Announcing the Summer of Shipwrecked August challenge! This month we have a prompt every day and we want to see your answers. Participate on whatever social media you choose, just use #summerofshipwrecked so we can see what you say! Today we wanna know: how did you find us? Looking forward to doing this challenge with you!
Not really. You can go to their youtube channel and pick whatever.
I started with Poe Party, bc…I mean, it’s Poe Party. (I just posted the masterpost on it, so I’d go by that for its timeline)
As for the rest, I then watched all the BTS and Bloopers for Poe Party (which you don’t have to watch, but it’s there, and why the hell wouldn’t you??) then went on to The Case of the Gilded Lily, which is a detective noir thing. Really excellent.
Then American Whoopie, which is a silent movie spoof. And absolutely hilarious.
It’s all there and it’s all great and there’s not real watch order so it’s all up to you. Or if you’re like me and have trouble making decisions, just do the order I went in XD
And maybe when you’re done you can contribute to their Patreon! Since they met a certain amount, they’ll be doing a table reading of the movie Clue, and Patrons get to vote on who is cast as which character and I can’t fucking wait.
I contributed $5/month, but you can do the $1/mo, or up to $250, and you don’t have to do every month, you can do it whenever you’re able, and you’ll still be supporting this amazing group of awesome and creative people and I swear I’m not paid to promote them they just deserve the world XD
So much loving Yulin Kuang’s “I Didn’t Write This” series of short films. It’s a gorgeously simple idea, that reel of cinematic art unfolding alongside and in conversation with a literary work, like a peek into someone else’s dreams. Or like your own dreams, when you fall asleep with a favorite book on your chest.
So: here are my poem suggestions. I’ve fallen in love with the work of Mary Oliver, whose work so often gives me the strange upside-down feeling of being recognized by someone I’ve never met. There’s a quiet, attentive beauty to her work that I think would blend well with Yulin’s warm, funny, careful director’s eye.
STARLINGS IN WINTER
Chunky and noisy, but with stars in their black feathers, they spring from the telephone wire and instantly
they are acrobats in the freezing wind. And now, in the theater of air, they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising; they float like one stippled star that opens, becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again; and you watch and you try but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it with no articulated instruction, no pause, only the silent confirmation that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin over and over again, full of gorgeous life. Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter, even in the ashy city. I am thinking now of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots trying to leave the ground, I feel my heart pumping hard, I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.
THE MESSENGER
My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird— equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? Am I no longer young, and still half-perfect? Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished. The phoebe, the delphinium. The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture. Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart and these body-clothes, a mouth with which to give shouts of joy to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam, telling them all, over and over, how it is that we live forever.
