Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
wow i wonder if that 300 year gap could be explained by any outside factors…….whoa! for some reason it lines up with the timeline of britain’s invasion and subsequent colonization of ireland! wild, huh? i wonder if the two are connected in some way? i guess the world will never know….
“why do the Irish hate the English so much? It couldn’t have been *that* bad!!”
This was in place till 1973.
Seeing non irish people reblogging this makes me happy
stepped on a plum (overripe plum) (barefoot) it was on the driveway got out of the car and accidentally (didn’t know it was there) stepped on the plum (warm) (on the ground) (it had fallen from the tree) barefoot (no shoes) wearing long pants (too long) (need to hem them) plum viscera got on them (the pants) unexpected plum on the driveway (hot plum) (97 degrees out) already super hungover (throwing up all morning) (should not have been driving at all) and I stepped out of the car (black car) (97 degrees out) and onto the plum (unexpected) (didn’t know the plum was there) and it burst (plum nightmare on my only good pair of sweatpants) still we find ways to keep ourselves going from day to day
happy one year anniversary to possibly the best plum poem since william carlos williams’ “this is just to say”
One of my favorite things about learning about traditional textiles is the little ghosts they left in the language. Of course the ghosts are there, now that I know to look for them. Once upon a time, half the population spent a majority of their day making textiles. Spinning, at the very least, has been a part of humanity since the Neanderthals. That kind of knowledge doesn’t just disappear.
A heckle was a device with sharp metal spikes, and people drag flax through the spikes to separate out the fibers from the chaff. When you say someone heckled a performer, you think you are being literal but you’re speaking in an ancient metaphor.
When my grandpa says “spinning yarns” to mean telling stories, he knows that one’s not quite literal, but its vividness is lost to him. There is no image in his mind of rhythm, muscle memory, and the subtle twist that aligns clouds of fibers into a single, strong cord.
When a fanfic writer describes someone carding their fingers through someone’s hair, that’s the most discordant in my mind. Carding is rough, and quick, and sometimes messy (my wool is full of debris, even after lots of washing). The teeth of my cards are densely packed and scratchy. But maybe that’s my error, not the writer’s. Before cards were invented, wool was combed with wide-toothed combs, and sometimes, in point of fact, with fingers. The verb “to card” (from Middle English) may actually be older than the tools I use, archaic as they are. And I say may, because I can’t find a definitive history. People forget, even when the language remembers.
