#italian bach imagine

[chrrymlks]

୨୧﹕ lollipop ! part 1

pairing ; italianbach x fem!reader contains ; friends to lovers , yearning a/n ; i’ve been needing bach fanfiction and there’s literally like one on here so i thought i might as well do it myself. ik this one’s short but there’ll be a part 2 i swearrr summary ; on a day out with his best friend, isaac starts to gain unusual feelings for her

“ Do you love me ? ” y/n asks, a strand of hair falling into her face.

Isaac furrowed his brows, “ What ? ”

“ You heard me ” she laughs before stopping for a second, looking up into the boy’s eyes. She repeats herself, yet this time with a whisper, “ Do you love me ? ”

“ Of course I love you ” Isaac responds, looking down at the girl, so close that their chests were almost touching. Isaac reaches for y/n’s free strand of hair and tucks it behind her ear, “ You’re my best friend y/n ”

“ Don’t play dumb ” she says, rolling her eyes, “ i love you ”

Isaac’s heart rate quickens as the two sit in a comfortable silence. He examines her face, memorising each feature; from the arch in her eyebrows to the colour of her lips. Her lips fascinated him; the way they parted as she stared into his eyes, the shine to them when she licks her lips. He couldn’t look away, he couldn’t resist.

Isaac didn’t realise how close they were until their lips brushed against each other. The warmth of her breath against his skin gave him a rush of adrenaline. Without a second thought, Isaac closed the gap between the two, placing a short but deep kiss onto her lips.

The two look at each other for a moment, a look of hunger which only they could understand. And with that, their lips met once more, but this time it was full of greed. y/n tangled her fingers into Isaac’s hair as he roughly pulled her closer, as if he wanted them to merge together and become one. The kiss was full of passion, satisfying their cravings.

“ Isaac ” y/n whispered breathily between kisses.

“ Yeah? ” he responds hastily, moving down to her neck and leaving sloppy kisses.

She repeats his name once more before speaking, “ Come on ”

“ What ? ”

“ Come on ! ” y/n yells, throwing a pillow at the brunette boy’s face.

Isaac wakes up in a shock, “ Fucking hell ! ”

“ We had plans, remember ? ” the girl reminds, flicking him in the forehead.

He swats y/n’s hand away before moving his hair out of his face to look at her. She was even more beautiful than in the dream. ‘ Fuck ’ he thought.

[imredjack]

How much did ArthurTV have to drink?!🤣🥰

Unfortunately I don't know how to crop out the IG on the video right so I just left it....

[w2soneshots]

omgg i’d love to see like youtuber!reader and bach, maybe like a silly little q&a? or even one of those cute but kinda cringe couple challenges from like 2010 loll ( like the chapstick challenge or smth ). obviously don’t feel pressured to write this if you don’t want to!! love ur work btw 🩷

Q&A -Italian Bach

words: 0.7k+

warnings: suggestive content.

summary: you and Bach answer his fans weird and funny questions about your relationship.

notes: hello lovely!💗 Thank you so much for your request (I apologise for posting it so late🙈). This was actually so much fun to write and it’s also my first fic for Italian Bach, hehe. I hope you enjoy!!✨🫶🏼

"Hello m' lady," Isaac greeted me at his apartment door, stepping aside to let me in. I giggled before softly pecking him on the lips.

We were both quite new to the whole youtuber thing just eight months ago. We met through a friend and decided to film a video together. The fans started shipping us, as they do, and something else ended up blossoming between us.

"Ready to film?" I asked, after we'd spent a little while chatting on his sofa. "Yup!" He jumped up and then reached for my hands to pull me up and off the couch.

He brought another chair into the spare bedroom so we could both sit at his desk, then he turned the camera on and we got started.

"Hello, my little gremlins," he began in a strange voice, I didn't bat an eyelid since I was fully used to his antics. "Today I have my girlfriend here to answer some of your questions. So get comfy and maybe get some popcorn or something."

I shuffled in the chair as he pulled out his phone. "Okay... Jacob asked, do you guys fuc-" he faked a gasp and I raised my eyebrows. "Jacob that is absolutely disgusting, you little virgin man... ew, but the answer to your question is yes. Anything to say on the matter y/n?" I breathed out a laugh. "Nope. I think you covered all bases."

"Next! Lillian, ah... can never trust a Lillian," I furrowed my brows. "What why?" "I have my reasons. Okay, she asked when did you realise you loved y/n?" "Aw, that's cute!" I smiled.

"Umm... probably when I got some of that poosay!" "Isaac!" I playfully slapped his arm. "No no, I'm joking! It was after we'd just finished filming a video and we ordered dinner and I realised that even the boring, simple things I always enjoyed doing it if it was with you."

"Oh my god, that was actually such a sweet answer, the tiktok editors are gonna eat that up." He chuckled as he knew I was right.

"Do you wanna read this one?" He asked. I nodded and took the phone. "Wolfman57 asked when we want kids," my eyes widened as I read the message. "First of all, I love your username, secondly that's a big question to ask, wolfman." Bach stated.

"Why don't we get back to you in a few years?" I opted. "Yes, we shall do that," Isaac seconded. "Moving on... oh lord, Sam asked, what's the biggest animal you think you could fit up your ass?" "Woah Sam, that's crazy," Bach grimaced.

"Why don't you take the phone back?" I said and he quickly took it. "I'm sorry your eyes had to witness that my love," he joked.

After quite a few interesting questions we were onto the last one. I leaned my head on Isaac's shoulder so that I could see the phone. "Okay... finally, Laura asked, what's our favourite thing about each other?"

"Ooo, I like this!" I grinned. "My favourite thing about you is your ability to find the good in any situation. Though an honourable mention is that fat ass," he answered.

I scoffed. "That was sweet and you know what... I'll take it. Okay, now yours, my kind sir, would be your funny little jokes and the way they make me belly laugh. Along with the mullet," I smirked as I ran my hand over the back of his hair.

"Thank you for watching till the end, obviously y/n will be back soon so put any requests of things you want to see us film in the comments!" "Nothing dirty," I added. Bach chuckled before turning the camera off.

"That was perfect." "You're perfect, now let's go get some lunch," he responded, standing. "You know... if we order something, that usually takes like twenty minutes to come..." "ah... what do you suggest we do while we wait ma'am?" "I don't know, a lot can be accomplished in twenty minutes," I replied with a cheeky smile.

In and instant he'd grabbed me and flung me over his shoulder. I let out a shriek and giggled as he ran with me into our bedroom.

[whereforarthur]

What should I post for A Friday Special?

Option 1: Female Reader x George, Arthur Hill, Chris, Isaac and ArthurTv

- Y/n shares her sexual intentions with five YouTubers. She invites them to join her fantasy, setting no limits on their actions. The group eagerly agrees, indulging in a passionate sexual encounter as they explore Y/n's desires one by one.

Option 2: ArthurTv x Female Reader x George Clarke x Chrismd

- A game of strip poker with your friends, goes a little further than anyone expected...

[maplesnowflake]

Come on boys! Do it for the girlies! We want to see a Cam Kirkham call up!!

[tinycoffeeroom]

farm love | italian bach

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: Could I request an Italian Bach imagine inspired by Arthur’s vlog to Jezza Clarksons farm?? Maybe on that trip or maybe they just go on a cute little remote trip in the country farm? In their own private cabin (maybe a hot tub on the deck?👀) I feel like Bach is always a great bf but when he’s with friends he’s in his comedy/entertaining mindset so it’s subtle sweet gestures whereas when it’s just them he’s super clingy and boldly romantic

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

📍 Cotswolds

👤 georgeclarkeey, arthurtv liked by y/nstagram, arthurtv and 298,017 others

italianbach me and my 2 boyfriends were invited down to the lovely Diddly Squat Farm to experience farm life and preview #/ClarksonsFarm season 3! Huge thank you to primevideouk for the invite!

y/nstagram and where are my pic creds? ↳ italianbach sorry who are you? ↳ y/nstagram oh, you're sleeping in one of the other huts tonight ↳ italianbach babe no george's snoring will interrupt my beauty sleep :(((( ↳ y/nstagram too bad didnt ask xx ↳ italianbach now look what you've done georgeclarkeey arthurtv ↳ georgeclarkeey wtf did we do?????? ↳ italianbach idk be sexy or something?

fan bach not even posting his gf but has time to post these two muppets

fan we want y/n!!!!!! ♥️ y/nstagram

fan george please give me a chance

fan arthur wrapping his arms around his two little omegas, we love a true alpha ↳ arthurtv what the fuck ↳ georgeclarkeey can't tell if i'm offended by being called an omega... ↳ italianbach i am?? we all know i'm a beta!!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You were surprised to have been invited along to the Clarkson's Farm premiere alongside Arthur, George and Isaac. You didn't really have a following, mostly people coming from Isaac's constant posts about you to see who his girlfriend was.

The coach ride there had certainly been... something. Arthur annoyed the others by vlogging the entire thing, constantly asking Isaac and George to repeat their jokes so he could catch it on camera and having to redo shot after shot when the footage came out shaky or his finger had been covering the mic at the bottom of his phone.

You'd chosen to sit behind the group of lads, plugging your headphones in to play a small town farmer romance audiobook. If you're going to be subjected to dirt and the trio for the weekend, you were going to take advantage and daydream about a buff farmer sweeping you off your feet.

Isaac made sure to keep an eye on you, well aware that you were too engrossed in your audiobook to notice him. Knowing you were slightly camera shy as well, often choosing to be behind the lens and film his tiktoks, he chose to text you instead of drawing attention to you, conscious of the fact that Arthur could whip out his phone for another vlog clip at any moment.

Midway through the first meeting of the MC and the strong, beefy farmer, your phone lit up. At the top of the screen, you saw a few Instagram notifications and two texts from your boyfriend.

Isaac <3 You ok babe? x We should be stopping at Oxford services in about 20 minutes x

Looking up at your boyfriend, his attention was half on you and half on George who was, once again, jokingly shouting at Arthur who had asked him to repeat himself for the 20th time since you'd stepped onto the coach. Smiling briefly at the trio, you looked back down at your phone to reply.

My Love <3 I'm good angel xx May nip in and grab a sandwich or something, I'm kinda hungry :( x

Two seconds after the read receipt appeared beneath your message, a hand thrust a packet of Malteasers between the seat gaps. Grabbing the packet from your boyfriend, you sent him a grateful smile, quickly tucking into the chocolate.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

y/nstagram uploaded 3 photos to their story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After a day of trekking back and forth across farm land, cudding cute little piglets and being stuffed full of the most gorgeous food and wine Clarkson's Farm had to offer, you and Isaac say goodbye to George and Arthur, waving them off as you walk up the little path to your cabin.

Despite it being later on in the day, the sun was still shining thanks to the British summertime. You immediately open your suitcase, grabbing a bikini and swapping your muddy tracksuit bottoms and band top you'd stolen from Isaac at some point. Isaac catches onto your thinking, also grabbing some trunks from his suitcase and changing into them.

You grab the bottle of champagne gifted by Prime Video and open the back patio doors which lead to small set of patio chair and a large hot tub.

Whilst Isaac double checks that the front door is locked, you slide into the water, sighing as the warmth soothes your aching muscles. It had been a while since you had spent this long on your feet and the last time you checked your watch, you'd done 35,000 steps.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself a moment of silence, taking in the faraway bleats of the sheep in the meadow opposite your cabin. A warm breeze flows through the air, making a few stray hairs on your face sway gently.

You hear the doors behind you open and close and an affronted noise comes from your boyfriend. Cracking one eye open, you look back to see him frowning at you in the hot tub.

"What's up, babe?" You already know, but it's sweet to see how clingy Isaac gets when it's just the two of you.

"Budge up." He queues up a playlist on his phone, connecting it to the outside speaker before stepping into the hot tub, staring at you with a playful pout.

You comply, moving to the side so he can sit in your spot. As he settles down, one arm snakes around your waist, lifting you up and dragging you onto his lap under the water. His other arm joins the first, a strong interlink ensuring you won't go anywhere. Not that you'd want to.

"Better?" Grinning up at him, you slide your hand to rest at the base of his neck, fingers tangling in the chocolate brown curls there.

Isaac hums in lieu of a verbal response, face coming to rest in the curve of your neck. Feather light kisses trace along your skin, starting at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, trailing up to below your ear.

You giggle at the sensation, twirling the strands of hair entangled in your fingers round and round as he playfully nips your ear lobe once before pulling away. You untangle your fingers from his hair, moving your hand to the front to swipe his fringe away slightly to get a good look at him.

His eyes seem to twinkle in the now fading sunlight as he takes a moment to trace over your face. "You're so beautiful."

You can feel the blush rising hot up your neck, splaying out dusty pink on your cheeks. Even after being with him for so long, he still manages to fluster you every time he calls you beautiful. Normally, it's a throwaway comment, something he mentions whilst in the middle of something else. But here, just the two of you in the quiet British countryside, your heart seems to skip a beat, thumping a clumsy rhythm in your chest.

Wrinkling your nose to hide the way the statement made you feel, you run a finger gently across his cheekbone, dragging it softly down his cheek to the corner of his jaw. "And you're handsome."

His eyes are glued to your cheeks, smile widening as the blush only deepens, now crimson pink and burning hot. "I mean it. I know I say it a lot, but right here, in this moment, you're ethereal. I'm just so lucky you finally agreed to date me. Knowing that I get to wake up everyday and see you when you first wake up, that I get to walk into any room you're in and watch your face light up when you see me, and that I get to fall asleep holding you every night... Honestly, I don't think I could ask for a better life."

Your eyes are lined with unshed tears, mouth trembling as words of adoration spill from your boyfriends lips. He's a known secret romantic, you had the anniversary cards filled with paragraph after paragraph of him waxing poetic about you; but to hear it come directly from him, his voice warm and syrup soaked, your heart beat another treacherous beat, yearning to burst out and reach for the man below you.

"Isaac... I love you. So much." Your hand cups his cheek, thumb rubbing lightly over the skin below. "I couldn't ask for a better life either. This is the best relationship I have ever been in, and I have you to thank for that. Thank you for showing me a love I only thought was possible in movies."

Leaning down, you press a soft kiss to his lips, revelling in the delighted hum it pulls from your boyfriend. His arms wrap tighter around you, twisting you in a way so the two of you are chest to chest. He pulls you in deeper, mouth warm and insistent against your own.

When it feels like he's pulled every last bit of breath from your lungs, he pulls away slightly, murmuring a soft "I love you too" as he presses one final kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You move your head to rest in the crook of his neck, enjoying the warmth of the water and your boyfriend's body as the sun sets slowly behind you.

You're almost lulled to sleep, cocooned in the arms of your lover. Isaac's hands move in a repeated rhythm along your back, dragging up and down in slow circles as he hums along to the song playing softly from the speaker in the corner.

Before you can drift off, he mutters just loud enough to be heard over the bubbling of the hot tub. "Wanna go in the pool tomorrow?"

Nuzzling down further into the crook of his neck, you nod your head lightly, already smiling at whatever stupid Tiktok's he'll make you film. "Fuck yeah."

His chest vibrates with laughter in response and you close your eyes, pressing one last kiss to the skin beneath your lips as the two of you welcome the sky full of stars.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

y/nstagram uploaded 3 photos to their story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

a/n: first italianbach fic ! welcome to my gaggle of men mr isaac xo first of the ac3may hc's and my lil fingies are flying working through the rest !

[th3-0bjectivist]

Dear listener, I tried listening to six full hours of mainstream radio this week again. I tried, oh, sweet merciful Jesus, I tried. Lo, I have at this point all but confirmed that modern radio is a steaming pool of liquid dogshit. Given a second appraisal, it’s dogshit with a candy-coated hardshell for ease of ingestion! The disheartening repetition, the complete lack of cutting-edge creativity and genuine emotion, ten to twenty ass-ramming commercials in a row only to come back to the feckless frenzy of fail that comprises the vast, vast majority of modern music? It was all terribly grating, and somehow the music was even worse. As soon as I couldn’t take a millisecond more of the doldrums of modern radio, I went to YouTube and listened to two straight and comparatively blissful hours of immortal work by Antonio Vivaldi. So, get into the time machine again with me dear listener, and set course for the early 1700’s, a time when radio didn't exist! The social standards might not have been top-notch, but the powdered wigs were undeniably gorgeous, and the quality of the music… to die for!!!

As anyone who comes from a musical family has likely experienced, Vivaldi had the principles of composition fused to his DNA, and perhaps even down to the subatomic level with the help of his father. Having trained for priesthood in his early years, Vivaldi instead gradually gravitated toward a now celebrated career in music. Becoming an elite level violinist under the tutelage of his father Giovanni Battista, whom he regularly toured Venice and played duelling violins with, this legend of orchestra developed an immense capacity for transforming the basics of music into something so immensely interwoven and sublime that very few can or will ever dare so much as approach the legitimate majesty of his body of orchestral work. Known as something of an Italian religious dogmatist, his calling to the church and desire to be a priest secured him the nickname ‘Il Prete Rosso’ (The Red Priest) because he was a ginger, or in modern politically correct parlance… a natural red head. During a three-decade long gig serving as Master of Violin at an historical Vincentian orphanage, Ospedale della Pietà, Vivaldi managed to gather inspiration and organize his most emotionally powerful compositions. I could probably add a lot of unnecessary details here, but his greatest and most everlasting works are part of his ‘The Four Seasons’, a set of four violin concertos that are meant to express nearly the precise sensations and emotions of summer, winter, autumn, and spring. If you smash play on the above track you will be treated to Presto (from the Summer section), a song you probably know or have heard before. Presto means ‘quickly’ in Italian and is performed at one of the quickest speeds a human can possibly play music (second only to prestissimo speed, I think). Vivaldi also had a strange disease throughout all his life which many historians suspect might have been severe asthma. And with his penchant for taking numerous ‘leaves of absences’ to tour the world and develop an international reputation, this clearly mega-talented rockstar of yester-century ended up spending all the money he earned during his lifetime. Sadly, after approaching the end of his life and skidding through a decade’s worth of career decline, all accounts show that he died completely broke, having spent what little money he had left on multiple assistants that circumnavigated him through his now dire and at the time completely untreatable health issues. Vivaldi isn’t my personal favorite composer of all-time, I’ll leave that distinction to Bach (who himself was inspired by Vivaldi). But his works live on to this very day because he accomplished exactly what he strove to do; embody the excellence of execution in his craft to produce works that bring us together as human beings and sometimes inspire a rare spark of imagination to propel us to create the very best work we can possibly bring forth.

Right above this paragraph is a live variation of The Four Seasons, a classic musical work of art and transcendent beauty that I cannot recommend highly enough. Vivaldi sure did one thing that modern, corporately funded, concentrated and even desperate bands just can’t… and that is actually innovate. He had immense natural technical skills, had them brought to bloom by his family and his own efforts, and he ended up creating over 500 instrumental and choral works, plus about 40 operas. Have *you* created 500 instrumental and choral works and 40 operas!? Didn’t think so. So, get to work on that! And join me next time for some jaunty Brahms. Image source: https://www.craiyon.com/image/dPwZA5VRRTawSH1T9Sslcw

[rjalker]

I don't speak Italian :(

Translation by @el-the-cell:

Yesterday the Great Circle came to inspect the State Prison for his seventh yearly visit, asking me for the seventh time:

"The prisoner insist on supporting his absurd lie?" "You know very well that you are tall, as well as long and wide." "Lie! Measure my height, then, I shall believe you!"

It's been seven years, and I'm still in prison, but I keep existing, in the hope that these memories of mine could let a class of rebels arise, that refuse to live in a limited dimensionality, which for the clarity of you, inhabitants of space, I will call "flatland".

Credits shown:

FLATLAND from the fantasy novel of many dimensions by Edwin A. Abbot Film-making by Michele Emmer

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on the surface of which shadows with luminous contours move without being able to lift or dip. Straight lines, triangles, squares, hexagons and other geometrical shapes. This way you will have a correct enough idea of my country and of my compatriots. However we are not able to see anything of all that. Nothing is visible for us, except straight lines. I shall demonstrate why right away.

Let's take an equilateral triangle. If you, inhabitants of space sink your eye to the level on which it lays, it will, bit by bit, cease to appear as a shape, to appear as a straight line. Well, that is exactly what we see in Flatland when an acquaintance approaches us.

"Good morning, my dear!" "It's a pleasure to see you again!" "Is everyone doing well?" "Please give my regards to your lady!" "Goodbye!"

-How do you recognise each other?- You will ask. I shall take my time to answer you later.

Allow me to talk about the climate and the accommodations in my country. As with you, so with us there are four cardinal points: north, south, east and west. Since there isn't a sun, or other celestial bodies, it is for us impossible to determine which way the north is with the usual method. We od have our own system, though. Here, a natural law dictates that there shall be a constant attraction towards the south. And this attraction constitutes our compass. In the cities we are guided by the houses, of which the roofs are always pointing towards the north, to protect us from rainfall. The rain further helps with orientation, as it alway comes from the north. In the countryside, where there are no houses, the trees can serve as a guide, with the points always facing north. But if you happen, like it happened to me, to walk on a perfectly deserted plain, you'll be forced to stay still for hours, waiting for rain.

But let us go back to the problem of inhabitants. The inhabitants of Flatland. Our women are straight lines. Soldiers and workmen, which are our inferior classes, are isosceles triangles. Our bourgeoisie consists of equilaterals, namely triangles with equal sides. Our professionals and gentlemen are squares (class to which I, myself, belong to), and five sided shapes. Immediately above that comes aristocracy, that begins with six-sided shapes and goes on until the many-sided ones, awarded with the honorary title of "polygonal". When the number of sides becomes so great, and the size of the sides so small, a shape becomes indistinguishable from a circle. That is how you become part of the sacerdotal order, or the order of circulars: the uppermost class. In our social order, a natural law dictates that the male son shall have one more side than the father, thus climbing the ladder of nobility. This way the son of a square is a pentagon, the son of a pentagon is a hexagon, and so on. It is not that way for soldiers and workers. The son of an isosceles will always be an isosceles. I remember one time when two isosceles parents brought an equilateral into the world. It was reason to celebrate for hundreds of metres! But the newborn, recognised as "regular", was immediately taken from the despairing parents. An equilateral without offspring was summoned by the congress of the Great Circles.

"Equilateral bachelor, at your command" "You shall adopt the newborn equilateral!"

Held under oath, the new father pledged to never allow the adopted child to see his parents ever again. He now belonged to a superior class.

(Isosceles triangles gather in a house)

"We no longer accept abuses!" "Let's bring down the unjust laws!" "No one will be able to stop us!"

The acute-angled hoi polloi managed, in some to their seditions, to find leaders capable of making the Wisdom of the Circles their superior strength and numerical advantage.

"Isosceles! United, we will win!"

But the polygons manage almost always manage to stifle the sedition in the bud.

"We need to convince the leaders of the uprising to accept to partake in a discussion." "I'll tell the medics to stand ready."

The isosceles, leader of the rebels, is induced into entering one of the State Hospitals, to undergo an accurate medical examination.

(Hexagonal medic, in a German accent:)

"How is an artificial expansion possible? Thanks to a perfect surgery, the isosceles - made regular and innocuous - is thus allowed to become part of the privileged classes."

This way, the hapless mob of isosceles, deprived of their leadership, will let themselves be stabbed by a small group of their brethren, hired by the Great Circle and kept ready in the State Forts, in case of emergency.

"Soldiers, the fatherland calls!" "Ready for inspection! Present, arms! Attention! Right face! Forward March! Present, arms! Forward March!"

"Fire! Fire!"

"Fire! Fire! Fire! Wipe 'em all out! Exterminate them!"

"Fire! Fire!"

In our annals there are no less than 120 revolutions. And they all ended like this.

Some very important figures in Flatland are women. Being straight lines, They are basically invisible for us, inhabitants of the two dimensional world. A law forces them to constantly move their back part, so that we, flat beings, can see them when they arrive. Their character is ever-changing, and they get angry very easily. Since their end part is very sharp, it is not advisable to start a discussion with them in the streets.

"Please, do give way. I am in a hurry. Move aside!" "Actually, I am as well. And I arrived before you." "I'm not in the mood to waste time. Move!" "My lady, you offend me. I don't understand." "My patience has a limit!" line stabs isosceles triangle

As we have well understood, being touched by a furious woman can be very dangerous in Flatland. When we notice a woman passing through the street, we, the men, are all very careful not to cross her, or make her nervous. Our women's changing nature often causes real family tragedies. It's not rare that a woman gone crazy will exterminate her whole family, husband and children first.

"Enough, I'm sick of being at your services! I want to leave, I want my own freedom!"

An insane woman that wanders through the city immediately results in the intervention of soldiers, who are forced to eliminate her.

"Enough, go away! Stop! I'm sick of this!" "Let's get away, quick! She's dangerous." "Halt! That's enough."

Women are not a joke. Despite this, our supreme rulers, the Circles, are profoundly attracted to women. Especially the most beautiful and corrupted ones.

"Did you see that Let's follow them."

Dancing is one of the most beloved activities by circles, and all the people of flatland. And without women, what kind of dancing would it be?

A very delicate geometric problem for us, inhabitants of the flat world, a problem that inhabitants of space don't even imagine, is how to recognise each other in the street. One method consists of going around the other shape, touching gently side against side, in order to understand what shape we have encountered. We must be very careful. A brusque movement - a simple touching of the edge - can cause immediate death. But what I the reason for our problem? It's an issue of plane geometry. If I, a square, encounter another geometric shape, I'll see (as opposed to you, inhabitants of space) nothing but lines. It can be very difficult to distinguish who I have in front of me, based on what I see. I could even fail to recognise a woman.

Another big problem in my country are irregulars: geometrical shapes with unequal sides. They have difficult relationships with everyone. They can't get a job. Nobody wants anything to do with them. Even their parents don't want them.

"Just leave." "We've had enough of the problems you cause us."

Thus, the irregulars vent their anger of excluded and different on whoever first happens to be in range, causing the intervention of soldiers, who are only waiting for an excuse to intervene.

"He's dangerous! Eliminate him! Immediately!"

There is no doubt that the irregulars live very unhappy lives in flatland. But we, on the other hand, must defend our geometric regularity. Does something similar, if I may say so, not happen in your spacial world?

Years ago the fashion of colouring your sides spread in our world. Everyone competed to show off the most dazzling colours. Even the soldiers put on their dress uniforms.

The time has come that I, the square, protagonist of this tale, explain why I am in prison, where I receive the periodic visits of the Great Circle, where he invariably asks me:

"Do you still insist on your absurd lies?" "I cannot do otherwise. You know it well." "Then you shall remain in prison." "I will retain the memory of what I had the occasion to see."

And what I lived through, was the greatest adventure of my life. It began inside my house, where I live with my three sons - pentagons - (According to the law of flatland, children have one side more than their parents) with the servants - triangles of various shapes - with my wife and my son, some of the servants and two grandsons (hexagons, obviously). Then, one night, I was coming home from a tiring day. As usual, I was welcomed by my wife, and by one of my grandsons, who was drawn to geometry.

"Grandpa, you taught me that in our world length and width exist: the directions in which anything expands. Therefore if I want to calculate the surface area of a square, with a side length of, let's say, three, you'll need exactly nine little squares of unitary length. The area is three squared, which equals nine. Then why couldn't you give a meaning to the expression 'three to the power of three'?"

"Oh, nonsense! Go to sleep, I'm tired."

And I retreated to my room. I could not have predicted that I would be so soon and so spectacularly proven wrong. In the middle of the night I was woken, together with my wife, from a loud noise. I ordered my wife to return to her room. The loud noise announced the visit, dream or reality, of a being that I have since then considered sacred: the divine sphere.

The sphere. Only later I understood what it was. It had descended to visit my world. To visit us, beings unworthy and incapable of contemplating it. Obviously, I couldn't understand or see that I had a three-dimensional object in front of me, which showed on the plane of my world, what you would call a section of its shape. I did not understand it until the sphere decided to let me rise with it into space as you know it. Since that moment, I have seen things that I can not even begin to describe, for my word is unsuitable. And taken by the thrill of space, I threw myself into the analogy. But if really three dimensional objects do exist, why not think about not only about three to the third, but also about three to the fourth, why not see the cube - yes, it is divine - but in four dimensions? And seeing the sphere as well, in four dimensions? Even though I am now in prison, where I will remain forever, for trying to convince my too unworthy compatriots of the existence of space, I thank the divine sphere, that allowed me to see, or maybe dream, for a moment, the wonders of infinite space.

[mikrokosmos]

What’s the story of your life with music?

The main reason I’d avoided responding to this question was that it’s too daunting. How do I make a narrative out of my interests and hobbies over the years? What can I remember exactly? I don’t want to go on and on, but…

My life with music started in…maybe kindergarten? In elementary school music class my teacher showed us Disney’s Fantasia, where my most vivid memories are of the Bach and Tchaikovsky segments. With Stokowski’s transcription of the Toccata and Fugue, I picked up associating music with colors and shapes, and often when I listen I still think in abstract geometric figures, especially imagining the sheet music floating around and changing colors. And from the Nutcracker suite, I went more Romantic and created stories in my head while listening.

At the same school, the fourth grade class would put on a play version of the Nutcracker story with some music from the ballet. I loved the whole “soundtrack” but especially a scene change with the piece “In the Pine Forest”

Growing up, I liked music but wasn’t really into the pop that my sister and cousins were into (Brittney Spears, NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, Spice Girls…), but I’d play around on my cousin’s out of tune piano and “taught” myself how to play Big Ben’s chimes using the black keys. My parents got me lessons with my cousin’s piano teacher who was an old Italian woman who introduced me to Chopin, Beethoven, and Rachmaninoff.

As I got more into music through YouTube and iTunes, my tastes solidified around Chopin, Liszt, Rachmaninoff, Alkan, Scriabin, heavy handed romantic piano. More “Romantic” Beethoven, some “darker” Mozart, and Bach’s organ music. Again couldn’t relate to peers when I got to high school. Yeah I liked Lady Gaga and Beyonce, but I didn’t care about any of the bands kids talked about, and didn’t like a lot of the 00s pop singers. Too many of the works I was into at the time were 19th or early 20th century piano. I was embarassed when guys asked if I listened to anything “hard” and showed them one of Prokofiev’s “War” Sonatas

I loved looking up the history of the works. At the time I thought it was just trivia but the longer I researched, the more I realized it was helping me develop an awareness of how we percieve reality and the social and cultural forces that contribute to who we are and what we do, say, and create.

My first piano teacher passed away, which was kind of rough. She felt like a third grandmother, told me stories about her husband in “The War”, and recorded several Chopin pieces for her family to keep for posterity. I always think of her when I listen to Chopin’s Waltz in Ab, op.69 no.1. Maybe too Romantic of me to bring up the “Farewell Waltz” nickname.

In general I had a very Romantic, and somewhat closed-minded, attitude toward music going through into college. I was kind of snobby against popular music styles, I was convinced Mozart was overrated elevator music, that Satie was a “one-hit-wonder”, and that there was no point in listening to anyone before Bach. Thankfully a lot of taste changes happened through college as I explored the repertoire more and got familiar with Mozart, ‘classical’ Beethoven, Brahms, Haydn, Handel, Hildegard von Bingen, Palestrina, Mahler, Hindemith, Barber, Schoenberg, and I won’t keep name dumping but when thinking back to my time at college I have a lot of memories of how I felt listening to music and pondering life in the way college students are expected to do.

I’ve always been an amateur pianist, and have been self-taught for the past ten years or so. And a lot has changed in my tastes and attitudes.

Still a Romantic at heart but I try to treat music as “objectively” as I can, let it speak for itself, and try to keep the era in mind when asking “what does this mean? What is this trying to convey?”. I’ve tried letting go of biases so I can appreciate other genres more. I’ve also been engaging more with the musical avant-garde, and am on the more liberal side of the aesthetic “culture wars” that have been going on since the mid 20th century.

Right now my favorite composer is Olivier Messiaen who I believe without any irony is the best composer of Christian music, and maybe the only Western composer who conveys a Christian sense of the Divine to the “greatest” extant possible. Of course that’s my own opinion, but for me the 20 Regards sur l’enfant-Jésus is the greatest work of piano music I’ve heard. The idea of best or greatest when talking about art is pretty silly, and the older I get the more hesitant I am to try and argue for something as arbitrary as “best”, so maybe I’d say that Messiaen is the closest to my heart, along with Chopin, Liszt, Scriabin, Debussy, Mahler, and R. Strauss.

And I don't really talk about my personal life so much, but I have a complicated faith in Christianity, and I'm a gay man, and maybe it's silly but music has been integral to my understanding of life and the self.

[the-nest-dwellers]

What's you guys favorite musician and/or song?

Paige:

single artist: girl in red

band: foo fighters

top 3 songs:

Body and Mind-Girl in red

Arlandria-Foo fighters

Gladiator-Jann

Edmont:

Band: Pink Floyd

Artist: 2 Mello

top 3 songs:

Run Like Hell-Pink Floyd

N.I.B.-Black Sabbath

livin' midnight-2 Mello

Hel:

Mother Mother

MARINA

Taylor Swift

Maneater

You're On Your Own, Kid

Do I Wanna Know?

Tweetle:

Imagine Dragons

Misery x CPR x Reese's Puffs x Apple Bottom Jeans

Porg:

Panjabi MC

Mundian tu bach ke

Goose:

Punching Bag by Set It Off

Bluthardt:

solo musician: Billy Joel, James Taylor, or Carole King

band: Chicago or The Who

top 3 songs: "Baba O'Riley" by The Who, "25 or 6 to 4" by Chicago, "Scenes from an Italian Restaurant" by Billy Joel

album: "Quadrophenia" by The Who or "The Stranger" by Billy Joel

[zbknickknacks]

As a youth I was very impressed by the book “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach. When I saw this guy perched at Traghetto Gondole Molo near Piazza San Marco in Venice, it was a moment of instant recognition. Bein Italian, his name would be, I imagine, Giovanni Vitale Gabbiano, but he was just as unimpressed and bemused with people as the real Jonathan would be.

[chrrymlks]

please could you do one for Italian oh where r has a really bad period and (ignoring his jokes) he is really soft and helps her? just pure fluff xx

୨୧﹕ soft comfort .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; italian bach x fem!reader contains ; fluff fluff fluff a/n ; been a while since i’ve wrote for bach but he’s one of my favs soooo summary ; despite his stupid jokes, your boyfriend takes care of you.

You groan, curling up tighter under the blanket, pressing a heating pad against your stomach in a desperate attempt to soothe the relentless cramps, and frankly, you’re over it.

Isaac strolls into the room, holding a bag of crisps and looking far too relaxed for your liking. He plops down beside you and nudges your leg with his knee.

“Ah, yes,” he says dramatically, “the monthly apocalypse has begun. Should I prepare for battle?”

You glare at him, too exhausted to form a witty response. He grins, unfazed.

“I mean, honestly, babe, at this point, I should just invest in a suit of armor. Don’t worry, I’ll fight off the demons-”

“Isaac,” you say, your voice flat, cutting him off.

His teasing smirk falters when he finally looks at you. Your face is pale, your brows furrowed in discomfort. You’re clutching your stomach like it might betray you at any moment. His joking demeanor vanishes in an instant.

“Wait… are you actually in pain?” His voice softens as he leans closer.

You give a weak nod, and he curses under his breath. Without hesitation, he tosses the crisps aside and shifts so he’s lying beside you, carefully wrapping his arms around you. His warmth is immediate, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing is oddly soothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“You were too busy preparing for battle,” you mumble, letting your head rest against his chest.

He lets out a guilty sigh, rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. “I’m an idiot. A dumb, insensitive idiot. I revoke all period jokes effective immediately.”

You let out a tiny, tired laugh. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He chuckles but stays true to his word, focusing entirely on making you comfortable. He adjusts the heating pad so it sits snugly against you, then pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders. One of his hands finds yours, lacing his fingers with yours as he presses a kiss against the back of your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises before slipping out of bed. You hear him rummaging through the kitchen, and when he returns, he has a cup of tea, your favorite snacks, and even a fluffy pair of socks.

“For warmth,” he says, slipping them onto your feet with exaggerated care. “Because your toes deserve comfort too.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart swells at how gentle he is. He tucks you back into his arms, letting you nestle into his warmth.

“I’m sorry for joking,” he whispers, before going back to his usual jokes. “Ugh! Women have it so hard. If I could fight your uterus for you, I would.”

You snort. “You’d lose.”

“Okay, true. But I’d try.”

Smiling, you close your eyes, finally feeling some relief - not just from the warmth and comfort but from knowing that, despite his terrible jokes, Isaac is always there when it matters most.

Isaac presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back just enough to watch your face. His hand moves in slow, comforting circles on your back, and the steady rhythm of his breathing against you makes it easier to relax.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks softly. “Something distracting? We could put on that dumb rom-com you like - no complaints from me this time. Full boyfriend duties activated.”

You hum, tilting your head to look up at him. “No complaints? You’re not going to spend the whole movie pointing out plot holes and unrealistic declarations of love?”

He smirks. “I mean, I was planning on it, but given the current circumstances, I’ll hold my tongue. For now.”

You let out a small laugh, which quickly turns into a wince as another cramp rolls through your stomach. Isaac immediately tightens his arms around you, his expression shifting back to concern.

“Okay, new plan,” he says. “No movie yet. Just you, me, and Operation Make You Feel Better.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“Well,” he starts, looking thoughtful, “we’ve already done the heating pad and the cozy socks, so next on the list is snacks.” He reaches over to grab the stash he brought earlier and waves a chocolate bar in front of you like it’s a prize. “Sweet or salty? I brought both because I’m, like, the best boyfriend ever.”

“You are the best,” you admit, taking the chocolate from him and unwrapping it slowly. “And I will definitely hold this over your head next time you annoy me.”

“As you should,” he agrees, looking smug.

You take a bite, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue, and sigh in contentment. Isaac watches you with a soft smile before shifting so he’s lying on his back, pulling you onto his chest. His fingers trail up and down your arm absentmindedly, and you feel yourself getting drowsy.

“Hey, babe?” he murmurs after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Does it help at all? Me being here?”

You blink sleepily, touched by the hesitation in his voice - like he’s genuinely worried he’s not doing enough. You nuzzle closer, tightening your arms around him.

“It helps a lot,” you whisper. “You always make things better.”

Isaac lets out a slow breath, pressing another kiss to your hair. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’d do anything to make you feel better.”

You smile against his chest, the warmth of his words settling over you like a second blanket. The pain is still there, but it feels a little more bearable now, wrapped up in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

[opera-ghosts]

Nellie Melba sings 'Annie Laurie,' with orchestra conducted by Walter B. Rogers, arr. by Lehmann, recorded at Camden, NJ, on 12 January 1916.

From The life of Liza Lehmann by Lehmann, Liza, 1862-1918:

My father, who was anxious that I should become a painter, encouraged the sketchbook habit, and was very irate if I travelled with my eyes glued to a novel instead of jotting down effects of sunset or of Alpine scenery. For a short season I actually attended classes at South Kensington, drew from casts, and had private lessons in perspective. I include an example of my early drawings, a sleeping fay on a lily, which possibly may show some feeling for line, and what the French call " le sentiment de la pose." But, as with my mother, music lured me the more strongly.

My pianoforte lessons, however, were a source of pure misery to me at this time — in fact, I was given up by one of my first teachers, dear old Henry Bird, as a hopeless case. In after years at how many, many classical concerts have I not sung to his sympathetic accompaniment ! But piano technique did not interest me until my imagination was appealed to. As it fell out, the day I was pronounced " hopeless " my parents were dining out, and my father happened to sit next to the wellknown pianist and teacher, Madame Alma Haas. To her he unburdened his parent's chagrin, and she sympathetically offered to hear me. A last chance ! My mother cast aside the careworn copies of Clementi and the like, with which I had been wrestling for months, and instead taught me a romantic little piece by Schumann. On the appointed day we presented ourselves for the ordeal. Madame Haas made me play the Schumann piece twice, and then I heard her slow dictum, and the Delphic oracle was never listened to with keener anxiety : " No — I should not call her unmusical."

Thenceforward, every Saturday morning I flew to my lesson, borne on the wings of enthusiasm. All the rest of the week I slaved for it ; I even revelled in the intricacies of Bach ! But she taught me something that I have never forgotten : she taught me to think poems and pictures into the music, and I can never be sufficiently grateful to her.

I had begun to play the piano really quite well by the time I was old enough to start vocal training ; and then, alas ! I was no longer allowed to spend hours at the piano, for unfortunately nothing is more unfavourable for vocal development than the position of sitting with the arms forward, as one has them in playing.

When we returned to England in the spring she took me to sing to Madame Goldschmidt (Jenny Lind). Madame Goldschmidt said that my mother had done so well with me that, while she would not like to take me away from her, she would like to help me ; and that I could always be present at her classes when I was in London. She had at this time accepted a professorship at the Royal College of Music, but on the condition that she might teach at her own house in South Kensington. These classes were, of course, of supreme interest to a student of singing ; but although there were many good voices to be heard then, there was apparently, during the few years that her health permitted her to teach, no great talent worthy of such a teacher. She was always wonderfully kind to my humble self, but sometimes treated certain of her pupils with almost cruel harshness and sarcasm. No doubt her musical nerves were strained almost to breaking-point — in fact, looking back, I cannot imagine how she could tolerate any of us — but, curiously enough, I believe she loved teaching. Her manner in ordinary life at that time was far removed from what would be called affable. A stern and unrelenting kind of Puritanism seemed to emanate from her personality. She was deeply religious— almost to the point of bigotry. I remember on one occasion when my mother and I were having tea with her, an innocent-looking little Italian buttonboy brought in the muffins ; and when he had left the room, she turned to us and in a tense voice said, " You see that boy ? I am trying to conquer myself — to bear with him — but — he is a Roman Catholic ! "

Ah ! but when she sang all harshness vanished, and her face became illuminated and suffused with lofty tenderness, as if inspired by St. Cecilia herself. Tears sprang to one's eyes for the sheer beauty of her voice, the idealism in the tone, and the mind and soul behind the delivery. Hers was an artistry based upon relentless study, but her voice was the most spiritual I have ever heard. It had a soaring quality, and, although brilliant and powerful, her pianissimo was so extraordinary that it seemed to creep up to one and touch one. Then her long-drawn shakes, " linked sweetness long drawn out/' and the marvels of the intricate

cadenze composed by herself ! She seemed to triumph in proving the infallibility of her ear as well as the dexterity of her voice. She used to say, " Very few people sing really in tune."

Once she made me put my hand on her chest to note her power of breath-control. It was phenomenal, and her chest seemed to me like an iron safe. I wonder if she realized how her every note and every word were sinking into the heart and brain of at any rate one little " flapper " among the students, and creating for her a standard nothing could ever efface ?

I was not very robust, but I was full of ambition, and cheerfully gave up all the more usual pleasures of youth for the sake of study. For instance, I never went to a dance in my life except as a spectator. Looking back, I think I suffered from an exaggerated sense of sacrifice to my art. But, in spite of ambition, Nature's limitations cannot be overstepped, and I very soon realized that I should never have sufficient physical strength and endurance for an operatic career. Everything seemed to point to a concert career ; and my voice, a light lyric soprano, small at first, grew steadily till eventually I was able to fill any concert hall without effort.

I must not forget to describe an evening we spent with Verdi while we were in the neighbourhood of Genoa. My father had obtained from the composer Killer, his most intimate friend, a letter of introduction to Verdi, as he wished to add the veteran composer's portrait to the collection of drawings of celebrities, signed by themselves, on which he was then at work, and which, after my father's death, was purchased by the British Museum. Verdi granted the necessary sittings, and kindly invited us all to dinner. There were present only Verdi and his wife, Arrigo Boito, and ourselves. It was a very delightful and memorable evening, and Signora Verdi's dinner was quite a tour de force. I remember that the fish was about a yard long, served whole, and decked all down its spine with red camellias ! Verdi was amused to find that we English girls drank no wine. " Why not ? " he queried. "Don't you like it ? What effect has it on you ? " and how he roared when my sister Alma answered : " Mi fa freddo nel dosso " (It makes me cold down the back).

After the gorgeous repast Verdi took us into his bedroom, a cosy little apartment hung with green rep curtains, where he kept his piano hidden. He explained to us that he was so tormented with people who wanted to sing to him or to play to him that he was driven to this device 1 He insisted, however, that I must sing to him, and, after much pressure, I reluctantly did so ; and I hope exercised discretion in that I made no attempt at his own florid music, but merely confined myself to a few old Scotch songs which he had never heard, and which seemed to interest him greatly.

But to go back to the previous winter, spent in Rome. It was there that I made my first little attempt at public singing, at a big function given by the Artists' Club in aid of some charity. It was a costume affair, and I wore a little Empire gown of white satin, trimmed with pink crepe and roses, and an enormous poke bonnet which, I am sure, must have absorbed a good deal of my voice. However, luckily all went well, and a short man with a genial smile was the first to rush up and congratulate me. This turned out to be Paolo Tosti.

[whereforarthur]

Just a little update, Poker night Never Felt So Right coming out tomorrow. Have a busy weekend so will get back to writing and fulfilling requests Sunday/Monday!

Enjoy the imagine, and requests are open so request to your hearts content.

A/n requests are easier to fulfill when a clear theme or storyline is given!

[88888cinema]

TikTok at the Cannes Film Festival: How Micro-Clips Are

Changing World Cinema

Cinema of the past has indeed shattered, akin to the enchanted mirror from

Georgy Daneliya's film "Tears Were Falling." This film is crafted in the style

of Polish cinema of moral anxiety, where the protagonist, through a piece of

shattered glass in his eye, begins to see reality as it truly is.

Imagine if Antonio, after his bicycle was stolen, started streaming on TikTok

and shared his story, captivating everyone with his son Bruno's expressive

eyes. This act of sharing could serve as an economic catharsis, correcting the

injustice and enabling Antonio and Bruno to return home with funds for

groceries.

Similarly, consider Accatone, who meets his end on the street after a botched

attempt to steal some processed meat products, with Bach's music from the

St. Matthew Passion playing in the background. As his friend rushes to him,

the dying protagonist, Accatone, is asked, "How are you?" To which he

replies, "Now everything is in order." Despite his sins, he believed in God

and, having endured his earthly trials, accepted his death with peace. It's

important to recall the protagonist's dream where Accatone encountered a

gravedigger digging his grave in the shade, requesting to move to a sunnier

spot in the cemetery, which the gravedigger agreed to. This beloved

transcendental cinema is dearly missed by all of us. One could say it fell

victim to Bella Tarr's Turin Horse, with the horse itself running over

transcendental cinema, and the carriage didn't even stop.

The curious thing is that Pasolini, a committed socialist, chose to film "The

Gospel According to Matthew," casting his own mother as the Virgin Mary. It

shows that filmmakers used to approach cinema as a temple and often

believed in God themselves. With the decline of transcendental and magical

narratives in cinema, Peter Greenaway may be onto something with his new

cinematography based on geometry and science.

With the decline of Christianity, advancements in technology, and the rise of

consumerism, the traditional role of the director has waned. Today,

individuals facing challenging times turn to social media as a last resort.

TikTok exemplifies this shift, as it gives rise to a unique industry of

marginalized or stigmatized people. In turn, talent managers emerge who

produce them. This means that potential heroes of documentaries or arthouse cinema now take full control over their life stories and all the dramas

within them. They gain their own followers who watch their videos and live

streams like Netflix series.

Modern arthouse directors are increasingly marginalized; the most daring

among them, like Perhan from Emir Kusturica's "Time of the Gypsies," have

departed to confront real-life villains, leaving behind their artistic legacy.

And they won't come back to us, and they won't give each of us an accordion

as a gift like Perhan promissed to his son.

In this hyperreal landscape, influencers navigate turbulent waters as

economic conditions deteriorate and brands grow hesitant to support

independent creators. This mirrors the struggles depicted in Italian

neorealism, where characters fight for survival amidst societal upheaval.

Cinema demanded deconstruction; the once pristine image of the starstudded director shattered into countless fragments. Thus, emerged social

media stars—rising, falling, and reinventing themselves on platforms like

TikTok and YouTube. This narrative fragmentation mirrors our postmodern

reality, blurring distinctions between truth and representation, challenging

established notions of authenticity.

Joseph Beuys once proclaimed that today, we are all artists. Drawing from

French philosophy, particularly influenced by thinkers like Jean Baudrillard,

one could extend this to say we are all actors and filmmakers in the digital

age. TikTok serves as a digital panopticon, where individuals globally share

glimpses of their lives, embodying Baudrillard's concept of the hyperreal.

This philosophical evolution mirrors broader cultural shifts towards

participatory storytelling and digital expression. The democratization of

filmmaking via social media not only disrupts established norms but also

empowers individuals to reshape narratives and influence collective

consciousness. Like the unflinching realism of Italian neorealism, today's

digital narratives reflect contemporary struggles and aspirations, inviting

audiences to engage deeply with fragmented yet powerful human

experiences.

In the realm of Economic Catharsis, prevalent in capitalist societies, those

with financial means may act as patrons over those in need. The cinematic

portrayal of suffering plays a pivotal role here; those lacking photogenic

appeal risk being overlooked, their stories left untold. This economic

catharsis stems from individuals seeking solace from the stresses of modern

life, willing to pay for a glimpse into ordinary human emotions.

This economic dynamic parallels VR cinema, where viewers shape unfolding

events and determine outcomes. Recall the scene from "Mamma Roma" as she

rushes into her modest apartment, secured through sheer effort, followed by the worried crowd. Her anguished cries for her son Ettore, tortured

in prison, echo through the cramped space. The camera captures his

abandoned jeans on the bed, while neighbors intervene to prevent her from

jumping. Mamma Roma's gaze then turns to the indifferent, newly

reconstructed Rome, where she and others like her are confined to their

designated places.

Consider "Accattone," where the protagonist and his companions share a

meager plate of pasta, hungry and resigned. "Saint Bosco, help us," one says

ironically, "Yes, help us starve," another replies. The hunger and destitution

depicted in post-war Italy resonate in today's context. Thanks to TikTok,

sponsorship opportunities have emerged. After a long day, with a glass of

wine in hand, one can tune into live streams from around the world, often

encountering individuals akin to Accattone and his friends. Economic

catharsis, fueled by financial means, finds its full realization.

Traditional cinema, once built on the innocence of its heroes, is fading.

Economics and social media have transformed each of us into performers,

constantly playing roles in a 24/7 spectacle. The future of art cinema, in my

view, lies in esoteric films and visionary directors who, like spiritual guides in

global hubs, expand our consciousness through various narratives. The

straightforward charm of Aki Kaurismäki, with his cinematic ballads, struggles

to compete with industry demands and evolving viewer expectations.

#cinephile#NYFF#arthousecinema#NYCfilmlovers

[tinycoffeeroom]

Could I request an Italian Bach imagine inspired by Arthur’s vlog to Jezza Clarksons farm?? Maybe on that trip or maybe they just go on a cute little remote trip in the country farm? In their own private cabin (maybe a hot tub on the deck?👀) I feel like Bach is always a great bf but when he’s with friends he’s in his comedy/entertaining mindset so it’s subtle sweet gestures whereas when it’s just them he’s super clingy and boldly romantic

the first of the ac3may req's is here ! my brain is working a mile a minute working on the others but im happy to add mr isaac to the roster 🫶 thank u for requesting !! 🩷