Männlein's actually a riddle about a rose hip, a little guy who looks sorta like this
and Tanko Bushi is a song about coal mining, originally citing the Miike mine, though since it closed in 1997, the song substitutes "uchi no oyama", "our mountain" or some other landscape feature. both are my uh...subtle/unsubtle methods of forshadowing, and since i'm focusing more on the story at this point than scientific inaccuracies, I figure a reader should still be given the chance to learn a little somethin, if they feel like diggin.
(here you lazy, wonderful person, article summing up the Miike coal mine explosion in 1963 where a shitton of people were killed)
only five years shy of it's 100th anniversary, man.
(uh uh uh middle of the road disclaimer, i'm unapologetically whipping out knowledgings, or "facts" like a carton of cocks to disguise the fact i have no idea anymore how to write a blog post. uh, READING RAINBOW reading rainbow reading rainbooo...?)
i will jot down down the above above above above sentence in my booklet of Highly Inappropriate Segues I Have Made in My Life before I veer over to telling you it's also just shy of a year ago, when I re-started work on my years in waiting, 54,081 word project Eight Legg, which was begun sometime in winter quarter my freshmen year at OU, and finished some sunday night in may when I was eating a BLT at jimmy johns.
another fact i won't bother to hide is that the majority of this thing was written while I ate BLT's at jimmy johns. I will also not hide that I would do this every friday night after i went to the movies by myself. I will also not hide that I would stay past 2 AM. this was time I sacrificed when I could have been riddin myself of that virginity thing these twelve year old girls and fifty five year old men are all shrieking about. oh WELL.
red man though, has exceeded the one year anniversary since I began on a whim and a sentence i liked in my head, the summer before i started college and was working as a nine-hour nanny for some family friends. on another whim, too often how these things go with me, i banged out another shitty, uncompleted rewrite in early november. fortunately, I went over it with someone who half-knows what the fuck they're doing concerning writing. So i'm happy to say the third rewrite, while still half-shit and filthy with tense-changes, is likened to a wet, spasming insect creature small, disproportional adults (otherwise known as children) would burst into tears over until they realize the sad, wet thing is not a misunderstood hellbeast being devoured by a beehive, but a Great Spangled Fritillary emerging from a its womb-cocoon.
what the fuck is this how long was that sentence what am i writing jesus christ i don't even