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kirah69 · 4 years ago

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Better Than New

Nogitsune/Stiles + pre-Steter + pre...

Summary: The nogitsune gave her a new body, but it wasn't like her old body. He had given her a parting gift.

Warnings: trans mtf character (Stiles), nogitsune, some angst, happy/open ending, Peter provides.

Words: 3510

[AO3 link]

The bandages kept piling up on the floor, damp with saliva. There was silence save for Stiles gasps and retching. When the end of the bandage fell to the floor, for a second or even less it felt like it was all over at last. An instant of relief until black smoke billowed from the bandages and something inside began to move. Everyone went on alert. What else could happen now?

A head began to emerge, pale skin with deep dark circles and long black hair. It was like seeing the girl from The Ring coming out of the television. Several weapons were pointed at her, everyone's attention focused on the stranger. Her brown eyes looked up, tearful and terrified, tired, pleading and confused. Someone recognized her and called her name. The wariness turned to worry and confusion. They stopped retreating and approached her. They helped her out of the bandages, asking all once if she was okay, what had happened, what was going on, in an almost unrecognizable cacophony.

When they remembered the other Stiles and looked around them, he was gone. Lydia too. Chaos broke out again. They all ran after the nogitsune and his new hostage, and only Melissa was left looking after her. Stiles couldn't move, she was exhausted both physically and mentally. Her body felt so strange and her mind felt half empty. She didn't know how she felt at that moment about anything, she didn't even have the energy to think about it.

“Honey.” Melissa put down the glass of milk that Stiles just drank on the nightstand. She twisted her hands in her lap as if she was gathering the courage for something. “What has... happened?” she asked in a whisper.

Stiles turned her head toward the wall. She didn't know what to answer, she still hadn't assimilated it. Melissa didn't ask any more.

As soon as she could get up, Stiles went home and locked herself in her room. She couldn't do anything now. They knew how to kill the nogitsune, and Stiles wouldn't be of any help to them, much less in the state she was in. She didn't even dare to look at herself in the mirror, maybe out of fear that it was just a dream or maybe that it was real. She covered herself with a thick sweatshirt and tied her hair in a ponytail with one of the threads she used for the crime board, tucking the end inside the sweatshirt.

Noah barely noticed in the darkness of the room when he visited to check on her. It was hard to notice the changes in the barely ten seconds he was there before going back to work. They still had a demon to catch.

When Stiles got a message saying they were done with the nogitsune, it wasn't relief that she felt, but she did allow herself to finally worry about what had happened to her. She pulled on the hood of her sweatshirt and headed to the loft in her jeep. She almost had an accident because she couldn't stop looking at herself in the rearview mirror. Her heart was beating so hard it was almost pounding in her ears, and she couldn't keep her hands still on the wheel. She was going to show it to someone, she was going to talk to someone about it for the first time, although she didn't know with whom. She wasn't sure who would be in the loft, although she could imagine it.

Stiles jumped out of the jeep as soon as she parked because she was afraid that if she thought about it, she would regret it and go home. Her body vibrated as she took the elevator up. (She had thought about going up the stairs, but she would have no air left when she got there.) She nervously adjusted her hood for a moment in front of the loft door. When she opened it, the only one there was Peter. He was the only one she really needed to see, so it was no problem.

“Stiles, what a surprise to see you here. I thought you'd be celebrating with your friends.” Peter barely looked up from his tablet for a second and went on with whatever he was doing.

“I don't think there's anything to celebrate,” she muttered, though the wolf could hear her perfectly. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”

That seemed to pique his interest.

“About what?” he asked, lowering the tablet.

Stiles took off her hood. She kept her gaze on the ground. At first, she didn't hear anything and then there was movement on the couch.

“I admit I thought my imagination had played a trick on me, but it was real,” he commented with curiosity in his voice.

Stiles shrugged. Yes, it was real, what could she say?

“Why?”

Stiles looked up. The wolf was in front of her, looking her up and down with interest. She was ready to answer, she expected that question from Peter, but his gaze made her nervous.

“A gift. He said it was a gift for having used my body. Not that it makes up for it, but I admit he's been very considerate,” she commented almost to herself.

“I suppose then you're not looking for a way to undo it.”

She was so grateful that he didn't say the obvious, she could almost cry.

“No, I just want to make sure there'll be no side effects and that... it'll be permanent.”

She was so afraid that it was not permanent, that she would blink and it would disappear, that she didn't dare to enjoy it. She was living a dream, not even in her wildest fantasies had she imagined such a thing, and she was terrified.

“I'm pretty sure it's permanent, and from what you say, it doesn't sound like it's a trap. Although I can't be sure of that, he's a nogitsune after all.”

“It's not a trap, I know that,” she answered confidently.

“You know?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I do know. He was in my mind and I was in his. He knows me as well as I know him. It wasn't a lie, I'm just afraid that now that they've killed him, his magic or whatever created this will disappear,” she explained, unable to control that edge of panic in her voice.

“We can investigate it. It'll be difficult to find anything specific about the nogitsune, though. But I think his magic is powerful enough to make it permanent,” Peter assured her with conviction. “Besides, he's not quite dead either, he's just trapped again.”

This time it was Stiles who looked at him in surprise.

“Trapped? They said...” She breathed a sigh of relief for the first time and most of the tension in her body melted away. Her shoulders relaxed and her legs nearly gave out. She dropped onto the couch and threw her head back. “I know I shouldn't be happy, but... it's...”

“You don't have to give any explanation about how you feel. Only you were there. Only you, and the nogitsune, know what happened in your head. You have the right to feel how you feel.”

Stiles raised her head somewhat surprised and didn't expect the soft smile on his face or the intense way he was looking at her.

“What?” she asked when Peter didn't stop looking at her, almost as if he wanted to pounce on her.

“Those clothes are pretty... terrible for a brand-new body. You should get something more appropriate.”

“Hey! These are my usual clothes!” she exclaimed a little offended.

“I know,” he replied almost as if it hurt.

Stiles blushed and twisted the hem of the sweatshirt in her hands.

“Um... You're... you're the only one who knows. I was hiding it until... well, until I knew it was permanent,” she explained a little nervously.

“All the more reason, this way you can make the big reveal looking your best. Or like this if that's what you prefer, but you can choose.”

“I-I don't have money for-.”

“My treat. Let's go.”

Peter grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. When he just walked away without stopping, Stiles got up in a hurry and ran after him. It was a bit strange having Peter riding shotgun in his car (she wondered how he used to move around the town, she had never seen his car, if he had one), although it was not the first time she had a Hale in her jeep.

The wolf glanced at her as she passed the Beacon Hills mall exit and continued into the neighboring town, but he said nothing. She was not yet ready to meet someone she knew with her new look. She hadn't even thought of an excuse for her sudden change, there was no treatment that would achieve such a radical change in such a short time.

Stiles stopped the car near the entrance to the mall. It was a weekday, so luckily there weren't too many people. She had no time to hesitate because Peter immediately got out of the car and headed for the doors. She used the wolf almost as a shield as they advanced, and Peter led her to the most expensive store in the entire mall. Just looking at the prices made her feel dizzy and somewhat uncomfortable, she shouldn't be in a place like that.

“We could go to...”

“It's my money, and I plan to spend it well,” he replied, almost reading her mind. “Now take your time, I'm in no rush. If you want advice, I'll be in the sitting area.”

Stiles had thought that he would stay by her side telling her what would fit her best, what was most appropriate, what matched and all that, but it made her feel good that Peter stayed in the sitting area and let her choose her own clothes.

After choosing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, Stiles thought she had finished the purchase, but Peter motioned for her to continue without even taking his eyes off his cell phone. After trying on several sizes to find hers, she ended up with three pants and five T-shirts, all of which were not very different from her usual clothes, but fitted to her new body (she liked her style and that wasn't going to change). She wanted to buy a skirt or a dress, but there she was completely lost.

“Do you need help?” Peter appeared behind her suddenly, and Stiles jumped.

“I'm going to put a bell on you,” she murmured. She was holding two dresses in her hands, but she couldn't make up her mind, she didn't even know if she liked either of them. “I have no idea about dresses, I've never... I didn't dare to...”

Peter took both dresses and put them back on the rack. He circled the racks a few times and came back with a dress that left her speechless. The body was black with a V-neck and a diagonal cut at the hip, with four white buttons on the left. The sleeves from elbow to wrist, a patch on the chest and the two-layered ruffled skirt were made of a white, red and black plaid fabric. It had enough plaid to fit her style and not too much to put Peter off. It was modern, casual, discreet (maybe in the future she would try something flashier, but not at the moment), she loved it. She looked at the label and it was just her size, which was surprising because she hadn't told him.

She went into the dressing room and when she came out, Peter was sitting there, like in one of those movie scenes where women tried on dress after dress and came out to show it off like it was a runway (they made it look super fun, but it was exhausting to try on clothes). Peter looked at her with an expression that made her blush. His eyes almost seemed to glow.

“Beautiful...” he murmured.

The blush on her cheeks became brighter, and she hurried back to the dressing room. Had Peter looked at her like this before? Was it because of her new body? Or did she realize it now because she was more aware of her body? Stiles would have to ask him directly if she wanted to find out, but she was not yet ready for the answer.

The total price was too much, but Peter didn't even blink, and Stiles didn't bother to say anything because the wolf wouldn't listen.

“Um, the entrance is on the other side,” she informed him as Peter headed in the opposite direction.

“Hairdresser first. That hair shouldn't be in a ponytail.”

Stiles frowned and touched her head wondering what he meant.

When the hairdresser asked her what she wanted, Stiles went blank.

“Just fix it,” Peter replied instead and turned to Stiles. “You'll have time to do whatever you want, but at least it has to be fixed. That guy doesn't know anything about haircuts.” He was talking about the nogitsune.

Stiles smiled and nodded.

The stylist offered to do her eyebrows and do some makeup, and Stiles agreed. Maybe she shouldn't say it herself, but the result looked pretty good. The hair with more volume still with her somewhat disheveled style, the eyeliner and some gloss on the lips. She looked at herself in the mirror and liked what she saw. For the first time she really liked herself.

This time she saw the wolf approaching in the mirror. Peter placed a hand on her back and looked at her reflection approvingly.

“You won't need the bite to become the most popular girl in the school,” he whispered almost in her ear.

This time she not only felt it but saw the blush blossom on her cheeks in the mirror. She snorted and turned around, she didn't want to keep seeing that silly expression she made with Peter around.

“I'm not unpopular because of my looks, I'm unpopular because of my personality, and that hasn't changed.”

Peter shrugged.

“Their loss.”

Stiles didn't know exactly what was that alleged loss, but she appreciated the encouragement.

She drove back to the loft and really meant to leave Peter there and go home, but she couldn't. She didn't know if her father would be there, she couldn't see him yet. What could she tell him? How was she going to explain this to him? What would he think of her? What would the others think? How was she going to tell them? What if they thought it was just a curse? What if they wanted to “help” her undo it?

“Stiles,” Peter called out to her, and it might not be the first time. Stiles lifted her head and stopped holding the wheel as if her life depended on it. “Do you want to go up?”

Stiles nodded. The wolf must have smelled her panic. She would be stinking at that time.

She took a deep breath and when his breathing returned to a more or less normal rhythm, she got out of the jeep. Peter took the bags (it was not an area to leave anything in the car) and accompanied her. When Stiles opened the loft door, the wolf dropped the bags and pulled out his claws, but before he could stop her, before the growl even left his lips, Stiles lunged at the figure in the middle of the loft that resembled her old appearance.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him with all her might. She was so happy that she couldn't hold back and began to cry. Her legs were shaking and Kuro held her as his lips pressed against her hair.

“Shh, I'm here, Mi-chan,” he whispered, stroking her back.

“I thought they'd killed you and then that you were trapped again,” she murmured against his shoulder without letting go of him.

“Please, they were very foolish to think that they could just trap me in a wooden box after absorbing so much magic. They really only know how to underestimate others.”

He lifted Stiles' face with one hand and gave her a tender kiss. Stiles sighed and smiled.

“I'm glad you're back. Oh.” Stiles remembered then that they weren't alone (as they were always in her mind). Peter was looking at them with his mouth parted and a shocked expression. It sure had to be weird if it had managed to surprise the wolf. “Um, Peter, this is Kuro, the nogitsune, and... well... he's not as bad as you think. There are many things that you guys don't know and many lies that Noshiko told you.”

She was doing it unconsciously, but she had placed herself between Kuro and Peter in a protective gesture. He didn't expect Peter to attack without further ado, without questions and without thinking. Others could, but not him. Still, she had already lost Kuro once and was afraid it would happen again.

Peter put his claws away and relaxed, at least on the surface. He approached with slow steps, trying not to look threatening, more for Stiles than for Kuro.

“Given Stiles' reaction, I'll say I'm glad to see you again in better circumstances,�� he told Kuro with a polite smile.

“The smart boy. You have chosen well,” he told Stiles, nuzzling his cheek.

“Uh, I-I haven't...” she stammered nervously. She wasn't sure what he meant, but Kuro knew her mind better than anyone and more than once they had talked about Peter. She just hoped Kuro didn't say anything he shouldn't.

“Why are you wearing these clothes? Now you have boobs, I thought you'd want to show them off.”

“I don't want to show-. Ugh, we just came from buying clothes to... show off my new body.” It was useless to argue with someone who had been in her mind, much less Kuro.

“Great! Put it on, I want to see you,” he said almost like an excited child.

Stiles looked at him with narrowed eyes and a frown. She turned towards him a little without removing the arm that he still had around her shoulders.

“I can't just go around looking like this, people know me as a boy, they won't understand that now I'm suddenly a girl. There's no treatment that will achieve this overnight,” it sounded kind of desperate, and she felt like that. She still couldn't think of anything to explain this.

“Oh yeah, sometimes I forget,” Kuro muttered.

“What?” Stiles asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Human ignorance. But don't worry.” He pulled her close with his arm and gave her a long kiss. Stiles could feel the magic flow through her body. That feeling was no longer alien to her. “Done,” Kuro said with a satisfied smile when he pulled away.

“What did you do?” Stiles asked confused. She looked at her body, but she didn't see anything different, nor did she feel different.

“No one is going to question that you're a girl, for them you always have been a girl,” he answered with complete confidence. Stiles looked at Peter, but Peter shook his head. “It doesn't work with him, I figured you wouldn't mind. I can change it if you want?”

“No, no, it's fine.” She didn't care if it was Peter, he had reacted much better than she would expect from anyone.

“Then come on, it's about time for you to be yourself,” he told her.

Kuro shoved her toward the bags that were still on the floor and approached the wolf faster than Peter could react. He tried to control himself, but couldn't help the tension in his body when Kuro put an arm around his shoulders.

“And why don't you cook dinner for us in the meantime, little wolf?” Kuro asked or almost ordered him with his face very close to his, his breath brushing against his lips.

He looked like Stiles, like the old Stiles, but he didn't smell like her, he didn't speak like her, he didn't feel like her. It wasn't difficult in his mind to tell apart this Stiles from the real one.

“Kuro!” Stiles scolded him when he was about to kiss Peter.

Kuro grinned with sharp teeth without pulling away from the wolf.

“Of course, it'll be my pleasure,” replied the wolf.

It was Peter who gave him a kiss and left without letting him react. Stiles gaped looking behind the wolf and Kuro threw himself on her back, wrapping his arms around her.

“We're going to have so much fun, Mi-chan,” he whispered in her ear.

Maybe, at least Peter seemed willing.

* END? *

Ok, I may continue this fanfic, but that'd be after the one I'm working on. But I don't promise anything. Even so, I accept ideas for a future new chapter.

For the @transbingo : Coming out

#Steter #teen wolf #void stiles #stiles stilinski #peter hale #nogitsune #void #yaoi #slash #english fanfic #void/stiles #trans #trans character #shopping #fanfic #fanfiction #trans bingo

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blogtrax905 · 3 years ago

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Retrieved from 'https://unturned.gamepedia.com/The_Player?oldid=3585'

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heynells-blog1 · 6 years ago

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For the month of May, I’ll be recording my weekly expenses and sharing them as my “May Money Diaries” (here’s Money Diary 1, Money Diary 2, and Money Diary 3). Inspired by the “Money Diary” series on Refinery 29 and The Luxe Strategist, I thought it would be interesting to see how I hold up against my budget and long-term financial goals. I think I’m quite disciplined with my spending, but I ocassionally have slip-ups - these usually occur around food (eating out with friends) and coffee shops.

Low Waste Food Haul #2 - In an effort to be plastic-free, I’ve been using reusable cotton produce bags instead of plastic bags. No one has questioned me about their use. The only reaction I got last week was the cashier raising their eyebrows at the bags.

I changed my morning routine on and went early to the Union Square Greenmarket. After dropping off my food scraps, I bought 3 sweet potatoes, radishes, and carrots as extra sides for this week and next week’s meal prep. I wanted to buy more, but I didn’t want to carry too much with me as I had a full day of babysitting and I wouldn’t get home till 8:30pm.

There was an opportunity for me to save $2.75 on subway transportation. I could have walked from Chinatown to Greenwich Village for my evening kickboxing class. But it was extremely humid, and I was slightly tired from babysitting. I didn’t want to tire myself more and not have enough energy for kickboxing class; so I decided to conserve my energy and take the subway. I’m glad I did that because I felt more energetic during this week’s kickboxing class compared to last week’s class.

I went about my usual Tuesday routine - working out at home, babysitting, working from home, and eating at home - and spent $0 because no spend days are my favourite days.

I did not intend to spend $2.75, but I ended up having a food shortage due to the vegan burger patties (which my mom bought at the store, eventhough I didn’t ask her to) getting spoiled. I bought chayote, grapefruit, and sweet potatoes (because you can never have enough sweet potatoes, and they were only 99 cents per pound - score).

I was surprised at how little I paid for my food haul at the Williamsburg grocery store. I expected to spend $5, but I realize that I always gravitate towards produce that’s marked down because those are the deals I’ve been waiting for.

Since I knew I was attending an artivism panel in the evening, I packed dinner. Whenever I attend public events, I’m always concerned that there won’t be vegan food options. I’m a picky eater and also particular about the timing of my dinner; so I prefer packing my own food/snacks versus putting my faith that the event will have vegan options. In my experience of organizing and attending panels, most serve appetizers/snacks - and I was right for this event. I was grateful I packed dinner and ate it before the event began.

The first half of Thursday was stressful due to a babysitting incident and an intense lunch discussion with my mom, so I spoiled myself in the afternoon with a pot of rose green tea. I could have saved $2 by ordering it to-go. But, I didn’t do that because I would get less tea for the price I was paying. Also, the owners know me now and give me free hot water refills for my tea pot.

After babysitting my Chinatown kids, I explored some grocery stores near their apartment. I got great deals on lemons, pears, peppers - all marked down.

Fridays = eating out with friend(s) day. I was excited to eat out because it offered a nice break from meal prepping.

Lunch was at peacefood: a vegan kitchen & bakery, and my friend and I ordered a spicy cesar chicken salad. I was planning to get their soup of the day ($5.95), but I wasn’t wooed by their carrot and pasnip puree soup. I knew that soup mix wouldn’t fill me up because it’s not high in protein. At least the spicy cesar chicken salad offers a decent amount of protein, fat, and carbs at a reasonable price of $12 and something cents (it says $15 above because + tip).

We couldn’t end our meal without dessert, so I took my friend to Union Square Greenmarket to introduce her to Body & Soul Bakery. I got a sunflower seed double chocolate chip cookie, while my friend bought a double chocolate muffin. Oozing with chocolate dessert in our hands, we went to look for a seat. My friend accidentally smeared some melted chocolate on her dress, and that dictated our next stop - second-hand clothing stores.

In New York City, two well-known thrift/second hand stores are Beacon’s Closet and Buffalo Exchange. My friend and I first went to Beacon’s Closet because it was closer to Union Square Park. We didn’t find anything there, so we headed to Buffalo Exchange.

I didn’t plan to buy anything at Buffalo Exchange, but Lady Luck felt differently. I found an Adidas blue athleisure top (still with its store tag) for $10, in my size; but its final price was $5 because it was on sale! The amount of self-control it’s taking me to not use a million exclamation marks right now is the same amount of disciplne I exerted to not scream in the cashier’s face. I love buying multi-purpose and high quality clothes at low, low prices.

After Buffalo Exchange, I walked my friend back to Union Square and we parted ways. I went to The Strand because I wanted to buy a book by Octavia Butler, but then I walked out with an ECOlunchbox stainless steel container. What happened? While wandering the cook book section, my eyes fell on the ECOlunchbox containers tucked away on a small shelf. Without thinking, I moved towards the containers, opened the sample, gave it a detailed inspection, and then I lined up at the check-out counter.

I’m not someone who makes spontaneous purchases, though how I spent my money this Friday presents me that way. My thought process behind buying the ECOlunchbox container looked like this:

I actually need it because the plastic containers I have at home (which I’ve had for 4-5 years) have scratches, nicks, and a little bit of discoloration which makes them not good to use

Buying this ECOlunchbox container at The Strand would generate less waste because ordering it online would mean extra packaging (e.g. plastic and paper) for mailing, along with the pollution produced in delivering the package to my apartment in Jersey City

Also, ordering it online would include an additional payment of $5-$10 for shipping, which is something I’d prefer to save

I was confident and excited purchasing the ECOlunchbox because it’s an investment for my low waste | zero waste journey. I had a goofy smile on my face as I handed my credit card to the person behind the counter.

I ended the day with dinner at Red Bamboo with one of my best friends. We ordered lots of food as we updated each other on over two months of activities. With this friend, she pays for dinner while I pay for dessert; but that night, I paid the 20% tip. We didn’t get dessert because we were full from our main dishes.

Something that I look forward to about the weekends is that my parents pay for lunch, so I only need to prepare breakfast and dinner. They also surprised my brother and me by taking us to see Solo: A Star Wars Story.

I’m surprised that I spent less than $100 this week, because I thought that my two instances of eating out and shopping would cause me to go over $100. I’m mentally high-fiving myself for staying under this week’s budget and discovering great deals.

My grocery spending was small this week because I bought the right amount of produce as side additions for this week’s meals and to last for this upcoming week. I also made sure to buy produce that was on sale.

I honestly smile when I think about how much I spent on shopping this week because I know I saved money on both items. I paid $5 for a $30 Adidas athleisure top. I paid $29.34 for a $35.00 ECOlunchbox container (this is an estimate I calculated based on buying it online). Saving approximately $30 on shopping makes batgirl ridiculously happy about this week’s purchases.

I’d love to hear your thoughts/comments on this Money Diary and my May Money Diaries series - ask me anything. Next weekend’s blog post will be my last May Money Diary.

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mf-despair-queen · 7 years ago

Text

VIP Package - Drummer!Dylan O’Brien

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Drummer!Dylan O’Brien/Reader

Word Count: 10,128

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Oral (female receiving), Multiple Orgasm, Public Fingering, Spanking, Sneaking Around to Fuck

Notes: Drummer Dylan does things to me y’all. Send help. Special thanks to @writing-obrien because she was a sweet pea and proofread this for me while I am trying not to fall asleep. Because we all know not to let me proofread when I’m sleepy.

You let out a loud scream, sliding around your apartment as soon as you saw the news. You were thankful your roommate wasn’t home right now. She would be laughing her ass off, watching you practically dancing with joy.

You had just seen the latest news for your all-time favorite band, The Teen Wolves. Silly name for most, but you knew the origin behind the name. The boys in the band had been friends since they were young, and actually started a band when they were in their early teens. They played at every venue for their high school because they were that good. Their high school mascot was a wolf. Thus, they had dubbed themselves the Teen Wolves. They didn’t make it big until a few years ago, after their hit “Beacon in the Hills” made number one on the charts for three months straight.

You had fallen in love with the band since their early recording days, before they were chart toppers. You loved their music from the first time you stumbled across one of their videos on YouTube. Plus, they were all great to look at. Seriously, who wouldn’t want to stare at three handsome as fuck guys while they play?

The leader of the group was Tyler, though everyone called him T-Pose. He was the group’s lead vocal and guitarist. He was the youngest of the three, but he definitely had the biggest personality. He was outgoing and never afraid to have a good time, in and out of the public eye.

The bassist of the group was Daniel. Don’t let his baby face fool you. He was the oldest of the group, but one of the sweetest for sure. He held a few years on the other boys, and acted as their guidance from the beginning, as he had been playing since he was young. They respected him, but he respected them back equally as much.

Then, your favorite. The drummer: Dylan. The moment you saw him on your computer screen, you had fallen head over heels in love with the silly boy. He was the goofiest of the three, but he was the purest of souls. He always did his best to please his fans, never turning people down if they asked him for an autograph on the streets. You had seen a Vlog by him once that talked about how he didn’t like being treated differently because he was this musician with growing fame. He said how he was just a normal person, but he liked making his fans happy.

They didn’t tour often, even when they released a new album. So, this was big to you, especially since their final stop was here, where you lived. They were going to be playing less than 20 minutes from your apartment, and you knew you had to go the moment you saw the locations listed.

You heard the front door close, and the clatter of keys in the dish signaling the return of your roommate and best friend, Holland. She stopped in the entrance to the living room, seeing you bouncing on your toes, staring at her with wide eyes. She laughed, shaking her head as she kicked off her heels.

“What’s got you hyped up on sugar today?” She asked, sitting on the couch and tucking her feet under her. You grabbed your laptop, skidding over next to her and flopping onto the couch. “Calm down there, tiger. Why are you so eager?”

You opened to the website, the big bold text reading “2017 SUPERNATURAL PHENOMENON WORLD TOUR” sprawled across the top of the page. “Holl, The Teen Wolves are going on tour for the first time in like…3 years! And look,” you scrolled down, pointing at the listing for your hometown. “They’re playing here! Can you believe it?!”

Holland shook her head, laughing at your enthusiasm. “I should have known it had to do with them. They are all you talk about.” You watched her get up, heading to the kitchen to grab a drink. “Have you looked at the ticket prices yet? Maybe we can go. I can request that day off,” she hollered.

You blinked slowly, appalled that hadn’t yet. “No, I haven’t actually. I was just so excited about the fact that they will be playing that I didn’t even think to look at the tickets.”

Holland sat next to you, taking your laptop from your hands. “Well, let’s look then.” She clicked on the “purchase tickets” link, feeling you scoot closer to her side. You both scanned over the prices, your mouth falling open.

“They’re so expensive! The most reasonable prices are the ones in the boonies! I love them so much, but I would not be able to enjoy them from nosebleed alley!” You fell back on the couch, crying to yourself. “This isn’t fair. Why did I have to lose my job right before they announced this tour? I can’t afford this.”

Holland rubbed your leg in a comforting manner. “I can pay, you know. It would be worth it, even if it puts us close on the rest of the bills.”

You looked up at Holland’s caring look, smiling sadly at her. “No, no. It’s ok. Being able to live is more important than me being able to see them. There’s always next time, right?”

Holland saw your crestfallen face, frowning at you. “Come on, honey. We can find a way to make this work! Who knows when you’ll be able to see them again.”

You slid off the couch, taking your laptop from her lap, closing it carefully. “It’s fine, Holl. Seriously. I’m going to head to bed now. I will see you in the morning.”

She watched you head down the hall, hearing the click of your door as it shut. She let out a long sigh, pulling her phone out of her purse. She scrolled through her contacts for a second, glancing up at your door to make sure you hadn’t come back out. She clicked on the name, putting the phone to her ear, listening to it ring.

“Holland? You realize it’s like…2 AM for me right now, right?” The voice on the other end mumbled, sounding kind of tired.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But I need a big favor, Dyl.”

You scrubbed at the plate in your hands, still feeling depressed about the who concert ordeal. You watched the tickets sell out in close to an hour, sadly realizing how close you had been to being able to go but losing out on that chance in an instance. You missed your one chance, watching it slip down the drain, out of your grasp.

You sighed, putting the plate down and turning off the water. Your leaned on the sink, mumbling to yourself. “It’s fine, Y/N. Maybe next time. It’s not like this is their last tour.” You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“Y/N? Are you home?” You heard Holland yell from the front door.

“In the kitchen!” You shouted back, sitting at the table. She skipped in happily, ignoring the look you sent her. “What’s got you so happy?”

She leaned on the table, flashing her pearly whites in a big smile. “How much do you love me?”

You blinked, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms over your chest. “That depends. Did you bring booze? Or did you blow your entire paycheck on shoes again?”

Holland stuck her tongue out at you. “Ha, ha. Very funny. You’re a real riot.” She placed a bag on the table, sitting across from you. “Of course I brought booze. But that’s not the reason I’m asking.”

You pulled the bottle of Moscato from the bag, licking your lips. “Okay. You brought the good stuff. I will acknowledge whatever you have to say.” She rolled her eyes, pulling out an envelope from her purse and sliding it across the table at you. You eyed it, picking it up slowly. It was a blank envelope, so you had no idea what this was about. “What the fuck is this, Holl?”

“Just open it, loser,” she laughed, getting up to grab some wine glasses. You eyed her once, gently tearing the envelope open. You dumped the contents onto the table, seeing two badges sitting in front of you. The word “VIP” was printed across the item, your eyes furrowing in confusion. You picked one up, turning it over to see the Teen Wolves logo.

Your mouth feel open, shifting your stare between her and the badges constantly. “What the…HOW DID YOU GET THESE? They didn’t have any VIP packages available for any of their tours! Are these even real? What the fuck is going on?!”

Holland laughed, opening the Moscato and pouring two glasses. “They are real.”

You gaped at her, your body shaking. “B-but how?”

She shrugged, sitting down with her glass in her hand. “I made a call to the right person is all.” She noticed you still staring, sighing. “I called Dylan and asked him for a hookup for the concert, ok?”

“Um,” you stammered, leaning on the table, “excuse me, bitch. You called Dylan? As in Dylan O’Brien? Drummer for the band I idolize?” She nodded, your eyes widening. “You’re joking, right? How the fuck…”

“I’ve known all of them since I was in high school. They’re some of my best friends.”

You fell from your chair in shock. “And you never thought to mention this?!”

She sighed, swirling her wine in the glass. “This is why I never mentioned it. I didn’t want people to bug me because I’m friends with them. To me, they’re just Dylan, Tyler and Daniel, you know? I also knew you would freak out like this if you knew.” She took a sip, watching you readjust in the chair. “But I saw how sad it made you about the tickets, so I asked Dyl if he could hook us up with some seats. I didn’t think he would send us this. He said that we get in early for their sound check, you can browse merchandise crowd-free, we get backstage access, and get to watch the show from the best seats ever: right alongside them. But you know the best part?” You blinked, shaking your head. “Exclusive meet and greet.”

You stopped breathing for a second, mentally analyzing her words. ‘Exclusive meet and greet.’ You were going to meet them. Something no one else got to do. You let out a scream, nearly tackling Holland into a hug across the table. “You are literally the best friend any girl could ask for! I’m mad that you never told me you personally knew the love of my life, but I don’t even care right now! I love you, Holland!”

She pats your back, laughing at your reaction. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Now drink wine with me, hoe.”

You nearly fell out of Holland’s car as you arrived at the concert arena, staring at the giant building in awe. Your heart was hammering away at your chest, and you were surprised it hadn’t jumped out just yet. Holland laughed, locking the car and linking her arm with yours.

“Let’s go, babe. Tyler said to head to the security entrance and they will escort us to the merchandise area first. Then they will take us in for sound check.” You nodded happily, nearly dragging Holland away. Both of your pairs of heels clicked along the asphalt of the parking lot, guys stopping to watch you guys walk by. You subtly look down at your outfit, regretting wearing the outfit Holland had forced you into. You wore the tightest jeans you owned that showed off your ass and a tight red tank top hiding the extreme push-up bra that Holland had to literally force onto your chest.

You stopped walking, Holland looking back at you. “Maybe this is a bad idea, Holl. I’m not dressed for this. I’m ugly and they’re going to look at me weird and-“

She cut you off, pulling you into a tight hug. “Stop doubting yourself. You’re beautiful. Plus, these guys couldn’t hate a single soul, especially based off of how you look. They’re going to love you because you are the brilliant, Y/N, their number one fan!”

You smiled, hugging her back tightly. “How did I ever wind up with a best friend like you? You’re going to make me cry.”

She pulled away quickly, wagging her finger. “Don’t you dare cry! It took me hours to do your makeup!” You both let out a laugh, bypassing the long line that had formed as you headed for the security door. “Now, once we get in there, please promise me you will not freak out on them. They are just normal guys, alright? I don’t want to hear it later that you passed out in front of them.”

“No guarantees.”

She rolled her eyes, flashing the VIP badges to the person at the door. He gestured you both to follow him, guiding you down a long hallway until you reached the main lobby. It was empty, aside from the long tables with merchandise available for purchase. Your eyes widened, letting go of Holland to swarm the table.

“Oh my god, Holl! I want everything!” You took out your wallet, the merchant shaking his head. You gave him a curious look. “What?”

“I was instructed to give you whatever you wanted by the boss. Said you were a special VIP and that we should accommodate you.” You gaped at the man, instantly listing off the things you wanted. You had asked him twenty times if he was sure you didn’t need to pay him anything, and he assured you it was on the house. He bagged your stuff, gesturing you away with a sweet smile and wave.

You skipped back over to Holland, who was laughing at you hugging the bag to your chest. “Remind me to yell at them for giving you such freedom with all of this.” You, however, were elated, not bothering to respond to her snarky comment. “Let’s go. I poked my head in and they are about to start the sound check. We need to get in there soon so you can actually meet the guys.”

You squealed happily, running as fast as you could in heels into the arena, staring up at the large stage. You saw Tyler standing there, tuning a guitar while some technicians tested the equipment around him. He heard the clatter of your heels, looking up to see you and Holland standing there.

“Holl!” He shouted, setting the guitar down and jumping off the stage. He pulled her into a hug, spinning her around. “Long time no see, girly!” He put her down gently, turning to you. “And you must be Y/N! We’ve heard so many great things about you, especially that you are such a big fan. It’s great to finally meet you.” You stood staring, flabbergasted at the man in front of you. You extended a sweaty, shaky hand, Tyler laughing and pulling you into a quick hug instead. “You guys made it just in time. Dyl and Dan are in the back still, but should be out soon.”

As if on cue, Daniel came sliding onto the stage, nearly crashing over the set of drums. The cymbals clattered together loudly as he caught himself on them before he fell, a laugh escaping his mouth. You stared with wide eyes, two of your idols in front of you. All you needed now was Dylan and your life would officially be perfect.

“Dammit, Dan! Don’t touch my fucking drums!”

Dylan walked onto the stage, his honey-brown eyes flashing with anger at his friend. He was currently shirtless, holding a black shirt in his hands. You stared longingly at his broad chest and sexy abs, taking note of the patches of hair that were present on his chest and stomach, leading into his dark blue jeans. He had muscular arms, and you could only imagine what it would be like to be wrapped up in them. His hair was slightly disheveled in his usual style, sticking up perfectly.

“Holy shit. Dylan is hotter in person,” you said aloud before you could stop yourself. Holland and Tyler let out a loud laugh, causing you to blush a bright red. Dylan looked over at you, a smirk forming on his face as he trailed his gaze over you.

“You’re not too bad yourself, sweet cheeks,” He said, in the flirtiest tone you had ever heard. Your cheeks lit up even more, your whole body heating up. You weren’t sure what you were more flustered about, him calling you sweet cheeks or him saying you weren’t “too bad.”

Tyler hopped back on stage, punching Dylan in the arm. “Put on your shirt dude. We are in the presence of two true beauties! They don’t want to stare at your fugly mug.”

“I beg to differ, T-Pose,” Dylan laughed, glancing at you once more. He slipped the shirt over his head, sitting at the drums while Daniel grabbed his bass. Tyler gestured you both on stage, offering a hand to help you up the stairs. Holland started talking to Tyler while you slipped closer to Dylan, watching him tap a simple rhythm on the drums. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, sending you a small smile. “Do you want to try?”

You blushed, Dylan holding the sticks out to you. You took them, your fingers brushing with his. They were soft, but sent a spark through your entire body. Dylan didn’t make a motion to move from his seat, confusing you. “I can’t really try if you are right there.”

He laughed, leaning back slightly on the seat. “Of course you can. You can sit on my lap.” You gaped at him, ready to decline when his hands gripped your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Your shirt was pushed up slightly as you felt his warm, muscular arms wrap around your waist tightly. “Now, play away, princess.”

Your palms were sweaty, nearly dropping the sticks. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, his lips pressing against it softly. Your mouth was dry, trying to focus on the instrument in front of you, but your mind kept wandering to the handsome man holding you. You finally tapped an uneven beat on the drums, listening to Dylan laugh in your ear.

“Princess, that’s not how you do that,” He whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand wrapped around yours, holding them tightly. You felt how large his hands were compared to yours, looking down at the veins that protruded from them. He carefully guided your hands, leading you into a steady beat of a song they normally played. You felt him smile against your ear, his tongue grazing your earlobe when he licked his lips. “See. This is how you do it.”

You looked back at him, your eyes locking with his. “You’re um…very talented,” You stammered, noticing how close he was to you. His smiled, letting go of your hand to brush some hair behind your ear.

“You’re not too bad yourself, princess.” He smiled, taking the sticks from your hands, and playing a faster beat, you still trapped on his lap. Daniel was watching you guys closely, a large smile on his lips, playing along to the beat, on his bass. The two played casually until Tyler walked over with Holland, cutting the boys off.

“Alright. They want to start letting people in to get seated. Let’s show the girls to their spot so we can finish getting ready.” Daniel and Dylan nodded back at him. Dylan helped you off his lap, his fingers tracing small circles on the exposed skin of your stomach. You stared at him for a second, getting lost in his eyes. “Let’s go, Y/N!”

You shook your head, running after Tyler quickly, not daring to spare Dylan another glance. “Coming, coming.”

Tyler situated you guys on the side of the stage, in perfect view of where they would be performing. He excused himself, running off further backstage. Holland sent you a look, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “So, you and Dyl seem to be hitting it off. I can smell a romance some day!”

A pink hue dusted your cheeks, shoving her lightly. “Ha, ha, very funny. He’s just being nice, Holl. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to run to the bathroom really quick before the show starts.”

She waved you off, pulling her phone out. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get lost. The show starts in a half hour.”

You wandered off towards the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door completely. You just needed to get away for a few, taking a couple deep breathes to calm your nerves. You leaned on the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror. “Ok Y/N. Stay calm. It’s just your favorite band of all time playing. And you have the best seats in the house. You can do this without fainting.” You thought back to the short time you were with Dylan already, your body getting hot. You remember how he played the drums perfectly with you on his lap, the way he banged the sticks on the drums. You let out a small moan at the memory. “God, he can play my drums like that any day.”

“Is that so, princess?”

The voice startled you, turning towards the door as it clicked shut. Dylan leaned against it casually, locking it behind him. “Holy shit, Dylan. You scared me. Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He laughed, making his way closer to you. “Well, maybe you should make sure the door is closed before using the restroom, even if you are just talking to yourself.” He stopped in front of you, your back pressed into the sink. He bit his lip, looking down at you. “So, I can bang your drums, eh?”

You blushed, trying to get out an answer. “I-I…what makes you think I was talking about you? Maybe I was talking about…m-my b-boyfriend! Yeah. My boyfriend…Ian…”

Dylan chuckled, licking his lips. “Well that’s funny. Considering Holland told me once that you were single because no guy could reach your standards.” He leaned closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. “Tell me. Where do I stand on your level of standards?”

Your breath hitched, your mind going blank as you leaned forward, pressing your lips against his. He groaned quietly, his hand gripping your waist and pulling you closer. His lips pushed against yours harder, melding with yours perfectly. Your hands tangled in his shirt, tugging at the fabric as a sign for more. He grinned, his tongue flicking across your lips in the middle of the kiss, slipping it into your mouth when you gasped in surprise.

You couldn’t believe what was happening. Here you were, making out with your idol, the love of your life. The man you idolized and had a crush on through your computer for the last four years. You pulled away, feeling his lips travel down your jaw to your neck, nipping at it softly. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your head falling back to allow him more access to your sweet spots. “This is crazy, Dylan.”

He licked at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, feeling you shudder. “Well, I can think of something crazier. But only if you’re up for it. And we have to be quick. I gotta get back for the show.” You nodded before you fully understood what you were agreeing to, feeling Dylan smile into your neck. “Good. Now, keep quiet for me, okay, princess?”

You blinked, feeling his fingers trail down your sides, fiddling with the button on your jeans. You blushed, watching him closely as he popped the button, getting down on his knees to tug the tight clothes down your legs. They pooled around your ankles, unable to come off completely because of your heels. He dropped to his knees, dabbing his tongue at the wet material of your thong.

“You’re so wet already, baby. I’ve barely done anything to you. Do I turn you on just by looking at you?” He looked up at you through his lashes, his eyes holding a taunting glint. You could barely breath, nodding your head rapidly at him. “Damn, really? And you haven’t even seen the best parts of me.” You choked on air, almost collapsing when your legs turned to jelly at his words. “Hey, careful there. Why don’t you sit down?”

His hands grabbed your ass, standing up quickly and lifting you off the ground. You squealed in surprise, his strong arms holding you up easily as he shuffled over to the toilet, skillfully using one foot to close the lid before placed you on it. You sunk back on it, adjusting into a comfortable position while Dylan dropped down in front of you again, running his fingers along your thighs. You bit back a moan.

“Dyl, you said we had to go fast. You are not going fast right now.” You grinned down at him, seeing him cast you a dark look, his eyes filled with lust.

“You want to cum that quickly, huh, baby?” You blushed brightly, Dylan laughing at the look on your face. “I thought so.” He tugged once on the strap of your thong, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could slide it down. You complied, feeling the soaked material slide down your legs, Dylan pushing your knees apart when the material join your jeans. His mouth watered at the sight of your dripping core. “Of, god, baby. I’m going to make you cum so hard. You will be begging for a second round after the show.”

You didn’t stifle your moan this time, letting your voice bounce off the bathroom walls. ��Fuck, Dyl. Just hurry up and do something. Or are you all talk and no game?” He smirked, placing soft kisses up both of your thighs, deliberately avoiding your aching pussy. “God dammit Dyl! Just hurry up and do something!”

“So needy, baby. I will only comply if you promise to scream my name when you cum.” You nodded without a second thought, feeling him smile against the skin of your thigh. “Good.” He moved forward quickly, licking a long stripe along your folds. You moaned loudly, his tongue licking at all of your escaped juices before it buried into your pussy. His nose pressed against your clit, rubbing at it whenever he lurched forward, his tongue thrusting deep into your walls. It swirled around inside of you, leaving no spot on your walls untouched, no bit of your juice being left unclaimed by his mouth.

“Oh god, Dyl. I only dreamt of this. I didn’t know you would be this good,” You mumbled, your body shaking with happiness. He grinned at your words, easily hearing your low grumbles in the silent room. His mouth wrapped around your pussy, giving it small sucks while he licked you faster, pressing in as deep as he could. Your fingers threaded through his hair, giving him a small tug up until his mouth moved to your clit, nibbling and sucking at the swollen nub. “Shit!”

He chuckled softly, blowing at the nub a few times before he wrapped his lips around it, flicking his tongue repeatedly. Your body quivered, your moans growing louder and more frequent. He was proud of the noises he was making you release, but was unsatisfied that you were not screaming for him yet. He figured he had to do something to get you to the edge faster. He used one hand to keep your knees apart, his fingers pressing into your skin tightly, while the other slid up leg, his middle finger slipping inside of your pussy before you realized what was happening. You squealed at the intrusion, feeling his skilled finger thrust into you wildly, his motions quick and strong.

“Holy shit Dyl. More. Please.” You mewled, tugging at the roots of his hair eagerly. He silently obeyed, slipping a second finger into you and thrusting into you quickly, brushing his fingers against your sweet spot every time. His lips tugged at your clit, smothering it with his tongue. His never faltered for a second, listening to your mewls of pleasure turn into screams of pure ecstasy when he curled his fingers the slightest bit, pounding your pussy relentlessly. “Right there! Oh, god I’m going to cum!”

He bit your clit once, shoving his fingers in to the brim until you were writhing before him, your fingers clutching his hair tightly, your toes curling in your heels. Your legs shook and your back arched off the toilet, you head falling back as you released the filthiest scream you could, mentally hoping no one heard you. Dylan felt your fluids coat his fingers, lathering your pussy walls so he could easily help you ride out your high. Your mind blanked briefly, enjoying the feeling of your orgasm wash over your body.

You slumped against the toilet as you relaxed, eyes closed as you felt Dylan pull his fingers from you. You cracked them open at him, seeing him lick his fingers clean, savoring the juices that covered them. “Damn, baby. You taste good.” He stood over, leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your lips. You tasted yourself on him, moaning softly at the erotic move. He pulled away, hearing you whimper dissatisfied. “I know, baby. You want more. But I have a show to play in,” he glanced at the watch he wore, “15 minutes. T-Pose and Dan are probably wondering where the hell I am. So, we will have to save the rest for later.” He gave you a wink, quickly leaving the bathroom, the door shutting with a soft ‘click’.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Holy fuck. What the fuck just happened?” You took a moment to think back, realizing how fast everything just happened. “Did Dylan O’Brien just…eat me out? Holy shit, he did. I can die happy now.” You shakily got up, fixing your thong and jeans, glancing at yourself in the mirror. “At least my make-up is ok. Holl would kill me.”

You hurried out, heading back to Holland, knowing she was wondering if you fell in the toilet at this point. She glanced at you when you sat next to her, giving you a look. “Did you die in there?”

You gave a sarcastic laugh, sticking your tongue out at her. “Ha, ha. I just had to get my fangirling out before the show. I just met my dream band and didn’t freak out in front of them. I couldn’t contain myself any more. Better alone in the bathroom than in front of your friends, am I right?”

She nodded in agreement, turning back as the lights dimmed, the boys slinking on stage to start their concert.

“Thank you everyone for coming out to see us! We hope you enjoyed the show!” Tyler shouted, the crowd going wild at his words. The three boys waved at the crowd, running off the side of the stage towards you and Holland. Tyler tackled Holland into a hug, Holland scrunching her nose up at the sweaty male. “Did you guys enjoy the show?”

She pushed him again, adjusting her dress. “I did until you hugged me and covered me in your sweat. Nasty, Ty.” He laughed, pulling her into another hug, Daniel joining him. You sat there laughing at Holland’s look of displeasure until you felt two arms wrap around your waist.

“Did you enjoy the show, baby?” Dylan’s breath hit your ear, a shiver running through your body. You felt yourself getting wet just by feeling him against you, his body warm as it held you close.

“I did. You guys were amazing! Thank you for getting us tickets.” You turned in his arms, glancing up at him. “Though, you didn’t need to do the whole VIP thing. Just normal tickets would have been fine.”

He grinned, his eyes shifting to the others quickly. When he noticed them distracted, he placed a soft kiss to your lips, you both letting out a small groan from the spark you felt. “Well, only the best for you. We gotta treat our biggest fan to the best package in the world.”

You blushed, biting your lip. “Are you included in that package?” You almost regretted asking, knowing how dumb it sounded. But Dylan just smiled, pulling you into a tight hug. His lips pressed to the side of your face, whispering into your ear. “Only for you.” He pulled away, his hand reaching into his jeans to adjust himself. You saw a slight outline from his erect cock, blushing at it. Dylan walked over to the others, slinging his arm around Tyler’s shoulders. “T-Pose. We gotta show the girls a good time! They are our VIPs after all. We owe them a meet and greet.”

Tyler nodded, grabbing Holland’s hand while Dylan grabbed yours, Daniel leading you guys through the backstage halls. Tyler showed you guys different areas backstage, Daniel showing off things you had never seen. Dylan stuck close to your side, his fingers brushing with your occasionally. You could barely breathe every time you felt the tingle his fingers left on you, wanting to feel more of him.

Tyler tugged you guys into a photo studio, a camera crew already in place. “Photo time!” Tyler tugged everyone in for a group photo, then allowing everyone to take photos of their own. Your favorite was with Dylan, when he pressed his lips to your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Tyler and Daniel took it as a joke, laughing at it and giving taunting cat calls. Holland grinned, knowing you were dying inside. You fought back a blush, wanting to feel his lips on yours instead of your cheek.

After the photos, Tyler and Daniel led Holland away towards the dressing area because she wanted to see what it was like. You slowly walked behind them, unenthusiastic about the trip since you didn’t care for fashion like she did. You felt a swift tug of the hand, being pulled into a room quickly without the others seeing. The door closed behind you, your back pressed against it. Lips met yours in a messy kiss, fingers already pushing your tank top up.

“God you’re so sexy, baby. You were all I could think about during the show,” Dylan’s husky voice muttered into your ear, nipping at your earlobe. You moaned, tugging him closer by his tight black shirt. He groaned, pressing you harder into the door, ripping your shirt over your head in one shot. “You won’t be needing that anymore.”

You would normally react strongly to something like that, slapping the guy whenever they attempt it. But this was different. Dylan was different. You craved his touch, like a drug. He made you feel good, even with the simplest touch. Part of your mind nagged at you that he was possibly using you as a booty call, while the other part said he truly cared for you.

Dylan fumbled with the lock as his lips attached to yours again, tugging you away from the door and further into the room. You stumbled in your heels, trying to keep up with him, his tall stature making it hard to keep up with him and kiss at the same time. He grinned into the kiss, breaking away and licking his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, tugging you towards him. His arms wrapped around you, his forehead resting on yours.

“How are you so perfect?” He mumbled, placing a soft kiss to your lips once more. “Why did it take me so long to find a girl as amazing as you?”

You blushed, wrapping your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base. “You’re pretty amazing yourself, Dyl. More amazing than I ever thought you would be.” He smiled, kissing your forehead.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Seriously. I mean really,” he glanced over your body, groaning as he adjusted himself in his tight jeans, “look at you. You’re smoking, baby. I want to fuck you so hard.” You stared at him, seeing his cheeks flame up instantly. “Shit! I didn’t mean to say that! That’s so awkward. We just met and I don’t want you think you’re an easy lay and-“

You pulled him down, covering his mouth with yours. He groaned into the kiss, backing you up until you hit something. You broke away, glancing down it, noticing the pool table your ass was pressed against, nearly sitting atop the green felt. “Dyl,” you murmured, feeling his light breath on your cheeks. He watched you curiously, softly rubbing your skin. “I want you to fuck me.”

He smirked at you, pressing you into the pool table, placing a messy kiss to your lips. His hands were immediately at your chest, rubbing circles on the exposed tops of your breasts. You moaned, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. He lifted his arms, allowing you to pull the shirt off. You tossed it behind you, leaving it uncared for on some plastic plant as your traced your fingers along his toned muscles.

“Shit, Dyl. You’re so handsome,” You moaned, grabbing at his jeans and working on the button. His hands worked on your bra clasp, though he was obviously growing frustrated when he couldn’t get it.

“Why do you women have to wear this stupid thing. It’s impossible to get off, and blocks one of the best parts of the body.” You giggled, pushing him away just a bit, reaching back and undoing it yourself. You held it between two fingers, looking between the bra and his gaping mouth, his eyes locked on you. You dropped the bra to the floor, giving him a sweet smile.

“Whoops. It fell.” You leaned back into the table, your hands holding up your breasts and massaging them between your fingers. “For the record, we wear them for support. You don’t want these babies to get saggy, do you?”

He shook his head vigorously, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “No, but they shouldn’t be hidden by a trap like that. They’re too perfect for me not to love.” You blushed, feeling the kisses he placed on your neck. His hands replaced yours, gripping your breasts firmly. You could feel the callouses on his hands from drumming, but they were soft at the same. His plump lips left small marks along your neck, working their way to your collarbone and to the valley between your breasts.

Your hands laced through his hair, gripping at it tightly. Dylan’s lips wrapped around one of your nipples, your mewls hitting his ears. You tugged at his brown locks, looking down at him. His eyes were closed, enjoying the feeling of his tongue running over your nipple. He was pressed against you closely, his cock pressing against your leg and throbbing intensely.

“Someone’s a little happy down there,” You huffed out, moaning between your words. He pulsed once more, his mouth swapping between breasts. He massaged one with his hand, his mouth attacking the other, sucking roughly on the nipple. His tongue flicked over the bud, his teeth biting down on it. Every action caused his cock to jerk in his pants, obviously straining against the material. “You should get rid of those. You’re suffocating Dylan Jr.”

He released your nipple with a pop, resting his chin on your breast to look up at you. “Do not name my dick, please. That’s just weird.” He popped the button on your pants in one swift motion, giving you a smirk. “Besides, it isn’t fair if you still have your pants on.” His hand dipped inside our jeans, rubbing you through the thin material of your thong. He felt your arousal pooling around his fingers and his brisk touch, internally groaning. “And you’re fucking wet again. Shit.”

Your head fell back, failing to kick off your heels so he could remove your jeans completely. Dylan laughed, seeing you flailing under him. He pulled his hand from your jeans, dropping to his knees. He slowly removed your heels, placing them aside carefully. He then proceeded to pull your jeans down and a tantalizing pace, placing soft kisses to your inner thigh. He pulled the material from your ankles, tossing them aside shamelessly.

His nose nuzzled into the wet fabric of your thong, licking a stripe along it. You whined at him quietly. “Dyl, this isn’t fair. No games.”

He chuckled, pulling the thong off and sticking it in his back pocket. “No games? Ironic, considering you’re on top of a pool table.” He stood up, pulling you into a kiss, one finger slipping into your pussy. You shook at the intrusion, biting at his lip. You tried to rid him of his jeans, fumbling with the button. Your fingers weren’t functioning correctly, your mind unable to focus while he was fingering you quickly.

“Dammit, Dyl. Take off your pants and fuck me already,” You grumbled, tugging repeatedly at his jeans. He laughed, pulling his fingers from you. He unbuttoned his pants, kicked off his Vans, slid his jeans and boxers off and kicked them aside. You watched his giant cock slap his stomach, fully erect. “Oh. H-holy shit. Who knew you were so…”

Gigantic. Huge. Well endowed. Sexy. Hot. Capable of fucking a girl until she forgets her own name. Skilled with every part of your body that has touched mine already, so I’m sure your dick can do the same.

A million thoughts were running through your mind, unable to find the right word. You just stared at his cock, watching Dylan wrap his hand around it, gingerly stroking his length. You moaned, your mouth watering at the sight of the precum that dribbled from the tip. His thumb swiped at the tip, gathering the liquid and placing it at your mouth. You closed your eyes, wrapping your mouth around his thumb, your tongue running over his skin. It was salty, but sweet at the same time. Dylan groaned loudly, pulling away abruptly and running over to his jeans.

“Fuck. Wallet.” He fumbled with his pants, searching every pocket until he pulled out his wallet, pulling out a couple condoms. “Thank god Posey sticks a million of them in there at once.”

He ran back over, dropping one on a nearby table and tearing the other open with his teeth. You watched in awe as he rolled the rubber down his length, catching a glimpse at the wrapper as it fell to the floor. “XL? Fuck, you are huge.”

He chuckled, settling between your legs and aligning himself at your entrance. “Only the best for you, baby. Now,” he stared into your eyes, a glint in his lust-filled orbs. “Because you were impatient, You have to do what I say.” You hesitantly nodded. “Good. You can’t cum until I tell you it’s ok.”

Your mouth fell open, ready to protest when he slid inside, filling you to the brim. He buried himself to the hilt, hearing you loudly moan straight into his ear. You face buried in his neck, Dylan pausing to give you a second to adjust. When you started sucking at his neck, he knew you were ready.

He started off simple and slow, gently thrusting into you, hearing your tiny moans of pleasure. His thrusts got progressively faster, your noises getting louder with each passing second. He leaned you back, your teeth scraping against the skin on his neck roughly. He grunted in pain, grabbing his neck, keeping a steady pace. “Damn, baby. Careful with the teeth. Don’t damage the goods.”

You giggled, biting your lip to hold back your moans. “The goods?”

He leaned forward for a kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth instead when you went to meet him halfway. You whined, feeling him tug on your swollen lip. “Are you taunting me, princess? Do I need to teach you a lesson?”

You felt his hand dip down, picking up your leg, wrapping it around his waist. You sat further on the edge of the pool table, laying back while he thrust into you harshly. His movements were wildly, and hitting deep into your pussy with the new angle. You pulled him closer with your leg, his cock hitting your g-spot multiple times. You turned into a moaning mess, your walls clenching around him tightly and your breasts bouncing freely. Dylan was grunting, leveraging himself on the pool table to deliver rapid, powerful thrusts.

“Fuck, Dyl. I won’t last much longer like this,” you whined at him. His speed picked up even more, your leg being pulled over his shoulder. You let out a loud scream, your hand shooting up to cover your mouth.

“It’s ok, baby. This lounge room is soundproof. Why do you think I dragged you in here?” He panted, feeling your walls contracting regularly. “Remember, baby. You cum when I say you do.”

You felt the new angle he thrust at, your mind blanking out instantly. Black spots filled your vision, your orgasm flooding your body. You back arched off the pool table, your heel digging into Dylan’s shoulder. Your juices coated the condom he wore, making it easier to slide inside you. He groaned, feeling your walls close around him, watching you shake uncontrollably.

He pulled out before you could fully relax, being pulled off the table and turned around. Your chest was pressed against the felt, your fingers digging into the green fabric. Your pussy dripped still, your juices sliding down your legs and collecting on the floor. You felt alone, glancing over your shoulder to see Dylan gone.

“Dylan?” You whispered, still breathless from your orgasm. You got no response, but heard the faint sound of a zipper and a clattering of wood. You tried to sit up to see what he was doing, but your body would not cooperate. You groaned, resting your head against the table. “What are you doing?”

Dylan run a finger along your spine, goosebumps following its path. “I told you. You aren’t allowed to cum without my permission. Now I gotta punish you, princess.” You dared glance back at him, seeing him tossing two drumsticks into the air, catching them in his hands. He sent you a small smirk, tapping one on your ass, a loud smack reverberating around the room. You squealed, your eyes clenching shut. “I’m gonna play a beat. I want you to sing a little song for me.”

You didn’t fully understand what he meant, until a steady rhythm of smacks were placed to your ass with his drumsticks. They were hard, but not sickening to the touch. Your ass stung, tears welling in your eyes. You were mixed, pain and pleasure filling your abdomen. You bit your lips, trying to figure out what he was wanting.

“Come on, baby. Sing for me. I want to hear your beautiful voice.” One more hard smack, Dylan drumming on your skin. You squirmed, clawing at the table. “Please, Y/N,” he mumbled, a plea laced in his seductive tone.

Hearing him say your name was the sexiest thing you had heard all night. It wasn’t a pet name, or him trying to be snarky. It was him, saying your name. You moaned loudly, his name falling from your lips. He grinned, tossing the sticks aside, rubbing your stinging, red ass delicately. You whimpered in pain, Dylan mumbling small apologies.

“I know, baby. But god that was sexy.”

You turned to him, a pout on your lips. “I don’t know how I feel about that. It hurt like a mother. But…I’m slightly aroused.”

He chuckled, spreading your legs and running a finger along your core. “Oh yeah. You’re actually soaked again. I guess I need to take care of that.”

He aligned himself like before, sliding in from behind. You screamed his name, digging your face into the pool table. Your nails clawed at the felt, feeling Dylan pounding into you rapidly, bottoming out with each thrust. The angle was better than before, you both on a quick downward spiral to your climax. Dylan was hard and fast, his nail scratching at your bare back and occasionally tugging at your hair.

You were spewing a string of ‘fucks’, Dylan moaning at the feeling of your tight walls around him. “Fuck, baby. I think I’m gonna…” He faltered, your pussy closing around him and you let out a violent shake, cumming around him. Your pussy was warm, his cock pulsing eagerly with his own orgasm. His seed spilled into the condom, Dylan moaning your name, drawing out each syllable.

He leaned over you, rubbing your shoulders to help you relax, a content sigh from your lips. He pulled out of you, striping himself of the used rubber, tying it and tossing it. You eased up from the pool table, turning to Dylan. He was sweaty, but seemed to be glowing. You smiled at him, wobbling over to him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Hey, handsome.” You looked up at him, seeing him blushing and giving a cute, lopsided smile. You studied his expression, memorizing the look on his perfect face. You took note of the moles and freckles that littered his perfect jawline, and the tiniest bit of scruff that was on his chin. “You’re something else, Dylan.”

Her chuckled, hugging you close. Your chest pressed against his, feeling the increased heartbeat he had. You rested your head on him for a second, enjoying the embrace.

Until it was ruined by a certain “Dylan Jr” prodding at your core again.

You giggled, looking down at his erect cock. “He’s ready for round three.” Dylan groaned, jerking his cock slowly.

“I will just masturbate, babe. I don’t want to strain you.”

You grinned, pushing one finger to his chest, walking him backwards. The back of his legs met with a couch, Dylan falling back onto it. He watched you shuffle to the table to grab the spare condom he had. He slumped back into the couch, his eyes locked on you. You took a deep breath, tearing open the condom, fumbling with the slippery thing. He bit back a laugh, ignoring the glare you sent his way. You grabbed his cock, jerking him carefully in your hand.

“Shit, baby. That feels good. But not as good as your pussy. You should ride me,” he said, his head falling back. Your pussy ached from his words, desire pooling in your gut. You slid the condom on him, straddling his hips. He shifted your hips against him, rolling against his cock. He felt the heat of your pussy against his cock. “Come on baby. Don’t tease me like this.”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, littering his face with sweet kisses. “Now you know how it feels, Dyl.” He grumbled, staying silent. You aligned his cock at your entrance, sliding down on him with a loud moan. Your hands gripped his shoulders, keeping you upright. Dylan’s hands were on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving small bruises that you didn’t mind.

You hold your hips slowly, shifting them against him faster as moans flew from his lips. He helped you into a smooth motion, his hands guiding your movements. You both moaned, his hips meeting yours in perfect sync.

You pulled him into a sensual kiss, your tongues meeting in your mouth. They tangled together, his lips meshing with yours every time he pulled away and placed another kiss to your lips. You hummed happily at the feeling he was giving you. Your nails digging into his shoulders and raking down his back. You both were in perfect bliss.

He broke the kiss, leaning back and helping you bounce faster on his cock. Your breasts bounced happily, in perfect view for him. He moaned your name, muttering incoherent things while you rode him. His hands slid down to your ass, gripping it roughly, ignoring the wince you let out from the pain you still felt from being spanked with his sticks.

His cock twitched inside of you, hitting deep inside you each time. He pressed into your walls, rubbing every sensitive spot inside of you whenever his cock buried into you. You moved quickly, slamming down on him, screaming his name at the impact.

Dylan’s eyes glazed over, letting out a loud moan. “Shit, baby.” He felt your walls clutching his cock, your bouncing getting weaker and messier. “I’m going to cum again baby. You’re so fucking tight.” You nodded, pressing your forehead to his. He leaned up, kissing you one final time. The coil inside of your unraveled, Your body quivering in Dylan’s arms. Your toes curled under you, your back arching and pressing yourself close into him. He pulled your close, his cock pulsating and twitching erratically as he came, filling the condom to the brim. You both moaned into the kiss, slowly riding out your highs.

Dylan lifted you off him, standing up to discard the second condom. You collapsed on the couch, dull aches in every muscle of your body. You were content, deeming that the best sex you ever had, trying to ignore that this was the only time you would probably get to do this. Dylan gathered the clothes that had been scattered around the room, dressing himself before sitting next to you with your clothes.

“You should probably get dressed. We’ve been gone too long. I’m sure the others are looking for us. It’s also getting late. I need to head back to my house with the boys and you need to head home with Holl.”

You sat up, slipping on your bra and shirt. “Dyl, where is my thong?” He shrugged, knowing you forgot he had pocketed it. You huffed, sliding your legs into your jeans. “I liked that one too. It was cute.” You took a deep breath, walking over to a mirror on the wall to fix your hair. You looked at yourself, blinking once. “Wait. Your house? You live here?”

Dylan laughed, stretching back on the couch. “Of course. You didn’t know that?” You shook your head, feeling stupid for not knowing. “We live like…20 minutes from your apartment. And yes, I know where you live because Holland told me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, having a faint glimmer of hope to keep in contact with him. He laughed, getting up and walking over to you. He pulled you against him by the belt loops, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Did you enjoy being a VIP for our show?”

You grinned, hugging him. “Absolutely. Best show ever. The perks were the best, though.” You gave him a wink, Dylan grinning.

“Good. One last thing.” He escaped your grasp, picking up the drumsticks he had inadvertently used to spank you. He handed them to you, along with a folded piece of paper. “These are for you. Only read this paper after you get home, ok?” You nodded, standing on your tiptoes to give him one last kiss. He returned it with a soft groan, holding you close. “No more of that. We gotta go.”

You put the drumsticks and note in your bag of merchandise that was near the door, following Dylan out the lounge. He lead you off in a random direction, looking for the others. You guys ended up finding Tyler, Daniel and Holland in the cafeteria area, eating some snacks. Holland jumped up, tackling you into a hug.

“We looked everywhere for you! Did you get lost?”

You nodded, scratching the back of your head. “Yeah, sorry. While we were headed to wardrobe, I guess I took a wrong turn and got lost. Luckily Dylan was able to find me. Then we couldn’t find you guys at all! But it’s late, so we should head home, Holl.” She nodded, gathering her stuff from the table. You gave hugs to the boys, thanking them for the chance to do everything. Your hug with Dylan lasted a bit longer than the rest, whispering a sweet “thank you” into his ear.

Holland started the car once you were both in and situated, turning to you. “You didn’t get lost. What were you really doing?”

You thought back to everything that had happened, speaking without thinking. “Fucking a hot ass drummer.”

Holland’s mouth fell open. “What?! Why would you do that?”

You looked at her dumbfounded. “He’s hot, Holl. And nice. And sweet. And caring. And has a way with his mouth, fingers, giant cock…”

Holland shushed you. “TMI, honey bun. TMI. I don’t need to hear about Dyl in bed.” You laughed at her disgusted expression, leaning back in the seat. “But I guess now I know why you are glowing so much. Are you going to see him again soon?”

You shook your head solemnly. “I doubt it, Holl. I didn’t even get his number. I doubt he wants anything to do with me now. I was just an easy lay.”

She snorted, giving you a side glance. “I doubt that. Dyl isn’t like that. We’ll talk about it more tomorrow though.”

You nodded, silence forming between you both since you were so tired. Holland headed straight to her room once you arrived home, muttering good night with a long yawn. You changed into some comfy clothes, sitting on your bed with the bag of merch.

You pulled out the drumsticks, looking at them, observing Dylan’s name carved elegantly into the wood. You smiled, placing them down and pulling out the note. You were scared to open it, your hands shaking once you finally did.

Y/N, my sweet princess,

Thank you for the best night of my life. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting to like you as much as I did when Holland first asked me to get you guys into the show. But, I have to say, I don’t regret it.

I wasn’t lying when I said you were all I could think about during the show. I wanted to perform extra well for you. I wanted you to enjoy the show. Do you know why?

From the moment you walked into that arena, I was in love.

Corny, yes. But true. I can’t help but know you are special. The way sparks flew whenever I touched you. The way your fingers curled in my hair. The way you admired my little quirks. Everything about you is special, and I hope that I can see everything you have to offer.

By now, you are probably at home, curled up in your bed in some nice comfy pajamas. You are thinking about how crazy this night was. You are thinking about how I made you cum a total of 4 times. And you are probably scared that I want nothing more with you.

Know you are wrong. I want to take you out on a proper date, if you’ll have me. Do me a favor, and call me.

(xxx)xxx-xxxx

Thank you, my princess.

Love, your favorite drummer,

Dylan O’Brien

P.S. Thanks for your favorite thong. I will cherish it always.

You reread the note multiple times, not believing what you were reading. He wanted you to stay. He wanted to take you out. And that little shit stole your favorite thong.

He cared. That bastard cared.

You grabbed your phone, typing in the number and hitting call. Your eyes fell on the time, hearing it start to ring.

3:43 A.M.

It’s late. Was he going to answer?

“Hello?”

His voice was slightly husky, but you could tell he hadn’t done to bed just yet. Your breath caught in your throat, dry swallowing. “Hi, Dyl.”

“Y/N. You actually called. Though, I didn’t expect you to call tonight. But I’m not complaining.” You giggled, laying back on your bed. “So, how was that VIP package to the concert you went to, baby? Did you enjoy yourself?”

You giggled at his joke, playing along. “I did, Dyl. Best VIP Package ever. I kind of hope I can get one again to go to for that band.

He chuckled over the line. “I think that can be arranged. We’ll discuss this over dinner. Say, 8 P.M. tomorrow?”

You smiled, hugging a pillow close. “Sounds like a date.”

2K notes · View notes

spacecreattorsme · 4 years ago

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INVESTMENT IN COMMERCIAL AND RESIDENTIAL PROPERTY

Real estate has been the beacon of investment in India. Investment in commercial and residential property is regarded as a high grade investment as it offers a tangible natural asset.

Investment in commercial and residential property has seen massive shifts in the last 10 years which have made real estate an even more lucrative investment. Commercial real estate market has grown substantially in recent decades as India has been experiencing an economic boom, more business houses have been established in India. The country has seen 7 times growth in the number of new businesses in the last decade. Due to this rise, the demand for commercial property has increased. Residential properties on the other hand, have proven to be a sustainable option as they are usually purchased for end use by the buyer or for the purpose of long term investment. The question that arises is where should one invest – Commercial or Residential?

INVESTMENT IN COMMERCIAL AND RESIDENTIAL PROPERTY – A QUESTION

INVESTMENT IN RESIDENTIAL PROPERTY

Rising Demand of Rental Properties: The current generation of youngsters prefer renting over purchasing a property. This is because of the changing nature of jobs. Current jobs require people to travel more, there are frequent transfers and these are less static. Moreover, youngsters don’t mind moving from one geography to another in order to grow. Hence, they prefer renting over purchasing a property. The rental market is bound to rise manifolds in the coming years, which can guarantee a high return to investors.

Ever Growing Demand: There will always be a demand for residential property because everybody needs a place to live. With the growing population of India, the number of new home buyers are increasing. This opens a wide spectrum of investments for the residential real estate market.

Low Cost of Market Entry: Residential properties require a lesser initial investment to enter the realty sector. Small and medium investors find it easier to invest in the market due to low cost of market entry. This is because commercial properties are generally required for business purposes, the property becomes a business asset. It is required for doing business, on the other hand residential properties are majorly required for personal purposes. A commercial property in a tier-1 city may start from 5-10 crores while a residential property in the same city is half the price.

Higher Risk: Frequent changes in tenants with low returns make investment in residential property a less favourable choice for some investors. Additionally, fluctuations in residential property prices are influenced by many factors other than the general economic scenario. It depends on the market sentiment as well. This is in contrast to the commercial properties where the factors determining the prices can be understood more easily and strategies can be formulated well in advance.

INVESTMENT IN COMMERCIAL PROPERTY

High Rental Returns: One of the best reasons for investing in commercial real estate over residential is higher rental returns. Commercial properties offer a higher income potential yielding annual rental returns between 6-12% depending on the area, where as residential properties yield only 1-2% The reason for this is: Commercial properties are used for doing business, the rent is paid out of the income received from the business, the property becomes a prerequisite for business and hence stability can be achieved. For eg: A commercial property is rented to a retail outlet, the retail outlet grows with time, for such spaces, the location is a major factor in growth, now the business owner would always prefer keeping the same property, even if it means paying more rent. This benefits property owners in the long run.

Higher Initial Cost of Investment: Entering the commercial real estate market requires a lot more capital than residential, for the same area. The high initial cost of investment makes its investment option less viable and restricts the entry for small investors. With large initial investments come running large following capital expenditures. This increases the risk as well, as the investment once done can not be recouped easily. It required more research about prospects and a long term view to predict the rate of returns.

Interest Rates on Loans: If an investor wants to take a loan for his/her commercial investment, then he must be ready to pay a slightly higher interest rate. The interest rate for home loans is much cheaper than interest rate for commercial spaces being 1.5-5% higher. The loan factor must be taken into account while making the purchase decision, as it sets the lower limit to the returns to be expected. For eg: Property Price: 10 crore, let’s say we take a loan of 5 Crore, the rate of interest is: 10%, so the interest, if we only pay the interest cost, comes out to be 50 lacs per year. This clearly means we need a property where rental would be more than 50 lacs per annum taking into account the upkeep costs, otherwise we will lose money. If the rent is less, we need to decrease the debt component in our capital structure and maybe take a partner. On the other hand we need an year on year appreciation of more than 5% which is the inflation rate to make a capital gain. Even on a 5% appreciation we are still in profits, as the value of money taken from the bank remains the same because we will be paying the interest out of the rental income. Hence, the debt risk might be controlled with proper planning and research.

Increased Effort: Although the commercial property will yield a higher return than residential, it will require a high amount of effort for the investor. The property must be chosen at a suitable place where the demand for commercial property will be higher in order to earn a higher rental income. It is a must for the investor to check the creditworthiness and the profile of the tenant. The tenant should have a stable and long term business.

Introduction of REITS: Investing in commercial real estate can be difficult and in order to make it easy, a new innovation was introduced: REITS, Real Estate Investment Trust. In the early 1960’s REITs were introduced in the US with an outlook to change the real estate market. Since then, REITs have been adopted by other countries as a preferred mode of investment. This system has helped small investors to make a productive contribution towards financing in commercial real estate. REITS adds to the advantage of investment in commercial property over residential.

Key Markets for Investments: Some of the major markets for investment in commercial and residential property are Delhi NCR, Bengaluru and Mumbai Metropolitan Region also referred to as MMR. With better job opportunities and MNCs occupying a big chunk of land for their operations, Commercial Real estate is blooming. Residential real estate is also witnessing a high demand for locations that offer good connectivity and are closer to major job hubs.

Investment in commercial and residential property: Conclusion

Any form of investment is a good investment if made congruously. Investment in commercial and residential property come with their own set of pros and cons that make them highly distinguishable. It depends on the investor’s expectations and his paying capacity. With the real estate market growing at a hearty pace, investment in commercial and residential property both have a positive outlook for growth, hence it is a win-win situation. An investor may even form a portfolio of both types to diversify his risk and guarantee himself a fairly higher return.

Note of Precaution: The investor must check all the documents carefully with the due diligence before investing in any such arrangement.

Source: https://www.spacecreattors.com/blog/investment-in-commercial-or-residential-property.php

#Commercial Property in Gurgaon #Gurgaon Property #rental rates #real estate #residential

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limejuicer1862 · 4 years ago

Text

Acknowledgements

Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover.

May 1

..looks like you are drowning..

part one

looks like you are drowning & hope i am wrong. i can see the struggle the turn about in water.

i have done that too pat says that i have paid the price but i wonder

i hope you survive come clean bare your feathers.

fly high

if not i will lay a petal and think of you

as i think of the others that drowned before you that had no feathers

part two,

it looks like you are drowning again shall I jump in to save you and maybe sink myself or shall I wait to see to lay a flower at our feet

part three

maybe you are not drowning really that I made it up and you are dancing like the others

while people die and we lay flowers in memoriam corona

part four

you are floating maybe; I did that for hours went spongy, now face reality and I still think that you are drowning like the others.

-sonja benskin mesher

concrete reasoning

gray day: i am out for a walk when a sidewalk camellia begs myriad questions:

runaway bride?

garden club mishap? rejected proposal? hothouse runaway? centerpiece rebel?

confronted by the unexplained, the human drive to make order from chaos is relentless.

whatever the story, the end is the same: beauty appears and we can only wonder …

with a schedule to keep and no answers at hand i press onward, feeling the inner bloom of nascent gratitude.

-Rich Follett

MF 1

Every time I find clay in the garden, beneath a rosebush, say, I find slate too. This is just something I have noticed over the course of a year. It is not necessary to mention these things, especially now, I suppose. I am not happy unless I’m pouring something – tomato feed. I am Philip Levine’s Burial Rights, I recall Bei Dao. These days, I feel the trick to a good carpark, to feel anything, is my proximity to this flower arrangement.

JK 1

A story of three fish might be fish bones in a field for birds. Koi feeding, koi feed in a garden centre, at the next junction. Fish bent back over backwards, in blue paint. Scattered to the water’s edge a handful of dirt, to a handful of colour, blue scales at the centre of the field, a water mark, a stone left unturned.

-Alex Mazey

The Life of Petals

We use flowers to mark occasions– Weddings and funerals. The petals linger only briefly, But the sentiment still hangs Heavy in the air, years after Like pollen That settled over and over again On our patio table and chairs, All those long Midwestern summers When heat robbed our lungs of breath. And Wildflowers, not cut-storebought ones, marked a different time, Of an everyday type. Now, cut flowers feel gluttonous to me. And petals bless us with The gentleness of how life ought to be.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/petals.m4a

-st

Utopia Burning

Warnings ignored from many a social self appointed warlord Echoes of dissident discord striking a high-pitched off key note As hungry flames lick and lash causing an apocalyptic molten urban and suburban foretold mess Whispered by familiar oracles their verbal miracles documenting their fiery cautionary chronicles Of systems slowly imploding temperaments exploding fake veneers and smiles exfoliating as ignorant masses squawk for a helping hand from those witnessing their demise and burning squirming shedding acid tears for Utopia burning…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/utopia-burning-mp3.mp3

Still Silent

No sound, water jelly flat, so still it hurts my ears. Even sun slides silently into autumn’s metal light.

All jamboree, clang and din now far away in time. Even breath is offensive here, in case of ripple and slapping rocks.

I cannot read or turn a page lest a mumble or paper scrape, escape and shatter the loch. Like a breaking glass to a rousing cheer, as all that knowledge gets out.

So I stare at reflections in late day waters reliable quiet, but maybe their heat is not that hot.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/still-silent.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 30th April 2020.

The sweet flower’s heart Wilting on the cold, hard slab My love’s final gift

-Carrie Ann Golden

Camellia

You lay beautiful and gasping alone on Tithonian stone. A sudden fall from grace, petal broken angel: forage for sweeper winds.

Transient as summer days. Temperate these forevers soon fade to winter grey. Dog-day memories cannot abide short-day cold.

What are you, I wonder? A love certified in Bacchus’s dance or a loved one certified and boxed in tears and brown ale.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/camellia.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 30th March 2020.

The giant fish takes back the myth

The morning before she was to become a story the sea was baited quiet, the kind that silks

all desire down to swish. To decide to leap from one cool world to another just for breakfast

is to bare your colours to the scaling knife of the wind, and she did – her fireback beacon launched

for the brief protein of flying legs. How often we fail to see that dark hull waiting, we beasts so full up

with the rush of living for our risks. And the shape of the poised hero held no meaning, to a fish

but oh the shimmerhook, like all the moons her eye’s nightcoin had ever purchased

from deep beneath the water, and there is the lust, the swish- -and want. The glowworm crescent to silver her belly.

We all want to shine in fullness. Only heroes are given names in these stories.

For her need she was translated into an island, and I am running the delicate gasp of her jaws

in the shape of this coast, forever straining for the hook and still called only fish

even with all we have made of her. Every time I desire to transcend my quiet water, I forget the heroes

and leap from her skin, and hope that landing empty

but with one eye fixed on the moon every night after this will be enough.

-Ankh Spice

Beheaded Camelia’s

delicate red petals last longer on the less travelled path. Flash of disappearing red lace, paper thin survival. Unbroken in bright sunlight, bright on grey stone. Destruction stays at home to avoid destruction.

The red wing is allowed space to revolve reflect in water. “Temporary” like the word “soon”, a duration undecided.

-Paul Brookes

May 2

..scratching..

quiet now

we can hear the birds no problem one lorry on the road essential travel

then

we hear the scratching

when dark comes comes the scuttlings

flutterings outside

bats fly round our houses

inside others live and die

the fly

the moth comes lovely soft and tasteful

nothing distasteful

we saves them lifts them out the bath a dry flannel as assistance

remember that fly in the room you wanted to swat for annoying. left alone it went quietly away

night came full of sounds

mice scratching enough to leave

marks

enough to leave marks

the fly does

buzz when it flies buzz as it dies

zzzzzt

-sonia benskin mesher

Inclined to mention the halo of a mountain, somewhere I am fourteen years old. This is a mountain behind a house where I still remain, in this thought-process, every child chews spearmint gum. It is definitely spearmint gum, and the mountain is only a halo, now, this time, elsewhere. Like, I don’t know, like Mark Fisher says, this stasis has been buried – ‘the inventor of the term, a frustrating thinker’.

In the summer’s taped shut windows, without seeing flies in years.

Hit mosquitos against the wall, once observing blood left behind.

-Alex Mazey

Geyser

Soul rumbles as grumble dark bellows push their boiling fist. Hot drops, boiled rain.

Angry fats splatter into faint signs, streaks of early mournful light.

Fire waters bubble and churn chained by conventions, damned by convection. In breaking songs of earth’s heat, brash displays of prorogued grief.

Water crouches, fluid evasive. As pain it cannot be broken. Desire free to flow, hurt a haunt of generations.

So strictures die and violence will be a multiple of passing times.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/geyser.m4a

-©️ Dai Fry 1st May 2020.

In memory of those left behind : 9 December 2019

Sun’s first sleep-breath sweets the dropped shoulder of te puia whakaari, her bones

in early mistlight, are all grace and delicate pickings, gulled clavicles of a hard dancer, stilled. Coiled tension, resting.

It is hard to recognise a haunting, in the rose-gilt of sunrise. Do you know her name? When you recognised it, did you forget to exhale? Release your living now to cloud

the pane we do not see – watch deep scratches creep across this vision. The guardians are always here, and the light oh the light may change any moment.

-Ankh Spice

The Yellow Forest

Awakening – Dry mouth burning eyes skin burn, breathe. Pin point vision echoing mission failed fission, inhale. Heavy feet slow reaction no connection – A siren a siren! Wake up stand up react retract, breathe.

Forest Walk – Dislodge move seek react engage stop! Burning embers leaves glowing eagles falling feathers floating, breathe. Listen observe – A lark hark the warning A flash a flash, breathe. Eyes open sight broken, breathe.

Chokehold – Black river dead fish foul odour slow down, Breathe. Soil on fire charcoal roots sprouting rotten fruit – Stop smell retreat, breathe. Dead of night presence sucking remaining air laboured breathing heartbeat slowing – Find the opening, breathe. Look beware – Run!

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-yellow-forest-mp3.mp3

The Gamdroela

Far beyond the Hottentotshuisie Mountains, a mythical creature awaits to reward the chosen one – Elected by the Bokmakierie Korrelkop, a strange elusive soothsayer, traditionally enshrined to make a wise choice – A new ruler for the remote Belhar nation to once again wear the sacred crown of Sekueb Nodmai, she whose voice still echo from deep within the Bolemakiesie marshlands – A treacherous journey awaits the young Tandpyn, Prince of the Bloekomboom tree nation, whose Lands have nearly been scorched bare by the Fiery blizzards of Macassar – Now charged with the ultimate sacrifice, crossing the Moddergat fynbos wetlands to eventually reach the steep trail leading up to Fluweeltjie – Lair of the ancient Gamdroela , a kleurvolle Colourful but powerful oracle who will Decide on the worthiness of the young Tandpyn…

-Don Beukes

The Dream

I had a dream last night Of walking thru a forest-like place Filled with earthy illuminances

I could barely make out the sharp Round edges of branches and limbs Bathed in a heavenly glow

These trees, so strange yet so familiar These giants, so murky yet so real Their aromatic odors filled my essence

And for the briefest of moments I believed to be back home among these ancient pines Until my eyes opened to the sterile white walls

-Carrie Ann Golden

Fly Away, Dream

When television broadcasting Ended after late night news And comedy shows, yellow, blue, magenta hues

On test patterns Would send humanity To bed, to fly away wistfully,

As on insect wings, To a place of dreams And endless possibilities.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/fly-away-dream.m4a

-st

flaiku

what to us is dross is a rainbow to the fly perspective is key

-Rich Follett

Her Splash Of Veins

flutters, is still, proboscis twitch. Flutters, is still, twitch.

Splash of wheat in fields, Flutters as flywings.

Strands of wheat flywalk skin as she passes she swats the touch away.

Till as she treads down more stalks into the unmade bread of the field bunches of wheat stroke her thighs and she smiles at the bright sun of it all.

Snatches a stalk, lets it hang from her mouth a proboscis tremble in the gust of her dreams of flight above the ready to be harvested grain rises toward sun blaze newly risen

warm bread a splash of veins in full colour, breathes in her baked youth like goodness.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/her-splash-of-veins.m4a

-Paul Brookes

May 3.

.severn bridge.

it was a long journey

well you do don’t you. you travel .

you do what you has to do with love

even if things are difficult.

I feel it was just before the bridge

later they changed the name of it

there was this tree in a garden and I guess still there

through april we saw it bud as we passed going down

bloomed as we returned

later petals fell

then the reason for the journey failed and

left

yet

when I see a magnolia tree I remember

I remember sultry days in the long grass dried over

by cuckoo woods over there

catching them, dry creatures singing

looking them over and gently placing them back

the woman on the corner watched, looking over

the back

one arm missing

I remember a lot of things

-sonja benskin mesher

To be as impressed with flowers, as other people, is to achieve something worthwhile. Here, Pentti Linkola – deep ecology, disappointment, hands, prying open a bird box. Dead mammals, the small bones of a petal, inside, the entire remit of clichés involving death. Yes, another listy death poem, another regression. Another impressive notion of right and wrong. Cats underwater, drowning, observing these flowers in my hands, the branches, etc.

To be as impressed with bugs, as other people, is to achieve something worthwhile.

-Alex Mazey

Tears For Lichen

On the flat stone she wept her thousand regrets. Wax petals, a mother’s confetti of pink tears.

This was a song a descant to winter-tide. Of lighter months, not to the stone of dark grey lands carrying lichen kisses.

And as the lichen looks, death’s breath rattles and waxed tears wash abandoned to stoney seas.

A flower’s shower a softer form of rain. As the tree reaches out, tentative fingers touch her children’s clothes.

Ancient fruits that grew before first flight arced, beetles climbed these trees: ancient crawling bees.

Mitochondrial Eve, as magnolia flowers breathed, oxygen rich and rot from the seas.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/tears-for-lichen.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 2nd May 2020.

Lullaby of the Cicadas

The Flood – Stuck in mourning darkness every twilight sadness for loved ones lost, I weakly attempt to bravely to bravely attempt my inner flood walls but then despair breaks through, Threatening my brittle fading halo, so I let it seep a little- Just to taste the pain once more but as always like before, I allow a faint chorus to penetrate through the dark cavities of my soul as I listen to a lullaby of cicadas calming me healing me comforting me shielding me – Saving me.

Chorus of the Nymphs – We come from dormant Slumber to share our essence with you. Allow us to numb the melancholic hum in your soul. Let us gather notes of eons ago echoing from ancient forest trees to deliver a new symphony – Hoping to set your mind free from recurring soul-eating melodies.

Emergence – The mornings seem to radiate brighter into these faded streets of my mind, where dagger smiles are replaced with hopeful eyes, willing me to turn back into a brightening awakening aura, beckoning my new tomorrow, so I willingly follow the faint strange welcoming sounds of a new song – Joining the throng of lost souls eager to emerge Renewed, healed. Fading sadness penetrated by a lullaby of cicadas…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/lullaby-of-the-cicadasmp3.mp3

We Are the Wildflowers

Wildflowers and weeds Bear a striking resemblance To one another, Differentiated mostly By the kindness of time and Human trials. What one calls A weed, another calls a perennial. And, garden walls meant to Contain them are Only masquerading as effective barriers. Aren’t we all held back by Human hands that pull and grab, or Allowed to thrive, By the grace of the benevolent?

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/we-are-the-wildflowers.m4a

-st

Tanka for the last of the magnolias

Long smooth clouds bloom high sugar-pink tower turrets domes open to wind fall reborn – coracles sail lichen archipelago

-Ankh Spice

southern descent

sweet magnolia summer storm wind-strewn petals on lichen and stone

feather-soft gentility belies a core of tempered steel

southern by grace— survivor by design survivor by

-Rich Follett

A Locust

In our oral tales others see us as plague. Let us starve to feed their children.

I don’t swarm.

I contemplate sat on the viscous membrane of this water.

Oppose my senses:

To avoid mirrors. Fly around them not into them as death will be your final image.

I only see an image of myself.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/a-locust.m4a

-Paul Brookes

May 4

.shrink.

the child psychiatrist and oh how we can spell that lodged up the stone steps at the clinic the air was nice that day and she was shown blobs said they were butterflies watched the dolls act and said that was junk really

that father had just run off with another woman that was how they talked then he probably walked maybe hurried to get away

declared sane at eleven left at half past with the gift of a bible kept for the ages

thought that was rubbish too

she was small in that place

shrink

-sonja benskin mesher

So many people give birth to nothing. This line is extremely unimpressive, but knot ties, in some small way, to something tangible, outside of the self, like this painting, like this person, not waving nor drowning; Linkola’s cats, Murakami’s cats, the cats in a Studio Ghibli animation, like the girl-witch from Kiki’s Delivery Service, like the fading behind Mark Fisher, a fisher man, a fisher man like Pentti Linkola, dying in 2020.

I am not all that impressed with the technological ability to view, with intricate detail, the delicate impressions of a wing. It seems eyes can form, into the deoxyribonucleic acid, into many things. Enthusiasm is not located in a scientific word. It is not so fascinating – really.

-Alex Mazey

Quiet Please

I take my bow, it is really yours. Proud bends the back of the master. Semaphored arms embrace acoustic gold.

The tenants appraise, heads in silenced rows. Bodies rustle, anticipation is subsumed into soft cough and quiet creak.

All is submission as a pin of fallen angels sprawls across the floor. Equations their silent recitals while music sits patient as an obedient hound.

So now… To elevate a multitude of trailing notes. Spinning of helicopter leaves in a brass breeze. A syncing of vibration and desire pitches each point perfect, till buttercup soft lit hard and sharp, under home’s dull light. Sour as summer lemon trees. Then boom-dark crash, as water calling dead souls to the combe.

And all this while in a discomfort of seats, ears make ready to meet the brightling core that sits within.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/quite-please.m4a

-©. Dai Fry 3rd May 2020.

The Speech

Shadow Nation – We exist in cold shadows where our fading echoes are drowned by your bulldozers in the name of progress – Yet in the dead of night you stalk us hunt us to delete us silence us mock us bury us until we float away as ash a hush – Outcasts

We, the Mothers – We gave you life but your journey crossed unknown paths, bowing down to greedy gods sucking your soul dry but you welcomed promised riches licked bitter molasses with gravy train false preachers, Forgetting your inherent good essence resulting in your Foretold death sentence. Our grief is no relief our warnings Faded into nothing as you left us broken, eternally hurting…

Vision X – Your world is no more. You are here but in another sphere another existence an alternative reality because of your foolish insistence to enact nuclear annihilation, depleting all nations. You stare at me but your voice is muted as you attempt to explain your existential burning pain still searing through your perforated punctured soul – How you willingly participated in a man-made selfish senseless final war to claim the ultimate earthly prize – Ruling the global village, oh how wrong you were! Thinking you would last your nuclear winter but you melted each other deleted each other destroyed your earthly legacy by your insatiable hunger for power.

Well, here you are – Stuck on Planet X, destined to find no eternal rest whilst dead stars of eons ago further darken this existence and the light of exploded suns now blind your new vision…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-speech-mp3.mp3

In This Place

Wings do not fly. Mirrors do not reflect. Arms raised ask for folk to lie face down on the floor.

Decay is praised. Illness is needed. Death is requested.

Life is despised. Nurses are criminals. information is disinformation.

Paranoia is wanted. Conspiracies are welcomed. Demands are never met.

Government advice must be ignored. All advice has a use by date. Use by dates are decided by us all.

Control is freedom. Take back control.

-Paul Brookes

inside my name

dream state, Monday, 2 AM mothwing Navajo vagina; Georgia O’Keeffe portal to an alternate universe; Rohrschach montage of feminine puissance with Bette Davis eyelashes and cheerleader breasts

transfixed, i plunge into its pulsing core emerging in grade school where I wrote my name in conté on clean white paper folded and then opened— wrote so carefully, never crossing the midline— then just as carefully colored in the loops and angles, folded the paper back again (folded it like a prayer) and rubbed it with a block of wood

we were told to expect other worlds when we opened that fold again— told that secrets would be revealed

i did not see other worlds i saw only what seemed to be sidewalk chalk art marred by sudden summer rain

i have waited five decades for this morphologic grace— this mothwing Navajo vagina; Georgia O’Keeffe portal to an alternate universe; Rohrschach montage of feminine puissance with Bette Davis eyelashes and cheerleader breasts

dream state, Monday, 3 AM i wake with grateful tears, having seen at last inside my name …

-Rich Follett

Lockdown scored for one instrument

After noticing you have gritted your teeth (these days contain all we cannot bite gone) choose a tuning shape. Knot yourself closed, or petal out your limbs towards the constant poke of the world. Either way you annotate a rest. Either way you are not how you began, and you may hear the breath drawn at the beginning of the stave. Music is always quivering somewhere in the darkness of a body; in a chamber of polished wood in the auditorium of bone (that same clench heavying shoulders). Tune your knot. Turn your wood. Poise the humming star of your frame and play, unbowed or wound, just play until your last string breaks.

-Ankh Spice

Entrapment

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal” –Matt. 6:19

Trapped between Window and pane, Moth wings open and shut Like pages of a book. Dust

Flutters forth From the cover Between which words, too, Are trapped, unable to do

Their work, live and breathe, Seek and find, call forth action, Convey the power to believe. I am a moth. Set me free.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/entrapment.m4a

-st

The Artist, for Day Four, Part One

An artist’s mind Unlike the rest of the masses Is a visionary kind Reality to him May be pretend to others He bends on a whim

-Carrie Ann Golden

My goal in life is the destruction of 5G masts. I cut my sandwich into triangles as a lower-middle class pretension. Back outside, my window, one time, a cream room, a view of the street’s antenna. The problem with David Lynch is how he makes too much sense. Back in the simulacrum, a boy, my age, rangers in North America, first as tragedy, then as… ironing out our balaclavas, filling out our milk bottles; backpacks unattended on park benches, on the bus.

A page of Baudrillard, hides the truth to view witnesses fraying little by little into ruins, discernible ruined empire, rotting carcass of the soil double ends simulation, this fabled second-order no longer that of a territory, no longer saturated, a hyperreal map one must

return without origin, shreds unusable a questionable sovereign difference – the charm abstraction, the coextensivity of poetry, the representation produced no imaginary. Operational, in fact, no longer memory radiating synthesis, no space without atmosphere, no worse

curvature. Imitation, nor duplication; leaving room for simulated liquidation.

-Alex Mazey

.the title changes.

there is too much interference things could be left alone things were alright anyway

the battery is low yet plugged in the radio buzzes.

things are distorted

so i did what he says, whilst running up and down the stairs.

source to av, only there aint no av, not on that one anyhow.

press my scart lead, that is probably it.

press the sky button, the sky does not respond.

we still has television snow.

mine are bifocal and can distort gently if i concentrate poorly on the centre i have had help a while grateful at least that i can see unlike some of my family

yesterday I watched a documentary about monkeys

-sonja benskin mesher

The new starboard

Our larvae split their skin in the signal-fry, warmed over by the wire-witched currents of one filigree moon in a hundredweight sky

and if we no longer see the stars how do they counsel a chart for a new grub, or pull a blood’s spirit-iron toward the dissolving north

and if we no longer feel these waves how may we know our own water, what deeps us for the giddy bubble of this sailing. And I know

there are rocks here still, they make chimneys of it to vent everything we can’t burn railing sparks against the sky- silver that meshes none of our tides true

and it will rain hot tonight, the sizzle pelting the new hatchlings

-Ankh Spice

Of Forest And Stick

Foe forest, faux forest fee-fi-fo forest. Where giants hurl their broken stories from broadcast heaven to stone cast ground. Real, this least of things.

Inarticulate metal arms pluck down your dreams, to place within the flakes of soul slow dying desiccation.

Sick insects wave. These metal poles sway clamped to roof and breast.

All point as one, their martyr fingers show. As minds walk psychotic in their circular days.

To stars and planets that orbit our night sleep late night drunk deep on their celestial milky ways.

Antennae wave hello. Behind smudged glass walls as we sit and stare into this aquarium hell of our own making.

As we spread across our furniture of forked cartons, plastic and messy despair We start to take on our corrupt story.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/of-forest-and-stick.m4a

Reception

Quiet the cluttered airways. Listen. Too many voices reaching skyward, Clamoring for reception, Propelling selfhood upward,

Destroys collaborative Synergy. And interference causes failure. After all, Man-made towers were only Ever meant to fall.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/reception.m4a

-st

Every Stem Is

an aerial, antennae whose signal carries an image and a sound of growth and bloom.

Leaves are directors, flagellum, reach out, test the air and vibrations.

Listen can your hear the messages, or is it distorted,

image overlaid on image, sound overlaid on sound?

It processes fake news, phishing and cyber attacks. discerns real from false. scents and trails.

A filter bubble, an information sceptic decides what diminishes it, what makes it grow.

what makes it turn towards warmth, towards brightness.

More than a conduit.

-Paul Brookes

effluorescence

concrete flowerbed: aluminium amaranths dream of fecund earth

-Rich Follett

These gray structures loom Like a dead alloy forest A mill’s epitaph

-Carrie Ann Golden

The Arrival (EEN)

Blue eclipse sudden shudder silver vibrations strange sensations mauve hues silent screams shattered dreams rainbow screams black void bleak skies pink cries identity hides no way out seek beware who goes there wait stop where no here why there marble hush turquoise crush hide smile cry illusion confusion static wailing connections failing conscience melting blood moon a light alight powder dawn seek destroy rebuild regenerate no rescue failed sight emerald night pyramid flight incoming yellow tongue purple feast horrible sightings a drone atone leave us alone lavender glass chards charge cut chaos comet rush – Reverse

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-arrival-een-mp3.mp3

The Arrival (TWEE)

Falling earth new birth cosmic boom blast break away descend evacuate take position brace brave pathetic beast eject object reject investigate attack no way back hold blinding strobe light up get up move no room fire storm go swerve dive testing resting make haste chase erase record a face strange days delete reboot reverse rethink incoming homecoming survive surrender sharp solar bursts the thirst implosion ration succession orchestration new nation sinking earth toxic rebirth black hole tar soul screeching silence severed signals strange sour suns

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-arrival-twee-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

MF6

I run my hand over my past,

Where did the time go?

How trite to ask. How human.

I want to feel where a picture

Made by a child must’ve been

Until adolescence tore it up.

I want to see where a head

Chipped the paint.

Where did the time go?

how I remember mama:

recumbent with cucumber slices

hot stuff on a blazing beach

between her lover,

her life, and others;

that would be her children,

playing ball discreetly

In the lathering surf

with a Portuguese Man of War

-Elizabeth Moura

Abstractions

Making sense of abstract pale green The mind reads as moss Which proliferates into vegetation. Hen and chicks begin again In repurposed terrariums From some old Mother’s Day, Signifying children and growth; Elders and death; Soil and air Until abstract greys and greens Are life force made concrete.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/abstractions.m4a

-st

Yellow Mars

Stretched beyond any story, outside of organic memory. Time lives without passing. It’s life: a slow definition of measure in stain.

When I was young I saw a bright yellow lichen near the sea. I wanted to lick it to sense and to taste it. This bright, lives there still.

Yellow as gorse flower orange as rust. Lichen covers our world.

On the ISS they breathed the vacuum and survived. One day they will turn Mars yellow.

Then: On a clear night you may see a lichen star.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/yellow-mars.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 5th May 2020.

Shift

When what was left of the mountain heaved the men were stroking the ground with their tillers and to the worried horses, whose ancestors had been told for three hundred years that men knew what they were doing it seemed the infant was soothed, that the tired-out dirt had simply sighed and turned over. And so they nodded the great brushbrooms of their blinkered heads and stepped forward onto the grey scree, between the lines of unmade earth, and the unmountain wept as she received them into her hot belly. And swirling with their blades the motes of dust that were only sadness, floating the men said to each other ‘but why were the horses so stupid?’ and the trees, the only wild green left in miles and miles and miles of neatly turned fields shuffled close on the ridge, hiding completely the great wave roaring in, that water briefly the same shape as the mountain’s memory of herself

-Ankh Spice

..faceless ..

faceless

from nowhere, no name nor eyes yet we saw the bloodied halo

angel power and dominion

swept through silent almost biblical if you #readthat note how the layout is columns, numbered stanzas unlike other books tied away in cupboards

here was black and smudges then carefully we drew her out all tidy with reason, wearing us down

wearing the kimono corona wearing the coat corona whatever you wear corona

faced away

only stone set before set like fire in empty barns

#readthat

the social worker was a bitch back then

#didyoureadthat?

gongbi guise

painted silk or weathered stone? where vision ends imagination begins

artist’s paean to nature or nature’s paean to art? perfection neither asks nor answers

-Rich Follett

Tenalp Htrae

Earth Whispers – Light years have passed since leaving our blue planet, only white noise echoes remain of a world imploded by human negligence of a fragile natural existence meant to sustain maintain billions of our former human species but our ancient predecessors plundered misused abused neglected and rejected what Earth had to offer – Yet they were destined to suffer for ignoring existential warnings of natural resources depleted excavated extracted annihilated – To the point of meltdown. Now all we see are the historical images shown to new generations born in a new world a new existence a new consciousness.

Bleeding Earth – Any hope of ever returning to our ancestral home is slowly burning as eons of efforts to detect new life has come to an abrupt end – New footage reveal a dismal reality of a tired planet bleeding it’s waters evaporated by swirling fire tornados rocks melting fauna and flora now long gone fossils – The life-giving atmosphere now a toxic choking layer, So we still mourn our forced lonely new daily dismal Dawn on planet Tenalp Htrae, light years away…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/tenalp-htrae-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

The Many

clocks of her face tick as the world decays and rusts.

Some say to her your clocks have no hands. Some say to her you’ve no idea of time.

Your timing is all over the place, clock arms, clock lungs, clock legs, clock heart but no clock face.

Knows her blood and breath tell the time, beat precision and control her faces watch the world’s decline.

Knows within her time is a rhythm without clocks, a body that tells time every month, her hidden scars and bruises show time passes.

-Paul Brookes

The clause in a tenancy agreement states that party B must wipe down the walls – otherwise they begin to resemble shoeboxes. Faded, yellowing entropy. Decay reminds us of those things liberated from the passage of time. Melancholic disposition reminds us to be fun at parties. Back home, alone, right now, wipe the walls, watch a Studio Ghibli animation, at least you had Kiki in the other one. I have photoshopped her in – there.

If Baudrillard referred to a liquidation of all referentials – then this must be a liquidation. I should rewrite all history with my profound, transcendental sense of right and wrong.

=Alex Mazey

psychic caterwaul

one dimension away Hieronymus Bosch’s housecats frolic beneath a papier-mâché moon howling and miaowing in a demonic felid mardis gras

here on earth, a fair trade toyshop window— nothing to fear and yet …

-Rich Follett

Act like you were never for sale

Those were the days in which we felt our flutter hard and bright as a burning, painted thing, and those were the days when we painted our feelings on each others’ faces with pure sugar and unguent-of-anthers, and those were the days when faces would touch cheeks intimately, brief and baked electric with proper unsaids, and those were the days when the electric that moved us moved us in that little pond of footlights like a swirl of young eels, so slender, such good teeth, and those were the days when company meant we played together well and no-one forgot their lines or missed a step, or when they did the painted faces laughed kindly, and not like they had smelled blood in the water or finally seen the glass, the tags, and some of that last part is a lie. But a pretty lie, sticky with fertile anthers, and we bite into it again and again, this cake so sweet we know it only makes us sick

-Ankh Spice

.mouse.

are you dancing there you tiny creatures and are you happy with this music

should I cut it straight and hard in layers or leave it to grow?

are you dancing there together to your own tunes and remarkable tangents

or will you advise on the steps to take while moving ahead

most people’s hair looks gentle natural

there is no need for masquerade or pantomimes we cannot have the gatherings these days

you know he cut my hair for years and we became good friends . visited charleston together the farm house not the jig though the style would have suited the era so the mouse

keeps dancing jim

-sonja benskin mesher

A shop window like Hunter S. Thompson, at eleven o’clock, on a week day. A medium to large dose of LSD that I have never tried. In Mark Fisher’s Ghosts, Burial never went to a rave in the 90s, which informs, the apparition, the residue of what’s left. People have a perverse interest in windows, shop windows, specifically, glass operating as both a means of access and exclusion. This is the Baudrillardian analysis.

Impressed with the circulation of the body

my entire outlook becomes the deconstruction of the human being

into a clockwork machine.

-Alex Mazey

Little Gods

Artists and scientists are Little gods who make the World make sense, make Things fit together, or do not– At their discretion. Chaos and order, Macro and micro, Beauty and disgust, Must meet, hold hands Like humans used to Before we were all Forced off the canvass, Becoming scattered pieces instead.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/little-gods.m4a -st

Pussy Cat Pussy Cat

Patient quiet shadowed, still. Not blink, but glide wet eyes. My whiskers sing electric song and muscles ripple, as claws give flex, in deep forever breath.

A present, payment for my board. Fresh meat for the clumsy, They that cannot hunt. While I eat flies and wasps that sting.

Pain is fine its just a thing. So busy grooming, hunting and holding my lands. I sleep where I want and how I please. I have no master.

Under sun, on soil paper or wool, its all the one to me.

And to those too big to hunt and kill, I spread my scent. This meat is mine.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/pussy-cat-pussy-cat.m4a

©️ Dai Fry May 6th 2020.

The Gamdroela

I roam this galaxy alone searching aimlessly for signs of my origins with only infinity as my reality but I yearn to touch a dead star maybe even lick the frozen remains of an ancient comet long gone – I sometimes hear the echoes of far flung cosmic explosions and I can feel the empty of nothing expanding yet I am not swallowed up into black holes transporting me to other dimensions –

I once felt the touch of a solar flare kindling my whole being as I absorbed its embracing aura, so I kept it hugged it caressed it, if just to confirm I am not really alone – You might look at me most curiously even curse me with pursed ignorant lips but allow me to gently kiss you and share my multi- colored nature with you then maybe you can realise who I really am but that is not meant to be as I am not destined to be relevant in this reality – Not even in your fantasy, so I roam this galaxy alone,

I came from nothing – Forever waiting…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-gamdroela-mp3.mp3

Chorus of the Haters

Playground Show – Quick look have you seen what she is wearing oh my – Wait, what? Never, no! Surely not? Aw, hey look at that – You’re kidding me! Is he really wearing trainers? Oh yeah, I heard his mom had to sell his shoes so he could have something to eat this morning, jeeze really now! Sorry what? Who gave you permission to squeak? Let me go! He asked for it. Let go of me!

Stranger Danger – Hey, you! Let go of his arm! Uh who the hell are you? You what? Check this out guys, I – What the… Ooh look at ow! I told you so! Let’s get out of here. We’ll get her later, ok? You gonna have your chance later. Why so gloomy? I guess I’m okay but what do I say to my mom? Just tell her the truth. Don’t worry, now hurry! I cannot always save you. You can let go of my hand now. Will I see you later? Got something to say to you…

Backstreets of mind – I wish we could move again but I felt something today. I hate it here though. Those bastards never accept me. I need to be free, To be me…This is not healthy for me. I am slipping but I have finally connected to someone. A warrior a friend – A saviour.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/chorus-of-the-haters-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

Petite

abandoned, lives in discarded boxes and bags, bigger, savage males she seduces so they don’t injure, don’t bite wounds, break her delicate bones,

washes and cleans herself, anoints herself brings them live prey, breathing for play. Lives on cold pizza, crisps, rainwater.

Never lost her lioness head, knows ancestors bred for mummification, how worship becomes mass slaughter. Small does not mean less wick.

Chooses who lives with her, whom she dances, who wraps her fur around, curls up in a lawnmower grass box, brings live gifts into her house as presents.

=Paul Brookes

fajar

silver yew bows to war-torn stone and brick patchwork— alhaya renews

-Rich Follett

Ash-coloured trees, a forest, a liquidated referential, perhaps against the valley wall. There’s a thousand-year-old olive tree, somewhere, in a mountain town, where a child serves coffee, and burgers. Outside, grandmother’s goat stew – blow it first, child, with a cold spoon, intricate handle, intricately handled. There are some parts to this world we will never understand. Ash-coloured trees in the night are like, I don’t want to say it.

A page of Baudrillard is a fatal strategy avoid meaning indefinitely, bore them with a senseless finality – reverse evil. Poetry as ecstatic object, secret qualities, sworn to extremes and quiet synthesis, the visible to the hidden, more hidden metamorphosis, (Kafka as a lonely man

laughing at the still living, the digitalised still life – still born). Illusion plays speech instantaneously – the nature of seduction, nostalgic slowness as a merry-go-round. Silenced once; the silent dialogue of signs. Fashioned vapid character, aesthetic form, immoral form, fragile, sentimental desire

shapes superlative power, the objective; an achieved attraction, our only passion.

-Alex Mazey

..albert & Victoria..

how to tell a picture in words? egfrasic & I cannot spell it only in placid moments.

do we describe what we see or maybe tell the tale inside

albert and victoria a safe place now yet round the corner on the wall are the bullet holes while in dublin the same on a statue

blood shed they killed horses too when they fired their guns, dropped the bombs what then oh butterflies wing?

I can spell ekphrastic here but not up there

today there is no image nor a recording of the voice just look at the holes in walls.

-sbm.

Life after all

This is where it happened.

You weren’t there, not that you were ever there

whenever I needed you there.

I’ve often dipped my fingers in the hollows grief makes.

Here is where it happened.

We climb, but our feet slip, we don’t fall, but we dangle.

How I needed you there, to save me from being myself being there.

Whose life was it, after all?

-Elizabeth Moura

Walls Are

Bed bent wall bound, less human now as broken into this square.

Run five fingers feather light, to feel walls behind these closed eyes.

A stony glance holds a soul eternal captive, hate an emotional geometry.

Stone four squared. Secrets whispered ear to ear. Shed tears, wet straw. Awake, a greeting of dawn light under the door.

Dream in winds and creaking trees, a soul free to run and run, until breath is not sufficient.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/walls-are.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 7th May 2020.

The Institute

White noise cracking in my headspace

Phantoms in their nightly forced circus

A horse dancing on a rainbow beckoning

Me to follow – I just want to lie my head

down and crawl through my safety tunnel

where I can hear myself think maybe whistle

my favourite tune – Where I choose the paths

in the backstreets of my mind, master of my

own symphony unlike the invasive unwelcome

poking into my private psyche room where

my mental defences are muted by unstable

needy self-elected pharaohs enacting random

healing punishments – I am so done with this!

Dear Self

I am slowly drowning in this mental haze choking

me repeatedly – I need to hear your voice

again even just a faint whisper to remind me

I am still here. Here comes that choking red

Mist again, darkening my vision – My existential

Failed mission no escape… Are you there?

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-institute-mp3.mp3

The Trees are Dead

Sour earth neglected responsibilities

toxic oxygen the result of inaction by

Clueless wise men waving their untested

theories yet ignoring increasing revelatory

fatalities from untested remedies meant to

heal nations – Our mortality affected by

inept irrational policy makers hoping to

gain one more vote but we are all in the

same boat – Frantically trying to stay afloat

but worrying cracks are deepening our

livelihoods darkening, so we gather en masse

to finally protest along a charred boulevard

hoping in vain but it is of no use when the

guilty refuse to attempt to reverse recalculate

regenerate for future generations all nations

so we keep the faith even though the trees are dead.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-trees-are-dead-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

Take Me Around Again

Carousel horses, Are all your circles meant to comfort, or to mock? And, where will you take me today? To that bustling park In West Endicott, Near the house we almost bought?

Or maybe, all the way back to my childhood dinner time, When everyone else had moved from home, And you were three sad napkin rings, Trotting repetitively around the lonely table. You know Your steady pace marks time perfectly, while I’m distracted by the bright colors and scenery, Until I’m caught between once, and today.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/take-me-around-again.m4a

-st

For #1 of Day Eight:

The Shaft

Within the mine’s walls I hear the dead’s calls As my feet pound these halls Blinded by charging fireballs

#2 of Day Eight:

I remember as a child an elder spoke of a ghost town deep in the mountains where a single wall’s all that remained Its crumbling façade brimmed with untold stories Of former residents trapped within the wailing barrier

-Carrie Ann Golden

My Olive

tree is a horse whose mane of leaves shakes in a gust, whose bark whinnies when she moves. When I press myself into her flanks she is the oil that brightens my meals.

I am calm under her canopy of mane. Her favourite place is beside the pitted wall. A Roman wall with close knit red bricks and stone. The stone is sculpted by round ammunition holes, but has not fallen. They did not break through here.

I look down at my horse, the olive tree beside the wall from my balcony. History is always here.

-Paul Brookes

There’s an office, twelfth floor, in Shenzhen, I have stared, many times, I think, looked as far as the South China Sea. These are not the branches of a cathaya forest, three conifers, from this window. I cannot order a happy lemon in the mall, cannot recite Matthew 4:9 in the people’s square in Chengdu. Some days, I read Leo Tolstoy at the back of the public library, III times translated, first to English, then to Russian, and so on.

Two eyes appear from a bug detecting misanthropy

forming the same colours as the Khmer Rouge.

-Alex Macey

Mobius musing

those who inhabit cubicles and those who dwell among trees have little in common but there can be no doubt each is necessary to reflect upon the other

-Rich Follett

Pantoum for an isolated princess

In her glass coffin, what had flowed in the bone set sail alone Beyond the bright vault the tree-crowds nodded And meshed their long toes around the bubble That carried the fallen log on down the stream

Beyond the bright vault the tree-crowds nodded The wind stirring branches and passing the message That carried the fallen log on down the stream From synapse to synapse until every leaf knew her

The wind stirring branches and passing the message Threw leaves on the glass to crew up the ship And synapse to synapse, every leaf knew her So the sky caught her name, turned her glass to a star

And the leaves on the glass who had crewed up the ship Of her glass coffin, where what flowed in the bone had set sail alone Saw the sky catch her name, saw her glass as a star And fell to the earth to drift deep in the wound

-Ankh Spice

Gamma-Alpha-Light

Under glass I stretch, out life, not to smell tree sap or leaf. Or breezing wind. Catch rain that drops on tipped toe tongues.

No horizons lead crystal walls. And beyond, tangled imaginations, a hunger of beasts.

I see my knees and look in vain, for the grazing of a life not lived.

Under glass, dry tears, await night’s shadow to take the trees away. Now danger only song in this apocalyptic dark.

Hunters eyes dwell beyond the confines, of my glass walls. I read and watch, food bottled and tinned.

I gather up fear, a glowing landscape into which I can never venture.

Soft song, sang a requiem. Last of my line.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/gamma-alpha-light.m4a

Objects of Reflection

Reflections in windows in our hearts Bring us closer to the pain of Mirror images in those panes Until, noses pushed against glass,

Seeking so hard to see, With the steam and the strain, We lose the imagery Altogether, viewing

Only what’s inside. Of course, it’s not what we were looking for. We’re forced To turn around, and find

The truth Was always In the object, Not its likeness.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/objects-of-reflection.m4a

-st

Hum of the Drones

Society now an alternative reality

long adapted to forced acceptance of

a new dimension a stoic domination

of a higher order with murderous

intentions controlling a lockdown human

nation – An evolved consciousness

advanced through carefully engineered

experiments so with the arrival of these

deadly drones spying listening all-seeing

recalculating scheming deleting controlling

a fading tired humanity.

It happened gradually, unseen unheard

Their walls came down surrounding

Major cities concealing a doomsday

Countdown with the intoxicating deadly

Hum of the Drones…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/hum-of-the-drones-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

parakeets in the park, wild now holds up his hands and they fly to take seed

clearly reflected while we stop while we take coffee while we breathe

deeply thinking

of the things we have seen whitworth

it came with fire with ferocity depth that left me floating isolating isolation from the other scheme of things. it was red very very red

he said it was his favourite colour I have never seen him wear it

-sonja benskin mesher

I peered through the glass And saw all these evergreens Guardians of souls

-Carrie Ann Golden

Windows

are single eyed. We move the back projection, make clear the eyes corners. What lies ahead, what lies in wait?

Enter house with hollow eyes Inside its eyes fragrant as bad breath, a dead leaf delicate structure crinkly soft, and wet wallpaper peals like unheard bells.

Doors are mouths, mothers polish, lovers hump over, by which decisions enter or leave, from which dead leaves are brushed aside.

-Paul Brookes

orange it came flaring while I was minding my business as always looking at to sea hoping for a boat

on the horizon I got this thing whizzing round my face warm emulsifying, wreaking havoc with the serenity buzzed my ears and stayed there until defeated I moved to the wall and sat there a while

undeniably tracing honesty in air with one finger pointing

it came clear later

-sbm.

Most people have a penchant for rocks – dry stone walls with spiders inside. I once shook the leaves by a wall to see what fell out, and every night, when I came home, picked handfuls on my way, breadcrumb leaves to tear, carefully, like prayer beads once blessed by spit, by piss, by rain fall. Nobody knows why they do these things, least of all, tear leaves, and tear, and scatter leaves away.

I have always imagined / galaxies shaped like / the inside of a pomegranate fruit. / Authenticity interspersed with a tragic sense of irony. / Why do we write / like this?

-Alex Mazey

The Dream

I plunge into the depths of

nowhere, of empty uninhabited

space glowing like s beacon almost

beckoning like an empty womb ready

to cocoon new life – Expectant

nourishing, life-giving.

I fall further reaching unexplored cavities

of my questioning mind, witnessing

memories not even born yet, of

revelations still to come – I hear

faint whispers of familiar voices guiding

me teaching me protecting me.

My vision now clearer as I enter the domain of forever – My former melancholy turning into a joyous cacophony of encompassing love. I breathe again. I laugh again. I live again…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-drea-audio-day-10-1.mp3

Memories of Us

I still sometimes hear the echoes of our laugher as we reminisce of our shared happiness – Our joy of creating new planting borders Of days languishing in the sun until the moonrise beckoned daily reflections of love in various sessions, of togetherness of silliness of happiness.

I feel such a fool not having shared more thoughts with you, or not having told you I forgive you for misinterpreted heated arguments, of hating my foolish pride but I cannot linger on anything bitter as I still feel you with me in poignant memories of us…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/memories-of-us.mp3

-Don Beukes

Wild Imagination

Yesterday I walked down a path in the woods And spied a crumbling cornerstone of a building Lost to past floods Hidden in its base was a hole Nearly encased in the shadows of hardwoods Unsure if it was created by some mole I moved near the edge and spotted a thick coiled string Most of it vanished in the dried mud Vivid images of mystical places down below Filled my mind to the point that was maddening With a headache I reluctantly returned to my neighborhood

-Carrie Ann Golden

Shiva’s Dance

All stones, a conglomeration of illusion and desire. All dawns, pre-set to rise and fall breathe and grow and yet… all are followed by a drowning sun.

Not a stone story or tellers myth. For souls so bound in greed and gold. My house is as opium dreams… in these whispers of life.

No movement, in still darkling corners where life and dust move so slowly that luxing shadows, low and subdued, can hold a spirit in sleeping deeps.

So dance the ring of fire without question, for being must flow in these meriel seas and shaded rivers. Apocalypse and creation my coin. You my currency.

Your hair is made of flowers and death, your breath mud baked yet star sparkle sweet. Your compassion always greater than your parts.

So dance your dance on life’s highest mountain, in low dead seas. No choice no chance All else illusion’s flattery.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/shivae28099s-dance.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 9th May 2020.

colloquy

chestnut and stone wall speaking of patience and time passersby know naught

-Rich Follett

Interstellar Connections

You are a small planet, Unique in every way. I reach out the solid branch Of my being, as far as I can To see if I can touch your greatness, Learn more about the mysterious

Known and unknown parts And the pre-existing orbit Of my earthbound heart, Causing me to overcome all fears, To cross the void of space and find What happens when we collide.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/interstellar-connections.m4a

-st

Ishigaki music (the ballad of Rat and Cat)

Each day of that hot summer the stonemason let the river sing to him as he ate his noon meal, the moonsweet rice the pink auras of salmon and ginger and from his front hedge of rushes crept sleek black Rat with his shinobue tail and from the temple’s gap-toothed wall ambled marmalade Cat with her koto miaow and for a few grains of lunar rice Rat conjured a rill of silver notes from his flute and for a sliver of translucent spirit-fish Cat would wail her strange ghost’s vibrato and the inkbrush river shushed its rhythm onto the clean white page of each day. For a whole season the stonemason laid every rock with songs in his head and his hands and his heart and should you visit the temple you will see the black Rat and the ginger Cat who live forever in his tendered wall and should you put your ear to the sweet stones all placed just so, the music there in the neat grains of them will build and build inside you a thousand years of comfort.

-Ankh Spice

Stars

Stars, are they the lost group of family? Mists as memories, I long to see their faces The navy sky lit by a sparkle of joy ancestors in their glowing blessings looking down, as the perfumed night air wafts gently. A rare manuscript, an album of belonging Generations bound by dna blood sweat and tears A remembrance this darkest day of November I turn the pages of love and belonging a feeling of euphoria before the melancholy sets in clinging like the frost on a rose bud remembering ancestors, the stars in my eyes.

-Leela Soma

My Night

is a bag of nerve dripped stars under lit lamposts.

Silence is a window strummed by shadows.

Stone is a cloud announced as married to dizzy soil.

Walls are rainbowed unicorn skin and bone petrified by virgins.

Sugar is a grumble made by galaxies seen by cardboard homeless.

Darkness is the locked door of a whisper you cannot fully hear.

-Paul Brookes

Leela Soma

was born in Madras, India and now lives in Glasgow. Her poems and short stories have been published in a number of anthologies and publications, including the National newspaper The Scotsman, The Grind, Visual Verses, New Voices, Gutter, Bangalore Review in India and Steel Bellows in the USA. ‘From Madras to Milngavie’ was her first poetry pamphlet. She has served on the committee for the Milngavie Books and Arts Festivals and on the Scottish Writer’s Centre Committee. Her work reflects her dual heritage of India and Scotland. Author of ‘Twice Born’, ‘Bombay Baby’ and ‘Boxed In’ Available on Amazon and Kindle. Her website is http://www.leelasoma.wordpress.com

Here is a link to my interview of her: https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/04/20/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-leela-soma/

eleven is ten continued..

I sat on the wall a while further up a guy was painting a cat I watched him clever I heard a small noise to the left turned found the bloody orange thing was back fussing around colouring up the air smelling slightly warm and damp

mid sucking noises the face appeared black and white

from the bloody orange thingy.

-sbm

Murakami is my favourite Japanese writer, I remember vaguely, a time when he did not show his face in public. Showed his face as a series of cats. Some days, it is like cats are the loneliest animals on the planet. I think, again, of a book, by an author I cannot remember. I think, again, of a time beyond myself, of these dead things, side roads, memorialised, beyond face value; it’s more than we know.

-Alex Mazey

Journey to Fluweeltjie

The secret Map – It has been passed on by generations of Meesters, protectors of their families and heirs to the kingdom of Tiervlei. An existential secret map showing the way to the land of Fluweeltjie, where essence of an eternal life force would only be accessible to a worthy young warrior, who would survive the treacherous Kaapse Vlaktes – an underworld marshland filled with exploding vrekwarm flames from below the sunken city of Fluweeltjie – There to collect essence of the revered Bitterbessie, ensuring longevity for all who deserve it –

The honour of collecting the precious bitterbessie was bestowed on Sekueb Nodmai, heir to the kingdom of Tiervlei. He followed the ancient path shown on the map, and made his way to the secret entrance only he knew – In the distance he spotted a lonely figure hovering just above the ground, guarding the entrance. Sekueb noticed that he hovered just above the ground, waiting.

Battle of the Kaapse Vlaktes – As soon as he crossed over he was confronted by a sonskyn soldaat, ordered to prevent any attempt at entering the dreaded Kaapse Vlaktes. As donderwolke clouds exploded in the skies above, the soldaat suddenly hurled a tokkelos at Sekueb, a fierce creature which could instantly melt him, however Sekueb only had to throw dust of poeier into its eyes to avoid certain death. That opened the path to the gateway to to the borrelende land of Fluweeltjie – What he did not know was that he had to swim through the lake of souls, they who have suffered the curse of failed missions – Looking to welcome one more, as the water started to boil and stir…

(to be continued)

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/journey-to-fluweeltjie-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

Hunters

I savor the rainbows on wet streets, and the pigeons without sense who peck at nothing. The streets are empty, dehumanized. As it should be, as it is. I feel the rumbling not of wheels or thunder; it is the precious honey bee, another hunter as effortless as myself. It’s hunting in unkept lots the modest dandelions. My feet dance over faded chalk; I fear nothing.

Elizabeth Moura

Koi feeding

You save the stale crusts from the good brown loaf. On your early walk through the city gardens, there is a round mirror

to crumble them into, and in it an unfamiliar creature, folded and loose in his aspect. He watches you from the water.

You have never met his eyes, although you sense they are kind. This morning autumn has nodded at the trees

and the ember of the squalling sun catches a plume at his throat, and he blushes bright ¬— young

with newborn flame. The wind arrives to spread the blaze outwards in ripples

from the man standing with his hands full of burning bread, and when the fish surface

their mouths make round holes in his body. In one tiny circle after another

the fire goes out. Cool water ¬— O O O ¬— welling dark and smooth. It was always the truth.

What feeds on us that steals our fire. What we feed to remember what we are.

-Ankh Spice

Identity Crisis

Colorful patterns Etched into Our lives, Reveal truths We often try to hide.

Denying reality Doesn’t cease to Make it so. Call a cat a turtle. It won’t hurt his ego.

But it does cause confusion. Then, while we’re all mixed up Arguing over semantics, Inscriptions become clear – Our identity betrays us.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/identity-crisis.m4a -st

Stripe’s the given name Latched on anything ‘till me Now Clingon’s your name.

-Carrie Ann Golden

Practical Cats for Gen-Z

Sandburg’s cat did not have neon feet— time passes; things change.

Kodachrome bas-relief kitty’s impress:

JPS – just pussy-footing silently … but

is neon ever silent?

as it is with humans, so with felines: we always wish against our nature.

Eliot’s three-name theory would not seem to apply here unless loud, louder, loudest are on the list …

so, is kitty a success or a failure?

impossible to say until we know his aim— his ineffable, effable (f***in’ ineffable) deep and inscrutable singular

aim …

-Rich Follett

Of Cats And Gods

It is told in the oldest book that all cats must have two dreams. The second a tale of the fertile crescent, land of Nebuchadnezzar. A place of long ago.

Only to leave, for reasons of their own. On a great adventure. Maybe they first travelled on Abraham’s road to Canaan.

Before they became gods, and tellers of riddles, on the banks of that north flowing river.

“Where one gives birth to the other, who in turn gives birth to the first”

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/of-cats-and-dogs.m4a

Cat Called Nothing

JPS calls me Nothing.

Catness carries being at its heart. I am condemned to be free. If I tremble at the slightest noise, if each creak announces me a look

This is because I am already in the state of being-looked-at.

Catness haunts being. Hell is other people. Catness lies coiled at the heart of being like a worm.

Consciousness is a being, the nature of which is to be conscious of the catness of its being.

-Paul Brookes

Visions

A cataract blackens my right eye, the one I used to look at the sun; no one is left to ask why, because you are lost in dust, and our friends are lost with you at that final beach-mob outpost. Looking into the sun, then at you spread out, lovely and moist, all I could see were black dots on your face as it smooched air, and on your knees, now way too hot raised up, like dream castles, there were lines and arrows instead of your smooth knobs, smoothly red.

-Elizabeth Moura

equanimity

on the cosmic timeline humankind appeared minutes ago— aeons later (by our reckoning), like one primeval furrowed brow or the disappointed jowls of a disgruntled mage with a bumbling apprentice, earth sighed …

-Rich Follett

#2:

My heart

Is like a vast desert

Since you left this world

No amount of water

Can revive

My soul

Wanders an endless wasteland

Hopeless and lost

I don’t want to be found

I don’t need rescuing

I just want to sink in this endless abyss

Of your sweet embrace

-Carrie Ann Golden

13. some folk are superstitious some are not some thought that tomorrow would come different

did not look to see

so some may be disappointed that the orange terror remains

like the alien in some 1950s film or tv show talking pictures

some listened to journey into space on the radio, imagined such things scared themselves silly from behind cushions

this thing can suck the life even from those hiding in soft furnishings

so they may go live underground war of the worlds

I saw it live

-sbm

Out of this grey-peak mountainside, I did not always realise, that animals, like dogs, might comprehend another language. There are only so many times. Only, so many times, a boy can talk in different languages, hoping to find the right one – would you like a sandwich? St. Bernard, only here for the tuna. So, what? – an owner appeared, as beautiful as I imagined any person could be. Hallo, guten tag, blonde lady… gut, danke.

-Alex Mazey

A Desire

I walk your edgeland desire lines. Your fingers daylight a xenotopia in me. A riverwalk into your heart’s sussurus.

-Paul Brookes

Weeds

A plant’s wrong ways, take shape on chancing breeze. Anarchy rises to sap at butchered lands.

Outsiders, friendless purpose unknown. Immigrants from the without.

We are frightened, held rigid by the different beauty of their strange song.

These alien ways like a wild yeast that comes to a baker’s call. Fresh, different much raised in our estimations.

Re-wilding gods, stand to let the ground grow as it will. A flower meadow not a lawn. Bees see it, twice as sweet.

Flown, travelling seeds on wind blown songs. Till the loam of a stranger’s town. Taking the balance of a natural palette.

And soon we will have a place of rare delight. Watered with joy and tears, cooled by butterflies.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/weeds.m4a

Hold the river

You told me you haven’t been outside in 57 days and tonight the river is a dropped ribbon, limp and lost and the sharp stones of the trail as I begin to run become the sound of something chewing. The faster we go, the faster we’re eaten. You are moving, in the lines of your confinement, so slowly now you have become a painting in my head – static – existing not to be touched. And in the guilty, lucky air down here we’re starting up the engines and on my knees in the soft mud I can hear the first plane for months, idling beyond the water. I’d wish you were here, but the wind is whipping up cold, and the coming dark is frantic with sudden birds, woken startled from their neat new nests along the runway.

-Ankh Spice

Searching the Depths

” Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” -Matt. 4:19

Seven worms Squiggle out from the depths After rain Seeking sunshine, Not too much. Unwittingly, They crawl into Small hands Making ready To make a meal Not of them, but Creatures from different depths. “Get to the truck, Daddy’s got the poles!”

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/searching-the-depths.m4a -st

The Institute (Part Two)

Dear Self – I am drowning in this blinding haze of red, Locked in this current state, ‘ shut up! Leave my headspace or I will end you! Are you still there? I cannot go on like this. Last night another one made herself known to me taunting me, mockingly. I can hear her in the walls of my deepest most private secret space – ‘A voice, a voice! No, I refuse to submit to you! Stop this ridiculous lie you knit every chance you get!’

Flashback – I am back in my childhood room, thirteen again. I hear my parents bang the door down. I struggle to breathe. I feel my dad forcing my fingers open as I clamp them Tighter around my throat… ‘Good morning Mr and Mrs Sullivan. No need to look so sullen. Rachel will be treated with the utmost respect and care here at Clarence House. My name is Ms Marsh. You have nothing to worry about. Are you ready Rachel?

The Confrontation – ‘Ow, You’re hurting me! Where are you Taking me? Shut up you spoiled brat! You will soon find out how we heal misfits like you. Let me go you old hag! Now you listen to me you pathetic little creature. You better get used to me. After all, you have been placed into my care, so don’t you dare! You will soon realise you’re not that special at all. The others will reveal themselves to you soon. You better get some rest my dear. No need to fear, I promise.

Dear Self – I feel so lost. I heard it again last night – A faint tapping deep inside my head. Someone also tried to reach me but it was a faint whisper. What is wrong with me? What is this place? I’ve got to get out of here. This spiral prison is making my head burst. Please show me a way out! ‘Hello?’

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/part-two-the-institute-.mp3

-Don Beukes

Right before the fall

A heartbeat before the slide you know you’re going down A monkey brain knows when the branch is about to crack And a kid feels the birth of the tiny split in the ice spreading from his last footstep We learn to fall before we know the promise we make by beginning to walk which is to keep on doing it, even knowing the ground will fail beneath us some day And they say you time-travel just a little before the cold takes you, the years all that good footwork stamped into you go for a wander under your lids, maybe just trying to escape the inevitable. Did you know what takes us under is not spared? This pass through the mountains where your car went over once lingered her beat, slicking sediment-ghosts just before the blast split her. And that glacier down south, undermined by a warming sea shimmered with Pleistocene spring just as her heart went to holes. Oh but wait, that one went alone. The bones she holds too deep to see the sudden blossoms spiriting the ice.

-Ankh Spice

yūjō

cherry trees blooming in unexpected places cheer world-weary hearts

-Rich Follett

I recall vending machines in a small side street, someplace I’ve not yet been, maybe in a dreamscape, anyway. Someone will take me to Mt. Fuji, one day. Someone will take my hand through Aokigahara, the Sea of Trees, and we will buy iced tea in a carpark vending machine. Have I told you the trick to a good car park? They will say – yes – it’s in the flower arrangements, the peeling memory of bright sakura trees. I will remember this.

-Alex Mazey

..fourteen..

it starts at thirteen, moves forward

teenage years spinning

some,

a few stimming later we watch the trees spinning going about in a muddle going down in trouble

those years

asked if there was a maypole it was suggested to have a roundabout

it is all a gift

-sbm

Blossoms

In my memory a late snow had dried, -leaving no trace- though it still flaked eggshell brittle from the damp cellar walls.

I recall the deer park. Richmond in early April, probably a lifetime ago.

The pink and white a growing bloom, was joy within.

Did I dance the blossom under ruck sacked back and in leather shoes?

Dappled tree shadow, as petalled canopies filled the obscured skies.

A morning, those trudging ways. And everything was white and pink. I loved the pastel rain. It made me cry.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/blossoms.m4a

The Institute (Part Three)

The Revelation – Dear Self, I finally woke up to my reality, As that wretched red mist cleared, my surroundings were finally revealed. At first, I became aware of an annoying hovering buzz – Invisible but audible. As my eyes adjusted to where I was, I could swear I saw a cluster of microscopic drones leave my body! ‘Oh, you are awake!’ I heard a familiar voice say. I instinctively realised where the voices in my head originated from and why I thought I was going crazy. Next to me in similar pods wherein identical bodies like mine were attached to, one of them spoke directly to me! ‘I tried to warn you but you were too stubborn to listen. We’ve got to get out of here before dear Marsh returns to command more drones to replicate me’ – But who are you? I don’t understand. ‘What do mean?’

‘It’s me, my name is Rachel.’

What? Impossible! I am Rachel!

‘Calm down dear – We are all Rachel…’

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/part-three-the-institute.mp3

The Pink Forest

Cream screams ruby dreams Strange happenings White skies blood cries Yellow wailing soul Destroying – Hark the pink Lark spreading false truths Growing strange fruits Falling on sour earth burning Barren soil to reveal new growth Where strange sounds can be Heard – A fluttering of falling birds A spluttering of green rain fauna and flora in pain – Get out go back retreat attack leave retrieve collect reflect. You are not needed here – This is our new sphere. No, go! A broken nation shattered moral Compass – You could have prevented this…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-pink-forest-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

Heated chambers roil with entrancing little bugs, creeping out the little ladies who refuse to look because their mascara will collapse like tar. Whipping off my myopia, I alone am delighted. If I could crawl through to dance with the motley harbingers of the abnormal, I would squeeze myself onto the slide, no regrets, and wave to my companions, who aren’t looking at me; me, happy at last, fitting in, dancing on a glass yacht.

-Elizabeth Moura

Finding Your Place

Paint peeling From ancient walls Reveals nothing of note. But the preserved picture, Of three parallel trees, once bespoke

By some Now unknown admirer Of the arts, Leaves behind enough, perhaps, To inspire a new start.

Finally, The patron, artist and Onlooker may know The unparalleled merit of Their respective roles.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/findingyourplace.m4a

-st

Frailty

is the strength to put one foot in front of another against the gust.

is endurance of pain you inhale and exhale as you catch your breath.

is a tree growing on ground known to dissolve beneath the roots as a short life is lived.

is the sharp, severe loss of mam and dad as your bones ask for a hug from the disappeared.

-Paul Brookes

Tanks

Lilies, petal wrapped, their colour smiles in water’s drift.

A summer’s dreamer, her flowers are purple rain catchers.

Tanks: ancient reservoirs, lilies far as sight permits.

Under chlorophyll isles drift tangled fronds where swimmers weave their cool green, hydraulic dreams.

Elephants drink here and stick legged avians break journeys. To stand pensive, in these time worn water fields.

Marvel at floating leaves, whose island dreams and water songs, play rippling gently.

In the distance where lilies meet sky: A white chalk bright Stupa topped with Buddha head spike, pierces the unbroken blue.

Once neolithic mounds to hold our dead, now giants of brick and stone… who bow their heads to passing flowers and greenway archipelagos.

To drink a deep fill, a quench of lake water.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/tanks.m4a

Da doo Ra Ra ran

cowardly sun god sperm cell suffers performance anxiety; flees from opportunity — future world goes dark

-Rich Follett

I will remember lily pads. Each floating universe resting on time, itself, water like time, like the streams of an eternal reoccurrence. Every poem is permitted one act of being unnecessarily outlandish, every life is permitted one or two acts of being unnecessarily outlandish. Outlandish is not the word I am looking for, here. There are other words, of course, words like lily pad, to describe what I am seeing. ( , .)

-Alex Mazey

Established

As children, weren’t we all beguiled by water lilies? I was sure the little rafts were stepping stones for traipsing Across, Sufficient to Support my weight.

Although they are well-established, Rooted deep Beneath water bodies, on the surface They are delicate creatures, It seems.

You once asked if We wanted to keep trying To put the tent pegs in, Only to have them continue to Slip out again.

I’m grateful I learned the difference between Solid and superficial, and that we, too, can be fastened Tight to the ground, More securely established Than I might’ve imagined.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/established.m4a

-st

the lily pond.

go down along the coast through the village and up the hill

find the lily pond miles from anyone

you will find creatures among the plants and reverie

some are tadpoles come recently

while others spawn later

this is the magic that some have forgotten with all their money and sexual innuendos

the small plane still flies over most days

-sbm

The first escape

We were lucky, when the fire came for us. A murmur of orange, mumming grey dust – in the night-ashes from the grate, their bucket on the porch. The bloom must have been beautiful, I thought, a thing come to life when our eyes were all closed. In the morning, one wall of the house was croaking with blisters, toadskin paint still slick with the rain. With persuasion from a disobedient finger, they popped, and the stink of the fire was alive inside each one. Even at five, I set free a lot of near-death. Tiny craters left behind, none yet satisfied with a sacrifice.

-Ankh Spice

The Institute (Part Four)

The Prequel – ‘ Welcome back Mr and Mrs Sullivan, I finally have the news you’ve been waiting for. One of our cloned samples has survived the delicate procedure. However, it will have to grow here until its fifth birthday, Just to ensure total success. After all, we owe it to you to return a perfect specimen. Have you decided on a name yet?’ Ah yes, her name will be Rachel. We trust that you will do your best, doctor…

Dear Self – It’s me, Rachel. You don’t know me yet but I somehow know who you are. I saw you in a memory not even born yet but quite significant to my survival. I finally left that strange place, after getting rid of my overly attentive nurse – A bit too keen for my liking! The more I insisted for her to leave me alone, the more she repeated, ‘There, there my dear child, Nurse Marsh will take very good care of you, after all we will be together for five years!

Homecoming – Dear Self, I am in my new home. The Sullivans are weird but I cannot complain. Five years is long to wait for a new home. I made sure my new mother understood when I jabbed my finger deep into one eye and just giggled about it – It felt good, even though father had to call for help. Are you still there, hello?

-Don Beukes

Of Man Of Dust

Buses are butterflies all blue and gold Blind Mary and I catch one to the black glass wedding

young, dead Lozzy comes walks on water down the canal bright and shiny like a new kitchen surface

the man’s landrover is a poisonous lily packed with dust of death climbs out of the lily dust flying like red flour

politest of men. Pardon me, young Lady to Blind Mary who coughs, overcome by dust

lozzy, my poor dead son a vacuum cleaner with severe asthma inhales the man of dust and knows what it means.

man of dusts’ minder of water floods the vacuum cleaner lozzy coughs splutters.

Blind Mary’s wedding gift, a carved coal elephant inhales.

sprays water over his back, as if having a wash

black dust billows. black mingles with red dust.

lozzy vacuums up the man of dust disposes of him in the Place of No Breath

and if the dust meets breath,

life. dust waits.

-Paul Brookes

Cento

The small plane still flies over

tiny craters left behind rooted deep beneath water bodies.

A summer’s dreamer, her flowers are purple rain catchers.

walks on water down the canal bright and shiny like a new kitchen surface/

heart of stone

all through the millenia all egbert wanted was to play with the other statues

-Rich Follett

.pensive.

a quizzical look grey frowns the brow wrinkles

did it do wrong neutered into submission wandering lost the way

she said she will trap it send it away her aggressive with the lockdown

envious of solitude exploding with anger

red threads could bind us

-sbm

Who Are You

A life of consequences. The whole thing a slight of hand… I cannot see me, doubt anyone can.

Never to know my name, or purpose hidden behind. Mendacity my gift and I my own victim. My light is not the illuminating kind.

A life spent hide and seeking, the deeper I look the darker my lairs.

I nearly met on one or two occasions, not yet being quite there.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/who-are-you.m4a

I recall a dark room at English Heritage, a documentary showing an eight-to-ten-minute introductory guide to big castle, wherever. This is, perhaps, a simulated experience, curated with panoramic cinematography – available in the gift shop for nine-ninety-five. Every time, I find these dark rooms – showing a documentary, I sit there for eight-to-ten-minutes, thoroughly enjoying the space, imagining my life as an informative documentary; a screen wipe.

-Alex Mazey

The Walk

Few find the shrifted forest – a wanderer feels their gait well weighed by trees and rock to find how great the need for succour-paths. If your feet, as heavy as they are, will carry you for another week, a day, an hour through the loosened sharps of the vale some trivial thing will call you to your walking-on. When the wet green hands of sentinels wing a creature through this breach its count of given steps was done and done. And we could do much worse than to stop it here we beasts who have been treading so stilted since first we fell. Far worse than to drop to our knees on this cushion of needles beneath an unsuspected kindness of stones. Sometimes you don’t see how much they love you until their face is watching you leave. The last walk done, and I’ll go laughing, all thin- skin shiver in the warm wet breath of the rock that has turned these bones, has spun us on and on, every day since we arrived. She gave us milk from the dirt of her body. Every day opened the door to the walk. You mourn your pets like family.

-Ankh Spice

The Spectre

You see me as a hideous invasive enemy oddity but I see you as an existential anomaly hoping to remain free but it is not meant to be – Your insatiable sensational lust for self-gratification revealed your selfish nature neglecting your intended function to willingly and selflessly nurture but you have proven time and time again your expected failure to prove your worth as a temporary fleeting organism on a planet only meant to temporarily tolerate your inherited generations –

Your neglect of each other and your dismissal of of obvious signs and revelations in your darkest dreams and ruby screams did not deter you from darkening your absorbent soul as you hunted for monetary riches, damning those who you deemed unnecessary in an existence you craved to have total dominance in unable to foresee you failed legacy.

This is your final hour as your essence will be ended – You do not deserve to be awarded this precious Earthly existence so forget your expected inheritance…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/the-spectre-mp3.mp3

-Don Beukes

Release

Looking at the red sky All I see is you The ground trembles as I try To hug the earth like glue Closing my eyes struggling not to cry Your angelic face fills my view As I let go, my body wants to fly and search for you in the heavenly blue

-Carrie Ann Golden

#MF 16

The nightmares and dreams of children are carved of the same stone; they are massive. Even the friendliest glower, because of their weight. All through their lives, these stones follow all the children who ever were. As adults, the stones loom, smaller in size, but heavier, pressing down on hearts and minds which don’t believe in dreams or nightmares, but are certain of death.

#16

American bullet, barreling out, like an asteroid racing to a pre-mediated hit. It is red hot. It knows its way. A finger has shot out before it. It points. Like a diseased god, it chooses.

-Elizabeth Moura

Draw me to the eye Center us down together Stillness in your storm

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/day-16-haiku-st.m4a

-st

The heart of a tree is a crack in time.

A glimpse across galaxies linked by wormholes in xylem.

This giant is fallen: a window on eternity exposed,

though the roots still live. Here – delicate in rotten bark – sapling.

Time is the crack in a tree’s heart.

-Yvonne Marjot

The Lion

I am Hunger and look for a prey. No animal, big or small, as far as I can see.

I find a big cave, There must be some animal here. If so, come evening it will return I will hide myself in the cave and when it returns, pounce on it and have a good meal.

Sun begins to set, I hear a voice “Hello cave, I am your friend here.”

I do not reply “Hello cave, don’t you remember the arrangement we made? I have to shout when I arrive and you will ask me to come in. Without your green signal I do not enter the cave. Since you are silent, I will go to some other cave.”

Ah, there seems to be an arrangement between the cave and this animal. Let me get him into my trap. I will shout back a welcome to him and he will walk in happily.”

I roar, “Hi jackal, come in. You are welcome.”

Nothing happens. Nothing happens

My stomach is an empty cave full of echoes.

-Paul Brookes

Cento

You do not deserve to be awarded this precious earthly existence so forget your expected inheritance… Stillness in your storm

Bios and Links

-Alex Mazey

(b.1991) received his MA (distinction) from Keele University in 2017. He later won The Roy Fisher Prize for Poetry with his debut pamphlet, ‘Bread and Salt’ (Flarestack, TBA). He was also the recipient of a Creative Future Writers’ Award in 2019. His poetry has featured regularly in anthologies and literary press magazines, most notably in The London Magazine. His collection of essays, ‘Living in Disneyland’, will be available from Broken Sleep Books in October 2020. Alex spent 2018 as a resident of The People’s Republic of China, where he taught the English Language in a school run by the Ministry of Education. His writing has been described as ‘wry and knowing,’ with ‘an edge that tears rather than cuts or deals blows.’

Twitter: @AlexzanderMazey

Instagram: alexmazey

Here is my interview of Alex:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/12/18/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-alex-mazey/

-Rich Follett

is a High School English and Creative Writing teacher who has been writing poems and songs for more than forty years. His poems have been featured in numerous online and print journals, including BlazeVox, The Montucky Review, Paraphilia, Leaf Garden Press and the late Felino Soriano’s CounterExample Poetics, for which he was a featured artist. Three volumes of poetry, Responsorials (with Constance Stadler), Silence, Inhabited, and Human &c. are available through NeoPoiesis Press (www.neopoiesispress.com.)

As a singer-songwriter, Rich has released five albums of independent contemporary folk music. His latest. Somewhere in the Stars, is available at http://www.richfollett.com. He lives with his wife Mary Ruth Alred Follett in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where he also pursues his interests as a professional actor, playwright, and director.

-Ankh Spice

is a sea-obsessed poet from Aotearoa (NZ). His poetry has appeared in a wide range of international publications and has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He truly believes that words have the power to change the place we’re in, and you’ll find him doing his best to prove it on

Twitter: @SeaGoatScreams or on Facebook: @AnkhSpiceSeaGoatScreamsPoetry

-Carrie Ann Golden

is a deafblind writer from the mystical Adirondack Mountains now living on a farmstead in northeastern North Dakota. She writes dark fiction and poetry. Her work has been published in places like Piker Press, Edify Fiction, Doll Hospital Journal, The Hungry Chimera, GFT Press, Asylum Ink, and Visual Verse.

-sonja benskin mesher

born , Bournemouth.

now

lives and works in North Wales as an independent artist

‘i am a multidisciplinary artist, crafting paint, charcoal, words and whatever comes to hand, to explain ideas and issues

words have not come easily. I draw on experience, remember and write. speak of a small life’.

Elected as a member of the Royal Cambrian Academy and the United Artists Society The work has been in solo exhibitions through Wales and England, and in selected and solo worldwide. Much of the work is now in both private, and public collections, and has been featured in several television documentaries, radio programmes and magazines.

Here is my interview of sonja benskin mesher:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/10/16/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-sonja-benskin-mesher/

-Samantha Terrell

is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook: Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)

Website: poetrybysamantha.weebly.com Twitter: @honestypoetry

Here is my 2020 interview of her:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-samantha-terrell/

-Don Beukes

is a South African and British writer. He is the author of ‘The Salamander Chronicles’ (CTU) and ‘Icarus Rising-Volume 1’ (ABP), an ekphrastic collection. He taught English and Geography in both South Africa and the UK. His poetry has been anthologized in numerous collections and translated into Afrikaans, Persian, French and Albanian. He was nominated by Roxana Nastase, editor of Scarlet Leaf Review for the ‘Best of the Net’ in 2017 as well as the Pushcart Poetry Prize (USA) in 2016. He was published in his first SA Anthology ‘In Pursuit of Poetic Perfection’ in 2018 (Libbo Publishers) and his second ‘Cape Sounds’ in 2019 (Gavin Joachims Publishing). He is also an amateur photographer and his debut Photographic publication appeared in Spirit Fire Review in June 2019. His new book, ‘Sic Transit Gloria Mundi’/Thus Passes the Glory of this World’ is due to be published by Concrete Mist Press.

Here is my interview of Don Beukes:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/11/02/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-don-beukes/

-Dai Fry

is an old new poet. He worked in social care but now has no day job. A keen photographer and eater of literature and lurid covers. Fascinated by nature, physics, pagans, sea and storm. His poetry seeks to capture image and tell philosophical tales. Published in Black Bough Poetry, Re-Side, The Hellebore Press and the Pangolin Review. He can be seen reading on #InternationalPoetryCircle and regularly appears on #TopTweetTuesday. Twitter. @thnargg Web seekingthedarklight.co.uk

Audio/Visual. @IntPoetryCircle #InternationalPoetryCircle Twitter #TopTweetTuesday

-Elizabeth Moura

lives in a converted factory and works with elders. She has had poetry, flash fiction or photographs published in online and print publications Human/Kind Journal, Rose Quartz Poetry Magazine, Hawk & Whippoorwill, The Cormorant, Radical: A Lit Zine, Chrysanthemum, Occulum, Flash, Paragraph Planet, and Flash Fiction Magazine. On Twitter @mourapoet, Instagram mourathepoet and mourastudio.wordpress.com.

-Yvonne Marjot

is a lost kiwi, now living on a Scottish island. She has been making up stories and poems for as long as she can remember. Her first volume of poetry, The Knitted Curiosity Cabinet, won the Brit Writers Award for poetry in 2012. She has published four novels and a book of short stories. Twitter handle: @alayanabeth

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.

-Mary Frances

is an artist and writer based in the UK. She takes a few photos every day, for inspiration and to use in her work. The images for this project were all taken in the last two years on walks during in the month of May. Her words and images have been published by Penteract Press, Metambesen, Ice Floe Press, Burning House Press, Inside the Outside, Luvina Rivista Literaria, and Lone Women in Flashes of Wilderness. Twitter: @maryfrancesness

-James Knight

is an experimental poet and digital artist. His books include Void Voices (Hesterglock Press) and Self Portrait by Night (Sampson Low). His visual poems have been published in several places, including the Penteract Press anthology Reflections and Temporary Spaces (Pamenar Press). Chimera, a book of visual poems, is due from Penteract Press in July 2020.

Website: thebirdking.com.

Twitter: @badbadpoet

Here is my interview of James Knight:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/01/06/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-james-knight/

-Sue Harpham

is an admin worker, currently not in work Married, 2 sons. Loves poetry and words. She considers herself a writer of scribble rather than a poet. She has written a novel and is using her spare time to finally get it published (self-publishing) which has been an ambition of her for the last 10 years.

The Collected Special Ekphrastic Challenge for May 2020. The First Sixteen Days. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham the inspiration for writers: Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja benskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes, Yvonne Marjot, and Paul Brookes Acknowledgements Thankyou to Jane Cornwell for designing the front cover. May 1 ..looks like you are drowning..

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workfromhom · 5 years ago

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How Europe overtook the U.S. in championing free markets

The deregulation of major U.S. industries like telecom and energy in the 1970s and 80s sparked competition that lowered consumer prices and drove product innovation between competitors. Europe, on the other hand, lagged behind with more expensive internet, phone plans, airline tickets, and more until around 2000 when a major reversal of this trend began. Strikingly, when the EU strengthened deregulation and antitrust efforts to open its markets to more competition, it was the U.S. that reversed course.

According to a new book by French economist Thomas Philippon, Americans’ view of their country as the world’s beacon of free market competition and Europe as an over-regulated region of lethargic corporate giants is out of date, and may be inhibiting our ability to recognize growing corporatism at home. Philippon, a professor of finance at NYU Stern who earned a Ph.D. in Economics from MIT, was named one of the top 25 economists under age 45 by the International Monetary Fund.

“If you have nothing interesting or relevant to say, you can always take a jab at European bureaucrats. It’s the political equivalent of complaining about the weather…”

Based on Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) data, the U.S. now has more regulations for opening a new business than every EU country except Greece and Poland — a complete reversal since 1998, when only the UK had fewer rules than the U.S. Per capita GDP growth in the EU outpaced that of the U.S. over 1999-2017. On a purchasing power parity basis, Americans have experienced a 7% increase in prices (relative to EU residents) for the same goods, due specifically to increased profit margins of companies with reduced competition.

An interview with economist Thomas Philippon, author of ‘The Great Reversal’

The reason for this divergence? According to Philippon, corporate incumbents in the U.S. gained outsized political influence and have used it to a) smother potential antitrust reviews and b) implement regulations that inhibit startups from competing against them. As a result, the U.S. regulatory system prioritizes the interests of incumbents at the expense of free market competition, he says.

Philippon makes his case in “The Great Reversal: How America Gave Up on Free Markets,” released this past Tuesday by Harvard University Press. The book builds an argument from extensive data and pre-empts likely critiques by investigating numerous potential confounding variables or differences in research methodology. It is a compelling read for those interested in the dynamics of the overall innovation economy or the political debate over antitrust and Big Tech.

Incumbents over startups

Philippon, who was na states upfront that he isn’t claiming Europe is a bigger startup hub. In fact, he writes that “the U.S. has better universities and a stronger ecosystem for innovation from venture capital to technological expertise.”

What he does do is ring the alarm about a systemic shift in market consolidation in the U.S. that results in a small number of large incumbents charging high prices, an economy-wide prioritization of share buybacks over investments in innovation and government policy that inhibits competition from new entrants.

An important take-away for readers: there’s a concerning trend toward more barriers to successful entrepreneurship, higher prices for countless goods and services that startups use, an overall decrease of corporate investment in new technologies and fewer potential startup acquirers.

There are half as many publicly-traded companies in the U.S. as there were in 1997, and turnover within rankings of the top five companies per industry has declined sharply since the late 1990s as well.

Market concentration isn’t due to superstars

“The Great Reversal” considers that increased market concentration could be the result of “superstar” firms whose increased productivity is a win-win for shareholders and consumers alike. This has indeed occurred during the 1990s but the correlation between increased concentration and increased productivity ended around 2000 (with the exception of the retail sector).

Corporate after-tax profits as a percent of U.S. GDP were stationary for decades at 6-7% but increased to 10% in the last two decades, highlighting increased “rent-seeking” that shouldn’t occur if the leaders in most industries were facing the same amount of domestic competition or increased international competition.

From the 1960s through the 1990s, American companies poured an average of 20 cents from each dollar of operating profit into investments (R&D, capital expenditures, etc.). Since 2000, that’s fallen to 10 cents per dollar. With reduced competition, large companies are focusing less on advancing their product offerings and more on extracting profits for shareholders out of existing business operations.

Big tech isn’t exempt

Major tech companies — specifically Alphabet (Google), Amazon, Facebook, Apple, and Microsoft — are the focus of multiple chapters of analysis by Philippon, who rejects the notion that these companies are somehow unprecedented relative to the leading companies of prior decades from an antitrust standpoint. They account for a smaller portion of U.S. GDP and stock market value, and they have similar profit margins. Network effects and accelerating economies of scales are not new concepts in economics — existing antitrust regulations are capable of dealing with these companies.

from Facebook – TechCrunch https://ift.tt/32h13zR via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Facebook – TechCrunch

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rickhorrow · 6 years ago

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10 To Watch : Mayors Edition 4819

RICK HORROW’S TOP 10 SPORTS/BIZ/TECH/PHILANTHROPY ISSUES FOR THE WEEK OF APRIL 8 : MAYOR’S EDITION

with Jacob Aere

Hoops fans pack Minneapolis for Final Four, as Texas Tech and Virginia are left standing. A "crush of out-of-town visitors, estimated at 100,000 strong, crammed into the Twin Cities this weekend" for the Final Four. Attendance on Saturday night at U.S. Bank Stadium for Virginia-Auburn and Texas Tech-Michigan State was 72,711, and the "area around the stadium...was crowded” at least until 11:30 pm, according to the Minneapolis Star-Tribune. Ahead of Saturday's games, fans “milled around the rain-slicked streets in downtown Minneapolis in high spirits.” Meanwhile, the Jonas Brothers Saturday night at The Armory performed in front of 8,000 “screaming, bouncing, boy-band fans” as part of the March Madness Music Series developed by Turner Live Events in partnership with the NCAA and CBS. On the flip side of high-spirited behavior, after Texas Tech earned its first-ever appearance in the national championship game with its win over MSU last night, local police in Lubbock, Texas had to use tear gas to "break up the crowd" of celebrating Texas Tech students after "multiple acts of vandalism." Let’s hope that saner heads prevail if Texas Tech claims its first national basketball championship come Monday night.

The Masters by the numbers. It’s Masters Week, and as golf fans both avid and casual settle in to watch the year’s first Major, WalletHub has analyzed the tournament from tee to green. The personal finance website’s annual report breaks down everything from ticket and concession prices to the cost of producing each green jacket – $250. Among standout numbers, secondary market badge prices this year average $2,484, ranging from $2,250 on Saturday to $2,619 on Thursday – a 15% increase from 2018 and a direct reflection of Tiger Woods’ resurgence and elevated position in the field. Estimated revenues to Augusta National from 2017 ticket sales are $35+ million, while the event’s overall economic impact on the Augusta area economy is $120 million. Over 250,000 people visit the Augusta area each year for Masters festivities, including 350 journalists from around the world. Last year’s final round Sunday average viewership was 13 million, up 18% from 2017. And the players themselves will leave Augusta National having shared an $11 million purse, with the winner pocketing a cool $1.98 million this year. My favorite data? 640%. That’s the increase in live telecast hours for the Masters from 1956 (2.5 hours) to 2019 (18.5 hours).

Turner Sports and Endeavor have partnered to create a new golf-themed entertainment event, “Augusta at Night.” According to Turner Sports, “Augusta at Night” was borne from the success the company had with creating similar events around March Madness and other properties. The new Masters tie-in event, to be held April 12 at SRP Park in North Augusta, has brought on Capital One as its presenting sponsor. It will feature custom golf experiences from sponsors Golfweek and Topgolf, as well as concerts by Hootie & the Blowfish and Sheryl Crow. While they would love to sell out “Augusta at Night” in its inaugural year, Turner and Endeavor realize they need to spend some time building equity in the event and the “Augusta at Night” brand. The partners hope the event will become an annual highlight of Masters Week. While dozens of prominent corporate events happen around The Masters every year, there has not been a large scale, high-profile event that provides an opportunity for multiple companies and the community to be a part of after the golf is over each night. “Augusta at Night” will try to fill that hole.

The Grand Prix of Long Beach revs its engines. The Grand Prix of Long Beach, which began in 1975, is the longest-running street race in North America and one of the longest continually running events in IndyCar racing. The 45th edition of what is now called the Acura Grand Prix of Long Beach – thanks to the eleventh hour signing of Acura in February after the race lost longtime title sponsor Toyota – takes place April 12-14 with an entire festival of events surrounding the seaside street race. Race weekend comprises 35 commercial sponsors, and a payoff for the city of Long Beach that pumps nearly $34 million into the port city’s economy, according to figures from Beacon Economics. Some of the most significant and enduring events of the long Grand Prix weekend, however, occur away from the track. Young IndyCar driver Zach Veach, who races for Andretti Autosport, is sponsored by Group1001, and finished fourth in Long Beach last year, is looking forward to visiting a local elementary school, where he will talk up an interactive STEM program he is developing in conjunction with education technology leader EVERFI.

In a similar move to its major league counterparts, Minor League Baseball, in conjunction with Brand Activation Maximizer, revealed the launch of the largest retail program in its history. The “Grilling All-Stars” national retail program will encompass five national brands and activated at select retailers in more than 100 MiLB markets and over 13,000 locations across the country. Participating brands include BUSH’S Beans, Scott Bath Tissue, Scott Paper Towels, Ball Park Buns, and The ORIGINAL Louisiana Brand Hot Sauce. The MiLB season got off to a raucous start next week, with the introduction of four new team brands: the Fayetteville Woodpeckers, Las Vegas Aviators, Rocky Mountain Vibes, and the Amarillo Sod Poodles. Grilling All-Stars take note: the Rocky Mountain Vibes’ logo is a hipster version of a yummy S’Mores treat beloved by scouts, campers, and fans of summer everywhere.

Dundon cuts losses, shutters Alliance of American Football. After eight weeks of games and less than one season into the AAF’s existence, league owner Tom Dundon decided to suspend all operations. The league had been struggling from the outset. After the first week of the season, Dundon, owner of the NHL Carolina Hurricanes, pledged a $250 million investment and essentially took control of the fledgling football league. While the league continued to shoot down reports that it needed the money to stay afloat, employees were notified of its closing in a letter from the AAF board last Tuesday. Pro Football Talk and other sources estimated that it would cost at least $8-9 million per week to get the league through the season’s four remaining weeks. Among other signs of its demise, NFL Network viewership steadily declined from over 600,000 viewers in Week 1 to less than 300,000 in Week 7, and in-stadium attendance hit season lows in multiple locations. The AAF’s brief existence could prove beneficial to the XFL. The prospective XFL player pool will increase in size, and sources told the Action Network that the league has interest in acquiring both the AAF’s football and broadcast equipment.

Endeavor reportedly to purchase On Location Experiences for over $650 million. Ahead of its newest event, “Augusta at Night” in North Augusta, South Carolina, Endeavor is close to a deal to buy On Location Experiences, the high-end hospitality firm partly owned by the NFL, according to multiple sources. The two sides have reportedly agreed on a price north of $650 million, but they still are negotiating some of the deal’s finer points – a process that could take several more weeks. Majority owners Bruin Sports Capital and RedBird Capital, whose combined investment with the NFL helped create On Location four years ago, had been looking for opportunities to sell for several months. The firms will exit with a staggering profit on their initial investment, believed to be in the neighborhood of $70 million. The deal makes good sense for Endeavor, as it will serve as a high end sports extension of their many other hospitality offerings in the entertainment space.

Luna Bar helps close USWNT pay gap. The U.S. women's national soccer team "got a helping hand in its pursuit to close the pay gap with the men's program thanks to a donation of nearly three-quarters of a million dollars" from nutrition brand Luna Bar. Luna Bar made its $718,750 donation to the USWNTPA with the "stipulation that the money would be used to pay each of the 23 members" of the 2019 FIFA World Cup team $31,250 to "make up the difference" with the USMNT, according to ESPNW. The move is seen as an act of support of a gender discrimination lawsuit the USWNT players collectively filed against the United States Soccer Federation (USSF) seeking equal pay and working conditions. The USWNT first made demands for equal pay in 2016. In its latest effort, all 28 members of the squad filed a lawsuit last month with the U.S. District Court in Los Angeles. Their lawsuit claims that the individual players are paid on average $8,200 less per game than their male counterparts over the course of a 20-game international friendly calendar year.

MLB cuts back its Facebook streaming deal to just six games for 2019. According to SportsPro, the agreement marks a significant drop from last year, which gave Facebook the rights to stream 25 games exclusively on its Watch platform in the U.S. Facebook first teamed up with MLB for the 2017 campaign to show 20 non-exclusive games. The partnership was then renewed ahead of last season in a deal worth a reported $30-35 million. Last year was treated as a success after drawing 123 million views across the 25 games broadcast on Watch during the season. The two parties also said games streamed on the platform reached an average viewership almost 20 years younger than the league’s typical TV audience. One reason that the MLB may be scaling back their Facebook commitments is likely to do with their new deal with Twitter and potential future endeavors in the esports sector.

On April’s new “Power of Sports,” episode, Lindos Suenos and the Celtics’ Rookie Flight Crew Curriculum help make dreams happen. Lindos Suenos strives to bring people of different backgrounds together through the common appeal of baseball and community service. On the back of generous donations from JetBlue and a philanthropist, Lindos Suenos was created in 2004 and sends 10 American teenage boys to the Dominican Republic every summer. Once the Americans arrive in the Dominican Republic, they perform community service and play baseball alongside 10 teammates from the Dominican. According to MLB.com, these 20 teens serve a community in-need each morning, and spend each afternoon playing baseball at the Red Sox Dominican Academy. Similarly, the Boston Celtics’ Rookie Flight Crew challenges a group of middle school students to up their knowledge of aviation. The four-week STEM program is designed to teach students the science of aeronautics while learning how to build a fully functioning model airplane. This “Power of Sports” episode utilizes baseball and basketball as common ground to inspire students about their futures.

#10 #10towatch

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years ago

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The Stages of Gentrification, as Told by Restaurant Openings

Akira Kaelyn / Shutterstock

Inocencio Carbajal opened his acclaimed taqueria, Carnitas Uruapan, on West 18th Street in Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood in 1975. He picked the location for a simple reason: At the time, it was near one of the city’s only Mexican grocery stores. There was another, more complex reason Carbajal and the grocery store were in the neighborhood, though. The construction of the University of Illinois campus in the neighboring Near West Side community between 1960 and 1965 pushed longtime Mexican residents into Pilsen, transforming the largely Czech and Eastern European immigrant neighborhood into a predominantly Mexican community by 1970. Within less than a decade, Pilsen had become one of Chicago’s most prominent Latinx neighborhoods.

More than 40 years later, the original Carnitas Uruapan is still there. But the Pilsen around it is changing again. City officials began planning new development for the area during the early 1970s, shortly after it emerged as a majority-Latinx community. The 1973 “Chicago 21 Plan,” designed to stem white flight by revitalizing areas surrounding the city’s commercial district, the Loop, targeted nearby communities like Pilsen. Private developers then tried slowly expanding into those areas. Community activists were able to resist these efforts through the early 1990s, but by the 2000s, political leaders, including the community’s alderman, invited pricey new development into the neighborhood, paving the way for rapid change.

Over the next decade, new cafes, restaurants, and housing developments owned by outsiders replaced many resident-owned properties and abandoned lots. Between 2000 and 2010, the Latinx population declined 26 percent. Today, Pilsen is one of the hippest areas in Chicago, with a thriving arts scene, fine dining options, and quaint cafes that continue to entice wealthier transplants to the area as working-class Mexicans who have lived there for years are displaced.

Gentrification is a process, one that today generally begins with investors seeking out affordable communities in order to transform them for profit. A key component of gentrification, which distinguishes it from revitalization, is the demographic shift that happens when newer, more expensive development attracts wealthier newcomers, often young professionals, who then price out the community’s original residents. The displaced people are usually members of marginalized minority groups who have been historically confined to divested inner-city districts by racist housing practices, segregation, and midcentury white flight.

Marcos Carbajal, Inocencio’s son, and now a co-owner of Carnitas Uruapan, is torn over the gentrification of Pilsen. On one hand, he misses the neighborhood he grew up in. But its growing popularity with middle-class outsiders has been good for business: His family purchased the building decades ago, so the area’s rising rents haven’t affected the shop, and new residents are flocking to the taqueria for the unique Uruapan-style carnitas his dad learned to make as a child. “To me it’s a giant gray area and it’s really hard to judge it one way or the other,” Carbajal says. “If you’ve been in that neighborhood long enough, you can’t deny that it’s much safer and much more eclectic than it once was.”

Conflicting views on gentrification’s impact have led to public showdowns over new developments and businesses in countless communities, many involving restaurants. In 2017, just as chef Stephen Gillanders was set to open the upscale contemporary-American restaurant S.K.Y. about a half-mile from Carnitas Uruapan, members of anti-gentrification groups ChiResist and Defend Boyle Heights marched up to the building and began livestreaming themselves condemning the business. In the video, S.K.Y.’s general manager confronted the group and asked, “Is there anything we can do to help?” to which several of the activists responded, “Get the fuck out!” The manager listed the ways the restaurant gives back to community programs, but the activists in the video dismissed them. A week later, graffiti appeared on S.K.Y.’s building and Dusek’s Board and Beer, the Michelin-starred fine dining spot across the street: “Get out,” “Gentrifiers,” and “YT People Outta Pilsen.”

Grassroots organizations of anti-gentrification activists have emerged across the country in response to the tidal wave of gentrification that has swept through America’s largest cities over the past two decades. There is the Brooklyn Anti-gentrification Network (BANgentrification) in New York City, Defend Our Hoodz in Austin, and Defend Boyle Heights in Los Angeles (which recently joined a national housing inequality organization called the United Neighborhood Defense Movement), to name a few.

Like ChiResist, many of these organizations zero in on food businesses and confront restaurant owners, and that’s no coincidence — when it comes to gentrification, new food spaces are often the canary in the coal mine, according to Joshua Sbicca, a sociology professor at Colorado State University, whose research has shown that restaurants often act as proxies for gentrification. As American neighborhoods evolve, the changes appear in their foodscapes: There is a stark contrast between a 40-year-old Pilsen restaurant like Carnitas Urapan and the new, upscale S.K.Y. or Thalia Hall down the street.

Sbicca says that there are generally two ways to look at gentrification: from an economic standpoint, as something that happens when businesses seek investment opportunities in underprivileged communities, and from a cultural standpoint, as something that happens when an underserved community’s vibrant culture attracts wealthier outsiders. Restaurants fall at the intersection of these frames, making them ideal indicators for the state of gentrification in a given area. “It’s different than many other kinds of businesses or processes of gentrification that take place,” Sbicca says. “I can’t think of a better way to have a look at the aspects of gentrification.”

These changes aren’t just happening in Chicago. As white-collar jobs and tech businesses attract more young American professionals to cities, these gentrification trends show up in data from around the country. In San Francisco’s Chinatown, for example, banquet halls that have existed in the community for decades are competing with new Michelin-starred halls. In the Bushwick area of New York City, the four or so dive bars that existed in the once predominantly working-class Latinx neighborhood a decade ago now sit alongside dozens of swanky new watering holes catering to the influx of young urban professionals. Portland’s Black population is being pushed to the city’s outskirts, farther and farther away from the city’s buzziest new restaurants.

To make matters worse, the COVID-19 pandemic prompted many small businesses to close for good. Reports show that 60 percent of restaurants that have closed since the onset of the pandemic have shuttered permanently. There is consequently a growing fear that large chains and bigger businesses will capitalize on failing small businesses and buy up empty spaces in working-class neighborhoods if stakeholders don’t act soon. This could only speed up the changes happening across American cities.

In order to explore the relationship between restaurants and gentrification, Eater requested restaurant health inspection data from several U.S. cities, using the data to estimate how many restaurants are in each city and where they’re located.. Neighborhoods with anecdotal evidence of recent gentrification were pinpointed — Pilsen in Chicago; Crown Heights, Bushwick, Harlem, and Bedford-Stuyvesant in New York City; and Chinatown in San Francisco, for instance — and the information was analyzed against census data on the areas’ income and racial makeup and Zillow data on home and rental prices.

Certain patterns emerged that highlight the interdependent relationship between restaurants and the numerous phases of urban gentrification. A new high-rise or upscale restaurant opening in a neighborhood might appear to be the first major sign of gentrification, but by then, the process is often already wrapping up — it’s the cafe, the bar, and the initial boom in table-service dining venues that are the real beacons of change. “A focus on food shows how patchwork neighborhood change often results from these small and piecemeal entrepreneurship efforts, and that the creep of gentrification and displacement often moves through foodspaces,” Sbicca says.

Stage One One: Third Places

Gentrification happens in phases, according to Sbicca. It’s a long-held belief that the first wave is driven by artists and young creative professionals, who are drawn to communities with lower rents. So, naturally, places like coffee shops and bars, which frequently act as third places for these groups of people, are often the initial signs that wealthier outsiders have their eyes set on an affordable neighborhood. “There’s a reason why those are anchor food institutions as opposed to, say, your upscale omakase-style Japanese restaurant where someone is paying 100 bucks to have an omakase tasting,” Sbicca says. “That’s a later wave, where those kinds of restaurants are catering to wealthier professionals who have disposable income to actually afford to eat those kinds of cuisines.”

Third places like cafes are ideal for young creatives looking for affordable businesses they can patronize while also being able to practice their craft, Sbicca says. This is in line with results of a Harvard research study that found a strong correlation between the presence of cafes and an increase in college-educated residents; as neighborhoods become whiter and wealthier, the number of cafes tends to increase.

Take New York City’s Crown Heights, a historically Black and Caribbean community in Brooklyn. As the Michael Bloomberg mayorship (2002 to 2013) stoked massive residential development projects to accommodate the city’s growing population, more white-collar professionals found themselves in Brooklyn. Data for the years 2012 and 2013, Bloomberg’s last year in office, show clear signs that the area was deep in the process of gentrification: The average cost of a one-bedroom home increased 13 percent. Black residents, who made up 78 percent of the Crown Heights population in 2000, only accounted for 57 percent by 2013.

[1-CHART COMPARING COFFEE SHOPS TO GROWTH IN GENTRIFICATION/DEMOGRAPHICS]

Eater’s analysis shows a strong correlation between the number of cafes in Crown Heights and rising housing, rent, and income levels. Five cafes opened in Crown Heights in 2013, nearly doubling the number of cafes in the neighborhood. By 2014, a Starbucks arrived. Eater used correlation coefficients to measure how strongly housing prices and certain types of restaurants are related; a value between 0.50 and 1 is indicative of a strong correlation. Housing data from Zillow and restaurant data from city health inspections showed that in Crown Heights, the number of cafes and median housing prices have a correlation coefficient of 0.8. Similarly, the correlation coefficient for total number of cafes and average income for Crown Heights was 0.83.

The same is true for other neighborhoods in American cities that people anecdotally suspect are gentrifying. In Brooklyn’s Bushwick neighborhood, for instance, where a historically working-class Latinx community started becoming more and more affluent and white in the 2010s, the relationship between cafes and housing prices showed a correlation coefficient of 0.87.

New bars have a similar relationship with higher cost of living. There were only six bar venues in Bushwick in 2007, when the cost of a single-family home was $495,000; a decade later, there were 40 bars in the neighborhood, while home prices have risen to $850,000. Bushwick bars and housing costs have a coefficient of 0.69. Similarly, in Brooklyn’s Bedford-Stuyvesant area, there were eight bars in 2010. By 2013, there were 13. The correlation between bars and home prices in the neighborhood has a coefficient of 0.60.

Stage Two: Bigger and Better

As the gentrification process continues, the scope and scale of restaurants in the neighborhood begin to change. Restaurants appear to get larger and more expensive as the next wave of young professionals and small-business entrepreneurs move in, driven by new opportunities to meet the demands of residents with higher incomes and more expensive taste. Wait-service and large-capacity restaurants, for instance, grow during this phase. Typically, restaurants served by waitstaff are larger and more upscale, with higher price points.

This growth in more massive, more expensive food spaces worries residents in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Malcolm Yeung, the executive director of the Chinatown Community Development Center in San Francisco, says Chinatown is one of the few communities in the city that hasn’t fully gentrified, because, unlike many Chinatowns around the country, it is still predominantly working class and Chinese. But as the rent rises and businesses shutter, he and other advocates are trying to prevent gentrification from swallowing it up too. “Our concern is that when you start to see a trend of restaurants that move away from accessibility to the community,” Yeung says. “it starts to give you the wrong signal about where Chinatown is heading and perhaps begins to attract restaurants, owners, and operators into Chinatown that don’t necessarily have that community spirit in mind.”

Yeung welcomes new businesses but says they should be businesses that the community can access. Affordable banquet halls have historically been an important cornerstone for the Chinese community in San Francisco, hosting large family gatherings, celebrations, and political events. There were once five such banquet halls in Chinatown. Of the three that have recently closed, two have been turned into Michelin-starred fine dining spaces (Mister Jiu’s and Eight Tables at China Live). Chef Ho Chee Boon, the former executive chef for the Hakkasan restaurant chain, is set to open another upscale spot in the third space.

“Those two restaurants are good and well. We’re glad they’re in the neighborhood, but we’re raising questions,” Yeung says of Mister Jiu’s and Eight Tables. “When you only have five large spaces to begin with, is it really the right thing for the community for the third one to also convert to a one-Michelin-star restaurant?”

The data suggest there might be reason for concern. More luxe restaurants in other cities show a strong correlation with demographic changes. In New York City, for example, there is a strong correlation between the number of restaurants offering wait service (as opposed to fast food or takeout) and rising housing prices, income, and rent in gentrifying neighborhoods. New York City inspection data document the type of restaurant inspected, including whether the restaurant offers wait service. In 2013, there were 34 Harlem restaurants with wait service; by 2015, that number grew by more than 20 percent as housing prices soared from $588,000 to $777,000 and median income grew 23 percent. The correlation coefficient between home prices and waitstaff restaurants in Harlem is 0.77. Correlation data shows a 0.90 coefficient for waitstaff restaurants and housing prices in Crown Heights. In Bedford-Stuyvesant, the value is 0.85.

Yeung says that is how gentrification seems to work: Investors and developers of higher status move in, build pricier businesses, and inevitably push the original community out since the existing residents have fewer resources to compete. He fears San Francisco’s Chinatown could end up like other Chinatowns around the country — according to the 2010 U.S. census, there are only 300 Chinese residents left in Washington, D.C.’s Chinatown.

The growth in high-end dining options that cater more to outsiders than local residents isolates the existing community and propels gentrification, Yeung says. “From what we’ve seen, the people that patronize those high-end Chinese restaurants, it’s almost literally they Uber in or Lyft in, they have a cocktail or eat dinner or lunch, and then they just leave,” he says. “They don’t stay around to visit their family association building, or buy groceries, or to buy takeout, or dim sum, or to get a haircut or get hair and nails done, or to buy dry goods, or any one of the myriad collateral benefits that restaurants who draw community stakeholders would have on the rest of the community.”

Race and ethnicity are major de facto components of gentrification, as the communities that tend to get displaced are disproportionately communities of color, but the issue can extend beyond racial inequality. New restaurant owners entering gentrifying areas are sometimes people of color themselves, but this doesn’t mean that they can’t be gentrifiers, Sbicca says. The owners of San Francisco’s new Chinatown banquet halls are Asian entrepreneurs, for instance, but still draw business primarily from non-residents.

Stephen Gillanders, the chef-owner of S.K.Y. in Chicago, where protesters confronted management, told Eater in 2018 that he’d assumed his Filipino heritage would resonate with the people of Pilsen and made a point of mentioning that S.K.Y. hires diverse talent. Yet when Gillander’s general manager shared those points with the ChiResist protesters during their encounter, the activists scoffed. Likewise, when celebrity chef Marcus Samuelsson, of Ethiopian and Swedish descent, opened soul food restaurant Red Rooster in Harlem, New York, in 2010, some criticized it for contributing to gentrification by catering to outsiders. Samuelsson is set to open a second Red Rooster in Miami’s Overtown community; it has received similar backlash from residents.

Entrepreneurs of color moving into areas that are gentrifying still face criticism because gentrification is also an issue of class, Sbicca says. “It might not be a racial shift, per se, but say there’s a wealthier African-American community that’s able to stay in that neighborhood,” he says. “Is there this economic shift that’s pricing people out?”

The crux of gentrification, in other words, is any demographic shift caused by wealthier newcomers. This shift doesn’t have to be cultural. Sometimes new residents and investors embrace the local culture, art, music, and cuisine. This means that despite the displacement of working-class communities in a gentrifying area, the original cuisine can remain. In fact, in some cases, the dominant cultural cuisine of an area has thrived during times of gentrification.

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The Brooklyn neighborhood of Crown Heights has been predominantly Caribbean and African American since the 1970s, and Caribbean cuisine has dominated its foodscape for decades. Even though gentrification started changing the income levels and racial demographics of the neighborhood more than a decade ago, Caribbean cuisine remains one of the most common cuisines in the area as recently as 2017, with at least 20 percent of all restaurants in the area serving Caribbean food, according to New York inspection data.

Similarly, Latinx cuisine remained prevalent in Brooklyn’s Bushwick neighborhood, and the number of Latinx restaurants ultimately increased, despite skyrocketing housing prices and gentrification. In Chicago’s Pilsen, the number of Mexican and Latinx restaurants also appears to increase during its gentrification periods. These places are part of the draw for gentrifiers, Sbicca says. Many middle-class or affluent people moving into urban spaces are often seeking “authentic experiences” that are different than the “pasty white suburbs” they may have grown up in, so the first waves of gentrifiers may cherish the diversity, multi-ethnic cuisine, and “authentic urban experiences” their neighborhoods have to offer.

These newcomers often pick and choose which parts of the neighborhood’s culture they want to keep around while neglecting to support others, however. “‘I want my authentic experience and I want to get my kombucha,’” Sbicca says, describing their mindset. They might dine out at local Mexican restaurants, but avoid grocery shopping at the longstanding Mexican grocer, choosing more upscale stores instead.

A cuisine’s preservation is also frequently the result of community members’ efforts. Some neighborhood activists form agreements with new businesses in an effort to protect the area’s traditional culture. In San Francisco, residents in the Mission District, a predominantly Latinx hub, fought to designate the neighborhood’s 24th Street corridor a Latino Cultural District. Now certain restaurants must meet with community members to ensure their businesses reflect the vibrant Latinx culture the designation is supposed to preserve, which includes limiting the size of new buildings, adjusting the style of storefronts, and ensuring affordable price points. Despite a citywide decline in restaurants, data show the number of Latinx restaurants in the area did not change much in the last five years.

Preventing gentrification from erasing the culture and people that have historically called an area home too often falls to the community members themselves, and data can be a useful tool in their struggle.

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Nick Kobel and Tony Lamb are analysts with the Portland Department of Planning and Sustainability in Oregon. Part of their job is to monitor neighborhoods in the city and gather insight that might prevent displacement, then make those results available to the public. Their latest research shows that residents of color are being pushed farther and farther from Portland’s city core. Areas like Woodlawn and Alberta, which once had large Black populations, have significantly fewer Black residents now than they did in 2010; those residents are settling in neighborhoods more removed from the city center, where the new restaurants and businesses are.

With their research, Kobel and Lamb were able to publish a gentrification topology outlining all the areas in Portland that are vulnerable to gentrification and displacement. The challenge from there is figuring out what stakeholders can do with that information. “Sure, maybe other bureaus don’t have to look at our numbers, but they’re accountable to the community,” Kobel says. “And if the community is asking us, the community is also asking other bureaus to do a better job at planning without displacement.”

The city’s Bureau of Transportation used the data to see if its streetcar expansion efforts would intersect with gentrifying neighborhoods and possibly increasing gentrification. The Housing Bureau used it to compare public housing development efforts. Yet minority communities in Portland, one of the whitest cities in America, are still being pushed out.

As cities vie for wealthy residents — who city officials hope will invest their capital locally — there are usually economic incentives for working with developers to revitalize communities, according to Sbicca. “There is this economic competition for people that are going to bring in tax revenue, spend dollars, etc.,” Sbicca says. “So if a city is able to find a place in their city that has ‘potential,’ there’s an economic incentive, in some respect, for developers, mayors, city council people, etc., to try to revitalize that place.”

On paper, revitalization can sound promising. But the line between revitalization and gentrification is sometimes blurred, and cities trying to “revitalize” deteriorating areas sometimes make matters worse for current residents, who find themselves having to beg city officials not to displace them.

Stage Three: It’s Too Late

The third phase of the gentrification process is perhaps the most noticeable, but by then, intervention is difficult. After creatives have moved in and attracted bigger, more expensive development to the area, the neighborhood catches the eyes of even bigger developers — the ones behind chains and big-box stores. At this point, community efforts to save the neighborhood from gentrification is very difficult. Lamb points out that during this phase, small restaurants, including the ones that displaced the pre-gentrification restaurants, begin to shutter. “Now, new development is occurring and the costs to operate a business in new developments increasingly gets to be unattainable for a new small business,” Lamb says. “So you have to find much better-capitalized businesses that can do that.”

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San Francisco saw mass demographic changes and skyrocketing costs of living starting in the late 1990s as the city transformed into a hub for tech companies. The median price of a home in San Francisco is $1.3 million today, compared to $650,000 in 2000, according to Zillow data. Apartments there are also charging some of the highest rent and housing prices on earth. As a result, the employees who staff businesses can’t afford to live in the city, while smaller enterprises have closed because they couldn’t make the rent. This is especially true for restaurants: Based on health inspection data, restaurants in the city have decreased by 44 percent in the last five years.

In New York City, the number of restaurants in the city is also declining in neighborhoods like Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and the Lower East Side in Manhattan, where gentrification began earlier than neighborhoods deeper into Brooklyn and farther away from Manhattan, like Crown Heights and Bushwick.

With more than half of restaurants that closed at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic closing for good, many fear that large businesses will swoop into vulnerable neighborhoods to buy up vacant properties at discounted prices. Minority businesses were hit especially hard during the pandemic, and the communities they serve may be especially vulnerable to new development and thus displacement. Whereas cafes, bars, and waitstaff restaurants were early indicators of gentrification that gave community members a chance to fight displacement and preserve their community culture, indicators of post-pandemic gentrification may be the appearance of big-box stores and chains. But by then, it could be too late.

Vince Dixon is the data visualization reporter at Eater.

Methodology: Eater obtained and analyzed restaurant inspection data from the health departments of Chicago, New York City and San Francisco to estimate the total number of restaurants in each city from 2010 to 2019. The restaurants were compared to median housing prices and rent data compiled by Zillow, and median income data courtesy of the U.S. Census.

Data Sources: Chicago Department of Public Health New York Department of Mental Health and Hygiene San Francisco Department of Public Health Multnomah County Environmental Health United States Census Zillow Home Value Index Zillow Observed Rent Index

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Stage One One: Third Places

[1-CHART COMPARING COFFEE SHOPS TO GROWTH IN GENTRIFICATION/DEMOGRAPHICS]

Stage Two: Bigger and Better

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[Map SHOWING PORTLAND BLACK POPULATION DISPERSING]

Stage Three: It’s Too Late

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Vince Dixon is the data visualization reporter at Eater.

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