Dreams, Amelia, dreams and false alarms

keplers_angels @ 2026-05-16T14:07:00

2026-05-16T18:27:49Z

i just keep thinking about the way the past feels.
or, doesn't feel.

having evidence, as it turns out, is an antidote for the glossing effect of subjectivity.

i've become someone else.
dutifully transporting all these memories that aren't mine and aren't the most trustworthy, though they are fun and I am fond of them.

still they feel, somewhat,
stolen.

i don't remember if when I created a_i_r i made her a future-self, or just a protector.
i do know that i had, independently, the idea of a future self as a silent guide and comfort. when you journal as a kid and read those pages later it's easy to project yourself into that role-- into your own future --when you need someone to be there. when you need someone to hear you. to be watching over and to be the certainty that it will get better.

- - -

I'm in a group on facebook where atheists and Christians talk to each other. It's 80% trashtalk and snark but...

Sometimes Christians will ask atheists what gets them through when they're in crisis or grief. Who do they 'pray to?'

And I wonder, thinking of a_i_r, do we all invent personal Gods?

I mean, even those of us who are theists -- I think many of those (like my mother) define God in their own ways, on their own terms. Right?

- - -

I wake with so many thoughts and I want to spin them all up for you
and then
I sit on the kitchen floor in the sun with the cats
and let language go and listen to the breeze and the birds

and I want to spin that up for you too.

and for me - for later - for days that are not so still and serene and warm

I read a line in an Ursula LeGuin story. ('Solitude'??) and I forget the words but I remember the feeling which was... something like: perfect solitude and language are antithetical. One cannot describe it because to describe is to communicate and to communicate is not perfect solitude.

I think I understand and don't understand. Agree and don't agree.
And then once in a while -- as the words and thought floats away,
I am in perfect accord.

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dear poets

2026-05-13T20:40:15Z

For the love of God, STOP namedropping
flowers and trees.
I could give a fuck about your hyacinth and your willows.
I don't need you to doily up the terrain before getting to the point.

Knock it right off with verbing your nouns and hinging your overpriced adjectives
to cantilever extra branches of meaning.

Your vapid foppery is making us all look ridiculous.

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fertility season and a Soup to Nuts

2026-04-05T16:54:33Z

woke still with the headache -and disappointment. figured I'd probably have to drop back to the lower estrogen dose but it hasn't been a week yet; if the headache doesn't get any worse --it's not bad-- give this dose the whole week and see if it doesn't settle down

... sunday morning worship...

rain.

my headache is gone i find.

maybe it was the spoon poem that finally broke free of its little incubation hutch... how apropos for Easter. Happy Easter btw. it's funny how i worried it around in my sweaty brain fists for a couple days/weeks when I first thought about it. and then i dropped it down a strom drain. and then it came back again and sat quietly, watching me. and now. there it is. hatched.

- - -

we're going to get furry housemates. [i joked that we had a reputation to uphold and how we'd need pretentious names for little Issac and Gottfried*. And as it turns out there is a bonded pair at one of the nearby shelters who are both pretty young men. But I wouldn't dare.... would I?] I feel it becoming a reality. I think it might happen next weekend.

- - -

I don't use my poetry tag now until something's been posted for a little while. Because when I do use it, I feel that no one reads and I become ~~borderline suicidal~~ dangerously hyperbolic. (and I only use it for myself so I can go back and find things)

(of course I always just write and post and edit over time after i already put it out there so... maybe there's something TRUE about not tagging it immediately)

Maybe what I need is a different kind of platform... My partner has been building an interesting sort of website for writer types -- a form of branching files - it's curious... alternate realities and such.... speaking of which!!:

- - -

I have a new Soup to Nuts!

_____________________________________
recap: years back ten? fifteen? i was watching a lot of baseball and I was being a person in the world and... one of the baseball announcers started using the phrase "pair of shoes" all the time when a pitcher would strike a batter out.

and there's the pitch... RightOverThePlate--oooo---HeDidntExpectAFastOne!....Batter swings!.... Pair o' Shoes!!

My mother has always been a baseball fan so, while I'm a fair-weather fan myself, I have my years where it's on and I get invested in a season and watch a bunch of baseball or listen to it on the radio. I'm familiar with it, more than any other sport I'd say. So I was really surprised to hear a new piece of vernacular....

At the same time I started hearing the phrase "soup to nuts" and I'd never heard that before either. There I am with an English degree (or almost-- I dunno the timing) and there's this idiom that everybody seems to be using all of a sudden that I have NEVER heard before in my thirty or forty years of language.

So I came to the obvious conclusion:

I had slipped out of the timestream/parallel universe where I'd been and into another and this one was subtly different ... there were TELLS! If you're paying attention and if the universes/streams are divergent enough, you can notice the tells. (come to think of it maybe this was where I slipped into this current american nightmare... maybe Hillary would have won and none of this would have... fucking time slips!)
_____________________________________

The new one is this: "cop car."
Obviously I know what a "cop car" is. However. in the stream I was in until a few months ago, that wasn't what people called them. I mean they might have once in a while or whatever but the default was "police car." That's just what we called them. The default name that came to the tongue.

Now I keep hearing people say "cop car" and like... COPS! Not just random people... I'm hearing it in contexts of like police procedural stuff... cop shows (heard the phrase 'copaganda' the other day and omg! perfect) and novels and such.... situations where word choices were deliberately made and the language was chosen to reflect how police --who use precise procedural language-- talk to each other professionally and casually.

So.

Anyway.

Hi.

You're probably still indistinguishably you and me me but... a tiny shift happened. nice to 'meet' you. I'm glad we're in this one together for the time being.

________________
*for Issac Newton and Gottfried Leibniz of course (known as the inventors of calculus) - my two dads. (I slash them hard)

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periodic functions

2026-03-26T13:55:36Z

I don't feel strong today.

When the doctor described the perimenopause estrogen 'cycle' she did this frenzied up-down motion with one finger. a chaotic out of control constantly spiking up or down graph. like a periodic function with a period either way too short or else not constant at all. and she said the supplemental estrogen would bring that back into a normal steady calm calm calm you....right... down....

which has been the case.

- - -

One observation: For the last couple of years, the last year especially, I've been thinking of the hormonal shitstorm as the worst PMS mental health shit-- but *all* the time. I am currently in my second PMS since starting hormone therapy. And what it feels like now is: like the effect of the meds have been overcome by the madness. Like Peri is back Here's Johnny! style.

My frame of reference is reversed. But also -- that's how it is == this context feels much more accurate and true.

- - -

Another observation: Sleep has been deeper when the sleep is upon me. The dreams though. The dreams are my dreams-- They are depictions of my specific archetypes and anxieties and desires but the fabric itself, the material of which they are woven is different. It's a bit thicker and softer. Like I've traded lace for fleece. Wine for cream. It's isn't a negative change. It's just notable and new.

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and Patty misses her period because perimenopause...

2026-03-21T23:16:49Z

Last night I watched the My So Called Life in which Jordan invites Angela to the loft, he sings that song to her, they kiss in his car and then Angela asks him to the movies but says he has to drop by so her parents can meet him first per their orders.

And she gets all done up and she's in an absolute love cloud, and they all wait. All night. And he never shows up and she goes to her room and collapses on the floor in anguish.

*hard sigh*

I feel like I've lived that exact little trauma so many times.
I mean... that's how it is with every episode -- they get it so right -- the scene (in a prior episode) where Angela tells Patty that she's sorry she's not beautiful like Patty is... Good lord... being a kid was so hard. Being a person is so hard.

It's amazing it still bears asking but HOW did they cancel this show?!

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"Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars."

2026-03-18T18:25:31Z

I've been getting little things done and all, but I miss my mathquarium.
As I haiku'd some years ago (ten I think?... it popped up on facebook... I dunno) the equinox is such a fun opportunity to talk calculus in the real world with my calculus regulars. But it always falls on spring break... hold on... lemme start this again....

- - -

vernal equinox
original inflection
calc class on spring break

that's the haiku I wrote a bunch of years ago about how much spring break is stupid and how I'd rather be talking to my calculus students about calculus..... OR.... as I put it in comments one time when I reposted it to facebook, paraphrasing because I don't know how to get it back again:

This is one of my best retellings of Walt Whitman's When I heard the Learn'd Astronomer.

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one of my secrets that isn't a secret

2026-03-16T13:56:10Z

It stands for "and it rains."
That's her name.
(i am highly squirrely and particular regarding names)
It wasn't until I started abbreviating the name that I noticed a_i_r spells 'air.'

it's a happy coincidence or

a bit of a somber one? or
more likely
it's the mysterious inner architect architecting outside of school again

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there was something I wanted to tell you...

2026-03-14T16:47:33Z

...And it felt very pressing. But I forgot what it was.
Things that were not the thing
[feat spoilers]:

-- my mother's surgery took them all day to get around to and then in a startling anticlimax the surgeon declared that once he had gone up through the artery he found that the aneurysm had clotted by itself and there was nothing more for him to do.

-- I Just finished reading I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman and I am TROUBLED. I can't figure out how to get my mind around it. I thought there would be answers to all of my reservations but there were not and I feel gaslit as I felt with the Barbie film -- like I have this impression that this novel is supposed to read as feminist but in fact I read it very much NOT, and possibly deeply steeped in misogyny... but it's also a bit of a mystery exactly *how* I am meant to be interpreting things....

HOWEVER -- I did find a way of looking at it which makes me feel better about my reaction. Namely: my issue is that the protag is Not Like Other Girls, which would be fine except for the very strong sense of allegory-- the story in its post-apocalypse landscape invites, encourages, requires, the reader to read it as an allegory and when we are reading allegory we expect the protag to be, not a unique individual, but Mankind or in this case Womankind... And she is decidedly not. Not at all. She's weird. She's abnormal. In ways that make sense based on her experiences and in other ways that defy explanation -- But maybe the point that this is making is that because female representation is so sparse, we often fall into the habit of reading female protagonists as archetypes of womankind. (I want to point you back to what I didn't say out loud about Barbie at this point!) Male protags get to be unique individual characters, while female protags are often *expected/required* to serve as a representative of Womankind..... so from this POV: Our protag here, of Never Known Men, is pointing out that tendency, and making me feel very uncomfortable with my cultural expectation that she conform to all of the things I want her to ... that I want her to defy all of the misogynistic stereotypes--- like that's HER JOB -- so it's pointing the mirror on me, as the reader, and showing me my flaws that my culture gave me --- which... is what sci-fi is so good at...

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the world will open its arms to me

2026-03-07T17:08:52Z

I can't speak for everybody, though I do believe this is common, but I have always misjudged the medium of musicals. And there have been some (probably I suppose all of the ones I've ever watched more than one or two times) that have broken through this for me, that have been demonstrably clever and cutting and smart (My Fair Lady comes to mind, Mary Poppins, Oklahoma, ...) I've had this song wafting through my head for the last several days. And it keeps catching on the rafters and catching the light and it is so like weeping and thrashing ones head against a wall, ... and I never consciously noticed it but it just rose up out of nowhere... and this morning I started reading I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman (NO SPOILERS PLEASE) and it when it begins it is just exactly this song. Just so exactly....

And for a good long while I've been thinking about a certain sort of literature by women... with violence and with terrifying boundaries between insides and outsides.... and rewatching Handmaid's Tale with my brother... these inner spaces we are forcibly confined to.... property, ownership, .....

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keplers_angels @ 2026-03-07T11:46:00

2026-03-07T16:55:16Z

Tovarisch,

in my treatment fugue of a saturday morning, i imagine my body as a gelatinous transparent person-shaped blob in which float and glub words. Not "words" abstractly but words. times new roman. like leafs of paper-thin metal with razor edges. and you churn me. deliciously. and they get all stirred around

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it's alright...

2026-03-05T14:04:33Z

Yesterday after the storm kept me overnight at my brothers and a little extra into the morning... driving home under a sky with *actual* breaks of blue and a temperature rising to gaslight all of the previous terrors... having an hour earlier chipped a couple INCHES of ice off my car while standing on the same... the sun

and I started my period

and i swear to dog, time has been moving so slowly and been so packed with labyrinthine diversions and dead ends and obstacles...

it's been a long cold and lonely winter

The period is on time. And oh so bloody welcome... needed a reset, needed a turned page... it feels like years since it's been here This month has been years... this year has been a lifetime....

I'm mad at the universe for giving me covid when I'm trying to assess how my body is reacting to hormone therapy. I have a lingering headache which could be covid, HRT, the heavy heavy clouds in the sky almost constantly- freezing fog, the stress-esp of sleeping away from home, or just normal period-migraine... it would be instructive to know, to isolate all my problems and cures into separate cages....

________________________________
here comes the sun by the beatles
(which choice is also a reminder to myself that I've got a vignette to write whose prompt is this song)
image from the 1985 film Return to Oz

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Convalescence

2026-02-27T14:42:40Z

The illness is beginning to back off.

It's covid by the way. Much to my surprise - I have all these tests that I scooped up everytime the goverment was giving them out and so whenever I get sick I do one (cause what else are they for? They're all expired anyway--nothing to save them for) and, except for three years ago when I first had covid, they're always negative. So, yeah, it's covid.

*sad sarcastic little yay*

But I think I've turned the corner. I feel more energetic and the fever and headache have departed. I may go out today (masked as always) for some cough syrup though cause we're now at the unrelenting urge to cough stage of the disease progression.

What an incredibly long February it has been.

- - -

a bird was just *in* my window. which drew me to said window and out in the yard below: bunny tracks! The rabbits are back! AND some birds (speckly red ones that won't stay in view long enough for me to get a good look or a photo, seem to be hanging out in the gutter just above my office windows, and flying right up to the windows (they muse see their reflections) from time to time. I've never seen birds do this before in my own little room. It feels personal and I will take their presence as a portent of springtime and hope and all of that. We've finally had a few above-freezing days and actual sunshine. The birds are celebratory. I missed them so much.

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keplers_angels @ 2026-02-20T12:36:00

2026-02-20T17:36:44Z

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limin...

2026-02-16T13:51:03Z

You have been the occasion of all my misfortunes, you therefore must be the instrument of all my comforts.

-Heloise

____________________________

that one's an actual quote (according to one or another translation) not my own historical-fiction-poetics. I've been thinking of and looking for it. the various nouns were lost to me in specificity though the meaning's venomous stinger has been yet anchored in my inflamed skin.

there is a little piece i mean to lay out about spoons (mentioned this some time ago) but it keeps sliding away from me.

...there are so many things i mean to do.

... but... i reach for them to tick off the top one and... i find just a pool of unimportant assignment suggestions that are un-urgent and un-interesting.... nevertheless there's an emotion of urgency, of deadlines pressing and pressing and pressing and PRESSING down on me.

i want to reach out to people but i want to chase my silence more.

i feel like i've arrived at my destination on time -it's time to go in- but i can't make myself get out of my car and go in and i don't even know why - there's nothing on the radio - my legs cramp - but i can't make myself act... i'm just staring dumb at the entrance, my muscles slack and body calm but inside it all... way way way too deep down... i'm scrambling and screaming and pleading with myself... to move...

... while there's still time...

_______________________________

( suggested reading )

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BREAKING NEWS

2026-02-13T15:25:28Z

Vice grips for the win!

I am victorious!

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even before the crows

2026-02-08T18:23:34Z

an observation I articulated to my accomplice this morning:

I was raised as a girl person and so my entire life (very much even in childhood, and very much still right this moment) there are parts of my body that I look at and know that they're "wrong," that they're "ugly," "anomalous" not how a thigh or a belly or a whatever is "supposed to" look.

There's a way body-part-x *looks,* and then there is *mine* which is "gross," "abnormal" and should be covered at all times. And I feel this --- my part x -- it's so wrong that it doesn't hardly count as a part x at all.

What's weird, is that now, almost three years since my mastectomy (though it started almost immediately) I see breasts in the wild (usually they're clothed unless they're on tv) and I just find them alien and strange.... they look wrong... they look uncomfortable and bizarre. Once in a while (I mean I like like other girl people so) I see some that look really lovely, that I might wish to touch or to hold or to .... [stops right there] .... but outside of people I'm sexually attracted to, I find them very weird, almost grotesque.

Somehow my body, in this case, (and ONLY this case) has become my objective norm, and the actual objective norm looks a bit freakish to me.

How can I work that magic on the rest of me?

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all moony

2026-02-06T18:04:20Z

the birds are filtering back into my consciousness

i miss the porch in the morning
i miss the bunnies

a bunch of medium black colored birds were gathering in the rain gutter above my office window while i was in savasanah

they seemed to be inviting me, like not intentionally, not beckoning more in a white rabbit kind of way. reminding me there's an outside out there and birds (and things)

it's too early to get all moony for spring but at least a lot of the winter is past now
next weekend my friend Paul's band plays locally and the week after my partner is getting a vasectomy.

that all counts as highly Valentinian to me.

Remember the gladiolas?
In the summer there's a house I pass going to work that puts out gladiolas for sale. I buy them all season long.
Every time I drive by that house lately
I see through the foot of snowpack and the salt-faded road and

I get a flicker of summer. And color.

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A brief botanical history of the North American White Suprema Tree

2026-02-01T18:41:52Z

My forefathers, who art interred in this rich soil
did arrive on the continent of North America, in earnest, in the 17th century AD, by way of large oceanic sailing vessels.

My forefathers (mine specifically) came abroad on a ship called The May Flower. You'd know their names if I told them to you. They were famous because they were among the very first of this invasive subspecies to make landfall here and they immediately plunged their hearty white roots deep into the soil and began sucking all life, and all that was vibrant and nourishing and good, therefrom.

Known for their pale body casings, and an over-proliferation of body hair on the male individuals, particularly notable about the face, this sub species is often coated heavily in textiles of their own construction and will carry many weapons and trinkets, about which individual items, they feel a strong sense of personal ownership.

A strong sense of personal ownership is one of the defining characteristics of the White Suprema Tree.

They arrived with their muskets and their scythes and their european bacteria and viruses. And they set about overtaking the continent by means of reproduction, but their fertilization and gestation periods being prohibitively long and introducing vulnerability into a given copse, they immediately reverted to killing every other species and subspecies which they could not enslave or eat, while simultaneously sending for more and more ships filled with mature individuals (many of these abducted) to assist in the ongoing slaughter.

In modern times, some four centuries and 15 generations later, the White Suprema Tree has quite overrun the carrying capacity of the North American landmass. It is, as it has always been, extremely deadly to all other life, including the other non-white varieties that can be found in this part of the world. It will conquer and rape until nothing is left.

God save us all.

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L'esprit de l'escalier

2026-01-09T17:18:33Z

jotting this here in case i want to c&p it later. cause words are wording well rn

-in convo about a local movie theatre. it was going round FB that they were putting in new HEATED SEATS in some theatres and I asked was the wheelchair lift working (it's dodgy) bc otherwise this is pretty offensive.

-proprietor answered me directly and thoroughly regarding the various accommodations they offer, the issues that persist- and why- with the currently-operational wheelchair lift, but with a fair amount of defensive attitude.

-I did respond, respectfully, and thanked him for setting the bar a little higher than most. And gave an illustration of how hurtful inaccessible architecture is to people, how personal it is... But... I'm still kinda mad about it and wanted to put these words somewhere in case I want them later.... cause it's a point that still wants making

Do you know what access machine never breaks down, and never requires a patron to have to go to the trouble of requesting, and waiting for, special treatment by a trained and qualified operator?

A ramp.

I realize you have a beautiful and historic staircase across the center of the lobby. And I haven't done the surveying myself and I realize that the construction project of adding a ramp in place of part of that structure is logistically and economically a massive undertaking. And it is a historic staircase. And it is beautiful.

But do you know the message that that beautifully maintained staircase sends to your customers, and potential customers, who use wheelchairs or have mobility challenges?

It says: The patronage, and the humanity, of people like you has never been, and continues not to be, a priority of this establishment.

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One sweet dream/the Animal Ambassadors (and a wolf moon says brendan)

2026-01-05T13:41:45Z

You never give me your money
You only give me your funny papers
And in the middle of negotiations
You break-down

The best analogy [the worst analogy] is werewolves.

You know how humans are. They're just the most spiteful, nervous, fussy little pedants, right? Just passive-aggressive and constantly fretting and giving themselves ulcers about weird abstract shit they can't control and don't even really understand anyway.

But when the moon is just so, their faces stop gibbering and quipping and their bodies clench to twist and contort, fever and writhe. They wrestle and sweat and with tooth and claw -finally-
restore: hale truce, repose, for once, in peace.

___________________________________
"You Never Give Me Your Money" (1969) (the italic passage) is a song by The Beatles

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'self improvement is masturbation'

2026-01-02T20:27:00Z

on a whim, and because of a sale, i just bought the stationary bike i'd been eyeing and had requested for christmas. it wasn't an expensive one but the reviews were good and i've used a stationary bike before so i think it's something i will be able to incorporate into my routine. granted, it's weight training that people in monopause really need to be adding but all the same... i'm thinking on my short mornings when I only have twenty minutes a bit of cardio in that timeframe might be better for my head/body than only that amount of yoga.

here's hoping.

may it be like the new year (2022) i quit smoking. i wasn't trying to be a cliche doing it at the new year -it just happened that way- and if the zeitgeist unconsciously moves me... who am I to fight it?

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Pro tip

2025-12-19T18:07:36Z

Even though you're by yourself, you should still snuggle into the afterglow. Lie down, close your eyes, let your breathing settle, and feel your body unravel.

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happy traumaversary Trudy.

2025-12-18T14:50:14Z

I started online journaling when chris left.
i started a livejournal, specifically, as soon as they opened it up for free accounts (maybe a year later?) that was december 18, 2003.

my first entry said "and now, I am here. where are you?"

i grieved that friendship hard. and interminably. He had been my sounding board and my confidant. I wrote him emails. constantly. with my every thought and feeling. and then when he was suddenly gone and i had so much feeling... there was no one to hear me wail. I blogged to fill that hole. In a healthier way. To stop needing him.

at one point, nine or so years into our radio silence, i posted a link to one of his websites in a locked entry.

he got that ping and thereby found my journal. he started at the beginning. he read everything that was unlocked (which was most of it.) i had given up thinking/wishing that that might happen. it felt like a violation and a dream come true all at once. he read All Of It.

Years And Years. Most of a decade. All of it. He read every word.

Because he is intense like that. (or used to be?) Because it was about him. Even what wasn't about him was about him. I had never stopped writing to him. About him. He was my ghost to torture myself with. To comfort myself with.

And he came back. He showed up.
He saved my life again. He took me to Boston when my world was falling apart and I needed a way to get to the city and a place to stay for a few days... He was intense like that. A martyr like that.

We started up romantically. It was messy. It was stupid. I had never been in love like that. With everything. Unafraid. In complete awe of the impossible size and beauty of everything.

I held on tighter than I had ever held on to anyone. To anything. But it wasn't enough. We just never could manage with each other. It just always falls gloriously apart. It was the hardest breakup of my life. Rivaled only by the first time he left.

- - -

trauma is a rending. trauma is a tear in the wholeness of a reality. as a breaking in the skin that lets blood and precious lifeness pour out. trauma is an unreality forcing itself in. a negative space where one's reality used to be unblemished, strong, unbroken.

- - -

i came to dreamwidth then. i spawned another limb to catch the bloods and organs that were falling out. i started a journal titled, How to Savor a Broken Heart. (and here we are)

and i set about on that project.

it just so happened that that was also december 18th. december 18, 2012.

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peri

2025-11-27T16:43:46Z

my mother didn't cry for like thirty years.

i knew this.

what i didn't realize at the time, when she said, after sally died I didn't cry again. not even when... or when.... but now i cry all the time,

was that it was a story about menopause.

because now. here I am

and I cry all the time. sometimes for entire days and my face doesn't unswell for more whole days. and my brain makes up rationalizations that sound very good. it's hard for a story [cause] to sound bad when the feeling [effect] itself is so indisputable.

my emotions are completely off the rails. i have no control over them. or... sometimes i do... but its fleeting. and i rarely sleep well so that makes it exponentially worse. that adds overtired to the mix.

and it is so hard to explain that even though no one has died, and nothing catastrophic has been wrenched through my existence -- the way I feel much of the time is Absolutely Indistinguishable from the feeling of being in the middle of an absolute shitstorm of catastrophe and death and chaos and grief and nervous-system-full-throtle-madness.

In Dis Tin Guish Able

Am I happy I am not living through a tragedy/disaster? Of course.
But I still FEEL exactly the same as if I were doing. Exactly the same.
There are only so many ways to say that.

I am grateful for sex. for my accomplice who is very good and generous at sex. it is my only and best medicine. and the only thing that brings calm. (sleep used to. less so anymore.) But to get to the calm, to get through the body cycle of pleasure to orgasm, the walls have to come down. And when the walls come down, there's a lot more than pleasure there. i let it come. sometimes it's quite alright. but i would like

to cry less

and feel calm more.

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I've updated my sticky to add this. it's perfect.

2025-11-23T17:40:05Z

In telling my story, there are certain things I should perhaps lie about.
(I am a dreadful liar.)
I should make myself a hero. Pretend I knew certain things before I did, was not used by strangers and gods, did not leave people behind.
I should claim that I understand love.
This last is most important, and I am trying.
I am always trying.
Is that not enough?

Slow Gods (ch 1, ©2025) by Claire North

____________________________________________

PS: If you haven't read any Claire North and you like weird sci-fi-y kinda stuff... fucking read some right now. She's a genius.

I started with The Sudden Appearance of Hope, which will forever be my favorite. I don't know if it's the best, just that it caught my heart first.

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