Brad Simkulet's Blog, page 12
July 21, 2017
imwithkanye:
Hi Guys,
We need to talk about ‘80s Jeff Bridges in...
Hi Guys,
We need to talk about ‘80s Jeff Bridges in Against All Odds.
K thx bai,
IWK
Here was my other 80s masturbatory fantasy. Didn’t have old Jeff on my wall (cause how could i?), but he was as potent a force as Heather.
cb.ii
she closed the book, pushed herself out from under the
carrel and knelt to put the pen back in her pack. finished, she dragged her
pack out and over her shoulder as she stood up, then slung the pack around the
other shoulder (she could never understand people who used only one strap of
their packs), bent over and grabbed the book. she passed through the
periodicals and headed to the circulation desk.
miss keegan saw philomena coming her way, gave a half
glance to the glassed in office of mrs. stoble, who was still on the phone,
then put down her stamps, opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a
book. she stood up and walked over to meet philomena at the counter.
how’d you like it, pi? she asked. philomena shrugged. miss
keegan smiled and held out her empty hand to accept the book, offering the new
book with her other. ready for your next book? philomena nodded slightly and
tried to smile. i think you’ll love this one, miss keegan said.
the books changed hands. miss keegan set philomena’s
return aside and watched philomena flip through the new book. she waited a
moment, then added, i need to sign that out for you, pi.
philomena handed back the book, then unslung her pack
to dig out her card. it took only a second or two. she passed her card to miss
keegan and watched the process. miss keegan scanned her card, held it back to
her, which she accepted, then she opened the book and scanned the bar code,
then she set the book down, found the correct date stamp and stamped the due
date into the first empty square on the inside back cover. miss keegan put the
stamp back on the little carousel, closed the cover and passed the book back to
philomena. i hope you like antoinette in this one, pi.
philomena took the book from miss keegan’s hand,
slipped her card into the center of it, made another attempt at a smile, and
turned away from her favourite librarian, walking through the sensor and out
into the hall where the social studies classrooms sat.
miss keegan watched her go, then picked up the book
philomena had returned and flipped it open to page 87. there it is again, she
thought.
mondo80s90spictorama:Heather Thomas
This was on my bedroom wall...
Heather Thomas
This was on my bedroom wall in the eighties. Oh the masturbatory memories.
July 17, 2017
bb.ii
fresh water waves smooth sand
one crash after another
in utter silence
their roar is not reduced.
it is deadened by distance
and thick city glass.
the lake, a deaf child,
screaming for control,
against uncaring
landscape.
July 16, 2017
bbcamerica:
INTRODUCING JODIE WHITTAKER – THE THIRTEENTH...
INTRODUCING JODIE WHITTAKER – THE THIRTEENTH DOCTORNew star of BBC AMERICA’s hit series Doctor Who Announced Today
The BBC and BBC AMERICA today announced to the world that Jodie Whittaker will be the new Doctor Who. She will be the Thirteenth Time Lord and take over from Peter Capaldi who leaves the global hit show at Christmas.
New head writer and executive producer Chris Chibnall who takes over from Steven Moffat on the next series made the decision to cast the first ever woman in the iconic role.
Jodie Whittaker says: “I’m beyond excited to begin this epic journey - with Chris and with every Whovian on this planet. It’s more than an honor to play the Doctor. It means remembering everyone I used to be, while stepping forward to embrace everything the Doctor stands for: hope. I can’t wait.”
Chris Chibnall, New Head Writer and Executive Producer says: “After months of lists, conversations, auditions, recalls, and a lot of secret-keeping, we’re excited to welcome Jodie Whittaker as the Thirteenth Doctor. I always knew I wanted the Thirteenth Doctor to be a woman and we’re thrilled to have secured our number one choice. Her audition for The Doctor simply blew us all away. Jodie is an in-demand, funny, inspiring, super-smart force of nature and will bring loads of wit, strength and warmth to the role. The Thirteenth Doctor is on her way.”
Peter Capaldi says: “Anyone who has seen Jodie Whittaker’s work will know that she is a wonderful actress of great individuality and charm. She has above all the huge heart to play this most special part. She’s going to be a fantastic Doctor.”
Fun.
July 15, 2017
ab.ii
The bakery smelled of rising yeast and baking sugars;
it was a scent that helped realtors sell show homes but had no impact on her
senses any longer. She’d smelled it five days a week for fifty one weeks for each
of the last five years, and her brain didn’t register the scent anymore.
Somewhere in the recesses, she knew that she smelled
of baking until she showered each night, and that the breads and buns and pies
and cakey bits lingered on her as she road the bus back to Racine Street every
afternoon, but it wasn’t a conscious knowledge. She wouldn’t have worried about
it even if it was conscious both because she figured most people would be drawn
to the smell and because the happenings of the world around her meant almost nothing.
She moved through the sourdough loaves to the rye loaves to the cookies to the
pies like an automaton, hearing Barry bark orders for the next and the next and
the next baked goods on the list, even hearing him criticize her for a slightly
dark batch of chocolate chip cookies, without anything he said denting her
thoughts, because her thoughts were of him.
The bakery was a step in a day she needed to get
through to get back to him, and all she could think of was him as she baked,
then baked some more, then cleaned.
There was something
lingering from their time together last night, something she couldn’t grasp
with her mind fingers, something just out of reach, but she felt like it was a
message he’d given her as they held hands by the breakwater, so she let her
fingers and arms do their customary work, and she wandered through her memories
of their last visit in search of a message that eluded her. Seagulls. The
breakwater. The distant lighthouse. The waves. His calloused hand intertwined
with hers. What was the message
July 14, 2017
zb.i
the teenage girl is a wondrous thing, he thought.
he could only see the back of her head in silhouette from the lights of the city, but he could read the excitement in the tension of her pose,and he knew that being there, overlooking that river, with what it meant to her, was worth everything he’d done to get her here, so close to her goal.
the strength of her spirit to withstand all of their losses had been greater than his, he knew this, and her strength had made him stronger, so combined it had brought them here to this place.
he could see all of her now as he rounded the bushes on the path and caught up to her. she wasn’t anything like her mother physically. she had inherited her aunt’s form. but she was still her mother’s daughter.
July 11, 2017
"a search category does not a fetish make."
- me
July 10, 2017
yb.i
“Are you, like, are sure you want to do this, Rebecca?”
Souri whispered, now looking at Rebecca’s eyes in the mirror. Somehow looking
at her in the reflection made the question easier.
July 9, 2017
xb.i
cavanagh had been awake for 126 years. death hadn’t given him rest. it
hadn’t given him heaven or hell, unless this constant consciousness was hell, but
he knew it wasn’t hell – at least not the hell he’d been warned of and
believed was still out there. no, his death hadn’t offered eternal rest, eternal
bliss, eternal suffering or oblivion; it had offered waking thought for 126
years, which in some figurative way was its own form of hell.
no dreams. no sleep.
just thought. 126 years of thought. 126 years of brooding on his murder, of feeling
the bog mummify him, alter his remains, while peat pressed down ever harder on his
shell, of remembrance of mistakes and misdeeds and misanthropy; of anger at
injustice; of sensing each life that passed his body, that skirted the bog,
that beat its blood through its veins. he tried to call to those lives – for
what reason he couldn’t comprehend – to call them down into the bog to rest
with him, but his calls never compelled any lives to join him. so he remained
alone and doomed to think. one hundred and twenty six years. it would be one
hundred and twenty seven the next day.
