#i agree that his style going into a corner is quite different from charles - the way the latter throws himself into a corner is...

[il-predestinato]

.

[victoria-daydreams]

Of Vices and Virtues

Chapter Fifteen: A Love Supreme

AN: Anyone stay up late to watch The Falcon and The Winter Soldier on Friday, because I did with pride.

Word Count: 4.9k

Trigger Warnings: none

Taglist: @azayamari

Chapter Sixteen: Tensions Run High

The room that surrounded me was incredibly unfamiliar, the walls were a dark shade of cherry wood and not the serene blue I have in my own bedroom. The sun seeped through the curtains, the light reflecting off the silver tray of empty plates that once had breakfast on it on the table by the window. This didn't look like a bedroom, it appeared more as a hotel room, a five star hotel at that. Large, royal blue satin curtains, a canopy bed with matching bronze and blue comforter to the curtain, and a bronze carpet.

I stretched out, feeling content as I remembered the events of the previous night.

"What happens now?" I asked, shifting my body in a comfortable position.

Charles wrapped his arm around my waist, something I tensed at first but relaxed into. It felt nice to have him holding me. I leaned back against his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his.

"What do you mean?" Charles asked backed, starting to play with my fingers.

"Where do we go from this?" I clarified, leaning my head back to look at him.

"I think that we're now a 'couple', as Raven would put it," Charles chuckled, tucking his chin into my shoulder. "I quite like the sound of that," he added, his lips curving into a smile.

"It's funny, I never thought I'd see myself with a white man," I commented, closing my eyes. "Not after James," I breathed out, reopening them.

"No one special in college?" Charles asked curiously, peering down at me.

"There was," I answered, nodding my head. "His name was Benjamin," I remembered. "He treated me well, he didn't run to the nearest exit sign when I revealed that I was a mutant. We dated for a few months, and I thought all was going well..." I trailed off.

"What happened?" Charles questioned.

"He just couldn't take it anymore," I answered, shaking my head.

It was a warm day for the spring, as I walked to the park looking around trying to find Ben. The park had a few people in it, mainly kids playing over by the baseball diamond or younger kids at the playground. There were a few teens but not many. Then I saw him and made my way to Ben for our outing. Ben Hughes was sitting on a bench off away from everyone by a tree in an olive green button down and brown slacks. I smiled at the sight of him, the green complimented his complexion quite nicely if I do say so myself. I walked up to the black-haired and brown-eyed man.

"Hello," I greeted smiling.

"Hey," Ben greeted back, but his smile was more nervous then happy and I got a bad feeling in fact I was unintentionally picking up on a few of his emotions and I didn't like what I was feeling.

I sat down next to him, "What's wrong?" I asked placing my hand near his.

Ben's face fell and took my hand gently. "It's...I...I'm sorry I can't keep doing this," he looked away and I suddenly got a very terrified feeling that he was talking about us dating.

That and I sensed that Ben didn't like this either.

"But why? I thought...I thought we were happy?"

"I was...for the most part...but Claudia...you're wonderful, but I'm not ready for this," Ben ran a hand through his conk styled hair looking over the park. "I'm just not ready to date someone like you...I mean we both know how people treat others that are different, we face it all the time...and...I don't want that to increase tenfold...at least not until I know I can handle it. I figured you would want to be with someone that could be open with you in public," Ben explained lamely.

I thought about it, and looking back on it Ben always did act like we were just friends or something in public while we only kissed or anything simple as holding hands, unless we were at each other's rooms or no one else was around.

"Are you ashamed of me being what I am? Cause there's nothing wrong with it," There was a hint of anger in my voice, but I didn't care.

"I...I don't know...that's one of the reasons I don't want us to get to serious and...there's another reason,"

"What?" I asked him, I was sensing something from him but I wasn't sure. "Come on, I know there's something that's really bothering you so what is it!"

"That's it!" Ben exclaimed. "I hate the fact you know what I'm feeling all the time...it's creepy! I mean I don't want my emotions known," he explained, throwing his hands up.

"I can't help it! I mean I'm still learning how to keep my barriers up, I don't mean to, this isn't easy for me either you know!" I snapped slightly raising my voice, and feeling my eyes water up.

Ben looked at me in sympathy, "I know, I know, you've told me and I wish you didn't have to go through all that and that you had control...but it feels like an invasion of privacy to me...I...I just can't handle it. You know how much of a private and shy person I am and this...this just makes me feel uncomfortable, I'm sorry I don't mean to make this sound horrible I'm trying not to I really am...but I can't," Ben repeated sadly.

I could feel the emotions running off of Ben and knew he was hurting just as much as I was and I tried to shut off the surge of emotions, but I was having trouble doing so.

"So...you don't ever want to see me again," I stated coldly.

"No, I didn't say that...I just can't date you...at the moment. I thought I was ready, but I'm not. I'm just not ready,"

Charles softly placed his hand on the side of my face and captured my lips with his own. A shudder went through me as I was snapped out of my memory, but I smiled into it, kissing him back. His hands traveled down my waist and flipped me over to fully face him, pulling me on top of him. The two of us continued kissing until he pulled away for a short moment. Charles stared at me, moving a lock of hair from my face simultaneously caressing my cheek.

"His loss, love," Charles declared, pressing a kiss to my head causing my smile to widen further.

"I'd better take the tray down," I sighed, wiggling my way out of Charles grip.

"Or you could just stay here if you'd like," Charles suggested tightening his grip around my waist.

"Easy, tiger," I laughed at his forwardness, softly pushing his hands off my waist.

"Maybe next time, then?" he questioned, releasing me so I could stand up.

"Oh, there's a next time?" I asked, making Charles flash me a grin. "Next time," I agreed, lifting the heavy, silver tray from the table and walked across the room.

I opened the door with a flick of my hand and walked out, a cold draft rushed through from the open window in the hallway, making my body shiver. As I closed the door behind me, I heard footsteps coming toward my direction. I saw Erik down the hall, his blue eyes completely fixated on me, standing outside the door of Charles' bedroom. Erik shut the door to his own room, my pulse began to pound furiously within me as Erik came toward my direction.

"Good morning Erik!" I greeted cheerily, attempting trying to break the awkward silence.

Erik responded by sending me a frosty glare and something akin to a scowl, as he walked past me without a word. I released a breath I had no idea I was holding in. Erik clearly knew something was going on, but chose not to say anything outright.

Today was going to be interesting.

~~~x~~~

From the distance I could see Erik and Charles talking amicably, but their body language told a different different story. While Charles body was relaxed, Erik's was tense and rigid.

"Ah, Claudia it is nice to see you have joined us!" Charles chirped as he came over to me.

His hand quickly found mine while his other hand rested on my lower back and led me closer to the table that he had set up with a pigeon thrower next to some clay disks.

I moved away from Charles and ran my hand along the table, "What do we have here?" I asked, studying the equipment on the table.

From the corner of my eye I saw Erik staring at me, maybe he was waiting for me to return his gaze. I don't think he was too pleased at how relaxed Charles was when he took ahold of me. It probably had something to do with the fact that yesterday Erik also held me similarly. If he only knew what his touch did to me. I tried very hard to not look at Erik and concentrated my attention on Charles.

"Well, I figured since your already adept at your telekinesis I'm not going to ask you to move a pen, or a book. It seems that you have grasped the notion of moving small and large items and have expanded on this. The shield you created, is an example of this," Charles explained, now beside him again I crossed my arms over the grey sweatshirt I had changed into. "So, I thought some target practice would do you some good. The energy you use for your telekinesis can be molded and projected into various forms," Charles continued.

"So what? Skeet shooting?" I guessed, looking around for the rifles. "Where are the rifles?" I asked, furrowing my brow.

"Skeet shooting with a twist, Claudia," Charles corrected, moving in front of me. He grabbed both my hands and lifted them up to eye level. "You don't need a rifle love, your hands are more than enough," Charles reminded, letting go of my hands. "Erik, when you're ready," he called, looking over to him as Erik loaded up the trap thrower with a clay disk.

I shook my hands out before lifting them up in front of me as violet aura formed around my hands, "Pull!" I called, Erik fired off a clay skeet. I aimed my hand and fired, a purple bolt hitting the clay skeet, and shattering it.

"Nice shot, Claudia!" Charles smiled, as I dropped my arms.

"Did you ever doubt me?" I laughed, glancing over at him.

"Never, I'm just trying to keep your skills sharp," Charles answered, as I raised my arms up again.

"Pull!"

Erik fired off another clay skeet. I aimed my left hand this time and fired off a purple sphere. The sphere from my palm contacted the clay skeet, and it exploded into a little million piece.

"Excellent!" Charles exclaimed again. "Wasn't that fantastic Erik?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes, it was a fine shot," Erik replied, a tight smile on his face.

"Thank you, Erik," I said, flashing him a quick smile in an attempt to make things less awkward. It didn't, if anything it just made him shoot an icy glare at me. I darted my eyes away from him and went back to focusing in front of me. "Pull!" I directed, trying to now avoid the metal bender's stare.

The clay skeet sailed through the air, and I aimed my hand at the skeet, and fired.

The skeet then shattered.

~~~x~~~

I collapsed onto the grass off the side of the mansion, my chest heaving. It had been awhile since I had exerted this much physical energy. My lungs were screaming for oxygen and the muscles in my legs and feet were begging for mercy. Not too far behind me was the sound of three thuds falling next to me. I lazily turned my head to the right to see Hank, Sean, and Alex in a similar state of fatigue.

"The...Professor...needs...a...smaller...mansion..." Sean said in between breaths, his face the color of his hair.

A chuckle managed to seep through my gasps for breath, "Nonsense," I called, pushing myself up to rest on my arms. "You just have terrible stamina, Sean," I corrected smiling.

"What did we do to deserve four laps around the mansion?" Alex groaned, before sitting up.

"Hey, your lucky I didn't make you all run five like I originally planned to," I pointed out.

"She has a point," Hank agreed, copying Alex's movement.

"Shut up Bozo,"

"Now, now. Knock it off," I called in a motherly tone, pushing myself up from the ground, "Alright boys we're done for today," I stated, stretching my arms out over my head. "Last one back at the mansion has to do the others washing for a week!" I announced dashing off towards the mansion.

As I sprinted away from the boys I could hear their cries of displeasure because of my head start towards the mansion. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, already envisioning not having to do my washing for a week. But the sound shoes nosily slapping the gravel behind me told me that the boys were quickly catching up with me. Suddenly, a flash of red hair surged past me and I looked to my side to see a newly invigorated Sean in the lead of our little race. Sean looked back at me and gave me a wink knowing that he was mere meters away from the back door, but fate would prove otherwise.

Unfortunately for Sean he didn't notice one of the larger rocks that were strewn across the ground and tripped right before the backdoor. I easily sped past him and reached my hand out touching the door first panting heavily, but with a smile on my face. Hank and Alex followed shortly behind me just as I opened the backdoor, I looked back to see Sean dusting himself off and slowly heading to the door.

"So close, yet so far," I commented, slightly laughing as I held the door open for Sean.

"Very funny Claudia," Sean replied dryly, as he entered the mansion.

"Aren't I?" I quipped, closing the door. I walked beside Sean as we made our way down the hall and towards the kitchen. "Come on, you gotta admit it was a little funny," I suggested, pinching my finger close together.

Sean smirked at me, "Alright, it was a little funny," Sean agreed, nodding his head as we stepped into the kitchen.

"By the way I'm going to enjoy watching you do my washing this week!" I informed, mirth simply rolling off me.

I went straight for the cabinets where the cups were stored so I could quench my thirst, if I didn't get something to drink I was sure to die from a dry mouth. On my way to the cabinet I lightly hit Alex on his leg.

"Get off the counter, you're all sweaty and disgusting," I stated, walking past him and onto the cabinet.

"Yes, mom," Alex said mockingly, sliding off the counter.

"Be like Hank, he sitting in a chair at the table," I pointed out, a grin appearing on my face as I opened the cabinet door.

Reaching on my tiptoes I grabbed a cup and went to the sink to pour myself a glass of water. After I took a deep, long gulp out of water I hastily wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Just as I went to put my glass down onto the counter Erik and Raven had walked through the doorway of the kitchen, Raven was clinging onto his arm with a grin on her face which made me raise an eyebrow. Erik mirrored Raven's expression as if they were just laughing from a joke he told before coming in here, but as soon the two of them saw me their grins vanished.

It was as if a black hole had opened in the room, sucking in all the warmth, leaving cold and emptiness. What was once a friendly atmosphere turned tense and uncomfortable. I looked at Erik and I could feel an angry bitterness swirling beneath his calm demeanor.

"What were you two doing?" I asked, breaking the silence that had blanketed over the room.

"Erik and I were training," Raven answered simply, and I just gave a nod also noting that Erik still hasn't said a word to me. I lifted my glass back to my lips to take a sip of water and just as I went to swallow Raven spoke again. "He was teaching me the best way to use my body while in combat. He said that I was quite the challenge," Raven continued, with a challenging glint in her eyes.

I nearly choked on my water and subtly spit out my drink back into cup due to the innuendo that Raven made. I set down my water, my eyes flashing dangerously and resentment coiled like a small little snake in my chest, I was getting too worked up. And then a sudden realization hit me, oh dear God. I was jealous. I know that I needed to calm down, but I couldn't hold my tongue.

"How surprising," I began, staring right at Raven. "I've always known him to take a vested interest in things he considered nice and easy," I quipped, arching my brow in response to her challenging stare.

If looks could kill, Raven would have butchered me right then and there, as she visibly flushed before turning stony and a glint of hate appearing in her eyes.

"Let's go Erik," Raven ordered, storming out the kitchen and dragging Erik along.

The silence in the kitchen was deafening, you could hear a pen drop. I looked at the shocked faces of the boys that remained in the kitchen, all of their mouths forming an 'o' shape from witnessing what just transpired.

"We're going to pretend the last five minutes never happened," I stated, before taking a sip of water.

~~~x~~~

I sighed and fell on my queen-sized bed after changing into a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants. I snuggled against the coolness of the pillows, my body relaxing against the softness of the bed. I cherished the silence in my room letting my eyes drift close as I prepared to meditate. All was well, I was at peace as my chest rose and fell with each breath I took. That was until my thoughts felt clouded and muddled, my heart flooded with a myriad of emotions, spinning in a thousand different directions. A sudden spike of self-loathing and reproach plowed through me, and returned me back into reality, trying to sort out my emotions.

I had to lower my barriers to pick apart my own feelings. A wave of uncertainty, affection, and fear sent my mind spinning. Sweat beaded my brow. I felt even normal emotions with an unnatural strength, but these threatened to render me unconscious. From somewhere below me, I stumbled out the bed wearily stood and headed toward the strangling emotions.

Being the empath that I was, I responded to those emotions even as they tried to block them out. I ventured outside my room. It was quiet in the hallway, however as I came closer to the staircase I heard a faint sound of piano keys. The melody was quiet at first but then it began to escalate further up. A crescendo and then it began to descend as I came down the stairs.

Claire de Lune.

The music did not stop as I almost stumbled down the last stair to see where the music was coming from. I finally reached the sound and slightly pushed open the door to see Erik completely engrossed in the music. I could not quite see his face as he was looking down at the keys. My heart began to race within my chest as he continued to play oblivious to me watching him. Without warning, the melody was gone and instead all I heard was a slam of keys. My head snapped up to see Erik staring right at me.

He didn't look too happy.

"I'm sorry," I whispered as I turned around to head out, but before I could reach for the door knob the door slammed shut right before me.

"Why are you here?" His voice was menacing as he stood from the bench.

My stomach flipped as he came closer to me, "I...I heard the music," I stammered, before I cleared my throat. "And I felt a spike of emotion from my room. You could kill an empath without ever coming closer than six feet, you know that, Erik?" I quipped, trying to lighten the tense atmosphere.

"Shouldn't you be with him? Shouldn't you be with Charles?" Erik asked, spitting out Charles' name like it was venom.

I lowered my head slightly and raised an eyebrow, "What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned, placing my hands on my hip.

"You know exactly what that means! I saw the two of you last night! “ Cautiously, I moved back to the wall as he inched closer and closer. He prowled toward me as if I was his prey. "The two of you dancing, kissing?" Erik hissed, he had me cornered.

A chuckle of disbelief bubbled me and that only made Erik angrier, "If all you wanted was a dance with me, then you should've just asked," I pointed out simply, my playful expression vanished when Erik slammed both his hands down on the wall behind me, literally trapping me.

"Is everything a game to you?" he hissed.

"Depending on the situation. Sometimes, I just spin the wheel and see how many spaces I’m supposed to move," I answered, cocking an eyebrow and Erik's anger rose even more, which almost suffocated me. "You're angry at me, that much is clear. As to why, I'm not sure," I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"What more do you want from me to do? Get down on my knees and confess it! Erik stared at me, emotion churning inside him.

"So, you admit it?" I could no longer keep my facial expression neutral and a small triumphant smile appeared on my lips. I ducked from underneath from Erik's arms and laughed. "Finally!" I laughed, closing my eyes and spinning around. "Oooh, Mr. Lehnsherr, is that resentment I feel burning in your chest?" I giggled, twirling once more.

The shock that radiated from Erik caused me to open my eyes again to look at the German. Erik was staring at me in astonishment, before he lurched forward and two strong calloused hands closed over my arm and my mind was flooded with emotion one particular emotion, anger.

"You've been purposefully toying with my emotions this whole time!" Erik growled, his expression livid and his blue eyes ablaze.

I scoffed giving him a once-over, "I didn't toy with your emotions. We've been flirtatious with each other since we got to the mansion," I reminded, attempting to free myself.

"So what, your affectionate embrace with Charles last night doesn't qualify as toying with me?" Erik questioned incredulously.

I leaned my face closer to Erik's, "No," I answered, pulling my face back smirking and he narrowed his eyes at me. "If you wanted to kiss me you had your opportunity yesterday in the woods," I pointed out. "If you wanted to kiss me then you should've of been a man about it and pulled me back when I went to walk away," I continued, lifting a finger to his chest. "Because you wanted to kiss me...just as badly as I wanted to kiss you," I admitted, watching the anger in his eyes briefly eclipsed as he processed what I had told him and his grip slackened.

I held his gaze a little longer, my brown eyes meeting his blue, "But you chose to pursue Charles' affection over mine. Why?" Erik asked.

"Because Charles didn't shy away from me," I answered, staring at him.

"That can be corrected," Erik remarked.

"Oh really," I retorted, cocking my head to the side, before I freed my self from his grasp and pulled away. "Erik, do you want to know another reason why I pursued Charles?" I asked, walking backwards slowly.

"I am all ears Claudia," he responded sarcastically.

"Charles has never been insincere with me, he's never tried to manipulate me," I explained, continuing to move away from Erik and ending up on the other side of the room. "I never had to second guess what his motives were," I added.

"Oh, this again?" Erik asked annoyed, frustration joining the list of emotions that emanated from him.

"Yes, this again!" I repeated. "That stunt Raven pulled in the kitchen earlier," I recalled. “The way you let her cling onto your arm with that hopeful gaze in her eyes. You’re using her massive school girl's crush on you against her," I explained, folding my arms together.

"Claudia, you would think so low of me?" Erik questioned, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"No, I just know the wicked games men can play," I answered simply, staring into his eyes searching for signs of deceit.

"Claudia, you are an assertive and observant woman, but I'm afraid you'll find no mastermind schemes here," Erik assured with a smirk that said he wasn't going to give away a thing. "You can take my word," he added.

I turned on my heel, my back facing Erik, "I am going to need a lot more than just your word, Erik," I replied with the same light tone and slight smirk.

"And what do you suggest, Miss Walker?" Erik asked right into my ear, his chest pressed up against my back.

I bit down seductively on my bottom lip, "How about you do what you were to afraid to do yesterday, Mr. Lehnsherr," I suggested, pushing off his chest and spinning around to face him. "I'll have you know second chances like this don't come by often," I breathed, staring up at him.

The two of us were so close to each other, Erik gently grabbed my face and tilted it up and as he leaned closer my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. My eyes slid shut and I waited to finally feel his lips, all our flirting and dancing around each other finally leading to this. I felt breathing against my lips and then a slight pressure...but then there was a loud slam.

"Erik, Charles is looking for...you..." Raven trailed off.

I turned my head away feebly in an attempt to not show that Erik were about to kiss. I lifted my hands swiftly, palms facing outwards, softly pushing him away from me.

Erik, continued to stare at me, "Fine," he growled and moved away from me. I watched him as he ran his hand through his fine brown hair.

I nodded as I dared not look back at the man who had my heart pounding against my chest furiously.

Chapter Seventeen: Everything Falls in Place

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 7, Number 5

Sarah Louise

A week or two before this Dust’s deadline, we got our first tour announcement by email in more than a year. It was the first of deluge, as live music looks to be coming back with a vengeance starting this summer and really picking up steam around September. Meanwhile, we celebrate our newly vaxxed (or for our Canadian correspondents half-vaxxed) status with tentative steps outside. Your editor had her first beer at a brew pub in mid-May, and it was stupendous. Also stupendous, the onslaught of new music, which has, if anything, accelerated. This month, contributors include all the regulars plus a few new people: Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Patrick Masterson, Ray Garraty, Tim Clarke, Andrew Forell, Ian Mathers, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw and Chris Liberato. Happy spring, happy normal and happy listening!

Amulets — Blooming (The Flenser)

Blooming by AMULETS

Like a lot of us, Portland-based noise artist Randall Taylor discovered the solace of long walks during the pandemic. His work, which has always used tape degradation to explore the intersection of time, loss and technology, shifted to incorporate another source of decay: the natural world. So, in opening salvo, “Blooming,” alongside blistering onslaughts of eroded guitar sound, it is possible to hear the sounds of a fertile garden — birds, insects, air movement. You can nearly smell the flowers and feel the sunshine on your skin. “The New Normal” explores sounds of creaking, friction-y word and metal, alongside pristine chimes of synthetic tone. It is uneasy, with skittering string-like squeaks and swoops, but also deeply meditative; it shifts from moment to moment from anxiety to provisional acceptance, much as we all did last year, staring out our windows. Overall, the tone is elegiac, gorgeous, but Randall does not hesitate to introduce dissonance. “Heaviest Weight” thunders with frayed bass tones, a weight and a threat in their subliminal pulse. The contrast between that ominous sound and purer, clearer layers of melody, makes for unsettling listening—are we at war or peace, happy or sad, agitated or calm? And yet, perhaps that’s the point, that the past year has been swirl of feelings, boredom alongside anxiety, hope lighting the corners of our listlessness, the smell of flowers pleasing but faintly reminiscent of funerals. Blooming decocts this mix into sound.

Jennifer Kelly

 Astute Palate — S-T (Petty Bunco)

Astute Palate by Astute Palate

Astute Palate is a hastily assembled group of rockers summoned to support David Nance in Philly on a date when he couldn’t bring the David Nance Band. Participants included Richie Records proprietor Richie Charles, Lantern’s Emily Robb, Writhing Squares/Purling Hiss/all around Philadelphia regular Daniel Provenzano on bass and, of course, Nance himself, all huddled together in Robb’s recording studio for a weekend together. None of this origin story does justice, however, to the pure liquid fire of this one-off musical collaboration, dominated by Nance’s viscous, distorted blues-inflected guitar wail, but knocked sideways by brute force drumming, wild hypnotic bass lines and the ritual incantation of Nance (and later Robb) singing. The long “Stall Out” does anything but, rampaging free-range in unbridled Crazy Horse/Allmans-style abandon for close to ten minutes without a single sputter. “A Little Proof” is somehow simultaneously heavier and more country, spinning out the soul-blues jams like a younger, unrulier cousin to MC5. “Treadin’ Schuylkill” gives Provenzano the spotlight, opening with a growling bass solo soon joined by heavy psych guitars (a nod, perhaps, to the illustrious locals in Bardo Pond). If Nance et. al. can pull stuff this fine out in a stray road warrior weekend, what are the rest of you doing with your lives?

Jennifer Kelly

 Axis: Sova — Fractal (God?)

Fractal - EP by Axis: Sova

Axis: Sova is a combo of three Chicago guys plus one drum machine, which had already been inactive for two or three seasons before the initial COVID lockdown. This digital EP is their way of clearing up some business that could no longer remain undone. The title tune, “Fractal USA,” is a remake of a song from the early days, when the “band” was Brett Sova’s solo project, to full-on, no your pants aren’t tight enough rock band. They just needed you to know about the evolution, you see, so go ahead, do some scissor kicks and gurn while they windmill away; you have enough money saved up from not seeing live music to pay the inevitable chiropractor bill. “Caramel” hypothesizes that a Cluster song that’s played twice as loud and twice as long is twice as good; not sure if I agree, but it’s still not bad at all. Maybe you got a little weird after a few months of putting on your best mask for your daily trip to see if the stimulus check was in the mailbox? The Brenda Ray-meets-Old Black mash up, “(Don’t Wanna Have That) Dream,” is proof that while you were alone, you weren’t alone. If you’ve made it this far, you don’t need to have the fourth track described, so let’s just say that it’s longer.

Bill Meyer

Mattie Barbier — Three Spaces (self-released)

three spaces by mattie barbier

While perhaps best known as half of the trombone-centric new music duo RAGE Thormbones, Mattie Barbier is a member of several other combos and a sonic researcher under their own name. Three Spaces, which is a single, album-length sound file, has the air of experimentation about it. “What do I do,” one can imagine Barbier asking themself, “when I can’t play with other people?” Make music at home, and out of what’s at home, is the obvious answer. But doing isn’t the only point here; the outcome also matters, and while what Barbier has accomplished with Three Spaces sounds quite different from the RAGE Thormbones live experience, it registers quite strongly. Barbier has combined long tones and melodic fragments played on euphonium, trombone and reed organ, that were recorded both inside and outside of their home. Carefully layered, the source material combines into a sound rather like a bell’s toll, which over the course of nearly 39 minutes swells and recedes, but never quite decays; it ends with an imposed rather than natural fade-out. The sound is as deep as it is expansive, inviting the listener to let themselves fall ever father into its realm.

Bill Meyer

 Beneath — On Tilt EP (Hemlock Recordings)

On Tilt EP by Beneath

One of the more pleasant surprises this year is the resuscitation of Untold’s Hemlock Recordings imprint. A vital voice in the post-dubstep fracas at the turn of the ‘10s thanks to releases from Hessle Audio’s Pearson Sound (when he was still Ramadanman) and Pangaea, James Blake, FaltyDL and Hodge to name but a handful, the label went dormant following a Ploy 12” in 2017 before the surprise announcement of Londoner Beneath’s On Tilt, which sounds every bit the sensible alliance in practice it looks on paper: These are low-end rumblers with irregular rhythms and spare melodic tics that worm their way into your brain in the best bone-humming fashion (see “Shambling” or “Lesser Circulation” for a good example). Who knows how long the return will last, but for a certain stripe of DMZ-damaged devotee and pretty much no one else, it’ll feel good to have some Hemlock in your life again. Tilt back, pour in.

Patrick Masterson

 Black Spirit— El Sueño De La Razón Produce Monstruos (Infinite Night Records)

More metal comes from South America than Spain, but these Europeans clear the high bar set by Latin America scenesters. The album’s title states that it was inspired by “El Sueño De La Razón Produce Monstruos.” That can testify both to lasting influence of Goya’s art and to the laziness of the current culture which seeks inspiration only from the most popular pictorial art of the past. The track “Ignorance and The Grotesque” perfectly captures the whole mood of the disc: it balances ignorant speeds, undecipherable vocals and grotesque parts with piano interludes and doom-ish atmosphere. It would be better without the grotesque, but that’s probably part of the baggage.

Ray Garraty

 Burial + Blackdown — Shock Power of Love EP (Keysound Recordings)

Shock Power of Love EP by Burial

You might worry, occasionally, that Burial was becoming a victim of diminishing returns. Here, as ever, he uses a narrow palette to create tracks that few can emulate. However, even though the music has its rewards, it doesn’t clear the very high bar that his previous work has set. Thus “Dark Gethsemane” rides a 4/4 beat, angelic murmurs, vinyl crackle and a tightly ratcheted build that morphs into a sermon led by the repeated invocation “We must shock this nation with the power of love.” As his vocal samples become more explicit, the mystery of his music fades. This is all promise and no real resolution. “Space Cadet’ likewise sounds both gorgeous and minor with its soul gospel refrain “Take Me Higher” over an old-school jungle beat. At six plus minutes it would have been enough. It continues another three with an almost cartoonish second movement that lacks the subtlety that characterizes Burial’s best work.

Andrew Forell 

  Colleen — The Tunnel and the Clearing (Thrill Jockey)

The Tunnel and the Clearing by Colleen

While COVID messed with most people’s lives, it was both an endgame and an opportunity for Cécile Schott, the Frenchwoman who records under the name Colleen. She was just coming out of a series of health and personal dislocations, which resulted in her being newly healthy but alone in a new town just as the lockdown came down. Clearly, this was not a time for half measures, so she selected an entirely new instrumental set-up and settled in to make a record that reflected what she’d been through. Out went the viola da gamba and melodica that have figured prominently on her last few albums; in came a Moog synthesizer, a Yamaha organ, a tape echo and a drum machine.  

Colleen’s voice, of course, remains the same. Airy and precise, her delivery doesn’t match the gravity of the experiences her songs describe. But that sense of remove is, perhaps, a reflection of one of adversity’s lessons; if you don’t stay stuck, you can wind up somewhere quite different. Between the keyboards’ cycling melodies and the drum machine’s fizzy beats, the music on The Tunnel and the Clearing imparts a sense of motion that carries her light voice along for the ride, dropping painful sentiments and letting them fall behind.

Bill Meyer  

 Current Joys — Voyager (Secretly Canadian)

Nick Rattigan has been releasing music under the name Current Joys since 2013, and Voyager is his latest offering. It’s a dramatic and often brilliant collection of songs, bringing to mind the urgent rhythmic drive of Spoon, the dour grandeur of The Cure and the unapologetic emotional heft of Bright Eyes or early Arcade Fire. On Voyager’s standout, “American Honey,” a simple strummed backing and Rattigan’s vocal delivery are potent enough, but it’s the string section that proves devastating, cycling around for multiple punches to the gut. While more stripped-back songs such as “Big Star” and “The Spirit or the Curse” offer some respite along the way, Voyager does prove a little unwieldy. With 16 tracks clocking in at nearly an hour, the album’s execution doesn’t quite live up to its ambition. The wonky tom-tom rhythms of “Breaking the Waves” are more distracting than interesting; a serviceable cover of Rowland S. Howard’s “Shivers” feels more like an acknowledgment of influence than a striking interpretation; and the combined six minutes of the two-part instrumental title track may have worked better as shorter interludes. Nevertheless, plenty of Voyager’s tracks demonstrate Rattigan’s knack for a raw, emotive indie-rock tune.

Tim Clarke

 Ducks Ltd — Get Bleak EP (Carpark Records)

Toronto duo Ducks Ltd celebrates signing to Carpark with an expanded re-release of their 2018 debut EP Get Bleak. The pair — Tom Mcgreevy on vocals, rhythm and bass guitars and Evan Lewis on lead guitar — bonded over a shared love of 1980s indie bands. Their intricately constructed guitar interplay carries the DNA of Postcard and C86 over meaty bass lines that evoke Mighty Mighty as much as Orange Juice and McCarthy. The sprightly music belies the miserablism of the lyrics that focus on FOMO, poor decisions, screen induced isolation, the corrosive impact of gentrification and gig economies. Mcgreevy and Lewis don’t wallow, however. Their jaunty jangle is a paean to the joys of jumping about and singing along with those new favorite songs that suddenly mean everything and will stick with you long after the world’s shit slopes your shoulders.

Andrew Forell

 Field Music — Flat White Moon (Memphis Industries)

It’s easy to take Field Music for granted. Since 2005, the Brewis brothers have been making smartly composed and tightly executed guitar pop with obvious debts to The Beatles and XTC, and all their albums have fallen somewhere along the continuum from good to great (my personal favorites are 2010’s Measure and 2012’s Plumb). Album number eight, Flat White Moon, features the usual balance between Peter’s more pensive, bittersweet numbers with greater focus on piano and strings, such as “Orion From the Street” and “When You Last Heard From Linda,” and David’s funkier, more staccato cuts, such as “No Pressure” and “I’m the One Who Wants to Be With You.” Twelve songs, 40 minutes, tunes for days — what’s not to love? If you’ve yet to get acquainted with Field Music, Flat White Moon is as good an introduction as any.

Tim Clarke 

 Gabby Fluke-Mogul/Jacob Felix Heule/Kanoko Nishi-Smith — Non-Dweller (Humbler)

non-dweller by gabby fluke-mogul, Jacob Felix Heule, & Kanoko Nishi-Smith

With Non-Dweller, we have a trio of Bay-Area improvisers who certainly do not reside in one place for very long. There is an agitated freneticism about their interactions here, the performers acting like electrons seeking to release energy and break out of orbit. Each player brings a unique collection of timbres to the party with their implement of choice. Heule is a percussionist by trade yet focuses on extended techniques — mainly friction-based — as he wrests an unholy wail from the maw of his bass drum. Fluke-Mogul’s violin sways between tone generator and noise source. Nishi-Smith is a classically trained pianist who here is bowing and plucking the koto, or Japanese zither. The trio spend most of their time in sparring mode, their energies unleashed with synchrony as if in an elaborate dance. It is clear they have collaborated before. Heule and Nishi-Smith have been at it for over a decade; Fluke-Mogul joined the party in 2019. The most gorgeous moments happen when all three players are focused on friction: Heule slides across his drum, Fluke-Mogul soars with their violin and Nishi-Smith gracefully bows her koto. The energy is focused and particles collide, creating waves of tone. The players wrestle intensity into submission, and the ensuing sonorities are unmissable.

Bryon Hayes

 FMB DZ — War Zone (Fast Money Boyz \ EMPIRE)

Ever since FMB DZ got shot and moved out of Detroit, he has continued to release angry music. (He may not be more productive after the assault, but he’s certainly not less so.) War Zone is his latest effort, along with The Gift 3 and Ape Season, and DZ is back in his paranoiac mode and ready for vengeance. That’s hardly unusual in this type of music but DZ stands out because he’s a bit angrier, a bit more pressing and a bit more gifted than the next man. He doesn’t outdo himself in this tape, but rather mostly follows the blueprint of Ape Season. The standout track is “Spin Again.”

Ray Garraty

 Ian M Fraser — Berserk (Superpang)

Berserk by Ian M Fraser

Ian M Fraser is kind enough to provide details about how he created and edited Berserk, although relatively few listeners are going to really know what “nonlinear feedback systems and waveset synthesis” are, let alone “sensormonitor primitives auditory perception software”. And fewer still will be able to focus on what that might mean while Berserk is actually playing, because the output of those programs and systems is immediately, viscerally clear. If a computer were actually capable of going rabid, feral, well, berserk, the human mind might imagine it sounds something like this. Over four shorter tracks and the relatively epic 8:26 of “The Cannibal,” Fraser either coaxes or allows (or both) his tools into the equivalent of something like what someone who knew very little about both genres might imagine is like a power electronics act playing free jazz or vice versa. It is absolutely viscerally thrilling (albeit probably easier to repeat at this length of 16 minutes than, say, 50) and will do the track the next time you feel like your brain needs a good hard scrub.

Ian Mathers 

  Human Failure — Crown on the Head of a King of Mud (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Crown on the Head of a King of Mud by Human Failure

It’s tough to figure out if the band’s name is meant specifically to apply to D. Cornejo (sole member of Human Failure) or to the general field of human failure, which grows ever more capacious. Whatever the intent, Human Failure makes thoroughly unlovable music, pitched somewhere on the continuum that runs from the primitivist death metal to stenchcore to harsh noise. This reviewer is especially fond (yep, somehow that’s the only word for it) of the title track of this 10” record: “Crown on the Head of a King of Mud” sloughs and slogs along for two minutes, sort of like one of the ripest zombies in Romero’s Day of the Dead (1985), wandering about and slowly falling to pieces in Florida’s tumid heat. Just as that last bit of flesh is poised to slide from bone, the song unexpectedly breaks into a run. Where is it going? What’s the rush? No one knows. Things eventually bottom out into “Disassembling Morality,” a static-and-distortion laden electronic interlude that might squeak and spark for a bit too long — but then “Your Hope Is a Noose” shambles into the frame. That zombie seems to have found some equally noisome and truculent friends. They djent and pogo around for a while, and the song has a lot more fun than seems called for by the band name. Cornejo might be pissed off by the myriad manmade disasters and outright catastrophes that burden the earthball (he’s sure angry as heck about something…). But the record ends up being sort of successful, if deafening, grinding, growling stench is on the agenda. All things considered, why wouldn’t it be?

Jonathan Shaw

 Insub Meta Orchestra — Ten / Sync (Insub)

Ten / Sync by INSUB META ORCHESTRA

Ten / Sync was recorded in September, 2020; not exactly lockdown time, but certainly not out of the pandemic woods. It’s no small task to keep any 50-strong orchestra going, let alone one devoted to experimental music. So, if you already have one, then having it perform during a pandemic is just another challenge among many. So, the Swiss-based orchestra assembled three groups of musicians, numbering 31 in all, and assembled their contributions during post-production. While this did not provide the social experience that IMO’s gatherings usually impart to participants, an outcome that just isn’t the same seems awfully representative of the time, right? And since one Insub Meta Orchestra subspeciality is making music that sounds like it was performed by many fewer players than were actually present, this collection of sustained chords concealing tiny actions and apparently disassembled passages is actually very representative of the ensemble’s music.

Bill Meyer

Amirtha Kidambi & Matteo Liberatore — Neutral Love (Astral Editions)

Neutral Love by Amirtha Kidambi & Matteo Liberatore

With her own group, the Elder Ones, and in Mary Halvorson’s Code Girl, singer Amirtha Kidambi shows how far you can take a song while still giving the meanings of words and the boundaries of form their dues. But Neutral Love, like her two tapes with Lea Bertucci, explores the territory outside the tower of song. The main structures for this improvised encounter with electric guitarist Matteo Liberatore seem to be a shared agreement to exclude certain options. Song form and overt displays of chops are right out; the patient manipulation of sounds is where it’s at. Liberatore opts mostly for swelling and subsiding resonations, while Kidambi spends a lot of time finding out what’s hiding at the back of her throat, drawing it out, and then tying it into elaborate shapes. Patient and eerie, these four tracks find a place adjacent to Charalambides at their most abstract, and make it their own.

Bill Meyer

 Kosmodemonic — Liminal Light (Transylvanian Recordings)

KOSMODEMONIC - LIMINAL LIGHT by KOSMODEMONIC

NYC outfit Kosmodemonic is among the recent wave of metal bands attempting to effect an organic-sounding synthesis of numerous subgenres: a slurry of sludge, a bit of black metal, a dose of doom, and a hit or two of the lysergic. When it works — as it does on a number of tracks on the band’s long new cassette Liminal Light — it’s an exciting sound. Songs like “Moirai” and “Broken Crown” manage to couple tuneful riffs, dirty tone and a muscular bottom end in ways that feel thumping, groovy and pretty weird. You’ll want to bump your butt around even as you’re looking for something to break. But the tape is pretty long, and the further afield Kosmodemonic gets from that mid-tempo groove, the more middling (and sometimes muddled) the material sounds. “With Majesty” can’t quite find its rhythmic footing in its more technical passages, and the song’s sludgier sections feel like compromises, rather than interesting maneuvers. But the record begins and finishes with really strong songs. Both “Drown in Drone” and “Unnaming Unlearning” embrace scale, letting their big riffs rip. When “Unnaming Unlearning” slips into complex sections of blackened and distorted dissonance, the drama surges. Formal experiment and manipulation of mood fold into each other. The song gets interesting, even as it’s reaching for a peak. And then it ends, suddenly, violently. It’s pretty good. Your impulse is to flip the tape and hear it again, which is just what Kosmodemonic wants you to do. Well played, dudes.

Jonathan Shaw

 Sarah Louise — Earth Bow (Self-Released)

Earth Bow by Sarah Louise

Asheville-based songwriter Sarah Louise wants to be your personal nature interpreter. The titles of her recordings, from her debut Field Guide through Deeper Woods and Nighttime Birds and Morning Stars are like planetary signposts pointing to a more intimate relationship with our planet as a living organism. With each successive release, her music has also become more and more organic sounding, culminating with Earth Bow, in which Louise herself is arms deep in humus, communing with birds and insects. Recordings of creation feature prominently; katydids, spring peeper frogs, a creek and various birds are credited as providing additional singing, augmenting the artist’s own mellifluous voice. For a recording in which the track titles and lyrics are focused on nature and Louise’s experiences therein, there are a lot of digital elements. Her 12-string guitar is prominent in places, but synths are everywhere: in the background, bouncing around like shooting stars, and mimicking the various fauna that they accompany. Yet the earthly and the machine-made are not juxtaposed, they are blended. The vocals, which center the recordings, tie both elements together nicely. Earth Bow is a tasty concoction, in which a variety of ingredients are married in botanical bliss.

Bryon Hayes

 Le Mav — “Supersonic (Feat. Tay Iwar)” (Immaculate Taste)

Nigeria’s alté scene has been bubbling for a couple of years now on the backs of guys like Odunsi (The Engine) and Santi, and Gabriel Obi bka Le Mav is no stranger to the fray, having produced Santi’s “Sparky,” Aylø and a recurring favorite of his, singer Tay Iwar. The two have already collaborated at length (for songs off Iwar’s debut album Gemini in 2019, as well as the entirety of last year’s Gold EP), so the comfort level here is established. It shows: Iwar’s smooth-as vocals match Le Mav’s breezy piano descent and gentle rhythmic shuffle in an easygoing song that matches anything you might hear coming from Miguel, Frank Ocean or the Sun-El Musician orbit. “If it feels right, touch the sky,” Iwar suggests early on. Well, don’t mind if I do.

Patrick Masterson

 Sugar Minott — “I Remember Mama” (Emotional Rescue)

I Remember Mama by Sugar Minott

At some point after Lincoln Barrington Minott had left Kingston and his early dancehall and lovers rock legacy with Studio One and Black Roots behind for cooler climates and the old world of London, he ran into producer Steve Parr at the Wackies offices. Story goes that the two decided to start up Sound Design Studio with the intent to record and mix for ads, film and music — but scant evidence of this idea exists beyond “I Remember Mama,” released on 7” and 12” in 1985 and reissued for the first time since via Stuart Leath and his long-trusted Emotional Rescue imprint. Parr does most of the work on the recording (Andy MacDonald shines on tenor sax and Paul Uden guitar in the original credits), but it’s all about the sweetness Sugar brings to the table: With backing from two accomplished performers in their own right, Janette Sewell and Shola Phillips, Minott’s naturally relaxed delivery shines through on this. “Sound Design” is a dubbier instrumental version that retains Sewell’s and Phillips’ vocals, and Dan Tyler (half of Idjut Boys) provides an even spacier, handclap-laden 11-minute remix, but while both variants are excellent, the boogie of the original is unassailable. Look for the vinyl to hit in July.

Patrick Masterson

 Jessica Ackerley — Morning/mourning (Cacophonous Revival)

Morning/mourning by Jessica Ackerley

It makes sense that Wendy Eisenberg wrote the liner notes to Morning/mourning, since they and Jessica Ackerley are bound by a shared commitment to string-craft. Both have a deep idiomatic foundation in jazz guitar, but neither is willing to be confined by what they’ve learned. In the case of Morning/mourning, that means that patiently paced ruminations upon Derek Bailey-like harmonics sit side by side with frantic but rigorously scripted forays that sound a bit like Jim Hall might if he input the contents of his French press intravenously. This album’s nine tracks observe passings and new beginnings, since Ackerley pulled the recording together while in quarantine, shortly before leaving Manhattan for Honolulu, and titled some of them in tribute to a pair of guitar teachers who were taken by 2020. But in their attention to tone, harmony, velocity and structure, these pieces, like Eisenberg’s records, speak as much to intellect as to emotion.

Bill Meyer

 Nadja & Disrotted — Split (Roman Numeral Records)

It makes a certain kind of sense for Nadja and Disrotted to tackle a split together; although both bands traffic in a particularly foreboding strain of doom metal, they also share a weird sort of comfort. There’s a sense more of horrible things happening around you than to you, like you’re in the eye of the storm or maybe in a bathysphere plunged to crushing depths. There is a precision to the menace, a measured quality to the noise. And they get there when they get there; as Dusted’s Jonathan Shaw pointed out in his review of Disrotted’s Cryongenics, “Pace seems to be the point.” This excellent split doesn’t shy away from these commonalities while still highlighting the distinct timbres of each act, with Nadja settling into and then returning to one of their indelibly titanic bass riffs throughout the 19-minute “From the Lips of a Ghost in the Shadow of a Unicorn's Dream” and Disrotted somehow conjuring the feeling of a massive structure corroding and collapsing on the 15-minute “Pastures for the Benighted”. When the latter slams to a half, one last hit echoing away, the listener may find themselves feeling equally relieved the onslaught is over and kind of missing both sides’ pulverizing embrace.

Ian Mathers 

 Nasimiyu — POTIONS (Figureight)

P O T I O N S by nasimiYu

Nasimiyu’s songs bounce and shimmy with complex rhythms, her background as a dancer and percussionist for Kabells and Sharkmuffin coming through in the intricate interplay of handclaps, breathy beat-boxing, rattling metal implements, all manner of drums and, not least, her lithe, twining vocal lines. “Watercolor” blossoms out of a burst of choral “la”s, each note allowed to flower briefly before behind cut off with a knife-edge; these are organic sounds shaped with mechanical precision. Against this background, Nasimiyu herself enters, her voice fluttery and syncopated, a bit like Neneh Cherry. The mix is full of separate elements, the backing vocals, a synthesizer working as a bass, handclaps, Nasimiyu’s singing, but the song remains light and translucent. “Feelings,” sings Nasimiyu, “I am in my feelings,” and so, for a moment, are we. Nasimiyu is half Kenyan and half Scandinavian-American, and you can hear a bit of East Africa in the surging sweetness of choral singing on “Immigrant Hustle.” But there’s a post-modern gloss over everything, as the singer brings in sonic elements from jazz, electronica, dance, pop and afro-beat. Yet however many layers are added, the sound remains bright and clear, a bead curtain of musical sensation whose elements click faintly as they brush together, but remain essentially separate.

Jennifer Kelly

 Carlos Niño & Friends — More Energy Fields, Current (International Anthem)

More Energy Fields, Current by Carlos Niño & Friends

Multi-instrumentalist and producer Carlos Niño latest album which straddles and largely crosses the line between spiritual jazz and new age ambience features friends from both worlds including Shabaka Hutchings, Jamael Dean, Dntel and Laraaji. Niño, who plays percussion and synthesizer, edited, mixed and produced the album from recordings made in 2019 and 2020 in a variety of settings. The results are largely low-key soundscapes designed to assist meditation on the fields and current of the title. Much evocation of the natural world, chiming eastern influenced percussion and layers of acoustic and synthetic keys that are lovely but tend to lull. It is the slightly disruptive reeds that prick the ears here, Aaron Hall’s plangent tenor on “Now the background is foreground,” Devin Daniels’ alto phrasing on “Together” and Hutchings’ expressive duet with Dean on “Please, wake up.”

Andrew Forell 

 Shane Parish — Disintegrated Satellites (Bandcamp subscription)

Disintegrated Satellites EP by Shane Parish

The normally ultra-productive Shane Parish didn’t put out a lot of music in 2020, and none of what did come out was recorded that year. It turns out that he was busy giving guitar lessons via zoom and moving from North Carolina to Georgia, but we’re well into a new year and he’s back in Bandcamp. This three tune EP doesn’t declare a new direction, of which Parish has had many, so much as an integration of his interests in American folk music and far Eastern tonalities. Simultaneously familiar and alien, but above all propulsive, it serves notice that the time for reflection has passed.

Bill Meyer 

 Séketxe — “Caixão de Luxo” (Chasing Dreams)

The thing that gets your attention about Séketxe is… well, everything: how many of them there are (i.e., how you can’t really tell who’s in the group and who isn’t), how they’re all propellant, a musical bottle rocket bursting out of your speakers, confrontationally in your face on camera — and how much fun it looks like they’re having. Somewhere out there beyond the reaches of kuduro and Mystikal lie the Angolan barks and rasps of this youthful sextet, who trade verses (and a soothing harmony drizzled right across the madness at around 1:40) among one another over an Eddy Tussa sample on a beat by producer about town Smash Midas. What are they on about? My Portuguese is nonexistent, let alone my Luandan slang, but even I can tell that title translates to “luxury casket.” Anyway, it’s bonkers and if you’re looking for a jolt your morning joe doesn’t deliver anymore, Séketxe oughta do it. You’ll never catch me thanking an algorithm, but I guess it’s true the maths can serve it up right every once in a while. Séketxe is the proof.

Patrick Masterson 

 Tōth — You and Me and Everything (Northern Spy)

You And Me And Everything by Tōth

The title of Alex Toth’s solo debut, Practice Magic and Seek Professional Help When Necessary, alludes to his belief in music as therapy — that there’s an alchemy in the process, yet one that can’t necessarily be depended on to pull you out of an emotional hole when that hole gets too deep. On his new album, You and Me and Everything, all of his recent personal struggles are out in the open. There’s the tale of when he was so fucked up he couldn’t play trumpet at a family funeral (“Turnaround (Cocaine Song)”); there’s leaning on songwriting as a means to process the pain of heartbreak (“Guitars are Better Than Synthesizers for Writing Through Hard Times”); and there’s his ongoing battle with anxiety (“Butterflies”). While such heavy emotional terrain could prove hard-going, Toth approaches everything with a playfulness, a lightness of touch and a gentle haze to the production. Plus, he gets a helping hand from Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak, Flock of Dimes), who lends backing vocals to standout “Daffadowndilly,” which taps into the woozy gorgeousness of prime Robert Wyatt.

Tim Clarke 

 Mara Winter — Rise, follow (Discreet Editions)

Rise, follow by Mara Winter

For people with busy performance schedules, 2020 posed a problem; how do you stay busy and creative when you can’t do what you usually do? Mara Winter, an American-born, Swiss-based flute player who specializes in Renaissance-era repertoire and instruments, used it to forge a new creative identity. In partnership with experimental composer and multi-instrumentalist Clara de Asís, she began exploring the commonalities between early, composed music and contemporary approaches and developed a platform to disseminate documents of that research into the world. Rise, follow, the inaugural release of Discreet Editions, is an hour-long piece for two Renaissance-style bass flutes played by Winter and Johanna Bartz. The two musicians played long, overlapping tones with contrast attacks, pushing on until they grew so tired from hefting those woodwinds that they just couldn’t play anymore. Effectively the performance unit is a trio, since the two musicians had to accommodate or collaborate with the reverberant acoustics of Basel’s Kartäuserkirche. The church’s echo threw sounds back at the player, turning pure tones into blurred timbres. While the instrumentation is antique, the ideas about sound combination and endurance have more to do with Morton Feldman, Phill Niblock and Aíne O’Dwyer. The result is music that is simultaneously meditative and as heavy as a bench-pressing competition.

Bill Meyer

 Wurld Series — What’s Growing (Melted Ice Cream)

What's Growing by Wurld Series

Some reviewers of What’s Growing, the second album by New Zealand’s Wurld Series, have managed to avoid making Pavement comparisons, but it’s hard to fathom their restraint. Brief opener “Harvester” feels like you’re being dropped mid-solo into a random Wowee Zowee track; the guitar tone on lead single “Nap Gate,” on the other hand, sounds like it's nicked straight from Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. And while singer/guitarist Luke Towart doesn’t attempt to match Malkmus’ flamboyance in the vocal delivery department, their voices and wry lyrical observations bear a distinct resemblance to one another. “Caught beneath a dull blade / What a mess that would make” he sings on “Distant Business” before the song reaches its finale where guitar solos blast off from atop other guitar solos in an array of complementary textures. But besides being a ridiculously fun guitar pop record, What’s Growing is also threaded through with a British psych folk vibe replete with Mellotron flute — and the two styles blend seamlessly together thanks to Towart’s partner in crime, producer/drummer Brian Feary (Salad Boys, Dance Asthmatics). So, whether you're looking for a great summer indie rock record or you’ve ever wondered what the Fab Five from Stockton might’ve sounded like if they’d stuck to short songs and had more flutes, this one’s for you.

Chris Liberato

[hazbbyhaz]

sleepless || harry styles

six

pairing: Harry Styles x OC

synopsis: getting back into everyday life

disclaimer: slander of ones self, child abuse

I want to be with you, it is as simple and as complicated as that.

- charles bukowski

After finishing her tea, Avery told Harry that she was tired and made her exit. The way home had been cold and rainy, upon arriving back to her flat she realized that it wasn't much better. She walked into the kitchen in search of more tea. Coming up empty-handed, she decided to brew a pot of coffee. That would keep her awake, at least.

In the corner of her living room sat an old piano, she had bought it a couple of years prior at a flea market. The thing worn and very out of tune, but adorned with a wonderful message written in metallic silver sharpie. “Girls just wanna have fun.” she wandered over to it, taking a seat on the small bench, letting her fingers wander over the unfamiliar keys. She understood them just as much as she would a foreign language.

Her long, fragile fingers pressed down on the white stripes, the atrocious sound it makes sends a shiver down her spine. Closing the lid of the piano and setting her mug on top, she contemplated what else to do. The main goal was to stay awake, as it always was. Everything that she did from the moment she came home to the moment she went back to work was focused on just that. Anything she could do to take her mind off of that would happily suffice.

So, for the next half an hour she read a book, made another pot of coffee, sat down to compile a list for the grocery, started a bad french movie, drew several small doodles on her grocery list, and eventually made her way out to he balcony to see if her neighbor's cat was in sight.

At 1:30 am she went back inside due to the cold air. Once settled, she was greeted by a deafening silence. It isn't unfamiliar. All her nights went like this. She wasn't living her life, just waiting for the time to pass. Sometimes she would stand inside of her tiny bathroom, look into the mirror for a good while and take in her appearance. The bags under her eyes, the sunken face, and the slumped shoulders,

On rare occasions, she would fall asleep. This was almost always met with her waking up in a panic. Nonstop tears and shakes. Always alone. Always.

Tonight Avery was again standing in the bathroom. She thought about the party while she brushed her teeth. You were dumb. You were acting stupid and weird and everyone must have thought you were crazy. Everyone.

She opened her bedroom door, crawled underneath the sheets of her bed, and fell asleep with a racing heart.

“Mummy! I painted you something!” I exclaimed, running into the kitchen. The piece of paper in my wand-waving around like a flag. Mummy was standing there, her eyebrows knit together, and a stern expression on her face. That look alone made me stop in my tracks.

“What did I tell you, Avery? Huh?! What did I tell you!” She yells, looking down at me. I lower my gaze, hiding my paining behind my back.

“Not to run in the house.'' I whisper apologetically, looking anywhere but her. Mommy's hand connects with my cheek and I fall backward, the painting falling to the floor. Tears fill my eyes as she slaps me for a second time. “I’m sorry, Mommy… I didn't mean to make you mad”

She kneels in front of me, making sure that we are on a small level. I think that she might even want to hug me. Say that she is sorry and that she didn't mean to hit me, and ask if I am okay. As I step forward with outstretched arms she grabs my hair, pulling me closer. “You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. And that's all you will ever be.”

Avery shakes the whipped cream container for the second time, the disapproving gaze of the customer in front of her beyond prominent. At last, a bit of whipped cream topped the caramel frappuccino with cinnamon, almond milk, and sprinkles.

“That will make 3 pounds, please.”

The girl placed 3 pounds on the counter, took her coffee, and left without saying another word. She joined her boyfriend who was waiting patiently outside for her. As soon as the door closes, Avery lifts the curtain that leads to the back of the shop. “Tom! I think we're out of whipped cream!”

An annoyed grunt is the only answer she receives before Tom makes his way to the front of the shop. “Again? Maybe we should stop selling those damn frappuccinos.”

“Any new job offers?’” Avery asks, wiping her hands on one of the nearby dish towels. A look at the clock reminded her that her break would start in just a couple of minutes.

‘Not really,” Top sights, leaning against the counter, his gaze fixed on the big window, overlooking the street. “Maybe I should make the salary a bit higher, but I don't have that kind of money. It's hard enough for me to even pay you, but we really could use the extra help around here. I'm telling you, the very next person who puts in an application will get the job. You will get a bit of a break around here too. Do you think you could run out and get some more whipped cream? The next delivery doesn't come till Friday.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out five pounds.

“Sure,” Avery is already on her way out of the shop. “I got it covered.” Tom gives her a thankful smile, putting the money back into his pocket.

“You're a real one, Avery.”

Avery was never very fond of receiving compliments. They always made her feel very uncomfortable and she never knew how to react to them. Genuine smiles or a grateful glance meant a lot more to her. It made her feel all warm and fuzzy. Words were too easy. Everyone could say something without meaning it.

She scurried across the street to the nearest Tesco to get three more containers of whipped cream. After paying and a highly uncomfortable small talk with the cashier, she made her way to her favorite bagel place. While making her way there, she decided that four things made her life bearable. Tea, the neighbor’s cat, genuine smiles, and bagels. There wasn't much more to it.

She went with her usual bagel order accompanied by a black tea, finding a nice spot towards the back of the shop to sit, the three containers of whipped cream sat close beside her. Her eyes ran over the pages of the book she had brought with her, but she just couldn't seem to concentrate. Her eyes simply just float past each word, not truly reading. The nightmare from last night was still at the forefront of her mind, weighing her down today. She regretted going to bed at all. It always bought this with it. You couldn't have one without the other.

“What's got you looking so miserable?” A voice suddenly asked. Avery jumped back, nearly losing her grip on the book. Harry stood looking down at her. His silhouette blocked the sunlight flowing in from a nearby window, so she couldn't quite make out his features. “I’m sorry, I didn't want to scare you.”

“It's okay,” She breathed out. “Hi, Harry.”

He smiled at her before placing the coffee in his hands, of which she hadn't noticed before, down on the table, taking a seat across from her. “You look tired.”

She always looked tired. He must have noticed. Everyone noticed. “You're very charming, you know that?”

“I get that quite a lot.” They sat in silence for a while, Harry sipping his coffee, occasionally settling his gaze on Avery. She completely gave up on trying to read her book and focused her attention on her bagel and tea. The afternoon sun lit up the shop, every table in front of them being illuminated in a warm glow.

Avery enjoyed the silence and Harry didn't seem to mind it either. She still didn't understand the stranger she had met and kept on meeting, but it was nice. It was different having a person around, like having a friend. “Do you wanna go out tonight?”

“What?”

“My friends and I are going out tonight and I thought you might want to accompany us,” Harry explained, his eyes not leaving her. He was worried. About what? She had no clue, but he wasn't very good at hiding it. Not at all.

“Wouldn't that make me even more tired?” Avery questioned, referring to his statement from earlier.

“I'll give you some energy.”

“How does that even work?”

“You will have to come to find out.” He smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Avery agreed to go out with him and his friends, also agreeing to meet him at her flat. Avery left first, leaving Harry to sit a bit longer at the table. As she walked away, the warm glow of the sun hitting her face in the perfect way, Harry wasn't sure he had ever met someone more lonely.

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[skgway]

1823 July, Wed. 9

7

12 1/2

In the stable 3/4 hour levelling the new setting of the stalls etc. etc. It rose near 2 inches a yard, and in consequence of the hanging level of the ground 1 side of the Mare’s stall 3 inches higher than the other – Ordered it all to be pulled up again – The stalls to be quite level across and to fall not more than an inch a yard towards the channel – Ordered a small window to be thrown out at the North West corner, and the stall-division posts to be charred and set in the ground as I originally intended them before my uncle’s objection –

Came upstairs immediately after breakfast – Copied the whole of my letter to HMC [Henrietta Matilda Crompton] – In the gig to set off to Haugh end at 11 50/60 – The mare behaved ill at starting we could not get her to go – She would back, or at best stand still choosing to go along the hall-green, rather than pull us up the lane – My aunt walked up –

Drove my aunt to H–x [Halifax] – Then took up George and put into the post-office my letter to “Miss H[enrietta] M[atilda] Crompto]n, Esholt hall, Bradford (vide the last page) – The mare behaved ill again at Bull-green – At last got her to Haugh end – Then, Mrs. H[enry] P[riestley] and her sister lady Astley, Sir John, their son and daughter and Major P– [Pickford] being all gone to call at Thorpe, I drove after them, sent George back (to Haugh end) with the gig, and walked back myself with the party –

On our return we found Mrs. Dyson of Willow-field just stopping at the door to call – All went into the breakfast room to luncheon – Sir John and I seemed to talk for them all – He acknowledged to keeping a journal – So did I, and we promised not to note down anything against each other – Made bleeding and blistering an excuse for only taking a morning dress –

Sat down to dinner at 6 instead of 5 1/2 – George waited in his new livery that came home on Saturday – There was a long table, and four spare knives and forks – Miss (Delia) Edwards and Mr. Marshall the barrister lately settled at H–x [Halifax], a friend of the Belcombes’, expected, but could not come – Coffee about or a little after 8 –

Came away at 9 1/4, and got home at 10 20/60 – Sat up talking to my uncle and aunt till 11 50/60 then came upstairs. Put my hair in a few papers. Fine day –

Sir John A– [Astley] is a large, good-tempered, good-countenanced, talkative man, rather apeing humour, gentlemanly enough, but nothing particular, likes to talk of his contested election for the county of Wiltshire, and of his seat in parliament, and of the house of commons in general; said he liked everybody and everything he saw here, admired Pyenest as a pretty “gentlemanlike place”, and, to use Mrs. H[enry] P[riestley]’s expression to me, laid aside all his hauteur here – 

He quizzed or teazed his daughter a little too much about putting an oyster shell down her back – and played upon the word sauce she made use of at dinner saying he had too much of her sauce, he had too much of it already – We had just been talking of Paris and French cookery; and I could not help observing –  “that, Sir John, is piquante: ‘Tis French sauce, not English” – I think he made no attempt at wit of this sort afterwards –

He had been very civil to me in the morning about franks – Gave me 3 (all of them whole sheets), one for M– [Mariana] tomorrow, and one for Mrs. James Dalton and another for Miss Maclean on Friday – Lady A– [Astley]’s style of figure, more particularly in her low evening dress, reminded me little of Mrs. H[enry] S[teph] B[elcombe] – So did her style of face tho’ perhaps more slightly – she is like Mrs. H[enr]y P– [Priestley] but prettier – 

Would certainly be called a pretty woman, but she has rarely animation or intelligence enough of countenance for me – She struck me as being very insignificant this morning at Thorpe, and Mrs. John Priestley might have been a little astounded at the yesterday baronetage of her visitors who do not I should fancy, under value it themselves – Lady A– [Astley] is quiet, and by this means escapes vulgarity – She told me of my being “so clever” –

The knight-of-the-shireship has evidently not brought them into society in London as yet – She told me all the gents of the house of commons knew each other quite well, but this did not at all apply to their wishes – She thought it ought – Sir John was present – I talked of the Caprices of society – Admitting some and not others – All depended on our debut – Whether we happened to take with them, etc. etc. – He agreed, and seemed to speak from some home-felt experience – I do not think his wife and daughter will ever shine much –

Lady A– [Astley] told me that the honourable Mrs. Wandsford wife to the Count Colonel commanding the Wiltshire militia (the regiment in which Sir John was Captain, and is still Major) was a great disadvantage to them – Jealous because they could not return civilities, and she could not – Prevented people calling on them – Said they were shy, and did not wish for company etc. etc. –

I smiled in my sleeve to hear Sir John tell major P– [Priestley] he would not like to leave his regiment (the 2nd West York) even if it was called out again into action – He “would not like to lose his rank” – Militia rank! Young Astley, Frank (Francis) ætatis 17 6 foot one inch, is a fine looking gentlemanly young man, far the best of the best of the party but lady A– [Astley] regretted that he had been unlucky in his schools – Told me a long history about them – He had laid aside Greek, and knew little of Latin, but he has a private tutor and is going to Xst [Christ] Church Oxford –

Miss Astley, older than her brother (say 18) seems a good-humoured girl, rather littleish and not thin – Neither pretty nor much like a gentlewoman – Says Ma’am almost every time she answers a lady – Her face a little broke out – The A– [Astley]’s were in mourning – Perhaps they looked the better for it – Young A– [Astley] is fond of botany, and horses, and hunting and coursing –

Asked Miss A– [Astley] if her father ever meant to speak in parliament –  “No!” but she was sure he could speak very well – They sometimes got up in the house by a dozen at a time to speak – Mr. Marsh was a warm electioneering opponent of Sir John’s – The lady of Sir Charles Mallet was a warm advocate and wrote him 2 letters of good wishes, etc.  – What a dose of the Astleys! Rien de trop – Ne quid nimis –

E [three dots, treating venereal complaint] O [three dots, signifying much discharge] Very much indeed. I know not when such large flakes of very yellow discharge. Surely the not wash before dinner could not make so much difference. There is more discharge since I was bled and blistered –

[verai-marcel]

Okay, so i have a request if you don't mind. It's modern AU, and it's fem!reader. She gets dared to go into the boys' locker room (college au or something) and take pictures of the boys. You already have good relations with most of the men. So you hide in the locker, and something happens which leads you to get caught, Arthur (who probably has feelings for you), and the other men, turned on by this they decide to punish you. (ps Sorry if this sounds creepy. if you're uncomfortable just ignore)

Locker Room Lesson (RDR2 Fanfic, AM/JM/CS/JE x Fem!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You are in the photography club at your local community college, and have made fast friends with a group of ladies who share your thirst for a particular group of men who play on the rugby team. When they dare you to take photos of them in the locker room after a practice, you foolishly agree. But what happens if you get caught? 

Author’s Notes: Oh my. I may or may not have seen a few porns for this, and tbh, this kind of stuff turns me the fuck on. Let’s do this. Also, I picked community college because there’s generally a wider variety of ages there. So this will hopefully appeal to you, dear reader! The guys, well, I guess they’re roughly the same ages that they are in the game, so Arthur’s 35, and the rest are in their mid to early twenties.

Tags: gangbang, multiple partners, tropey porn plot, filthy smut, rough sex, doggy style, anal sex, blowjob, double penetration, facial, creampie, dirty talk, modern AU

AO3 Link is here, darlin’.

——————–

Hiding in the men’s locker room on campus was quite possibly the worst idea you’d ever had, but at least you could say you did the dare. When your friends in the photography club had dared you take some suggestive photos of some of the guys playing rugby, you unwisely boasted that it’d be easy peasy.

So now here you were, tucked into one of the bigger lockers, quietly waiting for the men to leave so you could sneak out. Thumbing through the photos on your camera, you had a few good shots of each of them, so at least it was worth your time.

Javier was lean, tanned, a beautiful specimen of a man. His fingers were long and graceful that could play a guitar like an extension of his body. When you saw him in front of the music building, he always smiled and nodded his head at you, and in class, he’d ask if he could copy your notes, claiming they were the best organized. Listening to him play on the campus plaza was a relaxing treat.

Charles was brawny, a beefcake with the strength to block almost anyone who came at him. When he was working out and you saw his back muscles flex, your breath was always taken away. He was quiet, but always helpful; on multiple occasions, he had taken a heavy box or bag from you and walked with you to your destination, no matter how far. It wasn’t like you couldn’t carry it on your own, but he seemed to have a need to help others.

John was wiry, a bit lanky, but had a smile that melted your heart. He was an honest man, even if he was kind of a goofball, and helping him out in math class was a joy, seeing him light up when he understood something you explained. He was always grateful for your help, and he returned the favor by running errands for you for the photography club when he had time.

And Arthur. Good lord, that man was perfect; the broad shoulders, perfect ass, powerful legs. Not exactly the brightest academically, but coming in as an older student, he had a lot of life experience that you could respect. He was in three of your classes, and you only started talking to him because you noticed his drawings during the studio art class.

“Never painted a day in my life,” he had told you, but anything he drew, for whatever reason, was filled with emotion. Even as he got criticized for his technique, the professor always gave him points for “good feeling,” whatever that meant.

Your ears perked up at the sound of male laughter, and you mentally sighed. You got the feeling that you were stuck in here for a while. You started to sort through some of your photos, picking and choosing which ones to keep.

Then the door to your locker suddenly opened. You nearly dropped your phone and stared, blinking at the bright light before your eyes readjusted.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Arthur smirked, looking like a cat that caught the mouse.

You panicked. “Um, just… hiding?”

John, Javier, and Charles appeared behind him. 

“What’re you doin’? John asked innocently.

Javier laughed. “She’s taking pictures of us, idiot.”

Lightning quick, your phone was snatched from your hands as Arthur took your wrist and pulled you out of the locker.

“Hey wait!” you yelped.

“Hmmm… these are pretty good photos,” Arthur mumbled as he flipped through your images. 

Charles peered over his shoulder. After a few moments, he looked up towards you. “You shouldn’t have snuck in here.”

Walking closer to you, Javier put an arm up on the lockers and leaned against it, effectively cornering you. “Who put you up to this?”

You looked away. You weren’t telling.

Arthur chuckled as he handed your phone back to you. “None of us are naked, but pretty damn close to.” He moved closer to you, the other men following suit. You felt like you were being caged in by a wall of meat.

Leaning in, he took your chin between his thumb and fingers. “Now darlin’, I think you need to pay us back for bein’ such good models, don’tcha think?”

“Only if you’re willing,” Charles added.

You swallowed.

John finally seemed to understand the implications and smiled at you. “We won’t hurt you.”

Javier was just quietly watching you, but from the way you were licking your lips, he had an inkling you weren’t against the idea.

It was a little hard to think, having so many hunks right next to you. Were they really offering what you thought? Did they all want to… have their way with you? Together?

Your heart pounded and your libido shot through the roof. You mentally drooled at the thought.

Arthur stepped back, concern on his face. “You can say no, we won’t be troubled.”

“I do, I do want to pay you back,” you quickly said. Biting your lip, you quietly asked, “Are you asking… what I think you’re asking?”

The men all smirked and chuckled.

Charles held his hand out to you. “If you think we’re asking you to give us your body to pleasure, then yes.”

You stepped towards them and took his hand.

***

Guiding you to the nearest bench, Charles sat you down as the other men circled around you. Arthur stood back, watching as John and Javier stood on either side of Charles.

You watched, gleefully, as the three of them took out their cocks. Each one different, each one so mouth-watering in their size and girth. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were.

Charles stepped forward. “Open up, honey.”

You took him into your mouth, and he stayed still as you bobbed your head around his thick member, twirling your tongue around the head. He sighed, his hand resting on your head and petting you. You shivered with pleasure at the feeling of his fingertips running along your scalp.

Your hands were taken by John and Javier, and they each wrapped one of your hands around their cocks. Getting the idea, you started to jerk them off as you sucked on Charles.

“Give us some of that pretty little mouth too, querida,” Javier said softly.

You alternated, giving them each some oral attention, looking up at them as you pleasured them. When it was his turn, Javier looked at you with a dark lust in his eyes. He reached down and caressed your cheek, before grabbing the back of your neck and holding you in place as he shallowly fucked your mouth, a bit dominating as he hummed his approval.

When you switched to John, he just closed his eyes and moaned quietly, his hips jerking forward, his cock nearly hitting the back of your throat. You pulled away, and he immediately apologized. You smiled and continued to suck on the tip of him.

Charles tapped John on the shoulder, and he pulled away from your mouth. You whimpered, and then looked past them at Arthur, who was leaning against the lockers, watching you with a lurid stare.

“Arthur?” you asked.

“I’ll take my time with you later,” he uttered quietly, a dark promise that sent shivers down your spine.

Your attention turned back to the others as they helped you remove your clothes, surrounding you with caresses and kisses as your skin was revealed. Soon you were naked, watching the three of them take off their own clothes so they could surround you once more.

Charles laid out a towel onto the ground and brought you down, laying you on your back. He let your head rest on his lap, his cock hovering near your mouth. You licked the tip, earning a pleased rumble. Javier came around and kneeled before you, touching your knees and spreading your legs apart.

“You look beautiful, querida,” he said as he stroked your center, spreading your love juices around your folds. “Can’t wait to make you sing.”

Then he leaned over you and curled two long, slender fingers inside of you, pressing against a spot inside that made you quiver and pant.

“M-more!” you cried out.

John kneeled beside you and started playing with your breasts. “You heard the woman. Give her what she wants.”

Javier grinned as he took his fingers out and pushed the head of his cock against your opening. You took a deep breath as he entered you, your muscles squeezing him.

“Feels so good,” he groaned as he made it all the way inside. He waited a few moments before lifting his hips and started moving, taking his time, rolling his hips and making sure he was hitting that wonderful spot inside.

Charles tilted your head towards him. “Don’t forget about me, honey.”

You gladly opened your mouth and pleasured Charles while Javier fucked you. John’s hands were on you, squeezing and pinching your nipples, and you reached out to stroke his cock in return.

“Your turn, brother,” Javier said after a while, pulling away from you and swapping places with John.

John had less finesse but more energy as he kneeled between your legs and lifted you up by your hips. He aimed his shaft at your pussy and just thrust forward, slamming inside of you. He was rough, lost in his desire as he just pounded into you, his heavy breathing and his occasional moan the only sounds he made.

You had been licking Charles for so long, that when he moved, you whimpered.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you something to occupy your mouth,” John said as he switched places with Charles.

John was as rough with your mouth as he was with your pussy, thrusting shallowly so you wouldn’t choke, but still moving fast, like he couldn’t control himself, desperately driving towards the pleasure your mouth brought him.

Charles played with you a little more than the other two, stroking your clit with his thumb while he teased your pussy with his cock, dipping the head inside and then coming back out, not giving you everything you wanted.

“Please Charles,” you begged. “Please fuck me!”

Charles gripped your hips and slowly entered you, a look of focus on his face. “You’re so tight.”

You writhed; he was not as long as the others, but his girth was almost too much for your body to take. You were glad you were stretched out first.

Javier caressed your clit, and when you gasped, he stroked in earnest, watching you moan around the cock in your mouth. 

“Look at you, such a sexy woman,” Javier praised. “Taking so much cock, you must love this.”

You just hummed in agreement as you felt Charles hilt inside of you. He rolled his hips slowly a few times, and your hips lifted in return, wanting that fullness of his cock to stay inside of you.

“You wanted this?” Charles asked.

You nodded. 

“Never would’ve guessed. Such a bad girl.” His voice was so low that the rumbling vibrated against your body, making you mewl with need. 

“Bad girls get punished, don’t they?” John asked.

You nodded around his cock.

“Get the lube,” Arthur said from his spot against the lockers.

Javier suddenly left, and Charles lifted you up into his arms. Laying down on his back, he grabbed your ass and spread your cheeks.

“You gonna take all of us?” John asked, gripping your neck.

“Yes!” you pleaded.

“That’s right. Take your punishment and be a good girl,” John crooned as he let go of you and pet your head.

Javier returned, a tube of some viscous liquid in his hand.

���What’s that?” you asked, suddenly worried about some unsafe chemicals going into your rear.

“It’s J-Lube. Don’t worry darlin’, it’s safe,” Arthur said, a tone of experience in his voice.

Trusting him with your safety, you relaxed and let Javier squirt some into his hand and spread it along his fingers.

You clenched when you felt him slip one finger into your rear entrance.

All three men began to soothe you. Charles reached down to play with your clit, keeping you distracted, John came around to give you his cock to suck on, giving your head a much needed scalp massage as you did so, and Javier rubbed your back, his finger going deeper inside.

As you relaxed, he squeezed in a second finger, then a third, stretching you out slowly and methodically. You had finally relaxed and gotten used to the intrusion, and started to rock your hips while moaning softly. Javier pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his member. He pushed in slowly, making sure you could take him.

“Just tell us if it hurts,” he told you as he slid all the way into you.

All you could do was whimper and move your hips. You were so full of cock, and it was amazing; feeling the three of them begin to move in rhythm, taking your body, using you as their fuck toy as they ‘punished’ you for spying on them.

You loved it. There was no thinking, just feeling, just being.

And in the midst of that, your climax built up, higher and higher, until Javier slapped your ass, and Charles grabbed your neck while he reached down and thumbed your clit.

“Come for us, sweetheart,” John growled.

“We want to feel you, querida.”

John’s shaft muffled your scream as you came, spasming around them, pleasure bursting through your body like fireworks. The aftershocks kept coming as they continued to pound into you, not letting up for a moment, no mercy on your almost relaxed body.

“Fuck,” John mumbled and pulled back after you were done screaming. “Almost came.”

You let out a soft cry, already missing the fullness of him in your mouth, but then Charles reached up and pulled you against him, one arm around you, one hand gripping your neck.

“You ready, honey?”

“For what?” you asked.

Charles smiled, and looked back at Javier and nodded. You felt Javier leave your body. Effortlessly, Charles wrapped his arms around you and stood up, still inside of you. You squealed with both a bit of fear and excitement. 

Then you felt Javier enter you from behind again, and the two men pistoned in and out of you, holding you up between the two of them.

“You want our forgiveness, honey?”

“Yes, yes!”

Charles and Javier both pulled out of you and eased you onto your knees. Charles stood in front of you, his massive hand on top of your head, his other hand stroking himself quickly.

“Beg for me,” he breathed.

“Please,” you said, big eyes looking up at him. “Please, I’ll be good.”

Charles could only bellow as he came onto you, ropes of his cum dripping from your chin and nipples. Taking a few staggered breaths, he stood back, and Javier took his place, his hand rapidly beating off.

“Say you’re our special girl.”

“I’m your special girl.”

He moaned as he came all over you, sighing your name before leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“Gracias, querida.”

John came back into your view, and he grinned before grasping your neck.

“Sweetheart, that mouth of yours… give it to me.”

You gladly opened up and let John fuck your mouth until he groaned and came, spilling down your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, and when he stepped away, grinning at you, you grinned back.

Then all of a sudden, Arthur cleared his throat. Everyone looked over at him, and you noticed his eyes were completely focused on you.

“Get yerselves clean again,” he told the others without looking at them. You heard them all chuckle and exit the room, leaving you alone with Arthur.

He pushed away from the lockers and walked up to you. He pulled his cock from his pants and stroked it slowly.

“Lookit’chu, all dirty with cum,” he sneered. “You like bein’ used?”

You bit your lip, and you tasted a bit of everyone’s cum on your lips.

“Look at me.”

You looked up at him. 

“You want to be used by me?”

You swallowed and nodded quickly. Your body burned for him, lusted after him in a way you didn’t realize you could. Sure, you thought he was a hunk before, but he had been friendly, gentle, safe. Right now, he was giving off the vibes of a predator, of an alpha male who would dominate you, own you… 

…and protect you.

You suddenly wanted him so badly that you could hardly contain yourself. You started to crawl towards him, unconscious of how you looked.

A knowing smile slowly spread across his face as he watched you kneel in front of him. You tentatively licked the tip of his cock before kissing it, slowly opening your mouth more and more to take in more of him, until you had filled your mouth full. Pulling back while sucking on him, you released him with a loud pop sound. You looked up and gave him a teasing smile.

“You gonna play with me that way, huh?” Arthur grabbed you by the base of your neck and pulled you up until you were standing, then flipped you around, your back to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, his lips biting your neck. 

“Bend over,” he growled, forcing you to bend at the waist, one hand on your shoulder. Your hands shot out to balance yourself against the lockers, and you turned your head to see him looking down, aiming his cock at your wet entrance. He glanced up and kept eye contact with you as he pushed his way in.

“Keep lookin’ at me, darlin’,” he crooned as he entered you. “Wanna see yer eyes when I take you.”

When your head started to droop, he grabbed a handful of your hair at the base of your head and pulled, forcing you to look at him until his hips were flush with your ass.

“So good,” he said softly as he started to build up a rhythm, letting go of your hair to grip your hips. You were lost to the feel of him demolishing your coherent thoughts; all you could focus on was the pounding of your flesh, his soft grunts and moans as he enjoyed what you gave him.

When he reached down to stroke your core, it was too much, and you cried out his name.

Quickly, a hand reached around your mouth, quieting you down as you came around him, your legs beginning to shake.

“Shhh, can’t let anyone else know yer in here,” he warned. Pulling out of you, he kept you upright as he turned you around to face him. Picking you up around the waist, he carried you to the back wall of the locker room, farthest from the door.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded as he pushed you against the wall, angling his hips so he could enter you again.

You wrapped your legs around him, and he grabbed your butt so that he was holding you up as he started to fuck you against the wall.

“Like that, darlin’? Like it when I fuck you hard?”

“Oh god, yes,” you keened, clinging onto him and burying your head into his shoulder.

The sounds of him rutting into you, flesh against flesh, and his harsh breathing combined with your soft moans filled the room. He shifted you slightly higher on the wall and pressed his body against yours. The warmth of his body was a sharp contrast to the cold wall behind you. He angled his thrusts and suddenly slammed into you harder, deeper, and you curled your toes, feeling the ripples of pleasure from your core.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out as your climax bowled you over, and you held onto Arthur for dear life as you spasmed, shaking from the strength of your orgasm.

“Wanna come inside of ya,” Arthur grunted.

“Yes, please!” you begged. 

With a low groan, he smashed you against the wall, holding you tight as he came inside of you, his hips jerking forward occasionally as he filled you full. He whispered your name lovingly, nuzzling your cheek as he came down from his high.

“Darlin’, my sweet darlin’,” he murmured as he slowly let you down from the wall and helped you to the bench. He sat down, with you in his lap, and held you close.

“Been wantin’ to do that fer a long time,” he confessed. “Probably since the second week of last semester.”

You remembered that week. That was the week you had first met him and had a long talk with him at the local cafe, where your friendship started. You remembered finding him attractive, and also, regretfully, decided for yourself that he was out of your league.

“Really?” You couldn’t believe that he wanted you.

“Yeah, really.” He kissed your cheek. “I know this started off… a bit strange, but… would you be interested… in… um… goin’ on a date?”

You blinked.

Then you burst out laughing.

“Yes, yes, of course!” you said after a few moments. “I never thought you’d ask. I thought… I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

Arthur laughed. “Here I was thinkin’ the same thing.”

You couldn’t believe that. Arthur? He was so talented, so friendly, so handsome… he was such a good man, and he thought he wasn’t good enough? You knew you’d have to rectify that in the future.

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I ain’t sharin’ you again,” he said.

You kissed his cheek. “That’s fine. You’re plenty enough for me”

Arthur’s smile was worth the dare.

——————–

End Notes: Oh yes, J-Lube exists. Recommended by a porn star. Remember fam, don’t do anal unless you’ve cleaned yourself up properly and acquired the right lube! Also, I split the sexy time into two scenes because it’s very hard for me to write that many men in one scene, so I had to take Arthur out; I tried at first, but it just wasn’t working, logistically-speaking. Anon, I hope this fulfilled your sex fantasy; it sure as hell fulfilled mine, hehehehehe!

[roseisread]

My Year in Movies: Favorite Non-2018 Feature Films (Part 3)

In case you missed it, check out part 1 and part 2! Now picking up where we left off...

28. My Cousin Vinny (1992, directed by Jonathan Lynn, country of origin: US)

I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. But I really hadn’t seen this one til just a few short months ago. Marisa Tomei is, of course, a megababe in it; and Joe Pesci wears the hell out of some ridiculous outfits as he portrays a very unconventional defense attorney trying to help his cousin and a friend beat a murder charge. I laughed and laughed and cheered and laughed some more. Best courtroom scenes I watched all year, (and I watched A Few Good Men this year so that’s saying something). If this is still a blind spot for you, or you just want to revisit it, you can rent it on Amazon for 99 cents right now. 

27. After Hours (1985, directed by Martin Scorsese, country of origin: US)

Talk about things that escalate quickly: In this movie, Griffin Dunne’s character Paul meets a fellow book lover/manic pixie dream girl type (Rosanna Arquette). However, when he accepts her invitation for a late night rendezvous at her place, she quickly turns into a manic pixie nightmare girl. By morning, Paul finds himself a fugitive on suspicion of burglary, sex crimes, and murder in a neighborhood it’s safe to say he will never visit again. It’s a more heightened, comedic take on the classic “wrongfully accused” genre, and Dunne plays every note of desperation perfectly. You can watch this for free on Vudu, or rent on other streaming platforms. 

26. The Big Clock (1948, directed by John Farrow, country of origin: US)

The Big Clock actually has a few things in common with the aforementioned After Hours--hardworking New York City guy agrees to drinks with possibly sketchy woman and winds up the prime suspect in a murder. The whole thing takes place over a 36-hour period, and as you might guess the Clock of the title is ticking. The cast is great--Ray Milland, Charles Laughton, Maureen O’Sullivan--and the film balances humor and suspense with ease. Fun fact, the movie is directed by John Farrow, father of Mia. The movie is available for online rental through Amazon, Vudu, and iTunes.

25. The Doll (1919, directed by Ernst Lubitsch, country of origin: Germany)

I adore Ernst Lubitsch, who directed The Shop Around The Corner, To Be or Not To Be, Trouble in Paradise, and Design for Living. Before his English-language talkies, however, he got his start in Germany with silent films like Die Puppe (The Doll). Starring the effervescent Ossi Oswalda (basically the silent era’s Greta Gerwig), this comic fantasy skewers romantic conventions. 

Lancelot is a young prince who must marry in order to receive his inheritance; but he’s afraid of women (or possibly gay... it’s easy to read it that way). He buys what he think is a life-like doll to deceive his family and avoid marriage to a real girl; but little does he know Ossi is actually a real girl pretending to be a doll. It’s all very silly and over the top and winking, and also one of the most hilarious and charming rom-coms this side of the Hallmark channel. The physical comedy is outstanding, the social commentary is scathing, and Ossi is the hero we didn’t know we needed. There are a few versions floating around on YouTube or you can rent it for a few bucks on Amazon. I caught it on Filmstruck during a Lubitsch spotlight, and my life has never been the same.

24. Talk To Her (2002, directed by Pedro Almodovar, country of origin: Spain)

Pedro Almodovar can take the most seemingly absurd situation or plot contrivance and draw out something truly human and moving. He excels at shining a light on damaged but compelling characters, and doing everything with such style and panache that you let your guard down completely and before you know it you’re rooting for someone you ordinarily would scoff at from a distance. This movie’s story focuses on two comatose women and their caretakers, and delves into the limits of love and consent in fascinating, disturbing ways. I had no idea where this film was going but I was with it every second. Available for rent on most online platforms.

23. Crash (1996, directed by David Cronenberg, country of origin: Canada)

From the king of body horror, David Cronenberg, comes a movie about people who find eroticism where most people would find repulsion. Based on the controversial book by J.G. Ballard, this film follows a group of people who are aroused by car accidents and the injuries that result from metal and flesh colliding. It sounds macabre and at times it is, but under the surface are deeper themes that question what is considered “normal” versus “fetish” and why bodies that are whole and untarnished are worshiped while those that have distinguishing marks are tossed aside. There’s also certainly a critique of consumerism and cars as status symbols, and probably a lot more I missed on first viewing. Who better to portray a sexual deviant than James Spader? He’s joined by Holly Hunter, Elias Koteas (you’ll never think of Casey Jones the same way again), Deborah Kara Unger, and Rosanna Arquette. This is a tough one to track down--nowhere online right now, and it’s out of print on physical media; but if you see it at a thrift store or your local library, check it out. 

22. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920, directed by Robert Wiene, country of origin: Germany)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is one of those movies that gets referenced a lot but I still wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from this silent German Expressionist film. Sometimes watching such a revered classic can be a little daunting--will I like as much as I’m “supposed to”? Thankfully, I did. Basically all of goth culture could probably trace its lineage back to this weird, creepy, twisty film. The elaborate, off-kilter set design and mind-bending story got under my skin in the best way. I won’t say much about the plot--just watch it (on YouTube unofficially or rentable on various streaming services).

21. Duck Soup (1933, directed by Leo McCarey, country of origin: US)

My introduction to the Marx Brothers was A Night at the Opera, and I went gaga for their rapid-fire verbal gymnastics and their gonzo physical comedy. This film takes it to the next level and throws in some political satire for good measure. So many incredible, iconic routines; song and dance sequences; and dialogue that you have to watch at least 4 times to catch all the jokes. I’m officially a fan of the Marx Brothers after this. You can rent it on most streaming sources, but I’m guessing if you have a male relative over the age of 50 you could probably borrow it from their collection. It’s very popular with Dad/Uncle demographic, and I can see why.

20. They Live by Night (1948, directed by Nicholas Ray, country of origin: US)

Nicholas Ray is quickly becoming one of my all time favorite directors. Rebel Without a Cause, In a Lonely Place, Johnny Guitar, The Racket, and now They Live By Night--just stunning movies about troubled souls who don’t quite fit in with the rest of the world. This film lays the template for so many that would come after it: Young couple, good girl falls for bad boy, they go on the run from the law, love is not all you need.

When things are good, they’re really good and lead characters Keechie (Cathy O’Donnell) and Bowie (Farley Grainger) are rapturously crazy in love. But they also bicker believably when the past begins to bleed into the present, leading to one of my favorite exchanges in the film. Bowie confronts Keechie about her whereabouts, and when she informs him she’s been to the doctor “about the baby we’re gonna have,” he bursts out, “That’s all I need!” She fires back, “You don’t see me knittin’ anything, do ya?”

This is a Criterion film, so you may have to get it from the library or catch it on TCM until the Criterion streaming service launches later this spring. Either way, it’s a must-watch, especially if you love movies like Badlands and Bonnie and Clyde.

19. Paprika (2006, directed by Satoshi Kon, country of origin: Japan)

Look, I love Inception as much as the next person, but now that I’ve seen Paprika I must admit Christopher Nolan owes a major debt to Satoshi Kon for the way he portrays dreams and reality intersecting in uncanny ways. The difference is Satoshi Kon did it with much more weirdness and color and unsettling body horror. Don’t ask me to explain this movie, I’m not even 100% sure it can be unraveled all the way into a linear structure; but it is zany and wonderful in the best way. There’s no Tom Hardy but there is a girl who turns into a butterfly and a band of frogs and a creepy clown and a really fat guy who’s in love with the smart scientist lady... I’m telling you, you gotta see this thing. You can stream it for free on Crackle; otherwise it’s a $2.99 rental from Amazon and Vudu.

18. Good Time (2017, directed by the Safdie Brothers, country of origin: US)

If you missed this in 2017, PLEASE watch it now. Robert Pattinson gives his career best performance as a fast talking petty criminal trying to get his mentally handicapped brother out of jail after making him an accomplice to his own crimes. The soundtrack by Oneohtrix Point Never combined with the Safdie Brothers mesmerizing cinematography make for a hypnotic, propulsive viewing experience. Newcomer Taliah Webster delivers an excellent supporting performance as an unwitting sidekick partway through the film. Watch for free on Amazon Prime or rent on Vudu or YouTube.

17. Cleo From 5 to 7 (1962, directed by Agnes Varda, country of origin: France)

My first foray into the filmography of Agnes Varda, and I loved it. Cleo, a French pop singer, spends a couple hours trying to distract herself from anxiety and dread as she awaits the results of a biopsy. She buys a hat, plays with her kittens, and argues with her male collaborators over song choices. 

Eventually she meets a stranger and they walk around Paris in a vignette that almost certainly influenced Richard Linklater’s entire milieu. Cleo mulls her possible fate and concludes “as long as I’m beautiful, I’m alive”--a notion Blondie would later reference in their tongue in cheek tune “Die Young, Stay Pretty.” But as much as she is fixated on her appearance, she finds herself struggling to be taken seriously by men who dismiss her because of her beauty. 

Special shout out to Michel Legrand, who we learned today has left the mortal plane: He composed the lovely score for this film and also appears in it as Cleo’s pianist.

I watched this on the now-defunct Filmstruck, but it’s part of the Criterion Collection so your best bet is probably getting it from the library or waiting for it to show up when Criterion’s streaming service launches later this spring.

16. Happy Together (1997, directed by Wong Kar-Wai, country of origin: Hong Kong)

Wong Kar-Wai captures unfulfilled romantic longing on film better than just about anyone. If you’ve seen In the Mood for Love or Chungking Express you already know this. Happy Together turns the director’s eye once again toward people on a collision course of love, lust, and disfunction. Leslie Cheung (RIP) and Tony Leung portray a couple hoping their toxic relationship will hit the reset button with a change of scenery when they relocate from Hong Kong to Argentina. At times their passion manifests as tenderness, as in a moving dance sequence; other times, volatility erupts into violence. When one of them meets someone new, the possibility of a simpler, sweeter kind of love  offers an alternative to the cycle of codependency and betrayal. This one is out of print right now on DVD, but check your local library or used movie store and you may get lucky.

15. La Dolce Vita (1960, directed by Federico Fellini, country of origin: Italy)

You’ve got sumptuous Italian vistas, Marcello Mastroianni being gorgeous, Anita Ekberg dancing in the fountain, and a bunch of hedonism that leads down a path of inevitable emptiness and/or destruction. Personally, I prefer this one to Fellini’s 8 1/2--it’s filled with  so many scenes that could work as stand alone short films; and there’s more humor and exuberance here than in his better known, meta film experience. The 174 minute runtime may seem intimidating but for me it flew by. Available with Filmbox on Amazon right now, also part of the Criterion Collection.

14. Cooley High (1975, directed by Michael Schultz, country of origin: US)

If you’ve enjoyed movies like Dazed and Confused, American Graffiti, Boyz N the Hood, or even Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, you should really watch Cooley High. Filmed in Chicago, it follows a group of friends in high school as they skip class in favor of visiting the Lincoln Park zoo, recite poetry, go to parties, make out with girls, get into fights, and navigate the tenuous border between youth and adulthood. Full of laughs, heart, and clear-eyed realism in place of the occasional sentimentality that seeps into movies about “young folks,” this must-see of Black cinema influenced independent filmmakers like Spike Lee and Quentin Tarantino. You can rent it on Vudu, or pick up a physical copy on Blu-ray or DVD.

13. Poltergeist (1982, directed by Tobe Hooper, country of origin: US)

Out of all the major blindspots I caught up with in 2018, this is the one that both impressed me the most and made me wonder why it took me this long to see it. I think I just assumed that it would be super cheesy or super scary or somehow both? Needless to say, I was wrong. It’s a blast! Funny, scary (but in a way I loved), original, and one of the best portrayals of family I’ve seen on screen. I now plan to watch this at least once a year to celebrate Halloween the same way that I watch Independence Day on July 4th, Elf/Jingle All the Way/Christmas Vacation at Christmas, and Nightmare Before Christmas/Donnie Darko for Halloween. I’m sure that everyone else in the world has seen it, but if you by some chance have not, go watch it right now! It’s available for rent on YouTube, Amazon, and GooglePlay.

12. Arthur (1981, directed by Steve Gordon, country of origin: US)

This one really surprised me. I became vaguely aware of its existence around the release of the terribly reviewed Russell Brand version; but no idea what to expect when I impulsively clicked the “watch now” button on Filmstruck. At first, Dudley Moore came across as an obnoxious drunken boor, but as I kept watching I realized the levels to his character went much deeper than it seemed at first. John Gielgud immediately won me over as Arthur’s butler Hobson, who loves Arthur like a son despite his many shenanigans. Then Liza Minnelli shows up on screen and isn’t she cute as a button! If you only know her as Lucille II from Arrested Development, you really owe it to yourself to see her in her heyday. You might not think Buster is so crazy for embracing “our nausea.” 

This movie became one of my favorite romantic comedies, in some ways a Cinderella story and in some ways a coming of age story and in most ways something wholly original. It’s a very special film, and deserves a wider audience among today’s movie fans. It’s a $1.99 rental on most platforms right now, so you have no excuse.

11. McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971, directed by Robert Altman, country of origin: US)

I knocked out a few Altman films last year, and they were all good but this one was my favorite. I’m not always a fan of Westerns, but this one, which finds Julie Christie’s Madam teaming up with Warren Beatty’s Gambler to open a brothel, well, it’s different. I have a feeling Altman (and maybe his cast) watched Johnny Guitar, an earlier entry on my list, because this is another case in which a powerful woman with a mind for business upends the natural order of things (aka men being in charge). 

The writing here is wonderful, especially the dialogue, which includes such gems as “You know how to square a circle? Shove a four by four up a mule’s ass!” but also some more gentle, sweet exchanges and voiceover. There are also some gorgeous shots in this film, unsurprising with cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond on board (who also shot Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Deliverance, and Blow Out just to name a few). 

Watch it via rental on Amazon, GooglePlay, or iTunes.

Next up: The Top 10! Stay tuned! 

[angryhausfrau-writes]

Something Old and Something New - Chapter 5: It’s All Coming Together

A few weeks after she and Margaret get roped into Hawkeye and Trapper's little scheme, Kat comes home to a flurry of pink tulle blanketing the living room. In the center of the hurricane is Maggie – wielding a pair of scissors with gleeful abandon.

“Margaret, honey, what are you doing?”

Margaret looks up from her shears with a dangerous smile. “Exacting revenge.”

“Oh yeah?” Kat says in her best mobster voice. “Do I gotta send someone to sleep with the fishes?” And then in her normal voice. “I know some good piers to push people off of, Maggie, don't you worry. Whoever made that dress will never sew again, I promise.”

“No shoving people off of piers.” Margaret mock scolds. “It's pointless anyway, I bought it at a department store – and you can't shove the entire women's department of Kresge's off a pier.”

Kat's expression says just watch me, but what she actually says is, “Ok, no taking things out on the innocent shop clerks. Who do you really want to suffer?”

Margaret's response is immediate and full of invective. “Private Scully.”

Kat looks at her questioningly.

“You know,” Margaret insists, “that sonofabitch I dated after Ponobscott. Though I haven't exactly kept track of him - he may still be in Asia for all I know – so finding him to push off a pier may be difficult.”

Kat looks ready to attempt it regardless. Margaret really does love how far she's willing to go to take care of and protect her – even if these threats are mostly empty.

“Anyway the last time I wore this dress, it was for that dud of a soldier – and when I found it, I got so mad at him all over again. The inconsiderate fink.”

Part of it may have been that Margaret had found the dress completely accidentally. She'd actually been looking for a winter coat that had gotten shoved into the spare bedroom closet – a sort of overflow for her and Kat's closet that mostly houses out-of-season clothes and boxes of the kind of stuff you need to keep but don't want to trip over everyday. And in one of those boxes was the dress.

Just opening it and seeing that shade of pink had brought back that whole sorry episode. Suddenly, she was back in Korea – back with Scully and all the feelings of inadequacy and loneliness and longing he'd evoked.

Margaret isn't generally one for sentimentality – or at least that's what she tells herself. Growing up as an army brat didn't really allow for attachments to places, possessions, or people. And her father hadn't approved of womanly histrionics.

But the memories associated with it aren't exactly rose tinted. And Margaret is certainly one for holding a grudge. So when she'd found that dress. Well. There was really only one way to react.

“I just – I was spitting mad. Do you know what he wanted me to do? Do you, Kat? He wanted me to keep house with him if you can believe it – in the middle of an army camp I was in charge of running the nursing staff for!” Margaret puffs up in indignation. “He may have been on leave, but I certainly wasn't!”

“Uh huh,” Kat nods, “he sounds like a real charmer. So where does the dress come in? He want you to put it on and play wife?”

Margaret growls in frustration. “And then some. He said he couldn't see me as a real woman in army drag, wouldn't make time for me if I didn't put in the effort to look human – look womanly and sweet and welcoming. And stupid me! I wanted him – wanted someone - enough that I did it. This dress was the only civilian outfit I owned and he wanted to see me in it – wouldn't take no for an answer - no matter that I was too busy to play dress up or cook his food or do any of the other little domestic tasks he asked of me. So I put it on for him.”

“What a delightful man,” Kat says, sarcasm sharp enough to cut. “Kind, considerate of your feelings, attentive – what more could one ask for in a lover? Why, I'm surprised the two of you aren't still together.”

“He was a real loser,” Margaret agrees. “Which is why I'm taking my revenge!”

Margaret brandishes the scissors to emphasize her point and Kat backs away surreptitiously.

Maggie's always been an expressive person when she feels she's allowed. And it's nice that she's unwound enough around Kat to show that side of herself again instead of just buttoning everything up behind that inspection-ready front she'd worn since joining the army. Not letting anything show through the cracks until she got pushed far enough that the facade crumbled and she collapsed.

But despite her excitement, Maggie seems to remember that waving sharp objects around her face isn't the best idea. Which Kat is grateful for. Because despite them both being nurses and able to deal with various minor injuries and ailments, Kat really doesn't fancy having to sew up stab wounds this afternoon. It's the sort of thing that kills the mood.

At any rate, Maggie goes back to her dress demolition with a little less wild abandon than before. And Kat joins her, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a kid with piles of tulle piling in snowdrifts around her. There are certainly worse ways of spending an evening, after all.

After some almost meditative destruction, Margaret says, “I do feel sort of bad cutting it up.” After all, Max worked so hard to make it look nice and fit her better. Lost cause though it had been.

Kat peers closely at the fabric. “It is a nice shade of revenge.”

“Just not my style, I suppose. But maybe it'll be Charles and Marjory's.”

--

A few months or so after he gets invited to Charles's wedding, Steve heads down to Boston for a poker game. The last few had been called on account of snow, so he's looking forward to seeing Hawkeye and Trapper – and yes, even Charles – for the first time in a while.

The game's as good a time as ever, plenty of banter and good-natured ribbing. But Steve sort of feels like somethings different. And maybe it's just that he hasn't seen the others in a while – that he'd forgotten the rhythm of their jokes and repartee. But it also seems like maybe things are a little changed somehow. Like Charles is a little warmer, more friendly.

He'd never exactly struck Steve as the warm and cuddly type – especially to folks he'd thought he was better than. Which is most everybody, seems like. Hell, Charles hadn't started warming up to Steve til he found out he'd gone to Johns Hopkins – the snob.

That's not to say he's not a good friend, in his own way. Once you've befriended him, Charles will give you the silk shirt off his back - complaining heartily the whole time. So Steve guesses that what he's trying to say is that Charles's own way tends to be a little... stand-offish. And this is coming from the son of emotionally constipated Midwesterners.

But tonight, Charles is positively outgoing. Slapping Steve heartily on the back in greeting. Laughing and joking around in a way that's more lighthearted than snide. And then there's the fact that he won't shut up about his upcoming wedding – even though it's still months away.

It's sort of strange to think of Charles Winchester settling down. But he positively gushes about Marjory. About how beautiful and brilliant and wonderful she is. About how he can't believe he's lucky enough to get to marry her – to spend the rest of his life with her. Because he's not going to be the love 'em and leave 'em type, not with Marjory.

It makes Steve feel a little guilty.

He goes a little quiet, maybe. But Charles's unexpected jubilance ought to cover that over, right? Unfortunately, Steve isn't being quite subtle enough and Hawkeye and Trapper must pick up on it. Or at least Steve thinks they do.

They keep giving each other loaded glances over Charles's head – and not the kind of loaded glances they usually give each other. Or at least Steve hopes not since he's staying over at their house tonight on account of the late train not running in winter much and he'd rather not have to deal with his hosts screwing in the next room over. Not that they ever would, but if things are heading that way. Well. For politeness's sake, Steve would have to accept Charles's offer to put him up - despite it meaning that Steve would then have to spend even more time with him.

One evening is difficult enough. Particularly an evening like this which seems almost designed to make Steve feel guilty.

Fortunately, all Hawkeye and Trapper's looks seem to indicate is that they want to get home. So Steve follows them back to the house – and it's early enough still that he's not surprised when they herd him into the living room to sit and shoot the shit for a while. He is kinda surprised when Hawkeye slings his legs over Steve's lap and Trapper throws a companionable arm over his shoulders, effectively trapping him there with them.

“All right Steve, what's eating you?” Trapper asks.

And it would have been too much to hope that they weren't going to bring it up.

At least Trapper's question is born out of genuine concern. He pulls Steve closer to him and says, “You've been looking real morose all evening – and it ain't like you lost your life savings, cuz we don't play for cash without Margaret. So something's gotta be bugging you.”

“Something Charles Winchester related,” Hawkeye adds. “You kept looking at him out of the corner of your eye – and I doubt it's because you suddenly developed a schoolboy crush on him.”

The last is delivered teasingly and Steve laughs. “No, I'm more than happy with Millie. And Charles really isn't my type.”

“Too snotty,” Hawkeye says with a nod. “I completely understand.”

“It wedding related then?” Trapper asks. “Cuz there ain't that many reasons to be looking sideways at Charles.”

“Yeah, it's wedding related.” Steve sighs. “I guess I'm feeling kind of guilty about my part of the gift.”

“Yeah?” Trapper's giving Steve his full attention – and he wilts into Trapper's shoulder a little.

“Yeah.” Steve takes a breath. “Look, what are you guys doing for your quilt squares?”

“I'm sewing a Claddagh – you know, the hand and heart thing-” Trapper makes an approximation with his hands “-onto an old fatigue shirt.”

“Finally a good use for army issue duds,” Hawkeye interjects.

Trapper jerks a thumb at him. “And he's making some real pretty shit – go on and show him, Hawk.”

Hawkeye pulls out a piece of shimmery gray fabric with a wavy pattern of tiny copper leaves embroidered over most of it. It's absolutely beautiful. The kind of thing you treasure for years and pass down as an heirloom. Fuck.

“See, that's my problem. Everyone's doing these heartfelt traditional things – even you guys. And I was sure you were gonna take the opportunity to get one over on Charles. But you didn't, you did something sweet and meaningful and I'm. I'm just doing a joke.”

“You do know Sidney's doing a cross stitch that says “pull down your pants and slide on the ice” with little pink flowers around it, right?” Hawkeye asks.

That startles a laugh out of Steve. “Is he really?”

Steve turns to Trapper for confirmation and he nods. Sidney had called just last week and asked him and Hawkeye for advice on the appropriate level of twee-ness.

Hawkeye shakes his head fondly. “A fountain of profound wisdom, that man.”

“And he'd prolly tell you that Charles likes you for who you are – so you may as well embrace that. Make something personal, you know? It ain't like he's gonna be showing this off to all his snob friends, anyway. This is for us.”

Steve nods at that.

“Plus,” Hawkeye adds, “you're nuts if you think anything Margaret makes is gonna be tasteful.”

“Or Max.”

“Or BJ. I know for a fact that he's doing a really terrible pun on his.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks guys. I feel a lot better knowing how crass and terrible everyone else is being.”

Trapper slaps him heartily on the back. “That's us, crass and terrible.”

“He's crass, I'm terrible.”

“Where does that leave me then?”

“You can be thoughtless.”

“Gauche?” Trapper suggests.

“What about tasteless?”

“Wow, thanks fellas. You're really making me feel better about myself.” But Steve's got a smile on his face and Trapper figures he and Hawkeye have done their job. After a little longer chatting and joking around, they all sort of disentangle and go get ready for bed.

“BJ's doing a shitty pun, huh,” Trapper says as he and Hawkeye brush their teeth.

“That's what he said. Though he refuses to tell me what it is.” Hawkeye pouts around his toothbrush. “Tight lipped sonofabitch says I have to wait to see it in person. It better be one hell of a pun, that's all I can say.”

--

“Shit.”

“You stick yourself again, dear?”

BJ can hear the smothered laughter in Peg's voice even with her all the way in the kitchen.

“All I can say is, Charles had better appreciate the hell out of this present. I think I've given more blood for this thing than I did at the Red Cross blood drive.”

“Well, everyone knows it's the thought that counts. But I think it's coming along very nicely.” Even if Peg hadn't necessarily agreed with BJ's decision to make a pun rather than something more meaningful. But then again, she's not the one this is for – and she doesn't know Dr. Winchester's sense of humor or taste in presents. Doesn't know him at all except through BJ's stories about the man - and Hawkeye's letters about the wedding.

Of course, Max is the one actually coordinating things. But those letters tend to be focused on answering BJ's technical questions – and badgering him into having the quilt square done on time.

Hawkeye, on the other hand, is a wellspring of gossip. Who's making what, funny stories about wedding planning passed on from Marjory or Honoria, and Hawkeye's own opinions on the courting behavior of the upper-crust all feature in the nearly weekly reports from Boston. Along with descriptions of Hawkeye's day-to-day life.

This is something Peg has learned to be wary of, over the months since BJ came home. When Hawkeye starts being too candid – when he strays away from idle gossip and responding to BJ's own letters and starts talking about his life – his life with Trapper – that's when things get. Difficult.

And now there's the added wrinkle of BJ's feelings for Hawkeye. Feelings that may or may not be reciprocated. Feelings that Peg honestly isn't all that sure she knows how she feels about. Feelings that ought to make any mention of Trapper John McIntyre even more upsetting to BJ.

But it feels like the opposite has happened, in a way. With BJ able to put a name to what he's feeling – able to find a reason for his jealousy – he's lost a lot of that desperate, wild anger.

That's not to say that there haven't been some rough days. Days when BJ looks longingly at the liquor cabinet – emptied of bottom shelf gin since that last horrible night but still holding enough wine and scotch and whatever else to drown any kind of sorrow for a time. Or stoke any kind of anger. But on days like that, BJ has taken to going out with fellows from his motorcycle club - riding far too fast through the twisting mountain roads, until he can leave all his anger behind in the wind. And that brings its own sort of worry. But when he returns, his face raw with windburn and his eyes free of ghosts, Peg can't bring herself to tell him to stop.

And then there are the days when Peg finds BJ staring at old photographs from Korea like they hold the secrets of the universe rather than just images of himself and Hawkeye. Peg feels like maybe she ought to feel- she doesn't know, slighted somehow? Worried that her husband is so obviously in love with someone else, someone he'd known so intimately for so long? Because this isn't just a little fleeting crush, that much is obvious. BJ loves Hawkeye deeply. And with a love like that, well. What's left over for her?

But BJ isn't like that. He isn't going to leave her and the children. And as jealous and petty and silly about little things like emotional honesty as he can be, Peg knows there's enough love in her husband's heart for a hundred people, a thousand.

If it helps BJ, Peg can live with the shadow of Hawkeye Pierce in her house, in her bedroom, even – tucked under the covers between them, a breath passed between their lips when they kiss. He feels so real, from all of BJ's stories. Like he's always lived there. So it's not jealousy she feels. And, to be perfectly honest, Peg is rather looking forward to meeting the famous Hawkeye in person. To seeing if he's anything at all like the person she's built up in her mind.

So she had encouraged BJ to reach out to Hawkeye, to tell him some of what he's feeling – both to prepare him for the difficult conversation they're sure to have and to help BJ figure out what it is he actually wants to say when he has the opportunity. Because BJ is a good man and a wonderful husband, but he's really not very astute sometimes. And Peg wants this to work out – for all of their sake's.

BJ feels the same way, he says. And it's obvious that he's really honestly trying to figure things out, both with her and with Hawkeye.

And Peg thinks he's sort of latched onto the quilt project as a way of feeling connected to Hawkeye – and to a lesser extent, the other members of the 4077. It must be difficult for BJ, being the only one on the West coast. There's practically a little enclave in Boston – and Hawkeye makes it sound like there are regular meet ups with the rest of the folks living on the East coast. But BJ doesn't have anyone to meet up with, not who experienced the same things he did – who has that same understanding of the blood and the horror and the loss.

Peg can listen, of course. And BJ's started talking more about his time in Korea – something he'd initially shied away from, not that she can blame him. The stories he's telling now are full of more horrors than she could ever imagine. And that's the point – she can listen, but she can't understand. The only people who can really understand are the ones he went through those horrors with him.

So she's glad he's been able to keep his connection to Hawkeye – and she's looking forward to meeting him and the rest of BJ's friends from Korea in a few months.

--

A couple months before the wedding, Max starts getting quilt squares from all the 4077 folks. Plus Letta – and she's an honorary member of the MASH in Max's mind due to her tricking Dr. Winchester out of tons of money and then giving it all to a good cause. Anyone who can do that is worth bringing into the family, as it were.

And now that all the quilt pieces have arrived, its Max's job put them together.

She commandeers the dining room table – the largest flat surface in the apartment – earning a fond eye roll from Soon Li and excited curiosity from Seong. Max plops him in a chair on a towering stack of books so he can watch as she lays out the squares, moving them around to form something resembling a quilt. She'll sew everything up at the tailoring shop, but it'll help to get a good idea of what all she's working with before putting needle to cloth.

Fortunately, there's a sort of balance to the chaotic swirl of color and texture.

Margaret's pink monstrosity – which features golden swan appliques, the heads bent to form a heart shape with the necks – and Max's own gaudy Bedouin patchwork can sandwich the Padre's more sedate square – cream linen with black text and gold and silver embellishments. That all ties together nicely for the top row of the quilt. Max makes a note of their placement on her latest sketch.

Then Colonel Potter's log cabin square and Radar's prairie points obviously go with BJ's square. A nice little depiction of the 4077 signpost with the words “be it ever so rumble, there's no place like home.” Max laughs to herself as she notes that Radar's square forms a little hidden panel behind the inward pointing triangles – with a picture of two interlocking wedding rings quilted onto it – so she'll have to avoid sewing that over when she quilts the square. And that's the left side done.

Hawkeye and Trapper's squares stay together, obviously, to make up most of the bottom of the quilt. Steve's contribution – an anatomically correct heart with “home is where the heart is” emblazoned on it – goes between the two more sedate squares. And ain't that a kicker – Hawkeye making something beautiful and elegant instead of zany. Not that he doesn't have a touch of the romantic in him. But Max'd expected something more in line with Trapper's contribution. Meaningful but with a little bit of a sly dig in there. Hell, even the Father's choice of bible verse – all about humility and patience and love – could be read as a little something designed to take the wind out of Dr. Winchester's sails.

And Max isn't surprised at all by Sidney's contribution. And it's as good advice now as it was back in Korea. So she makes it the center of the final side of the quilt, bracketed by Letta's star pattern and Donna's interlocking wedding rings.

All that's left now is to fill in the gaps.

In addition to her own square, Max also made corner pieces with scraps of fabric left over from her other tailoring projects. And there's a center piece – with Dr. and Mrs. Winchester's names and the date of their wedding on it – made from some white satin taken from Max's own wedding dress. Soon Li didn't have any kind of emotional attachment to it and Max figures she's done getting hitched. And any kids they have that want to get married in a dress can get a brand new one courtesy of Max Klinger - professional tailor.

So with all the individual pieces done, all that's left is to sew everything together, slap a back on it, and quilt it so the stuffing don't fall out. Easy.

Well, not quite. She's got a few long nights ahead of her, trimming the pieces so they fit right together and join up square, then actually sewing everything together, then sewing batting and the back piece on with edge strips that have to be turned under and hemmed so no raw edges show, then quilting the whole thing in a pattern that both holds everything in place and also looks nice. It's a lot of work for sure – but she figures it'll be worth it to see the look on Dr. Winchester's face when he opens their present, sees what they've come together to make for him.

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WALKING IN NORTH BROOKLYN

Something about North Brooklyn attracts me during the Christmas season. I have done surveys of both Manhattan and Graham Avenues in December. Today, I chose Humboldt Street, as I have a particular memory attached to it. A number of memorable incidents, for me at least, occurred in north Brooklyn in December…

Though I lived in Bay Ridge my first 35 years, I had a number of friends in Greenpoint and spent a couple of memorable Christmas seasons at Gary J.’s place on Oak Street in 1982 and 1983. For a short time, I even rented an apartment on Green Street (a one-bedroom cost $275 a month in 1982) but I found it a bit too daunting, with the bathtub in the kitchen and no shower, and got out of the lease and went back to Bay Ridge, where I lived in a number of apartments until 1993.

–I was driving around Brooklyn in December 1992 with a friend, Vincent L. (who remained in Brooklyn all these years and just recently moved to Plainfield, New Jersey). We were in Williamsburg and I mentioned I had never been in Peter Luger. 1992 was long before Williamsburg became a hipster playground and subsequently, a wealthy enclave. We ducked into Luger and had a beer at the bar at around noon. I was fascinated by the fellows in the white coats rushing around bearing platters stacked with raw meat — they were delivering them into the kitchen for the evening rush. A couple of years later I got into Luger for dinner for the first of two visits. This was about twenty years ago and it was $200 for four; I’m sure it’s a lot more now. The four of us set to work like jackals on a wildebeest carcass. A half hour after the steak was brought over, just bones were left.

–In December 1982 I was working a night shift with the city’s biggest type house, Photo-Lettering. I had made an arrangement with a friend, Brian B., to arrive at his house after my shift and wait for a couch. I got out of work in the Grand Central area at 3AM, but fortunately, the #4 train has an easy connection with the L train at Union Square; it took that to Graham and walked about 8 blocks. I arrived at his house at 4AM, slept on his old couch, he left for work, and the new couch was delivered in the early afternoon. Pretty mundane stuff, but he lived in an unusual place. I’ll talk about it a bit further down the page. 

Google map: North Brooklyn walk

Today, I got out of the L train at the Driggs Avenue end of the Bedford Avenue stop. This is Williamsburg Atelier, on North 9th between Roebling and Havemeyer. Most of Williamsburg has come to no longer look the way it did for most of the last century, as many older buildings have been aluminum sided and many have been torn down in favor of new developments like this one. As these things go, I’m not overly put off by the Williamsburg Atelier, as it was bricks or at least faux bricks in the construction. 

Williamsburg still works, witness the Auster Rubber Co. on Roebling between North 8th and 9th. 

Roebling Sporting Club, Roebling Street at North 8th. It’s  a sports bar, but somewhat different from places like Dave & Buster’s.

Part of the reason I started out here was to give me an excuse to duck into Best Pizza, on Havemeyer between North 7th and 8th. I’ve indeed had one of the best slices in the city at Best, ranking with New Park and DiFara. I put up with the blaring hip hop station (at age 61, I like WCBS-FM played low in pizzerias) but today, something was off. I ordered a plain slice, but instead got one of their “white” slices, all cheese with a couple of sun dried tomatoes, no sauce. I hope that’s not their default slice now. I was a little early, maybe that’s what they had. It’s only a slice of pizza, I didn’t make a fuss.

A triangular plot at Meeker and Skillman Avenues was perfect for a prefab condo building with terraces allowing for a great view of the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. There may be something fascinating, though, about looking down at the traffic rushing past, or, most of the time, sitting and honking.

I liked the etched glass windows at Kings County Imperial, a Chinese restaurant at #20 Skillman Avenue. 

Streetscapes on Conselyea Street between Lorimer and Leonard Streets. 70, 72, and 74 Conselyea, with their brick fronts, look much the same as they did in 1940…but 74A, on the west end of the row, doesn’t. 

When the row was constructed in the early 1900s, there was enough room for 4 buildings, but not enough house numbers available…hence, the 74A. When this issue comes up elsewhere, a house can be assigned a half number, and is elsewhere in the neighborhood (see below).

I mentioned Peter Luger earlier. DiStefano’s, tricked out for Christmas here, is an old-school Brooklyn steakhouse out of the Luger mold, though it has only been open since 2007. I was here for a birthday dinner (not mine) a few years ago and had the filet mignon, though I recently recall reading that filet mignon is not the cut of choice for steak snobs. But I don’t care what the snobs think.

Getting near the Italian pocket of East Williamsburg, centered along Graham Avenue between Metropolitan and Meeker Avenues. As in the Corona Italian section, some of the street fixtures are painted in the red, white and green tricolor of the Italian flag.

Via Vespucci honors explorer Amerigo Vespucci (1454-1512) a Firenze (Florence) native. In 1507 cartographer Martin Waldseemüller published an atlas in which the recently ‘discovered’ continent was given a modified version of Vespucci’s first name.

This row, on Conselyea east of Graham Avenue, is 182, 182 1/2, and 184, with charming inconsistency.

St. Francis de Paola Church, on Conselyea between Humboldt Street and Woodpoint Road, was constructed in 1941, though the parish was founded in 1906. In 2011, Brooklyn’s Bishop DeMarzio combined three local parishes, St. Nicholas (Olive Street), St. Cecilia on North Henry (see below) and St. Francis de Paola, were combined into one parish, Divine Mercy, though the individual churches remain open for worship. Francis of Paola (1416-1507) was an Italian friar who was the founder of the Order of Minims. 

Humboldt Street acquired its present name around 1870. Before that one section was named Smith, another Wyckoff. It was renamed for famed scientist and explorer, Alexander von Humboldt (1769-1859) who is also memorialized by a bust at Central Park West and West 77th Street. He was described by Charles Darwin as “the greatest scientific traveler who ever lived.” Between 1799 and 1804, von Humboldt travelled to South and Central America, exploring and describing it from a scientific point of view for the first time. His description of much of this journey was written up in an enormous set of volumes over a 21-year span. He was one of the first to propose that the lands bordering the Atlantic were once joined (South America and Africa in particular). Subsequent studies have borne out his proposal.

Here’s a real find, the old Abramo funeral home at Humboldt and Skillman, with a no-longer functioning neon sign and stopped clock. When I saw the Get Fat sign, I thought it was  a restaurant, but it’s actually a tattoo parlor. Me, I call tattoos “the new conformity” and that has steeled my resolve to never acquire one. 

Looking east from Humboldt on Jackson Street toward the old Greenpoint Hospital complex, first opened in 1914 but closed in the 1980s. One of the buildings has become a community center, but the rest of the property sits abandoned, awaiting a presumed conversion to residential.

The Humboldt & Jackson restaurant has a curious stucco’ed exterior, as well as signs in classic fonts like Century Schoolbook and Clarendon.

478 and 484 Humboldt, at Richardson, embody two styles of architectural esthetics, in 1885 and 2018, respectively. Quite an evolution, no matter what you think of either.

201 Richardson Street, and 494 Humboldt around the corner, are the remnants of what was a colonnade row in East Williamsburg; it was mostly intact in the 1920s, but mostly gone by 1940. Both buildings date to the 1850s and have been heavily altered over the years.

Here’s what 201 Richardson looked like in 1940. The Doric columns and roof treatment hadn’t been altered yet.

At this point, I’d like to mention a trend I noticed in north Brooklyn: though most of the buildings were covered in aluminum insulation siding in the 1960s and 1970s, disguising their old appearances, their true age is given away by the ancient and rusting (in many cases) railings and gates, which were rendered with the flourishes of  a former age by their metalworkers and artisans. 

Stained-glass house number at #9 North Henry Street off Richardson. The name “North Henry” has always intrigued me. The street is several miles away from Henry Street in Brooklyn Heights; why call a street so far away “North Henry”? The answer is simple. The cities of Brooklyn and Williamsburg each had Henry Streets, and when Williamsburg was annexed to Brooklyn in the 1850s, there were then two Henry Streets. What to do? It was agreed that the Williamsburg Henry would be known as North Henry.

There are other odd duplications around NYC — for example, West 9th Street is literally west of 9th Street in Red Hook, while North Moore, in Tribeca, is a couple of miles away from Moore Street, a one-block alley near Battery Park. 

So, my couch-waiting gig was here, at #14 North Henry. But it wasn’t in this building. If you look carefully, behind the tree, you will see that there is a building behind it, or a “back house.” That is 14 1/2 North Henry and that’s where Brian B. lived. You needed key to let you in 14, then you went down a hall, into the open air again, and entered 14 1/2 with another key. I had never been in a building like that before, and I don’t think I’ve been in one since.

Cecilia, you’re breakin’ my heart. I came all this way and the white limestone St. Cecilia Church is partly under wraps during renovation. The parish was founded in 1877, while this classic church, nearly basilica-size, was built from 1891-1901 by ecclesiastical architect Thomas Poole. Its green copper dome is a familiar sight when traveling north on the nearby Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. The stained-glass windows include renderings of Saint Cecilia, who is the patron saint of music; according to legend, she was a martyr in second-century Common Era Rome. 

This magnificent Romanesque building at Humboldt and Henry Streets is the former NYPD 19th Precinct, a role it fulfilled into the 1980s when it was subsequently converted to residential use. It was constructed in the pre-auto era, and its stable is still intact on the Herbert Street side. Along with a number of other handsome NYPD precincts of the same era in Bedford-Stuyvesant, East New York and Sunset Park (the latter two are sadly in ruins) it was designed by architect George Ingram, who specialized in them; there were others like C.B.J Snyder and Patrick Keely, working in the same era, who designed schools and churches. At Brownstoner, Montrose Morris says it was designed to look good, but also to intimidate somewhat and give an air of governmental authority. It was provided with an individual landmark by the LPC in 1993.

Humboldt Street is interrupted for a couple of blocks north of the BQE. In 1964, the former Oakland Street was widened and extended south to the then-new Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, assuming Humboldt’s route and changing its name to McGuinness Boulevard (for longtime Greenpoint alderman — now called city councilman) Peter McGuinness. 

This spot marks Humboldt Street as it continues its northern progress at McGuinness Boulevard and Bayard Street.

A handsome Italianate pair, at #527 and 529 Humboldt. Note the intact original balustrades.

My guess is that the same real estate developer built these multifamily buildings on both sides of Humboldt Street at Engert Avenue, since they look so similar.

And now for something that stumps me. A very small triangle was created when Oakland Street was widened at Newton Street and Engert Avenue, which make a V. Yet, it earns not only a Type B park lamp, but a sign identifying it as Holy Name Square. Now, there are plenty of Catholic churches in this Polish-Latino-Irish neighborhood, but none named Holy Name. In fact the closest Holy Name church is several miles away in Park Slope. So, how did it get the name? If you have an idea, the Comments section is below.

#48 Broome Street, just off Humboldt, has retained most of its excellent woodwork, window lintels and roof corbelling. It’s a revelation in an area where most exteriors hide behind aluminum siding. 

Stanislaus Kostka (1550-1568) was a Polish Jesuit novice who walked from Vienna to Rome, likely contracting malaria on the journey, from which he died at age 17.  He was canonized in 1726. There are a number of NYC churches named in his honor, including this one at Humboldt Street and Driggs Avenue and a second one, across Newtown Creek in Maspeth. Greenpoint’s Kostka serves the largest Polish congregation in Brooklyn and was visited by Pope John Paul II in 1979; his likeness is in view on Humboldt. The parish was established in the 1880s, and the magnificent Gothic building was dedicated in 1904. Catholic Manhattan has some interior photos. 

I turned off Humboldt at this point, but that wasn’t quite the end of today’s journey; I’ll post the finish in a day or two.

Please help contribute to a new Forgotten NY website

Check out the ForgottenBook, take a look at the gift shop, and as always, “comment…as you see fit.”

12/23/18

Source: http://forgotten-ny.com/2018/12/walking-north-brooklyn/

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Peacock Quotes

Official Website: Peacock Quotes

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• A few months ago, I had the pleasure of actually visiting the Playboy Mansion. I saw the peacocks, fed grapes to the monkeys, and even braved the fabled Grotto. After seeing the estate, I understood why anyone would be reluctant to leave. – Diablo Cody • A peacock escaped from the Central Park Zoo and wandered around the city. Either that or I just saw a pigeon on his way to a gay pride parade. – Jimmy Fallon • A peacock that rests on his feathers is just another turkey. – Dolly Parton • An example I often use to illustrate the reality of vanity, is this: look at the peacock; it’s beautiful if you look at it from the front. But if you look at it from behind, you discover the truth… Whoever gives in to such self-absorbed vanity has huge misery hiding inside them. – Pope Francis • And that’s how the Peacock saved the Chameleon – Ally Carter • As regards this vice, we read that the peacock is more guilty of it than any other animal. For it is always contemplating the beauty of its tail, which it spreads in the form of a wheel, and by its cries attracts to itself the gaze of the creatures that surround it. And this is the last vice to be conquered. – Leonardo da Vinci • At twenty a man is a peacock, at thirty a lion, at forty a camel, at fifty a serpent, at sixty a dog, at seventy an ape, at eighty a nothing at all. – Baltasar Gracian

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• Be motivated like the falcon, hunt gloriously. Be magnificent as the leopard, fight to win. Spend less time with nightingales and peacocks. One is all talk, the other only color. – Rumi • British men are peacocks. You see a lot more style on the streets here than you see anywhere else, on every level. – Tom Ford • But why wasn’t I born, alas, in an age of Adjectives; why can one no longer write of silver-shedding Tears and moon-tailed Peacocks, of eloquent Death, of the Negro and star-enameled Night? – Logan Pearsall Smith • Dear Alec and Magnus, This is the first postcard of five. Don’t freak out or anything, but I need you to send me $150,000 to cover the cost of: 1) Two diamanté crowns 2) 20 peacocks 3) 300 chocolate lollipops in the shape of your heads 4) My dress 5) 500 lbs of glitter 6) One white horse (More to come in other cards) -Isabelle – Cassandra Clare Death, Stars, Writing • Dream tonight of peacock tails, Diamond fields and spouter whales. Ills are many, blessing few, But dreams tonight will shelter you. – Herman Melville • For all the feminist jabber about women being victimized by fashion, it is men who most suffer from conventions of dress. Every day, a woman can choose from an army of personae, femme to butch, and can cut or curl her hair or adorn herself with a staggering variety of artistic aids. But despite the Sixties experiments in peacock dress, no man can rise in the corporate world today, outside the entertainment industry, with long hair or makeup or purple velvet suits. – Camille Paglia • Genius and virtue are to be more often found clothed in gray than in peacock bright. – Van Wyck Brooks • Hansel is certainly about comfort, while still sort of having a peacock principle of wanting to attract attention. – Owen Wilson • He said that people who loved [animals] to excess were capable of the worst cruelties toward human beings. He said that dogs were not loyal but servile, that cats were opportunists and traitors, that peacocks were heralds of death, that macaws were simply decorative annoyances, that rabbits fomented greed, that monkeys carried the fever of lust, and that roosters were damned because they had been complicit in the three denials of Christ. – Gabriel Garcia Marquez • Here is a kitchen improvement, in return for Peacock. For roasting or basting a chicken, render down your fat or butter with cider: about a third cider. Let it come together slowly, till the smell of cider and the smell of fat are as one. This will enliven even a frozen chicken. – Sylvia Townsend Warner • How come it can’t fly no better than a chicken?’ Milkman asked. Too much tail. All that jewelry weighs it down. Like vanity. Can’t nobody fly with all that [stuff]. Wanna fly, you got to give up the [stuff] that weighs you down.’ The peacock jumped onto the hood of the Buick and once more spread its tail, sending the flashy Buick into oblivion. – Toni Morrison • I am Plato’s Republic. Mr. Simmons is Marcus. I want you to meet Jonathan Swift, the author of that evil political book, Gulliver’s Travels! And this other fellow is Charles Darwin, and-this one is Schopenhauer, and this one is Einstein, and this one here at my elbow is Mr. Albert Schweitzer, a very kind philosopher indeed. Here we all are, Montag. Aristophanes and Mahatma Gandhi and Gautama Buddha and Confucius and Thomas Love Peacock and Thomas Jefferson and Mr. Lincoln, if you please. We are also Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. – Ray Bradbury • I can live without it all – love with its blood pump, sex with its messy hungers, men with their peacock strutting, their silly sexual baggage, their wet tongues in my ear. – Erica Jong • I designed collections around whatever struck my fancy … fruits, vegetables, politics, or peacocks! – Lilly Pulitzer • I do not believe that any peacock envies another peacock his tail, because every peacock is persuaded that his own tail is the finest in the world. The consequence of this is that peacocks are peaceable birds. – John Ruskin • I don’t know if it’s animalistic or what, but men become like peacocks with their feathers up when women are around. – Bradley Cooper • I fear I must agree,” Magnus murmured. He pressed a hand over his heart and his new peacock-blue waistcoast. “I strive to find some respect in my heart for you, but alas! It seems an impossible quest. – Cassandra Clare • I just love the way the ’60s rock stars put themselves together, because they were like dandies and peacocks. They really lived out their fantasies – and dressed their fantasies. – Anna Sui • I know exactly how strong he is… He is like a peacock, spreading his feathers and squawking loudly to distract you from the back that his body is but weak.” -Jason to Mahiya – Nalini Singh • If a man knew anything, he would sit in a corner and be modest; but he is such an ignorant peacock, that he goes bustling up and down, and hits on extraordinary discoveries. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • If thou seest anything in thyself which may make thee proud, look a little further and thou shalt find enough to humble thee; if thou be wise, view the peacock’s feathers with his feet, and weigh thy best parts with thy imperfections. – Francis Quarles • If you get bored of doing it (Peacock Pose) with two hands, try it with one. – Dharma Mittra • It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances, it dances. It sports a mosaic of passions like a peacock’s tail, It soars to the sky with delight, it quests, Oh wildly, it dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances. – Rabindranath Tagore • It is reported of the peacock that priding himself in his gay feathers he ruffles them up; but spying his black feet he soon lets fall his plumes. So he that glories in his gifts and adornings should look upon his corruptions, and that will damp his high thoughts. – Anne Bradstreet • It’s an awful stretcher to believe that a peacock’s tail was thus formed but … most people just don’t get it – I must be a very bad explainer – Charles Darwin • Le geai pare des plumes du paon. A bluejay in peacock feathers. – Jean de La Fontaine • Let me drive,” she said, reaching for the reins. He turned to her in disbelief. “This is a phaeton, not a single-horse wagon.” Sophie fought the urge to throttle him. His nose was running, his eyes were red, he couldn’t stop coughing, and still he found the energy to act like an arrogant peacock. “I assure you,” she said slowly, “that I know how to drive a team of horses. – Julia Quinn • Maggie threw her head back and laughed. ‘So you’re going to try…what? Birds of a Feather?’ she quested. ‘Of course not,’ Kat said. ‘Everyone knows the French government banned the importation of peacocks in 1987. – Ally Carter • Many a peacock hides his peacock tail from all eyes–and calls it his pride. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Men’s clothes are becoming kind of mod. They’re becoming more colorful and more flamboyant, and the male peacock is beginning to show his true plumage. – Liberace • Music really influenced me when I was growing up. I did go through a Jimi Hendrix phase. My hair was naturally quite afro, and I wore low-slung jeans with very high heels. Siouxsie and the Banshees had a lot to answer for. I was in a top hat with peacock feathers and thigh-high black boots. I was 17 — old enough to know better. – Helen McCrory • My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water’d shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me. – Christina Rossetti • My philosophy on what makeup is…it’s very different from what a woman’s is. Makeup came from a very psychological place – of the peacock. – Jeremy Renner • News is history shot on the wing. The huntsmen from the Fourth Estate seek to bag only the peacock or the eagle of the swifting day. – Gene Fowler • Only you could love such a vile, selfish peacock, Evie. – Lisa Kleypas Paradise, Way, Satan • Patterns drawn in ultraviolet might make those ordinary little petals into the exotic peacocks of the botanical world, and yet we cannot appreciate them. – Victoria Finlay • Peacock bass like to hide at ambush points, away from the strong canal currents. If you fish early and know those peacock hangouts, you will have little or no trouble catching peacocks on lures and live bait. – Mark Hall • Peacocks have the bright feathers. Fish have the long tails. Women have the mall. – Janette Rallison • People are crying up the rich and variegated plumage of the peacock, and he is himself blushing at the sight of his ugly feet. – Saadi • Play not the Peacock, looking everywhere about you, to see if you be well deck’t. – George Washington • Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine. – John Masefield • Recently, while I was in England, I saw a documentary on the BBC about the border between India and Pakistan at Wagah. When the border closes each evening around six o’ clock, the soldiers on each side do these amazing high-stepping peacock march-offs (like a dance-off). The displays are almost identical on each side and thousands gather to watch them. Though they’re patrolling along their separate borders, what comes across is how similar they are. – Matthea Harvey • Ruin, weariness, death, perpetually death, stand grimly to confront the other presence of Elizabethan drama which is life: life compact of frigates, fir trees and ivory, of dolphins and the juice of July flowers, of the milk of unicorns and panthers’ breath, of ropes of pearl, brains of peacocks and Cretan wine. – Virginia Woolf • She is a peacock in everything but beauty! – Oscar Wilde • Simple DNA gradually morphed and evolved, so that you had the coming into being of ever more complex and diverse creatures, until one day you wake up and find there are peacocks and giraffes. Nature is an open-ended experiment based on morphing a DNA code, and ours is an open-ended experiment based on morphing a crochet code. – Margaret Wertheim • Skaters are very much like peacocks. – Jon Heder • Tell me about this Wizard Howl of yours.” “He’s the best wizard in Ingary or anywhere else. If he’d only had time, he would have defeated that djinn. And he’s sly and selfish and vain as a peacock and cowardly, and you can’t pin him down to anything.” “Indeed? Strange that you should speak so proudly such a list of vices, most loving of ladies.” “What do you mean, vices? I was just describing Howl. He comes from another world entirely, you know, called Wales, and I refuse to believe he’s dead! – Diana Wynne Jones • The Italians are fond of red clothes, peacock plumes, and embroidery; and I remember one rainy morning in the city of Palermo, the street was ablaze with scarlet umbrellas. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The Italians have voices like peacocks – German gives me a cold in the head – and Russian is nothing but sneezing – Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton • The masculine imagination lives in a state of perpetual revolt against the limitations of human life. In theological terms, one might say that all men, left to themselves, become gnostics. They may swagger like peacocks, but in their heart of hearts they all think sex an indignity and wish they could beget themselves on themselves. Hence the aggressive hostility toward women so manifest in most club-car stories. – W. H. Auden • The peacock in all his pride does not display half the colors that appear in the garments of a British lady when she is dressed. – Joseph Addison • The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. – William Blake • The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God. – William Blake • The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail. – Rabindranath Tagore • The sun fades like the spreading Of a peacock’s tail, as though twilight Might be read as a warning to those desperate For easy solutions.- John – Ashbery • The thing you fail to grasp is that people are not basically good. We are basically selfish. We shove and clamour and cry for adoration, and beat down everyone else to get it. Life is a competition of prattling peacocks enraptured in inane mating rituals. But for all our effacing and self-importance, we are all slaves to what we fear most. You have so very much to learn. Here. Let me teach you. – Christopher Nolan • There are eight different breeds of peacock. I have them all. – Bidzina Ivanishvili • There are no preconditions for jealousy. You don’t have to be right, you don’t have to be reasonable. Take Othello. He was neither right nor reasonable, and Desdemona ended up dead. I wouldn’t mind Leanne ending up dead. I wouldn’t mind exploding her into fireworks of peacock and pearl. – Franny Billingsley • To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require; The peacock’s plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable’s tail. – John Gay • To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in. – Charles Godfrey Leland • Turkeys are peacocks that have really let themselves go. – Kristen Schaal • We ask ourselves all kinds of questions, such as why does a peacock have such beautiful feathers, and we may answer that he needs the feathers to impress a female peacock, but then we ask ourselves, and why is there a peacock? And then we ask, why is there anything living? And then we ask, why is there anything at all? And if you tell some advocate of scientism that the answer is a secret, he will go white hot and write a book. But it is a secret. And the experience of living with the secret and thinking about it is in itself a kind of faith. – Vaclav Havel • We may put too high a premium on speech from platform and pulpit, at the bar and in the legislative hall, and pay dear for the whistle of our endless harangues. England and especially Germany, are less loquacious, and attend more to business. We let the eagle, and perhaps too often the peacock, scream. – Bill Vaughan • When the peacock has presented his back, the spectator will usually begin to walk around him to get a front view; but the peacock will continue to turn so that no front view is possible. The thing to do then is to stand still and wait until it pleases him to turn. When it suits him, the peacock will face you. Then you will see in a green-bronze arch around him a galaxy of gazing, haloed suns. – Flannery O’Connor • Who cares what a man’s style is, so it is intelligible,–as intelligible as his thought. Literally and really, the style is no more than the stylus, the pen he writes with; and it is not worth scraping and polishing, and gilding, unless it will write his thoughts the better for it. It is something for use, and not to look at. The question for us is, not whether Pope had a fine style, wrote with a peacock’s feather, but whether he uttered useful thoughts. – Henry David Thoreau • Women are a source of energy in life. I’ve always wanted to be in a war or baseball movie, but the thought of having no women on set for six months – that’s hell. I don’t know if it’s animalistic or what, but men become like peacocks with their feathers up when women are around. – Bradley Cooper

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[equitiesstocks]

Peacock Quotes

Official Website: Peacock Quotes

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• A few months ago, I had the pleasure of actually visiting the Playboy Mansion. I saw the peacocks, fed grapes to the monkeys, and even braved the fabled Grotto. After seeing the estate, I understood why anyone would be reluctant to leave. – Diablo Cody • A peacock escaped from the Central Park Zoo and wandered around the city. Either that or I just saw a pigeon on his way to a gay pride parade. – Jimmy Fallon • A peacock that rests on his feathers is just another turkey. – Dolly Parton • An example I often use to illustrate the reality of vanity, is this: look at the peacock; it’s beautiful if you look at it from the front. But if you look at it from behind, you discover the truth… Whoever gives in to such self-absorbed vanity has huge misery hiding inside them. – Pope Francis • And that’s how the Peacock saved the Chameleon – Ally Carter • As regards this vice, we read that the peacock is more guilty of it than any other animal. For it is always contemplating the beauty of its tail, which it spreads in the form of a wheel, and by its cries attracts to itself the gaze of the creatures that surround it. And this is the last vice to be conquered. – Leonardo da Vinci • At twenty a man is a peacock, at thirty a lion, at forty a camel, at fifty a serpent, at sixty a dog, at seventy an ape, at eighty a nothing at all. – Baltasar Gracian

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• Be motivated like the falcon, hunt gloriously. Be magnificent as the leopard, fight to win. Spend less time with nightingales and peacocks. One is all talk, the other only color. – Rumi • British men are peacocks. You see a lot more style on the streets here than you see anywhere else, on every level. – Tom Ford • But why wasn’t I born, alas, in an age of Adjectives; why can one no longer write of silver-shedding Tears and moon-tailed Peacocks, of eloquent Death, of the Negro and star-enameled Night? – Logan Pearsall Smith • Dear Alec and Magnus, This is the first postcard of five. Don’t freak out or anything, but I need you to send me $150,000 to cover the cost of: 1) Two diamanté crowns 2) 20 peacocks 3) 300 chocolate lollipops in the shape of your heads 4) My dress 5) 500 lbs of glitter 6) One white horse (More to come in other cards) -Isabelle – Cassandra Clare Death, Stars, Writing • Dream tonight of peacock tails, Diamond fields and spouter whales. Ills are many, blessing few, But dreams tonight will shelter you. – Herman Melville • For all the feminist jabber about women being victimized by fashion, it is men who most suffer from conventions of dress. Every day, a woman can choose from an army of personae, femme to butch, and can cut or curl her hair or adorn herself with a staggering variety of artistic aids. But despite the Sixties experiments in peacock dress, no man can rise in the corporate world today, outside the entertainment industry, with long hair or makeup or purple velvet suits. – Camille Paglia • Genius and virtue are to be more often found clothed in gray than in peacock bright. – Van Wyck Brooks • Hansel is certainly about comfort, while still sort of having a peacock principle of wanting to attract attention. – Owen Wilson • He said that people who loved [animals] to excess were capable of the worst cruelties toward human beings. He said that dogs were not loyal but servile, that cats were opportunists and traitors, that peacocks were heralds of death, that macaws were simply decorative annoyances, that rabbits fomented greed, that monkeys carried the fever of lust, and that roosters were damned because they had been complicit in the three denials of Christ. – Gabriel Garcia Marquez • Here is a kitchen improvement, in return for Peacock. For roasting or basting a chicken, render down your fat or butter with cider: about a third cider. Let it come together slowly, till the smell of cider and the smell of fat are as one. This will enliven even a frozen chicken. – Sylvia Townsend Warner • How come it can’t fly no better than a chicken?’ Milkman asked. Too much tail. All that jewelry weighs it down. Like vanity. Can’t nobody fly with all that [stuff]. Wanna fly, you got to give up the [stuff] that weighs you down.’ The peacock jumped onto the hood of the Buick and once more spread its tail, sending the flashy Buick into oblivion. – Toni Morrison • I am Plato’s Republic. Mr. Simmons is Marcus. I want you to meet Jonathan Swift, the author of that evil political book, Gulliver’s Travels! And this other fellow is Charles Darwin, and-this one is Schopenhauer, and this one is Einstein, and this one here at my elbow is Mr. Albert Schweitzer, a very kind philosopher indeed. Here we all are, Montag. Aristophanes and Mahatma Gandhi and Gautama Buddha and Confucius and Thomas Love Peacock and Thomas Jefferson and Mr. Lincoln, if you please. We are also Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. – Ray Bradbury • I can live without it all – love with its blood pump, sex with its messy hungers, men with their peacock strutting, their silly sexual baggage, their wet tongues in my ear. – Erica Jong • I designed collections around whatever struck my fancy … fruits, vegetables, politics, or peacocks! – Lilly Pulitzer • I do not believe that any peacock envies another peacock his tail, because every peacock is persuaded that his own tail is the finest in the world. The consequence of this is that peacocks are peaceable birds. – John Ruskin • I don’t know if it’s animalistic or what, but men become like peacocks with their feathers up when women are around. – Bradley Cooper • I fear I must agree,” Magnus murmured. He pressed a hand over his heart and his new peacock-blue waistcoast. “I strive to find some respect in my heart for you, but alas! It seems an impossible quest. – Cassandra Clare • I just love the way the ’60s rock stars put themselves together, because they were like dandies and peacocks. They really lived out their fantasies – and dressed their fantasies. – Anna Sui • I know exactly how strong he is… He is like a peacock, spreading his feathers and squawking loudly to distract you from the back that his body is but weak.” -Jason to Mahiya – Nalini Singh • If a man knew anything, he would sit in a corner and be modest; but he is such an ignorant peacock, that he goes bustling up and down, and hits on extraordinary discoveries. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • If thou seest anything in thyself which may make thee proud, look a little further and thou shalt find enough to humble thee; if thou be wise, view the peacock’s feathers with his feet, and weigh thy best parts with thy imperfections. – Francis Quarles • If you get bored of doing it (Peacock Pose) with two hands, try it with one. – Dharma Mittra • It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances, it dances. It sports a mosaic of passions like a peacock’s tail, It soars to the sky with delight, it quests, Oh wildly, it dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances. – Rabindranath Tagore • It is reported of the peacock that priding himself in his gay feathers he ruffles them up; but spying his black feet he soon lets fall his plumes. So he that glories in his gifts and adornings should look upon his corruptions, and that will damp his high thoughts. – Anne Bradstreet • It’s an awful stretcher to believe that a peacock’s tail was thus formed but … most people just don’t get it – I must be a very bad explainer – Charles Darwin • Le geai pare des plumes du paon. A bluejay in peacock feathers. – Jean de La Fontaine • Let me drive,” she said, reaching for the reins. He turned to her in disbelief. “This is a phaeton, not a single-horse wagon.” Sophie fought the urge to throttle him. His nose was running, his eyes were red, he couldn’t stop coughing, and still he found the energy to act like an arrogant peacock. “I assure you,” she said slowly, “that I know how to drive a team of horses. – Julia Quinn • Maggie threw her head back and laughed. ‘So you’re going to try…what? Birds of a Feather?’ she quested. ‘Of course not,’ Kat said. ‘Everyone knows the French government banned the importation of peacocks in 1987. – Ally Carter • Many a peacock hides his peacock tail from all eyes–and calls it his pride. – Friedrich Nietzsche • Men’s clothes are becoming kind of mod. They’re becoming more colorful and more flamboyant, and the male peacock is beginning to show his true plumage. – Liberace • Music really influenced me when I was growing up. I did go through a Jimi Hendrix phase. My hair was naturally quite afro, and I wore low-slung jeans with very high heels. Siouxsie and the Banshees had a lot to answer for. I was in a top hat with peacock feathers and thigh-high black boots. I was 17 — old enough to know better. – Helen McCrory • My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water’d shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me. – Christina Rossetti • My philosophy on what makeup is…it’s very different from what a woman’s is. Makeup came from a very psychological place – of the peacock. – Jeremy Renner • News is history shot on the wing. The huntsmen from the Fourth Estate seek to bag only the peacock or the eagle of the swifting day. – Gene Fowler • Only you could love such a vile, selfish peacock, Evie. – Lisa Kleypas Paradise, Way, Satan • Patterns drawn in ultraviolet might make those ordinary little petals into the exotic peacocks of the botanical world, and yet we cannot appreciate them. – Victoria Finlay • Peacock bass like to hide at ambush points, away from the strong canal currents. If you fish early and know those peacock hangouts, you will have little or no trouble catching peacocks on lures and live bait. – Mark Hall • Peacocks have the bright feathers. Fish have the long tails. Women have the mall. – Janette Rallison • People are crying up the rich and variegated plumage of the peacock, and he is himself blushing at the sight of his ugly feet. – Saadi • Play not the Peacock, looking everywhere about you, to see if you be well deck’t. – George Washington • Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine. – John Masefield • Recently, while I was in England, I saw a documentary on the BBC about the border between India and Pakistan at Wagah. When the border closes each evening around six o’ clock, the soldiers on each side do these amazing high-stepping peacock march-offs (like a dance-off). The displays are almost identical on each side and thousands gather to watch them. Though they’re patrolling along their separate borders, what comes across is how similar they are. – Matthea Harvey • Ruin, weariness, death, perpetually death, stand grimly to confront the other presence of Elizabethan drama which is life: life compact of frigates, fir trees and ivory, of dolphins and the juice of July flowers, of the milk of unicorns and panthers’ breath, of ropes of pearl, brains of peacocks and Cretan wine. – Virginia Woolf • She is a peacock in everything but beauty! – Oscar Wilde • Simple DNA gradually morphed and evolved, so that you had the coming into being of ever more complex and diverse creatures, until one day you wake up and find there are peacocks and giraffes. Nature is an open-ended experiment based on morphing a DNA code, and ours is an open-ended experiment based on morphing a crochet code. – Margaret Wertheim • Skaters are very much like peacocks. – Jon Heder • Tell me about this Wizard Howl of yours.” “He’s the best wizard in Ingary or anywhere else. If he’d only had time, he would have defeated that djinn. And he’s sly and selfish and vain as a peacock and cowardly, and you can’t pin him down to anything.” “Indeed? Strange that you should speak so proudly such a list of vices, most loving of ladies.” “What do you mean, vices? I was just describing Howl. He comes from another world entirely, you know, called Wales, and I refuse to believe he’s dead! – Diana Wynne Jones • The Italians are fond of red clothes, peacock plumes, and embroidery; and I remember one rainy morning in the city of Palermo, the street was ablaze with scarlet umbrellas. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • The Italians have voices like peacocks – German gives me a cold in the head – and Russian is nothing but sneezing – Edward Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton • The masculine imagination lives in a state of perpetual revolt against the limitations of human life. In theological terms, one might say that all men, left to themselves, become gnostics. They may swagger like peacocks, but in their heart of hearts they all think sex an indignity and wish they could beget themselves on themselves. Hence the aggressive hostility toward women so manifest in most club-car stories. – W. H. Auden • The peacock in all his pride does not display half the colors that appear in the garments of a British lady when she is dressed. – Joseph Addison • The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. – William Blake • The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. The nakedness of woman is the work of God. – William Blake • The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail. – Rabindranath Tagore • The sun fades like the spreading Of a peacock’s tail, as though twilight Might be read as a warning to those desperate For easy solutions.- John – Ashbery • The thing you fail to grasp is that people are not basically good. We are basically selfish. We shove and clamour and cry for adoration, and beat down everyone else to get it. Life is a competition of prattling peacocks enraptured in inane mating rituals. But for all our effacing and self-importance, we are all slaves to what we fear most. You have so very much to learn. Here. Let me teach you. – Christopher Nolan • There are eight different breeds of peacock. I have them all. – Bidzina Ivanishvili • There are no preconditions for jealousy. You don’t have to be right, you don’t have to be reasonable. Take Othello. He was neither right nor reasonable, and Desdemona ended up dead. I wouldn’t mind Leanne ending up dead. I wouldn’t mind exploding her into fireworks of peacock and pearl. – Franny Billingsley • To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require; The peacock’s plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable’s tail. – John Gay • To Paradise, the Arabs say, Satan could never find the way Until the peacock led him in. – Charles Godfrey Leland • Turkeys are peacocks that have really let themselves go. – Kristen Schaal • We ask ourselves all kinds of questions, such as why does a peacock have such beautiful feathers, and we may answer that he needs the feathers to impress a female peacock, but then we ask ourselves, and why is there a peacock? And then we ask, why is there anything living? And then we ask, why is there anything at all? And if you tell some advocate of scientism that the answer is a secret, he will go white hot and write a book. But it is a secret. And the experience of living with the secret and thinking about it is in itself a kind of faith. – Vaclav Havel • We may put too high a premium on speech from platform and pulpit, at the bar and in the legislative hall, and pay dear for the whistle of our endless harangues. England and especially Germany, are less loquacious, and attend more to business. We let the eagle, and perhaps too often the peacock, scream. – Bill Vaughan • When the peacock has presented his back, the spectator will usually begin to walk around him to get a front view; but the peacock will continue to turn so that no front view is possible. The thing to do then is to stand still and wait until it pleases him to turn. When it suits him, the peacock will face you. Then you will see in a green-bronze arch around him a galaxy of gazing, haloed suns. – Flannery O’Connor • Who cares what a man’s style is, so it is intelligible,–as intelligible as his thought. Literally and really, the style is no more than the stylus, the pen he writes with; and it is not worth scraping and polishing, and gilding, unless it will write his thoughts the better for it. It is something for use, and not to look at. The question for us is, not whether Pope had a fine style, wrote with a peacock’s feather, but whether he uttered useful thoughts. – Henry David Thoreau • Women are a source of energy in life. I’ve always wanted to be in a war or baseball movie, but the thought of having no women on set for six months – that’s hell. I don’t know if it’s animalistic or what, but men become like peacocks with their feathers up when women are around. – Bradley Cooper

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'y', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_y').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_y img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );