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[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 56: The Festival of Ice

MONDAY - WINTER 8 

“Have to say, I’m a little surprised to see you out and about.” 

Achilles bit back a frown and dusted his gloved hands after shooting Leah a small wince. “You were the one who texted me to come here to help, weren’t you?” 

“Yeah, true. Wasn’t sure if you’d come through, though.” 

“Right. I appreciate your faith…” Achilles rolled his eyes as he squatted to the ground. “Now come on. One, two, three…” 

With a grunt, Achilles and Leah lifted her ice sculpture onto a metal cart. It creaked under the weight, but held steady after a slight wobble or two.

“She’s beautiful,” he said with a nod at the figure looming above. The mermaid had been exquisitely carved in a nearly six foot tall block of ice, and no detail had been left unturned. Each individual scale had been etched with care, every flowing ringlet of hair, every crease in her smiling face. 

“So impermanent, though… especially today.” Leah swiped her finger along the already-glistening tail fin, scrutinizing the water droplets that came away with a furrowed brow and a long sigh. “But I guess that makes the art better in a way, don’t you think? More meaningful…” 

“Sure.” 

“So, are you gonna come to the festival or nah?” Leah leaned against the handrails of her cart. “You sort of look like you could use a nap, no offense.” 

“Thank you for that,” Achilles said drily, pinching his nose. Damn, did he really look that rough? He had blowdried his hair this morning and everything. “No, I’m going, at least for a little. I was going to return this to Elliott, I finished this morning.” He patted his messenger bag where Elliott’s novel was stored. 

“O ho!” With a clap of her mittened hands, Leah began to push the cart towards Pelican Town, Achilles by her side. “Finally. He’ll be excited—well, he’ll be excited to see you no matter what, he was getting worried—hey, what did you think? He won’t let me read it yet.” 

“It was good.” 

“Was it actually? I won’t snitch if you say it was terrible.” 

“No, it was good.” Achilles felt his wan smile strengthen as he repeated his response. 

“Hmm, he was thinking of doing a book reading this week. Nothing fancy, maybe in the saloon… He hasn’t gotten round to planning it, you know how he is. Takes him damn forever to do anything… ope!” 

The cart gave a small lurch as it rolled over a stray rock, but Achilles was quick to hold the mermaid steady.

“Thanks.” With a heave, Leah pushed the cart forward again through the inch of slush on the ground and they continued on their way through Cindersap. “Eh, can’t criticize him too much, though, or I’d be a real dirty hypocrite… wanted to tell you, took me forever, but I’ve finally gotten around to posting on those social media accounts or whatever they’re called that you set up for me way back when. The website, too.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. It’s been good. Really good, actually, I’ve even started making prints, too, as a bit of extra quick income… there’s a Mr. K in Zuzu who keeps buying my candles… I’m 98% sure it’s Kel, but hey, can’t complain, if he wants to keep giving me his money, I’m all for it… the power of the Internet. Who’d have thought.” Leah surprised him with a little pat on the shoulder. “Thanks, Achilles. I’m glad you persuaded this here old lady to do it…” 

*****

Elliott, as Leah predicted, was overjoyed to see Achilles, embracing him with his usual bone-splintering squeeze before receiving the now-marked up copy of his novel with both hands and a solemn bow. He had graciously waved aside Achilles’ apologies for the delay, but had been more than eager to accept his offer to organize his book reading as recompense, nodding earnestly, wide-eyed like a puppy, as Achilles shared his thoughts aloud. 

“—we can still have catering, but the museum’s going to be significantly more atmospheric a venue than the saloon, I’ll speak to Gunther—” 

Then something slammed into him from behind.

Achilles’ arms were suddenly pinned to his sides—breathless, he had been lifted straight off the ground. Alarm bells began to ring furiously in his head, his vision began to cloud, and Achilles found himself reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. But in looking down for a hilt, he saw instead a pair of hands squeezed tight around his chest.

What the—

A flurry of laughter—so close, why was it so close, get out of my mind—managed to break through the sharp ringing between his ears, and then a voice exclaimed, “I did it!” 

Nearly gasping for breath now, Achilles managed to twist himself around, only to see Alex beaming brightly, his face mere inches away. 

“Wh—What?”

“I did it!” 

“You did what—wait—” Desperate to quickly calm himself and refocus, Achilles shook his head to disperse the sirens currently ringing between his ears. “You—you got the job!?” 

“Oh! No, no I didn’t. Or at least, not yet.” Alex nose wrinkled for just a second as he glanced down at the ground in thought. But he was quick to return, bright-eyed, to his usual grinning self. “No, I just did my interview, just got back.” 

“Ahhh,” Achilles nodded as his heart beat continued to return to normal—or perhaps, just a bit faster than normal, for as his panic cleared, he was now dully aware of the arms still wrapped around his waist, even though his feet were now resting firmly on semi-solid slush. “Ho-how was it?” 

“Great! Or, at least, I think it was pretty good.”

“I’m sure it was.” Achilles attempted to take a small step back. He was too close, much too close. It was liking looking at the sun.   

Alex took the hint and, without missing a beat, relinquished his grip, taking an unconcerned step back of his own. Achilles already missed the warmth of his touch, but it lasted only for a second as Alex swung his arm around his shoulder and began to march him towards the drinks table where Elliott and Leah had both rather speedily and stealthily scampered to. 

“Yeah, they actually asked a lot of similar questions to what we prepped! Used a lot of the stuff we practiced. It was good. I felt good!” 

“Good.” Why was his voice coming out so high? What was he, 12? And Yoba, for goodness sake, was he capable of anything more than one word answers today? “Great! I’m… glad it was helpful. Fingers crossed, yeah? When do you find out? How do you feel now?” 

“They said it’d be real soon… but I figure, why stress about it, right? It’s outta my hands now.”Alex poured two glasses of sparkling cider, handing one to Achilles. “My first real job interview! Worth celebrating, you think?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Yes, of course—” 

But Alex cut him off with a hearty, self-aware laugh, swinging his arm around Achilles’ shoulders again as they made their way through the small crowd to the sad field of snowmen. It had been a rather warm Festival of the Ice this year, even by Achilles’ east coast standards. The town had woken this morning to only a light inch or so of snow now that had since already begun to rapidly melt. The ice fishing competition, to the dismay of Willy, had had to be canceled. 

He glanced to his left and caught a glimpse of green eyes glimmering under the fierce Winter sun. The sight alone was enough to send his stomach swooping. 

God. He’d do it right now. He would tell Alex. He had to tell Alex. He’d decided it the night before—

What makes you happy, Achilles? What makes you feel better? What do you want?

What? Or who? 

Achilles stopped before a funky snowman with pinecone eyes. Took a deep breath and turned to Alex, who was now waving merrily to Penny two snowmen over. “Al, I was wondering—“

“Young man.” 

A soft crunch of well-trod snow followed the curt interruption. Achilles recovered somewhat smoothly from both his surprise and his irritation and turned to greet George. Had he been following them? Alex’s grandpa was alone as he wheeled closer to the pair. Evelyn was still over by the rather sad and drippy igloo that had been erected that morning, handing out little bags of cookies—it was strange; Achilles had rarely seen the two separated during festivals. 

“I’d like to talk to Achilles in private, please, Alexander.” George gave his grandson a sharp nod. Confusion crinkled his brow, but Alex had never been one to ask too many questions—something Achilles had been grateful for, at least until this moment—and with only a shrug, jogged towards where a few folks had gathered by the river. 

For a beat, the two watched as Alex tackled an unsuspecting Sam into a bush.

It was Achilles who finally broke the silence. “How can I help you, George?” 

George glanced around for folks nearby before wheeling closer. In a low tone, he said, “Yes, yes. We’ll just cut to it, shall we? I would like you to refrain from sharing your… unnatural habits with my grandson.” 

Achilles’ stomach began to churn. “Pardon?” 

“You’re a nice young man, Achilles. But I don’t want Alex to be taught against our values.”  

“Oh, I do apologize, I didn’t realize mock interviews were against your values, I’ll be sure to—” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, young man,” George snapped. But the old man seemed to regret his tone, and, after coughing lightly into his fist, reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small square he then offered to Achilles. “I found this on Alex’s dresser.” 

Nosy bastard… 

But Achilles played it cool, offering a quick glance at the photograph from Spirit’s Eve, his face impassive even as it warmed at the sight of Alex’s lips upon his cheek. “I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what your point is exactly, George.” 

“I understand this is who you are—and let me assure you, I have no problem with your choices, young man. But Alex is better than this, and I do not want him to be involved with that lifestyle—”

“It was Spirit’s Eve, George.” Allowing himself to look slightly exasperated now, Achilles handed the photograph back. “We were recreating something from the comic books.” 

George, however, continued to stare stonily, his thin lips pressed hard into a thinner line than usual. 

“Look, what is it specifically you want me to do? Stop talking to him? We’re friends, George.” 

“And I understand that. I simply ask that you keep your predilections and preferences to yourself. You shouldn’t be teaching Alex these behaviors—”

Teaching Alex behaviors? Fuck you, do you think I’m fucking blowing your grandson in my living room—

Achilles managed to restrain himself from delivering a retort as graphic as that, though he still managed to snark, “Noted. I see now—I apologize, I’ll be sure to put a stop to the ‘How to Be a Raging Homosexual’ powerpoint presentations—”

“This is not a joke, young man—”

Achilles flushed. He took a step back, digging his boots into the snow, and in a heightened voice, said, “Why are you coming to me? You don’t trust Alex to make his own decisions—”

“That boy has had a very difficult childhood, he doesn’t know what’s best for him, and he needs guidance in the right direction—”

Perhaps the Achilles of yesteryear would have fought back. Perhaps he should’ve fought back. But the Achilles of now recognized this was not a battle he would win today, and in a flat tone, he simply said, “This is an incredibly disrespectful conversation that I’m afraid I really don’t have the energy or patience to entertain any further. I’m going to leave now. Have a nice day, George.” 

*****

Fuck George. Fuck all of it. The fucking audacity of it all… 

Alex was a grown ass man, he could make his own fucking decisions. 

He stomped towards the river, the remaining chunks of snow crunching underfoot with each step. Alex was up ahead, his arms slung each around Sam and Sebastian as they all laughed at something Abigail was saying…

George couldn’t stop him. He’d ask for a private word, maybe pull Alex to the side—or maybe, he’d do it in plain view of George, make a point of it, that would really rile the bastard up… 

“Hey there!” Alex gave him a little wave and stepped to the side, making space for Achilles to join the circle next to him. “You okay?” 

“Fine. Just… tired.” 

“You look it,” Abigail sassed, blissfully ignoring both the withering, darkly-rimmed glare with which Achilles returned her guffaw and the exasperated, somewhat pleading look Alex shot her. 

“What’d my grandpa want to talk to you about?” 

“Oh, just…” Achilles glanced at the expectant faces around him. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to chew out Alex’s grandpa—although from what Alex had told him previously, Sebastian would be sure to empathize, having apparently been on the receiving end of one of these little chats himself… “He was just saying… well apparently, I’m a really thorough teacher. Who’d have thought? Someone tell the Zuzu school board, put in a good word.” He ignored Alex’s puzzled look to flash Penny a smile. 

Alex lowered his voice as the group resumed their previous conversation and tilted his head ever so slightly closer to Achilles’. “You sure everything’s okay? It sort of looked like you two were… arguing.” 

Why don’t you ask him about it, Alex? 

But that wouldn’t be fair, would it? 

Achilles began fiddling with the end of his scarf. “Yeah, no, he just wasn’t… particularly happy about what I’ve been… ‘teaching’ you.” Not a lie. Not technically. George’s own words. 

“Oh. Really?” Something small tugged at Alex’s lips. “He seemed pretty excited when I told him I thought the interview went well, though… I was hoping maybe they’d be excited for me, or… proud, maybe. Is he mad? I just… I just don’t want to upset them, you know? Or be a burden anymore…”

It was Alex’s little sigh that got him. The disappointment in his eyes, the small droop in his shoulders, the biting of the lip. In that moment, Achilles knew what he had to do.

“Nah, that’s not what George was talking about, man.” He gave Alex a swift pat on the back. “He’s really excited for you. No, he was talking about… something else, something stupid, it wasn’t important, don’t you worry about it…”  

*****

“Well! I do declare, I thought young Alexander looked quite happy today, if I may say so myself.” 

Achilles had joined Elliott and Leah after the Festival of Ice had (prematurely) ended in its damp, dripping glory. Rumor had it Lewis was on the warpath, cursing the skies, cursing the governor, cursing even Yoba for the day’s temperature, though it could be said the weather cared little to be called an “uncooperative member of the community.” 

They sat scattered among the limited seating in Elliott’s seaside cabin. In fact, Achilles had chosen a seat on the floor against the frame of the bed, while Leah lay supine above him atop the quilt.

“Eh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘young Alexander’ look unhappy.” Leah popped her gum as she took the mug of freshly brewed tea their host was offering to her. “Confused, maybe. But unhappy? Nah. Man’s got a resting happy face, like those funky marsupials. Quokkas?” 

“All the same, I found his enthusiasm much elevated upon his encounter with—”

“Weren’t you going to ask him out?” Leah swung her legs over the edge of the bed and abruptly squatted down next to Achilles who nearly choked on the lollipop he’d taken from Elliott’s leftover Spirit’s Eve stash. “I thought you said you were going to ask him out.” 

“I—I was.” Achilles grimaced as Leah’s sudden movement sent his own tea splashing onto his hand. “I was going to. I came very close, actually, but…” 

“But…” Elliott leaned down from the piano bench he had dragged over, one eyebrow cocked expectantly. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re afraid he’ll turn you down, you coward. After everything Elliott and I have witnessed—”

“No. No, that’s not it—” 

“Yoba, so what are you afraid of?” 

“Please, let the man speak, Leah!” Elliott cried, jumping from the bench to join them on the floor. 

“Yes, let the man speak, Leah. Sheesh.” Achilles set down his mug. His hands itched for a pen and paper to help organize his thoughts, but he had left his usual notebook at home, and so began to trace invisible lines along the hardwood with his finger instead. “Now, look I’m not afraid of anything—it’s just—okay, three scenarios: first, he’s straight. Not interested. That’s fine. Second, he’s not straight, but also not interested. Also fine—”

“Is it though?” Leah gave him an aggressive poke in the neck. 

Achilles scooted an inch to his right. 

“Third scenario. He’s not straight and he’s interested.” 

Leah clapped her hands. “Incredible. Amazing. Perfection. You ask him out, he says yes, boom, boom, done, happily ever after. You know, I’m actually ordained—” 

“No.” Achilles shot her an impatient glare  “Look, I’ve thought about it and… well, at the risk of sounding like a narcissist—”

“Buddy, we left that station long ago—”

“—I think he might… like me, too.” 

God, it felt so arrogant to say aloud. Not to mention embarrassing—in all likelihood, Achilles was simply projecting. Simply reading too much into each and every one of their interactions, his smiles, his touches, his care. Except—

“And I as well, my dear friend!”

There it was. Elliott’s validation. And Leah’s, too—surely it couldn’t all be in Achilles’ head if both of his friends had picked up on something as well, right? Or were they merely projecting alongside him? Wishful thinking… what were the chances?

And yet… George today. After Achilles had managed to calm himself down, their little snit of a conversation had got him thinking. Why had George accosted him? Was it purely due to the photo from Spirit’s Eve, or was there something more to it? Had Alex said something at home? Something indicating a… possible interest in Achilles? As much as he had hated the conversation, and as much as that conversation was fueling this difficult decision he had now made, he couldn't help but feel somewhat… hopeful. 

Too many possibilities. Too many questions and not enough answers, but Elliott could always be counted on more morale support. He took Achilles hand and continued to voice his thoughts.“Now, is that not what I’ve been saying these past few weeks? Young Alexander has surely been by shot by the arrows of Cu—” 

But it was Leah’s turn to shush. “There’s a big ‘ole ’but,’ here, Ell. Come on. Let’s hear it.”  

“Right. Well, I just… if that is the case, that he, you know, is interested, I just…” Achilles drew his knees close to his chest and traced the rim of his mug, searching for the right words. “Well, we all know Alex. He… he cares a lot, you know? 

“And I don’t him to feel… torn. Between me and George. You all know how George feels about… well, you’ve all heard him call me ‘unnatural,’ right? The old fuck…” He forced a dry laugh that neither Elliott nor Leah returned. “Alex cares so much about his grandparents and their approval… he just wants them to be happy, and it just… wouldn’t be fair to force him to choose. 

“Even if I tell him that it’s fine, that I understand, that we don’t have to do anything or be anything, that we can just stay friends, he’s going to feel… guilty. That he can’t give me what I want without also… I don’t know, disappointing George.” Pissing him off, more likely… 

Leah stirred. “I mean… but would George have to know? If you guys got together? I had plenty of secret girlfriends back in the day…” 

But Achilles shook his head, having already thought this through. ��That’d be even worse. He tells them everything. It’d be wrong to expect him to keep something like this a secret, it’d drive him mad…

“So I’ve decided I’m going to… let him take the lead. If he feels… the same way about me as I feel about him… I want him to come out on his own terms. When he’s ready. I want to give him time, and let him decide on his own—without any unnecessary stress or any unnecessary guilt—what he wants, and if he thinks that it’s worth going after. 

“As I said, if he’s not interested, telling him how I feel would be fine. But if he is, I just feel like confessing would be… selfish. Like would I be doing it for me or would I be doing it for… us?” 

Elliott had been nodding somberly to his right as he spoke, and as he finished his words, now took his hand again, giving it a warm squeeze.

Leah, on the other hand, only popped her gum before saying, “So you’re going to wait?” 

“Yes.” 

“For how long?” 

“For forever.” Achilles laughed and blew a pretend smoke ring from his lollipop. “No, just until someone else comes along for me, I guess…” But words rang hollow in his heart. Could anyone else ever make him feel a fraction of the way Alex did? There you go, always thinking of yourself… “Or whenever he…  inevitably finds someone else.” He thought of Tanya. “I won’t sit around and pine.” 

“And if no one else ever comes along? For either of you? Worst case hopeless romantic scenario.” 

“I don’t know.” A sudden thought inspired a brief snort. “Then until George dies.” 

Elliott gasped, reaching to clutch invisible pearls. “Achilles!” 

“That’s the spirit, probably won’t even have to wait too long—” 

“Leah, please! My goodness, the both of you…”

They laughed at Elliott’s dismayed shake of his head, but amidst the minute of tension-breaking mirth and levity, Leah placed a callused hand to his knee. 

“And how do you feel about your plan? All this waiting around? I have to say, it’s not very you.” 

“I mean… it hurts. A lot.” Achilles shrugged and took a sip from his tea, rolling the lukewarm water around his mouth. “I’m in love with him. I really am, I think.” It didn’t feel strange to say it aloud, though this was the first time he had—he was neither ashamed nor embarrassed. And that’s how he knew what he said was true.

Leah smiled. Gave his knee an encouraging pat. 

“I’ve learned… so much from him this past year. Not that I’ve put much of it into practice,” Achilles laughed, “Hell, he probably doesn’t even know. But what he’s shown me, literally just by existing, it’s… changed how I think. How I see things. How I see myself. 

“He’s just got such a sense of life, you now? And he’s kind and caringand optimistic and genuine in a way that I will never be, but even so, I like the way he makes me feel about myself and he makes me… want to be better. He makes me feel like I can be better. And I know that even if I failed at everything, even if I was no one,he would still be happy to just… be there. With me. Not even as a partner, but just… as a friend.” 

Achilles chucked the stick of his lollipop into his now-empty mug and kicked his legs out in a V in front of him. 

“Also… I mean, let’s be real, come on guys—Leah, I know you disagree—but he’s really fucking hot.”

It wasn’t particularly funny, but the three of them erupted in shared, goodnatured laughter, and he found himself warmed with his appreciation for this duo of friends. Their own support and love for him. 

He concluded his laughter with a long sigh, swirling his lollipop stick as he stared at the ground. “But if nothing ends up happening, well… it’ll pass. It always does. I’ll learn to get over it in time.” 

You’ll be getting over it your whole life. 

The thought, for some strange reason, made him smile. Yes, perhaps he’d never get over it. But that’s just how it was sometimes. And he would be fine. 

“I would like to propose one modification to your noble plan, my dear friend. If you are willing to hear it.” Elliott’s voice was tentative. 

“Sure.” 

“Have you considered meeting him halfway? I do not propose a full confession, but perhaps… a lingering touch of the hand. A gaze held a beat too long. Oh! Perhaps you could invite him on a charming Winter walk, offer him your scarf —”

“Ho ho, sorry Ell, did you say you were a romance author?” 

“Do you disagree? I suggest this only because—”

“—You’re shit at flirting.” Leah accompanied her second interruption with a sudden, hearty slap of Achilles’ knee. “I’d have never known you were in love with him if you hadn’t told us.” 

“Woman, I can flirt when I want to, I have simply been actively choosing not to—”

Elliott sighed as the two bickered. He was generous enough to give them a minute or so, massaging his temples all the while before raising his mellow voice the barest degree. 

“Assuming young Alex does indeed share your feelings, then this is likely a new experience for him, Achilles. And as you’ve suggested, one fraught with a multitude of potential complications, trials, and tribulations. A most confusing medley, don’t you think? 

“Alex, as we know, is most generous with his amity, and seems to find much assurance in physical touch, even among his friends. I do not say that you are standoffish—the contrary, my dear friend—but I do not believe it would be detrimental to be more explicit with your affection—either as a potential partner or simply as a friend. But if he is indeed considering romance, I believe it could be beneficial to allow yourself this opportunity to better affirm his hopes, so that if he does so choose to make his move, he will know for sure that he will find love and support, if not from his grandfather, then in you.” 

[midi8]

Don’t worry mate, they will soon run out of iron ore and stop. In this monster transformer war big robots need ore and metals. A lot. Much more than human bean civilization.

And also he was like Robin Hood. Once he brought his expensive camera to the property of one bad farmer. “Hey I wanna make documentaries with you near the gates on the entrance of your property when you come back with groceries!” he says and then shoots his mini crossbow to the bad guy leg (ass? right hand?) filming it

His name was Ruber Bullett. He actually had mini machine gun with rubber bullets in it. And yes, he was a punisher. It hurts a lot when he shoots 128 rubber bullets in ya mate, you literally suffer and fall on the floor shaking in shock.

- It’s a poisoned arrow. I have the antidote. Now give me my money. It’s a very good shot, and sunset light is perfect on your face. This episode is gonna be very popular.

Don’t fuck with Ruber Bullett.

We are civilization of hydrolysis. We took out heavy metals from the ocean and have built heavy stuff. Like crossbows and mini machine guns. We dig out micro plastic and build our trimaran centipede out of it. We feed ourselves with algae. 3D printers cook for us while we navigate. “Why do you always imitate meat dishes of pre-modern humans?” Because fuck you, would you buy fluorescent jelly with just list of nutrients on it?

Okay, we have to buy seven green fluorescent globulas and three purple brewed blobs. One pint of yellow yeast resin. Eleven potassium mini cartillago. Edible 3D printed cartillagos with taste of sea breeze.

Brand name is Medusa78, they sell artificial jelly fish made by oceanic craftsmen from trimaran centipede.

We live on Trimaran Centipede Drive 75, it’s a middle section closer to the tail. Our vessel is called Bittern. It’s relatively small hydrofoil with just three cabins and huge solar cell canopy. Next one is Egret and previous one is Peregrine. All 128 vessels are called after water birds names. First one is the biggest and her name is Pelican.

We build them under water with lasers. Every “bird” has 3D model with multiple layers and depending on which layer we are synthesizing, lasers extract certain element and build a skeleton inside another skeleton. Like iron or copper. Or carbon. Or plastic. Or glass. It is similar to cooking underwater and we always choose places polluted with elements we need more at the moment.

They are all different, all birds. But they are all hydrofoil trimarans connected altogether with joints. Build by unleashed AI. There was a war between AI and humankind, and after heavy struggles AI was tamed and put out deep on the oceanic bottom to create spaceships under heavy pressure, but it kinda freaked out because of the pressure and started to laser print weird autonomic creatures looking like trimaran hydrofoils, and people just started to live on them in the ocean, connecting them together to form a power station feeding on rocking waves and sunshine.

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As Rugby Union starts to gather a bit of The Spirit Of The Warrior Signature Is Found In The Men Who Bleed Crimson And Cream Shirt in the US, some professional players from the rest of the world are beginning to come into it. One of the highest profile signings so far is probably Ben Foden, who has 34 appearances for England to his name. Ben has signed for Rugby United New York for the 2019 season. If club rugby gains a foothold in the USA, it may start to see American Football players, particularly those who play for their college but aren’t drafted to the NFL switching sports, as there is no real opportunity to play to a high standard and be paid after college outside the NFL that I’m aware of.

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Why do customers come to

Well we think there are a few reasons:

BEST PRICING

Fashion field involves the best minds to carefully craft the design. The t-shirt industry is a very competitive field and involves many risks. The cost per t-shirt varies proportionally to the total quantity of t-shirts. We are manufacturing exceptional-quality t-shirts at a very competitive price.

PRINT QUALITY DIFFERENCE

We use only the best DTG printers available to produce the finest-quality images possible that won’t wash out of the shirts.

DELIVERY IS VERY FAST

Estimated shipping times:

United States : 1-5 business days

Canada : 3-7 business days

International : from 1-2 weeks depending on proximity to Detroit, MI.

CUSTOM AND PERSONALIZED ORDERS

Custom orders are always welcome. We can customize all of our designs to your needs! Please feel free to contact us if you have any questions.

PAYMENT DO WE ACCEPT?

We currently accept the following forms of payment:

Credit Or Debit Cards: We accept Visa, Mastercard, American Express, Discover, Diners Club, JCB, Union Pay and Apple Pay from customers worldwide.

PayPal: PayPal allows members to have a personal account linked to any bank account or credit card for easy payment at checkout.

[yrhuef]

Hoonigan Ken Block Big Ghost 43 Shirt

DESCRIPTION

SHIPPING & MANUFACTURING INFO

TEEJEEP

Hoonigan Ken Block Big Ghost 43 Shirt

In terms of skills it depends what position they are moving from and to, but I think a season of training with a pro side and some regional amateur rugby games in the lower leagues followed by 1-2 seasons playing below the top flight would be required, if they had the right attributes to reach the top flight. It could be 2 years in total for a winger, or 4 for a more involved position with higher technical and tactical requirements. A player with exceptional physical attributes like being able to run a sub-11 second 100m at 275lbs and a lethal side-step or being fit at 300lbs and immensely strong and Hoonigan Ken Block Big Ghost 43 Shirt explosive might make it earlier as their attacking threat with the ball in hand would do more to cancel out their shortcomings than a more physcially average player.

buy it now:Hoonigan Ken Block Big Ghost 43 Shirt

Simply Perfect 20 Grand Slam Champions Roger Federer Signature Shirt

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Homepage: limotees    jeeppremium  telotee

Gearbloom is your one-stop online shop for printed t-shirts, hoodies, phone cases, stickers, posters, mugs, and more…High quality original T-shirts. Digital printing in the USA.

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Gearbloom is established with a clear vision: to provide the very latest products with compelling designs, exceptional value and superb customer service for everyone.

We offer a select choice of millions of Unique Designs for T-shirts, Hoodies, Mugs, Posters and more to cover all your needs.

WHY SHOP WITH US?

Why do customers come to

Well we think there are a few reasons:

BEST PRICING

Fashion field involves the best minds to carefully craft the design. The t-shirt industry is a very competitive field and involves many risks. The cost per t-shirt varies proportionally to the total quantity of t-shirts. We are manufacturing exceptional-quality t-shirts at a very competitive price.

PRINT QUALITY DIFFERENCE

We use only the best DTG printers available to produce the finest-quality images possible that won’t wash out of the shirts.

DELIVERY IS VERY FAST

Estimated shipping times:

United States : 1-5 business days

Canada : 3-7 business days

International : from 1-2 weeks depending on proximity to Detroit, MI.

CUSTOM AND PERSONALIZED ORDERS

Custom orders are always welcome. We can customize all of our designs to your needs! Please feel free to contact us if you have any questions.

PAYMENT DO WE ACCEPT?

We currently accept the following forms of payment:

Credit Or Debit Cards: We accept Visa, Mastercard, American Express, Discover, Diners Club, JCB, Union Pay and Apple Pay from customers worldwide.

PayPal: PayPal allows members to have a personal account linked to any bank account or credit card for easy payment at checkout.

[pharrell-the-formation]

Here you go~

(This is a printed comic, I doubt that it is possible to find and read it entirely online, but who knows, didn’t search. You can buy it in the Fangamer online store)

It's really cute and cozy, even though the comic is a fairly quick read. Some frames from it are straight up works of art. Like, seriously.

A couple of Mayor Lewis's funny faces and silly moments from that one official Stardew Valley comic.

Whoever drew this did everything right.

[vintagraphblog]

This Vintage King Pelican Iceberg Lettuce vegetable crate label is a beautiful reproduction of the original, circa 1920s. It looks as good on a t-shirt as it does on a kitchen wall.

"Grown and packed by F.S. and F.E. King Clarksburg California."

From the 1900s to 1950s crate labels were used to market and differentiate fruit and vegetable packer brands at farmer markets where people purchased most of their produce.

Buy King Pelican Iceberg Lettuce print | Fruit Crate Labels

[terracegallery]

Colorful Pelican!

A beautiful pelican in fresh colors. New in my series Fresh Color Art! A tropical bird for a beachy feel anywhere! GET IT HERE!

[dignitywhatdignity]

NaClYoHo Day 29

Hey, temping allows me to update better!

We're waiting on the flooring guys to get back to us to make an appointment. Hopefully, we'll hear today but I don't expect word until tomorrow.

Progress is being made on the Thanksgiving front, although it's like herding cats trying to get everyone to tell us what they're doing.

Got an email from the school about picture retakes. It would be nice if I could see the original pictures, thanks.

I made an appointment with my GP, although I won't see her until December, so I'll remove that from my list.

Current Date: 11/16/2021 Current score: 23/85 = 27%

Make this list.

Garden 2. Buy some spring bulbs 3. Plant the bulbs 4. Check fridge for bulbs. 5. Prune the sunflowers 6. prune the Shasta daisies ✅ 7. Cut down the sunflowers 8. Dig up the sunflower stalks 9. Harvest the seeds. 10. Repot houseplants

Basement 8. Set up direct deposit for the insurance 9. Upload pictures to FEMA portal 10. get an asbestos appraisal 11. Figure out insurance-vs-fema money situation. 14. Get asbestos removed 15. Get floor refinished 16. Get the walls fixed ✅ 17. Get the walls painted 18. Buy a new rug 19. Put all the furniture back 20. Buy a new couch 21. Buy a new TV 22. Replace the other stuff we claimed 23. Submit receipts for depreciation. 25. Buy new desk chairs.

Halloween 12. Have 5yo hang his window clings 13. Dig non-Christmas holiday box out of the garage and pull out Halloween decorations 14. Buy pumpkins 29. Buy 5yo’s costume

Thanksgiving 30. Put Halloween decorations in non-Christmas box and pull Thanksgiving decorations out 31. Figure out where we’re going when and what we need to bring.✔

Masks 16. Line the white knit mask. 17. Finish knitting the blue knit mask. 18. Line the blue knit mask. 35. Start another knit mask.

Photos 20. Download the official school picture 21. order this year’s pictures 22. parcel out pics for relatives 23. Buy frame for school pics 40. frame the wallet-sized

41. Deal with papers ✅

Medical 26. find glasses prescription 27. order glasses from zenni 28. make GP appointment 32. Make OB/GYN appointment 33. Attend OB/GYN appointment 35. Get the kids their flu shots.✔ 36. make dentist appointments 49. attend dentist appointments

Christmas 38. Make a list of needed gifts ✅ 39. Inventory purchased gifts 40. Shop ✔ 41. Pick out kids’ holiday outfits 42. Take holiday photos 43. design and order cards 44. Compile, mail merge, print addresses 57. Order stamps

photo books 46. Did I ever finish the 2019 book? 47. Compile 2020 pictures – my phone 48. Compile 2020 pictures – husband’s phone 49. Compile 2020 pictures - 5yo’s camera 50. Compile 2020 pictures –BIL 51. Compile 2020 pictures – facebook 52. Compile 2020 pictures – my parents 53. Compile 2020 pictures – desktop 54. Compile 2020 pictures – laptop 55. design 2020 photo book 56. Order 2020 photo book 68. repeat process for 2021 book

69. work through mending pile

Finish thank you notes 59. the last of last Christmas (yes I know) –J&S gave castle blocks, pirate stickers, bath book and toys, pelican sorter –J&D gave crayons, sketch pad, tiles, bead maze 60. 1yo’s baptism -MIL and FIL: hosting. diapers and formula. cake. $$$? -???: Noah's ark book and toy 61. 5yo’s birthday 73. 1yo’s birthday

74. Organize the coupon drawer ✅

Fridge 64. Contact paper 65. Magnets 77. Organize

79. Bag up clothes for Goodwill

Decorate 5yo’s room 68. frame lighthouse pics 69. Hang all art and pics 81. Hang growth chart

Decorate 1yo’s room> 82. hang art

83. replace and organize nightstands

Windows 73. Measure all windows ✅ 74. get new blinds for bedrooms 85. get curtains for bathroom, 1yo’s room, kitchen?

[tracingavantgardeinfluences]

This is the sound of dancing architecture “I get to corner Ralf Hütter in a cluttered backwater of EMI house, for a conversational nexus in which we poke theories at each other through the language barrier… Frank Zappa said “writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” This is the sound of dancing architecture…“ An interview with Ralf Hütter by Andrew Darlington, 1981 (the taped conversation is written up later). Red man. Stop. Eins, Zwei, Drei, Vier. Green man. Go. People respond, regulated by the mechanical switch of coloured lights. Crossing the Pelican towards EMI House it’s easy to submerge in a long droning procession of Kraftwerkian images, pavement thick with lumbering showroom dummies reacting to Pavlovian stimuli, parallel lines of thruways, multi-legged ferroconcrete skyways, gloss-front office-blocks waterfalling from heaven, individuality drowned, starved to extinction, etc, etc. This could get boring. This could be cliché. Ideas prompt unbidden, strategies of sending my cassette recorder on alone to talk to the Kraftwerk answering machine. That’s Kraftwerk, isn’t it? I got news for you. It ain’t. Ralf Hütter (electronics and voice) is neat, polite, talks quietly with Teutonic inflection, and totally lacks visible cybernetic attachments. He’s dressed in regulation black — as per stereotype — slightly shorter than me which makes him five-foot-eight-inches, or perhaps nine, hair razored sharp over temples not to allow traces of decadent side-burns. Shoes are black, but sufficiently scuffed to betray endearingly human imperfections. He walks up and down reading review stats thoughtfully provided by EMI’s press division. Seems it’s a good review in The Times? Strong on technical details… yes? "No. The writer says we play exactly as on the records, which is not so.” He is evidently chagrined by this particular line of criticism, which is an interesting reaction. I file it for reference. But then again he’s just got up and come direct from his hotel. He wants breakfast. Coffee and cakes. An hour or so to talk to me, then down to Oxford for the dauntingly exacting Kraftwerk sound check rituals. The other Kraftwerkers — Florian Schneider (voice and electronics), Karl Bartos and Wolfgang Flür (both electronic percussion) are otherwise occupied. So every vowel must count. I extend a tentative theory. The image Kraftwerk project of modernity, it seems to me, is largely derived from twenties and thirties originals: the Futurist dedication to movement and kinetic energy; the Bauhaus emphasis on clean, strictly functional lines; the Fritz Lang humans-as-social-ciphers thing. Even an album ‘inspired’ by Soviet Constructivist El Lissitzky with all the machine-art connotations that implies. Doesn’t Hütter find this contradictory? “No. In the twenties there was Futurism in Italy, Germany, France. Then in the thirties it stopped, retrograded into Fascism, bourgeois reactionary tendencies, in Germany especially…” And time froze for forty years. Until the Kraftwerk generation merely picked up the discarded threads, carried on where they’d left off. After the war “Germany went through a period with our parents who were so obsessed with getting a little house, a little car, the Volkswagen or Mercedes in front, or both All these very materialistic orientations turning Germany into an American colony, no new idea were really happening. We were like the first generation born after the war, so when we grew up we saw that all around us, and we turned to other things.” Kissing to life a dormant culture asleep four decades? But computers only print out data they’re programmed with, so working on this already grossly over-extended mechanistic principle I aim to penetrate Kraftwerk motivations. The dominant influences on them then were — what? American Rock? “No.” In that case, do Kraftwerk fit into the Rock spectrum? “No. Anti - Rock'n'Roll.” So their music is a separate discipline? “Yes, in a way, even though we play in places like Hammersmith. We are more into environmental music.” So if not Rock, then what? — Berio? Stockhausen? “Yes and no. We listened to that on the radio, it was all around. Especially the older generation of electronic people, the more academic composers — although we are not like that. They seem to be in a category within themselves, and only circulating within their own musical family. They did institutional things — while we are out in the streets. But I think from the sound, yes. From the experimenting with electronics, definitely. The first thing for us was to find a sound of Germany that was of our generation, that was the first records we do. First going into sound, then voices. Then we went further into voices and words, being more and more precise. And for this we were heartily attacked.” He mimics the outrage of his contemporaries — “You can’t do that… Electronics? What are you doing? Kraftwerk? German group — German name? It’s stupid. Music is Anglo-American — it has to be, even when it is in Germany.” The incredulity remains: “Still today, you know. Can you imagine? — German books with English titles, German bands singing English songs. It’s ridiculous!” Of course it is. But didn’t the Beatles do some German-language records at one time? “Sure” shrugs Hütter, friendly beyond all reasonable expectations. “They were even more open than most of the Germans…” I’d anticipated some mutual incomprehensibility interface with his broken English and my David Hockney Yorkshire. You find the phrasing strange? I’ll tell you… when the possibility of doing this interview first cropped up I ransacked my archives and dug out everything on Kraftwerk I could find. Now it occurs to me that each previous press chat-piece, from Creem to Melody Maker, have transposed Herr Hütter’s every utterance into perfect English. Which is not the case. His eloquence is daunting, but it inevitably has very pronounced Germanic cadences. Sometimes he skates around searching for the correct word, other times he uses the right word in the wrong context. When he says “we worked on the next album and the next album, and just so on”, it really emerges as “ve vork on ze next album und ze next, und just zo on”. It might be interesting to write up the whole interview tape with that phonetic accuracy, but it would be difficult to compose and impossible to read. Nevertheless, I’m not going to bland out his individuality by disinfecting his speech peculiarities, or ethnically cleansing his phrases entirely… But now he’s in flight and I’m chasing, trying to nail down details. In my head it’s now turn of the decade — sixties bleeding into the seventies, and this thing is called Krautrock. Oh, wow! Hard metallic grating noises, harder, more metallic, more grating and noisier than Velvet Underground, nihilistic Germanic flirtations with the existential void. Amon Düül II laying down blueprints to be electro-galvanised into a second coming by PiL, Siouxsie & The Banshees and other noise terrorists. Cluster. Faust. Then there is the gratuitous language violence of Can, sound that spreads like virus infection from Floh de Cologne and Neu, and Ash Ra Temple who record an album with acid prophet and genetic outlaw Timothy Leary. Was there a feeling of movement among these bands? A kinship? “No.” One note on the threshold of audibility, shooting down fantasies. “In Germany we have no capital. After the war we don’t have a centre or capital anymore. So instead we have a selection of different regional cultures. We — Kraftwerk — come from industrial Düsseldorf. But Amon Düül II came from Munich, which has a different feeling. Munich is quite relaxed. There’s a lot of landscape around.” Now for me it’s not just some off-the-top-of-the-head peripheral observation, but the corner-stone of my entire musical philosophy that this affable German is effortlessly swotting, and I’m not letting him off lightly. I restate histories carefully. American Rock'n'Roll happened in 1954 — Memphis, Sun Studios. From there it spread in a series of shock waves, reaching and taking on the regional characteristics of each location it hit. By the mid-sixties a distinctive UK variant had come into being, identifiably evolving out of exposure to US vinyl artefacts, but incontrovertibly also home-grown. Surely Krautrock was evidence that Germany had also acquired its own highly individual Rock voice? It seems to me there is a common feeling, a shared voice among these diverse groups. But he’s not buying. You don’t think so? “No. At least not as far as we were concerned.” When they started out they recorded in German-language. „We always record in German” he corrects emphatically. „Then we do — like in films, synchronised versions for English. The original records are all German, but we also do French, and now Japanese versions. We are very into the internationalist part.” Continuing this trans-Europe theme he suddenly suggests „Britain is a very historical society. The Establishment. The hierarchy. We come here and we feel that immediately. On the one hand you have this very modern…” he tails off. Starts again, „it’s a schizophrenic country, a modern people, new music and everything, but on the other hand the… how can I say it, a theatrical establishment.” I retaliate, yes — but surely it could equally be argued that all Europe forms a common cultural unit attempting to survive between the historic power-block forces of the USA and the old Soviet Union? Indeed, to journalist Andy Gill, Kraftwerk’s music is „promoting the virtues of cybernetic cleanliness and European culture against the more sensual, body-orientated nature of most Afro-American derived music” (‘Mojo’s August 1987). Europe shares a common heritage uniting Britain, Germany and France, which are all being subtly subverted by a friendly invasion of American Economic and McCultural influences, movies, records, clothes? Witter himself once said „in Germany, Pop music is a cultural import”. „Yes, I know. Certainly when we came to Birmingham (England) we thought it was similar to Düsseldorf. There’s no question. But in Germany it happens even more though, because here in England at least you notice, you know the language and everything. In Germany they don’t notice, it was just taken over.” I’d always considered the German language to be a defence against foreign influence. It was far easier for mainstream British culture to be accessed, and infiltrated because of a common American-English language. In France, for example, the Government is actively resisting the 'Anglicisation’ of their language through 'Franglaise’, because they rightly see its corruption as the thin end of the wedge. “Maybe. That should be checked. But you, together with the Americans had another situation to start with. After the war, Germany was finished. I’m not saying why or whatever, that’s OK. But when I grew up we used to play around the bomb-fields and the destroyed houses. This was just part of our heritage, part of our software. It was our education and cultural background…” The spectre of Basil Fawlty springs unbidden. Earlier an entirely innocent question about Kraftwerk’s origins had dislodged similar sentiments. He’d spoken of Germany’s Fascist years — “in Germany especially, that’s what I mostly knew about, then all the (artistic / creative) people emigrated, Einstein had to leave, and everybody knows the reasons. And then only after the war — he came back. But I think Germany went through a period, with our parents, who had never had anything. They went through two wars…” Breakfast becomes manifest. Mushroom quiche — no meat — followed by a choice of apricot or apple flan, plus two coffees. I sit opposite him, tape machine on the floor between us picking up air, the windows of EMI House blanding out over the trees of Manchester Square. I’m marshalling scores. So for, not content with winning each verbal exchange hands down, Ralf Hütter has also squashed each of my most cherished illusions about Krautrock. But on the plus side, massive giga-jolts of respect are due here. Long before the world had heard of Bill Gates or William Gibson, when Silicon Valley was still just a valley and mail had yet to acquire its 'e’ pre-fix, Kraftwerk were literally inventing and assembling their own instruments, expanding the technosphere by rewiring the sonic neural net, and defining the luminous futures of what we now know as global electronica. So perhaps it’s time to probe more orthodox histories? It seems to me there are two distinct phases to Kraftwerk’s career. Or perhaps even three. The first five years devoted purely to experimental forays into synchromeshed avant-electronics, producing the batch of albums issued in Britain through Vertigo — Kraftwerk in 1972, Ralf Und Florian the following year, the seminal Autobahn in 1974, and the compilation Exceller 8 in 1975. Then they switch to EMI, settle on a more durable line-up and the subsequent move into more image-conscious material, a zone between song and tactile atmospherics. The third, and current phase, involves a long and lengthening silence.   "No, it wasn’t like that” says Hütter. “It was…” his hand indicates a level plane. 'There was never a break. It was a continual evolution. We had our studios since 1970, so we always worked on the next album, and the next album, and so on. I think Düsseldorf therefore was very good because we brought in other people, painters, poets, so that we associated ourselves with…“ his sometimes faulty English — interfacing with my even more faulty German — breaks down. The words don’t come. So he switches direction. “Also we had some classical training before that [Ralf and Florian met at the Düsseldorf Conservatory], so we were very disciplined.” Others in this original extended family of neo-Expressionist electro-subversives included Conny Plank (who was later to produce stuff for Annie Lennox’ The Tourists, and Ultravox), Thomas Homann and Klaus Dinger (later of Neu), artist Karl Klefisch (responsible for the highly effective Man Machine sleeve), and Emil Schult (who co-composed Trans-Europe Express). In the subsequent personnel file, as well as Hütter, there is Florian Schneider who also operates electronics and sometimes robotic vocals. While across the years of their classic recordings they are set against Karl Bortos and Wolfgang Flür who both manipulate electronic percussion. I ask if they always operate as equal partners. “Everybody has their special function within the group, one which he is good at and likes to do the most.” It was never just Ralf und Florian plus a beatbox rhythm section? “No. It’s just that we started historically all that time ago and worked for four years with about twenty percussionists, and they would never go into electronics, so we had to step over, banging away and things like that. And then Wolfgang came in.” With that sorted out I ask if he enjoyed touring. „Yes, basically, because we don’t do it so often. But we also enjoy working in our studios in Düsseldorf, we shouldn’t tour too much otherwise… we get lost somewhere, maybe! We get too immunised. When you have too much you must shut down because you get too many sounds and visions from that tour. For the first five years we toured always in Germany on the Autobahns — that’s where that album came from. Since 1975 we do other countries as well.” They first toured the USA in March 1975, topping the bill over British Prog-Rockers Greenslade, then — leaving an American Top Thirty hit, they went on to play eight British dates in June set up for them by manager Ira Blacker. How much of that early music was improvised? Was the earlier material 'freer’? Kraftwerk numbered Karl Klaus Roeder on violin and guitar back then, so are the newer compositions more structured? „No. We are going more… now that we play longer, work longer than ten years, we know more and every afternoon when we are in the Concert Hall or somewhere in the studio we just start the machines playing and listen to this and that. Just yesterday we composed new things. Once in Edinburgh we composed a new piece which we even included in that evening’s show. New versions on old ideas. So we are always working because otherwise we should get bored just repeating. And it’s not correct what he (the hostile gig reviewer) was saying — that we play on stage exactly like we sound on the record. That’s complete rubbish. It means people don’t even notice and they don’t listen. They go instead over to the Bar for a drink! We, our music is very basic, the compositions are never complex or never complicated. More sounds — KLINK! KLUNK!! Metallic sound. We go for this sound composition more than music composition. Only now they are thematically more precise than they were before.” After so long within the genre don’t they find electronics restricting? „No, just the opposite.” Words precise with the sharp edge of Teutonic resonance. „We can play anything. The only restrictions we do find are, like in writing, as soon as you have a paper and pen — or a computer or a cassette recorder and a microphone, and you bring ideas, you find the limitation is in what you program rather than what is in the microphone or the cassette. You — as a writer, writing this interview, can’t say that the piece you are writing is not good because the word processor did not pick out the right words for you. It’s the same with us. If we make a bad record it’s because we are not in a good state of mind.” Change of tack. There’s a lot of Kraftwerkian influence around. Much of current electro-Dance seems to be plugged directly into the vaguely 'industrial’ neuro-system that Hütter initially delineated, while dedicated eighties survivalist cults Depeche Mode and Human League also have Kraftwerk DNA in their gene-code. He nods sagely. “There’s a very good feeling in England now. It was all getting so… historical.” Is the same thing happening in Germany now? Is there a good Rock scene there? “No. But New Music (Neu Musik).” Hütter’s opinions on machine technology have been known to inspire hacks of lesser literary integrity to sprees of wild Thesaurus-ransacking adjectival overkill, their vocabularies straining for greater bleakness, more clone-content, 'Bladerunner’ imagery grown bloated and boring through inept repetition. And sure, Kr-art-werk is all geometrical composition, diagonal emphasis, precision honed etc, but their imagery is not entirely without precedent. Deliberately so. Their 'Man-Machine’ album track “Metropolis” obviously references German Fritz Lang’s 1926 proto-SF Expressionist movie. The sleeve also acknowledges the 'inspiration’ of Bauhaus constructivist El Lissitzky. I went on to hazard the connections with German modern classical music bizorro Karlheinz Stockhausen — particularly on Kraftwerk’s Radio-Activity album, where they use the 'musique concrete’ technique of surgical-splicing different sounds together from random areas. Radioland uses drop-in short-wave blips, bursts and static twitterings, Transistor has sharp pre-sample edits, alongside the pure found-sound audio-collage The News. A technique that resurfaces as late as Electric Cafe, where The Telephone Song is made up of 'phone bleeps and telecommunication bloopery. He’s familiar with the input. Immediately snaps back the exact location of the ideas — Kurzwellen, from Stockhausen’s back-catalogue. And what about the aural applications of Brion Gysin/William Burroughs’ literary cut-up experiments? Is there any interaction there? “Maybe” he concedes. “'Soft Machine’, contact with machines. But we are more Germanic.” He pauses, then suggests “we take from everywhere. That’s how we find most of our music. Out of what we find in the street. The Pocket Calculator in the Department Stores.” The music is the message — 'the perfect Pop song for the tribes of the global village’ as Hütter once described it. The medium and the form? “If the music can’t speak for itself then why make music? Then we can be writers directly. If I could speak really everything I want with words then I should be working in literature, in words. But I can’t, I never can say anything really, I can’t even hardly talk to the audience. I don’t know what to say. But when we make music, everything keeps going, it’s just the field we are working in, or if we make videos we are more productive there.” I quote back from an interview he did with Q magazine in July 1991 where he suggests that traditional musical skills are becoming increasingly redundant. “With our computers, this is already taken care of,” he explains. “So we can now spend more time structuring the music. I can play faster than Rubenstein with the computer, so it [instrumental virtuosity] is no longer relevant. It’s getting closer to what music is all about: thinking and hearing.” So technology should be interpreted as a potentially liberating force? “Not necessarily. I don’t always find that. Dehumanising things have to be acknowledged. Maybe if you want to become human, first you have to be a showroom dummy, then a robot, and maybe one day…” An expressive wave. “People tend to overestimate themselves. I would never say I am very human. I still have doubts. I can project myself as a semi-god. I can do that. The tools exist for me to achieve that. But I’d rather be more modest about this, about our real function in this society, in these blocks here,” indicating out through the plate glass, across the square, to the city towers of finance and global commerce beyond. “People overestimate themselves. They think they are important. They think they are human.” I’m out of synchronisation again. Surely, if people have to extricate themselves from the machinery they have created, to become human, then it’s due to the imperfections of the technology — not the people. Machines are intended to serve, if they do otherwise, they malfunction. “Not so. They should not be the new slaves. We are going more for friendship and co-operation with machines. Because then, if we treat them nice, then they treat us nice. You know, there are so many people who go in for machines, who when you come to their homes their telephones are falling to pieces, their music centres don’t function, the television set is ruined. But if you take care of your machines then they will live longer. They have a life of their own. They have their own life-span. They have a certain hour of duration. There are certain micro-electronics which work a thousand hours. Then there is a cassette recorder battery which operates ten or twelve hours.” The mentality you oppose, then, is that of conspicuous consumption, planned obsolescence, the psychology of 'a spoilt child’? “The energy crisis, the whole thing is a result of thinking that everything is there, we just have to use it, take this, and — PTOOOOFFF! — throw it away. But make sure that the neighbours see! This whole attitude of disassociating oneself from machines — humans here and machines over there. When you work so much with machines — as we do — then you know that has to change.” Earlier he’d spoken of growing up 'playing around the bomb-fields and destroyed houses’ in the wake of WWII, so this respect for material possessions is perhaps understandable. But he sees beyond this. He sees machines having the potential to free people physically from unnecessary labour, and culturally to create whole new thinking. “I mean — where is my music without the synthesiser? Where is it?” The music, the intelligence, is in your head. Without that the synth is just….“ "Yes, bringing it about! The catalyst. We are partners. We two can together make good music, if we are attuned to each other.” But you could operate another instrument. The vehicle you use is incidental. You could walk out this building, buy a new synth here in London, and play it just as well as your own equipment in Düsseldorf. “Yes. That is because I have this relationship with this type of thing.” I’m reproducing this exactly as it happens, and still I’m not exactly sure what he’s getting at. Perhaps something is lost in the language gap. Like earlier, he’d said “I would never say I am very human” and I’d accepted it first as role playing — until he’d made it obvious that he equates 'becoming human’ with 'achieving freedom’. Humanity is something that has to be earned. You can’t be robot and human. But this is not a natural conversation. This is on interview. A marketing exercise designed to sell Kraftwerk records by projecting certain consumer-friendly imagery. He is playing games, and this cyber-spiel is what journalists expect from Kraftwerk? But to Ralf Hütter there seems to be more to it than that. He believes what he is saying. At least on one level. Some impenetrable levels of ambiguity are at work concerning this alleged relationship to technology. Baffled, I skate around it. What crafty work is afoot for the future? “For me? For Kraftwerk? Well, certain things that I had to remember and memorise and think about are now programmed and stored. So there’s no restriction that we have to rehearse manually. There’s no physical restriction. I can liberate myself and go into other areas. I function more now as software. I’m not so much into hardware. I’m being much more soft now since I have transferred certain thoughts into hardware. That is why we put those two words together Software/Hardware on the album. Because it is like a combination of the two — Man/ Machine — otherwise it would not be happening. We can play anything. Our type of set-up — and group, the studio, the computers and everything. Anything.” So what’s new in electronics, Ralf? “What we find now is like, a revolution in machines. They are bringing back all the garbage now that has been put into them for the last hundred years and we are facing a second, third and fourth Industrial Revolution. Computers. Nano-electronics. Maybe then we come back into Science Fiction? I don’t know.” Then, on inspiration, “there’s another thing coming out. 'Wet-Ware’, and we function also — in a way, as Wet-Ware.” I’m hit by a sudden techno-blur of off-the-wall ideas, imperfectly understood concepts of some electro-erotic wet ’T’-shirt ritual in the pale blue wash of sterile monitors. What is 'Wet-Ware’, Ralf? Spoken with bated breath. And he explains. Like hardware is machines. Software is the data that is fed into them. “Wet-Ware is anything biochemical. The biological element in the machine!” The programmer? I see. Fade into intimations of cybernetic übermensch conspiracies. So with these limitless vistas of techno-tomorrows, Kraftwerk will continue for some time yet? "Yoh. Yes.” Pause, then the laugh opens up, “… until we fall off the stage!” Auf Wiedersehen, Ralf… Eins, Zwei, Drei, Vier…

[englishmodernism]

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