Short days, snowflakes fall,
Camellia's bloom, a fleeting grace,
Hunters seek their prey,
Sparrows gather 'round the bonfire's glow,
Mountain's peak, a beacon bright.
A weekly tanka whilsts I wait for timezones to catch up!
The seventeenth chapter of my hard sci-fi space opera is released! The crew escapes the glubb-enn crossfire, and enters a system property of the Yectkogg corporate empire. The consequences of seeking help from rabid capitalists ensue.
This really is the last of this spurt of releases. We are going back to weekly releases (on Saturdays). The spam is over. Sorry yall for hammering the hashtags.
The essence of a fictive, chosen, or voluntary kinship is rooted in a profound sense of connection. This connection isn't always immediately recognized or mutual, but it's never entirely unfamiliar or one-sided...
Repression is a rite of passage, they tell us. It’s called being an adult, they say. It’s all part of becoming a semi-well-adjusted member of a society. Smile. Nod. Stay in your lane. Dress for the job you want. Do as you're told. Pay your taxes and your rent. And, most importantly, stuff all your otherness way the fuck down so no one knows, and no one sees...
We talk about achievement. About goals. Setting them. Reaching them. About getting somewhere, becoming something. But what happens the morning after? What happens the next day? After the parade, the party. After they sweep the confetti away. What happens when the big moment fades? Maybe it's never been greatness we were after, but a baseline standard of enoughness brought to our days.
Something happens when you're unhurried, when you escape from acceleration and speed. When you give way to haste-less activity.
Something happens when you tarry, when you linger, when you pause.
You were never trying to escape your life, only what you thought it was supposed to be. Your real life has always been in the attention you give to slow things.
We collect the instances of what's expected of us. Air-quotes-normalcy. Air-quotes-conventionality. Air-quotes-respectability. In other unsaid words, side-eye-conformity. It’s the breakfast of champions, they say...