happy eagles
Jun. 9th, 2025 09:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
This moment (I set it to start when Gizmo flies in) last night was what I was mentioning in my paragraph last night about the eagles. Sunny came to the nest for dinner with her mom and then Gizmo arrived, this was her first time back at the nest since fledging the day before, and then Jackie just sorta takes it in for a minute and then starts those gleeful "chortles". Seems like eagle delight to me but who knows, maybe just projecting. I enjoyed it so much, regardless.
(They both flew off the nest early this morning, all seems well, it's just hard to adjust to not being able to see them whenever I want lol.)
(They both flew off the nest early this morning, all seems well, it's just hard to adjust to not being able to see them whenever I want lol.)
All that skin against the glass
Jun. 9th, 2025 05:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
It would be neither entirely fair nor completely accurate to say that the second season of Andor (2022–25) holocausted too close to the sun for my tolerance, but it got a lot closer than I had thought was possible.
( Nervous, tired, desensitized. )
tl;dr we will be returning to the series once I cool down and the news out of L.A. and D.C. could stop being quite so bleeding-edge at any second. I should decompress with some queer film.
( Nervous, tired, desensitized. )
tl;dr we will be returning to the series once I cool down and the news out of L.A. and D.C. could stop being quite so bleeding-edge at any second. I should decompress with some queer film.
Charles and Kara
Jun. 8th, 2025 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
My friend Kara started a cancer blog when she got her terminal diagnosis, and after she died, her husband kinda took over the blog. His post today was kinda gut-wrenching and I have visited some VERY dark places today too, so I felt compelled to reply, I don't know Charles very well so maybe it was too much but oh well, chronic over-sharer, can't stop won't stop.
I Can Tell You in Just Two Words... but You Won't Like It
Writer: Kara [sic - it's Charles now, her widower]
My iPhone alarm goes off.
As always, Kara is to my right, smiling down at me.
From an 11" x 14" print hanging on the wall.
Light is pouring in through the window. The temperature is supposed to climb into the nineties today. Sunlight makes me want to hide... but the one blanket I’m covered with is making me sweat.
I roll out of bed for my first cup of coffee.
Another morning with no one to say hi to.
Instead, a text on my phone tells me I’m at risk of losing my driving privileges if I don’t pay an outstanding bill for a traffic violation. Report-spam-to-my-wireless-provider time suck: Activate.
Albert Camus in the cloud.
Sisyphus blocking callers, entering verification codes, unsubscribing to email lists, trying not to sneeze during a face ID, clicking on URLs that take him to the same useless FAQ page... his smile is a Face With Tears of Joy emoji.
What is the emoji for the feeling of outlasting? Just... outlasting?
My stomach hurts.
Like a fist twisting tinfoil in a drum full of hot ash.
This will be my twentieth month without her.
Two years ago today, Kara left her immunotherapy treatment in a wheelchair. Foreshadowing of sepsis.
Six years ago next Thursday, I met her in the infusion room for her first chemotherapy appointment.
She gave me a small donut cake to celebrate my forty-eighth birthday. Yep, another year closer to 50. And there I was, spending it in a room I usually only thought about in connection with my grandmothers or my mother.
The chemo drips... the people everywhere in reclining chairs with the same cells going rampant inside them... crazy. With 6.-something hemoglobin in her body, Kara ate some pizza from American Dream down the street.
Now that I think about it, that’s a pretty appropriate name for a power-up source while she sat through her first test of chemical endurance in the pursuit of longer life.
Kara's first chemo, June 12, 2019 [photo of Kara in a sleeveless rocker tank and a box of pizza making a thumb's up]
Next Sunday, she turns 55—old enough to order her first 55+omelette with hash browns and a poached egg from Denny’s.
The real scam isn’t paying off a fake traffic ticket to the DMV, it’s thinking we can control how long we live if we exercise, go to the doctor, etc.
Both of us had lost too many loved ones to go for that BS.
But I won’t rant about that again. Not now.
The big question is: Does this get any easier?
Fuck no.
I see couples holding hands as they walk down the street. Dancing together. Waiting in line at Les Schwab’s.
I see Kara taking her last breaths, one hand in mine, collapsing into herself.
I see Kara scolding me for wearing a clip-on tie and a dickey before we started dating, the two of us still teenage coworkers stocking milk and doing carry-outs at the neighborhood grocery store.
What is the emoji for the feeling of outlasting? Just... outlasting?
Sometimes I think I’m driving around in Hell. But maybe that’s being unfair to Hell. Hell has got to be an improvement over this world. No phone trees, no useless FAQ pages that link to the same non-answers, no verification codes.
A Spotify free trial offer that rejects you. A Domino’s reward that can’t be redeemed. An endlessly going-nowhere, self-perpetuating disappearing act that keeps folding in on the ghosts of the life that fell out from under you.
One of the few things that makes me feel like going on in this spam-scam shit show is talking about Kara with anyone who will listen.
I realized that is why I have been writing on her blog ever since she Sparkled On.
I wish I had something more uplifting to say right now. But I wanted to get something out as the days get hotter and slide into the two-year mark of my wife’s last months on earth.
As Kara used to do, I promise I will have more fun things to say in the future.
I won’t take it personally if you unsubscribe. But hopefully, you found some seeds of deeper truth in something I’ve said here. At the very least, you got this far without being transferred to a nonexistent department.
If you miss Kara like I do, press or say ONE.
That’s all I’ve got for now.
Until next time.
—Charles Austin Muir
Diagnosis
Way Back Machine
Personal Essay
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serafaery
a few seconds ago
I got that same text this morning. Thanks for making me feel less alone, in more ways than one. I miss Kara's magic and think of her often, I am grateful that you are still writing here, keeping this vigil, it helps. She is the sparkliest, her brightness feels just as bright, to me, when I think of her. I turned 50 and six months beforehand my body began to revolt in ways that made it very clear that no amount of kale or high-rev cardio will keep the pain of osteoarthritis from poorly-shaped joints at bay. I don't get to run into my 70s. I don't get to ice skate, run, or rock climb at all anymore, and no amount of healthy habits will change that. It's a tough pill to swallow and most folks aren't ready. Very few understand or can hear me, even doctors. I feel newly awakened, in a kind of nauseating way. I know Kara would understand and hear me in a way very few others ever could. We both had parents who did the best they could but just didn't know how to parent and died too young, I don't have very many friends in that circumstance who aren't deep into their substances - no judgment, people are allowed to cope however they need to. It's just hard to connect with someone through a constant haze of weed or alcohol or whatever. I miss my connection with Kara, she was a singular kind of strong and sweet and funny and I'm so grateful to have been able to shimmer alongside her for a bit, I am better for it. I often feel like I'm slogging through a hellscape too - I have no one who will really miss me when I go, and that makes me sad sometimes (I plan to outlive my spouse but we all know how those kinds of plans go, not really up to me). I really miss her. I imagine she would want you to keep creating. But of course, that's up to you, you know what's right for you better than anyone. I'm so sorry it hurts so much. It all feels very wrong and bad, cancer always feels this way to me, and I have probably said too much, just, I hope you also find some leftover glitter stuck to your skin now and then :)
I Can Tell You in Just Two Words... but You Won't Like It
Writer: Kara [sic - it's Charles now, her widower]
My iPhone alarm goes off.
As always, Kara is to my right, smiling down at me.
From an 11" x 14" print hanging on the wall.
Light is pouring in through the window. The temperature is supposed to climb into the nineties today. Sunlight makes me want to hide... but the one blanket I’m covered with is making me sweat.
I roll out of bed for my first cup of coffee.
Another morning with no one to say hi to.
Instead, a text on my phone tells me I’m at risk of losing my driving privileges if I don’t pay an outstanding bill for a traffic violation. Report-spam-to-my-wireless-provider time suck: Activate.
Albert Camus in the cloud.
Sisyphus blocking callers, entering verification codes, unsubscribing to email lists, trying not to sneeze during a face ID, clicking on URLs that take him to the same useless FAQ page... his smile is a Face With Tears of Joy emoji.
What is the emoji for the feeling of outlasting? Just... outlasting?
My stomach hurts.
Like a fist twisting tinfoil in a drum full of hot ash.
This will be my twentieth month without her.
Two years ago today, Kara left her immunotherapy treatment in a wheelchair. Foreshadowing of sepsis.
Six years ago next Thursday, I met her in the infusion room for her first chemotherapy appointment.
She gave me a small donut cake to celebrate my forty-eighth birthday. Yep, another year closer to 50. And there I was, spending it in a room I usually only thought about in connection with my grandmothers or my mother.
The chemo drips... the people everywhere in reclining chairs with the same cells going rampant inside them... crazy. With 6.-something hemoglobin in her body, Kara ate some pizza from American Dream down the street.
Now that I think about it, that’s a pretty appropriate name for a power-up source while she sat through her first test of chemical endurance in the pursuit of longer life.
Kara's first chemo, June 12, 2019 [photo of Kara in a sleeveless rocker tank and a box of pizza making a thumb's up]
Next Sunday, she turns 55—old enough to order her first 55+omelette with hash browns and a poached egg from Denny’s.
The real scam isn’t paying off a fake traffic ticket to the DMV, it’s thinking we can control how long we live if we exercise, go to the doctor, etc.
Both of us had lost too many loved ones to go for that BS.
But I won’t rant about that again. Not now.
The big question is: Does this get any easier?
Fuck no.
I see couples holding hands as they walk down the street. Dancing together. Waiting in line at Les Schwab’s.
I see Kara taking her last breaths, one hand in mine, collapsing into herself.
I see Kara scolding me for wearing a clip-on tie and a dickey before we started dating, the two of us still teenage coworkers stocking milk and doing carry-outs at the neighborhood grocery store.
What is the emoji for the feeling of outlasting? Just... outlasting?
Sometimes I think I’m driving around in Hell. But maybe that’s being unfair to Hell. Hell has got to be an improvement over this world. No phone trees, no useless FAQ pages that link to the same non-answers, no verification codes.
A Spotify free trial offer that rejects you. A Domino’s reward that can’t be redeemed. An endlessly going-nowhere, self-perpetuating disappearing act that keeps folding in on the ghosts of the life that fell out from under you.
One of the few things that makes me feel like going on in this spam-scam shit show is talking about Kara with anyone who will listen.
I realized that is why I have been writing on her blog ever since she Sparkled On.
I wish I had something more uplifting to say right now. But I wanted to get something out as the days get hotter and slide into the two-year mark of my wife’s last months on earth.
As Kara used to do, I promise I will have more fun things to say in the future.
I won’t take it personally if you unsubscribe. But hopefully, you found some seeds of deeper truth in something I’ve said here. At the very least, you got this far without being transferred to a nonexistent department.
If you miss Kara like I do, press or say ONE.
That’s all I’ve got for now.
Until next time.
—Charles Austin Muir
Diagnosis
Way Back Machine
Personal Essay
9 views
0 comments
4 likes.
Write a comment...
serafaery
a few seconds ago
I got that same text this morning. Thanks for making me feel less alone, in more ways than one. I miss Kara's magic and think of her often, I am grateful that you are still writing here, keeping this vigil, it helps. She is the sparkliest, her brightness feels just as bright, to me, when I think of her. I turned 50 and six months beforehand my body began to revolt in ways that made it very clear that no amount of kale or high-rev cardio will keep the pain of osteoarthritis from poorly-shaped joints at bay. I don't get to run into my 70s. I don't get to ice skate, run, or rock climb at all anymore, and no amount of healthy habits will change that. It's a tough pill to swallow and most folks aren't ready. Very few understand or can hear me, even doctors. I feel newly awakened, in a kind of nauseating way. I know Kara would understand and hear me in a way very few others ever could. We both had parents who did the best they could but just didn't know how to parent and died too young, I don't have very many friends in that circumstance who aren't deep into their substances - no judgment, people are allowed to cope however they need to. It's just hard to connect with someone through a constant haze of weed or alcohol or whatever. I miss my connection with Kara, she was a singular kind of strong and sweet and funny and I'm so grateful to have been able to shimmer alongside her for a bit, I am better for it. I often feel like I'm slogging through a hellscape too - I have no one who will really miss me when I go, and that makes me sad sometimes (I plan to outlive my spouse but we all know how those kinds of plans go, not really up to me). I really miss her. I imagine she would want you to keep creating. But of course, that's up to you, you know what's right for you better than anyone. I'm so sorry it hurts so much. It all feels very wrong and bad, cancer always feels this way to me, and I have probably said too much, just, I hope you also find some leftover glitter stuck to your skin now and then :)
I stay quiet, but I'm seeing ultraviolet
Jun. 8th, 2025 05:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Apparently our particulate pollution levels are officially unhealthy for sensitive groups, which explains not only the light brass tint to the afternoon but the rather massive asthma attack I had instead of sleeping for the entire morning. The day before, I couldn't enjoy the rain because it came with a headache so skull-crunching, I actually sort of passed out from it at a terrible hour to the rest of my schedule. I was under non-joking doctor's orders to rest up this weekend and it has not vaguely happened. I keep being light-headed, ear-ringing, unfocusable. My brain feels like a flickering commodity and I don't like worrying about false flags.
A swiftly turning planet..with people struggling to communicate
Jun. 7th, 2025 08:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
CNN Aired An Exclusive Live Broadcast of the Broadway Play: Good Night and Good Luck - adapted for the stage from the film of the same name. The reason they aired it is made clear upon the airing - at the very end, Edward R Murrow, the CBS News See it Now broadcaster who famously took on McCarthy, during the Black List and McCarthy Hearings, stands front and center in front of a screen displaying multiple screens of the news. He states in a halting speech, enunciating each word, with a slight tremor to his voice, "we've seen what happens when power goes unchecked, that's not the question before us now, the question is - what will you do about it?"
I was thinking as I was watching it live on MAX (I no longer have access to CNN), that evil is like a spider, sitting in the dark corner of the room, smoking a cigar, wih a red top hat and tails smirking. And asking in a whisper of a voice, low and barely audible, "what do you want?" And indicating with a smile - "come into my parlor my dear and I shall give it to you, with a price of course".
It's insidious, and shadows egos. Self-importance. Self-righteousness. Power. Fame. Fortune. Wealth. Beware the righteous, and the self-important, and most of all the arrogant and narcissistic hunting awards and acknowledgment and power.
I don't know what I personally can do to check the power or stop it. I've been pondering it. I can write, I can post, I can draw, I can paint, I can do my job at a public agency. And I can hope people listen.
People aren't very good at listening? Have you noticed that? Too busy thinking about themselves or what they are going to say next or how they'll respond. Too filled up with thoughts to hear...ones that lie outside of their own minds and brains. I tell people a story and they tell me their own back again, and mine....slides off unheard, lost somehow within theirs? The meaning gone. And they tell me theirs and I tell them my own, and it happens all over again from the other side - with their story being lost.
I did social group therapy once - and we were for the most part forced to listen, but everyone tended to flounder at it. Either they'd ask pointed questions, correct the person's choice of words or syntax or speech (which isn't listening by the way - it's judging, and helps no one), interrupt, direct the conversation to themselves, provide advice, try to fix whatever it was, dismiss it as already solved or playing the victim, but seldom did they listen.
And once on a fan discussion board - we fell into a discussion about writing carefully, and I thought - no that's not the problem here or not that alone, we also need to learn how to read carefully. And people don't? Too busy reading quickly, flying through or past the text, to see it clearly let alone truly comprehend it? Now, for example, raise your hand if you just skimmed this passage and oh so many others? Be honest? How many have you skimmed, jumping over words and phrases and reacting to a sentence here or a paragraph there - but not seeing the whole? I know I do. Try a little experiment, if you will? Read just one paragraph of a post, or the unhidden bit. Then take a moment, and read the rest later, has your opinion of it changed?
We live in an age of content overload, and we surf and read and look at so many things simultaneously. Texts fly by. Our memory of them fleeting or garbled. And more often than not - people just read blurbs. If I post something with information below a "cut tag" - how many will read what's below the tag, and just respond to the top of the post? Losing the point of it. Or respond to the post, without reading the comments below? We don't read carefully - and most mistakes are made because of it. They were on the discussion boards. 90% of the arguments online are the result of "miscommunication" or the inability to politely ask for clarification prior to snarking, judging or condemning.
I think the flaw in the human brain is a tendency to assume everyone thinks the same and perceives things the same? When no one does? And well...a failure to communicate as a result?
**
You'll have to excuse me, I'm exhausted. But the weather is shifting, and I'm hurting less all of a sudden - which means the arthritis isn't being pinged by the human weather vane.
I'm also frustrated with my fellow humans. And perhaps with myself and my own limitations. And a touch depressed, no more than a touch, as a result. But hey at least I don't hurt as much as last night. So maybe the back brace is helping?
It's a warm spring evening. The sky has cleared of clouds, and it's sliding towards dark, from twilight. Nine PM on the East Coast. But I can still see puffs of cloud moving slowly across the pale blue sky, lit from within by moonlight. Our swiftly turning planet in the vacuum of space, surrounded by stars and galaxies which far too many of us take for granted as we bumble upon it babbling and gurgling at one another as is our way.

I was thinking as I was watching it live on MAX (I no longer have access to CNN), that evil is like a spider, sitting in the dark corner of the room, smoking a cigar, wih a red top hat and tails smirking. And asking in a whisper of a voice, low and barely audible, "what do you want?" And indicating with a smile - "come into my parlor my dear and I shall give it to you, with a price of course".
It's insidious, and shadows egos. Self-importance. Self-righteousness. Power. Fame. Fortune. Wealth. Beware the righteous, and the self-important, and most of all the arrogant and narcissistic hunting awards and acknowledgment and power.
I don't know what I personally can do to check the power or stop it. I've been pondering it. I can write, I can post, I can draw, I can paint, I can do my job at a public agency. And I can hope people listen.
People aren't very good at listening? Have you noticed that? Too busy thinking about themselves or what they are going to say next or how they'll respond. Too filled up with thoughts to hear...ones that lie outside of their own minds and brains. I tell people a story and they tell me their own back again, and mine....slides off unheard, lost somehow within theirs? The meaning gone. And they tell me theirs and I tell them my own, and it happens all over again from the other side - with their story being lost.
I did social group therapy once - and we were for the most part forced to listen, but everyone tended to flounder at it. Either they'd ask pointed questions, correct the person's choice of words or syntax or speech (which isn't listening by the way - it's judging, and helps no one), interrupt, direct the conversation to themselves, provide advice, try to fix whatever it was, dismiss it as already solved or playing the victim, but seldom did they listen.
And once on a fan discussion board - we fell into a discussion about writing carefully, and I thought - no that's not the problem here or not that alone, we also need to learn how to read carefully. And people don't? Too busy reading quickly, flying through or past the text, to see it clearly let alone truly comprehend it? Now, for example, raise your hand if you just skimmed this passage and oh so many others? Be honest? How many have you skimmed, jumping over words and phrases and reacting to a sentence here or a paragraph there - but not seeing the whole? I know I do. Try a little experiment, if you will? Read just one paragraph of a post, or the unhidden bit. Then take a moment, and read the rest later, has your opinion of it changed?
We live in an age of content overload, and we surf and read and look at so many things simultaneously. Texts fly by. Our memory of them fleeting or garbled. And more often than not - people just read blurbs. If I post something with information below a "cut tag" - how many will read what's below the tag, and just respond to the top of the post? Losing the point of it. Or respond to the post, without reading the comments below? We don't read carefully - and most mistakes are made because of it. They were on the discussion boards. 90% of the arguments online are the result of "miscommunication" or the inability to politely ask for clarification prior to snarking, judging or condemning.
I think the flaw in the human brain is a tendency to assume everyone thinks the same and perceives things the same? When no one does? And well...a failure to communicate as a result?
**
You'll have to excuse me, I'm exhausted. But the weather is shifting, and I'm hurting less all of a sudden - which means the arthritis isn't being pinged by the human weather vane.
I'm also frustrated with my fellow humans. And perhaps with myself and my own limitations. And a touch depressed, no more than a touch, as a result. But hey at least I don't hurt as much as last night. So maybe the back brace is helping?
It's a warm spring evening. The sky has cleared of clouds, and it's sliding towards dark, from twilight. Nine PM on the East Coast. But I can still see puffs of cloud moving slowly across the pale blue sky, lit from within by moonlight. Our swiftly turning planet in the vacuum of space, surrounded by stars and galaxies which far too many of us take for granted as we bumble upon it babbling and gurgling at one another as is our way.

Anyone want some good news?
Jun. 7th, 2025 11:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Snagged from various places, mainly svgurl: 72 questions to ask a fan
(She says fangirl - but I just took Gender Identity Training (web module) this week and it kind of goes against the grain to use gender exclusive as opposed to gender inclusive language at the moment.)
Also, the Good News Report...
As always, good news is often in the eye of the beholder, but hopefully something makes you smile, outside of the link to the fan questions. Which I may or may not try to answer at a later date. I'm weirdly private about my fandoms.
1.Breakthrough in search for HIV cure leaves researchers ‘overwhelmed’
Exclusive: Melbourne team demonstrates way to make the virus visible within white blood cells, paving the way to fully clear it from the body.
Via the Guardian
"Exclusive: Melbourne team demonstrates way to make the virus visible within white blood cells, paving the way to fully clear it from the body."
2. Newark Mayor Ras Baraka sues Alina Habba, alleging ‘false arrest and malicious prosecution’. Alina Habba's criminal case against Ras Baraka collapsed quickly. Now, the tables have turned, and the Newark mayor is suing the prosecutor.
Via Democracy Docket
3.Judge says some migrants sent to an El Salvador prison must have a chance to challenge their detention. A federal judge ordered the Trump administration to provide hundreds of migrants sent to CECOT, a maximum-security prison in El Salvador, the opportunity to challenge their detention and removal. The ruling is related to deportations ordered under the Alien Enemies Act.
Via NBC News
This doesn't apply to Kilmar Abrego Garcia, the Salvadoran man whose deportation became a focal point of Democratic resistance to Trump's immigration policies.
4. The Trump regime has returned a Guatemalan man who was improperly deported to Mexico, obeying a federal judge’s order.
Via Politico
5. More than a century after the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921, one of the most horrific episodes of racial violence in U.S. history, the city’s mayor announced a $105 million reparations package on Sunday. It is the first large-scale plan committing funds to address the impact of the atrocity. Tulsa Mayor Monroe Nichols on Sunday unveiled a $105 million reparations plan for the descendants of the Tulsa race massacre — the deadly 1921 attack by a white mob on a Black neighborhood.
ABC News
Via NY Times
( the rest )

(She says fangirl - but I just took Gender Identity Training (web module) this week and it kind of goes against the grain to use gender exclusive as opposed to gender inclusive language at the moment.)
Also, the Good News Report...
As always, good news is often in the eye of the beholder, but hopefully something makes you smile, outside of the link to the fan questions. Which I may or may not try to answer at a later date. I'm weirdly private about my fandoms.
1.Breakthrough in search for HIV cure leaves researchers ‘overwhelmed’
Exclusive: Melbourne team demonstrates way to make the virus visible within white blood cells, paving the way to fully clear it from the body.
Via the Guardian
"Exclusive: Melbourne team demonstrates way to make the virus visible within white blood cells, paving the way to fully clear it from the body."
2. Newark Mayor Ras Baraka sues Alina Habba, alleging ‘false arrest and malicious prosecution’. Alina Habba's criminal case against Ras Baraka collapsed quickly. Now, the tables have turned, and the Newark mayor is suing the prosecutor.
Via Democracy Docket
3.Judge says some migrants sent to an El Salvador prison must have a chance to challenge their detention. A federal judge ordered the Trump administration to provide hundreds of migrants sent to CECOT, a maximum-security prison in El Salvador, the opportunity to challenge their detention and removal. The ruling is related to deportations ordered under the Alien Enemies Act.
Via NBC News
This doesn't apply to Kilmar Abrego Garcia, the Salvadoran man whose deportation became a focal point of Democratic resistance to Trump's immigration policies.
4. The Trump regime has returned a Guatemalan man who was improperly deported to Mexico, obeying a federal judge’s order.
Via Politico
5. More than a century after the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921, one of the most horrific episodes of racial violence in U.S. history, the city’s mayor announced a $105 million reparations package on Sunday. It is the first large-scale plan committing funds to address the impact of the atrocity. Tulsa Mayor Monroe Nichols on Sunday unveiled a $105 million reparations plan for the descendants of the Tulsa race massacre — the deadly 1921 attack by a white mob on a Black neighborhood.
ABC News
Via NY Times
( the rest )

It's morphogenesis
Jun. 7th, 2025 06:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
For the seventy-first yahrzeit of Alan Turing, I have been listening to selections from the galaxy-brained fusion of Michael Vegas Mussmann and Payton Millet's Alan Turing and the Queen of the Night (2025) as well as the glitterqueer mad science of Kele Fleming's "Turing Test" (2024). Every year I discover new art in his memory, like Frank Duffy's A lion for Alan Turing (2023). Lately I treasure it like spite. The best would be countries doing better by their queer and trans living than their honored and unnecessary dead.
Daily Grateful
Jun. 7th, 2025 01:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Grateful! For delightful surprise destinations. For having paid in advance. For lemon-flavoured drinks.
(no subject)
Jun. 7th, 2025 06:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I've spent almost the entire night doing a chunk of a first pass editing readthrough of Clementine, which has been surprisingly good for my brain, but it's interesting that there is a CLEAR point at which the quality drops off. Curious about what's caused that.
Finally, time to write the book on you
Jun. 6th, 2025 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
As it turns out, what goes on with my hand is that it's going to have arthritis, but with any luck on the same glacial timeline as the kind that runs in my family, and in the meantime I have been referred back to OT. Maybe there will be more paraffin.
My parents as an unnecessary gift for taking care of the plants while they were out of town—mostly watering a lot of things in pots and digging the black swallow-wort out of the irises—gave me Eddie Muller's Dark City Dames: The Women Who Defined Film Noir (2001/2025), which not only fits the theme of this year's Noir City: Boston, but contains such useful gems as:
One of the most common, if wrong-headed, criticisms of film noir is that it relegates women to simplistic archetypes, making them Pollyannas or femmes fatales, drippy good girls or sinister sexpots. People who believe this nonsense have never seen a noir starring Ella Raines.
Ella Raines is indeed all that and a drum solo on top, but she is not a unique occurrence and I can only hope that people who have not been paying attention to Karen Burroughs Hannsberry or Imogen Sara Smith will listen to the Czar of Noir when he writes about its complicated women, because I am never going to have the platform to get this fact through people's heads and I am never going to let up on it, either.
Anyway, I learned a new vocabulary word.
My parents as an unnecessary gift for taking care of the plants while they were out of town—mostly watering a lot of things in pots and digging the black swallow-wort out of the irises—gave me Eddie Muller's Dark City Dames: The Women Who Defined Film Noir (2001/2025), which not only fits the theme of this year's Noir City: Boston, but contains such useful gems as:
One of the most common, if wrong-headed, criticisms of film noir is that it relegates women to simplistic archetypes, making them Pollyannas or femmes fatales, drippy good girls or sinister sexpots. People who believe this nonsense have never seen a noir starring Ella Raines.
Ella Raines is indeed all that and a drum solo on top, but she is not a unique occurrence and I can only hope that people who have not been paying attention to Karen Burroughs Hannsberry or Imogen Sara Smith will listen to the Czar of Noir when he writes about its complicated women, because I am never going to have the platform to get this fact through people's heads and I am never going to let up on it, either.
Anyway, I learned a new vocabulary word.
On Fortuna's wheel, I'm running
Jun. 5th, 2025 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
As my day centrally involved a very long-awaited referral finally coming through and foundering immediately on the shoals of the American healthcare system, it wasn't a very good one. The CDC called for my opinions on vaccination which it turned out I was not permitted to state for the record without a minor child in the house. Because the call was recorded for quality assurance, I said just in case that I had children in my life if not my legal residence and I supported their vaccination so as to protect them from otherwise life-threatening communicable diseases and did not express my opinion of the incumbent secretary of health and human services and his purity of essence. I got hung up on before I could tell my family stories from before the polio vaccine and the MMR.
Of course the man in the White House used the Boulder attack to justify his latest travel ban. Burned Jews are good for his business. I appreciate this op-ed from Eric K. Ward. I hope it reaches anyone it's meant to. I thought I was jaundiced about people and now I think I'm just in liver failure.
It would never have occurred to me that a video for Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer" (1977) should have anything to do with psychological realism, but Saoirse Ronan seems to have had a great time with it.
Of course the man in the White House used the Boulder attack to justify his latest travel ban. Burned Jews are good for his business. I appreciate this op-ed from Eric K. Ward. I hope it reaches anyone it's meant to. I thought I was jaundiced about people and now I think I'm just in liver failure.
It would never have occurred to me that a video for Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer" (1977) should have anything to do with psychological realism, but Saoirse Ronan seems to have had a great time with it.
I know it made your head spin, what we did with money
Jun. 4th, 2025 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
Thanks to the Canadian wildfires, our sunset light is Pompeiian red, by which I mean mostly the cinnabar and heat-treated smolder of the pigment, but also the implication of volcano.
Because my day was scrambled by a canceled appointment, after I had made a lot of phone calls
spatch took me for soft-serve ice cream in the late afternoon, and once home I walked out to photograph some poppies I had seen from the car.
( Did you love mimesis? )
I can't help feeling that last night's primary dream emerged from a fender-bender in the art-horror 1970's because once the photographer who had done his aggressive and insistently off-base best to involve me in a blackmail scandal had killed himself, all of a sudden the hotel where I had been attending a convention with my husbands had a supernatural problem. Waking in the twenty-first century, I appreciate it could be solved eventually with post-mortem mediation rather than exorcistic violence, but it feels like yet another subgenre intruding that the psychopomp for the job was a WWI German POW.
Because my day was scrambled by a canceled appointment, after I had made a lot of phone calls
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
( Did you love mimesis? )
I can't help feeling that last night's primary dream emerged from a fender-bender in the art-horror 1970's because once the photographer who had done his aggressive and insistently off-base best to involve me in a blackmail scandal had killed himself, all of a sudden the hotel where I had been attending a convention with my husbands had a supernatural problem. Waking in the twenty-first century, I appreciate it could be solved eventually with post-mortem mediation rather than exorcistic violence, but it feels like yet another subgenre intruding that the psychopomp for the job was a WWI German POW.