#arc III: alight in the dark

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

To All Lords and Ladies of the Realm, The Conclave of Archmaesters has convened, and by the wisdom of our order and the ancient methods of the Citadel, it is declared: winter is upon us. The turning of the seasons is no small matter, nor should its weight be underestimated. Let every lord and lady take heed, for the longest nights draw near, and with them, the cold breath of hardship. Grain stores must be tallied. Livestock must be secured. Walls must be mended, and the strong must see to the weak. This is no season for folly or pride but for preparation and prudence. Though we look to the skies and study the shifting patterns of the stars, winter’s strength will ultimately be measured not in days but in deeds. As each hearth burns and each hall resounds with voices calling for shelter and sustenance, the choices made by lords great and small will echo long after the snows melt away. Take this time to reflect not only on the cost of survival but on the bonds of kin and kingdom that might yet endure. The history of winters past tells us one truth: strength is drawn from unity, while division feeds the wolves that prowl in the dark. We urge all to act wisely, for while the days of summer bring growth and abundance, winter tests all things—land, lineage, and legacy. May the light of the Seven, the Old Gods, and every faith across the realm guide you, Archmaester Harrion, Keeper of the Keys, on behalf of the Conclave of the Citadel.

To the Lords, Ladies, and all amongst the esteemed peerage of Westeros, As white ravens announce another season's turn, it is my sincerest desire that the arrival of this correspondence in accompainament to the proclamation of a new winter's dawn provides respite, and reason to take heart, in the midst of our whole kingdom's commitment to preserving this era of prosperity regardless of what the coming season may bring to pass. Before the winter winds restrict travel and oblige your liegeships' absolute attention to the protection and care of our lands and its people, The Royal Court of King's Landing shall host it's second Formal session of 130 AC. Commencing the second week of the tenth moon, the forthcoming assembly will begin with The Smith's Day festivities and conclude after the celebrations for The Mother's Day draw to a close. With our ability to congregate for next year's observances of The Maiden's and The Father's Day highly suspect, the Crown intends to host outsized affairs for both holy days to demonstrate to The Seven Heavens all the gratitude for their unending blessings this winter is like to necessitate us to sustain in isolation, and in equal measure, to honor the ties that bind our peerage which have allowed us to face whatever harshness the coming moons may hold with optimism and a brave face. Whilst winter preparations consume our days, the generosity this court is prepared to bestow on those who grant their favor in attendance is not to be overlooked. In-keeping with the tradition of The Good King and His Grace, My Father, King Viserys—whose absence weighs heaviest for so many, and foremost myself, with the arivval of the first winter since his passing—as mine own nameday will come around in the midst of these events , I shall not ask for gifts, but instead offer them to those most outstanding in their contributions to allowing the start of my reign, and our kingdom as a whole, to thrive. Champions of The Court may be named for martial skill and exemplary service to Westeros alike, bestowed new measures of wealth to ease winter's burden, afforded safe harbor and positions within the walls of The Red Keep should they choose to seek it, and even greater honors than bestowed in years pasat on the seven young sets of intendeds chosen to represent our kingdom's future before the eyes of The Smith, our most blessed of this season. This invitation is not delivered flippantly nor without heed as to oncoming danger, but to remind its every reader that whatever they must do to preserve the interests of those sworn to them and who they serve in return, the unprecedented possibilities presented with this season's turn are a mandate to take every matter into account, and then meet the decision with steadfast dedication; As rulers, lieges, and regents, these verdicts define not just our legacies, but the very shape of the future for us all. Seven only know what this winter holds, but with these words, you are here by invited to meet it in the glow of our Court's light amidst the dawning dark. May you find good fortune in the moons to come, Her Majesty, Queen Rhaenyra, First of Her Name, Queen of the the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and the Queen of All of Westeros

Arc III of A Song of Golden Fire and Black Blood: Alight in The Dark begins February 2nd

[ayzrules]

❝ a lifetime is far too long for peace, yet far too short for war . . . ❞

i. devour the world whole you were born as king, and you were born to rule - you know that. and you know about humans { you think }. your followers have met a great many of them, and aren’t they all the same? nothing but greed, and fear. 

then there is a young girl, whose heart blooms like a moonflower into a world cloaked in shadow-spun darkness, and she has no room for fear, no capacity for greed. and there is also an old man, whose iron will is forged like a water lily, bright and pure through mud and grime. he is cruel, ruthless, cunning, selfless. he, too, has no thought of fear, no care for greed.

you are more human than you think. your mother named you ‘the light that illuminates all’: did you know that?

ii. gods x monsters a dragon blazes across the sky in a rain of starfire, and it begins.

iii. prayer in the abyss all is up in flames. the king has never seen the true depths of the human soul until he meets the old man in the abyss. humans evolved to endure, to keep getting back up, again and again and again, even after being beaten down hundreds, thousands of time. did you know that, king? it’s in their very biology, when stinging salt and rushing water pools out over their flesh, and even if there is no hope, they still fight on.

humans are cruel, king, crueler than you have ever imagined. the old man is a lotus flower, and he prays to the goddess of mercy, she who hears the cries of the world; a rose unfurls into ricocheting moonlight, petals of burning ruby alight like a pyre. all is up in flames.

iv. incandescent with death he is light, and he shines like a dying star, burning itself to dust. 

{ so ummm i have no excuse for this except MONTHS of pent up ~feelings~ after re-watching chimera ants. the entire arc is so CHOCK FULL of symbolism that i am 10000% too small brain to notice besides the guanyin thing cuz ya girl is an abc & knows her journey to the west references!!! @comrade-pitou i need your help aldfj;sdlkf;sdf;sdf but anyway did anyone else notice that the palace invasion bit was super blue/done in cool colors? which seemed strange with all the violence & bloodshed everywhere, you’d almost expect a harsher color scheme - and i feel like this was intentional??? hELP my 2 brain cells are off duty fml ANYWAY if anyone wants to discuss PLSSSS hmu in the comments or rbs <3 !! }

[silcrow-story]

Salvage III

The Past Peripheral

Dana walks upstairs just as soon as she’s sure June’s left, tries not to catch her eye as she walks by. Her hood’s back up, her tears have dried; she appears as composed as she can.

As she opens the door to her apartment, she becomes acutely aware of how tired she is. She’s been awake for just shy of twenty-four hours; she flips her phone open to check the time, make a mental note of it. 09:03. She’ll need to make it through to sunset, yet.

She can hear Nadia pacing back and forth in her room; the walls aren’t all that thick, and it’s not such an unfamiliar sound. She marks a pang of sympathetic worry in her chest, sets her cup of coffee by the sink, and walks to the far end of the kitchen, turns left at the window, steps into her room.

Once she’s at rest, face-down on her air-mattress, sleeping back spread half-open, she tries to clear her head of all thoughts of the present and future as yet haunt her. She likes to slip into the past when no-one’s looking; if she’s careful and she keeps her hands steady, there’s nothing can hurt her there. She’s had no such luck with the present. Fuck it, she thinks, the cutting-room floor can have the rest, and lets a neatly edited memory wash over her, envelop her like an autumn wind.

Another equinox, and 1500 leagues away; a shallow field awash in mid-afternoon sunshine. It’s not really all that far from civilisation – indeed, it’s within an arm’s reach, if she cared to, but she doesn’t, and for the moment it’s a world apart. Not quite warm, not quite cool; not still nor silent but subtly alive.

It’s a shallow scene, but for now it’s enough to get lost in, as the amphetamines in her blood dissolve into inactive metabolites. Only one or two ghosts here, she thinks, and only shadows to fight. It was a simpler time; she doesn’t even mind that particular cliché. She can’t hear Nadia’s pacing anymore; maybe it’s the two sets of walls, maybe Nadia’s taken a moment to lie down herself, maybe Dana’s simply sufficiently sequestered in reverie. It’s alright like this, she thinks. And it is, for the moment.

She’s casting a sidelong glance at a ghost as a cloud passes over the sun. She’s rarely lonely in these memories, the ones she’s set aside as outposts of retreat. The grass is green but drying as the season starts to turn; it’s dying, and it goes without a fight. And yet, and yet, despite it all, the witch-hazel in seed alights on some soft breeze, borne on by thin white strands that seem all to few to bear the weight of new life. New life was all around, then, even in the face of winter’s coming on; perhaps, then, there is new life now, despite cruel summer that she knows comes hence – it’s a notion that’s easy enough to entertain, from the safety of this scene.

But the present moment intrudes, like a knife between two ribs, and the set falls away and Dana tosses and turns ‘til she’s left alone on the sound-stage, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, and there’s a crack in it as ever. Behind her eyes, and above, and out, there extends some black corridor, the lights therein having burnt out at once in maybe a dozen frames between them. A dozen frames duly lost, disposed of, swept away.

Two hours pass in relative quiet, and relative peace; while she can’t quite fall asleep, Dana can at least rest her eyes, and let the redness fade, and breathe.

~

In the room across the kitchen, Nadia’s stopped pacing, although her racing thoughts have yet to slow. She’s given June her number, and she’s said she means to get back to her when she’s sorted all this out, and she does. It took her a full minute after June left to realize that she hadn’t even thought to look at what, besides her name and address, might be written in the notebook to which she’s still holding on so tight.

And so she lay out across her bed, and hesitating only slightly, opened it to the first page, and found it entirely blank.

She hadn’t been sure what she expected; it wasn’t that much of a letdown. And now, as she reclines again, she almost wants to keep looking, press on. The longer she lets the thought linger, the more she supposes there must be something in there, after all, that the book mightn’t’ve come to her under such circumstances for nothing, and –

– and so she gives into the temptation, and takes a look at the second page.

Which second page is blank as well, but that’s to be expected. She doesn’t stop before turning to the next one, and the next one, and the next, the pages tumbling one by one, a mid-tempo cascade. A crescendo, tense and off-kilter. A page, and then another.

~

Christopher doesn’t want to think about death, as he passes the gas station, heading west-southwest, walking as fast as he can manage without really exerting himself. He doesn’t want to think about death, but it’s an inevitability when he’s out walking around this time of day. The song that’s playing isn’t that much help; the singer’s pleading desperately that someone might remember him, hanging on tight to his only hope, and Christopher wishes he couldn’t relate quite so much as he does.

He’s lived in this college town for several years now; it’s been several years since he’s been a student. He doesn’t think all that much about his two brief semesters of study at the university these days; he’s had other things on his mind. Though he’s held his ground, this town, his almost-home, for so significant a fraction of his life, his mind remains cluttered with images – places, voices, memories, some his own and others not. He knows this gas station, and a few others; the convenience stores, most all of them; St. Peter’s Hospital and its blessed, damned emergency room; much of the college campus, the fountain, the sculpture; the stairway up the hill, from 19th Avenue to 20th; the list goes on.

So, too, does Christopher go on, past a grocery store and an apartment complex and the high school and its baseball field, and another apartment block, and finally the traffic light at the intersection where he crosses the parkway to stand kitty-corner from the State Archives. He’s been walking toward the sunset, but now he turns away, and sets off uphill, toward his final destination. He’s got an appointment to make, and he knows it; he exhales sharply, raises his hood, and tries to let his music drown out the passing traffic.

The trees rise tall around him and the soft, slow song surrounds him in a tenebrous indigo haze, the swelling sub-bass a premonition of the twilight impending. The clouds are perforated, now, punctured as to let stray beams of early evening light pierce through and dapple with marbled shadows the ground beneath the boughs through which they pass. Nonetheless, the atmosphere, the signs of imminent rain, all have yet to pass. The singer’s deep in love and fear, and feeling trapped, her voice arcing from a dark half-whisper to an empassioned cry as she pleads for her beloved to see, to bear witness, to notice her if only as an afterthought. Christopher pretends once more that he’s not in her shoes – it’s just a song, it’s just a nice song – and sets his own shoes to the pavement, and presses on; the branches of impassive evergreens above sway on, and shatter all kaleidoscopic his thin shadow.

~

Hours earlier and just a block or so west-southwest, June’s leaving Nadia’s apartment, trying to gather her thoughts. It’s fairly early yet, all things considered, and there aren’t many people about; in her going back she passes just one figure, furtive in a hoodie, face freckled with the falling rain from whence she’s stepped, which figure stands still briefly before walking by, wordless. June’s too preoccupied to pay her much mind.

She’s only slept an hour or so out of the past twenty-four; she had to rise well before dawn to make on time the spot that Christopher’d prescribed. She knows she needs to get some rest, but she’s still thinking, about Nadia and the notebook and how she’d not once opened it, not once. That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

It’s still on her mind as she unlocks her own apartment door, blue-grey, cold steel handle, brass key. It’s all but underground, apartment 20, room D; her room’s only window looks out on the rocky embankment and shallow depression in the hillside into which the complex as a whole is wedged. She imagines it’d make most any other tenant a bit uncomfortable; the lack of natural light in the morning, the proximity to the sidewalk and the parkway’s traffic overhead. June doesn’t mind, really. She takes some strange comfort in her room’s position – it’s surrounded, and so in some implict sense protected. Once she’s inside, door locked behind her, overhead light switched on, she surveys her room and all her scattered thoughts at once.

Her room’s only slightly cluttered, but all that’s scattered around gives the impression that there’s more clutter than is actually present. Clothes are strewn across the floor; the desk beneath the window’s covered in stray papers, and the several spiral-ring notebooks from whence they’ve been torn. Her laptop’s still open on her bed; the battery’s running low. It’s become a bit overwhelming, June realises for the third time this week, having so much up in the air. So many diversions, and Nadia, and Christopher, and whatever’s in that notebook only amount to one more. One more cul-de-sac, one more dead end…

Her train of thought careens into oblivion as she notices she’d been wondering about the contents of the notebook for the first time. It wouldn’t have been right to look, she thinks, so why am I regretting it now? It’s really Nadia, if anyone, who needs to know.

June takes off her glasses and closes her laptop and tumbles into her twin bed. She can’t remember the last time she’s had a good night’s sleep, and so she closes her eyes, and wonders briefly if there’s anywhere she ought to be right now. It doesn’t take long for sleep to overtake her; sleep, first, and then dreams.

She doesn’t realise she’s dreaming at first; the feeling is real, even if the setting isn’t. She’s lying down on something, hard metal, brushed steel, bleachers. It’s a soccer pitch, and it’s late at night, but there’s something different about the sky here. It’s vast, and as close to black as blue can get, and there are more stars than usual – so many more that it’s striking first, then more captivating with each passing moment.

As she watches this foreign starfield, June gradually becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone. There are a few ghosts there with her – perhaps two or three, their faces half-turned away from the camera in shadow. She doesn’t recognise them quite yet, and she doesn’t feel especially obliged to. The stars wheel above her, and she begins to notice the planets among them; first Venus, then Mars. It’s spring, she decides. The air smells like spring. It’s Aries season, and she can tell by the nip in the air that she’s up north. Up north, and west of somewhere; she’s too fascinated by the fractals forming from the depths of the firmament’s parabola above.

She gets to her feet, eventually, and feels dizzy, feels like she’s falling, and that’s when she realises it’s a dream. She doesn’t want to wake just yet, though, so she holds on tight, and stands straight and tall as she can, and stays a while longer.

~

Nadia’s still in her room, flipping through page after page. She’s not really sure what she’s looking for, at this point. Some indication, perhaps, that the book was hers, or that it wasn’t – surely, it was left where it was for a reason.

Around the twenty-first page she begins to notice marks – not words or letters, just faint pencil-strokes. As she sees the first her breath catches in her throat; the mark itself bears no significance to her, but its presence there does. Someone was here before, she thinks, and shivers at the thought. This wasn’t just something I’d lost and forgotten; somebody gave this to me.

Of course she wonders why, but at this point that question seems far out of reach. What could be the use of wondering why, when it’s not even clear yet just what it is that’s happening. She’s begun to feel altogether out of her depth, and the water-line only rises higher and higher still as the stray pencil strokes begin to articulate themselves into shapes, lines, symbols, and then, at last, numbers. Coordinates, Nadia realises, then, numbly. They’re coordinates. 4*.***, -12*.*** . The datum doesn’t carry any significance to her, on the face of it; she’ll have to look them up later. It’s the implication of their presence that gets to her; the idea that she’s being directed, being by some unseen force guided unto a destination. Just like June was, she thinks, and shivers again, and closes the notebook. Would it be more senseless to go, or not to, she thinks. Is this ‘Christopher’ the one behind it all, or is he being strung along, just like we are? What is there for me to lose? What, if anything, might I stand to gain?

There are far, far to many ambiguities for her comfort. She’s got to work tomorrow, got other things to attend to; she hasn’t, after all, much time to invest in this sort of game. But regardless of what it could mean, regardless of its potential to be a scam, a fiction, a trick, it’s not so easy a thought to let go. Open questions have a way of doing that, of worming their way into a consciousness before their intrusion is even noticed, of quietly yet constantly. A mystery is a vulnerability in the mind’s defenses, a slowly spreading crack in the walls and ceilings, a stray pencil-mark on a white blank page that renders itself with time entirely indelible.

Nadia knows what she has to do, and so, reluctantly setting her notebook aside, she opens her phone – it’s early evening, now, perhaps a quarter to seven – and dials ten digits, holds it to her ear, lets it ring. The rain’s stopped, outside, and there’s a gap in the clouds just broad enough to let through the window, obliquely, the pale glow of some thin sunbeam.

~

When Dana arrives at the lookout, Topher’s waiting, and she breathes a sigh of relief. It’s a beautiful sunset, over the bay, and it’s in plain view; naturally, he’s staring at his shoes. He hasn’t noticed her yet, or if he has, he’s given no indication, so she ascends the wooden tower to join him, and they stand there in silence for a moment as the red-gold radiation of the sun – not quite below the tree-line – cascades about them.

Eventually, she turns away from the sunset, looks straight at him. “I hope you’ve not been waiting too long,” she says, and she mostly means it.

Christopher takes out his earphones, shakes his head softly. “Nah.”

After another moment, he says, “Do you suppose they’ll make it?”

“Nadia has the coordinates. Nothing for it but to wait,” Dana replies. They’ll come, she thinks. He can’t think we’ve left that much up to chance.

The sun has descended all but entirely into the Pacific by the time June and Nadia pass beneath the arch of rock, walk among the trees, and glance up at the lookout, freeze when they see the figures there, silhouetted in civil twilight.

~

Hours earlier, June is still lingering in the dreamscape, walking a campus in too many layers of clothing, passing a facade of sheet-glass and aluminum. What’s beyond is all a blur of green and gold, and so she looks closer, turns to face it properly, and allows the blur to articulate itself into something vast and strange.

There rises within that strange greenhouse some titanic plant, a primordial mass of pure life, a vital, verdant relic of another age. The trunk that forms its core is one with the vines that twine about it, and the ruddy blooms that sprout thence, and the roots that seem in their writhing to set the loam in which they’re stuck to shake like something breathing – all these, and more, and stranger parts, are one being. For all the shock of its immense and bizarre form, it evokes in June more respect than revulsion; it is a thing of this Earth, no alien, no stranger. She doesn’t approach, but merely stands, looks on, her upward gaze almost supplicant.

The dream, as dreams so often do, lets the scene seem not as strange as in the waking world it surely might. And so, anaesthetized to the intrinsic anomaly of that great tree’s existence, June lets the time slip by just looking, admiring, inquiring – identifying all its tendrils’ avenues and leaves’ expanses – and at peace.

Then from the metal eaves perhaps five meters overhead there blows a wind, a warm gust from the exhaust-fans, and it rushes to subsume her psychosoma, like a flood. There is a trepidation, a murmur of spring, a stench of mould and compost, and then a fresh, sweet taste, like strawberries and sugar; the world ripples, the ghosts and their faint voices leaving first, and then the greenhouse and its denizen, and then, alas, June, and she is awake.

The call comes but a minute or two later; June’s surprised it didn’t wake her. She picks up, and it’s Nadia; she’d known, somehow, it would be.

Nadia says hello, and says she was looking through the notebook, and asks if she’s free to come over, because there’s something she wants to talk about. June’s only a few doors down, and curious as ever; so, despite the fact she’s only just awoken, she says she’s on her way, and hangs up, and steps outside.

The air is crisp and clear, the clouds shot through with early evening warmth, as June enters the parking lot, and tries to clear her head. The endeavor doesn’t go far, and it only takes her a moment to decide against it; she’d rather have less on her mind going in, she reasons, as she starts up the two flights of stairs to Nadia’s apartment. She’s trying not to wonder what she’s walking into; in this effort, at least, she is successful.

Having reached the blue-grey door, and facing the number 12 in cracked black plastic stuck thereto at eye level, she knocks for the second time that day.

~

Dana wakes up slowly, despite never really having slept. Her bags are packed, and she’s ready to go, more or less. She flips her phone to check the time – 6 minutes to 7 in the evening. She was making good time before; now, alas, she’s running late. Topher must be there already, at this point, she thinks, and is only just stepping out the door to her room when she’s stopped in mid-stride by a knock at the door.

Before she can decide to dart back inside her room, or to answer the door, Nadia’s stepped out, crossed the kitchen, noticed her standing there. Dana glimpses the notebook she’s got clenched in her right hand – is June here already? I s’pose we won’t be waiting long, then…

And then Nadia’s opened the door, and June is stepping inside. She seems surprised to see Dana standing there, across the kitchen, by the bright blue folding chair and tense, and unsure what to do. Dana’s not quite sure why, but she hopes June doesn’t recognise her from earlier; June cocks her head, adjusts her glasses, tries to decide whether or not she does.

“Oh, hi! You...you must be Nadia’s roommate,” she says, with as much xeniality as she can manage through what’s left of the haze of dreams about her head.

Dana cracks a smile and says she is, and she’s sorry, she was just on her way out and didn’t mean to interrupt; it’s an evident affectation and she knows it, but June and Nadia step aside, and Dana leaves, and sets off to where her associate waits.

Moments later, in her room, Nadia’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading off coordinates; June just stands and listens, wide-eyed – no less confused, and no less curious.

“...and so I looked them up, the coordinates,” Nadia says, almost breathless, livelier than June’s yet seen her, “And they’re like, right here. At the lookout in the arboretum. Did – did Christopher or whoever it was mention anything like this?”

“He didn’t say anything about- no. He didn’t say much at all, really, and I hadn’t had the time to ask, and I didn’t look. Didn’t look in the notebook, I mean.”

Nadia hunches over a bit, looks down at the dusty beige carpet, furrows her brow. A moment, still and taut, goes slowly by; June feels awkward, but she simply stands, and waits, and another moment goes by. Then, at last, Nadia raises her head, and looks June dead in the eye, and says exactly what she was hoping to hear.

“What say we go check it out?”

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 290: Wilson Tanner

Back in 2016, Andrew Wilson and John Tanner joined together for 69 on Growing Bin, which for me is a something of a masterpiece. Across the album, the duo married bucolic guitars, meditative woodwinds, and sunset electronics to gorgeous effect, resulting in a sonic experience of deep serenity and new age mastery. So when Efficient Space released the newest Wilson Tanner experience II, it was a sincere surprise discovering how abstract, strange, and challenging everything was this time around. Mostly gone are the lush and organic textures of that last album, with the focus now on modular electronics and experimental ecosystems of aquatic looping, alien minimalism, and vaporous prog ambiance. Everything here swims through layers of shadowy delirium and the entire experience is informed by the album’s unconventional recording process, which saw Wilson and Tanner loading a 1950’s riverboat called “These Days” with an array of weather proof electronics. Leaving behind terrestrial foundations and resting above the mysterious underwater universe, the duo perhaps lost sight of who or where they were, lapsing into some forgotten ancestral remembrance of a time lost at sea…of the primal experience of surrendering to the totalities of the ocean world. And to combat the onset madness and intense feelings of isolation, Wilson and Tanner turned to these mystifying electroacoustic sea shanties...these strange expanses of subaquatic drone that sound as if they were constructed by beings who’ve only ever known only the motions of the waves, the smell of a salt breeze, the sun’s blaze, and a sparkling canopy of stars.

Wilson Tanner - II (Efficient Space, 2019) We open on “My Gull” and it’s pianos washing back and forth amidst oceanic clouds of ambiance, with subtle psychosonic fx kissing the mix. The keys lock into a simple chord refrain, though the patterns are sparsely embellished with dancing melodic filigree. Seagulls circle overhead, filtering synths glow in the background, and sometimes the piano melodies recede, leaving behind vacuous stretches of swelling ambiance. And towards the end, after one of these immerse stretches of synthesis cuts away, we are left with nothing but the calming sounds of a life by the sea, with boats bumping gently against wooden docks beneath grey clouds and patchwork sunlight. There are further synthetic piano meditations in “Loch & Key,” as a simplistic riff bounces on echowaves. Airy synthesizers trace colorful curlicues over the flowing piano spells and deep in the background, cloudform melodies are smothered yet beautiful, evoking ghost choirs and mermaid reveries. The mix is awash in seaside field recordings, all soft clatters and watery drips, and there are these guttural sounds that flow in at times, which are indistinguishable as electronic or organic. My best guess is that John Tanner’s clarinet is flowing through some modular chain, but whatever the source, the evocation is of some strange sea creature croaking towards the sky. By the end of the track, muted melodies dance in counterpoint to the pianos, creating a pop-tinged passage of minimalist magic, one that is eventually overlaid by strange sliding melodies and soft currents of feedback that progressively evolve into robotic fusion weirdness, resulting in a strange moment of sci-fi solo flamboyance at odds with the otherwise bucolic ambiance.

Mellotron flutes add touches of Aegean melancholy to “Perishable” while an acoustic guitar wanders through funereal desert atmospheres…like a spaghetti western deconstructed into wandering dreamfolk. Vibrato electronics arc overhead and haunted melodies are shrouded in spectral haze until we arrive at an ambient prog interlude, wherein sampled woodwinds sing mournfully over strange pulsations, resulting in a gaseous dance through layers of springtide sadness. The guitar returns, still shambolic and worn out, but now leaning towards Flamenco exoticisms while the flute continually ascends, at some point working itself into a radiant church hymn. The centerpiece of II is the epic “Killcord pts I-III,” which is centered on this mind-melting sequence…like a cyborg tuba caught in maniacal loop while constantly transforming into a mutant gurgle. Synths scream across the void and pull the soul into darkness before giving way to strange percussive bubble formations, with atonal musique concrète sonics working against the sequential hypnotics. The mix is alight with movement and sees liquids oscillating and muted trumpets blaring while crystalline idiophones play triumphant themes beneath layers of electronic dust. Imagine some strange approximation of Berlin school music submerged within an aquatic dreamworld, with hyperspeed pulsations causing time itself to skip and synthesizers weaving themes of alien majesty. The ecstatic energy surrounding Wilson and Tanner is palpable and it’s easy to imagine the pair locked into some sort shamanic ritual playing out  on primitive electronics, with spells cast in the form of mutant marimba lines, acidic slides, mechanical loops, and sub-bass rumbles.

The B-side opens with “Idle” and its bells smearing into metallic distortion. Cyborg chirps flutter and gong-like swells of bass ambiance hover like stormclouds until abstracted rave electronics start firing through the mix, with big bubbles of acid and subsonic synth motions locking into drunken repetitions. Black hole vapors flow all around and horror film feedback  floats across the spectrum while sizzling snare hits transform into radiophonic weirdness. Squelching synths establish a sort of daydream groove alongside futuristic tom tom experimentations and ethereal melodies swim over heard…sometimes evoking a beautiful prog elegy while at other times devolving into sheets of dissonance. And as the track progresses, oscillations flutter on a sea breeze, mechanized chirps are joined by birdsong, and the massive clouds of bass ambiance recede momentarily, only to fade back in like some viscous body of shadow. Next is “All Hands Bury the Dead,” which features lullaby melodies and new age sonics mutating through an LSD haze, with notes curling in on themselves and spontaneously vaporizing. Water laps gently beneath the ambient waveforms and as we drift along in a state of meditative clam, it all begins evoking for me the music of Hiroshi Yoshimura and Satoshi Ashikawa…like a visage from a window of an unremarkable yet still beautiful afternoon where clouds drift lazily overhead and blue waves crash to shore. Eventually, choppy tremolo electronics move into the stereo field and disturb this pictaresque serenity and once the environmental keyboard melodies finally drift away, blurry synthesizers merge with the sounds of flowing water. 

A mutant funk bassline anchors “Safe. Bird.”…as if a clavinet is jamming through an ambient seascape. Percolating woodwinds and bleeping satellites execute some enigmatic Morse code conversation and soft focus melodies are surrounded by ring modulating psychedelia, all while the bassline continues its sludgy groove. It’s like some mid 70’s Miles fusion experiment a or Magma zeuhl ceremonial, only reduced to just stoner bass riffing and space age oceans of shimmering detritus. And by the end of the track, the basslines are replaced by alien chirps, extra-terrestrial gurgles, and vibraphones dazzling the mind with cinematic leads and downer descents. The album closes on “Crossing the Bar” and its wavering oscillations breaking apart over the motions of water. Resonant vocalisms swell on one side of the mix while bleary-eyed layers swirl on the other…as if two different stretches of ambient music have been overlaid then panned hard. Clicking percussive textures crackle in the air and bass synths pitch-shift continuously, evoking the engine sounds of the riverboat “These Days” as it makes its way across the deep dark waters. Synthesizers blend seamlessly with aquatic field records and the mind loses all sense of where the natural end and the electronic begins, with the track mostly just letting throbbing machines hum beneath bodies of atonal new age mesmerism. At some point, a slow motion synth solo erupts over the mix…calling out to the stars, desperate and pleading…as the rest of the stereo field mutates into a fractal soundbath. And by the end, we are left with looping chimes, feedback sirens, flying birds, haunted drones, and the increasingly distant sounds of Wilson’s and Tanner’s boat as it sales further and further towards some unknowable horizon.

(images from my personal copy)

[evaceratops]

tag games

there are like 10000 of these in my drafts so i’m going to do them all at once in one big post, organized by who tagged me

tagged by @leopoldjamesfitz

name: eva

gender: female

height: 5′0″

sexuality: ace as heck

what image do you have as a wallpaper? fire emblem awakening cutscene screenshot

where do you see yourself in 10 years? livin the dream as a researcher at the monterey bay aquarium

if you could be anywhere right now, where? yosemite national park, or monterey

what was your coolest halloween costume? ... is it weird that i legitimately can’t think of one

last kiss: uhhh i’m assuming this is in a romantic context, so never

have you ever been stood up? this would require having been planning to go on a date in the first place, so no

what’s your favorite 90′s show? is kim possible from the 90s

favorite pair of shoes: there’s these black and gray tennis shoes that i really like

favorite fruit: cherries

stupidest thing you’ve ever done: download fire emblem heroes i legitimately forgot about chem lab once and missed the entire thing and didn’t realize until a week later

favorite book: .. you come into my house and ask me to choose One, you absolute fool,, just to spite you my answer is all 35+ books of the warriors series

colors i’m currently wearing: black, brown, denim

last band shirt i bought: 5 seconds of summer, like 2 years ago

last band i went to see live: the oh hellos!

last song i listened to: masterpiece theater III by marianas trench

lipstick or chapstick: definitely chapstick, i’ve always hated makeup

last movie i watched: pacific rim uprising

last 3 shows i watched: i think i watched a few episodes of total drama island and pretty little liars with my sister recently, and the third... probably voltron?

3 characters i identify with: arc trooper echo from star wars, ricken from fire emblem awakening, pidge from voltron

books i’m currently reading: the song of roland for my medieval history course, aaaand i’m in between the first and second books of my reread of the dawn of the clans arc of warriors

what’s your favorite song(s) to sing/hum? probably willow tree march by the paper kites

what’s your favorite flower/tree/plant? italian cypress,, and most other evergreen trees tbh

favorite colors? navy and pretty much any shade of blue/grayish-blue, dark red, gold

what do you always doodle? it varies depending on what i feel like that day but yesterday it was cats and dinosaurs

how do you take your coffee/tea? i can’t have caffeine so i don’t drink coffee at all and i rarely drink tea, but with tea i’ll use like 3 entire packets of sugar and nothing else

favorite candle scent? pine, or the ocean

sunrise or sunset? is this referring to the warriors books with those titles or the actual times of day sunset

what perfume do you wear? none

what’s your go-to dance move when you’re alone? ... i don’t even know

favorite quote? shrug emoji,, i just don’t think about this stuff i guess

favorite self care routine(s)? taking a long bath/shower and then going to bed early or reading a book i like

what color are your eyes? grayish-blue

what’s your favorite eye color on others? i’ve always thought brownish-green looks pretty cool

favorite season? why? fall/winter because i like cold weather and rainstorms

cheek, neck, or nose kisses? cheek kisses but also why aren’t forehead kisses on here

what does your happy place look like? anywhere in the sierras or along the coast of california

favorite breed of dog? i’ve always thought huskies are really pretty even though being around big dogs makes me a little nervous (i am 110% a cat person)

do you ever want to be married? if so, what colors would you pick for your wedding theme? no

cursive or print? print

favorite weather? THUNDERSTORMS.

Rules: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions.

i choose: heck, let’s go with the 3 i’ve been most into recently!

star wars | fire emblem | warriors

the first character you loved: 

anakin skywalker. i still remember being indignant when ahsoka talked back to him in the tcw movie | either lissa or frederick | probably dovewing (i borrowed the fourth apprentice from a friend and read that first before going back and reading the rest of the series)

the character you never expected to love so much:

probably ezra bridger, tbh! i started watching rebels purely for ahsoka and rex and did not expect to get so attached to the ghost crew literally within the first 5 minutes of spark of rebellion | TAKUMI | ... god, it’s so hard to remember these things, the first time i read these books was so many years ago... squirrelflight, maybe?

the character you relate to the most:

echo! i used to read encyclopedias for fun as a kid so i understand his love of the reg manual | probably sumia? i don’t quite have self-esteem issues like she does but i do tend to downplay my strengths and kinda write myself off. plus we both love reading and even tend to prefer the same genres (mostly fantasy and fiction) | leafpool because i too spend a good deal of my time pretending everything is fine even if it’s not and trying to fix my mistakes,

the character you’d slap:

wat tambor | fernand | clear sky. i’ve had enough of that dude

three favorite characters (in order of preference):

anakin, kanan, rey | gaius, takumi, lissa | JAYFEATHER, lionblaze, bramblestar (if i’m being totally honest jayfeather alone is favorite characters #1 through 10 for this series i love him SO MUCH no one else even comes close)

a character you liked at first but don’t anymore:

... i don’t really care for ventress? i don’t dislike her, but i don’t seem to like her as much as everyone else does. i thought she was cool the first time i watched tcw all the way through, but now... | cherche, maybe? i don’t think i’ve ever really disliked a fire emblem character - at least not one from any of the games i’ve played - but i’m not as interested in cherche as i used to be | sorry, dovewing

a character you did not like at first but now do:

ahsoka, believe it or not. i don’t remember caring about her too much when tcw was first airing, but i really like her now | camilla | as usual i never really disliked hollyleaf but i like her more now than i did the first time i read the books

three OTPs:

anidala, kanera, ultimate rarepair™ arcmaiden | the Original Rarepair™ ricken/lissa, chrom/sumia, gaius/robin | bramblestar/squirrelflight, lionblaze/cinderheart, hollyleaf/fallen leaves (honorable mention for bluestar/oakheart bc i do love me those classic and tragic Forbidden Relationships but hollyleaf falling in love with a literal ghost is just too good of a concept and is therefore slightly higher in the rankings)

tagged by @minhoruns

rules: bold your aspirations!

AIR: I have small hands • I love the night sky • I watch small animals and birds when I pass them by • I drink herbal tea • I wake to see dawn • The smell of dust is comforting • I’m valued for being wise • I prefer books to music • I meditate • I find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE: I don’t have straight hair • I like to wear ripped jeans and overalls • I play an organized sport • I love dogs • I am not afraid of adventure • I love to talk to strangers • I always try new foods • I enjoy road trips • Summer is my favorite season • My radio is always playing

WATER: I wear bracelets on my wrists • I love the bustle of the city • I have more than one set of piercings • I read poetry • I love the sound of a thunderstorm • I want to travel the world • I sleep past noon most days • I love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs • I rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia • I see emotions in colors and words

EARTH: I wear glasses • I enjoy doing the laundry • I am a vegetarian or vegan • I have an excellent sense of time • My humor is very cheerful • I am a valued advisor to my friends • I believe in true love • I love the chill of mountain air • I’m always listening to music • I am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER: I go without makeup in my daily life • I make my own artwork • I keep on track of my tasks and time • I always know true north • I see beauty in everything • I can always smell flowers • I smile at everyone I pass by • I always fear history repeating itself • I have recovered from a mental disorder • I can love unconditionally

rules: spell your url out with song titles

exeunt - the oh hellos viva la vida - coldplay anna sun - walk the moon caves - haux earth - sleeping at last red hands - walk off the earth all the right moves - onerepublic the royal we - silversun pickups ophelia - the lumineers pompeii - bastille stay frosty royal milk tea - fall out boy

tagged by @autisticpadme

rules: list the top ten songs you’ve been listening to lately

masterpiece theater III (by marianas trench), willow tree march (by the paper kites), 3. wake up (by arcade fire), valley - reprise (by the oh hellos), you of the light (from the fire emblem: fates soundtrack), the royal we (by silversun pickups), the last of the real ones (by fall out boy), alight (storm) (from the fire emblem: fates soundtrack), where is your rider (by the oh hellos), enishi (from the fire emblem: fates soundtrack)