~CRK

@authorcrk.bsky.social

A graphic about cyclospora outbreak and what rabbit owners need to know. It says it is a human-specific parasite that does not live in animals. It still recommends washing your greens and buying whole heads of lettuce instead of prewashed and precut bags.

Tweet from Pope Leo XIV that reads: Dear writers, we need your imagination, your narrative creativity and your lively thinking. We need these to create spaces of freedom and authenticity, within which divine grace can make the promise of consolation and peace resound

Sw I just need to practice more
A I know. That’s the point
Sw I know. I’m just too lazy
A that’s no excuse
If you love me and truly care about the culture, you’ll dedicate yourself to learning. It will also look good on your résumé
Sw true
B Wowww résumés, so boring, you two are so boring
Sw That’s what happens when you turn 30 I guess you get boring
A Hey!
Sw I don’t want to be boring

B: Where am I supposed to find a stick? Probably at the park. It statistically has more trees. Let’s go to the park

A: Well, all right

B: Huh. Look at that. Which stick do you think is better?

A: None of them

B: Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud

A: Quiet, Beau (half-laughing)

B: This one. It has superb form and construction (mouth full) Let’s go home and show him

A: All right…

“Whatcha workin’ on, Z?” Kiki chirped, hopping up to me.
“I have to do a project board for school. I’m doing it on penguins.”
“Of course you are,” 5 teased with a wide smile as he stood behind me.
“Did you know there’s actually 18 types of penguins?”
“Wow, really?!” Kiki belted.
“And they all live in the Southern Hemisphere. Not just Antarctica but also Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and South America. None of them live in the Northern Hemisphere. The northernmost penguins live in the Galapagos, which is right by the Equator—I guess that’s technically the Northern Hemisphere.”
Kiki examined my board with interest as I glued on different pictures of penguins. Some had crest feathers, some had yellow feathers on the sides of their heads, some had spots, some had red eyes. “Which ones do you like the most?”
“I like the Little Blue ones. But Emperors are the best. Guinnie looks like an Emperor.”
Kiki examined the cut-out portrait of the Emperor on my board and squinted at Guinnie, discerning her. All the while, Guinnie posed on the table with confidence, flippers on nonexistent hips, like she were a Queen sitting for a portrait.
“But she’s too short,” Kiki said sadly.

I hurriedly changed my clothes to the usual swishy pants and a t-shirt with a penguin sporting blue camouflage. The design, of course, prompted Guinnie to jump me as though she’d found a long-lost friend.
“Do you get lonely, Guinnie? Maybe I should get you a friend.”
To my surprise, Guinnie dropped herself to the floor, tied her flippers across her yellow chest, and defiantly shook her head no.
She’s just as proud as I am, I reflected with a parental smile.

Do you do any festivals or things, too?
Yeah, but only Carsi are involved. They don’t like inviting outsiders
Right. Makes sense
D
But. That might change. We’re hoping so, anyway
D
There’s one about the Angel of Battle… A festival
Oh
D
(I looked around. Being surrounded by the pure crystalline swords, all perfectly-carved, decorated, and beautiful. It intimidated me. I felt like I was shrinking, and I wanted to disappear.
D
Well, the Elders all revere the AOB as a hero, but. Ne sent kids to war
Yeah
And segregated Realworldlians
I guess?

I put up a poster detailing the afternoon’s events and set up everything around Seed Hotel so kids could pick and choose what they wanted. I was happy with the variety, and I felt like it would work out well.
“What, like Bozo’s Buckets?!” Jamesy cried out. “And how are these Olympics events?!” Jamesy complained. “It’s not the Special Olympics!”
“Jamesy!” Kiki elbowed her cousin. She hated his blunt remarks, but it was even worse now with Bergamot sitting next to them.
“No, it’s good for those of us with limited physical abilities,” Bergamot added. She was in her automatic wheelchair today.
“Intellect is a sport, too, ya know,” I said, crossing my arms.
“What, you’re going to show off your bad aim?” 5 teased me.
“Quiet, you.”

I woke up with a violent sickness to my stomach. It felt like nausea, so I sat by the toilet, but I couldn’t throw up. I clutched my stomach and fell to the tile floor. Groaning, I could feel the chilling tile against my face and arms. My mom yelled at me, saying I was faking it, but I said I wasn’t. I didn’t know why I was feeling sick. I didn’t know why I was in so much pain, and I didn’t want to feel that way anymore.
When my mom left to take a shower, I locked myself in my room. I never locked the door to my room, and it felt wrong of me to do so. I buried myself under the covers and tried to sleep in my bed. But the knots in my stomach kept me from relaxing.
The doorknob to my room shook. My mom slammed her fist on the door. The pain in my stomach intensified. Suddenly, there was a clicking sound, like a key or a paperclip. The door opened. My whole body froze. How did she get in the door?!
I peeked out from under the covers. I saw my mom put a golden metal stick on top of the wood around my door. It was an emergency key meant for the tiny holes in my bedroom and bathroom. I locked myself under the covers. I refused to go anywhere. I felt sick and in agony.

I figured that was her intention, but hearing her say it out loud stings me. “You’re genuinely terrible, Ima.”
She flinched at this.
“Plants are our friends!” Rose cried out. She lingered in the doorway of the greenhouse, keeping a safe distance. Her hand trembled from gripping the doorway so hard.
Warmth splashed against my face and stung my cheek. Ima got me while I was looking at Rose. I snarled at Ima.
“You’re so ruthless. You only think of yourself.”
“Shut up! You don’t know me!” Ima cried out, firing more orbs of flaming light at me.
Slicing my hand through the air, I cut through the fireballs with sharp blue boomerangs. “I don’t need to.”
Im barred her fangs at me. She punched at the air, but no powers manifested. “You think you know everything! You’re the callous one!” Ima ran off, looking like her pride was wounded. Halfway across the yard, she burst from the scene in a flicker of embers and ash. I assumed she could transport just like 5 could.
In a way, I felt bad. Like maybe I hurt her feelings.

As I stared awkwardly at the piles of fabric, Marie came up behind me and asked what I was doing.
“My mom usually does the laundry every day, but…” I said, sadly. I stared blankly at the clothes, analyzing the processes for getting rid of them.
“Well, we can do it,” Emmy declared, making the task sound easy.
“No, I don’t want to mess it up,” my voice quivered as my eyes ran around the different piles in the cramped room that smelled strongly of chlorine like a swimming pool.
“Laundry is easy to do, Sands. You just put your clothes into the machine, and it does it for you.”
“But bleach can kill you.”
“Only if you drink it,” Marie enforced, waving her arms.
“But I don’t know if laundry detergent has ammonia in it.”
“You don’t use bleach on everything, anyway.”
I wondered about that. I guess my mom really only used it for the towels and underwear. I looked down in defeat and let Emmy pass me.
“You know more than I do…”

As I fell asleep, all I could hear in my mind were names of places buzzing in my head.
Winter Wonderland, Water World, Christmas Town, I*V City, Wonder Prairie, Fantasy Prairie, the playground, Trampoline Land, the amusement park, Angel Prairie, the pool, Seed Hotel, the ice cream parlor…
I couldn’t sleep. I whipped out my notebook and started writing everything down, my hand guided in the dark by my instinct. I kept writing and writing and writing, hoping someday everything would come back to me. Hoping that someday everything would finally make sense. Hoping that someday, eventually, I’d finally find myself again. The me that was lost among jumbled memories and scattered thoughts like paper strips in a giant shredder.

The girl in green sent over a serve, and Calla used her height to block it back over. Yellow bumped it up, with Orange stepping in to set up Red. 5 spread his legs to a defensive stance and stood ready to strike, but Red just hit it over naturally. Relief swept over me. We had a chance to hit it someplace. I wondered if we could somehow get it over to Emmy. But I hated that the others couldn’t read my mind, and Kiki set the ball to 5, who smacked it over behind Yellow. She tried her best to catch it, with Orange assisting. But Red got upset and bumped into the trio trying to fix the mistake herself, causing the ball to slip through the cracks.
“Hey!” Yellow cried out. “I got it!”
“No, you didn’t!” Red chastised.
Purple, with a calm voice, called out to Red, “Stay in your spot.”
I started to realize the girls weren’t the pinnacle of teamwork I thought they were. Though it seemed they worked as a unit, it could all fall apart because of Red.
I served over, trying my best to hit it by Emmy, and she took the hint to miss it in a convincing way. Red yelled at her, but she insisted it was an accident.
We were still ahead, and time was running out. I felt assured.

Having CPTSD/DID/ND/chronic pain/depression/etc is just learning to accept that you are not stupid, it’s just sometimes your brain doesn’t work. Like it just doesn’t have the capability to think right now. So you have to either do a task that you can do on total autopilot or pick something that takes zero effort and brainpower to do because the brain just doesn’t have the energy to think right now

I hadn’t heard Inner Self lately for some reason, but I did get random phrases and such in my head sometimes. Like I’d remember a name of a place or a detail, like a flashback or a realization. Then I’d write it down so I wouldn’t forget it again. Inner Self told me she was trying to organize all my memories, so I assumed that’s what was happening when I had those flashbacks.
I hated that I kept forgetting everything, so I got a special binder notebook with an attached accordion folder to keep all my thoughts in. Whenever I remembered something or thought of something important I wanted to think about, I’d take out the aqua and navy notebook and quickly scribble it in the pages.
I had read through the entire Book of Legends since 5 gave it to me during I*V’s change. While I didn’t find anything about The Curse, and while some of it made no sense to me, I was glad I read it. Because it reminded me of some of the things I had known before. Like how Calla always practiced her singing because of her special ability of Sound Wars as the AOI’s Vessel. Or about I*V’s surrounding worlds, each with their own distinct cultures and environments.
I was still upset about the Curse thing, though. I couldn’t accept that the AOB was taken over by the Curse and that there wasn’t anything written about it in the Book of Legends. I desperately needed to make sense of it, even if I had to make stuff up about it myself. So I wrote down all I knew about it so far:

As we oriented ourselves, Kiki called out, “Hey, don’t we need a referee?”
Red dismissed the idea, but I asserted we needed someone to keep track to make sure no one cheats.
Leo immediately volunteered, raising his arm high and wiggling it around. “Ooh! I’ve always wanted to sit in the tall chair!” He sped over and climbed up, looking around like he just inherited a kingdom. He switched on the electronic board, and the timer started counting down in big yellow numbers.
I gulped. Kiki passed me the ball, and I set it in my left hand, bumping it over the net with my right fist. Red immediately jumped up and spiked the ball back over, disorienting Calla in the process.
“Hey!” Kiki yelled.
Leo sighed. “That’s one point…” he muttered disappointedly. The screen changed.
Red was the kind to play aggressively. I was upset at myself for not foreseeing this. As I thought ahead, Jamesy shouted out:
“You’re playing dirty!”
Red shrugged and smiled. “You’re just not good enough.”

“Call?! You’re on his side?!” Kiki screeched.
“He is just acting out. I will help him come to his senses.”
“Calla has a ‘mother sense’ about her,” 5 teased. “And Jamesy is an especially childish brat.”
If I didn’t know better, the look Call shot back to her brother said something along the lines of “I have experience with that.” I was sure I had just imagined this, since I have no idea what facial expressions mean, but in a later interview for compiling my notes for these books, Call actually confirmed this! Can you believe it?
“Who are you calling a childish brat?! After some of the things you’ve done!” Jamesy lashed out.
“Oh, shush. That’s all in the past,” 5 pacified.

A list of numbers with a blue background. All of the numbers have boxes next to them, and some are checked. Next to the numbers are various moon phase emojis

The white-throated sparrow kept getting buried by the chickadees whistling. They sounded similar in a way. The forest was barely swaying, but I could hear some of the further trees creaking like rocking chairs. I still couldn’t believe I were actually there—at my house, in the backyard, sitting with the kids and cherishing the sleepy sky. Everything felt far away, like reality was slipping off my skin like water droplets gliding off a duck’s oiled feathers.
With a trilled scream, a mourning dove perched on the crest of my house. She bobbed her neck and wings before settling on her feet and looking up vapidly at the sky. Her throat enlarged, and she started crying out a soft wail. I wondered what it must be like to be a mourning dove. To sit on top of people’s houses and cry about nothing. Maybe they mourn for the people in the houses, filled with empathy and pain that they can’t do anything about it except cry. Or maybe they just sound like they’re crying, and we only attribute a false story of sadness to them. Maybe mourning doves are actually content.

Thinking of 5, my eyes halted at his sleeping bag beside me. Folded neatly, there wasn’t a single imperfection except for a lump under the pillow. Curious, I squinted my eyes and uncovered the sunken treasure—a plain notebook. The cover was simple with neon shapes studding a midnight sky, and I recognized it. He’d borrowed it from one of my rejects. While plotting my revenge on him for stealing one of my kin, I subconsciously flipped through the pages as though it were my own and made note of the used paper.
Only seven pages were coated with writing; the others stood woefully blank. It was reminiscent of all the unfinished ones I owned—save for the neater structure of boxed paragraphs and the meticulously bound letters conforming to the lines. And no title page. I have to admit I was too nosy for my own good and began instinctively reading the first page.

“You must be desperate to get away from the popular girls, huh?” Leo suddenly made conversation, snapping Marie out of her daze.
“They drive me insane.” Marie snuck a swig of chocolate milk from the carton. “They’re wearing old styles, already drinking coffee, and Red has everyone on puppet strings. We all have to be exactly like her, or else she gets mad. It’s really stupid. She’s been like that since forever.”
Leo folded his arms, looking like he was in deep thought. “Sounds awful. I don’t get popular girls. Wanting to be like everyone else is limiting. It’s a scary thing, like being put in jail.”
“Yeah, I can tell you’re definitely not someone who follows the norm.”
“Of course not!” Leo declared proudly. He put a big handful of mini candy cookies in his mouth and supported his head with his other hand. “They haven’t had a hit in years, anyway. Why are they still acting so haughty?”
“Well, they’re hoping to make a comeback. But I really don’t want that to happen.” Marie’s stomach felt queasy at the thought. To her, Leo didn’t know how right he was when he said the word prison.

Spin chair hurdles
Yes, an event utilizing a spinny chair. So far, we have used ice packs, random metal squares, yoga balls, bouncy balls, an extending dog leash, and now a spinning office chair as sports equipment. I was the kid ever. Also, HOW WOULD YOU DO HURDLES IN AN OFFICE CHAIR. That’s literally the definition of “not safe for work”!!

Scooter hurdles
This is the third most dangerous event. Because I can kind of see it, but I also don’t like what I see.

Slide stunts
Doing gymnastics routines and stunts on a slide. That sounds like a parents’ worst nightmare. The games I came up with as a kid sound so dangerous now that I’m surprised I had never once broken a bone or gotten injured as a kid. I must have been indestructible.

Bouncy ball tobbagan
This just sounds reckless and dangerous. How would this even work?? Bouncing on a yoga ball but down a hill? Have 911 on speed dial!

My mom trotted upstairs to finish the laundry and to clean the bathtubs. Her pink razor phone, left in the kitchen, started blaring “Never, Never Gonna Give You Up” by Barry White, and my body became paralyzed. I wanted to call up to her, and say her phone is ringing, but it felt like a cinderblock was in my throat instead of my voice. Nevertheless, I told myself I should push through it anyway. And I cried out “Merm,” the nickname baby me gave her. There was no response. I tried again.
“You know I can’t hear anything over this fan blaring!”
Then turn it off, I wanted to say. But being dismissed again made my throat even tighter. I grabbed the phone and walked it upstairs to her. Then returned downstairs.
She went in her room and closed the door. She didn’t close the door often. I always knew what it meant when her phone rang, when she locked herself in her room and talked with him for hours. It made me feel like I was in on a horrible secret, even though she was already divorced. I left for the basement. Being with my friends always got my mind off things. Things and feelings I couldn’t explain.

Stripes looked up at us slightly with silvery blue eyes and shared a smile. His cheeks sunk, showing off dimples on either side of his face.
“Where does ‘Stripes’ come from?” Marie quizzed.
“It’s the name I gave him! Cuz he earned his stripes!”
“What?” The thought went over Marie’s head.
“He’s a tiger!” Leo declared, holding up his hands like he was showing off fierce claws. “And he earned his stripes! You know, like Tyson the Tiger says!”
“You mean the cereal box mascot?” I parsed out.
When Leo nodded enthusiastically, Marie slapped her palm to her head like she couldn’t believe Leo’s childhood idol was a cereal box mascot.
“Lion, tiger, and bear. Oh, my,” Jamesy noted lifelessly.
“My mom named him D’Angelo,” Leo trilled in a thick accent, “But I like my name better.”
“What, did you name him when you were two?”
“Stop making fun of me, woman!”

“Are you OK?”
“Huh?”
“Your arms,” I clarified, pointing.
“Oh! It’s athletic tape! I can probably take it off now,” she commented, peeling away the purple stretchy material from her left arm.
“Oh. I think some people at the fitness centers use those.” I added, “My mom does personal training, so I’ve basically lived in fitness centers.”
Panda became animated, her face glowing. “That’s cool! My uncle does personal training.”
“Yeah. My mom always brought me to work. I even got to help out sometimes.”
“That’s great!”
I got to fill the vending machine and keep track of the inventory. Plus, sometimes I’d get to make flyers for classes and such using the computer because I was good at making posters. It felt nice to have a responsibility and not just hang out in the day care center all day doing nothing. I always felt like an adult, and working made me feel respected.

[we go back to the events; J and L are looking on in the distance
“Why are kids so weird nowadays?” Jamesy commented, apparently oblivious of his permanent baby voice he forced.
“It ain’t weird! It’s just how you express yourself! I mean, I’m a lion!” Leo chimed in proudly, pointing his thumb to his chest, which caged his proud lion heart.
“Yeah, and I’m the Keeper of Fate,” Jamesy returned, rolling his eyes.
“Hey!” Leo yelled, chasing after Jamesy.

Red darted over and snatched Emmy by the arm. “And who said you could be on their side? You’re on our team, remember?”
Marie tugged her arm in resistance. “Only for the Olympics! That doesn’t mean they’re no longer my friends!”
“That’s what you think. This isn’t a game. Stop hanging out with them, Indigo.”
“My name is Marie!”
“Hey!” I stomped my foot and smacked Red’s arm away. “People aren’t your property! They’re not like the fancy things you buy!”
Leo stepped in. “Yeah! Let her go!”
“She’s our cousin. Get your mind off of justice for a second.”
“Aren’t we here to play volleyball? You can sling insults all you want while we’re playing. Let’s just get this over with.” 5 took command disinterestedly, poking his fingers into a volleyball and convoying it to the net.

“We believe everyone in our community is family, so I have a lot of little siblings I look after.”
“Ah, that’s neat.” I thought quietly for a moment. “I was wondering, too: Do you craft things like Johnnie’s people do? He’s from Winter Wonderland.”
“No, we Nirlà don’t craft things, but there’s another people to the Northwest that do. They’re called the Cäy people.”
“Oh.” I asked how to spell everything so I could write it down later. I guess I*veenian English changed the spellings phonetically, so Cäy would be Chaye and Nirlà would be Nerlah. I always liked learning new things, so I was enjoying asking. And I liked that Bluestem, again, didn’t mind my questions. She liked hearing about Johnnie, too. I forgot what he said his people were called.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw my friends arriving. “Sorry.”
“For what?! I love answering questions.”
“I mean we have to do the events now.”
“No problem. Good luck!”
“You, too.”

ZCN & Friends: The Angel’s Curse
(ZCN Series Book 1)
Zena refuses to accept that her hero, the Angel of Battle, has given up in the fight against evil. And even worse, that Ne has become the very evil the two of them have fought against all these years. With an ominous final warning, the Angel warns Zena that she, too, will someday fall prey to the dastardly Volea Villain’s curse.

MG fantasy
Trans flag, autism spectrum infinity, mental health symbol, POC/diverse symbol

Meme about forgetting names. First panel is two people, one labeled “New MC” and the other labeled “Me.” New MC says Hi my name is Samira. Next panel, character lebeled “me” says “Nice to meet you, Samira” and takes the name Samira. Third panel, character tries to stuff the name into their brain, which is mostly filled with an orange block labeled “plotline” with a green block labeled “details” and a red one labeled “characters.” Fourth panel, the character labeled “me” says “So, Samara, tell me more about yourself.” The character labeled “New MC” looks sad and upset

A photo of the graphic novel “Are You My Mother?” by Alison Bechdel. The cover has a reflective golden mirror and an illustrated photograph of two women. Blurred in the background is a bookshelf with cookbooks

Meme of cat looking at a paper while confused. Text reads: who wrote the hard cadenza for Hungarian Rhapsody? Me: Hamelin. Then why did you write Hoffman?

Today’s lesson revolves around more scales and key signatures, which follow the scales. These lessons have been repeated in the theory and other classes, and Francis is comforted when all the classes harmonize with each other. It can be equally as frustrating when he keeps getting hit with the same information he doesn’t understand, though. Although the lessons are all in conversation with each other, the classes tend to feel like a blur with all the information packed in so quickly in an hour. Francis easily gets lost, desperately trying to catch up on something he misheard five minutes ago.
“Any questions so far?” Mr. Harden asks the class.
Francis meekly raises his hand, hoping no one but the instructor will notice.
“Yes, Francis?”
There it is again. Everyone’s staring at him. Francis’ throat clenches, blocking any words from coming out. “N-nothing. I’m sorry.” He sheepishly lowers his hand and slumps his body to the floor.

Francis smiles widely, his posture defining itself more confidently. “Um, then. Would you mind teaching me the basics now?”
Calla goes upstairs. There’s a quiet wait long enough that Francis begins to lose himself in wordless thought, plucking absentmindedly at the keyboard lying beside him. Just as he drifts into a trance, Calla returns with a creased book meant for children and a couple freshly-printed sheets of printer paper.
“Ah,” Francis voices, a bit self-conscious at the image of the crayon drawing.
“Please do not feel ashamed. I know it is a children’s book, but all instructional guides will have the same information printed in them.”
Francis takes the book in his hands, feeling the warmth of the paper. The book is well-preserved, but you can tell it was used by the creases in the cover and the red marks, pencil shadows, and stickers adorning the pages. A strange nostalgia comes to him, like he’s become a child again.
“Is… this yours?”
Calla smiles.

Meme of Simpson’s character on a bus captioned: when you realize you don’t remember most of your childhood. At the bottom, it says: (chuckles) I’m in danger

Collection of “stank face” images with the caption: find someone who looks at you like this

Meme captioned: when Francis sees the sheet music for the song he knows. With the confused screaming meme with a man in the corner of a room screaming while holding a frying pan. Shows a picture of overly-complicated sheet music above his head

Olga, meanwhile, is just shaking her head. Mostly because of the absurdity of his antics but also because the school’s prodigy is truly a ridiculous and mysterious sort. He just disappears into a song without a moment’s notice, no longer existing as a human being but just as a player piano flowing along like it’s all he’s meant to exist for. She tries to identify the song but realizes it doesn’t even matter. It’s not a time for lessons or whatever. She tries to tell herself that she could do the same thing. That there’s no real significance to his style besides his factual surrender, but there’s an otherworldly presence that appears whenever he plays anything. It’s almost ghostly. It’s like she starts seeing things in her head, and she tells herself to stop being such a sentimental fool like he is. Is that Chopin or something? She discerns to try to distract herself. Whatever it is, it sounds like him. Girly, discreet, and sentimental. So it figures he’d have something like this perfectly memorized. Maybe the real absurd thing is, she notes, just how normal this has become for her. To be sitting here with him and just observing him like this.

$He tries to retrace the steps of the lecture in his notes. The basic kinds of notes are the whole note, half note, and quarter note. The whole note is the whole measure. Half is half of it. Quarter is a quarter of it. Everything is in fours, and everything is neat and concise mathematically. He likes things in pairs of four. Then the teacher introduces 3/4time. There are three notes in a measure. Francis is confused. Everything is done by fours. Where’s the other number for the formula? Three quarter notes, a half note and a quarter note… A half note with a dot beside it… Wouldn’t they be called third notes, instead? Then there’s 3/6 time, which has nothing to do with fours anymore. The bottom number is now a six. If reduced, the fraction becomes ½, so does that mean it’s now divisible by two? Francis is fixated on the four pattern and can’t accept the new numerals.$