#hail we now sing joy

[jt1674]

[heyho-simonrussellbeale]

“He has extraordinary empathy with outsiders, the wounded, the foolish, the warped and the lonely. He hears their music, and can sing it.”

With a new memoir out soon, the Shakespearean star talks mortality, Tom Holland’s Romeo – and ‘skulking around’ in House of the Dragon

Simon Russell Beale is talking about “To be or not to be”, one minute sharing his bemusement at actors who pause around the “or” in that line (“You think, what other option could there be? Sometimes simple is best, don’t chew it too much”), the next reflecting on the rare, rapt mood that sometimes settled on him as he delivered that soliloquy at the National. “It was to do with the beat of the verse. It became a supremely calm meditation, like handing over a gift, going ‘This is what we all think’.”

It’s a joy to hear one of our most eminent Shakespeareans – whose beady cerebral presence combined with a painstaking care for the language, thinkingly feeling his way to the truth, is in a league of its own – discourse on his specialist subject. Although Beale isn’t performing in a Shakespeare this year, his fascinating new memoir about his life and Bard-centric career, A Piece of Work, affords a welcome chance to imbibe his wisdoms. He has tackled 18 roles since he was cast as the Young Shepherd in The Winter’s Tale at the RSC in 1985. That grants him no little authority. In his informative survey of great Shakespearean players, Stanley Wells observed: “Conforming to no theatrical stereotype [Beale] has… won success in a wider range of Shakespearean roles than perhaps any actor since Richard Burbage.”

As he sits in the auditorium at the Donmar Warehouse (scene of past triumphs including an Olivier-winning Uncle Vanya and a Malvolio hailed by the Telegraph as “hilarious, ridiculous [and] heart-wrenchingly sad”), he says, unbidden: “I thought your article was absolutely accurate,” referring to my recent think-piece lamenting the fact that today’s younger stage-actors are not cutting their teeth on Shakespeare.

“It has changed in my lifetime. I hate sounding like an old man, but when I started out, film and TV [jobs] were rare and it was assumed you’d start in theatre, and would continue to do that. That’s not true now – there are so many more options for young actors.”

That’s not to say that he dismisses the have-a-go star or disapproves of Tom Holland’s West End Shakespearean debut as Romeo: “I have no problem with that. But it’s safer to earn your spurs and obviously, practice is a good thing. Still, I have to be careful about going, ‘This is how it was and how it should be.’ Is it really necessary for a young actor to know how to do Restoration comedy? I’m not sure it is and that might apply to Shakespeare soon.”

Of course, he’s an old romantic when it comes to tradition – “I love the idea of people coming to see what a particular actor will do with a role, and even camping out in Stratford to see them. I’d love that to come back”. But he’s realistic. For all its touted capacity to stretch actors, he argues that “What you learn from playing Shakespeare really is how to do verse drama – is it really important if people don’t know how to do that?” If Shakespeare became a less dominant feature of the cultural landscape, he sounds remarkably sanguine about that: “I have confidence in his staying power even if it’s in reduced circumstances. There might be less of him for a while, but I don’t think he’ll go away.”

Some things have changed for the better since he started out – “When I did Hamlet, ‘bigger’ people didn’t do Hamlet. Perhaps I helped pave the way.” Indeed, his “portly” appearance was a focus of critical comment – even giving rise to the headline “Tubby or not tubby, fat is the question”. “Nowadays that wouldn’t be acceptable but I was used to people writing about my weight,” he shrugs. “If it had been a bad review I would have been more upset.”

Those hoping to learn the “tricks” of the trade from his book may be as disappointed as those scavenging for gossip. It’s an engaging unpacking of the choices that defined his approach to characters in particular productions (ranging from Iago, Richard III and Macbeth, past comic breeds like Malvolio and Benedick, to the mighty challenges of Hamlet and Lear). I was moved to be reminded that his Hamlet followed soon after the death of his mother (a picture of whom was in the wings to console him during the first performance) and to learn that his Lear, also at the National, was shaped on the decline of that NT titan director Peter Hall who was suffering from dementia; he shrank during the show “just as Peter had”.

Last time we met face to face, in 2016, Beale worried that reaching Prospero in The Tempest at the RSC sounded an elegiac note. But now he seems intent to open up new territory, whether fresh or already trodden terrain, opportunity and fate permitting. “I want to go on as long as it’s humanly possible – as long as I can remember the lines,” he says.

He lets slip he will play Titus Andronicus at the RSC next year, and says he would like to return to Macbeth, having felt he didn’t quite get the measure of the part at the Almeida in 2005. Despite his pride in his Lear, he’d like another go and throws me the curve-ball of Cleopatra – “I’d love to play her. It’s the greatest female part. In principle, why not?” If he did, and survived the slings and arrows of possibly outraged opinion, that would be a full-circle moment: at Clifton College, in Bristol, where he went after early years as a boarding St Paul’s Cathedral School chorister, his first full Shakespearean role was Desdemona, aged 14.

Just as Beale observes that it’s sometimes what Shakespeare omits that matters, what’s striking about the memoir is how little ado there is about his sexuality. Though his acting career started in the homophobic 1980s, there’s no angst expressed. “I was lucky. There never was an issue – not at school, or at university or professionally. I came out to my mother when I was in my early twenties. I said, “Mum, I’m gay”. She blushed and said ‘yeah’.” Strikingly, the passion that comes across most forcefully in the book is for work.

“Work has always been enormously emotionally satisfying,” he tells me. “And I love to see work on stage, too. In Janet Suzman’s production of Antony and Cleopatra, at one point Kim Cattrall put on her glasses and sat at her desk. And I thought, yes, of course, she has a kingdom to run.”

Beale has never particularly chased screen success, though he has had his moments of renown, not least his Bafta-winning turn as the grasping Kenneth Widmerpool in the 1997 adaptation of Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time. Now he’s much in demand. He has just finished filming his contribution to the latest Alan Bennett film (he plays Elgar) and will star in a film adaptation of Enid Blyton’s The Magic Faraway Tree as well as the next Downton Abbey film (“I play the man who runs the local county show”).

More prominently, he has a salient role in the Game of Thrones prequel House of the Dragon, as Ser Simon, who runs the castle of Harrenhal. One reviewer sniffed that his talent was wasted shuffling around “Harrenhal, peeping into keyholes”. “I do shuffle around but that’s the reason I find him fun – he’s absolutely unlike anybody else because he wants nothing to do with all this nonsense about fighting for kingdoms and fighting for crowns. He just wants to be left alone.”

Those inclined to look for patterns in Beale’s work will note that loners and the isolated are a running theme. He was born on an island – the Malaysian island of Penang in 1961, his father an army doctor (his mother a doctor by training too), and thus was required to cope from an early age as a boarder in London. The director Nicholas Hytner – who, like Sam Mendes, has worked with him a lot – says of Beale: “He has extraordinary empathy with outsiders, the wounded, the foolish, the warped and the lonely. He hears their music, and can sing it.” Still, Beale advises against projecting too much insularity on him per se. He lives alone, but insists “I don’t sit there going ‘I’m by myself’ – I like my own company actually. I’ve never felt like an outsider, but for some reason they must interest me, otherwise I wouldn’t go back to it so often.”

Beale’s next role is as the poet AE Housman in a revival of The Invention of Love at the Hampstead Theatre. In Stoppard’s depiction, Housman carries an implicit dying sense of regret for a life not fully expressed.

Beale says he feels acutely conscious of mortality: “I feel it very keenly. I think about not being here quite a lot. And there are moments when you think maybe you should have explored other avenues. But my feeling is that I might be happy to die if I can just say to myself “You made a mark”. I don’t mean being rich or famous – but to have made a mark. That’s all I can hope for.”

A Piece of Work is published by Abacus Books on Sept 5; the book tie-in tour begins at the RSC on Sept 1

The Invention of Love runs at Hampstead Theatre from Dec 4

Dominic Cavendish

[sculptorofcrimson]

You speak of the joy of combat, the blood of the scars and the crimson of gore. How foolish. You carrying your master’s banner high in the air, of dying for retribution, for vengeance, for justice, for treachery, for power, for immortality. How naive.

How sweet of you to think your story will matter. How endearing of you to reach for the stars. How foolish, how tempting, how painful for you to dream of oblivion, of avengeance.

How foolish of you to try.

You will die, little lamb, you will die torn apart by our artillery, scorched to the earth beneath our thunder.

Hear me now, you bloodstained filth of the earth, little more than savage hounds thrown upon blades to die. We have come to kill you, and you have come to die. We will herd you into slaughterhouses and butcher you like cattle, and there shall be nothing glorious about your death. There will be only the humiliation of oblivion, of thunder and shells as His glory brings the very sky crashing down upon you. 

We will drown you in lead, and trap you in steel. We will build walls a thousand times higher until you break yourselves upon our bulwark, we will rain death from above as you shall learn of despair.

Children of the dancing pale, abandon your hopes. Shatter your mirrors, and tear your last paintings of age-old glory to dust. You cannot dance forever, and your song has winded down to an end. We will sing you a dirge, a mournful dirge, of springtime lost and wintertime eternal as His machines grind your bones to dust and scatter you beneath their treads. Your artworks will be razed as your empire was razed, your precious stones lost as you have been lost.

Children of the dreaded night, abandon your dreams. Your empire has fallen, your siblings all alone. When you hunger, when you starve, when you waste away into a death you’ve staved off through the blood of our brethren, we will be there. When you crawl back to us to feed, with hungry eyes and hollow skin, we will be there. We will avenge our mothers you ravaged, our fathers you ravished, our sisters you snatched from their beds and our brothers you carved and butchered. We will avenge our soldiers, and the blaze of our storm will be the last thing your monstrous eyes will ever see upon this fetid earth. We are the tide, and we are unending. No matter how gracefully you dance, how horrific your song, we will drown you beneath our screams and the blaze of our guns. The song of our bullets will be the last you ever see, and we can die, happy, knowing we have been avenged. 

Children of the metallic blue, abandon your guns. Shed your mockery of compassion. Blast your boastful taunts to ash. There will be no range you can hide from, no greater good for your lesser evil. We will find you, and we will paint the earth blue with your blood. We will hunt you down, and drag you to death a thousand times over beneath the fingers of ten thousand gloved hands. 

Children of the blackened oblivion, abandon your slumber. You will scream as we have screamed when we crush your bones to oblivion, when we bury you once more in the tombs you have forsaken. Your dynasty will crumble like sands before our unending charge, your dead kings will die thrice more by our infinite hands. And when you gasp your last, the Emperor will gaze upon your broken bones, and smile. 

Children of the bleeding crimson, abandon your axes. Lay down your armor, cast down your stakes and dream of death, eternal and unforgiving. The endless Emperor is with us and we are immortal. Your charges will break upon the bulwark that is humanity. Your blades will shatter upon the armor of our endless regiments, upon the wrath that is His divine fist. You can not win. Our soldiers will cull you from above. Our shells will rend your armor to paper. You will die not like a god, nor like a man, you will die like a rabid beast, screaming in the fires of His wrath. You will die beneath the storm of our guns and the hail of our soldiers. Tonight, there will be no honor in your death, no glory for your false lord. There will only be oblivion. Pray for us, crimson ones, pray for oblivion, pray that your end is swift, and merciful. For we are unbreakable, and our march is unending.

Children of the liar’s blue, abandon your spells. Your tongues are tied, your plots have faltered. We will march resolute, and we will bring you down. Even a treacherous worm like you must kneel before reality itself. Our soldiers’ blood will clog your feathers, their dying grasps will clutch at your wings and talons until bones shatter and you are one of us now, crawling upon the earth, mortal, weak, so incredibly weak, but without our armor of faith, without the eye of the Emperor. Our soldiers’ death grip will tear out your feathers one by one. Our guns will speak the final truth you will ever know as you die like the traitor you are, squirming, helpless, and mortal.

Children of the rotting green, abandon your anguish. Your pain is nothing compared to what we have endured. We have marched through hell, we have died in hell, and we have soldiered on. We are the Astra Militarum, and there is no limit to our wrath. Our barracks will run rampant with the corpses of your infestation, and your poxes will be crushed beneath the bulk of our endless tide, for we are humanity, and we are unending. The Emperor’s light will sear you crimson and pale, His vengeful glare will scald you from that which was and that which shall be. Death will reclaim you, as death has claimed us all, yet we will endure where you will not. 

Children of the fervent purple, abandon your revels. It is we who shall revel in your death throes. You will find no satisfaction here, in the hollowed servants of His light. You will find only death, and the artisans of His wrath. You will be annihilated, your joy tampered by His rage, your dances cut short by incendiaries and blades. There will be nothing tantalizing in your death. There will only be humiliation, as the artillery annihilates your kind and our guns transform your bones to paste. You will be eradicated, completely and utterly obliterated from the face of His light, for that is the death from which no soul can recover. You will die, your song strangled, your dance interrupted, in a symphony of smoke and screaming shrapnel. 

Children of the golden light, embrace your honor. Even in death, we still yet endure. We are humanity, we are the Astra Militarium, we have held the line for eons and we will hold the line for eternity more. We were those who stayed behind, cut to the last, shredded, flayed, burned, we are those who glared down the eyes of gods with men. We are mortals, so weak, so small, yet Chaos has yet to bring us down. The Eldar have yet to break our ranks, the Necrons yet to drain the life from our corpses. We were mortals, weak in flesh and bone, so fragile, so expendable, yet we held the line.

We are mortal, and tonight, we endure. 

[dionysus-is-my-dude]

Tell me of your love for Dionysus and how it begun (if you are comfortable with sharing) <3

I don't even remember how far back I even learned about Dionysus. It must have been in grade school when we learned about Ancient Greece as part of world history or something. I've been on stage since I was a toddler. My mom had me in ballet, tap, jazz, BOSS, you name it until we finally got me into our local park district's junior theatre. It felt like I was MEANT to be on stage, singing, dancing, performing. I got into Wicca when I was twelve and did a year and a day of training before self-initiating myself at thirteen. I practiced that all the way up until college when I got even more serious about theatre and was taking classes and doing more adult shows. theatre history brought me back to Ancient Greece and really introduced me to Dionysus.

After that, I got into Hellenic Paganism and prayed to Dionysus before shows. I was dealing with a LOT of stress from serious mental illnesses. I'd been diagnosed with depression and anxiety at fourteen, and then, at nineteen, I spent 10 days in a psych ward and got diagnosed with bipolar II, but wasn't told that. So my mental health was plummeting and my only joy in life was theatre. It was like a catch-22, y'know? I didn't have the energy or time outside of being a full-time student in clubs and theatre, plus a part-time job to really get into my practice. It also took SEVERAL years to get on a good medication regiment and getting away from bad therapists and uncaring psychiatrists. I also stopped and started finishing college many times, jumping from job-to-job. I was a MESS.

But, it wasn't until around 2015/2016-ish that I picked back up on Hellenic Polytheism, and I just KNEW from the get-go that Dionysus was my favourite. Theatre? Yes. Madness? Yes. Celebrating life's pleasures? Yes. I was still working on a good medication regiment, struggling to find a therapist, and my bipolar hypomania driving me to make bad choices. To this day, I don't really focus much on rituals, but my love for Dionysus has really just solidified. I now work with my local theatre group -the oldest in my town, whether on-stage or producing. I'd love to work back-stage at some point, as well. I'm now on a much better medication regiment, and I managed to get a virtual psych. I don't have therapy right now, but I'm doing alright right now. I work part-time instead of full-time, prioritize my mental AND physical health, and I practice my craft a bit more, like praying and manifesting. I have e-altars on my Pinterest account for the theoi I work with.

But Dionysus is still my patron god. I think of him everyday. I pray to him before shows still. His push for me to join this theatre group has not only reunited me with an old friend, but has given me a support group I'm so grateful to have. My relationships with my loved ones has improved, and with me working less, I have more time to spend with them. My physical health ain't that great, but my mental health is much better. All of this, I feel like Dionysus has helped provide for me. He has pushed me to reignite my passion for performing, helped me accept and actively work on my mental health, and has made me feel more comfortable in my body and my self-expression. I call him my goofy uncle and "my dude" because, whenever I think of him, normally, I see him dressed in flamboyant leopard prints, smiling wide at me and cheering a glass of wine encouragingly....and then cracks a joke to cheer me up. He makes me feel safe and free and accepted as I am, while still giving me a little nudge to be kinder to myself.

I'm not supposed to drink, so whenever I can, I either get sparkling grape juice or regular grape juice and give him a toast back! Hail Dionysus!

[celticbotanart]

Wrote a very depressing tweet earlier, but was a coward and deleted it.

So, instead of being depressed AF on main, I'll take one of the things I said in it and will elaborate in a much better, healthier manner, which is... gushing about music, my beloved, my hyperfixation ~

In the tweet I mentioned André Matos, a BR singer, composer, pianist with a literal degree in classical music and conducting.

He became a literal metal legend here in BR specially in the 90s/2000s. Like for real - he was THIS CLOSE to replace Bruce Dickinson when he left Iron Maiden in the early 90s (Andre was in the 3rd place of choice).

Unfortunately, Andre passed away in 2019 at early age of 47 due to a cardiac arrest - it was very sudden and a shock to everybody, it's kind of insane even now looking back and remembering he's gone.

Anyway. That being said, enough with the sad stuff and let's turn this into THE COOLEST THING you guys will ever learn about Brazilian music!! As a kid, Andre Matos was the vocalist of a band named Viper, and later on as a young adult he joined Angra, a band that still exists to this day with other members and vocalists - BTW!!! SMALL PARENTESIS, the vocalist who replaced Andre in Angra, Edu Falaschi, sang the Brazilian version of "Pegasus Fantasy", Saint Seiya's opening theme back then!! Still a fucking banger, and Edu STILL often sings it to this day; Edu isn't in Angra anymore, I think???

But yeah. As you can see, we're already getting epic and complex and I didnt even get to Andre yet lol ANYWAY!! This is Angra with the OG formation with Andre as the lead singer/keyboardist - he's the 3rd one, the pretty boi in the middle, hehe

Angra was one of the pivotal points in Brazilian hard rock/metal; Sepultura is right there with them, I think - I don't know a lot about Sepultura (that's my sister's territory lol), but I know that much.

I'll skip straight into Angra's stuff cause there's where the good stuff begins!

First album of theirs is called "Angels Cry" and the title song is SUCH a quintessential Angra / Andre Matos song, i swear to gods. And the album art sdkjfhsdkfjshdf it's very Graphic Passion Is My Design. Don't be fooled by the dated album art tho:

Here you'll hear the "classic music interludes" that were very common in Andre Matos' songs due to his background and training in classic music. It's SOOOO 80s and their Iron Maiden influence is SCREAMING, quite literally. Worth mentioning I'm not an Iron Maiden fan lol btw #Poser

Another CLASSIQUE-TM from Angels Cry is "Time".

I'll throw the official videoclip in here because it's hilarious, even though the song slaps ksdjfhskdj (André's corny, pretty metal boi look in his early Angra days is kind of a goal to transNB me, ngl. #GenderEnvy)

WELL, do you guys know folk metal? Like, when we say that, it's usually metal + medieval/European instruments (like Eluveitie, for example).

In 96, Angra did what I like to consider "Brazilian folk metal", metal with BR elements and influences, in their album "Holy Land"

The concept of the album was like, the great navigations but it was also kind of a commentary in colonization - Brasil is our "holy land", and a lot of the songs feature this epicness and bittersweetness, joy and sorrow of being BR. The songs are in ENG, which is kind of ironic, but still The songs being in ENG is due to a lot of factors tbh, all of them involving the fact that Brazil doesn't embrace metal a lot, and they wanted to to sell their songs outside BR bc of that. Which sucks, but i get it.

Here we have CAROLINA IV, an epic describing a ship at sea, and it also references the Portuguese who arrived in BR back in the 1500s.

The song is all in ENG except the intro, which is a chant dedicated to Iemanjá / Janaína / Iemoja, the orisha of the seas and the most well-known orisha around here, if I'm not mistaken

"Hail, hail Yemoja, Hail Janaína And everything that was made in the waters They throw flowers at the sea God save the Queen And my journey on this sphere An orishas' caboclo Soon leaves the Earth Meeting his fate Where the sky meets the sea He will find his safe harbor And that's how it ends..."

Black culture and religions are strong here in BR, and this chant and the instruments used are a tribute to them <3 If you guys know of or remember Michael Jackson's "They Don't Really Care About Us", that's the same beat/Afro-Brazilian influence - in MJ's song, it was the famous group Olodum who did it, I don't know if they were involved in Angra's Holy Land though. "Carolina IV" is a very long with a lot of changes in pace and even genres (again, classical music interludeTM). It's very epic, very 80s metal, and very Brazilian as well, it has everything I love, ahhh <3

In the early 2000s, Andre left Angra and he and other, previous Angra members formed the band Shaman.

I think it's good for me to reiterate at this point that while we had bands like Angra and Sepultura, the metal genre WAS NOT and NEVER WAS mainstream here in BR.

So, the fact that Shaman became incredibly popular in the early 2000s because one of their songs "became to mainstream" was kind of an anomaly. THIS, MY FRIENDS, is where my story with Andre Matos' music starts. Because this was early 2000s, I was around 13 and the reason why I knew about the band, alongside hundreds of other teens at the time, was because a song by Shaman became soundtrack to a BR telenovela. The telenovela in question was O Beijo do Vampiro ("The Vampire's Kiss") and as the name suggests, it had vampires and 'edgy dark fantasy stuff' cause it was more targeted for a younger audience, as the protagonist was this middle schooler aged boy who was actually the son of a vampire.

The BANGER, THE ETERNAL, EVERLASTING ANTHEM from Shaman they chose as a soundtrack to that freaking telenovela was "Fairy Tale", from their first album "Ritual":

I swear to god, this song is fucking everything to any Brazilian metal fan my age. It was a literal game changer to a lot of us, because this was how we discovered or started really appreciating metal, since we were too young to catch on Viper in the 80s or Angra in the 90's. Other bands like Evanecscence, Nightwish and Linkin Park were also starting to become popular, so a lot of metal styles were coming around around that period.

Including a Brazilian singer that also leaned more towards a heavier sound, Pitty! That song is from her first album.

ANWYAY, BACK TO ANDRE MATOS - I'll make an exception here, and share two versions of the same song. I've shared the official videoclip with the studio recording, and below, is a very beloved live performance from 2003:

I'm sharing both versions because they are slightly different - studio ver starts with a religious chant in latin, and the live version includes a violin, played by Marcus Viana (another conductor and a famous composer of soundtracks for Brazilian shows and movies). In the live ver you can also see Andre Matos SLAYING on the piano because dude was a literal master of his craft ksjdfhksjdf

The song starts all calm with the piano, very lullaby-like, and then BAM!, 80s METAL HAIRFLIP AND GUITARS AND EPICNESS. And then it ends how it started. It's such a beautiful track. I love it so much, such a true banger. Makes me nostalgic AF, and I love the "epic tale" nature it has.

Another personal favorite of mine from that time comes from their second album, a track called Born to Be:

I love how it mixes mellow piano lines with heavier metal arrangements, it was kind of their thing and they did it so well! And by the way, I am aware the name of the band / cover of first album might be considered problematic nowadays?? It was the 2000s, unfortunately those things happened a lot. It's looking back into our teen years and realizing things were not as pristine as we remembered fskjdfhksd oh man. But yeah. Aside from that, the songs slap so hard, specially if you like the 80s metal feel. And speaking of the 80s music, Andre covered some pretty badass, daring songs over the years, not only but including... ..."Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" from Journey, which he recorded after he left Shaman and went solo in the late 2000s:

I cannot affirm that for a fact, but I think this cover is sort of a "meme" because it was kind of a recurring joke that Andre Matos sang like Bruce Dickinson but looked like he was Steve Perry's "long lost son". Steve Perry was the most well-known vocalist from Journey. The "Dont Stop Believin" Journey:

(The picture above is Andre when he was like 15yo in Viper btw dfkjjsdf) And like, this is pretty fucking funny cause if you are here following my art for long enough - like REALLY, REALLY LONG ENOUGH, around 2009 deviantart -, you'll def remember me in my Journey/Steve Perry phase. And my Andre Matos phase too, it was around the same time lol

ANYWAY. BEST FOR LAST. CAUSE THE LAST IS "WUTHERING HEIGHTS" COVER. THE KATE BUSH "WUTHERING HEIGHTS". YEAH. THAT ONE.

Madlad decided to make a metal cover of Kate Bush with this falsetto voice and he just. He just did it. DIDNT CHANGE / ADAPT THE LYRICS, EITHER. You'll hear 22 year old Andre Matos in 1993 fucking scream at the top of his lungs HEATHCLIFF IT'S ME CATHY, I'VE COME HOME, I'M SO COLD LET ME IN-A-YOUR WINDOW. And he's singing VERY VERY HIGH NOTES, this song is fucking hard to sing y'all, I'll let you know right now lol. Anyway.

Here was the Andre Matos / Angra / partial Brazilian Metal history for you, and I hope you like the song recs, and if not, I hope you enjoy the trivia at least!

Remembering his music earlier made me nostalgic, but also made me sad, bc a lot has happened ever since 2003 and the "Vampire Telenovela". I've created OCs inspired by him - it was a two-in-one sort of OC, and he's retired for over a decade now; and I didn't do much with him anyway, so no artworks to show.

And I'm seriously considering bringing his music and influence back to a more recent OC (if you read my post about me looking for a new voice to my transitioned OC, that's what I'm talking about). It's a funny way to go back to where some things started.

That (and a lot of other, unrelated stuff) made me super sad earlier.

Andre Matos left us way too soon, and like I said earlier, it's always weird remembering he's dead, because it doesnt feel like that, to me. Maybe the fact I always "forget" he's gone is because his music and influence on me as a person still lives on, which is sort of a comfort~

-

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[louisupdates]

JULY 8, 2023 | JULIA KOVALEVA

A solo career after being in a popular band has never been easy, especially when you’re only 18 years old and have been part of the world-famous boy band One Direction. Yet, even as the band comes to an end, you still find joy in being part of it.

Louis Tomlinson was the one who never sought a solo career. However, when you’re a true artist, being on stage is the only way to go. So, you have to venture out alone and create your own show. For Louis, it was a long journey filled with personal drama and the postponement of his first solo tour in 2020, as he reveals in his recently released documentary “All of Those Voices.” And now, here we are at his world tour, “Faith in the Future 2023,” listening to his second album, “Faith in the Future,” which was released in November 2022.

As we reach the halfway point of the North American leg, we find ourselves in Phoenix, AZ, at the Arizona Financial Theatre.

The venue is nearly full by the time the first opening act takes the stage. People already know that this show is a must-see.

Making his U.S. debut, Andrew Cushin, an insanely talented 23-year-old singer-songwriter, delivers a touching and extremely inspiring performance. With his stunning baritone voice and lyrics that belie his age, Andrew sings about his own struggles, hopes, and dreams. He is about to release his debut album, “Waiting For The Rain,” in the fall, which includes all the singles he performs, including the new one, “It’s Coming Round Again.”

The second opening act is The Snuts. Despite their van breaking down on their way from Las Vegas, they managed to make it to Phoenix. They are another phenomenal discovery for the audience. Hailing from Scotland, this band is also highly supported by their fans. They open their set with their recently released single, “Gloria.” The Snuts have the vibe of a band playing in a small bar, and each member is a talented musician who clearly enjoys their time on stage, just as the audience enjoys their electrifying music.

Even those who are hearing them for the first time find themselves dancing and singing along, fueled by the band’s positive energy.

With both these engaging openers, time flies by, and finally, Louis Tomlinson takes the stage. The crowd erupts into cheers and excitement as he begins his first song, “The Greatest.” For those who are familiar with One Direction, his show is a total surprise. His solo music leans towards the edgy side, but it’s also incredibly catchy and powerful. Louis has an amazing band accompanying him on stage, and the entire set is perfectly suited for performing in huge venues. Touring and interacting with the audience is his favorite part of the job, as can be seen in his latest album, “Faith in the Future.”

Of course, he performs a couple of songs from his former band as a tribute to that chapter of his life. One of the highlights of the night is his breathtaking cover of the Arctic Monkeys‘ song, “505.” With his unique interpretation and personal touch, he breathes new life into the track. Beyond his own performance, Louis’ concert is also a visual spectacle. The stage setup, lighting, and production elements create a mesmerizing atmosphere that perfectly complements the setlist. The show, overall, is a testament to Louis’ growth as a solo artist. Every night, he proves his ability to connect with the audience and shines on stage as the one and only member and artist, Louis Tomlinson.

[orthodoxadventure]

Entry of Our Lord into Jerusalem (Palm Sunday)

Commemorated on April 28

By raising Lazarus from the dead before Your passion, You did confirm the universal Resurrection, O Christ God! Like the children with the palms of victory, we cry out to You, O Vanquisher of death: Hosanna in the Highest! Blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord!

Palm Sunday is the celebration of the triumphant entrance of Christ into the royal city of Jerusalem. He rode on a colt for which He Himself had sent, and He permitted the people to hail Him publicly as a king. A large crowd met Him in a manner befitting royalty, waving palm branches and placing their garments in His path. They greeted Him with these words: “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel! (John 12:13).

This day together with the raising of Lazarus are signs pointing beyond themselves to the mighty deeds and events which consummate Christ’s earthly ministry. The time of fulfillment was at hand. Christ’s raising of Lazarus points to the destruction of death and the joy of resurrection which will be accessible to all through His own death and resurrection. His entrance into Jerusalem is a fulfillment of the messianic prophecies about the king who will enter his holy city to establish a final kingdom. “Behold, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on an ass, and on a colt, the foal of an ass” (Zech 9:9).

Finally, the events of these triumphant two days are but the passage to Holy Week: the “hour” of suffering and death for which Christ came. Thus the triumph in a earthly sense is extremely short-lived. Jesus enters openly into the midst of His enemies, publicly saying and doing those things which mostly enrage them. The people themselves will soon reject Him. They misread His brief earthly triumph as a sign of something else: His emergence as a political messiah who will lead them to the glories of an earthly kingdom.

The liturgy of the Church is more than meditation or praise concerning past events. It communicates to us the eternal presence and power of the events being celebrated and makes us participants in those events. Thus the services of Lazarus Saturday and Palm Sunday bring us to our own moment of life and death and entrance into the Kingdom of God: a Kingdom not of this world, a Kingdom accessible in the Church through repentance and baptism.

On Palm Sunday palm and willow branches are blessed in the Church. We take them in order to raise them up and greet the King and Ruler of our life: Jesus Christ. We take them in order to reaffirm our baptismal pledges. As the One who raised Lazarus and entered Jerusalem to go to His voluntary Passion stands in our midst, we are faced with the same question addressed to us at baptism: “Do you accept Christ?” We give our answer by daring to take the branch and raise it up: “I accept Him as King and God!”

Thus, on the eve of Christ’s Passion, in the celebration of the joyful cycle of the triumphant days of Lazarus Saturday and Palm Sunday, we reunite ourselves to Christ, affirm His Lordship over the totality of our life, and express our readiness to follow Him to His Kingdom:

... that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that if possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead (Philippians 3:10-11).

Very Rev. Paul Lazor

When we were buried with You in Baptism, O Christ God, we were made worthy of eternal life by Your Resurrection! Now we praise You and sing: Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord!

Sitting on Your throne in heaven, carried on a foal on earth, O Christ God! Accept the praise of angels and the songs of children who sing: Blessed is He that comes to recall Adam!

[whiteshipnightjar]

Little Hand

by Joanna Newsom

Take her down, Tom*  the time has come at last I can hear her song. Water contracts, the hold holds fast like the last of the iron lungs.

My child and me through the miles and leagues fall as hard as a silent hail. Echoing laughter ‘fore and after o’er the raft of the Violet Snail

Now when that sight put the fear of God in you; green light sweeps like a nightstick swinging.

Sonar* softly pinging-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing

I am appeased by what I have seen. Now turn around, Ma, you already saw what you may and can look no further; haunted the post where the Holy Ghost poses down through the rayless water.

Holding a child, nine and nice, ain’t it wild and sweet? On the verge of anguish. Ain’t it absurd? I do not have words it is not for the lack of language.

Tethered to our floating home, we scout for the crown and its placard.

Your periscope, your parapet are ringing-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing-ing

I’ll guard and keep, thy father watches the sheep. And I swear on my soul if it is all folderol let us ring round the roses, honey, gobbling all our sounds of woe into hey nonny nonny nonny.

Last and at least when the fire has ceased, and if it’s safe the sun shall breakaway. Shocked it’s released we rise automatically folderol-diddle-i-di-die-di-day.

Music set us spinning and spinning, inscribe the memory of the honey bee with the silence of the ballerina.

We took a little walk across the lawn, it was two o’clock, with my soft shoes on. I met you at the door, May I cross the calm, I called, May I tag along? Hear you bawl a little sad song. It’s a sad song. Keep singing it, honey, it ain’t long. Sing and I’ll keep you safe and warm until the dawn.

DSRV-2 Avalon, wherever you are, wherever you’ve gone, leaning you cheek in to the amber yellow dawn, highway one. We’ve been itching to meet you, recommission to meet you, if you listen I’ll teach you a sad song.

Sing your machinery to sleep and shut the door. Even Janthina once was as you are, sworn anathema to the guns and the megatons and all. Only Janthina can defeat the men o’war.

If you could only hear my joy just to know her, tie her little shoe, take her little hand and say hello to her, ‘hello‘, and there really ain’t a lot I can show her.

Up on the deck are we safe from harm? Are we ready to surface? In every respect sound the alarm. Oh, it goes so fast, it will feel slow. We will arrive before you know, we’re free to go if we don’t get stuck, we’ll be there by morning with a little luck.

na-na-na-na-na-na-na *pinging*

Lay her down, Tom, we are overrun but there is time for another story. Smoke at the door as I fall on all fours coiling blue as a morning glory. It is the hour, see the little hand, see the lambs we have kept and guarded. Tower of steel, cartwheel in the sand with the force of the waters parted.

It is the hour we are far from home, we the lambs who will not be slaughtered. I am not afraid, I am not alone, I’m not alone, I have brought my daughter. I’m not alone.

[princesssarisa]

A Christmas Carol Holiday Season: "Scrooge" (1951 film)

Now we reach the Christmas Carol adaptation widely considered the gold standard. Dickens scholars and movie critics alike sing the praises of this British film. Released as Scrooge in the UK and as A Christmas Carol in the US, it stars Scottish character actor Alastair Sim as a Scrooge constantly hailed as the definitive one, surrounded by a cast of beloved British veterans of stage and screen, with a screenplay by Noel Langley (The Wizard of Oz). While it's not the most strictly faithful adaptation of Dickens's book, or the version I personally view with the most sentimental fondness, I must admit that as a movie, it probably is the best of all.

The title of Scrooge suits this film better than A Christmas Carol, because while Dickens's book is as much about Christmas as it is about Scrooge, this version is much more of a character study of the old miser, fleshing him out with more human depth than any earlier adaptation did. The Christmas Past scenes are greatly expanded, explaining young Scrooge's neglect by his father, showing the tragic death of his sister Fan (Carol Marsh), and depicting his gradual corruption by a ruthless business mentor, Mr. Jorkin (Jack Warner). His redemption also comes less easily than in most versions, as despite his growing remorse he protests that he's too old to change. The result is a film that's largely grim and faintly Gothic in tone (although with moments of humor throughout), where Christmas cheer only gradually finds its way in. But this makes the ending all the happier, as Christmas cheer finally wins and the redeemed Scrooge gives in to giddy joy and warmth.

With all due respect to other great Scrooges, the Scrooge of Alastair Sim is unsurpassed. From his icy opening scenes, to his vulnerability and wide range of emotions with the ghosts, to his ultimate joy and lovableness, he's a colorful Dickensian character yet never a caricature, and he infuses the role with droll humor yet lets us take him seriously too. The supporting cast is also excellent, if slightly underused in Sim's shadow. Highlights include Mervyn Johns and Hermione Baddeley as an endearing Bob and Mrs. Cratchit, Michael Hordern's vividly tortured if melodramatic Jacob Marley, Michael Dolen's gentle yet stern Ghost of Christmas Past (portrayed as an old man), Francis de Wolff's jolly yet dignified Ghost of Christmas Present, C. Konarski's eerie Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, George Cole's Byronically brooding Young Scrooge, Kathleen Harrison's colorful Cockney charwoman Mrs. Dilber, and Ernest Thesiger (The Bride of Frankenstein) in a cameo as a thieving undertaker. Richard Addinsell's alternately haunting and charming musical score and the atmospheric camerawork complete the film's artistry.

It's with good reason that this Scrooge is so universally adored.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @reds-revenge. @faintingheroine, @thealmightyemprex, @thatscarletflycatcher

[sorcerous-caress]

I thought I heard the Old Man say

"Leave her, Johnny, leave her"

Tomorrow ye will get your pay

And it's time for us to leave her

Ever since they've saved Wyll’s father there's been…a aching feeling in her chest, it's not a secret that she didn't deserve Wyll. Yet, everytime she met his father's eyes it becomes more apparent.

Kira knows her reputation as a captain, hailing from Luskan and a deadly woman of the Trackless Sea. Being compared to a fearsome hag, that feeds off trouble and turmoil. She's cleared the deck of a military galleon like it were nothing and made Luskan fur traders bleed their weight in gold.

Not the type of woman you want your son gallivanting around, let alone share his bed with.

It's obvious that Ulder suspects she'll turncoat and leave as soon a she can reap the spoils of victory.

she's not paranoid, she swears.

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow

And it's time for us to leave her

It was times like these she would sing, it had become a regular route for her to lull Wyll to sleep after lovemaking. Feeling the sweat on his skin slowly dry under her fingers as they lovingly traced each mole and scar.

This night is different, she's alone on the deck of her ship strumming her lute aimlessly singing a shanty. Thankfully, when she was taken onto the nautiloid her crew actually manage to make it to Port with her ship not damaged.

I hate to sail on this rotten tub

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

No grog allowed and rotten grub

And it's time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow

And it's time for us to leave her

Showing off her pride and joy to Wyll was pure elation at first, gifting furs, jewelry and his favorite rum; and finishing off the night with a private dance on deck, pressing kisses to his dimples.

It wasn't until she took him to bed that foul truths began swimming through her head, were those gifts originated from.

Not every treasure she plundered came from a fellow pirate, corrupt trader or warlord..There was alot of innocent blood mixed in with her gold and crew.

Kira won't lie it never really bothered her much, in this life you have to seize every opportunity. But, now that she has Wyll it all feels akin to rot in her soul, like she's swindling Lady Luck herself by keeping him by her side.

We swear by rote for want of more

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

But now we're through so we'll go on shore

And it's time for us to leave her

Leave her, Johnny, leave her

Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her

For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow

And it's time for us to leave her

Wyll is a great man and he deserves a woman far better than her..

-githzerai anon

Song: Leave Her, Johnny Song by Michel Schrey and Seán Dagher

hehe, self-doubt angst time

I feel like in a better run than my original, Kira would've wanted to be a better person for Wyll. But unfortunately for her I fucked up, made her worse and paired her with Minthara.

I'm going to avoid my mod folder and try and finish WIPS.

God that was mesmerising anon, song fics are always a favourite of mine, great job <3.

Also is there a title you'd like me to use for each fic? I don't want to take the liberty to title them myself since you've put so much effort into them.

I think doomed love stories are always interesting, you know they won't make it but a part of you can't help but read it and hope for the best. It's like attempting to reach the sun, you know it's impossible but you have to keep trying.

Good choice avoiding the mod folder because a new modpocalypse is happening rn, i am hanging by a thread. Everything is broken, there are hundreds of threads waiting for that one person to update their very important mod that 90% of the other mods depend on.

[ukdamo]

To a Skylark

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are bright'ning,

Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of Heaven,

In the broad day-light

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows

Of that silver sphere,

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air

With thy voice is loud,

As, when night is bare,

From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow'd.

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?

From rainbow clouds there flow not

Drops so bright to see

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a Poet hidden

In the light of thought,

Singing hymns unbidden,

Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden

In a palace-tower,

Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew,

Scattering unbeholden

Its aëreal hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embower'd

In its own green leaves,

By warm winds deflower'd,

Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves:

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,

Rain-awaken'd flowers,

All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, Sprite or Bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine:

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine

That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus Hymeneal,

Or triumphal chant,

Match'd with thine would be all

But an empty vaunt,

A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strain?

What fields, or waves, or mountains?

What shapes of sky or plain?

What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance

Languor cannot be:

Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee:

Thou lovest: but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem

Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not:

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;

If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,

Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

each me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow

The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

[hieromonkcharbel]

The joy of the Messiah's appearance abounds in the Church's liturgical services of the Winter Pascha. When the "Hail" of the angelic salutation is translated "Rejoice," as it often is in the church services since in Greek that is what it literally means, there is an even greater presence of the "good news of great joy" for the faithful, since they, together with the whole of creation, are greeted with this salutation again and again in the songs of the festal celebration.

Let creation exceedingly rejoice,

For the Creator fashions himself as a creature.

And He who was before all things now manifests Himself as God newly revealed.

Let the wise men go to meet Him with their gifts;

Let the shepherds clap their hands in faith at the wonder;

and let mortal men join the angels with rejoicing.

Be joyful, O earth!

Behold, Christ draws near to be born in Bethlehem.

Be glad, O sea!

And dance for joy, O company of prophets,

For today you behold the fulfillment of your words.

Rejoice, all you righteous!

Let the kings of the whole earth sing with rejoicing,

And let the nations be in exceeding joy!

Mountains, hills, and valleys,

Rivers, seas, and the whole of creation:

Magnify the Lord who now is born.

Rejoice, O Virgin,

The Theotokos who of the Holy Spirit

Has borne life into the world

For the salvation of all!

One of the most devastating accusations that can be made against Christians is that they have no joy. Joyless Christians are a contradiction in terms. People who are bitter, complaining, condemning, accusing, dissatisfied and depressed are certainly not Christians. They can only be people whose life is untouched by grace, people whose existence is confined to the suffocating limitations of "this world" whose "ruler" is the devil and whose "form... is passing away" (Jn 12:31; 1 Cor 7:31). They cannot possibly be those who belong to Christ and the kingdom of God. For Christians by definition have Christ's "joy fulfilled in themselves" (Jn 17:13). They are people whose joy, which no one can take away, is literally full and complete (Jn 15:11; 16:22, 24).

In his famous book For the Life of the World, Father Alexander Schmemann speaks about the joy of Christians. From its very beginning, he says,

Christianity has been the proclamation of joy, of the only possible joy on earth. It rendered impossible all the joy we usually think of as possible. But within this impossibility, at the very bottom of this darkness, it announced and conveyed a new all-embracing joy, and with this joy it transformed the End into a Beginning. Without the proclamation of this joy, Christianity is incomprehensible. It is only as joy that the Church was victorious in the world, and it lost the world when it lost that joy, and ceased to be a credible witness to it. Of all the accusations against Christians, the most terrible one was uttered by Nietzsche when he said that Christians had no joy.

Father Alexander goes on to say that before Christians can do anything else with all of their "programs and missions, projects and techniques," they "must recover the meaning of this great joy." he says that joy "is not something one can define or analyze. One enters into joy. 'Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord' (Mt 25:21)." And one enters into this joy, this exceeding great joy, he insists, only by entering into the liturgical, eucharistic life of the Church herself. Here, and only here, as in the celebration of the Nativity of Christ and His Epiphany in the world, can a person partake of that joyful reality for which the world itself was created in the beginning.

The above is an excerpt from The Winter Pascha, by Fr. Thomas Hopko

[daisywords]

Christmas carols just really have me like

/

O rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing

Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices

Still their heavenly music floats over all the weary world

Glory to God in the highest 

Peace on earth goodwill to men

The weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

The dawn of redeeming grace

Joy to the world, the Lord is come

Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing

Son of God, love’s pure light

Born that man no more may die 

/

This is Jesus, this is our king

In His name all oppression shall cease

The blind will see, the deaf will hear, the dead will live again

Nails, spear shall pierce him through, a cross be borne for me, for you

To save us all from Satan’s power when we were gone astray

From depths of hell thy people save and give them victory over the grave

Death’s dark shadows put to flight

God and sinners reconciled

/

Rejoice, rejoice, Emmanuel shall come to thee oh Israel 

God is not dead nor doth he sleep, the wrong shall fail the right prevail

The hopes and fears of all the years are met

Oh tidings of comfort and joy 

/

How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is given

For sinners here the silent Word is pleading

Light and life to all he brings, risen with healing in his wings

Hail, hail the Word made flesh

Born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth

O come let us adore him

And at last our eyes shall see him through his own redeeming love

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

8th December >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Solemnity of The Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary 

(Liturgical Colour: White)

First Reading

Genesis 3:9-15,20

The mother of all those who live.

After Adam had eaten of the tree the Lord God called to him. ‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden;’ he replied ‘I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.’ ‘Who told you that you were naked?’ he asked ‘Have you been eating of the tree I forbade you to eat?’ The man replied, ‘It was the woman you put with me; she gave me the fruit, and I ate it.’ Then the Lord God asked the woman, ‘What is this you have done?’ The woman replied, ‘The serpent tempted me and I ate.’    Then the Lord God said to the serpent, ‘Because you have done this,

‘Be accursed beyond all cattle, all wild beasts. You shall crawl on your belly and eat dust every day of your life. I will make you enemies of each other: you and the woman, your offspring and her offspring. It will crush your head and you will strike its heel.’

The man named his wife ‘Eve’ because she was the mother of all those who live.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 97(98):1-4

R/ Sing a new song to the Lord for he has worked wonders.

Sing a new song to the Lord    for he has worked wonders. His right hand and his holy arm    have brought salvation.

R/ Sing a new song to the Lord for he has worked wonders.

The Lord has made known his salvation;    has shown his justice to the nations. He has remembered his truth and love    for the house of Israel.

R/ Sing a new song to the Lord for he has worked wonders.

All the ends of the earth have seen    the salvation of our God. Shout to the Lord, all the earth,    ring out your joy.

R/ Sing a new song to the Lord for he has worked wonders.

Second Reading

Ephesians 1:3-6,11-12

Before the world was made, God chose us in Christ.

Blessed be God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with all the spiritual blessings of heaven in Christ. Before the world was made, he chose us, chose us in Christ, to be holy and spotless, and to live through love in his presence, determining that we should become his adopted sons, through Jesus Christ for his own kind purposes, to make us praise the glory of his grace, his free gift to us in the Beloved, And it is in him that we were claimed as God’s own, chosen from the beginning, under the predetermined plan of the one who guides all things as he decides by his own will; chosen to be, for his greater glory, the people who would put their hopes in Christ before he came.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Gospel Acclamation

cf. Luke 1:28

Alleluia, alleluia! Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee! Blessed art thou among women. Alleluia!

Gospel

Luke 1:26-38

'I am the handmaid of the Lord'.

The angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. He went in and said to her, ‘Rejoice, so highly favoured! The Lord is with you.’ She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, ‘Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God’s favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his ancestor David; he will rule over the House of Jacob for ever and his reign will have no end.’ Mary said to the angel, ‘But how can this come about, since I am a virgin?’ ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you’ the angel answered ‘and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow. And so the child will be holy and will be called Son of God. Know this too: your kinswoman Elizabeth has, in her old age, herself conceived a son, and she whom people called barren is now in her sixth month, for nothing is impossible to God.’ ‘I am the handmaid of the Lord,’ said Mary ‘let what you have said be done to me.’ And the angel left her.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[sagethegremlin]

Alright bit of a vent below the cut

TW: mention of child abuse, verbal/emotional abuse, and slight spoilers for sonic frontiers (stick with me now)

When CPS got called on my dad, everything went to shit. He is verbally and emotionally abusive, and when he got called out on it, he threw a hissy fit where he did everything he could to make my life worse. It was a month and a half before he finally began to relent and allow everyone to pretend like nothing ever happened (CPS never did anything).

During that time, it was Sonic that got me through it. Trying to focus on that world, on this fictional thing that somehow brought me so much joy.

It sucked. My life sucked. Everything that was bad about my father was cranked up to the extreme. The threats, the insults, the other things I’d rather not mention.

I got through it by reading Magenta Love, the blazamy fanfic I printed out, by learning All Hail Shadow on my guitar based on sound, by writing my sonic fanfic on my school laptop, by playing sonic 2 on my friends DS, by watching sonic 2 on my google drive, by singing live and learn to myself to try and tell myself that it would all be ok.

It’s just a series about a silly little hedgehog though, right? It shouldn’t have been that much, done that much for me.

But it did.

Because art is so much more than just a drawing. It’s about what it means. And it can mean a thousand different things to a thousand different people. I had to take breaks while playing sonic frontiers because all of the Sage and Eggman stuff hit a little too close to home (doesn’t help when Sage and I share a name), and I’m willing to bet that for most people it wasn’t like that.

But it was for me. It meant so much more than whatever was intended for the player. It told me a story that made me cry, gave me voice lines that had my brother and I give each other sorrowful looks, and even made us a little envious of the end result of Eggman and Sage’s relationship.

But when times get tough, we sit together and watch Tails’ New Home. Because as close siblings, it finds a way to mean so much more to us than ever intended.

Art can mean so much. And it will always mean everything to me.

[poemoftheday]

Poem of the Day 5 September 2024

The Fatal Sisters: An Ode BY Gray, Thomas (1716 - 1771)

(FROM THE NORSE TONGUE)

Now the storm begins to lower,

(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare.)

Iron-sleet of arrowy shower

Hurtles in the darken'd air.

Glitt'ring lances are the loom,

Where the dusky warp we strain,

Weaving many a soldier's doom,

Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.

See the grisly texture grow,

('Tis of human entrails made,)

And the weights, that play below,

Each a gasping warrior's head.

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore,

Shoot the trembling cords along.

Sword, that once a monarch bore,

Keep the tissue close and strong.

Mista black, terrific maid,

Sangrida, and Hilda see,

Join the wayward work to aid:

Tis the woof of victory.

Ere the ruddy sun be set,

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing,

Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet,

Hauberk crash, and helmet ring.

(Weave the crimson web of war)

Let us go, and let us fly,

Where our friends the conflict share,

Where they triumph, where they die.

As the paths of fate we tread,

Wading thro' th' ensanguin'd field:

Gondula, and Geira, spread

O'er the youthful king your shield.

We the reins to slaughter give,

Ours to kill, and ours to spare:

Spite of danger he shall live.

(Weave the crimson web of war.)

They, whom once the desert-beach

Pent within its bleak domain,

Soon their ample sway shall stretch

O'er the plenty of the plain.

Low the dauntless earl is laid

Gor'd with many a gaping wound:

Fate demands a nobler head;

Soon a king shall bite the ground.

Long his loss shall Erin weep,

Ne'er again his likeness see;

Long her strains in sorrow steep,

Strains of immortality.

Horror covers all the heath,

Clouds of carnage blot the sun.

Sisters, weave the web of death;

Sisters, cease, the work is done.

Hail the task, and hail the hands!

Songs of joy and triumph sing!

Joy to the victorious bands;

Triumph to the younger king.

Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale,

Learn the tenor of our song.

Scotland thro' each winding vale

Far and wide the notes prolong.

Sisters, hence with spurs of speed:

Each her thund'ring falchion wield;

Each bestride her sable steed.

Hurry, hurry to the field.