This is just so very dear.gkmoberg1 wrote:Gee, that one had no fans? Tommy is saddened to learn this.
I'll try another!
At the jungle gym... (Take Three)
- (Same day as Take One and Take Two, Same hour of the evening but ... a different scenario)
Tuesday
October 20, 1981
...
She looked down at him through her dark rimmed glasses and tried to refrain from hugging the little one. The child took her hand, announcing "We're going."
As they wandered out of the courtyard the child asked "You said you knew I'd be here? And that you just got here?"
"Right and right. That was easy. Any more questions?"
"What's your name?" ask the little one taking her hand and examining the detailing of the henna further as they walked.
"Intrige. What's yours?"
"I am thinking you - somehow - already know," said Eli, "And I want you to explain it to me."
###
little Funny Fictions:)
Re: little Funny Fictions:)
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”
Valentines for Blackeberg
It's almost Valentine's day, so I thought it well to recycle a couple from 2014...
Dear Eli:
You smell like roadkill.
You're not even a girl.
Then why, Valentine,
Is my heart all a-twirl?
Dear Oskar:
If you will be my Valentine,
I will be your…
Oh never mind—
I just won't kill you.
Okay...anybody else want to have a go? I know -- let's make it a contest. Oskar and Eli valentines for 2015. First prize, a week in Philadelphia. Second prize, two weeks in Philadelphia.
Dear Eli:
You smell like roadkill.
You're not even a girl.
Then why, Valentine,
Is my heart all a-twirl?
Dear Oskar:
If you will be my Valentine,
I will be your…
Oh never mind—
I just won't kill you.
Okay...anybody else want to have a go? I know -- let's make it a contest. Oskar and Eli valentines for 2015. First prize, a week in Philadelphia. Second prize, two weeks in Philadelphia.
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”
-
Clubmeister
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Re: little Funny Fictions:)
So cute dialogue 
He is looking at me, silently, expectantly, in the near-dark room, neither smiling nor frowning; gaunt as a Belsen child, proud as the Devil, distant and beautiful as a star. [DMt.]
Re: Valentines for Blackeberg
Hmmm. What's with the Philadelphia angle?dongregg wrote:Okay...anybody else want to have a go? I know -- let's make it a contest. Oskar and Eli valentines for 2015. First prize, a week in Philadelphia. Second prize, two weeks in Philadelphia.
Re: Valentines for Blackeberg
Philadelphia quips all go back to W. C. Fields. As a comedian, he must have used many variations on them, such as the epitaph he suggested for his tombstone: "All in all, I'd rather be in Philadelphia." He's also quoted as saying, "I once spent a year in Philadelphia. I think it was on a Sunday," and, "Last week I went to Philadelphia, but it was closed." I'm sure that Philly is as good a place to live as any, but towns sometimes become memes in comedy, such as, "Dying in Buffalo is redundant." I imagine these memes originated in Vaudeville or the Borscht Belt.gkmoberg1 wrote:Hmmm. What's with the Philadelphia angle?dongregg wrote:Okay...anybody else want to have a go? I know -- let's make it a contest. Oskar and Eli valentines for 2015. First prize, a week in Philadelphia. Second prize, two weeks in Philadelphia.
No idea where I heard the first-prize/second-prize variation, but it was probably on the radio during my pre-TV years or in the years when radio and TV overlapped.
Now, about the 2015 valentines contest. Got anything?
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”
Re: little Funny Fictions:)
me? uuuh, no. I write REALLLY BAD poetry. Wolfy would have my access here blocked asap. I do very much like poetry but for me it's a read-only activity. I'll just wait, read and admire. 
Re: little Funny Fictions:)
From tumblr:
Found this simple review of LTROI, but I really liked what she had to say and would agree 100%
This one is still pretty funny:
From: http://stankface.tumblr.com/post/100703 ... -characterIf you do not know the gender of a character
do not call them something they’re not. Just like race or sexuality, do not fucking do it.
We watched “Let the Right One In” today and everyone kept calling Eli “she” even tho I kept speaking up that that was incorrect. And the teacher even acknowledged that they were not a girl and is non-binary, but then continued to refer to the character as “she”. I was getting super fucking frustrated. It’s not that fucking hard.
Eli never specifies their gender, but explicitly states that they are not a girl. This is in a film studies class which means that all of us should be able to comprehend what the fuck is going on inside the damn film. We are all adults and grown enough to know that there is more than just boy and fucking girl.
I would also think that the average person could understand that gender expression =/= gender identity.
Vampires are all about staying under the fucking radar and that with the combination of the possibility of some vampires not being able to change their appearance, we can infer that Eli probably passes as female because in their time, it was ok for people of all genders to have hair of that length. Eli knows that today, that is not the case so passing as a girl would be the less obvious choice which is the goal.
Also, they were making jokes about Eli’s sexuality, disregarding the fact that they’re a victim of sexual abuse.
Why does everyone have to be so fucking cissexist???
I drew Eli from “Let the Right One in” ! It says “the right one” on the band.
Found this simple review of LTROI, but I really liked what she had to say and would agree 100%
Found at: http://levy120.tumblr.com/post/10508024 ... ovie-but-iIt took me a night to sleep over this movie but I come to find that I really really like this one.
It’s not black and white, it’s just very very grey and such a strong contrast from the kind of “Hollywood” Movie that you see everywhere in its telling. It’s very very slow paced, almost to the point where you might consider it boring, if that wouldn’t be absolutely necessary to carry over the tension.
The violence in this movie is happening on-screen, you are there when it happens – but you never really see anything; this movie is not a splatter movie. Violence is happening behind closed doors, and you witness it, but you are not allowed to get involved.
That being said, it should be mentioned that there are definitely worse monsters in this movie than the vampire pictured – and that is despite Eli being portrayed as rather tragic. She’s not the villain, but she’s not the hero either – she’s a problem. She kills and she murders and then regrets doing so, but without making much of a fuss about it. The vampire in this movie is portrayed with a ‘familiar’ who follows and protects her, commits murders for her and hides the bodies.
I really loved the relationship between the kids because it just felt really genuine – you don’t have the classic “kids are young and energetic and bubbly and are so easy to make friends.” The protagonist of this movie is an introvert and there is always this awkward tension of “I like you – would it bother you if we were friends? Am I allowed to?” and when he finds out about her being a vampire he does treat her differently, he puts his guard up, judges her and displays obvious anger about the things she does, but at the same time he stays with her on this seemingly unconditional level.
This one is still pretty funny:
Bulleri bulleri buck, hur många horn står upp
Re: little Funny Fictions:)
"Why does everyone have to be so fucking cissexist???"
1. Everybody isn't.
2. If one is somewhere on the sexual spectrum (let's say that asexual people are not), then one feels (vehement protestations to the contrary not withstanding) insecure as to where one is. Eli brings out the gender insecurity of your classmates, and they try to ineffectually deflect their feelings of insecurity with stupid jokes or with a studied and ingenuous pose of not getting the message.
3. The main cultural dance for sexual people is finding a partner. That means advertising through dress or behavior. That means identifying with a place on the spectrum that probably only approximates where one really is.
4. Out of insecurity, one can try to solidify where one "is" on the spectrum by drawing attention to where one isn't, and that leads to a lot of us-and-them bad jokes. Ill will. Cruelty, bullying. Physical as well as emotional harm.
5. Most of all, this whole sexual dance is happening to people who are not aware of the dynamics of it and, really, would be bored to death just reading what I'm writing now. I get that. Finding a life partner is important. Analyzing the underlying forces is not.
Or I could have just skipped the math and said -- I'm sorry they hurt your feelings or made you feel frustrated -- because I am sorry. You are our dear Trige, and you must know that I, especially, hold you in my heart.
Peace, love, and good vibes.
1. Everybody isn't.
2. If one is somewhere on the sexual spectrum (let's say that asexual people are not), then one feels (vehement protestations to the contrary not withstanding) insecure as to where one is. Eli brings out the gender insecurity of your classmates, and they try to ineffectually deflect their feelings of insecurity with stupid jokes or with a studied and ingenuous pose of not getting the message.
3. The main cultural dance for sexual people is finding a partner. That means advertising through dress or behavior. That means identifying with a place on the spectrum that probably only approximates where one really is.
4. Out of insecurity, one can try to solidify where one "is" on the spectrum by drawing attention to where one isn't, and that leads to a lot of us-and-them bad jokes. Ill will. Cruelty, bullying. Physical as well as emotional harm.
5. Most of all, this whole sexual dance is happening to people who are not aware of the dynamics of it and, really, would be bored to death just reading what I'm writing now. I get that. Finding a life partner is important. Analyzing the underlying forces is not.
Or I could have just skipped the math and said -- I'm sorry they hurt your feelings or made you feel frustrated -- because I am sorry. You are our dear Trige, and you must know that I, especially, hold you in my heart.
Peace, love, and good vibes.
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”
Re: little Funny Fictions:)
Okay, campers -- back to the contest. I know someone could come up with Oksar and Eli valentines for the 2015 contest. Yes! Prizes galore! (Not really.)
Want some candy little girl?
Nej.
Synd.
Want some candy little girl?
Nej.
Synd.
“For drama to deepen, we must see the loneliness of the monster and the cunning of the innocent.”
Re: little Funny Fictions:)
At the jungle gym... (Take Four)
Tuesday
October 20, 1981
Eli, standing near the top of the jungle gym, edges slightly to the left. He secures his hands again on the top rail. "What are you thinking?" he says quietly as he lays his chin against the shoulder of his friend's jacket. The fabric is cool and slick. Modern material. Synthetic. It has a slight give and he likes being able to sense the physical connection even if muted by the layers.
There is a pause and then a sigh. Before them in the darkness lies the playground of the apartment building courtyard. The sandbox, strewn with brown leaves, looks cold and uninviting. Edges of several toy cars and a truck pierce through the sand which has formed ripples about them. They remind Eli of the shells he used to find along the water's edge near Oxelösund. He had taken them up in in his hands and had shared them with the children at Stjärnholm manor. The memory takes him back for a while and he recalls the quiet of the harbor and 'Stjärnholms slott' as it had existed in the early nineteenth century. The boats, the gulls, the fields, the shore, the wild weather and even the sereneness of the same water on quiet nights. Louis De Geer had been, for a time, the closest thing he had to a friend. He lived at Stjärnholms at that time. Louis was forever under tight control, but the two were able to make games of play through windows late at night when all were to have been in bed. The boy had been hardly more than eight years old. The manor house and wing were then stuffed full of his brothers and sisters. Strict discipline was the rule, Eli remembered that clearly. It limited the time he could have with the boy whom he met occasionally peering through windows late at night at the moon. There had been that potential of being able to share time with somebody and to do things that were fun once again. But these were whisked away, much like how the waves on the shore would take away the shells it had deposited the day before. Friendship with Louis was never allotted the chances needed to build; there was never more than the odd encounter. Years later, Eli had returned to the same town, the same manor, the same window. He had looked for the lined up shells inside the window sill where he had handed them through. But the room had long been re-purposed and the shells were long since cleaned away.
Eli realizes his friend is answering, has been answering while Eli was lost in reverie. "... in time it will work out." In reply to the answer he has not been paying attention to, Eli nudges his chin along the shoulder. His partner sympathizes and reaches over and ruffles his hair.
"I'm glad you climbed up here," Eli says, still a bit surprised that this has happened.
"Perhaps now you'd like to do something for me then."
Eli's mind wanders off again to memories of the rooftops of Stjärnholms, the eaves, the casement windows, the stately form of the manor and grounds. The sounds of the children being herded to bed, and being returned there should they dare to get up after having been put down. There had been hours he had spent by their window, just outside on the roof, waiting for any of them to come. Such joys he had experienced on being able to touch their quick fingers and arms in the games they would play. Small candy treats they sometimes gave him in exchange for the shells he handed back. Giggles in the dark and the sounds of quick, light feet fleeing back to bed upon the slightest hint of footsteps from elsewhere in the house. All these things played through his mind.
"Perhaps now you'd like to do something for me then," says his partner again and Eli plummets back to this evening, the cold night of an October that lies easily 140 years after his memories of Louis and their whispers through an open window.
"No. Not tonight. I don't feel like playing any more," he says. He moves away, climbs onto the sliding board and descends smoothly to the bottom. He knows that behind and above him, Håkan is still on the jungle gym - surely disappointed by this sullen swing of mood. But Eli trudges off. He scoops one of the cars from the sandbox and looks at it. it's a Volvo sedan with a wheel missing. He tosses it aside into the grass, wishing it were instead a shell, a shell from long ago, scooped from the shoreline and then passed in fun haste through a window to Louis - a friend who never got to be.
###
- (Same day as TakeThree and earlier, Same hour of the evening but ... a different scenario)
Tuesday
October 20, 1981
Eli, standing near the top of the jungle gym, edges slightly to the left. He secures his hands again on the top rail. "What are you thinking?" he says quietly as he lays his chin against the shoulder of his friend's jacket. The fabric is cool and slick. Modern material. Synthetic. It has a slight give and he likes being able to sense the physical connection even if muted by the layers.
There is a pause and then a sigh. Before them in the darkness lies the playground of the apartment building courtyard. The sandbox, strewn with brown leaves, looks cold and uninviting. Edges of several toy cars and a truck pierce through the sand which has formed ripples about them. They remind Eli of the shells he used to find along the water's edge near Oxelösund. He had taken them up in in his hands and had shared them with the children at Stjärnholm manor. The memory takes him back for a while and he recalls the quiet of the harbor and 'Stjärnholms slott' as it had existed in the early nineteenth century. The boats, the gulls, the fields, the shore, the wild weather and even the sereneness of the same water on quiet nights. Louis De Geer had been, for a time, the closest thing he had to a friend. He lived at Stjärnholms at that time. Louis was forever under tight control, but the two were able to make games of play through windows late at night when all were to have been in bed. The boy had been hardly more than eight years old. The manor house and wing were then stuffed full of his brothers and sisters. Strict discipline was the rule, Eli remembered that clearly. It limited the time he could have with the boy whom he met occasionally peering through windows late at night at the moon. There had been that potential of being able to share time with somebody and to do things that were fun once again. But these were whisked away, much like how the waves on the shore would take away the shells it had deposited the day before. Friendship with Louis was never allotted the chances needed to build; there was never more than the odd encounter. Years later, Eli had returned to the same town, the same manor, the same window. He had looked for the lined up shells inside the window sill where he had handed them through. But the room had long been re-purposed and the shells were long since cleaned away.
Eli realizes his friend is answering, has been answering while Eli was lost in reverie. "... in time it will work out." In reply to the answer he has not been paying attention to, Eli nudges his chin along the shoulder. His partner sympathizes and reaches over and ruffles his hair.
"I'm glad you climbed up here," Eli says, still a bit surprised that this has happened.
"Perhaps now you'd like to do something for me then."
Eli's mind wanders off again to memories of the rooftops of Stjärnholms, the eaves, the casement windows, the stately form of the manor and grounds. The sounds of the children being herded to bed, and being returned there should they dare to get up after having been put down. There had been hours he had spent by their window, just outside on the roof, waiting for any of them to come. Such joys he had experienced on being able to touch their quick fingers and arms in the games they would play. Small candy treats they sometimes gave him in exchange for the shells he handed back. Giggles in the dark and the sounds of quick, light feet fleeing back to bed upon the slightest hint of footsteps from elsewhere in the house. All these things played through his mind.
"Perhaps now you'd like to do something for me then," says his partner again and Eli plummets back to this evening, the cold night of an October that lies easily 140 years after his memories of Louis and their whispers through an open window.
"No. Not tonight. I don't feel like playing any more," he says. He moves away, climbs onto the sliding board and descends smoothly to the bottom. He knows that behind and above him, Håkan is still on the jungle gym - surely disappointed by this sullen swing of mood. But Eli trudges off. He scoops one of the cars from the sandbox and looks at it. it's a Volvo sedan with a wheel missing. He tosses it aside into the grass, wishing it were instead a shell, a shell from long ago, scooped from the shoreline and then passed in fun haste through a window to Louis - a friend who never got to be.
###