#the pain of the devotion towards ferrari

[oconist]

ferrari drivers + heartbreaking devotion

Maggie Millner, Couplets: A Love Story / Kechi Nomu, Acts of Crucifixion / Gabrielle Bates, Judas Goat / José Olivarez, Promises of Gold

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Come Home With Me (part 1)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Warnings: angst

a/n: was sorta crying while writing this, i love this sm..there’s going to be part 2! hope you enjoy it!

From the first moment one of your close friends told you she was getting married, you knew you'd have to mentally prepare for the fact that on her wedding day, your ex would be there.

It wasn't just any ex. It was Carlos Sainz. Your first true love. The boy you thought was the one. The boy with whom you were the happiest ever and for whom you thought there was no one else after him.

But things don't always work out the way we want them to. There is no greater pain than when two people who are made for each other meet at the wrong time.

Even though you both knew it would be difficult, you didn't want to give up on each other at first. When you met, you were 23 and he was 28. You were in the middle of finishing college in Madrid, which meant a lot of responsibilities, a lot of sacrifices, a lot of hard work and effort, a lot of suffering. And he just signed the contract with Ferrari and wanted to prove himself, show what he can do, show that he deserves to be where he is, he focused all his time and energy on his career.

You pushed together for two years, you tried somehow to find time for each other, but over time it became too difficult. He had no understanding of your needs, he devoted himself too much to work and, if you were the one to ask, in the end he gave up too easily on you, on the two of you.

Being with him was difficult at times, but being without him was countless times worse.

Even though you were very young when you first started dating, you wanted everything with him. You didn't see yourself with anyone else but him, nor did you want anyone else but him. And he, 5 years older than you, for him you were not his first love, but you were his greatest. You were his niña. That's how he used to call you. His niña bonita.

You were the one who ended things with him, but that didn't ease your pain at all. On the contrary, you expected him to fight for you, to say okay, we'll find a way to solve this, but he didn't. Therefore, you couldn't wait to finish college and return home to Monaco. You adored Madrid, you fell in love with that city as much as you did with Carlos, but after the breakup it was simply impossible to stay where every street, park, square, every corner where you were together reminded you immeasurably of him.

And so two years later, when your friend Isabella told you she was getting married and that Carlos would be at the wedding, you knew you weren't ready to see him. Two years later you had a new boyfriend Andrew, but deep down you knew you never got over Carlos.

Isabella was the one who introduced you to Carlos. The two of them have always been good friends, so it was logical that he would be invited, but you didn't think about it at all because you tried to suppress every thought about him. You knew you weren’t ready, but there wasn’t nothing you could do about it.

When that long-awaited wedding day came, as you all watched the bride walk towards the altar, you couldn't help but search for his face in the crowd of people in the church.

You shifted in place the whole time, your knees rocking back and forth. Even Andrew noticed something was going on with you.

“Are you alright, love?” He startled you when he asked. You almost forgot Andrew was standing right there behind you.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” You gave him a fake reassuring smile just so that he doesn’t ask any more questions.

You searched and searched and suddenly your eyes stopped at the last row of benches. There he stood, in a dark blue suit, his hair brushed to the side and freshly cut, more beautiful than ever. When you saw him, you didn't know that his brown eyes had already been watching you ever since he entered the church.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears as your gaze met his. It was the perfect moment to pretend you were crying for Isabella walking down the aisle.

“You sure you’re alright?” Andrew whisper-asked again.

“I’m just emotional, everything’s okay.”

In the evening when you arrived at the hotel where the wedding party was, your idea of ​having a good time was long forgotten. The venue was beautiful and luxurious. Everyone was happy, dancing and enjoying the newlyweds' day, only you were extremely nervous because you could feel Carlos' eyes on you all evening.

You tried to ignore him, to relax with a few drinks, but it was simply impossible to pretend he wasn't there.

“I'm going to go out on the terrace for some fresh air, okay?” You turned to Andrew who was talking to a friend that was sitting next to him.

“Okay, love. Give me a kiss.” He said. You leaned down to peck his lips before taking a glass of champagne and heading out.

There were a few people on the terrace, but you found an empty corner for yourself. You leaned your elbows on the fence and took a deep breath, closing your eyes in front of the night lights of beautiful Monaco.

Feeling the cool breeze on your skin, you wished it would take away all the pressure and sadness you carried with you. You wished that it would clear up everything cloudy in your mind that has been preventing you from moving on for two years already.

After about 10 minutes, you pulled yourself together and wanted to go back inside. Just as you finished up the champagne from the glass, you turned to go inside, but suddenly your breath stopped when you saw none other than Carlos standing behind you with his hands in his pockets and watching you with tilted head.

Your heart started pounding like crazy and your body froze in front of him.

“Carlos..” You barely spoke in a whisper.

“Y/n” He said quietly taking a step closer to you making you take a step back until your back hit the fence.

You didn't know what to say, what to do, even if you wanted to run away, your feet were as if glued to the floor. You just stood there in front of him looking straight into his eyes.

“What are you doing out here alone?” He asks breaking the silence between you two.

“I just needed to get some fresh air, that’s all.” You weren’t lying.

“Did my presence make you nervous?”

“No, your presence here doesn’t have anything to do with me.” But now you were.

“How have you been?”

“Good, very good actually.” Another lie.

“You’re not gonna ask me how I’ve been?”

“That’s none of my business anymore, so no. I don’t care.” He nods his head at your untrue words looking down at the floor.

“So who is that boy you came with?”

“That’s Andrew. My boyfriend.” You say biting the inside of your cheek. You almost felt guilty for calling him your boyfriend. Andrew. You were sure he was gonna go look for you if you don’t come back soon. “I should go. He’s probably looking for me right now.” You say trying to walk by past him, but he stops you by pulling you back by your elbow.

“Don’t go yet.”

“Why not? We have nothing to talk about.” You pull your elbow out of his grip, but you don't leave.

“Because you never left my mind.” He says. “Or heart.” He adds.

“It’s a little too late for that. You should’ve thought about that before you let me go.”

“Y/n, you were the one who broke up with me. I never wanted to end things between us.”

“You didn’t want to end things between us yet you gave up on us without a fight, so easily Carlos..” You fought with yourself not to cry. You didn't want to look weak in front of him even though you wanted to let him know how much he hurt you.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better or what?” You asked with a sneer. “I have a boyfriend now, I moved on Carlos. I’m happy.” You say hoping you sound convincing at least to him if not to yourself.

“You’re lying, I know you are. I can feel it.” He takes another step closer until you can feel his breath on your skin as he looks down at you. He puts his hands on the fence on either side so that you are between them. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you know you’re always gonna be mi niña. Mi niña bonita.” Your heart aches and trembles at the same time at your forever favorite nickname. He puts his hand on your cheek as he leans very close to your face.

“Carlos, stop..” Your voice cracks as you lean your cheek into his hand.

“Come home with me, baby. Please.”

“And where is that Carlos? Where is my home?”

“Your home is in Madrid, with me.” His hands move from your face to your hands taking them into his and bringing them to his lips.

“You know, while Isabella was walking down the aisle, I couldn't help but imagine that it was you, and that I was there waiting for you at the altar.” Tears just flowed down your cheeks as you listened to him say everything you once wanted to hear.

“Remember how we used to fantasize about it. I still want all of that, y/n. Letting you go was the biggest mistake ever. I am so sorry baby.”

“Yet you never cared enough to look for me. Your words don’t match your actions, Carlos.” Once again you pull yourself out of his grip and step away further from him. Listening to him was causing you too much pain especially because you still wanted all of that as well, but your pride did not allow you to surrender to your emotions.

“Because I knew you were suffering and I didn’t want to be the reason of that! I’m sorry, y/n, I wish I could go back in time and make you stay.” He says flustered, waving his arms.

Right in that moment, Andrew’s voice interrupts you breaking you from your bubble in which you found yourself in completely forgetting where you are.

“Y/n?” You quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks and the smeared mascara under your eyes.

“Well, I’m sorry too, Carlos.” With that you leave him standing there on the terrace as you turn around and head towards Andrew.

part 2

[putyourreddresson]

'unwinding of the fall (BLACK SWAN AU BABY)' 'the ripple of tenderness (a corrupted tide)'

— i would like to know intimately about both of these things please and please 🌺💛🌹

oh i love you and i am SO sorry for what i am about to unleash on you

unwinding of the fall

(lovingly shortened to just black swan by a friend of mine) is my magnum opus that i have been slaving over for more than 7 months now. it's my first too-ambitious writing project that now spans upwards of 60K words, 14 chapters, a lot of mental breakdowns and is unfortunately nowhere close to being finished.

the premise is pretty simple – the 2022 formula 1 season reimagined through the lens of the obsessed artist; the fatality of devotion and the intricacies of how ambition can deteriorate into fanaticism. i borrow a few plot points, themes and dialogue from the movie black swan but it all takes place in the f1 cinematic universe.

in terms of plot, i am keeping all the results the same until summer break (it's like ferrari did all that clownery specifically for my sadistic streak) and then afterwards i am taking some hefty artistic liberties in order to self-serve my agenda and accompany charles' even bigger spiral into insanity (he's my final girl and my fav literary lab rat). all of this is accompanied by a lot of surrealistic elements, manipulation, hallucinations, disordered behaviour and a bunch of other things i will probably have to tw.

in terms of characters, i envision charles as the white swan and max as the black swan. however, i don't want them to have the same kind of jagged rivalry as nina and lily in the beginning – it doesn't make sense with their personalities now and i think it's going to be even more devastating if max is genuinely trying to get close to charles and charles is a bit hesitant but he starts to lean towards the freely given affections until Something (if you've watched the movie, i think you know what im referring to) happens and he gets a rude awakening, gets stuck in his head and start to twist things. this is where their rivalry starts to lean towards something more tense, an amalgamation of internal strife and becoming a victim to the turbulent flow of events and expectations that start to control you.

(of course, it doesn't help that he hallucinates a more volatile and cunning version of max, which pushes him in the wrong direction. that's neither here nor there.)

this is already too long i am SO SORRY, i will try to keep this brief

silverstone

"Perfection is not just about precision, it’s not always about predetermination,” starts Max, his eyes boring into him with the intensity of nuclear fission. His thumb brushes gently over Charles’ jaw, back and forth for a moment until it settles underneath the bone. The calming movement coaxes Charles to exhale some leftover dregs, softly so as to not obscure Max’s face. The calm before the storm.

Max takes Charles in, kneeling before him and teetering on the edge of something. Max’s gaze maps him out, trying to find the stray thread and pull. “You cannot save yourself from this if you stifle your driver instincts in the process,” he continues. “You’re not here because you can do calculations in your head. You’re here because you can feel the car better than most, because you can find that golden balance between sending it and staying in control, between holding on and letting go.”

His thumb digs further, hand almost painfully grasping his chin and bringing Charles’ face even closer. “You’re so afraid of not having a contingency plan that you con yourself into believing you can account for all of it. And when something goes astray, like it always does—” Max’s voice catches on the exit, barely louder than a whisper at this point, aimed directly at his lips “—you shatter to pieces because you still cannot bear the fact that some things are bound to be out of your control."

france

He looks up, lets his head fall back listlessly and pull on the pain in his neck, and closes his eyes. He doesn’t seek guidance or explanation or a sign because he knows this is all on him. He doesn’t deserve any consolation and it’s not like he will get any. The gods above have forsaken him, the ivory of their statues crumbled into remnants he can brush off of his shoulders like lint. There are only the gods on earth who he is accountable to, who will weigh his guilt on the unbalanced scale of justice and demand their pound of flesh. He feels the hairline fractures on his skull proliferate. He feels the anger, thick and heavy, seeping from his ears and staining the car at his feet. He feels pure unadulterated rage, something disfigured and depraved squeezing the nerves from his limbs like wet rags.

He opens his eyes and sees only the sun and the blue sky. He wants to swallow them up like Chronos.

zandvoort

“Let go, Charles,” barely a breath but it resonates like a church bell, a clandestine command. His lips the belladonna petals, his tongue the dagger at his jugular.

Charles listens to his – their – skin whisper and he lets himself go.

Charles drags Max back to him and plunges into this, into Max’s mouth and his iron-clad embrace with an iron-willed determination, metal scraping against metal a siren call that clogs his ears and brain with cotton. He doesn’t grow pliant – he meets Max blow for blow, bruise for bruise. He doesn’t extinguish the fight but leans into it, sinks into the embrace of violence and rejoices.

He feels Max’s teeth in his neck, in his heart and Charles hopes the bite hurts, hopes that Max’s teeth reach bone and everything shatters

the ripple of tenderness (a corrupted tide)

i cannot for the life of me write normal people romance and this silly little story exists solely bc of a friend of mine who incites all kinds of gooey feelings in me. in the beginning i thought it's going to be a nice break from the seriousness of my longer wip but now it's sitting there at 15K and still unfinished.

it's a very standard magical realism trope aka charles falls under a love spell that makes him fall in love with the first person he sees, which surprise surprise, is max, who has been in love with him for ages! wow, who would've thought.

however, i wanted to subvert this take a little bit by making charles not completely lose his mind. i want him to be freely affectionate but with enough rational thoughts online that he feels very disconcerted about not being in control, about potentially making max uncomfortable, about showing so much vulnerability against his own volition. and max, who is such a sweetheart, tries to reassure charles at the cost of his sanity and slowly fraying heart since all of charles' affections are obviously fabricated. i think the slight angst with the inescapable tenderness of their interactions will make for a good combination! but what do i know

snippy snip

Just when he starts to focus a bit too much on all of this, he feels Charles envelop the hand resting on his cheek with his own and push further into it in a complete act of heatstroke-induced insanity. He turns his face back around where Max’s palm doesn’t obfuscate it and finally, painstakingly, opens his eyes.

Max stops breathing for a second.

In Max’s opinion, he hasn’t spent nearly enough time looking into Charles’ eyes. Eye contact has always been a painstaking affair, trying to find an optimal balance between looking into Charles’ eyes and away during their talks in such a way that it would not allude to anything more. Charles’ eyes can look vastly different under different lights – striking green in direct sunlight, molten hazel on rainy days, overtaken by specs of yellow under fireworks. But there is always a simmering warmth there, which can either reach the fiery heights of ambition or the honeyed flames of attentiveness.

Max looks into Charles’ eyes now and feels like Charles is looking through Max’s eyes and into him as a whole. It feels innocently invasive, like a caress that catches on a hangnail. His eyes sparkle with something unnatural and the blush across his cheeks unfurls and fans out until it reaches his neck. The rosy colour of it looks almost sickly. Max unclasps the tunnel visions from his eyesight and realises that Charles’ features as a whole are glossed over with a sheen of misplaced sentiment, spelling something resembling foreboding.

“Max,” Charles whispers, spilling the breaths incasing his name almost into Max’s mouth. His voice is soft like gossamer, his gaze a gentle brushstroke on the contours of Max’s face and Max knows something is undeniably wrong.

Fuck.

so yeah! (lame ass concluding sentence again) thank you so much for asking ! and i will send you your bereavement damages check for dealing with all of this in the mail in 3-5 business days!

[love-bookrelease]

“SHE – A Message For Those Who Belittle Girls!” By Sarika Jain

“One good book in a day keeps all your worries at bay.”

When I open the sweet little doors of my memory, I remember that when I was in grade 5, I picked up The Diary of a Young Girl written by Anne Frank from my school library, and I had no idea that words in that book would create such a deep impact on my life that I would start writing a diary. I started considering my ‘dear diary’ as my best pal and started sharing my life’s beautiful and sad moments with it. From there on, I inculcate the habit of writing. I fell in love with the words, the story, characters, and overall the beautiful joy of reading. Every Wednesday, I used to borrow a book from the library and finish it in just a week.

I began to find reading interesting and my love and passion for reading increased with Robin Sharma’s The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari and Who Will Cry When You Die, Paulo Coelho’s Alchemist, Sherlock Holme’s Mystery Novels as well as J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter Novel Series, and Shakespeare’s Plays. Initially, these were some works that increased my devotion and passion for reading. Then, I started to enjoy reading different kinds of fiction and non-fiction books. Jhumpa Lahiri’s Namesake, Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things, Shiv Khera’s You Can Win, Stephen R. Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Rashmi Bansal’s Connect The Dots, Chetan Bhagat’s One Indian Girl, and Pavan K Varma’s Being Indian are few of my all time favourite books that I would love to read again and again and again... Oh! How can I forget Ravinder Singh’s I Too Had a Love Story. This is also one of my favorite books... after reading the ending of this book, literally, I started crying and desperately wanted to meet the writer of this book, as I was able to feel his pain of losing some nearest and dearest one in our life... and there are many other books that I would want to take a name, but the word limit permits me to keep it short.

I had never ever thought in my life that what it would be like to become a writer or to write something. The first time I tried my writing skills was at a “Pen Drive” writing skills competition conducted by my college. The jury members appreciated my work, and I was awarded a merit prize of rupees 500 (the first earning of my life) and a certificate of competence... which was a big honor and achievement for me. Then, I started writing small poems and shared with my friends. I still vividly remember, a good friend of mine had asked me to take my writing seriously and pen down a book which could be published later. At that time, I had no idea what publishing was all about. However, I never banished that thought from my mind. It was only in April 2017 when I completed my doctorate, I took my writing seriously.

At that point, I picked up the courage to pen down a story and begin my writing journey. I always aspired to become an author and had a dream that my first book would be based on females, feminism, and girls’ and women’s empowerment, because every day I used to see, read, and experience that girls are always belittled, hurt, abused, and broken by their loved ones and by the very people they trusted the most. So, I thought that writing about the topic is the only way to change people’s thinking towards girls and women and create a difference in the society, as it has been rightly said, “The Pen is Mightier than the Sword.” After I finished writing, I did not know what to do with the manuscript. My incessant findings on the internet told me to look for a literary agent if I wanted to get my book published from a renowned traditional publishing house. While keeping my fingers crossed, I submitted my manuscript to various publishing houses and literary agents but received nothing but rejection in return. Without giving up, I carried on with the struggle... then, by chance, I met a friend who introduced me to the concept of self-publishing companies in India. Taking her suggestion, I looked for self-publishing platforms on the internet and came across Blue Rose Publishers Pvt. Ltd. I submitted my manuscript to them in August 2018 and it was accepted. I became so very happy and thanked God for helping me to realize my dream.

Blue Rose Publishers helped me in releasing my book in a more competitive and diverse market. The book, SHE – S- Stop H- Hurting Me E- Every day – A Message for those who Belittle Girls! has faced a lot of hurdles and obstacles. After getting rejected by various publication houses, it still managed to stay strong and overcome all the refutations. Today, I am glad that my book finally got published on May 7th, 2019. I am a budding author and just keeping my fingers crossed for the reviews. I hope readers would enjoy reading it, and it would receive all the love and attention that it truly deserves. I am now thinking of ideas for my second book.

I had never ever dreamt of becoming a Blue Rose author, let alone writing a book and getting it published. But now, it has become my reality. It’s like seeing a dream with open eyes and living a beautiful dream each and every moment of my life. My advice to every aspiring author would be to not give up and keep trying until you succeed. If you really want to become an author, then work hard for it because writing demands passion, commitment, discipline, and dedication. Rejections are a part and parcel of the journey, but we should have the ability to convert rejection into success because failures are the stepping stones to success. A tip I would like to offer to the budding writers is that a writer should never stop reading because books are writer’s best friends, as they provide writers with good thoughts and help them to become a better author. My love for reading is slightly greater than writing, as it led me to write. Had I been not a voracious reader, I would never have been able to develop a soft corner for writing. DREAM, DREAM, and DREAM... and always follow your heart, and never ever give up in life.

“Whenever you fall down in life, just stand up and tell yourself – I CAN and I WILL Make a Difference.”

Shop on Amazon ShopClues and BlueRose

Website: drsarikajain.com

[flyrtreynolds]

Passion of the Weiss: Revisiting ‘nostalgia, ULTRA’ Six Years Later

When writer Jeff Weiss, who started the Passion of the Weiss blog, tweeted out this story, he accompanied it with a caveat: “I was never going to publish another Frank Ocean essay but Reed wrote a great one.”

I was hesitant in the initial pitch, too. There’ve been plenty of essays on Frank, most of which too overwrought. The world didn’t really need another ode to the man’s temperament or sexuality. Yet I’ve always felt attached to his debut, and when its sixth anniversary rolled around, I decided to pen some words on it.

Clicks are hard to earn these days. It’s not like in ’02, when a “YOU WIN!” banner would flash in seizure-inducing colors on your screen and you’d actually think about claiming your prize. Or when an email with the subject line, “HAHA CHECK THIS OUT,” would land in your inbox and you’d open it and contract a virus that’d send lewd, grammatically incorrect solicitations to your 81-year-old grandmother and everyone else on your contact list. People are now more guarded than ever about the rabbit holes they fall down online. When’s the last time you clicked on something without entirely knowing what you were getting into? And what’d it take for you to do it?

For me, it was about six years ago. I clicked on a random link tweeted out by Chicago rapper Lupe Fiasco, who was just starting to get prickly toward the industry but still had some clout. The tweet has since been deleted (most likely a casualty of one of Lupe’s online tantrums), but I remember it being simple and straightforward, something along the lines of, “Yeah, this is dope.” His words were irrelevant. It was the image that accompanied them, a candy orange BMW roadster nestled against a leafy background, that suggested there might be something special on the other end. My curiosity was rewarded when I was taken to the Tumblr of a then-unknown singer named Frank Ocean, who had just posted his debut project, nostalgia, ULTRA.

I was a senior in college at the time. I lived with three other guys in Eugene, Oregon, in a house that had bedrooms tacked on in weird places so the landlord could squeeze as much rent money out of it as possible. My room, tucked away at the end of the driveway, looked like it was once part of a small garage and had cheap wood paneling for walls and a floor covered in green felt, giving it the feeling of an old cardroom. I liked to imagine its entrance was hidden behind a bookshelf. I would spend hours there, often feeling pretty shitty and alone, as my seemingly insurmountable awkwardness carried over from high school to college. But I’d also devote long, wakeful nights to discovering and listening to new music. I was reaping the benefits of the Blog Era, constantly debilitating our house’s wireless with loads of .zip and .rar downloads.

I remember playing Ultra on my desktop speakers and laying down on my bed, as I often did while listening to something new. The first thing that struck me was its moodiness. I’d felt pain in R&B songs before, but mostly in over-the-top, cheesy ways, centered around break ups and cheating lovers. Here was something much more complex in its sadness and, in turn, real. I racked my brain for what it reminded me of, and I landed on a cherished figure from my childhood: Marvin. Growing up, my mom loved to play Motown around the house, and Marvin Gaye was always her favorite. She would pop in “What’s Going On” while she was getting ready to go out and, in between putting on her chunky jewelry and taking sips of red wine, would clap along with it and tell me to do the same, to which I’d smile shyly. I loved how calming the song sounded. It’s opening, with that silken soprano sax, drew an image in my mind of Marvin grinning broadly between the upturned collars of his shearling leather jacket. At the same time, it sounded sensitive. Within his honeyed pleas I heard confusion, as if he was really bummed out by the actions of both the world and himself.

I felt the same kind of inner turmoil in Frank. This may be in part because I was feeling something similar at the time, a constant struggle between self-appreciation and -deprecation. Songs like “There Will Be Tears” and “Novacane” struck a chord for their mixture of sincerity and virility. A young boy trying not to cry in front of his friends; a young man popping Viagra and doing drugs to impress a girl. These were sonnets ridden in guilt. In Frank’s mind, nostalgia can run the risk of dredging up old demons, at which point you can either face them or ingest hydrochloride to numb the pain. This served as the struggle at the heart of ULTRA’s narrative: A 20-something trying to make peace with himself, but often coming up short. In the wake of his failures were enough broken hearts to fill a Lincoln town car’s trunk.

The production behind these failures was what made the tape so compelling. The little gold kernels of lyrics, the memorable ad-libs (“YIKES!”), the bold decision to rework not one but two of the sappiest rock bands of all time… it was obvious that Frank had major label chops when it came to songwriting. Perhaps his craftiest move was to keep some of the covers’ vocals in place, having a dialogue with their original composers rather than cutting them out completely. He uses an auto-tuned hook by M.I.A. G.O.O.D. Music singer Mr. Hudson as a starting point to lift off from and tenderly recount his relationships with his late grandfather, who was a “PLAAAAAAAYER” in a pair of gators, and father, who was nowhere to be found. On “Strawberry Swing,” a Coldplay summer strum turned into a love story based in a science fiction disaster film, he relinquishes singing duties to Chris Martin at the last second, just as the song’s strings swell and the metaphorical Earth combusts.

Listening to “Strawberry” while lying on my bed, sun pouring through my bedroom windows, I felt like Ken Watanabe in The Last Samurai, staring at a gently swaying cherry blossom while a sword was being injected into my gut. I tried to share that feeling with others by playing at a party in our house later that week, but it was shut off almost immediately. A Coldplay cover isn’t the most compelling thing for a bunch of kids blitzed on Pabst, sure, but the more offensive part was its R&B makeup. We all had to recondition ourselves to understand that someone with a voice like Frank’s, unique but not vastly different-sounding than those of the hackneyed singers on the radio at the time, could build something beautiful and dark. If we didn’t learn that with Ultra, we surely began to understand with House of Balloons, which dropped only a month later.

In the grand scheme of things, both projects were hugely influential, but Frank’s debut remains patient zero for the temperamental shift in pop music that would take place in the following years. It’s also the record that’s stuck with me the most. This was proved to me over the summer when Blonde, his forever-in-the-making sophomore album, finally dropped. I listened to the new project while wandering the streets of a small town on the Oregon Coast, where I spent many wistful summers as a kid. Its drum-less ballads, shimmering and nuzzled comfortably within the sonic soft spot we’ve learned to love him for, were the ideal soundtrack for my walk. “Nikes,” with its high-pitched vocals that eventually normalized, served as a “guess who’s back?” moment; “Self Control” sounded like the under-the-radar jam that would become every DJ’s go-to closer. “White Ferrari” was calming and gorgeous.

But my mind was cluttered. I was at a crossroads in my life. I had just quit my job back in New York and completed a drug-fueled cross-country road trip with my friends, one of which was moving to L.A. after months of threatening to do so. I had also just learned that my father had cancer; my parents, after a decade-plus of divorce, were reuniting to tackle the disease together. As I began to worry, I found myself scrolling back through my phone to ULTRA and hitting play. Suddenly, everything—my life, my family, the Pacific that lay in front of me—stopped moving so fast. The gentle clicking of a Nintendo cartridge, the quiet plucks of a guitar as Frank’s voice comes into focus, the blasting off of spaceships and, finally, the loud buzzing of an alarm clock. The dream is over but the feeling lingers.

http://www.passionweiss.com/2017/03/03/nostalgia-ultra/