the book

Crunch Dreams

My brain is almost gone
I write ten thousand years of history
On hardboiled eggs, left in the carton
Sidewalk remembrance, a crashed and died

Tidbits of comparisons, people’s lives
Written on seeds, tossed on the 405

My mind hollow intertwined groaned growth
Discombobulated, vines on sound walls

Hoping no one minds if I leave remnants
For there’ll be nothing left of me but this


I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment—we are all defined by something we can’t change.
—  Simon Van Booy, The Illusion of Separateness
I fall in love
with the sea
even if I knew
it can drown me,
and I have more
love for you,
even if I knew
that it is
—  ma.c.a // Island of Feelings
And there was nothing poetic about wanting to kill myself and writing so many suicide notes in my head explaining how sorry I was for the things I did not become. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about crying myself to sleep every night for the past 5 years hoping someone would care enough to save me. No one saved me. No one was going to save me because there is nothing poetic about thinking you can’t be saved. There is nothing poetic about staring at a blank wall for an entire day or smiling and laughing the next and having people think “oh she’s fine.” There was nothing poetic and beautiful about trying to take my own life. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about my mother having a panic attack every time I have a bad day and lock my door. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about me not taking my pills because I don’t know who I am without this sadness. There is nothing poetic and beautiful about having depression and wishing you were dead. There was nothing poetic and beautiful about my depression or anyone else’s depression nor will there ever be anything beautiful and poetic about it.
—  Fuck anyone that says it’s beautiful//Deeply Feeling Series

so Shire-talk is canonically a very different dialect of Westron than what Gondorians or Elves or whatever speak and some of the hobbits can code switch between the two and it’s extremely interesting to see how Tolkien portrays it

I’ve just gotten to the part where Frodo meets Faramir, and the difference between how he talks to Faramir and how he talks to Sam, for instance, is v noticable

with Sam he’s a lot more casual and even slightly more modern (for the value of 1954, not 2017) vs with Faramir where he switches to this very formal, quite archaic to our ears (“seven companions we had”)

and then Sam himself doesn’t seem comfortable speaking this prestige dialect (his style includes rather more general “vernacular” features common across regional nonliterary English dialects) - probably bc unlike Frodo he was not given the type of education that would lend itself to learning how to speak it comfortably - so there’s this clash between how Faramir talks to them and how Sam talks back

there’s also the bit where Theoden meets Merry and Pippin, and Merry greets him in very high formality, Pippin addresses Gimli casually bc they’re friends, then turns to Theoden and switches to the formal style, they both talk some more to him, and then after he’s gone Pippin turns to Merry and says Theoden was a “fine old fellow, very polite” (in the more casual style)

In that one scene you have a lot of style switching depending on the person they’re addressing and their status and relationship to the hobbits, but, for instance, Gimli’s sentence structure sounds more like the formal dialect even when he’s happily berating them and calling them villains, probably because he doesn’t use Shire-talk

basically: you can tell this dude was a linguist

I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out how to make other people happy, and then wondering why I always feel like my chest has been hollowed out and filled with sand.
—  Journal Entry; 21 May 2017
Delightful Things in Howl’s Moving Castle (the book)

HMC was my favourite book of all time as a kid, and it remains one of my top ten because it is just so delightful. A random sampling of things that just make me smile about this book:

- Howl only offered Calcifer a contract (and gave up his heart) because he felt sorry for him. Sweetest thing in the book for me

- Sophie kept the curse on herself even after Howl & Calcifer got it off, basically out of sheer stubbornness

- Howl’s solution to the Waste was to make a big beautiful garden

- Fanny doing her very best to look after and provide for three headstrong girls and be a good stepmother, and in the end getting a big mansion and nice rich husband

- Howl being Welsh, and speaking Welsh, and fussing over his niece in Welsh (I love the part in Wales, can you tell)

- Martha & Lettie conspiring brilliantly to make their own lives for themselves

- Calcifer singing a Welsh rugby song all the time, which he presumably picked up from Howl in their early years of living together

- Everything about Michael, but especially the fact that he slept on their doorstep and cried on Calcifer and both Howl and Calcifer evidently gave in to their big softie natures and basically adopted him 

- Sophie discovering that being an old lady meant she had free reign to do whatever she wanted, and taking full advantage of that

- Sophie’s brilliantly nosy and relentless cleaning terror campaign

- Ben and Prince Justin being BFFs, to the extent that Prince Justin just ditched his kingdom responsibilities to go rescue his best bro from the Witch

- Sophie being such a big sister to Martha & Lettie

- Everyone’s lives ending up happy and adorable at the end, and all the characters basically becoming a big delightful extended family 

- Everyone being wonderfully, blatantly flawed


yo I feel like im dreamin right now! I couldn’t even remember the name of this book not 2 months ago and something clicked recently that helped me remember the name and with the help of some one donating i found it on ebay for the low, used but pristine condition, hard cover!

let me tell you about this book: i wasn’t even a teen yet when i got my hands on this book so the internet wasn’t even prevalent like that nor was google. this was in the time of search up the damn physical directory yaself, you want images? go to the library or read the book especially if are poor, and im poor so that’s always been my go-to. it was where I met with this book called ‘Discovering The Wonders Of Our World’ and it cemented itself into my life and memory like nothing else.

imagine my predicament here to truly appreciate my appreciation for this book. young ass black kid with clinical depression and anxiety just got took from beautiful Dominican Rep/ Quisqueya unwillingly kicking and screaming to ugly ass NYC, poor as fuck, access to hardly anything, exacerbating the illnesses already there. where to go when sociopolitical climate of then and now tore up communities like mine? shiiiit the books! by chance (I think), i found this book int he library when I was a kid and borrowed it, “forgot” to give it back and it was mine forever… presumably.. until I lost it some years later while moving to a new apartment. never to be seen again. forgotten even. and now it’s back here with me ready to be appreciated in a new light. good god this feel so good! it left such a mark on me that I can still remember some of the images and names of the places decades later.

(13) Ignis’ pick-up lines.

Ignis: Hm. Is that a hardcover or are you just happy to see me?
Gladio: It’s a hardcover and it’s precious, omg, look at it, I just bought this new book and-
Gladio: Oh.