"Murder Your Darlings" by Chris Piascik; stuff available on society6.
Gargoyles: only viable cuddle partners for an average of 12 hours a day.
A glove to find your way in 19th-century London
This amazing artifact came by in my Twitter feed today and it is too special not to share. It is a glove that was purchased in 1851 as a tourist souvenir at London’s Great Exhibition, which was attended by a variety of famous individuals, from Charles Darwin to Charlotte Brontë. The leather glove is special because it contains a map that shows the routes to Crystal Palace in Hyde Park, which was the main staging area for the exhibition. It appears to be made for a child, perhaps in case he lost his parents in the crowds. The glove is one of a variety of maps that was produced for the many visitors to the city. Another is this wonderful folding specimen printed on silk, which shows a great amount of detail (check out the enlargements). London in the palm of your hand: a functional memento from the time that the tourist industry was beginning to boom.
Pic: Kew, The National Archives, EXT 11/159 (c. 1851). This the source of the image; here and here is more information on the glove (the latter webpage, from the archive that keeps the artifact, suggests it was a kid’s glove). The glove features on various blogs, such as this one; I saw it in this tweet today.
josh hutcherson making fun of himself for being short is my new fandom
IM GONNA C RY IM LAUGHIN SO HA RD
Earthly fame is smoke,
It’s not what I asked for.
I bring good fortune
To all my lovers.
One of them is alive,
In love with his darling.
The other turned to bronze
In the snowy square.
Lying in me, as though it were a white
Stone in the depths of a well, is one
Memory that I cannot, will not, fight:
It is happiness, and it is pain.
Anyone looking straight into my eyes
Could not help seeing it, and could not fail
To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet
Than if he were listening to some tragic tale.
I know the gods changed people into things,
Leaving their consciousness alive and free.
To keep alive the wonder of suffering,
You have been metamorphosed into me.
Lying In Me, Anna Akhmatova
I don’t know if you’re alive or dead.
Can you on earth be sought,
Or only when the sunsets fade
Be mourned serenely in my thought?
All is for you: the daily prayer,
The sleepless heat at night,
And of my verses, the white
Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire.
No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured
Me more, not
Even the one who betrayed me to torture,
Not even the one who caressed me and forgot.