#BUT IT’S STILL NOY RAINING

[e77y]

It is so cold on this goddamn bus. Please. Help

[moldycantaloupe]

Hey! If it isnt too late could I request a mix of/either 14 or 32 from that list with Raindrop? (Or honestly, any of them with Raindrop. They all work too well.) Thank you 😍

I got... a little carried away with this one. But from prompts list 14/32, here's 1040 words of Dewdrop and newly summoned Rain getting it on for the first time. Can be read as t4t or not, I couldn't make up my mind of what to do

Cw for weed usage, slight slight exhibitionism.

Rain’s summoning was nothing short of chaos, but through it they only had eyes on the fiery demon that stood ten paces away from them, staring at them with wary eyes. They didn’t know what the look meant at the time, but now they looked back at the day and recognized the fear. The hesitation. 

They had done their damndest to buddy up with Dew, but were consistently met with a cold shoulder or bared teeth. The day that Dew had looked them up and down before nodding to just practicing together was the day their confidence began to bloom. Dew had actually regarded them, and what more could they want?

A couple months later and everyone knew the two were dancing around each other, trying to figure out who would initiate anything first. Dew was lounging on the couch in the commons room when Rain snuck behind and tapped his shoulder. He hummed in acknowledgement and glanced behind, sharing a smug smile with Rain when they shook a tin they definitely did not steal from Swiss’ stash. They’d replace it later, they figured. Dew stood from the couch and with one glance behind him, snuck away with Rain to the lake.

They had shared a joint back and forth with each other on the lakeside dock, giggling about anything that was even remotely funny. Or even if it wasn’t funny, they were giggling to each other. Rain was blissed out and higher than they’ve ever been, propped up by their elbows, feet and tail dangling in the water. Dew was sitting cross legged next to him, smoking the last of the joint before dumping it into the lake.

“Dew,” Rain grumbled, their tail lashing out of the water to hit his shin. He cackled.

“Biodegradable, Rainy.” Dew kicked their tail away. “It’s from Mountain, everything from Mountain is biodegradable.”

“You still shouldn’t do that, the fish could burn.” Rain looked up at him with a pout, causing him to sputter out a laugh.

Rain lifted themselves until they were sat up, eyes wide. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“The fish could burn,” Dew echoed, another round of laughter leaving him, “that’s fucking awesome!”

“Dew!” Rain lifted their tail to slap his forearm, leaving a wet mess behind. “I’m serious!”

“You’re serious!” Dew fell down onto the dock as he continued to cackle at them. Rain’s pout furthered and they brought their feet out of the water, crawling over to hover above him.

“That’s not funny!” They grabbed his hand that was trying to smack them away, lifting it above his head. He continued to laugh, eyes closed and grinning like a maniac. There was a beat where his laughs began to simmer down, and when Rain leaned their face in closer they swore that-

“Are you fucking crying?” They nearly yelled, forcing Dew back into a laughing fit. “Seven hells, the fish are dying and you’re laughing at them!”

“Rain-” Dew tried to lift his other arm to them, but to no avail. They snatched it with their free hand and forced it to join the other above his head. They made to climb higher up to him, their knee accidentally riding up to his crotch. The laughing was interrupted by a breathy moan, one that could’ve been mistaken for a sigh. The air around them stilled, Dew still grinning but his laughing finally dying down.

Rain, in a moment of clarity, straightened up above him, hands flying away.

“Shit, sorry Dew-”

“No,” Dew, gasping in lungfuls of air, shook his head against the wood. “Do it again.”

Rain felt a blush creep down their neck as they slowly leaned back down, hands slowly making their way back to hold his own. Cautiously, they forced their knee to hit him again, another noise leaving those parted lips.

“O-oh,” they mumbled. 

“‘Oh.’” Dew mimicked. “Keep going.”

Rain kept their timid pace, wringing out small noises and sighs from the fire ghoul below them. They could feel themselves getting hot as they watched that pretty blush on him grow darker as the spiced arousal began to kick in around the two. Dew began to rock back into their knee, those loose shorts becoming damp with his own arousal and those noises becoming louder.

Rain couldn’t help themselves to start rocking their own hips, trying to find some sort of friction. Dew stilled only slightly to hook a leg around their waist, forcing them down until they were bumped into each other, knee now forgotten.

They whined at just how wet and wrecked they already were when Dew began grinding up again. They started their own tempo, trying their best to match Dew’s. They closed any space left and brought their foreheads together, sharing hot breath between the two as their orgasm slowly began building. 

“I haven’t been Topside long,” they paused to let out a breathy whimper, eyes shut tight, “but since when did friends do things like this?”

Dew cackled and lifted his head to breathe in their ear, “People who are just friends don’t do this shit, and you know it.”

Rain’s heart leapt out of their chest and their hips started to move in erratic pacing. Dew laughed to himself at just how worked up the water ghoul was above him, but kept the comment to himself.

“Dew, shit,” they mumbled, eyes still shut tight, “I think- I think I-”

“Me too, Waterlily,” he mouthed at their cheek, leaving spit behind, “I’ll be right by you.”

Rain hit their orgasm in record time, hips chasing the blinding heat until it became too much. They leaned down with their elbows holding them up besides Dew head, kissing up and around his neck as he came himself, if the gasps and grunts were anything to go by.

They laid like that for what could’ve been hours in their intoxicated states, mouthing at each other's necks and leaving bruises behind. Rain grimaced when they shifted to lay on Dew’s side rather than on top, seeing how slick and sticky their underwear became.

“Well,” Dew turned his head to look into their eyes with a sly grin, breathing finally evened out, “now that’s that out of the way, wanna do it properly?”

Rain searched his face with wide eyes, their lips parted as they felt that electric zing of arousal go down their spine again. When they found no malicious intent behind those copper eyes, they nodded enthusiastically.

[thatsrightice]

Aug 16, 1943 - Most of the day filled with alarms and excursions regarding the mission projected for tomorrow - general impression is both Zebra and Sunflower will be attacked tomorrow. Base on full alert, late in the day. Crew warned to prepare canteens, extra rations, arms, shelter halves, iron rations and other ominous articles. Afraid it is real.

Aug 17, 1943 (Regensburg) - Hunch was correct. The Group took off, maximum strength at 0730 hours on the long awaited shuttle trip to North Africa. Twenty-one (21) aircraft took off - Major Kidd leading, Major Egan second in command, Major Cleven and Major Veal led their Squadrons. A good many eggs in one basket. The Bombardier and Navigator had been studying the target for week, but did not know its name or location until the briefing. Objective was characterized in the annex to the Field Order as "The most important ever bombed anywhere." Entire station is sweating this one out - Doris Flesson back on the field with Walter Logan of UP to interview the crews when they return - expected in three days.

Aug 18, 1943 - No new directly from our Combat Crews. Bomber Command has word from Colonel Curtis LeMay, who led mission, that the target was destroyed - we know that the boys got to the target and LeMay's plane at least reached North Africa. Rumor that about 115 Fortresses were safely on the ground, seven in the Mediterranean Sea and two on Switzerland. Today our seven remaining crews took off to raid Dutch airports. Interrogation was interrupted to show crews photos, just received, of what the boys did at Regensburg - it was blasted to Hell and Gone. ME assembly plant in shambles - about a square mile of ruins. Photos show the Red Cross Hospital on the edge of the target area untouched - testifying to the accuracy of our bombing. The 100th MPI (Mean Point of Impact) obliterated. If our crews return safely it will have been a great mission for us any case will go down as one of the great air exploits of the war.

Aug 20, 1943 - Still sweating out our Combat Crews - no hint as to when they will return. Operations hasn't heard a word, although higher headquarters may have. Not a hint as to individual Group losses.

Aug 21, 1943 - Terrific rainstorm during the night - a regular Texas dew. Still overcast and raining this morning, so boys will probably won't get home today. Note: Officers mess profited indirectly by this mission. Combat Crew mess was unable to refrigerate their consignment of eggs - lowly Paddlefeet at eggs like gentlemen.

Aug 22, 1943 - Today is black, though memorable day for the 100th. Colonel Harding flew to Prestwick, where Major Egan and crew of Scott’s and Wolff’s planes were flown by ATC from North Africa. The 100th Bomb Group lost nine (9) planes in what may turn out to be the greatest aerial battle of the war. We lost Hollenbeck, Claytor, Hummel, Braley all of the 350th: Van Noy and Shotland of the 349th, Oakes of the 351st and Knox and Biddick of the 418th. Fighting lasted from Antwerp to the target – 2 hours and 10 minutes – with every type of fighter the Jerries could get up…

— entry’s from the diary of Marvin “Red” Bowman, Group Intelligence Officer of the 100th BG

[almayver]

The thought of Peem having art block and being stressed over an assignment, so he goes over to Phum's. And Phum, who had been learning recipes from Aunt Pui and Peem's mom, makes him something familiar to the best of his ability. And Peem who eats all of it because he saw how hard Phum work and that makes it taste even better (even though the food had some issues). And then Phum tells Peem to take a shower and once Peem is dressed in comfy pajamas that have rain drops on them (that Phum bought for him), Phum brings him over to the couch and Phum puts a pillow in his lap. And once Peem is laying with his head in Phum's lap, holding Noi (the name I gave Phum's bear stuffie), Phum starts stroking Peem's hair and going "close your eyes Cat" and Peem falls asleep like that, won't leave me.

Well now its not going to leave ME either peach. !!!!!!! Gods yes yes yes.

Them being just, domestic. Being each other's comfort. And the implications of Aunt Pui and Peem's mom teaching Phum, being so gentle and kind when teaching him while simultaneously being overjoyed because this is exactly the type of love they always wanted for Peem?? And also imagine him serving Peem a special dish and Peem looking completely awestruck even before tasting it and when Phum is like “what? Did I do something wrong?”, Peem tells him that this is a family recipe that his mom usually guards with her life, that she never even taught Peem. And then Phum cries, and Peem cries, and we all cry.

Additionally, I guess Peem is shit at cooking because his parents and aunt always cooked for him, and Fang is shit at cooking, but he also still lives at home. I assume Phum actually cooks way better than both of them because you develop some skills by living alone, but he gets SO MUCH BETTER once he has someone to cook for. Like my boy is going to become THE cook of the friend group. The way he communicates his love so often by doing and giving things to others? Yeah that boy is learning to cook and becoming a master. And he starts collecting everyone's favorite dishes so he can comfort them when needed because words sometimes are hard for him but this, this he can do.

ALSO Noi is the plushies name now. Its canon

... this was a lot damn. Thanks for sending this my way Peach <3<3

[emabatis]

About a Zombie Working at an Amusement Park

This one's 923 words of drudgery. For the full working-at-a-theme-park experience, reread 60 times with loud annoying ambient noise in the background.

I've never been on this ride. The one I'm operating, that is. I guess I died before it opened. It's one of those spinny ones where guests go around in high, exciting circles in a metal container, instead of going around in boring circles with their feet. The line around the fence is one of those boring circles, which, since I'm kind of the one keeping them there, makes a lot of guests mad at me. I'm not sure how I would feel on either of these rides. Or, "feel," I guess. Guests go on these things to feel something in the speed, the height, the weather and good vertigo that can only happen because of this machine. I don't feel those things anymore, so what would the point be. I can hold this stick with the pointing hand on top, which probably isn't a real hand, and I know that it's slimy from sweat and years of grime on the peel-y paint, because I would see what it's made of if I could see, and I could hear how heavy it is if I could hear, but I can't. But I don't know what it's like to be tall and fast and spinning in the exact pattern I initiate every four to five minutes. It's weird, maybe. It doesn't feel weird, of course, but it is, and maybe if I had time off I could think it's weird, too, but as it is, it just is. I can only think spinny things.

I know, sometimes, but not how, that people who work with computers or in offices with copiers and printers, that those little machines get cute names and pseudo-personalities. Mine doesn't, even with the faces painted on the cars. It works too reliably to have much of a personality. It isn't anybody's, especially not mine. Same thing with the Uniform, The only thing keeping me different from the other yellow-shirts is the company hat that keeps my bald spot appropriate for guests.

There's a huge difference between the ground-rides that I usually operate and the roller coasters. The ground rides, there's only one of us, maybe two if it's big and un-understaffed, which isn't often. Roller coasters need a team. But when I work roller coasters, I'm always working. There's an endless stream of trains coming in and going out every time, and I like it when it rains because I'm allowed to stand still for more than a "second," I don't even talk to anyone or do an activity, there'd be no point, it's not allowed, I just stand. It's the closest thing to euphoria I have. I get to stand when I work ground rides, but I need to stand around guests, and no one else is there to chase them away. I don't know any of the other ride operators, even though we're all the same. I don't know myself, either, though, so it's more like "because."

Guests aren't allowed to bring certain things onto rides, that's on the signs, I know, but I can't read them, and neither can the guests but they don't know. In front of a few roller coasters, there's a glass case effigy, like the skeleton in a hanging cage holding a sign that says "pyrates beware," but instead of a skeleton it's scraps of glass and metal that used to be phones. Now they're one big broken phone that's only good at being a broken phone. They bring them on anyway and it's always my fault. Is it possible to be hungry without a working stomach?

The onboarding procedure is the worst part. Parents need to be told they're too tall to ride, even though there's words about that on the sign, too. Kids need to not unbuckle the restraints, I need to make sure. Guests expect to talk to me. They don't like that they talk at me. I lock-gats-turn-the-key-pull-out-the-E-stop-press-down-on-foot-pedal-press-start and guests still want to talk to me. It's part of my job to make sure none of the small guests turn into small hurt people. I'm only allowed to eat people, which is a shame, I never see them. Is that the amusement? That they get to be nothing but spinny wind and noise for a day? Why do they want to bring their backpacks and purses and phones onto rides?

At noon there's a chime that lasts too short, and I don't know where it comes from. I can't see anything, but I can see clocks even less. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the numbers on a guest's phone, I actually look out for them, keeping a lot of my lack of awareness on the number of guests and the rest on their hands. I don't know why, it never means anything. It's never nine o'clock. I don't know how I get here. I don't know how I get home. I don't even know how I get to other rides. It's not surprising, though, I guess. I also don't know how to do something as simple as smell.

My job isn't to help guests have fun, that's up to the ride manufacturer and the guests themselves. My job isn't to sell tickets, people need to buy them in order to become guests and enter in the first place. I guess I have a million little jobs, but I can't put "doesn't rot too much" on a resume, if I ever get to make one. My job is to make this line shorter. And it spins and spins and spins.

[satureja13]

Jeb and Ji Ho are gone. Adriano is comforting Vlad. And Sai tries a puzzle to soothe his troubled mind...

Jack went for a walk. The gloomy mood on the campsite stirred up his delicate werewolf senses. And when he crossed the bridge, he saw him.

Kiyoshi!

Kiyoshi: "I missed you!" Jack: "Not so fast! I haven't heard of you since Summer Solstice!" Kiyoshi: "You know that the Council taps my phone. Tonight is my watch at Capoliveri and I thought we could spend the night together."

Well, no kiss then. Kiyoshi had planned a romantic date and they went over to the beach at Porto Luminoso. But Jack was still not in the mood for tender caresses...

Luckily Kiyoshi has a plan B. Ah that`s more to Jack's liking! It started to rain but they didn't care.

And then Jack noticed a strange glow where the creepy head lies Ö.ö' (It's really there at night!)

Kiyoshi: "Jack, I missed you. Who knows when we can meet again..."

Jack: "I missed you too." Ah finally!

Kiyoshi had another idea to beguile Jack. Pizza! He knows him so well. It's not easy to have a romantic dinner with a werewolf...

And then Jack was - finally - in the mood! Capoliveri is abandoned since Summer Solstice and so it was easy to 'get a room' ;)

The bed didn't even produce hearts today -.-

Jack left Kiyoshi at dawn so Vlad and Saiwa won't notice he was gone.

This night went by too fast.

'Sempre più liberi noi Non è più un sogno e noi non siamo più soli Sempre più uniti noi Dammi una mano e vedrai che voli'

'We’re more and more free It’s no longer a dream and we’re no longer alone We’re uniting more and more Give me your hand and you will see you’re flying'

Insieme - Toto Cutugno (This song won Eurovision contest in Zagreb in 1990)

I added the song to the 'Summer at Tartosa' playlist on youtube and spotify.

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest

[lunamagicablu]

Vieni, cammina con me nella dimora benedetta della foresta, Per vedere la meravigliosa bellezza che la Terra ha donato; Ci crogioleremo nello splendore surreale che ci circonda, e ascolteremo la natura che compone la grande opera della foresta, come suoni di alberi sussurranti e ruscelli gorgoglianti, manderemo le nostre menti a vagare nei bei sogni di un poeta.

Cammineremo dove la luce del sole fa risplendere le foglie della foresta, tessendo sentieri aperti per illuminare di luce dorata tutto ciò che sta sotto; Dove gli alberi ci riparano dal caldo estivo e dai raggi aspri, Liberando le nostre menti così che possiamo vedere le vie di Madre Natura, Di creare santuari nutritivi per la vita che dimora lì, Per proteggere i suoi teneri reparti da tempeste troppo difficili da sopportare.

Vieni a sederti sotto le braci ardenti di un albero autunnale, le cui ricche sfumature sono una meraviglia naturale che molti vengono a vedere, mentre foglie colorate scivolano giù in un corso vorticoso, come braci che si staccano dalla loro fonte fiammeggiante. Risplendendo per un momento come se cadessero al loro destino finale, invece, nutrendo la Terra per la rinascita in un nuovo stato.

La foresta svernante sembra essere un luogo immobile e desolato. Eppure, sotto la neve e le foglie autunnali della base di un albero, batte il battito promettente di una nuova vita che attende pazientemente che il calore e la pioggia primaverili spalanchino le porte della natura; Vaga con me sotto gli alberi in piedi forte su tutto, Per guardarli dormire tranquillamente fino al richiamo della natura.

Passeggiamo nella foresta di primavera dove raccoglieremo la gioia della Terra che risveglia i suoi figli dal sonno, e ascolteremo il coro della vita e guarderemo la sua prole crescere, mentre gli alberi al risveglio rinnovano il loro baldacchino su tutto ciò che è sotto; Vieni a condividere con me lo spirito della foresta alla rinascita, Così anche noi rinasciamo in questo tempio della Terra.

Ogni tanto rispondiamo alla chiamata della foresta, per venire a vedere la bellezza della vita e il miracolo di tutto ciò; Se ascoltiamo con il cuore mentre camminiamo tra gli alberi, possiamo comprendere il messaggio portato dalla brezza, per fonderci con lo spirito della foresta, così ci indurrà a camminare sotto i suoi adorabili alberi solo per un po'. © Belinda Stotler

********************************

Come, walk with me in the blessed forest abode, To see the wondrous beauty that the Earth has bestowed; We will bask in the surreal splendor that surrounds us, and we will listen to the nature that composes the great work of the forest, like sounds of whispering trees and babbling streams, we'll send our minds wandering into a poet's beautiful dreams.

We'll walk where the sunlight makes the forest leaves shine, weaving open paths to illuminate with golden light all that lies below; Where trees shelter us from the summer heat and harsh rays, Freeing our minds so we can see the ways of Mother Nature, To create nourishing sanctuaries for the life that dwells there, To protect his tender wards from storms too hard to bear.

Come and sit under the glowing embers of an autumn tree, whose rich hues are a natural wonder that many come to see, as colored leaves slide down in a swirling course, like embers breaking away from their flaming source. Shining for a moment as if they fell to their final doom, instead, nourishing the Earth for rebirth in a new state.

The wintering forest seems to be a still and desolate place. Yet beneath the snow and autumn leaves of a tree base, beats the promising beat of a new life patiently waiting may the warmth and rain of spring open wide the doors of nature; Roam with me under the trees standing strong on all, To watch them sleep peacefully until the call of the wild.

We walk in the spring forest where we will harvest Earth's joy waking her children from slumber, and we will listen to life's chorus and watch its offspring grow, as the waking trees renew their canopy over all that is below; Come share with me the spirit of the forest to rebirth, Thus we too are reborn in this temple of the Earth.

Now and then we answer the forest's call, to come and see the beauty of life and the miracle of it all; If we listen with our hearts as we walk among the trees, we can understand the message carried on the breeze, to merge with the spirit of the forest, so it will induce us to walk under its lovely trees for just a while. © Belinda Stotler 

[duskwoodgirl4life]

Chapter 7

Phil's POV

The court case lingers over my head like a rain cloud. Everything has come crashing down around me. It's time I face what is coming. I have tried reaching out to MC but my attempts have failed. I have now become a father Hannah had been to see me with the baby.

We decided to call her Izzy. She's such a beautiful little girl, I guess if one good thing comes out of all this it's my daughter. I don't want her to end up like her dad and her mother.

I have tried to love Hannah but she is no MC I know I have fucked up and have lost MC for ever. I am currently sharing a cell with a guy who's up for fraud. We have been getting along okay which I am thankful for the nights are the longest. Lay on my bunk, my mind going into overdrive if I want to get out of here then I need to find a good solicitor.

I need the best money I can buy but to do that I need to have the money which I don't have. The only way I am able to do that is by selling the bar. Can I even do that? Will the law allow me to sell the bar so I can pay for legal fees? This is something I need to know. I do know a good solicitor. He has won so many fraud cases I know he can get me off the charges I will worry about the money later.

Phil's court day was fast approaching; he had hired a fancy solicitor he was so sure that he was going to get Phil off the charges. Phil had one more meeting with his solicitor to go over everything they had discussed.

Mr Devon: Now Phil this is what we need to get right, it was never your intention to commit fraud and you will replay every single penny. Also you will agree to never own your own business.

Phil: Do you really think this is going to work? I can't go to jail, you know what they do to pretty guys like me.

Mr Devon: look Phil I promise we have a good case I will get you off these charges.

The next few days were harder than ever. The day had finally arrived. Phil had been given his suit to change into. Phil was handcuffed to a prison officer and was escorted to the prison van. The ride to the court seemed to take a lifetime once they arrived. Phil was taken out of the van and onto the court.

The court case was now beginning when Phil was brought into the courtroom he didn't expect to see MC and Jake sat up in the gallery. Phil sat down as the trail started Hannah took the stand to defend her man telling everyone now much she loves him and how his daughter misses her daddy.

The case went on for two weeks. Last to take the stand was Phil, his solicitor was first to question Phil over what had happened he made Phil out to be some kind of saint. Next came the cross examination they completely tore apart what Phil's solicitor had said.

After hours of being on the stand the jury was out, they spent a couple of days going over all of the evidence finally on the 3rd day the jury came back and found Phil guilty of tax fraud the judge sentenced Phil to 5 years in prison with no chance of parole.

Phil looked up in complete shock; he was so sure that he was going to be let off the charges. MC and Jake looked on as Phil was sent down Hannah was screaming and crying that he had been found guilty.

Jake: Are you okay MC?

MC: I've never felt better he's now out of my life for good it's just you and me now

Jake: that's perfect for me

Jake smiled and leaned in to give MC a kiss before taking her hand leading her out of the courtroom.

Phil was placed in the courtroom cell as his solicitor wanted to speak with him, as he walked into Phil's cell it was clear by Phil's facial expression he was not happy.

Phil: I thought you said I would get off the charges?? You said you had won loads of these kinds of cases, what the hell!!!

Mr Devon: Phil, I can only apologise I promise I will work my hardest to get your sentence rejuiced

Phil: don't bother, I'm noy paying you another penny now leave

Phil's solicitor left the cell and went about his business, he still had to sort out the sale of the bar. From the sale it would pay towards his tax fraud bill and solicitor whatever was left at the end would go to Izzy to help with her.

[stelladilemmen]

Summer morning

It's a blessing! Such a morning rarely happens. No one passes by on the trail, the guests are still asleep, it is Sunday, and therefore the crew didn't come to work: no motorcarts or brush cutters, no vociferating in the vineyards, all is silent at Stella di Lemmen.

All that can be heard is the song of the little birds and that of the roosters, which, freed from their night shelters, call out to each other from afar, competing to see who can sing best. They are joined by the tenuous hum of a few bumblebees on the lawn (they are the first to get to work) and the gentle rustle of olive tree branches around the house, moved by the breeze.

The sun has not yet emerged from behind the hill, and without its presence the silvery light offers a rare intimacy and heralds a glorious day. The sky screen lights up in anticipation.

The light rain two days ago has made the endless shades of green around us more intense: vines, trees, bushes - everything seems to quiver in the early morning light.

A few breaths of air sway the tops of the trees and the highest shoots of the vines: they look like arms that, raised, wave from afar. It is likely that later the wind will strengthen, but for now it is only a timid hint that gently envelops us in coolness and stillness and sends us back to breath, the foundation of our life.

The sea sheds its purple dress, that of farewell to darkness, and changes to cobalt, preparing to welcome the sun.

It appears motionless from here, but if you pay attention you can make out the succession of long waves driven by a last breath of the mistral. Soon it will become an expanse of glistening blue.

What enchantment is all this beauty, what joy, what wonder! An instant of magic that reflects our intimacy. Nature - thriving, vibrant, disarming - offers itself for what it is: an impassive, immovable, untouched mirror.

For beauty, peace, love and what some call "the kingdom of heaven" are all here, exclusively within us.

Mattina d'estate

È una benedizione una mattina così, capita di rado. Nessuno passa sul sentiero, gli ospiti dormono ancora, è domenica e di conseguenza i ragazzi non sono venuti al lavoro: niente motocariole o decespugliatori, né vociare nelle vigne, tutto tace a Stella di Lemmen.

Sì sente soltanto il canto degli uccellini e quello dei galli, che liberati dai loro ricoveri notturni si chiamano da lontano facendo la gara a chi canta meglio. Si aggiungono tenui il ronzio di qualche bombo sul prato (sono i primi a mettersi al lavoro) ed il fruscio dei rami degli ulivi intorno a casa, mossi dalla brezza.

Il sole non è ancora spuntato da dietro la montagna, e senza la sua presenza la luce argentea offre una rara intimità e annuncia una giornata gloriosa. Lo schermo del cielo si accende nell'attesa.

La leggera pioggia dell’altro ieri ha reso le infinite tonalità di verde che ci circondano più intense: vigne, alberi, cespugli, tutto sembra trepidare nella prima luce mattutina.

Qualche alito d'aria fa dondolare le cime degli alberi e i tralci più alti delle vigne: paiono braccia che, levate, salutano da lontano. È probabile che più tardi il vento si rafforzi, ma per ora è solo un timido accenno che ci avvolge delicatamente di frescura e di quiete e ci rimanda al respiro, il fondamento della nostra vita.

Il mare si spoglia del suo vestito violaceo, quello di addio alle tenebre, e si veste di cobalto preparandosi ad accogliere il sole.

Appare immobile da qui, ma se si presta attenzione si scorge il susseguirsi delle lunghe onde sospinte da un ultimo alito di maestrale. Presto diventerà una distesa di rilucente blu.

Che incanto tutta questa bellezza, che gioia, che meraviglia! Un istante di magia che riflette la nostra intimità. La natura - prospera, vivace, disarmante - si offre per quello che è: uno specchio impassibile, inamovibile, intatto.

Perché la bellezza, la pace, l'amore e quello che qualcuno chiama “il regno dei cieli” sono tutti qui, esclusivamente dentro di noi.

[aaronburrdaily]

June 21, 1809

Couche at 1. Lev. at 10. One sound nap again! Quarrel with the blanchisseur,¹ who carried off * * * * and refused to deliver them till I had given some handkerchiefs of another person which I never saw or had; so I must either lose my clothes, enter into a lawsuit or pay for things I never saw. La vieux Anna, too, en mauvaise humeur.² Very cold; still raining, and no wood. Milk and bro. at 4. At 6 called on Captain Weidenhjolm; out. Over to Hedboom’s, whom I met at his door; made my apology for failing to dine, &c; all settled. En ret rencr. gros. blo. noi. che. 30 bel. men. che. mo. 1 r.d. Tant pis.³ Read Kant par Villers; 2 hours. Soup. eau et pain.⁴ Couche at 1/2 p. 11.

1  The launderer; possibly meant for the laundress. If so, it should be blanchisseuse. The text is partially undecipherable. We should be glad to know what the launderer carried off! 2  Old Anna, too, in bad humor. (La vieille Anna). 3  For En retournant rencontrai une grosse blondine. Cheveux noirs; 30; belle. [La] menai chez moi. 1 rix dollar. Tant pis. On returning I met a big, fair complexioned woman with black hair. Age 30. Fine looking. Took her to my room. 1 rix dollar. So much the worse! 4  Bread and butter for supper (souper).

[dopaminegyro]

how is it raining but i still smell smoke when im noy even by the window

[rabbitdarling]

Fic Things I do not want to write but would love to read...

Raya and the last Dragon: After the fight with Namari, after using the failing dragon gem to save the people of Fang, after trusting Namaari to save everyone from the Druun, when the cleansing rain falls waking those the Druun turned to stone. All but Raya, Raya is left as a stone statue hands held out in prayer. As the dragons return, it is up to Namaari, Sisu, Boun, Tong and Noi to fully bring the people of Kumandra back together again as well as tell Cheif Benja what has become of Raya. Raya who sacrificed herself to save the world and reunite Kumandra. Circle too a couple of years later as Namaari, Boun, Tong and Noi are reunited as rumours of Druun still existing in the deep dark places of Kumandra. With the help of SIsu and her siblings maybe this is the reason that Raya wasn't awakened with everyone else. Namaari can only hope that in finally defeating the last of the Druun that she'll get to be reunited with Raya and repair what they could have become all those years ago.

[chubbygrape]

re the devils bet

I honestly genuinely wonder how the hell they thought such gamble was good idea

I think in part this is a cool character building (?) point in that the Devils are still ultimately sorcerers so they still relate and believe in their race.

I mean look, the devils clearly won the bet, but I am talking here strictly from a logic standpoint of how you end up picking a side on the bet. like forget the end result entirely.

i cant figure it out, even with the Devils' hyper-inflated confidence why they thought this was a good idea --

For (1) one they've been literally spying on cross eyes for years now so they knew what he was about

for (2) , they saw the rain, they knew most of the sorcerers were dead -- which leaves what? the En family? mind you En was dead at that point and the devils didnt expect him to be brought back (canon), Shin was half human (they 100% knew) which would mess things up for sure (as it did) , two of the family were literally kids, 2 more had no fighting capabilities, leaving only Noi as a solid candidate behind like where did the confidence come from? and im not even taking into consideration the goons. I am not saying you only needed to be able to fight buttt

Then what, Nikaido? Asu? Solid players dont get me wrong but idk Theres also Risu with curse who's hella strong but we know that Risu would have been defeated by Holey if it wasnt for Nikaidos magic.

It's just such a blind confidence thing which tbh??? its actually great , i love how random these guys are. but from a realistic standpoint it is SO dumb cause you know also whats another fucking thing!!

CHIDARUMA WAS SIDING WITH HOLEY

Im sorry but if i was alive in this universe, im following whatever the fuck Chidaruma's doing - Like Chidaruma says go right? Why the FUCK would i go left? ------ which im fully aware would mean id lose in this case but pls ignore that Chidaruma literally knows whats going on at all times, i mean he kNEW En was going to come back (also canon) like he just KNOWS shit. And the Devils should have known that better than anybody, how did they see Chidaruma talking about the death of sorcerers and thought -- nah, this guy doesnt know what hes talking about

so what the hell were those guys thinking?? such a severe punishment as well i mean i wouldnt risk that

[van-xuan]

so many early childhood memories revolve around ong noi tbh... him picking me up early from school to drive me to this big family get together at a fancy restaurant or something that seemed really big because i was really small. it rained a lot when i was little i think... i still remember the smell of his car in the rain, and drawing pictures in the damp of the cold windows from inside. hed ask me how my day was and id answer on a scale of a- to a+

[tempi-dispari]

New Post has been published on https://www.tempi-dispari.it/2023/03/03/escape-to-the-roof-i-nomi-decorazione-per-lapidi/

Escape to the roof: i nomi? Decorazione per lapidi

Non hanno volto, non hanno nome, solo pseudonimi, e utilizzano l’anonimato come ‘arma’ contro la banalità che ci circonda. Con un disco all’attivo (recensione) il loro è un rock viscerale, diretto, senza orpelli. La loro ‘parte migliore’ sono l’ironia, l’autocoscienza, e una profondità ben maggiore rispetto a ciò che vorrebbero dare a vedere. In questa intervista, davvero stimolante ed appassionante, per le risposte, ovviamente, gli Escape to the roof si raccontano. Lasciano trasparire quel tanto che basta per apprezzarli al di là delle maschere, appunto, e come strenui difensori dei valore umano. Tutta da leggere e rileggere.

Una presentazione per chi non vi conosce.

Escape to the Roof è un gruppo musicale rock italiano. I membri, che usano gli pseudonimi di G.C.Wells (voce e chitarre), Jann Ritzkopf VI (chitarre, soundscapes e live electronics), Zikiki Jim (basso) e Luis Canemorto (batteria), hanno deciso di rimanere anonimi.

Non hanno raggiunto la notorietà in seguito alla partecipazione a nessuno dei talent nazionali e internazionali più ambiti. Grazie a questa mancata esperienza non hanno firmato un contratto per nessuna delle major discografiche (Warner, Sony, Universal), e neanche medium, e neanche small.

Nonostante tutto, il 21 ottobre del 2022 pubblicano Fried Blues Chicken, primo singolo dell’omonimo album, che non consacra il gruppo a livello nazionale. Segue il secondo singolo, Still Raining, uscito a dicembre dello stesso anno. Il brano ha permesso alla formazione di non trionfare in nessuna delle edizioni del Festival di Sanremo, o del Festival di Castrocaro, e neanche di Castrocacchio. Per non parlare della successiva edizione dell’Eurovision Song Contest, ma che un’illustre addetta ai lavori ha recensito come brano della piena e raggiunta immaturità della band, in cui il batterista è un po’ troppo protagonista.

Il 23 gennaio del 2023 esce finalmente il tanto non atteso album di debutto omonimo, che permette agli Escape to the Roof di non affermarsi al livello mondiale, facendo sì che diversi brani della loro discografia non scalino le classifiche internazionali.

Sul piano stilistico gli Escape to the Roof non pescano a piene mani dalle sonorità degli anni d’oro dell’hard rock degli anni ’70, disdegnano incursioni progressive, e si tengono lontani dalle sperimentazioni elettroacustiche, per non parlare del noise rock.

Quando e perché è nata l’avventura Escape to the Roof?

L’idea Escape to the Roof è nata circa nel 2017, un po’ per gioco, un po’ per distrazione dalle cose quotidiane della vita, che nel caso di ognuno di noi sempre si trattava di cose collegate alla musica a dire il vero. Ma ognuno di noi era impegnato in progetti apparentemente lontani dal concetto di rock band, quindi, all’inizio, era quasi esclusivamente per passare un paio d’ore alla sera a suonare le nostre canzoni preferite.

Un giorno, in un momento di cazzeggio con la chitarra in mano, spenta per altro, mi sono capitati sotto le dita, inavvertitamente, un paio di riff, qualche giro armonico, cose del genere, che hanno attirato la mia attenzione. Non gli ho dato troppo peso, ho sempre scritto musica, e chi lo sa perché succede così? sono frammenti che vagano nell’aria, il ciarlare di personaggi in cerca d’autore che svolazzano nell’etere senza meta, incontrano la percezione dei fortunati senza avvisare, ma nella maggior parte dei casi sono manifestazioni fuggevoli.

Invece, nei giorni seguenti ho presto compreso che questi fantasmi volevano restare, non era la solita visita fugace. Quindi, ho aperto la porta, li ho accolti come si deve, si sono accomodati e hanno cominciato a raccontare ognuno la propria storia. È stato come dischiudere un portale che ha svelato un mondo immaginario incantato, seppellito da chissà quanto tempo dentro di me, e che chiedeva furiosamente di essere dissepolto, esplorato e raccontato: non ho più smesso di scrivere, o di trascrivere.

Avete scelto l’anonimato per dare maggiore peso alla vostra musica. Non è controproducente nell’era dell’immagine?

Molto controproducente, e anche faticosissimo. Ci siamo giocati in un attimo il supporto degli amici, dei parenti, dei colleghi che ci stimano, nonché il disappunto e la malevolenza dei nemici, degli scettici e dei colleghi che non ci stimano, che sono sempre un motore potentissimo, in entrambi i casi. Ma era l’unica posizione da prendere per fugare, in modo definitivo, i nostri eterni dubbi sul gesto artistico: nessun compromesso, nessuna ricerca di consensi, nessuna critica o elogio con interessamento strategico.

L’opera è lì, ed è esattamente come la vedete, e ognuno può farci quello che vuole, è consegnata per sempre alle cronache. Personalmente non sono mai andato alla ricerca di consensi, che, indubbiamente, quando arrivano ti fanno comunque immenso piacere, ma sono stato sempre un artista che si misura prima di tutto con se stesso, per provare ad accorciare la distanza che separa le mie capacità da quelle dei grandi della storia; per cui questa scelta, che per alcuni può sembrare radicale, in realtà mi rappresenta perfettamente, e il resto della band era d’accordo.

Credo, inoltre, sia l’unica cosa rimasta da fare come atto di nuova insurrezione rispetto a quello che ci circonda, e intendo insurrezione profonda, ossia quella che nasce dall’urgenza interiore del sovversivo. Aggiungo, ancora, che un atto artistico dissociato dalla biografia del suo autore, aiuta l’utilizzatore a individualizzare meglio e a interpretare il messaggio per quello che è oggettivamente. È l’unica maniera per fare diventare l’atto artistico arte collettiva, che è alla fine dei conti la massima aspirazione per un artista. I nomi alle volte sono solo segnaposti, o peggio, decorazioni per lapidi.

Il vostro è un disco piuttosto variegato ma saldamente agganciato a radici rock. Quali sono le vostre influenze?

Su tutti Serebro, ma anche Pussycat Dolls, Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Natalie Imbruglia, Lola Ponce, Gwen Stefani, Rihanna, Dua Lipa, Sandra Nasic… e tra le influenze italiane le prime che mi vengono in mente sono Elodie, Emma Marrone, Dolcenera… ma ne dimentico certamente qualcuna… Vi sento disorientati, ovunque voi siate.

Ok ok…! Sono riconoscibilissime le influenze dei Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, AC/DC, Pink Floyd, ZZ Top, Bob Dylan, Beatles, King Crimson, Muse per citarne alcuni, ma anche Brahms, Purcell, Monteverdi, e molti altri tra i compositori più “anziani”; per non parlare di Omero, Euripide, Dante, Lorenzo il Magnifico, fino a Pasolini, Ritsos, Panagulis, Kate Tempest e tanti altri che dimentico tra poeti e scrittori.

Per non parlare di pittori, scultori, street artists e filmakers: Kandiski, Dalì, Damien Hirst, Banksy, Sergio Leone, Quantin Tarantino, Martin Scorsese, Krzysztof Kieslowski, per nominare solo i primi che mi vengono in mente in ordine sparso, la lista è interminabile. Tutto ciò che abbiamo masticato e assimilato nel periodo della formazione, o praticato per piacere, o per nutrire la fame di conoscenza, o la semplice passeggera curiosità, concorre al novero delle influenze di qualunque artista.

Come vi siete avvicinati a questo genere di musica?

Per quanto riguarda la mia esperienza personale, si tratta ancora dell’attitudine che ho sempre avuto nel misurarmi con i maggiori rappresentati, realmente esistiti o meno, della storia dell’umanità in ognuna delle discipline alle quali ho deciso di avvicinarmi in passato. Perciò, quando da bambino pensavo di potere essere utile all’umanità come eroe, l’accostamento è stato semplice, volevo diventare come Achille; oppure utile come profeta, volevo diventare Confucio.

Poi, più grande, come poeta, volevo diventare il figlio ipotetico di Pasolini, Quasimodo e Prèvert. Quando ho incontrato la chitarra, gli eroi con i quali misurarsi erano gli Dei del Rock, David Gilmour, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton & company, anche qui la lista è interminabile. Sono cresciuto ammirando e cercando di seguire le orme dei miei eroi.

Il rock è immortale?

Quello fatto bene assolutamente sì, come sono immortali L’Iliade e L’Odissea, La Divina Commedia, La Cupola del Brunelleschi, Il David di Michelangelo, il Cenacolo di Leonardo Da Vinci, il Requiem di Mozart, La Recherche di Marcel Proust, Il Clavicembalo Ben Temperato eseguito da Glenn Gould, La Ciaccona di Bach eseguita da Perlmann, La Teoria della Relatività di Albert Einstein, Il Capitale di Marx, La Disobbedienza Civile di Thoreau, la Morale Anarchica di Bakunin, La Rivoluzione Cubana, e persino la Mano de Dios di Maradona al mondiale dell’86.

Quando l’eroe supera incomprensibilmente il limite che si riteneva invalicabile delle capacità unanimemente riconosciute al genere umano, l’atto istantaneamente si trasforma in epica ed entra a fare parte della storia dell’umanità. Il punto più alto che l’umanità ha raggiunto nel rock è, a mio avviso, il concerto dei Led Zeppelin al Madison Square Garden nel ’73, The Song Remains The Same, epos allo stato solido.

Che cosa significa per voi essere rock e suonare rock?

Una volta Glenn Hughes, durante un’intervista alla quale ero presente, rispondendo alla stessa domanda, disse: “Essere Rock è avere le palle!” Scoppiò un applauso unanime e fragoroso. Allora pensai “la classica frase a effetto della rockstar”. Oggi, sono più d’accordo con lui di quanto non riuscii allora, e con gli anni poi ci ho anche pensato su, e mi sono convinto che la cosa non vale solo per il rock, vale per tutto. Una precisazione, però, voglio farla.

Sono sempre stato convinto che la tradizionale classificazione della musica per generi sia un po’ troppo riduttiva rispetto allo sforzo dell’artista, il quale deve impegnarsi immensamente per raggiungere maturità in cifra stilistica, trovare una vena d’ispirazione gravida, e produrre risultati di livello, e poi difendersi da dubbi di ritorno, critiche feroci, elogi fasulli e consensi interessati. Secondo me, la classificazione giusta da fare è tra buona musica e cattiva musica, buona arte e cattiva arte. Per me questo è avere le palle, ossia inseguire alti livelli di realizzazione studiando, lavorando e pedalando a testa bassa, qualunque cosa dicano gli altri, che non sanno quanto tu ti stia sbattendo per raggiungere il fine.

Se necessario andare contro tutto e tutti se hai una visione, che devi inseguire fino alla sua completa realizzazione. Inseguire la propria verità, cercando di coniugare tutto con una percezione reale e obiettiva, fedeli a se stessi e spietatamente rigorosi allo stesso tempo. Ecco, questo per me è avere le palle e quindi essere rock.

Come nascono i vostri brani?

Nella band non ci sono accordi pregressi su chi scrive, anche se è capitato che io sia stato il principale autore dei testi in questo disco, ma tutti abbiamo massima libertà, e ognuno segue il proprio metodo, e molti sono segreti di bottega dei quali si può anche essere molto gelosi. Ma volendo inaugurare una fase in cui, protetto il concetto di anonimato, cominciare a far trapelare qualcosa di intimo della band, proverò a illustrare parte del mio personale processo creativo.

Le mie sessioni di lavoro per produrre nuovo materiale prevedono un approccio laboratoriale, caratteristica tipica che ho imparato e adottato dalla frequentazione assidua di ambienti vicini a un certo tipo di teatro di ricerca, la cui metodologia di sperimentazione mi è molto cara. Parto sempre da uno spunto preciso (o dalla mancanza di questo), che può essere qualsiasi cosa, un’idea, un concetto, una sensazione, l’emozione di un momento rivelatorio di qualcosa d’importante, qualcosa che mi ha colpito particolarmente dalla lettura di un libro, dalla visione di un film, dall’ascolto di un disco, o dall’avere assistito a un’esecuzione particolarmente emozionante di qualcuno; comunque, per la maggior parte dei casi, si tratta di evocazione e meditazione a posteriori.

Poi il procedimento può investire sia la parte testuale sia musicale. Questa fase è prettamente improvvisativa. Alle volte non viene fuori nulla, ma nella maggior parte dei casi sì. Ci dormo sopra, e se il giorno dopo lo ricordo ancora, allora vale la pena di appuntarlo su pentagramma. Ecco che ho il nucleo iniziale che poi sarà, attraverso procedimenti compositivi ben precisi, il generatore di tutto il materiale tematico della canzone, della sua struttura e della sua organizzazione.

In ogni nucleo c’è già tutto, bisogna solo tirarlo fuori. Alla fine, e solo alla fine, aggiungo il testo, ma a quel punto si tratta di abbandonarsi alla poesia. Io, sempre, scrivo in solitudine assoluta, ho bisogno di vagare nel mio magico mondo fatato in completo abbandono della realtà, per incontrare i miei fantasmi e farmi condurre dai miei personaggi.

Quanto è difficile suonare in una rock band oggi e quanto è difficile far suonare una rock band.

Suonare in una rock band non è difficile, e neanche farla suonare. La cosa difficile è trovare le giuste risorse a supporto del progetto, affinché cresca e raggiunga livelli di diffusione abbastanza considerevoli da potersi dire professionistico. Non voglio fare il solito discorso di chi demonizza Spotify e tutte le piattaforme di streaming, che per certi versi rappresentano anche un interessante canale di diffusione, ma è innegabile che il crollo dell’industria discografica, con la conseguente scomparsa delle piccole e medie etichette, ha lasciato una sola possibilità alle band emergenti, l’autoproduzione.

Escape to the Roof è un progetto nuovo, e quindi ascrivibile alla categoria emergente, ma ognuno di noi, singolarmente, ha una storia pregressa, e progetti paralleli di tutto rispetto. Oggi l’autoproduzione non è impossibile, ma è molto faticosa e, ovviamente, molto dispendiosa, nei termini di risorse sia finanziarie sia di tempo vita da destinare alle varie fasi, ma ci sono anche aspetti positivi, uno su tutti è che non devi duellare col tipaccio che ti rompe continuamente le palle perché due minuti e mezzo di rumori ed effetti speciali prima dell’inizio Now it’s just you and me non sono caratteristiche tipiche di un prodotto che si deve commercializzare: “non si sposa bene con il jingle che annuncia New hit! New hit!”.

Quindi, quando sei padrone e facitore del tuo stesso destino, ti puoi anche prendere delle libertà artistiche che un’etichetta major, che deve pensare ai numeri, non può permettersi.

Da dove prendete ispirazione per i testi?

Come già detto, nel nucleo embrionale di una canzone c’è già tutto, anche il germe del testo. Ho rivelato parte del mio procedimento creativo, ma il vero segreto di bottega sta nel trattamento dei materiali compositivi che nascono tutti incredibilmente all’interno del nucleo iniziale. È come cogliere i momenti della nascita di una nuova vita e semplicemente fotografarlo man mano che prende forma. Naturalmente come per le influenze musicali, anche per quelle letterarie la lista è interminabile.

Fin da bambino i miei compagni di giochi spesso si trovavano nella libreria di famiglia piuttosto che per strada. Anzi, portavo con me tutti i miei eroi quando per strada si trattava di battersi per trovare un posto preciso nella società dei piccoli. Andavo matto per i miti greci, ed è ancora così. Ogni autore che abbiamo incontrato, masticato e amato durante la vita ci ha lasciato un segno profondo, ma quando sei bimbo il segno è più profondo.

Un brano famoso che vi sarebbe piaciuto scrivere?

Il mio concetto di scrittura si serve di una misura che va oltre il brano singolo, ci vuole almeno un album. Ovviamente parlo per me. Devo dire che la scelta è difficilissima: sono stato un ascoltatore seriale di moltissimi album che hanno significato, ognuno per un motivo diverso, una scossa nella mia esperienza di crescita musicale. Per esempio The Wall dei Pink Floyd: ci sono stati momenti da ragazzino che quando mi capitava anche solo di accennare un passaggio qualunque di quel disco, che automaticamente partiva l’esecuzione integrale.

Ma anche questi fanatismi sono frutto d’infatuazioni che, anche se segnano profondamente, sono comunque delle passioni passeggere e momentanee, sostituite a loro volta da altre passioni, altrettanto sfrenate e compulsive al momento quanto inesorabilmente e nuovamente passeggere e momentanee. Quindi, per rispondere alla domanda, sotto l’influenza della passione di questo momento, dico che se penso a un album che mi sarebbe piaciuto assai scrivere, quello è Frances The Mute di The Mars Volta.

Invece, ripensandoci, nel caso di un unico brano famoso, la cui passione non scema mai, ed è anzi sempre frutto d’ispirazione e meditazione profonda, mi piacerebbe immensamente avere scritto il Requiem di Mozart. Lo so ho sparato altissimo, ma che capolavoro eterno di perfezione assoluta è? Sarei stato disponibile a morire a trentasei anni in cambio di averlo scritto.

Ieri l’idea, oggi il disco… e domani?

Un tour di concerti che porti in scena la versione 2.0 del disco, sul quale non mi pronuncio perché trattasi di progetto che, così come l’abbiamo pensato, forse è un po’ troppo fuori dalle nostre attuali possibilità produttivo-finanziarie, ma vedremo. E domani un altro disco, già in cantiere, che vorremmo vedesse le prime luci alla fine del 2023, anche solo con un paio di singoli. Vedremo.

Una domanda che non vi hanno mai posto ma vi piacerebbe vi fosse rivolta.

Non mi sono mai preoccupato delle domande che non mi hanno mai posto, per cui non saprei dire. Ma posso dire della domanda che a un certo punto in poi hanno smesso di farmi e che mi piacerebbe mi fosse fatta ancora: “Che vuoi fare da grande?”. Domanda, alla quale, per gioco, ho sempre risposto in maniera diversa, e ciò dipendeva molto da chi me la poneva. All’interlocutore maldisposto e scettico che sarei riuscito a vivere di musica, rispondevo “il bagnino”. Oggi, se la domanda mi fosse posta senza malizia e con sincerità di cuore, risponderei “il fantasma”.

Se foste voi a intervistare, ipotizzando di avere a disposizione anche una macchina del tempo, chi intervistereste e cosa gli chiedereste?

Questa domanda mi mette in profondissima crisi. Ci sono moltissimi personaggi che hanno assunto il ruolo di miei eroi, che considero anche, prima di tutto, i miei morti, e col tempo sono diventati i miei fantasmi. Come faccio a sceglierne uno? Direi che, anche per questo caso, sotto l’influenza della passione momentanea, sceglierei di intervistare Lorenzo de’ Medici nel giorno della congiura dei Pazzi.

E gli chiederei: “Se foste voi a intervistare, ipotizzando di avere a disposizione anche una macchina del tempo, chi intervistereste, e cosa gli chiedereste?” No scherzo! Probabilmente gli chiederei: “Come si sente Lorenzo il Magnifico a viver per seguir virtute e canoscenza, con la consapevolezza di essere nato tra i bruti?”.

Secondo me risponderebbe? “Di merda! Disadattato e sociopatico hompleto! Ma meglio che bischero!” Sì, me lo immagino con la parlata del Necchi di Amici Miei, perché nel mio mondo narrativo spesso sacro e profano, tragedia e commedia si mischiano crudelmente, anche se a parlare è un Magnifico Lorenzo de’ Medici che sta andando a morire. Non morirà, né lì né mai.

Un saluto e una raccomandazione a chi vi legge.

In questi casi ci viene in soccorso sempre il buon vecchio Jack Burton da Grosso Guaio a Chinatown:

“I consigli del vecchio Pork Chop Express sono preziosi, specialmente nelle serate buie e tempestose, quando i fulmini lampeggiano, i tuoni rimbombano e la pioggia viene giù in gocce pesanti come piombo. Basta che vi ricordiate cosa fa il vecchio Jack Burton, quando dal cielo arrivano frecce sotto forma di pioggia e i tuoni fanno tremare i pilastri del cielo. Sì, il vecchio Jack Burton guarda il ciclone scatenato proprio nell’occhio e dice: “Mena il tuo colpo più duro, amico. Non mi fai paura”.”

Un saluto a tutti, e mi raccomando, coraggio, sempre.

G.C.Wells, 3 Febbraio 2023

[duskwoodgirl4life]

Chapter 7

Phil's POV

The court case lingers over my head like a rain cloud. Everything has come crashing down around me. It's time I face what is coming. I have tried reaching out to MC but my attempts have failed. I have now become a father Hannah had been to see me with the baby.

We decided to call her Izzy. She's such a beautiful little girl, I guess if one good thing comes out of all this it's my daughter. I don't want her to end up like her dad and her mother.

I have tried to love Hannah but she is no MC I know I have fucked up and have lost MC for ever. I am currently sharing a cell with a guy who's up for fraud. We have been getting along okay which I am thankful for the nights are the longest. Lay on my bunk, my mind going into overdrive if I want to get out of here then I need to find a good solicitor.

I need the best money I can buy but to do that I need to have the money which I don't have. The only way I am able to do that is by selling the bar. Can I even do that? Will the law allow me to sell the bar so I can pay for legal fees? This is something I need to know. I do know a good solicitor. He has won so many fraud cases I know he can get me off the charges I will worry about the money later.

Phil's court day was fast approaching; he had hired a fancy solicitor he was so sure that he was going to get Phil off the charges. Phil had one more meeting with his solicitor to go over everything they had discussed.

Mr Devon: Now Phil this is what we need to get right, it was never your intention to commit fraud and you will replay every single penny. Also you will agree to never own your own business.

Phil: Do you really think this is going to work? I can't go to jail, you know what they do to pretty guys like me.

Mr Devon: look Phil I promise we have a good case I will get you off these charges.

The next few days were harder than ever. The day had finally arrived. Phil had been given his suit to change into. Phil was handcuffed to a prison officer and was escorted to the prison van. The ride to the court seemed to take a lifetime once they arrived. Phil was taken out of the van and onto the court.

The court case was now beginning when Phil was brought into the courtroom he didn't expect to see MC and Jake sat up in the gallery. Phil sat down as the trail started Hannah took the stand to defend her man telling everyone now much she loves him and how his daughter misses her daddy.

The case went on for two weeks. Last to take the stand was Phil, his solicitor was first to question Phil over what had happened he made Phil out to be some kind of saint. Next came the cross examination they completely tore apart what Phil's solicitor had said.

After hours of being on the stand the jury was out, they spent a couple of days going over all of the evidence finally on the 3rd day the jury came back and found Phil guilty of tax fraud the judge sentenced Phil to 5 years in prison with no chance of parole.

Phil looked up in complete shock; he was so sure that he was going to be let off the charges. MC and Jake looked on as Phil was sent down Hannah was screaming and crying that he had been found guilty.

Jake: Are you okay MC?

MC: I've never felt better he's now out of my life for good it's just you and me now

Jake: that's perfect for me

Jake smiled and leaned in to give MC a kiss before taking her hand leading her out of the courtroom.

Phil was placed in the courtroom cell as his solicitor wanted to speak with him, as he walked into Phil's cell it was clear by Phil's facial expression he was not happy.

Phil: I thought you said I would get off the charges?? You said you had won loads of these kinds of cases, what the hell!!!

Mr Devon: Phil, I can only apologise I promise I will work my hardest to get your sentence rejuiced

Phil: don't bother, I'm noy paying you another penny now leave

Phil's solicitor left the cell and went about his business, he still had to sort out the sale of the bar. From the sale it would pay towards his tax fraud bill and solicitor whatever was left at the end would go to Izzy to help with her.