Musings in the Dark: June 2013


New Fic Alert: Forever, in the Night

Disclaimer: This fic isn't really new, as Pitch Black came out in 2000, and this fic was written not too long afterward.  It's being posted via request.  Enjoy. 

“Tell ‘em Riddick’s dead.  He died somewhere back on that planet.”

It sounded good, great even. Fry’s sacrifice was worth saying those words.  She convinced him to go back for Imam and Jack, and she said that she was willing to risk a nasty, violent death to save them.  What she wasn’t willing to do was risk her life to save him, but ended up doing so anyway.  It happened so fast and so suddenly that Riddick didn’t know how to react, and he was honestly still processing the fact that Fry was gone.  He was obligated to take as many of those insane creatures as recompense for her death, and so frying dozens of those bastards in the afterburners felt great.

Riddick navigated the skiff above the comet remnants, deep in thought.  Fry died saving him.  He remembered the few scant minutes with her in the skiff as she ran diagnostics.  The tension was there, present behind the thinly veiled fear in her eyes.  She was a woman he could have conceivably been with; someone he’d actually connected with…a moment of humanity, and like that…poof!—she was gone. There hadn’t even been time to contemplate what it would have been like to be unrestrained with her.

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The Streamlining Process

As my time in the States winds down, I’ve found myself thinking about a whole lot of things.  I’ve been packing for weeks now, narrowing down my necessary items to fit into four suitcases and six boxes.  Now for some people, that’s more than enough.  But for me, it has been a very enlightening experience, and that’s a double entendre for your ass.

I’ve lived in two places: the house I grew up in and the house I purchased.  Being a caregiver meant that I spent a great deal of time at home, and so I built my world around me.  It consisted mostly of books, books, and more books, as well as movies on top of movies.  I’m also a collector of snow globes and dolphins, and ended up with several hundred over the years.  I took up painting four years ago and LEGO building five years ago and added more to my little universe.  Each one of these hobbies is expensive and tangible, and each one is near and dear to my very nature.  I have dealt with my pain, grief, passion and emotional whirlwinds through these media, and so found it extremely difficult to part with them even for a short time. 


To My Friend

I haven’t often come across 100% genuine people in my time; it’s a very rare occurrence, imho.  But this year I had the pleasure of meeting someone who is 100% genuine.  This man went to two different conventions and stood in line to get autographs from Tom Savini and Gillian Anderson all because I am a fan of their work.  I did not ask for them; he did it just because.

Then, when he sent the pictures to me, he sent them with another gift: a strawberry wine candle and a box of divine assorted chocolates from Purdy’s, and all because he wanted to do it.

He does things for his friends just because they’re his friends, and he doesn’t expect anything in return.  99% of the people I’ve encountered are not like this; there is normally a reciprocity component to most relationships.  But he’s not normal by any stretch of the imagination, and I mean normal in the good way.

This week, a group of us are celebrating the wonderful and estimable Triple J’s birthday.  I want to take this time to say Happy Birthday to you, dear friend, and may this year be singularly unlike any other you’ve had in terms of all the fabulous things you’re going to experience.  I’m so glad to have you in my life and I wish nothing but good things for you.

Swing by The Bar and have a drink on me.




Answering the Call

I’m a fan of The Read, a podcast featuring Kid Fury and his friend Crissle.  In this week’s episode, “Say No to Fuckboys,” Crissle stepped into the pulpit and preached a sermon dedicated to those sorry-ass men who are quick to criticize sistahs and talk about what we have to do and to be to be wifed.  I’ve touched on this in a previous post, but Crissle put everything out there on Front Street and called out each and every one of those men fuckboys.  If you have not heard it, take a few moments and get your life.  Skip to about 15 minutes from the end; they usually do their reads at the end of the podcast.  Crissle gave me so much life.
Like Crissle and millions of other women, I’m so damn tired of sorry men, especially walking fuckups, quick to tell us women what we have to do to meet their standards.  The key words here are “sorry men.”  Men who can’t keep a job for any number of reasons, men who have seven babies by eight different women, men who don’t have a place or car of their own, men who literally have nothing…these are the fools who feel like they can tell a woman who and what to be in order to be wifed…by them.  Whoo, lawd!

*fans self, rubs temples* Shit, I need a motherfuckin’ moment…