similator

Favourite narrative tropes:

  • “That was ONE time!”
  • “Due to an administrative error”, or any major plot point which is caused almost entirely by bureaucratic fuckups
  • “Contrary to popular belief” appended to something that’s either really obvious or completely subjective
  • A character makes an assertion, then cut to the narrator contradicting it (‘“Everything’s fine!” Everything was not fine.’)
  • First-person narrators who call a specific character by a series of increasingly convoluted nicknames
  • Unusual narrative euphemisms. I still hold that describing around a curse word is almost always funnier than just using the word.
  • Establishing character moments which subvert your expectations right from the get-go. The best example is in the Brooklyn Nine Nine pilot, where Jake’s fooling around at the crime scene before revealing that he’s already solved the case.
  • Montages. Just montages of any kind, for any reason, anytime. I actually think they work better in text form because you can do so many creative things with them.
  • Side characters with a level of fourth-wall awareness / quasi-supernatural ability which is never quite certain, like the janitor in Scrubs.
  • Double meanings in narration that take a while to make themselves clear.
  • Really, really specific similes.

Ti farà male,
però imparerai.
Imparerai a dimenticarlo.
Imparerai a dimenticare
come cammina.
A dimenticare
come si muovono
i suoi capelli
con il vento.
A dimenticare
la sua voce.
A dimenticare
come gesticola
mentre parla.
A dimenticare
il suo colore preferito.
A dimenticare
come gli piace il caffè.
A dimenticare
gli orari
del suo pullman.
A dimenticare
dove gli piace
sedersi al cinema.
A dimenticare
di che colore
mette il costume d'estate e
in che spiaggia
ama andare.
A dimenticare
la sua musica preferita.
A dimenticare
i messaggi
alle quattro del mattino
che dicevano
‘Giulia Ghironi sei la MIA vita!’.
A dimenticare
come salutava te.
A dimenticare
gli sguardi e
le occhiate.
A dimenticare
le domande assillanti.
A dimenticare
come strizza gli occhi
al mattino appena sveglio.
A dimenticare
come ti urlava “Giulia, ti amo!”.
A dimenticare
come ride.
A dimenticare
le facce buffe che fa per prenderti in giro.
A dimenticare
le date dei giorni che avete passato
insieme
e ogni dettaglio e particolare di questi.

A dimenticare tutto.

Farà male,
te lo giuro,
farà male ma
imparerai
a non cercarlo, 
a non guardarlo,
a non pensarlo,
a non parlare di lui,
a non riguardare
le vostre vecchie foto,
a non incrociare
la sua strada,
a non sederti al suo posto al cinema,
a non indossare il suo colore preferito,
a non prendere un suo pullman,
a non rifare le sue facce buffe,
a non fare battute che lo avrebbero fatto ridere.

Farà male.
Farà male da morire,
da non farcela più,
tanto che sentirai
il tuo cuore scoppiare
e straboccare
che vorrai
strappartelo via,
insieme a tutto
il dolore.
Farà talmente male
che ad un certo
momento dirai
‘basta!’
e vorrai andartene via.
Farà tanto male
che vorrai
solo gridare nel buio
e piangere
sotto le tue coperte.

Farà male,
te lo assicuro.
Più volte ti sentirai morire,
oppure ti sentirai
cedere le gambe
mentre sali le scale
per andare in classe,
oppure ti verrà
da nasconderti
in un vicolo
appena vedi uno
con lo suo stesso
giubbotto,
o vorrai evitare
chiunque beva il suo stesso caffè,
o non sopporterai
più quando ti chiederanno di lui
e come è andata
tra voi.

E sai perché farà così male?
Perché non puoi,
non puoi dimenticarlo.

Te lo giuro,
potrai fare tutto quello che vuoi ma
non ci riuscirai.
Potranno anche passare giorni,
mesi,
persino anni,
che sarai certa
di averlo lasciato
nel tuo passato
per sempre,
sarai certa
di averlo cancellato
dalla tua memoria. 

Ma ti basterà
risentire
la canzone
che ascoltava sul pullman,
conoscere qualcuno
con lo stesso
nome,
ripassare davanti
ad una vetrina
con in mostra
la stessa felpa
che gli hai regalato per natale,
e che usavi tu
perché era comoda,
grande e calda
come i suoi abbracci,
o magari
cambiando canale
ti fermerai
davanti alla televisione
a fissare
una scena del film
che siete andati
a vedere insieme,
o risentirai
una risata
simile
alla sua.

E lui sarà di nuovo in te.
Lo sentirai
di nuovo.
Lo risentirai
nelle vene,
nelle ossa,
nel profumo
di caffè,
nel vostro
film preferito,
nella sua musica,
nelle mani
che ti tremano,
nelle gambe molli che cedono,
nel giorno e nella notte,
nell'aria.

E sai perché non ce la farai?
Perché non potrai
mai
dimenticare
chi hai amato
in quel modo,
non potrai
dimenticare mai
chi hai amato così.

— 

GIULIA GHIRONI. - (via @queitaglisuipolsisporchi)

Ho passato molto tempo a scriverlo, per favore non togliete la fonte, ci tengo tanto.

Se prendi questo testo, ricorda di aggiungere il mio nome.

Seguimi anche su Instagram, se ti va:
@giuliaaghironi ✨

Little fanfic things that make me smile:

  • When there’s a set of specific and intricate detail work and you just know the author is either drawing from life experience and knowledge, or that they spent a long time researching to get it just right.
  • A reframing of a well known metaphor or simile that makes you think of it in a new way. 
  • An original metaphor or simile that you pause and admire for a while because it’s such a sweet turn of phrase.
  • Dialogue that you can hear perfectly because the phrasing is so on point. 
  • The obvious love and care the author has for the character dynamics, plot and/or setting that shines through in every word, sentence and paragraph.

if you think about it dan and phil are like strawberries and creme

dan is the strawberries; he’s bright and vibrant, a little tart at times but at the perfect moments he has a satisfying sweetness

phil is the creme; he’s more lighthearted, softer, paler, and makes everything he accompanies sweeter

when you put them together, you have the perfect balance of brightness and softness, of tartness and sweetness

and just like strawberries and creme, both are good on their own, but they’re always better together

UPDATED TRUMP DOCTOR LETTER

To Whom It May Concern:

A lot of people have expressed a desire for an update on President Donald J. Trump’s health since his inauguration. I have been the personal physician of President Donald J. Trump since 1980 and I am here to say that Mr. Trump’s health is absolutely better than ever.

Since being sworn in, Donald Trump has lost 50 pounds and gained 17 inches of height. He’s the longest president who has ever lived. His livers are both functioning flawlessly. His blood sets an all-time record for the state of New York for “most” and his blood pressure was rated “excellent” by seven different Fox News Twitter polls. He doesn’t even have one cholesterol.

I can say this unequivocally: Donald Trump has the most bones. Scientists estimate that he now has around 900 bones in his body and more are being discovered every day. Some of those bones have never been seen before. They allow him to be really good at presidential things like signing executive orders and making love nightly to his wife who wants him to.

Mr. Trump’s test results have been astonishingly excellent. He actually has a blood type we’ve never seen before: “All.” It’s both the universal donor and universal recipient, and sprinkling it on your penis makes your penis bigger. Mr. Trump’s blood is gorgeous. It has a rich color that’s hard to describe, but if I had to put it into words, I might call it “red.”

President Donald Trump has no family history of cancer, diabetes, or death. The president’s family members are immortal beings that walk the earth without end, craving the sweet release of death that will never come unless they make a deal with a cool witch. Donald Trump will never die, he will just keep growing vertically forever until he lives in space. It’s really astonishing.

His physical strength is extraordinary. He can lift as much as a mother whose child is trapped under a car, but he’s more attractive than that mother and he hasn’t let himself go like she has. Have you seen the way she dresses lately? The hypothetical mother in this simile is a total chunk. 4 at best. As the famous doctor Hippocrates once said, “Would not hit.”

Since the Inauguration, Mr. Trump has kept an extremely active lifestyle. He starts every morning by walking straight up into the sky and then walking down again. He also visits me regularly for checkups. Mr. Trump doesn’t let me touch him because of gay, so I just eyeball it and give him a once over. I can usually tell just by looking how much blood is in him that day or which liver has taken the lead, so it’s not a super intensive process.

Mr. Trump is not only the healthiest president that has ever served, but also the most handsome. I usually want to kiss President Trump when I see him, but I would never break the doctor-patient trust, so instead I kiss the portrait of him I drew on my little note pad. There have been no presidents that even come close to President Trump in terms of overall health and hotness. Franklin Pierce was pretty hot, but his body wasn’t great. James Garfield was more cute than hot. President Trump is the total package. I know this because of my stethoscope.

Just to give a little more background on me, I’ve been a doctor for years. I got into medicine the same way a lot of doctors do: I once took an unmarked pill that I found under a toilet in a public restroom, and the next thing I knew, I was blacked out doing surgery on a man on a Benihana table with the big knives they got over there. I flipped this guy’s appendix right into my hat. And that’s when I caught the bug, for surgery and for tetanus!

Now, I want to address some of the slanderous things that have been said about me. It’s just like these coastal elites to say I’m not qualified as a physician. They think you need fancy things, like a diploma from Harvard Med School or a diploma from a med school or a GED or a car or medicine or clean hands. You don’t need those to be a doctor! All you need is the right attitude and a good sense of humor and to be Jewish and a blank death certificate just in case!

This is America. We’re not “fancy” here. You’re supposed to be able to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and put a bunch of clamps in a guy and see what tubes you can clamp up without making him sleep forever. My grandfather was a blue-collar worker, and so was my father. I am a red-collar worker because my collar is always covered in spurting blood. I may not know art or science or what a “lung” is, but I do know that I love America and am a lung-doctor!

Because of my love of America and Donald Trump, it is an honor to be his physician. Donald Trump could teach us all a thing or two about health. Not only is he the healthiest human ever, but also the healthiest dog, house and Faberge Egg. I wish him luck as he continues on his endless journey.

Love,

“Doctor” Harold N. Bornstein, M.D. (Mostly Doctor)

Ok but consider: the black lion doesn’t let Keith in. Not because she (She? He? They?) doesn’t think Keith is worthy or anything, but because she can tell Keith doesn’t want to. Keith, of course, wants to honor Shiro’s request that he lead Voltron (even though he really doesn’t want to). But Black won’t let him in. Because two of the most important things you need to be a leader? The willingness to lead, and a team willing to follow. And Keith isn’t really willing to lead.

But, there is someone on Voltron who really wants to prove himself a worthy part of the team. Lance. And the black lion senses this, and so opens up to Lance. Lance, who is doubtful, but who also keeps a cool head under pressure when it really counts. Lance, who is willing to do anything to prove his worth, unless it jeopardizes the team, the mission. Lance, who was the head of the Garrison team, who can be a leader, who is willing to lead.

And so Black choses Lance. Keith stays in Red, and Allura pilots Blue.

And when they rescue Shiro, at first he’s all ‘great job Keith’ and Keith just says ‘no. That was Lance.’ And Shiro is shocked because this near flawless rescue/decimating a good chunk of the Galra forces came from Lance. So he goes up to Lance and tells him ‘great job leading, that was an amazing plan. I’m proud of you, Lance.’ And Lance, precious thing, smiles that soft, sincere, simile.

Vincent Van Gogh era solito mangiare la pittura gialla perché pensava avrebbe potuto portare la felicità dentro di lui. Molte persone pensavano fosse pazzo e stupido per fare una cosa simile poiché è risaputo che la pittura sia tossica, non importava fosse ovvio che ingoiarla non avesse alcuna possibile correlazione diretta alla felicità di un individuo. Io però non l'ho mai vista in questo modo.
Se sei infelice al punto che anche la più folle delle idee possa in qualche modo funzionare, come colorare le pareti dei tuoi organi interni di giallo, allora lo farai. Non c'è poi molta differenza dall'innamorarsi o dal drogarsi. C'è un rischio maggiore di farsi spezzare il cuore o di andare in overdose, ma le persone lo fanno comunque ogni giorno perché c'è sempre quella possibilità che le cose potrebbero migliorare. Tutti hanno la propria pittura gialla.

“All I know is that I’ve wasted all these years looking for something, a sort of trophy I’d get only if I really, really did enough to deserve it. But I don’t want it anymore, I want something else now, something warm and sheltering, something I can turn to, regardless of what I do, regardless of who I become. Something that will just be there, always, like tomorrow’s sky.”

Kazuo Ishiguro, from When We Were Orphans (Alfred A. Knopf, 2000)

On Ke$ha’s hit 2010 song, Blah Blah Blah, she says “zip your lip like a padlock”. I never even questioned this 7 years ago but I’ve been thinking about it lately. It makes no sense. Padlocks don’t zip. 

In the end,
it is the artists, not the inspiring subject,
that reveals themselves
through metaphors and similes,
the soft curves of a brush,
that lifts the curtains to their soul
and grants access to the heart.
—  // the fear of giving access to one’s secrets through poetry
j.d.m.
Castiel isn't a native English speaker

and I wish the spn writers were more aware of it.

Do you know how many times I had to stop myself from using a German turn of phrase while speaking English or French?

I wish that sometimes Cas would use these really weird similes and metaphors that are a direct translation from enochian, so it’s Dean and Sam who have to ask for clarification to understand what he means.

In other words, I wanna see more scenes like “assbut” and “you speak with the mouth of a goat”.

On a somewhat similar note, there’s no spn fanfic trope I love more than “Cas swears like a sailor in enochian”.

Cas isn’t just a different species, he’s from a different culture and I wanna see more evidence of that!