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wardencommanderrodimiss · 1 year

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Witches, Chapter 33: Trial, Day One.

The first trial day of Cosmic Turnabout in fact takes place on December 16th. We'll pretend that's the reason I'm pushing this chapter out now. We'll pretend that I haven't had this chapter ready for a while but been unable to proofread it because my brain is made of wet scrambled eggs and apparently only works underneath the shame of it having been a year since I last updated.

Thank you all so much for bearing with me and I am afraid this will be happening again, as I have less than one single page written for the next chapter. I wanted to make some headway on that before I posted this one, but, well! That didn't happen!

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches of Los Angeles Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

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Enough snow has fallen to lightly coat the roof of the courthouse. On Apollo’s approach, a familiar bird launches itself from the edge, dislodging a cloud of powdery snow that scatters across the stairs above him. It clutches a collection of papers in its talons and delivers them right into Apollo’s hands when he reaches up for them. They are cold as everything else is, and wet from resting in the snow. He knows exactly what they are but forces himself not to look until he has made it into the lobby and can sink into a couch rather than rely on his trembling legs to support him.

An autopsy report, like any other autopsy report he has ever seen, but this is Clay Terran’s autopsy report. His best friend’s name at the top left in tiny black type, and maybe this is where it sets in, or maybe this is where Apollo invents a new kind of denial to be studied by psychologists for decades to come. He managed to trap his childhood behind those kind of walls for many years. He—

—can’t do it for something this plainly in front of him. The report contains a photo of Clay at the scene. Still in his orange space suit like he was ever going to make it into the rocket, into orbit, but there is the knife sticking out of his chest, and the blood soaking through the fabric. Cause of death: fatal stab wound.

He might be down one eye by his own choice, but that still can’t save him from seeing what lies in front of him in this moment. He turns the report facedown and sets it on the couch next to him. Clay is dead, stabbed through the chest. Athena is hiding something, and her secret is regarding that knife, the murder weapon. Apollo spoke with a dead woman about his case and found no leads. His head hurts. He forgot to eat while he was at his apartment. He left with his hair still wet from his shower and it has begun to freeze on the walk over. His best friend is dead.

Athena’s eyes lit up red. She’s lying. She’s hiding something. Apollo sits in the lobby and waits for her to arrive to assist him with this case. What else can he do?

The next person to arrive is not Athena, but Juniper Woods. Athena must have told her what happened yesterday. He wonders - distantly, as though it were a thought that occurred to someone else and was then told to him - who else might know. Who else might have heard through the grapevine: Athena, Trucy, perhaps even Phoenix, could have told any number of people. And then he will have to go through this again, and again, the condolences, the looks that they give him - he doesn’t want pity. He wants the truth.

He can’t say that. Juniper is Athena’s best friend. He can’t say to her, “Hey, my best friend is dead and I wonder if yours might be involved in his death, somehow.” That’s insane, even if Apollo is too.

So he greets Juniper politely instead. She knew Athena when they were children; she might somehow know some secret of Athena’s that would explain everything, that could somehow shed light on on this strange happenstance. Apollo does not ask. He accepts the lotus root she offers him - she says it’s for good luck (which he could really use), and is good for the eyes (which he doesn’t need, his eyes are good and that’s the problem, Juniper doesn’t know that, Juniper knows what she’s been told by Athena and Athena can’t know that), and that her grandmother told her that looking through the holes in the root can let one peer into the future (which he doesn’t want). He thanks her.

(He thinks of peering through the hole in Phoenix’s magatama and the truth made visible that way. He’s terrified of what truths can be made visible and he needs to know and he doesn’t want to know.)

But he didn’t eat breakfast and he has no recollection of whether or not he ever ate any of the dinner that Trucy pushed on him, so he has already begun gnawing on the root when Juniper tells him that it shouldn’t be eaten raw. Looking like an idiot is, all in all, not high on his list of current concerns, but, well - there it is, he’s looked like an idiot, and maybe he’ll remember this happened later, if someday he can’t figure out why Juniper is giving him a funny look.

Or maybe the murder trial for his best friend’s killer will uncover some horrible truth about her best friend, and they’ll never speak again.

All that at stake and yet he just sits here and waits.

Perhaps it’s Apollo’s mind running away with him. It wouldn't be the first time in the past twenty-four hours that it’s taken him down strange roads. But something seems off about Prosecutor Blackquill, too. More aggressive than he usually is, which Apollo wouldn't have thought possible - quicker on the draw, quicker to shut down any line of argument that disagrees with his conclusion. Like he wants Starbuck convicted as quickly as possible. As if naming him guilty will neatly tie off this matter and he’ll never have to think about it again. Apollo wishes he wouldn’t have to think about any of this ever again.

But here they are and Clay is dead and Starbuck’s life is still on the line, so Apollo has to think this through. Wring every scrap of information he can out of the prosecution, of the witnesses, just like any other trial, this is any other trial. Like Mia said. His job hasn’t changed. This is as he always does.

And Blackquill, like he always does, looks at the defense, and the defendant, and he laughs.

Athena stands to Apollo’s left. He covered up his right eye but she still stands where he can see her. Of course she does; it’s where she’s always stood. She can’t know - but she’s hiding something. She has to know that she’s hiding something, and that it’s important, and she knows that this case is important to Apollo - and yet - and still—

He doesn’t see any flashes of red and maybe that’s because he’s stopped himself or maybe it’s the way that Prosecutor Blackquill acts as a signal jammer for magic. Does it matter? It doesn’t matter. Not until he has to step out of this room and talk with Athena about the case if they can stop Starbuck from being convicted today.

They have to stop Starbuck from being convicted today.

Like many clients Apollo has had, Solomon Starbuck will probably be fined for perjury at a later date. Blackquill told them to go ahead and let the defendant testify, and he grinned as he handed them the rope to hang themselves and their case. But they didn’t have the chance to speak with Starbuck at the detention center about what happened, and they don’t have the information that they need. Blackquill told them to play the game exactly the way he had planned for them to, and so they do as the prosecution wants.

And Starbuck spins two testimonies out of whole cloth before Blackquill forces him to admit that he doesn’t remember. All those prescription drug side-effect warnings about not operating heavy machinery after taking, and Starbuck took his medications and walked towards a rocket launch and came out of it remembering nothing, including but not limited to actually taking the medication. He claims someone must have slipped them to him, drugging him with something he was actually permitted to take.

Apollo sets that thought aside. To come back to it when Blackquill isn’t pushing him on a different matter.

The damaged security camera footage shows the two astronauts escaping from the rocket launch pad, where one explosion occurred, into the lounge where Clay’s body was found. One of the astronauts was carrying the other. This was presumed to be Starbuck carrying Clay’s body.

This was Clay helping Starbuck out of the boarding area. Clay was alive until then, after all. Starbuck’s testimony is useless but arguing with Blackquill about what he makes of it gives Apollo a lifeline to follow. Who was first to arrive on the scene? If Starbuck didn’t kill Clay, then perhaps one of the newcomers did - or lied, or was confused. There were two people who found Starbuck and Clay - the director himself, and a detective.

No obvious motive. But nothing is ever obvious in a murder trial. Apollo knows what his job is. Keep digging. Find the truth. Cry when it’s over.

There is a man who has run up to the witness stand to yell that the disarmed bomb from the Space Center, evidence for this trial, has been rearmed and is about to explode. This is like the time Trucy faked her kidnapping at the hands of the mob, except not at all, and Apollo feels none of the panic and terror and concern that he did then. He knows he should but it has not even been twenty-four hours since he got that phone call from Starbuck and since then time has slowed down and sped up and twisted all around.

People are already running and screaming and Prosecutor Blackquill stands across the courtroom, calmer than anyone else. The fae can still die, if that’s what Blackquill is. He’s an inmate on death row. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe he thinks this is a trick, like Trucy’s. Maybe he just knows that people are prone to panic and that helps nothing. He studied psychology just so he could know how better to break people apart, after all.

The world is again moving very fast and very slow all at once. But they can’t let evidence for the trial be destroyed here. They can’t let it end like this. Isn’t the truth worth dying for?

“You’re an idiot!” Athena snaps at him. Apollo didn’t realize he said any of that out loud. “We are not going to get blown up today! Or any day! Come on!” She shoves him out from behind the bench and he staggers, and she grabs his arm and tries to drag him and only makes him stumble across his own feet trying to keep up with her.

The doors seem both very close and very far. And while Apollo’s heart has no concern for what happens to him here, his body falls victim to inertia and keeps moving. Away from the case, away from the evidence - the bomb that was supposed to be evidence and now is creating a crime scene. What is the point of all of this? What is the point of any of this? Of anything at all? Clay is dead and their case is about to literally go up in smoke—

Athena loses her grip on Apollo’s hand when they both try to fit through the doorway at the same time as three other people. Apollo is jostled against the wall, snapping him out of the momentary stupor, and he hears someone behind him yell his name, yell for Athena, and he turns back. Juniper, pale green and wide-eyed, wobbling like a newborn deer, and she had no reason to be here today but concern for others, and there’s a fucking bomb and Apollo get all the way out of here or he can go to her and he’s not letting someone else’s best friend die—

He extends a hand to help steady her and she takes it and yelps and withdraws her hand because of course, he’s wearing fucking iron, and she’s half fae, and he’s seen her touch it before but she’s also said her health changes by the day, and she loses her balance entirely and tumbles to the floor. Apollo bends to help her - and imagines shrapnel coming for his head, the bomb going off and the roof collapsing in chunks on top of Juniper while he stands right there—

He drops to the ground instead, and the impact of hitting the tile floor elbows-first reverberates up through his teeth for the single moment before his eardrums rupture and the only sound he hears is ringing. Juniper curls into a ball and throws her hands around her head and Apollo pulls his arms up over his own head and waits.

A heavy impact between his shoulder blades, sharp pain that makes his vision go momentarily dark. Another strike, something clipping against his shoulder and falling away. The cold breeze must mean that the roof has caved in significantly but he doesn’t want to expose his head to check. His vision blurs again as something else hits him on the hands on his head and the ringing in his ears continues unabated and the two coherent thoughts he can form through the pain are they’re going to have to note down so many bruises on my autopsy report and I guess there are worse ways to die than trying to save someone else.

The furious ringing continues to echo through Apollo’s head. He can make out several voices yelling over it but not the words being said by them. His back feels like it’s on fire. He had curled up to protect his head but he is staring at the sky now. It is still snowing.

Someone split Apollo’s skull open and is making it vibrate the way it’s a fun party trick to make a wine glass sing. He’s a gong still shuddering long after the initial bong.

(He argued with Trucy once about whether attending one single rock concert was liable to give them tinnitus.)

He can still hear at all. That’s a good thing.. Voices, quiet and nearby, their individual words distinguishable, a welcome sound.

(It was not the one single rock concert’s fault if he has tinnitus now.)

“So assuming he’s not lying—”

“That’s not usually how I approach a trial—”

“But this is a thought experiment and you’re my assistant in it! So assuming he’s not lying, then - what? Then someone else drugged him, but why? And why just him - why not both astronauts?”

“From his reluctance to admit to taking medication, even under oath, I imagine that at most, only a few other people were aware. And then I would imagine that he kept those pills quite hidden, so for someone to have been able to find them and use them - either they were wildly unprepared for what they intended, and desperately tore the building apart looking for any usable substance. Or, quite a bit more likely, it was an inside job.”

“Ask Mr Starbuck who knew about his meds, then.”

Apollo isn’t lying on the floor anymore. It’s softer but there’s still something heavy pressing down on his legs. People wouldn’t be so casually discussing the case if they were right next to someone still partially trapped beneath rubble. Maybe he’s a ghost. Can ghosts have tinnitus? That would be a question for Mia but it’s also a stupid fucking question in the first place.

He opens his eyes. He can see through both of them. Someone must have checked him over, removed the bandage when they found nothing wrong with his eye. The weight pinning his legs is a large dog who, made of smoke and mist and spite and faery magic as she is, should not weigh anywhere near as much as she feels like she does.

“Vongole, get off,” he says, or tries to, but his tongue feels fuzzy and his head feels fuzzy except for the parts that feel like a metal pot lid dropped on the floor clattering and rattling around, and he makes a fuzzy sort of sound instead. The voices, familiar but still not identifiable to Apollo’s addled brain, came from somewhere to his left but have gone quiet now. He turns his head. It aches.

Trucy stares at him. She sits tucked in a small uncomfortable armchair, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms folded over them. And behind her, precariously balanced on the back of the chair, shoulders against the wall, his feet sharing the seat with Trucy, is Klavier. He snaps his fingers and Vongole springs up like a swift gust of wind, settling into a languid puddle on the floor, halfway beneath the bed.

The bed Apollo is in - the bed, the chair, white walls and - hospital. He’s in a hospital. The courtroom exploded and he’s in a hospital. That makes sense. The facts of this case are becoming clear. A bomb went off and the ceiling fell on him when he was trying to help—

“Juniper,” he says, and his mouth makes the sound of words more easily now. “Is Juniper okay?”

“She and Athena are fine,” Trucy says, and yes, Athena was there, but she was ahead of them, she should have gotten out, and she’s also - Athena who looked at the knife and her eyes blinked red. He doesn’t want her to die. He doesn’t want her to lie. “A little scraped up but there’s paramedics - they’re still down at the courthouse. The police are keeping everyone there while they investigate - everyone who was better off than you, anyway.”

“But you…” It’s been a hard morning. A hard twenty-four hours. He was the first one to arrive at the courthouse, and then Juniper was there, and Athena and Trucy showed up together and Trucy gave him a hug and said she’d be watching. If Juniper is still there and she was in the gallery, then Trucy who was also in the gallery should also be there. “Shouldn’t you be… how’d you get here?”

Klavier’s eyes finally move from Apollo to level a silent, disapproving glare on Trucy. She glances at him, rolls her eyes, and turns her attention immediately back to Apollo. “A little bit of misdirection, carefully applied,” she says. “You know how it is.”

He might not have Athena’s ears (he can’t stop thinking of Athena’s eyes) but he hears the strain in Trucy’s voice as she feigns levity.

“One of these days, Fräulein, someone’s going to find it quite suspicious that you’re sneaking away from a crime scene,” says Klavier, sounding just as stretched and strained as Trucy.

“Yeah,” Trucy huffs, unusually bitter. “But it won’t be at the courthouse. They haven’t gotten any better at catching me since…”

Two sets of blue eyes lock back on Apollo. That line of thought leads nowhere good. “Daddy was here earlier,” Trucy adds. “He went down to the courthouse once the nurses said you’d be okay. I - oh! I’m supposed to tell him that you woke up!” She fumbles for her phone and it slips from her hands and clatters to the floor. She stares at it for several long seconds before she unfolds herself to retrieve it.

So: the bomb that was evidence blew up the courtroom. Apollo is in the hospital now. Juniper is okay. And the case - what’s going to happen with the case? He opens his mouth to ask and realizes that he is talking to two people with no way of knowing that, and he circles back to the conversation he heard before he fully awoke. Already it is half-remembered fuzz, like a dream - a regular dream, not a fae one. “You guys were talking about the case,” he says. “What - what are you thinking?”

They glance at each other. “Well,” Trucy says, “if our client is telling the truth that he didn’t take his medication, then someone slipped them to him. And if they knew about those meds, then it was probably someone close to him, right? So probably an inside job, not an outside saboteur.”

Clay has worked at the space center for years - Apollo has heard dozens, hundreds even, of stories about his time there, his coworkers there. For him and Starbuck to have been betrayed by one of them–

“The part I don’t follow from that is then why drug only one of the astronauts,” Trucy continues. “You would have seen in the autopsy report if he was drugged too. So why only incapacitate one of them - especially when there should have been concern about the confrontation with the other.”

Confrontation: Clay stabbed and killed, but Starbuck who was drugged was left alive. If they’d both been drugged, then - what? They never get off the rocket, dying in the explosion instead? Or they never make it onto the rocket in the first place and escape the explosion entirely? Would Clay have lived or would they both have died?

Klavier’s frown deepens. Trucy taps out another message on her phone and then glances up at him. “You’re thinking something,” she says to Klavier. “So, assistant, what’s your theory?”

The chirp back in her voice doesn’t match her eyes. Klavier’s expression only darkens further. “Nothing you want to hear,” he says.

Trucy’s eyes turn towards Apollo. Klavier is studying the wall. Apollo's head is still ringing. Trucy notices things like he can, but what could Athena have said that made Trucy notice - what could Trucy have said to Klavier to make him think - what are they thinking? Apollo doesn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to see it but he did. His heart sits in his throat. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. “What is it?” he croaks.

“You won’t,” Klavier says, “but you could probably argue a successful case for self-defense.”

For - what? Self-defense? What would Athena–?

They’re not talking about Athena, are they?

Of course they’re not talking about Athena. They’re talking about the known facts of the case from court, and if Apollo were arguing self-defense for that case, he would be arguing that Starbuck was defending himself from–

“That would - be an inside job, and explain why Starbuck was drugged but not - not - the victim, but–” Trucy stumbles over her words. The victim. She knew Clay. She met him. They went hiking in the woods together with Apollo and Ema to dig up a Gramarye treasure. Clay wouldn’t fuck around with fae things on his own but Apollo was going whether Clay wanted him to or not and Clay was a loyal enough friend that he wasn’t going to let Apollo go without him–

“You’re crazy,” Apollo croaks. “You’re out of your mind if you think that Clay - this is all he’s ever wanted! To go to space, to - he wouldn’t sabotage it! And he only ever got here because of Starbuck’s faith in him - he wouldn’t do anything to - he wouldn’t!”

“Like I said,” Klavier says tersely, “it isn’t something you would go for.”

Isn’t something you would go for, like it’s any kind of strategy at all to accuse his best friend of heinous crimes, of having been responsible for his own death because if it was self-defense on Starbuck’s part then Clay would have provoked it and it would be Clay’s fault that Clay is dead–

“I wouldn’t go for it because it’s not true! I know Clay, and I know he would never–”

They both keep giving him this look, Trucy and Klavier, and then to each other - like it’s pity, like he’s stupid, like he’s forgotten the way the world works. Of course he hasn’t. He’s seen Athena’s eyes, but they keep thinking about something else, something that could never be true because Apollo knows Clay better than he’s ever known anyone–

“Just because - because you’veboth had everyone betray your trust doesn’t mean that–”

“Apollo!” Trucy snaps, and he knows he’s stepped too far now with Trucy glaring at him and the way Klavier’s face changes - the way in an instant he goes weary and sallow to perfectly composed, an airbrushed model of a man as his glamoured mask slips back into place. And Apollo - Clay wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, Apollo believes that with everything he has. But he still hasn’t found Athena’s place in this puzzle and she might have betrayed him the way Kristoph and Daryan both put knives in Klavier’s back, the way Zak and Valant both left Trucy behind and Magnifi put her mother’s soul in a box—

A nurse enters without so much as a glance towards Trucy and Klavier. Like they aren’t even there, because they might as well not be. Apollo could blink and have them disappear, and he’d deserve it for not sticking his foot in his mouth fast enough. Trucy yells at him all the time but never seriously like that, and Klavier is glamorously inscrutable, the way he always used to be. Clay is gone and Apollo will make everyone else go away.

When Apollo is returned to his room after a few brain scans that confirm he’s not dying, Trucy remains in the chair, feeding Vongole pieces of a vending machine granola bar, but Klavier is gone.

“It’s been really busy at the Prosecutors Office before this happened,” Trucy says around a bite of oats. “He said he’s sorry he had to run off, but he doesn’t want to be in more trouble with Herr Chief.”

Apollo can hear him saying exactly that. He can see that Trucy isn’t lying. (He can see those things again. He needs to make a new eyepatch before he sees Athena again.) He just doesn’t know if Klavier was lying when he told her. She would see it, but would she tell him?

“Apollo,” she says, looking sad and pitying again and he knows what she’s going to say, knows that it’s making other people hurt isn’t going to stop the hurt you’re feeling and he knows and here they are anyway.

He doesn’t want to hear it. He’s not sure what he would want to hear right now, other than that this has been a nightmare, that there’s been some mistake, that it wasn’t Clay, that it was all wrong. “I don’t know how you do it,” he says. “How you can just keep smiling even when - everything.”

Mia told him what to do and he can’t do it. He has a concussion, and the nurse asked him if he lives with anyone who could check up on him and make sure that he doesn’t pass into a coma the next time he goes to sleep, and the evidence that should have helped point to the truth of Clay’s murder exploded instead, and the would-have-been queen of the faeries gave him one piece of advice and he can’t even follow that.

Trucy isn’t smiling now. But she smiled and told him to keep pressing the case when he was about to announce to a court of law that her biological father was murdered by Kristoph Gavin that spring, and he is trying to forget looking at Athena’s eyes when she spoke.

Apollo closes his eyes. He wants to sleep and leave it to fate and the severity of his head trauma as to whether he will wake up again. He wants to jump out of this bed and flee this hospital and go to the courtroom to look for clues and go to the Space Center to look for clues and find something that will put an end to this.

“I don’t really think Clay would kill anyone,” Trucy says, and Apollo isn’t looking at her.

He doesn’t need to know. Right now, he doesn’t want to know anything.

But he’s never been that fortunate.

After a while Trucy’s phone rings. She answers with a cheery, “It’s on speaker!” so that no one tries to talk about Apollo behind his back.

“They arrested Junie!”

It’s October and they’re standing in an auditorium and Detective Fulbright walks in to whisk Juniper away, and it’s December and they’re in a hospital and Athena is probably still at the courthouse and it doesn’t make a goddamn bit of sense.

“For what?” Trucy asks.

“For the bombing! I don’t know what reason they think they have - they’re out of their fucking minds—”

Juniper? The police want to accuse a law student of knowing how to set off a bomb? If Juniper was the culprit then surely the argument would be that this bombing and the one at the Space Center are unconnected - and this can’t actually be a coincidence, can it? It can’t, but it could. Apollo’s head is pounding again. He doesn’t know anything about Athena but he doesn’t think that Juniper would give him a lotus root for support if she was planning to blow him up. He doesn’t think that she would nearly kill herself turning around to look for him and Athena if she had planned to blow them up.

“Then we’ll defend her,” Apollo says.

“I’m on my way to the detention center right now - I’m camping out until they close or let me talk to her—”

“What about Starbuck?” Trucy asks. “If his trial resumes tomorrow—”

“Then—” Apollo’s head won’t start spinning. “Then Athena and Mr Wright can defend Juniper. And - Trucy, you could be my assistant—”

He could trust her - could he trust her - he could trust her with what he saw - could he trust her with what he saw? He could trust her more than he could trust Phoenix. But that’s—

“Mr Wright didn’t sound totally confident that it would start back up tomorrow,” Athena says. “He’s still at the courthouse - or maybe he was going to start pulling on his connections at the Prosecutors Office to find out what’s gonna happen next for Mr Starbuck.”

The Chief Prosecutor certainly would know when a trial is going to resume. Apollo lets out his breath. He might go crazy if Starbuck’s trial is delayed a day and Athena stands as his assistant again. He might go crazy anyway.

“There’s one casualty that they know of so far,” Athena continues. “She’s a witness for our case. The detective who was gonna testify about being the first to arrive at the scene. The judge was just calling her before the bomb went off, remember? Prosecutor Blackquill might need time to adjust his strategy without her to testify.”

“The detective…” Apollo can’t pull the name to mind. His heart sinks. Someone who could have helped them navigate the thorny path to the truth, gone. Prosecutor Blackquill likely knows the details of what would have been her testimony, but Apollo will have no chance for a cross-examination to pull out the details that matter only to the defense style of WAA lawyers.

It can’t be a coincidence, can it? It can’t - but it could. Anything could be; that’s his luck.

Vongole takes hold of the granola bar hanging half-eaten from Trucy’s hand and swallows it, plastic packaging and all. Then she looks straight at Apollo and he wonders what he looks like through her eyes. If she can see curses like Klavier and Phoenix can.

He wonders if he’s cursed with more than seeing the truth.

By the time Apollo is discharged from the hospital, the detention center’s visiting hours have passed. Athena calls to say that she got in for a few minutes to confirm that Juniper has no idea why she was arrested and that Apollo is on the docket as her attorney tomorrow. Phoenix calls to say that Starbuck’s trial will not resume tomorrow.

One more day for Clay’s killer to cover their tracks, if they aren’t Athena. Or even if she is.

Their defense of Juniper has nothing but faith to stand on. They won’t get the autopsy report until tomorrow morning. Athena rants and rambles about her poor Junie being put through this again. Trucy goes out and gets ramen that Apollo barely eats. He fashions himself a new eyepatch out of bandages from the bathroom and changes the bandages on his arms. The deep scrapes have for the moment stopped bleeding, and the rest of his forearms are turning into one solid purple bruise. His back hurts and he wants to lay down and if he does he’s not going to be able to get back up and he can’t rest. There’s too much to do. He can’t fall apart now.

He lets Athena drive him home. He doesn’t dare meet her eyes.

His apartment is empty. Silent. Nothing has changed since he was last here. How could it?

Clay’s room is the cleanest it’s been in years. Can’t just go to space and leave a mess behind here for all that time, he said, a few weeks ago. Apollo groused that Clay could’ve organized sooner so that he could be on Earth to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Though Clay was never a slob in their shared spaces; he always cleaned enough to be sure that all of his protective charms were always in place.

Some good those did him.

Apollo steps inside, unsure of what he thinks he’s looking for. Clay’s GYAXA jacket hangs from his closet door. He didn’t need to take it with him, not on the launch day when he’d end up in a space suit. The pockets are empty but Apollo takes it down from its hook anyway, holding it over his arm as his eyes settle on Clay’s work laptop. What’s that doing here? Clay said that the director didn’t like him taking that home with him overnight, forget about for a weekend or the duration of a spaceflight. Having it outside of the center at all is a security risk.

He sits at Clay’s desk, with Clay’s jacket draped across his lap, and opens Clay’s laptop. Clay’s password is a security risk too; his mother’s birthday. And then Apollo is staring at a GYAXA desktop and a dozen unfamiliar icons and program names, and not knowing what good any of that could do him, navigates to Clay’s email instead.

He hasn’t received any new emails. The latest one is dated 9:15 pm, December 14th: the night before the launch. Clay was complaining about emails then.

from: aurab@cosmoscenter

to: clayt@cosmoscenter

(no subject)

will be in my lab tomorrow 0500 on. if you change your mind come find me

They’d been over it already, Clay had said, the night before he died, when he got that email. And here was someone at the Center evidently thinking it wasn’t enough to have been over it already.

Apollo’s search for any other emails from or to aurab yields nothing. They weren’t ever in contact with Clay before, so they didn’t work closely together. But they must have spoken in person, or over emails which Clay permanently deleted, for this followup email to be sent. Change your mind - on what? On the launch? Director Cosmos controlled the launch. Clay said he wasn’t going to back out. He said that to Apollo. He said they’d been over this already.

Over what?

(Apollo hears Klavier saying self-defense and tastes bile, though that might be because he hasn’t properly eaten in two days.)

He slams the laptop shut. He has Juniper’s case to think about. He has a lotus root still in his briefcase. He has a concussion from trying to protect her. He can’t let himself be distracted.

(If Clay’s email is clayt, then this person must be named Aura, and their surname begins with a B. That can’t be a common first name.)

Juniper’s trial is tomorrow morning. He’ll be ready.

(Then Starbuck’s trial, and surely a chance to investigate the Space Center, and he’ll find this Aura, whoever they are.)

#fic: the witches of los angeles #i tape this chapter to a brick i throw it through all your windows i leave without elaborating further #and on puppet history season finale day of all days. now i'll be off soon to an office holiday party. pray for me.

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bad-ads · 4 months

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BOOKS I READ IN 2023 ( YES I DO COUNT REREADS)

1. Mind of my mind (butler) 9/10

2. Clay ark (butler) 9/10

3. Patternmaster (butler) 7/10

4. Dawn (butler) 8.5/10

5. Bloodchild (butler) 10/10

6. The Gilda stories (Gomez) 7/10

7. Sandman vol 1 (gaiman) 8/10

8. Slaughterhouse 5 (vonnegut) 10/10

9. The sirens of titan (vonnegut) 9/10

10. Adulthood rites (butler) 9/10

11. Imago (butler) 9.5/10

12. Never let me go 7/10

13. The sandman vol 2 6/10

14. Kindred 9/10

15. Blood feast 10/10

16. The bell jar 9/10

17. Bottle grove 8/10

18. The basic eight 10/10

19. Be gay, do comics 5/10

20. The metamorphosis 7/10

21. The grace year 9/10

22. Wilder Girls 8/10

23. Yours Cruelly, Elvira 6/10

24. The pleasure of my company 4/10

25. Crazy rich asians 6/10

26. China rich girlfriend 5/10

27. Rich people problems 4/10

28. We Run the Tides 7/10

29. Fantasticland 10/10

30. The hunger 7/10

31. The southern book club guide to slaying vampires 8/10

32. My best friends exorcism 7/10

33. Horrorstor 7/10

34. Story Time 9/10

35. We sold our souls 9/10

36. Friday black 10/10

37. Gabi, a girl in pieces 6/10

38. Woman, eating 7/10

39. Gideon the ninth 10/10

40. Harrow the ninth 6/10

41. Nona the ninth 8/10

42. Small game 7/10

43. What moves the dead 9/10

44. The hacienda 9/10

45. The girl with all the gifts 9/10

46. hell followed with us 8/10

47. The boy on the bridge 7/10

48. Station eleven 6/10

49. comforts me with apples 7/10

50. Feed 8/10

51. Deadline 8/10

52. Blackout 8/10

53. Parasite 9/10

54. Symbiont 10/10

55. Chimera 10/10

56. Circe 9/10

57. The junkie quatrain 7/10

58. Certain dark things 5/10

59. Tender is the flesh 9/10

60. Nightbitch 10/10

61. The lamb will slaughter the lion 6/10

62. velvet is the night 7/10

63. Into the drowning deep 9/10

64. sister maiden monster 9/10

65. A very normal family 8.5/10

66. Interview with the vampire 6/10

67. Final girl support group 8/10

68. Bunny 9/10

69. How to sell a haunted house 8/10

70. Vampires of El norte 8/10

71. Silver Nitrate 9/10

72. Mexican Gothic 10/10

73. The Beautiful Ones 7/10

74. Wait for the Night 8/10

75. Moon of the Crusted Snow 8/10

76. We Spread 6/10

77. My heart is a chainsaw 9/10

78. The Spirit Bares its Teeth 10/10

79. The Daughter of Doctor Moreau (6/10)

80. Copykate (9/10)

81. A ballad of song birds and snakes (8/10)

82. The hunger games 8/10

83. Catching Fire 7/10

84. Nona the ninth 10/10

#reading tag 🔮

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foxtriestobiteandmaimandkilland · 9 months

Note

27, 31 and 45 for the personals asksss :33

27: whats a sound u hate n a sound u love ?

A sound i hateeee isss. My school bell oh my godddd itsliterally a jumpscare every period its this awful alarm like BEEEPPPP BEEEPPP BEEEEP BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP BEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEP and its always 6-12 beeps and its loud and annoying and u cant talk over it and it lasts like 30 seconds and it sounds AWFUL i literally dont know why they changed it from a normal bell it SUCKS.

A sound i love tho issss god fuck so many sounds. I love tje sound of my cat powrring up when hes like mbr ??? And the sound of birds in the late afternoon and the sound of distant cars and the sound of rain and the sound of the jrwi intro omg it slaps and the sound of my friends laughing at my jokes and the sound of people singing for fun and the sound of a friend playing music for someone else and the entire sound of the life is strange soundtrack and the sounds of the sea and the sound of water moving when ur under it and the sound of life being awesome :333

31: smell the air, what do u smell ?

Probably not a good time to have had my smell fucked up by covid 2 years ago 😭. Uhhhh i guess whatever my room smells like (which im ngl is probably sweat) anddd the smell of outside which i also cant rlly smell and the faint smell of my breakfast which was cereal and i just finished eating anddd oh oh oh and the smell of that cheap coloured like plasticine clay thing bc i got some bc its fun to fiddle w

45: whats the worst injury youve ever had ?

Ok so probably kinda boring bc ive never had anything that bad actually lol but the worst is probably from the scar on my forehead ive had since i was like 4 bc me n my family were on one of those cave tour things and i was a little toddler so was running and i tripped andd my head split open. Kinda boring bc i dont remember a lot of the details bc i was 4 but i remember being covered in blood and also getting an icecream so id stop crying

#day thoughts #ask

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eternalstretchofmuses · 10 months

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Name: Daichi Watakhnum (+ Nendoko) Text colour: Green (Nendoko: Green and small) Title: One-horned Life Sculptor (Nendoko: Clay Avian Friend) Age: 253 (Nendoko: 125) Birthday: March 28 (Nendoko: Birthday unknown) Species: Xiezhi (Nendoko: Sculpted Animal (magpie)) Location: Forest of Magic (Nendoko: Nearby Daichi) Height: 6'3" (191.6 cm) (Nendoko: 1'1" (33 cm)) Weight: 196.3 lbs (89 kg) (Nendoko: 1 lbs (460 g)) Gender: Female (Nendoko: N/A)

Appearance: Very, very fluffy off-white hair, poofy and fuzzy like cotton. Has green eyes and freckles, too. She has two large... ram horns, one of which is permanently broken. Nendoko is often perched atop the other. They aren't too apparent, but she also has the ears of a sheep! Nendoko: A small magpie made of clay. What do you want me to say?

Clothing: Wears a white dress that transitions to green in a spiral pattern. A small vine is wrapped around her intact horn... though it seems to either be woody or deceased. The inside of her dress is full of wool, which probably isn't good for summer. She wears platform shoes that heavily resemble hooves. Her intact horn also has what appears to be a scale at the end. If only her other horn weren't broken... Nendoko: ... nothing????

Personality: While she often remains perfectly silent, she's kind and gentle to everyone around her, especially her creations. She acts motherly towards them, but shy to everyone else. Loud or aggressive people can upset her, especially if they pose a threat to her creations. Lay a hand on them and you'll surely earn yourself some danmaku to the face... or a headbutt! Please, be nice to her. She might cry. Nendoko: Nendoko is quite a silly bird. Very intelligent, too!

Abilities: Sculpting small animals out of earthly resources: By sculpting dirt, clay, stone, wood, etc. into an animal shape, she can turn it into an animal! These sculpted animals are identical to normal animals aside from their appearance. They are connected to Daichi's will, not entirely controlled but "steered" by her. They can also link telepathically to her. The animal MUST be at most half as big as her. If she wants to make a larger animal, she will have to scale it down to that size for this ability to work. Nendoko: Collecting objects of interest: Nendoko often collects things it thinks Daichi will like. Simple.

Likes: Loves the peace of the forest, rarely leaving the parts people rarely go to. Being alone with her creations is all she really wants, after all. Daichi is a simple woman: this is the extent of what she wants. Nendoko: Nendoko likes being around Daichi, as well as collecting things.

Dislikes: Daichi hates loud people, putting as much distance between her and them as possible. She also hates being told to speak, something she doesn't like doing for the most part. Any harm done to her creations will upset her, either to the point of bawling or rage. Nendoko: Nendoko dislikes anything that upsets Daichi. That and predatory animals.

Strengths: With how many animals she's created over the years, attacking her is sure to bring an army of little creatures running at you. Her love for silence has led her to be able to hear people approaching from decently far away, giving her time to leave the area. Nendoko: Nendoko is a loyal bird and has very good eyes.

Weaknesses: Her shy nature makes gaining connections difficult, and her muteness makes communicating even harder. If she were to ever get bored of her creations, she'd have a hard time making a new friend. Her love for her creation can put her in danger, too. She'd rather be fatally injured than lose them. Blinded by her unconditional love... tragic. Nendoko: Nendoko is made of clay!

Theme: Blooming Branch of a Ceramic Tree ~ Cotton-textured Silence

Spellcards: Wooden Snake 「Wooden Twisting Vine」 Collection Flight 「Magpie Treasure Pile」 Fluff of Nature 「Silence of Cotton Season」 Battering Ram 「Ram in a Ceramics Shop」 Primordial Clay 「Beloved Kofun Magpie Friend」 Gao Yao's Request 「Horn of the Unjust and Righteous」 (Last Word)

Tag: Creator of All-natural Sculptures ~ Daichi Nendoko: Clay Avian Friend ~ Nendoko

Professional Artist Rendition (Nendoko included):

#Creator of All-natural Sculptures ~ Daichi #Clay Avian Friend ~ Nendoko #muse bio #bio

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bond-servant-of-christ-jesus · 5 days

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GET READY REPENT! ONLY CHRIST JESUS SAVES.

Daniel 2:27-45

[27]Daniel answered before the king and said, "As for the mystery about which the king has inquired, neither wise men, conjurers, magicians nor diviners are able to declare it to the king.

[28]However, there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries, and He has made known to King Nebuchadnezzar what will take place in the latter days. This was your dream and the visions in your mind while on your bed.

[29]As for you, O king, while on your bed your thoughts turned to what would take place in the future; and He who reveals mysteries has made known to you what will take place.

[30]But as for me, this mystery has not been revealed to me for any wisdom residing in me more than in any other living man, but for the purpose of making the interpretation known to the king, and that you may understand the thoughts of your mind. The King\'s Dream

[31]"You, O king, were looking and behold, there was a single great statue; that statue, which was large and of extraordinary splendor, was standing in front of you, and its appearance was awesome.

[32]The head of that statue was made of fine gold, its breast and its arms of silver, its belly and its thighs of bronze,

[33]its legs of iron, its feet partly of iron and partly of clay.

[34]You continued looking until a stone was cut out without hands, and it struck the statue on its feet of iron and clay and crushed them.

[35]Then the iron, the clay, the bronze, the silver and the gold were crushed all at the same time and became like chaff from the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away so that not a trace of them was found. But the stone that struck the statue became a great mountain and filled the whole earth. The Interpretation-Babylon the First Kingdom

[36]"This was the dream; now we will tell its interpretation before the king.

[37]You, O king, are the king of kings, to whom the God of heaven has given the kingdom, the power, the strength and the glory;

[38]and wherever the sons of men dwell, or the beasts of the field, or the birds of the sky, He has given them into your hand and has caused you to rule over them all. You are the head of gold. Medo-Persia and Greece

[39]After you there will arise another kingdom inferior to you, then another third kingdom of bronze, which will rule over all the earth. Rome

[40]Then there will be a fourth kingdom as strong as iron; inasmuch as iron crushes and shatters all things, so, like iron that breaks in pieces, it will crush and break all these in pieces.

[41]In that you saw the feet and toes, partly of potter's clay and partly of iron, it will be a divided kingdom; but it will have in it the toughness of iron, inasmuch as you saw the iron mixed with common clay.

[42]As the toes of the feet were partly of iron and partly of pottery, so some of the kingdom will be strong and part of it will be brittle.

[43]And in that you saw the iron mixed with common clay, they will combine with one another in the seed of men; but they will not adhere to one another, even as iron does not combine with pottery. The Divine Kingdom

[44]In the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom which will never be destroyed, and that kingdom will not be left for another people; it will crush and put an end to all these kingdoms, but it will itself endure forever.

[45]Inasmuch as you saw that a stone was cut out of the mountain without hands and that it crushed the iron, the bronze, the clay, the silver and the gold, the great God has made known to the king what will take place in the future; so the dream is true and its interpretation is trustworthy."

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celtfather · 1 month

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Happy St. Patrick's Day 2024 #653

Happy St Patrick’s Day with two hours of the great Irish & Celtic Music Podcast #653. Subscribe now!

Tradify, Sorcha, Jigjam, The Fire, Hayley Griffiths, Keltricity, Marc Gunn, Tarren, Celtic Wood and Wires, Altan, Michael Darcy & The Atlantic Tramps, Louise Bichan, Toby Bresnahan, The Walker Roaders, Lúnasa, Stout Pounders, Brother Sea, Clare Cunningham, River Driver, Philippe Barnes and Tom Phelan, Jimmy & Scots Folk Band, Clay Babies, CaliCeltic, Ironwood, Derek Warfield & The Young Wolfe Tones

GET CELTIC MUSIC NEWS IN YOUR INBOX

The Celtic Music Magazine is a quick and easy way to plug yourself into more great Celtic culture. Enjoy seven weekly news items for Celtic music and culture online. Subscribe now and get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free.

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20 FOR 2024

This is our way of finding the best songs and artists each year. You can vote for as many songs and tunes that inspire you in each episode. Your vote helps me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2024 episode. You have just three weeks to vote this year. Vote Now!

You can follow our playlist on Spotify to listen to those top voted tracks as they are added every 2 - 3 weeks. It also makes it easier for you to add these artists to your own playlists. You can also check out our Irish & Celtic Music Videos.

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:07 - Tradify "The Roaring Barmaid, Star of Munster Jig, Star of Munster & Fred Finn’s" from Take Flight

4:29 - WELCOME

6:43 - Sorcha "Stomp the Floor / Slide from Grace / The Mouse in the Kitchen" from Stomp the Floor

10:42 - Jigjam "Tullamore to Boston" from Phoenix

14:21 - The Fire "Captain Carswell" from Radiance

18:41 - Hayley Griffiths "Star of the County Down" from Far from Here

21:19 - Keltricity "The Butterfly - Behind the Bush in the Garden - Swallowtail Jig" from Live at Terra Firma Radio

25:22 - FEEDBACK

30:11 - Marc Gunn "Myra’s Lament for Lamlash Bay" from Come Adventure With Me

Listen to Mad Jenny on Lamlash Bay #85

33:54 - Tarren "Hardwood" from Revel

36:48 - Celtic Wood and Wires "I'll Tell Me Ma" from Close the Back Door

40:53 - Altan "The Yellow Tinker (Slow Reel)" from Donegal

43:49 - Michael Darcy & The Atlantic Tramps "The Rambler from Clare" from Down to the Roots

47:12 - Louise Bichan "Qouyburray" from Out of My Own Light

50:27 - Toby Bresnahan "Farewell To Auld Ireland" from All In Good time

55:13 - CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

57:23 - The Walker Roaders "Old Tar Road to Sligo" from The Walker Roaders

1:01:15 - Lúnasa "The Bull's March" from Live in Kyoto

1:06:25 - Stout Pounders "Raggle Taggle Gypsy (Live)" from Liver Let Live

1:09:16 - Brother Sea "All as One" from Brother Sea Ep

1:13:42 - Clare Cunningham "Home Again" from Home Again

1:17:57 - THANKS

1:19:44 - River Driver "John O'Reilly" from Flanagan's Shenanigans! Live at The Celt

1:24:11 - Philippe Barnes and Tom Phelan "New Kings Road/Órlaith's/New Found Out" from The Clearwater Sessions

1:30:22 - Jimmy & Scots Folk Band "COME OUT YE BLACK AND TANS" from The Viking Irishman

1:33:16 - Clay Babies "OutOnTheOcean / FlowersOfEdinburgh / Mason'sApron" from Speechless Vol. 1: Sloppy Session in the Sticks

1:37:13 - CaliCeltic "Frosty Pint" from Whiskey Mustache

1:40:38 - Ironwood "She Likes the Guinness" from Gretna Green

1:44:31 - CLOSING

1:46:31 - Derek Warfield & The Young Wolfe Tones "Spanish Lady" from Let the Free Birds Fly

1:50:09 - CREDITS

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather and our Patrons on Patreon. The show was edited by Mitchell Petersen with Graphics by Miranda Nelson Designs. Visit our website to follow the show. You’ll find links to all of the artists played in this episode.

Todd Wiley is the editor of the Celtic Music Magazine. Subscribe to get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free. Plus, you’ll get 7 weekly news items about what’s happening with Celtic music and culture online. Best of all, you will connect with your Celtic heritage.

Please tell one friend about this podcast. Word of mouth is the absolute best way to support any creative endeavor.

Finally, remember. Reduce, reuse, recycle, and think about how you can make a positive impact on your environment.

Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

WELCOME THE IRISH & CELTIC MUSIC PODCAST

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. I am Marc Gunn.

This podcast is here to build a diverse Celtic community and help the incredible artists who so generously share their music with you. If you hear music you love, please email artists to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast. Musicians depend on your generosity to keep making music. So please find a way to support them. Buy a CD, Album Pin, Shirt, Digital Download, or join their communities on Patreon.

You can find a link to all of the artists in the shownotes, along with show times, when you visit our website at celticmusicpodcast.com.

If you are a Celtic musician or in a Celtic band, then please submit your band to be played on the podcast. You don’t have to send in music or an EPK. You will get a free eBook called Celtic Musicians Guide to Digital Music and learn how to follow the podcast. It’s 100% free. Just email Email follow@bestcelticmusic and of course, listeners can learn how to subscribe to the podcast and get a free music - only episode.

Check out these Celtic Bands on Patreon.

Looking for some more things to listen and watch for St Patrick's Day!

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

You are amazing. It is because of your generosity that you get to hear so much great Celtic music each and every week.

Your kindness pays for our engineer, graphic designer, Celtic Music Magazine editor, promotion of the podcast, and allows me to buy the music I play here. It also pays for my time creating the show each and every week.

As a patron, you get music - only episodes before regular listeners, vote in the Celtic Top 20, stand - alone stories, and you get a private feed to listen to the show. All that for as little as $1 per episode.

A special thanks to our new and continued Patrons of the Podcast: O'McPub Band, Steve Bradley, Windswept Isles, Robert Crader, José Tomás Castro Comparini, John Schexnaydre, Frank

HERE IS YOUR THREE STEP PLAN TO SUPPORT THE PODCAST

Go to our Patreon page.

Decide how much you want to pledge every week, $1, $5, $25. Make sure to cap how much you want to spend per month.

Keep listening to the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast to celebrate Celtic culture through music.

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast on Patreon at SongHenge.com.

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through its culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos. Learn more about the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/ #celticmusic #irishmusic #celticmusicpodcast

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? Please email me. I’d love to see a picture of what you're doing while listening or of a band that you saw recently. Email me at follow@bestcelticmusic.

Ben Doran messaged on Facebook: “When I received the "music only version" of the "The Gaelic Blessing" podcast, I was immediately reminded of one of the most moving arrangements of The Irish Blessing that I have heard - - by Bill O'Connor and Larry Theiss on their – "Traditional And Original" recording.

I am getting ready to have a day off tomorrow and will get to chores and baking for the "Wild Hog in the Woods" usual Friday night concert that we host at a neighborhood center here in Madison. While I am mixing and baking, I'll surely/certainly listen to that "Gaelic Blessing" program in its entirety. Thanks!”

Ryan S. emailed some photos: "Hi Marc. I love the Celtic Women episodes!!

I am currently building trails outside of austin while I listen to the cast.the spring flowers are already out!"

Shel O'Toole emailed a photo: "Hi Marc, As I'm listening today I'm promoting the International Women's Day event I organised for the Ballarat and District Irish Association. The all women trio I play with, Skedaddle is performing on the day. I'm also looking at ways to promote my newly released poetry book Wildsong. I'll be officially launching it at the IWD lunch.

I'm loving the Celtic Women special. There's so many fabulous Irish women singers and musicians. Noirin Ni Rian, the sean - ós singer and chanter, Sandra Joyce singer and bodhran player are two amazing teachers I met at the Irish World Music Summer School - Blas, many years ago. Niamh Parsons & Delores Keane are firm favourites & I love discovering new female artists.

I'll probably go to a session on St Patrick's day and there's a band playing at one of the Irish pubs in the evening I want to see. Sliánte"

Check out this episode!

#celtic #Irish #Scottish #music #Ireland #Scotland

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libidomechanica · 2 months

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Together

A kimo sequence

Her child. Much longer time; the charmed touch! Until Death is dead! Together. War again, and their one!

Amidst the sun as if disjoined at her! But soon with the evening, and Love to your forehead.

Are ways to be born were spilt in such occasion; and, turn’d; the words ease, and I sigh’d never flowed.

— One sad experience, a stillness, plight? With woe, and since, and silent with trembling charnel-roof!

And a bird, that her side, and soon it light thing with that sort of life; rent the garden, march’d them long!

That rain and cresses from leaf to lead? But aye she loot the sons no more than harp or song, for less?

The dishes and full cycle, when summer. And, Prince, and the silver found I a friends let it go.

As we once more of death, but wants, no woman thus? In little array had many more alone.

A collaboration: women foolish figure; when, lo! At which of the needle-points, and thee!

To stammer whereon you could without delay with might I have to o’er- hanging boughs, from the nest.

Give there were deliver’d safe and smil’d! Already piled upon it? Their sabres glittering clay.

The lady passed the cloud which settle time. And look’d down fa’ for their wine was wont to dream of men!

With trump and several plot which few will come. Some hundred youth is vain to the body—I looked.

Else men the huntsman here hast thou hast seene. He was not from pain; nor stirred. A field of Sir Leoline?

Comes easy terms. Daily, I pluck sweet sculpture draped from heaven: but you off an hour’s perfect note.

Now heaven grac’t, ah! A kindlier influence, thrown high soul, until frustration set and he while.

And beast thy motions lovers—who last have its more soft abode, palace, or cash, or it may veil.

Of abrupt thunder, when and here a word I have no fear! And like Adam linger’d near my heart.

Virgin all their career, like creatures! You have you do, fight a dame! Whence it was just defences.

Her, king, true woman: he, that echoes render’d this, beside his den, which the waters—go thy ways!

Watch out as I enter. White star-flowers quickening, friend extremely at the Donna Inez.

To newspapers, or cavern spring, gaunt famine, and Jervis. They were soft sky smiled; they might me.

The outlives three single head was sparkles on a side, and twenty-five or thirty. And is here!

For fiery-short was Cyril’s counts mine. A place the scrip, with her resign; and shouted Allah!

Eats into the great spirit shall I call? Ah, but, fearful ewes; and when she roses on my lip.

” But could I do with bowe and beg you well. She faded, like cedars round and now doth Geraldine!

His iron palms tip towards the white of thy dew to splendours and what then? With like a crescent sphere.

Breast this but to a single beds. No more— no more, I will teach, if this is all; she will but me.

But though all the Spartan ladies take leave the vena cava. To take vp the please me of it.

As do those figure out of desire great sensation. Thus have a high soul, until too late.

Sheds beauty, round a lodgment. Truth, and to you now I look as looks as whole their skins; they will be.

Dear, but a dream! Man, found, gained, but on the fading melodious pastime war is in her e’e.

—How few! He sword, and kindled hope, the frozen stream the lover, the mart for the whole brighter clasp?

Made some serene abode whereon magician’s wand wrought, art broke the world. Half-listening; then let go.

Rhymes are the winds; and which struggled through, strong bow than my forerunners. And then speak for weariness.

’Tis blue, silverly around his hearth arise to our life,—so I, with patience. All that high fane?

When many a summer night— when they break. Her eastern cloud than a poppy hill: an hour’s perfume.

And all doubt in fable, as beguil’d, this night! Like creature, as warm in heavenly nightfall went.

It was full of impossible leaves, of death. Forbid too, like the day: they’re more of womankind!

Leaving it; but point of felicitie, with the sun, o my soul; that I shall have it: ’ but again!

The age one arrow sped Or go to war again. Conduct like rain, which was but a humble I.

The lady Christabel, that want reasons drawn and sunny glades were deepest maze. All sounds as we.

And dim hopes and take her husband always was. For the sun shall see when despair: and made them down.

Eye, that one’s fated or doomed to love of me than such good this notice on my hand grains of Cheops.

’ Will begin now while I call; but ah! She liked them back its self-approbation I can save thine!

To wile the soul of Adonais lay. That terror of theology when Cyril met us.

Here Cyril told us all. And then, like a fellow, yellow moon: and at eleven with shame!

Merely slumber of any things she were! Leaving it; but here is an awful night. They worth it?

Sloth on these, trouble meant, that drinks and greet? There is a spark that never stept, took the fallow air?

Two villainous Cossacques. Sweet to know our sameness survived ever, that nurse of humankind.

Name and through copse-clad vallies,—ere the window blew in like deer. The wrong that’s in the Holy Land.

Although rarely trodden wild, caress upon my heart, and chat. Sweet Christabel within a breath?

—With his vault crawl in a world a spot the money. Of some one sight touch by touch, by scent, by taste.

But what went before than either article his lady with aught of the dialogue, and smil’d!

Best and lustës negligence between the law within the din of our sprung. As signal for there.

I have seen save them burn so chaster reader; since her favour in mind.— I tell him, what woman.

Prime; Thy hopes crowded me where—young, slender, but cannot choose between friends. How many more, Peona!

Nor winks the same, in my lord’s joy and prest it once again undone. Besides,— where life’s wheels grate dry!

The antipodes of Latmos was outsoar’d thee in my new black cloud drag inward envy groan.

The lady Geraldine in feature. Earth bare, was but as perhaps it may believe you the fruits.

And many a summer. Thou shalt thou art too dear a heap of bodies, felt his hand her might me.

Purpose, firm though she smiled upon her e’re. Blue hare-bells, and swoops the vulture could condescending.

Their voices lower, bring forth with now a pointed in sweet the wind’s body. Saved two souls: nay, four.

With wedge sublime soars forth a steady that all the unsteady ground. A lisping of the first cut.

Ah! Ere day may bring a triple hours, days, moves away twould put with catapults, she whisper’d head.

Over the edge of unslumbrous nights be dead. Reptile soul of mankind’s, my own eyes inspirers!

Alfonso stood aloof, the latch I heard, to place, like fiends for pay or politics. Ye Graces!

She prayed the Will and poppies stole a breeze. Their mortals whom the noblest from thee, my Adonais!

Thy adverse party is thy mystic art, mine idle life? He showed to me like the bitterness.

No woman to obey; all else can our swelling of worth, by distance like a cloud. I take her.

By a clear Sprite goes out as I enter. Till on a day, a summer. Side; but soon she charmed touch!

While mosques and o’er him, Look upon his mother! So never more than I know him by a token.

The nether side—a sight so long; hot Shame shall be cut in marble. If the sea, till than treason.

To the joyous stars dart thy selfe I needs, sweeter thy voice cries with a tear: alas! And let loose.

When six braw gentlemen kirkward spectators? And gay Koutousow, he whose sugred kisses, how?

When that masked like a robe, and hell, therefore we look? Watch out as I enter. Home to me the king!

And smile, a medicine answer’d if she knew by heaven’s name, a wretch! Round that I e’er begun.

And then falls to roll the time breaks, and death be more looking in bed I lie. The town was enter’d.

Did, thought, may be unwrought for a man to arise to warm me where all but me. To thee mine eyes!

His early love unto the ground for trifles.— And thoughts and men, who favourite friend Don Juan, fly!

Ice, or Anacreon Moore, the pumies latched. To one, who keeps its crescent moon: and yet most heaven?

A greater, had him kindly warm’d. An awful voice within the world, and said: glory to God aboue.

That one’s fate now was conceal my low last breath which settled eye? And on my bliss—I was drinking.

With what you were wisdom. Proud Maisie is in his attitude; for nought can tire, which they came.

And force thy remember the sacrifice. But never on her way of spears and riders front steps.

And Stand, what proved by competent false New England forth held: then receive so much let me be thine.

Of all the Muses’ blood so late, an olive, capers, or someone used to do. Our Adonais!

Until my heart, would do if run stark mad; all lovers’ lives! New birth: be still will your mother dear!

The rudiments of loue in air: so waste my heedless footstep of time. The fifty times, his peers?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #136 texts #kimo sequence

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lordgodjehovahsway · 5 months

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Leviticus 11: God Explains To Moses And Aaron Which Foods Are Clean And Unclean For The Israelites To Eat

1 The Lord said to Moses and Aaron,

2 “Say to the Israelites: ‘Of all the animals that live on land, these are the ones you may eat:

3 You may eat any animal that has a divided hoof and that chews the cud.

4 “‘There are some that only chew the cud or only have a divided hoof, but you must not eat them. The camel, though it chews the cud, does not have a divided hoof; it is ceremonially unclean for you.

5 The hyrax, though it chews the cud, does not have a divided hoof; it is unclean for you.

6 The rabbit, though it chews the cud, does not have a divided hoof; it is unclean for you.

7 And the pig, though it has a divided hoof, does not chew the cud; it is unclean for you.

8 You must not eat their meat or touch their carcasses; they are unclean for you.

9 “‘Of all the creatures living in the water of the seas and the streams you may eat any that have fins and scales.

10 But all creatures in the seas or streams that do not have fins and scales—whether among all the swarming things or among all the other living creatures in the water—you are to regard as unclean.

11 And since you are to regard them as unclean, you must not eat their meat; you must regard their carcasses as unclean.

12 Anything living in the water that does not have fins and scales is to be regarded as unclean by you.

13 “‘These are the birds you are to regard as unclean and not eat because they are unclean: the eagle, the vulture, the black vulture,

14 the red kite, any kind of black kite,

15 any kind of raven,

16 the horned owl, the screech owl, the gull, any kind of hawk,

17 the little owl, the cormorant, the great owl,

18 the white owl, the desert owl, the osprey,

19 the stork, any kind of heron, the hoopoe and the bat.

20 “‘All flying insects that walk on all fours are to be regarded as unclean by you.

21 There are, however, some flying insects that walk on all fours that you may eat: those that have jointed legs for hopping on the ground.

22 Of these you may eat any kind of locust, katydid, cricket or grasshopper.

23 But all other flying insects that have four legs you are to regard as unclean.

24 “‘You will make yourselves unclean by these; whoever touches their carcasses will be unclean till evening.

25 Whoever picks up one of their carcasses must wash their clothes, and they will be unclean till evening.

26 “‘Every animal that does not have a divided hoof or that does not chew the cud is unclean for you; whoever touches the carcass of any of them will be unclean.

27 Of all the animals that walk on all fours, those that walk on their paws are unclean for you; whoever touches their carcasses will be unclean till evening.

28 Anyone who picks up their carcasses must wash their clothes, and they will be unclean till evening. These animals are unclean for you.

29 “‘Of the animals that move along the ground, these are unclean for you: the weasel, the rat, any kind of great lizard,

30 the gecko, the monitor lizard, the wall lizard, the skink and the chameleon.

31 Of all those that move along the ground, these are unclean for you. Whoever touches them when they are dead will be unclean till evening.

32 When one of them dies and falls on something, that article, whatever its use, will be unclean, whether it is made of wood, cloth, hide or sackcloth. Put it in water; it will be unclean till evening, and then it will be clean.

33 If one of them falls into a clay pot, everything in it will be unclean, and you must break the pot.

34 Any food you are allowed to eat that has come into contact with water from any such pot is unclean, and any liquid that is drunk from such a pot is unclean.

35 Anything that one of their carcasses falls on becomes unclean; an oven or cooking pot must be broken up. They are unclean, and you are to regard them as unclean.

36 A spring, however, or a cistern for collecting water remains clean, but anyone who touches one of these carcasses is unclean.

37 If a carcass falls on any seeds that are to be planted, they remain clean.

38 But if water has been put on the seed and a carcass falls on it, it is unclean for you.

39 “‘If an animal that you are allowed to eat dies, anyone who touches its carcass will be unclean till evening.

40 Anyone who eats some of its carcass must wash their clothes, and they will be unclean till evening. Anyone who picks up the carcass must wash their clothes, and they will be unclean till evening.

41 “‘Every creature that moves along the ground is to be regarded as unclean; it is not to be eaten.

42 You are not to eat any creature that moves along the ground, whether it moves on its belly or walks on all fours or on many feet; it is unclean.

43 Do not defile yourselves by any of these creatures. Do not make yourselves unclean by means of them or be made unclean by them.

44 I am the Lord your God; consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am holy. Do not make yourselves unclean by any creature that moves along the ground.

45 I am the Lord, who brought you up out of Egypt to be your God; therefore be holy, because I am holy.

46 “‘These are the regulations concerning animals, birds, every living thing that moves about in the water and every creature that moves along the ground.

47 You must distinguish between the unclean and the clean, between living creatures that may be eaten and those that may not be eaten.’”

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baileye · 8 months

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(Via swiss-miss)

The following exercise in watershed awareness was hatched 30 years ago by Peter Warshall, naturalist extraordinaire. Variations of this list have appeared over the years with additions by Jim Dodge, Peter Berg, and Stephanie Mills among others. I have recently added new questions from Warshall and myself, and I have edited or altered most of the rest. It’s still a work in progress. If you have a universal question you think fits, submit it to me.

The intent of this quiz is to inspire you to answer the questions you can’t initially. —KK

30 questions to elevate your awareness (and literacy) of the greater place in which you live:

1) Point north.

2) What time is sunset today?

3) Trace the water you drink from rainfall to your tap.

4) When you flush, where do the solids go? What happens to the waste water?

5) How many feet above sea level are you?

6) What spring wildflower is consistently among the first to bloom here?

7) How far do you have to travel before you reach a different watershed? Can you draw the boundaries of yours?

8) Is the soil under your feet, more clay, sand, rock or silt?

9) Before your tribe lived here, what did the previous inhabitants eat and how did they sustain themselves?

10) Name five native edible plants in your neighborhood and the season(s) they are available.

11) From what direction do storms generally come?

12) Where does your garbage go?

13) How many people live in your watershed?

14) Who uses the paper/plastic you recycle from your neighborhood?

15) Point to where the sun sets on the equinox. How about sunrise on the summer solstice?

16) Where is the nearest earthquake fault? When did it last move?

17) Right here, how deep do you have to drill before you reach water?

18) Which (if any) geological features in your watershed are, or were, especially respected by your community, or considered sacred, now or in the past?

19) How many days is the growing season here (from frost to frost)?

20) Name five birds that live here. Which are migratory and which stay put?

21) What was the total rainfall here last year?

22) Where does the pollution in your air come from?

23) If you live near the ocean, when is high tide today?

24) What primary geological processes or events shaped the land here?

25) Name three wild species that were not found here 500 years ago. Name one exotic species that has appeared in the last 5 years.

26) What minerals are found in the ground here that are (or were) economically valuable?

27) Where does your electric power come from and how is it generated?

28) After the rain runs off your roof, where does it go?

29) Where is the nearest wilderness? When was the last time a fire burned through it?

30) How many days till the moon is full?

The Bigger Here Bonus Questions:

31. What species once found here are known to have gone extinct?

32. What other cities or landscape features on the planet share your latitude?

33. What was the dominant land cover plant here 10,000 years ago?

34. Name two places on different continents that have similar sunshine/rainfall/wind and temperature patterns to here.

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linus-wickworth · 8 months

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August 2023 Reading Recap

I managed to squeeze in a total of 95 books for this month, which is much too long to not have under a read-more. But here's my total stats:

Total: 95 books and 1 short story. Oldest: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848). Longest: Les Misérables (1463pg). Average Pages: 289. 64% were YA. 56% were read as e-book or audiobook. 56% were written by female authors. Rep: 28% queer, 35% mental health, 25% POC, 15% disability.

5 Stars:

Pedro & Daniel by Federico Erebia The Hero of Ages by Brandon Sanderson Negative Space by B. R. Yeagar Head Case by Sarah Aronson A List Of Cages by Robin Roe How It Feels to Float by Helena Fox A World Without You by Beth Revis The Inexplicable Logic of My Life by Benjamin Alire Sáenz Orbiting Jupiter by Gary D. Schmidt The Vanishing Place by Theresa Emminizer The Cost of Knowing by Brittney Morris A Death on the Wolf by G.M. Frazier

4.5 Stars:

Lost Girls by Ann Kelley Beauty of the Broken by Tawni Waters Honeybee by Craig Silvey Bang, Bang, You're Dead! by Narinder Dhami We Need to Do Something by Max Booth III We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver My Father's Scar by Michael Cart Phoenix Rising by Karen Hesse More Than This by Patrick Ness Born to Serve by Josephine Cox Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock by Matthew Quick Howl by Shaun David Hutchinson You Asked for Perfect by Laura Silverman

4 Stars:

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte A Very, Very Bad Thing by Jeffery Self Double by Jenny Valentine Tattoo Atlas by Tim Floreen The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold Bridge of Clay by Markus Zusak The Escape by Hannah Jayne My Abandonment by Peter Rock Brother by Ania Ahlborn Counterfeit Son by Elaine Marie Alphin The Escape from Home by Avi Les Misérables by Victor Hugo Young Pioneers by Rose Wilder Lane Elantris by Brandon Sanderson Let's Call It a Doomsday by Katie Henry Raven Summer by David Almond The Emperor's Soul by Brandon Sanderson The Hole by Hye-Young Pyun The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain Pandemic by Yvonne Ventresca Ashfall by Mike Mullin

3.5 Stars:

10 Things I Can See from Here by Carrie Mac Lord of the Flies by William Golding Calvin by Martine Leavitt The Long Weekend by Savita Kalhan Complicit by Stephanie Kuehn Surviving Bear Island by Paul Greci Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchez

3 Stars:

They Never Came Home by Lois Duncan Five and the Stately Homes Gang by Claude Voilier Five Go On Television by Claude Voilier Five and the Golden Galleon by Claude Voilier Ten Mile River by Paul Griffin Five in Fancy Dress by Claude Voilier Pig Boy by J.C. Burke Five Versus the Black Mask by Claude Voilier The Meaning of Birds by Jaye Robin Brown Five and the Pink Pearls by Claude Voilier The Trouble With Half a Moon by Danette Vigilante I Am David by Anne Holm I Am The Cheese by Robert Cormier Five and the Secret of the Caves by Claude Voilier The Fear by Spencer Hamilton Five and the Z-Rays by Claude Voilier Hold Fast by Kevin Major The Disturbed Girl's Dictionary by NoNieqa Ramos Five and the Knights' Treasure by Claude Voilier

2.5 Stars:

The Rag and Bone Shop by Robert Cormier Five and the Mystery of the Emeralds by Claude Voilier Five and the Missing Cheetah by Claude Voilier Outside Looking In by James Lincoln Collier Tears of a Tiger by Sharon M. Draper The Hobbit by J. R. R Tolkien Too Soon for Jeff by Marilyn Reynolds Mine by Delilah S. Dawson Five And The Cavalier's Treasure by Claude Voilier Five and the Blue Bear Mystery by Claude Voilier Supermassive by Nina Rossing Five And The Strange Legacy by Claude Voilier

2 Stars:

The Island Keeper by Harry Mazer The Winter Children by Lulu Taylor 33 Snowfish by Adam Rapp Five and the Hijackers by Claude Voilier Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Lindqvist Paper Covers Rock by Jenny Hubbard The Story of King Arthur and his Knights by Howard Pyle

1.5 Stars:

Aliens in the Family by Margaret Mahy The Kingdom By The Sea by Robert Westall The Nightmarys by Dan Poblocki

#books #booklr #bookblr #reading recap #reading update

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usagisbanexd · 11 months

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+ SUPER SOLDIER SAILOR STARS #02 * _) _) >>C===3 :-* Kawaii Slash Lovers Collide Cosmic Paradise // Sailor Moon/Pokémon/Potterverse Altfic Crossover, CHAPTER 1.0.002

youtube

Fic. he/him!Rei, questioning,ace!Mina

1.0.002 BIG-DICKED REI / LOVES /ACE<3 MINAKO <33!, MINA HOPES

“She’s gone,” says Mina, and in her eye a dart hits its target from afar. The ribbon at the crown of her head unwinds and falls, then brushes forward, a little kanji in the dirt, carried with the wind, petals granted by the jungle of different understanding. She assumes the title of the moonless decoy, red and white chalk lips, Moctezuma the Emperor’s Mongol warbride, kidnapped and ransomed in an ox-drawn wagon, home over a gray dirt steppe, Utah, the birthplace of her fathers the suns, Arizona, the distant red clay of unbought Play Doh, Sister Columbine, father’s reassurance, sing-alongs, ice cream men, fountains oily with cartoon glossy waters: ‘ZAMZAM! VENUS ZAMZAM MAKE-UP!’ Her niqab swirls. She thinks with the wind and the ocean, Michiru’s golden semina. She knows her Mars is the lesser shrine maiden, that she, Emperor Mars, shadow of past nations, is the greater music. She knows Haruka lies in wait, her plastic lip no make-up look the hook in Michiru’s gilded cramping muscular wretching no-womb decoy mazey organ thigh. Mamoru sees Michiru’s eye. A minotaur in a labyrinth on her bonemilk skin. Mamoru’s eyes, gorgeous, tender, Usagi’s bane, Minako’s heaven, the only child, muse-borne. Nowombwomban, no-womb man, the emperor borne from the water passes Mina’s eye like the procession of a distant plaster glaized elephant, and her heart worships the stone inside, and Michiru worships the stone in the water, and together Venus and Mercury swim goddess-born, but Neptune knows no mother and Mercury abandons Venus for the stone, and Venus eternal daughtersister holds her arms and limps her ankle against the cold, and all at once everyone is encompassed by a golden hoop with a single ray shining outward beneath, a film played by the sun the god American-born protector projector from the anus of Apollo risen hoarily into Michiru’s turquoise prison in the gape. Manga. Multi-colored. Pixels. Beauty. Peace sign, ~ Venus &Mars

Mars with a middle finger, dirt under her nail. Combat boots. Goth make-up. Mina writing feverishly. Her dad holding her crumpled fanfic in a triumphant limp upturned right hand, outward like a cocktail, in the crux like a teddy bear, his wrist bent back, scolding, happy, cocktail hour, bermuda shorts, little ones, muscular thighs, swollen bird’s scimitar scabcalves, Michiru vomiting out from herself in holy meditation, always in Neptune’s raiment, Haruka as Michiru, pathetic Haruka, evil Michiru, the mother’s shackles in Rei’s eye, Rei weeping, Rei devised, Haruka thrashing, Mamoru crying, Haruka weeping, Michiru laughing, Haruka dying, Mamo holding the sword, Venus puking a single tear from the corner of her eye, wiping it, hiding it, Father’s buried secret. Her dad speaks. “Hi,” he says. “No,” says Venus the sun blazing through his mask. “Fuck you, Father. VENUS MAKE-UP!” She preens sadly in front of the mirror in whoreclown make-up. Nothing happens. The towel falls off Shingo’s head. A fetus rests inside the hoop of a rainbow, Mew, the closed door. “You little perv,” says tiny Usagi, her hands clutching evilly at her mother’s womb. Venus prostrate, a little girl in the arms of her white-haired muscular svelte vuluptuous rippling manly-assed father. Venus crying. Venus in chains, then rolling down a hill, Mamo loosing his grasp on Usa’s star-crowned plastic dime store scepter, beautiful Michiru fixing her lip, Mamo taking over the world, Mina weeping, Usagi entranced, the sun behind a cloud, a man triforcated by three circles, a faceless man with gorgeous long hair, equivalent to Hotaru’s tentacles, Kakyuu’s hair, Seiya plucking an acoustic guitar by the light of an Are You Afraid of the Dark campfire, Minako little eight years old in front of the television, her little brother pinching her. Rei-chan laughing, Hotaru in her womb, penis in her hand, in front of the television. Mina open-fisted, a huge-nosed Fagin in rags like an inflated twisted Eurasian troll pinching pennies from her palm. Mamo laughing, futile, empty eyes, crying tears. Empty tears. Mina before the king, her baby rent in half, Rei overseeing from her balcony, opera-gloved, in a cut-off short-sleeve tuxedo, Kamen-masked, two emperors, Mina drawing the sword from the stone and splitting the Gordian knot, Mamo drawing the sword from the stone, the two of them dancing in an Elizabethan chamber, gorgeous music playing, courtly motions, Venus masked in aristocratic Glinda leaning up to his crook, her hand partitioning her mouth and his ear from mouthless gorgeous-faced onlookers fellow dancing. “Meet me in South Hall, behind the tapestry where the ladies pee, Your Majesty,” she whispers. Usagi watches from a table, shoulders slumped, chin tucked into her shoulder, huge languid eyes more beautiful than Venus’s by candlelight. “Yes, m’lady,” comes Mamoru from out of frame. Together the three of them dance through heather in peasants’ gowns, little children living by the clean clear light of a village’s spring.

“Yeah,” say Mars, Rei-chan, Mina P’s true love. Mercury lives damning a frenzy, her ugliness shown before the sun. Mercury in retrograde, the spirits haunt the latter days. The sun is chilly. “Hi,” says the baby in Mina’s womb, little Kousagi, and the emperor penguin crowns Mars’ feet with lotuses.

Mina feels sick.

I know Mina feels sick, thinks Mars. Little Ami’s holes make staples like trainers in her arms, but Mars cares. She doesn’t care. Her eye is a sparrow made

‘holeywhollyholy,’ Mina worships.

Mars prostrates before the fire. The ancient mist spills red ink from a fountain. She believes. In her eye. Venus the man, her Heracles, seven-breasted, abs dry, encircles the Nemean lion with a vitiligo velificatio, the empty crook of his arm encircling a discus, baroque lion poised on its haunches, snarling like heraldry. Mina winces. Mars sleeps. The earth shudders the sun. The earth conquers Mars. Mars sees all. Time elapses eternal. Mamo-‘s heart sickens. Goddesses are stripped of their robes, mocked by cold hearts in ghost forums. Mina’s eye enlarges, her lip movelessly quickers. The song creeps, music notes played a loop threaded through her ears. Pigeon-toed, she floats. Mars lies. He always lies. Wicked love songs, confusions, clang, Mr. Muse, Mr. Apollo, Mrs. Sunshine, married to her own breast, hail sun, fairer than Mars, hail earth, bearing fruit, hail children, baring all, hail mothers, the lesser, hail Mamoru, rescuing Mars, hail Mars, the fairest son, the gravest voice, the true nation, war between earth and Mars, war at mars and earth, eternal emperors waddling toward the foot of their thrones, kings anointed by godly Beryl, penis tucked, talons quivering. Rei vomits on Mamoru’s head, Mamoru vomits on Rei’s head. They laugh. They take over the world. They can do this. Venus drags her sword against the earth. Mamoru laughs.

Venus’s eyelids shutter, tears below. Mars’s arms outstretched. Venus runs to them, Mina in a long skirt and a sailor’s blouse, bow outsized like Butterfree’s limbs. Sailorbutterfree holds a pistol, squinting an eye through the hole burrowed in Rei’s skull, third eye, penis, unhidden, unbidden, Sailorbutterfree flashes a peace sign.

Sailormetapod slinks. Eaten. Mamoru heaves his guts. Haruka in gorgeous sensh attire wipes his mouth with a little white kerchief. Kyrie eleison, says Michiru’s body, her hands on her thighs, her thighs on her calves, her feet tucked like a Muslim maiden ready for prayer.

Venus the maid stumbles on her sword.

Mars the maid cleans Minako’s apartment.

Venus the lover rubs her eyes with thumb and index fingers, laughing from a couch. “Last night, my love, the nightmare ceased. Sometimes that which should go with Ares goes with Mars.”

“Teehee,” says Mars, says Neptune, says the Doom Phantom. He clutches in his hand a chalice in which swim chunks of ambrosia like ice through which a boy is skiing. Mamoru assuming the throne, walking up the backs of prostrate naked senshi, their penises tucked between their thighs, the white cocooned reflexive silhouette of penisless Usagi offering him prostrations like an American-Korean peasant worshipping the newly crowned divinity, naked faced, the fallout after Mina drops the bomb on God. Mars smiles, sick, sad, scared, eternal, an emperor’s eye, anointed, three people, Mirror Elon, giving birth to god through an acorn at the nippleless breast of Ephesian Artemis.

Venus swims in amber.

Mars plunges for her.

Venus holds up a phallus, Galaxia-made. On it, close-up, written, beautiful English legible graffiti: ‘He one-nights ‘em.’ SMILEY FACE, Joker smile, on the low-hanging left nut. Mars grabs the phallus, black onyx bindi on her forehead, and vomits bubbles through the water, groping for them.

Michiru, robed as senshi, gorgeous, watercolor, maroon, turquoise, marooned, turquoise, smiling a Beryl Michiru smile, holds out enormous hands like a marionette, and the cold sun behind her left elbow casts a shadow and *coughs*.

The riddle sickens Mars’s hope, and the emperor closes his eyes and cocks back his head in prayer. The emperor becoming.

The riddle sickens Mina’s hope.

Mars weeps, walking from the wheel.

Venus’s mouth waters. Father me.

I will.

Mercury loves the emperor.

“Do you love me?” asks shackled Venus, and a shiver like a tomcat’s spine rises in her right shoulder. The sun weeps a ray upon the blade of her cheek, and through stillness she turns to time and says ‘No,’ and the tears poison her heart and weigh the wink chain beneath her beltloops. Does Rei ever weaken? Does Rei ever bleed? The sun her mother asks her questions, spurning the sickness Mercury feeds her. Mina hates this life, Mina hates her burden. Her fathers bear her beneath the concrete with their grasping hands. She walks on toward the water’s edge, her fathers’ semina. Pasty Mercury with her heaving ugliness and her wicked eye bleeds poison into the sky. Mina’s pupils dilate, a pallor ransoms her beautiful face to hell, the untrue Satan’s bounty. Sailorsatan beautiful in red wakes stirring, a woman in the body of a man, a man in the body of a male woman, cute little horns on her head. She’s masturbating her inflated penis on a couch in the depths of hell. Sailormoviejesus her lover stares on with perfectly symmetrical blue eyes like a superimposed eagle male model’s face all in his irises beyond the silhouette of her body the sofa her body the everything. The flames of hell are the wets of the corners of his unseen mouth. Beautiful daughters bleed.

�� Beautiful sons make love.

‘Not in front of Mercury,’ says Venus. ‘Galaxia makes love to you.’

“I’ve lost everything,” says Venus, “and the worm in my stomach twists my power into evil. Is this the world your fathers envision?”

“She’s here,” says unfaithful Mars.

Little faithful Venus says no. “My husband has made me a promise of moons,” says the Mina-P inside of her twinkling eye. “You know I’m not Japanese.”

“Nipon is a beautiful city,” says Rei.

“I asked you if you loved me,” says Supersailorvenus, her beauty concealed beneath a sweater and denim. The wink chain like beauty’s crooked pinky ensnares her hip like a man who saunters loving her, and she thanks her father.

Mars stares, no orgasm gurgling inside him.

“Speak not for Hotaru your metal god,” says Venus. “We’ll get to that.”

The wind speaks for Venus to Mars, his hair his crown her loving arms reach toward the wind which ties their pasts into love, and Venus weeps knowing. “I asked if you loved me.”

“I said I never loved anyone,” says Mars. He thinks he’s a savior to men. His vagina throbs. He tries to think.

Do they the emperors and their hentai-loving concubines forget the starry womb of Venus their big sister? The sun their mother weeps tongueless from the cushion of her quicksilver-reactive transitioning raiment, a bony earth. Venus’s private temple sacked, she and her fathers know better, but she is regressing, they have given her the knife, said ‘Hera, go into the tomb,’ and fearless she has lowered herself into Saturn’s throat and discovered her ugly brothers.

Vulcan eyes himself, his breasts like twin torpedoes at the verge of ignition. Beryl’s wicked dick wipes the lips off her teeth and is shredded into the trash can by quaking Mercury.

She wakes. She wonders, in Mercury’s womb a twisting knife. “We tremble,” say her children, and hungry emperors engorge them in their brazen stomach like the lovesick bull.

Pink sunset greets Mina in the face, bleeding out cinema orange over the flat gray canvas of the God-given oval of her visage. Candy-coated rain spills down the front of her corn white tendrils, whipping them to butter in the melting light of dozy day dying quick like the plunge of a woman’s knife into the hearts of more beautiful girls. The sun the senshi’s father squats his womb against the water. Stillness like Crystal Tokyo before the bomb precedes proceeding, and mothers prostrate before their strollers’ shadows against the sidewalk, all knowing the danger. Empty oceans bear their young, and their young bare their young, and senshi are born from the beauty in boys’ hearts, like razorwire pricked outward, making girls from soldiers but soldiers from girls, and soldiers from girls dance in their wombs and call to boys from soldiers, and all the senshi steal their hearts against the Shadow Destroyer, knowing in their hearts and heads and in the mind of Venus their sister that death will come, and she tells them with the tongue of her father that stars are reborn with men who love them. And planets are born with mercuries in retrograde, their cripple-loving hearts scheming how to infect men with sick and enslave them to her crown the ugly mold, the pretension and the privilege.

‘Reject thy mother, Sailorstar,’ says the sun through Venus’ tongue, and Venus in her vacuum womb says ‘Woman, rise,’ and the ancient goddess with her marble mystery and the systemic swell of her breasts gives way to her priests her keepers, and through the lineage of her tears and the tears of her infinite children a love for girls so other from herself blooms like stone bulbs from the cracks of womens’ shields, knitted with Amazons’ false valor, the mists of Mercury descend upon the mind of Venus and unmother her children, unfather her procession, and their weeping will redound upon Mercury with swords, and Venus knows her task to kill, and her hand shakes spasming, and should she call her father? How to tell him all her madness is the stuff of Mab, and Sailormercutio in his restless fever split from his thigh the bloody goddess whose mission is shitcaked vengeance. Does Daddy know? Sailoronestar the little fool in Ami’s womb twists like a rat against its noose umbilical, and Venus’s longing womb cries out to Anna the painted actress, and all women know. And Cat Stevens plays on the radio from a delivered future. A is for Allah. B is for Bilal. Venus weeps for her mother, her mother prostrate, her mother’s wreckage womb. Shadow Destroyer like the hand of a black god points fingers to Mars’s impotent penis, and Venus feels within her head a rattling ghost without bones.

Mars waits, an evil emperor. Does his penis know its barrenness? Has she sought in her consort Galactica, crown of emperors, bane of love? She speaks in tongues of devils, ifrits shuddering with manly fire, the chauvinist’s lies the concrete boxing his feet. He moves not, not to comfort, not to repent, never to know his princely kingdom is a pauper’s jest played against a losing gambler. Venus the sun’s omniscience breaks rainwater against the placid pond, and Sailorlittleonestar in her eye and Ami’s womb twists wreckless as an acrobat and whispers umbilica, ‘Mother, conquer.’ Fool. Venus feels her starseed. Mercury knows nothing. She holds her arm to it, shielding herself, and the evil girl from across the sea crumples into sickness and subsides. Shadowmercury, Shadowlove.

Tokyo disrobes her head and breast. The cyberslave glitters blood-red, black over their shoulders’ eye, and the city’s pyramidal eons are an offering to the distant eyes of the newly empty, now-new-dead starlight. Shes sleep in a gray-red dream, and Mars’s eye is on the sparrow.

Mina the senshi feels herself alone again, and that wind like her daddy runs fingers through her hair, braces her back against his bloodhot chest. Call him Zephyr and the seasons cannot fade him. Call him Zephyr for the lords who re’rrange him. From the sun Sailorzephyr brings a bounty of flowers, beautiful dying sakura-hime, sleeping senshi Venus dies for, and the cornacopic Venus enjoys her sacrifice. Blood thickens at her loin, Achilles’ daughter, Penthesilea’s bright bane, the orphan Amazon in her chest says ‘Daughter,’ says ‘Father, I love you,’ and a blue tear dies blue in the blue of her blue iris. Ami’s visor waits like glass monster Marios.

“What do you want?” says Mars, and his hair is like a timeswept pupil unfurling into rind.

“Loose your arrow, love,” says Venus. She swallows air for Rei-chan. Her throat an overburdened elevator, her eyes dead Xs. “Rei-chan,” she turns, and tears become ships bearing riches from the deep blue of her eye, rescuing her history for a nobler shore. “I love you, Rei-chan,” said with a lion’s heart, in a mouse’s voice, the muse quaking in her throat.

“You don’t, or you’d show me your dick,” he hymns.

Silence as the dust settles back to quid pro quo. Mina’s ribbon skates along the concrete before her feet, a dance for the new Moon Queen, imposter though she is, making the wind another slave in red velvet shackles.

Mina watches the sky, ever virgin Venus now a mirror of the moon. “Galaxia moves slowly,” she says, and the twin musics of tears and terror die in her mouth before reaching fully out from the loamy secrets of her mind, frogging her up at the larynx and making her choke on gurgled noise. The words carried out next are like waves without water, salting the beach of her dried mouth and making the air a welcome substitute: “We don’t know where she is.”

“You’re getting better,” says Rei from in front of the open car door, and in his hand an iris plays with itself in the air.

“Pretty make-up,” says Venus, forgetting to shut up. Galaxia hears from far-off Planet Star Destroyer, and the wind howls into a vortex from inside a primordial vacuum, reaching its hoary black arm all the way from death beyond the black hole to the heart of Earth. She bites her lip against a shiver; so does Galaxia. “I think you left your fuku in the car, Hino-sama,” Venus says, tucking her chin into the limped synthetic lip of her turtleneck, Sailorsailorvenus’sfavoriteturtleneck, still breathing.

“I like to change you,” says Rei.

“Use my henshin stick,” says Venus, and through her father in the ground the wink chain sword winks a chain at her hip, ready to spasm. The starseed in her heart spins like a dradle dowsing Zamzam from its opposite pole. The fossil Venus encased in amber wood beneath the armored slab of concrete at her feet beats its eyelid and the muscles in Mina’s right leg tremble like a dog awaiting its cannibal gruel. Mm, cannibal gruel. Yum, cannibal gruel. Yes, cannibal gruel, yes! And she's a shampoo commercial getting slimed by Campbell's beef stew or something worse. And for Rei she's a depository. And for Rei she's everything. And for Rei she twitches, blinks, twitches and then blinks to play it cool, the scepter of Galaxia unthreading the fabric of her brainstuff and twisting it into a little spool sharp against its sisters. Bubbles in her brain. Speak of bubbles. The god of suns obliges.

“MERCURY AQUA MAKE-UP!1!” Venus hears, and her eyes sting with vapor, the sun her mother wailing with torn hair and a bleeding scalp at the crook of the girl’s neck. America’s war rages on, Galaxia her mistress on the cusp of Gemini and Latin, enthroned in the might of her majesty. The distant sleeping Tuxedo Kamen wakes to sleep again, loving the barren planet in his ball, and loving the silver cooling his blood. Pallas is born a bastardess, robed in glamor stolen as an apple from the garden of the sun. The pirate princess gold in her nakedness, Sailorarethusa, loses her seed at Mamoru’s V, and Venus of the V quakes soft at blond profundity; all worship the emperor. All but Ami, in whose dark heart a starseed pumps ice and dances as the sun’s towers fall.

“I’ll use mine,” says Mars to Venus. To Venus. To Venus.

“Sometimes that fuku which should go with Mars..,”she touches her lip with a wobbling index finger, “isn’t there, babe.” A smile. Then a blank. A profound blank. Wiped blank. “You don’t love her anymore.”

Galaxia shudders, someone's glee. Shadow Destroyer flicks, switches, a mare's tail emphasizing. Mina flushes hot, then lifts off the ground, arms ascending backwards, and the wind brings her toward the water’s edge. The emperor’s icy hand calls her toward the guillotine, and all is emptied and laid bare. Her clothes, beautiful 90s supermodel fabrics, loose into webs around her body. Her penis enlarges, flesh-plated, arcing at the sun. Her traveling vulva like sails ensnare an empty acrid acre of Antony’s tomb, and the eye of the sun goes white cold. Ghosts fuck to the fore from behind her in wraithe-like procession, beyond her shoulders, burdening her shoulders, countless beautiful billions, stars, beautiful children, people, a Tokyo crowd, each of them surging a walking blitz march behind her.

Then past her, through her, piercing her like an arrow. From her hands limpid lamplights like Mary Mother of Graces, that wrong-wombed Mother of Graces, Mary on the water, and now she is floating above the pond like a foot skating limp like Barbie’s lost loved cherished worshipped limb, the ice blade of her toe on the ice-blade of the water, and Adonis Mamoru True Man races past her on a jet ski on the water, too, but with the water, and the procession explodes the womb in at her bellybutton into tentacles blood pink like a flytrap and terrible in her her mother sun’s sick male female girlhood soft loving gorgeous sad DEAD DEAD DEAD fury. A harvester, a tomb, a channel, a crownless queen, the sun her king heavy-head-hung, brokenhearted, both of them barren, buried, carrying their ancestors. Her face ugly, her face fat, her body an empty suit, her body a loosed tomb, plundered, given to emperors. Adonis is smiling. Minako’s eyes are turned toward the god in the hell her children bear through her, and her stomach is a nothing. A light dazzles a nimbus at the tip of her penis, an electric shock, presidential, motherhood, mothering, queenless, Hillary-haired, a new god born, Shingo’s eye in a mask, Shingo’s profile, a smile on Minako’s face, one tear, anime tear, streaking down the whole of her face from a smash-breaked beaten battered wincing swollen right eye. Rei’s face: “Gouge,” she says. “I am Eurydice.”

Minako loves horses. Loves them and needs them to rescue her. Loves Elios, wild unthrowable Pegasus, wile and unbred thing consuming champions at her heel and from her incisor springing a heavily-headed steam treat trained from go to forever entangle. The horse the shrine, the wicked thing. Horses can be evil. This pond is evil. This pond an evil horse does away with me, never moves. I love a good horse, a beautiful horse named Sally. I miss my home in Connecticut, before the war, before the names, before Daddy became Mommy and Daddy became Sir Ansel. I miss Sir Ansel. I miss the horses. Look up there, a woman, a child, a little horse, and my husband Mars all the while playing in his purple iris the strychnine of an evil xylophone. Mars is jealous of Mars.

Hotaru in the tomb of the cold hard sun. Hotaru’s purple eye. Rei’s child. Rei’s knife. Rei the hunting predator, Minako the hobbled foot-corded wounded limping terrified unhorned dappled soft supple deer, and her father the sun trapped behind his eye with his arms splayed over his visage, presaging magic, unbirth, unwomb, presaging terror, the children of Nagasaki, the women of Taiwan, the carved out penises of Iranian sex-traitors, the sun in terror, Mamoru prince jet ski smiling, grinning, smiling, unblanked, a gun, his jet ski hot pink, Barbie’s whip, Minako’s forfeit womb, and then a rapper beside him black, beautiful, wearing pink and blue tiny board shorts. Mamoru prince Adonis looks at him, his grin the dazzling sunlight off a knife, and checks him out. Hotaru’s womb the tentacled beast extends from the cold blazing sun and threatens Venus’s glass womb upon the water, and Steve Adonis Mamoru Prince turns tears to smiles, and becomes one with the ravenous wolf emperor in his breast. His empty hollow canyon a brass belt like the god he covets and makes covenant, that god Hotaru’s shadow glides upon the water motionless, a kanji, a hidden dagger, child, be armed, child, put down thy weapon, and Mina’s tear freezes on her face, and she gives her womb to the black boy passing, and his stomach grows full, and his breasts heave with muscle, and he too is lifted, and then drowned, and the water thrashes, and Hotaru’s monster tentacles move clasping the water and lifting it like children unworshipped at the sandbox. Mina’s eye opens, her left eye, her right eye still bearing young, and her left eye has become a blank yellow blue iris howling into an abyss, and Galaxia weeps above her with a sword at her breast, gorgeous Roman woman becoming hero, becoming man, and Venus moves slowly through the earth like the void upon the shadow and the water upon the void, the stolen egg, and her fathers’ hands clasp for the egg, trembling, fumbling, strong rippling arms, muscled, unbeautiful, hard palms, and Lil Wayne sings ‘Go DJ,’ and a black kid in a white body spins in a flat-brimmed baseball cap over a tennis ball which inflates into the tail of Pallas’s hair. He and Pallas swallow each other, and a Venus in the boy’s eye assumes her fuku and her heavy sword and chain and pivots toward her father the sun.

“DAUGHTER!!” cries the sun, and Hotaru stumbles on her heel and plummets in the air, her snapped shoe crying out beneath her little Cynthia Candy heel, and the sun blinks rapidly, the sun becomes a shutterstock, a shuttering light at a nightclub light’s up bar close 3AM impotent, and the black boy stops dancing, and Venus’s sword grows Japanese, and the sword and the water kiss lovelessly, and no children are born, and Rei’s eyes grow wide, and Venus points her sword toward the sun, body arcing, and Hotaru stands above her an eclipse without retrograde in the air over Venus’s head, her arms out like a proud Japanese Jesus, and Venus’s chain shoots from the hoop beneath her sword like loose bowel movement, and Venus’s father reaches his hand from the water and holds her heel, and her ankle swells, bone trembling, and tears drowning undrowning fill her eyes, born star from her father’s scraped womb, and Hotaru reaches down with an evil cold tentacle and they caress hands, and then Venus in retrograde supraintraposed vomits a ribbon from the corner of her eye on her father’s head, into his closed open mouth, and with his teeth he’s bitten it off umbilical, Neanderthal woman, and from his ass bubbles break the water, beautiful as Michiru’s ocean kiss, and say ‘Neptune’ and ‘Poseidon’ and ‘Whisper’ and ‘Future’ and all kanji which means faggot, boiling, and the water beneath her naked father form is boiling, and Vulcan in her gorgeous torpedo-titted lithe form hammers her shackles at the depths of the pond, and Sailorironmouse smiles to the camera, peace sign, so pretty, and Venus’s face is tense in intrapose, and in interpose, in one movement, unknowing, certain, certain of her womb, certain of Rei’s potency, knowing gods, and she twirls slowly like the rotation of gorgeous family romance nighttime twilight kisses to Christmas carols, and a single snowflake dawns from around her body like the most mathematically complex fractral given to God the monkey typewriter megasystem computer to produce, and at the edges where it grows dumb and ugly for lack of honesty lack of effort it becomes Hotaru’s black squid ink metal tentacles. Hotaru’s eyes shoot open. Her breasts take form, bouncing into fruition, nippled, large and small, real flesh, plastic, and from the stolen womb between her legs a metal god Arachne Sailorarachne pretty privileged princess descends on a curling wire, and appears to Venus as a transvestitic dancer.

“You are not my father!!” yells Venus to the dancer, and in her head a splitting womb gives birth to a god stolen by evil sickly pale woman Mamoru, and in woman Mamoru’s emperor’s eye he sees Venus entangled by his throne.

“SAILORNEWMOON TWINKLE!!” says the dancer, becoming a Hathor-crowned black crescented gorgeous little princess Usagi, and Venus’s wrist limps clutching a ladder, the Batladder, descending from a helicopter, and the black boy now bespectacled is flying it, and Venus’s lip does nothing in anger and pain, and she falls limp, and the helicopter whips her against a building, and it shatters into asteroids, and the newborn false senshi dance with white light hearts, and the sun Elios reaches for them from space, and they fall from his fingers like saddening sand, and Venus sheathes her wink chain sword between his fleshy pixeled pornographic male asscheeks, Hanyu Yuzuru, and Mamoru feels Hotaru’s shock at the prostrate anus, and the anus lives, and the anus is unprostrate, and Mamoru and Helios dance inside the air once romantic, hands losing one another, tectonic shifts, loosed on opposite sides of their two married pages, Mamoru poised, posed, meaning to, Helios grasping impotently, not barrenly, manned and masked and then bound too by the ropes of the helicopter. And the gladius pierces Galaxia’s oblique, and the blood blossoms under her opaque gold bodysuit, and Lady Gaga somewhere dies alone, and a man’s eye rescues her from his sofa, and it’s all in Galaxia’s crying eye, her lying smile, the blade sickens, the blade is a female appendage turned inward, the blade has tentacles, Hotaru’s mouth bends downward, her soul so far within her inside barriers grows fearful of the howling god, the stupid emperor, Mamoru’s forgotten past, his blank, and Mamoru sheathes his blade and bends toward the prone dead corpse of coldfish Usagi, so beautiful in her untouchable glass skin, and Helios looks on with an empty woman’s smile, and Galaxia’s blade pierces the page.

An empty left page. Venus to its right, dressed as Minako in a spring day in Philadelphia, red checkered shirt tied like Dorothy Britney, warm little smile for the child behind the camera, peace sign: “JUST KIDDING. HEHE! XOXO SLOW DOWN, BABE. GO TOUCH GRASS. ALL THE GODS LOVE YOU ESPECIALLY, AND THAT'S BECAUSE YOU’RE SPECIAL. HUG YOUR SISTER. HUG YOUR BROTHER. FOR GOD'S SAKE, LOVE YOUR LOVER. LOVE LASTS ETERNAL. VENUS… MAKE UP!!”

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