UNUSUAL HOARD commission for rumpelstiltskinsgold – “nightmares” as an idea is really broad and abstract and theres a Little Somethin For Everyone in this mess
tchalla hacks buckys phone location so he knows where he is if and when he wants to beat his ass
he just gets bored and he’s like hmmmmmm bucky’s only two miles away frm me time for pain buck boi
forget the tony and steve man pain, i want to just see scenes of Bucky standing in the self checkout line with a loaf of bread and TP then suddenly tchalla is there throwing a shopping cart at his ass and they start fighting. bucky in the bathroom washing his hands calmly before tchalla kicks the door open and they start fighting. tchalla having a sandwich in the park until he sees bucky coming then he throws it at his face and then they start fighting.
Bucky’s about to dive in the pool, T’Challa runs up, drop kicks his ass and flips out of the splash zone.
it’s very important to me that sometimes t’challa is in a high-level but very boring cabinet meeting about grain prices or smth and his secret Danger Phone goes off and he glances down at it and then grimly says, “i must go.” and everyone’s like, wow. our strong and brave prince. off to protect Wakanda in her hour of need again. meanwhile t’challa’s just hit bucky barnes with a SPECTACULAR flying clothesline outside a Home Depot in bed-stuy
[spends 12 hours analyzing new piece of media] good news, Alpha Primitives, I have examined this plotline and found the only Truly Pure™ Ship it contains. You will join me in thoroughly condemning all other options or risk exile to the Apologist Zone, where dwell the corrupt, the weak, the morally improper,
In the old nature religion (in which the divine was often perceived as feminine) it was the female horned reindeer who reigned supreme as the great goddess of the winter solstice. It was when we “Christianized” the pagan traditions of winter, that the white bearded man i.e. “Father Christmas” was born.
Today he chariots Rudolph and his steed of flying reindeer across our mythical skies and we have forgotten the power of the Deer Mother, the female horned Reindeer. Stronger and larger than the buck, it is she who leads the herds. And it is her beloved image that adorns the Christmas cards and Yule decorations we are so familiar with today. Because, unlike the male who sheds his antlers in winter, it is the Deer Mother, who carries the life-giving sun safely through winter’s darkest, longest night in her horns.
Across the North, since the Neolithic, from the British Isles, Scandinavia, Russia, Siberia, the land bridge of the Bering Straights and into the Americas, the female reindeer was venerated as the ‘life-giving mother’. She was the facilitator of fertility, the anima of wild places, forests and mountains, the otherworldly steed of fairies and magical folk. Her horns adorned altars and the heads of shamanic priestesses and her image was etched in standing stones, woven into ceremonial cloth and clothing, cast in jewelry and painted on drums.
Rarely depicted running on land, the reindeer was seen leaping or flying through the air with neck outstretched and legs flung out fore and aft. Often carrying the cosmos, the sun, moon and stars in her horns, her antlers were the tree of life, depicting the lower, middle and upper worlds. The Deer Mother has also been visualized as a seated woman/goddess, wearing a horned headdress into which is woven the tree of life and the bird (emblematic of shamanic flight). This trio of symbols is often repeated in winter solstice imagery and Christmas folk art and is still with us – though we have clearly forgotten their original meaning.
So this solstice remember to look out from your warm cozy home into the cold of the darkening eve. Remember the forgotten winter goddesses of old and their magical reindeer. And on the sacred night when the sun is reborn, look for Mother Christmas waiting silently as a deer in the temple of nature, carrying a bird in her horns.
There was a merry passenger,
A messenger, a mariner:
He built a gilded gondola
To wander in and had in her
A load of yellow oranges
And porridge for his provender;
He perfumed her with marjoram,
And cardamom and lavender.
He called the winds of Argosies,
With cargoes in to carry him,
Across the rivers seventeen,
That lay between to tarry him.
He landed all in loneliness,
Where stonily the pebbles on
The running river Derrilyn,
Goes merrily for ever on.
He journeyed then through meadow-lands,
To shadow-land that dreary lay,
And under hill and over hill,
Went roving still a weary way.
It’s National Poetry Month, and I’m gonna try to do a thing where I post a poem every day of April! (Gotta double up today since I missed yesterday!) I made a list of my 30 favorite poets and I’m gonna pick a poem from each one of them and maybe write a little about it. This is the first!
One of the first big shifts in my relationship with literature and writing came when my dad read me The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings when I was about 10. I’d always loved books, but Tolkien made me love language. Reading his writing made me understand for the first time how just words could be beautiful, could make you feel things before you even got to the meaning of them. I think in all the ways he’s become just this monolith of the high fantasy genre, he might not get the recognition he deserves as just like, an incredible writer. I understand how his prose can seem dense and stodgy if it’s not your thing (it is my thing), but he was also capable of great lightness and silliness, as well as this amazing skill for stringing words together in ways funny, beautiful, or both.
He published “Errantry”–a very silly fairytale poem–in 1933, and it later got partly recycled as Bilbo’s “Song of Earendil” in The Lord of the Rings. I’m a little obsessed with both of them, and it’s like 20% fairytale feelings, 80% THAT BLEEPING METER AND RHYME SCHEME, DO YOU SEE THAT NONSENSE? and I MEAN what fucking exquisite use of consonance and assonance I’ve never done much rhyming in my own poems, but I do love me some consonance and assonance and it’s all Tolkien and that goddamn “load of yellow oranges / and porridge for his provender.” mothafuckin trisyllabic assonance LOVE YOURSELF, READ THIS POEM OUT LOUD. According to this source Tolkien envisioned the poem being performed over and over at increasing speeds until the audience could take no more, which is one of the hobbitiest things I’ve ever heard.
kototyph 