#i have like… mostly sprocket art

[r0cket-spr0cket]

GUYS IM NOT DEAD IM JUST STARING AT MY UNFINISHED SKETCHES AND DONT KNOW WHICH ONE TO WORK ON-

[content-d3leted]

It has already been a year since JH s6 was released! Honestly only feels like it's been out for a couple of months, it's so weird how it's been a year.

Yknow what this means ..... it's one year less now until a potential s7!!!!!!! If the same time period between these sitcom series remains the same (s5 to 6 was roughly 22 months), then s7 should come out around June 2025, WHICH IS NOT LONG AT ALL. I would do literally anything for a new series. I need new content so badlyyy

But to think that a year ago today I was absolutely freaking out and not being able to sleep due to the EXCITEMENT of a new wonderful series!!!! If only a certain man who's name begins with C didnt ruin the majority of the episodes, it would of been FABULOUS. I mean it still was, I love those first few episodes so much. Such a shame that so many good scripts were pretty much gone to waste though. I really really want to see Steve do those episodes, alas it will never happen.

I would really like to know what the original script was like for 'Sensible Training'. It wouldn't make sense with the plot shown, since if Mrs Sprocket coming round was a yearly occurance, then Robert would of dealt with it about 12 times before, so I wonder what would be different this time. I assume Robert would make sure Justin and LM were not around when his teacher came, since Justin has seemingly never heard of/met her before. So perhaps this time Justin and LM were unable to leave the house for some strange reason. I also doubt that Robert would try and change his best friend's personality, it just seems so out of character. Although I guess he may do it accidently whilst trying to teach good manners. But Justin usually does have good manners, he just acts weird in this episode, maybe he had too many sweets lol. I'd also like to see Robert's reaction when he discovers that his friends personalities don't go back to normal after realising the error of changing them (until Justin gets a head injury that changes him back of course). Seeing the original script for that would be so intriguing. Also for party animals (the most misery-inducing, horrendous episode known to mankind- we don't talk about Mrs Wilson's solo song.), I assume Robert would of dressed as some sort of bird, since all the other members of the family are also birds (Justin's a chicken and LM's a duck), so I bet he would of been a peacock. That would suit him so much though, especially due to his flamboyant-ness. I would LOVE to see that outfit, or at least the concept art for it. Ngl I would love to see the concept art for Robert's character in general, especially back in 2011 when they were figuring out what his outfit would be. It would be super interesting.

How did party animals even get made. I guess they wanted to give Mrs Wilson character development, but jesus christ it sucked. 'Oh, it's jelly time-' SHUT UP. THAT WAS NOT FUNNY. IT SUCKED. Yes it would of been much better with Steve in it, but tbh nothing could properly fix that episode. It does not make any sense at all that Mrs Wilson has never been to a party. Because like.......she HAS. Every time she's at the end of an episode, eg in The Big Split, she is dancing and singing in the 'Justin's House House PARTY'. She's actually canoniclly been in parties before. She probably just tried to make an excuse because she didn't want to come lol. She acts in an angry negative state of mind mostly, so it doesn't make sense how she's suddenly so shy in that episode. Of course people get nervous, but I feel like she would act in an annoyed way instead of a shy one. If I wrote it, I would make it so she attends the party, but acts all grumpy in the corner of the room, until someone (eg Cat or Robert) comes over and asks what's wrong properly. That would feel much more in character. Also how did noone know it was Mrs Wilson in the suit, especially Justin! He invited his friends, surely he would know who's coming. Oh well.

I just realised I talk about stuff so negatively wtf

Anyway HAPPY 1 YEAR ANNIVERSARY TO S6 NOW YIPPEE!!

[sparkanonymous]

Hey there! Just wanted to say that your art is really nice (a friend of mine enjoys TDI) and that I appreciate you uploading Ponder Sprocket's streams (as someone who watches/listens to her stuff every so often).

I also have a tiny question for you: I don't know if you're aware of all of the controversies associated with Lio Convoy and the Senate/Cat's Lair (I've heard about them in passing but I can safely confirm that the whole thing is an utter mess, which makes me glad that I don't hang in those circles TBH). B/Ponder unfortunately got dragged into some of these controversies. IF you are aware of them and/or are comfortable with answering (please don't stress if not), I was wondering if you (A) had any thoughts on B's involvement in this and/or (B) have streams downloaded where she talked about it.

My personal thoughts on B's involvement in this (feel free to disagree with me on this): Given factors like her mental health, part of me has been concerned that this situation is - to some extent - a repeat of what happened with the Feghost situation (B being manipulated/controlled/lied to by someone else). Kudos to her for confronting Lio and others during the Rosa Rey Ramsey call (if you know, you know) tho. Also, I wouldn't be surprised if Akumu (one of Lio's biggest critics who - for readers who don't know - spread misinformation that B corrected about the whole Madame debacle back in 2019) decided to slander B a few times just to get back at her, showing to me that he clearly has not changed.

Cheers, and thanks for reading.

1) I'm glad you and your friend enjoy the art! I hope you guys continue to enjoy... whenever I get back to drawing lol

2) I'm somewhat aware of the Lio Convoy and Senate stuff. I was subscribed to Lio for a short time before everything basically fell apart, and I'm currently following him on Twitter, where he will occasionally bring up his controversies and where people comment about it under his other posts that have nothing to do with his controversies, mostly just to see if there are any updates to the situation. But I mostly avoid it because the situation gives me anxiety (even though I have no involvement in it whatsoever); I'll look at some of the stuff coming out about it, but not very often. All the stuff happening is actually part of the reason I wrote out the VODs channel update, besides all the stuff happening in my real life.

My thoughts on B being involved: I really don't think B should have to get involved at all. This situation - based on what I know - has little to nothing to do with her. She has made videos with Lio, as Lio has with her, but that's basically all they have to do with each other. Essentially, they knew each other, and now B has to deal with whatever he's dealing with because they worked together in the past. I think that's stupid. If she wants to get involved, then whatever, but from what I know, people kinda immediately assumed she was either going to talk about it (regardless of it not really being her business) or was going to make a video on it (despite knowing she takes months to make videos and that she's trying to move away from this stuff).

VODs: I don't think B has streamed at all since this whole situation blew up. Not because of this situation, but because I think she's taking a break from streaming in general? I'm not sure. I just know that it's been a while since I downloaded a stream. I'm hoping it's because she's actually taking a break and not because she's stressing out. (Edit: Just checked. The last time she was live - according to Twitch - was May 16th. So if she has said anything about this, then it's through Twitter or YouTube comments, most likely.)

The next part is just me responding to your thoughts.

With the FCK stuff that happened before people began to more harshly criticize Lio for the Rosa call (which I think I have watched some of), B's probably under a whole lot of friend and co-worker-related stress right now. (I know for a fact that NezzieMonster is under a lot of scrutiny for it right now, but I'm not totally sure about others she was close with or worked with in the past. I'll watch a video about it soon.) Then there's DoodleTones leaving YouTube (at least for now). She's probably getting a lot of comments about this stuff, too, because people want to hear about what she has to say about everything that's going on with said people and if she's still going to stay acquainted with them.

I have been seeing Akumu everywhere. I know for a fact that he doesn't like anyone in the art commentary community, which I can kind of understand to a point (I mean, if you had a video made against you, regardless if either of you was in the right or not, and then people - who barely understand the situation more than you did as a teenager - started harassing you for it, you would probably start to dislike that community as well). But at a certain point, it just looks like he's dancing on the graves of anyone involved with the ACC. I don't really like him purely because he acts higher than thou and is kind of obnoxious, in my opinion, like... it feels like he just has to be right, so he just keeps on pushing. Plus, I just kinda don't like the edgy thing he does where he pictures his persona with a noose around the neck.

I will say he has been doing a lot about the FCK stuff. I'm not sure if the victims are aware of his videos or if they're to their liking, but I haven't seen the victims say anything bad about the videos, so... I don't think he has slandered B, and I don't think he has tried to, but he does seem to nitpick a lot of what she has said in previous videos.

I'm tired while writing this out, so I hope you get what I'm saying lol. Looking at everything going down is stressful and anxiety-inducing, and I can only imagine what it's like for the people involved. I'll try to get to uploading more VODs soon; I am so far behind lmao

[olivereliott]

Top Five Harley-Davidson Sportsters, Part One: Ironheads

Harley-Davidson has just rebooted one of the world’s longest-running model lines, with the launch of the new Sportster S. But remarkably, it’s only the third major engine update in the Sportster’s 60-plus years on this earth.

Before the new Revolution Max-powered Sportster S came, we had the Evolution motor that debuted in 1986. And before that, the iconic Ironhead. But throughout each era, the Sportster has always been a mainstay of the custom scene.

To celebrate, we’ve rounded up our ten favorite Sportster builds, divided by their motors. This week, we’re featuring five top-shelf Ironheads from some of the world’s best custom builders—including illustrious names like Max Hazan [above] and Hideya Togashi [below].

Next week, it’s the Evo’s turn.

Hide Motorcycle There’s a long history of Japan’s love for Americana, and the humble Sportster is no exception. Case in point: this Ironhead Sportster by Hideya Togashi of Hide Motorcycle (that’s ‘Hee-day’). It was one of the stars of 2018’s Mooneyes show—a show that Togashi-san is a regular fixture at.

The bike’s built around an original but refurbished 1966 XLCH motor, complete with a Linkert DC-7 carb. But the rest of it is mostly is custom, and it was built without any specific style or theme in mind. “As always, I cherish the balance, and maximize the beauty,” says Hideya.

The motor sits in a scratch-built nickel-plated hardtail frame, with the OEM frame number plate grafted on. Hideya kept the original steering head, triples and forks, but added custom sleeves. The Harley rolls on 21F/18R wheels with drum brakes.

Hideya fabricated the aluminum headlight nacelle and fuel tank, and built the oil tank. The rear fender’s been scalped from a vintage Harley FX Super Glide, then modified to suit. Swept back bars and a pair of beautifully-bent nickel-plated exhausts add to the vintage vibe.

The paint’s extra classy too—a 1930s Harley scheme laid down by Skop Paint Works. Hide’s Ironhead blends vintage speedway and flat track styles together to create a minimalistic and impossibly cool machine. The perfect use of an Ironhead motor. [More]

Hot Chop Speed Shop Here’s another bike that stopped visitors to the 2018 Mooneyes event dead in their tracks: a twin-engined Harley drag bike by Kentaro Nakano at Hot Chop Speed Shop in Kyoto. Using two Sportster XLCH engines, Nakano-san built the monster as a tribute to the drag racers of the 70s.

Unsurprisingly, it picked up two awards at the show—from the top Japanese mags, Hot Bike and Vibes.

‘Double Trouble’ uses a 1969 Ironhead in front, with an older engine at the rear. Both run with S&S Super B carbs, fitted with custom velocity stacks. Kentaro’s friend Kazuhiro Takahashi of Sakai Boring helped rebuild the engines.

The two V-twins are linked by connecting plates, and their output shafts are connected to two separate primaries. The transmission’s a four-speed from a 1980s Big Twin and Kentaro has set the timing of the two motors so that they go ‘potato potato’ at idle, but scream at high revs.

The whole arrangement is housed in a custom hardtail frame, fabricated from steel tubing. There’s a set of early 70s Ducati Imola forks up front, with 18” rims at both ends wrapped in M&H drag slicks. Kentaro installed a pair of Airheart brakes up front, with a Wilwood brake out back.

All of the bodywork was fabricated in aluminum, from scratch. Fuel sits in the cylindrical reservoir up front, with oil held in the seat ‘cowl.’ Custom upholstery from Atelier Cherry adds to the period-correct look.

Double Trouble’s finished off with a narrow set of custom drag bars, with a 1970s H-D tacho out front. The bodywork’s been left raw, with tidy Hot Chop Speed Shop decals on the tank. Buttoned up, it’s both elegant and monstrous. [More]

Hazan Motorworks Max Hazan’s work speaks for itself, but what’s remarkable is that the American builder’s had an unmistakable signature from day one. If you don’t believe us, then consider the fact that this Sportster-powered artwork was only his fourth build.

“I start with a motor that I find aesthetically pleasing, put it on the table, and build the bike around it,” Max told us back then. In this case, the motor is exquisite. Max built it up with two 1981 Ironhead front heads, split the rocker covers and added matching Amal carbs.

The frame was built from 7/8” and 1” steel tubes, and also holds the oil and wiring. The front-end’s a work of art on its own; it uses two springs under the fuel tank, and a damper behind the headlight. The only rear suspension is a pair of springs under the seat, with about 1.5” of travel.

Max had a set of 1920s car tires in his hands, so he built the bike up with a 30” wheel out front, and a 31” hoop at the back. They suit the scale of the bike too—which measures eight feet long, but weighs just 300 lbs.

Almost everything was fashioned by hand, using metal that was lying around the workshop, or, in some cases, small salvaged parts. There’s a frosted shot glass as a taillight cover, and a porcelain doorknob on the hand shifter. The handmade tank only holds 1.5 gallons… but Max is under no illusions about his creation having to be ridden far.

Eight years on, this Ironhead still stands as one of our favorite Harleys—nay, customs—and some of Max’s best work. [More]

HardNine Choppers The 1979 Harley-Davidson XLCR is arguably too rare to be customized these days, but the owner of this Sporty has three. So he had no qualms about handing one over to Swiss builder Danny Schneider for a makeover.

Danny, who operates as HardNine Choppers, is an ex-motocrosser who had previously built two Triumph flat trackers, and was itching to give a Harley the same treatment. So he took on the project with the provision that he could turn it into a tracker. Luckily, the client agreed.

Danny’s work went deep—starting with the motor that he bored out from 997 cc to 1,340 cc, with KB Performance pistons. The carb is from the Harley performance specialists, S&S Cycle, and the exhaust is a custom nickel-plated system that exits under the seat. Danny had to relocate the oil tank to accommodate it.

The custom fuel tank echoes the lines of the original XLCR unit, but it’s actually a slimmer, split design (the left side houses the oil). Danny hand-shaped an aluminum tail section too, with slits to help dissipate heat. He made the seat pad himself, too.

Suspension is by way of Showa shocks from an FXR, fitted with Öhlins cartridges, and Bitubo rear shocks. It rolls on 21F/16R spoked wheels, with a Beringer brake set that Danny drove to the French company’s HQ to have made.

This XLCR is a clever mix of classic style and modern parts, tied together with a host of custom touches and a fresh paint job inspired by a mini-bike spotted on the street (true story).

It’s also a great story of perseverance; Danny took a two-year break in the middle of the project to welcome his daughter into the world and battle testicular cancer. Then he crammed two month’s worth of 15-hour days in to finish it in time for the MBE Expo show in Verona, Italy. Much respect. [More]

DP Customs We’ve featured a slew of slammed and hot-rodded Harleys from the now-defunct DP Customs over the years, but this was one of their wildest. Brothers Jarrod and Justin Del Prado built it as a personal project between client jobs, using Justin’s own 1000 cc 1979 Ironhead Sportster as a donor.

DP Customs went all-out, starting with a turbo that had been sitting in the shop waiting for the right project.

The motor was rebuilt with forged pistons and new valves and springs, then the turbo was installed with a custom draw-through setup, and a Mikuni carb. From the custom aluminum intake and exhaust, to the custom oil system that runs into a Mooneyes tank, it’s an impressive setup.

Like three of the other Harleys on this list, this one features a scratch-built hardtail frame. It uses DP Customs’ signature 6” stretch and 4” drop, with a custom 19” wheel up front, and a modified 15” car wheel at the back. The front brake’s a Brembo, and the rear is a custom system with a combination sprocket and rotor.

Up top is a wafer-thin seat, with a traditional peanut tank up front. DP Customs installed clip-ons with Biltwell Inc. grips, and head- and taillights—but there’s no speedo, and no turn signals. The asymmetrical paint job, red frame and gold wheels should clash, but somehow they harmonize, maximizing the Harley’s eye candy appeal.

DP Customs admit the bike wasn’t built with practicality in mind, summing up that “it hauls ass in a straight line, and the brakes work.” [More]

[steamberrystudio]

I saw on Twitter that this is a super duo effort and it has me curious how the process works for you two. Do you guys split the writing? Write at the same time? One works on a route and the other another route? Do you both share the art or is that mainly one person? Is character creation just one big coffee drinking session between friends? I am so curious!

Hallo!

So this is kiiiinda tricky to answer because Sprocket is on hiatus at the moment.

Sprocket is primarily a writer while I (Esh answering here) am a writer and artist. So any in-house art (sprites, CGs, and any in-house BG art) is done by Esh.

As mentioned, Gilded Shadows is actually a solo effort right now. Sprocket works full time and is in really poor health. She’s trying to focus what time and energy she has around writing a super cool novel series called The Gaslight Prophecy. We announced a while ago that she’d be stepping back from development duties for a while to focus on that!

So right now all writing, editing, coding, and in-house art for Gilded Shadows is being done entirely by Esh. (All our backgrounds are being outsourced to amazing BG artists though!)

Changeling was more of a dual effort project + freelancers to help pick up some BGs and programming. Sprocket’s health prevented her from doing as much as she wanted for that project, but she still helped out a lot!

Initially we were going to split up writing and editing - Sprocket is a professional editor so this was right up her alley but she ended up not being able to do that much work due to the fact that lupus is a bitch and needs to be punched in the face. (IE she was ill *a lot*).

Instead, Sprocket ended up focusing mostly on doing asset coding (coding in sprite expressions, music, transitions, and so on) for Changeling. Sprocket *did* write the rough draft of Ewan’s route. All those bad endings? That Faerie riddle thing? All Sprocket! (And she wanted even more bad endings! LoL). Because she was too ill to be involved in a lot of the writing, that meant I had to edit Ewan’s route for continuity that way it matched everything else in tone, characterisation, and the flow of events. But Sprocket was the one who developed his story and plot and, as I said, wrote out the 115,000 word rough draft!

Sprocket is also a really good sounding board for ideas - even now. Though she is on hiatus from developing, I run a lot of ideas past her and talk a lot with how I want the story to develop. So that is definitely the coffee-drinking session with friends aspect! (For the record, I act as a sounding board for Sprocket’s novel series as well. Which is how I know how amazing and awesome it is! It is a really cool Steampunk portal story with modern teens in a Steampunk/Revolutionary setting that is pitting magic against technology. It is SO cool and her characters are lovable and hilarious and amazing). Btw, Sprocket is on instagram and posts about her own series but also just about books and reading and writing in general!

https://www.instagram.com/thegaslightprophecy/

As I mentioned, Gilded Shadows is currently a solo effort but we’re hoping Sprocket’s health will improve and she’ll have the time and energy to help with asset coding and the like (always a fun time because I can’t wait to see some of the hilarity that ensues as she learns the new sprite system Gilded Shadows uses).

Anyway, I’m not sure this answered the way you want since our situation is kind of odd. LoL. But that is how things are right now!

[miscellaneous--bones]

gonna ramble about the ILSP redesign under the cut :) its just revamping some old worldbuilding stuff lol

so if u don't know what i've been talking abt the past while- which, fair, because i don't bring it up a whole lot- this is a kind of. headspace? thing? its all been a kind of. a representation of the world my ocs and fandoms and whatever else inhabit thats been in my head for as long as i can remember. a lot of it is based on stuff I've been making on/working on/has been around for years (read: pretty much my whole life) and it is deeply tied into my daydreaming, art, and just kind of who I am as a person.

for the longest time it was largley just this big white void with some floating doors, leading to different places (the portal room, the owl's domains, the lounge, etc etc.) that are usually either a certain thing in a smaller white void, like the Clock of Memories or the Tree of Life, or they're just another place, like Youth's Grove or the Lounge.

it was just called "ILSP" and was just. what i thought of when i thought of it. its been around sense most of my ocs were lps.

anyway, the new one is- I've mentioned it in my tags a couple times- but its a big forest based off the minecraft seed "taiga bay". the old place is mostly retired, and I and the ocs I've been posting about have moved to different places across the woods. a lot of my, subconscious? i guess? (idk, i didn't really plan most of it) filled out a bunch of smaller villages and even a big market and stuff.

because of that, there are some ocs that kind of. came w/ the environment? i guess? like Bailey or Maisie or whoever. fill-ins who got designs and connections to the Main Cast (i suppose is what you could call them? there isn't really a story here, just where me and my friends live haha)

the Tree of Life did move from it's previous anti-void to a clearing in the neighboring oak forest (where Naomi goes sometimes because oak forests do fall under her domain even tho she favors birch) and the Clock of Memories (which I havn't talked about yet, its based off a jewelry box my mom gave me and its hold the past present and future memories of everyone in ILSP, as well as a bunch of memorable objects from different fandoms and fics I've gotten into) anyway, The Clock as well as History and Sprocket have moved to somewhere in the forest too. those two really need a redesign actually, especialy History, her design has. not really aged very well. hm.

anyway, like i said, the old ocs still live in the old void that used to be ILSP, but some of the rooms that used to be there have moved, like the Tree and the Clock's rooms. the Lounge is still in the last place but it was more or less duplicated and put into the Big Tree House that the main cast use as a kind of. group house? like we all have individual places ofc, but we all have out own spots and stuff there too. uhhh. there are more, but i forgot what they are. damn. it'll come to me later.

seeing as we have like. an actual environment now, it opens the door to like. backstory stuff? i guess? and because of that I figured out a bit of backstory for Gordon! I don't think they're so much a god, as much as they are like. a spirit? or something like that. they crawled out of one of the rivers going through the woods and Delphi found them wandering around near a cave or something a while later w/ no memory. so probably like, some kinda spirit or something that had just waken up lol

uhhhh anyway! i think i'm done for now. I'll add some more if i get any more ideas, but my brain has been rung dry at the moment. hope all this is comprehensible, feel free to ask questions abt whatever if u have any :)

[chiseler]

Utopia and Apocalypse: Pynchon’s Populist/Fatalist Cinema

The rhythmic clapping resonates inside these walls, which are hard and glossy as coal: Come-on! Start-the-show! Come-on! Start-the-show! The screen is a dim page spread before us, white and silent. The film has broken, or a projector bulb has burned out. It was difficult even for us, old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) to tell which before the darkness swept in.

--from the last page of Gravity’s Rainbow

To begin with a personal anecdote: Writing my first book (to be published) in the late 1970s, an experimental autobiography titled Moving Places: A Life at the Movies (Harper & Row, 1980), published in French as Mouvements: Une vie au cinéma (P.O.L, 2003), I wanted to include four texts by other authors—two short stories (“In Dreams Begin Responsibilities” by Delmore Schwartz, “The Secret Integration” by Thomas Pynchon) and two essays (“The Carole Lombard in Macy’s Window” by Charles Eckert, “My Life With Kong” by Elliott Stein)—but was prevented from doing so by my editor, who argued that because the book was mine, texts by other authors didn’t belong there. My motives were both pluralistic and populist: a desire both to respect fiction and non-fiction as equal creative partners and to insist that the book was about more than just myself and my own life. Because my book was largely about the creative roles played by the fictions of cinema on the non-fictions of personal lives, the anti-elitist nature of cinema played a crucial part in these transactions.`

In the case of Pynchon’s 1964 story—which twenty years later, in his collection Slow Learner, he would admit was the only early story of his that he still liked—the cinematic relevance to Moving Places could be found in a single fleeting but resonant detail: the momentary bonding of a little white boy named Tim Santora with a black, homeless, alcoholic jazz musician named Carl McAfee in a hotel room when they discover that they’ve both seen Blood Alley (1955), an anticommunist action-adventure with John Wayne and Lauren Bacall, directed by William Wellman. Pynchon mentions only the film’s title, but the complex synergy of this passing moment of mutual recognition between two of its dissimilar viewers represented for me an epiphany, in part because of the irony of such casual camaraderie occurring in relation to a routine example of Manichean Cold War mythology. Moreover, as a right-wing cinematic touchstone, Blood Alley is dialectically complemented in the same story by Tim and his friends categorizing their rebellious schoolboy pranks as Operation Spartacus, inspired by the left-wing Spartacus (1960) of Kirk Douglas, Dalton Trumbo, and Stanley Kubrick.

For better and for worse, all of Pynchon’s fiction partakes of this populism by customarily defining cinema as the cultural air that everyone breathes, or at least the river in which everyone swims and bathes. This is equally apparent in the only Pynchon novel that qualifies as hackwork, Inherent Vice (2009), and the fact that Paul Thomas Anderson’s adaptation of it is also his worst film to date—a hippie remake of Chinatown in the same way that the novel is a hippie remake of Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald—seems logical insofar as it seems to have been written with an eye towards selling the screen rights. As Geoffrey O’Brien observed (while defending this indefensible book and film) in the New York Review of Books (January 3, 2015), “Perhaps the novel really was crying out for such a cinematic transformation, for in its pages people watch movies, remember them, compare events in the ‘real world’ to their plots, re-experience their soundtracks as auditory hallucinations, even work their technical components (the lighting style of cinematographer James Wong Howe, for instance) into aspects of complex conspiratorial schemes.” (Despite a few glancing virtues, such as  Josh Brolin’s Nixonesque performance as "Bigfoot" Bjornsen, Anderson’s film seems just as cynical as its source and infused with the same sort of misplaced would-be nostalgia for the counterculture of the late 60s and early 70s, pitched to a generation that didn’t experience it, as Bertolucci’s Innocents: The Dreamers.)

From The Crying of Lot 49’s evocation of an orgasm in cinematic terms (“She awoke at last to find herself getting laid; she’d come in on a sexual crescendo in progress, like a cut to a scene where the camera’s already moving”) to the magical-surreal guest star appearance of Mickey Rooney in wartime Europe in Gravity’s Rainbow, cinema is invariably a form of lingua franca in Pynchon’s fiction, an expedient form of shorthand, calling up common experiences that seem light years away from the sectarianism of the politique des auteurs. This explains why his novels set in mid-20th century, such as the two just cited, when cinema was still a common currency cutting across classes, age groups, and diverse levels of education, tend to have the greatest number of movie references. In Gravity’s Rainbow—set mostly in war-torn Europe, with a few flashbacks to the east coast U.S. and flash-forwards to the contemporary west coast—this even includes such anachronistic pop ephemera as the 1949 serial King of the Rocket Men and the 1955 Western The Return of Jack Slade (which a character named Waxwing Blodgett is said to have seen at U.S. Army bases during World War 2 no less than twenty-seven times), along with various comic books.

Significantly, “The Secret Integration”, a title evoking both conspiracy and countercultural utopia, is set in the same cozy suburban neighborhood in the Berkshires from which Tyrone Slothrop, the wartime hero or antihero of Gravity’s Rainbow (1973), aka “Rocketman,” springs, with his kid brother and father among the story’s characters. It’s also the same region where Pynchon himself grew up. And Gravity’s Rainbow, Pynchon’s magnum opus and richest work, is by all measures the most film-drenched of his novels in its design as well as its details—so much so that even its blocks of text are separated typographically by what resemble sprocket holes. Unlike, say, Vineland (1990), where cinema figures mostly in terms of imaginary TV reruns (e.g., Woody Allen in Young Kissinger) and diverse cultural appropriations (e.g., a Noir Center shopping mall), or the post-cinematic adventures in cyberspace found in the noirish (and far superior) east-coast companion volume to Inherent Vice, Bleeding Edge (2013), cinema in Gravity’s Rainbow is basically a theatrical event with a social impact, where Fritz Lang’s invention of the rocket countdown as a suspense device (in the 1929 Frau im mond) and the separate “frames” of a rocket’s trajectory are equally relevant and operative factors. There are also passing references to Lang’s Der müde Tod, Die Nibelungen, Dr. Mabuse, der Spieler, and Metropolis—not to mention De Mille’s Cleopatra, Dumbo, Freaks, Son of Frankenstein, White Zombie, at least two Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals, Pabst, and Lubitsch—and the epigraphs introducing the novel’s second and third sections (“You will have the tallest, darkest leading man in Hollywood — Merian C. Cooper to Fay Wray” and “Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas any more…. –Dorothy, arriving in Oz”) are equally steeped in familiar movie mythology.

These are all populist allusions, yet the bane of populism as a rightwing curse is another near-constant in Pynchon’s work. The same ambivalence can be felt in the novel’s last two words, “Now everybody—“, at once frightening and comforting in its immediacy and universality. With the possible exception of Mason & Dixon (1997), every Pynchon novel over the past three decades—Vineland, Against the Day (2006), Inherent Vice, and Bleeding Edge—has an attractive, prominent, and sympathetic female character betraying or at least acting against her leftist roots and/or principles by being first drawn erotically towards and then being seduced by a fascistic male. In Bleeding Edge, this even happens to the novel’s earthy protagonist, the middle-aged detective Maxine Tarnow. Given the teasing amount of autobiographical concealment and revelation Pynchon carries on with his public while rigorously avoiding the press, it is tempting to see this recurring theme as a personal obsession grounded in some private psychic wound, and one that points to sadder-but-wiser challenges brought by Pynchon to his own populism, eventually reflecting a certain cynicism about human behavior. It also calls to mind some of the reflections of Luc Moullet (in “Sainte Janet,” Cahiers du cinéma no. 86, août 1958) aroused by Howard Hughes’ and Josef von Sternberg’s Jet Pilot and (more incidentally) by Ayn Rand’s and King Vidor’s The Fountainhead whereby “erotic verve” is tied to a contempt for collectivity—implicitly suggesting that rightwing art may be sexier than leftwing art, especially if the sexual delirium in question has some of the adolescent energy found in, for example, Hughes, Sternberg, Rand, Vidor, Kubrick, Tashlin, Jerry Lewis, and, yes, Pynchon.

One of the most impressive things about Pynchon’s fiction is the way in which it often represents the narrative shapes of individual novels in explicit visual terms. V, his first novel, has two heroes and narrative lines that converge at the bottom point of a V; Gravity’s Rainbow, his second—a V2 in more ways than one—unfolds across an epic skyscape like a rocket’s (linear) ascent and its (scattered) descent; Vineland offers a narrative tangle of lives to rhyme with its crisscrossing vines, and the curving ampersand in the middle of Mason & Dixon suggests another form of digressive tangle between its two male leads; Against the Day, which opens with a balloon flight, seems to follow the curving shape and rotation of the planet.

This compulsive patterning suggests that the sprocket-hole design in Gravity’s Rainbow’s section breaks is more than just a decorative detail. The recurrence of sprockets and film frames carries metaphorical resonance in the novel’s action, so that Franz Pökler, a German rocket engineer allowed by his superiors to see his long-lost daughter (whom he calls his “movie child” because she was conceived the night he and her mother saw a porn film) only once a year, at a children’s village called Zwölfkinder, and can’t even be sure if it’s the same girl each time:

So it has gone for the six years since. A daughter a year, each one about a year older, each time taking up nearly from scratch. The only continuity has been her name, and Zwölfkinder, and Pökler’s love—love something like the persistence of vision, for They have used it to create for him the moving image of a daughter, flashing him only these summertime frames of her, leaving it to him to build the illusion of a single child—what would the time scale matter, a 24th of a second or a year (no more, the engineer thought, than in a wind tunnel, or an oscillograph whose turning drum you can speed or slow at will…)?

***

Cinema, in short, is both delightful and sinister—a utopian dream and an apocalyptic nightmare, a stark juxtaposition reflected in the abrupt shift in the earlier Pynchon passage quoted at the beginning of this essay from present tense to past tense, and from third person to first person. Much the same could be said about the various displacements experienced while moving from the positive to the negative consequences of  populism.

Pynchon’s allegiance to the irreverent vulgarity of kazoos sounding like farts and concomitant Spike Jones parodies seems wholly in keeping with his disdain for David Raksin and Johnny Mercer’s popular song “Laura” and what he perceives as the snobbish elitism  of the Preminger film it derives from, as expressed in his passionate liner notes to the CD compilation “Spiked!: The Music of Spike Jones” a half-century later:

The song had been featured in the 1945 movie of the same name, supposed to evoke the hotsy-totsy social life where all these sophisticated New York City folks had time for faces in the misty light and so forth, not to mention expensive outfits, fancy interiors,witty repartee—a world of pseudos as inviting to…class hostility as fish in a barrel, including a presumed audience fatally unhip enough to still believe in the old prewar fantasies, though surely it was already too late for that, Tin Pan Alley wisdom about life had not stood a chance under the realities of global war, too many people by then knew better.

Consequently, neither art cinema nor auteur cinema figures much in Pynchon’s otherwise hefty lexicon of film culture, aside from a jokey mention of a Bengt Ekerot/Maria Casares Film Festival (actors playing Death in The Seventh Seal and Orphée) held in Los Angeles—and significantly, even the “underground”, 16-millimeter radical political filmmaking in northern California charted in Vineland becomes emblematic of the perceived failure of the 60s counterculture as a whole. This also helps to account for why the paranoia and solipsism found in Jacques Rivette’s Paris nous appartient and Out 1, perhaps the closest equivalents to Pynchon’s own notions of mass conspiracy juxtaposed with solitary despair, are never mentioned in his writing, and the films that are referenced belong almost exclusively to the commercial mainstream, unlike the examples of painting, music, and literature, such as the surrealist painting of Remedios Varo described in detail at the beginning of The Crying of Lot 49,  the importance of Ornette Coleman in V and Anton Webern in Gravity’s Rainbow, or the visible impact of both Jorge Luis Borges and William S. Burroughs on the latter novel. (1) And much of the novel’s supply of movie folklore—e.g., the fatal ambushing of John Dillinger while leaving Chicago’s Biograph theater--is mainstream as well.

Nevertheless, one can find a fairly precise philosophical and metaphysical description of these aforementioned Rivette films in Gravity’s Rainbow: “If there is something comforting -- religious, if you want — about paranoia, there is still also anti-paranoia, where nothing is connected to anything, a condition not many of us can bear for long.” And the white, empty movie screen that appears apocalyptically on the novel’s final page—as white and as blank as the fusion of all the colors in a rainbow—also appears in Rivette’s first feature when a 16-millimeter print of Lang’s Metropolis breaks during the projection of the Tower of Babel sequence.

Is such a physically and metaphysically similar affective climax of a halted film projection foretelling an apocalypse a mere coincidence? It’s impossible to know whether Pynchon might have seen Paris nous appartient during its brief New York run in the early 60s. But even if he hadn’t (or still hasn’t), a bitter sense of betrayed utopian possibilities in that film, in Out 1, and in most of his fiction is hard to overlook. Old fans who’ve always been at the movies (haven’t we?) don’t like to be woken from their dreams.

by Jonathan Rosenbaum

Footnote

For this reason, among others, I’m skeptical about accepting the hypothesis of the otherwise reliable Pynchon critic Richard Poirier that Gravity’s Rainbow’s enigmatic references to “the Kenosha Kid” might allude to Orson Welles, who was born in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Steven C. Weisenburger, in A Gravity’s Rainbow Companion (Athens/London: The University of Georgia Press, 2006), reports more plausibly that “the Kenosha Kid” was a pulp magazine character created by Forbes Parkhill in Western stories published from the 1920s through the 1940s. Once again, Pynchon’s populism trumps—i.e. exceeds—his cinephilia.

[redrockbluerock]

Here’s the golding anatomy thing i said i’d do

most of this is purely headcanons

First off- the drawings of Golden Queen and Sprocket at the sides are mostly just to establish how I draw them. 

i kinda give Sprocket my body type... i’m rounb ok

Live Gold vs Inert Gold- technically they’d look identical when solid, but making Inert gold more yellow just makes it easier to tell them apart. inert gold is basically just the gold you’re used to, while Live gold is basically their flesh and everything. No matter what the solid colour of Live gold is it always melts to the green colour.

Live gold comes in four colours naturally-  White, Yellow, Rose, and Green. Goldings will usually have one base colour and then a secondary colour. I’ve decided that Sprocket is Yellow/White, while Golden Queen is a Yellow/Rose golding. Tricolour Goldings can occur, but are a bit rarer.

That lil unnamed dude is just showing off the Green skin colour, which is incredibly rare as a base tone. think of it like albinism, except they don’t have melanin because they’re made of gold. its a little more common as a secondary tone

Patches of the secondary colour can either arise from birth marks or scarring. All of Sprocket’s patches are scars.

🅱️oneless- they’re gold, they don’t need bones. 

Eyes- two types- Faceted and Cabochon. internally they’re the same, both types have that weird brown-black fluid inside. The core is just easier to see on Faceted eye types.

Extremities- the hand-feet thing is just me hating human feet. Hands are fine though. originally i drew the idea as a silly joke but it stuck.

The lack of nails is something that stems from the official art. I noticed that in Series 1 Sprocket’s art she doesn’t have any fingernails, but in her Series 2 art she does. The claw jewelry (like what Golden Queen wears) or fake nails (made from inert gold) are just like a human painting their nails.

Hair- the hair is similar in texture to wires, being made of metal, but cannot conduct electricity. 

The teeth- Their teeth are basically just pearls. if a tooth cracks a new layer of nacre will form over it and it’ll be good as new, but if a tooth is broken out its gone and there’s just a gap there. a new tooth can be formed by implanting a starter for the nacre to grow over like a cultivated pearl- although some individuals choose not to do this.

Organs- The internal organs are all somewhat molten, and as a result are green. 

Blood- the blood is a darker colour compared to the external colours. Blood types are G, W, R, and Y. G is the universal donor similar to human O-. Golding Blood is not molten, but is liquid anyway. It Just Works.

The gums are the only external indicator of blood colour, being a lighter colour than the blood but darker than the skin tone

Due to being made entirely out of gold, Goldings are protective over the deceased. While most individuals aren’t ones to fight, preferring others to do it for them (Sprocket’s hobbies are destructive at times, and Golden Queen just likes to take matters into her own hands), Goldings who sense that someone’s interacted with “dead gold”, they will react violently, trying to get the gold off of the individual at any cost and give the remains a proper burial. If the interaction was short enough- say, one only touched the gold but put it back, they won’t attack. The only way to get them to calm down is to bury the dead gold yourself.

this does not work if the gold was gotten via grave robbing, even if the gold is put back.

Something i couldn’t draw out- Goldings are omnivores, but for them the definition extends to not only plants and meat, but also stones, metals, and minerals. They do regularly consume Inert gold. 

[lovelylogans]

lavender for luck: chapter one

see here for warnings

art by neil

next chapter

The day Uncle comes to their house for the first time, it’s so hot Virgil feels like a cookie left to burn in the oven. Not just cook, not like the soft and chewy ones with the melty chocolate that Mom made, no. Burn, like when Dad forgot he stuck a dozen store-bought bits of dough into the oven and then ended up taking Virgil and Mom out to dinner and they came back to the fire truck with the men in the big baggy suits who gave Virgil a plastic hat and helped get the big clouds of black smoke out of their kitchen.

“Hi, Uncle,” Virgil says dutifully, because Mom says that’s the polite thing to do, and yes he had to be polite, even when Uncle could care less about societal conventions, whatever those were.

“Boy,” Uncle says evenly. From this angle, it looks like Uncle is smiling. “What are you doing?”

“I’m a cat.” Virgil tells him and lets out his best meow. He’s very good at it. Mom usually tells him he sounds just like a kitten.

“That is how most cats climb trees,” Uncle agrees, and then he adds, “You are a most bizarre and exhausting child.”

“Thank you,” Virgil preens, swinging a little from where he’s hanging by his knees from a tree branch, blood long since rushed to his head. “You are a most bizarre and exhausting Uncle.”

His mouth twitches so it looks like he’s frowning, but it’s gone, and the smile is back in an instant.

“Virgil, you look like a tomato,” his father announces from where he’s stepped out on the porch. “Dee, you look like a butternut squash.”

His face looks like he’s trying be happy, but Virgil can tell he isn’t. Dad’s worried, and scared, and upset, and it’s clear through the smile he’s trying to put on.

Uncle clearly thinks the same thing.

“What’s brought me to the,” Uncle’s lip curls, “lovely suburbs?”

“Virge,” Dad says, again trying to sound happy but Virgil could see in his shadow that he really really really isn’t, “can you tell your uncle why you’re playing cat outside instead of inside today?”

Virgil swings a little more and secures his knees so he can point to the house with his free hand.

“There’s a bug,” Virgil says, pointing to the house. “Mom and Dad can’t hear it.” He clicks his tongue a few times in demonstration, and the frown that appeared on Uncle’s face when Dad stepped outside spins into a smile so fast it makes Virgil feel dizzy, makes him feel like his stomach’s dropped right out of him.

“Inside,” Dad says, before Uncle can say anything else, “now.”

He glances towards Virgil, and his voice softens. “Stay outside as long as you want, Virge, just wipe your feet off when you come in, okay?”

“Kay,” Virgil says, squinting up the tree, because he thinks he sees a squirrel.

“Usual boundaries, buddy. Don’t wander too far, okay?”

“Okay,” Virgil repeats, closing his eyes and watching the red bloom up behind his eyelids.

“Children are a delight,” Uncle says dryly, probably meaning for Virgil to not hear, but he does hear. And his dad snorts and swat his arm.

Eventually Virgil climbs down from the tree and has to sit for a while to make sure his head stops spinning, because there isn’t much to do hanging upside down from a tree other than just hanging upside down. So Virgil wanders into the backwoods, humming to himself as he hops into the shadows.

A familiar amber gleam shines out from the darkness, and Virgil grins, lowering himself to the ground, holding out his hand just so, keeping perfectly still.

“Hello, Virgil,” the voice rumbles out from the underbrush, and Virgil’s grin widens.

“Hallo, Maester Sprockets.”

Maester of the Five Streets Sprockets Mrr’ow is a bit uptight for a cat, but he’s all right, mostly. He reminds Virgil of Zazu in Lion King, except Sprockets is a gray house cat and not a hornbill.

“How’re you?” Virgil offers, wiggling his fingers a bit as Maester Sprockets leans forwards, sniffing his fingers.

“You smell of bacon,” Sprockets declares, whiskers twitching.

Virgil digs in his pocket obligingly, bringing out the three pieces of bacon he’d snagged from the breakfast table that morning, breaking them into bits and laying them on the ground. Cats were very particular about hand-feeding, and Sprockets declines it from everyone except the Marcy (the girl a grade above Virgil who actually housed Sprockets.)

Virgil, upon turning five, has been gifted Hunting Rights of all birds in two streets of his choice, as he was Wise and Fierce and An Asset To Protecting The Land. Virgil doesn’t quite know how to tell Sprockets that he gets all the food he needs from his parents, and wouldn’t know how to go about hunting birds anyways. But it’s a thoughtful gift, and anyways he just has to make sure that the sunning rocks are clear and that the cats of the neighborhood could wander around without trouble.

“What’s the business?” Virgil asks, once Sprockets has sat back, licking his paw and swiping at his whiskers.

He spends time until the sun grows big and orange in the sky, brushing against the pavement, listening to Sprockets list of the various grievances of the cats of the neighborhood. Most of them were Cat Politics (Virgil had long since learned not to poke his nose into those) but there were a couple things he could help with; snakes near the sunning rocks, a troublesome dog barking all day, kids that tended to yank on cat’s tails. Virgil promises to do what he can about it, allows Sprockets to rub his face against Virgil’s knees one more time (giving the gift of smelling like Sprockets) before he rises to his feet and ambles home.

He hears the shouting even from the back porch.

“—promise me, Dee, please,” his father says, and Virgil shrinks down so no one can see him from the windows. He sounds really upset—almost as upset than the time Mom got into a car accident, once, and broke her arm.

A pause. “The Aunts—”

“They love Virgil, of course,” Mom says, and her voice is gentle. “Of course they do. And they’ll pitch in, I’m sure. But you’re the closest relative. You’re the one in the will. If you don’t take him in—”

A pause, a sniffle, the clinking of—mugs, Virgil thinks? He can smell the tea Dad makes from the stuff in the garden. They’re almost noisy enough to cover up the clicking sound.

“You remember the story of great-aunt Seraphine, don’t you?” Dad says, after a long pause, and his voice is strained.

A snort, and Uncle says, “She was locked away in the cellar. If anyone would do that today—”

“Are you sure about that?” Dad says, quiet, a little dangerous. “You and I know better than anyone—the only people who understand Faes are Faes.” A pause, and then, “No offense, Vi.”

“None taken,” his mother sighs. “It’s been settled for a long time. You’re technically legally bound. Let us—just let us have some peace of mind about this, at least.”

“Violet—” Uncle began, uncomfortable.

“Please,” she says, and her voice breaks, and Virgil squirms from where he is. She sounds really, really sad. She probably needs a hug. “Please. We knew this was coming, we prepared for it. In a way, we’ve all known this was going to happen since we were his age. Right now, we just—we just need your word that he’ll be okay.”

“You’ve always been going after us about how he needs to be near the family’s roots,” Dad says. It sounds like he’s trying to joke. “And he will be, now. If you take him in.”

There’s a long pause, and more clinking. Virgil can smell the chamomile on the air, hear the splash—someone’s refilling their cup.

“A swap?” His Dad says at last, after a break. “For old time’s sake.”

“Of course.”

Virgil figures that’s a good a time as any to stomp aggressively up the stairs, trying to rid the clumps of dirt from his shoes, before just giving up and leaving his shoes on the porch, plodding into the house in socked feet.

“Hi, baby,” his mom says, sinking to her knees. Virgil smacks a noisy kiss to her cheek, and she lifts him up in her arms. “Out a bit late, aren’t we?”

Virgil wraps his arms around her neck, pressing his cheek into her shoulder, inhaling her grown-up flowery perfumey smell. “Sprockets says there’s snakes near the sunning rocks.”

“Ah, it all makes sense now,” his Dad says, and Virgil glances over to see him turning a mug over in his hands. “Cat politics,” he says to Uncle, by a way of explanation.

“Snakes, you say?” Uncle muses. “I can handle that.”

Virgil perks up. “Really?” Good. He really doesn’t know what to do with the snakes whenever the cats complain; he doesn’t want them to die, or anything.

“Dee can talk to snakes the way you can talk to cats, Virge,” Dad explains. “Since we were little kids.”

“Really?” Virgil asks, fascinated. He’s never met anyone who can talk to an animal like he can.

“Mm,” Uncle hums as he frowns at the mug, and deliberately sets it down with a delicate clink. “Misunderstood creatures.”

“D’you want cocoa, Virgil?” his Mom asks, setting him down at last, and Virgil squirms happily and nods.

“What do we say,” she prompts, smoothing his hair with a hand, and he tries not to sigh too loudly.

“Yes, please.”

“No tea?” Uncle asks mildly.

Virgil wrinkles his nose. “Tea is gross.”

The offended look on Uncle’s face makes his Dad laugh so hard he chokes on his own spit.

The rest of the night is kinda fun, if a bit weird. They play a new kind of game where Virgil points where he hears the clicking the loudest, and Mom and Dad roll back the rug and Uncle and Dad pry up the floorboards to see if there’s something under there. But Mom swaps between helping roll back the rug and experimenting in the kitchen, so Virgil gets to lick the batter spoons and try whatever Mom’s decided to try to make. The butterscotch cookies are pretty good; the jelly-and-mint, not quite so much.

“Not my best, huh?” Mom says, examining the jelly and mint creation critically.

Virgil pauses, and says nicely, “Maybe not with… this kind of jelly.”

His mom laughs a bit, puts it aside. “You’re right. A nice strawberry, maybe. Citrus. But probably not black currant.”

“Virgil, is it still clicking?” Dad calls.

“Yep,” Virgil calls back, snapping off a piece of lemon drop cookie and popping it into his mouth.

Dad says a naughty word.

“That’s a dollar,” Mom calls without looking, and Dad grumbles a bit more.

It keeps going. Virgil likes the cinnamon roll cookies, the almond and raspberry ones, and the brownie cookies—the chocolate-pistachio ones and the pretzel, peanut and beer ones are just kinda weird. By the end of the night, Virgil thinks Uncle and Dad pry up every floorboard in the house, Mom has filled up just about every tupperware in the house with her various experiments, and Dad owes seven dollars to the naughty word jar.

When Uncle sees the tupperware, he smiles. Just a little.

“I know, I know,” Mom says. “You can take the girl from the diner, and so on.”

Virgil tilts his head, and he’s about to ask, before hands close under his armpits and lift him in the air, making him squeal with equal parts indignation and laughter.

“Time to get ready for bed!” Dad sing-songs.

“Noooooooo,” Virgil groans, flopping his head onto Dad’s shoulder.

“Yeeeess, kiddo, it is way past your bedtime,” Dad declares, and starts walking up the stairs with enough time to see Mom and Uncle leaning over the counter under the sole light still on, the pair of them staring at each other, the kitchen doused in shadows around them. Mom’s face is devoid of a smile, and Uncle’s bowler hat makes it so Virgil can’t see his face.

“Teeth brushing time, teeth brushing time,” Dad sings, depositing Virgil at the sink. “Full two minutes, buddy, I’ll be counting—”

Virgil groans, but reaches for his toothbrush and bubblegum toothpaste of lies, because whoever thinks that tastes like bubblegum is a liar.

He gets ready for bed (teeth brushed, pajamas on, so on and so on) and eventually, both parents are sitting on his bed, as his Mom reads three storybooks, and Virgil’s eyelids grow heavier and heavier.

“When the son came home that night, he stood for a long time at the top of the stairs. Then he went into the room where his very new baby daughter was sleeping. He picked her up in his arms and very slowly rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while he rocked her he sang,” and his mother drew a breath, and Virgil murmured sleepily along with her soft sing-song voice.

“I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.”

She leans forwards and kisses his forehead, before she takes a breath, smoothing the covers over his chest with one hand, and tries to smile.

“Virgil, I know you’re sleepy,” she says, voice soft, “but I want you to listen, okay? And remember.”

Virgil blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and nods. It’s important. He can feel it.

She takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and begins to talk.

“When I was a little younger than you are now, my parents died. And I moved to Loch Ligerion to live with my Auntie Cora and my Uncle Virgil.”

“Like me?” Virgil asks, and she smiles, realer this time, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“Yes, exactly like you. We named you after him. I moved to Ligerion, to live with my uncle, and his sisters, and his wife. And I thought my life was never gonna be the same. I was really sad, as I should have been, because I was a kid, and I lost my parents. I was so scared of Loch Ligerion, and I was convinced I’d never be happy again.”

Dad, a sad look on his face, reaches over to grip her shoulder, and she puts her hand on his for a moment, before taking a deep breath.

“But not long after that, I started kindergarten. And do you know who I met there?”

Virgil shakes his head.

“I met your dad,” she says, lifting his hand from her shoulder and kissing it, before lowering it, so they were holding hands. “I met your dad, and your uncle, and some other people too, but no one quite as important as your dad. And I am never, ever going to regret going to Loch Ligerion. Because that’s where I met your dad. And if I didn’t meet your dad, I wouldn’t have had you. And you…” she takes a wobby breath, smooths back his hair again.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, Virgil,” she says. “You and your dad. Some people didn’t like that I was in love with your dad at all, let alone the fact that we had you. But I’m always going to ignore them. Because you two… you two have made me so, so happy, Virgil. The happiest day of my life was the day you were born. I have loved seeing you grow into the smart, brave, funny little boy you are today, and the handsome, talented, loving young man I’m sure you’re going to be. I have loved every single day.”

“Even the day I brought all the stray cats into the house during that thunderstorm?” Virgil asks in a small voice, and his mother and father both laugh.

“Even that day,” she says. “Even when we were running around making sure soaking tomcats weren’t getting into fights and clawing up my carpets. Even the day you and your dad had the flu, and you were both puking everywhere, and I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Every single day.”

Virgil wiggles so his arms are out of the blankets, and reaches up to hug her around the neck, squeezing tight.

“I love you too,” he promises. “I love you every single day too.”

Dad’s arms wrap around them then, big and strong and tight, protective and warm. Virgil’s all squished up in between them, and Mom’s elbow is jabbing a little into his stomach, and they’re all hunched over a little awkward, but it’s the best hug ever. In the history of the world.

A pointed throat-clearing noise.

“Oh!” Dad says hastily, and there’s a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, I love you both every day too.”

They untangle, just a little, enough that they can all see each other’s faces, arms all still around each other.

“Love your Dad, but he’s a bit slow on the uptake,” Mom says, elbowing him playfully.

Dad turns to her, a joking offended look on his face, but she tilts her head at him.

“Who proposed? Asked for the first date?”

“Momma did,” Virgil says, and Mom shoots Dad a smug look.

“That’s ri-ight,” she sing-songs. “That’s right! Momma did!”

“Oh, I see how it goes,” Dad says, reaching over to tousle Virgil’s hair. “The pair of you teaming up against me, huh?”

“It’s not teaming up if we’re right,” Mom says smugly.

Dad laughs, leans over to kiss her forehead, smooths her hair back. “Yeah, okay. I’m a bit slow on the uptake. It runs in the family.” He pokes Virgil playfully in the belly. “So you’re in trouble, mister.”

Virgil wrinkles his nose, pokes him back. It kind of devolves into all of them poking each other, tickling each other, at one point Dad sweeping him up in his arms as Virgil squeals and yells as Mom chases them around the room.

“Okay,” Dad grunts at last, when all the laughter’s died down. “Okay! It’s really time for bed, now, for everyone.”

“Not yet, though,” Mom protests, “everyone’s all energized, now. It is time for cookies.”

“Cookies,” Virgil agrees, from where he’s flopped over on Dad’s back, looking at Mom upside-down, ignoring the click-click-click as he’s been doing since that early morning.

“Yeah, cookies,” Dad agrees.

“Cookies?” A voice purrs from the dark, and Virgil nearly falls from where he’s laying on Dad’s shoulder, jumping from surprise.

“Dee,” Mom laughs a little, settling Virgil with a hand. “Didn’t see you there. Warn a gal next time, would you?”

He simply inclines his head, asks “Tea?” and Dad sets Virgil down.

“Run and grab us four mugs, Virge?”

“Hot chocolate too,” Virgil checks, and Dad chuckles, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, hot cocoa too.”

With a flick of his hand, the stove snaps on, and Virgil carefully selects four mugs from their vast, mismatched selection, setting them carefully in front of each person. The kettle settles on the stove at the same time the milk comes out from the fridge, the tea and cocoa emerging from the cupboard.

“What kind of tea, do you think?” Dad muses, tilting his head towards Mom, who’s collecting cookie-filled tupperware by hand and ducking flying items with practiced ease.

“Dealer’s choice,” Mom says, and glances ruefully at the tupperware. “There isn’t exactly a unified theme, here.”

“Black tea it is, then,” Dad says, glancing towards Uncle. “Earl grey?”

He hums and accepts the empty mug from Virgil.

“Okay, so,” Mom says, setting down the tupperware. “Being entirely honest here, I barely remember which type of cookie I put in each tupperware, so beware your choices.”

Uncle snorts, opens the tupperware nearest to him, and squints. Then he shrugs and lifts one free, snapping it in half.

Virgil’s still staring at him. Uncle’s the equivalent of Halloween; Virgil usually sees him once a year, and both are spooky in some way. Halloween because of course. Uncle, with his odd smiles and frowns, and the scales spanning the left side of his face, the snakey yellow eye—

Which flicks over to him, and the side of his mouth lifts in a smile. But not the kind of smile Mom or Dad give him; this was the kind of smile that Disney villains smiled. A Scar smile, an Ursula smile.

Virgil looks quickly towards the cookies, and shoves one into his mouth.

“Virgil, smaller bites, bud,” Dad says, setting down the hot chocolate. “Tea’s on in a second, all right?”

“Mkay,” Virgil mumbles, trying his hardest not to spew crumbs all over the table.

The kettle floats through the air and pours it, and Virgil blinks. The tea isn’t in bags, like they usually make; it’s just little bits of stuff in something.

“Loose leaf?” Uncle asks, lifting an eyebrow, and Dad gives a too-casual shrug.

“For old time’s sake,” he offers, and they both look at each other, in a way that’s too loaded for even Virgil to unparse, before they both take a sip from their mugs as Mom stirs her tea with the spoon handle, the soft clink-clink-clink just off-beat with the click-click-click that still sounds in the living room.

Virgil grabs a too-big handful of marshmallows and dumps it into his cocoa, avoiding the way Uncle’s gaze slid back to him.

The only sounds are sipping, quiet chewing, the occasional clink of a spoon, and the click of the mysterious beetle. Once Uncle and Dad both basically upend their mugs at the same time, wordlessly, they reach out and take the others and huddle over it.

From this angle, they’re just mirror images of each other. Dad is maybe a bit more muscular than Uncle; but without the scales or the eye in view, they look like the same person, just copied twice.

Virgil wonders what it’s like, to have a sibling like that. Dad and Uncle call each other once a week, plus the occasional weekend trip Dad and Mom take down to Ligerion to see family members while Virgil’s at a friend’s house. It’s just Mom and Dad and Virgil and the cats, here. Virgil wonders sometimes, what it’d be like to have a little brother, or a little sister. Someone to follow after you, someone who had your back, someone to share toys with. Babies are kind of noisy and smelly, though. He thinks he’s fine for now.

But sometimes, when he sees people with their siblings, he can’t help but think about it.

Because he’s supposed to have one. It’s a thing. Faes are supposed to have at least one sibling. Biological counterbalance, he thinks one of his older cousins said—magic divvying itself up along a family line. But there’s just him.

He can’t help but think about that too.

“What’s it look like?” Dad prompts, and Uncle wrinkles his nose, sets it aside deliberately.

“Nothing we know,” Uncle says. “Mine? We both know whose strengths lie in the divinatory arts.”

Dad sighs, runs the tip of his pinky over the rim of the mug. “House,” he says. “Big one. Which means change, likely related to family. Dashes, for travel, for which you should be cautious. A wheel—strong indicators of inevitable change, a series of events. Responsibility.”

Virgil blinks, tugs at Dad’s wrist. “How’s there a wheel in his tea?”

Uncle blinks too, first at Virgil, then at Dad. “He doesn’t know tasseography?”

Dad sighs a little. “We told you last time—we’re waiting until he’s ready.”

“How will he be ready if you never let him try?” Uncle says, and nods to Virgil. “When we were his age, we read leaves daily. Go on. Take the mug. Tell me what you see.”

Virgil blinks, first at Dad, then at the mug, before tugging it carefully from his father’s hands, turning it and squinting.

“I don’t see a wheel,” he says, glancing to Dad.

“It will come with practice,” Uncle says, and the gleam of his eye is sharp and bright. “Just say what you feel from the mug, Virgil.”

Virgil turns the mug over and over in his hands, staring still. He licks his lips nervously.

“I… I think you need to be really careful,” he says, into the mug. “Something is coming. Something really big. It’s going to change for forever. And I…” Virgil swallows. He feels like the mug is leeching the heat from his hands, taking something away from him. There’s something bad about the leaves, something that makes his stomach squirm like it’s full of snakes. He sets the mug away from his as far as possible.

“I don’t like it,” he whispers, and rubs his hands together, trying to shake them of the feeling.

“That’s okay,” Dad says quickly, wrapping an arm over Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey, that’s okay. That was a really great first try, Virge. You don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“It’s bad,” he says into Dad’s chest, and his arms tighten around Virgil.

“I know, bud,” Dad murmurs. “I know, I saw it too. I’m sorry.”

Slowly, Virgil is eased out of his Dad’s arms, plied with butterscotch cookies and even more marshmallows in his cocoa. But he sticks close to his Dad’s side, pressing against him, how warm he is; it’s the only way the snakes calm down. The mug, somewhere between Virgil hiding his face in his Dad’s chest and leaning into his side, has been placed safely away from him, the leaves dumped down the sink.

They work their way through a tupperware-and-a-half of cookies, any attempts at conversation muted and quiet, fading in and out at random. Virgil thinks the leaves might have taken any kind of energy or excitement he had—he just wants to curl up in some warm blankets and sleep, now, not listen to the clicking beetle or Mom’s attempts at small talk.

Soon enough, when Virgil’s mug is empty and he’s full to bursting with cookies and he’s nodding off against Dad’s side, he’s getting lifted up into the air, into Dad’s arms. Virgil mumbles sleepily and lays his head on Dad’s shoulder, twisting his hand into Dad’s shirt.

He drifts off before he’s even put in bed.

He wakes up to rumbling. He’s aware he’s rising and lowering, very gently, as if he fell asleep at sea, and he’s very warm. Virgil hears a slow tha-thump, tha-thump under his ear, and at last blinks his eyes open.

Dad’s awake too, smiling fondly at Mom, as she keeps making the rumbling noises—snoring. The rising-lowering was where his head’s pillowed on Dad’s chest.

They’re all crammed into Virgil’s bed, the tiny twin, so Mom’s head’s pillowed on Dad’s chest too, Mom tucked between the wall and Dad, Virgil near the edge of the bed.

Virgil pats Dad’s chest, and nods towards Mom. Dad grins, rubbing a hand up and down Virgil’s back.

“Welcome to my world,” he whispers to Virgil. “Let’s try to not wake her up, huh? She needs sleep.”

Not waking up Mom involves wriggling very carefully off the bed, and helping Dad sneak a pillow under her head while he wriggles even more carefully out of the bed and helping tuck her in too. It is a lot of wiggling and trying not to laugh at each other and shushing each other whenever it seems like the other one is close to breaking the silence. Virgil even kisses her on the forehead the way she always does to him.

They wander downstairs, to where Uncle is already sitting, sipping from another mug of tea—no tea leaves, which makes Virgil shiver with relief.

Maybe he’s shivering because the clicking’s even louder today. Maybe that’s why. He can’t always tell.

“All right, well, I’ll make some breakfast,” Dad says, and adds, “Dee, how about Virgil shows you the sunning rocks, so you can talk to the snakes while we get a few things sorted out here?”

Uncle narrows his eyes at Dad, but Virgil is already going to put on his shoes.

“Careful, all right?” Dad tells Virgil. “Dee’s not used to walking with kids, you’re gonna have to show him the ropes.”

Uncle scoffs, but follows Virgil out onto the porch. Virgil, absentminded, reaches out and takes his gloved hand as they walk down the steps.

“What are you doing,” he says, in a flat, suspicious tone, practically recoiling, but not letting go of Virgil’s hand.

“I’m s’posed to hold hands whenever I have to cross streets,” Virgil says, and gestures to the land beyond the yard. “Street.”

Uncle shakes his head, seeming confused, but doesn’t let go of Virgil’s hand as Virgil leads him across the street, towards the sunning rock near the opening of the neighborhood, where the sign welcomes people to Russett Grove. The sign provides the only shadow—even now, there is a familiar cat lounging in the sun, opening a baleful yellow eye at Virgil, flicking her tail, before closing it again.

“Somewhere around here,” Virgil says at last, going to sit next to the cat. “There’s snakes.”

“Yes, I hear them,” Uncle says absentmindedly, crouching down. His tone’s changing; the s’s are getting longer, a bit more pronounced, and his snakey eye seems to flicker in the light.

“Hello, snakes,” Uncle rumbles, and even though it’s just as bright and sunny as the day before, Virgil could swear that there was a shadow dropping, curling around him, dousing the summer’s light, highlighting his scales. The familiar cat’s hackles rise; Virgil puts a hand into her ruff, as much comfort as it is caution.

Uncle smiles, wide and cutting, and Virgil’s hand tightens in the cat’s fur.

And then he hisses.

Seeming to emerge from the rocks themselves, tens, looking like hundreds of slimy, sinuous bodies writhed free, crawling from stone, through the grasses, from the trees, with silent, eerie speed. They wrestle, twist, break, but always come forth, to them, to the rocks. It’s like they’re a single, homogenous mass, but Virgil can see all the separate snakes making it up, and Virgil doesn’t even move as the cat yowls and sprints away. The snakes slip over pebbles, the road, converging all as one, twining together, to Uncle, to him alone. Virgil knows that it’s morning, that the sun around them is beating strong on their necks and backs, but it’s like they’re in the depth of a forest, in the depths of the sea, surrounded by great swathing shadows and the dark, and Virgil doesn’t know what’s there, what’s hiding in the dark—

“You,” Uncle murmurs, voice like wind rustling the grass, and all at once, the snakes fall still, and Virgil tries to stop shaking.

“My nephew has dominion over this land,” Uncle says, soft and dangerous all at once, and gestures to Virgil with a yellow glove. “The cats have territory upon this rock. Find elsewhere to warm your blood.”

At once, all the snakes hiss; to Virgil, it sounds like dissent, disagreement, and he sees a few triangular heads turn to him, show fangs gleaming with—with venom, he thinks, and curls tighter on the rock. He’s not running. He’s terrified but he’s not running. He thinks that would just make things worse.

“Elsewhere,” Uncle intones, and waves a dismissive hand; all at once, the mass disbands, separating into singular scaled bodies again, hissing as they slither away, back, down into the receding dark. Virgil can feel the sun heating the top of his head again. Good, he thinks distantly—he’s very cold all of a sudden.

Virgil looks up as Uncle steps, blocking the sun, face looming above him unreadable. He looks… otherworldly. Different. Like he’s something to be feared. Like he isn’t even human.

Virgil opens his mouth, and what comes out is “Did it hurt?”

Uncle’s snakey eye narrows.

“Did it hurt,” Virgil repeats, and gestures to the left side of his own face—where the scales sit on Uncle’s face.

Uncle smiles. “That’s not what normal people usually ask.”

“We’re not normal people,” Virgil points out. “Did it?”

He smiles wider. “Not at all,” he says, and offers Virgil his hand.

Virgil stares a bit longer, before he takes it, and they make their way back to the yellow house, where Dad is whistling as he plates up eggs and bacon.

“How’s the rock?” Dad asks, nudging a plate of two sunny-side up eggs and bacon shaped into a frown towards Uncle, who frowns at it.

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents,” Uncle says, stabbing at the yolk of one of the eggs, so the runny yellow leaks all down the plate. “We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”

Virgil tilts his head; he gets toast, cheesy scrambled eggs, and bacon set in front of him as Dad asks, “Do I have to guess why you’re quoting H.P. Lovecraft at my five-year-old son?”

“Who’s H.P. Lovecraft?” Virgil asks, picking up his fork and nudging at the little toast triangles.

“An author,” Dad says, distractedly ruffling Virgil’s hair. “What, did something go wrong with the snakes? Should I be worried you’re going to try to call Cthulhu upon my neighborhood?”

Uncle smiles, all pointy teeth, and shoves most of an egg into his mouth; Dad scowls and flicks at his bowler hat, so it sits crooked on top of his head.

“Snakes left,” Virgil offers, because he doesn’t really know how else to describe the temporary eclipse that happened. “I think they know the sunning rock’s for cats now.”

“Well, that’s something,” Dad says. “Apple juice or OJ, Virge?”

“Apple, please,” Virgil says dutifully. The further he is from the rock, the easier it is to believe that it was just that simple; the snakes understood, the snakes left. Uncle doesn’t look nearly so threatening with his bowler hat crooked on his head and a bit of egg yolk smeared on his cheek.

A Lion King cup full of apple juice gets set in front of him, and Mom wanders in, sleepily tugging her hair back into a braid.

“Hi, lovey,” Mom says, bending down to smack a kiss to Virgil’s cheek, and she straightens, smiling, as Dad approaches swiftly. He’s twisting his hands all together, looking at her rapturously.

“Hi, lovey,” she tells him, a bit more teasing, and he leans in, cupping her cheek, and kisses her.

Usually their kisses are quick little things, whenever they think Virgil’s watching; but right now, they’re doing a long kiss, a movie kind of kiss, where their heads are tilting and stuff, and Mom’s hand comes up to his neck before they break apart. Virgil realizes he’s probably supposed to say “Gross!” or cover his eyes or something, but it’s just… nice, he guesses. That they love each other.

“Well,” Mom says, flustered. “Good morning.”

“Hi,” he says, then, “Sorry, um, your toast might be a bit burnt, I’ll eat it instead if you want—”

He bustles over to the stove, and Mom sits down, stealing a sip from Virgil’s cup even as Virgil squawks in protest.

Soon enough, Dad and Mom are sitting next to each other, stealing bites off each others’ plates and sipping from each other’s cups. Virgil defends his apple juice from all sides, and even manages to take one of Mom’s precious bits of bacon. Dad does eat the more-burnt bits of toast, like he promised.

“So,” Uncle says idly, once everyone’s plates are cleared, “what are we to do today?”

Dad and Mom look between each other, and they both shrug.

“Honestly,” Dad says, “we didn’t really expect to get this far, so.”

Uncle lets out a put-upon sigh. “Well, what do you usually do for an idyllic summer day, in the lovely suburbs?”

Dad smiles. It is not a particularly nice smile. It is the kind of smile he gets whenever he has put glitter into the laundry detergent or dye in the shampoo. “So, you want a nice little slice of suburban life, right? That’s what you’re saying?”

Uncle had the distinct expression of someone who had wandered directly into a trap and had no way out of it.

Virgil thinks the day is really nice, even if Uncle is dragging his feet and sighing loudly in the background of everything they do that day. They go to the park, and have a picnic lunch, and Dad and Mom even play a game of tennis even though they’re both really bad at tennis, and Virgil gets this weird iced drink from Starbucks, and Mom is wearing this weird matching sweatsuit thing Virgil’s never seen her wear and Dad is wearing an eyesearing teal shirt and cargo shorts.

“It’s a shame we’re not in the middle of the school year, we could have taken you to a PTA meeting,” Mom chirps happily at Uncle as they pull up to a Sonic, and Uncle gives her a halfhearted glare from where he’s also stationed in the backseat.

“You’ve made your point.”

“Have we?” Mom asks, amused, turning to look at Dad, who is perusing the menu. “I’m not sure if we have.”

“Can I get a grape slushie?” Virgil asks.

“What do you say?” Dad prompts.

Virgil sighs, and says, “Can I get a grape slushie, please?”

“You sure can,” Dad declares. “What kind do you want, wifey?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, hubby,” Mom says, wiggling around to see the menu better.

That’s a thing that’s been happening today too. The really ridiculous pet names. They haven’t repeated one yet.

Eventually, everyone gets a slushie, even Uncle, and they go home, where Virgil and Dad play soccer in the yard as Mom makes lemonade from scratch, over a stove with lemons and sugar, sticky and sweet. Virgil can taste it on the air.

“Do you usually play soccer?” Uncle asks idly, and Virgil shakes his head even has he chases after Dad, who is dribbling the ball back and forth.

“Nah,” Virgil says easily.

Dad flashes a grin at Uncle, and adds, “Just figured we’d round out the whole experience, right?”

Mom comes out then, with glasses of lemonade and sections of oranges, along with last of the many tupperware containers of cookies. She’s since changed out of the sweatsuit and more into her normal attire, a button-down tucked into a pair of jean shorts, the ones Virgil helped cut the hem; he can see from how crooked they are.

Uncle sighs but takes his glass, and a cookie. “The pair of you are unsufferable as ever.”

“Aw, we love you too,” Mom says. “Virge, show me your hands.”

Virgil does, and she hands him a wet wipe to get rid of the dirt before he can grab a cookie, too.

Uncle sticks the orange piece in his mouth, looking kinda silly with the orange skin covering his teeth, giving him a big, uniform smile. Virgil does the same, enjoying the sharp-sweet taste of it.

“And, uh, sweetheart,” Mom says, and tugs lightly at Dad’s sleeve. “We… we have a kitchen issue.”

He blinks. “That’s usually more your area than mine.”

“I should rephrase,” she says. “We have a kitchen issue that’s more aligned with your side of the family’s expertise.”

Uncle stands, then, and Virgil trails after, grabbing another orange slice, and coming to a stop in the doorway.

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK-CLICK, the beetle shrieks, it’s loud, it’s louder than it’s ever been, louder and faster.

Mom, only semi-calmly, opens up the fridge door and brings out a bag.

“Marinating chicken for dinner,” Mom says. “Already rotted.” She gestured, vague. “Rotted meat, spoiled milk, rotted fruits and vegetables. Thought about making eggs for dinner, but, well. We only had a couple. Cracked one to see.” She holds up a bowl.

“No yolk,” Dad says, hushed, and exchanges glances with Uncle. He reaches out, takes another one, and cracks it.

Same thing. White and runny, no yolk.

“We went on a grocery run three days ago, this shouldn’t—” Mom begins, and rubs a hand over her eyes.

“It’s starving us out,” Uncle murmurs. “Wants us to leave.”

“Delivery,” Dad suggests, and Uncle shoots him a Look.

“You think you can outsmart it?”

“I’m not suggesting—” he began heatedly, before he cut himself off, and took a breath. “I’m not suggesting outsmarting it,” he says, calmer. “I’m considering just—ignoring it. So, we’re out of food. We’ll order a pizza. Chinese. Whatever.”

Uncle pauses, and nods, putting up his hands. “Okay,” he says. “Fine, fine. Order food in. I’m sure nothing will happen.”

They end up ordering Chinese. Waiting for the food to come, they throw out the spoiled food, and Uncle shows Virgil how to make a quarter appear and disappear in his hands, just a quick bit of sleight of hand. Trickery, instead of actual magic. Virgil thinks it’s kind of funny, but his hands aren’t quite big enough to get away with it yet.

Uncle pulls a quarter from behind his ear and flicks his fingers, making it vanish yet again. “As with all things, it never takes practice,” he says, before twisting the quarter into thin air.

Virgil nods, and soon after, the doorbell rings.

It’s another quiet meal; Mom and Dad split a huge plate of General Tso’s, while Virgil eats his honey chicken and white rice, and Uncle eats lo mein.

“Oh,” Mom says, and, “Honey, did you order cookies? We’ve still got the last of a Tupperware to get through.”

Dad blinks, peeking in. “Nope,” he says. “Must be a complimentary kind of thing. Replaces the fortune cookies, I guess. Dee, you won’t want any of these—almond and coconut.”

Uncle’s face twists, and he sticks his nose into the air in disgust.

“Have we got any chocolate?” Virgil asks, and sacrifices his almond-and-coconut restaurant cookie for extra of Mom’s, because Mom’s cookies are the best cookies.

He ignores the clicking, like he’s done for the past couple days. It gives him the same bad feeling the tea leaves had, except worse, and all Virgil can do is try to tune it out.

“Okay,” Dad says, and checks the time. “Virge, bud, it’s getting to be that time. Can I trust you to brush your teeth by yourself?”

Virgil sighs, but nods, getting up from the ground and plodding grudgingly to the bathroom. He does brush his teeth, if a bit more carelessly than he would if Dad had been watching, and changes into pajamas.

Mom and Dad come in again, this time Mom reading Guess How Much I Love You.

“Do you like your Uncle, Virgil?” Dad asks, after the story, and Virgil blinks at him.

“He’s weird,” Virgil decides. “But funny.”

Dad smiles, and smooths Virgil’s blanket over his chest. “Weird but funny,” he says. “That’s a pretty decent review, I guess. We’re twins, you know?”

“Mhm.”

“Growing up, I just had him. My Dad—” he pauses, fiddles more with the blanket’s edge, before Mom’s hand closes over his fingers. “Our father died when I was little, y’see, and our mother was never really the same after that. It was me and Dee, against the world. And your Mom, of course, but—but not quite in the same way, you know? He’s… yeah, okay, he’s weird. And a lot of people don’t really get that about him. They see the eye, and the scales, and he treats people… not quite the best, sometimes. But he really cares about me—and your Mom, though that took a bit of time, and you, of course. In his own special, weird, funny way. It’s hard to spot sometimes. But it’s still there.”

“Okay,” Virgil says.

“He kind of speaks his own language, and it takes a while to get it. Even I’m not sure I’ve got him right a hundred percent of the time. And he can be kind of… unnerving, I know. I saw your face when you got back from sunning rock this morning. I guess—” He pauses, and swallows. “I guess what I’m saying is, sometimes when someone loves you, they want the best for you. You and the person that loves you might disagree on what that is.”

“Like how?” Virgil asks, and Mom and Dad glance between each other.

“Well,” Dad says, “Like your Mom. Dee really, really didn’t want me to even date your Mom, let alone marry her.”

“What?” Virgil asks, scandalized. “But you two love each other!”

“And he sees that now,” Dad promises. “He might not… understand, but he understands. Does that make sense?”

“Nope,” Virgil says.

“What your Dad’s saying is, your Uncle’s heart’s usually in the right place, he just goes about things in a really unusual way, most of the time. And sometimes he’s really wrong about it, and you have to do what’s right for you anyways.” Mom says. “And by sometimes, I mean just sometimes. He might not show he loves you like we do, or take care of you like we do, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Right?”

“Right,” Virgil says, mostly just deciding to go along with it.

“And, okay, look,” Dad adds, “Most of the time, I was the one taking care of him. Dee… well, he doesn’t really quite know how to handle people. He’s not very good with people. But he still—”

“Loves me,” Virgil says. “Right.”

Dad looks… relieved? He smiles, and smooths back Virgil’s hair, leaning forwards to kiss him on the forehead.

“And I love you too,” he says. “So much.”

“Didn’t even have to prompt you into it today,” Mom teases, nudging him with her elbow so she can kiss Virgil on the forehead too. “Love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you both too,” Virgil says.

Years and years later, Virgil will be incredibly grateful that that’s the last thing he says to the pair of them that night.

Because in the midst of the night, he’s shaken awake by rough hands.

“What’s happening?” Virgil mumbles.

“It’s me,” Uncle says, gruff, and Virgil squeaks as Uncle lifts him clumsily out of bed, before sometimes scratchy’s draped over his head.

“What’s going on?”

“Do not take that off,” Uncle says sharply, and Virgil feels himself getting jostled as Uncle walks down the hallway, down the stairs.

“Why, what’s happening?” Virgil asks, anxious. “What’s going on, what’s—?”

There’s more fumbling with Virgil, a word that gets a dollar for the naughty jar, and then a blast of warm summer’s night air as Virgil is brought out, set down on the sidewalk, and at last the scratchy thing is removed from his face—

Virgil squints, bringing up a hand to avoid the wash of blue and red, the cars, the ambulance.

“What’s happened,” Virgil asks, tugging at Uncle’s pantleg, a lump growing in his throat, making his voice scratchy and desperate. “What’s going on, I don’t—”

Uncle crouches, opens up Virgil’s fist, and drops something into it.

Virgil squints, and holds his hand flat open.

It’s a beetle.

A dead one.

Virgil, all at once, understands what it means—the red and blue lights, the ambulance outside, why Uncle didn’t let him look, the beetle, the beetle, the beetle—

And Virgil—

Virgil screams.

[aion-rsa]

Zappa Director Alex Winter Talks Preserving The Mothers’ Inventions

https://ift.tt/397hxl6

Zappa is an intimate look into the innovative life and eclectic works of Frank Zappa, the composer. The Beatles, Brian Wilson, and Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd pushed boundaries of what rock could do in the mid-1960s, but Zappa ignored any preconceived compositional restraint. He mixed rock with classical, jazz with chamber, and twelve-tone with Spike Jones. From his 1966 proto-punk, garage band debut, Freak Out, through the immediate experimental turns he took on Lumpy Gravy, We’re Only In it for the Money, and continuing through his career, Zappa’s music sounds unlike any other sonic unit.

Not only was Zappa a unique composer and bandleader, he was a ground-breaking film director, an innovative theatrical presence, and a voice of rebellion in worlds beyond music and the arts. His politics were far ahead of their time, and his critiques of society resonate strongly to this day. A vast majority of Americans know Zappa best because of his censorship battle with the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC), and the documentary censors nothing.

Zappa is not only the definitive documentary, but the only feature doc ever made on the pioneering founder of the Mothers of Invention with the Zappa family seal of approval. Not only did the family give director Alex Winter, best known as Bill from the Bill & Ted movies, permission to use the music and footage, they let him ransack the vaults. What he found there was a buried treasure in need of excavation.

Zappa’s storage area contained reels of unreleased music, archived appearances, home movies and hours of never-before-heard interviews, which allowed Winter to let Frank tell most of the stories himself. But first he had to save the vault material, which was disintegrating before his very eyes. He put together a crowdfunding campaign and raised over a million dollars to preserve the tapes.

Winter has been in entertainment all his life. He worked as a child actor in the mid-1970s, had co-starring roles in long-running Broadway productions like The King and I, Peter Pan, and The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up, as a teenager, and studied filmmaking from behind the scenes at NYU film school. Besides the Bill & Ted films, he also had memorable roles in the vampire classic Lost Boys and cult favorite Freaked, which he co-directed. Winter also directed the criminally under-seen 1999 suspense thriller Fever. The bulk of Winter’s work has been on hard hitting and revelatory documentaries, like Downloaded (2002), Deep Web (2015), and The Panama Papers (2018).

Zappa is just as revelatory, but a lot more fun and you can dance to it. That is, if you can dance to what the London Symphony Orchestra called “irrational” time signatures. Towards the end of the film, Zappa shows exactly that. Alex Winter spoke with Den of Geek about Frank Zappa, as a musician, artist and subject.  

Do you think Frank could have written the song to unite the world in Bill & Ted Face the Music, or would he have chosen to score the collapse of time and space or would he have made a double album?

Yeah, he would have told us to get lost and made like a quadruple album. No, I don’t. I think that he was so, in such a lovely way, so contrary that I don’t think he would have wanted to feel like he had that kind of pressure on him.

I read that you spent your Kickstarter money to preserve the material in his vaults. First, I want to say thanks for that and was there anything that actually was lost to the damage?

Yeah, a few things were lost. It was mostly the stuff that’s most sensitive like old film audio, like the audio track itself, the magnetic audio track was very fragile, we lost some of those. Some of that stuff was gone when we got to it and then some stuff really had like one run through a machine left before it was gone, so we were using extremely sensitive machines that had Sprocket LIS systems for digitizing and preserving that media. So, it was in various states. Some of the video was quite brittle. Some of that was gone but we got most of it and we got a lot of it. So that was good.

Besides the music, were there any unreleased films in the vaults?

Like full movies? No. We know what Frank made. I was able to preserve the negatives for Baby Snakes. We did include that in what we were preserving, so we found that there and we preserved it. So that’s nice and safe, that made me happy. But there weren’t full feature movies. There was a lot of Bruce Bickford Claymation that had never been used in anything that we found, a lot of which we put in the doc because it’s so good. And there were a lot of films, home films and there’s vast quantities of him just with a video or a film camera wandering around the house or around backstage or whatever, and that informed a lot of what we use. A lot of the stuff that we were using, he shot himself or just somebody who was in his house with him.

I love the editing, the scene with Frank playing with Moon Unit with the music behind it, was that something that you put together or was that something that was already edited in the vaults?

No. That was something that Mike Nichols put together, the editor. Mike really cut most of the media. We were even re-cutting Frank’s film media. We were really looking to tell a story and convey the narrative first and foremost, more than just presenting the stuff that Zappa had done. So, what we did was we started the film with things like the home monster movies that he made and the way he re-cut his mom and dad’s wedding footage. But we used that as a jumping off point for ourselves to start creating our own edits that made it, that felt like Frank’s world, but it was really just us.

Read more

Movies

Top 10 music documentaries

By Glen Chapman

Movies

Bill & Ted Face the Music Review

By Chris Cummins

Your documentary gets into how his music was criticized for being impersonal. I personally think some of his most beautiful lyrics come out in his guitar, but do you think his humor desensitized critics?

I think his humor put off some people, I don’t think he was particularly worried about that. I think that for me, coming up with Zappa when I got Zappa, part of that “get” was realizing that he wasn’t a rock and roll musician who made rock songs with funny lyrics. He was an avant-garde composer who used humor, like an instrument. Like using percussion or any other piece of your orchestra. It was something that he did to elicit a certain effect with the music itself. And once I kind of clicked in my head, I really got for myself, I don’t mean this needs to be for everyone because it’s personal, but it was an entry point for all of his music once that I grasped that idea.

In some of your other films you’ve tackled some very heavy topics. What draws you to the subjects? And how long have you been thinking about doing Frank?

Well, we started putting a sizzle reel short together, Glen Zipper my producer and I, after coming off of Deep Web, the tech doc we made about the dark net and federal criminal trial of Ross Ulbricht and the Silk Road black market. And I’d been very embedded in that story for a few years and I was ready to do something that wasn’t tech oriented and wasn’t quite so bleak. Glen and I were wondering why no one had tackled Zappa’s story. It seemed like it was such a perfect story for a documentary, given that he’s a big popular cultural figure, but also as a person who had so many different facets to his nature, which makes for a very good doc subject. So, that was about six years ago and we started putting something together, and then I pitched it to Gail and then the ball very slowly started to roll.

You submitted an audition film to the Zappa family, what was the short film like and how was the initial reaction?

It was very much like this to be honest with you, Mike Nichols cut that as well, and we were interested in conveying Frank’s emotional inner life, and not just the kind of pop B reverent story about the Zap that we felt people either already knew, or wasn’t really truly that representative of who he was. So we created it, it was very short, it was almost like a mood piece. But it did convey the idea of telling a story mostly with archival and Zappa’s voice that leaned on his emotional, inner narrative and not so much on being a music legacy doc.

Your film shows him as a hero, both politically and artistically. How much did you know going in?

I knew quite a bit of what made me want to do it. I knew all the primary biographical details of his life. There was an enormous amount I didn’t know, and there was an enormous amount I discovered making the film, but I certainly knew the bulk of the landmark periods of his life. And then once we started the preservation project and I was able to really spend time listening to Frank talk, because there was so much media down there that had never been heard, that was just him speaking candidly to either other journalists or to friends, and this was stuff that wasn’t public. It gave me a window into his thinking that I didn’t have before, and that guided me tremendously.

I loved Ruth Underwood’s story about dropping out Juilliard after seeing the Mothers at the Garrick Theater. Has she ever played the triangle since?

It’s a good question. I honestly don’t know, my guess is not.

Do you think Frank’s PMRC activisms sidetracked some music he might’ve been making?

No, I don’t. I think that he was in a period of reflection at that time. He never stopped making music during that time. He kept cranking. He was cranking away all through that period. He also began to work on the Synclavier and had an enormous output of music with a Synclavier during that whole period as well. So there wasn’t ever really a period where Frank wasn’t making music, and the political commitment that he had to cultural and political issues, I think really helped him, given how bleak the state of the country was and the state of the arts in the country was. So rather than just sit on his hands and moan, he just got active.

You covered pretty much every era of his career, but what is your favorite period and why?

Well, my favorite of Zappa’s early albums is Hot Rats, so that period is my favorite period, though I equally love the orchestral music that he made, and I love the Ensemble Modern period as well. Which shows you that I liked him at both ends of his career. I don’t leave out the middle, but both of those eras moved me and I listened to them equally. If someone put a gun to my head and said, “You get to jump in a time machine and go visit Frank at any given point, where would you go?” I would go to the Garrick Theater.

I came up doing theater in New York. And I’m very inspired by the fact that he wasn’t taking off in LA the way he wanted to, and rather than change his sound or capitulate to some popular movement, he just left and further investigated his own artistic voice. I have huge respect for that, and I would have loved to have been around when he was just throwing spaghetti at the wall artistically day after day at the Garrick.

Do you think that he was inspired by the movements in NYC theater?

That question I do know. Funnily enough, that’s one of the first things I asked Gail. When I first started talking to Gail in 2015, and we were just riffing and I was just trying to probe her brain to get a better sense of Frank, I was convinced by what I knew of the Garrick, that Frank was plugged into all the incredibly avant-garde and cutting edge theatrical movements of that time, which were so flourishing in Berlin, London, and New York, especially. And I said, given how theatrical his music always was, and his performances always were, surely he was inspired by this. And she said, “No.” As far as she knew, he had no interest in theater at all, and had no knowledge of any of the innovations or any of the people who were spearheading theater at that time. Which I thought was somewhat surprising, but apparently this was just his thing.

I’m sure you’ve seen Brian De Palma’s Hi Mom!, which had a scene of confrontational theater. When I think about Frank bringing the Marines onstage to dismember a doll, it seemed like one was feeding into each other.

Completely. I’m very versed in that world and it’s a big part of what I care about, and also the work that Dario Fo was doing in Italy at that time was really powerful. A lot of antiwar and protest art, but really not politics. Art was before politics in terms of the way that the theater was constructed. And that’s what seems similar to me about Frank, there were a lot of political undertones, but the art was first. And I was surprised that he wasn’t plugged into that, because they were literally running on parallel tracks at that time.

I know that your parents were dancers and Frank made music that was very hard to dance to.

And hard to edit. You try editing to that, with the rhythm changing as constantly as it does in such intense ways. It’s tough.

Actually that’s what I want to ask, you’re also a musician, do you map out rhythms, do you count out things and try to chart them in your head as you’re listening?

Mm-hmm, I do sometimes, but with some artists like Zappa or Coltrane I really don’t. I just go with the flow because the flow is so specific and untethered to formal music. So I don’t with them, but I do sometimes. Sure.

What other rock documentary makers were you looking at when you were making this?

I was most inspired even not making a music doc. I’ve been very inspired by the photography and the film work of Robert Frank. This movie was very inspired by Cocksucker Blues. There are techniques that we were doing and ideas that I had that were pretty much just lifted straight out of that movie without being overtly plagiaristic. That’s probably my biggest influence in terms of something if I had to point to, but obviously Pennebaker’s work and the Maysles and all of that. And I also have great respect for the work of Brett Morgan, he’s done amazing things, I thought Montage of Heck was phenomenal and really did an amazing job of looking at the interior life of someone who’s also quite detached. So that was helpful.

Steve Vai talks about how Zappa pushed musicians and the other musicians said being in his band was like going back to school. What did you learn in your craft from making this?

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You learn a lot by being in the presence of genius like this. So I learned on an abstract level, I was inspired. I really respected the way he pulled from different genres and still made work that was his own. I was inspired to keep going, and it’s frowned upon to play in different media in our culture. People want to put you in a box, and I’ve never wanted to do that. I’ve acted and I’ve made films and I’ve made narratives and I’ve made shorts and I’ve directed all different kinds of stuff. And I would like to continue to explore like that and Zappa, he gives you the inspiration to feel valid in that way.

Magnolia Pictures will release Zappa on November 27.

The post Zappa Director Alex Winter Talks Preserving The Mothers’ Inventions appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/360Aq7s

[edh-a-to-z]

Every Unstable Card - Blue

And now it’s time for Blue cards!

Very Cryptic Command

Grade: B+

This is almost Black-Bordered. With the exception of the name-based mode, it feels like a reasonable spell, and probably negotiable in your playgroup as a black bordered spell.

It’s modes are about as powerful as OG Cryptic Command - spell retrieval is nice, self-Windfall is good at instant speed. Small scale untapping and conditional tapping are a little weaker than full tapdown and a counterspell, but the at least the card will be really cheap, like forever!

EDIT: So it turns out there’s at least 3 different versions of this card. Will add more review info as it comes out.

Socketed Sprocketer

Grade: C

If you’re making heavy usage of die rolls in your silver-EDH deck, this little cyborg is a nice option to get better rolls.

Good abilities that all synergize well, on a cheap disposable body works rather well as a 1-drop.

Blurry Beeble

Grade: D-

Love the ability, love the beeble, but I can’t love the crunch.

Nice conditional blocking ability, but I hecking know it that someone will say “In response I put on these glasses” when I play this (silver bordered games, am I right?)

And then is Looting from player combat damage on a 1-drop something I really need to take up a card slot? Very often, no.

Chipper Chopper

Grade: D

Contraptions are an easy source of artifacts that I can sacrifice. Chipper here lets me get rid of contraptions I wasn’t using to pull out another, and become a respectable 3/3 flyer in the process. Decent, if conditional, addition to decks synergizing with Contraptions.

Incite Insight

Grade: CONTRAPTIONS

Okay, at this point I’m getting a bit annoyed at how WOTC went all in on Contraptions. It’s like another layer of Silver-Bordered EDH (which I’m not really into) which will only mildly connect to the singleton format.

So you can go infinite, dump out your (minimum) 15 Contraption deck. Not bad, but 

Wall of Fortune

Grade: D-

Mess with your opponents, fix one of your roles, only works if everyone brought Silver Decks. 

And the body is bad.

Kindly Con

Grade: B+

Worth it just for the artifact ability.

Defective Detective

Grade: D

Overpriced, and the lack of reliability on the ETB is annoying.

SNEAK Dispatcher

Grade: C

For Scrying on anyone’s deck, or trying to draw your SNEAK cards, this card is decent enough in Silver EDH.

Magic Word

Grade: F

I’ve seen better tap-downs. Wayyy better.

Spell SUCC

Grade: D

(thanks for this work of art @sarkhan-volkswagen)

Counterspells for more that two mana, for a lack of a better word, succ.

(there I said it)

Spy Eye

Grade: F-C

The Mana Cost?

2UU

The TCGPlayer cost?

$0.25 plus shipping.

The look on your opponents face when you steal their win-con?

Priceless.

Time Out

Grade: D+

Tucking is good, tucking only up to 6 isn’t. 

Instant speed is good, 5 CMC isn’t.

Five-Fingered Discount

Grade: B-

Hard removal and stealing all in one. Sure, it doesn’t pay for the stealing, but enables it very much. Worth it for the fun.

Clocknapper

Grade: B+

I think if you change the wording a bit, this effect can be in black border.

Anyway it’s an amazing ability, works great in abusive blink/flicker deck. A real nasty piece of work.

Graveyard Busybody

Grade: A

Any deck with reanimation wants this midgame. 

Do some mass milling, get your best reanimation toys, and PRESTO! Dimir zombifies the best creatures. Plus it’ll be the size of a giant real easily. Unless someone gets their GY hate in time, this is gonna run rampant.

Suspicious Nanny

Grade: D

You need to pay 5 mana, connect with combat damage with no build in haste or evasion, and then need that player to have something worth stealing (assuming their even using contraptions). 

Unreliable!!!

Mer-Man

Grade: C

Drawing a card is something I’d actually like to do at any time in the game (as opposed to the low-impact like d6 Lifegain, or other small benefits), and makes the augments really fun to work with.

More or Less

Grade: A-F

When it does it’s once in a lifetime altering of a Languish or something, it’s amazing, but it’s mostly just mildly annoying.

Crow Storm

Grade: B

I want this to be Black Bordered.

I also want it at instant speed, but I don’t think that’ll happen either.

Anyway it’s a fun reference to the best card ever printed in MtG. Nuff Said.

Half-Shark, Half-

Grade: C

While the augment makes whatever effect it’s hitting reliable, it’s also slow as heck in multiplayer EDH, possibly making it less impactful. It’s also one heck of an Augment cost that you don’t get an immediate effect out of aside from the buff.

Novellamental

Grade: F

Blue Creatures with these stats aren’t exactly novel. Tattered Haunter, Vaporkin, and Welkin Tern are it’s cousins, and see zero play.

Crafty Octopus

Grade: CONTRAPTIONS!!

Contraptions deck will love this, plus whatever augments it into making more free artifacts.

Numbing Jellyfish

Grade: D-

Ugh, single target milling in EDH. Underwhelming, and the potential of an augment is wasted here.

That’s all for now campers, see you real soon with the next part!

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

30 Questions Tag

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better.

Tagged by @iwouldtrusthagridwithmylife

1. nicknames: Ummm...my co-workers call me by my initials (A.S.), does that count?

2. gender: Female

3. star sign: cusp Gemini/Taurus (more Taurus traits)

4. height: 5’ 5′

5. time: 10:24 p.m. (22:24)

6. birthday: May 23

7. favorite bands: Current ones: The Lumineers, Kaleo, The Head and the Heart.  Older bands: The Nields, Rusted Root, The Beatles, Pearl Jam, Toad the Wet Sprocket

8. favorite solo artists: Vance Joy, Ani DiFranco, Lily Kershaw, Scott James

9. song stuck in my head: I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young

10. last movie I watched: Hmm.  Good question.  Maybe August Rush?

11. last show I watched: Outlander (catching up on Season one, way behind)

12. when did I create this blog: January of this year

13. what do I post: mostly musings about books, anything I find funny, fan art, some fan fiction (my own and others), some civil rights stuff

14. last thing I googled: something for work (about a dog food)

15. do you have any other blogs: nah

16. do you get asks: rarely but they always make me happy!  Ask me anything!

17. why did you choose your url: It’s my wonderful dog’s nickname

18. following: 117 (I’ve gotta get following more!)

19. Followers: 439

21: average hours of sleep: sadly, like 5

22. lucky number: I don’t have a lucky number, but if anyone ever tells me to pick a number I gravitate towards 17

23. instruments: I know how to play piano, trumpet, and French horn but haven’t done much in years

24. what am I wearing right now: polo shirt, khakis, socks

26. dream job: I’m doing it - veterinarian.

27. dream trip: I’m totally obsessed with Scotland and have been twice, if I ever bring myself to go somewhere else it’ll probably be New Zealand

28. favorite food: very, very dark chocolate

29. Nationality: American (German and Scottish heritage)

30. favorite song: so depends on my mood, but I’m obsessed with Angela by the Lumineers right now

tagged:

@tntwme @cjameswrite @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie @rowan-buzzard-whitethorn @rowanismybae @deathbytitanium @they-did-the-do @paperbacktrash @devilsadvocate15

[jam-esc]

About two weeks ago, I came across this post on Twitter:

pervadere #FunkyAF #SummerFilmParty [Sprocket Rocket, Cinestill 50D] pic.twitter.com/ye68ObcRRD

— kim (@kimmiechem2) June 20, 2017

I liked the photo and left a  comment, and Kim replied:

Definitely recommend the Sprocket Rocket to panos lovers. Cheap & cheerful. Definitely is a light hog, however. 🙃

— kim (@kimmiechem2) June 22, 2017

About an hour of research, an hour of hunting for a good price, a debit card number, and 4 days later, I was unboxing yet another toy…

The day before the Sprocket Rocket arrived, Hamish Gill posted an interesting article about his Hasselblad X-pan and why he sold it after only 5 rolls (well, 5 rolls and 18 months).

He bought the X-pan because he thought “…it had the potential to provide me with a unique perspective, that it might challenge my framing, enable me to shoot frames that felt cinematic, and even give me a sense of medium format photography…” but then never shot with it. At $75, my investment in the Sprocket Rocket is not so high, and if I don’t end up using it much, I’m not out much. Plus, while I think the Sprocket Rocket has the potential to provide a unique perspective, challenge my framing, and encourage cinematic feel in my images, I bought it for the fun as much as anything, so I’m not sure I can lose, or, not in the same way as Hamish did with his X-pan.

I was particularly interested in Gill’s general comments around panoramic photography—in particular the “landscape trap”—and I tried (and will try) to keep it in mind when playing with the Sprocket Rocket. 

And with that, the mail carrier arrived, and I got to unboxing…

Now, I really don’t need another camera, but the Sprocket Rocket is one of the most interesting-looking and different cameras I’ve seen in awhile.

Lomography took inspiration from (or ripped off) an old bakelite camera from the late 1930s and early 1940s, made in Chicago, and marketed under about 20 different names, and this gave the camera a fun and funky sort of Art Deco feel that I really love.

With a groovy design in hand, Lomography modified the insides in several ways ways. Where those old cameras had a 50mm fixed lens and produced 4x3cm negatives on 127 film, the Sprocket Rocket has a 30mm lens and captures 36 x 72mm (or 24x72mm) panoramic negatives on 35mm film.

Now, I’ve seen and been intrigued by the cameras like the Hasselblad XPan and Fuji TX-1 and TX-2, and medium format 6x17cm cameras like the the Fuji GX617, Linhof Technorama 617, and other, less famous (and less expensive) panoramic cameras, but couldn’t ever see needing that format, especially for the price.

But at $75, I couldn’t really resist the Sprocket Rocket.

Now, comparing the Sprocket Rocket, another hunk of plastic from Lomography, with precision engineered marvels like the Fuji cameras that I’ve never used may sound silly, but bear with me…

A 90mm lens on a 617 format camera produces negatives that cover about a 90° area of view. The 30mm lens for the Hasselblads and Fujis  cover 94°. But the Sprocket Rocket gives 103° of coverage, and produces negatives 8mm wider (and 10mm taller) than the fancy ‘blads and Fujis.

Sure, it’s all plastic and only has one shutter speed (or two, if you count Bulb) and 2 rather limited apertures, but still.

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Speaking of apertures, Lomography claims the cloudy setting is f/10.8 and the sunny setting is f/16, but virtually eveyone (including Kim, above) claims the camera is light hungry, and the User Manual is explicit. From the section titled “How to Achieve Correct Settings:”

These settings have been designed for using 400 ISO film speed.

Also, under “Trouble Shooting:”

Q: I only got a few images on my roll, and most of them are very dark. A: Most probably you have been underexposing your images or even using slow speed 100 ISO film. Try out a 800 ISO film which is more light sensitive and be sure to use the B shutter in shade and indoor to get more light on the film. A flash will also brighten up any pictures (sic.), day or night!

Now, with a fixed shutter speed of 1/100th and an aperture of f/16, the Sunny 16 rule would indicate proper exposure with ISO 100 film. If you need 400 speed film in bright daylight, then the shutter speed must be faster than 1/100th, or the aperture smaller than f/16, or I don’t understand the Sunny 16 rule.

Jamie Zucek ran some tests on Provia 400: Sprocket Rocket vs. Nikon F100 with 20mm lens. He guessed the apertures to be more like f/16 and f/22.

Not wanting to “waste” any film, I threw caution (and manufacturer suggestions) to the wind and bulk loaded a couple of rolls of Konica Pro 160. I figured late June in North Texas would give plenty of bright, sunny days, and even f/22 at 1/100th should be decent enough on ISO 160 film.

And I was right, mostly.

I started out shooting sprockets, as the camera was designed for. I shot in bulb mode a good bit, trying to err on the side of overexposure, rather than under, and it almost worked.

A selfy, handheld for 10 seconds on the Cloudy setting, turned out surprisingly well.

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But, in general, the Sprocket Rocket really is surprisingly light hungry. Here, for example, are two shots, taken back to back about 1 in the after noon on a very bright day, the first on cloudy, the second on sunny. There are clouds visible, but the sun was out and almost directly overhead. It was bright out, and hot.

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You can see a bit of flare in the center of the frame. The sun was well out of frame, but still high above. I guess flare is to be expected from a plastic lens, but it’s a pleasant-enough flare, and only popped up in these two frames. (The wild colors in the cloudy shot probably came from bulk loading: the first frames on almost every bulk roll I load are fogged, I think because I’m rolling into old canisters, maybe they’re no longer light tight, or maybe the loading does something to the felt? No idea, but it happens on every roll: I lose about 10″ of film to red fog.)

Even with these, though, underexposure continued unabated… These two, for example, were shot in what I considered broad daylight on, but were somewhat underexposed. Sure, I was in shade, but the sun was blasting the scene. The first was shot about 2pm, and the sun wasn’t overhead, but hadn’t disappeared behind nearby skyscrapers yet; the second was later in the day, maybe 3:30 or 4, and partially blocked by my neighbor’s house, but why is the sky a stop or two under?

This one, shot under evening window light, was way underexposed at 2 seconds on the cloudy setting. I still like it, but it’s really a shame: my darling, adorable wife had some great henna tattoos on her darling, adorable hands for Eid, and I didn’t get this roll developed in time to realize how far off it was.

(The red line and creases in the above two came from some issues I had with humidity in the dark bag while loading: I think they add some interest that wouldn’t be there otherwise.

With a little massage after scanning, I did get some acceptable shots, all on the cloudy setting, if my notes can be believed. They’re still off, but closer.

#gallery-0-22 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-22 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-22 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-22 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

I was pleasantly surprised by the long exposure I took to finish off the roll on my drive into work one morning. I think this was handheld for about 15 seconds.

I really wish I could hold cameras steady in the car at 75mph… Alas.

After that first roll, I inserted the mask, and shot another roll sprocket-less. I won’t bore you with too many of the details, but I like the sprocket-less shots. Pure pano, with no distraction or hipster stuff. I like the extra height from the sprockets, though, and it might be worth trying some unperforated film, if I can find some in 400 speed.

I had some underexposure issues with these too, and learned my lesson about “slow” film in the Sprocket Rocket. (I shot a roll Labeauratoire [kromiəm] 500 at the 4th of July parade that came out a bit better, and God willing I’ll share some shots from that next week.)

So, the Sprocket Rocket.

For $75, it makes a great gateway to the world of Panoramic photography. The plastic lens is surprisingly sharp, for a plastic lens, and the camera is, indeed, cheap and cheerful. I had loads of fun with it, and look forward to putting many more rolls through it.

There is some bad to the camera, as fun as it is. It distorts horribly, but if you know how to work it, you can manage. I haven’t gotten there yet, but I can imagine ways to work with it. It’s imperative to keep the camera level, though, or to keep any horizontal or vertical lines near the middle of the frame.

In the same vein, vertical panoramas are really hard to pull off. They’re just too tall, and the distortion is, again, atrocious.

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Portraits could be interesting, and I can imagine some interesting results with some slow, fine grained film (and high-powered, wide angle strobes). Maybe something like Robert Longo’s Men in the Cities series… I need to write that down.

And one last issue that I haven’t run into yet comes from the frame counter thing.

  On the left side, looking down from the top, between the rewind knob and the flash shoe, there are two circular depressions with little holes in. The one nearest the flash shoe displays the frame numbers; the one near the rewind knob shows a little white dot when you’ve wound far enough for a new frame. This dot is tiny and goes by really quickly, so you must pay close attention when winding.

But those are all just minor complaints: for what it is, primarily a means to shoot sprockets and super-wide angle panoramas, the Sprocket Rocket is great, and it’s cheap enough and as well built as a plastic camera can be. It’s also surprisingly fun and easy to use.

[yasr_multiset setid=2]

Overall, I give the Sprocket Rocket a solid 4

[yasr_overall_rating]

You can pick up brand new ones in a variety of fun colors for $90 direct from Lomography, or brave the wilds of eBay and the internets for used or grey market versions. Lomo was out of stock of the black one when I was shopping, but a nice Chinese firm shipped me one for $75, and if you’re patient, you can probably find one cheaper.

If you want to try out panoramic photography or shoot sprockets, there’s really not a better way, imo… There may be sharper or more optically well-corrected options, but none go as wide, as cheaply as the Sprocket Rocket.

Enter the Sprocket Rocket About two weeks ago, I came across this post on Twitter: pervadere #FunkyAF #SummerFilmParty pic.twitter.com/ye68ObcRRD — kim (@kimmiechem2) …

[amarynthian-fortress]

Long "about me" post

Rules: Answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions. 

I was tagged by @chryselephantinechaos, thank youuuuuu :3 :3

1. Coke or Pepsi: Coke, totally, yep, yep. Although I drink mostly sparkling water lately.

2. Disney or Dreamworks: Depends entirely on what type of movie is made, so I must say that circumstances shall determine this one. 

3. Coffee or Tea: I shall order both please. Earl Grey tea, and whipped cream on my coffee. And a glass of water.

4. Books or Movies: Definitely books, and of course, a movie if it is well made from the point of art and cinematography, and if it is compelling and fun.

5. Windows or Mac: Windows (to my soul, hehehehe)

6. DC or Marvel: DC: my childhood, my love, my life, my Teen Titans, my Batman. 

7. Xbox or Playstation: Well, I was toying with Playstation, so I suppose that is the option I choose.

8. Dragon Age or Mass Effect: I cannot decipher what these even are.

9. Night Owl or Early Rise: Who said I ever slept? ;D I am a perky insomniac most of the time.

10. Cards or Chess: I play chess while building a card castle, of course, to distract the opponent. 

11. Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate, please.

12. Vans or Converse: I am a little Converse baby forever.

13. Lavellan, Trevelyan, Cadash or Adaar: I am sure they are wonderful people, whoever they are.

14. Fluff or Angst: Angsty fluff and Fluffy angst, and all the imaginable hybrids of these genres. Almost the entire Gradence fandom is Fluffy angst, truth be told. 

15. Beach or Forest: Forest that leads to a beach. And I want a villa there. And magic seals and narwhals.

16. Dogs or Cats: Give me everything.

17. Clear Skies or Rain: Clear skies after rain, rainy Summers, sunny Winters, magical combinations of both.

18. Cooking or Eating Out: Cooking of course, it relaxes me. 

19. Spicy Food or Mild Food: I need to ask my sensitive stomach, but I cannot guarantee that it will choose the spicy option. 

20. Halloween/Samhain or Solstice/Yule/Christmas: Samhain, Yule, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Walpurgis Night, gimme all you have, folks.

21. Would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: Can I choose the optimal 25 degrees Celsius, instead?

22. If you could have a superpower, what would it be?: Omnipotence.

23. Animation or Live Action: Animation, totally.

24. Paragon or Renegade: I am a paragon of being renegade.

25. Baths or Showers: Hmmmmmm, I love baths.

26. Team Cap or Team Iron Man: Team DC.

27. Fantasy or Sci-Fi: Let’s see what sci-fi fantasy does...

28. Do you have three or four favourite quotes? I have so many, oh my goddddd.

“I await your sentence with less fear than you pass it. The time will come when all will see what I see.” Giordano Bruno

'Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” Neil Gaiman  

“I think like a genius, I write like a distinguished author, and I speak like a child.” Vladimir Nabokov.

“Boredom was my bedmate and it was hogging the sheets.”  Andrew Davidson.

29. YouTube or Netflix: Youtube, my sweet love.

30. Harry Potter or Percy Jackson: Harry Potter.

31: When You Feel Accomplished: When I accomplish something hahah. Well, when I do the things that I previously thought impossible. 

32. Star Wars or Star Trek: My goodness, I was never really into them, it kinda takes the beauty out of the cosmos to see all those ships flying around.

33. Paperback Books or Hardback Books: Books are books, I want them all.

34. Handwriting or Typing: Typing, for there is no mortal on this earth that can decipher my left-written handwriting, unless they are either Champollion or Indiana Jones.

35. Velvet or Satin: Velvet.

36. Video Games or Movies?: Movies

37. Would you rather be the dragon or own the dragon? A witch with the ability to trun into a dragon, and I also have baby pets dragons. And other beasts.

38: Sunrise or sunset: Technically they are very similar when one thinks about it. Only the result is different.

39: What’s your favourite song? At the moment? Listenint to Sound of Silence by Disturbed.

40: What’s your favourite smell? Warmth, rain, lemon, orange, night scent, oils, pine trees.

41. What’s your favourite bad joke? Why would I pick a favourite out of displeasing jokes? 

42. What is your favourite Young Adult book? Not sure about young adult books (”The Host”, don’t judge me) but I love stuff of Terry Prattchett and Dickens and Nabokov.

43. What’s your drink order at the bar? Non-alcoholic mojito.

44. What’s your favourite Magritte painting? The only paintings I love are those of Caspar David Friedrich. 

45. Given the chance, would you want to go to space? As a human, no. I would have to be stuffed in an astronaut suit, live in dire conditions in a space ship, then barely experience true space under all those layers. I wish to visit space in a ghost form where I can freely roam and watch the birth of stars and the colours of the nebulae and ride comets.

46, three things in a haunted house: magic books, a stereo for partying with ghosts, drink and snacks.

47. What is your favourite movie? Oh my lord almighty, ummmmm, Edward Scissorhands, Big Fish, Coppola’s version of Dracula, The Man in the Iron Mask.... 48. Right-handed or left-handed (or ambidextrous)? Cross-dominant, a type of ambidextrous, I suppose, I write with my left, but cut and hold knife and scissors with right.

49. What would you do for your career, if you didn’t need to worry about money? I would invest all my extra cash in helping animals.

I tag @roxas-j-frost

@theuniversebeyondtherain

@cravebone

@deathlesshallows

@vehuhia

@pyschopath-graves

@perksofbeing-a-sprocket

@fifty-shades-of-graves

@waterfall-of-lesbianism

@wanderingquill

@shetasteslikeseasaltrainbows

@geislieb

@yogurt-gun

@bimber-dews

@forbiddensnakesandpandas

[steamberrystudio]

Friday update 9/14/2018

Hey everyone! Whew…after last week, this week felt like a breeze. Sprocket and I were (mostly) feeling good this week! So we were able to make a fair amount of progress on things now that we're not having to drown ourselves in tea and tissues.

Coding/Testing:

This week we prepped all the needed sprites for Danny's route and got their code set up so Sprocket and start to work those sprites into the route. This includes four additional sprites that are all route-specific and appear only in Danny's route.

Then we tormented our Discord chat with images of the antagonists smiling and looking adorable. LoL

Art:

This week, I finished Danny's CGs and moved on to Ewan's.

Ewan already had one CG complete and another that was in-progress. Unfortunately, the in-progress CG was started quite a while back and no long really reflects that quality of the game. We do have some other CGs that are in the same state – I did them a very long time ago and my style and technique have both improved significantly. While I can't go back and re-do all the CGs, I do have plans to improve and fix the ones that need it most.

This one was on that list.

It looks much, much better now.

I’ve started on the third CG and am about half done with it so far. As of right now, the current state of CG is…75% complete! I feel like we're nearly there and I'm so excited! OwO *vibrates*

Summary: I feel like that's everything or this week – we're just still working on the same things more or less: finishing CGs, adding in missing assets, making corrections/fixes.

Like William's route, Danny's route had a lot of issues so it's taken a bit longer to do corrections for. But the remaining routes (Marc, Ewan and Elliot) shouldn't have quite as many issues needing to be fixed so they should go faster!

 That’s all for now - we will see you guys next week! *waves*

Patreon | Twitter | Demo

[olivereliott]

The Killer: A front wheel drive motorcycle from Rodsmith

The concept of the patron is well established in the world of art. Charles Saatchi is almost a household name in the UK, but before him we had New Yorker Peggy Guggenheim—who anchored the careers of Pollock and Rothko.

Parallels are now edging into the modern custom motorcycle scene, and one of the leading lights is Bobby Haas of the Haas Moto Museum in Dallas.

Bobby has built up a collection of 130-plus extraordinary motorcycles, and occasionally commissions them too. Hazan is one of his protégés; Craig Rodsmith is another, and his incredible front wheel drive motorcycle is the latest resident of the hallowed halls.

It’s a classic story of patron and artist working in tandem, and begins when Bobby was suffering from a bout of insomnia while visiting the Handbuilt Show in Austin, Texas last year.

“After a sleepless night, I started surfing the net,” he tells us. “I came across grainy photographs of an Art Deco bike concocted by a group of German engineers in the 1930s.” It was the Killinger und Freund machine built between the wars in Munich.

Bobby immediately thought of Craig Rodsmith—and texted the US-based Australian expat at 3:00am. They met in the lobby of the hotel Bobby was staying in—but Craig wasn’t immediately convinced.

“When I proposed the idea of using this German contraption as the inspiration for a custom build, I could see the doubt in Craig’s eyes,” says Bobby. “Which was why I knew that Craig was the right person to execute this vision.”

Craig admits that he was less than enthusiastic.

“At first, I was intimidated,” he says. “I thought he’d chosen the wrong man for the job. But Bobby believed the bodywork had ‘me’ written all over it, and should be done in polished aluminum.”

It didn’t stop there. The bike was also to be front wheel drive, with a radial engine inside the front wheel. But Craig agreed to the project, thinking he could just buy a radial engine online and adapt it.

“Well, as it happens, they are not exactly readily available,” Craig says. “So I decided I’d make my own. How hard can it be?”

He located three identical 60 cc two-stroke engines. “I whittled them down and made a unified crankcase,” he reveals. “Although they’re really three individual cases combined.”

“Then I had to determine the wheel size. With a little coaxing, I managed to get the engine inside a 19″ rim. I needed a pair of blank and undrilled wide aluminum rims, so I turned to Matt Carroll.”

“He’s an encyclopedia of wheel knowledge and got me a set of 3½ by 19 inch rims with a shallow center, to give a little more room.” Incidentally, the front wheel is unique because it can only have spokes on one side—so the fuel lines and control cables can run unimpeded.

Conventional motorcycle engineering obviously does not apply here. After all, the front axle needs to rotate and support the engine, and also drive the front wheel.

“Another problem was how to start it,” says Craig. “So I made an electric start system, which would need to basically start three engines simultaneously—and in a limited space. I then made my own Bendix drive, so the starter would disengage once the engines were running.”

Craig makes it sound relatively easy to put an engine inside a wheel, but then again, we’re not sure that he is entirely mortal.

To send engine power to the wheel, Craig has used a lay shaft, which drives a centrifugal clutch, which drives a final drive sprocket, which drives a shaft with a flange that the wheel is bolted to. Got that? Piece of cake!

After all this mechanical ingenuity, it was time to move to more familiar territory: building a chassis from scratch. “I made an aluminum lattice-style frame with upright fork legs,” says Craig. “So the wheelbase doesn’t change as the forks travel up and down.”

It’s worth noting that Craig did all this without any 3D design or CNC machinery. Instead, he’s gone the traditional route, using a small 70-year-old manual lathe and mill, along with files, hacksaws and hand tools.

His approach to the bodywork was very similar. He hasn’t even used bucks or power tools—just a hammer, dolly and English wheel.

“I wanted the body to flow, almost as if it was liquid,” he says. “I’d like to think I’ve almost got it proportionally right, from the wide front with an integrated headlight to the tapered rear body, giving it a streamlined appearance.”

Craig even made the tiny shock absorber that suspends the aluminum seat. And other exquisite details like the gas cap and ignition switch, and countless little bezels—mostly fastened with tiny stainless 1.5 mm screws to keep visible fasteners to a minimum.

“I think one of my favorite features is the scoop on the front fender,” he says. “Bobby and I discussed using a grille so that the detail of the engine was somewhat visible—in the end we opted for a scoop, which opens like a door and keeps the body appearance smooth.”

The result is one of the most striking builds we’ve seen over the past ten years. And we’re curious to know what it’s like to ride, since there are no contemporary reviews of the 1935 Killinger und Freund that inspired this machine—and its name, ‘The Killer.’

“It’s a running, rideable bike,” says Craig. “But I haven’t ridden it much, for two reasons: I live in the upper Midwest so there’s been too much ice and snow, and it was built primarily as a functional art piece.”

“But it’s a weird sensation of being pulled by an engine rather than pushed.”

Bobby Haas is happy. “I know from personal experience that success is all the sweeter when you accept a challenge to do something you think you’re destined to fail at. My role is to enable genius artisans to create a masterpiece that might otherwise escape reality, and just drift away as a pipe dream.”

Craig has turned this particular pipe dream into reality, and in the process, blurred the distinction between engineering and art. It might not be the ideal steed for an Iron Butt Rally, but it’s a clear indication that the past still influences the future. And old school fabrication skills are still out there, if you know where to look.

See it for yourself on display in the Haas Moto Museum.

Rodsmith Motorcycles | Facebook | Instagram | Haas Moto Museum | Images by Grant Schwingle