i know you said that in your fic that jeremy is 100% human, but maybe if he did have some connection to a deity of the moon or the water, he would have powers (sorta)? maybe he could control tides (or just water in general) and inspire dreams? i also imagine that he would have a really nice singing voice that could put you to sleep because the moon is really calming? sorry i'm just rambling now but i think moon!jeremy would be pretty cool
omg anon wtf these r so cool!! now i cant stop thinking about this either!! moon!jeremy can control the water but only a lil bit. im so so so in love with the dream powers. nobody notices, but their dreams are always calm and bright when jeremy is around. the possibilities for this are endless, and i kinda love the concept of this esp if jeremy himself doesnt know.
an idea i just got is what if jeremy just…subtly attracted moon-related supernaturals. rich is a werewolf and he has no idea why he always feels safe with jeremy around, but hes been friends with jeremy long enough not to question it. michael, of course, just has his head in his hands all the time because his best friend is funny and caring and sincere, but theres also something else inside of him, an age old voice that sounds like it’s speaking through time and teeth and water that keeps saying very unhelpful things like gorgeous beautiful stunning.
concept: local werewolves give jeremy secret admirer gifts. in the background, local bakunawa boy resists urge to growl.
The KGB Bar off 2nd Avenue in New York’s East Village was a gathering place for the Ukrainian Communist Party, which explains the curious décor but not the frequent readings.
Red is evoked by the longest wavelengths of light discernible to the human eye. Red is long; long and slow. The curtains in the KGB Bar are not so much red as a history of red.
“Podium,” from the Latin, often confused with “lectern.” One stands on a podium. One leans one’s elbows or sets one’s beer, beaded with condensation, on the lectern.
In ventriloquism, the speaker’s voice seems to come from elsewhere. This doesn’t explain why he called his poem “The Ventriloquist.” Maybe something about the poet and the reader, but I don’t like trickery, anyway.
We associate red with heat, energy, and blood, and with emotions associated with heat, energy, and blood—such as anger or love. Ezra Pound makes his ideogram of “red” with four signifiers: rose, cherry, iron rust, flamingo. I would use: bark, blood, cardinal, sex. Sex because, like red, it occurs in long, slow waves.
You sat next to me, though I didn’t know you at the time. It was red, dark and red, and there was so much smoke you could see the air moving around people as they moved.
I love words that can inhabit more than one part of speech, as in a match or to match. The phosphorous smell of a just-lit match. Enough light for two faces to share.
Wallace Stegner’s comment about art as the communication of insight appears in various incarnations in his work, but my favorite is in Angle of Repose. You acted surprised that I had such a thought. I took it as a compliment at the time.
In Plato’s Symposium, Diotima tells Socrates how to experience the ideal form of beauty through love. From our desire to possess one body, we sense eternity.
An “angle of repose” is the slope at which granular materials come to rest at, say, the base of a sheer rock face. In Utah, owing to iron rust, the rocks are often red. The process is long, and slow.
As with “match,” one can be patient, or one can be a patient. I have been both, but never at the same time.
Veselka is a Ukrainian diner in the East Village, near St. Mark’s Church. Very good pierogi. Many of the customers have chic glasses, cases for musical instruments, and dirty hair. I like to sit at the counter.
Sake is produced by multiple fermentations of rice. Sometimes it tastes like heavy moonlight, sometimes it tastes like a neon sign that’s just been turned off. In Japan, sake is drunk from small cups called choku. In certain friends’ Lower East Side apartments in December, it is heated in a microwave and drunk from chipped coffee mugs that say things like “Happy Secretary’s Day” and “#1 Dad,” even though the person who lives there is neither a secretary nor a dad.
Feeling is a way of knowing what you’re going to think about something. Example: I felt the thought, I could want you. Emotion as premonition. It is a mystery. It is the ideal form of beauty.
you know what makes this so great to me? generally we suck at polls. like, I think everyone knows that has not been the strong suit of the bellarke fam (not saying those are the only people who were voting for bob, but I know a lot us were) and we’re usually knocked out like right away. And I assume that part of the reason we were underestimated in this poll is because we have a history of failing at them.
but do you know what that says to me?
bellarke fam might not turn out for polls about what fictional character is the best or who has the best ship (all these arbitrary fictional things), but you put a real person who we love in the line of fire and we’ll come for you.
And all at once it hits me. It’s September. Next month I’m having a baby. This is my last month at work (I may work a little into next month, depending on how I feel and how Sprout is going). Next month I become a mother.
This month is going to fly by. I had to get a calendar to write everything in so I wouldn’t forget as I have so many appointments. These last 8 months have been fabulous and I have so enjoyed being pregnant, and while I am going to miss the experience I cannot wait to meet this little Princess.