#news flash: the youth have ALWAYS been being radicalized

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

"They're all troubled youth rejecting authority" yeah because the authorities fucking failed, what rock were you living under???

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

A Pride Month personal announcement from FYML’s redguard

Happy Pride Month! I have some personal news to share.

I’m proud to say that I am coming out as a trans woman. My name is Melinda. My pronouns are she/her/hers.

There’s a particular quote from Lenin that has always appealed to me. According to Romanian poet Valeriu Marcu, he said this during a conversation at a cafe in Zurich, Switzerland, shortly before the Russian Revolution began. Perhaps it’s apocryphal or embellished, but it has the flavor of something Lenin might have said:

“I don't know how radical you are, or how radical I am. I am certainly not radical enough. One can never be radical enough; that is, one must always try to be as radical as reality itself.”

I have always tried to hold myself to that standard politically. But personally it was another matter. Until last year, I hid the “radical reality” of who I am even from myself. But now I’m finally ready to share it with the world.

Several things converged last summer that forced me to seriously reckon with my gender after a lifetime of denial. That denial was rooted in an abused adolescent’s attempt to survive in a time and place where there were no words for what I was, and no chance of being accepted. I did such a thorough job of burying the real me that by the time I went to New York in my late teens and was befriended by trans revolutionary Leslie Feinberg, I had no clue that I was trans myself.

Flash forward three decades. What I realized in 2021, after several months of intense introspection and learning, was that I needed to acknowledge my truth – first to myself, and then to the world. I received advice from other trans people to take my time before coming out publicly. Everyone’s situation is different, but for me, this was good advice. It gave me the opportunity to begin transitioning, practice coming out to people one-on-one, and get some experience living in the world as my new, fuller self.

I hope that by speaking about this, it might help others like me to see that they are not too old to embrace their own “radical reality,” whatever that may be. More than ever, the world and especially the youth who are under attack need us to raise our voices.

A trans sister and comrade recently told me, “You picked a hell of a time to come out.” It’s true. The situation for trans, non-binary and gender-nonconforming people in the U.S. today is grim and increasingly dangerous. But for me, the hardest part has been resisting the urge to shout it from the rooftops during this awful “trans panic” and ongoing legislative attack on trans kids and youth.  

I know, too, that consciousness and acceptance of trans people varies in different parts of the world, for many reasons. But if you value my political writing, my activism, my solidarity with Donbass and other struggles, understand that none of that will change. 

It’s always been my conviction that the best way to grow solidarity is to show solidarity, and I believe that is true for LGBTQ2S people in the U.S. Our existence has been exploited by U.S. imperialism as a bludgeon against other countries, while the rulers here fight tooth and nail to deny us every hard-won right. 

The truth is, our struggles need each other. We are all part of the same historic, diverse, multifaceted global struggle of the working class against capitalism and imperialism.  I'm committed to doing whatever I can to help unite our class in the fight to elevate us all.

I’m very proud to be part of the Socialist Unity Party, a communist organization in the tradition of Sam Marcy, Dorothy Ballan and Leslie Feinberg, which has always been in the vanguard of trans liberation and LGBTQ2S solidarity. My name, pronouns and appearance may change, but my commitment to the revolutionary victory of the workers and oppressed will not.

Thank you for reading. 

Solidarity forever,

Melinda Butterfield (redguard / formerly Greg Butterfield)

[masshirohebi-moved]

angst starters // @izunaisms They can feel it too now. The pressure that is slowly weighing them down to the ground, the chaos that has erupted in the heart of such a war. They feel that they are walking across a minefield. No, that both they and the Uchiha heir are, side by side. The stress of not stepping on something explosive is a breathtaking pressure, not to mention the fear of having to watch one another at the same time. That even if they carefully get around the deadly land, they may be swept away by the mistake of their well-intentioned partner. More and more, they can see this war take a toll on the youth they had sworn to guide. But the more they change and meddle, the more the future becomes uncertain. How can they predict what is to come, when everything has taken such a radical turn? Izuna had always revealed a gaze far older than he should. The gaze of a child forced to grow up far too quickly, forced to be what his father wished of him. And now, he faces the same fate. Only this time, he is to be not only what his father wants. He is to be what everyone wants, from the serpents whisper for peace, his brothers demand for warfare, his clans pleas for safety, the Senju’s warning for an allegiance - the worlds breath is always muttering in his ear. And all the while, the serpent watches the man with one sickening thought: he is too young to carry this weight.

The serpent is bandaging the wounded, nursing the sick. They navigate the medical tent, supplies kept in their dainty hands, their figure coming to the bedside of a familiar Uchiha. She extends her arm upon habit, already knowing the Sannin was there to change the fabrics of her wound dressing. A wound she would have died from, had they not been blessed with future information on medicine. But as they unravel the first bit of cloth, they hear voices. The cracking sound of tension. Golden eyes sharply move to spot Izuna and his brother. What dispute they have had is unclear. The viper can tell the telltale signs by now however. Madara has made an unfair demand, Izuna has tried to be reasonable - unfairness wins out over reason. The younger brother is left alone, to wrestle with the idea of a new order he can not hope to please everyone with by following. A shame that even when Izuna had ascended to clan head, he may be treated as a second to his brother. That the elder Uchiha may not honor and respect his new command. Izuna’s movement sends him out of their view, when golden eyes return to the woman, they notice their own hands are shaking. And how they usually have the stillness of a surgeon. The flash her an apologetic smile, before handing the duty to another medic and taking their leave. In their haste, they almost collide with Madara on their way to seek Izuna, the gaze they flash him one that offers masked disapproval, “allow me to apologize,” they start, but find themself interrupted with the mans curt ‘it is unnecessary’. And they know that it is not so much that he forgives them, for he has never liked them, but more a means to end conversation before it begins. The viper gives him a smile that offers nothing but teeth, venomous incisors. “Now dear, it is only proper. It is most important one remembers their place,” they reply, and their gaze lingers long enough to inform the man it is not their place that they put in question. His disrespect for his brothers command had been vocalized many times in the past. But they don’t give him much time to respond, a dip of their head as they part ways and find the man they had intended to set their sight on. His agony radiates from his body. In his eyes. He is sitting before the gentle flow of a nearby river, a rock as his throne - no glory in his rise to power. It briefly crosses their mind, whether or not he would prefer someone to submerge his head in that stream - to unburden him. “Are you okay?” But they find their question is a waste of their own breath. They know the answer. By the tired look in his gaze, by every tense muscle upon his figure. It is not to any surprise, when the words seem to fall from his lips: “I don’t feel okay. I’ve never felt okay.” It is something that washes over them, perhaps terrifies them more than they would ever show him. He can not give up. Not now. There is too much at stake. A sternness crosses their features, a sternness that is not without care. In fact, it is that they wish to fight for his will, that they reveal they have grown a fondness.

“Look at me.” Their voice is soft, but it is not without command. When he hesitates, slender fingers have found their way under his chin, and they have made him meet their eyes with the turn of their wrist. They have always carried the intensity of a creature not quite human, not even animal, it reflects in golden eyes. Golden eyes that will not be cast in shadow even at night, shimmering brightly, competing with the moon. And they stand before him like a being of this river, some mythical entity that seems to appear with words of wisdom whenever it is he tries to be alone. “You’re a Lord now, you will give them commands like a Lord ought to,” they say, for they can not let despair be the death of the man. They can not let the final battle be one he has between his duty and his heart, between his conscience and his loyalties. Too tragic it would be to watch him crumble. They had learnt early in life, there was a time to nurse ones wounds, and there was a time where one was fussing too much. Where all that picking left the skin unable to repair. “You don’t obey your brother, nor your clan. You earned your place, and a cruel and terrible place it is that you fought so hard to have. But it is now in your hands to ensure that no one else leads a life you had to. It is now in your hands to break a cycle that you have suffered in,” they say, a brief pause, “do you love them?” They let silence settle only for a moment, the sound of the clan meandering around in the camp heard in the distance, “and if you do, will you love them actively, or passively? Your love is no good to them if it remains a spectator.” Sympathy falls in to their gaze for a moment, softening their hardened expression as their grip becomes weaker, as they drop their hand to their side. A moment for the wind to pass, which has the two figures clothing and hair dancing in the current of air. When it settles, they offer him their hand, and their final piece of advice, for only the moon above them to bare witness to his decision. “We’re shinobi. When we fall, we get back up. We fight until there is nothing left to fight for.”

[yasbxxgie]

How One Man Is Using Hip-Hop to Diversify Architecture Armed with a master’s degree in architecture, decades of hip-hop fandom and rapper teachers, Mike Ford is quickly getting kids into building

On a recent Thursday, Grand Wizzard Theodore was busy DJing in his home borough of the Bronx. Theodore is widely acknowledged as the man who invented turntable scratching, so his presence behind the decks was not unusual. The venue, however, was unexpected: The Cornerstone Academy for Social Action – a middle school, where Theodore’s selections were soundtracking furious Lego-building.

While Theodore cued up hits, Mike Ford, founder and leader of Hip-Hop Architecture Camp, was guiding a group of sixth, seventh and eighth graders as they assembled Lego models based on rap lyrics. Students gathered around the table where one of their peers was working with lines from Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five’s “The Message:” “Broken glass everywhere/ People pissin’ on the stairs, you know they just don’t care/ I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise/ Got no money to move out, I guess I got no choice.”

This student created a literal representation of the song’s image: a staircase, a sprinkle of green pieces for “broken glass everywhere” and scattered yellow pieces for “people pissin’ on the stairs.” “Good start,” said Ford. But he gently pushed the student towards a more constructive response to “The Message.” “Could there be a building made from all the broken glass?” Ford wondered. “Let’s start to think about how we can make it so that nobody has to say those words in their song again.”

Ford sees his teaching as a way to counter the troubled history of urban planning in America. “We’ve decimated cities that were built by the hands of African Americans – like Black Bottom in Detroit, or here in the Bronx, when they built the Cross Bronx Expressway through a community of color,” he says. “Those decisions are made by people outside of those communities. There are a limited amount of people at the table to advocate for our communities.”

Hip-h[H]op Architecture Camp attempts to correct that representational imbalance, using rap as a hook to introduce young minority students to a field they may not otherwise encounter. “I have been on this planet for several decades, and I have moved in some pretty radical circles, but personally, I cannot recall meeting a melanated architect in my whole life,” says Chino XL, a veteran rapper who attended the camp in the Bronx. “Just for these children to know it’s a thing, that’s important.”

“I’m letting kids know we have a history of building spaces and places,” Ford adds.

For more than a year, Ford, a longtime hip-hop fan with a master’s degree in architecture, has led sessions like this around the country. (Ford has planned nearly 20 sessions nationwide this year.) The idea for the camp came from a simple insight made while Ford was in graduate school at the University of Detroit: “Less than three percent of architects in America are African American,” he explains. “We’ve spent a ton of money trying to diversity the profession, but it’s always from the same perspective: Come learn this western culture. Come learn about the Greeks and the Romans. It’s not making it relevant.” The tendency to emphasize the importance of certain models – Greek but not Egyptian, for example – means “we’ve experienced the world through a limited lens,” Ford says.

He is also interested in the aesthetic connections between hip-hop and architecture. “Music is saturated with references to architecture,” Ford says. “Not just critiquing your environment, but in the songs, [rappers] express what they wish architecture was. KRS-One talks about hip-hop artists buying property to build a hip-hop city.”

It’s not a coincidence for Ford that Kanye West recently expressed interest in architecture and community planning “for like the third time.” (“He also said a lot of other stuff that I don’t agree with,” Ford notes.) Ice Cube studied architecture before co-founding N.W.A, and Pharrell Williams included discussions of architecture in his 2012 book Places and Spaces I’ve Been.

Ford aimed to strengthen the relationship between the hip-hop and architecture communities with a summit he organized earlier this year. Architects attended the event along with the lyricists Chino XL, Lupe Fiasco and Nikki Jean. “They talked about city skylines, if they can write bars that fit within those lines to see how each city sounds,” Ford says. “Is there a hidden sonic experience within these environments?”

Anyone who can tell the difference between Golden Age New York hip-hop and Los Angeles gangster rap knows intuitively that there are connections between music and place. Then the question becomes, if space impacts rap, what happens when you change the space? “How do we make architecture so that people stop saying, ‘I want to hear another track like “The Message”‘?” Ford says. “I want to stop the cycle, and stop the environment that’s influencing some of these songs that are very challenging.”

During the five-day program held in New York in May, students used rap lyrics as a basis for Lego models, practice working with the three-dimensional design program Tinkercad, hone their own rap verses, often with help from professional MCs, and create a music video. Autodesk, the company behind Tinkercad, provides the software to Ford for free and helps fund the camps. “When you meet Mike and you hear what he’s doing, you can’t help but want to be involved,” Sarah O’Rourke, Autodesk’s youth audience strategist, tells Rolling Stone. “We’re looking to inspire kids, and what better way to do it than with music they’re already involved with?”

The Bronx students hunted for architectural connections in “The Message,” Nas’ “I Can” and Childish Gambino’s “This Is America.” They were focused, only breaking from their modeling efforts to perform an impromptu line-dance to Migos and Drake’s “Walk It Talk It” or to lobby the DJ: a sixth grader named Dirk politely asked Grand Wizzard Theodore to play a song from the rising Brooklyn rapper 6ix9ine. Theodore had misgivings about the track – “a lot of negativity in that record; our kids need better role models” – but he cued it up anyway.

Theodore started visiting schools in 2002 with his Scratch Academy before connecting with Ford’s architecture camp. “To be able to go to school and have some people talk to me about my life, I didn’t have anything like this,” he said. “I grew up in abandoned buildings, fires all over the place, people smokin’ dope and nodding in the corners. I want to be able to turn on the TV and see a kid from the Bronx – that grew up the same way I grew up – building buildings.”

Both Theodore and Ford hope that more hip-hop artists will participate in future Hip-Hop Architecture Camp sessions, raising the program’s profile and expanding its reach. “The artists that have the biggest voice ­– that these kids see on TV every day that they play their records on the radio every six minutes – those are the artists that should be doing these programs,” Theodore says.

“We need to have youth hear it right from the artist,” Ford adds. “[Artists] have been influenced by the environment. I want to give them the opportunity, in turn, to influence their environment.”

In addition to enlisting more rappers to participate in his camps, Ford ultimately hopes to train others to lead sessions so they can take place in multiple cities at once. “It’s cool to have Mike Ford going to every city,” Ford says. “But I ended my TED talk with, I want to create an army of architects that can right the wrongs of modernism in communities of color. It’s about the dissemination of this curriculum to as many people as possible.”

For now, Ford’s army remains small, but it’s growing. Chino XL’s visit to the Cornerstone Academy marked his first time participating in the camp. “I was overwhelmed at how many kids signed up for it on a Saturday and Sunday, and how completely focused they were on what the goal and the initiative was,” the rapper said.

Ford called his work “making advocates,” and many of his students in the Bronx quickly grasped his mission. Toward the end of the first day, Dirk, the sixth grader, presented a model he built based on a line from Slick Rick’s “Children’s Story”: “When laws were stern and justice stood.”

“When [Slick Rick] said, ‘when laws were stern … ,” I don’t really think that resonated with me,” Dirk told the class. “Now we’ve got a lot of people being arrested for no exact reason – like Kalief Browder, who the sixth grade is learning about now, who committed suicide because he went to Riker’s Island for three years for a crime he did not commit. He was given the opportunity to plead guilty, but he never did because he knew he didn’t do it.”

Dirk was imagining an alternative outcome. “This police station is supposed to represent a better future,” he said, “without false accusations.”

This episode drove home Ford’s words from earlier in the day. “These kids can have an immediate impact,” he asserted. “And they can create architecture we have not seen before.” [h/t]

Photograph:

The rapper Chino XL teaching students at Hip-Hop Architecture Camp (top)

[siriuschaostribe]

Noxis: Batu Balta as musician.

Here are my tracks yet to be an an album.

Noxis - Vile Road (album)

Flowpax

Neglect 

Slug Tekno

Hyena

Spin Mechanics

Vile Road (single)

Zone XYZ

Karaçalı

Fullproof

Zendeka

Mandrake Root-Man

soundcloud.com/noxis_1

I am interested in music till the day i was born. My mother is a good music listener, my father, uncles, my close-friends and i, also we were all started to make music in bars, concerts, and contests in our youth. I play guitar (electronic and bass also classic guitar), piano, drums, darbuka, tulum and keyboard.I am educated at the service of the command of LogicPro DAW. When electronic music emerged in our lives, i became very ecstatic to listen it as a child, far as i have understood really merging electronic and digital components with rhythmic samples and with writing and using beats as an adult.

In the late 90′s we were hearing on MTV,  The Prodigy, Fatboy Slim, Faithless and Bomfunk MCs,  and with being in a friendly music environment, (till my childhood with jazz and rock musicians as father and uncles have been passed with activating the music scene in my corner of life) .I was also a metalhead that distincts the perpective but when i started to see where life gathered me into, metal music also was productive and being a vocal, playing guitar and forming a band literally added me some new skills in music life that we won 3. prize of a famous music contest in Turkey, in composition in which i have my own bass solo.

I bought a techno/trance CD when i was 8 or 9 years old. It is still in my archive, that when i started to dance to this album really pushed me to other dimensions when i was a kid. I was always thinking and making effort in the streets of Istanbul with too much energy and positive good luck that that the speedness of ADHD gave.This triggered positive and neutral actions in my late youth also. Starting to practice my project, I used programs like VirtualDJ but not too much when i was 11, but i was far more hearing more great sounds and soundscapes when i started to listen too much metal music at that time, also i was listening Metallica when i was 8, and went to the their Istanbul concert in 1999 and i started my 12. year to really get into metal like an animal. When I at last arrived at 14, i was listening thrash and death metal all day, headbanging, started to partying, and playing in several bars and organizing event in Taksim and Kadıköy location. I was starting to learn the process of music-making and performance. We were like a legion in rock and other festivals in Istanbul, that in our highschool life we were known in the organizations and in some bands, organizations and events that we were related into. I got a movie scoring course also 2 years ago. But it is still good to remember that i started to play guitar and other instruments to make music long before M-Audio Ignite, Cubase and certainly LogicProX DAW programs. When I sit in front of the computer, I was still talented and near professional to learn how to make music in these programs. I stepped up quicker, so to game can roll, that was the bidness that is related to how my music life is going.

Once you try to tune in to your wholesome music experience with your merge, it should have a great impact on your life, especially while you are working with your music production, it should motivate you and your people and scene particularly.

Motivation and progress are related.  Be at your own initiative but don’t forget to co-op with labels, music people, clubs and bars, and collectives. In these years our potential will be tested by IoT ( Internet Of Things) that people will be interdependant to the process will be a exit door for a connection yet to be established with technology. These connections can also maintain a manipulative discourse because robots that are far yet to be institutionalized.  If their mind altering intelligence will be the core of the city with an AI much less everyone can use and alter, an AI to govern city systems, with established normative principes of IoT. Trollish AI should be eliminated if wanted to by people also, to re-establish a repair in the AI pool of life in the city.  So everyone can attain a good sense of humour and music in their life in city.

People should not perish quickly for an “inresolved troll issue”, emotional system structures as humans needed to be more serene and guided by meditation and mediation towards their own end afterall they should interact as a body of integrity, not by mere hungry conceptions that govern people not to be wicked also in spite of this there is a factor what they can be “sauvage d’etre en raison”. Still to provoke and agitate but on the other side, too much marginalization of people is a risk for being savage for learning and there can be born a diminishment in verbal communication and the guns needed for a musical empathy, real guns for that it is needed a zone of freedom of expression in all of the countries in music world to learn when and how to radicalize and crystallize their thoughts towards good ends. That’s why they say instrumental music is the best music you can listen and relate the words for generating a track basicly with authenticity with vocals or rap. While listening it with your stimulus changing, being mindful about listening the same song that you are listening every each time was a different track that establishes your mood in general. Any process that results in a change in state or activity of a cell or an organism (in terms of movement, secretion, enzyme production, gene expression, etc.) as a result of a ether stimulus.

Be and learn with music...

Vile Road - Noxis

Flowpax is a peace flow of electronic music ofter needed to listened in a car while driving, nice techno and rhythme exposure to listeners. It looks like an elevator music also in certain sequences of the track. There was a news article nowadays that everyone will start making elevator music, it came to me before they have minded the article.

Neglect is about neglecting the issue that flows much more better in your life because of an subjected thought projection to an individual both neutral and good. It slides like a the chosing problem within to exist as a threshold and a crossroad to a path that your will to lead. The closing of the album is a made by a sharp and nice finish of damned apache song melodies..

Slug Tekno is the music that will connect slime space insects with a high raison d’etre with strong herd cooperation and immunity of neurons with this co-op by strongly dancing, as a psychological load is space-elevating to the planet’s satellite as information of microcosmic kind flashes in their minds. After the strong solidarity of a spaceship’s arrival with its biological machine but as you humans perceive with mechanically signals .

Hyena is an opening of a space god ritual yet to be produced by intelligent space insects to be concentrated on with their preparations for holistic approach.

Spin Mechanics is about a intelligent existence calling for an exit policy about a distinct new situation while spaceships are floating in outer space with their bio-morphological structure.

Vile Road (single) also the album’s name is like a deep DnB song with a lift from UK Garage also. One of the best DrumNBass song i produced, need to be at DNB charts as soon as possible as mainly for a road track or can be used for film music but not scoring, for a thoughtful road scene generic music.

Zone XYZ is about arriving.

Karaçalı is a distinct wave of a stress for warming up and a piece without tone particularly to express the heater radiator’s process with one or more touches to a darbuka.

Fullproof is the song of a proof that cannabis heals everyone, and it’s medical properties are in CBD and also in THC that gives a zone of freedom of mind by freeing it if it needed to, also cannabis will be prominent figure insidee the box all of the cures for sickness’s like anxiety and related psychological situations.

Zendeka is about a start of a Zındık ritual. Zındıks are shamanic atheists in Ottoman Culture, that they are banned to live inside Muslims.

Mandrake Root-Man is alchemical by the sense after the speech of Comte de Lautréamont ends, a illusionist ritual yet to be produced with a finishing psychedelic ambient circus-like atmosphere.

Nice overdivision of thought for Noxis that I named myself to find it’s meaning. For me Noxis is to dissappear. In Sanskrit नश्यति naśyati is to "disappear or perish". It resembles to Doxa, that i was reading years ago, to introduce chaotic illusions to my mind as i started to learn that the mind has in-pack, great and far more difficult illusions to be solved and by the way i was enlightening by meditating and to learn how to reach a free-mind state.

Vile Road as album yet to be announced through summer 21′, TBA

Noxis aka Batu Balta

[writersdreamermind]

Miss Thursday

And the next chapter is up! 

Thank you to anyone who has read and reviewed it so far - it’s great to see, as always. 

Pairing(s): Endeavour Morse / Joan Thursday 

Word Count: 5739

Chapters: 2 / ? 

Read on AO3 / FF.net 

CHAPTER ONE LINK: AO3 / FF.net 

Read under the cut!! 

The following months were the ones where Joan’s self-professed ‘curiosity’ about Morse soon fell apart, when she realized that in reality, she’d fallen for him the moment he’d sent that awkwardly endearing smile her way.

Of course, she’d spent a lot of time trying to ignore it – that was usually what she did, anyway. She’d decided ages ago that it hadn’t been practical.

Falling in love with a policeman just wasn’t on.

Of course, turning up on the doorstep nearly every morning hadn’t helped matters – his bright blue eyes, and shy smile, ever the polite one, often made it difficult to forget him, even when she had become so used to seeing him in tow with her Dad. Apparently the association with her father didn’t mar the attraction as much as she would’ve liked.

Opening the door that Saturday, and she couldn’t help teasing him again.

“Saturday afternoon; someone’s keen,” she’d said appraisingly, arm on the doorframe, able to hear the football on in the next room, her Dad begrudgingly muttering something along the lines of ‘No, Sam, left a bit! Yes! There!’, while Sam grunted in a sound not unlike that of annoyance.

Morse had glanced at her, the slightest smile twitching at the corner of his lips, but holding back, as if wondering aloud whether he ought to risk such a thing.

Lord, she’d never met anyone as shy as him.

“Miss Thursday,” The same greeting as usual, then. It never failed to make her smile, although perhaps that was because it was generally a hard thing not to when he was around.

He had glanced at the ground, only to look past her at the sound of the television, just about audible from the front door.

“I was looking for your father,”

Christ, as if he could have been more formal.

“I thought you were a bit early for a date,”

He had looked at her curiously, eyes widening like an innocent child – perhaps because, in some ways, he was one. Some innocent bystander who, by some miracle (or perhaps nightmare) often found himself the brunt of the joke without ever realizing it.

And to think – he had no idea how she felt about him. It was silly, really – expecting a policeman to be paying attention to her – but Morse was different. He had been since the moment he’d arrived. All quiet charm and endearing awkwardness and formal address and pale features. He’d been nothing like the rest of them – a tenderness not often seen in men, especially young ones. Brash, he was not; cocky, he absolutely wasn’t.

A quiet genius, though?

Well, just about anyone had been able to vouch for that at this point.

Of course, she had let him through the door. And, as always, he had slipped past without a word, bar a nod of thanks that always made him look humbled to be accepted.

Lord, she had to stop fantasizing about him.

~                    ~                    ~

As time had went on, Morse had become such a frequenter at their house that Joan became an almost nonsensical idiot when he was in the room – no matter the occasion, she seemed to find it necessary that he was always near her somehow, even when she partnered their interactions with a coy smirk and offhand teases that made it seem all too nonchalant and carefree.

And it wasn’t.

Like any infatuation she’d ever had, Morse had become the sun to which she necessitating orbiting – because it suited her that way. Every precious moment that he came into the house – still bleary eyed from waking up too early (or staying up too late) – hair still a little wild despite his no-doubt worldly efforts to tame it, she’d been there. Just shying away from him a little. Doing her lipstick and catching his eye. Swishing past him and finding their shoulders brush. Flashing him a smile as she ran up the stairs for the bag that she knew was on the kitchen table.

For everything in the world, Joan was head over heels for him.

And for everything else, he remained oblivious to it.

She felt she should have known, of course. Whenever it had come to the ones that mattered, they’d never looked twice. She was his boss’ daughter – whatever circumstances could come of that, romance was not one of them. And Joan had known it from the start.

Morse was Morse. He was everything she might have wanted to have, had she paid attention when she’d first seen him. Of course, chastising her past self from two days ago, every time she came in contact with him, had proved relentlessly frustrating, but it served to remind her of how frustratingly oblivious he could be. Of course, he had his moments – where, for some inexplicable reason, he returned her quick smile or pardoned himself when she rushed by.

And he was ever the gentleman.

It had all come to a head, of course, when she’d looked across the pub and saw him in the corner booth, Constable Strange by his side, by way of an interesting barrier he might have if something went amiss. He’d looked positively struck – like he was pondering the aftermath of a well-aimed slap across the face; there was every chance, Joan had thought, that he’d receive one if he wasn’t careful one of these days.

They’d chatted. Albeit stoically.

“How’d you know her?” He’d asked.

“At the bank.” She’d turned to look over her shoulder at him, refusing to acknowledge the errant wave of hair that had swept down out of place over his forehead.

“Nobody there really knows what Dad does,” she’d said, staring out into the pub with a look akin to that of disdain, if Morse had been reading her expression correctly. Although Joan had always held the opinion that pubs never really worked out for her – often too many people crowded round her, and she hated the idea of not being able to move for bodies – she loved the atmosphere. The warm and communal feel to the place always helped put her at ease. But then, of course, she’d had to look over to the window, only to see Morse muttering something to Strange with a worried frown crossing his features.

‘Course, that had turned into an expression of blind shock when he’d seen her across the room, coat not even off of her shoulders.

“I had no idea,” he’d said, and she’d believed him, even when she’d told him to drop the ‘Miss Thursday’’s for a bit.

Watching Strange and his date, Joan had swirled her drink tepidly, having allowed herself to feel only slightly miffed at the idea that this entire thing had been a complete mess from start to finish. Meeting Morse hadn’t really been the intention, and it had been a nice surprise – but he hadn’t wanted to see her. That much she could tell.

She’d seen the whole thing. How the dark-skinned girl – no older than 25 – had walked in, her friends around her like a comfortable entourage, and turned just enough to see Morse sitting right at the back with someone that wasn’t her. The hurt had been evident in her open features, dark eyes more than a little disappointed by the scene in front of her. Joan had stubbornly stared at the grooves in the wooden table as she’d felt Morse’s frame brush up against hers as he stood, watching her leave with a hurried step. She’d glanced up only once, only to feel her chest tighten in bitter remorse at his expression.

He’d looked positively distraught.

All wide eyes and parted lips, the dim, bronzed light of the pub casting him like a figure of the so famed Knights of the Round Table. There was that Galahad figure again – innocence and youth distraught at the cruelty and injustice of the world he was faced with. She could tell he was wearing a particularly pressed shirt and he’d taken great care to brush down his suit. He’d looked like he always did – careful and constructed, but nonetheless intriguing in his own quiet, simple way. And yet, the put together appearance hadn't made up for the wrecked expression.

They’d walked out of the pub about an hour later, Joan having held the conversation about as far away as she could from the subject of the girl that Morse had seemed so upset over. It hadn’t been selfishness, she didn’t think – but perhaps she’d been too generous to herself in that respect. She’d been hanging onto the idea of him for such a long time, that being hit with the reality of his separate situation and the people in it made for a difficult time. She’d known that Morse lead a very different life from her, and had done for nearly all his life; she’d been a brash and fierce child who was too mischievous for her own good; he seemed like the type to sit quietly in the corner and observe, but be the first to put himself in danger if it helped someone else. So, consequently, they were different people, and radically so - and so, perhaps, that also extended to the fact that friendship was about all she could hope to aspire to with him - and quite possibly, only ever aspire to.

She’d heard about the case by that point. The missing girl, and the case that seemed unable to rest in the earth like it should have done; some haunted house nonsense that she'd since stopped believing in about 10 years passed.

As they had walked down the pavement, the streetlamps casting hazy, orange shadows on the road, the air had been crisp but cool, an almost nice compliment to the somewhat chilly feeling Joan had had for weeks now, residing deep in her chest like an infection that refused to budge and go and annoy someone else.

She was outwardly cheerful, but secretly lamenting the idea that a certain Detective Constable had his sights set elsewhere.

She’d known it was silly – unrequited attraction hadn’t been a new concept then, and it certainly wasn’t one before even that.

“So… anything interesting to report your side of the wall?” Joan had asked casually, watching with a feigned interest at the cars passing by as they had strolled side by side. She caught glimpses of his current appearance every time they passed under the glowing light of the lamps, the orange picking out the auburn in his strawberry blond hair and the freckles across his face, his expression, once again, guarded by some uncertain look of regret.

She’d supposed it was that girl from before.

She’d had nothing against her. In fact, she’d felt rather sorry for her, whoever she’d been, and whatever it was she meant to him. She’d been temporarily bitter about the fact that her supposed date with him had all been a total, unforeseen fluke, and that Morse had put off some date with date with the other girl just to back up Strange. She couldn't quite decide whether he'd been chivalric or badly timed, but she supposed it was a mix of both.

He’d done something stupid, but ever the gentleman, he was beating himself up for it to the point that he was black and blue, that same polite smile on his face, like he felt it against the rules to be honest with people about how he felt.

All about the façade, and nothing more.

“Nothing much – work,” he’d muttered, pulling at his earlobe in a habit that she’d kept to herself, watching as his hair curled around his ears with his constant messing about with it.

The whir of a car had passed by, Joan pulling her coat around herself, and they’d continued on in silence. They’d always had the most short-lived conversations.

“God, Morse – if there was ever someone who was more tight-lipped in their life,” she’d laughed into the night, puffing out breath as she’d smiled to herself, glancing down at the pavement, making note of how her toes hit the ground in her shoes.

“I prefer taciturn,” he’d replied amiably, and there had been a glimmer of a smirk on his lips as they’d passed by another streetlamp, the world still falling into darkness and quiet as it let them have this one walk together, without any repercussions.

“Of course you do,” she’d muttered under her breath, almost tempted to kick the pavement in distraction.

It took her a moment to look back up at him again, keeping her teasing smile in place on her face, glad that her eyes had their kohl rimmed look – otherwise, he’d probably realize how tired she looked.

“And you, Miss Thursday?” he’d asked that tentatively, as if he was already aware of how she was feeling. Although about him, she was entirely sure he hadn’t a clue about that.

“Alright. Work,” she’d mimicked his response, and he’d laughed in kind.

The silence continued.

“Are you alright? You don’t seem yourself tonight,”

He’d taken that moment to look round at her, almost in surprise, his coat strangely absent from his shoulders. Perhaps the cool, spring air was what he had needed. She could make out just how slender he was now - almost bony had it not been for his naturally slim features. She supposed she'd been right - maybe he hadn't been eating well lately.

“Sorry. Um, work,”

“You said that,” she’d remarked, and he barely glanced in her direction, seemingly lost in the vast emptiness of the sky above them, stars barely visible if not entirely gone altogether.

“This runaway – from the school?” He’d nodded, raising his eyebrows to the ground in admittance, head bowed from thought. He’d always looked like those contemplative statues of the scholars - that she’d been dragged to see by command of school trips - as they were forever intrigued by the smallest of natures in the world, endlessly enticed by the marble page in their hand. She hadn't loved statues, but looking at Morse, and she was maybe beginning to see why the sculptors had spent so long trying to perfect the look. It was worth it when you could see the reality.

It was a look that fitted him well, she’d thought.

Although, maybe it had been his look all along, completely unintentionally.

“You’ll find her,” she’d said that almost like a promise to him. A promise that was about more than a runaway girl.

A promise about love, and acceptance, and a job well done.

He’d find her, she’d hoped. She really hoped he did – even if, in the end, it wasn’t her. Even if the mystery girl of the future, to whom Morse would spend no doubt the rest of his life adoring, wasn't her. Things like this never had turned out the way she wanted, so she hadn't really expected this to come to anything. That had just been her indulging a fantasy.

“Well, I think this is the part where I say ‘Thanks for a lovely evening’, and you say ‘How about a coffee?’. And I say, ‘I can’t’, so we have a long kiss under the porch light until my Dad taps on the window - and I go in and you go home,”

That entire sentence had felt like a rush, too – maybe it had been the thrill of seeing him right in front of her; her Dad’s young apprentice – his Leonardo – and finally seeing him without the paintbrushes in hand. He was merely a man, and like everything else, a vulnerable one.

He’d smiled thinly, but somehow softly, like he almost believed her for what she said. Like he could actually envision – for just a moment – how that kiss might play out.

She’d glanced at his lips for too long, she knew. He’d looked so guarded at that point, and yet very open, and probably never noticed. She’d discovered as of late that he thought he was better at disguising his emotions than he actually was.

In actuality, this whole scene had been reminiscent of that time that had started the whole affair.

“Thought I’d be alright with a copper,”

“Well, there are coppers, and there are coppers,”

“And what sort are you?”

His smile had been teasing and shy and honest and genuine all at once, Joan thought. Every time, and he still managed to be an absolute gentleman, so unlike all the others before him.

“I’m the sort that sees young ladies safely home. Go on – I’ll wait til you’re in,”

Back then, she’d been such an innocent compared to now. Every time she looked back, Joan always felt she was so stupid in the past. Maybe she’d be constantly stupid for the rest of her life.

“I don’t care for coffee,”

Joan had nearly laughed at that – so obliviously stupid in his own way. Really, if she could have been any more obvious, she would’ve had to tackle him in a kiss until he got the message.

Maybe she had consented herself to the idea – he was still too caught up with that other girl.

She’d just leave him to it.

“At the pub – that girl,”

“I shouldn’t have lied,” His words had been so characteristically blunt that she’d shook her head in disbelief, sighing good-heartedly. Morse, however he was, seemed incapable of being anything but selfless. He had never made light of what happened in the world – if it was his failing, then by heck he would make sure God himself knew.

“Buy her some flowers,” she’d said, smiling as brightly as she could manage amidst the darkness and misfortune that seemed to prevail upon her life no matter what she’d do. Perhaps being a copper’s daughter meant that she’d forever be loomed over by her Dad, no matter how much she loved him and his tough, honest love that never wavered in her. Fred Thursday had a way with him that had always been hard to ignore, and apparently Morse felt the same way.

“It’s not like that.” He’d paused in thought, sighing heavily as his shoulders had slumped and he’d curled his hands in his trouser pockets. He had been the picture of regret that night, Joan thought; perfectly at odds with himself because he’d refused to be upfront one time out of thousand when he’d been exactly that all along.

“And anyway… I don’t think she’s the ‘flowers’ type,”

Joan had nearly had to stop herself from raising an eyebrow sardonically in response.

“For God’s sake, Morse. We’re all the ‘flowers’ type.”

He’d laughed quietly at that statement. She’d said nothing more.

Perhaps the kiss she’d brushed across his cheek - entranced momentarily by the coolness of his skin against her own flushed face – had maybe been a little too much. Maybe it had needed to happen. Whatever the case, she hadn’t regretted it.

What she’d always regretted was that she hadn’t told him then, and she still hadn’t told him now.

[cha0ticmimzy]

Bis Vivit Que Bene Vivit

I figured it might be nice to post this here, as well. So, enjoy chapter one of my Vampire/Werewolf/Shifter FFXV Au Fic! Which you can also find here.  Boy that was a lot to write- WARNINGS: Mild gore is really all there is for this chapter tbh. 

           “Show me a hero, and I'll write you a tragedy.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald

           “Whattya mean, you didn’t get the shot?” Dino asks, turning away from the computer to study the blond who seemed to have gotten a sudden interest in the floor. Sighing, he ran a hand through his overly gelled hair, grimacing at the way it felt. Man, he needed to invest in a different type of gel. “Well- just hand the assignment over to one of the juniors, then. I gotta betta job for you to do!” With a flourish, he brought the bespectacled youth closer, forcing him to look at the headline in the newspaper.

           ‘United Once More: The Nox-Fleruet Coven Visits Insomnia’     

           Prompto frowned, pushing his glasses further up his nose before looking over at his boss curiously. “So… You want me to go… Take pictures? Of Vampires?” He asked, not exactly understanding why this was such a big deal. Sure, the Nox-Fleuret family was pretty big, pretty important to the West as far as a governing body went, but why was this so big? The sound of scoffing made him pout, not enjoying being obviously made fun of.

           “Read more- see, here. It’s the first time that ol’ Princey’s gonna be out an’ about with the public! It’s his debut, blondie. Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum! Imagine how much we could make if we managed to get a good shot of him!” Dino spoke excitedly, releasing Prompto to walk over to the windows, staring out at the cityscape. “This is big, Prommy. This could be your debut as a photojournalist.” A smirk curled his lips, obvious in his voice as he looked over his shoulder. “Unless, you’d rather hand it off to-”

           “I’ll do it!” Prompto exclaimed, knuckles whitening from his hold on his camera. To get close to the Prince… To royalty. It was a dream come true, really! “I’ll do it, don’t you worry! I’ll get the best pictures of them that you’ve ever seen, just you wait!” He sang, turning and all but skipping out of the room, cornflower blue hues sparkling in excitement and determination. He could do this. He WOULD do this! Even if it meant breaking some rules and maybe paying a guard or two off, he could and would do this.

           The smell of fresh air greeted him as he stepped through the front doors of Insomnia Journals, the sound of traffic and people talking mingling. Fumbling, he pulled his earbuds free and quickly slipped them in, listening as the sound of acoustic guitar began to take over as he started his walk home. It always brought him past the heavily guarded Citadel- the center of Insomnia and where the Lucis-Caelum family lived, as well as where all the governing happened. Prompto had never been in there, but he’d taken plenty of photographs of the imposing building. Towering spirals, dark arches, the engraving of the Gods and the Fall of the Infernian engraved upon the front, over the doors. It was beautiful- and the interior was even more so, no doubt.

           Today, however, a barrier was set up, cutting the roundabout in half and making a mess out of traffic. In front of the steps, three cars sat- gleaming white and pristine. There were more guards posted than usual, giving him pause as he joined in with the crowd. Whoever was in the vehicles was important, obviously- especially if it meant rerouting traffic. Raising his camera, he focused through the viewfinder, closing one eye as he began snapping away. The Glaive- that was what the guards were called. There were rumors that it was made up completely of werewolves. Which made sense to Prompto; the shifters were known to be physically stronger than a normal human- not as strong as vampires, of course, but still. He focused in on the one in front- a shorter man with dark hair buzzed on the sides, two braids on the left side of his head. There were little tattoos on his face; the corner of his eyes, one at his temple. But his eyes…

           Damn.

           They were almost neon in color, a blue so vibrant they seemed fake. He made sure to capture a few shots before freezing in place as the Glaive’s gaze zeroed in on him. Swallowing thickly, he managed to take one last shot before a smirk was spreading across the man’s face. Oh. Oh, Gods. He was handsome, and dangerous, and maybe this was a bad idea. Lowering his camera, he shifted further back in the crowd, but the sensation of the man’s gaze on him never left. ‘There’s no way he can still see me, right?’ He asked himself, brushing a hand over the red beanie on his head, covering blond locks. Nah, there wasn’t any way. Not with this many people in the way.

           Then, cheers began.

           Moving to the other side, he elbowed his way to the front, near the reporters as they spoke into their microphones. He listened in as he raised his camera, focusing in on the cars as their occupants began to file out. “-with channel six news! Here we have the Nox Fleuret family from the Realm of Tenebrae arriving! Sylva Nox Fleuret is exiting, looking stunning in a white pantsuit.” And stunning she did look- especially through the lens of his camera, Prompto snickered silently. “And there is Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, her hair in a lovely long braid and dressed in a modest gown of silver, with Lady Gentiana following from her own car in a traditional gown of black and gold. Both women look wonderful.” Prompto waited, not wanting to get a shot of the Ladies with their backs to the crowd.

           “And there is Lord Ravus Nox Fleuret, standing tall and regal in a suit of white and lilac, his hair tied back. Recently, news of his engagement to Miss Aurora Mane-Glorium broke- and there she is! Oh, look at that dress! Lilac, and how stunning it looks with her hair! Aurora Mane-Glorium comes from a modest Vampire clan native to Tenebrae. Her father served beneath Lady Sylva in her council before his untimely death in a horrid accident twelve years prior. You’ll remember when a radical terrorist group attacked Tenebrae, claiming wanting to put an end to the Nox-Fleuret line.” As she spoke, the group of five turned to face the crowd, flashing dazzling, fanged smiles. Thanks to the overcast nature of the day, none carried parasols with them, nor were there sunglasses covering their eyes.

           Perfect. Tongue poking out between his lips, he quickly snapped a few shots before lowering his camera, a grin on his face. They all did look fantastic, he had to agree. Job done, he slipped away, shoving his way through the crowd to the edges, where he almost tripped. Catching himself in time, he looked up, only spot familiar black and red leathers. Or, at least, he thought he did. Once he blinked, they were gone, leaving a sinking sensation of disappointment in it’s wake. Of course it wasn’t them.

           He hadn’t seen his brother or the Huntress in over three years now. Not after the last fight they’d had. It’d been a stupid argument over Loqi being a Hunter- too stupid, now that he thought on it. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he pushed the thoughts away and instead focused on the agenda he had for the night. Go home, fix some dinner for himself and his Corgi, Insolo, and then go for an evening jog. The jogs helped clear his troubled mind- even if he sometimes pushed himself too far. It wasn’t his fault, really- he just enjoyed the runner’s high. The way his lungs burned with every breath, the feeling of blood rushing through his veins. It was addicting. A drug.

           The farther he walked from the Citadel, the less polished the city became. Then again, it wasn’t all that shocking, considering how he lived in an apartment closer to the markets than the business district. But he couldn’t complain; hell, getting fresh produce and meats daily was worth living in a shoddy studio apartment. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d get visitors often. Truth be told, he couldn’t exactly remember the last time he’d had someone over. His birthday, last year? Had it truly been that long?

           Brows furrowing, he fumbled with his keys as a calico began to twine between his legs, meowing for attention. Cas- the apartment building’s local mice killer. The tension that had built up in his shoulders began to ease as he knelt down and offered a scratch under the chin for the feline. She was a sweetie, really; if he remembered to grab some fresh tuna from the market tomorrow, he’d leave some out for her. Gotta pay the work, right? Standing with a groan, he carefully pushed the cat aside so he could unlock the door. Slipping in, he was greeted with the sound of nails on hardwood and yipping.

           “There’s my boy!” Prompto cooed, dropping down to his knees to allow the excited corgi to all but tackle him, covering him in kisses. Laughing, the photographer carefully maneuvered back to his feet, making his way into the kitchen. He’d managed to meal prep the night before, meaning he already had dinner prepared for himself. “I want to ride my chocobo, all day~” Singing, he poured Insolo some fresh kibble before reaching into the fridge, wincing at the sight of low supplies. Ouch. Market in the morning, definitely. But for right now, Chicken fajita with Leiden peppers. Heaven on earth!

           Food sufficiently heated, he settled down at his table, scrolling through his social media feed. It was all about the Royals from Tenebrae visiting; what they were wearing, the latest fashion trends that are going to start because of it, the prediction of who will end up with who. Rolling his eyes, he set his phone aside and focused on his food, mind drifting back to the mirage he must have seen earlier. That was the only explanation, right? Loqi would have… Would have let him know if he had come back. They were brothers, after all. Memories of their parting floated to the forefront of his mind.

           “Look, you don’t have to do this. We can… We can figure this out!” Prompto pleaded, watching as Loqi packed up his bags, shoulders tense. “No one has to know where we’re from, Lo. Come on… We can pay that guy off!”

           “No, we can’t. I can’t. I won’t stay here where we can be persecuted for who our father is, Prompto. I refuse.” Loqi replied tersely, turning to study his younger brother with troubled eyes. “Come with me. Aranea’s already got a place we can stay. You can… Stay there while we go out and do hunts.”

           “I can’t leave! I just got this job at the papers, and… And I don’t want to go. This is home, Loqi-”

           “It isn’t my home.” He snarled, shaking his head as he stuffed his feet into his shoes. “Stay here, then. Rot. I don’t care.”

           “You’re just leaving because of that guy- Cor. That’s why! You’re heartbroken because he chose duty over you!” Prompto shouted, but the moment the words slipped out, he regretted them, a hand slapping over his mouth as tears welled up.

           Loqi studied his brother for a moment before turning on his heel and marching out of their shared apartment. He paused for a moment, knuckles white from gripping the door jam. “Take care of yourself, Prompto. Stay away from the blood suckers and shifters.”

           It took far too long for him to move, his limbs leaden. Lurching to his feet, he nearly tripped as he ran to the door, throwing it open only to see Loqi sliding into a car. “Loqi- LOQI, PLEASE.” He sobbed, sliding to the floor as tears trickled down his cheeks. Damn it.

           He was alone.

           Shaking his head, Prompto forced the lump in his throat away as he finished cleaning up his dishes. It was still light enough outside- he could manage a quick run. Yeah. Changing quickly, he made sure the running leggings were on right before pulling on a yellow hoodie, earbuds secured in his ears and phone in his pocket. The sound of heavy bass began to trickle from the speakers as he set out, locking his door behind him. Down the stairs, out the gate, and onto the sidewalk. It was Thursday, meaning the streets weren’t as busy as they could have been. Perfect for running.

           Feet slapping against concrete, he wove his way out of the market district, away from the business district, leading down to the riverside. Street lamps were spaced out, leaving dark gaps between each burst of light, but he knew his way around. At least, he liked to think he did. Breathe in, right foot hit, breathe out, right foot hit. Every two steps, he’d breathe. Nice, deep, and even. He’d worked damn hard for this physique- the marks on his stomach and hips told the story- and he’d be damned if he let it fall out of shape! Slowing, he checked his pulse rate and then the time, eyes widening as he realized he’d already been running for over twenty minutes.

           The sky had darkened, the stars peeking out. Of course, you couldn’t see them in the city- the lights blocked them out. Turning around, he jogged instead of running, letting himself cool down. Man, the park was emptier than usual. How… Weird. Maybe it was because of the cooling weather? That had to be it.

           Until the sound of a scream had him freezing in his tracks.

           Yanking out his earbuds, he turned around quickly, hands tightening into fists. He may have looked small, but he’d been taught how to fight. He even was part of a dojo at one point! But that didn’t mean that the sweat on his skin chilled him to the bone, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “Who’s there?” He called out, wincing as his voice cracked. No answer. No sound at all. It was as if all life had been suddenly sucked free from the park. Breath quickening, he turned and took off in a run, listening as his feet hit the concrete rapidly. Then-

           There.

           The sound of a second pair of footsteps. Eyes widening, he didn’t bother risking a look over his shoulder, instead leaning forward as he forced himself to run faster. Come on, legs, work! Work, damn it! Wait- no, no- fuck. Fuck, he was falling and when had he left the path? Shit. Blue hues widening in pain and fear, he quickly rolled over, bracing himself for an attack that never came. He was alone…

           What the hell? Had he imagined it all? Shaking his head, he pushed himself up, wincing at the twinge in his ankle. Twisted, not sprained- hopefully. His hands throbbed, scrapped to hell and back and bleeding. Ouch. Shaking his head, he brushed himself off, sparing a glance around. The woods in the center of the park. In the day-time they were nice, but now? It sent a chill through him to even be in here. Muffling a whimper as he began to make his way out, he was too focused to feel the gaze of a predator upon his back.

           But he felt it the moment claws ripped across his back, prompting for a scream to escape him. Gods, that hurt! Nails clawing at the earth, he tried to pull himself away- but the creature…

           Wolf.  

           A wolf was hovering over him, all solid brown fur and hulking and far too large to be considered normal and oh gods, this was a werewolf. Oh gods, he was going to die. A whimper spilled free as he curled in on himself, flight taking over the urge to fight. The creature- his forearms were more humanoid than his hind legs, he noticed, standing straighter, it’s jaw opening. And opening. And opening. A terrified squeal peeled free as he tried to force himself backwards, only to hiss in pain as fire crawled up his back. Row upon row of gleaming, bloodied teeth shone in the moonlight, and his head was spinning or was that the werewolf hovering over him?

           And then it was rolling away in a flurry of growls and yelps and pale skin. Wait, skin? He struggled to focus, watching as more and more people showed up suddenly. What? His head lolled over, unsteady gaze falling on a woman’s face. Wow, she was pretty- wait, why was she smiling? Had he said that out loud? She looked like Lady Lunafreya… But that was impossible, she was at the Citadel! She opened her mouth to say something, but it was all… Watered down. Like he was under water.

           And then, the light disappeared and he was left in shadows.

           Sunlight filtered in, making everything seem red behind his eyelids. But man, the bed he was in was far too comfortable to be his own, and the hand in his hair was so nice… Wait, what?

           Eyes cracking open, he winced at how bright it was. It took a few moments for his sight to adjust, and when it did- oh, boy. This bedroom was the size of his entire apartment, plus some. The ceiling was high, painted ivory and with stark black lining. And the hand in his hair… Turning his head, his gaze trailed up the delicate, pale arm, up, up to long brown hair and a delicate face with emerald hues studying him curiously, set in a face that rivaled a porcelain doll’s. Brows furrowing, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words escaped.

           “Ravus, love, he’s awake.” She spoke, voice lilting with the accent that was native to Tenebrae. It was musical to hear, really- wait. Ravus? As in, Prince Ravus Nox Fleuret? Turning his head quickly, he took in the sight of the man sitting beside him, long silver hair that he’d normally seen tied back in interviews and photographs loose around his face. It was long- really long, falling past his shoulders. And pretty.

           “Thank you, it takes a lot to manage it.” Oh, he’d spoken aloud again, hadn’t he? “Yes, you did. I’ll go retrieve Regis and Noctis- stay with him, Aurora.” Oh his voice was nice- low and soft and rumbly and Prompto found that he would be content to listen to it for hours on end. A giggle sounded to his left, making his gaze fall onto the woman, Aurora, once more. She wasn’t as dressed up as she was the day-days?- before, wearing a crème colored sweater and a pair of black leggings. Comfy.

           “Do you need a drink? I have water here…” She spoke softly, removing her hand only for Prompto to whine at the loss. “Oh-… Oh, well, alright.” She replaced her hand with a soft laugh, head tilting as she studied him. “I wasn’t there- but Noctis says it was bad. Do you remember what happened?” Aurora asked, pink lips turning into a pensive frown. He went to answer, but the door opened, and the air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

           “Well, this is certainly interesting. You’ve caused quite the stir, Prompto Argentum,” came a smooth voice that made Prompto think of velvet, and his gaze landed on the group that had entered. Specifically, the man who wore a suit of black, whose hair was just starting to grey and whose eyes held the color of blood. His breath caught in his throat as he realized who he was staring at.

           Regis Lucis Caelum, patriarch of the Lucis Caelum Dynasty, oldest living Vampire in all of Lucis. 

[kylegoodmanuca-blog]

Punk’s Art, a Loud Flash of Neon

In 1977, Toby Mott celebrated his 14th birthday in the Roxy in Covent Garden, London's now legendary punk club. He remembers "loud pounding darkness, cheap lager, the smell of cigarettes, sweat and piss… a few floors almost empty, like a kind of youth club".

Back then, he belonged to a gang of kids from Pimlico comprehensive that called themselves the ASA (Anarchist Street Army) and hung out daily in an independent record shop on nearby Wilton Road called Recordsville. There, he started buying seven-inch singles by the punk vanguard: "In the City" by the Jam, "New Rose" by the Damned, "White Riot" by the Clash, "Oh Bondage, Up Yours" by X-Ray Spex. There, too, he discovered the dubious delights of several second-division punk groups that have long since faded into obscurity, the likes of the Boys, the Cortinas, Eater, Headache, Slaughter and the Dogs, the Snivelling Shits…

Mott also started collecting fanzines, flyers and posters. "I'd go around to Recordsville when they were putting up new posters and nab the ones that had just been taken down. I'd go to Rough Trade or Beaufort Market in Chelsea and pick up flyers for gigs. Most of it was produced in such relatively small quantities for these specialist record shops. I knew, even then, that they had a certain value. They helped make you a serious punk."

Mott, who is now an artist and curator, has been collecting punk ephemera ever since, watching its value grow in the three decades since. An exhibition of his British punk paraphernalia, Loud Flash, opens at the Haunch of Venison gallery in London next month. It will also feature often inflammatory political ephemera from the time, including National Front recruitment posters that show just how much the extreme right, as well as the radical left, utilised punk graphics and imagery in their attempts to attract Britain's disenfranchised youth. "You could go to certain punk gigs, Sham 69, say, and were just as likely to be handed a National Front leaflet as an Anti-Nazi League one. It was a very aggressive and polarised political time, as well as a cultural one. Those ideas of the extreme were always in the room."

Mott thinks that punk has been misrepresented since, both by rock historians who have over-intellectualised its meaning and context, and by curators who over-emphasise its artistic links to previous avant-gardes. Ironically, the academic essays that accompany the exhibition fall into the same trap, calling up the Bauhaus, the Futurists, the Situationists, as well as Andy Warhol.

"Punk was what it was," says Mott. "It doesn't need all that. Jamie Reid, who created the Sex Pistols' posters, came from a radical 60s art-school background, and knew the history of disruptive art movements, but mostly it was kids in suburban bedrooms and garages with scissors, paste and photocopiers. The graphics sprang from the same place as the music, the do-it-yourself-and-do-it-now attitude that underpinned punk. It was an incredibly proactive time, the opposite of today's consumer-led pop culture. Everything was fast, aggressive, disposable, a furious outburst against the boredom of life in 70s Britain."

Mott's collection contains several rare Jamie Reid works, including a poster entitled "Never Mind the Bans", advertising the Sex Pistols' troubled British tour in 1977, when the group's notoriety was such that several town councils banned them from performing. There is work, too, by the artist Linder Sterling, who created the iconic artwork for the Buzzcocks' single "Orgasm Addict", and posters utilising the images of established music photographers like Pennie Smith and Kate Simon, both of whom helped create the outlaw mythology of the Clash.

What interests Mott most about his own collection, though, are what he calls "the anonymous artefacts" produced in small numbers by fired-up teenagers. To this end, he has included crudely made Xeroxed fanzines like Sniffin' Glue, Alternative Ulster, Ripped & Torn, London's Burning and the wonderfully named Chelmsford's Dead. "In a way, these are artefacts left over from a dead culture," says Mott, "but they speak more powerfully about what punk was really about, that moment of momentum and self-empowerment. It was not about making a profit or building a fucking brand. It seems odd now that the establishment were so threatened by it, but they were. You can't imagine a pop group today being a threat to the nation. Back then, we thought we were all about the future, but punk really was the last gasp of postwar radical culture."

[demitgibbs]

Troye Sivan Talks Finding Power in Femininity, Unhibited Second Album

Nobody is stopping Troye Sivan except for maybe Troye Sivan. No queer-averse label bosses, no identity-stifling pressure to be anything but who he is: the LGBTQ community’s precious paradigm of unapologetic, unicornian queerness.

But even with the YouTube-launched pop fixture’s steady mainstream rise, with assists from Ariana Grande on a single featured on his sophomore album, Bloom, and a live duet at a recent Taylor Swift concert, the 23-year-old’s follow-up to 2015’s Blue Neighborhood refuses to sacrifice self for commercialism.

And he won’t stop there this time, not during this album cycle (or ever): In the seductive video for the album’s first single, “My My My!,” Sivan works a room doused in the carnal grit and flashing lights of a gay bar’s seedy backroom – and also an entire street – in a blistering heat as hot as the shirtless guys feeding his desire.

He’s coy about its subject matter, but Sivan wrote an entire song about bottoming too.

I tell the South African-born, Australian-reared Sivan that “Bloom,” notably an official single, is the perfect Monday song to crank on your way to work, or at a family gathering. Its gay-sex specificity perhaps lost on heterosexuals, the anthemic send-up is concurrently a love song and the most liberating of queer secrets. Giggling, he tells me, “That was the goal.”

Elsewhere, the celebratory, spirited and brazenly gay Bloom turns the page on Sivan’s youth, which was cast with wistfulness and, admittedly, tentativeness on Blue Neighborhood, his first Capitol Records album. That same sentimental lilt – but now, with winks – also marks his burgeoning adult years captured on Bloom: losing his virginity to an older man during a Grindr hookup (the dreamlike, fraught-with-realness “Seventeen”); recognizing he’s failed his better half (the tender and winsome “The Good Side”); and a strutting, newfound sexual liberation, with “Bloom” and “My My My!”

Sivan’s transparency is hardwired: He truly can’t be anything but himself. This is clear on Bloom, but holds true during conversation, as Sivan talks about deriving power from femininity, working through residual queer issues, and dealing with the fear of shooting “My My My!” with a crew of dudes bigger than him.

WATCH:

Did you imagine you’d be answering all these questions about sex after “Bloom” was unleashed into the world?

No way. Honestly, I never would’ve thought I would have written that song. That song came out of a session that I felt wasn’t going too well. It was me and my best friend (and producer) Leland, us being like, “OK, well how do we make the most of this day? Let’s just start messing around and having fun.” And we wrote it that night – never, ever thought that it would see the light of day. We ended up with something that I thought was really, really cool and interesting and real.

Mainstream culture has come around to same-sex love, but gay sex is still taboo. Does your frankness about gay sex on this album feel radical or political?

Not really. I wanted to make music for people like me. The first album I was conscious of trying to keep things really digestible for as many people as possible. This time around I had a different set of goals, which were to really, actually, accurately represent where I feel like I am in my life. And if it’s talking about going out and partying, or if it’s talking about staying at home and cooking in the kitchen – or if it’s talking about sex – whatever it is, I wanted a 20-year-old queer person to hear this and be like, “Oh yeah, this is, like, legit.” 

What influenced you to deliver something more queer-specific?

It was having all of these really inspiring experiences and meeting all of these really inspiring people. You know, whenever I start writing music, my number one goal, always, is to keep things honest and real, because I think it’s the only way to stay relevant and stay true over a long career. I wanna be doing this for the rest of my life, and I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to be thinking about cool concepts and things like that for the rest of my life. But I’ll always be able to speak about where I am in my life, that’s always gonna be there. So I fall back on that, and I wanted to not hold anything back. It’s so cool to me to be able to celebrate all of those things I was celebrating in my real life. So, why not go for it and talk about that on the album?

When did the album’s more defiantly queer narrative begin to take shape artistically?

It was probably just the moment where I had immersed myself in the LGBTQ community. When I think about my real life, I have almost exclusively queer people around me in L.A. I’m living in this little bubble right now where I forget sometimes that it’s a thing and that there are, like, straight people in the world (laughs).

I’m sure that you’re reminded when you perform in small towns that aren’t like West Hollywood.

Right, exactly. And then I travel to somewhere like that or I’ll go home to Australia – or I’ll just read the news – and very quickly get reminded just how lucky I am and how specific my experience is. But my hope is that it’s an experience of hope for people, that they hear this and feel like, “Oh, that’s possible and I can go and live this happy and healthy and fulfilled, fun life.” And see that there is, 100 percent, another side to the world.

For some gay people, coming out doesn’t mean the personal battle has been won – there’s still overcoming sexual repression. I feel like you work through some of that on this album.

Probably, yeah. Totally. And I think just in general a lot of the residual issues that queer people deal with have also completely followed me into my older life, just internalized homophobia that I’ve held onto without meaning to from when I was, like, 13 or whatever. It’s like, “Oh no, you can’t talk about that or you can’t sing about that.” I’m doing my very, very best to actively throw all that away. It’s been really empowering.

What has been the most challenging part of navigating the music industry as an unapologetically out gay man?

Normal music industry stuff. I came into the industry at the perfect time for me, a time where people were willing to let me be who I am and say what I want and do what I want, so that’s been the biggest blessing. All that really leaves is just personal challenges of like, what do I want from my career? Am I making sure that I’m releasing the very best thing that I possibly can? And what’s inspiring to me? And do I want this to be a radio smash, and if I do, how am I gonna get there? Or do I just want this to be something that means something to people, and how am I gonna get there? It’s been fairly typical music industry stuff, which I feel really thankful for, because I think 10 years ago, it would’ve been a whole separate set of worries and issues that now feel much more intense than dire.

Is your goal to make gay radio smashes?

I actually don’t know. For me, I’ve walked this line between having a really young, active online audience – a similar audience that you would see at an Ariana Grande or Justin Bieber show – and then also wanting to do these really subversive queer pop songs. I think my approach to it is not thinking too much about what I want commercially, just letting things happen, making stuff that I like. Hopefully if I like it, somebody else is gonna like it.

When you performed “The Good Side” on SNL in January, I got lost in you getting lost in the song. For a performance like that, are you in the moment? Or does your mind tend to wander beyond the performance?

I’m mostly just in the moment. Sometimes I think about the lyrics. I try not to think about them too much because, like “Good Side,” it’s one of the most personal songs on the album and that can get kind of weird, being that vulnerable, so I try not to let myself go too deep into the hole. But in general, I’m just thinking about doing the song justice.

WATCH:

You have a role in the forthcoming film Boy Erased, starring Nicole Kidman and Russell Crowe as parents who send their child to a conversion-therapy camp. What about the film resonated with you? 

The script. I just couldn’t put the script down. It really tore at me. Then I read the book and started immersing myself as much as I possibly could in that world. My coming out experience – and the moment where I accepted my sexuality as something that I couldn’t change – was a weight off of my chest. This wasn’t for me to deal with; it was more for everyone else. I had come to the point where I had accepted it within myself, and then it was about navigating through the rest of the world: my family, my friends.

So, the thought of going to a program like the one in the film at that crucial, vulnerable moment and being told, “No, this is 100 percent back on you, and you’re filling a God-shaped hole in your life with these tendencies” was one of the most harmful and hurtful things that I can imagine. It’s been proven to be ineffective and extremely dangerous, and you’re signing these kids up for an impossible task. It really hit home and struck a chord with me, and I haven’t wanted anything as bad as I wanted this role in this movie, so I just auditioned and thankfully got the part.

Your sister once caught you in a vulnerable state, dancing to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.” When did you become comfortable with that kind of vulnerability on stage?

It’s still really new to me. I think the “My My My!” video was a huge step for me personally; that was a moment where I really had to actively pep talk myself into it. I knew that was the way I naturally wanted to move to the song, and that was the way the song made me feel, but that didn’t make it any easier to do in a big group of people – especially with burly cameramen! (Laughs) It was scary! But when I pushed through, I felt how amazing it felt. It felt so right, and now I have to retrain my brain a little bit to be able to do that on stage and to be able to do that in front of other people.

How do you get into that mental space?

It’s a really active decision that I have to make. I have to actually think about it and push through a lot of nerves and vulnerability. And, again, the only reason I do it is because it’s what feels right to me. That’s what I would do in private. So, why the hell not do it publicly, and celebrate that?

You were scared of your feminine attributes as a child. Can you tell me about your journey to embracing femininity? And when you do embrace it now, how it makes you feel?

I was really scared of it in my childhood, and it was something that I definitely tried to shy away from. Now, I celebrate it as such a source of power for myself. I feel so liberated and free, and I’m having fun. And femininity is magical. Who wouldn’t want to be feminine?

It took me a second to get to that point, but now that I’m here it’s so fun to be able to push through all of those worries. On the other side of that is such a liberated existence where you can just do whatever you want, and it’s just been a pleasure.

How would you compare where you were to where you are now?

It’s like night and day. It feels really artistically inspiring to me, really personally inspiring. And I’m just much happier.

from Hotspots! Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2018/08/30/troye-sivan-talks-finding-power-in-femininity-unhibited-second-album/ from Hot Spots Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.tumblr.com/post/177553844055

[korsolemore]

Chapter 2 Long day a Head.

(( This story might have the following: Spelling and grammar errors, violence, foul language,and sexual content. ))

“How much?” he added to Flick. “Enough to read it well enough. As well as understanding it. I hardly speck it enough.” He smiled at that a little. “I see. I might have to mind what I say than?” he now was the uncomfortable on. “Why do you plan on shitting on me?” Flick started to feel himself steam at the thought. “Non. I would never. I tend to speck under stress. I sometimes don’t pay mind.” That didn’t really answer but. He was a man from jail as well as. He hardly knew Flick and might not want to seem bad at risk of losing him. “I’m still staying. I would like to keep this job Bernard.” He assured him. Bernard smirked such a curl at the ends of his mustache. Flick thought it interesting though there where many things. Looking over the details he could tell he carried himself well. A woman came in lovely wasn’t the words. She had Radically and the young Rad-a-cola both well-known men. “ Kor’so my dear. Why have you not told me you had been in town?” she questioned. He stood “ Bonnie I had hope to have a hope to tell you the good news later. “ He assured. “ Don’t you give me that. I know you well enough to know. You wanted to be together before telling me.  Dear Kor’so you hardly changed.” She sighed. “ Aw come on Ma’ His a grown man. Doesn’t he get to a let make sure he had work going.” Radically butted in to her. “ Yeah ma’ Ally’s right. Sides Ma’ you know do short with him easy.” Rad commented. Bonnie looked at the boys. To who Flick figured quick they were her sons. Flick could tell if he asked ether of the brothers. He would get in ear full but why did she call him Kor’so. He didn’t fully seem to like being called that. But she called him so a be in a tiff. “ Yes I know boys.” She sighed “ It’s good to see you Kor’so.” Her tone quite softer and kinder. “ How are you fairing?” she smiled. “ I’m doing well Bonnie. I really wish you didn’t use that name. I know you think it fits me but.” She stopped him. “ I don’t call you that in meanness it suits you. It always have, we can speck more later. Dinner?” she asked. He nodded letting her leave. Ally went up to Bernard “ Hey she’ll come around. See ya later.” Flick was how un-tender  Bonnie was to Bernard. No question was he seemingly close to her Oldest son. She could believe ‘Kor’so’ was not the best type for her boy. But Ally as the younger puts it seemed to also shine on him. Flick was to think they had a romance. “So..” he questioned after they all lift. “ My exwife and sons.” He sighed “ And that’s why I never asked him. I knew if I did he would drop everything. And Bonnie hates them doing so for me.” He added. Flick was usually good at reading people. But a break up with children did…Make the judgment mixed. “ Why did she call you Kor’so?” “ Well we known one another form young. She was my sweet heart at 16. She thought I didn’t think with my head. But with my body. It was a teasing but I liked when she said it. Till I went to jail….It’s been in distaste.”

Flick understood “ I feel you. But Kor’so isn’t such a bad nickname.” He wasn’t teasing him in any way. “Hmmm I guess not Joe.” Which was his way of saying coffee. Flick gave him a bit of a not cool look. “ Yeah well I guess we both got nicknames now. So I’m going get going. I have a new place to fit up.” “Good day than Joe. I will see you soon. I look forward to it.” Flick was a bit chessed he couldn’t help it. His thoughts where all over the place before he knew it he was home. He had a few new things from some close by shops. Not wanting to fill the place up too much. He checked his beeper no new massages. Well didn’t like his girlfriend was too worried about him. He knew it toke her a while to cool down over whatever she was on about. He alone in that place. Maybe another item or two before the shops closed. Heading back out he had seen Bonnie. She came up to him. “ Hello there. You must be Kor’so’s new hire?” He wondered more than stated. “ Ya’ I am. But you know it’s not right to trash him like that. Even if you too did know one other while.” He warned her. “ I did over react a bit. But you don’t know a thing about me and him.” She glared. “ I know people should fight in front of their kids.” He snapped back. “ Well!” She steamed “Your nothing but a bully picking on me. Have you nothing better to do?” She retorted. “ I’m stating what I saw. But yeah I don’t know a thing about you two. Just don’t get other people mixed in to something. And having them pick sides.” Bonnie lighten up a little “You are a forward man sir. Not often do I find myself thankful for such a thing. I actually wanted to request you something.” She offered. “What’s that.” He puzzled. “ Kor’so is the type of man to be set in his ways. Once he wants something he will drive for it. But if he loves something he will work it out. I would like you to help him. Find that passion in his work. You will see what I mean.” She gave a long sigh. :” He loves you and his sons. I saw even if it was brief. But yeah I get what you’re saying.” He assured her. “ I can’t say I’m the man to find that type of passion you feel he needs. But I’ll give it a try and we both can hope for the best.” He added. She nodded was about to be off “ But why do you think I can find it?” Turning to look at him “You are a quick minded man. As you said you say what you saw. And you aren’t about to let things go sour if you can help it. I must leave or I’ll be late for my dinner date.” Down the block she went. Flick groaned his day started off well. He knocked at the ground hands in his pockets and not to long he hint. Right in to what he thought was a building but no such luck. It was “ Kor’so. I wasn’t looking.” He didn’t get to finish “Joe.” He sounded relieved. “ No need to forgiveness. What has you down. If I might ask?” For a French man his English ascent was spot on. He thought still a bit mixed in pissed off, lonely and just plan. Not even sure what to do with himself. “ My girl didn’t call me today. I hoped she’d be pasted whatever it was. But nothing. And you and your Ex and me and my pretty empty new apartment!” He started to shout. “ I donno Kor’so what do you think is eating me!?” A soft and warm hands place on each side of Flick’s face. Had somehow derailed him “ You are a stress man Joe. The day is hardly over. Have a drink or two. Hell go to a club. Do not let this moment make your day any other way.” He hushed Flick’s worries like the rain washes away dust. Truth was he would never let a man touch his face. Never without his say so or without laying them flat on their ass.  “…. Yea..” He started out a little meek. “ Yeah!” Flick came back with more muster “ I can do that! To hell with this day. I tell it how I end it!” he had let go of Flick’s face as he seemed more in high spirits. “ You do that Joe.” He chuckled. Flick went with what his gut told him. He pulled the taller down placed his hand as fair to his back as he could. Pulling their foreheads to one another “ Thanks.” He lot himself ease back almost falling backwards. But a firm but genital hand was quick to keep him on his feet. Something checked in to place at that moment. Where rage and cursed words would be fixed in he realized. There was a man standing before him. With the eyes on blink steal but a tender kindness to melt polar ice caps. Was the first he thought he could actually ‘trust’. It wasn’t something to just handed out like Halloween candy. He tolerated most hated many and dealt with many than he could count. “ Joe? Are you alright?” Flick was back to reality “ Yeah I most have skipped town for a while. Thank you again. But you should get to your date. You’re already running late.” He looked to his check. “My word you are right. Take care Joe. I will see you later.” He rushed off down the block. Flick looked forward to that and gone down his own way. Finding a bar to have a few drinks. A nice cold beer sounded like music to him. He watched the youth around. Loud music cheap beers and loose girls. What more could he asks for? He found himself in to the night. Drunk off his ass from one too many beer. Shit was cheap but watered down maybe he should have stopped at 15? Everything was colors and shapes he couldn’t see right. He heard a voice but could place it before passing out. He woke a bit later to soft snoring. He realized who it was sitting next to him in a chair. “Kors’o?” He awake the flash of his eyes looked almost bright green and gold than the darker color it was. But only a moment. “ Joe.” His voice low and quite he toke the wet towel off Flick’s head. To which he didn’t even notice it was there. “ You were passed out on the street. With a fever. It’s dying down now but you are not going feel well later.” He seemed worried. “ I shouldn’t think you would drink so much.” He pointed. “Ha! Me neither.” He snickered. “ Hey…” he popped up in bed placing a hand on Bernard’s leg. “ Did I ever tell you? You are one hell of a sexy devil?” He smiled still clearly drunk. “ Joe.” He pushed him down to the bed slightly forceful “ You need your rest. Tell me again in the later morning. All about it.” He addressed. He grabbed at his hand looking up at him. “ Hmmm putting me my place huh?” he laughed a bit. “ Yeah! Show me!”  He stood quickly a sharp look of his eye and that color was there again. As he grabbed the blanket and wrapped Flick down. “ You’re making a fool of yourself Flick. And I will not lot you shame yourself in this manner. You will lay here and go back to sleep.” He ordered. “ You piece of shit!” Flick roared “ I’ll make sure to have you swore for day.” Bernard sighed. It was going be a long on. After a fair amount of cursing throw or what he thought was filtering. Flick tried himself After Bernard had held him the sound of a beating heat and warm body. Was what Flick was in need of more than anything. He had cleared his head a bit pounding to see he was laying on top of Bernard. ‘Sh.” He covered his mouth before he finished. He checked seeing they both had clothing. Letting out a held breath he slowly moved himself only to have woke the man under him. “ Are you alright?” he asked. “ My head feel like a filled pool of screaming childs.” He remarked. He got a good laugh “ Your fine than. I was worried.” He told Flick letting him go. “ Did…Did I do something?” he worried. “ Well you seemed to be not fully of mind. And had try your best to get me to…” “Stop.” Flick groaned “ Okay but did I do anything?” “ No. Nothing.” He assured. “ Oh thank god!” Flick was pretty fucking dunk if anyone else found him. And that meant any one. He would have found or the lack of finding his clothing everywhere. And a mess of hating himself or feeling like he scored. He cupped his mouth as Bernard was getting up out of the bed. And throw up “Joe!” he rushed out grabbing a new bucket not filled with room temp water. Handed it him and tried to help him to the near my toilet. “ I’m really sorry.” Flick managed. “I know.” Bernard was rubbing him back as he heaved some more. “No...” he gasped “ For all of this…For acting like an ass.” He sniffed. He flashed and washed his hands and face. Legs a bit weak. He knew he was well watched over. He was picked up. He wanted to fight it. But he didn’t have it in him than he was laid on to the cough. A nice blanket over his waist and a pillow for his back and head. Bernard had lift him back poked his head out from the room now and then. He was cleaning the puke off the floor. Finishing his cleaning the buckets staying close to watch over Flick. He was out again soundly for a brief while. His face mixed to one that wasn’t please and quick to his he started to ease. A voice had filled his mind. Low with a hint of comfort but worry never the less. A wistful tender sound. He was fighting with a figure before. No face just this black shape. But a stage had rolled in out of the blue. There a singer drawing him in to sit. Feeling of awe as tears ran down his face. Help him he was moved. He could feel the finger wipe his tears in both the plan of rest and real. The song had ended with him in peaceful rest. Hours later he was coming to “ How long was I out?” He questioned. “Must of the day. You seem a lot better. Would you like something to eat?” he asked back. “Yeah. I think I can hold it down.”   There was a bit of an awkward moment. Bernard wanted to ask if Flick recalled about what he said.  So he asked “Do you recall anything?” he asked Flick. “Huh? No I don’t really call anything.” He answered pretty sure. “I see.” He said and offered the food. As he lift the house for the day. Bernard had stood there looking at the door for a while. He knew he was drunk. He sighed maybe thinking he was just lonely. Flick realized when he got to his apartment that he did know what he said. His been drunk before so wasted that his mind known what he was doing. But however he didn’t know what he could tell what was real. Thinking on it as he started a smoke. Take a long drag he puffed out thinking on that voice. He had not been moved so he opened his eyes to the sound of music. He lift he place to searching for the sound Finding a young person playing for money. “ Hey kid. What you doing out here?” he asked “ Hmm? Trying to do music mister.” “ Issss he brottering you?” he broken hiss asked. Flick was Quick and there was a face he didn’t think he would see. “ Are you Mega Screen?” “You’ve been missing for years….” He remarked “I’m ssssorry I don’tt know whatt you’re talking about.” “ Megz I’m not in trouble. Sorry Mister. Megs does not like people just come up to me.”

“ It’s late so yeah I wouldn’t ether. But I heard you pretty far. But you make great music.” He offered a card he had. “What would you think about strengthen your telnet.” Mixtape nodded. “ Yeah would that be alright? Megz?” he seemed to be in it. Sighing Mega screen agreed “Fine we will ssspeck in the morning.” “Alright. Give me a call and we’ll walk something out.” Flick went off when they lift. It was late in the evening. A smoke was waiting for him at home. A good nights rest was needed.  Home with the cig again it was enjoyable. Rest sounded great but the long day. Truth is he was thinking about the how he was going do in the morning. With the new find and an old one.

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

F1 2018 preview - Mercedes, Ferrari, Red Bull, Force India, Williams

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/f1-2018-preview-mercedes-ferrari-red-bull-force-india-williams/

F1 2018 preview - Mercedes, Ferrari, Red Bull, Force India, Williams

The second part of ESPN’s team-by-team preview for the 2018 Formula One season looks at the top five from last year’s championship standings, including the three teams most likely to fight for the title.

Mercedes

Lewis Hamilton and Mercedes are favourites for more championship glory in 2018. Octane/Action Plus via Getty Images

Drivers: Lewis Hamilton and Valtteri Bottas Engine: Mercedes 2017 points: 668 Fastest lap in testing: 1:18.400 (seventh fastest) Title odds: 1/2

Following two weeks of testing at the Circuit de Catalunya, ESPN analyses the battle at the front between Mercedes, Ferrari and Red Bull.

The reigning world champions appear to be the team to beat again in 2018. Pre-season gave little reason to expect otherwise and nor do the preceding four years of the V6 turbo era. Mercedes’ championship last season was perhaps the most impressive as it came despite a sweeping overhaul of Formula One’s regulations, highlighting why this is one of the sport’s all-time great dynasties.

Spearheaded by Lewis Hamilton, who at times last year appeared to be operating at the peak of his talent, the German manufacturer will be a formidable opponent for anyone close enough to challenge. Hamilton is likely to secure a contract extension in the early part of the year and goes into the season as the odds-on favourite for a fifth world championship.

But 2017 proved Mercedes is not unbeatable. Despite a strong second half of the season, Ferrari’s implosion in the final rounds basically handed Mercedes the championship when the fight looked to be going to the wire. The W08 car the team labelled “a diva” was tricky to understand and struggled to find the same performance gains on Pirelli’s softer tyres as Ferrari and Red Bull did. With Pirelli introducing altered compounds for the 2018 and pre-season suggesting the W09 is little better on the softer tyres, Mercedes has a lot of work to do to ensure its latest car stays at the front end of the grid.

Ferrari

Ferrari will need to match its rivals’ strong development in 2018 to claim a title. Mark Thompson/Getty Images

Drivers: Sebastian Vettel and Kimi Raikkonen Engine: Ferrari 2017 points: 522 Fastest lap in testing: 1:17.182 (fastest) Title odds: 10/3

Ferrari used last year’s overhaul of aerodynamic regulations to mount a serious championship challenge, only to see its season fall apart late on after a series of engine failures. Having proved it has not forgotten how to build a title contender, the Italian team seemed quietly confident coming into the new campaign. Pre-season gave mixed messages about the order at the front but Ferrari is clearly going to start the year in the mix. Sustaining an aggressive and successful rate of development throughout the season — all while avoiding the failures of 2017 — will be key to its success this time around.

Sebastian Vettel drove as well at certain points last year than he ever did during his dominant spell at Red Bull. The German driver clearly relished being back in title contention and there’s little reason to think he will not be operating at a similar level in 2018. However, by keeping Kimi Raikkonen despite his frustrating inconsistency, Ferrari appears content not to win the constructors’ championship — Mercedes and Red Bull both have a more rounded driver line-up to take that accolade. Despite occasional flashes of the old Raikkonen, the 2007 world champion was very rarely on the same level as Vettel. A repeat of that this season could be damaging to Vettel’s title ambitions if Red Bull is also in the hunt for big hauls of points throughout the year.

Red Bull

Red Bull is in the best shape its been in since the start of the V6 turbo era. Mark Thompson/Getty Images

Drivers: Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen Engine: Renault (Branded as TAG Heuer) 2017 points: 368 Fastest lap in testing: 1:18.047 (third fastest) Title odds: 10/3

Red Bull could finally be back in title contention if the team is as close to Mercedes as pre-season suggested. Despite never having a package capable of winning the championship since F1 swapped V8 engines with the current V6s turbos, it has continually shown its aerodynamic prowess by finishing each season since with an aggressive upwards development curve. The problem has always been the gap to overhaul has simply been too big.

Analysing Red Bull’s gap to the front at the Australian Grand Prix will give some idea about how the rest of the season will play out and how likely the team is to be in the mix. If its tight at the top in Melbourne, it will very much be game on for 2018.

If the package is good, we also know its driver line-up is up to the challenge. In Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo Red Bull likely has the best and most competitive pairing on the grid. This will also provide a fascinating narrative if Red Bull is in the title hunt — the two ultra-competitive drivers have so far enjoyed a good relationship, barring a brief spat after colliding in Hungary last year. Given the nature of F1 that harmony is unlikely to continue if both Red Bull drivers feel they can win a maiden championship this season. Managing that, and ensuring it does not derail a championship bid, will be just as important to Red Bull’s chances of winning as its car development plans.

Force India

The Force India didn’t shine during testing but the team is looking to bring a big upgrade to Melbourne. Mark Thompson/Getty Images

Drivers: Sergio Perez and Esteban Ocon Engine: Mercedes 2017 points: 187 Fastest lap in testing: 1:18.967 (eighth fastest) Title odds: 300/1

Formula One’s serial overachievers face a big task in 2018. The team which has made out-performing its limited budget a habit in recent seasons had an underwhelming pre-season where it appeared to be lacking performance. Last year it was consistently best of the rest by some margin ahead of a packed midfield battle, but that cluster of teams is likely to make a step forward this year.

Renault and McLaren, both equipped with an improving engine and big budgets, are likely to close the gap to the top three. Force India faces a big task in competing with both over a 21-race season but if any of the grid’s smaller outfits can do it, the one emblazoned with a striking pink livery seems the most likely. Force India’s supply of Mercedes engines means it has a good baseline if it can get everything right with its car, and we know it is a team which relishes the sort of challenge ahead this year.

Rumours still exist about a name change ahead of the season, one which the team hopes will open it up to new and improved sponsorship opportunities in future, but that is unlikely to cause too much distraction to one of F1’s most efficient race operations.

Williams

Williams has a lot of work to do in 2018 to understand its radical new aero concept. JOSE JORDAN/AFP/Getty Images

Drivers: Lance Stroll and Sergey Sirotkin Engine: Mercedes 2017 points: 83 Fastest lap in testing: 1:19.189 (tenth fastest) Title odds: 500/1

By contrast to Force India, Williams has struggled over the last two years to improve a car during the season. A radical new aerodynamic concept was unveiled this year, spearheaded by Paddy Lowe and Dirk de Beer, and that rarely leads to an immediate upswing in performance. During testing, Lowe admitted the team is still a long way from understanding the true potential of the revamped FW41. With development likely to be what defines Williams’ season, attention naturally turns to the two men chosen to pilot this year’s car.

Ever since the launch, deputy team boss Claire Williams has been defiant about her team’s selection of the grid’s most inexperienced driver line-up, F1 sophomore Lance Stroll and rookie Sergey Sirotkin. The team has taken a huge gamble by investing in youth for its race squad and its ability to learn about and develop the FW41 will rest largely on their shoulders. Robert Kubica is a popular addition to the team as reserve driver but his knowledge of Pirelli’s notoriously tricky tyres is also limited after seven years out of Formula One, though his input is likely to be invaluable as the season progresses.

If Williams struggles early in the year, questions about the decisions made in the months leading in to the season are likely to be rife. Given how tight the midfield is expected to be at the start of the season, Williams cannot afford to have made a fundamental error in judgement.

[jeannemalo-blog]

On self awareness, the creative process and  visual essays: Marshall Arisman

Self proclaimed illustrator and storyteller, not only he’s a great example of how far staying true to yourself and to your perspective on art takes you a long way (long enough to be considered one, if not, the pioneer of modern illustration).A teacher and storyteller, the way he speaks about himself is easily relatable on a personal level. 

Born in Jamestown, a small town in upstate New York (known for a thousand psychos and being the place where “nobody dies” according to the BBC) the landscape of his youth gave him a really different perspective on life, that made itself evident as he was trying to find himself as an artist in the 1960’s New York. By the time he was in his early twenties, he tried experimenting with all sorts of techniques, indulging in art movements in vogue at the time (pop art, abstract painting, fluxus). However, this movements, to him, were nothing but becoming what they were supposedly criticizing; “pop art was in essence doing what it pretended to be agains, becoming a commercial market” were his words when describing this period. It the heyday of expressionist and surreal graphic work. Non of this spoke to him due to the circumstances in which he grew up, away from pop culture and into a more traditional and simple way of living. Trying to create something real, close to home, he dig into his life, and started recreating subjects that he’d piled up in his poetic memory (there where without dates or precision you just keep stuff that touched you at some point). He then thought of things like deers, which he had killed, eaten seen but never drew. Cows, which he milked, ate, named but never drew. His mother, his grandmother, a spiritist who was able to see auras. He thought of his relationship with his brother, which he said came from a different planet than him - they had completely opposite personalities. All of this spoke to him truly; it allowed him to speak of something he actually knew, setting the foundation for his work on the next 40 years. 

After working in general motors as a graphic designer and going to the war, he came back and realized  one of the things he needed to explore through art in order to explain or understand (sometimes those two things are kind of the same thing) was violence. This brings us back to his brother. A hunter, gun-loving representation of the american dream, who thought violence was an ordinary thing in every man’s life. He represented a reality so alien; a way of thinking he could never embrace, and yet something so close that this became the subject of his first independent work Frozen Images (1974)

He tried to find a place for this series in quite a bunch of galleries in New York, and he says at least six told him “Man, you better take this thing to Germany, they love this dark shit over there”. Eventually he gave up on trying to fit this into NY pop galleries ‘cause apparently counterculture wasn’t as countercultural after all’, and finally his work was welcomed in print. He landed a job as an illustrator for the Times Magazine where he became the go-to guy for anything related to violence and crime. Influenced by Robert Weaver and André François, he realized that his story telling could be put into illustration (before that, illustration was but “pretty ladies” in feminine magazines) and he developed a thing he called visual essay. It consisted on allowing illustrations to speak for themselves, and to tell stories too, instead of relying on text (in literature this is called poetic images). Though now days this might seem a bit obvious to us, he’s one of the guys that actually made it that way. His style and way of thinking on what to portray relied on the works of Francis Bacon, Lucian Freud and Goya. That’s kind of like a bomb if you think how unapologetic and reckless they were.

Eventually, as time went by he became bolder and rawer and there’s an anecdote he likes to talk about of the time he was asked to make a cover for an article on death penalty. He came up with a painting (the one above this paragraph) and when he got to the office, the chief editor came out holding it under his arm and says “Kid, we’re not printing this; it’s too violent.” Arisman replied “Well frying a guy in a steel electric chair is pretty violent” and the editor then told him something he found rather profound. He said “We live in a culture where when people look at a picture, they don’t asks who the photographer was. They just take is as a reality. They don’t think of the guy taking the photo standing on the dead body. However, when they look at art, they know it takes time. They don’t think of it as a reality, they say the guy who made this is a psycho”. This kind of stories, not only the ones told on illustrations are what makes his work so rich. The context of the work, to him, is the work itself. 

With time, he sought to engage the context of his art in his work, as it enlarged the meanings of his work, and it revealed his creative process. This will inspired  works like The Last Tribe (2009) an exploration of nuclear annihilation (cheerful) or Ayahuasca series, Quechua people rituals (2012) where he used all the mediums taught himself along the way, putting painting, anecdotes and sound in videos where he speaks about the things around these series related to The Bomb. 

“The stories that surround the artwork are always more interesting to me than the artwork itself. And it’s been a luxury frankly, to be able to spend most of my life making pictures about things I’m interested in. And they generate all kinds of other things. I feel lucky about all that. I’ve had the time to do it. I mean I don’t know what it is I’ve done, but I’ve had the time to do it.”

Seldomly, artists allow themselves to reveal the integrity of their creative process, keeping to themselves the not so great, perfect parts of it. He however doesn’t pretend to come out as other “elegant” artist (elegant understood as hiding the processes and rough patches to make the final result seem effortless). In various interviews he’s been emphatic on how personal development relates to the evolution of his work. One of the things that were blocking him when he started was forcing himself to portray subjects that didn’t speak to him in a genuine way. He gives some advice on how this makes art meaningful for you and others regardless of what’s being done:

“If you’re lucky, and you go back to yourself and you start talking about yourself, you suddenly find out that there’s a connection there between you and other people.

Communication is part of the fun, right? It’s just so good when people respond, and say, “I know exactly what you mean” or “These pictures mean something to me.” That’s the nice communication.

It’s also the nice thing about being into print. All kinds of people are looking at it and I don’t have a clue who they are. It’s part of the fun, I think.”

He talks about his reflections naively, focusing on the human said of it. Though in this particular case he speaks only about the creative process, This anecdote is might ve valid when speaking of affecting other people’s life. Sometimes out of experience, or perhaps because we have the means or good intentions, we tend to interrupt the natural course of personal development for those around us. He makes the point when speaking about how he “killed” his mothers creative process:

“I killed the creative spirit in my own mother. Watching this process was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. My mother was a folk artist and made sheep out of bread dough that were her masterpieces. In an effort to bring her more income I marketed her abilities to the Smithsonian gift shop. The sheep sold out on the first order and they re-ordered. After designing a logo, tags invoices and opening a bank account for my mother I called her to find out how it was going. “Don’t ever interfere with my life again” my mother said. “I am so sick of making sheep that I could scream.” My mother never made anything again. The issue was never resolved. The morale is: Do not foll around with the creative process”

To analyze the evolution of an experienced artist like him, who’s still active is that we’re not only witness their process, but we can have its opinion on how things have changed. Despite the fact that illustration no longer offers the stability it used to as a job, he’s got a really optimistic perception on what’s happening in freelancing projects. 

“It’s not really a depressing time. But, if you talk to old-time illustrators, they’re all depressed. These are people who were booked up six months in advance. People who never had to pick up a pencil unless the phone rang. People who made more money every year with the same style for 30 years, and it looked like it was going to go on forever.

But it hasn’t. And those people are bitter. And that’s a shame. But that’s not what it’s about anymore. One of the ironies for me is that the very group of people who are trained to tell stories, the illustrators, never told their own stories.

But what’s replacing that is quite exciting. People are doing graphic novels and comic books. People are creating games and whatever. And what’s generating that, is that freelancing editorial work, which was the mainstay of illustration for most illustrators, is not a market that they can rely on totally anymore.

They’re doing some freelance. And, they’re patching it together with everything else, doing Flash animation and all kinds of things.”

Evidently times have changed, and illustration and the ways contemporary artists work nowadays is radically different. Nobody ever predicted how much technology, internet, social networks or the media would get to affect the panorama of, like, absolutely everything. Still, i believe that some things are inherent to the process of creation, no made which medium, which subject or which time. His story, and the way he tells it illustrate obstacles we ourselves experience in totally different context, and most importantly, the way he overcame this obstacles using art to vehicle the changes of life.

If you want to read all the other anecdotes and things he’s done check the sources for this article;

https://www.societyillustrators.org/marshall-arisman

success ideas from master illustrator marshal arisman:

http://thesherwoodgroup.com/interviews/interview-with-marshall-arisman/#.WPuRWlPyjEo

the last tribe (2009) an exploration of nuclear annihilation

https://vimeo.com/5432640

the new york times

wonderful look at the past. beautiful poetic simple image. Brilliant graphic dog. True aesthetic

https://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/06/08/his-night-train-and-his-dog/?_r=0

On his referents:

Rober weaver

https://www.flickr.com/photos/leifpeng/sets/72157603995211043/

bacon

https://fumeedopium.wordpress.com/2012/06/05/if-you-can-talk-about-it-why-paint-it-francis-bacon/

Lucian Freud

Andre françois