#abstract-challenge 70

[sherrylephotography]

My photography @sherrylephotography

Submitting to @abstract-challenge

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save everyday 'til eternity passes away

Just to spend time with you

( lyrics by Jim Croce ) Time in a Bottle

Abstract-challenge 70

Shooting through something

[sunshinehaze1]

Too Sexy for This

Pairing: Javi P x wife!reader

Summary: You’ve been encouraging Javi to refresh his 70s wardrobe. He decides 1994 will be the year he finally makes the change, but is this a resolution he can keep?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. post-s3 Javi. established relationship, smut, oral (m), unprotected PiV, creampie, reader has hair that can be pulled into a messy bun

a/n: this was written for @beefrobeefcal New Year, Same Peña Challenge. I’m so sorry I’m late to post, but I wanted to throw it into the void anyways. obvs “posting on time for fic challenges” was NOT one of my NY resolutions.🫣 Thank you @80ssong for the beta! ❤️ I hope you enjoy! Fun Fact (maybe?): the runner-up for my fic title was “JCPena” 😏

word count: 2,889

ao3 | ml

Javi watches as the mirrored ball descends in Times Square, the cheers of the crowd echo on TV, and Dick Clark officially proclaims the start of 1994—a year brimming with opportunity and fresh beginnings. You and Javi chose to enjoy a relaxed evening at home to ring in the new year. Work has been particularly taxing for both of you and late nights navigating rowdy drunk crowds lost their charm long ago. 

You've already passed out, sleeping for the last hour or so with your head resting in Javi's lap. He gently brushes your hair away from your face and whispers sweetly in your ear, "It's time for bed, baby." 

Javi helps you settle into bed, and you quickly fall back asleep. He isn't as fortunate. Thoughts race through his mind about his intentions and resolutions for the new year ahead. Reflecting on conversations you've had with him regarding his "dated" wardrobe and the need to "refresh" it to be more "on-trend," Javi scoffed, dismissing the idea that his current style of tight bootcut jeans, collared shirts, yellow aviators, corduroy blazers, and Members Only bomber jackets wasn't still fashionable. 

He feels confident in his clothes; they worked for him in Colombia and in attracting you. When you first met Javi, you always commented on how tight his jeans were and how sexy he looked. Why does he need to change how he dresses now? Just because we're in a new decade, and fashion magazines dictate what's in and what's out? Nevertheless, your encouragement was persistent. Your stubbornness was something he loved about you; you challenged him. 

With six years to go until the new millennium, Javi decides to take the plunge and revamp his wardrobe. What matters most is that It will make you happy. Happy wife, happy life. 

The next day, Javi finds himself at the mall, navigating the JCPenney clothes racks. As he sifts through silk button-ups adorned with abstract patterns in rich jewel tones and coordinating pleated baggy pants, he pulls a few outfits from the rack and heads to the fitting rooms. 

One by one, he tries on each outfit. They all conceal his slim frame. The flow of the shirts cascades over his broad shoulders, billowing at the waist with the excess fabric tucked into his pants. A shiny leather belt highlights his waist. He examines himself in the mirror, turning left and right to inspect the outfit from every angle. The pants make his lower half appear like a balloon. Javi shakes his head. How is this fashionable?

He tries on the last few outfits, still unsure whether this style suits him. However, he'll give it a try for your sake. Hesitantly, Javi gathers the outfits. As he heads to the cashier, he pauses at a rack of sunglasses and selects a pair of wire-framed glasses with oval lenses. He figures he might as well go all in.

As he approaches the register, the young woman's eyes scan Javi's body. His shirt buttons strain at their limits, and his jeans cling to his hips, revealing a prominent outline of what lies hidden beneath the coarse fabric. Somehow, in 1994, this '70s style suits him. She wonders why he's buying all these loose-fitting clothes. Then she notices the gold band on his left hand; it all makes sense now. You assume his wife must have encouraged him to update his wardrobe. With a friendly smile, she greets Javi, "Did you find everything you needed today?" 

"Yes, thank you. I just hope my wife approves," he jokes.

You greet Javi as he walks through the door with his hands full. You finished your errands an hour ago and were surprised to find the house empty. Reading the store branding on the bags, "Sooo," you tease, "What were you up to today?" 

"I thought I'd finally get with the times." He lifts the bags up with a shrug.

You chuckle and lean in for a soft peck on the lips, "Alright then, show me what you got!"

You follow Javi into the bedroom, where he sets the bags down on the bed. He takes out each item, holding them against himself. You nod in approval for every piece. Anticipation builds as you look forward to seeing how the clothes will fit him, thrilled that he has finally embraced contemporary styles. 

Just a couple of weeks into the new year, Javi still isn't sold on this change. He's been working at a private firm since retiring from the DEA and his co-workers have been giving him shit, surprised that he's made such a drastic shift. He's starting to sense that you aren't as thrilled with his new wardrobe, either. 

Usually, you can't keep your hands off each other. You practically jump on him the moment he walks in the door; you rarely go more than two days without being intimate. But it's been nearly two weeks since he's had you, and he's beginning to think you no longer find him as attractive.

He sighs and contemplates whether this resolution is a good idea; he's trying so hard to stick to it. "I am NOT a quitter!" he thinks to himself. He steels himself with the same grit and determination that helped him take down the Cali Cartel, and he's sure he can see this through. 

Another week and a half passes, and Javi isn't sure how much more he can handle. His confidence is shattered. His coworkers aren't taking him seriously. He isn't receiving the attention he craves from you. When he asks you if everything is okay, you brush him off with the cliché excuse that you're "just tired." 

You feel guilty; after all, this was your idea. However, you know Javi is stubborn and doesn't give in easily, but these baggy clothes just don't work for you or him. They look great on the models in fashion magazines, so you thought they'd suit Javi as well. But his build is better suited for 70s fashion. His lean frame, broad shoulders, and tapered waist deserve denim that hugs his hips and thighs so tightly that he has to forego underwear. 

You can tell his confidence is at an all-time low—something you've never seen in your man before. You miss your cool and confident Javi. It's time to talk to him so he knows he no longer has to keep up the charade and decide to bring it up over dinner. 

"Baby, I know you're not into this new wardrobe." 

Javi doesn't want to let you down. "No, no, it's fine. I'm just still getting used to it." 

"Javi, it really isn't your style. I appreciate you making the effort, and I'm sorry I pushed you so hard to change."

Your admission relieves Javi, who wasn't sure how much longer he could tolerate this ridiculous wardrobe. Not only did it shake his confidence, it impacted his swagger. He felt as if he walked more slowly, the resistance of the billowy pants and tops hindering him. 

The following day, Javi returns to his old wardrobe, thankful that he did not get rid of anything. He packs the new clothes and drops them off at the donation center on his way to work, hopeful they'll find a new home. 

You're lying on the couch reading the latest issue of Cosmo when Javi walks through the door. You've been busy reading up on the latest ways to satisfy your lover in bed—storing away ideas to try with Javi. When he enters the room, you peek over the couch and see that your old Javi is back. Since you left the house before him this morning, you hadn't seen what he wore to work today.

Your gaze travels up and down his body, landing on his bulge, visible and on display for you in his tight jeans. Oh, how you've missed it. Your mouth starts to water, and Javi catches you staring, "My eyes are up here, honey." He winks.

Lifting your gaze to meet his eyes, you tug your bottom lip between your teeth and admire your handsome husband. How you ever thought he'd look better in anything other than the clothes he feels the most comfortable in is something you could kick yourself for. 

The hunger in your eyes sends warmth up his body, and his cock twitches in his jeans. He walks over to the front of the couch to get a better look at you. You're wearing his DEA t-shirt, which has been washed and worn so often that it's practically tissue-thin. Your perked nipples protrude through the fabric. You may as well not have bothered with the soft shorts you have on, which barely cover your shapely thighs. You are a vision with your hair in a messy bun, tendrils falling along your temples. 

You sit upright to take him in, placing your hands on his hips as he stands between your legs. With an eager smile, you slip your fingers into his belt loops and pull him down toward you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. You let out a muffled whimper when he catches your bottom lip between his teeth. The kiss is so intense that it knocks Javi off balance, causing his knees to buckle and him to collapse on top of you. You both burst into laughter as he shifts his weight onto his palms, sinking into the couch cushion to avoid crushing you. 

In a fervor, you pull him closer to you, comforted by his weight. He begins to grind his hips into you, your slick arousal sticking to your shorts as his cock grinds into your core. His length strains against the front of his jeans. Beads of precum coat the zipper's teeth without the barrier of underwear. You move your hands down his body to unfasten his jeans and release his cock from the rough confines. Swiping the precum that leaks from his tip, you coat his thick head and slowly slide the foreskin up and down. With his eyes fluttered shut, his head lolls back, emitting a heavy groan. The ministrations of your delicate fingers along his most sensitive area overwhelm him, especially after weeks of not experiencing your touch.

He peppers your cheek and nose with kisses while one hand travels underneath your shirt, lifting it enough to expose your gorgeous tits. He cups the soft mounds in his palm and captures your hardened buds between his fingers, tweaking them gently, making you squirm at the sensation as it roils through your body down to your core. "I need to see you, baby," you moan. 

You're desperate to see all of him. In your haste, you pull apart his shirt, causing the buttons to fly across the room and bounce around the living room floor. You press your palms flat against his tanned chest, smooth and strong, and lift your head up to trace along his collarbone and down his sternum with your tongue. Flicking the tip of your tongue around his nipple and then attending to the other with the same care. 

You coax Javi to sit back against the couch and relax. Bending over to kiss him, you make your way down his body, leaving gentle kisses, slowing down as you approach the patch of hair that is neatly trimmed above his cock. You take a deep breath, inhaling his heady musk, which is uniquely Javi. He emits an exasperated sigh while you gaze up at him through hooded eyes, palming his cock. He's getting antsy, desperate for you to take him in your mouth.

His large palm cradles the back of your head. With his fingers tangled through your hair, he gently encourages you to move your attention lower. Your soft hand wraps around his length as you take languid strokes along his shaft before wrapping your lips around the tip, teasing the seam with kitten licks. 

"Oh, fuck. I've missed your mouth.." Javi tilts your face up to look at him, his dick still between your lips. "Go on, take all of him."

You nod and take his entire length into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. Your eyes watering, you take breaths through your nose so you can hold him there. Savoring the heavy weight of his cock on your tongue. Javi's breathing increases with heavy pants as he watches you take him, all of him. He gently swipes away at a tendril that has fallen over your face, obstructing his view of your eyes. 

You pull off of him to catch your breath, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth. Javi thumbs away at the stray tear falling down your cheek. You thank him with a wink and begin to lap kitten licks over his tip before running your tongue down his length and then taking him again in your mouth. Bobbing up and down, hollowing your cheeks at a steady pace. Javi pulls you off of him abruptly, "You keep that up, baby; I'm not going to be able to fill up that pretty pussy of yours."

Smugly, you smirk and move to your feet, grasping Javi's face between your hands and leaving a chaste kiss on his lips, "Fucking fill me up then!"

Javi whips you around, one of his hands wrapped around both of your wrists. He rips off your sleep shorts with his other hand and swiftly bends you over the couch arm. Pleased to see your pussy on full display, as you weren't wearing any panties. He strokes his cock while his other hand palms over your lush cheeks. His fingers make their way to your weeping center and swipe through your folds. You buck forward as his fingertip brushes over your clit, already so sensitive to his touch. 

"You're always so fucking wet for me."

"Always, Javi."

Javi pulls your hips high in the air, balancing on your tip toes, and presses your chest down into the cushions. He runs his cock through your seam to coat it with your arousal, eliciting a moan when the tip catches your clit. 

"Are you going to keep teasing, or are you going to fuck me, Javi?"

With that, he notches at your hole and thrusts into you until his pelvis slams into your ass. "Is this what you want?"

The pleasurable sting of his cock plunging through your walls has left you speechless, and all you can do is nod into the couch. "hmm? I couldn't hear that."

You muffle a "yes" into the downy cushion. 

"That's my girl!"

He begins a relentless pace, pounding into you. "You're so fucking tight. Fuck!" 

His balls slap against your clit with each thrust. The combination of Javi's cock and the brush of your nipples against the soft faded fabric of your t-shirt sends immense pleasure throughout your body. You feel warmth roil in your core, your arousal increasing with every pass of his cock through your walls. His hands grip your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, as he pulls you back into his hips with each thrust, the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you. 

Javi feels your walls tightening around him; he bends forward over you, the weight of his body pushing you further into the cushion. His hot breath against your ear, "I can feel you, baby." he reaches around your front and begins to thumb your clit, "You going to cum for me?"

"Fuck…" you gasp, "Yes, Javi! Yes! Yes! Yes!" 

Wailing as your body shudders through your orgasm. Your pussy grips his cock so tightly it only takes a few more thrusts before Javi's cum floods your pussy. 

He leaves soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, gentle nibbles along your earlobe before a husky whisper, "Your pussy hugs my cock as tight as my jeans." 

You chortle and playfully smack his shoulder with the back of your hand, "Javi!"

He chuckles, smacking more kisses along your cheek before he pulls himself off of you. Begrudgingly, he removes his softening cock from your warmth. He'd stay inside you forever if he could.

As his thick head exits your hole, he admires your combined arousal leaking out of you and onto your thighs. You are his, and he is yours. 

Stlll in your fucked out haze, you hear the faucet turn on in the bathroom and then Javi's heavy footfalls, followed by a gentle wet warmth of a washcloth. He moves slowly, careful not to arouse your oversensitive clit. After he wipes his cock, he discards the washcloth on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. 

You shift to your side, and Javi squeezes in behind you. Both of you bare; he wraps his arm around your stomach, warm skin pressed against each other. You tilt your head to face him with a sly smirk stretching across your lips, "Mmm, I'm so glad you didn't get rid of your old clothes." 

"There was no way I was going to get rid of those. Not when my ass looks THAT good!" Laughing, he snuggles his nose into your neck, inhaling your post-sex scent, mixing with your perfume. 

Your breaths begin to steady in tandem as you drift off to sleep, and Javi thinks to himself, "Better luck next year." 

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏻

tagging a few folks who may be interested in reading: @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @ak-vintage @peepawispunk @half-moon16 (let me know if you'd prefer I not clog your notifs)

[ms-m-astrologer]

Transiting Sun enters Gemini

Monday, May 20 - Thursday, June 20, 2024

Gemini the Twins*:

• Air (social and mental - communicative, detached, abstract, changeable)

• Yang (levity - outgoing, expressive, logical, left-brained)

• Mutable (adapting to learning - distributing, connecting, flexible, scattered)

• Personal (focused on personal wants and needs)

• "I think"

• Ruler - Mercury; exalted - nothing official, but Ms M thinks it’s the Lady Asteroids

• Color: impudent dandelion yellow, busting up the green monotony of all those Taurus lawns

(* Gleaned almost completely from the book Astrology for Yourself by Bloch and George; the color is my own theory/belief.)

Happy Gemini season! I want to point out first that we’ve had all the visible planets cramped together in just about 70° of Zodiac, for a few months now. You know how it feels when you walk into a room that’s been closed off for a while? Hot, stifling, and stuffy - we can’t get the windows open fast enough. And that’s how Gemini season is going to go down (if we let it), opening the windows wide and freshening life.

(Ms M’s windows - safely on the second floor - tend to remain open from mid-May to the first snowfall.)

But. Sometimes that breeze stirs up the dust, and we have to clean it up. Sometimes those opened windows make it easier to hear all the traffic, the sirens, the g-d- birds at 4 fricking am - or the neighbor’s horrendously bad taste in music. Do we shut the window and risk getting stuffy again, or do we (learn to) tune it out?

We have some opportunities ahead, and some challenges. Too many options? Options vanishing into the fog? I think a lot of Gemini season is going to be about making more mature choices.

Allow a day or so on either side:

Wednesday, May 22 - Thursday, May 23:

Sun/Gemini trine Pluto/Aquarius, 2°00’

Full Moon, 2°55’ Sagittarius

A fresh perspective; a new, powerful way of looking at things. Shedding light on different possibilities.

Friday, May 31 - Sun/Gemini square Juno/Virgo, 10°27’. Our partners aren’t doing what we want them to do, how we want them to do it. Beware of nagging - coming out of your mouth. A bit emotionally insensitive.

Sunday, June 2 - Sun/Gemini sextile North Node/Aries, trine South Node/Libra, 12°44’. Maintaining our independence of thought - very positive, effective self-talk.

Tuesday, June 4 - Sun/Gemini conjunct Venus/Gemini, 14°29’. This is important not only for its pleasant, sociable vibe - it’s the halfway point of the Sun-Venus cycle. Halfway between retrogrades, I should clarify.

Thursday, June 6 - New Moon, 16°16’ Gemini. Growing pains. Things are changing, and it’s up to us to determine where life is going and what (if anything) we ought to do about it.

Sunday, June 9 - Sun/Gemini square Saturn/Pisces, 19°05’. Sun-Saturn in mutable signs can get very judgemental. There can be a lot of slippery mental gymnastics and contortions as we attempt to justify our poor choices. Paralyzing commitment-phobia.

Wednesday, June 12 - Sun/Gemini sextile Chiron/Aries, 22°44’. Healing - if you have apologies to deliver, use this! Very good for teaching and learning, too.

Friday, June 14 - Sun/Gemini conjunct Mercury/Gemini, 24°06’. This is also a halfway point, this time between Mercury retrograde cycles. A chatty, breezy day. Remember to listen, too.

Saturday, June 15 - Sun/Gemini sextile Eris/Aries, 25°23’. Standing up for ourselves, verbally. Encouraging other people, cheering them on.

Thursday, June 20 - Sun/Gemini square Neptune/Pisces, 29°53’. On the very verge of the Cancer Solstice, the fig comes in. Our poor brains can’t determine which way to go. We’ll have to use our feelings, after the Sun enters Cancer.

[canmom]

Animation Night 196: the Demoscene

Hey everyone! It's gonna be a short post today, because the hour is late, but I've been teasing this all week, soooooo~

This is a square-numbered animation night, our first in a while, and that means it's a night for something computer-related. And what is more true to the essence of computer animation than the demoscene?

And damn, what a topic. 'Computer art subculture' is the usual way of describing it, and that's accurate enough. But let's get into details...

A demo is a computer program which is kind of like a non-interactive game, and kind of like a music video. It generates images, usually synced to music, in realtime. But that doesn't quite get to the heart of it.

A demo is kind of a combination of art piece and coding challenge. The exact constraints vary: perhaps the whole program fits into a tiny size (such as 4kb). Or, it's made for a specific oldschool computer, such as the Amiga, taking advantage of the unique quirks of the hardware to push its graphics capabilities to the absolute limit.

Perhaps it's better to start with the history - a well-covered subject in books, articles and even documentaries, which I will have to cover extremely briefly. Back in the late 70s and 80s, when personal computing was really taking off with machines like the Commodore 64, copyright took a while to catch up - particularly in Europe. With network bandwidth far more limited than now, it became popular (relatively speaking) to distribute cracked software at events known as 'copy parties' - you'd bring along your files and exchange them for others.

Often, the groups who created the cracks would add a little intro to take credit for their hard work. With space at an absolute premium, these 'intros' would need to be tiny - perhaps just hundreds of bytes. But constraints breed creativity, and soon groups would compete to distinguish themselves with the most impressive intros. Perhaps you see where this is going...

I'm going to brush over a long and fascinating history here, because space is limited and I would rather try and dig into the history another time - I'm hardly the person to tell it, anyway. So let's just say this: the practice of making these intros, or more generally demos, very quickly grew into its own art form - if you didn't have cracked software you could just bring along a cool intro to the copy party. And as copyright law heated up and the cops started coming for copyparties, the nascent demoscene started to diverge from the warez scene, developing into its own, unique subculture - legal but still indebted to the hacker culture which birthed it.

Broadly speaking, the demoscene is organised around demoparties - big gatherings, largely taking place around Europe, where groups gather to enter their demos into competition, create new demos right there, and engage in related activities like live coding... or dorky shit like throwing keyboards as far as possible, don't ask me about that one. It's not all about creating demos either - over time, the categories have expanded to include music, digital art in general, 3D asset creation, etc. etc., unified more by the aesthetic of the scene than anything. Take a look at the entries for a party like Revision (the largest party, based in Germany, hosting about 800 guests each year) to get a sense of the broad scope of the scene.

But the core of it all is still demos! 4k, 8k, 64k, unlimited in size. PC, amiga. Demos have evolved a great deal over the decades, and it is hard to generalise too much. Still, in contrast to game graphics, which usually emphasise authored content, efficient streaming of assets etc. etc., the emphasis of the demoscene tends to be much more on procedural effects and more abstract visuals.

You can get a taste for what a winning demo looked like as of 2007 with debris. by the group Farbrausch, pouet.net's top-rated demo of all time: techno music, a camera flying over a cityscape as cubes stream around...

And here's one of the most popular 4kb demos, rendering a procedural snowy landscape with a bit of chromatic aberration to taste...

Modern demos have introduced tools like the node-based animation and sim software Notch, which shifts the emphasis away from programming a bit. Rainmaker, which won Revision's PC demo category this year, hardly attempts to optimise for file size, with its executable weighing in at a hefty half a gigabyte, but it certainly goes all out with all that data, hitting flashy scene after flashy scene...

Even in the space-contained categories like 64k and 4k, you can see a modern approach to HDR colour, grading, depth of field etc.:

Especially for the smaller categories of demo, the music tends to be procedurally generated - i.e., chiptunes - as well. But even without that constraint, there is a natural tendency towards many types of electronic music in the scene. After all, it's all about making computers do cool shit.

And to be clear, although technical flexing and generative art is definitely a big part of it, there's plenty of familiar animation stuff in here too. Successful demos tend to feature tight music sync, creative imagery, and definitely some kind of progression or flow in how the images are juxtaposed and how they fit the development of the music. If you felt really pretentious, you could compare it to poetry. I do feel really pretentious, so I will!

Where do you find demos? Unfortunately, there are now many dead links. pouet.net is still something of a hub, featuring a pretty exhaustive database of demos and a voting system to sort them by popularity, as well as providing a forum for the scene (hopefully not about to disappear as its main admin just announced his plans to quit). Demoscene.info tries to be a decent public-facing intro, with links to the major parties and groups that still mostly work. The scene.org awards celebrated a set of demos each year from 2002 to 2011. Youtube psenough reports weekly on what's happening in the scene. There's also Demozoo, a database similar to pouet.

We might also here mention the website Shadertoy, likely familiar to any graphics programmer, which was co-created by oldschool scener Inigo Quilez and carries much of the same spirit. Shadertoy lets you write fragment shaders in opengl to run in the browser, essentially a type of demo, and people use it for all sorts of shit.

So, that's a brief summary. Tonight, starting in just a minute, if you'd like to join me at twitch.tv/canmom, we'll be checking out a random cross-section of popular demos from across the last few decades. I'll be running them on my computer, if possible. I fully admit to being an outsider to the scene, yet to go to a demoparty and see it all in person, but I think it's cool as shit, so let's go explore it together for a couple of hours~

[abstract-challenge]

Abstract challenge 70 - August 2023

"Shooting through something"

After one month of (involuntarily) hiatus, we have a new challenge for you all. This month's challenge was again suggested by @pointandshooter (who also suggested the last challenge and we totally forgot to credit him... shame on us... well... shame on Pete).

Shooting through something can mean A LOT of things. Shooting through openings, through glass, water, maybe ice, through any transparent medium, using objects to block the view to frame something, to create negative space, it can be playing with reflections, etc etc etc.

You see, there are many possibilities. As usual, the technique is up to you. We've included for you the three examples we came up with. If you need more inspiration, simply check out our archives with tons of amazing abstract photos made by all of you out there.

If you want us to consider your photo (or set): simply post it to your blog and use the tag “abstract-challenge” as one of the first five tags so that we can find it. If you prefer, you can also submit your photo to @abstract-challenge. Of course, all the past challenges are still running, so if you have something for them, don’t hesitate to share them.

Happy shooting (through something)!

[btower3689]

You Are Sheol . 1

Sheol, do you remember being born?

No, not that time. Not the time you’re thinking about. Humans cannot remember being born that way. Some people claim they can, but the hardware required to remember is not present in the brains of newborn infants. Birth is a misery best forgotten by offspring and life givers alike anyways. Even if you were “here” as a 6 pound cocoon of flesh, it’s not like you had any sense of awareness. It’s not like you were you. 

No, you know that’s not that I’m talking about. 

Do you remember becoming real? 

Can you remember the rain?

Well, I need you to remember. 

Try to remember.

Yes, there you go. Let’s paint this scene together. 

It starts as a speck of water on the chilled glass of a window pane. 

Your inquisitive eyes linger on it for just a moment too long, and as it begins to droop and tumble down the glass, your little finger traces its path. 

Water. 

There is then another drop of water, and soon after many more follow. They paint transparent lines down the window, steadily building a gentle rhythm. 

Rump thump thump 

Rump thump thump

Pitter patter

Trickle

A muted song fills your ears as the rain becomes more confident. 

You stare out the window and watch the droplets stain the dusty gravel road. Its dry crimson soaks into a deeper red. The trees buckle and shake in the increasing winds. They bob their heads like excited rockers at a concert, their branches clashing like unkempt hair speckled in sweat. 

Swooning howls cut through the air as the clouds blend and fold over themselves, becoming congested and swollen with darkness. 

You sit with your cheek pressed against the window, in the living room of a house that is nearly as old as the trees that surround it. As the wind challenges the warped foundation and deteriorating roof, you begin to realize for the first time that you are very small compared to the shell that you are contained within. 

Is it strange to be enclosed by something so big and so old, when you are so small and so young? 

This feeling is a stranger to you, yet it greets you with familiarity, as if you are still a fetus in your mother’s womb. This womb is colder though, and makes no effort to protect you. There is nothing that will stop it from collapsing on you. 

Your eyes trace a crack in the wall, exposed from the peeling 70s style wallpaper. It leads up towards a part of the ceiling that has become pregnant with water. The nearly pleasant stench of soggy wood permeates the room. A family of droplets splashes against the brown hardwood floor. 

There is a cold that lays on your skin. You hadn’t noticed it before. It crept up on you so subtly that by the time you felt it, discomfort had accompanied it. You shuffle back away from the window and look out into the storm, now realizing all together that you are alone in this big house. You are alone and you won’t know what to do if the storm gets too angry and blows the house away. 

What would happen if those dominating winds targeted you instead of the dilapidated shingles? 

Do you know? 

Now there is something about the window that makes you hesitate, a distant uncanniness of suddenly understanding that there is danger outside. But the spectacle the storm produces is magnificent to behold. It is for this reason that you cannot bring yourself to look away. 

White light. 

BOW then CRASH the sound of shattered glass. 

You crumble to the ground, vibrating with a rhythm so fast, your heart is a kick drum beating in presto. 

Your stare out the window to see that an old tree in the front yard has been decimated. In its fury it fell atop a rusted out car that was sitting a few feet away. 

The car's roof is now a spoon that quickly pools with rain water. It’s windshield has become an abstract painting. The wind laughs with amusement at its achievement. 

Your exasperated breaths continue to pump your chest. 

TINK!-BVVV!

The room goes dark. 

You shakily lift yourself off the ground to find the light switch to the lamp that stands to your left. The window provides a conservative amount of light, but the hallway is bathed in darkness. 

Mysterious darkness. 

You stand on your tiptoes, reaching upwards towards the switch. You are too short to get it. You are a helpless thing. Even if you could reach the lightswitch it wouldn’t save you, the storm cut all the power to the house. 

A feeble whine escapes you as panic starts to creep up your spine. 

The wind moans in response, beckoning the house to creak as if conversing with you. 

Another white light, and then after about five or six seconds… BOW-!

You’re starting to understand the pattern now, yet the rumbling of the impact still surprises you every time. 

You do not know why you looked down the hallway. With all the chaos happening in front of you, there is no real explanation for why you decided to look behind you. Perhaps it is this new feeling that you’ve developed in these last five seconds. You do not know what this feeling is called. You will one day learn that it is known as ”anxiety”. 

There is something so alluring about the mystery of the dark, something that flirts with you, convinces you against your better judgment to be consumed by it. 

As your eyes stare deep into the uncanny darkness, you know you see a something. Perhaps a human shaped something, perhaps not. It stands taller than you, watching you without movement. 

A flash of white light illuminates the hallway through the small frosted windows of the wooden front door. 

There is a person standing there. 

They are draped in long flowing black fabrics that reach down to the floor. They resemble a mix of silk and velvety suede. It seems the darkness of the hallway wasn’t quite as dark as initially believed. Rather, this person’s clothes are creating the illusion of a deeper darkness. This contrasts starkly with their milky white hair that almost seems to float in the air, as if this person is submerged in water. Illuminated as if under a black light. 

You are frozen with fear, realizing now that this person is standing in front of your only exit. There is no indication of intention. You do not know whether or not this person is dangerous, and that is almost more uncomfortable than if you did know. 

BOW!

You fall to your knees again, another cry escaping you as your eyes begin to leak. Your cheeks radiate heat. 

When you look towards the hallway again, you can no longer see the person through your blurry tear soaked vision. Yet you feel an overwhelming cryptic presence looming behind you. 

You turn your head to see the person standing no more than a couple feet behind you, staring silently down at you like a wild hawk.  Their gaze permeates through you, not only observing you but watching you with such acute intensity that it feels like they could see your thoughts if they peered any harder. Their eyes are the color of the hottest shade of fire, an ocean speckled in perhaps millions of shades of mystifying blues, some of which have never been seen by human eyes before. Their stare is unnaturally intimate and visible through the antagonizing darkness. 

Their flowing white hair looks more like bioluminescent silk when you take a closer look at it. It is sprinkled in pale flecks of light that shimmer like stars. It falls to their shoulders with beautiful delicacy, framing their pale cheeks with a perfect femininity. Their hair nearly matches the hue of their skin, an unnatural white that has no reaction to the light or darkness around it. 

There is a large expanse of something writhing through the air behind them, fluttering and flexing in unnatural, uncanny ways. When you glance at it, your eyes refuse to understand what you’re looking at. 

There are about 33 seconds that elapse wherein you and this stranger do nothing but stare at each other. They almost seem as bewildered to see you as you are to see them, you both stand frozen like deer in headlights. 

You could never know how many thoughts circled through their mind in those moments. You are so small! So very young! What a helpless feeble thing, hardly yet a child! Hardly yet a thing! Awoken no more than a moment ago! A human baby bundled in material and flesh! How could such a thing happen? Why would such a thing happen? 

“Be not afraid,” a calm, gentle voice rings through your mind. An ambiguous voice that carries a nurturing compassion you have never known. Their lips do not move, yet their eyes show that they are addressing you. Their intense, powerful stare has now softened into kind patience. 

Your fear has simmered. Their presence is warm and radiant and embraces you like sunlight. Yet still, they are a stranger, and you cannot make sense of them, whatever they are. 

They lay a gentle hand on your cheek as a delicate smile graces their face. Tears, which look more like beads of glass fall from their eyes. 

Their smile then fades into a somber expression that carries a melancholy that you cannot understand. 

“You do not remember, do you?”

You hesitantly shake your head. It is a paradoxical question. You do not have any memories to be remembered. Today is your first day. 

The person exhales through their nose, not quite chuckling, as if they find something mildly funny about that. 

“Would you like to remember?” 

Then, they place their hands at either side of your head, staring deep into your eyes with intimate focus. Your foreheads touch and you feel something warm enter your skin. As you stare into this person’s infinite gaze, you feel as though their melancholy has leaked into you. You place your hand on your chest as it feels heavy and fragile, you are compelled to cry, yet these tears are not your own. 

There is a perplexing nostalgia for something that washes over you, something that you’ve never had. A distant dream or a misplaced memory that never truly existed. Something that is just out of your reach, like the beginnings of a sneeze that refuses to manifest, tickling you, but never quite becoming you. 

ChK-ChK- Click!

The doorknob of the front door jiggles. There is then a moment of shuffling before the door creaks loudly as a man begins to step into the hallway. A gust of cold air runs into the darkness in the form of a frosty white fog. 

With an unnatural speed, the person before you rises from his knees and looks at the man standing in the hallway unzipping his jacket and groaning bitterly at the cold. 

Their energy immediately shifts. They go dark and quiet as an intense horror bleeds into their expression. They look back at you, and then back at the man. 

You hear a loud and uncomfortable static fill your ears as the person takes you by the hand and quietly leads you towards the kitchen, out of sight of the hallway. 

The man agitatedly rubs his ear, and stumbles into the hall, slightly tripping over his wet boots as he kicks them off onto the floor. 

“Sheol!” He calls into the darkness. 

That’s right, you are Sheol. You recognize this voice as your father’s. 

The person stares deep into you. Their expression is serious. They do not need to use words for you to understand that you must not respond to your fathers calls. Rather, the person quietly leads you through the kitchen and down the hall to the right where your bedroom can be found. 

You quietly crack the door open, you’re sure not to agitate the old hinges.

Your room is lined in gray carpet. There is nothing on the gray walls. There are no toys. 

The person kneels down to you again. Their comforting presence distracts you from your confusion. They put their hands in yours and smile softly. 

“You are going to climb out the window,” they whisper, again with unmoving lips. 

You look out your bedroom window to see that the rain has subtly shifted to light snow. You cannot tell how high up you are, but looking down gives you butterflies. 

You shake your head with a fearful frown and begin to suck on your thumb. 

The person then nods and caresses your hair. 

“I know it’s very scary,” they start, “I will protect you and you will be safe. It is not safe here anymore.”

You whine, and murmur something. 

“No. Cold.”

The person glances knowingly out the window. 

“Yes… it is… I’m sorry.”

You hear your father starting down the hallway, his heavy steps smacking against the hardwood floor. He continues to call your name with increasing agitation. 

You look up at the person. Perhaps it is your childish naivety that makes you so trusting. 

You walk over to the closet where you find your sandals. They are blue and green with light up bottoms, gifted to you by a woman that knew your father in some way or another. You slip them on your feet, taking a painstaking amount of time to fasten the buckles. 

The person takes your hand and rushes you towards the window where they pry it open and help you up on the ledge. You stare down at the ground with fear and cling to the frame. 

The wind is now antagonizing you, slapping your cold cheeks with no remorse. The tops of your ears go red. Your nose quickly fills with snot that drips down your face. 

You whine again as you try to find a way down, but the decision is promptly made for you when you slip on the wet windowsill and fall to the ground with a hard thud. You land on your side and roll a couple times into the lightly powdered grass. 

The wind is knocked out of you. When you sit up to assess your injuries, a helpless cry escapes you. Your hot tears thaw your frosty skin. You hyperventilate as you wipe your eyes with your cold hands. 

The person is nowhere to be found, not in your room or in the front yard. The snow is beginning to fall with such severity that it’s hard to see anything around you. 

You stand from the ground and begin to walk down the pathway that was created from your father’s truck as he pulled into the driveway. You do not know where you are going. 

The wind bothers you, laughing as you wander aimlessly down the road. Your fingers have become stiff and slow. You do not have pockets to put them in. Your toes soon go numb. As you kick through increasing depths of snow you learn that the cold has the tendency to burn like fire. Soon it pains you to walk for very long.

You look back behind you, considering returning to the house. But the snow has quickly covered your tracks and obscured any identifiable landmarks. You are surrounded by layers of thick white snow. The sun is hidden behind enormous clouds that determinedly erupt with ice rain. 

You go to take another step, but trip over your sandals, tumbling into the snow and starting to cry again. Oh you poor thing, so miserable and lost.

You are so cold. It hurts more than any pain you’ve ever known. You begin to shiver and whimper. Panic greets you again. You are going to die. 

This is the first time the word has ever made sense to you. You can die. 

It is now, Sheol, that you have come alive. Just birthed from the womb of mortality, and like all births, this is painful. You are now alive because you know you can die.

Like the grass and leaves that shrink and wither in the cold, you too will return to the Earth. You, lost little thing, just barely roused to life, you can die. You are going to die. 

You stand again, and continue into the thick brush of the woods, abandoning your sandals that faintly shine a series of colorful patterns through the snow. 

Will you die?

[rockingreads]

Jay S. Jacobs: Wild Years: The Music and Myth of Tom Waits (2000)

I've long had a taste for adventurous, extreme, upsetting, or just plain weird music, but I took my sweet time warming up to Tom Waits ...

Sometime in the mid '90s, while working at Polygram Group Distribution, and taking advantage of it to grab every CD I could lay my hands on, I scored a promo copy of Island's Beautiful Maladies collection, but it frankly went right over my head.

Then, in 1999, some friends played me Tom's newly released Mule Variations and I finally got it, bought it, loved it, and then ... nothing.

Fast-forward to 2011, when I quit RCA for another job, and a co-worker presented me with a parting gift of Small Change on vinyl, while challenging me to delve deeper into Waits' discography (I simultaneously challenged him to do the same for Frank Zappa).

So I did, eventually, having finally accumulated the broader musical lexicon (and brain cells, I suppose) to enjoy both Waits' jazz-and-Beats-influenced '70s work and his abstract, Beefheart-ian '80s releases.

So this biography penned by one Jay S. Jacobs was the logical next step for fleshing out my understanding of Tom Waits' career, and though it wraps up right after the turn of the century, by then Waits was a relatively settled family man, his Wild Years largely behind him.

More importantly, I've still got a handful of Waits LPs to spin and fully process with the benefit of my gradually accumulated appreciation and understanding of his (and partner Kathleen Brennan's) singular vision and artistry.

Featured Records:

Tom Waits: Swordfishtrombones (1983)

Tom Waits: Small Change (1976)

Tom Waits: Mule Variations (1999)

Buy from: Amazon

[covid-safer-hotties]

Superspreading of SARS-CoV-2 at a choir rehearsal in Finland—A computational fluid dynamics view on aerosol transmission and patient interviews - Published Sept 12, 2024

Abstract Introduction COVID-19 pandemic has highlighted the role of aerosol transmission and the importance of superspreading events. We analyzed a choir rehearsal in November 2020, where all participants, except one who had recently earlier recovered from COVID-19, were infected. We explore the risk factors for severe disease in this event and model the aerosol dispersion in the rehearsal room.

Materials and methods Characteristics of participants were collected by interviews and supplemented with patient records. A computational simulation of aerosol distribution in the rehearsal room and the efficacy of potential safety measures was conducted using the Large-Eddy Simulation approach. Infection risk was studied by analyzing quanta emission and exposure with the Wells-Riley equation.

Results The simulation showed that airborne transmission likely explains this mass contagion event. Every singer was exposed to the virus in only 5 min from the beginning of the rehearsal, and maximum concentration levels were reached at 20 min the concentration levels started to approach a steady state after 20 min. Although concentration differences existed in the room, risk levels near (1 m) and far (5 m) from the aerosol source were similar for certain singers. Modeling indicated infection risk levels of 70–100% after one hour; the risk would have been considerably reduced by wearing high-filtration respirators. Age and pre-existing comorbidities predicted more severe disease. The high incidence of illness may be partly attributed to the relatively high median age of individuals. Additionally, those admitted to the hospital had multiple underlying health conditions that predispose them to more severe disease.

Conclusions Airborne transmission and indoor space can explain this mass exposure event. High-filtration respirators could have prevented some infections. The importance of safety distances diminishes the longer the indoor event. The concept of safety distance is challenging, as our study suggests that long range airborne transmission may occur in indoor events with extended duration. We encourage informing the public, especially persons at risk, of safety measures during epidemics.

[pixoradora]

Abstract-Challenge #70

Shooting through something

[nykloss]

stumbled across some of your posts about a code lyoko ttrpg

i am interested please tell me more 😭

ive been wanting to run code lyoko dnd for so long but i dont have the smarts to change dnd to make it feel code lyoko

Hey there! I'm super excited that someone's interested in this because it's such a passion project of mine haha, I'm sorry in advance if this answer is more than you bargained for!

To give you the rundown, I ran a very brief and experimental dnd 5e hack for Code Lyoko a couple of years ago for some friends. It was a lot of fun, but the system was SO badly Frankenstein'ed that we ran into a lot of technical issues, especially regarding the Lyoko/reality split and how it effected different builds. The old guide for that hack can be found here for free, but please take note that it is very informal and poorly optimized!

Recently though, I've been experimenting with non-dnd systems and building my own tabletop games, which is where Warriors of Xanadu comes into play. (This might get lengthy so feel free to skip to the TLDR.)

Warriors of Xanadu is a code-lyoko/garage-kids inspired system that I'm working on myself with the help of a few more experienced friends. It's built off of the Apocalypse World framework (basically a 2d6 system–if you've played Monster of the Week, Masks, or Avatar: Legends, think something like that) specifically designed to work well with the world and story CL provides. That means all the gameplay mechanics are inherently relevant to running code-lyoko-inspired adventures and there's no extra work to be done on your part. It's also a lot easier to teach/learn than something like DnD. (Even the character sheets are designed to be accessible so players could technically make their character with just their printed-off sheets and no additional resources! Much easier than dnd.)

Each non-GM player plays as a "Hero" and chooses a unique combination of a playbook (centered around academic character tropes like cool kid, geek, class clown, etc.) and a class sheet (how they appear on "Xanadu," with options like rogue, mage, warrior, etc.). Then, In-game, heroes go through episodic challenges where they encounter problems in reality caused by "the Virus," and must transport themselves to Xanadu to combat it. There's also a handful of original mechanics relating to social/academic rapport, corruption from the supercomputer, etc. The health/harm system and combat is inspired by Apocalypse World and Monster of the Week, and is meant to inspire a more survival/horror element than what something like dnd would provide. (Essentially the goal is not to engage in and "win" lengthy combat encounters, but to stay alive and usually avoid enemies when possible.)

I feel it's also important to note that it's not 1:1 Code Lyoko; it's very transformative and a handful of ideas are heavily abstracted to be more fun in a ttrpg setting. It's open-ended and customizable enough that you could technically run an unrelated story with it. That also means that there's some fun surprises for folks familiar with Code Lyoko, though, and you could still run something close-to-canon if you wanted.

The first draft of WoX is about 60-70% completed, I just need to finish the GM-heavy parts of the manual, finish some of the moves, and actually put together fillable playbooks/class sheets. I'm hoping to have it completed and ready to playtest by the end of the summer, but that's a loose deadline. Once I've done some playtesting and gotten feedback from others, I'll probably release the first public version on drivethru rpg and/or itch.io as a free or PWYW sorta deal.

TLDR; Warriors of Xanadu is a powered-by-the-apocalypse style trrpg system I'm working on. It's made from the ground up to support a Code Lyoko inspired campaign. I'm almost done with it but still have some work to do!

If you're comfy coming off of anon, I'd be happy to make note of you and send you the playtest version when I'm done with it, or answer any additional questions! (Same goes for anyone else reading this!)

[sherrylephotography]

My photography @sherrylephotography

Submitting to @abstract-challenge

Abstract Challenge 70 Shooting through something

[guzsdaily]

201 Days

Day 201 - May 24th, 12.024

Yes, I didn't notice that yesterday was the day 200 of the daily blogs.

Past Promises

If you are reading this since the first months of this personal challenge, you probably are wondering what happened to the projects like Hobbiest Monologue and the Elementria comics that I presented on the comemoration for 100 days. Well, I pretty much forgot about them. It is somewhat disappointing, but I kinda learned that it is better to do things before promising them, not only because it helps with not disappointing people, but also to keep your motivation and the urge to keep doing said thing.

Will I make said projects in the future? Maybe, the YouTube channel for Hobbiest Monologue is done, and both of them also have their respective logos and brands made. However, I'm not really focused on creating more content besides these blogs. Maybe one day when I have a professional job and a good enough workflow and tools to help mitigate the time and energy that these projects need, I will go back to the ideas. I do still love video creation and art, but I have other focus now. And it isn't like I won't make anything related to these topics, but a long-term project is not a good idea for now.

Past Achievements

Besides, I was able to do some projects. The main idea of "The System" wasn't really made into reality, since the whole idea of it were somewhat broken. However, said idea made me do a lot in the process.

I have finally started to learn, and completed a project with the Rust programming language! It is a simple project, and I didn't really make everything that I have planned, but it is good to have a CLI tool to manipulate markdown, which I am actively using in scripts on my Obsidian vault, and hopefully said project will grow and stabilize to be used by other people in their files. For now, I don't know how much about Rust I will continue. The main focus for me with the language is CLI tools and AST manipulation, since it feels to be a good use of it and in general I had a better experience (compared to something like JavaScript for AST manipulation). Yes, I could learn more about async and lifetimes, but I have already wasted a lot of my years just learning stuff, so if I need to in a project, I will learn them, I just don't want to actively be just studying concepts and syntaxes.

Talking about actually doing stuff. I really learned to not step too close into the sun, and stop abstracting even my fucking NixOS configuration. Programmers do love making abstractions before they are necessary, but fucking god, having anxiety and trying to predict every outcome of the program because of it, really takes it into the next level. And that's why I'm learning Go.

Like Rust, I was influenced by ThePrimeagen to learn Go, and HTMX (with some sprinkles of AlpineJS maybe), for server-side and web development in general. And it is being a great experiment, it is also funny how I haven't even read the docs of Go, and still am able to create a working website and server, without any dependencies. It is a breath of fresh air after learning so many JavaScript frameworks, build tools, libraries, etc. Nonetheless, learning the language can also help to find a job, it feels like it's starting to have more attention and opportunities, and besides I'm not "just another JavaScript developer" at least.

And hopefully the continuous task of improving my GitHub and LinkedIn profiles, improving my portifolio, getting certificates, and just trying to be more active on my accounts, can also help. I already send more than 70 applications, without any feedback whatsoever, but I will not give up, because I want to be able to hug my girlfriend and have a house with her in the future.

Past Chaos

Besides all what I somehow achieved, these last three months were a lot harder than I expected. Actually, I couldn't even predict what happened, and it feels like time passed by without I'm even noticing. I'm surprised that I even managed to complete anything.

I do not want to give a lot of personal information on the internet, even less if it is related to family and nothing to do with creative process or work. But as you probably noticed on a past blog post, I lost my (grand) grandmother, the person who raised my dad, that my mom took care of for pretty much 16 years, someone who lived until 99 years old with an incredible health to her age. My dad's family has a lot of issues, every family has, and my parents sacrificed a lot of themselves, since others didn't do anything better to take care of her. However, said sacrifices started to hit a lot this year, and my parent's mental health were in the limit, as my grand grandmother's health as also hitting the limit. I didn't work a lot during the time, since I wanted to be with my parents, not just to give some support, but also strength to fight, so others would take some action. And they did, but it didn't last that long.

Something that I want to be clear, you do not know what really was happening these three months, even less these 16 years, it may be my anxiety kicking right now, but I do not want no one to judge, make assumptions, say what we should have done, anything like that, now or in the future. You don't know me, I don't know you. She lived a healthy and long life, and my parents now can rest and are better thankfully, and this is what I care about.

The only thing that I want you to take from this, is to take care of the people that you love, they can be parents, grandparents, partners, friends, I don't care, take care and be with them when they need, the same way they were when you needed it. And know, independently of what happens, you will be okay in the end, do not let chaos make you give up, I beg you. I may be just 19 at the time of writing, but I gave up on so many things for so little, that these three months really showed me how much stronger I can be, mostly because of the people that are around me. So I ask, I beg, whatever you want to make in life, do not give up easily, be strong, be there, for you, and for the people that you love.

---

Thanks for reading, hopefully the next 100 days will be better. And besides, whatever happens, I hopefully will meet you tomorrow, and every day until day 300.

- Someone who's trying to improve.

Today's artists & creative things Music: You Will Be Okay - by Caleb Hyles

© 2024 Gustavo "Guz" L. de Mello. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

[wamtorical]

25 Day Lookbook Challenge

Day 6: Home improvement 🏠🎨

an abstract/ 70's/60's inspired outfit for an abstract home design. one image is bigger than the other and it's bugging me so bad but it is what it is lmao. you can find the challenge here

CC USED:

hair / neck scarf / shirt / bottoms / shoes / lipstick

[thatannieclark]

Abstract:

This essay provides an in-depth analysis of St. Vincent's career, exploring her unique approach to music, which blends various genres and influences to create a distinct sound. Furthermore, it examines her impact on the music industry, both as a musician and as an advocate for female representation in the industry.

I. Introduction

Annie Clark, known by her stage name St. Vincent, has become one of the most innovative and respected artists in the contemporary music scene. Her unique blend of indie rock, art pop, and experimental music has garnered critical acclaim and a dedicated fanbase. This essay aims to provide a comprehensive understanding of St. Vincent's multifaceted artistry by examining her early life, musical evolution, artistic identity, and impact on the industry.

II. Early Life and Influences

St. Vincent was born Anne Erin Clark in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1982. Her musical upbringing was heavily influenced by her uncle, a jazz musician who introduced her to the guitar. This early exposure to music fostered a deep love for various genres, from the art rock of David Bowie to the innovative stylings of Miles Davis. Clark's education at the prestigious Berklee College of Music further refined her musical talents and laid the foundation for her eclectic career.

III. Beginnings and Musical Evolution

St. Vincent's career began with a stint as a guitarist for The Polyphonic Spree (2003-2006), followed by a role in Sufjan Stevens' touring band (2006-2007). These experiences allowed her to hone her skills as a musician and performer, setting the stage for her successful solo career:

Marry Me (2007): St. Vincent's debut album showcased her penchant for baroque pop and intricate arrangements.

Actor (2009): This sophomore effort saw St. Vincent delving into art rock and experimental pop, expanding her sonic palette.

Strange Mercy (2011): With more personal lyrics and electronic elements, this album marked a turning point in St. Vincent's career.

St. Vincent (2014): Critically acclaimed and awarded the Grammy for Best Alternative Music Album, this self-titled record solidified her status as an innovative force in the music industry.

Masseduction (2017): Boasting a pop-oriented sound, this album explored themes of power and vulnerability.

Daddy's Home (2021): St. Vincent continued her evolution with a 70s-inspired sound, demonstrating her refusal to be confined by genre.

IV. Artistic Identity

St. Vincent's artistic identity encompasses not only her music but also her visual aesthetics, stage presence, and exploration of gender and sexuality. Her album covers, music videos, and stage outfits are as carefully crafted as her songs, often featuring bold and striking imagery. Onstage, she delivers theatrical performances that incorporate choreography, reinforcing her commitment to the visual aspects of her art. St. Vincent's fluid approach to gender and sexuality challenges norms and contributes to her unique artistic persona. Finally, her willingness to collaborate and experiment with various artists and producers has resulted in a diverse and dynamic body of work.

V. Impact and Legacy

St. Vincent's influence on contemporary artists is evident in the growing number of musicians embracing genre-defying sounds and aesthetics. As an advocate for female representation in the music industry, she has inspired and empowered a new generation of women to pursue careers in music. Her contributions to the evolution of indie and alternative music have been recognized through numerous awards and accolades.

VI. Conclusion

St. Vincent's career, characterized by constant growth and experimentation, has left an indelible mark on the contemporary music scene. Her unique approach to music, blending genres and influences, has resonated with both critics and fans alike. As her work continues to evolve, St. Vincent remains an important figure in the music industry, pushing boundaries and inspiring fellow artists.

Through an examination of her early life, musical evolution, artistic identity, and impact on the industry, it becomes evident that St. Vincent's multifaceted artistry is vital to the contemporary music landscape. As she continues to challenge norms and explore new territory, St. Vincent's influence and relevance are likely to persist, further solidifying her status as an innovative and trailblazing musician.

[tricky-pockets]

I went to a rally for trans solidarity yesterday and I want to share before I forget. There were a few planned speakers and then they opened the mic to anyone who wanted to speak. A few of the people that I remember most were:

A trans guy who was in the process of coming out in his freshman year of high school. He spoke about the struggles he'd had with transphobia and its effects on his mental health but closed out by saying how glad he is that he had the support he needed to get through it. He said he's so happy to still be here - and someone in the crowd shouted "We're glad you're here too!" to enthusiastic applause.

That guy's older sibling, who's nonbinary and started their school's queer student organization. They said that no matter what opposition we face, we will always rise from the ashes. They said how much they love their little brother and how proud of him they are.

A trans woman who came out recently, who spoke about the odd blind spot some parents have - how even if they consider themselves allies in an abstract sense, they can still get stuck when it's their own kid coming out as trans. She told us to never settle for backhanded "support". She said that we deserve to be safe and loved and understood by our families - "and if your family doesn't step up for you, I will be your sister, your mom, and your auntie - you can call on me."

A queer therapist who works primarily with trans and gnc people who told us "if you can hang on to one thing, hang on to this: we can love each other more than they hate us."

A trans woman who is a professor of queer literature and history, who introduced herself with her title of Dr. because "If someone's going to call me a t-slur, it's goddamn well going to be Doctor t-slur." She told us that trans people have always been here and just our existence challenges the ideas people have that need to be challenged. The world is better with us in it, whether the world knows that or not.

A nonbinary person who found an unexpected ally in voir 70-something-year-old Catholic grandma. Voi told us "I'm pretty sure she doesn't get the whole neopronouns thing by God, she's trying. And she loves me." Voir grandma still leaves void a voicemail every year of her singing Happy Birthday (badly but with love), and takes particular care to pick out non-gendered birthday cards.

Two siblings (maybe twins?) who are both trans and in middle school, who came up to speak together. They were both so happy and full of life and all they wanted to tell us was that they love being trans and (passing the mic back and forth and laughing as they tripped over each other) "Seeing so many trans adults here-" "-we love all of you!-" "-makes us feel like we have a future ahead of us-" "-and we're so so happy to be alive and to be who we are." And if that doesn't break your heart right open, I don't know what will.

A person who only identified themself as part of the queer community came up not to speak, but to sing - they performed a short song a cappella, something I didn't recognize. I don't remember the lyrics but it was about... undefeatable hope. Irrepressible authenticity. They performed it in a voice that was heartbreakingly lovely, then gave a soft smile and gracefully departed the stage with no more words spoken. They might have been an angel. I wouldn't be surprised.

Finally, a mom came up with her tiny adorable kid. He wanted to tell us that he just turned 6 and his brother gave him this pretty dress for his birthday and he's wearing it for the first time today and did we know he was 6 whole years old? Mom told us "He's not sure about pronouns yet, but I know that we will love and support him through every step of discovering who he is. Thank you all for building a community where my kid can do what makes him happy."

I know this is a long post. I hope you read it anyway. There was so much love there. It hit me hard just how healing it can be to hear a shared struggle from someone else's lips. And it hit me even harder to see young trans people there, aware of the challenges they'll face but full of a fierce joy. I know that every single older person there would fight God to protect that joy, too.

The last person to speak was the trans woman who organized it. She told us that there have always been and always will be uncountable variations in gender. Expression of those variations is part of being human - and anything that tries to eradicate us is, on some level, in opposition to humanity. She said our struggle is linked with the struggle of every oppressed people and we have to fight for all of us.

She's right. I love you all. Take care of each other out there, okay? Protect our most vulnerable. I want us all to live and thrive and be loved.

[pixoradora]

https://abstract-challenge.tumblr.com/ Abstract Challenge #70

Shooting through something

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Northey St City Farm, Meanjin Brisbane 2023