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soracities · 4 years

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what are some of your favourite quotes at the moment? ❤️

“A heart’s a heavy burden”

— Diana Wynne Jones, Howl’s Moving Castle

“This is what language is: a habitable grief. A turn of speech for the everyday and ordinary abrasion of losses such as this which hurts just enough to be a scar. And heals just enough to be a nation.”

— Eavan Boland, “A Habitable Grief”

“I speak to you. You speak to me. Is that fragile?”

— Muriel Rukeyser, “Waterlily Fire: IV”

“Yet is grief the right word? Her grief has become her own determination. Nothing will stop her.”

— John Berger, The Red Tenda of Bologna

“Do you remember a night when I came along the dark passage to your room in a thunderstorm and we lay talking about whether we were afraid of death or not? That is the sort of occasion on which the things I want to say to you,–and to you only,–get said.”

— Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Vita Sackville-West

“Reaching for the world, as our lives do, As all lives do, reaching that we may give The best of what we are and hold as true: Always it is by bridges that we live.”

— Philip Larkin, “Bridge for the Living”

“Thoreau always had two notebooks—one for facts, and the other for poetry. But he had a hard time keeping them apart, as he often found facts more poetic than his poems. They are, he said, translated from the language of the earth into that of the sky. Thoreau knew that the imagination uses facts to fabricate images and even delicate architectures. One summer night, looking up into the sky at a particularly beautiful, scintillating star, he thought perhaps another traveler somewhere else along the coast was, like him, looking up at that same star and said, ‘Of what unsuspected triangles are stars the apex?’”

— Jean Frémon, “Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Gloves”

“But in the end, stories are about one person saying to another: This is the way it feels to me. Can you understand what I’m saying? Does it feel this way to you?”

— Kazuo Ishiguro, in his Nobel prize acceptance speech.

“Life, as I see it, is all about farewells rather than reunions. That is why we have songs and photographs. It is parting that makes up our lives.”

— Geoff Dyer, “Parting Shots”

“I know you, and stare at you in silence.”

— Arthur Rimbaud, “Flowerbeds of Amaranths”

“To spend the whole night with someone is agapē: it is ethical. For you must move with him and with yourself from the arms of the one twin to the abyss of the other. This shared journey, unsure yet close, honest embracing dishonesty, changes the relationship. It may not be a marriage, but it will be sacramental even without the benefit of sacraments. To navigate this together is to achieve the mundane: to be present to each other, both at the point of difficult ecstasy and at the point of abyssal infinity, brings you into the shared cares of the finite world.”

— Gillian Rose, Love’s Work

“What can you know about a person? They shift in the light. You can’t light up all sides at once. Add a second light and you get a second darkness.”

— Richard Siken, “Portrait of Frederyk in Shifting Light”

“Think of someone you want to touch whom you cannot touch, someone forbidden. Think of a room where there is nothing except the two of you: still, you cannot touch them. Think of the heat between two hands about to touch, the language that exists in that silence.”

— Chelsea Hodson, “A Simple Woman”

“And some day, in eighty years, when you’re a hundred and I’m a hundred and thirty-four, and we’re both so kind and loving we’re nearly unbearable, drop me a line, let me know how your life has been. I hope you will say: it has been so wonderful.”

— George Saunders, speech at Syracuse University (2013)

“They say a song can be a bridge, Ma. But I say it’s also the ground we stand on. And maybe we sing to keep ourselves from falling. Maybe we sing to keep ourselves.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

“The Arabs used to say, When a stranger appears at your door, feed him for three days before asking who he is, where he’s come from, where he’s headed. That way, he’ll have strength enough to answer. Or, by then your’ll be such good friends you don’t care.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Red Brocade”

“And no one can ever figure out what you want,/ and you won’t tell them, / and you realize the one person in this world who loves you / isn’t the one you thought it would be, / and you don’t trust him to love you in a way / you would enjoy.”

— Richard Siken, “A Primer for the Small Weird Loves”

“The way you sang to me that first time like Heaven is real and you only had two minutes to prove it to me.”

— Kelly Morell, “Last Night I Told You About the Moon”

“I kept fiddling with my phone through dinner because I was fascinated that every time I tried to type love, I missed the o and hit i instead. I live you is a mistake I make so often, I wonder if it’s not what I’ve been really meaning to say.”

— Jamaal May, “Macrophobia: Fear of Waiting”

“You are the moon in my palm, the dusk and the dawn; anytime I have felt a substantial magic in this frail human life.”

— L.E. Groves, “Untitled”

“I have a memory which I want to share with you. It’s about a secret practice of women, men, old people, children. We become aware of this practice obliquely, it’s not something we’re looking for, and very quickly we take it for granted. Watch trees and see how they move in the wind. Watch animals and notice how cautiously yet independently they go their separate ways—running, burrowing, ambling, flying. The same for fishes and their way of swimming […] Now consider human lives, their every-minute, every-day lives! Their lives depend upon an agreed regularity to which each contributes. Maintaining this regularity is the forgotten practice I’m talking about. It explains the arrival of the fruit in the market each day, the lights on the street at night, the letters slipped under the front door, the matches in a match box all pointing in the same direction, music heard on the radio, smiles exchanged between strangers. The regularity has a beat, very distant, often inaudible, and at the same time similar to a heartbeat. No place for illusions here. The beat doesn’t stop solitude, it doesn’t cure pain, you can’t telephone it—it’s simply a reminder that you belong to a shared story.”

— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters

#quotes #quote compilation #quotes about x #ask #anonymous

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shadow-cooper · 3 years

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I decided to go back to the first livestream Ransom made for the "Book 6 Countdown".

Here's some interesting tidbits about the first Miss Peregrine book for those who didn't watch it. (The * symbols indicate my own additions)

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•Ransom's grandmother used to take him to flea markets, second hand stores, swap meets, etc. because “that was the thing to do” in the Florida town he grew up in. (*Abe’s love for going to yard sales every weekend with Jacob was most likely inspired from this)

•He had always liked the idea of children with strange powers (not superpowers, exactly), but wanted there to be a “darker, flip side of the coin” to everything they could do that was powerful.

•Example: When Emma was younger, she could have accidentally set her house or neighborhood on fire if she didn’t wear asbestos gloves to bed. She learned how to control her powers, so she doesn’t have to anymore.

•Before MPHFPC became a novel, it was a work of poetry instead, where Ransom focused on the creepy photos he had collected throughout his life. The poetry idea was scrapped (*The classic photo of Claire was going to be featured in it) •It then became a series of letters between Jacob and “Em”, a best friend/secret crush of his. He goes on a trip to Wales after his grandfather dies and wrote letters about his findings. Jacob ends up finding out she had died over the summer, but kept writing to her regardless. The reader was suppose to wonder if the children were a “manifestation of his trauma”, but he didn’t like the direction that idea was taking. He wanted the children to be real. •The idea of time loops came from his old photos of the kids. He wanted them to be real and still look young when Jacob meets them, even after the many years of them being alive. •Ransom loves Irish mythology, especially Tír na nÓg, the Celtic Otherworld (or Land of Youth). It’s depicted as a land of paradise and realm of everlasting youth, health, abundance, etc. It can be reached by ancient burial mounds or caves. It’s a beautiful place, but dangerous to human visitors (*or normals in this case. This seemed to be the basis of Cairnholm & Miss P’s loop).

•The idea of aging forward came from the story Oisín and Niamh. Ransom didn’t want loops to be “cost-less”, meaning he didn't want there to be no consequences of leaving after living in one for so long. •Claire’s backmouth can speak, but it can only speak nonsense and it’s terrifying. She keeps it quiet for her friends’ sake. •The ballerina twins’ pictures are shown, but they’re not actually mentioned/present in the story. Ransom has ideas, but they’re not “published yet.” •The photos of kids that Jacob finds are past wards of Miss P. She has had other loop locations before Cairnholm, which Ransom states we’ll learn about. •Ransom has plans about writing more about the Ymbryne Academy, but doesn’t want to discuss much until he has a clear focus on what the place is like. But young Ymbrynes who arrive there do travel outside the loop to age forward. •When asked about Miss P’s first ward, Ransom states he wants to write that story and expand on the world he created. •Abe does have a back story when it comes to his career in America, but Ransom hasn’t “written it yet.” He does have ideas and thinks it’s a rich territory to explore. •Ricky was inspired by a guy Ransom knew in real life when growing up in Florida. •The real and mysterious explosion that happened in Tunguska in 1908 interested Ransom, and he made that the location where the Wights performed their immortality experiment. •Wights don’t understand Hollows, and neither does Jacob to a degree. Ransom describes it as a “one way street.” They don’t communicate fleshed out thoughts or sentences, but they can understand Jacob. •Jacob is more eloquent in Hollow-speak and has a much deeper connection with them, while Wights can only make themselves understood at a basic sense to give Hollows instructions. •Ransom found Ralph Waldo Emerson’s work to be “resonant” with the themes of his books.

•When Miss P. has a home and more stability, she would find/be assigned more peculiar children.

•While it’s canon that peculiars are often not born to peculiar parents, and it’s rare to have peculiar brothers or sisters, Ransom made the exception with the Bentham family. He didn’t want there to be peculiar monarchies. Instead, he liked the idea of peculiars finding each other.

#mphfpc #mphfpc facts #abe portman #jacob portman #emma bloom #caul bentham #myron bentham #claire densmore

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wildwarcat · 4 years

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Okay, I caved in to my own personal peer pressure and decided to post the first chapter of Warhawk. If you’ve got questions, or just wanna chat because you’re slowly slipping into madness due to social distancing, shoot me a message!

Words: 4k

Warnings: Fluff, partial nudity, maybe some cussin’

Prologue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Reunion

"If the stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had been shown. But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and light the universe with their admonishing smile." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

New Orleans, Louisiana, May 1995

Had I known what events would transpire over the course of the following twenty-four hours, I would have had less to drink at my usual watering hole. Not that it made a difference. After the crash in 1989, I found that I was physically incapable of ever getting drunk again. What a horrible way to grieve... sober, that is. Had it not been for my level of clearance at S.H.I.E.L.D., I never would have known the details surrounding the crash, the details regarding why Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. was terminated. Lawson was dead, her body recovered at the site. But Carol...

Carol was nowhere to be found. There was no evidence of a body at the crash. We were forced to believe that when Lawson's light speed engine exploded... we were forced to believe that her body disintegrated on contact as a result of the blast. Maria was given the remaining half of her dog tags, which she in turn gave to me. It sat around my neck everyday, next to mine. But it didn't do much to take away the pain, the hole in my heart that had been growing wider with each passing day over the course of six years.

"Foxtrot to Warhawk."

I pressed the comm in my ear as I flagged down the bartender and pointed at my empty beer glass, "Go ahead, Foxtrot."

"I'm gonna need you to swing by a set of coordinates not too far from your location. I've sent them to your pager."

"What for? On account of me being S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top asset, I believe I have the right to know what I'm walking in to, don't you?" I asked him with a smirk, despite the fact that he couldn't even see it.

"Well, if I told you what it was about, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?"

I laughed, taking a sip from my glass as I did, "All right. I'll be there in an hour. Want me to bring my briefcase?"

"And your Sunday best."

I straightened up, my light tone turning serious as I threw forty bucks down to pay off my tab, "I'm on my way."

Chugging the remainder of my lager, I grabbed my leather jacket and keys before exiting the bar, making my way toward my now rusty truck. I had been given the option of upgrading it shortly after the crash, but there were too many memories in it for me to simply let it go. I would drive that old Chevy into the ground if given the opportunity. The engine roared to life and I slammed the driver's door shut, whipping my pager off my belt. Sure enough, Fury had sent me a set of coordinates along with the message, 'Look for the jet parked out front.'

I pulled out a map from my glove compartment and tracked down where I needed to be pretty quickly before throwing the truck in reverse and speeding out of the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finding the place that Fury wanted me to go wasn't that hard. It was what came after I got there that made things interesting. When I put my truck in park outside of a small house not far from the Louisiana bayou, I immediately went to my truck bed and pulled out a large steel trunk. Having enhanced strength certainly had its perks because with one arm, I was able to carry one hundred and fifty pounds of reinforced steel without trouble to the front door.

Not knowing what was on the other side, I decided to give a S.H.I.E.L.D. approved code through the door.

Knock... knock, knock, knock... knock... knock, knock.

The door swung open wide, revealing Nick Fury. His left eye had been patched up, looked like it had been cut just above his brow, and he looked exhausted, but aside from that, he seemed okay.

"What happened to you?" I asked him, "I thought you were in California."

"It's a long story." He sighed, "You brought your stuff, right?"

"Everything's here." I replied, lifting the trunk a bit higher. Fury stepped aside and let me in, but stopped me before I could go any further into the house.

"There's something you need to know, Mac." He said quietly, his tone serious. I arched a brow at him and took a hesitant step back.

"Then tell me."

"That pilot you told me about, the one who died in a crash six years ago. Her name was Carol Danvers, wasn't it?"

My expression faltered, went from steely to heartbroken and back in an instant, "Yeah. And I thought I told you to never bring it up. So why are we talking about it?"

"Well, that's the thing. Turns out-"

Someone stepped into the hallway, well, multiple someones did. What I saw sent my head spinning. There was Maria Rambeau, standing with her daughter, Monica, now twelve years old. And there with them...

"That's impossible." I breathed, my voice cracking uncharacteristically, "You're dead."

But she wasn't. Standing there right before my eyes was Carol Danvers, still stunningly beautiful, still as fiery as an F-15 afterburner. But there was something different about the way she was looking back at me. It was as though she didn't recognize me at all, as if I was a stranger to her. Then something seemed to click, and recognition flooded her beautiful brown eyes.

"Paige?" She asked gently, her voice like music to my ears. I set my trunk down and opened the front door, motioning for her to follow me outside. She did, and as soon as we were far enough away that I was certain no one would see or hear us, I turned around to face her again.

"How are you alive?" I asked her angrily, tears stinging the backs of my eyes, "I saw the photos of the crash, there's no way you could have survived!"

She took a step toward me, reached out to set a hand on my shoulder, but I slunk back, wanting to keep my distance from... whoever this imposter had to be.

"Lawson and I both survived the crash. We were shot down by a Kree ship; they're an alien race hellbent on getting their hands on Lawson's lightspeed tech. They killed Lawson and kidnapped me."

The more she spoke the less I believed. Every word that tumbled out of her mouth just added to the insanity.

"How can you expect me to believe that?" I demanded, my hand drifting to the pistol attached to my belt, "How can you possibly expect me to believe anything you say?"

"Then ask me something." She begged, tears welling up in her own eyes, "Ask me something only I would know."

I took a shaky breath and drew my pistol, "Tell me about the night we first kissed."

She paused, looking as though she was searching for the memory, her eyes drifting toward the ground. I wrapped my index finger around the trigger. Then her eyes shot up to meet mine.

"We were at your place after karaoke night at Pancho's. Maria had gone home early because her babysitter bailed on her, so it was just the two of us. We were standing on the front porch of your house and we were both drunk off our asses, but we still managed to remember every single detail when we woke up the next morning. After I kissed you, I said, 'I've never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I've wanted to kiss you.' And then you kissed me."

I had never told anyone about that night... not even Maria, not even Nick. It was really her. My entire body tensed, I dropped my gun and let the water works run.

"Carol?"

She nodded, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she began to smile. I strode over to her, my arms snaking around her, her hands making their way around my waist. Time seemed to speed up as we stood there, holding tightly onto each other, both of us fighting the urge to kiss each other. It wasn't until Maria called us both back inside that we finally separated, though that didn't stop Carol from keeping her hand in mine the entire walk back to the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So let me see if I've got this straight." I said, recapping the events that had just been described to me, "After you shot Lawson's light speed engine, you absorbed the radiating energy from the blast and got kidnapped by the Kree. On their home planet you were given a blood transfusion which makes you a human/Kree hybrid. And after being kidnapped by the Skrulls, including this guy over here," I pointed at the Skrull, who had introduced himself as Talos, "You ended up back on Earth with no recollection of your past life. Then you managed to break into Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S., escape S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, realize that the Kree are actually the bad guys and regain your memories. And now, you're asking me to go with you into space in order to find Lawson- sorry, Mar-Vell's lab, where she hid the energy core that the Kree are after. Sound about right?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Though when I got my memories back, I definitely didn't remember you being taller than me though." Carol remarked with a lopsided smirk. She and Fury had filled me in on what had happened and why two green, monstrous-looking aliens were in the Rambeau house, but I was having a bit of trouble wrapping my head around everything. So rather than ask a million questions, I turned my attentions to Carol's comment.

"The last time I saw you physically was the day before I went in to receive the Super Soldier Serum. As soon as the procedure was over, I was sent to D.C. for S.H.I.E.L.D. training. We spoke on the phone a few times, but I never saw you again after that day. And next thing I knew, you and... Mar-Vell were both dead." Lawson's true name still didn't sound right coming out of my mouth. The look on my face made both Carol and Talos, chuckle.

"So what have you been doing then for the past six years?" Carol asked me out of genuine curiosity, "They didn't stick you behind a desk like Fury, did they?"

It was my turn to laugh, "God, no! Director Carter assigned a S.T.R.I.K.E. team to me as soon as my training was complete. I've been leading covert ops missions all over the planet for the past seven and a half years."

"Did they dress you up like Captain America?"

I narrowed my eyes at her and got up from my chair at the dining room table. The trunk I had brought in was still sitting by the front door, so I brought it into the dining room and set it down in plain view for everyone. I unlatched the lid and lifted it open, revealing a custom uniform, similar to Rogers' design. It was mainly blue, a navy blue, darker than Rogers' uniform and on the chest was a navy hawk crest set atop red and white stripes. Deep red leather gloves, matching navy pants, a utility belt and simple military combat boots completed the ensemble. I reached underneath the uniform and drew out the icing on the cake.

I don't know how Howard Stark had managed to get his hands on more vibranium and, frankly, I didn't ask. But before going out into the field, Stark had given me a vibranium shield and, aside from the hawk crest replacing a star, it was an exact replica of the original. I held it out to Monica, who had been sitting quietly, awestruck the entire time. She dipped a bit under the slight weight of the shield, but her smile went from ear to ear.

"I may be an enhanced soldier, but I'm no Captain America. They call me Warhawk." I said, turning my attention to Talos, "My job is to look out for the little guy. The ones who're stepped on and persecuted by those who believe they're superior. I'll do what I can to help you get the Kree off your tail."

"Thank you." Talos said, bowing his head slightly. The grandfather clock against the wall began to chime. It was late, midnight in fact, and going off of the original plan, we would be heading into space at dawn. We needed rest. After everyone figured out their sleeping arrangements, we bade each other goodnight. I began to make my way toward the living room couch, but a hand grabbed my wrist and tugged me toward the stairs. I smiled when I saw that it was Carol dragging me toward one of the guest rooms upstairs.

As soon as we were behind closed doors, Carol's lips crashed on to mine. My hands immediately made their way into her hair, hers around my waist. My heart soared at the contact, at the thought that Carol and I were once again reunited after all those years. Her tongue darted out, running over my lower lip, asking for entrance. I complied, and together our tongues began to swirl and dance in an elegant battle for dominance. The Nine Inch Nails t-shirt that Carol was wearing suddenly became too restricting, as did the plain navy thermal I had on. Both were gone in an instant, tattered remains on the hardwood. She certainly didn't seem to mind that I ripped her shirt in half, discarding it lazily on the floor. If anything, the passion that had been recreated between us began to burn even brighter, as a soft glow began to break through my closed eyes. I pulled away gently, my eyes opening ever so slightly.

"You're glowing." I whispered huskily. It was a sight to behold, pale rays of blue, purple and gold light danced off her skin in a stunning array of color that lit up the dark bedroom in an elegant display. From a distance, she must have given off the appearance of a fallen star, but here, up close, she was a woman on fire; radiant, beautiful, powerful.

"I've dreamt about this moment. About us." She admitted quietly, setting her head in the crook of my neck, listening closely to the sound of my steadily beating heart, "But I couldn't remember who you were. I wanted to, so badly. Even if it was just your name... that would have been enough. At least then I would have one part of my life that I could still hold on to."

"Well, if it makes up for anything, it's been hell without you here." I replied, my hands shifting down to her waist, taking note of the muscle that she had put on in the years that she had been gone, how warm her skin felt beneath the pads of my fingertips, "Not a day went by when I didn't wish you were with me. Even before the crash, not being able to see you, not being able to hold you like this... it was torture unlike any other."

"I love you, Paige." She muttered tiredly.

I smiled, leading her to the queen-sized bed and pulling back the covers. I pressed another kiss to her lips, this one gentle, sweet and loving, but still filled with passion.

"I love you too, Carol."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dawn came earlier than I had hoped. But it came nonetheless, and with it came the mission at hand. Carol was still asleep, and rather than wake her up right away, I thought it best to let her rest. My trunk was still downstairs, my uniform and shield still with it, so I grabbed a spare shirt from the nearby dresser, slipped it on and ducked downstairs without a sound. When I got down there, Talos, Fury and Maria were already awake.

"She still asleep?" Maria asked me, handing me a steaming mug of coffee.

"Of course. That much certainly hasn't changed about her." I replied, taking the mug and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl that sat on the dining room table. I turned to Fury, "So that new guy let you guys go, huh? What's his name again? Coleman?"

"Coulson." Fury corrected, "Yeah, looks like he's gonna be one hell of an agent. Already going against protocol, breaking the rules."

"Sounds like he learned from the best."

"Very funny."

"Not as funny as that time you wiped out trying to chase a couple of Soviet spies in Budapest in '91." I smirked. Fury didn't reply, he just glared at me and walked away. I polished off the coffee and the apple, grabbed my uniform and went back upstairs to change.

Sure enough, not only was Carol still asleep, but she had taken over my side of the bed, limbs sprawled out covering the entirety of the bed. I changed quickly and quietly before making my way over to her. I sat down on the bed next to her feet and shook her on the shoulder.

"You know, as adorable as you look right now, we have an entire alien race to save, so I'm gonna have to ask that you get your beautiful self out of bed."

"Fi mo ins." She grumbled into her pillow.

"Come again?"

She rolled over and groaned, "Five more minutes."

I leaned over and pressed my lips to hers, making her smile softly, "No can do, baby. We've got lives to save."

She sat up, meeting my lips lovingly on the way, then took a moment to drink in the sight before her.

"Nice outfit." She grinned, setting a hand on the hawk head on my chest, "It suits you."

"Thanks, beautiful. Now get dressed, we've gotta go."

Going to space was definitely something on my bucket list. Going to space to fight a technologically advanced race of aliens... not so much. But hey, how many opportunities was I gonna get to go to space? As I stood outside the stolen P.E.G.A.S.U.S. quadjet with Maria, Talos and Fury, who held Goose, a creature that looked like a cat, though Talos insisted she was a dangerous alien called a Flerken. I watched as Carol interacted with Monica, who had made sure to get herself out of bed before we left. She was fiddling with the color scheme of Carol's suit, before settling on the colors of the original Air Force logo.

"She's somethin', isn't she?" Fury asked me when he saw the way Carol suddenly locked eyes on me.

"Just somethin' doesn't do her justice, Fury. She's... amazing." I smiled, lifting my shield up and attaching it to the electromagnets on my back. I pulled out my Colt Mustang and checked the magazine. Six rounds, plus five additional magazines attached to my belt, perfect. Carol made her way over to the quadjet, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading the rest of us on board. We all took our seats, Maria and Carol in the pilots' chairs, Fury, Talos, Goose and I all behind them.

"Hope your science guy knows what he's doing." Fury muttered to Talos as the quadjet lifted off the ground. Talos grunted, his violet eyes staring straight ahead. After a minute or two, Carol spoke up.

"Passing five hundred and climbing."

"Maintain speed. Any change in speed will turn this old junker into a fireball in the atmosphere." I remarked, letting the familiar feeling of pressure wash over me as we climbed.

"You know you really shouldn't have that thing on your lap." Talos said to Fury, pointing at Goose who was lounging comfortably on Fury's legs.

"Our little alliance with you is tenuous at best." He replied, lifting Goose up and holding him out toward Talos, who shifted away uncomfortably, "And as long as she continues to freak you out, I'm gonna keep giving her all the love and hugs she needs."

I laughed, "Didn't know you were a cat person, Fury."

"Didn't know you were gay until yesterday, Mac. Looks like we're all learning something knew about each other."

"Guess so." I smirked, leaning back in my chair.

"Can I ask you something?" Maria asked, glancing over her shoulder to look at Talos, "Do you just turn into anything you want?"

"Ah, well, I have to see it first." The Skrull replied, surprised at the interest in his shapeshifting abilities.

"Can all of you do it?"

"Physiologically, yeah. But it takes practice, and, dare I say, talent, to do it well."

"Can you turn into a cat?" Fury asked him.

"What's a cat?"

"What about a filing cabinet?" Maria asked him.

Talos gave her a confused look, "Why... would I turn into a filing cabinet?"

"Oh! Venus flytrap! I'll give you fifty bucks right now if you turn into a venus flytrap." I smirked. Talos gave me an unamused look and I heard Carol chuckle under her breath in front of me.

"Switching engines from Scramjet to fusion." Carol announced, "Buckle up, folks."

The sudden shift in propulsion made me suck in a breath. The jet began to shake as we rose higher, everyone was pushed back in their seats. Fury began to grip the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.

"Hey, is this normal, like space turbulence?" He asked over the sound of the roaring afterburners.

"Pretty much!" Carol called back to him. Talos looked over at him and then at me and shook his head slowly. Suddenly, the propulsion came to a stop, everything that wasn't strapped down to something, that included Goose, began to float from the lack of gravity. I held back an audible gasp as I looked out on the vast emptiness of space for the very first time. Something that seemed so dark, so endless, and so monotonous, and yet it still managed to take my breath away.

Maria switched on the artificial gravity and everything fell back into place as the jet came to a halt.

"Locking in coordinate grid." Carol said.

"Where is it?" I asked, seeing only the black void of space and a clouded corner of the western hemisphere.

"It's here," Talos muttered under his breath, "It's gotta be here."

"Well, is it in front of all that nothing, or behind it?" Fury asked him, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I rolled my eyes as Carol pulled up a holographic computer from her wrist gauntlet and punched in a code.

Suddenly, the void wasn't a void anymore as a massive ship appeared out of nowhere. My mouth fell open as I beheld the sight before me. Totally worth getting only four hours of sleep. Carol navigated the jet easily into the central hangar, where, once everyone was out, we went over our plan one final time. I grabbed my shield, attaching it to the electromagnetic plates on my left arm and took a deep breath, following Talos as he took off running into the bowels of the ship.

#brie larson #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel #natasha romanov x reader #marveledit #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #bucky barns x reader #carol danvers x reader #black widow x reader #captain america x reader #captain marvel x you #original character #avengers fanfiction #fanfiction #avengers fandom

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osgohome · 5 years

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“The ornament 🏡of a house is the friends👫👬 who frequent it.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

🛋#Furnishing the #home 🏠 of your dreams 😍

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richienorton · 6 years

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On a tiny Greek island called Naxos. Tons of ancient history and artifacts back to 2800bc all the way to Greek and Roman eras. Behind me is a remnant from the Apollo Temple. Been running around with @lincoln.norton and @cardonnorton here. 🐙 Today we found museums with everything out and about that are thousands of years old. Stuff should be white glove only. We ran around a castle and this temple on a separate Tony island you can walk to in he picture, took naps and fortnite breaks, ate, went to the beach and body surfed, swam in the pool twice and went to an outdoor movie theater and watched Oceans 8 (they even had an intermission!). 🐙 I’m currently sitting at a closed, outside restaurant poaching their Internet at 12:22am. @natalienorton and @raleighnorton just got to Athens from their yacht trip and I’m thinking Nat and so will meet up on another Greek island called Mykonos while Raleigh does another week with his friends on the sea or whatever. Good times. 🐙 “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson 🐙 If you focused on your top priority instead of many lesser activities (falsely believing this effort will get you to the top), would the lesser activities also fall into place? 🐙 #ruckuslist #nortonsdostuff #richienorton #naxos #greece // Swipe for a picture of octopi 🐙 and artifacts and the sunset and your mom. (at Náxos)

#ruckuslist #nortonsdostuff #richienorton #naxos #greece

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annedaumig · 6 years

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Angry Kitty

For every minute

you remain angry,

you give up sixty seconds

of peace of mind.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

TOP: neve top – recycled Lara @ Uber (Apr 25 – May 23) SHORTS: neve short – shameless Lara @ Uber (Apr 25 – May 23) SHOES: REZERVED – Old Leather Boots – Black – MAITREYA @ Shiny Shabby (Apr 20 – May 15) JEWELRY: :BAMSE: Personal Choker – Meow GLOVES: **RE** Motor Gloves – Maitreya Bento @ U…

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nemesisbinxartifactseries · 5 years

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Artifact Series R

R. Budd Dwyer's Manila Envelope

R. H. Macy’s Clothes Hanger

R. L. Stine's Library Card

R. K. Wilson's Camera

RC Racing Car *

RCMP WW1 Bugle

RMS Olympic *

RMS Titanic Coal Room Spun Handle

RWC 2011 Finals Ball

Ra's Crook and Flail

Ra's Solar Barge

Rachael Ray's Wooden Utensil Boxes

Rachel Carson's Boots

Rachel Pratt's Shrapnel

Rachilde’s Snuff Box

Radioactive Box of Twinkies

Radio Tower from the Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia

Rage Inducing Slot Machine

Raggedy Ann and Andy

Raijin's Drum

Rainbow Serpent Scale

Rainer Maria Rilke's Bust of Apollo

Rainilaiarivony's Lamba

Rake

Ralph Chaplin's Original Draft of "Solidarity Forever"

Ralph H. Baer's Original Simon

Ralph Kramden's Bowling Ball *

Ralph Waldo Emerson's Trowel

Rambunctious Slingshot

Ramesses I's Headdress

Ramesses I's Medallions

Ramesses II’s Tankard

Ramesses II's Khopesh

Randy Gardner's Coffee Mug

Randy Schueller's Ink Bottle

Raphael's Canvas

Raspberry Beret

Rathwire Hillfort Stone

Raven Feather

Rawlings Leather Football Helmet

Ray Charles Sunglasses

Ray Frank Gricar's Dayton U Pin

Ray Harryhausen Model Collection

Ray Price’s Wheelie Bar

Raymond Chandler's Pipe

Raymond Kaskey's Portlandia

Raymond Loewy’s Bus Model

Raymond Loewy’s Pencil Sharpener

Reanimating Shrunken Head *

Re-assembling Piggy Bank

Rebecca Towne Nurse's Noose

Reception Bell from the Hotel California

Record from Disco Demolition Night

Recording of the Max Headroom Broadcast Intrusion

Red Adair’s Hardhat

Red Clown Nose

Red Fire Ball *

Red Flag from the Potemkin

Red Forest Flute

Red Monogrammed Tie

Red ringed Xbox 360

Red Skelton’s Doughnut Box

Red Velvet Swing *

Reflective Beach Umbrella

The Regent Diamond

Reginald Fessenden's Radio

Remati Shackle *

Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn's Picture Frame *

Ren Statuette

René Descartes' Drafting Quill

René Magritte's Pipe and Bowler Hat

Renee Nele's Draw Plate

Renee Shin-Yi Chen's Porcelain Baby Doll *

Repeating Rifle

Restorative Dental Tools

Reusable Christmas Cracker

Reusable Neutron Bomb *

Reusable Pigeon Bomb

Reviving Pacemaker

Rex Krewe Doubloons

Rezső Seress' Sheet Music for "Vége a Világnak"

Rhett and Link's Clothes Rack

Rhiannon's Saddle

Rhodanthe Rose *

Rhodes Marble Bowl *

Ricardo Setaro's Radio *

Rice Growing Dōtaku Bells

Richard III's Crown

Richard Avery Hornsby‘s Blunderbuss

Richard Chase's Steak Knife

Richard E. Byrd's Smoking Pipe *

Richard Feynman's Safecracking Numerical Pad

Richard F. Gordon Jr's Spacesuit Helmet

Richard Gurley Drew’s Roll of Scotch Tape

Richard Kuklinski's Freezer

Richard Lawrence's Pistols and Andrew Jackson's Cane

Richard the Lion-hearted's Armor *

Richard Lucian Page's Pouch of Gunpowder

Richard Lucian Page's Sword Hilt

Richard Matheson's Barrett

Richard Nixon's Shoes *

Richard O'Brien's Stockings

Richard Owens' Bayonet

Richard Rowland Kirkland’s Canteen

Richard Trevithick's Iron Rails

Richard Wagner's Ring

Richard Wetherill's Cattle Brander

Richtofen's Wunderwaffen

Rick Griffin's Psychedelic Posters

Rick Grimes' Colt Python

Ric Silver's Shoes

Right Arm From the Statue of Julian of Norwich

Rin Tin Tin's Leash

Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus Band Instruments

Ring of Gyges

Rip Taylor's Confetti Cannon

Rip Van Winkle's Moonshine

Rita Hayworth's Nightgown

Riverton Maximum Security Prison Quartz Mine *

Road Sign from the China National Highway 110 Traffic Jam

Roald Amundsen's Binoculars

Roald Amundsen's Steering Wheel

Robert Angus Smith's Jar

Robert Atkins' Bathroom Scale

Roanoke Colony Mortar and Pestle

Roanoke Knife

Robert the Bruce's Tartan *

Robert Bullock's Gavel

Robert Crisp's Cricket Bat

Robert the Doll

Robert E. Lee's Saddlebag

Robert Ettinger's Metre Ruler

Robert Falcon Scott's Goggles

Robert Frost's Globe

Robert Frost's Pitchfork

Robert Frost's Stone Wall

Robert Hanssen's Palm III PDA

Robert Harbin's Zig Zag Girl Box

Robert Hooke's Mirrors

Robert Hooke's Music Box

Robert Johnson's Guitar

Robert J. Van de Graaff's "Van de Graaf" Generator

Robert Joseph White's Pipe

Robert Kearns’ Windshield Wipers

Robert Langdon’s Mickey Mouse Wristwatch

Robert Liston's Green Coat

Robert Louis Stevenson's Bookends *

Robert Oppenheimer's Desk Lamp

Robert Pickton's Bag of Pig Feed

Robert R. Montgomery's Flyswatter

Robert Ripley's Safari Hat

Robert Ryman's Canvas

Robert Shields’ Typewriter

Robert de Shurland's Horse Skull

Robert Smalls’ Codebook

Robert Spring's Sleeve Button

Robert Stroud's Canary Cage

Robert Todd Lincoln's Pocket Watch

Robert Wadlow's Shoes

Robin Hood's Arrow

Robin Hood's Cap

Robin William's Bicycle

Robin William's Microphone

Rob Nen's Baseball Glove

Roy Lichtenstein's "Drowning Girl"

Rob Roy MacGregor’s Bagpipes

Robot Matchbox *

Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots

Rock from the Cave of the Winds

Rod of Asclepius *

Rock Paintings from Saimaluu Tash

Rod Serling's Cigarette Case

Rodney King's Tool Belt

Rodney Wood's Propane Heater

Roger Bacon's Magnifying Glass

Roger Bacon's Robe Belt

Roger Ebert's DVD Player

Roger Federer's Tennis Racket

Roger Nowell's Wig

Roger Patterson's Film Camera

Roger Wolcott Sperry's Salt and Pepper Shakers

Rǫgnvaldr Guðrøðarson’s Hogback

Roll of Pennies

Roll of Rubber Electrical Tape

Rollie Free’s Showercap and Speedo

Roman Flagrum

Roman Scales

Romano Cattaneo's Alfa Romeo Spider *

Roman Lion Collar

Roman Pig Statue

The Romulus Amulet

Romulus and Remus' Shepard Staff

Ronald Dale Harris' Quarter Wrap

Ronald Reagan's Jelly Beans *

Ronald Reagan’s Swim Trunks

Room 22 Door

Room 1408's Door

Rosa Parks' Bus Seat

Roseland Ballroom Marquee *

Rosemary's Baby Carriage *

Rosetta Stone *

Rosie the Riveter's Rivet Gun

Ross Bagdasarian Sr.'s Witch Doctor Mask

Round Table of King Arthur *

Royal Silverware Set

Roy Chapman Andrews’ Dinosaur Egg

Roy Fransen's Diving Board *

Roy L. Dennis's Yearbook

Roy Rodger's Lunchbox

Roy Sullivan's Hat

Rubble from the North Tower

Rube Goldberg's Styling Pencil

Rube Goldberg's 'Thing'

Rube Goldberg's Wire Collection *

Rubik's Cube

Ruby Slippers *

Rudolph's Nose *

Rudolf Koch's Font Design Papers

Rudolph Valentino's Cigarette *

Rudyard Kipling's Rickshaw

Rufus Wilmot Griswold’s Gift Book

Ruins from the city of Atlantis

Rumpelstiltskin *

Rumpelstiltskin's Spinning Wheel

Runaway Chocolate Bunny

Rush Limbaugh's Microphone

Rusik's Uniform

Russian Nesting Doll *

Russian Sleep Experiment Gas Tanks

Ruth Belville's Pocket Watch

Ruth Graves Wakefield's Baking Sheet

Ryan Halligan’s Yearbook

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taimio · 5 months

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Unlocking the Full Potential of Your Spring Garden: Expert Tips and Tricks!

As a gardening enthusiast, I look forward to the spring season every year. The warmer weather, blooming flowers, and fresh produce make it the perfect time to get back into the garden. Spring gardening is not only satisfying, but it also has numerous benefits, both for the environment and for our own mental and physical health. In this article, I will share some tips and tricks for maximizing your spring gardening efforts and ensuring a bountiful harvest.

Maximizing Your Spring Gardening Efforts

As the sun warms the earth and flowers start to bloom, it's time to dust off those gardening gloves and embrace the joy of spring gardening. With a few smart strategies and a dash of creativity, you can maximize your efforts and create a stunning outdoor oasis. Here are some insights to help you make the most of your spring gardening adventures.

1. Plan with Purpose

Before diving headfirst into the garden, take a moment to plan with purpose. Consider the layout, color schemes, and the needs of your plants. Know your soil and the light conditions in your garden to choose the right plants that will thrive in your space. A well-thought-out plan helps ensure a successful and beautiful garden.

2. Start with the Right Foundation

A successful garden starts with a solid foundation. Prepare your soil by adding compost or organic matter to enrich its nutrients. Remember, healthy soil leads to healthy plants. Additionally, invest in quality tools to make your gardening experience more enjoyable and efficient. Trust me, a sharp pair of pruners and a sturdy trowel can make a world of difference.

3. Embrace Diversity

Just like in life, diversity in your garden is key. Mix and match different plants to create a harmonious and visually appealing landscape. Choose a variety of flowers, herbs, and vegetables to add color, fragrance, and flavor. Embrace the beauty of companion planting, where plants support and protect each other. It's nature's version of teamwork!

4. Timing is Everything

Timing is crucial when it comes to spring gardening. Pay attention to the last frost date in your area and use it as a guide for planting. Be patient and resist the temptation to plant too early. Remember, nature has its own schedule, and it's best to work with it rather than against it. Trust me, your plants will thank you.

5. Nourish and Protect

Just like humans, plants need proper nourishment and protection. Use organic fertilizers to feed your plants and keep them healthy. Embrace natural pest control methods, like companion planting or introducing beneficial insects, to protect your garden from unwanted guests. Remember, a little TLC goes a long way in the world of gardening.

6. Embrace the Journey

Gardening is a journey, not just a destination. Embrace the ups and downs, the successes and failures, and learn from them. Enjoy the process of nurturing and watching your garden grow. Take a moment each day to admire the beauty and find solace in nature.

As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.

Your efforts, no matter how small, can make a significant impact.

So, my fellow garden enthusiasts, let's make this spring season one to remember. Plan with purpose, tend to your garden with care, and remember to enjoy the journey. With a little effort and a lot of love, your garden will flourish and bring you endless joy.

If you're looking for more inspiration and tips on spring gardening, check out this related article on Medium.com. Happy gardening!

Learn more about gardening with Taim.io!

#Spring Gardening

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jimjakk · 6 years

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"A Man Bears Beliefs as a Tree Bears Apples"

#Poem: "'A Man Bears Beliefs as a Tree Bears Apples'" #poetry

-Ralph Waldo Emerson pleading with a red delicious begging god for good even though I cannot process Jesus I still chew and spit seed and you walk over the guts of me with your shoes on sidewalk in the sweltering August of laying in grass whispering love between dandelions so much we’re sprouting from dirt in ugly ways all thorn and bloom overgrown with each other there are no gloved hands…

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clutchcollective · 7 years

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Aishla Manning | Soft Verges

Words by Nicola Scott

In 2015, performing live in Seattle, stand-up comedian Tig Notaro ditched her planned set for several minutes of inexplicably funny impromptu prop comedy. Slightly moving a stool onstage, the strange noise produced made the audience collectively laugh. “So I just kept pushing the stool, and they kept laughing…So I just kept pushing the stool, and they stopped laughing…So I kept pushing the stool, and they started laughing again…And it just kept going like that for a while.”1

It is similarly difficult to articulate precisely why and how the humour works in Aishla Manning’s art. Something is hard to reconcile. Some things are literally hard: bricks, graters, a fork, wooden poles, rigid plastic, the metal of a kettle. Others are soft: underwear, rubber gloves, balloons, a cooked sweet potato, indeterminate goop. Often a sensually anthropomorphic creation strokes a familiar home appliance, or vice versa. Sometimes existing tools are taped together to make impractical inventions, or useless versions of ordinary objects are constructed out of flimsier materials, ridiculously not to-scale.

This stuff is deliberately disparate, suggestive of various sensations and connotations when brought together within the unremarkable domestic/urban spaces of Manning’s videos and occasional exhibiting of objects. Traces of minimalist art historical lineages and the whiff of industry or the inorganic meet with the intimate, the eaten, the everyday, the amorphous. Contact occurs through repetitive movements with no clear purpose: bouncing, lifting, falling, stroking, smacking, scraping, puncturing, grating, rolling into, tugging at…Manning likes to keep shifting the stool around. These repeated, even ritualistic, motions harness chance, but are not robotic or random. Controlled by the artist’s hands just out of frame, they appear animate, and as a result seem to express frustration, desire, and exhaustion – especially where there is a lack, or loss, of comportment (or the promise of this loss) entailed in objects falling, slipping, and otherwise yielding to gravity or missing the mark.

These are encounters between spaces, objects, and materials in which the human body becomes paradoxical, everywhere and nowhere, particularly through this study of comportment via non-human actors. Comportment is about social observation and self-policing. It encompasses gesture and posture, how one routinely holds and moves ones’ body in space and in relation to other bodies, objects, and materials, including tools, clothing, furniture, architecture etc. Somewhat like the movements of Notaro’s stool and Manning’s objects, elements of comportment are (must be) repeated over and over. This necessity entails tension in the “subtle ruse of power”: the ever-present threat, or guarantee, of inevitable faltering, of “trouble”2. The bodies of the audience watch and listen. The body on-stage moves. This is not the script. For a moment there is silence…

A failure of comportment or its deliberate subversion troubles norms, produces anxiety, threatens order. This can incite punishment, but when framed or contextualised as unthreatening, it can also be deeply funny, especially when this ‘bit’ involves repetition: the slapstick of Charlie Chaplin; the verging-on-horrific accidents on Funniest Home Videos; Eddie Murphy as the Nutty Professor; the unguarded female bodies on Lena Dunham’s Girls. Like these onscreen bodies, Manning’s objects are ‘set up’ to fail, to look awkward, come a cropper, fudge their landing, run in place. They have a touch of the brazen air of a stunt man manoeuvring towards organised disaster, but the more quotidian clutz of TV infomercials is there too, in the domestic materials and spaces, Manning’s

entrepreneurial constructions, minor challenges theatrically presented, and an implied exasperation at the barely confined chaos of everyday life. So I just kept pushing the stool, and they kept laughing…

Manning’s pathetic Sisyphean motions both playfully produce or locate absurdity in the everyday, and hold a mirror to this part of the absurdity of every day, filled with the promised rewards and repercussions of maintaining composure in various socio-culturally enforced roles as a hard worker, a healthy and desirable body, a happy psychological subject, a binary gender, among others. In pursuit of “that moral-intimate-economic thing called “the good life””, sooner or later we are bound to flail/fail.3 We, like Manning’s objects, have been set up. This is the darker edge of Manning’s love of repetition, and the chaos and absurdity it wreaks. Repetition can be a comedic device, but in this light it can also be disturbing. It can signify an absence of freedom, of possibility, of alternatives. A sign of things gone wrong, of breakdown, of madness. Repetition itself, in the creation and reinforming of beliefs and expectations, can be a more effective mechanism for control than physical violence. So I just kept pushing the stool, and they stopped laughing…

This tension is apparent but expanded in new ways in Soft Verges, which mingles gestures of intimacy and cruelty. This exhibition emerges through a collaboration between Clutch Collective and another Brisbane-based Artist-Run-Initiative, Outer Space. The videos are projected via the former’s truck, in the loading zone and interior of the latter’s small concrete brick building, a University studio-cum-covert ARI. In these videos a non-descript moving truck meets the body-like stunt doubles of a pillow and its flimsy doppelganger, a pillowcase filled with ambiguous ooze. In one, Manning carefully drives the truck over the pillow in a carpark, slowly circles around to face it from the other direction, and repeats this vaguely violent, almost devoted, metaphorical murder. The pillow, momentarily flattened, springs back quietly to its original shape bearing only a faint tyre mark. In the other, we see a more close-up (money shot?) view of the fluid-filled case bursting under the weight of the slowly rolling truck wheel. With some confusion perhaps, we watch this version shift shape under the pressure, before a white liquid spurts out, pooling somewhat unspectacularly but beautifully incongruent to the solid black tyre and concrete bitumen.

In some ways we’ve shifted mythical scripts here, from the self-induced perpetual punishment of Sisyphus to the unpredictable struggle between David and Goliath. Manning has used the Clutch truck – the interior of which is an alternate version of, or stand-in for, the space of a more conventional gallery - not as a final destination for her finished work as we might expect, but the essential driver of her experimentation and key component of the outcomes in which we see it ‘dominating’ more vulnerable objects. As in Manning’s broader practice, these seemingly pointless interactions speak to absurdity and failure in everyday life, particularly as the truck and accompanying objects come laden with associations that proliferate on contact with each other and these spaces, such as travel, transit, limbo, gender, fatigue, private and public realms, imitation, abjection, agency, and power.

They also exist as a metaphor for the process by which the site of exhibition shapes the artwork, something that happens more and less consciously for contemporary artists seeking an audience. Crushing pressure, stifling rule-maker, caring devotee, force to creatively bounce back against, catalyst for messy, unpredictable outcomes – amidst other layers of signification, Soft Verges reflects the varied, complex, and unstable relationship between spaces of art exhibition and the living bodies of artists. By virtue of existing perhapsnot quite in opposition to, but nonetheless beyond the border of, the more established institutional realm, ARIs too have a varied

relationship in this way. They are at the same time spaces of potential. Like the truck’s parked position in Outer Space’s industrial building, they can work as a ‘loading bay’ for emerging artists seeking the endorsement of more powerful or professional institutions. They can mimic these same institutions and/or initiate a break in the repetition of their conventions, a temporary hijacking of their spaces, a “loss of memory” regarding their criteria for inclusion, a deliberate ‘failure of comportment’ in terms of orthodox display. In theory at least, they promise a “moving sideways” with regard to the limitations of the wider art world.4

Verge means variously: to be very close or similar to; an extreme limit beyond which something specified will happen; an edge or border.5 Manning’s works, like the ARIs collaborating to present them, at the very least verge on or share the border with more traditional or grandiose forms of success within the realm of art making and display. They are self-conscious and deliberate in their ‘failures’. Nonetheless, they offer a degree of breathing room, space to look around, a loosening of the grip of the expectations that shape the way we live, work, move through space, structure time, as well as think about, value, and ‘do’ art. In this sense, Soft Verges evokes the co-opted-for-capitalism Ralph Waldo Emerson misquote, “success is a journey, not a destination”. As in all Manning’s works, things move repetitively, uselessly, on a journey towards collapse, anticlimax or stasis, but it’s not always predictable how. Objects verging on identical in appearance react differently to force, thus achieving different outcomes. Body stand-ins as always, they are alternately resilient, or yield and become fluid, but nowhere are there obvious winners and losers. There is no clear or easily occupied oppositional position to ‘success’ as a human being living in the present moment either, nor as an artist that wants an audience, nor as an art space that wants to make something happen. The show/s must go on. So then, if this kind of trouble is inevitable, “how best to make it, what best way to be in it?”.6

The interactions of Manning’s objects in the spaces of this exhibition suggest we could attempt to traverse the present as they do: with strangeness, via unexpected exchanges, with a lack of purpose, by circling back, trying something else, going nowhere…And it just kept going like that for a while…Perhaps awkwardly moving the stool is the point, a repetitive act made meaningless and meaningful through it’s conscious undertaking. In this there is the makings of a strategy for approaching the verge and softening it, to allow for unspecified experiences and outcomes.

1. Daily Motion 2015, Tig Notaro – Stool Movement [Online Video], https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2z1veq_tig-notaro-stool-movement_fun Accessed: 24 May 2017.

2. Butler, J 2006, Gender Trouble, Routledge, New York.

3. Berlant, L 2011,, Cruel Optimism, Duke University Press, Durhamp.

4. Haberstam, J 2011, The Queer Art of Failure, Duke University Press, Durhamp. 5. “verge.” Merriam-Webster.com 2017. www.merriam-webster.com Accessed: 24 May 2017.

6. Butler, J 2006, Gender Trouble, Routledge, New York.

#essay #essays

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