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[staff profile] denise posting in [site community profile] dw_news
Hello, friends! It's about to be December again, and you know what that means: the fact I am posting this actually before December 1 means [staff profile] karzilla reminded me about the existence of linear time again. Wait, no -- well, yes, but also -- okay, look, let me back up and start again: it's almost December, and that means it's time for our annual December holiday points bonus.

The standard explanation: For the entire month of December, all orders made in the Shop of points and paid time, either for you or as a gift for a friend, will have 10% of your completed cart total sent to you in points when you finish the transaction. For instance, if you buy an order of 12 months of paid time for $35 (350 points), you'll get 35 points when the order is complete, to use on a future purchase.

The fine print and much more behind this cut! )

Thank you, in short, for being the best possible users any social media site could possibly ever hope for. I'm probably in danger of crossing the Sappiness Line if I haven't already, but you all make everything worth it.

On behalf of Mark, Jen, Robby, and our team of awesome volunteers, and to each and every one of you, whether you've been with us on this wild ride since the beginning or just signed up last week, I'm wishing you all a very happy set of end-of-year holidays, whichever ones you celebrate, and hoping for all of you that your 2026 is full of kindness, determination, empathy, and a hell of a lot more luck than we've all had lately. Let's go.

"The Old Usher," by Oliver Reynolds

Nov. 23rd, 2025 06:32 pm
chestnut_pod: A close-up photograph of my auburn hair in a French braid (Default)
[personal profile] chestnut_pod posting in [community profile] poetry
The Old Usher
Oliver Reynolds
2010, from Hodge

--

for Farès Moussa

I have
shouted Lights! in the foyer as the show begins

I have
opened and closed a million doors
Push and Pull stamping my palms

I have
woken with Good Evening on my lips

I have
ROH in moles over my left nipple

I have
Tchaikovsky as a heart-beat

I have
told ten thousand bladders
It’s down the slope and on the right

I have
stood at the bottom of Floral Hall stairs
with Peter Bramley at the top
tapping the metal hand-rail with his ring
to annoy me

I have
bent my head to complaints about the row in front
the big hair-do, the change-jingler, those who snore or smell

I have
turned a blind eye, a deaf ear, and a stopped nostril

I have
opened and closed a million doors
Push and Pull stamping my palms

I have
waited in the wings to present flowers
cygnets wafting past me in a crush of tutus
each back tight with the cordage of muscle

I have
sold ices with Susie Boyle

I have
passed the black-and-white monitor at Stage Door
and felt proud to see Haitink in the pit
a bottled homunculus preserved in music

I have
opened my locker on a vista of dirty shirts

I have
killed a moth for Monica Mason
It wants to settle on me!
she who once danced her death in the Rite
now frightened of millimetres of flutter

I have
Tchaikovsky as a heart-beat

I have
bassoons and strings planned for my last-act death
the weightless pas-de-chat
lifting me out of this ninth life
into the proscenium’s eternal gold

I have
perfected my farewell
a final turning-out of the pockets
as I rise and vanish into air
swirling with the confetti of ticket-stubs

I have
shouted Lights! as the show begins

I have

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