SPEAKING ILL OF THE DEAD

NEVER SPEAK ILL OF THE DEAD !

[speakill-blog1]

BOLD  WHAT  YOUR  MUSE  CAN  DO ! repost !    do  not  reblog !

bake a cake from scratch | ride a horse | drive a submarine | speak a second language | dance | catch a fish | play an instrument | throw a punch | build a deck | ice skate | unclog a drain | program a computer | change a flat tire | fire a gun | sew | juggle | play poker | paint | fly a kite | sculpt | write poetry | change a diaper | sing | shoot a bow and arrow | ride a bike | swim | sail a boat | do a back flip | play chess | give cpr | pitch a tent | flirt | stitch a wound | read palms | use chopsticks | write in cursive calligraphy | use an electric drill | braid hair | make a campfire | make a mixed drink | do sudoku puzzles | wrap a gift | give a good massage | jump-start a car | roll their tongue | do magic tricks | do yoga | tie a tie | skip a rock | shuffle a deck of cards | read morse code | pick a lock | fly a plane | train a dog/cat | fix a car | apologize | write a business letter | write in a second language | say the alphabet backwards | read music | cook complex meals | change oil | paint nails | draw | socialize | march | take apart a gun | drive a rig | operate a tank | climb a tree | rock climb | tie a cherry stem | basic first-aid | draw blood | put out a fire

tagged by:  @excommune tagging:  whomever wants to !!

[jessicahide]

UTOPIA (CHANNEL 4) SENTENCE MEME: PART ONE change pronouns etc. as necessary! more under the cut!

“That’s all I’ve got, honest.”

“Can I go? Can I just go, please?”

“This’ll just make you sleep, is all.”

“I’m thinking so hard, I really am. I just don’t know that name.”

“It’s just gas. You’ve got to sleep.”

“Look, are you going to fucking fund this or what?”

“It’s so tedious it makes my eyes bleed.”

“You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you?”

“Just fucking do it!”

“You sound a little bit out of kilter.”

“I have a good feeling this time.”

“You think this is a game? We’ll play a game.”

“Do what I say or I fuck your life.”

“Get serious about this. Not everything’s beneath you.”

“I might as well put a fucking gun to my head.”

“Do you think we got the right place?”

“Believe me, it’s not important or interesting.”

“Look, do you want money? I’ve got money. I can give you money.”

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk about this just now. I think if I speak, I might crack.”

“It’s like opening a door into another world.”

“I don’t need to diminish it by pretending it’s real.”

“Let’s go back to mine and drink until we can’t feel our legs.”

“I have, over the past five years, using various international laws, data protection acts and internet know-how, wiped all trace of me from the world. No bank account, no bills, driver’s license, nothing. And every IP address here is masked and encrypted to avoid detection. I’m invisible.”

“I can lower my heart rate, pick locks and, if I was handcuffed to a radiator, I could escape by dislocating both my thumbs.”

“I don’t drink tea. Caffeine was invented by the CIA.”

Keep reading

[speakill-blog1]

bratking:

     honesty is like opening a window to a sea breeze, the way it punches, the way it chafes and gets down to the deepest parts of your lungs. it hurts on the next inhale, and the next, but by then the salt is a familiar taste and you adjust. laurence says nothing. he looks at jude. he looks through the glass, at jude’s reflection in the glass, at jude again.

“i don’t know anyone here either,” he says, an offering. “but - i’m trying to. so many names on these walls, but i’m trying to know someone who - maybe doesn’t belong.”

     He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to offer a condolence or something else - there are enough questions staggering around in his head that he thinks about just nodding. Like, oh. Like, I see.

     “Who?” he says, eventually, because he doesn’t see, because there is no oh of understanding. If a performative nod of comprehension happens in the bleak, grey space of Jude’s mind and no one was allowed to see it, did he really understand?

[speakill-blog1]

LITERATURE QUIZZES: repost with your muse’s results for the following quizzes.

HOMERIC EPITHET:  You are Jude, great teller of tales. The Greek hero Odysseus had many epithets ascribed to him (others included “much-enduring,” “cunning,” and “man of twists and turns”), and this was one of them, so you’re in good company.

FATAL FLAW:  You’re blunt. You’re outspoken. Frankly, you’re kind of a jerk. But you get away with it because you’re usually right and also because you’re indispensable to the major plot. But honestly? It’s going to come back to haunt you. One of these days, you’re going to be TOO honest. You’re going to refuse to lie at a critical juncture, upholding your honorable caustic truthfulness, and you’re going to pay the ultimate price for it.

GREEK MYTHOLOGY DEATH:  Murdered by a Frisbee, essentially. The god Apollo is your lover in the nighttime, but the wind god, Zephyros, wants you for himself, because you’re just that much of a catch (no pun intended). One day while you and Apollo are throwing the discus back and forth (it’s ancient Greece, so this is just something that people do), you are struck by the oncoming discus and killed instantly. Plot twist! It was Zephyros who blew the discus off-course and caused your untimely and wholly unnecessary death, because I guess he comes from the “if I can’t have them, nobody can” school of dealing with his feelings.

LITERARY SETTING:  You got Juliet’s house in Verona! Not only is Verona one of the most beautiful places in Italy, it’s also the setting of one of the most iconic love stories of all time—perfect for a hopeless romantic like yourself. You can walk the old-fashioned cobblestone streets, eat your weight in deliciously photogenic gelato, and look out from your balcony at night, waiting for your lover to climb up the wooden trellis and profess their undying affection. Just don’t get caught up in any ancient grudges/new mutinies—for your sake, and for the sake of students in English classes for centuries to come.

TAGGED BY:  @dustangel sorta TAGGING:  anyone who wants to!!

[speakill-blog1]

theres still some things i need to pick at but check out jude’s wiki page

[speakill-blog1]

bratking:

     the guilt ekes in open-mouthed. laurence scores his lip with his teeth. “i’m sorry,” he says, and means for your loss and for being rude. he felt like an intruder the first time he came here, when he met the doctor and asked his many questions. laurence has fallen into an uneasy comfort with the place. it feels familiar, because there is a name on the walls he’s looking for. trying to figure out if maybe her name shouldn’t be in here. he feels like an intruder again, now, presented with real loss. “how old was he?”

     “Uh - fourteen.” It’s not real loss: it’s loss by proxy. He met the kid once, when he and Grace had swung by to pick him up after school one day. They went to a sushi bar. The kid - and it’s shameful, but Jude can’t remember his name for sure, because Grace always called him Twiglet - was chatty in the annoying way that kids could sometimes be, and he only ate tempura chicken because he’d decided recently he didn’t like seafood. Jude was in love with Grace then, and he didn’t want to waste time with a kid brother. The entire day comes back to him in shades of cold, indifferent grey.

     He wasn’t going to mention this, but there’s something about the closeness of the air down here that makes him reconsider. “I barely knew him. I just - wanted to see this place.” Jude turns his head away, suddenly, surprised by the stinging in his throat. He clears it.

[speakill-blog1]

jude wrote and published three novels before who killed the killens. all three were crime fiction and part of a loosely interconnected series set in new york city. the novels were independent stories, but the main characters from one book cameoed in others. they sold pretty well and the third of the series made it low on the amazon bestsellers list, but they were still generally super under the radar. after who killed the killens was published there was a surge in sales of his first three books, too, and universal currently holds the rights to a movie adaptation of his first book.

[katieskeep]

[l3gixn]

[dfincher]

My Watchlist in 2015: Dark Places

Libby Day was only seven years old when her family was brutally murdered in their rural Kansas farmhouse. Twenty-five years later, she agrees to revisit the crime and uncovers the wrenching truths that led up to that tragic night.

[speakill-blog1]

[speakill-blog1]

The Killens were old hands when it came to existing on the fringes of society, familiar with it on an intrinsic level that seems in retrospect to beggar belief: how much stigmatisation could one family take, for reasons so paper-thin they'd fall apart and crumble under a mild rainfall of critical thought? Both Martha and Bert had outcast blood. Martha inherited hers from her father Wyatt Jackson, a violent alcoholic who would sit on the bench outside the bar when he wasn't in there racking up a tab and hurl abuse at passers-by, while Bert's came as a by-product of the Killen name, tainted with mistrust and unease ever since his grandparents Mary Francis and Perry arrived in Flat Top in 1934. But by the time Bert was in his early thirties at the turn of the millennium, the town's animosity towards anyone with a Killen on some branch of the family tree dipped and then fizzled out. It was suddenly no longer common parlance to hold a grudge because a person was someone's brother or father or daughter or wife. Flat Top could no longer sustain a society which predicated everyday life on its own history. The world had moved on.

Jude Lancaster, Who Killed the Killens?

[thewowsignal2026]

Visit Original Link

[speakill-blog1]

bratking:

     laurence is too embarrassed to apologise for his tone, too wrapped up in distaste to apologise for his tone. he’s rarely suckerpunched by a mixed feeling. laurence sometimes doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel or react, but that’s an empty feeling in itself, it’s never more than one thing at once. maybe y’oughta try fiction, he wants to say in earnest, but his tongue wants to follow it up with ho-ho you sure are good at lying already so you should be a dab hand at that. it’s better to say nothing. something works in his jaw and he nods.

     he slides the fingers of his right hand around the plastic, stretchy bracelets around his left wrist. with the mass of hands laurence gestures at the walls. “d’you lose anyone?”

     It’s a jolting shift in his line of questioning and it leaves Jude feeling unmoored, like he’s been pushed out to sea with no float. The few seconds of silence afterwards are there so he can catch up. “My ex’s little brother. He was a good kid.”

[speakill-blog1]

bloodsnaps:

    ‘    pushing a man to suicide. so sad.    ‘ 

     “I didn’t do that.” He hates the way his automatic response, over anything else, is puerile, stubborn denial, but it’s all he can cling to. “I wrote a book, that’s all.”

[le-precipice]

In his own misanthropic way, he’s crusading against one of the most powerful, insidious forces we face: resignation. The numb acceptance that we can’t change things. He’s trying to shake people out of their stupor. He’s trying to convince them that it is possible to make the world a better place.

S-Town, Chapter III

[speakill-blog1]

jude who is plainly aware that basically nobody recognises him anyways: i must grow a beard so that nobody will recognise me