#Small bit of context; this is a paranoia coming from another one of Hat and Bow’s caretakers. I’m currently working w/ Found Family things

[kingly-court]

“What a fucked up way to realize someone cares… Fear…”

Sooooo… I’m slowly working on a few AHIT things with my bf @captains-jester , and I had to doodle out some mental image that wouldn’t leave me alone. Featuring Snatcher getting caught off guard by someone else’s paranoia about his safety. Certainly isn’t used to that!

[kasienda]

Right Behind You - Chapter 1: Scandal

An Adrino Story - Friends to lovers Maybe the person you need is not the one you’ve had your eye on, but the one who’s been right behind you supporting you the whole time.  Chapter 1: Scandal Nino was awake.

Which was a crime.

His gig the previous evening hadn’t ended until well past four in the morning, and glancing at the glowing clock next to his bed it wasn’t even eight yet. He had managed maybe two hours of sleep.

And he could feel it everywhere in his body. The light peeking through the edges of his blackout curtains felt like an assault on his dry and irritated eyes. His left knee ached from a week-old injury caused by a bad landing during one of Carapace’s patrols. Even his thoughts felt like they were smothered in a thick cold fog.

He hated when the all night events hit on back to back days, but he needed the double pay at least a few times a month to afford his downtown Parisian apartment and without fail the requests for such events tended to land on the same weekend. No doubt, it would be worth it in a few hours. Once he had a cup or three of coffee. 

Or another five hours of sleep.

But his phone clearly had other plans as the blasted digital brick wouldn’t stop buzzing every few minutes. 

Nino left it in the other room every night to avoid this exact scenario, but he must have left it on some plastic container because the vibration was loud. And whoever this was, they were very insistent.

He sat up with a groan, very aware of the dull ache that stretched from one temple to the other. He let his head hang lifelessly to his chest.

The phone went off again. He glared through the open doorway. 

“I’ll make coffee.”

Nino tried to smile at the tiny green floating kwami, but it came out more like a grimace. “Thanks, Wayzz. You’re the best.”

He gave himself five minutes of just sitting with his blankets still wrapped luxuriously around him protecting against the chill of the morning. The phone had mockingly gone silent after almost ten minutes of near constant buzzing. He contemplated letting his head fall back to the pillows. But it was probably too late. Despite his fatigue, Nino was rarely able to go back to sleep.

He reached blindly to the small table beside his bed for his glasses, and then stumbled through his small apartment to the kitchen. Wayzz was already pouring black coffee into a cup.

Nino smiled at the ridiculous sight of the floating green creature handling an object twice its own size. It didn’t even look strange to him anymore. Really, Nino was unsure how he had ever gotten by without the constant support of the ancient kwami. 

He stepped forward to accept custody of the steaming beverage. He added a spoon of sugar and creamer. Before he could take his first sip, the blasted phone went off again.

Alya’s gleaming smile lit up his screen. He frowned at the device and immediately answered, even as he continued mixing his coffee. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“How do you do that?” her synthetic voice demanded from the other end of the line.

“Al, except for my birthday, you haven’t called me in two years,” he stated flatly. Why was she even asking? They texted quite often, and whenever she was back in Paris they usually would have lunch or hang out with their mutual friends. But ever since their break up, she had not called. 

Well, except for his birthday.

“And today is not my birthday. And it’s barely morning! You know that I’m never up before ten at the earliest and twelve is really a better bet. And you’ve been blowing up my phone clearly trying to get my ass out of bed. So I ask again, what is wrong?” he said slowly, emphasizing each word before he licked the spoon he was using to mix his coffee.

“Have you talked to Adrien lately?” 

His stomach dropped. This must be really bad news. Alya didn’t usually beat around the bush. She was more like a bulldozer that went straight through things. And if this was about Adrien… “Like three days ago. Why?”

His phone buzzed against his cheek immediately. He pulled it away to see the headline she sent him. 

Supermodel, Adrien Agreste, batting for the other team?

Keep Reading on Ao3

He already hated it, but that didn’t stop him from tapping on the link. Nino sucked in air at the sight of the picture. Nino has seen a lot of professional shots of Adrien over the years. This picture was gorgeous. Or, it would have been in absolutely any other context. 

The picture captured three quarters of Adrien’s face, but only a bit of his partner. His hair caught the light and gleamed gold, not quite as perfectly in place as it would have been in the morning. Like he had run his hands through it just a few times. His normally peach cheeks were dusted with pink and his eyes were closed. He was pulling away from a kiss with a fair-skinned man wearing glasses. But Nino’s eyes focused on his friend’s mouth. Adrien’s lips were upturned in the slightest little smile - the dopey one he had whenever he was talking about the mystery girl he loved.

And that was the only difference between all the professional shots Nino had seen over the years and the front page tabloid. In this picture, Adrien looked… happy. Genuinely so.

And now, that beautiful private moment was now plastered all over every gossip rag from one side of France to the other. 

Likely without Adrien’s permission. 

How unfair that one little moment of indiscretion outed him to all of Paris. 

Nino’s gut twisted painfully. 

All of Paris included Gabriel. Adrien had never told his father about being bi, and it was no wonder as the uptight bastard was an ice statue of propriety with absolutely no feelings. 

“It wasn’t at an event, Nino,” Alya explained. “It’s around the corner from that pub we used to frequent after lycee, almost in an alley outside a club. But the photo’s too good for some random person to have just seen him walking by at this time of day. The lighting should have been terrible and the photo grainy.”

“So?”

“The photographer knew Adrien was going to be there and that there'd be something worth taking a picture of.”

“Shit,” he cursed, his free hand gripping his own shoulder. “I gotta go.” 

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Thanks, Al, for calling. He never would.”

“I know. I might be terrible at keeping in touch, but maybe we could schedule a catch up?”

In spite of the circumstances, he found himself smiling. “I would like that. When are you back in Paris?”

“I’m here now actually. When else do I read trashy gossip rags?”

He laughed. “Fair. How long are you in town for?” 

“Just the long weekend, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone because I didn’t have a whole lot of time and I’m going to be back for like six months in just a few weeks. Then, I read this, and well…”

“Yeah, thanks for the head’s up.”

“Sorry for waking you up so early.”

“You already know this was worth it to me. Thank you.”

“Of course, Nino. Anytime. Now, go track down a certain unfairly attractive supermodel, and make sure he’s okay. I’ll start researching who this bastard is and see if I can ruin his day.”

Nino laughed. Alya was protective of her friends, and positively vindictive. It was a scary combination. But Nino had always loved that about her.

“Nino?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell him I love him, too. He’s not alone.”

He smiled again. “I’ll tell him. Thanks again, Al,” and then he ended the call.

He drained his coffee though it was still too hot. Because he definitely didn’t have time to nurse it, and he definitely was going to need the caffeine rush today. He then immediately called Adrien. 

His friend didn’t answer, so Nino called again because there was no way in hell Adrien wasn’t doom scrolling through feeds obsessing over this story.

And again.

On the fifth try Adrien finally answered.

“Did it ever occur to you that when someone doesn’t answer it might mean they don’t want to talk?”

Nino shook his head, put the call on speaker, and thudded back to his bedroom to find clothes he could wear in public. “Never in your case, dude! Where are you? I’m coming over.”

“You don’t have to,” Adrien objected. “What are you even doing up? Didn’t you have an event last night? I was counting on you sleeping until noon!” 

“It went late. I never went to sleep,” Nino lied. He didn’t want to mention Alya’s call or plan for revenge yet, or admit to a monster headache. If he did, Adrien wouldn’t let him come over. 

“You don’t have to come listen to my sob story,” Adrien insisted. “Get some sleep. This isn’t important. It was my own fault. I was stupid.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Where are you?” He pulled a white t-shirt over his head, and placed the phone back to his ear. 

Adrien remained silent on the other end. 

“Dude, if you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll call Chloé and Kagami for back up in tracking you down.”

There was a sigh over the phone. “I’m at the hotel.”

“Room number?”

“427.”

“Be there in fifteen,” Nino promised. He jumped into a pair of khakis, kissed the brim of his red hat before slipping it over his head, and went straight out the door.

“Fifteen minutes is cutting it a little close, young master,” Wayzz chided from his left shoulder.

Nino had long stopped trying to get Wayzz to drop the title. The creature was as stubborn as he was old.

“Not if we take the superhero express.”

Wayzz’s disapproving frown did nothing to dissuade Nino from his plans.

Adrien needed him.

…

The door whipped open barely a second after Nino’s knuckles had knocked. For a second, neither of them spoke. Nino studied Adrien’s face carefully for signs of upset. His friend’s eyes were bloodshot as if he’d been up all night, but they weren’t puffy, so he probably at least hadn’t been crying. And his lips were curled into a relieved smile.

Nino returned the expression before pulling Adrien into a hug.

“How did you get here so fast?” Adrien mumbled into Nino’s shoulder.

Nino pulled away, and followed Adrien into the small hotel room. “Trade secret,” he deflected, hoping the humor had Adrien rolling his eyes instead of insisting on an explanation.

Maybe Wayzz’s paranoia was somewhat justified. Not that Nino had any regrets. Adrien didn’t push, and instead immediately fell backwards on the pristinely made bed. His friend clearly hadn’t even attempted to get any sleep last night. His green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Nino flopped on the bed next to him, lying perpendicular with their heads side by side. 

“So why the hotel?”

Adrien snorted. “The studio has paparazzi.”

“You could’ve crashed my place.”

“But you weren’t there.”

Nino’s head rolled towards his best friend. “So? You have a key.”

Adrien’s gaze remained glued to the ceiling. ”Maybe I’m just embarrassed and didn’t want to explain anything.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Nino said. “If you don’t want to talk, fine. But I’m here. And if you do want to talk, I’m here for that, too.”

And then Nino just waited, listening to Adrien’s uneven breathing. He suspected Adrien did want to talk. But it remained silent longer than Nino would have expected under the circumstances. And Nino was blissfully comfortable next to Adrien’s warmth and familiar presence and Nino’s caffeine boost was fading fast. He quickly found himself nodding off. 

“Promise you won’t judge?”

Nino started awake. 

“Nino?” Adrien rolled onto his side toward Nino.

“Yeah?” Nino responded, trying to disguise the crack in his voice. 

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Adrien observed dryly.

“No!” Nino denied for all he was worth.

Adrien sighed, returning to his back. “I told you that you didn’t have to come.” 

Nino shook his head. “Come on! Admit it. You wanted me to be here.” 

Adrien sat up on the bed. Nino met his green-eyed gaze easily. “Yeah…” Adrien admitted. “I did.”

Nino gave a slight nod. “So, I’m here.” 

Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… I hate being high maintenance.” 

“You’re not high maintenance,” Nino said gently for what had to be the millionth time over the last ten years. “Your asshole father just has you brainwashed into believing you have to handle it all yourself. But you don’t. And today, you’re having a bad day, so I’m here.”

“A horrible day!” Adrien agreed. “And it’s only just started.” 

Nino sat up, spun his legs to be at Adrien’s side, and then shoulder bumped his friend. “So, let me make the rest of it better.”

Adrien grinned. “Thank you. Thank you for being here.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that, mec.”

“I know, but I want to.”

Nino scooted closer. “So, do you want to talk about what happened? Or do you want to be distracted?” 

“How about I tell you what happened, and then you can distract me?” 

“Sounds good, mec.”

“I met him at the university library,” Adrien began, his gaze on the far wall, and not on Nino. But Nino gave him his full attention anyway. “I was doing research for my thesis. And when he saw me fumbling with a stack of textbooks he just offered to help me put my reference books away. And he started talking about physics and when we were done, we just kept talking. We ended up downstairs in the student union just having coffee. It didn’t seem like he recognized me.” Adrien tugged at his blond locks. “I’m such an idiot! Of course, he recognized me. How can anyone not recognize me? My face is on every other billboard!” 

“It makes me feel like you’re always with me,” Nino joked.

Adrien responded with a flick from his middle finger to the brim of Nino’s hat, sending the red keepsake snapping off his head. 

“Hey!” Nino objected. “Anything but the hat.”

“Right. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, mec,” Nino soothed. If there was one person Nino actually trusted with his older brother’s hat, it was Adrien. “So, what happened over coffee?” 

“Nothing really. Like I said, we just talked. It was nice. Or… I thought it was. We almost split there, but then he whirled back around and asked me out. He seemed genuinely interested, and I had really enjoyed talking to him, I thought maybe it was worth a shot! Especially after…” he trailed off. And yeah, Nino knew Adrien was still pining after this mystery girl he worked with after years of her saying no. “It just felt nice to be wanted.” 

And god, if it wasn’t always the same story.

“We went to dinner at this little cafe. You know, even if he was acting the whole time, he really was a fantastic conversationalist. It was just so easy! And I thought… we had a connection? It was just one kiss. But apparently, the whole thing was a set up. I knew as soon as the flash went off. They had a screen for lighting and everything.”

He must have been good, Nino surmised. Adrien hadn’t been tricked by one of these looking for a moment of fame since they were seventeen.

“But I should have known better. Nathalie always says to never go out the same day they ask.”

“What?! You didn’t give Nathalie time to write a twenty page report on your potential suitor?” Nino asked mockingly.

Adrien barked a laugh. “Twenty? Try forty!” Then his mirth faded. “But I hate it, Nino. I hate being so suspicious and cynical.” 

Nino clamped his hand onto Adrien’s shoulder and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. 

“And I hate it more when she’s right,” Adrien added in a whisper. 

At those words, Nino pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, dude. Wish the world was filled with more genuine people and less opportunists.”

“Yeah…”

It was silent again, and Nino was at a loss for how to fill it. But he definitely didn’t want Adrien spiraling in his thoughts for too long. 

“How’d your father take it?” It wasn’t the question Nino wanted to ask, but it was always best to get the Gabriel rant out of the way.

Adrien’s whole body went rigid in Nino’s arms. “I haven’t actually talked to him yet.”

Nino just hugged him harder. “How many times has Nathalie called?”

Adrien pulled away, and tossed him his phone. Nino unlocked it with practiced ease. Missed calls - three. Spaced exactly thirty minutes apart. Nino shook his head.

“That’s not that bad.”

“Bet she texts or calls you before she makes it to call number five,” Adrien countered.

Nino laughed. “You’re on. She’ll try you at least three more times. Anything in particular you want me to negotiate for?”

“I don’t want to talk to him today. Tomorrow is fine.” 

Nino waved his hand dismissively. “That one’s obvious, dude. I was thinking more like your working conditions in general?” 

“I would love it if we could move my fittings to early morning. Like super early. Five am? I’ve requested it before, but it costs extra to have a team there that early.”

Nino made a distasteful face. “I don’t know why you’d want to get up so blasted early.”

“I just want to get it over with so I have more time to study or hang out with my friends during the rest of the day. Is my company not worth a dawn wake up in your world?”

“This is my dawn! And here I am!”

Adrien’s grin faded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“None of that!” Nino waved his arms dramatically. “We already established that when you need me, I am here!”

Adrien’s lips curled up into a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“So, are you okay?” Nino finally asked the question he had been wanting to ask since he arrived. Adrien had just been outed publicly.

Adrien shrugged. “Just embarrassed… mostly. You know I am comfortable with my sexuality. I was really only keeping it under wraps for father and the company.”

“Are you really okay?”

Adrien chuckled darkly. “How do you do that?”

Nino shrugged, his body going limp. “It’s my superpower, clearly. So you’re not okay, I take it?”

Adrien sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I was ready to be out with my friends, and the important people already know, but being outed publicly is terrifying. I feel so exposed. Like more than normal.

“And apparently, I do care what people think. But I hate that I care!” Adrien bit out, the bitterness and self-reproach clear in his tone. “I thought I didn’t, but I definitely do,” he added, his voice softer. “I wish I was brave enough not to.”

“Dude!” Nino objected. “You’re being too hard on yourself. It’s normal to not want to be judged. I know I wouldn’t want to be. Not when it wasn’t by choice.” Nino was out only with his closest friends. He had never talked to his parents. They weren’t exactly traditional, but they grew up in a country where homosexuality was met with prison time. Nino didn’t think they would disown him or anything, but he didn’t expect them to be thrilled. And he didn’t want to risk it. Not unless it was necessary.

Noël didn’t know either. Nino didn’t think his little brother would care, but Nino wasn’t confident Noël would remain discreet either. 

“Know that I’m with you every step of the way,” Nino promised. 

“Thanks, dude.” Adrien didn’t say anything more, but his blond eyebrows scrunched together so he was clearly thinking about something. “I definitely fantasized about my public coming out at some charity or something. Some event that could help the LGBTQ cause and community. And now it just feels so… tawdry. Like it’s just another sex scandal. And I feel like that possibility was stolen from me.”

Nino was quiet. “I’m sorry, mec. This wasn’t cool.”

Adrien shrugged. “And I’m maybe a little heartbroken. But I’m used to that.”

Nino’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fair. If anyone on this earth deserved love, it was Adrien.

“Anything I can do?”

“You’re doing it!” Adrien looked up and genuinely smiled, his green eyes impossibly bright. “You always do.” 

Nino smiled. “That’s because I love you, dude. You know that right?” 

“Yeah, man. Of course I do. And I love you, too.”

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day? Do you just want to hang out just the two of us? Or shall I invite the girls over?”

The girls meant Marinette, Kagami, and Chloé. But maybe Nino would include Alya as well since she was in town. 

“They will tear this guy to pieces.”

Nino nodded. “Exactly. He deserves it.”

“Do you think Marinette will actually come?” 

“I mean, I think if anything will bring her out of her cave of isolation to make you feel better, it would be that headline.” 

Adrien hesitated, another hand on his neck. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I want to face them. I’m so embarrassed. Chloé is going to give me hell for not seeing through this guy.”

Nino didn’t agree on that assessment. Chloé would definitely give him a hard time. But she’d do it at some point weeks or months in the future. She wouldn't tease him today. “If she does, remind her of the Antonia disaster!” 

Adrien laughed. Thank all the kwamis that that relationship had only lasted six months. Six long excruciating months. They had all hated Antonia, and not only because the feeling was mutual, but because she had torn Chloé’s sense of self worth into shreds. 

“Seriously mec, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’ve all had colossal misjudgements in relationships. Like all of us.” 

“When has Marinette screwed up?” 

Nino’s laugh exploded from his chest. “Mec, you have no idea. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to say.”

“What?! No fair! Why do you get to know, and not me?” 

Nino just shrugged. He probably would have had no trouble gossiping about Marinette to Adrien if so many of her secrets didn’t involve the blond in question. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”

“What about you?” Adrien asked. “When have you screwed up in a relationship?” 

“Does a drunk hook-up count?” Nino asked.

“Depends! Were they cute?” 

“Not as cute as you,” Nino snarked back. 

Adrien actually blushed, and then just threw his arms around Nino again. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“For?”

“For being here despite my protests, for making me feel better.” 

Nino squeezes Adrien tighter. “Always, mec.”

“You can invite the girls, but can we do it at my place?”

“I thought your place had paparazzi.” 

“Just a van.”

Nino winced. That was almost worse than a crowd. A team on stakeout would be more invasive and they’d stick around for longer. 

They rolled to their feet. Neither had anything in the way of belongings and exited into the hallway.

“Which room is the gorilla staying in?” 

Adrien jerked his thumb towards the adjacent room. 

Nino knocked with a complicated staccato rhythm. The door swung open a few seconds later. 

“Morning, Big G!” Nino greeted enthusiastically offering a fist, which Adrien’s protector reciprocated, though his expression remained devoid of feeling. 

“We’re heading out,” Nino explained. “Back to his place. I’m ordering breakfast on the way. What do you want from Tom and Sabine’s?” 

The stoic man nodded and signed animatedly. 

Nino nodded. “Sounds good! We’ll meet you out front in fifteen.” 

Adrien shook his head as the door closed. “How is it that you know how to talk to him better than I do?”

“Sign language isn’t that hard, man. And I had motivation to learn!” 

It was hard to bribe a man if you didn’t speak his language.

…

Chapter 2

[mark-allender]

Why I Write Songs with Nonsense Syllables Originally posted 4 Oct 2009

I was raised on the mainstream fringe of a fringe movement.  Growing up, I was vaguely acquainted with the so-called "charismatic" movement of the Christian church.  For the uninitiated, Acts chapter 2 begins like this: "When the day of Pentecost came, [Jesus' former disciples] were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them." The Charismatic movement (represented these days primarily in the Assemblies Of God and Pentecostal denominations) believes that Christians still do this: speak in strange languages.  I'm not so familiar with the movement now, but at one point I seem to remember hearing in some circles that "you weren't a real Christian unless you DID speak in tongues." Now, I have never spoken in tongues in the religious sense, but not for a lack of trying.  It was experiential -- if I could be swept away with the frenzy that seemed to come over these people, it seemed to me to be proof positive that everything I had ever been taught was real.  But at the same time, I remained a bit of a pragmatist - even as a teenager;  I asked a friend, "Why does God want us to speak in tongues anyway?"  And the answer I received profoundly affected me as an artist. "How in the world are you supposed to pray for Mr. Adams?" Mr. Adams was my old next-door neighbor.  He was an old man when I was very young.  My siblings and I would go over and visit with he and his wife maybe once a week.  Mrs. Adams was very nice, very gracious, loved having us over, and ALWAYS gave us gumdrops when we left (my folks always thought we were going over there solely for the gumdrops).  But Mr. Adams was old old old.  Always sat in the same chair.  He stitched latch-hook rugs.  He created little dogs made of golf balls and golf tees.  He made toys for us out of buckeyes and string.  He taught us how to win at solitaire.  The man knew how to keep a seven-year-old enthralled.  He also smoked at least two packs of cigarettes a day and the trash can next to his chair was always full of beer bottles (Budweiser, fyi). Well, by the time I was a teenager, we had moved to the outskirts of town - but we still kept track of the Adams and how they were doing.  Mrs. Adams kept going - she was doing well, but Mr. Adams was fading away.  He refused to quit smoking even after he got lung cancer - and soon was on oxygen.  Soon after that he couldn't even summon the breath to talk. So how in the world is a good Christian supposed to pray for Mr. Adams?  I cared deeply for him, but I knew that he would not get better.  And I knew that he was suffering, but I didn't want him to die.  Which he was clearly going to.  So again, how the hell are you supposed to, as a good Christian, pray for a man like that?  And the answer of course, by the standards of the Charismatic community, was to express my sorrow for him to God while saying a bunch of nonsense syllables.  It's only logical, right? Like I said, I never actually was able to do it.  I've never really been into frenzies - or mobs - or even drugs for that matter.  But the answer I got has never left me, and the implications were clear: sometimes your deepest desires cannot be expressed in traditional language. This "speaking in tongues" is called "glossolalia" by linguists, and is usually associated with religious frenzy or ecstasy.  The Dadas from the mid 1910's famously explored glossolalia as an art form - notably with Hugo Ball's "Lautgedichte" (noise poems). His poem "Gadji Beri Bimba" is one of his most well known - it was later recorded by Talking Heads as the song "I Zimbra." Cut to early 2001.  I had since left Christianity, I had traveled to and from Korea, and was in the process of trying to build a career of some kind back here in the States with an English degree.  I also found myself in a difficult marriage with a baby on the way, and two (albeit wonderful) stepsons that I was struggling to have a relationship with.  And our lease was not being renewed -- the landlord wanted to put some family friends into our unit.  It was a high stress time not just as a family, but also for me personally since, as I said before, things with my then wife were not right.  Yet at the same time, I had moments of unexplained happiness and optimism.  I couldn't put a finger on why - it was like fifteen minutes of sun.  And I had to express it somehow.  Everything else going on (apart from the new baby of course) was pretty shitty.  To what do I owe this happiness - how do I attach any meaning to it? So I had a chorus.  "Checkle In Tow.  Ah, new medicine - Checkle in tow."  It just sounded phonetically cool.  Meant nothing.  But I couldn't get that little ditty out of my mind.  (NOTE for aspiring song writers - when you write something that you can't get out of your head, you are usually on to something).  So one day - at work - the words and music just flowed out of me.  Written to be sung around a campfire by a singer with a banjo - and it was called "Chekl Ento (Glossy Leilah)."  It's a happy little ditty.  I got to perform it with my old group The Brothel Brothers (sans banjo) as well as for a local benefit.   My wife and I split in January 2007.  I had no money, no steady job, and debt out the wazoo, so my parents thankfully took me in.  I may talk about this period in my life some other time, but suffice it to say, it was both agonizing and refreshing at the same time.  But then in April,  I got into a car accident.  My fault - luckily the no one was hurt and the other car did not sustain much damage.  But I had no collision coverage on my car, so it was a total loss and I had no insurance reimbursement to help pay for a new one.  Suddenly, all the dismal prospects of finding a new job to help get out of this rut were gone.  I sank into a deep depression and recorded several songs on my computer - among them "Glacitu," "Picture," "Psalm 23," and a drone piece that ended up being called "Drone 1."  I also recorded a take on Roger Miller's song "Hat" - which I called "Cat."  "Glacitu" in general was able to capture without intelligible words the sense of despair and hopelessness that I felt -- and if I had tried to express it in words, it would only have fallen short.  It was agitation with anxiety with a sense of impending menace. Cut again to March 2009.  A dizzying chain of events led to me having an actual breakdown on-site at work.  An attack of full-fledged paranoia.  After several hours I was able to get some hold on reality, but during that time I nearly went to the emergency room.  Some counseling began after that, followed by a small cocktail of medications.  But in the "ramping up" period for these medications to take effect, I was visited again by another rush of creativity, and a couple of my proudest moments came out of those sessions - "Demeda Seng Set," "Zinsata," and "Drone 2."  Again, I was overcome with a rush of emotion -- fear, anxiety, paranoia.  And thru the process of writing and recording, the feelings diffused, and I was left with what I feel are compelling expressions of what was going on in my head - all using the trick of praying for Mr. Adams and saying a bunch of nonsense syllables.  It's therapeutic for me and very satisfying creatively. I don't know how long I'll be in this business. Jackson Pollock was famously done with his celebrated "drip paintings" after three years, so we'll see.  At the moment, I am getting a lot out of exploring this in an acappella context. A full length recording of these will hopefull get finished soon and be available at online music distributors by spring of 2010.