oriana

quit with gentleness and kindness like a cat snarling at the moon

i don't have anything exciting for this one, i'm already mentally gone and kitchens only remind me of stress

honestly, instead of raging i think i'd like to imagine a small little kitchen in a nook of my personal space where i can cook some quick meals when i'm nonsocial, along with a nearby huge communal kitchen where i can help cook tons of stuff for lots of people

so this prompt reminds me of a somewhat interesting but obnoxious video i watched a bit ago, talking about some long lost greek novel that the video's title claimed i would never read. that video sat in my tabs for forever, and each time i jumped around my many half buried things to do and saw that title reminding me of this unknowable thing, my mind soared, piecing together the secondhand histories and small scraps of fiction, imagining this thing that was once real but could never be known.

eventually i watched the video and realized i got clickbaited. the story is completely intact and it's available for free on gutenberg. the reason the video claimed i'd never read it is because they assumed i just wouldn't bother.

it's called A True Story (or Legend) by Lucian and it is sitting in my tabs waiting to be read. but that's not what this prompt is actually about so let's get to that.

i promise you a hobby that you will in fact never do. not because you can't be assed, not because there are historical or mental or social obstacles in the way, but because you actually cannot do it.

that hobby is lunar kitbashing. and no, it's not just kitbashing on the moon. it's taking a dozen moons, slicing them apart, crumbling them into cobble, and painstakingly gluing them into shapes never before seen, a cosmos of structurally unsound rocks hurtling through space, on an inherently decaying orbit, tearing apart planets with their majesty.

the candle sits on my dresser, lit once in a rural cabin in the hopes it would make my girlfriend happy. it will likely never be lit again.

i can't blame the candle. it's only paraffin, string, and some vanilla. it is just an object. but attached to it is fear and regret, a reminder that life can never be more the lowest common denominator, a reminder of the need to balance the world on someone else's back

maybe in the future i will light it, and the smell of powdered vanilla potpourri will ward off evil spirits. but i don't believe in that sort of thing.