#Needle Felted Turkey

[snowflakeforestfelting]

NEEDLE FELTING Turkey Time Lapse

#youtube #NEEDLE FELTING Turkey Time Lapse #SnowflakeForest #SnowflakeForest Felting #SnowflakeForest Felts #Turkey #Thanksgiving #Needle Felting #Needle Felt #Needle Felted #Felt #Felting #Felted #Needle Felting Turkey #Needle Felt Turkey #Needle Felted Turkey #Felt Turkey #Felted Turkey #Felting Turkey #How To Needle Felt #How To Needle Felt A Turkey #Turkey Needle Felting #Needle Felting Video #Needle Felting Tutorials #Felting Tutorials #Felting Videos

[theenbyroiderer]

In the lull between fiber projects I'll just post another tutorial. Though this one is less a tutorial and more vague guidelines. There are parts that I can't really tell you how to do and I'm sure there are details that I don't have photos of... but I'll try to describe the process as best I can, and just hope that my words can fill in the gaps. Just ask if you have any questions and I'll try to answer them.

Materials: Cotton fabric, durable, not too thin. Pipe cleaners. Off white cotton thead. Off white wool yarn, a couple different thicknesses is preferable. One shorter and one longer needle, both sharp. (I used sashiko needles, one ~4cm and one ~6 cm.) Felting needles, for the top of the skull. Various green shades of wool yarn, perle, and other threads, for the foliage.

Step by step instructions:

1. Make a skull out of pipe cleaner. Just do it, I can't tell you how.

2. Find something to fill your skull with. I filled mine with a bundle of orts (thread scaps), so in my mind this skull will forever be known as Ort-For-Brains. I stitched around and through the bundle of orts a bit so that it was less a random tangle and more of a solid round shape. Then I tucked the orts into the skull and stitched the skull to the fabric with just a few stitches (using a durable cotton thread) around the edge. Make sure you fill the space inside the skull completely. Underneath the face of the skull the brains poked out a bit, so I did some stitches with the cotton thread there to hold the orts down. Another filler may be easier to work with, but I just couldn't resist the though of using colorful orts as brains...

3. Stitch over the pipe cleaner scaffold using wool yarn. I can't tell you exactly how to do this either, and depending on the shape of your scaffold you might encounter different challenges. Just be methodic, and don't overthink it. Use a thicker yarn, or more strands, on the top of the skull, and thinner/fewer strands when you are doing the face. When doing the face I'd say start with the eye sockets because they dominate the face. Stitch outwards from them, as if the sockets are suns and the thread sunbeams, if you get what I mean.

4. When you have stitched to your heart's content you may want to felt parts of the skull to make it smoother. I did anyway. I took bits of wool yarn and carded them a bit to make them less yarn-shaped and more like little sheets of wool, then I used felting needles to poke them into place on the top of the skull. If you have actual rowing wool, use that, it's probably better.

5.When you are satisfied with the skull you can do whatever you want with it of course. I added foliage. Techniques I used for that include: turkey stitch, drizzle stitch, woven picot stitch, bullion stitch and french knots.

#embroidery #3d embroidery #fiber art #3d embroidery tutorial #embroidery tutorial #fiber art tutorial #tutorial #kind of anyway #skull art #memento mori

[makethatelevenrings]

Misery Loves Company // B. Wayne x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: mentions of menstruation

Summary: You have a sinus infection, period cramps, and it’s hot as balls. Bruce is a good husband.

“I think I’m dying.”

Alfred tutted over you as you glared at the screen in front of you. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the camera from Bruce’s cowl rattle at bit when Killer Croc got in an easy hit. 

“I assure you, Mistress Wayne, that you are not dying. It’s just a small sinus infection.”

“Oh yeah, you call it small when you’re blowing out of one working nostril.” You scowled, your hands bumping into various buttons on the keys as you waved your hands, and then remembered who you were talking to. “Sorry, Alfred, I just feel miserable.”

“Quite alright, Miss. Master Tim has said far worse when I gave him his last flu shot.”

“That’s because Timmy is a wimp when it comes to needles,” Dick said over the comms.

“Names,” you and Bruce intoned at the same time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I had the comms on,” you explained. “My brain is a mess today.”

Alfred cleared his throat and you avoided his gaze. You knew he wanted you to admit you were sick, but there was no way in hell. How could you complain about a little headache and period cramps when they were getting shot at and blown up? You especially couldn’t make them worry, namely your husband, when they needed to focus.

“I do remind you, miss, that I handled running the computers when Master Bruce first conceived this hairbrained idea,” Alfred said. “And it appears that you have the same propensity as Master Bruce as not understanding the need to rest.”

Your eyes narrowed and you slowly turned your chair to face him. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Either get upstairs and into bed or I shall tell Master Bruce.”

“You’re an evil, evil man.”

Deciding rest didn’t sound like a terrible option, you dragged yourself upstairs to the bedroom you shared with Gotham’s resident vigilante. It was summer and living in a city built on a swamp and next to the ocean meant that humidity and heat clung to the air like a bad smell. You grunted once you left the cool air of the cave and into the damp atmosphere of the manor.

You were hot, your face felt more stuffed than a turkey on Thanksgiving day, and your uterus was trying to murder you.

Fuck this day.

After changing into pajamas, too tired to even bother with skincare, you laid on your side of the bed and realized that no sleep would be happening tonight. How the fuck were you able to sleep when one half of your face felt like it was packed full of cotton, your back ached from cramps, and the sheets plastered itself against you and clung to your skin in a way that overstimulated you?

This was the worst. Sitting up helped your sinus infection, but aggravated your back. Sweat dripped down your skin and you let out a pitiful whine. God, this sucked. Everything sucked.

You punched the pillow underneath your head in an attempt to make it more comfortable and then flipped it over to sink your cheek into the cooler side of the silken fabric. Your hand reached out and snatched up Bruce’s pillow, which you drew into your chest and cuddled. Even if it was hot, you would do anything to have your husband next to you right now, calloused hands rubbing into the sore muscles of your back. With his low, soothing voice and magic touch, you could be asleep in minutes.

Ah, shit. Here comes the water works. You pressed your face into the soft fabric of his pillow and immediately regretted it as the fabric dampened, saturating the scent of his cologne and body wash with the saltiness of your tears. You needed to get your shit together. What if someone came home injured today? They would need you to have your head on straight.

“Darling?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Bruce’s voice. When had he opened the door and walked in? Swiping the back of your hand across your cheeks, you sat up and quickly looked him over. No visible injuries.

“What happened? Why aren’t you on patrol?”

His large, calloused palm came up to cradle your jaw and you sank into the delicate yet strong touch he offered. Your eyes slid shut as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Alfred called me back in. Sorry, I’m a bit late. I swung by Leslie’s and picked up an antibiotic that will fix that sinus infection and then I had to run to CVS to get some things.”

You paused, your eyelids cracking open so you could stare up at him. “In the suit?”

If you didn’t know Bruce, you wouldn’t have picked up on the tiny twitch of his lips. “Maybe.”

The visual image was striking. Batman standing in line at CVS with a basket clenched in one of his leather gloves, filled with pads, snacks, and medicine. You could only picture the look on the cashier’s face as he swiped a box of tampons over the laser. Bruce liked to keep the house stocked at all times thanks to three women living there permanently and numerous others trickling in on the daily.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

He stooped down and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you as easily as you picked up Alfred the cat everyday to deposit kisses on the cat’s head. Your husband’s strength always surprised you, even after being with him for years.

“I did. You deserve it. Lukewarm shower and I’ll set up the netti pot. Leslie said you take the antibiotics twice a day for eight days. The whole time. No skimping. Take all sixteen.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snorted. “I know how antibiotic resistance works.”

“I forget sometimes that I’m not dealing with the average human population.”

“Let me guess, someone else tried to take a selfie with Killer Croc tonight.”

“Had a selfie stick and everything.”

You snickered and settled in against his chest. You still felt like shit, but with Bruce here, it was starting to get better. Maybe you could convince him to give you that massage after your shower…

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @alexxavicry​ @havingarebelliousstage​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @cursedandromedablack​ 

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #batman fluff #batman imagine

[pearlwingdraws]

Moth pin/brooch

A couple people asked me how I made this so I figured I’d just make a little post explaining it.

Before I start I WOULD like to disclose that the pin I’ve made is hugely inspired by the one by TheClosetHistorian (on YouTube) and you should definitely consider checking out her video if you want more instruction or like that format better.

I made a little graphic showing some work in progress pictures as well as materials and techniques used in the different areas. I will type it out in more detail below.

1. First draw out the shape I want on a piece of felt. Add some guide lines for different parts of the design. I layered mine double because it’s quite thin. I used an (unused) dish rag, so don’t worry about the quality of your felt.

2. I start off embroidering the “neck area”, using turkey stitch. Starting from the bottom up, I use a dark turquoise floss, then later mix in a lighter shade.

3. Next I sew on the beads. String on 5-6 at a time and then go back and tack them down with small stitches. I don’t know much about embroidering with beads, so this may not be the “correct” way to do it. The types of beads I used are size 11/0 seed beads and delica beads, as well as bugle beads and Miyuki’s Tila and half Tila.

4. Sequins. I recommend using flat ones instead of the ones I used. I work from the bottom up, trying to get a nice silhouette with the bottom layer, as this will form the outline of the finished piece.

5. After finishing with the sequins, I do some more turkey stitch around the top, so it covers up that edge where you can see the tread. Optionally you can do the whole thing with sequins if you want.

6. Next thing I did was some French knots, just above the turkey stitch in a contrasting color. This is just for some textural variety and decoration, as little “spots”. You can really add them wherever you’d like, or not at all.

7. Then I just finished embroidering the thing. Don’t know what the stitch is called, it’s just making little stitches beside each other until it’s all filled in. I did a little gradient because I felt like it.

For the legs and antennae, i also just winged it. The legs and antennae got layered double in wire and twisted before adding the beads and sequins, then I just used the very tip of my round plier to curl the remaining ends into round little “feet”. Then stitch them securely to the backside of the pin.

I finish it off with another layer of felt, this one painted with a fabric paint I happened to have lying around, both for some extra strength and to match the color scheme better. I cut little slits to fit in a regular safety pin (I recommend get a proper pin/brooch needle) and stitched the backing on with very dense stitches. Pictures below.

Extra suggestions:

If you don’t have sequins, or want a different look, you can embroider the whole thing. Alternatively you can fill the whole space with sequins if you don’t want to embroider it all. You can of course do any shape, size and color scheme, whether based on real life moths or just fantasy!

Lastly I just want to thank everyone for the love you’ve shown for this silly little bug 💖 it means the world to me, and it has really inspired me. I wish I could sell these, but I don’t think that’s really an option for me right now. I’ll let you know if that changes in the future, but until then, I hope those of you who have the interest to make your own find this helpful.

#my art #art tag #embroidery #jewelry #accessories #embroidered pin #embroidered brooch #fabric art #textile art #tutorial #art tutorial #i guess?? #moth #moths #insects #bugs

[beardedmrbean]

Chrissy Reifschneider had just left rehab to treat her heroin addiction in 2017 when she started taking tianeptine, popularly dubbed “gas station heroin." The 41-year-old from Alabama was struggling with low energy, so a family member who worked at a gas station recommended she try the pills. 

Within days, Reifschneider was hooked, and three dark years cruised by. Now four years clean, Reifschneider reflects on the deception that contributed to her tianeptine addiction and the overwhelming shame that followed. It's a trend that addiction medicine experts say shines a sobering light on the ongoing mental health crisis that's driving people to "easy" solutions amid widespread healthcare accessibility issues in the U.S.

“I thought well, I'm not sticking a needle in my arm, so I literally convinced myself that I wasn’t a drug addict until I realized I didn't recognize who I was anymore,” Reifschneider said. “It's crazy to think that these gas station pills just controlled me. I was ashamed because I'd rather people know I was shooting up heroin than actually spending all this time and money on over-the-counter (drugs).”

Tianeptine is prescribed as an antidepressant in some European, Asian and Latin American countries, but it’s not approved for any medical use in the U.S. Still, companies are marketing and selling tianeptine products as dietary supplements typically in pill and powder form, claiming it can improve brain function and treat depression, anxiety, pain and even opioid use disorder. 

Tianeptine has been banned in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Kentucky, Michigan, Mississippi, Ohio and Tennessee.

Reifschneider used to take five pills every four hours, which she said gave her enough of a “warm, fuzzy buzz” without making her feel clammy or nauseous, similar to the effects of doing too much heroin, she said. The brand she purchased recommends two capsules daily “or as needed,” and advises against exceeding three capsules in a 24-hour period. 

She started to lose her hair and lots of weight; had auditory hallucinations; developed paranoia surrounding electronics, at times using 10 cellphones at once; and began to convince herself that she was “better off dead.” Reifschneider would even chat with gas station employees about how dangerous the pills were: “I was silently crying out for help.” 

After several unsuccessful stays in rehab, Reifschneider quit “cold turkey” and entered a withdrawal state for the next six months, which she said felt similar to but lasted longer than her withdrawal from heroin and fentanyl. Today, she continues to “feel like a 15-year-old in my brain,” alluding to her debilitating memory problems. “It’s one of my more shameful things,” she said.

Poison control cases involving tianeptine have increased nationwide, from 11 total cases between 2000 and 2013 to 151 cases in 2020, the FDA says. Many poison control calls often involve severe withdrawal symptoms, such as agitation, vomiting and diarrhea, because people typically consume higher doses than those prescribed in other countries, according to a 2018 CDC report.

Dr. Holly Geyer, an internal medicine physician specializing in addiction medicine with the Mayo Clinic, said fear of withdrawal and the depression that follows can contribute to addiction to a variety of substances. 

“These often aren't people who are chasing a high. They're just trying to feel normal, and if there's a drug out there that helps them curb that appetite, they're probably going to take it until it as a solution becomes the problem,” Geyer said. “These people are trapped biologically, mentally and spiritually. It's a horrible situation to be in, and I can tell you tianeptine does not let them out of it.” 

Shame and stigma prevail among addiction recovery circles 

Since Reifschneider joined social media to share her tianeptine experience, neighbors and friends have confided in her with their own struggles with the supplement. “It was a very dark secret we all kept in our recovery circle because it was so shameful,” she said. “We all felt better about ourselves because we weren’t doing the worst of the worst.”

Aaron Weiner, an addiction psychologist, says that mentality is “completely reasonable” considering the stigma and “traditionalism” that still weighs on drug use in general. “There’s a very intense mental health burden in this country right now,” he said.

Tianeptine is marketed as a supplement, but it’s really an opioid receptor agonist. That means it binds to the same receptors in the brain that heroin, fentanyl and other opioids do, causing similar euphoric and addictive effects by hijacking the body’s dopamine system. So when people use tianeptine amid their recovery journey to cope with withdrawal or other lingering effects, judgment frequently follows.

“In a lot of recovery circles, the goal is complete abstinence from all intoxicating substances,” Weiner said. “In this scenario, some people may assume they’re substituting one drug for another, and say they’re not really sober.”

Similar judgment occurs among those taking FDA-approved medications for opioid use disorder (MOUD), including methadone, buprenorphine and naltrexone — some of which are opioids themselves. Mounting evidence shows that they reduce opioid cravings and withdrawal symptoms, and block their euphoric effects, Weiner said, but don’t make people “high” or cause withdrawal when dosed properly. 

Although MOUD use has grown by more than 100% over the last decade, nearly 90% of people living with opioid use disorder are not receiving these medications, according to a 2022 study published in the International Journal of Drug Policy. Experts say stigma is partly to blame. 

“One of the greatest problems we have in this country is that of stigma; we label people, then throw them out with their diagnoses,” Geyer said. “So when many of them turn to MOUD, they experience equal amounts of stigma and are led to think that no one could yell at them or be offended if they use supplements like tianeptine that they think are safer.” 

"It kills me to know this is still out there"

Reifschneider said she visited a doctor who specializes in addiction medicine two times for help to detox from tianeptine, but neither attempt was successful.

“The doctor had no idea what these pills were, but he wanted to help me because he could see my desperation,” Reifschneider said. “I was terrified to come off of them alone, so I didn’t know what to do.” 

She ultimately detoxed herself, but this lack of awareness and access to proper treatment, Geyer said, is what deters people away from evidence-based treatment and attracts them to the illicit market.

Data show that nearly 50% of counties in the U.S., don’t have MOUD medication providers and 32% don’t have any specialty substance abuse treatment programs at all. 

“There's not a whole lot of attention paid to tianeptine because it’s one of many drugs that you could find at gas stations these days that are not technically outlawed but certainly not beneficial,” Geyer said. “The big name drugs out there like fentanyl is where the money has historically been in this industry, so that's where most treatment approaches have focused.”

After years of rehab, Reifschneider said she wants to lay low and just live a normal life, but knowing that tianeptine is still being sold on gas station shelves weighs on her.

“I'm honestly grateful that there's been more awareness, but it kills me to know this is still out there,” she said.

#nunyas news #wtf

[michaelsgavey]

twas the night before christmas - wayhaught drabble

a/n : okay.. first off, merry christmas! hope you all are having a wonderful holiday <3 this is the first time one of my works will be published here so why not make my first published work here a wayhaught drabble? but yeah i hope you all enjoy :)

------------------------

It was a chilly Christmas Eve, and Nicole and Waverly sat cozily by the crackling fireplace in their quaint home in Purgatory. The aroma of a delightful Christmas dinner lingered in the air, the remnants of a delicious meal they had just finished.

Nicole, with her warm eyes and a genuine smile, looked at Waverly, whose eyes sparkled with love and contentment. The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights illuminated the room, casting a magical ambiance. The two were eating turkey with mashed potatoes.

Waverly leaned in and whispered, "Nicole, this has been the perfect Christmas dinner. Thank you for making it so special."

Nicole grinned, "Anything for you. Christmas is our time, and I want it to be perfect every year."

The two women exchanged a tender kiss, the love between them evident in the quiet moments they shared. Outside, the snowfall painted the landscape in a pristine white, adding to the enchantment of the night.

After the tender kiss, Waverly looked at her wife. "Do you think Wynonna and Doc are having a wonderful night as well?"

"Oh definitely. They both deserve to spend the holiday with each other and Alice. I hope next year they all can return so we can spend the holidays together." Nicole responded.

She nods. She couldn't help but to admire her wife. She truly was a lucky woman. Both have been through so much and it was relieving that their love story wont end. Nicole meant a whole lot to Waverly and she'd do anything for her. And Nicole? She felt the same way.

Once the dinner was done and everything was clean, Waverly did their dishes. She had washed and put the dishes away before cleaning up her own hands.

Meanwhile, Nicole's eyes gleamed mischievously as she stood up and walked towards the vintage record player in the corner of the room. She carefully selected a vinyl record, the soft crackle filling the room as the needle dropped onto the spinning disc. The sweet melody of a classic Christmas song enveloped the cabin.

"Care for a dance, my love?" Nicole extended her hand to Waverly, who looked up at her with adoration.

Waverly beamed and took Nicole's hand, allowing herself to be led to the center of the room. The glow of the Christmas lights danced in Waverly's eyes as she looked into Nicole's, and the two women began to sway to the gentle rhythm of the music.

Nicole, with her confident yet graceful movements, guided Waverly through the simple dance. As they twirled and glided across the wooden floor, the room seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of them in their own world.

Waverly couldn't help but admire Nicole's every move. The way her eyes sparkled with joy, the warmth of her smile, and the love that emanated from her being filled Waverly's heart with happiness. In that moment, the entire world faded away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the cabin and the enchantment of the Christmas music.

"You're a wonderful dancer, Nicole," Waverly whispered, her eyes locked onto Nicole's.

Nicole grinned, "Well, I have the best dance partner in the world. That's what makes it easy."

As the song reached its conclusion, Nicole pulled Waverly into a gentle spin before ending the dance with a soft, lingering kiss. The crackling fire, the twinkling lights, and the melody of the Christmas song created a magical atmosphere, wrapping the couple in the warmth of their love.

Waverly sighed contentedly, "Thank you for making this Christmas so perfect, Nicole. I love you."

Nicole whispered back, "I love you too, Waverly. Merry Christmas, my beautiful wife."

Just as Nicole and Waverly were catching their breath after their dance, the cabin door creaked open. A familiar voice echoed through the room, "Well, well, what do we have here? Am I interrupting something, or is this just a typical Earp Christmas Eve?"

Wynonna, Waverly's sister, stood in the doorway with a sly grin on her face. Her trademark smirk softened into a genuine smile as she saw the love between Nicole and Waverly.

"Sorry to barge in, ladies. Hope I'm not ruining the mistletoe magic. Just wanted to surprise you all," Wynonna quipped, stepping into the cabin. Doc , Jeremy , Rachel and Alice followed after her.

Waverly chuckled, "You know you're always welcome, Wynonna. It's not Christmas Eve without you making an entrance."

Wynonna winked, "Well, I aim to please."

Nicole, still holding Waverly close, grinned at Wynonna, "All of you care for a plate?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure we won't be crashing your romantic session?"

Waverly nudged her sister playfully, "Nonsense! You're family. Besides, we have enough food to feed an army."

As the all of them gathered around the table, Nicole dished out servings of the delicious Christmas feast onto plates. Their cozy home became filled with laughter and the warmth of shared stories.

------------------

End.

#wynonna earp #wayhaught #bring wynonna home #drabble #wayhaught fanfic #nicole haught #waverly earp #doc holliday #kat barrell #dom pc #melanie scrofano

[julien5-malfunction]

27012024

[Touch deprived scum screeches the whole night, then buys a cake.]

So I spent some hours last night making different kinds of distress noises, that I would otherwise be called an attempt on singning, if it wasn't done out of dispair and pent up feelings. I could like to say I'm not as bad at making human sounds as I was, say, a year ago, but I'm not good at it either. On a comfortable lever of mediocrity, where I no longer hate myself 100%.

I wonder if my neighnours heard that...

Some loser trying to pull off 'take me back to eden' and 'skyfall' in the middle of the night... I can't hit the high notes, but sometimes I slip into what I believe to be subharmonics, just perfectly. It's my seacret source of pride, really. I can never prove to anyone, that I can make a sound that registers in the 2. octave on a pitch monitor. I can only do it when I feel extremely at ease. If there is a possibility of withness who is be able to judge me or even just a presence of a recording device, I can't do it.

I stopped at about 6 am, after being unable to control my voice anymore, I wore it out pretty well I think. It felt like the room 'echoed' or 'resinated' long after I shut up, it was really odd feeling, but I was pretty tired too. Good thing I didn't really have to talk to anyone today so I don't have to sound like a sqeaky toy.

I tried to play the guitar for a bit before going out. I'm annoyed that I can't remember any of the songs I used to play, not that I knew many but I spent over a year trying to learn 'lilium' and I can't even remember the bit I did learn. Neither 'Behind blue eyes'. That one I could maybe learn well enough to pull off someday, it's not that hard... but trying to sing at the same time makes it kinda hard, but not god-level hard, in other words, I have faith in myself... If I end up hyper fixating on playing again.

I went to the store. Got some reasonable food and a cake. I've been craving the cake for a few days now. Could be because I'm getting hooked on sugar again... I got wafers too. crunch* I know this isn't good for me, I'll have to cold turkey myself out of this yet again but it's so hard. I guess other un-met emotional needs play an effect too, I've been feeling off l again lately.

I mean, it's been 2 or 3 weeks now since the last time I touched another living creature, there was this little dog called Oscar at the piercing shop, I got to pet him. It made me pretty happy inside. This has gone to a point where I see friendly skin contact as a literal drug. I need my fix about 2 weeks after the previous one, after that it starts to physically hurt.

It feels like having acid in my lungs, small needle stabbing in the heart. The whole body literally aches. It's like being hungry but it doen't matter what you eat, it won't go away. Last thing on your mind is the same as the first one in the morning; just how fucking bad you wish someone would just hold you for a moment. Just long enough for the pain to stop. Then I can be ignored and forgotten and I promise I'll do my best to not bother anyone with my existance for the next few weeks again.

I spend hours in bed just holding onto my pillow bc it's the closest thing to a hug I can get...

#skin hunger #touch deprived #I want to pet a dog #screaming #in the dark #in pain #the whole night

[the-strange-world-of-jplovecraft]

Salt Peter written by JPLOVECRAFT

“Old man’s ass…”

Opening lyric to “Parafin” by Ruby

He used to come into my room at night. I was 11, maybe 12 years old. We had just moved into this old house. Being that we had always lived in apartments I was excited to finally live in a house with a yard and plenty of room for everyone. It was old though and creepy. The feeling of the place was just odd, offputting, strange…

Things were normal

in the house for a few weeks. It was creepy but, I mean, I read all sorts of goosebumps books and watched Are You Afraid of the Dark on the weekends so I figured my imagination was giving me a free show. I liked being creeped out to a point, ya know, when I could control it… it hit different when it was happening in real life.

It all began one night after I got a really strange feeling coming from the laundry room. The laundry room being the basement. Typical, right?! Every scary story starts in a basement, or a desecrated church, or at a summer camp full of intoxicated counselors, or a Dennys at 3am…

I was pulling my clothes out of the dryer when a vision popped in my head. It was sudden, blurry, strange, wrinkled… hairy…? Mashed potatoes? Two adjacent piles of crumpled up laundry? A pair of pine needle covered volcanoes set to erupt? I know, it’s weird. Milk colored jello? It was a vision that held no context for me, it chilled me, it was ominous, it beckoned…

I hurriedly grabbed my clothes and ran upstairs. It was strange, as I ran I swore I heard someone whispering to me, a single word in repetition, four syllables: “California…? Supercalafragilistic…? London bridges…?”

Nonsense.

That night was the first time he came into my room.

Where I lived with my parents was pretty isolated. No one around but us really. I was half asleep in my bed. I knew my parents were already asleep so I went into a mild shock when my bedroom door knob began to slowly turn. It felt like I was asleep, half asleep, sleep paralysis maybe, it was dreamlike. Time seemed to pass at a fraction of its normal flow. The knob turned slowly. Then the door moved. It opened slightly, with a creak, just a crack. Seconds went by, my heart was in my throat, I was paralyzed. The door opened a bit more, then a bit more, then just wide enough for a spindly leg to pass through. All I could see at that point was a leg but I knew that leg didn’t belong to anyone that I knew. The leg danced a bit, seemingly waiving, almost as if it were underwater. Then a hip revealed itself, then an arm, then a face.

It was an old man. He looked almost like a cartoon, a caricature. No teeth, full cheeks, grey stubble, wide eyes. He was impish. He was giggling.

He stared at me with a strange sense of delight.

Slowly he crept toward the side of my bed as if he was starring in a mock ballet. His eyes twinkled. He was hilarious. He was terrifying.

He stood next to my bed and stared at me, grinning, vibrating. He bent down a bit as if to inspect me closer. He seemed very satisfied with what he saw. He straightened back up and dare I say, gave a little shimmy.

He then headed back towards the door, walking backwards, slowly, rhythmically. He seemed to be mouthing out the word I heard while running away from the dryer with my clothes earlier that evening. When his back was to the door he clearly whispered: “not yet.” Then he giggled once more and disappeared behind my bedroom door. I have no idea how I got back to sleep that night.

When I woke up it all seemed so silly. It was obviously a strange dream. Kooky, not at all scary in retrospect. I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. Yeah, food was definitely messing with me… haha.

I had this dream intermittently for the next few years… It had to be a dream, it was so ridiculous. I chalked it up to watching too much Ren and Stimpy on Saturday nights. The dancing geezer looked a lot like the old guy that always ended up in the bathtub, making ren and stimpson j cat uncomfortable, the one with the turkey leg floating over his head like it was his hair… way to ridiculous to be real… my imagination was a strange land full of strange plans. That’s probably why I ended up going to art school, droppping out and diving head first into years of classes on centuries old strange legends and symbology.

The dreams stopped after I left home and that strange little town to pursue my complicated education… only resurfacing when I would go home to visit for holidays and such. At that point it was like seeing an old friend. Not ominous, just quirky and strangely comforting.

He would always sneak in my room, slowly, dramatically, with a shimmy and a shake, seemingly choreographed, smiling, giddy, giggling, slowly making his way over to my bedside to inspect me… strange, I had no idea what he was looking for, he seemed to be keeping track of something… biding his time, waiting… on the way out always stating ambiguously “not yet… not yet…”

Oh… and occasionally when I would go down to the basement to do laundry I would hear those strange whispers… or at least what my imagination must have made out of a creaky old basement in an old house, with random drafts, leaky pipes and random noise from settling. Yeah… my imagination was quite the large, festive tent housing a constant circus… haha… welcome back my friends to the show that never ends.

Things got a bit more strange when my parents both died in a car accident, leaving the house to me. It was so sudden, emotional. I found myself heading back to that strange old town and isolated ancient house to settle the estate and continue work on a book I was writing about obscure symbology.

I hadn’t been back in quite a while, perhaps it was the suddenness of the death, the complex emotions, the fact that I was older. The place seemed stranger than usual, smaller, darker… it may sound strange but… it seemed alive, like it had been waiting for me, like it was most happy to see me. I felt watched… my imagination was creating those old whispers again… somehow, this time a bit more clear… fallah smidgen…? Surreptitious…? Cala midgets…?

Oh… my weird little mind.

(Over dub whispers: callipygous)

The first couple of nights were quite quiet. I established my ritual. Organize and clean during the day, go for a nice walk, have a sensible dinner, open a bottle of wine and settle in for a few hours at night to research and write. I quickly found that this old town had quite a library, lots of old and obscure volumes strangely enough along the lines of my culty interests… old towns can be interesting… I was finding way more forgotten information and lore in the library than was available on the super patchy internet available at the house. Although I was grieving the loss of my parents I was also appreciative of the quiet and the resources afforded to me at this critical time. This book was to be my gateway to notoriety and possibly the chance to teach my own courses at the right college or university.

Then the dreams started again…

This time though… they seemed to go, further? They would start the same, my bedroom door would creak open, the strange old geezer would catastrophe ballet to my bedside to inspect me but… the dreams were getting longer, strange music began to manifest and those whispers were getting louder. Soon the old guy was dancing circles around the room and seeming to occasionally, taunt me with his ass… which was surprisingly round and dare I say… firm. It was strange that his entire body looked like cold mashed potatoes except for him bum, which was, well, it was nice. Thumbs up dude, keep doing those squats. Then one night after completing his evolving ritual he stopped short at the door on his way out and instead of saying “not yet” as was his normal conclusion he looked at me intensely and mouthed out the word “soon.”

I woke up laughing even though I was also a bit chilled. A wrinkly old dancing man that looked like the ren and Stimpy chicken leg for hair guy with a nice ass… oh my prurient imagination, the circus was most definitely in full swing.

The nights went on and the dreams progressed and became more vivid and… well… the term that comes to mind is “clown orgy…” Do you know about the clown orgy, it was fucking in tents… get it, that’s an old joke but the dreams were most definitely growing more and more intense, then one night…

One night I was able to move. In every dream up to that point I was paralyzed or never thought to move but one night… he invited me to dance with him… and I did, we frolicked and shook our groove thangs… He seemed to be checking out my rear the whole time, cheeky old guy… then he motioned me to follow him, out of the room, down the hall, we danced the whole way downstairs to the basement. The whispers surrounded us as we danced and laughed then he darted towards the corner of the basement and disappeared behind the dryer. What the hell? I ran towards the dryer, looked inside, nothing, then I pulled it away from the wall and… there was something carved into the cement…

I woke up on the basement floor, naked, holding an empty bottle of wine. Perhaps I had been indulging a bit too much during my research. I got up, no hangover though I was a bit wobbly and proceeded to shower and get on with my day.

As I boxed up the materials that comprised the lives of my late parents I couldn’t shake the dream, the dancing, the basement, the carvings behind the dryer. It was just a weird dream driven by my wild imagination but still, I couldn’t stop obsessing over it. I had the strangest urge to look behind the dryer in the basement. I couldn’t let it go. Of course there was nothing there but I couldn’t put it out of my mind. After hours of wrestling with reality and common sense I resolved that I wouldn’t be able to rest until I looked behind the dryer.

I ventured down the hallway in a haze and descended the staircase heading straight for the dryer. It moved way too easily and gawddammit. There were carvings on the wall. They looked like runes, circling a crude drawing of, hills, mountains, quite round and strangely from a seemingly overhead perspective. They were symmetrical and minimal and looked to be old.

I took a picture with my cell phone and immediately headed for the library to check out some books on runes. The runes on my basement wall were not common at all, they looked to be variations on established runes, custom if you will. My research was proving to be fruitless until I flipped to the back of a certain volume and found those precise runes hand sketched on the inside back cover along with an etymology of their evolution and a translation: Callipygian. Sect. Order. Worship. Deity. Possession. Sacrifice.

Strange. I knew all the words except for Callipygian. Who wrote this weirdness? I flipped through the volume again finally noticing that the book had only been checked out by one person, years ago. A man by the name of Aloysius Breech.

I went to the front desk and flagged down the quite elderly librarian.

“Pardon me miss, do you know this person, Aloysius Breech?”

The librarian looked puzzled at first, then, as librarians do, seemed to recall something in the archives. She led me to a back room with stacks of archived local newspapers and documents. She said the name was familiar but couldn’t recall why and that I might have some luck in the local archives.

Wow, this was definitely old school research which of course meant that I didn’t get a lead for a few hours but when I did… whoa.

A newspaper article from the local paper, September 24th, 1949: Local man responsible for child abduction and murder. There was a picture, oh god, of course it was the man from my dreams, this was straight out of Goosebumps or Are You Afraid of the Dark. Seems this guy was responsible for a bunch of missing children in the late 1940s. He would crawl in through their bedroom windows at night, giggling, dancing and leading them to their doom. The police found him and the remains of his victims in his basement at… of course… his house was now my house. The basement was covered in strange markings and crude pictures of hills and mountains, from an overhead view. When questioned, Breech nonchalantly disclosed that he was collecting souls in order to deify himself in the Callipygian court. An obscure ancient religious sect that worshipped an all powerful deity whose defining feature was extremely shapely buttocks. He also stated that he had collected enough souls, all that was left to do was choose a successor to start the next cycle, someone to keep the souls coming and maintain the power of the sect.

Breech was tried, convicted and executed in the early 1950s for the abduction and deaths of supposedly dozens of children from the surrounding areas. After his death, the house was slightly remodeled and remained on the market for quite some time, decades until, shit, until my parents bought it for a song. They never told me the history of the house. Probably didn’t want to frighten me. At least we didn’t have to live in crummy apartments anymore.

I ran home and went back to the carvings behind the dryer in the basement. How were these still here if the rest were cleaned up? I began searching the rest of the basement and wherever I pulled an appliance, a shelving unit, anything of size away from the walls I found runes, hills from overhead, occasionally what looked like dried blood. Good lord.

Whomever was in charge of cleaning up this place cut quite a few corners. Too bad I wasn’t a horror writer, this story was writing itself.

Suddenly I felt dizzy. The sun seemed to go down insanely fast like life was in fast forward. I slumped to the ground barely able to sit up. The whispers started again, the strange music and then, from behind the dryer came the dancing man. This time incredibly giddy. He was ecstatic in his movements. He danced over to me, looked down upon me and said “it’s finally time.”

“Time for what?” I asked.

“Time to appoint my successor.” He exclaimed while twirling around in a circle.

“I’ve waited for decades for the right person to come along. After my execution my soul became trapped in this house, waiting for the right person to come along and take my place, setting me free to be the deity that I long to be. No one would live here until your parents moved to town and brought you. I kept my eye on you, waiting for the right moment but you moved away, decades passed once again and Lo and behold, you came back! Now it is finally time. The transition will be complete upon you doing just one thing.”

“What’s that?” My voice quivered.

He beamed: “Touch my round bottom, ha haha…”

He turned around and jiggled his ample bottom in front of me. I tried to look away but I was so weak and my body seemed to be functioning independently of me. I wanted to resist but my hand wouldn’t heed my commands. Slowly my hand raised and traveled towards the freaky old man’s jiggling cheeks. Just as I was about to touch them he stopped jiggling. His cheeks opened up and clamped down upon my hand. Holy shit what a grip. I couldn’t break free. The whispers became shouts then screams: callipygous! callipygous! callipygous!

The man dragged me by my hand towards the dryer. I pleaded and cried but to no avail as he pulled me into the wall and then everything went black.

I don’t know how long ago that was. I know that I’m trapped in this house. I haven’t seen another soul for what seems like quite a long time. I’ve heard some people rustling around outside for the past couple of days, talking about flipping the house for a nice price, something about a young family wanting to move in. A family with a young child.

I’ve been working on my dance moves and my backside has grown quite firm. If I’m stuck in this existence I might as well become a deity… bring on the new tenants. callipygous! callipygous! callipygous!

Listen to audiobook

#creepy podcast #creepy #plur #creepypasta #horror #audiobook #thc #comedy #DJ4AM #JPLovecraft #Spotify

[howdytherepardner]

feelings within

in which one goes nowhere, a lot of places, fast

~

1. there is a sensation in the body when there are needles in major veins in both of one’s arms (if applicable).

it might be easy, or even natural, to expect that this is pain of a certain degree. i imagine the visual, splayed out and propped up like a turkey pre-roast and subbing an oven thermometer for tubes constantly pulling out and pushing in blood via a machine of constant whirs, is largely disquieting for some. the fear of just one needle is enough for some folks to swear off blood donations period and to dissuade from more than a few medical procedures. i’ve never been too avoidant of the situation, being Weird enough to relish the chance to look at the needle embrace the sensation as it washes over.

but having one in both arms is a new experience for me, and with it new that a new discovery. an arm must remain still when the needle is in, and when both are occupied, both must be still. i can’t say what it’s like to lose a limb, but it did make me think of a reversal of the common trope with tools as ‘an extension of the self.’

2. it would not be a stretch to say that the Smart Phone (or a connection to the internet) is very much a tool that becomes a part of us in such a way that the Severing is felt. my little refurbished friend will tend to die when i even think of using the camera in extreme temperatures; a loss when out-and-about creates a particular sense of disturbance, despite knowing that It in many ways is a disturbance.

but i digress. the jump between one arm and none arm is much larger than two to one, which was made somewhat evident by my choice of music as an intended pass time for the two hours. i was listening with wireless earbuds, and while the staff member attending was very gracious to manually insert the left one after i was already still, it was not all the way in - hanging off the pinna, rather than covering the canal entrance. much to consider beyond just the asymmetry of music, but my own hesitance to ask for it to be readjusted. like when waitstaff asks if the food’s alright, and you say that it’s Perfect, despite the fact that it’s not what you wanted (and probably isn’t the best food in the world).

3. I do wonder about that sometimes. It’s the meme that I see sometime, the girl requesting a correction on behalf of her boyfriend (the Daisy/Luigi “he asked for no pickles” remains a standout). I’m sure there’s that element of timidness, with whatever socio/psychological basis that informs it, but I also do think there’s an element of exploration, tolerance, and/or contentedness.

i did ask eventually, encouraging a staff member to not worry about applying pressure. sealed in, the waiting i expected began.

Set the scene a little more. The space is a blend of hospital and office vibes, with cubicle-esque desks on the east end of the open room, with surfaces for donors in the west. Some more simple surfaces for the standard blood donors in the middle, but west most was two rows of the more intricate set-ups. Seats facing each other (my eyes occasionally made contact with others, but only briefly), with the massive blood processing doohicky right next to them. The seats have a screen installed, with Netflix as an option recommended. Another screen on the doohicky, monitoring things like input/output pressure, blood iron content, and importantly for the experience - an estimated time remaining and a progress bar.

4. where a high fantasy element lacks literal verbal incantation, i always found it interesting to consider what it is that actually causes the magic shit to happen. avatar characters can execute bending forms without needing to actually manipulate things everytime, so what kind of ‘switch’ do they need to flip? the idea of there being some muscle-flex or mentality that allows one to opt in and out of this more freely manipulating state was always funny to ponder.

anyways, my actual time was about 5 minutes longer than my estimate at the start. i would chalk it up to less-than-optimal hydration the 24 hours prior, but in the moment with the stress ball in hand, i really believed that if i found the perfect rhythm of squeezing or breath depth and interval, that it could slice the time into nothing. some of the timing was the machine of course, presumably determined to not take my own life, but the timing Disparity is enough for me to believe that some onus was on me. reaching for straws that slipped through my fingers.

5. that said, i think the attending staff were sure to let me know that i was “almost there.” 10 minutes out, 25 minutes out, a full hour out, just under half of the way. it was this really strange thing, and i imagine medical professionals have to negotiate something a lot with how they provide comfort. since the machine would not deprive me of life after the fact, and presumably low chances of complications (the only qualifier being a minimum blood iron content, weight, and pulse), the choice to offer reassurances is not loaded with many ethical considerations.

it would have been my preference though to just have been left alone, savoring my music over the long course like i preferred - but of course, they upheld a standard of decency and care to check on me. how dare they ask if i wanted a blanket? how insulting, to make sure i was really okay without Netflix for the time! must i not have even a moment to savor any sense of discomfort?

6. because i probably would have been more comfortable if i did have a blanket covering my short sleeved self, the subtle a/c and grey skies outside enough to have a chill walk, but not run, down my spine. i didn’t feel strongly cold, but enough to notice that the blood seemed absent.

unburdened by the bounds of the vein, my self had expanded to share rent with a machine (and my platelets later, i certainly expect, well beyond the confines of the room). seldom do i get to try density like that, and indeed, one feels just a bit closer to being as light as air. it takes a second to get to that subtle high, and with the sensation grounded by the truth of cold and stillness, one recognizes the elation as something realer than a dream.

it made the music that much better. a playlist of old favorites and nothing else to do let the reflection and the feelings and memories from those days come rolling right back.

7. the little sense of pain, then, to know those days as things to remember, and not to be.

8. and roku city scrolling by right through it all. a placeholder, not made to be known or noticed for more than a few moments, known upside down and backwards, all its film references decoded before even halfway.

9. and after it’s done, and the utility of arms, motion, autonomy return, the body maintain a stony sense of numbness. and the little packet of cheez its are never quite as salty, savory as the first time.

10. oh well. the promise of a free t-shirt ft. Joe Cool seems to mean something.

[teddybearwallflower]

hit

i was addicted to everyone and everything. i’m obsessed with stories, places, things. 

I fixate on ideas, people, concepts, what it could’ve been. the feeling is indescribable, the color red sprinkled onto my addictions.

 your favorite color was red too.

i was hooked like a drug. the sound your chest made, the look you gave me after it's been a while, your hum of you telling me everything would be alright. it was my daily hit. my injection of dopamine in my lungs. you intercepted my reality and forged a different perception than what i had ever known, like a hefty dose.

 the euphoria of being around you was held up by a single chemical compound. once ripped away, the withdrawals settled in, losing you was a battle. drained and sick, the cold turkey never made it better. 

instead, i felt a longing for where that high once was, the scars of where the needle stung, and the ever-lasting void in my heart where you used to be.

#spilled ink #spilled love #spilled thoughts #spilled writing #dv #addiction #poetry #love #love poem #female writers #writeblr #writing

[realhankmccoy]

Q: Hank it sucks to be jealous, doesn’t it

A: yeah but I think a lot of the pressure of American life is you are never supposed to feel anything other than grinning winning and laughing down everyone else these days — I mean that’s Trump’s america — so I mean why not be a human being and feel a wide range

I’ve felt jealousy all my life, the funny thing is that america is so conservative and blind that it never sees who I’m jealous of and always falsely attributes jealousy to me on all the wrong people

like if you asked the standard American idiot they’d say I’m jealous of Republicans, Musk, Cobain

I’m not jealous of all of those. Musk is like being jealous of Baron Harkonnen… how dumb are these dummies? Cobain is dead and very few saw that his songs weren’t as progressive as they think he was.

The only Republican I’ve really been jealous of was when Paul Ryan got the Vice President nomination around the time he showed up and pretended to volunteer to feed the poor. That really hurt, since he grew up only 30 mins from me and is an evil vicious twit. And I didn’t do a lot of feeding the homeless Luke House and such — I was always kinda stingy with the turkey as I think maybe I was told not to run it out, I can’t remember what I was told and how I adjusted for sure but I did at least do more than Paul Ryan. I should have done way more than I did to build better character for myself and it’s not too late at least. Anyhow you see this dope gulping on the tv meeting Mitt Romney by a navy ship and he’s not much older than you and he’s a real wind-up toy of hatred and you once made a very bad losing argument about how he’s not that way because of Atlas Shrugged and the whole thing

ugh

that’s the only Republican I’ve ever been jealous of, because ittttttts notttttt fairrrrrrr and it’s true it’s not fair.

now the guy is rich as shit just to subtract value from america

and all I can hope is he’s miserable and emptyheaded as fuck

so that my jealous fades

also jealous of how the fuckhead party he signed up for always wanted a clean shave but let him get away with scruff

he’s absolutely a case of hatred-jealousy on my part

but it’s not really ‘cuz he did it’ (he’s from money and daddy died) it’s prob for the exact reasons he’d love me to be jealous like the evil piece of shit he is

but there is the part of me that know Paul Ryan worked like a narrowminded needle to get where he was and is a fast-mouthed twit, maybe faster than me, so he did ‘achieve’ something.

i dunno, I guess I’ve internalized the oppresssor in myself to the extent that Paul Ryan can play on that as that’s the only thing Paul Ryan is living his life for anyhow probably

he exerts a lot of effort to make people like me jealous

congrats he won

i blame wisconsin

anyhow I’ll have to do more to decolonize my mind

sure would be nice to have Paul Ryan’s money, but he is trapped by it, that’s for sure.

#Paul ryan

[seillean-vents]

I’ve never been good at identifying my emotions.

Putting words to the things I’m feeling has always been hard.

I’ve learned patterns, of course;

Heat in my face and shaking in my hands usually means I’m angry.

Feeling the need to jump like the need to breathe usually means I’m excited.

But this…

Jesus, this.

Shock was a bucket of ice water

Denial a flutter of light.

Pain is a fire in my chest

Anger is a hollowness I’ve never felt before.

I’ve lost before.

I’ve lost people to themselves before.

I’ve never lost someone to a needle before.

And god, I hate him for it.

I hate him and I’m angry at him and I love him and I miss him more than anything in the world right now.

And I know that addiction is a disease

And I know that it’s no one’s fault, really

And I know that you have to want help

But there’s a 6 year old deep inside me

A baby cousin who doesn’t understand

Who keens and wails within the hollowed

Walls of my ribcage

Because he chose the needle over her.

Over me.

Over thanksgiving turkey and candy cane ice cream

Over crystal growing kits and air hockey

Over shared meals and “good to see yous”

That we’ll never share again

Because we weren’t enough to keep him around.

And I hate him for it

And I hate myself for hating him for it

And I’m angry for it

And I love him despite it

And I would pay all the money in the world

To bring him back

Because I’m not ready to say goodbye

Because how do I say goodbye when you weren’t supposed to leave yet?

Why did you leave?

Were you alone?

Were you scared?

Were you in pain?

Are you safe?

Are you happy?

Are you at rest?

I’m so angry and I’m so sad and I know this because my tears won’t stop

And that usually means I’m sad,

Which is a pattern I’ve learned, of course,

Because…

#caí vents #kai vents #vent #my poem #vent poem #grief #tw drugs #death mention tw

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour tout le monde, it is zero degrees here in Bar-sur-Aube this morning and it is not going to be much warmer throughout the day. Plus, there is a wind brewing from a northerly direction so I think I may just have a short walk and then come home. I have plenty of ideas for keeping busy, soup making, cake baking , continuing with knitting the hats and bootees to be donated to the appeal following the earthquakes in Turkey and Syria. At the moment I have finished three hats and one pair of bootees. There is also one hat and two pairs of bootees ready to stitch up and another hat is currently on the needles.

I enjoyed a little break in Belfort, where I saw (not close up) The Lion of Belfort (photo above). My hotel was across the square from the Cathedrale Saint Christophe de Belfort and my fourth floor room also gave stunning views of the Citadelle (Arsenal) and the famous Lion. I have just read that there is a replica (smaller scale) of the Lion in Paris. The sculptor Auguste Bartholdi, born in Colmar, France, was the man responsible for this huge Lion, he is perhaps more famous as the designer of the Statue of Liberty, sited on Liberty Island USA.

I ventured into Switzerland, well a few hours in Basel, where I stumbled upon a number of the “places to see”. Namely, the Rathaus, Marktplatz, Mittlere Brucke and the sculpture “Amazon leading a horse “ by Carl Nathan Burckhardt. I also photographed another sculpture (from the side), I have just discovered it’s name “Switzerland succouring Strasbourg” by non other than Bartholdi again. I felt that I hadn’t seen much for my time in Basel, but looking at my photos I was pleased with what I actually saw.

I was looking for a poem and I have seen quite a few which just don’t seem to sit right with this weeks blog. Then I remembered part of a song which I sang when I was in the school choir in Stokesley in the mid 1960’s. I used to know all the words but time and tide have taken their toll on the “little grey cells”. Here are the couple of lines I remember from the song “March Came In Like A Lion”.

“March came in like a lion one day,

Like a mighty lion in search of prey”.

I have a feeling that some of the songs we sang had been “written” by the music teacher, Mrs Baxter. I also remember performing at the Floral Hall in Scarborough at the school choirs competition, we won some award which made the whole school so proud. There was a write-up in the Darlington and Stockton Times 🤔 wonder if it is still in their archives 😂.

My gorgeous granddaughter is said to have fallen over at school and she has a big red mark (bigger than an old penny) in the middle of her forehead. My gorgeous grandson has eczema on his eyelid…. poor little boy!

“The Trainee Solicitor” has still not moved into his house. What was going to be just a “lick of paint” has turned into a major refit, but it will look stunning when it is finished. He has had a very busy five months, not just with his house, running the business 😂, and aiding the sick, however, I am sure it won’t be long until he is “The Galloping Gourmet” in his own home.

My young friend, Pauline, is living and working in Dublin for six months. She is having a wonderful time (I get regular updates). She celebrated her 26th birthday on the 19th of February, wow! 26 I remember it well 😂.

I must start thinking about the garden, I am sure that by this time last year I had planted the runner bean seeds outside. We are due some bright days over the coming week but the temperatures are not expected to rise into double figures, so I imagine I will be inside knitting. I have noticed that the hyacinths i planted into the garden a couple of years ago have flower spikes appearing. It will be lovely to see them flowering outside. I had moved a few daffodil bulbs last year and I am pleased to see that they are coming through as well. I think there will be a lot of tulips too, it’s amazing to see the garden springing to life. Now I think I should whisper this so as not to tempt fate, but the piece of honeysuckle I left in water when I went to the UK did grow some very strong roots and so I potted it up. Well it seems as if it has new growth on the tip. I am keeping my fingers crossed that it will grow stronger so that I can plant it in the garden.

Right, it is lunchtime over here and I have my lunch to make. I will bid you all a fond farewell.

#belfort #basel #france #nature #photography #crafts

[brassdivinity]

ABOUT AYLIN || And then I turned away into the shade.

CHARACTER BASICS

NAME: Aylin Feray Bardakci

AGE: Twenty-Six

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

FACE CLAIM: Aslihan Malbora

EYE COLOR: Brown

HAIR COLOR: Dark Brown, typically dyed bright blue

HEIGHT: 5′4″

DATE OF BIRTH: October 2nd, 1997

ZODIAC SIGN: Libra

LEVEL OF EDUCATION: High School Diploma

OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist 

NEIGHBROHOOD: 

CHARACTER HISTORY (TW: DRUG ADDICTION, GASLIGHTING, CHILD ABANDONMENT)

One look at Aylin, and many believe that she’s taken on a vibrant protest against the world. The inked flowers on her skin is only a result of pain made permanent, and her bright hair a call for a squinted glance in the eyes of others. Yet, Aylin’s never fought the wrongs in the world. She’s accepted defeat, and laid in the bed it’s set out for her. Tattoos, blue hair, jewelry beyond a dangle on her ear is no more than taking the canvas given to her by the earth and making it a tribute for its wonders. Precious metals, the blueprint to florals, and the brightest colors fallen in awe from the nature around turned into a halo is not a fight against the world but harmony. 

 Aylin, however, does have her protests but they sit in the pit of her stomach where she’s let them weigh her down like stones. It keeps her from running too fast into the face of impulse, and weary of a deep end. Her parents moved to Bradford Springs when she was just fifteen years old, coming into her sophomore year of school right into the middle of the school year. This was an attempt at ensuring their sons would be able to turn their lives around, but no change in scenery would manipulate their taste for destruction. It didn’t take long for them to fall back into bad habits and build the same reputation they had for themselves Aksaray in Bradford Springs. The boys ran through their funds, using their family’s money to support their addictions. Her parents did what they could to keep her safe, even if the menagerie they built around their family for a new start was broken and all they had to keep was Aylin. She was expected to do well in school, to create a second chance for them and herself, to find freedom but all she ever found was solitude. They overworked themselves and rarely came home when she was awake to see them, and her brothers lived most of their stay out on the porch where their mother kicked them out for the haze of drugs that was so thick it filled the house in distain. 

 On the cusp of seventeen, promises withered on both ends. They turned so frail that Aylin’s small prayers to defeat them blew them to dust. The trouble her brothers had caused robbed their family of everything, and love became justification she grew weary of. Forced to go back to Turkey to care for her brothers, her parents moved back and forth before eventually sorting the costs and staying at home. They left Aylin on her own to not exhaust her, but the damage was done. Many believed she was free and were envious of the independence she was given, but she was still in their glass cage. While her brothers finally managed to clean up their act, she was left with every crack they left in her. She struggled with the damage they had done but the lack of physical presence it left on her. Aylin began to question if she’d really been wronged, because she was surviving, and she found ways to ease her mind and let the pain and betrayal she felt become visible even if it was to her alone. 

PRESENT DAY (TW: MENTION FO SELF HARM)

Now twenty-seven, Aylin has become the outcast of her family. She abandoned their expectations and studied art before eventually giving in to tattooing as it guaranteed an income. She specialized in the details of it all, earning a name for herself in single needle tattooing. It holds more than an aesthetic for her, but an addiction that lies in a steady hand and the constant hum of the ink burrowing into her skin as a means of permanence.

HEADCANONS

She has bright blue hair, a characteristic that’s defined her since she was eighteen. She has a variety of tattoos and they are all nature based with florals. Her back tattoo is a mountain range piece that is tailored to every push and pull of her own muscles for each peak. They are all black and white, with the exception of white lilies scattered throughout different designs and a small red poppy in the center of her chest.

Aylin, despite her appearance, is rather reserved and takes time to trust people. She tries to act on impulse like those closest to her but it takes her some time.  

WANTED CONNECTIONS

People she’s known since moving to town at fifteen

People her brothers wronged during their time in town

Any fellow foster kids, or even children of those who fostered her

Classmates

Clients

Enemies, even if its by proxy

Exes and short lived flings

[embroidery123]

Intro to Modern Embroidery with Meg Rosko

#embroidery Interested in attending but no sessions available that fit your schedule? Please fill out this form and we will notify you when new sessions are added!  **All workshop attendees are required to wear a mask for the duration of the workshop**   WORKSHOP DESCRIPTION We're excited to welcome visiting instructor Meg Rosko, the embroidery master behind Nutmeg & Honeybee!  Whether you're a beginner just starting out, or an experienced stitcher looking to learn some new techniques, join us on March 8th to dive into the world of modern embroidery art! In this workshop you will: Get hands-on guidance from Meg on creating a color story and understanding different textures  Learn shading stitches, back stitches, french knots, and turkey stitches Integrate various materials such as threads, yarn, rope, and beads Gain and understanding of modern embroidery basics Your registration fee includes all required materials, including a tin trinket case, embroidery scissors, 3 different sized embroidery needles, a fabric pen, needle threader, embroidery hoop with fabric, threads, yarns, rope and beads-- which will all go home with you so you can continue to work on your piece!  Please note: Due to the nature of this one-time-only event, all registrations for this special guest hosted workshop are final; no refunds or credits will be given for cancellations. Please view our policy for more information.    Class Details Date & Time: select above Class Length: 3 hours Location: Brooklyn Craft Company, 165 Greenpoint Avenue (here’s where we’re located) Cost: $150 includes supply bundle that's yours to take home! All class registrations are final; please view our policy for more information.   MEET YOUR INSTRUCTOR  Hi, I’m Meg! I started getting into modern embroidery about 2 years ago and absolutely fell in love with the textures and colors I was able to play around with on a hoop. This past December, I started teaching Modern Embroidery Workshops because I felt a need to share and connect with other crafty humans in a physical space. Before getting into embroidery, I started my own baking blog which really allowed me to explore and express my creativity. Nutmeg & Honeybee is a creative community dedicated to feeding my curiosity and how I can play with different mediums to satiate those cravings. I am excited to meet you at the workshop and learn more about your creative journey!

[knotheaddesignstudio]

Multiple Projects in Flight

I won't have any completed projects to show you this week but that does not mean I haven't been busy - I have multiple projects in flight at the moment. Today I will give you some progress updates. Then in a future blog post we can see how drastically the final products differ from where they started from. Project 1 - Member Showcase Submission This one is due mid November and I am probably the least far on it. Oh well. I will discuss in a separate blog post how I decided on this piece based on the theme for the showcase but for now the focus is on the fact that I am making 3 owls. One of the owls is already complete and was highlighted in a previous blog. The second is started from a slab of elm that had cool lichen on the bark.

Owl out of Elm I am already on the 3rd version of the neck and head and still don't like it so stay tuned. This one will likely be a great horned owl. The third owl is not started at all yet - other than sweet talking my husband into routing out some of the wood in the middle. I plan to have an owl hiding in the slab. You can even see the outline of an owl in this piece of locust.

Locust slab

Example owl Project 2 - Woodland Headboard Commission My second project is a large 7 ft spalted elm slab that will become a headboard. I don't have great pictures of the entire thing but hopefully you can see from this photo how much movement is in this piece of wood.

Spalted Elm Slab My goal with this piece is to pull the images of animals from Wisconsin that I see hidden in the wood and build up some dimension and artistic license with felt. The first image I found was a moose.

Moose Nothing is attached yet but the antlers are wired so I will be able to pull them away from the wood for some perspective. The next animal I found is an owl (go figure). You can start to see me laying out some pieces here.

Moose and start of owl Picture the owl hunting, like in the photo below. I have been working on additional updates since but haven't photographed them on the wood again.

There are also walleye, snapping turtle, badger and rattlesnake images that I have coaxed out of the wood. I have completed the structure for the rattlesnake but the images are extremely phallic and I don't want to get flagged as a porn site so I will just wait on those until construction is a bit further along. :) This piece needs to be completed by the end of November so I will be probably be posting final pictures while eating some turkey. Project 3 - Weimaraner Commission This final project is a commission to create the bust of a beloved pet Weimaraner. These are beautiful dogs that are grey in color (that can run from silver to more taupe) and have amber colored eyes. The requestor was familiar with my recent work of integrating animals into the wood and gave me permission to do that. I knew I would need the perfect slab so it started consuming my thoughts. In fact, it was 4am and my husband woke up and caught me staring at pictures of wood. My obsession paid off!

Mock up of Weimaraner piece I found a walnut slab that had movement that looked like the muscled neck of a Weimaraner. I got sign off from the customer and started building the armature for the head. You know, now that I look at that picture again, this one looks really phallic too. Who knew felting would be so erotic? - hee hee The final two pictures show the armature and one of the ears that I wet felted. I was worried about how I was going to achieve both the color and sheen of the weimaraner. Hearthside fibers had peduncle silk top that was perfect. It felted nicely with some merino wool for the ears. I will likely just needle felt the silk fibers onto his head but I like having options. The grey stain of the wood also exactly matches the silk. This will make the integration of the head and neck look beautiful in the end. Can't wait for this one to complete. Technically, it has to be ready before Christmas but I am hoping to find time to complete it sooner.

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#felting #FiberArt #liveedgeart #Wisconsin