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Three Mile Island

Three Mile Island is shutting down. Nuclear power is going away. This sucks, because nuclear power plants are far safer than people think they are. For instance, a single coal-burning power plant puts out more dangerous radiation in a single week than Three Mile Island put out during its meltdown.

Sure, you have to put the nuclear waste way down in as deep a hole as you can find for it to decay to safe levels, but the useful life of a single nuclear fuel rod is six years, and they can be reprocessed to get even more use out of them.

So on the one hand, you have nuclear fuel rods which last six (6) years and get carefully placed in a deep dark hole until they're safe, versus coal burning plants that put that much radiation into the environment in a week.

How does that work? you ask. Glad you asked: tiny bits of radioactive material in the coal. They burn so much coal in a week that this stuff adds up.

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1480567.html
You can comment either here or there.

Two poems

Here's those two poems I wrote while at Shrewsbury:

"Chapel of Trees"
by = Fayanora Arts

Give me a house by a stream that bubbles bright,
And a sky vaulting open to a Milky Way night,
Within a wood of eldest redwood trees,
Clouds clinging to hills drifting on a lazy breeze.

Give me a home with a "chapel" of trees that tower,
A clear bit of forest floor 'pon which to cast a circle of power,
With view at night of a starry sky,
Beauty to make the angels cry.

May I sit in my chapel on a flattened boulder,
A chill in the air for a light cloak, but no colder,
The stream bubbling just a bit out of sight,
My body bathing in full moon's light.

Give me the space far from people, out of the sun,
Within which to strip nude and gleefully run;
Or swim in a pond pooled in the stream,
Free, natural, beautiful - that is my dream.

But give me the means to get back to the city at speed,
And Internet and phone, for these things I'd still need,
And in this means, the room to haul friends,
To invite them to join me in my chapel of trees.

"Oregon Mountains' Majesty"
by = Fayanora Arts

Hundreds of giant green gorilla heads thick and fuzzy with thousands and thousands of green trees, clouds like stream rising from hot heads on a cold morning, gathering around the green crowns like a halo of grey and silver mist, or a cloak of thin grey carded wool.

Not smoke rising from hidden valleys; too languid and living for that. Just more wisps of gossamer moisture.

The heads are not without the scars of humanity, though. Areas shaved away, regrowing, the bald spots of humanity's greed marring nature's magnificent beauty.

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1480308.html
You can comment either here or there.


My tweets


Facts are straight, but she isn't.

An exchange I just imagined happening in middle school to one of my characters, Vedya Ravenstone...

Bully: "You're a queer little lezbo!"
Vedya, with mild annoyance: "No I'm not! I'm bisexual!"

I had an exchange similar to that in high school, though less bullying and more curious on the guy's side of things. When I clarified to the guy that I'm bisexual, he responded, "What, like a hermaphrodite?" Resisted the urge to respond "Yes, I am, spiritually speaking anyway, but that'd be 'bi-gendered.' 'Bisexual' is something else entirely," and simply explained to him what bisexual meant.

(And yes, I *did* in fact know that part of myself in high school. I don't recall what year I first started writing about the Ah'Koi Bahnis, but it was in high school or junior high.)

Alternate response for Vedya in the above situation, if it happened in the second book when she's in Fae Springs school:

"Queer, yes. We already established that when I came to the dance last year with my girlfriend. But I'm not a lesbian, I'm bisexual. If you're going to try to use widely known facts about me to insult me, at least get your facts straight first."

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1480060.html
You can comment either here or there.

Autistic things

Went to Shrewsbury Renaissance faire today. Wrote the following while still in the cell phone dead zone on our way home:

Autistic things, number 646808: I went to see the same music group at three different stages because I stim to the music, especially the drums.

Though honestly, it was mostly accidental. I'd been sitting down a while at this picnic table, got up because I felt bad about taking up seating when I was done eating. Went walking about, sat down by one of the stages instead, fell in love with this one group's music. They had a guitar, a violin, one of those drums you hold between your knees to play, a recorder, some Greek flute, (tambourine ish thing), and a singer. Stayed there awhile listening to this other guy on a mandolin, who also sang.

Then I had to get up to walk around because my butt was tired and my legs were tingly on the low seats. Ended up walking into the wooded area, just ambling along. I was approaching the tavern back there when I heard that one group's music again. Walked over and watched again.

The seats there were higher, so my legs were fine, but my butt was tired again, so I got up and wandered around again. Eventually ended up by the jousting area, noticed the singer from that group again, remembered her saying they were playing down there at the other tavern. So I went over and sat down.

Didn't actually get to stay and listen, though; Victor had thrown his knee out, and someone working for faire had been tasked with finding me, which she did while the group was getting ready to play. (Apparently it took awhile. All my walking around made me harder to find.)

But the point is, I was stimming to their music enough to want to watch them three times.)

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1479718.html
You can comment either here or there.


Wrote two poems today inspired by the location that the Shrewsbury Renaissance faire is at (King's Valley, Oregon). That makes the fourth poem I've written since Lily passed. It also means I've written more poems since she passed than I'd written in the entire one, maybe two whole years prior to that.

As to those poems, I'll share them later.

This was cross-posted from https://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1479632.html
You can comment either here or there.



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