Dancing this Rotten World Better

“Genuine anger was one of the world’s great creative forces. But you had to learn how to control it. That didn’t mean you let it trickle away. It meant you dammed it, carefully, let it develop a working head, let it drown whole valleys of the mind and then, just when the whole structure was about to collapse, opened a tiny pipeline at the base and let the iron-hard stream of wrath power the turbines of revenge.” ~ Terry Pratchett 

I will take the fiery
energy of my fury,
morph it into words
that sing into other souls’
flesh and bone…
and we will dance
this rotten world better.

the wee notes…

– Revenge often gets a bad name. Perhaps, because the term tends to bring up images of anger, of wailing, of violence. But it doesn’t have to be like that. Revenge can be that magnificent mix of dismay and powerlessness, which shrouds the faces of individuals who believed (even hoped that) we would fall apart under the pressures of the world, but are forced to watch us weave horrors into wonders that add yumminess to our lives.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Read Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

“Burton Bar”, by Shelle Kennedy
(the look on Wednesday’s face gives me a serious case of the mad giggles)

Nothing Says I Love You Like a Brewer’s Dictionary and a Yoga Frog

I looked at Brewer’s Dictionary of Phrase & Fable, and burst into tears. Fine, I felt the burst… inside. On the outside, my eyes got hot, my lips trembled, and I found myself choked on words that turned into tears… of the bursting kind, I’m sure. My Piano Man gives the best gifts.

Don’t give me that funny look! If you shed no tear over a book that brings together definitions like Early Bird (“the Pentagon’s confidential daily news sheet, officially called Current News, which in 16 pages distils the overnight news report of the greatest relevance to the department and its followers in the White House, Congress, the military and the intelligence community”) and Bugger Bognor! (“a retort allegedly made by George V in his last illness when a courtier, seeking to lift His Majesty’s spirits, remarked that if he continued to make good progress he would soon be able to enjoy a few weeks’ recuperation at Bognor Regis, a salubrious seaside resort in West Sussex”), then your eyeballs (and heart) are made of stone. By the way, I someone told me that Early Bird will be renamed Twittering Crap, to make it seem important enough to the new administration. All right, so I made up the last bit. But the way things are going… who knows.

My Piano Man inherited his fantastic-present-giving abilities from his mother. My brilliant Mother-in-Law gave me a yoga frog. She probably heard about the incoming Twittering Crap, and looked for a gift that would make me smile. The wee yoga frog lives on my writing space, next to my bed. Every time I look at it, I can’t help mimicking its ear-to-ear smile.

The other gift I’m quite crazy about is a Terry Pratchett Diary, from my friend Y. I got it a few weeks before Yule and have been dying to use it. I love planners. And this one is full of quotes by my Knight Writer. I will use it to record my daily wordcount, plus a daily random sentence about something that stuck the day before. For instance, my January 1st sentence is: “Good friends find delight in the existence of skulls”, inspired by a silly chat with my darlings, Emma, Yvonne and Lynne. Speaking of Lynne, if you like planners as much as I do, you might want to fly over to the Insomniac’s Attic to print a copy of her marvelous (and free) monthly planner.

What was your favorite (material) holiday gift, my Wicked Luvs? What made it super special?

*happy frog, ginormous dictionary, and Pratchett(y) planner*

She Harms None (but her inner witch beats them to a bloody pulp)

I don’t know why you waste your time. Perdita glared inside Agnes’ mind.

“He needs voice lessons,” Agnes said, as if Perdita hadn’t been in her head when Turbio Dirtkock asked if she could help him practice a few songs.

He hates you! Perdita tried to shout, but Agnes kept her lips tightly shut. You could be NOT eating somewhere else.

“You don’t have to be cruel.” Agnes almost sat on a partially fallen tree, but changed her mind. She was sure her luck and over-plumped form would make the tree collapse.

Cruel?! Perdita rarely screamed. She was eternally psychotic, but the screaming was anxiety produced by the upcoming meeting. Who asks for singing lessons in the woods? Turbio Dirtkock is… is coming!

Agnes had seen Turbio approaching, but Perdita had been probably too livid to mind Agnes’ eyes.

What’s wrong with his legs?

Agnes was wondering the same thing. Turbio was dragging his feet through the dead leaves, making two little trails with each step. “Maybe he got hurt while working.”

Ha! Perdita chuckled and Agnes let her. The day Turbio worked Agnes would enter a skinny witch pageant and lose because she looked anorexic.

Turbio stumbled into Agnes and tried to put his arms around her. “Agggnesss,” he said, and gave up on the hug. No one in Bad Ass had arms long enough to embrace Agnes Nitt.

Agnes turned her face, but Turbio’s 200 proof breath had already reached her eyes, and she was blinded by tears. “Get off of me!” Agnes was a big girl, but she wasn’t strong. Turbio coughed a laugh on Agnes’ face and she wanted to hurl.

“Pretty Agggnesss wants—”

Agnes pushed back from Turbio and let Perdita slap his face. She didn’t like to let Perdita use her limbs, but she liked insults even less. Agnes wasn’t stupid or pretty and she was okay with that, but she didn’t appreciate Turbio laughing at her. She didn’t mind when Perdita scratched his face.

“You stupid witch!”

Turbio’s hands looked gigantic when they smacked Agnes in the face. She froze and wondered about the salty taste in her mouth.

Let me, Agnes. Perdita’s voice was calm, and the request had been unnecessary. Agnes was in shock, cowering behind the fallen tree. Perdita looked at the piece of fabric Turbio held in his hands. She looked down at her exposed breasts, tasted the blood in her mouth, and sneered at the asshole hovering above her. “You should run.”

Turbio threw his sweaty body on top of Perdita and put a dagger to her throat. “Shhh, you want this.”

“Sure, I do.” Perdita rolled over and slammed all of Agnes’ bulk on Turbio. His body twitched under her. He dropped the dagger. She grabbed it. His eyes widened with shock, and his mouth readied a scream. “But I want this, remember?” Perdita gagged him with Agnes’ beefy right hand. The left one was sticking the knife over and over in Turbio’s neck. She stabbed, stabbed, stabbed until the hot blood flow made Agnes sick, and she hurled last night’s mutton on Turbio’s chest.

“Agnes?” Granny Weatherwax wasn’t sure who was holding the knife. No one ever knew with Agnes and Perdita. “Perdita?” Then the girl sobbed. “I see.” The old witch walked toward Agnes and thought about patting her on the back, but chose to kick the knife out of the girl’s reach instead. Agnes was a nice witch, but Perdita was dark and extreme. That was the reason why Granny didn’t worry too much when she heard Agnes was meeting Turbio (The Lusty) Dirtkock in the woods. Agnes harmed none, but her inner witch beat them all to a bloody pulp.

the wee notes…

– Perdita X Dream is Agnes Nitt’s inner witch. “As a child, Agnes had always blamed ‘the other little girl’ for the wrong things that she did. This may have been the beginning of Agnes’ second persona, Perdita. Agnes is a heavy, sweet-natured young woman who was often psychologically abused by her peers. For this story, I’m suggesting that Perdita is a combination of Agnes’ intuition and her sense of self-preservation (plus a bit of well-balanced justice).
– Terry Pratchett’s views on fan fiction (according to the Discworld FanFiction Archive): “If it is done for fun and not for money and not presented as if it’s some canonical work by the original author, then it comes under the heading of ‘What the hell’.”
– Linked to Sanaa’s Prompt Nights – Intuition’s as though we’re seeing with our soul.

Agnes and Perditavia