#IGNORING MY QUEUE FOR RODGER TIME.

[walnutcookie]

talk to me about rodger flutters eyelashes

[stirpulses]

Off the Memory Lane (ft. B.A.P) [Day 2]

The consciousness hit him when he was lying defenseless in the crook of the couch, his left leg brushing the floor, his back aching from the unwonted softness, the clothes, creased and rumpled, biting into his flesh. The air was huffing past his lips in a fast spasmodic rhythm, his heart exerting itself to outrace it with thrice as fast a beat. The nightmare came again, repelling the pills, tricking his body into terror. This time the vision was more focused: he could distinguish a dark human-like silhouette against a huge white structure, the shadow was staring at him with starving covetous hollow eyes, gnashing its fangs with a sickening clang, closer, closer. A piercing wail erupted, crushing all other sounds and images alike. It was screaming out a name, Yongguk, calling for his friend, demanding for him to appear, a desperate cry for help. Mere bawls were not enough to conjure his friend, he knew, oh how bitterly he knew. The nightmare, that had just been dragging for an eternity, appeared for his awakened self to happen in one great convulsion like an outburst of thunder.

How much of the vision he had actually seen and how much he had been implicitly aware of, he wasn’t sure now. The dream logic had directed that odious show, turning impossibilities the wrong way out. He just wanted it to stop, why weren’t the damn pills working anymore?

Himchan slipped from the couch cursing the doctor and his prescriptions and pulling off his shirt. What was the point of the medicine that failed to serve its single use? Unbuckling his jeans he shuffled towards the bed. But what was there for him beside those pills? He gingerly swept the pillow and the toy to the floor, pulled at the sheets, added the bedclothes to the pile of the sweaty clothes he just striped off. Laundry time! Setting up the washing machine Himchan decided he shouldn’t idle either. The work was tired of waited.

He picked up the laptop from the floor, switched it on and cleared some place for it on the desk with a swift wide motion. Just as his computer welcomed him with an lively sound effect a buzz filled the room. Himchan followed the sound until there was nothing before him but a TV on a stand and a wall. Meanwhile the hum continued. He turned the TV sideways and reached behind the drawers into the dust with an inner shudder. He had never cleaned there, it was a perfect spot for new life forms to develop. Finally, a phone was vibrating in his hand. Daehyun was persistent.

-You ditched us again.

-Ha?

-Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss another rehearsal. — Lighthearted sigh. — Seriously. Enough. Are you showing up next time or what?

-I’ll try. I mean… I’ll come. Sure. — The rehearsal was the very thing, it would be a shiny day to break the rainy season.

-The mourning is officially over? Manse~! — Cough. — Sorry. Hope you’re in high spirits again. We need you, man. We do. — The laughter boomed wide and clear.

-Lend me some of this glee next time we meet, would ya? — Daehyun’s sincere laughter and forward attitude slowly lifted the weight from his heart. He involuntarily smiled.

-No shit, you need it and… can I beat it into you if it doesn’t just seep in by itself?

This time they laughed together.

-Almost forgot! — Daehyun blabbered on. — The lyrics. Have you finished them yet?

-I’m on it.

-Bring them all. Even the roughest drafts. It’s past time we start practicing the new stuff. And, do I need to mention, Youngjae and I are dying to see the lyrics! Bri~ng them.

-Rodger that.

-Cool. Gotta go.

And Daehyun was out. Wait, when should he come?! Had Daehyun simply forgotten to tell him or was he supposed to know? After Yongguk vanished his whole schedule snapped right through the middle and crumbled to an unmanageable nothingness.

The phone screen was flagged with missed calls and unread messages. Too much of them, would deal later. Work was the first item on his list. Or should he really spend a few sweet moments fiddling with the lyrics? Himchan strained his memory to recall what he was writing about. Was it love or war or roofs on fire, it made no difference: if he couldn’t remember, he could always start anew. A wave of inspiration caught him unawares, crushed down on his head, flowed over him, carrying his compliant body to the prolific shores of imagination. The delight of pouring down words, of tasting rhymes, of feeling your way through similes. The work could wait a little more. Should he sketch out a couple of lines, maybe come up with a verse, or even outline a whole song? He would relax, untangle his stupefied nerves- "When Yongguk was wroting his lyrics..." That was enough to turn his enthusiasm sour, metallic and citrus in his mouth, bile and acid in his throat. There was nothing that could bring out stronger memories of his old friend more. That was his passion, the passion for music they shared and cherished together through the years.

Work. Overload his brain with tasks, numb his senses with information, infect his system with busyness. Himchan started by pedantically checking his mail.

It was time for a coffee break. Every employee has a right for a little rest, even at times when the mind remains restless. Also, his legs and back were screaming for some action. Just a quick trip to his usual cafe and an immediate retreat back home. No prolonged stays at the table, no roundabout wanderings across the town, no attention drawn and no civilities exchanged. He would ask for a take-out and walk a couple of leisurely circles round his apartment block until he ran out of coffee. One should learn from one’s mistakes. But it seemed like he was getting all the lessons wrong recently. So should he be trying to learn after all?

Waiting in the queue Himchan surveyed the interior to distract himself. All in vain. Too many vivid memories connected this place to his friend. They used to sit here for hours jabbering about their wishful present, reminiscing about their not less blissful past and planning out their even more hopeful future, so much for that; they had lingered here over many lazy breakfasts, stolen countless quick lunches and toasted non-stop over filling hearty suppers. Sometimes they had just met in front of the cafe, late at night, to squander their youth elsewhere. Was there a table they hadn’t sat together at or hadn’t spilled some beer on?

Gazing at the neat rows of tables he caught a glance of a tousled boy with a mole on the nose bridge who was eyeing him intently through narrow eye slits, from behind a chicken sandwich. The youngster looked vaguely familiar yet he didn’t seem to belong to his usual circle. In any case, Himchan would rather leave the cafe ignored or unnoticed regardless of their degree of acquaintance. He hurriedly turned to the counter willing people to move quicker, gape less and know exactly what they want. Fat chance!

Got hold of a warm assuring paper cup he bolted out of the cafe, eyes scanning the floor, the doorway and the welcoming pavement. He was squinting at the sun when a voice halted him.

-Wait.

It just might not have been for him, he could have pretended not to hear the words in a hurry, he might have but an uncanny pull was already turning him around.

-Remember me?

He peered at the boy, straining his eyes as his brain refused to cooperate. The effort echoed through his head with tentative stabs of pain.

-About a week ago. — A moment’s hesitation. — Police station.

Right, he had seen him among the damn gang that day. Slim and ashen-faced, he had been the youngest, it seemed, still in his teens, a lonely minor in that pitiful bunch. He had been the only one to come with his parents. As well as the only one to show his fear, or was he simply the only one evolved enough to know to feel it in that shitty situation.

Two days after the search started, five days after his friend’s sister reported the disappearance, the cops found out that the missing youth was a part of a small street gang and quickly shook off their lax attitude. That must have turned up the heat under their asses a few notches. His close friends and latest acquaintances had been brought in for questioning.

-Right. That evening. Your whole… group was there.

The boy fidgeted and blurted out.

-I don’t hang out with them anymore.

-Good for you. — He nodded.

-My name is Jongup. I just- There are still no news. And I thought- Heard anything? — He cast a sidelong timid glance.

-No, same here. Nothing.

-I see. — The smirk was bitter and foul-tasting. — I should have known, there are no happy endings. You were close, right? — He didn’t wait for an answer. — Seen you coming to his place a couple of times. Well, I was his neighbor. It wasn’t that long since he moved next door but still… He was always so friendly towards me, attentive and encouraging from the day we met, even though he didn’t have to.

The boy broke the eye contact, his eyes darting between tiny cracks and other imperfections in the pavement. The moment neared, squeezing his throat, drying his mouth till the tongue rustled against the roof.

-At first I was going to join them alone but that day I just happened to bump into him at the stairwell as I was leaving. He looked so down, I realized he was more like me than I previously thought. Later he told about the expulsion, I didn’t know at that time. Seeing him that way, I don’t know, I just asked if he would want to go with me, told what I was up to. Honestly, I had no idea it was that serious. — He turned his voice down to a confessional whisper. — I was just a bit angry, wanted to belong, I needed the change and- I never wanted to get mixed up in this shit… drugs or stealing or… whatever the cops hinted at. — He turned away, uncomfortable, fingers clutching at his hair. — I mean- I only wanted to say- I’m sorry! I feel guilty and dazed and- Relieved! It was an eye-opener. I’ve never seen my life that clearly before. If it wasn’t for him, who knows… And it’s not entirely my fault. I didn’t know, I couldn’t.

There were no befitting words left inside them to share. They met strangers, they walked away feeling more distant. The only link that could have bound them together went missing, leaving a widening hollow to push them apart.

Himchan wandered back home, his legs dragged along, their steps unsure, their goal unknown. His head flared rhythmically with a hot agony of aches and qualms, mutinous thoughts chipping measly pieces off his mind with every other breath. Well-rested and ready for a new working cycle, the headache awakened from its obligatory nap, stirred up by the accidental encounter that in place of a person left a sucked out, chewed and crooked lump of numbing fatigue and prickly sensations. That boy made his heart resonate to so many notes guiding it up and down a minor scale: loathing, sympathy, discomfiture, and simple fear. Muddied speculations on the lad and their conversation were pushed out of his head as the neglected memories of his gone friend resurfaced and rushed into his conciseness.

All the anger and frustration over his friend turning off the road they had chosen together to instead slide down a treacherous slope of disgrace and degradation, resentment boiled inside him with new strength. Right, they even had a big fight on the subject in that gloomy, unkept park not long before the disappearance. They screamed, and pushed, and blamed, and desensitized, and half-awarely hurt each other with rushed words, raw and undercooked. Thankfully, the exact wordings escaped his memory yet the tightening grip around his heart, the carmine blazing voice rasping in his head, and the whole unreality of the damn thing were still with him, as palpable as back then, rancid on the nose. Was it the last time he saw Yongguk? Most likely. At least it explained why he had been drawn to the park the other day.

The monstrous gray bulk of his apartment block loomed above him. The coffee had been peacefully sloshing in the cup the entire walk, untouched. He tasted his mouth: full of chewy worries and regrets. He was full for now. He opened the lid, slowly turned the cup and watched the lukewarm liquid dissolve into dark splotches on the asphalt, so easy.

After the crisp street air the room felt stuffy, instantly sucking his T-shirt and jeans inward, gluing them to his body. He opened the window, a gust of the wind hurried a pile of scraps and papers down from the table. Should have tidied up the useless junk a long time ago, bad luck, always a day too late. A shallow sigh, his back bent over, pecking at a paper after paper, he gathered all the rubbish, even discovering several gum and candy wraps, what a treasure hunt. Standing over a trash can he briefly looked through memos and documents. One by one he tore them and scattered over empty water bottles and frozen food packages. He dazedly lingered over a small handwritten note. “Never do this again. Himchan” The first word underlined twice. So… he had written it, apparently. Why was it still with him then? Had forgotten to give it? Got it back from an angry addressee? Had no time to pass it, or the opportunity, or the courage? All three? And wait, for whom had he written it? What had he done wrong? Could it be-

The phone ripped at the silence, its jingle slammed into Himchan’s thoughts through the wall. He swiftly threw the remaining papers in the junk and scuttled to the bedroom to interrupt the out-of-place merriness of the tune.

-Hello.

-Thanks god, you’re okay and not ignoring me anymore. — Junhong’s voice beamed at him across miles of concrete and steel. A mingy light ignited inside him but it burned out quickly, too frail to withstand the harsh blows of the wind and too deep down to offer any warmth. — You’re with me?

-Sorry. Just dozing off a bit. I’m right here.

-Are you eating well? You can’t live on coffee alone for so long. — Puffy sigh. — Oh, you’re not missing your rehearsal tomorrow, are you? It’s bound to cheer you up. — A huge smile pushed its way through the speaker.

-Yeah, Daehyun called this morning. Made it clear I have little choice but to go. — He suppressed a chuckle. Would it be weird to ask? He swept up together the beggarly debris of his nonchalance. — So, it’s tomorrow then?

A silent question filled the frequency.

-Y-e-s. The contest is coming. You agreed to meet every other day and did, before- Have you changed your mind and postponed the rehearsals?

-No-no. It’s just… My mind’s a bit hazy lately. Don’t mind my ramblings.

-Is this a side-effect of that drug you've mentioned? Have you told your doctor? — Junhong’s voice leaned closer.

-Not a big deal, really. Don’t worry, I-

Statics cut trough the line, just occasional scatters of phrases breaking through from the other side, nonsensical and mysterious. The ragged buzz consumed his mind. Most terrifyingly, he couldn’t tell if it was flowing from the phone into his ear or the other way around. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pinched his nose bridge. A wavering instant on the threshold. The reception cleared.

-… of yourself. Listening?

-Aaa-ha.

-Have the depression deepened again? It is because of that guy, in the coffee shop?

He froze, blood thickened, numbing and weighting down his limbs, lungs turned into a dumb-bell, useless for breathing and too heavy for his chest to hold on to any longer, time swirled around in slow-motion. How? He hadn’t seen Junhong there, so the boy hadn’t been there, couldn’t. It takes some exceptional skills to overlook such a lanky guy, even sitting he sticks out like a sore thumb. And if he knew of the meeting, had he heard their conversation? How much of it? Did he have a hand in the whole thing?

-Junhong, do you know that boy? — Cold sweat traversed his back in short stealthy charges, from one vertebra to another.

-No, never seen him before. So it is what threw you off balance after all!

Either he was going crazy or the world, a humorless fellow it was, was playing a dour joke on him. He was looking into things too much. God, he needed a break.

-Oops, there’s another incoming call. Work. Later.

-Sure, hyung. See-

Tall fierce waves of pain crushed against his temples with every thud of his exhausted heart, cold coils nestled in his throat and chest, entangling and twisting into unswallowable knots. Himchan gripped at the tabletop. It was clearly an overreaction, what a drama queen. That was stupid, it meant nothing, the whole day was a mucky incongruous mess. Or his life a bad dream.

He should get a hold of himself… But how did Junhong know? Icy dew of sweat trickled down his neck sending a shiver through his body.

Work. Just get to work. No need to ponder over mysteries the life was diligently throwing at him. He excelled at forgetting recently. He could use that trick once more. He revived the computer, concentrated on the glowing screen, loud music in the headphones, hands tapping at the keys, stifling a gentle tremor. The night was going to be long.

~UG

[neighbourskid]

Blow Us All Away

(original date: 07 June 2016)

In 2007, a young Puerto Rican went on vacation, a book by Ron Chernow under his arm, and came back inspired to write something that is today known as "the best goddamn musical on Broadway ever". Kidding. That's just what I'm saying. But it's getting seriously good reviews. Like, astonishingly good reviews.

Lin-Manuel Miranda went on holiday to relax, came back with an idea and nine years later he performed at The White House, had the Obamas come see his musical, has his musical nominated for 16 Tony Awards -the most nominations in history-, his show is sold out until January 2017 and a whole generation of teenagers and young adults are suddenly interested in American History. Like, He Did That!

"Lin-Manuel Miranda? Yo, who the f is this?" Well. Let me educate you.

Lin-Manuel is the most precious little bean of a man you will ever hear of. As I said, he started working on Hamilton: The American Musical nine years ago after reading the biography of Alexander Hamilton (one of the Founding Fathers of the United States, in case you're like me and didn't know). In 2009, after working on first raps about Hamilton, Lin performed the intro song "Alexander Hamilton" at the White House Evening of Poetry, Music, and the Spoken Word, and received Standing Ovations for it. Little did the shy young man then know, that his work would be appreciated by tens of thousand of people. Little did he know, that his musical would be so loved and that it would inspire new generations of writers and singers and actors. Little did he know, that he would blow us all away.

The musical itself is a masterpiece. I haven't really realised until of late, that I have so much love for musicals. But I do. I love musicals. I have come to realise that this is probably also the reason why I love Disney movies so much, because they basically are musicals, too. As a kid, I genuinely liked High School Musical. I loved Mamma Mia! and I enjoyed Glee as well as Pitch Perfect. It's not necessarily the stories. Actually, I don't think it is the stories at all. It's the music. The singing. The breaking out into a song mid-sentence. That was what I liked. Same goes with Disney. I loved the stories of course, well, most of them anyway. But the thing that hooked me, was that Mulan freed China in a song, that Hercules became a Hero in a song, that Simba grew up in a song. And that is the beautiful thing about musicals. Marius and Cosette fell in love in a song. Javert went through an emotional crisis in a song. Jean Valjean realised who he was in a song. The French Revolution happened in a song or two. That's the beauty of it. It happens in a song. It's not a boringly told story. It's music in your ears and you don't even notice that it's already over shortly after.

And that is what makes Hamilton a wonderful musical, too. It takes the story of some old boring white dude that you didn't care about in your history lessons because your teacher just didn't manage to make it at least a little bit interesting, and it makes music out of it. Lin tells Hamilton's story with raps and rhymes, with music and dance. Cabinet meetings become rap battles, the war becomes a beautifully choreographed dance fight number. Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Laurens, Hamilton, Burr- they are not these boring old white dudes on your money anymore. Suddenly, Madison is this powerful Nigerian American man with a booming voice, Hamilton and Laurens are young Puerto Ricans who know how to rock long hair, Washington is this tower of a man with the brightest smile, Burr's dancing is amazing and Jefferson knows how to spit some serious verses and can rap like hell. Suddenly, American History is pretty attractive.

I first listened to the entire Cast Album on May 11 this year. 46 songs later and I was a changed person. A few days after that I bought the album on iTunes and have been listening to it more or less non-stop. Sometimes I mix it up with a bit of Les Miserables or a few other songs that I have on my phone. But the other thousand songs I have in my library are mostly forgotten and ignored in favour of Lin's masterpiece of a musical. It's been now nearly a month, and I know basically all of the lyrics. Well, I can sing/rap along side the tracks, a few songs I even know by heart. It's not even rare anymore that I wake up in the morning with a song from Hamilton on my mind. I am a goner for this musical.

On Sunday 12th are the Tony Awards. 16 Nominations for Hamilton. That's a lot. Lin himself is nominated for "Best Book of a Musical", "Best Original Score" and "Best Actor in a Musical". Lin wrote the book, he wrote the score and music, he plays the leading role. The man is non-stop. And he doesn't just stop there, either. Pretty usual for Broadway shows, there's a lottery for 10$ tickets before each show. But they are obviously pretty limited. The lottery for Hamilton is, to say it mildly, pretty well used. The musical is sold out until next January, so the lottery is the only way right now for people to still get tickets. On the first preview night -so, before the musical even officially opened- there were 700 people queueing for the lottery. SEVENHUNDRED PEOPLE! That's insane. And guess what? Lin, the precious human being he is, gives back. He gives back something to the people coming to the lottery. Each day, before each performance, for each lottery, he goes out there in front of the Richard Rodgers Theater and thanks the people for coming, for spending half an hour to get tickets for his show. He encourages them to come back the next day if they don't win, because they will be here for a bit. And it's not just that. He brings friends, brings co-stars, and gives the people an experience. What is now known as #Ham4Ham is Lin's way of giving back and thanking people. He now does short videos to put online, because he can't always come out, and because there's an online lottery, too.

And besides all that, he also manages to be the freaking most gentle and genuinely nicest human being ever. Just- just look at the way he tweets.

I mean. I am at a loss of words, to be honest. He does so much. He keeps giving. He is non-stop. And there's still a million things he hasn't done.

I haven't heard of Lin before Hamilton managed its way into my line of sight. Apparently he was in a House MD episode once, and I have probably seen it, but I can't remember. Anyways. In this last month, Lin has managed to secure himself a place on my bucket list of people I'd like to meet, right next to Benedict Cumberbatch (whom I've met before briefly) and Zachary Levi, who are both people that inspire me so much to chase my dreams and to not give up. Ben always inspires me to read, to keep learning stuff and to not let go of my dream to work in the film industry. Zac has always been the one to inspire me to be nice and kind to strangers, to keep giving. He is a role model especially in my believes and my faith. He inspires me to be genuinely myself. Now Lin. He managed to spark something inside of me, that I didn't know was there. I have always loved music, and always sang along the music I was listening to. I'm not a very good singer. I tend to imitate the singing of the person I'm listening to, instead of actually singing myself. But Lin, he managed to spark this love for singing again. I don't give much fucks about what people think about me, but I think singing has always been a thing where I did care that it was more or less good. But now I drop some verses of rap from time to time while listening, and I don't give a shit.

Lin is right there with Zac and Ben, inspiring me to be who I truly am. He inspires me to be passionate about music and writing. And especially my love for musicals. And he inspires me to unapologetically portray and show people who I am, what I like. Shove it into their faces, that this kid is a big nerd. That I am enthusiastic about the things I like, that I consume them wholeheartedly and not just a bit. If I like something or someone, then I know a shit ton about it. And Lin inspires me to cherish that.

I seriously wish that the Hamilton Musical finds its way to Europe as well. Apparently there's something planned for London and then also continental Europe. It won't be the same cast, of course. And even though, I find that rather sad, I appreciate the fact that they're thinking about coming to Europe. Because I haven't had the chance to see the musical. I saw snippets and some gifs. I have seen them "perform" at Ham4Ham. But it's not the real show, the real story. I think the cast album covers a lot of the whole play, but not all of it. And I would of course love to see the whole dancing, and apparently the lighting is amazing. But yeah, I'm willing to wait for it.

I hope that if I will ever get the possibility to go to New York (I'm going to San Diego this summer, so no luck in going this year), that they will still be on Broadway and that I will get the possibility of seeing this masterpiece live, with some of the original cast. That would be amazing.

But for now, I can only wish them all the best. I will be watching the Tony's on Sunday, will cheer them on, because Lin and the whole cast deserve this so much. I will continue to follow Lin's career, see what he's up to, check out his projects.

Until then, there's one last thing I can say:

Lin-Manuel Miranda. America (and the rest of the world) sings for you.

We have the honour to be your obedient servants.

A. (Ham)