#on the bus ride to the hotel I could be quoted as saying ‘we’re the last two standing mom’ and ‘good thing neither of us got injured lol’

[megamindsupremacy]

Today, my brother, after swearing off mountain bikes for many years after he took a particularly bad tumble as a kid, finally returned to the mountain bike. He could be quoted as saying “man this is really easy” and “move over I’m passing you y’all are so slow” and “see ya suckers” before braking way too hard and eating shit halfway down a mountain. As I type this he is in the hospital with two fractures in his arm ✌️

[clairvoyantsam]

When dreams come true ft Jared Padalecki - 4th year anniversary

Rome, May 19th 2016 ... The day the ultimate dream came true! Some of you may remember I bumpted into Jared (or in fact, JARED bumpted into ME) while out and about in Rome that day, a few of my friends know all the details too, but I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned here exactly how and under what impossible circumstances this happened. So ... story time! (& stuff about jib5,6,7)

                                               BACKGROUND

This wasn’t the first time I met Jared, I had met him before at JIBCon5 in 2014, so this was my second time (I was supposed to see him at JIBCon6 in 2015 too which I attended as well but you guys know what happened that year). 

He was lovely that first time, I told him it was my first Supernatural convention and he gave me a warm welcome, made the entire experience so wonderful for me, during the photo ops, the autograph session (where I gave him a scrapbook with messages from fans I had been in contact with) and the panel question I asked him (I completed one of his sentences which was actually a Sam Winchester quote from SPN and it made both of us and the entire audience laugh xD - I have a photo of me somewhere from that moment and I haven’t seen myself smile so widely ever!). Anyway, like I said, the first convention was fantastic, a beautiful and most memorable experience (despite the fact that Jared had a misfortune that time too since he broke his arm and missed one of his panels as a consequence).

The second convention while it had its moments, it sat (and still sits to be honest) heavy in my heart because I was constantly worried about Jared’s wellbeing and everyone including me was heartbroken. The rest of the cast did everything they could to keep us all entertained, they truly did but there was a dark cloud over our heads that couldn’t be ignored. The first thing we talked about with Jensen at his meet and greet (because of  Jared’s absence, I was given the opportunity to be in that M&G, sitting right across from him and Robert Singer who was present at the con as well). Jensen was genuinely worried, he surely put on a brave face but whenever Jared was mentioned, he’d get emotional. While I asked show-related questions at the M&G, I wasn’t sure what to ask Jensen or tell him when I got his autograph and then I thought of the simplest thing: “So, I may be really sad about the empty spot next to you (Jared’s spot on the poster Jensen was signing for me) but I wanted to tell you that I truly appreciate the fact that you’re such a supportive and caring friend towards Jared. Everyone deserves a friend like you to have their back.” Then he took my hand, shook it, looked me right in the eye, put a hand on his heart and told me a sincere “Thank You”. Frankly, I loved Jensen even more at JIB6, he showed both a brave and vulnerable side and he tried so hard to give everyone a great time. My best photos with him are from that con for sure!

So, you see, I HAD to try and give my luck a third chance to live the perfect experience. I wanted to live it all, photo ops, autographs, M&G, panels but I also had a secret wish: to be one of those fans who accidentally meet their fav randomly in the city (NO stalking because that’s just fucked up, only by chance). I always saw posts of lucky people who got to meet him outside of conventions. He’s not one of those snob celebs, you see. He’ll always smile at you and talk to you and get pictures with you. So, I dreamt about it the entire year before JIB7. @darlingjared and I would talk and joke about it all the time, praying that our stars will listen and make a surprise meeting possible. Of course, deep down we know the chances were extremely low. Rome is a HUGE city with hundreds of places of interest. He could be anywhere, on the opposite site of where we’d be. 

The day finally arrived, and we got to Rome (Thursday, May 19th 2016). Soon after I arrived at the Hilton hotel, I got to my room to get some rest after the flight. Not much later, I got a text saying Jared was at the hotel!!!! (no idea why??? the convention was starting the next day and he wasn’t to appear until the day after that). Before I could get dressed to go check, he was gone but I heard he was really sweet and greeted everyone who said hi to him. 

In the afternoon, after I met with my roommate and @darlingjared ,we took the Hilton bus that took us downtown; it left us near the Victor Emmanuel II monument.  Naturally, we went for walks around the city. We had a bite to eat and then got lost in a street trying to find our way to the Trevi fountain, so we asked around and managed to get to our destination. We spent a few minutes there, taking photos and then continued our way, meaning to get to the Spanish steps. While we were heading there, rain started pouring, so we took shelter for a few minutes until it stopped. We thought, damn, we will never meet him during this weather. When it stopped, we did some shopping at a supermarket and since the time had passed and we had to grab our ride back to the hotel since the Hilton bus had a specific route schedule, we said let’s just pass the Spanish steps quickly, go down via Condotti and head back. (I have to mention here that my BEST DECISION EVER was to wear the Always Keep Fighting T-shirt for this walk). At this point, we were certain we wouldn’t meet him, so we basically forgot about it and just started chatting with each other and laughing. I mean, we walked around many places, we got lost, we got stuck in the rain. What were the odds??? So, we’re laughing at our own jokes and for some reason we had our attention focused at the right side of the street. I turn my head straight at the PERFECT time, seeing that beautiful, smiling giant, coming my way through the crowd and adressing me before I had the time to react:

Jared: “Hey, I love your shirt!” 

I fucking froze. Can you imagine?????? Not only did we eventually meet him but HE came to us FIRST to talk!!!!! We didn’t have to notice him and shyly go talk to him, wondering if we’re disturbing him, asking for pictures. He casually just approached us because he wanted to, because he’s kind and simple like that. I was so shocked, mouth agape, that he just went in for a hug to bring me back to reality!!! Now, name me another actor, another celebrity who will stop on his own to talk to you and hug you, I DARE YOU TO FIND ONE!!! He’s pure and special like that. He hugged each of us (gosh, he smelled like Heaven and looked so good in that sexy coat he wore, his hair kinda wet from the rain), asked us how we’re doing and then we asked if it would be ok to take some pictures with us. He said “sure!” and we took our phones out. Mine was brand new and I hadn’t even taken a picture with it, so, basically Jared blessed it first xD My hand was shaking so bad that I couldn’t take the picture, so, he put his hand on mine to steady it and took the selfie. He took pics with all of us, we thanked him and then he told us to have a good time and that he’d see us again at the convention. Needless to say when he left, we started losing it because we couldn’t believe what had just happened!!! It was out of this world. To this day, as I’m writing this, I still can’t believe it. We wanted something so SO much, that the universe made it happen. It’s one of those times that you know the stars aligned so that something you desired with all your heart could come true!

The entire convention was absolutely phenomenal. Jared remembered my face throughout the weekend, I asked him interesting questions during his panels and the one he shared with Jensen for which he later thanked me when I saw him at the photo ops (he particularly liked my question adressed to him and Jensen about the proudest they’ve felt about themselves in real life and about their characters on Supernatural and the other one concerning what Sam and Jared would tell each other if they met in real life which he found great because he said he had never been asked that before.) The M&G with him was a blast, he sat with us longer than what was expected, got to ask him two questions there (I have another detailed post with everything that was said in the M&G), he was super chill and eager to answer everything we wanted to know. When I got his autograph, I told him everything he means to me, thanked him for inspiring me to be a better version of myself, straight out told him I love him and he was so kind and gentle and shook my hand and told me he loved me back (also gave him a custom made chocolate I ordered particularly for him with #AKF as a theme). “I love you, always keeping fighting Jared, never forget.” I was on the verge of tears for multiple reasons but I had to say that to him. I was not in a good place back then and Jared was a beacon of light, of hope that kept me going. At our last photo op together, I asked him to hug me “like there’s no tomorrow” and he held me so tight in his arms, I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t care. I didn’t know what he looked like when he hugged me but getting out of the photo op room, the girl who was behind me stopped me in the hallway and said: “Omg, he was so sweet with you! Loved what he did with his eyes. Your photo will look beautiful”. I was confused because I was looking at the camera when the picture was taken, so I had to wait for my photo op to get printed to see what she was talking about. My heart melted when I saw this:

I mean, look at that SOFT face. He’s so sweet, you can FEEL his kindness radiating by reading his expression. Some people may think nothing of this but it meant the world to me back then. It was as if he was telling me “things will get better, you can do this” without using words.

When Jared hugs, he does it with everything he has, like he’s said before, hugging is showing you care about someone and damn, he does. He’s an actor but he doesn’t pretend during these moments, I can assure you. He’s a person who feels things deeply, he’s someone who understands what it’s like to struggle with your personal demons and that’s why I’ve always related to him the most. He has a heart of gold and personally, I’ll have his back always. He didn’t have to be so kind to me but he was and I will never forget that.

So this is my story. This post was probably too long but I had to share these thoughts. 

Jared, I know you don’t remember me but if you ever see this, thank you for being you, don’t ever change. I love you, man. #AKF

~Elena

[truerequitedlove]

Dan and Phil Versus The World

pff bingo: interactive introverts & glass closet

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, introspection, reality/non-au

Word Count: 3k

“I mean...we’re not in the closet. Not really,” Phil says.

“Phil, this is the closet.”

read on ao3

~•~•~ 

The idea had started simply enough. 

“We should go on another tour.”

That had been the start, one night, far too soon after their last tour’s end. It had come after a long night of drinking, and of talking, and of planning. 

The night had been filled with plans, but they weren’t the sort of plans that Dan and Phil would write down. These plans were softly spoken plans filled with taboo words whispered through a veil of liquid courage. Words like ‘branding’ and ‘coming out’ and ‘privacy’ and ‘us’ and ‘them.’

‘Them.’ 

This particular word had become taboo quite a long time ago. It always sounded just a bit wrong. Like talking about someone behind their back. Like generalizing a group of diverse individuals. A few years prior, they would have been fine with doing so, but it felt strange then. It was early-2017, and they were still riding the leftover waves of TATINOF’s massive success.

Dan and Phil were just finishing their first-ever world tour, and they’d seen these people. These millions of faces that supported them. They’d hugged hundreds of them. They’d heard their stories. Stories of finding happiness in silly gaming banter and finding courage in quotes from videos that Dan barely remembers scripting. They had read through letters. They’d watched smiles and tears spring to the faces of audience members. They’d moved closer, closer, and closer to them.

And “them” was just a less taboo replacement for an even worse word. “Fans.”

Neither Dan nor Phil quite liked the word “fan” in the context of their audience’s relationship to them. It felt weird, uncomfortable, inauthentic. It felt like Dan and Phil were sat on a pedestal, and the faces of their audience were far, far, away in the nosebleed seats. Their audience didn’t deserve to be there, be put down, and Dan and Phil didn’t deserve to be idolized past the point of their own humanity. 

Dan and Phil wanted to move closer to them. They wanted to find the right distance. They wanted to explore the idea of “them and us.” Of audience and entertainer. Of how close would become too close.

So, that thoughtful night in 2017, Dan said, “We should go on another world tour.”

And Phil--just the same amount buzzed and just the same amount lost in messy thoughts--agreed.

Then there was Interactive Introverts, and it was everything. It was ambitious and entirely different than their last stage show. It was authentic, real, laid on the solid foundations of a theme that Dan and Phil both cared so much about.

Before either of them could blink it was happening. 

~

Dan recounts the messiness of the months before the tour began where he sits in the back of the tour bus.

He blinks.

He must be giving off ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes today, because he has the entire back of the bus to himself. The rest of the crew seem to be either napping or chatting quietly in the front area of the bus as they pass by the endless American pastures outside.

The American leg of the tour has been odd. It’s not stressful flights and cramped cars and booking dozens of hotel rooms, but it is a lot of one environment and one crew for an extended period. Dan loves the crew. In fact, they’re honestly the closest friends he and Phil have right about now. Still, it’s difficult to be around people all day every day in such a confined space. Luckily, they’re all human, so when one of them is giving off fierce ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes the others understand. It’s just Dan’s turn today, he supposes.

Sometimes, most of the time even, Dan doesn’t mind the closet. The doors are glass, and he can pretend they aren’t there. Other times he slams face-first into the glass doors. Today’s one of those days.

It’s the weekend of gay pride back in London. He sees it all across Twitter and Instagram. It makes his chest ache in an odd way.

So, he sits and gazes out the window at the plain countryside. He thinks about the video he failed to finish and all of the mess that had taken up his time this year. He lets himself emit the ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes. He doesn’t really have to energy to speak when he’s using it all to mope instead.

Of course, there is one person who’s immune to Dan’s ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes.

This person collapses against the couch beside him, carrying his pillow as he always does. Dan teases him about security blankets, but he’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t precious. He props his pillow up against Dan’s shoulder before leaning against it and sighing.

Dan looks over at him. “Hello,” he says softly. Dan can speak to Phil. Phil doesn’t drain Dan’s energy the way that others do.

“Mm,” Phil hums in reply. He’s wearing his glasses. “You’re bein’ loud,” he grumbles.

Dan’s lips turn up despite his less than jovial mood. “Shut up,” he says, amused. He’s had that same complaint spoken into silence enough to understand what Phil means. It means something like ‘you’re being too quiet, you’re thinking too much, and it’s noticeable’ in sleepy Phil language. 

“It’s your fault,” Dan teases. “Shouldn’t be listening in on my private thoughts.”

“Oh,” Phil says. “I thought we shared a consciousness.”

“I fucking hope not,” Dan says, lighter. “I don’t know if I want to see the innermost workings of this mind, Phil Lester.” He taps Phil’s forehead to make his point.

“Please,” Phil says, obviously a bit too tired to properly give his all to the banter. “You’d be honored.”

“Mm,” Dan hums, neither agreeing or disagreeing.

“Mhm,” Phil replies, agreeing. “So, since I can’t read your mind, tragically,” he says. “What’re you thinking about?”

Dan shifts a bit on the couch, and Phil whines a bit, resituating himself against Dan.

“We have a hotel tonight, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Phil answers, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re thinking about, then?”

Dan rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Phil says, grinning.

“Well that is decidedly not what I was thinking about,” Dan says.

“That’s sad for you,” Phil says.

Dan properly giggles this time. “Shut up,” he says again, a bit loud. “I’m just thinking about...us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m just glad we get to be together tonight,” he says.

Phil could reply with a joking comment on their inability to be separated for even the length of a night’s sleep, but he doesn’t. He’s glad they get to be together, too. It’s been quite a few nights without Dan, and Phil knows what he means. It’s not just being together, it’s being alone together.

“Me too,” Phil agrees softly. He glances at the hallway and confirms that no one is within the range of seeing. So, Phil presses a kiss to Dan’s lips and grins a little.

Dan grins a bit as well.

~

Phil assumes too much. He expects nonverbal communication. He expects public secrets and common knowledge of things that haven’t been discussed. 

It’s only gotten worse since he’s been with Dan because Dan is good at unspoken truths. He’s good at communication that dances around a topic without looking it in the face. It’s gotten them in trouble before, certainly, and Dan has figured out when to drop the pretenses. He knows when to look an issue straight-on.

Phil still likes to dance around things. He likes to avoid conflict and confrontation, especially when he or someone else stands to get hurt. He justifies this to himself by assuming that everyone else understands whatever it is that he doesn’t want to explain. He expects mind-readers.

He recognizes these analytic thoughts, as he thinks them. It’s therapy talk, repeating itself. Phil’s fear of confrontation is something that’s often brought up with his therapist. As Phil sits, staring out the window of the tour bus and feeling mildly sick, he misses her. He won’t be able to see his therapist again until they return home, and he’s sure he’ll have endless things to bring up with her.

There’s a funny thing about a fear of confrontation, Phil finds. Recovery consists of confronting the fear of confrontation. While it’s oxymoronic, at least Phil’s done one of the steps.

Confrontation is an easy thing to fear, but Phil can’t help feeling like he has good reason to fear it. He grew up gay. He spent so long actively avoiding confrontation about his sexuality. It feels almost second nature now. He’s not sure he knows how to confront it. He doesn’t want it to be a big deal.

Phil never came out to his parents. He was never into the pretty girls at his school, he never talked about them, and he brought around male friends who would stay the night and leave the pull-out couch bed untouched. It was obvious that Phil was seeing men, and that he had no real intention to see women.

Or so he had thought.

The memory still brings about anxiety, even though his family couldn’t be more accepting these days. He remembers his mum confronting him after it became too obvious. He remembers thinking that it all had been silently acknowledged and that he would never have to talk about it. It was stupid, in hindsight. Obviously, his sexuality would be a big deal to his family, whether he wanted it to be or not.

Phil still falls back into those habits.

Sometimes he’s too careless with Dan. He thinks it’s obvious that they’re in love. He convinces himself that everyone knows, they just don’t talk about it. He wants to kiss Dan when people can see. He wants to book one hotel room with one king-sized bed for both of them and let it slip by without mention.

People like to mention things, though. They like to talk about things.

Phil thinks he and Dan are obvious, and maybe they are. Still, he knows that if he were to kiss Dan square on the mouth in front of their crew, questions would be unavoidable. 

Phil doesn’t really know how to be in the closet, but he knows that he wants to protect this beautiful, perfect, and private thing between him and Dan at all costs.

He stops himself there, turning away from the window. He doesn’t want to think any longer.

“How much further?” he asks, sounding just a bit impatient.

“Just over an hour,” someone replies.

~

Just over an hour later, Dan’s coming up with an excuse for him and Phil to go immediately to the hotel. It’s only one in the afternoon, and there are things to see in this city, but they need to be alone. Alone together. Dan says something about filming a video, and Phil holds back a sigh because they do have to film, and he’d forgotten.

They can film tomorrow. They enjoy filming, anyways. They get an excuse to hang out alone together. And the gaming channel is so easy compared to everything else they want to work on for youtube. The editing's a bitch, but it gives them something to do while traveling these long American roads.

The crew talks with each other about plans, and Dan and Phil slip into the hotel. They check in to separate rooms in the lobby, but they go to the same room with all of their things. Later, they’ll compare rooms and decide which is better to stay the night in. They’ll order room service and laugh and maybe film something. For now, they just need a moment. 

The hotel room’s door closes, they put their things down on the floor, and Dan sighs.

Phil’s not sure exactly what’s bothering Dan, but it makes perfect sense as soon as he says it.

“I want to come out, Phil,” he says, standing by the door of the hotel. He stares inward, blankly. He’s not looking at the room or anything at all. He’s thinking so much that it seems he can do little else.

Phil sighs, walking back to where Dan stands. It’s definitely not an unfamiliar conversation topic between them. It’s much the opposite. Dan had plans to officially come out this year. He has plans to come out, but things keep getting messy and scary and confusing. 

“I know,” Phil says softly. “You will. We will.”

“I know,” Dan says. He’s still not looking at anything, and his eyes are unfocused.

“I mean...we’re not in the closet. Not really,” Phil says, perhaps in an attempt to cheer Dan up. They’ve never been ‘in the closet,’ really. At least, not in a long while. They just keep certain things private. It’s been a long time since either of them have pretended to be someone they aren’t.

Dan sighs. “Phil, this is the closet.”

Phil frowns. “How do you mean?”

Dan shrugs, walking into the room. “Just, like, the whole Dan and Phil ‘brand’ or whatever.” He uses finger quotes around the term ‘brand.’ His voice is tinged with irritation. “Like, this tour, and the last tour, and our YouTube channels. We’ve, like, put ourselves in this, like, glass box. Like, yeah, people know, but they don’t know. And if--and when we come out, all of that...that glass is going to shatter.”

“Is that a good thing?” Phil asks. He gets what Dan means, but his brain is so slow today. He doesn’t want to talk about glass closets and sexuality and how the hell they’re going to navigate their relationship if they keep it in the spotlight. If they talk about that then questions will come up that Phil doesn’t have the ability to answer.

All he wants is to lie next to Dan and be unseen for a little while. There’s the possibility here for a fight, but Phil’s not sure that either of them has the energy.

“It’s just this tour, trying to be authentic, Dan and Phil…” Dan trials off and sniffles, and it catches Phil off guard. He goes to say more, but tears start slipping down his cheeks instead and he looks away from Phil.

“Dan, whoa whoa, hey,” Phil’s voice is suddenly much softer. “Why are you crying?”

Dan shrugs, sitting down on the bed. A dam seems to have broken, and he chokes a bit. “It’s a lot, Phil,” he cries.

“It is,” Phil answers. “But it’s good, isn’t it?”

Dan shrugs again. “I--I don’t know.”

“Oh,” Phil says softly. He stands and kicks off his shoes. He then strips off his jeans and t-shirt. He desperately needs a shower, but it can wait. He kneels down and unzips Dan’s shoes. Dan lets him pull them off and toss them messily aside. As he watches Phil, his tears pick up. Phil tugs his jeans off next, and by the time his t-shirt is gone Dan is properly bawling.

Phil sits beside Dan, both of them stripped of their dirty, uncomfortable, tour bus clothes. He lays back on the bed, and he holds his arms open. Dan reaches up to futilely wipe his eyes and lets go of one more sob before falling into Phil.

Phil wraps his arms around Dan, and they lay there. 

Phil strokes his hand up and down Dan’s shoulder, and Dan buries his face between the duvet and Phil’s shoulder. He cries for a while, saying nothing. Phil just holds him and hushes him softly. 

It is a lot. The tour, their careers, the closet. It’s all quite a lot, and Dan needs to cry about it. Phil’s sure that he will too, once he has the energy.

“Phil,” Dan says quietly. “Sometimes I wish we could just run away together.”

“Yeah?” Phil asks, smiling sadly.

Dan nods. “Mhm. Find a tiny little house somewhere to live in and, just, start over. Just like, buy a fuckin’ cafe in France and live out our lives as old gay baristas.”

Phil giggles softly. “Sounds nice,” he says.

“Doesn’t sound ungrateful?”

“Not to me, but I might be biased.”

Dan smiles a bit at this. They look at each other. Phil reaches to brush away some of the tears that continue to slip down Dan’s cheeks.

“Isn’t it...isn’t it weird that tomorrow night you and I are going to get up on stage and play out this, like, version of us and then we’re going to come back here and be...us?”

“I mean, isn’t that the entire point we’re making here?” Phil asked, smirking.

Dan smiled the slightest bit. “Shut up.”

“Plot twist.” Phil giggles. “Dan blows his own mind.”

Dan grins properly this time, pushing Phil away by the shoulder. “Phil?”

Phil grins, rolling back to his spot just against Dan. “Yeah?”

“Did we just make an entire stage show about the glass closet?”

Phil bites his lip, moving his eyes over Dan’s face. “No,” he says.

Dan grins. “Oh? Okay, good. Was worried there for a sec.”

Phil leans in and kisses Dan on the lips. “You think too much,” he says when he pulls back. “We’re us, you know? No matter how many people are watching. That’s what the show’s about.”

Dan’s eyes flick back up from Phil’s lips to his eyes. “I like us best when we’re alone.”

“I like us wherever we are.”

“Sap.”

“Maybe.”

They have the night to themselves and they make the most of it, even if it means missing the sight-seeing available outside. They end up staying in Dan’s room, ordering room service and getting a little more than tipsy. They mess around a bit, press kisses to hot flesh, and drag it out for as long as they can. The next hotel stay is a while away, and they have to make up for the lost time. When they’re done they fall asleep a bit too early.

Dan wakes up at the annoying hour of two am. Unable to fall back asleep, he grabs his laptop and turns on the lamp. Phil remains fast asleep beside him, and his soft snores are comforting. Dan pulls up a word document entitled: “Basically, I’m Gay.”

Soon, he hopes.

[mazecraft]

Rachel in the Dark Room Ep 2

Warning:

Spoilers for Life is Strange and Life is Strange: Before the Storm.

Trigger Warning:

This fanfic will have disturbing images, including scenes of kidnapping, date rape, drug use, violence, sexual content and adult language. Recommended for mature audiences and viewer discretion is advised:

“Rachel?” Chloe sounded alarmed. Rachel was standing with her arms folded in the junkyard Chloe seemed to like so much. “What are you doing way over here?” asked Chloe. They didn’t often come to this side of the junkyard now that they had their own little space set up inside the abandoned managers shack. At first it had been fun coming here with Chloe. It was a place where they could be alone most of the time and plot their future and dream. Right in front of her, there was an old orange block letter “Hotel” sign covered in dust. Some of the paneling was broken and the lighting elements were visible through the cracks. She thought of her dreams of traveling the world and being a star as she looked at the sign. But it was broken and discarded. Was that what would become of her dreams?

“I’m never going to get out of this place, am I?” she finally said. She turned to face Chloe and scowled. “All you ever do is come up with excuse after fucking excuse and now I’m trapped in this junkyard with all the other trash!” Chloe’s face looked stricken and hurt. But her face hardened a moment later and her hands clenched into fists.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? I told you I was good to go when I got the truck registered and you decided we should wait after all so you could finish at your precious Blackhell!”

(God, she was so beautiful when she was pissed. Where is she now? Where is she…)

“You said your career would ‘sink like a Galleon full of gold’ if you left too soon.” Chloe continued. “Now that we’re broke and you don’t have daddy’s money, suddenly it’s my fault?” Utterly exasperated, Chloe punched a rusty oil drum next to her, splitting her knuckles open. “Fuck!” she yelled. She grabbed an empty beer bottle, and threw it at an old school bus, shattering one of the few remaining windows. Rachel watched her stalk off, feeling like an asshole because she knew Chloe was right, but too proud to follow her. At least, not yet.

The raven flew down out of the evergreens swaying on the edge of the property and landed on the ‘H’ of the hotel sign. You should have gone after her. Rachel folded her arms and turned away from it, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll make it up to her later.” (I promise you Chloe I will).

That sounds like it would have been fun. The raven hopped down to the ground and began pecking at the ground. Rachel looked over her shoulder and smiled at the raven’s insinuation. Her smile soured when she saw blood seeping out of the ground and soiling its beak. Rachel stared in fixated horror as a face was slowly revealed bit by bit as blood washed the topsoil away. First the forehead where the raven was pecking mercilessly, and then an eyebrow, followed by an eye staring lifelessly into the sky. As more and more of the face was revealed, Rachel began to scream uncontrollably.

“No! Oh god, no! Not her!” Her voice cracked as she continued to scream wordlessly. Even as she fell to the ground balling her fists over her eyes, she couldn’t get the sight of Chloe’s face ripping apart where the raven had cracked her forehead open.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

∞

Long Beach, Rachel was seven years old. Her parents, Rose and James Amber were sitting in foldout chairs under an umbrella on the beach while Rachel played in the sand with her Barbies. The peaceful sound of the waves washing up on the shore was a soothing backdrop to the cries of seagulls and murmur of other people, punctuated by the occasional laugh or friends calling out to each other splashing in the water. Rachel dug a hole with the plastic shovel.

“Let’s lay down right here” said Rachel in her best ‘Ken’ voice. She laid the Barbie on top of the Ken doll in the hole and stared at it blankly seeming to consider it uncertainly. Suddenly changing her mind, she picked him up and tossed him angrily into the sand bucket and turned it over. She then carefully buried the Barbie in the hole with the sand as tears welled up in her eyes. Her crying intensified and gets the attention of Rose who comes over to her and asks her why she is crying.

“Barbie is buried in the ground,” Rachel sobbed. Rose hugged her helplessly, giving James a questioning look.

“Rachel is in touch with some reality beyond the gilded cage.” James said sadly, quoting a song from one of his favorite bands. “Cast in this unlikely role, ill equipped to act with insufficient tact.” He turned to Rachel and said, “One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact.” Rachel cried that much the harder for her young heart had never known such grief. All the seagulls on the beach suddenly flew into the air, crying out in what sounded like panic. A raven flying in their midst caused a jumbled mess of feathers and broken wings as they crashed into each other to get away.

∞

A blurry shadow with a familiar voice stands over Rachel taking her picture. “It pains me to hurt you in this way,” the voice says. “But I’d do it again and again and again to keep you…mine.” She is confused again. The shadow moves closer and further away from her like waves on a beach. For a moment she is on the beach with her dad building a sand castle, then hiking in the Cascades, then riding a train with his arm around her in Paris on the way to the Louvre.

“I loved you dad. Why did you lie to me?”

“Oh, that’s too precious.” The shadow said as it washed up on her shore. The shadow’s face became clear. Its eyes were hidden by the reflection of light off the black rimmed glasses. A neat trimmed beard and short messy brown hair. The appealing façade of a monster. “Why is it that everyone around here wants me to be their surrogate father? Not that having you call me ‘daddy’ doesn’t give me a certain thrilling je ne sais quois.” The shadow chuckled.

“Poisonous slave, got by the devil himself.” Rachel mumbled. She wanted to scream and slam her fists into his smug face until he choked to death on his own blood. But she was so tired. She couldn’t fight past the drowsiness. She gathered every ounce of will she had and channeled it into trying to stand up. But the best she could manage was to raise her head. Her vision slightly cleared but the room seemed to stretch to infinity all around her.

“Ah, Prospera. How fitting. ‘All your charms are o’erthrown and what strength you have’s your own. Which is most faint now tis…plain to see? You must now be confined by me.” The shadow chuckled at his own ad-lib. “Too bad I came to Blackwell too late to see you in the Tempest. I heard you were really good.”

“She really was.” Another voice said. Rachel looked past the shadow to see a woman in her middle years, but the worse for wear, with long blonde hair. She was wearing black ripped up jeans and a Misfits t-shirt under an open red flannel. The arms of the flannel were rolled up revealing a sleeve of tattoos, and she was sitting on the couch shooting up heroin. She smiled at Rachel, her teeth yellow and her eyes, black caverns. “Don’t worry my little star. Now we can finally escape everything together. No more sorrow, no more pain, and especially no more guilt! We are and always have been nothing. Soon, nothingness is all there will be. After all, the stars are all dead…even you. Love and life were a mistake and this is the solution.”

Jefferson laughed.

“You aren’t real! This is not happening. You’re both…a lie,” she said.

Jefferson paused with a needle full of ghb half way toward her. “On the contrary, we are more real than you are about to be if reality is defined by what exists, and what doesn’t.” She should have been afraid, but his words just infuriated her more. Rachel’s rage emanated from her like heat from a furnace. Her anger burst into a shockwave and the apparitions of Jefferson and Sera blew away like ashes on the wind, leaving her in the silence of the dark room, its quiet hum and sterile shades of white and black a comfort after the nightmare. She was beginning to think the room was the only true thing left.

The shadows moved clockwise around the room until they coalesced into the raven perched upon the back of a chair. Why do you keep coming back here? There has got to be a way to escape this, she thought. I won’t give up. I don’t have to become my parents. I don’t have to be a cheating liar or a nihilistic junkie! Amusement like sparkling electricity bloomed in Rachel’s mind and she stamped it down with her anger. “I’m glad you think this is funny, carrion eating motherfucker!”

Sorry, spilled milk. If you think you can pour yourself back into the bottle then don’t let me stop you.

(To be continued...)

Link to next episode in the comments

mazecrafted (c) 2018

[uptightcitizensbrigade]

How St. Vincent's New Album Captures a Planet — and a Person — in Crisis

I'm seated with four other individuals in a room at the W Hotel. Before us, resplendent in an oversize gold jacket with matching gold boots, is Annie Clark, better known in the music world as St. Vincent. She's talking about her fifth studio album, Masseduction, as she plays a handful of tracks on a nearby laptop computer. "It's about sex and power and sadness," she says, swiveling in her chair. 

Clark, 35, first entered the music world as St. Vincent a full decade ago. Marry Me dropped in 2007, establishing the artist as a sweet-singing siren with a wild and electric sound to back her up. When I first listened to St. Vincent, I introduced her to my friends as a "punk rock Disney princess." In my own mind, I envisioned her beguiling all the creatures in a mystical forest . . . before setting it on fire.

"Are you feeling a jam?" she asks the room. We've collected in an intimate hospitality room next to the W Hollywood's sound suite, which houses an actual professional recording studio in the hotel. St. Vincent has just finished a photo shoot in the mini studio; we're set to go on a small tour after she takes off. For now, we get to have a small listening party where she'll play a few select songs from Masseduction and answer our questions.

She decides to lead with "Los Ageless," one of the singles that was released in September. It's only appropriate; we're literally in the heart of Tinseltown. When someone points out how very aptly St. Vincent seems to be channeling Los Angeles for the event, she kicks up her boots. "They scream LA, right? They look completely appropriate for this space."

While the rhythm and melody of "Los Ageless" is both intoxicating and electrifying, the lyrics are noticeably sad. "How can anybody have you and lose you and not lose their minds, too?" she asks. As the song winds down, she mumbles, "I try to tell you I love you, but it comes out all sick." It's this balance of highs and lows that really helps Masseduction shine. As the walls vibrate, surrendering to the rumbles of the huge hotel speakers, St. Vincent listens, swiveling slightly in her chair.

This sort of nauseating euphoria has been present in St. Vincent's entire musical catalog. On her second album, 2009's Actor, you'll find a perfect example. "Black Rainbow" starts sweet, with a light meandering flute sound driving most of the rhythm. As the song continues, the ominous, deep bass takes over until the final 90 seconds, when an intense electrical guitar slowly plunges the song into certain insanity. It's dazzling shows of artistry like that which have really carved out a musical space for her career.

When pressed about the dynamic between sex, power, and sadness in her work, the indie-pop songstress is quick to elaborate on the different levels featured in the album. "Sex and power, they can equal many things. They can equal surrender or they can equal intimacy," she tells us. "What, again, the culture is looking at now is the dark side of that, which is sadness, tragedy . . . there's a whole lot to kind of unpack culturally. We're at a moment that probably we should've exactly been at a number of years ago. But I do think that we're disassembling and reassembling what power is and who wields it. I really do feel that way."

After "Los Ageless," I ask if we can listen to one of my favorite songs on the album. "Happy Birthday, Johnny" is a classic combination: it's heartbreaking and beautiful. It's so specific, but it casts a wide net of emotional understanding. It also features Johnny, a figure who's appeared on and off throughout St. Vincent's entire musical career.

On her debut album Marry Me, she spends the title track begging a man, John, to marry her. "I'll be so good to you," she insists. "You won't realize I'm gone." On her 2014 self-titled album, she calls him "Prince Johnny." On Masseduction, Johnny seems to be at his lowest point yet. But who is he? Is he an amalgam of all the heartbreaks in St. Vincent's life? Is he metaphor for something bigger?

"I wish Johnny was a metaphor," she says, laughing. "No, the third of the Johnny trilogy . . . I think that some people are — like, tragedy is baked into them. But they also exist in this plane where they burn brighter than other people. So they also could burn out. And those are the kinds of people who break your heart time and time again, but you love them more at the same time. So that's about John again." 

With her admissions about Johnny, St. Vincent has shown her hand, if only in part. While it's true that Masseduction captures the bleak outlook that seems to be a part of 2017's zeitgeist, there's still a deeply personal aspect that seems to stem directly from the artist.

Though you'd be hard-pressed to identify the "Johnny" in her life, some of the singer's more recent romances have been a bit more public. St. Vincent began dating Cara Delevingne in 2015; the two were together until splitting in September 2016. (I'd suggest that "New York," the first single from Masseduction, is about Delevingne.) Though St. Vincent reportedly, briefly dated Kristen Stewart in October 2016, her romantic exploits have mostly managed to slip under the radar. Maybe it's because she's now in "deep nun mode," which she explained to The Guardian during a recent interview.

Romantic endeavors aside, St. Vincent doesn't necessarily cop to the idea that her new album is about her personal heartbreaks and sadness. Well, at least not overtly. "It's not a diary, because it's art or pop music or whatever, but it's very first-person. It's very much speaking to my own experience," she admits. "Which, sometimes, is to feel powerful. Or, you find yourself wielding power in ways that aren't particularly graceful. And then some of it would be definitely like being powerless. Powerless in the face of love or sex or drugs or whatever it is, kind of dealing with those forces that can swallow you whole if you're not keeping it together."

After the sorrow surrounding Johnny, St. Vincent next plays "Pills," another upbeat track that's almost delirious in its frantic pace. "Pills" is especially pertinent to the twisted yin and yang of being powerful and powerless. The manic guitar hearkens back to her previous albums.

In retrospect, it's easy to see how each of the musician's albums begets the next. The insane parts of Actor certainly bleed into the conflicting bitterness and sweetness on 2012's Strange Mercy. I mean, St. Vincent literally portrays a Gulliver-sized statue that shatters to dust in her "Cheerleader" music video. On 2014's self-titled St. Vincent, there are unmistakable references to the kind of dystopian vibes and global sadness she explores in Masseduction. I mean, just watch Digital Witness and tell me it's not a prologue for the "Los Ageless" video.

Once "Pills" ends, she opens up about where she was when she started writing the album. Her answer was entirely unexpected.

"The first song I wrote for it was 'Smoking Section,' which is the last song on the record, which is pretty bleak. I'm being really honest . . . It's one of those ones that my mom hears and asks me if I'm OK," she says with another laugh. "Yeah, it was on the Eastern Block, the former Soviet-occupied territory I was in. I was driving from the Czech Republic to Latvia and we had to skirt around Belarus . . . . long story short, it was a long bus ride."

While the song is admittedly dark, it's still her favorite song on the album. "I think that one . . . went through a lot of trying on different clothes to be recorded. I love that one."

With so much talk about the album's final song, it's only appropriate to end the event by playing it. Before she does, she returns to the previous notion about how the album is so personal and universal at the same time. "I have that emotional experience," she says, referring to the moments that inspired each song. "So it just seems like that's transposable. A friend of mine was telling me this great Kurt Vonnegut quote, the other day. 'Write just for one person, because if you write for the world, your idea will get pneumonia and die,' or something like that." She lets out another laugh. "You can look it up online, I just butchered it. But the idea, that if you can write truthfully about . . . your personal experience, that's going to be transposable to other people."

St. Vincent has been seated in front of us for the whole listening party, more or less. I think she got up to get a drink. But for this final song, the final song on the album — which seems to me like the very heart of the album, a track that synthesizes all of St. Vincent's pain — she opts not to stay. "I feel like I'll press play on this and then maybe I won't sit in front of you while you listen to it." She lets out one last laugh, starts the song, and leaves as the lyrics start. "Sometimes I sit in the smoking section . . . "

[aggresivelyfriendly]

~Meet Me In The Hallway~ huge thanks to @emulateharry for the beta!! Chapter One-Terminal 

That was all I wanted to do. I just needed to pass through. That was the whole fucking point of a hallway, right? To get from point A to point B? It didn’t have to be damn metaphor for being stuck, being unable to move on.

 I was there, and I wanted to be, now I’m not and I can’t move to the next place, so I wait in a long lonely corridor and wish for yesterday.

Yesterday and Tuesday are gone with the wind though. And I was glad of it. It had been years since I’d seen his face, and frankly, that was better for me. It’s how I had gotten better. I’d even managed to avoid nearly anything and everything about him. That was easier out here. The east knew his name, but it was not the brightest nor the biggest.

It was almost like when we started. His star was ascending, but his name didn’t come with a trademark quite yet.

I’d toured with his openers, someone’s little sister cum make up artist. But I was actually good, and I didn’t mind being around a bunch of gross boys either. That was what I’d grown up with, and so my brother and his band and the biggest band, idiots all, brought me right in. Gave me a spot, a job, a family, a goddamn complex with all of their teasing.

Except for him, Harry. He had not immediately seen me as one of the boys, despite the jeans I hadn’t washed in many many moons, and the vans someone had puked on, and the t shirt I’d found on the floor of the bus between stops. I expected to be one of the boys, but he made me feel like the only girl.

It started in a hallway, but of course. I’d gotten kicked out, well, shoved out, by a groupie with a killer bod and a rep for head. The sock was on the door and I knew the rules. It was late, everyone was drunk, and I was homeless.

I sat down in the hallways and laid my head upon my knees and hoped I’d had enough beer to put me right to sleep. I had not.

I sat and played music, as loud as I dared, to drown out the sound of my brother getting off. Gross. But so fucking familiar. He was just old enough to be in charge of me and young enough to know better but not care. And we were close enough in age that it wasn’t that weird. Except it was always my friends. Let me tell you, the last thing you want to hear is your best mate screaming your brother’s name.

But the girl in the hotel room was far away from my mate, she’d looked at me like she couldn’t figure out where the fuck I came from and what I was doing hanging with baby rockstars.

“Who’s she?” She’d asked like I wasn’t able to hear as my brother pulled her into the room.

“My little sister.”

“Oh,” had been her disinterested reply as I’d been dumped in the hallway. Lovely.

It was an auspicious start. I should have known with a beginning like that, an end was inevitable.

Something started that night in the corridor. I think it all started for me that night. After our first hallway rendezvous, I gave Harry years of my life. Always meeting him in the hallway, sneaking into his sheets, and trying to work it out. It ended in a hallway too. He left me and I stood there hoping we could work it out for too long, years maybe. But then, I walked away, and I got better. Seeing him here, tonight, another sparse but posh place that wasn’t, felt like I’d walked into a time machine. Like I’d just left his bedroom. His hair was short, like it had been when I fell for him. I thought I had gotten up, but I know now I was still on the floor.

I watched him, his back was to me, but I could tell by the loop of his stride, the set of his shoulder, the occasional smack of his gum, that it was him. He has yet to see me. If he did he must have been disinterested. Apathy is the worst, I hate it more that hate.

Harry had never shown disinterest in me, though I guess he wasn’t interested right away, polite and kind I’d say. But busy and charming and rolling in girls. So, imagine my surprise when he fell for me. Though it would be lie to say I didn’t fall first.

“Hey,” I looked up at the voice while I sat wishing for my ear phones that first leg of tour. He was all mussed curls and bare torso dotted with nonsensical ink.

“Hey, Sorry, was the music too loud?” I picked up my phone and notched it down.

“Nah, I heard you get the boot. I waited to hear another door, then heard the music. Figured you could use a refuge.”

I smiled brilliantly at him. I’d had a crush from the first time I’d met him that had only grown in magnitude as I watched him navigate around the first arena we rocked up to. He was in a muscle t, riding a Segway, and later, I watched him when he wrestled and sloshed beer with the other rowdy boys, the same shirt had got stretched and see through and he’d caught me trying to read the words at his hip. He’d quirked a brow.

“What’s it say?” I’d asked.

“‘Might as well.’” He quoted

“Just fuck?” I finished and slapped my hands over my mouth. But he sneezed or laughed and wheezed before being pulled back into the joyful altercation.

I could definitely read the lyrics the night he invited me in. I’d say to his hotel room, but I got into so much more than that. His good graces, maybe then his good books, and at one point, I’d thought his heart.

He’d set me up with a beer and a controller and we’d played xbox until ridiculously late.

“You’re really good,” he bemoaned after I’d beaten him for the 14th time.

“Yeah,” I shrugged and tossed some more crisps into my mouth. “Boys play on the bus. There’s not much else to do. What aren’t you better?”

“I sleep a lot.”

“On the bus?” I pointed at the tv as I selected another round.

He nodded his delight and we started in again. “Pretty much anywhere I can. Our schedule is crazy. We’re always on planes, and I hate sleeping there. So, I sleep on the bus and whenever I can—”

“Why aren’t you asleep now?”

“Another part of the merry go round, I can’t sleep after shows for a while. I’m all wound up, so then I’m tired the next day, but we are often on a plane, where I can’t sleep, so I—”

“Sleep where you can when you. So you miss out on fifa?”

“Pretty much,” he dimples at me and I felt so happy he had opened his door.

We played for a while longer, until I caught him yawning and called him out for it. “Tired? Ready for bed?”

He looked sheepish, “Yeah, should sleep, Sorry.”

“No,” I got up and grabbed my trash, “I’ll go, just let me see if the damn sock is gone,”

I’d just gotten a glimpse that the sock was still very present on the door across the hall when he pulled me back. “No, you can crash here. I just meant I needed to lay down.”

“Mkay, I’m not to proud for the couch. Looks like it’s there or the floor out there,” I gestured. I kept talking, I couldn’t seem to stop my mouth. “This is a nice hotel, but the floor is still pretty grotty.”

He scratched the back of his neck and I catalogued the new tattoos the move revealed to me. I could see no relation between pieces or how they’d fit into a sleeve. Maybe after a few more nights of video games I’d get really brave and ask him.

He must have felt braver than me, “no, um….this isn’t a come on, k?”

He paused for my reaction but my 3 am brain was sluggish and I just stared until he continued.

“I figured you could sleep with me, just to sleep. I like a body next to me, but…” he trailed off and stared at his feet. The toe of his right sock had a hole near his big toe, I could see why, his nail needed a clip.

“But?” I prompted.

“I can’t sleep with the girls I hook up with, because who knows who will find out, and I can’t handle another segment on tmz. I’ve watched you around. You’re not a big talker. You listen a lot. I like that.” He smiled a little and I returned it.

“You listen a lot too,” I commented. “You pretend to be life of the party, but I catch you hovering round the edges all the time.”

He stubbed his foot down, “I like being around people, just gets tiring to be on all the time.”

“You can turn off with me.” I meant it and caught his hand as I said it.

“I know,” he said. “I can tell. Know you know some dirty shit about all of us, never hear about it from you. Think I can trust you. Not gonna have to confiscate your phone.”

“Well good luck there, babe, not relinquishing my phone. Only line I have home while I’m out trying to keep up with you ragamuffins and keep my stupid brother alive.”

He laughed and then yawned.

“Bed,?” I suggested.

“Bed.” He pulled me behind him. “You can have a shirt if you want?”

“No, I can sleep in this.” I went around him to the unpopulated side of the fluffy white bed and sat down to pull off my shoes and socks before I slid in under the covers.

“Not in the jeans,” he shook his head, “that’s so uncomfortable. I’m sleeping in my pants.”

“Feel free, your bed and all, but your ploy to see me in my knickers is going unmet, Styles,” my laugh was an attempt to cover my nerves. “cant, cuz im not wearing any.” I laughed.

“You’re not wearing any what? Any knickers?” He blushed.

“Nope, had to rush out this morning. Sans pantaloons I’m afraid.” I’d arranged myself under the blankets and was trying to look cool as a cucumber while he’d fish faced across from me.

Finally, he about faced on his heel and I wondered where he got to. He returned with a fresh pair of boxer briefs. “You still can’t sleep in jeans, be right un comfy, an I don’t want them rubbing on my legs.”

I don’t know where it came from, but I took the pants and met him cheek for cheek by standing and sliding my jeans down my legs and slipping his blue shorts over my hips.

“You’re gonna catch flies,” I quipped and slid back beneath the overs and shut the light.

And that was how I came to sleep with Harry Styles in his underwear most nights for years.

[evadventure]

Machu f#@king Picchu: The accidental ascend

Aguas Calientes is a tiny place. It spans for maybe kilometer by kilometer, around the quick stream of ! and a slower river of Urubamba that we followed with the train.

It’s a touristy place, built to serve the endless masses of people coming to see one of the wonders of the world. Everything, from countless stands selling the same Peru swag, to offers in restaurants, to hotels, hostels and guesthouses on every corner, is here for us. But despite that — it is a place with hot waters; on the top of the hill there’s a spa that we fail to visit. 

From all the guesthouses this one is the tiniest and fullest of rules -- especially when it comes to hanging towels to any place other than the ONE. The owner is sweet old lady speaking only Spanish and not putting up with my lousy attempts. At least I learn pasado mañana from her. 

Before going to sleep, we’re strolling the streets. Mostly in search of food. Surrounded by mountains, once again we can be happy we stocked up on alpaca sweaters in Cusco. We find a nice spot on one of the streets leading from the main square and while enjoying the dinner (CEVICHE!), a parade passes by. We already saw the celebrations in Cusco, then Pentecost (takes me until a boat ride on Titicaca to remember the word for Pfingsten and letnice) celebrations in Ollantaytambo, and finally here, also Pentecost parade, very local, down to the last tassel and a dead baby alpaca on the back of some of the attendees. As we’ve learned in Cusco, Inca traditions are just as alive as the Christian ones. 

We go to sleep early. Jasmin usually wants to get up bit earlier (all the monkeys will appreciate her precise makeup I’m sure 😝) and I want to sleep in but then I mostly end up waking up with her. But there’s always a bit of discussion around this and I fail to realise that instead of thinking about those extra 10 minutes of sleep, I should be thinking about enough water. (Foreshadowing much.)

So. To get to the area of Machu Picchu, one has to get to the entrance up in the mountains. The windy road takes about 15 minutes by bus, and costs almost 30 euros, and we are both waaaay too cheap for such blatant tourist exploitation. Our entrance time is 8, which gives us enough time to sleep until 6, put makeup on (here’s a slot to admit I do it too) and walk up. 

This beautiful Andean motmot welcomes us at the beginning of the hike

This is the first part of the day that is fucking magnificent. No one does this. We meet one Dutch couple, but otherwise we are alone in what is definitely a jungle. Behind us, cone shaped peaks create a fantastic scenery, one I haven’t seen, anywhere, ever. 

And further behind them, sun slowly crawls up, creating breathtaking light play. It’s a lot of stairs, but quite doable. We arrive at the entrance, learn that no one can enter before 8 (joking around about Germans implementing the system). Turns out, despite many warnings around the internet, we don’t need a guide to enter the area. So, all good news. 

We also have a place to be. At 9, we can check in at a mountain entrance. Now, when we were booking the tickets, the famous, beautiful, scarily steep Huayna Picchu, the sacred mountain, was sold out. But there was, quote, her slightly less cooler brother Montaña Picchu. Now, if you read smaller, you’re like me. The fact that there’s a mountain towering on the left doesn’t break my calm, it’s probably that tiny peak right ahead. 

Where could I be possibly going with this, right. At the entrance we find out it takes 2 hours up, 1 hour down, and as we luckily learn when we are back, it takes 2 760 stairs. 

So yeah. That.

It’s getting hotter and we don’t have enough water. This simply wasn’t planned. But we are here and we paid for it, so be might as well start climbing. 

What can I say, I am stubborn. We’re stubborn. So even if I do tell myself there is no shame in turning back, I know very well there’s plenty of shame in turning back and I put one leg in front of another, over and over again, until in the rising heat we stand on the top. 

Which is totally worth it and from here, Machu Picchu is so tiny, no puny humans disturb the sight. It’s way past the moment the sun jumped up from behind the hills, up here it’s still quite windy, but yeah. Here we go: 

The total altitude difference makes over 1000 meters and yes, we will feel it for few days. And yes, we’re out of water. And it’s hot. 

To be continued -- 

[museoffury]

I awoke with the feeling of longing today to know a father I was never given the chance to meet. I thought about the deep and profound secret my Mother kept in her heart of something so significant and wondered why she didn’t want me to know. I started to write a song in Spanish about sadness and wishing.

I then decided that I could not put off the inevitable and so today would begin with a mundane task: laundry. Even that proves to be a significant experience here since most seem to wash by hand and hang laundry outside their window on a line. There didn’t seem to be a way to do that in this pad, and I’ll be quite honest: I really am not into that. Call me shishi, but I like my clothes blown dry. So, I looked up various Lavandarias and found one just 3-blocks up from where I’m staying–pretty cool being that I could only find six in all of Lisbon. This one named Lavandaria do Aqueduto seemed fitting. Aqueducts carry water over obstacles, right? My clothes had been through Zurich, Madrid, and a couple of days in Lisbon already. It was an easy-peasy walk up the hill and I found 3 washers and two dryers in a very clean, small laundromat with instructions in English in a 4-point font below the Portuguese words and if you push the correct combination of buttons, voila! it includes a detergent in the washing machine which begins from a controller on the wall for all the machines. Snap!  Since I had 30-min, I decided to head around the corner to a little cafe I had seen offering some quick “para levar” so that I could grab an espresso and a nibble. It was busy and the server was rushing about quite efficiently. When she came to ask what I wanted, I told her that she was impressive and efficient. She smiled and relaxed for a second:

“34-years of doing this makes it so. It’s better be fast.  I started here working for my grandfather when I had 18 years; now when my father dies, it will be mine. “

Wow! Impressive! I did some quick inaccurate math:

“We are the same age. I am 56 and…”

She interrupted: “I have 52-years.”

Me: “Oh, yes. Of course. It is fantastic that the business passes to you after all of your hard work. What is your name?”

She gave me my order and took the Euros and tip.

“Gabriella. Thank you for talking me. Have a nice day.”

 Here is her little spot in Lisbon where my Pastel de Nata and espresso sit in the middle. Mind you, there are thousands of Padarias and Pastelarias and Cafes everywhere you walk here. The reason I walked into this one is that I happened to be washing my clothes around the corner. 15-min in the dryer and I was on my way back to the pad.

By this point, it was 1:20p and I was ready to find some serious lunch. I’ve only been eating one meal out per day and want to stick to that since I have a little kitchenette here and have bought some essentials to keep at the temp homestead. I read about a cool place to eat lunch (even though it was already 2p) that wasn’t due to close like most the others I found that end lunch service at 3p. This one was open until midnight with no break. It was across town and would promise an exploratory plunge into the world of busses and trams here in Lisbon – a new adventure! Excellent, I love this part of a new city! When I clicked to go to GoogleMaps to see an overview of the location, my tab fell on a Chrome MomentumDash screen that always provides a relaxing picture, a quote, and some other productivity points.

Oh, yes. I feel balanced alright here on vacation. Thank you for the message, computer!

The restaurant description pointed out the location as the LX Factory and I had also seen it as a destination point on GoogleMaps. I wondered about it and researched further. I found this:

In 1846, a fabric production plant (Companhia de Fiação e Tecidos Lisbonenses) was created in Alcântara, Lisbon. The industrial complex spanned over a total of 23.000 m2 and was one of the most important undertakings the city had so far seen. Fifty years later, the company decides to move and, in its place, a succession of businesses such as industrial typographies took advantage of the unique location and facilities. Forward to the late 20th century and the location was an abandoned, run-down and decrepit inner-city area that desperately needed a makeover. A private investor decides to take on the challenge of creating something new out of almost one hundred years of history and the rest, as they say, is indeed history. Today, the space is home to more than 200 businesses ranging from cafés, restaurants, design houses, show-rooms, shops, offices, commercial spaces to other projects that link directly to the space’s unique cultural and artistic standing.

I’m going to provide some shots of my own soon, but these photos here on TripAdvisor say it all!

So, all I had to do was get there.

What did we do without GoogleMaps? Well, I’ll tell you one thing GM doesn’t tell you is which side of the street to wait for a bus and so goes my next 1.5 hours for a trip that should have taken 23-minutes according to my i-spaceship. I walked over to the huge Assembly of the Republic building. Yes, this is where the central hub of the Portuguese government meets and it’s quite a building.

When I got to the top, I thought I could find the bus stop as the little blue dot on GMaps was showing that I was quite close. I looked down:  Hmmm, somewhere likely down there. I’ll walk a bit and voila! The bus I wanted was just leaving, but alas, another one comes in 15-minutes. I waited, watched and listened to a bird in a cage hanging on a mini-patio just above the stop across the street. I looked down to see another bus of the number I needed to hop on going the other way. Shoot. Was I waiting on the right side of the street?  I looked at GMaps and retraced my steps…Ayii. It looks like I need to wait over there! I crossed the street and looked at the map. Yes, Cavalária is one of the stops. OK, phew.

One came 10-minutes later and I hopped on and took a seat. We traveled a mile or so when I realized that nowhere does it state the stop name so how would I know when we reached Cavalária? I could go ask the bus driver. Or, I could check the blue dot on my phone!  Uh-Oh, it shows I’m going further from LX Factory, not toward it. Damn. By now we were at the hundredth or so tall statue I have seen of men towering over squares and plazas–this one called the something de Pombra. So many famous men to put on pedestals! I hopped off the next stop and crossed the street to wait on the other side for the bus going the other way. OK, now I’ll be set. Two of the wrong number went by and then, finally! Here comes the 727, only it was going fast and wouldn’t stop! Um, Oh no: I’ve got to go to a different stop further up by the man on the pedestal!  Jesus! Who is that poor woman with her bare breast and arms chained above her head below the man on the pedestal? No time to check. I had to keep searching for the stop. I walked another 1/2-hour as the streets here are very wide and filled with taxis and buses all going somewhere very quickly. I walked down another street trying to follow the damned blue dot but I seemed to be heading off course again. OK, look for the street name. They are on the sides of buildings on each corner and do not have their own post like we have. I looked up and guess what I found?  Can you imagine? The word has re-entered from Madrid to Portugal. I smiled. There is a HOTEL Tranquilidade. I was reminded to just enjoy the ride of being lost and to maintain my balance. I walked another block and then circled back around the dude on the pedestal (again). This time, I heard American voices next to me. A Mom, Dad, and Daughter were looking up and all around like I had been:

Dad: “Jesus. I’m tired of going in circles. I can’t find anything here.”

Me: “Hey, me too! I’ve been trying to find a bus going to a certain place and it’s taken me an hour!”

Mom: “It took us 45-minutes to find the post office we were told was just up the block.”

Me: “I’m going to the post office too, and…

Dad: “Well, you’re going the wrong way, it’s behind us 4-blocks!”

Me: “Oh, I’m going to a different one near where I plan to eat lunch…well, now it’s dinner, I guess.”

Mom: “You mean there is more than one? We were told that there was only one and it’s behind us.”

Me: “Oh, there are a lot of post offices all over, but just not near each other.”

Dad: “I wondered why this huge city would have only one post office. People. Sheesh.”

All of us together: “Where are you from?”

Them: “We’re from Idaho and our daughter here has been serving in the Peace Corps in Mozambique, so we figured this would be a great place to meet all together.”

More chatting between us about the weather here in Lisbon (they are loving it as it’s below zero back home), etc. We walked up to my bus stop saying a quick goodbye and have fun as I hopped up on the bus of the number I was looking for only this time I asked the driver before paying: “Calavária?”  He then pointed across the street saying quickly in Portuguese that the bus to Calvário is on the other side. Well, 3rd time is a charm. Here I go. “Obrigado!” (Ooops, forgot the “a” again. I’m supposed to say “obrigada.”)

So there I was, 1.5-hours later going the right way to the Calvário stop where I would find (25-minutes later) both a post office (which turned out to be a post office, bank, and 4 shelves of  books for sale all in one) with the entrance to the LX Factory just a 3-min walk from the post-bank-books to the restaurant whose name I had already forgotten. Damn. I was famished and thirsty.

When I arrived, I found a splendid playground well worth the wait! I stopped at the first super fun/artsy restaurant I found and sat outside near a fab heat lamp and ordered a beer. WOOF, they brought me a beer!   Someone knew I was thirsty! Reward! Now here’s a pedestal I’d like to see with some females on it! Where are all the statues of the mulhers importantes in Portugal? I ordered the Praça burger (house special) that was heavenly with lots of different sautéed veggies on it (candied onions, mushrooms, zucchini, carrots) and pesto sauce along with their house-made chips that were a delight. YUM! ( I could not finish that beer after eating the meal but I got 3/4 through it.)

THEN I WALKED AROUND. WHAT A PLACE!

First I walked into the restaurant I had eaten at A Praça do Lisboa to use the loo and found the interior delightful.  And since I heard a band while I ate not far off playing covers from the 80’s and 90’s, I had to find them first to check them out:  The outside area was crowded with people sitting at tables talking and drinking beer and wine but the odd thing I noticed was when the band finished one of the songs, I was the only one clapping. Oh. They don’t clap for musicians here? Odd…  I walked on.

And then I came upon this! My favorite new bookstore in one glance: Ler Devagar Bookstore (check this out):

I looked around some more to walk off the meal noticing that a lot more people were arriving as this is obviously a thriving scene for a Friday night that is not the ordinary fare in Lisbon. Just as I found myself outside of the LX Factory at night wondering where to catch the bus and really not wanting to try to find a stop, I saw a man leaning against a TukTuk.  He extended his hand toward the vehicle saying, “Where would you like to go? Have you tried a TukTuk?” I had seen these all over town and wondered about them. They are literally a 3-wheel motorcycle with a plastic tent around them to keep you warm at night and likely out of the rain if the weather turns. I was hesitant. He explained that he could take me anywhere I’d like to go for 10-Euros which is far less than the normal price as he must put the TukTuk away in the garage in the next one-and-a-half hours. He could also show me some special places. Well, they are a licensed group. I know they are safe, and I really didn’t want to try the bus fiasco again. So, I hopped in. He zipped me all in as if we were camping with him in the front and me in the 2-seater bench in the rear with seatbelts.  “My name is Carlos. What is yours?” We chatted for a bit about San Francisco because he cackled when I said I was from SF: “San Francisco! It’s the same as Lisboa! Bridges! Hills! Lots of people!” But then added, “But America has gone crazy, no? What has happened to the brains of the people?” I explained that one of the reasons I was here on this trip was to find a new place to live (someday) and that Portugal is one of my top choices. He told me he knows people here who have homes to rent and sell. He will give me names. At one point he asked, “Are you in a rush? If not, I have a great pastelaria to show you!”

I was game. Let’s go! We stopped and had a Pastel de Natal (much more delicious than the one I had in the morning) which were made by the hour in the place he brought me to. I bought us both one and added an espresso to sip. The third bite in, he said, “Oh! You must meet my friend Claudia who owns a shop near where you are staying. Let’s go pay her a visit and then I take you home. She owns some properties.” I was still delighting in the custard pastry and one last sip of espresso. He was right. It was a treat! We then scooted a few more streets over (he was a deft driver at one point squeezing between a car and a truck in a space I thought far too narrow to get through with no problem.) He parked quickly and we hopped out. The shop was so beautiful, lit by amber light containing numerous wonderful old things everywhere. I stopped at a journal made of a vinyl record for the front and back cover. Oh, universe! What have you done? I looked at Carlos: “I am a huge fan of vinyl records, Carlos. How did you know?” As I looked at him smiling, I saw high above his head a wall covered with actual records that were artistically cut into various scenes: one of a silhouette of Alfred Hitchcock with an old movie camera next to him seated in a Director’s chair, several of iconic images of Lisbon, and one that caught my attention quickly– the silhouette of a saxophonist and guitarist jamming together.  I told Claudia that I have vinyl records all over the walls of my office at school. She said, “It seems you need one more to place with the others.” Indeed!

That’s Carlos Bonito and me with Claudia in the back. She doesn’t like being in pictures. And here are the (not one but two) pieces of cut vinyl I bought after Claudia explained the deep meaning of “saudade” which has no translation she said in any language but something like this: a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. (I found this online as she couldn’t quite find the words to express the depth of the meaning of the word.) It seemed the perfect bookend to the thoughts I had when I awoke this morning that felt so long ago. What a day and night in Lisbon!

Nine Hours of Exploration with Being Lost as a Theme I awoke with the feeling of longing today to know a father I was never given the chance to meet.

[talesofyale-blog]

PERU ANONG NANGYARI?

Can I just point out for the record how very unsuited I am to be a writer?

Because:

a. I write once a year

b. Really? A writer that writes once a year? Haha

WARNING: LOTS OF EYE ROLL TO FOLLOW

Anyway, I started this blog to make sure I have a record of all the stories I have of my travels. Obviously, that’s not going very well for me... So this is my attempt at redemption and let’s hope this post won’t be the last one for the year. Hahaha.

So...

Peru, huh?

Don’t get me wrong. Peru is without a doubt a beautiful country! However, if I’m being honest here, I would never come back again.

Before I start with the horrible things that happened, let me start with the nice ones!

For the first part of our trip, we decided to fly straight away to Cusco instead of going to the capital, Lima. We wanted to explore Ollantaytambo, an old town which dates back from the 13th century. It’s a good idea to do that when you’re not flying directly after a 13 hour flight from Canada & an 8 hour night layover in the airport.

That, I have to admit, was a bad judgement on my end. Sorry Mitch. Haha!

Moving forward, I would never book a flight when I know I have to sleep in the airport before I can get to it and the layover is going to take up much of my boyfriend’s birthday (did I tell you it was his birthday that day?). LOL

Talk about starting with the nice ones, huh? Hahaha

Anyway, Ollantaytambo is definitely a place not to miss! It was breathtaking! With all the cobblestones, old style houses and amazing food, we almost never wanted to leave!

Taking a taxi in Ollantaytambo was the best option for us to go around. We were so lucky to find a taxi driver who offered us a very reasonable price and understands a little English (yep, here we go again with my Espanyol skillz).

This is my second time at a Spanish speaking country and I haven’t learned the basics still. Remind me to do that when I make my way to Spain. Charot.

Anywho, I super love our driver! He took us wherever we wanted to go and even offered to take us to places we did not know about!

That’s Moray.

Here we are at Salineras de Maras.

We even have photos with the locals!

I mean, how can you not stop for this photo op?!

Our kuya driver was also sweet enough to take photos of me and Mitch! 

Oh diba, saan ka pa, driver na, tour guide pa tapos photographer din?! 

Para siyang Nescafe.. 3 in 1 JOKE

He also brought us to Awana Kancha, a place for llama, vicuña & alpaca feeding & weaving demonstrations.

I gotta say, some animals were having it and some were not.

FUN FACT: One of Peru’s staple foods is corn. In short, lahat ng menu sa restaurant may mais. 

The main reason why we chose to visit Peru was to see one of the seven wonders of the world: MACHU PICCHU! To say that this Incan citadel is amazing would be an understatement! I could go on and on and write about how magical this trip to Machu Picchu has been for us but that would probably limit my character count in this post. 

Machu Picchu is situated 7,970 ft above sea level so it took quite a bit of effort reaching it.

First, we rode a tricycle to the train station.

This is the closest photo I can find and it only looks like I’m eating something.

Next, we did a 2 hour train ride.

Then we took a (very crowded and smelly) bus to go all the way up.

*obviously bus photos are not available*

BUT ALAS, THE TRIP WAS SO WORTH IT!

This is Mitch holding the beautiful air.

I’m going to stop talking about Machu Picchu at this point because I might say a lot of stuff and it’ll only really tie up to one point: IT’S BEAUTIFUL. 

Moving on...

We also stayed a few days in Cusco, a city in the Peruvian Andes, which was once the capital of the Inca Empire, and is now known for its archaeological remains and Spanish colonial architecture. We stayed in Plaza de Armas which is the central square in the old city, with arcades, carved wooden balconies and Incan wall ruins. (I got all these from google, by the way)

There are so many churches around this area that we really intended to visit each and every one of them. Not that we’re super religious or anything, but I just like visiting churches from different countries. It just proves the point that you can pray and talk to God no matter which side of the world you’re in.

We took a half day bus tour to go around Cusco and it would’ve been great only if we rode the bus that had an English tour guide. LOL. Long story short, the speaker was Spanish and we did not understand a thing.

 So we took photos instead!

a site named Sacsayhuaman a.k.a sexy woman

here I am eating a chocolate croissant

here we are eating ice cream

here I am again eating corn lol

The tour also brought us to a place where we did this little ritual which I have no idea about because again it was all in Spanish. Hahaha.

The last plan of the trip was to fly to Lima to see the city before we leave for Canada. 

Everything was going so smooth up until....

THEY LEFT OUR LUGGAGES BACK IN CUSCO AND WE HAD NOTHING TO WEAR FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS OF OUR STAY IN LIMA. 

They said our bags were going to get delivered to the hotel in 2-3 days. We literally had nothing except for our carry-on bags which only contain our gadgets and passports. All our clothes, toiletries (MY MAKE UP!!!!) and whatnot were in our checked in luggages so we were in deep poop. 

We did not let that stop our vacation from continuing though. 

As they say, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Only in this case, we had to double the effort because they threw us the full damn tree with its branches and all.

Like I said, we still roamed around and pushed through with our plans because you shouldn’t let a lack of clean underwear get in the way.

JOKE!

Or is it?

Just kidding. We bought new ones. 

Or did we?

here is the Plaza Mayor

a beautiful preserved library from 1549

the Pacific Ocean

Mitch throwing a water bottle to scare the birds

a kissing statue

me in my newly bought clothes *secretly curses inside*

Well, I would like to end this post with a very meaningful quote,

“Remember not everyone has a happy ending.”

because our luggages arrived in Canada TWO MONTHS after the trip.

The End