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spacetimewithstuartgary · 4 months ago

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Rocks collected on Mars hold key to water and perhaps life on the planet. Bring them back to Earth.

Only Earth-based analysis of sediments gathered by rover can retrieve clues to Mars' water history

Over the course of nearly five months in 2022, NASA's Perseverance rover collected rock samples from Mars that could rewrite the history of water on the Red Planet and even contain evidence for past life on Mars.

But the information they contain can't be extracted without more detailed analysis on Earth, which requires a new mission to the planet to retrieve the samples and bring them back. Scientists hope to have the samples on Earth by 2033, though NASA's sample return mission may be delayed.

"These samples are the reason why our mission was flown," said paper co-author David Shuster, professor of earth and planetary science at the University of California, Berkeley, and a member of NASA’s science team for sample collection. "This is exactly what everyone was hoping to accomplish. And we've accomplished it. These are what we went looking for."

The critical importance of these rocks, sampled from river deposits in a dried-up lake that once filled a crater called Jezero, is detailed in a study to be published Aug. 14 in AGU Advances, a journal of the American Geophysical Union.

"These are the first and only sedimentary rocks that have been studied and collected from a planet other than Earth," said paper co-author David Shuster, professor of earth and planetary science at the University of California, Berkeley, and a member of NASA’s science team for sample collection. "Sedimentary rocks are important because they were transported by water, deposited into a standing body of water and subsequently modified by chemistry that involved liquid water on the surface of Mars at some point in the past. The whole reason that we came to Jezero was to study this sort of rock type. These are absolutely fantastic samples for the overarching objectives of the mission."

Shuster is co-author of the paper with first author Tanja Bosak, a geobiologist at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in Cambridge.

"These rock cores are likely the oldest materials sampled from any known environment that may have supported life," Bosak said. "When we bring them back to Earth, they can tell us so much about when, why and for how long Mars contained liquid water, and whether some organic, prebiotic and potentially even biological evolution may have taken place on that planet."

Significantly, some of the samples contain very fine-grained sediments that are the most likely type of rock to retain evidence of past microbial life on Mars — if there ever was or is life on the planet.

"Liquid water is a key element in all of this because it is the key ingredient for biological activity, as far as we understand it," said Shuster, a geochemist. "Fine-grained sedimentary rocks on Earth are those that are most likely to preserve signatures of past biological activity, including organic molecules. That's why these samples are so important."

NASA announced on July 25 that Perseverance had collected new rock samples from an outcrop named Cheyava Falls that also might contain signs of past life on Mars. The rover's scientific instruments detected evidence of organic molecules, while "leopard spot" inclusions in the rocks are similar to features that on Earth are often associated with fossilized microbial life.

In a statement, Ken Farley, Perseverance project scientist at Caltech, said, “Scientifically, Perseverance has nothing more to give. To fully understand what really happened in that Martian river valley at Jezero crater billions of years ago, we’d want to bring the Cheyava Falls sample back to Earth, so it can be studied with the powerful instruments available in laboratories.”

Sediments hold the answers

Shuster noted that Jezero and the fan of sediments left behind by the river that once flowed into it likely formed 3.5 billion years ago. That abundant water is now gone, either trapped underground or lost to space. But Mars was wet at a time when life on Earth — in the form of microbes — was already everywhere.

"Life was doing its thing on Earth at that point in time, 3.5 billion years ago," he said. "The basic question is: Was life also doing its thing on Mars at that point in time?"

"Anywhere on Earth over the last 3.5 billion years, if you give me the scenario of a river flowing into a crater transporting materials to a standing body of water, biology would have taken hold there and left its mark, in one way or another," Shuster said. "And in the fine-grained sediment, specifically, we would have a very good chance of recording that biology in the laboratory observations that we can make on that material on Earth."

Shuster and Bosak acknowledge that the organic analysis equipment aboard the rover did not detect organic molecules in the four samples from the sedimentary fan. Organic molecules are used and produced by the type of life we're familiar with on Earth, though their presence is not unequivocal evidence of life.

"We did not clearly observe organic compounds in these key samples," Shuster said. "But just because that instrument did not detect organic compounds does not mean that they are not in these samples. It just means they weren't at a concentration detectable by the rover instrumentation in those particular rocks."

To date, Perseverance has collected a total of 25 samples, including duplicates and atmospheric samples, plus three "witness tubes" that capture possible contaminants around the rover. Eight duplicate rock samples plus an atmospheric sample and witness tube were deposited in the so-called Three Forks cache on the surface of Jezero as a backup in case the rover suffers problems and the onboard samples can't be retrieved. The other 15 samples — including the Cheyava Falls sample collected July 21 — remain aboard the rover awaiting recovery.

Shuster was part of a team that analyzed the first eight rock samples collected, two from each site on the crater floor, all of which were igneous rocks likely created when a meteor impact smashed into the surface and excavated the crater. Those results were reported in a 2023 paper, based on analyses by the instruments aboard Perseverance.

The new paper is an analysis of seven more samples, three of them duplicates now cached on Mars' surface, collected between July 7 and November 29 of 2022 from the front of the western sediment fan in Jezero. Bosak, Shuster and their colleagues found the rocks to be composed mostly of sandstone and mudstone, all created by fluvial processes.

"Perseverance encountered aqueously deposited sedimentary rocks at the front, top and margin of the western Jezero fan and collected a sample suite composed of eight carbonate-bearing sandstones, a sulfate-rich mudstone, a sulfate-rich sandstone, a sand-pebble conglomerate," Bosak said. "The rocks collected at the fan front are the oldest, whereas the rocks collected at the fan top are likely the youngest rocks produced during aqueous activity and sediment deposition in the western fan."

While Bosak is most interested in possible biosignatures in the fine-grained sediments, the coarse-grained sediments also contain key information about water on Mars, Shuster said. Though less likely to preserve organic matter or potential biological materials, they contain carbonate materials and detritus washed from upstream by the now-vanished river. They thus could help determine when water actually flowed on Mars, the main emphasis of Shuster's own research.

"With lab analysis of those detrital minerals, we could make quantitative statements about when the sediments were deposited and the chemistry of that water. What was the pH (acidity) of that water when those secondary phases precipitated? At what point in time was that chemical alteration taking place?" he said. "We have this combination of samples now in the sample suite that are going to enable us to understand the environmental conditions when the liquid water was flowing into the crater. When was that liquid water flowing into the crater? Was it intermittent?"

Answers to these questions rely upon analyses of the returned materials in terrestrial laboratories to uncover the organic, isotopic, chemical, morphological, geochronological and paleomagnetic information they record, the researchers emphasized.

"One of the most important planetary science objectives is to bring these samples back," Shuster said.

TOP IMAGE: Red hexagons mark the four sites where the Perseverance rover collected rock samples around the sediment fan in Jezero crater in 2022. Credit NASA

LOWER IMAGE: NASA’s Perseverance rover puts its robotic arm to work around a rocky outcrop called “Skinner Ridge” in Mars’ Jezero Crater. Composed of multiple images, this mosaic shows layered sedimentary rocks in the face of a cliff in the delta, as well as one of the locations where the rover abraded a circular patch to analyze a rock’s composition. Credit NASA/JPL-Caltech/ASU/MSSS

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #nasa #astrophysics #mars

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garadinervi · 1 month ago

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Otto Piene, Untitled (bleed-through of previous page, left page); Untitled (sketch of past sky event for goauches, right page), (colored marker on paper), [from Sketchbook: Charlotte Moorman/Remembered Sky Events], 1992 [Harvard Art Museum, Cambridge, MA. © Otto Piene Estate. Photo: © President and Fellows of Harvard College]

#art #drawing #sketchbook #otto piene #charlotte moorman #harvard art museum #1990s

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uwmspeccoll · 2 years ago

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Decorative Sunday: Paste Paper Edition

In 1942, Harvard University Press printed 250 copies of Decorated Book Papers: Being an Account of the Designs and Fashions by the bookbinder, author, and creator and collector of decorative papers, Rosamond Bowditch Loring. Published by the Harvard College Library Department of Printing and Graphic Arts in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the 234 sale copies of the first edition sold out within months, despite the “then considerable price of ten dollars” and the economic stressors of the war. In addition to eight plates reproducing examples of 18th century decorative papers, the first edition includes twenty-five samples tipped in, many of which are from the author’s own extensive collection.

While Loring collected a variety of a decorative papers, the examples shown here are from the chapter on paste papers, Loring’s area of creative specialization. The sample papers included in this chapter are all Loring’s own work, or that of her student, Veronica Ruzicka, who bound the first edition (it is worthy to note that Ruzicka is the daughter of illustrator, wood engraver, and type designer Rudolph Ruzicka, whose work we have highlighted several times). Ruzicka also contributed an essay when a second edition of the book was finally published by Harvard University Press in 1952, along with Dard Hunter and Walter Muir Whitehall.

Rosamond Loring (May 2, 1889 – September 17, 1950) studied book binding under Mary Crease Sears at the Sears School of Bookbinding in Boston. Sears, about a decade older than Loring, had had to battle to learn the trade; women were barred from the Bookbinders Union but most commercial binderies were happy to hire women for particular tasks, such as sewing sheets, but maintained a strict separation of roles, preventing employees from learning the whole binding process from start to finish. Eventually, Ms. Sears secured an apprenticeship in France to complete her studies and opened her binding school in Boston shortly after, training several generations of women binders. While studying under Sears, Loring became frustrated with the lack of options for quality endpapers and became determined to make her own, which she sold to other binders at Ms. Sears’s studio. Her first major commercial commission was for the Houghton Mifflin publication of The Antigone of Sophocles, translated by John J. Chapman (Boston, 1930).

Our copy of Decorated Book Papers is a gift of Dick Schoen.

-Olivia Hickner, Special Collections Graduate Intern

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totowlff · 11 months ago

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extra — you asked for this

➝ who the hell is in your bed, cassandra?

➝ word count: 3,3k

➝ warnings: cursing, mentions to hitler, homophobia, allusions to domestic violence, cheating, emotional abuse, stalking and comparisons between horses and people

➝ author’s note: my boss is being a real bitch today, so keep this adorable extra in tribute to her

Looking at the picture frame on the table, Albert Aldersey pressed his lips into a thin line. In the image, he was holding a newborn Helena, with a restrained expression, without showing any emotion. Beside him were his two eldest children; on the left, Jason looked at the camera seriously, while on the right, Cassandra was smiling widely, clearly excited about the new addition to the family.

“You never get tired of being a thorn in my side, do you?”, he thought to himself, looking away from the documents that Henry had left at Stansted House, at his request. And given the amount of paper inside, the man had worked hard over the past few weeks looking for information.

Upon opening the folder, Albert came across a large photo of a man. He had a smile on his face, his gaze directed somewhere to the left of the camera. Dark hair, brown eyes, white shirt with the first two buttons open. The logos embroidered on his shirt were all too familiar.

— Torger Wolff — he murmured, reading what was written just below the image, along with the photo credits. Nothing like the name Andromeda had told him when she spoke about her meeting with Cassandra at their youngest daughter's house.

He had realized something was unusual with his wife as soon as he heard her come into the foyer. He heard her telling John, the household’s head butler, that the things she had bought on Savile Row were in the boot of the car and should be taken to Albert's closet. He could hear Andromeda running quickly up the stairs, the sound of her heeled shoes echoing through the corridor.

— Andromeda — he shouted from the drawing room. The clicking of shoes stopped momentarily, as if the woman had hesitated for a few seconds before changing direction and heading towards him. As soon as she appeared at the door, Albert looked up from the newspaper and saw that there was, in fact, something wrong with her.

— Yes, Albert — she said in a low voice.

— Is everything okay? — Albert asked her, lowering the edition of the Daily Mail onto his lap.

— Yes — Andromeda replied, her voice tense. The navy blue dress she was wearing had a dark stain.

— Did you have any problems getting my suit?

— No, it was ready. John is taking it to your closet.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

— What is that stain on your dress?

Looking down, Andromeda pursed her lips.

— I spilled tea on it.

— Where did you go for tea?

— I went to Pimlico to visit Helena. Jack is in Switzerland, she is alone with Tommy and I thought it would be nice to stop by, see how they were doing — she snorted, putting her hand to her forehead — But Cassandra was there...

Albert felt his muscles tense and his nostrils flare when he heard that name. “Damn it”, he thought, dropping the newspaper on the armchair and jumping to his feet.

It was a name he hadn’t heard in a while, and sooner hoped to forget; the greatest mistake he ever made, if he had any hand in her making, which was still an uncertainty to this day.

— And what did that bint say this time?

— Albert — his wife said, a reproachful edge to her voice.

— What, Andromeda?

— Please…

Albert couldn’t help himself. Any time his daughter was brought up in private company, he couldn’t help but talk about how she’d wronged him.

His daughter — if she was his, mind you — had always had a rebellious streak, thinking that she was too good to be just a wife and mother and had to make her own way in the world. She was an ungrateful aberration that spat in the face of the traditions and ideals that the family had held for centuries.

Albert had sent her to Cambridge to get a classical education and to meet an appropriate suitor, but instead, she decided to change her course without telling him or Andromeda, and ended up doing marketing, or some hogwash, for a motorsport team in Northampton. Even worse, the team she worked for was owned by the Germans! His grandfather, who was a Royal Navy officer in both World Wars, was likely turning in his grave, knowing his great-granddaughter was working for the company that made Hitler’s limousine. It would have been less awful if she’d worked for McLaren in Woking, at least they had a respectable English heritage.

— You know she is, there's no point in denying it. You try and bring a daughter up right by sending her to good schools, send her to university to get an education, try set her up with someone respectable, but she dates men without a pound to their name and takes some ridiculous job — he shouted — If she thinks we're going to take her back just because she finally realized that we were right all along…

— She found someone, Albert — Andromeda said, suddenly.

He couldn't hold back a laugh.

— Are you telling me that she found someone capable of putting up with her? — Albert said, mockingly — Because you'd have to be crazy to stand being around her for more than five minutes...

— It's worse than that — his wife murmured, running a hand over her face.

— And what could be worse than that?

— She's pregnant — Andromeda shouted, suddenly.

He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. After hearing so many times from Cassandra herself that she wouldn't marry or have children because she wouldn’t give her parents the satisfaction, the news seemed unbelievable and infuriating in equal measure. Albert shot his wife a skeptical look.

— Are you telling me that Cassandra found a man witless enough to not only be around her for more than five minutes, but crazy enough to breed her?

— Albert, she's not one of your mares — Andromeda murmured.

— Even if she were, she’d have gone to auction straight away — he said — Too willful. Plus, my mares have a good lineage, good blood running through their veins, unlike that tart. And you know who's to blame, don't you?

That was the other effect hearing the name of his estranged daughter had on him — it reminded him of Andromeda’s possible indiscretion with one of his trainers some thirty-five years ago. His name was Seamus Doyle. Normally, Albert made a habit of not trusting the Irish, but his father had hired him when he was in charge of the stables. Albert kept him around after he took over because the man was as talented with horses as Albert had ever seen, like he practically spoke their language. However, when Cassandra started growing hair the same shade of red as Seamus’, he became suspicious. Nobody in his family or his wife’s family, to his knowledge, had had red hair, so it had to come from somewhere.

Andromeda denied it to this day, but Albert knew better.

Nevertheless, he knew people would talk if he treated Cassandra like the bastard he knew she was; it would reflect poorly on him and his wife both if word of Andromeda’s missteps came to light, so he had no choice but to raise Cassandra as if she was his own, but that didn’t mean he had to treat her like she was his daughter behind closed doors.

His strategy most of the time when she was growing up, was to simply ignore her, and it wasn’t surprising to him when their disdain for each other became mutual. It was easy enough to simply send her to boarding school and forget about her most of the time. He was too busy with the stables anyway, so he let Andromeda and the household staff handle things related to the children and simply signed the checks for the school bills.

Andromeda's eyes glistened with tears. “She knows what she did. It must be the guilt eating her up inside”, he thought, turning to the armchair and taking the newspaper he was reading in his hand. Albert was already near the door when he heard his wife call his name.

— What? — he grunted, without looking back.

— She said the baby's father is named Christian. He works in finance — Andromeda murmured.

A small smile appeared on his face. “That’s all I need”, Albert thought.

The next day, he contacted Henry, a private detective he had on retainer for certain occasions. He liked to be sure about certain things, like business dealings and the people interested in his children. He’d used Henry’s services when Jason told him that he intended to marry Rose, the girl he’d met at Cambridge and had been courting for a while, something he agreed on after an extensive investigation into the girl's background and family. They held no peerages or titles that he could find, but their family had long been in the jewellery business. They even made the medals and badges by the armed forces, and used in official investitures, which is why Albert gave his blessing to the union, despite Rose giving him nothing but three granddaughters and an enormous amount of headache.

Helena's boyfriend received the same sort of investigation, but, fortunately, the youngest had made a sensible choice. Jack was a relative of the Marquess of Normanby, and his parents had important ties with the royal family; the fact that he was, according to Henry’s dossier, the godson of the Duke of York, made him a perfect choice.

Cassandra, on the other hand, was the real problem. This was something he realized when she told him, in front of the then-Lord Glamis, during a dinner planned by Albert to introduce him to Cassandra in hopes of making a suitable match, insisting that she was not a broodmare to be auctioned off. Later, in his office, she defiantly repeated herself, telling him that she would never give him the satisfaction of her getting married or having children, which earned her a slap that left her face redder than her hair. Incensed, Albert told her that she made it incredibly difficult to put up with her, let alone love her, and she would end up an old spinster like her aunt.

However, that episode did not discourage her antics. After that, Albert had the impression that her determination to challenge his authority became even greater. The men she started to have relationships with were absolutely inadequate.

All the same, it made the man in the photo he was holding even more intriguing.

From what Henry had gathered, Christian was the man’s middle name. He’d included several photos of him; accompanying her to doctor’s appointments, and standing in the doorway of the dreary matchbox-sized townhome she’d lived in — that Andromeda had insisted on buying for her, for some reason, like she couldn’t afford to rent her own place.

His real name was Torger and he was born in Vienna, the son of an anesthetist and an art transport specialist, who died from cancer in the 1980’s. From what this “Torger” had said in interviews that were included in the dossier Henry prepared, he made his fortune in investing, especially in technology companies.

His involvement with motorsport came later, when he bought shares in the Mercedes-Benz Formula 1 team, becoming the team's CEO, which made him Cassandra’s boss. He didn’t want to even think about how his daughter managed to end up pregnant by her boss.

However, Cassandra’s choice still seemed strange to Albert, as this “Torger” did not have the profile of the man his daughter has had relationships with before. To his knowledge, she usually went for the brainy, academic sort. The one serious boyfriend he knew of — Callum, from what Helena had told him — was someone that she’d met at Cambridge, and had reconnected with when he was working on his doctorate at Oxford. He had no ambitions beyond his research, apparently, not even wanting to teach full-time. Typical.

Albert didn’t think there was anything wrong with getting an education, he was a Cambridge man himself, as was most of his family, for many generations, but he firmly believed that staying in school and collecting degrees was useless; one had to join the real world eventually and apply that knowledge somehow.

According to Henry’s dossier, this Torger person hadn’t even finished university.

— Mr. Aldersey? — a voice broke him out of his own thoughts. He looked up to see John standing in the doorway with a somber expression on his face.

— What now?

— Mrs. Aldersey is waiting for you to go to Lady Sybil's exhibition.

Albert snorted.

— Do I have a choice?

— I don't think so, sir — he replied with the shadow of a smile on his lips.

Letting out a sigh, he got up from the armchair and headed to the door, where John was standing, holding the tweed jacket that matched the waistcoat and trousers Albert was wearing. Albert threw it on as he headed downstairs.

When he arrived in the foyer, he found Andromeda standing near the door, adjusting her Cartier watch on her wrist. Hearing his footsteps, the woman looked up at him.

— I already told Sybil that we're on our way — she said.

Albert ignored his wife, straightening his lapels and adjusting his lapis cufflinks before heading out of the entrance of the house, where John had the Land Rover waiting. As he took his place at the wheel of the vehicle, Andromeda's voice was a mere whisper.

His mind was elsewhere, specifically on the gaps in Henry’s dossier. He had gathered a large amount of information about Torger, there was nothing relevant about his family other than the fact that his parents were immigrants. Albert hated it when Henry's reports didn't give a clear and objective view of those being investigated, especially their relatives. He could not imagine having the Aldersey name involved with people who did not live up to the importance and relevance of that family.

Aside from that, Cassandra was proving to him that she had made the first right choice in her life. The man was tall and fairly handsome, and had money. The fact that he was a bit older than his daughter was of no object, either, but it made him wonder if the poor bloke wasn’t desperate, divorced, or both.

After parking the car near the entrance to Sybil's gallery, Albert and Andromeda walked the few meters to the entrance in practically silence. At the door, in addition to a security guard, there was a woman dressed in a dark blazer, her blond hair carefully arranged in a low bun.

— Good evening, sir, madam — the woman smiled — Could you come with me?

The path to the room where the exhibition opening was taking place was a blur of color. Albert hated going to Sybil's gallery. He hated the clean, bright white walls and lighting, he hated the people that hung around the gallery, gawking at ridiculous-looking paintings and sculptures, he hated the vegan canapés she always served at the events she held.

But what Albert hated most was having to interact with Sybil's circle of friends. To him, not a single decent person would be caught dead there, just the artsy, continental pillow biters and muff divers like his sister-in-law. Andromeda could deny it all she wanted, but Albert’s suspicions were not unfounded. He had long suspected that Sabine, the French woman that was always with Sybil, wasn’t her housekeeper.

Upon entering the exhibition hall, he came across what seemed like a crowd milling about. The conversations filled Albert's ears, and he felt irritated by the sound of laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses.

— Romy! — Sybil's shrill voice sounded somewhere to his left. Turning his face, he saw his sister-in-law approaching with a wide smile and her hair down in gray waves. “Why doesn’t she color her hair? She looks so old and haggard”, Albert thought to himself — I’m glad you came!

— I would never miss an exhibition of yours, and you know I love porcelain.

Albert rolled his eyes.

— And that's exactly why I called you — she replied, before looking at her brother-in-law with a certain disdain — I'm surprised to see you here, Bertie.

Albert swallowed hard, grimacing at the stupid nickname. It was what his mother called him, but his dreadful sister-in-law found out once and never called him anything else.

— Why do you say that, my dear sister-in-law?

— As far as I’m aware, you’d rather look at horse’s fannies all day than at art.

— Sybil, please — Andromeda whispered, placing a hand on her sister's arm — Albert was very kind to accompany me here today.

The woman looked at him suspiciously.

— Bertie has never been kind to you, Romy.

— There's always a first time, isn't there? — Albert replied — Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I didn't protect my wife from the influence of the disgusting company you keep?

Sybil stepped forward, her eyes filled with anger.

— If you cared about protecting my sister, you wouldn’t put your filthy hands on her so much — she whispered, before putting a fake smile on her face and turning to her sister — Want me to show you what’s on display, Romy? There's a Hungarian vase that I'm sure you'll love.

With his nostrils flared and his face red with anger, Albert wanted to take his wife and leave immediately, and give his sister-in-law a piece of his mind on the way out. However, he knew that doing that, in addition to causing a scandal, would only give Sybil the reaction she wanted. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

He picked up a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing waiter, trying to focus on something other than the terrible music booming through the gallery, or the cynical commentary of the people around him. He stepped toward one of the windows and glanced at his watch, praying that time would pass faster and that he could finally leave.

Albert was in the middle of his fourth slice of pesto and tomato toast when he noticed that Sybil and Andromeda were looking at the piece that was right next to him.

— Ah, Romy, this one was a real find — his sister-in-law said, pointing to the small figure protected by the acrylic — It's a figure of a pantalone made in Vienna around 1745. It was in a private collection for a long time before being sold to an Austrian antiques house. You know how I found it?

— How?

Albert glanced at the figure, but unimpressed. It was of an older bearded man in glasses. It looked like a clown to him, the kind of thing one would find in a charity shop and not a high-end gallery exhibition.

— I was studying to put together this exhibition and found a very interesting book about Austrian porcelain. It was written by one of the greatest experts in the field, Elisabeth Bednarczyk…

Albert's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't possible...

— Did you say Bednarczyk?

His sister-in-law raised an eyebrow.

— Yes, Bednarczyk. Elisabeth Sturm Bednarczyk, actually, she is a very well-known scholar and collector in Vienna.

That woman couldn't have the same surname as Torger's mother by mere chance. It couldn't be a coincidence, especially because Torger was from Vienna, and Albert couldn’t imagine that “Bednarczyk” was a common surname in Austria…

— Do you know if this Elisabeth has a sister?

Sybil raised an eyebrow.

— I only contacted her to buy the piece for the exhibition, Bertie. I don’t generally interrogate business contacts about their personal lives or hire private detectives to stalk them, unlike you. It’s almost like you don’t have enough personal issues of your own, isn’t it?

— Just doing my due diligence, Sybil — Albert simply replied, as he looked at the piece of porcelain. “And because of that, I know that this family just became my problem too”, he thought to himself, as he read Elisabeth Bednarczyk’s name on the base of the acrylic.

#toto wolff #formula 1 fic #wlffog #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fic #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #f1 x oc #formula one fic #toto wolff fanfic #formula one fanfic #etlwlff

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scotianostra · 6 months ago

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On June 13th 1831 James Clerk Maxwell was born in Edinburgh.

It’s difficult to understand why this guy is still hardly known by ordinary Scots, but is one of the most influential scientists of all time. Albert Einstein acknowledged that the origins of the special theory of relativity lay in Clerk Maxwell’s theories, saying “The work of James Clerk Maxwell changed the world forever”.

Now I don’t pretend to know about science, the calculations involve make my head hurt, but I do know that James deserves his place at the top table of scientists past and present, and probably the future too. The praise heaped on him from many of the most eminent scholars is phenomenal.

Nicknamed “daftie” by his fellow pupils at Edinburgh Academy, earned by wearing home-made shoes on his first day, he went on to predict the existence of radio waves in 1865, and is considered by many to be the father of the science of electronics, he also found time to teach, and if you recall he taught yesterdays birthday boy astronomer, David Gill.

Born in Edinburgh in 1831 he attended school in the city and later studied at the Universities of Edinburgh and Cambridge. He was a very curious child, and this might amaze you, but he wrote his first scientific paper at the age of just 14, at the age of 25 he became Professor of Physics at Aberdeen University’s Marischal College.

Clerk Maxwell’s research into electromagnetic radiation brought about many of the things we know today like television, mobile phones, radios and infra-red telescopes. The largest astronomical telescope in the world, at Mauna Kea Observatory in Hawaii, is named in his honour, this is an indication of his standing to this day as a scientist.

In 1873 he created the four Maxwell equations. They are very complicated and you would have to be a scientist to figure them out. But these four theories played a very important role in Albert Einstein’s work on the special theory of relativity. Einstein praised him and said, “The special theory of relativity owes its origins to Maxwell Equations of the electromagnetic field.” Clerk Maxwell’s discovery of the nature of electromagnetic waves forms the basis for much of the modern technological society we take for granted. Radio, television, satellite communications and the mobile phone have their origins in his work.

In 1879, James Clerk Maxwell’s health began to fail. Following a summer visit to the family estate in Kirkcudbrightshire, he returned to Cambridge where he died on 5th November that year.

#scotland #scottish #history #edinburgh #scientist

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egyaneknowledge07 · 1 month ago

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overview Of IELTS #Egyaneknowledge

Overview of IELTS # Egyaneknowledge The International English Language Testing System, or IELTS, is a standardized test for non-native English speakers who want to study, work, or live in English-speaking countries. Recognized by over 10,000 institutions worldwide, IELTS is often a prerequisite for university admission, job opportunities, and immigration. This article covers everything you need to know about the IELTS exam, its structure, preparation tips, and how it can be your gateway to studying abroad.

What is IELTS?

IELTS is a test that assesses the English language skills of non-native speakers. It’s jointly managed by the British Council, IDP: IELTS Australia, and Cambridge Assessment English.

The exam is available in two formats:

1. Academic IELTS – Designed for those applying to universities or higher education institutions in English-speaking countries.

2. General Training IELTS – Intended for individuals planning to migrate to English-speaking countries or enroll in non-academic training programs.

Each version tests your ability to communicate in real-life situations and ensures you have the skills needed to succeed in an English-speaking environment.

Why Take the IELTS?

For students and professionals, IELTS is often a critical step in their journey to studying, working, or settling abroad.

Here are a few reasons why taking IELTS can open up new opportunities:

1. Global Recognition – Over 140 countries and 10,000 institutions accept IELTS as proof of English proficiency.

2. University Admission – Many universities in the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand require IELTS scores for admission.

3. Visa and Immigration – Many countries require IELTS scores for immigration and visa processing.

4. Employment Opportunities – Multinational companies often require IELTS scores from candidates for international job roles.

Structure of the IELTS Exam

IELTS assesses four key language skills – Listening, Reading, Writing, and Speaking. Here’s a breakdown of each section:

1.Listening (30 minutes) : This section has four parts, each with ten questions, totaling 40 questions. You’ll hear recordings of native English speakers in a variety of contexts, from conversations to monologues, and answer questions based on what you hear.

2. Reading (60 minutes) : This section consists of three reading passages and a total of 40 questions. The passages range from descriptive and factual to analytical and critical, testing comprehension, main ideas, and details.

3. Writing (60 minutes): The writing test includes two tasks:

- Task 1 (150 words) for Academic IELTS: Describes data, charts, or diagrams.

- Task 2 (250 words): Essay writing that presents an argument or viewpoint. In General IELTS, Task 1 involves writing a letter, while Task 2 is a more general essay

4. Speaking (11–14 minutes): The speaking section is a face-to-face interview with an examiner, divided into three parts: an introduction, a short talk, and a discussion on abstract topics. The section evaluates your fluency, pronunciation, vocabulary, and coherence.

IELTS Scoring System

IELTS is scored on a scale of 0 to 9, with each skill receiving a band score. The overall score is the average of the four sections, rounded to the nearest half-point.

Here’s a breakdown of the score levels:

- Band 9 – Expert User

- Band 7 – Good User

- Band 5 – Modest User

- Band 3 – Extremely Limited User

- Band 1 – Non-user

Each university or country may have a minimum score requirement for admission or immigration, typically between 6.0 and 7.5.

Tips for IELTS Preparation

1. Understand the Format – Familiarize yourself with the test format by reviewing sample questions and practicing past papers.

2. Develop Strong Vocabulary – A strong vocabulary is essential, especially for the Reading and Writing sections.

3. Practice Time Management – Each section has strict time limits, so practicing under timed conditions is essential.

4. Take Practice Tests – Practice tests can highlight areas that need improvement and help build confidence.

5. Seek Professional Guidance – If possible, consider enrolling in an IELTS preparation course or hiring a tutor for personalized feedback.

Test Dates and Registration

IELTS is available multiple times throughout the year in test centres across the globe. Registration is typically done through the official IELTS website or authorized centres.

To register:

1. Choose a test date and location that suits your schedule and apply early to secure a spot.

2. Pay the test fee (typically between $200–USD 250, but it varies by location).

3. Prepare the required documents for registration and bring them on the test day.

Studying Abroad with IELTS

With a good IELTS score, students can apply to universities in countries like the United States, United Kingdom, Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. Here are some of the top destinations:

- United Kingdom – Requires IELTS for student visas and is home to universities like Oxford, Cambridge, and Imperial College London.

- Australia – Most universities in Australia accept IELTS scores, and it’s a requirement for a student visa.

- Canada – Canadian universities accept IELTS, and it’s commonly required for study and work visas.

- United States – While TOEFL is popular, many U.S. universities accept IELTS as proof of English proficiency.

IELTS is more than just an English test; it’s a stepping stone to achieving your dream of studying abroad. By preparing strategically, understanding the test format, and practising regularly, you can achieve a high score and open the doors to numerous global opportunities. Whether you’re aiming to study at a prestigious university, start a career, or explore new cultures, IELTS is your pathway to an exciting future.

For more information on IELTS, study tips, and preparing for your journey abroad, visit website www.Egyaneknowledge.com – your guide to educational success!

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 months ago

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 21, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Aug 22, 2024

In 1974, music writer Jon Landau saw a relatively unknown musician in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and wrote for an alternative paper: "Last Thursday, at the Harvard Square theater, I saw rock'n'roll past flash before my eyes. And I saw something else: I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen. And on a night when I needed to feel young, he made me feel like I was hearing music for the very first time." The review helped to catapult Springsteen to stardom.

After three days at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, Illinois, I feel like I have seen the political future and its name is the Democratic Party. But rather than feeling like I’m hearing politics for the first time, I am hearing the echo of political themes embraced in the best moments of America’s past.

The theme of the third day of the Democratic National Convention, held in the United Center in Chicago, Illinois, was “A Fight for Our Freedoms.” But the speeches were less about fighting than they were about recovering the roots of American democracy.

The Democrats have not lost their conviction that the reelection of Donald Trump and the enactment of Project 2025 are an existential threat both to democracy and to Americans themselves. Speakers throughout the convention have condemned Trump and highlighted Project 2025, a blueprint written by the Heritage Foundation and other right-wing organizations for a second Trump term. Although Trump has tried to distance himself from Project 2025, Democratic vice presidential nominee Minnesota governor Tim Walz, who was a high school football coach, notes that no one bothers to write a playbook if they’re not going to use it.

Tonight, comedian and actor Kenan Thompson illustrated the dangers of Project 2025 with humor, bringing home the horror of it as only humor can do. With a giant copy of the plan as a prop, he gave a woman married for eight years to her wife the bad news that Project 2025 would end protections for LGBTQ+ Americans, informed a woman who pays $35 a month for her insulin that the plan would overturn the law that makes drugs more affordable, notified an OBGYN that the plan would ban abortion nationwide and throw abortion providers into jail, and put a woman who called herself a proud civil servant on notice that Project 2025 would guarantee she would be fired unless she is a MAGA loyalist.

But the dark dangers of the assault of Trump and the MAGA Republicans on the country have finally pushed the party to move away from its customary caution and focus on policy to embrace the possibilities of a new future. The convention is electric, packed with young people who push jokey memes and poke fun at themselves, much as Walz and presidential nominee Vice President Kamala Harris are doing to deflect criticism, and who are sharing homemade politically-themed friendship bracelets that echo the homemade paraphernalia of singer Taylor Swift’s Eras tour.

And, after decades in which Republicans claimed the mantle of patriotism, now that the fate of democracy itself is on the line, Democrats are joyfully claiming the symbols and the principles of American democracy for their own.

During the Vietnam War in the 1960s and early 1970s, many Democrats shied away from symbols of patriotism because they seemed to support imperialism. Then, in the 1980s, Reagan and his supporters wrapped themselves in the flag and claimed it for their own. That impulse to define “Americans” as those who vote for Republicans has led us to a place where a small minority claims the right to rule over the rest of us.

The Democratic National Convention has powerfully illustrated that the rest of us are finally reclaiming the country and its symbols. The convention has been full of references to the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the American Revolution, the national anthem, and the pledge of allegiance. Tonight, attendees chanting “USA” waved signs emblazoned with the letters. Speakers, many of whom are military veterans, have testified that they are proud to be Americans. The theme of patriotism was even in one of tonight’s afterparties: Haitian-born rapper Wyclef Jean played The Star Spangled Banner with an interpretation that recalled Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock. “America is the best place to be,” he said. “I’m the best of the American dream. Welcome to America…. You know what makes America great? We’re a bunch of immigrants.”

As Jean indicated, that embrace of our history does not come with the exceptionalism of MAGA Republicans, who maintain that the U.S. has a perfect past that it must reclaim to become great again. Indeed, speakers have emphasized that honoring our history means remembering the nation’s failures as well as its triumphs. The Democrats’ patriotism means recognizing that despite the fact that the U.S. has never fully realized the principles laid out in the Declaration of Independence, it has never abandoned them either—a statement paraphrased from President Joe Biden, who has said it repeatedly.

Speakers have highlighted that the imperfect version of those principles has enabled their personal success stories. Speaker after speaker, from Harris and Walz, of course, to tonight’s speakers Maryland governor Wes Moore, Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg, and journalist and television personality Oprah Winfrey, have recounted their own process of rising from humble beginnings to their current prominence,

Winfrey is an Independent who generally stays out of politics, but tonight she spoke passionately during prime time about electing Vice President Kamala Harris and Governor Walz. When a reporter asked her why she was willing to make a political statement, she said: "Because I really care about this country. And there couldn't have been a life like mine, a career like mine, a success like mine, without a country like America. Only in America could there be a me."

The many stories in which ordinary Americans rise from adversity through hard work, decency, and service to others implicitly conflates those individual struggles with the struggles of the United States itself. Running through the stories told at the convention is the theme of working hard through a time of darkness to come out into the light. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning,” speakers have quoted the Biblical psalm, and they have referred to the vision of the American flag still flying after a night of bombardment during the War of 1812, captured by Francis Scott Key in the national anthem, promising that after our time of national darkness, there will be light.

The DNC has called not just for reasserting patriotism, but for reclaiming America with joy. It has showcased a deep bench of politicians, some of whom are great orators, repeatedly calling for joy in the work of saving democracy, and it has shown poets like Amanda Gorman and a wide range of musicians, from Stevie Wonder to Lil Jon to D.J. Cassidy to John Legend. The convention is designed to appeal to different generations—tonight actress Mindy Kaling helpfully explained to older attendees who she is—and younger attendees have handed out friendship bracelets saying things like “Madam Prez” to older people in an echo of the exchange of bracelets among Taylor Swift’s fans.

After an era in which politicians have seemed to lie to the American people, the convention has emphasized authenticity. It has featured testimonials about the candidates with speakers ranging from the candidates’ children to extended family and, tonight, to members of the football team Walz coached. There have been stories of Harris’s cooking and how Second Gentleman Doug Emhoff awkwardly called her for a date, and fond memories of Walz pulling a student out of a snowbank, hunting, and caring for his children. The convention has emphasized that the American government is made up of individuals and that the character of the people we put into leadership will determine what that government does.

Further, the Democrats have made their points with the stories of individual Americans who have overcome dark hours in order to move forward. In that storytelling, individuals represent the nation itself.

The message of joy as we protect democracy, backed as that message is with four years of extraordinary accomplishments that have bolstered the middle class and spread opportunity among poorer Americans, has taken off. The convention has heard from three Democratic presidents and a range of other speakers, including a number of Republicans who have turned against Trump and are backing Harris and Walz. In July, Harris raised four times the money Trump did: $204 million to $48 million, much of it from small donors.

The palpable energy and enthusiasm in Chicago, based as it is in a celebration of American values—especially in the idea of American freedom—reminds me of the enthusiasm of 1860 or 1932. It is about ending the darkness, not indulging in it, and it requires the hard work of everyone who believes that we deserve the freedom to determine our own lives.

Tonight, after his acceptance speech, Walz walked off stage to a favorite song of his: Neil Young’s “Rockin‘ in the Free World.” Neil Young personally allowed the campaign to use the song. When the Trump campaign used it, Young sued to make them stop.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #DNC convention #Harris/Walz #american values #democracy #the middle class #freedom #patriotism

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somedaylazysomeday · 2 years ago

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Winner Take All - Part Two

Nathan Bateman x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Almost ten years after graduation, you run into Bateman again. You still aren't impressed.

Rating: Explicit, lemon, etc. Minors DNI!

Word Count: 7,000

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, bad language, references to events at the end of Ex Machina, crassness, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv, creampie.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

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A little more than a decade after graduation, you were settled comfortably in a chair that cradled you like something precious. You had a drink in your hand and your phone in your lap. Not your business phone, either. Your personal phone. Since you had started Primary, you had refrained from combining the two, and it meant you could leave your work phone at home on your nights off and avoid any distractions.

After all, you couldn’t disturb the haven that was trivia night at the Estuary.

The decision to move back to Cambridge, Massachusetts hadn’t been one you made lightly, but it was also the easiest choice you had made in a long time. When you had left almost a decade before, the move had been accompanied by a sense of poignant loss. You had loved your time here, and coming back held a sense of homecoming that was comforting given everything else that was going on.

You had worked for the same company for almost ten years after graduation. After starting out on the research team for vasculitis, your focus soon shifted from research to drug development for a potential treatment you had helped identify. You were moved to the Celiac disease team after the drug was successful. You were proud of the work you had done there, but when a position opened up on the multiple sclerosis team, you had lobbied for it. Apparently, the reputation you had gained and the papers you had published worked in your favor, since you got the position and made several important connections besides. After years on the multiple sclerosis team, you had been next in line to lead it.

All your work hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the Vice President of Development had asked you to check out the Cambridge market, scope out the potential for a Massachusetts branch. You were a natural choice since not only had you gone to school there and were familiar with the area, but you also knew what to look for in several key departments.

You had reported back favorably. The biotechnology industry was busy, especially in nearby Boston, but there were several key market segments that weren’t being served. You wouldn’t pretend you didn’t harbor hopes of being assigned to that branch, either.

Unfortunately for those hopes, the company had chosen not to open a branch in Massachusetts. And unfortunately for the company, you had decided to do it yourself. Was it an insane thing to do? Yes. But you knew the area, you knew the field, and you had the contacts. You had applied for grants before you even left your old company and, as an alum, you had secured a place in one of MIT’s business incubators. You had filed the paperwork just before you moved here and you were the proud founder of your own biotechnology company, Primary Enterprises.

It had taken off, and you had been steadily growing for the past three years. The work was varied and interesting. Your interests always skewed closer to biotech than business, but you liked to think you were doing fairly well running Primary. You were busy, though, so your limited free time was spent doing things you loved, like going to the Estuary for a round or two of trivia.

Your first time back here, you had felt like a washed-up creep, trying desperately to relive your college glory days. Pushing that mindset away had been a process, but well worth it. You had played trivia in college because you enjoyed it. Why should that change simply because you were older?

With a slow, savoring sip of your drink, you watched the screen. Trivia still wasn’t incredibly popular, but it drew a few people. Usernames trickled in, surrounding your usual Champ until you could hardly pick it out in the crowd.

Though when The Conqueror flashed up onto the screen, you saw it without any trouble.

It felt like your heart stopped as you scanned the familiar interior of the Estuary, comparing your memories of Bateman against theories of what he might look like now. At last, you caught a glimpse of him.

He was sitting at the bar, chatting with Noor, Mira’s husband. They took turns bartending while the other watched their adorable daughter. Bateman turned his head to the side, glancing at a nearby group of students who had gotten noisy. It was tricky to recognize him with the way he had shaved his head and let his neat beard grow into something wild and bushy, but you knew that nose, proud and strong with glasses perched on its bridge.

When you had positively identified Bateman, you relaxed back into your chair. The adrenaline that had flooded your system eased off, but your heartbeat picked up. You hadn’t thought about him in years, so you weren’t about to approach him.

But… you mused, firming your jaw. But maybe you could beat him. You were, after all, older and wiser. You had accumulated more knowledge than you ever had in college.

As the game started and you began rolling through the questions, it seemed that wasn’t going to be the case. Maybe you had learned some things over the past decade, but Bateman apparently had, too. You were never ranked further down than third place on any question, but if you were ranked first, The Conqueror was second. He was beating you again.

You played fervently, your attention rapt on the screen in front of you or the smaller screen of your phone, but it was no use. You lost, a somewhat distant second place to The Conqueror’s first.

After the final scores appeared on the screen, you glanced at the bar only to feel an odd surge of disappointment. Bateman was gone.

The spike of regret was an unwelcome surprise. You took a moment to puzzle that out while you finished your drink. The best theory you came up with was that you were sad to miss an opportunity to catch up with someone from your past, even if you had never particularly cared for the young genius.

Ah, well, you decided, pushing yourself up and out of the comfortable armchair. You had other things to focus on. You had unwound slightly from the pressures of the day, but Primary Enterprises would take up most of your attention for the rest of the night and the entirety of the next day. Maybe you could sneak in some planning when you got back to your apartment. If you were going to continue competing with some of the bigger biotech companies, Primary would need to push for something innovative…

You had waved goodbye to Noor and were within sight of the exit when you felt fingers close around your wrist. You turned sharply, raising your eyebrows in a way that took your resting bitch face to an incredibly active bitch face.

“Whoa, whoa,” the man entreated, releasing you immediately. “Just wanted to say hello.”

Despite having seen Bateman from across the Estuary earlier, you hadn’t recognized him then. It was the glimmer of mischief in his intense eyes that finally made you remember. “Bateman.”

He grinned, looking you up and down while you took the opportunity to do the same to him. Bateman was even more muscular than he had been as a student. Apparently, he had kept up with the workout routine even after he had graduated. That beard was a wild thicket around his jaw, but it made his teeth gleam, turning his familiar smile into something blinding. His glasses were more stylish, the frames thinner and better suited to the shape of his face.

Bateman opened his arms, his plain shirt straining across his chest with the motion. For an unbalanced moment, you thought he was inviting you in for a hug, but it became clear that he was gesturing to the table. “‘Bateman’? Is that seriously all I get after a fuckin’ decade? Sit down, talk for a minute! We gotta catch up.”

You settled into the chair across from him - mostly because he had kicked it out with such force that you were worried it would break your knees if you didn’t sit down in it - but before you could ask why he was in Cambridge, he spoke.

“What have you been up to for the past… how long has it been? I dunno, a decade?”

He knew exactly how long it had been, unless he’d suffered a life-altering concussion at some point that you hadn’t heard about. Still, you humored him, your excitement at catching up with a familiar face outweighing the fact that you didn’t remember liking him very much.

“Well, I’ve started my own biotech company,” you started, the familiar words falling from your lips even as they curved into a polite, professional smile. “We mostly focus on auto-immune diseases, but we’re looking to expand into the hormone therapy field. We’ve been-”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, cutting your elevator pitch short with the wave of a hand. “I mean, what have you been doing? Outside of the company?”

“Out- I mean, not a lot,” you stammered. “Primary takes up a lot of my time…”

Bateman tsked at you and you started remembering just how much you hadn’t cared for him in college. With your temper sparking, you leaned forward enough to catch his eye. “And what about you? From all reports, you’ve made Blue Book your entire personality.”

“That isn’t true,” he countered. “I also box.”

His expectant look, aimed at you from just over the top frame of his glasses, irked you. You snapped, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Bateman. I started a company, we’re competing against companies with more people and bigger budgets and it’s completely taken over my life. Happy?”

“No,” Bateman denied. “I could have gotten all of that from your LinkedIn profile. You really need to change that fuckin’ picture, by the way. That sweater was doing you no favors.”

You stared at him, wishing you could come up with something scathing to say about his appearance, but other than the bottom-heavy look earned with the combination of his shaved head and full beard, you had nothing. “You’re an asshole.”

“You knew that,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and I chose to talk to you anyway when I could have been spending my time doing more important things,” you bit out. “Like rearranging my sock drawer by color or cleaning my ice-maker.”

To your displeasure, Bateman seemed to find that hilarious. His head tipped back as he gave a loud laugh. When he returned his gaze to you, he had to wipe a tear from his eye. “I’ve missed this,” he said, gesturing back and forth between himself and you. “Our little will-they/won’t-they back and forth. Too bad you graduated and fled the state before we could get to the resolution last time, huh?”

If brains were capable of creating audible noise, yours would have made the iconic sound of a computer making a dial-up connection. When the screeching finally faded enough to allow you some semblance of thought, you managed, “You need to get out of your mom’s basement and interact with real people more often. There was no back and forth.”

Bateman’s eyebrows rose in sharp skepticism as he tilted his head to peer over his glasses at you once more. “Yeah? What do you call all of this, then?”

“Irritation!” you burst out, standing up. You thought briefly of trying to deliver a parting shot, but it wouldn’t be worth the effort. Instead, you simply turned and left.

To your displeasure, Bateman was at the next trivia night as well. You weren’t proud of it, but you had researched him when you got home. Apparently, Blue Book had a conference scheduled in Cambridge. You couldn’t get too pissy; it had been on the company’s calendar for a full year. But at least it was starting that weekend. Odds were that Bateman would be gone before you ran into him again.

The second time you saw him at the Estuary, you rationalized that the conference may have run longer than expected. After all, you hadn’t researched how long Blue Book conferences lasted. For all you knew, it was a week-long affair. Bateman beat you soundly at trivia that week and you were looking forward to it being the last time that happened.

The next week, Bateman was still there. Maybe he had some administrative stuff to handle before he went back to… wherever it was that he lived. You did manage to beat him in that trivia game, but only because a swarm of college students - most of whom were decked out in Schwarzman sweatshirts - distracted him during a few pivotal questions. He didn’t look happy, but he did salute you with his beer bottle as you left for the night.

When his shaved head still showed up the following week, you’d had enough. “What are you doing here?”

He had turned slowly, rotating on his barstool to face you with his thick brows already raised. “It’s a public place, sweetheart. I’m allowed to exist in those.”

The old endearment rankled just as badly as it had ten years before. “Don’t call me that. Why are you so determined to exist here all of a sudden?”

“Someone told me I need to interact with real people more often,” Bateman said dryly. You rolled your eyes and left.

Nearly another month had passed when Amber sent you a screenshot of an article about how Blue Book was opening a branch in Cambridge. Beneath the image, she wrote, Weird, huh? Guess he’s trying to take advantage of all the interns and graduates from Schwarzman.

The following week, you managed to beat The Conqueror, and it was by such a wide margin that you took a screenshot of the results. Halfway through sending it to your old college friends, a silhouette came between you and the nearest lamp. “What the fuck?”

You glanced up, unsurprised to find that the demand had come from Bateman. You answered the likely-rhetorical question as you finished your message. “It’s called a cell phone, genius. I would have thought a tech guy would know that.”

“First off, that’s hardly a phone. It’s so old, I half-expect it to have a slide-out keyboard… or a rotary dial,” Bateman mocked. “Secondly, you’re cheating.”

“Cheating?” you repeated immediately, lowering your phone. “I am not! If anyone is cheating, it’s you!”

Noor was nearby, gathering up empty glasses and wiping down tabletops. He paused, frowning at both of you. “The system doesn’t really allow-”

“Leave it,” Mira told him, tugging on his elbow to lead him away. “This has been a long time coming.”

“I’m not cheating!” Bateman denied, outraged. “But this is the second time this month that you’ve beaten me. It’s statistically unlikely to the point of near impossibility. You have to be cheating.”

“Well, I’m not,” you replied, crossing your arms childishly. “Maybe you’re getting dumber.”

“I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response,” he told you. “There’s only one way to make sure you’re not Blue-Booking answers: I’m gonna sit by you on trivia nights.”

You were halfway through rolling your eyes - already preparing a reminder that genericization wasn’t a good thing - when the second part hit you. “Fine, then I’ll be able to prove that you’re the one who’s cheating!”

So that’s how trivia nights went from that point on. Over time, you decided that, since you were sitting together, you might as well split a pitcher of beer. Then it turned into beer and an appetizer or two. Then, suddenly, you were hanging out even on non-trivia nights.

One such night found you playing a game of pool at the Estuary. Nathan lined up his shot, calling “Fourteen, corner pocket.”

You scoffed. “Bateman, there are a half-dozen balls between fourteen and the cue. There’s no way you’ll make that shot.”

“Yeah?” he asked, then hit the cue ball with a decisive motion. To your shock (and childish dismay), it avoided all obstacles before cracking into the fourteen ball, which sank neatly in the corner pocket. Nathan turned to you with a cocky grin. “I’m the master of everything around me.”

You were both a little tipsy by this point, which was the only reason you brought up the one subject you had steadfastly avoided up to that point: “So that wasn’t you who got stabbed by your own AI last year?”

Nathan’s face froze for a split second before he recovered. “Nope, not me.”

“Hmm…” You drew out, squinting at him. “For the founder of a major company, you’re a shitty liar.”

Nathan scoffed. “How dare you? I am an extremely gifted liar. It just so happens that I’m telling the truth about this.”

“Mm hmm,” you hummed, carefully broadcasting your skepticism.

“Come on,” he continued, “none of those articles even mention me.”

“That’s exactly my point,” you argued. “The mysterious ‘sources’ mention a tech mogul and every damn news source spent the next month speculating over who it could be… but none of them mentioned you.”

Nathan avoided your eyes, sinking the ten ball instead. You ignored his lack of ability to take turns and continued with your pet conspiracy theory instead. “You’ve spent the last decade making sure you’re linked with any mention of ‘tech’ or ‘genius’ or ‘innovator’. It was suspicious. You’re notable in the blank spaces, Nathan.”

He glanced up at you, dark eyes wide with surprise. You realized too late what you had done. You made a point to call him ‘Bateman’, though he had been ‘Nathan’ in your mind for a while now.

“I-” Nathan paused, the tip of his tongue coming out to sweep over his bottom lip as his brows furrowed. “I… I think that’s a song. Did you just rip off Taylor Swift?”

You paused for a moment. He was uncomfortable and you couldn’t blame him. Instead of pushing this, you decided to give him a momentary reprieve. With a loud snort, you said, “Maybe if I was talking about getting your name tattooed on my body.”

“Great idea! You should,” Nathan agreed, his eyes sweeping down over your form. His gaze was so heavy, you could almost feel its weight. “Do I get to help decide where?”

“To be clear, I’d rather die.”

“Pity. Anything would look good…” He paused, letting the silence stretch for a beat too long. Wildly, you wondered if he was going to compliment you, but he finished, “-with my name on it.”

You rolled your eyes. “That just makes me feel bad for your chauffeur. You must get crazy horny when you drive past the massive Bateman building Blue Book is constructing downtown.”

“Oh, you’ve seen that?” Nathan asked, perking up slightly.

“You’ve made it hard to miss.” You took advantage of the less-crowded pool table to sink three balls in rapid succession.

“It’s gonna be great!” Nathan enthused. “I’ve already started a program with MIT to work with their students, offer internships and stuff. I’m even starting a scholarship program for promising students. I’ll pay their MIT entrance fee and tuition if they sign on to work for Blue Book afterward… Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not stupid, Bateman,” you told him. “I can recognize a misdirection when I see one. You were the one in the news, weren’t you?”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly.

Your gaze fell to his torso. “You would have to have a scar. You’re vain, but not vain enough to get plastic surgery for something that could be hidden so easily.”

There was something hollow around his eyes despite the salacious grin he sent your way. “If you’re so desperate to get my shirt off, you could just ask.”

You shook your head, recognizing the end of the conversation. “For the record, I’m glad you’re okay.”

His mouth opened, but no sound escaped him. You bent your attention back to the game, sinking the eight ball. “I win, Bateman.”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I hate spending time with you?” Nathan complained. “And, for the record? I liked ‘Nathan’ better.”

Problem was, you did, too.

Trivia nights were lasting longer and longer for you and Nathan, and that wasn’t the only change in the Estuary. Mira had gotten rid of the armchair in your typical section. It had been old and worn-looking, but when you complained about the change, Mira had told you that it was damaged in a drunken fight and couldn’t be repaired. She’d had to throw it away, but she had replaced it with an extremely comfortable couch. Unfortunately, that couch was just barely long enough for two people to share.

…Which was how you had ended up in your current circumstance. You and Nathan had been sitting together during trivia and you simply hadn’t moved apart after the game ended. Now, it was several hours later and you were curled up on the small couch together.

You were leaning into Nathan and his head was resting on your shoulder. Your feet were propped on the small table in front of you. Nathan had mocked you for it, but you didn’t see the harm. The only thing on the table was an empty beer pitcher, two mostly empty glasses, and a plate that had once held an appetizer trio.

He mumbled something that you didn’t quite catch. You hummed absently, the inflection managing to turn the sound into a question. Nathan leaned off of you, resting against the thickly padded back of the couch instead. He repeated his question more distinctly this time: “Did you really never feel anything between us?”

You frowned, pointedly not looking at him. The section where you sat was mostly empty. Hell, the Estuary itself was mostly empty. It was near closing by then, and whatever crowd had existed on the weeknight had long since dissipated.

You probably would have gone on ignoring your companion, but he planted his elbow in your side and nudged you gently over and over until you finally gave in. “Well, I don’t think you’re irritating anymore.”

“That’s it?” Nathan asked with a disbelieving laugh. “Can I get a little more than that?”

With a sigh, you said, “I don’t know what it means - or if it means anything at all - but I have more fun arguing with you than spending time with anyone I actually get along with.”

“Well, if you want to know what I think-”

If you never had to hear another thing that Nathan thought, it would be great. So, to avoid hearing this particular thought, you grabbed his chin and angled his face so that you could deposit a kiss on his lips.

It was supposed to be a light kiss, just a brush of your lips across his. Enough to distract him without crossing any lines. Unfortunately, your body didn’t seem inclined to listen to you. After that first light kiss, you returned for a second, then a third - each touch of your lips on his deeper than the one before.

Part of you wished you could blame your actions on the alcohol you had drank that evening, but it wouldn’t make sense. The beer pitcher had been empty for an hour and Nathan had drank the last glass… and subsequently refused to buy another, but that was only him being his typical asshole self. The point was, you were in full control of your senses. The only thing driving you to act as you had was desire, pure and simple.

When you pulled away, the motion was reluctant. You didn’t want to break that contact, but you also knew you had crossed a line… even if Nathan had been kissing you back. You opened your eyes as you sat back, trying to adjust your vision as quickly as possible so you could see Nathan’s immediate reaction.

He was pouting.

Nathan Bateman, head of the biggest tech company in the world and high-ranking member of the Forbes Billionaires List for the past six years, pouted when you stopped kissing him.

“C’mon,” he complained, though his voice was quiet enough to lack the grating tone normally present in his whining. “Been waiting ten fuckin’ years for that. You can’t stop now.”

Well, that answered that question.

You smiled despite yourself, and watched with amusement as Nathan’s lips quirked into a smile as well. “I guess that was a better answer, then?”

“I’ve always been a slow study,” he told you, trying to kiss you again. When you turned your face to keep your lips out of reach, he contented himself with kissing and nibbling at your jaw. “You might have to expand on it for me.”

“What would your shareholders think?” you asked. Nathan was an incredibly public figure and, while you weren’t a direct competitor, there could be questions about what he was doing with someone like you. There would be accusations that you were trying to scam some funds from him, at the very least.

With dark eyes and a rough tone, Nathan insisted, “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. Never have, except this one super nerd with a weakness for biotech.”

“Yeah, you’ve really had a weakness for me,” you scoffed.

“Wait, are you serious?” he asked, sounding almost offended. “I wasn’t exactly subtle when we were in college.”

“First, remember that I was pretty sure we hated each other,” you reminded him. “Second, I thought all of the flirty shit was you messing with me.”

“Why did you think I always sat somewhere else until the game was over?” he pressed, exasperated. “I kept getting hard every time you’d beat me.”

“I didn’t beat you that often,” you said inanely. To be fair, you were still trying to process everything he had said up to that point.

“Every question you beat me on, sweetheart,” Nathan amended. “Fuck, nothin’ hotter than someone who’s smart and isn’t afraid to prove it. And then the first game you won, you didn’t even brag about it or rub it in my face. Hot and classy. I barely got back to my dorm.”

You laughed disbelievingly and Nathan held his hands up. “Listen, I’m not trying to talk you into anything you’re not interested in… but if you are interested, I’ve been down for ten years. Just say the fuckin’ word.”

A precious handful of moments were wasted between you as you struggled to come up with a clever word to say, but you tossed it out the window and pressed another kiss to his lips. He responded eagerly, instantly trying to deepen the kiss into something that wouldn’t have been appropriate in public, but you pulled back.

“Was that enough of a confirmation, or do I need to actually say it?” you asked, feeling playful at the heat and eagerness in his eyes.

“Babe, the only thing I want you to say is my name.” His dark brows waggled at you and a smirk gave his full lips an asymmetrical tilt. His hand in yours pulled you steadily toward the door of the Estuary.

When you reached the street, you paused, a thought occurring to you. “Nathan-”

He interrupted before you could finish what you were saying. “Yeah, kinda like that, but sexy.”

“How’s this for sexy?” you challenged, “My apartment is closer.”

He paused, looking torn. “I wanna argue that, but my place is a while away. I also don’t have neighbors, but after we’re done pissing yours off, we can relocate.”

The thought that he was planning some kind of future with you - even just the kind of future that was a handful of hours away - warmed you and you opted to walk to your apartment instead of trying to hail a ride.

When you reached your building, Nathan started to laugh. “You seriously moved a few blocks down from the Estuary? Be honest, you chose this place because it’s close to your trivia hookup.”

You tried to bristle at his theory, but he wasn’t wrong. So you kissed him instead.

As far as you knew, the elevator had been updated to teleport you to your floor, because the trip seemed to take no time at all. You fumbled with your keys while Nathan counted how many times he could make you shiver as he trailed fingertips up and down your back. You pulled him inside, already kissing him again even as you locked your door.

“I would offer you a tour,” you explained between kisses, “but I know you don’t care.”

“I care,” Nathan replied, his words interrupted just as often as yours had been, “just not right now. Wanna get you-”

He broke off with a groan as you grabbed his ass and gave it a healthy squeeze. “Where’s the bedroom?”

You laughed, hardly recognizing the throatiness of it. “Now you care?”

Nathan’s eyes were starting to look a little unhinged. “I’ll fuck you here, but we’d both be more comfortable in a bed. You have ten seconds to decide.”

In a few steps - and exactly eight seconds - you were in your bedroom. Nathan was already peeling away the material of your shirt while you worked at his pants. Fortunately, neither of you had dressed up for a trivia night at the bar, and stripping took very little time… though you would treasure the way Nathan’s face froze when he saw you in nothing but a bra and underwear.

Before long, he was pressing you back into the mattress, kissing you all the while. His body settled between your legs and you gave a subtle wiggle, trying to gauge whether you were wet enough to accommodate him just then. It was close, but you were ready enough to risk it.

It didn’t matter.

Nathan broke away from your lips, planting his hand on your chest when you tried to follow him. “No, no. You just lay there and keep making those pretty fuckin’ sounds for me.”

You shook your head, smiling ruefully. You should have known Nathan would never get straight to things. He liked to take his time, experiment, and - more than anyone knew - torment. Ah, well. At least you would finally get to see if his mouth was good for anything other than pissing you off.

True to form, Nathan started off with a tickling exploration of you, observing every way you reacted to his touches on your outer lips. Then he moved his attention to studying how you moved when he traced your inner folds. Teasing fingertips parted you, tracing every bit of delicate flesh until he ended with a soft brush against your clit.

You tilted your head up, ready to complain about his slow pace. As you parted your lips, he sealed his mouth over you, brushing your clit with his nose even as he thrust his tongue as far inside your core as he could reach. You choked on the breath you had taken, collapsing back onto the mattress even as the muscles of your stomach contracted with pleasure.

Nathan was good at this. Surprisingly good, you admitted to yourself. His mouth was plundering you, but never in a way that felt overwhelming. Not that you were in control of your senses - in fact, the opposite was true - but the pleasure never seemed to melt into an amorphous shape. You could feel every little thing that he was doing to you, and it was always just spaced out enough so that you approached the edge of orgasm, but couldn’t manage to hurl yourself over it. Even the odd scratch of his beard against your sensitive folds had you ready to beg for something a little more.

“Nathan,” you barked. Or, at least, you tried to bite out his name, voice harsh to show your irritation. Instead, it came out in a whine, a plea so desperate that it rose almost out of hearing at the end.

He grinned against your folds. “There it is.”

You grimaced at him, but Nathan thrust two fingers deep inside of you and lavished attention on your clit, pulling your legs up and over his shoulders to circumvent any attempt of squirming away from him… Not that you could even consider it. No, you were too busy imploding around his fingers and trying not to scream.

Instead, you writhed across your mattress, gasping his name as he kept the waves of pleasure crashing over you until you were worried you would drown with it. Eventually, he let you press his head away. Before you could fully recover, you heard something strange. You looked down to find Nathan cleaning the shining remnants of your orgasm from his mouth. His beard was damp with what his tongue couldn’t reach and that distracted you so thoroughly that you almost didn’t notice the way the muscles of his arm were flexing.

And then you did notice and it was all you could concentrate on.

“Bateman,” you said, quickly amending that to, “Nathan.”

He glanced up, face quizzical like he wasn’t jerking off at the foot of your bed. You bit back a growl, turning it into, “Get up here and fuck me.”

The grin that spread over his face seemed even wider with the darkness of his beard and it made you smile back. His kiss pressed you back against the mattress again, but he cut it off to ask, “You wanna be on top or bottom?”

You considered it for a moment. “I don’t think either of us want to wait for me to get my leg strength back. You can be on top.”

He nodded, shifting with pent-up energy. You glanced down between you, catching a glimpse of his cock straining to reach you. He was visibly leaking and so hard that he had to be in pain. Even those mindless movements had turned to helpless little thrusts against the bed.

When you leaned back, spreading your legs for him, the awestruck look on his face erased any shyness you may have felt. (Though there was a limit to how shy you could really be since his face had been buried in your pussy only a few minutes before.) You could feel the wetness of your core, dripping with Nathan’s spit and your own slick.

“Are you-? Shit, I need a condom…” Nathan moved to stand, but you caught at him. He had bragged about his clean bill of health a week before - though you hadn’t thought to tie that to anything more serious than idle conversation at the time - and you were feeling adventurous.

“If you want,” you told him. “But I’m clean and I know you are, too. I’m on the pill. We can-”

You never got the chance to finish your offer. By that point, Nathan was on top of you fully, his cock falling heavily against your folds. He gave a short groan. In half a moment, he was inside you, having thrust inside in a single ill-paced move.

You gasped sharply, your nails digging into his back as you struggled to adjust around him. Nathan wasn’t a small man, and even your well-prepared body could have used a slower entrance.

“Fuck,” he growled. “You good?”

“Yeah, just… just need a minute,” you panted, feeling the way your inner muscles were dancing over his length as you stretched to fit him.

“Sure, sure,” Nathan agreed, eyes half-closing as his jaw flexed. “Feel so good. So good. If I had known… I would never have left you alone. Would have begged you for this.”

“You never left me alone anyway,” you pointed out, a slight tightness in your voice the only thing that betrayed you.

He chuckled, and the low rumble of it ran through you like a pleasant shiver. Your breath caught as your body switched from ‘don’t move’ to ‘please move please-please-please’.

You rolled your hips, working him a fraction of an inch deeper. Nathan’s shoulders flexed with effort as he shook his head. “Don’t do that, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to lose control.”

You did it again, fighting back a grin when he looked down at you with wild eyes. He must have caught whatever mischief was in your face, though, because he nodded intently. “If that’s how you feel…”

His first full thrust drove the breath from your lungs and you never did feel like you got it back. Part of that was from the incredible thickness of him working in and out of you, the way he felt sliding from you and pushing his way back in. It was a gorgeous sensation, and your toes were curling with the pleasure of it even as your brow crinkled.

But the feeling of him inside of you wasn’t the only thing that kept you off-balance. No, the intensity on Nathan’s face had you stumbling. Those dark eyes were burrowing into yours, and you felt like he was studying your very soul even behind the lenses of his glasses.

You closed your eyes as he hit your g-spot, sending shivers running through you.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he pleaded. “Keep those eyes open, okay? Need to- fuck… Need to see you. Want you to see me…”

That command - along with the searching kiss he planted on your lips - left you too close to come back. “Nathan, I- I’m…”

He nodded easily, like he was coolly unaffected by the news of your impending pleasure, but his hips thrusted so sharply that you let out a little cry. “Go ahead, come for me. Shit, come on me. I’m gonna- Won’t last much longer, either.”

You rolled your hips just a little harder, purposefully clamping down around him. Nathan hissed out a breath, his head tilting back with it before he fixed his eyes on you once more. There was a groove between his thick brows, like he was fixing all of his concentration on you alone.

It was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he urged, fingers tightening on your hips as he managed to spear a tiny bit deeper into you. “Come on, let me feel you…”

You felt your core tighten around him - tighter than you could ever dream of doing normally - and then release, milking him for cum he wasn’t giving up yet. He gritted his teeth and fought to keep going, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

At the peak of your orgasm, your mouth fell open and you could feel that sound was coming out. What that sound was, you didn’t know; there was a roaring in your ears too loud to hear past. But, from the smugness on Nathan’s face, it was safe to assume that it was his name.

Just as you were coming down from your peak, Nathan reached his. Those dark eyes were still locked on yours, but you could see the way they tightened around the corners as he speared himself as deep into you as he could go. Through your own aftershocks, you could feel the way he was pulsing inside of you, painting you with hot streams of cum. When Nathan finally relaxed, he was resting almost his full weight on you.

It should have been unpleasant, you reflected. You were both sticky with cooling sweat, and you could feel cum beginning to gush from around Nathan’s softening cock. Your thighs ached at being forced apart for so long and you could feel the beginnings of beard burn forming in several fascinating places.

Yes, it should have been unpleasant, catching your breath with Nathan Bateman. But even as you struggled to catch your breath, you both found enough air to share a chuckle.

“Guess I should stop crushing you now,” Nathan murmured, pulling out before rolling off you.

You grimaced and squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to fight the flow of cum steadily leaking out of you. Nathan saw the motion and grabbed something off the side of the bed, handing you a piece of fabric in the next moment. You snorted when you realized it was a sock.

“I’d offer to get you a washcloth, but my knees aren’t working yet,” Nathan told you. He squinted around the room. “And I have no idea where your bathroom is.”

You snorted. “Well, there are three doors in this room and we came in through one of them. I like those odds.”

“You think 50/50 is good odds?” Nathan asked, sounding scandalized. “Remind me never to go gambling with you.”

“50/50 would be incredible odds in gambling,” you argued, feeling faintly ridiculous bickering about it with a sock pressed between your legs. “Just admit you’re not a gambler, Bateman.”

Nathan rolled onto his side to face you and your eyes were drawn down to the scars on his chest and stomach. You pulled your gaze away quickly, but the wariness on his face told you that he had seen you. Quietly, he said, “I only gamble when it matters.”

To break the mood, you scoffed. “I’ve seen you bet whether a bird would eat some roadkill.”

“It was a hawk and it was trying to fly away with an entire racoon!” He sounded outraged, but there was a glimmer of good humor growing in his eyes once more. “I made fifty bucks on that bet, too.”

“The true foundation of your fortune,” you replied.

He rolled away and stood up, pausing a moment as if to check whether his knees would hold up. “I’m going on a brave, daring quest to your kitchen. Assuming I make it alive, do you want anything?”

“I’d love a glass of water,” you requested. As he reached the door, you said, “If you reach the piranha moat, you’ve gone too far. And if you run into the dragon, the password is ‘butterscotch’.”

“Ha, ha,” Nathan fake-laughed over his shoulder as he disappeared into the darkened hallway.

You sat smiling like an idiot for longer than you would care to admit.

---

Author's Note - And that's it! Thanks for reading - I would love to know what you thought!

I don't offer a taglist for explicit works, but you can find other works on my masterlist!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2023 #fanficfebruary #ex machina #ex machina (2015)#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert smut #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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caltropspress · 6 months ago

Text

RAPS + CRAFTS #25: k-the-i???

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

My name is k-the-i??? I’m from Cambridge, Massachusetts but I’ve lived in many places throughout the United States. From Los Angeles, California to Chicago, Illinois, to even a little bit of Berlin, Germany. I’m global but I’m now looking to move to New York / New Jersey in the near future.

As far as music goes, heads might know me from my Mush Records release of Broken Love Letter and my Mush / Big Dada / Ninjatune release of Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow produced by my brother Thavius Beck. I also have a plethora of other releases.

I’m currently working on a major record (major for me, at least). I’m slowly in the process of completing it. All produced by one producer, it features a slew of today’s modern-day hip-hop heroes. At this moment I can’t talk about the project but be sure everyone will be pleasantly pleased by the surprise. I’m also working on a gang of special limited EP releases for the future. You know what??? I could tell you what’s up. My new project is titled Genuine Dexterity. Produced entirely by the one and only Kenny Segal. It's being released by Backwoodz Studioz. If features Armand Hammer, Open Mike Eagle, Fatboi Sharif, and more. Me and Kenny are really proud of the record. Honestly, I personally think it’s one of the best records that I’ve done.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

I usually write when I feel the urge, but as of lately since I fully rekindled my love for the arts as well as working on many projects, I’ve been writing non-stop, every day, for the past year. The excitement from the beats I’ve been receiving got me fully back in mode. So yeah…everyday. I have way too many things on my mind not to write all the time.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

Originally I was a pen and paper writer; then I became a phone writer. Once in a while, I’m the "keep it on my mind"—no phone, no paper—freestyle-ish over and over until it’s cohesive type writer. As of recently I’ve been writing my lyrics on the phone, then I’ll send them to my laptop, laptop to printer to be printed out and plastered behind the microphone for me to see clearly. The sad thing about recording with a phone is you sometimes have the tendency of talking down and not projecting your voice directly into the mic.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I do write bars down but only sporadically. Only things come to me out of nowhere. Most of the time I let it flow naturally. Otherwise disorganized at first, but once I initiate what I’m writing about I’m locked in. Though it might come off as extremely dense, the picture is clear to me, of course.

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Depends. Sometimes from the first line I’m locked in. Other times it takes me writing a whole verse to decide whether or not if I’m keeping it or archiving it. I’m a quick writer because I write what I live and fully express the emotions that have gathered up since my inception. I’ll never completely get rid of a verse. What might not work now may work in the future to be used or reworked.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Totally!!! I write poetry aside from my rap lyrics. I have been thinking of writing some fiction. Maybe create a special project that involves a story that goes along with my music. I have tried this before. Wrote an interactive children’s book that came with music to follow, but it died with my old hard drive fifteen years ago. Since then, I’ve been scared to reattempt a project like that in fear that I might lose it again.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

I do a fair amount of editing just to make sure that I’ve chosen the ideal words for each verse that I write. This is if I’m working alone. If I’m in the studio with a crew writing a song, I just write it and record it. No time to really look it over. I just have to trust in myself sometimes.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Both. Since I’m also a producer, I have the option of approaching a song from every direction.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

I write in so many absolutes it’s crazy. Sometimes I go into a song knowing exactly what I’m about to talk about. Other times I may just put on a beat and let the pen slide and do what comes naturally. The song sometimes writes itself. I’ve experienced so many things in my life that sometimes the beat guides my verses.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

Funny thing is, before I moved to Los Angeles, I didn’t care for flipping styles and schemes as much as I do now. At one point in time I used to just kick the verse and whatever scheme was developed was through osmosis. If the situation requires me to alter a song, I’m all there for it.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

I have a song that I wrote almost 30 years ago that I end sets with until this day titled "Kollidoscope." Aside from that, me and Thavius Beck's album Yesterday, Today & Tomorrow has some of my most proud verses. Usually I make the beats I rap to, so when I get someone else to take on the production it allows me to concentrate on just writing the best that I can. All the focus is on the writing.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

"It’s my Chemical Romance to dance, fluid fluidity, / Really milestones to travel gravel now I’m lost." ("Cell-Shaded/Daydreams/Nightmares")

I was a fan of My Chemical Romance first of all. Also, the line entwines with me being chemically off-balanced romancing the density I express and allowing it to flow naturally even though they’ll be numerous obstacle courses in my way.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

For the most part I don’t do punch-ins. I just kick the verse straight through. Though sometimes it requires it. I have nothing against it though. I just don’t utilize it as much, but at times it calls for it. If I use punch-ins, it’s an artistic choice, not a "I can’t nail this verse" type of issue. Plus my breath control is fairly on-point, especially after I actually know the verse. By that time I know where to breathe and when to go ballistic.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

My favorite bands are Broadcast (R.I.P. Trish Keenan) and Stereolab, so I go to them all the time for inspiration. That and Atlas Sound (Bradford Cox of Deerhunter's solo project), Beach House, Animal Collective, Oldies (Rock, Jazz, Blues, etc.), and the list goes on. Believe it or not, I’m the biggest Transformers fan, so I might watch old episodes of the show to get me writing. That or anime in general. Weird thing: sometimes I write to white noise, the sound of rain, wild forests—nature sounds and such. It clears my mind, so I’m writing from a decluttered state.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

Sometimes I struggle to like certain ish that I write until I send it off for an opinion and then realize that I must’ve been bugging when heads hit me back like, You murdered this . As of recently, since I’m working on a project solely produced by one person, I’ve been really loving my new ish. I feel like as time goes on, I’m getting better and I still have room for plenty of new projects.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Honestly, no one. The only person I have to resist the urge to go down the same lane as them is Mach-Hommy. And it has nothing to with style or lyrics because we’re completely different. It’s the fact that we’re both Haitian artists and he tends to apply a lot of my people's culture into his music, like rapping in Creole or an album cover depicting him as Toussaint Louverture. I’m trying to avoid not going in that direction unless I make a song with him. Then we’ll go there.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

No agenda, but I do write my music in a dense fashion. Apply Morse code, metaphors, similes in order for you not to fully figure it out now and for it to make more sense to you as the years go on. So, yeah, I’m totally engaging my listeners. Fine wine, my friend.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Antimc

#underground hip hop #backwoodz studioz #zines #interview #k-the-i???

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