Random Thursday: Literary Puns and Poetical Plums

And about 35 seconds of Up Yours, Mister in the middle, there.

You’ll know it when you get to it.

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Even More Psychosis-Inducing Than The Original

Look at him, sitting there all Poe-faced . . .

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I’m Just Saying

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This Is For the Patron . . . 

 . . . who called the other day to inform us that taxpayer’s hard-earned money would be better spent in supplying free laptops and city-wide Wi-Fi to citizens than on libraries and the salary they pay me for sitting on my rump all day, reading trashy novels.

Good luck to you, sir.

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Speaking of Passive-Aggressive . . .

Could someone please explain this poem to me?

Why is the wheelbarrow so crucial?
Are the chickens significant or just co-dependent?
Is  the rain metaphor or meaningless?

WHAT?!

People have been reading and debating this poem for over fifty years just because we can’t suss out the—

Oh.

Well-played Mr. Williams.

Well played.

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Still a Better Romance Than . . .

 . . . you know.

Alternative Title:  “Consent is not a grey area.”

Pun grimly intended.

(Thanks, Helen—you rock!)

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The Last Line Sells It

We can only do so much, Mr. Pip.

I kid.  Scroobius Pip is one hell of a performance poet, I just can’t share most of his stuff here until my kids are old enough to know when not to recite his lyrics in public.

(thanks, Cha-Cha!)

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Random Thursday: A Random Sequence of Wondrous Nerdity

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

Health continues dicey in the Wesson household, but there’s still time between coughs, sneezes and epic sprints to the bathroom to laugh, squee, and gasp at some pretty cool stuff.

Tablets and smartphones help, I won’t lie . . .

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I Knew It!

I’m also willing to consider that the role wears the actors, instead of the other way around.

Because I like giving myself cold chills, apparently.

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Soup Ness Monsters!

I don’t usually feel the urge to hug kitchen tools, but . . .

These insanely adorable utensils are available at Animi Causa, but they’re (understandably) on backorder until late February.

Like that’s gonna stop me.

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Does this come with the Mother of All Mimosas?

‘Cause I’d avoid the Joffrey Wine Spritzer, were I you.

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Fibonacci in Motion

Fibonacci’s Sequence, for those unfamiliar with Spongebob Squarepants’s house, is a string of numbers—or their spatial or physical equivalents—with each digit created by adding the previous two:   1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 and so on.

Or, in the case of John Edmark’s mathematical sculptures, stunningly beautiful, especially when you take ’em for a spin.

For an added layer of cool, these were created on a 3D printer.  I know.

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I was Just Thinking . . .

If Smaug is trapped inside the Cinderella story,
does that mean that somewhere in the Lit’verse
Bilbo Baggins is matching wits against a giant Wicked Stepmother.
hoping she has a heart to hit?
And if so, whom do we blame?
Gandalf?
Sauron?
Misfiring Godmothers?
Unregulated Bibbity-bobbity-boos?
If the Arkenstone turns out to be a glass Manolo Blahnik,
Will all the gold of Erebor
Be enough to pay for Thorin’s therapy
When it fits Thranduil’s perfect foot?

 (Indy?  John?  Did I just . . . poem?)

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 Just say Moo

This video makes me unreasonably happy.

You?

Poetry Wednesday: A Few of My Favorite Slams

It’s been so long since I did a Poetry Wednesday around here. I miss it, sometimes, especially when my poetry folder falls off the printer and a cascade of metaphors flutter everywhere and cover the cat.

Another folder that’s becoming unwieldy is the one in my browser, which is full of articles, lyrics, and possibly three-fourths of The Poetry Foundation website.

And videos. Because I love slam poetry, too.

In an effort to rescue some of those amazing performed works that are at risk of moving so far down the list that they can never be retrieved, I thought I’d share a few of the ones that spoke most strongly to me at this time and in this place.

Like Jesse Parent’s advice, which turns out not only to be for those who want to date his daughter, but who want to know how to raise one of their own:

I found several by Taylor Mali—he of the fabulous “I’ll Fight You For the Library” which I adore more than is probably healthy—but chose this one because we are all teachers and we should all teach like this, even and especially starting at 2:52:

And then this one left me wondering if Mark Grist is single—I’m not, but I have many, many friends who might like to meet a man with tastes like his and it’s wonderful to know that they exist:

And because it’s been one of those weeks and Ms. Ferro made me laugh so hard I cried, out of recognition and hope and because it’s #$@!ing hilarious:

So . . . what spoke to you this week?

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I’d already compiled this when I found out that John Shaw,
amazing poet and good friend, has a poem in the Front Porch Review
but I didn’t want to wait.

It’s called “Periodicity“,
and as I told him, it made me feel all the warmth of being young on a summer day,
which is a most welcome miracle.

Go read it.

Random Thursday: Purple Skies, Baby Owls, and Lady Chatterly’s Leprechaun

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

Got felled with one of my blinding (and I mean that literally) migraines yesterday, and so spent the day in a nice quiet room sleeping off my meds and sipping nice, hot mugs of caffeine.

Possibly at the same time.  I don’t really remember.

But I’m feeling better today—a little dizzy, but that’s nothing new—and also very thankful for friends who have sent me so much stuff this month that I already had this post pretty much pre-assembled by the time I could bear to look at a screen again.

Thanks, guys!

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Knitbats!

Remember my Purple Elephant rant from a couple years ago?

Looks like I may have to break out the %&#$ double-pointed needles again.

This (these?) are Boo.

Boo’s pattern is on sale at the Mochimochi Land shop.

I don’t want to wrestle with a handful of small sticks for three hours
just trying to cast on, no matter how adoraboo
(ahem)
he/she/they is/are.

Maybe I should send the pattern to my friend Grace instead,
as a sort of self-serving holiday gift?

(Don’t tell her, Cha—let it be a surprise!)

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A Short Physics Poem

Roses are red.
Chromaticity’s wavy.
That’s why the sky isn’t purple:
It’s gravy.

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Catris

This is a good visual metaphor for how I’m piecemeal writing my Nanonovel this week . . .

 . . . except with plot elements and werewolves and swanmanes instead of kitties.

And some of the blocks would be hissing at each other and/or pointing guns.

Or threatening to take each other’s P.I. licenses away.

Or scent marking the lower levels.

Never mind.

(Thanks again, caitlin!)

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Because Baby Owl

To misquote Robert A. Heinlein,

“Baby owls, like butterflies, need no excuse.”

He actually said “little girls” instead of owls,
but in my experience, little girls seem to need a lot of excuses,
and tend to deliver them even before you’ve asked.

(Stolen from Paula’s FB feed—thanks, Paula!)

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Troll of the D’urbervilles

My friend Siobhan sent me the link to this video, with the subject heading:

“Guess I can’t give you any more crap about the wereduck thing.”

No, Vannie. No, you can’t.

Random Thursday: Random Costumes and Zombified Love Songs

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

I wish I could blame more of you for more of this . . . but most of it is my fault.

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Vampire slaying kit from 1890s

“Cased vampire killing kit, in a rosewood and ebony case with inlaid silver stringing and mother-of-pearl inlaid plaque. Contents include a black powder percussion 2-barrel pistol, a powder horn and bullet mold, bone handled dagger with crucifix, three small crucifixes, mallet and two wooden stakes, book of common prayer, two small framed portraits of Jesus, holy water and four glass vials with crystals.”

(from Dangerous Minds: thanks for sharing this on Facebook, Paula!)

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Parsing the Uncanny

Why Poe’s Raven
(not to mention the tintinnabulations of those danged bells, bells, bells)
gets us every time.

(Thanks Watson!)

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Why did the Turduken Cross the Road?

To get away from the Cthulken:

I don’t blame it one bit.

The brainchild of Rusty Eulberg who hails from Lubbock, Texas (at least on this plane),
the Cthulken combines all the flavorful weirdness
of crab, turkey, octopus, bacon,
with just a soupçon of existential dread.

The story of its conception is here.

You may be thinking
(supposing you’ve recovered from the horror of imagining the carving)
that this is really more of a Thanksgiving random bit.

Maybe so.

But forewarned is forearmed.

(photo borrowed from @damana, which is as far back as I was able to trace)

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Fair’s Fair

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Earwoooorrrrrmmmmmzzzzz . . . .

I know I’ve shared this once or twice before,

But this song just won’t die . . . in my heart.

Aren’t these the most adorable zombies ever?

I mean, the benchmark’s pretty low, but still.

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Brilliant

‘Cause they probably haven’t eaten all the good candy, yet.

Better go back to last weekend, just to make sure.

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Duuuuuudezzzzzz

Another tender zombie love story,
from a Martian’s POV