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Allow me to reintroduce myself.

My name is Derek. I'm an internet old-timer who lives in , and I am the founder and admin of, the video store of the fediverse (or so I like to think).

And while I do talk lots about (went to grad school, wrote a thesis on The Room and Snakes on a Plane, have a film-crit website and two movie podcasts), I'm just as likely to talk about , , , and your garden variety comedic nonsense.


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Seven months in, I realize that one of the things I miss most is just being idle somewhere that isn't my home

so there's a Uniqlo that opened downtown last weekend and I spent entirely too much more there but it's all good because I haven't had clothes fit me this well off the rack since high school

Good afternoon Party People, it\s the beginning of another wild week at the virtual copy desk

Derek boosted

slasher film directors in the 70s and 80s: FUCK horny teenagers. all my homies hate horny teenagers.

Good morning Party People, we've got another Friday on our hands

OK so I wrote two and fished out two from the archives in 2.5 hours, that's not bad, still way behind but less behind than I was, it's all good

HUES [throw] (2/2) 

mothballed ledgers of ink smears and strikethroughs
a catalogue of everything right and wrong with you
to be seen is to coalesce
but all there is
is a copy of blue
only ever interrupted by the whirring of the fridge
and the pulsing battery light of a laptop on standby

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HUES [throw] (1/2) 

you return and glitch through the furniture
and you scrub and scrape and scour
but you can't get the smell of Craven "A"s
and stale dollar-store cologne
out of your good satin robe
the one with the armholes that droop
like a giant fleece throw blanket drying
on the line in the still of spring
so now you stand
dressed in blues refracted from
the mirrors on the shelves
nestled in the archives
compiled by your former selves

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going Thomas Mode and just taking over the local

(I was needlessly very rude to this straw man I created for this post)

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"Hey Derek why do so many of your poems involve food" Uh cos food fucking rules you doofus


it's 4am and I'm on the bus again
moulding my back to the blue plastic seat
and picking my teeth with my tongue
dislodging donut crumbs and diet soda,
the kind cut with not enough
carbonated water; the sweetness
is a feature, not a bug,
I promise, I assure you, I swear;
my cheeks hurt from smiling and my
eyes itch from staying awake and
I count puffy-jacketed rabble-rousers
riding BIXIs like sheep and now
in my mind you'll always be tied
to the smell of fresh baked goods

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many of these poems would be better if I spent actual time on them and didn't just blurt them out but the point of the exercise is to be PROLIFIC dammit

Derek boosted

yo I have to come clean, I wrote this last June and the word "fancy" isn't in it, but the prompt made me remember it, also sorry it's a little gross

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Welcome to, a movie-flavoured instance home to friendly video store chitchat and general bonhomie.