#hairy sunflower | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lord-of-the-prompts · 2 years

Text

DESCRIBING THE PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES OF CHARACTERS:

Body

descriptors; ample, athletic, barrel-chested, beefy, blocky, bony, brawny, buff, burly, chubby, chiseled, coltish, curvy, fat, fit, herculean, hulking, lanky, lean, long, long-legged, lush, medium build, muscular, narrow, overweight, plump, pot-bellied, pudgy, round, skeletal, skinny, slender, slim, stocky, strong, stout, strong, taut, toned, wide.

Eyebrows

descriptors; bushy, dark, faint, furry, long, plucked, raised, seductive, shaved, short, sleek, sparse, thin, unruly.

shape; arched, diagonal, peaked, round, s-shaped, straight.

Ears

shape; attached lobe, broad lobe, narrow, pointed, round, square, sticking-out.

Eyes

colour; albino, blue (azure, baby blue, caribbean blue, cobalt, ice blue, light blue, midnight, ocean blue, sky blue, steel blue, storm blue,) brown (amber, dark brown, chestnut, chocolate, ebony, gold, hazel, honey, light brown, mocha, pale gold, sable, sepia, teakwood, topaz, whiskey,) gray (concrete gray, marble, misty gray, raincloud, satin gray, smoky, sterling, sugar gray), green (aquamarine, emerald, evergreen, forest green, jade green, leaf green, olive, moss green, sea green, teal, vale).

descriptors; bedroom, bright, cat-like, dull, glittering, red-rimmed, sharp, small, squinty, sunken, sparkling, teary.

positioning/shape; almond, close-set, cross, deep-set, downturned, heavy-lidded, hooded, monolid, round, slanted, upturned, wide-set.

Face

descriptors; angular, cat-like, hallow, sculpted, sharp, wolfish.

shape; chubby, diamond, heart-shaped, long, narrow, oblong, oval, rectangle, round, square, thin, triangle.

Facial Hair

beard; chin curtain, classic, circle, ducktail, dutch, french fork, garibaldi, goatee, hipster, neckbeard, old dutch, spade, stubble, verdi, winter.

clean-shaven

moustache; anchor, brush, english, fu manchu, handlebar, hooked, horseshoe, imperial, lampshade, mistletoe, pencil, toothbrush, walrus.

sideburns; chin strap, mutton chops.

Hair

colour; blonde (ash blonde, golden blonde, beige, honey, platinum blonde, reddish blonde, strawberry-blonde, sunflower blonde,) brown (amber, butterscotch, caramel, champagne, cool brown, golden brown, chocolate, cinnamon, mahogany,) red (apricot, auburn, copper, ginger, titain-haired,), black (expresso, inky-black, jet black, raven, soft black) grey (charcoal gray, salt-and-pepper, silver, steel gray,), white (bleached, snow-white).

descriptors; bedhead, dull, dry, fine, full, layered, limp, messy, neat, oily, shaggy, shinny, slick, smooth, spiky, tangled, thick, thin, thinning, tousled, wispy, wild, windblown.

length; ankle length, bald, buzzed, collar length, ear length, floor length, hip length, mid-back length, neck length, shaved, shoulder length, waist length.

type; beach waves, bushy, curly, frizzy, natural, permed, puffy, ringlets, spiral, straight, thick, thin, wavy.

Hands; calloused, clammy, delicate, elegant, large, plump, rough, small, smooth, square, sturdy, strong.

Fingernails; acrylic, bitten, chipped, curved, claw-like, dirty, fake, grimy, long, manicured, painted, peeling, pointed, ragged, short, uneven.

Fingers; arthritic, cold, elegant, fat, greasy, knobby, slender, stubby.

Lips/Mouth

colour (lipstick); brown (caramel, coffee, nude, nutmeg,) pink (deep rose, fuchsia, magenta, pale peach, raspberry, rose, ) purple (black cherry, plum, violet, wine,) red (deep red, ruby.)

descriptors; chapped, cracked, dry, full, glossy, lush, narrow, pierced, scabby, small, soft, split, swollen, thin, uneven, wide, wrinkled.

shape; bottom-heavy, bow-turned, cupid’s bow, downturned, oval, pouty, rosebud, sharp, top-heavy.

Nose

descriptors; broad, broken, crooked, dainty, droopy, hooked, long, narrow, pointed, raised, round, short, strong, stubby, thin, turned-up, wide.

shape; button, flared, grecian, hawk, roman.

Skin

descriptors; blemished, bruised, chalky, clear, dewy, dimpled, dirty, dry, flaky, flawless, freckled, glowing, hairy, itchy, lined, oily, pimply, rashy, rough, sagging, satiny, scarred, scratched, smooth, splotchy, spotted, tattooed, uneven, wrinkly.

complexion; black, bronzed, brown, dark, fair, ivory, light, medium, olive, pale, peach, porcelain, rosy, tan, white.

#writing prompt #writing ideas #writing tips #creative writing #writers of tumblr #writers block #writing things #writers #writing advice #characteristics #character description

20K notes · View notes

headspace-hotel · 10 months

Text

I have an essay brewing in my head constantly about lawns. Which, well, unsurprising, since I post about how I hate lawns all the time, but I think the "lawn" and "landscaping" centered way of thinking about Places Outside is a Bigger Thing that Connects to Other Things

(What isn't? Having ideas about concepts is always like this.)

I will introduce my ideas by a situation where they apply: Sometimes life-forms mimic other life forms. One form of mimicry is called Vavilovian mimicry, where weed species in crops grown by humans evolve over time to be more similar to the crops.

Vavilovian mimicry basically helps weeds survive because the weeds are adapted to the care-taking regimen of the crops, and because the human caretakers of the crop can have a hard time telling them apart, which means they might say "Ehh...I'll wait until it grows up so I can be sure I'm not pulling up my crop."

I think there's something similar at work among flower gardens and landscaping...but it's different.

Regular people don't know the name of every plant that might possibly grow in their flower beds, and they often pull up plants they don't know just because they don't know them. They sometimes say they pull up a plant that "looks weedy" or "looks like a weed."

I think to myself...what does "weedy" look like?

This question collided unexpectedly in my brain with an insight I had about invasive species that I could not explain.

I have to get rid of a lot of Callery pear, wintercreeper, honeysuckle, burningbush, privet, English ivy, and other plants that are invasive where I live. And strangely- many invasive plants look similar in ways they don't share with very many native species. They tend to have small, round or squat, glossy leaves, and they tend to have a very dense growth habit.

I can think of several possible explanations: Maybe these species thrive in North America today because of the loss of controlled burning, but their characteristics look so distinct next to native species because they relate to things that would make a species fire-intolerant? This doesn't seem quite right, since it doesn't predict level of fire-adaptedness in native species.

Another explanation is better: they were selected for these traits by humans for their usefulness in landscaping. Dense growth habit would be useful for creating hedges or ground covers. This is why many invasives were originally planted, right? And small leaves might feel or be perceived as less "messy" when they fall.

But I think this is a clue to something else going on. What does "weedy" look like?

Some plants go on one side of "weeds vs. flowers" and some on the other, and it's almost totally arbitrary...so how do gardeners make the call so decisively?

I think about the commonest "landscaping" plants- Knock Out roses, hostas, petunias, begonias, boxwoods and so on- they share a lot of the characteristics mentioned above. Shiny or at least smooth, typically small and squat leaves, dense and compact growth habit.

Then I think about some of the commonest and most important "weedy" native wildflowers, such as goldenrods, asters, milkweeds, Joe-Pye weed, ironweed, sunflower. They all differ from the above in at least one striking way. Mostly, they have hairy leaves and stems, long and thin leaves, and a tendency to grow up tall before blooming. Milkweed has smooth leaves, but its leaves are long and very big. Hmm...

And I think I can guess where this is coming from.

Landscaping and garden designs often look like this

See how the plants are drawn and arranged to cover a space in two dimensions, mostly not overlapping with each other? This is very easy to plan and design. And those common landscaping plants I mentioned—hostas, Knock Out roses, boxwoods, and so on—are very good at acting just like a two-dimensional representation of them does. Just look, you can see them:

Now look at those important native wildflowers I mentioned:

Goldenrod

Ironweed

Milkweed

These guys don't fill much space in a horizontal plane, they go straight up. They don't exclude other plants from very much space either. Plants could grow under them and among them. So they're not very good for "filling up" space, and their opener, lankier, less dense shape doesn't do a good job at blocking other plants from growing.

In a garden of North American prairie- or meadow-adapted plants, the plants wouldn't exclude each other and stay within their designated spots because they're evolved to intermix with a great variety of plants.

"Separateness" is a big part of the typical "landscape" aesthetic. These plants are very neatly separate from each other. This is what looks "neat" and well-kept to us...the opposite of "weedy."

This could mean our garden and flower beds are affected by a selective pressure a lot like the Vavilovian mimicry situation. But instead of weeds being selected to look like intentionally grown plants, the intentionally grown plants are being selected to look different from weeds.

The subtle difference makes perfect sense. In a field, the rule is "leave the plant there if you're unsure" because that's your food. In a flower bed, the rule is "get rid of the plant if you're unsure" because having weeds is more aesthetically unacceptable than having blank space.

The point is: Ecology needs to be a big part of gardening and landscaping, because you are DOING ecology. Even if you don't know the evolutionary principles, you're acting them out.

Just like the ineffable preferences of female birds give the males weird elaborate display structures, ineffable aesthetic "senses" that govern our "built" world slowly turn it into something weird.

#ecology #landscaping #gardening #plants #native plant gardening

2K notes · View notes

melodrama-ticcc · 8 months

Text

.: 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 :.

abstract: bubba never learned the importance of acts of kindness and simple gestures. your new role in the family has begun to change that.

warnings: reader and bubba are platonic. brother/sister relationship, fluff and pure wholesomeness, brief mention of killing, i didn’t proofread because i am very lazy, sorry heheh.

—

solace is found in the tranquility of the bright, cheery sunflowers. their golden tincture and lofty height making them as warm and inviting as the summer sun. rays of sunshine emitting from their dark centers. their triumphant stocks grow thick and long, hairy spines catching the light of the midday sun above. their heads look to the sky as if to admire the faultless beauty in its cerulean colors and heavy heat of the dazzling star above them. leaves droop in a careless fashion, gifting some shade to the creatures below. it’s pretty, the way they shift and dance gently in the warm breeze that falters. only to return every so often with another soft gust.

they’re all-seeing, observers of all in a never ending spectacle. perhaps that is the reason they brought fourth the idea of contentment and peace. for they bare no judgement. complacent in their nature and the symbol of joy and happiness.

the sunflower fields were perhaps the only place on the homestead untouched by the wretched atrocities committed by this bloodlust family. less the human matter that compromised the soil’s fertilizer should be considered in that regard. but, what was unbeknownst to her wouldn’t bare her any harm.

the flowers come in varying lengths and sizes. some stemming to be taller than her, others rise just above her hip line, some greet her at eye level, and the smallest of them all barely reach the knees. the sun peaks through the foliage to glisten over the high points of the girl’s features. shining brilliantly against the bridge of her nose as she winces against the warmth of the texas sun. a soft smile befalls her chapped lips as she feels the warmth tickle against the skin of her face, down the length of her neck and glimmering prettily over her exposed collarbones. reaching upwards, she can just barely grasp the soft rays of the flowers. rubbing the velvety petals between the pads of her fingers delicately. they’re warm with the day’s sun. flashing in the golden colors of the heat from above. it’s pleasant and peaceful, euphoric in a way one might not expect to experience in a place like this. it is strange to find such a beautiful and inviting thing.

bubba never fully understood the value and importance of gentle gestures and tenderness. but perhaps, this was on account of how he’d been raised by his immoral and detached elder brothers. he found it difficult to express such elaborate displays of affection, strange to be benevolent and careful with others. the only time he’d ever experienced such was with grandpa, but that was on account of his disability and frailness. in other words, bubba hadn’t seen him as a threat.

for he feared more than he could bear to be sweet and soft. he feared more than he felt safe. the constant come and go of strangers had put him in a constant state of uncertainty and terror, a constant looming of paranoias. for he killed of fear, not malice. this young woman was no exception.

bubba watched as her arm twirled gracefully in the sunlight. cautiously from a short distance in that same sunflower field. often times he sought the advice and comfort of the flowers and their wisdom. frolicked in their own carefree and pleasant ways. it has been amongst the only times he would find peace of mind. an escape from the influx of insults and violence hurled his way by the family. a place where someone like him could truly be gleeful.

he watches as she reaches for the fragile flowers closer towards the ground. spinning it between her slender fingers as she brings the bud up to her nose. a quiet sniff, and a gentle smile. intrigued, he mimics her actions. carefully bending over to pluck a small sunflower from the soil, sitting back up, and bringing the head of the flower to his nose to smell for himself.

the smell of the earth fills bubba’s nostrils. the faintest hint of sweetness invading the warm smell. it’s soft and sweet, yet strikes him unexpectedly. he sniffles, not before dropping the flower as he sneezes. his foot moving to step on the plant accidentally. the fragrance twinges his nose, despite its pleasant smell. he’s stunned, spooked, and upset he’d destroyed something he found to be so pretty. groans of concern and sadness leave his mouth as he stares at the partially destroyed flower. only to look back up to find the girl slowly approaching him. offering him her own flower she’d picked only moments ago in the accident’s wake.

she’s terrified, still not fully accustomed to her new home life or family members. therefore cautious and unsure, just as he is. but she sees the vulnerability and display of softness bubba possesses. and a part of her almost feels pity, intertwined with the longing to be kind to such a lost soul.

her frail arm shaking, bubba hesitantly takes the flower from her hand. her gesture met with just as much caution and fear. but beneath that skin mask, he smiles. a disgruntled and amused laugh befalling his lips. his display of happiness is met with a bright smile. to which, the both find some degree of comfort. she moves to remove the mutilated flower from the ground below, examining it closely and shaking her head.

“ it ain’t ruined. ” she dusts the dirt from its petals and reveals a flower crushed and bent. it’s petals wilted and the middle plucked of some of its fuzz. the stem is cracked in half, but she prevails, holding it out to display it to him. “ it’s still beautiful, see for yourself. ”

bubba scoots closer to examine the damage he’d done, finding himself confused by what she meant. it was mangled and ugly, much like he saw himself. but she only pressed on, despite his sounds of disappointment.

“ it’s beautiful, to me. ” she whispers, clasping it to her chest. “ here — i’ll keep this one, the one i picked is a gift from me to you. ”

bubba only nods, staring in awe at the flower he held. he’d never been given a gift like this before. it felt, strange. it filled him with a great sense of joy and gratitude. that foreign feeling of safety and tranquility filling him as he stood with her. ah, perhaps she was his new favorite sibling.

their exchange is short, yet it became the moment he had began to learn the importance of simple kind gestures. maybe, the beginning of his understanding of gentleness. he felt a little less scared. and in the hot summer months when time had allowed it, they’d return to the sunflower fields to bask in its beauty and warmth. she’d braid flower crowns and place them atop his head, and they’d fill baskets with flowers to craft fancy bouquets for the dinner table each night. bubba even found it in him to gift flowers to his brothers, despite their unappreciative nature to the gift. despite that, he’d always feel great satisfaction when seeing the smile on y/n and sissy’s faces when he gave them a flower.

#melodrama #tcsm x reader #tcsm game #tcsm #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre game #johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #bubba sawyer #leatherface #tcm drayton #tcm nubbins #the cook #the hitchhiker #sissy slaughter #the slaughter family #tcsm 1974

141 notes · View notes

kvetchlandia · 9 hours

Text

Joe Rosenthal Allen Ginsberg at Lawrence Ferlinghetti's "City Lights" Bookstore, North Beach, San Francisco 1959

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look for the sunset over the box house hills and cry.

Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery.

The only water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily.

Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust--

--I rushed up enchanted--it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake--my visions--Harlem

and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past--

and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye--

corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb,

leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear,

Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then!

The grime was no man's grime but death and human locomotives,

all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis'ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuberance of artificial worse-than-dirt--industrial--modern--all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown--

and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs & sphincters of dynamos--all these

entangled in your mummied roots--and you standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form!

A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze!

How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of your railroad and your flower soul?

Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive?

You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower!

And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not!

So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter,

and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack's soul too, and anyone who'll listen,

--We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

-- Allen Ginsberg, "Sunflower Sutra" 1955

31 notes · View notes

pastelwitchling · 2 months

Text

Michael's too gorgeous, and it's a problem for Alex.

***

Alex was trying not to ogle.

He wasn’t a lovestruck teenager, and this extra need in his gut, burning through every inch of his body, really shouldn’t have been there. So Michael was working in their backyard-turned-garden. So he was planting some sunflowers.

So he was shirtless in the scorching sun, sweat rolling down his muscled, hairy chest and abs, his jeans slung low on his hips and his arms bulging as he dug his spade into the dirt, his work at odds with the gentle hands that carefully patted the dirt around each individual sunflower. So what?

He was turning into one of the housewives that loved visiting the junkyard. Alex knew it was silly to be jealous of any of them, but he was stuck in air-conditioned rooms with high-tech all day while Michael had the freedom to both work with Deep Sky and occasionally help Walt out. Alex, on the other hand, was stuck dismantling dark organizations and decrypting complicated lines of codes to reveal alien technology and coordinates. It was fine, Alex supposed.

What he would’ve loved though was to be able to hang out at the junkyard when he felt like it and warn the oglers away.

He wasn’t like those creepers though, he reminded himself. Michael was his husband. It wasn’t creepy to admire your husband.

“What’s that face?”

Alex blinked, and realized Michael had stopped working to stare back at him, his hand shading his eyes, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Alex was lying across the loveseat beside their patio door, a forgotten book in hand and a glass of Michael’s special lemonade on the wicker table at his side, but Michael looked at him as though he was ready to press his body against Alex’s own and completely stain the pristine cushions.

Alex wasn’t opposed to it, but he did have some integrity. He returned to his book, acting as though he’d been reading this whole time.

“What face?”

Michael set his spade down among the dirt, wiping his brow with his forearm, every inch of him a hairy beast that Alex was dying to feel. But he knew Michael’s smug smirk too well, and if he gave in to his desire now, he would never hear the end of it.

“That face,” Michael huffed, coming to a stop in front of Alex, and tilted his head. “Is the lemonade too sour?”

“Nope,” Alex said, eyes trained on his pages. “It’s perfect.”

Michael hummed. “Then why do you look like you do whenever I tell you Mrs. Lloyd visited the junkyard?” At the mere mention of Michael’s biggest fan, Alex must’ve made the face again because Michael cackled, nudging Alex’s knees with his hips to sit on the edge of the couch, an arm slung around Alex’s legs. He kissed Alex’s knee, his hand rubbing soothing circles into his right thigh even as his eyes darkened mischievously.

“Like what you see?”

“Always,” Alex said immediately, insulted that Michael would doubt it for a second. His husband briefly looked stunned before his smile softened, and he pressed another kiss further down Alex’s thigh. Alex clenched his jaw and tried to bury his face in his book so that Michael wouldn’t see him blushing.

Wow, he really was a lovestruck teenager.

“You doin’ okay, baby?” Michael said in a low voice, and Alex might’ve believed he was being sincere if not for the barely-contained laughter in his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Busy reading?”

“So busy. Too busy to speak to you, in fact.” Then, because he was craving more fantasy fuel, “You should go finish your gardening.”

“So you can keep reading.”

“Yep.”

“Upside down?”

Alex blinked, his face burning hotter as he realized Michael was right. He was now holding his paperback upside down. Pressing his lips together, he slowly lowered the book and tried to ignore Michael’s look of utter joy.

Setting the story aside, he sat up with as much dignity as he could, shoulders straight, and said, “Shut up.”

Michael laughed harder, taking Alex’s face in his hands and smushing their faces together. Alex tried to act annoyed, even as his heart hammered at the feel of Michael’s stubble against his own jaw, Michael’s hands holding him tightly as though unwilling to ever let him go, Michael’s sweat – his scent – all over Alex.

“Okay, okay,” Alex swatted him away, unable to meet his eyes, a feeble attempt to hide his red face. “So I’m in love with my own husband, shocker.”

Michael’s smile was brighter than the midday summer sunlight. “I love my husband more,” he said, brushing their noses together before he took Alex’s lower lip between his teeth and planted a kiss on Alex’s cheek.

He was about to pull away when Alex’s pride shattered and he reached an arm up, catching Michael around the waist and pulling him back down.

“Not yet.” His command came out breathier than he’d intended, but he didn’t care. He tried to think of something witty to say, flirty, intelligent, but all he could do was urge, “Not yet.”

Michael seemed to hear everything Alex wasn’t saying, just as he’d always been able to, and he put a knee between Alex’s legs, his smile sharpening. Alex was supposed to be a genius, but with Michael, he always felt one step behind. Always wherever Michael wanted him.

He was weirdly thrilled about that. Probably because no matter what direction he was being pulled, he trusted Michael to keep him safe.

Michael cupped his cheek, his calloused palm falling to cup Alex’s neck, tugging at the hair at his nape.

“Not yet,” he agreed in that low, gravelly voice that sent shivers down Alex’s spine. Then his hands fell to the hem of Alex’s shirt. “But I want to stare too.”

***

Happy Malex Monday ❤️

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

41 notes · View notes

jellypawss · 2 years

Photo

Sunshine Hair

I was super inspired by a tiktok i saw of a cute toddler with sunflowers in her hair! I haven’t meshed in forever so forgive me if the sunflowers are a lil goofy looking. I have plans to convert this to toddler and adult!

kids hair

m&f

bgc

DOWNLOAD | 7/10/22 | Ko-Fi

#ts4cc #sims 4 #ts4 #the sims 4 #s4mm #ts4mm #maxis match #ts4 hair #simblr

681 notes · View notes

naffeclipse · 1 year

Note

*whispers*

Intoxicated cryptid hunter y/n

Somehow in some way imagine y/n getting drunk

The shenanigans are too powerful

Cryptid Sun and Moon being the sober "friend"

The sweetness that could occur when they do their best to help

Drunk babbling to sun/moon's "lol that's vry nice heart"

DRUNK CONFESSIO-

(ok joking on that last one unless it is after the reveal and y/n has said ilysm multiple times in the last hour xbxbxbvb)

And cuddling

Lotsa cuddling

PFFFT if Y/N gets drunk, it's gonna be a whole lot of cryptid ramblings thrown in with "I love you"s every other sentence with post reveal!

"And people try to dismiss bigfoot!!! Bigfoot is not dismissable! He is the classic cryptid! He is not a bear or some weird hairy man, he is bigfoot!"

*Sun/Moon nodding while slowly taking away the bottle*

"And I love you! Bigfoot is cool and I love you!"

"Cooler than us?"

"No! You have four arms!!! And you're pretty. Handsome. Which one do you prefer? You're both. I love you."

"We love you, too, heart."

"And another thing! The lock ness monster is not a beaver with its tail up! Ol' nessie—monster nessie, not my friend Nessie. I love her and I love you. Monster nessie is real!"

"We know, sunflower."

#cryptid sightings #drunk shenanigans

186 notes · View notes

janewilsonrva · 7 months

Text

Spread a Little Sunshine

Richmond, Virginia (USA)

Based on a photo from September 3, 2021.

I associate September with yellow flowers. 🌼

These may have been Hairy Sunflowers (Helianthus Hirsutus), native to North America and a member of the Sunflower family. I noticed them in a local park, much to my delight.

#wildflowers #autumn #mobile photography #art filter

33 notes · View notes

toadstoolgardens · 7 months

Text

Foraging for Goldenrod (Solidago)

Goldenrod or Solidago blooms in late summer/early fall across much of North America. It's beautiful golden flowers reflect the golden sun of late summer. Goldenrod is edible and medicinal and can be used as a natural dye!!

Identifying Goldenrod

Goldenrod is a member of the Asteraceae or sunflower family and likes open sunny areas like meadows, fields, and forest openings. The stems are tall and stiff with tiny golden-yellow flowers in a dense, pyramid-shaped, pluming cluster. It's a prolific perennial and can grow 0.5-2m tall.

The leaves vary slightly depending on the species of goldenrod, but they're long, narrow, and taper to a point. The edges can be smooth or slightly toothed, or slightly hairy on the underside depending on species.

Goldenrod in my area likes to grow alongside New England Aster. They make such a beautiful combination of purple and yellow and can aid in identification. If you see one you just might see the other!

Look-Alikes

Goldenrod can sometimes be mistaken for Senecio species like ragwort (left) and groundsel (right). Some Senecio species contain TOXIC pyrrolizidine alkaloids that can cause liver damage. As always please be 100% certain of your identification before harvesting!! That said, senecio's flowers are generally much larger and much fewer than goldenrod's many tiny flowers. They also tend to bloom earlier in the season than goldenrod.

Harvesting Goldenrod

All of the above-ground parts of goldenrod are edible! Harvest by snipping the top of the stems, leaves, and flower heads with scissors (about the top 1/3rd of the plant). The earlier in the blooming season the better! The later blooms tend to be more bitter and can fluff up like dandelions if you want to dry them.

If you're worried about seasonal allergies you should be safe with goldenrod! Goldenrod is insect pollinated so it doesn't need to release pollen into the air.

Whatever you do DO NOT pull up entire goldenrod plants!!! Goldenrod is a massively important plant for hundreds of pollinators including bees, butterflies, beetles, and wasps. Harvest sustainably, no pulling up by the roots, and only snip the tops you'll use!!

You can use goldenrod fresh or dry it by hanging it upside down for about a week (spread it out for adequate airflow!) or in your kitchen oven by spreading in a single layer on baking sheets and baking 4-5 hours at 170F/76C. Store dried goldenrod in an airtight container.

Goldenrod Uses & Benefits

Goldenrod as an herbal remedy is highly anti-inflammatory, great for the kidneys (prevents and flushes kidney stones, helps relieve minor bladder infections), helpful for minor respiratory issues like seasonal allergies and colds, and helps heal minor wounds and swelling when used externally. It's also edible raw or cooked! The leaves can be cooked like spinach or used in lots of tasty fall recipes like this goldenrod cornbread?!? I need it.

Safety Note: Goldenrod has been traditionally used as medicine and is regarded as very safe. That said, goldenrod taken internally has a diuretic effect. If you have any problems with the urinary system or take a diuretic already, PLEASE ask a medical professional before using. Don't use herbal medicines to treat serious health issues or in fragile populations like babies or the elderly without consulting a doctor. I AM NOT A DOCTOR I JUST LIKE PLANTS.

To use your goldenrod medicinally you can make it into tea, tincture, or infused oil. You can also make a goldenrod salve to apply externally!

Goldenrod Tea:

Add 2tbsp of fresh flowers OR 1tbsp of dried flowers to 8oz hot water.

Cover and steep 15-20 minutes before straining.

This tea can be slightly bitter with a sort of anise/licorice flavor. It's great sweetened with a little honey!

Goldenrod Tincture:

Fill a small jar 1/3 - 3/4 full with chopped fresh goldenrod flowers OR 1/4 - 1/2 full with dried goldenrod flowers.

Fill jar with high-proof (40-60%) alcohol like vodka or brandy.

Cap, label, and store out of direct sunlight at least 4-6 weeks. Strain before using.

Your tincture should be good for a year or more. Take a few drops mixed with a spoonful of honey or water. Can be taken up to 3-5 times daily or as needed.

Goldenrod Infused Oil:

Fill a jar 1/4 - 1/2 full with dried goldenrod flowers.

Pour an oil (sunflower, sweet almond, or olive are good options) over the flowers until the jar is full.

Infuse one of 3 ways:

Slow Way - cap jar and place in a dark, cool spot like a cabinet for 4-6 weeks. Strain.

Solar Way - instead of capping the jar cover it with a piece of cheesecloth or scrap of old t-shirt. Set your jar in a sunny window for a few days up to a few weeks. The sun's heat infuses your oil faster! Strain.

Speedy Way - don't cap your jar and set it uncovered in a saucepan containing a few inches of water. Heat on low for 2-3 hours, watching it carefully!! Strain.

Goldenrod Salve: if you made infused oil you can easily make it into a salve!

Add 3.5oz (100g) of your infused oil and 0.5oz (14g) beeswax to a small jar.

Place the jar into a saucepan containing a few inches of water. Heat over medium low until the beeswax melts.

Let cool and apply to minor wounds, sores, swelling, aches & pains.

You can also make a gorgeous yellow or green natural fabric dye from goldenrod!

Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4

#foraging #goldenrod #solidago #fall foraging #herbalism #herbal medicine #wild food #medicinal plants #herbal tea #be safe lovelies!!

18 notes · View notes

purlty23 · 1 month

Note

You have me thinking about hairy Sunshine. Hairy arms and a happy trail and a cute little hairy backside OAUGH

She’s fuzzy like a flower stem everywhere. Soft and thick and protective of her soft skin (flower petals sunflower petals freckled with dark spots etc etc etc etc)

#answers #Sunshine ghoulette

7 notes · View notes

somediyprojects · 7 months

Text

Paper Icelandic Poppies

Project by Kate Alarcón:

There’s a particular kind of lady-slipper orchid that I have made and remade and adjusted and readjusted. I’ve probably made a hundred little green orchid slipper prototypes, and each try is more frustrating than the last. At this point, I suspect that the minute I finally do figure out this orchid, I’ll make it and then crumple it up, just to vent my irritation.

The Icelandic poppy is another flower that I feel like I’ve never completely nailed down. I’ve been tinkering with this version for over a year now. But unlike the lady-slipper, just about every attempt at this poppy has been really fun. I think it’s because poppies — with their wrinkled petals and hairy, spindly, crooked stems — are gloriously awkward. My practice poppies could carry off every little eccentricity I inflicted on them with rumpled panache.

I hope you’ll make your own awkwardly glorious bouquet of poppies and stick them in a vase and fuss with them as they tilt their blooms at weird angles, and lean all over the place, being disagreeable. And just when you’re about to throw up your hands, you’ll step back and realize that it’s all come together. You’ll want to make more.

The crinkle technique I describe below is adapted from Livia Cetti’s gorgeous and essential book, The Exquisite Book of Paper Flowers.

Special thanks to the phenomenally talented Lynn Dolan (@lmdolan75 on Instagram) for her generous advice on this project! —Kate

Photography by Kate Alarcón

Supplies

-18 gauge cloth-covered floral wire -8mm wooden beads -white cosmetic wedge sponges for applying glue -sharp scissors –poppy templates

Crepe paper

This is what I used, but definitely feel free to mix it up and substitute.

From Castle in the Air:

-“Pale Yellow Green” heavy crepe for the frill at the top of the seed pod -“Lemon” heavy crepe for the stamen filaments -“Sunflower” fine crepe for the anthers at the end of the stamens -Fine crepe in “Red,” “Persian Pink,” “Pale Pink,” “Pink,” “Sunflower,” and “Vanilla” for the petals

From Paper Mart:

-“Moss Green” heavy crepe to cover the pod and wrap the stem, from Paper Mart

Optional:

Design Master Color Tool Spray in “Holiday Red,” “Perfect Pink,” “Coral,” “Orange,” and “Yellow”

PanPastel in “Permanent Red Tint 340.8,” “Permanent Red 340.5,” “Orange 280.5,” and “Hansa Yellow 220.5”

A note about grain:

The grain of the crepe paper runs parallel to the roll or fold. You will almost always cut petals with the grain, placing the template so that the tiny wrinkles in the paper run up and down the template, not across. Each template includes an arrow to show the direction the grain should run.

Constructing the seed pod at the center of the flower:

The first step is to create the little frill at the top of the seedpod. Use template A to cut a frill piece from the pale green heavy crepe. Stretch the wider end of the piece all the way out, flattening all the little crinkles in the upper half inch of the frill piece.

Twist the frill piece, beginning about ½” below the top edge. The part of the frill that you stretched will form a little funnel. As I twist, I like to place my fingertip inside this funnel so that it stays open.

If this feels cumbersome, it’s fine to just twist and then use one end of your floral wire to reopen the funnel.

Insert the twisted bottom part of the frill piece into your wooden bead.

Dip the tip of your wire in the glue and scrape off any extra so that you have a thin coat that isn’t dripping all over the place. Insert this wire tip into the bottom of the bead, next to the bottom of the fringe that you’ve just inserted.

You don’t need to push this all the way up into the bead. You’re mostly just trying to anchor the wire tip inside the bead. You’ll secure it in the next step.

Use template B to cut a rectangle from the medium green heavy crepe. Snip a very short fringe across the top of this rectangle (it’s fine to freehand this, but you can also use the lines drawn across the top of template B).

Use your sponge to swipe a thin layer of glue over this piece. Lay your bead on top of the rectangle, so that the top edge is slightly higher than the top of the bead. Stretch the rectangle around the bead and press either side together.

Trim the excess rectangle.

Use your fingers to press the fringes of the green crepe down onto the top of the bead. Scrunch the green paper beneath the bead around the wire.

This will secure the pod to the wire.

For the stamens:

Use template C to cut a rectangle from the pale yellow, heavy crepe. Stretch this rectangle all the way out. It should now be the same width as template D, but if it’s wider, trim any excess. The dotted line across template D shows how deep you should cut the fringe. (You’ll be cutting from the top). You can trace this line with a pencil or just fold along it and let the crease mark where your fringe should stop.

Without stressing out about it, cut the fringe as finely as you can.

Using the diagonal line on template D as a guide, cut away some of the excess paper beneath your fringe. This will create less of a bump where you’ve applied your stamens, and also smooth the transition from stem to blossom.

Use your wedge sponge to apply glue to the area beneath the dotted line. Place your bead on this fringe piece, so that the bottom of the bead sits just above the dotted line. Roll the fringe around the bead loosely.

Don’t worry about what’s happening below the bead; just focus on making sure that the fringe at the top is even all the way around.

Scrunch the bottom of the fringe around the wire all the way up to the base of the pod.

Gently pinch the filaments between your thumb and forefinger and bend them away from the center, all the way around, creating a tidy ring of stamens.

Now you’ve got your stamen filaments ready to go!

Cut a 3”x 9” rectangle from the orange fine crepe (the short sides will run parallel to the grain.) Fold it in half vertically and in half vertically again.

Cut a fine fringe through all these layers, turn it 90 degrees, and cut across your fringe to create a fine “confetti.” Gently sweep this confetti into a little pile.

Squirt some glue onto a paper plate or disposable dish, and dip the ends of the yellow fringe into the glue.

To keep my seedpod frill clear of the glue, I prefer to hold the stem at a 45 degree angle and dip one section of the fringe at a time, slowly twirling it to glue all the way around.

Dip your fringe into the pile of confetti. Now your filaments have anthers!

Adding color:

You can apply color before or after you cut your petals.

If I’m using the Color Tool spray, I prefer to color sheets of paper ahead of time. Though the odor fades after a couple of days, this stuff smells really intensely like bug spray when you first apply it, so I strongly recommend doing this outside, preferably with a mask on.

Shake the can well, and spray on a light coat. If you’d like more intense color, let the first coat dry a little bit and then spray on another light coat. I like to spray rows of color across the grain of my paper, spacing them a little bit farther apart than my petal height.

If I’m using PanPastels, I usually cut and then color my petals. Use your cosmetic sponge to swipe the pastel onto the petal, swiping with the grain of the paper.

I especially like to apply it so that the color is more intense toward the petal edges, fading toward the bottom, though you could also reverse that.

Clockwise from top: 1. “Vanilla” crepe with “Holiday Red” spray, 2. “Red” crepe with “Orange” PanPastel, 3. “Sunflower” crepe with “Holiday Red” spray, 4. “Vanilla” crepe with “Orange” spray, 5. “Light Pink” crepe with “Yellow” spray, 6. “Vanilla” fine crepe with “Perfect Pink” spray, 7. “Persian Pink” crepe with “Coral” spray, and “Persian Pink” crepe with “Holiday Red” spray.

For the petals:

Each poppy will have six petals: two from template E, two from template F, and two from template G. Templates E through F are actually half a petal, so you’ll need to fold your fine crepe parallel to the grain and place the dotted line along the fold.

Lay the petal on a smooth surface. Place your fingertips about an inch in from the edge of the petal closest to you. Place your thumbs right on the edge, behind your fingers. Use your thumbs to drag or inch the paper toward your fingers. When your thumbs and fingers touch, leave your thumb where it is, lift your fingertips and set them down about an inch forward. Repeat until you’ve gathered the whole petal into pleats.

Pick up your gathered petal and pinch up and down it to set the pleats.

Holding the pleats in place, twist the petal as though you were gently wringing water out of a rag. You’ll twist them pretty firmly, but I find it works better to use a lot of little twisting motions than to try to do everything all in one big twist. Untwist and gently spread the petal, taking care not to smooth the tiny pleats and wrinkles very much.

You can curl your petal at this point or after you glue your pleats.

Curling the petals is a lot like curling ribbon for giftwrap: you can scrape the petal with the blade of your scissors, a skewer, or just your fingers, moving from the base of the petal to the upper edge as you scrape.

Spread the bottom half inch of the template most of the way out and use your sponge to dab glue all the way across the bottom of the petal.

Pinch the bottom edge to gather it back up. Let the glue dry for a few minutes.

Snip off the excess bulk at the bottom of the petal.

Attaching the petals:

You’ll apply the petals in pairs. Start with the template E’s, and place them on opposite sides of the pod. Apply a little bit of glue to the base of the petal and press it right up under the bead.

The second set of petals, the F’s, come next. Working clockwise, place each F beside each E, so that each F overlaps each E by about 30 percent.

Finally, apply each template G petal beside your template F petals, again overlapping by about 30 percent.

Finishing your flower:

Cut a few ¼” x 8” strips across the grain of the medium green heavy crepe. Dab glue on the first two or three inches of the strip and tightly wrap the section of the stem just beneath the flower to secure the petals and hide the petal bottoms. Apply a small amount of glue to one side of the stem wire. (I usually glue four or five inches of the stem at a time so I don’t get as much glue on my hands.)

Hold the strip at a 45-degree angle to the stem and gently stretch the strip as you twirl the stem, spinning the strip all the way to the bottom. If your strip breaks or runs out, just begin with a new strip right above the place on the stem where your previous strip ended.

Once the glue is dry, take some time to straighten your stamens and arrange your petals. You might want to curl some a little bit more, or gently tug a petal’s edge to straighten out crumpled pleats, or press some of the petals down where the petal meets the center to separate the layers.

Sources for supplies:

Michaels: 18 gauge floral wire, Design Master spray, wooden beads, glue

Castle in the Air: Crepe paper, glue, wire

Paper Mart: Crepe paper

Blick: PanPastels

#diy #crafts #paper #x

15 notes · View notes

madeofcc · 9 months

Text

DH MELODIA : CHAPTER 1 : I'll never tell ... part 1/3

Main page / Previous / Next

Songs credits : Sunflower by Post Malone feat. Swae Lee / I'll Never Tell by Emma Caulfield & Nicholas Brendon

[transcript + special note]

BRITECHESTER/ INT-DAY / LEIRO'S ROOM

LEÏLA AND HIRO ARE SLEEPING. HIRO WAKES UP.

HIRO : Hi love

LEÏLA : Hey …

HIRO : Did you sleep well ?

LEÏLA : Yeah but … I don't know, I feel kind of weird today

HIRO : Is it war time ?

LEÏLA : Nope, my period ended last week … Must be a little flew maybe … Or something else ?

Leïla starts singing : ♫ This is the man that I plan to entangle, isn't he fine?

My claim to fame was to maim and to mangle, vengeance was mine!

But I'm out of the biz, the name I made I'll trade for his.

The only trouble is ... I'll never tell ♫.

HIRO : ♫ She is the one, she's such wonderful fun, such passion and grace.

Warm in the night, when I'm right in her tight ... embrace. Tight embrace!

I'll never let her go. The love we've known can only grow.

There's just one thing that...no. I'll never tell ♫.

(both) Cuz there's nothing to tell.

THEY GO TO THE KITCHEN STILL SINGING

(LEÏLA) He snores.

(HIRO) She wheezes.

(LEÏLA) Say housework and he freezes.

(HIRO) She eats these skeezy cheeses that I can't describe.

(LEÏLA) I talk, he breezes.

(HIRO) She doesn't know what pleases.

(LEÏLA) His penis got diseases from a Chumash Tribe!

(both) The vibe gets kind of scary.

(HIRO) Like she thinks I'm ordinary.

(LEÏLA) Like it's all just temporary.

(HIRO) Like her toes are kinda hairy.

(both) But it's all very well.

Cuz God knows I'll never tell!

(LEÏLA) When things get rough, he just hides behind Destiny.

Now look, he's gettin' huffy.

Cuz he knows that I know.

(HIRO) She clings, she's needy, she's also really greedy.

She never...

(LEÏLA) His eyes are beady!

(HIRO) This is my verse, hello? She...

(LEÏLA) Look at me! I'm dancing crazy!

WHEN THE SONG STOPS HIRO GETS MAD

HIRO : Singing ?! Really ?! What have you done again?

LEÏLA : I ... I don't know !

HIRO : I'm tired to be your magical experiment okay ?! This will go wrong one day and you know it ! And these aren't even our clothes !

LEÏLA : But I ...

HIRO : I don't care anymore Lee ! I'm late because of you !

HE LEAVES ANGRY.

Special note : this is the first time that I'm making this kind of video. I've planned to do more in the future so please, give me your opinion/advices if you'd want to see more similar videos. I think I'm just going to use it for Melodia but I'm thinking about adding more videos into DH3 as well. I recorded my sims voices but you can totally hear my computer roar also !

Some fun facts : The midsommar poster between Leïla and Hiro means something if you have seen the movie .... Also, when Leïla mentionnes Destiny, I recorded my own voice to make her say her name but it sounded ridiculous so I kept the "Buffy" version but kept my lyrics change in the subtitles so you can all understand. Also, both Hiro and Leïla are wearing similar clothes from the original video that you can see here :

youtube

#DH Melodia #Destiny Harbour #DHM #DH special #ts4 DH #sims4 DH #ts4 story #sims4 story #ts4 musical #sims4 musical #DHM CHAP 1 #enjoy #these two are really getting into my nerves with their fights #but this episode will be a kind of sad one :'(#I put some funny part though #one is coming soon after this one :)#next part aren't videos #next video is for chapter 2

17 notes · View notes

xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

Note

TTT, idk if this makes sense but just Jason in a flannel shirt, with the top buttons unbuttoned so you a peak at his hairy chest 🫣🫣🫣 just Jason looking slutty !!!

"You look like a gay lumberjack-"

"And?" Jason said archly, sipping his latte.

"I was gonna say it's not the worst look," Steph huffed, checking her watch and craning her neck to see if she could see you.

Jason snorted and savored the taste of the hot cider as it washed over his tongue. He wasn't sure why he was here. He didn't give a fuck about pumpkins. Or sunflowers. But- the cider was good and the donuts he had yet to try smelled like heaven. "Is this friend always late or-"

"No," Stephanie said frowning, "She's usually early- wait! There she is!"

He watched her bounce on the balls of here feet, waving you over, beaming and braced himself for the shrill squeeing- but when it didn't happen, he was relieved.

"I'm sorry I'm late," you pant, "Traffic was a nightmare and befor I could eve leave Dickens threw a fit and-"

"Dickens?" Jason asked, appraising you. You looked cute. Cozy in your wool tam and red scarf with tall boots, jeans, and a sweater under a leather jacket.

"My dog," you laugh, "He's going to be very annoyed if I don't bring him a donut."

""Y/N, Jason, Jason Y/N," Steph said, linking her arms through yours. "I brought him to do our bitch work and carry the pumpkins."

"Why Dickens?" Jason asked, ignoring Steph.

"Oh uh-" you fluster a little under the intense look he's giving you. Distracted by the bit of his chest you could see- masculine and firm looking... If he weren't your friend's brother, you'd let yourself think about taking a bite but. Instead, you force yourself to meet his eyes. Finding his face no less distracting. "He's super talkative and he'll try and mount anything he thinks he can-"

Jason barked a laugh, "Not Byron?"

"He's not dapper enough to be a Byron," you shrug.

"Ugh." Steph huffed, "I knew I should have made Dick do it. I forgot you're both nerds."

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #thirst trap thursday #minors dni #ask answered #anon ask

146 notes · View notes

kvetchlandia · 9 months

Text

Uncredited Photographer Beat Poets Allen Ginsberg, Harold Norse, Jack Hirschman, Michael McClure and Bob Kaufman, Caffe Trieste, San Francisco 1975

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and sat down under the huge shade of a Southern Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the box house hills and cry. Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, surrounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of machinery. The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that stream, no hermit in those mounts, just ourselves rheumy-eyed and hung-over like old bums on the riverbank, tired and wily. Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust— —I rushed up enchanted—it was my first sunflower, memories of Blake—my visions—Harlem and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past— and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset, crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye— corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face, soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sunrays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried wire spiderweb, leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear, Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O my soul, I loved you then! The grime was no man’s grime but death and human locomotives, all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black mis’ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuberance of artificial worse-than-dirt—industrial—modern—all that civilization spotting your crazy golden crown— and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what more could I name, the smoked ashes of some cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs & sphincters of dynamos—all these entangled in your mummied roots—and you there standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form! A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden monthly breeze! How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your grime, while you cursed the heavens of the railroad and your flower soul? Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a flower? when did you look at your skin and decide you were an impotent dirty old locomotive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and shade of a once powerful mad American locomotive? You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a sunflower! And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me not! So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck it at my side like a scepter, and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack’s soul too, and anyone who’ll listen, —We’re not our skin of grime, we’re not dread bleak dusty imageless locomotives, we’re golden sunflowers inside, blessed by our own seed & hairy naked accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our own eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.

Allen Ginsberg, "Sunflower Sutra," 1955

my head felt stabbed

by a crown of thorns but I joked and rode the subway

and ducked into school johns and masturbated

and secretly wrote

of teenage hell

because I was “different”

the first and last of my kind

smothering acute sensations

in swimming pools and locker rooms

addict of lips and genitals

mad for buttocks

that Whitman and Lorca

and Catullus and Marlowe

and Michelangelo

and Socrates admired

and I wrote: Friends,

if you wish to survive

I would not recommend

Love

-- Harold Norse, "I Would Not Recommend Love" 1973

I ran down the street and into the house smelled of oregano and shook Mickey Monaco, said C'mon, Balaban's got a breadloaf climbing over old Gruber's fence, he thinks the mad dogs is doves.

But Mickey grew up in the bed till he was too old and besides Balaban was crazy, he sucked his tongue and got left back twice.

So I ran to Joey Bellino's house but his mother's black stocking said Joey was out early shoe shining. And besides a, that Balaban he's a crazy a kid, he suck a the tongue and Joey says he get lefback three times.

So I banged on Bitsy Beller's window yelled he was near the top, the mad dogs waiting down below he thinks is doves.

But when Bitsy stood up he turned into a stiff cue stick. And didn't want nothing to do with nobody cracked upstairs. And Dickie Miller became a semipro. And Howie Fish a doctor. So I ran down the street full of hope

by myself because I was on fire. But I got there too late for Balaban. Two of them had a stretch of skin between their teeth fighting over it,

and the foam of their mouths and Balaban's blood spattered in such a way, the most the greatest picture looked me straight in the eye, made me sit in the gutter and cry,

and when I got up vow to be Balaban from that day on

-- Jack Hirschman, "Balaban" 1969

for Jack Kerouac

IN LIGHT ROOM IN DARK HELL IN UMBER IN CHROME,

I sit feeling the swell of the cloud made about by movement

of arm leg and tongue. In reflections of gold

light. Tints and flashes of gold and amber spearing

and glinting. Blur glass…blue Glass,

black telephone. Matchflame of violet and flesh

seen in the clear bright light. It is not night

and night too. In Hell, there are stars outside.

And long sounds of cars. Brown shadows on walls

in the light

of the room. I sit or stand

wanting the huge reality of touch and love.

In the turned room. Remember the long-ago dream

of stuffed animals (owl, fox) in a dark shop. Wanting

only the purity of clean colors and new shapes

and feelings.

I WOULD CRY FOR THEM USELESSLY

I have ten years left to worship my youth

Billy the Kid, Rimbaud, Jean Harlow

IN DARK HELL IN LIGHT ROOM IN UMBER AND CHROME I

feel the swell of

smoke the drain and flow of motion of exhaustion, the long sounds of cars

the brown shadows

on the wall. I sit or stand. Caught in the net of glints from corner table to

dull plane

from knob to floor, angles of flat light, daggers of beams. Staring at love’s face.

The telephone in cataleptic light. Marchflames of blue and red seen in the

clear grain.

I see myself—ourselves—in Hell without radiance. Reflections that we are.

The long cars make sounds and brown shadows over the wall.

I am real as you are real whom I speak to.

I raise my head, see over the edge of my nose. Look up

and see that nothing is changed. There is no flash

to my eyes. No change to the room.

Vita Nuova—No! The dead, dead world.

The strain of desire is only a heroic gesture.

An agony to be so in pain without release

when love is a word or kiss.

-- Michael McClure, "The Chamber" 1961

I have folded my sorrows into the mantle of summer night, Assigning each brief storm its allotted space in time, Quietly pursuing catastrophic histories buried in my eyes. And yes, the world is not some unplayed Cosmic Game, And the sun is still ninety-three million miles from me, And in the imaginary forest, the shingled hippo becomes the gray unicorn. No, my traffic is not with addled keepers of yesterday’s disasters, Seekers of manifest disembowelment on shafts of yesterday’s pains. Blues come dressed like introspective echoes of a journey. And yes, I have searched the rooms of the moon on cold summer nights. And yes, I have refought those unfinished encounters. Still, they remain unfinished. And yes, I have at times wished myself something different.

The tragedies are sung nightly at the funerals of the poet; The revisited soul is wrapped in the aura of familiarity.

-- Bob Kaufman, "I Have Folded My Sorrows" 1965

44 notes · View notes