It’s time for our yearly census! World Government is asking all whom identify as a Night Vale Resident to reblog this! This research will help make wonderful happenings in our lovely town. World Government thanks you for your cooperation!
Do you remember when we met in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless, and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing you, when we were young, and blushed with youth like bruised fruit. Did we care then what our neighbors did in the dark?
She was never yours. In life you understood. But mourning renders truth unreachable. Lost are they who, forgetting there’s no good will come from following the lunar pull of grief, descend into its depths and call that love. Your first step held your last. Make no mistake: hope left when first you…
My little brother got into outer space and stuff so my step-mom bought him a place mat with all the planets on it. When I first saw it, I was upset, because it was newer and so Pluto wasn’t labeled. I was about to say something when I noticed something…
“Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath escapes your lips when you are touched. How your eyes close and your jaw tightens with concentration as you give pleasure a home. These thoughts are saving a life somewhere right now. In some airless apartment on a dark, urine stained, whore lined street, someone is calling out to you silently and you are answering without even being there. So crystalline. So pure. Such life saving power when you smile. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds. So sad that we will never touch. How it hurts me to know that I will never be able to give you everything I have”—Henry Rollins (via ziemuffinman)
Everyone loves a story. Let’s begin with a house.
We can fill it with careful rooms and fill the rooms
with things—tables, chairs, cupboards, drawers
closed to hide tiny beds where children once slept
or big drawers that yawn open to reveal
precisely folded garments washed half to death,
unsoiled, stale, and waiting to be worn out.
There must be a kitchen, and the kitchen
must have a stove, perhaps a big iron one
with a fat black pipe that vanishes into the ceiling
to reach the sky and exhale its smells and collusions.
This was the center of whatever family life
was here, this and the sink gone yellow
around the drain where the water, dirty or pure,
ran off with no explanation, somehow like the point
of this, the story we promised and may yet deliver.
Make no mistake, a family was here. You see
the path worn into the linoleum where the wood,
gray and certainly pine, shows through.
Father stood there in the middle of his life
to call to the heavens he imagined above the roof
must surely be listening. When no one answered
you can see where his heel came down again
and again, even though he’d been taught
never to demand. Not that life was especially cruel;
they had well water they pumped at first,
a stove that gave heat, a mother who stood
at the sink at all hours and gazed longingly
to where the woods once held the voices
of small bears—themselves a family—and the songs
of birds long fled once the deep woods surrendered
one tree at a time after the workmen arrived
with jugs of hot coffee. The worn spot on the sill
is where Mother rested her head when no one saw,
those two stained ridges were handholds
she relied on; they never let her down.
Where is she now? You think you have a right
to know everything? The children tiny enough
to inhabit cupboards, large enough to have rooms
of their own and to abandon them, the father
with his right hand raised against the sky?
If those questions are too personal, then tell us,
where are the woods? They had to have been
because the continent was clothed in trees.
We all read that in school and knew it to be true.
Yet all we see are houses, rows and rows
of houses as far as sight, and where sight vanishes
into nothing, into the new world no one has seen,
there has to be more than dust, wind-borne particles
of burning earth, the earth we lost, and nothing else.
i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
“Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.”—Rainer Marie Rilke
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
I decided on this writing gig at the age of eight when I realized all I wanted in life was to craft something so beautiful that it makes someone cry. This has not changed one bit in the twenty-two years since then. I want to make people feel. I want to make people react. I want to change the world.
I have always been the person who reads the news and cries. I take everything to heart, waving my arms around and screaming, “This. Why is this acceptable to you? Don’t you see what’s going on around you?!” You feel this enough times a day that you wonder if anyone is even listening anymore. You become numb. You avoid things that make your heart break. You stop getting outraged in a crowd.
But I’m still outraged. I get in the car with my husband and I rage about Rush Limbaugh and the country trying to tell me that they have a right to probe me. I rage about the sick poor. I rage, and I cry. It is too much for one person to tackle. I give my money when I have it, but really it’s never enough. My outrage only takes me so far.
Reading the above article (You read it, right? You skimmed it? Go back and read it. I didn’t post it just to use up space.) something clicked. I pulled back and looked at the desk where I occupy my days. If I want to use what I’ve got to make a difference why the hell am I sitting here slowly editing? I’m one of the lucky few that works at a non-profit with a message I believe in, but even that chafes on days when all I want to make my own mark on the world.
It’s time for the artists of the world to stand up and use their voice for something more. Make things with a message. Stand up for what you believe in, even if it conflicts with someone else’s idea of truth. Dig deep. Figure out the whys of what you believe and put them into something you can share with the world. Use your voice. Fight.
Yesterday was the husband’s birthday. We celebrated all day and then ended the evening getting him uproariously drunk. I barely had anything but still woke up with a headache. How is that fair? Anyway, that translates to mean that today we have done nothing constructive. Until about an hour ago.
We went grocery shopping (I needed cookies for a meeting at work, but still. Yay us!), I had a sensible dinner, and then did a 20/10 on the frightening kitchen that has been let go for a week. Normally the husband, as the one who stays home, keeps the house in shape. He’s been doing things at his parents’ house this week so he hasn’t been able to work on the house as normal. I’ve been working late pretty often this week, so I didn’t get to it. Tonight that had to change.
I just did two 20/10s in the kitchen. It is now pretty to look at, even though there is still plenty to do. I’m good with where it is for today, though. Tomorrow is another super long work night so it might only get one 20/10, but you know what? That’s still something. In 40 minutes I cleaned out the fridge of food that needed to go. I did all the dishes, ran the dishwasher. I scrubbed down the sink and the surfaces. I started scrubbing the microwave. I took the trash out. These sound like little things, but I could cook in this kitchen if I wanted. That seems like such a small thing, but two weeks ago it wouldn’t have been.
I owe so much to UFYH. My house has never been cleaner.
We wrapped up the big ceramics show today. I will no longer be chained to my desk by calls from artists or running to the gallery with messages. This pleases me to no end, but it has definitely made me exhausted. When I got out of work today I didn’t want to do anything ever again. It was a struggle to make myself go to target. I needed hair dye and conditioner plus other sundry things for the husband’s birthday tomorrow. While there I decided I deserved a little reward for my hard work the last month. Observe my now gorgeous nails.
I also made myself go to the gym and do Misson 3 from the ZombiesRun app. Now that I’m home I’m really glad that I went. It’s made me want to organize the pantry a little bit. I think I’ll start with the tea cabinet.
Everyone knows those days where everything just falls apart? You blink and suddenly you have NO TIME FOR ANYTHING EVER OHMYGODABANDONSHIP. That was my Tuesday, due mostly to a gallery opening I had to attend with the husband. (Note: What the hell is my life that this is a thing?) It was shoved right in the middle of my evening. I didn’t have time to make dinner so there was fast food, which these days feels like cheating. In the unfucking of life, getting rid of that is important business. It is something we will start working on shortly. After the gallery opening the inlaws wanted to go to dinner, but we had to bow out. One, I had already eaten dinner and was not hungry. Two, it was a running night and because we have plans tonight I couldn’t put it off.
I had three hours to get to the gym, write, edit a chapter, dismantle a chicken, walk the dog, and find some decompression time in there.
I did the gym. I did the writing. I deconstructed a chicken.
Only to remember that we had the wine tasting with the inlaws tonight so dinner prep was no longer necessary. At that point I was done. I said “Fuck this noise.” And I went to bed with a book.
I have probably an hour of at home time tonight before we head to dinner. We will most likely get home just before midnight, because when my inlaws do dinner they go ALL THE WAY. Four hours is the average. I don’t know how they do it. I will get home, shower, and fall in to bed. There will be no 20/10 tonight most likely. Maybe. I’m hopeful. I have to do my nails (you do not show up to dinner with my mother in law not looking 100%) and write the words. That will take up the chunk of my evening before dinner.
I hate how this sounds like a bucket of excuses. I promise if there is time I’ll do one. Now to home. Sigh.
There was no post here yesterday, but that’s because I was so busy being awesome. After a lovely brunch with a friend and her husband I not only took my car to the car wash, I vacuumed it out. There is still a lot of corgi fur, but that stuff clings to every surface it can. I’ve decided to brush the upholstery like I would the dog. We’ll see how that goes.
While vacuuming I saw just how appalling my car has gotten. I thought about it and realized I hadn’t detailed my car in years. I’ve vacuumed it out, to get rid of fur innumerable times, but I can’t say I remember the last time I cleaned all the vinyl and dohickies (a technical word if ever there was one.) I went to an auto store, got the vinyl cleaning cloths as well as protectant cloths and got to work. Now all I need to do is spot clean the upholstery somehow. I’ll be researching that shortly.
After that I went to the gym like A BOSS. This is due, in no small part, to https://www.zombiesrungame.com/. I was a kickstarter backer so I got the game early, but I do believe it’s gone live today. After a run through (heh) I have to say I’m very impressed with it and am looking forward to Tuesday’s run to do the next mission. Project Unfuck My Life is well into the swing of things.
It seems the feeling of doom that settled onto me at some point in the afternoon was in reference to iTunes destroying all of my hard playlist work. I worked on that for an hour, did my writing, made dinner. The usual things. There was no 20/10 for today, but at least the dog got a decent walk in. Tomorrow will be better. I hope.
It’s a busy Saturday for me. I’m going baby shower shopping with a friend and then I have girl’s night out. (That makes me sound like a suburban housewife…) This translates to very little cleaning time. I did an hour of scrubbing on the fridge last night, and it has at least another hour before it’s done. There’d be pictures, but… well… it was too embarrassing for there to be photo evidence. Knowing I had a full day today I decided that one 20/10 session was more than adequate and got to work picking stuff up around the house.
This is what I ended up with:
I cleared my kitchen table off. For the people who have been to my home when there isn’t a party or something know how shocking this is for an average day. It ends up the repository for everything as we come in through the back door. I put away all the placemats and napkins, little used in this house, and laid out actual settings for us. We had lunch there a little while ago and it was lovely to sit at the table like adults. The table is so shiny because once I cleared it off I noticed there were some sad marks on it and it needed to be oiled.
After the table I still had ten minutes. Ten minutes?!?! I did all of that in ten minutes?! I took up some of the things that were on the table to be stored in the study closet (where all strange things live) and then tackled some of the bedroom.
This is what I ended up with.
I made the husband’s side of the bed because his idea of making the bed is to just throw the blanket over and walk away. What you’re not seeing are all of the clean clothes hanging off of the frame of our four poster. You can’t see them because they’re in the closet where they’re supposed to be. I know. It’s shocking. That sense of awe you’re feeling is perfectly normal. I took things downstairs that needed to be in the kitchen. I threw things away.
The pets don’t know what to do with me, especially my corgi. He keeps grabbing his chewy and standing on the landing of the stairs, waiting for me to go back to bed. I have trained my dog to think that if I am home we are in bed. This makes me uncomfortable and a little sad. (In my pseudo defense, the xbox is set up on the bedroom tv so we spend a lot of time in bed playing or reading.)