#it relies on “how many times can we say fuck in one conversation ”

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

What're some Steph Brown moments you think should be talked about more?

Thank you sm for asking me this…

This one is actually really hard for me to answer because I think society should be talking about every stephanie brown moment all of the time. Additionally, I genuinely don’t think I can tell what moments w her are underrated anymore.

That being said I have made a list:

1. This Scene w Crystal in cataclysm

Robin #54

Really shows some extremely interesting parts of their relationship. This is like one of our first indications Crystal and Steph’s relationship might be on the mend. We get a look into how close they are despite their many issues. We have a minute where Steph jokes about Crystal blaming herself for the quake “too” implying Crystal often blames herself for things out of her control, which as I’m always discussing is a Stephanie Brown classic trait. The idea that this is something Crystal might do as well is so compelling to me. And throughout it all, we have Steph trying to protect Crystal, taking care of her, even tucking her in like a parent would their child. (Cough Stephanie brown parentification cough cough)

2. This panel from GK37. The way Batmans silhouette steps forward while Steph’s silhouette stands starkly still. The purple overcast sky with the flakes of snow (the whole weather/environment in gk37 kills me). The emphasis on ‘go to hell’ as after a comic of bargaining Steph finally comes to terms with the fact that she can’t rely on anyone else, that Batman going to her and telling her she could be something, that she could be good meant absolutely nothing to him. Amazing. Imprinted into my brain.

4. Steph’s conversation with Natalia about the stars in Robin 104. Gorgeous panel with an interesting look into Steph’s brain.

5. The Riddle scene in Robin 113, because I’m not smart enough to break down the Riddlers riddles and put together the implications which I assume are there and I want someone else to do it for me. Additionally, the lighting is absolutely gorgeous as we get to see Steph at this low point.

6. Robin #92, the scene where Bruce talks to Steph about the future, deeply unsettling her to the point that months and months later at the very start of war games she’s still thinking about it

7. The moment after Tim Drake’s birthday gaslighting bonanza where he commiserates with Steph abt getting tested by Batman. I’m imagining that he feels guilty for his role in her own test. For the record I’m hallucinating that guilt. I think it’s possible Lewis straight up didn’t know how Tim lied to Steph in Batman Family. But on the other hand the parallels to GK37 are insane and clearly there for a reason. Thinking about this lots. The repetition of “I know” vs “go to hell”. Their reversal of roles…I’ve already blabbed abt this on my blog but I’m still putting it here also bc I’m thinking abt it always.

Robin #120

8. All of GK22 as a reflection of how Batman’s loneliness post officer down is actually inextricably connected with his decision to sanction Steph as Spoiler. But specifically this scene because it makes me sick and ill and because it’s my header. Love the decapitated head side eyeing Batman.

9. Okay last one. One moment I’ve been thinking about a lot recently is Stephanie’s first interaction with Batman post War Games. Like the first thing she says to him after returning from her faked death is her essentially asking permission to patrol in Gotham.

Robin #174

Which is so fucking insane. She was unironically and genuinely spiritually broken by the events of war games. One of the very core tenets of her characterization, her willingness to be Spoiler no matter what regardless of the consequences, is fractured and entirely reversed. I have a lot of thoughts about this, and in general how post war games pre bg2009 Steph has healed physically but something big has clearly changed in her and not for the better. If you ask me, that period of time is stephanie brown at her lowest point. Will be posting abt this more eventually because writing this out has given me worse brain worms than normal.

Thank you so much for the ask again, sorry this took me a second I kept writing out way too much. I’m unfortunately a rambler at heart. Would love to hear anyone’s thoughts on any of these moments or other moments I missed.

[notallbloodmages]

*taps mic*

I don't like Henry Cavil as Geralt

*sits down in the dunk tank*

please don't me mean to me I'm keeping main tags out this is my blog I can be a hater if I want

[keepingupwithzaynmalik]

Zayn via instagram:

“Liam, I have found myself talking out loud to you, hoping you can hear me, I can’t help but think selfishly that there was so many more conversations for us to have in our lives.

I never got to thank you for supporting me through some of the most difficult times in my life. When I was missing home as a 17 yr old kid you would always be there with a positive outlook and reassuring smile and let me know you were my friend and that I was loved.

Even though you were younger than me you were always more sensible than me, you were headstrong, opinionated, and gave no fucks about telling people when they were wrong. Even though we butted heads because of this a few times, 😂 I always secretly respected you for it.

When it came to the music Liam, you were the most qualified in every sense. I knew nothing in comparison, I was a novice child with no experience and you were already a professional. I was always happy to know, no matter what happened on stage we could always rely on you to know which way to steer the ship next.

I lost a brother when you left us and can’t explain to you what I’d give to just give you a hug one last time and say goodbye to you properly and tell you that I loved and respected you dearly.

I will cherish all the memories I have with you in my heart forever, there is no words that justify or explain how I feel right now other than beyond devastated.

I hope that wherever you are right now you are good and are at peace 🙏 and you know how loved you are.

Love you bro”

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 6 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: You can feel Buck staring. When your eyes meet his, you realize he’s staring at your hand, which is still on Eddie’s knee. You slowly retreat, which makes Buck turn his attention to your face. You smile softly. He just looks out the window. The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

Chapter Summary: The tension between you and Buck brings you and Eddie closer.

Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: none

Things between you and Buck are… weird. Awkward. Uncomfortable. The last time you had a real conversation with him, it was a fight, but it ended with you saying how much you care about him. It’s left you feeling like there’s an open wound on your chest, one that exposes your heart. You feel vulnerable, and you hate it. Your hatred of the feeling triumphs over your desire to be around him, at least for now.

In a weird silver lining, your lack of time with Buck has created room for one of your other coworkers — Eddie. Talking to Eddie when Buck was around always felt strange, like there was something in the air that wasn’t supposed to be. Which is funny, because when it’s the two of them, they’re as thick as thieves. Something about you being in the mix feels like adding oil to water.

You like to think you’ve gotten to know Eddie relatively well in the last few weeks. So when he’s staring off into space while the rest of the team is eating breakfast, you don’t feel awkward asking what he’s thinking about.

“Nothing,” he says, turning his coffee mug absentmindedly. “Just… this new school with Christopher.”

“Don’t think it’s a good fit?” You ask.

“No, it’s perfect,” Eddie replies, turning his attention to you.

You smile softly. “Then what’s the problem?”

“They need to do a family interview.”

“Again, what’s the problem?” you chuckle. “I mean, aren’t the divorce and custody agreement papers enough?”

“They would be… if I had them.”

You frown. “What?”

Eddie sighs as he rubs his forehead. He leans closer so you’re the only one who can hear him. “We’re still married.”

Apparently, you don’t know a goddamn thing about Eddie.

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out.

Eddie chuckles briefly. “Yeah.”

“Wow. Just… from how you talk about her, you made it sound like things were… over over. Like, officially over.”

“ Shannon and I aren’t officially… anything these days.”

“You’re officially husband and wife.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he smiles as he does it. “Touché.”

“What’re you gonna do?” you ask softly after a moment.

He sets his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. “I don’t know.”

You just watch him and can’t shake the helplessness that washes over you. Eddie’s in a tough spot; no matter what you say, you can’t fix it. All you can do is be there.

“Tell me what I can do,” you say.

Eddie looks up at you with a lopsided grin. There aren’t many things you wouldn’t do to keep it on his face.

“I’ve been told I’m a lot of fun when I drink,” you continue. “Well, when I have three drinks I’m fun: that’s when I get dancy. After five drinks, I get sad. You can pick the number.”

Eddie laughs.

9-1-1 dispatch is down, making doing your job almost impossible. LA is a maze; without GPS navigation, you rely on your phone and eyes to do most of the work. It’s a miracle that dispatch existed before computers.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of the rig, and you tell Hen to make a right turn. When you pull up to what’s supposed to be the scene, though, there’s nothing.

“Dispatch, this is RA 118,” you say into the radio. “There’s nothing here.”

“No pregnant woman?” A dispatcher asks.

“There’s no building. It’s an empty lot.”

“Stand by, 118.”

You hang the radio with a huff.

“What’s going on with you?” Hen asks.

You frown and look over at her. “What?”

“You’ve been… off lately,” she explains. “Like, you’ve got this short fuse now.”

“Why shouldn’t I? We can’t even do our fucking jobs because some moron can’t fix a computer!”

Hen raises her eyebrows.

“Okay, point taken.”

“Buck says you two haven’t talked in a while.”

“Well, he’s a firefighter and I’m a paramedic. We can work the same shift and not see each other,” you shrug. “ I don’t know why he’s talking to you about it.”

“I’m not sure, but… it sounded like I’m not the only one worried about you.”

You play with your hands in your lap.

Hen sighs. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I hope it gets fixed, because you two are miserable without each other.”

“It’s not like that-”

Hen raises a hand to silence you. “I don’t know what you guys are… best friends, work spouses, or dating. Frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that, for better or for worse, you need each other. “

“118, you're gonna need to proceed to San Vicente, east of the Miracle Mile District,” dispatch crackles over the radio. “The nearest cross street is Sixth.”

You pick it up and push the button. “RA 118, copy that.”

“Where the hell have you guys been?”

When you finally arrive at the correct building, you’re faced with a pregnant woman lying on the lobby floor. A small crowd has formed around them, which you push your way through.

“We are fighting a system outage, sir,” Bobby explains, “we apologize for the delay.”

You crouch next to the patient on one side while Hen starts an IV on the other side.

“Hi,” you introduce yourself and don some gloves. “What’s your name?”

“Sonia. I’m 39 weeks pregnant, and 38 years old, which makes me a geriatric pregnancy,” she laughs a little. “God, I hate that word.”

“Word doesn’t matter: you still get a baby out of it,” you smile. “I’m gonna check how progressed you are, okay?”

She nods.

“10 centimeters, 100% effaced,” you observe. “You’re doing great, okay? On this next contraction, you’re gonna push, alright, Sonia?”

She doesn’t respond, so you look up.

Her expression changed. A moment ago, she was nervous but smiling. Now, her face is flattened, and she’s staring ahead at nothing.

“There's something wrong with the baby,” she says quietly.

Your body goes numb.

There are a few things you never want to hear a patient say, and ‘something is wrong’ might be at the top of the list. It’s called ‘impending doom’ — there’s no obvious threat, but it feels like something is about to go terribly wrong. You’ve seen patients die within minutes of saying something doesn’t feel right.

“Your baby is fine, Sonia,” you assure. “You'll-you'll be able to see for yourself in just a minute.”

“No! No, this was a mistake, all of it,” Sonia cries. “Roger was right to panic. Look, we can't do this. I can't... I can't do this. I shouldn't have this child.”

“Hey! Hey, Sonia, look at me,” you say, patting her knee to get her attention.

It takes her a moment, but her eyes eventually meet yours.

“All you have to do is push,” you tell her. “That’s it, okay? Just push.”

She still looks terrified, yet she nods.

On the next contraction, Sonia pushes. You coach her through the contractions, telling her when to push and when to rest. It only takes a few rounds until the baby is fully born.

“He’s here!” you exclaim as you wrap the baby in a towel.

There’s some happy laughter and a round of applause from the crowd as the baby cries.

“Beautiful boy, it’s time you meet your mom,” you say as you move to place the baby on Sonia’s chest.

She’s staring at the ceiling, her expression slack.

“I’ve got the baby,” Eddie interrupts, taking the baby from you so you can work.

“Sonia?” you say, rubbing your knuckles on her sternum. She winces, but barely.

“I can’t get a systolic above 70,” Hen says as she deflates the blood pressure cuff.

“She’s cyanotic,” you say, noting the blue tinge to her lips and fingernails. “She’s in shock.”

“Hemorrhagic?” Hen questions.

“She’s barely bleeding,” you shake your head.

You press your fingers to her neck. You don’t feel a pulse.

“Lost a pulse, starting compressions!” you shout.

Everything starts to move a hell of a lot quicker. Within seconds, the defibrillator is at your side, and as you compress Sonia’s chest, Hen is placing the pads. Eddie has a finger on her neck to ensure your compressions are effective.

When you get Sonia on the gurney, Eddie tags you out as the compressor to give you a break. Your entire body shakes with adrenaline, yet you help pack her into the rig and climb inside.

“She was fine,” Eddie mutters as he compresses. “Birth was going like clockwork, even for a geriatric pregnancy.”

“Sudden despair and fear and anxiety, rapid loss of BP, subsequent cardiovascular collapse…” you think aloud. It dawns on you. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

You’re reaching for your phone, dialing the phone number of the hospital you’re heading to. “It’s an Amniotic Fluid Embolism.”

Eddie looks over to you. His brow is damp with sweat. “She could be in DIC.”

“She needs Mass Transfusion Protocol,” you agree. You raise the phone to your ear. “LA general, this is RA 118 en route, I need to speak to your ER charge nurse.”

When you’re rolling through the ER doors, you’re kneeling over Sonia on the gurney as you do compressions. Doctors and nurses are shouting directions at each other, but all you focus on is your arms moving up and down.

You hop off so they can move her off of the gurney and onto the hospital bed. In the process, you notice that the defibrillator is showing Sonia’s in Ventricular Tachycardia — a shockable rhythm.

“V-Tach,” you say normally at first, then shout. “V-Tach! Everyone clear!”

The ER staff has no idea who you are, but when someone shouts those words, anyone with a medical background knows to listen. Everyone backs away with their hands raised. After hitting the ‘charge’ button, you do a quick survey to ensure no one is touching Sonia. Then, you hit the lightning bolt to deliver a shock.

Sonia’s body jerks at the electricity. The EKG tracing goes from tombstone shapes to a flatline. Then, there’s a beep and a QRS complex. Then another, and another.

“Got a pulse!” a random voice shouts.

You make your way out of the trauma bay and into the hallway, where Eddie’s waiting for you.

“That was… amazing,” Eddie says.

You stand next to him wordlessly. You nod but then let out a sob as you collapse against the wall.

Eddie helps lower you to the floor. He keeps a hand on your shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“God, this is embarrassing,” you remark between a few sobs.

“It isn’t,” Eddie immediately responds. “We’ve all been there.”

“It’s, uh, it’s how my mom died,” you say with a sad laugh. “They didn’t catch it in time. She bled to death internally. I just… I don’t know what I would’ve done if she didn’t pull through.”

“She did,” Eddie says, moving his hand from your shoulder to your knee. “She pulled through because of you.”

You nod again, wiping away some of your tears. “Thank you.”

Eddie nods in return. You notice that his gaze goes from your eyes to your lips and back up to your eyes.

It happens in the smallest of movements, but before you know it, your forehead is pressed against Eddie’s. You can feel his breath on your mouth. You quietly gasp at the sensation, and it makes him sigh.

You press your lips together. “You’re married.”

“She wants a divorce,” Eddie whispers.

You smile sadly. “You’re still married.”

Eddie sighs again, but this time, he moves away from you.

“I’m not saying it can never happen,” you say quietly. “All I’m saying is that I’m not that kind of girl. And you definitely aren’t that kind of guy.”

Eddie nods, his mouth shifting into a few different expressions.

You rise to your feet and offer Eddie a hand. “Let’s get back to work, Edmundo.”

Eddie laughs genuinely at the use of his full name. He takes your hand and uses it to help get himself up, but he continues holding it when he’s standing.

“Back to work,” he agrees and squeezes your hand before letting go.

You’re heading out a scene call, fire in progress with multiple victims suspected. You’re driving the rig while Eddie sets up the back. The 118 is the nearest firehouse, so your unit will be the first on the scene. It comes with a lot of responsibility, but you know you and Eddie are ready for it.

That is, until there’s a massive ‘BOOM’ from behind you.

You immediately pull over and look in your rearview. The engine following behind you is now on fire and lying on its side in the middle of the intersection. You can see a few firefighters lying on the pavement.

“Eddie, grab our bags!” you shout as you unclick your seatbelt.

You fly out of the rig and meet Eddie in the back. Instead of handing you your bag, he sets a hand on your shoulder and pushes you both to the side of the ambulance.

“What the hell?” You ask.

“There’s a bomber,” he says in a low tone.

“What?” you ask again, peering to the side of him.

Sure enough, there’s a kid — no older than twenty — with several pipe bombs strapped to his chest. He’s holding what appears to be the detonator in his hand. Someone is laying at his feet, his leg pinned under the passenger side of the engine.

Buck was sitting in the passenger’s seat.

You try rushing forward again, and Eddie grabs you by the waist this time.

“It’s Buck!” you scream as you struggle against him.

“I know,” Eddie says, his arms wrapped around you as he presses your back to his chest.

“We have to do something!” you cry, still thrashing against Eddie.

“We have to wait for the scene to clear,” Eddie explains. It’s more than a little annoying how calm he sounds. “If you go in now, both of you could die.”

“So what, we just let him die?” You ask, but you’ve stopped fighting.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but his grip around you loosens. Eventually, you feel his arms drop back to his sides. That’s when you make a run for it.

You make it far enough to catch the bomber’s attention. You raise your hands in the air.

“I’m not who you want,” you explain, “I just want to help him. He has nothing to do with this. He has friends and family… he’s my family. Please, just let me help him.”

The bomber looks from you to Buck, then back at you. “He’s collateral damage.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Bobby interrupts. He approaches with his hands raised.

The bomber’s attention shifts to Bobby, the person he’s been after this whole time. You use it as a window of opportunity to approach Buck slowly. When you finally reach him, you crouch down by his head.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” you say softly. You set a hand on his head. “How’re you feeling?”

His left leg is the one that’s pinned, and he’s lying on his stomach. He tries to look up at you. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“I could say the same thing to you,” you joke. You move your hand to his neck. “Are you in pain?”

“No, just kind of numb,” he says. “That’s not good, right?”

Your heart sinks. “You’re in shock: it’s normal.”

Bobby manages to distract the bomber long enough to subdue him. As the bomber gets rushed off, the rest of your team rushes in.

“Eddie, start two lines, wide open,” you instruct. “Hen, get him in the C-collar.”

You dig in the medi bag for a tourniquet. As you apply it, you try to drown out the sound of Buck crying out in pain.

“How are we doing?” Bobby asks as you stand.

“We’re out of time,” you mumble. “We need to get him out and to the nearest trauma center.”

Any extra body moves to the truck, waiting for the count to lift it. You place yourself in front of Buck, taking both of his hands.

“We’re gonna get you out,” you promise.

He nods slightly.

“Okay, my count,” you say as you move your hands to underneath his arms. “1… 2… 3!”

As everyone begins to push, you start pulling on Buck. He isn’t budging.

“It’s too heavy,” Bobby says.

“We got anything on the truck we can use for leverage?” Eddie suggests.

“No, we need more people,” Chim says, picking up his radio. “Dispatch, this is 118…”

There’s some clattering from across the way. Bystanders are pushing through the barricades to help. This time, you’re able to get him out.

You get him on the backboard, then onto the gurney. The whole time, you’re telling him that he did a good job and that he’ll be okay. As you’re running with him to the ambulance, he mumbles something. Once you’re settled into the rig, you ask him to repeat himself.

“You’re my family, too,” he mutters.

You wait in the waiting room the whole time Buck is in surgery. When he makes it out of recovery and to the ICU room, you don’t leave his side. You’re sure visiting hours are over, but you stay out of the nurse’s way. She doesn’t say anything; she just gives you a sympathetic look every once in a while.

You hear him stir a little bit. You look up from your phone to see Buck blinking awake.

“Welcome back,” you smile.

“You’re here,” he says, voice rough.

“Where else would I be?”

Buck looks around the room, slowly orienting himself. His eyes eventually land on his leg, which is in a cast and suspended in a sling. His eyes widen, and he lets out a few breaths as he tries to sit up.

“Okay, okay,” you set a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Is it?” Buck asks. “Did you talk to the doctor? Did he say anything about how the surgery went?”

“Just that you made it through,” you say softly. “And you're now the proud owner of one titanium rod and four beautifully cobalt-chromed screws.”

“Before they wheeled me in, he, uh… he said he didn't know how it was gonna go.”

You take his hand gently. “You’ll walk again, Buck.”

“Yeah, h-he said… he said he was pretty confident about that. He, uh, he just... he didn't know if I would ever… work again.”

You run a hand over your face. “Okay, I'm not gonna lie to you and tell you everything will work out how you want it to. But what I will say is that we should take this moment to be glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m really sorry about our fight,” Buck apologizes.

You laugh. “Buck, that is… so far from being important right now.”

“No, it isn’t,” he insists. “It wasn’t fair, how I reacted. I’m proud of you. I was just… scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Losing you,” he admits quietly.

“Yeah, well, I was pretty scared of that today, so we’re definitely even,” you joke. Your smile softens and you squeeze his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You move your hand to his forehead. You trail it down to his cheek, letting it rest for a moment. You turn your body to face him better. His eyes are closed, which you’re grateful for because if he were looking at you, you wouldn’t have the guts to do what you want to do.

You kiss him. It’s hesitant at first, and when he doesn’t react right away, you start to pull back. Before you can, Buck has his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in closer. Your hand moves from his cheek down his neck and eventually rests on his chest. You only pull away when your lungs are burning from lack of air.

Buck traces his thumb over your lips. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You blush, laugh, and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

 Ch 7

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

How murderous is Karkat and Eridan?

Eridan: "killin is all i evver done practically the ocean wwas my killing cauldron"

Karkat: loves his friends so much that it hurts

They're both really blasé about killing things like imps or game enemies, and neither of them WANT to hurt their friends. Eridan's just more used to it because it was his whole job, and he's a lot better at fighting than Karkat is.

Vriska at one point says to John that her bodycount is probably "many thousands," so we can probably use that as a reference and assume Eridan's in that same bracket, because he and Vriska have a lot of parallels. In fact, I'd go so far as to call Vriska and Eridan a literary device called "parallel characters" - by listening to Vriska tell John about her feelings about her bodycount and of her place in society, we get to learn about how Eridan's feeling, too.

If we set the bar at 3000 (the low end of "many thousands") and Vriska and Eridan are both the equivalent of 13 years old, or a little less than 700 weeks, that meant he and Vriska were averaging out to multiple kills a week (and given they probably didn't start when they were newhatches and 3000 is a low estimate, like... it was probably an insane number like 5-7 kills/week). But never anyone they "cared about," in Vriska's words, until the Team Charge debacle, or Eridan went berserk on Feferi and Sollux (we should also keep in mind that Eridan outright says to Kanaya that he doesn't want to kill people he considers his friends).

But Eridan is significantly less emotionally intelligent than Vriska (a fucking feat), has less of a support system, and has a lot of Duty and Responsibility and Fate of the Species on his shoulders, so he copes a lot worse (again, a fucking feat). For Eridan, it's less about "being murderous," and more about "society demands that I be murderous" + "if I am not murderous, everybody dies" + "when I grow up, murder is my only viable career path".

He's ANXIOUS AS FUCK at his core. Via their parallel character status, we know from Vriska that they're both actually really nervous about growing up and taking their place in a society that demands bloodshed from them. When Eridan obsesses over genocide, it's a byproduct of Literally Being The Guy That Is Preventing Genocide (to the point of not really having other hobbies). We also know that he feels guilt towards his victims (or at least more than Feferi), which we know from Vriska is societally unacceptible. And if it's unacceptible for her to feel bad, then imagine how much less okay it is for the sea dweller.

So I wouldn't necessarily call Eridan murderous - like with most things regarding Eridan, it's more complicated than that - but I would call him "on a hair trigger", "conditioned to reach towards murder as an early solution," and "obsessively/anxiously trying to live up to how murderous society demands he be," all while not at all wanting to kill people he cares about. I think it's really important to note that, even though the higher the blood the more volatile the troll, and despite being unauspiced and unmoirailled, and without relying on sopor, Eridan did not start shooting to kill until Sollux and Feferi escalated the situation.

And before anyone mentions that Feferi's in the same boat, she spends practically the whole time with Sollux, who is foreshadowed to be her moirail.

Like, the tragedy of Eridan's character is that he's lonely and terrified, but does such a good job at putting up an obnoxious front that even a lot of the audience became convinced that he basically sucked and his problems didn't matter. His dumbass plan to go to Jack was a genuine attempt to save Feferi, the person he cared most about.

If you go back and look at that conversation, Eridan's casual casteist threats aren't genuine (see my pinned Eridan essay for details) - and SOLLUX is the one who says "I should have killed you when I had the chance". And Eridan DOESN'T KILL SOLLUX, because this whole time, Eridan has not wanted to kill his friends. It's not until Feferi - the person he cares most about, the one whom he concocted that suicidal mission in order to save - turns on him in agreement that Sollux should've killed him - that makes Eridan finally lose it.

Meanwhile, Karkat just loves his friends. He loves them so fucking much. I think this is pretty well-documented about him? He's got no qualms about murdering game constructs like imps and the black king, but he feels deeply fucking hurt and betrayed by Bec Noir since he bonded with Jack/Spades Slick. I don't think Karkat ever makes a genuine death threat against anybody but past!Eridan, but he and Eridan are heavily foreshadowed to be moirails, and that conversation has a hilarious bit in the middle where Karkat seemingly forgets that he's mad at the guy and just starts telling him he's a dumbass. Later on, he expresses missing his dead friends, including/especially the assholes, in the same segment as the meteor runs into dead Feferi and Eridan, so I think that that was more an angry outburst than a genuine desire to see Eridan dead.

In fact, even though he's basically shown nothing but scorn for Gamzee and Gamzee's religious beliefs and clown-ness, and even after Gamzee murders two people and seems to be trying to murder them all, Karkat can't bring himself to kill or even fight the guy, just shooshpap him down, later ranting that Gamzee was a lovable bullshit clown that he liked a lot, and (one of) his best friend(s).

So they're both in this boat of not wanting to kill their friends, but feeling societally pressured into grandstanding that they're TOTALLY murderous assholes just trust me - but Eridan was in a position where he was forced to do it at the detriment of any other hobbies, or else everybody died, and is also one of the best fighters on the team, if not THE best. Thus, the fact that it's a viable option is not only near the forefront of his mind at all times, but he has the skills to resort to it. I guess technically, that does make him more murderous, but it's also, like... any normal person in his situation would wind up the same way, honestly.

[hadesoftheladies]

too many people view (uncritically, esp when it comes to feminism) separatism as this isolating, individualistic thing where people who don't want to participate just pack their bags and move to a far off country. that isn't what it is at all.

separatism is about re-centering the individuals of a certain community so as to strengthen the community. so that a community focuses its energy and resources on itself rather than on outsiders. it is, quite literally, about building and expanding community. it's not merely about escaping men or banning men, it is about relying on women, building a community of women, centering women, making it so that women are not dependent on men because women got them. you see how that's qualitatively different right?

like it's not so much about cutting off your father or brothers, but about spending deliberately more time fortifying your relationships with other women in your life. whether helping them out financially, donating books, giving advice, buying their stuff, giving energy.

when it comes to revolution of any kind, they die quickly without a strong sense and presence of community.

one of the biggest wrenches patriarchy has thrown into women's liberation is poisoning female community. consciousness-raising is difficult because every new generation of women is cut off from the one preceding it. younger girls are taught to resent women and view women with suspicion. they are male-centric in that they believe males will protect, love, provide for and cherish them only to have a rude awakening sooner or later.

bridging that disconnect is going to take practicing varying degrees of separatism. for sharing of knowledge between women and girls is hampered by male presence. you've all seen this happen. when a man or boy enters the picture, conversation between women is crippled. we start censoring ourselves.

censorship is a huge issue feminists face at every turn, and it's worse because we experience this censorship not just via government or public forums where men are in charge, but in our interpersonal relationships. and not just in our interpersonal relationships, but by our own selves. only female community brings out the honesty in us and gives us the courage to speak out and think freely. we all know this.

separatism is not only imperative to women's health, it is imperative to consciousness raising. it's not about living in a male free utopia but about centering women in all things so that women's community is strengthened and prepared to take on their oppressors and patriarchal society (and so that it survives retaliations). girls don't need to be totally isolated from males. they need to have predominantly female (not feminine) influence in their lives. they need to be in a place where they do not depend on males or cater to them. they need to be female-centric. learning female-philosophy and perpetuating authentic female culture.

that's separatism.

and the good news is that feminists are not the first oppressed group to employ separatism. black liberation movements employ this as well and are strengthened when they do. it's how they won some of their most vicious battles. lgb communities also utilize(d) separatism and it strengthened their communities. they had to de-center the narratives of their oppressors and rely on each other instead of begging their oppressors for scraps. they won because they gave themselves to each other as a community.

separatism works. over and over again. liberation takes time, but it has always needed separatism.

i just keep thinking about how communities can disrupt and change society, y'know? like how even in the throes of capitalistic/imperialist/white supremacist greed, small communities find a way to take care of each other financially and physically. culture predates economy, even while economy can beget culture or poison it. i love how small communities can just say "fuck you" to the presiding ruler and create within themselves micro-economies to keep each other alive. economy is just, after all, a social agreement/condition.

women are the ones who will liberate women. keep investing in that and it'll pay off.

[tirfpikachu]

Oh we're doing radbrl hot takes? Gladly. I've been lurking on here for 5 years and I've things to say.

Sex dysphoria can be innate. It's rare and the ROGD is bullshit, but sex dysphoria is as real as other mental illnesses. We have Body Integrity Identity Disorder cases to prove that.

It's good to share more awareness to possible consequences and realistic outcomes of GRS + to the fact that it is a dangerous, experimental surgery that may not provide relief. But if you're arguing for banning it altogether you're insane. People have the right to bodily autonomy 100% of the time which includes the right to do dangerous and dumb shit to themselves. If you advocate for banning trans surgeries might as well sign your rights to tubal ligations away because they rely on the same fucking principle.

While we're on that topic you people treat detrans people like shit 90% of the time and only pretend to be normal about them to win detrans people over. Pick one. Also you refer to detrans peoples' surgeries with whichever term the person discussed uses. If they say it's mutilation, it's mutilation. If they say it helped, then it helped. Idgaf.

If I see one more radbrl account fakeclaiming autism (+ others) when it's a well-known factor women are underdiagnosed with it in ASTRONOMICAL NUMBERS I'm going to fucking snap. "But autistic men"- autistic men aren't on tumbrl or tiktok they're on Reddit. Next.

R-word usage. Spesks for itself.

Personality disordes (BPD, NPD, whatever) aren't "just hysteria". In a way that I believe they are because they're poorly named, understudied, disregarded and weaponised by psych industry. These diagnosed have been turned into a target on women's back it's true. And they're almost entirely truama-based. However people with these diagnosed do experience a specific set of issues and symptoms that can't be showed into CPTSD alone. Nuance. We're finally approaching the moment where we can give a name to (usually female-specific) responses to the extreme trauma caused by psychiatry and y'all aren't helping by saying it's fake.

Radbrl is rampatly pro-psych when you'd think they'd be against it and examined women's history with it. Any reasonable radical feminist should be at least psych-critical, end of.

Not done yet! 8) Q+ movement has completely screwed over actual asexual people in every way possible. But actual asexuality (what q+ would define as "aroace") is natural and normal. It's a way for nature to regulate population just like gay and bi sexualities are. Radbrl is both arguing that asexuality is inherently trauma based is just wrong and also borrowing conversion therapy rhetorics lol. 9) You can criticise annoying "ace" people all you want and they are partially responsible for LGB struggles right now but at the end of the day they're just teens on the Internet you're attacking for being traumatised and also even if it is trauma... So then what? They're obligated to recover from that now? How come? Towards which purpose? How would you personally benefit from their healing and that they have sex now? Most likely with men while being women? That what you want? Trauma recovery can be re-traumatising yk. Why'd you wish that on anyone. 10) Women abroad (especially woc) don't have radical feminsm (except maybe 4b which is more based on our rhetorics), they have normal feminism that hasn't been divided into lib and rad because rad is closer to the general feminism that the circus that libfem is. But you still use them as pawns lol. 11) Huge ableism problem, huge racism problem, huge intersexism problem as well. Not intersex so won't speak on that but oh god you're no better than TRAs sometimes. 12) American centrism despite claiming otherwise. 13) Radbrl is Not Immune to Russian Propaganda and can't understand ethnic dynamics in europe en-masse (ref to that one Ukraine poll where a russian radfem was more self-aware than everyone else. Embarrassing eh?) 14) The banwaves took most of the good ones and many TEHM voices that were important for us so now Radbrl is a pathetic shadow of what it used to be debate-wise and takes-wise. Most of discourse now is just regurgitating the same arguments. I haven't read something eye-opening or refreshing in a long while which is why I left. This isn't everything yet but I think others have already said other things I wanted to mention. Maybe I'll pop in later with part3

[kylo-wrecked]

Name: Ben.

Nickname(s): Occasionally, a friend, a foe, or a love interest will call him Benji or Benny. Obviously, all Bens are united in their hatred of this.

Relationship Status: Verse dependent. Modern!Ben's articulated the words 'I love you' to but one other.

Gender: Cis male.

Romantic Orientation: Exploring or unsure.

Preferred Pet Names: Music!Ben will call you 'baby' if he hates you.

Opinion on True Love: All Bens believe true love exists... but maybe not for hims.

Opinion on Love at First Sight: Music!Ben thinks he's fallen in love at first sight many, many times. Modern!Ben is somehow more suspicious. Ex!Con Ben has never looked another person in the eye (Jk, he's not a believer) and Smuggler!Ben...

How ‘Romantic’ Are They?: He's unpracticed, not unromantic.

Edited for E.: Music!Ben can charm the pants off anyone but I still don’t think that makes him a ‘romantic.’

Ideal Physical Traits: This one is tricky because mun struggles to understand what makes one physical trait more desirable than another :') but we shall try.

Based on copious evidence, mun believes Bens generally prefer longer hair for [women/femmes], short to medium curls for [men/mascs], notable thighs (strong, long, or thick), or other limbs and extremities (Smuggler!Ben). Striking eyes, chest hair for [men/mascs], a nice smile, a brazen or unique laugh (for Music!Ben especially, laughter is physical). Scars and other proof of life.

Because he's 6'4", he prefers his partners tall, but because he's 6'4", he invariably accepts smol.

Ideal Personality Traits: If he likes you, be yourself. All of yourself, preferably, because he's greedy.

All Bens find humility attractive in a person. Music!Ben covets meanness and whatever he interprets as power today. Let's not think about tomorrow.

Unattractive Physical Traits: We're struggling again, and that's okay.

Redubbing this part 'least desired observable characteristics.'

Shaved or bleached brows, dreads on heads where they don't belong, notable cosmetic alterations (Music!Ben specific), literal body language (Smuggler!Ben specific), worm physique (Smuggler!Ben specific), problem skin.

Unfortunately, Music!Ben can veer on fat-phobic (he's certainly weight-conscious himself) and Modern!Ben thinks women should shave their legs for him or something ridiculous like that. Not that he'd ever say it. (Dirty fingernails are fine by him, though. The more, the merrier.)

Unattractive Personality Traits: ☝️ Do not lie to him.

Ideal Date: bullets? Bullets.

Modern!Ben: movie/museum and dinner, in that order, because post-movie/museum-going conversations reveal much about a person.

Music!Ben: goes from 1 to 111. He's not dating you; he met you someplace awful and will never leave you alone again. Hint: He's never the dumper, always the dumped.

Ex-Con!Ben: Somewhere quiet, outdoors, away from the public eye. Said date must make it clear to Ben that he's on a date, or else he'll be utterly lost.

Smuggler!Ben: kidnapped Poe Dameron once—and it was awesome.

Do They Have a Type?: Bens are often attracted to sensitive, mysterious persons... or people who 'yell' at hims (Music!Ben, Smuggler!Ben).

Average Relationship Length: Six inches. One to two years.

Preferred Non-Sexual Intimacy: Smush-

Commitment Level: Fluctuates. Bens are serious about those they care for, but.

Ah, the various buts.

Opinion of Public Affection:

Modern!Ben: Outlook good/You may rely on it.

Music!Ben: Don't count on it/My sources say no.

Ex-Con!Ben: ???/Ask again later.

Smuggler!Ben: *loudly in the cantina* —we're NOT married?!

Past Relationships?:

Modern!Ben: Has entered two serious relationships. The first was young and short-lived. The second ended in California. She cheated on him, and he has never recovered.

Music!Ben: Sadly. And before then, a fling with Rey, which he fucked up beautifully. And before, after, and somewhere in between, a thing with Armitage (verse dependent). It wasn't a romance, but it was certainly something.

Ex-Con!Ben: Nope.

Smuggler!Ben: Verse dependent but primarily occupied with and committed to Not Dying Between Now and Centaxday.

tagged by:// @godresembled <3 thank you, fren, for the much-needed distraction during my moving frenzy.

tagging:// anymun who hasn't already done this meme and wants to share~

singling out, @valkxrie, @debelltio, @itmeanspeace, @themckaytriarchy, @ofthestcrs (muse of choice), @certifiably-i (muse of choice), @ifyoucatchacriminal (muse of choice). @etoilebleu (muse of choice eris).

[fqiryspit]

hii gorgeous, i hope your doing well! congratulations!! 💕 i love your work 🙌🏽 its my first time asking 🫶🏼 can i request angst 15 and 48?

ahhhhh thank you so much for requesting!! I really really love this one and I hope you do to!! <33 mwah! 💞

15 and 48 = “no, I won’t calm down.” "don't say that!" |fqiryspits 3k event|

abusive!eren x fem!reader

cw: ABUSE!!, emotional manipulation, hitting, scratching, jean is a saint, confusion and almost hallucinatory type things

as you slip into the closing door of your apartment and flick the yellow lights on, your raw ears flinch at the sound of keys slamming against the table

you knew he was mad. you should've just stayed by him all night.

I mean- that's what you usually do at these mediocre parties. bass in your throat while trying to find eren in the changing light to make sure he wouldn't end up in a room with another girl...again.

"you think you're fucking funny?" he mumbles, back still towards you as you come to from your thoughts

"eren. I'm sorry" you whisper, head hanging down as he turns to you, squishing your cheeks together and forcing them back up with him

"tell me, did you fuck him?"

"no!" you slur, mouth detained as you rely on your tongue. he isn't satisfied, with how his nails dig into your plump cheeks, you know he isn't getting over this with just questions.

it was late into the party, eren was slowly slipping from your grip, and you wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep.

"bored?" a voice punctured your ear-drum, yelling over the music.

you turn and saw jean, one of erens many friends as he sips on god knows what.

"I'm fine." you answer simply, eren always warned you about jean and his antics so you're custom to shutting down any conversation right at the start

"don't play that eren shit with me." you froze, what...does he mean? did eren tell him that he told you to stay away?

"I don't know what you're talking about" you almost whispered but he somehow caught it

"yes, you do." he turns to lean against the wall you're on to keep watch of eren while you stare at the floor

"okay...then what happened?" you blink, now finding yourself in erens arms. still standing in the kitchen as you subconsciously dig your nose into erens shirt a little more

"w-we went outside..."

"eren...what does he...do to you?" jean says simply, watching the pool as the water's movements reflect on his pale face

"what do you mean?" you feel your brows contort, he takes another sip of his drink before looking over at you

"does he hurt you?"

"fuck, why would he say that?" eren curses, brushing your hair softer as he shakes his head

"I would never- hurt you? why would he say that?" he almost babbles to himself, grabbing your cheeks again, gentler this time as he swipes over the fingernail marks

"I would never, ever hurt you, baby. it's just sometimes you get into trouble" his voice faded and features dimmed as you heard crickets and muffled screams and music, a blue light swirling on your face as you find yourself back to the pool, and jean awaiting your answer

you didn't even notice the tears in your eyes, tucking your bottom lip in as you try and compose yourself

"he would never wanna hurt me"

"but does he?" he says simply like this is a normal conversation, eyes boring into yours, not moving away for a second

"no. he doesn't"

"what did you say?" a soothing voice tosses you back, you look into his eyes as he is still cupping your face.

you haven't answered him yet.

"what did you say, baby?" he seems...almost...worried with your awaiting answer. he wouldn't be if he actually didn't hurt you...

"what?"

"he wouldn't be if he actually didn't hurt you" jean repeats, sipping on his drink as he sits back on the pool chair

"you're being manipulated and toyed with, y/n. erens is an ass and you need to get out"

get...out? why would I need to get out? I can leave him anytime, there's just no reason.

"there is a reason and you need to- get out" you cup your head, it aches, mostly with confusion, you're not sure what's happening and if you're saying all this out loud again

"fucking answer me!" he slams you into the door again, you cup your head to soften the blow and he stops

"I'm sorry I'm sorry are you okay?" he rushes to your aid, going to your head to check if it's alright

"you...hurt me" you whisper, erens...hurting you.

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to!" he cries, hot tears running down his face as he sobs into your shoulder

"you hurt me eren"

"don't say that!" he wails out, you feel yourself backing away from him as you feel yourself about to burst with so much hate for the man in front of you

"baby? wha-what are you doing?" he calls out, eyes flashing to the doorknob as he reaches for it, making sure you won't leave him just yet

"you're horrible eren, jean is right- and- and, I need to get out-" you yell, eyes blurring with tears

"please baby- you- you need to calm down!" he sobs

"don't tell me to calm down" you whisper, feeling like an idiot for ignoring your friends and putting up with him for so long

"fuck you, eren" you turn, he reaches for you and you take the open door knob and run.

"I'm such an idiot..." you bury your head in your hands

"no, you've just been lied to over and over" jean pipes, as you stare into the swirling pool you make your way back to jean

"thank you"

an: happy birthday eren! hehe, I hope you liked this! I really like doing that style of back-and-forth but I hope it wasn't confusing lmao!! again, thank you so so much for requesting! mwah! 💞

[warsamongthestars]

There's a whole heaping lot of nonsense in TBB, honestly, and its not even the good shit.

I mean, there's bits, but a bit ain't a scene or an episode, yeah?

TBBshow seems to run on the idea of that character interaction, conversation, quirks or just breathers, are all filler--that anything that isn't immediately serving the (immediate) plot is pointless.

And I'm gonna tell ya--that's a bit like serving pie without the filling. That's like serving bread crust because the soft light bits were "filler". That is like creating the aroma of frying eggs or onions--and then just serving a cup of the resulting grease instead.

Like, congrats, you know how to mid-max speed run 100%... in the wrong fucking medium.

If you're wondering by now, what I mean by heaping nonsense--its literally the Plot Pushy Bullshit. Congratulations, doing things that only forward the maiden plot, makes your story stupid. If I want something that is simply pure plot, I would pick up a Pre-Schooler's Naptime book.

There's a reason the strongest episodes in TBB are those that center around its main characters (That aren't Omega)--the Single Crosshair and Single Tech episodes, are the strongest episodes and stories, on show, because they rely on the development of their already strongly written characters.

When you sacrifice Character for Plot, you have effectively boiled something down to being a blank pawn on the board.

Too many fall under the idea that everything that isn't immediately action oriented plot, must be Filler, and I gotta tell ya pal, if you don't have the patience to reach the story at it strengths--the problem isn't the story, its PEBCAK.

( Part of it is the environment we've all been in. High pace information environments have this bad habit of destroying natural animal patience. Which means actually sitting yourself down, and learning how to watch paint dry is probably the best cure for it. )

Any writer can do character. In fact, for example, most fanfics are nothing but character driven.

The strongest shows out here, are all character driven.

... Star Wars OG, while it started with being driven by plot stocks, became character driven by the end.

Most of the Prequel Series is character driven (if too dialogue heavy... )

The whole TCWshow is character Driven, in fact, it turned the Clones from CGI Carboard cutout redshirts into a full blown implied culture of people.

( In fact, TCWshow is So character driven, they had to plot out why these characters would have to fail come Revenge of the Sith, because at the rate they were going, they were about to hit critical AU and solve Star Wars before the OG trilogy could )

So "Logically Following Plot" is just as bad as characters "Following Logical Actions at All Times". I cringed every time I saw TBB try to "logic" its plot out every episode (which honestly makes me think that AI was involved as some point, because it was almost dream-like how it tried to march to... a conclusion. Certainly none of the ones we got, but some imaginary conclusion. )

( It air and write during the Writer's Strikes, and a lot of Disney stuff was AI written as a result. Lookin' at you, Wish. )

ADDENDUM:

Folks keep saying "If they only had more time". DUDES. OVER THE GARDEN WALL, BY CARTOON NETWORK, WAS ONLY 10 EPISODES, MADE (Written, Voiced, Animated, All of it) IN UNDER A YEAR, WITH CHARACTER, SYMBOLISM, SECRETS AND AN ALL STAR CAST. I am tired of hearing about "Oh they needed more time". That's an excuse at this point. No they didn't, they need actual Talent and Skill and a Love for the Process.

[luckyshouse]

i agree with you, i do not think fetish content of hypothetical incest/pedo/et cetera should be on this website nor easily accessible anywhere, and the insistence that its hypothetical doesnt change anything. the “doesnt affect you if its behind closed doors” is true as you say, and its really annoying seeing so many people say this when they are waving their shit around in public. i survived trafficking for ~8 ish years as a child and have to rely on methods such as those scenarios in order to derive any pleasure, and i am well aware of the weight of it, and do not make any jumps to justify it, and i wish others had the same gravity regarding it. i would fucking love if i could do anything else, but alas, it is the only way i know until i can begin to outwork it. i do not think i am a bad person/ i do not hold shame over it, because it is an extremely private situation that i would never allow for 1. any children to be exposed to and 2. any possible pedophiles to get their rocks off to scenarios regaridng it. that second one is something i dont think a lot of people think of, that sure, you can form a community surrounding this, but you are going to attract predators, share circles with them, and it will be your fault. keep it private conversations if you must get off this way!! it is an understandable response for many situations, considering how common these traumas (of different severities) are, but to display it like people recently have been really really scares me.

i entirely agree with all of this, and understand your POV entirely. i also don't think that second one is one many people think of, but it's the reality of this whole conversation and it's also why its such a frustrating conversation to have, because it really is like. the people creating these content who are saying theyre doing it to cope or explore themselves arent dealing with the reality that there are likely now predators getting off to very vulnerable and very personal depictions of intense life ruining deeply personal trauma. its just so crazy because i feel like we've been ahving this exact conversation for years on repeat and now im finally up at the podium as the adult this time instead of one of the millions of children in the audience, and i guess i thought at this point we would all generally understand that these are bad things to do both for your own health and others. but i guess not, and i agree, it really really scares me with how bad its gotten. its one of the most repuslive things to see as a survivor is all of my peers turning around and deciding that the hottest thing in the world is imagining a scenario where every child in my position actually LIKED what happened to them. its so weird. its like they can't even let shit lie. its not enough that theyre jerking off to child porn, its that they need to show it off, to get approval from other kinksters and sex positive people, they need the hypothetical child to "enjoy" it. its just so fucking weird. and the worst part about it is i want to say "i dont know how we got here" but i do. i do know how we got here. because everyone my age has been forcefully exposed to extreme sexual content and grooming the moment we got on the internet and no one wants to talk about its contribution to real life.

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

Until I get motivation to do the Husk list, I wanna make some Radiostatic, because it's my favorite ship, and I adore silly bi TV guy and his hot wife

So, first of all, if any of these questions are insensitive/making you uncomfortable/you just don't wanna answer them for privacy reasons, I won't force em outta you. This is a how much you know about your lover/how your relationship doing/take this quirky quizz/thing... I guess, so let's begin!

1. The earliest memory you have with each other. How did you two meet and what made the other just stick out from the rest and want to aproach/keep talking to the them?

2. What did first catch you eye when you met the other? It can be a physical trait or the way they speak, the way they move around, anything really.

3. What's a trait you disliked/still dislike a about the other and what did you do about it? Talked? Yelled? Held it in?

4. What's the sweetest thing the other has done for you? What about the cutest? And the most romantic one?

5. If you could change one singular thing about the other, what would you change?

6. What was the biggest argument and how did you overcome it?

7. How do you make the other flustered, if you ever did? What do you think they appreciate the most about you?

8. Do you know your lover's love language and if so, how do you usually show affection to the other?

9. What's your best, most memorable moment with your partener? The one that always brings a smile on your face when you think about?

10. What's your favorite gift from the other and where do you keep it?

11. How do you handle disagreements?

12. Who would you say is the most jealous? The most possessive?

13. What thing do you find oddly attractive about the other?

14. Would you say you know your lover's past? How their life was on earth and what they've been thru basically?

15. Okay, i have to know, because there are so many hcs: Alastor, did you actually keep Vox's old TV head or not?

—bird anon

"Really? Must we?"

"Oh, come on, Al, it could be fun! At the very least, it's a chance to talk about ourselves!"

1. The earliest memory you have with each other. How did you two meet and what made the other just stick out from the rest and want to aproach/keep talking to the them?

"He was sitting at the bar alone and was hot as fuck! Couldn't believe there wasn't a line of people waiting to hit on him, so of course, I had to take advantage of that."

"That's because most people knew better. But I found his ignorance amusing, so I decided to humor him. And then he started trying to impress me with facts about his favorite serial killer, which was just adorable!"

"Ugh, shut up."

2. What did first catch you eye when you met the other? It can be a physical trait or the way they speak, the way they move around, anything really.

"How bold he was. And of course, his rather unique head."

"I mean, I already said - he's hot as fuck."

3. What's a trait you disliked/still dislike a about the other and what did you do about it? Talked? Yelled? Held it in?

"He's a stubborn asshole who will never admit to being at fault in anything. If you don't agree with him, you're wrong, and he will be quick to point it out to you. Oh, and heaven forbid, he rely on anyone else!"

"I do believe they said a singular trait, dear."

"Well, it's hard to pick. And no, I didn't talk to him about it, because I knew how that conversation would go. At least, not before our falling out."

"I'll narrow it down to one, as difficult as it is. His method of continually putting out quick, cheap, and sloppy entertainment, just for an easy cash grab, instead of putting in the work to make something quality. Something that I have told him multiple times."

"So many times. Going back to, I do something different from you, so I'm automatically wrong, so you have to be an asshole about it."

4. What's the sweetest thing the other has done for you? What about the cutest? And the most romantic one?

"Oh, his proposal was undoubtably the sweetest, most romantic thing he has ever done for me. It was perfect."

"Yeah? Glad to hear it. And Al took me to an aquarium for our first date, which I know he had absolutely no interest in, but he barely complained. It was... really sweet."

5. If you could change one singular thing about the other, what would you change?

"The fact that he's constantly working."

"I know, I know. His disdain for everything I do."

"You can change that yourself by doing better."

"Fuck you."

6. What was the biggest argument and how did you overcome it?

"Really? How about the one that led to us trying to kill each other for years?"

"Also known as Vox's inability to handle rejection."

"Fuck, we've been over this! There was more to it than that! I'd just had enough of Alastor being an asshole, so I lost my temper and tried to do something really stupid. But we were locked in a room to talk it all out, and I've apologized."

"And his actions showed that he truly was sorry, so I forgave him."

7. How do you make the other flustered, if you ever did? What do you think they appreciate the most about you?

"Oh, he's quite easy to fluster. All I have to do is compliment him, or touch him just right. And I'd say he appreciates my talent as an entertainer and my sense of humor!"

"It's funny, the best ways to fluster him are either showing my more sadistic side or showing just how submissive I can be. And I know what he most appreciates about me - that I'm obsessed with him."

8. Do you know your lover's love language and if so, how do you usually show affection to the other?

"His is acts of service. And I mean, I killed a good number of my staff for him - I think that counts. I do tend to default to giving gifts, though; just cause I want to spoil him."

"His is physical touch, which I allow him to indulge in. And I'll reward him with it when I feel he deserves it. Otherwise, I show it by doing things together."

9. What's your best, most memorable moment with your partener? The one that always brings a smile on your face when you think about?

"Again, I must answer with his proposal. It was really quite thoughtful."

"After all the shit with Val, he was just... really attentive and sweet. That was the night he told me he loved me."

10. What's your favorite gift from the other and where do you keep it?

"A small radio that I keep on my desk."

"A record that he made for me quite a few years ago that I keep in my collection."

11. How do you handle disagreements?

"They either blow over or lead to a fight."

"Usually the latter."

12. Who would you say is the most jealous? The most possessive?

"If anyone looks at Al the wrong way, I will fry them."

"And Vox is mine. I will send that message loud and clear."

13. What thing do you find oddly attractive about the other?

"I don't know how to answer that."

"Definitely his bloodlust."

14. Would you say you know your lover's past? How their life was on earth and what they've been thru basically?

"Oh yeah, definitely!"

"You would, being a stalker and all. I know what he's told me, which is a fair amount, but I'm sure isn't everything."

15. Okay, i have to know, because there are so many hcs: Alastor, did you actually keep Vox's old TV head or not?

"No, I did not."

"Yeah, that was recycled for parts."

[mimiso-soup]

Because the song was released today, I need to talk about one of my favourite Vocaloid duet ever. If my friends don't associate me with this song, then I'm clearly doing something wrong. /hj

The song? 'Ice breaker' by NejishikiP featuring Yuzuki Yukari & IA, which is now 5 years old!!

Gonna be rambling a lot, so more under the cut! It's going to mostly be about my feelings towards the song itself and my personal interpretation of its meaning! It's stupidly long because there's just so many things I love about this song so sorry in advance dfgfnhfg

Firstly, my feelings towards 'Ice breaker' overall!

While this wasn't my first Nejishiki song I listened to, after finding his channel, I quickly became invested in Nejishiki's music for a number of 5 things:

Nejishiki mainly uses Yuzuki Yukari, one of my favourite Vocal Synths of all time.

He also uses IA, another Vocal Synth I love.

His songs are mainly composed on the jazzier side, specifically jazz fusion and electro swing. I heavily lean towards jazz music, which, combined with Yukari, is meant for jazz music, this means automatic interest for me.

When it comes to duets, he often uses YukaIA. I am a huge YukaIA shipper.

One of his main themes in his music is yuri. And I fucking love yuri.

And before anyone tries to prove me wrong about Nejishiki shipping YukaIA, I need you all to know that this is in the description in English.

I'm not musically talented to really talk about the musical aspects of the song. But just listening to it, there's something that just sounds like "desire", which I feel fits the song well.

Secondly, my personal interpretation of the song.

I don't know any Japanese and I have to heavily rely on translations (the ones on Youtube and the one on the Wiki are somewhat different, but I'll be referencing to both). I also tend to miss notable details in the MV (which is a shame because I really enjoy Danjou Sora's MVs), so there might be a lot of things that I could be missing about the song's meaning. (As I'm writing this, I'm going back and forth between typing and watching the MV.)

How I see this song, I always knew that YukaIA love each other here. But it's not exactly what's considered a "typical" romantic relationship. From they are portrayed in the song, they seem to have a "friends with benefits" type of relationship where they only see each other for. Specific reasons. But with the lyrics, it feels like that they want more than that. They want to actually be together and date without just being together for sex.

The title seems to add to that. An 'ice breaker' is often referred to a thing where people do activities (play games, starting a conversation, etc) so it can "break the tension" between people. It is also a drink. In the song, it seems to refer to the drink with the Wiki translated line of 'Your tears fall into the glass and become a bittersweet cocktail of sorrow' but I think it refers to both. It feels that YukaIA haven't exactly "broken the ice" between them and with the lines 'when will we see each other again? weeping and crying', they only see each other for one purpose.

One of my favourite details in the MV is the line 'mousou wa kumo no ito' at 1:24 and 3:34, which roughly translates to 'delusion is a spiderweb'. In those moments, a thin thread snaps as if to say "the thin thread holding onto reality is broken easily".

I'm not the best as these kinds of things, so I could be wrong about these things. If anyone has any interpretations about the song, please let me know!

Overall, please, please, please listen to the original! It just recently reached a million views last year (and last year, I listened to this song at least 100 times a day to help get it there /hj), it's criminally underated. There are so many human covers that are more popular than it, and while human vocals aren't bad (I listen to utaites as much as I listen to Vocal Synth music on a daily basis!) It's the kind of song where there will be hundreds of covers, but the original itself isn't popular. And as someone who cherishes the original, it's quite saddening. So please, listen to this song as many times possible today!

Sorry, this is such a messy rambling that I wish was more organized and more well written. I have so many feelings for this song and I'm not the best with these kinds of things. (maybe I'll clean this up in the future fdgfndbg)

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 26

Today's theme is Mask.

And, inspired by a recent conversation I had with some friends about Wally, I thought I'd do this about Wally.

===========================================

People tended to overlook Wally. He was just the janitor, after all. Not really anyone worth paying attention to. They hardly noticed him coming into their offices to empty the trash or him sweeping in the background while they held meetings. When he wasn't talking, he was invisible to his coworkers, practically a ghost.

And that was exactly how Wally liked it.

See, it was safer to be overlooked, especially in a place like Joey Drew Studios. When shit got spooky and scary, you wanted to be the least threatening person in the room. So, Wally played the fool and put on the mask of the loud and clumsy janitor who was always losing his keys. And his coworkers started to think they knew what to expect from him. They slotted him into a box in their minds and forgot about him. They never seemed to realize just how much he saw and heard.

After all, no one pays attention to the janitor unless he fucks up.

However, there was one person who saw behind Wally's mask.

And that was Norman Polk.

Because, like Wally, very few people paid attention to Norman, which allowed him to see and hear quite a lot. Where Wally relied on people's expectations, Norman relied on just not being seen at all. Even Wally failed to notice him at times. And it was through that ability to go unnoticed that Norman realized just how many important events Wally had witnessed.

"You're a lot smarter than anyone gives you credit for," Norman remarked one day when Wally had come up to the projection booth to empty his trashcan.

Wally fumbled, nearly dropping the trashcan. "What- Whaddaya mean?" He asked, his voice pitching a bit higher in surprise.

Norman shifted slightly, languidly crossing one leg over the other. "You're a lot smarter than anyone gives you credit for," he repeated, completely calm.

"What makes you say that?" Wally avoided eye contact as he shakily emptied the bin into his trash bag.

"People don't notice, but you're in the background for a lot of things," Norman said, leaning casually back in his chair. "Business meetings, fights, conversations between our coworkers. When secrets are being spilled, you're there, just in the background."

Wally paused, then laughed as he turned to face Norman. "You fishin' for information, Norman?"

Norman put his hands up. "I'm not fishing. I'm just saying, it'd be nice to swap secrets with someone who knows as much as I do."

"Really?" Wally raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "You think I'm on your level?"

"Oh, I know you are," Norman said, returning Wally's smile with one of his own.

Wally watched him for a moment or two before giving a nod. "Alright. Meet me out back after work. We can get a drink."

Norman nodded back. "Sounds good to me."

Sure enough, the two of them met up outside the back door after the work day had ended. Norman got there first, with Wally showing up nearly half an hour later.

"Sorry," he said as he rushed out the back door. "Got chewed out by Sammy 'cause I lost my keys again."

"Why do you do that?" Norman asked as Wally gestured for him to follow as he set off down the street.

"Why do I do what?" Wally glanced back.

"Why do you pretend to be an idiot?" Norman picked up his pace a bit to keep up with Wally. "You lose your keys on purpose. I've seen you drop them in a trashcan and pick them up again later."

"Wasn't always pretending," Wally insisted. "The first couple of times I really did lose my keys."

"But why keep doing it?" Norman pressed. "Why let everyone think you're an idiot?"

Wally went quiet for a moment or two, his expression surprisingly solemn.

"'S easier that way," he finally said.

Norman frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's easier when people don't think you're a threat," Wally said. His normally cheerful and goofy expression was gone, replaced with one of calm understanding. "There's no way I'd be safe in the studio if people realized I knew half the stuff I do. If they just think I'm an idiot, there's no reason for them to pay attention to me."

Norman considered this, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Makes sense," he said. "Sorry for questioning you."

"Eh, it's fine." Wally's smile returned as he gently bumped his shoulder against Norman's. "I get it. It seems weird to want everyone to think you're dumb."

"We all do weird things to stay safe." Norman let out a weary sigh. "That's the nature of the world."

"Hey! Enough sad talk!" Wally bumped Norman's shoulder again. "You wanted to talk secrets, right? Well, boy have I got one for you."

Norman's gaze sharpened with interest. "Oh really?" He asked, a smile tugging at his lips. "Do tell."

Wally grinned back. "Alright, so, you know how Mary's been fighting with Albert over him allegedly seeing Doris? Well, you're never gonna guess who I saw in the conference room last week..."

[caltropspress]

ShrapKnel in the Bardo

Two Nights on Tour with Curly Castro and PremRock

19 June 2024 | Brooklyn, NY | Public Records

20 June 2024 | Rutherford, NJ | Soldato Books

How many intelligent people in the house tonight?

—KRS-One for Boogie Down Productions, “Poetry,” Live Hardcore Worldwide (1991)

When I say it’s about wanting to live, I just say that because that’s how I feel. When you get hit with death, sometimes as horrible as it is, one of the things that can come out of it is a reaffirmation of how much you don’t want to go…

—El-P, Cancer 4 Cure press junket (2012)

This is beyond my wildest dreams. Every fucking minute of this hip-hop shit. I’m here to live it, and I’m here to love it.

—Curly Castro, prior to performing “Dreadlocs Falling”

1.

I am not a spiritual person. But when something’s got cha opin, it’s a must to be receptive to the signal and the signs. Ignoring the counsel of billy woods, I was at soundcheck. Public Records was sparsely populated when I arrived around five o’clock, earlier than the artists even, the soundman assuming I was the talent. As Prodigy says on “Live Nigga Rap,” “NYC, U-N-I-verse, seriously.” Because, seriously, a universality and a convergence would be taking place in New York City this evening. The first of the night’s performers to walk through the door was Controller 7, flanked by Emynd and Scott Matelic. 

CONTROLLER 7:  The last time the three of us were together was Scribble Jam in 2000. I think we fell right back into the old flow. I was staying at Scott’s and he lives in Brooklyn, so it made things a lot easier. He knew where things were and I didn’t have to worry about anything. He and I hung out at Dove’s studio the night before with Sharif and Dose. That kinda helped break the ice a bit too, since I knew Sharif was going to be a guest in the ShrapKnel set. Emil and Scott ended up walking with me to the venue and it probably did set me at ease. When we were at the venue, I just kept meeting person after person, faces I already knew from the internet, and I really never had a chance to even get too nervous about anything. Everyone was so cool that I felt really welcomed. I hadn’t done a show in about 15 years and, in all honesty, I’ve never really done a show. It’s just been like 2-3 beat sets over a 26-year period.

We immediately started conversing about production credits from 25 years ago. There I was, a disembodied voice from the telephone made manifest, warping time, fixated on facts and fictions from another lifetime. But they indulged me, kindly.

1.1

Watch me breathe…feel me breathe, Mike Ladd spoketh on “Blade Runner” in 1997. I want to believe in the Latin sense of spiritus—that windnbreeze, that inspiration, that black star respiration, the collective breath that circulates communally, historically. And then there’s the spirit-rapping. Not breath control, per se, but when mediums had their way and say in society, they listened for the knock, knock [GZA adjacent] of paranormal communications. U.N.K.L.E. and Kool G Rap called it the “drums of death.” In the 16th century, Paracelsus cited the [something like a…] phenomenon as pulsatio mortuorum, or “death omen,” homie. 

1.11

On Live Hardcore Worldwide, Boogie Down Productions’ live album from 1991, KRS-One’s performance of “Breath Control” exhibits mostly that, though I must confess he sounds, ironically, a bit exasperated as he repeats, Breath control, breath control, breath control… This, in no way, sacrifices his reigning supreme. To err is human. (And the adverbial doubt inherent to “Over Nearly Everyone” tells me he recognizes this as well.) ShrapKnel, on the other hand—emcees Curly Castro and PremRock—make no such sacrifices. They amethyst rock with ānāpānasati, zen masters of the ceremony. Amethyst rockstars heed the cautions set forth by the Blastmaster on “Breath Control,” though. They know what the weaker performers among us rely on: “They want dancers, they want lighting, / They want effects to make ’em look exciting, / But it’s frightening, ’cause without that, / The whole crew is wick-wick-wick-wack.”

1.12

I introduced myself to Controller 7. We’d been acquainted for several years, but had never met in person. I [un]officially began gathering notes for a book on the Anticon collective, of which Controller 7 was an early member, in March 2017. Seven years later, that book is nearing completion. Tommy (Controller 7) was one of the first interviews I conducted for the book—we had that phone call in March of 2019. Scott Matelic and Emynd, affiliates to Anticon, were also some of my earliest interviews. I spoke with them on the phone in January and February of 2019, respectively. Caltrops Press was born in July 2020, concurrent with the underground rap renaissance that we’re now experiencing. One of the central themes of the Anticon book (title TBA soon) examines the underground scene(s) as a sprawling network. So when Tommy confided in me early last year that he had been commissioned to produce the new ShrapKnel record, I began to feel the thrum of an everything that rises must converge momentum. I’d considered alternate realities in the seven years spent working on the book—those preexisting, premillennial networks couldn’t have completely collapsed—and now time and space seemed to begin to bend and bow in strange and suggestive ways. 

1.2 On June 1, 2023, I attended the Maps record release show at Baby’s All Right. ShrapKnel opened for woods and Kenny Segal. They performed “Illusions of P,” a song they had started to debut on tour stops around the country. I sent a woefully insufficient iPhone 6 video of the performance to Tommy.

1.3

In August of 2023, Tommy messaged me: “I can’t tell you what, but there is a song that features Aesop and he says ‘caltrops’ on it.” Two months later, that song would turn out to be A7PHA’s “Many Headed,” a hell-bent hydra head nadda’s journey featuring the likes of Self Jupiter and Buck 65. And there was Aesop Rock speaking of “hopscotchin’ caltrops, / Cloud of black smoke, no black box.” On April 19, 2024, the “Many Headed (Controller 7 Remix)” was loosed upon the world. Tommy recruited Curly Castro and PremRock to contribute to the ever-expanding posse cut, a guest appearance in anticipation of Nobody Planning To Leave. Therein, Prem promises a “double-edged sword on the neck of an edgelord,” and Castro paints a militant picture: “Once it took a nation, / Now it takes a phalanx.”

CONTROLLER 7:  I asked them to do a trade-off like on “Babylon by Bus.” The remix feels a bit like my Deep Puddle Dynamics remix [“Rain Men”], 25 years later. Posse cut, changes in the music, unexpected. It feels kinda full circle. Dose is at the end of both. The Deep Puddle remix was kinda the “Well, let’s see what I can do,” and my skills and equipment were so basic at the time. This is now the 25 years later “Let me show you what I can do.” But somehow they actually come very much from the same spirit.

Spirit. Convergence.

2.

By 5:30, PremRock arrived in his unassuming human form—a man who has measured out his life in cocktail spoons, to paraphrase Prufrock; Castro appeared not long after that in camo pants, prepped with silent weapons for the loud wars to come. Prem, I noticed, had a mic in his pocket.

PREMROCK:  I bring my own mic everywhere! A gift from Willie Green some years ago. I believe it was a beta test and now many venues use it. It’s more suited for live performances and the dynamics don’t change with cupping. Also, I’m a bit of a germaphobe, so there’s that too.

For soundcheck, they got right into “Metallo.” Soundman checked the levels in the center of the room while Prem mentioned bots trying to sell tickets to the show online—“a breakthrough,” he called it. Where Prem is gregarious during the pregame, Castro is focused with the concentration of Simeon Stylites atop the pillar (Simeon says, Shut the fuck up!)—he makes medieval monasteries of any modern venue. When they ran through “Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol,” the venue experimented with casting a red light over them—the color of De La’s predator Santa suit and the guns pointed at El-P. Ideas began to click for me while listening to the guys test the levels on “LIVE Element” acapella. When Castro raps, “Prem and I, two-headed Cerberus Killa Show,” he’s not kidding. In that moment, even in an empty space with no audience to witness it, they were the “iLLest Duo, Known throughout the Known Earth.” Prem claims to be a “one-man tour machine” on “Dadaism 3,” but he does better with a two-man (like Duncan and Parker operating under the Coach Pop playbook).

PremRock and Castro don’t rehearse in any traditional way. Their method of preparation relies on trust in one another’s craft, and they covet a spirit of on-the-go recalibration. 

CURLY CASTRO:  Considering how far away we live from each other (Philly & NY), our rehearsals are slightly unorthodox in its practice. We select a set list with extreme detail, and then put in the hours on our own to master our parts. Usually, at the start of each respective tour, we are doing a fistful of songs for the first time. Then as we do the songs multiple times, we see what works, and by the end of a run, we have figured out the Live incantations of said songs. For the most part, once we settle into a set before a run, we have certain interchangeable Blades, but the set remains the same for most of any run we complete. Once upon any stage we can lengthen or shorten, or adapt our alchemy, for any Live setting in any Location.

I think about the aptness of their group name: ShrapKnel—with that capital-K stolen from Cube’s amerikkka. Lethal fragments and filings. The chorus on “Dadaism 3” tells the story: “Metal from the blast zone flying Each and Every Way.” Later, on “Steel Pan Labyrinth,” Castro describes using “the blades to write bars.” ShrapKnel with a K that cuts. A grapheme sans curves, a razor-sharp letter. “Sharp” and “Shrap” kindred as anagrammatic matters go. “Shrap is here to sharp the Blade,” Castro spits on “Uru Metal,” “De La Soul skits, decode and you’ll find the answer.” By the conclusion of soundcheck, the other performers and notable attendees—Child Actor, August Fanon, phiik and Lungs, even E. from The Next Movement podcast who picked up the ubiquitous Fatboi Sharif as she drove through Jersey—had filled the floor. 

AUGUST FANON:  I saw Lungs walking up to the venue right as me and my girlfriend Khadija were arriving, so we walked in together. phiik was already in the venue and, once together, they quickly jumped into their soundcheck. When I heard phiik spit that shit live sounding crispy like the record, I went crazy inside. I was like, Hell-fuckin’-yeah! Let’s go!

3.

I am Lungs…this is phiik, and it’s good as fuck to see so many familiar faces…

If phiik and Lungs—jointly recognized as Another Planet—have received much buzz of late, that buzz reached Havana Syndrome levels while opening for ShrapKnel on tour. Straight C.I.A. shenanigans that leave your neural-well unsteadied. They talk in maths and buzz like a fridge, like a detuned radio. They are Red and Meth for the anthropocene—a blackout, one-two, one-two punch who smoke bud and sniff a bee’s ass to get a buzz. 

phiik:  Prem & Castro really showed us the ropes & were such a joy to travel with. This was the first tour for both of us, so it was really helpful to get so comfortable so quickly. Something that Castro put us on to was drinking tea constantly. Pretty much every show we did he would be sipping on some beforehand. I never realized how your voice can go at any point.

CURLY CASTRO:  Prem and I caught wind of [phiik and Lungs] a few years back. Their respective style(s) appeared unparalleled. They were a galvanizing duo, who’s YouTube clip on “Off Top” gets the internet’s panties inna bunch and generates mega-bandwidth, as folks argue over their particular brand of word sorcery. The only surprise (even though I knew them capable, but it’s another thing to see it) was that their whirlwind quicksilver tongues were identical to what was put down on tape. An impressive feat all in itself, but a reassurance of the Blade protocol needed to run with us Wolves.

PREMROCK:  That was Nik Oliver, our booking agent, who suggested the pairing [with phiik and Lungs]. I was already a fan, and Castro was very tapped in too. I saw the vision pretty quickly. They are a rising duo and their reputation as people was strong. Always important to have folks vouch for you. It was a home run, in my opinion. They are special artists making special music. For their first tour, they approached it like seasoned vets. The road is a grind and your comfort zones and routines are shattered. They adapted quickly, and I was impressed by their nightly performances. Shout-out GAM, too. He’s a GRIP mainstay and a real stabilizer on the road. We had fun and got the job done. The best result.

phiik and Lungs fed off and ate up the hometown crowd throughout their unswerving 40-minute set at Pub Rex. They started with “Captain Picard” from Another Planet 4 (and they’d be planet-hopping haphazardly with quick shouts of “AP2!” and “AP3!” and such for their setlist), and they proceeded to “burn the house down like David Koresh,” as Lungs says, or like David Byrne in ’84 blackface. It’s good to be home, phiik said after the first number, sounding like Dorothy windswept and word-vexed. Drink of water demands were made prior to “SCOOBY” (off Planet X), but not in a diva way, just to stave off dehydration from the tireless spittin’ over the haunted industrial plant of a noface beat. Lungs taunted MCs who “can’t rap better than [him]” on “Kurt McBurt,” and by the middle of “She Could” I began to notice the full and crushing support that TASE GRIP offers up to each other. The whole cru pushed up against the stage, slapping and banging it when emotion flowed and numbers thronged, finishing bars for phiik and Lungs, sometimes screaming the whole damn thing. Wavy Bagels, AKAI SOLO, and S!LENCE at the center of the Dark & Stormy scene. When phiik rapped, “Never took a village to be the villain, / But we still in the building,” and a chorus of voices join him in dragging the end-rhyme out (...buildinnnnnn’), we felt the thrum. It takes a phalanx.

phiik stutter steps when it’s his turn on the mic, rapping to the ground. Lungs leans toward the edge of the stage—skinny elbows out, eyes bulging—and raps to the sky. Hell and heaven unified—purgatory raps for a cleansing of your soul. A barrage, as many have remarked. It’s like putting your face to the fan, your visage to the vents. “Make some noise for Lungs!” phiik shouts, hyping up his homie. “It’s not easy going from one track to another. The fuck is he doing? He’s a nut. He’s a crazy fuck.” There’s a symbiosis of support between phiik and Lungs, rooted in friendship. 

phiik:  Our work ethic together has definitely only developed & gotten better over the years, but our foundation of knowing each other so well helps without a doubt. Lungs & I have known each other pretty much our whole lives, so it was almost seamless in a way when we started to work on music together.

My mind goes to Live Hardcore Worldwide again—“The Eye Opener”—where it’s said: “Make some noise! This is all live, as you can plainly hear and see. There’s no lipsync business going on here!” Listening to them perform “Secret Power,” the titular secret power, I contend, is a guttersnipe glossolalia. Some trip-wire of tryptamines, divine DMT entities exiting their maws, untranslatable.

The affair became even more familial as phiik and Lungs invited GAM to kick a verse (“He DJs, drives us around, fucking raps…”). AKAI was brought onstage for a song triad. He rocked a keffiyeh in a classic P.L.O. style and demonstrated the muscular rapping we’ve come to expect when he’s in front of an audience, each word a heavy load to lift and spirit into your soul, slackening the suspensory ligament of your Third Eye lens. Confident, AKAI only has to lead the crowd with a “TASE” for them to follow back with “GRIP.” The chant doesn’t require any instructions of When I say… That’s the command he has.

phiik:  Heads are really a unit & move as such. And on top of that, everybody fully understands what’s going on & how much the support means. After seeing random heads for the majority of the tour, it was so nice to see the team when we came back home.

Another Planet closed their set with “Don Quixote,” but these MCs are less tilting at windmills than slicing at windpipes. “This is not mom’s spaghetti,” phiik raps, apropos. They’d recently been subject to some Eminem-like internet parasocial Stanic panic when P.O.W. Recordings put out a message saying “Funcrusher 2024” with a clip of Lungs’ “Off Top” Freestyle from 2022. Lungs, a man of bare minimum words on the interwebs, said: “Mfs really crashing out over the clip for the 4th time lol. All haters please keep hating we don’t give a fuck and the shit makes my PayPal go crazy every time.” 

phiik:  Honestly, we reaaaally don’t pay any mind to it as far as what the end result is. After a certain point, the discourse almost just becomes word vomit. Tons of people saying the same thing over & over. But at the same time, any press is good press. So I definitely didn’t mind it at all, and if anything it only creates a brand new lane of people who maybe have never heard of us, and those people develop into lifelong fans. Heads who dislike it will hate on it for a week & then move on. But, yeah, it’s absolutely only used as fuel & motivation.

On “Don Quixote,” Lungs raps about how “hip-hop fans from around the world [are] stalking on [his] page,” which seems hard to dispute. He pushes further: “Rappers behind on bills talking shit online in the same stinky Jay’s”—a prognosticator shine to his studio mic. The song ends with a GRIP-led crowd chorus of “HOLD ON A MINUTE, HOLD ON A MINUTE, HOLD ON A MINUTE!” but I couldn’t hold on to a single second in the set. It happened, and I was the better for it. “Read the book, it said Gimme mine,” phiik rapped. I have read the book, and Cervantes writes—and I was thinking to myself—“...with what minuteness they describe everything!”

CHOP THE HEAD:  I’ve never seen Lungs and phiik get that kind of reception—to have a few hundred people screaming the lyrics of those verses is an accomplishment in itself. I laugh every time I watch them live, because it just doesn’t make sense on a virtuosic level. Later that night, my man Q No Rap Name and I hung out with Lungs at his crib and, after meeting him, his music made even more sense to me. From the time we left the venue to the time we left his crib, he didn’t stop talking. He told fifty of the most bugged-out stories I’ve heard, and they all dovetailed off one another. Lungs and phiik are not affecting any part of their output; those dudes are really rapping about how they live and think. 

3.1

August Fanon and Child Actor stood side-by-side on the stage, laptop leaning as they went “back and forth and tr[ied] to surprise each other by playing some very rare unreleased things,” according to Child Actor.  

CHILD ACTOR:  It was Prem that originally pitched the idea of August Fanon and me doing a set together. I had assumed it was because he had heard about us sharing a bill last year (his and my first beat set of any kind), but according to him it was completely unrelated. August and I routinely bounce beats off each other and have been working on a project together, so it couldn’t have been a more serendipitous pairing. I had loosely prepared a longer set, but several days before the event I was notified that he and I were sharing a half hour. I thought it’d be fun if instead of going one after the other, we went back and forth in 2- or 3-minute chunks. That ended up feeling perfect. I didn’t let him send me anything beforehand because I knew it’d be fun to hear everything for the first time onstage. He certainly did not disappoint. I made sure to play only unreleased beats and songs-in-progress. One of them was a song that was mixed at the Greenhouse the day before. It may have been one of the nights with the highest percentage of people in the building that were friends/collaborators of mine. I definitely felt a great deal of support and appreciation—a very fun and fulfilling first NYC beat set for sure!

CHOP THE HEAD:  August Fanon and Child Actor’s friendly beat battle blew my mind several times over. They are both on the razor’s edge of traditionalism and pure experimentation. 

While I listened to a Fanon remix of Biggie’s “Suicidal Thoughts,” Mo Niklz and I stood in the audience chopping it up. I looked around and saw so many familiar faces in the space. Mo noticed it, too.

MO NIKLZ:  The room was packed and about 50% of those attending were artists, which is incredibly uncommon.

I asked Mo a couple questions, and in no time at all I was subject to what Castro calls “The Philosophy of Mo.” He talked about being roommates with Ceschi, meeting woods through PremRock and Willie Green, and making frequent trips down to NYC from Connecticut. “I wanted to let people know I was around,” he said. About once a month, woods would offer his couch to crash. They built a friendship and artistic relationship from there, with Mo functioning as woods’ DJ. Mo had played a crucial role on the New England leg of the Nobody Planning to Leave tour as well.

MO NIKLZ:  The tour actually stayed with me in New Haven on Sunday. They had their day off on Monday, and I booked the show in New Haven that was Tuesday. I bought everyone Sally’s Apizza Monday night and then made everyone an omelet for breakfast on Tuesday. I’ve known Prem and Castro for a while now but just met phiik and Lungs. I always like to think I’m the tour dad, but phiik and Lungs were kidding that I worry these rappers can’t take care of themselves when I’m not around so, sadly, I guess I’m more like a tour mom. The show in Connecticut was great. There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, which was cool. I normally know just about everyone at a CT underground hip-hop show. The tour went to NYC that evening. I just had to bring their merch to the Brooklyn show the following day. I got there for doors and both phiik and Lungs told me they ate well that day. “What will these rappers eat if Mo doesn’t bring them food?” they said to me. Prem helped me bring their merch in but it took him about fifteen minutes to get out the door. He kept running into a bunch of great people congratulating him on the album. We got outside and somebody else congratulated him and left. Prem said, “Did you not know him? That was Swordplay.” I was like, Oh damn, that sucks. I would’ve liked to have said hi. We finally get the merch from the car, and on our way back in, Prem got stopped again by a guy wearing some dope glasses and a Black Moon shirt. Prem said, “Hey, have you two met? Mo this is Doseone,” which was funny because we both turned to each other and said, “Oh man, I was just talking about you.” It was bizarre because Child Actor and I were talking video games a week ago and Doseone had put him on to a game he was enjoying. I said [to Child Actor], “You know he’s like one of the OG indie hip-hop legends I’ve never met.” It was pretty surreal to me. He already knew a lot of my DJ work, my job shipping records for Fake Four, and that I make pickles. Wild because basically nobody in my family has any concept of what I do, but he knew the gravity of it all.

3.11

Mo’s nourishment and maternal nurturing helped contribute to what Prem and Castro would consider their most successful tour yet.

PREMROCK:  I think we started seeing the ripple effect of fan support online translate to a tangible crowd in a realer way this run like we haven’t before. The record had only been out 1.5 weeks so to see the interest it generated so quickly was really encouraging. Touring is difficult financially—that’s been discussed at length—but seeing results and trending upwards makes you feel like it’s a viable path to growth, and nothing kills morale more than a couple duds in a row and fortunately we had none.

CURLY CASTRO:  This tour evoked a grand feeling of support. Other tours have had bigger rooms, other tours have had longer durations, but this one seemed rooted in classic Hip-Hop community. Some very welcome surprises, as to who showed up, along the way. Finally, this was our first time, in some time, we actually toured the record close to its initial release. And since this was/is our best work, then it can be perceived that this was our best tour. But I find us advancing levels with every MadMax jaunt across this wasteland we call ’Murica.

3.2

The Fanon/Child Actor set was immediately followed by Controller 7’s brief set, a prelude to ShrapKnel taking the stage. The order of performers was the subject of some debate during soundcheck. I sort of felt like I was watching Meth and Ghostface argue on the Bullet Train in Japan in The Show when Ghost took umbrage at Meth speaking too much during radio interviews.

PREMROCK:  Castro disagreed with the proposed order at Pub Rex. He thought beats first then phiik & Lungs. Beats/raps/beats/raps with Controller 7 on before us. Makes sense, right? Well, I disagreed. I saw Fanon and Child Actor as an event and not a head-nod lo-fi hangout. phiik and Lungs just before us and Controller 7, in my opinion, dwindled the impact and the inevitable smoke break may have had heads missing their opening set. There’s nothing like immediate decapitation! Crowd is transfixed. There’s the, “Well, where do you go from there?” argument, but I contend… How about two of the greatest producers doing it going cut for cut?! Also, I had exceptions with the late proposal. It would’ve been difficult to audible, and I was exhausted from the road already and high tension at our hometown release show receiving a good dozen texts per hour with dumb questions already, so I may have been terse! But we are brothers and we talk it out and stand our ground and always come to a solution. End of the day, we believe in each other and what we are doing and we will check each other if the math is not mathing. Any collaboration needs to hold space for disagreement. We do it well over here.

Controller 7 was as sheepish-as-ever, letting the crowd know how uncharacteristic it was for him to be standing on a stage playing music. But the crowd was nothing if not supportive, cheering him at every turn. 

CONTROLLER 7:  When I started the set, I ended up talking as an intro. Then I ended up talking through the set, sort of explaining what I was playing. I didn’t intend to do that, but it just kinda worked out that way. I don’t usually think of “me” as being part of the music. I hate being in photos; I’m not trying to be in the spotlight. I just make stuff for people to listen to. Being in front of a group of people staring at me while music plays is not my ideal format, so I think I ended up talking as a way to bridge all of that.

I looked to my left and saw Dose standing in the center of the room. To know, in an epistemological sense, is a strange feeling when you’ve spent so many hours documenting a person’s life and work in words, and then suddenly there they are in the physical—circulatory system, blood, bile, nerves, skeleton frame standing upright. Like seeing a ghost. Like spacetime sealing shut—closed curves appearing in my pathway. My head is a repository of the knowledge I’ve been remembering, acquiring, and word-rendering over the past seven years, so I thought about a story Tommy told me on the phone back in 2019—how he hauled his 4-track over to Dose and Jel’s Berkeley apartment in early 2000, the dawn of a new millennium, and watched Dose record a track for Left Handed Straw from the page of a randomly selected book. I found a pattern within the chaos of a complex system. 

DOSEONE:  Seeing Controller 7’s metamorphosis and rebirth into the beast he is today made my year.

Tommy played the instrumental portion of the “Many Headed” remix that’s home to Dose’s closing verse. Every fiber of me thought Dose would cut through the crowd and perform it onstage, but alas… A standout moment was hearing Quelle Chris’s evocative voice over an atmosfearik beat—a yet-to-be released “demo” (it sounded finished to my novice ears) with lyrics every bit as unnerving as the production: “The killer’s in the room, / The call is coming from somebody clearly watching what I’m doin’, / You can sense impending doom.” Another unreleased song featured Nappy Nina and Sam Herring/Hemlock Ernst, and it hit like a feel-good and melodic radio friendly unit shifter.

CONTROLLER 7:  I’m not a finger drummer or a live performer; I’m more of an overly anxious obsessive. I tried to find a way to make [my set] something that would be interesting for people and also not super complicated for me. I had to fly out there and I don’t usually perform, so I didn’t know what equipment to bring. I had an SP404, which I’ve never used to make beats, but it came in handy for what I wanted to do. I spent a week or two leading up to the show mapping things out. I knew that our time was short because we had to end at 10:30, so I was just doing a fifteen minute set. I ended up making a handful of new things, shortened a few older things, and made working demos of some unreleased songs I had. I basically made it the way I wanted to hear it and then I just mapped it out over the pads.

4.

“Some of us have children that age!” is what Castro said of Controller 7’s years-long absence from the stage. As he and Prem positioned themselves, arranged mic cords, prepped their mentals, Controller 7 pressed play—like a detonator switch—on the intro to Nobody Planning to Leave (“It worries me…a lot”). Prem invited the crowd in closer: “The moat exists.” He set down the drawbridge and raised the portcullis between performer and assembled people. But, as “Metallo” began, I recognized it takes more than infrastructure to traverse the alligator-infested muddy waters that Prem and Castro put before us.

4.1

The sounds that you’re about to hear shall be devastating to your ear.

—introduction to “Mellow My Man,” The Roots Come Alive (1999)

The hallmark of a ShrapKnel song is the ridiculoid referents. PremRock and Castro present a maximalist vision that is part and parcel to what Secret House Against calls their “b-boy sensibilities.” They’re from an era when, in Castro's words, “white labels [were] like bibles” (“Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol”); they're guys who “used to rock all Naughty gear” (“Kaishakunin”). The two deliver a nostalgic notion for anyone that might’ve spent hours flipping through Tommy Boy perforated liner notes in the 90s.

Even an interlude (such as “Bogdan Interlude”) can yield Kemetic symbolism alongside quotidian city dwelling (“Bum a loosie offa Sekhmet”), can twist and turn from Swahili to Chicago hip-hop (“Habari gani, / One day it’ll make sense”), and conclude with a blaxploitation film screening that leaves whitefolks’ eyebrows raised. Curly Castro, a tru master of maximalism In the Ways of the Scales, word to Brother J.

ShrapKnel flex mechanical shells, and Curly Castro is a b-boy fabulist. Rather than eschew surplusage, he welcomes it. He moves maxi- and mega- in what Stefano Ercolino calls the “encyclopedic mode” wherein each song becomes an archive of subcultural signs. On “Metallo,” Castro’s maximalism bends into a barrage of references: Breaking Bad, Killarmy, Darrell Walker, J.R.R. Tolkien, Gordon Ramsay, Raekwon, Outkast, Monta Ellis, AZ, et cetera. His allusions collapse under the weight of each other, resulting in hybrids—mongrels. Mongr-allusions like “Slick Ricky in dah Foxhole” in which rapper Slick Rick and pretty-boy baller Rick Fox become one entity. These hypertrophic lines accumulate bar by bar, and—before long—you’re lost in the deluge. A twenty-first century rendition of what Hugo Ball did in the Dada Manifesto, dated July 14, 1916: “Dada Stendhal. Dada Dalai Lama,” conflating the French novelist and the Tibetan tulku. Tack on Black Thought’s “South Philly, Dalai Lama” slight rewrite for the performance of “The Next Movement” from The Roots Come Alive, and we edge closer to what Castro achieves. El Producto once called them “manimal hybrids” on “End to End Burners.”

Even when ShrapKnel doesn’t explicitly construct the mongr-allusion, it’s implicit. If you’ve done the work, shown and proven yourself worthy, the matrices will materialize right before your very eyes. [Rappers got on colored contacts but they better realize, as a wise intelligent redhead wonce said.] In Prem’s words (from “Dadaism 3”), you’ve got to “read in between the seams of the embroidery.” All of their verses amount to what Ray Bradbury called “fearful puzzles”—and lethargic listeners avoid looking too closely or delving too deeply. The past is present and the future is now, and so when Prem promises to “let a bygone be bygone” only to revoke it (“...even though I won’t”), he suddenly back-slashes to Mase in an utterly different context: 112’s “Only You” (1996) where a girl goes around with thousands in her palms. “Why you can’t let bygones be bygones?” Because nothing is ever gone for ShrapKnel; nothing outmoded, nothing defunct, everything of use.

Prem immediately invokes the “funhouse mirror” on “Metallo”—everything appears in the funhouse mirror, but its reflection is warped. This is another maximalist turn, true to John Barth’s Lost in the Funhouse (1968). “For whom is the funhouse fun?” Barth asks. Perhaps it’s fun for the MC who observes that we’ve “been in post-singularity since that AI Georgetown Hoya team.” He’s Hugo Baller. Prem, who has “learned to astral project since quarantine,” adroitly sustains a trisyllabic rhyme scheme [“nightmares deployed in threes,” for the uninitiated] throughout his verse on “Dadaism 3.” His intensive and keen listenings [to the likes of an 89.9 detrimental frequency] over the years have led to a constant state of becoming, of being, of becoming a radiohead. In his own way, he’s the “paranoid android loitering,” absorbing knowledge—be it a Fondle ‘Em 12-inch from 1997, “speaking noxious” like Cage Kennylz; or the debut LP of a quintet from Oxford in 1993, wondering about the “creeping doubt” that “keeps rattling [his] cage” like Thom Yorke—and then he dispenses it to his audience in the form of Aesop fables (“splitting hairs[/hares], slow and steady on my Tortoise speed”) and Wojnarowski scoops (“Otto Porter top-of-market deal”). This process—playing the long game—might have you “forget the words [he] just blurted out,” but he’s gonna continue to get “open till he’s brain-dead, till you’re brain-dead.”

4.11

The Roots Come Alive (1999) begins—not with The Roots—but with Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five traveling through time to hit us “Live from the T-Connection,” nesting one of the earliest hip-hop recordings of a live event within the content of a live recording on the eve of Y2K destruction. Lineage matters, The Roots acknowledge, and these transmitted words are just as relevant to a ShrapKnel performance in 2024:

Now I know this ain’t the best party in the world, but let me explain something to y’all, New York. It ain’t no party unless each and every one of you try to make it a party—you dig what I’m saying? Make each record your best record, and we could rock all night long.

4.111

Supporters came from across the country, from overseas even, to experience the ShrapKnel showcase. “A whole lot of superstars in the house tonight,” Prem said at one point, echoing Rev. Run. Friends and kinfolx from Switzerland, California, Seattle, New Mexico, Texas, Philadelphia, Connecticut… Fuck it, we’ll do it live! Prem shouted to his tourmates standing stage-side—an inside-joke, an O’Reilly parody—but keeping that same passion and energy through “Dadaism 3” and “Steel Pan Labyrinth.” “If anyone ever asks you the question,” the intro to Live Hardcore Worldwide declares, “Who is the number one set and sound? You will quickly reply…”

<whispered>

“ShrapKnel.”

4.2

On “Why Is That?” off Live Hardcore Worldwide, KRS-One breaks down the genealogy of Blackness in the Bible acapella and announces that “the age of the ignorant rapper is done.” That was in the 1-9-9-1. But in the 2-0-2-4, Curly Castro finds himself disillusioned by KRS’s pontifications and panderings to the likes of New York City’s top coprophage, Mayor Adams. “Halcyon Hip-Hop inna Temple, / Membership would Bend, / KRS, of course, would sell the course, / But then the Fun would End.” Let’s all hold hands and hum along to Co Flow’s “Happy Happy Joy Kill,” hmm?

Castro resembles one of Dada’s “honored poets,” in the words of Hugo Ball, “who are always writing with words but never writing the word itself, who are always writing around the actual point.” Castro writes around the actual point, but he’s never pointless. You can listen to his 9mm go bang on the chorus of “Dadaism 3” (Wa da da Dee Dee da da Dee Dee da da Day), and it harmonizes with Ball issuing forth an invocation: “dada m’dada, dada m’dada dada mhm, dada dere dada.”

5.

Before I go on live all my enemies try to contrive

plots to make my whole entire routine take a swan dive.

But this ain’t commercialized hip-hop…

—Buck 65 (1999)

“LIVE Element,” but DEATH pervades Nobody Planning to Leave. LIVE in all CAPS—a stylized emphasis on life and living, but O DEATH, none can excel. ShrapKnel refuse & resist! They arrive as a def fresh crew, and like the haintish vocal of Roxanne Shanté echoing across galaxies, they came here tonight to get started, but not to cold act ill in any sense other than she intended. Certainly nothing cellular. No icy hands get ahold of them. Hip-hop, each and every mic check, is Life or Death—you’re breathing the sniper’s breath. DEATH is everywhere on Nobody Planning to Leave, from the David Berman references, quotations, and puns to PremRock’s opening words on the album. Prem spurns DEATH; instead, he will go thou and preach his gospel (Luke 9:60 KJV): “I don’t wanna bury the dead, / Pallbearer for carried dread.” He lifts the gossamer veil so that he “might sneak through” and survive. He knows from Black Thought—in sharing some of the blackest of thoughts—that if you “step into the realm, you’re bound to get caught, / And from this worldly life, you’ll soon depart.” 

Prem knows this region well; he knows the feel of ash beneath foot and the hematic heat against his face. On “Bardo,” the CD-only bonus cut from Load Bearing Crow’s Feet, he grapples with the pre-grief of existential knowing. “See, I’ve been told a lie,” he raps on the chorus, “swans don’t actually sing when they die, / They hit the same note you do when you croak, / No poetic epilogue or even goodbye, / But I be waiting over here on this side.” He’s on the side of the living, of poetic monologues, of greetings and gratitude. The only death rattle he recognizes is the one he hears at the end of a night of performing, his voice ragged. He imagines the walls “stress[ing] the importance of time… / Muttering something ’bout chakras and alignment.” But for his living self, what matters is more material than all that. “I be at the mom and pop shop to drop me off some consignment,” he says. To “get [his] affairs in order” has nothing to do with firming up his estate; it’s about getting paid in full. Equating his music career [Doseone calls “music career” an oxymoron, by the way] with impending death is only one example of the artist qualifying/quantifying life and livelihood—but there’s really no quantizing Death’s drums. On “Nutkracker Blues,” Castro talks about the urgency of having a verse “at the deadline and it’s Gotta be Perfect.”

Conventional thinking insists that there’s a transitory nature, a finitude, to doing what they do, these rappers. In 2002, on “Shrapnel,” Slug said, “I can’t remember who asked me, but someone asked me, / How long I thought that I would be allowed atop this trash heap.” Atmosphere, it just so happens, is the quintessential indie hip-hop success story, touring extensively and endlessly, selling out thousand-seat capacity ballrooms, pavilions, and amphitheaters—even two decades after those words were recorded. But most artists end up with “shards of pulled cards scattered on the carpet” (as Slug raps on “Shrapnel”); as Prem says on “Human Form,” you’re hustling from “bassinet to coffin.” On “Illusions of P,” he cloaks the agony of abbreviation in a clever pun about Royal Tenenbaum (“you fake ill”). The gut punch, though, is realizing “none of this will last forever.” While he can, he continues: “You only pray it will. / Illusions of hunting permanence, you pray still, / Ay still, lay still, lay still.” What’s the worst fate of all? Another dearly departed artist yet to make a dent.

5.1

The monetizing of emotions and songs, the dividends paid or owed, the commodification of life lived, could make it feel like you’ve been dealt a bum hand. “You got all these songs that you never play for anyone,” Prem raps on “Death on the Installment Plan,” and so he goddamns it. Death on the installment plan—a phrase he cribbed from Céline in 2021—has transformed into Nobody Planning to Leave in 2024. NOBODY DEATH-PLANNING, in other words. If we look at the novel itself from 1936, we can find a shred of hope, though. Provided here, context-less, a page from Céline [apply it to Prem and/or Castro, won’t you?]: 

To command his audience… He explained the working of the valves, the guy rope, the barometers, the laws of weight and ballast. Then carried away by his subject, he embarked on other fields, expatiating, ad-libbing without order or plan, about meteorology, mirages, the winds, cyclones… He touched on the planets, the stars… Everything was grist for his mill: the zodiac, Gemini…Saturn…Jupiter…Arcturus and its contours…the moon…Bellegophorus and its relief… He pulled measurements out of his hat… About Mars he could talk at length… He knew it well… It was his favorite planet… He described all the canals, their shape and itinerary! their flora! as if he’d gone swimming in them!… While he was perched up there shooting the shit, spellbinding the masses, I took up a little collection…

I was in Public Records to take up a little collection.

5.11

ShrapKnel spellbinds the masses with everything from superheroes to supervillains to sports figures of legend and little renown. Castro is MC John Corben—Metallo with metal lungs. The fluoroscope reveals the metallic structure of his bones and organs, and he’s got kryptonite in his fuse-box, which is to say he’s got a kind of death totem close at heart. The trouble is, Castro found himself stricken by the sense of green, glowing death that Metallo delivered to Superman. He won’t relinquish his life, though. He refuses the sick-box. He’s riding to Babylon by bus but persevering through every torment or trial, hell or high water. He will lively up himself against all odds. 

5.111

“The bus door opened and I placed my foot upon the step. Quite suddenly, there was music swelling up into my head, as if a choir of angels had boarded the Second Avenue bus directly in front of me. They were singing the last chorus of an old spiritual of hope: Gonna die this death on Cal—va—ryyyyy BUT AIN’T GONNA DIE NO     MORE…! Their voices sweet and powerful over the din of the Second Avenue traffic. I stood transfixed on the lower step of the bus.  “Hey girlie, your fare!” I shook myself and dropped my two coins into the fare-box. The music was still so real I looked around me in amazement as I stumbled to a seat. Almost no one else was in the late-morning bus, and the few people who were there were quite ordinarily occupied and largely silent. Again the angelic orchestration swelled, filling my head with the sharpness and precision of the words; the music was like a surge of strength. It felt rich with hope and a promise of life—more importantly, a new way through or beyond pain. I’ll die this death on Calvary ain’t           gonna       die                no     more! The physical realities of the dingy bus slid away from me.”

—Audre Lorde, Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

5.2

When Curly Castro writes his biomythography, it might well be titled Babylon by Bus. Footnotes might detail the routines of road life, like Warren G vacuuming the tour bus in The Show; early chapters might reflect on the Kris Kross-type innocence of missing a school bus (“And that is something I will never ever ever do again”); he might dispense with rumors and “dickhead logic,” celebrating collaborations like “Babylon by Bus” with woods and Prem; but he most definitely will amalgamate his years of movements and commotions into a totalizing whole. Everything that rises must converge, as Flannery O’Connor says. Bob Marley and the Wailer’s Babylon by Bus will evolve into Mike Ladd’s “Blade Runner” (1997), which in turn becomes “Bladerunners” (1999) with Co Flow featured, but retains the same lyric nonetheless: “As we do babylon by bus straight to Rikers.” See, it’s about building, about building, about bringing more bodies onboard the bus.” The bus stopped with a sudden jerk and shook him from his meditation.

5.21  THE CENTRAL PARK CHAPTER

The biomythography will provide a meta-commentary on ShrapKnel’s arc as a group (just as “LIVE Element” does). The chapter might be titled “Hip-Hop Heaven,” which is what Castro has called the weekend of August 13-15 in 2021. He meant heaven in terms of enthroned deities rather than death, but DEATH determined itself.

The SummerStage performance was headlined by Armand Hammer and The Alchemist. Moor Mother, Kayana, Fielded, and GENG PTP were also on the bill. It was a major booking for ShrapKnel. “We got at least two lives to give tonight,” Prem raps on “Nutkracker Blues,” and though the song sympathizes with Group Home in flashes, the sentiment speaks to the duality of that Central Park performance. “You are what you leave unexhumed,” Prem adds, and so the death knell resonates endlessly, like tinnitus. Leave it all out there on the floor, on the stage. Dig deep; don’t look back.

CURLY CASTRO:  The Central Park show was a level up for an Armand Hammer-led show w/ Backwoodz as support. It was our first time meeting and performing with The Alchemist. Unbeknownst to me, my back and spine was riddled with cancerous Tumors. I was in a good amount of pain; I just didn’t let anyone know, not even Prem. Couldn’t phuck up this opportunity for ShrapKnel and the live premiere of my “Phuck Puff” verse on “Wishing Bad.” So, in essence, it was the last show before I broke my hip a few months later and found out just how sick I actually Was.

PREMROCK:  I don’t think woods could believe it was actually happening while it was either. I watched Backwoodz artists go from horrendous sound at a fifty cap room to this? Truly a sight and testament to what can happen when you stick to your guns. Having Alchemist back us onstage and just before sit in the trailer and tell us stories of hip-hop lore probably made our year at the least. A high point of our career followed briskly by the biggest tribulation. A microcosm of life and dedication on several levels. A day and night we will never forget!

Castro has called that Central Park performance “the last moment of ignorance.” PremRock, presciently, also recorded “Bardo” that same weekend. On “LIVE Element,” Castro cuts through the static: “Central Park show while my Cancer was Raging, / Stage 4 on the Stage for Edutainment.” He enta’d the stage to exhibit to the audience how the Blackman’s in Effect. The performance stage and the stage of his cancer replicating like cells. But no Cell Therapy to speak of. He was backed by Alchemist, a stroke of luck “how the Game Spin,” but the Wheel of Fortune spins centrifugal, spins like the minds of children at the carnival listening to the “carousel calliope, among the hills, piping [Chopin’s] ‘Funeral March’ backwards,” to borrow something from Ray Bradbury. “LIVE Element” refrains from becoming a dirge. 

5.22

In December 2001, Ray Bradbury posted his origin story to his website:

During the Labor Day week of 1932 a favorite uncle of mine died; his funeral was held on the Labor Day Saturday. If he hadn’t died that week, my life might not have changed because, returning from his funeral at noon on that Saturday, I saw a carnival tent down by Lake Michigan. I knew that down there, by the lake, in his special tent, was a magician named Mr. Electrico. Mr. Electrico was a fantastic creator of marvels. He sat in his electric chair every night and was electrocuted in front of all the people, young and old, of Waukegan, Illinois. When the electricity surged through his body he raised a sword and knighted all the kids sitting in the front row below his platform. I had been to see Mr. Electrico the night before. When he reached me, he pointed his sword at my head and touched my brow. The electricity rushed down the sword, inside my skull, made my hair stand up and sparks fly out of my ears. He then shouted at me, “Live forever!”

Castro raps forever on “LIVE Element,” leaving behind any pressure or protocol to limit himself to sixteen bars. He raps endlessly, staving off death. He raps like his life depends on it. He “roam[s] Earth” and will “give [his] Old Bones the Last Word.” He raps “Back & Forth” with Prem like “When the Lox work[ed] with Made Men.” The song was “Tommy’s Theme,” another eerie premonition if we consider the role of one Tommy McMahon (Controller 7). “Something this way Comes Wicked,” Castro raps, inverting inversions. Bradbury’s “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” a 1962 dark fantasy novel inspired by his own carnival experience, forebodes a chilling prospect. Not quite as frigid as Castro’s “Cold Vein back-to-back Liquid Swords Winter,” but as grim as hospital corridors and morgue thermostats nonetheless.

Mr. Dark, Bradbury’s sinister carnival barker, feeds off fears and engenders negative energies from his young audience:

Alive! Mr Dark’s lips licked and savoured. Alive. Come alive. He racheted the switch to the last notch. Live, live! Somewhere, dynamos protested, skirled, shrilled, moaned a bestial energy... Dead dead, thought Will. But live alive! cried machines, cried flame and fire, cried mouths of crowds of livid beasts on illustrated flesh.

Microphones and preamps and 4-tracks and DAWs—these are the machines that make civilization fun. Curly Castro and PremRock wield their own spiritual powers. Prem, according to Castro, “lifts crowds,” but together, they can “open [a] portal on stage,” The Prestige style, and “flip crowds.” Some true Aleister Crowley-type Magick (Elemental Theory); pentacles and penwork. The ShrapKnel lyric booklet is a grimoire. They “crack the codex like a soothsayer,” so says Prem.

5.3

“Sometimes we draw dead and draft failure,” Prem admits. They draw dead crowds, that is—lifeless and disinterested. “The math fails ya” sometimes, and the Supreme Mathematics go stupid-simple. But it’s okay when the ticket sales and rating scales don’t add up, because they “don’t need the accolades,” Prem says defiantly, assuredly. What they share is stronger than those metrics. Prem and Castro shared a phone call with billy woods the night before Castro fell and found himself hospitalized—an ill communication.

Facing uncertain futures, PremRock steadied the shaking stage. “When we got the diagnosis,” he raps, “I didn’t know how to pronounce that, / Plus I was already thinking ’bout the bounceback, / And with every bounced track I know no illness can slow the blade of a determined razor.” Note: when “we” got the diagnosis—the fraternal order of MCs; the die-cast duo; Shrap and the Family Rock; i.e., no one suffers alone. Prem helps them stay afloat with the assonantal buoyancy of “pronounce,” “’bout,” “bounceback,” and “bounced track.” Music will get them there (“every bounced track”). 

And thus we get Castro spitting his verse from Armand Hammer’s “Wishing Bad” on the Center Park SummerStage. We hear his prophetic lyric: “Phuck Puff, / Survivor’s remorse should keep him phucked up!” (“Did any line age better than that one?” Prem asked the crowd at Public Records. “My man knew.”) And thus we hear that very audio clip at the conclusion of “LIVE Element,” a song which chronicles. “Phuck Puff” now immortalized on tour t-shirts available at the ShrapKnel merch table. At Public Records, Castro picked up the last line of Prem’s refrain (“3rd Eye glow like Hiero, / Seen it comin’ like 5-0 at the live show”) and made it a call-and-response. At the live show! AT THE LIVE SHOW! Inspired, Castro cut into an impromptu acapella version of his “Wishing Bad” verse, only to call-and-response the “Phuck Puff / Phucked Up” hook, damning those which need to be damned.

6.

Prem mentions “selling enchantment by the package” on “Steel Pan Labyrinth,” but you can’t commodify craft. He’s not a peddler, anyway—he’s a performer. For one of two solo performances, Prem rapped about how his “human form” is a “uniform” (with that lovely autological bent), something he does, or dons, “to belong.” Is his performing self the authentic version, or is his non-performing self the stock character? Is his uniform a “Uni-4-Orm,” like Canibus in ’97, a hired hand meant to “pulverize MCs and blow up mics, / From street corner cyphers to international websites?” Does raw imply honest? (Funny how Prem’s regular employment is bartender, while on stage he’s also a bar-tender.) The blurry boundary between these opposing selves leaves Prem rudderless: “I’ll admit I’m catatonic, / Chart the pattern of vomit, / Sonnet in the style of Vonnegut, postmodernist.” He spews, minimalistically, like so many bar patrons spinning on stools, but discovers purpose in the identifiable “pattern[s]” and emerging “sonnet[s].” Turns dreck to “Protect Ya Neck”-level compositions. And—even impressiver—he pivots political-cum-analogical to bring us back to the idea of selling one’s self and/or selling one’s wares: “You are who you’re in Congress with, / Closeted moderates post black squares / Then act scared of actual progress ’cause it’s profitless.” But lemme chill…

6.1

“Doseone is in the house,” Castro shouted-out between “Human Form” and “Mescalito.” “If you don’t know, get acclimated. And if you don’t know, you’re stupid.”

6.11

NAHreally:  Some shows really feel like an indie rap convention, and this was definitely one of them. Everywhere you turned was someone you knew or knew of—and the steady stream of special guests onstage only added to that feeling. The way the room erupted when woods came out for a few songs was special. The first time I ever saw (and heard of) PremRock and Castro was at a sparsely attended (perhaps more so poorly promoted) Armand Hammer show in 2018 at The Kingsland in Brooklyn. Castro was an opener and Prem jumped up for some tracks throughout the night. If I remember right, the crowd was probably high single digits. Since then, I’ve seen woods and ELUCID headline some packed rooms, but to get to see ShrapKnel fill up Public Records and bring woods up as a guest felt like a full circle moment. Triumph was definitely in the air at this show—something like a victory lap for putting in the work and staying true.

MO NIKLZ:  woods came out in an Adidas Jamaican-colored jacket I gave him as a present. I bartered pickles for that jacket.

woods performed “Babylon by Bus,” “383 Myrtle,” and crowd favorite “Spongebob.” “Babylon by Bus” required some mic manipulation. “Why you give me the feedback mic though?” woods scoffed. Castro sang woods’ praises (“He has created the greatest label on the planet…”), and woods spread the love right back: “Prem booked my first real tour in this country, and Castro’s been down forever. This is just family.” After a “Spongebob” false start (“My babysitter’s getting 40 dollars an hour…we’re doing this!”), woods gave the crowd—in full darkness—what they wanted to hear. What’s apparent is that the whole operation is no longer under water.

billy woods:  I was just proud and happy to see Castro and Prem have that kind of night. They are my colleagues and co-workers, but they are also my good friends, and great human beings, to boot. Also, I love ShrapKnel's records; I put them out because I love those albums, but I really feel like they are better live than on record, which is not something you can say for a lot of acts right now. So, this was also my first time seeing their new live set, and it’s just the kind of thing that makes you say, Yes, this is it right here. So I was happy for my friends, I was proud of whatever role Backwoodz has been able to play in their ascendancy, and I was really soaking in the music.

7.

Fatboi Sharif got onstage in his capacity as King Geedorah in a pink summer hat and open-chest button down, his magnetism throbbing like gravity beams as he splattered words over a schizzing loop.

FATBOI SHARIF:  [The track’s] not even recorded—I just do it at shows. I had DJ Boogaveli loop the first three seconds of Redman’s “Basically” from Dare Iz a Darkside.

CHOP THE HEAD:  Watching Fatboi Sharif dance and sway his way around the show, laughing and turning people up, and then step on stage to deliver wide-eyed haunting intensity in a huge pink church lady hat… He left my house fifteen minutes ago after an hours-long argument with DRIVEBY about the nature of evil, more specifically about whether Charles Manson is more evil than Popeye’s Chicken. 

7.1

By the time SKECH185 stepped onstage, having already witnessed woods and Sharif before him, I felt like I was watching Brian Robbins’ The Show documentary, and Public Records was transformed into a more modest version of the 32nd Street and Lancaster Avenue Armory on December 10, 1994—wormhole shit. SKECH performed “Up To Speed,” a rafter-rattler I’ve seen him rock on several occasions. Did I go hard enough? he asks a multitude of trusted friends and musicians. The answer is never less than a resounding YES. “You did go hard enough for me,” Prem deadpanned.

SKECH185:  I hit [Prem and Castro] up to see if they had booked the bill. I guess they had, but they said they would bring me out for a song. It was my night off, so it was a no-brainer. We all went on tour last year, and I have music with those cats, so it made sense. It was fun. They rocked at my release party last year so it was full circle. I’ve been doing music with Castro going back ten or so years, and Prem and I were co-workers for a time, plus we have music together. Those men are like family.

CHOP THE HEAD:  I’ve never seen anyone rap like SKECH185. Raw conviction. 

“We roll with killahzzzz!” Castro shouted after SKECH put the mic down.

7.11

AJ SUEDE:  We knew about a month or two in advance that I’d be landing in NY (from the UK/EU G’s Us tour) the day before the album release party. I was invited to be a guest and, of course, I couldn’t refuse that. It was great to see everybody I know and meet a couple new people in the process. Since I was in New York, I knew it was only right to play a song from Reoccurring Characters. Everybody featured on the album was in the building. “Tell Me When to van Gogh” always goes crazy in a live setting. The drums!

8.

On “Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol” (a title coined by Controller 7, but he must’ve done so while interiorizing a certain ShrapKnel modality, methodology, modus operandi), Prem alludes to not one, but two, El-P classicks: “Deep Space 9mm” and “Last Good Sleep.” He interpolates the latter’s chorus:

At night I cover my ears in tears the man right in front of me drank too many beers. Every dream, every night, I take his life, waiting for my chance to make it right.

Prem’s death-obsessing is externalized elsewhere, onto an [un]worthy subject.

8.1

When El-P performed “Last Good Sleep” at the final Company Flow show (“The Open Casket Show”) on March 28th 2001, he did so through tears. His mother, the subject of the song who was swallowed when she was hollow, stood in the audience. I should’ve been at the Bowery Ballroom that night, bearing witness, but instead I skipped. Maybe because it was a school night and I didn’t have permission; maybe because I was too lazy to buy a ticket; maybe because I was just a fucking dumbass with no sense of historicity. But my friend Omar (the producer The Shah) attended, telling me peace out as he exited his driveway to head to the city while I played ball in the street with his younger brother. I gave him shit for going without me, but the fact is I could’ve gone with him if I’d made the effort. My only consolation was the flyer he brought me back as a memento.

“Worry Doll,” the wobbling, comedown closing track on Nobody Planning to Leave, finds Castro reflecting on the fleeting isolation he felt in college. “Lune TNS warp my anthem on Campus, / While every other dorm blast the Unit with Whoo Kid.” That alienation that invigorates; a specialized sensibility that inspires—John Singleton couldn’t capture that “higher learning turned End to End Burning” to camera. And so it seemed fated that El-P’s face would appear on a tablet, wishing Castro well while he was wheelchair-bound, recovering from his illness. Castro suddenly had the man behind “Bad Touch Example” at his fingertips with touchscreen technology—it was an emotional moment, but also apropos. There was something so psyence fiction about that mode of communication—something so Blade Runner, so 2001: A Space Odyssey, so Deltron 3030, Megaton B-Boy 2000, 5000 Miles West of the Future. It was everything for the man—the MC and producer and godhead of independent rap—to reach out and express his strength and support. Cancer 4 Cure, sure—El had dealt with Camu Tao’s lung carcinoma diagnosis and death, and so too had the underground scene experienced it from the sidelines. The tablet message to Castro essentially said: You should pump this shit like they do in the future.

9.

Before the closing number, Prem told the audience that they “wanted to build a night that you wouldn’t see anywhere else,” and that objective was achieved. Castro and Prem then literally leaned on each other as they performed “Running Rebel Swordplay” to end their hour-long set. 

9.1

Lights went up. The crowd thinned out. I straggled, wall-flowered, wondering, What’s next? I eventually exited the main space and found all those same recognizable faces from the show lined up in the trellised tunnel leading to the street. Controller 7, lugging his box of gear, Curly Castro, and PremRock all emerged from the venue and exited through that corridor. Friends on either side cheered them lovingly. Mo Niklz unfurled a folding table on the sidewalk and displayed a small pyramid of pickle tupperwares. 

9.11

Oh shit, now here’s a cypher…

—Curly Castro, “Sadatay”

As AKAI SOLO and his TASE GRIP contingent exited the tunnel, AKAI—feeling the thrum—began to elucidate all the things that are hip-hop, which is to say, everything. “Brooklyn is…HIP-HOP, the dark sky is…HIP-HOP, my people are…HIP-HOP!...” There was a particular cadence and rhythm to his speech, which could be easily misconstrued as rapping, and that was all Doseone needed to set it off. I’d seen him on the sidewalk, like a predator tracking the bloodscent, his broad shoulders hunched as he dragged on a cigarette. As AKAI and his crew turned curbside, Dose stepped into the street and began freestyling. A circle spontaneously closed around him. I maneuvered with the quickness to the outer perimeter and pressed record on my Dictaphone, positioning myself to Dose’s left.

Doseone, that rough beast slouching toward Butler Street, that clutcher of a thousand skulls, expectorated a string of freestyled words:

I find myself turning science into gutting an entire abdomen of a cheetah, When I work harder, it goes world of words, hearth-beater. I’m out here looking for yourself, Conceiver of entire men out of mud, What he did, what he did with these rappers was duds, and I exploded like a whole lot of love lava.

I could tell from the expressions on faces that only about half the crowd gathered knew who Dose was, and even fewer computed what was unfolding. But those in the know knew what time it was. Dose spit another few bars (“Bleeding possibly with a tourniquet, / I go at it, and I burn ’em once again, / Resurrect ’em and pull up by the sternum and pull they chest out”), and then the beatbox joined in (courtesy of Q No Rap Name, with later contributions from Wavy Bagels). Castro, possessed with the same cypher-sense as Dose, entered the circle and rapped with a hesitant flow:

Do things as we flip ’em, get ’em, Flying over ya head like a gryphon, forgiven,  You can’t even believe me, I made it out the system, The Matrix ain’t got four parts, you better listen.

Castro passed to SKECH185: “Similar to devils, like to hell, breaking heaven down, / It don’t matter, the bread leavens, and everybody moves around.”

[fragments, because transcriptions are no substitute for being there]

Doseone:  “I disappear and then I reappear again wearing your very favoritest rappers’ skins…” AKAI SOLO:  “I’m armed with just bravado and still bend the metal…” Castro: “Let me catch wreck, / Commercial’s ITT Tech…” Doseone: “Rappers need everything and their mothers to hug ’em…” AJ Suede:  “The world keeps spinning on its own time…” Castro:  “We underground, under rap, under earth, under term, / And if you need something, get under, get burnt…” Doseone: “Every bath I take is completely red…” SKECH: “High-tops made out of human skin…”

CHOP THE HEAD:  I watched ShrapKnel body that set, Curly leaving everything on the stage, and then walk up to SKECH outside and say, We rhymin’? SKECH started beatboxing and started up the cypher. When SKECH wanted to rap, my man Q No Rap Name held the beat down for them. He told me later he had no clue Doseone was there until that happened, and he had been a huge fan of his for years. That moment showed me everything I needed to know about those artists. Are we rhyming, or what?

DUNCECAP:  The cypher outside was magical and reminded me why I love hip-hop. Seeing Legends commingling with Future Legends.

Q NO RAP NAME:  That cypher was crazy. Fuckin’ Doseone was there spittin’—I couldn’t believe it. 

SKECH185:  It was cool but relatively uneventful as cyphers go. I was mad my voice was going out. Doseone is one of my heroes, so it was cool to freestyle with him. Castro and I usually freestyle together when we are in the same place. It reminded me that freestyle cyphers rarely happen nowadays (as you could tell by the lack of beatboxers), but it was refreshing and much needed. Dose talked to me about starting a cypher earlier in the evening.

DOSEONE:  I truly feel perfectly lucked to have experienced a creative competitive healthy hardcore group of people who push themselves to make outstanding rap as art!

9.111

I [re-]introduced myself to Dose, having not spoken to him since our marathon phone calls a few years ago for the aforementioned Anticon book. This was my first time seeing him in-person in 22 years. I last saw him in Tribeca at the Knitting Factory in 2002 performing alongside Jel and Alias—a night I documented as well (on 8mm video). He thanked me and expressed his appreciation for the work I’ve been doing, which felt good, especially considering I don’t think he really has any concept of how exhaustive the Anticon book is going to be. To be speaking to him at a Backwoodz event, rhyming beside artists that have rekindled my interest and engendered this indie rap renaissance, was yet another symbol of convergence. He told me had been at Dove’s the day before with Tommy, Scott Matelic, and Fatboi Sharif. Sharif, I said, was a seeker. (He knew.) Moments later, I saw woods and Dose huddled together in hushed conversation. Someone put out the call for a group photograph, and everybody gathered in the middle of Butler Street for a Gordon Parks “Great Day”-style flick. “FREE PALESTINE on three,” AKAI shouted. One, two, three…

9.2

“Just peep the words of my agnostic prayer,” Open Mike Eagle raps on “Dadaism 3.” Every word I write isn’t 25-to-life, but if all goes well, each paragraph will be received as an agnostic prayer. On his most recent solo effort, Another Triumph of Ghetto Engineering (2023), OME told the world, “We got people though.” Two tracks—“We Should Have Made Otherground a Thing” and “Dave Said These Are the Liner Notes”—speak to the power of our scenes and communities, which, truly, is a single unified community. (It’s an acknowledgement that Slug made in songform in 2000 with Atmosphere’s dewy-eyed “Travel,” a B-side on the Ford Two 12-inch—like OME, Slug was “calling all heads of the Earth.”) The underground—or otherground—has been building (steam with a grain of salt) for approximately thirty years. Back when many of us started in this in the late 90s and early aughts, we had no elders (I spoke to NAHreally about this while posted up in Public Rex). We were just a room full, or message board full, of teenagers and heads in their early twenties. We didn’t know shit. Aceyalone might’ve called us Knownots. But now we’ve got representation across generations—we have mentors from the pre-millennium, youngbloods learning the way of the subterranean walk, and whoever else falls between.

Spirit. Convergence.

10.

MO NIKLZ:  After the show, a group of about twenty of us started heading out to another bar. Controller 7 asked me, “Is this normal?” I said, “It depends on the group and performer, but with PremRock, it’s very common, yes.” We ended up closing out the next bar we went to. Doseone had the nicest conversation with me saying, “Keep up the good work and especially all the shipping for Fake Four—it’s so important for the kids,” which I hadn’t even really thought about in a long time. I told him how happy I was to meet him and how there’s such a short list of people I’d actually want to meet, and he did not disappoint. He agreed saying, “Yeah, don’t meet your heroes.”

10.1

We were at the Brooklyn Inn. I ended my night like I began it—in conversation with Controller 7, Scott Matelic, and Emynd. Tommy was clearly elated with how things had gone. He awkwardly gripped vinyl to his chest as he sipped his beer and smiled ear to ear. Castro hopped in a car after the cypher, but Prem, the eternal nighthawk, reveled in his post-show glow, holding barside conversations with peers aplenty. Dose, too, was making the rounds, affable as he is, and he eventually joined our conversation. Ever the hip-hop historian, he entertained us with an invented—though no doubt veracious—account of one Parrish Smith arriving at Power Play Studios for the Business As Usual sessions in 1990, only to describe the premise of “Mr. Bozack” to one Erick Sermon. “And you’re going to play the part of my dick!”

11. CODA

The next night, I was privileged to see ShrapKnel perform in North Jersey. Soldato Books in Rutherford sells both books and records, but it’s housed in the Williams Center, which functions as an arts center and movie theater as well—and just steps from the former residence of William Carlos Williams. The Jersey tour stop was more sparsely attended (I counted about 25 heads, many of which were family, friends, and fellow performers) and suffered from some pretty significant technical difficulties. The soundsystem was little more than a PA, and the acoustics left much to be desired, especially in the shadow of what we all experienced just 24 hours prior at Pub Rex. The performance space was essentially a mezzanine with couches and balcony access. Roper Williams and Sharif were posted up outside, hopefully brainstorming and mindfucking the basis for their Something About Shirley follow-up. NAHreally endeared the crowd with his didactic raps, a consummate performer with a comedian’s sense of timing and poise. He passed out bookmarks advertising his album with The Expert, BLIP. (I took two.)  DRIVEBY went to work for a short but potent beat set. OneShotOnce got on the mic and ripped. Sharif went shirtless for a raucous rendition of “Fly Pelican,” his vocals lovingly distorted. The only performer who was lucky enough to evade sound trouble was L.I.F.E. Long. The performance of his “Battle for Asgard” verse nearly split the atom. 

PREMROCK:  L.I.F.E. Long is a person that truly embodies hip-hop. He is also a beacon of positivity who seemingly never ages! I vividly remember him watching me at an open mic in Bed-Stuy in ’08. I would scour the web for any opportunities that looked like I could get up there to get my reps in. This one was definitely on the lower rung of quality, but I showed out for sure. It was shortly after my song or two that L.I.F.E. walked up to me and said, “You killed it! You’re too nice to be at this one—you should come to mine,” and handed me a flyer for a Newark mic he ran every Saturday. I looked at the flyer and realized who he was. Can Ox!? Stronghold!? I was very aware and it really energized me, and I didn’t miss any of those shows for a while. We went on to do a few things together and become fast friends. I would say his advice and belief in me was a big factor in my development. Time and life (no pun) has a way of losing touch, but I’ll always give props and try to let him know his importance. I hope I am to others what he was for me. There’s importance in paying things forward. Nobody is going to look out for us if we don’t. To quote Onyx, ALL WE GOT IZ US!

phiik and Lungs negotiated the microphone feedback through their set as best they could, but it made me long for the chorus of TASE GRIP voices that were present to support them the night before. Prem and Castro seemed demoralized when they took the stage, which wasn’t a stage. They, like phiik and Lungs before them, chose to perform from behind a makeshift bar on the mezzanine. The bar top served as merch table during the performances, and Castro began by leaning forward and asking the audience, “What can I do for you?” He later went hat-backwards and stood precariously on a folding chair for “LIVE Element.” He left his arm frozen in the air at the end of his verse—a rapper in the Rodin exhibit—holding it there until Prem spit his line about the “bounceback.” They weren’t demoralized, I realized—they were just performing in a more suitable register to the space.

PREMROCK:  We are from the open mic era. Ten MCs, one mic, fighting for space to be heard. Imperfect sound is nothing when we think of what we’ve dealt with in the past, and we’re also blessed with good voices that can cut through the bullshit. Hiccups are always going to occur—shit soundperson, unexpected detour, less than ideal sleeping conditions, etc. Malleability is extremely important. To aspiring touring artists: there ain’t no glory out there, but there is truth! And the truth shall set you free!

12.  THE CHOIR OF ANGELS BOARD THE SECOND AVENUE BUS TO BABYLON

phiik:  Shout out to jesse The Tree. Was intro’d to him by Prem & Castro, and we just hit it off with him immediately. One of the funniest dudes. We had gotten this weed syrup from the Cookies store in Massachusetts, and it just had all of us rolling. But especially Castro, man—he was at the point of tears because of Jesse + the syrup combo. Mind you too, Prem said it was the highest he’s ever seen Castro, and they’ve been kickin’ it for a while. That experience definitely bonded us all right then & there. Can’t wait to get back on the road with everybody again soon.

AUGUST FANON:  [It] was like a family reunion of sorts. All the performers have worked together and the listening community that came out to the show felt like they come to all the shows. I’m just getting to NYC and this was my third show as August Fanon, so it’s all new and beautiful to me.

WAVY BAGELS:  The ShrapKnel show was magnetic. They ripped the stage as well as everyone that got on. Controller 7 wowed the crowd with his beat set, August Fanon and Child Actor kept the heads nodding with their B2B set, and Lungs & phiik looked comfortable being back home after being on the road. It was also great to run into so many familiar faces and those I finally got to meet in person (Marcus Pinn, AJ Suede, Fanon). Overall an event to remember.

HEIGHT KEECH:  This show was inspiring to me as an NYC transplant that’s trying to get my head around the live music landscape. When I saw the Brooklyn stop on Shrapknel’s tour the year before, the crowd was a little light and I thought that their spirits seemed to be a little bit down. It was quite an exciting contrast to see them receiving a massive hero’s welcome like this. Towards the end of their set, I took out my phone to snap a quick picture, only to realize I had been pocket-dialing ten different people since I walked in. I got a few texts like, “Come on, Height,” but Lord Grunge of Grand Buffet had stayed on the line to peep my pocket-dial (while at his job as a Pittsburgh paramedic) and checked the rhymes. He responded with, “New York Flows? Fire.”

STEEL TIPPED DOVE:  The buzz is building. I had the pleasure of fully mixing the new ShrapKnel album. Controller 7 sent beat stems and the guys came to my studio to record it all, so I was recording engineer too. I think it’s amazing how packed the show was and who was in attendance too—lots of indie rap legends, for real. People literally traveled from across the country and one guy from Europe. And the album itself is so good. I think that’s proven by the continuing growth of the group.

E. FORTSON:  I had a brief conversation with Nosaj at the bar in between sets. At one point, he looked around the room and said, “We built this community.” After the show, when I had a moment to reflect on the night, I realized that the heartbeat of this community is Fatboi Sharif. He’s connected to so many people in this beautiful collective that Nosaj described, and I don’t think that’s a happy accident. He’s deeply invested in this community, in this culture, and people can feel that energy. Seriously, he’s the best hype man out there, and the support he shows his peers, particularly at live events, is incredibly genuine. I don’t know who I watched more at the ShrapKnel release party: the MCS and producers onstage or Fatboi Sharif. If he wasn’t dancing or shouting a “WOOOO!”, he was rapping along to every song. It made the show that much more special for me, and I’m sure that was the case for everyone in that room.

FATBOI SHARIF:  It was certainly the feeling and energy that you hope and pray for when you come to a hip-hop show—from the beat sets, to the special guests, to the outside freestyle cypher after the show. I hadn’t experienced all that at one show in some years.

NOAH ANTHONY MEZZACAPPA:  Castro and PremRock are great showmen and MCs and clearly put a lot of effort not only into their own performances but into the whole bill. Seeing guys like August Fanon, Child Actor, and Controller 7 and knowing it was a line-up unique to that show was really cool. Like Prem said, he wanted to give the fans something they wouldn’t get anywhere else.

Q NO RAP NAME:  ShrapKnel is one of one. Their chemistry is unmatched, and it works for them in real life and on record. I had never seen SKECH185 live before—that was mind-blowing. It was very ill to meet some of these folks who I only ever usually hear on record and learn that they are solid individuals in real life. The underground is like that, and I love it.

DUNCECAP:  That night felt like a family reunion. It felt like a couple different facets of the same diamond coming together. It was really special. Lots of love and respect in that room.

NOSAJ:

THE POWER OF SYNERGY

MASTER SPECIALIST

SOUNDTRACK FOR THE MOVIE TAKING PLACE IN THE ROOM THAT EVENING 

A STEP FORWARD FOR THE GENRE

PRIDE

CHOP THE HEAD:  The show felt like all the heads coming together to celebrate each other, and all these rappers that we recognize are pushing themselves and musical boundaries forward and really getting their due in a proper venue. I’ve seen Armand Hammer in big rooms before, but that bill was 100% killers—everybody knew everybody. The sound was perfect. The speakers were big as fuck. ShrapKnel absolutely burnt it down. As a duo they play off each other so well, and this was mid-tour so their set felt effortless and intense. Curly Castro is a tremendously gifted rapper. In his own terms, he is a master bladesmith and swordsman. 

MO NIKLZ:  The whole event was definitely something of an NYC indie rap family reunion/networking spot in a lot of ways and hasn’t really existed since Uncommon Nasa and woods stopped doing Yule Prog.

billy woods:  It was dope to see all those different energies being exchanged in one place. That sense of community and camaraderie was palpable. There were a lot of great artists in the audience, or jumping on stage to play supporting roles for ShrapKnel and phiik & Lungs, but there was also an August Fanon + Child Actor beat set!!!

DOSEONE:  That evening, it meant a lot to me. Most importantly, witnessing underground rap thriving and reforming in the hands of the Backwoodz humans—it’s endlessly important to me. Seeing impeccably written and produced and rapped rap be received entirely and adored is a beautiful thing. Every rapper and producer up there gave perfectly unique artistry in rap form as dictated by their individuality and creativity—FUK YES to that. That competitive collaborative creative energy they are harnessing is so similar yet different to what burned behind anticon as it first formed. And I am really lucky to have experienced that twice in one life.

CONTROLLER 7:  It kinda feels like the people that were there maybe just enjoyed it and it was what it was, nobody really reposted for clout or anything, it was just something we all shared that night.

13.

So, nah: I’m not a spiritual person, but I can be inspired—inspired by the expansion of the underground hip-hop canon and rap pantheon. Bigg Jus’s voice reverberates: A hot wire, like the third rail, is live. I can, and did, thrum with the collective breath of those present on these two nights in June. Forevermore, I’ll expect more from june. No death in June. Life is real, word to the Mighty Mos and Roy Ayers Ubiquity. My life, my life, my life, my life. Reporting live for you suckers.

ShrapKnel setlist at Public Records

“Metallo” “Dadaism 3” “Steel Pan Labyrinth” “LIVE Element” “Human Form” “Mescalito” “Babylon by Bus” (billy woods) “383 Myrtle” (billy woods) “Spongebob” (billy woods) “Bogdan Interlude” “[untitled]” (Fatboi Sharif) “Bardo” “Illusions of P” “Up To Speed” (SKECH185) “Dreadlocs Falling” “Tell Me When to van Gogh” (AJ Suede) “Deep Space 9 Millie Pulled a Pistol” “Night of the Living Analogue” “Running Rebel Swordplay”

Performance photos from Public Records courtesy of E. Fortson

[catchyhuh]

WHO WOULD BE BEST TO GO ON A 6 HOUR CAR TRIP WITH!!

THE ANSWER? IT’S COMPLICATED! car trips are such a delicate science that when i did this ranking in my head it fell apart almost immediately so instead i will present the information and YOU, yes YOU get to decide who you’d be able to put up with and who you’d murder before you even reached the highway

suggested reading for you: unbearable habits. keep this in mind as you go and venture safely 

lupin:

well. it wouldn’t be boring at least. he can make conversation out of almost anything. you pass a weird tree and ten minutes later he’s going on about how one time he had to learn about some tree info to get this rare sap thing (fujiko said she heard it tasted yummy-- it didn’t btw it sucked but he just had to see y’know) and he found out that there’s like thirty types of maple trees, one of which is actually invasive in north america, which is weird because it feels like north america is the area that’s the BIGGEST on tree tapping so why would it be a problem if they had so many norway maples-- hey are you listening to m

actually not that bothered if he’s not the one driving. might poke at you about things like “obeying the speed limit” and such but he’s perfectly content to kick back. uh oh, did that lull you into a false sense of security? don’t sigh in relief yet, you have mr. passenger princess as your copilot. fucks with the radio, the ac, constantly adjusting his seat, messing with windows, all to HIS comfort level. after all, you’re only the person driving.

insists on stopping at a convenience store. if you try some fast food drivethru bullshit he’s gonna be like “what schedule are we on! why are you in such a rush? fucking-- live a little, man. there’s a sheetz here”

jumping off that last bit the payment method AT the store will change entirely depending on what type of comment you make to him beforehand. if you say “in what world is it worth it to steal a 5 dollar slushie” he’s stealing. if you say “in what world is a slushy worth 5 fucking dollars” he will be paying in full with his own money. guarantee

jigen:

reclines his seat WAY far back. like crushing the person behind him’s legs, far back. like, would probably be a safety hazard even if he was in the car by HIMSELF far back. the reason airplanes have a locking mechanism to stop you from turning the seat into a twin bed far back.

not a horrible conversationalist but it will entirely rely on how much he “likes” (read: is kinda okay with) you and his mood. he won’t push you to talk, but if you want to talk and he DOESN’T, you are getting the driest answers. however if you are anything like me and only need minimal engagement to take as a sign to keep talking endlessly, he will whittle down to the point where he starts TALK talking to you a bit more.

can easily keep himself occupied regardless of mood. just grabs a crossword or some shit. miraculously doesn’t get a headache, but if you even make one remark about the fact that reading in the car gives people headaches, he’ll INSTANTLY remind you nothing could make his head hurt more than his current company. even if he doesn’t mind your company! it’s a reflex.

if you don’t let him drive he’s going to be a bitch. i promise. if you don’t let him drive he will grumble about every little thing so you know what. just make peace with it and hand over the wheel. pop it off the little stick thing and hand it right over to ol’ smoky. at the very least he’ll shave off a half hour from the ETA, somehow. it’s jarring because he doesn’t actually seem to be going faster but surprise! we’ve reached our destination.

goemon:

well. if you were stressing over lupin never shutting up i have good news for you. it doesn’t matter who his company is, he’s just consistently a man of very few words, unless you get him off on some specific thing he’s passionate about (which is very, very niche, and will be harder to trigger than you’d anticipate), but hey, he’s okay with that. unfortunately if silence is torture for you i have equally bad news,

honestly cannot understate how likely it is you’ll forget he’s in the back if you’re both silent for more than a mile stretch of road. he doesn’t shift around a lot. when you first get in he might take about 5 or so minutes to really get comfy but he prefers the back seat. every time goemon has had a choice, he goes right for the back. more legroom. so, yeah, very easy to forget he’s present

going to act like he can keep himself entertained just tuning out his surroundings and meditating but that’s just. not true. he’s going to last an impressive amount of time, maybe three and a half hours? but he is ultimately human and when you have to make that first gas station stop the gross ass smell of gasoline is going to knock him RIGHT out of it. 

really the only way you’re pulling any significant interaction out of this is if someone ELSE is manning the car and you can either turn completely around to interact with him or if you’re both sitting side by side. mostly the latter, as he’ll be less tempted to kind of emotionally shut you out if you’re right beside each other. just don’t expect him to move to give you much more space to yourself lmao

fujiko:

unique problem where you might EXPECT her to be somewhat talkative (like a reasonable amount) but no. she’s not talking to you. she’s not even ignoring you with headphones or anything she’s just content in her own world. unless of course you made one comment that just barely slightly annoyed her, in which case she pulls out the biggest, shiniest, most obnoxious headphones and tunes you out entirely. tread carefully

if you get hungry you’re eating at a SIT DOWN DINE-IN MEAL. NO fast food NO convenience store and ESPECIALLY no 3 dollar mini dorito bags, not on miss mine’s watch. don’t even fucking pretend it’s an option. but of course, this adds like an hour to your drive time, so… half and half. you Will be dining and dashing

probably has some kind of car trip kit. firstly, the fact she’s actually taking a CAR trip must mean you need to be afraid of something, because that’s gotta be her last resort. she could fly, take a train, fucking fly a helicopter herself, fly ANYTHING herself she’s UNSTOPPABLE and she wants to kick her feet on the dash for a fourth of a very valuable day?? but beyond that. has a nice pillow (NOT a neck pillow. hurts her neck. just a real full pillow. she doesn’t nap anyway idk why she’s got that) some kinda heating thingy to keep her back from getting sore in that uncomfy seat, large cup with a delicious bev of choice, just anything you could imagine being convenient. oh my god remember the tiddy bear? google tiddy bear. she’s got one of those

very creative when it comes to filling up time without getting VERY silly. now, make no mistake, if you’re both exhausted enough multiple hours in, she MIGHT be ok playing some car color counting game (especially if the winner gets 20 bucks) but usually she’s gonna just come up with some shit like “everytime you complain about x i’m going to cut this blank check into confetti and when the ride is over i’m dumping it on you.” isn’t she such a catch!

zenigata:

well. it definitely won’t be the same moment to moment. either you’re about to be miserable for multiple hours or somehow accidentally unlock the most bizarre yet interesting information about him. no inbetween. maybe even both!

probably the only one who has even a tiny chance of falling asleep, and even then that’s gotta be a hiiiighly specific setup. most possible if you just shut up for long enough and then he’ll kinda doze, but don’t bring UP the fact that you’re trying to get him to chill the fuck out and nap for a bit, don’t even joke about it, because then if you try to employ the long period of silence he’ll just go “... wait a minute I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING” and it’ll be a whole thing

the most adamant about getting the damn thing over with. he’s not going to be a BITCH about it per se, but he IS going to be like “no no not that gas station look at that line. if we just wait till the next one it’ll save us like 15 minutes” and you look at the gas mileage and go “uh” and he goes “no we can make it. trust me.” and cut to 30 minutes later you’re both trying to push the truck to the closest pump which is STILL a good 700 feet away. save time my ass. because of this insistence he will be the one that takes the LONGEST to get from point a to point b, just because he WANTS to be the fastest and god is cruel

goes through like fifty highs and lows throughout unrelated to anything. traffic, the weather, fuck man the ac could be busted, and he’ll be fine, but then 20 minutes later he’s snippy about EVERYTHING. you are microdosing having him as a roommate. stay sane to the best of your ability because god knows he won’t

they ALL get bitchy about music, god help you if you try to fuck with the music