Her eyes are fixed on the cooker.

— Look.

Points at the egg.

— What?

— Can’t you see?

— Has it gone bad?

She takes a deep breath.

— I noticed the way you broke the shell, but I needed to confirm. Can you see how the yolk is soft yet whole, with a small cut in the lower portion slowly leaking a yellow thread at a regular pace?

— Yes...

— Don’t you get it?

— No.

— When the yolk leaks like that, it can only mean two things.

She hesitates.

— You’re either going to murder me...

— What you’re talking about?

— Or you’ll get a Ph.D. in Physics in 2035.

— You’re kidding, right?

— Nope.

— You saw all that? On a fucking egg?

— I knew you wouldn’t understand...

— You were right.

A second goes by. He cleans his throat, kinda embarrassed.

— Honey?

— Yeah, babe.

— I’m terrible at physics.

He holds a knife with a confused expression on his face.

Some days ago I came back home to visit my parents during these holidays.

Yesterday evening, while we were watching a movie, nature called and I had to go to the bathroom. Because I'm a lazy bozo and it is closer to the living room, I did what no man should ever do - I used my parents' bathroom.

Stumbling in the dark in this unfamiliar place I had no right being in, I clumsily bumped on the towel rack (an old 80s coat hanger looking thing) and to my horror, managed to snap one of its plastic arms off.

Because it's a relic of its time, and perhaps because the bathroom is a sacred personal space which should never be altered if not for strictly necessary reasons, mom and pops were upset.

I felt like shit, an outcast whose madness lead an entire family to despair and misfortune while trying to save himself literally a handful of pitiful steps.

But a shining beacon of hope came from a fading memory, one which sounded utterly absurd, yet in times of desperation still came out as somehow plausible.

"Just use baking soda and Loctite forehead"; this had been uttered from a German friend of mine while he had been admiring the broken mess that is my duct taped ps4 controller some time ago. Was it a joke? Was it a serious suggestion? German humor is often lost in translation...

Still, I had to give it a go. I had to try something. And this morning an attempt was made.

I'm still feeling ecstatic. Never have I hever felt this good about a DIY tryout. I can confirm that baking soda is an incredible catalyst for super glue; the result while somewhat sloppy-looking is rock solid.

Pops couldn't believe his eyes when he saw his good ol' towel rack hanger thing stoically standing where it always did, in its rightful place, with no defects at all.

Thank you baking soda and super glue, you saved Christmas.

To all of you whose plastics need some fixing, remember this combo and give it a go - it will save you as well.

Any other similar hacks that you might want to share are very much appreciated.

TL;DR
Baking soda and regular superglue are incredible for fixing plastics.

Edit: forgot to put tags in post. Apologies.

I'm not quite like you
A few words and that's it
The façade fades
Crumbles
The carefully constructed mood dies
Coping mechanisms defeated
The castle is compromised

A strong exterior only goes so far
Each word pulls stones from the foundation
Fragile walls, fragile heart
I retreat to my secret home
Away from the swords and arrows and fire
No one can reach me here
Safe and quiet and in control
Equally secure, equally secluded

Tapped out on my phone in an Uber on the way to D&D. I write about more than love, I promise!

the water laps at the dam
seeking egress, seeking progress
everyone inside so thirsty
life affirming liquid
but the dam
the wall we built to keep ourselves safe
our salvation
our condemnation
seemed a good idea at the time
but all our other crimes against ourselves did too
how are we so smart yet so stupid
it hurts
it fucking hurts
life without love may as well be an empty gift on Christmas morning
but we all do it to ourselves every day
so many boundaries and rules and norms
all because we’re too afraid to get hurt
too afraid to be ourselves
too afraid to realize ourselves
too afraid to give one another the best gift we can

I’m sorry
but
I can’t today
I want to
but
I can’t
It’s not my fault
but 
I’m guilty anyway
I’m not understood
but
I’m pressured anyway
I yearn to create, to do
but
I just stay in bed
I want to live
but
I’m too hurt

Please note, I am no writer of any kind. For some inexplicable reason I just had the desire to give it a go today. I hope someone out there finds some enjoyment in it.

After David left I decided I'd better make good on my promise and find a new place to live. The woman from the council said there might be a temporary property available. That someone had recently died at the retirement village outside of Holyhead.

When I finished at school on Friday, I went to David's and gathered up what I thought was mine. As it turns out, almost everything was his. It wasn't long after we'd met that I moved in. It was gradual though. Bits and pieces brought over from mom's in bin bags tucked under the bus seats they save for people and their buggies. As the months rolled on there was less and less at mom's. I'd still visit on a Sunday for lunch but that was about it.

I had this porcelain clock on the mantle at David's, two corgis sat either side of the clock face. David hated it. He had a thing for minimalist art and would order fake prints online. He liked Robert Ryman a lot. He thought my clock threw everything off. He'd often tell me how important it was to appreciate art but what he liked left me cold. I wrapped the clock in newspaper and tossed it into my backpack. I took a last look at the living room. It was something new now.

When I got to the village it was raining. Cold droplets cascading down my jacket. I alternated hands, dropping each bin bag to the ground to rub the speckles from my glasses. In front of the bus stop there was a pathway that led to the complex, flanked on either side by imitation grass astro turf. Beyond that, two identical adjacent blocks. Rows stacked on top of one another like lego bricks.

The woman at the council told me it was flat 2b, "the last flat on the ground floor". I searched for the receipt I'd scribbled the details on to check if I'd remembered it right. I hauled my bags over my shoulder and ran underneath the closest awning. I stared up at the sign fixed to the brick. 1a. I can wait here until the rain dies down, I thought.

From across the yard a woman was sitting in a wheel chair, a mask attached to her face. An enormous tube jutting out from her mouth connected to a canister strapped to the side of her chair. She stared in my direction and didn't move. She's sitting next to 2b, she might be my neighbour, I thought. As the rain died down I walked over towards her. As I approached, I wasn't sure if she was going to take the mask off or not. What's wrong with her, I thought? "Hi, I'm Kate". I extended my hand and wondered if she could move her arms. She didn't reach back. "Mad weather isn't it?". She continued to stare. "I'm only staying for a month or so, I need my own place for a minute and it's all I could get you know? Not that I'm not grateful or anything". She continued to stare. "Ok, well, it was nice meeting you". I took out my key, opened the door and stood alone in the hallway.

David and I usually ate together on Saturday mornings. He'd wake up later than I did and wander about the place yawning. He'd often glorify his exhaustion to me. Some invisible accomplishment he'd been gaining interest on since leaving uni.

There wasn't a kettle in the new kitchen, but there was an electric hob. I poured water over the tea bag, into my cup and peered through the net curtains. The rain had settled and I could see the opposite house and the whole complex in the daylight now, some strange vortex, wholly enclosed. A village of it's own making.

I put on my old slippers, took my cup and stepped out onto the concrete walkway. The woman from yesterday wasn't around now. I thought about knocking but decided against it. Either she couldn't talk or has seen so many people come and go, she doesn't go in for platitudes anymore. Pacing, I caught a glimpse of her kitchen. Pink lino on the floor, almost nothing out on the worktops. It looked unoccupied. I moved back to my half of the walkway and perched on the step to finish my tea. I should get started sorting what I have before Sunday rolls around, I thought. As I got up, I heard my neighbour careen around the corner, up over the astro turf and onto the walkway. She stopped before her door, I nodded and smiled. This time she nodded back in my direction. She then raised her hand and jostled the toggle on the arm rest. Her chair moved closer towards me. She raised her eyes to meet mine and looked back at my hands. She did this a second time. "I'm sorry, I don't understand". She repeated this a third time. I mumbled something and she reached out and opened up my right hand. She surveyed my palm, in all of its detail, looked back up at me and nodded again. "Sorry, can I help with something?". She shook her head, reversed and rolled up the ramp back into her flat.

On Sunday morning I started sorting through the rest of the papers I threw into my bag at David's. Bank statements, a few receipts, junk mail. In amongst them I found a cinema ticket I'd kept from when we started dating. He asked me to go to see the first Terminator, "on the original reel", he said. I didn't much want to go and don't like violent films but thought it'd be a good excuse to get to know one another. We got pretty swept away with each other after that.

I sorted through the rest hoping I'd find something else, but there was nothing. I stacked the ordered papers on the ground and went outside for a break. There wasn't anybody out, like the day before. After some time my neighbour's door opened. I stood up and checked to see if she needed any help. I found her raising her eyes to her forehead, motioning backwards. "Do you need some help?", she shook her head and motioned backwards with her eyes for a second time. She reversed the chair and gestured for me to come in. I stepped inside. She manoeuvred her wheelchair into the kitchen and positioned herself next to the dining room table. There was a chair opposite to her, so I sat too. "Is everything ok?", I asked. She nodded. "I hope you don't mind me asking, are you able to speak?". She stared at me and shook her head. After a few seconds passed she pointed to a badge on her cardigan. On a yellow background, in all black caps it read, "JANE". "I'm Kate, nice to meet you Jane". This time she extended her arm and we shook hands. "How long have you been here Jane?". She nodded 5 times. "Ah ok, and how do you like it? Do you have family that visit?". She shook her head. "Do you mind me asking, what's wrong with you? Shit sorry, umm, not like that, I mean, umm, are you sick?". She paused for a moment and nodded. She then reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a deck of cards.

I don't know anything about Tarot, other than what you see on T.V but I'm not a superstitious like that. She laid the cards on the table in front of me, either nodding or shaking her head as she passed each of them one by one. The last card in the row showed a stone tower. She looked down, paused, raised her head, but this time, looked right past me. Dust cascaded through the shards of light piercing through the window. Jane starred into it for what felt like a whole minute. Watching the particles dance before her I asked, "Are you ok Jane?", she shook her head. "Is there something I can do?", she shook her ahead again. "I had better be going Jane, I meet my mom on a Sunday for lunch, please let me know if there's anything I can help with, OK? As I said yesterday, I won't be staying too long, but while I'm here, feel free to knock on". She nodded her head. I let myself out and left, the cards still strewn about the table.

I didn't see Jane much after that afternoon and things went on as normal. David called and we hashed things out over the phone but we'd petered out long before that. The council explained I couldn't stay on at the village for another month so I moved back with mom. After a few weeks passed, one evening after work, I opened up my laptop and searched online for "Jane Tarot". Tons of results came up but only one from Holyhead. A local newspaper article with a headline that read, "LOCAL LADY FORESAW DIAGNOSIS". "I knew what was going to happen to me, the fibrosis I mean. The cards speak and I accept, I give myself up to that". I closed my laptop and looked outside into mom's garden. I thought about the tower card and how people do all sorts of things to justify their own lives, to deal with their own grief and make sense of things.

Mom plants Floribunda's every year and they're starting to bloom now. My phone rings. I offer to cover a shift for a new temp at work. I put on my jacket, walk outside and think about Jane.

Put your head over here
and cry all the yearning away
cause thinking will bring you nothing
just thoughts and yet more pain

Sleep, sleep my child
breath slowly that way
cause here there is no more strain
under my loving gaze

In your cotton candy dreams
you embrace with such strength
a cloud above in the sky
sleep, honey, yes, sleep
cause here you're free from time

And there I am on this dream
imagining, imagined
the mark of a want, of a wish
a trace drawn in the sky
don't know if I'm the one dreaming
or if I am been dreamed about

So many wants that never were
But that were mine nevertheless
In the joy of many maybes
Slow evening

Time is cursed, it goes
The body is alive and weary
And stuck in hour a soul — immense

Saw in you a trace, a gesture without any end
a phrase with no reticences
a shadow lost in the gaze

A question you have not made
a plot not yet heard
a night with no resolution
be calm, the sun is not late

This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.

Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.

If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.

A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.

EDIT: We welcome your feedback and would love to hear your thoughts! Please support the creators by commenting on their work!

Introduction

The first Timasomo (Tildes' Make Something Month) has finished! A big thank you to everyone involved, whether you participated or spectated, and whether you finished or not!

Below is the work of the participants who have chosen to feature their Timasomo projects for the showcase. Enjoy!

Procedural Note

When commenting on specific works from the showcase, please ping those users using @username so that they get notifications.

Hope: The Stolen Wish

by @xstresedg

Link, itch.io link

When you pull the camera away, you get to see the world from a different perspective. This was the thought I had when bringing The Sword of Hope 2 from a Dungeon Crawler-like game into the style of a Metroidvania. However, with that came a number of challenges, such as dealing with the JRPG elements and utilizing multiple characters. While not present in this demo, they were idealized as possible, with tweaks. Regardless, while it isn't much more than a technical demo, I hope you enjoy this short jaunt of gameplay as much as I enjoyed making it!

Reusable Christmas Gift Bags

by @Akir

Link

Four Meetings

by @kfwyre

I wanted to make an interactive fiction story in Ren'Py. Four Meetings puts players in the shoes of Ms. Wilson, a high school teacher, as she makes decisions in four different meetings across four different days. It is a short story (10-20 minutes) meant to be played in one sitting.

Fragile Little World

by @Gyrfalcon

Link

Fragile Little World is a personal website, with a focus on sustainability and space. My main creations were the website itself as well as the first article, which covers the environmental impact of a web page and how that impact can be reduced.

Poetry

by @anahata

the city

Untitled I

Untitled II

fire

lost

Sir Curse Band Website

by @0d_billie

Link

I built this website for one of my bands, both to increase our online presence and also to (re)learn web design. It's pretty minimal for now, I'm waiting on things like a photoshoot, confirmation of a few gigs, and updated bios before I can get the rest of the site together.

That said it's been a fun exercise in web development, not least because I've been trying to keep it lean and light, so no JS or JQuery, and only a minimal CSS framework to work within. I've learned a bit of php, how to use github, and how to accept that Minimum Viable Product still has the word "viable" in it.

Timasomo has officially ended. Congrats to all participants!

The Community Showcase is coming up on Saturday, December 7th.

Next Steps

0. If you want to be featured in the showcase, please PM me as soon as possible with a quick "I'm in!" just so I can get a headcount to plan around.

1. All participants have until December 6th to put the finishing touches on their work (or just plain finish up, as I already broke the rules so it's only fair that everyone else gets the same opportunity!)

2. For those who will be in the showcase, please PM me again by December 6th with the following information:

• The title of your work
• A link to whatever it is you would like to display for the showcase¹
• A short (a few sentences) artist statement introducing your work

For the showcase, I will randomly split up participants' work between three threads, posting one thread each day on the 7th, 8th, and 9th. I will post the title, link, and artist statement in the topic itself. Featured creators are strongly encouraged to post a top-level comment in their showcase thread in which you go more in-depth about your work, talk about your creative process and final product, and solicit feedback if desired.

Discussion: The END

• How does it feel to be "done"?
• Does what you ended up with match your intentions at the beginning, or did you have to course correct?
• What's next for you, creatively speaking?
• What did you learn along the way?

1: This can be a link to a website, pictures, blog post, download -- whatever it is that best captures your creative work. It does not need to be the complete work itself, so if you'd rather share only portions or an excerpt, that's fine.

If your work is entirely text, I can include it right in the topic itself on Tildes. Anything else will have to be linked to, since Tildes can't host images or downloads. If in doubt about how best to present your work, let me know in the PM and we can figure it out!

Glowing friend, your light
has given me
everything I know.
To run you require
a sacrifice

I click open my knife
forgotten forever in the drawer with the butterfly yo-yo,
the heart necklace of an immature love
and the compass
with the atomic symbol.

With the blade I
etch
and cut
and stab
to draw sand
from the glass
long left unflipped.

It slides along your surface
sinks in
and is gone.

This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.

Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.

If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.

A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.

Timasomo FAQ

Thread #5: Reflection for Week Four of Four

Timeline for the Close of Timasomo:

• Timasomo officially ends at the beginning of Monday Sunday (lol), December 1st, wherever you are.
• I will post a closing thread at that time with next steps for all participants.
• You have until Thursday, December 5th to put the finishing touches on your creative works to ready them for the showcase.
• The showcase will begin Friday, December 6th.

Give a Progress Update

This is the final stretch! What do things look like for you as we close in on the finish?

Remaining Work

What still needs to be done? Are you going to be able to easily finish in time, or will you have to cram things in at the last minute?

Wrap-Up and Polishing

How do you plan to spend the few days of wrap-up time? What edits do you need to make or polish do you need to add, if any?

Discussion Topic of the Week: Ideas for Other Events

Timasomo was my first experiment in doing a Tildes-based "event." I plan to post a thread at the end of it specifically diving into whether we want to do another Timasomo down the road, and, if so, what changes could be made to the processes and setup, but for now I'm curious as to what other ideas are out there: what other Tildes-based events would be people be interested in?

They don't have to follow the same format as this, and they don't have to be entire months. The format and function are totally open. Would you want to do a Tildes game jam? A poetry contest? A donation drive? Pen pals?

Share your ideas here for what community-based "events" you would like to see here on Tildes.

Let's go FINISH SOMETHING.

This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.

Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.

If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.

A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.

lost time like grains leaking out an hourglass
lost feelings like love leaving a full heart
lost purpose like a crusader without a cause
all these years, feelings, purpose stolen, violated
an evil I never invited, never wanted
it's not my fault, not my goal
innocent yet guilty
convicted
more like cursed
their hatred is my destiny
never get back what was lost
never recover who I could, maybe should, have been
robbed of a life, of a happy, normal life
I can't even hate them for it
can't even have that comfort
I'd be just as bad, repeat the cycle
almost sympathetic
only path, only cure, is love
creamy center of a cyanide pill

This is a reflection of what building friendships and close relationships is like for me. Mental health makes everything much harder, but I keep trying.

it shines and blazes
such light and warmth
stories told round the hearth
cold nights kept a safe distance away
beauty in chaotic dancing patterns
it promises everything all at once
no regard for consequences or the future
just passion in the moment
no foresight, only enthralling abandon
its wake is ash
empty, cold, dead
no energy
never burn again
it destroys what it loves
what it needs
not because it wants to
because it is
destruction guised as passion

Timasomo FAQ

Thread #3: Reflection for Week Three of Four

Only one week left! This is your chance to wrap things up or, if you're like me, make up for lost time!

Give a Progress Update

How's it been going? Tell us where you're currently at!

Breakdowns and Breakthroughs?

With any creative process, there'll always be unexpected flashes of brilliance or unexpected fizzles for what seemed like good ideas. Have you encountered anything that didn't go like you wanted it to, or something that up and surprised you out of nowhere?

What's Coming Up This Week?

What is this final week going to look like for you?

Discussion Topic of the Week: Meta Housekeeping

This week's discussion focus is more functional than the others, as there are two main areas I want to get everyone's thoughts on:

Finish Timeline

Officially, creative work for Timasomo should end at the end of the day on November 30th, but I want to give some time for people to put finishing touches on their work and get it ready to share. How much time do we need? Should I just keep the weekly rhythm going and make the even officially end on that next Friday, the 6th? I'm open to any and all ideas here, some of which might be influenced by what we decide on the item below:

Showcase Logistics

I'd also like to hear people's thoughts on how we can best show off our work. I have a few ideas:

• One topic, where each participant posts a top-level comment with their work.
• One topic, where I post participant-submitted blurbs for each work in the topic itself.
• Individual topics for each work (posted either by the participant or me)

I like the idea of having all the works "under one roof" in a single topic, but I also like the idea of having each work being its own topic. I even think it could be neat to coordinate a "showcase schedule" where, say, only one work gets posted per day until we go through everyone's contributions. This would space out discussions rather than flooding ~creative with everything all at once, but I don't want people at the end of the line to feel cheated from their moment in the spotlight if people get sick of seeing a new Timasomo post each and every day.

Nothing's decided yet, but let me know your thoughts!

As before: best of luck to ALL participants! Let's go MAKE SOMETHING.

I wanted to write about self-forgiveness because it's such a hard thing for me to do. Past mistakes and trespasses stick in my mind for decades, and it's so hard for me to shake them. This work is an attempt at expressing that difficulty.

Down in the foothills the peak is so perfect
Covered in pure white snow
Nary a tree in sight
The peak carves a visage in the sky
In the clouds
It just is, it exists peacefully in its austere authority
Calm, serene
Impossible
Yet I yearn to climb
To ascend
Down in the foothills among the trees
The greenof the hills
I make my preparations
Breath
Training
Gear
I practiceand I meditate
I meditate upona life
A life of mistakes and triumphs
Each breath preparing and steeling

It's time to begin my climb
Each step and the air, the precious vital air, thins
Lungs emptying and muscles weakening
And yet I continue
Not quite undaunted, but I continue
The views are stunning
Yet I don't see them, eyes ever on the peak
Visualizing success, not the process
It's so cold
Bitterly, viscerally cold
There's no air
Even a yogi must stop for air
But there's no air
The ground slick with snow and ice
Snow and ice with the oxygen I need
Sealed away in the mystery of the bonds
Just as beautiful as it is inaccessible

But I continue my climb
Slipping and falling, the rocks cut and score
Gashes and bruises amass
I take a moment and reflect
Is it worth it?
Shall I ever ascend?
And as I slip into meditation, I slip down the mountain
All progress lost
The world turns around, up and down
I lose my breath
And land, dizzy and hurt, down the bottom
Even further from the peak than when I started.

Timasomo FAQ

Thread #3: Reflection for Week Two of Four

Halfway through!

Give a Progress Update

How's it been going? Tell us where you're currently at!

Breakdowns and Breakthroughs?

With any creative process, there'll always be unexpected flashes of brilliance or unexpected fizzles for what seemed like good ideas. Have you encountered anything that didn't go like you wanted it to, or something that up and surprised you out of nowhere?

What's Coming Up This Week?

With seven days down already, what do the next seven look like for you? Let us know where you're headed.

Discussion Topic of the Week: Inspiration

Where do you draw your inspiration from? What other creative works have inspired you? What creative works do you hope your creation emulates, channels, or stands alongside of? I know it can come across as lofty to compare your own work to those of "established" art, but compare away! No need to be modest!

As before: best of luck to ALL participants! Let's go MAKE SOMETHING.

First, the piece.

I built a fire from the branches

which were missed by the snow.

Drank the water of the cacti

that in deserts still grow.

Found the shade in the south

where the sun forever glows.

Clawed and scraped my way to freedom

of likes I have never known.

.

A starved, abandoned cub

lost in Greenlandic champaign -

I pawed about the lifeless floors

of snow-imprisoned plains.

With wind ill-matted fur I marched

and shivered through the rain

in search of hearts and hearths to

make me home again.

.

A ward of warmth appeared, assumed

to aid my ailing mews.

A securing shawl of summer softened

me from winters shrewd.

A multitude of miracles revealed

rejuvenating news.

I concluded countless colder winds

are warmer without you.

This site has given me so much: peace of mind, freedom of expression, cathartic release, and a sense of care and community of which I, over the last number of months, have deeply been in need.

Things are looking ever forward as I continue on about adult life. However, included in those plans of forward-action are a number of artistic pursuits.

In search of some semblance of belonging and community, I revealed a lot about myself in various posts and comments I’ve left about Tildes; and made the mistake of not publishing my works separately or under a pseudonym.

I would like to publish a book of poetry, release paintings, and create music. However, I don’t feel comfortable continuing to do so under my real name.

I will be well; I’m in a better place now. (Personally, of course. Not like that.) It’s simply time for me to separate the art from the artist, as it were.

Thank you all, so much, Tildes. I love you.

It’s been fun.

Bishop.

Timasomo FAQ

Thread #2: Reflection for Week One of Four

One week down, three to go! Why does it feel like we just started but also like there's not a whole lot of time left?!

Give a Progress Update

How's it been going? Tell us where you're currently at!

Breakdowns and Breakthroughs?

With any creative process, there'll always be unexpected flashes of brilliance or unexpected fizzles for what seemed like good ideas. Have you encountered anything that didn't go like you wanted it to, or something that up and surprised you out of nowhere?

What's Coming Up This Week?

With seven days down already, what do the next seven look like for you? Let us know where you're headed.

Discussion Topic of the Week: Making Time

How do you make time in a busy schedule for creativity? Do you find it hard to balance your creativity with other life demands? Do you have any tips or tricks that enable you to put more time and effort into your output?

As before: best of luck to ALL participants! Let's go MAKE SOMETHING.

Timasomo FAQ

Thread #1: It Begins!

Timasomo begins whenever it hits 12:00 AM on November 1st, wherever you are on the globe. Dive into your projects! Here's the task list for this thread:

Formally Identify Your Goal

In the last post, we all talked about what we were aiming for. Now is the time to set a specific goal that you intend to commit to. Be both optimistic and reasonable!

Map Out Your Plan (If You Need One)

Some people like seeing where their creativity takes them, and some people like having a formal process to follow. If you're the type that needs a plan, set one up an share it here (if you want to).

Conduct a Self-Forecast

Evaluate yourself as a creator. What are you good at? What do you need to really focus on? How strong is your follow-through? Forecast how this will go for you and try to plan around your own strengths and weaknesses.

Cheer Others On

This won't be as necessary at the beginning when optimism, resources, and stamina are all at their highest, but it's always fine -- nay, encouraged -- to post positive, uplifting, and supportive comments to others in Timasomo. Even if you are not participating, you can always cheer others on!

Make Posts As You Go

I will be posting these threads every Friday. Feel free to keep a running thread within the post of how things are going for you. It's okay to come back and re-post in here with updates.

With that said, these posts might get a little cluttered so some might prefer their own conversation space, or would just rather have one that they're directing apart from mine. If you'd rather make your own topic about your project or anything related to Timasomo, feel free! I encourage multiple Timasomo posts over the course of the month, not just these weekly check-ins. Just make sure you tag your post "timasomo" so we can easily find it.

Best of luck to ALL participants! Let's go MAKE SOMETHING.

Something I wrote after watching a scene in the Apple TV+ "The Morning Show" showing an NYC skyline. I've always had a love for NYC, even though I don't live there, and a love for cities more generally. I've never not lived in a city after moving out of my parents' place, and can't imagine going back to the suburbs. Cities are my home, cities are where I belong. I don't think this one is finished, yet; there are a few rough spots, and I'm not sure about the ending. But, like people have said in a few of the timasomo threads, the important thing is to get the words out, to make the work exist outside of one's head.

the city is awake, alive
lights dance in the dark of night
little lifesigns, each a past and present
each a history and a story not yet told
subways and busses and ubers
the occasional oblivious cabbie
(cancer on the streets)
each moving people to their goals
their dreams
veins and arteries in the city's body
lights for seeing
superstructure in steel and glass
inspiration
aspiration and ambition
passion and drive
these power the pulse and the breath
each person, each cell
shapes and grows the city, the body
each experience shapes epigenetics
no place the same after
the city takes us all in
gives us homes
maybe not shelter, but homes
we are alive and so is our home
an energy ineffable yet indelible

edit: A friend has said that this reminds her of the opening of Murakami's After Dark, and I can absolutely see it. Perhaps a bit of subconscious inspiration?

This is something I wrote a couple of weeks ago--not part of Timasomo, but something I'd like to share with folks here. It's becoming more important to me given events in real life and also as I explore yoga more deeply as part of my teacher training program. There's clear inspiration from Whitman's O Me! O Life!, but the message is very modern.

That the powerful play goes on and you will contribute a verse
Why not let the verse be love?
It used to be so easy, so easy, just a simple choice
Choose love
All the conflicts of today and every other time
Not enough love
For one another
For ourselves
Not enough love
All the religions and faiths of the world
All our enlightened leaders
All taught love
The play used to be about love
So many acts ago
Only a few moments ago
Seems like forever
Seems we’ve forgotten the lines
But no one to remind us what they are
And we don’t get a rehearsal
We get one grand opening day
One somber closing night
No matinee
No encore
Why choose any other verse but love?
Love makes everything else possible
Makes everything else worthwhile
Everything else builds on love
That the powerful play goes on and you may choose a verse
Choose love.

note: Posted this with the wrong title first, so deleted and reposted.

Timasomo FAQ

Thread #0: Roll Call and Planning

Introduce Yourself

If you are planning on participating in Timasomo, please introduce yourself in this thread. Let the community know a little bit about you, what you do, and your past creative history.

Discuss Your Plans

No need to make a formal goal yet -- that will be for Post #1 on November 1st. Here you can simply toss out ideas, throw them around, and start to formalize what you want your specific goal(s) to be. It's always exciting to not only share out what you want to do but to see what others are planning as well.

Share/Solicit Tips, Tricks, and Resources

Have some great pointers? Share them here! Need some great pointers? Ask for them!

Team Up!

Participants do not have to be individuals, so feel free to join forces. Post a request here if your creative vision involves more than one person. Teaming up can also be useful for people who want to play supportive roles (e.g. playtester, editor, etc.). If you're not wanting to participate directly in achieving your own creative goal but are willing to volunteer help in other ways, offer your services up in this thread!

Get Excited!

This is going to be a great event! I'm already hyped to start my project, and I know others are as well! We're one week away from the starting line!

This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.

Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.

If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.

A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.

This topic is part of a series. It is meant to be a place for users to discuss creative projects they have been working on.

Projects can be personal, professional, physical, digital, or even just ideas.

If you have any creative projects that you have been working on or want to eventually work on, this is a place for discussing those.

A list of all previous topics in this series can be found here.

UPDATE: Be on the lookout for Timasomo Post #0 on Friday, October 25!

November, the month of NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month, is coming up. I was thinking we could run a parallel event, though slightly more open in scope.

My idea is to use November here as a "Make Something Month" with pretty much wide open parameters. Write a novel, write poetry, paint landscapes, craft pottery, create delicious recipes, homebrew, code a game, contribute to open source software, do something clever with a Raspberry Pi. Whatever it is you're interested in doing creatively, go for it! I envision something quite self-directed, with the challenge being meeting the parameters you set for yourself rather than any external criteria we come up with. It also doesn't have to be limited to a single project, so maybe you want to tackle a weekly or even daily challenge.

My current vision for how this will work:

I'll post weekly recurring posts (or see if Deimos can schedule them), starting one week before November begins (for planning), continuing through the month with check-ins and feedback and support, and ending with a final showcase post in December where everyone can share their creative works with everyone else.

If this is something that you'd like to participate in, please let me know! Also, if anyone has any ideas for how to run it, please share.

A few years ago I got a rather self-congratulatory email from GoDaddy, the domain host, about all the amazing things that their customers do, apparently. Here is a representative excerpt: "One of the clearest lessons we've learned is that the one word to describe you best is 'courageous.' You go after what you really love, you chart your own course, and you create something (often from nothing) that usually makes the world a better place."

I found this rather silly coming from a corporation that hosts fucking domain names. So I was inspired to write the following poem:

1.

Dear Firstname Lastname

earlier this year we embarked on an effort to learn more about you

what makes you so incredibly unique

and the values you all have in common

we learned an equal amount about ourselves

you go after what you really love

you chart your own course

you create something

(often from nothing)

whether it’s

a neighborhood pizza shop

an organization to help those in need

or a company poised to launch a new industry

you believe where others don’t

you have the guts to strike out on your own

that’s courage

and it’s worth every ounce of support we can give

you’ll always be able to pick up the phone and talk to someone 24/7

sincerely

semi-legible signature

digitally scanned

followed by a name typeset in Arial

and a twitter handle

2.

i don’t create

neighborhood pizza shops

organizations to help those in need

or companies poised to launch a new industry

my values are not your values

i have a blog

it has a domain name

which i pay you to maintain

that is the extent

of our relationship

i will go cry in a corner now ok

sincerely

a customer

Logline

During the 2017 Solar Eclipse, a thick-skinned female police officer must prevent millennial Shadows from returning from the depths of the Earth to dominate humanity.

Notes

Post 1

You can also read it in my blog (no advertising, no annoyances, no bullshit).

- As before, this is not my first language. All criticism is extra welcomed
- I included the previous content - the prelude - just because it's so small

@cfabbro, here's the ping you requested! Love to know what you think of it!

Prelude

Before time was time, nights were dreamless. No one narrated the hunts, and death was just a cessation of the body. Births were joyful but meaningless. Statements were nothing more than intentions among roaring, shouts, and racket. Sometimes two sounds came together in funny ways, but meaning was still far away from our primitive cogitations.

In these times of monotony, the Shadows entertained the primitive men. With no timbre or elocution, they came from the deepest layers of Earth’s mantle to tell stories under the moonlight. They lived in harmony, feeding on each other. The Shadows came to life with the laughter and the souls of the Men, and the Men lost the fear of the night with the histories told by the Shadows in a primitive symbiosis.

One day, a man died after eating a tasty looking fruit. Hunting was a gamble, and eventually, men needed to eat potentially dangerous elements. Another, more intelligent man, noted that the juice from his mouth indelibly marked the rock with a pattern that was pleasant to the eyes. He collected more of that fruit, avoiding to put it in contact with sensible areas. This man did not have a proper name. None of them did. They just knew that there was “The Boss”, “The Hunter”, “The Large” and “The Delicate”.

Some men had soft lumps in their chests and above the thighs. Eventually, their bellies got big and other men came out from them. “The Delicate”, who discovered painting, was of this kind. In secret, he drew their hunts in the cave. He made everything bigger and more menacing than it was: the spears, the beast, the joy, the moon, and the flames, that reached the sky.

It took some gestures and vocalizations for The Delicate to make The Hunter understand that that set of traces was him and that the thick line with a pointing end penetrating The Beast was his spear. But soon they understood and had great silence. Followed by a great laugh.

The Hunter imitated the muffled sound of the Beast’s steps and learned to use this sound to talk about the Beast even when it wasn't there. War shouts, death songs, the cutting of the meat, the crackle of the fire, the crickets, the frogs and all animals soon had their sounds, their own “words”.

Men stories gained life by their own making.

The Shadows never came back.

Weakened, they returned to the depths. And, in the emptiness of their soulless existence, felt profound pain.

Chapter 1

Worn books on the balcony: The Physics of the Light, Introduction to Modern Physics and Modern Optics, paid with greasy notes. Stumbles on a rock, knock the books on the sidewalk. On a dark tunnel, fluorescent light flicker irregularly. Hands in his knees, catch his breath and run with the rest of his lungs.

The front is completely black of smut. Turns the key with difficulty. The stairway creaks under his feet. A stack of old newspapers behind the door. Turns on a weak desk lamp. A crack of light comes from the sheets. Closes it with tremble hands and throws himself in the armchair. A thick cloud of smoke leaves Ernesto's relieved self.

The curtain drops with a thud. Behind him, a dark silhouette smiles.

The badge for the "Civilian Police of the State of São Paulo" swing above the toilet. In the ground, two pregnancy tests. Two lines in each. In the holster, a Taurus 38. Impeccable blue jeans. Mariana pees in the third test and waits. Two lines. She's fucking pregnant.

Ernesto's suit seems expensive twenty-year ago. He looks like a bum that made an effort. He holds a thick notebook with paper falling from the edges and a paper folder that seems to be about to explode. Dries his eyes constantly, and there are black spots bellow his armpits. In the edge of the table, it reads: "Mariana Diniz – Commissioner of Police" Ernesto gives her his card: "Eye of Horus - Paranormal Investigations". Below, a stylized eye with Egyptian inspirations. And a landline.

— I don't trust cellphones.

Smiles uncomfortably, trying to hide the nervous tic that makes his head swing like a salamander.

– It may not look, but I'm a busy woman.

Gives her two 15x20 pictures. The first is completely out of focus. The second shows an oddly slim, dark silhouette on a sewer canal. Ernesto sweats like an amphibian having a panic attack.

— For millennia, these creatures have been confined in the interior of the earth. Suffering the monotony of an incomplete existence. Waiting for a chance to come back.

— Yes.

– You don't believe.

Puts the card in her wallet.

– You got my number.

The long hills do not affect Mariana. Sumptuous homes, beautiful landscaping, mutilation, and infanticide. They're all part of the same world.

In a deserted square, eight hood teenagers assemble in a circle. Metal-heads and RPG players never caused her any trouble, but, as commissioner of that town, she has the duty of investigating anything out of the normal. She takes care to not flaunt the weapon.

They ignore her. The kids emit no sound, make no gesture. They're not injured, and their dark eyes are probably contact lenses. They have an ironic smile in their faces. No drug would generate such severe catatonia on a group that size, and there was no law against looking spooky on public premises. Sent two patrol cars to watch the group and went home.

The basic Chevrolet goes through the carefully constructed path, with exotic plants on both sides. Between two neoclassic towers, a slightly lower white house. In the living room, Eliza, short-exquisite-hair, beautiful and androgynous, stare at the TV with thick frame glasses. Notices Mariana's gun.

— Comes with the job.

In slow motion, a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe impersonator pours milk on a bowl of cereal.

– Bruno?

– Upstairs.

A plate brakes in the kitchen. To the left of the sink, dozens of cups organized by color, size, and format. To the other, plastic utensils organized by function and material. Scapular in the neck, Sofia é very white. She wraps the glass in paper, writes "GLASS" in wide letters and ties everything in a thick, transparent plastic bag.

– Your kitchen was too… Illogical.

– Of course.

Mariana notices a red spot below Sofia's long sleeve. She holds the arm of her friend: bruises.

— They're old, diz Sofia.

— Doesn't look like.

Takes the car keys. The pregnancy tests are in the same pocket. Mariana takes a deep breath and looks at the stairways.

Law books on the shelf, almost all sealed. Bruno is on the computer. It's hard to get why they're still married. Mariana has always been stubborn. He's on the computer most of the time. At 40, Mariana has silky black, perfumed hair. Tells good stories in a welcoming way. Mariana loves what the does. She's hit on constantly, by both sexes. And has a way to politely decline that doesn't make anyone uncomfortable.

There's a month since they had sex.

— I'm pregnant.

— Are you sure?

The tests in the keyboard.

— They're from a pharmacy.

— Yep. Three.

She pulls the plug from the computer. Bruno looks at her. His eyes are black.

My phone sits, as I, in silence

In my room – alone.

I hate myself, but seem to lack the energy

To dig into my bones.

When I was younger I was told that

One day God would call me home.

Instead the coffin calls my name in whispers

And beckons the unknown.

.

Why do I feed a body with a

Soul that keeps depleting?

When all my hopes and expectations come up

Short and keep receding – I

Start alternating between plotting,

Thinking, pleading

That I’ll make a rash decision, they’ll

Give my organs to the needy.

.

Perhaps I’ll drive a stake into my head and chest.

No one should endure this mind or heart.

Meditation never seemed to give much value,

All the medication felt a farce.

I’m an incongruent, uncompleted puzzle

Dangling from a bridge; falling apart.

I watch my pieces sink below into the water,

As this letter dances all about the hearth.

.

I carried out important shit in boxes;

Let the rest behind to be thrown away.

I hid and watched as they threw in the dumpster,

A bed now wrought with chocolate and decay.

As the memories flashed in to my brain,

Of how we chose to spend that final day.

(Of how) even on the best day of the end of my life,

I ended up naked, chocolate-covered, curled up on your chest and crying,

Begging you to stay.

.

The devil is a myth they tell believers;

Hell prevents their chasing earthly dreams.

I will not go to Heaven, and there is no Great Receiver

Who will comfort me and silence my screams.

There is no purgatory in the ether;

The earth is this one act’s final scene.

Fittingly, the water isn’t beautiful here either.

It’s choppy, warm, and a putrid shade of green.

.

Someone use my hands to write a sonnet.

Someone use my eyes to see a better day.

Someone use my legs to climb a mountain;

Use my tongue to find the words to say.

They’ll use my lungs to feel the oxygen.

Use my kidney when theirs is in decay.

They’ll use my heart to feel in love again.

I’ll rest easier that way.

Before time was time, nights were dreamless. No one narrated the hunts, and death was just a cessation of the body. Births were joyful but meaningless. Statements were nothing more than intentions among roaring, shouts, and racket. Sometimes two sounds came together in funny ways, but meaning was still far away from our primitive cogitations.

In these times of monotony, the Shadows entertained the primitive men. With no timbre or elocution, they came from the deepest layers of Earth’s mantle to tell stories under the moonlight. They lived in harmony, feeding on each other. The Shadows came to life with the laughter and the souls of the Men, and the Men lost the fear of the night with the histories told by the Shadows in a primitive symbiosis.

One day, a man died after eating a tasty looking fruit. Hunting was a gamble, and eventually, men needed to eat potentially dangerous elements. Another, more intelligent man, noted that the juice from his mouth indelibly marked the rock with a pattern that was pleasant to the eyes. He collected more of that fruit, avoiding to put it in contact with sensible areas. This man did not have a proper name. None of them did. They just knew that there was "The Boss", "The Hunter", "The Large" and "The Delicate".

Some men had soft lumps in their chests and above the thighs. Eventually, their bellies got big and other men came out from them. "The Delicate", who discovered painting, was of this kind. In secret, he drew their hunts in the cave. He made everything bigger and more menacing than it was: the spears, the beast, the joy, the moon, and the flames, that reached the sky.

It took some gestures and vocalizations for The Delicate to make The Hunter understand that that set of traces was him and that the thick line with a pointing end penetrating The Beast was his spear. But soon they understood and had great silence. Followed by a great laugh.

The Hunter imitated the muffled sound of the Beast’s steps and learned to use this sound to talk about the Beast even when it wasn't there. War shouts, death songs, the cutting of the meat, the crackle of the fire, the crickets, the frogs and all animals soon had their sounds, their own "words".

Men stories gained life by their own making.

The Shadows never came back.

Weakened, they returned to the depths. And, in the emptiness of their soulless existence, felt profound pain.

I keep on my journey when the world's asleep,

searching you out, like a bewildered sheep.

If you'll come to my aid when you see me-

with my knees bleeding red on these cobblestone streets.

It must be the price of my earthly sin,

that I've no food or water for nourishment

that I crawl alone, in the dark, hoping.

I am the moonlight masochist.

..

So hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.

Bring me the moon, and make me your star.

Protect me like mountains and be my guard.

Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.

Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.

Get me into a home, and out of the bars.

Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -

My moonlight masochist matriarch.

..

I cough as I choke on the poisoned air.

No one around who seems to care -

Save for two beady eyes who approach and glare,

a thin coyote with a hungry stare.

I only hear howls in monotone

as two other dogs come sniff my throat

But at least when they carry off my bones,

I can kinda say I never died alone.

..

Hear me cry out your name, whoever you are.

Bring me the moon, and make me your star.

Protect me like mountains and be my guard.

Help me sleep sound when the noise is harsh.

Be the hearth for my fire; the warmth for my heart.

Get me into a home, and out of the bars.

Can you hear my infantile, crying heart -

My moonlight masochist matriarch.