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taylorswifthongkong · 4 years ago

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Aaron Dessner confirms: folklore is Taylor Swift’s goth record. Or, at least, it’s her most gothic record. It’s also a few other things, depending on your mood: an unofficial Big Red MachineDessner and Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon started Big Red Machine in 2008 as a loose musical collaboration. They released their official self-titled debut LP in 2018, and this year released “No Time For Love Like Now” with Michael Stipe. collaboration (Big RED Machine); a spiritual companion to The National’s 2019 album I Am Easy To Find, specifically its accompanying Mike Mills film, also shot in black-and-white and emphasizing a more natural setting; or just Swift’s attempt at a headphone record, one that, even if you don’t buy into the Taylor Swift mythology, rewards multiple listens as you pick up on all the intricacies of each song and realize wow, this is where the In Rainbows influence comes in. Dessner is the one to thank for all these little details.

The National multi-instrumentalist spoke to Vulture over the phone from upstate New York a few hours after the surprise release of Swift’s eighth studio album. (“A pretty wild ride,” he admits, sounding tired yet happy.) He was clear that he can’t speak on behalf of Swift’s lyrics, much like he can’t for The National frontman Matt Berninger’s either, or the thinking behind Jack Antonoff’s songs. (Here’s a cheat sheet: Jack’s songs soar, Aaron’s glide.) But Dessner was game to speak to his specific contributions, influences, and own interpretations of each song on folklore, a record you can sum up by two words that came up often during our conversation: nostalgic and wry.

“the 1″

“the 1” and “hoax,” the first song and the last song, were the last songs we did. The album was sort of finished before that. We thought it was complete, but Taylor then went back into the folder of ideasMany of Dessner’s songs started from him sending files of sketches from a folder of ideas to Swift, who then replied with updated files of her ideas and additions. Swift also would start some songs by sending voice memos to Dessner, who would then flesh them out or write music to it. Dessner would also send files to his brother, Bryce, and other collaborators to flesh out the music; he sums up the process as “sending files around.” that I had shared. I think in a way, she didn’t realize she was writing for this album or a future something. She wrote “the 1,” and then she wrote “hoax” a couple of hours later and sent them in the middle of the night. When I woke up in the morning, I wrote her before she woke up in LA and said, “These have to be on the record.” She woke up and said, “I agree” [laughs] These are the bookends, you know?

It’s clear that “the 1” is not written from her perspective. It’s written from another friend’s perspective. There’s an emotional wryness and rawness, while also to this kind of wink in her eyes. There’s a little bit of her sense of humor in there, in addition to this kind of sadness that exists both underneath and on the surface. I enjoy that about her writing.

The song [began from] the voice memo she sent me, and then I worked on the music some and we tracked her vocals, and then my brotherOn bringing in fellow The National member, Bryce Dessner: “My brother lives in France and that’s where he and his family were in lockdown. I would send songs to Bryce for him to add orchestration, and then he would send them back. He would compose to them and then I would have people record them over here remotely.” added orchestration. There are a few other little bits, but basically that was one of the very last things we did.

THE MEANING OF FOLKLORE

We didn’t talk about it at first. It was only after writing six or seven songs, basically when I thought my writing was done, when we got on the phone and said, “OK, I think we’re making an album. I have these six other ideas that I love with Jack [Antonoff] that we’ve already done, and I think what we’ve done fits really well with them.” It’s sort of these narratives, these folkloric songs, with characters that interweave and are written from different perspectives. She had a vision, and it was connecting back in some way to the folk tradition, but obviously not entirely sonically. It’s more about the narrative aspect of it.

I think it’s this sort of nostalgia and wistfulness that is in a lot of the songs. A lot of them have this kind of longing for looking back on things that have happened in your life, in your friend’s life, or another loved one’s life, and the kind of storytelling around that. That was clear to her. But then we kept going, and more and more songs happened.

It was a very organic process where [meaning] wasn’t something that we really discussed. It just kind of would happen where she would dive back into the folder and find other things that were inspiring. Or she and William BoweryDessner explains of the one unknown name who pops up in the folklore credits: “William Bowery is who she wrote ‘exile’ with, and ‘betty.’ He’s a singer-songwriter.” would write “exile,” and then that happened. There were different stages of the process.

Okay, but is it A24-core? [Laughs.] Good comparison.

“cardigan’”

That’s the first song we wrote [in early May]. After Taylor asked if I would be interested in writing with her remotelyOn folklore being recorded somewhat on-the-fly: “I prefer records when they have an element where the paint is still wet. We’re allowing some paint to be human and raw, so [collaborations were] not hired out too much. That was important to me, and that was important to her, too. That is definitely different from her past records.” and working on songs, I said, “Are you interested in a certain kind of sound?” She said, “I’m just interested in what you do and what you’re up to. Just send anything, literally anything, it could be the weirdest thing you’ve ever done,” so I sent a folder of stuff I had done that I was really excited about recently. “cardigan” was one of those sketches; it was originally called “Maple.” It was basically exactly what it is on the record, except we added orchestration later that my brother wrote.

I sent [the file] at 9 p.m., and around 2 a.m. or something, there was “cardigan,” fully written. That’s when I realized something crazy was happening. She just dialed directly into the heart of the music and wrote an incredible song and fully conceived of it and then kept going. It harkens back to lessons learned, or experiences in your youth, in a really beautiful way and this sense of longing and sadness, but ultimately, it’s cathartic. I thought it was a perfect match for the music, and how her voice feels. It was kind of a guide. It had these lower register parts, and I think we both realized that this was a bit of a lightning rod for a lot of the rest of the record.

THE NATIONAL’S INFLUENCE ON SWIFT:

She said that she’s a fan of the emotion that’s conveyed in our music. She doesn’t often get to work with music that is so raw and emotional, or melodic and emotional, at the same time. When I sent her the folder, that was one of the main feelings. She said, “What the fuck? How do you just have that?” [laughs] I was humbled and honored because she just said, “It’s a gift, and I want to write to all of this.” She didn’t write to all of it, but a lot of it, and relatively quickly.

She is a fan of the band, and she’s a fan of Big Red Machine. She’s well aware of the sentiment of it and what I do, but she didn’t ask for a certain kind of thing. I know that the film [I Am Easy To Find] has really affected her, and she’s very much in love with that film and the record. Maybe it’s subconsciously been an influence.

“the last great american dynasty”

I wrote that after we’d been working for a while. It was an attempt to write something attractive, more uptempo and kind of pushing. I also was interested in this almost In Rainbows-style latticework of electric guitars. They come in and sort of pull you along, kind of reminiscent of Big Red Machine. It was very much in this sound world that I’ve been playing around with, and she immediately clicked with that. Initially I was imagining these dreamlike distant electric guitars and electronics but with an element of folk. There’s a lot going on in that sense. I sent it before I went on a run, and when I got back from the run, that song was thereJust how fast of a songwriter is Taylor? Dessner marvels, “It’s almost like a song would come out like a lightning bolt. It’s exhilarating. The shared focus, the clarity of her ideas, and the way she structures things, it’s all there. But I think she works really hard when she’s working, and then she tweaks. She keeps going, so sometimes things would evolve or change. By the time she actually sings it, she’s really inside of it. She doesn’t do very many vocal takes before she nails it.” [laughs].

She told me the story behind it, which sort of recounts the narrative of Rebekah Harkness, whom people actually called Betty. She was married to the heir of Standard Oil fortune, married into the Harkness family, and they bought this house in Rhode Island up on a cliff. It’s kind of the story of this woman and the outrageous parties she threw. She was infamous for not fitting in, entirely, in society; that story, at the end, becomes personal. Eventually, Taylor bought that house. I think that is symptomatic of folklore, this type of narrative song. We didn’t do very much to that either.

“exile” (ft. Bon Iver)

Taylor and William Bowery, the singer-songwriter, wrote that song initially together and sent it to me as a sort of a rough demo where Taylor was singing both the male and female parts. It’s supposed to be a dialogue between two lovers. I interpreted that and built the song, played the piano, and built around that template. We recorded Taylor’s vocals with her singing her parts but also the male parts.

We talked a lot about who she thought would be perfect to sing, and we kept coming back to Justin [Vernon]. Obviously, he’s a dear friend of mine and collaboratorSo, is folklore secretly a new Big Red Machine album? Dessner coyly offers, “I mean, you might not be far off the truth there, but I think I won’t say more.”. I said, “Well, if he’s inspired by the song, he’ll do it, and if not, he won’t.” I sent it to him and said, “No pressure at all, literally no pressure, but how do you feel about this?” He said, “Wow.” He wrote some parts into it also, and we went back and forth a little bit, but it felt like an incredibly natural and safe collaboration between friends. It didn’t feel like getting a guest star or whatever. It was just like, well, we’re working on something, and obviously he’s crazy talented, but it just felt right. I think they both put so much raw emotion into it. It’s like a surface bubbling. It’s believable, you know? You believe that they’re having this intense dialogue.

With other people I had to be secretive, but with Justin, because he was going to sing, I actually did send him a version of the song with her vocals and told him what I was up to. He was like, “Whoa! Awesome!” But he’s been involved in so many big collaborative things that he wasn’t interested in it from that point of view. It’s more because he loved the song and he thought he could do something with it that would add something.

“my tears ricochet”

This is one of my absolute favorite songs on the record. I think it’s a brilliant composition, and Taylor’s words, the way her voice sounds and how this song feels, are, to me, one of the critical pieces. It’s lodged in my brain. That’s also very important to Taylor and Jack. It’s like a beacon for this record.

“mirrorball”

“mirrorball” is, to me, a hazy sort of beautiful. It almost reminds me of ‘90s-era Cardigans, or something like Mazzy Star. It has this kind of glow and haze. It feels really good before “seven,” which becomes very wistful and nostalgic. There are just such iconic images in the lyrics [“Spinning in my highest heels”], which aren’t coming to me at the moment because my brain is not working [laughs].

HOW JACK ANTONOFF’S FOLKORE SONGS DIFFER FROM DESSNER’S

I think we have different styles, and we weren’t making them together or in the same room. We both could probably come closer together in a sense that weirdly works. It’s like an archipelago, and each song is an island, but it’s all related. Taylor obviously binds it all together. And I think Jack, if he was working with orchestrations, there’s an emotional quality to his songs that’s clearly in the same world as mine.

We actually didn’t have a moodboard for the album at all. I don’t think that way. I don’t really know if she does either. I don’t think Jack … well, Jack might, but when I say the Cardigans or Mazzy Star, those aren’t Jack’s words about “mirrorball,” it’s just what calls to mind for me. Mainly she talked about emotion and to lean into it, the nostalgia and wistfulness, and the kind of raw, meditative emotion that I often kind of inhabit that I think felt very much where her heart was. We didn’t shy away from that.

“seven”

This is the second song we wrote. It’s kind of looking back at childhood and those childhood feelings, recounting memories and memorializing them. It’s this beautiful folk song. It has one of the most important lines on the record: “And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on.” That’s what this album is doing. It’s passing down. It’s memorializing love, childhood, and memories. It’s a folkloric way of processing.

“august”

This is maybe the closest thing to a pop song. It gets loud. It has this shimmering summer haze to it. It’s kind of like coming out of “seven” where you have this image of her in the swing and she’s seven years old, and then in “august” I think it feels like fast-forwarding to now. That’s an interesting contrast. I think it’s just a breezy, sort of intoxicating feeling.

“this is me trying”

“this is me trying,” to me, relates to the entire album. Maybe I’m reading into it too much from my own perspective, but [I think of] the whole album as an exercise and working through these stories, whether personal or old through someone else’s perspective. It’s connecting a lot of things. But I love the feeling in it and the production that Jack did. It has this lazy swagger.

“illicit affairs”

This feels like one of the real folk songs on the record, a sharp-witted narrative folk song. It just shows her versatility and her power as a songwriter, the sharpness of her writing. It’s a great song.

“invisible string”

That was another one where it was music that I’d been playing for a couple of months and sort of humming along to her. It felt like one of the songs that pulls you along. Just playing it on one guitar, it has this emotional locomotion in it, a meditative finger-picking pattern that I really gravitate to. It’s played on this rubber bridge that my friend put on [the guitar] and it deadens the strings so that it sounds old. The core of it sounds like a folk song.

It’s also kind of a sneaky pop song, because of the beat that comes in. She knew that there was something coming because she said, “You know, I love this and I’m hearing something already.” And then she said, “This will change the story,” this beautiful and direct kind of recounting of a relationship in its origin.

“mad woman”

That might be the most scathing song on folklore. It has a darkness that I think is cathartic, sort of witch-hunting and gaslighting and maybe bullying. Sometimes you become the person people try to pin you into a corner to be, which is not really fair. But again, don’t quote me on that [laughs], I just have my own interpretation. It’s one of the biggest releases on the album to me. It has this very sharp tone to it, but sort of in gothic folklore. It’s this record’s goth song.

“epiphany”

For “epiphany,” she did have this idea of a beautiful drone, or a very cinematic sort of widescreen song, where it’s not a lot of accents but more like a sea to bathe in. A stillness, in a sense. I first made this crazy drone which starts the song, and it’s there the whole time. It’s lots of different instruments played and then slowed down and reversed. It created this giant stack of harmony, which is so giant that it was kind of hard to manage, sonically, but it was very beautiful to get lost in. And then I played the piano to it, and it almost felt classical or something, those suspended chords.

I think she just heard it, and instantly, this song came to her, which is really an important one. It’s partially the story of her grandfather, who was a soldier, and partially then a story about a nurse in modern times. I don’t know if this is how she did it, but to me, it’s like a nurse, doctor, or medical professional, where med school doesn’t fully prepare you for seeing someone pass away or just the difficult emotional things that you’ll encounter in your job. In the past, heroes were just soldiers. Now they’re also medical professionals. To me, that’s the underlying mission of the song. There are some things that you see that are hard to talk about. You can’t talk about it. You just bear witness to them. But there’s something else incredibly soothing and comforting about this song. To me, it’s this Icelandic kind of feel, almost classical. My brother did really beautiful orchestration of it.

“betty”

This one Taylor and William wrote, and then both Jack and I worked on it. We all kind of passed it around. This is the one where Taylor wanted a reference. She wanted it to have an early Bob Dylan, sort of a Freewheelin’ Bob DylanBob Dylan’s second LP, released in 1963, features some of his most stripped-down acoustic folk songs, with plenty of harmonica. To this day, its lyrics still cause debate. The album’s famous cover, shot in New York on Jones St., is one block away from Cornelia Street. feel. We pushed it a little more towards John Wesley Harding, since it has some drums. It’s this epic narrative folk song where it tells us a long story and connects back to “cardigan.” It starts to connect dots and I think it’s a beautifully written folk song.

Is ‘betty” queer canon?

I can’t speak to what it’s about. I have my own ideas. I also know where Taylor’s heart is, and I think that’s great anytime a song takes on greater meaning for anyone.

Is William Bowery secretly Joe Alwyn?

I don’t know. We’re close, but she won’t tell me that. I think it’s actually someone else, but it’s good to have some mysteries.

“peace”

I wrote this, and Justin provided the pulse. We trade ideas all the time and he made a folder, and there was a pulse in there that I wrote these basslines to. In the other parts of the composition, I did it to Justin’s pulse. Taylor heard this sketch and she wrote the song. It reminds me of Joni Mitchell, in a way — there’s this really powerful and emotional love song, even the impressionistic, almost jazz-like bridge, and she weaves it perfectly together. This is one of my favorites, for sure. But the truth is that the music, that way of playing with harmonized basslines, is something that probably comes a little bit from me being inspired by how Justin does that sometimes. There’s probably a connection there. We didn’t talk too much about it [laughs].

“hoax”

This is a big departure. I think she said to me, “Don’t try to give it any other space other than what feels natural to you.” If you leave me in a room with a piano, I might play something like this. I take a lot of comfort in this. I think I imagined her playing this and singing it. After writing all these songs, this one felt the most emotional and, in a way, the rawest. It is one of my favorites. There’s sadness, but it’s a kind of hopeful sadness. It’s a recognition that you take on the burden of your partners, your loved ones, and their ups and downs. That’s both “peace” and “hoax” to me. That’s part of how I feel about those songs because I think that’s life. There’s a reality, the gravity or an understanding of the human condition.

DOES TAYLOR EXPLAIN HER LYRICS?

She would always talk about it. The narrative is essential, and kind of what it’s all about. We’d always talk about that upfront and saying that would guide me with the music. But again, she is operating at many levels where there are connections between all of these songs, or many of them are interrelated in the characters that reappear. There are threads. I think that sometimes she would point it out entirely, but I would start to see these patterns. It’s cool when you see someone’s mind working.

“the lakes”

That’s a Jack song. It’s a beautiful kind of garden, or like you’re lost in a beautiful garden. There’s a kind of Greek poetry to it. Tragic poetry, I guess.

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#aaron dessner #the national #joe alwyn #article #folklore interview #folklore promo #folklore #quote #track by track

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intothewilde · 4 years ago

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⌠ ellie bamber, 20, cis female, she/her ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, GIORGIA WILDE! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in UNDECIDED; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (first edition books, walking in the rain, candy-scented lip gloss, getting lost in a museum, millions of twinkling city lights). when it’s the (sagittarius)’s birthday on 12/13/1999, they always request their CHERRY PIE from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

she can’t do shit with knives yet but it’s a great gif, don’t @ me) but DO like this if you want me to hit you up for plots

@gallagherintro

tw: implied neglect, brief mentions of mental illness and addiction

ok! so giorgia was born and raised in new york city. both of her parents came from extremely wealthy families. her mother was a french socialite and her father was the golden boy of a hearst-like (founders/owners of a distinguished publishing conglomerate) family from connecticut. some of his family members claimed to be descendants of one of oscar wilde’s cousins (a rumor that has yet to be confirmed) and he believed he had it in him to become a literary great himself. he seemingly succeeded, having published multiple best sellers popular with young pseudo-intellectuals.

giorgia was never sure if her mother had wanted a daughter or a life-size doll. from a very young age she was primed to fit into high society and paraded around her parent’s lavish parties. most of her time was spent with nannies and violin tutors, studying her father’s poetic heroes, and dancing ballet. she was taught how to socialize with society’s elite, but she never felt comfortable doing so. she felt safer hiding behind her mother or sitting beneath the stairs with her nose in a book.

while her mother wanted her child to be pretty and proper, her father wanted someone to continue his family’s legacy. she learned to read when she was four, and by the time she was five, gio was forced to write in a diary every. single. day. (over the last fifteen years she’s filled up dozens of notebooks that live on a bookshelf in her childhood bedroom). she didn’t particularly like her father and she didn’t want to want what he wanted for her. (did that sentence make sense? i hope so). but she did like to write and she was damn good at it. her poetry was published in online journals and lit mags, her short stories won young artist awards. on the outside, she was everything her parents wanted.

but like i said before, gio struggled with the social part or being a socialite, and the life of an heiress was never something she wanted. she didn’t seem to have the right attitude - she was demure and diffident, a textbook wallflower. she was never happier than when she was reading a book or roaming a museum, always curious about the world around her. she never misbehaved or did anything wrong, but her parents wanted her to behave differently.

their tribeca penthouse always had a certain cold air to it and the high ceilings only seemed to add to the lonely feeling that gio couldn’t escape. her relationship with her parents seemed to become more strained with each passing day. the more she learned about them the more gio realized she didn’t know them at all - the spa retreats her mother went on were really trips to psychiatric facilities and rehabs, and the endless slew of young women her father employed as assistants were all lazily hidden affairs. they never talked about it, if she tried to she was shut down or ignored entirely.

gio grew up wanting to go to nyu. she didn’t know where the dream came from (her parents wanted her to go to vassar or dartmouth) but she loved her home city and something about nyu had always called to her. she was accepted early admission to the gallatin school where she planned to major in an individualized study of creative and dramatic writing.

she loved her freshman year of college. she was finally out of her parents’ home and into a postage stamp of an apartment with an eccentric girl studying theater. she was around people from all over the world and all walks of life instead of the tiny bubble of rich snobs and private schools. she was around people she actually had things in common with. she was still shy and she still found it extremely difficult to talk to people. the easiest way for her to interact with people was to overcompensate for her shyness and be excessively friendly. when she was actually able to talk, she found she had many things to say, and once she started talking it was hard for her to stop.

her roommate was a big fan of movie marathons (in october they watched all of the scream movies, and then all of the saw movies, and then all of the children of the corn movies. that’s twenty horror movies. gio still has nightmares from them). for a few weeks in the fall she had a spy movie marathon. mission: impossible and jason bourne movies, mostly. something about them piqued gio’s interest, and she started reading spy novels, which quickly turned into her writing one of her own. she wanted the protagonist to be a woman for once, and one who’s main personality trait wasn’t tits. her novel, at dawn beneath the bridge of sighs, followed a cia operative and an italia aisi agent who are forced to work together to find the kidnapped daughter of an american diplomat along with the priceless jewelry she was wearing at the time of her capture. (do i know what the fuck im talking about? no!!)

gio comes from a family of publishers so it was fairly easy for her to find someone who wanted to publish it, but the nepotism ended there, the success was all her own. it was lauded as an impressive debut novel and critics praised her subversion of genre tropes and inventive action sequences. but it stuck out to a select few for a different reason - the heroine used tactics uncannily similar to those used by actual spies, and she used them well. some people were curious as to how the character would handle other situations in the spy world, or really how the author would plan it.

so yeah she got a letter from gallagher, and she thought it was a joke at first. she eventually figured out it was very real (how? idk!) and her curiosity got the better of her. she decided it would be good for research, and that she could go back to nyu if she wanted to. once she arrived at gallagher, giorgia... did not know what to do. she had never been so out of her element, and she felt like she was terrible at everything. but that wasn’t really true, all the things you could study for were things she was actually learning. she became determined to actually do well, and as her first year comes to an end, gio still feels extremely unsure of herself, and unsure of where she wants to focus her studies, but she’s starting to feel like gallagher is the right place for her to be.

personality: she’s very sweet, very earnest, sometimes has a tendency to retreat into herself and get quiet, but she still combats her shyness with an outgoing attitude she learned from her mother that takes her far out of her comfort zone. basically as outgoing as an introvert can be. she tries to see the best in everyone and every situation. emphasis on tries, because she’s a total worrier and is often pulled between the desire to find a silver lining and the fear that something horrible will happen. she will give people more chances than they deserve and let them walk all over her. her self esteem can be pretty low, but one thing she is confident about is her writing (although she won’t tell you because she doesn’t want to seem boastful). art and literature in all forms are her favorite things and she could talk about it forever. she’s the kind of person who tries to learn everyone’s names and once she knows it she’ll say hi to you every time she sees you.

other stuff: she’s fluent in french and english and grew up speaking them equally. (she also knows some spanish, italian, german, and russian from her nannies, but she’s not fluent). she has a deep love for photography, usually bringing a camera with her at all times. she can play classic violin and piano, but hasn’t in a while and is probably rusty, she continued to dance until she came to gallagher and no longer had time to practice. she has a cat named pierre (named after pierre-auguste renoir). she's a vegetarian. she’s basically addicted to fruit. she listens to a lot of sad pop music. her favorite colors are blush pink and forest green. she watches a lot jean-luc godard and wes anderson movies. she’s kind of a sad girl/art ho. she gets crushes on people easily and all the time. she is very impressionable, and seems to experience heartbreak often. she just wants someone to lover her for her, you know?

wanted connections: (im super fucking tired so im just gonna write some really basic shit but hopefully i’ll edit it tomorrow).

a best friend: it’s not easy for her to make friends but i want gio to have one person she can truly be herself around. a platonic soulmate, if you will.

friends: really just anyone who is understanding of how she’s not always comfortable talking but will also listen if she starts ranting about queer representation in 20th century poetry and plays, ya feel?

big brother/big sister: because she hated being an only child and she really needs someone looking out for her

bad influence: its not hard to be a bad influence on her but someones gotta do it!

good influence: someone who lets her baby ways rub off on them

idk what to call this but a sort of mutual respect with someone she’s had a class with?

idk what to call this either but someone she really clashes with, they just don’t understand each other

people she knew in nyc: she was there for the first 19 years of her life so if your character was there in early 2019 or any time before that, they could’ve run into each other

someone from a similar background who she can just be like... felt with?

hookups/flings: she loves love but love does not love her

an ex: could be good or bad terms idk

crushes, mutual or unrequited

give me literally anything, the more angst the better!!

#gallagher:intro #it's 2:48 am if this makes no sense or has a million typos please forgive me

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revisionaryhistory · 5 years ago

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Three Days ~ 4

AO3

~*~Emma~*~

What in the hell is he doing with his tongue? He's licking his lips and flipping it around. Is he trying to drive me crazy? I'm not sure he even realizes what he's doing. Its like a nervous habit or he's thinking. Either option is sexy as fuck.

I'd wondered how and when the subject of him being The Winter Soldier would come up. It had to eventually. Like I'd said it's difficult to get to know him without hearing about his friends. It just so happens that his friends are famous people and super heroes.

I could make this easier. I could tell him a story to let him know I'm not starstruck or looking to attach myself to a celebrity. But that would open up a conversation I'm not ready to have and, frankly, he's not earned. Yet.

After I said to talk about his friends, Sebastian told me stories of dinners in Atlanta, nights out, and practical jokes galore. He used nicknames and told me about the people. I wasn't learning about a bunch of actors. I was learning about Evans, Mackie, Chace, Will, and Scarlett among others.

I must have had a look on my face because he stopped, "What?"

It took a second for me to track back to what I was thinking. "Just because I can match names with faces doesn't mean I know the people. Thank you for telling me about the people."

He smiled and his blue blue eyes lit up. It was like he was surprised he'd been talking so easily. He squeezed my hand and nodded once, "You're welcome."

Our dinner arrived and broke the moment. I'm glad. Like when the appetizer came and stopped the flirty comments. The interruptions kept us from going to far. A first date is like a dance. You flirt, you back away. You get into a deep conversation, then go back to a safer topic. Too much intensity and you run the risk of regretting what you shared in a moment. Out of control flirting just lands you in bed.

While we ate I took over telling stories about my friends. By the time they took our plates we'd built the foundation for future conversations about our days. I didn't doubt there would be those conversations.

We had to stop holding hands while we ate. Almost immediately I saw him shift and felt his leg brush mine and come to rest with his calf pressed against mine. With the plates gone, Sebastian reached across the table. I put my hand back in his and felt a frisson of energy travel up my arm. His hands made mine look tiny. Us holding hands wasn't a passive activity. We played with each other's fingers. Every so often we'd twine fingers and be still for a minute or two before the movement continued. Sebastian seemed especially fascinated by my finger nails. He’d run his fingers over the sides, push against the end, or almost pull on on them.

Another pair of beers arrived and conversation restarted. “You grew up in Georgia and now you're in New York. How'd that happen?”

I grimaced, “There's an ex in this story. You up for hearing the ex story?”

“If you're up to telling.”

“I went to the University of Georgia in Athens. About four hours away from home. First semester of my Junior year I took an elective in American Legal Foundations. Most of the class was taught by a second year law student named Jimmy.” I quirked an eyebrow to clue him in. He smiled. “He was handsome, smart, and very driven. We dated through graduation. Him law school and me undergrad. He got a job at a firm in New York City. I applied to NYU and started working on my Masters. You can work as a teacher in New York with your bachelors, but you have to have taken some prep classes, which I didn't have. So I worked as a server for the first year.”

Sebastian groaned, “I did too. I don't think I've ever been so tired in all my life. And is why I tip ridiculous amounts.”

I laughed, “I remember how bad my feet hurt.” He groaned with me. “It worked good with my school schedule. In the fall I got a job teaching Kindergarten. We had this one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. I loved our neighborhood. There was always something going on. I got to be friends with this local musician and his wife. She taught first grade, which is how I learned I would prefer first grade. The next year I moved to first grade and we team taught. I thought I was set. A man I loved, job I loved, neighborhood I loved, friends I loved.” I paused to take a drink.

His thumb moving against my skin would have been soothing if I wasn't past all this. Still, it felt good. “This is where it falls apart.”

“Part of what I fell in love with was his drive. I didn't count on it turning on me. Somewhere he started to think I was less than him. He was better than me. His friends were better than mine. At his firm's Christmas party I noticed when he introduced me or if someone asked me about myself he would say “she's just a teacher”. We got into a huge fight that night. He hated my best friend and her wanna be rock star husband. My salary was always going to hold him back.” I smiled. “Hold him back. His phone rang and I saw the name of one of his coworkers. She was the one he'd been fucking for months.”

Sebastian hissed in a breath, “Ouch, sorry.”

“Ancient history now, but thanks. My parents wanted me to moved back. I just couldn't, but I couldn't afford our apartment either. I searched around and found a long term sub position near here for a teacher on maternity leave. They didn't have a spot for me the next year, but I found a first grade position in another school. I've been here three years now.”

“Very different from Brooklyn.”

I laughed, “Very. I loved the city. I'm not telling you anything you don't know. The energy is different there. You can walk around doing nothing and have the best time. I go back and visit friends, especially if Eli has a gig and I can see Angie. Most people come up here to get away from the city. I go to the city to get away from the peace and quiet. Where do you live?”

“Soho.” He looked uncomfortable. “When I first moved to the city I lived in the apartment with three other friends in a scary neighborhood right near the subway. Good times. Acting isn't a steady paycheck. I just bought a place last year. I put it off for a long time. Part of me kept expecting the work to dry up and be worried about making rent again. My manager had to practically forge my name on the mortgage. I shook for a good three days. Then it got fun. I liked decorating and picking out stuff. Everything was painted white when I moved in. I left most of it, but I painted a wall in my bedroom a blue gray. Evans told me I couldn't paint it black.” He shrugged, “I like black.”

“My kitchen is black.”

“Good girl.” He brought his beer to his lips and smiled, “So is mine.”

We talked about New York for a long time. Best places for people watching. Live music places. Hidden restaurants. Things we loved and things we hated. Somewhere in this I decided this was the best first date I'd ever had. Or maybe it was just him.

The place was crowded, noisy with conversation and the clinking of tableware. His attention was never pulled away from me. I felt like I was the only person in the place. If he had first date nerves they weren't showing. He seemed relaxed and natural, which made it easy for me to be relaxed and natural. Facial expressions showed interest and kept me talking. He became more animated as he told his own stories. It was like he focused all his energy on listening, but let it go when it was his turn. As we talked about New York we were talking over and around each other and reacting to things said. It didn't feel like a first date.

When that conversation died down he brought his other hand to the table and motioned for mine. He held both of mine and his face went serious. “Alright. You're stranded on an island.” I snorted a laugh. He shook his head and laughter filled his eyes, “Wait for it.” He huffed a breath and got back into character, “You're stranded on an island. All your needs are taken care of. There's shelter, food, water, indoor plumping. But . . . there's no internet. In the middle of main room, which has an amazing ocean view by the way, is a jukebox. It only has five songs. What are they and why?”

My eyes grew wide, “Only five!”

He sneered and nodded, “Only five. Better make them good ones. Who knows how long you’ll be there.”

“You're gonna tell me yours aren't you?”

“When you're done.” He stared at me while I was thinking. “Only five.”

“Shut up, I'm thinking.” The first three were easy. “Ok, first, foremost, and always is Black by Pearl Jam.”

He made a face, “Ooo, good choice.” He started singing. “I know someday you'll have a beautiful life. I know you'll be a star. In somebody else's sky. Why oh why can't it be mine.”

I had joined in after the first line and could feel the smile on my face. “That's the reason. The feeling and rip your heart out emotion is those lines.” I closed my eyes and thought back, “Seeing that live the first time when I was sixteen was incredible. Watching Eddie on stage with his eyes closed, pouring out the pain. Then it switches to that Doodoo-doo-doo-doodoodoo over and over, almost like a mantra or sitting in the corner rocking back and forth to comfort yourself. Start a Fire, by Ryan Star. It's memories of falling in love or maybe falling in lust. It's got an intense part kind of like Black. Probably because he's a big Pearl Jam fan. It says things like taking chances in the back of your car, give in to the beat of your heart as my hand touches your skin, and wake up dreaming and lie here with me.” I was on a roll now and kept going. “Shatter Me. Lindsey Stirling is a violinist and the lead singer from Halestorm does vocals. It's about being afraid and wanting to feel alive again. Starts kinda soft with the soothing violin in the background then works up to a frenzy. The first line is “I piroutte in the dark” so as the music builds I just picture spinning faster and faster trying to break free from the fear. There's an old song by Jefferson Starship. At least I think they were still Jefferson Starship. Miracles. It's from the seventies and it's one the dirtiest song I've ever heard. Not in the filthy I wanna fuck you like an animal way, but sexy dirty. Have you heard it?”

He scrunched up his face while he thought, “I think so. Something about if only you believed in miracles so would I. Is that right?” I nodded. “I don't recall the dirty part.”

“There's a short version they play on the radio that doesn't have it. It's almost at the end and says I got a taste of the real world when I went down on you.”

I watched a slow smirk form and his eyebrow quirk. “The seventies had lots of secret dirty parts. Afternoon Delight. That song by Donna Summer full of sex noises. When I went down on you isn't really hidden.” He held up a finger. “One more.”

“This one is new and I'm currently obsessed. Chances by the Backstreet Boys.” He snickered. I rolled my eyes and ignored him. I sang the first line, “What if I wouldn't have asked for your name and time wouldn't have stopped when you said it to me.” He just stared and I switched back to speaking, “It’s a simple love song about fate. All the what ifs that have to happen for two people to fall in love.” I shrugged. “Your turn.”

He threw his hands in the air, “I can't compete with yours! You've got all these intense songs about heartbreak, fear, love, and lust. I've got, I've got Jessie's Girl.”

I laughed at the way he threw up his hands, made faces, and collapsed back into his chair. His over the top level of exasperation was funny. “I like things that make me feel.”

Sebastian clapped his hands then rubbed them together, “I'm going to have to up my game.” He took a drink of his beer, shook out his arms, cracked his knuckles, and finally reached out and took my hand again. “I'm going to stick with Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl as my number one. Playing air guitar and singing into a hairbrush. Good times. I love eighties music so I'll add INXS. Love lots of their music, but if I have to pick one and conserve my choices I'll go with Disappear. Love song about how the right person can make all the problems disappear. And it's got a great beat you can dance to like Molly Ringwald in Breakfast Club.”

“I'd pay money to see that.”

“The night is still young. Umm, number three. Sound of Silence. The Disturbed version. A classic made over. Could have been Careless Whisper, but they messed up the rhythm of the best part. I like it because it's familiar, but completely new. There's this group out of Vegas called Adelita's Way. Invincible is this high energy rock song. Never fails to get me up at the gym. Incidentally, it was also a WWE theme song and that was my fall back if acting didn't work out.” He hummed again and closed his eyes. A second later he was doing that thing with his tongue again. Must be him thinking. “And lastly, anything by Tool.”

I shook my head, “Nope.”

“I didn't think I'd get away with it. So I'll go for Puscifer and Rev 22:20.”

“Thought you said Tool.”

“Puscifer is one of Maynard's side gigs. It's got a line that say if I've got to sin to see her again then I'm gonna lie lie lie. Straight up sacrilegious filthy sex music. Intense too, so you might like it.”

“Your going to use that against me forever, aren't you?”

He nodded, “But you've got Jessie's Girl.”

#Sebastian Stan #fanfiction #fanfic #sebastian stan fanfiction

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a-wandering-ghoulette · 5 years ago

Photo

MyRock ; issue n°44 (Jan/Feb 2017) A Nameless Ghoul from Ghost interview.

Photos: Manon Violence Interview: Mark Renton

2017 has been the year of all records for Ghost! After an exceptional concert at Hellfest, a nicely lead Download Festival (despite voice problems) and a France tour still in minds, the band then launched a triumphal American tour. Meanwhile, the satanic clergy also draw its awesome “Popestar”, EP lead with drums beating by the heady single “Square Hammer”. Telephonical talk with one Nameless Ghoul to take stock on the past, the present and future of this definitely fascinating band.

//Before continuing, note this issue is still available for international orders on their online shop. Direct link to this issue’s page in source! Don’t be surprised by the first cover shown there, it’s litteraly a two covered mag… The mag is meant to be read in 2 time: you start by one side, no matter which one, and when you reach the middle, you have to close it and flip it then tadaaa you have more to read on the 2nd side!//

(Read the full interview under the cut and feel free to point out mistakes!)

Hello, who’s calling? Nameless Ghoul: Hello! I’m one of the Nameless Ghouls.

Which one? Which instrument do you play in the band? N.G. : I’m our clergy’s official spokesperson. I’m also Ghost’s founder, main composer and, most of the time, I play guitar.

How do you feel at the approach of Papa Emeritus III’s end of reign? Because there’ll certainly be a new Papa Emeritus soon… N.G. : You’re right, we’re close to the end of a cycle. Personally, I always saw change as a good thing. It’s stimulating. We still have a lot of concerts to give in 2017, but I think I can safely say that at the end of the next year, all Nameless Ghouls will be tired of Papa Emeritus III! It’ll be nice to see a new leader coming to guide us.

How would you describe the personality of Papa Emeritus III compared to his predecessors? N. G. : First of all, Papa Emeritus III is an entertainer! He loves projectors, he loves the public, and he loves success. The first Papa Emeritus was someone very rigid, very strict, and very solemn. A real son of a bitch! (laughs) To be honest, we don’t miss him at all! Papa Emeritus II was a pervert a little bit sadistic, and, in hindsight, I think he wasn’t very at ease on stage. He wasn’t a showman, unlike Papa Emeritus III! Him, he’s the guide we missed to rise up the quality of our shows, to reach the step above and communicate with our fans. We will be eternally thankful for his work. I believe he have paved the way for his successor…

Precisely, what are you waiting from the future Papa Emeritus IV? N.G. : Well, I want him to be scary. That he bring back something more tenebrous, while remaining spectacular. Broadly speaking, I want the next album to come back to a gloomier atmosphere.

Fueled by ego

On a more personal viewpoint, what is your relationship with your character? N.G. : What’s exciting me the most with Ghost, it’s that the project is a real challenge for the individuals involved. Everybody is on an equal footing. Furthermore, there’s something really thrilling to embody a character which is a part of yourself, but never totally you. Traditionally, rock stars always reach the point where they fuse with their creature. In the end, rock’s always been fueled by ego. Even if you’re part of a fully honest and underground band, you’ll always have this desire to be under the spotlights, to be recognize, famous and loved. Those pretending the contrary are liars. Roughly, no matter the music you make, you all secretly dream to be a kind of Justin Bieber. (laughs) To be masked is something very different. It’s a kind of anomaly in the entertainment system. Because every day, you never receive the admiration you deserve. When I’m not on stage with Ghost, I’m going back in anonymity. It’s very positive for me. I would say, my character brings me some stability in my daily life. But I’m aware my case is a bit special since I’m Ghost’s main composer and thus I’ll always be linked in a way or another to this project. But being in the obscurity is sometime more complicated to manage for the other Nameless Ghouls…

This mystery surrounding Ghost inevitably attracts the fans curiosity. This year, some of them started a vast quest to discover your identities. We imagine it’s part of the game, but what are you feeling regarding it? N.G. : From the beginning, we knew it’ll be impossible to keep the secret until the end. It’s already a miracle we held this long. (laughs) Personally, it doesn’t matter. I think the work accomplished pays its own way. I mean, our albums, our concerts and our universes are that strong they succeed to supplant the reality. Today, people don’t care to know who’s under Papa Emeritus’ hat. When they come to see us play, they want the real Papa. It’s a bit like if our creature ended up escaping us to live its own life.

2017 has been a successful year for Ghost, with appearances in huge festivals, a colossal American tour and the worldwide success of the EP “Popestar”. How did you live that? N.G. : This year has been amazing on every points, really! We’ve been able to see how much the band has grown by federating more fans. However, I’m not someone who contemplate our success and congratulate myself. The past doesn’t interest me. But the future does. When we take a step forward I always try to have in mind the next one. 5 years ago, we played at the Olympia supporting In Flames and Trivium. It happens that on 11 April next we’ll come back, this time as the headliner. But instead of rejoicing, I like to tell myself: “OK, it’s cool, but what I really want to do is Bercy!”. And if one day we make it to Bercy as the headliner, I know in a corner of my head there’ll be the Stade de France. I’m ambitious. (laughs)

I come from extreme metal.

Ghost is one of the rare bands to link metal to the general public. Do you think it explains this popularity? N.G. : I think, yes. We see more and more diversity in the public at our gigs. Of course, there are metalheads with long hair and battle jacket, but there are also hipsters, girls who usually listen to pop music, and alternative rock lovers. I find it fantastic. You know, musically, I come from extreme metal. It’s been in my genes since my teenage years. I listen to many other things, but it’s where I come from. It’s my identity and it’s what forged my mentality. At the point that, when Ghost began to be successful, I started to feel guilty. I had that feeling I transgressed underground metal’s tactical rules, which are systematic rejection of success and popularity. It took me a lot of abnegation to understand success isn’t nefarious, on the contrary, it’s the reward for an hard work. And deep down I think I was scared to be rejected by my own community, to be treated like a sellout.

Have you ever been confront to animosity from fundamentalists metalheads? N.G. : Oh yes, mostly now! On internet, some start to let their hate flow on Ghost. But it’s OK, I understand. Myself, if I wasn’t in the band, I think I would hate Ghost. (laughs) Because in metal, once a band makes money, they’re sellout. It’s like this and I accept it. It’s also an old metalhead’s thing. People who were here during the rise of the extreme genres grew up with a certain code of conduct, with a more rigid thinking. By the way, I’m going to tell you a secret: some of my best friends abhor Ghost. They hate the band. They don’t understand what we do, they think it’s crap. But it’s nothing. They can. They stay my friends after all. (laughs) It’s different with kids, they are more open minded. But in hindsight, I’m figuring out that me too, in my daily life, I’m an old fart. (laughs) I listen to a small amount of new things. Nothing give me more joy than a good old “Master of Puppets”, a “Seven Churches” by Possessed, or a King Diamond, my hero!

King Diamond & Merciful Fate.

Would you say King Diamond was the biggest inspiration for Ghost, in terms of theatricality? N.G. : Indeed! As far as I remember, I’ve always listened to King Diamond and Merciful Fate. At home, my mother listened to a lot of 60’s and 70’s classic rock, like Beatles, Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. My brother, him, listened to harder stuff like AC/DC, Sex Pistols, Rainbow… I liked all of this, but when my neighbor introduce me to King Diamond I had the feeling to be someone special. I was listening to this crazy stuff that no one else knew at home! I was 8 and, at this age, as you can imagine, I was very marked by his albums’ visuals. King Diamond is the one who open me the door to this gloomy universe which is now find in Ghost.

Kid from the 80’s.

We also guess an interest for the 80’s! If previously you made a cover of Depeche Mode, your EP “Popestar” offer us covers of Echo & The Bunnymen and Eurythmics. N.G. : I’m a kid from the 80’s, it’s the soundtrack of my life. I think it’s mostly thanks to the radio, which was always switch on at home. I like all classics: Mike Oldfield, Nik Kershaw, Eurythmics, Midnight Oil… When I was a teenage, I kind of liked to show of and act like a thoug one who only listen to extreme metal, but secretly, in my bedroom, I listened to Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet and Bronski Beat. (laughs) And, in the end, Ghost is exactly this: a mix of Kiss, Depeche Mode and Merciful Fate with a bit of Pink Floyd over it, especially “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” and “A Saucerful of Secrets”.

On your last EP, there is the heady single “Square Hammer”. It’s the first time you embrace that clearly pop’s codes. Is this song representative of the sound you would like to have on the next album? N.G. : You know, album after album, each time we ask ourselves how far we can go. It was already the case with “Infestissumam”. At the time, we wondered if the song “Ghuleh/Zombie Queen” wasn’t too much. After a moment of hesitation we were like “Fuck! Black Sabbath made ballads so why not us?”. On “Meliora”, we wondered if there weren’t too many ballads. Then, when we composed “Square Hammer”, we found the title too direct, too effective. We were scared our fans wouldn’t understand. We’ve always had this metalhead consciousness tugging us. But in the end, we thought a good song is a good song, no matter the shape. So to answer your question, I think our next disc will wander further more into these melodies, indeed.

You have a break until the resumption of the tour, on March. Will you write the new album while you’re at it? N.G. : Of course! I’m already on it, I have some new songs… And a good idea where I want to go with this album, but it’s too early to talk about it. The problem is the 2017 tour will extend and I’m not sure we’ll have the time to finish the recording before going back on the roads. I think we’ll finish it in late 2017, with a potential release in 2018. Earlier seems difficult to me! All I can tell you is that visually, the next album’s imagery will come back to something way darker than “Meliora”.

What can we expect for your next date at the Olympia, on 11 April next? N.G. : I saw today that our concert is sold out, it’s amazing! It’ll be very alike shows we gave in the USA this year. We have a stage structure more sizable compared to the last time we came in France. Visually, the show will be impressive, but we’ll also play some rare titles. The only deception is we won’t have the pyrotechnical effects, because they aren’t authorized at the Olympia. So it’ll has to work doubly hard! You know, we love to play in France. We are always very well hosted here. Moreover, what I most loved since the release of “Meliora” it’s to play again and again in France. I really saw our public grow out there when it comes to Hellfest or Rock en Seine. To feel appreciated like this is the greatest reward. Furthermore, the food is succulent in France, people are lovely and you have this attitude a bit impertinent which is rather close to that of Ghost. France, it’s our second home. We’re eager to be back at the Olympia and to party with you! (Translator note: Ooooh you and your sweet like honey words~ We love you too, dear.)

Bonus anecdote:

(Almost) naked with James Hetfield! Our new friend Nameless Ghoul is an ultimate fan of Metallica. Before becoming friend with James Hetfield, he met him in circumstances rather… embarrassing: “Metallica, it’s the greatest band in the world! I hadn’t have time to fully savor their last album but I’m so happy to know they’re alive and in great shape. It also means they will tour, and thus we’ll get the occasion to meet on the road. James Hetfield has been one of Ghost’s first supports. I had the chance to meet him several times, and since we often message each other. The first time he’s been introduced to me, the situation was rather… surrealistic. We were in our lodge, changing ourselves, and here come James Hetfield suddenly appearing by the door to say hi. And you know what? I was in underwear! It was the most embarrassing situation of my life! I was there, in underwear, in front of my greatest idol! How embarrassing!”

#the band ghost #Nameless Ghouls #papa emeritus iii #special ghoul #tobias forge #interview

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earnest-jumping · 4 years ago

Note

For the asks— do all the even numbers!

107.58

That’s so long, fuck- ok here we go!

2. I am outgoing until I can’t mask anymore, or I have a sensory overload.

4 I like to think I am easy to get along with!

6 ,,,Attracted as in romantically? I have no idea. But in a platonic way, similar interests, concern for my wellbeing and happiness, understanding and knowing of my limits and able to compromise!

8 Real life, no one. But Drake Mallard lives rent free in my mind

10 My roommate! We are very similar in many ways and we have some similar backgrounds, so we talk often about them and everything going on right now as well.

12 current 5 favorite songs: Vices by Mothica, Garden Song by Phoebe Bridgers, A Letter To Time by Livingston, Peace by Taylor Swift, and Cherry Wine by Hozier!

14 I believe in miracles. This world is too random and spontaneous for things people deem miracles to not be, ya know? But I don’t believe in luck. Circumstance plays into it, as well as pure chance.

16 Oh, fuck no. I would not kiss them again

18 My guy I can’t even tell you what was really a crush and what was heteronormativity forced on me from grade school onward. So... no?

20 I live in a dorm and I fuckin love my neighbors rn. On one side they’re both enby like me, and on the other they’re super sweet and polite!

22 I really want to visit Europe. Classic american answer, yeah, but I love history and theirs is so much more interesting than ours

24 My favorote part of my daily routine (that is consistent, student teaching and classes are nuts) is spending time doing homework and hanging out with my roommate at the end of each day, before she goes in to work the night shift. It’s calm and gives us a chance to catch up!

26 When I wake up I usually groan and fall back asleep for another ten minutes. I make sure to have a few alarms set so I don’t sleep through the morning!

28 My roommate. We’ve known each other for three years and she doesn’t judge me or make me feel uncomfy- it’s really nice as someone with autism to be able to live in close, constant contact with someone who you trust and are comfortable around!

30 Hmm...maybe? Marriage isn’t something I’ve ever truly thought about in a realistic sense- sure, I’d imagine a wedding and what mine would look like if I had one. But I’ve never imagined actually GETTING married to someone.

32 I will not have a threesome with celebrities because I am ~traumatised~ and do not like sexual intimacy

34 I don’t play sports, but when I was little I was part of a gymnastics class!

36 I have indeed liked someone and never told them. It was honestly for the better lmao

38 I don’t think I can really describe a dream person? I’m not very keen on having a list to check off when looking for a partner. If anything, though, I’d say trustworthy and caring.

40 I’m already out of high school lol. I’m in my junior year majoring in Early Childhood/Special Education!

42 Being extremely quiet for me usually means sensory overload, depressive thoughts, or my rejection sensitive dysphoria rearing its ugly head. Most of the time its a mix of the three.

44 Trip to puter space > bottom of the ocean, any day. DEEP SEA SCARES ME!

46 I’m paranoid that everything I’ve ever done in my life is all for naught, and I’ve faked everything about myself subconsciously.

48 I have been drunk before! My seven year old self accidentally drank a full margarita instead of the kiddie version my grandma made with sprite instead of alcohol.

50 The color of the last hoodie I wore was grey!

52 One thing I wish I could change about myself is I wish I didn’t have so much weight. It’s not fun trying to navigate the world as an afab nonbinary person with people telling you it’s “just because you don’t like your body”.

54 My favorite store is Walmart for groceries (broke college students holla) and Torrid for clothes! (They have cuter stuff than anywhere else, and carry my size always)

56 My favorite color is Blue! Kind of a dark sky blue, like sky blue 3 or 4

58 I just had some Hershey’s candy drops as the last thing I ate!

60 In fourth and fifth grade I won two school writing competitions and got a trophy for it 😌 I wrote about the Titanic (thank you special interest)!

62 I have never been arrested, and I’m not planning on it any time soon lol

64 My first kiss was a dare and I hated every second of it cause the guy was an ass about it until it happened (he’d been badgering me for weeks)

66 Uhh I’m gonna be honest and say no? As much as I love my tumblr friends (ayy hi guys) I’ve known my friends in real life for longer and those bonds are just, amazing and so strong.

68 Tumblr > Twitter, any day.

70 my best friends’ names are: Emili, Autumn, Maggie, and Erin

72 My towels are grey

74 I have many stuffed animals- uh probably seven or eight.

76 Not answering this one lmao

78 My favorote ice cream clavor is Graham Central Station from this place called Bruster’s! It’s really good.

80 I am wearing blue pajama pants because ~comfy~

82 My favorite movie is Coraline! I watch it repeatedly

84 Mean Girls > 21 Jump Street

86 Nemo is my favorite character from Finding Nemo!

88 The last person I talked to today was my roommate

90 I love my baby brother Reid!

92 I am not currently in a fight with anyone.

94 I own three sweaters/hoodies- I need to get more!

96 My favorote actress is and always will be Kiera Knightley.

98 I do not tan a lot- naturally or artificially. I just burn #whitepeopleproblems

100 I am feeling *tired*. A bitch is exhausted today

102 I regret everything from my past

104 I don’t tend to miss people that much? I’m not good with emotional connections to people that last after they’re gone.

106 I feel like I’ve broken my mother’s heart- for coming out, for rebelling, etc.

108 I should be working on homework but I am not.

110 I have indeed liked someone so much it hurt- in the sense that liking them was not good for me and led to a lot of heartache.

112 The last person I cried in front of was my parents, and it was not on purpose lmao

114 I’ve been out of my state lots- Florida, South and North Carolina, West Virgina, Delaware, Massachusetts.

116 Nope, not currently listening to music.

118 I fuckin LOVE chinese food

120 I used to be afraid of the dark, not anymore. I love it now.

122 Cheating is NEVER okay.

124 I do not believe in love at first sight- I barely believe in love 🤷🏼

126 I am indeed currently bored

128 I would love to change my name- legally and personally. I’m not sure “Ryn” is suitable anymore

130 I don’t like subway. Not a fan of sub sandwiches

132 The last person I had a deep conversation with is my roommate

134 Pfft, no. I can’t count to one million my brain wouldn’t focus that long

136 Due to the fact I live in a community dorm hall, I sleep with my door closed and ~locked~

138 Straight hair

140 Winter > Summer

142 My favorite month is October! Atlanta Pride, my birthday, and Halloween! Plus it starts getting colder!

144 Dark>Milk>White chocolate, in that order

146 Since it’s now morning, yes today has been a good day so far

148 My favorite quote is anything that has to do with being a decent fucking human being

150 The first line of the page is “You were right”.

#ryn tags #ryn talks #about me #ask me #ask ryn #anon ask #ask game #ask meme #anon

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bluebrine · 5 years ago

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ask meme time

tagged in by @a-humble-goblin! C:

name: i go by Blue here!

nickname: ..... well, Blue again! (or whatever shorthand of my URLs ppl have used in the past... i never was enough of an active poster anywhere to get real nicknames given to me lol)

zodiac: as piscean as a pisces could be! 🐟

height: 5′8 (the shorty of the family.... curse you, 6′5 brother!!)

languages: monolingual english speaker here. shoulda kept up with spanish from high school, but alas :( looking to learn latin for taxonomic purposes someday though!

nationality: american- but more specifically, tennessean! ⛰️ ~good ol’ rocky top...

favorite season: the cool seasons! ^^ fall and winter are the best. the rain and wind of spring is also nice though! (basically anything except the sweaty-ass days of southern summers are alright with me lol)

favorite flower: oh boy. uh. i like a lot of plants... this one’s a toughie! it changes depending on what’s in season tbh. right now its the sweet little things we call ‘field pansies’ around here. they’re one of the first things to catch my attention on these early, sunny spring days

proper name is Veronica peduncularis, or ‘creeping speedwell’. sadly its not native to my area though :(

favorite scent: literally nothing on earth smells better than onions & garlic frying on the stovetop. full-stop. a fool-proof way to lure me into any trap, would 100% work in any situation

favorite fictional character: this changes depending on what i’m fixating on atm, but i’m on a dishonored kick rn, so it’s my girl lizzie stride! B) i’m always a sucker for mean-ass, violent gang ladies and she checks every box on my list tbh (and those TEETH. woof)

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: hot chocolate babey!! B) i’m just here for tasty sweet drinks- i don’t care for tea or coffee at all. i have to add an ungodly amount of cream & sugar anyway to make ‘em drinkable. (also, caffeine literally does nothing to wake me up. its a cruel fate for my eternally tired self)

average sleep: i’m on a senior citizen’s sleep schedule... usually in bed by 9:30-11:00, & up at 5:00-6:00. a big leap from my early days of bed at 4 am, and pulling all-nighters..... i don’t think i could physically do that nowadays lmao

dogs or cats: hmm, cats slightly more probably? they’re more relaxing to be around, which is nice. love both though! (i have no pets atm, but looking to adopt some pigeons in the future! 🕊)

my old cat louie was my baby though. not sure any other cat can one-up his grumpy ass, but one day i’d like to have another cat with me. (he looks polite here but he was a total butthole, don’t be fooled!!)

number of blankets: 1 (one) big-ass weighted comforter (20 lbs)

dream trip: i would love to see the pacific ocean some day! 🌊

blog established: uh, i know it was the summer before i started high school...? oh god. i was a baby. who let me on here

random fact: the american persimmon (Diospyros virginiana) is a tree with fruit so popular in its native ecosystem, that it also goes by such delightful names as possum apples, deer candy, or sugar plums!

(bonus tmi fact: most of the seeds i’m propagating this year were found as the aftermath to some happy possum or coyote’s fall meal. but hey, according to this paper, the digestive process of these mammals actually boosts germination rates! go nature)

current time: 3:30 pm! a lovely overcast afternoon on this fine weekend of mine

favorite musical artists: Ulvesang, Black Hill, The Crane Wives, The Oh Hellos (... my favs are really just what i’ve been listening to recently lmao)

stuck in my head: gimme gimme gimme! by ABBA :y

last movie i saw: hmm... that would have to be knives out! saw it with em after we were gonna go laugh at cats, but missed it by like 2 days :( knives out was fun tho! hadn’t been to an actual theatre for a while, so the experience was nice. got to split one of those giant buckets of grease-corn, which was amazing

last thing i googled: .... technically, it was ‘fish emoji’ for this post. before that it was ‘american wild persimmon seed germination’ because i just got mine outta the fridge and into the pots for the spring! hope to have an ok amount sprout... i’d like to see these guys fruiting in a few years! (2 seeds per section- assuming a success rate of 25%, i might get 12 trees out of these! we will see)

lucky number: don’t really have one? i like the evenness of 8, but i don’t take any real stock in lucky numbers

currently wearing: the usual- tank top with comfy shorts!

dream job: working on my paleontology degree right now- trying to make this dream real soon! 🦕

favorite foods: pasta with cream sauces. literally anything that fits that definition is my fav. best combo i’ve made so far is something with grilled chicken, sautéed mushrooms + onions + garlic, and a cream sauce with spinach /chef’s kiss/

instruments: none! ain’t got a musical bone in my entire body

favorite song: i possibly can’t pick this, but i’m listening to Curses by The Crane Wives right now!

#personal #mutual tag #i don't do enough ask things.... feel free to tag me in more of these folks #(i may or may not answer them though. can be stressful to talk about myself lol)#long post #tagging..... whoever else would like to do this! :> twas a lot of fun

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chasethesun18 · 5 years ago

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50 questions you’ve never been asked

tagged by @goddess-clarke 🥰

What is the colour of your hairbrush? purple and black

Name a food you never eat? seafood and red meat

Are you typically too warm or too cold? i used to be too cold all the time and then i went through a time where i was too hot and now im back to somewhere in the middle but mostly cold. my fingers turn blue a lot lolol

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? mm so i just watched the premier of blindspot s5 and it is now dead to me and i will be forgetting this episode happened and not continuing the season. so ive spent the last hour trying to erase the ep from my memory and cheer myself up. its not working so now im answering 50 questions. as one does.

What is your favourite candy bar? oh i don't know. it changes. i really like peanut m&ms and york patties

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? professional...maybe? i think i’ve possibly been to a pro baseball. im from the south and we dont do pro we only do college. ive been to..idk hundreds on hundreds of those

What is the last thing you said out loud? told my mom i loved her. cause im cute like that.

What is your favourite ice cream? i like vanilla with a lot of toppings. but also coffee and mint chocolate chip

What was the last thing you had to drink? im drinking cherry vanilla coke zero. yes its 11:42pm. dont judge me.

Do you like your wallet? yeah its cute. its little and red

What was the last thing you ate? salad with chicken (oo she healthy)

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? yeah no. i haven't bought new clothes in forever. actually got into an argument with my mom about that today

The last sporting event you watched? BEFORE SPORTS WERE CANCELLED YOU MEAN????? baseball.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? ....popcorn has flavors? idk salt?

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? my sister. about said blindspot premier. she's writing a book and considering killing off one of the characters and i told her i didn't want someone to get to the end of her book and wish she hadn't read it which is how i feel about blindspot rn

Ever go camping? i do, my major is parks and rec so im a ~big outdoors girl~ but im actually more into the historical preservation side of things and i dont really like camping but i have been dragged into it bc of my major

Do you take vitamins? no but i take a shit ton of medication. y'all didnt need to know that srry.

Do you go to church every Sunday? yes. before that got cancelled too. its fine.

Do you have a tan? i do! super proud of it. its the beginning stages

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? pizza i hate chinese food

Do you drink your soda with a straw? yes

What colour socks do you usually wear? white

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? ....ok does anyone follow the exact speed limit? come on. ive never gotten a ticket tho

What terrifies you? a lot of things. small spaces. bugs. heights but only sometimes. losing a loved one. change. im an anxious person ok

Look to your left, what do you see? a wall (these are entertaining answers im serving yall)

What chore do you hate? vacuuming. GOSH I HATE IT. idk why but it pisses me off every time. i think its cause it makes me sweat and like why should i have to SWEAT from vacuuming? its so loud too i can't listen to music while i do it

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? g’day mate

What’s your favourite soda? coke zero or dr pepper

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? drive-thru unless the drive-thru is too long and then it defeats the purpose of going for fast food so i go in

Who’s the last person you talked to? my mom

Favourite cut of beef? i dont eat red meat :P

Last song you listened to? holding on and letting go - ross copperman (tvd forever)

Last book you read? my major is reading heavy and my minor (history) is even more reading heavy. i had a history class this semester where i had to read 6 books in their entirety so that's the last thing i read. i havent read for fun since i started college lol. but i do still read fanfic and that counts

Favourite day of the week? friday. its the anticipation of the weekend without the disappointment of the weekend

Can you say the alphabet backwards? lol no

How do you like your coffee? if i make it myself i like it with creamer and splenda. if i get it out i like sugar free vanilla lattes with nonfat milk (yes im a basic bitch I KNOW. i also take a sip and if it tastes wrong i go ‘um excuse me is this the nOn FaT MiLk’ like im literally that bitch)

Favourite pair of shoes? aesthetically ive got some bomb heels but i havent had the occasion to wear those in a long time

The time you normally go to bed? before all this 11-1. now idk time is just a construct

The time you normally get up? ..before all this 8/9 depending on what time my class was. now i force myself to get up around 9/10. i dont naturally wake up. if i dont set an alarm i will sleep until 1pm

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? i like both but i havent seen many sunrises bc i dont wake up. so sunset

How many blankets on your bed? twooo

Describe your kitchen plates: the ones at my parents house are just plain white and the ones in my apartment are plain green. wow im plain.

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? so ya girl just turned 21 !!!! and no, im not a big fan. it all tastes like cough syrup. help.

Do you play cards?. my family does sometimes. i think its boring

What colour is your car? dark grey. her name is the black pearl. shes not black tho....

Can you change a tire? no but ive never tried

Your favourite province? ok this question is gonna show my ignorant american side and i dont want it to soooo

Favourite job you’ve ever had? i used to work at this place that did mommy and me music classes. i taught the one that was a drop off class called school skills so it was like k5 for 3-4 yrs old

How did you get your biggest scar? i dont have many scars. i have one above my eye from falling backwards into a rocking chair lol

What did you do today that made someone else happy? i dont know, honestly. i feel like im barely interacting with people. i ran errands with my mom and i think that made her happy...but she was in a bad mood so hard to tell lolol

anyway, this was fun and now im not thinking about that show. crap now im thinking about it. UGH.

tagging: @hpfangirl13 @amazalina @dorisquinn @rebel-belles @vivianelynne20 @modernlifehistorian (i know you're there) @sherlolly-siya @fromiftowhen

#tag game

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indomitablemegnolia · 5 years ago

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It was edging onto the noon hour, eleven-thirty-six am to be exact, but you couldn’t tell by the light of the sun; Gods, it was as if Fenrir the wolf had jumped out of a Norse legend into the sky to swallow the sun; I had already been at the airport for five and a half hours; my red eye was cancelled, and I had been bounced from gate to gate to gate, to wait to wait to wait, only to be told nothing was happening; they always stressed the word yet, but what they really meant was, ever. It was really not a huge surprise, I had watched the weather report while listening to my neighbor get lucky; the animal noises and obvious gymnastics required to make such a ruckus would have left me exhausted for weeks, but here they go again, well, at least someone is getting some. I was surprised there wasn’t cracks and holes in which to watch in that shoddy, tiny, airport motel room, just barely a step above an S.R.O., but it was a bed and damn I was tired this was a trip doomed from the word go, giving me little glimpses of the movie ‘Fight Club’ after the first hour of meetings, suddenly I was Jack’s complete lack of surprise. My agenda, my plan… my hope, now dead, dead as dreams, it began full of such potential; that was zapped away within seconds, so why should it end any easier, really? What did I expect traveling to a place called Port Chester, New York? God, it sounds like the setting for a soap opera, but truly, in retrospect more like an episode of supernatural, including a vengeful spirit.

Speaking of vengeful spirits, the dark icy clouds encased the airport in a swaddle of gloom, like the foreboding storm from poltergeist; anyone who can read the sky could see that the weather was only going to get worse. Those dark clouds only served as an ominous warning, a foreboding that should have come as a warning, or possibly in the form of a question. getting blacker, rain already turning to solid ice as it fell from the heavens; Shangri-La this was not, it had congealed into a complete and total ice storm. Usually, storms brought a certain sort of odd comfort to me, though today, not so much; most likely due to the fact I was so far from my home; as if cued perfectly on time the song ‘Can’t find my way home’ played in my ears. I choked on my snarky laugh as I trudged to my next expected gate, lamenting the fact that I felt nine hundred and ninety years old today. No matter what direction I looked I saw that long dark sky had the look of hard wet sleeting ice in the nearness of the future. I wish I was home with a tall cuppa joe and a nice big book on my lap, with some good soft music cuddling me under a heavy blanket. Turning the corner that I wish could have been to my kitchen with its pretty little red potholders. I stop short, before me sat the largest conglomeration of unhappy people I ever remember encountering, all of them choosing seats at or near the ticket agents booth; the far wall and its bank of windows showing a clear view of a very Poe dark and dreary as well as the show inside, was beautifully vacant. I walk amongst the revelers, noticing the complete discontent on every face I passed.

Oh, the universe had such a sense of humour, didn’t it? I shake my head, suddenly I felt I needed a drink; nah, maybe I just needed a lot of life insurance; god, I knew I needed a vacation; or maybe I needed a home in the country; or more than likely a full once over by a qualified psychiatrist; though mostly I needed to figure out where this Phillip Marlow-esque monologue was coming from, but on second thought that drink sounded lovely. I snickered to myself, the morning I was leaving Mom and I sat at the kitchen table, enjoying our morning coffee, or so I had thought; as with all morning rituals there was a vast amount of time allotted for silent contemplation staring into that vast unknown.

“What’s wrong?” Mom had asked, worry evident on her face.

Taken aback, I snickered, possibly the coldest most patronizing snicker I had ever snickered; as if the woes of the world and the things that weighed on my mind could be delineated down to utterable words, instead of answering I shrugged, “nothing really, why?” I tried to sound light and unbothered.

Mom huffed, “I don’t know, you look like something is bothering you,” she took a huffing breath, “actually you look like you are seriously contemplating smoking or becoming an alcoholic.”

Damn, she just dropped that in my lap, I laughed a real laugh, “It’s not that it hasn’t crossed my mind,” I took a drag, “To tell you, yes, of late I have partaken of much more libation than I ever have before, but you know exactly how limp my lungs are, too limp for smoking and I don’t quite have the intestinal fortitude to become a full-fledged alcoholic, I think you actually need a stomach to tie a good one on. So, no worries mom, it is just the world today and the way it’s working that just bugs the hell out of me.” Good god, am I that easy to read? Good times, right? “I am just tired of the feeling of a nine thousand gorilla standing on my neck.”

She reached over patting my hand… Ah, mom she always had the ability to knock me sideways, but then make it all ok. I pulled my fakieciggy out, (an e-cigarette that had long since been empty of all nicotine, but still had the light flavour of vanilla; hell, it lights up; the motion alone was as satisfying in form and function. Taking the time to sigh, reset my Qi, was enough, really, just an idiosyncratic mnemonic device.) put it to my lips and took a long drag; “Freaking bat country.” I mumbled under my breath, batting at the invisible bats, wishing to hell I had my flask, but there was no way I was going to try to take that through TSA, hell they were already way too frisky for my tastes. Really, I am a two-date minimum to get to second base kind of girl; who the hell was I kidding, my threshold was much wider for the whole idea of bases, I really was tempted to yell, RAPE! So, I had to make due with what I had. What I had was a coat, a hat, and a gun; oh, god I wish; what I really had was a headache, my huge black messenger bag, my oversized dark purple purse that served as a computer bag, my WWI aviator cap, a Pea coat and my knee-length waterproof leather boots. I saw a seat near the window, with a perfect reflection of the passersby, so, I pulled my sweater sleeves up over my elbow and went out to stake my claim, sadly sober as a judge.

Taking a people watching post, sitting in the fourth seat in, perching on the edge of the chair, I push my messenger bag and purse under my chair, lay my coat across my lap, leaning my shoulder into the back of the chair, I watch. I watched the rapacious soul eating mob move and ebb and flow as they would. Rock Hudson and Doris Day style husbands and wives in deep serious whispered fights, staring daggers at each other; a Calvin and Hobbes, pair of college students mumbling amongst themselves whether or not they had asked anyone to feed their bong water fish, which I highly doubted that the fish was ever alive; Mothers with children looking like the perfect advertisement for birth control, faces bleak, eyes sallow, looking at the world with a ‘someone kill me now’ appeal, my heart ached for them. Then like a ray of light a tiny toddling head went past, not screaming, not crying, he toddled on, chasing a large red and white ball. His tresses shorn close on the sides, the middle left long, his tiny Native American feet trotting to a mix of a babies walk and a fancy dance in his borrowed handmade mucklucks, like a Sherman Alexie character brought to life; he chased that ball, hunkering in the fashion that only a beautiful child can, accidentally nudging the ball, chasing and hunkering again. His simple, beautiful, innocence was unmistakable, I wish I could capture that image to hold on to forever, but like anything and everything miraculous, possibly once in a life time, it could only be seen, witnessed, never captured for reproduction, no picture can be taken, no beckoning for others to see. I watched him play, until mom noticed how far he had traveled, she motioned for him to come back, with a shriek of a laugh he finally captured the ball, it balanced awkward in his tiny hands as he scampered back to mom, I reveled in his beauty for as long as I could.

A shadow passed, a series of people walked into my vision, I watched a very rich woman, head to toe designer gear; from diamonds to Manolo’s, the cheapest thing on her could have been the down payment on a home, basically Marie Antionette circa 2017. I don’t know why, but I liked her, she was blonde; in fact, she was a blonde, to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window, you know the type, beautiful, petite with a touch of sad, the kind you know any of fifty men would commit a felony for, start a war for, but she was not the kind that could eat people alive, her money was new and she wore it like a crown. Sadly, there she was trying almost desperately to gain the attention of her Louis XIV, his must be very new money, there is a comfort that comes from old money that he utterly lacks, with old money there is nothing really to prove; this man wore his wealth, including his wife, as if it were a status symbol requirement, his BMW keyring dangling from his Burberry coat pocket, his hands soft, totally without callouses, nails perfectly manicured, his hair coiffed with gallons of product; by all counts he was a useless man. Despite Marie’s attempts for his attention, it was focused like a laser on his newest game, he chased a bedazzlingly big busted, slim-fit skirt, again you know the type all tits and flash. I saw Drusilla, Louis’s game, meet his chase; she was also blonde, not nearly as pretty; she reeked of five thousand an ounce perfume, cheap sex in a motel room, and cigarettes, it all came along with a none too subtle ‘I would suck your dick just to kill time’ look about her, but her attitude left way too much to be desired. She must have felt my eyes watching them, she gave me a look which ought to have stuck at least four inches out of my back. I watched the movements of these people, friends worse than enemies; lovers as adversaries; families at war and at peace; and lonesome strangers all lost in this Dante’s inferno morass, helpless, stuck, stranded. In this place, full of people there was only about a handful of humans. Poor Marie, she doesn’t know that down mean streets, on these streets a person must travel; a human who is not themselves mean, but can be; who must be neither tarnished nor afraid; they must be the hero in this story. She must have been looking for a man whose lips tasted of faerie tales, and mistook the frog for the prince. Oh, but she is a peach, there may yet be hope for her, they walked on. Then as ships pass in the distance my eyes moved from them to another.

This other; this long, tall, dark cloud drifted past stealing my vision; he was head and shoulders taller than Louis; he walked to the agent desk, handing the agent his ticket, there was something about him that usurped every atom of air around me. His dark licorice coloured, supple leather jacket hugged him tightly, dark wash jeans detailed the rest, tight enough to highlight the merchandise, but loose enough to leave bits and pieces for the imagination; Goddamn, taking in the entirety of his goliath frame was breathtaking, my god, he was lovely. The desk agent said something and motioned for him to find a seat; he spun deliciously on his heel, with ceremonious attitude reserved for royalty; he walked away, sliding his sunglasses down to rest on his nose. He moved like water, luscious, cool, delicious water flowing over smooth stones; I literally leaned foreword and watched that walk, it was magnificent. God, he was about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake; no reverse that he was the angel wings on devil’s food; he was like a prowling lone wolf looking… for what? I am not sure, but the way he moved over the crowd, not through it, it was almost enrapturing. I mean, look at me, I was amongst these adders, trying to make my presence small, wanting literally to disappear, but I felt their lies and hate sticking to me like hot molasses, but him, he, seemed to be coated with a repellent, a Teflon, not a thing stuck to him.

He was as honest as you can expect a man to be in this world where it was going fast out of style. Not only did he move above them and through them without a spot of tarnish, he walked with that sultry panache. He was a complete man, very complete, my eyes slid to the lightly bagging rear pockets; they showed enough definition, but not the detail; good god I can’t believe my mind went there; he was a common man, although, there was not a thing common about him, he was as unusual a man as could ever be found. He, to use a rather weathered phrase, an unutterable phrase, was a man of honor. Possibly, by a natural instinct, look at those shoulders he could support the world; maybe by inevitability, by the sheer thought that someone had to be so he was more than happy to pick up the mantle, without thought of it, and certainly without ever saying it; or maybe he wasn’t, I was none too sure about my instincts these days. Oh, but the delicious stride of his foot sure and while in his gaze no man faltered, even Louis straightened his head when this wolf was on prowl. He seemed a man whose story was a manly adventure in search of a hidden truth, oh and goddam by the looks of him he was fit for adventure; oh, to be part of that adventure. Christ, my mind and oddly enough my body reacted to the idea of what kinds of adventure he would be up for. It would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure, and I have had enough of those not fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in… he was the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world; he would be something of a marvel in every world. No, no, he probably wasn’t, look at me running wild with a though; he was probably just a man who dressed a part, stuck in an airport, with a walk… I let him slowly move from my sight, he was already driving me to distraction.

I look out on the desolate grey landscape, the ice creeping up the window panes; maybe it was Marie, maybe it was that godly walk, maybe I was in mourning for the loss of his visage or just the self-destructive nature of the human condition, but it was something that not even those chubby little hands clutching at that giant rubble ball could chase away; I don’t know what or why, and frankly I don’t really care, it just was; I suddenly feel ages, years heaping onto my shoulders. To lean heavily of Dickens, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, mostly it was just times; really it always does seem like we are on the edge of evolutions end; though always like on the TV shows the countdown stops at 1, although this time is feels to be on negative numbers. I remember not too long ago, it seemed we were in an age of wisdom of invention and growth; now it is an age of foolishness, it is the epoch of disbelief, it is the epoch of incredulity; I miss the season of Light, for this is a damn season of Darkness, from which it seems there will never again be a spring, no hope, it is a winter of discontent, of despair. I remember the last day when we still had everything before us, though now in retrospect we really had nothing before us, we thought we were all going directly to heaven or maybe we were already there, we are all actually in a freefall directly the other way. I look at my world and succumb to the dark, dreary letting the weary days soak my soul. The world floods my brain, once upon a time not actually all that long ago.

Oh, it was the leanest of times, those times where those I love sat before my eyes and macabrely joke about which of us will be the first we all should eat; obviously my brother as his meat would be soft and sweet and succulent; you know, those jokes that bring a forced laugh, for fear that if we didn’t laugh we would have to run in terror from the reality of these thoughts; in those horror times we were packing, cleaning, locking away the remnants of a fantasy, a dream that we held in our hands while it died a cold and horrible death. An ancient card from the times when we were convinced it couldn’t be worse than that but we knew that if we just hang on one more day… the card fell from our hands and fell open; springing from this card comes the vivacious voice of one Gloria Gaynor; Our hips lost the battle of staying locked, tears began to fall as our lungs let free a laugh that was not at all forced; that was the moment that pedantic break up song from the bygone disco era became our salvation and a battle cry to send Schrodinger back into the shadows. From there light began to shine and there was air to breathe, but again Fate slammed that door. DAMN HER AND HOPE

There no such thing as beauty anymore, all colours fade from vivid to dead gray. It really is an amazing thing when you think you have reached that horrible craggy earthen bottom, Hope, the vicious bitch that she is, shows you exactly how wrong you can be. For a second I reach back in memory to long ago, remembering giggles and birthdays and handmade cakes with half the necessary fixings. I let myself float, a few weeks ago, in that warm pool of possibility, red wines flavour haunting my taste buds. Gods, she showed me a brief glimpse of lovely, of that haven, I actually, almost felt that sun on my face. I still almost feel that smile on my face, doused in tears. Ice cracked in my chest at the memory of that instant my heart had defrosted. I knew better, I fought, I tried to resist, I didn’t believe, but then I wanted to, I needed to, then I did… We drove for hours, maybe it was days, time begins to lose its continuity when the radio is playing great music really loud, sunglasses fitting just perfectly and the speedometer reads 85 mph steady and true. There is something about it that made my heartbeat strong and true. We laughed and sang along, and it was the first time since I can’t really remember when that mom smiled, she laughed, without letting that haunted look come back to her eyes.

We would stop for burgers and laugh about something from eons ago. Then we’d hop right back into the car and drive; my foot getting heavier as we went. I don’t know what we were running from, or maybe running to, or maybe just it was the idea of the freedom that neither of us thought about a damn thing… yeah. All I really knew it was no stop until… it felt right. So, we drove and we drove, miles ticking off the rented odometer; states flying by, for once we weren’t simply standing in one place, trying to make traction on a treadmill, for years we were running at full bore and never getting anywhere, literally, figuratively, however the hell you want to say. Philosophers and scientists like speaking of continuity, but those who are stuck in the spin cycle, too close to the damn agitator, pieces of life, of spirit, of heart, of dreams, of happiness, being mangled, breaking off falling to the ground. Then one day I stopped, I just stopped running; my soul too tired to continue, I stopped. I stopped trying to make everything fine, everyone happy I understood finally that I was on a fool’s errand. I took mom’s hand in mine and she stopped running too, we stooped to pick up the broken scattered pieces, but fate showed us that it was like trying to grab on to Jell-O with your hands and hold tight. So, we let them drop, leaving them to wait for the chalk outline of their tragic death.

The Pacific came into view over the rural cattle covered hills, the radio suddenly silenced. My eyes misted over and I turned on the wipers as the chill October rain drizzled from the heavens. I take that right and head north on HWY 1 knowing where we were going. Childhood memories haunted behind unshed tears, living has taken on a new definition in the dozen years since last, I smelled that organic salty home. I would stop and relive bowls of chowder and giggling splashing icy surf on naked tender feet, but now, it showed in stark relief to what living now meant, those laughing giggles echoing in our hearts. My hand dropped from the gear shift and mom laced her fingers through mine, we took a moment to mourn this breathing cadaver we had become. I pull over and park, it took a hot second before I grabbed my small bag from the back seat, I clamber out, walking around I helped mom from the car. Walking as quickly as tear filled eyes and our beleaguered bodies would allow us, we made our way to the beach; and we sit listening to the surf, dropping my bag off my shoulder and we walk down to an old drift log. I made sure mom was comfortable, stepping out of my sneakers and socks using only my feet I walked to the rushing surf. I stooped pulling my pant legs up as the waves began licking at my toes. The oceans icy tongue sliding softly over my skin. I wanted to keep walking, walking till It was over my head, but I stood still when the waves kissed up my legs to behind my knees. I breathe letting my eyes roll closed, the wind ran its fingers through my hair as it kissed my face. Mom is suddenly there, holding my hand, both of us knee deep in the surf, we giggle and smile at each other as if we were children with a secret, oh and that secret…

I turn from the wind’s loving kisses, mom’s hand snaking into mine; we stood LIVING, for these seconds we lived; we walk hand in hand back to that driftwood stump, mom sits, I pull out the bottle of red wine from my bag, pulled the cork and took a long drink. Passing the bottle to mom; I noticed that those unshed tears were no longer abiding behind their dam. I don’t know when they had started sliding down my face, but I look a damn state now. Mom passes the bottle back and I take a long drink, looking up at that dark gray cloudy sky. I know it should have looked sad, foreboding even dower, but to me, it looked like a hug from an old friend. The crash roared so loud I couldn’t hear my own breath. It was perfect, the screaming person who has been occupying my mind suddenly shut up and I could breathe.

At its most benevolent this life has, one sweet single unattended moment, set aside for each of us. One single moment in and out of time. We took this moment, this little heaven inside this Dante’s nightmare we have called living, we take our little moment out of time and we take a shelter in it. Stealing away from all the shocks are horrors that this too long, far, far, too long life is heir to. This definition of living and its toll that it has taken on our souls. Our distraction fit, and I watch as we both take a deep breath and bury our toes in the cool sand like an oyster taking shelter. We close our eyes, breathe deep, we became high on this freedom, away we float. Beauty like lost dust moat in a shaft of sunlight, wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning in the snow, or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply so intense that it is not heard at all, that fabulous unsound, but while that glorious music lasts.

Oh, and while it lasts.

One by one I watched those sorrows, the angst and pain the uncertainty melt from our shoulders, the time to hesitate is through, and sometimes the best fight is not fighting at all. I look to mom and pass the bottle, and we speak in silent words, we always knew that the possibility of an impossible fight would come, though yet I would glove up and take my hits, but it would be a heartless battle; all of my hits soulless. There is a freedom in acceptance; as a song says, freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose; the knowledge that losing a bout isn’t everything, but we both knew we were going to lose this one would take everything from both of us. There was a release; we both felt it, we collapsed into it, death would come and we would fall into his arms. Her eyes lead me, in their depths in a moment of ecstatic joy, with no expectations, not from THIS ONE MOMENT. A beautiful, simple moment of being.

No wants, no needs no worries. God, mom had always made broken look beautiful, strong look invincible; She walked with the gorgeous universe on her shoulders. When she shrugged that heaped heaven gracefully, making that pain and strife look like wings. In this moment of communion between us. That toll was gone, peace found us as we held hands like always. mother and daughter and we wanted nothing more than this peace. We took it, we loved it. Yes, we both knew this was just our moment and the treatments and pain would return and lost, lonely, broken, we would have to drive back home… eventually. Though, in that long stretched moment, we were infinite… Mom corked the bottle and we walked carefully back to the car, we got in again and I drove for more and more hours finally finding a beautiful hidden paradise amongst the redwood trees.

The bed, it was comfortable, lovely and clean, luxurious and the room had an eighth story window seat that still didn’t look down on those trees. We sat in the early morning feeling the air, smelling of earthy redwoods, kiss our skin and our lips with warm, delicious, coffee. The water from the tap tasted sweet and fresh, like a childhood memory poured from a second or even third-hand crystal pitcher. Late morning, the bathtub was large and deep. This was a paradise, this heaven was perfect, as if god understood that I had just acquiesced to his summons and decided to send me an extended heaven, or possibly on that curving mountain road I had missed a turn and we had both passed those pearly gates… In this paradise, there was a grand restaurant that required reservations. We ordered three rounds of drinks called the golden eagle, that tasted like buttered sunshine with a citrus hint and a float of Chambord. I ordered the lobster and she the steak, sharing the asparagus and potatoes…everything was perfect. We laughed and walked the long way around and danced and smiled at the smell of the beautiful trees. We walked among the ancients and there is something to be said for being less than drunk, more than lucid and still infinite among the kings of the Earth.

A tiny pearl of a treasure I tuck into that little box lined with black velvet that I keep all my most precious things of beautiful in. Stupidly I believed, stupidly I let the want the will pull my hand out… Ages told me that it was a mistake, that hope would be the thing that kills me, but I let my hand reach out, I almost touched it, but then there was nothing; now I lay bleeding out. Nothing, but air that my fingers slid through and I fell, I fell a million miles. One shining second in horror years, I trusted that idea of hope, the bitch, and now one eon wiser I woke this morning my eyes rioting at the idea of waking to this world, my brain screaming its recalcitrance at the idea of still dragging air into my lungs and begrudging the world for letting the sun to continue shining. I will never again trust to hope, I can never lift my eyes from the motion of my feet in this broken trudge, all marching to that horrible monotone beat because the living will never come to any good.

A buzzing distracts my mind from this drudgery and I look at my stupid phone. A text from my momma: “Happy Birthday Angel, text me when you are on your way or if you will be on your way. I hope you are wearing your smile and your lipstick, you never know who will fall in love with you today.” An ironic chuckle escaped my throat and a wry smile pulled the corners of my lips. In 37 years, no one had ever fallen in love with my damn lipstick or smile for that matter, I doubted today was any different today from any other day. Although, yes, I had put on my lipstick before departing for the airport today… dumb ass. Suddenly, the landscape was replaced by the rushing crowds passing behind me, superimposed, reflected on the glass in vivid colour. Oh, and the din of the people began to enter and drive away my own private hell; I let the relief wash over me. There was an odd surety to the idea that life goes on, it goes on whether or not one would wants it to; I started watching the people, along with the storm raging outside the windows, but the activity made my mind move from that cold place. I felt like an idiot to let myself bask in that much self-pity.

A gust of air hit me as someone sits a few seats down, I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t take the time to look, I would be leaving this section soon anyways, as soon as they tell us all that there will be no motion. It is the real human smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, grows brave by reflection. My brain reeled, shook from my own morass by a simple stupid misquote. Jesus, apparently, this birthday is getting to me; I know so many try to convince that it is not the aging that bothers them, but for me it is truth; oh, the passing of time, when I start counting is like a pall on my soul, but to just despise it would be terribly ungrateful, to hate adding to the tally of years lived when one is already well and past expectations. I don’t care what number of years I have lived, I really don’t mind the few hairs on my head that have transitioned from this dullard nondescript brown to a tinsel silver, the crinkles next to my eyes are every one of my laughs counted out for me. I do mind, however, is that so much time keeps passing, days mark themselves in memory and unwanted thoughts surface, I mind marking how much I haven’t done. I do mind is that not once has this journey been anything other than an upward climb, fingers gripping, bleeding, over the roughest terrain. I decided, enough pain… I was never one to just revel in misery, I am not the kind of woman who breaks into pieces under the blows of abandonment and absence, I am not the one who goes mad, who dies; though I know I will, possibly quite soon. Unlike Marie, I know I am the hero of this story, it is my responsibility to make it good. Surveying myself I saw that the few fragments that had splintered off were pieces that always are supposed to be sloughed due to living and learning. For the rest, I was… well, I was, just me. I was whole, whole I would remain. Thusly being stuck in an airport for a birthday is just one of those things that just happen, and yes, mostly to me.

Their reflections, with the gales of wind blowing ice and snow pelting the large bank of windows. Ah, its time to face the truth, nothing will be flying in this mess; hell, the smart people stayed home and didn’t even bother. I sigh, I never could have been accused of being one of the smart people, I watch the strangers pass behind me, all of them seemingly stressed and kinetic, like little white rats in a closed maze; frantic to get to where they were going, none willing to admit that no one was going anywhere anytime soon. I scanned all he miserable faces, yes, we are all in a way trapped, foreword motion was impossible, but always there is someone who seems to take it so much worse than everyone else, making that small claustrophobic feeling a teensy bit worse. Most just accept that, yes, in this world not much seems to go the way we all plan, there is always that one total jerk who thinks that god and all that’s holy and unholy alike should bow to his will. With that thought my mind decided to switch to the politics network; I literally shuddered, became nauseous and pulled it back front and center.

This jerk yelled and bellowed as I watched apparently, the Scandinavian Bruce Willis had decided that handing a helpless gate agent her own head on a platter was the best use of his time. He was demanding everything under the sun. From the loud whining and bluster, I gathered that he was supposed to be traveling to Maui, but he wasn’t going to be there in time and would lose the large deposit he placed on his room, most likely a common hazard for travel like that. As if that was anything the gate agent could do anything about, it was really his own stupid gullibility. Yes, I would much rather be in Maui too, in fact I think the ticket agent wishes she was in Maui with a Chi-Chi in hand, but its not where we are, nor where I was traveling to. Finally, the mans blustering hit a fevered pitch, his face turned purple, I thought he was about to stroke out, but his wife finally stepped in. I had already lost interest in the whole show about half a tirade ago, he was an overgrown child with the stupid notion that the world owed him something.

I shake my head softly and roll my eyes, a soft, rolling, deep chuckle moves through my ears, and movement catches my eye. I let my eyes be pulled expecting to see disapproval in the reflected face. I all saw was a man; my breath shuddered, not just a man, but that man, the wolf with the godly walk, that gust of air was him sitting, that man. Well, honestly simply man is an insufficient term, but one I would use for the long-legged monolith a few chairs to my right. He seemed to be elsewhere, with more than a single dose of “I don’t give a shit” attitude, all I could see was crossed arms and Ray Bans, so I let my eyes peruse. He was long, tall, his legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, those legs alone reached at least 5 foot from the edge of the chair. He was thick; legs like tree trunks, but his shoulders alone took the space of two seats. I pitied the person who was seated next to him, hopefully, he wasn’t the middle seat, talk about crowding. He wore a thin, white tee shirt, dark washed jeans. I let the smile pull the edge of my lips, apparently, he didn’t look at the weather before heading out today, poor fool. He sat trying to tuck his thick licorice coloured leather around himself tighter.

His opaque dark Ray-bans hid most of his face, ear buds tucked into his ears. His thick brows curved gracefully over the rims, his lips beautifully arched with a light pout to his bottom lip, a set of the most beautifully kissable lips to possibly exist. A day’s growth of scruff along his gorgeously chiseled jaw, god he was a beautiful man. He couldn’t have been reacting to my derision, maybe he was chuckling at something on his earbuds. So, I swallowed my ruffled feathers and I just enjoyed the view of the reflection. His dark brown hair, blonde and ginger highlights deliciously sparkled, in what was once a deliciously close cut style, now grown out two months too long; the length silky enough to run soft fingers through, letting the long ends curl around fingertips.

I settle back, catching little glimpses, filing his form away for something fun in one of my writing exercises, I watched the ice creep along the glass of the window and the passing of the people while listening to my own ear buds, hitting repeat on some riotous punk. Social Distortion peps me up, I feel the beautiful sweeping warmth of eyes on me, I look up all I can see is the dyspeptic travelers and the airline ticket agents looking as if people had taken bats to them, circulating handing out food and hotel vouchers to make up for the surprise ice storm. Curiosity draws my eyes back to his mostly obscured face, I wonder what colour his eyes are; statistically, they were most likely brown, but something told me they were some beautiful exotic colour. Seriously, look at the man, he is something made of myth and mists, he could never actually be real, like a unicorn or the truth. As with everything, the gods compensate, a man that graceful, that beautiful, with that luscious of a walk, there really must be something maybe just some single thing wrong with him, somewhere. Maybe he has a temper or maybe he is just stupid. A loud cacophony of uproarious yelling, uh oh, the natives are getting restless.

God, how the hell do they expect airlines to circumvent nature and still get them to their destination safely, you know they would be the first filing suit in the case of an accident, and seriously how the hell an ICE storm can be so surprising, but low and behold, here we all are stuck. I tuck my vouchers in my book and keep watching the people reflected in the window, like an interactive ultra-widescreen TV. A Latin woman reminding me heavily of Anne Bancroft goes huffing by consigning herself with a beautiful grace to the fate we all in the airport now share, a night at the on a crummy airport motel mattress and airport food. Again, that warm pass of eyes, perusing the faces, I assume it’s just another people watcher or a passerby. A move in my peripheral vision drew my eye back to him; dammit girl, the cardinal rule of people watching is NO STARING, I chided myself.

@pedeka @writernotwaiting @iamhisgloriouspurpose

@keeper0fthestars @sweetfairy1

@fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 @bilbo-baggins-middle-finger

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error04notfou · 5 years ago

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Queer Representation- Why Can’t 2 Men Just Be Friends

All-fucking-right, folks. Let’s sit the fuck down and listen real close for a moment. Don’t worry! I won’t take up tooooo much of your time. I know how busy it is being accidentally an asshole. I’ve been there. I’m gonna be nice, I promise. I just swear a lot.

There are same sex friendships on TV that are healthy and loving. There are a wide variety of relationships that slide themselves along a range of healthfulness and lovingness involving people of similar or same sexes having friendships. If there weren’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation because there would be no writers making stories that queers become interested in that do not wish to create queer representation.

See the wikipedia page for the following categories: Bromance, Womance, Platonic Love, Bromantic Comedy, Buddy Cop. Google Guy Love. You’ll love it.

Merlin. Sherlock. Supernatural. Star Trek. Scrubs. Boy Meets World. Literally Every Children’s Show Featuring Sentient Creatures.

We wouldn’t have stories written that continuously hint at queer stories without providing actual representation. I’m sure none of you want to hear the term queer baiting right now but I promise ye, us queers don’t want to see it either. Fucken. SHIT, my dudes. Unless you are looking for queer representation- unless you have that reflexive search for queerness in life and in media- queer baiting is something you can miss or misinterpret as friendliness. It has to do with framing, lighting, the scoring, the word choice. There’s a lot of flags a writer can throw up that Hint at possible queerness without being explicit enough to sound any alarms for people not keyed to look for queer representation in media.

Hannibal is Not A Good Example because their goal was to redefine intimacy and it is Gay AS FUCK.

Teen Wolf. Sherlock. Supernatural.

Go to youtube. Type in queerbaiting. There’s lots of videos with info on it. Rowen Ellis has some shit. Sarah Z, The Fucking QueerTUBE CHANNEL EQUIVALENT OF DOES THE DOG DIE, Aretheygay, HAS A VIDEO ON IT. Somewhere in Hbomberguy’s FEATURELENGTH FILM on why Sherlock is garbage, he touches on queerbaiting.

Because they got to eat their cake and have it too, shows, movies, and books keep doing the fucken thing. Continuously throwing out flags of possible queerness for main characters while simultaneously being offended at queer audiences for believing them and then asking where the queer representation was. As well, they get to have continuously running jokes about how haha it’s funny that these two men show affection for each other because that’s gay and they’re not they’re just guys being dudes! (Scrubs. Look. You do a great job, I’m not coming for you but I am coming for Every Film of Michael Bay’s featuring two men who are friends. Pain and Gain? Anyone?)

See Teen Wolf banning the signing of ship fan art. Literally any scene in Sherlock where John Watson no homos so hard he accidentally wraps back around to yes homo.

Here’s the skinny, my dudes. My most righteously dudely dudes. The reason why queers ask for queer representation in media is because they Actually Don’t Have Much representation. It is exceedingly rare to find queer representation. And to find queer representation that doesn’t have a tragic end? Even more difficult. Despite the rustled jimmies of people finding a singular queer in their straight salad and exclaiming about the infestation of queers in this restaurant (the health department aught to be called! Think Of The Children!) it IS rare- unlike same sex friendships in films.

This is a capitalistic system. I know right? When is that going to stop being pointed out? Supply and demand is the basic tenant- or so I was taught in high school economics. I, as a fellow queer, will simply feel grateful that I live in a time where we can be considered a consumer base with a loud enough voice to be seen as providing pressure on an industry that has yet to supply for our demand. Especially since it is difficult for me to forget that it was not so long ago that our voices were considered an inconvenience for demanding the right to be able to live.

What you’ve done above is simplify an incredibly complex issue into its most reductive and unhelpful parts. No one can argue that it’s good for people to be able to have friendships on TV or anywhere else. The problem comes in in that this argument ignores the part where Everyone is Arguing That It’s Not OK To Have QUEER Relationships On TV and that These Relationships are Unhealthy. That is the tacit argument here. That’s the dog-whistle you’re accidentally blowing when you say that.

It’s similar to people who say things like: What about the children? How am I going to explain THIS to them? I’m OK with gays but do they have to shove it in my face like this? Gay marriage is alright by me but I don’t want to see them kiss! Why can’t two men just be good friends! They’re just gals being pals. Queers make up less than 4 percent of the population, why do they have to be in everything I watch? I’m not homophobic, I just don’t want to be inconvenienced. I’m all for queer representation but does it have to be in the shows I like? Why can’t they (the queers) be happy with the representation they do have? Like Brokeback (dead gay) and The Imitation Game (Historical dead gay) or Jack from Will and Grace (Gay Stereotype), or like a shit ton of Alfred Hitchcock’s villains (The Evil Queers (Dibs on that as a band name BTW))? Or the Sassy Gay Accessory Friend like in Riverdale, GBF, that weird alien dude from American Dad?

These are dog whistles. They are silencing tactics. They are manipulation. They are used to implicitly say that queerness is not OK.

So no. No one is going to say it’s bad to see two dudes being friends and expressing that closeness in any media. I can understand the feeling like your views and relationships are under attack. I can understand why people feel afraid to express affection. I feel afraid, too. The difference is when straight people say they’re afraid of seeming gay, what they’re saying is they’re afraid they might be mistaken for me. As if that’s somehow embarrassing or dangerous or immoral.

The part you’re missing when you talk about how frustrating it is that queers see queerness in relationships depicted on TV that you like is that you’re afraid they might be just like you. And a part of your brain associates queerness only with sexual acts. That’s why we’re inappropriate. YOU’RE not queer so you don’t like queer sex! Why would you want to see queer sex on TV? You don’t want to see queer kissing! Queer hand holding! You’re not queer!

That’s why it’s difficult for people to consider explaining it to their kids. That’s why it’s difficult to Accept that there are queer children. That’s why I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry is PG 13 despite its r*pe jokes, half naked women, and continuous references to sex, but had they included a same sex kiss as they had initially intended it, the MPAA would have made it rated R (Literally just google it. trufax.) Because these are all facets of homophobia. It’s ingrained and sometimes unconscious. You don’t have to actively hate queers to accidentally help those who do silencing them.

So yeah. Long fucking story short. It would be cool for queers not to have to grasp at any same sex relationship on TV for hints of themselves. I agree. I’m getting fucking tired as all hell having to Read Between The Straight Lines to see the gay subtext. I’d like some straight up gay text. We’ll stop having to come for your platonic friendships when Hollywood finally gets around to inventing actual queer people in its media. And no fucking blink and you’ll miss it Le Fou doesn’t count. Neither does well-they-said-in-a-tweet Dumbledoor.

#queer representation #meta #queer baiting

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rennyji · 3 years ago

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July 20th tweets...

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“Aaryan” is another one of those Mohanlal movies from the place of my background. I saw this late in life, and during the phenomena, several times, I would mention to my mother, and especially father, about the parallels. In the movie, Mohanlal’s character is a devout Hindu Brahmin from a respected family. He’s happy with his life and has a girlfriend, in a woman he’s known since childhood. Men not respecting societal roles and in greed for money and power, wrongfully set up the family in a crime of their planning. Mohanlals character loses his family to death and humiliation, as well as his home, and his girl friend also, in the actress, Shobhana. He flees to Mumbai, where he follows a very earthly path centered on money and attaining that money through jobs, where his philosophy is “Ill do anything for money.” He sinks himself in alcohol and the company of gangsters and joins them. Once obtaining enough money, he avenges the wrong doers against his family and seeks to restore his family’s lifestyle and “way of living.”

I guess I remember that movie because he was minding his own business, when people rooted in jealousy and greed, wanted to steal that from him. And me, after more than a decade of “lightly and carefully portrayed to the public” abuse, I can’t help but think, wasn’t I minding my own business?

For my sectionalistic brethrens who identify through the body parts, rather than the overall body that is the country, as you forgot about order, structure, unity, brought about through ancient Hinduism, for a visual example: think the movie, “Koyla.” Shah Rukh Khans character get turned into a mute and a servant by the people who killed his parents, from greed, for stumbling on their fortune of diamonds in this life. To save Madhuri Dhixits character, and to restore his dignity, he takes revenge on those who took decades of his life. I guess what I’m getting at is, from Koyla, you can see just how evil some men truly are. Even in real life, some people will take decades from your life. Before killing you, they’ll turn you into the court jester for their people and they may even shock your brains 20 times to make you more numb and compatible for mind control/mind reading.

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In Mark 4:33-34

33 “With many such parables he spoke ithe word to them, as they were able to hear it. 34 He did not speak to them without a parable, but privately to his own disciples he explained everything.So Christ talked to everyone in parables, and said, let those with ears hear. However he discussed the parables with his disciples, in private, elaborating on their meaning.Here I am, in the present day, a nobody, trying to elaborate on meanings and about living a life with meaning. But my own mother, instead of listening intently, will talk about toilets or do something involving uncleanliness, when I talk to her about things of God. My father prays and prays (though mechanically, without heart, without understanding meaning), and yet he fails to see and respect my seriousness in willful words and actions, based on faith. He’s so busy talking about defending what he as a father does, he fails to see that I’m enduring this, simply because of the hand of God carrying me, when the infidel tries to figuratively break my legs.I can see why Christ elaborated on heavenly things with just his disciples. Other people wouldn’t give it the respect it deserves (through talking about random things like toilets or whatever) or would let it fly over their heads as something nice sounding and tantalizing.

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Orchestrator government group 1 tries to piss me off to say things or write things about them, so that the child like voices rooted in perhaps the party school I attended (for completion of my undergraduate) makes it about them or me randomly addressing people who aren’t direct with me.

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I dunno I think I’m being led to think that I’m not seeing “this situation” in the way it’s projected to others…ok guys, lemme walk with you on this, let’s take a deep breath and digest the fact that this has been going on for more than a decade- I mean that alone, if nothing else, is horrendous…so am I disillusioned?

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So I keep telling you guys to refrain from taking part in this, and to only help me by talking directly to me- especially about the situation. I tell you take a load off and just be natural in your interactions without hiding that this happened/is happening.

Yet, for one thing, some of you may try to assist me on the road under one or more things that you have been led to see me through- that goes back to my talk about mental filters…

If something tells you guys that I’m about to change a lane unnaturally, it results in the following:

The guy in front of me will abruptly slow down, while I’m checking my mirrors to the other lane, leaving me to still drive forward, while the guy in front of me is instructed to slow down. Kinda malicious of the orchestrators, don’t you think? Two cars risk colliding…

But then sometimes, I notice cars in the other lanes, accelerate, as I’m about to change lanes, while others leave significant space.

Please just follow the rules of the road and stop relying on external knowledge when making your decisions on the road.

Some of you may be instructed to smile a particular way (smiling is great if it’s not rooted in an instruction), frown a particular way, nod to me from the corner of my eye…see, think about it from my perspective. I have mind cr*p- to be very very very general- to deal with all day. When you have too many programs open on your computer, doesn’t it freeze or become unresponsive? Whether by design or carelessness, despite my effort to get you to be direct with me, these indirect things to make me think one thing or the other, are meant to overload my brain-the orchestrators just give me stuff to pick up on, where I have no idea what’s it’s about. I may have written something before that frown or whatever. Is that supposed to make me think ur unhappy with me for you allegedly eavesdropping into my life and making things about you, the stranger, when you don’t even follow me on Twitter or Facebook?

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I heard the following: DMX- Party Up- from the lyrics,

So whatever it is you puffin' on that got you think that you Superman (doing this for a decade)

I got the Kryptonite, should I smack him with my dick and the mic?

Y'all niggas is characters, not even good actors (ur a bunch of cocky arrogant losers)

What's gon' be the outcome? Hmm, let's add up all the factors

I keep saying there’s two sides to every coin. But you like to tip that scale. Always remember how much of an a*shole he is, more than any crazy, for starters, to put such statements/sentences out in public- that too when the world is monitoring every aspect of me…I mean I could be giving the police or some legal case against me, a ball for their courts through my recorded words and written statements- so in response, I’m in a rap mood:

Eminem says

Go call you a lawyer, file you a lawsuit

I'll smile in the courtroom and buy you a wardrobe

I'm tired of all you, I don't mean to be mean

But that's all I can be, it's just me

I realize these guys(artists)all deal with stupid people like the orchestrators while the larger audience of the world “say oh that’s mean” without context (what was preceding, what was said and done, and what occurred after)

At the end of this, either the orchestrators or me, will be progressing forward in in peace and happiness. Im making that clear, I’m throwing in all my cards, because no matter how numb you make me, my hate accumulating over a decade will find its nourishment. So Have fun, f*ers…

and to the larger audience, lemme guess “oh no he’s mad…what happened…awww” yeah ummm thanks for never talking to me, but thanks for the sentiment too.

Contrary to how I’ve been living for more than a decade, word of advice to the world: “Show the other cheek, talk out your problems, write 300 pages with variations of the idea of returning to normalcy in one chapter in life in an official police complaint, endure a decade, and hope for a solution- this can only be done for so long, and a decade? F* that sh*t. Orchestrators? F* ur wives, husbands , and Kids..

hey guys, when someone is giving YOU a hard time, please be like me and Let them shock your brain 20 times too, for talking about the hard time, so that you can show that you have no decency and are willing to bend over for them, for the sake of “compliancy.” Next time the F* fake protectors of the law, who don’t protect the rights of an American citizen(wtf does ur Stars and Stripes flag stand for? The red and white ropes they bind you down with in life? Are the 50?!stars on ur flag about ninja stars you throw at ur country’s victims? Maybe the 50 is about, how they’ll screw you 50 times over for minding ur own business i.e always remember: nice guys finish last…maybe the red is about how the country likes to make you bleed/watch you bleed/and entertain others on how you bleed while you try to stand strong)…but where was I? Next time the F* fake protectors of the law, who don’t protect the rights of an American citizen want come in 4 SUVs and make you walk barefoot, for talking about “the situation” ur not supposed to know about daily, be mindful, you will be on the list, when I gain back my authority. Bear in mind the respect enforced, actually needs to be earned through effort and not by a rough voice or tough exterior.

Peepz , when law enforcement engages in a circus, makes remorseful random faces fo you while, get this: simultaneously, engaging in madness, when the FBI engages in silence to make you America’s prostitute of a servant of a hero/icon,

please,

never follow my example.

If any of you get out into a fraction of my problem, don’t waste your health, ur dignity. At times, fists and kicks are the only answer. I went about my life reporting things to authorities, dreaming about best friending a girl in college and marrying her…the works…-if respect can’t be earned or given because some infidel playing or being a false god commands it, “seize respect. “

You can’t waste time on some superficial high ideal high minded losers.

So I keep talking about mental exhaustion…you still actually do the same things, over and over…- so I’m supposed to fall. What’s the matter orchestrators? Could t f*me in the a*s while standing strong? You need me to collapse or be on a stretcher? Would a tempur pedic be ok when you stop most likely molesting ur kids? F*ers…

—-

So I was listening to “Sam’s Gone” from “I Am Legend,”

And I remembered the powerful end scene from I Am Legend…listen and watch 37 seconds into this clip till the end:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7LsxKkh0zg

Starting from 37 seconds, Will Smiths character says “They’re not gonna stop…they’re not gonna stop…” those coincidentally white horrific mutations of humans, in their mindlessness, their aggression, their lack of heart and compassion, remind me of the police officers who made me walk barefoot, it reminds of some party school professors, it reminds of the orchestrators rooted in the mind cr*p - after a decade, I’ve come to acceptance that “they’re not gonna stop.”

For 10+ years of slavery, further indignified by turning me into a joke,

That moment where Will Smiths character and the mutated man (symbolizing an American orchestrator) race to battle towards each other - man…after a decade plus of provoking me, literally 24/7…when we’re finally face to face, I want to see what he/she has the balls to do. De palabra de espanol: “Ver”, ”, mi gentes, “Ustedes Ven la cara de el Diablo blanco.”

Regarding that moment, when the orchestrators and me race toward each other, win/lose, it’ll be like this from 300:

ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOLpIkoS0QY

You, orchestrators may have the big guns, may have humanity following ur instructions, but like many before me, it’ll be like these two segments from the below 300 movie clip: 1:02- 1:50, 2:12-2:57

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qubItQjdSHA

In a deep state of mind to what transpired years ago, I said that I will get justice. Am I’m saying it again. You, the American orchestrators, turn mankind into one team in conviction and practice against me, you’ll torment me for a decade plus…maybe even destroy me after humiliating me-as is American military style.

Just know this: I, an Indian man, fated to suffer this “situation” in your country, will come back lifetime after lifetime, to finish what you started with me in this epoch of time, where you seek to conquer the Kingdom of God, that resides in every conscious mind wanting peace.

Orchestrators,ur quite welcome to see me as that cockroach who just won’t die or stay dead.

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