#JUST like jd talking about against pollution.

[adfamiliares]

this ian mackaye interview. btw.

[topforensicexpert-blog]

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[timmyrx2000]

Dipper Steps Up: Chapter 6

Chapter Index: (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13)

Chapter 6

When Wendy and Dipper left the Shack, the sun had just set. The night insects had not yet tuned up, but bats twittered overhead and out in the forest the woodpeckers, who didn't give up until the light was almost gone, drummed away. "Where are we going?" Dipper asked as they stepped off the trail.

"Into the woods," Wendy said. "You bring a flashlight, dude?"

"Yeah, I have one of the prototypes Grunkle Ford made."

"Good deal. I got the one I use camping. We'll need light on the way back."

In the gathering twilight they hiked on, uphill and down, skirting thickets of huckleberry, boggy growths of cobra lily, and stands of trailplant, threading their way through second-growth fir and pine forests, passing expanses of tree stumps and seedlings. "Dad logs all through here," Wendy said in one clearing, the air sharp with the scent of freshly-cut wood. She switched on her own flashlight and said, "Not far now."

Finally, they reached the cleared crown of a domed hill. Stars spangled the sky overhead, lots more than Dipper had ever seen in Piedmont, where the light pollution from Oakland and San Francisco dimmed them. No moon yet—it was gibbous and waning and, because of the recent change to Daylight Saving Time, it wouldn't rise until nearly eleven.

Creatures howled in the distance. Like the panda duck that Dipper had tried to win for Wendy, the species were indeterminate. In Gravity Falls, they might be anything. Wendy stood beside a stump and took a deep breath. "OK, dude, I know you won't freak out, but this might be rough on you. Remember I'm here for you, though. Wanna hold my hand?"

"Anytime," Dipper said. Her hand was warm in his.

"OK, Gramps, I brought him!" Wendy yelled into the night.

Dipper looked at her, but she had turned off the flashlight and he saw only her silhouette against the stars. "Huh?"

"He said not to tell you till he got here. Gramps! It's me, Wendy!"

In front of them, a greenish fog coalesced. Floating a couple of feet above the ground, it pulsed and brightened and then shrank in on itself, transforming into a hulking, bearded human figure.

"Oh, my gosh!" Dipper said. "The ghost from the Northwest mansion!"

"Dipper," the apparition moaned in its deep, rumbling voice. "I have to talk to you. I mean you no harm!"

Dipper almost sagged with relief. "No problem, sir! Wendy, I'm not afraid of him. You look a lot better, Mr. uh, Lumberjack. Your beard's not on fire, and your missing eye seems to have healed up. And the, uh, axe in your head's gone."

"I'm not haunting anyone now," the ghost explained, self-consciously straightening the blow tie it wore on its . . . beard. "I have no wish to terrify. When you're a ghost, you can take many forms."

"Dude," Wendy said, squeezing Dipper's hand, "this is Archibald Corduroy. He's, like, my great-great grandfather!"

"I wondered about that!" Dipper said. "I saw his picture in your house—uh, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Corduroy."

"You treated me well," the ghost said. "I regret tricking you and then turning you into wood."

"That . . . was sort of scary," Dipper admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

The apparition shrugged modestly. "Well, I am a ghost."

"Yeah. Uh, excuse me, but I thought that after Pacifica let everybody in, you had gone on to, you know, your reward."

"I could not bear to leave this forest that I loved so much in life," the ghost said, gesturing with a sweep of his glowing arm that took in all the surroundings. "Also, once free of haunting the hated Northwest house, I wondered what had become of my family. I soon discovered I have a mighty descendant in Daniel, and a beautiful one in Wendy." The ghost floated next to Dipper and confided: "She likes you, boy!"

"Aw, Gramps!" Wendy said, laughing. "Cut it out, dude! Look, I brought Dipper, like you asked, so just tell him what you've got for him, OK?"

The ghost backed away from Dipper, towering over them both. "He's a brave, intelligent boy, Wendy. You could do a lot worse."

"I really like your great-great granddad," Dipper said to Wendy.

Wendy giggled. "You guys! C'mon, Gramps."

"Very well. Dipper, the root of your friend's trouble is another ghost from the past. An evil one. Well, I say 'evil,' I suppose I went a little overboard myself, but my anger branched out from the betrayal the Northwests committed against my friends and me—no, no, I'll cut that short. Forget it. I'm sorry for the bad things that came from my long hatred, leave it at that. But now an ill-intentioned spirit is trying to possess your fiend Taylor. If he succeeds, terrible things will happen. You have to stop him."

"How?" Dipper asked, his throat feeling tight.

"I'm a lumberjack, not an exorcist," the ghost said a little irritably. "You must discover the way to help. Speak to the boy's family. Seek out his mother. Tell her. She will sense the truth of what I've told you. And beware! The spirit that threatens your friend is implacable, his grip as strong as cypress roots!"

"Dude," Wendy said, "you have, like, a really good vocabulary for a nineteenth-century lumberjack!"

"Being an outdoorsman doesn't mean you have to be illiterate, girl." The ghost started to dim.

"Wait, wait!" Dipper said. "Uh, sir—who is the ghost? That would help!"

"You already know in your heart," the fading ghost said. "It is a spirit that wishes to reincarnate—for revenge!"

"Bill Cipher?"

For just a second the ghost became a little brighter and clearer. "Who? No! Think human!"

And Archibald Corduroy went out like a candle flame in a wind.

"Who did he mean?" Dipper asked in the sudden darkness.

"I'm stumped," Wendy confessed. "Man, Dipper, you took that whole thing a lot better'n I expected! First time Archibald appeared to me, I totally freaked!"

"When was that?"

"Fall, two years back, after you an' Mabes went back to California. Along in October. I was in the woods behind our house cuttin' down some deadwood for the fireplace, and there he was, floatin' right in front of me. I kinda attacked him with my axe, but that went nowhere fast. He eventually calmed me down and told me who he was and all, and said he was gonna watch over our family and protect us, and since then I never saw him again—until I started asking around about the Northwests. Few days ago, he appeared to me in a stall of the girls' bathroom at school. Now, that was awkward. Anyhow, he seemed to know you were gonna come to Gravity Falls and said I needed to get you an' him together so he could tell you something, and he said you might be scared, so not to let you know who I was takin' you to see. You weren't scared, though. Good for you, dude!"

Dipper shrugged. "Those first ghosts I ever saw, the ones in the Dusk 2 Dawn, scared the heck out of me. Mainly because of what they were doing to Mabel and your friends. But I've kinda learned that most ghosts don't want to hurt you. Who could be haunting Chuck Taylor, though?"

"Dunno, man," Wendy said. They'd both switched on their flashlights and were headed back through the woods.

They didn't talk much. But when the lights of the Mystery Shack gleamed through the trees ahead, Dipper stopped in his tracks and said, "Reincarnate. Oh, no!"

Wendy stopped too. "What's wrong, Dip?"

"No," Dipper said. "No, no, no. I hope I'm wrong."

"About what?" she asked.

He swallowed hard. "Nathaniel Northwest."

The rest of the week flew by without any substantial developments in the case. Grunkle Ford lent Dipper a few detection devices and taught him how to use them, and then Grunkle Stan drove the kids home the next Saturday.

They spent Sunday and Monday brushing up for the CAHSEE that the school would give on Tuesday and Wednesday, and to their relief, the tests didn't seem all that hard. "I hope you didn't get bored and start putting down random answers," Dipper told Mabel after the last exam ended.

"Nope!" Mabel said. "I learned my lesson after the test I took in fifth grade that said I should be busted to kindergarten."

Chuck had seemed OK, and that afternoon, their first practice since the early spring break, he recovered his playing form again, pitching hard, hitting hard, running full-out. The Thursday practice was good, too, and Dipper began to think that everything was all right again.

Saturday brought a big game with the Bay City Blues. Their win-loss record tied Piedmont's, and Coach said that the teams were a pretty close match in ability, too. The Blues had a good pitching staff, some good hitters, and typically racked up scores of five to ten points in a game. They weren't the most spectacular team, but like the Panthers they played a steady, relentless game.

Saturday morning, the game started out well. Bay City won the toss and chose to take the field. Their pitcher had game: he struck out both Mike and Petey with three pitches each, and Dipper began to think the Panthers were doomed to an early loss.

However, Chuck, looking healthy, belted out a solid double, and following him at bat, both JD and Barb managed singles, sending Chuck home for the first run of the game. Unfortunately, Jon J sent a sweet high fly ball deep into left field—and right into the fielder's glove.

Chuck's pitching began unsteadily. The first batter racked up one strike and three balls before hitting a single. The second man up got a double on the first pitch, putting the runner on third and ready to score. From the bench, Tripper watched Chuck wipe sweat from his face, kick at the mound, and then lean forward, looking determined.

Off on the sidelines, Mabel, in her cheerleader costume, acted subdued. The Panthers had a bigger crowd than ever—their away games had frankly pitiful attendance, just the kids' parents and maybe five or six students—but now the bleachers were nearly full of cheering kids and adults. Except Mabel's enthusiasm had ebbed. Dipper knew she was worrying about Chuck.

However, Chuck promptly struck out two Blues in a row. The next two batters both got on base, though, one single, one double. Then when Vance McCall stepped into the batter's box, Chuck took his time considering his first pitch. McCall was the Blues' best hitter by far.

And he proved it by pulling a low fly to far right field, where it hit and bounced, for a moment looking as if it would go straight to Petey DeFoy—but then it bounced again, taking a bad hop deeper into fair territory, making it hard to field.

McCall wound up standing on second base. The first two Blues scored, and there went Piedmont's lead. As though to apologize to the fans, Chuck struck the next guy out with three fast pitches.

Second inning began with X-Man getting a single, trying to push it into a double, and getting tagged out. However, then both Hi-Ho and Bobby made it to base—Hi-Ho successfully stealing second before Bobby's single put him on third. Dub struck out, and it was Dipper's turn.

He'd been working hard on his batting. He let a ball go by, choked up on his grip, and took a swing at the next pitch—and connected. It was a grounder, skipping just past the third baseman and running right along the foul line.

Miracle of miracles, it didn't cross the line, and Dipper made it to first! More, it took Hi-Ho home—Dipper's first RBI. For a moment, it looked like a Piedmont rally, but Big W's hard grounder was snagged by the Blues shortstop, who fired the ball home just in time for the catcher to tag Bobby out.

The Blues couldn't get anything going in the bottom half, and the second inning closed with a 2-2 tie.

The Panthers came to bat for the third inning. Coach sent Dipper and Krenk in as subs and asked Chuck how he was feeling. "I'm OK," he insisted, though Dipper thought he was sweating harder than usual. It was a dismal inning, three Panthers coming up to bat, two being put out, one getting on base, and then with Jimmy in scoring position on third base—Krenk went down swinging, one, two, three, to retire the side.

In the bottom, Chuck's pitching was noticeably slower and less accurate. Still, he held the Blues to just one run, though that put them ahead again, three to two.

Before the turnover, Coach walked out and asked Chuck, "You gonna be OK? I can pull you."

Dipper saw Chuck shake his head and heard him mutter, "I think laying off practice last week put me off my game. I'll stay in."

In the top of the fourth inning, Mike, first up, got a single, and Chuck matched it. Coach called for time out and said, "Pines, you're faster. Go in as a pinch runner for Monohan."

Though he felt a flutter of anxiety, Dipper did. He led off second, tense, ready to jump back if the Blues pitcher suddenly turned and threw to the second baseman. Like Chuck, the Blues pitcher seemed to have lost some steam, and JD blasted his first pitch into a hard liner into the gap and dug out on what looked to be a double—but the right fielder scooped it up and got it to first in time to hold him.

But Dipper, running full out, tagged third, saw the coach motion him, and, imagining the Gobblewonker nipping at his heels, blasted for home. He could hear Mabel, not leading a cheer, but just screaming "Go, Bro, go, go, GO!"

The catcher stepped up, mitt raised, and Dipper fell into a slide, raising dust. The ball smacked the mitt. Dipper's cleats touched home plate, the catcher tagged his calf, and the ump yelled, "Safe!"

The crowd went wild. Well, mostly Mabel went wild, but still. He had tied the game again, 3-all.

There the Panthers lost their luck. One man out on a pop fly, and then a double play ended their chance to pull ahead.

Chuck didn't look as if he felt well when he stood on the mound. But he bore down and struck out the first two Blues at bat—the second out was actually their first man in the rotation. Then he got two strikes past the third batter—and as he wound up for the third pitch, all at once he tottered and went down on one knee, the ball on the ground, his right hand going out to brace himself. He croaked, "Coach!"

Waylund, Dipper, and the other Panthers hustled out. "What's wrong, Chuck?" Coach asked.

"Real dizzy," Chuck gasped. "Better take me out."

The crowd applauded as Waylund helped Chuck to the dugout, and Dipper saw Mr. and Mrs. Taylor coming down from the bleachers, looking anxious. Waylund sent in Jon J as replacement pitcher, and he did his best, but Chuck's second near-faint had shaken up him and the other Panthers, and Jon J let another two Blues batters on base before the next one got a single, pulling the Blues ahead by one run. Then he pulled it together and struck the last man out.

Dipper hastily trotted in to ask Chuck how he was feeling. Chuck, huddled on the bench, shrugged miserably. "We'll take him back to the doctor," his dad said.

"Not until the game ends," Chuck said firmly. "Just a little dizzy."

It might have gone better if he'd gone then. The Panthers, keenly aware that Chuck was sick and was watching them, lost their concentration. They fought the game out, even managing another run in the top of the seventh, but it ended with a Blues win, 9-4.

Dipper had missed an easy catch and had fanned three pitches, striking out in the worst way possible. As soon as the game ended, the Taylors took Chuck away—he was walking under his own power, at least—and the team morosely apologized to the coach.

"Forget it, men," he said. "I'll stay in touch with the Taylors and get word out to you if it looks serious. Let's hope it isn't."

"We're all hoping," Mabel said. She had come into the dugout, and tears stood in her eyes.

In the back seat of the family car, as their mom and dad stood outside talking about the game—and probably Chuck's illness—Dipper said to Mabel, "I'm going over to the Taylors' this afternoon."

"I'm coming too," she said.

"If you want. Listen, do me a big favor. You get Chuck and his dad aside somehow. I have to talk to Mrs. Taylor."

"About what?"

Dipper's voice was grim: "About a family ghost."

To be continued

Note from the Authors: This was just an idea I had but the one who really worked his magic and wrote almost all of this is none other than BillEase. He’s an amazing author who usually hangs out at fanfiction.net. Don’t pass up on a chance to check out his stuff. This guy is AMAZING. He wrote the story, I just gave the plot.

[mountaingoatsfirstlineaday]

Next up I wanna talk about the performance lines.

the "performance lines" are what I've started to call the middle 4 lines of this snippit - everything from "It feels like it takes forever" to "hits the ground". They seem like part of a performance, a façade, to me. Jam pointed out that a screen implies a camera somewhere, someone is watching, probably, and then had a bunch of cool connections because of that (I am once again plugging their analysis of this. Go read it). What stuck out to me, though, was the contrast between trying to "stay true", presumably be honest about who you are, and also... putting on an act. Performing. Smiling for the camera. Every photo is a lie, even if it's only a lie of omission. The frame of the camera is always obscuring the bigger picture. This is great for storytelling -- john darnielle is amazing at making the metaphorical frame of the camera work in his favor in terms of his songwriting. The way he uses lyrics pumped full of emotion and vivid imagery really lends itself to this, which you can see especially in songs like International Small Arms Traffic Blues or Jam Eater Blues, both songs that don't have a ton of lyrics but you know what they're about.

In terms of connections, I instantly thought of more btc, because of the prevalence of performance in that album. Southwestern Territory ("black out on local tv"), Unmasked! and Hair Match ("crowd's half-gone, just a few hangers on, come to see me finally tear through the stitching at last" and "some people leave before it's over, but most of them stay/some hide behind their programs, some turn away"). The doctor who knows Bull Ramos in The Ballad of Bull Ramos implies a degree of performance in Bull Ramos' past, Animal Mask ("they won't see you, not until you want them to"), the list goes on. There's also the sheer amount of songs jd has written about famous people, people who have to perform essentially for their living... Liza Minnelli comes to mind.

The line about horns and strings reminds me of a goats song, I'm absolutely sure, but I cannot think of what, so if anyone has any ideas please please please let me know! I've been thinking of this for like two days now.

The last two lines are the most interesting to me personally, because when I heard them they totally flipped the idea I was having about the song on its head. i'm doing this for revenge! I'm doing this to stay true! I went from thinking this was a song about a decaying star, a person exhausted and exasperated at the motions they had to go through to continue being the person that they are right now, to thinking maybe... maybe it's a song about someone burning brighter than ever, and goddamned hellbent on burning up everything and everyone unjust in the world along with them. There's a long, long list of tmg songs about revenge, some of which include The Day the Aliens Came, Lion's Teeth, Up the Wolves, Getting Into Knives, High Doses #2, and Going Invisible 2. The term revenge also implies that some kind of personal justice is being executed, and songs that I was considering that deal with justice or ethics are The Legend of Chavo Guerrero, Against Pollution, Prowl Great Cain, and The Pigs Who Ran Straightaway Into the Water, Triumph Of. I think these songs are fascinating -- I'm really interested in laws and moral codes and how those function in relation to society, and the mountain goats happen to be a great avenue of exploring exactly that, what with all these songs jd writes about passionate people self-destructing.

Something that really caught my fascination though was the lore behind The Legend of Chavo Guerrero ("It is about a guy who I looked up to when I was a child." - John Darnielle). This snippit of the song gives me the impression that maybe this is a song of someone who was in Chavo Guerrero's position -- like a reverse-perspective of The Legend of Chavo Guerrero -- and like, painstakingly aware of it. Know that they are a source of hope and justice for someone, and continuing despite the toll it's taking on their health/wellbeing.

okay thank you for coming to my ted talk. i think if dissecting every inch of mountain goats' lyricism was a day job i'd be rich.

there a couple of things that i wrote down that i didn't really explain in this long ass thing, so if any of you all want me to elaborate on something just send in an ask! clearly i enjoy talking about this lmao

because i am a visual person, my first inclination upon hearing the new song was to copy down the lyrics and draw some literal arrows -- Black ink is the lyrics, red is what i was thinking of before reading @unloneliest 's fantastic analysis, and purple is for after i read it. if you can't decipher this photo don't worry! I'll be typing up some coherent thoughts once i get on a computer (typing this on an ipad)