So many people who wanna argue with me about King Arthur clearly haven’t read the actual medieval texts. I know this because if they actually read the source material they’d know that when it comes to King Arthur, everything is made up and the points don’t matter.
“King Arthur couldn’t have fought the Roman Empire”
Try telling that to Geoffrey of Monmouth.
“You can’t just add in new characters”
Try telling that to Chrétien de Troyes. Aka the guy who invented Lancelot.
“Arthurian canon isn’t French”
Clearly you don’t own an air fryer. Also clearly you haven’t read literally anything written after the Norman invasion.
“Arthur needs to be a knight in shining armor”
If he lived at all he lived almost a thousand years before widespread adaption of plate armor.
“He can’t be in plate armor because that’s anachronistic”
Try telling that to Thomas Mallory.
“The fairy stuff is leftover from Celtic myth/Celtic gods)
A lot of that stuff including the lady of the lake wasn’t added until the 12th century actually. Centuries after England was christianized. It was also mostly added by the French poets.
I love horror books just as much as the next guy, and I enjoy works that are brutal in their content, but I admit I have a hard time consuming books with extreme sexual violence against women.
Recently I tried to read Through the Eyes of Desperation: The Black Version. I am genuinely intrigued by the plot, but every time a female character is assaulted, I feel like closing the book.
I know horror exists to disturb and provoke us, but in those moments I can only think about how it might be an excuse for the author to write out their fetishes, especially if the author is a man. I understand that writing about something doesn't mean you endorse that, but it's hard.
Looking for modern horror/sci-fi with survival scenarios with rapid social breakdown, graphic violence, Lord of the Flies-style themes. Prefer books written after 1985 for this.
Documentary-style storytelling, epistolary or oral history are a bonus but not required.
Hi all, I'm looking for some folk horror recommendations. I recently finished Slewfoot and absolutely loved it. I also read The Twisted Ones which I believe falls into this genre and really enjoyed that as well. TIA!
Reading.She's A Beast: up to November 2024. (Does it count as book research? Maybe, possibly: I'm having a lot of thoughts about the extent to which exercise reduces versus increases risk of injuries.)
Writing. I've... added another section or, perhaps, done another rearrangement? I continue to make notes on the current special interest that is movement? I am... not managing focussed writing time.
Listening.Hidden Almanac! I had The Realisation that it would be a good thing to play while we were laminating infinite potions! We have Emerged from the Accursed Hole! The paper wasps do architecture!
Cooking. O V E N. Still v excited about this. More Kaiserschmarrn, and I am about to bake some bread, and additionally and furthermore I successfully added protein to noodles.
Eating.A celebratory burger for reaching a nice round number on a lift. I have subsequently achieved said nice round number on a second lift, but that one is being banked for The Future.
More fancy bakery treats. :)
Exploring. On Wednesday A gave me a lift into town, and then rather than getting the bus the rest of the way to the gym I decided I would wander. Thus I encountered the former Enfield Electrical Works, a delightful building, and also had a brief adventure through a park I had not previously met.
Making & mending. Have I woven in the ends on A's glove? HAHAHAHAHA.
Growing. I have managed several short trips to the plot! And the free agapanthus I acquired from a garden post in Salisbury is looking happy with its new living arrangements. There are many things I wish to sow and none that I have got around to.
Observing. MANY BIRDS: a goldfinch on a trip down to the bakery! Ducklings! Multiple families of baby coots! The Egyptian goslings are all now happy to Paddle Industriously!
Plantwise: there is a fascinating tulip in a garden near coots the first that I do not understand at all; it's lily-flowered, with very pointed petals, and it started out all white except for some tiny blotches of red on the very very tips. The surprising (to me) part is that as it has unfurled further the red has gradually spread down the petal edges, and it's now got this bright red rim feathering ever-so-slightly into the still-white main body of the petal. (I do have photos and might even manage to post them, but not tonight.) The wisteria are firmly on their way out; my cherry tree has finally finally flowered; the redcurrant and gooseberry are flowering, and the josta is setting fruit. It's warm. I'm enjoying it so much.
Theme Prompt: Unexpected Kindness Title: The Kindness of Strangers Fandom: Sense8 Rating/Warnings: Teen for referenced homophobia Bonus: No Word Count:655 Summary: Watching a movie with his Family, Lito sees a familiar face
I realize I never followed up on the vanilla cupcakes and they did stay moist for 4 days in an airtight container and didn't get that weird texture where you can tell they're going bad, nor did they dry out, so. A++ on the hot milk method. So I am making them today, as well as my favorite chocolate cupcake recipe (it is actually a cake recipe but it makes 40 mini cupcakes as written) and then tomorrow I will make whipped ganache for the vanilla and vanilla Swiss meringue buttercream for the chocolate, and bring them to work on Tuesday, since one of my attorneys is pregnant, and this is likely the last time she'll be in the office with us until the fall. She was all, "no need to make a fuss!" but my boss was like, "Cupakes? :D :D :D" so of course, I was also like, "Cupcakes! :D :D :D"
*
Today's poem:
Mother, Kitchen By Ouyang Jianghe (Translated from the Chinese by Austin Woerner )
Where the immemorial and the instant meet, opening and distance appear. Through the opening: a door, crack of light. Behind the door, a kitchen.
Where the knife rises and falls, clouds gather, disperse. A lightspeed joining of life and death, cut in two: halves of a sun, of slowness.
Halves of a turnip. A mother in the kitchen, a lifetime of cuts. A cabbage cut into mountains and rivers, a fish, cut along its leaping curves, laid on the table still yearning for the pond.
Summer's tofu cut into premonitions of snow. A potato listens to the onion-counterpoint of the knife, dropping petals at its strokes: self and thing, halves of nothing at the center of time. Where gone and here meet, the knife rises, falls.
But this mother is not holding a knife.
What she has been given is not a knife but a few fallen leaves. The fish leaps over the blade from the sea to the stars. The table is in the sky now, the market has been crammed into the refrigerator, and she cannot open cold time.
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