The easiest way to find any or all of my vids is to visit the AO3, where you can sort and filter by fandom, character, etc. AO3 posts include download links and streaming embeds as well as links to DW, LJ, and Tumblr posts.

Archive of Our Own (AO3): heresluck | all vids
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LiveJournal: heresluck | vid announcement tag
Tumblr: heresluck | vid announcement tag

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: vids: announcements, vids: sticky post

People! Friends of mine! There are many awesome vidders signed up for the VVC auction this year, and I am going to be bidding on grammarwoman because a) she is awesome, and b) SHE IS OFFERING TO VID FARSCAPE and I HAVE FARSCAPE VID IDEAS. One of these ideas I am keeping for myself, but trust me, I HAVE IDEAS TO SPARE.

So who wants to go in with me? I know my fellow Farscape fans are out there. Leave a comment and let's do this!

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: tv: farscape, vividcon: auction

The Republic of Poetry is divided into three parts. The first is about Chile: history, coup, repression, resistance. The second is a series of elegies for poets and other artists. The third is about the creative process itself, the alchemy that makes art out of event.

I don't know what moved me to pick this particular book off my shelf of unread poetry this week, but whatever it was, I'm grateful.


The Soldiers in the Garden
Isla Negra, Chile, September 1973

After the coup,
the soldiers appeared
in Neruda’s garden one night,
raising lanterns to interrogate the trees,
cursing at the rocks that tripped them.
From the bedroom window
they could have been
the conquistadores of drowned galleons,
back from the sea to finish
plundering the coast.

The poet was dying;
cancer flashed through his body
and left him rolling in the bed to kill the flames.
Still, when the lieutenant stormed upstairs,
Neruda faced him and said:
There is only one danger for you here: poetry.
The lieutenant brought his helmet to his chest,
apologized to señor Neruda
and squeezed himself back down the stairs.
The lanterns dissolved one by one from the trees.

For thirty years
we have been searching
for another incantation
to make the solders
vanish from the garden.


— Martín Espada
from The Republic of Poetry

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems

In 2011, Nikky Finney won the National Book Award for Head Off and Split (from which I posted a poem a couple of years back). Someone recently pointed me to a video of her acceptance speech for the award, which I had never seen -- and which I can now highly recommend.

Elizabeth Alexander's introduction begins at 1:09; Finney's speech begins at 4:45. It is, among other things, a poem -- about poetry, literacy, slavery, incendiary literature, and "the will of the human heart to speak its own mind."



Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems

Hat tip to kass for pointing me to this poem and the Rise Up Review website.

Advice for My Nephew on Getting his Driver’s Permit

Set your hands at 10 and 2
Grandpa once said to me, your mother,
your cousins, and he’ll say to you.
He’ll tell you to buckle up, adjust your
seat, your mirrors, and the one-second rule
for estimating the distance between
you and the car in front of you.
Then round and round you’ll cruise an empty
parking lot with Grandpa braced
between the dash and seat, smiling.
But he is a white man and may neglect to add:
Keep your palms flat against the wheel
when the police stop you for a broken light,
and never reach for your wallet.

— Wendy Scher

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems

Festivid treat for anoel, who keeps requesting things I want an excuse to vid. :D

Get Loud
source: Ghostbusters (2016)
music: Kitten Forever, "Get Loud"
summary: Jillian Holtzmann. Yeah, you know you wanna.

Download: Get Loud m4v (39 MB)


password: Festividz!

I feel like I should say something about this vid, but, uh, I don't really remember making it? The whole thing happened in the 36 hours right before GoLive, during which time I also had surgery, so I was super high on pain meds for a lot of it. I'm kind of amazed I managed to get the vid exported and uploaded without mishaps. Bless absolutedestiny and the magic that is LlamaEnc.

All comments and feedback are welcome, either here, at the AO3, or via email (heresluck at gmail dot com).

NOTE: If you want to know when I post new vids, you can track the "vids: announcements" tag on this journal or subscribe to heresluck at the AO3.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: festivids, movie: ghostbusters, vids: announcements

We make ourselves free by the choices we make. I MIGHT BE A LITTLE EXCITED ABOUT THIS.



Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: tv: underground

Found via Split This Rock’s The Quarry: A Social Justice Poetry Database. From the site: "Minal Hajratwala is a poet, publisher, author, and writing coach/founder of Write Like a Unicorn. Her collection Bountiful Instructions for Enlightenment was published in 2014 by The (Great) Indian Poetry Collective. Her nonfiction epic Leaving India: My Family's Journey from Five Villages to Five Continents won four literary awards, and she is the editor of a groundbreaking anthology, Out! Stories from the New Queer India. Visit her website for more information."


‘I am broken by the revolt exploding inside me’

Your rage is pomegranates spilling open on ice, is the flute’s thin silver seam, is a volcano spitting rivulets of fire to wash clean these corrupt lands. Your rage is solidarity before after & during the hashtag. Your rage is the angel of karma before after & during the video. Your rage throbs tight in your chest against symbologies of sticks & stones & chokes that break ligament & bone. Your rage is the fulcrum of your desire, chimaerae busting out of cages, heart-sparks flying. Your rage gets shit done & it is no joke. Your rage is the luminous gold truth of sunrise, what you sit with long enough to dissolve your fear. Your rage is a checkmate to your compromise. Your rage is heat from a magnifying glass, focused, bursting into flame. Your rage is a cool blue spotlight circling the empty stage. Your rage is the dog who won’t lie down for the wrong master, fierce hen who won’t be moved till her brood is hatched, moth who unbinds her cocoon & lifts her body toward light. Your rage is a lesson & you learn it as you breathe. Your rage is this holy sword slicing through stone walls. Your rage is a sentence that says what it must, full-stop. Your rage is our dream of a sweeter brighter world. Your rage is this oar treading the sea to steer this ship this gorgeous fucking hot mess goddamn revolution.


Note: The title is a line from “Cruelty” by Namdeo Dhasal, poet and founder of the Dalit Panther movement.

— Minal Hajratwala
From Resisting Arrest: Poems to Stretch the Sky

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems

This poem about Boston's Old South Meeting House (Wikipedia) was commissioned by the Academy of American Poets and funded by a National Endowment for the Arts Imagine Your Parks grant.

Ignite the fire in us.


Old South Meeting House

We draw breath from brick
          step on stones, weather-worn,
                    cobbled and carved

with the story of this church,
          this meeting house,
                    where Ben Franklin was baptized

and Phillis Wheatley prayed—a mouth-house
          where colonists gathered
                    to plot against the crown.

This structure, with elegant curves
          and round-topped windows, was the heart
                    of Boston, the body of the people,

survived occupation for preservation,
          foregoing decoration
                    for conversation.

Let us gather in the box pews
          once numbered and rented
                    by generations of families

held together like ribs
          in the body politic. Let us gaze upon
                    the upper galleries to the free seats

where the poor and the town slaves
          listened and waited and pondered
                    and prayed

for revolution.
          Let us testify to the plight
                    of the well-meaning at the pulpit

with its sounding board high above,
          congregations raising heads and hands to the sky.
                    We, the people—the tourists

and townies—one nation under
          this vaulted roof, exalted voices
                    speaking poetry out loud,

in praise and dissent.
          We draw breath from brick. Ignite the fire in us.
                    Speak to us:

the language is hope.


— January Gill O’Neil
from poets.org

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems

Because I can't say it better, I will steal from the back of the book: Natasha Trethewey describes Hum as "concerned with what's beneath the surfaces of things—the unseen that eats away at us or does the work of sustaining us," "a meditation on the machinery of living, an extended ode to sound and silence."

A search for more info about Jamaal May introduced me to Split This Rock and their social justice poetry database, which I am linking here to remind myself to poke around in it some more.


Pomegranate Means Grenade

The heart trembles like a herd of horses. — Jontae McCrory, age 11

Hold a pomegranate in your palm.
Imagine ways to split it. Think of the breaking
skin as shrapnel. Remember granada
means pomegranate and granada
means grenade because grenade
takes its name from the fruit;
identify war by what it takes away
from fecund orchards. Jontae,
these are the arms they will fear from you.
There will always be at least one like you:
a child who gets the picked-over box
with mostly black crayons. One who wonders
what beautiful has to do with beauty as he darkens
a sun in the corner of every page,
constructs a house from ashen lines,
sketches stick figures lying face down—
I know how often red is the only color
left to reach for. I fear for you.
My heart trembles like a herd of horses.
You are writing a stampede into my chest.
This is the same thumping anxiety that shudders
me when I push past marines in high school
hallways, moments after their video footage
of young men dropping from helicopters
in night vision goggles. I want you to see
in the dark without covering your face,
carry verse as countermeasure to recruitment videos,
and remember the cranes buried inside the poems
painted on banners that hung in Tiananmen Square—
remember because Huang Xiang was exiled
for these, exiled for this, the calligraphy of revolt.
You stand nameless in front of a tank against
those who would rather see you pull a pin
from a grenade than pull a pen
from your backpack. Jontae,
they are afraid.


— Jamaal May
from Hum

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems

I posted about this in hamiltunes, but it bears repeating: the Lin-Manuel Miranda interview broadcast on Fresh Air from Jan. 3 is forty-five minutes of joy. Moana, mixtapes, Hamilton, Sondheim, and more.

I spent New Year's weekend with kass and sheafrotherdon and got to have lunch with sanj and hang out all too briefly with kouredios plus meet bayleaf. It was a lovely visit.

I have now come down with a cold, which is somewhat less delightful. Ah well. Traveling to other parts of the country does mean encountering exotic new germs.

Last night I got to hang out with oracne; we ate fantastic Szechuan food and then equally fantastic gelato and talked about cons and food and books and reading patterns and music and very little job stuff. It was so nice. Also, I think the soup and the pepper chicken helped mitigate this oncoming cold.

st_aurafina is hosting a DW friending meme:

I am going to participate later today and try to find some new people to read. I'm not deleting my LJ yet, and for the moment I'm still cross-posting, but my journal activity has been DW-centric for a while -- and my fannish interests have shifted a bit, so this seems like a good time to find additional people to flail with.

I am way behind on nearly all media, but I've been reading more than usual. Might post about that at some point. Or more likely not. *facepalm*

And now I am off to an afternoon of work-related meetings. Meh.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: journal meta, lin manuel miranda, musical: hamilton

This is the French toast and bacon on which kass, sheafrotherdon, and I have breakfasted for the past two days. (Today we also added mimosas! Happy New Year!) The French toast recipe generally serves four, and is easy to halve if you're cooking for two. I firmly believe that the chief virtue of French toast is that it provides vehicle for maple syrup, but it can also be served with a nice fruit compote, spiced glazed pecans, or just a sprinkling of powdered sugar -- or, if you're feeling decadent, some combination of these things.

Really Good French Toast

This recipe is best made with good challah, preferably slightly stale -- two or three days old -- but is perfectly nice with very fresh challah, though it will be a bit more squishy. A good cinnamon swirl loaf is a fine variation -- as is leftover brioche, though in that case I suggest using only one egg. Any good soft white loaf from a decent bakery (including your own kitchen!) will do, as long as it can be sliced fairly thickly; pre-sliced supermarket bread is inevitably sliced too thin and will become mushy.

1 large egg
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus extra for frying
¾ cup milk (ideally whole milk, but 2% or even 1% is fine; if all you have on hand is skim, you are perhaps not the kind of person who is meant to eat French toast)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract (or almond extract, or rum)
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
⅓ cup all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon table salt
8 slices day-old challah (slices should be about ¾-inch thick)

1. Heat a large nonstick (or properly seasoned cast iron) skillet or griddle over medium heat for 5 minutes. While it heats, whisk eggs lightly in shallow pan or pie plate; whisk in melted butter, then milk and vanilla (or other flavoring), and finally salt, sugar, and flour, continuing to whisk until smooth-ish (it will still look a bit lumpy and streaky, which is fine). Soak bread slices without oversaturating, 30-40 seconds per side. You will probably only be able to do four slices at once.

2. While the second sides of the slices are soaking, swirl 1 tablespoon butter in hot skillet. Pick up bread (I use fingers for this, but tongs are of course an option) and allow excess batter to drip off. Transfer prepared bread to skillet; cook until golden brown, about 2 minutes per side (exact timing will depend on the vagaries of your stove/griddle). Serve immediately. Wipe out the pan and leave it over low heat until you're ready to do the second batch of slices.

Bacon in the oven

Heat the oven to 400 degrees F. Put as much bacon as you like on a large rimmed cookie sheet or jelly roll pan and stick it in the oven for 10-14 minutes (exact time depends on the thickness of the bacon: less time for thin-sliced, more for thick-sliced). Far less messy than cooking it on the stovetop, and also you can make a lot more at once.

This recipe combines nicely with the French toast in that you can heat the oven, stick in the bacon, immediately start heating the pan and making the batter, and everything will finish at just about the same time.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: recipes

For the last several years, ordering seeds has been one of my New Year's Day rituals. The catalogs arrive in December, bright spots scattered throughout the month, and I save them up and go through them on the first morning of January, getting excited about dozens of varieties -- my gesture of faith in the coming summer. In the afternoon, I go through my notes about what plants did and didn't work last year; I check my stores of saved and held-over seed to see what I need to replace; I make lists. And then I channel my exuberance into a select few new types of tomato, bean, squash, herbs. This is the garden at its most beautiful, all hope and wishful thinking: This year I will start the peppers and eggplants earlier, mulch the beans, thin the carrots, build that raspberry trellis at last. No rabbits yet, no weeds.

This winter, because I'll be elsewhere on New Year's Day, I've settled in early: on the couch with a lapful of cats, catalogs and pen and a pot of tea on the table next to me, ready to be charmed by all the new offerings and reminded of the varieties I've been meaning to try for years.

Outside, it's bare trees and bright light casting sharp shadows on the brilliant snow, the strange lunar landscape of wind-driven powder over scoured ice: near-bare ground in some places, high drifts in others. The sleeping soil dreams of seeds. Inside, it's color photos of possibility and promise, steam from the tea at my elbow, the vision and anticipated joy of the work ahead.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: gardening

Poured one out for Zen tonight in honor of her 50th birthday. May we all live so fiercely and love so hard.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: birthdays, in memoriam

I have so many things that I want to post about: Stranger Things, which I finished last week; Killjoys S2, which I just caught up on tonight; VividCon; and oh yeah, I still haven't posted about Hamilton despite seeing it six months ago. But work is sapping my will to live, let alone type, and I am a bear of very little brain at the moment, so here, have a few links to my faves of the music I've been listening to in the kitchen as I try to keep up with everything I'm harvesting from the garden:

Austin Plaine, Never Come Back Again

Caitlin Canty, Get Up -- one of my most-played songs of 2015, which I've been in the mood for again lately.

Dessa, Quinine

Francis, Horses -- like White Tales-era Bettie Serveert at their least morose. vonniek, this is my pick for you.

Frightened Rabbit, An Otherwise Disappointing Life

Future Thieves, Horizon Line -- sdwolfpup, this is my pick for you.

The Heirs, Alright Goodnight -- so freaking catchy, oh god.

Jennifer Lopez and Lin-Manuel Miranda, Love Make the World Go Round -- EVEN MORE CATCHY (and makes me smile and tear up at the same time, so there's that).

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: music: songs

...one of the writers for The 100 reblogs your Killjoys vid on Tumblr.

I mean, I'm delighted! Just also mildly weirded out.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: vid: play hard

Hey, I'm on Imzy! And I've got invite codes if anyone needs one.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: journal meta

This vid premiered at VividCon 2016.

Play Hard
source: Killjoys (S1 only)
music: Krewella, "Play Hard"
summary: You're fucking with a star.

Download: Play Hard .m4v (179 MB)

As always, thanks to renenet for beta -- and for hurrying up her watching of the show in order to do source-familiar beta as well as general cheerleading.

Recruiter vid, so: visual and thematic spoilers, but minimal plot spoilers beyond the first couple of episodes of S1.

( streaming version and more notes under the cutCollapse )

All comments and feedback are welcome, either here, at the AO3, or via email (heresluck at gmail dot com).

NOTE: If you want to know when I post new vids, you can track the "vids: announcements" tag on this journal or subscribe to heresluck at the AO3.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: tv: killjoys, vid: play hard, vids: announcements, vividcon

Things have been non-optimal around here for a while, hence my lack of fannish (or any) content. I am behind on TV because of a combination of generalized work stress and a couple of specific work-related deadlines that left me feeling sort of unequipped to do much of anything mentally taxing, including write anything outside of work or process long-form narrative, for, uh, several months. My house is being more of a money pit than usual; some long-standing minor problems have rather suddenly entered the MUST DEAL WITH NOW category, so I'm looking at new roof and new windows in short order. We're due for a horrific heat wave starting tomorrow, so this morning I dragged the window a/c unit out and got it set up in the bedroom... and then when I took out the filter to clean it, it disintegrated in my hands. Fantastic.

On the plus side, I have the money to get a new a/c unit without panicking about it, and I have the credit to get a loan for the house repairs. I have friends who've been supporting me through my work trials. The cats are a constant delight, aside from the occasional hairball or early morning serenade. (The kittens' latest game: stealing green beans from the kitchen, prancing off to the dining room with them, and then SLAYING THEM, which involves a great deal of tossing them in the air, catching them, and shaking them to break their necks.) I am sloooowly catching up on TV. I managed to finish a vid for VVC Premieres. I survived a visit to my parents. I have thus fair refrained from assaulting, verbally or otherwise, any of my colleagues (or my boss) despite severe provocations. I've been reading some interesting nonfiction. The garden is doing pretty well. I picked several pounds of cherries from a friend's tree a few days ago and now have roasted cherry sauce and brandied cherry sauce in the freezer, ready to top home-made ice cream later this week.

And VVC is approaching, which will be a welcome respite from my current daily grind; I'll get to spend time with people I love and don't see nearly often enough and, assuming the tomatoes continue on schedule, share some of my garden with them. I look forward to a few days spent focusing on things that are not my job, eating some good food, and hanging out with friends.

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: house, personal, work work work

I think I got this one from norah.


Good Bones

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.


— Maggie Smith
from Waxwing Literary Journal issue no. 9

Originally posted at Dreamwidth || Read comments on Dreamwidth

Tags: monday poems