♥ the "jacket in the sunshine" again
♥ thermos ad behind the scenes
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There are birds here,
so many birds here
is what I was trying to say
when they said those birds were metaphors
for what is trapped
and buildings. No.
The birds are here
to root around for bread
the girl’s hands tear
and toss like confetti. No,
I don’t mean the bread is torn like cotton,
I said confetti, and no
not the confetti
a tank can make of a building.
I mean the confetti
a boy can’t stop smiling about
and no his smile isn’t much
like a skeleton at all. And no
his neighborhood is not like a war zone.
I am trying to say
is as tattered and feathered
as anything else,
as shadow pierced by sun
and light parted
by shadow-dance as anything else,
but they won’t stop saying
how lovely the ruins,
how ruined the lovely
children must be in that birdless city.
that’s not really healthy for the power cord, if it overheats you can damage it.
Yeah, I don’t think it’s great for the cat, either :D They can apparently burn themselves. If she hadn’t hoisted herself off, I would have kicked her off in another few minutes, but I figured I’d give her a few minutes of tech cuddle first.
Downtide, formerly known as Doltaghey House and Ficanoss, are a queer trans plural otherkin who in 2000 created the rainbow seven-pointed Elven Star that became an otherkin symbol (Various, 2001 fall, pg. 9; Arethinn n.d.). System members included Arhuaine, Lewis, Karl, Maitimo, and Casteglan/Casteylan. They created comics about the latter, which ran in Kinships magazine.
Is it because Warms or does the cat have an obsession with cuddling cords? Because my cat Emily is obsessed with cuddling cords, and beeped angrily for thirty minutes when I removed the Big Cord (the window AC unit) for winter. It’s so weird.
I think it’s Warms. Usually she just likes batting at them – but I’ve never seen either of them sleep on one before. She got up and moved right after I shot that, so maybe it was too warm.spaci1701 replied to your photo “I am home, if only for a few days. They’re pile-driving for the new…”
You could bury a box in blankets in your bedroom, facing a wall for a slightly more soundproofed cave for the sisters while your away. Might help them deal a bit better.
That’s an idea! I don’t know if they’d go for it but I do have plenty of blankets and I think I have a box that will work. Maybe I’ll build one tonight or early tomorrow.
In these two guises—Nurse Chapel and the Enterprise computer—the displaced character of Number One serves as the model for two archetypical fan positions: the woman who embodies visible desire, and the disembodied but all-controlling voice. The former is often presented as a negative fan stereotype: the groupie, the stalker, the shrieking Beatlemaniac, the "Mary Sue" who dreams herself into the story, the girl with the embarrassing public crush on a movie star. The latter, I would argue, is the voice of the vidder: the woman behind the camera, slide projector, VCR, or computer, the technological woman who controls the machine. The disembodied voice is also the voice of the slash writer (who writes about bodies not her own) or the omniscient and controlling fan artist who takes control of the protagonists' images and bends them to her will. But most fan works seek to unite the analytical mind and the desiring body in order to create a total female subjectivity.Female fans have always been so central to Star Trek—a woman greenlit it; women resurrected it from cancellation; women ran the first cons; printed the zines; kept the fandom alive for fifty years. How cool, how fitting, is it that a brilliant fan writer who actually got to steer the ship is now honoured as part of the mythology of Star Trek's original woman?
The Latin Lover, or, Whatever is the Crime Business Coming to These Days
The restaurateur’s body had been despatched to the chilly cabinets of the morgue and the coroner had gone home without being able to answer any of the most burning questions. The autopsy had proved baffling; there was a clear enough head wound, to be sure, but its bizarre size and shape offered little clue as to the nature of the murder weapon.
Detective Inspector Entwhistle stared past her own reflection in the darkened window out into the night. Mr. Sakana had clearly been bludgeoned with some kind of edged club, but nothing remotely matching that description had been found – so how had the murderer managed to get their weapon out of the restaurant? There had been a full complement of customers, and no way out other than through the dining area – it had to have been the man’s wife, but with no weapon anywhere to be found there was no evidence it had been anything other than the accidental fall she described.
Entwhistle knew she was missing something.
She returned to the restaurant, to find the last of her junior officers taking the final statements and showing the last tired and resentful customers to the door. The smells from the kitchen were a torment at this late hour – she’d had no time for lunch, let alone dinner – and she couldn’t resist wandering back behind the counter one more time.
The tragically widowed Mrs. Sakana was sitting at the kitchen table reading, drinking green tea and eating the last of the food prepared for sale only a short while earlier. Imperturbably polite throughout the evening, she remained so now and Entwhistle ultimately could not resist her gesture of invitation as she offered the DI tea and a bowl of rice with half a dozen little pieces of deep-fried eel in the lightest, crispiest batter she had ever tasted.
She glanced at the book in the widow’s hand. She looked again. Lamb to the Slaughter by Roald Dahl?
She looked back at her bowl of deep-fried eel.
With a groan, she let her head drop into her hands before looking up again at Mrs. Sakana who was just finishing her last mouthful with a smile.
“Oh tempura, oh morays,” Entwhistle sighed.
In this story, shit totally got eel.
"Kinships was the first in print magazine for Otherkin [people with nonhuman identities, namely mystical beings like elves, angels, etc.] and other 'people who exist anyway'" (Joyner, 2006 May 10a). It was "a quarterly magazine of stories, comics, reviews, and poetry" (Joyner and Silva, 2001 April 7) and ran for eight issues, including Issue #0.
Though plurality was not a focus, otherkin plurals did take part in the magazine--most notably Criss Itterman, AKA the Crisses of Kinhost (Joyner and Silva, 2000 October) and Doltaghey House, writing under the name Ficanoss (Various, 2001 fall).
I am home, if only for a few days. They’re pile-driving for the new apartment building outside, and it’s pretty loud. So we’re camped out in the bedroom, which has at least a little soundproofing from the construction. Deebs is standing guard while Polk plays Blanket Monster. She’s too upset by the noise to even be mad at me.
The gods fell to Earth over a decade ago. Lagos is in chaos, broken and flooded. David Mogo, demigod and godhunter has to capture twin gods—twin Orishas—high gods—and deliver them to Ajala, the city's most notorious wizard.
I was delighted to get an advance reading copy of this from Netgalley because I read it in its early stages when it was a single novella which Suyi brought to the Milford SF Writers' Conference in 2017, all the way from Lagos to a misty North Wales. Several of us said then, that it was excellent, but it should be a novel. Now, it is, though it still feels like novellas tacked together. That's not a bad thing, of course (ref Nnedi Okirafor's Binti books).
David Mogo feels like a Nigerian Harry Dresden. He’s streetwise but not without empathy. Because it's told in the first person there's a lot of exposition, but the 'voice' is good. I really like Papa Udi, his foster wizard. There's a lot of description which adds to the supernatural Nigerian setting. Even without knowing present Lagos, it feels like something familiar yet strange. The dialogue in Nigerian dialect can be a bit boggling, but mostly it's understandable. The internal monologue of the viewpoint character is in standard English. The dialect and Nigerian words add to the worldbuilding and there’s not much that I can’t infer from the context.
As a bonus, the cover art is gorgeous..
Thanks to Stride for providing rough transcripts along with the audio!
A listener punned on my username ("brainwane") to tell me, "loved your perspective and insight on the podcast ... for me, it was 'braingain'". Awww!
We recorded these episodes on 27 February. The 7:17-08:06 segment of the first one proved prescient:
David:... NPM does an audit of the packages and says, okay, like, "this version is flagged with a known vulnerability, you should upgrade this." And it will just hammer you with that [unintelligible], infinitely, until you handle it. But like, you know, that’s also a form of open source software, that we’re depending on to nudge us.
Sumana: Right, and then the question of, again, sustainability, of like, well, is NPM, as a venture-backed thing, right..... You stay in this industry long enough and VC sounds like a dangerous term for anything you’re actually going to depend on.
David: Yeah, like the idea of something like PyPI going away. Like, I don't know what I would do? I would just have to find all of the binaries on a website? And like host my own... thing? Or...?
Please note that you can make a one-time or recurring donation of any amount to the Python Software Foundation that specifically supports PyPI and related packaging and distribution work (disclaimer: the PSF currently pays Changeset Consulting to work on PyPI and packaging), and that your org can sponsor the PSF for as little as USD$500 per year. And I am, as always, speaking here entirely for myself and not for any of my clients or colleagues.