Brad Simkulet's Blog, page 9

Bronte Simkulet’s poster for Milos Simkulet’s directorial debut....

Bronte Simkulet’s poster for Milos Simkulet’s directorial debut. Summerside, PEI, Summer 2017

ladiesofdceu:Goodbye, brother.That’s how you defeat war...

ladiesofdceu:

Goodbye, brother.

That’s how you defeat war with love.

pb.ii

at least that is my memory.

under the umbrella

imagine
an umbrella that you don’t touch –

it could
be hovering or suspended by a pole –

but you
stand beneath it and are kept dry.

you look
up at that umbrella thankfully,

or
maybe you think your gaze means love,

yet you
are merely dry from its protection.

you
close your eyes and thrill at the patter;

it is
rain tippity tapping its ineluctability

and
between you and it is wire and fabric.

imagine
a canvas within reaching distance –

the
wind ripples the old, water stained fabric –

but you
remain dry in your old sleeping bag.

you
watch stars through the tent topping triangle,

and
your gaze falls on an isolated star or two,

cut off
from their subjective constellation.

and you
awaken after your sore eyes droop,

the
same near narcolepsy for which you mock her,

and
thrill at the prickle of cold air in your nose.

imagine
the blanket on your winter mattress,

like a
disembodied cuddle that keeps you sane.

yet you
fight with your lover for warm territory.

you
turn over and see him in the mid-night dark,

and he
sleeps while you find yourself awake,

so you
stare, and map the whiskers on his cheek.

and,
yes, you wonder why you are there,

on that
night, in that cold, under that blanket,

as he snores a pitter
patter of pseudo-rain

ob.ii

you pause atop a springy patch of moss; you don’t know
the moss is nearly 60cms thick, that it binds itself together to hold your
weight so you don’t fall through amongst the roots it adheres to. you stand
still and turn your face to the clouded sky that peeks at you between the tips
of the evergreens, but you can barely make out the sky between the dapples of
water that mar your lenses. you pull your frames from your face with one hand,
grabbing the bottom of your shirt with your other. your hands come together,
and you soak/rub the rain from your lenses into the bottom of your navy blue nylon/cotton
blend. you put the glasses back on your nose and, still suspended by the moss
beneath your feet, you look around the woods and miss the lynx, frozen,
watching you on a bed of fallen leaves beneath a bower of fallen branches. the
lynx watches you. you don’t even know the lynx is there. and your hiking booted
feet step off your moss web and pound over fallen foliage with abandon,
stepping ever so close to the refuge of the lynx, who coils its muscles in
preparation for a spring as you pass. but no spring is necessary for the lynx.
you pass. you are on your way.

First genetic proof that women were Viking warriors

archaeologicalnews:

New DNA evidence uncovered by researchers at Uppsala University and Stockholm University shows that there were in fact female Viking warriors. The remains of an iconic Swedish Viking Age grave now reveal that war was not an activity exclusive to males – women could be found in the higher ranks at the battlefield.

The study was conducted on one of the most well-known graves from the Viking Age, a mid-10th century grave in Swedish Viking town Birka. The burial was excavated in the 1880s, revealing remains of a warrior surrounded by weapons, including a sword, armour-piercing arrows, and two horses. There was also a full set of gaming pieces and a gaming board.

The morphology of some skeletal traits have long suggested that she was a woman, but since this grave has been the type specimen for a Viking warrior for over a century, it has always been assumed to have belonged to a male Viking. Now, geneticists, archaeogeneticists and archaeologists have worked together and solved the mystery. DNA retrieved from the skeleton demonstrates that the individual carried two X chromosomes and no Y chromosome. Read more.

nb.ii

…He spent only fifteen Dual-Sun cycles soaking in
warm Firrgon Amniotic fluid that second time around, and he had hoped for the
briefest of Blue Sunlight hours that his unfinished healing meant that he would
be given the Tryefuriddion Mind-Wipe that had helped so many in the Slave Hive
to restful sleep after traumatic and mutilating fuck sessions, but his hope of
respite wasn’t allowed to linger. He was removed from the baths, was toweled, had
his genitals roughly locked in a Veersteel cage, had each of his three anuses
plugged with Quanelliglass plugs, had his skin moisturized with the rich, aromatic
fat of some avian species discovered, altered, patented and hidden by the
Petrolokush Pharma Concern, and was ushered into the tubular, flexible,
moisture laden hallway outside the Amniotic bath chamber.

A palanquin was
waiting for him, mounted on and hauled by eight sets of Cargavian Legs – glassed
in brain matter perched atop the and hypercable linked into the glistening,
prototected meat of the legs – and on its side was the end of his hope. On the
side of the palanquin was the Coat of Domination of Minister Sodomiticum. His
tertiary anus clamped hard against the Quanelliglass plug; he began to whimper
with fear and pride; Minister Sodomiticum wanted him! Minister Sodomiticum
wanted him?! There would be nothing, he knew, to mitigate his pain in the
Vexation Semen Baths until he was a husk. Nothing but suffering and honour at the
genitals and teeth and protrusions of Minister Sodomiticum.

untitled 76

catastrophic when it happens, / that letting loose, /  that torrent of swallowed / and harboured frustration / suddenly a deluge / because cumulonimbi were allowed to form /  because you engaged in patience / as thought that were a good. / the pain felt belies that good. / and you are a fucking prick. / it’s all you are. / all you will ever be.

bifacts:Fact: Bisexuals know what you did last summer

bifacts:

Fact: Bisexuals know what you did last summer

eleven past three

water beckons without

warm bed within

and he choses a lotus