“With their slippers as goalposts, four boys play soccer with a plastic ball; a ball with what loks like a scar across its side, and a navel where the air which gave it its shape might have entered; which skitters rather than bounces. Their field is a void deck, whose floor coats their soles with ovals of grey. When one of them scores a goal, an imaginary stadium roars euphorically, a multitude of streamers and flags flashing like the jingles of a tambourine.
They played until dusk, when it is time to return to their homes. A chorus of voices receives them: "How many times do I have to tell you, once you step into the house go straight to the toilet!” “Play until don’t know when to come back, is it?” “What were you doing until you got your knees so black?” “When you come back at this time you invite the devil in!” HDB life: one takes the stairs and elevators up to be brought back down to earth.“
hello! my official book release for BRANCHES will be june 10th, 2 pm at the central public library at 630 w. 5th st. they’ll also be announcing the new youth laureate so come out and support local literature! i might be making cookies for everyone. the book will also be available online and internationally through penmanship press! see you downtown 🌀🌀🌀
OKAY PALS, here’s a slight gripe from me, your local literature snob. People have been referring to the “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?” line referenced in the Comey hearings as a Shakespeare quote. It’s not. Henry II was rumored to say it in history, and it was famously used in the movie BECKET. Shakespeare never wrote a play about Henry II.
Shakespeare had something a bit similar in his play, Richard II, though– he has King Henry IV say, “Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear?” with similar results (aka, people killing the guy he was complaining about).
DO YOU LIKE STORIES SUCH AS BATMAN OR THE PRINCESS BRIDE? Do you want to see what these stories were based off of ( you didn’t think those guys were the FIRST to come up with this story, did you )? Do you want to see the original richer-and-smarter-than-you-vigilante-who-would-have-been-fine-if-that-one-thing-never-happened? One of first Gary Stu / Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way characters to become canon? Do you like adventures about REVENGE where the good guy doesn’t stop doing what he’s doing because he’s ‘above getting even’? Do you like people who are extra simply for aesthetic purposes? Do you like ANGST combined with a SOCRATIC PHILOSOPHY that leaves you thinking, “how did we go from talking about cough drops to discussing whether or not murder is really wrong”? What about characters that Smoke Weed To Escape Their Crippling Depression?
“But Mina,” You say, “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“That’s okay,” I reply, “I don’t care! I find a way to write with everybody!”
“I swear, you’ve never met someone like him, you’ll just adore him-”
“Sonny, I’m not quite feeling myself,” so instead, you gripped hard onto his arm, pleaded with him to accept your modest attempt at escape; “maybe it’s the nerves- perhaps I should go get a drink…”
“Oh stop,” promptly, he tugged at your sleeves, straightening out the wrinkled velvet that had bunched at your elbows. “He’s a great guy,” he twirled your curls around a fingertip, smirked as he watched them fall into place, “I’ve been shadowing him, you’ll think he’s so interesting- How do I look?”
Oh, Sonny. Sweet, precious Sonny- your darling ‘boyfriend’ of only a few months. Instead of objecting at his sudden, apparent need to primp and prep your appearance, you lay a hand atop his cheek. He really was so handsome, so excited about life, and you- “Sonny, sweetheart, I think we may have something to discuss…”
Instead of indulging your suggestion, his eyes went wide, as he quite obviously went to staring over your head. “Doll, we’ll talk about whatever you want tonight, but now-” he took a deep breath, tried to subdue the boyish smirk pulling at the corners of his lips while fixing his (not-even-)crookedtie, “Well, he’s comin’ this way and-”
“Carisi!” You flinched as soon as the voice came from behind you, but dared not twist that way. “Carisi, when they said you brought a date, I thought they were lying to me.”
DA college!AU? I don't mind which game or if you do a mix.
College AU! (I’m in the UK so college is 16+, I’ll be doing it as university)
If anyone else wants me to do prompts in this universe, just ask away! (I already had this AU bumping around in my head)
Alistair - In the Rubgy Team, is studying Physics (he has a fondness for mystical items in game). Plays chess and D&D.
Morrigan - Studying History, loves coffee, has a tattoo of a spider over her entire back.
Leliana - Studies Politics, has a walk-in wardrobe with fifty pairs of shoes, volunteers at the local church.
Zevran - Literature student (all his essays are to do with power dynamics and sex in literature), goes to the gym for two reasons, to look good, and to look at everyone else. Has a fair few piercings beyond his ears.
Sten - Mature student, at culinary school learning to be a pastry chef. Already finished university before with a History of Art bachelors but wanted to do something that has a job he’s good at at the end of it.
Wynne - Teaches Biology and Chemistry both. Alistair became her favourite student when he brought her tea in to apologise after he accidentally walled into her class. Prefers wine though.
Oghren - Constantly drunk Literature professor. Somehow all his students pass admirably, fellow faculty have no idea how. (Think Frank from Educating Rita)
Merrill - Studies both Chemistry and Biology, she’s wicked smart. Somehow fits working at the gym in the coffee shop into her schedule. Is never organised but constantly gets amazing grades. Always walking into the wrong class (the campus is huge though).
Isabela - Studies Fashion Design, constantly makes hats. Goes to the gym mainly to look at everyone else while sitting on the exercise bike and chatting, and they have the sweetest barista in their coffee shop.
Aveline - On the debate team, womens Rugby team, womens Hockey team, student government, and studies Law. Takes everything seriously. (And develops a crush on fellow student government Donnic)
Anders - Chemistry student, activist, wears black tees with political statements on them. Helps out in the local children’s hospital and the local cat shelter. Drinks tea. Has 5 cats of his own.
Varric - pushed to take Business Studies by his family but changed after one year, studied Literature after that, went on to start the on-campus gym. Is always seen with faculty or in the gym coffee shop.
Fenris - heavily tattooed student of Theatre and Drama, paints a lot in his spare time. Only drinks a certain blend of coffee and vehemently thinks tea sucks.
Sebastian - volunteers at the local church and was considered for the Olympic archery team. Studies Religion and plans to go to theological college and get ordained.
Josephine - Studies Law, loves watching any and all theatre, visits museums, art galleries, and has connections with the culinary school to judge baking competitions.
Cullen - Works at the gym as a personal trainer, studies History, plays chess with Alistair.
Dorian - Total nerd, “professional student”, finished university three times already in Physics, Maths, and Biology, currently studying Chemistry. Assistant librarian, hosts D&D night at the library every Thursday (is always the GM)
The Iron Bull - Faculty member, counselor for troubled students. Tends to take sessions outside.
Solas - Teaches Physics, gets annoyed when students try to correct him, trying to get multiple theories published to no avail.
Cassandra - Literature student, coffee fiend, works out purely for fitness, secretly performs slam poetry.
Blackwall - Mature student, studies Politics but lowkey can’t stand it. Changed his name to avoid old acquaintances from a gang he was in in his youth. Really interested in the Engineering degree on offer at the uni.
Sera - Took Fashion Design as a joke degree to make models look stupid, plus she’s actually good at it (and simultaneously finds it hilarious and annoying that they take her seriously). Hides penises, butts, vaginas, and boobs in all her designs. Got in trouble with the student government for egging the dorm room of a bully.
Cole - Faculty, counselor. Has prevented student suicide hugely, rarely gets thanked but doesn’t mind. Tends to the garden on campus, likes his tea sweet, and little frilly cakes. Adopted fifteen cats by accident once and had to rehome them.
I think growing up some of us (whose first language is not English or any other european language) always knew that one family member/friend who refused to speak or learn their mother tongue whether out of embarrassment, feeling it was not good enough compared to the likes of french or english or spanish; or for some other reason. Being at university, I’ve come to know a lot of people like this, most who now express regret at being unable to have a conversation with their parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles, who feel ashamed of themselves for being ashamed of their mother tongue and sacrificing their language/s in order to assimilate into whatever western society they live in. Many said that they would love to learn or re-learn their mother tongue but either didn’t know where to start or couldn’t for lack of resources.
This got me and a few other friends to start a little project/hobby, where we create fun and cute little flashcards to help make learning easier and more accessible for people and to promote languages from africa (particularly Central and East). Anyways, long story short lmao, I understand that there is fetishisation of certain languages or a language hierarchy where mainly European languages are placed at the top and deemed desirable etc, but I wish that not only my fellow congolese but anyway who comes from an african country, may learn to love and cherish their own language and never have a sense of shame when speaking it and always remember that our languages have been through a lot and most have survived attempts to essentially ‘rid’ them of existence in favour for more ‘civilized languages’ *cough colonialism*.
TLDR: flashcards to promote languages spoken in central/east africa, and encourage more people living in the diaspora to speak their mother tongue/s and be proud of it/them
(I know I probably didn’t make sense, my thoughts are like all over the place, but languages and promoting literacy/literature in local and mother tongues especially for africans has always been something I’ve been passionate about)
Trying to push myself to read more local literature. I keep thinking about why it’s so hard to place my stories in my own country - shouldn’t it be easier to do, or does westernization have me firmly in its grasp.
Irony is, British people are one of the most admired populace, they are hard-working honest folks, with a killer accent and sarcasm so sharp which makes their local books a classic literature of the world. They don't deserve to call a glorified royal hooker as "Ma'am" or "HRH". If BRF is going to compete with Kardashians, they will lose big time. Kardashians pay taxes to Govt. not to themselves.
correct winterchild but that won’t happen and we all know that she destroyed herself now and it’s Goodbye MM.
it’s august & last week i was beginning to get comfortable with the warmth after midwinter passes but has johannesburg’s weather ever been stable? there is currently a cold front & my soul is currently decorated with the steady and secure flames of a fire place in the mansions in american movies.
the day before i got my second degree i got such bad news. i wonder why we think because we want something we can have it?
let’s say you’re in a race, right? with two thousand three hundred and something people, and then you’re in the top thirty, and then you’re in the top 4, the top fucking four out of two thousand three hundred and something people, and then you don’t win. the gag is when you glimpsed at the trophy it had your name on it. it makes no sense because i have never met anyone with my name, i only know of fictional characters in young adult literature & local television that share my name, so whose name was on the trophy because it looked like mine?
the day after graduation, i cried so much, i even fell sick to the point that i was on bed rest for a week. it’s crazy how our emotions can cripple us.
bubba was in town for me & i basically missed the exception to this usual biannual occasion because of my emotions.
but emotions are temporary motherfuckers so i recovered.
soonafter, Xxxxxxxx told me he loves me. i knew that i loved him sometime in March but i couldn’t tell him that. we live in two different cities. he has a girlfriend. & i have more than one bed. he calls, plays the piano & freestyles in Xhosa. then tells me in English that he said he loves me.
“i love you, Hazel”
he called again last week and he speaks about us like we exist in the future. someone has a life with me in the future but i don’t even know what i’m doing tomorrow. i have plans. i have ideas of how i am going to execute them but i don’t know. how can he be so sure? like i’m a leading role in all the scenes. who cast me? did i even go to the audition?
Xxxxxxxx & i met again last winter, you remember right? i blew him off in the winter of 2012. well, it’s the winter of 2016 and i am about to meet Xxxxxxxx’s friends. he casually holds my hand as if holding hands is something we do. i gasp and my lungs hold onto the air as if it is my last breath. my body has sorta been a battlefield my entire life. after the rape, my hands just didn’t do things hands usually do, like hold another hands. so muscle memory caused me to retract from his warm gesture. our journey from the gate to the tiny living room packed with strangers who were waiting to become friends has now been brought to a halt. i am trying to exhale but i know an explanation has to follow, he is allowed to hold my hand, i actually shouldn’t have ever let go of his hand five years ago, but my body, my mind, this was the first time since. so i am considering holding onto that last breathe until my soul escapes my body but as he turns behind i am met with eyes that have a reassurance that screams “it’s alright”. there is an inexplicable comfort that i get when we are together, like when you have the key to a door or a car.
i reached out and held his hand again that day. i also told him that i love him. i also sent it via text. and now i daydream of saying it to him while looking into his eyes and holding his hands.
is love an emotion or a drug?
i read a definition that says a ‘drug’ is something administered in order to induce stupor or insensibility.
towards the end of july, i am beginning to think that the love i have for M is a drug. i am trying to understand how we have been brought to where we currently are by love. it makes no sense.
i have been trying so hard to make sense of things. emotions are tumultuous and i think that it why i refrain from reducing love to an emotion. the power love has over the body, the soul, the mind is something else.
i am still gathering my thoughts on that because i am slightly more preoccupied on wrapping my mind around the fact that the left side of my face is temporarily paralysed. the devil is working overtime & i am so tired but ayyyy it’s also 2am so maybe that’s why. but tonight my soul was reignited with a passion for life that is so inexplicable that it could only divine.
the text you send your best friend on the 20th of august because you haven’t know how you are since the beginning of july
Race was naive enough to think that dyeing her hair was enough to alter the pigment of her name, the nature of her shadow. She tried lime green to generate more zest, a fiery red to suggest deep-seated passions, even black, for that laid back retro look. But nothing changed People walked past her on the street, eyes averted, clasping their gaudy shopping bags watchfully. In school she sat in the corners, hoping to blend in with the cracked paint. Her lovers continued to call her by other names when making love. In the dark, and in the throes of ecstasy, they claimed, everyone looked the same. It was easy to be confused, Race was not convinced. She felt different inside, a place where moonlight could not reach. She tried using a microscope, a DNA test, her rose-tinted glasses, but could not figure out why the softly pulsing engine of her being remained invisible to her.Did she not have a name? A history? And did she not buy her own clothes with money she earned the same way as everyone else? Disappointed, Race realised that her should was not the sum of her choices, nor her genes a composite of caresses and strokes leading up to her conception. She envied her friends, the purity of their obliviousness, how they wore their hair casually long and streaked with gold, gleaming against their skin beneath, gleaming agains their skin, beneath which the blood coursed, without question, like a final answer. She wondered if she peeled back their flesh, unhinged the bone, eased apart the knotted sinews, whether she should also find nothingness there: a space worn away in the shape of their own silence; what colour it must be.