The Norse god of South Asian spiced lentils 


Every time I have a great new idea for another narrative card game I forget that a deck of cards has 52 cards, which means at least 52 prompts, and that I've been locked out of effective creative mode since 2012

60 FPS is way too many F. 20 is a perfectly good amount of Fs actually!

It's autumn... it sneaks up on you, living in a wood that's fir and pine and so green until the moment that the first snowfall renders the world black and white. But here in town the streets are paved with gold. A wistful feeling.

What does the needle have that makes the body sing the song of pain in such a different key?

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In the kind of literal agony that only affirmation of the self seems like the way to cope. Shaving ones head, painting ones nails. If I had the fifty quid I'd bring it to the piercer's shop. With every nerve sitting on the outside of my body, screaming, it seems only fair everyone else should see that rawness.

It strips down the way I write to a very crass and aggressive core, but I have to wonder whether that's the posturing, or the verbose couching of the same message on better days.

Staying awake for hours just to sit in the scent of the nightbloom

It is truly incredible how a person who was forced to loathe their own body with every disgusting fiber of it, to the point of physical revulsion, for almost three decades, can come to love themselves and every atom of their corpus so wholly, so unreservedly, in almost no time at all.

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A midnight toast to summer, to resilience, to beauty, to fury, to light, to the sleepless sun and bright night, a toast to the unending cycle. Here's to you on Midsummer's Eve.

May they overdrink and their livers fail, may the sun on their skin obliterate them, may their crass yolo boat shenanigans see them drowned. I curse you nationalists and your fake obeisance, how you wallow in shallow ritual and celebrate the hollowing out of our communities, the alienation of our loved ones. Suffer!

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The pole has been erected, it has breached the blossoming crowns. Drunk on heat and light and the fury of fighting fascists in broad day, this most holy day. How dare they

What an incredible solstice it has been. Relentlessly hot, trembling with the energy of potential, and now the atmosphere is gearing up for a thunderstorm.

From now, through Midsummer's Eve and its high summer weekend: readings for all who so desire one.

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Have I told you that I love you, lately? Well, I do

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