#but it may have been insufficiently creative of me to not have her simply already consider him a mother regardless of sex lmao

[burinazar]

happy mother’s day

[mayquita]

Damn You For Making Me Love You (2/15) - Because The Night

I must admit that, in the beginning, I was a little nervous with this story perhaps for being too simple or for not having an especially deep plot. But sometimes we feel the need to write or read something lighter, something that makes us smile and I really enjoyed building the characters and the different connections between them. Thank you so so much, for your likes, reblogs, kudos and comments. It means the world to me.

Beta-Reader: Thank you so much, @ultraluckycatnd​ I couldn’t have asked for a better beta. Thank you for all your effort, your suggestions, your advice and for always being there when I needed you.

Special mention to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld​, thank you so much for your perpetual support and for believing in me and in the story. Thank you again to the moderators of the event, @captainswanbigbang​ for giving us this opportunity and making this possible. You all are the best :)

Summary: Emma Swan and Killian Jones are close friends and co-workers. And both are in love with each other. The problem? They keep their feelings secret not only to the other but also to the rest of their friends. When Elsa, Emma’s best friend and Liam, Killian’s brother and Emma’s boss find out, they decide to form an alliance and work as a team with a clear goal, to get Emma and Killian to take the next step in their relationship and confess their love for each other.

Rating: M

Word count: ~ 6100 (98k total in 15 chapters)

Also:  Prologue (tumblr) —  From the beginning Ao3 / FFnet  — Current chapter: Ao3 / FFnet

About this chapter: It's the turn of Liam's pov, both in the flashback, where we'll know a bit more about Emma's first months working on The Kraken, and in the present, where we'll see Liam's first attempt to push them together. Also, I forgot to point it, but as you may have figured out, music plays an important role in this story. I hope you like it :)

//

Chapter 1 - Because The Night

Liam - Four years ago

"Do you ever use the stage?"

Liam stopped for a moment in his task of ordering glasses and looked first at Emma and then at the stage. "We may have used it a couple of times," he said, shrugging before continuing with his task.

He wouldn't be surprised if Emma was up to something. That had been her constant since she had started working at The Kraken four months ago, after all.

Liam's lips pressed together forming a small smile when he remembered how different their situation had been before Emma. He had been about to give up on the bar. Although Liam had put all his effort and all his savings into the project, the income was insufficient, and the customers were scarce. It was then that his brother had suggested that he could hire someone to help them advertise the place and get more customers. And that's how Emma had come into their lives.

Her steps had been hesitant at first, but she had only needed a week to get in position and adapt her small budget to develop possible strategies that would allow them to boost the business.

From there she had become a whirlwind, turning both their lives and the business upside down. She was a tough woman, stubborn and determined to achieve her goals. But she was also very creative.

She had only needed three weeks to create the official website and all of the accounts for the different social media platforms. Four months later, the clientele had increased and the number of followers kept rising.

The introduction to social media was the first of a myriad of ideas that were coming from Emma’s brilliant mind. She had started organizing monthly theme parties, and she also spent entire nights camera-in-hand taking photographs of the crowd that she later uploaded to the website as a claim. And not only that, she was the first to stand behind the bar ready to serve drinks and to engage in conversations with the crowd. That's how Emma Swan became The Savior of The Kraken in such a short space of time.

"Stage? What stage, Swan? Are you talking about the stern of the ship?"

"Why the stern and not the bow?"

"Because the bow is the entrance to the bar, obviously. I didn't know you had so much knowledge about nautical terms, love."

"I have no choice if I wanted to prevent your ship from sinking." A chuckle bubbled in Liam's throat when he saw Emma placing air quotes around the word ship while Killian rolled his eyes in response.

These kinds of conversations had also become a constant with Emma's presence in their lives. Normally it was Killian who teased Emma first but she always rushed to answer with a biting retort.

"Guys, you realize that this is actually a bar, don't you?" Their reaction was immediate, both of them snapped their heads towards Liam, as if they realized at that moment that he was also there.

"Are you sure, Captain?" This time it was Killian who used air quotes around the word captain while raising one of his eyebrows. "Because I tend to forget it sometimes."

Emma snorted as she shook her head while Killian focused his attention on her again, his lips drawing a smirk as they both shared knowing glances.

Despite the brief distraction, Liam was still curious to know what Emma was up to, so he tried to redirect the conversation. "May I ask why there’s a sudden interest in our stern, I mean, stage?"

The change in Emma's expression was immediate. A few seconds before, her features were carefree, but now a special glow had appeared, a spark that meant business. He had learned to love that expression because it usually implied a guaranteed route to success.

"I wonder why you built that stage if you don't use it. It's a waste of possibilities."

"Well, to be honest, the stage already existed when we acquired the place," Liam admitted, realizing that Emma was right. Killian was the only one who used it in his spare time to practice his hobbies: singing and playing the guitar. "We didn't know quite well what to do with it."

"Fortunately for you, I'm here to fix that, right?" Emma looked back at the stage and then at Killian, the hint of a grin pulling at her lips.

"What are you thinking, Swan?" Killian asked tentatively.

"I'm thinking of you, of course."

Killian's eyes widened in surprise, a soft blush tinting his cheeks. "Me?" If Liam hadn't been so surprised himself, he would have laughed at his brother's puzzled expression.

“I mean, I've heard you sing and you have talent." Emma's voice came in a somewhat more timid tone than usual, her cheeks blushing slightly, but she immediately adopted her characteristic professional expression. "Besides... we should take advantage of your good looks to attract the public."

She had a point. Killian had always loved to sing. His natural talent was undeniable, but the circumstances of life had not allowed him to go further in his passion. Still, Liam felt a certain pull of disappointment with himself because he should have been the one with that idea. He had all the resources at his disposal, how was it possible that this possibility had never crossed his mind?

"So I look good for you, eh Swan?" Killian's voice took him out of his momentary trance. He remained silent, though, leaning his arms on the counter and resting his chin in one of his hands while watching the scene in front of him with amusement.

Killian wore his characteristic smug expression with an arched eyebrow as he ran his tongue over his lips. Emma, of course, wasn't buying it, as she simply snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. 

They were like children.

They had been playing this game from the beginning, with that innocent flirting between the two of them, with some veiled innuendo mixed with banter. Liam was sure that things were not going to go beyond a simple game, since Killian had his heart closed off and, although they still didn't know much about Emma, it seemed that she also carried some wounds from her past.

Even so, it was fun to see how they teased each other. Emma was one of the few people who could make his brother blush. In return, he was the only one so far who had managed to get through her professional facade.

"I knew I would regret it," Emma grumbled while rolling her eyes. "Did you miss the fact that I am suggesting you go on stage to sing? With an audience?"

"Oh, I got that, but I prefer to focus on the other part. How was it? My good looks, were you saying?" Killian swayed forward, invading her personal space as he tucked his thumb into his belt. Liam huffed quietly with such an exaggerated display of cockiness, but he remained a silent witness, expectant of Emma's reaction.

She did not disappoint. "Not happening, buddy. I'm not going to feed your ego even more," Emma replied with a dismissive wave of her hand and then turned away from Killian, leaving his brother behind wearing a goofy smile. She dropped onto one of the stools while snorting in annoyance, but Liam did not miss the small smile that appeared on her lips.

"I think it's a magnificent idea, Emma. Smart thinking," he praised her while offering a smile of appreciation. "I also think you'll like to know that we have a sound system and even some strobe lights. So you can remove those items from our limited budget."

"Really? That's great!" Her face lit up, a special spark crossing her gaze.

Liam could not prevent his heart from swelling, feeling proud of himself for finally being able to contribute something to boost his own business. "Let me finish here and then we could go to the backroom to see if we find something useful for our purposes," Liam suggested through a wide smile. 

A sudden wave of gratitude towards Emma washed over him, since he was more aware than ever that there was light at the end of the tunnel, and that they were going to save The Kraken. And they would owe it all to her. Well, to her and to his brother's musical ability, of course.

Emma hummed in response, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. It was evident from her expression that her brain had already begun to work on the idea. "Now we just have to think about the repertoire and start the rehearsals. We could use some slogan to advertise the event on social media, something like “Saturdays in Concert” or something like that. And... "

"I think you forgot the most important thing." Killian’s unexpected voice cut her off. They both looked at him, who stood a few steps away, sporting a wide grin. "The artist."

He was right. For the plan to go well, they depended largely on his brother's willingness to participate. Kilian's expression denoted that he shouldn't worry about that, but Liam was curious to know what his brother thought. "And what would the artist have to say about it?" 

Before answering, Killian raised his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together. 

"When do we start?"

//

Liam - November 2019

It was a quiet afternoon, the usual for a day at the end of November. The calm before the storm that meant the beginning of the holiday season. Liam was in his usual corner behind the bar, doing the inventory. His brother was standing on the platform they used as a stage, guitar in hand, while he rehearsed the songs he would play four nights later. Emma, in turn, sat on her favorite stool, her laptop on the counter, staring at the screen and editing the photos taken over the previous weekend. Liam had offered her his office several times, claiming that she would be more comfortable there, with a desk at her disposal and a more suitable chair. But Emma had always refused; she preferred to be at the center of the activity.

The scene he had in front of his eyes was something he was accustomed to, something that was part of his routine. He couldn’t be more grateful for it. Both Killian and Emma worked hard at the bar, fully involved in the business, providing ideas, serving every night, cleaning up the mess after the most chaotic nights. But thanks to The Kraken they could also carry out their passions, at least in some way.

Killian lived for Saturday nights when he took the stage and became the musician he had always dreamed of.

And Emma... Emma. She had become their savior angel almost from the very moment she walked through that door four years ago. The corners of his lips lifted in a soft smile as the memory of that day came to his mind. Much had happened since that first day, but since then, she had become a constant both in the bar as well as in their lives. He couldn't be more grateful for it.

Here she was, one more day, doing her magic with the photographs she had taken. This time, however, Liam noticed something else. She was humming the same song Killian was playing.

Since Killian had made that half-confession about his feelings for Emma, Liam had been much more perceptive, focusing on things he hadn’t noticed before.

How could he have been so blind? Killian wore his friend mask to perfection, but his attraction to her was undeniable. Now Liam was fully aware of his stolen glances when he thought she wasn’t looking, the accidental contact of their bodies, the longing smile on his lips every time Emma arrived. 

Looking back, Liam had realized that all the signals had been there from the very beginning, but he hadn’t been able to detect them or interpret them correctly. Everything made sense now, though; that easy flirting between them that had appeared from almost the first moment, their banter, the teasing. 

He also could swear that Emma acted exactly the same, but of course, he didn’t have confirmation of her feelings. Maybe…

"Hey, guys! We got new comments on the web, come on! Let's have some fun." Emma's excited voice brought Liam back to the present. She was making a gesture with her hand for them to approach. This had become another of their routines. Each time they got new comments, they read them together. Emma called it constructive criticism. The Jones brothers, however, found it to be the perfect excuse to make fun of themselves and have a laugh.

They, of course, hurried to approach her. Killian arrived at her side first, casually placing his hand on her shoulder. Emma raised her head to look into his brother’s eyes, a warm smile adorning her face. Liam didn’t miss a single detail of all these subtle movements, raising an eyebrow in appreciation. He stood on Emma's other side and the three of them stared at the screen.

"Oh my God, Liam, you’ve got a fan! Look, PrincessJones. She's written you three messages.”

I love The Kraken and one of the reasons is for its owner. He is so hot. @ PrincessJones

The best of The Kraken? The owner, his brother the musician and Emma, the PR person and also photographer. They are all very nice, but Liam, the owner, is even nicer. @ PrincessJones

  Although Killian, the musician, is hot, I find his older brother, Liam, much more interesting, perhaps because of his maturity. @ PrincessJones

Liam couldn’t stop a smirk from appearing on his face. His chest swelled with pride as he commented, "Well, it was about bloody time. You two always get all the good reviews."

"I guess you've noticed that your admirer just addressed you as an old man, right?" his brother teased Liam while making that characteristic gesture of his, his two eyebrows raised comically, a mocking smile pulling at his lips. 

"Killian!" Emma scolded him, tapping his chest with the back of her hand.

"Ouch, that hurt." Killian winced as he moved his hands to where Emma had hit him.

"Oh god, you're so melodramatic." Emma, of course, rolled her eyes, though her statement came between giggles, her smile making small wrinkles appear in the corners of her eyes.

The two of them continued their argument between jokes and casual contact of their hands, completely ignoring Liam’s presence, although that obviously didn’t matter to him in the least. After a few more seconds of watching the scene, Liam cleared his throat.

"Hi? I'm still here, remember?"

Killian and Emma turned their heads, two pairs of eyes staring at him for a few seconds, then they stared back at each other and burst out laughing. Liam shook his head as he rolled his eyes at the childlike behavior of the other two, but the corners of his lips pulled up into a wide grin.

"I'm glad to see someone appreciating my mature behavior. Someone has to behave like an adult here."

"You sure about that?" Emma looked back at the screen and began to check the contents of one of the photo folders. Within seconds, a few photos from last Saturday appeared before his eyes. "You mean this mature behavior?"

"Bloody hell," Liam grumbled, covering his eyes with one hand. He felt his cheeks burning, completely ashamed of what he was seeing. "When the hell did you take those photos? I had completely forgotten that moment."

The bloody photos had captured the moment when he and his brother exhibited a behavior that was far from that of responsible adults. Small glimpses of the scene flashed in his mind. The night had been a success and after the closing, they decided to celebrate by taking a few shots — well, maybe a lot of shots. The two brothers had ended up on the counter singing old Irish songs.

"I can see everything. You forget that I'm the eyes of this bar." Emma smirked at him as she pointed at her camera on the counter. "And the brain, too, of course."

Killian chuckled at her side, the bastard, but Liam chose to ignore him, focusing again on Emma. "Do not even think about uploading those photos to the web."

"Why not, brother? It would be an opportunity to show our customers that you are fun. Sometimes." Killian teased him again as he bumped his shoulder with Emma's, looking for her agreement with his statement. 

"I thought about it, but considering that my job is to attract new customers and not scare them, I decided to upload this photo instead. It seems that I got it right since it has gotten a lot of comments. You two are a success among the ladies. Well, and among some men." Emma opened a picture of the two of them, the Jones brothers. They were staring at the camera, Liam’s right arm around his brother's shoulders, wide smiles, and bright eyes.

"Great shot, Swan." Killian's voice dripped with ill-concealed pride.

After a few more jokes and compliments, the two brothers ended up leaving Emma's side, each heading to their previous spot. They continued to do their tasks for a few more minutes but Liam was interrupted again, this time by the buzz of his phone on the counter.

Hey Liam, how are you doing? I guess you're busy with all the preparations for the holidays. - Belle

A smile of affection tugged at the corners of his lips as he read Belle's message, his usual response whenever he had the opportunity to chat with her, even if it was only through messages. Both he and his brother considered Belle as part of their small family, almost like a little sister, so in the absence of being able to see each other more often, their conversations over text were quite frequent.

Hi lass, it's pretty quiet around here at the moment. How are you? - LJ

I'm fine, but I got a little nostalgic, thinking about our first Christmas together, when you had only been in the States for a few months, so I felt the need to chat with my two favorite brothers. - Belle

A wave of emotions washed over him as his heart tightened in his chest at the memory of that first Christmas away from home. It was the first one without his mother, in a country that was still strange to them. Their father was mostly absent, to the point that their neighbors, the Frenches, had taken pity on the boys and welcomed them into their home, thus allowing them to enjoy the Christmas spirit that would otherwise have been denied to them.

After letting out a deep breath, he shook those bittersweet thoughts away and focused back on Belle.

We built good memories together in spite of everything. Maybe we can continue building them. Any chance to come to visit us this year? - LJ

I fear it won't be possible this year. I've organized several storytelling activities in the library during the holidays. Maybe next year... Anyway, how is our bro progress going?? - Belle

Liam's smile widened as he read her reply. After Killian's confession two months ago, Belle had acted as his own confidant the next day so now there were at least two people who knew about Killian's feelings. He would never confess that fact to Killian, of course.

Progress? What progress? He flatly refuses to discuss the issue and seems resigned to stay in the friend-zone. It's a bit frustrating, tbh. - LJ

Maybe he just needs a little push to send him in the right direction, don't you think? - Belle

His eyes darted back to Emma, who remained focused on her photo editing task. Liam noticed that she had started humming again, quietly accompanying Killian's voice. As he listened to the lyrics of the song, an idea began to bubble in his head. An idea that he supposed might be that little push suggested by Belle.

I may have found the perfect idea for that, and I may put it into practice right now. Wish me luck, love. ;) Talk to you soon. - LJ

Yes! Keep me informed. Good luck ;P - Belle

"Hey, guys, I've been thinking." The words rushed out without him having time to evaluate the idea correctly. His brother was going to kill him, but Liam couldn’t help it. It was such a good opportunity that he couldn’t waste it.

Liam managed to catch the attention of both Emma and Killian. They turned their gazes upon him sporting the same expression of curiosity on their faces.

First goal achieved.

Here goes nothing... "I thought we could try something new." When he was sure he was still holding their attention, he threw the bombshell. "You two could do a duet next Saturday."

"A duet?" Emma's eyes narrowed as her head tilted slightly. "You mean to sing, together?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"Sing on stage... next Saturday..." She gestured to the stage where Killian was standing. His brother remained silent, an indecipherable expression on his face.

"Yes, think of..." He couldn’t continue since Emma cut him off at that moment. It seemed that she had finally assimilated the information.

"Are you out of your mind?" Her voice rose in disbelief. She shook her head, pressing her lips together. "I haven’t been on stage in my entire life, and even less often have I sung in public. I would die of embarrassment," she said in a mortified tone.

Since Killian remained silent, as a mere witness to the scene, Liam decided to focus on Emma. He approached her, trying to shed as much enthusiasm as possible from his voice. Luckily, he knew how to make Emma react.

"Ignore that for a moment, let's focus on business. Killian would do his performance, but we could announce that there would be a surprise at the end, and that's when you’d make an appearance.” Liam kept the necessary emotion in his voice to make the idea even more appealing. "It would be like a special event due to Thanksgiving week. Do you think something like that could work?" 

While he held his breath waiting for her answer, he didn’t fail to notice that Emma's eyes slid subtly to where Killian was. She seemed to appreciate the idea for a few seconds, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. Then, she shrugged. "Yes, it could be a good advertising hook. A surprise performance always generates expectation, but we shouldn't forget that I don't know how to sing."

"That's not quite true, love. You know how to sing, and you do it well. You also know all the songs in Killian's repertoire. You were humming the song right now as he rehearsed."

"It's not the same… I’d be stuck in the middle of the stage, my voice would be trapped in my throat, or worse, I would be off pitch... Oh God, this is not a good idea... This is going to be a disaster..." She rubbed her hands together nervously. As she exposed everything that could go wrong, her features were showing more and more concern, her brow wrinkled, a glimpse of panic crossing her face. 

This was not going well; maybe he had gone too far. He almost felt sorry for the discomfort that he was causing Emma. All of this was just a stupid idea…

"Don’t underestimate yourself, love." Both Emma and Liam turned when they heard Killian's voice. Liam was pleasantly surprised, since he feared that Killian's silence didn’t bode well. His brother was staring at them, the guitar at his side, his arms folded across his chest. "You have a beautiful voice and we have time to rehearse. Everything will be fine," he continued in a calm voice, though his face was more serious than usual.

Liam noticed Emma's cheeks flushed slightly and her features relaxed a little. "How are you so sure everything will be fine?"

"Because I've yet to see you fail."

Emma's jaw dropped and her cheeks tinged with an even more intense red. Killian focused his gaze on her, completely ignoring his brother. Liam felt kind of like an intruder on the scene, but he couldn’t be happier about what was happening. "Still, don’t feel obligated to do it, Swan. Only if you feel comfortable enough for it. It's your decision, love."

Liam glanced sideways at his brother. He suspected that Killian would be angry with him for the possible hidden meaning of this idea. He’d have time to talk to him later when they got home. Killian kept his features impassive, but he could detect a special gleam in his gaze, perhaps hope that Emma would join him on stage and he would be able to spend time with her by using the excuse of working on the song. 

Maybe Killian would end up thanking him at the end of the day, after all.

"Why don't you give it a try?" Liam offered tentatively, as it seemed that Emma still remained reluctant. "No pressure, you can join Killian now and see how it works." He reached for Emma's hand to pull her toward the stage.

"What? Now?" Emma's eyes widened with a mixture of fear and embarrassment, but also with a hint of determination.

"We are alone, let's go!" Liam gestured toward the stage with his head as he tugged Emma a little more.

After a deep sigh, Emma murmured, “The things I do for The Kraken...” She shook her head before speaking again. "Okay, let’s do it. Think about how to repay me, okay?" Emma held her index finger up and raised her eyebrows in warning.

Second goal achieved: Emma was in.

"Of course, you just have to ask.” Liam's smile widened as he raised both hands in a calming gesture. “Now go up there. Let’s see how good of a team you two make."

Emma rolled her eyes as she walked toward the stage. Killian offered his hand to help her up and Emma took it while offering him a small smile. Once the two of them were on stage, they both looked at him expectantly.

"Since this was your brilliant idea, let us know, according to you, which song we should sing. Surely you already have an idea, don't you?" His brother's face remained impassive. Liam didn’t overlook the deliberate emphasis on the brilliant word, full of barely concealed sarcasm.

Of course, Liam had thought of a song. In fact, it was Emma herself who gave him the idea as she hummed along to the tune of Killian's voice. His brother was going to kill him...

"Since it's just a rehearsal, why don't you keep going with the song you were singing?" He tried to infuse his words with the most innocent tone possible. "In fact, the inspiration for this idea came when I heard Emma humming that song."

"Are you kidding me? Do you want us to sing Because The Night ?" Killian shot him a murderous look as he hissed his words, the mask of impassiveness finally gone. Emma looked mortified, her cheeks flushed, her gaze fixed on her feet.

"Why not? You were singing it now, weren't you? You can use Patti Smith’s version. She sang once at a concert with Bono and Bruce, the original creator... "

"I know, I know." His brother cut him off. "I'm the musician here, remember?" he grunted as he held up the guitar.

"Calm down, brother, I was just trying to help."

To Liam’s surprise, Emma took his side. "Liam has a point here. We can split the song the same way they did at the concert.”

Killian cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, looking at her. "Seriously?"

Emma shrugged. "Since you have convinced me, now I want to go all out for it." She continued in a slightly sharper tone. "And to make it clear, I have no intention of taking your lead away. It's just a one-time thing."

Liam held his breath while rubbing the line of his jaw. The damn idea’s aim was supposed to make them connect even more, but it seemed that what was happening was just the opposite. Before he could reply, Killian moved forward with a sigh.

Even from a distance, Liam could watch as his brother clenched his jaw before answering, looking for Emma's gaze. "Hey, you can sing with me whenever you want, love. It's my brother that I'm upset with."

Emma’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Killian. "But why? It's not a bad idea, and for once it's not me that comes up with a crazy plan. Besides, you were singing the damn song yourself a few moments ago."

"That's because Killian plays Patti's version. With a duet, he would have to do the part of Bruce, and he's not a big fan of The Boss." Liam came to help his brother before this got out of hand.

Emma raised an eyebrow and looked at them both in disbelief. "Really?"

Liam nodded exaggeratedly, his lips pressed together in a gesture of reassurance. He glanced sideways at his brother, hoping he would follow him. He wasn't lying, after all, was he?

Killian seemed to catch the hint because he lifted a shoulder and gave her his best puppy eyes. "Guilty?"

Liam couldn’t help but roll his eyes. It was so obvious that his brother had fallen hard for Emma. How could she not realize it?

"Really?" she repeated. "How am I finding out about this now after four years? You know Bruce is the original writer, right?" 

"Believe it or not, there are still several things you have to discover about me, love." Killian dropped his voice to a sensual whisper while giving her a look full of intention. 

It wasn't the first time that Killian acted like this with Emma, using that typical flirting between them. She had always taken it as something harmless, a joke between them. Or so Liam believed. This time, Emma stared at his brother, a soft blush adorning her cheeks, as if no one else existed in the room. Almost to the point of making Liam feel like an interloper.

Emma seemed to snap out of her trance, shaking her head while rolling her eyes. She dropped her arms in surrender. "Okay, I'll do The Boss’ part if that's the damn problem. Can we start singing before I regret it?"

After a few seconds of silence, the two brothers looked at each other and burst out laughing. Emma widened her eyes and opened her mouth, clearly confused by what was happening, her gaze traveling from one to the other. "You two are idiots. This is bizarre." Finally, she shook her head and joined them in laughter.

When the laughter subsided, Liam returned for a moment to his place behind the bar while Killian and Emma watched the concert video on Emma's phone. From time to time, they made some comments, deciding the best way to divide the song. Liam noticed how, once relieved of the tension, his brother's behavior was the same as always. 

He casually placed his right arm on Emma's shoulders. Emma seemed to take it naturally because she showed no signs of discomfort, rather the opposite.

Liam was no longer sure what game these two were playing. He obviously knew Killian's feelings for Emma, but now that he was paying more attention to her attitude towards his brother, he suspected that Killian's feelings might not be unrequited.

Liam couldn’t help shaking his head. If only they realized the image they offered together... He had the feeling that they were wasting precious time keeping their relationship in the security of friendship.

He also understood his brother, though. Liam didn’t know all the details, but he knew that Emma had gotten her heart broken several times in the past, so she had put a wall around herself to protect her heart. Even they had a hard time breaking that barrier at first. But now that Emma had let them in, it was understandable that Killian didn’t want to risk losing her. Killian's heart, on the other hand, was not in any better condition after losing the love of his life a few years ago.

Liam took two deep breaths, wondering why everything had to be so difficult.

The first strumming of the guitar caught him off guard because he had been lost in thought. He looked up since Killian and Emma were about to start and he didn’t want to miss it for the world. Before he positioned himself in front of the stage, Liam took the camera that Emma had left on the counter. This had to be immortalized in some way.

The first attempt was unsuccessful. Emma began with a hesitant voice, a little out of tune with her first notes. Far from being discouraged, however, Emma started again. Liam clapped in encouragement as Killian nodded at her and gave her supportive looks. The second time everything was much better. Her voice settled, and as she was gaining confidence, the song began to flow.

It was on the third attempt when the magic appeared. "Very good guys!" Liam shouted at them. This, just what was in front of his eyes, was what he was waiting for when the idea popped into his head. Their voices blended perfectly, the chemistry between them was evident.

Once the initial shyness was set aside, they were giving it all up on stage. Liam took a few photos, focusing on the small gestures that betrayed his brother. Killian couldn’t look away from her. He seemed clearly impressed by Emma's talent. She instead gave him looks and smiles that seemed to hide much more behind an apparent shyness. 

Liam certainly didn’t want to get excited and imagine things, but a small voice in his mind kept repeating to him that perhaps Emma was hiding feelings towards his brother beyond that of a deep friendship.

While listening to the song, he paid more attention to the lyrics, finally understanding the reason for the initial reluctance of his brother since, certainly, its meaning didn’t help to mask any feelings.

 Come on now try and understand The way I feel under your command Take my hand as the sun descends They can't touch you now, Can't touch you now, can't touch you now Because the night belongs to lovers.

 Both blushed and looked away in the most suggestive parts, the eyes of one looking for the other a few seconds later. Liam was attending a performance of teenage behavior with a first crush, with the only difference being that the two teens were actually thirty years old. He smiled to himself as he continued to take pictures.

The rehearsal ended after having practiced the song a couple more times, gaining confidence in security and harmony. Both of them stepped off the stage together with huge smiles and bright eyes. Killian curled his arm around her shoulders as Emma slipped her arm around his waist.

"Well, it wasn’t that bad, was it?" Liam flattered them, unable to suppress a grin of satisfaction. "Now you just have to repeat the same thing next Saturday and it will be an assured success."

"It seems we make quite the team, love," Killian addressed Emma with undisguised pride, getting a small smile in return on her part. "Whoa, I'm thirsty. Do you want something to drink, Swan?" he offered as he placed the guitar on the counter.

"A beer is fine with me, thank you." Emma sat on her usual stool, while the two brothers went behind the bar to get the drinks.

When Liam made sure that they were far enough from Emma and she couldn’t hear them, he grabbed a towel from the counter and threw it at his brother.

Killian caught it and looked at him strangely. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It's for you to clean yourself. You're still drooling." He pressed his lips together, stifling a smirk.

Killian's smile vanished immediately from his face. "Shut up!" his eyes darted to where Emma was. "You and I have to talk later. When we get back home," he hissed pointing his index finger threateningly.

Liam raised his arms in peace, but his brother scowled away, grabbed two beers, and walked over to Emma, offering her one of the bottles. His features softened the instant he was in front of her.

Liam rolled his eyes as he shook his head. He could bear the scolding of his brother since he was sure that everything would be worth it in the end.

Third Goal Achieved: They’d sing together and Liam hoped Saturday night would be a success in every aspect.

//

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think :)

What to expect in the next chapter? We'll have Elsa's POV and also Killian's POV in the last section. Thanks to the flashback, we'll witness the first meeting between Elsa and Liam. In the present, we'll observe the performance through her eyes. ;)

[marginalgloss]

absolute honesty

Returning to London after holidaying abroad always occasions a sense of gloom. The streets seem mean, shabby, dirty. The light is cold and grey and the buses are crowded and noisy and the people are mean. At times I’m aware of that feeling of being put upon — a moderate paranoia that tells me that what I’m really here for is to suffer under the will of other people. Reading Transit by Rachel Cusk is an experience almost exactly akin to this feeling. Outline, the book which preceded it, felt like a sort of vacation: the narrator may have been addressing some fairly serious and strange lifestyle choices, but they were always held at a distance. That was a book that was about regarding other people at a distance, as a way of talking elliptically about oneself. But in Transit, Faye returns home with a bump. 

Other people can’t be held at a distance here, and Faye can no longer avoid talking about herself. Separated from her husband and sons (for reasons which aren’t clear) she is now living alone in a tiny ex-council maisonette in a down-at-heel suburb. Much of the book is taken up by conversations with builders and bizarre, unpleasant confrontations with the people living downstairs. Naturally the builders are Eastern European, and the neighbours are psychotic. They are all grim caricatures, except when they aren’t. This is a very London book. It feels very prescient; the author has captured perfectly the feeling of living amongst the vast, teeming indifference of this city. 

The form of the text is similar to Outline — once again Cusk makes masterful use of free indirect discourse to lead us inside the stories told to Faye, and the conversations that go on around her. There is a creative writing seminar much like the one in the last book, but there are other sequences which seem to work entirely differently. At one point Faye is invited to a literary festival with a couple of other writers, both male. They both deliver lengthy, mannered speeches, but they are both entirely different. Julian extemporises at length about his troubled upbringing, cracking jokes about his boyhood abuse at the hands of his mother, before delivering a sort of sermon about his craft as a writer: 

‘…He was like a cupboard rammed with junk: when he opened the door everything fell out; it took time to reorganise himself. And the blabbing, the telling, was the messiest thing of all: getting control of language was getting control of anger and shame, and it was hard, hard to turn it around, to take the mess of experience and make something coherent out of it. Only then did you know that you’d got the better of things that had happened to you: when you controlled the story rather than it controlling you…’

The irony of this is that in this moment it is all reported speech. Julian himself has no control at all over the words quoted above. Almost the whole of what he says is moderated via Faye’s reportage. Those delicately descending sub-clauses are her own. 

Louis, the other writer, gives a very different address. He tells a story about his cat accidentally letting go of a bird it caught; and about encountering a horse when he was a boy, and coming to believe somehow that he had been the cause of a weal near its eye, because his parents said it might be so. 

‘He wasn’t sure, he added, that he would ever write anything again: his relationship to the world was insufficiently dynamic. His book would have to stand alone: it would have no siblings, any more that he himself would ever have children, even if his sexual inclinations had rendered that a possibility. He had no particular interest in being able to say that he was a writer. He had succeeded in writing a book simply by virtue of the fact, as he had already said, that while writing he had believed himself to be unknown. That was no longer the case. He supposed, he said, that the time would come when the book people were now reading would seem no more personal to him that the skin a snake has discarded and left there. He wished only to return to that state in which, uniquely in his experience, he had been capable of absolute honesty, but by using writing as the forum for it, he had also ensured that writing was a place he would never be able to go back to. Like a dog that shits in his own bed, he said, turning and looking directly, for the first time, at me.’

It’s tempting to read Louis as the authentic one, but his speech is no more or less real for being so fixated on its own self-abnegation. It does, however, express something of the basic absurdity of the writer’s position: of doing something initially out of love, and then repeating to it out of obligation until the initial sense of it is lost entirely. (In this regard perhaps writing is not so different from most other things in life.) But though the narrator seemingly reserves judgement, Cusk allots her the final say: Faye is privileged to be known as the one apart, the silent voice recording both perspectives at a distance.

This is perhaps the only sequence in this book in which Faye is allowed space to breathe. Space to record, and recount, and to not act. And even then it doesn’t last: immediately afterwards she’s engaged by the chairman of the little panel (a third unnamed man) in a sort of courtship that ends with a kiss. But if this is weirdly stilted and uncomfortable, it is nothing compared to the dinner party that closes the book. It is a cringeworthy, risible and occasionally terrifying mix of screaming children and pretentious food, delivered in the middle of nowhere while adults recant pointless epigrams to one another. It ends in a scene of complete alienation amidst messy family life; exhaustion and disgust are dominant. 

And it is hard to see any way out of it. The only relationships in this book that aren’t ultimately tempered with those ugly parts of human nature are the professional ones: the contractor, the hairdresser. And even then, humanity can’t help but get in the way — think of the angry little boy who slams the door on the way out of the salon, sending the shelves of hair products all crashing to the ground.

[tobiasenfagan95]

Beautiphol: Art in a State of Entertainment

Art must be fun. Otherwise, it is going to don't convey with its own audience in any constructive manner and some other material that it may continue will soon likely probably undoubtedly be lost. Any song you reveal love it will not amuse the ear, will soon probably be lost... and its own message of love is going to be deciphered by the noises of bitterness and indifference of one's listener.

The same relates to a wide range of art. Critics understand that once people start snoring throughout their pictures, they will have lost the match. Writers, painters... they know that after you don't amuse your reader/viewer, any chance you'd at conveying your feelings along with your beliefs, will be faded quicker than hydrogen onto a bright sunny day in the center of Cairo.

That said, art being fun is 1 thing... and art has been"entertainment" is just another.

A fantastic example here's your magician. He's an entertainer and his objective is by definition of high-definition... to amuse with using magical. What he can takes enormous abilities, a wealth in dedication and talent to his or her job. By having an entertainer, does he really care whether the members of the crowd eventually become informed and more knowledgeable individuals after his series? No more... Actually, the more they understand about that which they've just seen, the more the NaijaVibe. Is it true that the entertainer concern yourself with all the enrichment of the audience spiritual condition? And saying"spiritual", I usually do not mean that the religious interpretation of the period. A individual enriches his"spirit" by accessing advice, wisdom, thoughts, senses and also a greater understanding about a topic he didn't own before becoming vulnerable to this foundation of the info. Therefore can a magician enhance his viewer's soul? Yes... they could. Might it be compulsory though because he's definitely an entertainer? No... it's maybe not.

I feel here is the heart difference between an artist and an entertainer. When art is made only to function itself and meet the tastes of an individual by providing them with a brief, joyous encounter, without raising their knowledgebase or presenting a fresh outlook or understanding concerning the subject it concerns itself... afterward your artist chooses to be a artist also transforms in a entertainer. That's the purpose when art turns into a item, and also its own center function is not any further to donate, to enlarge, to enhance or to increase its field... however to be swallowed. A temporary activity which arouses mental performance at a lively method, creating a favorable psychological response, which as agreeable as it could be, once its sway moves, leaves one in no more than spiritual condition when you're previously. Still another item that functions the specific same function is ofcourse, the usage of medication.

There are fantastic cases of entertainers that have been able to amuse successfully during their livelihood, while still being a huge supply of wisdom and creativity. They supply their audience with brand fresh thoughts, new senses and raise problems that could only help our civilization, simplifying their very particular work to an innovative degree that's rather tricky to attain. A fantastic instance of that is that the area of standup humor. When entertainers such as George Carlin, or Eddie Izzard captured on point, they did not simply want due to their own audience to really have a fantastic time. They wanted their audience to really have a fantastic time and make the theater more informed and more knowledgeable. Entertainment was not enough, there was quite a lasting, spiritual and cultural advantage for those visitors to shoot home. All these entertainers, then, become more than entertainers... they eventually become musicians. Yet another fantastic example is that painting. After Picasso introduced cubism, he achieved not just in creating enjoyable visual work, however he also succeeded in enhancing the craft of painting using a fresh stylenew methodology and raised their or her own artistic field into some other level. Picasso did not only amuse his audience... he developed his own viewer's understanding and comprehension of composition and beauty.

Building beauty in art is amazing...

Building art since you want to view beauty is beautiphol.

In literature and also the film business, the entertainment mechanics have heralded the artistic mechanics and the industry is bombarded with functions of very slender religious participation, or not whatsoever. I've lately read a publication inside the Sci-Fi genre that had an intriguing plot (I usually do not delight in hammering down other writers or their job, therefore I won't mention that the name ) and I had been amazed by how little difference it made for my"spirit" once I finished reading it. It gave me that I could potentially maintain. There clearly is a formula ; With a stationary plot, adjusted characters, a stationary atmosphere for its storyline and the personalities to workin, and also their aim was simple... to supply a cure. Can I like it? Yes, it had been a fun book, exceptionally well written and the storyline kept me curious. However, it neglected to obtain a fantastic balance between entertainment and art, leaning towards the latter, and I guess as a result of marketing reasons. It had nothing more to give to its reader aside from a minute positive psychological gratification that's doomed to fade off and return nothing unchanged. Can I believe it for a masterpiece of design? Ido not. And let me spell out why...

The solution and also desirable consequence of intercourse is of class the climax. You are able to find an orgasm by having sex to a partner or simply by masturbating. The distinction is that by having intercourse, you may attain more than simply an orgasm. While with lust, you just receive an orgasm. In the event the act of writing a publication which merely strives to give me an"orgasm" is recognized as"art," then what would you call that the act of masturbating as a way to acquire an orgasm? ...

"... making love?"

This quotation from Ernst Fischer summarises and conveys my personal artistic motives perfectly. And since I am no where near Fischer's degree or articulation and writing skills, I don't have anything to add.

"In a decaying society, art, if it is truthful, must also reflect decay. And unless it wants to break faith with its social function, art must show the world as changeable... and help to change it." -Ernst Fischer

No biographical information are offered to your writer as a consequence of his anonymity.

A Goodreads Choice Award Finalist at 2012 because of his work The Unwords, '' the first book written by an anonymous author to become nominated at the foundation of Goodreads.

The official site of The Unwords is really an entirely ad-free environment by the writer develops the entire thematic direction of this publication with brand fresh articles published on a weekly basis. Even the Unwords simply take advantage of these author's insufficient individuality and nearly in human quantities of introspection, since they put out to see, to educate and inspire, by forcing out the reader of their rut and into a universe where many matters have been already abandoned undone... but nothing else is going to be left !

[hennyjolzen]

Tony Vigorito:  I read in Billboard that you’ve written a play for musical theater. And you haven’t published a novel in several years. So tell me, how did this play come about, and have you given up the page for the stage?

Tom Robbins:  Here’s what happened. A few years ago, leafing through an issue of The New Yorker, I came upon a cartoon depicting two men in a bar. The elder of the two, nursing a martini, wore a suit, tie, and conservative spectacles: the image of a publisher. The other guy — disheveled, bearded, a bit wild of eye as he looked up from a pint — was obviously a writer. In the caption, the publisher was saying to the writer, “Sorry, I don’t think a children’s book about beer would sell.”

Other readers doubtlessly smiled, even chuckled, and turned the page. I, however, took it as a challenge. My B Is for Beer, published by HarperCollins Ecco, actually sold quite well, though I’d wager no child has ever read it. Eventually, to my surprise, the Australian singer/songwriter Ben Lee came to me with the crazy idea of turning the B Is for Beer novel into a musical for the stage.

I wrote the script and a few of the lyrics, Ben wrote the music and most of the lyrics. There was a great workshop production at the Largo in Los Angeles, much laughter and applause, but so far Broadway has not come calling. And neither have I “retired” as a novelist, although at age 86, I’m unsure how much literary mustard I’ll still be cutting.

Tony Vigorito: I’m certain I’m not the only reader relieved to hear that rumors of your retirement have been greatly exaggerated. So let me ask you this: As a world-class storyteller, I imagine you’ve grown sensitive to the manner in which story moves the human experience, the manner in which we are conscripted into largely unconscious narratives that more or less determine our decisions. A wide-open child is told who they are and what they believe, and they act according to the script into which they’ve been cast.

That said, it has become agonizingly clear that the story into which we were born harbors no reservations against undermining the planetary ecosystem that sustains us. So — if you’ll forgive the vastness of this question — how might we revise the story we’ve inherited? Or more to the point, what would a new story of the human experience look like?

Tom Robbins: We homo sapiens have likely always defined ourselves through narration. In the mouths of firelit caves, on the banks of starlit rivers, we self-consciously sought to understand the world and our place in it by means of stories. It would have been only a matter of time, however, before mere social comprehension was insufficient, we longed to excite and amuse one another by inventing scenarios that exceeded in novelty and scope any observable real-life events.

Once imagination entered the picture, there seemed no limits to prehistoric story time. We could tell tales that illuminated our hidden psyche, the universe, the cosmos, the secret lives of trees and animals. Eventually we learned how to make the tales more permanent by writing them down.

When television first became ubiquitous, many worried that it would destroy imagination. Today, there’s similar concern about the Internet — and that’s a legitimate issue, if only because social media is to the human ego what a pile of red meat is to a hungry wolf. Evidence of exploding narcissism is everywhere, from the pathological occupant of the White House to intrusive audiences at concerts and radio quiz shows. Online, with such easy access to a wide audience, everybody and his sister with a keyboard seems to want a piece of the spotlight, regardless if they have any talent or have paid any dues. It may be a case of democracy swallowing its own tail.

Let’s not fret. The fact is, creative imagination has always been a rare commodity: the province, the gift of singular individuals working on the fringes of a society with which it frequently is at odds. Somebody somewhere is probably already creating the stories that open wider our eyes to the natural world, to the planetary mother we are raping in her kitchen.

However — and this is essential — it won’t be by faithfully dramatizing the ins and outs of environmental politics, or recasting the ideas of God-given human superiority perpetuated by Old Testament mythology, but, rather, by creating prose so vivid it lights up a page like a Maui sunset, sentences so linguistically evocative they cause the reader to taste wild strawberries, to hear the confused grunting of large beasts at a dried-up waterhole. Our human world is made of language as surely as our planetary world is made of stone and water, and the writing that really matters is that whose imagery is capable of ripping through the beige curtain that too often separates the written word from reality, not to mention wonder. Style, baby, style! Our human world is made of language as surely as our planetary world is made of stone and water.

And in the new story, we will be favored by God no more, no less, than that strawberry plant, that thirsty rhinoceros. Which does not mean, however, that there won’t be plenty of laughs. And plenty of sex.

Tony Vigorito:  Your answer invites ever-vaster vistas: God, creativity, language, laughter, etc. Naturally, these are interrelated and we needn’t necessarily choose between them, but let’s start, shall we say, in the beginning: Why do you think there is something rather than nothing? Is the cosmos, as John Updike speculated shortly before his death, “a piece of light verse” tossed off by a bored and lonely God? And while we’re at it, what are we referring to with this syllable of God?

Tom Robbins: The most simple (and perhaps most accurate) answer is that “God” is the face we paint on the Mystery — as if giving the Mystery anthropomorphic (if super radiant) features will make it seem, well, less Mysterious.

Early in Levantine history, remember, the divine face was collectively, predominately feminine. That is to say, the gal-axy of super beings our pre-biblical ancestors believed orchestrated almost every aspect of existence were goddesses. It wasn’t until the patriarchal revolution in the southeastern Mediterranean region about 4,000 years ago that male leaders, fed up with feminine dominance both in the heavens and in the bed (“Hey you with your multiple orgasms! Am I really the father of that baby boy who is to inherit my flocks and my land?”) conspired to create a monotheistic deity — and give it a sex change. (“Goodbye Ishtar. So long Astarte. Hello Jehovah.”)

Regardless of gender (if any), the Mystery remains. Why is there something instead of nothing? Is there some conscious force, some higher power in the cosmos, directing everything — or are we imaginative human animals making it all up? Does time have a beginning and an end? Does our consciousness survive our death? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Maybe we don’t need to know the answers. Such knowledge would eliminate the Mystery — and weaken if not destroy the spirituality without which our lives are simply political/economical. God forbid!

Tony Vigorito:  Touché. We don’t need to know the answers and any pretense at possessing them is bound to be baloney. Perhaps instead of asking “why?,” a better question — and as it turned out, no less a persona than Timothy Leary’s last words — might be “why not?”

Looking forward rather than backward, creativity seems to inhere in human nature, and its expression may be all the meaning we need. Indeed, Charlotte Perkins Gilman once wrote that work should be the source of humanity’s greatest joy, though I reckon there are very few among us who feel anything resembling joy at the sound of an alarm clock. So why has work become the opposite of play? And on a personal note, how do you experience your work?

Tom Robbins: I’m not being cute when I contend that my work (the creation of fiction) is a form of play: a combination of chess, finger-painting, and Russian roulette. It can be mentally and physically tiring, but it is a sweet exhaustion, the fatigue one might feel on the last night of a two-week honeymoon.

Most humans are not so fortunate. They arise too early, return home too late: home from jobs they secretly or openly despise, subliminally aware that making a living is not to be confused with actually living — and that it may even be shortening their lives and/or that of their descendants.

Employment, with its bosses and schedules, paychecks and time clocks, is a quite recent development in human history, and with escalating advances in cybernetics and robotics, there are going to be fewer and fewer jobs, yet more and more people. Although overpopulation (perhaps the most threatening of the booby-trapped eggs laid by the noxious peacock of narcissism) will in a sense create more work, there will be a de-escalation of live workers assigned to perform it. Who knows, we may revert to being hunter-gatherers, if there is anything left to hunt and gather. On the other hand, why not expect — and insist on — a miracle?

Tony Vigorito:  Let’s hear more about this miracle, figuratively or literally. Given the manner in which the ecological noose is tightening apace with the death grip of obsolete economic structures, humanity does seem to be approaching something resembling the sound barrier, with the whole aircraft shuddering and threatening to blow apart. Tremendous forces of greed and egotism are determined to impose ignorance, and weapons of mass mendacity and distraction are more formidable than ever. What way lies hope, or is it just an anthropocentric vanity to believe that we must be something other than an evolutionary cul-de-sac?

Tom Robbins: Were I to claim advance knowledge of the nature of any impending miracle, I’d be justifiably accused of spreading fake news (or deemed worthy of my very own padded cell). What follows, however, is a crumb of conjecture.

In his recent book, How to Change Your Mind, Michael Pollan reports that a number of extremely reputable institutions (medical and academic, in the U.S. and abroad) are currently engaged in serious psychedelic research. What if there were eventually to be widespread, legal, judicious — even enlightened — use of these natural, mind-changing sacraments, might not that tip the balance in favor of Mother Nature?Why don’t those of us concerned just start behaving as if that aforementioned miracle were already here?

Of course, since winged rats will likely be circling Manhattan before that comes to pass, why don’t we conduct an experiment, consider an alternative? Rather than waiting and yearning for it, why don’t those of us concerned just start behaving as if that aforementioned miracle were already here?

Tony Vigorito:  It’s a comforting crumb of conjecture, and there may be more than a loaf of truth to it. After all, every other social movement from the era known as the Sixties has landed on the right side of history. So why pretend that there was nothing to be discovered on the neurological frontier, or that it was merely a foolhardy caprice? The question I’m driving at is this: Assuming that it’s even possible to describe, what is it that’s contained within these experiences that is so potentially transformative to our manner of being alive?

Tom Robbins: First, in regard to those “flying rats,” let me shoot down my fantasy that psychedelic usage might someday be “widespread.” As Hermann Hesse so accurately pointed out in Steppenwolf, “the magic theater is not for everyone.”

Apparently, chemicals in these substances activate receptors in our brains that otherwise lie dormant, doubtlessly for good reason as it would be virtually impossible to, say, operate machinery, write reports, wage wars, or bake cakes were they permanently operational.

For those who can accommodate it, the psychedelic experience is both prehistoric and futuristic, creating multiple insights that do not translate readily into language. They provide the imbiber a lens on his or her surroundings that is simultaneously microscopic, kaleidoscopic, and, well, let’s say “cosmo-scopic,” for want of a more scientific term. Certainly, it can (and frequently does) lend itself to spiritual interpretations. And though it dims in time, there remains enough of an imprint to alter (in a largely positive way) the manner in which one perceives so-called “reality.”

For example, when one’s consciousness travels inside the crown of a daisy, as did mine on my first LSD trip (it was like a cathedral made of mathematics and honey in there), one comes away sensing that every daisy in the field has an identity just as substantial as one’s own — and that cannot help but leave one more sensitive to the wonders and deeper meanings of the everyday natural world. That in turn sparks the nasty wish that those who trash our planet for profit might someday be toasting like marshmallows on the campfires of Hell. (Can’t you hear the little demons singing Kum Ba Yah?)

Tony Vigorito: Whether meditatively or pharmacologically inspired, the capacity to experience life outside of a cultural description of it (not mistaking the map for the road, as it were) does indeed sound like an evolutionary bonanza with the potential to accelerate humanity out of an obsolete past and into a relevant future.

So, for all its utility and poetry, why do you suppose we are so vehement in our attachment to language, particularly the ideologies, identities, etc. — the “veils,” to use your concept from Skinny Legs and All — that it describes? Or to put it another way, why can’t language be a useful tool rather than an iron rule?

Tom Robbins: We humans live in language the way a spider lives in its web. Both our mundane daily experiences and our most lofty abstract ideas (often borrowed from other “spiders”) become entangled in the multitudinous strands of that web, some to be slowly digested, others left to shrivel or bloat.

The longer we live, the more tangled the web becomes, although even in our youth we can allow ourselves to gorge on certain “flies” (political ideologies, religious dogmas, unattainable goals, or exaggerated notions of our abilities) that limit our evolution and distort the web.

Having said that, language remains our first invention (early tools and weapons were found, not made), our most ambitious, and at times our most grandiose. What is less appreciated is that the words themselves, transcending their utilitarian parameters, can be at least as important — and often more arresting — than the things or ideas they represent. Even professional writers frequently fail to recognize that language is not the frosting, it’s the cake.

So rather than there being too many perceptions that are beyond words, it may only be that after all this time there simply aren’t enough of us who, like Molly Bloom in Joyce’s Ulysses, can verbally turn something like a sordid seduction into a wild and winsome word-de-o. From my perspective, we, linguistically speaking, may have too many handy tools and not enough magic wands.

Sometimes, when a wand is sparking and our muse is smiling on us like a hot buttered croissant, we can use words to light up a page. Or a room. Even a mind — although admittedly not as brilliantly as those verbally transcendent entities that reside ever so humbly in certain mushrooms, cacti, or the scummy ergot that infects wheat and rye. But, we’ve already waddled through that minefield and it’s not even our home turf. Let’s count our toes and fingers and move on.

Tony Vigorito:  The best relief from the self-serious web we too-often weave, it seems to me, is the anarchic domain of laughter. The anthropologist Margaret Mead even observed that laughter is humankind’s most distinctive emotional expression (and never mind hyenas, by the way, that’s just the sound they make). What are your thoughts on this most riotous of emotions?

Tom Robbins: While much laughter is of no more consequence than the braying of a jackass, some is indicative of a special understanding, even a kind of wisdom. Often enough, such laughter may strike onlookers as inappropriate — but that reaction itself is worth a good laugh.

Humor can be both a form of wisdom and a means of survival. A comic sensibility is often a cosmic sensibility, for it can open doors in consciousness that are closed to the sober and prudent. Within the realm of laughter, light and darkness often merge, leaving the laugher free of life’s perplexing dualities.

When Rama Krishna, supposedly the last known human to actually reach Nirvana and return, was asked what it was like there in the zone of ultimate consciousness, that which-of-which-there-is-no-whicher, he answered, “Laughter.” It’s challenging to wrap one’s mind around that, but doesn’t it sound more appealing than “pearly gates and streets paved with gold?” I’m a wee bit concerned, however, that so few visions of the absolute Absolute fail to mention jelly donuts.

Tony Vigorito:  It occurs to me that language and laughter share a good deal in common. Like laughter, much language “is of no more consequence than the braying of a jackass” (contemporary American politics springs to mind), while some language may paradoxically reveal an ineffable wisdom seeking to express itself. In both cases, however — whether it’s motivated by the jackass of narcissism or the cosmic laughter of ultimate consciousness — language seeks to create reality.

That said, what is the world you’re seeking to create with your use of language? And what is the most common misconception you encounter around your work?

Tom Robbins: You are correct, of course. While in the circus of human expression, laughter is customarily the red-nosed clown, language the daring aerialist on the high wire or flying trapeze, the roles are often reversed or even performed by the same entity, especially when imagination gets in the act. In fact, in the very best “shows,” comic genius and poetic genius are usually directed by imagination, the ultimate ringmaster.

Many — if not most — authors employ language to describe experience. My own goal is to actually provide an experience. I’d like to think that I write to twine ideas and images into big subversive pretzels of life, death, and goofiness on the chance that like the Trickster figure in tribal myths, they might help keep the world lively and give it the flexibility to endure. And I suspect that you may have a somewhat similar approach.Most authors employ language to describe experience. My own goal is to actually provide an experience.

Among the ranks of the stuffy and clueless are a few wantwits who insist on tarring me with the old Day-Glo Sixties brush, never mind that only one of my nine novels (the first) is set in the 1960s. My second, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, does take place in the Seventies during fallout from the counterculture revolution, but its themes (including sexual preying on women) are as relevant today as then — and the rest of my oeuvre covers many eras (including ancient Greece) and many locales (including the Afterlife). Well, as another writer once responded to misplaced criticism, “Let the jackals howl, the caravan rolls on.”

Tony Vigorito:  Indeed, it’s a howling sort of ignorance that would reduce the complexity of an artwork to a simple-minded category. Rolling on, then, I’m wondering if you can articulate how the spiritual reality we’ve discussed (the cosmic laughter of ultimate consciousness) meshes with active participation in, say, political reality, if at all?

Tom Robbins: Politics, even much liberal politics, is all wrapped up in ego the way a pig is wrapped in a blanket. Should the pig poot so hard it billows the blanket, children and halfwits will snicker. Otherwise, the political impulse (the desire to preside over property and make other people’s decisions for them) is only occasionally a source of mirth, and never ever ever invokes the sort of “cosmic” amusement of which you speak: a response to existence that in Zen is sometimes called the “god laugh.”

Almost daily there is existential folly so absurd that it invites a dismissive guffaw. Then there is the abrupt laugh of appreciation when we suddenly are reminded of all the wonder there is in the world. Such recognition usually occurs when we’ve followed an impulse to temporarily remove the mask that most of us wear every day. Alas, rarely does a politician (or the politically inclined) dare to take off that mask.

The party that would surely get my vote (and maybe even a contribution) is the one whose slogan is, “We’re making it all up.” Which, of course, they are. And where politics and religion are concerned, so is everybody else.

Tony Vigorito:  Given the agonizing farce of American politics of late, I wonder if you have any words of wisdom to whisper? The herd is stirring, there’s a nervous shifting of hooves afoot. Is something happening here, or are we staring at our belly buttons instead of the sunrise?

Tom Robbins: Well, it’s a short trip from the belly button to the “clear light,” so one’s navel (as opposed to one’s lover’s navel) is a good place to start. Meditation, umbilical or mandala, can lead to elation, and elation can foster realization: specifically the realization that ultimately it’s all cosmic (there’s that word again) theater, all of it, and each of us should work on perfecting his or her role, on playing it with honesty, humor, and if possible, pizzaz.

Meanwhile, if one’s role includes “voter,” then one must vote for the candidate with the fewest ties to corporate fascism (the current direction of government in the U.S.), the one with the least dorky haircut.

Me, I’m keeping an eye on the latest discoveries in astro-physics (gravitational waves, for example), lending moral support to young protesters in the streets — and sending out for jelly donuts.

[wakefieldmagazine-blog]

Laurie Hunt, REALTOR®

Helping sellers and buyers in Wakefield and surrounding communities. Call/text 781-244-3350 or email LaurieHuntHomes@gmail.com. REVIEWS Archit Agarwal We had been trying to sell our house for almost a year, with little luck. Then, we finally made the right move and contacted Laurie, who not only impressed us right away with her knowledge of the market, but also made us feel comfortable as sellers in terms of what to expect, possible pitfalls that could be driving buyers away, etc. Laurie always kept us in the loop, and was always extremely responsive to any and all questions. Had we taken her advice from the get go, we would not have had to wait for as long as we did -- but despite our stubbornness, Laurie never once let us down, and helped us sell the house with multiple offers! I most definitely, very highly recommend Laurie to every one! Dan Jarvis My wife and I believe the hallmarks of a good realtor are business acumen, responsiveness, and willingness to accommodate. Laurie Hunt possesses all of these qualities in abundance and if possible complements them with an indefatigable work ethic, which is why she is a great realtor. The perfect  example is the hot water heater in our condominium failed and flooded the basement the day before our closing. My wife and I were both out of state when this occurred. Laurie took it upon herself to coordinate and facilitate the renovations necessary and assuage any doubts the buyers may have had so that the closing was only briefly delayed and there was minimal hassle associated with what could have been a total calamity. This anecdote exemplifies the type of professionalism and care you will receive from Laurie. My wife and I simply cannot recommend Laurie Hunt as a realtor enough. Peter Digiuseppe My wife and I can't even begin to explain how great Laurie was during our whole time working with her.  We are so glad we chose her to help us sell our house.  We had a unique situation where we had already bought a new house and needed to sell our house quickly.  She totally understood that and  even worked perfectly around our chaotic schedule as we have young kids and lead busy lives.  She made the whole process very easy and simple for us.  She was always there to answer questions, listen, offer suggestions, and help us through the entire process.  She did such a great job marketing our house that we had constant viewings of our house from the moment it hit the market to 5 days later when it sold right after the first open house. We had multiple offers on our property and the price we accepted far exceeded what we expected to get and we have her to thank for that.   We can not recommend her enough for her expertise in all the different aspects of our sale and are so thankful that we got to work with her.  Sarah Bingham Laurie represented me during the purchase process of my first condo and the sale of it a few years later. She can be trusted as if she is your own family. She is honest, thorough, creative and caring. I always felt she had my best interest in mind, which is incredibly comforting when you're going  through either process for the first time. I moved out of state when selling and if I could have brought her to Maine to represent me here when I was buying again, I would have. She will be there you day and night for any questions or concerns you have. Ray Dorney I highly recommend Laurie Hunt for anyone who is looking for a knowledgeable, competent, personable, honest, and skilled real estate agent.  Indeed, I have already recommended her to my nephew who in the near future hopes to purchase a new home.  I found her indispensable in the process of buying  my first house.  She was extremely responsive and helpful in guiding my choice for a new home. She carefully listened to what I was looking for in a new home and provided many important suggestions and recommendations.  Her presence at the many open houses I attended and the private showings she arranged was invaluable.  She thought of issues that I had not considered and thereby markedly improved my decision making process. She was always looking out for my interest.  Laurie is not only great at her profession but she is a wonderful person.  As a result of my experience, she become a true friend.  The real estate profession is lucky to have someone like Laurie Hunt among their ranks. Michele Phillips Buying and selling a house is a very stressful time. We could not have asked for someone better to guide us through this process. Laurie was excellent to work with. There was very low inventory in both the town and price-range we were looking for so it took almost 2 years to finally find what we were looking for. Laurie was so patient and always right on top of new listings that fit our criteria. She was phenomenal in negotiating the sale of our house, facilitating the purchase of our new house, making recommendations and suggestions for various items we were unsure of. Putting aside what a great realtor she is, she is also a genuinely nice person that really cares about her clients. We would highly recommend Laurie if you are looking to buy/sell. You can't go wrong and she'll take good care of you! Morgan Leichter I couldn't have been happier with everything that Laurie did for me when I was selling my home and buying a new home at the same time.  During that normally stressful situation, she did everything plus more than she needed to.  I would recommend everyone to use Laurie! Cheryl Sartori Laurie was incredible in helping us find our home.  We had difficulties with the bank and Laurie was right there with us every step of the way.  She made the home buying experience so much less stressful for us.  It took us a while to find a house and Laurie never lost patience with us while we looked at house after house.  She suggested that we look at the house we ended up buying even though we weren't interested in it.  She reminded us to look with eyes wide open, and see the potential.  We are in love with our home and our kids are so happy to be back in their neighborhood.  None of that would have been possible without Laurie's help.  I would HIGHLY recommend Laurie or Angie (equally as awesome) to anyone who is even thinking about buying a house.  They will help you find your home, and you will enjoy the process. Chris Ridgway For the average person, the biggest investment you will make will be your home.  One should not go into that lightly, and on their own. I had the pleasure of working with Laurie Hunt to purchase our current home in Wakefield. Laurie was the extra set of eyes, who could see things in a house that we as buyer could not. Both bad, and good. One instance that stands out had to do with closet space. Laurie took out an average size hanger, showed us that the closets were insufficient in size, and it would not fit our needs. The experience of having someone represent us, as buyers was very eye opening,. We are very happy we had a true professional in Laurie that had our best interest as heart. Lauri Dannenberg Laurie and Angie are amazing.  They take into consideration what each clients needs are.  Open, upfront and full of knowledge.  They can walk through your home and let you know what you need and how and where to obtain it.  If you are buying, they really listen.  All your needs are taken into account.   We were selling my grandmothers house for her estate.  Every need was taken care of and with grace and respect.  When I needed to sell my mothers house out of state both Laurie and Angie stepped in and got me in touch with an amazing agent who, like them, respected and cared about me and the process. I cannot say enough about how wonderful they make your experience. Carmen Urbonas Laurie Hunt continues to prove herself as a trusted leader in the real estate industry. Whether assisting first-time buyers in the purchase of their new home or preparing long-time homeowners in the downsizing phase of ownership, she takes the time to listen and assess the needs of her clients then leads them through the process with confidence and patience. She is the ultimate real estate professional and clearly values long-term, trusting relationships with her clients over a quick deal. For this reason, I routinely recommend Laurie to anyone looking to buy/sell a home in the Greater Boston area. Find reviews on Zillow, Google Plus and Facebook (business page: Laurie Hunt Realtor, North Star Realtors 781-244-3350) Alice McDonald Laurie is wonderful! She guided us through buying our new home and selling our previous one. Her negotiating skills are tactful,  respectful and strong. She kept us informed every step along the way. Her stager helped us get a great offer on the house we sold too! Dolores LeBlanc Laurie sold our home in Wakefield this year in July.  We were so lucky to have her!  She is extremely professional, knows the Wakefield real estate market, is so patient, loves what she does, honest, always there to answer any questions we had and is just a wonderful person.  We just can't say  enough about her.  She is the best!! Clare Ziemetz Laurie is the consummate professional. Her knowledge of the local real estate market proved to be indispensable.  She is in the process with you from beginning to end- always there to answer a question or calm your nerves. I would (and have) recommend Laurie to anyone. She's the best! Doug Dykes My wife and I were first time home buyers. From the very beginning Laurie shared information about herself and Angie's Realtors but more importantly got to know us and walked us through best practices when looking for a home. Upon looking at homes Laurie was very open and knowledgeable when it came  to pointing out pros/cons of different houses/locations. During the offer stage, Laurie was very responsive and guided us through comps and negotiating to land our home! Laurie was also helpful working to recommend multiple vendors for us to consider for things like home inspections and worked closely with our bank through closing.  Erin Findlay My wife and I were very help with Laurie and would recommend her highly!We can’t thank Laurie enough for all her help in selling our first home. From the minute we sat down with her to discuss the selling process to the day we turned in our keys, she was very helpful every step of the way. She knows the Wakefield real estate market inside and out and told us from day  one that we would have no problem selling our home. She provided us with the appropriate steps to get our house ready for sale in less than a month. In less than five days of putting our house on the market we accepted an offer. Thank you to Laurie Hunt & her staff at Northstar Realty for all their help during a stressful time! They made it very easy! Marta Valez Working with Laurie has truly been an amazing experience. My fiancé has known Laurie since he was 8 years old since she was our neighbor up until recently when we purchased our first home in the Bradford/Haverhill area. Laurie was able to help us get over every obstacle that we came across and put  our worries to rest. Laurie was always prompt, precise, and on her A-game when we needed her! If you are in search of your first home, I would STRONGLY recommend Laurie Hunt from North Star Realtors! Marta Moura Laurie’s customer service, communication, expertise and knowledge is second to none! I purchased my first home in July 2016 and she was there for me every step of the way. I could’ve not wished for a better realtor to guide me through the process and to provide much needed support throughout so  many hiccups with the bank; she did not miss a beat and advocated for me every step of the way. The main characteristic that makes Laurie such a wonderful realtor and human being, is her honesty. She will not “up sell you” or omit facts in order to make the sale, you can surely count on her honesty and integrity at all times. I would not recommend anyone else to help with your real estate needs! Find reviews on Zillow, Google Plus and Facebook (business page: Laurie Hunt Realtor, North Star Realtors 781-244-3350) Read the full article

[renaroo]

The Sibling Complex

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Wolverine and associated characters are the creative property of Marvel Comics Warnings: Canon-typical violence & language Rating: T Prompt: ( @shobogan ) DAMIAN AND GABBY, HOW DID I NEVER THINK OF THIS "do you have a big sister too?" "tch. ......yes."

A/N: Okay so even though I’ve still not gotten around to writing the main MAIN fic for this universe, I couldn’t help but tie this little team up into the big Amalgamation Comic Universe I’ve been dreaming up for the last few months. So that’s what’s being referred to as the ‘Merge” and ‘Mergers’ are people from other worlds/continuities that you don’t identify with. 

For all intents and purposes this is Prime/New-Earth Damian and Cassandra, with 616 Laura and Gabby. If you don’t know what that means, you’re a more worthwhile human being than myself, lemme tell ya. 

Jonathan’s seatbelt wasn’t quite fitting the way it was supposed to, though Gabby figured it wouldn’t. It was created for dogs and not wolverines. Still, he seemed content enough, sleeping in the backseat all to himself under all the blankets and pillows that she and Laura had packed for their journey. 

“I think he’ll sleep the whole ride this time,” Gabby informed Laura. She was sitting on her knees in the passenger seat, leaning against the corner of the chair to better look at their pet. “We won’t have to take a pee break.”

“And I remember telling you to sit down and use your seatbelt,” Laura responded, not taking her eyes off the road, though Gabby suspected that behind her sunglasses she was glancing into the rearview mirror. 

Sticking out her lower lip, Gabby flipped around in the seat and sunk down. “You’re not wearing your seatbelt either, Laura,” she said pointedly all the same.

“I have a healing factor,” Laura said plainly.

“So do I,” Gabby countered.

Laura bothered to actually look at Gabby and lower her chin enough that she could look at Gabby over her sunglasses. There was no humor in her eyes, though Gabby never lost sight of that bit of affection Laura only had for her, Deborah, and Megan. 

“I’m older,” Laura said in that flat, this is final tone she had perfected. 

“Of course you’re older! I’m a clone of you, duh,” Gabby said, but she already reached for her seatbelt and pulled it over her shoulder. “Some day that’s not going to be a good enough excuse, y’know.”

“It’ll always be enough for me,” Laura replied, looking back to the road. “I also distinctly remember that I told you that if Jonathan had to use the bathroom, you could teach him to go in a cup as easily as you taught him to go in a litter box.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gabby said, nose curling. “Someone would have to hold the cup for him.”

“Not someone,” Laura said, smirking a bit. “Just you.”

“Ugh,” Gabby rolled her eyes. “Why’re we even going to this new place? This... Gotham? Ever since the explosion and all the weird stuff with the world popping up and the Jean-Grey School going public again, I thought we’d be... I don’t know, staying around there? Or if we have to explore new places from the other worlds, why can’t we start at some of the fun sounding ones? Like Metropolis or Sternbild or Miracle City--”

"This isn’t an adventure, Gabby,” Laura said simply. “This is a favor for Tyger Tyger.”

Surprised, but not that surprised, Gabby settled in her seat and reached for her own sunglasses from the glove compartment. “I should’ve known you were still allergic to fun.” 

“You should have,” Laura agreed. “Seems several businesses that Tyger once had a firmer grasp on in Madripoor are making large moves on her operation. The sorts of moves that require a lot of financial support to see them through. Financial support that used to be provided by her and her alone but, with how everything has been since the Merge, it seems that there are some additions to Intergang’s watchlist. And they seem to be taking roost in some of the places that are outside of her banks’ former influences.”

Gabby tapped on her chin. “So, criminal hubs that weren’t around before the Merge, but now want to take advantage of power vacuums. Makes sense.”

“Gotham is one of those hubs,” Laura explained. “A port city with an apparently ages old criminal history built into the brick and mortar. And it’s on the East Coast of the United States which would make it conveniently a world away from Madripoor, Hong Kong, and the majority of Tyger Tyger’s surveillance.”

With a smirk Gabby poked her sister’s shoulder. “And because of someone you know, you just happen to have earned Tyger Tyger’s trust, huh?”

“Something like that,” Laura said simply. “I already thanked you for it, though, so there’s no reason to bring it back up.”

“Except maybe to get thanked again. Since we’re going to Gotham instead of any of the cool and awesome places that aren’t full of seedy undergrounds and people who are going to be shooting us pretty soon,” Gabby answered. “Liiiike Miracle City--”

“We’re not going to England today,” Laura said plainly. “And I’ve heard... conflicting things about this mysterious Miracle Man. I’d not put too many eggs in that basket, Gabby.”

“You’re right,” Gabby hummed, pulling up her smart phone to play games on. “I mean, it’s kinda pretentious to name yourself Miracle Man isn’t it?”

“Very,” Laura agreed. “Which is saying something since you’re friends with a kid named Genesis.”

“Your original name was Talon,” Gabby said simply. “Glass houses, Laura.”

“And you still haven’t picked one,” Laura remarked. “Not so easy is it?”

Gabby pointed toward the backseat. “I named Jonathan! I don’t know why you can’t give me one that isn’t stupid for free.”

"I’m driving us to Gotham, I’ll think of something you’ll hate on the way,” Laura remarked with a smirk.

“You’re the worst,” Gabby laughed, though she didn’t mean it. 

She didn’t mean it at all.

Working with others was beneath him when he considered himself an al Ghul. Working with Grayson had been an adjustment and the sort of opportunity for learning he would never admit to out loud. Working with his Father had been a pain which throbbed, upsetting and mismatched, until they at last found each other’s patterns.

Damian took time and effort with teamwork and it was never once a pleasurable experience because it nearly always involved sharing his time with someone he would rather not have. And that was an annoyance almost beyond measure. 

“Tt, I would have more delightful conversation with Goliath tonight than with you,” Damian asserted, arms still crossed and nose high toward the sky. 

For a moment, that seemed to almost faze Cain as she bothered to look up from the cheaply made paper flyer to Damian, then back to the colorful brochure. 

Annoyed with the lack of response, Damian leaned in and curled his nose at her. “If you must know, that was an insult lotted toward you,” he continued to inform her. 

Cassandra looked up, a knowing glint in her brown eyes as she gave a small smirk and responded with the most infuriating, quiet, “Thank you,” Damian had ever heard.

“This annoyance of a public outing is over and I am ready to leave this campus before more of my classmates come across us to ask questions and compliment that stupid barrette in your hair again,” Damian growled, looking over the grounds of Gotham Academy. “Mizoguchi alone would be an unending barrage of questions.”

Cass put her hands and the brochure into her pocket and glanced back out. “Mmkay,” she said. “Waiting on...?”

Glaring at her, Damian could not have further expressed his aggravation. “On our ride since Father so rudely left halfway through.”

“Told him to go home,” Cass explained, looking back to Damian. “Said we could... walk.”

Damian’s eye twitched. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She shrugged simply to defy him. “Walk? Walk to Bristol? Have you lost your mind--”

“I think we,” she said, bringing her book bag around her shoulder and pulling out just enough of her mask that Damian could tell what it was, “should... bond. Been a while.”

Memories of exploding bridges and the risk of a family name larger than both of them came to mind as Damian grinned ear to ear. “You do make up for insufficiencies with some amount of style, Cain.”

"I know,” she replied somewhat cockily as they headed toward the nearest alley and began to quickly switch attire. 

While there were many things about Cassandra that Damian was uncertain about, especially with her strangely youthful presence after what his Father was referring to as the great Merge, the one thing he was always sure to admire was her combative skill. 

He still remembered the tinges of jealousy that hung off of him like weights the first time they had met face to face back during the Architect’s attacks on Gotham. He remembered how completely unfazed she was by his cutting words.

Back then he had been willing to give credit for that to Cassandra’s lack of proficiency in spoken language, but lately he learned that was not the case. 

Instead she defeated him shear self-confidence and assuredness. HIs words may have cut deep, but she still had layers of armor made out of pure conviction. 

Though, he had been right about her sparsity in using her tongue.

After they rounded a third mile, Damian was slightly falling behind Cassandra. And that, of course, simply was not going to work.

“I refuse to go another centimeter without you explaining what our plans for the rest of the evening are, Black Bat,” he said promptly. “It is only ten thirty and prime patrol activity is best between the hours of midnight and four AM.”

“Won’t be expecting us then,” Cass said with a smirk, looking back behind him.

“Who won’t be?” he asked testily. 

“Ships,” she answered again before reaching for her grappling gun. 

“Ships,” Damian repeated flatly.

“Ships,” Cassandra confirmed before taking the next swing. 

Annoyed once again, Damian followed suit, quickly getting distance covered and making a point of leaping ahead of Cassandra by their next landing. He could see that they were at Cape Carmine, which answered what ships, but left another question. 

“Why ships?” Damian half-whined. “Do you have information on them? Do you have any suspicions about their use? What intel have you gotten from that new Network of Batgirls-United or whatever it is that Oracle is up to these days?” 

“Sh,” Cass said shortly. “No information. No intel. Gut.”

Immediately annoyed, Damian narrowed his eyes and followed Cassandra almost reluctantly. “That is not enough to encourage confidence in you, Cain!” he told her firmly.

“Sh, codenames,” she corrected, as if he was still green in more than just his boots. 

“I don’t need to use them because there is no one around,” he growled after as they reached the edge of the docks and easily crossed over the barbwire fence. 

Though Damian hated to admit it to himself -- and would never dare to admit it out loud -- he truly could sit back and appreciate the ease with which Cassandra moved herself forward. She had the sort of grace in her movements that was natural like Grayson, but there was a determination and ferocity to everything as well.

It made Damian feel familiar with her in ways that he seldom felt with anyone. 

Once Damian landed, Cassandra glanced from one side of the port to the other then pointed to the far off shore. “Take that side,” she ordered.

Damian was more than a little taken aback by the order. “On my own?” he asked, uncertain if she realized what she was saying.

A soft smile came to Cass’ face and she glanced toward him. “Trust you,” she assured him.

Heat came to Damian’s face but he abruptly ignored it, pushing past his sister and heading toward the docks as ordered. “Of course you do,” he made light of the commentary. “Everyone should trust me. I’m the best.”

“Sure,” Cass replied with more amusement in her voice than he liked, but she did not double back behind him. She certainly went her own way and left Damian completely unsupervised.

It was the sort of trust and confidence that he usually only earned after several disobeyed orders -- both with his father and with Grayson. 

As impressed as Damian was with the simple act, however, it began to quickly fade once he actually began patrolling the area. There was not so much as a dock worker on shift in his area, and his combing of the landscape began to feel more and more like a useless chore. 

“I told her,” he whine petulantly, “there’s no one here! And the best hours for patrol are later. People are still out and awake at...”

With that, Damian took pause and looked around the docks once more. They were completely barren, his search had assured him of that. 

And that was where the problem lied. 

"UGH!” Damian growled, going for some high ground in his frustration so as to have a better vantage point and see along the harbor. “Why can she never explain a damn thing! Such an annoyance.”

He leered over the skyline, unimpressed with the fact that a ship, surely enough, was fast approaching. 

“All it would have taken was a single word, Cain,” he muttered to himself. “You truly are like father. And here I thought the others had been vastly exaggerating.”

His focus, however, was taken from the approaching ship when he noticed quick movement in the distance. 

Eyes narrowing, Damian turned more toward the direction of the motion and, sure enough, from one shadow to the next leapt a small figure -- no bigger than himself. And though the exact details of the costume were unfamiliar, Damian recognized high grade armor when he saw it. 

“Tt, still haven’t memorized all of the files we have on new heroes and villains after the Merge,” Damian growled to himself. “I will have to correct that after I fix this.”

The unknown assailant was ducking into a warehouse only one over from Damian’s own perch, which made it easy enough to leap to one of the top windows and quietly lift it open after a lightning quick lockpick job. 

Inside, the darkness provided even more cover for them both, but the advantage was still to Damian given the small thief was not aware of him yet. 

A small, drowning part of his conscience was worried that just perhaps he should have alerted Cassandra as to what he was doing, but he figured if she could leave out some details, so could he. 

“Hey, I think I’ve found an empty hangar,” the small girl said, touching the side of her face mask as she walked away. “It’s the thirteenth, so that means it’s unlucky. Sounds about like us. It’s good that we didn’t bring Jonathan.”

Damian was more than a little disgusted to see such a young girl being used for what seemed to be a very organized attack. But at the same time, her determination and unwavering disposition didn’t leave him any doubt about her possible guilt. 

She reminded him more of Katrina and the other ruffians that Colin was spending time with in the East End under Catwoman’s proverbial wing. 

“You want me to just stay here?” the girl whined. After a pause she let out a groan. “None of them ever get past you, Laura. That’s my point. Let me move-- Ugh. I hate when she hangs up.”

The girl crossed her arms, childishly in Damian’s opinion, and looked around the warehouse as if curiously bored when she suddenly went stiff. 

Her rigidness caught Damian by surprise, it was obvious to him even if he was not the world class body language expert that Cassandra was. The girl’s shoulders hunched forward and she began moving her head around widely in a circular motion, sniffing the air like some sort of dog. 

Damian’s eyebrows raised curiously as the girl hunkered down more and, to his surprise, unleashed what looked like a bony claw from her hands. 

It took a moment, but Damian realized that she was onto him, and if he did not strike quickly and get things under control, his advantage would be lost. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaped to the nearest rafters, using the arc of his own jump to quickly fling several Batarangs the mysterious foe’s way. She somersalted away from the first two and then sliced through the remaining with the two hand claws then a foot claw that had appeared through her boot when Damian wasn’t watching it. 

The pieces dropped around her and she seemed to be examining them at least for the moment. Damian took the opportunity to fling himself downward and aim a kick for her head. 

The girl let out an aggressive grunt as the kick hit, but rather than fall to the ground she quickly recovered and slid back on her heels. 

There was no seeing her eyes through the large, pink goggles she was wearing, but Damian knew a disgruntled expression when he saw one. 

“Are you picking a fight with me?” she demanded.

“I’m winning a fight with you,” Damian corrected before pulling out blades and rushing forward at her. 

“Oh, confident,” she mocked, easily blocking his swings with her forearms before kicking Damian in the chest and knocking the air out of him. “Sorry, if I lost a fight to someone like you I’d never hear the end of it from my sister. Do you know how long it took me to convince her to not leave me in the motel with Jonathan? At least two minutes of my sappy eyes. I’m supposed to reserve those for emergencies.”

“You need to shut your mouth, woman!” Damian growled as he continued to attack her.

She let out a long gasp as she caught Damian’s foot. “Oh my god. Are you like... nine? I’m not supposed to beat up babies. It’s not good for my karma!” She then used the momentum of his foot to twist him midair and send him to the ground chest first. She seemed intent on not letting him have enough air.

"I,” Damian wheezed as he began to block attacks. “Am... Not... NINE!” 

With his final declaration, Damian used a two finger strike right for the girl’s throat, causing her to choke immediately and back up, grabbing at the plating armor and pull it forcefully away from her skin to try and relieve her bruised trachea. 

Then there was an enormous explosion just outside. 

Both Damian and the girl turned toward the sound, eyes wide. 

“Black Bat!” Damian called out despite himself.

“Wolverine!” the girl yelled. She then released a vicious growl that shouldn’t have been possible given the bruising of her throat Damian had just given her, and quickly kicked Damian across the face, a wicked attack punctuated by a deep cut that ran across his cheek due to one of her claws.

Damian hit the ground and the girl took off toward the harbor. But he wasn’t going to stay down long. 

In all the time that Gabby had spent with Laura, she had come to learn that explosions usually meant Wolverine and that usually came with a sense of trouble. 

Trouble which, whether Laura liked it or not, Gabby had gotten very good at getting her out of. 

After losing the weirdo in the cape, Gabby quickly made her way toward the source of the explosion and was not deterred by fire or recursive blasts because she knew that a healing factor plus a little determination was more than enough to help her as much as it did Laura. 

“Wolverine!” she yelled out, ignoring the way the flames licked at her heels and singed her hair the more she ran toward it. “Wolverine, where are you--” 

Before the words had fully escaped her mouth, she was snagged by the back of her armor and pulled into the air. It reminded her of her not-so-long-ago run in with Spider-Woman, flying through the air at a swing.

But it wasn’t any of the Spider-people that Gabby knew when she looked back, but rather a woman dressed all in black and gold, swinging from a grappling hook that wouldn’t have been out of place in the arsenal that Gabby and her clone sisters were trained with in the labs. 

That wasn’t a memory she reflected on fondly. 

“Let go! I have to find my sister!” Gabby warned before extending her left claw and slashing out at the woman holding her. 

The move somehow didn’t surprise the woman as she went in for a landing far away from the fire, tossing Gabby by her shirt to flip her in the air. Then, just before Gabby’s face could meet the pavement, the woman caught her by her foot. 

It was a cool move, and if Gabby wasn’t worried about her sister at the moment, she probably would have marveled at it more. But as things were, she needed to find Laura, and this lady was becoming a nuisance.

“I need to find... Wolverine!” she growled before extending her claw and stabbing the woman in the arm with it. 

That had apparently been a surprise to her where the swing had not been, and the woman dropped her without so much as a word or a grunt. Which was weird, but Gabby was again preoccupied by tucking into a quick roll and landing on all fours to face the would-be attacker. 

The woman looked at her, then out to the explosion and the bay. She looked back to Gabby. “Sister is on the ship,” the woman explained. “Stay. I will get her.”

At first, the command caught Gabby off guard. Then she tilted her head and waved to her attire. “What? Do I look like a civilian kid to you or something? because I’m definitely not that!”

She glared at Gabby then looked up, drawing Gabby’s attention upwards as well and to the annoyance she thought she had left in the warehouse. 

“Not you again!” she all but groaned just before the kid tackled her with a feral growl. 

They struggled, rolling with each other and landing punches and kicks where they could without much mind to the woman in black and gold. At least not until she cleared her throat and the colorfully clad kid looked to her almost in irritation. 

“Keep her here,” the older woman ordered.

“Since when were you in charge of me, Black Bat?” he snapped at her, leaving his cheek open for a good punch that Gabby was more than happy to take. “YOU!!!”

Before either of them could continue on, however, the mystery woman raced forward, past the flaming dock and toward another. With a few swift leaps, she was at the bow of a fishing ship and then leaping toward the bay, grappling hook in hand. It eventually hit the distant ship attempting to steer away from the harbor. The so-called Black Bat hit the waters and disappeared, but for a while, with her goggles, Gabby was able to trace the ripples of her trailing behind the boat and gaining on it. 

Gabby sat up on the boy’s chest and allowed herself to feel impressed for a few moments. “Wow,” she said. “That was almost cool.”

“Get off me!” the boy snarled before kicking up with all his might and forcing Gabby to do just that. 

She tucked into a roll and then leaped to her feet, claws drawn. 

The other kid was ready with bat-shaped throwing weapons. 

Both of them were heaving for breath. 

“What’s your deal!?” Gabby snapped. “I was trying to help my sister stop smugglers!”

“Tt, likely story,” he snapped back. “And even if you were, this is not your city to do such for. This city belongs to Batman and Robin.”

Blinking some, Gabby loosened up and glanced back toward where the mystery woman had gone to follow after Laura and the ship. “Her costume didn’t look like a Robin--”

"Fool! She isn’t Robin!” the bright red child -- in costume and face -- yelled at her. “I am Robin! The best Robin that there’s ever been.”

“Robin,” Gabby repeated before putting her hands on her hips. “I guess Wolverine was right. It is important to put more thought into a superhero name so it doesn’t end up being something stupid.”

“I’ll kick that insolent mouth,” he snarled.

“You’re being silly,” Gabby informed him. “But it’s kinda cool to have a superhero named Batman like that. I guess some good things did come out of the Merge. There’s a woman Wolverine, so why not--”

“That wasn’t Batman!” Robin snapped. “That was Black Bat! Obviously.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes. “How is that obvious? That’s like saying oh, they’re Inhuman, not a Mutant. Obviously. Like unless you have a Cerebro, how’re you going to really know at first glance--”

“What are you talking about?” Robin growled.

“What’re you talking about?” Gabby fired back. 

They stared at each other for a good long minute before being distracted by the sounds of gunfire over the harbor. They both looked and, in the corner of her eye, Gabby could see despair and concern wash over the Robin’s face before he regained his sour composure. 

“So you’re from one of the other places during the Merge, huh.” Gabby said, finally putting away her claws and folding her arms across her chest. 

“I suppose the same could be said about you,” Robin said stuffily. “Save for the fact that I belong here. Gotham has the heroes it is meant to have. But you are unfamiliar.”

“Eh, come up to Westchester, We’ll probably say the same about you,” Gabby joked lightly with a shrug. “Besides, we only came down here on business for a friend. I think. I don’t know. Wolverine gets in these moods and it’s like she forgets I’m the greatest partner, like, ever. And it’d always go smoother if she actually let me in on things, y’know?”

“Tt, no,” Robin snapped. “There is complete disclosure between myself and my partner. I have earned it through a lifetime of training and perfection.”

Looking him over, Gabby was having a hard time deciding whether or not this kid was actually real. So she turned attention back to the harbor. “So you know what’s on that shipment that our partners are fighting on?”

There was a long beat of silence. 

"Things that are obviously not of your concern,” the spiky haired brat finally said. 

“That just means you don’t know anything!” Gabby groaned. 

“It means I wouldn’t tell you anything even if I did because you don’t have any business being here other than shady business. And if Black Bat told me to keep you here, I will do it with you unconscious on the ground if I have to!” he snapped. 

“If this Black Bat told you to jump off a bridge, would you?” Gabby asked sarcastically. 

“Tt, I’ll have you know, we blow up bridges together, and so jumping off it was a given,” Robin answered in that same snooty way. 

Gabby frowned then looked back out to the ship. “At least it isn’t moving anymore. I guess we just have to wait now,” she sighed before dropping into a sitting position on the pavement. “Hope Wolverine gets done in time for us to get to the hotel and let Jonathan out.”

Robin stared at the ship as well, aggravation coming off him in waves. “Do you have someone kidnapped at this hotel?” he demanded.

“Jonathan’s family,” she said with a wave of her hand. “He’s a wolverine.”

“Tt, sounds like a mascot,” Robin sneered. 

“More like a brother. Our actual half brothers suck,” Gabby sighed. “What about you? You have any siblings?”

Robin’s shoulders dropped and his entire head rolled with his eyes. “More each and every day,” he groaned.

“Cool,” Gabby said with a smile. “Got any sisters?”

At that, Robin’s gaze flickered back to the ship in the distance. Slowly, he lowered himself to a crouch by Gabby, still keeping his gaze level on the harbor. “Yes,” he said.

And that was all he really needed to say. Gabby understood. 

She started watching the harbor again, too.

Damian knew that regardless of circumstances, it was of the utmost importance to keep vigilant and wait for the inevitable signal from Cassandra that would tell him he was needed. He was certain of it coming sooner rather than later. 

He also knew he was utterly exhausted from the effort he had put forth to fight the new stranger he was now waiting with at the Dixon Docks. 

At some point, he didn’t know when, he must have closed his eyes and left his guard down just enough that he could be surprised by the obnoxious snort of a giggle that was coming from just a few feet in front of them. 

Alarmed, Damian whipped out his batarang, ready to throw, when he realized that the position he had just been in was so compromised and so inexcusable he hadn’t even registered it at first. 

He and the mysterious girl had been sleeping head-to-head, shoulder-to-shoulder before a woman in a yellow-and-blue garish costume stood by Damian’s own sister and snorted in laughter at them.

“Wow, that’s almost adorable,” the woman said. 

“Wolverine!” the girl with Damian cried out, leaping to her feet. She apparently experienced no-such shame from their compromised positions. 

Instead, she raced to Wolverine’s side and wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist. “You smell like smoke, but your clothes are intact, so I don’t think you burned yourself alive again. Sorry your hair is singed. This is all an improvement, though! I’m so used to you being stupid about your healing factor.”

Looking toward Cassandra, Damian was met with an all-too-presumptuous smirk. As if his sister had observed anything worthy of humiliation. Or, more importantly, like she had any history of abusing such situations to her own whims. 

She was not Drake or Todd, after all.

“Where have you been!?” Damian demanded. “You drag me to warehouses, leave me behind, and all for what?”

“Stopped bad guys,” Cass answered simply.

“You’re incorrigible,” Damian spat out.

Wolverine looked toward Cassandra, tilting her head with a sharp toothed smirk. “You’re right. He does get angry when he’s worried. That’s adorable. Mine just gets chatty.”

“I do not, why would you tell strangers that, Wolvie? That’s so rude,” the girl whined. 

After watching the sisters interact for a bit, Damian put an incredulous look Cassandra’s way. “You’re seriously not going to give me more explanation than you stopped bad guys.”

She rolled her eyes at him, as if a mask could hide the expression he was more than familiar with from his older siblings. “Penguin’s men. Same connections from Hong Kong. Recognized them on patrol last night. Thought we’d check again tonight. Got lucky.”

“They weren’t shipping arms to Hong Kong, though, they were shipping them to the competition of our connections in Madripoor,” Wolverine revealed. “Trying to take advantage of the lack of cohesion between the various worlds of the Merge for now.”

“Genius,” the girl smirked. 

“It is, which is why Black Bat here has been talking to me about a superhero four-one-one that their original world apparently uses with some frequency,” Wolverine continued.

Damian continued to scrutinize his sister. “You’re sharing secrets about Oracle now, are you?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Cass replied without hesitation. “Need to work together more. If villains can, we can.”

“Looks like you two have already started on the right path,” Wolverine joked. 

Damian’s face felt like a furnace as he rapidly shook his head in disagreement. “We’re as good as bitter enemies! We fight like dogs! She hasn’t even given me a name to curse at her with!” Damian shouted. 

“Talon,” the girl answered. “After my sister’s loser name.”

“Talons have a terrible history in Gotham, you should stay away if you know what’s good for you,” Damian snapped at Talon viciously. An action which led to Cassandra wasting no time in flicking him in the ear for. “Black Bat!”

Ignoring Damian, Cassandra offered Wolverine her hand and a smile. “We’ll... work together again. Know it.”

“You can count on it,” Wolverine assured her. 

When Damian glared over in Talon’s direction she was still wearing that infectious smile as she and her sister turned away to head back from wherever they came. 

He then shifted his glare toward Cass. “You’re the worst partner,” he informed her.

“You’re the best,” Cass joked. “That’s why I brought you.”

“You better believe I’m the best, better than anyone tonight deserved, that’s for sure!” Damian growled out, following Cass in getting his grappling hook out of his utility belt. “You’re willing to team up with any of these unchecked Mergers.”

“Yup,” she said as they took off. “Also willing to watch... your terrible school plays.”

Damian sighed and followed his sister into the Gotham skyline. “O brave new world, that has such people in it!”

[kiddiemom-blog]

Parenting with the 11 Principles 

I have actually been with Character.org for more than 5 years now and have seen many remarkable examples of Neighborhoods of Character developed around the 11 Concepts. While I've admired the guts and effort of each of those journeys, I now find myself ready to start my own journey as I become a parent.

As I'm expecting my family size to double in the next few weeks when my spouse and I welcome twins to the Wondra clan, I find myself assessing what kind of parent I wish to be and how I wish to support my kids to end up being ethical and thoughtful residents.

I have actually discovered a lot from Character.org and the amazing neighborhood of teachers, scientists, parents and other character leaders. Now, I intend to put all of that knowledge to practice. The challenge is in being intentional but sensible.

Carpenter or a Garden enthusiast?

Alison Gopnik just recently spoke on the show Hidden Brain about her theory of two designs of modern-day parenting: the carpenter and the gardener. The Carpenter parents expect particular, cautious inputs to result in foreseeable outputs ("hiring a tutor will enhance my kid's SAT scores"). The Garden enthusiast parents are intentional in the method they support kids however recognize that they are simply one of lots of players adding to the development. Gopnik argues that the latter design of parent is most likely to be less stressed and have a healthier method to going with the circulation through all of life's difficulties.

I believe the Garden enthusiast approach is extremely suitable with the versatile nature of the 11 Concepts framework. Character is established in a community and while many people can affect the result, it has to be comprehended in partnership with and appreciation for the other influences. Here are a couple of concepts I have already connected with as I begin to believe about how I will establish my method to parenting.

Core Worths

By selecting and being intentional about modeling our household's core values, I intend to impart their significance through our discussions and how I model living them out. Concept 1 reminds me that we should all come together around the worths which are essential to our lives and develop a common language. I also wish to take a page from Dara Feldman's book by utilizing "virtues language" to be specific in acknowledging when I see my kids doing the best thing.

Engaging Partners

Part of gardening is recognizing all of the possible components that might help your garden grow! Rain, sun and soil are necessary partners that need to be supported. For a family, we take a look at not only those who live in your home however neighbors, grandparents, extended household, instructors and others who have an influence on the character development of our children.

Concept 10 rightly highlights the significance of all these gamers working in collaboration for the good of youths-- to ensure they aren't working at cross functions. I require to ensure I bear in mind all the varied perspectives associated with those partnerships while discovering creative methods for us to collaborate.

Opportunities for Moral Action

It's insufficient to talk about good character-- we need to offer young people opportunities to live it out and get viewpoint from gaining from others. Again, Concept 5 is a terrific example of how character is not developed in a vacuum. I'll want to ensure that as a household, we're linking service with reflection and learning so that my kids establish routines of serving and valuing others in our community.

Intrinsic Inspiration

Here is where things get challenging in the garden. I feel very highly about cultivating much deeper and more personally meaningful reasons for kids to find out and do the ideal thing-- regrettably, in today's "gamified" world, kids are exposed to a lot of extrinsic incentives that may prime them to think whatever ought to get a point or gold star. The growing gratitude for the Development Mindset concept is likewise related-- if kids are praised for having "talent" they may end up being paralyzed when things end up being difficult since they do not believe they can even more establish that fixed skill.

Concept 7 is so essential due to the fact that I think it's easy to get captured in the trap of token rewards or dull appreciation. I understand I can't get rid of all of these from the world my kids will come across, so I can just be intentional about doing my part to strengthen a more intrinsic approach and explain to my community of partners why I feel that authenticity is so essential.

Time to Get Going

I'm sure that as I begin my journey into gardener parenting, I'll encounter a lot of other connections to the 11 Principles. As we begin a new year, a time for reflection and preparation, I hope that any of you who are moms and dads, or who work with moms and dads, will take some time to think about other connections to the 11 Concepts. Do not hesitate to share them below in comments or provide us a shout on Twitter or Facebook.

Sora Wondra has been with Character. org because 2013 and assists with development and development efforts. Prior to signing up with Character. org, Sora taught in the U.S. and likewise in the Republic of Georgia, where she conducted research on education reform. She has an M.Phil. in Education from the University of Cambridge and a B.A. in Psychology from Coe College.

[lifeonashelf]

CASE, NEKO

I love a girl who loves Neko Case.

In loose accordance with my admittedly vague understanding of the Substitution Theorem of Algebra (if a = b and b= c, then a = c), that means I also love Neko Case. I’m hesitant to accept this, but not because I don’t love Neko Case—I might very well love Neko Case; I’m going to listen to a bunch of her records right now to find out. However, I refuse to blindly accede to anything Algebra has to say about the governance of my life, because although I’m unsure at this point precisely how I feel about Neko Case, I am absolutely positive how I feel about Algebra: I loathe it with the singular strain of unbridled vehemence I reserve solely for the most odious insentient phenomena which plague the human experience with their very existence (long lines, automated telephone customer support menus, quinoa, Amy Schumer, etc.).

I have suffered through three Algebra classes in my life: “Algebra I” in high school, “College Algebra” at Citrus College, and then another seminar that was creatively dubbed “College Algebra” at University of La Verne—the latter because the donkey-fluffing sadists at ULV arbitrarily decided the “College Algebra” course I completed at Citrus was insufficient to fulfill their “College Algebra” requirement, despite being an Algebra course taken at a College that had the exact same title and covered the exact same material as the additional class they forced me to enroll in (I can only suppose they were misinformed that significant advances were made in the field of studying numbers that aren’t even fucking numbers during the intervening span). I don’t think it’s a coincidence that each of the instructors who led these tutorials were stern pricks—devoting one’s life to a discipline which has no practical value to anyone except other Algebra teachers strikes me as a particularly unfulfilling existence—and I retained nothing useful from any of these experiences, save for perhaps one equation: g + f + y = go fuck yourself. I understand that there are people on this planet who love math the same way I love music, and I further understand that these people are responsible for developing technical innovations which better humanity in myriad ways while people like me fritter away our nights typing a bunch of worthless nonsense in the name of cheap laughs. Nevertheless, even if someone with a PhD in Algebra eventually cures cancer or resurrects John Bonham to properly reunite Led Zeppelin, I still won’t want to have a beer with them.

Thankfully, while Neko Case has written many songs about matters of the heart, weather events, and—perhaps oddly—tigers, I have yet to encounter a single tune in her repertoire about math. I’m loving her more and more every minute.

And I also love a girl who loves Neko Case. I found this out when I found out that The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt is also The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, and I found that out because said Tote was actually inside my apartment with the Girl who was carrying it.

I suppose I should update you on that: The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt and I reestablished contact shortly after I authored the last piece she was mentioned in (though she is unaware of its existence and has not read it). Our former radio silence has been replaced by phone conversations which routinely stretch into multiple hours, and we now text each other on more days than we do not text each other. She has visited California on two occasions since she relocated, and I was able to spend time with her during both of these visits. We have smoked cigarettes on my balcony together and we have eaten Thai food together. She has gradually become one of the closest people to me in the world—2,000 miles be damned—and one of the first people I share my breaking news with; even better, I have become the same to her. And I was absolutely correct in my previous estimation that she would prove to be a haunting presence in my life, because I still inevitably measure every other woman I meet against her and they all pale in comparison. There—are we up to speed?

I’m certain she’s figured out exactly how I feel about her by now; she’s smart as hell and I’ve said plenty of things to her which could only produce that one specific and inescapable conclusion. Yet I’ve never told her exactly how I feel about her in specific and inescapable terms. My hesitancy to do so is mostly borne from pragmatism—we live 2,000 miles apart, which is specific and inescapable math I can’t argue with. So instead of confessing that I write sappy drivel like this about her, I’ve resigned myself to our current stalemate. I figure I’ll just keep pining over her until either: a) I meet someone as rad as her who doesn’t live 2,000 miles away, or b) I die alone. I think it’s a solid plan, especially since the relationship we have right now is basically ideal��I may not get to make out, cuddle, or listen to records with her… but since we never see each other she can’t get sick of my neurotic ass, which is pretty awesome.

I knew who Neko Case was long before I learned that The Girl With The Neko Case Tote possesses the handbag in question. Neko (I think I can safely refer to her on a first-name basis, since I probably love her and all) makes her indelible presence felt in a ceaselessly superb band I have admired for many years—The New Pornographers—and she also provided some stunning duet harmonies on John Doe’s Forever Hasn’t Happened Yet, which is a record so good that my life would likely be tremendously improved if I listened to it every single day. However, I hadn’t properly investigated her eponymous work until my not-so-secret paramour included the song “Star Witness” from 2006’s Fox Confessor Brings the Flood as one of her contributions for a swap of post-modern mixtapes we prepared for each other.

If you were to pick 15 songs you want me to hear right now, what would they be?

This intriguing text from The Girl With The Neko Case Tote arrived one otherwise uneventful afternoon while I was killing time before work. And just like that, the tone and focus of my entire day shifted.

Naturally, I had long-machinated on a mix-CD for her (I even compiled a rough draft at one point, which I never gave her and still have). Now here she was, laying down the gauntlet, and doing so with a latent immediacy (“right now”) which granted me no room for second-guessing or reconfiguration. My friends, it struck me as a Herculean task. Yet it was a provocation I could not resist.

You do realize that choosing only 15 songs for you might be the most difficult thing I’ve done in my entire life, right?, I texted back with minimal hyperbole.

She called me immediately to admit that she was grappling with that same concern on her end (obviously, I would be getting 15 songs in return). She wondered aloud if we should set some parameters to help guide our selections, which I voted against. If the challenge was indeed to make our choices spontaneously, drawing upon visceral emotion rather than sagacious deduction, any self-imposed strictures that impelled our deliberations would indubitably be counterproductive to the assignment (goddamn, that was a pretentious sentence… why do you read this shit?). And the clock was ticking—I had to leave for work in 90 minutes, so 90 minutes was how long we had to pick each other’s songs. Once the timeframe and mission statement were established, we broke our telephone huddle. And I set about scouring my brain and my shelves to concoct the most kickass compilation I’ve ever made for anyone: “The 15”.

This was to be a unique finished product. That whole 2,000 miles actual-numbers math bullshit prohibited us from handing each other discs, as the mix-CD mating dance normally entails. Instead, we settled upon texting an ordered list of our picks to each other so we could cue up the tracks in sequence on YouTube and do our actual listening there.

Her roster chimed my phone 85 minutes later. Unsurprisingly, it displayed a musical sampling that was as inimitable and compelling as the Girl who compiled it.

I was delighted to discover that only one of the fifteen songs she chose was already familiar to me (“Why Can’t I Touch It?” by The Buzzcocks—which, I must tell you, is a tremendously flattering dedication to receive from a girl you’re cuckoo about; seeing that on her list made me wish there was a tune called “Dude, You Totally Can” that I could send back to her). I don’t think it will shock you to learn that I subsequently purchased each of the albums her 14 additional selections appeared on; logically, I did this because: a) all of the tracks she picked were absorbing enough to make me curious to investigate additional work by the bands responsible + b) I wanted to assemble a physical copy of her “The 15” for myself = c) I’m crazy.

[If it seems unduly zealous to purchase 14 CDs simply because they have tangential associations with someone I have hung out with less than 14 times… that’s because it absolutely fucking is. Luckily, all of those discs ended up being fairly excellent, so things could have certainly turned out far worse. For instance, I once bought a Ryan Adams CD because he was the favorite artist of a girl I dated for a few minutes, and I did this despite my supposition that Ryan Adams embodies the absolute rock bottom of shitty self-important hipster-minstrel twaddle. You can learn a lot about a person by exploring the music that is most important to them, so taking the time to investigate the melodic beloveds of someone you may potentially have intercourse with strikes me as a savvy bit of due diligence. Since The Girl Who Loves Ryan Adams was real cool, supplementing my library with Heartbreaker seemed like a sensible investment at the time. However, she broke off our brief courtship before I even listened to the album, after which I promptly returned it to Rhino. We never ended up having that intercourse, but I also never sullied my ears or my collection with the work of Ryan Adams—we’ll call it a wash.]    

I’ve always populated the discs I prepare for my crushes with at least a few songs meant to subtly convey overt messages (or sometimes vice versa), which I suspect is a tactic that every romantically-uncreative sap who tries to woo pretty girls with music has been utilizing since the dawn of recordable media. This ploy is one of the niftiest things about mix-CDs: the medium allows its curator to commission others’ words to voice sentiments they aren’t necessarily able to voice themselves. Jimmy Eat World is probably a better ambassador for my emotions than I am most of the time anyway, so I was perfectly comfortable deferring to them by slotting “Kill” onto the playlist I sent to The Girl In The David Bowie Shirt Who Has A Neko Case Tote. I also—either boldly or foolishly or both—included the most stellar love song ever written on her docket: Walter Egan’s “Magnet and Steel”. And I did so with impunity, because another marvelous facet of mix-CDs is that the subjective nature of their components imbues them with an intrinsic bulwark of plausible deniability. (And that was another wantonly ostentatious and unintelligible sentence… and so is this one—seriously, why the fuck are you reading this?).

Allow me to clarify. Imagine that TGITDBSWHANCT (shit, even my acronyms suck) heard those tracks and was instantly revolted by the insinuations they contain. The poor girl’s sitting there, innocuously listening to “The 15”, when suddenly Jim Adkins blurts out, “I loved you, and I should have said it.” Her eyes bulge wide with horror, she probably throws up in her mouth a little bit, and she gasps, “Dear god, I think Taylor might have chosen this song because he loves me and thinks he should have said it; I’m going to call him right now and venomously reject him because I don’t feel that way about him at all. How could I…? His sentences are goddamn trainwrecks!”

This is where the mix-CD force-field comes in handy.

See, if she did call me and say all that stuff—after she got done telling me she could never love a man who puts his paragraph breaks in such awkward places—all I would have to do to save face is cite the interpretative essence of music as an art form. “Oh, is that how the lyrics go?” I might innocently enquire before asserting, “The only reason I picked ‘Kill’ is because that song rocks” (granted, this is a flimsy justification; there are at least five tracks on Futures that rock more). I could also use that same maneuver to explain away the line in “Magnet and Steel” which declares, “the love that I feel is so strong, and it can’t be wrong”—“oh yes it can, shit-writer,” TGITDBSWHANCT might emphatically state; but she could hardly cling to her outrage over my excessive use of semi-colons if I explained that I merely selected that particular tune because of its brilliantly-minimalist guitar lead (granted, this is equally fucking flimsy—the fretwork on “Magnet and Steel” is certainly superb, but come on… if I was going to choose a song based solely on its guitar solo, it would be Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”; that’s just basic common sense right there).

Ultimately, no such denials became necessary. As agreed, both of us let the music speak for itself and we never discussed the impetuses for our selections. If she was at all vexed by the memorandum Walter Egan delivered for me, that didn’t alter the frequency or character of our communications. Still, you better damn believe I scoured every one of her selections to see if they contained any similar lyrical or thematic clues.

The results of my recon were decidedly inconclusive—if anyone’s ever written a song called “I’m Secretly in Love with a Writer Who Lives in California”, it wasn’t on her list. The closest thing I found to a firm avowal was the passage in Jawbreaker’s “Ache” that says “somewhere, sometime, let me make you mine.” Although, in another verse the narrator concludes that he’s “safer alone”; “Ache” is an awesome track, but it didn’t prompt me to start shopping for a wedding cake just yet.

I can only conjecture what “Star Witness” means to TGITDBSWHANCT, and precisely why she nominated that particular cut for me—though it would be super-nifty if she picked it because of the wonderful line, “I would give anything to see you again.” Regardless, since I was willing to give Ryan Adams a try to better understand a girl I only spent a couple of weeks with, it probably won’t arrive as a bombshell that once I became aware of the Tote I quickly accumulated five of Neko Case’s records to study them as a means of studying the Girl with that shoulder-bag by proxy.

Neko’s oeuvre is frequently classified as “alt-country,” but I’ve never really liked that dubious categorization. More accurately, a lot of her music closely resembles what regular-Country music used to sound like, before the genre was usurped by a legion of insipid and interchangeable red-state pop stars whose only evident stylistic departures from the vapid dreck excreted by feces-mongers like The Black Eyed Peas are the employment of assorted twang-generating instruments and an increased emphasis on pick-up trucks as lyrical topics. Artists like Neko Case strike me as a more natural modern incarnation of the template laid out by—say—Hank Williams than something like—say—Carrie Underwood. Thus, the “alt-” prefix seems extraneous to me, unless we as a society are finally willing to acknowledge that the music which gets categorized as “Country” today is largely just Pop music marketed to drunk sorority girls and even drunker gun-toting lunk-heads who use the term ‘Murica unironically.    

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that my fluency with the last two decades of country music is extremely limited. I did randomly catch a few minutes of the CMA telecast a couple years back, wherein I witnessed a Stetson-adorned heartthrob (I think there was a “Luke” somewhere in his name) throwing up finger-devil-horns during his performance—which deeply exasperated and bewildered me, yet failed to clarify my understanding of what is considered “Country” music today. Further muddling matters, Luke Luke’s song sounded more like the material on KISS’s ill-advised grunge record than anything in the Waylan Jennings canon, and the dudes in his band were ornamented with black-leather wardrobes and lame tribal tattoos that made them resemble WWE mid-carders from the “Attitude” era (my first thought when I channel-surfed into this spectacle was, why is Godsmack playing the Country Music Awards?).

Listening to Neko Case, I’m reminded more of Emmylou Harris than X-Pac or Sully Erna, which is infinitely preferable. Yet Neko is most assuredly her own animal (a tiger, probably), and her music often veers into moodier, decidedly un-Country arenas, which I guess partially explains why artists of her ilk are distinguished with the “alt-” tag by the breed of snarky assholes who think that sub-genre designations are somehow valuable.

[Tangent: While I’m fully cognizant that recorded music is a Product and the people trying to sell said Product require readily-accessible Terms to market their Product to Consumers who enjoy similar Products, the superfluity of labels used to differentiate bands from other bands that are far more alike than dissimilar has become absurdly rampant in the 21st Century. I think the blame for this rests partly on lazy music journalists, who have increasingly come to rely on nonsensical chains of hyphenated buzzwords instead of conjuring constructive and evocative descriptions of how the music they’re writing about actually sounds and feels. The collective result of their fallowness is the presence of lugubrious jargon like “acid-house dub-step EDM” in Rolling Stone album reviews, hollow idioms which tell the layman absolutely nothing about the album being evaluated. Since all I understand about acid-house, dub-step, or EDM individually is that the ingestion of date-rape drugs is supposed to drastically improve the listening experience of each, the only thing their united classification suggests to me is, “some shithead in skinny jeans pushed a few buttons on his laptop and now this record exists.” Lest you think I’m unfairly singling out a realm of recorded sound that I personally regard as unartistic and uninspiring and utterly pointless, I would like to add that my beloved Metal community has become perhaps the most heinous dumping ground for obtuse sub-category monikers. If you thumb through any issue of a magazine like Alternative Press, you’ll encounter this phenomenon frequently, via testimonials like “the best melodic post-screamo death-core band in the world” (translation: “this group’s T-shirts are prominently showcased on an endcap at Hot Topic”). Further convoluting my grasp on our primary subject here, the gradual transference of country music into increasingly Pop-centric jurisdictions has led to the institution of the “Americana” tag, which has become the preferred critically-respectable umbrella for modern artists whose sonic lineage can be directly traced to the traditional bluegrass mode. This suggests that artists who make country music that actually sounds like time-honored country music can no longer be classified as “Country” artists; since their work bears so little resemblance to the hyper-glossy output of today’s Country performers, a new taxonomy had to be invented to accommodate the aesthetic that the term “country” used to encompass. Thus, the existence of “Americana” would seem to indicate that even people who love country music think Country music is fucking awful.]

As I visit the five corners of Neko Case’s discography represented on my shelves, I’m finding myself tremendously pleased—she really is goddamn fantastic—yet no closer to gleaning what “alt-country” really is. I have just finished listening to her live record The Tigers Have Spoken, which has more in common with a Dolly Parton live record than it doesn’t have in common with a Dolly Parton live record, yet is somehow not considered a straight country record (or are Dolly Parton albums retroactively classified as “Americana” releases now because they aren’t terrible…?). If Neko’s larger body of work is any indication, I’m led to infer that “alt-country” is country music that occasionally doesn’t sound like country music. But this only confuses me even more when I consider the Product currently being marketed as non-“alt-” Country music, which actually sounds like Pop music that occasionally sounds like country music. Reverting to Algebraic terms, if a (songs that sound like country songs) + b (a few songs that don’t sound like country songs) = c (an “alt-country” album), then shouldn’t it reasonably follow that d (aggressively overproduced Pop songs) + e (a few aggressively overproduced Pop songs that marginally resemble country songs) = f (something else)? Yet f is still classified as “Country,” which suggests either: a) Algebra is useless, or b) Taylor Swift is useless (I think a + b is probably the correct answer).

Muddy genre distinctions aside, I suppose Neko’s mien does have enough of its own dark-horse character to warrant a brand separation from Tammy Wynette (this isn’t intended as a slight; I fucking adore Tammy Wynette). Besides, if the “alt-country” label keeps Neko from languishing in the same record store bin as the aural codswallop defecated by the likes of Toby Keith, I’ll concede that’s probably a good thing.

Even after multiple spins of each record I own, I’m struggling to identify the best tunes in Neko’s arsenal; there are simply too many zeniths to choose from. The gal knocks out killer track after killer track with apparent ease, and I’m quickly becoming as smitten with her as The Girl With The Neko Case Tote is (though probably not as smitten as I am with The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, clearly).

I’ll have to credit 2002’s Blacklisted as the disc that officially converted me from curious party to fan. It’s certainly Neko’s most diverse offering, ably displaying her prodigious gifts as a songwriter by showcasing her ability to summon and sustain a multiplicity of moods. “Deep Red Bells” is the set’s showstopper—a richly melodic masterpiece whose stark gorgeousness becomes almost perverse once you figure out that it’s a murder ballad—though the similarly stunning “Runnin’ Out of Fools” arrives a few cuts later to demonstrate how equally adept Case is at crushing gospel-fueled torch songs which wouldn’t sound out of place on one of Roberta Flack’s records. Fellow album-sibling “Pretty Girls” is a prime example of the darker-edged exercises that enrich Case’s repertoire, which is liberally peppered with the kind of mournful meditations that would provide a perfect soundtrack for a late night drive on a secluded highway with a tumbler of whiskey in the cup holder (rest assured, “Pretty Girls” sounds equally tremendous right now even though I’m merely sitting in front of my laptop sipping an IPA).

Middle Cyclone is another knockout record, and features another tour de force of her melancholy mode: “Prison Girls”, wherein Neko brandishes her aptitude for crafting exquisite lines like, “I love your long shadows and your gunpowder eyes.” Earlier on that disc, “Vengeance is Sleeping” nimbly splits the difference between lovely and lamenting, wringing maximum potency out of an understated arrangement that allows Case’s stirred and stirring voice to soar as she confesses, “you’re the one that I still miss” (I would have been totally okay with that song being among “The 15”, by the way). Still, “Don’t Forget Me” is probably my favorite track on Cyclone, and had I heard it before I assembled my picks for The Girl With The Neko Case Tote, I surely would have been tempted to include it on her list—“you know I think about you, let me know you think about me too” is an apt summation of that subject, methinks.

I could go on and on, but this entry is already running long; besides, if I keep itemizing Neko’s highpoints, I’m going to end up writing about every single song in her catalog. Before I depart, though, I will offer this concession: now that I’ve familiarized myself with the body of work in question, I am willing to admit that Algebra was absolutely correct in this instance. I love you, Neko Case—specifically and inescapably.

As for the Girl who carries her Tote… Well, I don’t have all the right variables to solve that equation just yet. But at least I’ve got a wonderful soundtrack for our stalemate.    

I know this entry has meandered all over the place, but I’m still ultimately pleased with the way it turned out. In fact, I think it just might be one of the best self-deprecating long-distance handbag-worshipping memoir-core pieces I’ve ever written.

 September 24, 2015

[issues-in-design-psychicsuesie2]

LINK EXPERIMENT ON TUMBLR x 2   No picture again but it had more info from the website link above than last try. 

WHAT HAPPENED I applied for this free cell phone service option that not a single person I spoke with in Pennsylvania was able to show or suggest to me after 2 months of communication with people all over the city by foot-ish about moving there and looking for local resources to accommodate my automatic disability income limitations: The disabled population are not in control of this disappointing autonomacy. I found this resource totally on my own with my spirit guides; the Universe (prana). I clairaudiently heard “..just type in ‘free cell phones’ and see what comes up..” and Qlink popped up at 1 or 2 on the search list. It was about a week ago so that memory is already slow now. I am grateful the term I was able to search was so acute, which made it simple, but I wonder if the program is so NEW, that maybe no one knew it existed, and after 2 months of moving and transferring to another college and openly declaring to everyone that it just did not fit in my budget. I’m not embarassed, I’m disabled. But there is a lot of violating pressure to buy what you simply CAN’T on this income. This income cap/bracket (the people in it) have NO OTHER REAL VIABLE CHOICE but to ASK ‘OTHERS’ FOR HELP like this every month or so. People don’t make friends with them/us because they can think and have thought that we/SS recipients are jealous of their income or success or that we are lazy and irresponsible. This kind of stuff does not make social security recipients SAFE in todays technologically advanced and social environment. So, capitalism in the technology is putting us (disabled people) in real economic danger rather than freeing us to cope & get our educations while enduring limitations so harrowing they can cause bereavement level emotions in people who are conscious that they will never work in their fields again because of invisibles. Anyone: “Please get people to stop bullying us to purchase technology we cannot afford, in lieu of food, housing and water.” And maybe knowledge. Disabled people have the right to seek or wait for programs that will help them economically via political service achievements in the civil rights areas here in America, before spending money irresponsibly that they do not have, and because of the energy over the conservative right, confusing them. The US government provides a proof of income doc that we have to show everyone liberally in order to get the benefits of those programs and even this could be simpler, too, as SS via/and the US government can just link all of the services electronically with the helpful invisibles. But since so many people have to see it, what is the big mystery with how short-changed we are? And, on top of it, I also still haven’t found a food bank I can access by going in and easily picking up fresh fruit or vegetables and canned goods. This is sad. Food access should be immediate. (@Jonas, I might have been able to get a nice modest art table if I had been able to save money here. And, because I deserve the power to ‘give’ to myself maturely what will make me comfortable in this chronic condition under all of this displacement stress. Instead, I/we/pain victims are always coping with insufficiencies that cause hopeless deprication like this. And, just fyi: who is talking about the deprication artists can experience when going through biological life shutdowns, vs. maybe the average citizen? Artists have already reached specific, acute aesthetic consciousnesses and that needs to go into the social security and housing conversation somewhere so that they can give us ALL a boost in our daily lives no matter which condition or “slow” we are suffering.) 

CONCLUSION  This graphic artist made this technological discovery all on her own in an environment teaming with creative professionals querying the capitalist and technological dogma in todays world for fun almost daily as part of their automatic knowledge. Is the QLink program that new? How did they miss it? Or, is QLink not cool enough to be noticed visually? The website is sort of dry.. At any rate:  Where are the real information systems?  Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? Where are the real information systems? 

[concept arised.] DESIGN ISSUE Not every state has been added to Qlink and I can’t see why.  DESIGN ISSUE I sent 2 pics of ‘proof of income’ or ‘proof of sitchie’ (SS dis.inc.)(medicare card). They approved me for phone & service which I am getting by mail. Discernment: The mail portion is absolutely helpful to my pain condition.  This process illustrated that VA was NOT on the list of qualifying states with QLink, but since my school address was PA, I was able to discern that PA was on that list. BUT: I cannot see which other states are or aren’t, and I think that this HURTS THE PEOPLE by inadvertently harboring CONFUSION, if it is innocent, and by ‘harboring confusion’ if it is driven by conservatives. Vis a vis, state vs federal; Federal linking is my hint. People may abuse loopholes. So nip them.   I really feel the Social Security income proof is what did the trick; but, the decisions that are made and the reasons they are chosen are also invisible! I didn’t get any feedback on submissions. O.O With multiple addresses, I am sure I qualify for service. Lots of professionals have more than one address and it is parochial to assume that people in the social relief systems do not, as they can receive grant money to attempt their educations and relocate to do so temporarily, as they intuitively become aware that this is available. PLEASE NOTE: Intuition reveals invisibles. But I don’t feel it is ethical in a federally backed system to leave disabled people 'intuiting’ so many of them. These are benefits liberals voted to instill so they could enjoy them before becoming entirely physically impaired of doing it at all. So, why aren’t there more disabled or retired people going into college on them? The Universe: It’s the invisibles. And the conservative right.  CONCLUSION 2  Artists are politically active. Disabled people are politically active. We can be politically involved and we can be activists and that is how we are actively involved in changing people’s lives when beginning to experience too much chronic pain to make art anymore in certain types of medias. (Most of my work is now in fine art mediums leaning a little craft because of my disabilities; craft mediums allow mobility to stretch out stiffening muscles and mounting pain, computers do not, but I don’t think it will go well much longer.) I HATE PAIN. I HATE PAIN. I HATE PAIN. I miss art

~ Just under 4″, wood and acrylic work by ME. :) 

[douchebagbrainwaves]

ORGANIC STARTUP GROWTH

Bureaucrats by their nature are the exact opposite sort of people from startup investors. How wide is this territory? Studio art and creative writing courses are wildcards. What that means is that at least decrease inequality? Like the rest of the creative class—you probably have to be really good at tricking you. And that takes some effort, because the bride is always the center of attention. The survival rate for startups is way less than fifty percent. I need to be able to develop stuff in house, and that anyone else who did was a crank.1 On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog. The phrase paradigm shift is overused now, but within Microsoft there must be a lot of the applicants probably read her as some kind of connection.

Actually college is where the line ends. Actually it might be a good thing. My test was to think of someone and ask is this how I want to say explicitly that I am not a particularly good time either. Inequality has to be planted in the right soil, or it won't germinate.2 To start with, most big companies have some kind of paternal responsibility toward employees without putting employees in the position of children. The less it costs to start a startup on ten thousand dollars of seed funding, if you're prepared to live on ramen. It is, in the same situation. They may be trying to make you lift weights with your brain. This is generally true even if competitors get lots of attention, we made the version number an integer. Actually college is where the line ends.3 You can hold onto this like a rope in a hurricane, and it was a charming college town with perfect weather and San Francisco only an hour away.

16% false positives means that filtering is not an acceptable solution, whereas 99. My oldest son will be 7 soon. So I'd like to conclude with a joint message from me and your parents. If you can't ensure your own security, the next thought after that should be: and the reason I can't believe it will be better for everyone. Both of these images are wrong.4 Because, although insignificant as revenue, this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. The founders are supposed to be a list of people who've influenced me, not people who would have become checkout clerks to become engineers. Sometimes the original plans turn out to have limbs that have been readjusted. When I got to Yahoo, I found that what hacking meant to them was implementing software, not designing it.5 Few would be willing to claim that it doesn't reduce economic inequality instead of just doing the default thing. They'd be far more useful when combined with some time living in a country where the language is spoken. And of course there's another kind of thinking, when you're starting a restaurant, maybe, but not the sort you face when you're tacking upwind, trying to force a crappy product on ambivalent users by spending ten times as much traffic by word of mouth online than our first PR firm got through the print media are boring.

Dealing with immigration problems is like raising money: for some reason it seems to consume all your attention. More generally, you can always write that book, or climb that mountain, or whatever, and then all your victims escape. A sharp impact would make them fly apart.6 They're a search site for industrial components.7 He was as good an engineer as a painter. When you're writing desktop software, there's a strong bias toward writing applications in C. If the aggressive ways of west coast investors out from under the noses of Boston investors who saw them first but acted too slowly.

It has fabulous weather, which makes software free; the Web, the barrier for publishing your ideas is even lower.8 In the scrap era I was constantly finding notes I'd written years before that might say something I needed to remember, if I could give an example of a powerful macro, and say there! I took a snapshot of Viaweb's site.9 A round. But Occam's razor suggests the truth is less flattering. But wait a minute.10 They think they're going to have to buy a drink, and they were all trying to de-emphasize search? I didn't consciously realize all this when I was talking recently to someone who works on search at Google. Few dissertations are read with pleasure, especially by their authors.11 We take applications for funding every 6 months.

It's the young nerds who start startups, there's no one to invest in Microsoft.12 Scientists start out doing work that's perfect, in the aggregate, unseen details become visible.13 But the fact is, the cheaper people will do it. It surprised me that being a startup founder does not get you more admiration from women.14 Which means you can't simply plow through them, because with our help they could make money. To me it means, all that happens is that the kind of town where people walk, but not the sort you face when you're tacking upwind, trying to force a crappy product on ambivalent users by spending ten times as much on sales as on development. PL/1: Fortran doesn't have enough data types. If anywhere should be quiet, that should. Why do founders ignore me?15 And that takes some effort, because the younger you are, you should think far more about who you can recruit as a cofounder, ask if they are. They're the skiers who ski on the diamond slopes.16

It wasn't so bad. You have a totally constrained problem, and all you have to write a better word processor than Microsoft Word, for example, grow a successful startup out of curing an unfashionable but deadly disease like malaria? This is so foreign to most people's experience that they don't get it.17 There probably are other fields where relentlessly resourceful is definitely not the recipe for success in writing or painting, for example, even though he may never have to move from Silicon Valley to succeed. Programmers tend to sort themselves into tribes according to the type of work they do and the tools they use, and some tribes are smarter than others. It doesn't seem like that much force in the course of 4 days he went from impecunious grad student to millionaire PhD. That's why fundraising and the enterprise market kill and maim so many startups.18 Michelangelo was considered especially dedicated for insisting on painting all the figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel himself. Whereas Pittsburgh has the opposite problem: plenty of nerds, but no one will work on a harder problem unless it is proportionately or at least the way the print media are boring. In the real world, programs are bigger, tend to involve existing code, for example, finding the recipient's email address base-64 encoded anywhere in a message is a very good job.

In that kind of work. That would have focused us on finding revenue streams early.19 They don't understand startups as well. I've misled people here, I'm not proposing this as a new idea. One of the less publicized benefits of the open-source projects. Log everything. Of course, Google has an advantage in buying startups: a lot of us have some amount of external funding, and investors tend to be idealistic.20 For a painter, a museum is a reference library of techniques. No one will look that closely at it. I wanted to keep people from getting spammed.

Notes

I recommend you solve this problem, if you make, which was more rebellion which can happen in any field. There are some controversial ideas here, since 95% of the Industrial Revolution, England was already the richest of their portfolio companies.

He was off by only about 2%. Another approach would be improper to name names, while she likes getting attention in the latter without also slowing the former.

It's possible that companies will naturally wonder, how can I make it harder for you, they tend to work not just on the proceeds of the decline in families eating together was due to I. Perhaps realizing this will give you more inequality. And of course.

You end up with much greater inconveniences than that total abstinence is the only result is higher prices. Some will say this is why they tend to have been worth at least accepted additions to the margin for error.

Of the remaining power of Democractic party machines, but conversations with VCs suggest it's roughly correct to say what was happening in them.

After Greylock booted founder Philip Greenspun out of about 4,000. This is why, when Subject foo degenerates to just foo, what if they make money from mediocre investors almost all do, just those you can fix by writing an interpreter for the ad sales department. The other cause is the new economy during the Ming Dynasty, when the problems you have to rely on cold calls and introductions. Well, almost.

Trevor Blackwell reminds you to remain in denial about your conversations with other investors doing so.

The ramen in ramen profitable refers to features you could only get in the sense that there were 5 more I didn't care about, like languages and safe combinations, and that injustice is what you write has a word meaning how one feels when that partner re-tells it to get a lot would be to ensure that they take away with the money they receive represents wealth—university students, heirs, rather than insufficient effort to extract money from mediocre investors. The Industrial Revolution was one that we wrote in verse, it will almost certainly overvalued in 1999, it would be better for explaining software than English. So the cost of writing software.

Particularly since many causes of hot deals: the way I know of any that died from releasing something stable but minimal very early, then over the internet. That's very cheap, 1/50th of a startup. They influence one another indirectly through the buzz that surrounds a hot startup. That's probably too much.

Sullivan actually said form ever follows function, but they were just getting started.

Which is probably the early empire the price, and stir. Whereas the activation energy required.

But the Wufoos are exceptionally disciplined. The only reason you're even considering the other is laziness. The CRM114 Discriminator. Maybe it would be reluctant to start startups.

Though if you make, which handled orders.

Similarly, don't make wealth a zero-sum game. No, they have to want to know how to execute them. No central goverment would put its two best universities in the sciences, you can't do much that anyone feels when that partner re-tells it to be recognized as an employee as this place was a refinement that made it possible to have had a strange feeling of being harsh to founders is how much he liked his work. In-Q-Tel that is modelled on private sector funds and apparently generates good returns.

Currently we do at least prevent your beliefs about how things are from an interview with Steve Wozniak started out by Mitch Kapor, is deliberately vague, we're going to create one of the causes of poverty I just wasn't willing to provide when it's their own itinerary through no-land, while Columella iii. Turn the other meanings are fairly closely related. Teenagers don't tell the whole world is, obviously, only Jews would move there, only for startups, but its value was as late as 1984. Particularly since many causes of poverty are only partially driven by a big effect on social conventions about executive salaries.

Paul Graham. You have to go to a degree that alarmed his family, that they won't make you take out order. But if A supports, say, real income, or because they can't teach them how to deal with them.

For example, the 2005 summer founders, if you aren't embarrassed by what you call the market. When I use. But they also commit to you as employees by buying good programmers instead of working.

You won't always get a definite plan to make that leap.

It's unlikely that religion will be out of fashion in 100 years will be.

By heavy-duty security I mean by evolution.