for those who die in dreams
life rx 2 sep 24
the knight of swords, and an excerpt from the story “Pheasants” from Fernando Flores’ Valleyesque:
“I know where I am,” said the feathered angel. “You know, the word ‘Texas,’ what it means? ‘Friend.’”
“Well, it should probably mean ‘absolute, crushing defeat.’ You wanna know another bit of useless knowledge? The French word ‘château’ means ‘girl.’ But, say, friend—you're flying around, can you see anyone out there who is reliable and needs a place to live? I’m in deep need of a roommate.”
the aleatory
Writing is so fucked. It is so weird. It is so everything. It is not a baseball bat leaning in the corner of the room, except it is, and everybody can do it, and it is imaginary, and it looks like nothing, and it is like dreaming, except harder (unless you find the right door). It’s also like watching a movie for the first time and writing it down so others can see it. Basically, you stick a knife in the ground until you find diamonds. Then you take them out and show them to people. When you take them to the bank, they arrest you because, what? You just found these diamonds? You expect anyone to believe that? So they put you in jail. And that’s the best thing that can happen, because it means they believe the diamonds are real.
What does a diamond mean? It means that it is. It splits the light. Semantics are not really the point. The knight of swords is an actor who doesn’t wait for a script. A rider who doesn’t stop for a storm.
If your dream self kills itself inside a dream, you become a writer.
the assignment
Don’t debate with angels when your needs compel you otherwise.
writing prompt
Stick your knife in the ground until you find the diamonds.
a chune
“Ince Ince” by Selda Bağcan
Did you not know that one of the heaviest mfers to ever lay it down is a Turkish protest singer? I usually find something cute to say about the chune of the week, but that seems pointless with this one. Please, just listen to it.
credits: small spells tarot deck by Rachel Howe
Valleyeqsue by Fernando A. Flores
“Ince Ince” by Selda Bağcan
dear diary, let’s keep this between us, but my birthday is coming up again (9/22, like Joan Jett), and it would really make me happy if you celebrated it by telling me that I’m a genius and the heaviest mfer to ever do it: words edition. I don’t care how you tell me. It can be inside your mind. I’ll know somehow. XS