#ariadne and the minotaur haunt me and they to will now haunt you!

[leechlets]

the batman and julia / ariadne and the minotaur

☆ los reyes, julio cortázar ☆ batman: eternal ☆ @fluentisonus ☆ @inanotherunivrse ☆ @grendel-menz ☆ @brutaliakhoa ☆ batman wiki ☆ erica e goode ☆ batman: endgame ☆ ariadne, jennifer saint ☆

[kaylapocalypse]

Forgive me if you’ve already talked about this but if Angus is the ‘Icarus’ of the story does that mean that Icarus would be Ariadne/Theseus, and Helios the Minotaur, trapped in the labyrinth of his own home?

I know your book isn’t an exact retelling of the myth but I was just curious if that parallel was intentional?

It's okay! This is a great question! Its kind of twofold.

On one hand, I enjoy and have seeded the interpretation that Icarus is exclusionary to the mythos and exists as a normal high school kid drawn into it non-consensually. His rejection of all elements of the characterization of the original Icarus and disgust towards the mythologization of himself and their situation is very stark and I'm surprised so many people (largely adults) don't notice it. He rejects it in Luca and Celestina when they act like he's mysterious, he rejects it in Sorrel who praises him for giftedness (citing that he's not talented he just has practice), he rejects it from Helios (even when Helios is saying things like "I was born for you", Icarus's assessment of the situation is that they need each other right now and its more realistic that once they leave their respective traumatic situations, they'll settle into friendship) He is a stark realist and his Dreams are minute and achievable.

But ultimately, I wanted him to be looked at as the Daedalus of the situation, as reflected in the re-written myth at the back of the book. Aside from just rejecting his moniker, Icarus is an extremely careful child. He haunts the narrative with warning. He's doing dangerous things, but he's not reckless, he's careful and is the only one in their situation who is behaving with deliberateness. There is a helplessness to Icarus's situation, being someone under the care of the actual Icarus. How little control he has as a minor and his eventual choice to try his best to flee the narrative. There is mirrored horror in Daedalus turning back to see where his son went and there are feathers on the waves, with Icarus in the hospital understanding that Angus will not change and is about to reap the full criminal impact of the history of his crimes.

The end call that's off page with Mr. Black is also important. Angus and Icarus have been flying together for so long, but this moment where their paths divide is one that Angus experiences alone, and Icarus experiences in Aftermath. Because, as Angus is the Icarus of the story, biting the bullet and just picking up the phone to have a conversation that's been on ice for almost twenty years, is the breaking point where he know his wax is melting and he's starting to lose height. His recklessness has a consequence and he's choosing not to grab onto Daedalus's heel as he tumbles to the waves.

Its not a one to one comparison, but honestly, I'm happy with people thinking either.

Helios as the Minotaur is fun! As he is trapped in the labyrinth of his parents marriage (as represented by his home and the rooms within it, decorated by either his mom or his dad) and also this completely inconceivable backstory between Angus and his own father. That is so above his head that he has no real way of understanding how it plays a part in the darker parts of his own life. Much like the Minotaur lol

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter seven: MOTH to a FLAME

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.

CW: supernatural themes, mention of death, mentions of religious sacrifice, body horror, religious trauma, drowning

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.

A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know. 

I had two requirements before I went out into the woods with Nick: a shower and a nap. I was filthy and exhausted. Nick agreed, as he was exhausted as well.

Despite the horrifying revelation of the past twelve hours, and Nick’s pseudo-involvement in them, I was fine with him napping in the same bed as me. I felt safer, even. It was still a little bit of a shock though to wake up curled against his back.

When I was ready to go, as Nick was packing a bag, I opened the door, expecting to see some horrifying Slenderman-esque figure to be perched on my porch. Instead, I was greeted by the same man I first met what now felt like forever ago. He wasn’t wearing two jackets this time, showing off the ink on his arms. He was perched on the porch railing, munching on the apple I had left before I blindly charged into the woods.

"All this time I was feeding you," was all I stated.

"You could switch it up occasionally. I do like beer," he said with his mouth full.

"How bout I just don't do it at all?" I asked.

"Please don't," Nick and Noah said at the same time. Nick came up behind me and placed a hard on my back, a gentle push to get me out the door.

"What happens if I don't?" I asked.

There was a glance between the two. "Take it one thing at a time," Nick said. "I will tell you why, but there's other things to be told first."

I rolled my eyes and looked up at the sky. It wasn't nighttime, but the sky was just starting to lighten. I checked my phone: 5:16 am.

"Here." Nick handed me a jacket. "You'll need it."

"It's barely chilly," I said.

"Where we're going doesn't get warm," he said.

"In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine... I would shiver the whole night through…" Noah began to sing as he walked towards the woods. If it weren't for the creepy song, I would've said he had a beautiful voice; haunting, appropriately.

"Ignore him, he's being an ass on purpose to annoy me," Nick said, helping me into the jacket. It smelled of cigarettes, lavender, and lemongrass. "I promise you'll be safe out there with us."

"Promise?" I asked.

"Promise. Here, gimme your hand," he said, holding his own out toward me.

"What?" I asked.

"Trust me," he said. Something in me said that he meant it.

I held my right hand out. He took out a piece of red yarn out of his pocket, and tied it around my pinky finger. I could feel my face warming at the feeling of his calloused fingers brushing against mine.

"Do you know about the tale of Theseus?" he asked, snapping me out of my shyness.

"The guy who fought the Minotaur?"

"Yeah. It was said that Ariadne gave him a ball of yarn so that he could find his way out of the labyrinth.."

"So this is your way of making sure you got out of the woods?" I asked.

"We thought it was clever back then, before shit happened," he said, his eyes flicking over to Noah, before returning to mine. "Now it works as a quick charm."

I looked down at the string. It wasn’t anything fancy. He had left the extra string hanging loose. But it was the way he was still holding my hand that made me stare.

"What if we get separated?" I asked.

"This helps with that as well," he said, tapping on the yarn. I looked up from the gibbous moon tattoo on that finger and into his face. His lips curled into a sly smile. "Unless you'd rather I hold your hand the entire way?"

He could've been making fun of me for all I knew, but it didn't deter me from timidly nodding. He blinked, maybe in shock. "A-All right then," he said.

Turns out his hand was really helpful, because we had a lot of hills and rocks to climb. And I certainly was no mountain climber, with my hip. Noah, on the other hand, traversed everything with ease. It was almost like he knew every spot, and his mile-long legs didn't help either. Nick might've been as skilled a climber, but he was weighed down by me.

It felt like forever as we traversed through the woods. "How much longer do you think we have?" I asked.

Nick looked back at me. "Not long now. We're almost to the river," he said. His hand was still wrapped around mine. Earlier I had caught a glimpse of Noah staring at us - at our hands - but when he caught me staring, he just gave me a smirk and turned away.

"You probably didn't bring something to stuff their ears," Noah said to Nick.

"No, because you said everyone was going to be on their best behavior," Nick said. I caught the angry look he shot at Noah.

"Fine I'll tell him," Noah said, sighing with a huff.

"Tell who? How?" I asked.

LIKE THIS.

I froze, yanking on Nick's hand. "What the fuck was that?" I asked.

"A means of communication when I can't move my mouth to form human words," Noah said, easily leaping over a rotting log.

"When you… What?" I asked incredulously.

"Did you not see what I looked like last night?" he asked.

"I was a little preoccupied, you know, what with being almost eaten," I hissed. Nick squeezed my hand, whether in warning or sympathy, I didn't know.

"Well, I don't keep this handsome face," he said sarcastically. "And I can't open my mouth when I'm forced to transform."

"What a shame," I muttered, earning a glare from Noah and a chuckle from Nick.

Nick suddenly turned towards Noah. "Be nice," he said.

"What? I didn't say anything," Noah said in a sweet voice.

"What did he say about me?" I asked.

"I'm not repeating it," Nick mumbled.

Thankfully, Noah remained quiet for the next several minutes, at least that I could hear with my ears. I contemplated how it worked, like one-sided telepathy or two-way, until I heard music from up ahead. Really beautiful music.

At the same time, Nick's hand tightened over mine. "Taylor?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do me a favor, and don't let go of my hand."

"O-okay."

"You haven't told them anything, have you?" Noah asked.

"One thing at a time, Noah," Nick sighed. "I told them about my practice and what Folio is."

"Not about the Näcken?" Noah asked. Nick glared at him. "Okay, okay. One thing at a time."

"What's a..." I tried to pronounce whatever Noah said, but it came out all wrong, making Noah laugh.

"You'll find out here soon," he said.

And that's when the cold descended over me.

It was like we crossed over some invisible border. My breath was visible in the air as I scrambled closer to Nick, moreso for warmth than safety. The leaves blocked the sunlight, casting a green tint over the dimness.

This... This was the Appalachia everyone warned about.

"Watch your step," Noah said before sliding down a rocky hillside, vanishing from view. "What up Jolleeeeeeee!" His voice faded.

"Just say the word, and we'll turn around and head back," Nick said. "No judgement."

I looked up into his eyes, which even in the dim light I could tell had faded back to their usual grayish-blue color. And despite the remnants of Noah's attempts to scare me, and the sound of what I now knew to be an acoustic guitar tempting me down the hill, I was ready. I mean, I had already come this far.

"Lead the way," I said.

After descending after Noah, the hillside evened out to a rocky riverside. There was one area where the sun was able to break through the leaves, letting in weak rays of sunlight, though I couldn't tell if it was because of the oncoming dawn or the space inbetween. That's where Noah and Nick were leading me.

In the middle of the river, where it was at its thinnest, a shirtless man sat on a rock, with his back towards us. The guitar in his lap revealed the source of the string music. His waterlogged hair was half up in a bun, half trailing down his bare back.

"He's in a mood," Noah said.

"I am not in a mood," the man said without turning around, but he stopped playing the guitar. It was only in the absence of the sound that I realized I had been leaning towards him.

Just then, there was a spray of water from nearby, and another man came running out of the water. "'Bout time! We were getting bored out here!" he said, grinning.

This one was recognizable. I'd seen him in the newspaper, as well as a brief glimpse into Nick's memories. The missing boy, the one that was sacrificed, Nick Folio.

The one who only several hours ago had had his teeth near my throat.

But when he looked at me, it was hard to believe that he could be that abnormally large wolf-creature. He was almost my height, if maybe a few inches taller. His face still held some of boyish wonder, even though he looked older than what I've seen.

But as he got closer. I could see the similarities in his hazel eyes. Those I know I would never forget.

"Hi, I'm Nick, he said, holding his hand out towards me. "Or Folio, as the others call me."

I don't know if I was on autopilot or not, because I let go of the other Nick's hand, and shook his. I could almost hear the collective sigh of relief. "Taylor," I mumbled.

"Sorry about last night," he said.

"Well, I'm alive still, so I guess it's all good," I said, earning a grin.

I heard another splash, this one smaller, and turned in the direction of the mysterious guitar man, who was making his way towards us. He sported a full sleeve of tattoos that crawled over his chest. Out of the four he had the most facial hair, sporting a short goatee and mustache.

His eyes were also completely white, like a corpse.

"This is Jolly," Nook said from beside me. "He doesn't get out a whole lot."

"I wonder why," Jolly grumbled. Somehow, I could tell he rolled his eyes.

"Why? I asked.

His milky eyes fell onto me, and I fought the urge to grab Nick's hand again. "'Cause I'm stuck here near the river," he said. He had a different accent; almost lilting in some words.

"Why the river?" I asked.

"Because this was where I died," he said bluntly.

I was stunned into silence for only several seconds. "So, both of you are dead, but alive somehow?"

"So is he," Nick spoke up, the first time since we arrived. He was pointing at Noah

Missing Resident Presumed Dead.

"Are you dead, too?" I asked Nick.

"On the inside," Folio said. Nick shot him a bored look.

Nick then turned back to me. "This is it; the Court of the Shenandoah Valley," he said. "You got the Watcher, the Grim, and the Drowned" He motioned towards Noah, Folio, and Jolly respectively.

"And the Witch," Jolly said, earning a glare from Nick.

"Why do you call it a court?" I asked.

My question earned me a wide, feral grin from Noah that sent shivers down my spine; chills that had nothing to do with the bitter air.

‘CUZ I'M THE FUCKIN' KING.

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

[lifeofroos]

Part 60. I hate Minos, me my homies all HATE Minos.

In short: Nico gets therapy from Dionysus. In this chapter, he has decided he wants to talk to King Minos. Dionysus quietly agrees, but only so long as someone comes along. The story is also on AO3 and FanFiction.net! And in Tumblr tags like Dionysus, Nico di Angelo, percy jackson fanfic etc.  This Might Be Crazy: Chapter 60: Pomegranate Iced tea 

‘Did you bless the Jacksons’ house when I was there last time?’

Dionysus looked up. ‘I did. Sally Jackson runs a sanctuary. We can’t have monsters coming in.’

‘Very good.’

‘Now tell me the real reason why you came here. You can’t be here just to ask something you already knew.’

‘I mean, no.’

‘Spill.’

‘Don’t you trust...’

‘Nico!’

‘I want to go talk to king Minos. I want to know why he chose me.’

Dionysus took a moment to think about that. ‘Isn’t it clear why Minos chose you?’

I shrugged. ‘It might be. Because, you know, I was going around raising the dead and opposing Percy, which was very convenient for him. Still, I…’ I shrugged. ‘I want to talk to him. I want to know how he thinks.’ 

Dionysus thought for a second. ‘Minos is dangerous.’

‘So I can’t go?’

He thought for a second. ‘I can’t control you. You’ll go anyway, no matter what I say. Yet, I have a requirement.’

‘Being?’

‘Someone must be there with you. I am not letting you talk to a psychopath like Minos on your own.’

I sighed. ‘Who must it be?’ 

‘I’ll ask Persephone and Hades first. You’ll hear the answer tomorrow.’

‘Alright.’

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, early as all hell, I heard a knock on my door. ‘Nico. Come.’ 

I scrambeld out of bed. ‘Eh, I will.’ Whoever you are. ‘Can I put on some actual clothes instead of my pajamas first?’

‘Five minutes.’

‘Okay, okay!’

Within five minutes, I was done and I stepped out of my cabin. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Ariadne?’

‘The very one. Persephone will come too. She’s waiting for us near Elysium.’

‘I mean... cool.’ I tried to shrug, but half-way through we were already teleporting into the underworld. My shoulders hurt when I got there. 

-------------------------------------------------------

I disliked standing in front of the gates of Elysium again. It was soul-crushing to see all of the spirits, some of them hopeful, some of them sure they wouldn’t get in. 

I noticed Persephone standing near the judges. She was looking up at them, with her hands on her hips. She looked around when Ariadne called her name. ‘Still okay?’ She asked to the other goddess. 

‘As okay as it can get.’

‘Good.’ Persephone straightened her back. ‘We’ll let him do the talking.’ She pointed at me. 

‘And we’ll keep an eye on everything.’ Ariadne confirmed. 

Persephone nodded. ‘Come,’ she told (mostly) me. I nodded. We walked past the lines, to the three judges. The spirits didn’t seem to mind. 

Ariadne held up her hand. ‘Minos.’ All three of kings turned around. Minos mouth fell open. ‘Go on,’ Persephone commanded the judges. ‘Except for Minos. He comes with us.’

Minos got up, with a suspicious look in his eyes. 

---------------------------------------------------

‘What is it, my queen?’ he asked Persephone as soon as we were away from the line. His eyes ran past Ariadne without adressing her. His eyebrows raised when he saw me. ‘You brought me your own stepson? Unbelievable! Now why would that be?’

‘He has questions for you. We would like to see you answer them.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘That’s all.’ She gently laid her hand on my shoulder for a second.

‘Terrible to see you again,’ I began. 

‘You are the one bothering me.’

‘Still.’ I tilted my head. ‘I have my suspicions, but I wanted to know why you chose me. Why you had to haunt me instead of somebody else.’

‘You’re the son of Hades.’

‘I am.’

‘Doesn’t that seem like reason enough?’

‘Maybe. Yet, it would have been way easier for you to get a random scared kid to raise the dead for you. All the things you taught me are things you could have taught most other people. Raising the dead with Happy meals? You don’t need me for that. Don’t get at me with wanting to help Luke. You are way too selfish for that.’

Persephone and Ariadne gave each other a look when they heard me mention raising the dead with happy meals. Minos went on: ‘My goal might not have been to aid him, but perhaps what he had in mind spoke to me.’ Persephone crossed her arms. Minos smiled sinisterly. ‘My queen, don’t act like you didn’t know, even if I would never confess it.’

I pointed at him. ‘Didn’t you just…’

‘Let it go, Nico.’ I looked up at Ariadne, who nodded towards Minos. He still had not aknowledged she was there.  

‘I was easy to manipulate, but still on no-one’s side,’ I continued. ‘Any other demigod might have gotten dependent on you. They would have been your string puppet.’

‘But they would have had less power. Why have a string puppet when they aren’t useful for all sorts of things? Also, di Angelo, you can’t act like you weren’t dependent on me. You were so wrapped up in your silly hate and grief you didn’t see what was going on.’

‘Perhaps.’ Ariadne and Persephone tensed up. Maybe I had been more of a string puppet to Minos than I liked to think I was. Still… ‘Still, I did manage to break out. I listened to Percy after he showed me the truth. An agent of Luke wouldn’t have done that. They would have turned a blind eye and kept following you.’

‘The Jackson kid cared for you.’

‘He would have cared for any other demigod as well. You could have told them to play apologetic and then you would’ve had a spy. It would have been easier, it would have lead you to bigger things...’

‘What is it that you want? I picked you because you were powerful. That’s it. Every strategy has holes in it. It was a gamble to pick you over some nobody and…’ Minos bit his lip and did not say more.

‘And you gambled wrong,’ Persephone finished the sentence. 

Minos shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some, my queen.’ 

Ariadne gave him a disgusted look. ‘Perhaps.’

‘You were a powermaniac,’ I concluded. ‘It would have been safer, be it a little harder, to use a minion from Luke’s army. Yet, I had power, and you fell for it.’

Minos shot me a disintegrating look. ‘Watch your words, demonspawn.’

‘Sounds like a weakness to me.’

‘Nico.’ Persephone slowly shook her head. 

‘I think I have what I wanted,’ I told Minos. 

‘Leave, then. I’ve got a job to do.’

‘Playing judge, jury and executioner even in death,’ Ariadne stated.

‘It comes naturally.’ It was the first time he acknowledged her existence. ‘I’d watch your mouth if I were you. Some of us might be power hungry, but we aren’t reckless traitors. Each their own.’ He grinned, before looking at Persephone. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get back now, my queen.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ 

He curtsied, before turning around and walking away. I had to bite my tongue to not yell after him that he was a terrible person, a terrible king, a terrible father, a terrible husband and a terrible judge.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘He is terrible.’

‘He is manipulative,’ Ariadne stated. ‘The gamble analogy is apt. He gambled he could take control of the kingdom by banning his brothers. He gambled that he could contain the Minotaur and make Athens pay for it, and he won that bet twice, until…’ she sighed, ‘Until someone messed with his stack of cards. Every gambler misses now and then, and so did he. Terribly, a few times…’ 

Persephone clenched her fists. ‘And then he still didn’t, because my father had to give him the power he desired in death as well.’

I slowly nodded. Persephone sighed and pushed something into my hand. It was a can of Pomegranate sweet tea. I left it in the underworld a little while ago. 

‘Did you learn anything?’ Ariadne asked. It sounded as if she was somewhere else with her thoughts.  

‘What I thought about king Minos was proven. And I once again realised that maybe I should not always go through with my strange ideas.’

‘At least someone was here this time. I can’t tell what that man would have done we hadn’t been there,’ Persephone mused. A little smile appeared on her face. ‘I wanted to come too. Honestly, I wanted to see if it would be better to kick him out. And well, that is more than proven. As soon as I can get rid of him, I will.’

Ariadne looked just as surprised as I felt. ‘They needed to be sons of Zeus, right? The judges?’ I asked. 

‘Yes. But that friend of yours is here now, too.’

‘Jason.’

‘The very one. I think we might have a job for him.’

---------------------------------------------------------------

‘Coming with you was my own idea,’ Ariadne told me when we were back in Camp half-blood. 

‘Ah,’ I said, while I nodded. 

‘I mean Dio didn’t ask me to come. I wanted it. I wanted to see how Minos would react to you, to see if he was really still like that.’

I nodded. ‘Well, so did I. Thanks for coming anyway.’

She nodded, although she didn’t smile. ‘I think it will be lunch soon.’

‘Eh... yeah. I think Dionysus is in the big house.’

‘Then I’ll go there.’

It was clear we were both too busy with our own thoughts. I said goodbye and went to the dining pavilion. Will would want to hear my story. I assumed Dionysus would already have heard it next time I saw him, which was, if I can be honest, a relief. 

A/N: I was originally going to do this with just one of the ladies but then I thought of this and it was good. 

Finals are over today which is good now on to results haha help

[haljathefangirlcat]

DARK FINALE SPOILERS

what she says: I'm fine

what she means: ... and another thing! you know how I didn't ship jonas and martha in season one because I didn't feel like she was there for anything in particular besides adding some spicy surprise incest romantic drama and showing us that even with the child murders and timetravel shenaningans, everyone was still just people and even the dumb teen who'd just met himself was still just a dumb teen getting in a scuffle with his ex-best friend over some girl? and how in season two I thought they had some very touching moments but still didn't ship them because I thought it was just about jonas desperately clinging to something as simple and pure as a school crush as his life kept crushing and burning and going to hell before his eyes no matter what he did, and oh, of course she died and became ever purer and more perfect in his mind through the years until it became some sort of obsession for his lost, fridged love... and THEN alt!martha appeared out of nowhere and I had no fucking idea what to think anymore??? and then in season three it was her and her world and her problems and her feelings and her building, spiraling trauma and Eva and her capacity for selfishness and evil while calling them the right thing and the solution - and at the beginning I didn't think I'd feel for her as I'd always felt for jonas, but I did - and I thought I finally understood what the point of them together was, because they were this epic tragic fated "there is a LITERAL red string in here" love story of mirrors and shadows and crossroads and circles, right? theseus as the minotaur and ariadne as the snake goddess, the eternal struggle and love between death/life and dark/light but they were both doomed whether they held out hands or slapped them away, whether they became saviors or destroyers, right? and i liked THAT, i liked it a lot but I still didn't ship them because I wanted more and that still felt classic, still felt expected, still didn't give me the hope I needed and I somehow trusted the writers to give me - because they were still the chosen, fated child-heroes, even when scarred and darkened after venturing into the forest and going through the cave to a new land and facing their wolves, and that didn't feel right for this story... and in the end, it wasn't. It wasn't a story about fate and what was right according to it. It was a story about two mistakes, about glitches in the matrix, about things that were a perfectly matched pair (don't ever believe otherwise) because they were both wrong, they were both false. and it couldn't be anything else. because how could fate REALLY choose to dump its whole weight on the shoulders of two kids and hurt them over and over again like that, and NOT expect them to become THAT? How could that be fair or even just right?? Of course worlds running on that kind of logic couldn't be saved. of course the one person who could look past the addicting epic tragic binaries would be someone who didn't have the best childhood and teen years but at least got to reach adulthood and develop some measure of maturity/common sense/bullshit-radar without anyone just dumping a heap of prophecies and death and light and darkness and hell and paradise on her head before things started to go to shit on her side of the story. and yet....... there's a tragic, cruel irony in jonas & martha being the crux and fulcrum of all that's wrong in their worlds - the worst and most unnatural things to ever exist in worlds filled with child murderers and murderers/identity thieves and abusive parents/spouses and rapists and cheaters and Hannah "Don't mind me, I'm just here to blackmail Aleksander into ruining people" Kahnwald and god knows what else. Like... my boy Jonas, who just wanted to save his dad and the girl he loved. My girl Martha, who just wanted to save her family and the boy she loved. and yet. In the end they see it. And they accept it. And while still holding onto each other, while finally reaching out and truly honestly meeting again as Adam and Eva (as old Jonas and old Martha, stripped of destiny and all pretense), they finally let go. And they become stardust as the space-time continuum heals its wounds and ulcers, as all the broken homes repair themselves because the first is whole again (because this story was always about parents and children and the ghosts they haunt each other with), as all they ever did is forgotten and forgiven like in that paradise that wasn't even supposed to be real. and it's scary and it's sad but they love each other and they go together, perfect pair that they are, and they are at peace. and it works, and they make things right like they kept making things wrong. and of course - NOW I love them, and it's far too late. but the world is whole and healed now, and it may never be perfect (would it really BE Winden, after all, if no one ever had any reason to wish for the apocalypse? ... could it REALLY be perfect, with all the unnatural, corrupted people that loved and were loved and don't and can't exist anymore but maybe are still missed anyway?) but maybe it will be kinder. fairer. grateful in its own way. less tragic but maybe still just a tiny little bit epic or fairytale-like. so until baran and jantje come up and explain that last "jonas" as just nostalgia for a lost world, as the only possible tribute and reward and consolation like it's probably meant to be... and maybe even after that... I'll hope they'll meet again one day. And that day, maybe it will be right...

what she does: *trying her best not to cry as she watches the cat eat because sometimes he just likes some company while he munches away, y'know?*

[avelera]

Review: Circe by Madeline Miller

Late last night I finished “Circe” and admit I breezed through it in a couple days. It was a rare pleasure to read a book that captured my attention from beginning to end, something I’ve struggled with lately. I admire Miller a great deal, (indeed have written fanfiction in her style for my Steve/Bucky / Achilles/Patroclus reincarnation fusion fic “Sing, O Muse”) and looked forward to her take on another great figure of Greek mythology.

So, let’s get right to it:

Pros: 

The story has a lot to recommend it. Miller’s prose is well-renowned for its poetry and eloquence. She paints a vivid picture of a fantastical Ancient Greece where gods walk the earth and a witch/demi-goddess like Circe has a rich internal life. In no particular order:

- The Gods - Authors often struggle with how to include the gods in retellings of the Iliad and Odyssey. Most try to simply ignore them and chalk their involvement up to superstition. Unfortunately, that attempt usually runs into the brick wall of Thetis, who is key to the story of the rage of her son Achilles, and who shows up on the beaches of Troy, where no normal woman could. Miller has always leaned into the existence of the gods rather than run from it in her reimaginings of Greek myth, and paints a fully fleshed world where they reside side by side with mortals. Her use of language elevates their appearance and evokes a Celtic Faerie Court of powerful, capricious and otherworldly beings who are both intoxicating and deeply dangerous to mortals. Miller’s prose jumps off the page whenever one of these beings takes the spotlight and is by far one of the most creative takes I’ve seen of characterizing the Ancient Greek Gods.

- Passion - It is clear in the very DNA of this story that Miller loves Greek Mythology. There is a tenderness with which the great heroes and tragic figures of those myths like Odysseus and Prometheus are presented, almost a yearning to be able to reach out and offer them comfort in their trials that is very apparent. There is awe in how Athena is depicted, for all that she serves as an antagonist. There is wonder in the descriptions of beings like Helios and Scylla. The prose shines from within when these figures appear with a sort of joy and sadness that is infectious to the reader. The sense of love for this time and these characters is inescapable.

- Emotion - Particularly with the more melancholy emotions like sadness, resignation, and helpless anger there is a profound and powerful thread running through the story. One deeply feels the appeal of characters like Glaukos pre-transformation, Daedalus, Odysseus and Telemachus. When Circe falls in love with these men, I don’t for a second wonder why. They are presented with heartbreaking beauty and appeal. Circe’s own moments of tragedy are also evocative, she is deeply impacted by the ugliness of the world in a way that evokes understanding and sympathy. 

Cons:

I’m going to try my best in this section to not fall too much into the trap of “I would have done this differently” but... well, I’m not entirely sure I succeed. 

- Agency - The problem of character agency has plagued Miller’s two forays into Classical myth retellings, and for me personally present the most frustrating aspect of her prose. Circe, one of the most terrifying and powerful women of Ancient Greek mythology, is almost never the driver of her own destiny in this book and I found this aspect of the story baffling and at times infuriating. The moment this realization of her passivity in her own tale hit me hardest, almost enough to stop reading, was when Pasiphae, a mythological figure known almost solely for sleeping with a cow and being the mother of the Minotaur, was somehow a more terrifying and ambitious witch than Circe, one of the great villainesses of Classical literature. 

Pasiphae is presented as eagerly seeking out marriage with a powerful man, and while at first she is disappointed by her match to the mortal king Minos, she is comforted by the fact he is a son of Zeus  and will one day be one of the great judges of the Underworld. The events that take place after this are all mostly off-screen, but upon reaching the kingdom of Crete and its capital city Knossos, we learn she took the court over within, ruling with terror and poison, and that even when she was laid low by the shame of sleeping with a sacred bull, she still managed to twist this event to her own benefit and indeed even orchestrated the situation, deliberately giving birth to one of the most terrifying monsters of all time on purpose, using the opportunity for a multi-part palace coup including shaming her sister Circe by forcing her to help birth the monster and clean up the fallout, securing Pasiphae’s place in history and her dominance over the court with almost no repercussions. If she suffered at all from the fact that these events lead to the death of her daughter, Ariadne, we never see it, or any other negative consequences for her actions or opportunities for remorse, because at this point in the tale, Circe is (for no real narrative reason) no longer sleeping with Hermes and is therefore no longer privy to what is going on in the world outside her island. Even once she is free of her exile, she never follows up with the fates of her siblings.

Upon reaching this part of the book, all I could wonder was why were we not reading the tale of Pasiphae? This terrifying witch who took a weak position as the wife to a “great man” and twisted it to make herself one of the most powerful women in the world? What a fascinating subversion of the typical view of this mythological figure that would have been! 

Why Circe? Was a question I asked myself over and over. Surely if you wanted to tell the tale of such a passive character, there were plenty of other women in Greek mythology who would have been a better fit for the themes of the story that Miller eventually told? Why take Circe and make her a cringing good girl who always does what she’s told, whose one defiance in giving comfort to Prometheus as a little girl which as a flaw is basically  “being too good” and “caring too much”. Her aid of Prometheus is barely defiance at all, yet is blown into massive significance as one of the defining moments of her life when she does literally nothing purposefully bad, or even purposeful at all, for huge stretches of her life after that? Her transformation of Glaukos is cringing and secretive and almost totally accidental. Her transformation of Scylla in revenge for stealing Glaukos’s affections is more sullen than wrathful. We’re told she has a talent for transformation that exceeds the power of the gods themselves, but no sooner does she achieve these incredible feats then she apparently needs to start over and learn witchcraft from scratch and never again works such a great spell until she’s turning herself mortal so she can die at the end once she achieves her white picket fence ending. 

Where is Circe?! Where is the witch that became the subject of art and literature for millennia, one of the great female antagonists of Greek myth on par with terrifying villains like Medea? In the reimagining of this figure from her own perspective, we don’t find a great mythological figure but a tailor-made “perfect victim” - nothing bad is done by her on purpose. In fact, almost nothing she does is on purpose except to serve others in her life, like Glaukos, or Odysseus, or her son. Even her transformation of men into pigs is a result of her trying to help sailors who land on her island, only to be raped for her trouble and turn vengeful towards all other men after that. Well, until Odysseus apparently, when she gives up on transforming sailors after that, the most famous aspect of her character from mythology. Circe is given a prophecy for her fate at one point that is only that a man named Odysseus will come to her island, and that paltry prophecy turns out to be the sum total of the important events in her life as once again, she stands around in limbo until the actions of a man nudge her into actually doing something. Odysseus changes her life, not that this was hard, because she wasn’t doing anything before he came around.

Even Circe’s one great selfish act, the transformation of Scylla, brings her no joy and instead haunts her entire life like an albatross around her neck. Nothing she does is joyful, except perhaps glimmers early on as she embraces her skill with magic, and her love of the animals on her island which are presented as essentially house pets. One is left with the unshakeable sense that Circe has been re-imagined as spinster cat lady who has a couple nice little romantic flings over the years before having a kid on her own and eventually settling down with a nice husband to retire and die.

Which is fine. Perhaps it rubs me, personally, the wrong way because this is now the second iteration I’ve seen of powerful mythological women being used as modern feminist parables, only to be stripped of all their power to make these points. The other was “Penelope” by Margaret Atwood, in which Penelope is reimagined as a thinly veiled metaphor for a dissatisfied 50s housewife with a cheating husband. There’s barely any of her cleverness, her authority (for god’s sake, the woman was a queen) or her love of Odysseus, one of the great het romances of equals of ancient mythology, practically the only marriage of equals one can even point to,  and it’s torn down to make a point about not liking your husband very much when he cheats on you to feel better about himself. 

“Circe” at times feels autobiographical for the author (and of course this is speculation to a great extent), showing struggles with love and men, finding oneself, mourning beloved pets when they die, trying to escape the shadow of an emotionally abusive family, and learning to make decisions on one’s own in a patriarchal world. Which is fine, “Hamilton” by Lin Manuel Miranda is not perfectly historically accurate because at times it makes the choice to instead delve into autobiographical notes about Lin Manuel Miranda and his father, the experience of being a writer and the immigrant experience, the latter of which is hardly something the real Hamilton would have ever touted about himself but the strength of passion in telling that story elevates the text so it can be both about Alexander Hamilton and about Lin Manuel Miranda at the same time. There were moments in “Circe” where I was almost yelling at the page, just pick one! You can use the story of Circe to elevate a modern autobiography, to give certain aspects of life mythic proportions and tell the story of a woman who feels emotionally exiled eventually finding herself and finding love, but you have to go for it. To try to tell the story of Circe and tell a modern woman’s story at the same time is to do a disservice to both stories, where Circe is brought down into the dirt with other indecisive mortals, and the true pathos of a modern woman’s striving for agency in her life is outshone by the myth and wonder of Circe’s world.

My final note on agency, but “Song of Achilles” struggled with a very similar problem. Patroclus was reimagined as the passive, doting lover of Achilles. This allowed some really beautiful meditations on love and sacrifice, but it absolutely stripped Patroclus of many of his canonical qualities. The Patroclus of the Iliad did not shrink from battle or become a healer to avoid the war, he was a willing and joyous warrior as much as Achilles was. He begged Achilles for his armor in order to keep prosecuting the war and raise morale even if Achilles couldn’t fight. 

With Patroclus, as with Circe, you have two aggressive figures who are reimagined as passive perfect victims, who spend the entire book working themselves up to the courage to make a handful of active decisions for themselves. 

Going back to one of the Pros, which is the love felt on the page for these great figures like Odysseus and Prometheus, there are times when Patroclus and Circe both feel like the passive vessels for a self-insert adoration of these heroes. When Odysseus appears, I was struck by how overjoyed I was to see him. What a striking contrast Odysseus presented! Active, clever, tricky, beset by trials that he overcomes only to seek out more - contrast that with Circe who is none of those things except in glimpses. What a striking reminder of what a fantastic protagonist Odysseus is, how he is one of the greatest protagonists in almost 3,000 years of literature. Because he does things and he chooses things and he has unique qualities like his cleverness that help him overcome obstacles in fascinating ways that we still read about today. 

Similarly with Patroclus being the passive narrator of Achilles’ life, we feel the reflected glow of Achilles desire and drive, we yearn for it, because almost none of that quality is present in the protagonist and narrator of the story Patroclus! I am reminded of “Nick” in the Great Gatsby and his passive viewing of events, and I’m reminded that Nick wasn’t even supposed to be a character, he was only meant to be a narrative voice until Fitzgerald’s editor stepped in and said he needed to be characterized. At times, Patroclus and Circe both skirt the line of being so passive in their own story that on some level, they feel like little more than a narrative lens through which we glimpse the true heroes from afar.

I held off until I finished the book before making a final judgement of Circe’s passivity, because at every step I kept expecting her to finally change and take charge of her own life. Early on, I thought her comforting of Prometheus would launch her into taking control of her own destiny, which would have been a fascinating inciting incident, mirroring humanity’s gift of fire. Then I thought Glaukos would. Then Scylla. Then her exile. Then Odysseus. Then her son. And at every point, she fades into the background after and goes back to doing what she’s told. The book ends with her finally making a decision and that decision is to settle down with a kind husband and eventually die. She stands up to her father, the Sun, to make this stand and it is a beautiful, melancholy ending of the story but by god, woman, it would have been a much more satisfying retirement for a character that burns and makes decisions and does things than a character who takes hundreds of years to screw up the courage to ask for a quiet retirement on her own terms.

“Circe” is beautifully written. It is a lovely, melancholy anthology about one woman’s encounters with the great figures of mythology, lovingly told, as she seeks to find herself and what she wants out of life. I do not feel my time was wasted.

But if I were to sit down as an editor with the author and point out the three things I’d like her to work on for her next story it would be this:

- Structure - the story meanders and stays glued to the scattered known events of Circe’s life. It has no internal rising and falling action. It is a series of short stories with Circe’s life loosely tying them all together. Like JK Rowling no longer understanding how to plot a story when it isn’t built around a typical school year, I speculate that Miller struggles with building a structured story without having a pre-laid track of mythical events to hang it off of, and I’m not sure she is able to sculpt a tale into having a structure outside of “slice of life” moments in those fictional biographies, beautifully told.

- Agency - characters need to want something. They need to seek out something, they need to do something. Even if they are buffeted about by the events in their lives, they should at least have a way they wish things were going instead and take some steps to making the future they want real. Passive characters who sulk their way through the events thrust upon them by more powerful, dynamic characters, may have beautiful, languorous commentary on the world but they are essentially narrators rather than protagonists at that point.

- Telling rather than showing - I know this advice is often misunderstood and badly implemented. Telling is actually clarifying and provides structure to showing. But there are huge stretches of the book that read like just a laundry list of the narrator telling us what happened next “And then, and then, and then” without couching these moments in a scene that we could feel. There are some absolutely gorgeous scenes but they feel scattered and indeed, anthological, for the exact reason that we get a handful of strongly depicted scenes in Circe’s life, strung together by her telling us rather than showing us what happened in between. The fact that none of it really builds towards any sort of climax or true reversal of her fortunes makes those moments of telling, which I forgave at first because I felt they were in service of getting us to the good part, a greater betrayal when it became clear that the only thing those stretches were getting us too was the next mini-event in her life when she met another character more driven than herself.

[ratcarney]

doubt comes in: a complete analysis

first of all, for all intents and purposes, london!orpheus has no rights, and here’s why: 

london!orpheus has a self-assured confidence to him. he does not pause before dialogue—he does not need to. “come home with me” is driven solely by confidence that eurydice will definitely, 100% fall for him. hermes mentions that “eurydice knew how to survive,” but “orpheus knew how to live.” orpheus’s drop-to-his-knees, spur-of-the-moment, pseudo-proposal has lively arrogance behind it.

broadway!orpheus, however, is the exact opposite. he is constantly driven by dreaminess and a perpetual, underlying anxiety. there is absolutely no arrogance whatsoever behind his characterization. 

while confident london!orpheus is, admittedly, VERY sexy, he is unable to bring the same emotion to songs such as “wait for me,” “if it’s true,” and “doubt comes in” (the latter especially!!). he starts the show very sure of himself and stays that way through act i and most of act ii. while one may think that this makes his total breakdown in doubt comes in more meaningful, it does not. it’s like orpheus has backed himself into a corner emotion- and confidence-wise and it would be uncharacteristic to fall straight to rock bottom after being strong and self-assured for the whole show thus far.

the best part of broadway’s dreamy, distracted orpheus is that the audience gets a chance to watch his belief in himself grow gradually until his turning point songs (“wait for me,” “if it’s true”) cement his newfound confident characterization in their minds. they have come to root for the underdog and are attached to his character. but then, starting at “wait for me ii,” as hermes is warning orpheus about the dangers of his journey with eurydice to the surface world, the audience recognizes a note or two of panic within orpheus akin to those they saw in songs such as “chant” and “a gathering storm.”

without witnessing how far orpheus has come, the audience wouldn’t be as broken up about his eventual failure to get the love of his life back. one could even argue that eurydice was the one that salvaged his confidence (probably during that super sweet part in “all i’ve ever known”) and cultivated it to be what the audience sees in “wait for me,” aka the ultimate declaration of his love. this argument would make it even more painful when she dies and, consequently, all of orpheus’s belief in himself dies with her.

at its core, it’s playing with the audience’s favor. london!orpheus already has the audience’s attraction, but the ever-anxious broadway!orpheus gained the audience’s sympathy throughout his story. london!orpheus’s loss isn’t as great because we know he can function on his own. we’ve seen it in songs like the london version of “livin’ it up on top.”

broadway!orpheus has demonstrated that eurydice is the only thing keeping him together. he literally gets torn nearly to shreds once he enters the underworld and she is separated from him during “papers.” the driving point behind all of his actions is to right his wrongs and get eurydice back. so his loss is MONUMENTAL compared to assertive, flashy, london!orpheus’s because the audience knows that he genuinely cannot handle himself without her.

keeping that in mind, let’s continue into “doubt comes in.”

“doubt comes in,” the penultimate song in the musical, is an illustration of orpheus’s complete mental collapse. it is symbolic of the destruction of all the love and hope for the world that he previously held. let’s get into the details.

the evolution of the beginning of the song is as follows:

a. in the concept album, after a VERY lengthy (but necessary for setting the scene) two-minute intro, orpheus himself starts the song. the opening lyrics are “doubt comes in and strips the paint/ doubt comes in and turns the wine/ doubt comes in and leaves a trace of vinegar and turpentine.” these lyrics are sung with the same otherworldly disconnectedness in which justin vernon’s orpheus sings everything. he continues with “where are you?/ where are you, now?” which is self-explanatory.

b. in the 2016 cast album, the fates start off with the same lyrics. this is attributed to their characterization from early on in the musical: “they [are] always singin’ in the back of your mind.” they function as orpheus’s anxieties and (self-)doubts personified. damon comes in a little later with his trademark wavering tenor singing “doubt comes in and all falls silent/ it’s as though you weren’t there.” this is fleshing orpheus out a little more, voicing his main fear—that eurydice isn’t behind him, that this is all a trick.

c. reeve’s “doubt comes in” is the most dramatically changed. they changed it so that it would fit his character more, and they did so EXPERTLY. reeve’s broadway!orpheus very clearly suffers from severe anxiety. he’s sensitive and jumps at the slightest sound. the way he neglects his relationship with eurydice in favor of working on the song is not malicious, but charged with fear. it’s not intentional, he just has a habit of shutting everything out when working on something important. he’s never been in a relationship before, so he doesn’t consider that maybe, eurydice needs him as much as he needs her. but i digress. reeve’s “doubt comes in” starts with the repetition of his lalala melody—the exact same one that the audience has come to associate with him. he sings this to himself both for comfort and in the feeble hope that eurydice will hear it and know where to follow him (akin to theseus making a trail of ariadne’s thread to help him escape the minotaur’s labyrinth). in the beginning of the show (“come home with me”), orpheus describes the melody as something that “takes what’s broken and makes it whole,” and he’s using his lalalas as just that. while that is heartbreaking enough to begin with, reeve’s trembling, almost-faltering falsetto (reevesetto, if you will) adds a layer of suspense and desperation that damon and justin can only dream of.

the instrumental:

- every version of doubt comes in has a variation of the same instrumental. the haunting strings fill the theatre with a palpable fear, leaving even the people who don’t know the myth filled with a sense of dread.

- the truly striking part about the instrumental, though, is the drumbeat. it’s meant to symbolize orpheus’s heartbeat pounding in his ears, and has the same effect on the audience.

eurydice’s verses:

- eurydice’s first line in both the concept album’s “doubt comes in” and the 2016 one is “orpheus, you’re shivering/ is it cold or fear?” one could argue that these are the most tender lyrics exchanged between the lovers throughout the whole musical. it demonstrates eurydice’s intimate knowledge of her lover whether it’s justin’s determined orpheus, damon’s confident orpheus, or reeve’s fearful orpheus (that is, if they had included it in the broadway version). in some ways, it is a response to the orpheus’s line prior to it: “where are you now?”

justin and anaïs: these two have the energy of a couple that has faced the trials, come out victorious, and will do so again. anaïs’s steady, haunting voice does not serve as an accessory to justin’s layered vocals, her eurydice is as determined as justin’s orpheus. they know that they will be fine as long as everything goes according to plan (spoilers: it doesn’t). when anaïs sings “orpheus, you’re shivering/ is it cold or fear?” it’s like she’s checking up on him, just to be safe. it’s not so much fear in her voice as it is a simple question, as if her next words would be “just checking in. keep going, baby, we’re almost there.”

damon and nabiyah: their relationship is more tentative. it was fractured when eurydice sold her soul, and it’s just starting to be repaired. when nabiyah sings “orpheus, you’re shivering/ is it cold or fear?” there is more lingering anger in it than what anaïs offered. it’s seen in the way she hisses his name, remaining on the last consonant for longer than she used to. however, after a beat, once she realizes that he’s shaking, (implying that either 1. she’s following close enough to see him tremble, or 2. she recognizes the wavering in his voice as a red flag, which is adorable because that means she was intentionally looking for anything that would indicate that orpheus wasn’t feeling as confident as he usually did as a precaution because she knew how fast things could spiral from there) her tone softens. she melts and offers him words of reassurance “just keep singing/ the coldest night/ of the coldest year/ comes right before the spring.”

reeve and eva: i will always (always!) be mad that they omitted that line from the broadway production. it had so much potential considering that eva follows so far behind reeve throughout the song. in her bold, protective voice, the mere singing of orpheus’s name would have 100% knocked me to the ground. and reeve’s orpheus would be most likely to display such symptoms. even the audience member in the farthest seat from the stage could tell that reeve was shaking as he walked forward on the turntable, he just gave off that aura (it’s free real estate good acting). of course eurydice would notice that he was afraid.

lyric changes (in no particular order):

a. in the broadway version, the “where are you now” was changed to “where is she now,” reiterating the fact that eurydice is orpheus’s number one priority (and source of fear)

b. in place of the “you’re shivering” line, broadway!eurydice’s words are more encouraging. had this been earlier in the show, she wouldn’t have been so optimistic. orpheus replenished her hope in the world with “epic iii” and that’s what carried her through “promises,” “wait for me ii,” and, of course, “doubt comes in.” she says “orpheus, are you listening?/ i’m right here/ and i will be ‘til the end” for the first verse and “orpheus, you’re not alone/ i’m right behind you/ and i have been all along” for the second, right before he looks back.

c. orpheus’s inner (sung) monologue fleshes him out more than the concept album and the 2016 recording ever did with their respective orphei. one of the most prominent examples of this is the lyric “who am i to think that she would follow me into the cold and dark again?”

d. this is one of the many callbacks in “doubt comes in.” orpheus means that eurydice took a chance in following him into the “cold and dark,” i.e. poverty. the fact that she does it AGAIN exemplifies great character development. from the first time eurydice was introduced, she was characterized as self-sufficient and unwilling to rely on others. but now, after all she’s been through, she willingly puts her life in someone else’s hands—something she would have never, ever done had she not met orpheus. the fact that orpheus says “again” demonstrates his awareness (something else he has gained since the beginning of the show) that he already let eurydice down once and he does not want to again.

callbacks:

a. “the wind is changing...” this is sung by the fates in the chorus and is reminiscent of “a gathering storm.”

b. “la lala la lala la la...” this is orpheus’s musical motif. it symbolizes togetherness and hope. however, while all other times he is eventually joined by the ensemble, this is different. he is singing his melody into the dark and hoping against hope that someone will answer. no one does.

c. “i used to see the way the world could be/ but now the way it is is all i see...” orpheus is hope personified. he symbolizes all that is good, he never sees the bad in anyone and on the off chance that he does, he doesn’t fixated on it. but here, he’s rethinking his worldview. the darkness has seeped into his soul, rendering him terrified and doubtful.

d. “it’s you/ it’s me/ orpheus/ eurydice” this is a callback to “come home with me ii,” which sucks because it’s uhhhh painful.

conclusion: jo found dead in miami.

[erintoknow]

you dream in continuity of different mistakes

Fallen Hero Fanfic... prose poetry? Going back to my roots, I guess??? Starting prompt was "She's not coming... she's not coming." Uh... speculative spoilers? Also, like... content warning for blood, dysphoria, abuse, memory loss, suicide, and transphobia? ~1k words –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

beige, off-white, stained yellow. why? why can’t you be brighter?

you dream in a continuity of different mistakes

a city you haven’t been to yet, steel laced in vines, add liberally trees and identical buildings for filler. late again, the schedule doesn’t make chronological sense: always the right place at the wrong time or the wrong time at the right place but today you’ve made the two axises align and here you are the right place at the right time and the courtyard is filled with old-school ghosts. less physically present than textually informed and are they the ghosts or are you the one stepping back into dead lives? a woman you remember too clearly for no interaction asks “how are you?” and steps off the bridge that is now a classroom.

no one recognizes you: this stranger body borrowing someone else’s haunting.

you’re not awake. you can’t be, because you’re here. this is a dream, you promise yourself every time you wake up to cinderblocks and sodium lamps proof that when marooned, you bring the water with you 'i am dreaming now' is a queer prayer                    'theseus will come back for me,'                    is a queerer one.

in flattening every note left you expose yourself         without your bone chimes hung up         to ward off the master         come to collect her due

always too polite to drip blood and breath into an appropriate receptacle

cement kisses tear against your dermis a molding that is, like yourself: sung entirely in artifice days of dust and scraping under fingers, raising hairs

it starts with you brushing your teeth, and something moves in your mouth that shouldn’t. did you get punched in the mouth today? you can’t remember. it doesn’t matter, the mirror’s enough of a punch. too-pale skin, sick, never seeing the california sun. why california? a criss-cross of bright orange lines run over your chest, down your arms. in between the breasts you don’t have here –which you never had so why are you thinking it– everything runs into a source-code of lines. they’ve saran-wrapped you like a piece of meat, pricing available for easy-scanning. today’s sale: $6.99 lb. 'what a steal,' the butcher would promise you as she carves into your side.

raking plastic across enamel defoliates your gums: a sponge you can’t squeeze clean

blood mixes with toothpaste and no one taught you not to swallow fluoride in non-lethal doses.

inspecting the reflection of your teeth is simple enough. it’s important for every tool, practice proper self-maintenance. and you are nothing if not a good tool, aren’t you, sea bee? she asks you, minotaur hand gripping your shoulder tight, too tight, biting bone.

        there in the back, you’ve loosened a molar,         push it more, with your tongue.         It doesn’t take much,         it rises out on a pooling of blood,                 running between your gums,                         and over your lips,                                 down your chin.                                 reddening foam                         spilling out of yourself, helpless to stop                 or never taught? or never willing?         puzzling out in trial and error

in the smudges of the mirror, a child still in daily prayer                         that something is terribly wrong

you are a fountain         red water like wine stains         orange in your skin         still glows         as the blood rises over your head.

you: a diver at the bottom of the ocean         lungs choking on your own blood-water

only her dye marks the difference between the salt in here and the salt out there

each morning, there's a woman in the mirror, singing impossible promises: that you haven't been forgotten, that there are people who love you, beyond the labyrinth. if only you can find the path. one last memory cast in amber and frozen in the green glare of gun flash and shattered glass. every day she's harder to hear under all that blood coming out of her mouth.

and you?                 you’ve been bad.                         a bad boy, rub your face in it;                                 you’ll never learn                                                 never learn no privileges this time around, trust is earned not given and how could you, really? breaking her trust like that she, who gave everything to you and asked so little in return

the minotaur loved you like she loves a good gun her ownership engraved by heat and metal how could you betray that? traitor to your heart, the one she owns

but it’s not her hand that strikes you         it’s your own         because you’ve brought this on yourself         a tool that breaks must be repaired         by hammer, by chisel,         surgeon’s saw, and doctor’s thread

the men in the white coats watch through opaque glass masked faces for masked minds if you don’t like being debugged, one states, unmoving then don’t bug out                 seriously, why can’t you appreciate how blessed you are? so unique -ly privileged, honored and set above all your brothers and sisters.

an unlucky skin you can never escape, no hardened bones, no breath of fire. no heightened strength, or superior agility, only the joy of knowing just how little everyone thinks of you and their utter disdain for what you’ve done to your borrowed body, their handiwork. and that’s when they don’t fill your head with numbing chemicals or worse, that droning buzz that always threatens to split you open but never makes good on the promise.

you understand, don’t you? it hurts her to see you this way                 a hurt more real                 more meaningful                 then any fleeting mark across your face

it’s only in the light of night, while you’re waiting to wake up you can dream of anywhere else, or of getting back

a dozen little promises you trace into the lines of your skin:

no one’s coming for you, not in ships of iron, nor clad in night. the woman in the mirror is translucent; nothing left to bleed. only the memory of paper skin to remind you. theseus isn’t coming, you can see it in stolen photographs. her midnight braid no longer bound by your tarnished silver, hands entwined with some newer, better, prince.

there may be no theseus, but the way out remains ariadne, darling, loan the red threads in your arm bind it to your wrists and trace the walls let it guide you through light to dark, past the beast

and it’s heart, hers, beating in your chest the one that you’ll vomit up and shove down her throat with         every look, every sneer,         every backhanded compliment,         every call to sympathy,         every verbal lashing,         every strike of the hand,         every unwanted, probing touch,         every test and examination,         every smug 'good boy,'

drain out her everything wring out every memory on to sun-parched ground and let the sand hollow her out.

you’re going to fucking kill her.

[930club]

ALBUM REVIEW: The Rebirth of Typhoon, And Their Latest Offerings

Typhoon’s Offerings begins with a warning: “Listen, of all the things you’re about to lose, this will be the most painful.”

In seventy minutes, across three movements, this Portland-based ensemble exposits how it feels when a mind and its environment seem to detach from the past at precisely the same time.

For those unfamiliar with Typhoon, their beautifully crafted and incredibly intricate melodies stem from the eleven sonic layers within them, coupled with lyrics which are at once deeply personal, yet relatable; deeply philosophical, yet simple. 2013’s White Lighter is a burst of light in waveform, detailing Kyle Morton’s complexly ailed childhood as a result of Lyme disease-caused organ failure. Having lost his childhood (and with it, his innocence) to this disease, a then 27-year-old Kyle detailed his optimism for survival within the infamous mythos of the White Lighter and its alleged connection to the 27 Club - the unfortunate collective of celebrities who passed away at the tender age of 27.

Where White Lighter wove a tale of internal triumph, however, Offerings delves down deeply into the darkness of internal and external loss, and the power of memory.

Floodplains

With the initial album announcement in October came the first movement, containing tracks “Wake,” “Rorschach,” “Empiricist,” and “Algernon.” This 21-minute epic introduces us to this notion of isolated disconnect, beginning with rough reverb which seems to emulate the fuzziness of memory. Across these four songs, Kyle and company toy with the recollection of childhood, using “Asa Nisi Masa” (a reference to Federico Fellini’s 1963 film 8½) as a barbaric yawp in their quest to hold on.

The most powerful of these tracks is the last. With the subtle sound of an old slide projector echoing alongside the string noise of Kyle’s acoustic guitar, “Algernon” (a reference to Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes, the academic novel on the ultimate gain and loss of knowledge) paints a bleak picture of a man failing to recognize his wife – or, indeed, even himself.

Flood

The second movement begins with “Unusual,” depicting a “brave new world” with a building string section and slight return of Typhoon's famed horns. The song’s zenith comes from its outro - concluding with a cacophonous journey churning its way through prog rock, friendly background banter, and descending symphonies before breaking into an ominous recitation:

"Why, gentle mother, must you wring your hands and weep? Tide brings you a sword, sword will cut you free Dead demands a tribute in the hour of our need Blood be the river to wash the ledgers clean”

The band continues its masterful control of volume, depth, and stereophonic subtlety through “Beachtowel," “Remember,” and “Mansion,” building through harmonized electric guitars and viscerally visual lyrics before peaking with violinist Shannon Steele’s chillingly angelic hymn.

Reckoning

According to Morton, “Coverings" takes the story into the devil's mansion, where all the rooms are the same, representing this repeated infinite present with no reference. "For me, this is Hell. And, at this point, our character has lost his marbles,” he says. This contrasts curiously with the placid tone of the track, as the strings dance with Shannon’s voice in a siren-like manner, as if to beckon further into the abyss.

“Chiaroscuro” returns to Morton’s crushingly realistic illustrations, evoking the Renaissance painting technique to contrast this duel between light and dark that is occurring within the narrator’s mind. As he continues to internally lose himself, fighting for consciousness, his collapsed body is found at home. 

The story continues directly, with faintly sterile beeping and whirring giving way to a bleakly upbeat bass line around which the funky dissonance of the single “Darker” repeats the haunting refrain, "I don't wanna live with the kinds of trouble I keep finding myself in."

Morton’s literary influences return in “Bergeron,” flipping Vonnegut’s short story of the same name, which speaks of government-issued handicaps for a world of “equality,” for a beautiful Japanese-style waltz through the narrator’s own increasing handicap.

The third movement concludes with "Ariadne,” a labyrinthine tale referencing the Greek mythos of the Minotaur and Theseus. The sonic layers gradually build as the maze deepens, claiming everyone as a "hostage” to the chaos and loss (both personal and political) along the way. The song crescendos into a returning wail of "Asa Nisi Masa,” signaling the narrator’s final acceptance.

Afterparty

As the album comes to a close with the acoustic "Sleep," the narrator sees one last moment of clarity. As he prepares for the unknown, he echoes one terminal request: "Just don't let me go to sleep."

But, according to Morton, there is light at the end of this dark, emotional journey. 

"The secret track, 'Afterparty,' is where he finds peace and freedom. It's his homecoming. He's on the other side of it now and has found his version of Heaven."

Adds Morton of Offerings, "I kind of wanted to make a dystopian record. If it's nothing else, it's that. If I could write my own one-line review, I think I'd want people to say, 'It's disturbing and unfortunately correct.'”

Offerings is disturbing, and probably correct. But it’s also much more than that: it’s is a gorgeous ride through the River Styx, guiding us to the ultimate appreciation not only for the present, but also for the past.

-Jordan Grobe

Typhoon returns to the Club on Wednesday, January 31 with Bad Bad Hats. Tickets are available here.