whatifbutnot

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#til #there was a version of this filmed live #not lying when I say #this is one of the best tracks of this millenium #may the soil rest lightly on her head #Whiskey Cambodia #Cambodian Space Project #music #Youtube

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The Kansas Newspaper Union, Topeka, November 26, 1887

#I do not like this #but I do respect it

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W.K. Haselden in the Daily Mirror, October 3, 1935

#vauxhall #has always been terrible #and it has been getting worse my entire life

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#this means nothing #how many bananas big is Carlos?

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You, who believes the nature of existence is not stasis but flow: The nature of existence is not stasis but flow

Me, a small Victorian child dying of consumption: A-heh, a-heh.

#the nature of existence #is not stasis #but flow #or is it?

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Steamboat Willy being in the public domain is great until he moves into your kitchen because your housemates don't ever clean up their crumbs.

#mice do not belong under my sink #their place is in #a windmill #in old amsterdam

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Me, the Pope, pausing from my pottery shopping to write an encyclical to the faithful.

#Catholic #high-five

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Undated diary entry, Villa Diotari, Switzerland

I am at my last, I can do no more. We must leave, weather or not. My only hope is that there remains a sanatorium in Europe which news of us has not reached, that we might be taken in. Not only are my nerves most hotly strained, but the infamy of this place has grown to a degree which must surely end any hopes of returning to polite society. We will be forever pariahs, the subject of knowing looks and outrageous gossip. I truly believe we will never be able to return to our lives. Once the immediate scandal has died down, we must assume new identities in a place where we will not be discovered by our old acquaintances, maybe Patagonia, or the Dutch trading colonies.

The final extremity was the appearance of Augusta Mary, Byron's older half-sister. I had known her, lightly, during my earlier acquaintance with Byron, and recall finding her somewhat over-awing in her worldliness. It seems she had a corresponding sense of me, as something of an ingénue. While time has changed my feelings - if nothing else Byron's correspondence has rendered me knowledgable in the ways of the world - it appears she still sees me in the manner of a nut to be cracked from its husk and gravely masticated.

It started with her very greeting, which was much more physical than the moment called for. She took the opportunity to whisper a remembrance into my ear which was not in any way appropriate for one of my now married status. There followed a series of implications which betrayed her lineage, being the sort of suggestions that only a Byron would make. I warm even thinking of them. Thank God that Sophia truly is an ingénue, in her condition she could ill bear the anger that full understanding would have granted her.

No word would discourage her. If anything, resistance made her more outrageous in her behaviour, progressing from mere speech to physicality, the caressing of a hand, the touching of a knee. And then, during dinner, the placement of her stockinged foot in a place where only a wife's foot should be placed.

This cannot go on. Though I know I am strong enough to resist her brave physicality with its threat of robust and degenerate carnality, I fear that her determined assault may give me no choice in the matter. Even as I sit here writing this, Augusta Maria may be slowly removing her stockings, the concentration needed necessary leading her to bite her lower lip, in preparation of a further assault on my dignity. Even thinking about this makes my manhood warm with anger. No, no, I cannot place myself in a position where I might be unable to resist, perhaps tied down, being disciplined for my resistance, maybe being roughly penetrated in a way that only a wife should roughly penetrate a man. One's dignity and reputation could not bear it.

Tomorrow we will leave. Tonight, when Sophia has taken the draught I have made her and is securely asleep, I shall go to Augusta Maria to tell her of my escape and the failure of her plans.

I fear my masterpiece will not be completed. I shall leave it here with the memories of this place. On balance, I do not think I shall be too sorry to end the enterprise, I do not think the world is yet ready for the sort of work I was creating. It is too adventurous, pushes too many boundaries. I will leave Theodoric where he stands, having killed the villain but turning to find the body it not where he had slain it.

#and so it ends #not with a bang #but with a whimper #and vice versa #it's a shame #I really wanted to write that work of genius #maybe the work of genius is the friends we made along the way #that bear for instance #trapped in a cabin with lord byron #oliver darkshire #writing project #rpg

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#oh lawd #he coming

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Why is my jumper unraveling?

A thread: [1/?]

#what? #don't look at me like that #if you had your time again #you would relive this joke

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TV nutritionist: You are what you eat.

Me, furiously taking notes: If I eat enough wallpaper paste I will possess its soul.

#what #don't make that face at me #wallpaper paste is a type of roux

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#Eraser #Last night I dreamt #that I was explaining my thoughts on the production of #Good Living is Coming for You #by #Sweeping promises #I am not saying Dream Me should be killed #but they must be stopped #music #Youtube

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Your annual PSA that, according to the text, Tiny Tim did not die, so could be in the room with right now.

#see also #the Hunter Gracchus #although hopefully not at the same time

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Undated diary entry, Villa Diotari, Switzerland

The bear. The accursed bear.

#unbearable #trapped in a cabin with lord byron #Oliver Darkshire #roll 12 #RPG #writing project

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Every time Spotify Unwrapped comes around I'm reminded of the year it was like 'You played F The Pain Away by Peaches 285 times' and I was forced to reflect on the fact that March is a month that sometimes happens.

#the teaches of #Peaches #wasn't sorry though #a banger is a banger #and sometimes things are hard

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#When I got back to my empty room #I suppose I must have cried #Thousands Are Sailing #The Pogues #In memoriam #Shane MacGowan #music #Youtube

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Passive, cowardly: Being the little one in the bed and saying to the other nine "roll over, roll over".

Active, manifesting change: Simply rolling over, challenging the others to adapt to altered environmental conditions.

#be the difference