hey lovely ladies, enbies, and lads!! my dad published a book called “Gracie and the Snufflepuffs” by David Rowney. it’s a children’s book (about 28 pages) based on a story he used to tell me as a kid, so the main character is based off of child-me :D currently available via the link below in kindle and paperback form!
“I’m okay.” At least that’s what I tell you and what I tell myself Because for as long as I can remember, there’s been this odd feeling deep, deep, deep inside of me that I can’t quite explain and it wouldn’t go away
Some days it consumes me downplays even the littlest of the good things that happened to me It’s as if I deserve this and I have no right to be happy I am easily irritated I push people away even if all I wanted was to call out their name and ask them to stay
But what frustrates me the most is that I no longer appreciate all of the things that made my worries dissipate I look at art; I used to make art because art is supposed to make you feel something But how is that even possible now when the void only keeps on growing and at the end of the day, you still feel like you’re missing something?
That’s why I say I’m “okay” Two letters or four, however you spell it It looks simple and easy It doesn’t ask any questions It doesn’t take much out of my depleting energy And that’s what I want right now — what I think I need
Some people see past my fictitious testimonies, my false confidence, false smile, false laugh So it looks like I’m not succeeding in the illusion that I keep conjuring They tell me to man up and to stop overthinking They tell me to snap out of it; there are bigger problems than my own Gee, Karen, I didn’t know it was that easy! I should have thought about that sooner Now, I think you’ve cured me!
I look around me and see how people can just simply be happy My friends are going to med school, they’ve defended their thesis, they sleep in on weekends, they have time to watch a movie It looks like things come to them so naturally Then only one thing invades my thoughts in the wee hours of the morning: why can’t that be me?
Deep down I know that those things can be misleading; that these people also have things that they’re keeping We might have the same struggles, there’s just a little difference in the details It’s just that these bad brain days make me feel like I’m beyond repair, and this distorted way of thinking is here to stay and keep me in despair
I tried everything there is: books that help you rediscover your purpose, catch up with my good ol’ friends, chant while in the sitting position called “lotus”, and redirect my focus to school things instead I’ll admit that it somewhat helped and suddenly, things are no longer as intense So here I am, thinking, “Did I…just make that up in my head?”
So one day, I find myself singing again ABBA, Beyoncé, Kanye, you name it I’ve set my mind on grad school I’m working on defending my thesis You wouldn’t even believe that I got eight hours of sleep last weekend I also just watched a whole season of good TV I didn’t even know that the agents of SHIELD had been battling the Kree Gosh, I don’t want this feeling to end
But that good, happy place doesn’t last and the emptiness creeps in way too fast I thought I’ve had a good grip on this new reality How did I let it get taken out of my hands? Here we go again It’s barely been a minute since I actually felt sane Here we go again with this random period of crippling paranoia “Can we please chill for a minute, dear brain?”
No. And it was there when I came to understand why people jumped in front of moving trains, why they threw themselves off buildings, why some chose to drink the night away — a quick fix Acting as quickly as the void that swallowed them whole; as quickly as their desire to put it all to an end
They say that the truth will set you free; they say it’ll bring about inner peace, help you go to bed and finally get a good night’s sleep but there are always two sides of the same coin and we rarely talk about the other story, the one where the truth can be filled with pain and agony the one that makes us feel that we’re locked up in a box and then suffocated by a bag full of life’s atrocities
I wish more people would see this truth that I’m still me and you’re still you that we are not the demons inside our minds that every day is a fight to no longer be slaves of the pain we feel inside I long for the day where I could be honest look you in the eye, take a deep breath, and say, “The truth is, I am not okay.”
I wrote this spoken word poetry piece in the quiet of the morning in my favorite café. All 827 words in under 20 minutes. There were no tears shed in the process of writing and practicing until today, where I broke down mid-performance in front of my literature professor and 16 of my classmates. I guess it was only then and there where I really felt every word I uttered. I was so focused on extracting those feelings and putting them into words, I neglected to understand what they meant. So here I am, back in the café, coming to a realization that there’s still so much pain left inside of me, even if for the past few days I feel like I’m finally getting back on my feet. It’ll probably take a little bit more effort (and maybe even that spiritual retreat next week) to achieve some sort of inner peace, but I’m glad I made this progress of acknowledging my truth today.
If you ever find yourself resonating with this piece, I wish I could surround you with fluffy clouds, cute lil’ bunnies, and all the good things. If you need a friend, my inbox is open 24/7.
““…I didn’t even know that people escaped over the mountains or that there was a concentration camp just for women who resisted the Nazis.” “Men tell stories,” I say. … “Women get on with it. For us it was a shadow war. There were no parades for us when it was over, no medals or mentions in history books. We did what we had to during the war, and when it was over, we picked up the pieces and started our lives over””
— Vianne speaking to her son from Kristen Hannah’s The Nightingale
There was a poem I read a while back and it reminded me of monument valley. It’s called “the princess” by Alfred Tennyson. So I drew this.
“The princess” Tears idle tears I know not what they mean Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes In looking on the happy autumn-fields And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail That brings our friends up from the underworld Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half awakened birds To dieing ears, when unto dieing eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square So sad, so strange, the days that are no more
Dear as renember’d kisses after death And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love Deep as first love and wild with all regret; O death in life the days that are no more!
Jane Austen really said ‘I respect the “I can fix him” movement but that’s just not me. He’ll fix himself if knows what’s good for him’ and that’s why her works are still calling the shots today.
Meanwhile Emily Brönte just said “We can make each otherworse.”
the reason tht ppl hating on shadow and bone books or even the fandom ticks me off is bcuz, shadow and bone is a perfectly great book, with good world and character building showing themes different from books released at the time, but the reason ppl dont like it is bcuz the book tried to sell to an audience tht wantedthe villain to get the girl and the bad guy to ultimately win. Neither the author nor the fandom is at fault here.
Earlier in February, I read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World. Mostly because it’s an early piece of literature containing dinosaurs/paleontology as a focus. Also because it sounded fun. Despite the degree of time separation between now and then, the book was entertaining to read. Honestly some books published in the last twenty years were harder to parse than The Lost World. As paleontological fiction, it is vastly outdated. The story takes place in the eponymous lost world, an enormous tepui in the Amazon. In it are a variety of mostly European fauna (Iguanodon, Pterodactylus, Megaloceras) and some contemporary animals that may have been unintentionally airlifted from other parts of the world. Doyle described “a scaly anteater” which I was at first willing to give the benefit of the doubt that it was a way of describing a gylptodont, but is more likely to be him not knowing South America doesn’t have pangolins. It’s also really racist. Challenger is apparently able to tell Malone is Irish by the shape of his skull (which… like… there’s flesh in the way dude…), the black character is happily subservient to the British protagonists, and at one point they commit a near genocide of ape-people. More subtly there are a bunch of references to the inherent superiority of the British to the rest of the world which is really hard to take seriously some times. Also I’m like 75% sure at the end of the book Roxton and Malone return to the lost world to start a diamond mining company. Which is, to put it lightly, an enterprise that is consistently exploitative of their workers.
So why did I draw the main characters? I’ve done this with a few books. Especially ones with characters who are described in specific terms. To get a picture of what they look like, because when I read I imagine the events visually, I, er, make a picture. An, unlike the monstrosity that is A Song of Ice and Fire, the story had only a few characters I thought necessary to sketch as I read.
Roxton is an archetypal British safari adventurer with red hair and a mustache, Challenger is described with drooping eyelids and a big beard like an Assyrian statue, Malone is described the least but is also the youngest, freshest faced, and a big simp, and Summerlee is older with a goatee and a drone, sarcastic wit. They are fun to read divorced from reality. Challenger and Summerlee get into petty scientific debates constantly. Roxton is the most practical but also really wants to shoot dinosaurs. And there is a lot of fun poking at the seriousness with which 19th century scientists take themselves.
