#the only world i think is in africa. and this is a shocker. its the al simhara from ts3. bc thats literally in egypt

[nomairuins]

the world if sims 4 had more lots per world

[alternativewinxcontinuity]

Well, I read the ‘sneak peak’. God I hope they cut a lot out because there were places where the pacing felt like they cut something out.

The was... a general level of ‘I think I’d have more fun beating my head against the wall’, but there were a few places where I had some things that needed to be said.

Under the cut because I’ve included the full available text in addition to my b*tchy little notes.

So I’ve just realised the whole thing +sneak peak is 14,232 words, that’s a bit excessive for a single post.

I might leave just the snark here (I chucked the +sneak peak chapters up on AO3, it’s just for more contexts.)

Prologue

Under her list of ideas, she’d written the results of her experiments.

July 6th—candles—no burns.

July 8th—camping stove—no burns.

July 10th—blowtorch—no burns.

Experimenting on herself had been scary, but not as scary as the memory of her home burning.

You set shit on fire and your only experiments thus far are: “does this burn me? How about this?” CHILD! Start with a candle, a lighter and a f*cking FIRE EXTINGUISHER and practice putting out a single flame!!!! Then: light a single candle!

Stop putting your hand in fire if it scares you! “I am this many kinds of fire proof” does not equal “control of fire so I don't hurt anyone else”!!!!

Also, the wall behind the woman had opened into a shimmering portal of light. Just another clue that something unusual was going on.

Bloom waved this off. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m magic now?”

“You always were, Bloom,” said Headmistress Dowling. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

That was enough. She might have mysterious powers that were out of control, the world might be going mad, but her parents hadn’t raised her to listen to strange adults who approached in the dead of night with what sounded like a cult recruitment speech. Bloom snorted, abandoned her sleeping bag, and made for the door.

The woman’s voice stopped her at the mouth of the warehouse.

“I know about the fire, Bloom.”

Bloom trembled like a candle flame in a gust of wind. Slowly, she turned around. The woman was watching her with a steady gaze, keen but not unkind.

“Where are you going? You can’t go home. You’re too afraid you’ll hurt your parents again.”

Headmistress Dowling was right.

Kay, so obvious magic goes unremarked upon, not even a “nice trick with the lights, is that suppose to convince me”.

Also, either someone's been stalking Bloom, or Dowling is some kind of Mind Fairy.

FIRE

Once upon a time, it was my favorite possession, the fanciest book I owned, with golden swirls on the cover. But I’d grown up and packed the book into my old toy chest along with my teddy bears. I’d thought I was long past fairy tales.

That was before I used magic to burn down my house. My toy chest and my fairy-tale book had burned, too.

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz: 01

My book of fairy tales hadn’t included a swarm of kids around my age. One long-legged, capable-looking African American chick strode by, wearing a denim jacket and carrying a bag full of athletic gear. Wait, she wasn’t African American. Fairies didn’t have Africa or America. I didn’t know the name of the fairy realm I was currently in. Also, I hadn’t pictured fairies being into extreme sports.

Another girl, pale with a cloud of brown hair, was clutching several plants to her bosom as she hurried across the courtyard. A third sauntered by, vaguely punk rock and olive-skinned and wearing enormous headphones that buzzed faintly on her ears. I hadn’t pictured fairies rocking out, either.

Oh look, this Bloom also subscribes to the: “it's not whitewashing if they're aliens” theory

There was a rangy guy with skinny jeans, overly sardonic eyebrows, and a knife-bridge nose. California had plenty of white boy edgelords, but this edgelord had an actual knife. Oh no, actual knife! I wasn’t interested in getting to know Knife Boy better.

Called out Riven.

A stunning blonde girl with porcelain skin was taking a selfie with a group of overawed younger students. A luminous wisp floated in the air, making her glossy hair shine. Talk about a beauty angle. Seemingly, fairies could create their own beauty lighting.

Bloom is gay for Stella count: 01

I sneaked a look at him and grinned. His hair had coiffed peaks like a gold helmet and his shirt was pink, which I liked because gender stereotypes were for the weak. He even had a summer tan that fishbelly-pale redheaded me could only dream of. But no matter how cute he was, I wasn’t going to encourage him.

“I guess that means we have to do this forever. There are worse things, but—”

I stopped and turned to him. “I don’t need help, but thanks.”

Now I was looking at him properly, Some Guy was very cute, with a hero jawline and a confident air. Some Guy might be cute, but I was the independent type.

By the way, it's very important you all know that Bloom is a strong independent woman™  who scoff at gender roles, because she's hip and edgy, but she's like, totes not an edgelord(!) She's cool(!) Even if she hates her super pale skin.

Some of the chandeliers in this place were so dainty and delicate, they looked like stars suspended on gilt ribbons. The rooms were large and bright, with sunbeams dyed by stained-glass windows that were as intricate as the embroidery on a princess’s hem. Much of the stained glass was different shades of green, subtly coloring the air around us as though we were in a world made of jade and emerald.

Welcome to the Emerald City of Oz?

She continued talking, full of ennui about the fairy-tale castle, while I sneaked another look at her ring. “If you ever want to go back,” Stella said as she deliberately flashed it at me. She was making some kind of power play, and I didn’t know why.

Stella might be a bitch now, but I'm pretty sure It's only because Stella is also Diaspro in this reality?

FIRE

There was a realm called Eraklyon, which sounded like a dragon clearing its throat.

I mean... that's one way to pronounce it? I guess?

FIRE

I’d do anything for my parents, including lie to them about my new boarding school in Definitely Switzerland. 

Your parents didn't ask about any paper work? They just accepted that you were moving overseas without warning? Who's paying for this alleged boarding school? Actually how are you paying for school?

We’d get dressed up and she’d play me cheerleader-type music. I remembered one chant that went Close your eyes and open your heart! The cheesy brainwashing hadn’t worked. I never much cared about frilly princess gowns, but I liked the idea of being at home in my princess castle.

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz: 02

In what beautiful blonde Stella had called the Winx suite—a bright series of rooms with tall windows and a view I couldn’t allow my parents to see—only one person got a room of their own. To my total lack of surprise, that person was Stella.

Bloom is gay for Stella count: 02

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz: 03

Really? That's how you're chosing to shoe-horn the Winx brand in? It just happens to be the name of their dorm. Sorry, their 'suite'.

When Mom, always waiting for my transformation into Ms. Popular, asked about the other girls, I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s five girls in an enclosed space, so … it’s only a matter of time before we descend into a Lord of the Flies situation and kill one another.”

So... no. Lord of the Flies is an extension of a study in relation to a very specific mono-ethnic (white), male and privileged group. It is literally young rich white boys, and the break down in community and sense of ethics that results in their single bias attitudes in the face of adversity.

The Winx are firstly female, multi-ethnic (not as much as they should be) and from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds. If it devolves into murder, it will be vicious but it will not be “Lord of the Flies.” Find a better reference.

I busied myself with unpacking to hide my discomfort. “Ms. Dowling said there’s a fairy somewhere in my family tree? A long-dormant magical bloodline?” I sighed. “One day I will get used to how ridiculous all this sounds.”

Aisha’s surprise became wry amusement. “Oh my God. Have I just met the one person in the universe who’s never read Harry Potter?”

… why is that your conclusion? Long lost princess/prince/hero/magical heir swept up for adventure is a common trope. It doesn't make it feel any less ridiculous.

I wondered if any of my new suitemates ever felt that way. Happy bustling Terra, cool girl Musa, glamorous Stella, and Aisha who seemed so grounded.

It is so amazing how the girls that Bloom just happened to notice outside, you know, the only girls Bloom noticed outside, are all her roommates.

MIND

Terra’s super sweet voice revved into overdrive, picking up speed and frantic pleasantness on the way. “She’s just having fun. And I know it’s a lot. Shocker, Earth Fairy named Terra likes plants. It’s a family thing. I’ve got a cousin named Flora. My mom’s name is Rose, and my dad works in the greenhouse here. That’s why I know a lot of the second years. I grew up around Alfea, and—”

ohp, there it is

Creators kick my nostalgia for the lulz:04

“Stella’s a second year? Why is she in a suite full of first years?”

“Oh yeah. Actually … I don’t know. Some administrative thing last year? I mean, I think …”

I think you’re lying, thought Musa. She turned her back and dipped her power toward Terra, getting a faint sense that …

Somehow I doubt it was blowing up a potions lab in pursuit of a new shade of pink.

SPECIALIST

Less cool was Sky, Riven’s super annoying best friend in the whole world, who was rattling on about the ginger girl from the human world he’d met yesterday. Riven was sure she was crazy. He knew this because crazy was what Sky looked for in a woman.

So Riven is Riven and Brandon, okay.

I hate these assholes.

Riven bared his teeth. “Correction: I got high this summer.”

… : /

There was no real point trying to beat Sky. He was the best. Anyone in Alfea could tell you that … right after they told you Riven was the worst.

There was no real point, but Riven kept trying to beat Sky, anyway. Hey, nobody ever said Riven was smart.

… >:(

Sky’s dad was Andreas of Eraklyon, the dead legendary hero, slayer of the Burned Ones. Sky’s dad-substitute was Specialist Headmaster Silva, their fearless leader with the cold blue eyes and passion for early morning runs.

So many dead parents suddenly

He passed the blue, shimmering Barrier and went into the deep, dark woods. He could almost hear Silva’s voice now, telling the first years that the Barrier was their magical shield against the Burned Ones. Beware those merciless monsters with their inhuman strength and speed, never mind that nobody’s seen one in sixteen years, woo woo, so scary.

And Bloom is how old? Also: guess who’s about to start showing up suddenly! Trick question, it’s the Burned Ones, the ones we’ve already been told are the new series’ enemy.

EARTH

Their suite was called the Winx suite, which was such a cool name. Maybe they could call themselves the Winx Club?

Yep, they're going with that, okay. 

You couldn’t even name the suit Wings in the kind of obnoxious cursive that makes it look like Winx and have Bloom misread it and become a running joke amongst the girls?!?!?!

Terra nervously eyed the food laid out on the tables before them. Sometimes she felt as if food might bite her before she bit into it. She couldn’t take cookies. All the other girls in the Winx suite were so skinny and pretty. If Terra ate a bunch of cookies, people would say, “No wonder she looks like that.” But if Terra got a plate full of carrots, people would say, “Who does she think she’s kidding, when she looks like that?” It was hard to know what to do.

Wow, just, wow. Terra honey, they do you so dirty. Fat girls don't have to hate themselves, just a note for the creators. And Terra, baby, if people gonna talk shit either way, you eat whatever the f*ck you want.

(If this is not the set up for a personal growth arc in which Terra learns to not-hate-her-body and that she is worth loving regardless, and the creators really think plus sized folks just hate themselves as a constant state of being, I'mma be so unbelievably pissed off.)

She wasn’t going to hunt for her annoying brother.

Hold up, Terra has a brother?

FIRE

I still needed a breather. “Where can I go that’s the opposite of this? What’s outside?”

Cute Guy looked alarmed. “Past the Barrier? Depending on the rumors, bears or wolves or something much scarier.”

Did you not hear about the dead body? The very mutilated dead body? Sky, buddy? You're not going to bring up the very murdered and mutilated dead body in order to prevent the new girl from a foreign world (that you want to bang) from going into actual and legitimate danger? No?

I thought about Stella saying once she knew me, she’d find something to love about me.

It made me smile.

Bloom is gay for Stella count: 03

As if I’d conjured her by thinking about her, Stella’s voice rang out. “Hey, Sky. Can we talk?”

Stella was wearing her flawless new outfit and holding two drinks. Every twinkly light in the courtyard caught gold in her hair. She was looking right at Cute Guy, whose name was apparently Sky. From Sky’s expression, he knew Stella pretty well.

Yeah, Stella is Diaspro now

EARTH

Oh, for the love of … Riven was menace-flirting at some poor Specialist boy. This was Riven’s typical behavior when he felt off balance. Terra had once witnessed Riven looming at a fern in a way that suggested he either wanted to prune viciously or make out.

I... what???

“Really? Bullying the new kid? Be more obvious.”

Riven smirked, because of course he did. “Can’t bully the willing. Right?”

There was something loaded about Riven’s tone.

“I don’t know what that means!” the new boy said sharply.

The new boy was clearly feeling uncomfortable. Terra sympathized. The poor thing mustn’t take Riven’s terrible personality personally.

Well, someone belongs on a sex offenders registry. What the f*ck Terra, don't excuse this shit, it's not okay.

“But sometimes we’ve had a bad day, and a scrawny little twerp says the wrong thing at the wrong time,” Terra purred. “And all of a sudden, we’re not happy you’re talking to us. And we’re not nice. And most of all, we’re not harmless.”

“purred”, really? You gonna make it sound sensual? Let the girl Snarl! Damnit!

The vines were suffocating him so he couldn’t even talk. It was so nice and peaceful.

Terra smiled sweetly. “What’s that, Riv? I’m sure it’s clever. I just can’t hear you.”

His face turned red. He was about to pass out, Terra noted, still with that feeling of cheery distance. She shouldn’t actually let him faint. Riven would hate that.

Uhhh, so Terra might have psychopathic tendencies and maybe a dissociative disorder.

She shouldn’t actually let him faint. Riven would hate that.

Yeah, and his victim would have hated being assaulted, choke this douche.

Gods above I cannot stress how much I hate this Riven in comparison to OG Riven, and I was not OG Riven's biggest fan.

FIRE

THESE ARE THE SCENES FROM THE TRAILER!!!!!

Bloom continues to be a dumbass.

WATER

Aisha wasn’t used to Alfea, but she was used to being part of a team. 

Well someone hasn't watched the show.

How her mother and Bloom had been fighting about her social life, and how Bloom would rather fix old lamps than cheerlead.

Who is this woman, where is Vanessa? And Bloom's art thing? The lamps sounds interesting, but I've never seen sign of it yet, was it cut for time?

“It was almost like the fire had a life of its own,” Bloom went on. “I don’t remember how long I let it burn. I just remember their screams.”

When Bloom finished the story, she was clearly fighting back tears. A subtle, weary tremor went through her frame, like a runner past her endurance. It seemed like Bloom had been fighting for a long time.

“My mom was covered in third-degree burns,” Bloom said. “Because of me. And if I hadn’t gone in there to stop it? To stop what I started?” She looked completely burned out.

“Every night after that, I sneaked out. I was so scared I’d hurt them again that I slept in this creepy-ass warehouse near home. Until Ms. Dowling found me and …”

Given the Tragic Backstory™ , I'm actually a little surprised Bloom didn't straight up run away from home completely, the fact that she went back at all...

“I’ve heard the story of my birth a million times.” Bloom’s tone brooked no argument. “Miracle baby. There was a problem with my heart in the womb, but the day after I was born, it was gone.”

Aisha went cold. “Oh God,” she breathed. “You’re a changeling.”

Because Bloom needs to be even more Special™, this is doing nothing to ruin my theory Bloom is a Burned One, by the way. (Actually starting to think Burned Ones are Fire Fairies whose powers pretty much consumed them or cursed that way or something along those lines.)

So where's the “real” Bloom Peters? Was the fetus even real, or just a simulacrum to have something to switch MC Bloom with?

MIND

Stella’s tone gave Musa pause. Plus, Musa could tell Aisha was really upset. Deliberately, she let her powers turn on, and faced Stella with her eyes glowing.

I'm sorry, I thought Musa couldn't control her powers and that’s why she “has to wear her headphones at all times to block out the noise of other peoples emotions”, now she can 'deliberately turn them on'? When did this happen? Did I miss some Implications?

“You’re a Mind Fairy,” Aisha observed, but there was no other judgment.

Aisha turned to Stella just as Terra came out of her and Musa’s room.

“A Mind Fairy?” Terra repeated sharply. “What’s your connection? Memories, thoughts—”

Okay, so now we learn there are different types of mind fairies. Explain to me why Musa is an Empath with Synthetic input? ('hearing' feelings, or experiencing them in a way that registers as audio.) Is this a “Song of their Hearts” reference, because I don't feel like that was done on purpose if it is.

Only Terra was moving toward Stella, and the way she moved wasn’t Terra’s usual going-nowhere happy bustle. The way Terra moved was that of a woman on the warpath.

Musa was almost impressed.

“She was talking to Sky, wasn’t she?” Terra demanded.

“And?” Stella demanded haughtily in return.

Terra pursued: “And I know what happened to the last person who talked to Sky. I was here last year, remember?”

A crack appeared in Stella’s veneer as she shot back, “You don’t know the full story!”

Didn’t seem like Terra cared. “Ricki was your best friend, then she talked to Sky. Now she’s not here anymore. Why is that again?”

Yeah, definitely getting the feeling DiaStella isn't being held back for a Pursuit of Pink Potions accident.

FIRE

There was even more rustling than usual in the detritus piled in the warehouse corners, but I didn’t care.

Why teleport there? Is there a Rule about where Portals can go? Or is is just Because Bloom felt this was the best place to pop in?

“You don’t have to be okay,” Mom assured me. “You’re only sixteen. Being that far away is a huge deal.”

Dad said gently, “I couldn’t have done it when I was your age. Be thankful you got your mom’s bravery.”

But now I knew that wasn’t true. I didn’t get anything from my mom. No wonder I was always such a disappointment to her.

Osmosis [noun] Def. 2. the process of gradual or unconscious assimilation of ideas, knowledge, etc..

You have some damn decent parents by the sounds of this scene, even if your mother is sure you're a likeable human being who will have friends one day, why are you this way?! For the Angst points?!

Only I could see Mom through the kitchen window. She didn’t seem disappointed. She looked so happy just to be talking to me. How could I ever tell her what I did to her? How could I ever tell her what I was?

Okay, so this line is bringing back the “they deserve to know what I am” line from the trailer, and now I'm torn between “The Winx deserve to know Bloom is a Burned One” and “my parents deserve to know I'm a Magical Fire Fairy (who burned down our house) and maybe a Changeling and thus not their biological daughter technically, maybe.”

My parents told me they loved me. I knew I loved them. And I knew I didn’t belong here. Maybe I never had.

May I advise you: remove your angst blanket, turn on a light and clean the room to remove the Dark and Gritty filters of your life.

I heard faint whispers. Sibilant. Strange.

Sibilant means hissing by the way. In case anyone was wondering.

The monster was on the grate above me.

I crawled as fast as I could. The ring was on the other side of the mesh, but there was a hole just big enough for my hand to get through. I reached for the ring, almost had it.

But in the crawl space in front of me, past the barrier, the shadow of the creature passed on top of the grate. The monster bashed frantically at the grate. Once. Twice. Until with a ringing metallic crash, the monster fell into the claustrophobic space with me.

I made one last grab for the ring, but the monster slammed its hand down on it.

Oh man, if only telekinesis was one of the most basic of Fairy abilities Bloom might have been able to do something, but no, it's basic bitch elements or nothing.

SPECIALIST

I really freaking hate this version of Sky, just, so much.

Terra has her suspicions about the Stella-Sky dynamic and she just, 'oh they's in love at first sigh nothing could possibly go wrong here' hand the number over? Really?

Diaspro!Stella confirmed?

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Dirty Dealings

Author: BeansidheBaby

Year: 2008

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Howince, Naboo/Bollo

“Vince, what've I said about going through my stuff?” Naboo was standing in the doorway with his arms folded. Vince smiled cheekily at him from his seat on the bed. “Alright Naboo?” he grinned “No I'm not actually. It took ages to categorize those potions. Next time you want a favour you can forget it,” Naboo turned swiftly on his heel and started out the door. Vince was unfazed by this dramatic display. He had an ace up his sleeve “All those back copies of National Geographic and Jane Goodall documentaries you have under your bed... I may have moved them around a bit,” he said with a look of pure evil, “I'm sure they'll turn up, though, I put them somewhere that should be easy enough to find. Even if you weren't looking for them, really,” he went on, idly examining his fingernails. “What? Jane who? I don't know what you're on about,” Naboo said feigning calm “National Geographic? You sure that wasn't yours? It was a series on 'the mighty apes of Africa'” “I only got it for the articles!” Naboo hissed hurriedly, “It's not what it looks like” “I'm sure,” Vince patted his hand gently, “Can I have a half holiday? It's Howard's birthday again next week and I want to go shopping for something nice to wear... I might get him a present while I'm at it actually,” Vince was no longer talking to him but off in a shopping fantasy world “Take the day off. Buy whatever you want and charge it back to the shop,” said Naboo flatly “Cheers Naboo” Vince smiled, before walking over to the wardrobe and retrieving an ageing cardboard box with 'magical waste: hazardous, may cause your hair to fall out and make you gain two stone' written on the lid. Apparently Vince had copped it that all the best stuff was labelled like that. He held the out the box and Naboo took it gingerly. “Don't worry your secret's safe with me,” said Vince happily picking out a new outfit for shopping “Yeah, until you want another half-holiday,” Naboo said with invective. He went back into his own room and stuffed the box back under his bed. He was sliding out from underneath, when Bollo walked through the door casually. Naboo jumped and hit his head on the frame of the bed. “Yes what is it, Bollo?” he asked in as dignified a tone as one could manage under such circumstances. “Vince say you wanted to see me,” Bollo said deferentially. “Yeah... I needed you to clean out underneath Vince's bed for me and put everything you find in Howard's secret hallowed out encyclopaedia Britannica he thinks we don't know about,”Naboo replied bitterly. “And help me up.”

~-~-~-~-~-~-

“This is bloody war,” Vince muttered. He'd just spent forty minutes explaining to Howard why he had a shoebox full of photos of the jazz maverick (embarrassingly enough including a clipping from a dodgy magazine shoot from Howard's youth he'd pilfered from his room) and how it had ended up in Howard's “secret” hiding place. Alright, so he might have twisted Naboo's arm a tiny bit with the National Geographic thing. It was his own fault for having such fun things hidden in his room along with his private incriminating magazines. Everyone knew if you were told not to look somewhere, you only wanted to look more. Still Naboo fancying Bollo, that was a bit of a shocker. In hind sight it was easy to see the signs. How was he supposed to pass that up? As blackmail went, it was pure gold. What he hadn't counted on was Naboo fighting dirty too, the slippery bastard. Two could play at that game. ~-~-~-~-~-~- Naboo felt himself drift gently into consciousness from a great distance. Is it a pervert? No, perverts have beards, my mum told me He doesn't have any clothes on How do you know it's a he? Maybe it's an alien He opened his eyes and fuzzy images of small humans swam in front of him. He felt cold for some reason. Who were all these little people? “What are you lot doing here?” he slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He must have been completely wasted last night. “This is a playground mister,” said one little person with its hands in its pockets. Oh children. That explained a bit. “Are you a mister? You haven't got a thingy” the impertinent child continued. Naboo looked down at his body. He was naked. How did that happen? “Vince,” he muttered murderously. ~-~-~-~-~-~- Naboo opened the door to the door, wearing only an anorak a sympathetic twelve year old girl had given him. It was just barely skimming his arse and he dragged it down irritably. He heard a quiet cackle and he turned to scowl at Vince. “Rough night?” the electro poof, asked smirking cruelly, “Pink's a good colour on you.” “This is far from over,” he said and left the room dramatically, the effect somewhat compromised by the anorak twirling behind him. He walked through the door and straight into Bollo. He felt the blush rising up his neck, that could only be more noticeable with the bright fuchsia jacket. “Morning Bollo,” he muttered with fierce embarrassment choking him. Bollo slowly looked Naboo up and down (or down and further down to be completely accurate) and blinked. “New look?” he asked curiously “No,” Naboo replied flatly. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and scuffed his feet on the carpet. His legs were trembling slightly. Without prompting, Bollo picked him up in his large arms. His thumbs were just brushing the crease underneath Naboo's buttocks. Naboo felt his cheeks (all of them) burn and he hid his face in the crook of his familiar's shoulder.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

Vince swanned down the stairs and through the beaded curtain to the shop at half past three. His head was pounding and he was hiding bloodshot eyes with a pair of oversized sunglasses. He'd have to come up with a new look during his tea break to incorporate them into a fashionable ensemble. Because Vince Noir didn't just look shit after a night out, like some boring non-sunshine person, he was beauty incarnate, he could party all night and look like a million dollars all throughout, he was Vince Noir for fucks sake. He needed an aspirin Howard looked up from the desk, about to haul Vince out over being late, when he froze and his eyes doubled in size, nearly reaching normal proportions. “Your hair.” Howard said in a small, almost frightened voice. For God's sake, one morning without Root-Boost and even Howard noticed. He must be slipping. “Is it that bad?” he asked, forgetting all about an excuse he'd thought up for being late, involving killer raisons disguised as house flies. “It's... different,” Howard said slowly, “But if you like it, I'm sure it's fine. I don't know what's supposed to be cool.” “Howard it's slightly deflated, you don't need to tiptoe around me like it's the end of the world,” Vince tutted. Howard continued to stare at him. “Have you seen a mirror yet today?” he asked. “What kind of a question is that? But, now that I think of it, no actually. Satisfied?” he spun around on his heel and went to swipe at the Victorian tweezers display with an ostrich feather duster that had once been part of a jacket that had suffered a fatal accident with a pair of straighteners. He felt Howard shuffling up behind him and tensed. Howard tapped his shoulder and looked at his shoes when he turned around. He passed him a hand mirror with an ornate oval frame. Vince rolled his eyes, removed his sunglasses and looked into the glass, before screaming and hurling it away from him. “What the fuck happened to my hair?!” he shrieked. “It's not that bad,” Howard said soothingly. “Not that fucking bad! Have you seen it?” Vince continued hysterically and started to cry. “Hey there, little man. Don't cry, it's just hair,” Howard said in what he hoped was a comforting tone, while patting Vince's shoulder gently. Vince let out a pathetic moan and buried his face in Howard's chest and sobbed. Howard rubbed his back with one hand and murmured platitudes into his friend's ear. He lifted a bleached strand of hair between the fingers of his other hand. Vince's head was covered in irregular stripes and blotches of orangey blond hair, among the glossy black. In a strange way, it reminded him of Vince's blonde highlights when they'd been in the Zoo. He didn't say anything though, Vince would not have appreciated a comparison between his carefully maintained feather cut and this coiffure cock-up. “You can dye it back again,” he said softly into the shell of Vince's ear. Vince trembled like a leaf in his arms so he held him closer, but the shaking only continued. Finally, he was holding Vince in a tight bear hug and he was whispering to him, his lips so close to Vince's cheek, they were brushing lightly across the pale skin like feather light kisses. The front door burst open and they jumped apart. Naboo walked across the threshold with Bollo in tow holding bags of shopping. “What's going on here?” said Naboo, indicating the broken mirror, “That's seven months bad luck.” “Years,” Howard corrected him. “Naw, that's just a myth, seven months is what you get. But there's a parole after four months if you avoid black cats and ladders.” He turned to look at Vince, “This the new look then? Can't say I'm taken with it. It almost looks like someone replaced half a bottle of your shampoo with kitchen bleach,” he said, completely straight faced. The bastard. Vince grimaced menacingly. “Thanks for the hint, Naboo,” he said through gritted teeth, “Gotten any good magazines recently? I understand the National Geographic is doing a series on-” “Bollo, we're going. Put the shopping away.” Naboo exited the room quickly. “There's no need to be ungracious Vince,” Howard said, “it's just his way. He was trying to help, I'm sure.” “Yes,” said Vince, “I'm sure I shall be 'helping' him with something in return very soon.” There was the distant reflection of fire dancing in his pupils and his jaw was set in determination. “Would you like me to dye it black again for you, Vince?” Howard asked innocently, idly plucking at a strand of Vince's hair. Vince thought of Howard's wet hands caressing his scalp and gently brushing tendrils of hair out of his face. Revenge could wait for a little while.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

Naboo went through another drawer with a rising sense of panic. It had to be here somewhere, there was no way that he'd left it lying around. “Looking for something?” Vince asked from the doorway, fiddling with a strand of his newly restored hair. “What do you want for it? Money, time off work? I won't even try to get you back this time just tell me what you've done with it,” Naboo asked, some anxiety creeping into his trademark calm voice. Vince looked at him with a predatory look in his eye. “I've mailed it to the Board of Shaman,” he replied at length, examining his fingernails. Naboo sat down heavily on his bed. “You're lying. You want me to panic and offer you more,” he said, though he knew that he was only fooling himself. “It's gone a bit beyond half holidays and shopping trips at this stage Naboo. You went after my hair.” Vince looked more dangerous than he ever had, “I must say it was an interesting read. Very educational, I was never sure how you did it exactly,” he went on casually, shaking his thin wrist from side to side to illustrate his point. Naboo felt faint with, what felt like, all the blood in his body rushing into his face. “You've gone too far this time Vince,” he said shakily. “This is why keeping a diary is a bad idea. Don't write things down that you don't want read,” Vince replied cruelly. “I can't remember things if I don't write them down,” Naboo muttered into his chest, “When did you post it?” “This morning, first post,” Vince said gleefully and giggled for some unfathomable reason. Naboo nodded slowly and got to his feet. “Excuse me please Vince,” he said with dignity and walked out of the room. He made his way to the living room, running on autopilot. There was nothing Vince could possibly do to him now, and in a way that was liberating. When he arrived, Howard was watching a subtitled documentary about the history of the French horn and Bollo was doing the Times crossword (nineteen across: banana, seventeen down: banana, four down: shaman) on the couch. He cleared his throat and they looked towards him in polite confusion. Usually he'd announce himself with a call of, 'Oi, ballbags.' “I don't know if you've noticed, but Vince and I have been having a minor disagreement these past few weeks,” he said quietly. Bollo and Howard shook their heads, nonplussed. Naboo rolled his eyes before continuing. “Well anyway, we have, and he's taken it upon himself to send my diary to the Board of Shaman. Which is why I need to do this. It's better in the long run,” he scrunched up his face and looked at both of them in turn. He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Vince couldn't do anything to him, but if he let the Board settle this with a bloody 'mediated chat/group therapy session' with a full council, then things would get unimaginably worse. He opened his eyes and made his way across the room, wishing that his legs were longer, or the room was smaller. He placed himself in his familiar's lap and covered his mouth his his own. “That's it really,” he whispered and ran off back to his own room, where thankfully Vince had buggered off.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

“Naboo this is Saboo speaking. You're going to come out of that room right now!” There were two shaman that Vince recognized from Howard's birthday party, outside Naboo's door, trying unsuccessfully to coax him out. “Naboo, this is ridiculous. We don't care what you have a fiddle about, everyone has their secrets.” “Not everyone has their secrets read out to a council of their peers, you ballbag,” a muffled voice came from behind the door. “Come on Naboo, we've all forgotten what it was about at this stage. Kirk got out the absinthe out and we spent seven hours chasing the green fairy,” Tony Harrison said to the impassive door. “What are you talking about? I don't remember that ever happening! Naboo's diary, containing several extremely explicit fantasies, was sent this morning by first post and Dennis read the whole thing out in one sitting. It completely ran roughshod over my initiative for a more efficient filing system.” “Saboo, you bloody outrage, I was trying to make him feel better.” Vince sighed and walked out of the hallway. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. Well he had, but he hadn't expected to feel sorry about it. Naboo was a mate and he liked him a lot. It wasn't his fault who he fancied after all. In the living room Howard was sitting quietly, looking deeply confused. “Alright Howard?” he asked half heartedly. “Vince,” Howard said, looking at him with a strange look in his small eyes. “What's all this with Naboo?” “We were having an argument,” he replied shortly. “I gathered,” Howard said shortly, “But what is going on? With those shaman here and that business with Bollo and I thought the two of you were friends? What did he do that made you do that to him?” Vince felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't look Howard in the eye. “It got a bit out of hand. I found out he liked Bollo and tried to blackmail him. Then we sort of started trying to one up each other.” He looked at his knees and felt Howard's shocked stare bore into his back. “Do you remember when you had to fix my hair?” he asked his knees. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of air from beside him. Which was gratifying. “I took it too far this time, though. Hair grows out eventually.” He looked up at Howard with an expression of remorse. Without thinking, he leant over and kissed Howard on the lips, quickly. “He's even now,” Vince blushed. “Oh,” said Howard. “Yeah,” Vince replied, apologetically. “The photos?” “I've been collecting them for three years,” Vince said and looked away in embarrassment again. “Vince-” Howard began. “Listen, Howard, we need to have this out, but right now I have to go and say sorry to Naboo.” He left a still very confused Howard and went back to the corridor outside Naboo's room. Tony and Saboo weren't having much luck with him apparently. “You're acting like a child, Naboo. You wouldn't catch Kirk acting like this.” “I dunno, Saboo, he did get very embarrassed when we found all those dead prostitutes in the cupboard under the stairs.” “Hi guys,” Vince interrupted them, “Can I talk to him for a bit?” They shrugged and walked off in the direction of the kitchen (well Saboo walked and carried Tony, under duress). “Hey Naboolio, it's Vince. I know you probably don't want to hear anything that I have to say, but I'm sorry. I was a right little bitch to you. Can you come out please? Talking to this door is well awkward.” There was a small click and when Vince tried the handle the door swung inwards on its hinges. Naboo was sitting in the middle of his bed with his legs drawn up under his chin. His eyes were slightly red, but other than that his blank expression gave nothing away. “You alright, Naboo?” he asked, sitting down next to the tiny shaman softly. “Been better,” Naboo said, staring at a spot on the wall. “Do you think that you can come out now?” Vince asked gently. “I'm alright stopping here for the moment,” he replied quietly, almost to himself. “I'm really sorry. Would you feel better if you turned your back on me?” Vince's voice wobbled. “No... I don't think so. Thanks for saying sorry though,” it was impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “I'm sorry I stripped you and left you in the park.” “I'm sorry I put bleach in your shampoo.” “I'm sorry I tried to blackmail you.” “I'm sorry I put cat poo in your white Chelsea boots.” “What?” “Nothing.” “Can I do anything that'll make it up to you?” “Not really.” Vince put his arms around Naboo and rested his head against his shoulder. Naboo sighed and leant his head against Vince's. After a few minutes, Vince felt someone tap his shoulder and looked up to see Bollo shuffling nervously next to the bed. He pressed a kiss into Naboo's dark black hair, detached himself from the shaman and left the room quietly. *~*~* Naboo looked up shyly through the curtain of his hair before turning his head away again. Two large hands were placed either side of his face and he looked back again slowly. Bollo sat down next to him and pulled him into his lap. Naboo buried his face in his familiar's chest and breathed in his musky smell. He felt his hair being petted and looked up into Bollo's oddly coloured eyes. For the second time in twenty four hours, he kissed the primate. This time, he didn't pull away, and there was a hand stroking up his inner thigh and a definite stirring from underneath where he was sitting. “This is all kinds of wrong,” he whispered. Bollo kissed him again. *~*~* Vince was noisily making toast in the kitchen, rattling cupboard doors and singing, trying to drown out the muffled noises coming from down the hall. Howard walked in, looking shaken. “Those two shaman have left,” he said, sitting down at the table. “Right,” Vince replied and nodded, before shuddering at one of the ragged moans drifting through the flat, “I like a happy ending and all, but this is a bit weird. Like listening to my little brother going at it, or something. Hey Howard, what're you doing?” Howard was walking towards him purposefully and walked him into a corner until the kettle was poking him in the back. “Howard?” he asked uncertainly. Their hips were touching and Howard was gripping his arm firmly. “I think we need to have a little chat, Vince,” he said before kissing the smaller man and pressing him against the counter. Well, Vince thought, talking was over rated anyway.

[ayearinlanguage]

A Year in Language, Day 328: Musing: What is logical to a human, anyways? A common topic in pop linguistics is the old question of linguistic relativity: does language effect the way we think, and if so, how? More interesting to me personally though, is the reverse: what impact does the human brain have on language? After all, there are systems of communication possible that are complex and comprehensive like human language, but that nevertheless would never occur, or are at least unlikely to, in human languages. Let's consider writing for a moment. The majority of languages today use an alphabetic script. In less compact terms, these languages choose to record their spoken language by means of a system of symbols, with each symbol ostensibly representing one sound of the language, arranged in a linear fashion that lines up with the order that those sounds are produced while speaking. Of course, if you recall my post about English orthography, no alphabet is truly perfect, but the idea is still sound. This seems a pretty great way to do writing. It malleable, allows you to write everything possible with just 20 or so symbols to memorize, is easy to adapt for multiple languages, easy to write and to program, its basically the ideal system. Why then, is it the least common system humans create? It may be a shocker to consider for modern humans, in a world where the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic alphabets have long dominated much of the world. But consider that all of those scripts are children of just one common ancestor: the Phoenician alphabet. And that wasn't even actually an alphabet, but an Abjad, which lacks written vowels. That was added in by the Greeks and from there spread to Cyrillic and Latin. The most noteworthy alphabet not descended from Phoenician is Korean Hangul, which was not invented until the 15th century. On the note of Korean and Abjads, both of which treat vowels like a different class of letter (Abjads normally omitting them outright) one of, if not the most widespread class of writing system is neither alphabet nor abjad, but the abugida. These systems include vowels, but only as permutations or diacritics on the consonants. All the scripts of the Brahmi family, from India to Maritime Southeast Asia, plus Ethiopian Ge'ez, are Abudigas. Why are vowels so troubling? But this is all still getting ahead of ourselves. All the abjads and abugidas, alphabets and syllabaries, are still just secondary human inventions, most coming from barely a handful of common ancestors. The original scripts, developed in Africa, Mesopotamia, China, South and Meso-America, just to name the ones we know about and have deciphered, are all character scripts, many of which share many similar features. Chinese characters, Cuneiform, Egyptian Hieroglyphics and Mayan script all contain meaningful ideograms that have alternate forms or designation for use as phonetic symbols, often combining to the effect of "means like symbol A but sounds like symbol B". Most of them use a class of determinative, symbols that are not pronounced or reflective of spoken language, but simply add a meaningful class to the word, i.e. "this is a type of profession" or "this is a deity". All of them are, frankly, quite complex, require memorization of hundred or thousands of symbols, and are not easy to adapt for other purposes. Why then did mankind invent these types of writing many times, in completely disparate civilizations, whereas the more "logical" system was invented maybe once or twice and had to be borrowed world over? And, I stress again, why is "write the vowels" so difficult? In this post I've mostly stuck to writing systems, but similar conundrums can be seen at all levels of human language. Past and present tenses are much more common than future ones. Singular and Plural are common while Dual is rare. Why don't more languages contain evidentials (markers for how one knows or how reliable information is)? It is more likely, I think, that universal features of the human brain make their impact on our collective ability to speak than vice versa. That said this kind of data can be difficult to gather, and even more risky to draw conclusions from. Nevertheless I find my mind always drawn to it whenever I notice something, wondering what patterns are coincidence, and which are reflections of some universal human cognition.

[pyratetm-a]

I know I do this more than actual rp sometimes (and you’d think I’d be sick of it, considering how often I do it academically but lmao no), but considering it is my sacred duty to correct misconceptions in general in the rpc about early to mid eighteenth century sailing life and colonial life (it’s an uphill battle but I’m actually not going to stop because it drives me batshit, I’m even doing all the research and work for people), let’s talk about land society versus sailors.  I include pirates in this, too, because as I’ve started only about a million times previously, pirates are still sailors who operate on the other side of the law, and most pirates actually weren’t pirates for an extended period of time.  They moonlighted as pirates, instead, returning to legit sailing or logging jobs after they’d made the money they set out to make.

Sailors were a necessary part of the global mecantile economy of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; their work is what allowed manufactured goods from Europe to reach colonial holdings in the New World, it allowed gold and silver mined by the peoples held in bondage by the Spanish to reach Spain, it got cotton and sugar and things like rice and tea and coffee from all parts of the globe into Europe - in essence, sailing kept the economies of Europe strong.  It allowed money to circulate to a degree, though society itself was very much stratified and busting the glass ceiling that kept those from lower levels of society in their place was rare if those in the lower levels weren’t already of some means (such as please remember that a true middle class did not actually exist, and there was, instead, a range of middling layers of differing socio-economic status).  Sailors themselves were vital to the functioning of European states.

Despite this however, despite playing a vital function in keeping Europe as the burgeoning powerhouse it was during the time period (and it really was, this was the beginnings of imperialism on the parts of European states), they were, to make a modern comparison, kind of looked at like mechanics are in the modern day.  Mechanics are useful.  They have knowledge in a particular area a good number of people do not - repairing vehicles. They serve a vital function in the modern world in that they keep things moving along, right?  But honestly, how many times have you heard that a mechanic is overpriced?  That they’re stupid?  That the idea of the very necessary and vital blue collar work they provide somehow makes them less than?    A lot, right?  People will always bitch about mechanics making a living on what they do.

Well, shocker, this is literally the exact scenario you found when talking about sailors.  It’s true, sailing was blue collar work.  But it required a set of skills the majority of the population did not have.  It required on the job training.  It was (and still is) dangerous.  Massively so.  The work was hard and the hours long (unless you were a pirate, and even then, it didn’t change the fact that you still worked your ass off) and there were threats to them that the average person on land would never face.  Add to that fairly low wages and people bitching that you were being paid entirely too much for what you were doing, while using cotton brought in from the southern colonies, while smoking tobacco from Virginia, while using sugar from Barbados, while drinking tea from China or coffee from Africa and South America, and you can see where there was most certainly social strife, to a degree.  Sailors were a very necessary part of a sea-based global economy, but they were still, for the most part, treated like trash, to a degree.  Which isn’t to give anyone an angle for angst:  Sailors did not give a tin shit about this for the most part.  What they did care about was how low their wages were.  What they cared about was a ship master being fair.  What they cared about was the route not being changed, because literally no sailor wanted to go to Africa and participate in the slave trade.  Disease would kill at least thirty percent of them if they did, an amazing amount felt guilt over what they were doing and knew it was wrong, and even if they did feel no guilt, doing so would provide no increase in wages.  It’s why you have so many accounts of mutinies.  And of crews taking their masters and officers to court over it.  Of men jumping ship in a port and turning around and signing on to another ship.

In short, sailors were expendable, were treated as such by a good bit of society as a whole, and it seems only pirates got the praise, because the general public viewed their outlawism as something romantic in its own way during the time (source: a lot of fucking research I’ve done recently that I can’t share fully).  So consider that, if you rp anything other than a naval sailor.  Navies were different, and to be honest, a lot of men - able bodied seaman, that is, but you see so few of those in the rpc, it’s officers everywhere - were not there by choice, the Navy employed disgusting tactics to force these men into service (it’s why beer glasses have glass bottoms now), and while standards were a little higher than your average merchant ship, they still weren’t great.  Sailing was an escape for poor men looking to get out of a crowded row house in Wapping or Bristol, but it wasn’t anything romantic or seen as something to strive for.

[benjaminwatchworld]

It’s Tuesday and am having a guest writer called Kermundu Martin. Let me tell you how this all thing fell together since have been looking for a guest writers and have only had one Ugandan, so Zimbabwe is still leading in providing guest writers to Benjamin Watch. Martin is a new friend I met through another Martin Agaba, and one day he told me a nice story about a place he had visited. So I told him with such an experience in my case I would have to share it with the whole world, and I told him about blogging and how people around the world share personal stories that sometimes became viral, but mainly I emphasized the storytelling and sharing. What makes the story is that we are confronting the demons of racism and right wing nationalism around the world.

Kermundu said “am not a writer” then I had to tell him how I also got caught up in this writing world, the fact which keeps on surprising everyone who knew me before 2016. He told me the idea of creating his own blog sounds hectic. I kept pushing till I told him I can have him as a guest writer on BenjaminWatch but next time he was doing his own blog.

So here is his story

We take hospitality, niceness and racism for granted, but there are few situation that we look up in our memories and then it hits us so hard for not having been able to appreciate those that were truly hospitable and nice to us.

Today I want to tale a tell of how I didn’t appreciate a gesturing of hospitality and niceness that was extended to me when I was thousands of Kilometers away from home. It was a cultural shocker that am still trying to snap out of till today. I think that’s why I did think of thanking these nice people in the first place.

So I went to Turkey for a work bench-marking exercise to one of the companies that supply us at work. One evening after work there was this dinner that marked the climax of the whole exercise but I decided to skip it, because I wanted to attend fellowship with the rotary club of Ankara International (my club is the rotary Club of Morning Tide Bugolobi ), its befitting for every Rotarian to at least attend fellowship every week, one of my personal targets was to also find a partnering with club out of my Rotary District 9211 to work with back home in order to give back to my community in West Nile, Zombo District. After making my mind I set off, not knowing where I was going.

I was staying in suburb called Sincan in Ankara City at a hotel called “The corner Hotel café and restaurant” setting off from the hotel I logged onto their wifi searched went to club runner to find out where the club meets I got the location armed with that information I ordered for a cub/ taxi, ………………………….. trip story here the internet and ordered

Where can I start from about the Turks, for starters I thought they were just strange when I got there, “like who stops strangers on the street for a cup of tea?” coming from Uganda Turkish tea turns out to be a luxury and classy for a certain group the elite of the country and here I am on a European street people stopping me to offer a cup of Turkish tea, it’s a bit different from the Turkey on Al Jazeera of the proud leaders of the Arab world.

I had gone to Turkey for a work assignment and then decided to attend a Rotary fellowship and on my way to the event I face a roller-coaster of events because I could not locate the venue of the fellowship. I had asked Mr Google and he did give me a place but I got lost on the way and I spent about (150 Turkish Lira).

the taxi Meter

the actual amout i paid

the taxi Meter

the actual amout i paid

Meanwhile sim-cards are so expensive that side that I gave up on buying on and stack to using WI-Fi and here to when I got to a wrong hotel a stranger in the lobby assisted me with the Wi-Fi and also allowed me use their phone to locate the real venue since the fellowship had been moved that particular day to Sheraton.

I took another taxi and headed for the fellowship and when I got there I was glad to meet the former district governor and his wife, how befitting, given alapel of the founding father of Turkey Turk, I got pinned, meanwhile I was not wearing my lapel but still they all believed me when I told them I was arotarian , I was ushed in and given aglass of wine (am a whiskey lover) but I enjoyed the hospitality,  the president of the club was waiting for me and he actually awarded me for being late and confused since I had done my best to make it. At the end of the event I was advised to use the subway which was only 4tl.

when i was being welcomed

the lapel

With that drama aside I was out site seeing and then, I wanted to take picture not a selfie a real picture so I asked strangers to assist me and they told me why do you want to be in a photo a lone, they did insist to join in and we had a few shots and actually ended up taking a selfie this was happening in front of a beautiful Turkish mosque, like one of those we watch in the movies.

notes for directions

all from strangers

which Uganadan can take their time to write your directions

They are still nice people out there in the world. I have thought of something I can do for the people of Turkey in return of their niceness and hospitality that I found very deep in this world we live in that seems so ugly most times. I just want to look for these strangers and offer them land in Uganda free of charge, I want to show them how nice Africa can be too in this world that is filled with too much hate yet a lot of niceness is missing. I have a sizeable piece of land back home and am thinking about a forest plantation in honor to how I was treated when I visited Turkey.

taking the photo with strangers

then the selfie

Am forgetting the food, when we travel food is of those things one looks up to and when I was in Turkey the food did not disappoint, they love milk products everything has a milk touch to it.

about the food in Turkey

the fruits were unforgatable

  i collected souvenirs from Turkey

the evil eye also known as Turkish eye bead

the evil eye also known as Turkish eye bead

  Kermundu Martin is an engineering apprentice, a computer scientist, a husband, son, farmer and ambitious Ugandan who desires to see a better society from Zombo District.

Hospitality from Turkey by Kermundu Martin It’s Tuesday and am having a guest writer called Kermundu Martin. Let me tell you how this all thing fell together since have been looking for a guest writers and have only had one Ugandan, so Zimbabwe is still leading in providing guest writers to Benjamin Watch.

[forcri]

Madonna: Madame X review – her most bizarre album ever

4 out of 5 stars.

(Live Nation/Interscope/Maverick)

The lows, featuring white-saviour narratives and witless lyrics, are really low. But by embracing Latin pop, Madonna sounds more natural than she has in years.

We all get old, but never at the same age. Some of us are old when we’re children, bringing briefcases to school and talking to adults at family parties; others leave uni with the thrill that they never have to go clubbing again. Most of us think we’re doing pretty well, then we find ourselves nodding appreciatively at something in a Boden catalogue and suddenly death is real.

For years, Madonna outpaced all of this. In 1996, Evita looked like ushering in her middle age, but she did an about turn, delivering convincing, idiosyncratic trip-hop on Ray of Light (1998) and convincing, idiosyncratic electro on Music (2000). Confessions on a Dancefloor (2005) was even better, its Abba samples and smooth deep house a way for her to stay out past 4am with dignity, rather than trying to score ketamine off teenage fashion influencers at the afters, musically speaking.

But she couldn’t run forever. Perhaps it began pre-Confessions, when she kissed Britney Spears as if to parasitically extract her youth. Certainly by Hard Candy in 2008 she was playing catch-up, spurring Timbaland and the Neptunes to some of their tamest work, a good five years after their pomp. MDNA (2012) tried to keep pace with stadium EDM, while Rebel Heart (2015) struggled to get its head around a newly global, musically cosmopolitan pop market, and just randomly glued hip collaborators together. The woman who had once led was following, and sluggishly.

To her credit, she has not done what many in her position would then do: lick their wounds and sell a jazz standards album to Radio 2 listeners. With Madame X, Madonna instead grits her teeth, puts on a glitter-encrusted eyepatch, looks in the mirror with seriously reduced depth perception and says: “Bitch, I’m Madonna.” And by drawing on the Latin influence of not just reggaeton-crazed recent pop but also her new home base of Lisbon, she has, at 60, produced her most natural-feeling, progressive and original record since Confessions.

It’s also one of her most bizarre and sprawling, and features some of her worst ever music. Killers Who Are Playing finds this American multimillionaire – already not shy of white saviourhood – play empath to the world’s huddled masses: “I’ll be Africa if Africa is shut down. I will be poor if the poor are humiliated. I’ll be a child if the children are exploited …” We pause for presumably more of the same, this time in Portuguese, and then: “I’ll be Islam if Islam is hated. I’ll be Israel if they’re incarcerated. I’ll be Native Indian if the Indian has been taken. I’ll be a woman if she’s raped and her heart is breaking.” It’s well intended but fails to read the room – the room here being the entire planet.

The dog’s dinner of Dark Ballet, aired in part at Eurovision, features vocodered vocals sung to a melody from the Nutcracker, and irritatingly gnomic pronouncements about commerce blinding us to reality. Extreme Occident, only available on the deluxe version for a very good reason, sees Madonna trying to “recover my centre of gravity” in a politically polarised world – a really worthwhile topic, but expressed in witless lyrics. “I guess I’m lost / I had to pay the cost / The thing that hurt me most …” (at this point you’re ready to bet your house on the final line being about a ghost, but no) “… Was that I wasn’t lost.” Tablas arrive with stupid kneejerk exoticism. It ends with her asserting “life is a circle” about 20 times.

These shockers are suitable only for schadenfreude lovers or scholars of extreme camp, but another of these wildly messy tracks actually matches its vaulting ambition. God Control was presumably made after an all-nighter on Reddit – a rambling “Wake up sheeple!” screed that confronts gun reform, disenfranchised youth, democracy and the man upstairs. One section has her rap “Each new birthday gives me hope / that’s why I don’t smoke that dope”, and that her only friend is her brain – all with the peppy naivety of Tom Tom Club’s Wordy Rappinghood. And all of it set to hi-NRG disco with cascading strings and Daft Punk vocoders, for over six minutes. It is – only just – brilliant, and will become an equally beloved and despised curio among fans.

All this baroque weirdness knocks the album off its axis, but most of its 64 minutes are actually full of very decent pop songcraft. Future is her go at pop’s next big trend, roots reggae, and while there is a slight, perhaps unconscious but audible white-person Jamaican accent, it is catchy and full-bodied, producer Diplo shamelessly ripping off the brass from Outkast’s SpottieOttieDopaliscious. She returns to Deeper and Deeper-style house on I Don’t Search I Find, its strings and fingerclicks a clear nod to Vogue. Crazy is beautiful and brilliantly catchy, a midtempo soul ballad that you could imagine Ariana Grande singing, but which has clever detailing like an accordion that has surely been influenced by Lisbon’s fado scene. The most emphatically Latin tracks are all strong, particularly Faz Gostoso with Brazilian superstar Anitta, whose frenetic beat is somewhere between baile funk and Angolan kuduro – another Lisbon-influenced rhythm that also flits through the polyrhythmic Come Alive. Bitch I’m Loco, the second track to feature Colombian star Maluma after lead single Medellín, is reggaeton roughage, but will be satisfying enough booming out of a club system. Perhaps there isn’t an absolutely diamond pop chorus on Madame X, but the singles I Rise, Crave, and Medellín all have elegant, sinewy melodies that twine around you rather than jabbing you into submission.

Throughout, there is more density and musical adventure than at almost any other point in her career (perhaps this is the influence of Mirwais, who produces numerous tracks here and gave Music its fiendish intricacy). Her voice is remarkably plastic, pitched down one minute and up the next, into a Sia-like bleat and out into robotic polyphony. Often, around the seabed of the mix, is a swirl of aqueous psychedelic sound, profoundly different and much more interesting than her earlier R&B and EDM minimalism.

Killers Who Are Playing ends with the questions: “Do you know who you are? Will we know when to stop?” The untamed, batshit Madame X suggests that Madonna doesn’t have the answer to either – and that her strength is in never knowing.

The Guardian

[theseaeaglelives]

Round 2

THE SEA EAGLE

MAKING RUGBY LEAGUE GREAT AGAIN!!!

Manly Sea Eagles                  18          Defeated by.   Eastern Suburbs Roosters   26

 Two weeks into season 2019 and it’s fair to say that any hope that Manly supporters had in terms of both playing finals football and/or being competitive this year have already evaporated. The goal already, and yet again, will be for this Manly side will be to avoid the spoon.   Manly carried on the form from last week’s loss to the Tigers. However this week, up against far superior opposition they were found wanting and are well off the pace.   The first half was played in torrential rain and storms although this didn’t seem to bother the Latte Sippers who opened the scoring after only 3 minutes, when a well-placed kick saw veteran winger Brett Morris score in the corner. In terms of placement, the kick landed between Hauhay Torfua and Brad Parker and whenever these two guys are in the vicinity of the ball, let alone trying to defuse a dangerous situation, nothing good can possibly eventuate, and it didn’t!!

  The first half highlighted one of Manly’s major deficiencies, that being their defence on the flanks and this was certainly exploited by the Roosters. Three of the Roosters first half tries were scored by their wingers emphasising how poor the Manly outside backs are (particularly in the absence of Turbo Tom)

Without the injured Cooper Cronk, Luke Keary assumed the role of playmaker for the Roosters and had the ball on a string. His performance a stark contrast to his opposite number Cherry Baby who was having a shocker, with multiple errors and little or no impact.

  At the break the Roosters led 22-0, a score-line belying the sloppy conditions but reflective of the dominance that they exerted over a hapless Manly outfit.   The second half started no better for Manly and when the Roosters opened the scoring it looked very much like a rout was on the cards.   Manly responded with two tries in as many minutes to give their fans something to cheer about, but in the end the Roosters were far too good and ran out 26-18 victors.   It’s already looking like being a long season (albeit with no September action) for Manly and their long-suffering fans. Coach Hasler now finds himself in a similar position to when he first took on the reigns at Manly in 2004 following the ill-fated Northern Eagles debacle, with a long and painful rebuild necessary after the disastrous Barrett years.   At least Des can say its not his team, because he inherited this rabble. But it is his responsibility, and let’s hope the great coach can somehow at least get Manly to pay competitively and not come last.   Spoon 2019

  At this stage its Manly, the Dogs, the Titans, and the Dragons as prime contenders for the spoon (all 4 have no wins to date this year). In any other year, you would have said Manly and the Dogs had no place with that rabble, but you would not be surprised to see the Titans and the Dragons chasing up the rear of the field. But there it is, a sad indictment on Manly, and equally the Dogs, two proud clubs that ordinarily play to win premierships ( or at least they used to).     A Lesson in History – War vs NRL

It has been said that to understand the present you must first consider the past. This has led the Sea Eagle to consider an interesting exercise where delving back into ancient history may help to determine the make-up, psyche etc. and explain the behaviour of the modern NRL player.   To achieve this, let’s travel back in time to circa 220BC. At this time the two main regional powerhouses were Rome and Carthage, and a bit like SOO they face up for three monumental and memorable contests.   Firstly, the Romans. Claiming to be based in the sporting capital of the world, their style was well drilled and disciplined. Impeccable leadership, with first rate facilities and equipment, but despite their high discipline they tended to push the boundaries, often resorting to the grapple and wrestle when in full contact. Their roster was well remunerated and they were able to supplement their income with the spoils from victory, a concept loosely known as a “third-party” deal. Management tended to turn a blind eye to these “third party” arrangements and only when scrutinised by the Geneva based Integrity Unit (formed much later) were such arrangements finally repudiated. If this sounds familiar, from herein after they will be referred as the (Roman) Storm.   Opposing them were the Carthaginians. Based on the mouth of a river and widely thought to be a second-rate civilisation, their style was more flamboyant and ad-hoc and their roster included an eclectic mixture of inner and outer regional cultures, many of whom were not domicile to Carthage and came from surrounding islands. Led well by a rising talent in Coach Hannibal their insular nature and inferiority tendencies combined to make them a formidable foe. They too benefited greatly from the so called “third party” arrangements which were prevalent at the time and often adopted a siege mentality. To simplify things going forward, from herein they will be referred to as the (Carthage) Broncos.   Fixture 1 Venue: Cannae (Southern Italy) Date 216BC

This was a rout where the under-dog (Carthage) Broncos slaughtered their more fancied and more powerful rivals. The (Roman) Storm massed their troops in a deeper formation than usual, while Broncos Coach Hannibal used tactics not previously seen, and was able to surround his arch enemy. The Broncos were then able to penetrate the Storm defensive line dishing out a humiliating defeat considered by many to be one of the worst in their history.

Following this clash members of team Carthage in a drunken stupor, proceeded to sack a local village, inflicting unprecedented violence on its inhabitants including pillage, rape and murder. The Cathage Integrtiy unit intervened, but no action was taken, as back then, this was called to the Victor goes the spoils.

  The remnants of the (Roman) Storm returned to Rome whereupon most of them were summarily executed for their poor performance. Back then there was no salary cap, so used up war heroes could not be traded to lesser nations to free up space for new or younger talent. The competition certainly was not even back then, but many said it was better.   Fixture 2 Venue: Zamma (North Africa) Date 202BC

Having replaced their leadership group following the disaster at Cannae the (Roman) Storm travelled to neutral territory to again face the arch enemy. This was an even contest, a dour affair and a battle of attrition ebbing and flowing and with neither side able to assert their ascendancy.

  With no golden point in play at the time and despite horrendous casualties, the contest was deemed a draw and both sides returned home, without victory but with pride intact.   Fixture 3 Venue: Carthage (Tunisia) Date 149BC

  Buoyed by their improved display at Zamma, the (Roman) Storm, again under new leadership decided to take on the old foe, this time on its’ home ground. This was the final time that these traditional rivals lined up against each other, a consequence of the decisive and destructive nature of the Roman victory.   The (Carthage) Broncos were comprehensively overwhelmed and their roster was, in its entirety, decimated.   To celebrate their victory, off-field atrocities and examples of violence were undertaken on an unprecedented scale by the Roman Storm. In a drunken, booze fest orgy, the victors unleashed their fury on Carthage, pillaging, raping and murdering its inhabitants and eventually the city was completely levelled. 

The few survivors of this atrocity were either sold into slavery or thrown into burning infernos. At its conclusion, (Roman) Storm Coach Scipio was heard to exclaim “In war there is no substitute for victory”. Again, the Roman Integrity unit intervened, but no action was taken.   The parallels between these ancient warriors and the modern day NRL player are undeniable, and the behaviours exhibited by participants in these ancient times goes some way to explain recent events and atrocities. With the Magic Round (Round 9) fast approaching and some 320 NRL players converging on Brisbane for the weekend, will the NRL’s worst nightmare scenario come to fruition and will Brisbane become a modern-day Carthage. Hopefully no-one will be killed!!     'If I want to be liked, I'd sell ice-creams': Napa on sex tape fallout By Christian Nicolussi March 19, 2019 — 6.00pm -SMH

Dylan Napa of  'Big Papi' sex tapes fame, hast declared: "If I wanted everyone to like me, I'd go and sell ice-creams."…"I'm six-foot-five with red hair, I've been targeted my whole life," Napa is reported to have said. "I also have the right to stand up for myself. I'm not worried about being targeted. I've been called everything under the sun, especially the person I'm portrayed to be. My family and friends know who I am and my teammates, that's all that matters. “If I wanted everyone to like me, I'd go sell ice-creams. That's a quote from [Roosters skipper] Boyd Cordner, and I think it's pretty correct. If I wanted everyone to like me, maybe I should get another profession because it's the reality of it."

"I want to make a big statement every game. I felt I had a good preparation going into the game, we just lacked a bit of energy and our attitude was not where it needed to be. …"I can't use [the sex tapes] at all [as an excuse]," he said. "It had its effects at the time, but it's two months ago now. I'm well and truly over that. I'm glad football is back and we can talk about playing Parramatta and trying to beat them."

Sea Eagle Comment:  Regrettably the Dogs got smashed but the Eels, whilst Big Papii could talk about beating the Eels, and make a big statement, regrettably he didn’t do that. But seriously Dylan, the Sea Eagle loves Big Pappii. Don’t despair. you can do way better than sell ice creams. Try selling the Big Pappi Pizza, the gift that keeps on giving.

Captive Rugby Nation Set To Host World Cup In 6 Months Not Worth Investing In, Says SANZAAR- Betoota Advocate- date unclear.

It has been reported that SANZAAR (South Africa, New Zealand, Australia and Argentina Rugby) – the body which operates Super Rugby and The Rugby Championship – has reportedly decided to axe the only Asian-based franchise in Super Rugby. The Sunwolves, who hail from the third largest economy in the world (Japan) is expected to be discontinued indefinitely as of 2020.

Japan, with 122,368 registered rugby union players, and host of the 2019 World Cup,  are just not worth it (apparently) – that’s according to the same people SANZAAR who closed the Perth franchise that got more fans to their games than Melbourne Rebels.

According to the Betoota Advocate “It is not yet known if there will be another multi-million dollar franchise created to fill the void that will be left in the Super Rugby by the Sunwolves, but as SANZAAR has proven time and time again, if it sounds like a weird and poorly thought out idea – it will most likely become a reality.

If another team is created, rugby fans have been told to expect something really random like Uruguay or East Timor, who will also inevitably be booted from the moment they start winning some games.”

 THE SEA EAGLE