tekuates: (Default)
 

Under construction while I breathe some life into this account.
tekuates: (Default)
NYC Women's March was wonderful - they were expecting something like a hundred thousand and the real turnout was close to FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND, so. There were people walking along the sidewalk and on parallel streets because there was just no room - for a lot of it we were standing completely still because it was just so packed. So many amazing people.

...on another note, holy jesus my whole body aches today. Holding a sign is hard work!

ETA I just remembered that at one point, someone near me started singing Bohemian Rhapsody and the whole area joined in, complete with singing the guitar solos! So great.

tekuates: (Default)
The dish washer where I work is a Trumper.  As in, wrote, "Trump for president, Hillary for Prison" on his timesheet. He calls gay people "homos" and has actually (this very night, in fact), said the phrase "Obama should go back to Kenya". He could be convinced to change his mind, except that he doesn't trust major news outlets or minor ones. Only sketchy conspiracy theory sites. This is all obviously bad, but what makes it especially frustrating is that he, once a week or so, comes up to me (or one of my co-workers) to say something insane and usually bigoted. Finally tonight, after months of trying to ignore it, I told him that he wasn't going to convince me, that I thought he was wrong, that we shouldn't talk about it again. I think he got the message because he spent the rest of the evening looking at me like I killed his puppy, but knowing him he'll have forgotten (or "forgotten") tomorrow and I'll have to either listen silently, argue, or once again tell him to stop telling me his nutbag theories. Fun!

Add to that the two tables that mysteriously decided not to tip me whatsoever on an already slow ni, and I had a great night.

wheeeeeeeee
tekuates: (Default)
Title: think of cinnamon [ao3]
Fandom: True Detective
Rating: G
Pairing(s): Marty/Rust pre-slash
Word Count: 330
Author's Note: Written for Yuletide Madness 2016 for reserve.
Summary: UST-y haircuts, Marty gets rid of Rust's ponytail.

Marty's hands slide through Rust's hair, and Rust forgets to breathe.
Read more... )
tekuates: (Default)
Title: quarry [ao3]
Fandom: It Follows
Rating: T for canon-level creepiness
Pairing(s): none
Word Count: 100
Author's Note: Written for Yuletide Madness 2016 for thesleepingsatellite.

quar·ry
ˈkwôrē/
noun
noun: quarry; plural noun: quarries
an animal pursued by a hunter, hound, predatory mammal, or bird of prey.
synonyms: prey, victim
a thing or person that is chased or sought.

Read more... )
tekuates: (Default)
Title: sand scattered [ao3]
Fandom: Stranger Things
Rating: G
Pairing(s): none
Word Count: 1070
Author's Note: Written for Yuletide 2016 for celaenos.
Summary: Post-canon; Nancy is having dreams that suggest that not everything is over. Features Nancy, Joyce, Steve, and a bit of El.

Shall I be raised from death, the spirit asks.
And the sun says yes.

Read more... )
tekuates: (Default)
Welp, once again missed Chocolate Box signups due to a post-holiday cold. Time to start looking for promising requests to treat, I suppose!
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
Steve/Tony recs, for sawickies. These are grouped vaguely by length, but are otherwise in no particular order.

Read more... )

tekuates: (liberty/justice)
(Talking about Beowulf being described by critics as "wild, trivial, or typical")

"Yet all stories, great and small, are one or more of these three things in such nakedness. The comparison of skeleton "plots" is simply not a critical literary process at all."

This is a quote from Tolkien's essay "Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics" and will now be used in all my arguments with people who like to hate on books or movies or shows or whatever by saying things like, "Well, if you think about it, the story's just..." or "I mean when you boil it down it's basically..." Whatever, jerks, I have Tolkien on my side.
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
Title: i'm your house (ao3)
Fandom: American Gods
Rating: R
Pairing(s): none
Summary: Shadow dreams of the bone orchard, and the bone orchard dreams of Shadow.
Word Count: 1005
Author's Note: Written for Yuletide 2015!

There is no memory of how the orchard began, or if it was planted, which is not to say that it wasn’t. What is known is this:
read on )

excerpt

Sep. 27th, 2015 01:14 pm
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
A brief excerpt from a treat I'm working on for Trick or Treat:

warning for torture )
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
I saw a movie last week with my brother, a horror movie called It Follows, which was fantastic and terrifying. I don't see much horror - I have a used-to-be-girlfriend-now-friend who loves horror, so I watched some stuff with her. But overall I'm conscious that I'm too much of a baby for horror. My imagination grabs hold of the details and uses them to make me miserable and terrified, for days. It Follows was incredibly scary, and the premise was also perfect for freaking me the hell out. It was great.

I've been writing so much lately, almost every day. It's intoxicating. I'm working on a hockey zombie AU that I'm loving loving loving so far, except that it's gotten stuck. I think this is because it's only the main character at the beginning, no one to interact with, and I'm having the worst time writing scenes and scenes without dialogue. But the lack of dialogue is important, because the beginning is supposed to be complete silence, trapped in this house having to be completely silent for weeks and weeks. And then eventually he has to leave, still by himself, and by the time he finally finds someone he knows, he's both terrified of silence and terrified of not being silence, and probably suffering from PTSD. But first I have to get to the part where he meets another person. I don't know.
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
Apparently the key was just writing the saddest part of the story and powering through! I have now reached 10k and I am so excited. [does the productivity dance]
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
You know, I thought I'd experienced all the weird ways inspiration and motivation and time/space/ability/energy to do things intersect and make writing really difficult. Like the many, many times I've actually been really inspired and ready to write, except in class, which isn't a problem so much because I feel bad about not paying attention, but because I'm absurdly paranoid about people reading over my shoulder despite the fact that a)why would anyone do that?? and b)my handwriting is frequently too dreadful for me to read. Or getting inspired when I have too much to do and all I want to do is burrow into whatever it is I'm writing, but I literally do not have the time. Right now, though, I'm in some hellish in-between mode where I'm really interested and inspired and motivated! all the good things! but it's incredibly directionless and mostly just amounts to me thinking in really vague terms about what I'm writing. Not helpful.

In other writing news, I think creating an Excel spreadsheet for my WIPs may have been a terrible idea. I mean, it was a really good idea, actually, because I'm remembering all these cool ideas that I previously would have vaguely considered and then tossed aside to be forgotten in a day. And I'm keeping track of my progress, and sometimes I write down vague little ideas that become really, really useful and I can smush ideas together and it's just delightful. But like. It's growing every day and all I want to do is write, but I can't, I have other things I need to do, and just. Why, why this.

Also, writing original fic is so STRANGE. I kind of want to stop writing and just create like, a guidebook to the universe I'm writing in, so I have all the background info laid out. But realistically I know that if I do that, I will never, ever complete the actual work. I'm closing in on 10,000 words, though! Hoping to reach that today. I know in terms of length that I definitely want to reach 50,000, because NaNoWriMo (even though that's not until November, but shh), but I'm pretty sure it's gonna be...significantly longer than that. WHATEVER, I'M SURE IT'S FINE.

sea garden

Apr. 14th, 2015 10:24 am
tekuates: (liberty/justice)
The problem with writing an essay about H.D.'s Sea Garden is that I love it too much. Every time I write about it, I have to reread it, and I get entirely caught up in the weird, disturbing, creepy stuff that's happening. And the way it starts out with a poem about a rose that's all messed up and broken, and you read and and are like huh, okay and then the second poem is "The Helmsman" and it just catapults into weirdness. And you keep reading, getting more and more of the picture, still kind of confused about what is happening but sure that it's something majorly fucked up. Things just feel wrong, like something is seriously off, and you never really get the whole story. I love it wildly. I remember feeling this way about T.S. Eliot when I was around fifteen and had just legitimately started reading him (not counting Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, which I read many times as a child), except T.S. Eliot is overtly surreal and gorgeous, and Sea Garden is the kind of thing that creeps up on you.

Anyway, here is "The Helmsman" for your reading enjoyment, which is not my favorite poem only because choosing a favorite from this collection is impossible for me.

O be swift-
we have always known you wanted us.

We fled inland with our flocks,
we pastured them in hollows,
cut off from the wind
and the salt track of the marsh.

We worshipped inland-
we stapped past wood-flowers,
we forgot your tang,
we brushed wood-grass.

We wandered from pine-hills
through oak and scrub-oak tangles,
we broke hyssop and bramble,
we caught flower and new bramble-fruit
in our hair: we laughed
as each branch whipped back,
we tor our feet in half buried rocks
and knotted roots and acorn-cups.

We forgot - we worshipped,
we parted green from green,
we sought further thickets,
we dipped our ankles
through leaf-mould and earth,
and wood and wood-bank enchanted us-

and the feel of the clefts in the bark,
and the slope between tree and tree-
and a slender path strung field to field
and wood to wood
and hill to hill
and the forest after it.

We forgot- for a moment
tree-resin, tree-bark,
sweat of a torn branch
were sweet to the taste.

We were enchanted with the fields,
the tufts of coarse grass
in the shorter grass-
we loved all this.

But now, our boat climbs- hestitates- drops-
climbs- hesitates- crawls back-
climbs- hesitates-
O be swift-
we have always known you wanted us.

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