( links and personal observations about sexual violence against women )
I absolutely believe everybody else's experiences, people I know and strangers writing brave, brave columns and blog posts. I am just a total outlier, and I really shouldn't be. So I'm signal boosting others' accounts, because I know that I needed to be made aware of the scale of the problem, and perhaps some other people reading this could also use the information.
And I showed them the script
That I held in my hand.
“I call this play Catching-The-Mouse.
I'll fish for the king
With a play for a net.
I said, "With my net
I can catch him, I bet.
I bet, with my net,
I can catch the king yet."
"My head needs a pillow!
Your lap, to be blunt,
Is soft, and to hand,
And it’s pretty vacant."
So I went to her room.
But I passed, on the way,
A room where my uncle
Was kneeling to pray.
This must be the moment
To cut off his head!
But as I crept closer
I heard what he said:
“I murdered my brother!
I freely admit!
Dear God, please forgive me.
I’m rather a git.”
And I couldn’t kill him.
My blow was prevented.
For if he should die
Now he’s prayed and repented,
He’d go up to heaven;
That’s all very well,
But doesn’t seem fair
When my father’s in hell.
So I went on my way
As he muttered amen,
I hope that he’s sinned
When I see him again.
"And here is the head
Of a person historic!"
He gave me a skull.
And alas! It was Yorick!
I looked at the bones
And I thought as I sighed,
How he kissed me, and gave me
A piggyback ride.
And now he’s a skull
And he’s silent and scary!
Now what has become
Of your dancing so airy?
The songs that you sang?
And the jokes that you said?
Now all that you have
Are the bones of your head?
The Lady Ophelia
Of whom you were fond.
She climbed up a willow
And fell in a pond.
And most of her talk
At the times she was verbal
Was straight from the pages
Of Culpeper’s Herbal!
I'm quiet, and I'm dead,
And I’m tired of my quest.
I’m glad of the silence.
I needed a rest.
Read "Real Friends Help You Hide the Bodies" by Bairnsidhe
Poem: "Digging In"
Poem: "The Green Monkey"
Read "Rule 34" by Siliconshaman
Reward for Impeachment
Poem: "Come Closer in Kinship"
Crowdfunding Creative Jam
Toward Activity Scouts
Poem: "Transcend Apparent Limits"
Moment of Silence: David Patterson
A Word for America Today
There is a half-price sale in Polychrome Heroics this week. Shop for poetry, or watch for new goodies to appear.
Poetry in Microfunding:
"The Inner Transition" belongs to Polychrome Heroics: Berettaflies and has 7 new verses. Stylet comes out of the shower. "The Higher a Monkey Climbs" belongs to Polychrome Heroics. Pips and Jules discuss what to get for G and Joshua after the fire.
We got a little rain, and the weather turned much cooler. Currently blooming: dandelions, marigolds, petunias, lantana, million bells, firecracker plant, morning glories, frost asters, goldenrod. Most of the fields around us have been harvested.
I saw a couple of sparrows around the birdfeeders this week. Right now there is a male cardinal around my office window. :D
( Excerpts from an essay, a video and an interview )
Riva in midair holds a marionette control high with her left hand. The strings attach to actual rivets in her left elbow, both knees and ankles; she wraps some strings around her left arm and grips them in her teeth. She wears calf-high black leather boots with very large, asymmetrical soles, a pink and purple tutu to mid-thighs, her nipples just visible through pink gauze laced vest. She's a small woman with hair dyed red except for a shock of white hair shielding her brow. A background of soft blue-green is both the floor (with Riva's shadow) and the wall: it makes the detailed life-colored painting pop out at the viewer.
There has been the most ominous-looking light over north London for several hours now - a sort of copper colour. The sky is covered by a greyish cloud with wisps of whiter cloud drifting across it.
No rain, a bit of a breeze wafting through the trees in the street, but so far, nothing stronger.
The effect is somewhat John Martin-esque, or possibly requiring figures to run through the pocket park behind the house crying 'Heathcliff!' 'Cathy!'. Or at least, the foreshadowingly brooding overture to such.
I assume this is something to do with Hurricane Ophelia, even if so far this part of England is not supposed to be affected. This morning when I went shopping it was sunny and unusually warm, but I put that down to the Little Summer of St Luke.
Anyway, the weather was unseasonably mild and sunny and we were sat in the stands next to a lovely group of Brive fans. They tempted the children to cheer for their side with flags. We accepted gracefully and offered them Haribo, which they took, so I'm counting that a win for Anglo-French relationships. Especially since Worcester won, which was definitely not a given considering (a) their early performance, including some dire kicking and (b) the fact that they're pretty much always near the bottom of the Premier league table.
The children loved it, although keeping them engaged did involve bribery with Lego and chips (not at the same time). Afterward they opened the pitch to the children to run around, and then the players came out. We got the Worcester players to sign one of the Brive flags which they did without rancour. It was a superb day out and we were all pleasantly worn out at the end of it.
[L to R: G. Milasinovich (prop), me, Humuhumu, Keiki, P. Humphreys (wing)]
( +3 )
In this case, there were some failing tests and I was trying to debug some of them, and the result was the same every time, but only when I ran a failing test by itself and it passed did I realise that the tests weren't actually independent. They weren't actually non-deterministic in that the same combination of tests always had the same result, but I hadn't realised what was going on.
And in fact, I'd not validated the initial state of some tests enough, or I would have noticed that what was going wrong was not what the test *did* but what it started with.
I was doing something like, there was some code that loaded a module which contained data for the game -- initial room layout, rules for how-objects-interact, etc. And I didn't *intend* to change that module. Because I'm used to C or C++ header files, I'd forgotten that could be possible. But when I created a room based on the initial data, I copied it without remembering to make sure I was actually *copying* all the relevant sub-objects. And then when you move stuff around the room, that (apparently) moved stuff around in the original copy in the initialisation data module.
And then some other test fails because everything has moved around.
Once I realised, I tested a workaround using deepcopy, but I need to check the one or two places where I need a real copy and implement one there instead.
Writing a game makes me think about copying objects a lot more than any other sort of programming I've done.
A true friend is someone who,
when you tell them to bring a shovel,
they don't ask if you're planting roses
or burying your ex,
they just come dressed to dig.
It's tulips, this time,
fringed and French,
parrots and peonies,
Darwins, Greigii, Fosteriana.
It's tulips, this time,
their brown bulbs
against autumn winds,
but it isn't always.
* * *
Tulips are planted in fall to bloom in spring. They come in many different styles.
"The Green Monkey"
It's hard when you're born
technically human, visibly human,
but so weird you don't fit in --
when your body looks female
but your soul feels male,
when you're so smart that
you finish the worksheet before
the teacher finishes handing them out,
when you can hear things that
humans aren't supposed to hear
or say things that everyone claims
only babies can learn to pronounce --
and you can't help but remember
that experiment with the monkeys
where the scentist dyed one of them
and the others tore it to pieces,
when you keep seeing murders
of trans nerdy freakish people
whenever you turn on the news,
when every time that you go out
you feel people's eyes on your back,
crawling over your skin like spiders,
and you don't know why you
seem to frighten them so much
but it's clear enough that you do,
and you can't help but wonder
if you're the green monkey.
I planted 20 Iris 'Harmony' in the wildflower garden. These are miniature iris with lavender uprights and bright purple falls.
I also gathered more wildflower seeds and planted them in the prairie garden.
EDIT: I went back out and planted 6 Daffodil 'Thalia' in the purple-and-white garden. They are narrow-leafed white daffodils.
EDIT: I planted 12 Puschkinia / Lebanon Squill in the purple-and-white garden. These put out clusters of star-shaped flowers in white to pale blue.
This week's bread: the Blake/Collister My Favourite Loaf, white spelt/wholemeal/einkorn flour, made up with the remains of the buttermilk.
Saturday breakfast rolls: the adaptable soft roll recipe, 4:1 white spelt/buckwheat flour, maple sugar, dried blueberries.
Today's lunch: New Zealand venison loin medallions, panfried in butter, served with sweet potato oven fries, cauliflower florets roasted in pumpkin seed oil with cumin seeds (I think these could have done either with being cooked a bit longer, or broken up into smaller pieces), fennel cut into thinnish strips, healthy-grilled in olive oil, and splashed with elderflower vinegar.