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On this day in music history: November 12, 1984 - “Hatful Of Hollow” by The Smiths is released. Produced by John Porter, The Smiths, Roger Pusey and Dale “Buffin” Griffin it is recorded at BBC Radio 1 and Jam Studios in London from Spring 1983 - Summer 1984. The bands’ first compilation album, it is issued just seven months after their debut release. The album compiles single A and B-sides released in the UK, and contains several tracks recorded BBC Radio 1 originally broadcast on shows by DJ’s John Peel and David Jensen. The track “How Soon Is Now?” originally issued as a B-side in the UK is reissued in both the UK and US as a separate A-side in 1985. In spite of its UK success, the album is not released in the US until 1993. Also in 1993, a limited editon vinyl pressing of the album, pressed on two 10" discs is issued in the UK and Europe. “How Soon” is added to US edition of the bands’ second studio album “Meat Is Murder” in 1985. “Hollow” is remastered and reissued on CD and as a 180 gram vinyl LP in 2011. “Hatful Of Hollow” peaks at number seven on the UK album chart.

Canal Rocks, Yallingup.

The image below is of a stunning granite outcrop, “Canal Rocks” located in the Maragret River region of WA. Located around 3 hours south of Perth, it forms part of the Leeuwin-Naturaliste National Park.

The rocks extend out into the ocean, and the force of the waves have hollowed out a natural canal. A bridge has been constructed across the the smallest part, allowing visitors to gain the best view of the rocks.

-LL

Image: Frances Andrijich

some mistake, part 2

Thanks so much to everyone who’s been reading so far! I feel a little guilty since I know I won’t be finishing this any time soon, but anyhow, here’s some more anyway. Same general story warnings still apply (though none are really relevant for this section).



Derek makes it through another two weeks of school before it all gets to be too much again. He’s sitting in his room on a Saturday afternoon after practice, staring out the window at the treeline trying not to remember all the little needling comments that have been weighing him down all week. Even practice hadn’t really helped to lift his spirits and now he’s stuck in a post-lunch haze with nothing to do but his history assignment that’s already 80% done and not due til Tuesday. His parents aren’t going to call until after dinner, and he could go hang out with guys from the team but he’s in that weird kind of state where all he wants to do is mope near someone who cares enough to sit quietly with him and won’t ask any questions.

A cloud of birds unfurls from the forest canopy like smog over the sky, scattering in all directions, which is suspicious ‘cause he doesn’t remember seeing a single bird while in there. Nor hearing any, either. There’s nothing in the woods besides Dex. It’s the weekend - might he be in the woods again?  He’d been pretty strange, but it’d been a welcome change from everyone on campus trapped in the same schedule and classes as Derek. And he seems like the type who wouldn’t mind Derek hanging around silently reading his book while he chops wood or goes fishing or whatever. But the forest is spread out over a substantial chunk of land, so they might not even see each other even if Derek goes looking. However, he has nothing better to do and there’s only one way to find out.

He’s more prepared this time, taking a small bag with him with some essentials: water bottle, compass, energy bar, flashlight. He leaves a note for his roommate to tell him he’s gone to the woods just in case he straight up dies for whatever reason and his parents descend on the school to demand answers.

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anonymous asked:

can i please have a crack-shippy fic where everybody is in love with the wrong people.

OMG. OMG. THIS PERSON. THIS PERSON GETS IT. Fuck yes you may have your fic and all my money besides


Lumiere’s legs ache, but it’s a fantastic ache—the ache of being out in summer, hiking through the woods, air on his face when for just a second there he thought he’d never have a face again. He breathes, deeply, almost too deeply—and oh, his muscles hurt.

“You might have thought not to wear heels,” teases Plumette, gently, just behind him.

Cherie, you yourself are wearing heels,” says Lumiere. She laughs and raises her skirts so he can see them. Truly scandalous! And oh so pretty. Their laughter can be heard through the forest as he chases her off the path.

Behind them by a few yards, Cogsworth sighs and raises his eyes to the heavens. Lovers in summer, eh? He cannot remember ever having been this way himself: annoying, grasping for physical attention, all flirt and kiss and nonsense, utter nonsense. He groans and puffs and leans against a tree.

“They all do it, Mr. Cogsworth,” says Mrs. Potts, walking just behind him. “Let them have their fun. Summer was made for lovers such as them.”

“And normal people such as us?” says Cogsworth. “What of us? You have Mr. Potts, I have…..hmph, I have Clothilde. Summer should belong to us, too.”

Mrs. Potts smiles. Far down the path—lagging far behind the older members of the party—Cadenza and Garderobe cling to each other, arm in arm, taking their time and hiking only in between the kisses and hugs. Cogsworth groans again and keeps on walking.

Mon ami! Cogsworth! Down here!”

The party follow the sound of Lumiere’s voice, off the beaten trail and down into a hollow. Cogsworth waves as he sees his friend and Plumette practically dancing in front of a fallen tree.

“Don’t you see?” yells Plumette. “It’s a tree-house! Someone has made a home beneath the tree!”

It’s true: the upturned roots of the tree form the roof of a home, a charming one strewed with blankets and baskets of herbs. Just outside the shelter stands a cauldron, bubbling over flame; this last intrigues Lumiere very much, who stands over it with a spoon.

“You must come try this at once,” he insists. “Marjoram! I haven’t tasted it in years. Ooh, and something else as well—” He sips from the cauldron and concentrates. Plumette, beside him, laughs and eats as well.

“Lumiere! We are trespassing, we cannot just help ourselves to someone’s dinner—”

“Relax, mon ami,” and Lumiere cuts Cogsworth off by forcing a spoonful to his lips. “When our enchanting host returns, we will share our picnic with him. The master will be along with it shortly, no? Cadenza—you are a man of taste—taste marjoram and see what you think.”

While the musicians smile and sup, Mrs. Potts feels an ache deep within her. This is no muscle spasm—though she certainly had enough of those while hiking this deep into the woods—no, this is unease. She looks into the hovel of the tree, and sees roses pinned against the roots, and an owl perched upon a chair; magic, she thinks, magic, and her stomach turns over.

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I think the saddest part of where I am in my life now, what I’m feeling, is that I know I’m better, but I’m still not okay.
I don’t think about hurting myself as much as I did 7 months ago. But I did today. I thought about it for a while. I was angry, I was boiling with frustration and hurt and it took every piece of me to not go directly to the desk drawer where I still hide my blades. Something held me back, maybe it was just my own conscious telling me I’d regret it later.
I’ve accepted the decisions people have made to hurt me. I’ve learned it wasn’t my fault they left how they did. Whether or not these people meant to hurt me, they did. The pain was deep, it absolutely consumed me, but simultaneously made me feel hollow. I went through waves of hurt and healing. It doesn’t hurt to talk about anymore. But sometimes a certain song comes on or I catch a breathe of nostalgia in a moment, and it stings. Just for a moment.
I hate the cluster fuck of words that spills out of my mouth when someone asks me how I’m doing. How am I doing, really? I reply with a combination of “fine”, “okay”, “alright”, and sometimes “good”. None of those say happy below the surface. I’m starting to think I forget what it means; happy.
I know I’ll get to that place one day. At the end of all of these back roads and alleyways in life, there are pit stops of happiness but also plenty of rough terrain. I just want to fucking get there. I’m sick of just having happy moments. I want to feel it wholeheartedly, purely, all over,

I want my happiness to radiate so brightly it can’t be ignored.

—  please let me get there soon
Libra Moon Waves 🌊

As a Libra Moon, you often feel/experience waves of:

-insecurity
-self-doubt
-envy
-boredom
-loneliness
-melancholy
-bitterness
-loss of appetite
-loss of motivation
-loss of sympathy or empathy
-loss of will to exist
-loss of sense of time
-out of control
-out of touch with reality
-indecisiveness
-exhaustion
-tired of compromising
-ignored
-used
-unwanted
-unloved
-anxious about the future
-overly worried about the effects of your actions
-resentful
-hollow
-incomplete

“But of course everything presses forward, even as we dig our feet against the reality of it all. One event tumbles from the next out of our control and we are dragged along, helpless.

That’s why I force myself to raise my eyes, to take that step and to face what’s happened. Even though I know more clearly than I’ve known anything else that what I’m about to see will break me.”

- Carrie Ryan, The Dead Tossed Waves