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#i'm not a good poet
wandering-wolf23 · 2 years
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My porch eaves sing at night
My porch eaves sing at night
as the twilight starts to fall.
House sparrows, wrens, blue jays all fluffed up
take their places on the rose briars and
tangled ivy.
The blue tailed skinks and half-red lizards sit under the flickering lights
to catch the flying gnats.
Barns swallows in their muddied straw nests
crouch over eggs and watch
with beady black eyes.
Their voices join a crescendo of life that echoes through the fields.
I don’t know why
anyone
would want a silent porch.
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deadpoets · 1 month
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DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) dir. Peter Weir
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stillboredbuttrying · 2 months
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Unheard - Hozier (2024):
1. I have one life and I'm not gonna waste it living someone else's idea of good :)
2. The grief and sorrow are persistent, but so is healing and rebirth
3. Fuck England and whoever try to suppress our freedom, we will win our freedom back
4. I'm gonna experience everything to its fullest even if it leads to my downfall
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thiamblogger · 3 months
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"i've only met her once and already she'd thinking about me" - pans to neil with his hand on todd's shoulder, laughing into his neck.
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just2bubbly · 1 month
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ok hear me out, 'The Black Dog' is wolfstar coded and not just because of the literal connection with Sirius Black and his animagus but in general. The Dog is very obviously Sirius and the way she goes on building the first verse of long lost friendship and relationship- "I am someone who until recent events shared your secrets with" and that's easy to tell Sirius and Remus were one half of the Marauders and they were friends, lovers and obviously shared everything with each other. The location is the Marauder's Map and it could possibly be a memory that Sirius can't get out of his head while being in Azkaban that relates closely with Remus who is having the same flashback but at a bar or in a deep emotional capacity when he sees a black dog that reminds him of Siri. "She's too young to know this song" is Tonks (no offence to her but ye) the age gap is there, she was there when Sirius was alive and it was a visual representation of Remus choosing her above him. When Remus steals glances at Sirius when he thinks no one is seeing for 'old habits die screaming' and now he doesn't know what to do with this for he feels Sirius is too lost in despair. Post Azkaban Sirius is "moving through the world heartbroken" and with desires of having a friend in Remus if not a lover. "And it kills me, I don't understand"— is very clearly the chaotic mess inside Siri's head as he takes over his life after 13 years of imprisonment. "Now I wanna sell my house, and set fire to all my clothes," is perhaps the disdain with Grimmauld Palace and his past that he tried so hard to escape haunting him like a full circle. "This tail between your legs, you're leaving" is again his untimely death, too soon and a life too short with great regrets and glorious moments.
You can't tell me this song isn't about Sirius Black
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tcfactory · 6 months
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Please consider: Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu role-swap
[LiuJiu, 2300 words]
After the fire, Shen Jiu doesn't sit around, he's aiming straight for Cang Qiong. Wu Yanzi tempts him, but if he is to ever find out what happened to Qi-ge then he can't play around with rogue cultivators, so he ditches the man before Wu Yanzi could take him as a disciple.
He arrives to the sect at a year when they are not doing the disciple selection - the women at the Warm Red Pavilion say it's because the Sect Leader is busy monitoring his cursed head disciple and if the Sect Leader doesn't take part then the rest of the sect has to wait too - but he's tipped off that Bai Zhan is always open to those who are determined enough to climb the mountain and demand admittance.
So that's exactly what he does. The Peak Lord sets him against one of his junior disciples and tells him there are no rules, if he can beat them he's in. It's a test he's not supposed to win, to see his determination and his reaction to failure, as a malnourished slave boy should be no match to someone in good health who has two years of training under his belt. But Shen Jiu doesn't know this, he has come too far to give up now and unlike the scrappy, but well-fed farmer's son he's set up against, he fights dirty.
He sets the basis of his future nickname - The Rabid Wolf of Bai Zhan - that day when he claws the boy's eye out and forces him to yield. His rise among the disciples is almost as meteoric as Yue Qi's and people are on the lookout for when the upstart slave boy will plummet back to the earth, but he never does. When the year is up and the sect is abuzz that Lingxi caves are finally opening again because they are letting the cursed disciple out, he's there in the front row among the curious onlookers and throws himself in his Qi-ge's arms as soon as the other boy steps foot into the light again.
Shen Qingqiu grows up tall and willowy and unpredictable, an unconventional physical cultivator that bends with the wind, but never breaks. With Yue Qingyuan's support as an unshakeable mountain behind his back, he is untouchable. He never bothers to hide what he is, not his scars or his sharp edges or the slave brand burned into the meat of his shoulder, often bared to the world by his choice of outfit; he stands as testament that even the lowest wretches can claw their way up to stand among giants.
Liu Mingqu yields to his rich family and allows himself to be enrolled into Qing Jing. He is not as suited for spiritual cultivation and he has no head for arts, but he is still a prodigy and a really hard working one at that. He learns all there is to learn for a scholar and doesn't rest until he perfects them all - music, calligraphy, painting, poetry - and even if he's ever uninspired about pursuing them, the Peerless Beauty of Qing Jing is a competent teacher who stands head and shoulders over his peers. He masters his temper and his manners and takes to hiding his face behind a fan or sometimes a veil like his sister to discourage people from staring at him.
Their roles may be different, but their nature remains the same. Shen Jiu has always been more clever than he was strong and nothing changed about that now that he's essentially a spiritual cultivator playing at star athlete. He plants a bamboo forest on his mountain - for meditation and ambush practice, he says, but everyone knows he just needed a bubble of calm for himself in the endless war zone of Bai Zhan - and mercilessly beats any disciple who dares to damage the forest. In the serene calm of his little house he hoards books and maps and all the culture he can get his calloused hands on, always thirsty to know more, an endless pit his Qi-ge happily pours obscure knowledge into. He uses the standing feud between Bai Zhan and Qing Jing to spy on them, learn their cultivation methods by sight and listen to the senior disciples do ad hoc concerts, so he can practice music in the brothel or under a silencing array just behind his house.
It's during one of these trips when he discovers Liu Qingge behind the Qing Jing Peak Lord's manor, restlessly shuffling through the steps of a formal dance. Liu Qingge yearns to move, he yearns for the exertion of his wild youth, but there are only so many acceptable options for a scholar and as a cultivator he can't channel his restlessness into hunting or horse riding. That leaves dancing, but Liu Qingge is not a creative person. He sticks to the dances he half-remembers learning as a rich young master and maybe asks his sister for some more, but that's where his resourcefulness runs out on this venture.
Shen Qingqiu watches him go through the steps of the same dozen dances, swap to a few rounds of sword forms - perfectly executed and ethereal, an immortal beauty that earthbound Shen Qingqiu will never be able to replicate - and then swap back to the dances, increasingly frustrated and restless.
"If Peak Lord Qingge wants to learn some better dances, this shidi can introduce you to someone." Liu Qingge startles and almost turns him into a pincushion with a barrage of bamboo leaves.
"What do you want?!" They are secure in their respective positions, but they still don't like each other.
"Peace, shixiong. I'm just looking out for the sect. How would it reflect on me if I let my fellow Peak Lord work himself into a qi deviation and didn't step in?" Shen Qingqiu shrugs and smiles with an easy, predatory grace that makes Liu Qingge wish he had fangs to match the Wolf of Bai Zhan, but there's no malice in the offer. "Come now, shixiong. There's nobody else here. We don't need to do this stupid game of social posturing. Tell you what, as a sign of my goodwill I'm going to teach you a meditation technique to calm your qi after exercise, free of charge."
Almost everything with Shen Qingqiu is a transaction, so Liu Qingge knows better than to pass up the chance to get something from his shidi for free - and the meditation does help settle his roiling qi.
"What do you want in return, then?" It's almost terrifying how intensely Shen Qingqiu's eyes light up.
"That trick with the leaves - teach me how to do it."
Liu Qingge doesn't bother to point out that it's a spiritual technique. It's an unspoken secret that they would be better suited to each other's cultivation styles than that of their own peaks. Shen Qingqiu has a storm of razor sharp leaves dancing in the air before Liu Qingge is even done explaining.
He almost regrets agreeing when Shen Qingqiu takes him down to the brothel, but the women his shidi introduces him to are truly masters of dance - they were stars of an imperial dance troupe before their owner was executed for offending the Emperor and they were sold to the brothel. They take him to the back and teach him dances he could never have imagined, dances that make his heart soar and his blood rush hot in his veins, while Shen Qingqiu lightly dozes among the women in the main reception area, his very presence frightening all but the most unruly patrons into behaving.
Liu Qingge is an honest man and he knows, deep down, that he got much more out of this exchange than his shidi. He’s on the lookout to see how he could repay him, but Shen Qingqiu seems to want for nothing. What he can’t get on his own Yue Qingyuan gifts to him, doting relentlessly on his sharp-edged little brother. So when he hears that Shen Qingqiu is to set out to assist in a night hunt against a particularly dangerous demonic beast that made its way over the to the far shore of the sea, he hops to the opportunity to compile a scroll of all the unspoken rules and etiquette of the island, as well as a short history on the ninja clan that asked for their aid. It’s all information that Shen Qingqiu has no way of learning otherwise, but should ease his time on the hunt.
When he can’t find Shen Qingqiu at the bamboo house he goes looking for him and that’s when he finds the silencing array, that’s when he sees his shidi sitting with his guqin in a clearing, composing music. Liu Qingge’s mouth goes dry, his heart skips a beat - his shidi is like a vision from the heavens and for the first time since he started this scholarly lifestyle, Liu Qingge wants to paint. He wants to etch this scene in his heart and condense it into a poem.
He slinks away before his shidi can notice him and leaves the scroll in the bamboo house. In the three years Shen Qingqiu is gone, hunting that elusive monster that decimates one village after another, he becomes a man possessed - or more accurately, a tender hearted young maiden yearning for her first love. He paints picture after picture, sometimes of a wolf stalking among the bamboo, sometimes of Qingqiu with his guqin as the scene lives in his memory. Rarely he paints his shidi stretched out on a couch in the brothel, languid with feigned sleep and one eye opened a crack as he vigilantly watches over his sisters - he gifts one of those to the brothel, much to the ladies’ delight. He starts writing poetry, yearning, horrible poetry his sister mocks relentlessly, but slowly he finds his words and his latest attempts are almost good. He is the first to hound Zhangmen-shixiong for news on Shen shidi and learns every word of every letter by heart, no matter how short or impersonal the progress reports are.
Liu Qingge knows that his martial siblings are not blind to his obsession - he has caught Shang shidi muttering “bro, really?!” under his breath more than once. He’s not familiar with the expression, but he can understand the sentiment. Yue Qingyuan watches him with patient exasperation, but he knows that the man doesn’t disapprove from the mild comment about how Shen Jiu will need a new ceremonial robe for his return celebration because his old one is ten years out of fashion.
Embroidery is, technically, within the skill set of the Qing Jing Peak Lord. He hounds An Ding until someone supplies him with Shen Qingqiu’s measurements and the finest materials he can bully Shang shidi into acquiring - “That’s the same stuff demon royalty wears, try not to waste it, my contact had to go through the royal seamstress of the northern kingdom to get it in that color.” - and sets to work. Bai Zhan’s color is steel blue, but that never fit his shidi, so he picks greens instead to match his striking green eyes. He creates a design that accentuates the deceptive slimness of Qingqiu, then embroiders the robes with bamboo patterns and a wolf on the hunt and when they are done he crafts a matching fan - Shen shidi hides from nothing and nobody, but Liu Qingge thinks he might enjoy being a little mysterious.
He is daydreaming about his shidi during the next Peak Lord meeting when the Sect Leader breaks the news: the beast has finally been slain and Shen Qingqiu will be on the next ship back home. Liu Qingge stays barely long enough to not be impolite at the end of the meeting before he rushes off to finish the last touches on the robes. He wants to leave it all set out for his shidi in the bamboo house.
In his haste he misses the look Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan exchange behind his back.
“So, about those arrangements we made…”
“Yes, please. Let’s get Xiao Jiu home before Liu-shidi pines himself into a qi deviation.”
“Yeah, he’s down bad isn’t he?”
“Are you certain your prince doesn’t mind? If you are in any danger, shidi…”
“No! It’s fine, I’m fine, he already agreed to it! In fact, my Xuebao likes your brother so much I’m almost a little jealous.”
“Really now?”
“Zhangmen-shixiong, please stop looking like you are plotting murder. It’s not like that. As the Mobei prince, he really doesn’t have a lot of friends. Of course he misses A-Jiu.”
“If you say so, shidi.”
Liu Qingge is all jitters when he walks down the path to the bamboo house. He can’t understand why because Shen Qingiu won’t be back for months, but he still feels like a maiden on her way to ask out her love on the first date.
He almost drops the package with the robes when he opens the door and finds Shen Qingqiu standing there in the sunlit room. His shidi is too solid, too real to be an apparition, his clothes worn from travel, his heavy pack still unpacked by the table. He stands with a letter in one hand - Qingge recognizes his sister’s wobbly, childish handwriting - and with Qingge’s notebook in which he wrote all his stumbling, horrible poetry in the other and Liu Qingge wishes nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
“Are those my new robes?” Shen Qingqiu asks, as if they have only met this morning, as if that was a reasonable thing to ask when Qingge’s heart is about to explode from nerves. He can only mutely nod at his shidi. “You know shixiong, I can see that you have put enormous effort into courting me. I would have loved it if it happened when I was here to experience it.”
Shen Qingqiu sets the notebook and the letter down and stalks up to Liu Qingge, his eyes sharp with an emotion he can’t interpret, but it makes Liu Qingge want to bare his throat to his teeth and be devoured.
“So, Liu-shixiong. Are you going to help me try on my new robes?”
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phonecall-fromgod · 24 days
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chat i think my friends might be gay
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swanparties · 9 months
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bitches read sad books and then read sadder fan theories
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greenerteacups · 4 months
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Hi! I am an ardent fan of your writing, and I hope to be as sorted and planned as you some day in my own writing journey.
My question is: you have a keen eye when it comes to planning character personality, dynamics, and such. I've also been wading through your ask replies, and your insights into how you write people and how you make them play off of each other is so wonderful to read. If it's not too personal a q, how did you learn how to write like this? Did you go to school for writing, does it come from years of observing people, do you have reading list recs for "how to write real people and real interactions"?
Thanks! This is a really flattering question. I'll try to answer it honestly, because I wish someone had been brutally honest about this with me when I was a young writer.
I didn't go to school for writing. I started doing it when I was about nine years old. It sucked very badly. I kept writing throughout high school, and it still mostly sucked, but some of it was occasionally interesting. ("Interesting" here does not mean "good," by the way.) I took a break in college, and then came back. I've been writing ever since. Sometimes, I feel good about it. A lot of the time, I don't!
I hate giving this advice, because I remember how it feels to get it, and it's the most uninspiring, boring-ass, dog shit advice you can get, but it's also the only advice that is 100% unequivocally true: you have to write, and specifically, you have to write things that suck.
I do not mean that you should make things that suck on purpose. I mean that you have to sit down and try your absolute hardest to make something good. You have to put in the hours, the elbow grease, the blood, sweat, and tears, and then you have to read it over and accept that it just totally sucks. There is no way around this, and you should be wary of people who tell you there is. There is no trick, no rule, no book you can buy or article you can read, that will make your writing not suck. The best someone else can do is tell you what good writing looks like, and chances are, you knew that anyway — after all, you love to read. You wouldn't be trying to do this if you didn't. And anyone who says they can teach you to write so good it doesn't suck at first is either lying to you, or they have forgotten how they learned to write in the first place.
So the trick is to sit there in the miserable doldrums of Suck, write a ton, and learn to like it. Because this is the phase of your path as an artist when you find what it is you love about writing, and it cannot be the chance to make "good writing." This will be the thing that bears you through and compels you to keep going when your writing is shit, i.e., the very thing that makes you a writer in the first place. So find that, and you've got a good start.
Some people know this, but assume that perseverance as a writer is about trying to get to the point where you don't suck anymore. This is not true, and it is an actively dangerous lie to tell young writers. You are not aiming to feel like your writing doesn't suck. You are aiming to write. You are aiming to have written. Everything else is dust and rust. And of course, you'll find things you like about your pieces, you'll find things you're proud of, you'll learn to love the things you've made. But that little itch of self-criticism, in the back of your brain — the one that cringes when you read a clunky line, or thinks of a better character beat right after it's far too late to change — that's never going away. That's the Writer part of you. Read Kafka, read Dickens, read Tolstoy, you will find diary entries where they lament how absolutely fucking atrocious their writing was, and how angry they are that they can't do better. A good writer hates their sentences because they can always imagine better ones. And the ability to imagine a better sentence is what's going to make you pick up the pen again tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.
Which is what I mean, and probably what all those other annoying, preachy advice-givers mean, when we say: a good writer is just someone who writes every day. It's that easy, and that hard.
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asgoodasd3ad · 4 months
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i am todd anderson
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miumiumanzo · 1 month
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What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly I choose you and me religiously
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hellsbelflowers · 1 year
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crazy how anderperry fics have singlehandedly made me love having brown eyes thank you guys for that :)
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theangrypomeranian · 1 month
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"you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me" feels like something an ex Christian would say to someone who didn't grow up in any kind of religion
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oldguardleatherdog · 1 year
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OLD MACDONALD BOUGHT THE FARM: "Barking and meowing" by students is being banned in a hysterical panic by another ignorant Florida school board. How long are we gonna put up with this insidious nonsense?
I've had it. These nutcases are about to regulate onomatopoeia in elementary school. Don't laugh - it's hiding something ominous, and it's deliberate.
First: If you're in the furry fandom - as I've been for 26 years (longer than the average fur has been alive these days) - TAKE THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY.
If they're actually banning K-12 school age kids from wearing anything animal-themed (yeah, it's that broad) and restricting the sounds they can utter for Christ's sake, you can be sure that the wild-eyed crazeballs chick who runs LibsOfTikTok and singlehandedly caused the wave of library closings over the mere existence of LGBTQ+ characters in books - to the extent that the State of Missouri legislature has defunded the entire statewide public library system! - already has her sights trained on Midwest FurFest, and the lunatics who closed down Boston Children's Hospital with bomb threats are already booking flights to bring the Nazis-with-guns to every furry convention in America by the end of this year, AND IF YOU DON'T GET WITH THE PROGRAM THEY'RE GOING TO BLOW YOUR oWo uWu ASSES OFF!
Enough dicking around, my fellow furballs. You know what to do.
Here's what I posted to Reddit last night - piss-poor metrics for my posts about the Wile E. Coyote anvils over our heads, but my groaners in the r/3amjokes and r/dadjokes subs get 35,000 views. Go figure.
In the meantime, read, heed, and reblog like your life depends on it, because it does:
---
You may laugh at first glance, or shake your head at "Florida again" - but it's a stalking horse for their next milestone: banning student behavior and appearance that to the MAGAs and right-wing nut jobs carries even a *hint* of LGBTQ+, and then - say it with me -
Identifying students who are mature enough to have come out as LGBTQ+ fully or in part (friends, family); those who are known to be "questioning" and on their way to coming out; those who are beginning to identify as other than heterosexual or show "tendencies" or "predelictions", and students too young to be self-aware in those ways but are seen as suspect by teachers and administrators - and then, gradually at first, then quickly and deliberately separating, isolating, and ultimately barring them from access to public education.
Kentucky has said it out loud just this week, clearly, plainly, with no room for ambiguity: "It's time to eliminate 'transes' from our schools."
If you're still on the fence about getting involved with activism and protests to put this movement down for good before it becomes too big to stop - and we still have time to stop it and crush it - do you think they'll stop after just banning kids?
You don't need to have psychic powers or a crystal ball to see what's heading our way. Soon.
You can choose to do nothing - or you can choose to act. One or the other. Simple, plain, clear.
Joni Mitchell once sang, "it all comes down to you," and she was right, of course, but if you listened closely, her meaning was clear then, and applies now - one choice will save you, the other will not.
Only one of these choices has the potential to turn the tide, the clearly visible, quickening, rising tide that's got crazy Jesus in its eyes and a list with your name on it.
I cannot choose for you, of course. No one can.
Last time I looked, this was still a free country.
But if you do not make the right choice - *you*, Constant Stranger, she sang - no one will be able to save you, or us. And the choice is upon us, sooner than we thought, and now.
Time to choose.
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perksofbeingpoet · 28 days
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a thing i really like about the dps fandom is that all people with pictures of the poets as their pfp have to have one of two pictures of that poet. like i share my pfp with a lot of others because this is "i am neil" profile pic option one and then there's the other one where he looks off to the side. same for the "i am todd" pfp options on here. and it's so funny because loads of people have the same pfps but you can still differentiate them by vibe, you're like "oh this is charlie with phone who posts silly memes and this is charlie with phone who posts heartbreak"
i'm very tired and just about to take a nap so i don't know if this makes any sense but the poets who get it get it
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psalmsofpsychosis · 7 months
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there are fic writers writing stories, and then there are darthfett writers, constructing narrative structure that would make Nietzsche almost believe in the inherent goodness of human nature,
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