#have you seen the video where a guy removes the instrumentals from Running With The Wolves?

[de-lyc-ful]

I’m back in my Wolfwalkers obsession.

Anyways I made a tattoo design and couldn’t stop fucking editing it. Behold.

It would preferably wrap around my arm (unlikely, my arms are twigs) so I wanted it to read well with either girl in the front. Also made color versions

[prettyterribleimagines]

Sorry that is quite the question you're right. Could you please do yandere female phantom thieves + kasumi please?

No worries Ian, writing for my regulars is wht I do ^^ also, I will try to answer the asks there were made off of anonymous these next few days as well

Ann Takamaki

Ann is incredibly manipulative and will cause as much trouble and drama as possible to get her darling to comply with her demands and wishes. She is incredibly needy and insists on spending as much time as possible with them no matter the situation. She undoubtedly will use the tragic accident that happened to Shiho as a way to get leverage when confronted with her darling.

When with her S/O she is quite loving and dotting, always hugging and kissing them no matter how many people are around. She doesn't do this because she feels the need to show others they are together, she does it because nothing brings her as much joy as touching her darling.

Normally, no one would be able to notice how controlling Ann is, but once someone notices that Ann decides her darling's clothes, lunch and even when they get to have a snack or go to the bathroom it is impossible to unsee it.

Ann can get angry extremely angry out of nowhere from the slightest slip on her darling's part. She will never lay a finger on them with the intent of harming them in a fight but she will use her newfound liking for whips on them every night

Being a total freak when it comes to controlling her darling's everyday life she will insist on having them text her every hour if they ever have to stay too long apart. Failure on following her wishes and demands usually end with her creating horrible rumours around every circle of friends they have until they yield.

Makoto Nijima

Another control freak but the way she goes about it is undoubtedly different from how Ann does it. She will teach her darling how to behave properly even when she not around. She has so many rules and guidelines that it's almost impossible to follow them perfectly every day.

She doesn't do PDA and doesn't go spreading the news that she is in a relationship with them either, what they have together is their secret and their's alone. But it's also important to note that she will tell her sister about her their relationship and buy them a ring that they have to wear and clean every day to show their gratitude for her generous gift.

She can be extremely violent when she discovers that certain rules aren't being followed and perfectly as possible. She doesn't hold back when punching her S/O and with her strength, she will leave more than a few bruises everywhere. She doesn't take care of her darling after she is done either, it's a punishment after all if they wanted her to be gentle they should have obeyed.

She insists on having them study as hard as possible to have the highest grades in their class. She will make sure they study at least three hours every day even when they are on break. Studying is nothing more than discipline, and how would they possibly have the discipline to obey her if they aren't capable of being at the top of the class?

Needless to say, she will also decide what job they will have when they graduate from school. And so, after her darling graduates, they will work as a secretary for her, and they will have to work as hard as possible to avoid punishments inside or outside closed doors. If they let her down one too many times, she will fire her darling and make them stay inside their home all day every day.

Futaba Sakura

Being a professional hacker she is able to spy on her darling to her hearts content no matter how far away they are from her. She keeps an close eye on everything that she can pry into, bank transactions, conversations and even their online activity.

She doesn't have the courage to make herself known to them, even creating a fake account to interact with a normal post of theirs already feels way too intimate for her poor little heart to handle. She only watches, never having the bravery to reveal herself to the one she loves.

She absolutely hates every "friend" her darling has, they are little leeches that don't know how to treat her darling with the love and respect they deserve. She keeps an watchful eye on their interactions as to know who she needs to remove from their life.

She will contract someone to break into her darling's house to steal anything that they interact with, may it be a shirt or a hairbrush. Needless to say, she will go to great lengths to make sure her employee doesn't take anything other than the desired item or disturb the room.

She has actually never seen her darling in real life before, she wouldn't be able to handle the anticipation and intensity of such a grand event. All she is able to handle is pictures, videos and live feeds of them that she gets through webcams and cameras she hacks into.

Haru Okumura

As yanderes the others are manipulative, violent, remorseless and vicious but Haru is the only one that's actually deranged and has a warped view of the world (I could even write how her yandere palace would be if you guys want <3). She actually believes that her feelings for her darling are mutual and they carry out a normal day to day life

Haru views everything that she does to her darling as a scene from a romantic movie, never realizing the dark undertones she herself creates on every situation with her unhinged behaviour and maniacal actions. For example, everyday she has a tea break with her darling where they can settle down for a minute and enjoy each others company before returning to their busy lives, but this situation is way more sinister than it seems since Haru's partner is actually wearing a shock collar that is turned on everytime they fail to talk the way she wants them to.

The moment her obsession comes up she already inserts on her darling's life, doing her best to fit in perfectly on their circle of friends and family. To her, they have already been in love for years even if they had met that very day. The way she acts with others, no one ever suspects how twisted she can be towards her S/O

Even though she believes she is in a fairy tale, she will use every last connection she has and any money she can spare to have complete certainty that there is no way her darling can ever run away from her. She will have cameras installed on every room of their home, not to mention the 24h surveillance that bodyguards will keep on them every day.

Haru has a lot of money so she won't hesitate to use said money to buy toys that will help her darling stay in line, like handcuffs, ropes, shock collars and even hammers and knifes so she has something to use when they really act out of line. Needless to say, she will use all of those instruments with a sweet smile on her face, not even their ear piercing screams being able to pass through her delusion

Sumire Yoshizawa

She is another stalker, but she maintains an close proximity to her darling, always able to touch them if she extends her arm out but just away enough to stay undetected. She will get as much information she can about her darling and even the ones around them.

She leaves small ornaments on their table everyday, that's her way to make herself known, even if they end up thinking they were being misplaced by someone. Other than that, nothing would change on her darling's life. No friends would go missing, nothing would seem out of place and not even objects would dissapear out of nowhere.

Sumire wouldn't be able to bear losing her darling, and so she would do everything in her power to be as close to them as possible. She might even move out with them to other cities or even countries if it meant she won't have to be alone anymore.

Since her infatuation with that person grows and grows every day, inevitably, one day she will become so obsessed that just looking at them won't be enough, thats when she would reveal herself to them. Naturally, they won't even learn her name before Sumire's finds it's way into their throat, and after all that time, they can be together

[sendmyresignation]

alright. writing this “little” piece to exorcise the demon inside of me that wants to expand my teenagers meta further than it needs to go (if you weren't aware I'm writing a post, well an essay, wellll a short paper, about why teenagers fits on the black parade- stay tuned) BUT i cannot stop thinking about the multiple little "rockstar to kill" moments within the song/music video/live performances so... I'm self-indulgently going to write about it :)

anyway, at its most simplified, teenagers is a song about the violence within adolescents and being an adult whose afraid of that capability. that is the basic, surface-level understanding of the song. inherently, with mcr specifically, that sets up a conflict between the narrator of the song and the song’s audience. that means conflict is generational- it duplicates itself over and and over which allows for several different understandings of the narrator’s perspective. the cyclical nature means they could be speaking to a representation of what they view as the fundamental corruption of the youth, both by outside focuses and their very human nature, as the narrator become more cynical in their old age. it could be representative of them talking to their past self, reminiscing on the revenge fantasies they had in high school or the ways they were made to feel like an outcast when they were young. and they also could be speaking directly to the very literal future about their concerns as a mentoring figure (teenagers, to me, functions in layers, its interpretation can shift and change depending on the context) right now we’re preoccupied with that last perspective both within the song and the video’s contextualization, and into this wider idea of what the band’s purpose was (or how they saw their purpose).

putting the rest under a read more out of respect <333

moving into the actual text with that in mind, what becomes significant is the tonal contrast between being the seemly scathing, sarcastic indictment of Dangerous Teenagers on the surface to the actual understanding (if we’re talking about the single on its own) which is moreso criticizing the Authority figures who create and mold this violence either purposely (cog in the murder machine) or with indifference (you’ll never fit in much/they’ll leave you alone/as well as the implication of having to take matters into your own hands because the adults are absent). As a result, the song, on its own, isn’t actually blaming teenagers for the violence they perpetuate, but the narrator attempts to extend their understanding and offer advice. here is a figure looking to bring catharsis without patronizing. like this is most clearly expressed in the use of “maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me” at the end of the chorus, which in this reading means the other adults may leave you alone, the but I am stepping in to tell you that both self-directed and outward expressions of violence are bullshit and useless and that’s what everyone else is expecting of you so fucking stop it! (this can obviously be re-figured within the context of the album- because, interestingly, the pronouns are purposely confusing with the multiple uses of they in this section) the violence is never explicitly vilified by the speaker,- its exaggerated- what you have under your shirt won’t solve anything isn’t that obvious how ridiculous it sounds, how ridiculous I sound saying it out loud? but also, the violence is implicit. the conflict is still there. the teenagers still scare the shit out of the narrator. so what gives?

well. the song is still about the gulf between generations. the speaker is still afraid and out of touch, regardless of the leadership role they’ve assumed or the perspective of the past they can offer. there is ultimately a limit to how much they can give.

which leads us right into the music video.

So first things first, Black Parade as a whole is heavily inspired by Pink Floyd’s The Wall musically, but the actual aesthetics of the wall are kind of divorced from the ww1 cabaret weimar thing that parade is drenched in (bc britian circa the 1950s is boring and the wall is purposely very ugly and grey and removed from emotion which isn’t dramatic enough for what mcr had in mind). However, teenagers exists as a sort of connecting point between the two-  the music video of Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 (which you can watch here if you’ve never seen it) is clearly an influence on the subject matter and the setting and the “plot” of teenagers video- it serves as a sort of a parallel to it. more specifically, there are the “running shots” of kids making their way through unlit hallways into the auditorium that evoke the children in the pink floyd video marching through the school. there’s also the line “cog in the murder machine”, which seem particularly inspired from the depiction of children as going through machines and coming out the other side stiff, wooden, and obedient. then the backdrop of the large bomb centered in my chem’s stage show mimics the shot of the headmaster standing behind the large, lit up clock- especially since that where the teenagers in the crowd of mcr’s video all begin acting in unison, similar to the children in the wall all falling into line (but, like, just the use of ww2 era bomb imagery and gas masks in general is very reminiscent of the early wartime parts of the wall anyway). so in a vague sense, there is a huge connection between teenagers and that emulation and replication of the wall.

however, the most striking similarity is that, in the same way the students destroy their school in a moment of violent inspiration after sequences of disconcerting compliance, the group of high schoolers in teenagers do the same against the band. the difference is that in the case of the teenagers, the explosion is directed at the source of their outburst (they switch from the on-beat fist-punching to wild moshing as the song devolves and ray’s solo starts) instead of in opposition to a more institutional suppressive force. they are not motivated to action because of something done to them, instead it is the actual music itself that serves as both the impetus of conformity and the fuse that destroys that same unison action and then the band. and what’s significant is the particularity of the actions the crowd takes: they steal the band’s instruments from them and they bodily remove gerard from the microphone. like contrast this violence against the band vs the desolation row video where the whole band is physically incapacitated- there, its about knocking them around and getting them to stop (ray is beat down by police, bobs drums are destroyed, etc etc). but here, its about taking their places- the act of destruction is calculated but not purposely cruel. so, in teenagers being a parallel to Another Brick, that moment of turning on the band is the moment of violence but is also the moment of freedom. the difference in the two becomes the ways in which the band is responsible for reawakening the fire within the audience and giving them a purpose. which here is “killing the rockstar” by taking over, taking their places. and that is the nature of music and the nature of the conflict implicit to becoming the “rockstars”

it brings us right back around to that generational conflict: except when your talking about mcr’s realationship with their audience, that becomes the fostering of a group of outcasts and weirdos and freaks and giving them the tools to save themselves, yes. but also giving them the opportunity to do exactly what they did. to pick instruments and take their places. its the cyclical nature of creation and destruction “because when we get old and lazy some of you guys are gonna have to eat us alive by starting your own fucking band (x), that idea of needing a “rockstar to kill” has been refigured to mean something newer, positive. we are the ones killing them, but not in the way of typical martyring where a crowd of detractors and nonbelievers burns you at the stake- but instead by continuing the natural cycle of art, true genuine art. just as mcr is built off of so many influences- creating an entirely new project out of that existing landscape of sound that reaches people and gives them an outlet, we are doing the same things. by besmirching metal and punk by mixing them together, by “selling out” so they could put together a rock opera, by adding theater into a hyper masculine culture of nu-metal and post-hardcore, by making deeply emotional music that was still violent or angry, by writing the way they did they killed the bands they loved and made something better. its the the way in which the creative cycle is a rebirth, of scavenging the good things from the people who came before you and moving forward and taking the world by storm. here, in the video, the audience redirects their violence at the band, yes. but that is the point. teenagers still scare the shit out of the narrator, but that’s not going to stop them from reaching out, from speaking to them directly, from performing until their very last moments

until they take over. until they kill the rockstar. until we eat them alive.

in the end, that is the mission of my chemical romance, isn’t it- to inspire that level of passion, to turn the music into a life-raft and then gasoline and fire in your gut and then a sense of purpose and then into freedom and endless joy? and isn’t it the greatest act of love, the truest expression of admiration to tear them apart, build ourselves creations out of the wreckage to fill the space they leave behind, and then lay them to rest when the time has come?

[majorshiraharu]

Can you do the 104th where the Wolfpack and Plo Koon crash land in a forest on planet earth? The Wolfpack investigate the area and meet the reader (They find the reader playing the acoustic guitar and singing in the woods)? The clones and the general watch the reader play and sing until she notices them, and when she does, the reader takes the Wolfpack and the general to her home for shelter. The clones ask the reader about earth and she explains about her planet and culture.

----------------- Wolfpack & Plo Koon Meet Reader on Earth ----------------- "Where should we go, General?" Wolffe asks Plo Koon. "We should try and find a place to take shelter and contact the Republic," he replied while evaluating their location and the situation at hand. "Understood, General!  Sergeant salvage what communications systems you can," Wolffe instructs moving back over to the crash site. "Yes sir!" Sinker replies getting Boost to join him as they scavenged through the parts of the ship. They had been in a battle and their ship got damaged sending it into hyperspace and crash landing on some kind of planet that they could only guess was far past the outer rim. -After collecting what parts they could they packed up and headed out into the forest, hearing a music play through the sound of rustling leaves and the wind that was tunneling through the trees, making it sound almost like an ocean. The closer they get to the music they hear a voice singing, it's beautiful and calming. - As they reach the source of the sound they see a girl sitting on a log, playing an instrument, and singing. For a while, they stand there watching you play, talking to each about how nice the music was and how wonderful your singing was. "Should we ask them for help or directions?" Comet asked. "She hasn't noticed us yet, but she seems to be the only person around," Boost says looking around. "I think we should talk to her, what do you think General?" Wolffe asks looking over to Plo. "We need to approach with caution, I'd rather not scare her," Plo replies slowly approaching you, using the force to move some rocks in front of you to gain your attention. Opening your eyes you hear the crunching of leaves as they approach you, - at first, you are surprised, not sure what these people were or if perhaps they were in some kind of costumes, "Hello?" You say unsure of what they wanted or who they were. Plo bowed down before speaking, "We are sorry to intrude on your space, our ship crashed and we are unable to use it, we hoped you might be able to help us." "We have a transmitter, but it needs some power and a bit of tinkering to fix it," Wolffe added, stepping forward and removing his helmet. "Oh, well, it's going to be raining soon, so, I should take you guys to my house, you should be able to power up your device there," you said getting up from where you sat, walking away from them but motioning for them to follow. "So, what were you doing out here?" Boost asked, trying to fill the air with something besides silence as you all walked. "I was playing my guitar and singing."  "It sounded very nice," Sinker said. "Thank you." "I'm assuming a guitar is the thing you're holding," Comet says.  "You're correct, have you guys never seen one?" "No," they all replied, making you turn around and look at them with a baffled expression. On the walk through the forest to your house, you explained to them what a guitar was, and why people played it. They explained to you that they were from a system far away, that they had been in a battle that resulted in their ship crashing here, it was hard for you to understand at first, thinking they were just joking, but they were being serious. You talk about your planet and your culture, mentioning that each land surface on your world had a mix of many cultures and people. They all seemed very interested in learning more about your place, so you promised to show them some videos about your planet. -- As you all reached the house it started to rain, you quickly unlock the door, letting them go in first before you step inside, "Welcome to my home." "Thank you for providing us with shelter," Plo said his hands held in front of him as his men set down the communication device. "You said there's a power source in your house, could you show me?" Sinker asks, removing his helmet as he approached you, a small smile on his face. "Sure, it's right over here," you replied leading him to the outlet, he seemed to be confused by how they would get power from it to the machine since the plugs didn't match. Taking the cover off the outlet you pulled out some of the wires, explaining that he could just wire it up and get the power that way. "Will you be able to fix it Sinker?" Wolffe asked. "Yes, sir, Boost can work on repairing it while I'll deal with the power part, hopefully, we'll have it running in no time." "Would you guys like something to eat, I can bring you all some food," you offered them as you stood up. - The troopers all turned to look at their General, "I think food would be good for my men." "I'll bring you guys something then." They worked on their device as you got together some food. 

As you return you place the plates down on the nearby table walking over to them, "Any luck with your radio?" They look at each other, confused by the word radio, but then soon realize that you probably mean their communicator, "Yeah, we should have it working here shortly," Sinker said looking up at you. "While we wait I'm going to steal some of that food," Comet mentioned walking over to the plates of food. "Thank you for helping us," Wolffe says as he walks over to you.  "No worries, happy to help any way I can," you replied with a smile. Their device picked up a signal, it was hard to hear, but they gave their identification, listing their names and rank, what their ship was and it's last known trajectory before it crashed, there was no reply, but the static sounds soon shut off so they assumed someone must have heard it. 

Their General told them to relax and eat something and that they could try again later in case there was no response. You brought our tablet, playing some videos on it that described your planet and it’s people, they watched with great interest as they ate. As it got later you decided to play some music for them, getting your guitar and singing some, hoping to put them at ease while they awaited any kind of response from their device.

Getting late into the night and after many hours of conversations, videos and music, the radio finally sent a response back, when they switched it on to receive the call they were met again with static, but Wolffe noticed that there were irregular beeps in between the static, deciphering it the message simply read “help is on the way”.

[eggshellsreview]

Steven Universe: The Movie Review

For those who experienced the Steven Universe series as it aired, the season 5 finale was the last bit of new content fans had left for a long while. However, this year revived the spark of the series with a movie finally giving the fans a continuation the long going series in the form of an hour and a half musical special.

This movie in short is just the essence of almost all things Steven Universe. From character behavior, to the art, to the music, to the conflicts, to the resolutions, compacted with lots of love, fan service, some more answers the fans had, and of course, more questions for us to ask.

One of the biggest strengths of the movie to me is that it does an excellent job not only recapping the series for anyone who's watching this without context, but also stimulating the fans' heart by having the recapping not only be a pleasant feels trip, but also have it tie intergrally into the plot of the movie giving it more incentive to happen rather than feeling forced. The reason I bring that up first is because its the best example I can think of that showcases my general favorite part of this movie; even though it was a straight to TV movie, it treats and handles itself as a theatrically released movie that anyone could've stumbled into to out of curiosity. So although I HEAVILY recommend against anyone skipping the series intentionally, the movie manages to also make itself be able to be enjoyed by someone who has never watched the series prior. This is incredibly important to me because I find a very core rule of a movie of a previously established franchise is that it should always be better with context, but shouldn't be unenjoyable without it and this movie makes sure to take that into consideration very much.

Steven Universe: The Movie's theatrical comparisons don't end just there though. So much of it's backgrounds, colors, designs, were touched up in lots of way to tell you "hey, this isn't just an hour and a half long episode, this is a movie and we will give you movie tier quality all around". I felt this to be especially true for every song the movie had to offer. Although many associate songs with Steven Universe, the show definitely spaces them out pretty far, always leaving us wanting more. In the case of the movie, however, it's a straight up musical, with a big array of amazing songs that WILL stick around in your head for a very long time. Going back to the point of how theatrical the movie is, each song is given it's own unique setting and feel, but are all entirely strung together by the context of the overarching plot causing each moment to happen. As per usual, I won't get into spoilers, but the song "Independent Together" stunned me with how much effort went into everything that was going on in the movie that I was just thinking about how phenomenal it would have been to watch this in the big screen.

Now that we've gone through the wholesome aspects of the movies, I can talk about the cause of the movie itself. The antagonist: Spinel. With her unique animation and personality, Spinel single handedly gives our protagonists a very grounded, yet very scary, just as unique, set of obstacles to overcome. For reasons anyone who's already watched this knows, she's unfortunately the hardest part of the movie to talk about without getting into crucial spoilers, but I definitely CAN get into how incredible of a perfomance she puts on. The voice acting we were gifted from Spinel gives us arguably the best musical vocals in the entire movie to the point that I've found myself sharing with my friends youtube videos where they remove the instrumental to her biggest song just to appreciate the raw talent in her vocals.

Unfortunately though, despite being an immense highlight of the film, Spinel also does carry some of the flaws of the movie's story. I do want to clarify that these flaws aren't with the character herself, but rather the position of our characters in the movie affecting her role in it.

This movie takes place after a short time skip from the series finale, and because of this, it comes with hardship of having to write around a lot of things and if you pay attention, you start to see that Spinel had a lot of plot armor and awkward shifts throughout the movie in order to enable her to pursue the objectives she's sought after. This is entirely understandable however, without these very specific moments where things just work out in Spinels favor, then the movie will just ultimately have too many plotholes. As I said earlier, Spinel is a relatively grounded villain and because of this not having things favor her to give her an edge over the protagonists, while still being a threat would just lead to immense inconsistencies with the feats we've seen our protagonists accomplish from both physical power and intellect. Because of this I think its, at the very least, understandable to why the movie had these convenient moments in order to have the movie happen as a whole at all. Beyond that though, I have no other big complaints. I've noticed a handful of people state that Steven was a bit out of character in this movie in a couple moments, but ultimately, it straight up boils down to the idea that he's now an older teenager. Given the circumstances building up to this point of his life, and those happening during the movie, this was a refreshing reminder that he's still a kid shaping his personality and image of the world and his life. I think Steven's performance in this movie was not only a realistic stage of his development, but also an incredibly big stepping stone for even more development in the now revealed Steven Universe: Future series we're waiting for.

With all that laid out, I believe I've said as much as I can without any spoilers so I'll leave it with this. Steven Universe was an incredible experience that I entirely plan to revisit in its entirety, and this movie (despite some flaws) made itself a very imperative factor in what I'd consider to be the Steven Universe experience that only made me further love the series as a whole. With all things considered, I gladly rate this movie a 8.5/10

With this being the last Steven Universe review I can do, I'll be moving onto a new series and hopefully some movies to keep this blog going, HOWEVER, it will most definitely not be the last time I share analytical insight on the series as my love for it certainly leaves me with the desire to now revisit more specific moments I want to discuss that were just too much detail for these reviews. Thank you everyone who's stopped by my blog and shared their support because Steven Universe was definitely what picked up my traction and motivated to keep this blog running after all. I hope you guys stick around, even if just for when I post more about S.U. see you all soon on a later post!

[javocjovian]

It’s A Farcical Life, SPN Kink Bingo

Title: It’s A Farcical Life Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444402/chapters/49087283 Square Filled: Sam Wesson Ship: Sabriel (Sam Wesson x Gabriel) Rating: E Tags: Sam Wesson, Dean Smith, Gabriel is a little shit, Humor, Smut, Office Kink Summary: Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. is under attack by a mysterious prankster. After a bizarre incident involving Dean Smith and some very suspiciouis pornography, office worker Sam Wesson thinks he’s found the culprit: that stupid, sexy janitor. Who would’ve guessed? Word Count: 3496

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Quote:

Beyond the shiny elevator doors wasn’t a small, cramped space ready to take Sam back to the seventeenth floor, but what looked like an expansive, private office that stretched well beyond the confines of the elevator shaft. Sam’s mouth went dry. His eyes flew to the lights above the door, checking to see if he hadn’t accidentally walked into someone’s office, but the frame was all there, clearly showing that the elevator was stopped on his floor and waiting for him to board.

Gif made by @crispychrissy

It's a Farcical Life

An elevator jostled up to the seventeenth floor of an office building, filled with early morning workers wearing everything from suits to polo's. As the doors opened, a hum of idle chatter filled the small space, punctuated by a ringing phone here and there. The polo-wearers trudged out, travel mugs and folders in hand.

The neatly organized maze of cubicles was full of afternoon workers, answering phones and typing reports, all expect one stringy looking young man who was watching his neighbor with a look of utter delight on his face.

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?” His neighbor asked. He was a tall man with long hair tucked behind his ears, speaking into his headset. He tapped his pencil against the desk, trying to ignore the eavesdropper, until... “You… you did what?” The man cleared his throat, glancing incredulously at his neighbor, who leaned forward excitedly. “You…” He closed his eyes and, with an incredible amount of skill, forced all of the annoyance out of his voice. “Well, once you’ve removed all of the… peanut butter… from the CD tray, you’ll want to take it to your nearest repair shop.”

The stringy young man threw his head back in a fit of silent laughter.

“No, your warranty won’t cover it.”

After a few forceful farewells, the man hung up and looked reluctantly at his neighbor.

“Oh, my god.” The neighbor picked his head up off the desk where he had been buried in laughter, “How? How do you always get the best calls? It’s a gift, Sam!”

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his neighbor’s face, red with laughter. “She uh… she read a tip online about cleaning discs with peanut butter.”

The man dissolved into laughter once again, and Sam grinned sheepishly.

“Yeah well, I’m getting tired of these prank calls,” Sam said. “I can’t believe you haven’t had one yet.”

“You think that one was a prank?”

“Ian,” Sam gave him a look, “Who puts peanut butter on CDs?”

“Idiots,” Ian said. "The world is full of them, Sam.”

Sam couldn’t argue that. Over the past month, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. had dealt with a wave of sabotage and practical jokes: pranks calls, things exploding in the microwave, printers breaking, copiers printing out butts, and more. The strange thing was, no one could catch the culprit.

Some workers, like Ian, welcomed the chaos and interruption of their usually orderly and drab work environment. Others, like the Director of Sales and Marketing, Dean Smith, didn’t find it very amusing. The other day his lunch had been stolen and replaced with a slice of pie, a clear attack on his latest, low-carb, “green energy” diet.

Sam Wesson was caught somewhere in the middle. The pranks were hilarious, he thought, but he seemed to be targeted more than others, not that anyone paid this any mind, however, except for Ian.

Ian wasn’t much consolation, though. Ever since Sam got a prank call from someone who thought they were calling a naughty hot-line and refused to believe Sam wasn’t playing hard to get, Ian began following Sam around like a live audience, eager to bare witness to his next mishap.

Ian’s patience paid off shortly after the peanut butter incident that afternoon, when Mr. Smith called Sam to his office sounding harassed. There was an accusatory note in his voice that Ian could hear from the receiver. He gave Sam an ‘oh shit’ expression that barely disguised his glee, and watched Sam get up looking annoyed.

“If his CD tray isn’t working...” Ian called after him.

Sam ignored him.

Mr. Smith’s office was a few floors up, so Sam headed towards the elevator. As the doors slid open and he stepped inside, the monotonous instrumental music Sam had become deaf to had been replaced with what could only be described as 80’s porn music.

Sam exchanged an awkward smile with the janitor who was the only other person in the elevator and watched the doors slide closed.

During a particularly sultry saxophone solo, he couldn’t help but notice the janitor looking at him. Sam gave him another forced smile, wishing the elevator would hurry up or that someone would fix the music already. It seemed to be taking much longer than usual.

“So uh...” Sam said, anything to break the tension, “You must have your hands full with this prankster running around here.” He gestured vaguely to the speaker above them.

The janitor smiled serenely, “It’s no trouble. I like my job, Sammy.” He winked at him.

Sam was taken aback. Not because he knew his name - Sam's department wore nametags, to everyone's chagrin - but how many janitors liked their job that much? He gave the man an awkward head tilt and looked away again. The elevator was definitely taking too long, and was it just him or was the music getting louder?

When the door dinged and opened, Sam strode off. The realization that Sam had never run into the janitor at this time of day was swept away when he heard shouting from Mr. Smith’s room. The door was open, and a man in a suit was backing away quickly. He gave Sam a fleeting, ‘good-luck’ look as he passed. Sam swallowed.

He knocked on the door-frame to be polite and waited.

Mr. Smith was standing behind his desk looking exhausted and angry, but when he beckoned Sam inside, Sam knew at once that he wasn’t the object of Mr. Smith’s frustration. His computer looked like it had been moved around, and Sam noticed several things had been unplugged.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Sam asked curiously.

“You could say that,” Mr. Smith took a breath. He made to sit down behind his desk, caught a glance at the monitor, then sat on the edge of his desk instead. “You’re uh… Sam Wesson, right? The tech guy?” There was something strange about him. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Yes, Mr. Smith.”

“Call me Dean.” Dean said. “Sam, you can fix computers, right? That’s your job?”

“Mostly, yeah,” Sam chanced a glance at the CD tray despite himself. It was not full of peanut butter.

“Good, good,” Dean cleared his throat, now clearly avoiding looking at his screen’s display which was facing away from Sam. “That prankster, whoever he is, he’s been causing trouble for you guys too, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam scoffed.

Dean smiled slightly, “Well. He’s just finished his latest masterpiece up here. And I... need you to fix it.”

Sam tried to peek at the monitor screen, but it was pointed resolutely towards the large windows. “I uh, I’ll have to see it,” he smiled bravely.

Dean frowned, “Really? You can’t just… tell me how to do it?”

“Well I… you called me up here, sir,” Sam said, confused. “If I could just...”

Dean held out a hand as Sam tried to move towards the monitor. “Okay. First of all, I wasn’t… I mean it’s not...”

Sam’s brow came together.

Dean sighed resignedly, looked Sam in the eye, then stepped aside like a man resigned to the worst. Sam slowly stepped around the desk, looked at the screen, and did a double take.

“Yeah, uh...” Dean said awkwardly, “It was just like it when I came in. I wasn’t… I’m not...” Dean laughed anxiously, “And obviously I can’t make it go away.”

Sam stared at the screen. He realized now why there were cords pulled out of the back. Hardcore gay porn was playing mutely on Dean’s screen. It looked like it had been locked on full-screen and full-volume, which surely had blasted throughout the entire floor until Mr. Smith pulled the speaker cords.

“Don’t watch it!” Dean stared at Sam incredulously.

“Uh, right...” Sam fumbled, holding back a laugh. Okay, maybe the prankster was alright after all. He settled down to get to work, but as he neared the screen he realized something. “Wait a minute…” Sam squinted at the video, “Doesn’t that guy look like the new intern? Ha, it totally does. What’s his name? Cas...” Sam stopped immediately at the look on Dean’s face.

“Are you going to narrate the pornography frozen on my screen or fix the problem, Wesson?”

Sam lowered his head, “Sorry.” But he was sure Dean’s face reddened.

It took Sam a few minutes, but he deduced that the only way to fix the problem was to reboot the computer. Dean didn’t look relieved, however. If anything, he looked more reluctant.

“You can’t just… restart it from there?”

“No,” Sam said, “It’s not responding to anything. I’ll have to unplug it. I’ve never seen this before. The video’s obviously playing but… what?” Sam stood up to look at Dean, “What’s wrong?”

Dean looked exhausted again, and slightly uneasy. “Alright, well, you’re gonna think this is crazy, but… I already tried that.”

Sam sighed. He didn’t understand what Dean meant but he was sure, like always, that in his quest to fix the problem, the computer illiterate Dean Smith somehow made it worse. They’d have to call in for repairs with his luck. But then Sam realized that Dean was staring at the cords pulled out from the wall.

Sam stared blankly at them before he realized what he was looking at. In a flash of realization, he looked back to the video playing on the screen. In an instant, the screen shut off.

Dean nearly jumped.

Sam was frozen in place, struck dumb. “Dean… that computer wasn’t plugged in.”

“I know.”

“How did it...”

“I don’t know!”

Sam and Dean stared at each other. For a while they didn’t speak. It felt like there was something in the room with them, weighing down their voices and making it impossible to move. But when nothing else happened, Sam approached the computer. He had the impression that Dean would gladly pretend this had never happened, so Sam took a steadying breath and rebooted it.

Sam and Dean held their breath, half expecting some girl crawling out of a well to appear on the screen. But the computer started up just fine, and slowly their fear turned to embarrassment and relief. Dean’s personal log-in screen appeared and Sam stepped aside. Dean sank into his chair and numbly entered his password. Still, they didn’t speak.

Finally, when everything on Dean’s screen seemed to be free of porn or creepy ghost girls, Dean said, “Sit down.”

Confused but happy to follow his lead, Sam sat down. Dean took a thermos out of somewhere and grabbed two small glasses from his desk. He poured some both a shot of thick, green smoothie.

“Green shots. They’re great for the immune system, brain function, and hopefully the taste will take our minds off of...” Dean didn’t really want to finish that sentence, so he rose his in cheers and gulped it down.

Sam grimaced, but did the same. He nearly gagged. True to Dean’s word, the taste was so terrible that he forgot all about haunted pornos.

“Ugh!”

“I know,” Dean smiled bracingly, “Oh but it’ll keep you young.”

Sam licked his teeth, trying to get the taste off.

Dean chuckled to himself, and Sam couldn’t help but smile. If anyone had told him that morning that Sam would be sitting in Dean Smith’s office trading health shake shots, Sam would’ve called them crazy. And yet, Sam must have been crazy one, because the scare he and Mr. Smith shared made him feel strangely calm – like he was home.

After a few moments of contented silence, Dean frowned at his screen.

“What?” Sam asked reflexively.

“No, nothing. It’s just, I got a weird email,” Dean sighed and leaned forward, “Just another prank, probably.”

This was no news to Sam, who was inspecting the small glass Dean had given him.

“Hm,” Dean said, “Do you know anyone named Mr. Freeley?”

“No.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Whoever this guy is, he’s a freak.”

“What’s the email say?” Sam asked curiously.

Dean hesitated, but then decided they’d shared enough in the past ten minutes to share this, too. “’You’ll never catch me, because causing trouble is what I do, and I love my job.’” Dean huffed, “Everyone will probably be getting this email in five minutes. You watch. Actually, why don’t you head back downstairs and warn everyone to trash it. Don’t even open it. We can’t indulge these… Sam?” But by the time Dean looked up, Sam had gotten to his feet and was headed out the door.

“Okay,” Dean said to himself, then poured another green shot.

Sam was rushing back down the hallway towards the elevator, his head buzzing and his hand groping the spot where his nametag should have been pinned on that morning had Sam not left it at his desk.

“It’s no trouble. I love my job.”

Sam knew there was something weird about that guy. He had never seen a janitor here this early before. What were the odds? And how did he know his name?

Sam pressed the elevator button repeatedly. He’d find the janitor again and confront him. If he was the prankster, then maybe he was behind the ghost computer, too. The idea made his heart sink, but his adrenaline spike. He wondered where the janitorial closest were. Would he be there?

The elevator doors dinged open and it took Sam several long seconds to come back to Earth and realize what he was seeing.

Beyond the shiny metal doors wasn’t a small, cramped space ready to take Sam back to the seventeenth floor, but what looked like an expansive, private office that stretched well beyond the confines of the elevator shaft. Sam’s mouth went dry. His eyes flew to the lights above the door, checking to see if he hadn’t accidentally walked into someone’s office, but the frame was all there, clearly showing that the elevator was stopped on his floor and waiting for him to board.

Sam stared into the elevator. The doors remained open and expectant, humming slightly. Sam looked around the hallway, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

The elevator doors closed behind him and vanished into a rich, mahogany, office wall. Sam looked around and saw a familiar face eyeing him over the top of a polished office desk.

“You?” Sam gawked.

The janitor-now-office-manager smiled and snapped his fingers.

It felt like Sam had been hit over the head with something. He blinked, shaking his head like a dog, and suddenly, it was like a haze had lifted. Sam’s eyes sharpened and he stared at the smirking face and sharp suited…

“Gabriel!”

“Bingo!” Gabriel beamed, “You got me!”

Sam looked around like he was seeing his surroundings for the first time. Then he looked down at his polo tucked into his khaki pants and muttered, “Oh, no...”

“Oh yes!” Gabriel stood up proudly, “You did it! You solved my puzzle!”

Sam glared at him, “Really? Gabriel? You throw me into… into… Office Space and...”

“Hey, now...” Gabriel wagged a finger at him, “I did you a favor.”

Sam eyed him skeptically, but Gabriel didn’t mind. He stepped around his large desk and Sam had to admit, he looked good in a suit. Gabriel winked at him.

“All this?” He gestured around the room as he approached Sam, “All this is for you, Sam. I made this farce to teach you an important lesson. I know all about that fight you had with Dean the other day, and I thought to myself, with this alternate reality I could show them the error of their ways. I could show them that hunting is their true calling. That they were meant to fight side by side! Brothers in arms! You boys were born to play these roles, and you’ll find yourselves in it every time!”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stood there, torn between shock at Gabriel’s thoughtfulness and his insanity.

“But then I thought, ‘Nah. Only a real dick would do that.” Gabriel stopped just short of Sam, grinning wickedly, “I’ll just fuck with them instead.’”

Sam shook his head in disbelief and looked away, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Ah – there we go."

“You’re an asshole,” Sam laughed darkly.

“You love me,” Gabriel grinned.

Sam squared his jaw and looked Gabriel in the eye, then leaned over and kissed him. Gabriel's grin softened.

"You know, I thought all this trickster stuff would stop if I agreed to date you," Sam muttered.

"You thought wrong," Gabriel smiled.

Sam smiled back, "Yeah alright. Let's get Dean and get out of here."

Gabriel rose a brow. "You sure? Cuz…" He loosened his tie and lowered his voice, "I've always wanted to bang my secretary."

Sam flushed, but grinned all the same, "Oh, I'm your secretary now?"

"Oh yeah," Gabriel put an arm around him and pulled him into a suave kiss, "And those reports are way overdue Mr. Wesson. Looks like you're going to have to stay overtime."

Sam bit back a laugh and kissed Gabriel. They maneuvered blindly to the large, shining desk, knocking things over along the way. Gabriel pushed everything off it unceremoniously and hoisted Sam onto the edge.

Sam opened the kiss, letting Gabriel feel him up. Sam was taller, but Gabriel could have thrown him across the room if he wanted to, and Sam loved it. As he lowered his head to kiss down Gabriel's neck, he heard Gabriel pick up the phone hanging off the side of the desk.

"Gloria, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day."

Sam took the phone out of his hand and threw it. Gabriel chuckled.

"Wait… wait," Sam paused, looking suddenly concerned.

Gabriel stopped at once.

"What about Dean? Isn’t he still trapped in here?"

Gabriel sighed. "Dean is fine, trust me. He can be Dean Smith for a little while longer. Besides, I've got another great prank headed his way."

Sam looked skeptical, so Gabriel went on.

"Someone ordered a stripper for a bachelorette party and gave them Dean's office address by mistake."

Sam laughed. Gabriel took that as approval and resumed kissing him.

Within minutes, Sam's khakis and belt were on the floor. Gabriel's shirt was undone, his dress pants were around his thighs, and he was screwing Mr. Wesson on the desk.

Gabriel panted, his slicked back hair askew, as Sam groaned his approval with each thrust. Sweating, he started to take off his polo, but Gabriel placed a hand firmly on his chest.

"Leave it on," he winked.

Sam would have laughed, but a well aimed thrust to his prostate had Sam arching up and moaning instead.

"Oh fuck, right there, Gabe!" Sam grunted, fucking Gabriel back.

"Oh," Gabriel crooned, "Someone's angling for a promotion."

Sam smiled breathlessly, precum wetting the hem of his polo. The office was filled with the sounds of sex as Gabriel ravaged him on the desk, not caring if the whole office building could hear them. Sam tried to grab hold of something, anything, but only succeeded in trashing the office further by knocking a lamp over.

"Oh, Mr. Wesson, that's coming out of your paycheck," Gabriel panted playfully. He leaned down and took Sam's hand, holding it above his head, and kissed him deeply. Sam's eyes fluttered shut, his breath hitched, and Gabriel knew it was all over.

Sam came all over his polo, gasping in a silent fit of ecstasy. The sight flooded Gabriel with arousal, and the way Sam was rhythmically seizing up around Gabriel's cock had him coming shortly after.

Gabriel groaned and slowed down, making love to Sam through their shared bliss. Sam pulled him close, kissing him as they rocked back and forth, milking out the last of their orgasms.

Finally they lay still, panting in the middle of Gabriel's ruined office. Gabriel pulled out, letting his cum seep out of Sam's ass and onto his desk.

Sam pulled him into a weak hug, making him lay atop him. Gabriel didn't mind one bit.

"Great work today, Wesson," Gabriel smiled, sweeping hair out of his face, "Keep that up and you can be my secretary full time."

Sam smiled lazily, "Mm, I don't know. My archangel boyfriend might get jealous."

"Good point," Gabriel beamed at him, "Wouldn't want to piss off that handsome son-of-a-gun."

Sam chuckled. Gabriel kissed him again, then got up and began collecting their clothes.

Sam sat up and watched, his hair a mess and his eyes hazy with satisfaction, "So, why ‘Sam Wesson'? I mean, you could have just dropped us into TV land again, but instead you made this whole universe."

Gabriel shrugged, tossing Sam his pants. "What can I say? I have a thing for blue-collar, civilian Sammy. Plus, now I can say I've screwed Sam Winchester in three different universes," he added thoughtfully.

Sam shook his head and chuckled, then paused, "Wait, three?"

Gabriel gave him a guilty, roguish look, then said quickly, "Come on, let's go save your brother."

[thepanmermaid2002]

Ok so here’s some incorrect info corrected

https://www.buzzfeed.com/michellekhare/the-evolution-of-womens-lingerie-through-history

“And the OG waist trainers were corsets, which were used to thin out and one’s shape waist. These garments would be set so tight that it wasn’t uncommon for it them to cause fainting o,r, in extreme cases, broken ribs.”

The source they cited has been called out for having incorrect information multiple times. Also no cases of broken ribs or fused organs were ever actually cited.

https://www.buzzfeed.com/copyranter/x-rays-of-women-wearing-corsets

These Images are either photo shopped or taken of women who were born deformed in the last one they didn’t even put her arms back. There are multiple cases today of people who haven’t ever waist trained with tiny waist such as these

https://www.buzzfeed.com/abagg/guys-try-waist-training-for-the-first-time

First problem was that they used corsets for women, and "Yes, there is a difference. The structure of the corsets is different because the structure between male and female bodies is different." Second problem being that when you first waist train you are not supposed to cinch the corset all the way. Your body isn't used to it and taking the corset off afterwards can hurt afterwards if you've cinched it all the way, especially if you have forced it. It also puts stress on the corset, which in turn can put more stress on your body for any future use. I doubt they were wearing the corsets for any extended period of time but it probably still hurt after this video. They didn't really do much right

 https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/59m3za/from-corsets-to-kardashians-womens-power-and-the-history-of-the-silhouette

“ Oddly enough, women enjoyed the sensation of breathing freely and didn't return to the cinched-waist look for nearly two decades. “

Women didn’t stop wearing corsets because they were that painful they stopped because the bra was invented. If someone made a garment more comfortable then the bra that did the same thing we’d probably stop wearing bras!

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/ywmvpy/the-long-strange-history-of-women-wearing-deadly-clothing

“deadly“

Already off to a bad start... oof

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2002/nov/06/londonreviewofbooks

“ I had a bad figure and to me they were instruments of torture; they prevented me from breathing, and dug deep holes into my softer parts on every side. I am sure no hair shirt could have been worse to me. “

This is from the perspective of an overweight 12 year old fitted for a corset wayyyyy to small and even at the time it was seen as cruel to make a child wear a corset and one that was too small

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2019/jun/27/corset-regrettable-return-mothercare-waist-training

“They can constrict your breathing, which isn’t helpful. They can make your organs feel constricted. Besides the physical discomfort and pain it can cause, I think that there is emotional pain when you don’t get the result you expected.”

Fun fact! Corsets aren’t supposed to be slapped on they’re supposed to be broken in. You wear them for short periods of time that slowly get longer until you can wear them comfortably. Same with shoes. If you break them in properly they will be fine you can sit down in them , run in them , was your sheep in them , cook for you’re mistress in them , and hoe the garden in them. (Obviously I was being sarcastic but sill It stands)

“There may also be dangers to waist trainers. Wearing one all day could lead to skin problems, if it rubs or causes sweating.”

They’re supposed to be worn with a protective layer underneath

“Where it raises your body temperature, if you’re not drinking water, you could get dehydrated,”

There are summer corsets which can be worn.... you guessed it in summer they’re much lighter and airy-er for the heat 

Victorian doctors opposed to fashionable display were eager to attribute to tight corsets every ill from tuberculosis to breast cancer, and every deformation from overlapping ribs to split livers. Some of the effects associated with corset-wearing are clearly myths: women can't possibly have had their lower ribs removed to increase the results of tight-lacing; some skeletons said to show deformation by corsets are now known to have been affected by scoliosis or congenital problems. Happy corseting!!!!

[soundsof71]

TURN IT UP! Joe Walsh with The James Gang, “Walk Away”, 1971

The James Gang was one of those bands that hit so much harder live than on their studio records that it’s almost impossible to believe that they’re the same guys. Their two 1971 albums offer the perfect contrast, Thirds (from whence comes this glorious single), and James Gang In Concert, recorded in May 1971 at Carnegie Hall and released later that year.

I’m surprised the hall was still standing when they were done. It’s the loudest slab of vinyl I’ve ever put on a turntable -- even with the volume turned all the way down, the racket coming straight out of the needle scraping through the grooves unamplified was flat out unbelievable. Very much in keeping with the ethos proclaimed in the liner notes of the previous year’s James Gang Rides Again, “Made Loud To Be Played Loud.”

This performance from Germany’s Beat Club, first aired July 24, 1971, somewhat splits the difference between the civilized, if still loud, studio band, and the utter savages (in a good way!) of James Gang on stage. Surely you’ve already pressed play, and heard Joe Walsh absolutely ROAR into this thing. If all you know of him is what you’ve heard on the radio or with the Eagles, you’re in for an eye-opening, and ear-opening delight.

I had once thought of this song as a pleasant bit of science fiction. The MAN in the song is the one who wants to talk about his feelings and where the relationship is going, while “you just turn your pretty head and walk away.” Riiiight. Because that’s how men are. Just won’t shut up about relationships.  ‾\_(ツ)_/‾

Well, maybe Joe really IS that way, because the song sounds pretty damn persuasive, and other than being a little condescending, it’s not especially mean, which automatically sets him above most men of the day.

(1971 was the first great year for a wide swath women artists in classic rock, but women as a lot were alas still not faring well at the hands of male writers. Still aren’t, either, which is a story for another day.)

I actually started rethinking this song when I read what Stevie Nicks had to say about Joe Walsh, who she describes as "the great, great love of my life.”

She said of their breakup: “It nearly killed me. We had to break up or we thought we’d die. We were just too excessive. We were busy superstars and we were doing way too much drugs. We were really, seriously drug addicts. We were a couple on the way to hell. 

But there was no closure. It took me years to get over it — if I ever did. It’s very sad but at least we survived. 

He was the one I would have married, and that I would probably have changed my life around for a little bit, anyway. Not a lot. 

[my note: the fact that she concedes that she’d have changed only a little bit, and only “probably”, suggests that she’s maybe not exaggerating the rest.] 

There was no other man for me. I look back at all the men in my life, and there was only one that I can honestly say I could truly have lived with every day for the rest of my life, because there was respect and we loved to do the same things. I was very content with him all the time. That’s only happened once in my life. 

This man, if he’d asked me to marry him, I would have. There was nothing more important than Joe Walsh — not my music, not my songs, not anything. He was the great, great love of my life.” (more here)

So on top of being better at relationships and rocking harder than you might have thought, he’s also a terrific technical guitarist, and a hilarious storyteller. I heard him tell a story on the radio in 1988 or so, involving him and George Harrison, that I’ve never seen documented, but I dropped everything I was doing to listen. 

I even remember exactly where I was -- in the back room of the bookstore I managed in Washington, DC, way past time to go home, but I didn’t want to miss the end of the story during the long walk to my car.

This is paraphrased, but it’s pretty damn close. I started telling this story to everyone within earshot right away, and you’ll get why. 

(btw, I don’t have a picture of Joe and George together, although they shared a stage a time or two. There are quite a few pictures of Joe and Ringo, though -- not only did Joe play in some editions of Ringo’s All-Star Band, they’re married to sisters! Marjorie and Barbara Bach, so yeah, they’re brothers in law.)

Anyway, Joe said that the one piece of advice he gives every guitarist trying to learn the instrument, “Learn to play every song The Beatles ever did, and sound exactly like they did. Doesn’t matter if you hate The Beatles or don’t want to sound anything like them when you’re done, but once you can play everything they played, exactly the way they sounded, you can do anything that it’s possible to do on a guitar.”

Well, there was one song that was vexing him, the very last one that he still couldn’t figure out -- “And Your Bird Can Sing” from Revolver. When he finally got it, he was beside himself. He called up George Harrison to make sure he was home (both fellas were living in Los Angeles at the time), said, “Stay there, I got something you gotta hear!” 

He packed up his amps and his guitar, drove over to George’s house, and started setting up. “What is it?” asked George. “Just wait,” replied Joe, and kept setting up. 

When Joe finally unleashed a note-perfect “And Your Bird Can Sing”, George fell out of his chair laughing. “How the hell did you do that?” “Well, it took me long enough to figure out,” Joe said, “so I was going to ask YOU how YOU did it.”

George said, “The way *I* did it was John and me playing in unison, and then double-tracked! I can’t figure out how you did it by yourself, even though I just saw you do it!” 

Well, Joe was left feeling pretty good about himself, managing to sound like the equivalent of four Beatles guitarists all by himself, if a little exasperated to have spent so much time figuring out something that he should have known better than to try -- but he did it anyway. THAT’s Joe Walsh for ya.

I hope you’ve already hit play AGAIN on that blistering take on 1971′s “Walk Away” up top, because Joe really was killing it that year. There’s more to him than you probably think, too, so if you’re into the heavy guitar thing, you should definitely do some exploring.

Led Zeppelin fans in particular, I’m looking at you. Joe and Jimmy were friends from Jimmy’s days in The Yardbirds, and it was Joe who said, man, you’ve gotta quit monkeying around with that Telecaster. When you’re ready to rock, switch to a Les Paul -- and indeed, Jimmy bought his first Les Paul (known as “#1″) from Joe in 1969, for $1200, which Joe says he flew out to hand-deliver to Jimmy. Says Jimmy, “Joe brought it for me when we played the Fillmore. He insisted I buy it, and he was right."

(btw, nifty pic from Joe’s Twitter feed of him and Jimmy hanging out after LZ’s February 12 show at The Garden in 1975!)

I wouldn’t want to say that Led Zeppelin’s approach to live jamming was necessarily influenced by James Gang, but I’m saying that they were similar and Joe got there first. LOL And seriously, if you dig live Zeppelin, you NEED to know more about live James Gang and early solo Joe.

(More details about #1 than anyone but a gearhead would want here, here, here, and here, but hey, maybe you’re a gearhead!)

To give you a head start for exploring more James Gang and early solo Joe, I’ll add one more video, from 1972, “Turn To Stone” featuring Fanny’s Jean Millington on bass absolutely slaying dragons on this monster. As Joe told Rolling Stone,

"Turn to Stone" was written about the Nixon administration and the Vietnam War and the protesting that was going on and all of that. It's a song about frustration. Also, I attended Kent State. I was at the shootings. That fueled it, too. In those days it felt like the government's priority was not the population. They had an agenda that was about something other than doing what was necessarily good for the country.

A few years later [in 1980], I decided to run for president myself. [Ed. Note: Walsh pledged to make "Life's Been Good" the new national anthem.] I thought it'd be a great idea and I had fun with it. And the reason I did it is because there was, and there continues to be, a very apathetic attitude toward voting. There's a total separation between the federal government and the people. So running for president was an attempt on my part to get people to care enough to go vote. But people just don't bother. And that's why it's not working.

TURN IT UP!

Oh what the heck, and one more from July 20 1971, from the French TV show Pop2, “The Bomber” (from 1970′s Rides Again) which includes a quick little nod to “Beck’s Bolero” along the way.  (Well, technically I suppose, Ravel’s “Bolero”, and indeed, Ravel’s estate made them remove the reference from initial pressings of the album!)

And another note for LZ fans: Joe does some crazy stuff with his bare hands at around 2:30-3:30 going into “Bolero” that Jimmy did with a violin bow. THAT’s Joe Walsh for ya.

TURN IT UP!

[rkevent]

AND WE’RE BACK FROM COMMERCIALS!

The title screen appears again, notifying the people that the show is back on. Standing on the stage is the MC of the night, Hong Jinwoo. “Hello and welcome back to the second and final part of the last episode of the Mnet Global Audition Season 5!” He greets and the audience cheers in excitement. “On the first part, we got to watch one performance from each team representing their company. Now, as it was made known, each group had to prepare a second performance and we’re about to reveal how that all came to be. Watch it now!”

Instead of showing one of the companies, the screen shows the stage of the previous episode and then a meeting room—the one where the decisions were made. Inside are the five CEOs and judges of the show sitting around the table. “So… for the final episode.” So Jisub points out and the rest nod. “How will we decide things?” From the corner of the room and without her face shown, one of the staff speaks out. “We already have that planned.” The CEOs look confused until another staff walks to the table and puts a black box on the center before running off the screen.

An intense silence settles on the room before Tiger JK lets out a snort. “What’s this supposed to be?” Katie Lee is the one who reaches out for it, seeing that there’s a hole on the top side. “Instead of discussing which second concept to give to each group, you’ll sort it randomly.” They tell them, and Katie Lee doesn’t look very amused. “Is this a joke? Will it be a prank?” The staff’s voice is almost too low for the microphone to pick up but a text appears on the bottom of the screen with a shacky ‘no…’

“The first one to go is Baek Jiyoung to choose the Sphere group concept.” The woman lights up on her seat, taking the box that Katie Lee hands over to her. “This is exciting!” She reaches her hand inside and pulls out a small white ball before turning it to the camera. “TRC!” She says in shock, and the scene fades with a loud chuckle from Tiger JK. 

We’re back on the Sphere practice room, all the four contestants huddled together along with their coaches. As it seems like always, KANG DANIEL is the one to speak. “I think TRC’s image and style is a lot more straightforward than Sphere. It’s really just hip hop, and not even like… khip-hop hip hop, necessarily, it’s really flashy and big and loud- very… swag,” he laughs at his own words. “I don’t think it will be too hard for us to find songs that suit them; anything in the hip hop spectrum might work.” Jinwook also shares his thoughts. “We can probably get away with an easier dance for TRC.” 

With something in mind, the group tries to focus on learning their parts. DANIEL is the one who approaches SAKURA. “Hey, can you write original raps?” And she replies enthusiastically. “Yes! I write a lot of poetry.” DANIEL looks surprised. “That’s really cool. We can write an original rap if you want?” And so the two sit together to try working on their lines together. They edit it for the time to pass on by quickly and the two writing and erasing the things they come up with. “How are you doing?” The boy asks the other. “It’s hard,” SAKURA replies and DANIEL nods in agreement. “I feel like my rap part suits me as is? I can’t really come up with anything better than it.” SAKURA seems to agree and the both of them decide to put it off for the time being and focus on dancing instead.

The stage appears again. Still following their tropical theme of before, there’s a small shipwreck on the stage this time with the front of the boat submerged in the stage floor. “Let’s welcome once again,” the MC begins, “the team Hollywood!” With cheering, the camera slowly zooms in on the boat. From behind it, the four contestants appear all still wearing their colorful sunglasses. They make their way to the center and once they’re standing in formation, remove the sunglasses and toss them to the side to reveal they’re all wearing eye-patches beneath them just in time for the song to start playing.

This time around it is DANIEL who starts the song using a modified intro to fit the MGAs. WOOJIN takes over the chorus and bounces along to the music, trying to hype the crowd. The second verse is covered by SAKURA with a rap verse followed by JUHO and his time to show off the charisma that he’s got. Before the end of the song, WOOJIN shows off a self-choreographed dance before they all stop in their ending pose.

Returning to the sight of the coaches, Baek Jiyoung moves the box over to Hyun Bin. He sticks his hand inside without much of a scene and then shows the results to the camera. “KT.” With a nod from Katie Lee herself, we’re back to the practice rooms.

It’s about the second performance that some of them seem worried about. “YEWONie~” CHANGBIN calls her his teammate’s name affectionately. “KT… has cute concepts… right? Could you maybe… teach me how to… fit that kind of image?” He asks and the girl doesn’t hesitate to give him tips. Of course, it doesn’t end with advice and YEWON tells him to do the gwiyomi song, a classic of cuteness. The rapper attempts to do the aegyo, but embarrassment gets in the way. “No, I don’t think I can do it. I don’t wanna do it.” He says, stomping his foot lightly at YEWON. His next step is to approach KENTA, who was watching videos. “I’m about to show you a whole new world!” The boy says excitedly as they start. “See, KT has a lot of cute and catchy concepts, and they do it really well. But they also have a strong, sexy side... I hope you see what I mean. Don’t worry too much about being cute, we’ll make sure that our KT performance lets you be as strong as sexy as you want,” he says, nodding. Joining JACKSON and YEWON to decide their second performance, they choose to show something different from what the KT team performed last week. CHANGBIN suggests giving Bad Boy more rap parts to fit the other half of the team and they decide to combine his idea with LC9's Sherlock. Coach Sunmi shares other ideas, like using the upside-down walking choreography from Woman and they add it to create a concept for the stage - spies.

Clips of their dance and vocal practices appear on the screen and their hard work and determination have good results. On the last day, once they are done practicing, the group sits down with the coaches to learn more about their previous experiences on the show and hear some encouragements from those who supported them in the past two weeks. “I’m going to tell you guys something my coach used to tell me before my floor routines for gymnastics competitions: you leave your heart on that stage. Our every ounce of energy you have into it. Make it as memorable and amazing as you can because you have the talent. you have the potential. you just have to show it.” Sunmi says to them and Seungwan shares her own advices. Sunmi promises to take them out to eat if they win. “Ah, we really have to win now…” KENTA says.

Because of their previous stage that night, when Team Polaris returns to the stage for their second act, this time portraying KT, everyone seems curious to know what they have prepared this time, wondering if it would be as shocking as the first stage. Instead of religious outfits and accessories, they look nice in suits and glasses. They re-introduce themselves and get into position as the stage darkens. Only the boys are seen as they take the center stage looking like spies. The opening instrumental kicks in and they play with dialogues and poses. The group adds some dancing onto the intro and uses the umbrellas as guns in an interesting way. The lights go from red to normal as YEWON comes in with her backup dancers in the famous upside down walking dance. She’s placed down onto stage and they get in position for the actual song. The music starts and the group does the choreography with some alterations. CHANGBIN is responsible for the element of surprise when he raps, the lyrics self-written and full of references of the artist’s previous title tracks. When the audience could start guessing if they would keep some of the original lyrics, KENTA sings, followed by another rap verse from YEWON, and both KENTA and JACKSON put their colors to the chorus, their voices sounding good as expected from them. Sounds of gunshots can be heard and they all get down, then sirens play and the lights follow the only girl of the group. A red spotlight appears and they sing in unison, changing the famous lines of LC9 to KT. The vocalists sing the pre-chorus, then move into the chorus powerfully. They end the performance with a simplified dance break. The girl is center during the part and shoots the boy down with the umbrella she grabbed. they fall and she is the only one standing as the lights dim. The crowd reacts positively once they’re done.

Tiger JK looks happy as he reaches inside the box, turning his hand inside. “I hope it’s Sphere?” He chuckles towards Baek Jiyoung, the one who had chosen TRC earlier in the day. When he takes a ball out, however, it says something else. “Nova!” He exclaims before looking over at Hyun Bin. “That’s a real challenge.”

"We tied our performances this week into last week’s. We were team Antidote and this time we’re coming in as team Sirius because it’s the brightest star of the constellation it’s part of and because of Nova, because Sirius is tied to very different mythological historical figures who are opposites of each other. Our performances are like that too. last week was about being the Antidote. This week is about love, about a poisoned love and a pure one. One that was saved by the antidote and one that wasn’t. Something like that,” MINHO explains with a bright, cheeky grin during his interview.  

If the team formed by KANG HYUNGGU, HWANG YEJI, CHOI MINHO, and LEE CHAERYEONG tried to capture TRC’s image in their performance earlier, they now return to the stage wearing school uniforms with the challenge to portray Nova’s. The stage starts in a blackout and the intro message saying "Our love is in the stars" appears on the screen, stars behind the message. The screen rises and they sit by their desks with the eight backup dancers, lights flashing on and off as they start to dance. The group showcases a powerful dance intro with sharp movements. YEJI pretends to load a gun and they move the desks in a way CHAERYEONG can run across them and take over the center. The backup dancers turn over the desks to reveal the capital letters that formed their team name, Sirius, behind the group. The lights dim, but when they’re back, the group is in formation to start. A summery background appears as the music kicks in. HYUNGGU starts the song and other vocalists, MINHO and YEJI, continue alternating the verses. Known for being a group of good dancers, they have no trouble executing every move of the intense choreography precisely.  They all sing in unison before CHAERYEONG starts rapping, the original lyrics changed and making reference to their previous TRC performance. It progresses to the chorus and the group shows their skills once more, synchronized dancing, charisma, and good live singing. HYUNGGU brings an end to the song.

Instead of following the pattern so far, the screen turns black. “This is our last interview. How does that make you feel?” The first one to appear is KANG DANIEL. “Ah,” he laughs. “Honestly, I’m… sad.” Following him, MIYAWAKI SAKURA appears with a pout on her lips. “I’m actually sad, ya know! I enjoyed my time here with everyone despite the heavy competition.” LEE NAKYUNG comments as well. “I remember every week thinking that maybe that’d be my last interview, and now it is real.”

LEE SUWOONG appears next. “Truthfully, I feel accomplished! Who would’ve thought that LEE SUWOONG would make it this far? I started with trot, didn’t I? And now I’m sitting here, interviewing for the finals.” LEE CHAERYEONG goes next. “It makes me sad to move on, but excited for what the future will hold.” Another person appears as well, SEO CHANGBIN. “When I first joined, I didn’t really know what to expect. Whether I’d make it through the first round, or the second, even make it through the callback.” To finish this off, there is WONG YUKHEI. “It’s exciting to be in the finals, and this sort of signifies that - my last interview. I made it this far… guess all I have to do now is win, right?”

Back inside the room with the judges, the staff tells the next CEO to sort the second concept. “Katie Lee must choose the KT group concept.” The woman sighs, leaning over to reach inside the box. With not many options left, she shows what she pulled: “Sphere!” Before they can move on, a staff member interrupts them. “You’ll have to pull again…” Katie Lee looks to the side not looking very amused. “The only group left is Royal, so if you choose Sphere they’d have to do the same concept twice.”

“Then why did you make me do it?” The woman puts her hand back inside the box. When she pulls a new ball she shows it to the camera again. “I think… it’s Royal.” So Jisub frowns from his seat. “Don’t say it like that.”

Returning to the stage, the MC introduces them again. “Returning for their second stage is… Black Widow!” The four contestants make their way to the center of the stage. It is decorated with detailed white woodworking and standing lamps and they all stand in a line dressed in golden colors. When the song starts to play, they turn their face to the front and slowly pick up the dance. SIA begins the song, walking forward, and then followed by YURI’s lines. When they get down on the floor, NAKYUNG, followed by YUKHEI. He also gets his own rap verse later into the song, followed by the bridge led by YURI and SIA. They finish it off with an intense gaze to the audience and the camera.

The room with the CEOs appears again, but there isn’t much mystery left behind which concept will be the last to be chosen. So Jisub reaches for the box, clearly unhappy. “Why do I need to do this too if we already know what it’ll be?” Baek Jiyoung taps her fingers against the table. “Come on! Say it!” The man takes out the last ball, but it’s one people already saw before. “It’s Sphere.” There’s a sudden silence in the room, all the CEOs appearing to be frozen. “That is all for now.” They turn to stare at the staff, Tiger JK chuckling again while Hyun Bin runs his hands down his face. “How fun!” Tiger JK says just in time for the screen to change to the last few practice scenes.

Back in Royal, the contestants are seen taking a water break by themselves, and SUWOONG decides to say something. “Let’s do a second prank.” If anyone forgot, the screen shows the last few pranks done inside that room. One was by the coaches with the cake drop, and then the other by the contestants with the door scare.

“Didn’t you see how shocked they were last time?!” YOUNGJAE protests, but SUWOONG promises it won’t go down like that again. “No, no, no, not another scare prank. Something bigger. Better. They already think we got them back with the scare prank, so they wouldn’t expect another one.” On the following day, the coaches are back again, nervously watching the contestants as they make their announcement. “We have a confession,” SUWOONG starts. “Yesterday, when the three of you were gone, we sat down and thought really hard about our performance. It’s cute, but we want to do something more fun and relevant, so we… chose a new song.” He quickly raises both of his hands. “Don’t be mad! We’re very serious. Please allow us to show.”

Instead of being serious, as they had promised, the four of them instead start to perform their version of ‘PPAP.’ When the first vocal part is done, YOUNGJAE takes out his otamatone and beings playing it following the song. Is with this fun mood that the scene fades off and changes to the live stage and the MC waiting to announce them. “And now, for our final performance, please welcome the Royal Flush!” The four last finalists make their way to the stage, all eyes now set on them. Their outfits are all in pretty pastels of yellow and white. 

HEEJIN is the one who starts them of this time, welcoming the stage with her sweet vocals to a popular She’Z song. KYUNGSOO sings next, showing a cute side of himself even with his deeper voice. Unlike the previous performance, YOUNGJAE gets to sing this time instead of rap. They follow along with the performance as it is known until it gets towards the end when they all shout together to the public. “Do it with us!” It’s the last chorus and the camera captures a few of the audience members who follow along to the arm movement. The performance ends with a large heart created by HEEJIN and YOUNGJAE as the top half and SUWOONG and KYUNGSOO at the bottom. 

As the crowd cheers for what is the final performance of the season, the MC appears again on the screen. “With this, we conclude our performances for this season. It’s been a long one, but as the grand finale, it will come to an end.” Some people in the audience let out an ‘aww’ and the man stops to nod. “Voting has closed now and before the results are announced we’ll take another small break! Please don’t change your channel. We’ll be right back!”

The break is as long as the previous and when the show returns, the stage is rid of any previous props of confetti. All the finalists stand together with the group and a bit apart from each other. The MC stands in the middle, ready to greet the public. “Welcome back to the grand finale of the Mnet Global Audition Season 5! Our contestants have already shown all of their performances and voting has been closed! Our judges already have their final decisions in hand and all that is left is to announce the final ranking.”

“We have 20 finalists here from the starting 100 hopefuls. They are separated into five groups and each performed here twice today. However, only one group may be the final winner. Congratulations on your journey all the way here. Please, can we have a round of applause?” The audience claps and cheers for their favorite finalists, some names coming out louder than others. “And now, without further ado, I’ll announce the final rankings.”

Tense music starts to play in the set, one people should already know from the previous episodes. “In fifth place…”

(To be continued briefly)

[strangerdawn]

The Pioneer

The Pioneer was a dream come true for a kid with scuffed knees and a ragged skateboard. I'd spend all week in class drawing old Flip graphics in the back of my exercise book and daydreaming about skating. My feet itching for my weekly pilgrimage to the park. I'd arrive at the park and skate until I couldn't. I'd injure myself or my parents would be parked outside honking the horn. Nothing else would stop me.

The first time I went to Pioneer, I didn't even drop in. I stood at the top of the flatbank, looked down, and thought about all the different ways I could hurt myself rolling down. Glued to the wall, I watched the older kids tearing around the park and stood in sheer awe. The videos I'd seen simply couldn't compare to seeing the rawness of skateboarding in person. I was fascinated by their speed, power and the mental strength they had to shrug off a heavy slam and try the same trick again. I barely moved from my spot all day and left without having even rolled down any ramps. I was disappointed in myself. I'd so desperately wanted to take part in the session but I had been overcome by fear.  

I thought about the park all through school that week and begged my parents to take me back at the weekend. This time I was determined to ride down that flatbank. Saturday finally came around and my parents dropped me off at opening time. I paid my entry, walked over to the bank and scampered up it's lumber skeleton. At the top of the ramp I stood and looked down. I was terrified but I knew I couldn't leave without at least trying to roll in. I rolled up to the edge of the ramp and peered over. It looked like a hell of a long way down. I followed this routine over and over and over again. Each time inching closer and closer to the edge but never quite having the balls to let myself roll over. There came to be a point where I knew I couldn't take one more attempt without rolling in. It had to be this go.

When I eventually I mustered up the courage to go down. I pushed off, put my feet on the board, and felt my wheels roll over the lip. As I picked up speed I began to wobble and I got about halfway down before I slipped out and slammed hard. I shook as I felt the unforgiving concrete connect with my knee. It hurt, but not as much as I expected, and once I'd got that first slam out of the way my fear evaporated. I could do this. I knew I could do this.

I clambered back to the top of the ramp and waited for the right time to roll in again. My heart pounded in my chest and my knees shook from the adrenaline. I saw a space begin to open up and took a few dummy pushes like a bull preparing to charge. I took off with the last push and hopped on my board. My wheels rolled over the lip and into the bank. Time slowed as I felt myself pick up more and more speed. I braced myself for a fall but before I had time to think I was rolling along the flat. I couldn't believe I'd made it. My face lit up. Fuck. I had actually done it. I'd expected to fall but I didn't fear the pain. I just wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. All it had taken was the balls to push off, the strength to get up when I fell, and the belief that I could do it when I tried again the next time. I got hooked on skating from that point onwards and since then I've always been trying to chase that next challenge to push what I am physically able to do on a board.

I lived a town over from Pioneer growing up and found the scene in the local area to be a constant source of inspiration. There was everything a grom could dream of. The town had a local pro, a skate shop, an indoor park, a few skate crews, and a local video.

In a country notorious for it's damp and dark seasons living by an indoor skate park is important. England is a place where sunshine can all too often seem to be a mythic creature and the weather can snake you in a way that a child on a scooter can never match. The days where you watch a skate video and get excited to skate only to look out the window and see puddles forming on the pavement outside. Pioneer provided a level of security and a skate sanctuary on those drizzly days. I knew that when I felt that itch to skate there was always a place I could go bomb around on my board and empty my mind.

The park was originally set up when Rodney Clarke and Andy Willis approached the Pioneer Youth Club to see if they could store their homemade ramps there. They were tired of them getting ruined or vandalized when they left them elsewhere. They moved the ramps into the club and over time were allowed to build more and more additions. The park has been running and expanding ever since.

Andy Willis has been involved with the skate park since it's inception and was instrumental in the recent redesign and rebuild of the park. He has also been involved in a number of other skate parks around the UK. Most notably he was at the forefront of the Frontside Gardens project in Hackney Wick, a skate park built for the local community exclusively with materials left over from the construction of the London Olympics stadiums.

Andy's recent redesign of The Pioneer reflects the current state of skate culture. Modern skateboarding was birthed by surfers carving concrete banks but now the possibilities of what can be skated and how it can be skated have blossomed to include almost anything you find in the urban landscape. When these elements are placed in a skate park setting, skaters are able to practice their tricks in a safe space free from the interference of pedestrians or other difficulties found on the street. A great skate park architect will include a great deal of variety of obstacles in an arrangement that provides creative opportunities for fluid movement through the space. Not only that but a park needs to cater for the mixture of styles in contemporary skate culture. The new layout of The Pioneer has moved away from the traditional skate park structure of a few big simple obstacles arranged in a formulaic manner to a more complex range of small objects which provide greater creative opportunities for experimentation on a skateboard.

As a kid I'd occasionally see Rodney Clarke at Pioneer. He had great energy and composure on and off his board. Not to mention monster pop and the ability to conquer every obstacle in sight. Being able to see that level of skating in person blew my mind. I was amazed by the skate videos I saw coming out of America but I couldn't relate to the environment. The smooth concrete and seemingly endless sunshine was far removed from the grey skies and cracked pavement that surrounded me. Seeing Rodney skate completely demystified the other worldliness of LA skating and I was able to see that even in my hometown you could teach yourself how to skate to a high level. He was just some guy from my area who had put in the time to teach himself these incredible things. You would never see Beckham having a kick around in the local park but I could go to Pioneer and I might catch a glimpse of a professional skateboarder showing me the huge amount of creative possibilities with a skateboard at your feet.

This brought on the realization that on a skateboard, everyone is on a level playing field. Being bigger or smaller doesn't matter, it's simply how much time you have put in to learning the skill and what tricks or obstacles you have spent your time skating. When you see someone able to push themselves to such a high level it changes your perception of the possible and your ideas of what a person is physically able to do. The act of skateboarding instills the ability to learn within you. You understand what steps you need to take in order to teach yourself a new skill and gain the patience needed to learn something new. You become aware of your strengths and weaknesses on a skateboard and set yourself mental and physical challenges in order to be able to play with your board in a more sophisticated way. There is no glass ceiling in skateboarding and there is always something new to try. Can you learn a new trick or do an old trick longer, higher or faster?

Another inspiration for me at the park was Ben Rafferty. I grew up skating with Ben who is now a proud member of the Pioneer staff and lent a hand with the recent rebuild of the park. He's a ripper and a firm fixture in the local scene. I knew him when his skateboard looked taller than him and it'd didn't make sense how someone so small could throw himself down stairs so high. Ben started skating after he caught glimpses of his neighbour skating behind his garage and got his first board when Santa hooked him up with his very own Rhino deck when he was 10. Growing up he was one of those skaters you'd see every other week and in that time he'd learnt 10 new tricks. He looked completely unified with his board and it was almost impossible to imagine it any other way. His familiarity with the park shines through and he can attack the park like noone else. He sees lines that others would never notice and his bag of tricks on the course is seemingly endless.

I no longer live near the park but I still travel there when I get the chance and the place will always hold a place in my heart. Skateboarding can be a cruel mistress but we will always strive for those days when you're surrounded by friendly faces and everything is new and fun.

The Pioneer was first published in Radulthood (2014). Illustration by Otso Perasaari.

[investigatingregionalscenes]

story about music #8

Winter-Spring, 2013: In order to graduate, I needed a capstone. I chose to do deep reporting project I’d been threatening to do since 2009, and looked into the noise and experimental scene of New England. I recorded seven interview with experimental artists about their lives and work. These are five of them. They were taken in a variety of locales in the Boston area: Cambridge, Somerville, Lowell, and Salem.

In the last year, I’ve been thinking a lot about this period and these conversations as I ask myself, why keep doing this?

above: Ron Lessard, as Emil Beaulieau, performs in someone’s basement in Worcester, Massachusetts.

Music

Music for this episode was created using the following household objects: a desk lamp, a can of beer, a record player, a radiator, and a vacuum cleaner.

With the exceptions of “Fog in the Ravine” by Lejsovka and Freund as well samples from their songs “From Royal Ave” and “Nothing, Just Looking at the Moon” and the song “Blue Line Homicide” by Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck.

The soundtrack was created with advice from musician Jacob Rosati. It will be made available for download later in the summer. For more info please subscribe to the podcast, tumblr, or follow us on twitter.

Links

Crank Sturgeon still performs and tours regularly. He also builds contact microphones and other circuit bent sundries, one of which was used in the production of this episode. A full recording of his set used in this episode is available here.

Crank Sturgeon, 2012, from Wikimedia.

Shane Broderick spent most of his twenties making music with his friend Ted (and later, their friend Josh Hydeman) under the name Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck. Their music is a good example of the subgenres Grindcore and Power Electronics. The name is also exemplary of those subgenres. The performance video which is referenced in the documentary, taken in the mid-00s, has been removed from Youtube. A video from that period is visible here, uploaded by the band’s Ted Sweeney. (contains nudity)

Shane Broderick, from Existence Establishment

Ron Lessard still runs RRRecords in Lowell, Massachusetts. He previously performed under the name Emil Beaulieau. A collection of performances, including the one used in the documentary, can be seen in the video compilation below. 

Emil Beaulieau: America’s Greatest Living Noise Artist, from Youtube

Andrea Pensado still makes music and performs live. She composes in Max/MSP. Her most recent release is a pair of live collaborations with Id M Theft Able. Her former project, with Greg Kowalski, is QFWFQ. 

Andrea Pensado live performance, 10-13-13, from Youtube

Angela Sawyer owned Weirdo Records until it closed in 2015. She now performs comedy and experimental music around Boston. 

Angela Sawyer, from her personal website.

The interview with Andrea Pensado was recorded along with my friend Samira, who was producing her own documentary of Boston’s experimental music scene, below. It includes footage from the Andrea interview as well as her own separate interview with Angela Sawyer. 

“The Noise” by Samira Winter, from Youtube

Luigi Russolo’s manifesto is The Art of Noises

Luigi Russolo and the Intonarumori, with his asst. Uglo Piatti, from Wikimedia

Transcript

Brendan: Would you mind telling me about the show at [withheld] , from six years ago, down the street?

Shane: Yeah, um, I was setting up a show with some old-school Detroit noise dudes. When we showed up, the owner was there instead of the doorman, and he was just upset cause he was there on, like, a Tuesday night. 

So what ended up happening was is, uhh, two bands played and he came up to me a said, “show’s over.” “Well there’s still two bands to play,” and he’s like, “I don’t care, the show’s over.” I’m like, “the show’s been booked for two months.” Just because you want to go home and, like, jerk off into a kleenex or whatever it is that you fuckin’ do. It has nothing to do with me. And he got upset, and I was like, well listen dude, how about the last two bands play at the exact same time.” So that’s what we did. Warmth and Twodeadsluts collaborated. It lasted about fifteen seconds, and the owner came over and kicked a table with everyone’s gear on it. So the only logical thing for me to do as a Bostonian–– and I have pride being a Bostonian–– is I just looked at this guy and I was like, “I don’t care how big he is, or how Italian he is, I’m gonna wind up, and I’m gonna punch this guy right in the fucking face.”

Brendan: And what happened?

Shane: That guy hit me back––I-I lost a little bit of time there. He’s a lot bigger than me. Uh, clocks went still. I kinda woke up, I was on the ground, and he was smashing everyone’s gear. Cops came in, they put me in a car, they, y’know told me to leave and blah blah blah.

Brendan: Is that the only time cops have been called on you?

Shane: No. Not even close.

music: “Blue Line Homicide” | Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck

You’re listening to Stories About Music, a podcast on the subjects of music, journalism, and memories, and how the line between those three things is often not as clear as I’d hoped.

My name is Brendan Mattox, and this is story about music number eight, “Who’s Afraid of the Art of Noise?”.

Room 1 (Crank Sturgeon)

Cars pass by on Massachusetts Avenue, seen out the front window of Weirdo Records in Cambridge. It’s night time. A few young men in their twenties sit on the floor of the small storefront, waiting as Crank Sturgeon sets up in a corner.

Crank: Cool. So, do you think this is our show? Shall we wait, or?

Angela: I think…What time is it? It’s not eight-thirty, that’s probably most of our show. Let me turn that off.

Crank: Not that uh, four’s a wonderful audience, I’ve played for two. One of them was my brother who never saw me before that point…and Id Em Thft Able and I had some very bizarre sexual ritual in front of my brother, involving instant powdered milk and a plastic poster from 1970 of this naked woman holding a stuffed animal…And I had a penis helmet at the time… but alright, well I will perform for you hello, my name is Crank Sturgeon everybody… (6:37) We could do a performance where I have everyone sing introductions of themselves to each other. Everyone up on your feet. 

Crank: Hello! My name is Craaaaaaannnk Sturrrgeon!

Angela: Hello! My name is Angela Sawyyyyyeerrrrrr!

Crank: All at once now!

Brendan: And I am Brendan Mattox!

Crank: Hi Brendan Mattox, my name is Crank, it’s a pleasure to meet you, you have a really firm handshake. And this man in the corner, what’s your name? Andrew, another Andrew, Brendan, Angela.

Angela: Wow, we’re nearly phonemes.

Crank: Ahh, phonies…

Crank Sturgeon sits down behind his instruments: a few tape recorders, a sharpie, and a loudspeaker full of tacks and jelly beans.

Crank: First Piece, oh, wait. My brand new fish helmet, so I can lose even more water to my body. There we go. First piece is improvisations with the letter D. Delirious, Delightful, Delicious, Dumb, Dumbfounded, Dimwit, Diplodocus, Dinosaur, Diana, Dagnasty, Dagnabbit, Diddling, Dawdling, Doodling, Dude Ranch (buzzing noise) Dick, Doofus, Dammit, Darn, Dangle, Drink, Drunk, Dank, Dork, Dusty, Dunce, Distinguished! Development! Duplicitous.

Crank is wearing a black garbage bag over his head, adjusted so his face and white goatee peek through the hole he’s cut in it for air. On either side of the bag are two enormous fish eyes, drawn on card stock, with marker. 

I’m here tonight reporting a story about a couple of loosely associated experimental musicians from Boston, a story whose meaning is starting to exceed my grasp.

Brendan: How would you describe Crank Sturgeon?

Crank: In uhh, a sentence? Brendan: I have no idea. How would you describe the experience of being Crank Sturgeon?

Crank: Well it’s, uh, it’s not a party.

Angela: It is so.

Crank: It is a party. It’s funny because, I’ve survived for awhile, through the many phases of experimental music.

Brendan: What do you mean the many phases?

Crank: The many phases. You’d go to a show in 1996 in a basement in Allston and it was like, a tough guy scene. 

Angela: People sitting on the floor, like indian style, and a dude looking at his belly button going “doonk-doonk-doonk.”

Crank: (laughs) Very true…

Angela Sawyer, the owner of Weirdo, jumps in. She and Crank know each other going back to the nineties, when they were at the beginning of the path that has led to the three of us standing in a circle in her record store.

Brendan:  what’s the trick to growing old with grace within the experimental community?

Crank: Oh that’s a really fun question, because I’m still figuring it out. I think…did you want to say something?

Angela: Well I feel like no one– when I was twenty, or eighteen, and I met people who were much older than me, it never occurred to me to look at myself from their point of view, ever. So I only ever thought, “oh, that person is as old as my mom and my dad, but they’re doing what I want instead of what my parents are doing. Once you get to be–– I’m in my forties…then is when you’re like, oh, I have been there so many times and they have no idea where I am. So that’s when you start to feel marginalized a little bit

Room 2 (Shane Broderick)

The TV in Shane Broderick’s living room is on mute. A weather man gestures in to a map of New England in shades of blue and purple. At the top of the screen is a red banner with the words “Blizzard Warning.” It’s mid-afternoon. Shane and I are drinking cans of beer that Shane brought out of the fridge.

Shane: I was always playin’ music and stuff since I was a little kid. Even when I was, like, twelve years old I’d be up late smokin’ weed and messing with drum machines and stuff like that.

Brendan: Where’d you get your hands on a drum machine at age twelve.

Shane: Uhh, Christmas present.

Brendan: Christmas present?

Shane: Yeah.

Brendan: That’s pretty cool.

Shane: Yeah, I had my beginner guitar and a drum machine. Y’know once I was like, fifteen and stuff I got a job, started collecting equipment…I thought I’d make a career out of it but I ended up just being, like, a lifelong mailroom guy.

When he was 19 years-old, Shane dropped out of college in Florida and moved back to Massachusetts. He started making abrasive music with a friend he knew while working at a gas station in high school. 

Shane: We worked together and every time we finished a shift it would be like a hundred and something dollars under, and I was like, what the fuck this kid man.

They called themselves Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck.

Shane: We joked around on the internet about how we were going to start the most extreme band ever and how the first record we’d just put a bunch of contact mics in a blender and throw a rabbit in it and whatever it sounded like, that was the first LP. Which we never did. [music in]

Brendan: But what instead came out of it was…

Shane: I stuck my boner in a blender. Which was a demo that we did which was me and him coaching eleven of our friends, we were just trying to make circus music with grindcore parts.

Shane: We got reviewed in something like Metal Maniacs, that was like a magazine that when I was ten years old and my mother would drag me to CVS to grab things, I would sit in the aisle and look at, like, pictures of like, Slayer looking sexy and stuff like that, so I was like “oh shit, I’m in this magazine now.” After that, me and him decided to keep the name and go forward with it.

Shane is in his early thirties and he still makes music, although Twodeadsluts hasn’t been active for awhile. He also still plays shows sometimes, though he doesn’t really enjoy it.

Shane: I don’t know I think it’s just, like, nerves. It was easier with the other guys because we were more like a wrecking crew. Y’know, get blind stinkin’ drunk and it didn’t really matter what happened.

Brendan: What would one night at a TDS show end up being like?

Shane: It would start off sloppy and then I wouldn’t remember then end of it. 

(Indiscriminate yelling)

Shane: We’re Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck from Boston, and we need the drum machine way fucking louder. Get that shit way the fuck up.

Brendan: When you guys got onstage, there seems to be sort of a pattern. You start off with some harsh feedback, and then it progresses into stuff getting knocked over.

Shane: There was definitely a lot of feedback and definitely a lot of things knocked over.

They were also usually naked. 

Shane: I think we were probably more performative over substance, to be quite honest. In those early shows we were just using five or six microphones, a bunch of fx pedals running back into each other, and just whatever sounds were happening, were happening

[music]

Shane: Either people really liked it or found it very entertaining, and on the flipside– we’d have people picket our shows, feminists thinking that we were, like, um, promoting sexism… Just that band name wipes off at least 70% of the population from even giving you a chance. It’s probably a higher percentage than that…

Brendan: So the choice of the band name then, was it to…

Shane: It was kind of like, a filtering mechanism and also it was like an inside joke that just kept going and going, and no one was really in on it but us. The band wasn’t supposed to last ten years either.

Shane: I can’t even give you any rationale behind it…it really might look pretty forced, but it was actually pretty natural for the people involved in the band.

Brendan: Why was it so natural?

Shane: I don’t know. That’s a question for a therapist. I don’t know.

I sip from my can of beer even though it’s empty. Shane plays with the pull tab on his. On the television, the weatherman predicts a foot of snow is going to cover Boston over the next two days. Shane, still dressed in scrubs from the hospital where he works, says,“I got to work tomorrow no matter what.”

There’s a half-open ironing board against a wall. In the bathroom, the sink is plastered with shavings. Next to the un-flushed toilet sits a stack of musical notation paper. I stare at it, because it says something specific about the person I’m speaking to. I can’t figure out what, or why.

Brendan: If you could maybe, like, point me in the right direction of some people in the area to talk to…

Shane: I think you should definitely talk to Ron in Lowell. He runs triple-R records. He’s kind of, America’s greatest living noise artist. Like a godfather type…

Room 3 (RRRon)

I walk out Shane’s front door and into Ray Robinson’s café in downtown Lowell. Ron Lessard waits for me in a yellow booth along the window. Through the rain on the glass, the world outside is a blur of different shades of gray.

Brendan: Where should we begin?

Ron: (chewing noises) So. Today is Wednesday. I’m eating lunch. I’m almost through with my fries, soon I’ll be starting on my burgers. Fuckin’ awesome.

Ron is the noise expert, one of the engines driving America’s experimental music scene since the 80s. Ron has released about 1000 recordings on Triple-R’s in-house label.

Ron: I was the source. And everybody who ever learned how to play a tape backwards or make feedback decided to send me a demo. And man, I heard so much crap like you wouldn’t believe…I mean, how many Rock’n’roll bands are awesome, and how many suck beyond belief?

Ron first got into noise music around 1981, after he left the Air Force and came home to Lowell.  

Ron: There was a mail-order outlet out of Colorado called Aeon A-E-O-N. When I got their catalog, I couldn’t believe the stuff they had listed. They had, like, Whitehouse albums, New Blockaders, Maurizio Bianchi, and it’s like who the fuck are these guys? So I started buying that stuff  and I was like, woah, this is what I’ve been looking for all these years. The guy that ran it became a survivalist kind of guy, y’know, living out in the woods with his gun type of thing and, actually, he eventually sold me his entire inventory, I bought him out.

Ron: When I first opened I tried to specialize in all the really weird imports, bizarre bands and that kind of stuff, y’know. But at the same time, I knew enough to know that pedestrians, your average everyday person, has no freakin’ clue. They just want to listen to a Barry Manilow or whatever the fuck they like, y’know.  

His store, RRRecords, opened in 1984.

Ron: After Aeon, I was the guy that was thoroughly obsessed, and I just devoted myself to it…Day in day out noise, morning, noon, and night. Listening to tapes, checking out bands all day every day. At that time Heavy metal wasn’t heavy enough, punk rock wasn’t extreme enough, Noise did it for me, it really did.

Ron started performing noise music himself under the name Emil Beaulieau. Footage from from the nineties, like this, show him using vinyl records and their accessories as instruments. 

This is another way to look at noise music: instead of using something like a trombone, or a tuba, a guitar, or a piano, you take whatever you can find, whatever objects appeal to you, and you refashion them into something expressive. The screeching noise you hear is coming from a modified turntable, which Ron stands behind with a goofy look on his face, pretending to polish record.

Ron: Remember to always, always use the circular motion when cleaning your records.

From that perspective, noise is a positive, creative philosophy, and I can see how people get so obsessed with it.

Ron:A lot of people, y’know, they can’t play guitar, they can’t play the drums–– but twisting knobs and screaming your brains out, getting out that primal scream, whatever it is…it’s inside everybody.

Brendan: And speaking of which, what’s your personal experience with it.

Ron: (Darkly) What do you mean?

Brendan: I mean with Emil Beaulieau.

Ron: Yeah.

Brendan: Well you just said that Noise music was this personal experience. How did you get stuff out through Emil Beaulieau?

Ron: I–I’m not sure where your leading, as far as recording or getting the name out?

Brendan: Why did you start Emil Beaulieau?

Ron: ––you know, I just wasn’t any good at sports (laughter).

The uncomfortable moment sticks in the back of mind for the rest of our interview. Though Ron’s eloquent and energetic, as I was warned he would be, he’s also a little guarded. Maybe that’s because I showed up looking for someone to answer the criticisms of noise music or its culture, which he brushes off with a simple:

Ron: Lately? Lately I’m out of it.

Brendan: When was the last time you were in it?

Ron: Seven years ago (laughs)

Brendan: So let’s go back seven years, because this is something that keeps coming up in interviews with people. Seven years ago, things were very…

Ron: Active.

Brendan: Active.

Ron: Wicked, wicked, wicked active.

Brendan: What’s happened?

Ron: The bands that are making noise today sound like the bands that were making noise ten years ago, that sound like the bands making noise twenty years ago, y’know they sound exactly the same, they’re doing the same freakin’ feedback, they’re still screaming the same lyrics, y’know, it’s just the same thing over and over and over and over again. Which is fine, y’know, punk rock exists for a reason, y’know. The young people, they’re totally into it because it’s new for them. It’s like wow this is freakin awesome these guys are screaming their brains out! They’re talking about killing people! But then ten years later it’s the same thing all over again…I mean do you want to listen to that same band for freaking ten years in a row? I mean do you still want to hear Aerosmith? No you don’t (laughs).

He seems tired in a way that I’ve not seen before. As we talk, I get the sense that what Ron and I are doing has become an exit interview.

Ron: I did what I had to do. I did what I had to do and just to keep doing it because somebody else wants me to? Wrong freakin reason. That’s how bands start to suck. So fuck that y’know.

Y’know there was a time when I couldn’t wait to get on stage and scream my brains out. It’s like, well I mean y’know, you ever had a girlfriend? You make out with her it’s like the best! And then one day, you don’t want to make out with her anymore. It’s no different.

I mean, it’s been seven years. I stopped performing seven years ago, March of ’06. It’s now March ’13. It’s seven freaking years that I’ve stopped. Chances are you’re not doing the same thing you were doing seven years ago. And I’m willing to bet, seven years from now, you’re not going to be doing the exact same thing you’re doing now. People change, they move on. Been there, done that, why do it again?

music: “Fog in the Ravine” | Lejsovka & Freund

The scene dissolves. In the darkness, I think of the question that I wish I’d asked. This isn’t just some thing Ron was doing, it was the thing – what can you do when you lose touch with the something that was core to your identity?

Room 4 (Andrea Pensado)

Andrea: I think it’s very important to not to be scared of being in a place of not knowing. To be in a place of uncertainty, is excellent! Even if it is uncomfortable. Honestly, I don’t want a comfortable life. 

I’m sitting in a cozy loft apartment in Salem, while my friend Samira chats with a small, owlish woman in her late 40s named Andrea Pensado.

Andrea: Well if you feel it at twenty than you cannot imagine in your forties.

Samira: I just taste it and I’m like, ‘wow, I’m just feeling all the sugar.’

Andrea: I ate a lot of chips, it was a bad idea. With beer, y’know, not good.

Samira is working on her own documentary about experimental music.

Andrea first got interested in music when she was a little girl, growing up in Buenos Aires.

Andrea: Eh, I was living in an apartment building, and a friend of mine, she started taking piano lessons. She showed me her music and I saw the notation, ehh, and I was fascinated. Honestly I was not aware of such a rich experimental music background until when I was in Poland… 

She left Argentina to study composition in Krakow as an adult. But the music she composed on paper was so complex, that she often had trouble finding people to play it. Andrea likes to think about timbre–– the color of sound, what differentiates one instrument from another.  To wring out some really interesting timbre with traditional instruments, you’ve got to do some out there stuff.

Andrea: Like, I don’t want to be just writing for the drawer.

And then, Andrea went to the Audio Art Festival, a meeting of the minds held in Krakow every November. The festival focuses on objects used to produce sound: musical instruments, but also computers. 

Inspired, Andrea taught herself to program and began using electronics in her work.

Andrea: So I create a wifi for myself just to avoid latency, you can work with any wife…So my controllers are! An iPod–– I say, I look like an apple merchandise stand, which is quite depressing, but you know, what can I do? So this is an iPod with a special application I use to… [iPod click]. Well, first I have to set up the wifi, I show you…

Andrea is wearing a a headset like the kind people use to play video games. She’s sitting at her computer with an iPod Touch in her right hand. 

Andrea: This is a simple wave, just a simple low tone. So if I move it like this, I change the pitch. And then if I do like this, the distortion is the direct result of– 

She twists and bends her arm manipulating the sine wave into a complex pattern.

Andrea: And I can do the same if I had my voice…

Then she flicks on her mic.

Andrea: Hey, hah, that’s my voice! (noise) hello! Hah! (pause, noise ends). So you know it’s quite dramatic.

Andrea: Maybe for somebody who is not a lot in music, this seems harsh. I don’t think this is harsh at all, this is just the way new music is going. I do believe that, even though I don’t think what we do now is better than what was done in the Renaissance, ok, I do believe that there is constant change, and that artistic languages keep having a need of refreshing themselves, ok?…yeah?

Brendan: (18:49) Why do you think music is shifting in that direction?

Andrea: To explore timbre…Because now, thanks to the technology, we have access to it. It’s easier to manipulate. We are like kids, we are, like, playing. (12:26) I compare it to the beginning of the baroque, where they became aware of chords, of verticality, and then for 300 years, they explore that.

Andrea’s grandiosity reminds me of the document that first inspired me to pursue this project. In 1913, a young painter named Luigi Russolo wrote a letter to a composer he admired. The two of them were part of an Italian movement known as Futurism. Russolo’s letter ended up as one of the movement’s major manifestoes, The Art of Noises. 

In The Art of Noises, Russolo laid out a framework for the music of the new industrial world, in which the city itself is both the inspiration and the instrument. 

For centuries life went by in silence, at most in muted tones…Amidst this dearth of noises, the first sounds that man drew from a pieced reed or stretched string were regarded with amazement…and the result was music, a fantastic world superimposed on the real one…

We Futurists have deeply loved and enjoyed the harmonies of the great masters. Now, we are satiated and find far more enjoyment in the combination of the noises of trams, backfiring motors, carriages and bawling crowds than in rehearsing the “er-O-i-ca” or the “Pastorale”.

We cannot much longer restrain our desire to create finally a new musical reality, with a generous distribution of resonant slaps in the face. Discard violins, pianos, double-basses and plaintive organs…

I am not a musician, I have therefore no acoustical predilections, nor any works to defend. I am a Futurist painter using a much loved art to project my determination to renew everything. And so, bolder than a professional musician could be, unconcerned by my apparent incompetence and convinced that all rights and possibilities open up to daring, I am able to initiate the great renewal of music by means of the Art of Noises.

It is, and I am one to talk, very pretentious. And yet, I kind of sympathize with the guy. When I started making a podcast, I was intent on remaking a whole sector of journalism with my own bold incompetence.

A man of his word, Luigi built these giant boxes called the Intonarumori, whose purpose was to make a bunch of noise. A photo of them often accompanies The Art of Noises, and you can see Russolo standing behind one, this thin guy with a mustache, a hand placed on the crank handle at its back. 

Like most manifestoes, The Art of Noises says very little about its writer, except what he wanted to be: a great destroyer come to remake the world in his image. If you’re a certain type of young person, that idea is very attractive, and you can embrace it without really thinking about what other things you might put to the side to achieve that.

Samira: What’s your, I know you’ve done a lot of work with visual, audio and visual.

Andrea: Well that’s with my ex-husband (laughter). Greg, whom I met in Poland, he comes from video, from cinema. We had a duo, eventually, I stopped doing my own to work for our duo, which we worked together for ten years. Greg did the images and I did the sound. And we work on interactivity. Then we split, so now I work just with sound.

Brendan: How is your music different working with your ex-husband, than after?

Andrea: The main goal of our duo was to have real time interaction between images and the sound. So if there was something onstage like a movement or, whatever, it had simultaneously a result in both. It gave some rigidity. So now that the interaction isn’t so important, I have much more freedom to just to improvise. It’s like much, much more freedom.

Room 6 (Angela Sawyer)

Angela: One of the first people I ever met who was interested in experimental music was Ron Lessard. 

I’m standing at the counter in Weirdo Records one afternoon, talking with Angela Sawyer again She’s telling me how she first got involved with the experimental scene, just after she started at U-MASS LOWELL in the early 90s.

I had never been to New England at all, I just flew here on a plane from Denver and I wanted to meet some people, and I didn’t really know what to do, and I heard some other kids saying that they wanted to join the college radio station. They said at the meeting to join up, you have to show up and volunteer…I went back the next day, and there no one was there.

Brendan: How long were you there for?

Angela: Probably an hour (laughs). Finally someone came by…I was just like, “hey, hey, I’m here to volunteer, what should I do?” And they just looked at me like I had three heads. They were like, “why don’t you clean something?” So I found a vacuum and I just started vacuuming…

And I went through all the rooms, and finally I got to a room that I hadn’t been in yet, and there was a person in there, and it was kind of dark in there…So I waited for him to notice me. I said hi, I’m trying to vacuum. I had no idea that it was the air studio and, um, Ron, of course, he’s like a firecracker going off. So he’s like, “OH YES COME ON IN,” he was mic-ing the vacuum cleaner, and I’m just like “oh hi,” and he’s like tell me about yourself, who are you? And uhh, he was really awesome to me

As we walk down memory lane, Angela starts talking about a world that I was once very interested in, the network of noise and experimental artists who connected in the early days of the internet, after decades of being little feudal kingdoms.

Angela: There was definitely a feeling at one point of there being a first-world wide, at least, community, if not worldwide, of people who were listening to the same releases, and they were seeing the same bands, they’d heard some Throbbing Gristle records, and they had a common language and finding out about cool stuff and figuring out how it worked, and they knew what happened when you stuck a clarinet underwater and put delay on it. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about what Angela said at the Crank Sturgeon show, about choosing to live on the Island of Misfit toys without thinking about it very hard. Because I feel, in a lot of ways, that that’s become my life. I’m more devoted now than ever to completing the work I set out for myself, but I’m also deeply unhappy, and more isolated.

Angela: Every town has the person who is like, I’ll become the nun, I’ll sacrifice myself and do all this work and…y’know, I have a store, that’s what I do.

Brendan: Can you talk a bit about sacrificing–– about becoming a martyr for the scene?

Angela: I’m not trying to do that, I actually really dislike that. 

Brendan: How did you fall into the role?

Angela: If you have some job related to underground music, that’s what you’re doing. ‘Cause there’s no money. But that’s one of the only ways you can spend your whole life surrounded by it. 

music: “Fog in the Ravine” | Lejsovka and Freund

Angela: Everything I know about politics and geography and sociology and psychology, and how to sort of figure out how to deal with the world at large, I mostly learned them from records. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a conversation about anything else. I’m a very narrow person outside of records. Basically, records are sort of my defense system and or window for everything, I think of every record as like a pair of of tinted glasses, and you can look at the whole world through that and see it in a new way, and each good record has a slightly different shade on it, so you never get done figuring out how things work and enjoying new wrinkles in how things are. The bad news is that if you take the glasses off things look terrible, then you have to function like a regular person. And that’s not something I’m very good at.

If I’m being honest, neither am I. I’ve agonized over these interviews for a long time, afraid of saying the wrong thing about the people in them. To call it a “cautionary tale of loving something– an idea– that cannot love you back,” sounded unkind, both to them and to myself. I can’t help but feel at the end that that’s exactly what it is.

I avoided revisiting these interviews for almost five years because they held up a mirror to the shaky logic I built ambitions on. They pointed out, in no uncertain terms, that art cannot save me. It can help me find a way to save myself, by learning to communicate things that I feel deeply in a way that’s truthful, accurate, and honest. But that’s all that it can do. 

And it took losing someone I loved very much to understand that. 

Room 7 (Somerville Ave)

Shane Broderick and I stand on the sidewalk of Somerville Avenue on a cool spring evening. Shane’s arm is in a cast. He’s just finished telling me a story about the time he punched a club owner at a venue up the block. As we’re talking about the reputation that Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck had amongst Boston’s club owners, some of Shane’s friends emerge from the bar where he’s just finished a gig.

Shane: it’s funny because we never actually gave any of the venues our actual performances, it was more like basement parties and shit like that that they were scared of, that they’d heard about.

Brendan: I can’t remember if I got this on tape last time, would you mind describing what the actual performances were?

Shane: Can’t really do that, I don’t know, you can ask these guys.

Friend 1: What’s that?

Friend 2: You gotta lighter? I just realized I left my backpack down there, I got good beer in there but whatever fuck that shit.

Brendan: Would you guys mind describing to me what a normal show by Twodeadsluts Onegoodfuck was like?

Friend 2: Is this an interview? I wasn’t ready for an interview man I can’t do that! My voice cannot be heard on tape.

Friend 1: (makes jerk-off motion) It’s like this.

Friend 2: Can I get a lighter from somebody?

Shane: (shouting) It’s like looking at something, and gettin’ so excited and just BAM! And then it’s kind of like aww fuck.

Friend 1: I don’t have a lighter!

Friend 2: Do you have a lighter?

Shane: We need to go home. Need to hide under a blanket.

Friend 2: Do you have a lighter buddy?

Brendan: Nah, I’m sorry.

Friend 2: Motherfucker! How can you do an interview without a lighter? (distant) Fuck! Amateur!

Brendan: So, just so I don’t take up the rest of your time, there was something you said during the last interview. You said that, for TDS, there was this joke that you guys…when the joke stopped being funny, you guys were like, ‘alright, I’m gonna do something else.’

Friend 1: The joke didn’t stop being funny.

Shane: Well ok I’m not sure the joke ever stopped being funny but…

Brendan: So, what, in your opinion what was the joke?

Friend 1: The band was the joke.

Brendan: What specifically about the band was the joke?

Friend 1: I don’t know…

Friend 2: (strike lamppost) Do a funny voice c’mon what the fuck! We’re supposed to be entertained by this shit.

Shane: Alright, you can cut my voice here.

Friend 2: It doesn’t matter what you say so long as it’s in a funny voice it’s cool.

Shane: There are a lot of Boston noise bands and people from Jamaica Plain and Allston and they want everyone to be like, onboard with, ‘hey, we’re all friends, this is a scene! come down to our house play a show blah blah blah.’ And what Twodeadsluts was more like, was just like, ‘We’re not even invited. We’re playing a show, we’re trashing your fuckin’ house.’

Brendan: Do you ever miss it?

Shane: Yeah, of course I do. It is what it is.

Brendan: I feel like that’s a pretty good place to end.

Shane: There you go.

I walk off into the night. A block away, I come to a stop on a concrete island in the middle of Somerville Avenue and look back at Shane and his friends. They were still down by the bench we were sitting on, drunk, being loud, but their noise is drowned out by the cars flying past me, headed for the outskirts of Boston.

Standing here, it occurs to me that need room tone, the sound of the place I’m in. Room tone helps smooth out transitions in editing, makes a radio documentary sound more natural. I’ve forgotten to get it for almost every other interview with the noise artists. But that I remember now seems significant to me, an promise to myself that someday I’ll figure what made this experience worth telling.

Credits

Today’s episode was produced with help from Wes Boudreau and Samira Winter. Editing help by Kyna Doles and Jon Davies. Special thanks today to Lejsovka & Freund, Jacob Rosati, Sean Coleman, Elissa Freeden, Brittany Rizzo, Tyler Carmody, and Birgit from Denmark. 

Visit our website, investigating regional scenes dot org, for more episodes and, this summer, some bonus materials. You can find Stories About Music on your local podcast provider. Please leave a review to helps us find new listeners.

From Philadelphia, I’m Brendan Mattox, back soon with more stories about music.

[mybukz]

Fiction: Drilling Down by Aimee Lee

Image by Rudi Fargo on Unsplash

“Morning, Dr. Leong,” Teck Wai’s dental assistant greeted him as he entered his clinic from the back entrance. The smell of disinfectant punched through the air. He never got used to it despite running this surgery for 15 years. It reminded him he had more than ten grueling hours of melodramatic patients, pointless small talks and back-breaking procedures ahead.

He gave his assistant, Gayathri, a quick nod, and entered his office. Through his peripheral vision, he saw a middle-aged woman in a ridiculously elaborate outfit peeking into the treatment room. Datin Hayati was a dental cerewet disorder. She carried a bejeweled hand-held mirror to identify flaws invisible to the naked eye. Teck Wai loathed her, but put on his best chairside manners for this fat cash cow. He would need two cups of coffee if he was going to start his day with her.

He shut the door of his office behind him and flipped his Macbook open. A window with a lewd video from last night popped up at him, and he hastily closed it. His friend and business partner, Vincent, had sent it with the subject line: Syok. Must watch! A grainy cell phone footage showed a young woman sprawled unconscious on a hotel bed, the cameraperson slowly removing her clothes and fondling her. Teck Wai wasn’t sure if the video was real or staged, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying it.

Finally at 8 in the evening, after two molar root canals, countless orthodontic follow ups and a tricky veneer case, he put his instruments down for the day. It was a Friday night, and he usually met up with Vincent at a karaoke place in Kuchai Lama for beers. Vincent was Teck Wai’s classmate in university way back in 1995, and while they came from drastically different backgrounds, they hit it right off at dental school, and had been firm friends ever since. Teck Wai’s parents had to make withdrawal claims from their EPF to put him through university, while Vincent strutted confidently into the orientation hall with a beautifully pressed shirt and a Patek Philippe glistening on his wrist. When they graduated, Vincent had given him a huge loan to get his clinic up and running, in exchange for a share in the business. Although Vincent passively reaped in profits from his running of the clinic, Teck Wai still felt indebted to his friend’s generosity. It took him many years to arrive at this point, but these days when they were together, Teck Wai no longer felt insecure of his own humble beginnings. After all, he had convinced his parents to move out of their shabby home in Rasah New Village to a trendy 3-storey bungalow in Seremban 2. Like Vincent, he had a sports car, several luxury watches and a Callaway golf set he never touched.

He circled the shoplots three times before he found an empty parking slot. He was growing resentful of these new bubble tea and dessert places in Kuchai Lama, and all these youngsters and their Myvis double- and triple-parking everywhere. As he was about to turn off the engine, his phone buzzed in his pocket—a text from Vincent.

Bro, sorry lah I have to ffk today. Meeting up with A, it read. ‘A’ was a twenty-three year-old woman Vincent had swiped right on and been texting for two weeks. Apparently things have gotten hot and heavy digitally, and they were ready to meet in person. This was where Teck Wai drew a line. He had been married for nearly 20 years. Of course like any man, he would occasionally visit a massage parlour for a B2B, or sit with flirtatious Vietnamese girls at a karaoke. But he would never have a mistress; that would be cheating.

Lucky bastard, he texted back.

Face 7/10. Boobs 10/10 came the reply.

It was no fun drinking alone so he decided to head home. Teck Wai and his family lived in a comfortable bungalow in Bukit Jalil. He bought the house 10 years ago, when his wife, Poh Yi, was pregnant with their second child. She had insisted that they would need the space. The mortgage came up to be more than RM 10,000 a month. Teck Wai reluctantly added this to his growing list of monthly commitments. Since his wife had worked so hard to marry into wealth, she didn’t think she should ever have to lift a finger to work again. Shortly after they moved into this beautiful, spacious place, Poh Yi suffered a miscarriage. Their daughter, Serene, remained an only child ever since.

Inside the house, Poh Yi and Serene were at the dinner table, finishing up their meal. He often worked late at the clinic, his dental assistant having to tapau a greasy pack of chap fan for him. They looked up in surprise. The Indonesian maid brought out a bowl of steaming white rice and a pair of chopsticks.

Serene whipped out her phone and started to watch a series of 15-second dance videos, each with music more annoying than the last. Teck Wai cleared his throat. He had not had a conversation unrelated to patients or investments in a long time. And he definitely had not had anything in common with his own daughter for years. It seemed like yesterday he had taken her and her friends for badminton, tennis and swimming. He didn’t know where all this time went, and suddenly she was already 16 and no longer took any notice of him, other than to ask for pocket money. Even so, she often solicited her mother to do it on her behalf.

“How are your studies, Serene?” he asked. It was a question his father often asked him over the dinner table when he was 16. He always indulged his father with how well he did in class, and how he measured up to the brightest students in school.

“Fine,” she replied, not bothering to look up from her phone, her thumb repetitively swiping its screen. He looked dejectedly at his wife, willing her to break the ice. She hardly seemed to notice, as she moved towards the living room, and tuned in to some Korean drama or other on her iPad.

“So tell me. What has been going on with you? Your friends?” Teck Wai was determined to have a conversation that lasted more than 5 seconds with his daughter.

“Fine,” she repeated.

“Don’t you have anything more to say to your daddy than just fine?”

She looked up from her phone and rolled her eyes. “You are never home, why do you suddenly care now?” she said without a hint of anger, so softly he was not prepared for the venom her words packed. Also, when did she start speaking with an American accent? That bloody international school. He never should have sent her there in the first place.

***

The next day in his office, Teck Wai was still haunted by his chilling, but perhaps unsurprising, fight with Serene. He couldn’t even call it a fight, there had been no yelling or display of emotions on his part, she simply got up from her chair and went back up to her room. The house and the dinner table were full, but there he sat all alone.

He didn’t think it was that long ago when he felt like he was the most important person in Serene’s life. She made Father’s Day cards for him every year for the longest time, and called him the best daddy in the world when he brought her to Hong Kong Disneyland and Universal Studios in Singapore. He always gave her what she wanted, and now he couldn’t even get more than a cold ‘I’m fine’ from her. He just wanted to know what was going on in her life, was that too much to ask?

Suddenly a thought struck him. These teenagers. They put everything online these days, don’t they? Only a couple of weeks ago, she took a selfie with him on her phone that digitally applied horrendous make-up on him. It made him look a little like Datin Hayati, if he were to be honest. He turned on his Macbook and typed her name into a Google search bar. It didn’t take long to find a blog with the title ‘Not-Your-Typical-Girl’ splashed across its home screen. In the About Me page was a selfie of his daughter pouting, clad in a skimpy black top he had never seen her in. ‘ENFJ, Gryffin-whore, #wokeAF’, read her bio. He had no idea what any of those words meant. Serene revealed quite a bit of herself, both physically as well as emotionally. Her latest blog entry, from only a week ago, read:

OMFG - X surprised me at school today!! He came to pick me up after school and parked his bright red Mazda convertible, and parked right in front of the school gates. There was LITERALLY a small commotion as everyone was wondering who the hell’s sports car it is. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed but also a little proud. Like, HELL YEAH that’s MY MAN!

Anyways, X said that he had got us tickets to watch Avengers in Mid Valley at 3PM. I told him there was no way I was going to go to MV in my school uniform, it’s so embarrassing! And oh my gosh, would you guys believe it?! This sweetest man reached into the backseat of his car and pulled out a ZARA paper bag with a beautiful dress inside. He really spoils me. Of course once we got to our usual quiet parking lot in The Gardens, I had to reward him, and OBVIOUSLY we never made it to the movies lolz ;)

Before Teck Wai could read any other entry, there came a knock on his door. “Coming,” he responded as he adjusted his facemask and slipped on a pair of gloves. He greeted his patient half-heartedly and mechanically picked up his handpiece and started prepping a large cavity on his patient’s lower molar. His mind was still on the entry that he had read on his daughter’s blog. Who was this supposed boyfriend X? He didn’t have much to go on, but could deduce that it was an older, and apparently wealthy boy with a sports car. What did she mean by rewarding him? He didn’t care how mature his daughter thought she was, in his opinion 16 is way too young to be getting physical with boys - especially with college boys! He had no idea how much his daughter knew about sex and birth control, he had just assumed that these were girls’ talk, and Poh Yi should have had it with her. But then again, after her miscarriage, Poh Yi has been increasingly distant with Serene. She much preferred spending time with her friends, having high teas and shopping with his credit card every other day. The only time she ever perks up with regards to her daughter is when someone remarks that they must be sisters.

He felt the tip of his dental bur slip and nicked the inside of his patient’s cheek. The patient did not notice but blood started to ooze from the cut. He clenched his jaw in frustration, and saw his assistant, Gayathri roll her eyes as she moved the suction tip to the small pool of blood in the patient’s mouth. He then rushed the procedure along and filled the tooth without his usual meticulousness to it, his heart was just not in it today. As his patient leaned over to gargle and spit, he noticed the blood “Eh doctor, why bleeding ah?”.

“Uh, your gums. You should floss regularly,” Teck Wai answered, already making his way back to his office.

He went down a rabbit hole reading his daughter’s blog. She wrote frequently and most of the entries were pretty mundane. They were usually about friend dramas at school, or pictures and videos of some Korean boy band or other. X made his first appearance in the blog only about 3 months ago, in some older entries Serene had referenced numerous boys - B, R, Z and many other initials, that she had been chatting with on Tinder. It was the same dating app that Vincent uses to meet women online. On more than one occasion, he had whipped out his phone and started swiping furiously at his phone, showing a series of women’s profiles to Teck Wai.

“See this one, this type of woman is my favourite. Confirm got daddy issues, little bit insecure, always want to impress in bed. Syok man!” Vincent would remark. Teck Wai felt sick to his stomach, imagining that someone somewhere was also saying something similar about Serene. He had to find out who this X is, he just needed to know. Of course, he would have no objections to Serene having a boyfriend, he thought of himself as a modern 21st century father, and accepted that she wouldn’t be a child forever. But he would not tolerate sneaking around after school and doing God know what in a parking lot. He would not be kept in the dark.

He had to strategise. It was nearly impossible to get his daughter to speak to him about her day, moreover something as personal as this. She would be mortified if she knew that he had found her blog, and read about her escapades which might or might not be sexual. He shuddered at the thought. If X frequently picked her up from school, then he could probably get a glimpse of who this boy was. Maybe he could find out where he went to college, and try to speak with him there, man-to-man. He knew he couldn’t wait around Serene’s school in his Porsche, it was much too conspicuous and she would recognise his car at once.

“Gayathri, can I borrow your car?” he asked his assistant during lunchtime. It was an old navy Proton Wira, the perfect camouflage that he would need. He knew that she often walked to the nearby shops for lunch, and never needed her car at this hour.

She was quite taken aback at the request, “Ummm..”

“Don’t worry lah, I will help you put petrol,” he added quickly. He also knew that no one would ask too many questions about free money. Gayathri passed him her car keys, albeit hesitantly.

He drove her old car towards Serene’s school, and on the way reminisced about how decades ago as a new dentist in government service he drove a Proton Wira, not unlike this one. Vincent was the one that convinced him to upgrade to a BMW, he said that which doctor would be seen driving around in a Proton? At the time, he was trying to save up to repay his PTPTN loan, but Vincent was right - his car had to reflect his current social status. Only wealth can attract more wealth, right? But what he felt was only loans attracting more loans. First it was his old BMW, then it was the cost of setting up his business, his extravagant wedding dinner, their first house, Serene’s arrival, a bigger house, a flashier car. Before he knew it, he was 45 years old, stuck in a hamster wheel of back-breaking work for long, gruelling hours. His only joy being increasingly expensive toys.

He parked Gayathri’s car under a tree near Serene’s school and waited. He didn’t see any red sports cars, that would have been hard to miss. He caught sight of his daughter with a group of friends, and they seemed to be headed towards the shops. No surprise visit from X today then, Teck Wai thought. He was simultaneously relieved and disappointed - he wasn’t sure what he wanted to achieve from this stalking, and was glad that he didn’t have to face the upcoming confrontation just yet. He continued doing this everyday with Gayathri’s car for 2 weeks, when he finally saw a red Mazda MX-5 parked at the school gates one day.

His heart raced, he wanted to walk right up there and speak to this young man right away. He had to be careful, it was 1.00PM and the last bell would ring anytime soon and Serene would see him accosting her boyfriend. The window of the Mazda rolled down, as the driver’s hand stuck out, a cigarette dangling from his fingertips. Disgusting, Teck Wai thought, a smoker? There was nothing he hated more as a dentist than a smoker. He snapped himself out of his judgment, and slowly drove by the Mazda, with the windows rolled down he could perhaps get a glimpse of the boyfriend.

To his horror, this was no college boy. Despite the modern haircut, and trendy clothes, the Mazda owner must have been in his forties, perhaps even close to his age! What in seven hells was Serene doing with this man, this predator? It cannot be, his sweet baby daughter, his only child. His blood began to boil, and in his rage failed to see an oncoming car at an intersection, and nearly crashed his assistant’s car.

***

For the next several weeks, Teck Wai was completely consumed by the thought of his daughter being exploited by a much older man. He couldn’t get the image of this man, this ‘X’ out of his head. His narrow, untrustworthy face, his lecherous hand all over Serene, his disgusting smoker’s breath. He felt nauseated at the thought of this, and had lost his appetite, he felt his regular surgical scrubs loosen. He was distracted both at work and at home, imagining possible scenarios of confronting his daughter over and over again. There was no point discussing this with Poh Yi; she had a terrible temper and would definitely widen the rift between them and their daughter.

His friend Vincent has to get in touch with him, but he had been too distraught to engage in a proper conversation. Several days ago, Vincent had sent him a photo of several of their buddies from university at their regular karaoke bar. They were all flushed with alcohol and were surrounded by half a dozen scantily clad young girls. ‘You are missing out, bro!’ read the accompanying text. Only a couple weeks ago, this would have been a completely normal Friday night for him, and now he felt absolutely disgusted by himself. Were his friends and him so different from Serene’s boyfriend? But surely, none of the Vietnamese girls who worked at the karaoke were as young?

One day a new patient walked into his clinic, a man who looked to be in his late 30s or early 40s. He was extraordinarily well-groomed, with perfectly coiffed hair and overpowering, unmistakably expensive cologne. The patient perched his Ray-Bans on top of his head, and reached out to offer Teck Wai a firm and confident handshake. Teck Wai was taken aback, it was rare for patients to shake his hand. It is unusual, if not a little bit rude to shake a gloved hand. He peeled off his gloves, and reached for a new pair. He motioned for the patient to take a seat, as he glanced on the patient’s file that Gayathri had just laid down on the desk.

‘Xie Jason’ it read, he was a new patient and had no prior record. That’s an unusual surname in KL, Teck Wai thought. He scrutinised the patient who was now sitting docile on his dental chair. Was this X? Was this the man that he had been vividly picturing himself strangling for weeks? He had been playing it out in his imagination for so long that he had distorted the real image of X from the afternoon outside Serene’s school. Now that he was possibly right in front of him, Teck Wai couldn’t even be sure if it was really him. He felt a burning sensation in his ears, he clenched his jaws under his surgical mask and calmly asked the patient, “Yes, what can I do for you today?” A stench of halitosis and tobacco escaped the patient’s mouth as he answered “Just cleaning, doctor.” Surely there was no mistaking that this was the cursed boyfriend that he saw?

He didn’t think that his hatred for this vile being could get any stronger, but when he peered into the patient’s mouth with his probe and mouth mirror, it was a dentist’s worst nightmare. The inner surfaces of his teeth were completely stained and there was nothing more stubborn than tobacco stains. He set to work wordlessly as he removed the heavy chunks of calculus a fleck at a time, each time his nostrils completely attacked by the putrid stench. The patient got comfortable and settled himself deeper into the dental chair and pulled out his phone. He opened up a bright pink app with a flame on it that was somewhat familiar to Teck Wai. Soon it became clear that it was the same dating app that Vincent had often used in front of him. Teck Wai glanced at the patient’s phone as he could see picture after picture of attractive young women pouting back at him. He felt the tip of his scaler slide as he was momentarily distracted and probed too deep into the patient’s periodontal pocket. “Ouch! Watch it!” he winced.

Teck Wai was seething with anger and disgust at this man, for not only taking advantage of his 16 year old but also clearly cheating on her by preying on other young women. He made very little progress with the cleaning, looked up at the clock - it was 7 in the evening. He told Gayathri that he could finish up the case on his own, and she could leave. After he heard the surgery’s door click shut, he turned to the patient and said “I have spotted a few cavities which look quite deep. I would need to give you some nitrous oxide to relax, okay?”. The patient nodded as he pulled the mouthpiece over his face.

He could feel the patient’s body begin to relax and his eyelids drooped, he didn’t protest when Teck Wai bound his wrists tightly to the dental chair with latex gloves. He was only half conscious and the dentist held a pair of forceps against his upper incisors. Teck Wai gripped the tooth firmly and began rotating expertly for several seconds before the tooth luxated from the patient’s jaw. He dropped the tooth onto the metal tray with a delicate clink, and moved on to the next tooth, and the next. Some of them slipped easily like popping pills out of their blister packs. The molars were trickier as they had thick, long roots that anchored strongly to the alveolar bone. He heard several roots fracture, as the patient groaned in his semi-consciousness, but he couldn’t care less, this was no ordinary procedure. When he finished removing every single tooth, he laid down his forceps and looked at the gory pile of teeth piled up on the tray. Some dental student would be very lucky to have this complete set, he thought. He stepped back and looked at X, who only 20 minutes ago swaggered unassumingly into his surgery, flawlessly put together. It was a stark contrast with the now-edentulous patient, his mouth collapsed and bright red, the front of his chest covered in blood and saliva.

“Not looking so handsome now, are you Romeo?”

***

Bio

Aimee Lee is a Sri Petaling girl who grew up sipping pasar malam bubble tea before gentrification and fancy tea rooms took over the local area. She practiced dentistry before pursuing a Masters in Public Health at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine under a Chevening scholarship. She now works in scholarly publishing, developing editorial content for public health and medical journals. In her spare time, she empties her bank account buying books and runs a quarantine book club at @i.read.and.drink.tea on Instagram. She lives in London with her husband.

[thatbluegibson]

CH 17

“This is nice!” Josie yelled over the blaring music. Liz nodded, taking a drink of beer from her clear plastic cup. They stood off to the side of the soundboard, on a riser to the very right of the stage.

“You girls wanna listen?” the man running the board offered them two sets of thick headphones.

Liz took a pair and slipped them on. The music around her was suddenly gone, replaced with the sound of laughter and backstage banter. She listened for a moment before realizing she was listening to the in-ear piece feed and ripped the headphones off. She shook her head and handed them back to the sound guy with a smile.

“No thanks,” she yelled, returning to her beer. She took a minute to watch the crowd, feeding off their excitement. She had just been to a Foo Fighters show a few months prior on their Concrete and Gold tour, but was in the arena’s GA area. Josie grabbed Liz as Ace of Spades began to blast through the huge speakers. They laughed and danced, holding their beers above their heads pausing only when Liz saw Travis approaching them as the song faded into Shout at the Devil.

“And?” she asked excitedly, her face was already feeling hot from the beer.

Travis shook his head with a smile. “I’m glad I took video,” he said and pulled out his phone to show her.

*

Dave sat next to Taylor, focusing on him drumming on a five gallon bucket. The rest of the band stood around them holding beer and chatting. Only Rami sounded nervous, everyone else had played the Roxy enough times to know what to expect. He hadn’t heard from Liz since their texts on Monday night and had finally resolved that she wasn’t going to show. He had sent five tickets to her manager and still hadn’t heard anything. Part of him was relieved that he could focus on the gig, another part was trying to ignore how disappointed he felt. Taylor finished his drumming and looked over at him.

“No, that’s good. Do that,” Dave said nodding.

They were crammed into a tiny dressing room just big enough for the six of them and a cooler of beer when a tech poked his head in the open door and announced that they had ten minutes. Dave felt the familiar surge of adrenaline begin to flow and he adjusted the black band on his right wrist.

His head snapped up when he heard Chris laugh, “What the fuck?”

A giant blue Cookie Monster suit wandered down the hallway in front of the dressing room and Dave, Chris and Nate leaned out of the doorway to get a better look.

“Is there acid in this?” Nate asked, holding his beer up to the light as if that would tell him.

Dave watched the person in the suit round the corner at the end of the hallway and disappear. His momentary confusion dissolved into a broad smile when he remembered the texts Liz had sent him a few days ago, he had only read and re-read them several times between then and now. His adrenaline was replaced with butterflies when he realized that she was probably backstage.

“I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder to the band and left the room.

“We still have to do band prayer!” Taylor called after him, shaking his head. “He’s fucking twitterpated,” he said to Pat, who ashed his cigarette and nodded in agreement.

“Seen that before,” Pat chuckled.

Dave hurried to the main backstage area where catering and guests were staged, distractedly greeting the few people there while looking over their heads for Liz. He searched until he heard a tech call for the two minute warning and headed back to his band waiting just off stage.

Chris handed him a shot glass of Jaeger and a can of Red Bull which they all downed on the count of three, then strapped on their instruments. Taylor bounced around behind Dave as they stood listening to the introduction, but stopped abruptly when he spotted Josie on the opposite side of the stage.

“What the fuck?” he said.

Dave turned to look at him and then followed his stare. Through the stage lights and dust, he could see who he thought was Liz, wearing a ridiculous purple dress and laughing with their sound guy. He didn’t have a second to register what he was seeing before the band was introduced to a screaming crowd. The band took the stage, immediately launching into Run. Dave threw all his energy into the song, fighting the urge to look towards Liz. They bled several more songs together, playing continuously for thirty minutes before stopping.

*

Liz stood behind the sound table trying to stay out of the tech’s way while Josie danced around in view of the stage. Liz was feeling the effects of her third beer and having a great time, thrilled that one of her favorite bands was playing just feet from her. She would occasionally pause to watch Dave, feeling a chill up her spine every time he screamed into the mic. At one point, Nate, who was closest to the sound table, caught her eye and he nodded to her with a big smile. When the band finally ended The Pretender, she saw Dave glance over in their direction, his eyes fixed on Josie. He turned back to the mic to say something, but started laughing and dropped his head. After a moment he looked back up.

“Did you guys hear it’s fucking prom night?” he yelled, the crowd screaming back at him. “We got a fucking limo and everything!” he screamed, looking back over to the sound board. Liz laughed at Josie, who blew a kiss at Dave with a big smile then dragged Liz out from behind the sound board.

*

Dave grinned as he watched ‘Liz’ blow him a kiss then run behind the soundboard. He looked back into the screaming crowd and laughed. If she wanted a game, he’d gladly play along.

“Which one of you fuckers spiked the punch?” he shouted as the crowd erupted again.

“Cause this girl,” he yelled, pointing towards the girl at the soundboard, “needs a fucking drink!” He laughed at the crowd’s screams before noticing the girl in the dress was not Liz, as Liz was standing next to her holding a beer and smiling at him. Dave grabbed the mic with both hands to steady himself before laughing into it and looking over to meet Liz’s stare.

“Uno, motherfucker,“ he pointed at her and launched into Rope.

*

Josie pulled Liz to the side of the sound table, out of view of most of the venue and stage. “Okay, get me out of this thing,” she yelled over the noise, setting her drink down on the riser.

Liz quickly helped her out of the dress and butterfly clips, handing the discarded items to Travis standing on the floor behind them. Josie shook out her hair and adjusted the tank top and jeans she had hidden under the dress while Liz tried to brush off at least some of the body glitter. When they did all they could to remove the trace of the past few decades, they returned to their spot to watch the band. Liz felt her heart jump whenever Dave would glance over at her, but after the third or fourth time, Josie nudged Liz.

“He’s into you,” she mouthed, the music too loud for them to speak.

Liz just shook her head and laughed it off, but turned around to ask Travis to get her another beer. Just as Travis left, a gruff looking roadie appeared with a giant bottle of water and a plastic chair. He slammed them on the riser behind Liz and Josie before disappearing back stage again. Liz looked at the new items for a moment before turning back to the stage. The band had just finished Breakout when Liz noticed Taylor setting down his sticks and pull his mic from its stand. Realizing what was about to happen, she turned on her heel and moved to the edge of the riser the sound board was on. She crouched down to jump onto the floor when she felt a hand grip her arm and pull her back upright. She was spun around quickly, making her head swim. Being four beers in, she wasn’t in any position to make quick movements and before she fully realized what was happening, Dave had pinned her against a large black equipment box just behind the soundboard. Blinking quickly, she tried to focus on his face. She could see they were in a little alcove of black and silver amp boxes, out of view of the stage, soundboard and crowd. The band kicked into Under Pressure behind them with Taylor’s voice ringing out over the wild crowd. Her heart fluttered when Dave gave her a slight smile.

“We okay?” he asked, his eyes darting to look into both of hers.

Liz nodded slightly, unable to speak with him so close to her.

“Good,” he smiled, pulling his hands from her shoulders to the back of her head and yanking her to his lips.

Liz felt her remaining beer slosh a little at the quick movement and held her arm out of the alcove to avoid getting it all over them. Without missing a beat, Josie reached over and took the beer from Liz, standing guard over her friend’s little hiding place. Liz smiled against Dave’s lips, briefly thinking how great it was to have good girlfriends. She focused back on the kiss and feeling the beer fortify her courage, grabbed two fistfuls of Dave’s shirt, dragging him the few inches so he was pressed completely against her. She felt, rather than heard, Dave groan and pin her harder against the box with his hips. He dipped his tongue into her mouth and she immediately tasted Jaeger on his lips. She wrapped her right leg around his and he quickly moved one hand from her head to her thigh, pulling it to his hip. When they finally came up for air, Liz moved her hands from his chest to his neck. Dave pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes as the band began the outro. They stood there for a moment before Liz shifted her weight a bit. Dave opened his eyes and pulled back a bit, searching her face.

“Your buckle is digging into me,” she sighed, adding a bit of a giggle.

Dave grinned at her for a second before dropping her leg and abruptly pushing himself away before running back to the stage. Liz stood against box for a minute, regaining her composure before Josie popped her head around the corner. She wagged her eyebrows at Liz, who laughed and snatched her beer back. They returned to the sound board just as the band started Monkey Wrench. Liz took a long drink of her now warm beer and dragged her eyes over Dave. His customary black t shirt looked a little stretched from Liz pulling on it and his black jeans had a dark stain of spilled beer on the leg. Liz’s eyes went wide when she realized he had adjusted the strap on his blue Gibson a bit lower and he wasn’t wearing a belt… or a belt buckle.

[mikenips]

Together Now

Fuck.  People better start showin’ up soon.  Ate the tab too early.  Already did my Johnny Thunders makeup.  Shirt with a missing sleeve Dylan tore off.  And the classic shredded denims around my waist.  Even wore a dog collar this time.  Jake better have been serious about gettin’ people to dress up.  Hope he was able to find one of those oversized greeting cards.  Went to three places and couldn’t find one for Brendan.  Even rearended someone in the process.  Some Vietnam vet that didn’t even bother to take the cig outta his mouth while gettin’ my info.  That’s what I need to calm these nerves.  A cig.  Bought a second pouch in case I start chiefin’ ‘em.  That’s how the acid goes.

Take a shot of etizolam.  Half dose.  Don’t wanna kill the trip.  But definitely need to slow it down.  Would’ve been fine if I had waited another hour.  But wanted to peak during Brendan’s last Toeheads set before dippin’ for the Navy in Rhode Island.

Blink and the living room is startin’ to fill with bodies.  Jake’s orange wool hat clashin’ with his costume.  “Brendan isn’t here yet is he?”

“Nah.”

“Cool.  Pass around this poster board.  Have everyone sign a goodbye card for him.  Couldn’t find a real card.  So we’ll fold it in half.  You got any good photos of him?”

Tear the one off the wall.  Stimmed out in the cig room at the end of Summerfest.  Tape it to the center.  Not a bad turn out so far.  For a show thrown together in a couple days.  Luckily Wednesday is my off day at work.  Devil’s Night.  Fifteen minutes after start time.  Hour after load in was supposed to be.  Jake never did clarify what time music was gonna start.  Just asked to use Belmont for the occasion.

“We’re on first right?”  Chuck says from the front door behind me.

“Yeah.  Go ahead up and you can start settin’ up.”

Jake hides the card in the coves upstairs where 208’s gear is already tucked away.  KQ adjusts Jordan’s kit.  While Owen and Ben plug in amps.  Chuck sets a pumpkin on the ground.  “PHARMA” scrawled over the front in Sharpie.  A large pill bottle with the label torn off next to it.  They dip for the front porch for a preshow cig.  Cig room already hotboxed by Dee and everyone at Ham House.  They do this shit everytime.  Just need to step in for a minute.  And the second hand smoke smothers the urge for the cig you just rolled up.

Dylan is on the front porch with a sheet over his head.  Makin’ everyone guess who the ghost is.  Drew and Tina drinkin’ Buzzballs in the kitchen.  X’s on their foreheads.  “They taste like a flat Four Loko.  Not good.  But named appropriately.”  Pop the empties on the shelf in the kitchen with the memorabilia from after parties and other sets here.  Glad people actually wore their costumes.

Everybody’s here and the benzos are makin’ the night extra surreal.  Like this night is somethin’ from a dream we all avoided sleepin’ through.  The King of the Scene arrives.  Different pair than his normal octagon sunglasses over his eyes.  Stroh’s already cracked as he walks in.  Peter’s upstairs testin’ the projector setup.  His hazy visuals on the ceiling and the Peanuts sheets on my mattress propped against the wall.  Time to uncork the liter and a half wine bottle.

The feedback whistles from Owen’s cranked amp upstairs.  Whistlin’ everyone into the dark bedroom.  The neighbors only complain about the noise when the hardcore bands play.  So tonight might not be their favorite show.  But after this Belmont is closin’ for the season.  Gotta clean the bathtub for my landlord’s property inspection next month.  Can’t believe I’ve been here for two years now.  And averaged a show a month this past year.  Couldn’t pick a better closin’ ceremony the King’s departure.

The crowd stands anxiously against the wall as Pharma plows through their first song.  Chuck pacin’ around the room with mic in hand.  Scoops the pumpkin from the ground as KQ beats the sticks together.  One two three.  And on the fourth the orange splinters on the blue carpet.  Tyriq shoves Joey mid kick as Chuck’s screams clip the speaker.  Everyone’s flesh collides.  Oozes against each other before slidin’ off the sweat.  No amount of AC or open windows able to stop the humidity of body friction.  Bones crack and disintegrate to the marrow of our lives.  Rail the line and jump in.  Bottle in hand.  Joey’s skull makin’ contact with the base.  Spewin’ a geyser onto the wall from the palm of my hand.

The red wine paints streaks on the white drywall that still stands defiantly against our chaos.  Drops run down at a fraction the speed of Owen’s blurred hand makin’ the strings wail.  And in ten minutes, the masochistic treatment of our eardrums unfortunately ends.  Light flicks on.  Showin’ a mess of pumpkin guts.  Seeds.  And capsules of an unknown drug woven into the carpet by our feet.  When did that shit burst?  “Nips, you want me to clean this up at the end of the night?”  Chuck pants.  Red in the face.

“Nah man.  It really ties the bedroom together.”

He smiles as Kyle drags his amp from the cove for their set.  Shelby adjusting the kit.  Walks away as Jake towers into the room.  Emptyin’ a Stroh’s into himself.  “Thanks for askin’ us to play Jake.  Super stoked to get to play a show with Toeheads.”

“Man.  Thanks for comin’ here from Florida.”

“Well thanks for acceptin’ us into this.  We didn’t know anybody here when we moved out here.  But you all made us feel so welcomed into this family.”

Gotta get a cig in before this set.  Once 208 starts you’re gribbed in.  As tight as the stranglehold Kyle has on the neck of his guitar.  The reverb slaps back with the thud of Shelby’s drums.  Bouncin’ you from wall to wall.  Body to body.  Drowns out the thoughts reverberatin’ off the walls of your skull.

He’s gotta have the shoes off every show.  Release the hounds!  Let the brutalization of instruments begin.  The things we do for tone.  He mumbles almost incoherently into the mic behind shags of hair.  “This next one’s ‘Hotel California.’”  Shelby’s tom thumps in the background as Peter’s lights pulse on the walls.  Kyle droppin’ to the floor.  Body twitchin’ with each crunch of distortion he bends outta the amp.  Until it gives out.  Forcing a finale from the duo.

“I forgot the tambourine!”  Drew yells to Joey.

“Fuck.  Should we run down the street to grab it.”

“I got bongos.”  Pass ‘em to Drew while the three Toeheads debate their setlist.  Gonna play the full EP that drops at midnight.  Cassettes from Remove Records comin’ soon.

Grab a beer from the fridge.  Drew standin’ in the kitchen.  Joint tucked between lips.  Greasy hair falls on the shoulders of his bright shirt.  Tappin’ the bongos surrounded by women with X’s on their foreheads.  “That’s gotta be the most cult leader lookin’ thing I’ve seen in my life.”  Joey passes by.  Tosses a beer can in the sink.  And grabs a plate to set upstairs.

The ceiling and wall covered in shots of the trio performing on the front porch.  The same front porch I first spotted Brendan and Jake from at the first show I threw a year ago.  Just two goons sittin’ in a red Dodge.  Drinkin’ Labatt.  Heavy.  And the one hidin’ behind octagon shades tells me about this tape label he started.  Remove Records.  “King of the Scene!”  Drew yells perched on the head on top of Joey’s 8x10.  Jake cuts his goodbye speech off early.  Don’t wanna get too heavy before the heavy music.

The chords crunch under his fingertips.  The brass crashes under Brendan’s sticks.  Joey gettin’ some futuristic fuzz from the bass.  This is the future of garage.  Happenin’ right before my dilated pupils.  The noise ceases as Jake’s mumbled first line grows into a scream.  Then pounds faster.  Harder.  Sloppier.  How can Peter’s camera even handle this noise?  “With a knife!”

Standin’ by the stairs the group begins a cover of “Anna (Go to Him.)”  The crowd dances with each other.  Belts the chorus in unison as the peak takes my brain into this dream.  Everybody gathered in this sweaty bedroom.  Vibin’ together.  What more could you dream of?  One last night for all of us to be together.  Together right here.  Right now.  Hidin’ the makeup streakin’ under my eyes in the cig room from Rae and Kyle from the Waterheads.

The group ends the onslaught of feedback.  Screeches.  Of both instruments and vocal cords.  Reverb.  Thuds and crashes.  Hi-hats through the wall.  And every jarring sound your ears dream of bein’ berated by.  Joey trades the bass for a second guitar.  Yells for a pick.  While Jake begs for some noise to stop him from continuin’ a corny speech.  It is Devil’s Night after all.  Brendan trades his sunglasses for the pair of octagons in his leather jacket while takin’ a bow.

“Burn down Midtown!”  From Drew.

“Has anyone seen my wallet?!”  From Dee.

“It’s not fuckin’ workin’!”  From Joey who can’t rail a line through the humidity.  Gives it up before his ode to DMT and a rambunctious cover of “Blew My Mind” to close the set.

“Don’t we have a bunch more?”  Joey yells across the room.

“Well some of us working class folk have a job to go to in the morning.”  Evan jokes.

“Alright.  We’ll do an encore for Brendan’s last ride.”  Jake plugs back in.  Drew stands in the center of the room.  Pulls back up the bongos in sweaty, red hands.  “This one’s called ‘Demon House.’

“I’ve been livin’ in a demon house!”  None of the notes are distinguishable in the final barrage of sound.  But the bodies crash into each other.  For one last connection to the King that gave everybody somethin’ to show their parents.  I can still hear him behind the bottle of Stroh’s at Painted Lady before we bootlegged the Milk Bath gig at Outer Limits.  “Just somethin’ to say ‘you guys might not be into this.  But somebody out there thinks it means somethin’.’”

As the party filters out, Jordan video calls me on Snapchat to say goodbye to Brendan before he sets sail.  Says the broken hi-hat stand was the least he could offer in return to the King of the Scene.  Joey spills the bottle of wine next to me.  Looks up from rollin’ around on the floor.  “That’s the difference between me and Jay Retard.  I know when not to break shit.”  The words fill the holes the acid burns into my brain as he dips to prep Ham House for the after party.  Leavin’ his shoes behind.  The picture of me and him in his underwear will surface in a few days but doesn’t help fill the gaps in the night.

Sittin’ next to me, Brendan dents a Stroh’s can in his hand.  Hood over his head.  But no octagons to hide the tears in his eyes.  “It’s just…  For the first time…  I feel like I finally got a family.  And now that I have that feeling.  I gotta leave my home behind.  Over a mistake I enlisted in months ago.”  He sniffles and kills the can.  Somethin’ about the way that last drop of beer hits makes you puke it all up.  “And I don’t know how long until I’ll be able to get back to that feeling.”

“But that’s the beauty of it.”  Take a swig from the remains of the wine bottle.  “No matter what happens now.  You got the security of family.  We’re all still gonna be here.  And whenever you get back, the empty space you left will still be here for you.  Ya know now no matter what you always got a family somewhere.  Forever.  Maybe the scene ends.  Maybe Joey moves somewhere like New Mexico or some shit.  Maybe I finally clean the bathtub like my landlord and Jake keep askin’.  But no matter where any of us are or what’s different.  You’ll always be able to show up and have people and a place where you belong.  No matter where we are we’re all together now.”

One by one people nod to sleep at Ham House.  People find their way back to their beds.  And don’t have to dream about a home.  Cause they got a place to be free.  Like Manson sang about.  Brendan hugs me goodbye.  And I find my way to the after hours where my friend Josh asks sincerely if I’m doin’ alright tonight.  Cause he knows it’s not just the acid and benzos makin’ everything feel surreal.  But at least when I get home.  There’s a pair of octagon glasses in the explosion of pumpkin seeds and prescription strength anti-inflammatories.  I’ll end up losing ‘em in a few months.  Life’s cruel that way.  Even all the shit that means somethin’ to us will pass.  But at least we got it together now.

[hillywooddestiel]

Walls Chapter 2

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, mystery people

Warnings: More violence, graphic torture, kidnapping, angst, bit of mild language

Description: Sam and Dean wake to find Y/N is not in her room or… anywhere. Their for her search begins. Meanwhile, Y/N is still trapped in a mystery prison being subjected to all sorts of horrors. Who are the mystery people behind this?

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: I’m loving this series already, are you? It gets quite dark in this one and it’s only going to get darker! I apologize in advance if you feel like you’ve had your heart ripped out after this. On a lighter note, I’m beginning to make a masterlist. Also, as you may notice, we have tags! Feel free to ask. Now, don’t let me keep you any longer, go on, read… xx

Catch Up! Part 1

Story:

Sam’s POV “Come on Y/N! I’m hungover too so you’re not getting out of this.” I pant, already jogging on the spot. I continue to rap on the door, loud enough to stir Dean from his sleep next door. He opens the door with a low groan. “Jesus Sam! You trying to wake the dead or something?” He scrunches his brows and brings a hand to his head, clearly suffering from his own hangover. Removing my earphones, I let out an exasperated sigh. “No Dean. Y/N and I always go on our morning run together and she’s not answering. You know, that guy she went with, maybe she went back to his place.” Dean stiffens a little in the doorway. “No, she came back to the motel. Her light was on when I got back.” “Huh, well then she must just be-” before I can finish speaking, a disheveled blonde woman carrying a pair of heels slides past Dean, shielding her face with her hand. Typical Dean!

Curious, I peer in through the cheap net curtains to Y/N’s room. The bed looks slept in but there’s no sign of Y/N in the room. I push gently on the door. It gives way without any effort. Worry building inside, Dean and I enter the room, ready for danger. For the most part, everything looks in order, normal; the sheets are bunched up to one side of the bed, Y/N’s possessions are strewn about on the floor, I can even smell her floral perfume lingering in the air. But still no sign of Y/N. Spotting something, Dean heads over to the nightstand. “What if she’s just gone out for coffee or something?” I throw another possibility into the mix. Dean lifts up something from the nightstand. “Without her phone?” He interjects. I hear the slight panic in his voice. Where could Y/N be?

Your POV You stretch your arms above your head, adjusting to being awake again. Memories of your bizarre nightmare come flooding back sending a cold chill down your spine. Sometimes your own imagination terrified you. You take a really heavy breathe, noting the odd chemical tint to the air. Snapping into a seated position, your eyes wide open, you are greeted by the same unwelcoming white room from your nightmare. It’s spotless and you’re back in the bed. Dread washes over you. The horror you experienced was no nightmare.

Your breathing becoming more and more shallow, you walk up to the red line. Gingerly, you reach out your hand. Your palm lands flat on the invisible wall. Backing away quickly, you bring your hands to your mouth to muffle your crying as tears begin to fall from your eyes. 1… Breathe, 2… Y/N breathe! … 3… In and out… 4… In… 5… Out…

Sudden movement at the door of the opposite room causes you to shoot up into your feet. One of the masked men from before enters, pulling a white metal contraption behind him, followed by another identical man. When they reach the center of their room, they stop, pull some levers and the object begins to tip forming a bed of sorts. Well, it’s more like a table. And on said table, strapped down by leather restraints, is Dean. Images of the blood and batterings from​ the last time flash before you. No, no, no, not again! He looks so scared, green eyes darting from one man to the other, unsure of what’s to come. But, one thing he isn’t is injured. His face and arms, they’re completely free of bruises, cuts, scars, the lot. How long have you been out for? Or maybe these twisted bastards have ways of healing wounds quickly. You shudder at the thought.

Synchronized, the two men place a cloth over Dean’s petrified face. Then, a stream of water drops from the ceiling, drenching the cloth. You barely here his spluttering screams over your own clearer ones as you bang on the wall repetitively. “Stop! Please just stop!” You repeat over and over, hoping maybe if you say it enough they’ll hear you and obey. The water splashes everywhere, creating a large puddle, but it just runs down the clear wall like rain on a window. Dean writhes under the soaked cloth, his voice coming out as gargled screams. His protests become weaker and weaker. His chest stops rising. “No! No, please please no!” You whisper through the tears as the waterfall stops. The men peel back the cloth. Dean doesn’t move. The feeling in your chest can only be compared to a werewolf ripping your heart out.

Dean’s POV “Someone’s taken Y/N, Sam!” I almost spit in his face from anger. “We don’t know that for sure. She could just be-” “No Sam! I know it. Y/N never goes out without her phone in case we need her. Someone must have broken in and taken her in her sleep!” I kick the nightstand, the wood giving way to my foot. Then the realization hits me like a bullet to the chest. “That son of a bitch! The asshole from the bar, Sam. I knew he looked shifty!” I begin pacing. “Shifty?” Sam begins to mock my choice of words. I shoot him a glare. “Sorry, it’s just we don’t know for sure. Let’s not assume the worst.” I don’t know how he’s so calm. Y/N is missing. Taken. And we’re just going to sit here? Not on my watch! Huffing, I storm back into mine and Sam’s motel room and get into my FBI gear.

“Agents Brown and McFly, we’re hear about our partner. Agent Baines was undercover in the area and last night we lost contact with her. She was last seen in this bar. If you have any information, it would be best if you tell us right now, rather than in an interrogation.” I roll out the usual FBI spiel. The bar tender looks a little worried at our questions but he’s willing to talk. “Okay man. I get hundreds of chicks in here every night. Do you have a photo or somethin’ so I know who ya mean?” “No photo but she’s about yea big, Y/H/C hair, Y/E/C eyes, was wearing a tank top and jeans…” my description could never do her justice but I don’t want to look like an idiot in front of Sam. “Was she hot?” He asks flatly. “… Sure. Look, she left with some guy in a suit, red tie, sat at this bar. Did you see her or not?” I plead. This is taking too long. Y/N could be dead by now. Or worse. He blinks for a minute, thinking. “I know the guy. Been in here a few times. Good tipper. We got a surveillance camera above the bar if you wanna see.” He points above the wall of bottles. Why the hell didn’t he mention that before?

The bartender messes with the footage for a second, looking for the right time. “There’s your guy. From what I heard him say, he wasn’t American…” At 12.17.44 I pause the video. “There, that’s her, walking up to him.” Sam states, pointing out the obvious as always. “Dayum, she’s one hot FBI agent.” I glare at the bartender. He clears his throat and presses play again. On the screen, Y/N struts up to the guy, whispers in his ear and then he leads her out. I clench my jaw seeing his hand touching her ass. What a jerk! “Okay, thank you for your help, do you mind if we talk privately for a moment?” Sam smiles politely at the bartender.

Once the bartender’s gone, I replay the footage. It doesn’t hurt any less watching it for the second time. Or the third. Sam takes the mouse as he plugs in his USB stick. “Let’s just take this, like the motel footage, and we’ll look at it back in the bunker. It’s no use stressing over it so much now.” “Stressed? I’m not stressed Sammy, I’m terrified! What if they’ve got her somewhere, torturing her? She acts tough but I don’t know how long she could take it…” My voice cracks. Sam doesn’t know how I feel about Y/N. And he’s not going to.

Your POV Another masked man enters the room. He’s carrying a box, not unlike a tool box, over to the table. He removes two wires and tapes them to Dean’s chest. “What are you doing? What are you doing to him?” Your voice is hoarse and barely audible as the men press some buttons. Dean’s body jolts and his chest begins to rise and fall again. A relieved laugh escapes your lips. “Oh my God! Dean! Dean your gonna be okay…”

Slumped on the floor, you’re a blubbering wreck. You can’t help it as you continue to watch the three men move about Dean, each grabbing tools from the box. They position themselves, two on one side, one on the other, holding long pointed rods on their hands. The room is so quiet you can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest. Their latex-gloved hands retract in unison. Then, they plunge the rods into Dean’s abdomen. He yells in pain, blood dripping onto the already wet floor.

Your heart quickens, feeling more like vibrations than beats. You try to shout, get them to stop, but your voice won’t make a sound. All that comes out is a high pitched squeak. Suddenly, a familiar drowsiness hits you. Through half closed eyes, you just about make out Dean being wheeled out, blood leaking from his wounds.

??? POV “Okay, that’s good. How about we increase intensity a little more?” The doctor nods. After turnings some dials and giving instructions to his mouthpiece, the nurses pick up their instruments and pierce Dean’s sides. “Excellent. Give her 2 more minutes then initiate the serum.” The doctor complies again and, after the two minutes, the girl is out like a light. “Good work everyone! Let’s reset and we’ll be back in, let’s say, 7 hours. Don’t be late!”

As I exit the observations room, my phone begins to vibrate. “Afternoon Ma'am. We just finished the second simulation.” “Good. And the results?” “Looking positive. She’ll be ready for phase two sooner than first anticipated.” “Excellent work. But what about our little problem?” “No need to worry Ma'am. We covered our tracks and laid some new ones. We won’t need to worry about the Winchester’s.”

Tags:

@dslocum89

Published by @hillywooddestiel 05.07.17

[romcomathon2016]

You’ve Got Mail (USA, 1998)

Dear Romcomathon Readership,

One year ago today, we published our very first Romcomathon entry, The Holiday (USA, 2006). In honor of our shock that a) this project is still going a year later and b) people read it -- hundreds of people! (Not that many hundreds. A small hundred. And some people on Facebook, who don't have Tumblr. Ahem. Anyway, to thank you all for your patronage) -- we've decided to publish a special, one-year-anniversary edition, in which we review a beloved romcom that otherwise would not qualify: You've Got Mail.

Predictions: YOU'VE GOT MAIL, DEAR READER. It says, "Get off the blog and go watch this movie, if you haven't already seen it." (No predictions.)

Plot: Meg Ryan is the charming owner of a charming children's bookstore on the Upper West Side. She inherited it from her mother and runs it with a band of quirky employees. Meanwhile, Tom Hanks is the scion of what is essentially Barnes & Noble, if Barnes & Noble were run by one specific family (is it? We don't know), and Barnes & Noble is coming to town. Meg Ryan is dating Greg Kinnear, while Tom Hanks is dating Parker Posey, but, unbeknownst to any of the four of them, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks are involved in a...shall we say, increasingly emotionally-invested email relationship. Meg Ryan, as "Shopgirl" (terrible screenname, Meg Ryan, why), confesses all her private thoughts to Tom Hanks, as "NY152" (boring screenname, Tom Hanks, why), but they're both careful not to reveal any personal information.

Meanwhile, in person, Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan do meet, but almost immediately hate each other. Meg Ryan's bookstore, while exceptionally charming, is admittedly pricey, and, whether he means to or not, Tom Hanks is obviously putting her out of business. The two of them begin to spend what seems like all their time a) arguing with each other in person and b) telling each other about it online. Finally, they decide to meet. Meg Ryan arrives first. Tom Hanks, in turn, arrives with his friend, Dave Chappelle, and they SEE HER, and realize that she is, you know, the same person. Tom Hanks, feeling that he couldn't possibly reveal the truth, decides to pop in anyway and be a tool, as his real-life self. Sure, sure. Good choices, Tom Hanks.

Eventually, Meg Ryan’s store does close. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan also both break up with the people they have been emotionally cheating on. They start to become friends offline, against all odds, after Tom Hanks shows up unannounced one day with flowers. (Personally, we would IMMEDIATELY remove him from our home, but, well, Meg Ryan doesn't.) They start hanging out, like, all the time, weirdly, and she tells him about...himself ("NY152"). Until, finally, she's like, I should meet this guy, but also, I kind of like Tom Hanks???? How awkward. Lucky for her, they meet up in the park, and, surprise, it is Tom Hanks. She's so glad. We're so glad. They kiss.

Best Scene: The end. The end is perfect. Also, their weird friendship is delightful, especially when Tom Hanks starts ragging on himself and making shit up about how unattractive "NY152" could be. Honorary mention: Tom Hanks's hangout with his child relatives. Super cute.

Worst Scene: At one point, Meg Ryan is in the "cash only" line at a store, and Sara Ramirez does not want to take her credit card, AS WELL SHE SHOULDN'T, MEG RYAN, BECAUSE YOU ARE IN THE CASH-ONLY LINE. First of all, wtf is a cash-only line? Was this a thing back in the dark days of 1998?? Second of all, Tom Hanks then comes up and -- oh, is he going to lend her some cash? How nice. NO. INSTEAD, HE SWEET-TALKS SARA RAMIREZ INTO TAKING HER CARD. IN THE CASH-ONLY LINE. HOW MAD WOULD YOU BE IF YOU WERE BEHIND THEM IN LINE???? SO MAD. SO MAD.

Best Line: "I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly." -- Meg Ryan, at the end, obviously. Honorary mention: the rest of the film. JK. But, like, not JK. OKAY, FINE, WE'LL BE MORE SPECIFIC. "Well… If you don't like Kathleen Kelly, I can tell you right now...you ain't gonna like this girl." -- Dave Chappelle, scoping out Tom Hanks's blind date for him, with the most perfect delivery. It is, like almost every second of this film, absolutely wonderful.

Worst Line: "In the last mayoral election, when Rudy Giuliani was running against Ruth Messinger, I went to get a manicure and forgot to vote." -- Meg Ryan, defiantly, at Greg Kinnear, as if it's insane that he...what?? Insists that people vote???? GOD, WHAT A MONSTER YOU ARE, GREG KINNEAR, FOR CARING ABOUT THE STATE OF THE WORLD. Dear Meg Ryan, we very much hope you've since revised your position on voting. :|

Highlights of the Watching Experience: Ooooo, so many, you guys. 1) Remember videos? Remember when you'd rent them from places? Lolz. 2) What is this Christmas song with all the musical instruments, that all of Meg Ryan's friends and family seem to know the words to?? 3) Bertie. What was her relationship with Meg Ryan's mom, that she's WEARING HER PICTURE IN A LOCKET???? 4) Last but certainly not least, "Who would have thought that I would write?" muses Meg Ryan, thoughtfully, near the end of the film. Um, everyone, Meg Ryan. You're a bookstore owner who's carrying on an email romance. Everyone would have thought you would write. In fact, you know what would be much more surprising? is if you did not write.

How Many POC in the Film: Sara Ramirez. Dave Chappelle. And… *crickets*

Alternate Scenes: The version of this film where Meg Ryan didn't FORGET TO VOTE. How do you FORGET TO VOTE???? First of all, Meg Ryan, how long does a manicure take -- half an hour? An hour?? GO TO THE POLLS. You are self-employed. You can give yourself thirty minutes to vote in a local election. Local government is important, Meg Ryan, especially when your local government is NEW YORK CITY. Hey, how's it going, Meg Ryan? It's 2016. Bet Giuliani's not slipping your mind anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! >:(

Was the Poster Better or Worse than the Film: Worse. Here is what the poster says to us -- "Someone you pass on the street may already be the love of your life. What a coincidence! You are about to meet them at a funeral."

Score: 10 out of 10 one-year-anniversary smooches! ...BUT MAYBE IT WOULD BE 11 OUT OF 10, IF YOU HAD VOTED, MEG RYAN.