Asakiyume mita

I was taking a shortcut from one strip of depressing stores to another, and it had me scrabbling down a slope, covered in these landscaping rocks, when I spotted this playing card and nips bottle:



Like out of a story.

The Jack of Hearts strikes me as a trickster character. Is that an established thing, or just something I'm imagining? I mean, the jack isn't as powerful as the king, he's the interloping male who can enchant the women, steal them away from the king. And hearts! Hearts is hearts.

(Side Quest: You are in charge of creating four new suits of cards. What are they?)

And then the nips bottle. Cards and drink are stereotypical downfalls, but there's something extra mean and tragic about a nips bottle, fortunes fallen so low that that's all you can afford. Maybe the Jack of Hearts was your lucky card... now it's lying in a wasteland between strips of stores, beside a state highway, next to the nips bottle.

(Side Note: Actually now it is lying in the pocket of my coat. I am not sure what quest I've accepted by picking it up.)

The real-life Captain Morgan raided Spanish galleons hither and yon, plundered cities, engaged in torture now and then, and owned several slave-run plantations. He also drank a lot. I wonder what he'd think about his image decorating nips bottles?

(ETA Side Note 2: Wow, "Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts" is a great story-song! Thanks sartorias and pameladean for recommending it!)

What a Fish Looks Like
by Syr Hayati Beker

Read this thanks to skygiants' excellent review (here).

I loved the style of storytelling--love the way the author's mind works--and enjoyed aspects of the story a lot, but overall, I wasn't the right audience for the book. The right audience would be someone who is as interested in all the ideas as I am, but who is also very invested in portraits of people experiencing all the emotions associated with a breakup. The various narrators are really feeling their feelings about one another, and to enjoy the book fully, you need to be there for that.

It's the climate apocalypse, and some people are fleeing earth and others are staying, and there's conversation about what those decisions mean and what goes into them, but with a very loud undertone about what commitment to a lover means and what abandonment is, and bravery, etc. I was interested in the conversations about commitment to Earth more than the associated subtext (sometimes supertext) about commitment to one another.

So I read about halfway through with deep absorption, then skimmed the rest.

But the language and ideas are great. This quote, about hosting extinct animals' DNA, shows how marvelously the author explores the idea (and also how they nudge you about human relationships).

It's not like sharing a bed, struggling at first and then finding a rhythm. It's not like grafting an apricot branch to a plum tree. It is: your DNA turned into a factory for the DNA of extinct species until the day the world is safe enough that we can let the ghosts out, resurrected. Until then, it's a shorter life, but maybe less lonely. Maybe that's all there ever was.

There's also a great part where a character may or may not be talking to a collective mer-consciousness. The author plays with "A Lone" (a single, noncollective being, alone) and "Re-member" (come back into collectivity, remember). I loved the mer-collective's voice:

We remember what we eat
One Song:
One time a sailor fell off his ship. "Can you swim?" we said
No
So we ate him. Drank his tears
Now he is not
A Lone

And there's also a part about putting on a play (Antigone) that keeps doing "X, but Y" in very funny ways, e.g.,

The Sphinx, but with affirmations instead of riddles. It says, "what you are is fabulous, and that's what you are." It says, "the thing that walks on any number of legs belongs."
...
Your life, but in Thebes. Thebes is nice. It has no laundry, only sand.
...
A break up, but so well lit, you overcome your differences and fall back in love.
...
Romeo and Juliet, but with cell phones. Their elopement succeeds. Nobody dies. They move to a small apartment in Milan. They love and hate one another their whole lives, sheltered from the cold, touching all the old familiar walls.

Those are just some; there were more. The last of those X, but Y examples grated on me a little. I know "they love and hate one another their whole lives" is a thing that really does happen, but it feels very overrepresented in theater and literary fiction, and "touching all the old familiar walls" feels like every single young rebel's blithe certainty that they're going to live life differently.

But maybe they will! And people get to declare what they want for audiences that are thirsting to hear it.

So: good book, great ideas, me: not the target audience, but very glad to have read it.

ETA: I've gone this whole review without acknowledging that this book is queer centered. This book is queer centered! The lovers are nonbinary or trans, most of them. This was neither a plus nor a minus for me, but if you're yearning to spend time in a fully realized queer space, this story provides that--so that would be an added mark in its favor.

It's been more than a week since I posted! Part of that's just life being busy; part is that osprey_archer is here!

Today we went to Bright Water Bog, swung on a swing, ate some cranberries, and saw ice forming. It was sunny, but a cold wind was blowing, and a few flurries of snow came down.



(We also went to the Smith College Botanical Gardens, but this is a drive-by post! So there's only the one photo.)

I was so shocked to hear you have left us, minoanmiss. You are a fountain of art and fic and joy at making babies smile. You've sent me poems, you've sent me stickers that have decorated letters I've sent people. When the pandemic hit and I posted about the Japanese amabie, you made a fridge magnet of one. She's on my fridge above your Minoan dancers.



Do you remember when you sent me a postcard for a pine tree, and I took it there?

You made magic happen.

I will think of you every time I see someone making a baby smile. I will talk to that pine tree about you. Maybe it has your forwarding address, and I can send you a postcard.

Today's prompt word was "cascade" but what I ended up thinking about was apocalypse-revelation.

Have something portentous!

( what level of apocalypse are you on? )

It's extremely excellent to come across a short story completely at random, from someone I don't know at all, and then fall in love with it. (I love reading stories from people I know, too, of course! But in those cases, I already know I'm likely to love the story, whereas when it's by someone I don't know, it's an unexpected surprise.)

"Do You Love the Color of the Sky?" by Rachel Rosen was just such a story. In it, the curator of a museum that collects art and artifacts from the multiverse's doomed timelines (and who has a pet dodo from a timeline where dodos weren't hunted to extinction) is confronted by a thief from one of those doomed timelines who wants to take back what's either a plundered item or a rescued item, depending on what side of museum discourse you fall on. The multiverse is a great place for museum discourse, it turns out!

But beyond that, the story's just got a great narrative voice and some killer lines, such as...

Hadn't this always been the pattern of civilization? Tea and bullets were undeniably intertwined.

and

"But your world is dying."
I hadn't expected her smile. The bullet had been gentler.
"Every world dies," the thief said. "Even yours."

Here's how the thief is described on first appearance:

You can sometimes tell where [a multiverse traveler is] from at a glance. A gleaming bull’s horn on a chain around the throat, or a shangrak tattoo. A Hapsburg jaw or a colony of melanomas, if it’s one of the worse timelines. Not this woman. She had burst from the fire fully formed and innocent of all history.

And the various artifacts themselves, and the possibilities (or tragedies) of the various timelines are great.

Free to read here: "Do You Love the Color of the Sky?"

Rachel Rosen has also apparently written a short story titled, "What if we kissed while sinking a billionaire's yacht?" which short story lends its title to Issue One of Antifa Journal, with this great cover. To read the story requires purchasing the journal, but as an ebook it's only $4.99, so I'm sore tempted.

I'll post about things other than reading one day, but [movie!Aragorn voice] today is not that day.

I finished Elizabeth Acevedo's Family Lore, which I continued to love right to the end. The characters were so complete and multifaceted, and I liked them all. The places--rural Dominican Republic, capital of Dominican Republic, New York City, felt real and three dimensional. And Acevedo's way of observing things, whether it's the way two birds leave a tree branch or a person rubbing the indentations glasses make on each side of their nose--wonderful. And there are moments like this:

"I know it's too soon, but I love you. I have for a long time." And the silence in her body that followed was the most peace she'd ever known. There was no disclaimer on his declaration. And in the years since, she might have heard a fib or two in his voice about nonsense, but the truth of his love always cut through with clarity.

And I just started Gary Paulsen's The Cookcamp, drawn by osprey_archer's write-up. During World War II, a five-year-old boy goes to live with his grandmother, who's a cook for a workcamp of men building a road from Minnesota to Canada. Truly beautiful writing here, too:

[The men] sat roughly to the tables, all of them big as houses, the boy thought. They sat to the tables and his grandmother brought heaping platters of pancakes and motioned to the boy to bring the big bowls of biscuits, which he did. Then she brought the huge enamel pot of coffee from the stove and sure enough each man turned his cup over--his hands so big the cup looked like a baby cup--and blew in it and held it up for coffee ... They made [the boy] think of big, polite bears.

Really nice, and as Osprey Archer promised, it's going to be a very quick read.

A while ago there was a brief, wet snow, and I made a snow cat:






In yesterday's and last night's snowpocalypse, the cat has disappeared. All that's left is a Mount Fuji-shaped mound:



He's under there, sleeping. The new snow is very dry, like sand. When our equivalent of the harmattan blows, his form will be revealed.

( Also I doodled this the other day. )

Oh hey, and if you're in need of cheer, here's a woman dressed as Klingon Elsa singing "Let It Go" in Klingon.

Happy 2026 ... the microfiction prompt word today was "champagne." I ended up in South Dakota on Google Street View, and then downloading the New Lakota Dictionary to hear how a word was pronounced but ... have a microstory:

Driving through Bullhead, South Dakota, Mike noticed a sign on a roadside stand: "Bullhead Champaign."

He pulled over. Bottles with fancy labels in both English & Lakota stood in a row.

"You know you can't call something champagne unless comes from Champagne, France, right? Also, isn't this area too cold for wine grapes?"

The seller regarded Mike coolly.

"This is made from sandcherry. Aúŋyeyapi in our langauge. And it's p-a-i-g-n, not p-a-g-n-e. Totally different."

From this blog I learned the Lakota name, as well as an alternative name, tȟaȟpíyoǧiŋ, and this fun piece of lore: that you should pick the fruit facing the wind to ensure they'll be sweet.

The checkout line at this Walmart was going to be very slow: ahead of us were four grown-ish children and their mom, and their cart was packed to overflowing.

“How about you bring the car around for my dad,” I suggested. “You guys wait, and I’ll text when I’m through.” My husband nodded, and the two of them headed out.

Between me and the family with the packed cart was an older couple; behind me was a younger couple. All of us had just a few things—I had a laundry basket, a bathroom scale, and a shower curtain for my dad’s new living situation.

Lining the checkout alley were tempting items to impulse purchase: Goya adobo seasoning, both con and sin pimienta, Goya canned beans, Jarritos sodas, Sanchis Mira Turrón de Alicante—nougat candy from Alicante, Spain. We who were waiting had a long time to contemplate these items. The couple ahead of me grabbed a shaker of adobo seasoning. The couple behind put a couple of the sodas in their cart. I stared at the nougat candy. Would it be like torrone, the Italian version of nougat candy that my grandmother used to have? That candy came in small boxes with pictures of famous sites in Italy or of women in traditional regional dress.

I added a package of the candy to my cart. The family with the very full cart was through; the older couple ahead of me were putting their items on the conveyor belt.

“Necesitan bolsas?” the cashier asked. No, they didn’t need any bags. The cashier wished them a Feliz Navidad, and it was my turn.

“Hi, how are you, you want the shower curtain and the scale in the laundry basket?” the cashier asked. She wished me happy holidays and switched smoothly back to Spanish for the couple behind me.

Sanchis Mira Turrón de Alicante turned out to have the same flavor but a completely different texture from the Italian torrone my grandmother used to get. The Italian torrone was thickly chewy, a workout for the jaw; the turrón was hard and broke into dangerous sugar splinters. Ah well. Maybe I’ll have better luck with my next impulse purchase.