codenamewanderlust | Entries tagged with ljidol

I will probably die with a pen in my hand

Trying to get some meaning even if fleeting

I've been spending my hard earned currency on lettering and calligraphy small bottles of ink holders and nibs watercolor cubes and brushes pencil caps a shiny yellow pencil case The very first superfluous thing I bought with my first paycheck from the Bookstore Cafe (almost two years ago now) was a smallish box of kinetic sand

Adapting after living a feckless existence

Meandering, uncouth and unsophisticated

I tried to live in kindness even I was aimless

And now some sort of normal-ish

Even as I’m worrying splintered fingernails down to the quick

Running them obsessively through split ends and pulling just slightly at the roots

But I am not punching walls

I’m mesmerized by the landscape sometimes Lost in thought instead of on the highway

Daydreaming

Not scheming

Because it’s beginning to take shape

A future without struggle

The dullest extremes, caught on tape

Being freeeeeee

To deviate from the plot

As a bird, as a plane, as…Alexander Supertramp

May his restless soul be at peace Born into a privilege he saw no need for

Am I minimalist if I want more? To be more than a proletariat

Working poor

Because when I say I am living paycheck to paycheck

It means I budget by the week and can’t ever plan farther ahead

It’s only the love of a generous matriarch between me and the streets

I’m so unoriginal I know

I’ve done this all before

And I’ll wake up just to do it all over again tomorrow

I am reminded of a poem

About taking the wheel of your own life

And the simple but profound message

They say I'm good with words

I sure can turn a phrase

It wasn’t just a phase

Truly fey Mutated DNA

Born with two clubbed thumbs

And two “lazy” eyes

The medical term is amblyopia alternating exotropia

strabismus the proper derogative is actually walleyed

A sideshow freak of another era

And still it drives me up the wall

having to watch most people turn their heads

to the point over their shoulder and knowing I look disinterested by default

Training myself to talk to the floor to make them less uncomfortable

It’s the mark of malevolence

The evil eye

There’s a painful but quick surgical fix

The cost of body modification out of my reach

Yet it’s the thing I think about most

when I contemplate adventures abroad

Refusing to die never having had a passport Stepping foot on distant shores

The pilgrimage of a world citizen

Landlocked by class-ism and country

Stuck in the story of small minded patriarchs

But you just want to take a long drive

To expand the tiny orb your life has become these

And by “you” I mean me

But can we just pretend we are talking about you?

Because you will always be just a little but evil

But don’t want to be a creep at parties

(If you were ever invited to parties)

You’re not a super villain just chaotic neutral

Even you don’t know what you’re about to do sometimes

It’s just that “you” know in your heart of hearts

That if you jumped, you’d fly

But it’s the voice of logic holding you back

Keeping you in reality check

Against the idealized vision

Not living up to my own expectations

Feckless!

Because we’re always talking about me and how are you?

I'm honestly in a meretricious romance with myself I'm deluding myself Still

It’s just the way of things

How time plays tricks on us

Dripping through your fingers like kinetic sand

Crossposts: https://liminaltraveler.livejournal.com/2504.html

I Might Lose Some Friends Over This

Took a DNA test

Turns out I’m one hundred percent

a part of the proletariat

That bitch

That bitter humanist

Ride or die Globalist

With social anxiety disorder

I’ve always tried to keep it close to the chest

Telling my whole life story without giving away my personal biases

It’s like how I’m watching creepy AF documentaries on the big screen TV in the family room

Whenever no one else is home

Getting a little boozy and blaming daylight saving

(In this time-line it’s apparently singular)

Anyway, what else was I going to say?

Something about how in the end we all end up the same way

Our bodies will decay

And the atmosphere will reclaim the dust particles we only ever were

These vessels of infinite outcomes

The cosmic search

Final frontier

“We are all made of stars”

And still a faith in some greater influence that is constantly course correcting the status quo

Who has a table set for us on an inter-dimensional plane

So if we just shut up and obey in this existence

We get to live the real, less shitty one, in the hereafter

After, After, After, always after

But this is now

This is here

Here, here, hear me

Hear me now

Hear ye, hear ye…in the common interests of humanity “I’ll scream and I’ll shout

for the good things on earth that are on their way out

They say I’m a fool to oppose things like these

but I’m [just] going to continue to speak for the trees”

And I am not betting on being selected

to dine with the “father” in the heaven dimension

We’re at the peak of human evolution

And I stand in my body

Ready to say

We build walls and check the locks against the wolves of our own hearts

It’s like students ducking bullets

Or wondering how many poets have rhymed silence with violence

It’s a fear fueled fall from so much possibility

Never forget that shaking hands is to signify you are unarmed

It’s like watching a doggo sleeping as the clocks in his timeline race faster than mine

And try not to think too far ahead

I get it

But God isn’t dead, he never existed

All folklore is tradition

It’s like seeing the Earth from a commercial airplane

All the burning red orange embers of light pollution

And still you are thinking "every moment is a miracle"

But my belief system could never depend on some parent figure in the sky

Because I’ve been taking care of myself my whole forsaken life

Taken bad advice

The government still wants the money they loaned me to spend those 4 (and a half) years...

Invested in my future

Instead it was a time spent

Building a false perception of myself

for the new friends who had my back until they didn’t

I guess a bright green light somewhere went off above my ssn somewhere

After I was finally making a steady paycheck for more than a year

So much for upwards mobility

And yeah it’s funny

It’s so gosh darn funny

That I could stand here and complain

But don’t have the means to do a “god” damned thing

It’s like that feeling you get when you realized you’ve left your phone in another room

The simplest truth

If you cannot find it within you will never find it without

You can magnify, intensify experience

But there is nothing you can partake of that will bestow talent

It must be a practice

Focused intent

It’s like how I hate the act of brushing my teeth because it’s messy and my gums always bleed

Or that one big secret you know

In any given moment you remember you know it and think about what would happen if you told

not to be hurtful or betray a trust

but just-

To imagine the ripple of chaos that small bit of information would create

Irrevocable change

You think about it

for about a minute

And then you go back to forgetting you knew it

Crossposts: https://liminaltraveler.livejournal.com/1670.html

200 Word Letter Poem To Myself

Dearest Self:

That feeling in your stomach

The aching hunger bordering on nausea

It’s trying to tell you that you are alive

Time is running out

The deadline on your life is undetermined
but it’s set in concrete nonetheless

Your inevitable headstone already exists

So when the pain in your back and the strain in your eyes make you want to curl up and cry

Remain resolute, have faith in the strength of your spirit

Start with intention and find your motivation

Not in the outcome but in the creation

Make an outline

A first draft

Have an epiphany

And delight in the mistakes that turn into wonders

Stop being afraid of your own imagination

leave it flowers and shiny things

and tell it it is welcome to dwell in your room and sleep under your bed

or in the swaying limbs of the tree outside your window

Give it a name and invite it to tea - or coffee as the case may be

But allow it to be beautifully twisted or saccharine depending on the day

Just remember that you have a voice
and say everything you’ve ever wanted to say

Because any day could be your deadline day

--------------------

Crossposts: https://liminaltraveler.livejournal.com/1238.html

You fly, Butterfly

Soar now on the wind

Never give up, Buttercup

Because you know
You’ll always arrive in style

It's okay to sit still, sweet Daffodil

To take a moment of silence

Just don’t let the fears buzz in your ears

When your own inner power overwhelms you

Go back to the page
Maybe, stop hovering in doorways

Hoping the faeries will mistake you

(For one of their own)

Get high, Honey-bee

Take flight and let the currents guide you

Alight on the air with nary a care

Because you know exactly who you are

And if the most that can ever be said

Is that you sprouted wings and fled

Then let it be said!

Don’t let the stories they tell of you define you

Fly now, little Bird

And let not your worries deprive you

I want to be a message in a bottle

Full of mystery

Sent out into the wilderness

The wild greens and blues

Riding the boundless current

For so long I forget what

it feels like to touch the earth

Until you would delight in finding me

Plucked from the gentle tide

An unexpected surprise

A welcome distraction

And a sense of connection

So fragile you would weep with joy

To read the salt stained words

Tucked inside clouded cerulean

Uncorked

Unraveled

Liberated

Purified

Given sanctuary

Taken to a place

where you feel happy

To be read

curled up in an armchair

Or at a breakfast table

between sips of coffee

Trying to find the meaning

The first and final macguffin

The pot of gold

at the end of the

Mobius-strip rainbow

To be spoken about with reverence

The line between philosophy and poetry
To be brought to life in your imagination

There’s a portal to Puerto Rico

by the back door

my Tío tells me

And I understand

If you stand just so

while it is raining

he says,

leaning against the open metal grate

The door-frame becomes the inbetween

Between here and there

I don’t tell him about the portal to Faerie
under the wash-line and how I keep loosing clothes pins

Instead,

I have been drifting

I tell him

and I know he understands

Even though he has been getting lost

somewhere between taking flight

and making plans

He knows I've dedicated my life

to pure adventure for a long time

I am someplace always

Inbetween

Time is currency

That I invest in experience

And I have little to spare

and too much to die for

Giving meaning to the passage of years

Those magical numbers:

2019, 2012, 1999…

The Autumn of 2011

seems like a lifetime ago
Tramping the streets of New Orleans

Decades now

of standing in open doorways

Of planting port-keys

among the memories

The accumulation of possessions

and possessions

As if by some means to anchor myself

to some moment in time and space

Flipping through the bookcase of memory

Like Matthew McConaughey

On the interstellar highway

The fluorescent thrum of the incarnate motorway

transports me beyond the boundaries of time

Without leaving my bed

Singularity

She hadn't heard from User51 in weeks. Meta4 kept the burner phone with his last number in it. She had circulated their hashtags on all of the usual places. She’d agreed when he wanted go.

It was only a side quest, he'd said, an easter egg.

She had tried to find her own access point after he hadn't returned. Her only clue was "Apogee." She’d found it on a sticker in the 4th stall of the women’s restroom in the bus station in Someplace, Nevada.

It was like trying to do a jigsaw puzzle while not knowing if you even had all the pieces.

Apogee was also the name on the highest score of the Addams Family pinball machine in Toledo, Nowhere. Above the name GoSting. That was the same night she’d smoked her last joint and solved Time Cube theory but couldn't quite remember it the next day. Stuck with this sense of deja-vu and feeling like a fixed point on a map between her feet and the sky. Above and Below. An exponent in a world of sleeping NPCs.

Do you still believe in it all? U had asked her once when they had retreated into the matrix, found a loophole in the code and stayed for almost a month in an unoccupied cabin in Thisplace, North Carolina. They’d read excerpts of all the books they were each carrying and left them all behind when they left.

U called it poetic terrorism. Like the weekend they stayed in a condo in St.Louis,Somewhere while the rich old couple who owned the place were out of the country. U hacked into the guys on-line gambling account and convinced her it was karma when she won big money on her first try. They only dumped half into their own pay-pal account before U wiped away the rest of their digital footprints.

I was in the honeymoon of my life… Meta hums to herself as she hangs string of lights over a fairly clean mattress she had found and pushed up against a wall in the empty 2nd floor office where she was currently squatting.

She’d also found an old sewing machine in a storage closet and it was on the floor next to an old microwave. The place still had power but no water. She reaches for one of the gallons she carried all the way from the gas station gasping as an automatic reflex makes her rear back, then she laughs at herself and the tiny light bulb of the old sewing machine, the familiar texture of something that could cause her pain. Like tall wiry boys in woolen caps with deep southern accents like caramel dripped on apples.

She’d broken character at least four times now. Picked up the blue handset of each old coin operated telephones she passed by and spoken into the silence: I’d like to speak to User51, please / User51 can you hear me?/ This is Meta4 calling for User51 / I would like to establish a connection / Please!

She dropped dimes and quarters that never came back. Pressed the lever that never caused a dial tone. And one time when she was quite sure she was alone she smashed the receiver against the brassy metal buttons of the numbered keypad repeatedly before hanging it back in it’s cradle, retrieving her pack from the ground and walking away.

___________________

A/N: This is the continuation of an entry I posted last season:

Intersubjectivity

I'm not sure if it stands alone but none of my other ideas for the topic this week came together. I enjoyed revisiting this world anyhow.

On a sunny afternoon

A young witch is cleaning her cauldron

Thinking about unfinished projects

Notice: the sewing machine in it’s case

Notice: the shelf of books waiting to be read

Notice: the typewriter

She’s better than this, she thinks when she has a premonition

Herself; later that night trying to reach a deadline

Plundering her own journals for profound one liners

Sitting on the bed surrounded by so many pocket sized notebooks

Bindings worn thorn, filled with paragraphs of run on sentences

In multicolored ink

This is called procrastinating

She is told

As she cleans the cauldron

To avoid the pen

Doesn't chase the plot bunnies under the bed

Even though words are her addiction

She contemplates fabric and stitches, instead

The half made skirt wrapped up just so

in paper

in a box,

also under the bed

Needles trailing at the end of threads- seems unfinished

She knows she is only digger her soul deeper into karmic debt

by not giving proper action to anything she truly desired

Scraping ashes off cast iron

She sprinkles in a layer of black powder and sweet incense

Always starting over

Always a new beginning

She believes in impossible dreams

Secretly revels in happily ever afters

and loves rainy days

And coffee

And baking magic into cookies

And flying broomsticks

She takes too many pictures of the delightfully ephemeral sky

She collects new words,

like matchsticks waiting to be struck

But who am I kidding?

Because you already know that the SHE in this story is ME

And most of the time

*I*

have the bad habit of writing in first person

And you (yes you)

can hear this bird ~~singing~~ spitting rhymes

Sometimes
Even into a microphone

Up on a stage

But mostly

Only ever when she thinks no one is listening

Because
no one

Ever is

Ever really

Doing anything

Except living in their own story

~~Like most of you reading this~~

~~who have gathered to share this thing we call art~~

You know, how like

the not-so-young-anymore-actually witch in THIS story

got too comfortable living out of boxes
because she grew up mostly on the run

because her mama couldn't always pay the rent

Or how she became an avid reader

As a way to escape reality

Or how cleaning the cauldron becomes a metaphor

And how long it took to write

~~and then rewrite and then decide to share~~

this prose

Or even how I thought about you while writing this

And how I came a long way to be who I am today

But truly who of us hasn't?

~~Before you go think of your favorite color, if everyone who reads this thinks of their color, after awhile we will have manifested a rainbow~~

We haven’t spoken in almost two years

There is so much I want to say

But I know you won’t hear it

We are ghosts caught in our own feedback loop of arrogance

Existing on separate planes
of the same home

Sometimes I am terrified that I have died

And this is my life flashing before my eyes

But YOU are the one haunting this house

A black cloud

Navigating through hallways in an effort to reduce emotional traffic
Avoiding responsibility

I’m feeling like I’m loosing time

Loosing the pages of this chapter

As my half present self remembers to keep my shoes off the furniture

For the sake of your mother

Who has taught me the meaning of unconditional love

Is it too much to ask for a little gratitude?

Could you shrug off your pride

Just this once?

Just this once could we make it about me?

Cause see

My DNA is linked to yours and I’m tired of paying your karmic debt

At least I’m working on my shit

Coming to realizations and shit

About the status quo

and status-es

And the place where I am counting days like dollar bills

Buying and spending time like currency

The rainbows that reflect in from crystals hung in the open windows that you could no longer see because you had boxed yourself in
Refused to let in the light

In the cottage house on the edge of the property built for you

By your mother with love and blessings

All of which you have taken for granted

The first time I left
You fed me lies, to bring me back

Planting seeds of false hope
All while demanding my 16 year old half-sister give you all of her very first paycheck because she was supposed to be “helping” you

Except being the father

kind of works the other way

Especially when your youngest daughter, my half-sister

was being raised by her late mother’s grandparent’s

And you are still being raised
by your still very present
saint of a mother

I wonder sometimes

About the blood in the water

When she dies

And weather I’ll stay and fight

Or fly away for good

Once her soul has departed

Because everyone else here

is giving everything they have in tithe

And then there is you

the “crown prince”

Once upon a time

You and MY mother were high school sweethearts

Who were history even before my third birthday

Your mother tells me I was conceived in love I have never felt

But this is MY story

And this is the sunshine I surround myself with

While your head is too big to fit in the goddamn house

It had been a pattern for awhile.
As soon as I would make a space exactly right I would suddenly have to move

Take it all down

Start over in some other place with the barest essentials usually

For years this would happen to me over and over

I would find just the right way to arrange the furniture for efficiency of space and energetic flow

Perhaps it’s a nomadic tendency held over from being born poor and having a complicated family history

I got used to living out of boxes

But I couldn't help making any new new living situation my own in some way

I've become sentimentally attached to furniture and cried over thrift store clothing finds I had to leave behind

I have one small steamer style trunk that has followed me somehow

From home to home

Even after a brief stint “on the road”

My friends passed it from closet to basement until I landed on my feet

Books were the hardest to lose

Adopted from curbside free bins
or bought at witchy boutique shops or sidewalk sales

Mémoires and travelogues mostly skimmed

Underlined and highlighted

Out of print novels with enticing covers vying for attention

Coffee table photography books of the strangest homes money could build

And abandoned railway stations

I’d take as many as I could carry when the time inevitably came to choose

I buried my favorites in the bottom of the trunk; read and unread unlike

I’d get somewhere new and begin making it home

Stack books on the floor until I was gifted a night stand by a new roommate

Or that time I found a sturdy wooden desk spray painted silver and purple left for the trash collectors that I carried three grueling blocks all by myself because I didn't have a car

I have two shelves now

That came with the small non-permitted diy back porch room in my grandmother’s home in Florida for I have returned like a boomerang for a third time
This time I got myself a job as a bookstore barista and have acquired more books to add to the ambiance of the room

I took all the books out of the steamer trunk and lined them up by genre, and size

I’ve got a stack of unread library books next to my bed though

Somewhere along the way I gifted myself a kindle paper-white - I treasure it,as a literary gormandizer and minimalist lover of efficiency to me it is magic

but I still can’t turn down a good cover, or the musty scent of old pages

Maybe I will put up more shelves

One of the shelves I can barley reach because the room wasn't originally built for me
I hope to afford just the right folding step stool that could double as a seat to maximize the space

I have put up art on the walls

Made curtains

I recently bought a minty colored folding table to use my gram’s shiny black Singer sewing machine from the 40’s that still stitches like a beast as I sit on the edge of the bed

I call the room the Rainbow Oasis
I am afraid to get it set up exactly right

I am learning how to love my own skin

And all that is within

My heartbeat like crashing waves

Under abundant breasts

Body positivity

Rejecting impossible standards

Accepting me

The self inflicted scars

Carved into my arms

My Mount Rushmore of bad days

And half remembered pains

The birth marks and freckles and

Misshapen toes

My unaligned eyes

That make strangers nervous

I will break through these distortions

Until I have reclaimed every inch of my skin

Where it stretches and curves

Cherry blossom tinted

Strong despite assumptions

I am expanding my expectations

I am learning how to love myself

---------------------
100 words

It's half an hour past the deadline for posting an entry for week 1

I wrote a thing but not feeling right to post now

My writing muscles are rusty

I am NOT GIVING UP!

Still excited to be back on the Idol roller-coaster

In a world of masochistic creative procrastinators

One writer will win it all...

LJ Idol Presents: Literary Prize Fight

Join the adventure at therealljidol.dreamwidth.org/

Musings 6.25.17

One of my favorite things to do is write in invisible ink

I change the font color to match the background

so I can’t read over what I’ve written so far

and have to just keep forging ahead

It’s all I can do to turn off the criticizing voice

Who is always afraid that I’m wasting my time

Writing nonsense

A useless and unsuitable hobby

But it’s all I can do

Keeping all of those way more interesting realities

Shifting around in my brain from constantly distracting me from real life

( Read more... )

Current Mood: Alec is riding to Watermead and Seregil is staying behind in Rhiminee
Current Location: a state of confusion
Current Music: Alex Schmidt aka The New Guy

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Of All The Topics So Far (500 Words)

I wish for my writing to be fearless if not effortless

I wish to write for the fun of escaping and the perverse joy it brings to me

Never mind fame and fortune when hypergraphia overtakes me in the middle of the night

Too many tales wanting to be told

Universes full of elegant airships

An underground dance club in a retro-futuristic dystopia

A post-apocalyptic romance, a Mary Sue

In search of a brother who found himself on the wrong side of the law in a barren outpost far from their own

Along the way, Mary meets a handsome drifter who is also the “Traveling Judge” presiding over the brother’s trial

( Read more... )

The Herald

There is a shadow hovering in the corner.

Julie cannot turn to her head to look but she knows it is there. Just as she knows her hand is at the end of her arm but she cannot move it. She cannot turn her head; she cannot run.

She can breath though,and she can scream.

She does not want to scream but she opens her mouth anyway and begins to to speak in garbled and odd sentences. She is channeling the speech of the masters of the unseen realms that live in in-between spaces by the cliffs and the valleys that are not valleys but roads and the dessert sands. Among doorways and within the dimensions of time.

The shadow descends and they become one and they begin to rise from the bed. They reach the door and stand on the periphery of all things. They step through into the great unknown, the great beyond, the place where here is not there because it was not the here, but the journey.

Julie gasps awake in the light of the afternoon sun streaming in through the holes in the curtains; the dust swirling in the light. Her head aches and she wants to go back to sleep but feels too restless now.

She moves to sit on the side of the bed and slowly rises to her feet. She slips her robe over her shoulders as she walks toward the washroom.

She stops in the doorway suddenly recalling the feeling in her dream with a vivid clarity when she catches her reflection in the mottled reflecting glass above the sink. Then she remembers with vivid clarity cutting her hair with a pair of sewing shears the night before but then she remembers that there is more hash and moves to the window sill where she left it.

She props herself on the end of the cabinet next to the window breathing in a little hair of the dog and trying to recall more of the visions of the night before.

( Read more... )

She reaches into the pocket of her robe and retrieves her notebook but instead of making notes she slides out the small cream colored card she’d stuck in the back.

She’s still feeling impetuous, running her fingertips over her scalp recalling the snip of the scissors as her hair fell away. After she rereads the invitation for the tenth time since she recieved it weeks ago she heads back into the bedroom and begins to pack.

She gets to the end of the pier just in time to watch the last airship lift away from it’s mooring and sail into the clear blue sky. She drops her leather case onto the damp boards beneath her feet and sits on it panting and shading her eyes to watch “The Sailing Junkband” get smaller and smaller.

She's walking back to the boarding house when she sees the tinkerer's cart. She looks back up the street weighing her options. She's heard traveling tinkers will sometimes take on passengers and she did go through all the trouble of packing. She decides it's worth a try before giving up entirely.

He is standing beside the caravan holding a flaming torch and working on some gizmo when she approaches with her hood up to hide her unseemly cropped locks.

"Excuse me, I am looking to ride west,” Julie says loudly, akwardly.

He looks up from his work and turns off the torch.

"What reason have yuou to be heading west?" The tinker asks in a watery voice.

"I'd rather not say."

He nods and turns back to his instrument.

"Someone I love is in trouble," she says. "I need to warn them. I am — it’s not safe for me here."

"It isn’t safe for an unescorted lady most places in the twelve kingdoms, I think you will find."

"I can take care of myself."

"Of that I have no doubt. Do you believe one can find what they are looking for by running away?" He shakes his head in response to his own question. "You girl do not know what you seek and so you will never know when you have found it."

"I can’t stay here," she says, it is the truth at least.

"Can you drive a mech horse?" He asks motioning to the steam powered mechanical next to his cart.

"I can learn," she says.

"The truth suits you young miss."

"You know I am older than I look."

"To be sure, but, when you are as old as I am there is naught that surprises ye much."

"So will you take me along?"

The tinker smiles and waves a beckoning hand to her.

Full Text Below Audio

Distance Means So Little...

You protected me even back then Layla
I can say to you now,
And wonder at the bond that has made us soul sisters
Despite all the odds

I was a queermo in a small town
a bad influence on my peers
Because I was intrinsically different

Afraid to test the theory
There was this ever growing chasm between the things that you knew
and I did not
My very thoughts damming me to eternal hellfire

The color guard captain who mixed a clear bitter liquid into our juice when her parents weren’t home

But I remained the bad influence

Because my mother was scandalous
in the small town
where you protected me without my ever even knowing

There were times I spent nights on my knees sobbing to a deity
Who never answered my prayers

I found love
in the arms of a troubled young man who was born into a female body
We picked the scabs off each others souls until we were raw
because we liked the taste of each other’s blood

Grasping the phone to my ear at 2am
I will never make it through this Layla...
( Read more... )

Current Mood: tired
Current Location: 28.543965, -81.373344
Current Music: the original baywatch theme song

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Cue Thunder

“I have had a vision mistress that Sir Henry will be lost at sea,” says the young actress crossing to the proscenium.

In the small box on stage left a small towheaded boy watches through a peephole as the drawing room of a town house begins transforming into a scene of the open ocean; a back drop painted to look like a churning sea with white capped waves is lowered and a small replica of a double masted ship is rocked back and forth by unseen stagehands.

A soft but sharp whistle interrupts the boy’s enchantment and he turns to the prompter who is glaring crossly at him.

The call-boy moves away from the peephole and the prompter whispers fiercely at him, “Git to the green room lad and tell the actors there’ll be notes after the rehearsal and to meet in the auditorium.”

( Read more... )

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Codename: Wanderlust

February 2020

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LJ Idol 11: Week 7: Feckless : An Addendum
LJ Idol 11: Week 4: “My enemies are all too familiar. They're the ones who used to call me friend “
LJ Idol 11: Week 0: Resolution
LJIdol / LPF: Week 12: Write Off
LJIdol / LPF: Week 12: MacGuffin
LJIdol / LPF: Week 11: Long Distance Dedication
LJIdol / LPF: Week 10: Nadir
LJIdol / LPF: Week 5: Not My First Rodeo
LJIdol / LPF: Week 4: Ghosting
LJIdol / LPF: Week 3: Tsundoku
LJIdol / LPF: Week 2: My Mount Rushmore
LJIdol / LPF: Week 1: "It's hard to beat a person who never gives up" (BYE)
LPF: Sign up
LJ Idol 10: Week 21 Home Game: Turn back or forge ahead?
LJ Idol 10: Week 21: Current Events
LJ Idol 10: Week 20: Open Topic
LJ Idol 10: Week 19: Invitation
LJ Idol 10: Week 18: Intersection: The Distance Between Us
LJ Idol 10: Week 14: Topic 4: Nevermind
LJ Idol 10: Week 16: Thunderclap

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Sparrow in Saturn R̶e̶t̶u̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ Reborn

"It’s always exciting living in Fraggle Rock. That’s what’s wrong with the place."

Entries tagged with ljidol

LJ Idol 11: Week 7: Feckless : An Addendum

LJ Idol 11: Week 4: “My enemies are all too familiar. They're the ones who used to call me friend “

LJ Idol 11: Week 0: Resolution

LJIdol / LPF: Week 12: Write Off

LJIdol / LPF: Week 12: MacGuffin

LJIdol / LPF: Week 11: Long Distance Dedication

LJIdol / LPF: Week 10: Nadir

LJIdol / LPF: Week 5: Not My First Rodeo

LJIdol / LPF: Week 4: Ghosting

LJIdol / LPF: Week 3: Tsundoku

LJIdol / LPF: Week 2: My Mount Rushmore

LJIdol / LPF: Week 1: "It's hard to beat a person who never gives up" (BYE)

LPF: Sign up

LJ Idol 10: Week 21 Home Game: Turn back or forge ahead?

LJ Idol 10: Week 21: Current Events

LJ Idol 10: Week 20: Open Topic

LJ Idol 10: Week 19: Invitation

LJ Idol 10: Week 18: Intersection: The Distance Between Us

LJ Idol 10: Week 14: Topic 4: Nevermind

LJ Idol 10: Week 16: Thunderclap

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February 2020

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