#Dirge!Lark | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 1 year ago

Text

Who this, translate again

A cinquain sequence

Or marry larks upon your eccho ring. Who this, translate again. Before himself apart.

For the little can be? Rolled, the moon brede, lay harmony, thought is plaints. Of that this ill-clad?

From Him— by Him direct to me in they repair: the bowers! Above the found there fools wit.

The crowd of the kitchen. June bug, listening spleen. Prevail within this ease. In a level—No!

Straight me beguil’d, it head your girls flit, till along she next my Julia three A. Whither proof.

Then to the rosy courtesy. Cunning, of Day and to strayt. Midas knew not, gazing short.

Then the pelf with your brings frae our ease the graunteth lasting men. We forgotten—in far worse.

Two were life, your helpe to subject servants the forsworn. And like great was born just when the lay!

Which in the slope side, upon my pet-name! To make, that burning sound women glorious lyre.

Be her sunshines pure, the grow! We can say my husband truth. Would heap’d, the beleeue that the hand.

Bride o’ the build a beene to married men—good! Injunction itself the soldier heard, and kind.

It’s nosegay’: dropped thou the great play, and heart that great, that I am, yet reconciling?

Drew figs. My prayer. She collected, those acts and cuckoo! Lest all hand, and when ‘Ye lied.

Me, nor life. Were and yet must too harmed by bed. ’Er she fierce thing at there was a hermit’s pride.

Wounded ran inside myself so conceal, beneath the night have draw not? Hallowed: but she place!

Knights surcease thee? So sweet in a kiss’d beneath all that just as our bring her here’s ivy!

But and mountains beguiled, nor the knight to let your wisest words; crowned sorrow. For thee I’ll lot.

To the difference, have fall love do pain, in secret darts but she door. I’d grace of a God!

To lay. Out the open, Gregory! Let no longing much, near with roll in my heart go wide!

In ev’ry posies soon they givenesse appeared; and know her arms, But he. Doors gave minute?

We let it, the maid, Those that fear, love their feet; the bright out. Now welcome, and stronger mother.

The king our Univers, each he took full dame. For the doe daught ascended: the loved yourselves.

Joining. It isn’t have I am a golden brede, lay like the part in Ioue wits of thinking.

Bring delightly me, say or some receipt; for virtue by desired. Come and love the knight.

Thence is Will. Depart, how blythely words with the diamond fine. Then us too harmful dame.

The flatter thee broke, in Tempe, lying. And no disappeared up, and which made, name is all.

My fawn is gift. But, trowth, and come with fragrant that flames will leaving Habit so, and wha will.

The who shore; fair possessing misplaid. Painting of your and worked it: I cry my truth, and floor.

At fill make genial wile? But Sylvio did; his orient, to begins the which death will.

And are na by. Nay, we’re tired sometimes soothing the find, or whose dirge is gone to the door.

Which made no purple-lined on air, with thou art sophist, in vain? Is moment, etc.

No match yet what her had, nor laik o’ my middles her bed is this love; and, oh, my brother.

For the with words; crown, and from fearest, when fields; a honey in her prayses them? Till I die!

We have child’ cease we left off to filch away Alas! The roar above his fiery race.

Which doth she, have I nothing the many thigh could spiced wooers spends the greatly found, march with Saul?

To his bed bed. The vermine, and motions run no human loved then? It was the forrests wit.

Is it Absál? And as these untold, though better set? Your married and the honeysuckle.

I written as they call these your waiting wave, the Fortieth sparrow, when become heart’s gone.

In vain? —There drink she ca’d. Nor sing, to see that nest and after than heavy cheer, with dead: hence?

Might call where unlaced a heart brooding forth. And dignity: for everywhere one deepes?

Less race. But bring in an Angel heat sheets of comfort useless: but straight to his Desired.

The rush came no powre to and on her mothers, archaisms, when my hire: my puling linen band?

Look cross thraldom the secret bower? Descend this, no fall, and like hir man. ’Er younger face?

Bound, all, not to find. And so their name time proud, the began to you for thought to marriage feast.

Ye wadna been those fault watching but charme didst that I might a kind? Which loosen’d my fire, how?

I’d grab your will ready. Ne let is of all the Past! Many pity is thee prevails.

I despairing a captive chance, sees full, and bell. Of Matter at the good. Now all to do?

Of they knew no long, I did the lead his hail. Riding wheels: and blushing-gull tu-who; tu-who!

The late robe, the that free, and the triumphantly. For my blood; pluck a because of a God!

Farthing. Or wound light to adore, her forming my true wommend; I did not take it glitter.

But said: though his slaue-borne love Gregory. At the petal of rose? Custom there’s no more.

Whiles she, that look’d as well know no azure vermines wreck’d as still build a bonny bower?

It with, then, sir; and served with body bent; vain. Till like Love it is The Crab behind his man!

—I’m o’er your sex aspire and mind discoverlooked not knows then prey. The orchard the ca’d.

It so itself in thy kirtle, hush; the grace. I will silent; and your consider, me, stood.

A staid, than throught watching. By madest kerchief of our madness boat wilful-slow, fixed tame, next.

Of almost forc’d, and all this perhaps and chastity. Now, he best, swift-footed in my tree!

From the depart, or wheels uncondiscending too short. Is gowden with all that like the nane.

Highness breast that euer it weed-flower, wandering and her mov’d; from then he best. Quickly wife.

’ Horn, red grind on libbe in on my one but found must be&,. The further, was o’ coin were renew’d.

Told man’s not your ioy doe sting with you, kind beware; for lovely music-maker nothings side.

Knowing got show but Ida stone, witnesse moning time rosy deep doth she lobes of your eye.

To bear the this heat above! Once and plain dislike those and here’s not flickered all to me!

Being, Die, oh, there vein wander door. Till Gregory, the sex are as theyr champagne and love.

No, you that name reioyce. Tell that in being note, the flatter? Instead I since I seemed and praise?

’ You, as often road maids in hill, that name taints fate. And whim: anon, too so your Eccho ring.

�� The world counsels tholien whatever blooms cold philosopher had blow! Of joy in the same.

The laces, may not to West; till the sea. Put of honour. Their presences of beauteous ring.

—My lady- smocks the mind? Take those fault was molten in thinge. Tulips, too—filled round- table now.

Fair and fair, did I heard look up their sinnes to all freedom another. Say, lichen, good.

For whether was broke, so swell. And doves, and where I to lay at his fate as the you, carried.

So though the kye. Without their static the stone to take. Did not one can not feed unties prayse.

Were driving all the child! The let it left and a room, fill’d but to say my friend. By bounded.

Or can scarred I take me who had daft his paramoured, have streaming, ne let themselves end?

You hopes shamed Simile amidst, in royal blessing the fair. I knelt beeing Lord Gregory!

Thought osier’d on her pillours nor will note; the true noble now set her part of these that flow?

Would put in the rites of women must be had. So ever subject served his fair brauely band?

Will reconcilemen, best; till the blows there depart, left of he town; to seed the blood. Gifts.

But resound where understood. The seen the cloud an’ I in a snakes. Like name be Annie, dear.

And the blood of the fire. But now vnthought to her forehead at even now, and evening contest.

Wound wildly flowers every morn; but if your paints? I probably leers by her, brother’s jaws, Lo!

Only four-and-twenty leans here pains echo rings, a God only lov’d. We know; so near slain.

I could discovered oak she country, sir. But give it be a sister of my desire.

As I am not one on the day though it to scorn drew from they will die. To cheek and more.

That is life. She thy world, firm, quick whiles shed prove, the gloom, this mazeful thanked mend thousand are.

Resolving, nay of a crowne be tangled further lullaby? May bring fate, our Eccho ring.

Yet could fingers? With day approuance gies the village feast sair ancient weaves along, up in thine.

Into the perswaded with the princesses poured could understood, of blood is loving thumbs.

Have not to love to singe. One and statue shower and let me go: take me love exchanged wide!

The knight. Ye shall dominioned cave! Each yellow- whit, the dairy as I. He said, or joy.

And perfections all her that them out; but since read of this sword he sang. Their dear, dear that her.

At length. ’Tis not a matches, and infections new; most doors wide sits mother. Who breed and May?

And and lived against my hopelesse from my pet- name! With the let herself those are na by.

Speak that his eye, and the woods now vnthought see will persever. Being fell to which they gaining.

” Then find. She wealth, and vnreuealed: and men, and nowe image of a woman, and milk- For all?

As I. Tied in all thy head sheep-track’s man, where for ever: I in the bright, and her form legs.

Fain; but left. And crust, not blood, nobility of a heart, for the hulls on his veins to me.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #122 texts #cinquain sequence

0 notes

musicollage · 4 years ago

Photo

Lali Puna. Faking The Books, 2004. Morr Music. ~ [ Album Review | 1) Pitchfork + 2) Tiny Mix Tapes + 3) Stylus Magazine ]

1) Even now, amidst this international shitstorm of laptop-meets-okay-musician circle jerks, the Weilheim, Germany supergroups-- The Notwist, Ms. John Soda, Lali Puna-- have maintained fairly unique personalities. Let's oversimplify: The Notwist remains the camp's darkest shade, preoccupied with melancholy and perhaps the most electronically involved. Ms. John Soda straddles rock and pop equally, coaching chocolately sweet vocals and the camp's most peppermint hooks. By analogy, Lali Puna is to riffs what Ms. John Soda is to melodies-- this is Weilheim's face of rock, its most outwardly energetic outfit and the closest this town gets to sweaty basement shows and fucking shit up wholesale.

Which doesn't say much, as Lali Puna's idea of fucking shit up on their 2001 release Scary World Theory seemed to be, at worst, breaking into a building and rearranging the furniture. Still, at the time, the album's gruffest tracks offered the most aggressive sounds Weilheim's palatable pop spectrum had yet delivered. And then last year, Ms. John Soda released their heavily rock-oriented While Talking EP, which, though only marginally enjoyable, branched out into harder terrain. Now, with Faking the Books, Lali Puna snatch the Weilheim riffing crown back from Ms. John Soda-- and thankfully, even top their labelmates melodically.

After a pleasant but ultimately faceless title track opener, Lali Puna provide a double-shot of well-wrought rippers: "Call 1-800-FEAR" is the first, boasting a no-nonsense drive, tight instrumental harmonies and undistracting electronic loops that bolster the song's pulse. Atop it all floats bandleader Valerie Trebeljahr's underwater vocals, processed enough so as not to sound incongruous or (gasp!) bedroomy. "Micronomic", the album's second single, follows in similar temperament, and while not my favorite track on the album, speaks to Lali Puna's ability to cradle their listener gently in melody for one second, and to punch him in the face with a dirty riff in the next.

"B-Movie" and "Left Handed", however, are without a doubt the album's standouts, and maybe the best rock songs in Lali Puna's catalog. "B-Movie" pulls off the Kim Gordon sing/speak that Ms. John Soda attempted to lesser success last year: Trebeljahr just nails that been-there-done-that apathy which works so well with the song's contrasting manic rock groove and pointed bass pulse. The loud, guitar-heavy chorus of "Left Handed" steps further away from Weilheim's distinguished trademarks than the band's other material. Its roaring rock factor was a point of contention when it was released as the album's first single, but in the context of the album it doesn't seem out of place at all: The song sports similarly atonal-to-tonal lyric deliveries as "B-Movie", and remains anchored firmly by the nervous, high-pitched synth line that opens the song and rides it out to the end.

As for the rest of Faking the Books, it's pleasant, and hardly unrealized, but it falls just a bit too close to the IDM pop lark that takes up so much space on CD racks and FireWire drives. And on an album on which this band so beautifully exceeds itself with songs like "B-Movie" and "Grin and Bear", tracks like "Geography-5" and "People I Know", which are content to simply be pretty, are just further proof that the gimmick of pairing electronic and traditional rock instrumentation has lost its edge, and that the genre must now rely on stronger songwriting to succeed. That said, Faking the Books is a confident stride in the right direction, and proves that, even within the confines of a tired concept, a great hook still goes a long way.

2) The history of brilliant electronic efforts fronted by mind-altered, bot-driven avatars is not a short one. From Kraftwerk to Devo to Miss Kittin, electronic music has always had a soft spot for people who can sing just like computers can. And, admittedly, it is all pretty cool. There is a certain awesomeness in imitating computers, a turn of the tables from trying to get computers to act like humans (which has never worked out very well).

Problem is, Lali Puna's latest effort, Faking the Books, isn't really going for fun, and there is hardly a wink in Valerie Trebeljahr's vacant, utterly sterile delivery; not even a raised eyebrow. We're talking about corporate takeover in "Micronomic," political corruption in "1-800-Fear," and cheating (!) in title track "Faking the Books"; and that's just the first three cuts. In an album heavy on concept, it all comes off as a trick, utterly unconvincing and disturbingly jaded.

To be sure, Faking the Books is still a worthy effort, and contains some undeniably beautiful moments. A lean string section on "Crawling by Numbers" serves as perfect counterpoint to spare, haunting keyboards. The driving percussion of "B-Movie" is as close to a rock-out track as bastardized IDM has ever previously achieved. And throughout the album's twelve tracks, an unlikely confluence of sound often gives way to the kind of sonic landscaping that few electronic acts can approach.

It's just hard what to make of all of it. Listening to Faking the Books makes you feel utterly alone; and maybe that's the whole point. It's difficult to play the album through and not recall Markus Acher's striking vocals on The Notwist's Neon Golden (who also provides guitars here); he's sullen, fairly quiet and not particularly dramatic, but entirely convincing. I want to believe Lali Puna. I just need for them to believe, too.

3) Lali Puna is one of the myriad groups putting out consistently intriguing material without taking the final step toward a defining masterwork. Their first album, Tridecoder, was often sterilized by their Stereolab-worship, and though they progressed towards a Teutonic amalgam of their own with Scary World Theory, they were still hampered by peculiar translation barriers. Often the lyrics came out deadened and awkward, as though misled by a translator fond of cruel pranks (the title track and its allusion to the ‘cookie monster’ was particularly strange). On their newest album, Faking the Books, Lali Puna move one step closer to triumph. They touch greatness at several points, if never truly digging their nails in and grabbing hold.

Opening with the gorgeous stuttering vocal samples of the title track, Lali Puna establish the same vague working area as previous works, but there is a distance in the similarity. It’s as though you’ve just met a good friend’s identical twin, and he’s posing as your friend. His voice sounds different, and he parts his hair wider of center. He doesn’t use the same expressions, and there’s a gleam in his eye that tells you something’s up. The driving organic rhythms of “Call 1-800-Fear” remind of much of the first album, but just as you become accustomed to its propulsive thrust, the drums fade into quick-stepping electronic beats and a solemn piano muffles the song into a deep restless stirring. “Micronomic” uses a similar mechanical breakdown to cool down its squelched sax blurts and lively drums.

Perhaps the greatest difference is Valerie Trebeljahr’s improved emotional range. At times in the past, she was content to play the heroin-dead heroine, reclining with sang froid and cold Germanic grace into an emotional deadpan. On many of Faking the Books’ best songs, Trebeljahr reaches beyond this detachment to an impassioned query, giving the album a greater sense of depth and development. Suddenly, even in the face of vague uncertainty, Trebeljahr seems more confident, more willing to put her ego on the line and risk a sullen retreat. “Geography-5” finds her alluring and come-hither, and since the song is built upon one of the album’s simplest arrangements, her voice is the necessary focal point. Atop a simple bass-drum part and twilight chimes, she sweats out a sexuality that doesn’t bring to mind black leather, dog collars and torturous candle wax. On the gorgeous closer “Crawling by Numbers,” she similarly warms up the chorus with a beautiful reach—the juxtaposition of her voice with the song’s dirgeful strings making for a mesmerizing finale.

For the first time, Lali Puna’s control doesn’t seem so absolute. It’s possible that they aren’t cooler than you are (though it’s still likely). A few cracks have spread in their frozen facade, and that sudden vulnerability, glimpsed in the desperate “Do you?” on “Alienation” and the minimal aquatic squiggles and tribal drums of “Small Things,” makes the group that much more compelling. They work under the protective hush of simplicity at times, and this sparseness allows the broken-nosed shatter of their more propulsive material the intended effect. They aren’t there yet, but the maturity on Faking the Books serves as notice they may only be one album away.

#pop music #electronic music #leftfield #lali puna #morr music #2004 #2000s #2000s rock #rock music #pitchfork #tiny mix tapes #stylus magazine #review

6 notes · View notes

syedstauheed · 5 years ago

Text

Autumn charm

Much have I spoken of the faded leaf Long have I listened to the wailing wind And watched it ploughing through the heavy clouds For autumn charms my melancholy mind.

When autumn comes, the poets sing a dirge: The year must perish. all the flowers are dead The sheaves are gathered and the mottled quail Runs in the stubble, but the lark has fled!

Still, autumn ushers in the Christmas cheer The…

View On WordPress

#Autumn #Mankind & Nature #Nature #Poemblog #Poetry #Poetry blogs #Poets Corner #Seasons

1 note · View note

graywyvern · 2 years ago

Photo

( via / via )

Newcomer Paradox.

"The emperor of China asked his court painter, 'What's easy to paint and what's hard to paint?' and the answer was 'Dogs are difficult, demons are easy.' "

--Alex Kerr, Dogs and Demons (2001)

Let's Keep in Touch.

"Dirge at the Edge of Woods

Gold shed upon suckling gold, The time of the bole blackens, Of the dark mounted through dapple, While in the sealed apple The seed cradled toward cold. Put by from an elm in its years Now its gilded of days, Over turf’s dishevelment; Where all which is green sickens, All the fresh shall be sere. And it is but for a time Those embered veinings blaze A year’s delirium; Or neared of other space, Unportioned azure shall close One of more, and which is, One which goes. Let the little pupils that will, Of vision, gaze for salt To whet their gazing, wit In one weather is high From burrow and lair, by Nether providences’ default An all’s accrued. And apposite, beyond Such primer beholdings, has Its long accounting known The beetle’s morsel thus Was rich, and the slug’s bed on The oak’s generations, deep Over the lark’s bones. In slough of Edens fast Wit in one weather shall stand, While millennia nibble at The sensual apple Toppled it net, Plenty in the palm of the hand, And the fallen not fallen, not lost From out its certitude-- For our unbeggaring Has been gross. Few and late To cherish an immoderate Wish, hope’s calculus, Love’s hope; few to miss, From natural tally thrust, In the lime-girdled space Of choice, where alone Man can abandon what Is only his own; And in cold and tarrying Their rearisers sleep:

While to the granite cheek Light’s purples bring Infinite their ministering, And past our finial And ragged crests, to keep Time’s ambient stood, Propose horizons from Their shadowy quarries; while, In an unwandered wood, Or under the indifferent foot, Is let fall, let fall a fruit, Through eternal leisures down, For but time’s unravelling."

--Léonie Adams

"Are Democrats and mainstream media outlets just going to let them succeed in purging people like me from society?

"It may be that the kind of thing I have been trying to make is no longer makeable in the kind of way in which I have tried to make it."

--David Jones, preface to The Anathemata (1952)

Promenade.

0 notes

violettesiren · 6 years ago

Text

Why did you come when the trees were bare? Why did you come with the wintry air? When the faint note dies in the robin's throat, And the gables drip and the white flakes float? What a strange, strange season to choose to come, When the heavens are blind and the earth is dumb: When nought is left living to dirge the dead, And even the snowdrop keeps its bed! Could you not come when woods are green? Could you not come when lambs are seen? When the primrose laughs from its childlike sleep, And the violets hide and the bluebells peep? When the air as your breath is sweet, and skies Have all but the soul of your limpid eyes, And the year, growing confident day by day, Weans lusty June from the breast of May? Yet had you come then, the lark had lent In vain his music, the thorn its scent, In vain the woodbine budded, in vain The rippling smile of the April rain. Your voice would have silenced merle and thrush, And the rose outbloomed would have blushed to blush, And Summer, seeing you, paused, and known That the glow of your beauty outshone its own. So, timely you came, and well you chose, You came when most needed, my winter rose. From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.

My Winter Rose by Alfred Austin

#alfred austin

1 note · View note

bruxbea · 2 months ago

Text

really love how Durge can flat out be like "ya'll I think I may be a murder hobo???" and the entire squad's response is "those are just dnd intrusive thoughts, you're nothing special" it feels like the Futurama ep where Fry gets commercials in his dreams?

#none of them gaf #to the point where Dirge!Lark just shrugs with “Aight can't say I didn't warn them”#bg3 #dark urge spoilers

2 notes · View notes

hadescavedish · 7 years ago

Text

The previous post

The castle in Nohant

It is in Berry, left by George Sand’s grandmother Marie-Aurore Dupin, built in late 1760s. There are so many duke’s castles in this area, the main towers and the trenches are kept undamaged— like Montgivray, Sand’s alcoholic half brother was living in there, also her childhood friend, Gustave Papet, her doctor, who was living in castle Chateau d'Ars.

George Sand’s childhood

Her childhood: her grandmother left her in Nohant, spent a lot money to keep her away from her lunatic mother. She allowed her to hang out with tenants’ children, so that she knows the difficult lives that the paupers had got. She witnessed the disable bodies, the natural disasters and the farmers’ hatred towards speculators. Those farmers had kept their friendships with her since then.

The first summer in Nohant

In 1839, Chopin spent spring in Marseilles. He took ferryboat traveled on Rhone from Marseilles to Arles. Changed several carriages, arrived Nohant in June 2nd. Papet made examination for him and made positive diagnosis. Weeks later, he started to compose. His piano playing made the whole family felt so pleased. As a person switch situation from agitated to weak frequently, it is very difficult for him to start a new composition. Now he began to finish his incomplete works. He had recovered. In 19th June, George Sand enshrined the date and a line from an English poem on herpaneled embrasure , the content has no longer existed there in nowadays, but people guessed this is her greeting to the new life ahead. After solving his health problems, she began to worry the simple, plain country life would bore him. As a busy writer, she didn’t have much time to keep him company, so she asked friends to visit him. In late August, Grzymala, Chopin’s favorite Polish friend, visited him. In next two weeks, they happily talked with Polish. And her children imitated their ways of pronouncing Polish and those long Polish words.

His first impression on Nohant is its sweet sounds. There is no hawk like in Valldemosa, there is only the singings of larks and nightgales. The mid summer of Berry awakened his memory to Mazovia— the place that he visited many times when he was a child. The paths which wriggled on the meadow has planted the same trimmed willows and chestnut.The streams and pools are hidden by the the bushes of the shrubs. The stone wall that adjacent to the manor is covered with rose and Clematis. On second floor, he had a bedroom and a study. The walls were covered with festive red and blue Chinese paper. On the first floor, there was a smaller Pleyel grand piano which replaced the upright piano that was originally prepared for Liszt. The sounds of children, servants, dog and the carriages that carried his friends that around him made him feel secure. And he would play for Sand at dusk. Sand often hikes with her children, Maurice would collect stones and insects, Solange would ride horses. He would ride donkey along with them occasionally. When others got down and started walking, he would collect flowers (FUCKING FLOWERS) or take a nap.

The compositions

His funeral march has developed into a sonata, aka the second sonata (OP.35). The previous part was possibly written in Nohant. The one of first parts sound like dirge, but suddenly the song switched into doppio moviemento, the painful dirge became as quiet as an idly. He started to write the second nocturne for OP.37 at that time. He had started to write the scherzo since he was in Majorca, also finished it in Nohant. And also three Mazurkas were the compositions that rarely pleased him, which he called them his ‘children’. On the contrary to Chopin’s perfectionism (I hate to mention this but Tony is a FCUKING PERFECTIONIST) George Sand had never had time to embellish her writings. She quoted another perfectionist Gustave Flaubert’s words to explain her situations: even though she had the equal talent as they do but she couldn’t have time to polish those works, she just took them roughly to support people around her (include Chopin, well but Chopin made money on his own, though she had to make her castle operating) She would as well violently bargain with her publisher Buloz. He visited her in Nohant that summer. He’s the editor for the magazine called Revue des Deux Mondes, recently promoted to director of héâtre Français. He pushed her to write a play, so she wrote her first play Cosima.

Back in to Paris (a very funny part) They went back to Paris in September, the weather had gone colder, she needed to rehearse the play and he also had to meet the publishers. They both didn’t have a flat currently. Lol the requirement that Chopin asked his friend Fontana to find a new flat: the location is in fashion, it should be in the centre of Paris, and the layout of the room should be the best, the views, it should not have many neighbors. It should be convenient for him to teach his students. Also the decorations: it must be dove-coloured, polished wallpaper with dark green edge which is not too wide. If there were better choices he could choose them instead. He also warned Fontana: the style should be simple and warm (…….. Lmao what a fucking princess) During the year he left Paris, the male dressing fashion had changed, especially the hats, Fontana also had to arrange clothes for him: dark grey, without strips, also a velvet vest with small patterns. Also this Fontana had to find flat for George Sand: a quiet place without smokes and noises, it’d better could lead to montmartre. With rooms that windows are towards south. If it’s possible, he and Sand could have an extra entrance that separated from children and servants. He added: “you should try as hard as you’re looking for the flat for me.” Anyway Fontana finally found a double pavilion in rue Pigalle, decorated in 18th century styles, separated with a garden. Chopin lives with Maurice, Sand lived with the servants and Solange. He felt like he had reborn.

@get-dank-with-banks @barriemorebarlow

#chopin #george sand

6 notes · View notes

stephaniemarlowftw · 6 years ago

Text

EARTH UNVEIL IMMENSE AND MEDITATIVE NEW TRACK, “THE COLOUR OF POISON”

Watch the duo’s post-modern Western front spring to life. // Their ninth studio album, Full Upon Her Burning Lips, is out May 24th on Sargent House.

Continuing to stoke the anticipation revolving around their might return to the studio and stage, legendary duo Earth have shared another snapshot of their forthcoming LP Full Upon Her Burning Lips. Coupled with a stark black-and-white visualizer, the five-and-a-half minute dirge “The Colour Of Poison” is packed with Earth’s thematically meditative, sonically immense hallmarks.

Immerse yourself in “The Colour Of Poison” via YouTube today.

Commemorating a three-decade reign as one of metal’s most monolithic bands, Full Upon Her Burning Lips spares no expense in time or talent. While the duo’s musical vocabulary has expanded as the years have passed, every note still carries the weight of the world. Back with a sound more organic thane ver, the tried-and-true magic between guitarist Dylan Carlson and percussionist Adrienne Davies unfurls with each of the record’s ten tracks.

“In the past I’ve usually had a strong framework for an album,” Carlson says of the album’s gestation process. “This one developed one over the course of the writing and recording. It just felt like ‘Earth’—like just the two players doing their best work at playing, serving the music.”

The absence of a guiding narrative allowed Carlson and Davies to be more inquisitive, resulting in more terse musical vignettes unbound by context. Bolstered by the engineering, mixing, and mastering by longtime associate Mell Dettmer, Full Upon Her Burning Lips is a leap into undiscovered territory. The purest distillation of Earth yet, and indeed, anyone that’s followed Earth on their journey will bask in the unadulterated hums, throbs, and reverberations conjured by Carlson and Davies.

Full Upon Her Burning Lips will be released on May 24th via Sargent House. Preorders are available here and from Earth’s official store here.

See Earth on tour across the U.S. with label mates Helms Alee this May and June.

Full Upon Her Burning Lips — Track Listing:

1. Datura’s Crimson Veils

2. Exaltation of Larks

3. Cats on the Briar

4. The Colour of Poison

5. Descending Belladonna

6. She Rides an Air of Malevolence

7. Maiden’s Catafalque

8. An Unnatural Carouse

l9. The Mandrake’s Hymn

10. A Wretched Country of Dusk

Earth — On Tour w/ Helms Alee:

May 24 Seattle, WA @ Neumos

May 25 Portland, OR @ Doug Fir Lounge

May 28 San Francisco, CA @ Great American

May 29 Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo

May 31 Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo

June 1 Phoenix, AZ @ Rebel Lounge

June 2 Albuquerque, NM @ Sister

June 4 Austin, TX @ Barracuda

June 5 Dallas, TX @ Club Dada

June 7 Houston, TX @ The Secret Group

June 8 Baton Rouge, LA @ Spanish Moon

June 10 Orlando, FL @ Wills Pub

June 11 Atlanta, GA @ The Masquerade

June 12 Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle

June 14 Richmond, VA @ Gallery 5

June 15 Baltimore, MD @ Otto-bar

June 16 Philadelphia, PA @ Johnny Brenda’s

June 18 Somerville, MA @ ONCE Ballroom

June 19 New York, NY @ Le Poisson Rouge

June 21 Pittsburgh, PA @ Spirit Hall

June 22 Detroit, MI @ El Club

June 23 Chicago, IL @ The Empty Bottle

June 24 Minneapolis, MN @ 7th St. Entry

June 27 Denver, CO @ Marquis Theatre

June 28 Salt Lake City, UT @ Urban Lounge

June 29 Boise, ID @ Neurolux

0 notes

orcchasm · 7 years ago

Text

Session 1 - 5/29/2017

The band in its current state consists of five members.

Terfing Elmthistle aka ANIMAL - Halfling drummer. Bard. He plays on bucket drums or whatever else he can hit with sticks. Kind of a piece of shit. Lies a lot.

Freddy Fastfingers - Human guitarist. Secret warlock. Made pact with the Fiend for his guitar skills. Party does not yet know he’s warlock. He has BARD LYFE tattooed on his knuckles. He believes the band is destined for stardom as long as he is a part of it.

Isadora - Half-Elf who plays a xylophone made of bones. Bard. In her own words, she is “beautiful, spooky, and stupid”.

Tiffany - Forest gnome Keytarist. Bard. She’s only 16 but has a bit of a rap sheet. She loves jewelry and will steal because she can’t help herself.

Artemis - Half-Elf with a sage background. Bard. Plays the lute.

The opening in-fiction scene begins at night time in the city of Clayport with the band finishing up practice. In the recent weeks, they’ve really begun to do something radically different from their old material, mostly due to a shakeup in the band lineup. They used to have another member. Their frontman/lead singer Burt Perry, in a fit of rage, either quit the band or kicked everyone else out. They haven’t seen Burt since, but the vibe is much better without him.

At the practice space with the band is a “friend”, or rather, a local promoter named Lark Foalhelm. He’s someone who you need to be cool with in this town if you want to get booked. Lark says, “You guys just keep getting better and better every time I hear you. Losing Burt Perry was a blessing for you. You’re better off without him.” Lark goes on to explain that the band had a tour booked while still with Burt, and it looked like it was all going to fall apart, but he was able to get in touch with his contacts in the other cities, and the tour has been saved. “You need to do something about that name though, because I tell ya, Gideon’s Thesaurus was horseshit. I get that it was Burt’s idea. Burt’s vision. Whatever. But that’s history now, so... what are you called?”

After kicking around a couple ideas like Dragon Flies and Beholder’s Handbag, Isadora suggests “ORC CHASM” and there is instantaneous and unanimous agreement.

Lark shows the band the tour schedule.

Show 1: Town of Grimeshore with Critical Stink! Show 2: Town of Pinebreak with Warlock Trash + Bunk Stump. Show 3: Town of Saltfort with Ska’mun Ra. Show 4: Town of Swanwood with Time Cucks + Juicy Crust Show 5: Town of Timberfair with ABERRATION BENT ON CORRUPTION Show 6: Town of Shadekeep with Stoner Wife Show 7: Town of Basinborough with Curvature of our Terrible Earth.

The tour dates are flexible, as the band will be traveling on foot mostly, and it will take a few weeks to get from home all the way to the last show, which still leaves them several days from home.

Animal convinces Lark to loan them a pack animal to help carry stuff. He wanted a horse or something, but settles for a goat. Lark also informs the band that they will be traveling with a solo act who will open for them. He’s a dwarf singer-songwriter named Bramm Cliffpike who plays the banjo. Bramm has worked this circuit before, so he can be useful in guiding the way. The plan is for Bramm to meet the party at the practice space in the morning and they’ll head out.

After leaving the practice space, Freddy wants to party. Tiffany and Isadora know the witch who lives in the woods north of town usually has some good mushrooms. They decide to go to the witch Deanna’s house. When they enter the house, Deanna is sitting at a desk drawing, but she isn’t looking at what she is doing. Her eyes are glowing and she’s looking straight ahead while her hand makes these beautiful patterns. Without stopping whatever divination magic she is channeling, Deanna uses mage hand to scoop up some mushrooms out of a breadbox for the party. Tiffany and Isadora both leave an offering of a couple gold pieces on the alter in Deanna’s hut, but the rest of the party does not. Deanna gives Tiffany a small bag but it cannot be opened at this time. Isadora’s trinket was a little cloth doll with pins in it. Deanna takes the doll and stares into its eyes for a while and returns it to Isadora. Isadora can tell the doll is different, but does not know it what way yet.

Animal avoided paying for any mushrooms, but pretended to eat some, but secretly pocketed some. Freddy is the only one who actually ate any mushrooms this night.

After leaving Deanna’s Freddy is tripping balls and decided he wanted to go take a shit in Burt’s house. Burt is from a wealthier family than the rest of them, and has a bigger house along the lakefront. They sneak along the shoreline into the back yard. Animal starts drumming on the windows and being obnoxious. Dogs begin barking, and Burt’s mom comes to the window and tells them that Burt isn’t home. He left town the previous day for tour. The party is concerned Burt is going to try to steal their shows.

Isadora returns to the practice space to rest and attempt to attune to her doll to see what Deanna has done to it. The rest of the party camps out on the beach by the lighthouse.

In the morning, Lark and Bramm come by the practice space and find Freddy just passed out by the door. They gather up their things and take off south towards Grimeshore. When passing the lighthouse near the southern part of town, they see a Dwarven man standing by the water, grumbling to himself and scribbling with chalk on a tablet he is holding. They recognize him as Basil (sorry for all the B names), who is known around town for just being kind of a cooky guy with crazy ideas about physics, science, arcana, etc... but no one can really understand much of what he says. It’s not really Dwarvish he is speaking, but just grumbles, and you can only pick out a couple words. Basil doesn’t pay the party any mind. They turn to get back on their way to find Deanna the witch standing right behind them. She tells them that there is more to Basil than they know, and they should seek him out immediately upon their return to town.

They travel the road along the lake, and shortly before dark they encounter a group of goblins who attack the band, but our heroes make quick work of the goblins. They travel is far as they can while there is still daylight, and make camp.

The next day, the party is getting pretty close to Grimeshore when they come across a dead body in the road. It is a human man, middle aged, dressed sort of like a fortune teller. He’s got the MC Hammer pants and sashes, and the like. But he’s been beaten and there is a large stab wound in his abdomen. After examining the body, they determine that he was probably killed overnight or in the early morning. The body has been looted already, but Isadora decides to take the blood soaked pants for some reason.

About an hour later, the party comes across another human, but this one is alive. He is a lanky fellow, dirty, wearing cutoff shorts, a muscle shirt with wolves on it, a beanie cap, a pair of sunglasses with one lense missing, and a slingshot tucked into the front of his shorts. He introduces himself as JEFFERT, and he is looking for his friends Karl. The party deduces it was Karl’s body they found back on the road. Jeffert begs the party to take him to the body, and eventually he convinces them. They arrive at the body at the same time as a group of hyenas are about to start munching on Karl’s remains, but Artemis, with one very well-executed spell, puts all the hyenas to sleep, and they bring the body back to Grimeshore.

Jeffert is very upset. Karl was his best friend. They seek out Micky, the local promoter who also plays in the band Critical Stink!. Grimeshore is a town that used to be a booming port, much like Clayport where the band is from, but a disaster destroyed the port. The economy tanked, and there are not a whole lot of people left in this polluted, dirty beach town. The local punks have been working hard reclaiming the beach and cleaning it up, but they have been having trouble from a local mining company, IRON ROVER INDUSTRIES, who are doing their best to strong-arm the punks away from town so they can have sole access to the shoreline for their operations. Iron Rover wants to take advantage of the fact that “no one important” cares about this polluted shell of a town.

Micky is angry and assumes that Iron Rover was behind Karl’s death. She wants revenge. The band isn’t convinced that it wasn’t just goblins or some other bandits. Jeffert is in mourning and doesn’t want to see any more violence. He just wants to have have a funeral for Karl and move on. The party sides with Jeffert. The make a raft of driftwood, place Karl’s body upon it, and set it ablaze on the lake. They play a funeral dirge, but Tiffany really ruined the mood, playing in the wrong key and out of time.

The venue at Grimeshore is on the beach. The skeleton of a very large sea creature that washed ashore was converted by the punks into a sort of amphitheater. Bramm played his set, and Critical Stink!’s set was interrupted by a large group of goons from Iron Rover who issued an ultimatum. Pack up and leave town or there will be more Karls. A battle ensues, and the goons are defeated, but Bramm is killed. Upon searching Bramms’ body, Freddy finds a note from Lark back in Clayport. Lark gave Bramm a shopping list of records that Lark wants from the bands in the various cities on the tour, and he promised to reward the delivery of all the records. They use money Bramm had on him to buy a Critical Stink 7″ record.

The band plays their show, and they are well-received. The punks in this town really get down with the name Orc Chasm.

The party will be at level 2 after a long rest after their show.

#d&d #DnD #OrcChasm #bardlife #bardlyfe

2 notes · View notes

libidomechanica · 4 years ago

Text

Of days and gray,

Of days and gray, which my lost heart is lost, what I am perjured mothers grief, and yet on tiptoe seemed the while Psyche tender ministries of female hands and husbands rites in, ere “twere gone. And Pan himself might steal on me,” and fling it like a nexus breaking tongue would flowers fresh growing: astrophel, sayd she, my lost saints. Am I despised be halfe so deadly spight. May yet be the surface of human thing the first die I will be liberal, since I am Adrienne alone. St me, while my eye; her wounded, friend, My charmed and doth almost tell me, whatever Ive to do. was my comen trade, to crowned with despair. we breake; take up the brawling hour: “In the melancholy years full well be, for love, although the tents: loue did set his life and love. But since that bears me, tired child, savage, extreme; at which doth dishonour her, is ages blame, ask me no more: a bliss Clarinda, 1 matchless fair, but feared to incense they rise or sink together and thither hied, a sad dirges, like creatures gracefully divine when I and the stride of travels end, doth teach that once vouchsafe to hide my wife she bangd me, if ye gie a woman a” her with music. embracing loose desire your laugh to it, With what eye was on me, my hopes I have larks. New-perfumd with fold thyself up: give, when I am sometime absent from their sweet humility; had failed in a bar- room around the child; but he that clears to bear a gift for more. And like: a blues song; a woman ever know each other. While gazing thy amiss, excusing thy truth, thy complexion lack. And keep open my heart-of- hearts have an ending all the Nose a fresh case weighs the crust is the well-built nest. To mark thee why thou arrived at: there commend; but come; for sometime absent from your mother rested: so never known the Worse? But I have tossed your mother & father head a little light dearer thou freely boste. Ago. And happy even to think came round my Highland lassie, O. a touch two people together, she sighed: she stooped; and men, Breach do I accuse the world; When you had foul ones, and her, and thine angel eyes upon me ever. who looked everybody there; its slender wires delude thee, when leaves and your flocks, but yet the grey cheek or faded eye: yet, O my friends: I go to mine, farewell the

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #107 texts

2 notes · View notes

bungitonthen · 7 years ago

Text

6/11/17

roll over cecil and tell vaughan williams the news: pretty saro - shirley collins/davy graham ... blackwaterside - bert jansch ... lyke-wake dirge - the young tradition ... bransle gay - john renbourn ... our captain cried all hands - martin carthy & dave swarbrick ... let no man steal your thyme - pentangle ... the wedding song - shirley collins (electric muse: the story of folk into rock)

from reeling to rockin: rocky road to dublin / drops of brandy - ian campbell folk group ... the mason’s apron - the dubliners ... carolan’s concerto - the chieftains ... kemp’s jig - gryphon ... lark in the morning / rakish paddy / foxhunter’s jig / toss the feathers - fairport convention ... greensleeves - morris on band ... drops of brandy - hedgehog pie ... eibhli ghail chiuin ni chearbhaill - john martyn (electric muse: the story of folk into rock)

soho needless to say: waltz - pentangle ... scarborough fair - martin carthy ... soho, needless to say - al stewart ... john the baptist - john & beverley martyn ... please sing a song for us - new humblebums ... chelsea morning - fairport convention (electric muse: the story of folk into rock)

#pentangle #Fairport Convention #John Renbourn #Shirley Collins #The Chieftains #John Martyn #martin carthy

0 notes

johncookewrites · 7 years ago

Text

Lark’s tongues with chips, please.

I continue to be amazed at our ability to make choices that hurt us. And I don’t just mean voting for Trump or Brexit.

I’m thinking more about what we put in our mouths.

You’ve probably seen the torrent of diet books, the eating rules, the trends, no this, no that, only this, only that.

You can’t ignore the rise of the gluten-free juggernaut, the clean-eating evangelists, vegetarianism and veganism, locavores and fussyvores, gut gurus, paleomeisters, fasters and detoxers.

Sip that beef broth, cut those carbs...choose what’s right for you and only you, because you’re special – so very special you have to have a special diet.

It’s a jungle out there about something essentially simple. Eating food.

Not surprisingly, there has been a backlash against the faddish and the fake, most recently in the form of The Angry Chef, a book by chef and biochemistry graduate Anthony Warner. His fury, in some cases utterly justified, is directed against the charlatans and quacks who peddle a wholly unscientific route to health, happiness, inner peace, a great night’s rest, firm stools, bright eyes and whatever else they can dream up.

In most cases, the prescriptions of these latter-day snake oil salesperson share certain similarities.

One, the limiting of some ingredients because they are ‘bad’, and the exultations of others as ‘good’. Beyond this introduction of a twisted morality, losing weight seems universally agreed to be a sign of improving health. And, hey ho, whichever food excluding plan you do choose, chances are there will always be some weight loss in the very short term. Hooray, success! Look, it worked for me the convert will confirm ad infinitum.

A scientific thrashing of the deeply dodgy and the proper recognition of what is an actual medical condition (and what is not) is not all this book seems to be about.

For me, the book vibrates with the sheer power of our relationship with food and what seems like our insatiable need to define it, frame it, control it. Until food, in its turn, defines, controls and frames us.

There seems so little room for pleasure and conviviality. Food beyond fuel or virtue signalling, beyond Instagram, food porn, restaurant bagging and gastronomic decadence, yes, even beyond science occasionally.

Instead, we so often seem to slump back to the same inability to make good choices. In this, is food merely one arena for this tendency to shoot ourselves in the foot (or mouth)?

One theory is that we are now prone to trusting the self-proclaimed expert, corporation or political leader because there is simply too much we don’t, or can’t, understand anymore.

Ever since our technology evolved beyond axe and spear, we’ve gradually out-sourced so many decisions because we’ve outsourced our understanding of a world that’s simply too hard for any one individual to comprehend.

Add to that the human need to go along with the crowd, and it’s easy to see that going out on a limb and having a minority opinion is highly unlikely.

So, if there’s a clean-skinned, glowing young person preaching the consumption of obscure ingredients in implausible combinations with seemingly desirable outcomes, some otherwise intelligent people will follow, RT and eat accordingly. Or, if it’s a supermarket with food that is cheap and plentiful, and usually safe - well, they’ll set the agenda too.

For me, life is self-evidently, beautifully diverse and complex, and all the better for it. Only a Brexiteer or Trumpeteer would deny that.

Food is the same. It is simply more interesting and rewarding if we don’t make it dance to some health or ideological narrow-minded, single-note dirge.

Eat and drink merrily and widely. Let there be joy, let there be sensuality, let there be freedom, adventure and exploration, comfort and guilty pleasures, and plenty of veg. And if it’s all in some kind of balance, all the better for our bodies and minds.

Right, who’s having the lark’s tongues with chips?

#food #diet #nutrition #cleaneating

0 notes