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@mshocklee
Beloved, struggling, ardent friends: we have reached the cycle of the year when love feels heavier, desire sharper, loss more stark. [...]we are all developing night vision—seeing what has been changing and moving and growing and dying in the hidden parts of our hearts and minds.
Corina, Satellite of Love
The reality is that all work is political. Work that reinforces the status quo is just as political as work that challenges it.
Kameron Hurley, THE GEEK FEMINIST REVOLUTION
The most beautiful thing I have heard all day and you have the opportunity to hear it too.
One of my faves that was lost to the internet is back
does anyone know the name of this instrument and possibly the source of this video?
it’s a hang drum :)
Everytime I see this I reblog.
The Love Poet Contemplates What Ifs, Angelea Lowes
Margaret Atwood.
Oh, what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were.
Tyler Knott Gregson (via thequotejournals)
fall is leaves gone crisp like memories left processed and packaged and stored away for spring cleaning is waking up in the dark meaning waking up alone meaning waking up to a world unseen outside between a window and a shut door is warmth in mugs and not in hands is blankets and not arms is extra sweaters like a fortitude against frost is the brief bite in lungs of loneliness is celebrating the last of what was color and preparing for winter.
“fall” by not yet one cup of coffee finished on a September monday morning
You know how one’s thoughts can be a pack of wolves.
Iris Murdoch, from a letter to Raymond Queneau written c. June 1950
Morning is a stare down between me and the empty space of all those I am not waking up next to / an undecided sadness between the sun and the clouds and the time it takes to implode a soul before the makeup gets put on / intentions unrealized clutter the floor / and in my closet handfuls of plans never gotten around to stack up and stale in their boxes / I do not open the lids for fear of disintegration / or inhalation of the dust // and though I want a room made of more than memories / the longer I collect these instant coffee mornings / the more I know the shadows on the walls / and that rearranging the furniture will not fix the flow of anything.
“Mornings”
I used up my brave when I was young– confessed my feelings to boys who opened their mouths and laughed their paper hearts in and out of existence. I could call this body of mine magic, but really, it’s all talk. Legend. Old wives tale. You know, they say the full moon brings out the wilderness in everybody. Maybe they were just looking for somebody to howl to.
WEREWOLVES IN SUBURBIA, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
Writing agent Jonny Geller gives advice to young writers.
british people: better stop off at the next motorway services since i've been driving for 3 hours, which is 1 hour more than the highway code recommends!!
americans: yeah it's a pretty short drive only like 47 hours if i don't stop
squid’s laws of fic (not inclusive)
first law: write the fic you wish to see in the world aka goddammit do I have to do everything myself around here
second law: it’s going to be longer than you think. much longer. hahaha so long. why are you crying
third law: the time spent writing is inversely proportional to the amount of smut present, dammit
fourth law: flesh out your secondary characters. make them real people. have them take over. oh god. put them back. somebody please help
fifth law: the time spent researching canon is directly proportional to the amount of time you’ll spend altering your plot. that one person on the internet
sixth law: the time spent researching in general will eclipse the time you spend writing. the nsa agent monitoring your internet search history is curled up in a corner. his boss wants to know if you’re a threat. “I don’t know,” the agent sobs. “I just really don’t know.”
seventh law: at some point, someone will ask what your favorite hobby is. you will feign a heart attack to get away
Favourite underappreciated characters - Malyen Oretsev from The Grisha Trilogy
sometimes you gotta take a moment
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Still the same rough winds, the wild passion raging through the girl.
Sophocles, Antigone (transl. Robert Fagles)
