#THE MENTAL IMAGERY OF THIS WAS SO STRONG I HAD TO PUT IT ON PAPER.

[year2000electronics]

the bleck minions are so mentally ill they act like this literally every time they disappoint the count. can we get like a mental health check for them

[canidbld]

The Ethereal Unknowning of a Ghostly Hound

Trigger warnings: mentions of suicide and trauma

Word count: 1.6k

— An entry to Sol's November Writing Challange (aka @who-is-page)

I recently only came to understand the way I see myself and the way I see the world would fit under the definition of therianthropy only in March of this year.

It's currently November now, a good seven months spent on researching and introspection and trying to understand this label and identity within context to myself. I've read so many essays of others' personal experiences thanks to the grey muzzles from the 90's and to the archivists who collected their stories and the few academic papers and published books about therianthropy.

Right now I feel much more equipped than I did when I first awakened in March. Regardless that doesn't mean I still don't get confused and I still doubt my experiences and myself a lot especially when one of my kintypes is and was a ghostly spectral watch dog.

When I first awakened, I knew I was a canine, which was contrary to the common experience of researching your theriotype for months to years before understanding you are that animal. However I still put myself through that process because I actually did cycle between wolves to foxes to a bunch of other canids. I comfimed to domestic dog within a week. What was boiling under the surface, however, was another kintype that was extremely similar to my domestic dog theriotype but had a more otherworldly essence to it.

It's hard you see, being a primarily psychological therian. I don't have any memories or past lives to validate my experience and I'm a chronic overthinker by nature so it was hard enough to come to the realization that I was a dog but it was another thing entirely to process that I was more than just a dog.

Except, not really. It made entire sense when I rationalized it and looked back and cross-referenced my experience with other things it was just my nature of being a self-critic that made it so hard.

So then, why a ghost dog? And what did that mean, like, really? How could I be a supernatural dog when I have never experienced a supernatural thing in my life? Why was I something like a ghost dog when I don't have a spiritual bone in my body?

I like to think of myself as a grounded individual despite my anxiety, making me feel mentally disoriented and disconnected from reality at times. I thrive in the material reality.

At the time of awakening and after a grueling self critical and overthinking period (which never really stopped to be honest), I went from thinking I could be a potential hellhound to confirming being a black dog from folklore. Think Black Shuck and Church Grimm.

I mean, my entire identity as a canine itself (even if, according to my memories of this life, I was somewhat always a canine) originated from persistant traumatic events so questioning a hellhound kintype was just an amalgamation of all my habits and behaviors developed by trauma visualized into a dog. It was almost logical, really. You know, the imagery of a feral dog was very attractive to me when I felt so weak. But calling myself a hellhound didn't feel right, I had tried to do that via creating a hellhoundhearted blog (aka this one) and adopted the otherhearted label but when you are confused about a potential kintype and weather it's something you actually are then the next thing you do is research.

So I did. I tried very hard to look deep into the internet to hunt and dig up the most obscure articles and youtube videos about hellhounds to try and compare the way I felt about myself and realized that it was specifically the angry energy hellhounds exuded and how they were portrayed in certain myths and legends that I couldn't see myself as. Hellhounds were brave and strong despite their sinister mythos but I felt more cowardly and fearful. And black dogs were different from hellhounds, at least from my perspective. To me, hellhounds were violently angry. They were loyal for sure but they had a strength to them. They were fire red and burning screams. They were the fight response instead of the flight. Black dogs on the other hand had slightly more variety in its legends with some ghost dogs being neutral to benevolent. They were watchers. Observers. Inquisitive but also unpleasant and unwanted.

In my head, the amalgamation of my trauma was calmer. Quiter. Distant. Lonely. Tired. It had it's hot red fire moments for sure but my dissociation tendencies was pretty much how I coped the most with what I was going through.

So I came across the mythology of Black Shuck and all the other spectral canines that went under the same category and knew that this was what I meant. This was how I saw myself. A ghostly apparition on the moor, blink once and it dissappears at the slightest movement. Uncanny, unpredictable but not always hostile.

This black dog kintype was emphasized by reasons such as:

Feeling as if I was often looked over or like I wasn't even there, mainly referring to when other people would just ignore me or barely acknowledge my existence

Feeling entirely disconnected and dissociated from reality in general, which made everything feel so muted and dull that it was geniuenly hard to feel anything emotionally and physically

The hypervigilant feeling of always checking and being aware of my surroundings trying to make sure my environment was safe (I was super sensitive to noises like footsteps and knocking on doors from strangers)

These reasons were also solidified by the behaviors I would exhibit such as walking around the neighborhood between the times of 12am to 4am much like the tales of Padfoot who would stalk towns at night. I'd feel so alive and ethereal in those moments as if I was in some sort of stagnant limbo which I think now was just me dissociating (By the way, in retrospect, this was completely dangerous to do especially since I was trans and a minor in those times.)

But the biggest thing that all supernatural canines had in common was their association to death. That was one of the biggest reasons why I saw myself as one. My justification being that I felt like I was always on the verge of death due to my suicidal tendencies and attempts as a teen. I felt closer to death then ever. I wasn't a messenger of death persay, but I felt acquaintanced with it enough that I truly believed that death was comforting to me, apart of who I am. I realize now that I truly just wasn't in a healthy mindset. I wasn't death's best friend, I was just a lonely kid that was suicidal and was trying to cope.

And that's pretty much how I can properly explain what being a mythic black dog kintype meant to me. It was a product of my trauma and dissociation personified in myself as a way for me to cope. Of course, when I realized this, I knew that never discredited this being a valid reasoning behind a kintype. However, the problem was that I no longer felt so traumatized anymore. I've grown and I'm still growing and learning and healing. I'm not suicidal anymore, and my dissociation isn't as bad as it was years ago, and now I live in a safe place with a good support system in my boyfriend.

I had actually talked to him about this earlier this month about my black dog kintype on how I believed I no longer identified as a mythic black dog due due to feeling as if I've healed mostly from my trauma so the need to cling onto this feeling of being and seeing myself as a ghost dog was no longer necessary to cope. It was sad though, I told him, because the black dog was a part of me, you know? Even if its identity was just my trauma personified, that black dog was there during my worst moments and comforted me when I had no one else. Admiting to letting go of that identity felt like I was losing a piece of myself. Because in those moments as a kid/teen/young adult and the time I awakened those several months ago, the black dog was who I proudly was. Heck, even this blog is modeled and focused on the black dog!

But you know, its a good thing I think, to acknowledge that you're sad about healing because sometimes negative emotions and feeding into negative urges and behaviors can feel comforting but being able to be aware of that and still let go and move on makes me feel accomplished.

Despite having that talk with my boyfriend though, sometimes I still feel that etherealness of the black dog in moments like right now, as I'm writing this post and my boyfriend is asleep and I'm watching over him, guarding him in the night as I stay up late and wait for him to wake up like an affectionate dog waiting for his owner to come home.

So I guess I'm always on my toes when it comes to my ghost dog kintype. Always constantly questing a kintype that is as incomprehensible to me like sand falling between fingers.

I think ultimately, from my current understanding, being and identifying as a ghostly hound is about perspective. Traits that I thought and believed were because I was a mythic black dog was just another symptom of trauma in someone else's eyes but the casual and calm and soft moments at night remind me that being a black dog wasn't just all about trauma and suffering.

[lemondropdancer]

Grounding Techniques

Mental Distraction Techniques

Pick a category of objects and try to think of as many objects as possible that fit within that category (e.g., types of dogs, cities, types of trees, crayon colors, sports)

Pick a letter and think of emotionally positive or neutral words that begin with that letter

Pick a color and look for things of that color. Notice differences in their exact shades

Say or think the alphabet backwards or alternate letters and numbers (A1, B2, C3, D4, etc)

Count backwards from 100 by 3s, 6s, or 7s or count up by prime numbers or perfect squares

Play "fizz-buzz" with yourself. Begin counting to 100 (or over!), but replace any number that contains the number 5 or is a multiple of 5 with the word "fizz" and any number that contains the number 7 or is a multiple of 7 with the word "buzz." For example, 1-15 would be "1, 2, 3, 4, fizz, 6, buzz, 8, 9, fizz, 11, 12, 13, buzz, fizz." When you mess up, compliment yourself and start over

Think of the words to your favorite song or poem or think of facts related to a specific theme

Pick a word or your name and see how many other words you can make from the letters in it

Describe an every day event or process in great detail, listing all of the steps in order and as thoroughly as possible (e.g., how to cook a meal, how to get from your house to your place of work or school, how to do your favorite dance)

Read something technical or meant for children or read words backwards to focus on the process of reading and not the words

Watch a children's television show or movie or watch cute or funny videos on Youtube; it might help to have a playlist already prepared for this

Look at a current news article that is not likely to be upsetting or distressing

Distract yourself with Tetris, Solitaire, Sudoku, word searches, or other puzzle games

Reorientation Techniques

Say or think to yourself: "My name is _________. I am safe right now. I am _____ years old. I am currently at _____________. The date is _____________. If I need help, I am with ________/can call _________. Everything is going to be alright."

List reaffirming statements ("I am fine. Everything is going to be okay. I am strong. I can handle this.")

Ask yourself where you are, what day of the week it is, what day of the month it is, what month it is, what year it is, what season it is, how old you are, and other present-focused questions

Notice things in your surroundings that indicate to you that you're safe or that you're in the present (e.g., locks on your door, electronics that didn't exist when you were younger, the presence of trusted people, a phone so that you can call for help if you need it)

Describe your surroundings in detail, including sights (objects, textures, shapes, colors), sounds, smells, and temperature

Name five things that you see, four that you feel, three that you hear, and two that you smell or taste, and then name one good thing that you like about yourself

Pick four or five brightly colored objects that are easily visible and move your focus between them. Be sure to vary the order of your gaze and concentrate briefly on each one before moving to the next

Think about a fun time that you recently had with a friend or call that friend and ask them to talk about it with you

Sensory-Based Grounding Techniques

Run cool or warm (but not too cold or hot) water over your hands or take a cool or warm bath or shower

Spritz your face (with eyes closed), neck, arms, and hands with a fine water mist

Spray yourself with your favorite perfume and focus on the scent

Feel the weight of your body in your chair or on the floor and the weight of your clothing on your skin

Touch and hold objects around you. Compare the feel, weight, temperature, textures, colors, and materials

Keep a small object with you to touch or play with when you get triggered. Good examples include a smooth stone, a fidget toy, jewelry, or a tiny plushy

Bite into a lemon, orange, or lime, suck on a sour or minty candy or an ice cube, chew cinnamon-flavored gum, or put a few drops of Tabasco sauce on your tongue. Notice the flavor, scent, and texture

Eat something or drink warm tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, and describe to yourself the taste and texture in great detail

Place a cool wash cloth on your face or hold something cold like a can of soda

Listen to soothing or familiar music. If possible, dance to it

Hum, sing, recite poetry, or make up a silly poem or story as you go

Pick up a book and read the first paragraph out loud

Hug another person (if interpersonal touch isn't a trigger). Pay attention to your own pressure and the physical sensations of doing so

Hug a tree! Register the smells of being outside, the wind, and the sights around you

Movement-Based Grounding Techniques

Breathe deeply and slowly and count your breaths

Grab tightly onto your chair or press your feet against the ground as firmly as you can

Rub your palms and clap your hands or wiggle your toes within your socks. Pay attention to the physical sensation of doing so

Stretch out your arms or legs, roll your head on your neck, or clench and unclench your fists

Stomp your feet, walk around, run, jump, ride a bike, do jumping jacks, or do yoga

While walking, notice each footstep and say to yourself "right" and "left" to correspond with the foot currently moving

Squeeze a pillow, stuffed animal, or ball

If you have a soft pet (dog or cat), brush its fur and stroke it. If you don't, brush your own hair slowly and without pulling too much

Color in an adult coloring book, finger paint, or draw anything that comes to mind without worrying about quality

Write whatever comes to mind even if it's nonsense. Try not to write about whatever is upsetting you until you're more capable of doing so without increasing the upset

Write a list of things that make you happy or look for cheerful pictures to make into a collage

Pop bubble wrap or blow and pop actual bubbles

Dig in the dirt or garden, jump on a pile of leaves, or splash around in puddles or mud

Rip up paper or stomp on aluminum cans to crush them

Imagery Techniques

Picture yourself breathing in relaxation, calm, positive feelings, or strength. Picture yourself breathing out whatever is upsetting you. It may help to pair this with imagery of breathing in soothing colors (usually blue, purple, or green) and out more intense colors (usually red or black)

If you need to relax, envision a soothing white or golden light slowly moving up your body, warming and relaxing every part of you that it touches. You can also think of it as protecting you from negativity or from harm

If the problem is intense or uncomfortable emotions, physical sensations, or memories, picture them being surrounded and neutralized by a bright and healing light, temporarily placed in a mental box to be stored for later, or dialed back by an internal controller of intensity

If you have a clear mental picture of what's upsetting you, mentally change it to something silly or harmless. If you're a fan of Harry Potter, cast a mental "riddikulus" to banish the negativity

Picture yourself calm, focused, and able to tackle whatever problems you're facing. Focus on how that would feel in the moment. What would your expression and posture be like? Make whatever changes you need to in order to make your reality reflect your goal

How to Make a Grounding Box

Get a box or basket

Personalize and decorate it with construction paper, wrapping paper, ribbon, stickers, drawings, paint, photographs, glitter, sequins, or anything else that you like

Keep within it:

A list of grounding techniques that you know work for you

A list of positive affirmations and happy memories

A list of the contact information of trusted friends or family who are willing to help and support you

Small sensory objects such as: scented candles, perfumes, or lotions; hard candies or gum; soft fabrics, a stress ball, a stuffed animal, or a fidget toy; happy pictures of you with friends; a CD with relaxing music or meditation tracks. Try to cover all of the senses

A list of possible distractions such as books to read or movies to watch

Small portable distractions such as a pack of playing cards, a small game, or a joke book

A list of comforting things to do such as taking a bubble bath, snuggling up in bed, or meditating

A small journal or notebook

In the Case of a Flashback

Tell yourself that you are having a flashback and are safe now

Remind yourself that the worst is over, and you survived it. What you're feeling now is just a reminder of that trauma and does not fit the present moment

Remind yourself of when and where you are, who you're currently with, and who you can contact if you need help (use the reorientation-focused grounding techniques)

Breathe deeply and slowly. Count your breathes and make sure that you're getting enough air

Use other mental, sensory, movement, and imagery techniques in order to distract yourself, calm yourself, and reorient yourself within the present

If possible or necessary, go somewhere where you can be alone or with a close friend, where you will feel safe, or where you feel protected or shielded

If there is anyone who you can trust or who will support you, reach out to them, let them know what happened, and let them know what you need, what would be best for you, or what they could do to help

Be gentle with yourself and take the time to really recover. If what helps you to recover is to color, take a bubble bath, hug a stuffed animal, or watch a children's movie and if it would not be disruptive to do such things at that point in time, embrace those options whole-heartedly

If possible, note or write down what triggered the flashback, what techniques you tried to use to disrupt the flashback, and what techniques helped

[obutsuwrites]

salt water (seamonster!shiggy x f!reader)

summary:  “Of course not! I like talking to you.” Inky black tentacles twitched under the curtain of waves. ‘She’d cower. Make herself as small as she needed to be; pathetic and crawling.’ Tenko grinned at the thought. She was nothing more than meat on a slab.  xxx or the time i write monster shiggy ft. ocean imagery warnings: dubcon, drowning, mind control, tentacle sexey times, vore, smut, oviposition word count: 4,468 taglist: @kaccatus @sadjealouswhore @tenaciousgothstudentauthor masterlist | tipjar | twitter | commission info

The ocean lapped against her knees in gentle waves. It was refreshing and cool; a morning breeze she wanted to submerge herself in and never leave. This was her sanctuary, her home. The ocean -- in its inky blackness -- was almost like a lover. The waves were little arms that entangled around her ankles and upper calves. Simple, harmless flirting until the woman finally took the plunge and allowed the ocean to swallow her whole. She would only tread lightly; growing up in a little sea-side shack carried the reality of her lover; silent waves could shift and evolve into violent tides. 

She squinted as the afternoon sun pierced her eyes. It sat high in the cloudless, cobalt sky. An orange giant that radiated such intense heat, despite the forecast claiming otherwise. The sun was hot against the small of her back; skin exposed and soft. The woman allowed her body to sink further into the salty brine. She shivered at the chill, but it was a welcome distraction from the humidity. As she waded further into the deep, bits of seaweed danced around her legs. Slimy and unpleasant. The woman shoved down her discomfort, it was only temporary. 

She swam apathetic laps. Her body was now accustomed to the chill. In the benign quiet, the woman’s mind began to wander. The sea allowed for more than just cooling off; peaceful and cerebral. After several soft loops, she rescinded herself to float atop the navy sea surf. The woman’s lazy gaze was glued to the sky. Her body was delicately rocked, a lullaby she wanted to submerge herself into for eternity. Sometimes, she wondered if the ocean was capable of violence. To her, it was nothing but serenity and placidity. The woman knew tales of drownings and bizarre, awful sea creatures… However, she had experienced neither within her rather mundane life. Fingers grasped at the azure water, eyes shifting to stare into the great abyss. Despite squinting, the woman couldn’t see to the bottom. She wondered if it was so deep that light simply didn’t refract. 

A crackle sounded off in the distance; the beginning of a storm, she noted. Storms were something she knew all too well. Humidity and the frigid ocean mixed together often to form thunderous, dark clouds that beat against her shack. Angry and fierce.  Eventually, the waves would pick up, as if to respond with equal force to the storm, like two lovers fighting. 

Reluctantly, she began her trek back to shore. Perhaps, she could watch the rain beat on her windows. The wind picked up; the smell of the sea working its way into her nose. Salty and fresh. However, seaweed was strong and wrapped around her ankles. This wasn’t unusual for the woman; the sea could be a difficult lover. The shore was still far away, not even within her reach. Her feet hadn’t even touched the smooth surface of rocks. Slight panic wove into her chest, the sensation tight and heavy. Kicking her legs, the woman tried to swim past the monstrous clump of plant matter. She had done this before. Seaweed wasn’t thick like this and despite her best efforts, her legs were still knotted in the dense foliage. 

The woman continued to kick her legs, the movements morphing into desperation and anxiety. This was foreign to her. The sea wasn’t a maze of fear and panic, yet here she was, arms flailing and face red. 

“H-help!” It was a futile scream; the beach today was empty and she was alone. The sea was going to swallow her and she was alone. Her mind raced with images of her barren skeleton nestled between dead plants and sunken ships. A bleak resting place. 

The sky twisted into a dark caricature of itself; bleak with clouds hiding the sun. Her terror was tangible now as sea foam bubbles seeped into her mouth. Coughs and spit erupted from the woman. Static portraits of her life played like a macabre theater. ‘No! Please no! I don’t wanna die!’ The ocean was a lover scorn; waves began to pick up. The woman feared her body would disappear beneath the current, but the seaweed kept her anchored. Safe. 

Her throat grew dry with cries that fell on deaf ears. This is how she would die; crushed beneath azure crests with an angry sky. She gave up and became complacent in her fate. Tears flowed freely down puffy, coral cheeks. 

Suddenly, she felt a long tendril wrap around her thigh. This material wasn’t seaweed, it was different. Spongey. Organic. The coil traveled down her leg and freed her lower form. 

Breath caught in her throat expanded into the salty, swampy air. “T-thank you!” 

Xx

Fire crackled and the air was balmy; the woman was determined to expunge any cold. Overcast clouds brought in a certain chill, which was only compacted by her waterlogged clothing. Her brassiere had started the slow process of becoming solid again; a fuzzy towel wrapped around jittery shoulders. She believed the suction cup lined tentacle was an octopus. 

“They can be quite helpful. Suction cups are made for -- for sticking.” Truthfully, the sentence was tangible and real for a simple reason; it felt more real. It was far too horrible to believe sea monsters had invaded her paradise. 

Xx

She awoke with a start. Electricity already burning obnoxiously in her veins. The thought was a joke at first; throw out food to the anonymous ocean critter that had rescued her. It was fair. She wanted to repay the kindness. No animal was suited for her sea excursionist. Her love was the ocean firstly; everything came in violent crashes next. Purely no room for animals. However, this being -- this animal. She needed to remind herself it was an animal. Animals can just be smart.

xx

“Like octopi. Or maybe -- maybe a squid.” ‘Octopi’ was a new word; something the woman picked up from long study sessions in the town library. The building was a crypt, dusty and decrepit. Relics from before the second war, chalky volumes of history and academics… but they held the most beautiful anatomical drawings. Precise lines formed into a web of a body on delicate paper. She wanted to rip them from their pages and exhibit the art upon her walls. It was a guilty feeling the woman had to bury. Deep.

Octopi were carnivores, which meant they ate meat. Things like fish, sharks -- even birds. On occasion, the invertebrate would drown their prey. She loathed the vulgar imagery of an octopus immersing a bird into her sea -- into the great blue only to disappear under murky depths. The mental painting seemed so far off -- so  distant from her benevolent savior. 

Xx

There was a certain click in her step, her movements jovial and careless. Her limbs were wire and ethereal. After a masochistic study session, the woman felt confident enough to pursue the octopus. The plan itself was half-baked, but she was… hopeful. Her wallet wouldn’t survive otherwise; she was too naive, trusting and allowed a butcher to sell her a suspiciously warm steak. Little flashes of the overripe meat squirming with maggots skipped through her mind. 

“I hope you like this!” 

She threw the steak into the ocean. A smile had eased onto her face. 

After several minutes a bitter call echoed from the sea. “Not this, stupid.” The voice was scratchy and harsh; like a sweater. Goosebumps developed and her lungs burned. 

‘What an unfortunate sound.’

Xx

Tenko wasn’t a beast per se. He was merely acting on instinct, but he wasn’t all bad. That idiot woman carried a delicious fragrance; her pores were just leaking it. His primal instincts demanded Tenko to clamp his beak over her clavicle. He wanted to peak at her flesh until only ribbons clung to her skeleton… but he was lonely. Tenko was lonely and needed a friend -- needed her. The woman’s cries seemed so inviting. She made pathetic little sounds that were like music to him. He decided to play along, in the hopes of revealing in her fear again. 

Women weren’t unknown to Tenko; they were little sacks of meat that nourished him. However, this wench was something entirely different. She didn’t belong within the predetermined hierarchy and Tenko absolutely fucking hated her for it. Her gestures were carefree and swaying; large hips on full display. The woman wench deserved to know her place. 

‘No one else would do it. It has to be me.’

Xx

An uncomfortable silence inched between them, the steak long gone. The realization wasn’t kind to her. This wasn’t an octopus; this was something worse. Something bad that could speak. Her skin felt slimy and dirty now. She rubbed at her ankles. Waiting for a response was becoming a real experience -- complete with the bells and whistles of anxiety. The woman’s back was on the sea. She refused to greet the monstrosity. 

“I’m… sorry. It’s been so long since I had company.” A soft reflection was in the voice; gentle regret. How could she resist? Tenko was being vulnerable now, if not a little sad. But it was necessary. Feigning humanity would lead his prey in with wide, innocent eyes. 

With a back turned, the woman took a step away from the benign waves. “You talk?” She didn’t want to ask anymore -- she didn’t want to engage the abnormality any further. 

A low whistle crept across the oceanic landscape. 

“Yes. Can we be f… friends?” 

Xx

‘Her little brain must weigh nothing,’ Tenko thought, ‘A stupid broad like her is lucky to even be alive.’ The mortal was braindead enough to put trust in him, he didn’t even have to beg. Well, he didn’t have to beg as much as he anticipated. Her vibrating fear could be felt even within the depths of his domain. Tenko found it pathetic, in all honesty, but saliva pooled at the thought of her. Naked. Afraid. All primed and ready to be devoured… ‘Such a delicate body. It’s really a shame I’ll leave blemishes.’ 

Xx

Within a week’s time, the raspy, sea-salt coated voice was the woman’s dearest friend. Her only friend. It was unnatural at first. The ocean wasn’t sentient, it couldn’t have a soul, and yet something would respond to her questions and ramblings. Always patient and kind hearted. She was curious if the voice was even a sea creature.

‘What if you’re the sea?’

Her mouth opened and closed, mimicking a question. She was curious if the voice had a name. There was certainly nothing offered up; the voice had demanded the woman never swim again -- never look into the great depths. At her sheepish request, the voice shook with rage that trembled and quaked in their words. It was the first time the woman remembered that this voice wasn’t human and maybe it didn’t -- maybe they didn’t function by the natural laws of man. 

A wave bumped against the beachfront. Her name carried off of the breeze, followed by a pause, and then, “What was your question?”

“It’s… uh, it’s stupid, really,” she replied, eyes stuck on her modest shack. Confidence was lacking in her voice; the woman now shrinking before Tenko.

The stench of her was in the water now; Tenko scrunched his face in response. Focusing on her was a part of the plan. His desire for the broad would be found eventually, but he needed to bite down any residual lust that floated around. Her smell was so pungent that it made Tenko’s stomach burn and twist. Like a heated wrench. 

He was growing bored. Impatient. Hunting was never a show like this. Hunting was hunting -- killing and eating with bits of flesh mixing with crimson. The sea looked best like that; bloody, a massacre of sin. Tenko should have eaten her a week before. She was stupid and within his grasp… but he let her go. A mistake he wouldn’t make twice. 

“Of course not! I like talking to you.” Inky black tentacles twitched under the curtain of waves. ‘She’d cower. Make herself as small as she needed to be; pathetic and crawling.’ Tenko grinned at the thought. She was nothing more than meat on a slab. 

His words of encouragement were like a shock to the system. Something was in those words, something the woman craved. Her chest tightened and words washed upon shore, “Can… can I see you?” 

It was a simple question, and yet Tenko hated it. He knew this day would come, but he prepared little in the way of comfort. His face twisted into a scowl as little angry bubbles surfaced. 

“Why? Aren’t you afraid? I can feel your tremors from here.” Tenko wanted to squash her curiosity. This game of cat and mouse shouldn’t end so abruptly. He wanted more play time with his food. Fear was a seasoning that couldn’t be wasted. A precious resource only for him. 

The ocean was quiet now, its rage worn down and tired. The woman looked out into the azure water and tried to gather her remaining courage. Tenko’s voice was unlike the kind tone she was accustomed to; his response was harsh and laced with seafoam. This wasn’t her disembodied companion. This was a creature.

“N-no,” she hesitated. Her words were anchored in her belly. She looked away from the azure abyss, fear creeping into her chest. The woman knew nothing of her companion -- only that he saved her. Surely, he couldn’t be some monstrous bundle of tentacles and eyes. He had to be more… human. 

Silence sat between them. Tenko began to impulsively curl his tentacles. He found the quiet annoying and somehow a little frightening. Perhaps his meal was reconsidering their arrangement. ‘You couldn’t,’ Tenko thought while the sun shrunk behind a cloud, ‘you’re too stupid.’ Befriending him -- feeling sorry for such a gluttonous horror was a fool’s mistake. His heart hummed at the thought of her bare and bloodied. 

The death of their conversation was awkward, if not heavy. Truthfully, the woman blamed herself for it. Feet nestled in warm sand; her mind straying back to Tenko. She knew he was beneath the oceanic canvas. Hidden away. ‘Hiding from me.’ Mournful eyes watched the sea. The day was dreary. No clouds. Sun scorned and resting. The sky held a drab palette; rainbows of blacks and grays formed into being. She wondered if the ocean was ever this ugly. 

Tenko came to his great conclusion; ‘I can eat your pea-sized brain now, can’t I? You’re probably stinking with guilt. So worried about your only friend.’ Slowly, Tenko lifted the tip of his beak into the air. Her pungent rot was like driftwood; moldy and earthy. She sickened him, but his body and mind weren’t one. Two muddled pieces that ached for both devouring her whole, and filling her disgusting guts with him. Tenko wanted to breed her -- watch his mewling little mortal stretch with his eggs.

Tenko’s stomach growled. 

“What -- what’s your name?”

His beak quickly retracted back into the salty brine. In his chest was a heart pounding against his rib cage. She was so close. She was so close. ‘Stupid and trustworthy. You’d do anything for a friend. You’d do anything… for me.’ Tenko realizes this and seizes his dinner bell, “T-Tenko. Can you come into the water?” Saliva pools at the back of his throat, “I’m lonely.”

The voice was heartbroken. His Tenko’s vocal cords were raspy, as if he gorged himself on salt water. A certain note of despair lingered in his sentence. The woman gave one last look into the vast blue before plunging her toes into saline waters.

It was as cold as the grave. Yet the coolness of it was relaxing. Hypnotizing. The ocean was calling out to her, its wet claws draped around her ankles, pleading with her to stay. She thought her ears caught a whisper from the depths; “Don’t go.” 

Everything was falling into his lap. First, she decided to trust him. Then she found comfort. Now, she belongs to him. Every chunk of flesh, every spec of marrow -- all his. He would suck her bones dry and drain her. ‘I’m going to devour you in the worst way.’

Her voice trembled with an alien sort of fear, “Tenko…” Water soaked into her dress, the cotton sticking to her shivering form. “Tenko, I’m scared.” Salt water was plugged into her nostrils. The strong scent was almost nauseating. There was a dull twinge in her heart. ‘Magical octopi,’ she chanted, ‘enchanted animal that speaks!’ Despite her conviction, salivation was unheard. The icy water rested just under her collarbone. Its gentle current nipped at her skin. She suppressed a shiver, keeping her legs kicking. The woman waited until something spongy -- familiar -- grabbed her calf. 

“You’re here.” The woman released a forgotten breath. Her chest was unraveling; the feeling of him was… comforting. This was her friend. ‘He wouldn’t hurt me.’ Her salt stained lips pitched into a grin.

Tenko envisioned violently dragging her squirming body. Little bubbles trailing behind, her last breaths. Gentle face painted into horror. He wondered if she would fight back; maybe pitifully grab at his tentacles? Tenko’s eyes widened in excitement, her legs sending waves. ‘Finally you made it, moron girl.’

His words were like a haunting chorus, “It’s okay,” her name was honey in the air, “Can… can you swim to me?” Tenko sounded cautious, ‘He’s worried about me.’ Her one friend -- her one true friend was concerned about her! The woman’s eyes were bright and alive. A smile played on her lips. Tiny butterflies felt like they were gathering in her chest. Tenko needed her. Needed his friend. The loneliness seemed to melt off while her legs worked against the sea, water splashing in every direction. Her body was numb; skin nothing more than drenched. She noted her dress was slowing her down. Tenko was leagues away -- almost impossible. Yet she persisted. 

His tentacle was the thread guiding her home -- to him. The rubbery flesh was a trail behind her. It was a reminder that Tenko was close, somehow obscured under blankets of briny water. Looking into the blue void made her stomach tangle together in a mess of anxiety. There was an unknown factor -- a certain fear to the ocean now.

Tenko held a delicate grip. ‘I can’t squeeze you to death just yet.’ He hoped the woman’s death rattles were soft, nothing like a dying creature. Tenko knew she would struggle and seafoam would kick into her lungs, but a part of him wanted her to coo at him. Make little creamy pleas. Stuck in his mirth, Tenko began to pull. The sensation was lost on his meal; her mind too preoccupied with determination. Her feet no longer tapped against slimy seaweed. Instead, the abyss greeted her. Negative space gathered. Nothing to keep the woman afloat except for her own flailing limbs.

A rather thrashing limb caught Tenko in the beak. Instinct took over as he yanked the woman. Aggressive and without tolerance. His beak was strong enough for her kick, but the accidental assault felt purposeful. Her lungs filled only once; to scream. Blue fluttered into her line of sight while bubbles erupted into view. Water rushed into her lungs. She managed a cough, salt in her nose. 

The woman fought against the pull. Waterlogged fingers slipping. She clawed at the tentacle as her expression froze in open-mouthed terror. Tenko wished he could see it, but the vibrations of her panicking body would have to do. He wanted to eat her panic. Swallow her whole and stare into the bloody waters she’d create. 

“St-stop… struggling so d-damn much,” forming a sentence was hard. This woman -- this squishy little mortal -- continued to fight. Tenko wished she would claw at scratch at him, fear added a certain spice to his meals, but her insensent kicking must stop.

Tenko releases the woman, her little head shooting up and bobbling amongst the current. Greedy lungs sucked in sour sea air. The saline burned down her throat, but she was relieved. ‘I was going to die. Tenko… Tenko wanted to kill me!’ The realization hits like a sandbag. She has to leave now. This creature, no, this monster was nothing but death. 

Before she can will her tired body, a melody drifts into her mind.

“Please don’t go.” He sounded so mournful. Grief laced into every word. 

She looks into the great blue before responding, “I have to.” Tears brim her eyes, making the world glassy. This was her only friend and yet he wanted to harm her. There was something dangerous to this creature. 

Tenko grew impatient. She should simply accept him as he is. This doesn’t need to be unnecessarily difficult… but she was making it difficult. Couldn’t this broad see Tenko only wanted to fill her half eaten, frail body with eggs? It’s a compliment, an implied attraction, and she just had to ruin it. Her little brain cannot even begin to comprehend the damage she’s done. 

With great effort, Tenko continued his heartbreaking colloquy, “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t m-mean it.” It’s burdensome to speak such lies, even more of a bother to project them into such an idiot. However, Tenko knew this woman had kindness tucked into her heart. She had no other choice but to forgive. “You want to see me, don’t you? The curiosity must be suffocating.”

She did… She had wondered what Tenko looked like; her mind’s eye wasn’t content with a mermaid. The woman had to see him in all of his glory. His voice was mesmerizing, like sharp ocean currents beating against rock. Her heart slowed to an acceptable pace. The organ no longer hammered into her. Her pulse wasn’t in her ears and the only thing in her stomach was an airy bit of hope. ‘Tenko probably hasn’t had any visitors before. I’m -- I’m his first.’ There was a strange comfort in being Tenko’s only friend. 

Something hard bumped against her leg. “Tenko?” She asked, voice small and soft. A vortex of salt water swirled underneath her as a head peaked from beneath a crest of waves. Tenko wasn’t quite as she imagined; her friend resembled a kraken more than a man. His beak was half-way submerged, stringy white hair clung to his worn face. He wore a gentle expression. Her eyes softened at his humanity. Tenko was so close she could smell him. The sharp scent of brine and seaweed permeated the air. A certain warmth settled into her belly. 

“Can I… touch you?” 

The woman nodded. His tentacle -- slimy now -- interlocked around her arm. The appendage was spongy and its suction cups held onto her with care. She melted into his touch while Tenko guided her into his bare chest. She looked up at him, big doe eyes that held nothing but admiration for the monster. ‘A pity,’ Tenko thought, ‘You didn’t really struggle, did you? You want to be full of my eggs.’ Tenko asserted this belief as another tentacle found the small of her back. Another snaked up her waist and landed on a clothed breast. She shivered in his embrace, the frigid water now soaked into her bones.

Ancient words danced in her mind, “Give yourself to me.” No emotion was behind her eyes, no hint of a human. Instead she steeled herself -- perfect and waiting for Tenko. She was a gift for him. Roughly, his tentacles roamed her body. His suction cups latched and unlatched onto bits of sodden flesh. She was mushy and delicate, like algae. Tenko could break apart her body, bone by bone, until she was dust stuck in his suction cups. A hushed mewl fell from her lips once Tenko brushed against a sensitive nipple. Her face was flushed and glistening. There was a crinkle in her eyes; a foreign ecstasy. The woman’s body hadn’t experienced such a fiery, electric sensation before.

“Don’t…” She buries her face in his chest, “don’t stop, Tenko.” It was too mortifying to allow such a divine creature see her like this. Body peppered with pink and chest heaving against him. She leaned into his touch. He kneaded her skin, spongy suction cups tweaking her nubs. Tenko could feel himself begin to swell, tentacles fat and aching. He looked down at her, drool trailing down his beak. 

An eager tentacle harshly grabbed her drenched garment and quickly discarded it to the sea. The woman’s body instinctively shivered, nerves still tender. “Stay still,” Tenko commanded as a tentacle slithered down her stomach, stopping at her waistband. 

“Please.” Her eyes are like saucers, innocent and begging. Tenko indulged and a tentacle stroked her wet cunt. The sloppy noise mixed with her insensent moans. It was a chorus of vulgarity. Tenko, however, made no sound. His vocal chords vibrated with animalistic grunts as he explored her body. Another obscene groan finally encouraged the beast; a single tentacle slipped between her thighs. 

Her pudgy walls gripped his swollen tentacle like a vice. “S-slow down, Tenko.” The woman felt violated. Tenko was going too fast, not allowing for rest. His tentacle plunged into her, prodding her womb. “Stop! It hurts!” The woman grit her teeth while trying to stifle a cry. 

“Quit whining,” Tenko sneered, sharp beak biting down on her collarbone. Iron flooded Tenko’s mouth and a whine played on his lips. She was sweeter than anything -- anyone he had tasted before. Her tainted scent was nothing compared to the meat before him. A piercing yelp sounded from the woman. The shrillness of it only spurred Tenko; his beak gnawing at her open wound. 

An orgy of violence and bliss swirled in her mind, twisting into one. Divinity itself was biting into her and marking her as his own. His fat tentacle stretched her to an almost inhuman degree; her face sweaty and mouth open. Drool pooled into her wound and mixed with Tenko’s spit. She wanted to reach up and touch it, feel the feral brand he left. She adjusted to his size, an unfamiliar hotness gathering between her legs. 

“F-faster, please.” 

Another ethereal voice called to her, carried from the breeze, “You want me to fill you with eggs, don’t you? Say it.”

Dribble spat from her mouth, “Tenko, I want -- please make me fat with your eggs! Breed me!” Painfully, Tenko hammered into her doused cunt, pushing against her cervix, the spongy flesh almost like a pillow. Welcoming. Warming. Wanting him. Her pussy fit perfectly around his engorged tentacle, milking him for every bit of slimy pre-cum. 

“Take my eggs, broad,” Tenko growls as a miry egg sloshes into her womb. 

A cry permeates the air. “Too big, Tenko. Too big,” the woman heaves. Her mind swimming with one simple phrase; “You’ll be such a good moma.”

[last-of-the-jaded]

After having willingly given the last month of my life over to MDZS and it’s Live Action counterpart I wanted to compile a list of my favorite aspects of both (including spoilers). Both the original Chinese Novel and it’s stunning 2019 Summer Release counterpart are breathtaking in different manners, but if you are looking for a quick recommendation, I do recommend going for the drama first as it will simplify the further consumption of content if you decide you want to partake in more.

What I love about THE UNTAMED:

The symbolism of the cliff at Nightless City, and how that entire scene marks a clear shift in Wuxian’s mental state as well as the overarching story. Similarly, how in the end it is Wuxian who throws himself off that precipice to sure death. This detail provides a direct comparison between his mental state at this moments and Cheng’s after his core was squashed, while also touching on an unique level of disparity and regret that is unrealized in the novel at this point (considering how this isn’t how Wuxian dies in the written version)

Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo. I’ve made posts about this already so I’ll spare you another essay (Here and Here)

Jiang Cheng’s entire character arc. Seeing him fully fleshed out, utilized, and properly human within the drama made it hard for me to swallow how shallow he often felt on paper, especially in the early chapters. I get that this is partially due to the youth sequences in the book being written completely from Wuxian’s POV, but for me there is something incredibly human and genuine just lacking from the version of Cheng on paper that stood out so gorgeously for me in terms of his drama counterpart. Wang Zhou Cheng did an amazing job bringing out his raw emotion and anger on screen, lines were delivered in a manner that truly solidified this characters growth and vulnerability to me. For such a new actor within his field he did a brilliant job, and is the reason I have so many damn emotions concerning Jiang Cheng’s character arc. (I have a million analysis pieces typed up on my blog if that interests you)

The sequential order for the flashbacks was incredibly easy to consume. It helped to keep events and motivations clear. I understand why the book was able to skip around in a more winding mysterious manner, but from a drama standpoint I massively appreciated being able to consume the events leading up to Wuxian’s demise in consecutive order. The first few episodes were initially extremely confusing to me as a new watcher, and it’s only when the flashbacks hit that the plot-line solidified as well.

The female leads! Yanli, Qing, and Mianmian having larger roles and development was absolutely a plus. Everyone had the same intentions and feel as they did in the original, just more fully fleshed out since they were given time to interact within the world. As a bonus note seeing Madam Yu and hearing her bullshit on screen, said out-loud in the bitchy tone her actress gave her, made her 10X worse and from an antagonist perspective I massively appreciate that they were able to make me despise her so damn much.

Everyone important to the past storyline being involved in the Gusulan Study Sessions under Lan Qiren. This was a simple and effective manner of introducing everyone and having characters feel involved and interactive from the get-go. I was honestly a little disappointed that not everyone was included when I went on to read the novel.

Ning and Wuxian’s interactions early on. Their dynamic in the show was given life, and felt genuine in how it shifted over the course of Wuxian’s trails and misfortune. I love how they included Ning in the early on portions of the series, especially the Caiyi Town waterborn abyss debacle where Wuxian saved his life. It just added more layers to an already intriguing dynamic that plays a massive role overall.

The wolf torture scene. This added a whole new layer to Wuxian’s fear of dogs, while still completing its job of giving Ning and Wuxian a reason to interact and grow. Not to mention the example of Wen Sect Torture Tactics really added to the inhumanity of the sect while sparking our main character’s growth and self-sacrificing nature.

The symbolism behind Yanli’s and Cheng’s dreams. These dream sequences give a glimpse into the heads of two complex character’s and honestly added so much background motivation to their storylines. I loved these details and how much analysis us all as viewers can put into them.

The rain scene. Wuxian telling Wangji he would prefer to die by his hands. The first tears watchers see from an incredibly strong and willful young man who has always appeared stoic. (I cannot express to you enough how sad I was that this scene didn’t take place in the novel)

Wuxian’s mask. I understand logistically why they had to do this from a filming perspective (I mean if you have someone as good looking and Xiao Zhan, damnit you are going to let him look like him as much as you can) but I honestly really enjoyed the smaller details they included to make it work plot-wise. I also appreciate how it was designed as a prop considering it actually altered Wuxian’s features in a manner that made him harder to recognize due to its bulky and carved nature.

The secret underground cave in Cloud Recess under the bathing pool. The whole meeting between Wangxian and the female sect leader. I enjoyed this detail and how they expanded upon it when it came to the burning of their sect home and the survival of their people.

Wangxian’s relationship. Their subtle, trusting, gentle way of showing love. On an additional note I appreciate how it never once felt like I needed to discuss consent with the characters (coughNOVELcough) because everything between them was healthy and playful.

The soundtrack, costuming, and bts. I understand that this was a low budget production (compared to the majority of traditional dramas) and honestly I appreciate what we were given taking that into account. They stayed true to the essence and message of the story. I love the manner in which the costumes became a part of the characters and everyone had a clear style. The soundtrack flowed amazingly well with the scene and tone shifts (this is disregarding how fake their instrument playing looked because I’m still not over how off the finger movements appeared at points). The behind the scenes content on its own could win an award - it made completing the show a million times more satisfying because I do believe that the people working on set had fun (somehow even while filming during the hottest time of the year)

The name of the drama. When you reach that moment when you understand why it is called such - it’s a tale of the rise and fall of Wuxian.

The ending scene. I know it’s not the ‘stereotypical happy ending’ fans wanted, but it perfectly fit the tone and message of the piece as a whole. I love the ending. It felt right.

What I love about MDZS (NOVEL):

The Yi City Arc. It’s worth reading for this part alone. Motivations, logic, and everything just hit so much harder. I do appreciate what the drama gave us, but like, once you’ve tasted this version it’s really hard to go back.

Empathy. In general seeing Wuxian use empathy within the novel just works so much smoother. His little anecdotes and analysis while in stasis reliving ghost’s lives gives it a realism that it’s lacking on camera.

Second Siege of the Burial Mounds. The way the novel sets up this part and actually makes it feel scary with hoard mentality makes it work so much better. It feels like there is a weight to this moment. The waves of corpses are terrifying, and the exhaustion of fighting for hours gives it a level of humanity that makes what Wuxian and Wangji selflessly do stand out even more. Not to mention, the leftovers of the Wen Sect fucked me up. I bawled. This is another detail that I would legitimately read the entire novel over for just to experience.

Wuxian being fucking terrifying at points. Playing with demonic energy and losing control is supposed to be scary. In the novel it honestly felt that way. Seeing him slowly get worse was heartbreaking. Watching how people’s opinions on him skewed, and how he dealt with looks, pressure, and weight on his shoulders, took this arc to a whole new level. The way demons and ghosts flocked to and around him in public added a level of horror that was unsettling and necessary.

Wuxian actually losing control. In the drama they added another flute player to sort of work around Wuxian having to accept the result of his failure. In the novel, there is no such thing -  and I love it. It’s another dowsing to the pain and suffering Wuxian has to accept and learn to overcome.  It makes him coming back a decade later - to live and achieve and get revenge - feel different.

Action scenes and gore. If something is called “The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation” you expect some blood, and damn do I appreciate that the author made stuff have impact. I wish the drama had a bigger budget so they could have done the wounds and cgi more justice.

Wangji rescuing Wuxian after the first raid on yiling, and choosing to suffer together, hated by the world, rather than lose the love of his life. I love the use of the cliff in the drama, especially the imagery of Wangji trying to hold Wei Ying up before ultimately falling, but the route the author took in the novel is so much fucking worse. Like I cannot even imagine the pain Wangji went through.

Lan Xichen opening Wuxian’s oblivious eyes. Best brother ever. This entire scene, leading up to the final battle, is like downing a shot and waiting for it to hit. It deserves a standing ovation.

The details in the Xuanyu of Slaughter cave sequence. Every little tell that Wangji gave - he really did fall in love young.

Mingjue’s corpse. The separated limbs, angry spirit, holding bags, and everything made sense because of description.

Wangji explaining how he got the brand mark over his heart. All of his scars. Fuck. There’s inferring, and then there is having it described to you from the person directly and feeling as your own heart dies.

Lan Zhan’s insane arm strength. This is a detail that deserves recognition.

Wuxian’s inner analysis of Nei Huaisang at the end. This was fully formed and actually had some payoff.

The clear comparisons between Mengyao’s fate and what happened to Wuxian himself. Once again you can infer in the drama, but having it clearly implied in the book hits different because when someone becomes a public pariah it’s easier to go with the public outcry than try and defend them. “Nobody knew with more clarity than Wei WuXian that nobody would care and nobody would believe”

Ning protecting Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng in a manner directly parallel to how he killed the people they cared for.

Jin Ling’s realization about being unable to hate anyone in the end. You feel for this kid. You want to see him grow up well.

The beginning set up chapter. Hearing what happened in the past vaguely through spreading rumors and small talk without seeing it for yourself adds a level of intrigue. It has greater mystery than just seeing the scene play-out and cutting away.

Everything making sense in general with no plot holes. It’s one of those things where in television no matter how well you do, you can’t possibly include all the needed details. With the drama you have to infer a lot, and sometimes you will get it wrong. In the novel it really is just much easier to make sense of. This also included the pacing as well. Timeskips make sense.

Kissing. Smut. Damn, it’s so nice to have actual payoff for the slow burn.

[pale-tower]

The White King: History

He appeared to me first when I was around the age of 13/14. This was a time in my life when I was inundated with nightmares and waking sleep paralysis. The dreams I had were in black and white, and often of my childhood home. My childhood had been one of neglect and abuse, and this home was heavily associated with it. My teens were turbulent and I was mentally unwell from my childhood experiences, and it manifested in my sleep disturbances. 

I didn’t take much meaning from the dreams, it was the usual dream fodder. Recurring characters did appear, however, and none of them had any sort of spiritual or mystical connotations, but they became recognizable faces. But only one of them began to leak out of the dreams and into day to day life, a white stag with glowing blue antlers, ghastly thin, black eyes that stared into nothing, face and neck adorned with spheres.

I drew a lot to cope with stress, and I did draw a lot of the characters that appeared in my dreams. Some of them I still draw to this very day, and they are dear to me, but they are as fictional to me as mickey mouse or any other cartoon character a child might come up with. But the white stag was different. Every image that was produced didn’t feel like it was entirely my idea. They were wrought with symbolism that I understood on some level but couldn’t necessarily put into words.  

The dreams then started to slip from the unconscious, to the conscious. PTSD, especially c-PTSD, are well known for states of nonconsensual zoning-out, known as dissociation. In these states my mind would wander, and I found them co-opted by the white stag. He’d guide my mind with daydreams, ones I didn’t control, bringing me away from self destructive looping thought patterns, suicidal ideation, etc, and showed me beautiful imagery.

He’d create stories for me, ones that didn’t always make sense if I were to tell someone else, often how dreams don’t make sense when you try to retell them, but made enough sense to me to listen and build upon them with him. From this I began to make my own stories, writing them in my head. They were different from his, much different. His always had the same predictable themes, kind of like a mythology, whereas my stories reflected more of the outside world and the media I consumed.

In my teens I was highly skeptical and kind of one of those edgy atheist types. I did not actually think much of him, I saw him just as a figment of my mind. I was a creative type, afterall, and figured that he was a normal manifestation of the creative mind. But even with my disregard of religion, spirituality, etc, I still felt compelled to treat all imagery of him with the utmost of respect.

 Every drawing of him that I dug up out of my closet or drawers would give me a moment of pause as I gazed upon it, in a way none of my other artwork did. It was as if the paper itself would judge me if I caused it any harm. As my depression lead me into periods of not cleaning my room, much of the loose-leaf artwork of him became damaged and I felt a deep sensation of guilt, one that did not exist for any of my other works.

His contact with me had dwindled in my late teens and early twenties; not ceased entirely, but his periods of guided daydreams were few and in-between as I spent time focused on my own life.

My depression, trauma, suicidality came at a head in my early and mid twenties. I have attempted suicide many times over my life, but it was during this period of time that I had come to my closest to actually being successful. During this period, he returned vividly, and took a strong hand in forcing vivid visions onto me, now with full intent and purpose, rather than just to tell stories for amusement. It was the first time I had ever began to view him as a separate entity, and was reluctant to do so even then, as amidst all of the mental health problems I was already dealing with, this form of insanity was not another one I wanted to take on. 

I was reluctant to acknowledge him at first, but his persistent badgering for a call to court finally had me listen to him, and all of his messages went against what you would assume a figment-of-newly-insanity would tell you: that my sinking into the depths of depression was largely of my own doing and a reluctance to criticize myself, that i was destroying the relationship with the first person i truly ever loved, and that i had some serious flaws with my personality that i needed to address and to stop wallowing in self pity and self hatred, since that would not fix my life.

His offered solution to this was one I found strange, but it was quite plainly, to convert to paganism and to become totally devoted to him, to pay homage to him and only him, and to treat my body like his temple; his palace, and failure to do so was a personal insult to him. Considering this was just off the heels of attempting to suffocate myself with a plastic bag, I decided to accept. I didn’t have anything else to lose, I was experiencing the lowest of low in my life.

In return for homage to him, he acts as my aide.

It’s been about 4? years since this occurred. 

I’ve made a lot of progressive in recovery. I still obviously deal with depression, as depression is often a genetic thing and it runs in my family, but I am nowhere near the level of depressed I was when he reappeared to me. I managed to pull my relationship with my spouse out of that pit (we had broken up for approx 3 months), and while we sometimes do argue we’re far, far better together than we used to be and are engaged, and he is noted how much I’ve come to improve my side of the relationship.

I’ve lost weight. I eat healthier. I’ve done my best to remove toxic people from my life. I focus on hobbies and people I care about. I’m always trying to find ways to improve my mental health rather than wallowing in self pity like I used to. It wasn’t an all at once thing, it was a constant struggle with the stag, and things he has said to me might have come across wickedly cruel to anyone else, but he dragged me back to my feet and started me walking.

His contact comes and goes still, he takes a back seat when he’s not needed, he’s never been an overly commendering figure. He’s never asked me to do something ridiculous, or dangerous, or malicious. In fact, he’s never asked me to do anything that doesn’t directly involve him or myself, he’s never shown much interest in the world outside myself unless it affects me (aka his temple) negatively. 

He gets cranky if I don’t maintain his altar and observe the passing of seasons. And if I start to neglect my health, mental of physical, he also makes his distaste known. Occasionally he’ll surprise me in a quiet moment, like in the bath, with another guided vision where he’ll flash me with spectacular imagery with symbolism I don’t always understand, but I figure it’s something he wants me to think about.

[passionatewayhorsemanshipllc]

Logan

I had connected with a horse over the summer that might have finally shone a light on my truest passion. The connection with this horse was so powerful and spiritual that even though he was not mine, I knew he had to be. This majestic horse is named Logan.

I was introduced to Logan when he was cared for at another farm. I had agreed to go to that farm and work with him as my schedule allowed, but it wasn’t just my schedule that we had to work around, it was the owner’s rotational schedule as well. After only a few lessons, the owner suggested I take Logan in at my farm and work with him for a steady, consistent, month. I agreed.

The few visits I had made to the farm where Logan lived, I felt something was special about him. He had some kind of innocence that was hard to put into words. His honesty and desire to “understand” what I wanted from him, was more pure than I can even find words for. For some reason I think of crystal clear spring water cascading down a small rock fall. I’m not sure if that imagery is the purest you, as the reader, can feel, but it is what I think of.

Anyway, I fell in love with Logan before he was even brought to my farm. He was so unsure of the simplest things, but as I explained things to him, he would almost “thank” me for helping him. Logan would literally ask me to hug his face. The face hug is something I have special with almost every horse I had the amazing privilege to raise from a baby. It was not something I often found with older horses. Logan was six. I ate up every face hug I could and with each one I fell deeper and deeper in love. I felt his gratitude in the soft blinks of his eye as I would wrap my arms around his opposite cheek. I felt his relief in his emotional relaxation as he'd lower his face into my chest. I could not help but fall in love. I had never made that kind of connection with an older horse before and like I said, it felt like a “thank you”.

Well, after Logan was moved to my farm, the bond had no choice but to grow. See, Logan was afraid of simple things like haltering. When he had a halter on, he was absolutely catchable, but when he didn’t, he wouldn't allow you near him. This avoidance of being caught could have easily become frustrating to a farm only looking to get a job done, but to me it was intriguing. What was the missing piece? Logan would come to you to be caught if the halter was already on, so it was not about being caught. If he needed a halter to be put on, he wouldn’t come and even would move away if he was approached. It had something to do with the piece of equipment. Since I never turn horses out with halters on, I was going to have to figure this out. It took several months, and even still sometimes, it takes Logan a minute to remember that the halter is not going to hurt him. I did a lot of work in his stall, teaching him how to come and lower his nose into the halter himself. That not only gave him control, but the confidence to do it to himself. If they are willing to do things to themselves, they are more likely to figure them out. Our routine, every time I halter him, is to hold it out, opened for his nose, and wait. He often turns his nose away to his left, but with patience on my part, he slowly recognizes his job and comes back to be haltered. Then we spend a few seconds hugging. I take my hand to his forehead, gather his forelock, and as I run my cupping hand full of forelock hair free of the last strand, Logan lowers his face, blinks softly and gently presses into my stomach as if to thank me for my patience.

I fell so much in love with this horse that I spoke of my love for him in every single training video I did. He was still owned by someone else, but I was even starting to make statements like, “He wants to be mine” in the hopes that I would convince the owner to sell him to me. I would have playful text exchanges with his owner that I loved him and that he didn’t want to go home. We would actually have quite a fun time with that. One day we carried on, in a back and forth exchange, about how Logan ran away. I told her that he ran away and that I acquired another big grey horse named, Hogan. I warned her to not think Hogan was Logan, if she ever drove by. It went on for maybe an hour that day and we had several other fun exchanges after that.

One day the owner and her Aunt came to watch a session with Logan. I joked that I had no idea why they were at my farm. I told her that she didn't have a horse here. My insistence in Logan becoming mine was such a fun joke, that even with her Aunt there I kept the ball rolling. I had a lot of fun with my playful game of “Logan should be mine” that I didn’t mind including her Aunt in the fun as well.

Now this fun had gone on for the entire month that Logan was at my place. I did know he was going to go back home eventually but I sure was starting to dream him more into being mine than going away. So, you could imagine my absolute delight when the owner asked if Logan could stay another month. I was delighted, yes, but also emotionally tortured by the idea of getting another strong one on one with him.

The next month was tough to try to stay detached. I was growing more and more bonded with Logan’s soul, that I started to feel like I would not be able to let him leave. Then it happened. One day while engaging in our little playful skit, Logan’s owner showed a sign that I might have a chance. She said, “If I can have Teddy, you can have Logan.” Now, we all know that Teddy was not truly an option to trade or even sell, but because she made a statement of “letting Logan go for…” I felt a sense of possibility. That was they day that I began to allow myself to truly imagine Logan as mine.

After Logan’s owner had provided me with the hope that there could be a possibility of my never having to send him home, I was like a dog on a bone. I would take up the playful banter about how much I loved him. I would poke around about how much I thought he should be mine. Then I got another hint of hope… a barter exchange was thrown out. I would offer a purchase deal with a sweetened pot of a discount on another horse’s training. I had no reason to believe that she wouldn’t replace Logan, so I felt confident that she would like a barter offer.

Now way too much of a bond had been building with Logan to take “No” for an answer at this point, so I spent one afternoon really hammering the owner with deal after deal. I knew I had her, I just needed a concrete deal to put on paper. I was in an absolute dream when we reached an agreement that I couldn’t make her come to the farm fast enough to make it official. When buying or selling horses, I have always simply drawn up a bill of sale and stuff, but since I happened to have a notary available to me, I actually made sure this bill of sale was notarized. I was so in love with this horse that I wanted to make sure no one could challenge the deal.

Since it became official and Logan could be considered “owned” by me, I quickly called my stall sign people and asked to have a stall sign made. I sent a photo of Logan and had them create a sign that would best depict his image as well as making sure the name following the word “owner” was mine. Becoming Logan’s “owner” was such a long fun process which I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Because it was done in such a playful way, I still felt like it was just a game or a joke. I ordered a sign to help me make it official. I have “owned” horses for years before buying their stall sign. I guess in their cases I was not wanting to admit that they were really staying for the long hall. One horse, Tyson, didn’t get a stall sign until I owned him for nearly seven years. That was the same for a pony I had, Matias. Even Chase didn’t get a stall sign for nearly a year. Logan though, he needed to be “MINE” right away.

OK, so since Logan was officially mine, months ago, I have ridden him twice. I taught him some cool ground stuff, but once he wasn’t a paid project, he didn’t continue to get the “training” time he was getting. That is a mental issue for me. My own horses always took a back seat to my “paid” projects. The reason I feel that happens is out of time guilt. I feel guilty that I spend so much time “working” for the paid parts of my dream, that I don’t want to take more time from my spouse “enjoying” my dream. I think I’m going to have to find a way to get over that. I have several horses that I should be doing more with, but because they belong to me and time with them would be more for pleasure than pay, I leave them be. I know that they are happy horses, but I know for sure my time with them would bring them joy. Hopefully buying Logan will bring me into a frame of mind of, money spent must be justified. I want to make Logan into a star. As much as Ritz is absolutely my prized boy on the farm, I think the flashiness of this giant grey will become a fan favorite… I just need to show the world who he is!

Winters are tough, but I wanted to see if I could ask for your help… What would you want to see Logan learn? If you would come to my farm, or a place I might be holding a demonstration, what would you want the horse used to be able to demonstrate? I have received challenges before by students. They'd see something someone else has done and would send me a short clip and ask me to do it with my horses. I am not only welcoming challenges, I’m asking for them. I will video tape my entire training process of anything I teach Logan and make sure you get to see the progress from start to finish. Let’s have fun and together make Logan into the Star I know he can be!

[sylleboi]

𝕸𝖆𝖝 𝕰𝖗𝖓𝖘𝖙

Born: April 2, 1891 in Bruhl, Germany

Died: April 1 1976 in Paris, France

Summary:

German Max Ernst was a pioneer of several art movements of his time, some of them being the Dada and Surrealisticmovement. He was provocative with his work, shocking society with how innovative and creative-minded he was. He became famous for this, but what was most amazing about him was how he could tap into his unconscious mind and thereby being able to create his dreamlike imagery that mocked social conventions. He was a soldier during World War I, leaving him incredibly traumatized and very critical towards anything that had to do with western culture. Because of this, his way of viewing everything changed dramatically, and to him, the idea of the modern world seemed completely irrational, which was this that his artwork became based on. Ernst was also very interested in the art of the mentally ill as a way of accessing primal emotions and seeing everything from a different perspective than the average person. He made stories out of collages he created, done very precisely in contrast to Hannah Höch collage work that is bolder.

Analysis and Important art by Max Ernst:

Here Everything is Still Floating, 1920

This piece of artwork is made out of cut-out and then pasted printed paper and pencil on printed paper on cardstock. It is made on a very small size of paper, forcing you in to see all the incredible detail put into it. A bug has been turned around to replicate a boat or ship with a big cloud of smoke following it. A fish is also merged into the scene, positioned so that it almost makes it look like it’s floating or flying rather than swimming as it would in the real world; showing how odd Ernst style of art could be. The fact that it is so illogical could tie in with the insanity of World War I and his days serving as a soldier.

The Forest, 1927-1928

This particular piece of artwork is not the only one Ernst has created in this way, in fact, he has done multiple forests collages like this one. I chose this one because I found it quite peculiar. The reason for that being the strong contrast between the sky and the trees. It almost looks like the branches are taking over the sky, growing to create a dark overshadowed world. Forests can be seen as scary when they are wearing nothing but a mystery. You don’t know the story each individual tree has gone through, and you don’t know whether or not the tree is thriving or at the end of its days. Nevertheless, the density of these woods make it feel cramped and sort of creepy. Like you could easily get lost in there with no way to find your way out, but would you want to come back out to the real world? It brings up a lot of theories and questions to me, and I enjoy art that has that kind of effect. The circular shape in the upper-middle part of the artwork, to me, almost looks like a pulse of energy. Or maybe it’s a stylistic way of illustrating the way the suns rays shine through the branches. This piece of art is really up to one's individual interpretation; weather you see nothing but odd shapes and colour, or you feel connected to it by somehow relating to it on a personal level, it is very captivating.

Actions:

What can I use this research for?

The way that Max Ernst works with the mediums and genre of collage is interesting. I rarely see collage work nowadays with the amount of precision put into it like he does. A lot of his art looks like paintings; it all looks like it’s meant to fit together; as if it blends together, yet each aspect of it is taken out from somewhere else. I would like to experiment with making collages like that myself; finding things from different resources, putting them together in a way that looks seamless. I think it could be a good challenge because it would most likely give me some valuable understanding and experience, of the process of putting something like the above pieces of artwork together. I myself like to do rough sketching and painting myself, but I have for a long time not been able to do that. I suffer from perfectionism, which comes with its own pros and cons; often it would get in the way for me. I can easily spend 20 hours on one single drawing, perfecting it, being precise with every part of it just like the way Max Ernst cuts out everything with a steady hand and an open mind to then assemble it. So even though I have the patience and need of being precise, trying to replicate his way of working is still going to be a challenge, since I’m not very familiar with working in this genre.

- 

I have now experimented with the style of Max Ernst; 

I took a picture of Kurt Cobain, cropped him out using the polygonal selection tool and a hard eraser brush. I then refined any sharp or uneven edges with an airbrush eraser. Then I did the same thing for the picture of the dog. I placed the dog a layer below the layer of Kurt and blended them into each other. Finally, I did a few value adjustments so they would match a bit better, and I was done with the digital part.

I then printed it out and traced some of the outlines with a fine-liner on tracing paper, adding in additional details and simplifying the overall design.

I really liked working on it. I think I personally prefer Ernst’s style to Höch’s, simply because it has a bigger aspect of realism in it. I would happily do it again! 

[malodorousmalcontent]

Sixteen92 Review

Hi everybody, welcome to my Sixteen92 review, where I feel unnecessarily self-conscious about how many times I describe scents as 'perfumey'.

I've been sitting on these for a good couple... Weeks? Months? I don't know, but a fateful weekend came where I took a look at my exceptionally busy Notes file, and felt very sad, so I figured i'd knock a couple reviews off my list. Work through all this shit I still needed to review. And that brings us here! Hooray.

I'll be reviewing Kuro Lolita, You Who Swallowed a Falling Star, New Radio, Hydromancy, Telepathy, Mellifera, Vlad Dracul, Paper Moon, and An Excellent Day for an Exorcism.

Hold onto yer butts, folks, this one gets pretty long, here we go

KURO LOLITA (PERFUME OIL) || Black sandalwood, burning resins, straw, porcelain, delicate lace, wet stone, fog, wind-blown leaves.

This smells like a cold rainy fall day in a small southern gothic town, encompassed by farmland, with cobblestone streets and dotted with tiny run-down churches. Bales of hay are speckled around the area: leftover decorations from autumn festivities that happened a week or so ago.

...Just had to get that outta my system, onto the stuff that matters!

The first thing I get, punching me in the nose as soon as I put it on, is sandalwood and damp hay. It's a very warm, woody, dusty scent, with just a little bit of sweet acridness that makes me think there's a dry/decaying leaf note in this (I haven't double-checked the notes yet, so I only remember some of them), and enough petrichor to put the 'damp' in there. The burning resin note comes out after about 10 minutes of wear, and, boy, it's unmistakable: Sweet, with a kick, and a good amount of burniness to it. It smells dark. Like you just walked into one'a those imaginary churches and they were performing a sordid ritual in there, the chapel overrun with incense and candles.

Another 15 minutes, and the sandalwood fades, the resins mellow out some, and i'm mostly left with the hay and that gentle sweet smell of decay. The final note I smell on the drydown: leaves and cold, wet atmosphere. Really interesting atmospheric, evokes a lot of mental imagery.

tl;dr: Sandalwood at first, followed by burning, incensey, sweet resin that mellows out to hay and a decaying leaves note that is present throughout the whole wear. Dries down to leaves and cold, wet atmosphere.

RATING: 3.5/5. Nice, a very good atmospheric, but I feel like it's bordering overly complex, with some of the notes getting lost in the mix and my nose feeling a bit confused. I also don't know how much i'll want to really wear it.

--

YOU WHO SWALLOWED A FALLING STAR (PERFUME OIL) || Dark stone fruits, glowing embers, night rose, sweet sandalwood, plum blossom.

Oh, smells like rock candy.

So this is sitting on a weird edge for me. See, "stone fruit" (peach) notes tend to not work on me more often than not: they go acrid in this terrible, burning bodily fluid kinda way, and this... This is sitting juuuust on the edge of that. It's sharp and tart and kinda heady, rounded out by that rock-candy sweetness (which i'm 90% certain is frankincense. Source: I have a bag of pure frankincense), and just like... It's thinking about being a burny bile scent. But not quite. Nooot quite. There's a smooth, perfumey floral undercurrent to this, too. Lots of smells goin' on at once.

The drydown is basically lush, smooth, perfumey, rich-as-hell flowers, with a slight sourness to 'em. It's actually very pretty, that rose is killin' it. I don't get the threat of burning bile anymore, or the rock candy. It's a little humid-smelling, too - a great summer night scent.

tl;dr: Bright stone fruit and powdery, rock-candy-like incense which fades to lush, smooth florals.

RATING: 3/5. Well made, but i'm not big on how the top notes play out at all.

--

NEW RADIO (PERFUME OIL) || Vanilla milkshake accord, maraschino cherry, pink lemonade, grass clippings, waffle cone.

So, full disclosure, I had no interest in this scent. I saw it and went, woof, that sounds way too bright and sweet and youthful for me, and passed it over time and time again. I ended up getting it as a free sample when I ordered some of those Sea Salt Hair Sprays, and... Wow. I like it way, way more than I thought I would.

In the bottle, it's... Perfect. It's everything. Rich, foody, smooth vanilla; SUPER bright, almost candied, nice n' tart maraschino cherry (this is the note I was most worried about, too, as I don't like cherries - but this note is perfect). The gentlest edge of sour pink lemonade. A perfect, toasty waffle cone, which is honestly one of my favorite scents... I don't get much grass, but I don't need it. In the bottle, it's the perfect summer scent.

You'll notice I keep saying 'in the bottle'.

It touches down on my skin, and lives in that perfect blissful state for about two seconds, and then, boom. My skin absolutely gobbles up most of those wonderful notes. That bright maraschino cherry? Gone. Pink lemonade? Barely there, just giving a bit of a sour zing. All i'm really left with is vanilla and the faintest hints of that waffle cone note. It's absolutely heartbreaking. Like, it still smells good... But, god, not as good as it could. I might get a scent locket for this, though.

Virtually no sillage, but I can smell that vague warm sweetness on my wrist for a pretty good handful of hours.

tl;dr: A delicious, foody, bright, sweet and warm and toasty summer scent that's a dead-ringer for its notes... That my skin devours instantly, leaving only vanilla, a touch of lemonade, and faint breadiness.

RATING: 3/5. This would be a 5/5 if my skin didn't DEVOUR half of it. RIP, beautiful scent.

--

HYDROMANCY (PERFUME OIL) || Fog, cold violet, lichen, ambroxan, mineral accord, petrichor, glass.

This was recommended to me when I went out and asked people for a scent that makes me smell like a ghost, and honestly, this fits the bill pretty well. It's a pretty specific type of ghost, though: the ghost of a waifish maiden who went down with a sinking ship, who you find, suspended frozen above the water, in the air pocket of an underwater cave that she managed to swim to but ultimately starved to death within.

...ANYWAYS

This smells empty, silky, ethereal, dark in a spooky way, and most importantly, pretty darn oceanic and green. The first thing I smell upon putting it on is the lichen and ambroxan, the former being green, sort of dry-smelling (like lichen that's growing just a foot or so above the water, hasn't touched it in a while, y'know), with that weird tang that lichen can have, and the latter giving a very oceanic sweet-saltiness. The mineral accord and petrichor blend really well with the ambroxan note and it genuinely just ends up smelling like very realistic dank cave ocean water.

And then there's the fog and the glass. The Weird Notes.

The fog is less a scent and more a feeling - it makes the entire scent sort of... Soft and fuzzy. It's what's giving it that silky quality. The glass, you can actually smell, and it... Smells like glass, y'all. Cold and clear and giving off a faint sterile scent, but, it's there. Notably, I can only really detect it if I huff so hard that I become anosmic to the ambroxan and lichen, and it comes out more on the dry-down, but. ...Yeah, it's there. Combined with the fog, it's like... The scent equivalent of looking through a window that's become clouded with condensation. If that makes sense.

This doesn't have a ton of sillage - I can just barely detect it from 3 inches away - but wears very strongly on my wrist.

tl;dr: A realistic ocean water scent made fuzzy and silky by a fog note, with a fascinating, realistic glass note that peeks out on the dry-down.

RATING: 4/5. Too oceanic for me, but well made, and that glass note is WILD.

--

TELEPATHY (PERFUME OIL) || Winter narcissus, tonka bean, immortelle flower, sleet, ozone, white amber.

When I first got this, it was basically just straight sleet for the entire wear, and I wasn't wild about it. It was a very realistic sleet note, mind you, but that's not necessarily a good thing: the scent basically smelled cold, bitter, and a little dirty, which is not at all what I had been expecting from the notes.

The good news is, after considerable rest, it's verrrry different.

I put it on, and for the first minute, it's still that dirty sleet note, but then it softens up and out comes the florals - Light and lush and just a little stereotypically perfumey-smelling. It's still a little dirty, which gives the scent some complexity, and there's a gentle undercurrent of something sugary-sweet underneath the florals. This is more... Elegant smelling than I think I expected it to be. I expected it to be light and femme and kinda... Younger-smelling, but the actual scent smells like something a very refined woman in her 40's or 50's might wear.

Looking at the notes, yeah, basically what i'm smelling. Florals from the narcissus and immortelle, sweetness from the tonka bean and probably the white amber, and atmospheric, colder, dirtier notes from the sleet and ozone.

It's very, very light on me - if I huff it too much I quickly become anosmic, and while I was getting a little bit of sillage while it was wet, I have to have my nose pressed to my wrist on the dry-down.

tl;dr: A delicate, perfumey floral with undertones of cold, wet, dirty atmosphere and gentle sugary sweetness.

RATING: 4.5/5. I like this quite a bit. Has depth, but isn't overly complex, and the florals and sweeter notes are so pretty. I'd wear this to something very professional. Docked half a point for being so light, though.

--

MELLIFERA (PERFUME OIL) || Wildflower Honey Accord (not vegan), Violet, Jasmine Sambac, Vanilla Infused Sugar, Sandalwood.

So, i'm not big on honey scents. Unless the honey is very subtle, it can quickly go super overwhelming and cloying to me. Hex's Papa Legba was downright unbearable with how strong and sweet it was.

Mellifera, though, is not!

I mean, it's very honey forward, don't get me wrong, the honey's basically the star of the show, but it's a different kind of honey. It smells... Clearer. Rather than being overwhelmingly sugary-sweet, it's far more floral, with little pinpricks of something kinda sharp and tart and tingly. It's bordering on being kinda cleaning-supply-ish, but it's not quite there. There might be a citrus note in this? That's what i'm basically getting: Clear, gentle honey with a floral edge, and maybe citrus.

Let's CHECK! THOSE! NOTES

Not a LICK of citrus! Go me. The wildflower honey accord explains the quality of the honey, though, and I bet that sharpness that's a little cleaning-supply-ish is the jasmine. The violets are in there, but they're so well-blended with the other floral notes that I wouldn't be able to identify their trademark Purple Burp smell on a blind sniff. I can recognize them now that I know, but seriously, the other florals balance them out so well.

The wildflower and jasmine pinpricks eventually mellow out to a smooth, bright sweetness - a combination of the vanilla and honey, I imagine. I... Still don't get any sandalwood, which makes me sad, 'cause I love sandalwood. :( My wood-gobbling skin strikes again, I guess.

Virtually no sillage - it wears kinda light on my wrist, and I can only smell it from about an inch away.

tl;dr: A clear, floral honey with pinpricks of sharp jasmine that loses its floral edge on the drydown and simply becomes bright-yet-smooth honey and vanilla.

RATING: 3.7/5. Not bad, but the jasmine is just too sharp for me, and I can't see myself wearing it much.

--

VLAD DRACUL (PERFUME OIL) || Carpathian fir needle, red cedar, black amber, black patchouli, scorched earth, opium, blood musk.

This smells like a cologne for someone who dresses in refined clothes but also feasts upon the entrails of freshly-killed deer, so, I guess the name is apt. It's dirty as hell, but in a kind of bright way: like walking around on a very dry fall day through a forest that's all reds and yellows and dry cracked earth with sparse yellow grass. I get a cool airiness from it, and piney freshness, and d i r t. That scorched earth note ain't playin' around. I'm pretty sure that man-stank smell is the blood musk, which is this sorta... Feral, almost pheromonally sweet smell? But it's not bad or actually stinky, just kinda hanging out under the atmospherics.

On the drydown I get a resinous, very light sweetness, I assume that's the opium and/or the black amber, and the atmospheric notes are still there, most notably that scorched earth, but way subtler. It's warm and smooth and just... Prettier than I expected it to be, given the way it started.

tl;dr: A fall atmospheric that's distinguished by its scorched earth note and a sort of pheromonal, feral musk. Dries down to light resinous sweetness and that scorched earth note.

RATING: 4/5.

--

PAPER MOON (PERFUME OIL) || Soft vanilla musk, benzoin, oakmoss, trailing ivy, peach blossom, rose.

Mmmm, this is delicious. It's so sweet and mellow with the prettiest, smoothest florals. The vanilla musk is the strongest thing in this, humid and sweet, with a super well-blended floral edge. The florals are kinda perfumey-smelling, but the rose doesn't go overly chemical, is just lush and smooth, and the peach blossom is soft and delicate. I've never encountered benzoin before, so i'm not entirely sure what it smells like, but The Internet says it's a warm and sweet note - I bet it's part of what i'm reading as the vanilla musk. I keep sniffing this looking for the ivy or oakmoss, but honestly, i'm not smelling anything that hits me as particularly green.

The most morphing it does on the dry-down is that the florals mellow out some, but otherwise, it stays largely the same. It wears close to the skin, but is strong on my wrist.

tl;dr: A warm, humid vanillic sweetness with a floral edge that's lush and perfumey from the rose and soft and delicate from the peach blossom.

RATING: 4.7/5. An EENSY bit too perfumey for me, but that's about it.

--

AN EXCELLENT DAY FOR AN EXORCISM (PERFUME OIL) || Cathedral incense, black clove, burned parchment, tarnished silver, sacred woods.

Woods. Strong, evergreen woods, with a surprisingly light airiness to them - a real nice cold air note, i'm assuming. Genuinely makes the scent smell cool. The woods are strong and perfumey, which puts them a hair off realistic, but I also get that fresh, sap-sticky (I love that term pardon me for using it across reviews), slightly bitter mintiness that smells very much like the real thing.

I have, literally, NO idea what the notes in this are at the time that i'm writing this, apart from a tarnished silver note - which I think might be part of the cool airiness of the scent, i'm not sure. If I had to take a wild guess, i'd say that there's... Woods, resins, maybe a floral giving that perfumey nature, and some kinda cold air/ozonic note.

Here we go, let's take a peek at zee notes

...Wow, I was way off. At least I got the woods and the cathedral incense must be what i'm reading as resins, and is probably the source of the perfumey-ness, and, by process of elimination, the silver note must be what's making it so cold. The burnt parchment and black clove come out a couple hours into the drydown, giving this a tingly, burning quality, and a good bit of sharpness. The sweetness of the incense rounds it out nicely.

Doesn't have a lot of sillage, but says strong on my wrist.

tl;dr: Perfumey incense, fresh woods, and a cold and clear silver note that dries down to a burning, sharp smell that's still accompanied by the sweetness of the incense.

RATING: 3.5/5. Not bad, I love that silver note, but gets too sharp on the dry-down.

[megastarstrike]

Playing Detective

@saioumaexchange gift for recipient #77, who asked for “ a hanahaki disease fanfic! like shuichi or kokichi has the disease. or pregame kokichi and shuichi or both????” I was your pinchhitter and im not too familiar with pregame so i just chose to go with hanahaki. hope you enjoy your gift!

CW: kind of graphic imagery? not really but i thought it was worth noting

Kokichi Ouma was not stupid. Sure, there was that one time he bumped straight into a pole after one too many all-nighters, last year when he got sick and refused to visit the nurse until he collapsed in the middle of class, or a few months ago when he was helping Angie with art and accidentally drank out of the paint cup, but he definitely wasn’t stupid.

But after watching his close friend run to the bathroom, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was missing something.

Kokichi stared at the chair in front of him where Shuuichi once sat, twirling the straw in his drink absentmindedly. They had been studying together (and by studying, he meant talking while having books out) when Shuuichi suddenly shot up from his chair and darted to the bathroom without a word. How urgent was his issue if he didn’t so much as excuse himself from the table?

Moments later, Shuuichi returned to his seat and offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Wow, do you really think my face is so ugly you had to vomit?” Kokichi said. Tears welled in his eyes. “You’re so mean, Shuuichi! I thought you loved me!”

“I-I didn’t—”

Kokichi dropped his act when Shuuichi burst into a round of coughs. All he could do was bite his tongue and hold the other’s hand, hoping that his presence would be reassurance enough.

Once the coughs stopped, Shuuichi spoke again with his lips pursed and brows furrowed into a painful expression. “I must be getting sick. Don’t worry about me.”

It felt like a lie, but it clearly wasn’t. Was it a half-truth? Or was it not a truth at all?

“Nishishi! I would never worry about you,” Kokichi laughed.

“Ah… right.” He averted his eyes and lowered his head to scan through the textbook in his hands, not noticing that the book was upside-down.

“... You know that was a lie, right?”

Shuuichi gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it, Kokichi.”

Yet Kokichi worried.

*

All the tissues in the classroom had run out despite it not being flu season. People shot Shuuichi pitiful looks. Sounds of retching in the bathroom weren’t uncommon. Everything was suspicious, but perhaps the most suspicious was Shuuichi running out of the classroom with no warning and the teacher letting him do so.

Kokichi frowned.

Shuuichi never missed class if he could help it. If he suddenly ran out of the classroom without even letting the teacher know first, something must be seriously wrong.

He nudged the person to his right. “Pst, Miu, you think Shuuichi’s skipping class?”

Much to his delight, Miu didn’t care enough about the class to ignore someone talking to her. “You really think that weak ass emo has the guts to skip class? You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Then what else do you propose, Miss I-Forgot-My-Invention-To-An-Invention-Fair?”

“Okay, that was one time. Also, where do you think all that vomiting is from, the fucking sky?”

“That was two times and you know it.”

“Ouma, Iruma, please pay attention,” the teacher called, bringing their conversation to a close (though they would continue to kick each other under the table until class ended).

If that wasn’t confirmation that Shuuichi was sick, Kokichi didn’t know what was. Vomiting meant the sickness must be serious, and the sheer amount of tissues he went through meant the symptoms were frequent. He didn’t have any medical training other than two health classes he was forced to take in junior high, but he didn’t need any to know that this illness was taking a toll on his friend.

So Kokichi made preparations.

*

“So you’re telling me you want me to distract Shuuichi while you lockpick and investigate his room, violate his privacy, and find who knows what in there?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Maybe Rantarou wasn’t the right person to assist him in morally gray activities, but he was the only person who Kokichi trusted could keep his mouth shut and trusted him back.

“You can’t just, you know, ask Shuuichi what’s wrong?” Rantarou asked.

Kokichi scoffed. “You really think Shuuichi’s gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Right, good point.” He hummed and tapped his fingers against the wall. “I’ll do it, but if Shuuichi asks me what’s going on, I’m answering honestly.”

“Don’t worry, he’s already used to me snooping around his stuff.”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

*

Shuuichi paused. “Kokichi’s totally going through my room right now, isn’t he?”

Rantarou hesitated but eventually sighed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, sorry for not telling you sooner. Just thought it would be for the greater good.”

“It’s fine. He won’t find anything anyway.”

“... You expected this, didn’t you?”

Shuuichi shot him a weak smile before bursting into another round of coughs.

*

Lockpicking wasn’t the hard part. Kokichi had been doing that since he knew what a lock was. The hard part was Shuuichi being a clever bastard and cleaning his room in anticipation for the inevitable.

Looks like Shuuichi’s learned something from me, Kokichi mused as he shut the door behind him.

The floor, while usually riddled with loose papers and pencils, was cleaner than Kokichi thought a floor could ever be. The blankets on the bed were set in an almost robotic neatness, and the desk was cleared of everything. If Kokichi didn’t know better, he would have assumed the room was abandoned.

But Kokichi had another trick up his sleeve. He unzipped the backpack slumped next to the desk, only to see normal books and school supplies.

His heart fluttered. Shuuichi really knew him well.

Kokichi looked down into the empty trash can nearby and frowned. Trash was only taken out once a week on Sundays. As conscious of himself as he was, there was no way Shuuichi could make it through more than a few days without so much of a tissue in the trash can. So where else would he hide it?

Under the bed. Of course, he would cram it under the bed.

Kokichi took a deep breath, preparing himself to find anything before lifting the mattress the slightest bit.

The smell of dry blood and traces of vomit smacked his nose immediately. Flattened tissue boxes were scattered underneath the bed in a pile of bloodied tissues and flowers. It felt as if he had walked straight into a dumping ground for a hospital, only the dumping ground would be much less disgusting than what was under the bed.

Despite all his instincts screaming at him to set the mattress back down and run away from the horrid smell and sight, Kokichi reached under the bed and took out the cleanest flower he spotted. He turned it over in his hand, frowning at the traces of blood and a faint hint of vomit on the petals.

The original petal color appeared to be a dark purple. Petals were bunched up in the middle and slowly decreased in frequency as it reached the outer edges of the flower. A short, green stem protruded from the flower, though it wasn’t tall enough for him to hold it by the stem.

Judging by the blood and vomit still present on the flower and Shuuichi’s frequent bathroom trips, he had most likely been throwing them up. But why would he be throwing up flowers? What kind of medical condition would warrant that?

As much as he wanted to solve everything without explicit outside help, there was no way Kokichi could identify the flower or the condition online without giving personal information to someone he didn’t trust.

So he stuffed the flower inside his scarf, made a mental note to wash his clothes soon, and left the room as he had found it.

*

“When are you gonna tell him?”

Shuuichi blinked, caught off guard by the question. He turned towards the concerned face and gave her a smile, though it didn’t seem to ease any of her worries. “Don’t worry about it, Kaede. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Everything will be even finer if you just tell him what’s up with you.”

He had to admit that was true. But just because it was true didn’t mean he had to follow it.

“I’m sure he can figure it out on his own,” Shuuichi said. His smile grew warmer. “He’s one of the smartest people I know, after all.”

Kaede frowned. “You’re just avoiding having to have the talk, aren’t you?”

“... Maybe.”

*

Kokichi slammed the plastic bag containing the flower onto the table in front of him, and he was suddenly grateful he hadn’t decided to procrastinate his hygiene. “What’s this flower?”

The girl sitting across from him gave him an exasperated sigh. “Kokichi, you’re my friend, but you can’t just interrupt my anime binge sessions. I planned this session out weeks ahead of time.”

“Aw, pwease, Tsumugi? Pwease help your wittle buddy out,” Kokichi whined, summoning tears to his eyes.

“Oh my god. Never speak like that again.”

“Only if you help me out.”

“Fine, fine.” Tsumugi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before picking up the bag, investigating every detail. Her face brightened. “Oh, this looks like a purple carnation! There was this one anime where—”

“Booooring. You know a medical condition where people throw up flowers?”

Her eyes drooped. “Oh. That’s more depressing. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yeah, sure. Can’t be any worse than what Miu says every day.”

“Hanahaki disease.”

Kokichi furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. “Hanahaki disease? Isn’t that only in fiction?”

“It’s typically portrayed in fiction because it’s rare in real life,” Tsumugi said, “The victim needs to hold a strong love for someone they seemingly don’t have a chance with. But the strong love needs to be as intense as the belief that their love is unrequited, and that’s the part that gets the majority of the population. Symptoms are coughing, vomiting flowers, stuff like that. The flowers tend to represent who the victim loves.” Her gaze turned sharp. “Are you suggesting there’s someone at our school with hanahaki disease?”

“Pfff, what? No way,” Kokichi said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. “Can’t a man be curious?”

She poked his cheek. “It’s plain to see you suspect someone of having hanahaki. Is it Shuuichi?”

“... Maybe.”

“It totally is. I’ve noticed it, too.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Someone as boring as me can observe people without being suspicious,” Tsumugi said. Her gaze fell on the flower. “Purple carnations mean capriciousness. I’m certain you can take it from there.”

Kokichi bit his thumb, deep in thought. It was scary how much Tsumugi knew about the situation, but he had already suspected she knew something; She was the person he went to for help, after all. If everything she said was true, that would mean Shuuichi loved somebody enough to contract hanahaki disease. But who could that person be?

Tsumugi frowned. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me you still don’t know who it is.”

“Yeah, I totally know who it is. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s when I worry most. But fine. Tell me who it is.”

“It’s definitely… I lied. I have no clue who it is.”

She sighed and rested her elbows on the table separating them. “Think about it. The flowers are purple, and they match a specific kind of dark purple that matches the hair color of somebody in our class. There’s only a few people in our class who match the definition of capricious, only one that prides himself on being that. You’ve been playing detective for long enough.”

Kokichi analyzed the clues one by one before it clicked. “Wait… you’re telling me that Shuuichi likes me? So I was the one hurting him all this time?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that—”

“I can’t believe that bastard didn’t even tell me I was hurting him. He didn’t even tell me he had this disease! Why would—”

Tsumugi grabbed his sleeve. “Stop right there. You’re not one to jump to conclusions, and you’re not gonna jump to one now. Who are you, Kaito?”

Kokichi stopped, his face blanking.

Her voice softened. “I know you’re worried about Shuuichi, but you need to calm down before you confront him, or you could send him into a panic. Make a plan first. You like making plans, right?”

He nodded.

“Then make a plan, think about it, and then go confront him. It’s plain to see you care about him a lot. Don’t mess this up.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Now get out of my room. I still have anime to watch.”

Even though all the strength had left his body, Kokichi mustered up a smile and saluted her. “Aye, aye, captain. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

*

It was two days later when Kokichi finished planning and moved onto the execution.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” Shuuichi said, looking up at the blue skies ahead of them. “I really needed to get out for a while.”

Kokichi turned back around to him with his arms folded behind his head. “Of course, you do. How long have you been cooped up in your room?”

He laughed, but his voice was devoid of humor.

They walked into the courtyard and took a seat on a bench, chatting as they watched the water fountain stream endlessly. Birds chirped in the background, and to Kokichi’s relief, no students were nearby. The grass beneath their feet was wet with dew from the rain yesterday. It was the perfect atmosphere to put Shuuichi at ease.

Step one completed.

Kokichi licked his lips, steeling himself for a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have. “Hey, Shuuichi, you mind explaining something to me?”

Shuuichi tensed. “Wh-What do you need?”

Step two completed.

Kokichi’s voice caught in his throat. His mouth moved, but no words could come out. So he pulled the bag containing the flower out from his scarf and held it out to him. His gaze moved up to meet his eyes, and his voice fell to a whisper. “What is this?”

“I-I…” Shuuichi’s eyes darted from the flower to Kokichi and back to the flower. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his breath grew unsteady.

Then Kokichi’s plan fell apart when Shuuichi began to cry.

“I-I’m sorry!” Shuuichi sobbed, holding his face in his hands, “I’m so sorry!”

Shit. What was he supposed to do?

Kokichi scooted closer to him and held onto his wrists, prying his hands away from his face. “Shuuichi…”

“I knew you would figure it out. I just didn’t want to tell you myself because I’m a coward.”

“Shuuichi, no—”

“You shouldn’t be comforting me, you should hate me for—for keeping this from you for so long.”

“So how long have you been keeping this from me?”

Shuuichi took a deep, shaky breath and dared to meet his eyes. “Um… a month?”

“A month?”

“Yes. Then it just got worse and worse from there. L-Like I said, I’m really sorry for not telling you. I should’ve just told you from the beginning, but…”

Kokichi reached up to wipe a stray tear on Shuuichi’s face. “Shuuichi, it’s okay. It’s really okay.”

“No, it’s—”

“These flowers are for me, right?”

Shuuichi gulped and nodded.

“Then if I say it’s fine, then it’s fine.” Kokichi gave him a gentle smile and flicked the top of his head. “I thought you would be smart enough to know that. That’s one of the reasons I fell for you, after all.”

Shuuichi’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened. “Wait… you like me? You’re not lying?”

“Jeez, you really have that little faith in me? Would I lie about something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch.”

“But… you’re not lying now, are you?”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “I literally tell you that I love you, I broke into your room to figure out what was wrong with you, and I’m here now. Take a wild guess, Shuuichi.”

“To be fair, you do that every day.”

Kokichi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… Oh!” Shuuichi laughed. “How did I not see that until now? God, I’m stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

“But I still love you anyway,” Kokichi purred, wrapping Shuuichi into an embrace. “I love you, Shuu-i-chi~”

“Y-You really mean that? You really mean that. Oh my god, you love me.” He backed out of the hug, sniffing and wiping the tears away from his eyes.

“Aw, are you crying?”

“I—” Shuuichi doubled over, coughing and hacking as bloodied flowers spilled out onto the sidewalk. The pile grew larger with each cough, seemingly endless until a pitiful final petal floated down.

Kokichi wrinkled his nose at the pile. “Really? That’s how much you love me? That’s a shame.”

“H-Hey, it hurt.”

“I know, I’m just joking.” He stood up from the bench and held a hand out. “Now that we’re boyfriends, we should go prank the nurse!”

Shuuichi’s face reddened at the title, but his lips curled up into a smile. “Is this your way of getting me to go to the nurse?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Shuuichi took the hand and stood up, though he only held it tighter when they began walking. He planted a kiss on the side of Kokichi’s head. “I’m glad you’re my boyfriend.”

Kokichi froze before jumping into action and swatting his face away from his head. “Ew, gross! At least wash your mouth out before kissing me. You didn’t even clean up that mess you left back there.”

“... Oh, I didn’t—”

“Let’s go to the nurse first. I don’t want to look at that again.”

Shuuichi turned around to glance at the pile of blood and flowers then turned back to Kokichi with a smile. “Me neither.”

[theoriesontheory]

The Making of - ‘Disney’s Hyperfantasia’ - Sal Viejo

How do you (or I) write a cathartic song? The more I look at this question the more it becomes increasingly simple and complicated in my mind. On one hand, I know how to do it. I’ve done it for three years as Sal Viejo, listened to cathartic music from other bands and watched performances that sent waves of catharsis through the room. You just do it. On the other hand, saying “you (or I) just do it” is an answer that is unsatisfying, and I know that there have been times where I have been unable to write a cathartic song where the advice “just do it” would have sent me into a rage. So, I decided to write a cathartic song, as I have done before but this time, using autoethnographic research methods, explore my process not only documenting what I was doing but reflecting on the parts of my real life that went into the song.

Catharsis as a feeling is difficult to define, especially from an academic perspective. An interesting note from some of my reading into music therapy is that the music we listen to shapes our lives and experience. (Barnes, 2013) Continuing from this idea, Barnes points out a case where a neuropsychologist was struggling down the side of a mountain with a broken leg and eleviated some of the mental strain and pain by focusing on a song. (ibid.) Looking specifically for references to catharsis I found an explanation of the phenomenon in a film text, “Catharsis is Aristotle’s term for the experience of audiences at the end of tragedy – overwhelming feelings of sorrow, pity, or some other strong emotions caused by the representation of tragic and piteous events… Aristotle and most of his commentators agree that catharsis, whatever it is, occurs to the beneficial effect of the audience.” (Plantinga, 2009) I feel that mainstream media has changed the meaning of the cathartic experience, in that rather than leaving stories on tragic endings, the trend is to send the crowd home happy. There has been a trend in media to end stories on more tragic notes recently, in my view closer to how things end in real life, Breaking Bad is a great recent example. Tying the two ideas together now, when looking for information on catharsis through music, there proved to be some gaps in the literature. There are discussions of how works have been performed in contexts that have made them cathartic, (Ansari, 2013) how communities use musicking to cope with their economic and social stresses (Stamatis, 2015) and even how music is being used in physiotherapy sessions, showing the role of psychology in pain treatment and management. (le Roux, 1998) My approach to this question hinges on creating a song that provides some level of catharsis, either for me or the listener. Despite my reading, coming to a clear and understood definition of catharsis seems difficult and thus, I think it makes sense to g to the original, Aristotelian definition as provided by Plantinga, overwhelming feelings at the end of a tragedy.

My understanding of autoethnography as a research method comes from some time considering it in the course of my honours and masters study up to this point. One of the core elements that draws me to it is my understanding that at the core of the research is the individual and their creative work (in the context of creative autoethnographic projects). Adams, Jones and Elis describe autoethnography as practice that; uses a researchers personal experience in describing and critiquing culture, acknowledges and values the reasearchers relationships, uses reflexivity – reflecting on the way the individual interacts with the world, shows “people in the process of figuring out what to do, how to live, and the meaning of their struggles”, balances emotional and intellectual work and strives to make the world better. (2014)

I was inspired to write in this way by David Carless whose paper Throughness was the first autoethnographic study of song writing that I came across. In reviewing the literature there were many papers focused on performance or composition of art music pieces but when looking for contemporary song writing used as autoethnography the field was sparse. In this paper Carless asks many of the same questions I face myself,

“How do we write songs as qualitative research? What kinds of processes matter when writing a song? What can we do to support and nurture these processes? What might we draw upon when writing songs about our own or another’s life? And how is it that culture, politics and personal biography can become so powerfully entwined in a song?” (2018)

In answering these questions Carless submits a series of Diary entries that they call a story that details the specific moments where the creation of the song was happening as well as their personal reflection on their own song writing process. In a similar way, I have been drawing from a journal I use specifically to write thoughts I have when I am in a negative mental headspace for lyrics and ideas and building songs up around them. Unlike Carless’ work, I will be covering not only the song writing process but also the process of cutting together a demo version of the song for release on Bandcamp. In putting together my story I will be including transcriptions of events based on my personal notes and my memory, images from my journal and other writing and personal reflections, some of which will touch on themes of self-harm, depression, and suicide. Please read in a safe mental place and look after yourself. If you need help, please seek it:

Lifeline: 13 11 14 Beyond Blue: 1300224636 Suicide Call Bank Service 1300659467 Process: In late July of 2021 I found myself experimenting with chords in open D after having uploaded a cover of Hot Mulligan’s I Fell in Love with Princess Peach. Open D feels like such a powerful tuning, so easy to get big brash sounds. I have been avoiding writing in alternate tunings because the idea of tuning on stage stresses me out, but I have a show coming up and want to play that Hot Mulligan cover to impress someone I think might be there so to justify the tuning I figured I would try and write another song using it.

I always have way more chords or instrumental parts for songs before I have lyrics. I find that I will often even have a vague melody line that I can hum or make random syllables around while I play the parts on my guitar. I have been trying to just say the first thing that comes to mind, trusting the part of my brain that knows what good lyrics sound like to figure something out under pressure, but I have found this process works best with some stimulation.

My mental health is something I have struggled with, largely in silence for my life, since probably my mid to late teens. I was on medication for a while, it didn’t go so well (see twelve) and since then have been trying to come to terms with my mental health through mindfulness, mediation, and introspection. PLEASE NOTE I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL AND DO NOT ADVISE THIS. GO AND SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP BEFORE UNDERTAKING ANY CHANGES TO MEDICATION OR TREATMENT. One way I have done this is by having a specific journal to write in on nights where I feel I am having particularly negative thoughts, the idea being that when I have these thoughts, I find they tend to circulate inside my head and writing them down is a way that I can get them out of my head. Additionally, it allows me to go back and reflect on the patterns of thinking and try and figure out where they come from. On one night, I’m going to guess late June, early July based on my memory I was having negative thoughts that led me to write down this across two pages

Transcription: Im sick of all my friends being worried.

No matter how hard I try I can’t see what comes next Static the cards the stars everything Static

I wish I could still dream, maybe I could if there was a future to see

Why do I keep seeing myself in a carcrash?

When I drive around at night I think about driving into the side of the road. Not really thinking about it but it just happening. I feel Like I’ve done it. I feel like I am doing it. It’s beautiful, its silent. I am calm. No more thinking.

I DON’T WANT TO DIE YET (the word “breathe” is written five times through the lines underneath the statement)

One day at a time -Next Page- (a crude single line drawing of a sunset over an ocean above the margin)

I clearly need to go talk to someone

Most of the time i feel like I look normal –

Everyone is suffering, its easier to pretend Its harder to tell the people you love youreinpainbecausetheycant… (I can’t read what I wrote) Head feels like static

Trying to fill the noise Beniah knows too

Amy asked if I was doing ok I said yes I don’t think she believes me anymore I hate the Look in their Eyes when they See me Everyone knows youre sick Can’t have them know… (I can’t read what I wrote) I think Im doing ok now

I feel like I am good at adjusting to how I feel. Didn’t go for a drive

Remembering parts of this night I know that I didn’t write all of this at once. The first page was written largely at the same time, the second page in bursts, idea by idea, sometimes writing new ideas in and around older ones, writing more frantically. I feel like there are two stories being told here, on the first page, an internal negative feeling, I have never told anyone about the car thing until releasing this song. The second page, the negative feelings growing and being self-aware about wanting to appear ok around my friends and housemates and feeling that pressure.

So now I had a couple of pages of personal emotional outpourings, some chords that I like the sound of and a quest to make a song cathartic. More important to me than how cathartic the song is, as with all my song writing, is that it was honest so in sorting through my scribblings I wanted to put together an accurate representation of my mind at the time. I first jotted down what felt like the most unique imagery to me, the false memories of being in a car crash and coming to terms with that. I am not sure what it means, but it is scary at times. I thought that because it is such a unique experience that detailing might be an interesting part of the song and thus the pre-chorus and chorus were put together. I had the melody of the chorus on a voice memo on my phone when working on the guitar part and I remember thinking to myself, for such happy chords the melody was lending itself to something almost being howled out, it felt like a question almost. After I had written the pre-chorus and chorus the next thing that felt natural to do was to frame the response to that statement which is the second verse. Reflecting on the pages, a lot of my worries on the second page seemed focused on how my friends and the ones I care about perceive me. I think this is a common feeling for people who struggle with their mental health and something that I am less concerned with when I am not in a negative mental space. The lyricism in the second verse is intentionally a little frantic, I wanted it to mimic in a small way how my mind can jump from idea to idea. I always find opening songs difficult; I think it’s important as a songwriter to have an impactful first few lines, especially in a song that is being made with the intent of an emotional experience in listening to it. I decided to borrow the writing style from some of my favourite US mid-western emo bands who often frame difficult to swallow truths in upbeat melodic phrasing and whimsical turns of phrase. A quite extreme example can be heard on The Front Bottoms’ “Father” which opens with some quite graphic imagery and is about the lead singers strained and complex relationship with his father, but I have seen people cheer and sing and dance along when the song is played live. And so, I decided to be very honest about the background of the feelings, maintaining some semblance of the narrative that I am ok while showing really that I am not, heading into the pre-chorus. The bridge was the last section to come together, both musically and lyrically. The rest of the piece was pretty much put together and being fine polished as far as vocal phrase lengths and how I would play the guitar part. The lyrics for the bridge started as what could have been a verse, describing the images but I decided that the pre-chorus was a more functional way of doing that, introducing the idea in a semi-palatable way. I knew I would close the song with the bridge (potentially put a chorus at the end) and decided to add some weight to the end of the work, almost like a Shakespearian tragedy, everyone dies at the end. I don’t think I make it feel like there is death at the end of the piece but the way I stack the layers of the pre-chorus and bridge sections before cutting right at the end to the first line of the pre-chorus was designed to add to the emotional impact at the end. Initially the guitar part for the bridge was more complex, I wanted to try and show that I was a good guitar player and had been practicing. This led me to retuning the guitar to Open D to come up with a pretty and impressive riff. I had a few ideas but in the context of playing solo and recording a demo I want the core guitar part, the part I play, to be something that I can do while I sing and give an overall engaged performance, which I’m not quite good enough to do with impressive guitar bits yet.

Lyrics: I feel well adjusted, sometimes I feel fine, or I lie which I know I shouldn’t do to my friends But we all pretend, because it’s easier than admitting how scared we are Have I told you about the weird thing that happened the other night in my car?

I’ve been seeing pictures, almost like memories in my head Of me losing control, on the free way And it plays in slow motion And the strangest thing about it to me always is

I don’t scream I don’t scream

I know I worry you, I’m worried too don’t think I want to die yet Look at the sunset, take a deep breath, hold on for one more day I’m ok, that’s what I say but I don’t think you believe me Static on the TV, looks like my tea leaves, Don’t worry about me

I’ve been seeing pictures, almost like memories in my head Of me losing control, on the free way And it plays in slow motion But the strangest thing about it to me always is

I don’t scream I don’t scream I don’t scream I don’t scream

As I watch bumper meet divider, Sparks and metal fly up Into the night sky I wonder how it would feel I wonder how it feels to…

As I watch bumper meet divider, I’ve been seeing pictures, Sparks and metal fly up almost like memories in my head Into the night sky of me losing control I wonder how it would feel on the freeway I wonder how it feels to… And it plays in slow motion But the strangest thing about it to me always is

As I watch bumper meet divider, I don’t Scream Sparks and metal fly up Into the night sky I wonder how it would feel I don’t scream I wonder how it feels to…

I’ve been seeing pictures, almost like memories in my head

Once the song was structured, I began practicing it, getting ready to cut a demo to put out into the world. In practicing it, I found the song easier to engage with on some days rather than other. I make recordings of me playing new songs so I can remember how they go at later dates but also to watch back and think about melodic choices and I found on one particular day while I could technically perform the song ok, I know I had played it better in the past. I have this relationship with most of the Sal Viejo songs that are about hard things from my life. I can perform most of them at the drop of a hat, but I know the performance is better when I am in the right mental place. I find it is a fine balance between being where you were during those hard times, but still able to perform. I feel like ‘Sal Viejo’ almost acts like a mediator sometimes, an outside observer who can sing about these things because they didn’t live through them, they saw them happen.

Heading into the day of recording I was a little stressed. Not only was I recording something still pretty fresh with the intention of sharing it to the world, but I also had just moved, had just gotten out of quarantine due to a secondary covid contact, was working a new job and had lots of uni work to do. I started the day by going and getting a coffee, thinking about the song as I went on my morning walk. My thoughts were mostly about the melody, the chords, the rhythm but also, I was beginning to make some mental adjustments to get me to the place I felt like I needed to be. When I got home, I had the intention of going slowly, setting up at my own pace and warming up but I felt the compulsion to just get it done. I started with guitar tracking, taking a signal from a mic set up near the body of the guitar and a line from the guitar, through an acoustic reverb pedal. It was during the guitar tracking process that I realised I had to simplify the line in the bridge. To get the timing right, I was playing to a metronome and singing to myself to figure out where the chord hits were and realised that I couldn’t actually play the part and sing, making it useless for live shows. After I finished the guitar did a quick mix and took lunch. I decided that I would try some vocals, but I didn’t know how they would go. I started singing and quickly realised that the phrasing would prove difficult and so I would have to punch in some of the sections. I found this really challenging because a part of the emotional engagement with the song comes from singing whole phrases, not just particular lines. What I decided to do was do multiple, full length takes, each one hitting the entrance of a section and cut it together. This meant that I could stay in the right emotional place while performing for recording and worry about the engineering side later. I wanted the mix to be fairly transparent for the demo, wanting people to hear the emotion and the story without too much distraction. I cut the vocals together and did a mix that I felt like let the vocals pierce through enough while still feeling tied to the guitar. There is a charm in the small amounts of string buzz and mic popping in the demo for me, in the mixing process I tried to get rid of some of it but decided that macro level edits would take away some of the human delivery. One decision I did make at this point was editing the lryics. The original lyric in the bridge was, “I wonder how it would feel, I wonder how it feels to die” I thought that the impact of that phrase would be increased if that word was censored, as subtly as possible but in a way that leaves listeners hanging on what the end of the phrase is. There are clues in the rhyming structure and content around it and you can figure it out if you listen to it, also I don’t know that I necessarily want a song in the world where I am explicitly asking what death feels like, I don’t know that I am at that level of openness as a songwriter yet.

In the rush of creative energy, I also cut a DIY, proof of concept music video which I attached the master of the song to which can be watched and heard here.

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Reflections: Digging into my song writing process has proved an interesting and at times challenging experience. In many ways I think I was fortunate to already have the bones of the song together before I started approaching the writing and making of the song as research as I don’t know that I could have been as honest in my lyricism knowing that I might have to explain where it came from. One observation I made is, through digging through the emotional distress that lies at the heart of this song, I found myself having cathartic emotional responses, forcing myself to consider where my songs come from. Also, as I practiced I found that having the research idea and the goal of catharsis beneficial as I made performance choices. I am unsure whether or not I have definitively answered the question, ‘how does one write a cathartic song?’ But in conducting this autoethnographic study of my process of writing a song with catharsis in mind I think I have answered, here is one way that I can do it.

References:

Adams, T. E., Holman, J. S., & Ellis, C. (2014). Autoethnography. ProQuest Ebook Central

Ansari, E., A. (2013) “Vindication, cleansing, catharsis, hope”: interracial reconciliation and the dilemmas of multiculturalism in Kay and Dorr’s Jubilee (1976). American Music, 31 (4), https://go-gale-com.saeezproxy.idm.oclc.org/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=T002&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&hitCount=1&searchType=AdvancedSearchForm&currentPosition=1&docId=GALE%7CA401094780&docType=Critical+essay&sort=RELEVANCE&contentSegment=ZEAI-MOD1&prodId=EAIM&pageNum=1&contentSet=GALE%7CA401094780&searchId=R1&userGroupName=saeinstitute&inPS=true

Barnes, H. (Ed.). (2013). Arts activism, education, and therapies : Transforming communities across africa. ProQuest Ebook Central

 Carless, D. (2018). “Throughness”: A Story About Songwriting as Auto/Ethnography. Qualitative Inquiry, 24(3), 227–232. https://doi.org/10.1177/1077800417704465

le Roux, F. (1998). Music: A new intergrated model in physiotherapy. South African Journal of Physiotherapy, 54(2), 10-11. doi:https://doi.org/10.4102/sajp.v54i2.593

Plantinga, C. (2009). Moving viewers : American film and the spectator's experience. ProQuest Ebook Central

[ikuyeah]

Lucky Us

Fandom: Aikatsu Stars! Ship: AkoKana, Kanako. Implied SubaYume (onesided?). Summary: After the Christmas live, Ako comes to the realisation that her feelings for Kanata aren’t as simple as annoyance and exasperation. Kanata, on the other hand, knows all about his crush on Ako, he just sort of assumed she’d never turn her head away from Subaru. 

In short, they’re both very very wrong.

Comments: Big thanks to @crimson-shell who was basically the biggest and only supporter of this fic. XD

Dress Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/548946642072537690/ Song Credit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LMo9lyoiWM

- Side: S4 -

Ako scratched frustratedly at the words scrawled across the page in hasty pencil. She’d gotten the inspiration to write a song after the Christmas Live. The tune, a slower kind of melancholic song than she was used to as a Pop Idol, had tons of instrumental breaks for simple dances that she could improve on when she got to the choreography stage. “If I want to break through, I have to try new things, right?” She muttered to herself, brushing away the eraser shavings and staring at the line she’d written initially during the climax of the song.

That someone is…

“Anata.” She sang. With a sigh, she set aside her pencil, she wasn’t going to get that done. Not when she couldn’t remember what brought the revelation on in the first place. It must have been pretty huge.

Ako’s eyes widen. “Right, M4 is going to debut for their solo careers.” Remembering that conversation she had with Kanata still made her face heat up with embarrassment.

But, before he cut in - he called her bad girl, really, she can’t quite believe he’d said that to her face either - she remembered wondering just when she’d started worrying about Kira Kanata.

As a fan of M4, she fancied herself fairly knowledgeable of its other members besides Subaru who she knew like the back of her hand. It’s how she knew who Mahiru was, she’s a walking database after all. But, she’ll be the first to admit that Kanata was the member she had liked least. She’d thought he was kind of boring, clearly the straight man of the group who tolerated no nonsense. The fact that he’d immediately called her out on her crush on Subaru only fanned the flames of her dislike.

When those flames of dislike died down to become mutual respect and sometimes even support was such a slow and natural progression that it shocked Ako when she found the flames all gone.

One question remained, what did it mean?

Ako put her feelings for Subaru on one side of the back of the sheet.

Infatuation.

Admiration.

Awe.

And next to it, she wrote a column for her feelings towards Kanata.

Annoyance.

Ako started at it and shook her head. Even she could admit that her reactions toward Kanata’s teasing aren’t out of annoyance anymore. Kanata was perceptive, his teases weren’t teases because they hit way too close to home. She crossed out annoyance and replaced it with another feeling.

Embarrassment.

And why on Earth was she embarrassed by him anyway?

Flustered.

Respect.

Ako recalls her concern for him when she thought M4 was breaking up, scribbling another word down.

Worry.

She tapped her pencil against the space below the word worry and hesitated before writing.

Care (?)

Her eyes catch the other side of the page and she flushes, holding the paper up in front of her. The weight in her chest lifted when she was describing how she felt whenever she talked to Kanata and she felt like she could write more because that’s how Kanata is. He talks to you and leaves you with more mixed feelings than you know what to do with.

Staring at Kanata’s five different emotions compared to the three similar sounding ones she named for Subaru made her heart pound. Her mental database pinged and her cheeks flushed again when the thought registers in her head.

“Why am I comparing Kanata to Subaru-kyun?” She says in a hushed voice. But, it’s too late. Ako is a smart girl and there’s only one thing that connects the two.

The strong feelings she’s written down stare at her mockingly and she wonders how she missed the moment she’d started liking Kira Kanata.

- Side: M4 -

“Heard we were going to go on that TV interview with someone from S4 in a week.” Subaru chimed trying to sound nonchalant as he settled in on the couch next to Kanata. “Any idea who it is, Kanata?” The viridian haired dancer peered at him inquisitively, the beginnings of a smirk blooming across his face.

Kanata leaned back, deciding to leave him in suspense until Nozomu and Asahi were within hearing distance. “If you’re hoping for Nijino Yume, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you.” He said, pushing his glasses up. And that, he thinks, is how to do nonchalant.

Predictably, Nozomu slides gracefully into the room and makes a suggestive comment about Subaru’s crush on the blonde S4 member. Asahi punctuates each quip with a smartly timed comedic comment that has all of them laughing.

And then, the unthinkable happens.

“Like I said, I’ll have to disappoint you.” Kanata says, relaxing into the couch cushions and it’s his biggest mistake, relaxing when he’s hid it for so long. “It’s Saotome Ako.”

A moment of silence makes Kanata look up at his unit and meet eyes with a smirking Igarashi Nozomu. It was - as it says in that popular internet meme - in that moment that Kira Kanata knew he messed up.

“So, it’s like that.” Nozomu said, seamlessly moving them over so that he could sit next to Kanata trapping him between Nozomu and Subaru with Asahi in front of him. “You were quite smart to hide it but I’m beginning to see a pattern here.”

Asahi perks up, sensing something interesting happening in front of him. “Nani Nani? Nani Nani?” He says, repetitively. He’s leveled his Detective Drama gaze right at Kanata which was bad news for him because Asahi was actually as perceptive as him. It’s why he’s so good at acting like a detective. “What am I missing? What’s happening?” He asked.

“Saotome Ako. That girl on that Mermaid Idol show?” Subaru asks. And the fact that Subaru needs clarification is really grating on Kanata’s nerves enough to make him want to smother Subaru with a throw pillow.

And enough, apparently, to be very noticeably frowning.

Nozomu snaps his fingers and points at the downward twitch of Kanata’s eyebrows. “Checkmate.” He smirks. “Kanata’s interested in someone. And not just anyone, one of Subaru’s die hard fans.”

“Kanata.” Subaru blinked owlishly at him, mouth gaping.

Asahi’s eyes sparkle as he leans into Kanata’s personal space. “It’s a bit like a TV Drama, isn’t it?” He tilts his head, smiling sadly. “You like her but she’s in love love love with Subaru.” He sighed dramatically, straightening up. “And Subaru’s in love with Yume!” He shouted despairingly.

Subaru yelled a token protest, arguing good-naturedly with the actor.

Nozomu’s eyes stayed fixed on Kanata until the dancer finally turned to meet his eyes. “Are you going to let her know?” He asked.

Kanata sighed. With the proverbial cat out of the bag he feels like he can breathe a bit better but that doesn’t change the hopelessness of his situation. “She loves Subaru.” He says because he’s not naive. He’s crunched the numbers. The chances Saotome Ako would turn her gaze away from Subaru while steadily becoming more likely with how close they were getting - he can’t forget the way his heart skipped a beat when she’d said those words, ‘I won’t be able to see you anymore.’ - were still out of reach because of how stubborn she was. And worse, Kanata can’t even hate her for it.

How can he when it’s that stubbornness that made him fall for her in the first place?

Nozomu’s expression shifts back to that knowing look he always gives Subaru when he denies being interested in Yume. “I don’t know, Kanata.” He taps his chin with long elegant fingers. “I’m sure you already know but Saotome Ako can be full of surprises when she wants to be.” He smiled, ushering Subaru and Asahi out of the room so Kanata could have some space.

Kanata leaned back again, slumping down until he was laid out on the couch staring at the ceiling. “As unpredictable as a cat, huh?” He recalls the fairytale character from Alice in Wonderland, the Cheshire Cat, and smiles at the imagery. “I hope you can still surprise me, Saotome Ako.”

- Side: S4 -

After connecting the dots, the feelings she’d written down translated into the startling revelation that Ako had romantic feelings for a guy who might just like her back.

Ako shook her head, erasing the line again. Everything she’d written since The Realization had been way too saccharine and cliche and she hated it. She couldn’t hold the squirming, warm feeling in her chest anymore. Not when she knew it was there.

So, she relocated to the S4 table out in the garden where she’d been caught by none other than all of her friends. And really, curse her for being so transparent, because when Yume asked her if she was okay she immediately became beet red and started stuttering about how everything was f-f-fine.

When it became apparent that no one believed that, Ako sighed and sat down with them. Laying her wad of papers down on the table she turned it so everyone could see it.

“Music?” Laura piped up because of course that’s what she’d notice first. Her fingers skimmed the carefully shaded notes and riffs reverently, humming under her breath. “You’re writing a song?” She asked, sounding interested.

“I don’t have the lyrics down yet but the melody came to me… during Christmas.” She admitted, placing the sheet with the lyric she’d written down on it next to the sheet music. “With this lyric, for the bridge.”

“Ana-ta.” Mahiru mouthed, her eyes going wide. “The same day M4 announced they’d be debuting for their solo careers?” She concluded.

Ako smiled, there was really nothing that could get past them. She tried to open her mouth but found she had nothing to say so she simply nodded in answer.

“So, this song is for Subaru-kun, then?” Yume asked.

Ah, really it’d be much easier for the song to be about Subaru, but it’s not. And Ako steels herself to say it, breathing in deeply before speaking.

“It’s for Kanata.” She admits.

There it was. No going back. The moment she’d spoken it felt like the truth had buried itself deep in her heart and lifted every heavy feeling in her body. She guesses she thought it’d feel… different. That she’d be different when she finally accepted it.

She should have known better, really. After all, it’s not like she’s changed. Her liking Kanata was a natural progression from the day he’d told her that in front of the cameras they were equal as idols. Kanata’s always been a grounding presence for her and it makes sense that while he’d been busy helping her, giving her advice, and genuinely supporting her that she’d come to appreciate him. To trust him.

He contributed to the idol that stood in her shoes today and, she realizes belatedly, that’s what the song is about. It’s about how fortunate she is that he’d found her. That he’d helped her.

“I want to show him how thankful I am to him for sticking around to tell me the hard truth all the time. For giving me advice even though I normally don’t want it when it comes from him. And… for being there.” She blushed bright red but kept on. “I want to let him know that I’ve realized I can stand tall as an idol because of his support and that… I-”

Ako stopped, feeling a hand resting on her shoulder. Yume looks at her and smiles widely, silently telling her that she understood. She didn’t have to say anything else because she heard it loud and clear. “Then, maybe start with that?” She suggested, pushing the papers back in her direction and pointing to the pencil and eraser in Ako’s hand. “We’ll help you find the words if you can’t find them yourself.”

Ako felt tears welling up in her eyes and she reached up to wipe them away before setting her pencil against the paper again, feeling more determined this time. “Right, I’m counting on everyone’s support, then.”

- Side: M4 -

“So, what is Ako-chan doing for your TV interview?” Asahi piped up, nearly making Kanata jump up in shock.

Kanata raised an eyebrow at him, calmly picking at his breakfast salad. “Since when has she been Ako-chan?” He asked, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

Asahi stuck his tongue out at Kanata. “It’s the rules, Kanata! Subaru likes Yume and she’s Yume-chan so it makes sense that since you like Ak-” He said proudly up until Kanata pulled him down and covered his mouth with his hand.

“You’re too loud.” He deadpanned, sliding his salad over to Asahi. “Eat, that’s why you’re in the cafeteria, right?” He insisted, sighing in relief when the inquisitive eyes of the Four Star boy idol students went back to eating their breakfasts. “At this rate, she’ll find out through the gossip magazines by tomorrow.” He snarked.

Asahi practically inhaled the salad and then turned to face Kanata. “Tell me.”

Kanata examined his empty salad bowl and rolled his eyes in defeat. “She’s presenting a new Premium Rare Coord and a new song to promote her Kids TV Program.” He said and he notices that Asahi is staring at him with a grin. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just…” Asahi shrugged. “You must be very proud of Ako-chan!” He smiled.

Kanata blinked at him. “What gave you that idea?” He asked, pulling his glass of water towards him so he can drink.

“I don’t know how we didn’t realize it until now, but I remember. Even during our first TV interview with her after she performed you said she’d finally flipped the switch and smiled at her.” Asahi poked Kanata on the nose. “It’s not just that time too, you should have seen your face when she became S4 or when you did that radio broadcast with Subaru after you went to see her perform for those kids-”

“You weren’t even there for that. How would you know?” He asked.

“Subaru told me.” Asahi winked, ignoring the glare Kanata leveled at him. “My point is, she makes you really happy and I’m glad she does because you deserve it.” He said, stealing Kanata’s water from his loose fingers and downing it all. “Thanks for breakfast, Kanata!” He cheered before making a run for it.

Kanata snapped out of his sentiment induced haze and got up to chase him for stealing his breakfast right under his nose. Asahi was so dead when he got his hands on him.

- Side: S4 -

With one last push, Ako wrote out the final lines of the song with a flourish.

I’m calling, calling you.

“What. A. Relief.” She groaned, falling back so she was lying down on the floor of her large S4 apartment. She stared up at the dress Koharu was helping her stitch together and smiled. “It looks gorgeous, Koharu.” She rolled over so she could watch while Yume and Laura held up several bows.

“Your design was beautiful so it makes sense that it’s beautiful in reality, Ako.” Koharu smiled, tapping a finger against her cheek. “You drew three of the gradient white to purple and yellow ribbons, right?” She asked, checking Ako’s drawing. She’d included some precise measurements for how long the fabric had to be for it to work but she still needed Koharu’s help in translating it into dress form.

“I’m all done.” Mahiru said, presenting the fluffy purple cat ear headband with pink bows and white ribbon frills that trailed off to the sides. On her arms were several striped and polka dotted bangles in pale pastel colors. “I think you’ll be needing gloves to accent the top.” She suggested.

Ako stared at the headband and smiled thankfully at Mahiru. “They’re perfect. As expected of our very own Fashion Guru.” She nodded.

Mahiru colored at the praise. “It’s no problem. I’m excited to see your stage. It’s going to be great.” She said, lifting Ako’s drawing. The pale purple, pink, yellow, and white galaxy shone with bright yellow stars above the command station of a deep magenta and violet spaceship. Ako had added several large cat plushies to the stage to make it more her style with smaller cat plushies floating out in space with astronaut helmets. The overall effect was dream-like and full of cats. “It was nice of Kirara to offer to help with the stage.”

“She was just excited about all the plush toys she wanted to add.” Ako rolled her eyes in mock-exasperation.

“I like the cats outside the ship in astronaut gear.” Yume commented, pointing to them. “Maybe we should add ribbons to them too!” She said excitedly.

Ako blinked and drew in some ribbons on their helmets.

“Cute!” Everyone chimed before laughing.

“At this rate, you’ll have a the rest of the week to practice the choreography we talked about.” Laura winked. “It’ll be great.” She assured.

Ako looked at them, her friends and even Kirara were helping her make this stage happen. All so she could convey a message that was important to her. It almost made her want to tear up again. But, this was no time for sentiment, she’d leave that for later. Now, she had a dance to practice, a dress to complete, and a stage to design.

And, maybe, she’d have… a special someone, by the end of it?

“I’m calling, calling you.”

- Side: Kanata -

Oddly enough, the day that M4 eases up on teasing Kanata about Ako is the day of the TV interview. In fact, when Kanata got back that morning from his run, he found that his schedule was clear up until shooting for the interview later that day. It all smells heavily of Nozomu’s intervention. Asahi showed up at breakfast but instead of stealing his food, he offered Kanata cupcakes that he could “take to the set if you want, you can even share with Ako-chan”.

The only one who’s acted relatively normal was Subaru and that’s only because if he even comments about Ako then he knows Kanata will retaliate mercilessly with his hopeless crush on Yume so he’s kept his mouth shut up until they reached the studio later that day.

“Kanata.” Subaru called out before they both took their places behind the stage door.

Kanata turned around to face him. “Yeah? There a problem?” He tilted his head.

“Saotome Ako.” He said softly.

Kanata’s face hardened, his fists balling up in his pockets defensively.

“She’s a talented girl, I never said that. I never… never really appreciated it, her talent and her support. I’m sorry for that and I intend to tell her that too.” Subaru looked up, meeting Kanata’s stare. “You’re my friend, Kanata. You notice every little thing. You’re the most sensitive to our fans. It’s because you care so much, I know you do. And, I know that if she’s as talented and smart as I think she is, she’ll see that.” He said, patting him on the shoulder reassuringly.

Kanata opened his mouth to comment and ended up smiling. “Thank you.”

Subaru winked at him. “Don’t mention it.” He said as the ON AIR sign lit up and the host opened the show. “Let’s do our best, Kanata.”

“You sound like Yume-chan.” Kanata smirked as the doors opened and they both strode down the steps, greeting the host kindly.

“It’s good to see you two back on the show!” The host, an idol fanatic and journalist named Aya Kiirio, welcomed them cheerfully after they both sat down.

“It’s good to be back.” Subaru answered smoothly.

Kanata nodded. “Thank you for having us.”

Subaru looked around exaggeratedly.

“Looking for someone, Yuki-san?” The host asked, playing along.

“Wasn’t there another idol who was supposed to be here with us?” He asked.

The host laughed. “Why yes, there is! Everyone please give a warm welcome to Four Star Academy student, muse of Fuwa Fuwa Dream, and member of S4, Saotome Ako-san!” The crowd stood up and started clapping as Ako walked down the steps, waving to her fans. She took a moment to turn and shake hands with Kanata and Subaru, not even losing her composure like she normally would have.

The girl sitting in the opposite couch was completely different from before. This was Saotome Ako, the up and coming actress.

“So, Saotome-san, you acted with both Kira-san and Yuki-san in your mermaid idol drama recently.” The host prompted.

Subaru nodded. “I played her character’s favorite idol. She was amazing to work with. She’s very talented, too.” He said, nodding to her. “I wasn’t a fan before but I am now.”

“I must confess, I was nervous about this interview given the other talent that would be appearing.” She blushed slightly.

“Right, you’re a big fan of Yuki-san, aren’t you?” The host asked, leaning forward in interest.

“I am and have been for a while. His work is inspiring. But, we’re all professionals here, we all worked hard to get where we are and that’s what’s important. After all,” She looked at Kanata and nodded. “On this side of the camera, we’re all equal as idols.”

Kanata smirked, his heartbeat speeding up.

“Ah, there’s a story there.” Subaru said encouragingly.

Ako gave a sheepish grin, acting at its finest. “When I first met M4, I was so nervous I almost messed up the entire TV program we were on together. Kira-san was nice enough to give me advice.” She said, segwaying smoothly into the introduction of her song. “Kira-san has given me a lot of advice since then that has enabled me to perform well for my fans, for everyone who supports me. My song today is a dedication to all those people who supported me and made me the idol I am now. I couldn’t have done it without all of you.” She said, facing the studio audience and the cameras.

Kanata felt a soft smile form on his face, pride swelling up in his chest.

“And with that, Saotome Ako-san will be performing her song, Galaxy Hide-And-Seek after this commercial break!” The host announced and they all waved as the audience started clapping.

Ako sighed in relief, her perfect posture slumping slightly. “About what you said, Su-” She shook her head. “Yuki-san. Thank you. I’m honored.” She bowed.

“I should have said it sooner. I look forward to your stage.” He reached out and pulled Kanata closer by the arm. “So is Kanata.”

Kanata pushed up his glasses to hide the pride on his face. “You’ll do well, I’m sure.”

Ako blushed and bowed again probably to hide said blush. “It’ll be the best stage you’ve ever seen, just you wait.” She grinned, turning to leave the set so she could prepare for her song. “Oh,” She turned abruptly, looking at Subaru. “Yume and the others said they’d be watching my stage so if you want to see her… come to my dressing room after the show.” She smiled and then turned around again.

Subaru and Kanata stared at her, blinking in shock. “What was that?” Subaru asked.

Kanata shook his head slowly. “I have no idea.”

- Side: Ako -

Ako’s heart pounded. She felt herself being lifted up onto the stage with her back to the audience staring out into the pastel swirl galaxy outside the large viewing windows of the cat-themed spaceship. The astronaut cat plushies waved at her as they floated past and Ako breathed in, the intro music starting out soft and then when the drums entered she turned and started dancing.

Yume, Laura, Mahiru, Koharu, and Kirara were all sitting in the front row now with the host to their left. And to the host’s right was Subaru and Kanata whose eyes were focused intently on Ako.

With one final twirl, she striked three different poses in succession to the beat. “I’ve finally found,” With her right hand, she pointed to her left bending over. Her other hand rested flatly perpendicular to her forehead as if surveying the crowd. “Someone out there’s searching for me.” She moved her body to the right, mock-scanning the crowd.

“Don’t know why I know,” Putting both hands to her chest, she extended her hands forward, pulled them back to her chest and then extended them out with each word she sang. “But deep in my heart I know that it is true.” Placing her right arm in front of her and her left behind her, she turned to the left moving her left hand to her chest and pushing back with her right.

“I need to find that someone,” Facing forward, she placed her left hand back to her waist, put her right palm out, placed her left palm against the back of her right palm, closed her left palm around her right thumb, pulled her hands to her chest and made a number one sign with her right hand resting it on top of her left hand, and then extended her hands back out. “Who understands my feelings.”

Stepping forward, Ako readied herself. “Are you there waiting for me? Just how-” She extended her arms up, bringing them down to meet in front of her chest. “Close am I-” She ventured a look at Kanata who only looked back at her and smirked. Her cheeks blazing, she stared out into the crowd, aiming a flying kiss at them. “‘Til we meet?” She winked.

“If I could connect us telepathically,” Pointing both fingers at her head, she shook her arms and then pointed to the sky. “Then I could find you deep in this vast blue galaxy.” Pointing to the sides, she drew her arms down while marching and then in a finger gun motion pointed to the crowd. “I feel a miracle in reach.” With both hands to her chest she reached out with her left hand.

Ako bent her knees and jumped as high as she could, striking a pose mid-air. “And in this moment!” The crowd nearly cheered when her feet hit the ground. “I realize that maybe on this planet, I-” She made a round motion with her arms. “Can build a life with new memories and then I’ll find-” Ako put one palm on top of the other, twirled and then did a gutz pose.  

“That one day we’ll meet face to face.” She sang, stepping backwards and then turning to face the pastel galaxy. The spaceship lights shut off and the pastel galaxy lit up giving Ako a silhouette.

“I know the galaxy extends on endlessly. But the stars reveal our destiny.” She sang to the view. “One day in this grand hide-and-seek we’ll draw each other out-” Making a searching gesture, Ako turned around again, spotlights on her. “Say you’re ready to be found!” She said, saluting.

Behind her, the cat plushies straightened and started copying her arm movements as she danced. Ako strutted forward during the last stretch of music, striking poses until she reached the end of the stage where a set of stairs led to a small glass platform displaying the surface of the Earth below the spaceship. It had been something Kirara added that she thought would look nice during the climax of the song “since Earth is where you meet that special person, right?”.

With a deep breath, Ako stepped down the stairs. “This step that I am taking, could it be the very last?” She sang, arms extended to the sides. “The person that holds my heart, ah-ah.” Turning her head to the side in embarrassment, both hands clasped to her chest. “That someone is…” Looking out to the audience, she smiled.

With her hand extended, she reached out in Kanata’s direction and closed her fist in a grabbing motion.

“Kanata.”

- Side: Kanata -

“K-Kanata? Isn’t the lyric supposed to be Anata? Did she make a mistake?” The host babbled quietly to herself. On stage, Ako turned to face the viewing window striking pose after pose while stomping her feet and singing.

I hear your voice saying “I’m always by your side”.

Subaru turned to look at his friend. Kanata stared at Ako, his jaw hanging and his eyes wide. “Kanata?” He nudged the dancer and he blinked before acknowledging him.

“Ah?” He hummed, unable to believe what he’d heard.

Subaru chuckled, turning to watch the rest of the stage. “What are you going to do?” He asked.

It’s ringing out and speaking to me in gentle signs.

Kanata was a man of calculation, logic. Whenever he worked in dramas he knew exactly how many lines, scenes, and sets they’d be working on for each day of filming and planned his work meticulously. It’s the same for his television work. He always knew his odds, his calculations, what had to be done in that day and in the next day.

When he calculated his chances with Ako, it had come up negative. He’d calculated wrong. It had to be wrong. Because, he can’t be right not when it was his name she’d said.

Guide me until I reach you, please.

“It could be a mistake-” He muttered.

“It’s not a mistake.” Subaru insisted. “She looked right at you. She’s taken the first step. The question is, Kanata, what are you going to do about it?” He asked.

- Side: Ako -

“And in this moment!” Ako faced towards the crowd again and waved to Yume and the girls who jumped up shouting supportively at Ako. “I realize the girl I was a year ago-” She blushed, turning to Subaru and Kanata before waving to them too. “Changed because she was somebody that you got to know.”

“I hope that I can help you too.” Her hands folded to her chest in a prayer position, she gestured to everyone again. “I’m calling, calling you!” She made a calling gesture and then pointed up, swaying side to side.

The outro continued accompanied by the dance sequence from the intro and then ended with the spaceship lights dimming down again along with the pastel galaxy leaving only the lights on the glass platform and the projection of planet earth below their feet.

The crowd cheered as the stage faded away leaving Ako standing on stage and waving to everyone as the host climbed back up. “That was an impressive performance by Four Star Academy’s Saotome Ako. You said that song was for your fans? Any fan in particular.” She asked, smiling at Ako.

“Well, not just my fans. Everyone who supported me.” She answered vaguely. “Thank you so much again for letting me share this song with everyone.”

The host, dissatisfied by her non-answer, pressed on. “But, might there be a special someone-” She prodded making Ako slightly uncomfortable.

“Ako is a very crucial member of S4 who is coincidentally here in the audience to support her, isn’t that right, Yume?” Subaru cut in, smoothly coming between the host and Ako, gesturing to Yume standing up at the front of the audience.

“Great Job, Ako-chan!” They all cheered and the audience started clapping again.

The host, placated by this answer, noticed that the segment was about to end and rushed to say her closing comments before the commercial break. “That’s it for Saotome Ako’s appearance but you can catch her after this show in her television drama. After the break, we have an exclusive interview with Yuki Subaru and Kira Kanata about their lives behind the idol scenes so to speak so stay tuned to us for more of the scoop!” She managed to say before the ON AIR sign went dark.

“Good job, today. I really did love your song and your dress is beautiful.” The host shook Ako’s hand. “Don’t hesitate to give me a call for whatever you need.” She offered.

“Thank you very much.” Ako bowed and didn’t straighten until she was gone.

Ako sighed, smiling gratefully at Subaru. “Thanks for the save.” She said, extending her hand to give him a firm handshake. And if the handshake was a bit longer than expected, Ako’s been Subaru’s fan for a long time. Sue her. It’s after that when she notices that Kanata was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Kira-san?” She asked.

“Ah, Kanata needed to talk to the producer about the interview. He said he’d pass by your dressing room later to congratulate you on your Premium Rare and your song.” He said just as the bell started ringing signaling five minutes before the beginning of the interview segment. “You’ll probably want to change. Your friends are waiting for you.” He nodded in Yume’s direction.

Ako nodded. “Good luck with the rest of the show.” She waved, walking over the Yume and the girls.

They migrated to Ako’s dressing room in a flurry of praise and excitement. When they opened Ako’s door, they found an assortment of cupcakes in pastel colors with cat designs sitting on the table.

“These look like the ones I helped Nii-san make.” Mahiru muttered to herself, examining a perfectly frosted vanilla cupcake.

Yume picked up the folded note next to the box and gasped. “It says ‘Today was the best you’ve ever been.’ and it’s signed from Kira Kanata!” She smiled widely, passing the note to Ako.

Ako started at the note, blushing. That’s not all. He said he’d come by and see her after his interview. The interview was going to start soon. “I’m going to change real quick.” Ako scurried into the changing room and then came out wearing the S4 uniform just in time for Laura to invite her over to the couch where they were watching Subaru answer the usual question about how their fans are taking their solo debut announcements.

“I heard Yuki-san has his eye on someone, finally.” The host wiggled her eyebrows.

Subaru laughed. “You sound exactly like Nozomu.” He joked.

“Don’t avoid the subject, Subaru.” Kanata commented, pushing his glasses up.

“Well, it’s normal for a guy to like someone, right?” Subaru shrugged. “At the end of the day, I’m an idol. I’ll always love my fans. Anyone I end up liking has to understand that.” He said, making the fans swoon yet again.

“Huh? Subaru-kun had a crush on someone?” Yume tilted her head. “I wonder if it’s someone we know?” She chimed, excited at the prospect of helping Subaru out with his crush.

Ako and the rest stared at her, wondering if it was a good time to let her know he was talking about her.

Subaru, however, had more to say on the matter of crushes. “And besides, all of us in M4 like someone. Even Kanata.” He smirked, nudging the dancer in a practiced back and forth. This was obviously scripted somewhat.

Ako stiffened, all eyes turned to stare at the screen anxiously.

Kanata pushed his glasses up again, a nervous tic of his that Ako realized she found endearing. “I can’t argue with that. I’m just as transparent as Subaru about my affection for her.” He admitted.

“Oh, can you tell us a bit about her?” The host asked.

“She’s an idol. A very passionate and talented idol.” He smiled softly. “She started out kind of lost but when she found her rhythm she never stops surprising me. I just… I enjoy her. And I’m proud of everything she does.”

Subaru patted Kanata’s arm. “You should see his face whenever she’s working hard.” He jested, both M4 members smiling and laughing together.

The host patted at her cheeks with a tissue looking a bit teary eyed. “She sounds fantastic. Thank you for sharing with us.”

Kanata shrugged. “I’m lucky to know her.” He said, his posture straight and obviously proud of who he was talking about.

Ako stopped listening after that which was just as well because the host wrapped up the show and announced the next show. Yume, Laura, Mahiru, Koharu, and Kirara were all silent. The knock on the door was almost too loud.

“C-Come in.” Ako called out, sighing in relief when it was just Subaru. “Subaru-kyun.”

“I’m just here to check if anyone wants to grab a drink at the vending machine with me?” He asked, making weird hand gestures that Ako couldn’t understand.

Yume, however, seemed to understand them immediately and grabbed Laura and Koharu by the arm. “We’d love to go with you! Right, Kirara-chan? Mahiru-chan?” She gave Laura and Koharu a look.

Before Kirara and Mahiru could object, Koharu and Laura grabbed them by the arm and dragged them all outside with Subaru.

“I-I can come too.” Ako said, standing to reach for her bag.

“No! We’ll be right back! We’ll get you something too, Ako-chan!” Yume insisted, letting go of Laura and Koharu. “You just stay there and rest up. We’ll be back.” She smiled before shutting the door.

Ako stood in her empty dressing room and then fell back into the couch, taking a cupcake from the box and biting into it. “Red velvet.” She smiled, turning the dessert so she could admire the white frosting and the pale indigo whiskers.

Another knock at her door made Ako swiftly finish up her cupcake. “They’re back already?” She muttered. Standing up, she brushed the cupcake bits off her hands and into the trashcan before placing a hand on the doorknob. “You guys are back soon-”

Ako pulled the door open and came face to face with a bright arrangement of pink, white, and yellow flowers resembling the flowers in her aura when she’s on stage and standing there holding the bouquet was Kira Kanata.

“W-What’s this all about? The cupcakes weren’t enough?” Ako tried to sound exasperated but failed, taking the bouquet and stepping back so he could come inside. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” She tried again in a quiet voice, thankfully without the awful stutter this time.

“Well, if I’m going to do this, I thought I’d do it right. You’ll have to forgive the rush since you never really gave me a sign that you felt that way.” Kanata said, pushing his glasses up again as he closed the door.

Ako put the flowers down next to the cupcakes and stared up at Kanata. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“You-” He shook his head and laughed. “I’m asking you if you want to go on a date with me, Saotome Ako.”

Ako’s eyes widened. ‘He- did he just-’ She thought and her mental database was displaying errors of all kinds because Kira Kanata, the guy she’d just realized she liked a lot, just asked her out on a date. And Ako needs to answer soon because Kanata was starting to look worried.

“Lucky for you, I can make time for lunch on Friday.” She grinned, trying to summon up her infamous bullheaded self-confidence.

Kanata just smiled at her in reply, making Ako’s heart skip a couple of beats. “Lucky me. It’s a date then.” He said, turning to open the door and leave again, probably to go to another job but really he’s just going to go back to the M4 dorms and collapse on the couch in relief.

Ako watched him awkwardly struggle with the doorknob for a while before finally opening the door and smiled. “It’s definitely a date, Kira Kanata.”

[7r0773r]

Speak, Memory by Vladimir Nabokov

All my life I have been a poor go-to-sleeper. People in trains, who lay their newspaper aside, fold their silly arms, and immediately, with an offensive familiarity of demeanor, start snorting, amaze me as much as the uninhibited chap who cozily defecates in the presence of a chatty tubber, or participates in huge demonstrations, or joins some union in order to dissolve in it. Sleep is the most moronic fraternity in the world, with the heaviest dues and the crudest rituals. It is a mental torture I find debasing. The strain and drain of composition often force me, alas, to swallow a strong pill that gives me an hour or two of frightful  nightmares or even to accept the comic relief of a midday snooze, the way a senile rake might totter to the nearest euthanasium; but I simply cannot get used to the nightly betrayal of reason, humanity, genius. No matter how great my weariness, the wrench of parting with consciousness is unspeakably repulsive to me. I loathe Somnus, that black-masked headsman binding me to the block; and if in the course of years, with the approach of a far more thorough and still more risible disintegration, which nowanights, I confess, detracts much from the routine terrors of sleep, I have grown so accustomed to my bedtime ordeal as almost to swagger while the familiar ax is coming out of its great velvet-lined double-bass case, initially I had no such comfort or defense: I had nothing—except one token light in the potentially refulgent chandelier of Mademoiselle’s bedroom, whose door, by our family doctor’s decree (I salute you, Dr. Sokolov!), remained slightly ajar. Its vertical line of lambency (which a child’s tears could transform into dazzling rays of compassion) was something I could cling to, since in absolute darkness my head would swim and my mind melt in a travesty of the death struggle. (pp. 450-51)

***

I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness—in a landscape selected at random—is when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern—to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal. (p. 479)

***

And behind it all there was yet a very special emotional abyss that I was desperately trying to skirt, lest I burst into a tempest of tears, and this was the tender friendship underlying my respect for my father; the charm of our perfect accord; the Wimbledon matches we followed in the London papers; the chess problems we solved; the Pushkin iambics that rolled off his tongue so triumphantly whenever I mentioned some minor poet of the day. Our relationship was marked by that habitual exchange of homespun nonsense, comically garbled words, proposed imitations of supposed intonations, and all those private jokes which are the secret code of happy families. With all that he was extremely strict in matters of conduct and given to biting remarks when cross with a child or a servant, but his inherent humanity was too great to allow his rebuke to Osip for laying out the wrong shirt to be really offensive, just as a first-hand knowledge of a boy’s pride tempered the harshness of reproval and resulted in sudden forgiveness. Thus I was more puzzled than pleased one day when upon learning that I had deliberately slashed my leg just above the knee with a razor (I still bear the scar) in order to avoid a recitation in class for which I was unprepared, he seemed unable to work up any real wrath; and his subsequent admission of a parallel transgression in his own boyhood rewarded me for not withholding the truth. (pp. 522-23)

***

In the avid heat of the early afternoon, benches, bridges and boles (all things, in fact, save the tennis court) were drying with incredible rapidity, and soon little remained of my initial inspiration. Although the bright fissure had closed, I doggedly went on composing. My medium happened to be Russian but could have been just as well Ukrainian, or Basic English, or Volapük. The kind of poem I produced in those days was hardly anything more than a sign I made of being alive, of passing or having passed, or hoping to pass, through certain intense human emotions. It was a phenomenon of orientation rather than of art, thus comparable to stripes of paint on a roadside rock or to a pillared heap of stones marking a mountain trail. 

But then, in a sense, all poetry is positional: to try to express one’s position in regard to the universe embraced by consciousness, is an immemorial urge. The arms of consciousness reach out and grope, and the longer they are the better. Tentacles, not wings, are Apollo's natural members. Vivian Bloodmark, a philosophical friend of mine, in later years, used to say that while the scientist sees everything that happens in one point of space, the poet feels everything that happens in one point of time. Lost in thought, he taps his knee with his wand-like pencil, and at the same instant a car (New York license plate) passes along the road, a child bangs the screen door of a neighboring porch, an old man yawns in a misty Turkestan orchard, a granule of cinder-gray sand is rolled by the wind on Venus, a Docteur Jacques Hirsch in Grenoble puts on his reading glasses, and trillions of other such trifles occur—all forming an instantaneous and transparent organism of events, of which the poet (sitting in a lawn chair, at Ithaca, N.Y.) is the nucleus. 

That summer I was still far too young to evolve any wealth of “cosmic synchronization” (to quote my philosopher again). But I did discover, at least, that a person hoping to become a poet must have the capacity of thinking of several things at a time. In the course of the languid rambles that accompanied the making of my first poem, I ran into the village schoolmaster, an ardent Socialist, a good man, intensely devoted to my father (I welcome this image again), always with a tight posy of wild flowers, always smiling, always per-spiring. While politely discussing with him my father’s sudden journey to town, I registered simultaneously and with equal clarity not only his wilting flowers, his flowing tic and the blackheads on the fleshy volutes of his nostrils, but also the dull little voice of a cuckoo coming from afar, and the flash of a Queen of Spain settling on the road, and the remembered impression of the pictures (enlarged agricultural pests and bearded Russian writers) in the well-aerated classrooms of the village school which I had once or twice visited; and—to continue a tabulation that hardly does justice to the ethereal simplicity of the whole process—the throb of some utterly irrelevant recollection (a pedometer I had lost) was released from a neighboring brain cell, and the savor of the grass stalk I was chewing mingled with the cuckoo’s note and the fritillary’s takeoff, and all the while I was richly, serenely aware of my own manifold awareness. 

He beamed and he bowed (in the effusive manner of a Russian radical), and took a couple of steps backward, and turned, and jauntily went on his way, and I picked up the thread of my poem. During the short time I had been otherwise engaged, something seemed to have happened to such words as I had already strung together: they did not look quite as lustrous as they had before the interruption. Some suspicion crossed my mind that I might be dealing in dummies. Fortunately, this cold twinkle of critical perception did not last. The fervor I had been trying to render took over again and brought its medium back to an illusory life. The ranks of words I reviewed were again so glowing, with their puffed-out little chests and trim uniforms, that I put down to mere fancy the sagging I had noticed out of the corner of my eye. (pp. 543-47)

***

But the author that interested me most was naturally Sirin. He belonged to my generation. Among the young writers produced in exile he was the loneliest and most arrogant one. Beginning with the appearance of his first novel in 1925 and throughout the next fifteen years, until he vanished as strangely as he had come, his work kept provoking an acute and rather morbid interest on the part of critics. Just as Marxist publicists of the eighties in old Russia would have denounced his lack of concern with the economic structure of society, so the mystagogues of émigré letters deplored his lack of religious insight and of moral preoccupation. Everything about him was bound to offend Russian conventions and especially that Russian sense of decorum which, for example, an American offends so dangerously today, when in the presence of Soviet military men of distinction he happens to lounge with both hands in his trouser pockets. Conversely, Sirin’s admirers made much, perhaps too much, of his unusual style, brilliant precision, functional imagery and that sort of thing. Russian readers who had been raised on the sturdy straightforwardness of Russian realism and had called the bluff of decadent cheats, were impressed by the mirror-like angles of his clear but weirdly misleading sentences and by the fact that the real life of his books flowed in his figures of speech, which one critic has compared to “windows giving upon a contiguous world . . . a rolling corollary, the shadow of a train of thought.” Across the dark sky of exile, Sirin passed, to use a simile of a more conservative nature, like a meteor, and disappeared, leaving nothing much else behind him than a vague sense of uneasiness. (pp. 607-08)

[kvogelart-blog]

can we talk about twin peaks for a second?

So this is weird... my dad died about 2 weeks ago. It's really strange times. Half of me for most of my life has been prepared for this moment to come due to his alcoholism and the other half of me is like sad / sorta angry but subdued, like its dulled out in the far distance. It almost feels like it didn't happen sometimes. It is a very weird and awkward space to live in. I just want to watch and talk about Twin Peaks all the time recently so I guess that is how I'm coping. Coping seems like a strong word but Twin Peaks is just my solace right now. 

First off, the finale is tonight people. I CANNOT WAIT. Even if we wrap up nothing and it was all unconnected dream logic I don't even care. 

I am obsessed with the imagery of Twin Peaks. The show has a very weird color pallet of muted and jewel tones. It evokes a natural and ancient kinda of feeling with its sound-work and how vast everything feels with the wide open shots. I just love it. The characters are the best part and they've made me step into fan art.

This is art just for me, not even to display just for me just put it on paper. I don't know why that is even a kind of artwork for me now, it used to be art to sell art to learn, and art to experiment. I had this a little bit with Big Little Lies, where it was like omg they're so gorgeous I just have to put them in my sketchbook, but Twin Peaks bringing it to a new level. I just love drawing them.

So Candie wears this amazing just pepto -bismol pink cocktail dress and nylon gloves OMG its just so good like the costume and her totally space cadet personality thing going on, its just so great. I need to start bringing more colors to work because I actually love this sketch but wish it had that intense pink in it.

I am really into sketching more cartoony stuff at work lately, like I love this. I've also noticed sketching more cartoony helps me loosen up. Mentally and physically well physically as far as art wise. It helps my artwork feel more loose and natural and not overworked? 

I've been wanting a pin up tattoo on my thigh for a long time, it will probably be a while before I get it done anyways but I am in love with this Laura Palmer pin up. I've always thought of doing a pin up calendar sometime but don't know what kind of market there is for that kind of thing anymore. I also tried my watercolors on this one, I am still pretty new to the media but I love how trees look in watercolor, like fading in the distance. Or if I never get around to getting it tattooed I might hang this one just cos I love it I rescind my past statement about not displaying it, because how cool would it be in my Twin Peaks themed den in my future imaginary house when I decorate it. 

Well there was a weird blog rant about my Twin Peaks fan art this week. #sorrynotsorry 

[amberseger]

Final Project

How has each course contributed to your personal and professional development as an instructional designer?

Let me start out by saying, I have absolutely no regrets about choosing to go through this program. I have thoroughly enjoyed every class I’ve taken and found them to be incredibly insightful and useful. I feel like I have grown immensely personally and professionally. This branch of cognitive science resonates with me on a deeply profound level. 

I’ve always been interested in how and why we interact with each other, products, and information. I’m a graphic designer by education and trade and my career has lead me down the path of higher information design and instruction. I love explaining concepts and training people how to perform tasks. I’m always eager to show people how to accomplish something if they do not know how to execute the intended outcome. This program has satisfied that intrinsic drive.  

I loved that the Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership class was first. Instead of throwing you into the program headfirst. It was a great way to lay the foundation of my journey. I enjoyed making goals and researching about the masters in my field. Learning about the traits and paths that can lead to being a master changed my perspective on how and what I can achieve. 

The timing of the Strategies for Learner Engagement and Visual and Visual and Verbal Communication in Instructional Design class occurred lined up perfectly with a presentation I gave for a work conference. I was able to utilize a lot of what I learned in that class and apply it to the content of my presentation about better information design. 

Corporate Training and Motivational Development and Instructional Design and Evaluation were classes that really made me think about my writing and processes. Learning how and what motivates people will be greatly beneficial as I start to innovate the projects I create at work. The learning theories and models of instructional design will help me develop and evaluate the types of designs I want to create and implement at my job. 

These four classes: Digital Media and Learning Applications, Music and Audio for Instructional Design, Filmmaking Principles for Instructional Design, and Game Strategies and Motivation, were super fun for me. I got to use a lot of my current skills as a graphic designer to leverage my projects. I got used to hearing my voice and watching myself on screen in these classes. That is hugely beneficial for my personal development. I used to be a very self conscious about how I sound and look. Now I feel very confident in my ability to perform. I was very happy to learn about audio design and filmmaking. I can also use what I learned outside of my actual career and into my hobby that is sort of turning into a side career. I record podcasts and stream games and now I can better use those tools.

Learning Management Systems and Organization was a class that I felt I didn’t really benefit from strongly. I was the only one in the class and I didn’t get a lot of interaction. I feel like if I had at least another student it would have been more engaging. I understand the basic concept of an LMS but didn’t really get to fully test it out. I honestly thought that this last and final class would utilize all the assets I created in the Media Asset Creation class and put them into an LMS. 

Overall, I’ve enjoyed everything. Looking back, I have so many projects I can easily upload and put on to my portfolio and Behance. As fun, interesting, and fulfilling this program has been, I am so glad I’ve come to the end of the journey. The past year has been the most stressful and tiring year I have had in a long time. I’m so glad I persevered and have come out incredibly successful.  

How well were you able to utilize the concepts and techniques you learned from the program (theories, systems design, interface styling, and the creation of multimedia content) as you designed, developed, and implemented your Final Project? 

Well I’m not sure what the Final Project was exactly. As I said previously, I thought I would have taken assets I made in the last class and to create and design a course in an LMS. It would have been complete with tests and discussion board prompts much like the ones we have on FSO. All I had to do for this class was make portfolios using pre-built templates and interfaces. I did try to write an engaging About Me section so it would give a sense of personality. 

Other than that, all of my projects I uploaded were created using techniques and theories I learned through out the class. The number one theory that I have retained is the cognitive load theory. That one to me is the most important out of everything, because if a learner experiences mental overload they tend to give up or become distracted. Everything I design going forward will be all about reducing cognitive load. I want to strive for clarity, order, and consistency. 

Describe your most outstanding personal triumph in each course.

Mastery: Personal Development and Leadership 

I was really happy with the visual design and layout of the timeline we created for this class. I also loved learning about Robert Gagne and all that he did for the field of instructional design. The paper I wrote about him was very good. 

Strategies for Learner Engagement

I learned how to make interactive PDFs! I took a basic Lynda.com tutorial about making an infographic and was able to visually redesign it to make it more in line with how I would create it from scratch while still maintaining the overall theme of the infographic. I did a lot of research and writing about WWI artists and pushed myself to write in a more engaging storytelling style. I was very proud of that project and it is in my portfolio. 

Visual and Verbal Communication in Instructional Design

I learned how to use Keynote! I had never used it before. I also had time and was able to make the graphics more in line with my style of design. I remember recording my first bit of narration for the class and when I listened to other student’s narration I felt very unskilled at engaging writing. I am a technical writer and copy editor and I writing engaging copy is not my strong suit. The other students’ work really pushed me in that area and I was happier with the final outcome. I put this project in my portfolio.

Corporate Training and Motivational Development

During this class I was dealing with a major project at work that was beyond stressful. Like, no sleep and work 60-70 hours a week kind of project. It was personally very difficult to continue on with school. I remained strong and somehow pushed through. This was my first time ever making a video presentation and writing a script. It was also the first time I really used iMovie to create video with overlaid imagery. I put that video in my portfolio. 

Instructional Design and Evaluation

This class was awesome! I really enjoyed working with the professor of this class. After several iterations, I made a great series of posters that describe learning theories and behaviors. I was very happy with the visual design of the posters. I even printed them out to have as a quick reference. I added those to my portfolio. 

Digital Media and Learning Applications

In referring to my Mastery Journal, this class was very heavy on theories and concepts. I remember writing a lot about learning objects and the different types that exist. I can’t quite think of something I did that was outstanding in this class. Being able to understand and grasp some of these terms was a challenge. I feel like I could go back and take this class again and still learn something new. 

Music and Audio for Instructional Design

Oh my gosh! I loved this class. I absolutely loved both projects for this class. However, the one where we took a fairytale and narrated it and added music and sound effects was my favorite. I was able to condense and rewrite some parts of an old fairytale, record myself using a good microphone while in a good audio set up, do voices for characters, edit the audio, add music, and sound effects. It was so cool and it sounded so good! I want to add it to my portfolio and I will later when I get a new computer. 

Filmmaking Principles for Instructional Design

This was another great class. I was still struggling with writing engaging narration but my second attempt on a small project was much better and I began to feel confident. The second project I felt like I excelled at and was very happy with the instructional video I created. It had great shots and great narration. 

Game Strategies and Motivation

I learned a lot in this class and made some great presentations. However, my personal triumph was my ability to give great feedback to a student, who I felt was not grasping a lot of the concepts we were learning. They seemed to struggle immensely with the projects we were assigned and I spent a lot of time on writing very constructive feedback. This in turn really helped solidify what I was learning. 

Learning Management Systems and Organization

Unfortunately, because of the lack of students in the class (I was the only one) I didn’t feel like I truly got the full experience of this class. However, I have never experienced the back end of an LMS. It was cool to see how that looks and functions. 

Media Asset Creation

The fact that I even finished this class was a major triumph for me. I was in the process of moving and selling my house. Thankfully I had spring break during this time. It probably saved me from missing a project and it was the project I put in my portfolio. I made a very engaging instructional video about balancing carbs, fats, and protein. I had a lot of fun with it and I think it shows in the final product. 

[jillmckenzie1]

The Expanse of Dreams

The Room is currently streaming on Shudder.

  Some people love home renovation projects. Can’t get enough of them. I am not one of those people, due to a comical lack of handyman skills. An example? My involvement in a house painting project with my wife ended with an irritated lesson in proper brush techniques and the hissed admonition to “Go get pizza. Just go.” Needless to say, I got the pizza.

Your experience might have been different. Many years ago, my friends Stacy and Dave bought a home located in a small town in New England. Having been built in the late 1700s, their house passed through many owners until they came into its centuries-long life. As owners often do, Dave enthusiastically went to work tearing the place apart.

He remodeled the bathroom, redid the floors, and profoundly changed the interiors of that old house. Hell, he probably installed a subway system. Dave is one of those guys who’s happiest when there’s a project before him. He relishes each step in the process, and also likely enjoys knocking gigantic holes in the walls.

What Dave and others like him surely realize is that even the most extensive renovation projects can’t fully erase the past. Certain characteristics of a building want to be seen, despite the best efforts of the owners. Sometimes those characteristics can be…unsavory, to say the least. The new horror movie, The Room,* examines what happens when something is unearthed following the purchase of a new home, something that should have stayed buried.

Kate (Olga Kurylenko) and Matt (Kevin Janssens) have achieved one of the pillars of the American Dream. At last, they bought a home. They must have gotten an incredible deal, as it’s a gigantic place with seemingly endless corridors…and hardwood floors. They begin transforming it from a house into a home, and during that process, discoveries are made. The first one is a massive steel door, hidden behind a pile of debris and a hastily installed wall. The second is a strange key that only fits the lock for that particular door. Beyond the door? An empty room. Making things weirder is the occasional electrical surges. The electrician they call finds that miles of wiring has been installed under the floors and within the walls. It all leads to a power source in the basement that looks like it was designed by a steampunk version of Clive Barker.

There’s one other snag. As he’s departing, the electrician mentions his surprise that someone has bought the old place. The previous owners were brutally slain within the house, and the house has remained dormant since then.** Matt does a little online sleuthing and finds that the killer, known only as John Doe (John Flanders), is conveniently housed in a local mental hospital. As so often happens with our best internet sessions, Matt is drunk enough to fall down a rabbit hole but not drunk enough to pass out.

Matt stumbles past the steel door, into the empty room, and collapses. He leans back, drains a bottle of booze. With a sigh, he says to himself, “I need another bottle.” The lighting flickers. Everything goes dark for a moment. When the lights come up, another full bottle has appeared. The following morning, Kate finds him in the room, surrounded by things that weren’t there before. A kind of enchantment exists where anything wished for can become a tangible reality.

As you can imagine, this is odd. Kate asks him how it works. He replies with, “Who cares?” which seems like a cavalier attitude to have upon discovering a magical matter transport device. They experiment, asking for paintings, furniture, money, and more. The mechanical thing in the basement groans. The lights flicker. They promptly quit their jobs and enter a fantasy world, one provided by the room. The fantasy can’t paper over the cracks in their marriage, cracks caused by multiple miscarriages. Kate sees a chance for a new start, and after an argument, Matt finds Kate cooing over a baby. From there, things go exceedingly poorly.

Remember the old story, The Monkey’s Paw, the one where a mystical thingamajig grants wishes, but does so with a perverse twist? Director Christian Volckman is going for something similar. A limited budget and a handful of locations meant Volckman had to be creative. Instead of relying on CGI, he focuses on an atmosphere of slow, creeping dread. The Room has a couple of jump scares, but it leans closer to psychological horror in the first two acts. The third act features clever camera trickery and some trippy imagery while remaining rooted in character.

Written by Volckman, Sabrina B. Karine, and Eric Forestier, the screenplay does a number of things very well. Nobody cares why the room has magical powers, and the script knows that the important part is watching how the characters react to it. They push the capabilities of the room, discover its limitations, and we see the growing rift between Kate and Matt. Volckman, Karine, and Forestier have written a morality play that would be right at home in The Twilight Zone, and I enjoyed their take on the choices the characters make and their curdled wishes.

The cast is quite small, and the vast majority of the time is spent with Kevin Janssens and Olga Kurylenko. Between the two of them, Kevin Janssens’ Matt is saddled with the majority of the exposition. It’s his character that spends time learning stuff*** and he does his best with a role that’s occasionally a little thankless. Kate is the meatier role, and Kurylenko dives into it. She creates a fully three-dimensional character, and we see Kate’s joy, curiosity, despair, desperation, and terror. Plenty of actors would hold back in a horror movie, but Kurylenko gives it her all and delivers a strong performance.

The Room is a clever psychological thriller that examines the horror of getting what we want. Its dark, twisty, and intense filmmaking put the screws to characters that are a great deal like any of us. Though I like to think a decent home inspection could have saved them a ton of problems.

    *I know, there’s already the 2003 Tommy Wiseau trashterpiece called The Room, and the very good 2015 Brie Larsen film called Room. A wise producer would have insisted on a title change with this one.

**You would have thought their Realtor would have mentioned that.

***He also spends a ton of time withholding information from Kate. I like to think my wife and I would have a healthy chat about moving into a house where a murder was committed and our discovery of a room with reality-warping powers. I like to think that, anyway.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/the-expanse-of-dreams/