#metronomic irregularity

[dr-jesuscpr]

Lila Convulsions part 1

In the dim light of Room 302, the faint hum of machines created a steady rhythm, the only sound piercing the stillness of the hospital ward. Lila James lay quietly, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. It had been three weeks since she was admitted—three weeks of unanswered questions and an illness that gnawed away at her strength.

Lila had always been full of life, the kind of woman who could light up a room with her laughter. But now, her once-vibrant brown eyes were clouded with exhaustion, her skin pale against the stark white of the hospital sheets. Her family had come and gone throughout the day, sitting vigil by her bedside, waiting for any sign of improvement. But none came.

The nurse on duty, Clara, glanced at Lila’s monitor as she passed by during her evening rounds. The heart rate was slow but steady—nothing alarming, but nothing promising either. Clara made a mental note to check in on her again soon. It was quiet tonight, unusually so, and she welcomed the chance to catch up on paperwork.

Minutes passed. In the silence of the room, something began to change.

At first, it was just a flicker—a slight irregularity in the steady beep of the heart monitor. Then, another. Lila’s chest shuddered, her breaths growing more erratic. Her hand, once limp at her side, twitched involuntarily. The monitor blared, its high-pitched alarm slicing through the quiet.

Clara’s head snapped up. She bolted to Lila’s room, her heart pounding in her chest. The moment she entered, she saw it: Lila’s body convulsing, her face contorted in a grimace of pain. The monitor screamed with warnings—tachycardia, arrhythmia—and then, suddenly, the line flattened.

Cardiac arrest.

"Code Blue! Room 302!" Clara shouted, her voice shaking as she leapt into action.

Within seconds, the room filled with doctors and nurses. The crash cart appeared, and a flurry of activity ensued. Dr. Jesus, the on-call physician, took charge.

“Start compressions,” he ordered as a nurse prepared the defibrillator.

Clara began chest compressions, her hands pressing firmly into Lila’s chest, trying to coax her heart back into rhythm. She counted out loud, her voice a steady metronome, though inside, her thoughts were racing.

“Charging... clear!” Dr. Jesus shouted.

The room fell silent for a brief moment as the defibrillator delivered a shock. Lila’s body jolted violently, but the monitor remained flat. Time was slipping away, and the urgency in the room intensified. The team continued to work, determined to bring her back.

For what felt like an eternity, nothing changed. The rhythm remained unbroken no heartbeat, no sign of life. But Clara refused to stop. She pushed harder, her arms aching, sweat beading on her forehead.

“Come on, Lila,” she whispered under her breath. “Come back.”

And then, faint but unmistakable—a pulse. The monitor beeped, and the once-flat line jumped back into motion, a weak but steady heartbeat emerging from the chaos.

Relief swept through the room like a wave. The team slowed their frantic pace, transitioning to stabilizing Lila. Dr.jesus checked her vitals, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s back,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with relief.

Clara stepped back, her hands trembling as she looked down at Lila, who was now breathing again, though still unconscious. The battle wasn’t over, but Lila had made it through the worst of the storm.

As the adrenaline faded, Clara found herself standing alone in the room for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Lila’s chest. She had seen many patients teeter on the edge between life and death, but something about this moment felt different. Maybe it was the fight Lila had put up, or perhaps it was the way the light in the room seemed a little warmer now, a little more hopeful.

to be continued

[chvoswxtch]

revenge

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x frank castle

summary: matt may have won the battle, but frank wins the war.

warnings: all of them. every single one of them. swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: there's not enough brat taming frank, especially in terms of frank brat taming matt, and I took that personally. this is the last installment in this accidental little mini series, and it's pure filth. enjoy, xoxo.

word count: 1.7k

[part one: jealousy] [part two: forgiveness]

The second that Matt pulled Frank in by the back of his neck, Frank’s plump lips wrapped around your clit and he began to suck fervently. The sudden sensation had you nearly jumping off Matt’s lap, and if it weren’t for his strong hands holding you forcefully in place with his blunt nails digging into your hips, you wouldn’t have even been able to sit up right any longer.

The feeling of Frank’s wide, warm tongue flicking over your clit back and forth repeatedly like a metronome while Matt stretched out your pussy with his thick cock at a legato tempo was almost too much to handle. Frank aided in keeping your legs spread wide open with his broad shoulders nestled between your thighs, preventing them from closing even an inch. Matt groaned lowly into your ear every time Frank’s greedy tongue swiped over his sensitive cock while he devoured your pussy. His large nose rubbed against your clit deliciously as his tongue teased Matt’s sensitive balls, paying repentance to you both simultaneously on his knees for his previous teasing actions. 

You had been blissfully, but painfully edged by them both, and you weren’t going to last another minute. From Frank’s skilled fingers to Matt’s sinful mouth, and now the combination of Frank’s ravenous tongue and Matt’s unrelenting cock…you weren’t seconds from combusting. Matt had been ready to come in his office earlier just from hearing the way Frank had touched you over the phone, and you knew he was just as close as you were. Matt was moaning a string of curses and prayers into your ear, leaving marks on your waist with his iron grip, and the sloppy rhythm of his hips pistoning upwards into your own chaotically indicated his own fuse was about to detonate.

Frank’s teeth gently grazing over your overstimulated clit started the chain reaction of fireworks that abruptly exploded within you and Matt both. Your fingers tugged roughly at Frank’s unruly ebony waves as you bucked your hips against his face, a cacophony of moans leaving your lips that were directed at the Heavens as your head fell back against Matt’s shoulder. While you rode out your high against Frank’s face, Matt buried his face into your neck and bit down on your flesh sharply while gripping onto your throat, a feral grunt echoing in your ears as he emptied his pent up arousal deep within you with irregular spasmodic thrusts.

The apartment was silent apart from the sound of you and Matt panting heavily, and while the two of you were basking in the afterglow of gratification, Frank had risen to his feet with a renewed sense of vigor. 

Because if there was one thing that fueled Frank Castle more than anything in this world, it was revenge.

The sharp sound of leather snapping pulled you and Matt out of your euphoric trance, and your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and awe seeing that Frank had ripped his own belt apart to free his hands. Frank swiftly reached out to grab you by your waist to remove you from Matt’s lap, and you winced slightly at the sudden motion and loss of contact when he pulled you off Matt’s softened cock.

“Sorry darlin’, ‘scuse me a minute.”

His voice was gruff while he gently set you down on the opposite side of the couch, laced with a dangerously low timbre that indicated there was no room for an argument. He had never used that particular tone with you, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of recognition on Matt’s face, and he instantly tensed up. His half-lidded hazel eyes that had been glossed over with rapture were now wide open and shining clear with apprehension.

“Frank-”

Matt’s desperate plea was quickly caught off by Frank’s large hand darting out to grab Matt by his throat. Frank had Matt at a complete disadvantage, and he knew it. While Matt was still coming down from his high and depleted of the energy he had used in fucking you to prove a point, Frank was running off pure adrenaline and ready to prove one of his own.

“If I had a fuckin’ attitude comin’ home it’s cause you’re an impatient and selfish fucker, Red. You get her to yourself all the goddamn time, and I can’t get twelve hours alone with her without you showin’ your fuckin’ ass.”

While Frank moved his hand up to yank Matt’s head back forcefully by gripping onto his hair, Matt let out a soft grunt that was layered with arousal and a twinge of displeasure. You watched with an almost unhinged jaw as Frank freed his fully erect cock from his jeans and guided himself past Matt’s welcoming lips. The three of you seemed to moan in unison; Frank from finally getting some relief, Matt from the taste of Frank and the thrill of being used, and you from the delectable sight in front of you.

“Maybe everytime I come home, I need to make sure you got a taste of my cock in that fuckin’ bratty mouth of yours so you’ll remember who the fuck you’re s’posed to be sharin’ with, yeah?”

Matt only moaned around Frank’s thick cock in response. Frank didn’t give Matt any time at all to protest or adjust to having Frank’s cock practically shoved down his throat, and quickly began to fuck Matt’s face at a brutal pace. The sounds coming from both of them were downright pornographic, and it made you wet all over again. Frank’s full brows were knit slightly in concentration as he continued to harshly grip onto Matt’s hair, and his plump lips were parted in pleasure while he watched intently as Matt sucked his cock with a sense of urgency.

“Ain’t runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth now, are ya? ‘Bout time you put it to good use.”

Your hand snaked its way between your thighs of its own accord, and you began to slowly tease your clit as you watched Frank dominate Matt. He didn’t do it often, but when he did, God it was a sight to behold. Matt was usually the more dominant of the two, especially when it came to you. There were rare times Frank let himself lose control, but for the most part, he was mostly gentle. Still, it always excited you when you got to witness even a tiny fragment of why they called him the Punisher. Right now he was fucking Matt’s face with a vegeance, and you were steadily approaching your second orgasm of the night as you touched yourself to the incredible show in happening right before your eyes.

When Matt’s hand eagerly fisted around his cock, which was now fully erect again, Frank smacked his wrist away with a grunt, and he gripped at Matt’s throat with his free hand.

“What’d I say earlier, huh? No touchin’. Pull that shit again, and I’ll tie your ass up and make sure you can’t sit down for a fuckin’ week, altar boy.”

The sound of Matt whimpering around Frank’s cock made you moan in response, and Frank’s eyes suddenly snapped in your direction. His features that were hardened with retribution instantly softened into pure lust at the view of you with your legs spread and fingers toying with your soaked pussy. His tongue quickly darted out to wet his plump lips, and he released his grip on Matt’s throat to reach for you. 

“C’mere, baby. Bring that pretty pussy over here and lemme finish what I started ‘fore this asshole interrupted earlier.”

In a flash you were scrambling onto your knees, moaning at the taste of yourself lingering on Frank’s lips when he leaned in to capture your mouth in a heated kiss. While his large hand found its home between your legs and two of his thick fingers slipped easily into your cunt, his thumb rubbed purposeful circles over your clit, and his tongue slipped past your lips like he wanted to ravage you whole. Frank kept his rough grip on Matt’s hair, but he steadied his hips in favor of letting Matt suck him off at his own pace while Frank focused on fingering your needy cunt. 

Your head was spinning from the way Frank kissed you, like he was stealing the very essence of life right from your lungs. It was messy and frantic the way your tongues and teeth collided, and you grabbed onto the back of his neck and gripped onto his broad shoulder for support, moaning into his mouth as his hand worked expertly between your legs. 

Frank had said Matt couldn’t touch himself, but he never said that you couldn’t touch Matt, and he didn’t make a move to stop you as you blindly reached for Matt’s impatient cock. Matt instinctively grabbed onto your wrist and guided your hand towards his hardened cock, and the muffled moan of gratitude he let out from the contact made Frank shudder against you both. The three of you worked in tandem to bring the other to the peak of pleasure, and it didn’t take much longer for you all to collectively erupt into unmitigated elation.

Pulling his spent cock from Matt’s mouth, Frank fell back onto the couch between you two, putting his arms around both of your shoulders to pull you and Matt in towards his large body as you all attempted to catch your breath. When Frank pressed a soft kiss to the top of yours and Matt’s heads, your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet amused laugh at the sight of both your boyfriends sitting on the couch together with their pants around their ankles. 

After a few moments of silence, Frank cleared his throat and relaxed back further into the cushions, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch.

“So, what’s for lunch?”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[carolina-thiell]

Layer by Layer · Chapter 3: “Double Vision” · Deacon Kay x Claire (OFC, implied wife).

Character: David “Deacon” Kay Pairing: Deacon Kay x Claire (OFC, implied wife) Format: Multi-Chapter Fic Word Count: ~2.1k (Chapter 3) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Tension, Medical Drama Warnings: Concussion symptoms, memory lapses, emotional distress, family fear, hospital scenes, implied trauma Status: Part 3 of 5

The glow of oncoming headlights bounced across the windshield in irregular flashes, and every time it did, Claire flinched.

“Too bright,” she muttered eyes half-closed and face turned toward the passenger window like that might help.

Deacon reached up without a word, adjusted the rearview mirror to cut the reflection and thumbed the dashboard dimmer until the interior panel lights sank into a soft orange haze. He turned the volume dial down too; not off, just barely audible. A whisper of sound, like white noise with a heartbeat.

Claire’s breath fogged faintly against the glass.

“I’m fine,” she said for the fourth time in three minutes.

Deacon kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting loose in his lap, fingers tapping against his thigh in measured beats.

“You’re not fine.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Not the scale we’re using.”

Claire exhaled a weak scoff. “You’re making it a whole thing.”

Deacon didn’t answer and he changed lanes cleanly, signal ticking like a metronome in the silence. In the backseat, Jules finally spoke; a whisper, dry and edged with something afraid.

“She doesn’t remember the song.”

Claire blinked. “What?”

Jules leaned forward slightly, voice tight. “The cow song; you told me, and then a minute later, you asked again like it never happened.”

Claire looked down at her hands in her lap, she didn’t say anything. Deacon’s fingers tightened just once on the wheel.

“We’re going to the ER,” he said, calm. No room for debate.

Claire let her head drop back against the window, eyes closed now not in sleep but surrender.

The ER parking lot buzzed with overhead sodium lights, casting the asphalt in a sickly yellow glow. Deacon pulled into the drop-off zone, threw the truck into park and unbuckled. He opened Claire’s door before she could even reach for the handle.

“Come on,” he said softly.

Claire didn’t move. She sat still, arms limp, shoulders hunched like she could fold herself smaller than the pain.

“I don’t want to go in there.”

“I know.”

“It’s gonna be cold and fluorescent. And they’re gonna ask me a thousand questions I don’t remember the answers to.”

Deacon crouched beside her, eye level again.

“You don’t want to be here and I don’t want to be here. But we have to be here.”

Claire blinked slowly and uneven and gave a small nod, more like a tip of the head. He helped her down, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist as they moved toward the sliding glass doors. Jules followed behind, arms folded tight across her chest. Inside, it was everything Claire had predicted: cold, fluorescent and humming with quiet dread. The walls were beige and the smell of disinfectant clawed at the nose.

A nurse behind the front desk looked up, then quickly gestured toward a wheelchair.

“Head trauma?” she asked briskly.

“Concussion symptoms, possible double vision, memory lapses,” Deacon said, all in one clipped breath.

The nurse was already on her feet, handing over a clipboard with one hand, summoning triage with the other. Claire grumbled weakly as Deacon guided her into the chair.

“Hey,” the nurse said gently, crouching down. “Can you handle a little light? If not, I’ve got sunglasses for you.”

Claire nodded. Moments later, she was wearing a pair of too-big hospital-issued shades, curled awkwardly in the hard plastic of a waiting room chair while Deacon filled out the intake form.

Jules sat across the room, swinging her legs, still wearing the red rental skates. She looked completely out of place, like a kid in the wrong scene of a movie. A triage nurse called Claire’s name within three minutes; fast-tracked. Head trauma always got priority.

The exam room was quiet, except for the steady hum of fluorescent lighting overhead and the occasional beep of the monitor across from Claire’s head. She sat on the padded table, hospital sunglasses perched lopsided on her nose. Her boots were untied, one lace dangled off the side like a frayed ribbon.

Deacon stood beside her at first, arms crossed; then sat slowly in the corner chair, elbows on knees, hands clasped like he was waiting for a verdict.

The doctor was young, tired-eyed, but efficient. He’d introduced himself in a blur of vowels that neither of them retained.

“Concussion, mild to moderate,” he said finally, tapping her chart. “No sign of hematoma, which is good. But she’s definitely showing standard symptoms: photophobia, verbal disorientation, memory fog.”

Claire made a face. “Fog like I’m a Victorian ghost.”

Deacon glanced at her.

The doctor smiled briefly. “You’re going to feel weird for a few days, maybe longer.” He turned to Deacon, more serious now. “You’ll want to wake her up every few hours tonight. Make sure she’s responsive, just verbal confirmation is fine. If she gets worse: vomiting, confusion, difficulty walking, you bring her back immediately.”

Deacon nodded once, sharp and controlled.

The doctor turned back to Claire. “No screens, no reading and no stairs unless someone’s with you. Just rest.”

Claire nodded along, eyes still half-hidden behind the lenses. Her mouth pulled into a flat line; she looked exhausted.

 “So basically, I’m a burden.”

It came out soft and bitter. The doctor didn’t respond but Deacon did.

“No, you’re injured.”

Claire huffed. “Same difference.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees again and his voice low but sure.

“You didn’t ask to get hurt. You don’t get to apologize for it.”

Claire didn’t answer, she just tilted her face slightly toward him in surrender.

The truck’s cabin was dim, the ER’s sodium lights fading behind them as Deacon merged back onto the road. Claire leaned her head against the window, one arm tucked across her stomach. Her sunglasses were back in place, though the lenses were crooked again. Her lips were chapped, her color was worse.

Beside her, Jules sat unnaturally straight, her arms tucked in, her hands buried in the sleeves of her hoodie. No one said anything for the first two minutes; Claire spoke dryly, quiet and too casual to be real.

“He said no stairs,” she murmured, voice ghosting into the glass. “Guess you’ll have to carry me again like a tragic Victorian bride.”

Jules snorted not quite a laugh but it punched through the silence, unexpected and too big for the moment. Then she started to cry: real, silent, ugly crying; shoulders trembling. Face twisted like she was trying to hold it in and failing, because there was no space left inside to hold anything anymore.

Deacon glanced in the rearview, then blinked and pulled into a strip mall parking lot without a word. He put the truck in park, reached down and switched off the headlights. Then he turned all the way around in his seat, elbow hooked over the headrest, body twisted toward Jules.

She tried to wipe her face with her sleeve, frantic and ashamed.

“Sorry...” she started.

“Don’t,” Deacon cut in.

He waited for her to look at him.

“You did everything right.”

Jules blinked hard and her lip trembled.

“I didn’t catch her,” she whispered. “I didn’t even see her fall...”

“And you stayed calm; you called me and kept her talking. You didn’t lose it.”

“She was bleeding.”

“And now she’s not alone.”

Jules nodded; a shaky, tear-soaked nod.

Deacon reached one hand back toward her, palm open and there, if she wanted it. After a beat, she reached forward and gripped it tight.

Previous chapter.

Next chapter.

[jpthazombiee]

DR HELEN: Part 1

Dr. Helen Helen was not a woman who sought attention. In fact, she preferred the background. A quiet pulse in the vast machine of the hospital. It was fitting, really, given her area of expertise—cardiology. She wasn’t just a doctor of the heart; she was a listener to its most hidden, most delicate whispers.

Helen had always been fascinated by the heart. Not the romanticized, poetic version that so many people imagined, but the real thing—the electrical system, the valves, the blood, the rhythm that determined life itself. She studied the heart as if it were a secret code, a mystery meant only for those who were willing to listen closely, to understand its unspoken language.

Her colleagues knew her as competent, efficient, and calm, yet few understood her. Helen’s personality was as steady as the beat of a metronome, but deep down, her world was filled with unanswered questions. There was one thing that puzzled her more than any medical anomaly: the nature of her own heartbeat.

Helen had always felt something was wrong with her heart, but no test ever showed anything abnormal. Doctors told her it was just anxiety, perhaps an overactive imagination. But Helen could sense it—the offbeat, the irregularity that no one else seemed to notice. It wasn’t physical, not in the way a murmur or arrhythmia would be. It was more like a… presence, an echo in the back of her chest, a sensation she could never explain.

Her obsession grew. Helen had been to cardiologists, neurologists, even psychologists, all in search of an answer. But no one could offer her one. She began to feel alien in her own body, disconnected from her heart, as if it had secrets it refused to share.

One late evening, after another long shift in the cardiology ward, Helen sat alone in her office, reviewing patient files. The hum of the fluorescent lights above and the quiet shuffle of nurses’ footsteps in the hallway were all she could hear. She had just signed off on a particularly complicated case involving a patient with heart failure when a soft knock on her door broke the silence.

“Dr. Helen?” A voice, timid and uncertain, came from the doorway. It was a young nurse, barely out of her training.

“Yes, Sarah?” Helen looked up, her gaze piercing, as if the nurse had interrupted a deep thought.

“There’s a patient in Room 307… They’re, um, asking for you. They say you’re the only one who can help.”

Helen raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I’m not on call tonight.”

The nurse hesitated. “It’s… it’s not a physical problem, Dr. Helen. They… they say their heart is broken. They’ve been here for a week, but nothing is physically wrong with them. They’re just… they can’t seem to feel anything, like their heart has stopped.”

Helen paused. That strange sensation in her chest flared up again, and a wave of unease swept over her. She had no explanation, but she knew that she had to go.

When she arrived at Room 307, the patient was lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was an elderly woman, frail and thin, her face a map of years lived with sorrow.

“Dr. Helen,” the woman whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Helen took a seat beside her. “What’s going on? What do you mean your heart is broken?”

The woman closed her eyes. “It’s not just the physical heart,” she said. “It’s the invisible one. The one no one can see. I’ve been waiting for someone who understands. I can’t feel anything anymore. It’s like I’ve been hollowed out, like my heartbeat has stopped in a way that no doctor can measure. But you… you can feel it, can’t you?”

Helen felt a strange, unexplainable rush of recognition. She had never met this woman before, but in that moment, something clicked. “I understand,” she whispered.

The elderly woman’s eyes opened, locking with hers. “You know what it’s like, don’t you? To have a heart that doesn’t beat as it should, to live in a world where everything feels muted, even though your body is alive.”

Helen felt the room grow still. The woman’s words echoed in her mind, and for the first time in years, Helen allowed herself to let down the walls she had built. The echo in her chest, the irregular rhythm she had felt for so long, was not a malfunction. It was a message. A kindred heartbeat from another soul, one that had been silent for too long.

Without thinking, Helen reached out and took the woman’s hand. “I think I understand what’s happening,” she said softly. “You’re not broken. But something is missing. You’ve stopped listening to the heart, to the rhythm of life.”

The woman’s eyes welled with tears, and Helen realized that the woman’s heartache was something that could not be fixed with medicine. It was the pain of isolation, of living without connection to oneself and others.

Helen stood up and walked to the window, feeling a shift inside her. She had been searching for an answer all these years—an answer to her own silent heartache, her own invisible pain. And now, it became clear. The answers were not in the heart itself, but in the understanding of the spaces between beats, the empty moments that stretched between heartbeats and human connections.

“Your heart hasn’t stopped,” Helen said gently, turning back to the woman. “It’s just waiting for you to listen to it again.”

The woman smiled, a faint but genuine curve of her lips. And as Helen left the room, she could feel the weight of her own heart shifting—no longer lost, but finally understood.

The unseen heartbeat of her soul was not a flaw, but a song, waiting for her to hear it

PreOrder: <<join Dr. Helen’s flare society >>

Creator: Ig: purplezombiee/jpthazombiee

[dustedmagazine]

Vague Plot — Crying in 9 (Island House)

Vague Plot’s jams shimmer like highways melting in the heat, running straight on through Kansas or Nebraska until they disappear in the undecipherable distance. Which is to say, they go on for while, repeating the same short grooves ad infinitum, with modest changes, until the measures blow by like mile markers and the journey transcends itself.

“Moto” which opens, metes out the time in sharp, strummed intervals, a little syncopation marking irregular edges in the tick-tocky flow. And within that context, a sax can wail, a guitar can howl, a lick can bloom and fade and collapse in distortion. There’s order so that disorder can grow, a white picket fence around wild tangles of vegetation.

Vague Plot is made up of New York City avant-indie regulars, veterans of other bands, who got together to make driving, moving, long-form instrumental music a la Can and Popul Vuh during the pandemic. The one you’d probably pick out of a line-up first is Zachary Cale, here one of two guitarists, alongside Uriah Theriaultof Woodsy Pride. Phil Jacob of Psychic Lines plays the sax sometimes and a keyboard otherwise, while Ben Copperhead plays bass and John Studer drums.

The music grows contemplative in blues-tinged “Haunted Head” before spinning off into psychotropic grooves, like some weird mesh of Loren Connors and Om. It attains purity in the slow-evolving tones of closer “Windswept” which has a bit of Kluster in its crystalline lucidity.

You might think, with Cale involved, that there’s be a rustic rocker thread in Vague Plot’s aesthetic, a little Neil Young crashing through the motorisms. There mostly isn’t, sorry to disappoint, except oddly enough, on the tape’s best cut, “Cyclic.” Here Jacob’s sax wanders in and around a heavy groove that’s ever so slightly shaded with country rock tones. It’s a puzzle palace, a metronomic experiment in extended pulse, but with a ragged heart, and it’s the wildest and most excellent part of an excellent little album. Fuck the cowbell. Let’s have more guitar.

Jennifer Kelly    

[yourphilos]

Man Ray's The Oculist (1944/1971) exemplifies his Surrealist exploration of vision and material transformation. Conceived during his American exile and later materialized as a wearable art object, this work merges technical innovation with symbolic depth.

Technical Details

Medium: Gold and malachite pendant/brooch.

Dimensions: 4.25 inches (11 cm) in length.

Edition: Executed in 1971 as part of a numbered edition of 12, plus one artist’s proof, fabricated by GEM Montebello.

Design: Combines precious metals with malachite’s organic green patterns, juxtaposing industrial precision and natural irregularity.

Historical Context

Conception: Created in 1944 during Man Ray’s stay in Los Angeles (1940–1951), a period marked by wartime displacement and renewed focus on object-based art.

Posthumous Execution: Produced in 1971, reflecting his later practice of revisiting and reproducing earlier concepts, akin to his reconstructions of Indestructible Object.

Cultural and Artistic Significance

Thematic Continuity: Aligns with Man Ray’s obsession with eyes as symbols of perception and surveillance, seen in works like Object to Be Destroyed (metronome with Lee Miller’s eye)and The Eye That Sees Everything (1919 airbrush painting).

Surrealist Object: Transforms a functional item (jewelry) into a poetic artifact, challenging boundaries between art and utility—a hallmark of Dada/Surrealist readymades.

Material Symbolism: Malachite’s swirling patterns evoke organic, dream-like imagery, resonating with Surrealism’s fascination with the subconscious.

Legacy

Multiples and Accessibility: The 1971 edition reflects Man Ray’s embrace of reproduction, democratizing art while critiquing originality—a theme explored in his graphic works.

Wearable Art: Blurs art and adornment, prefiguring contemporary trends in artist-designed jewelry.

Through The Oculist, Man Ray reimagines vision as both a medical and metaphysical act, embedding Surrealist paradox into a deceptively elegant object.

References:

[guitarkaksha]

India's Online Guitar Learning Market: Unlocking Musical Potential

The rise of online guitar learning has transformed the music education landscape in India. Not long ago, learning an instrument like the guitar meant struggling with scheduling issues, expensive private lessons, and limited access to quality instructors, especially in smaller towns and rural areas. Today, thanks to the proliferation of online guitar courses, aspiring guitarists across India—whether in bustling cities or remote villages—can easily access top-notch instruction. Regardless of whether you're a beginner, intermediate, or advanced player, online guitar lessons have made developing musical talent more accessible and enjoyable than ever before.

Why Online Guitar Learning is Gaining Popularity in India India’s rich musical heritage is well-known, but quality guitar instructors are often concentrated in urban centers. In smaller towns and rural areas, students might struggle to find qualified teachers. Online guitar classes have bridged this gap, offering anyone with an internet connection the opportunity to learn the instrument at their own pace, from the comfort of their homes.

Another advantage of online guitar learning is the elimination of long commutes. With the high cost and time involved in traveling to traditional classes, many students, especially working professionals and students with busy schedules, found it difficult to commit to regular face-to-face lessons. Online guitar training solves this problem by offering flexible, affordable, and self-paced learning options that work for virtually any schedule.

Key Benefits of Online Guitar Lessons Flexibility and Convenience One of the major benefits of online guitar lessons is flexibility. You can learn at your own pace and fit lessons around your schedule, whether that means practicing early in the morning or late at night. This is particularly helpful for people with irregular work hours or family responsibilities, as you won’t be tied down to a fixed class time.

Affordable Learning Private guitar lessons can be expensive, often putting them out of reach for many people. Online guitar courses, on the other hand, are generally much more affordable. Many platforms offer one-time payment options or subscription-based models, allowing students to access lessons at a fraction of the cost of in-person lessons. Additionally, some platforms provide free introductory classes, allowing students to try before committing financially. This makes guitar education more accessible to people from different economic backgrounds.

Self-Paced Progression With online guitar courses, you're in control of your learning journey. Whether you're struggling with a complex chord or mastering a new technique, you can take your time to revisit lessons until you're comfortable. This self-paced learning is a huge advantage, especially for beginners, as it allows for a deeper understanding of each lesson before moving on to the next.

Comprehensive Learning Materials Online guitar courses often come with a wealth of resources that traditional classes might not offer. From chord charts and practice exercises to backing tracks and instructional videos, these materials help you improve your skills faster. Some platforms even offer metronomes and tuners to help you fine-tune your timing and pitch. This all-encompassing approach makes online guitar learning an excellent option for students at any level.

Access to International Expertise One of the greatest benefits of learning online is the ability to access instructors and teaching styles from around the world. Whether you’re interested in rock, jazz, blues, classical, or any other genre, online courses offer a wide variety of styles and techniques, often taught by expert musicians from different countries. This exposure allows Indian students to explore diverse musical traditions and improve their versatility as guitarists.

How to Choose the Right Online Guitar Course With so many online guitar lessons available, choosing the right one for you can be overwhelming. Here are a few tips to help you make the best choice:

Skill Level: Ensure the course matches your current level of expertise. Beginners should look for courses that cover the basics, such as chord progressions and basic melodies, while more advanced players can look for courses focused on specific genres or advanced techniques.

Learning Style: Different online courses use different teaching methods. Some may be theory-heavy, while others focus on learning through songs or practical application. Consider your preferred style of learning when selecting a course.

Course Structure: A well-structured course will help guide you logically from one lesson to the next, building your skills progressively. Make sure the course has a clear roadmap to avoid confusion and ensure you cover all essential topics.

Practice Support: Look for courses that offer practice resources such as backing tracks, practice plans, and guided exercises. These tools can help you stay on track and make consistent progress.

The Impact of Online Guitar Classes on Indian Students Online guitar courses have been especially transformative for students in India. In a country where access to quality music education has historically been limited outside of major cities, online platforms have democratized learning by offering high-quality instruction to students from every corner of the country.

These courses also expose Indian students to a wide range of musical genres that might not be commonly taught in their local areas. Whether it's jazz, pop, electronic music, or Western rock, online guitar classes open up new musical worlds for students, enhancing their skills and broadening their musical tastes. The exposure to global teaching methods and styles also helps students become more versatile musicians, capable of adapting to different musical contexts.

Conclusion Online guitar learning is a game-changer for aspiring musicians in India. It provides flexibility, affordability, and access to a wealth of resources, making it easier than ever for anyone, anywhere, to learn how to play the guitar. Whether you're a beginner looking to learn your first chords or an experienced player aiming to master a new technique, online guitar courses offer everything you need to reach your musical goals. With the right course and a commitment to practice, you can unlock your full potential and enjoy the journey of becoming a skilled guitarist.

Author- Guitar Kaksha Website- (https://guitarkaksha.com/index.html)

Online Guitar classes online guitar classes india learn guitar online Guitar courses online Guitar online learning guitar online classes online classes for guitar guitar classes online course guitar guitar classes online

[edwardastormwrites]

Origins of Free Verse Poetry in America

free verse, poetry organized to the cadences of speech and image patterns rather than according to a regular metrical scheme. It is “free” only in a relative sense. It does not have the steady, abstract rhythm of traditional poetry; its rhythms are based on patterned elements such as sounds, words, phrases, sentences, and paragraphs, rather than on the traditional prosodic units of metrical feet per line. Free verse, therefore, eliminates much of the artificiality and some of the aesthetic distance of poetic expression and substitutes a flexible formal organization suited to the modern idiom and more casual tonality of the language.

Although the term is loosely applied to the poetry of Walt Whitman and even earlier experiments with irregular metres, it was originally a literal translation of vers libre (q.v.), the name of a movement that originated in France in the 1880s. Free verse became current in English poetics in the early 20th century. The first English-language poets to be influenced by vers libre, notably T.E. Hulme, F.S. Flint, Richard Aldington, Ezra Pound, and T.S. Eliot, were students of French poetry. The Imagist movement, started in England in 1912 by Aldington, Pound, Flint, and Hilda Doolittle (“H.D.”), was concerned with more than versification, but one of its principles was “to compose in sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of the metronome.” Almost from the beginning, the free-verse movement split into two groups, one led by Amy Lowell and a more formal one led by Pound. Eliot’s early experimentations with free verse influenced the loosening of formal metrical structures in English-language poetry. Carl Sandburg, William Carlos Williams, Marianne Moore, and Wallace Stevens all wrote some variety of free verse; the versification of Williams and Moore most closely resembles that of the vers libre poets of France.

[mo0nfairy]

can i request hcs of glamrock freddy simping over their human co-worker??

thank you <3 (btw i love ur writing!!)

🪷 ִ ° ⋆ 𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 ˚ ｡ . 🪺

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 . . .

♫ 𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 ⸺ 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐳

˚ ✩ 🥕 ｡ ˚ ✧ * ｡ 🧤

( 📁 ) . . .  𝗧𝗪! 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗰𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀. 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱.

( 📁 ) . . .  𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁! <𝟯

𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗱𝘆’𝘀 𝘆𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 . . .

𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, & 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚍

you can’t recall when the sudden alter in freddy’s behavior occurred

the wagging of his short tail whenever you’re around, the way his ears elevate in surprise when you speak to him, the glitches in his voice after you tie his bow and adjust his hat

and even now, the way your hands trace over his arms and legs to make sure the animatronic is still in function is enough to make his entire system short-circuit

“you took quite the tumble on stage tonight, but there seems to be no bugs in your programming... do you have any idea what may have happened to you, freddy?” you…

that’s what happened: you

your heavenly voice in his earpiece, constructing the music and notifying your coworkers of any potential irregularities in the glamrock’s coding

how could anyone function properly whilst an angel overlooks their shoulder, whispering sweet nothings such as “speed up the metronome for chica” or “lower the volume of the backing tracks for monty”?

oh, you’re just too sweet~

you may not be able to recall the abrupt shift in his disposition, but freddy certainly can

before, everything was grey; every day was spent in chromatic colors as the robot mindlessly entertained guests without an ounce of conscious thought

and all it took was a bicker between him and monty that sent him spiraling off the catwalks to end up in parts and services, where he would then wake up to your adoring face

then, there was color

“there was a minor accident in gator golf that left you in severe conditions, so fazbear entertainment called me in to treat you. i hope that’s all alright with you, freddy?” yes, yes, it is more than ok

“how’s that brain working? any coding i need to patch up on?” all i can think about is you

“how about those new eyes, how are they treating you?” they’re perfect, you’re perfect

his eyes then glanced down to your chest, your golden name tag glistening beneath the bright surgical light above you

y/n…

what a beautiful name…

and just like that, life isn’t so dull for freddy anymore

the safety of the children, the wellbeing of his friends, his concerns for his state of mind, everything is put on a back-burner now that his circuits have been overwhelmed by you and your flamboyant self

and poor, sweet you, who just assumes the devoted initiatives of your favorite fazbear is all a part of his coded personality

because yeah, it’s totally programmed in freddy to memorize your eating habits and bring you a hot, fresh slice of pizza and a glass of his signature fizzy-faz during your breaks

it’s totally normal for an animatronic to insist on carrying you place-to-place, simply because the walk to parts and services is "far too long for a human to possibly endure"

it’s totally normal for him to carry you over his shoulder to his room like a sack of potatoes after vanessa was in the process of chewing you out for a glitch in roxanne’s ocular upgrade

and it’s completely normal for the golden boy of fazbear entertainment to beat roxanne wolf out of commission after an accident during your shift in parts and services

that mangy mutt had left you bed-ridden and away from freddy for a month, but now that you’ve returned, the 7-ft-tall teddy bear is always breathing down your neck whenever another glamrock breathes in your general direction

there’s definitely nothing weird about freddy's behavior! you’ve been doing your job flawlessly and keeping these animatronics (excluding poor roxy) in tip-top shape…… right?

well, apparently not, because now fazbear entertainment has called you into parts and services for the final time before you’re obliged to pack up your bags and leave pizzaplex forever

“listen, freddy…” yes, of course, i’m always listening to you

“ever since i’ve gotten this job, more and more anomalies seem to appear in your behavior. i’ve tried countless times to fix it, but it’s not enough” you are enough, you’ve given me more than i could ever ask for

“and after what happened to roxy, i just… i don’t think working with animatronics is really my forte” you couldn’t be more perfect for me, y/n, what is this leading to-?

“this is the last time we’ll see each other”

….. no.

that mere sentence leaving your mouth was enough to cause his mechanical heart to implode

freddy begins to hyperventilate, the screens within the parts and service cylinder erupting with a mess of binary codes and a large, flashing “error”

harsh-red alarms begin to blare as the dread unit warns you of the unexpected occurrence of freddy’s system overheating

the doors to the protective cylinder lock as freddy begins to twist and jerk in his surgical chair, the restraints added for your safety splitting with an ear-piercing rip!

you bang against the hazy window, shouting for all of your coworkers, the other glamrocks, hell, even for map-bot to save you from your fate

sharp claws then grasp around your form and pull you closer as you shriek and squirm, all before darkness envelops you

you've been huddled within the cramped walls of freddy’s chest cavity, uncomfortably embraced by the wires and sprockets of his endoskeleton as you try and fight against him

the ringing of the alarms, the voice of dread unit, and your own muffled screams simmer down to silence

all that is left is you and him, closer than ever before

“there’s no need to worry anymore, starlight, i’ll tell the others you packed up and left… you’re safe with me, forever…”

the media was right… fazbear entertainment has far too many skeletons in the closet.

edit: reader is not dead lol

[missionimpossibleburger]

When Art Becomes Industry - The Menu Review

For my elementary school yearbook, I was given a slip of paper that had me answer the following prompt: "What do you think you'll be when you grow up?" These would later be printed just below my name and portrait that would proudly beam on the glossy pages of the 5th grade section of the yearbook, among the other classmates off to do wonderful and ambitious things as preteens in middle school. In short, this was like a high school yearbook quote, but a little more hopeful and earnest.

I answered Probably a comic book writer or a piano player. While the use of "Probably" helped me ease into the idea of letting go of my short-lived comic book writing ambitions, it still amazes me today that, at 10 years old, I knew in my heart that the piano would be a part of my life.

My earliest memories come from the time when I was a toddler who could barely walk, stumbling down the soft carpeted hallway of my childhood home in South San Francisco as I approached the mysterious and booming mid-range tones from the piano in the living room. I'd see my dad's legs, rhythmically pressing on the ornate pedals with the balls of his feet at irregular intervals, like he was operating a weave as he conjured up a net of harmonies beneath his palms. While I might not have fully comprehended it at the time, there was a understanding in our family that the piano is a gene in our household, and I inherited it from my dad, whether I liked it or not.

Fortunately, I did like it. My dad took me to my first piano lesson when I was five years old, in the back of a Chinese-owned musical instrument shop on Clement Street. I never saw that teacher again (maybe the first lesson was complimentary, and my dad just didn't like her enough), but I got to keep the book. At home, with the help of 12 colorful cartoon characters printed in my book, I taught myself all 12 notes in the scale (more if you want to count the treble and bass clefs), simply because I was hungry to learn more notes and more songs. I took great pride when my dad clapped for me finishing Mary Had A Little Lamb, and shame when he reprimanded me for improvising wrong notes. I loved learning new songs, and held myself over with nursery rhymes and folk songs until it was time to take formal classical lessons from a teacher who met my dad's approval. At nine years old, I finally was reaching the next step.

My piano teacher introduced me to the world of music education and the rigors of music training. She was compassionate and warm, but demanded dedication. Through her, I internalized the technicalities of finger placements, metronome speeds, hand compartmentalization. I expanded my repertoire to included Russian contemporary composers whose surnames sounded like Harry Potter spells, but whom sometimes wrote the easiest pieces for my nimble fingers. I reckoned with the performance anxiety that dreaded my psyche before every monthly recital, which eventually bled over to my Certificate of Merit performance auditions. While I changed schools and subjects during the day, music became the constant test that loomed over me.

By the time I became an adolescent, I had nothing to show for it. In high school, it dawned on me that, not only was the piano barely used in any high school ensemble, but everyone knew how to play it better than I did. Everyone knew an ensemble-friendly instrument, whether it was a string instrument for the orchestra, a woodwind for the symphonic band, or a brass for both. All I had was piano, an instrument that's barely heard unless there's a solo, a concerto, or a jazz rhythm section involved. If I wanted to be heard, I had to be perfect. All 4 years of high school, I didn't pass a single audition for piano - not for the school jazz ensemble, not for any of the school musical pit orchestras. I dreaded each audition anyway, and probably flubbed them out of nervousness. I only got into orchestra after I begged the music director and offered to be a TA and a percussionist for the orchestra class, and the one time I did play in the musical pit orchestra was for percussion.

The stress and pressure I felt in the rigors of the music world left me jaded; they were a sobering reminder that I would never be cut for a career in music, or at least as a piano player, as my 10-year-old self prophetically proclaimed. My worth was at the whim of directors listening for every perfect note. The world was telling me that I wasted my time with the piano, a constant reminder of my own inadequacy. I became angry. I lost sight of why I was even spending time and money on these piano lessons, when I had schoolwork and college applications to worry about.

It's this jaded feeling that I think The Menu fully understands. Ralph Fiennes' Julian Slowik is a world-renowned chef who uses his reputation and art to seek retribution for the ills of the arts-turned-service industries. His dishes are the visceral expressions of his stoic hatred and rage for the pretentious, capitalist, and opportunistic subculture that has plagued his beloved art. Having been deeply engrossed in the higher world of fine dining, he manipulates and upends the culture to his own vengeful benefit, usurping expectation and surprising his guests (and by extension, us) by forcing them to confront their dismissive participation and moral crimes against art and humanity. In public reference does he create his own personal chaos, a heaven out of a living hell for those he finds undeserving.

There's a point in the film in which we see Slowik's origins. In one photo shown, he's younger, relaxed, and smiling, holding up a greasy burger patty on a flat and wide spatula, like the kind you'd see in cartoons. It's in stark contrast to the Slowik we got used to seeing, a stoic and terse statue of a man with thunderous claps and a commanding presence, arms crossed. And it's this point in the film where we see it's emotional core, an outlet for our own passionate angst and frustrations. We see a man who was once happy, doing what he loved, now grown into a bitter, spiteful shell.

With nothing else to audition for (save for the slightly less rigorous annual piano tests I habitually studied and trained for), my time with the piano became much for personal. Around my early adolescence, my love and ear for music bloomed with The Beatles, and the piano became the perfect outlet for that rediscovered joy and love of music. Like how I was when I was five, I began dedicating myself to learning more and more songs I loved, Beatles and beyond. I sought new territory and creativity in jazz piano and improvisation, a new language that was previously shunned from me.

When I see Ralph Fienne's Slowik as he is, I am reminded of all of those failed auditions, those nights slumped on the piano bench, those feelings of worthlessness, and if I sat through more of those and eventually found the success I was looking for, I'd come out a shell like him. But, when I see Slowik cooking a burger, I am thrust with nostalgia for the days when I learned Beatles songs on the piano, noodled jazz piano solos over wavy chords, and weaving harmonies out of thin air.

So yeah, I got pretty emotional watching this.

[fatehbaz]

Walking through the neotropical forests of Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula today, encountering a feral colony of Melipona beecheii -- a particular kind of native, stingless bee -- would be highly rare. Most extant colonies are kept by a dwindling number of local practitioners, and those that still live in the forest are highly elusive, pollinating only the highest levels of forest canopy. Yet these bees, called xunáan kab (“lady bee”) in Mayan, are living metronomes, embodying forest histories and marking out ecological time in distinctive ways.

The history of xunáan kab is tied to the regional landscape, both socially and ecologically. Pre-Colombian Maya communities held the xunáan kab bee in esteem for millennia, integrating the small insects into [...] mythology [...], and relying on their honey as a nutritious food staple. [...].

---

The story of ecological destruction and colonization in Yucatan has been narrated through the lives of nonhuman species before. Yet the species that get to tell these stories are often the ones that make the biggest impact, with easily distinguishable introduction events or punctuated bursts of ecological disturbance. One of these is henequen, a kind of agave that became highly valuable for its use as a fiber. 

In the late 1800s, much of the old-growth forest of the central peninsula was cleared to make way for vast monocultures of the plant.

The boom (and subsequent bust) of “King Henequen” continues to dominate the version of regional history that most tourists to the region encounter, with plantation tours and Merida’s neoclassical architecture the most conspicuous memorials to Yucatan’s “golden age.”

---

In contrast, the story of xunáan kab is one of quiet resistance -- a steady hum from the margins of the forest. 

It may have been on account of xunáan kab, for instance, that the European honeybee (Apis mellifera) was not introduced to the Yucatan peninsula until the mid-twentieth century, centuries after its introduction by the Spanish to other regions in Mexico. The abundance of xunáan kab hives, allowing for the steady supply of honey and wax as forced tribute to the colonizers, negated the need for their replacement or supersedence with other introduced species.

In this respect, xunáan kab is a ghost of ecologies yet to be, a vanguard against unrealized ecological destruction. [...]

The beekeepers of Zutut’ha are only one thread of a larger regional struggle in which indigenous communities and meliponicultores (keepers of the xunáan kab) have long been involved, especially with regard to the region’s biocultural heritage. Though the practice of meliponicultura has gradually declined, it has by no means disappeared -- [...] many persist in cultivating native bees, sharing hive divisions among close contacts. Recently, there has been renewed interest in the medicinal properties of xunáan kab honey [...]. The decline of the health of the forests leaves the future of xunáan kab uncertain. This decline is shaped by more irregular blooming periods caused by climate change, the widespread use of pesticides, and deforestation caused by the encroachment of industrial agriculture plots and touristic development projects.

---

Headline, image, caption, and text published by: Olea Morris. “Xunáan Kab Rhythms: Native Bees and Ecological Change in Yucatan, Mexico.” Environment and Society Portal, Arcadia no. 6. Summer 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks added by me.]

[sprinklesandshatters]

A Review on NCT 127′s 3rd Album <Sticker>

So NCT 127 just came back with their 3rd Full Album <Sticker> and this is my first 127 comeback since I became a fan last year! Neozone is such a special album for me as it was their first album that I explored entirely. I've known NCT as the group who never fails any expectations so I've kept mine up although I know they'll exceed it anyway. And guess what, they did! I absolutely love their new album hence this review~

This isn't a technical music review—as I am not a musician myself—but rather a listener's honest takes, goofy notes, and interpretation on each of the tracks in the album. I admit I've also struggled to build my own opinions on some of the tracks until I listened to them over and over again.

I have also heard there are mixed opinions on the title track <Sticker> and a lot says it's another acquired taste. But I think it's not just that, as it can be a grower, just like how most of NCT's songs were for me. Maybe after a few listens and a right passage of time, it will grow on those people. The bottom line here is, I like it a lot! 😛

So I listed down the songs according to their respective track numbers and followed each with a bulleted list of my opinions and interpretations.

(Viewer/reader discretion: before you continue, minors, do not interact as there are few 18+ contents under the cut. Thank you.)

1. Sticker

THEY DIDN'T JUST PUNCH A NEW NOTCH ON THE BELT LIKE THAT

THIS SONG SLAPS, LITERALLY SLAPS… AND WHIPS 

The recorder at the intro boyyyy I thought something was wrong but then I remember it’s NCT lmao

It already stuck in my head from my first listen from the Instagram audio.

With Taeyong opening the verse with his divine rapping, I knew I'm in for a new ride.

STICK-UH STICK-UGH STICK-UGHGHGH

To those complaining it sounding like noise music, imagine it sounding generic. I don't think it would fit as the title track. Not a b-track or in their repertoire, even. They are called NCT because they define the NEO in the music culture and music technology!

It honestly was an unorthodox, just like all of their title tracks, which I’m inherently here for.

Literally, no one does it like them!

The growls and the vocal flexes and adlibs! (You can tell it has Yoo Youngjin's brand.)

The crisp metronome sound that’s consistently ticking except for the pre-chorus and the dance break adds depth to the soundscape. I love how it’s used instead of the usual snaps.

The production quality blew my mind. Like how can someone think those melodies would sound so exquisite? CAN I CALL THEM GENIUS?

The piano at the back, oh my God—Yes! It adds this mystifying element to the song.

I'm not sure if it's a midi violin at the pre-chorus, but it added thrill to the song. It was a great transition from the bass line in the verses to the combination of the flawless harmony with the same instrumental.

"You treat me like a boy, like a grown-up child chasing a dream" JUNGWOO BABY NO MORE HUH

Taeil, Doyoung, and Haechan—the bridge vocal trinity!

But why the heck are they cowboys? I dig the concept, but why? LMAO

BTW GUNSLINGER MARK I’M ON MY KNEES YEEHAW

This is easily one of my favorite tracks from NCT 127's entire discography 💚

2. Lemonade

(⌐■_■)

Jaehyun starting off this song with his deep voice eee

The song opens to a verse oozing with chill confidence. They're like, yeah you're lurking because we’re cool.

This is such a huge slap to their haters. NCT's not chillin' like a villain, nah they're the main characters!

Well maybe they’re villains, but still ya not cooler than them ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Funny enough how they could have just referred haters as simply lemons whose sour/bitter to the taste, but 127 squad's success is sweeter than all the haters' spiteful remarks so yeah, SIPPY SIPPY LEMONADE 🧃

"WOOF"

I might have just barked too wOW

Yuta’s vocals hooooO his voice just sounds so glamorous mhmm

Also Mark referencing their previous title tracks such as: Firetruck, Cherry Bomb, and Regular (it's Irregular in the lyrics) in his rap part 👌💅

I just love Mark's energy when he raps. HE RESOLUTELY BITES AND STRAIGHT UP EATS EVERY TIME HE DOES.

3. Breakfast

Now breakfast time, oh jeez!

AAAHAHFU—

Summer 127's bestie!

If Summer 127 talks about dancing all night long, Breakfast is the morning after.

You know what it is.

"Even if I gulp and drink you, it's not enough for me." oho Taeyong no you ha—STOP

Sexual innuendos aside, isn't it just sweet if someone tells you they'd want to have breakfast with you every day?  Okay maybe I'm melting at the thought 😩🙈💞

And I can see myself dancing to this song as I make breakfast (in the afternoon or at midnight bc I’m crazy)

This was an okay b-track for me at the first skim on the album, but boy it grew on me wildly.

Honestly one of my favorite tracks in this album.

4. Focus

Did I just invade a private call? LMAO

The analog voice filters make it like so.

Dude, this feels intimate in the level of eavesdropping a phone call between seasoned lovers. Then you realize you hear them whispering their kinks over the line and you're ooh, that's sexy! hfgklhfhf

My first listen to this, I almost went feral because,

"I can't wait to eat you…" when it's actually "I can't wait 'til we chill…" aahaha

"Baby call me when you want me." OKAY!

This sounds relaxing and chill. I'd love to play this on a late night drive or just before bed time along with Fly Away With Me, Sun & Moon, My Youth, and Long Flight.

Belongs to ‘make out session’ playlist  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

That was lowkey a playlist recommendation, huh?

I'd be kidding if I don't say I could touch myself while listening to this song AHAHAFGHFJFJ

I didn't know this would grow on me this much lol I love love LOVE THIS!

5. The Rainy Night

Ooh, the holy melancholy!

Piano at the intro—I knew I'd cry to this.

This song isn't just about break-up, but the heartbreak after one.

The yearning; the remnant pieces from the shattering of what was once there.

I think I crumbled from this one.

This hit so hard I felt like I fit in the shoes with the lyrics throughout the entire song.

What’s fascinating is I clearly forgot the title when I mentally said this sounds like a sad rainy day song from the first listen.

Something I’d turn up when it suddenly rains, just because I want to feel the blues.

Taeil and Haechan singing in lower register? I wanna cry :( they’re just one of the best vocalists in K-music industry right now.

Could have been also nice if they added Yuta to the vocals.

"My selfish heart who waits for you to come back," OKAY WHO HURT THEM?

And the fact that they sang it so good that it translated every ounce of the emotions well even before I looked up for English translations is the reason why I love this song too.

6. Far

Hmm… What the hell?! Do I like this? Wait...

Alright!

The jumpy vibe from the first verse to the pre-chorus set the mood for this song. It sounds merry and heavy. It was honestly too much to take until I’ve reached the chorus part.

Honestly, I think this song could fit NCT Dream better, as it gives off a vibe similar to Hello Future's b-tracks. If some credible source say this could have made HF’s track list, I might believe you too fast.

Also Dream’s Deja Vu where they go na nananananana na na na~

Playful yet confident! That’s what I mean!

As usual, the vocals are insane! Vocal flex from left to right!

I swear Jungwoo sounded a bit like Taemin at the second verse that I had to replay it hahaha

I love hearing Johnny as a vocalist! SM, how many signs do you need until you utilize his vocal talent???

Taeil's part where he sings, "go nuts, go nuts, 'til we go bust, go bust" IDEK BUT I SNORTED A LAUGH AT FIRST LISTEN HFCAHKFHK

Not my favorite, but still great though!

But wait it’s actually stuck in my head???

7. Bring The Noize

Yes, they never beat those noise music allegations

HERE'S SOME NOIZE, BITCHES

I love me some noisy percussions. AND THE BASS YO

This screams so much confidence!

The build up from the pre-chorus to the chorus—FIRE!

This song reminds me a lot of SuperM's Super Car, especially with the engine roar samples and the battle cry-like singing at the chorus.

JAEHYUN RAPPING? You mean Jaehyun the visual, the vocalist, the actor, the model, the funny dude, aka my everything?! (markie bb look pls look away for a moment)

THEY DELIVERED IT STRAIGHT FROM NEOCITY THAT'S SOME NCT MUSIC RIGHT THERE NO ONE DOES IT LIKE THEM

When I said I'd play Focus on a late night drive, and if I add this in the playlist, VROOM VROOM SPEED LIMIT WHAT

OUTTA MY WAY

“We got no shame” ouh TAEYONG’S FLOW IS JUST VERY HIM AND HE’S IN A LEAGUE OF HIS OWN

You know what's so clever about this song? It's how it ended with Mark's final rap without any instrumental, leaving you  standing there with a doppler effect-like post experience.

A super car on a super speed just whooshed past you and you look its way as it zips through the road. It's gone in an instant but you're floored dumbfounded at a sidewalk. That's how I describe this song.

8. Magic Carpet Ride

This song… Wow. Oh gosh it's so beautiful.

Their harmony in the chorus—it makes me want to kiss someone so passionately that I'd cry.

This makes me want to feel love that transcends the universe. Literally, just please take me on a magic carpet ride :(

The background harmonies too oh my goodness—HEAVENLY.

Jaehyun's voice is so warm and soulful it fits perfectly with songs of this genre.

Okay alright Doyoung Grande!

And Taeil makes me feel like I'm listening to old school R&B.

The first time I heard this from the track video, I can't stop replaying because it's just that great.

This makes me want to love. I think that sums it up.

9. Road Trip

This is such a soothing song for me, especially how I easily become nostalgic thinking about the road trips I've had.

Whenever I listen to this, my brain immediately conjures up thoughts of my ideal getaways. Gazing at the sky through the car window, stirring up from a nap in the middle of the ride, and   eventually reaching your destination.

Oh, to travel around anywhere... (curse you covid-19)

Okay that's it. I'M PACKING UP.

But where do I go—

I could also imagine Mark playing this on the guitar and the other members sing along together, something like that.

Just Wholesome™ vibes.

I love how it evokes such a nice emotion within me effortlessly.

This isn't my favorite, but I still love this.

10. Dreamer

Eyyyy such a refreshing song!

This song is so bright it makes me want to dance. I play this first in the shower!

It reminds me so much of Elevator (from Neozone)

The horns make it more lively I think!

Yuta and Jungwoo's voice suits lively songs like this.

The background vocal in low register in Taeyong's part in the first verse is so good ahhfhf

Taeil, the R&B vocal king you are...

There's this part where Doyoung and Johnny harmonized, that at first listen they seemed to clash, but it sounded actually fine after a few listens. Maybe it's just that I've never heard them do it before.

And I think it's Doyoung's laugh at the end of the bridge? Oh my goodness I really love this too!

11. Promise You

MY FIRST LOVE AND MOST FAVORITE SONG IN THE ALBUM!!!

The first time I heard this from their NCIT Sharehouse Sitcom, I fell in love with the song already.

It sounds like something you'd feel from a warm, welcoming hug.

The lyrics are so beautiful and endearing. It's definitely a be-there-for-you type of song that will touch your heart.

It definitely sounds like a promise.

A song about platonic intimacy.

This really fits to be the closing song of the album. It's like the end of it but holds a promise that says “see you soon.”

Because they cherish their fans like that.

It's also like I've watched a movie with a happy ending, where the camera pans up to the clear sky and this song starts playing.

Speaking of ending, I would love to hear them sing this as an encore stage in their concert. You know, that moment just before the stage lights die down at the end of the concert where they send final blows of flying kisses to NCTzens. Then you come home smiling and crying.

This wasn't supposed to be this long since I originally planned to write this with just simple phrases and emojis but I got too engrossed lol. I also meant to include my own ratings but I figured it’s pointless since I can’t really decide about them hahaha

I really enjoyed the whole album and I love how they're progressively defining what NEO means by breaking through standards. It's not NCT music if it doesn't make you say "WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?" But then you realize it’s stuck in your head and you’re enjoying it already.

✨ OVERALL RATING: 127/10 💚

if you’ve reached until here, thank you for letting me share you a braincell or two 💞

[goliah0]

Found an interesting article about how Black Dog gave the feeling of delicious irregularity. Bonzo had the most unbelievably steady beats which provided space for motif shifts and improvised melodies; his 4/4 rhythm was the base of discordant sound flows in not only Black Dog but also Kashmir. Black Dog is like a musical acrobatics where all four components dance with each other.

There was a live version done in the Coverdale/Page tour and I found it lacked the nuances that made this song fun to listen to.

Also the light "click" by drumsticks before each instrumental sentence like a little metronome by Bonzo is clearly audible in any studio version. Another fun.

[fromthedust]

Eva Hesse (German/American 1936-1970)

Metronomic Irregularity I - painted wood, Sculp-Metal, and cotton-covered wire - 12"x 18"x 2" - 1966

[whacher]

“Metronomic Irregularity I” by Eva Hesse, 1966. 

[iggyalfi2319]

Another background scene description, and some Logicality

-

Camera: *Placed on a shelf, focused on a metronome*

Metronome: *swings from side to side with a steady tick tock*

In the background

*Irregular play of the Prelude of the Cello Suite No 1 of Bach*

Camera: *Everytime there was a mistake, a hand with a watch (Logan's hand) stops the metronome, try to plays the part alone, then starts the metronome again.*

In the background

*The music is played a bit hesitantly but a little more smoothly than earlier*

Camera: *a hand with several friendship bracelets (Patton's hand) playfully swats the metronome, who ticks faster*

In the background

*Panicked acceleration of the music until the rhythm is back to normal*

Patton's voice: hey Logan!

*Dissonance, the music stops abruptly*

Logan's voice: Greetings Patton.

Patton's voice: I didn't know you play an instrument!

Camera: *Logan's hand stops the metronome*

In the background

Logan's voice: naturally, I didn't tell anyone about it.

Patton's voice: *giggles* you're so funny, Lo.

Logan's voice: *confused* did I say something funny?

Patton's voice: it's okay, don't worry. What were you playing?

Logan's voice: Bach Cello Suite No 1. It's not satisfactory yet, I started this piece that week only.

Patton's voice: ohhhh. Can I here what you've got so far?

Logan's voice: of course.

*Patton is probably pulling a chair from the sounds*

Camera: *Logan's hand starts the metronome again*

In the background

*the Prelude of Bach Cello Suite No 1 is played*

🎻🎼🎵🎶

-

♥️ Like

🔄 Reblog

💬 Comment