#but then i get possessed by like michael sheen or some shit and create some of the best portraits ive ever done

[mw-draws]

have a couple of Aziraphale studies

[ionizedyeast]

Statement of Nelson Briar (pt. 2)

Title: 0181105 - Graduation Gift Part: 2/3

“Secondary statement of Nelson Briar, Head of Folklore and Legend Research of the Magnus Institute. A followup containing when he was first exposed to the Spiral.”

“Oh Jon, much better that time. See, now I’m not as inclined to only talk about how lovesick I was and still am. Now we can really start to get to the meaty bits, can’t we? Sorry, I sound a little overly excited this time, don’t I? I can’t really say it’s unexpected. The part about Michael and him leaving clues for me was only the tip of the iceberg. That story was really very simple. My romantic partner was consumed by the Spiral in Sannikov Land, and I started to lose my mind a little trying to find out what happened to him, only to land myself in the midst of the labyrinth as well! 

But you see, now that you’ve added the bit about me being touched by the Spiral, you’ve given me the opportunity to go further back. To long before I met Michael. To long before I even began work for the Magnus Institute. Hell, even before the Usher Foundation. We get to go all the way back to my high school graduation when my grandmother gave me a book.

You know, I know Greek very well now. I spoke a little with my mother growing up. But I was never quite fluent in it. I know it rather well now. Part of my studies in university required me to study Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Arabic and a few other languages in order to appreciate what I was reading on a deeper level. So, when I started learning Greek properly, I should have noticed that Noris Andras was not the correct way to say the phrase ‘early man’ in Greek. That book should have been called something closer to Prooros Anthropos. But I only knew a bit of conversational Greek from my mother and my yiayia back when I received the book. Now, mind you -- my yiayia did not buy me Noris Andras, my fathers mother did. Old Scotch woman. Wouldn’t know the Greek language from a Greek salad. 

My entire family knew I was going to start my undergraduate degree in classical literature. I had always been a fan of myths and legends and ancient stories. I had always been ambitious as a kid -- still am -- I almost chose Icarus as my name when I transitioned but well. My name’s very personal to me. I have my reasons for it. Icarus Briar just doesn’t have the right kind of ring to it. Anyways, fact of the matter. My grandmother on my fathers side wanted to send me off with a very special gift. Apparently she and my parents had been regularly scouting used bookshops and antique stores and old library sales to see if they could find me any especially rare books on the classics. It had been a tradition in my family since I was a child that I would always get a new book of classics to read. I’d always eagerly show my parents where myths would differentiate between publications and where names were spelled differently. Comparing and contrasting these differences was always a delight for me. It thrilled me. So when I opened my grandmothers wrapping on my graduation day and found what I can now say was an exceptionally beautiful book amidst the paper, I was over the moon. It was bound in leather that had been intricately detailed and tanned and bore in Greek letters the words Noris Andras. I knew individually what each word meant but I knew it to be grammatically incorrect. My mother and I briefly conversed over how it must have been a poor translation in Greek, sharing a laugh at my grandmothers expense, of course she had no idea. But it was truly a gorgeous book. It was old. I could smell the age of the pages, all brushed around the edges with gold leaf for a particularly lovely sheen. But its condition was stunning. We supposed there must have been a dialectical reason for the grammatical faux pas of the title, but either way, I was in love with this book. It felt like it belonged in my lap. If you asked anyone else in my family about the day I received that book, they would say it was just me, my parents and my grandmother sitting in our living room, eating appetizers as we waited for my cousins, aunts and uncles to arrive for my graduation party. But I’m the only one that will tell you that there were five of us in that room.

My brother was there too. My twin, but he had graduated early and had finished his first year at MIT. He was so proud of me, but anyone could tell you -- if they remembered this correctly -- that shortly after I opened Noris Andras and held the book upon my lap, my parents and grandmother were immediately fussing over my brother. My brother. . .the real Nelson Briar.

Nelson, the-the real Nelson, that is -- he was the star of the family. He was brilliant. Highly intelligent. Charming. Well liked by just about everyone. And he was my best friend. We both had lived a life of constantly lifting one another up, supporting each other and doing our best to be in each other’s court through all our struggles. But even through it all, my entire family always found his achievements far more impressive. He was going into engineering. He had graduated early. He had a 4.0 at the end of his first year. Nelson was perfect. 

Now, I suppose you’re wondering, ‘So why did you choose his name when you transitioned. Isn’t that confusing.’ Well, it would be if there were still two of us. But I’m getting there, hold your horses Jon.  As you no doubt have concluded by now -- Noris Andras was a Leitner. My grandmother found it in an antique bookstore covered in dust and filth and she’d brought it to a book restoration center to get it repaired. So that’s why it was so nicely maintained when I received it.  After the graduation party was over, Nelson and I went up to our roof. Our bedroom at home had a stairwell that led to the roof and we’d often go up there in the summer together. While he was away at school I often went up there to smoke and think when I’d had especially long days. I had brought Noris Andras up with me because I was truly fascinated by it, and Nelson seems really interested as well. So he and I ended up flipping through it while we were on the roof, just fascinated by the content. The entire book was clearly written in Greek, but neither of us seemed to have much of a challenge reading it. Perhaps it was all very easy for us because of our occasional conversations with our mother, but Nelson told me, he had never seen my eyes light up while reading like I did while skimming that book.

It was filled with stories and legends I had never ever read before. Legends that I swore must have been lost to time. Or cultures that only had one written document in their entire community. I was astounded. There was nothing in those pages that even hinted at being a retelling of another story. They were all completely new to me.

Nelson left me to my reading and turned in for the night. Morning came and I was still on the roof. I had read almost the entire thing. And I felt like I knew secrets that no one else in the world knew. I felt like a god that morning. There were deities and demigods I had never heard the names of. Heroes with names that could be broken down into Forsaken Daydream in terms of its translation. Tales of growing women from tufts of their hair, who would grow and grow and become titans. I had a book in my possession with myths that were as old as civilization. And I was the sole keeper of these stories. 

I did some research, naturally. Tried searching the names of characters but nothing came up online. What I had was purely original and I was thrilled. And I needed to know if more of these stories existed. I searched Noris Andras online both in English and Greek and only found sources trying to correct my grammar. Nothing like this book existed and my pagan heart told me I had been blessed by Athena herself and she was bestowing knowledge on me that was too important for anyone else. Of course, Nelson thought I was out of my mind. He told me to call him when a story existed about a gorgon made of pillows would prey upon those who denied travelers blankets when staying anywhere as a guest. Or something to that extent. I told him I still had a small portion of the book left to read and I’d get back to him. Now, I don’t think it will come to any shock to you, of course, when I tell you the very next story in Noris Andras was just that. I stopped reading for a spell after seeing that. And I thought there was absolutely no way this would be the case. So I thought incredibly hard about another concept. Just something I conceived for shits and giggles. A transgender young man who could create his own myths and legends simply by willing them into existence. It was ego stroking but if my brother could pitch an idea to this book and for it to be on the very next page. Surely, I could do the same?

But the unfortunate part was. I was at the very end of the book. There was only about six or seven pages left, and I assumed it was an appendix covering terminology in the book. But as I would soon check. A story appeared on those final pages. It bore the name I had been using at the time -- Nigel -- and told a story of a young man who could weave stories in and out of reality. How he could simply will it and wish it and bring the stories he so desired into our world. And the story read like what my very heart had always wanted. A power to make fiction real. To make the mythology I had loved so very dear real.

And as I got to the bottom of the page, I saw the only English in the entire book. It was a small contract. It simply said: “Do you accept?” I wasn’t sure what to make of it. But as I had flipped to that page, I gave myself a paper cut. My blood dripped on the page and like invisible ink -- it vanished.

Any normal person would tell you this is abnormal. Blood doesn’t just vanish. But part of me just accepted that this was normal. And so I closed the book. My gut told me to simply close the book and leave it on my bed. And my gut also told me to make a wish. I made it simple. I wished for my shoes to be untied. I looked down. And the laces lay loose on either side of my foot. I could brush that off. Maybe they had always been untied. I made another wish. I wished for my bedroom door to open. And it did just that. Very well, my house had always been a little drafty. So I went a step further. I wished for Noris Andras to be back in my hands. And it was. 

I don’t think I need to explain that I had discovered I had a new power thanks to this antique book. But it wasn’t something I could just tell anyone about or just indulge in. I didn’t know if it was something on a limited use factor. But I did know what it did was very, very real. And I suppose, I didn’t realize how dangerous it was until I used it for the wrong reason. As I mentioned before. I used to use the name Nigel. It was my preferred name back then and truthfully, I’m glad it’s not anymore. My dead name did not begin with an N and my parents were still calling me by my dead name at the time. I’d not yet come out to them, but I had come out to Nelson. Nelson was beyond supportive. Often would do whatever he could to help me feel comfortable in my own skin. Used my preferred name and pronouns in any situation he could without outting me to our parents.

I’m still not sure why I turned Noris Andras against him. I don’t even think I did it on purpose. But you know, they do tell you to be careful what you wish for. He didn’t out me to our parents. A friend of ours did. On accident. I don’t hold it against him. He thought I’d come out to our parents. Our parents were not exactly the most accepting. Sat on the couch listening to them tell me about how they weren’t going to cover my college expenses anymore. How I was going to work instead and pay for my own education if I wanted to go so badly. Whole slew of hurtful things. Nelson tried to diffuse the situation. He did his best. Until I just said aloud. “If you can’t stand me so much, then how about I just wish me and Nelson were one and the same.” I asked if they would prefer if they only had ever had one son. The perfect, wonderful, flawless Nelson. And just like that. It was my graduation party again. I was sitting on the couch. Noris Andras was in my lap. My mother kissed my forehead and told me “We’re so proud of you, Nelson. You’re going to do so wonderfully in college.”

Nelson was gone. Or rather. Nelson and I became the same person. Somehow. I looked down at Noris Andras. I opened it to the last page, and beneath the words “Do you accept?” was a name, written in the dark brown of dried blood -- Nelson Briar.

I was still trans, mind you. When the party ended, I went to my room -- it had always only been my room. One bed. One dresser. One desk. I stood in front of the mirror in just my underwear. I was in my binder. I examined myself. I didn’t look like Nelson. I still looked like me. But I was more mannish. I was on hormones. My wish, whatever that wish was. Gave me all the love and support my family had given Nelson -- but at the expense of his existence, as it were. I lived my life ever since then as Nelson. That’s who I am now. Kind of funny, isn’t it? The Distortion became Michael just as Nelson became me. Very juxtaposed. 

I should add, in all my years of research, I never found another copy of Noris Andras. Nor did I ever find the other myths mentioned. I can only assume the people in these stories were also affected by the book as well. Maybe none of these stories are even from Greek mythology. Maybe they’re from another world altogether.

Oh, and before you ask. No, I don’t have Noris Andras anymore. If I did, MIchael would still be here. I would have wished him back ages ago. I caught him holding the book when we were sort-of-living-together. He asked me where I got the book and I told him it was something of a keepsake, but he wanted to borrow it. Naturally, I let him, thinking he was going to leave it in the apartment, but well, I have reason to believe he brought it to Gertrude and she disposed of it. If not it’s buried somewhere in the Institute. Either way. . .I don’t think I want it back. It’s not like it ever did me any favorites.

I believe that’s all I have time for, Jon -- I have a meeting to attend. Sort of. I think Peter’s still trying to tempt me back into the Lonely along with your boyfriend, but I’m going to have to tell him to sod off. I’ll be seeing you. I’m sure you’d love to hear the rest.”

[ninarogers]

I have made a playlist for every month of my life since September 2013, save a couple misses. I have never been reliable at keeping a written journal, but I’m also a child of consumption. I don’t always define myself through my organic feelings: they’re filtered through everything I watch and listen to. I am not sad, I am Bridget Jones. I am not sturdy, I am Mary Tyler Moore. Everything is a reference, and I am just a meme aggregator. My playlists are the most accurate depictions of my emotional state I have on record.

Something to keep in mind is that these playlists are essentially my monthly easy listens. These can be taken as a summary of my monthly vibes. I don’t pick too obscure because I’m not in high school anymore, and I am a little lazy.

Data is beautiful. This isn’t, because I am not careful. But it’s an interesting way to look at my listening habits. Have a look…

Quick Takeaways

Groove R&B also missed the genre cut, to my surprise. A symptom of my latent anxiety: singing about getting bodied has the tendency to make me think about my physical body, a source of panic for me.

I Know Places really finished strong, but all three of its inclusions were on the same playlist (Nov 2014, when 1989 was released). Taylor’s appearance was interesting though–all my playlists are on Spotify, where her music isn’t. I imported the song just to listen to it three times an hour. Today, it’s not even my fave from the album (it’s I Wish You Would, of course).

Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man? Nobody is. Sheryl ruined me

Rilo Kiley finishing first is no surprise. They’re the only band whose lyrics I’d get tattooed on my body (but I don’t, because I’d have to tell people I have a song lyric tattoo). I am, however, surprised that Whitney just missed the cut when I have a shrine to her in my bedroom. Fake news?

My methods of dividing into genre and subgenre are not empirical, but they do reveal how I view certain sounds. I’ve defined a couple of the more esoteric subgenres below:

- Indie Sweet - Indie genre, with a sound that feels sweet to me. They aren’t overly produced or lyrically confrontational. They sound Nice. Too much, though, and I feel sick. Ex. Belle & Sebastian, Regina Spektor, Waxahatchee

- Shine as a subgenre - Anything with a sheen. It’s a little electro, maybe a little mad. It’s modern. Ex. The Cure, Something in the Water by Carrie Underwood.

- Indie Nah - Honestly, shit I don’t care for anymore. I liked the song in the moment, but it fell back into sounding like a murmur-y piece of garbage melody without any bite to it. Ex. all these band names that sound made up:

- Octave Pop - She can sing! Ex. Adele, Whitney

- Feelings Rock v Whine Rock - Distinction depends on if I empathize. I empathize with Sheryl Crow, not Rivers Cuomo.

- Weird Pop - Just as poppy as Poppy Pop, but they don’t play it on the radio. But they should, really. See below

- Vintage as a subgenre - If a song didn’t easily fit into an already defined category and was older than ten years, I put it into vintage. Nirvana, Sugar Ray, and Third Eye Blind should not be in the same category theoretically, but I am just a girl.

WHO WON????

Octave Pop

EMO: POPPY V. TRUE The fun ones go more with my vibes.

BEYONCE 4 is still my favorite. @ me.

WEIRD POP To be frank, I’m surprised Fiona even appears here. She’s usually too weird to pair with anything else.

VIBES V. VINTAGE An argument could be made for The Beach Boys as vintage since Brian Wilson singles landed there but ultimately don’t their vibes win you over?

AM I STILL MAD AT DRAKE? You have no idea.

HOW BOW WAH

These playlists, as I said before, are not entirely representative of my listening output for the last three and a half years. There are songs you repeat for days at a time, albums you become obsessed with, and little things you don’t feel like pulling up on Spotify. Here are some things I listened to particularly a lot, enough to make their own, unmonthed lists:

1. Moana soundtrack (looped for month of November) 2. All I Want For Christmas Is You (during period of inertion, December) 3. That Bleachers album (only good altogether, but really not good at all) 4. The xx’s Aaliyah cover (truly remarkable, it lasted me many snowy walks home in January 2014) 5. The Cure’s entire output all at once, all the time 6. Kill My Boyfriend by Natalia Kills (very good when you reach the Anger stage of a breakup, August 2014) 7. A Fleetwood Mac/Rilo Kiley entire discogs alternating songs playlist (the only thing during the drive to Los Angeles, Dec 14/Jan 15) 8. Various emo/pop punk band radio stations (an anytime affair, continuously) 9. Michael Jackson (bought a monster singles compilation that stays in my car’s CD player) 10. West Side Story

MISSING MONTHS

I missed a total of seven months in creating these lists: August 2014, December 2014, and July-November 2016.

August 2014

My college apartment’s lease had finally run out. I had six weeks until the next one started. My Cute Transience had no time to think about Ben Gibbard. I stayed in four different rooms in three different apartments for six weeks. All the mattresses smelled like potatoes. One room was technically a front parlor. Evanston IL never felt so suffocating.

December 2014

I quit my job. I left Evanston for home in Tennessee. I had the vaguest plan to move to California, but I had no job or apartment or any ties anywhere. I drove home with all my earthly possessions stuffed in my Honda Civic. After three weeks of my mom asking why I didn’t have a boyfriend and my dad slipping me the Nashville classifieds I shoved all my garbage back into my Civic and drove 2000 miles to Los Angeles. It took eight days, four stops, and two days of being stranded in small town Texas to get there. I almost died (existentially, and literally). It took me two years to process this as something that happened to me in my life.

July-November 2016

My anxiety had been building steadily for the last three years. My physical health was declining, ever so slightly, enough for me to feel paranoid for even thinking about it. Have you ever been scared of your body? Has your body ever betrayed you? Have doctors? I asked so many what was wrong with me and they told me to drink more water, see a therapist, stop worrying about it. (Later, I did do all those things, and they did help. But not with my state of mind.) It’s so strange to feel yourself turning inwards but to have no desire to stop it. I was afraid of thinking about what was wrong, so I thought about nothing. I was afraid of distracting myself to the point of forgetting, lest my body decline even more, so I did nothing. I felt nothing for six months. I don’t recommend it.

CONCLUSIONS

- The graph doesn’t show how much country is making a general resurgence in my life–but, of course, only the Shine variety. Get Jason Aldean out of here

- Emo music has dropped off my monthly playlists, but my All Time Low radio station is always within the last five lists I’ve played. When I’m in the mood, I can’t just have one–I need it all.

- Indie dropped off in December of 2016–softboys were hard to take right after emerging from a cocoon of depression. I replaced it with a song off the Hamilton mixtape (Satisfied–honestly not my fave!) I did listen to Wait For It (original recording) for days at a time, on loop. I don’t recommend, on the whole.

THE PLAYLISTS Some are better than others.

September 2013 October 2013 November 2013 December 2013 January 2014 February 2014 March 2014 April 2014 May 2014 June 2014 July 2014 September 2014 October 2014 November 2014 January 2015 February 2015 March 2015 April 2015 May 2015 June 2015 July 2015 August 2015 September 2015 October 2015 November 2015 December 2015 January 2016 February 2016 March 2016 April 2016 May 2016 June 2016 December 2016 January 2017

NB: Spotify removes all instances of my Chance and Taylor Swift inclusions. Check the raw data to be sure.

And here’s my raw data. I input it all by hand, so. It’s probably missing some.