#Also featured in my dream was the impossibility of finding street parking in LA

[freebooter4ever]

Ughhhhhhh how much concealer does it take to hide only five hours of sleep?

UGH TUMBLkrs AUTO TAG STRIKES AGAIN. tumbkr im tired of having to c*e*n*s*o*r my posts

[bishreview]

Top 50 Singles of 2017

My final article of 2017! There have been a lot of good music this year. Trying to cut down to 50 songs was a hard task, having over 70 songs by different artists before cutting them down. This means I’ve missed a lot of songs that I really wanted to add. I have finally got it down to 50 though and I have made a Spotify playlist which I will link to this if you want to check out the tracks that made it. I’ll only list from 50-21 (like I did last year) but will talk about the top 20 tracks. For statistics, I have one Canadian, four from the UK, eight from the states and a whopping 37 from Australia.

50. Never Let Me Go - Green Buzzard (AUS)

49. 911/Call Me - Tyler the Creator ft. Frank Ocean and Steve Lacy (US)

48. call the police - LCD Soundsystem (US)

47. Birthdays - The Smith Street Band (AUS)

46. Yanada - The Preatures (AUS)

45. Love Can Be. . . - Vince Staples ft. Ray J, Kilo Kish and Damon Albarn (US)

44. Pure Luck - Ninajirachi ft. Freya Staer (AUS)

43. Crushing Hard - Urthboy (AUS)

42. Murder to the Mind - Tash Sultana (AUS)

41. Dawning - DMAs (AUS)

40. Diamonds - A$AP Twelvyy ft. A$AP Rocky (US)

39. Second Hand Car - Kim Churchill (AUS)

38. Golden - Kingswood (AUS)

37. The Remedy - Polaris (AUS)

36. P Plates - Ruby Fields (AUS)

35. These Kicks - Citizen Kay ft. Georgia B. (AUS)

34. Shred for Summer - DZ Deathrays (AUS)

33. Feel It Still - Portugal. The Man (US)

32. Science Fiction - The Belligerents (AUS)

31. Cigarette - Ali Barter (AUS)

30. Got On My Skateboard - Skeggs (AUS)

29. I Haven’t Been Taking Care of Myself - Alex Lahey (AUS)

28. Andromeda - Gorillaz ft. DRAM (UK)

27. Man You Want Me To Be - WHARVES (AUS)

26. Afterthought - Dear Seattle (AUS)

25. True Lovers - Holy Holy (AUS)

24. Homely Feeling - Hockey Dad (AUS)

23. Low Blows - Meg Mac (AUS)

22. One More Love Song - Mac DeMarco (CAN)

21. The Evil Has Landed - Queens of the Stone Age (US)

20. Not Worth Hiding - Alex the Astronaut (AUS)

Alex the Astronaut has had a huge year. She released her debut album and has seen a growing fanbase to make her one of Australia’s most popular solo female artists. Her lead single Not Worth Hiding is a gorgeous song, reflecting her humble, gentle, kind attitude whilst having a relevant political point about accepting LGBTI communities

19. Night of the Long Knives - Everything Everything (UK)

Night of the Long Knives is a huge song. From the first time the chorus drops, it brings you into a darker, experimental world, shaping what is to come on most of their album A Fever Dream. Jonathan Higgen’s voice is again flexed, his falsetto being a brilliant feature in the verses.

18. Deadcrush - Alt-J (UK)

There are many highlights on Relaxer and I had a hard time picking between this, In Cold Blood¸ and Adeline. Deadcrush has become my favourite off the album though, the weird vocal in the chorus and thumping bass heavy beat making it both an intriguing listen and a danceable track.

17. Destiny’s - Arno Faraji (AUS)

Triple J’s Unearthed High winner, Arno Faraji, is the future of Australian Hip Hop. His beats are mellow, and his rapping style laid back, having a heavy influence on US rappers like Chance the Rapper and GoldLink. Definitely an artist to watch for the future, with Destiny’s being his best song so far

16. Dumb Days - Tired Lion (AUS)

Tired Lion’s debut album this year was a good listen. The title track though blows the rest of the album away. With a strong theme of growing up and missing the feeling of being younger, Sophie Hopes belts out the Smashing Pumpkins like track, with the outro chorus hitting right into the feels.

15. Friends - Kwame (AUS)

One of my best discoveries of the year was Sydney rapper Kwame. His EP Lesson Learned was a great listen from start to finish. Friends is a highlight from the EP, with a beautiful piano motif throughout, reminiscent of artists like Kanye. Another Australian rapper who will hopefully shape the future of the genre.

14. Fuck Off - Pist Idiots (AUS)

Another Triple J Unearthed find, Pist Idiots are a great punk band. On Fuck Off they don’t hold back, detailing a broken relationship where the partner doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. The brutality of the lyrics combined with the distorted, messy instrumentation is brilliant, conveying a feel of desperation in the music.                 

13. Be About You - Winston Surfshirt (AUS)

From one of the year’s angriest tracks to one of the year’s sexiest tracks, Be About You is a smooth song. With Winston’s intimate delivery in both the rap verses and the falsetto chorus, it builds like an Anderson Paak or Justin Timberlake song. Definitely the most intimate song of the year.

12. Chateau - Angus and Julia Stone (AUS)

Brother and sister duo Angus and Julia Stone returned from a long hiatus this year with their album Snow. The highlight from this album was Chateau, their biggest song since 2010’s Big Jet Plane. With gorgeous production, beautiful harmonies and a relaxed vibe, their switch to a more pop direction was a good choice, producing one of their best songs yet.

11. Run for Cover - The Killers (US)

Just missing out on my top 10 was the comeback from Las Vegas rockers, The Killers. Although lead single The Man was good, I felt Run for Cover highlighted their sound better, being a strong rock song reminiscent of past hits such as When You Were Young and Read My Mind. The quartet came back into mainstream attention this year in a big way, and Run for Cover was the track that proved it.

10. Feel the Way I Do - The Jungle Giants (AUS)

If someone told me that Jungle Giants would be releasing fresh tunas like this I’d be shocked and appalled. But here we are. From the opening keyboard motif to the singalong choruses, this has everything a perfect indie pop song needs.

9. Humble - Kendrick Lamar (US)

Humble is the biggest track of the year. It will probably win the Hottest 100 (deservedly) and will continue to dominate most dancefloors around the world. It’s mix of a catchy hook, a strong beat and Kung Fu Kenny’s signature rapping style is brilliant and it’s obvious why this song has become such a megahit.

8. Nuclear Fusion - King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard (AUS)

Out the 50-something songs that King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard have released this year, the early release Nuclear Fusion still stands tall as the best. Their exploration of microtonal tunings and riffs are at their best in this song, as they utilise microtones to create a catchy yet dissonant melodies, catching the listener off guard. The “nuclear fusion” voice is a winner as well.

7. You’re in Love with a Psycho - Kasabian (UK)

Writing a perfect pop rock song is pretty hard. It’s a risky move, balancing catchy hooks with enough experimentation to remain interesting. You’re in Love With a Psycho is one of those songs which master it though. A song which is impossible to remove from your brain once you listen to it, it’s a completely fun, silly song which you can’t stop playing on repeat. With lines like “you’re like the taste of macaroni on a seafood stick”, Kasabian might have written the most fun pop song of the year.

6. The Comedown - Ocean Alley (AUS)

Like The Jungle Giants, I wasn’t too big on Ocean Alley a couple of years back. They’ve completely converted me though with The Comedown. With crisp piano, a smooth baseline, some beautiful guitar effects and the amazing voice of Baden Donegal, Ocean Alley have filled up the hole that Sticky Fingers left behind.

5. Marryuna - Baker Boy ft. Yirrmal (AUS)

I don’t think I’ve ever heard a tradition Indigenous language rapped before, but Baker Boy’s unique style of mixing his Indigenous tongue with English is genius. He switches between languages with ease, whilst creating catchy hooks which will get you singing along, even if you don’t really know what the words mean (highly recommend looking them up though). Baker Boy is a huge talent for the next generation and hopefully we hear more Indigenous hip hop following his success.

4. Boys will be Boys - Stella Donnelly (AUS)

This song is a tough listen, and even harder to write about. Stella Donnelly’s song detailing the experience of her friend’s experience after being raped, including the victim blaming by friends and family of the rapist, is hard to hear, especially when it’s described in such an honest and detailed manner. It’s a song that needs to be written though, with it’s message as relevant as ever with protests like the ‘#metoo�� campaign bringing light to rape culture and victim blaming/shaming. It’s a beautiful song as well, with Donnelly’s voice perfectly blending with the gorgeous guitar accompaniment.

3. Exactly How You Are - Ball Park Music (AUS)

Ball Park Music were relatively quiet for most of 2017, but they released two great indie tunes in the second half, the best being Exactly How You Are. A gorgeous love song which is as beautiful as it is simple sounds like an early Beatles or Beach Boys song, as Jen and Sam’s voices harmonise perfectly together in the chorus. Be prepared for an album by the band in 2018, with second single The Perfect Life Does Not Exist also being a great song

2. Watch Me Ready You - Odette (Aus)

Some songs take a couple of listens to really sink in, but some hit you immediately. Watch Me Read You fits in that second category. I remember my first experience with this song, straight away being entranced by the lyrical work on display. Odette’s delivery is both beautiful and sinister, with a beat-poetry-like vocal performance in the verses bringing light to the stories within the lyrics. She also shows she can belt out a chorus, with the hook highlighting her impressive vocal range. This is one of those songs which stays with you but continues to surprise when you listen. Hopefully we hear more of this later on in Odette’s career.

1. What Can I Do if the Fire Goes Out - Gang of Youths (AUS)

My number one mid-year still hasn’t changed. Although released early in the year, Gang of Youth’s lead single off their acclaimed album Go Farther in Lightness still hits me hard with every listen. From the ferocious drumming, the beautiful guitar riffs and the powerful voice of David Le’aupepe, WCIDFTFGO is a massive song. With lyrics which question one’s beliefs and faith when things go wrong, it’s a deeply personal but relatable song. It’s quite ironic that this year’s number one is about the loss of faith, whilst last year’s number one (Kanye West’s Ultralight Beam) was celebrating faith. This is a powerful track though, with its highlight being the gorgeous yet intense guitar breakdown just before the final chorus. 2017 was Gang of Youth’s year, with many tracks off their album going close to taking out my number one. This single though still reigns as the strongest track though and will definitely be a Hottest 100 top 20 (and maybe 10) contender, along with other hits like Let Me Down Easy and The Deepest Sighs, The Frankest Shadows.

Well that’s 2017 done. I will definitely be doing a review of Gizzard’s last album of 2017 this week sometime (I promise) and will try to have a look at N.E.R.D’s latest album as well as hopefully seeing films like All the Money in the World and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri and reviewing both of those, as they are highly anticipated films for myself. Have a good New Year and thanks for the support. It’s been hard to keep consistent with this blog this year but next year should be a lot easier and I will try to review both films and music on a weekly basis (might be harder some weeks but we will see). Thanks.

[blue-opossum]

Josh Holloway's Corvette

        Morning of February 8, 2020. Saturday.

        Dream #: 19,409-02. Reading time: 3 min 20 sec.

        My dream self is sitting on a bench near what is seemingly a distortion of La Crosse's Loomis and Gillette Street intersection (a familiar feature that signifies instinctual awareness of synaptic gating while dreaming). If so, it would be near the northwest corner, facing south. (No bench was ever there in reality.) Although I am instinctually aware of being in the dream state and maintain the subliminal recognition of the inclination to summon content, there is no lucidity. There is no relevant association with waking life, with over 25 years of my memory blocked by synaptic gating.

        As a result of being in the dream state, I instinctually summon the factor of imaginary proprioception to vivify my dreaming experience as I have done before I could read or write and virtually every sleep cycle since. In response, my dream creates an approaching Corvette (from the east, on Gillette Street) for me to ride in, to increase imaginary physicality (for which any vehicle is typically the catalyst for this subliminal, liminal, or supraliminal anticipation). I falsely recognize the driver as Dennis (half-brother on my mother's side who I have not seen in real life since February 1994). The Corvette continues to go west. However, it returns from that direction, slows, and parks around the corner, facing north on Loomis Street. Summoned cars do not always have drivers. Sometimes they drive themselves to my location. In this case, the driver is a celebrity, the actor Josh Holloway, who I have never met in real life, to avoid associations or confusion with anyone I might know in waking life, a common factor of dream rendering.

        My dream self does not correctly perceive the character's identity at any time. I have a book on earth science as well as a graphing calculator. (There is no backstory to this, though it signifies a thread of emerging cognizance.) I get into the car and sit in the back seat, which exponentially vivifies my dream, though the inside is ambiguous. Inside, the back is a bedroom, which is impossible, yet it remains a car. (I do not find this unusual, as subliminal features of being in the dream state have been a fundamental factor of my dreams since earliest memory.)

        As we travel north, I have a slight wariness at first about the speed of the car and the driver's competence. However, because of my instinctual awareness that I am dreaming, I realize the car's speed or where it goes does not matter at all and that there could be no possible danger to me.

        Curiously, earth induction (though technically reinduction in this case), typically only occurring at the beginning of my sleep cycle, integrates into my dream temporarily and vivifies it to an even greater extent. What may be kitty litter (though this association is incidental), as coarse gray grains of sand, starts flowing from an unseen bag underneath something on my right. I consider I may have absentmindedly tore or bumped the bag. As a result, somatosensory arousal increases exponentially. Some grains get between the pages of my book, but it is mainly inconsequential.

        Josh seems puzzled when he turns around to look at me but is not angry. I notice more gray sand flowing out of a tear on the lower back of the driver's seat on its right. There is also a small amount flowing from the left side of the empty front passenger's seat. My dream's vividness starts to lessen when I get the impression we will be going to a movie (association with the fantasy of the dream state). We stop at an unfamiliar movie theater. I do not know what movie is playing.

        I decide I will pay for all the movie tickets (instinctual awareness of endless wealth in dreams). A few unfamiliar people join us. I summon four Australian fifty-dollar bills into my empty wallet and watch them appear out of nowhere. Interestingly, this does not trigger a single thread of waking-life recall that I live in Australia or any viable factor of my waking life (though Australian money would not be used in an American movie theater anyway), so synaptic gating is restricted here. When I hand the fifty-dollar bill to Josh, it transforms into a piece of paper with handwriting across its width. (This lack of consistency has been a common factor of summoning and mediating imaginary money since childhood.) I try several more times to will the fifty-dollar bills to remain "real." I hand a note to the cashier, and it changes as well. Eventually, I am distracted and start using the process to entertain other people who are present. My wallet fills with American one-dollar bills. One bill is square, and George Washington resembles a cartoon character. One note has a comedic sketch of Nixon.

        Four people start dancing and singing, side by side. One of them, an unknown male, is wearing a comedic Nixon mask. I start laughing to the point where my laughter fills my dream, and I wake.

[flydeparture-blog]

MARKJIN

YOU MAKE THE WINTER FEEL WARMER

Crystalised paintings etched on the window pane, the winter leaving swirls and pictures in it's wake as it swept through the town. Heavy snow had fallen in the night, coating the streets and roofs in a powdery white blanket, halting the day's proceedings in a matter of hours. Two young men clung to each other in their apartment, average in size and average in content. The furniture was mismatched and second hand, chips on coffee tables and frayed arm chairs. Books piled on top of each other, towered like sky scrapers, lining the walls and overflowing past the rickety old book shelf they had been leant by their friends. Dog eared and read multiple times, it was rare to find a brand new edition amongst the previously owned pick ups. The radiators hummed into the space, clunking to squeeze even a little bit of heat out. The male of onyx tresses grumbled when an ear splitting buzz rang through the apartment, his companion stirring if only for a moment, before he nuzzled back into the safe press of his boyfriend's chest. Because today was a Tuesday, and Park Jinyoung was a school teacher, specializing in literature to be exact. He peeled his eyes open to spot the digits of six thirty flashing at him from behind his cuddler, taking a second to yawn, then reaching over to slam down the snooze button, pausing that horrible screech. Dreading leaving the warmth and comfort of his baby intertwined with him, Jinyoung forced himself to gently unwrap himself from the other and to heave of the bed to prepare for school, not before sitting up groggily to glare at the alarm clock one last time. Showered and cleanly shaven, the teacher dressed in a crisp white tee and tucked it smartly into his camel trousers, snatching up his briefcase full with marked work and lesson plans, and headed for the door. Just as he reached for his coat, a text message sound pinged from his phone usually dormant in his pocket. Dark brows furrowing low in curiosity, the man plucked the device from it to glance at the illuminated screen. 

[text from: Im Jaebum] Snow has taken over the town and teachers are stuck at home. The first message read, Jinyoung quirking a brow, surprised to see his close friend and principle of the school texting. The sharp jawed and sharp eyed man wasn't one to text. [text from: Im Jaebum] Students probably won't be able to get in either... take the day off, I'll call a snow day. Hickory irises widened at the screen, re-reading the message to ensure he had this right. Jaebum was known for his professionalism and persistence, that was what made him such a successful principle. So to see him be liberal and give the school the day off was... unusual. Not one to disturb the decision, Jinyoung tapped out a quick reply of thanks and swiveled on his heels to practically gallop back to bed, kicking off his shoes in different directions and dumping his briefcase on a threadbare sofa. A trail of clothing was left on the way to the room that was currently occupied by his dozing love. Mark was a writer you see, and tended to work from home when he wasn't brewing coffees at the local cafe. His boyfriend's soft brunette locks were the only thing that poked up from the white sheets, curled up in a ball. The darker haired man folded up his glasses onto the bedside table, sliding back under the covers in his boxers and fitted back into the puzzle piece of his boyfriend who cocooned himself in the duvet. The lighter haired boy's nose scrunched up as he was shifted from his slumber, brows pulling into a frown as his lips pursed. Jinyoung let a grin tickle his lips while he admired his partner. Mark's golden brown fringe fell fluffed up slightly over his closed eyes, quivering as he roused from sleep. Delicate purple veins mapped along the lid, the skin alabaster and almost translucent in the rising sunlight that peeked through the floral curtains. Impossibly long lashes fluttered, caught up in a dream of pastel colours and weightlessness. His nose was sloping long, the bridge curved. Pert lips that were made to press against Jinyoung's, relaxed in a parting for a soft sigh to escape, following the shape of a perfect cupids bow. His jaw drew a strong line down, completing the ethereal features that made up Mark Tuan's face. Jinyoung's heart squeezed at the sight of him warm and snuggled up, soft round the edges and drowning in an over-sized tee. Jinyoung could write poems and prose about his baby, highlighted with glitter and dosed in a honey wash, a thing of beauty and wonderment to behold. He was precious to him. It took a few seconds for the sleep heavy Mark to register that his boyfriend was back in bed with him, squinting out of one eye when Jinyoung traced a hand over his hip and into the dip of his waist. Fully waking up now, the dream fuzzed male shuffled into a leisurely stretch, what could only be described as a purr vibrating from his chest. Jinyoung grinned once more. His boyfriend really was gorgeous in the mornings, sleepy Mark was one of Jinyoung's favourite Mark's. "Go back to sleep honey." Jinyoung encouraged him in a whisper, tapping a gentle pat on his bum as he did. Not able to resist, the teacher shifted closer to press a lethargic kiss on Mark's forehead, dotting two over the eyelids for good measure. "But why are you-" Mark began, interrupted by a lackadaisical yawn. "Why are you back in bed?" He questioned, eyes sliding shut again as he accommodated for his boyfriend's form, slotting a leg in between Jinyoung's. "It snowed pretty heavy last night, Jaebum closed the school." He explained, carding a hand through his partner's honeycomb waves. Mark only hummed in understanding, pulling Jinyoung closer by his waist. "Was'time?" He mumbled, his voice also hushed in the early morning of snowfall. "Just gone seven." Jinyoung informed him with a peak over Mark's shoulder, finally allowing himself to relax into the mattress and his beloved writer. "Lets just sleep." He proposed, not hearing an argument from the other and surely drifting back to sleep as the clock ticked in the kitchen and the tap dripped in the bathroom. Hours cruised by as the boys slept, safe in their fortress of warmth from the billowing winds that rattled shingles outside. The teacher woke once more to kisses being pecked repetitively on his lips, startling the other when he finally awoke and kissed back. Though Mark was only halted for a second, smiling into the kiss as a hand found the younger's arse, squeezing playfully. Jinyoung let out a soft moan, cupping Mark's jaw which grazed his palm with morning stubble. The older caught the other's lip between his teeth, worrying the plump flesh while Jinyoung groaned. He moved in to tangle his tongue with the other until Jinyoung chuckled against his mouth. "Morning breath, gross." Jinyoung complained, though still pecking a chaste kiss on the other male. "Oh shut up, like that's ever stopped us before." Mark reminded him, open mouthed kisses following. Lazily they explored each other, with no need to rush anywhere and with no deadlines to be met, the two young men allowed themselves to drink each other in. Hands found pliable flesh on arses and thighs, Jinyoung hooking Mark's leg over his hip, hinging behind the knee. Mark skated his hands down Jinyoung's bare front, aimless patterns found in the lines of his abdomen. The duvet slipped as they moved, exposing them both to the frigid air of the apartment. Mark was the first to shiver, Jinyoung registering it wasn't just from the kisses they shared. "God that's cold." The LA native pointed out to embrace his partner tighter as if to dispel the drop in temperature with their shared heat. "Wanna warm up with a bath?" The younger suggested, rubbing a hand up and down the others arm in an attempt to warm him. "Yes! Lets have a bath together." Mark beamed, mocha hue's illuminated with flecks of gold. "I've already showered today!" Jinyoung whined, throwing his head back for dramatic affect. "So? Bath with me you big meanie, otherwise I'll be all on my own." Mark pouted, bottom lip jutting out as he did. Jinyoung could only heave out a sigh, unable to resist a pouting Mark. "Eugh fine, but only if you run it." A grin lit up Mark's face, dropping a quick kiss on the other's cheek before he jumped out of bed, scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. The dark haired male shook his head with a fond smile dancing across his lips, pushing himself up into sitting to wait for the declaration that the bath was ready. Reaching the bathroom doorway, inside Jinyoung set eyes on one of the most adorable scenes he had witnessed. Bubbles with a hue of pink in the light foamed, surrounding the waiting form of his baby, steam rolling off the surface as Mark's cheeks flushed ruddy from the heat and his hair fuzzed up from the condensation. A lucid grin stretched across his face, perfect pearly white teeth gleaming, the heavy scent of lavender hung in the air. Jinyoung's heart sang. "Get in then!" Mark chirped, giggling at Jinyoung's roll of his eyes, but bouncing up and down in place from sheer excitement as he moved to join him. Water lapped over the tub's sides, but neither paid it any attention. The bathroom wasn't exactly the grandest of appliances. The younger was quick to settle himself into the water, letting out a small yelp when his foot met the sudden change in temperature. As soon as he could relax in the welcoming bath, he reached over to pull the other towards him, Mark angling his legs to wrap around Jinyoung's sides. "Warmer?" He queried, feeling his own skin rouging in the calidity. "Much." The writer nodded once, leaning forward to touch a sweet kiss on the other's lips. Jinyoung's hands found his knees, squeezing before he broke the kiss. "Come on then, lets wash your hair." He proposed, cupping the warm water to wet his boyfriend's hair, the light locks darkening as they became water logged and dripped down his shoulders. The droplets glistened like glass when they caught the light, Jinyoung dipping to kiss some of them away as he snatched up the shampoo. Massaging it into his scalp, tender smiles and content sighs echoed through the room, bouncing off the tile walls. Positions shifted and Mark ended up with his back resting against Jinyoung's front, lathering each other up in body wash to leave them sharing the floral fragrance. They lazed around in the tub, idle kisses and affectionate touches filling the time until the water turned tepid. Hunger was satisfied once they dressed in sweats and hoodies, knitted cardigans and fluffy socks wrapping them up. They gorged on whatever they could find in the house, neither willing to venture out into the chilling winds and winter wonderland that lay just outside their doorstep. They made hot chocolate with marshmallows and dustings of chocolate, continuously squirting on way too much cream until they felt sick. They tangled with each other on the loudly patterned sofa, wasting the hours with dramas and movies, Jinyoung insisting they watched at least one old classic. Mark obliged if he could use Jinyoung as a muse for one of his characters. He agreed. Time stretched on as the black and white picture flickered and crackled on screen, the teacher already lost in the old time Hollywood motion. Mark lay is head on his boyfriend's lap, threading the material of Jinyoung's joggers through his fingers nonchalantly. It was here the older felt safe, in their average apartment with their average activities, with his not so average love. He could relax and let the silences stretch, he could work into the early hours of the morning and always be welcomed back with open arms. It was here that the younger could unwind, could allow himself to knock down the professional wall and just be a twenty something man. It was here that they felt themselves, and it was here that they would stay for many, many years to come.

[tombaragwanath]

138 Haiku for Ahm-Ree-Kah

Said Whitman one time: “America: that great poem.” The greatest, even.

In this tradition, let me present most humbly a Whitman’s sampler.

Only with fewer Cashew Clusters™ and slightly more facetiousness.

Los Angeles

Who has ever seen such strong light hitting green hills? And highways, highways.

A smiling man in a green and white food truck hands me three tacos.

Golden, delicious, they go well with the soda people keep on hand.

Big Sur

Mountains roll sharply into angry green-white surf. Bridges span chasms.

Where did Kerouac sleep, as a local? Was it in this log cabin?

Likely not. This spot is muddy, expensive, and less than fully Zen.

Cannery Row

Rattlesnakes, dusty- eyed and serene, fill my thoughts of this dream-like place.

In reality, Mac & co have moved on. The hotel looks nice, though.

Steinbeck and Ricketts: dudes sharing their many loves. Got to commend that.

I think I buy this book for people because it is short and punchy.

In that it punches the reader in the heart with warm contemplations.

Look, just go buy a copy for yourself. Hell, send me your damn address.

San Francisco

Orange steel stretches impossibly across churn and wash of green salt.

How could you not love the city of Al Ginsberg? Rain falls in warm streets.

I run up to the big red radio tower. A glorious view.

This one other dude was running close behind me. I felt I knew him.

Amtrak: San Francisco to Chicago

The furnishings may be dated, but the burgers? Salty. Prepared weekly.

Who cares? This train goes through snowy mountains, deserts, and seven (eight?) states.

The viewing car is full of folks taking it in with icy cold drinks.

Everyone wants to talk at lunch. Wrestling, birds, democracy, Trump.

Good thing every one of these passengers is well over sixty.

Plenty of time to gather esoteric facts for polite strangers.

There’s a kindness, a lulling passivity of wheels over tracks.

We share a “roomette”. Lordy, to be paid to come up with product names.

Seventy hours on the train. I could have stayed on no problem at all.

Chicago

Where can we find Jeff Tweedy? I guess I thought he would just be around.

Those cake stand towers are right outside our hotel. Black against blue sky.

The freezing wind lifts from Lake Michigan like a swift kick in the teeth.

The lines in the grey city stay sharp as night falls over the water.

In the donut shop a young kid clutches pastry tight in his fingers.

If we lived here I’d likely revert back to him. They were that damn good.

“Fire Cakes”. Hell of a name for sugar, pastry, cream. Better than DD.

Detroit

I keep a lookout for ambiguous danger, but I need not fret.

Once shrines to commerce, now dusty car garages. I guess it happens.

Some dude is buying up city blocks and hiring his own police force.

How do locals feel? Is the cash grab members-only? Who is invited?

Our Uber driver has a kind face. He tutors math on Monday nights.

He drives us to Grosse Pointe. “Old-school rich Detroiters.” He knows a few souls.

A bored waiter feeds us some gourmet duck fried rice. We talk past closing.

New York City (Vol. 1)

Hello again, dear friend. I see your street vendors are still hustling dosas.

We walk in Central Park under light snow. Who keeps knitting dog sweaters?

Bowling, falafel, Animal Collective, beers. Sleepy subway home.

Montreal

We walk a mastiff cross named Mischa. The sidewalk salt hurts her paw pads.

The temperature? Negative butthole degrees. Still kids play hockey.

Poutine, coffee, sleep. When wearing two coats just isn’t enough.

Boston

A guy selling ham sandwiches knows about home. “Mate! Bro!”, he exclaims.

We walk the brick lane of Paul Revere’s freedom trail to get cannoli.

Can one highway off- ramp cleave itself into four? In Boston, it might.

Brattleboro, Vt.

Sweet land of Bernie! Syrup, pie, cider, pecans. Anarchist bookstores.

We find a brewery serving solely sour brews with faux-Catholic names.

“The Angry Bishop.” “Cardinal’s Peach Party Ale.” You get the idea.

Who knew a maple latte could actually be good? Fuck Starbucks™.

Our dear friends have a small human baby! We read Hairy MacLary.

Boston (again)

So much brotherhood present tonight at the men’s candlestick bowling.

They let Dianny rent shoes, but keep an eye out for any girl stuff.

Philadelphia

City of the Roots! Of Federal Fried Chicken! Of Kurt Vile’s soft drawl!

Isaiah Zagar. His name is colour, movement; a poem in itself.

We visit all the historical stuff. Highlight? Hot cheese steaks. No shame.

Washington D.C.

We stand hemmed in with a million other people. And yet, no ruckus.

Except the ruckus of a giant yarn uterus. That’s dedication.

On the bus homeward passengers doze against each other, smiling, spent.

Baltimore

Four-storey spiral shark tank. Kindly swim clockwise, or you’ll be gnawed at.

Aquarium, then Shake Shack™. Penguins, tortoises, wee sloth family.

They have these fishes that aim spit at bugs, knocking them into the stream.

Our Uber driver is a chicken connoisseur. He suggests Popeye’s.

Our burgers make him peckish. We offer to share. He laughs. He’s all good.

We spend the morning with Bloody Marys and some crab cake Benedict.

And the afternoon sharing cheesecake, fudge blocks, and enjoying Face / Off.

Blue Ridge Parkway

It is my birthday. And our anniversary. Waffle House™ it is.

Two lovely old chaps man the lonely tourism centre. It’s winter.

We’re likely the sole visitors for the day. They seem just fine with that.

The long drive rewards us with thick stands of fir trees dripping with winter.

A recreated length of train tracks shows us where commerce once began.

Are the bears sleeping? Unclear. Better keep any Snyder’s™ in the car.

We come upon an abandoned farm house. Trees grow clear through the iron roof.

Grizzled red cattle stand in the shade of an old leaning wooden barn.

Dianny takes a bunch of photos. I prepare myself for locals.

The parkway sometimes seems to run itself purely into the blue sky.

The precise hue of the blue hills evades capture   in these meagre words.

Suffice to tell you: the breath quickens, the heart swells, and everything stops.

Asheville

We wind up stopping in Asheville. They have a sweet pinball museum.

Murakami would thoroughly lose his shit with the range of machines.

We eat salty fried green tomatoes, cheese grits, and Madras chilli fries.

Nashville

Yo La Tengo are fans of Prince’s Hot Chicken. Take their word for it.

Did you ever eat chicken so hot you had to avoid touching…parts?

Trust me, dearest friends. Do not mess about with these rocks of pure hellspice.

The old Drake Hotel. “Stay where the stars stay!” In the seventies, perhaps.

We meet a couple from Carolina outside the Bluebird Café.

They have one ticket between them. She goes in. He peers through the glass door.

We continue to eat the kind of barbeque one might brag about.

Charleston

A sign outside a bar proclaims the presence of Bill Murray. Cheap trick.

Doesn’t stop us from pulling off the road in a cloud of gravel dust.

What a pair of chumps. We practice our lines in case he needs two more friends.

An anti-climax, but we still enjoy foaming ale (and more pinball).

Our BNB host has framed pictures of Xena, Warrior Princess.

She is thrilled to hear where we’re from. Less thrilled to hear we don’t know Lucy.

Savannah

Tickets for Moonlight. Two other people in the cinema. Both leave.

More great barbeque. Cornbread, sticky ribs, collards. One meal for the day.

St. Augustine

A diamond-shaped stone fortress keeps the harbour safe from the English hordes.

Portly volunteers fire the neutered guns hourly just to scare tourists.

Orlando

Okay, we did it. We went to Universal™. We have few regrets.

Di got to pretend to be a wizard for a time. Wand included.

Turns out Butter Beer is a kind of ginger fizz with marshmallow foam.

My younger stomach was far better at dealing with roller coasters.

Still, I ride them all. Because I am a tightwad. And also, reals tough.

Two days of this stuff is enough for me to crave a quiet darkened room.

Miami

Will Smith was correct. Miami certainly does bring the heat, for real.

We sneak in to some hotel lounge chairs and disguise ourselves as ballers.

No one is convinced, but the waiters humour us. I get lobster burnt.

I get to practice my toddler-grade español with real life toddlers.

Donde es Tomas? El es aqui! El es muy fuerte, y tonto!

Es peligroso para tocar los…raccoons...  (I don’t know “raccoons”).

New Orleans

There is a riot of big band horns lifting through the hot fragrant air.

Carry your open drink anywhere you like, friend. Just be nice, or leave.

We rent bicycles and spend long warm afternoons avoiding pot holes.

A boisterous young dude yells to us through a broken window as we pass.

Stay off Bourbon Street. It’s like Courtenay Place, but somehow even worse.

We stumble upon an impossibly raucous Mardi Gras parade.

One float shows paper mache Putin gleefully rogering Donald.

Another Donald is roped above a sharp-toothed  sarlacc vagina.

Elsewhere, Donalds endure a colourful range of brutal torture.

All of the craft stores must have sold out of his shade of neon orange.

The vile bloat of his maniac features seems a popular float choice.

Just not popular enough for the popular vote. Can’t help myself.

Our cab driver is most delighted to hear us use the term “had beef”.

He tells us he has always wanted to travel to Australia.

New York City (Vol. 2)

NYC round two! It’s so nice to be back in your cathedral streets.

We create habits: Morning run, bagel, coffee, then museums.

A couple of films, a trip to Katz’s deli for pastrami on rye.

An afternoon in Bushwick, fossicking about in the vintage aisles.

Time is running out in a nice way. Three months is likely sufficient.

Last day. JFK. John Mayer sings with great breath in duty-free aisles.

A table of young Russians pick hot pineapple from pizza slices.

Soon I will not speak the language. I think I was alright at charades.

Thank you, Ahm-Ree-Kah. Your people have been a trip. All the best with Trump.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: A Play About Metalheads and Metal Hearts

La Mélancolie des dragons (2017) (all photos by Martin Argyroglo, courtesy the Kitchen)

Pete Townsend once said in an interview that what made rock and roll so interesting to him was the challenge of making something elaborate and interesting happen within the strict and simple structure of the format’s four walls. As maligned as it might be as a genre, heavy metal is one of the more fun examples of this challenge being taken on. The metalheads that populate La Mélancolie des dragons — a delightful play from director Philippe Quesne and Vivarium Studio which recently had a run at the Kitchen — all display the inventiveness of which Townsend speaks within the four walls of the stage and the simple construct of the play.

Before the play starts, the gathering audience can make out four figures gesticulating and drinking in a Volkswagen Rabbit with a little trailer attached behind it. The play properly begins as soon as the first power chords of AC/DC’s “Back in Black” send this motley crew driving into the night in a flurry of head banging and fist pumping to a handful of heavy metal classics — from AC/DC to Iron Maiden to Scorpions, with some French metal thrown in for good measure. The good times stop their rolling when engine trouble lands the gang at the edge of a snowy forest. It’s not so bad, though. In fact, it’s an idyllic spot for the four metalheads to drift into a slumber to Scorpions’ power ballad, “Still Loving You.” And then, along came Isabelle.

A curious local woman, Isabelle, happens upon the sleeping foursome. After waking them up, we find out they have three more friends sleeping in the trailer they’re hauling. After Isabelle’s failed attempt to fix their engine and her ineffectual call to the local mechanic, it turns out these characters are going to have some time to kill. It also turns out that the men have something to share with Isabelle, a project they’ve been working on — a dream really. It is, of course, a heavy metal amusement park. Would it be OK if they tell Isabelle about their ideas? “Yes,” Isabelle assures them. “Yes, it would.”

And this is where the wonder begins. This is also the part where I tell you that it’s as far as plot and character go. A car breaks down. A local appears. A dream is displayed. This doesn’t sound like much, but the couple times I cried and the two-handed devil horns I thrust toward the sky at the end of the show would beg to differ.

But back to the wonder. The crew pulls down three of the side walls of the trailer, transforming it into a little stage with a handful of long-haired-rocker wigs hanging from the ceiling, and they invite Isabelle to be in the center of all the action. They bring out a fog machine, stage lights and a fan for blowing the hair on the wigs around for that 80s video feel. A tarp that had previously been lain on the ground is repurposed as a balloon by filling it with air from the same fan that had been used to blow fog moments before. The billowing surface suddenly has an unexpected beauty to it. Just as I am thinking this Isabelle echoes my feelings by saying, “So touching.” Yes, it was.

In La Mélancolie des dragons (2017), the characters show off one of the attractions they’ve constructed.

And there were more visual and musical treats in store. The balloon is carried about the stage in a way that is inexplicably moving. There are many things that are inexplicably moving. Sometimes it’s the metalheads’ insistence on asking Isabelle’s permission to show her their next idea. (“Isabelle? Isabelle.” was like a refrain I couldn’t get out of my head the next day.) A shift to classical music is used for epic effect a few times, the best moment being when Isabelle climbs a ladder and all the elements were brought together — the fog machine, the fan, and bubble machine — soaring up to envelop Isabelle as though she is being shot in a dramatic film set in the Himalayas.

There is also a dark side that the crew wants to show Isabelle. The oldest metalhead assures her that it will be a little scary, but not too much. Four large black balloons, as tall as the set, are filled with air and walked to the back of the stage, completely blocking most of the light that had been shining through the trees. Naturally, the fog machine is put into use. Shadows, light and fog, and standing before it is Isabelle in all her awe. She says, “It’s possible to disappear.” And we do. Elaborate and interesting things had happened in the most basic of boxes. Thanks, guys. Thanks, Isabelle.

The audience knew they had witnessed something so magical that they didn’t want the actors to leave the stage. They didn’t want to leave this imaginary amusement park. I overheard a woman behind me say, “I want to see it again. Right now.”

I didn’t want it to end either. And then, much to my delight, it didn’t. The play followed me out into the rainy night. As I made my way across the intersection at Tenth Avenue and 19th Street I heard music coming from inside a car parked near the corner. When I got closer I realized that somebody was blasting Poison’s “Nothin’ But A Good Time.” I paused in absolute wonder. Then I walked to the subway thinking about the person in the car and about what their dreams might have been. As Bret Michaels sings, “And it don’t get better than this.” Exuent.

The idea of freedom being simply able to roll down the highway in two tons of steel with your friends is an important one in metal. The image of metalheads driving and head banging mindlessly might be what it looks like to the outsider, but inside the car it’s a place of safety,  fellowship, and sometimes heated debate (which Iron Maiden was better: the Bruce Dickinson or Paul Di’Anno version?). This is the visual image with which La Mélancolie des dragons begins, and the soundtrack to the camaraderie was probably mainstream enough that even the least metalheaded in the audience were familiar with some of the tunes. However, to the boys in the broken down Volkswagen, I’d like to recommend a handful of bands who might be a little more off the road.

Roxxcalibur

A NWOBHM (New Wave of British Heavy Metal) tribute band has to be the dodgiest musical idea ever. And yet, Roxxcalibur is a complete success. NWOBHM was a musical movement in Great Britain in late 1970s and early 1980s that featured fast guitars and a heightened melodic sensibility. Most metalheads cherish this era, so one false move and Roxxcalibur could easily have gone down the tubes. There are no false moves though. Not one. Just a glorious guitar gallop down NWOBHM’s cherished past.

Jaguar

More NWOBHM! But this time, the real stuff. This NWOBHM crew from Bristol practically gave birth to speed metal. Great riffs and Garry Peppard’s insanely fast guitar leads kept Jaguar prices high on Ebay and their influence deep and wide in all genres of metal over the years. In 2011, Buried By Time and Dust Records released a live outing from 1982, Axe Crazy In Holland. I can barely sit still when I have the thing on my turntable. Playing almost impossibly out of control, the band somehow keeps the whole thing from toppling over again and again. It’s a thrilling ride.

Chastain

Guitarist David Chastain is a dazzling technician, and his solo instrumental albums are a blast. However, the records that he made with his eponymous band, Chastain, are where the fun really begins — especially the ones when Leather Leone is his singer and chief collaborator. The guitarist gets to keep his pyrotechnics but Leather brings the party and she brings the party hard. It’s a match made in the happiest of helldoms.

Manilla Road

Manilla Road is for that secret place in your heart where you know you’ve wasted your time here on earth, because you didn’t spend it dropping acid with biker gangs and contracting syphilis. Manila Road’s heaviness is more a sum of its parts than a singular thing that can be pointed to. They’ve worked the underground and the back roads for a long time, never quite achieving anything close to mainstream success and very much not caring. Rock and roll, man.

Scorpions (early)

Yes, the boys in the Volkswagen and the trailer were headbanging to the later, more hit-heavy version of Scorpions, but I’ve always found the band at its most endearing when guitar madman, Uli Roth, was with them from 1973 through 1977. In fact, I ignored Scorpions for decades until I discovered the Uli years. That’s when I worked my way forward in their catalogue and fell in love with everything. Uli was my gateway drug. If you’ve ever wondered what a dark rainbow would sound like when it’s applied to a power chord, this is where to start.

La Mélancolie des dragons played at the Kitchen (512 W 19th Street, Chelsea, Manhattan) January 10–14. It will play at the Wexner Center for the Arts (1871 N High Street, Columbus, OH) January 19–22 and then at the Walker Art Center (725 Vineland Place, Minneapolis, MN) January 26–28.

The post A Play About Metalheads and Metal Hearts appeared first on Hyperallergic.

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