are you perhaps short a marble?
i'm now five episodes into the witcher and jaskier is the most adorable. and more importantly, two of the three timelines have meshed, so yay. still not sure how i feel about it as a whole, but i'm still watching, so.
today is patriot's day, which is a holiday(ish) in my great state, and it's the first time i actually have the day off. (today should also have been the running of the boston marathon, but, well, you can't social distance in a crowd of 30k fellow crazy people runners. so they canceled it.) i celebrated having an extra day of weekend by sleeping late and going to the grocery store at four. and there was a LONG LINE. i should've expected a line, i just wasn't expecting so much of one. i waited forty minutes, and of course was in and out of the store in thirty. they were stocked up on produce - is no one buying fresh fruit and veg? - but kind of half-stocked on everything else. and they didn't have any bricks of swiss cheese! why is it so hard to find swiss in any state besides deli slices? i just want to make a quiche. to soothe my frustration i got ice cream. :D
how do you work from home when one of your team members is on another planet? like, if you work for nasa on team curiosity rover. you chat with your coworkers and stay in contact with mars. (obligatory "space is SO COOL" goes here. :D )
Haven’t they moved like rivers -
like Glory, like light -
over the seven days of your body?
And wasn’t that good?
Them at your hips -
isn’t this what God felt when he pressed together
the first Beloved: Everything.
Fever. Vapor. Atman. Pulsus. Finally,
a sin worth hurting for. Finally, a sweet, a
You are mine.
It is hard not to have faith in this:
from the blue-brown clay of night
these two potters crushed and smoothed you
into being - grind, then curve - built your form up -
atlas of bone, fields of muscle,
one breast a fig tree, the other a nightingale,
both Morning and Evening.
O, the beautiful making they do-
of trigger and carve, suffering and stars-
Aren’t they, too, the dark carpenters
of your small church? Have they not burned
on the altar of your belly, eaten the bread
of your thighs, broke you to wine, to ichor,
to nectareous feast?
Haven’t they riveted your wrists, haven’t they
had you at your knees?
And when these hands touched your throat,
showed you how to take the apple and the rib,
how to slip a thumb into your mouth and taste it all,
didn’t you sing out their ninety-nine names -
Zahir, Aleph, Hands-time-seven,
Sphinx, Leonids, locomotura,
Rubidium, August, and September -
And when you cried out, O, Prometheans,
didn’t they bring fire?
These hands, if not gods, then why
when you have come to me, and I have returned you
to that from which you came - bright mud, mineral-salt -
why then do you whisper O, my Hecatonchire. My Centimani.
My hundred-handed one?
--"These Hands, If Not Gods", Natalie Diaz
today is patriot's day, which is a holiday(ish) in my great state, and it's the first time i actually have the day off. (today should also have been the running of the boston marathon, but, well, you can't social distance in a crowd of 30k fellow crazy people runners. so they canceled it.) i celebrated having an extra day of weekend by sleeping late and going to the grocery store at four. and there was a LONG LINE. i should've expected a line, i just wasn't expecting so much of one. i waited forty minutes, and of course was in and out of the store in thirty. they were stocked up on produce - is no one buying fresh fruit and veg? - but kind of half-stocked on everything else. and they didn't have any bricks of swiss cheese! why is it so hard to find swiss in any state besides deli slices? i just want to make a quiche. to soothe my frustration i got ice cream. :D
how do you work from home when one of your team members is on another planet? like, if you work for nasa on team curiosity rover. you chat with your coworkers and stay in contact with mars. (obligatory "space is SO COOL" goes here. :D )
Haven’t they moved like rivers -
like Glory, like light -
over the seven days of your body?
And wasn’t that good?
Them at your hips -
isn’t this what God felt when he pressed together
the first Beloved: Everything.
Fever. Vapor. Atman. Pulsus. Finally,
a sin worth hurting for. Finally, a sweet, a
You are mine.
It is hard not to have faith in this:
from the blue-brown clay of night
these two potters crushed and smoothed you
into being - grind, then curve - built your form up -
atlas of bone, fields of muscle,
one breast a fig tree, the other a nightingale,
both Morning and Evening.
O, the beautiful making they do-
of trigger and carve, suffering and stars-
Aren’t they, too, the dark carpenters
of your small church? Have they not burned
on the altar of your belly, eaten the bread
of your thighs, broke you to wine, to ichor,
to nectareous feast?
Haven’t they riveted your wrists, haven’t they
had you at your knees?
And when these hands touched your throat,
showed you how to take the apple and the rib,
how to slip a thumb into your mouth and taste it all,
didn’t you sing out their ninety-nine names -
Zahir, Aleph, Hands-time-seven,
Sphinx, Leonids, locomotura,
Rubidium, August, and September -
And when you cried out, O, Prometheans,
didn’t they bring fire?
These hands, if not gods, then why
when you have come to me, and I have returned you
to that from which you came - bright mud, mineral-salt -
why then do you whisper O, my Hecatonchire. My Centimani.
My hundred-handed one?
--"These Hands, If Not Gods", Natalie Diaz