#the tales of romantic troubles in the desert never sleeps

[inavagrant-a]

Trouble in paradise.... ..

[littlemisssquiggles]

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar's Dreamscape: The Garden of Two Lovers

@miki-13 asked "Okay I know we didn't get a lot of Oscar backstory, but I really do think that after the V8 finale, there's a new avenue to explore with Oscar. Why? Because as far as he knows, his friends, partner and love interest are dead. The people he's grown to care for over the course of V5-8 are suddenly gone. There's no way that's not gonna hurt him, even if Ozpin assures him that they're not dead. Because either way, he's been forcibly separated from them.

Heck, this could actually open up an avenue for him to talk about his own family life and why he lives with his aunt. Not to mention one of his allusions is to The Little Prince and he just arrived in a desert after leaving his Rose behind, and the whole story deals with death in general.

Actually, maybe that's how Oscar gets his semblance/ branches out with his magic! He wants to find the people he loves so badly and refuses to give up on them, that he finds a way to get the void/ communicate with them and possibly find a way to lay the groundwork for bringing them back!

Squiggles Answers:

Hey there Miki-chan. Pardon the late reply but I wanted to reserve my response to this as a new Pinehead headcanon post considering that, ironically, you and I share the same thoughts and theories about Oscar reaching out.

The idea I had is that Oscar would be able to connect to Ruby in the Other World in his dreams. Once again, I return to my old Oscar’s Dreamscape Pinehead headcanon from donkey years ago. Essentially, through his unyielding love for his rose and his deep desires to reunite with her again in some shape or form, Oscar unintentionally creates the Dreamscape.

And what the Dreamscape is is that it is this magical place that transcends reality and only exists through the shared bond between Oscar and Ruby. Picture a shallow stagnant sea that mirrors an endless sunset sky. A perfect blend of the warm embrace of the sun and the tranquil beauty of the moon that paves the path towards a small garden that sits in the middle of this mysterious magical place.

And it is in this garden where Oscar meets Ruby in his dreams and vice versa.

Remember how it was said that the Little Prince fairy-tale ended ambiguously with the reader never knowing the truth of the prince’s fate after he was poisoned by the snake and “went to sleep”.

Some iteration believed the prince to have died and gone back to his home planet in spirit to be with his rose while another interpretation described the Prince returning home only to discover that his rose had died in his absence without him present to take care of her.

Either way, the allusion is that the prince does indeed reunite with his rose but in a manner that is still tragic when you look at it. Going off of that, this is why I love the concept of Oscar connecting to Ruby in sleep with the two meeting and communicating with each other in their dreams through unknown power originated from Oscar. Only it’s NOT exactly a semblance. Nor is it exactly magic either.

One of my favourite quotes from the Lost Fable episode back in V6 is when Jinn described a power much greater than magic that caused Salem and Ozma to recognize one another in their new lives.

“…Call it magic or call it something stronger, but in that moment, the two knew exactly who stood before them…”

In the Lost Fable, Jinn made it seem as if loveis an element more powerful than even the likes of magic; as cheesy as that might sound. So if love is able to transcend life and death to cause two kindred souls to recognize each other in another life in another time time, what’s stopping it from transcending worlds to bring together another pair of kindred souls?

So as corny as this is going to sound, the hopeless romantic in me cannot help but swoon over the thought of love being what creates the Dreamscape and/or brings Ruby and Oscar together in such a place that only they can traverse.

It is a power that was born from Ruby and Oscar’s shared love for one another and desire to reunite with each other and thus it’s a power that only they share together. The Rosegarden in the Dreamscape is theirs.

In the beginning, on the first night the two reunite in their dreams, the Dreamscape was believed to be solely of Oscar’s doing but in reality, it was a special new world that belonged to both the little prince and his true rose alone.

Okay, hear me out with this one. The reason why I’m thinking the Dreamscape was believed to be Oscar’s power alone in the beginning was because when it all started, the Dreamscape mainly reacted to Oscar. On his end, let’s say…Oscar wished so desperately to see Ruby again that unbeknownst to him; the Dreamscape was forged just so Oscar could accomplish his heart’s wish---to see his rose.

Thus, Oscar is able to see Ruby in their dreams and she in turn is able to see and talk to him between worlds but only in sleep. However, that is extent of the Dreamscape through Oscar’s influence. The two can communicate but they can’t physically touch or feel one another.

Because I have this idea of Ruby and Oscar growing closer to each other than they’ve ever been before since they’re able to meet in Dreamscape. However it’s also this painful thing where despite being together in their dreams, they’re still not together when they are constantly reminded that they can’t touch each other.

Like imagine a moment where the two rosebuds are bonding in the Dreamscape, trying to come up with way to reunite together, swapping backstories and secrets about themselves with each other that they’ve never told anyone else only for one of them---mainly Oscar--- to get lost in the euphoria of the moment and attempt to reach out and touch the other person only to be painfully reminded, that they’re not truly there. They’re still separated despite how close the Dreamscape has brought them.

The only time when the Dreamscape is actually able is to make Ruby and Oscar interact physically is when that becomes Ruby’s wish.

Okay, hear me out again.

I have this scenario in my head where Oscar suffers a mental breakdown as a result of being poisoned during an encounter with Tyrian Callows. Remember how Tyrian’s venom caused Qrow to suffer and hallucinate back in V4?

Well picture something similar with Oscar where he falls into a sort of light coma as a result of being poisoned. Let’s say…as a result of the venom, Oscar is transported to the Dreamscape where ALL of his inner demons---the true feeling and fears he’s been suppressing for a long time---suddenly manifest inside this world to torment him and berate him.

And let’s say…on the other end, in the Other World, Ruby becomes worried for Oscar’s well-being when he doesn’t make contact with her in the Dreamscape for some time. And let’s say…due to her connection with Oscar, which became stronger as a result of them bonding in the dream world, Ruby is able to sense when something is wrong with Oscar due to her having a weird feeling in her chest. Almost as if her heart was beckoning her somewhere else. To take her to the person she wanted to see who needed her help. Or something like that.

In a nutshell, Ruby is able to enter the Dreamscape on her own through her connection with Oscar. At first, Ruby mostly relied on Oscar to bring her to the Dreamscape but when Oscar was in trouble, Ruby used their link to take her there as an alternative means.

To make a long theory short, Ruby arrives in the Dreamscape to find the once magical dream world in dark chaos ---basically imagine being on the outside of a tornado.

The Dreamscape had turned into a rampant storm to reflect Oscar’s darkest inner emotions which were spiralling out of control before Ruby’s very eyes.

Remember how in Steven Universe, in the episode that debuted the “Here Comes A Thought” song, remember how Steven’s true feelings about Jasper, Bismuth and his mother started to manifest before him and Connie while they were fused as Stevonnie during training?

Picture a moment like that with Oscar in the Dreamscape where Oscar’s fears take form---at first taking on the appearance of Oscar’s old self dressed in his old farm boy attire belittling Oscar for leaving home to be among people who he didn’t fully believe trusted or even actually cared him---unearthing Oscar’s thoughts and repressed emotions from the events of V6.

Then the Dreamscape manifests Ironwood to belittle Oscar for his repressed emotions from the events of V7. Then it transforms into Salem to taunt and humiliate Oscar over his repressed trauma as a result of being her prisoner during the events of V8 and being tortured.

You get what I’m saying, right? Whatever Oscar has been repressing for so long, the Dreamscape manifests it as a being of spite to through it all back in Oscar’s face when he was most vulnerable. Finally, as Ruby enters the fray, the Dreamscape takes on a new form.

Here’s another concept to toss onto the Fake Rose table. Imagine if…the Fake Rose isn’t another silver eyed warrior or rose-themed person who takes an interest in Oscar.

What if…the Fake Rose is actually a replica of Ruby manifested by the Dreamscape to reveal Oscar’s true feelings and fears in respect to Ruby?

Assuming that you’re an ole-school Potterhead like yours truly Miki-chan, remember the last book/movie?

Remember that one scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows involving the locket? Remember how the locket made an apparition of Harry and Hermione appear before Ron to voice his jealousy and inferiority when compared to Harry especially in the eyes of Hermione who he believed loved Harry over him.

Picture something like that with a Fake Ruby Rose---Mocking Oscar over his “childish” love for his rose, as if he actually stood a chance of being with her given the Merge and any other insecurities that Oscar secretly harboured that he’d supressed for so long.

Picture that. Imagine…something like that happening so that it could ultimately lead into Ruby denouncing ever fear of Oscar’s voiced by her fake copy as this rose---the one true rose did her best to comfort her prince.

It’s a moment where Ruby words unfortunately don’t reach Oscar. Thus, Ruby tries to one way she’s always reached out to him. Through a gentle comforting touch. In that moment, Ruby wishes for Oscar to feelher there beside him.

To feel her arms wrapped around him and the warmth of the hug she dared to give him since she wanted more than anything to be able to comfort him through the storm. And for a second time, through the power of love (mixed in with just a smidge of their share magic inherited from the God of Light possibly), the Dreamscape grants Ruby’s wish and Oscar is able to feel her for the first time since they met in the dream world. To feel her arms around him as she embraced him tightly with all the love and care for him she could channel in that moment.

And just like that, all becomes calm as the storm disappeared; softening to a gentle breeze against a beautifully sunlit sky; revealing two hearts embraced; once seperated but now together at long last in the world of their own created from their shared love.

Basically picture the Dreamscape as this magical world brought to life by the love and heart’s desires of two star-crossed lovers separated by fate and lost to two realities. Thus the Dreamscape mirrors the feelings and grants the desires of these two lovers since they are the rulersof said world as its creators. Thus it is a world that is only attainable by them. A world of their own. A world of dreams to grant the wishes of two lost souls in love.

I’d love to go more in depth into this revised Dreamscapeidea of mine for the Rosegarden pair. However for the time being, this is concept that I have in mind and is all that I have to share for now. What do you think?

~ LittleMissSquiggles (2021)

[kamosweasley]

Once Upon A Dream (George Weasley x Reader)

Description : fluff prompt "Everything I ever wanted is right in front of me" & Disney song prompt, Once Upon A Dream from The Sleeping Beauty for @wand3ringr0s3 writing challenge

Word's count : 1.7K

Author's note :

• It's my first fic in English, I hope isn't that bad and if you have any advices I'll be happy to read it :)

• English isn't my first language so there must be a lot of mistakes, I'm sorry but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway

Since the announcement of the Yule Ball, you have been dreaming of this night. For one night, everybody wears their prettiest outfits and comes dancing in the Great Hall decorated as never seen before. Everything screamed for an incredible and unforgivable night, the type that you want to remember forever, even more when you're going with your boyfriend.

-You look stunning.

-Shut up and dance.

Slow dance with George is more of a tournament task than a pleasure, he doesn’t stop talking and you see how energetic and distracted he is since the beginning. This man didn’t care about the dance, he got something else on his mind. And to be honest you don’t really want to know what, as his friend and now his girlfriend you’ve learned to let him mind his business with Fred. From time to time you like to be part of one of his pranks but it’s too much trouble to always know what’s going one with these two. But you should have guessed that Yule Ball was the perfect occasion for the « Double Trouble » to do something special.

-You’re so mean. How I could fall in love with you ?

-If I listen to you, I’m a wonderful baddie, sooooo funny and pretty. I remember one day you said that you’re addicted to me, I kind of like that information.

-Remind me not to compliment you that much anymore. You start to become a bitch.

-Now you’re the meanest one. Why did I accepted to be your girlfriend ?

-Just wait, and you’ll remember …

-Why does it sounds so secret ? You’re gonna pull a prank tonight ? During the Yule Ball ? I hope it will not ruin my dress.

-It’s really the only thing you scared about ? Not ruining your dress ?

-Honey, I know you and I know what you’ll do.

His bright smile warms your heart in a second, you know exactly why you fell in love at first sight. This man is a cutie even if he denies it, he’s so soft that you couldn’t do anything but fall for him.

A new music starts to be played by the orchestra, you need a second to recognize the song. Your eyes widen and you look at them before looking at George, in shock.

-It’s Once Upon A Dream ! You know, my favorite song from Sleeping Beauty, the muggle tale I showed you last Christmas !

-Of course I know. Would you be my princess for this dance darling ?

He puts his hand on your waist and the other one holds your hand, you start dancing, starring in each others’ eyes. You can’t help but gloat inwardly, it’s a little girl’s dream come true. How many times have you imagined meeting a prince and dancing with him while singing these words ? Maybe it's not in a forest and your date is not a prince (after all, you're not a princess either) but it’s better than you’ve ever dreamed. Share this moment with your boyfriend, wearing a beautiful gown and knowing that he loves you … It’s perfect.

The orchestra plays to perfection and the singer has a soft voice like Aurora, your only regret is that this song is too short. If this moment could last forever, you wouldn't hesitate to stay in it. It's so pleasant to dance with George, his hands are warm and hold you tight with softness, he looks at you with devotion, and a bit of pride. His jaw dropped when he saw you come out of the common room in your pale pink silk dress, he was hit by your beauty, finding you radiant. And with you as his dance partner for the whole night, his heart is full of love and admiration for his favorite person : you.

-I can’t believe they know it ! It’s from a muggle movie, I don’t know anybody here who knows this movie, unless the muggleborns and some halfbloods of course.

-And me, you made me watch it so many times I think I can recite the story in my sleep.

-That’s true. But you have to ! And this song is so romantic, I love it !

-I know. Why do you think they played it ?

-Oh my God ! It’s you, you told them to play it ?

It’s way better than any prank, no matter how fun it could’ve been. Because it means that when he heard about the Yule Ball, he thought about searching for the partitions and lyrics of the song in purpose to ask the orchestra and the singer to play it, just because he knows you love it and it will make you so happy. That’s why you say he’s a cutie, this man just gives you your favorite song from your childhood to dance with him, your lovely boyfriend. Your heart melts again, you hug him with tears in your eyes. It means so much to you. He cares, he truly cares.

-Thank you Georgie.

-You’re welcome, love. We have danced the best slow of our life, until the one for our wedding of course.

-Calm down big man, we’re only 16. You should not promise to marry me, I may become crazy and chase you around in a wedding dress if we break up beforehand. Even worse if I find out you want to marry someone else.

-Bloody hell, could you tell me why I would do this ? Why would I want to break up and marry anybody else ? Everything I’ve ever wanted is right in front of me.

-Oh babe ! Do you feel good ? Any fever ? You have strange words …

-Aren’t you the hopeless romantic in this relationship ? Don’t you dream of marrying me and be the mother of my children ?

-As I said, we’re 16. Right now all I want is to get out of the school with my N.E.W.T. and to dance with you.

-As Phillip and Aurora ?

-Great idea ! What if we go into a corridor to dance and sing like in the movie ? Oh please George, I have a gown ! I will be princess Aurora and you prince Phillip, it would be just like a dream !

-So, you saw me once upon a dream ?

He can’t resist your puppy eyes, seeing in it the little girl in a princess dress dreaming awake in front of her favorite movie. Holding your hand, smirking at you, you leave the Great Hall together. The crowd is thick, full of couples dancing as in a movie, making your exit even more difficult. Tracing your path as in a maze, the fresh winter air cools on your naked arms as you enter the hall. Almost running, you follow him to an aisle of the castle far enough so that you can no longer hear the music or the students. George let go of your hand and leaned against a wall with his arms folded, his gaze fixed on you. Acting isn’t a thing you do often, even less for something so personal. Your cheeks blush as you approach him, uttering in a slightly trembling voice :

-I’m really not supposed to speak to strangers, but we’ve met before.

-You’re sure ?

-I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.

You start dancing, his hands on your waist and yours on the back of his neck, spinning in circles with lightness. You sing without an ounce of shyness, with a euphoric heart and sparkling eyes. It’s so easy to feel comfortable with him, he’s a simple man who doesn’t judge, he’s pure kindness. He encourages you every single day, at any time with words, glances, winks or the most appropriate thing for the moment. You know that you’re lucky to have him.

George makes you spin at the end of the song, making you both giggle. He loves the way he makes you smile with simple things as a sarcastic joke or dancing together in a deserted area of a castle. It’s a thing he truly loves about you, your cheerful personality that makes you smile and laugh almost all day long, even if some people don't see you as a funny and happy girl. He understands you better than anyone, it's a pride he only brags about to Fred when you're not around to hear it. And if anybody at school saw you right now, laughing against him and lost in his gaze, this person would understand why you got his heart. You slowly become calm and quiet again, staring at each other. You feel good in his arms.

-I love you.

-And I know it’s true.

-Shut up and kiss me.

-I love you too.

Your lips meet, your head tilted back to be able to kiss him. He's so tall, making a simple kiss an occasion to put you on your tiptoes as he bends over so your faces meet. You’ve never told him but you love this height difference, you feel protected in his arms.

He puts a lock of your hair behind your ear, then his deep voice raises in the silence of your own tale's castle. George isn't a man who sings often, he hummed a lot but you heard him singing like two or three times since you’ve met him. This night just keeps getting more special.

-I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar, a gleam.

You start dancing again together, just holding by a hand this time, hopping like children all the way around. There is nothing conventional anymore, just two lovers having fun not minding the party downstairs. This connection between you two reappears, it started quickly when you became friends. You always follow him in his jokes, sarcastic discussions, crazy thoughts, sterile debates, sometime in his pranks with Fred, and he did the same with you. This is your own love language, maybe your hearts are beating the same rhythm since that day, when you have found in each other your half.

You know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem, but you know him and his love for you, the same as the one you have for him.

[roadtohell]

@mynamesdrstuff​ thank you ur brain is so big, i had like 10 moments of revelation while writing this

A Labour of Love- or, How to Write a Song That Makes Me Want to Lie Facedown On The Floor

Four decades separates the respective rises of singer-songwriters Hozier and Bruce Springsteen, nearly as large as the gap between the worlds in which their public images reside. According to popular myth, the former is the tall, near-ethereal Bog Man, half in this life and half in the next, who rose from a fae-inhabited woodland after 1000 years of slumber to find he was able only to mourn his lost love through song; the other is the Boss, a hardy yet compassionate working-class hero permanently streaked with the blood and sweat of a marathon shift, toiling endlessly alongside the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, hard-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, Viagra-taking*, love-making, legendary E Street Band. The domains of fen and factory may appear to be irreconcilable, but in reality the musicians have many things in common:

Broadly speaking, they both create wildly variable mixes of folk and rock, often with particularly strong Irish and African-American influences.

Their lyrics are poetic and commonly reflect on social issues with a progressive voice.

Songs about romantic relationships typically portray them as complex and difficult but remain respectful, sometimes near worshipful, of women.

Their characters yearn, long, pine and crave more often than not.

They both really like to use religious imagery.

They enjoy and return notable amounts of wlw love.

Representative of many of these are Hozier’s “Work Song” and Springsteen’s “Maria’s Bed”, two songs with close thematic parallels. Each is ostensibly told from the perspective of an exhausted labourer who dreams of returning to his lover. In a twist, however, “Work Song” is a melancholic love story, while the upbeat “Maria’s Bed” is a subtle tale of death; the opposing moods are complex reflections of these underlying narratives. These songs have Hozier and Springsteen skilfully intertwine the concepts of love, death, freedom and spirituality, creating two deeply moving portrayals of desire** that never fail to eviscerate the listener after 10pm.

Though the songs differ in overall lyrical structure, the similarities in narrative are evident from the first few lines:

Boys, workin' on empty / Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? / I just think about my baby / I'm so full of love I could barely eat

Been on a barbed wire highway forty days and nights / I ain’t complaining, it’s my job and it suits me right / I got a sweet soul fever rushing round my head / I’m gonna sleep tonight in Maria’s bed

The audience can gather that each character works in a harsh environment where they are exposed to the elements. Their work is likely in manual labour, but the details are skimmed over because the narrators don’t particularly want to think about the details. Pushed to their limits, each instead copes by preoccupying himself with thoughts of his lover, though it makes him literally lovesick.

I’d never want once from the cherry tree / ‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be / She gives me toothaches just from kissing me

She gives me candy-stick kisses ‘neath a wolf-dog moon / A sweet breath and she’ll take you, mister, to the upper room

The worker recalls his lover’s kisses as being vibrantly sweet, sweeter than nature. So, too, is her company- in contrast to the grim situation he is currently in, she is something to be savoured. Sugar cravings, an innate biological compulsion, come to mind; his hankering for her is likewise deep-seated and out of his control.

The reason for such devotion, the narrator reveals, is that she saved his life at a time when he had already resigned himself to death. He believes he was undeserving of such a deed; Hozier describes “three days on a drunken sin… she never asked me once about the wrong I did,” while Springsteen’s character recounts being “burned by angels, sold wings of lead / then I fell in the roses and sweet salvation of Maria’s bed”. In other words, his state of ruin was at least partially self-made, and her care seemed completely inexplicable. He eagerly returns her love, perhaps feeling that it’s the least he owes- but he still doesn’t quite understand where it came from.

True to both songwriters’ styles, these lines are direct allusions to the idea of redemption in Christianity: God sheltering a faithful person from the literally hellish consequences of their wrongdoing, through no merit of their own. However, the worker is notably dismissive of traditional doctrine:

My babe would never fret none / About what my hands and my body done / If the Lord don’t forgive me / I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me

I’ve been out in the desert, yeah, doing my time / Searching through the dust for fool’s gold, looking for a sign / Holy man says “hold on, brother, there’s a light up ahead” / Ain’t nothing like the light that shines on me in Maria’s bed

His faith rests not in God but on his lover; she is his religion now. Her act of grace already gave him a new, better life- he doesn’t need biblical promises when her love is tantamount to anything heaven might offer. This implication conveys a staggering depth of feeling, particularly to a religiously raised listener. Spirituality is, at its core, emotional; combined with the values and customs of religion, it is a force that can exert incredible influence over a person. The worker doesn’t reject spirituality itself- it’s an intrinsic part of him- but he has put all that power in the hands of the one he adores. It may make him vulnerable to her (that’s love!), but he is certain that she will give him the strength he needs.

Theological redemption also has close ties with death, as its benefits aren’t meant to be reaped on earth. Instead, the love, glory and freedom that are promised are relegated to the afterlife. Historically, the presumed ecstasy of achieving this gave death a sexual connotation; after all, if a lover could take the spiritual place of God, then perhaps sex could take the role of death as a gateway to paradise, far away from a life of pain. Work Song embraces this analogy, explicitly linking spiritual fulfilment to the pleasure of sexual intimacy:

When I was kissing on my baby / And she put her love down, soft and sweet / In the low lamplight, I was free / Heaven and hell were words to me

The equally suggestive Maria’s Bed allows the audience to draw similar conclusions, but it accomplishes this using a far less serious method: regular mentions of the titular bed, wink-wink-nudge-nudge. Yet this light-hearted sauciness is something of a misdirection. It’s easy to gloss over the song’s references to water, but they are strong hints that support an alternative reading: Maria is not a woman, but a river***. The story, from this perspective, then becomes much more sombre- the worker is a dying or suicidal man who wishes to have his body laid at the bottom of a river that provided for him in life, and whose real desire is for the peace he hopes to find there in death.

Got on my dead man’s suit and smiling skull ring / Lucky graveyard boots and a song to sing / I keep my heart in my work, my troubles in my head / And I keep my soul in Maria’s bed

This darker interpretation arguably makes more sense than the face-value love story, as it resolves some figures of speech that otherwise seem out of place. Even so, the more obvious reading is no less meaningful****; in fact, the coexistence of these narratives is what makes Maria’s Bed an almost perfect thematic inverse to Work Song.

When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her

Hozier uses the finality of death to illustrate the strength of a man’s desire for love- his narrator embraces his own passing as he is certain not even the most permanent of barriers can keep him from his lover. Springsteen, through the personification of the river, uses the language of romance to demonstrate how fervently a man might desire death- his narrator embraces his demise because it offers a reprieve from life, just like a lover would.

All that said, no amount of lyrical analysis will reveal the clearest point of contrast the songs have: their music.

Work Song primarily draws from blues and folk music, both of which have roots in historical work songs used to coordinate physical tasks as well as boost morale. Reflecting this musical heritage, instrumentation is fairly simple, with the steady rhythm of claps and piano chords punctuating hard. It is slow and heartfelt, almost mournful; though there’s no mention of time frame, the audience has the sense that the worker still has a long way to go before he can return to his lover.  This notion comes largely from the song’s circular structure. By ending with the same music it opened with, its story is also implied to finish at its beginning: with the men hard at work in the “burning heat”, and no true relief in sight. This is furthered by having little development over the course of the song- though iterations of the chorus are more intense than the verses, the arrangements underlying both sections barely change. The worker, it seems, is never quite far enough from his reality of hard labour, and never close enough to home.

On the other hand, Maria’s Bed is relentlessly optimistic, driven by a strong forward momentum. Where most modern songs have their choruses as their most powerful feature, here the wordless refrain (“hey hey, la la la li li li li”) acts more like a transition between verses, keeping the story moving. The jaunty fiddles that fade out are quite different to the introductory guitar and organ, suggesting the worker’s situation has developed for the better. In addition, the orchestration builds continually, only briefly pulling back before the music culminates in an extended musical outro. Many of the instruments work in counterpoint, each additional layer contributing to an air of an unrestrained joy that is further spurred on by Springsteen’s high hums and whoops. The linear musical direction and overall impression of good cowboy fun results in the feeling that, unlike the singer of Work Song, the narrator is already on his way to his heart’s desire- though, in light of the lyrics, what this actually means is somewhat ambiguous. Are those final echoes him moving out of earshot… or his ghost ascending to the “upper room” of heaven?

We may not know for sure how either of these stories end, but we can feel the aching hope for something better. This longing is an emotional line that runs all the way through both Springsteen and Hozier’s work, though it never seems to get old. Combined with explorations of love, faith, life, death- that’s why we return to their music again and again; they are experts at playing on old motifs and universal themes in new and creative ways, their crafted melodies and narratives touching wild and industrial hearts alike.

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* I am legally obligated to include all these adjectives.

** Maria’s Bed seems to be sadly obscure even among fans; the one and only online forum discussion I have seen about the song refers to it as “not that deep”. Having written this whole essay- if Springsteen himself said that to me, I’d laugh in his face.

*** A random internet comment I can’t find anymore backs me up on this. It even specified that it was about the Santa Maria River in California, as quoted “from Bruce”. Obviously an infallible source 😊

**** It’s important that “[drinking] the cool clear waters” can totally be the description of oral sex you thought it was.

[believerindaydreams]

in which some metafictional stuff happens

Inspired by some chat I was having with @sybilius and also an amazing ‘80s AU fic by @morgan-arthur although this can’t actually be blamed on either of them. Not least because it seems to be set in the ‘70s sometime instead.

so anyway, here’s a thing where Blondie and Tuco are draft-dodging, card-playing hustlers, and wow did I get involved in building up the situation for this. Also some racial stuff, hence the tagging. 

(edit: Tumblr in its infinite wisdom blocks the fic when I had the tagging in. I’m of the opinion that any fic where the POC protagonist is contemplating their own participation in screwed-up racial dynamics for the sake of pulling a fast one ought to be tagged racism, but I also want people to actually be able to read the thing, so no tagging.)

Ugh. 

Anyway, I feel that you can’t have Leone if the GBU characters are wandering around, so...

“Badlands,” Blondie says, holding the grey film can easily, as if it weighs no more than a dream; and Tuco privately seethes. 

They’ve been so careful about this little hustle, never entering a town together or winning too much from the same people. Blondie will show up at a bar’s back room first, play a few hands, let everyone there get a sense of him as a discreet, careful player, with a damn-near perfect poker face. 

Enter the sucker: one loud-mouthed, louder-dressed Mexican, twirling a mustache and flashing a roll (hundreds, wrapped around ones). Sometimes the other players will play it straight, and those nights they more or less break even. Other times, well...maybe he takes his time ordering the tequila, and gets to the table to find too many smiles, quiet sniggers behind the cards. And a couple too-good-to-be-true rounds to be sure of roping him in, with Blondie betting the most. 

So he wins those, and takes all the money, and tells them he’s quitting while he’s ahead. With a free round of tequila for everybody, to show there’s no hard feelings. If that’s not good enough, he has his gun; and there’s always Blondie’s if the situation got serious. So far they haven’t needed either, because the hustle they sell is never about the money. It’s something better, even more important, for the kind of men who hate the border and everything from south of it. Giving them the chance to look down on this cringing, incredibly superstitious foreigner who’d obviously love to play on, but santa maria, the Virgin Mary, she whispers in my ear and tells me no, go home now...  

(a joke in many layers; he’s from Brooklyn, not romantic Sonora, but even Blondie doesn’t know that part. There might be less dangerous ways of making a living; but none that won’t be just as insulting, Tuco figures. And the hours suit him fine.) 

Only apparently their reputation’s preceded them this time, because there’s no reason on earth that Bill Carson would just so happen to have a hot film print sitting in the trunk of his car. Blondie’s got next to no vices that Tuco’s ever noticed, but every man needs a couple, and his are Westerns. 

“Adequate stakes?“ Carson asks, with a hopeful, driving need in his voice- the jitteriness of a barely controlled addict, on something stronger than the whiskey he’s gulping like coke. Maybe there’s something to work with, then. If the stakes were worth it. 

“An old film,” Tuco says dismissively. “You tell me what I want with an old film, eh?”

“Badlands is New Hollywood,” Blondie says, not letting go to Carson’s pleading tug. “They’d never made anything like this before.”

Now that’s simply not true, Tuco’s well aware; he can date and place their progress across the country simply by what movie was playing when. 1967, Texas, Bonnie and Clyde. 1968, Colorado, and such a handsome bastard in Ace High. By 1969 they’d reached Las Vegas in time for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and spent more time sneaking into theatres than counting cards, the way he remembers it. There have been plenty such films before. 

Then again, he doesn’t know what it is that Blondie’s looking for, every time they sit before that silver screen and watch the pictures flickering by. To him they’re just a tolerable way to pass the time, a chance to rest his feet and fill his belly with hot buttered popcorn; but for Blondie, movies are meat and drink and eucharist all rolled into one, a gaping hole in the world’s tightly woven net, a wound that leads out somewhere that everything is upside-down, and their petty struggles for one more win, the indifferent hamburgers at forgettable lunch counters, sweaty nights at plastic-wrapped motels, all become the stuff of legend. 

But Blondie does have such a fine poker face; and that makes it worthwhile putting up with his foibles. “All right, all right,” Tuco says, a little more impatiently than usual; and lays down the covering stake. 

They win. Of course they win; and Bill Carson watches them take his prize with a strange kind of satisfaction, a relish that makes Tuco’s flesh prickle. All gamblers say they’re in it to win; not all of them are, though, and it fills him with unease when they play a man who begs the world to take everything he has. 

“Fucker had it coming,” he says afterwards, in the night-cold air of the alley (desert air is cruel like that, he’d discovered early on, while pretending that he’d known it all along). “But no match for us, eh Blondie?”

That’s breaking ranks. Even now, standing in front of the battered station wagon that will lead them to the next town, and another and another, they are not supposed to talk of their connection- but Blondie merely shoves an elbow into his ribs, a lackluster motion with no energy behind it. Talking’s no use, the man’s transfixed. 

Tuco curses under his breath, lights a cigarette to warm his hands and curb frustrated appetites. They’d plotted this one for weeks, planning and quarreling by turns, how to dupe the famous spendthrift Carson. He’d been dreaming of a month of steak dinners, real hotels with pile carpeting, enough money to let them rest a while and not have to do any thinking at all. 

Instead they were taken in themselves, just as broke today as they were yesterday, with a head muzzy from too much tequila and his stomach crying out with hunger. He has to be drunk, Tuco concludes, or he’d never have let Blondie dictate terms; not when they could have held out for money or a car or something practical, not a damned film that they can’t even watch.

(Briefly, he envisions reaching out and pulling the narrow length of Blondie’s black necktie into a choking knot; and the image fills him with too much bleak satisfaction.)

“You there,” somebody calls. Standing at the edge of the alley, where the street lights can outline his silhouette to maximum effect; it’s a nice theatrical gesture, Tuco notes, and tucks that one away in his memory for later.  

“You want us to put out, you’d better be prepared to pay up!” If that won’t get Blondie’s attention, nothing will. It doesn’t. 

The interloper comes closer, and Tuco recognises him now; the fourth member of their poker quartet, the one who’s spoken even less than Blondie. His mouth moves more than Blondie’s, but his eyes are just as verboten. “I have something you two might be interested in.”

“We’re not,” Blondie says, dropping the precious film into his game bag; and Tuco watches him move it from hand to hand, ready to toss onto a soft bulging trash pile if the situation degenerates into a fight. 

Angel Eyes smiles, at the both of them, and Tuco wishes he wouldn’t. “I have a projector. Someplace quiet to watch it, too. Sounds to me like we need each other.”

Blondie considers, pronounces. “Done.”

“Hang on here,” Tuco says, more for the sake of the protest than anything else. “Blondie, it’s late, this is new territory for us. We need to find somewhere to sleep tonight, get out bearings and pick up some dinner.”

“I’ll take care of that,”  Angel Eyes says, an offer that’s halfway to a command. “Only fair recompense.”

“Do us both good,” Blondie says, now staring at Angel Eyes with that same lust he’d just been lavishing on a second-hand film can; and Tuco does not ask himself the source of that sudden raging heat that grips his body tight. Doesn’t ask what it means for their unspoken trust, if someone else can wedge a way between him and Blondie; doesn’t ask himself how long this deal with a devil can be expected to last, or how it’ll end. 

All he allows himself to know is that he’s warm now, and somebody’s offered them dinner, and just now, there’s nothing more he wants out of life. 

“Tuco will probably fall asleep, but never mind that, I’ll wake him up if he starts snoring,” Blondie says. 

There’s a flicker in Angel’s expression, then. “For a poker player, you sure don’t pick up on tells.” 

wouldn’t it be just my luck, to be the bystander in a tale of love at first sight? 

“It’s your call, Blondie,” Tuco says, letting the tension drip into his shaking voice (it’s cheap, and he’d make himself a damn sight cheaper, to hold what he has). “Who are you spending the night with, huh?”

“Who’s to say I can’t spend it with both you idiots?“

“And where do you get off,” Angel Eyes asks. “Calling me an idiot?”

“If you weren’t, you’d have won the film yourself and we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Blondie says. He takes one of his little cigars from a shirt pocket, lights and inhales. 

Not with the slightest trace of desire. There’s a devastating, effortless charm to it, the glorious self-sufficiency of a man who wants absolutely nothing from life, and will never need to ask. Illusion, the ideal poker face, perfect and complete. 

Tuco sucks in a breath at the sight, same as he always does; besides him, simultaneously, Angel Eyes does precisely the same. 

They don’t even need to look at each other, to share the next inexorable thought. 

That one’s going to be trouble.

[blackphoenixalchemylab]

Halloween 2018 Perfume Blends

Calling all witches, hags, demons, goat-lovers, and assorted tricksters! 

We've truly outdone ourselves with the Halloween 2018 collection, exploring strange new depths in diablerie as well as perfumerie. In addition to many classic treats, we've also got a spooky Chaos Theory, a timely Poe tale storyboarded in scent, a pile of Dead Leaves, a ribald new series of blends inspired by goats in classical art, and more! Never fear -- Trading Post's hair gloss and atmosphere sprays will be coming soon! 

You’ll find the full compendium of Halloween scent descriptions below, but BEWARE... You may find more thrills than e'er you bargained for.!

++ HALLOWEEN 2018

ALL SOULS A day of remembrance and intercession. Without the prayers and sacrifices of their families and loved ones, the faithful departed may not be cleansed of their venal sins, and thereby cannot attain beatific vision. On November 2nd, prayers are sung and offerings are made to aid lost souls in transcending purgatory. An incense blend that invokes the higher qualities of mercy and compassion, mingled with the soft, sugared currant scent of offertory soul cakes.

BLUE GHOST BLUES I feel myself sinkin' down I feel myself sinkin' down My body is freezin' I feel something cold creepin' around

My windows is rattlin' My doorknob turnin' round an' round My windows is rattlin' My doorknob turnin' round an' round This haunted house blues is killin' me I feel myself sinkin' down

I been fastin' in this haunted house Six long months today I been fastin' in this haunted house Six long months today The Blue Ghost is got the house surrounded, Lord And I can't get away

They got shotguns and pistols Standin' all round my door They got shotguns and pistols Standin' all round my door They haunt me all night long So I can't sleep no more

The Blue Ghost haunts me all night The nightmare rides me all night long The Blue Ghost haunts me at night The nightmare rides me all night long They worry me so in this haunted house I wished I was dead and gone

- Lonnie Johnson

A ward against evil: bay rum, whiskey, cigar smoke, black pepper, and salt.

BONFIRE TOFFEE Our spin on a traditional Guy Fawkes Night treat: treacle toffee soaked in rich, dark bourbon.

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS A joyous celebration of La Catarina, La Flaca, La Muerte... Glorious, Beautiful Death. In Mexico, death is not something to be feared or hated; She is embraced, loved, and adored. La Muerte is fêted, as the celebrant "...chases after it, mocks it, courts it, hugs it, sleeps with it; it is his favorite plaything and his most lasting love." This is a Mexican paean to La Huesuda: dry, crackling leaves, the incense smoke of altars honoring Death and the Dead, funeral bouquets, the candies, chocolates, foods and tobacco of the ofrenda, amaranth, sweet cactus blossom and desert cereus.

FEEDING THE DEAD A barrel of beer, a pyramid of cakes, and three sticks of incense.

GHOST MUSIC Gloomy and bare the organ-loft, Bent-backed and blind the organist. From rafters looming shadowy, From the pipes’ tuneful company, Drifted together drowsily, Innumerable, formless, dim, The ghosts of long-dead melodies, Of anthems, stately, thunderous, Of Kyries shrill and tremulous: In melancholy drowsy-sweet They huddled there in harmony. Like bats at noontide rafter-hung.

- Robert Graves

Sheets of white musk and lavender curling around a melancholy song of violet root, iris, neroli, and honeysuckle.

GHOULISH Creepy like Creepy and as spooky as Spooky, this is the scent of a black cherry and coconut amaretto confection gently laced with saffron.

THE HAG The Hag is astride, This night for to ride; The Devill and shee together: Through thick, and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne'r so foule be the weather.

A Thorn or a Burr She takes for a Spurre: With a lash of a Bramble she rides now, Through Brakes and through Bryars, O're Ditches, and Mires, She followes the Spirit that guides now.

No Beast, for his food, Dares now range the wood; But husht in his laire he lies lurking: While mischiefs, by these, On Land and on Seas, At noone of Night are working,

The storme will arise, And trouble the skies; This night, and more for the wonder, The ghost from the Tomb Affrighted shall come, Cal'd out by the clap of the Thunder.

Black musk, bay leaves, galangal, bourbon vetiver, blackcurrant, and rum.

THE HARE In the black furrow of a field I saw an old witch-hare this night; And she cocked her lissome ear, And she eyed the moon so bright, And she nibbled o' the green; And I whispered 'Whsst! witch-hare,' Away like a ghostie o'er the field She fled, and left the moonlight there.

A leaper between worlds, the tiny trickster; she soars through liminal spaces, dancing in the strange shadows of dawn and twilight.

Warm fur and mandrake root, blue sage and tall grasses, honeysuckle-tinged moonlight, carrot seed, comfrey, and dandelion.

HUESOS DE SANTO On All Saints Day, Spanish families visit their loved ones in the cemeteries, keeping vigil throughout the evening, saying prayers for the dead. Family burial plots are cleaned and tended, and graves are adorned with gladiolas, chrysanthemums, and roses. Bone-shaped pastries called Saint's Bones, or the Bones of the Holy, are baked and shared in honor of the souls in Purgatory, and to remind us of those who no longer share our repast, but with whom we one day hope to be reunited with again.

Orange-glazed cake, dotted with anise seed, and filled with custard, set beside a bouquet of celebratory funeral flowers.

INSIDE THE GOLDEN AMBER OF HER EYEBALLS A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place your sight can knock on, echoing; but here within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else can ease him, charges into his dark night howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen into her, so that, like an audience, she can look them over, menacing and sullen, and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours; and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny, inside the golden amber of her eyeballs suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Sleek black fur and gleaming amber shining in the shadows, a rumble of myrrh, and claws as sharp as ti leaf.

LAMBS-WOOL According to William Shepard Walsh, the Gentleman's Magazine for May of 1784 stated, "this is a constant ingredient at merrymaking on Holy Eve." He also quotes Vallancey's etymological speculation: "The first day of November was dedicated to the angel presiding over fruits, seeds, etc., and was therefore named La Mas Ubhal, -- that is, the day of the apple fruit, -- and being pronounced Lamasool, the English have corrupted the name to Lambs-wool."

A popular holy day beverage in 18th century Ireland: roasted apples mashed into warmed milk and ale, with nutmeg, sugar, ginger, and clove.

MAGNIFICENT AUTUMN By what a subtle alchemy the green leaves are transmuted into gold, as if molten by the fiery blaze of the hot sun! A magic covering spreads over the whole forest, and brightens into more gorgeous hues. The tree-tops seem bathed with the gold and crimson of an Italian sunset. Here and there a shade of green, here and there a tinge of purple, and a stain of scarlet so deep and rich, that the most cunning artifice of man is pale beside it. A thousand delicate shades melt into each other. They blend fantastically into one deep mass. They spread over the forest like a tapestry woven with a thousand hues.

Magnificent Autumn! He comes not like a pilgrim, clad in russet weeds. He comes not like a hermit, clad in gray. But he comes like a warrior, with the stain of blood upon his brazen mail. His crimson scarf is rent. His scarlet banner drips with gore. His step is like a flail upon the threshing floor.

The scene changes.

It is the Indian summer. The rising sun blazes through the misty air like a conflagration. A yellowish, smoky haze fills the atmosphere; and

A filmy mist,

Lies like a silver lining on the sky.

The wind is soft and low. It wafts to us the odor of forest leaves, that hang wilted on the dripping branches, or drop into the stream. Their gorgeous tints are gone, as if the autumnal rains had washed them out. Orange, yellow, and scarlet, all are changed to one melancholy russet hue. The birds, too, have taken wing, and have left their roofless dwellings. Not the whistle of a robin, not the twitter of an eavesdropping swallow, not the carol of one sweet, familiar voice! All gone. Only the dismal cawing of a crow, as he sits and curses, that the harvest is over, – or the chit-chat of an idle squirrel, – the noisy denizen of a hollow tree, – the mendicant friar of a large parish, – the absolute monarch of a dozen acorns!

Another change.

The wind sweeps through the forest with a sound like the blast of a trumpet. The dry leaves whirl in eddies through the air. A fret-work of hoar-frost covers the plain. The stagnant water in the pools and ditches is frozen into fantastic figures. Nature ceases from her labors, and prepares for the great change. In the low-hanging clouds, the sharp air, like a busy shuttle, weaves her shroud of snow. There is a melancholy and continual roar in the tops of the tall pines, like the roar of a cataract. It is the funeral anthem of the dying year.

A scent that wanders through the Ages of Autumn, from the last green leaf to the first breath of winter.

MIDNIGHT BONFIRE Lighting the path between worlds, the beacon at the threshold: night-blooming jasmine, smoldering maple leaves, a cluster of patchouli and blackened ti leaf, black sage, and pinewood smoke.

PUMPKIN CRÈME BRULEE With vanilla bean scrapings.

PUMPKIN DUST Shavings of white pumpkin rind and honey powder.

PUMPKIN MUSK AND BLACK OUDH A strangely romantic, disturbingly erotic perfume.

PUMPKIN TOBACCO Sweet black tobacco infused with dried pumpkin and soaked in bourbon.

SAMHAIN Truly the scent of autumn itself -- damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.

SAMHAINOPHOBIA The Fear of Halloween

Menacing Haitian vetiver, patchouli, and clove with a shock of bourbon geranium, grim oakmoss, and dread-inspiring balsams pierce the innocuous scent of autumn leaves.

SCARECROW TURNED PHILOSOPHER Once I said to a scarecrow, “You must be tired of standing in this lonely field.”

And he said, “The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it.”

Said I, after a minute of thought, “It is true; for I too have known that joy.”

Said he, “Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it.”

Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me.

A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher.

And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest under his hat.

- Kahlil Gibran

Corn husks waving on an autumn breeze, beams of amber sunlight, hay bales, and late summer wildflowers.

SUCK IT Sexy and suckable: black cherry brandy.

THIS WAN WHITE HUMMING HIVE And where should the living feel alive But here in this wan white humming hive, As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold, And one by one they creep back to the fold? And where should a man hold his mate and say: "One more, one more, ere we go their way"? For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night, When the living can learn by the churchyard light.

White patchouli leaf, beeswax, ambergris, and pale incense.

WHEN COLORS ALL TO BLACK ARE CAST In night when colors all to black are cast, Distinction lost, or gone down with the light; The eye a watch to inward senses placed, Not seeing, yet still having powers of sight,

Gives vain alarums to the inward sense, Where fear stirred up with witty tyranny, Confounds all powers, and thorough self-offense, Doth forge and raise impossibility:

Such as in thick depriving darknesses, Proper reflections of the error be, And images of self-confusednesses, Which hurt imaginations only see;

And from this nothing seen, tells news of devils, Which but expressions be of inward evils.

- Lord Brooke Fulke Greville

Ink-black musk and dried blackberries, midnight opoponax and sweet labdanum.

THE WITCH BRIDE A fair witch crept to a young man's side, And he kiss'd her and took her for his bride.

But a Shape came in at the dead of night, And fill'd the room with snowy light.

And he saw how in his arms there lay A thing more frightful than mouth may say.

And he rose in haste, and follow'd the Shape Till morning crown'd an eastern cape.

And he girded himself, and follow'd still When sunset sainted the western hill.

But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side, Weary day!-the foul Witch-Bride.

(Aw, c'mon, Allingham. Foul is a pretty strong choice of words, dontcha think?)

Pale and lovely, with eyes belladonna-wide: hemlock blossoms and ghostly nightshade veiled by wisteria, white frankincense, black amber, and narcissus resin.

YIPE In the vein (GET IT?) of Boo, Suck It, and Spooky, this is a gushing font of sweet bloody black cherry cream and crushed dried blackberries.

++ ALL HALLOWS CHAOS

Turbulent, disordered beauty: sensitive to initial conditions, topologically mixed, and approached by periodic orbits with abandon. A dynamical system expressed through scent.

Each bottle of Chaos Theory is truly unique, a fragrant fractal, and an exercise in the joy of chance and uncertainty! Each is a one-of-a-kind, utterly random combination of scents, the composition of which is based on whim, mood and gut instinct. Each bottle is numbered, and each bottle is unique.

Hail Eris! After a long hiatus, Chaos Theory is back!

This year, the aforementioned chaos is expressing itself through decidedly seasonal metaphors associated with gathering the harvest and welcoming the “dark half” of the year. Is it comfort you seek, or incantations whispered through a tear in the Veil? Thanks to the options below, you don’t have to choose — you can have it both ways! This is an exercise in the joy of chance and uncertainty! Each bottle is a one-of-a-kind, utterly random combination of scents, the composition of which is based on whim, mood and gut instinct.

Most common allergens have been omitted from the experiment. No pennyroyal, no nuts, no cinnamon, no cassia. Regardless, if you have any sensitivities, please do not participate in Chaos Theory. The contents of the oils are not recorded [that’s the whole point!] and we will not be able to answer questions about specific bottles of CT:VIII or guarantee that an allergen is not present in your order.

By purchasing CT:VIII, you agree to absolve Black Phoenix of any responsibility related to an allergic reaction to one of the oils in this series. Please make a responsible choice, and use caution and discretion when ordering. This is intended to be a fun, exciting project.

Each CT:VIII scent has a base inspired by one of our favorite ‘Weenies, in wildly varying proportions:

ALL HALLOWS CHAOS: PUMPKIN SPICE

Variety is the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.”

― William Cowper, 1785

Forget about the War on Christmas — the year’s most contentious seasonal battle is actually waged over this inescapable melange of palate-massaging flavors. We’ve got the formula down pat, and invite you to join us in a mad-science experiment: Just how far can we bend it before it breaks?

ALL HALLOWS CHAOS: SAMHAIN 

“Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.” ― Mary Shelley, 1831 This Samhain, we’re reveling in the desecration of a classic blend: “Damp woods, fir needle, and black patchouli with the gentlest touches of warm pumpkin, clove, nutmeg, allspice, sweet red apple and mullein.”

++ HALLOWEEN: MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH

Art by Tenebrous Kate

Words by Edgar Allan Poe

THE RED DEATH The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal --the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.

Splatters of red musk, bruise-purple violets, vetiver, and pimento.

HAPPY AND DAUNTLESS AND SAGACIOUS But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion.

Imprisoned in frenzied joy: ribbons of raspberry and red currant streaming through thick goat’s milk.

IT WAS FOLLY TO GRIEVE, OR TO THINK The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think.

Ginger-squeezed champagne with crushed diamonds, orange blossoms, and peach blossoms.

THERE WAS BEAUTY, THERE WAS WINE The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red Death."

Gushes of black and red wine splattering damask rose and white pear, engulfed in thick clove incense.

A MASKED BALL OF THE MOST UNUSUAL MAGNIFICENCE It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.

Opulent golden oudh, red benzoin, and bitter almond.

A GIGANTIC CLOCK OF EBONY It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as before.

The chiming of the clock: ebony wood and black pepper, narcissus blossom and tuberose, clanging with dull, heavy opoponax and thick olibanum.

THE TASTES OF THE DUKE WERE PECULIAR But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was not.

The swirl of a thousand glittering vices: absinthe and laudanum, opium poppy and neroli, star anise and black currant, whip leather and iron shackles, gilded vanilla flower and King mandarin.

GLARE AND GLITTER AND PIQUANCY AND PHANTASM He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm -- much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions.

Delirious fancies such as the madman fashions, arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments: orris absolute and leather contorted by cherry and orange blossom.

A MULTITUDE OF DREAMS There was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these -- the dreams -- writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps.

A blackened lavender mist, thick with opoponax, licorice root, and benzoin.

ALL IS SILENT SAVE THE VOICE OF THE CLOCK And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime die away -- they have endured but an instant -- and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods.

Dreams writhing to and fro, bubbling up from half-subdued laughter: pink peppercorn, jasmine sambac, and cypress bubbling up through half-subdued white lavender, stabbed through with streams of red musk and black currant.

THE NIGHT IS WANING AWAY But to the chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote gaieties of the other apartments. But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat feverishly the heart of life.

Night-blooming jasmine and cereus reflected through ruddy musk and crimson amber.

THE SOUNDING OF MIDNIGHT UPON THE CLOCK And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and surprise --then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

Terror, horror, and disgust: a bowel-churning sweet clench of myrhh and green musk in a pool of suffocating black moss and a shock of white cognac.

THE SCARLET HORROR In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood --and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near him -- "who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him -- that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!"

Blasphemous mockery: blood musk and vetiver.

A GROUP OF PALE COURTIERS It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and clearly -- for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker.

A sycophant’s polished stench: green musk fougere, lime, and rose-tufted wig powder.

A CERTAIN NAMELESS AWE But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber to the purple -- through the purple to the green -- through the green to the orange -- through this again to the white -- and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him.

Death unimpeded: bone-white sandalwood, dry cognac, and chilled ambergris accord.

A DEADLY TERROR THAT HAD SEIZED UPON ALL It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all.

He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry --and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

The wild courage of despair: a screech of blood orange and a splash of blood entangled in a corpse-mask of tattered white sandalwood stained with balsam and a grime-crusted winding sheet.

ILLIMITABLE DOMINION OVER ALL And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

Darkness, Decay, and the Red Death: blood musk and black tobacco, birch tar and bleeding cypress sap.

Listen to Poe’s complete tale here, on our YouTube Channel:

++ PICKMAN GALLERY 2018

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: ARKHAM’S PICKMAN GALLERY ACQUIRES CURIOUS COLLECTION OF GOAT ART, DEEMED ‘GREATEST OF ALL TIME’ Greatest Of All Time: Portraits of Genus Capra on view at the Pickman Gallery from September 22 to December 28, 2018, Arkham, MA — On view from September 18 through December 28, 2018 at Pickman Gallery, Arkham, MA, Greatest Of All Time: Portraits of Genus Capra. Greatest Of All Time is guest curated by the Santa Fe Art Institute’s Antonia Vasquez-Thackeray, who also holds a degree in Livestock Science.  In this first-of-its-kind exhibition, Mx. Vasquez-Thackeray explores the social co-evolution of humankind and goatkind, a history which stretches back at least 10,000 years. Researchers note that goat remains have been found at archaeological sites in Western Asia including Jericho, Choga Mami, Djeitun, and Çayönü. Via their innate curiosity and horizontally-pupilled eyes, goats have enjoyed a unique view of human civilization, and our ancestors’ myths and legends have proven us nothing if not fearful of their scrutiny. “Our projections in terms of goat consciousness and goat archetypes have eclipsed anything a goat might tell us about us, or itself,“ Vasquez-Thackeray writes in the introduction to her upcoming MY GOAT, MY INQUISITOR, a salvo against the bias and anthropomorphism that has infected the relations between these two closely interrelated worlds -- but which carefully does not disavow the propensity for deceit, diabolism and witchcraft within the Caprian mind. Greatest of All Time consists of works hand-selected to commune with our species’ most recent common ancestor. About this evolutionary MacGuffin, Max Robinson, Ph.D. Molecular Biology and Biotechnology & Evolutionary Genetics, University of Washington, has written: “Millions of years ago, there was some kind of animal that eventually evolved into both goats and humans. It probably had claws rather than hooves or hands. It had a liver, four legs, eyes, and a brain, just like humans and goats still do.” Unfathomably, a lineage extends directly from that ancestor to this season’s exhibition, which will serve as a family reunion of sorts: several goats from Vasquez-Thackeray’s personal herd will be in residence as docents throughout the duration of the show. (Their reactions to the art as well as to the guests will be recorded via motion-capture and analyzed by individuals from SFAI, MIT, and, by special request, members of Arkham’s Thousand Young Lodge.

A BOAR AND A GOAT 18th century Russian lubok, illustrator unknown Red amber, frankincense CO2 absolute, green fig, labdanum, King mandarin, Atlas cedar, and bitter almond.

A HOARD OF CREATURES WITH THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS BEFORE A TAVERN Cornelis Saftleven Peru balsam, leather, castoreum accord, frankincense, and hay.

A YOUNG BOY AND HIS BROTHER SEATED ON A GOAT Christoffel Pierson Polished mahogany, copal resin, Java sandalwood, teakwood, and Sumantran patchouli.

AN ENCAMPMENT OF SHEPHERDS Tassili N'Ajjer, 4000-1500BC Tonka bean, red clay, rose tobacco, and oudh.

ANIMAL ALLEGORY Cornelis Saftleven Dust, dry incense, parchment, and tobacco leaf.

BOY WITH GOAT IN A LANDSCAPE Rudolf Koller Grapevine and ivy, olive blossom, lavender, cypress, bay leaf, honey myrtle, Tuscany sage, and jasmine sambac.

CABRAS Giuseppe Palizzi Black pine, white sage, creeping ivy, and wild juniper.

EEN SATYR Jacob Jordaens A heavy, animalic musk with cognac, fir balsam, grapevine, black cypress, patchouli, honey, and copaiba balsam.

THE GOAT AND THE VINE Harrison Weir Golden apples, cedar and redwood trellises heavy with grapevine, beeswax, hemp, vanilla benzoin, and bois de rose.

THE GREAT HE-GOAT Francisco Goya Haitian vetiver, Egyptian amber, carnation, black musk, pomegranate, patchouli, and smoked ginger.

HALF-HUMAN, HALF-MONKEY BARBERS SHAVING A GOAT Engraving by G. van der Gucht after J. Wootton Bay rum, hay, dried alfalfa, aftershave, and cork stalk.

JACOB WITH THE DAUGHTERS OF LABAN

Louis Gauffier Lebanese cedar, chamomile, frankincense, and cinnamon.

JUPITER NOURISHED BY THE GOAT AMALTHEA Engraving by Jacques Jordaens Goat’s milk, nectar, ambrosia, and honey.

LITHOGRAPH OF A MOUNTAIN GOAT H Weir White sandalwood, black pepper, muguet, agarwood, labdanum, and 3-year aged patchouli.

RUHENDE ZIEGE MIT KITZCHEN

Johann Christian Reinhart Brown musk, leather, castoreum accord, white cedar, amber oudh, and clove bud.

STUDIE EINER ZIEGE Pieter Boel Sweet labdanum with clove, tobacco absolute, and guiac wood.

TWO SHEEP AND TWO GOATS RESTING TOGETHER IN A FIELD A. Ducote Sweet vetiver, bourbon vanilla, and wool.

VENUS PANDEMOS Venus Pandemos Hay, rose otto, red benzoin, torch smoke, and pink carnation.

THE WITCHES’ RIDE

Otto Goetze Red roses and vetiver with cashmere incense, rue, and cauldron spices.

ZOE AND THE GOAT

Lorenz Frølich Caramelized patchouli, cream, and thick golden honey.

++ HALLOWEEN: POMEGRANATE GROVE

About the pomegranate I must say nothing, for its story is something of a mystery. - Pausanias

POMEGRANATE GROVE: ALICE

POMEGRANATE GROVE: DORIAN

POMEGRANATE GROVE: EMBALMING FLUID

POMEGRANATE GROVE: MOROCCO

POMEGRANATE GROVE: SNAKE OIL

++ HALLOWEEN: PILE OF LEAVES

Every leaf tells a story.

DEAD LEAVES AND MAPLE SAP

DEAD LEAVES, BLACKBERRY, AND RED PATCHOULI

DEAD LEAVES, GREEN COGNAC, IRIS ROOT, AND WHITE LEATHER

DEAD LEAVES, SWEET MYRRH, LEATHER, GREEN POMELO, AND RED CURRANT

DEAD LEAVES, BOURBON VETIVER, NAGARMOTHA, AND VANILLA ABSOLUTE

DEAD LEAVES AND RED CARNATIONS

DEAD LEAVES AND PUMPKIN SEEDS

DEAD LEAVES AND SCOTCH

DEAD LEAVES AND WARM SUGAR COOKIES

DEAD LEAVES, SWEET OAKMOSS, WHITE SAGE, AND CHAPARRAL

DEAD LEAVES AND VANILLA INCENSE

DEAD LEAVES, APRICOT, AMBERGRIS, AND TOBACCO

DEAD LEAVES AND COFFEE BEANS

DEAD LEAVES, BLACK TEA, AND TOBACCO LEAF

DEAD LEAVES, MAGNOLIA CHAMPACA, AMBERETTE SEED, PERU BALSAM, AND SUGARED CHESTNUTS

DEAD LEAVES, RED WINE, AND BLACK OUDH

[shaeli-dawson]

Romance & Relationships

Name: Shaeli Dawnson Nickname: Shae Gender: Female Romantic Orientation: Straight Preferred Pet Names: Jewel Relationship Status: Taken  Favorite Canon Ship: Obviously have to throw in with @bourbonandbadluck. It’s been a roller coaster with these two, but in the greatest way. It’s never boring and even during the mellow times, it’s thought provoking in a sense to get more development out of them. @kat-hawke their friendship with Shae has been funny to say the very least. They really need to get into more trouble! There’s also some other stuff going on, but not gonna mention that juuuuust yet.  Favorite Non-Canon Ship: Mmm none that I can really toss out there at the moment. 

Opinion on True Love: "It’s something out of fairy tales that you hope for. Do I think it’s out there? I’d be stupid to think it doesn’t.” Ideal Physical Traits: “The eyes, a good head of hair, taller than me. The last part isn’t too hard to find.” Ideal Personality Traits: "Funny, maybe a little bit of cockiness, caring.” Unattractive Physical Traits: “Too much facial hair, lack of cleanliness. A day or two is fine, but going a week? Deal breaker.”

Ideal Date: “Honestly? Surprise me.” Do they have a type?: “Nope, generally gone too long to actually wanna keep one. Sure you can take some of them with you, but I wouldn’t want them to get hurt if something were to go wrong.” Average Relationship Length: Longest for her was a few years.  Preferred Non-Sexual Intimacy: Drinking, just being around the other, holding one another, forehead touches. Commitment Level: “I’m not going anywhere. Unless you really mess up do I even give it a thought of leaving. You’re stuck with me.” Opinion of Public Affection: She snorts. “I got nothing. I’ve gotten him against the wall and us down an alley a few times.” Past Relationships?: Two. The first being with Gabriel or Gabe, as she calls him. They grew up together in the orphanage, childhood friends turned lovers. Well she sorta ruined that relationship with how much she had been stealing and getting in trouble with authorities. He asked her to change for the sake of their relationship, she chose not to, he left her. The second being Tarrick. Tarrick she had fallen hard for, they joined the caravan out to Uldum and he ended up sleeping with another chick that was running with them. Left him out in the desert to rot only to find he was still living when her and Declan went out there. He got a nice few punches to the face before she kicked him into the camels’ water trough and then proceeded to steal two camels. 

Tagged by: @xyveth-heartbane

Tagging: @kat-hawke @bourbonandbadluck @varothvalor @preyontheweak @rian-kestavin @patiencekindnesscourage @adilynia @safrona-shadowsun @blairmoongazer @belillinafireseeker ... And anyone else that wants to or just steal it! :3

[enzymehuikj]

noteLxwww: this is my most recent story that will be a part of a short story thing 0 mmmk thank u!

—————-

“…..,every space between the lines to find a measure accurate to mine….I wonder what miracle could break the chain.” - Anastasia 

Enzyme

by Hui Kj

+

…and the mirror breaks so you live on without, and I would live for some weeks…fuck bother, alright…..идентифицировать операцию. Frozen lake, wild glance; here now - love in a turning line and with a biter creature know trees imagine then could climb anyway. If I am a swimmer then I was a dancer too. 

January; cousin Ded Moroz a third, always so with only one with thrice trinity dates when the wind went bite and the rest the only ones with calm for the questions in two thousand simple tales, continuous grieving - sleeping well is advice but what I have gathered is that the inventions will not keep my grandmother alive, and this biting concern and so on. 

+

My name is Jimmy Oclauhiz, and the three times were thousands of miles from here: now in Belleville, Maine and one more than the others circling and biting the vibrant daringness in ways I can only describe as green and yellow - normalizing is not my effort and the green eye dots more prevalent than....

Luck or warrior charge; the two are right the little flick then scowl with the overflow: cut off while the paint dries. The patio and the times recreate the psyche, and the youth with an abundance - still, Aunt and the rational keeps me out of the basement and hug with mass concern for what we watch how the three I accidentally directed blasphemy when the winter was just all so new to me and the days mild while me passive and dealt with but sometimes there are challenges and than there is consequence of point this or that destruction and this is how I will live and there is just a couple things. . .

+

Gray short hair - her eyes with body always a tremble, she asked if I was gay, octaves soon - ‘four four four’ she mumbled into my eyes. Information grace or circuit fire - whatever it may be: if she is as such as said then can be without any and all. The nurses spoon her water and she will raise an eyebrow at my eyebrow motion - purple ribbon, ah. I visit her twice a week. An archived Christmas - shush, frizzy feeling…. I smoke a cigarette with my Aunt. 

Changing me how? - and when did the loops loop like that.. sorry what Mr. Mortimer? We know the order of labs catching birds. Unsettling till truth; it is nothing but…here. The three is how people have their own sorrow, yet a thumbs up entity a new haircut cry and the biters fluid; the moon is cheese and the stairs to her frail seating in the cold and smoke makes no hell these days like back upstairs and response is well. 

In wonder the notice bad, college tuition for some when it is only a magenta park (real thrice) and be three are going off their medicine. My shoes brought the snow in. 

-‘Whuehieh! Cold as hell…. Ya know - stability picked up a book; he vanished himself while I was alive. Never bought her shoes….errr.’ 

My second cousins are pissed there is only cheese pizza. Just wave next time, chap. 

  With the dream makers, majestic: side views or a stadium over something moving along with magical glitter. Feather, I do not know if away will be worth knight conflicted more often now. Young mothers, a business man coming home; vomiting every breathe: bellybutton credit cards. Harbinger tantrum, bored and snowed in. Image of fire not cinematic enough - inhibitor, the Oclauhihz name. New family, waiter - we need family. 

Spring will be different of course. I crawl years shell - vacuity, spin my finger thru my hair that was quite a couple holidays, vastness is actually nothing so the is tho something and that something is noticed and noted, bird song t-shirt \ destiny earrings ahem.

A flat - a Houston basement, owl Garcia left to desert endless fluidity, hm. Insert: ASTROLOGY ghostwriter biter sort no, crazy eyes. Where then god some to connect then wonder. Name - shirt, four relations. Wave three fee humorz, ahhhhhhh boat sympathy - waves are aqua, the rum, People from sharks die so often but hmm,,,,,,……

Many times found mother, iron lungs real concern - Sunday neighborhood, could be many trains and a mailbox from window view, questioning a daring complexion developing. Yet, there is haunted houses? Under your feet a secret, and you are new here - Jimmy, I have 7 siblings in Stillwater, OK, many runners - some magic latching just thru something else that is ruined - nothing here nor there. Pilot sit up and down - three. Portland in the nick of time. форт подарок, и я ничего не видел в течение нескольких месяцев

It rains in my dreams fine them, affair operations and mercury so. There are three then four bricks to sort then climb. Heaven zones start greeting, that until clubiondaes, rash and veins gothic text halo - a grey shirt, that is how it is coming from nowhere - today is just today and you look at me for crashing gardens….fainted, good morning.  

+

Less more a pocket, diph spill my coffee, hopeless romantic ponds rush thru the seems of itself. Beard moment, wild frozen lake: trees know about it; I heard their song - I chase for a shook. Once you know how to be found, ehha….

Eyes lock, something me - cloak purified, string and a prayer to parthenon. I am going to save the devil with whuiehp gain and whuiehp (it is love). Our bodies gone for the kicked dreams, twisted balloons: poke a hole in vain of mortality. You would not know - face to wall fall for suicide, but there are easy adjustments - rite things, wrong copes. Are the three ants in awe?

Lab partner rage, a place and name - a line of concern and behind a wall there is nothing but troubled a feeling of self disappointment, commanders archive - men on balconies: oo. A boy who said the snow was the snow. Evolution - I am a freak with no carnival net. The cat downstairs does not go upstairs; there is a gate - tongue piercing home-ees какой алфавит

There have been no doctor visits, next Thursday I will see my grandmother! Miles drifting in vast Belleville. Numbers start timing, never gave but give enough, wonder friends - foreign homes, warmth after terror nerve. Fuck off Bob, mechanical tip toe felis fucking furniture. A German shepherd.

The spring will be here but would not think so - something will stay here: an ancient mercury again. My friend here, puzzle piece executive, what about new friends? Fear is my aura, LzX! She said love, I said one thing like stillness so cry from embarrassment - blueprint changing… fireworks in pirates; reflection youthful sway how this? Oh my first apartment in Stillearth - qyvzs.

How this? Hope maybe or bible class - my aunt prays. Blitz lamps Tory questions seconds, cosmos replication 0 friends will vomit, I sorry I left you; mayday. When I think of whatever it is synclastic - so it goes sister. Satellites, honey - so it goes sister, 

Edge off - edge strength at once: maybe this winter is….empty lucky room dialect ace, genuine shiny shivering. I am not here, Mr. John cowboy killer. 

….my feet off from a tower the wind said the mic was ah, some other time. 

645372@protonmail.com

[enzymeikj]

enzyme

noteLxwww: this is my most recent story that will be a part of a short story thing 0 mmmk thank u!

“…..,every space between the lines to find a measure accurate to mine….I wonder what miracle could break the chain.” - Anastasia 

Enzyme

by Hui Kj

+

…and the mirror breaks so you live on without, and I would live for some weeks…fuck bother, alright…..идентифицировать операцию. Frozen lake, wild glance; here now - love in a turning line and with a biter creature know trees imagine then could climb anyway. If I am a swimmer than I was a dancer too. 

January; cousin Ded Moroz a third, always so with only one with thrice trinity dates when the wind went bite and the rest the only ones with calm for the questions in two thousand simple tales, continuous grieving - sleeping well is advice but what I have gathered is that the inventions will not keep my grandmother alive, and I am not one without complications and so on. 

+

My name is Jimmy Oclauhiz, and the three times were thousands of miles from here: now in Belleville, Maine and one more than the others circling and biting the vibrant daringness in ways I can only describe as green and yellow - normalizing is not my effort and the green eye dots more prevalent than a dyed crystal.

Luck or warrior charge; the two are right the little flick then scowl with the overflow: cut off while the paint dries. The patio and the times recreate the psyche, and the youth with an abundance - still, Aunt and the rational keeps me out of the basement and hug with mass concern for what we watch how the three I accidentally directed blasphemy when the winter was just all so new to me and the days mild while me passive and dealt with but sometimes there are challenges and than there is consequence of point this or that destruction and this is how I will live and there is just a couple things. . .

+

Gray short hair - her eyes with body always a tremble, she asked if I was gay, octaves soon - ‘four four four’ she mumbled into my eyes. Information grace or circuit fire - whatever it may be: if she is as such as said then can be without any and all. The nurses spoon her water and she will raise an eyebrow at my eyebrow motion - purple ribbon, ah. I visit her twice a week. An archived Christmas - shush, frizzy feeling…. I smoke a cigarette with my Aunt. 

Changing i’s to y’s, and when did the loops loop like that.. sorry what Mr. Mortimer? We know the order of labs catching birds. Unsettling till truth; it is nothing but…here. The three is how people have their own sorrow, yet a thumbs up entity a new haircut cry and the biters fluid; the moon is cheese and the stairs to her frail seating in the cold and smoke makes no hell these days like back upstairs and response is well. 

In wonder the notice bad, college tuition for some when it is only a magenta park (real thrice) and be three are going off their medicine. My shoes brought the snow in. 

-‘Whuehieh! Cold as hell…. Ya know - stability picked up a book; he vanished himself while I was alive. Never bought her shoes….errr.’ 

My second cousins are pissed there is only cheese pizza. Just wave next time, chap. 

  With the dream makers, majestic: side views or a stadium over something moving along with magical glitter. Feather, I do not know if away will be worth knight conflicted more often now. Young mothers, a business man coming home; vomiting every breathe: bellybutton credit cards. Harbinger tantrum, bored and snowed in. Image of fire not cinematic enough - inhibitor, the Oclauhihz name. New family, waiter - we need family. 

Spring will be different of course. I crawl years shell - vacuity, spin my finger thru my hair that was quite a couple holidays, vastness is actually nothing so the is tho something and that something is noticed and noted, bird song t-shirt \ destiny earrings ahem.

A flat - a Houston basement, owl Garcia left to desert endless fluidity, hm. Insert: ASTROLOGY ghostwriter biter sort no, crazy eyes. Where then god some to connect then wonder. Name - shirt, four relations. Wave three fee humorz, ahhhhhhh boat sympathy - waves are aqua, the rum, Bluetooth die so often,,,,,,……

Many times found mother, iron lungs real concern - Sunday neighborhood, could be many trains and a mailbox from window view, questioning a daring complexion developing. Yet, there is haunted houses? Under your feet a secret, and you are new here - Jimmy, I have 7 siblings in Stillwater, OK, many runners and red - some magic latching just thru something else that is ruined - nothing here nor there. Pilot sit up and down - three. Portland in the nick of time. форт подарок, и я ничего не видел в течение нескольких месяцев

It rains in my dreams fine woman, affair operations and mercury so. There are three then four bricks to sort then climb. Heaven zones start greeting, that until clubiondaes, rash and veins gothic text halo - a grey shirt, that is how it is coming from nowhere - today is just today and you look at me for crashing gardens….fainted, good morning.  

+

Less more a pocket, diph spill my coffee, hopeless romantic ponds rush thru the seems of itself. Beard moment, wild frozen lake: trees know about it; I heard their song - I chase for a shook. Once you know how to be found, ehha….

Eyes lock, something me - cloak purified, string and a prayer to parthenon. I am going to save the devil with whuiehp gain and whuiehp (it is love). Our bodies gone for the kicked dreams, twisted balloons: poke a hole in vain of mortality. You would not know - face to wall fall for suicide, but there are easy adjustments - rite things, wrong copes. Are the three ants in awe?

Lab partner rage, a place and name - a line of concern and behind a wall there is nothing but troubled a feeling of self disappointment, commanders archive - men on balconies: oo. A boy who said the snow was the snow. Evolution - I am a freak with no carnival net. The cat downstairs does not go upstairs; there is a gate - tongue piercing home-ees какой алфавит

There have been no doctor visits, next Thursday I will see my grandmother! Miles drifting in vast Belleville. Numbers start timing, never gave but give enough, wonder friends - foreign homes, warmth after terror nerve. Fuck off Bob, mechanical tip toe felis fucking furniture. They have two kittens and a German shepherd.

The spring will be here but would not think so - something will stay here: an ancient mercury again. My friend here, puzzle piece executive, what about new friends? Fear is my aura, LzX! She said love, I said one thing like stillness so cry from embarrassment - blueprint changing… fireworks in pirates; reflection youthful sway how this? Oh my first apartment in Stillearth - qyvzs.

How this? Hope maybe or bible class - my aunt prays. Blitz lamps Tory questions seconds, cosmos replication 0 friends will vomit, I sorry I left you; mayday. When I think of whatever it is synclastic - so it goes sister. Satellites, honey - so it goes sister, 

Edge off - edge strength at once: maybe this winter is….empty lucky room dialect ace, genuine shiny shivering. I am not here, Mr. John cowboy killer. 

….my feet off from a tower the wind said the mic was ah, some other time. 

645372@protonmail.com

[ishipbertigwain-blog]

Eliduc, Marie De France

          Marie de France was an accomplished poet and court writer of the Middle Ages. Remembered for her narrative poetry she wrote on subjects that in many ways were predecessors to Medieval romances. The Lay of Eliduc is the last and longest of de France’s lays (or rhymed tale of love). Following the adventures of the knight Eliduc and the love triangle between him and his wife and lover the piece uses romantic imagery to inform the trials of his infidelity. The following excerpt from The Lay of Eliduc is from the point in the poem where he has left his wife’s side to be in service to a king who is being besieged due to an outside king wanting his daughter as wife. The daughter, Guilliadon soon falls in love with the brave knight and he eventually returns her love. The excerpt extends through their meeting, falling in love, and swearing of oaths that they would meet again at a time chosen by Guilliadon. Marie de France’s dealing of Eliduc’s infidelity with tenderness and sensual imagery renders why the princess would fall in love with a stranger and Eliduc would be tempted to stray as reasonable conclusions. There is considerable heightened language and the exchanging of tokens calls to mind courtship rituals as well as the formalities of chivalric action. These elements render de France’s lay as an intriguing early example of Medieval romantic court writing.

ELIDUC (excerpt) by Marie de France, translated by Eugene Mason

Eliduc was not only a brave and wary captain; he was also a courteous gentleman, right goodly to behold.

That fair maiden, the daughter of the King, heard tell of his deeds, and desired to see his face, because of the good men spake of him. She sent her privy chamberlain to the knight, praying him to come to her house, that she might solace herself with the story of his deeds, for greatly she wondered that he had no care for her friendship. Eliduc gave answer to the chamberlain that he would ride forthwith, since much he desired to meet so high a dame. He bade his squire to saddle his destrier, and rode to the palace, to have speech with the lady. Eliduc stood without the lady's chamber, and prayed the chamberlain to tell the dame that he had come, according to her wish. The chamberlain came forth with a smiling face, and straightway led him in the chamber. When the princess saw the knight, she cherished him very sweetly, and welcomed him in the most honourable fashion. The knight gazed upon the lady, who was passing fair to see. He thanked her courteously, that she was pleased to permit him to have speech with so high a princess. Guillardun took Eliduc by the hand, and seated him upon the bed, near her side. They spake together of many things, for each found much to say. The maiden looked closely upon the knight, his face and semblance; to her heart she said that never before had she beheld so comely a man. Her eyes might find no blemish in his person, and Love knocked upon her heart, requiring her to love, since her time had come. She sighed, and her face lost its fair colour; but she cared only to hide her trouble from the knight, lest he should think her the less maidenly therefore. When they had talked together for a great space, Eliduc took his leave, and went his way. The lady would have kept him longer gladly, but since she did not dare, she allowed him to depart. Eliduc returned to his lodging, very pensive and deep in thought. He called to mind that fair maiden, the daughter of his King, who so sweetly had bidden him to her side, and had kissed him farewell, with sighs that were sweeter still. He repented him right earnestly that he had lived so long a while in the land without seeking her face, but promised that often he would enter her palace now. Then he remembered the wife whom he had left in his own house. He recalled the parting between them, and the covenant he made, that good faith and stainless honour should be ever betwixt the twain. But the maiden, from whom he came, was willing to take him as her knight! If such was her will, might any pluck him from her hand?

All night long, that fair maiden, the daughter of the King, had neither rest nor sleep. She rose up, very early in the morning, and commanding her chamberlain, opened out to him all that was in her heart. She leaned her brow against the casement.

"By my faith," she said, "I am fallen into a deep ditch, and sorrow has come upon me. I love Eliduc, the good knight, whom my father made his (1)Seneschal. I love him so dearly that I turn the whole night upon my bed, and cannot close my eyes, nor sleep. If he assured me of his heart, and loved me again, all my pleasure should be found in his happiness. Great might be his profit, for he would become King of this realm, and little enough is it for his deserts, so courteous is he and wise. If he have nothing better than friendship to give me, I choose death before life, so deep is my distress."

When the princess had spoken what it pleased her to say, the chamberlain, whom she had bidden, gave her loyal counsel.

"Lady," said he, "since you have set your love upon this knight, send him now—if so it please you—some goodly gift-girdle or scarf or ring. If he receive the gift with delight, rejoicing in your favour, you may be assured that he loves you. There is no Emperor, under Heaven, if he were tendered your tenderness, but would go the more lightly for your grace."

The damsel hearkened to the counsel of her chamberlain, and made reply,

"If only I knew that he desired my love! Did ever maiden woo her knight before, by asking whether he loved or hated her? What if he make of me a mock and a jest in the ears of his friends! Ah, if the secrets of the heart were but written on the face! But get you ready, for go you must, at once."

"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "I am ready to do your bidding."

"You must greet the knight a hundred times in my name, and will place my girdle in his hand, and this my golden ring."

When the chamberlain had gone upon his errand, the maiden was so sick at heart, that for a little she would have bidden him return. Nevertheless, she let him go his way, and eased her shame with words.

"Alas, what has come upon me, that I should put my heart upon a stranger. I know nothing of his folk, whether they be mean or high; nor do I know whether he will part as swiftly as he came. I have done foolishly, and am worthy of blame, since I have bestowed my love very lightly. I spoke to him yesterday for the first time, and now I pray him for his love. Doubtless he will make me a song! Yet if he be the courteous gentleman I believe him, he will understand, and not deal hardly with me. At least the dice are cast, and if he may not love me, I shall know myself the most woeful of ladies, and never taste of joy all the days of my life." Whilst the maiden lamented in this fashion, the chamberlain hastened to the lodging of Eliduc. He came before the knight, and having saluted him in his lady's name, he gave to his hand the ring and the girdle. The knight thanked him earnestly for the gifts. He placed the ring upon his finger, and the girdle he girt about his body. He said no more to the chamberlain, nor asked him any questions; save only that he proffered him a gift. This the messenger might not have, and returned the way he came. The chamberlain entered in the palace and found the princess within her chamber. He greeted her on the part of the knight, and thanked her for her bounty.

"Diva, diva," cried the lady hastily, "hide nothing from me; does he love me, or does he not?"

"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "as I deem, he loves you, and truly. Eliduc is no cozener with words. I hold him for a discreet and prudent gentleman, who knows well how to hide what is in his heart. I gave him greeting in your name, and granted him your gifts. He set the ring upon his finger, and as to your girdle, he girt it upon him, and belted it tightly about his middle. I said no more to him, nor he to me; but if he received not your gifts in tenderness, I am the more deceived. Lady, I have told you his words: I cannot tell you his thoughts. Only, mark carefully what I am about to say. If Eliduc had not a richer gift to offer, he would not have taken your presents at my hand."

"It pleases you to jest," said the lady. "I know well that Eliduc does not altogether hate me. Since my only fault is to cherish him too fondly, should he hate me, he would indeed be blameworthy. Never again by you, or by any other, will I require him of aught, or look to him for comfort. He shall see that a maiden's love is no slight thing, lightly given, and lightly taken again—but, perchance, he will not dwell in the realm so long as to know of the matter."

"Lady, the knight has covenanted to serve the King, in all loyalty, for the space of a year. You have full leisure to tell, whatever you desire him to learn."

When the maiden heard that Eliduc remained in the country, she rejoiced very greatly. She was glad that the knight would sojourn awhile in her city, for she knew naught of the torment he endured, since first he looked upon her. He had neither peace nor delight, for he could not get her from his mind. He reproached himself bitterly. He called to remembrance the covenant he made with his wife, when he departed from his own land, that he would never be false to his oath. But his heart was a captive now, in a very strong prison. He desired greatly to be loyal and honest, but he could not deny his love for the maiden—Guillardun, so frank and so fair.

Eliduc strove to act as his honour required. He had speech and sight of the lady, and did not refuse her kiss and embrace. He never spoke of love, and was diligent to offend in nothing. He was careful in this, because he would keep faith with his wife, and would attempt no matter against his King. Very grievously he pained himself, but at the end he might do no more. Eliduc caused his horse to be saddled, and calling his companions about him, rode to the castle to get audience of the King. He considered, too, that he might see his lady, and learn what was in her heart. It was the hour of meat, and the King having risen from table, had entered in his daughter's chamber. The King was at chess, with a lord who had but come from over-sea. The lady sat near the board, to watch the movements of the game. When Eliduc came before the prince, he welcomed him gladly, bidding him to seat himself close at hand. Afterwards he turned to his daughter, and said, "Princess, it becomes you to have a closer friendship with this lord, and to treat him well and worshipfully. Amongst five hundred, there is no better knight than he."

When the maiden had listened demurely to her father's commandment, there was no gayer lady than she. She rose lightly to her feet, and taking the knight a little from the others, seated him at her side. They remained silent, because of the greatness of their love. She did not dare to speak the first, and to him the maid was more dreadful than a knight in mail. At the end Eliduc thanked her courteously for the gifts she had sent him; never was grace so precious and so kind. The maiden made answer to the knight, that very dear to her was the use he had found for her ring, and the girdle with which he had belted his body. She loved him so fondly that she wished him for her husband. If she might not have her wish, one thing she knew well, that she would take no living man, but would die unwed. She trusted he would not deny her hope.

"Lady," answered the knight, "I have great joy in your love, and thank you humbly for the goodwill you bear me. I ought indeed to be a happy man, since you deign to show me at what price you value our friendship. Have you remembered that I may not remain always in your realm? I covenanted with the King to serve him as his man for the space of one year. Perchance I may stay longer in his service, for I would not leave him till his quarrel be ended. Then I shall return to my own land; so, fair lady, you permit me to say farewell."

The maiden made answer to her knight,

"Fair friend, right sweetly I thank you for your courteous speech. So apt a clerk will know, without more words, that he may have of me just what he would. It becomes my love to give faith to all you say."

The two lovers spoke together no further; each was well assured of what was in the other's heart. Eliduc rode back to his lodging, right joyous and content. Often he had speech with his friend, and passing great was the love which grew between the (2)twain.

Eliduc pressed on the war so fiercely that in the end he took captive the King who troubled his lord, and had delivered the land from its foes. He was greatly praised of all as a crafty captain in the field, and a hardy comrade with the spear. The poor and the minstrel counted him a generous knight. About this time that King, who had bidden Eliduc avoid his realm, sought diligently to find him. He had sent three messengers beyond the seas to seek his ancient Seneschal. A strong enemy had wrought him much grief and loss. All his castles were taken from him, and all his country was a spoil to the foe. Often and sorely he repented him of the evil counsel to which he had given ear. He mourned the absence of his mightiest knight, and drove from his councils those false lords who, for malice and envy, had defamed him. These he outlawed for ever from his realm. The King wrote letters to Eliduc, conjuring him by the loving friendship that was once between them, and summoning him as a vassal is required of his lord, to hasten to his aid, in that his bitter need. When Eliduc heard these tidings they pressed heavily upon him, by reason of the grievous love he bore the dame. She, too, loved him with a woman's whole heart. Between the two there was nothing but the purest love and tenderness. Never by word or deed had they spoiled their friendship. To speak a little closely together; to give some fond and foolish gift; this was the sum of their love. In her wish and hope the maiden trusted to hold the knight in her land, and to have him as her lord. Naught she deemed that he was wedded to a wife beyond the sea. "Alas," said Eliduc, "I have loitered too long in this country, and have gone astray. Here I have set my heart on a maiden, Guillardun, the daughter of the King, and she, on me. If, now, we part, there is no help that one, or both, of us, must die. Yet go I must. My lord requires me by letters, and by the oath of fealty that I have sworn. My own honour demands that I should return to my wife. I dare not stay; needs must I go. I cannot wed my lady, for not a priest in Christendom would make us man and wife. All things turn to blame. God, what a tearing asunder will our parting be! Yet there is one who will ever think me in the right, though I be held in scorn of all. I will be guided by her wishes, and what she counsels that will I do. The King, her sire, is troubled no longer by any war. First, I will go to him, praying that I may return to my own land, for a little, because of the need of my rightful lord. Then I will seek out the maiden, and show her the whole business. She will tell me her desire, and I shall act according to her wish."

The knight hesitated no longer as to the path he should follow. He went straight to the King, and craved leave to depart. He told him the story of his lord's distress, and read, and placed in the King's hands, the letters calling him back to his home. When the King had read the writing, and knew that Eliduc purposed to depart, he was passing sad and heavy. He offered the knight the third part of his kingdom, with all the treasure that he pleased to ask, if he would remain at his side. He offered these things to the knight—these, and the gratitude of all his days besides.

"Do not tempt me, sire," replied the knight. "My lord is in such deadly peril, and his letters have come so great a way to require me, that go I must to aid him in his need. When I have ended my task, I will return very gladly, if you care for my services, and with me a goodly company of knights to fight in your quarrels."

The King thanked Eliduc for his words, and granted him graciously the leave that he demanded. He gave him, moreover, all the goods of his house; gold and silver, hound and horses, silken cloths, both rich and fair, these he might have at his will. Eliduc took of them discreetly, according to his need. Then, very softly, he asked one other gift. If it pleased the King, right willingly would he say farewell to the princess, before he went. The King replied that it was his pleasure, too. He sent a page to open the door of the maiden's chamber, and to tell her the knight's request. When she saw him, she took him by the hand, and saluted him very sweetly. Eliduc was the more fain of counsel than of claspings. He seated himself by the maiden's side, and as shortly as he might, commenced to show her of the business. He had done no more than read her of his letters, than her face lost its fair colour, and near she came to swoon. When Eliduc saw her about to fall, he knew not what he did, for grief. He kissed her mouth, once and again, and wept above her, very tenderly. He took, and held her fast in his arms, till she had returned from her swoon.

"Fair dear friend," said he softly, "bear with me while I tell you that you are my life and my death, and in you is all my comfort. I have bidden farewell to your father, and purposed to go back to my own land, for reason of this bitter business of my lord. But my will is only in your pleasure, and whatever the future brings me, your counsel I will do."

"Since you cannot stay," said the maiden, "take me with you, wherever you go. If not, my life is so joyless without you, that I would wish to end it with my knife." Very sweetly made answer Sir Eliduc, for in honesty he loved honest maid,

"Fair friend, I have sworn faith to your father, and am his man. If I carried you with me, I should give the lie to my troth. Let this covenant be made between us. Should you give me leave to return to my own land I swear to you on my honour as a knight, that I will come again on any day that you shall name. My life is in your hands. Nothing on earth shall keep me from your side, so only that I have life and health."

Then she, who loved so fondly, granted her knight permission to depart, and fixed the term, and named the day for his return. Great was their sorrow that the hour had come to bid farewell. They gave rings of gold for remembrance, and sweetly kissed adieu. So they severed from each other's arms.

Seneschal: senior court appointment

Twain:old form of two

[wellmeaningshutin]

Short Story #12: Ghost Town.

Written: 1/4/2017

When they thought of visiting the ghost town they didn’t know what they would find, it could’ve been money, women, adventure, or any other exciting thing that would change their lives forever, making the trip a memory that would be burned into their minds for eternity, forever changing them, but what they found they should’ve expected: a lot of boring old buildings and dirt. They spent about an hour there, wondering around, checking out buildings, bored out of their minds, before they decided to drive back to their home town, which was four hours away. The drive was filled with silence, there was no point in talking, the trip was supposed to repair their fading friendship but it just made them realize that things were coming to an end, there was no saving them. When they got back to town, and each one went into their homes, they knew that they’d probably be out of communication within a month, their call to adventure left them with ennui.

Five years later Marge would get drunk in some seedy bar, the Scab, drinking away the troubles of her failed marriage, listening to the clacking of the pool balls, wondering how her life became so shitty. She was happy once, wasn’t she? She had a lot of friends, found the love of her life, found her dream job, all the things she thought she wanted. Six years ago she had the whole world in her hands, she was capable of everything and she was genuinely happy, but then she grew apart from her friends and confided more in her wife, who would later lose interest in Marge and start fooling around with some trashy waitress, well she wasn’t actually trashy, Marge had never seen her before, she just like to believe that. It was easier for her to believe that her wife left her for some boozed up temptress, stealing her woman away unfairly, than to believe that somebody else was just better suited for the love of her life, and that she wasn’t “the one” to her own one. When her romantic and social lives went into the toilet she stopped caring about her job, she started to lose direction in life, and the next thing she knew she had been spending two years of her life either working or getting wasted, no in between, no purpose, no interests. The moment she could recall it all going south was when she and her friends all decided to go to that god damned ghost town, so she decided that in the morning, when she was all sobered up, she would make the drive there and burn the place down.

At first the idea started as a joke she made to herself, then it became a fantasy, and as she continued to think about it the plan started to seem more and more real. When she woke up the next morning, even though she was sober, there was no doubt about it in her mind. What’d she have to lose? She showered real quick, not to get clean but because it felt great after a night of drinking, got in her car, bought a couple gas canisters and filled up her car while she was at it, and then began the drive.

There was no scenery on the drive, as she remembered, just a lot of open land, nothing but open land and the town and mountains behind her, which eventually became swallowed up by the emptiness, and then she was just surrounded by bland, open land, in a way like the ocean. It was as terrible as she remembered it.

When she got to the ghost town she was surprised, even though she didn’t know why, that it looked just like she remembered it, just a bunch of old buildings and dirt, and after ten seconds of taking in the sights she popped her trunk, brought out the gas and started making her way through the buildings, dousing as much as she could but staying in motion, having to cover as much space as possible, but when she entered the saloon to throw some gas around she noticed a half eaten meal on the bar counter, still seemed kind of fresh. She didn’t know who it could belong to, there were no other cars in town, it was pretty small and easy to tell, and she didn’t think it was a robber or anything like that, what was there to steal? And drug dealers would definitely bring cars, plus it would make more sense to just deal in the desert instead of going all the way into this town. In her state of confusion she did the first thing that came to mind, and loudly asked “Hello?”

Her questioned was answered by the jingling of spurs, coming from somewhere in the back room of the saloon. She watched the back door intently, and realized that it didn’t have any dust or dirt on it, and then she looked around and noticed that other sections of the saloon, like the bar counter, a couple tables, some chairs, were also clean. The door swung open, she turned around and saw a tall figure, at least taller than her, dressed in a ridiculous, black, cowboy outfit, like something out of an old western kids show, but he had an intense face, growing beard, sun burnt and scarred, and he looked at her, at first with hostility, unsure how to evaluate this stranger, but after a couple seconds his expression softened and he returned her initial question with a “Howdy”.

An hour and six beers, divided between the both of them, later, and after some apologies about the gasoline, she learned that the cowboy had lived in the town for years, almost his whole life, and she was convinced that he was a ghost, although he avidly denied it. He explained to her, with a story that sounded made up, that when he was growing up he and his brother, who apparently was somewhere in the town, were big fans of western shows, their interest turning into passion and then obsession. They wanted more than anything to grow up and become cowboys, but they would later learn that that life no longer existed, the age of the cowboy was long gone, and that crushing disappointment, as it soaked in, started to lead the boys into a deep depression. They stopped eating most of their meals, mostly eating after their parents would pressure them to, they stopped caring about school, really everything, and the only time they were ever animated was when their show would come on, from 7-8pm, Hee Haw Rogers (she didn’t think this was a real show), and then would cry for a while after it ended, it was the only glimpse into the cowboy world that they had, the last surviving element. Their parents grew more and more worried, and after an aunt, or some other family member the cowboy couldn’t remember, had passed and left the family with a large sum of money, the parents decided to buy plane tickets and go down to LA to watch a recording of Hee Haw Rogers.

The boys were finally animated, they were ecstatic at all moments before the trip, barely able to sleep, running around in cowboy costumes, finally eating again, and for the week before the trip the parents were relieved, they were finally being a family again. However, when the family arrived to the set of the show and saw the behind the scenes of everything, they were shattered. Their cowboy world was still dead, their heroes fake, not even the desert was real, and their depression returned even stronger.

The second night after they were back from LA their father found the cowboy and his brother on top of the roof, ready to end it, crying and reciting the theme song, hoping it would take them to the world of the cowboys, all dead, reciting it like some magical spell. The father was able to talk them down and the parents grew more and more worried, brought in some specialists who would mostly get frustrated and leave, and then the parents started to turn on each other, the welfare of their marriage depending on the welfare of their children. They fought often, at first hiding it from the boys but eventually just yelling wherever, the boys were hardly noticing anything around them anymore. Then, one morning, the cowboy woke up to see his parents in his room, smiling, and they told him to pack his bags, grab all his cowboy gear, and then meet them in the car in twenty minutes, and even though he didn’t know what they had planned he knew his life was about to change.

They drove the boys out to the ghost town, where they excitedly ran around in the cowboy outfits, finally in the world they belonged to, finally animated and happy, and they ran around until night fell, only to realize that their parents and the car had disappeared. In an inn they found large amounts of bottled water, packaged food, and a note from their parents expressing how they were failures and how this is the boy’s new life now, and the brothers had become happier than they ever had before. They ran around town all night, naming and claiming buildings, and eventually divided the town down the middle, splitting it amongst themselves. Their parents came back the next day, expecting the boys to change their minds about all the cowboy business after having spent an uncomfortable night in the town, but the boys were happier than they had ever been before, rambling about how they’re the last cowboys, and so their parents made a tough decision to leave the boys there, they were dead either way anyways, and that they’d drive back to the ghost town at the beginning of every month bringing supplies for them. Every time they drove to the town they expected the boys to be ready to come home, but they never were. They were born to be cowboys and could never change.

Marge really didn’t know how to react to the story, so she just decided that the guy was a ghost and was just spinning some tale to snatch her soul, or whatever ghosts do, and she started to get up, but stopped when she heard somebody kick in the saloon doors, asking where the girl was. She was confused. The man was also bearded and was almost identical to the first cowboy, except this one had been dressed in all white and had a revolver in his hand. The cowboy in black pulled his gun too, somersaulted over a table, and fired a couple shots at the man in white who ducked outside, and the whole scene amazed her, mostly because she didn’t realize until shots were fired that they were toy guns, and the whole thing seemed like some sort of odd game. Not knowing how she played into any of this she stood up and made a comment about having to leave, something about leaving her oven on, but the cowboy in black slipped his arm around her neck and used her as a human shield, demanding that his brother cease fire or he shoots the girl. It was at that point that she realized that he was supposed to be the bad guy.

“Alright alright, you got me for now Slick, but I’ll be back with the sheriff and the posse and the horses and I’ll give you a good ol’ western justice yes sir, you can’t win them all!” The cowboy in white shouted from outside the doorway, out of Marge’s view, then she could see him run off into the other side of town, and grew worried when “Slick” only tightened his grip. He gave a smile to her, the only word that could describe it was “dastardly”, and her whole body flooded with fear. Alarms sounded off in her head telling her that she needed to escape, quick, and as she looked around the room desperately she noticed the gas cans, began to reach for a lighter in her pocket, but the cowboy known as slick lifted her up and slammed her down onto a table, the last thing she could remember was the feeling of it breaking beneath her.

She woke up in the middle of the empty landscape, lying on the ground, night sky above her, town not too far in the distance, the ground beneath her uneven. She tried to move her arms but she couldn’t, and she also was unable to sit up. She looked at her body and realized that she was tied up, lying there on the train tracks like some scene in a cheesy western, but this wasn’t a movie. She was so terrified she wanted to scream, which she did, and she hear laughter in response. She heard the jingling of spurs and saw slick waling up to her, grinning that dastardly grin, telling her not to worry, she’d be fine, his brother was a real hero and was going to play his part soon, it just had to be exciting. She screamed again. He bent down, started petting her hair, and repeated the same phrases, word for word, as if they were memorized, and she wondered if she was the first girl this happened to. She began to cry.

After little while that felt like an hour she heard slick give a satisfied grunt, and she saw the brother, the cowboy in white, her supposed hero running out toward the tracks, firing his toy gun towards slick, who started to use Marge as a shield, yelling back insults of “city slicker” or “dandy”, and then her tears slowed, because she thought she wasn’t in any real danger, this was just a game for them, probably some episodes of that Hee Haw show that they’re just playing out, and all games had to end right?

“Ya know I played hero last time but I gotta say being the bad guy sure is durn tootin’ fun”, slick mumbled to her as he hooted and popped off shots at the supposed hero who was now about 3/4th’s of the way to the tracks. Her tears gave way to agitation and frustration, she just wanted the dumb game to be over so that she could leave and never come back, but as she looked at the hero she noticed a bright light glowing behind him, and then he and his brother both saw the town start to catch fire, completely forgot about Marge, and started running towards the town making frantic noises as they ran.

As she was lying on the tracks, forgotten about, she started to feel them shake, he panic returned. She called out for the cowboys but they were too busy trying to fight the fire. She couldn’t roll free, she could hardly even move. When the train grew close, the light right in her face, the whistle roaring, she realized that this was how the trip should’ve gone the first time.