apiphile: (these bloody men)
[personal profile] apiphile
I don't know that I can fully do this justice because I think my brain stopped working on Wednesday and actually hasn't restarted since then. I will try.

Yesterday saw me dither so much that I arrived at the Tate Britain about half an hour after I'd intended to, wearing shorts I'd literally just made and this make up (https://www.instagram.com/p/BVuOsNfB7eM/?taken-by=derekdesanges) and this badge/necklace combo (https://www.instagram.com/p/BVuQidGBhOu/?taken-by=derekdesanges); I milled briefly around the Fayre outside which was frankly underwhelming and full of annoying early-twenties childer and Etsy had sponsored it and yuck. So I took myself to the cafe: https://www.instagram.com/p/BVuWR6eh39V/?taken-by=derekdesanges and had just finished laboriously struggling through test writing (Opportunity is a difficult character for me to write, for some reason) when I got a text from Suzy: was I, perchance, at the Queer Fayre thing.

She came and found me, we wandered around the Fayre a bit more slowly (https://www.instagram.com/p/BVueMxRBuWb/?taken-by=derekdesanges), and while Suzy was negotiating an order of tailored shirts from one stall I got into eating chutney (it looked lonely, everyone else had been eating the Butch Jams), was complimented first on the badge, and then on the necklace:

D: I was in two minds about wearing it in the daytime but I decided if people already know what the word means, they deserve to look at it.
BJ: *cackling* The font is appropriate. Very drippy.
BJ #2: Evocative.
D: It seemed right. Uh. Anyway. Thank you for the chutney. And the jam. And the public humiliation.

We toddled up to the main body of the gallery and encountered the Queer Museum stand (add to the timeline with seminal experiences from your gay little life, write a longer version of your personal story to the pink filing cabinets to be placed in the actually museum when one happens). A photographer made Suzy put hers back into the cabinets three times so he could get good pictures of it; presenting a somewhat less wholesome image I was left in peace.

took our pics with the big heart:

There was an oral history presentation being given on incarceration and punishment of queer prisoners in history: https://www.instagram.com/p/BVue3jLh2-3/?taken-by=derekdesanges (badly, IMO); Suzy and I agreed that it was depressing, tried to go to a guided talk on queer art of the 80s and 90s by Sunil Gupta but he was so quiet that we could hardly hear him and when the Pink Singers started up in the main gallery he was all but inaudible, so we went to watch them instead:


and then had to cut through several galleries in order to get towards leaving, via another excellent leighton statue (my favourite is alas in paid exhibition downstairs at the moment):


in the doorway of the giftshop, watching Suzy pay for something I'd just described, reassuringly, as "more mum than hipster", I was startled to hear my own name from behind me, what with Suzy in front of me. Anyway: turns out it was A Tumblr Person.

J: "I thought I recognised the cumdump necklace!"
D: "Could you NOT have said my face?"

[Over the next couple of hours there was an "Oh I'm going to the RVT with some gays later if you're at a loose end" / "I'm actually already going there, let's assemble our assorted homosexuals into a MegaGay" followed an hour later by "my small friend is ill and I'm escorting them home, another time"]

There was slightly more exhibition in the basement, where I found as postcard of a photo from the LGSM archives, and after simultaneously wondering aloud why the Tate Britain couldn't just make permanent its temporary "all gender toilets: easy access"; "all gender toilets: stalls" and "all gender toilets: stalls & urinals" paper signs over the usual ones, Suzy and I parted company, whereupon it immediately started to rain, because [personal profile] klgaffney is a fucking witch.

I hid in a pub. The pub was already on the Cursed Pub list because the only strong memory I have of it was drinking peculiar cider that didn't even feel liquid while explaining to Douglas that Bohemian Like You and Brown Sugar are melodically THE SAME SONG and then making him listen to one song in each ear from our respective iPods to prove my point (and because of The Business Regarding Doug it's not a Great Time to be reminded of a Good Time), but was further cursed by being a dramatic shock in terms of change of atmosphere (the Queer & Now exhibition: bright! Loud! GAY! Full of well-dressed people and also people who appeared to have just been attacked by several wardrobes at once! Smiling people! The pub: DARK! FREEZING COLD AIR CONDITIONER! CREEPILY SILENT BARRING THE SPORTS ON TV! MINIMUM AVERAGE AGE OF FIFTY!); this time I tried to get something to eat and was confronted with the complete absence of the only dish that looked like it might not fuck up my macros; mitigated by the bar maid deciding she was only going to charge me 50p for my drink because she was embarrassed by there being no food, and then cooing delightedly over my leg tattoos. A brief spark of light before trying to continue with my stupid robot story that isn't even FOR anything (I would have read a book but didn't bring a paper one with me and was trying to conserve phone battery for some mad reason). And there was a horribly posh 70-something man holding forth to his female companion that a stiff upper lip might be slightly useful to these people in emergency services and that you shouldn't bloody need therapy and it was just part of the job, while she womanfully tried to explain to him that incidents like the Grenfell Tower Fire are not something anyone expects to have to deal with nor are they prepared for it, and somehow did not brain him with a chair?

Ran away into the rain for some soup at Pret, then away to the station, slowly, because I knew I was going to be early for Jamie's drinks.

To spare you the agony: I did not go to Jamie's drinks because despite time-killing and circumnavigation of Balham and repeated attempts to get someone's attention online for them to tell me where the party had gone to because it wasn't where it was supposed to be, and despite Lindsay suddenly saying he was coming then that he wasn't coming then that he was stuck in traffic... I never did find the damn party, so I aborted on Balham (Cursed Territory) and ran way to central London to sit in a Wetherspoons with Charlie.

Wetherspoons was also better because the bar manager flirted with me and I managed to write a little; it was also mildly worse because - https://www.instagram.com/p/BVvA4DehzzO/?taken-by=derekdesanges see caption. But I did get to wind Charlie up a bit about him living in KENT (he maintains it's south-east London and I maintain that he's giving himself airs), and consume three jugs of cocktails between us: one raspberry mojito which was ... not great but drinkable (Charlie said it tastes like colman's mint sauce), one rum punch which was entirely fine (Charlie: It's basically pina colada without the coconut cream?), and one long island ice tea, which was FUCKING EXECRABLE. (Charlie: largest amount of alcohol for smallest amount of money. Derek verdict: I have literally never liked these and the first time I tried one I nearly got thrown out of a shit nightclub in Wood Green for smacking a man in the face in an act of ENTIRELY RIGHTEOUS FEMINIST IRE*). Ruthi had by this point joined us although this did little to stem the tide of LOUD DRUNK DEREK. Sorry.

(*Other instances of entirely righteous feminist violence include the time I slapped a man for telling me courtney love was a waste of air)

We then relost Ruthi at Vauxhall as her go had gone, leaving me to drag Charlie through an intersection with very little regard for traffic or his bladder, so that I could get into Duckie faster: whereupon the bouncer squinted at me, and called me by the name of Tumblr Friend from earlier, and said, "I'm sure I've seen you before, though."


Bar staff: delighted by the necklace. At length.

Anyway, Amy Lam&*eacute; was not present so there was a lot less... MCing... but the acts were pretty good. A lady who did a rollerskate lipsynch striptease and later hoolahooped, and also a collection of three who ... did pony tricks? Here is bad photo of Charlie being a pony on stage because of reasons:


We danced our way to the end, met some new and interesting people, I spent repeated circuits trying to find Charlie every time he disappeared without warning (usually cigarette, Mr "I am giving up smoking", but not always); also a significant amount of stage dancing, although less than I would have liked due to Naked Guy.

Naked Guy was largely humping the stage, mainly in a position designed to provide an advertisement for the skills of his clearly well-practiced back-sack-and-crack waxer. Naked Guy was absolutely delighted to make out with literally everyone and naked guy was entirely thrilled by several of the random Creepy Prowling Men jerking him off (unsuccessfully) while he was, you know, rolling about on the stage where the rest of us were trying to dance. Barring a couple of people who knew him and the aforementioned Creepy Prowling Men, the majority of people just either ignored him, laughed and rolled their eyes, or danced with him for a minute or two when he was upright and then gently danced Elsewhere.

(He insisted on dragging my vest off me at one point which was Tiresome as, apart from anything else, I didn't want to lose my badge)

Towards the very end of the night, one of the more regular regulars (and a very good dancer) and his friends weren't on the stage, because of Naked Guy, at which point I muttered something about how We Could Totally Just Have The Dance Stage Anyway, to which the regular-regular (name of Zia - we had a short conversation afterwards) said, "Come and help then".

In the end, I did not, as I had longed to, give Naked Dude a kick up the arse and tell him to take his daddy issues somewhere else. HOWEVER: after the music had finished and he made a big noise about how much he enjoyed Getting His Man Pussy Out (god I hate that phrase) I grabbed him by the shoulder and said that if he wanted to compete on this whole Man Pussy front I was trans and therefore going to win, what with having an actual one (there were only about three people in earshot at the point but there was some scandalised laughter all the same, so I win).

Despite some promising milling about afterward the mooted party kind of disintegrated (I managed to lose the lesbian who had accidentally danced so hard that she split her jeans, too) and barring the incident where a man somehow decided that the fact I chose to reintroduce myself to Charlie on the platform at the tube after he'd tried to cop off with a girl called Ruth meant that I was ... "her" "sister" -- again ????????? -- the remaining fragments of night were quiet ones.

PHEW okay done.
apiphile: fuck you and fuck your fucking face (sire & dam)
[personal profile] apiphile
Having failed to do anything apart from ouch a lot and some test writing on Thursday due to the drinkpocalypse, I then had the worst night's sleep conceivable, overslept angrily by four and a half hours, and still successfully went to the gym, did test writing (and a small snippet of robot porn set up, because I am Only Human), started defrosting the fridge - beginning MAN'S INTERMINABLE STRUGGLE AGAINST THE WORLD OF ICE which has repeatedly involved me hacking at arm-sized icebergs with a kitchen knife while naked at 12am. Listen, I don't tell you how to live YOUR life... oh, and I went to a museum late with [personal profile] ruthi, who took the instruction "museum late" as a literal piece of advice and showed up around two hours after I did (er, executive dysfunction plus hot weather equals slow friend, and it gave me the opportunity to take a lot of dodgy selfies with gay statues and do the aforementioned writing AND treat myself to a cream tea which did not hysterically fuck up my macros so no shade there; also even before the Fridge Adventure I have been eating like total shit and motivating myself to actually put anything inside my body is hard so I've not actually consumed A Vegetable for about five days and I feel like my skin is on inside-out? I did eat a fruit salad on Wednesday, I just feel it was cancelled out by the bucket of alcohol).

Anyway if you're interested in about 40 pictures and a couple of videos from the V&A last night they're here: https://www.instagram.com/derekdesanges/

(I also got a Loz postcard and some miffy pendants in the post from Nine&Lin who know me offensively well)

Today's plans have had several revisions:
1. Go to the gym: abandoned because I had two have an hour-long extension to my sleep thanks to yet another night of enraged sleeplessness (partly sleep cycle out of whack, partly intensely hot room because Jess wouldn't open the window because people in the pub outside were having a conversation and it was distracting her, and then largely because Jess a. would not stop flinging all fifty of the limbs she apparently possesses over my body when I was about to fall off the edge of the bed from trying to grab some space and b. snoring loudly enough that no mount of bluetooth headband music would drown her out). Instead: went to the supermarket and then came back and did some desultory truncated mini-workout (20 press-ups, 2 minute plank, 10 military press at 25kg).
2. Eat breakfast like a normal person: for some reason my brain was not functioning AT ALL this morning and thus I had to spend about 10 minutes wiping soya cream off literally every surface, flat or otherwise, in the vicinity, after I shook it AFTER I TOOK THE LID OFF.
3. IDK normal sane things: no, I decided to fish an old pair of jeans out of the charity pile and cut the legs off because while all my shorts are clean and mostly dry "all my shorts" is "only" three pairs plus the gym ones and "I don't think any of them are suitable". And by "suitable" I mean "I need something that will prominently display my ass" because I'm going to Duckie. Even though it's rammed in there and no one can see anything apart from my incredible saddlebags.

Still to fuck up: test writing (I was going to post yesterday's but the formatting issues are just giving me the world's biggest case of "dunwanna"; a shame because it was fairly good worldbuildery), going to Pimlico, Jamie's birthday, dancing.

Does anyone want to have a look at Draft 3 of Heavy at all?

forgot this GEM

Jun. 22nd, 2017 19:16
apiphile: (maurice)
[personal profile] apiphile
yesterday a man punched me excitedly in the arm out of fucking nowhere and yelled at me that my (sun)glasses were fucking great, which was lovely, but SOMEWHAT STARTLING.

you know normally when someone yells about my clothes in an approving way they're: a) female and b) not hitting me??
apiphile: (did it on purpose)
[personal profile] apiphile
"i'll just walk there" it's 31C you are wearing plastic flipflops and you have a limited timeframe so you can't take it easy what actual part of your brain thought this was an acceptable idea you flay-footed fuck
"just walk to tottenham court road we have plenty of time" (at least we got to visit the museum of the order of st john while the garden was actually open: https://www.instagram.com/p/BVmsvViBBan/?taken-by=derekdesanges it is a beautiful tiny oasis in clerkenwell)
charlie decided we needed a large bottle of gin and i decided we needed a small bottle of gin and what with the two bottles of wine we went through before chris arrived and the half a bottle of pimms, i was right and he wasn't
definitely very allergic to grass my entire torso looks like someone's been firing angry cats at it
we did not feed the parakeets because we were too drunk and i am 500% delighted that i do not remember the majority of the conversation i am only very annoyed that i remember having to pee in the trees
went back to chris's in a valiant attempt to sober up a bit. how this actually worked: charlie drank a litre of water and threw up five times and was still incomprehensibly drunk. chris arbitrarily smashed a glass, i was directed to drink about half a bottle of gin and hung out of a majillionth floor window of a tower block in paddington watching the sun set over london on midsummer's day while waxing aggressively pretentious
we tried to go to g-a-y late, which somehow involved being in a restaurant on wardour street briefly which i largely remember because i have a receipt; chris informs me they both started nicking stuff the minute my back was turned but thankfully i was concentrating too hard on trying to understand salad to really notice
g-a-y late wouldn't let us in. not because *i* was monumentally drunk. not because charlie couldn't remember his own face. no, because chris, probably the most sober of us (who'd also had to put my nose piercing back in for me) "was too drunk"; we decided the bouncer was actually just wildly prejudiced against slavs and complained loudly about this all the way to Heaven, which was shut; we ate the peanuts we'd bought for the parakeets all the way to the RVT, which was also shut. Union briefly tried to tell me my PASSPORT WASN'T VALID ID? but we got in, which seems like a waste of time because it was almost empty and at least three of the people who *were* in there were straight; we left in the hopes of making an entire last hour in XXL / Pulse @ SE1 (bear night) but didn't get there (would probably have been fucking empty anyway WHAT IS WRONG WITH LONDON does NO ONE go midweek clubbing anymore) and found ourselves, eventually, in Bar Italia (Charlie demanded we go because he's never been and the Pulp song).
Bar Italia is very expensive. We sat there eating a cheese melt and yelling at Genesis videos in absolute delight before making our way home.
Oh you think the evening is over? Stopped for chicken from Hardies, AKA "how not to have a hangover" (the other part of not having a hangover is to drink water every time you wake up and take a paracetamol the FIRST time you wake up, then keep sleeping until you're not ill, I am pretty sure at least 50% of hangover is just being tired), and on the way back to the house ended up in a lengthy conversation about the overall shitness of men with a junkie-in-remission who was wearing a rainbow bra and accidentally killed her boyfriend's cactus.
My brain politely decided to wake me up repeatedly to inform me that I "probably have eye herpes now and will go blind" but I recognise "alcohol panic" when i see it (more or less) and just went back to bed.

here i am regretting my choice to remove all the skin from the tops of my feet and foolishly thinking this was the dumbest injury i was going to get this week (i have since SUNBURNT MY MOUTH): https://www.instagram.com/p/BVms6cdBl6f/?taken-by=derekdesanges
here is charlie consuming his fourth or fifth glass of wine: https://www.instagram.com/p/BVo8S8nhWkX/?taken-by=derekdesanges

Anyway it took me until about four to start on the test writing and I've had to bow out of a social engagement this evening (partly because I don't want to go anywhere further away than the pub on the corner and partly because it is like standing inside a boiled bollock today - about 10C cooler but also 100% more humid - and partly because the friend I was meant to be seeing subluxed her knee this morning - she has EDS - and I didn't think we'd get the best out of socialising while one of us was sweating gin and the other was having pain sweats), but I've done it, so here it is:

Read more... )

... I started trying to fix the font on that but it involves removing so much crap it's really not worth it.

(no subject)

Jun. 20th, 2017 17:28
apiphile: (did it on purpose)
[personal profile] apiphile
Yesterday: admin and American Gods. Enjoyable nonsense, if a bit self-indulgent, and GOD I could live a thousand years without ever hearing or seeing another American fucknig trope-laden interpretation of Irish history or mythology ever again. PUT IRELAND DOWN NOW.

It is obscenely warm. Despite sleeping pills I woke up at 5am and kind of drifted until I got to my alarm. Went to the gym nice and early, finally practiced my wobbly-ass form with the barbell without a) any weights but b) the smith machine. Wobble. Wobble. Tense hands. THIS HAD BETTER BE WORTH IT. Also did mountain climbers next to a man who had clearly been doing them for a lot longer than I had so that I could just, you know, marinate in my shame. Still, it's always apparent that my mood is much better if I go to the gym than if I do not.

Bleached hair. Got distracted and left it in for longer than usual. Hair is now basically white. I like it.

Took Jess down to the British Library's dinky little Queer History/Anniversary display, which was pleasantly comprehensive, and as usual Jess basically skimmed a third of the exhibit and I insisted on reading every single thing and got on her nerves relentlessly (last time this happened was at the one at the Tate Britain which we'd paid a fairly large amount of money for and I just don't get it. At all. Why BOTHER if you're only going to glance at things?); we settled on going to Granary Square as a compromise between "going home immediately" (Jess's plan) and my usual "I want to stay out, you can go if you want". The fountains look lovely and would be great fun to go to with someone who isn't a 400% fucking killjoy; the trees were overoccupied so we sat by the large grassy steps https://www.instagram.com/p/BVkH_vRBUUA/?taken-by=derekdesanges (Jess in the shade, me in the sun; she retaliated for this betrayal by taking photos of me looking horribly fat with my top off, but I did also get pieces of watermelon thrown to me, and her instagram is locked anyway).

Still not being in the mood to go home, I took Jess to Dishoom for drinks:


(very excellent mocktails)

We sat for some time ("Against British Rule. As a former colony, you should be in favour of this." / "Uh, the fuck am I? I'm not one of those mad anti-monarchy types." / "I mean, that's not the same as being governed from Britain. Have you seen how badly we fuck everything up?" / "Have you seen how badly AUSTRALIA fucks shit up?" / "Yeah but at least it's your own fuck-up. There's a modicum of agency." = my girlfriend, the Australian, arguing in favour of remote rule by fucking idiots, for some reason?), I had the same pleasant strain of nostalgia as when I was in Whitechapel on Sunday. We had a brief look around the art displays by final year students at CSM, but ran away because there was a drone. (J: "They're not fucking dangerous!" / "DAVE CUT HIS HAND UP ALL TO FUCK" / "There's one you can get that follows your hand" / "What a great way to cut your hand up all to fuck" / "I don't think they can do that" / "HE BLED ALL OVER HIS FUCKING FLAT". I've also managed to fly the microdrone (before it stopped charging or working) into my own face repeatedly.)

Locals converged on FP last night apparently to give flowers to Finsbury Park mosque. The neighbour of the dickhead being charged with murder and terrorism has described him as "an absolute cunt". It is important to remember (I chant to myself, because Jess is pissed off if I talk about it) that there are more people who want peace and integration than assholes who want death and disorder.

Bought a ticket to a panel talk on the gay history of London; Jess is mildly passive-aggressing about me refusing to go see QOTSA with her, despite having asked me if I would enjoy it if I went before she bought the ticket. Repeatedly. "I will go with you if you want me to go" / "But are you going to enjoy it?" / "Probably not, no?"

[I have written the dialogue for Emma's comic. Submitted my story. Now there is no putting off rewrites. BOO]
apiphile: (not enough fart jokes)
[personal profile] apiphile
Been for dinner in Whitechapel:


After some wrangling, and walking, and hurting my feet with flipflops, and a heavy, bag, and complaining about the heat (it's been 28/29C the last couple of days and as a country we're not really equipped for it. I like this kind of weather but I like it better when I don't have to DO things and people don't keep trying to be AFFECTIONATE on me. STOP HUGGING ME. IT IS TOO WARM FOR PHYSICAL CONTACT.)

I still don't fully remember my half-dreamed story but it has all the colour trappings of the Yashim mysteries and the Orhan Pahmuk book that I read (My Name Is Red) which are set in Istanbul at different times, so the weather feels pleasantly appropriate. Whitechapel smells, sounds, and in this weather feels a lot like Ahmedabad did in 1988, although without the animals and the omnipresent dust (there has, in the intervening time, been a massive earthquake, a lot of regeneration, and tarmac: the Ahmedabad of my sketchy memory is long-dead) and that makes me feel terribly relaxed and - well, to be honest the weather does that anyway. Lassitude and oppressive heat and whatnot. The dusk and the flapping net curtains. (I had to chase a girl down the road in my flipflops because she'd left her phone in the cafe I'd walked into).

Lassi, there, which also tastes of that particular point in my childhood. I don't think I ever had kulfi as a kid. I'd have remembered. I'm furious.

The week ahead:

Corrections on the story (it's being/has been proofed), author bio (ish), submit to anthology, forget about.
Queer Museum Exhibit Tuesday with Jess
Wednesday hair trim, parakeets with Chris, clubbing with Chris & Charlie probably or possibly just Chris
Thursday ??? I need to work on this garbage book but I'm also in the process of vaguing my way to a very low-key hangout with someone new and I don't know when that's happening; evening I'm seeing Miranda
Friday ????
Saturday Queer Fayre at the Tate Britain / Jamie's birthday drinks / Duckie with Charlie and whomeverself will stir their fantasmagorical stumps in my unholy direction.
Sunday EID in the square probably, there is nothing whatsoever untoward about showing up at one of the most important days in the Muslim calendar with a thumping hangover. Maybe I'll have some ham first as well just to be 100% kafir twat

(Nay, I am just going because I love a good party and the Humanist Assembly is always on my work weekends, and I think after poisoning myself at Jamie's I will want the soothing embrace of teetotalitarianism, at least for a couple of days).

ETA: Cock I forgot, have to letter that comic as well, or at least write the dialogue for it

(no subject)

Jun. 17th, 2017 23:25
apiphile: (Default)
[personal profile] apiphile
So I’ve got the sounds the sun makes open in one tab, right. And I’ve got a rain generator open in another with a high sub and low bass, low mid range, and high treble setting, right? I just yelled at a friend that it needed a “trees melody” and this is what I got (his work from 5 years ago).


I can't find any submission guidelines for this FUCKING anthology oasdh aouhvaicsas

(no subject)

Jun. 16th, 2017 23:45
apiphile: (henry scott tuke)
[personal profile] apiphile
Sorry I keep whinging. My colleagues and I convened in the kitchen to basically stand there screaming at the TV about how evil the Government are and took bets on when there's going to be a riot, I stole some more food and I feel vaguely human-ish now.

https://mynoise.net/NoiseMachines/rainNoiseGenerator.php have this open in one tab with some good settings and this terrible disco filth in the other https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gp51lt9kdA to try to mitigate some of the rest of the worst and the worst of the rest. Edits/alterations have been successfully applied to my Merman short story (tick), I still feel like I live in a fucking treacle mine over the blasted novel, and further rewrites on Heavy pend later in the week. June already feels like it's been going on for six weeks but I'm even slower.

it's probably a good thing i can't focus enough to Discourse about how to use the Lizard brain to control the Monkey brain because that's maladaptive, but I wish the Monkey would not rile up the lizard by shrieking and flinging poo and I wish the newspapers were not Monkey-riling devices.

(no subject)

Jun. 16th, 2017 22:43
apiphile: (i hate that thing you love)
[personal profile] apiphile
the internet is especially stressful already tonight.

wound up about story deadline: can't do anything until tomorrow. about lack of progress on book plotting. on editing, which is 100% my fault

shit at working out & always feel like i'm wading through heavy water and making no progress whatsoever, on top of all the goddamn politics

the hell that is the news, and the constant feeling from every direction that i am not doing my best

(no subject)

Jun. 14th, 2017 22:34
apiphile: (fuck your ideals)
[personal profile] apiphile
Gym: cardio was hard, everything else was impossible, it's very warm today and a small note that came in my Ripped Kit box is making me convinced that I'm Eating Wrong and will be Fat Forever.

Writing: Right, first draft-ish finished (scribbled out on the train and also at a nice table in Canada Square) with 600 words spare to expand some of the threadbare bits in the second draft, then hopefully someone will be nice and proof-read it like lightning and I can cobble together some bullshit and get this to the people before the deadline ahahaha *sob*

Reading: it would be nice if I could retain formation. Ever. Because currently reading London Folklore is POINTLESS. Reading Mother London is nice but self-indulgent and not useful, really.

Politics: incandescent. Want people's heads on spikes. Bad times.

(no subject)

Jun. 14th, 2017 01:22
apiphile: (maurice)
[personal profile] apiphile
Ahead of actually finishing this story: there's a very tight deadline on this, I need to check a couple of things besides consistency & SPG - [profile] wolfy_writes would you mind reading over the main section to make sure I haven't said anything egregiously stupid or wrong from the PoV of an aid worker-ish type person?

(no subject)

Jun. 12th, 2017 21:39
apiphile: (not enough fart jokes)
[personal profile] apiphile
Today's pre-work nap was brought to you by the dream about continuously falling through space, interacting with the planets, accompanied in a DNA-spiral mimicking dance by a giant pink and black moth drawn for me specifically by tumblr artist iguanamouth. Trippy and beautiful and cosmic but with undertones of urgency. 7/10.

September 2011

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