irish book

“Fairies with gossamer wings,
Bring forth beauty, grace and joyful things.
Fairies of the earth are caretakers of our soil, water and trees,
They watch over beautiful creatures such as bears, bunnies and bees.
Fairies ask that you breathe in and appreciate the vantage point from which you stand,
Then trod carefully and respectfully with each intentional step you make across this beautiful land.”

I once got into a grudging Nice Off with a neighbour.  This crotchety old bastard had moved in across from my grandma and within a week became legendary for his sniping about every tiny thing.  Kids sitting on their front steps weren’t respectful.  Someone’s cat got into his yard.  The mailman stopped in front of his parking space for two seconds.  The man was impossible.

So I baked him a cake.  Not like a Duncan Hines box cake either.  I made an angel food cake with whipped cream and strawberries between the layers and lemon buttercream frosting entirely from scratch.  I was and still am crap at cake decorating, but pale yellow frosting with star shaped sprinkles on top looks pretty good no matter how uncoordinated you are.  Then I put on my nicest clothes, marched over, and apologised for not welcoming him to the neighbourhood sooner.

He slammed the door in my face.  Then the next day he came over with cookies.  I offered to mow his lawn.  He told me he wouldn’t pay me then invited me in for lemonade.  I took him cupcakes I had “accidentally” made too many of.  He loaned me a book on Irish history.  I read him the newspaper.  He (rudely) told me how to improve my English presentation.  I raked up his leaves.  He told me stories about his time in Korea.  Eventually the fucker gave in and actually started being half-way pleasant.

From our stacks: Frontispiece illustration of William Butler Yeats “From a charcoal drawing by John S. Sargent, R.A. Emery Walker, Ph. sc.” from Poems Lyrical and Narrative Being the First Volume of The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats. Imprinted at the the Shakespeare Head Press Stratford-on-Avon, 1908.

everything beautiful in the world lives on my bed in the shape of a massachusetts boy covered in sweat and stars and muscle and the scent of bread. he teaches me to sleep without fear underneath living creaking rooftops and silent skies alike. he teaches me to eat peanut butter-and-marshmallow sandwiches with my noviate l.a. fingers; he teaches me to feel hungry & to think hungry. we move patiently together in tangles, coated in perfumed candelight, hunting for dropped love-crumbs in worn cotton sheets. i’m thinking how he is a light with weight, a moment with many futures. his head is warm on my bare breast and his voice is husky & laconic with sleepiness. my hands grow lost in the soft, cloying strands of his insistent dark hair. how small i feel, with his strong body enveloping mine! yet how powerfully my long legs stretch to pin him close. i am conflicted by a feverish lust and by nurturing, forever-feelings– both circling round each other like two protective wolves in my heart. but as he looks up at me, covered in sweat and stars and muscle and the scent of bread, with a look of love & muddy night-magic, i realize that they are two snarling halves of the same whole.

xix | two wolves

It was Skulduggery Pleasant. Skulduggery Pleasant was standing there, speaking. Beside Skulduggery Pleasant stood Valkyrie Cain. Valkyrie Cain stood beside Skulduggery Pleasant, and they stood there, looking at Omen, and Omen stood there, looking at them and trying his very best not to geek out.
—  Skulduggery Pleasant: Resurrection ~ Derek Landy