campkilkare: (wide-eyed wonder)
2016-03-10 01:12 pm

(no subject)

Okay, so I haven't posted here in 3 and half years and that is probably A Sign. But a recent email reminded me that I'm not the only one who remembers the old days fondly so I should probably.... be less of a complete fucking weirdo about everything.


These days I post pretty regularly on Tumblr; I do miss you guys, and if anybody wants to follow over there/share their Tumblr name that would be cool.

I am at @eschatolegation, and, um, @it-s-patsy.
campkilkare: (Default)
2012-05-17 06:30 am

(no subject)

Happy birthday to Lexie! ([profile] sotto_voice)

Wow, where the heck have I been?
campkilkare: (life decisions)
2012-04-07 06:19 am

(no subject)

Since it has been a million years since I posted here, here is some news, selected more or less at random from my life:

+I saw Childish Gambino with Laura Thursday night. Best moment: people (literally the entire crowd) hear the band playing during the second encore, and, identifying the music as the melody of the last song on the new album, begin to sing the hook. Donald signals the band to stop playing and everyone keeps going; when it hits the time to start the verses, he sings half of the first verse and then stops.

"Okay, that's not what we were going to play, but it's dope that you guys know that."

He also did some freestyling that punned gladdest-->Gladys Knight-->Knight-Ridder.

+My parents, unsolicited, sent me a huge chunk of their tax return that will take a big bite out of my remaining medical bills. I have some mixed feelings about it, but practicality wins the day and I will take it. Have got to cut out some time to go home this summer now, though.

+Have been pretty happy with my production in RP lately. There is something about trying to fill Andrew Hussie's planet-sized shoes that inspires you to push the limits of the medium. Among other things I have worked out a method to convert email chains into fake-threaded OOMs using tables and find-and-replace that will hopefully revolutionize threading by email, if I ever get it written up.

+Six months after the death (and eventual resurrection) of my laptop, I am finally getting all of my music consolidated in one place; I did not managed to get it all off in time, and somehow I wound up with music on my phone mp3 player that wasn't on ANY computer. And I have bought CDs since then, too, that are only on the new box. But I think I have everything in one database again. I think. Now to jam all 15 gigs into one unwieldy, themeless playlist that I will put on shuffle and play forever.

(Yes. I have been informed before now, by more than one person, that this is the wrong way to listen to music.)

-Least favorite roommate, moving out, stole all my remaining toilet paper and left me some kind of biting insects that woke up one day with no meal ticket and just scurried down the hall. Early suspicion was bedbugs, which would be a nightmare, but I am leaning more towards fleas at this stage of the investigations. Either way, blearrurughggh.

On the balance, though, I am feeling pretty blessed. Therefore, stealing a meme I really like the looks of, from [personal profile] silveraspen:

Leave me a comment, and I'll reply with something that I like about you.
campkilkare: (Default)
2012-02-01 07:17 pm

(no subject)

This meme is pretty cool:

Leave me a topic to write a post about. Serious, funny, anything in between. Comments are screened.


Hopefully it will get me back in the habit of posting regularly, or at least produce a momentary illusion of it.
campkilkare: (Default)
2012-01-27 05:02 pm

cam-acam-mal, pria toi, gan delah

So because, originally, of [personal profile] agonistes, I follow the blog for a Washington State independent alternative newspaper pretty closely. ( http://slog.thestranger.com/blogs/slog/ ) It is the home paper and editorial baby of Dan Savage, original home of the It Gets Better Project, their national coverage of progressive issues (especially gay rights and campaigns) is good, and Charles Mudede is... frequently baffling but a must-read. A lot of you read Slog too, I don't know why I'm explaining this.

Consequentially, I am pretty much unnecessarily aware of Washington State local politics, including their ongoing marriage equality struggle. (It looks pretty close to passing the legislature, at which point carpetbagging national orgs will drag it into a referendum, which it may or may not pass.) They only just got their last needed vote for the legislature, and she said it was because not of rhetoric or any heavy-handed plays by either side, but because of kindness and real human stories and her own conscience. They had a pretty good article about that, too, about how when marriage equality is seen as a movement of love and the opposition is seen as motivated by baseless hatred, it wins.

Now the legislator is question is getting bombarded by hateful phone calls by the national entities, intent on making her take back her vote. Seems counterproductive. But it got me thinking. These tactics, the article I linked says, aren't working anymore; people aren't scared to vote their conscience anymore, and it has become clear that this about love, and the opposition is about hate.

What it got me thinking about it is this: people aren't scared anymore because they know they aren't standing alone. Standing alone with your conscience when you know you are going to lose is a lot harder than standing together with other righteous people. And it has become clear who is for love and who is for hate because people--people who were standing alone against these tactics and knew they didn't have any support coming--stood up for love, and got all of the hate full in their faces.

It is amazing how much progress we have seen on this issue in the last few years; gay rights has become a taboo subject rather than a race to the right in even the most virulent of the endless Republican primary debates. And these stories brought home to me, really, how much of that is because of brave people who stood up and modeled love in the face of hate. And kept doing it until there were too many people to kill, to harass, to threaten into silence; until their threats became venomless and counterproductive. Obviously, as the It Gets Better Project and other current events prove, that struggle isn't over by a long shot, both for good and evil. But--I don't know. Seeing these stories unfolding made me think of this, and it moved me to make this post to say that I respect and honor the people who were that kind of brave, more than I know how to say.

(And it also is clear now, that that bravery--love against hate, unbent and unbroken and ultimately triumphant even when crushed utterly--is the heart and soul of the "Christian" values my parents tried to give me. Which prepares me for the next time this subject comes up with one of them.)
campkilkare: (happy little clam)
2012-01-19 08:45 am

The state of play

Still not using this thing very regularly, even on another sight. Time for another update I guess.

Things are coming along! I am still on disability, because bending and twisting are painful, but otherwise I am out of the collar and feeling a lot better. Easing back on the pain pills and so on. I am not sure I am going to go back to HEB long-term--I have a hitch in my left leg that may make a job that depends on my physical mobility a hazy proposition--but I can figure that out over time.

I saw Shawn last night; he is back to work at his old consulting firm, having decided the path of government service was a little too high-stakes, and will be telecommuting for a while, although they may drag him back to Austin yet. He will need to put together a team of operations people soon, and I am considering that, actually. We have never worked together, professionally, before, though.


Finances are still pretty tight, at 80% payroll, and with a little glitch in extending disability because my doctor was on vacation. Never get hit by a car over the holidays! But things are under control. There is an impound lot that has the remains of my scooter and expects me to pay for them to be released, to which I say, hahahahaha no. The form they sent me lists the color as "burnt," so. >:|

Least favorite roommate is gone, replaced by a buddy of the landlord who is already taken up the title of LFR anew. Not as tidy as the old one, has three cats he takes indifferent care, prone to the worst kind of mansplaining at the drop of a hat. Bleh. Aging hippie landlord had a superdramatic breakup in the living room a couple days, which a) was awkward as fuck and b) means I will be hearing about his antiquated attempts to seduce girls younger than me again. Double bleh. Roommate who is never here remains my favorite.

Discussion of my love life behind this cut )

And that's the news! I am still hoping to get home for a visit while I am off work, but blrgh money. We'll see.
campkilkare: (Default)
2011-12-28 10:53 am

(no subject)

Hmm. This is twice now that trying to import my personal journal over here has failed; I haven't had any trouble with RP journals, and my fic journal imported to this account with no problems. Does anyone know what could be causing it?
campkilkare: (Default)
2011-12-28 09:44 am

a little on the grim side, but.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before?

I went on antidepressants.
I dug a grave.
I got hit by a car.

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I never make resolutions. I achieved some things I wanted to achieve, this time last year.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

A couple of ladies at work. No one very close.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

My cat. Aka my daemon, my best friend, the externalization of my will to live.

It was rough.

5. What countries did you visit?

This one..

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

A better job; a different place to live.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

Several bad ones I don't intend to rehearse here. For good ones, the night I had right before I got hit. It was lovely.

8. What was your biggest achievement of this year?

Survival. Also, happiness.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Not for public consumption. But I fucked something up.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

...I got HIT by a CAR.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

My new computer.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

My friends! Y'all are the best. <3 My family.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Some of the people I live with, including myself. Some politicians and public figures. And some people I never expected it from; having a front row ticket to a divorce is almost as awful and destructive to your faith in human goodness as going through one yourself.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Food, rent, moving, books for my Kindle.

15. What did you get really, really excited about?

I regained the ability to get really really excited, and promptly got really really excited over that. Roleplay again.

16. What songs will always remind you of 2011?
Cats Laughing - When the Black Knight Moves
The Oyster Band - A Fire Is Burning
Lupe Fiasco

17. Compared to this time last year,
i. are you happier or sadder?
Infinitely happier.
ii. thinner or fatter? It's a photo finish.
iii. richer or poorer? Poorer, but not significantly. Mostly in terms of medical debt I am ignoring for now.
iv older or wiser? Both? This is a weird one.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Sleeping. Being honest.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Being afraid.

20. How will you be spending New Years Eve?

Here! Probably online with you guys.

21. Did you fall in love in 2011?

No. But I met someone I liked. That is enough for now.

22. What was the best concert you attended?

Rachael Yamagata at the Parish is the only one I can recall. It was a pretty good night! And then I got hit by a car. (Yes, seriously. That was the only concert I went to this year.)

23. What was your favorite TV program?

Can I say half of Doctor Who? The second half of the season won me over eventually, but the first half was fantastic.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

Not that I can think of.

25. What was the best book you read?

Hard! The new Pratchett was pretty good, but probably not the best book I read this year. I recuse myself.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Lupe Fiasco. Fuck yes.

Okay this is too long, I have lost interest and I'm quitting.
campkilkare: (life decisions)
2011-12-24 12:23 am

(no subject)

I was having a talk with [personal profile] vivien tonight, and I realized some of the stuff I was saying I should be saying to all of you guys, as well. So I am going to type it up.WHOOPS THIS IS REALLY LONG )

THE END.
campkilkare: (problem solver)
2011-12-23 11:40 pm

(no subject)

So, instead of not-posting on LJ as [personal profile] gao, I will be not-posting on DW as [personal profile] campkilkare, and crossposting. My fic journal [personal profile] campkilkare will be joining me over on DW, since I never really needed two except to lock people out, who will not be following me to DW.

I will be taking time over the holiday to go through and figure out people's journals and friend, but if you want to friend me and save me work I will take it in the spirit of the season. ;)
campkilkare: (Notes.)
2011-08-13 07:14 am

Edited.

There are throngs and throngs of people watching, at the foot of the hill; rustbloods driven over dusty roads made ochre with their blood, and a scattering of blood traitors, drips and drabs of blue and green scattered along the red miles, although those are mostly up here with him. They will almost all hang among the duodecimation, the twelfth of his disciples the highbloods have benevolently chosen to make an example of. (The rest will be killed more quickly, or beaten, or sold into slavery; as a sign of imperial mercy.) Most of the bluebloods scattered among the crowd sit astride hoofbeasts, their bows or whips in hand, watching over the crowd for a riot. But there is no chance of that; their spirit is broken.

They save him for last, letting him watch the Duodecimation dangling from the juts and the awful silence of the crowd, and taking their time on their tender mercies to his flesh.

"THEY WILL REMEMBER!" roars the voice near his ear. "They will remember this forever, don't you think?"

"MAYBE," he says. By now his voice is a hoarse burr with screaming; the leggings cover most of the wounds the harlenquisitors have given him, but cherry red stains through. "BUT THAT WAS ALWAYS ALL I WANTED. I WANTED THEM TO REMEMBER."

"YOU MUST HAVE KNOWN YOU COULD NEVER WIN, SIGNLESS. THE PULSE OF THIS LAND BEATS TO MY DELIRIOUS FLOW." A spine-chilling giggle, close to his ear. "My mirth. Not your MOTHERFUCKING blasphemy."

"MAYBE, JAPESTER. IT MAY BE. BUT THEY WILL REMEMBER THIS... THEY WILL KNOW IT'S WRONG." There's something... through the haze of pain clouding his mind, he sees there is something in the riddling talk of the Japester Presumpt that he's missing. "YOU ONLY BURN IT INTO THEIR PANS."

"OH YES?" The head harlenquisitor stirs the irons in the fire. "Oh yes? The Knight and The Highblood? Such a beautiful tale, isn't it? So necessary. How the bards will sing of it. OF OUR RAGE!"

"YOU..." Before he can finish the thought, the Japester strikes him a ringing blow across his head, driving him to the ground, almost into the fire. He hears gasps from the crowd below, and one heart-rending mewling cry from the camp of prisoners waiting to die. The fist of the highblood apparent, the young indigo who everyone knows has designs on the Grand Throne of the Laughing Kyriarch, closes over his throat and holds him to the ground.

"LOOK AT THEM, KNIGHT! SIGNLESS! SUFFERER! THEY WILL REMEMBER! As we remember. She will remember, won't she? THE ONE WHO STOLE YOUR HEART. And her companion, who thinks himself her jailer. I wonder. I WONDER IF HE WILL DO SOMETHING RASH. For her sake. If he will remember, for her sake, long after her muddy bilious blood feeds her to the murdercrows. I WONDER! When he is stripped of his inheritance and sent into exile, will he remember today? REMEMBER THE KNIGHT AND THE HIGHBLOOD? And will he know what it means?"

"SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD," the Sufferer croaks. "YOU KNOW IT'S TRUE. YOU REMEMBER, TOO."

"There is nothing wrong with the world," says the Japester, quiet, merry. He hurls the Signless to the edge of the fire, the heat of the forge baking his face, sparks and memories swirling up. The bargains with gods and monsters. The heat of the forge. "I'M HAVING SO MUCH FUN!"

"BUT YOU REMEMBER."

"Yes, little knight, I remember. I HAVE SEEN IT! In the fabled daylaugh trance of the gleemorbid, in the smoke of burning pans, I have seen a world. A weak and hopeless world where fools and princes reigned. FOOLS! But why would I ever want to go back?"

"WE WILL MAKE THEM STRONG! STRONG ENOUGH TO WIN! A new generation of heroes, FORGED LIKE STEEL BENEATH THE HAMMER OF THE SUBJUGGULATORS!"

His own pan is burning, ringing like a bell. A bell, he remembers, can never be unrung. He remembers that, as he remembers the Quill tracing the Scratch; the Hammer, crashing into the giant crystalline side of the Vesper Peak. The terrible chimes; the splintering crack. He remembers.

He weeps. "AND WHAT GOOD WILL IT DO? WILL THEY DESERVE IT, THE CHILDREN OF SUCH A NIGHTMARE?"

"That, old friend, is in your hands. WE CANNOT EXIST WITHOUT EACH OTHER, BROTHER," says the Highblood. "Me and you. YOU AND ME! The Knight must have someone to rage against. Or else there is no tale. NO MOTHERFUCKING TALE AT ALL! And without the tale, we will never hear the punchline. It will drop from your lips like cherry blood, and ring from now to the Great Undoing, like the biggest crystal carillion you ever saw. Like the biggest fucking horns you ever wished were on your nubby little pan. THE GREAT HONK!"

"I'm going to make you immortal, motherfucker. I'M GOING TO TURN YOU INTO A STORY."

Down in the crowd, there's a greenblood girl pleading with her eyes; there's a troll on a horse with a bow in his hands, and he's beginning to sweat. In the depths of his heart he knows she's already won. For her sake, before the sun rises to torture the Signless with its rays, he will go rogue. He must trust to his strength to protect them both from the rage of the Highblood.

Down in the crowd there's a woman tall and straight and weeping. The whips haven't broken her yet. But they will. Oh, they will. And if she loves again, in whatever sad shadow of her great light, they will take that from her too. They will take everything. Another holy sufferer; another victim of history.

Down in the crowd there's a traitor with his stomach twisting. But he had to. He had to. They had no future, no hope at all. He negotiated the life of the mother, he did that much, and they promised him... they promised him a seat of power, at the right hand of the Empress, a life extended long beyond the shabby forty or fifty years due his mustard blood. He had to.

But all of that, like so much else, is yet to come.

The Japester takes the irons from the fire.

"I DON'T HATE YOU," rasps the Sufferer, not sure if he's lying; wanting it to be true, wanting to remember this troll as his friend and companion. Wanting to cling to his doctrine of peace.

"You will, brother. YOU WILL." And that, as he will see, is no joke.
campkilkare: (Default)
2011-01-12 06:45 pm

(no subject)

Update: Fuck this cold!

That is seriously all I've got. >:[ I have tonight off and I am going to sleep so much. All of the sleep. All of it.
campkilkare: (Default)
2011-01-08 02:06 pm

(no subject)

She is a white cat with black eyebrows, smarter than most, declawed in the front, sweet-natured. When his belongings were put on the street by the Greek landlord and his two English-speaking sons, she didn't let them touch her, but traipsed out the door and down the stairs and curled against the door of one of the other rooms downstairs; in the end, though, they chase her out and she took up stationed huddled on a mesh bag of holy socks, the heaped boxes of books sheltering from the wind.

He isn't here. He doesn't work anymore, but he does leave from time to time, and he isn't here. He fed her this morning, but now uncertainty and anxiety makes her want to gorge herself. The dish is out here, but it's empty--she pokes her face into it just in case, and follows her nose to the bag of food they tossed out, too, but it's twisted in on itself. She knocks her face against it, leaving a smoky trail of unhappy smell on it, then pads back to the socks, tucking her feet away, becoming a huddled loaf of fur.

Another cat, an outside cat, male, squeezes out of a gap between two of the buildings that close off this end of the alley. She's seen him before, this is his route, and he stops stockstill at the unfamiliar cat in his space at his time. She puffs up; he puffs up. He deflates, she deflates, and he pads closer. They pass the news, but she is spayed and his interest is in a minor key. She knows where to find him if she needs him.

She has made a point of trying to make it out here now and then, and gotten all the way down the stairs a time or two. Now she has no interest. After a few hours she unhuddles and laps water from the gutter; after a few hours more he comes back, smelling like books and unwashed human as he always does. She presses against his legs and sniffs urgently against his hands, smelling books in the stronger way that mean he has been to the bookplaces, and he picks her up and they sit on the curb for a while. She squeezes as flat as she can, ratcheting the purr upwards, digging her head under his chin.

She can feel the madness that has stalked them, lived with them, welling up inside him now, and she tries to soak it up from him, radiating warmth. She begins the rhythmic ritual press of her feet on his arm, and after a little while he starts to cry, which is a relief. There is only so much she can do, now.

She curls up and lets him carry her to the vet's office two blocks north. She hates it there, digging her claws into his arm for a moment in visceral panic, but then retracts. They are promising to take her to the shelter. She feels ill, and mews quietly. He rubs his thumb over her face, over her eyebrows, and she lifts off her front feet to butt his hand.

He goes, and they put her in a metal box. The other cats call out to her, and she huddles into the corner. She doesn't want their sympathy, and not all of them are sympathetic. She braces herself in the corner, then retches, bringing up the madness she staunched from him, all she could swallow while she still could. Not enough.

She hauls herself into another corner, as far from the retch as she can in the close space, and sags onto her side, panting. The other animals begin to yowl; the smell, smell of the charred residue the gambit has left of the man's mind, upsets them. It upsets her.

She is going to fail him.

She can't fail him.

The cat considers her options. All of them are dark. But she's in a box, and the man is dying; dark ways are all that are left.