Settler writer/musician, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming in 2020, Hair Sinister after that. ————- LAND BACK . @TheCorrection on twitter.
So despite preparing for the mob, the mayor of DC, Muriel Bowser, and the Chief of Police, had a victory over the mob taken away because the Capital Police let the mob into the White House, and then the federal prosecutor refused to prosecute anyone, on 45’s orders. (This according to Racine, whom I heard interviewed.)
I’m going to keep the news turned off, this is some bullshit.
updated 25 nov
I told Jeff that watching Supernatural was like having an abusive boyfriend for 4 years (I only started watching late in 2016)
If I’m posting word counts in future it won’t be for fanfic.
Somebody made a canonical list of all the queer people that were killed in the show
I was wrong about it being Jensen’s fault, but everything else I got right.
Happy endings are for chumps.
But hey, don’t take my word for it, the aggregators are speaking!:
absolutely fuck this noise: aka I’m not getting on a ferry unless I can STAY IN MY CAR
https://thetyee.ca/Opinion/2020/11/13/Disabled-BC-Ferries-No-Car-Deck-Rule/
Yes, there was an election. No, it isn’t settled. Even if the worst happens, the world survived before, and it will keep surviving. My story isn’t done, neither is yours.
This is a long boring text-heavy oversharing post, ya been told.
One of the ways to fight anxiety is to think about other people, so I’m trying to write entertaining letters to relatives and friends.
Anyway, if you want a letter, private message me with your mailing address.
Katie dropped by for a visit. Alex was with Suzanne, Dax’s mum, and Katie had just dropped Paul off at the airport – he never, ever, tells me when he’s going to the US, it’s always been startling to me, no matter how many times I learn about it after he’s gone, which has literally been dozens of times, which just goes to show that I am a slow learner. He’s agreed to quarantine after he comes back, and if he misses his friends and girlfriend in the US who can blame him.
She said her car had a mind of its own and she ended up in my driveway. We had a very long and very necessary chat out on the deck. There was laughing, crying and swearing, and she is such a dear person to me. She was feeling a bit low, but she managed to cheer me up, and that was helpful.
Last night I had my first nightmare that I can remember in years. It was horrifying because my subconscious was saying that it’s better to be dead (or to kill someone else to spare them) than to go through whatever was happening (some unspecified apocalypse). I can’t actually say what it was about because the internet is forever, but let’s just say it was nauseating and disheartening and framed me as an entirely heartless and cruel person with no connection to the future of this earth.
And it was all so calm. HORRIBLE things were happening, and myself and my unnamed conspirator proceeded through our horrible response to them as if neither of us had a hair out of place or a care in the world.
Very slowly, as I realized what we had done, I decided to call the cops, and then I woke up.
Made chicken breasts, bok choi and onions in ginger and garlic, and green salad for supper last night. Practiced lots, still working on arrangements.
17080
user chewmynails posted this on reddit saying the MIL crocheted this
Speaking of kitties, Buster has been training HARD. He’s a good chonky boi.
from @gabrielsherman on twitter
This is quite the poem, eh? Inglorious in Excelsis by Brian Bilston
added later:
So there’s signage at Deer Lake Park equivalent to ‘walk this way’ and no, not like Aerosmith, but nobody seems able to read it. Paul and I went for a walk, saw frogs, got halibut and chips and fed ourselves and Jeff lunch.
Today I’m hoping to mount a small shopping expedition.
Advice from @Maria_Tureaud on twitter for a pitch session:
To write a Twitter pitch: 1. Who is your MC? 2. What is their normal? 3. But when X happens, MC faces *stakes so dire* 4. And then MC will/might lose Y/Z
eh, doesn’t really work for me
10,676 words
Kasia Babis drew this…. they’re throwing trans women into paddy wagons, preventing gay activists from talking to lawyers, and mass arresting them while taking them all to separate detention centres to exhaust their allies.
content warning ableism
Attributes Rated as Important by more than 70 percent of participants regarding end of life for patients.
Anne Enright’s a novelist. This quote is telling us to buck up about quarantine
why are they taking artifacts out of a newly found temple at Ndachjian–Tehuacán…. the Flayed Lord has NO CHILL and will BE ANGRY
Saw Keith, Paul, Katie and Alex yesterday when I went to pick Alex up from the school. I walked to but Katie gave me a lift back from Planet Bachelor. Alex is doing well and we had a lovely walk. I didn’t bug him or try to talk to him. I let him be. I walked next to him, and at every intersection, his little cold hand slid into mine, and then he let go as soon as we crossed the street.
Keith enjoys living with Alex. He says some days are better than others.
I burst into tears when Paul said he’s staying on this side of the border until things settle down, which, candidly, who can say?
And it all happens again two Wednesdays from now, if we aren’t in lockdown. Seven new cases in BC yesterday.
Started reading the Newsflesh Trilogy yesterday. It’s entertaining as hell; but describing the zombie apocalypse like that and then saying ‘look how much infrastructure survived’ makes me hope that she will at least provide an explanation of how the power grid and cell towers survived well enough to make an instant news economy work, and where all that bleach gets manufactured, is not really explained well enough to keep me happy.
I have a sudden mental image of people driving up to crematoria with loved ones in garbage bags sealed with duct tape and leaving them outside with the phone number of whoever’s got the credit card number to get them cremated.
70 million years ago days were 23.5 hours long. Longer days were God’s answer to critters saying ‘THERE’S JUST NOT ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY”.
Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson are in COVID-19 isolation in Australia. Lucky them.
Guess who has diplomatic relations with Cuba, which manufactures the most powerful antiviral in the world right now? Canada. Guess who doesn’t? Trumplandia.
Dinosaur the size of a hummingbird.
‘Black people in horror’ mini posters. No Duane Jones (Night of the Living Dead lead) tho.
so this is northbound on 8th in New West where it crosses 10th and this is one of the most dangerous intersections in the city so whyyyyy?
The sky, when it shrugs off its habitual shawl of fog and low cloud, is blue. It flickers sometimes. A low, static cloud of dense dark grey settles over the town every few days, but I don’t like to divide the passage of time into days.
People say: I’m going to sleep now, and then they lie down and wink out of existence. That’s how I imagine it. I haven’t slept yet. I haven’t caught anyone disappearing, and yet they do.
I believe it’s been a long time, yet there are signs that not much time has passed, and since I don’t sleep it’s hard to tell. I’ve been awake long enough to know that I’m the only one who stays awake all the time. I watch the others sleep to make sure that they don’t disappear when they’re asleep. I try to read but I can’t keep the words steady in my mind long enough to take any nourishment from them. Mostly I stand at the window. Someone is playing in the yard. I see her clearly but only for a moment, and she’s horrified at how I look and her face shows it and I run away to the bathroom to brush my hair and run right through a woman. The sunlight that the child was playing in is gone. The woman is gone. I’m alone but when I move to the master bedroom I can see breath rising from the bed.
I didn’t know I could see that. I’m so fascinated that I watch, watch, watch, each little puff and I’m filled with grateful wonder that my eyes can bring me this. I bring my hand up to cover my eyes, to check if this is real or my mind is filling in some blanks, and then I wish I hadn’t. The scene has changed and I’m sitting on the ground in the open; the house has burned down and I was too busy looking at something else to notice. It bothers me that I missed the fire but on the other hand maybe people died and I’ll have company.
It doesn’t seem that way. I get the sky all the time but that doesn’t last. Workers walk through me and I let them pour concrete through me, thinking perhaps I’ll finally stop having to look at anything but my imagination.
Dang, kid, you’re younger than my children. No thanks.
following is fictional…
Dad staggered away from the kitchen in an exaggeration of his normal walk. He had grimly supported Mom through the whole ghastly process of getting the equipment through customs, and grimly supported her in the sequelae, which included about four dozen eggs on the outside of the house and a number of unpleasant encounters with the more tender hearted of their neighbours, including the one neighbour they were always having fencing discussions with, and whom they suspected of allowing access for youthful depredations.
Now the damned machine was here, and it was as if every item which had been eviscerated from his diet was now coming at him as extruded by this knitting machine of the damned.
She’d seen it in a catalog, and ever since had wanted it so.
Dad couldn’t watch. He knew he would not be able to resist, even knowing where the meat had come from.
________
So, today there was news about knittable meat. There was also meat you could wear and meat you could form in rainbow layers and other kinds of Modern Foods kinda meat.
I DON’T want to know what the meat was. In the story, that is. Sometimes the depths of one’s subconscious are a small but entertaining tidal pool.
