris and everyone else to form an HOA and "improve the quality of our residents" because this woman has nothing better to do than be a racist-ass busy body, and recently, she's set her husband, a county sheriff on Doris, trying to bully her into signing paperwork and threatening her with legal action and writing her up for bullshit property violations

Ain't putting up with that shit

And neither is Doris, so she's selling all her shit and moving out to live with her grandchildren in Santa Monica.

But she's technologically impaired, so the only indication that there is an estate sale happening is a small paper sign in her front yard.

"Doris." I say, as Herschel makes himself comfortable on the couch for belly rubs and pieces of ham. "Did you tell SAQA or FRCC or anyone on Facebook that you're having the sale?"

"oh, I don't know how to do all that!" She sighs. "I tried to call the Denver post but they just put me on hold for ages..."

"Watch Herschel for 20 minutes and he's only allowed to have that one piece of ham."

Pics of everything

Address, time and pics to Facebook, both quilt guilds she's in, two more I have contacts for, nextdoor, and the local SCA discord for good measure.

It's 12 minutes and Herschel persuaded her to give him at least three pieces of ham.

He is petitioning for a fourth by doing a little puppy dance on the living room rug.

"OK, that's enough ham, people will be here in 10. Where is your cash box?"

Because apparently I'm running an estate sale today too.

It's fine :)

There's about 7 minutes of quiet.

Then

They DESCEND

The first on the scene is DeeDee, who doesn't believe in speed limits. She's arrived with a horse trailer. I remember that she is also moving.

"HI DORIS SWEETHEART WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL I HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS TODAY I WAS GOING TO TAKE ALL THIS TO THE GOODWILL HERE LET ME SET UP ON YOUR LAWN "

DeeDee is 73, and has a special spiritual bond with Hello Kitty. She weighs like 98lbs, dresses exclusively in neon pink sanrio clothes and the kind of eye makeup drag queens aspire to.

She also speaks non-stop at a volume normally associated with jet engines.

Half the horse trailer is already spread out on the lawn.

Doris is putting price stickers on stuff

Herschel is trying to tear open a bag of cotton batting.

This, and the arrival of approximately 56 minivans, five more trucks with horse trailers and Corgi Excitement Screaming alert Cunt Magnifique that something is happening outside.

Madame saunters off her porch up to Doris and Demands to know what's happening, you're supposed to notify the neighborhood and get a permit to-"

Doris, surrounded by her pack of silver wolves, shouts. "OH HELLO! EVERYONE, THIS IS MARCIA. I'VE TOLD YOU ALL ABOUT MARCIA." >:)c

... further details in a bit I think the Vikings are here.

~`* SOMEONE'S GETTING FIRED!!*`~

#our world in stories #reblog

OK so.

You know those high school house parties you see in movies, where the person invites only a few friends, but those friends call their friends, and those friends call THEIR friends and soon like 500 people show up to one house and someone calls the cops and that one John Mulaney sketch with "SCATTER!" happens?

Old people will 100% do this too, except instead of a house party it's an estate sale on a wednesday afternoon and when the cop shows up there are lawyers present and he is in DEEP SHIT because his wife just spent the afternoon admitting to doing a bunch of wildly illegal shit on tape.

So when we left off, the party had really started getting underway, because Marcia the Cunt Magnifique had decided to crash the estate sale and whine about "we're supposed to coordinate garage sales as a neighborhood" and "your friends are blocking traffic on this cul-de-sac while nobody is home" weh weh-

DeeDee is about ready to throw hands but she is nowhere near the most dangerous of the Silver Silver Wolves.

That's Dr. Ruth.

Dr. Ruth turned 99 this year and went paragliding for her birthday

So you understand just how hard she goes

Dr. Ruth sort of hobbles over and point-blank asks "So I understand you've been trying to start a homeowner's association?" :3c

Marcia

Entirely misunderstanding how much danger she's in

Starts enumerating the TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS of trying to start one, because SOME PEOPLE DON'T RESPECT AUTHORITY and all the paperwork and talking to people and she even had to ask HER HUSBAND. A SHERRIF. To go around and hand people stuff to sign.

Some people, right?

Dr. Ruth nods. Some people. She agrees.

You know.

Her son is a lawyer.

Why doesn't she give him a call?

Marcia, a Moron: Oh that'd be great!

Dr. Ruth, hobbling back to Doris: "Don't worry. David will handle this."

Meanwhile

The Friends-Of-Friends and the Friends-Of-Friends-Of-Friends are arriving, lured in because they heard the words "Longarm Sewing Machine" and "Hand-made quilts"

Various factions present include but are far from limited to: -Probably Six Quilt Guilds -The Denver Art League -The Denver Leather League -The Vikings -The Klingons -The Colorado Wild Game Share -A Pack of Scientific Illustrators -A Pack of Assorted Scientists they brought with them -The Sheep Lesbians -The Horse Lesbians -Three Extremely Competent Finnish People (My Scientific Illustration Professor and her sisters) who immediately take over the estate sale and turn it into an auction to maximize profit and keep the taxes in order.

Someone brings two additional Corgi called "Cap" and "Bucky"

They are Pembroke Corgi, and weigh about 21lbs apiece

Herschel is a Cardigan Welsh Corgi and weighs 42lbs because he's hug even for a Cardigan, and is Delighted with his New Minions.

They worship him as a God and follow him around so every time he sticks his face in something two smaller corgi faces immediately follow, like some kind of adorable cerberus.

Pelts and meat shares are being traded out of the backs of trucks and vans

Someone is making bratwurst.

Intrigued by the Brouhaha, Doris' neighbors emerge.

They are also Geriatric and very nervous, because Marcia has been harassing them too.

They are telling this to the members of these factions that are also lawyers.

There are at least 5 of them so far and David isn't even here yet.

I realize my realtor isn't even here.

I decide to text her.

She is somewhere in the crowd and having a nervous breakdown because She's SO LATE!!!

Ma'am.

It's 103 out.

I was just handed a freshly grilled Brat

Some bitch is incriminating herself on the lawn.

Nothing scheduled is happening.

Come sit in the yard and watch the Corgis play on the Palyskool plastic slide set. They're disassembling it like tiny furry engineers.

Have a bratwurst.

One of the Klingons appears, having physically carried my realtor through the crowd, and gently deposits her on the lawn before handing her a Bratwurst.

Diane, the Realtor, is not much older than I am, and from the preppie swaths of society that has "Never had a dog growing up" and "Didn't Know People Could Just. Make. Blankets?" and "What is this? It's like a hot dog but spicy?"

She is having a LEARNING EXPERIENCE.

One of the Horse Lesbians comes over and compliments Diane on her Dior handbag.

Diane thanks her ans compliments the apparently expensive brand scarf she has on. Do you. Know all these people?

Horse Lesbian explains that she's part of the SCA, and what that is, and that why yes. Her girlfriend Tasha is an armorer. Yes like for knights.

More Livestock Lesbians assemble.

They are pulling off shirts to show off livestock and battle scars, and biceps.

Diane is LEARNING A LOT TODAY.

I am just getting everyone's contact info and making sure Herschel does not consume his weight in bratwurst.

BWOOP!

Uh-Oh.

Marcia's Husband is here.

I step out front.

He has used the siren to largely part the crowd and pull into his driveway but it has closed around him and there is No Escape.

He starts huffing and puffing about blocked traffic and permits and the like, but this is not his usual Can-Bully-Without-Consequences crowd.

These are Grandmas.

Veterans of the 60's protest front who never let up.

He's starting to turn bright red and looks like he's about to cry and I've got my phone out to record whatever Incident is about to occur.

-And a Mercedes pulls up.

It's David.

Dr. Ruth's son.

The Lawyer.

And I emphasize that The because David is not some mere ambulance chaser.

David is the guy that the state sends to prosecute Corporate Fraud and Organized Crime and Other State Departments.

David was part of the team that took down the CO Branch of the KKK.

David is all of 5'4", very round and a balding little man that looks like the Dictonary Definition of "Nebbish" that moves with such intense confidence and authority that he pretty much has the Pillar Men Theme Blasting behind him at all times.

So when he and three other lawyers from the state's office step out of the car

Mr. Sherrif goes from red to while like color-changing octopus and I am like 50% sure he shit himself.

Because what he and Marcia have been doing is Very, Very, Very, VERY, Fucking Illegal.

"mArCiA!" he garbles. "sHuT tHe fUcK uP!"

Marcia is standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac, having spent the last 3 hours recounting to anyone who will listen about the 'measures she's had to take' and now the 5 lawyers that were here are delightedly handing over the paperwork that she had forced on Doris and her Neighbors, and pointing at all the doorbell cameras and witnesses out to the state's top prosecutor.

Friends

I ugly laughed.

FOUR HOURS LATER: -Auction wrapped up with a solid $40K to Doris' name plus pending sales on some of her larger furniture and antiques

Plus whatever David gets in damages from the county sherrif's office.

Marcia and husband are fucking busted

Herschel spent all afternoon running around and eating snacks and is passed out on the floor

Diane is "meeting up with" one of the Horse Lesbians next week.

The sewing machine went to someone else but I did open my purse and found out Doris or someone shoved a bunch of cash in there.

I'm getting ice dream and going to bed.

jenjen4280

This is the greatest story ever told about the best day ever. It’s about community, found family, and defeating bullies.

weidli

got held up on the way to work today because there was a big snake trying to sun herself on the highway right on the way out of town & the lady in the grey subaru in front of me put her warning lights on & got out to try & shoo her into the grassy sunny verge on the other roadside. & it was afternoon and busy but the logging trucks stopped & waited & the family cars stopped & waited & the long haul truckers stopped & waited for that snake to cross the road. nobody so much as honked. & when the snake was safe the road was backed up in both directions but a fellow in a pickup truck waved at me to go ahead (i was waiting to turn right onto the highway) even though he could have made me wait until the whole long line of cars passed. what i am trying to say is: there is still love in this world. what i am trying to say is: happy pride to me & to that big old bull snake who will live to see another sunrise & to every person on that highway who decided that saving her was worth five minutes of delay

#our world in stories #reblog

Vampire Nightmares

It was fun playing backyard hero,

making monsters out of molehills,

shrieking victory by day—

but when the room went dark,

the blanket became

my only shield

to hide my

tasty

neck.

Through frosts and flakes, the dandelions still wake, bright spots when the sun can’t cut it—

Then fade to gray, like we all will someday, grow soft, but not yet quiet.

Our roots will stay but wishes will play: on breath and on wind they scatter—

Small seeds of hope, endeavors to cope, elope with the breeze

and bloom after.

Bluebird’s song is back—

the sweat of our brows dancing

to his melody,

hot sun beating a harmony,

dirt on the air and our faces.

The grass is too green underfoot,

neon bright after

all those gray skies,

I think of your heart in these times

and how it will beat for as long as mine.

primulaceas

Naomi Shihab Nye, “Sifter.” A Maze Me: Poems for Girls

#poetry #reblog #collage poetry

wellwaterhysteria

a very quick poem i just wrote, made from excerpts of texts my mum has sent me this year.

wellwaterhysteria

HELLO???

batneko

cinderella marries the prince

and it’s… fine. The prince is great! They’re in love, he’s very sweet and passionate, writing her poems and songs, giving her anything she wants. The time she spends with her husband is great.

but cinderella is not royalty, her family was noble but she never spent time in those circles. She’s used to being busy, she’s used to cooking and cleaning and mending. There are hours, days, where she has nothing to do.

time passes. cinderella learns the fancy lady type of needlework. Learns to ride horses. Reads a lot.

as is normal for royalty at the time, they travel and are hosted by nobles or stay at castles owned by the king. But even that variety begins to become routine. The prince is distracted, there’s a lot of young women living and working on their route. Daughters of nobles. Younger and prettier with soft hands that have never done a day’s work.

cinderella needs something to spend her time on, and there’s a part of her thinking a couple-only trip might get her husband’s attention again, so she suggests making an old castle that’s fallen into disrepair their “project.” It was built in the time when castles were made to be defensible, so it’s quite sturdy, but it’s overgrown and secluded. The prince doesn’t know why his family stopped living there either. A hundred years ago it was their summer home.

so they go. And they work. And for a while it’s great! But when they leave for winter cinderella’s husband forgets her once again. cinderella resolves to make the best of her life and stop worrying about a man who has gotten what he wanted from her.

summer comes again and this time cinderella goes alone to the old castle (minus staff, of course, but cinderella manages to narrow it down to only repair workers and one maid). She can cook and clean and mend again, but this time it’s her own choice. She is happy.

this summer they make more progress on repairs. The workers say that most of it can be salvaged, except one tower that’s been completely overgrown with vines and briars. It will have to come down, eventually, but for now it can be safely ignored.

cinderella has more free time now. The old castle has a surprisingly untouched library, though time and moisture have damaged many of the books. Behind a collection of greek poetry cinderella finds an old diary. Very old, in fact, at least a hundred years. It’s rude to read a diary, of course, but whoever wrote this is long dead, and cinderella is bored, so…

from the description of activities the author looks to have been nobility. Maybe even a princess. She’s sensitive and sweet and smarter than she seems to realize. If circumstances had been different cinderella wishes they could have been friends…

after the summer ends cinderella returns to her husband. He’s spending a lot of time with a young musician and cinderella can’t even work up the energy to care. She does some research about the castle and the family she’s married into, finds out the name of the princess who wrote the diary.

aurora. Cursed and forgotten. She died young, they say, in a plague that also took out the castle staff and her own parents. Luckily they avoided a succession crisis, but not so lucky for the dead.

time passes. cinderella goes to the old castle again and again, even out of season. Soon enough all that remains to be done is the old tower, and the builders say they should tear it down and fill the gaps before it gets cold.

one night cinderella is restless. The princess from the diary had been fond of that tower, and cinderella is far more attached to a dead woman than she ought to be. She gets out of bed, reads by candlelight, and finally goes to walk the empty halls.

she finds herself going to the tower. Pushing past the vines that don’t seem so troublesome really. They almost part before her. The stairs are perfectly intact, the door at the top is already cracked open. As if she should have done this years ago, cinderella steps into aurora’s bedroom.

she’s as beautiful as the stories say. And sitting under her hands, crossed across her stomach as it rises and falls, is a book of greek poetry.

years later, people will tell the story of cinderella as a cautionary one. Don’t seek above your station. Don’t marry for prestige. After all, a girl who grew up as a servant once married the crown prince, and disappeared after only three years. She ran away, they say, she couldn’t handle the lifestyle.

two old women who run a bookshop together agree with the lesson. Marrying for the wrong reasons never ends well. It’s best to wait for someone you have things in common with, shared interests.

or, failing that, the more linguistic of the two says, wait a decade or ten for someone to fall in love with you from your diary.

her partner laughs and hits her with the socks she is mending.

#our world in stories #fairy tales #reblog

stjohnstarling

Lighthouses are an underrated form of wizard tower. A grey-bearded old man spends all of his time tending to a light that must never go out, for if it does it will bring disaster? What else could that be?

#reblog #prompt ideas

inkipri

little by little i will save my life and the rot in my stomach will swell into something sweet and it’ll sit on my tongue and i will think to myself how silly it is to wallow when there is a sun that shines and hands that reach for other hands. little by little i will remember every vessel in me bears the promise that most sweet things shall stay alive for as long as i live alongside them. little by little i will leave my head for the real world and i will fearlessly dangle my feet on tall grass and without hesitance reach for a star knowing with absolute certainty that i can never hold it close or call it mine and that it’ll never love me back or yearn for me half as much. so here we are, me and my hope, and our only means of staying tethered together which is through the little by the little. little by little i will save my life not as some monumental course-altering endeavour of bigness and bravery and prettyness like in the poems… but by simply putting my life in warm clothes.

#poetry #prose poetry #reblog

strangelittlestories

After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:

“I can’t believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It’s full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd.”

Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.

“Ow!”

“Did you know,” says Gretel, “that crows are capable of facial recognition?”

“Eh?” Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Not only that,” Gretel continues, “but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they’ll often follow people they remember as friends.”

The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel’s hands.

“Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!”

She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.

“For example,” Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, “if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they’ll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food.”

The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.

“They’ll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!” Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.

“Oh shitballs.” Says the witch, as the crows descend. “I hope you know this is a great unkindness.”

“Technically,” Says Gretel, “It’s a murder.”

#reblog #our world in stories

inkskinned

i have to believe somewhere, someone is trying a taco for the first time. someone is taking their first shower. someone is coming home to a new puppy.

i have to believe that this winter, someone new to snow will pull out a 5 dollar plastic sled and throw themselves down a hill, just to try it.

i think i'm probably lucky to be familiar with sunrises. i live in an area where the lightning bugs dance in their cocktail hours. i take chickadees for granted.

today i saw a tree that had changed to fall colors, and my first reaction was to grimace. i love autumn, but i hate the cold. i don't want it to be winter yet.

but how lucky, to live in a place where the leaves do change color - so bright and vibrant that people make treks from around the world just to look at what i grew-up-with. my mom's friend was a teacher in florida. she used to ask us to mail her an assortment of leaves, just to show her children - to prove to them yes, they really do turn yellow and orange and red.

last year i finally tried pumpkin spice for the first time. someone this year will find a new favorite knitting pattern. someone's favorite band will drop a new album. artists will make things we haven't yet imagined. there will be chalk drawings and magnet poetry and karaoke and recipes and laughing.

it is easy to forget. this was all new to me, once. and when it was - well, it was just all so easy to love.

#poetry #our world in stories #reblog

addyson-pearce

Things Writers Struggle with:

1. Writing

#we all struggle #reblog

inkskinned

she asked me if i believed in god and i told her that when i was four i almost drowned in a public pool and in my panic mistook a stranger for my father. i clawed my way up his leg. four years later he’d send my parents a picture of the scars alongside a tin of cookies. he said, “i hope she’s still okay. i carry her with me. it isn’t every day you save a life. it isn’t every day you feel like you were here for a reason. when it does happen, you have to cherish that memory. for once, i had a purpose. just being there was enough. she tore me open but she taught me a lot about love.”

#our world in stories #prose poetry #poetry

roadmotel

Danez Smith, “I’m Going Back to Minnesota Where Sadness Makes Sense”