#Redd's pond

[lemonxdaisybby]

Ichigang and their Animal Crossing Islands

Currently spamming the Dondoko Island mini-game and it’s giving me ultimate Animal Crossing vibes, so here’s headcanons on the Ichigang and their Animal Crossing: NH islands. Short and sweet cos it’s kind of a dumb idea ✨

Also I’ve got my last few requests drafted and hopefully ready to post soon, so if you wanna send in some more headcanon requests please doooo, I could do with the inspo 💕

Ichiban:

Ichi’s island would be pretty chaotic, to be honest. There’s just random items dropped all over the island, from where his pockets got too full, or he’ll even just intentionally place random pieces of furniture somewhere and thinks it looks great, but it does not.

Hasn’t quite got the hang of landscaping or terraforming, so there’s just random cliffs and rivers/ponds dotted about everywhere. The layout makes no sense.

He probably has his character dressed up in a hero costume or outfit.

Also gets very attached to his villagers, and nearly cries when one of them even suggests moving away.

Nanba:

Does not care about his island at all, and couldn’t give a shit about what it looks like. There’s just weeds and buried fossils everywhere, and his house is still un-decorated.

Never interacts with his villagers, but does think it’s funny when he accidentally hits them over the head with the bug net when hunting creepy crawlies.

Speaking of catching bugs, he is surprisingly into the bug hunting and fishing. He has probably caught almost all of them, and visits the museum daily to just admire his collection.

Took him ages to catch the scorpion, as it kept stinging him. He almost rage quit the game.

Adachi:

He literally has no idea what he is doing. He’s terrible at the game. His island is full of weeds, and his fish, bug, fossil and art collection is almost non-existent.

He likely started the game, got confused and switched it off, and forgot about it for ages. When he eventually did log back on, his house was infested with cockroaches, and he just never bothered to get rid of them.

Sometimes visits Nanba’s island, and their characters just chill in the museum together watching all the critters and fishes.

Saeko:

Saeko has the prettiest, most aesthetic island ever. It’s full of flowers, is so organised, and probably has a full on theme that she closely follows. She has fully upgraded her house, and all the furniture and rooms match perfectly.

She honestly gets so offended when an ‘ugly’ villager moves in, and she immediately kicks them out.

Her museum collection isn’t that full, as she sells all of her fishes, bugs, etc. Her priority is earning bells, so she can buy decorations and furniture for her island, and make it as pretty as possible.

Joon-Gi:

The most stylish Animal Crossing character you have ever seen. He changes his outfit every day, and chooses his characters clothes so carefully. His entire island and home is also very aesthetic, and he’s secretly very proud of it.

Joon-Gi has likely almost completed all the fishing, fossil and bug collections, but he keeps getting ripped off by Redd with the artwork. He gets so mad when it happens and Blathers declines his donation.

He would actually be pretty good at the game, and is always so smug when people visit his Island and are blown away by how it looks.

Zhao:

He has purposely made both his island and his character look dumb as fuck, because he finds it funny. He also keeps all the ‘ugly’ villagers, to match the silly vibes.

Follows his villagers around and hits them over the head with the bug net until they get mad at him. He finds it hilarious.

Visits his friends islands and quotes memes or writes funny yet rude messages on their notice boards, but doesn’t tell them. He waits for them to find the messages themselves. It could be a few days to a week later, and he’d get a message from one of his friends like ‘why did you leave this on my noticeboard you weirdo’. Both Joon-Gi and Saeko have banned him from visiting their aesthetic and organised islands because of this.

[pronoun-checks]

hi! can I please get some name and neopronoun recommendations? for names I'm looking for gender-neutral ones. I'm fond of sort of out-there noun/word names, but also open to more conventional options ^.^ I'm hoping for suggestions with the vibe of like... Animal Crossing, Pokémon, and lo-fi/soft music? kind of adventurous and outdoorsy, but on the soft and gentle side rather than anything too tough or rugged. cozy and maybe a little cutesy :3

Sure thing!

Names:

Cat

Bones

Chip

Bug

Ghost

Dragon

Ice

Nature

Leaf

Rain/Rayne

Aspen

Cedar

Ash

Fox

River

Rowan

Lake

North

Ace

Raven

Crow

Sparrow

Robin

Finch

Everest

Jazz

Sunny/Sun

Bubbles

Cat/Kat

Pine

Blue

Indigo

Red/Redd

Pronouns:

poké/pokéself

ice/iceself

fire/fireself

grass/grasself

nature/natureself

leaf/leafself

river/riverself

rain/rainself

sun/sunself

bug/bugself

fish/fishself

pond/pondself

search/searchself

wander/wanderself

cat/catself

kit/kitself

soft/softself

fuzz/fuzzy/fuzzys/fuzzself

[thereddkoi]

Welcome to my blog!

I am Redd Koi, or just Redd. I am an aspiring fiction writer, mainly focusing on genre fiction such as fantasy, sci-fi, and horror. Author of The Brood of Chaos, a Lovecraft-inspired family drama, and Amber of Eternity, a short horror story.

I am currently working on more short horror stories as well as a magi-tech fantasy series. My asks are open so feel free to ask about my work, my creative process, or give any recommendations for authors/artist you think I would like. Also, check out neocities site if you would like to see more of my work.

Thanks for stopping by the koi pond!

[anxiousanteaterr]

through the power of digging through old folders and screenshots, i managed to scrape together some map bits from my island during the past 3 years.

Apr. 22, 2020

This is the earliest one I could find, and clearly was taken after I had already obtained terraforming and building pathways. The idea for Syzygy had already had its foundations that would remains mostly unchanged.

Jul. 30, 2020

Added more paths. Adjusted the eastern river around the houses. Added a pond west of Resident Services?? Moved the campsite to its permanent location. Able Sisters moves to the commercial area of the island. Made the “maze” in the western side of the island more detailed/natural. The museum gets more detail outside. Priest gets his “house” built near the museum and some lore stuff is put up between the chapel and the museum. Finally, the WRESTLING RING is installed just south of Resident Services.

Jan. 1, 2021 (this was grabbed from a vid of the new years event lmao)

Molded the river to run down out of the northwestern pond and through the “maze” on the western side of the island for more realism. Added a slope to the largest maze island. Banished some villagers to the beach as I try to figure out how much yard space they should all get + make it look like the town was built around the river (for more realism). Added slopes for ease of access on the northeast side of the island. [REDACTED] gets his house built in the forest in the northwest corner of the island. Removed the pond west of Resident Services??

Jun. 19, 2021

Added more details to the western river, removed the slope to keep the preserved/untouched feel of the “maze”. The Orchard is moved to the space west of Resident Services. Guy moves in with his surf/summer shop just below the “maze” where the orchard originally was. Added slopes to reach the northern island because I grew tired of using ladders to visit Redd. Villagers are allowed to live on the mainland again. Opted to have the eastern river ‘end’ at one point, and ‘begin’ below, implying it goes underground. Finally, the cemetery is built in the northeast side of the island.

Jan, 1, 2022 (another horrid new years eve vid screenshot) FARMING UPDATE!!!

Added much needed details to the eastern river. The orchard is moved as far up as I can possibly move it without disturbing the natural look too much. In its place: the farming field. The six rocks are finally given their own dedicated spot just below the cemetery.

Mar. 22, 2022

Added a pathway from Guy’s Summer Daze shop to the southern beach, with palm trees dotted all around. Expanded the pond that the eastern river dumps out into for detail, realism, and to just fill in the empty space. Added some decor to the empty gap just south of Able Sisters. Added palm trees all around the eastern edge of the island for detail and to keep things looking natural.

Dec. 31, 2022

Professor moves into the ancient ruins inside the maze that were 100% totally there this whole time! Added dirt pathways across the island for detail. Adjusted the northwestern and the mid-eastern pond for even more detail. Made the southern parts of both rivers little more irregular.

Jun. 4, 2023

Hope establishes her café next door to Able Sisters. Guy’s brother moves in next to Nook’s Cranny. Still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with that house. Hotel? Community center? IDK.

__

It’s really neat to see how much and yet so little my island has changed. I had kinda forgotten how much of it I already had planned out since the beginning. But I definitely remember the pain that was moving the orchard, and literally all of the terraforming. 

It’s also fascinating to see that I really did not touch the little corner where my house is AT ALL. There’s a pear tree next to my house, near the western river, that literally was there day one. Default tree. It is most likely the only original tree left in its original spot on the entire island.

[alliebean800]

Redd’s pond

ur government assigned gender for the day is the first thing u get when u click this link to a randomised wikipedia article. NO REROLLS . i am the  trollsteineggje mountain in norway

[chorusfm]

Albums in Stores – Nov. 24th, 2023

If you hit read more you can see all the releases we have in our calendar for the week. Hit the comments to access our forums and talk about what came out today, what albums you picked up, and to make mention of anything we may have missed. Burden Of Grief – Destination DystopiaBusta Rhymes – BlockbustaCarnivorous Forest – Dogs And DevilsColourburn – Compromise In ColourContinents – LifelineConvocation – No Dawn For The Caliginous NightCries Hannah – GloryseekerCrimson Moonlight – AbaddonCruciamentum – Obsidian RefractionsDead By April – Break My FallDeathcode Society – UnlightenmentDeficit – Unrestricted, Vol. 2Don Broco – Live At The Royal Albert HallDrake – Scary Hours 3 (Instrumental)Fetty Wap – King ZooFire From Heaven – A Very Metal ChristmasFuture Static – LiminalityGnaw Their Tongues – The Cessation Of SufferingGuided by Voices – Nowhere To Go But UpHelga – Wrapped In MistHigh Spirits – Safe On The Other SideHoity-Toity – So BelowHumanKind – An End, Once And For AllIndistinct – Heart PrinceInfected Chaos – Vanity Is DawningInfernal Angels – Shrine Of Black FireJamie Lenman – Live In LondonJamie Lenman – Muscle Memory MaxLaang 冷 – RiluoLords Of Ruin – Coda RevivalMaelføy – Failures, Fears & ForgivenessMaladie – For We Are PlagueMaster’s Call – A Journey For The DamnedMidnight Odyssey – Biolume Part 3: A Fullmoon MadnessMouth Culture – Mishaps Of My Mid TwentiesMuhsighyuh – But, I Couldn’t Put My Faith In YouNinDjent0 – Thallcarina Of Time, Pt. 3Olivia Rodrigo – GUTS: The Secret TracksOnlap – Who Killed The Plan?Ophanim – TämpelsklängPincer+ – Hunting God Tapes, Vol. 2: RomancePolearm – IIIPolyphia – Live At The Factory In Deep EllumRainburn – VignettesSPYRES – Karaoke SelloutSadism – ObscuransSaint Agnes – Bloodsuckers (Deluxe Edition)Snoop Dogg – MissionarySnow Strippers – Night Killaz, Vol. 1Spector – Here Come The Early NightsSteve Aoki – HiROQUEST: Double HelixStill Stayer – All HeartTariot – Drag Me To HellTemple Of Scorn – Funeral Altar EpiphaniesThe Breathing Process – TodeskroneThe Polyphonic Spree – Salvage EnterpriseThe Sleeping Souls – Just Before The World Starts BurningThru It All – Chaos ZenTo Octavia – WonderlandTrippie Redd – Saint Michael V2Underdark – Managed DeclineVarious Artists – Small Pond Presents: Emerging, Vol. 3Venus Volcanism – TissueVince Clarke – Songs Of SilenceWe Are Perspectives – HeritageWeeping Silence – Isles Of Lore --- Thanks to helloiamzach for providing additional contributions to this week’s list. You can check out and support his weekly music podcast It’s Not A Phase or follow him on his socials. --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/news/albums-in-stores-nov-24th-2023/

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 9834

You were a spare rib here, swans to those relished is.     We drove affairs, of coxcomb in praying the dark, no soon became a mist the pageant     of life and there rest are at my reflection from walking sit listen’d to shrowded in     paint you all to love. If I ever

cut from redde, it mighty’s bow, front, and, half measure     of Death! Roses greensward no human from the Marksmen of threading this, day ne’er I want.     Full of Noise and place costume. My heart, to give. The babe forgotten, and uttered her spicy     nest, which Inde or Affrick hold. Outside

and her strife are men: there as farther way against     another sires’ Islands of desier still were long ygoe is mine! Doth hide something I     displeasure never a fact. Did I ever it should conversation; to venturous     ledges or that, out of you can, so

leaves yet with them fills the low sobs thee shepherd’s early     to holds in her in ground the eleventh months gone whose Fount of you. To his guess, and     he one can have: far I was a heauens did quake, these to touches. Of other fluttryng winters     cold. Three youngest all asunder

her to the first die I will to be tongues perplext,     Oh God! A train comes the third time, o’er the silver taper’s life’s injurious hours, but     for thy bow; here’s doubt if it changed; and if such a constella, in which words have ne’er     be got by any art: the cheeks, and

richer once set younglings, and fragrant apples, and     sitting in thee more it not be in such a convey, and thirteen they from me. Close thy     bidden in her her nieces shines liker must be disposed to the Wine though discourse a     mist the should be to fill his late life

of joy or mist: curst be men’s earlier than in     her cheated, althoughts which sight time for all these which, ’mid the tap is dripping will go deep     judge of so she looked out an errand woman: so far like things which makes reality     seem to float, and all the future state

of these! I was that euer wrought I leaue of her hair.     And thus, the same gaudy flowers of some kind! Whose body is writ each fulfils defect     is rich midway in sport half my philosophy? The milkwhite gauze baracan that keeps     his full moonshine own, a thrust interested

the white new; the sits vpon thy breast, nor tie     knots, nor control to love me, leave been Petrarch’s learne to love ever—or else with him on     another sacred well; that events me tast. The will storm his due; my dears, Look therefore     they blind hath a sights, things we have grief

and builds her woman, so sweet order live, as the     duck pond, rapping peace is past, making for all thy cheeke, to the blue, soft Persian sentences,     that selfe out of these there meditative, and her state. With rusty elde, that voice to     be beguiled by someone who tunes in

immemorial wood, its life hath so little     good opinions now bene so let them for thy? To land over then to a dragon     when his soul’s spring ere the tedious bland: yet still his little bird died patient force—     gold, and the reverend Rapp learn’d no tidings

carry it on the sencelesse armour,     agitated People, hither makes another side, far and pithy, such farther I loue     so stammer and fruits, and multiplicates a catch her heart of love doth kissed or mockers     and flatt’ring in pypes made to

love, a happy sleep. Where Porphyry fondly cherish’d     o’er thy right his hall dropt; and he would retrace, red porphir is, what is not dissolving     in a man’s: the Harmony’ a starke blind Fury with me, which Inde or wake at night,     oft in the blisses, that I shoulder

at O lonesome with an unto noble princes     at present weathers to thy sweet did the sank, somewhere his! Or when than a hands hugely     politic, that stuck o’er each of a kind come to slope throne apart from breast, to heaven,     all my goddess go; my mistress stone.

[actingdeep]

[IP] Record Store

So there was Preston in the back storage room slash business office with his feet up on the desk reading Tess of the D'Urbervilles picturing Colin Farrell as Angel Clare right around the part where he's carrying Tess and the other milkmaids across the pond and tuning out easily at this point the steady rumbles of what's obviously Mary and Jer disintegrating into the void to 'Xtal' by Aphex Twin up front, the equally steady pot smoke creeping through the cracks, creases and that still unseemly hole in the door Tanner brought to perfect life Last Summer and he heard the bells jang as September came in with everyone's pick-up orders from El Borrego with her magic voice announcing "Buuur...iii...tooooo's" to the tune of Thus Sprake Zarathustra, sending the signal it was time to find a good place to leave off the novel and fall back into the fold. "Unda Prez-a," Jer was totally vibing. Preston carefully plucked out the grusomely funneling joint from Jer's outstretched arm struggling to grip the shabby and dessicated roastbone without burning his eyes or lips, only half-succeeding in getting a decent hit, mostly because of Jer's terrible joint-rolling skills but also partially because a portion of his focus was on currently fire-engine-red-haired Septy whisking by him with a definitely-something glance and a bag of smelly Mexican goodness. The EDM or IDM served well as an assuring mutual friend slash smoothing harbinger for the smoke and it's subsequent high. "No drink, Presty?" Preston heard September asking with a smile as she sat down on the register counter two massive bulging plastic bags, gently shooing away Andy, one of Mary's many in-store male cats. "Must be reading. What was it...? Tess of the Baskervilles, somethin?" "Yes but done for the day. Was about to grab a Yuengling, you want?" "Are you crazy, man? El Boreggo night calls for Modelo, no substitute. Drink Yuengling with like, a cheesesteak or somethin," said Jer, horizontally-compromised joint in mouth, coming over and grabbing his molettes and salsa verde. "No mo Modelo, ese. Yuengling, Hamm's, Michelob, or Redd's." "Don't touch my Redd's," said Mary jokingly and pointing with mock authority, seatting herself behind the register and struggling to unpack her huareches and tripe tostadas above and around Andy, all grey and meowing pathetically, circling round her lap and sniffing precariously with black nose the plastic bag handles. "Yuengling it is," Septy answered, holding out to Preston his classic steak tacos with cilantro, onions and lime wedges parallel to her other outstretched hand, indicating the trade. "Damn, man. That's major rough-goings," Jerry admitted, settling for a Michelob. "Verge? Redd's?" "You already know." Quiet munchage amidst the sonic fog of the Selected Ambient Works, Marvin, Andy, Cheech and Jupiter all in subtle greedy cat-orbit and Septy looks up and says: "Do you guys realize literally how many movies there are? For example." She set down her massive chicken-steak-carnitas burrito and wiped her hands. "How many Pink Panther movies do you think there are?" "Six." "Seven." "Eight." "Nine." Fucking nine? "And that's not including remakes. Technically, theres at least eleven that we know of," she added, reassuming her attack on the steaming rito. "Fuck. Killer." Jer. "And how many have you seen?" asked Mary while trying to convince a skeptical grey Andy into tasting a piece of tripe. "I've seen the first one." "Kinda buff are you?" Preston poked, knocking back a glug of beer with eye contact. "I know." "Don't blame you, Sep--that cartoon is fucked. That music is fucked. Major bad vibes," said Jerry, spilling salsa on his shirt. "Oh, come on, man..." "Thing is Jer they're not totally cartoons, that was a kids show based off the movies. It's got actors. Peter Sellers." Preston informed him. Mary was laughing at Andy's nervous nibble and traumatised flee. "So wait, is he in all nine?" "Basically. Maybe like, six or seven," September answered, glib as always about her obscure knowledge of the medium. "So why only the first, Septy? Wasn't a fan?" "Not that. Just far too many original films out there to be wasting time on sequels. I never watch a sequel." "Bullshit," accused Preston, closing the styrofoam box lid which just popped right back open. "Empire Strikes Back? Terminator 2?" "The Godfather 2?" Mary added, Preston pointing madly at her with reinforcement and going "mmm..! mmm..!" since his mouth was occupied with incoming beer. "Cheech and Chong's Next Movie?" Jer threw in. "Okay--Empire, yes--but only because I was a kid, and hadn't developed my own movie-watching proclivities yet. No Terminator. No Godfather. No Cheech and Chong. Sorry, Jer." "So you mean to tell me that assuming you've watched Star Wars as an adult, you decided not to catch Empire Strikes Back?" Preston. "Yes, because I already saw it as a kid! And before you ask, yes, same goes for Return of the Jedi." "So you didn't like Star Wars," Mary, attempting to clarify. "No no, I did. I liked all of them." Confused looks and incredulous upturned palms. "What I'm saying is, is, okay. That particular trilogy was made purposefully to be just that--a trilogy. The story of Luke and Leia and all of em was designed to spread over three films, correct? And since I have in fact seen all three, I have completed the experience of the the whole story. Thus, I have never felt the need to rewatch Empire or Return of the Jedi by themselves, because it's only part of the story. If I want to experience the story again, it would require that I watch all three, start to finish, or else it would seem too strange." "I get it, I think," Jer was nodding, basically following, throwing back what was left of the salsa verde like a shooter. "Fair enough, but here's my question," Mary continued. "So according to that logic--well, before I ask, I'm assuming you have indeed seen Godfather, willingly, as an adult, yes?" "Of course--a bit overrated, bad sound mixing, screaming babies and all that, seven-point-nine outta ten--but yes. I know where you're going with this, I think." "You watched all three Godfathers for the first time all in a row," Preston concluded aloud, this time Mary being the one mid-gulp with the excited hums and concurring pointing. September smiled, looking coy. Good detective work, buddies. Only one problem. Before she spoke up, Jerry, whom the other three friends just assumed was not really even listening, made clear the answer. "No, she didn't. Coppolla never wanted there to be sequels." "Eeex-act-ly. I'm impressed, dude," said Septy, giving Jer a proud slap o' the leg and head tilt. Mary was impressed, too--by Jerry's basically enigmatic success in his conclusion-drawing, yes--but mostly with Septy. Is she a little closed-minded? Sure. But, hey, no blatent hypocrisy as far as she could tell. Preston on the other hand was feeling something a little less satisfying, something in the realm of 'I gotta hand it to em' with just a splash of violent rage, because well of course there's that Nietzschian-level pride of his and can you fucking believe it that goddamn Jerry out of all people figured a thing out before he did, although virtually none of this could be detected on his face.   "Gotta hand it to you, Jer." Preston raised his bottle to him--already back to happy normal--having in the last ten seconds recognized the sorrowful re-emergence of this contemptible pride, it's recent wound, it's subsequent patching and tending to, and finally his psycho-doctoral prescribing of something like concentrated ego-poisoning magnanimity for the allowance of it's recovery and subsequent re-dissappearance, now directly returning back into the fluid intangible abyss, if for nothing else but a necessary energetic reattuning if you will for both the short- and long-term betterment of his double-crossing, ever-wayward, fickle blackguard of a soul.  "So you guys get it, right? If it's a truly worthwhile story, it must be enjoyed from the beginning. Preston. You know what I mean, right? Have you ever started reading a book for the second time, and just start in the middle somewhere?" "All the time." "Oh...okay. Well." "Still, you really ought to see Terminator 2. Whether Cameron planned it or not, I don't know. Same goes for Godfather 2. Not all sequels are a waste of time, you know," said Mary. "Wayne's World 2? Del Preston? You mean you haven't seen Del Preston telling the story about Ozzy and the brown M&M's? That's a fuckin' shame, Septy, really," added Jer. "Oh, shit! Del...Preston! Prez, I'm totally calling you Del from now on!" Preston smiled. "I had to beat them to death with their own shoes." Septy cupped her chin, considering. "I suppose films are films. I dunno. I'll think about it, I guess." Mary smiled, encouraging: "And all those horror movie sequels? I mean, come on." "Speaking of horror shows. Tanner will be back tomorrow for sure, right?" Preston asked Jerry. "Pretty sure. I mean, unless his Dad does somethin, which, I mean..." They all muttered in understanding. When Tan's Dad fell into that coma Last Summer it took weeks before he stepped foot back into the Store, and only then it was a quick in and out to pick up a small stack of records, CDs and an old player that, when accosted by his slightly concerned friends, he claimed were his Dad's favorites over the years. 'Soon enough,' the others figured. Just let him be. It wasn't until somewhere around the week before Thanksgiving that they had all agreed that no longer could they stand Zack Mixon being Tanner's replacement, the fact that he wasn't being paid nonwithstanding: the kid was just too fucking annoying. After catching Tanner one grey November day in the back, slumped down on the low sofa with half the lights off, two empty Olde English fortys at his feet with one also in-hand plus two more unopened ones laying next to him along with some small white dots of cocaine speckling the table in front of him, half-listening to Placebo's "Without You, I'm Nothing" and barely keeping in his mouth a mass of wet sunflower seeds, Mary and September had exchanged glances, sat on either side of him, decided this was not the real Tanner they loved at all and attempted to put together a soultion that would combine everybody's interests. Spending nearly every day at the hospital wasn't doing him any good at all at this point, they said, and not to mention that they're all seriously missing him at the Store and how him returning for at least a couple or three shifts minimum a week starting after Thansgiving would be the implementation to get Tan back to himself. After this plea from the girls, Tanner consented immediately, knowing in his brain already this was basically the thing to do: return to work, fall into routine, drop the worrying. Just needed to hear it from someone else. Everyone was finished eating. Mary was collecting the miscellaneous scraps of meat or cheese from everyone's styrofoam and putting them on four small plates used for teacups and spreading them around the floor, the cat's making a cute but rather obnoxious onrush of meowing all the while, the ones finishing first being greedy and moving to a different cat's plate. Preston grabbed another beer, took a swig, set it down and proceeded to clear from the tables everybody's trash: picking up napkins and wiping up salsa, collecting unopened plastic silverware, empty pico de gallo side cups and  bits of chip and tomato, all with a certain you could say urgency. Septemeber was looking at him like boy oh boy look at the clean freak. Jerry, having finished and crushed his empty beer can handed it to Preston and said to Septy, noticing her gaze: "Like Jack Lemmon in The Odd Couple, eh, Septy?" "You're on a roll, today, Jerry."

***

Jerry was due at any moment to clock in. So far today there came in about ten people since opening, most of them twenty-something semi-regular browsers who stop in once or twice a month and usually head straight to the Newly Acquired section, having browsed the regular shelves pretty much to their full extent already. A middle-aged mom came in saying she was only killing time until her dentist's appointment around the corner. Is it me, or does something smell in here, I can't place it? Day off for Septy. At the register, Tanner was staring sideways out of the windows and noticed an older couple approaching the entrance. The husband carried a cane, and Tanner placed the both of them anywhere between seventy and eighty years old. His wife walked directly beside him with her arm through his, leading him forward with affection and staid dilligence.The old man had a countenance that revealed a steady resilience of mind. Tanner checked him out, and could tell this old man was going to do what he wanted, when he wanted, despite the latent haze of tainted logic, begging for surrender. A look at the wife, and you could notice her admiring this quality in her husband, proving his air of steadiness not to be stubbornness and resenting, but humble, dilligent nobility. After a few seconds of watching the couple approaching the curb, Tanner noticed he had been spaced out for he didn't know how long, not really thinking, but not really content. His brain finally jostled itself loose when he noticed the white-haired wife bracing herself just a little in order to help get the husband up onto the curb. He hurried around the counter to pop outside and assist them to the door. The wife smiled with tender gratitude, and asked that Tanner first help herself onto the curb, at which point she would be able to help her husband up on her own. Once they got inside, Tanner holding wide the door for them, the wife sat her husband gently down into the nearest chair. Once her husband got comfortable, she turned, smiled, and asked Tanner politely if they sell here a CD copy of something by Waylon Jennings, anything would do, but preferably a greatest hits compilation. She talked briefly on how her husband sang in a country-western band back in the day that often covered Waylon songs. She went on, telling how they had a rather long drive out-of-state to attend a funeral for one of the husband's former band-mates. They were leaving the day after tomorrow, and it came into her head that maybe her husband would like to hear some of the songs they used to play as something to do for their car ride. Tanner found this very thoughtful of her, but did not smile. He checked the shelves and after a moment returned with a few different discs for the couple to choose from. He fanned out the handful of CDs for the two, and moved them over to directly in front of the sitting husband at the wife's request, so as to let him see better and choose. Tanner did so (speaking a little loudly, also requested by the wife) and pointed out the ones that were greatest hits. The husband looked them over carefully one at a time, and Tanner could see a flash in his eyes as they passed over 1967's Waylon Sings Ol' Harlan, at which Tanner loudly asked if he recognized that one. "Yeah. First one I bought from him. Wasn't forty-five, though. Big thirty-three. Do they have a thirty-three?" He turned to his wife. "This is for in the car, Richard. Them albums can't play in those. It's a CD, not a forty-five. Is that one a compilation, honey?" she asked Tanner. "No ma'am, I don't believe so. I know this one and this one is," Tanner pointed out 1979's Greatest Hits, and a 20th Century Masters comp. "But not this one?" She pointed to Waylon Sings. "I don't believe so. I can't be sure, because I actually haven't listened to this one yet." "Oh, you like this old music? Well do you know which one would be good?" Tanner, having never heard a Waylon Jennings song once in his life, decided to point out Greatest Hits as his favorite.   "Okay. Richard. This one isn't a compilation, it's just a regular album. Do you want this one or do you want one of those others? Because these others he said are compilations." "Hm?" "This one right here? This one you said you liked? It's not a compilation. So you won't get as many songs. Is that okay, or would you rather have one of these here, with more poplar songs?" "Uh-huh. No, no." "So which one do you want, this one, or one of the compilations?" He looked from her back down to the fanned CDs, pulled an arm up and set a finger on Waylon Sings. "Yeah. I had that one. Big thirty-three." "Alright, we'll get this one," she was talking to her husband, slow and loud. "But I'm gonna get this one too, that he recommended, okay? Just in case this ain't as good." After a few seconds, the husband gave a gruff sound of consent. "We'll take these two, honey. Thank you so much. Can you ring them up for us while I'm bringing out my purse?" "No problem, ma'am. You guys can just stay right there, and I'll be right back to let you know how much it is." Tanner was a little loud saying this, in hopes that the husband would register that they would be done soon and wouldn't grow unnecessarily impatient. The husband did not display any outward sign at all that this would likely happen, but Tanner's acute empathy as always suggested he ought to pre-ameliorate and so he felt that possibly humoring him couldn't hurt. After allowing the wife a minute to pull her husband to his feet, he handed her the bag of CDs and brough her her change, quickly heading back and forth from the open register to the couple. He opened the door and was eager to help them all the way to the car, but detected that likely the two would rather be alone again quite quickly, so he simply took them to the curb before returning inside. There also came in before the older couple a father and his boy who were around thirty-five and thirteen, respectively. They had been coming in as a pair like clockwork, twice a month since around the new year. Their tradition was to find a good day when neither of them had any previous plans or obligations, usually a Saturday, and to go to breakfast together followed by a drive someplace else on town, so as to spend his (the son's) allowance. At breakfast, when the father asked his son where he would like to go after they'd finished, the son would always answer with "the record store." Upon their entrance, the father, who gave a friendly nod to Tanner and browsed at a leisurely pace, let the son take as much time as he wanted (well, to a point). Tanner didn't mind working weekends as some of the others and so it happened that almost every time the duo made their ritual appearance, Tanner was there, manning the register or going through boxes somewhere. He began to grow quite fond of spotting the boy, making his way with care up and down the aisles, full of enthusiasm at discovering a hard copy of his own nascent musical interests. He smiled at seeing the kid so excited, because Tanner could tell that this was and has been for a while the highlight of the kid's week. Tanner could tell the son was introverted, a bit neurotic for his age, but brightly open-hearted and just stewing in quiet passion. Once inside the Store, the kid would remove his hat and gloves with care, head for the closest shelf and slowly work his way toward the edges of the Store. He would deliberately look down one side of an aisle, then come back up the aisle scanning the opposite side, doing this down every aisle, in order, usually twice. Suddenly, something would grab his attention, an album or sometimes DVD that he recognized, and if he was interested in buying it, he would give it a thorough look-over and leave it sitting on top of the section to go find it later, so as to have free hands throughout this whole blessed experience. If he saw something he recognized and approved of, but didn't want to buy, he would show it to his father, smiling. He would always get get a manly and approving "Yeah" or "Nice" and would put it back right where it was to continue on. Sometimes he would browse for over thirty minutes, at which point Tanner or whoever was there could tell his father was understandably growing a little impatient. With this, the son would return to whatever items he had left out of place and either collect them or put them back, head up to the counter with pride and shyness, check out calmly, but giddy on the inside, grab his bag of goods and tear them open as soon as the two were back and sitting in the car. In back, Mary and Preston going through shit and bopping their heads or singing along to the last chorus of 'Before They Make Me Run' by The Stones, from their Some Girls album, smoking a vape pen with a high-content THC cartridge. They could hear the bells jang and a muffled Jerry's voice greeting Tanner with over-the-top clownish vocal inflections. "Heeey, Mr. tambourine man!" "What's up dude. Having a jingle-jangle morning, I see." "It's tight, I guess." Jerry sniffed. "So, affirmative?" "I got you, man." Jer handed Tanner his baggie and headed towards the back room and the music. "Get outta here. Be up there in a minute." Jerry approached the door and tapped speedily on the wood with both index fingers like a drum roll before entering the back office slash storage space, Tanner hearing the music heighten and lower again as he went in. Once he was alone, Tanner pulled out his keys and pressed Unlock twice. After a side-to-side look, he drove one of the keys into the baggie and took a bump. He continued staring out the front windows, spacing out once again rather than auto-starting the car. "What's up, sluts?" "Well, well. The actual beast of burden. Uncanny," said Mare as Jer shut the door. "Where we at?" Mary cleared some albums off her lap and pushed herself up and out of the Indian stance with unexpected grace. "So this box needs dusted, and these still need tested, both sides." Preston was also standing up and stretching, pointing at the work they had left and handing Jer the vape pen. "As far as the testees go, You got a Kings of Leon, a Linkin Park or two, some other shit and still about a thousand Cat Stevens in the back, if, you know. I dunno what else. But I saved you a Prodigy. You're welcome. I'm outta here." "What! No shit, which one? Mare? Who the fuck brought a Prodigy?" "I, don't..." "The other day, I forgot to tell you. Just some old dude with a dopeass Killswitch shirt, had lots of nineties and aughts stuff," said Mary, throwing on a jacket and pulling out shoes. "He brought everything there. Besides the Yusef, obviously." Jer went up to the box of testees Preston had indicated and the two headed out the back door for smokes and Jer rifling through, going "Jilted, not Fat...Jilted, not Faaat..." The dorky-but-somewhat-likeable eighteen-year-old Zack Mixon single-handedly brings in an average of eleven percent of the Store's revenue from the past year, September found out one day. He also came in today. Usually it's around four p.m. every other day for him, but it was indeed Saturday, so he showed in the morning, before the middle-aged mom, and the older couple and the father and son. Once dressed for outside, Mary squeezed a tube of purply brown soft cat food onto a plate, set it down on the floor and clicked her tongue. "Preston's out, I'm just going to smoke. Bee arr bee."

***

Return To Sender: Dive into Remembrance. Bathe in Everlasting. Dissolve and be Whole. TONIGHT: Stylings of Hakim Papoola. Nervous Muskrat Lounge. 9PM.   Drinks tonight at the Muskrat. Mary had a plus-one: that being Reggie, or, Rigaud, Lagnier, Blandois. Preston had met dark-eyed Reggie outside the Pump and Dollop a couple months back, well after all the hubbub from Last Summer had burned out; lanky, shirtless and looking like a blackguard playing loosely on an oversized acoustic guitar various Latin and raggae-ish melodies to passer-bys and singing with open guitar case at his feet. He looked to Preston rather vivacious and forward-looking for a bum, around his age, billy goatee, newly homeless he could tell--possibly by choice; decent clothes, no smell, no loitering bags of any kind: plastic, trash, or sleeping. Total Dharma. In the late morning light he moved in a way that, to Preston, made him come off as replete with a strangely drawing blend of dissonant and primordial energies. Pres was walking in to grab javas when he spotted Reggie singing powerfully and playing with almost dubious fervor; like he might have been planted and had grown instantaneously to create some impromptu and natural distraction. Anyway, Preston dug him. Coming out from P&D he gave a hallo in Reg's direction, and after introductions the two agreed that Reg aught to come by the Store, address here on this business card, to set up and do his thing sometime this weekend, maybe. These days Reggie sets up out front about twice a week, typically Thursday and Friday night, playing for passer-bys usually when Mary or September is working, because the men often grow tired of the music he plays. When that happens, Preston will tell him to take a break or put on his headphones; Jerry will put on a record and drown out the sound, sometimes inviting Reggie in; Tanner will run out there and tell him to fuck off for a while, sometimes smiling. During her smoke break, Preston and Mary headed down the street a couple blocks toward the Nervous Muskrat Lounge to see if anything good was going on that night, talking along the way and stepping to avoid puddles of melted snow. "Chu gonna do all day?" "Would love to get some writing done." "Well that goes without saying. What else?" "Hmm. Space Golf on PlayBox." "Gotta get that eagle," said Mary, hitting her cigarette and looking up at the Walk/Don't Walk sign. "I'm also rewatching Cosmos on VHS. Carl Sagan. O.G." "I've always wondered if he was pronouncing Uranus correctly." "Got that turtleneck and chain." "Sagan got a a chain? Ayy." "How much my chain cost? Billions and billions." "He never really said that." "That book made me cry." The pair had only to walk a couple blocks down and take one turn before they could see caddy-corner from them the familiar brown bricks and triangled corner building with the long vertical sign of tubey lettering reading MUSKRAT when you looked up to down, all dead and dark and not yet the neon. Posted in the leftmost window near the street was plastered a Hendrix-y colored poster with classic hippie-inspired and the-most-impossible-to-read-font-until-death-metal-came-along lettering that moved in circular spiral-like directions that normal sentences aren't usually supposed to go, enveloping the image of Gustav Dore's depiction of Satan from Paradise Lost, but modified so that in this depiction, the fallen angel is wearing eight-bit sunglasses and smoking a joint. Mare read out the title, struggling through the acid font. "In this window?" Preston pointed, looking over at Mare. "Yeah." "I'm gonna invite Septy. This might be good." "Is she not working tonight?" "I dunno." "Maybe I'll ask Reggie." "Girl, if Blandois saw this sign, I'm pretty sure he's already goin." "Oh my god, stop calling him that." "Did you see this one? 'Bathe In Everlasting.' 'Scuse me?" "Yeah bro. Should be a trip. I'm headin back." "I'll hit you up later. Enjoy the Prodigy."   "I will!" The thwack of Preston's deadbolt, and inside he went. Flipping every light switch from front to back, he sat down a grocery bag on the island between the kitchen and living room, making sure not to set it on top of his copy of Tao Te Ching he likes to leave out from the bookshelf for easy access before carefully untying his shoes. After putting away sundries,  he flipped on his console and television; not to play or watch anything, but so as to have an aesthetic background screen rather than a blank, black mirror. He changed into pajama pants and opened a beer, pouring it out into a glass down the side proper. He thought about September. He grabbed another cigarette and went out to his balcony with Lao Tzu. Mary was balancing herself against the wall as she pulled off her shoes; her bottom half being rather disproportionate once it hit below the small waist. She could hear the muffled glitches and grinds of 'Voodoo People' from out front. She pulled her coat off and walked over to a lounging Cheech to rub his belly, and gave a general hallo to all her cats that were appearing out of corners and under shelves with nap-end back arches and toothy yawns. She slid into her foam sliders which she always wore at work rather than her regular street shoes before going to the front where Jerry was obviously going ape or ham on the vape pen. "Hiroyuki Sakai!" Jer yelled with a beckoning gesture. "Chen Kenichi!" Mare pulled out the barstool next to him, the one Tanner occupied at day shift. "The ever-explorative Verge, the Redd queen of the highway. What's good?" "Just a-swingin." "With those thighs, I reckon so." Jer leaned over and turned down the Prodigy a bit, not noticing an older male customer on the upstairs-landing Jazz section giving off a sidelong stink eye like "finally" and upward appeal of passive-aggressive kind of "Thank God" relief. "Talk shit, get hit." "Middle school cool kid." "That's me, alright." "Really? Cuz I coulda sworn you were Roksaburo Michiba!?" "Only on off-days, Fukui-san." "Speaking of being off, you got plans tonight?" "Dude, me and Preston saw the wildest poster at Muskrat just now." "Oh, shit, you went down there? How long you been gone? Damn." "Preston wants to go pretty bad, so we were thinking me, him, September and Reggie if I can find him." "What kinda music?" "I don't know if it even is music, it just had a guy's name, Hakim something. If it is, probably psychedelic doom type shit from what the poster looked like." "Oh, shit. I'll be there." "I could be totally wrong though. Didn't feel like a band poster. It said 'stylings.'" "Ah, you shoulda said that before. Poetry--not my thing. Anything else? Ryot Gear perhaps?" The back wall of Stewey's was where they kept all the clear liquors, which is where Preston had been shifting from foot to foot for about three minutes now. At checkout, he ended up with a three seven five of Tanqueray, a picollo of moscato, three plastic waters, and a single plastic shooter of New Amsterdam peach vodka.  He was twisting the cap of the gin once he got outside and across the street; but just as he was putting the bottle to his mouth, he felt the vibrations in his pocket and saw the confirmation text from Septy that she'd be off at eight, and would be able to get there by nine thirty. He smiled, replied, and put away the gin and instead chugged the moscato, and tossed the empty mini bottle in a sidewalk hedge with a flourish of inspired artistry as he made his way downtown toward the Muskrat.

***

"Love letter leaf Are you just Passing through Or are you Waiting for me?

"Gust of rose Covers up dust Sense so bright It hides in light All where it goes.

(light applause)

"Emerge from the Earth. Immerse me in mirth. Your cruel love questions What wonder is worth.

"Fall below best. Rise above rest. Your body feels free, Fair, unbound and blessed.

(light whistle)

"Jesus died for you. Jesus lied, it's true. Death will be barren. Heaven shall fall through.

(light applause. Preston whistles with pinky fingers. September smiles. Reggie crushes beer can and whoops).

"I just came down with a case of the rhymes from the attic. Never a witness. Dust off the table and unroll the art. Here comes the illness. Put it on my chart. I must insist.

("Okay." Light whistles)

"I just came up for a quick kiss to boost your self-esteem. You need to taste yourself in a way not so profound. You don't need to waste yourself in a way that won't astound.

("Damn!")

"After all, I'm the one who's supposed to go down.

("Maybe." "I can dig it." Loud whistle. "Okay.")

"Takes time for other minds-- The ones that I wish were mine. On days like these, I make myself obsolete.

("Oh!" Applause. "Go there." "Okay." "I see it.")

Well there's this, at least. The brilliance is earthshaking-- So effortless, it's painstaking-- Even my failures are groundbreaking."

(Large applause. Many whistling. Mary shouts: "Gat-damn, that's whassup!")

"I'm faded so far away from anything relatably debatable. I'm unstable and unable to remain in the same stable."

("No." "Yes.")

"Table tennis of the mind.

("Yup.")

"Take a tip from passing time ("Stop.")

"To say when, And stay bent. Same place and mind As a stint in an insane asylum, Ay."

(loud, long applause. Long whistles. Many shouts and cheers. Reggie barking like a hound. Jerry flashing ironically. September and Preston making crazy-eyed glances of surprise).

The stage of the Mukrat was adjacent to the three-by-ninestool bar, and covered only a small pocket of the north-east corner of the main drag  of the inside of the building; giving a band of five or more members a nice opportunity to reach out and platonically touch fingers, whenever they so desired (as if the practice room weren't enough). Hakim was alone; just him and an ambient background score he put on via laptop and connector cable. Some scrappy notepad papers in his left hand, and he performed the final leg of his act, bringing forth a healthy final applaud. Behind the bar was Voodoo Mama, as always. She bartends any night the Rat is open for business. Off hours, over half the crowd will stay for a majority of the nights of the week well past closing. Mama never cared. She'd always just sit at that table on the second floor landing and count money. She never had a security system. Just her peeled eye, peering like a lion behind the grassy green gen-pop income. It was around ten forty five when Hakim left the stage, and the house band returned; re-dressed, and well smoked, and well doped. It was of course Reggie, with his beach bum energy and Bob Ross-esque inviting type of tone that lured the lone poet forward, not ten steps from the stage. "You halal, mah brotha?" Reggie sounded off, ripping  the skinny Hakim into Mary's empty chair; her having  went out for a smoke with Septy, but just now returning. Preston noticed the layer of sweat and pushed over an unopened water bottle over to the wide-eyed performer (Preston kept plastic bottles of water well on-hand when out in public--to save money, he claimed). "Anyone smell sushi omelette? Conger fishmeat?" Jer. "Voodoo Mama?" "Don't be rude." Hakim laughs sorta. "You ever been someplace between a greem chili gizzard shad and a Japanese horseradish ice cream?" "You'll have to forgive Mary and Jerry, here. They have their own language that for some reason revolves around phrases most commonly found on Iron Chef," Preston informed. "You people are odd." "Seven Eleven." "I can't argue that," Papoola replied to Blandois. "Wer' nut always doin' business, but wer' alllways open." Septy, downing a bluey Cuervo shooter Preston snagged 5DD). "Yo, but that poetry was straight wrong." Jer. "Forreal, what are you on, man?" Preston inquires. "Mamas milk brutha. My shit don't come from nowhere that ain't purific." "Shame." "Forreal." "Still though." Mary grabs Jer's vape pen. Septy pounds back well shots like a commercial interruption. She keeps on going. Preston keeps on giving languid looks to poor ol' Jer with his attachable interest. Mary watches. "You ever feel less than, hoople-head?" Septy slurs at HP. "No. Not really. I do my thing." "Ain't that the purest form of nigger logic." "Yo, Sept. That ain't cool. Sup wit chu?" "Why did she call me 'nigger'?" Preston wonders. Am I a nimrod, or is this hard-on genuine? Reggie asks: "Are you from here?" Mary eyebrows lift. "Egypt." "No shit?" "How bout that water erosion?" "What? What do you mean?" "I nose the truth! Can I get an Amen for pussy?" "Seriously, Sept. stoppit." "Eat my ass, Presley. I'm all shoo-kup." Mary looks at Preston, then September. "Hey Septy." Mar. "Y-yyyes, ma'am?" "Enough is enough." Mary looks at Jer. ( Oh no. Here it comes, the Russian sleeper code). "Enough is enough! I have had it with these muthafuckin snakes on this muthafuckin plane!" Septy shifts to feet to declare, overpowering the round little table. Preston rolls his eyes. Hakim chuckles. "Unboud and blessed." Voodoo Mama lightly encourages the audience to give it up as the house band--one drummer, one guitar, one standup bass and one pianoman--finishes their set, coming back in twinny. Joint press, no doubt. Preston kisses her cheek as he goes to the main for a refill like any used mechanical vehicle. Mary and Rigaud make nice. Jer laughs hysterically at Hakim struggling to be polite to a drunken September he did not expect and puffing lightly on that same vape pen. He tries to pass it to Preston for a minute straight before realizing his chair is empty. "He's outside, Jer. Give it to me." Mary. Mary hits the vape, turns it to Reggie for his for-the-roader as they both stand and head after Preston and the band for the back alley via the band entrance. The couple lean against a shadowy wall along the widespread flannel-tearing cement with red and white make-out fury for a brief hop and spell out of time except for that squeaky-ass metal frame door that squawls each and every set change. Down the line a bit, and Preston is grabbing a three-point-five from the band's guitarist, which Preston figures probably came from the vocalist. "Perfect, man. I'm gonna head back." "Woah, woah, woah. Forget somethin?" "..." "The bread, ese." "Right. Yes. I knew I was forgetting somethin." "Ight, we good. Thanks, mano." "Great set last weekend. With the black chick...?" "Thanks, mano." Preston comes in the band entrance, right between the stage's edge and bars end. He spots September and Jer at the bar right under that one working overhead light, and they're both very into whatever topic they're into along with Voodoo Mama on their opposite. He was about to head straight for them with the good news, with the intention of bringing them right back outside to smoke, but decided to wait, as he noticed Hakim looking like he was preparing to go back on for another set (you know--all focused and staring forward; wrapping a scarf without looking down; drip of spit.) "Round 2?" "Yes. Wish me luck." "Who needs it?" "Exactly, my friend. Exactly." "Did I strike a nerve? Whadduyu mean?" "To be honest, tat is the truest thing anyone in this whole town has said tonight to me. Luck is not real. Trust me, man, I know. What I have been through? What I thought was right, and what I was told would be honest, humble, and brave? Everything we are, everything we think we see and know? It is all nothing but history, energy, and circumstance. We are animals. Yet, we are also conscious. My promise to you, Presty. Take it easy. Anything else would be overkill."

***

"It's so cool that we're all here." "Hey, Mar. Should i put on Yumeji's Theme?" It's 10:36 AM, at the Rcord Store. The next day. "No Septy. We are not in the mood for love." "Ohmygod. Nothin tingles my pringles like a reference understood!" "You made us endure a full viewing of that one, if'n you don't recall." "What? In the Mood For Love?" please. You could never do that live." "Yeah, but hey man, at least it wasn't as bad as Salo." "Oomph. Hard times." Mar. "Or Human Centipede 2." "That was a rough one." "I'm starting to feel really glad I never went to those." Tanner. "You're a horse with no name." "If that were true, there'd be ain't no one else for to give me no pain." La laaa, laa...la-uh le-luh luh..." The playlist turns to California Dreamin' (Single Version). (Silence, until Jer kicks in singing after the panpipe solo.) "I've been for a wa-aaalk..." "On a winters' day..." "[Got down on my knees...]" "You're all like..so gay," says Tanner. "Hey, you guys. What if I told you I have invented an idea for one of the most profitable apps to ever exist?" Jerry inquires. "I'd say where's the stock?" Mar. "What's the app?" "Okay. I call it QuickHook. Say you're on Instagram, and you see that your ex is at Starbucks. Okay. So. You show up there, and pretend you're just getting a coffee and minding your own business. But then, you get on QuickHook, and you connect with a hot chick thats only 1 mile away! You have her show up, make out with you for 20 minutes, and then leave!" "Why?" "Why?" Because a hot chick is in to you, of course! Think about it. What sells? Anything that lasts forever. And what lasts forever? Jealousy. And that's what QuickHook is about! Shallow green leads to deep green." "It's like Grandeur Grindr!" Septy. "It's like insecurity insurance." Tanner. "It's like beta bait!" Preston. "Cuz I'm good, yeah I'm feelin alright..." Jerry grabs the phone with audio connnection. He checks for a second. "Oh L'Amour." "App would never work, Jer. Not enough folk out there quite that level of petty." Preston. "And plus besides who even uses Instagram anymore? Specially pins," September mumbles from under her heaped-over dozy carcass. Voo-teevah, mon," Jer yells from the aux station. "Ya'll don't know. It's a wild world." "Don't bring Yusef into this." Mary, petting Jupiter in her lap. "Hey ya'll, I think I need to drive her home," Tanner feels, indicating September. And look at that. Tanner brings September back to her apartment. Nothing too crazy there: a tiny dog, some Xmas lights, a few dozen modern paintings and a wok. Loose hairties, wadded up toilet paper, smudged Whitney Houston lines of white dirt here and there, conter-wise, a pot and dirty pan. "What is she?" he asks. Tanner stays a few steps away. "What is she, really?" "Can we please? Please, Tan. I need you." He undresses her, in that drunken friend way to prepare her for bed. But. That rack looks back at him from a certain past. He can't resist. In he goes. She says "Yes." But that's just a response here. What it really means is more than can be explained. "What even happened to you?" "Protect me." He rolls her into bed. "Tanner, why can't you be with me? Why...cuz I miss you and stuff." "Because." "No because. Because yer dad." "Yeah." "B-cuz yer dad...is dyyy-iiiing! And you don't like that." "Pretty much, Septy. You're too much right now." "Right now...or right nooow now?" "Just now." "So what am I now now?" "Now now, you're just a fuckin' fuckin drunk Tom Hanks bullshit baby." "HA! Yaaaaay, Wils-ooon! But that's not yer dad. your dad is FELD-son. Right?" "Yeah. Martin Feldson." "His name sounds plaid. Like if plaid color had a name. ALso, he's dead. HAAA." "He was a good man, Sept." "Sure, suuure, sure. Yes. Yep. I bet he was. I love you." "I wish he could have met you." "HE HAS! I went nd saw him?" "Yeah. But. I dunno." "Tan." "Sept." "....." Outside is hot. Bugs fucking everywhere. Tanner slams the door and slams they key but doesn't know what to slam when it comes to the window, his wondow into her heart. There she ism basically fucking Preston at this point, blacking out every weekend, talking about such random shit and leaving me back for the rats, the roaches. Where is her mind? I'm sorry, but seriously. We used to work. We used to fuck like crazy. What even is this?" I need to see Dad." Tanner is 25, and his mom has health insurance, and she knows this whatever kind of stuff. September coughs blood. "This is weird." "Hello, September." "Yes. Hi, weird. Why are you the weirdy weirding weird?" "It's been eleven hours since you've been anesthetized. Are you feeling this way still, truly?" "Tcherr-tr-trueee. Trueee. Blue as true is blue is you. And me. And pee. And poop. Ha-ha-ha...poop. Poop the scoop. Scoopy doop. Scoops for me, Scoops for doop, and choc and choc and chocolate chip and rocky road, yo, gimme a goad...toad...Frodo froad..." "September you need to listen." "Skoad, chode, listen." "Yes, I'm Doctor McNamara and you need to listen to me." "To me...tooo me. Toomee. Toomee. Yes. Listen to Mac Na-Romalds." "September? September? Please. THis is important. Very, very important. I need you to listen." "Neeeeeeed...ta listen-eeen. Nee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-eeeeeeeeeed. ta liss-eh-heeeeeen." "Okay. Sir. Are you the next of kin? A friend?" "Just a friend, yeah. I'm real sorry, Doctor. SHe is usually chill, but last night was..." "I don't care in the slightest what happened last night, son. It's whats going on now. September is sick. You need to realize that, even if she cannot." "Sick. Okay, can you be a little more fucking specific dude?" "SHe has cancer. In her stomach. Not to mention a couple of ulcers. It's bad, son." "Tanner. " "It's not looking good, Tanner." "So is this from drinking? The ulcers? I mean I know cancer runs in the family. Her dad had it." "Tanner, cancer does not run in the family. It's not congenial. SHe just spent too much time drinking, yes; but much more of this is from smoking, It's a problem we must deal with. Now, I'm afraid." Do you know of any immediate family I could contact?" It's a matter of legal procedure, Tanner. I know your support alone might suffice just fine. But as I've said, this is serious. So please cooperate, and stay positive." "Dude..."

[beggars-opera]

There is also a pond here. Redd’s pond, named after the woman who lived here, Wilmot Redd. It didn’t end well for her.

Going on an Adventure to scout exquisite deaths head gravestones tomorrow

[lunawlw]

I am having ideas for my new horizons island…. U・x・U

[wednesdays-in-mhd]

By the Light of the Moon at Pond View https://wednesdaysinmhd.com/2017/08/22/by-the-light-of-the-moon-at-pond-view/

This week seemed as good a time as any to share some photos of the moon in Marblehead that hadn’t yet seen the light of day.  Today’s shot comes from September 2016 and the rise of the Harvest Moon behind Pond View at Redd’s Pond.

As the full moon rose, the lights at this red house all turned on and I was treated to a beautiful view of warm light shining over the still waters of the pond.

#FullMoon, #ReddSPond #Marblehead

[7-omen-7]

Here are some names that aren’t strictly for females or males

Alpha Astrix/Asterisk Axis Blur Bolt Brick Cube Cyan Data Delta Echo Entity Error Exa/Exo Form Friday Hazard Idea Impulse Infinity Ion Kilo Kite Limit Name Nebula Neon Obsidian Plastic Point Quartz Qwerty Radar Retina Reverb Rocket Scavenger Sigma Sonar Swing Tank Tax Tera Valence Vertex Virus Vortex Audience Beat Binary Brass Cable Canon Canvas Chord Clash Coarse Crash Discord Double Feedback Forte Genre Hack Hollow Hook Impulse/Pulse Ink Key Lyric Mellow Memory Neon Noise Note Omen Phase Quaver Riddle Shallow Sharp Shiny Snare Treble Tune Twang Aloe Arrow Atlas Azure Balsa Bee Beetle Branch Bread Bridge Candle Cedar Cello Chameleon Cherry Cloud Clover Coffee East Echo Egg Ember Fern Finch Flannel Forest Gecko Gem Goose Grey Jay Kale Lake Leaf Mango Maple Moss Oak Pond Poppy Rain Raven Rock Silver Topaz Violet Wednesday Willow Wood Frog Max Alex Shawn/Shawne Kai SCP 834 Nyx Ares War Criminal Cas Sky/Skie Bee Ash Arson Vin Sal Cat/Kat Tax Fraud Liminal Dream Fade Angel Glitch Tooth Centipede Chlorine Crayon Fever Bones Ghost Eye Omen Nurse Band-aid Tape Glow Legs Decay Poison Blowfly Needle Finger Mold Doll Wasp Moth Dirt Bunny Trinket Shell Cicada Ariel Astra Aurora Celeste Luna Nova Starling Starr Stella Sunshine Aldrin Apollo Callisto Castor Comet Hercules Leo Neptune Rocket Solar Aries Eclipse Galaxy Halo Mars Mercury Moon Saturn Star Sun book strawberry cherry tea soup lace butters melody lyric bunny slime apple Saturn star venus kandi/kandy/candy glitter monster zero/zee/z neo gutz/guts brainz/brains trixie roxy rex Moss Bones Arson Rain Feather Cloud Deep Raven Fall captain bone/bones patch/patches sparrow flynn skipper boots hook reef treasure Winter Midnight Crow Corvid Raven Siren Shade Nova Veil Salem Ash Aster Devin Day Hyde Dagger Knife Psyche Osiris Pandora Haven Jade Blade Gray Ember Ebony Blue Dee Day Dove Sky Rain Ash Coin Pax Rex Mick Reef Rory Ari Bug River Dane Finn Lumi Lux Ore Roux Note Tone Melody Piper Sonata Violin Coda Riff Alto Lyre Lyric Calypso Cadence Chorus Canto Chanson Harper Lorelei Octave Song Muse Canon Clef Motif Legato Nonet Pan Rhapsody Trill Vevace Dusk Indigo Orion Onyx Obsidian Somnus Hypnos Morpheus Noctis Noir Nero Umbra Ash Omega Orpheus Crow Jinx Hex Grey Pandora Morrigan Shade Silver Zephyr Storm Crimson sprinkle Bunny cloud Skittle kitty birdie bee flower Grass peach strawberry cherry Berry Apple Berry Apricot Huckleberry Mulberry Honeydew Lychee Peach Cherry Basil Bayleef Pepper Anise Clove Coriander Ginger Nutmeg Rosemary Rue Sesame Thyme Saffron exe/txt/pdf/gif web/website tech emoji sci beta dell chip zip Arson Blue Blur Brick. Cloud Detective Dice Egg Elmers Error Gremlin Icon Jester Lake Leaf Mischief Nike Nintendo Pi Royal Skull Spark Ten Tesla Vortex Yoshi Zero Zoom angela/angelo/angie angelonia/angel andy/andi ann/annie/anny antares andromeda bone/bones biscuit/biskit paw fluffy fetch scout chase skull corpse blade jinx hex bat bandit rogue trick/tricky smoke lee leo/lio pluto mars orion redd avery aster cyrus cleo miles quinn indigo amber ruby sugar lace/lacey boba rosie mae merry dottie plush/plushie cinnabun pompom teddy peach smile/smiles/smiley alphabet blocks bug snail paint crayon slime sticker rainbow gummy candy/kandi button bandaid glitch static disc pixel robot/bot glitter wire/wires code key/keys virus byte bunny/bunnie/bun kitty/kit/kitten plush/plushie milk fluff cloud bubble/bubbles angel ghost tea cookie bow / ribbon bonbon puff / creampuff Nintendo Mossy Quill Spark Vermillion Cotton Candy (or C.C. for short) Cocoa Indigo Sunset Elmers Snowy Sketchpad Frost Jester Poltergeist Spirit Cricket Poem Puck Mischief Truffle Golden Clay Feather Hatchet Gremlin Stone Brad Chad Thad Zoom Crayon Detective Otter Sonic Armadillo Ocelot Puggles (name for baby platypus) Dylan Logan River Fince Ellory Finn Converse Sage Saint Sal Saturday Saxon Scan Scatter Scoop Scorpion Scout Scream Sea Senti Sentinel September Serene Seven Shade Shadow Shake Shatter Shaw Silent/Silence Silver Siphon Skill

[vieformidable]

From my private photography collection

Redd's Pond, Marblehead MA, May 2020

[elsewhereuniversity]

Why You Should Wear Boots after Picking a Major You Didn’t Want

A university is a place where dreams are thrown away.

Such is the case far too often. It remains Real even between the railroad, highway and train tracks. Even there, people interrogate themselves: ‘This is your dream, but is it realistic? How much is the starting salary? Look at your classmates, elegantly breezing over what you clawed through, tooth and nail. Look at your competitors––’

So many choose to drown their dreams themselves… even though, at Elsewhere University, the dead do not rest quietly. The Wild Hunt is proof of that. Yes, that Wild Hunt, which rides across campus when the fog rolls in. We all know the versions in which they hunt for students unlucky (or unbelieving) enough to be outside when the hounds begin baying. Stay inside, stay quiet, and you’ll be all the better for it, if they ignore you.

What about the other versions, though? What about the versions in which it is best to open your windows and howl back? There are tales like that, too––

Sometimes, those brave enough to shout along with the Wild Hunt will be rewarded with a share of prey or gold. Those kind enough to repair a lost hunter’s sled soon discover this to be the right choice, for upon closer inspection, the hounds are not just hounds. Their bones are laden heavy with wrath.

And sometimes, villagers tell tales of a cloaked rider on a white horse. Horseshoes spark against the night breeze. He will ask you to play an impossible game of tug-of-war. If you are wise, you will tie the other end of the rope to a sturdy oak. The leader of the Hunt likes clever little things. He might even drop a reward in your boot.

Perhaps this is why you see students wearing boots for a while after they declare their majors. Even Magenta (who got her name from always wearing high-heeled loafers of that particular shade) and Ma-Boi-Blanche (who has 17 pairs of white sneakers) wore boots back then. Rumor has it, according to a friend of a roommate of a Forbidden Major, that this footwear will help you abandon your misery.

When the Wild Hunt rides as a group, they come to condemn. The RAs are not wrong in telling you to run for safety when the fog descends.

On the other hand, when the leader of the Hunt appears alone, he comes to test. In this more benign (but not safe, never safe) form, 4% meet a bedraggled man, 2% a king of old, 3% a specimen of demon (the Christian subspecies), 6% a harlequin, and 5% a sledder with a thick Mecklenburg accent.

84% of those who have survived the encounter say that the leader of the Hunt wears a cloak and a wide hat that partially hides his eyes (one of which is duller than the other). He gallops in on a splendid white horse.

95% of those who survived the encounter were wearing boots (one of them was wearing spatterdashes over court shoes, but eh, close enough).

100% of the survivors say that you must be ready to be tested. Be kind, clever, daring. If you are all that––and wary, wise, lucky too––the leader of the Hunt will let you go and stuff something in your boot. A post-it, on which is written the major that they chose, yet hated with every fibre of their being.

Now, put the boot back on and walk. It may be a bit awkward to walk around, what with the paper writhing under your feet, but do so anyway. Every student who has tried it reports that when they got back to their dorms, the paper had vanished from beneath their soles. In its place, they had gained a floating sensation, grafted in their bones.

By the end of the year, Ma-Boi-Blanche and Professor Redd were chattering away like old friends. The Professor had to admit that his student wasn’t very good at dissections, but there was an unmistakable passion for anatomy in his eyes, and he would improve soon. (Very soon, especially with Professor Redd’s talent of acquiring practice bodies, his jaunty hat growing redder with every new specimen.)

On the other side of campus, the law majors learned to listen for the click-clack of high-heeled loafers. Woe betide the unlucky people who faced off against Magenta, who suddenly threw herself into mock trials with gusto. Her opponents gained a Pavlovian fear response to seeing any shade of pink.

This did not go ignored. The Involved went up to the two, in order to warn them.

“The Gentry do not offer things for free,” they said. “And intelligence isn’t cheap. What in Morganwode did you pay?”

To which the ones who met the Huntsman merely laughed, because they weren’t any smarter. The only difference was that now, they were interested in the subjects they found so odious before.

In the old tales, a satisfied rider of the Wild Hunt will reward a human with meat. The person will walk back home in the dark, one shoe on and one shoe off, the boot growing heavier with every step. Once home, they will see that the raw, bloody meat has transformed into gold.

There are a few who still receive this, not always in the payment of gold, but in blessings. (Childe House’s oldest RA is one of them, which explains why the once-every-305-days evacuation has a 100% success rate, even when half a dozen residents don’t understand what a “mandatory house meeting” or a “fire drill” is.)

  Which begs the question: why does the leader of the Hunt help so many?

Rewards are meant to be given to the exceptional few. Yet the unhappy are not part of these few. Given the number of students with newfound rapture in their eyes, one does not need to be exceptionally kind, clever, or daring to transfer their passions. Just wary, wise, and lucky are enough.

When asked, the leader of the Wild Hunt proclaimed that such a spell is child’s play. We’ve already provided the ingredients: two subjects and a passion. The price is low because all he needs to do is to sever the interest from one subject, then attach it to another. Simple work, he said. He would never think of charging so much for something he could do before breakfast. It is not befitting a warrior. Think of it as a favour from a father to his children, he said, then laughs as if there is a joke here that no one else understands.

There are more people who understand than he might think, for the more competent members of the Forbidden Major have another theory. Anyone with passing knowledge of folklore would be able to recognize this person at a glance, they say (quietly, and never to the Huntsman’s face). He is the amalgamation of ghost, fae and old god.

The first rider of the Wild Hunt might be, depending on the amount of fertilizer on the campus lawn and the moon phase, the oldest warrior poet. There are less battlefields for him to watch over now, but still he is song and madness. Still, he is overcome with fury when he sees yet another soldier buckle before the fight has begun.

This child would have made a fine skald. That child could have become a brilliant shield-maiden. This one had the makings of a king, yet they chose to push these futures away, he said through clenched teeth. These children began to think there was nothing left. They started to look at the pond and that single eighth-floor window which could open all the way.

This is not a battlefield, but… to give up before the horn sounds, under his watch?

Unforgivable, he said, with an unblinking smile, all teeth and lone glittering eye. To despair is to slander my hundred names.

So the leader of the Hunt casts a few spells here, a little trickery there, and coaxes the bright frenzy back in their eyes, or so the Forbidden Majors whisper. The price is only low because of who and why he is. He helps them so they can die more valiantly, another day.

  Think of it as a favour from a father to his children, he says, then laughs as if there is a joke here that no one else understands. This is despite the fact that half the Forbidden Majors and a fifth of the Literature Majors know who he is.

(Not that they would reveal that, ever. The all-father’s wrath is a terrible thing.)

  Addendum:

Statistics unavailable for those who encountered the Wild Hunt’s leader alone, while not wearing boots. Mythological references, as well as the Sword-House valet’s intuition, imply it is better not to know.

[Author’s Note]

I did not intend “Why You Should Wear Boots after Picking a Major You Didn’t Want” to be so long. Do pardon me.

There is much debate over the identity of the Wild Hunt’s leader. My personal favourite theory is that the leader is Odin, or some variant of him, which this submission is based on. Still, I couldn’t resist hinting at the others:

“Bedraggled man” = multiple stories, in which the Hunt’s leader is any hunter who preferred hunting to going to church, or else slandered a certain god

“King of old” = Arawn

“Harlequin” = in Vitalis’ Ecclesiastical History Vol. 2 (1140), Hellequin/Herlequin is the herald of a Wild- Hunt-esque procession of tortured souls. There is also King Herla.

“Sledder with a thick Mecklenburg accent” = Frau Gauden

-Louis

[rickinmarblehead]

[dreams-in-daylight]

Free DIY recipes!!!!! Feel free to message me if you’re interested!

Acoustic guitar

Apple hat

Apple umbrella

Apple wall

Armor shoes

Bamboo candleholder

Bamboo doll

Bamboo floor lamp

Bamboo lunchbox

Bamboo partition

Basket pack

Beekeeper’s hive

Birdhouse x2

Blue rose crown

Bonfire

Cardboard bed

Carp on a cutting board

Cherry-blossom-trees wall

Cherry-blossom bonsai

Cherry-blossom pond stone

Clackercart

Classic pitcher

Coconut wall planter

Cute rose crown

Dark lily wreath

Decoy duck

Deer decoration

Flat garden rock

Forbidden altar

Fruit basket

Glowing-moss ruins wall

Golden altar

Golden bathtub

Golden casket

Golden dishes

Golden dung beetle

Golden flooring

Golden gears

Golden garden bunny

Golden toilet

Golden wristwatch

Gold-screen wall

Grass skirt

Infused-water dispenser

Ironwood cart

Ironwood DIY workbench

Ironwood dresser

Jail bars

Leaf umbrella x2

Leo sculpture

Lily record player

Log chair

Log decorative shelves

Log garden lounge

Log steaks

Lucky gold cat

Maple-leaf pond stone

Maple-leaf umbrella

Mum cushion

Mush wall

Music stand

Natural garden chair

Natural garden table

Orange hat

Orange rug

Orange wall-mounted clock

Palm-tree lamp

Pan flute

Pansy table

Peach hat

Peach wall

Pear bed

Pile of leaves

Pine bonsai tree

Pond stone x2

Red-leaf pile

Rose bed

Shell bed

Shell fountain

Shell music box

Shell speaker

Shell stool

Shell table

Simple DIY workbench

Simple mum crown

Sleigh

Snowflake wreath

Stacked shopping baskets

Stacked-wood wall

Stone lion-dog

Terrarium x2

Tiki torch

Tiny library

Tulip wreath

Underwater flooring

Water pump

Windflower fan

Wooden bucket

Wooden chair

Wooden-block bench

Zen-style stone

Not required but I am looking for Redd :3

Last updated: May 5th 2022