#this one is based off the judgment cover art

[its-coda]

Yet another judgment-inspired date piece :)

[couldawouldashoulda50]

This is Part One of my entry for the wonderful @cellythefloshie's birthday BINGO, featuring Matthew Knies (I know he was past the 2018 cutoff but celly gave me the green light for him). Although I did get bingo with my 5 tropes (Virginity, Age Gap, Secret Lovers, Meet Cute, Pining), the 5 are spread across Part One and Two. I am finishing Part Two soon, and then there might be a smaller third part - I just haven't figured out the fine art of writing smaller fics yet but I'm working on it. Nevertheless HAPPY (early) BIRTHDAY CELLY! I hope you enjoy this ❤️

Warnings/Notes - profanity, toxic parenting, parent estrangement. This part mainly covers the initial development of Matthew and the OC

OC Face Claim - Anna Katharina

Approx Word Count - 5.7k

August, 2024

Well, this is a huge fucking mistake… Lana thought to herself, forcing a smile as she sat across from her date.

She chastised herself further in her mind. Shit—I can't even remember his name. Was it Terry…or Jerry? Wait…Phil? No, he was last week. Fuck.

Against her better judgment, Lana allowed her arm to be twisted by her beloved brother to go on yet another blind date.

"Just try, Lana—just try again," he'd say. Now, she was wasting away across from this person, who was blathering about a subject that she had already forgotten about, alongside his name.

Lana rotated the highball glass with her fingertips, as she pretended to show interest in the man's one-sided conversation. Although her eyes appeared to be focused on his face, she was actually gazing out the window, just over the man's shoulder. From the 51st floor of the ManuLife Centre, the view of that particular evening boasted a magnificent August sunset, which added to the magical twilight of the Toronto city skyline.

Lana pouted in her mind. Why can't I be sitting here admiring the view with someone I love? Or even like? Attracted to, maybe?

It was from these moments of desperation, or weakness—whichever it was—that she found herself in this blind date situation to begin with.

She loved her brother, Andrew, for trying to set her up with a decent guy to develop a connection with. Lana thought it was reasonable that he might know a little more about men and dating since Andrew was in a loving relationship with Jason, his long-time partner.

She thought it was reasonable mainly because Lana had never dated anyone.

As in never, ever, ever.

Based on the non-success of the past men that Andrew sent her way, Lana felt her relationship status would not be changing anytime soon either.

Lana snapped back to reality just in time to catch what's-his-name staring at her tits as he finished his sentence.

She smiled demurely as she studied his expression. She really had not heard a word he had said, and it did not appear that he was awaiting a response from her. Seizing the opportunity, she excused herself and headed off in the direction of the ladies' room.

She turned back around to glance at her date. He was already otherwise occupied, ogling a nearby female server.

In the confines of the washroom stall, Lana swiped open her phone to remind herself of the name of the man she regretted suggesting to meet at one of her favorite restaurants.

Upon finding it, she muttered "Darren."

Lana responded to a text her brother had sent her earlier, asking how things were going.

L - Do you think that Jason can start vetting these guys before you send them my way? Personality of a piece of cardboard. I think I actually may have lost consciousness while he rambled on…

Andrew must have been waiting for her message, as he promptly responded.

A- Jason and I love you but we're done with sending you men. Coming to breakfast tomorrow?

Lana smiled at her brother's message. He always teased her saying she wouldn't have the foggiest clue what to do with a man anyway.

L - Love you both too. Breakfast is a no-go. Taking a client to view some condos. TTYL

A- Msg me when you get home

Lana exited the stall and glanced at her reflection as she washed her hands. She pondered what method she would use this time to send Darren packing.

Interestingly, most men never bothered to call once she handed them her business card anyway.

They seemed to trip over the word "Owner", especially of one of the most prestigious real estate brokerages in Toronto.

As they wrapped up their date, Lana cordially offered her business card with her contact information. Darren glanced at her card and then back at her. His expression gave her all the information she needed to know about the man standing before her.

Other than "Owner", there was a second word that was a lingering fact about Lana. A word that had begun to plague her mind and body more and more. She always wondered how a man would react, if in fact they were ever able to look past the first word, and get to know her more.

That second word was virgin.

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Lana and her older brother Andrew grew up in a small, close-knit community approximately two hours northwest of Toronto.

Their parents were cold, strict, and controlling towards their children. Although they made sure Andrew and Lana had everything they needed, there were always strings attached with everything they were provided.

Andrew was intelligent, strong-willed, and independent from an early age. Being 5 years younger, Lana idolized her handsome older brother. In turn, he adored her and always pushed her to succeed in everything she tried. Their bond became even stronger as their parents became even more controlling with Lana as she approached her high school years.

Andrew clashed badly with their parents, experiencing constant conflict and turmoil while living under the same roof. Andrew was determined to leave as soon as he could. He worked multiple jobs while still managing to excel academically. After earning as much money as he could, Andrew left to study architecture abroad at 18.

Once Andrew departed, his parents no longer acknowledged his existence. Andrew always felt a tremendous amount of guilt and remorse knowing he had deserted his beloved little sister. From afar, he did his best to help his sister navigate their parents' increasingly stern and uncompromising attitude toward her.

Meanwhile, Lana was experiencing rapid growth spurts at the age of 13. She was long, lean, and had natural curves which enhanced her athletic build. Her mother often shunned her appearance, making her feel that her natural beauty and her blossoming figure were a detriment and a cross to bear.

As she entered high school, it would mark the hardest time of her life.

Lana's mother drowned her with archaic myths and cautionary tales about boys, sex, disease, and unplanned pregnancy. She would be forever "ruined" if she gave in to having relations out of wedlock. As the ever-dutiful daughter, Lana absorbed everything her parents said and never scrutinized or disobeyed them.

The teenage boys at her school, with their raging desires fueling their comments as she walked by them, did little to convince Lana that her mother might be wrong in her teachings.

Teenage girls were in some cases worse than the boys. The behavior of the girls at Lana's school was full of envy and competitiveness. She often felt ostracized and alone during her first weeks and months of high school.

Lana would message Andrew in tears in the stall of the girls' washroom between classes. He was always there for her with words of comfort but would only allow her just a few tears of pity. Andrew would then coach her on how she would need to rise above it all. Step by step, Lana put her head down, studied hard, and became active in student council and various athletic programs.

Lana developed a no-nonsense type of attitude which served her well in her secondary school years, as well as keeping the peace at home. She managed to forge a few solid friendships with those who were authentic, intelligent, and did not concern themselves with trends or being popular.

At the end of high school, Lana was rewarded for her diligence and focus by excelling in academics, athletics, and the arts. She received a full scholarship to enter the Law program at the University of Toronto.

Fast-forwarding through her first two years in university, she maintained the same steadfast and hard-working mentality that was part of her nature. However, Lana soon discovered that Law did not ignite her passion. With Andrew carving his own path in architectural design and serving as her constant guide and mentor, she uncovered an unexpected love for real estate.

She landed a paid internship with a brokerage firm owned by an older gentleman by the name of Reine Schmidt. Reine immediately recognized Lana's dogged determination, her intellect, and her willingness to learn.

Reine taught Lana everything he knew. He had a proven track record of understanding trends to predict future outcomes, alongside his charisma, sharp wit, and masterful negotiation skills. With the guidance of her brother, Lana eventually followed her instincts and dropped out of university to work alongside her older mentor.

Lana's parents were furious and, in a fit of true toxicity, they severed ties with their daughter completely as they had done with their son.

As the cloud of devastation from the estrangement dissipated, Reine became a much-needed father figure in Lana's life. He provided her with shelter, which was merely a back room of the brokerage office. He helped her with the bare minimum, just enough to set her off in the right direction. The rest, Lana would have to work on and figure out for herself.

And she did. As the years went on, Lana gained a reputation throughout the GTA, being touted as Reine Schmidt's brilliant and beautiful protégé. She was elegant and poised while being creative and shrewd in her negotiation tactics. By the time she was thirty, Lana had her own substantial property portfolio, worth millions of dollars as the Toronto real estate market exploded.

When Reine became too ill to fulfill his responsibilities at his firm, he appointed Lana to step in on an interim basis. She did not know it at the time, but Reine had already decided to will her the firm. He just needed to make doubly sure that she was ready.

Lana remained by Reine's side as his illness progressed. He had no family to speak of, and he always said that he was not in the business of making friends. But he had grown to love Lana like a daughter, and although he never said as much, he was grateful that she made sure he was not alone during his last moments on earth.

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Lana awoke the following morning with the memory of her near abysmal date from the night before all but washed away. Retrieving her cell from her nightstand, she broke her own rule about no screens until after she had completed her morning Pilates. She just wanted to check if what's-his-name had messaged.

He had not.

Her business card had become like a detection device which helped identify those that would waste her time. Moreover, she was pleased that she could still calculate risk and probability by simply observing someone's non-verbal cues and other subtle behaviors.

Lana laid back on her pillow and gazed out her floor-to-ceiling windows in her bedroom. Her panoramic view of the city displayed all the colors of the sunrise of a late summer's morning. But the sunrise triggered a pang of loneliness within her. The sunset had a similar effect on her last night, and now the sunrise was having a go. She wanted someone to lie with and enjoy the wondrous city views in the morning. She longed to have someone to sit with at dinner and have them witness the perfection of a sunset by her side. She wanted to feel what it's like to crave someone and have them equally yearn for her.

Pushing her lonely thoughts aside, Lana yawned and stretched and slid out of bed, turning her phone off until it was time to leave for the office.

Any other morning, Lana would have opted to take transit, walk, or even run to her office. She quickly realized the good fortune of driving to work that day in an air-conditioned vehicle. The humidex was already climbing and it was only just 7 a.m. Another sweltering summer day in the city had begun.

As she drove, she mentally pre-planned her morning. Yesterday, a last-minute request came in from a very important client-turned-friend to view some condo listings in the downtown area. What left Lana perplexed was who the request was from.

Lana's mind drifted to another thought while idling at a traffic light.

Just two more weeks—two more weeks until I'm off and I'll press pause on the whole "trying to find a mate" search. Maybe I'm just meant to be alone. Maybe you just need to sleep with someone once and that'll be enough… maybe he's just not out there…. Lana mulled over these thoughts as she ventured south on St. George Street.

It had become a custom for Lana to flee the city at the beginning of September and spend a few weeks at the expansive lakeside home that she co-owned with her brother. With 5+ acres and an exceptional lakefront, it was a place where Lana could experience quiet for a while. That is, quiet after their friends, colleagues, and in some cases clients, descended onto the property for a popular get-together for the Labor Day weekend.

Arriving at her office before 7:30, Lana slipped into her leather chair and dove into a landslide of unread emails.

As the office began to fill, she left her office to greet her assistant and enjoy a morning chat. To Lana, this was one of her most favorite times of the day. Despite her upbringing, Lana sought connection with her professional family and was nurturing and compassionate to all of her associates. In turn, her staff were fiercely loyal to her and it showed in their combined success at the firm.

Lana returned to her office to tie up a few loose ends before her appointment arrived.

Ainsley tapped on Lana's office door, letting her know her 9 a.m. had arrived, and asked if she would like them escorted to her office. In her mind, Lana tripped over the word "them" as she was only expecting one person. Shaking off the confusion, she declined Ainsley's offer and thanked her as she made her way down the corridor.

As she approached the reception area, she was prepared to see Aryne Tavares but not her handsome husband John and another even more striking man standing next to the couple.

Lana's professional-turned-friendly relationship with the Tavares' began with helping Aryne navigate the Toronto housing market when John was traded from the Islanders to Toronto. Although John was present during some of the preliminary preference discussions, Aryne always appreciated how Lana focused mainly on her and her needs during the conversation, as opposed to her husband. Oftentimes, it was the opposite with other firms and their agents who wanted to talk hockey or suck up to the player in the hopes they might be able to drum up more business for themselves.

For several years, Lana's name had become the number one recommended by the majority of Toronto WAGs who were either in search of shorter-term furnished rentals or more permanent homes. She understood and made it clear (while treading lightly) that where the player-husbands were often making the salary allowing the upscale and sometimes super luxurious homes, it was the wives and families that had to live in them day in and day out. As such, Lana's firm cornered the market for finding suitable homes for Toronto's professional athletes and their families. Due to the unique demands, she created a specialized team and trained them specifically to work with sports agents, significant others, and the player's surrounding support system.

Lana's eyes lit up, as did Aryne's, as they greeted each other and hugged warmly.

"What an amazing surprise! Good morning!" Lana gushed, first embracing Aryne and then John.

Lana approached the third individual standing slightly behind John. He was taller than the veteran player by a couple of inches, visibly younger, and was extremely broad and fit.

Lana thought she recognized his face but couldn't quite place it.

Aryne made the introductions. "This is Matthew Knies. Matthew, this is Lana — she's a friend and has been our real estate guru for a number of years."

Matthew's cheeks were already burning when he first glimpsed at Lana. He was positive he had never seen a woman nearly as beautiful as she was.

But when Lana turned and looked directly into his eyes while extending her hand, that's when his insides fell apart. He had difficulty swallowing, and he realized his mouth was slightly agape.

Lana squeezed his hand warmly. "I thought I recognized you. It's really wonderful to meet you, Matthew."

Trying to pull himself together, he shook her hand and with a dry throat, he squeaked out, "Nice to meet you too."

As Lana escorted the group towards her office, Aryne explained that she and John just wanted to help sort through some of the available condo listings for Matthew.

Lana smiled and explained to Aryne and John her initial confusion when the request for condo listings appeared under the "Tavares" file. After all, she had already helped Aryne find their ideal home twice as their family grew.

Matthew had resided with the Tavares family at the beginning of the 2023/24 season and later moved to a rental unit downtown mid-way through the season. Unfortunately, for various reasons, he was not at all happy in that building and wanted to start the upcoming season in more suitable place. Although it was not discussed in their meeting, the main reason being that Matthew and his now ex-girlfriend had parted ways in that same unit, and it was not an amicable ending to say the least.

Lana appreciated having John and Aryne there to assist Matthew. In recent years, other members of her sales team had primarily handled the real estate needs of younger male players. Time was ticking before the start of the season, and Lana wanted to be efficient in pinpointing exactly what would suit Matthew. John's input would be valuable in considering practical factors, especially regarding proximity to Scotiabank Arena and the practice rink in the southwest end of the city.

As Matthew sat diagonally across from Lana, he pretended to show interest in the selected listings which Lana walked them through on the large monitor mounted on her wall.

But it was only Lana that held his attention.

Matthew wanted to absorb every detail of her from head to toe. He wanted to stare and drink in every detail of her face.

Not wanting to appear obvious, he made sure his eyes didn't linger too long when they wandered to catch another glimpse of her as she pointed out various features in each listing.

Matthew had not even realized that his auto-pilot responses were in full swing. He barely recalled agreeing to see a handful of ready-to-show condos in the surrounding area and that it would be Lana herself giving him a tour of each unit.

Lana rose from her desk. "So Matthew, if you're alright for time now, it sounds like we'll be spending the morning together."

Matthew smiled as he silently willed his cock not to twitch at the very thought of being with Lana in any capacity, morning, noon, or night.

"Sure — absolutely… I'm all yours."

With the feeling that his heart was in his throat, Matthew realized how true those words had become in just half an hour after meeting this siren.

Lana stopped by Ainsley's desk and quietly gave some instructions for tasks that could be taken care of while she was out. Ainsley couldn't help but look past Lana ever so subtly at the handsome young player as she nodded her head.

Sensing that Matthew had caught her pretty assistant's eye, Lana gave Ainsley a knowing smile. "You want me to find out if he's dating anyone?" she quietly asked.

A bashful smile spanned Ainsley's face. "Oh my god, he's just so hot… I don't know… I guess it would be nice just to know if he's got a girlfriend?" she replied under her breath.

Ever so coolly, Lana gave Ainsley a discreet wink. "I'll see what I can find out and report back later, ok?"

Ainsley beamed, barely able to suppress her excitement as she nodded enthusiastically.

Lana joined the group as they meandered down the corridor towards the elevators. Little did she know that this little "meet cute" with Matthew Knies would soon change her entire world.

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Later in the day, Matthew arrived at the building of his close friend and teammate, Joseph Woll. He pressed the intercom button and within seconds, the door to the lobby clicked open and Matthew made his way towards the elevator.

Minutes later, Matthew was at Joe's door, which he had left propped slightly open inviting him just to come on through. Matthew always appreciated Joe's easy-going and considerate nature and felt grateful for his friend and how they both seemed to naturally anchor each other.

He walked through to the open living room and kitchen area where Joseph was working away assembling his most recent Lego project — the famous Concorde aircraft.

Joe glanced over the tail of his newest Lego set towards Matthew. "How did it go — see anything you liked?"

Fuck… yeah, only it wasn't a condo, Matthew mused to himself.

"Not sure… I guess nothing really stood out," Matthew replied as he flopped onto the nearby couch. "Might take a few more times… I just want to pick the right one."

Without looking up from snapping a series of small blocks together, Joe continued. "Too bad there's not anything available in this building…" He searched the table for the next appropriate piece before adding, "…but then again if you moved in, maybe there's such a thing as seeing someone too much…"

Matthew looked at his friend with a pained expression. "Ouch — fuck, bro… is that what you think?" he chuckled.

Joe shook his head laughing. "No… I just like getting a rise out of you. Oh—and just letting you know that we're meeting up with the rest of the guys at the bar around 8 tonight. I guess it's guys only now… the girlfriends opted to do something else."

"Who's all going? Mints, Cowboy…?"

Joe continued, "Me, you, Bobbo, Mints, Cowboy, but then there's a few vets coming — Max, Muzz… Doaner I think. It's shaping up to be a fun night."

Matthew stretched and yawned. "Sounds like it. Alright… fuck — I need a nap. Can I crash here for a bit? I don't feel like going back to my place."

Joe was concentrating on reading the instructions for the rudder for the plane. "Be my guest… we'll head out to the bar together then. I think you've even got a pair of shorts and a shirt here so you can change. Crash as long as you want."

Matthew traipsed down the hallway to the second bedroom and fell backward onto the mattress. He was tired, but his mind bounced in a million directions, wondering about what Lana was doing now and how her day would end. He wondered if she went home to a perfect husband or significant other who loved her and treated her right, or if she was with some prick who would never realize just how amazing she is.

Matthew's insides were starting to twist and flutter each time his memory pulled him back to the seemingly insignificant moments of that day. Sitting next to her in her car. Chatting seamlessly while stuck in traffic. Riding the elevator with her, or holding the door for her whenever they entered or exited a prospective condo.

His mind traveled back to the quick lunch they had, where Lana couldn't stop laughing after Matthew told her a story from his childhood. When she continued to chuckle about it for the rest of their time together, Matthew thought he might melt with desire right then.

Matthew finally pushed past the restlessness he had begun to feel and drifted off into a deep sleep.

Later that evening at an upscale sports bar, the table of hockey players cheered when the servers presented the group with the most bizarre and fascinating Caesar concoctions. The popular Canadian cocktail was adorned with everything from pulled pork sandwiches and burgers on skewers to tempura prawns and dessert options.

The group's boisterous laughter marked the upbeat and optimistic mood of the group with the start of a new season just around the corner.

Matthew tried to mimic the mood but he simply wasn't there in mind or spirit. He even ignored being chirped by a few of the rookies for nursing his Corona and avoiding the subsequent tequila shot altogether.

Matthew had a close friendship burgeoning with former rookie Bobby McMann, whom he sat next to at the table. Bobby noticed Matthew's glum demeanor but initially assumed it was over the demise of his recent relationship.

Bobby clinked the clear glass neck of his beer bottle against Matthew's, which was still virtually untouched. "It'll get better, man—try not to let it drag you down too far."

Matthew nodded and smiled to acknowledge his friend's support.

Joe, who was sitting across the table, silently wondered about the change in his friend's mood. Yes, Matthew had been through some turmoil in the past months with ending a relationship that had gone off the rails. However, after the dust had settled in the off-season, his mood and outlook were full of confidence once again. Joe knew Matthew was really geared up about finding a new place quickly, so perhaps his low mood was a result of not having any luck that day. It didn't quite compute in Joe's head, but he would keep his thoughts to himself, for now at least.

When Matthew quietly announced to those sitting nearest to him that he was done for the night and was heading home, Joe and Shane (Doan) walked him out just to make sure their good friend was alright before taking off. Matthew assured them he was, that he was just tired.

He ordered an Uber and was back home in no time, but the change in location to his quiet condo only exacerbated him more. Pulling out Lana's business card, adorned with her headshot that he couldn't avert his eyes from, he placed it on the coffee table. He picked up his guitar, a not-so-new hobby that Matthew freed his mind with, much like his buddy Joe did with Lego, and began to pick at the strings. He was pissed with himself as he tried, and failed, to think of anything else other than contacting his new and unexpected crush.

Setting the guitar aside, he picked up his phone, entered Lana's cell number into his contacts and sent her a brief message, beginning with an apology hoping it wasn't too late to reach out to her.

Matthew was pleasantly surprised that she responded within minutes. He asked Lana a series of questions, all about viewing more condos, but it was mostly to establish whether he could reach out to her specifically. She responded that indeed he could, and she would do her best to accommodate his schedule in the coming days. Matthew wasted no time in setting up a time with Lana for the following day, and then two days after that.

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

Following a silent moment, Matthew then shook his head and muttered to himself to get a fucking grip and that he was acting completely ridiculous by already pining over a woman that he didn't even know.

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As the end of August approached, Lana and Matthew had spent a considerable amount of time sorting through listings and narrowing down options to view. Lana encouraged Matthew to be selective, as it was important for him to be happy in the space where he would spend the majority of the next eight or nine months.

On the other hand, she knew the start of the season was sneaking up quickly and she hoped, for his sake, that he would find a place before training camp, media days and everything else that goes with it was upon him.

Matthew secretly knew this and sometimes felt he was playing with fire, appearing either indecisive or hard to please with the places Lana showed him. With this in mind, Matthew quickly finalized his decision on a place and chose a second one as a backup.

He also wanted to take the plunge and ask Lana out for dinner to say thank-you.

The following afternoon, Matthew sat next to Lana on the sleek, white sofa in her office as she walked him through the paperwork. The air between them was comfortable and relaxed, but the professional nature of their relationship was still very prominent. While initialing and signing wherever Lana indicated with her elegantly simple manicured nails, Matthew tried to ignore the anxiousness that was swirling in his mind.

Lana had consumed his every thought since he first met her. Whether he was in the midst of strength training or skate drills, he imagined what it would feel like if she was there watching him. He thought about her in traffic, in the shower, or running out to get food. He continuously caught himself having these harmless daydreams and did his best to shoo them away in order to refocus his mind, but often he was fighting a losing battle.

With his last initial inked on the page, Lana smiled widely and extended her hand. "Congratulations, Mr. Knies—I think you'll be very happy in your new place. It really is such a great neighborhood."

"Well, thanks… yeah, I know I will. And thank you for all your help. And for being patient with me. I hope it didn't feel like I was never going to choose one… you just gave me so many great options," Matthew smiled as he shook her hand.

As they stood, Lana felt a little disappointed that this might be the last time her and Matthew crossed paths. Her initial impressions of him and his frat boy exterior had almost immediately dissolved and she found him to be very mature and he spoke with an intelligence that was far beyond his years. Oftentimes, Lana found that she genuinely looked forward to seeing him, especially the times when they decided to walk to each destination instead of fighting traffic. She had only felt this level of comfort, ease and enjoyment with a select group of people, and although she never would have expected it, she considered Matthew a friend.

If she was really being totally honest with herself, she had thought about him as a little bit more than a friend as her base female urges had only increased since she met him. Lana often fell asleep feeling frustrated, squeezing her thighs together to try and get relief from the pressure building in her core.

Lana moved towards the door, knowing she had limited time before her next meeting. “I hope you won’t be a stranger but I can only imagine how busy you’ll be once the season starts. Oh - and all the best…I hope you guys have a really great year ahead.”

Feeling that time was not on his side, Matthew’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously and stepped in close to Lana.

“Hey - well, I kind of felt like I was being a bit of a pain in the ass with monopolizing your time, so to say thanks, I - I was wondering if maybe you’d let me take you out to dinner sometime?

Lana’s eyes softened as she smiled, feeling flushed at Matthew’s invite. “Absolut - “

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ainsley appeared at the door, her eyes darted between the expression on Lana and Matthew faces. “Your 3:00 is here.” The curtness in Ainsley's voice would be unrecognizable to most, but Lana picked up on it quickly. She had all but forgotten that Ainsley had developed a crush on the young hockey player. Normally, her attractive assistant caught the attention of most guys around Matthew's age and type, but any interactions she had with Matthew thus far were strictly polite and professional.

Lana thanked her and said she would be out momentarily. She made a mental note to check in with Ainsley later, as she noticed her pursed lips before she walked stiffly down the hallway.

Lana turned back to Matthew. “How about this, I send you a note once I’m home from work and we can get something arranged, ok?

“Perfect - I guess until then…” Matthew postured for a hug which Lana gladly accepted.

For a split second in his embrace, she imagined how it would feel if his hands held her a little more firmly. Pulled her in a little more tightly.

She watched as he sauntered out into the reception area, quietly mumbling as she chastised herself.

“He’s 21…you're 32. Get your mind off of this notion, Lana.”

But for the remainder of the day, she couldn't stop the fluttery sensation in her stomach. It mystified and excited her but it was a feeling that also terrified her.

After her last meeting had wrapped up for the day, she hurriedly sent a message to Andrew and Jason. She flagged it as urgent for good measure.

L - Are either of you home tonight? Desperately needing advice - can I come by?

Jason responded first.

J - Are you ok? Already setting a place for you at the dinner table.

Andrew responded asking the same question.

Lana paused, held her breath and typed in each letter slowly.

L - I think I'm interested in someone.

There was a silence that could be felt, even over the phone.

Andrew eventually responded.

A- Jason probably fainted. You might want to pick up something stronger to drink than wine.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

From David Sedaris via Bari Weiss and Free Press.

>>>>>

The New York apartment building Hugh and I live in isn’t terribly big. I wanted a nice view, so we’re on a high floor, the drawback being that we need to rely on the elevator—not for going down so much, but only my friend Dawn would carry a load of groceries up twenty flights of stairs. The building has doormen, so between me and the street there is definitely one, but more often, two or three occasions for small talk. Nobody likes this kind of thing. That said, there’s a definite art to it.

Not long after we moved in, I was heading to the lobby, and a neighbor I would later get to know as Tommy boarded the elevator one floor below mine. He nodded at me, and as the doors closed I raised a finger. “May I ask you a question?”

“Not if it’s about how much to tip the doormen at Christmas,” he said.

That was exactly what I was going to ask. Quick, I thought, think of a replacement. “Can you recommend a cobbler?” I asked.

Now it is five years later. I’m on my way to the lobby and when a woman boards at 14, I ask, “How long have you known your dentist?”

She thinks for a moment. “Fifteen years. Why?”

“Just curious,” I say. “I knew my old one for almost that long but then we moved to New York and I had to start over.”

“And where did you move here from?” she asks. And then we’re off, pleasantly conversing until we part ways on the ground floor.

How long have you known your dentist is such a good icebreaking question, a real keeper in my opinion. I didn’t make it up, it’s not mine, rather I found it on Duolingo, an app my friend Dave turned me on to. He’d been using it to learn Spanish. Me, I started with Japanese. It offers over forty languages, free with ads, and free of them for a pretty nominal charge.

Each program features the same cast of animated characters: the excitable little boy, the bored teenage girl with hair covering her face. There’s an athletic-looking blond fellow, Vikram, who wears a turban, and Bea, who, according to her profile, is of West African heritage: eleven in all, including a talking bear named Falstaff. Sometimes Duolingo will give me a sentence in English: “How many desks are in the room?” and I have to translate it into Japanese choosing from the menu of words written in hiragana at the bottom of the screen. Other times I have to read a sentence out loud and the characters will either accept or reject me, based upon my pronunciation. My least favorite is when they give me the sentence and I have to write it in whichever language I’m studying. If you’ve only ever learned English you maybe don’t know that in other countries, “I gave her the suitcase,” might go, “I gave to her the suitcase,” or “I had to her the suitcase gave.” You have to grasp a new word order. Then there’s the spelling to worry about.

My friend Mike is learning Yiddish with Duolingo and one of the sentences it taught him is: “My uncle is a broken man.” I used its French program to freshen up before a trip to Paris not long ago, and was both surprised and not by the question, “What is he doing in our bed?”

I’m a dilettante, and always have been. Rather than really buckling down and mastering anything, I flit from one language to the next. Thus I noted how different Duolingo’s Japanese was from Duolingo’s German version. In the latter, the characters have definite opinions. “Your apartment is dark and ugly.” “I don’t like your sweater.”

They give the impression that German people are direct and judgmental, but also outdoorsy, generous, and sure of themselves. Thus such sentences as, “I’m sorry, but your doctor is playing volleyball today,” “I am giving one hundred toilets to my father,” and “Spain needs us.” There’s a lot of talk about witches, but no mention of them dating one another, this as opposed to Duolingo’s Japanese program where seemingly everyone is gay. “Is that your grandmother’s new girlfriend?” is one of the questions I was taught. Suddenly the guy with the headband on had a husband as well as a son. Even the bear was dating another guy.

I often complained about the last Japanese learning program I used, Pimsleur. So much of the talk was, as it is on their German and Polish and Romanian courses, about drinking. “Do you want a beer? Wine? Sake? Whisky? How many bottles? Should we drink at your place or mine? What time should we start drinking? Do you know what Tenaka-san drinks? Does his wife drink too? Have you ever had drinks with his parents?”

Pimsleur taught me a lot of practical things though, like how to make reservations and buy train tickets. “Which track do I leave on? At what time do we arrive? Is it an express train or a super express train?”

When it comes to icebreaker questions though, the type one might ask in an elevator, both Pimsleur and Duolingo pale compared to Teach Yourself Japanese, a book a woman in England sent me a few pages of. It was what her dad used back in the ’50s, and it includes the phrases: “What will become of us if father dies? Grandmother has turned blind. The man with small hands is my friend. I no longer take any pleasure in my work. Shall I kill myself tomorrow?” and “It is only the third bottle from the left which has poison in it.”

What age, I wonder, are these students? If you no longer take pleasure in your work I’m guessing you’ve been at it for a while, yet your grandmother is still alive, and newly blind? And just how small are the friend’s hands? I’m thinking of someone with the equivalent of raccoon paws, trying to open a bottle of pills he can kill himself with.

Depressing phrases or practical ones, you’ll never become fluent through an app or a book, no matter how many hours you devote to it. You have to talk to actual people. My friend Scott has tutors in both Japanese and French and is miles ahead of me in terms of conversing and understanding. He does his lessons once a week on Zoom. I suppose I could do the same, but I’m afraid I won’t like the tutor, and won’t know how to put an end to our relationship. It’s the same reason I don’t see a psychiatrist or hire a trainer.

Most of the doormen in my building are from Ecuador and one, Adrian, has, at my request, started speaking to me exclusively in Spanish. I took it in high school, so we didn’t have to start from scratch. The problem is that, because he essentially works for me, he’s not going to be as strict as, say, the French teacher I had in Paris. Not that I’m not progressing. Recently I learned that Adrian calls his mother Gordita, which means little fatty. It’s a nice bit of information to start your day with, though it leaves me wondering, and phrasing the question to myself in Japanese, French, German, and now, tentatively, in Spanish, “What does he call me?”

Image: Nobody likes small talk. Yet it is an art worth mastering. (Photo by Anthony Rizzuto/Anthony Angel Collection/PhotoQuest/Getty Images)

[A link to David Sedaris reading his essay below]

[shadowwolfmemes]

AI is terrible for art and writing

Before I begin my rant, if you don't like this post and think it's too harsh, I don't give a rat's flying ass about it. I'm going to say what needs to be said, not what others want to hear. Let's get it!

First things first, I'm going to break down why using a soulless robot is a bad idea for making art. I see a lot of AI "artists" using AI art on Tumblr, and if I'm being honest, they all look like something a cat puked out on my fucking driveway and I don't mean it in a joking way.

I'm not sorry to say, but you can't consider yourselves artists if your so called art is auto generated by a machine. A literal robot can't feel the same emotions a human feels while creating an art post. If it's one way to get inspired, then I wouldn't really care too much since you're just using it as a way to expand your creativity.

But once you use completely rely on a bot and call it your own art style, then you gotta fucking go! Call me "judgmental" and "rude" if you want to, I'm just speaking on the behalf of the majority of people who genuinely think having AI as a replacement is fucking lazy. They ain't wrong when they say that because it's actually true.

When you look at my art, which is made in the current version of MS Paint for instance, it's not always the best looking. I'm going to admit that I'm a bit trashy at it, but at least it's honest because I still put actual effort in it verses what AI users do. (They just type in a few words and let the machine do it. Like, you call that "effort"? I call that bullshit.)

Even when I'm too lazy to put in high quality effort on my digital art, I'll still get credited for originality because I'm the one who came up with it in the first place. Besides, using AI and calling yourself an artist is totally unfair and insulting to real artists, it's almost like a metaphorical slap in the face for them. (It's almost like me using pre-recorded SFX loops on Soundation and calling it an actual "song".)

Now, I'm not going to spend this entire rant based on fake art, I'm going to be talking about AI writers, too. People who use AI for writing stories, don't think I don't see you in the far back! Y'all not off the hook either!

Using AI to write fanfictions for you is more lazy than asking ChatGPT to solve a simple math equation. The readers would be able to tell if it's made by a robot just by looking at it because like I previously said, robots don't have souls or emotions.

I know I made a post covering over AI writing fanfictions and I'll definitely say it again because it just takes the fun out of reading someone's "work" if they're not willing to write it themselves.

Some might say "If you don't like it, don't read it then." I might as well not because if someone is not willing to be creative and put actual efforts into their fanfictions, why should ANYONE be bothered to read it?

And that goes for AI artists, too. If you're not bothered to create actual art by yourself, then don't bother being an artist, therefore do NOT call yourself an artist.

Don't want to write? = Not a writer

Don't want to make art? = Not an artist

Let this advice sink in for all beginners who are considering using AI for art.

(P.S: If some of y'all get hurt by this, not my problem. This is nothing, but the truth. Get over it...)

[shinraelectricpowercom]

Silly-marillion* Fanworks Community discord launch announcement

*Silliness not mandatory (but strongly encouraged)

After my interest check got a decent amount of responses, I've decided to launch the server!

The Silly-marillion Fanworks Community is a Silmarillion fanworks-focused Discord server, intended to be a space for Silm fanwork creators to discuss the Silm and our Silm-based works, such as fic, art, meta, fansongs and filk, speculative linguistics, etc. It is an adults-only (18+) space with no mandatory content warnings and no limits (besides applicable US law and Discord TOS) on fictional discussion and content, including art (although NSFW images are required to be spoilered).

A few of the server rules & a server map are below the cut, so that people can get a sense for the server & see if they want to join it before actually clicking on or requesting an invite link.

The invite link will be in a reblog.

Server Rules sample

1. Don’t be a dick. That includes not engaging in hate speech, harassment, bigotry, or threats, even “as a joke”. Remember that there is another human being on the other side of the screen. Bannable "being a dick" behaviors include (but are not limited to!) using slurs in an insulting context, harassment, doxxing, and targeted bigotry. N.b.: The owner of this server is pro-bodily-autonomy with regards to pretty much every issue that covers. I am not interested in having server members who do not respect others' rights to autonomy. I will kick people over this.

2. If you’re unsure about something, ask. This goes for everything from pronouns to “what type of feedback do you want” to “can I make X sort of jokes with you”. Accept the answer with grace, respect it, and act accordingly.

3. No topic is off-limits. This is an 18+ space and as such may include frank and/or explicit discussion of sexuality as well as potentially triggering and dark topics (including abuse, incest, and suicide), as the text of the Silmarillion itself does. N.b.: It is the responsibility of individual server members to remove themselves from discussions that they may find upsetting or triggering. However, please use your judgment about whether this chat is the best place for discussions of IRL sexual activity and other such sensitive/personal topics.

4. Images that are NSFW and/or gory are allowed, BUT if you post one, please spoiler the image and put a text note ahead of it explaining that it contains NSFW and/or gore.

Server map

–HOUSEKEEPING ⁠#rules: where server rules are hosted. Read well and respect them, please. #announce: where changes to rules and other important server updates and information is shared. #⁠intros: where newcomers can introduce themselves. An introduction is required to gain access to certain channels.

–SILM DISCUSSION #general-silm: main home of discussion in this server. Anything Silm-related can go here. #meta: for meta relating to the Silm. #works-gallery: for sharing your Silm fanworks. #works-discuss: for discussing Silm fanworks. #works-assist: for asking for assistance with specific aspects of your fanworks. (Only introduced members can message in this channel.) #project-threads: for threaded discussion of specific fan projects that server members are working on. (Only introduced members can message in this channel.)

–OFF TOPIC #off-topic: for discussions which started on-topic and then went elsewhere. If there are only two people in an off-topic discussion, consider taking it to DMs. ⁠#fandom-whining: for complaining about those petty annoyances that fandom life sometimes contains. (Only introduced members can view and message in this channel.)

[kalereviews8782]

Review: Margo's Got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe

Enjoyment: 5 / Prose: 5 / Characters: 5 / Plot: 5

pros: unique style, made me laugh, JINX, Thorpe understands capitalist isolation and it made me sob

con: I kind of hate Margo's mother, sorry (I may have mother issues)

It's tempting just to tell people: read this! read this, with no spoilers, no introductions, no synopsis (the cover art and title here do NOT do this book justice). But I have so much to say.

It's been a long time since I read a book this fast. Maybe about 6 months or so (this tracks, as what I thought was my life fell off the tracks about 6 months ago). This made me remember: I will always have books. I will always have these stories. Stories that catch me off guard- because, based on the synopsis of this book, I wasn't sure how I would feel. I mean, a young mother, babies, wrestling? Not necessarily my favorite topics.

Kale, for a long time, has been caught between the real and unreal. Caught between being their "true" self and worried that they're always acting, always wearing a mask. Are they always dissociating? Are they always a step back, watching themselves from a distance? Is it less real, to step back this way, is it healthy?

And then you step back into the first person. It feels a little more easy, but a little less like you know what is happening to yourself. I know less when I am viewing everything from myself. When I step back into third person, I see more around me.

Does any of this make sense?

The shift that the main character in Margo's Got Money Troubles makes, from first to third person, back and forth, was something I thought would be challenging at first, just a pretentious writing exercise, but instead it's one of the most creative and engaging styles that I've read in a while. It became relatively easy, to be viewing the character that Margo makes of herself, and then to be experiencing everything from Margo's actual point of view in the next paragraph.

My thoughts in this review are mostly focused on the style and presentation of the novel, but I love everything else about it too. The characters just about have the most real and distinct voices I've ever seen, the dialogue is natural, the plot itself is addicting (new baby, family issues, OnlyFans, wrestling, paternity, new romances, existential dread, loneliness, shame & judgment, etc), and there's so much to be said about the way we view ourselves and the way we see others as "characters". Also, much to be said about how loneliness (maybe due to this struggle with point of view and realness) may be the underlying cause of...everything.

[denimbex1986]

'...Jen Chaney’s Top 10 Shows

...2. Ripley

Most remakes are rehashes or retellings that change certain details but ultimately leave their audience with the same thoughts and feelings they had the first time they heard this story. The Patricia Highsmith novel The Talented Mr. Ripley has been adapted numerous times, most notably as a 1999 Anthony Minghella film, but Ripley is not a remake; it’s more of a reframing. Shot in rich black and white by director and writer Steven Zaillian alongside Oscar-winning cinematographer Robert Elswit, Ripley’s eight episodes take their exquisite time, both with character development and, crucially, the moments Tom Ripley (Andrew Scott) commits his crimes and goes through the grueling work of attempting to cover them up. In this Ripley, you see and feel the weight of what he’s done — the labor that comes with hiding a body, the blood that has to be scrubbed away — much more intensely, which makes his lack of concern and ability to blithely lie all the more shocking. Scott delivers a phenomenally restrained performance; the look in his eyes is constantly blank, as if he’s inviting others to fill in the emotions and authenticity he’s incapable of producing himself. Much like the cat that lurks in the lobby of Ripley’s apartment building in Rome, you can’t stop staring at this fraud of a man and wondering how long he can go until someone finally figures him out...

Roxana Hadadi’s Top 10 Shows

...2. Ripley

No television show this year looked this good or felt this ugly. With a magnetically dreary allure, Steven Zaillian’s Ripley embraced paranoia, meanness, and bad vibes, chasing all memories of Anthony Minghella’s sun-soaked 1999 film away. With chilly black-and-white cinematography and sparse dialogue, Zaillian magnified the vein of cruelty running through Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley, while Andrew Scott used every muscle in his body to render his scamming, murderous Ripley unreadable, the living embodiment of want and coveting clever enough to never let anyone catch on to the depths of his desire. (Except for Dakota Fanning’s Marge, giving a skeptical performance here just as delicious as her work in The Perfect Couple.) Tom dragging his latest victim’s body down the stairs of his beautiful Italian apartment building, then getting increasingly irritated at having to clean up all the blood he has tracked around, all while getting judgmental glares from Lucio the cat? Most grimly hilarious sequence of the year...

Kathryn VanArendonk’s Top 10 Shows

...7. Ripley

Yes, it has an impeccable lead performance from Andrew Scott, and, yes, it has a perfect TV cat, and, yes, Dakota Fanning pulls off a tricky role, and, yes, it has one of the most gruesome boat-based murder sequences filmed in a long while, and, yes, its pretensions may occasionally get the better of it. But beyond all that, was there a more visually astounding series on TV this year? No, and it’s not a close contest. At first glance, Ripley’s black-and-white cinematography might look like a bug rather than a feature, a snooty approach to Patricia Highsmith’s con-man story. But the look of Ripley is not a superficial layer — it’s the foundation that makes the entire thing work, a visual version of the same language of class-based posturing and brutal striving that drives its whole worldview. All that Italian art drained of color, reduced to light and shadows, so much starker, sharper, and crueler than if it were seen in warm, human tones … that’s the good stuff...'

[fantasy-hub]

Ramon and the Nine Divines

Character meme based off the divine pantheon from the Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Bold what definitely applies to your character, italicize what could apply under certain conditions

1.) AKATOSH The pattern of a dragon’s scales / Bronze statues / The concept of infinity / Fatherhood, biological or not / Hard-earned & long-lived wisdom / A strict mentor but a kind guide / The terrifying passage of time / Sundials / Heroic sacrifice / Martyrdom, wanted or not / A crone that knows all / Older than the bones of the earth / Victory that tastes like ash / Blood-red rubies / The reason being "because fate wills it so" / Right versus wrong / Divine justice / Almost godlike / A dragon’s roar that shakes the land / An array of blazing comets / The violet-red sky at dusk / A fire that never goes out 

2.) ARKAY A well-sealed tomb / A stone-built mausoleum / The stillness of graveyards / Moss growing over headstones / Graves so old that the writing is illegible / The fragility of mortals / A murder of crows / Pitch-black skies with no stars / A sudden chill / Superstitions / Visions of the dead / Funeral rites / Burning a body to release the soul / Digging up dirt with your bare hands / The call of a raven / A new moon / A memento mori / Black butterflies / Soulless eyes / Taking one's last breath

3.) DIBELLA Embracing femininity / Comfortable in the nude / Soft skin / Rays of sunshine through the clouds / Hazy sunsets / Hypnotic gaze / Accepting of all / No judgment / In love with love / Painting with a lover / Bathing in rivers / Blooming gardens / The afterglow of sex / Sensuality / Lover of fine arts / Swans & doves / Long hair over the collarbones & shoulders / Kisses over bare thighs / Luminous pearls / Slices of oranges, fed by hand / Golden mirrors

4.) JULIANOS Scholarly debates / Curiosity / Willingness to learn / Vast libraries of untapped knowledge / Leather book-covers / Late night studying / Mountains of scrolls / Games of logic / Runes / A weathered journal /Pressed flowers / Watercolor paints / Ink-stained palms / Glasses slipping over the nose / A teacher that truly teaches / Remembering history so it shall not be repeated / Enjoying puzzles & riddles

5.) KYNARETH A silver mare / Wispy clouds over a mountaintop / The scent before it rains / Soft caresses of grass against uncovered skin / The vast blueness of the sky at midday / Pale blue roses / Darkening clouds as a storm rolls in / The pitter-patter of gentle rain / The thundering of a heavy downpour / Four-leaf clovers / Healthy green fields / The whistle of the wind against your ear / Pure white butterflies / A mother bear with her cubs / Nymphs that live near creeks and rivers / Nature spirits who help those who respect the world and hinder those who don't / Helping others even at great cost / Secretive meetings / A beautiful melody / A soft-toned voice / Not a mother, but a mother enough

6.) MARA Fields of golden wheat / A gentle lamb sleeping amongst its siblings / Unconditional love / True compassion / The miracle of birth / A newborn’s first cries / A mother’s all-encompassing love / Remaining tender despite cruelty / The sweetness of honey / A soothing lullaby / Weeping willow trees / Looking to the skies for consolation / Sharing bread / Forehead kisses / A sense of safety / Warm palms / The arrival of dawn / Summer evenings / Ducklings following their mother / Sweet reunions / Allowing yourself to be vulnerable with another / Watching children grow / Protecting the innocence of the youth / Marrying for love, not for duty or honor.

7.) STENDARR Choosing to be merciful / Healing balms / Blessed waters / Caring for the ill, elderly, or the young / Clasped hands in prayer / Warm, golden light / Cleansing / Bloodied palms / Unable to wash the guilt / A lifted curse / A fever breaking / A cool cloth against the forehead / Stopping the bleeding with your hands but it won’t stop / One life lost is one life too many / Remaining brave against all odds / Telling the wounded that they will live because you will do everything in your power to make it so / Hatred of war because of who it truly affects

8.) ZENITHAR A hefty bag of coins / A busy marketplace / Spices from far-away lands  / The calls of sea-birds / The scent of saltwater carried through the breeze / A storm over the sea / Turbulent waters / Dark depths / Worn maps / A good deal / Walking along the waves / The sail of a ship / Collecting seashells / New cultures / Where the sea and sky meet / Watching the sun disappear below the horizon / Finding the north star for guidance

9.) TALOS A guttural scream that comes from the soul / A sense of impending doom / Cold betrayal / Undying loyalty / A greatsword that takes both hands to wield / The sound of a blade being drawn / Rough leather / Dark, earthy colors / War cries / Shining steel armor / Scars that never fade / Pyrrhic victory / Season of war / Broad shoulders / A broken crown / Brotherhood / The fight for freedom never ends / Secret worship / Snow-capped mountains as far as the eye can see / Freezing waters / Having to choose between being right or being happy

Tagged by: @maidmyth, technically Tagging: Anyone who wants to!

[cisthehuman]

Cis Rambles #7--Tooth Hiatus evolved into I'm Broke Hiatus

This week, I originally planned to start streaming again. Buuuuuuut...

My work performance is kinda not great. Ever since my tooth surgery my sleep schedule has been shot and while I haven't gotten too bad at work. My brain is not where it needs to be. So, I have to be extra responsible and focus on my job for a little bit.

This pains me, as I really like streaming and I want to grow! I had a goal to possibly hit affiliate on twitch by my birthday in July and I wanted to work as hard as I can do so! I still have time, but you know....I'm eager to get started!!!!

But money has been tight after paying off my tooth surgery bills and I still have medical bills from last year/this year for my PCOS diagnosis that I need to cover...so I need to focus on work.

With that being said, I'll still work on things behind the scenes! It's time for.....CisLunar Updates!!!!!

Update 1: Music Previews!!

1A--I've got previews made for Cosmic Canary Radio (the stream music) volumes 1-3 done! Take a gander at all of them! I'm actually going to link to the previews on twitter as I'm afraid of how heavy this post is LOL

Cosmic Canary Radio Vol 1

Cosmic Canary Radio Vol 2

Cosmic Canary Radio Vol 3

1B--Artist Albums are close to coming out!

There are 4 Albums by different artists in Lunar's world that are ready to get out into the world. To world build, I thought it would be fun to make up artists and make little albums for them. Now I'm not great with music, so please have some grace lol But I'm kinda proud of them! I've held this close to my chest for a while so I'll go ahead and say the name of the artist and their corresponding album along with the genre! Also enjoy a little snippet!

Hoshi*ga*Hoshii: The Sun Glares at You

Genre: Space hop

Mori: My Forest

Genre: genuinely i'm unsure what to call this genre....experimental? Forest hop? Experimental jazz/classical?

Infinity: Inorganic in Organic

Genre: Avant pop, indie electronic, they're heavily inspired by the band Stereolab.

Siren: *Title Pending*

Genre: Alternative rock, pop rock, they're based off of Coldplay's sound

Of course, one artist, BATTY, already has 2 albums already ready for you to listen to!

BATTY!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YByE09cEZpM

Transylvania: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rbe77vSKoyI

Update 2: Thumbnails!!

I've been loosely reading posts I find in how to gain more viewers to streams and one suggestion that I liked was making thumbnails! So I made some for the upcoming games!

Now you know what are vibes are when I come back~ Also I like that I made Lunar different sizes in each one, that's fun lolol I'm just now noticing that.

Update 3: Lunar's New Expressions!

I was able to commission the artist that made the Lunar pngtuber, marchemis, some new expressions for Lunar!! I gave a little sketch for each! Sketching this was really fun.

Finally Lunar can be mad when I am mad lolol

Update 4: Compiling Art for future DevLogs~

Today I've been mentally thinking of a list of topics for dev logs. A couple are Cis the Parasite Design process, Champs Design process, and more! Here's a couple of pictures I've been compiling for these!

There are more, but they're not saved as pngs yet and/or theyre in my sketchbook/random pieces of paper.

Update 5: New Lunar Illustration and 2nd Outfit Planning

I've been slowly tinkering away at a new illustration for Lunar in celebration of spring! I'm changing up my coloring style a bit which is why it's taking me longer than usual (and also I'm hooked on Pixel Cafe, but that's neither here nor there). Take a gander!

Lunar is also going to get a new outfit soon! And while I drew up several last year, it's actually going to look similar to this! There might be some changes but it'll be very very similar to this!

The artist I commissioned before, marchemis, had another round of commissions open, but I didn't have the funds nor an idea for a second outfit for Lunar! A goal for next time is to save enough for up for it!

Listing this out like this, I'm like actually working. I did more than I thought I have lolol The one thing I haven't worked on is the script for the kinetic story. I'll make plans to work on that in the coming weeks.

I'm actually planning on buying Spirit City! It's a coworking game! If I'm lucky and it works on my old school set up! Maybe I can just stream me working on stream stuff for a while! But I'll let you know if things work!

Anyway! Thanks for your understanding for all of the hiatuses. Things aren't tough, but they are tedious. And as this month isn't the best for me mentally, I will do my best to power through! So if you see me streaming randomly during this hiatus, come on by!

See you in the next one~

[arcenciel-par-une-larme]

“It is an ancient view that truth, goodness, and beauty cannot, in the end, conflict. Maybe the degeneration of beauty into kitsch comes precisely from the postmodern loss of truthfulness, and with it the loss of moral direction.”

-- Roger Scruton (1944-2020) English Conservative philosopher

Thank you for tagging me. I think you are correct in most of what you say. Now, my two cents on this...

It might be worth clarifying that you and I are probably using "capitalism" in quite divergent ways -- I use the term to denote the economic system properly so called, not any particular kind of mentality or sin, such as greed and plutocracy. I do not believe that most economic systems are inherently good or evil (with some notable exceptions, of course), including this; they are what Lewis would call "raw material", and thus the question is raised of what philosophical, religious, and ethical framework lies beneath any implementation of economic function -- in this case, of capitalism.

In most of the modern West (academia and its complexities notwithstanding), I think it safe to say that this framework is, by and large, secular humanism; mostly with a religious component of atheism (or, at the very least, strong agnosticism). Moreover, in the 21st century, postmodernism has slowly but surely increased its proportion within this mixture. Beyond the fact (pertinent to this discourse) that this, in conjunction with capitalism, has been a hotbed for unbridled consumerism; I dare you to imagine what fundamental aspect of Western philosophy can be almost mathematically predicted to suffer in such conditions.

If you guessed "the Three Transcendentals", that is absolutely correct. That is: Truth, Virtue, Beauty.

When you lose the foundation which is God, it is beyond obvious that the Transcendentals are but a delusion -- after all, "the universe is all that has been, all that is, and all that ever will be". Ergo, disenchantment. What we call "beauty" or "sublimity" is, in fact, nothing more than an arbitrary value judgment based upon the random firings of neurons in our little gray cells (Lewis, again, has covered this at length in The Abolition of Man, Chapter 1). In that sense, maybe that Shakespeare scholar was not that off-the-point, after all -- not in her definition of art, mind you; but in that, absent a higher point of reference, there is nothing more to art than self-expression. It cannot have deeper meaning or significance -- of what can a work of art be significant, when even our own thoughts are not significant of anything, being nothing more than simple, predetermined transfers of matter and energy?

But even in the cases of the countless modern Westerners who are not necessarily consciously atheist or postmodern, it still holds true that much culture is downstream of academia (by way of mass media and popular literature) and of business. As a result, your average 21st-century Western citizen still probably carries around the legacy of relativism from the former, and the philosophy of "maximise profit whilst minimising loss" from the latter -- even if he is not quite as certain in his atheism as a Richard Dawkins, or not nearly as conscious of his postmodernism as a Theodore Adorno.

Why does Rupi Kaur sell so much in this context? Primarily because art/beauty, as a result of the above: 1. Has been stripped of any objective point of reference, and 2. Has been commodified, and is thus no longer created by the artist and appreciated and internalised (or rejected, depending on the case) by his audience, but rather produced by the "artist" and consumed by his clientele.

Factor 1 is strong enough on its own to explain part of the Kaur phenomenon ("How can you say that one poem is better than another? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!"), but it is far from enough. If that were the only factor at play, you would expect people to have a comparable affinity for figures like Hugo Ball, for example.

And this is where the consumerism comes in -- remember, "maximise profit whilst minimising loss"; in generalised life terms, this becomes "maximise pleasure/comfort whilst minimising pain/effort". Rupi Kaur's poems can be described in many ways, but "challenging" isn't one of them. They are, by definition, Instagram poetry; conglomerations of epigrammatic, faux-deep statements which could very well have been written by the teenage daughter of a suburban, middle-class American family in the early 2010s -- they require no deep introspection on behalf of the reader, nor do they inspire to greatness or urge to repentance, nor do they even require the effort of understanding an unknown word or phrase, or deciphering an allegory or metaphor.

They are, in other words, pure kitsch. This is what makes them the perfect product, from a 21st-century artistic standpoint. As per Walter Benjamin's definition of kitsch, they "offer instantaneous emotional gratification without intellectual effort.” 

No matter what atheists, low evangelicals, and postmodernists say, man's need for art and beauty will not go away. Our souls need the sublime (that is, both to create and to appreciate others' creations) much like our bodies need food for sustenance. It is easy to see, in light of this need, and taking all of the above into account, why Rupi Kaur is the poster child, the definitive High Priestess, of modern (popular) poetry: people consume read her works and say that they "enjoy poetry" in the same way, and for the same reasons, that they listen to Ludovico Einaudi and say that they "enjoy classical music"; as they listen to or sing "I can only imagine" and "Let us build a house" and say that they edify themselves with "Christian hymns"; as they collect Thomas Kinkade paintings and say that they are "appreciators of fine art"; as they eat a double Big Mac and consider themselves well fed.

Unfortunately, at the end of the day, she does not have anything to offer which would lead anyone to sit and think for a moment, or to say "hey, cool pattern/wordplay/synecdoche!" or to crack open a dictionary; or anything which would make anyone in an affluent coastal neighbourhood, an Ivy League college, or the HR department of a Fortune 500 company, feel the least bit uncomfortable or challenged.

Or, even worse, she does, and nevertheless chooses to censor and stifle her inspiration.

And that's the short version of it, pretty much.

P. S.: Much more can be said about the subject matter, of course. For instance, Kaur has at least one more selling point in that her poems often contain some potent constituent of self-righteous left-leaning political posturing or jabs against orthodox Christianity, which gives the reader an added bonus: the simulacrum of social awareness and "being on the Right Side Of History". This ties in also with the fact that, not being able to withstand the complete relativisation and absence of standards in art after the abolition of the sublime, we have also invented a simulacrum of objective value as well: judging art by virtue of its utilitarian value and expediency (political or otherwise), or the identitarian merits of the creator -- with results ranging from "How can you say that Hillsong make mediocre music? Their songs have led countless people to Christ!!!" to "Well, your oh-so-precious George Herbert was just a privileged white man from a colonial nation after all -- he coulndn't have POSSIBLY had the richness of soul and lived experience of a woman of colour which make the masterpieces of Rupi Kaur what they are.")

Etc., etc...

Also, I do have some minor disagreements at certain points, but those are probably better dealt with in a separate post, if needed.

@apilgrimpassingby This might be of interest to you, too.

The problem with Rupi Kaur is capitalism, in this essay I will

[foreverindreamlandd]

Drabble or oneshots request:

Bucky craving pumpkins with reader

I *think* this is supposed to say 'carving pumpkins' but if not let me know ;) Thanks for the request!

WC: 1k

A/N: No warnings except that it's a heaping mess of fluff.

----------------------

“Don’t look,” you whine, sounding like a 5-year-old as you hover your arms over your creation.

“I’m not! You’re the one trying to take a peak at mine, love,” Bucky retorts.

You scoff, feigning offense. “I literally don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Isn’t this supposed to be a fun, relaxing activity?” He asks with a face that is a mixture of loving and judgmental.

“It is! I’m having fun! I just want it to be a surprise.”

Bucky chuckles. “Alright then, love. Just let me know when you’re done.”

“You got it, Buck.” You wink before turning back to the half-carved pumpkin in front of you.

It’s a crisp October evening in upstate New York, your favorite weather. Dressed in one of Bucky’s comfiest flannels and a pair of leggings, you sit on the back deck of the Avenger’s Compound with your super soldier boyfriend, surrounded by the remains of two pumpkins you were currently working on.

He had -- in true Bucky fashion -- originally put up a stink about the idea of carving pumpkins. In the weeks leading up to October, you would list all of the Fall things you were excited to start doing. Apple picking, hay rides, corn mazes, but pumpkin carving was where Bucky drew the line.

“That’s a thing for kids, doll.”

“Do you really think I’m going to stick my metal arm in a gunk-invested vegetable? I’ll have guts stuck in there for years.”

“Can’t we buy pre-carved ones? Or just buy the seeds so we can roast them?”

But when the two of you walked through the Farmer’s Market, carrying a basket full of candles and apple cider donuts, he couldn’t turn away from the light in your eyes as they brightened with true unadulterated delight when you saw the pallet covered in orange gourds. And he knew he wasn’t going to be able to say no to the evil, vicious, adorable, stunning pouty face you gave him when you turned in his direction.

He didn’t say a word as he accepted his fate. Just walked over to the woman at the table, wallet in hand, and reached down to grab the two he thought looked best.

When he walked back, a pumpkin cradled in each arm, his grimace faded away at the sight of your luminous smile, filled with such joy that he couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of pride that he had done something to get you to smile like that.

Hell, he even felt a little bit excited to cut into these squishy basketballs when you stood on your tiptoes to lean in for a kiss to express your gratitude.

So now, here you both are, elbow-deep in pumpkin remains, the scent of apple-caramel radiating through the space from one of the candles you had bought earlier that day, a half-eaten bag of donuts, your favorite Fall playlist softly playing in the background, and saran wrap plastered over Bucky’s metal arm. Alpine was sitting on top of her cat tower in the corner of the deck, snuggling with the spider plush you had bought her at the market.

“Okay,” you say, sitting up straight with a face full of confidence, “I’m done.”

“Same. Let’s see what you got, love.” Bucky reached to his left arm to rip off the saran wrap.

You move your pumpkin into view to reveal a jack-o-lantern face, but instead of smiling, its mouth is turned down. You had even carved eyebrows that knit together in the corners.

Bucky narrows his eyes at you, pointing at your creation. “I thought those guys were supposed to be happy and shit.”

You give him a sly grin. “They are, but I based this one off of something else. I call it ‘Grumpy Buck.”

Bucky scowls and you cackle, lifting up your pumpkin and reaching forward to hold it by his face. “See! Isn’t this like looking in a mirror?”

He rolls his eyes, muttering, “Love you too, doll.”

Your grin widens. “Don’t worry, love, there’s more.” You spin the pumpkin 180 degrees to reveal a smiling jack-o-lantern on the other side. “I call this side, ‘Bucky Whenever He’s With His Favorite Person AKA Me.”

He barks out a laugh at the ridiculous title and smiles at you. “You really put in a lot of layers into this project.”

You wink at him. “What can I say? My man is complicated, but he’s the best guy around.”

His heart swells, and he leans forward to give you a chaste kiss. It tastes like apples and cinnamon and something else that is so uniquely Bucky and it brings the same butterflies to your stomach that you felt the first time he kissed you and have felt from every kiss since.

“I love it,” he whispers as he pulls away.

It takes you a moment to clear your head after the dizziness his kiss brought and you blink a few times before pointing at his pumpkin. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see what you got.”

Bucky’s face goes serious as he moves to turn his pumpkin your way. You gasp as soon as his carving comes into view.

“What the fuck?” You exclaim, looking at his creation.

Which looks like a fucking work of art.

It’s a carving of Alpine, perfectly sculpted and shaded that it looks like he traced over a photo of your feline friend instead of freehanding it.

He grins. “Not bad, hey?”

You scoff. “When the hell were you going to tell me that you were a freaking Michaelangelo of pumpkin carving?”

He shrugs, picking up his dagger that he used to carve, a smile still on his face. “Babe, I’m good with knives, remember?”

You frown, crossing your arms in front of you and narrowing your eyes at him. “I still think mine is better.”

He chuckles, then puts down the dagger and takes your face in his hands.

“Your pumpkin is amazing. Everything you do is amazing.” He kisses you again and your frown falls away. “Thank you for an amazing day and for putting up with my grumpy old man self.”

You smile, filled with a sense of awe that you get to share your life with the man in front of you.

“So does this mean that we’ve found a new Fall tradition and you’ll do this with me every year forever?”

Instead of the scowl of dread you were expecting, Bucky’s smile widens.

“If I can have forever with you? I’ll do whatever the hell you want, doll.”

-----------------

Thank you for reading! Click here to check out more of my stuff here. :)

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Tag List: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @eclipses-and-moondust

[sweetfirebird]

Completely unrelated to my last post but I will say, despite like, how annoying it was at first, mostly abandoning m/m as a "community" and with it, some of m/m's audience, has been better for me. I mean, not in sales. But nothing was gonna do that anyway lol. Just for me personally.

I don't think it's super useful to mark a clear border between like m/m romance and queer romance or whatever in terms of dealing with the outside world or even mainstream het romance, because others do not see or care about any distinctions, and they all get treated as garbage by most outsiders. (Het romance too, to be fair, but het romance does not get slapped with the degenerate label or monitored in quite the same way.)

However, there is a difference between large amounts of trad-pubbed and self-pubbed romances labeled m/m and a lot of the indie and self-pubbed romances. I personally sort of call the latter queer romance though it can and generally does include m/m.

That's not a commentary or judgment on the authors. That's just.... idk. a) books that follow traditionally published romance formats and storylines (that can mean sort of... cishet... I guess, since that is what romance as a genre began with) and b) books that do that a lot less or not at all. (And as a sidenote: there are m/f romances written by queer people, and there is a difference in how relationships are portrayed in them, and yet I don't know enough of that genre to say how or if that distinction exists in publishing. Except that the ones I have seen do tend to be self-pubbed.)

And actually I think the mm/queer romance readers *do* already make this distinction, probably without realizing it. Based mostly on cover art trends, if I had to guess. But that's another matter, and also whatever. People will read what they will read and I am not judging that either.

My point is, since I have mentally made that switch and use that term more when describing what I do, I do not get a lot of the comments and expectations that I got when my stuff was listed purely as m/m. (Sex as a requirement, being a big one. Sex in certain ways only being another area where I used to get comments. We won't even talk about the nonmonogamy being "cheating" thing or the expectation of babies thing... not today.)

And it's much nicer for me to just not have to encounter that.

Sorry. This is a post with a lot of loose threads. And again, I am not against people writing or reading like, trad-pubbed-style romance where everything moves at the pace of a Harlequin and instalove exists and there is lots of banging. Obviously people are into that. I just like that the market has expanded enough to include things that do not follow that style, or do follow it for a while before veering off. I think readers, however they identify, take pleasure in both and deserve to have both available. But also, whew, I am so glad that some of those readers have given up on me.

No offense to them. But we're not gonna get along and that's okay.

[bokettochild]

Hey! Those are my three favorite Links too lol. Got any head canons for them?

No way, really? That's awesome!

And yes I do!

(Kinda long, so it's beneath the cut)

- These three, coincidentally, have the longest hair out of all of the Links. I know that JoJo draws Legend with a close cut, but all the official art has him with hair that falls past his shoulders, and I love it to much to accept anything else (I still love how JoJo draws him tho!)

- Walking fashion disasters, all of them. They like it though and no one can really stop them (they like that even more).

- On a scale of gremlin-ness, Wild ranks as a nine (he's not always trouble, but a lot of the time), Legend just behind him as a 7 (he just covers up well) and Four is so chaotic that they're on four different places of the chaos scale all at the same time!

- Legend and Four both are super close to Sky after some time, although Legend is more the 'needs to be toned down and asked to behave' while Four and Sky are more of the chill bros kinda thing. As a result, they're have a bit more of a sibling dynamic in that 'we're both close to the same person but we clash as much as we get along, but we're also stuck together' kind of way. Sky mentoring these two melts my heart :)

- Four is, of course, four people in a trench coat, and while Legend isn't, he does have the ability to split into multiple people as well, thank to adventure 6 in Hytopia. They have definitely bonded over this weird experience, and I know because I'm writing a snit-fic about it!

- Fire children, all three of them. Four tries to act somewhat responsible, but Red is a fire gremlin and there's really nothing the other colors can do to control him. Once the flame-based weapons come out there is no stopping them.

- Wild and Vio are both amazing archers, and if/when Four splits they will happily exchange tips.

- All three of these boys are crazy curious. Legend and Wild are both item's collectors and Four has Vio living in their head, so if the Chain finds something new, rest assured that these three will be the squad to try and figure it out together.

(Getting new tech or items is like Halloween for these boys, and they'll happily toss stuff back and forth like the trio of nerds they are, taking notes and trying stuff with it).

- Because they share interests, they are also highly touchy about when the others can join them in stuff. Wild's the most likely to let others join him in stuff, Legend can be touchy, but he will eventually cave if he's not too set on having his space. There is no bending Four's will.

- Legend is (of course) Fable's brother. But, while she got Hylia's powers and stuff, Legend got the musical talent. Fable can't sing for shit, and her fingers are as likely to get tangled in her harp strings as they are to break them.

- Four is the most firm out of the three, and the most stubborn. He's often the voice of reason (he does have a playful side though).

- Four likes teaching Legend smithy things. Since Legend never finished his apprenticeship, he's only got so much knowledge, and after the "when will you learn" incident, Four determined that he'd knock some sense into the vet's pink head.

- Both Four and Legend have at some point ended up in their alternate forms, and Wild was chill as could be. He thinks its cool, but he respects their boundaries and tries his hardest not to call them cute to their faces (he can't stop himself from thinking it though).

- Other than Wind, who could probably beat them all, they are the lightest footed Links, and each are skilled dancers. Four's batter at folk stuff, Legend at performance, and Wild at ballroom and barn dance related stuff, but once Twi pulls out a fiddle they're all quickly swept up into dancing because none of them can resist. They're all good dancing partners too, and with Wind at their side, they've managed to work out some stuff they can all dance to together.

- The least judgmental about shadows. Unlike the others, Wild has never met his shadow, and while Legend has, it was kinda brief and not particularly traumatic (shadow Four on the other hand still haunts his dreams) and of course we all know that Shadow and Four are besties 🥰

- On that note, Legend is highly protective of the other two. Wild because he's still so young at heart, and Four because the last thing legend wants is to see Four corrupted. He remembers the Palace of the Four Sword vividly, and he doesn't want a repeat. (It absolutely breaks his heart that he knows Four doesn't get a happy ending).

- Wild plays accordion and while his voice is untrained, he's got a decent set of pipes!

- Four play Ocarina, not as well as time, but it's still very beautiful.

- Legend has flat feet

- Barefoot trio. Flat feet are a nightmare in shoes, and Legend was a farm-boy, he'll shuck off his shoes the instant he can and just enjoy the grass or stone beneath his feet. Wild does the same for the very simple reason of being a feral gremlin who is very happy to lose his clothes and go wild. Four's feet are kinda odd shaped after transforming into a Minish so many times, so he also likes shedding his shoes (he had to make a special pain that would actually fit his weird lil feet) and just enjoying nature.

- Four and Wild are rediculously in tune with nature, Four because of his connection to the elements and Wild because he's Wild. Legend isn't closely connected, but he's got his own sort of love for different weathers and seasons after his 2'd adventure.

- The most colorful out of everyone, they are also the most artistic Legend paints and embroiders, and Four is good at sculpting, carving and, of course, metal work. Wild really likes to draw and his food itself looks like a picture (his frosted cakes are to die for, no one knows how he makes frosting do that)

- More of a niche headcannon related to a fic of mine, but; Wild has vitiligo. Most of it is hidden what with his heavy scarring and clothes, but while he's naturally pretty tan, he's got some big ol' white spots underneath his clothes and along his arms.

I will hold off on any more, I have a speech I need to rehearse and I got way too carried away with this 😅

[justaniche]

Hey! I’m dying for more Daxton. I seriously can’t wait for season 2. Can you write something about Nalini realizing Paxton is good for Devi? Like he takes care of her/protects her and helps her deal with her trauma

Thanks!!

Hi!

omg let me say first, anon, thank you for this ask. youre the first person to take me up on my offer to write stuff for you so thank you again.

A little bit about this writing piece before I actually show it to you, there was a point when I was writing it when I wasn’t sure if it was going to reach 1K words but there was a point where the words just start to flow and I can proudly say it is 2.1K and that is not a lot but based on what I thought it was going to end up being it has come along way. and this is one of my first-ish never have I ever work of writing. I think it’s the first I’ve written entirely off the top of my head. My other ones are either not posted or it’s my work inspired by the episodes and its just everything through Paxton‘s point of view so it’s a bit different.

this is getting sort of long so anyway, without further ado. here it is. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think and if you like it please feel free to send me another!

Nalini had just about had it. The day’s raging dumpster fire began with traffic that resulted in her being late to work. If that wasn’t bad enough, a patient she saw a couple days ago came back complaining that her treatment caused a breakout. After a follow-up, she discovered the patient hadn’t changed any of their habits despite her advice! So was it really the treatment, or the fact that they don’t wash their face? All that suffices to say when Nalini got home she was already on a very short fuse. Kamala was out for school and let her family know she wouldn’t be home for dinner so it was known by both Devi and Nalini that they would be cooking without her today. Nalini gave Devi specific instructions so that, regardless of how late her day ran, they could have dinner at a reasonable time. Devi did not follow those instructions. Nalini came home to the door unlocked, closed but unlocked, the house a mess, and Devi’s part of dinner not made. No matter how many breaths she took, Nalini was mad. No, mad didn’t quite cover it. She silently walked up the stairs, hell-bent on seeing what caused this disaster, and if she didn’t like the reason she planned to riff for the rest of the night. But approaching Devi’s door she found it ajar. She peeked inside, and that's where she found them.

After winning his swim meet, Paxton was on top of the world. The school day had been what it tended to be, light. Filled with class and hanging with his friends in the hotpocket. But that was hours ago. It was early evening when he saw her, Devi Vishwakumar, they had sort of become friends over recent weeks but given the up and down nature of their relationship, Paxton was always very aware of her. Devi had a way of grabbing Paxton’s attention. He was always trying to figure her out. Of course she made a hell of a first impression, first couple of impressions actually. Devi was sorely different from anyone else in his circle and Paxton wasn’t yet sure how he felt about the sudden invasion. He pretended he didn’t but after unintentionally watching her Paxton began to notice Devi’s change in mood sometimes. Like right now, from where Paxton was he saw the set of her shoulders. The tension was apparent as Devi stalked across the school grounds. Confusion flooded Paxton’s mind and before another thought could register, he was jogging towards her.

“ Hey, Vishwakumar, wait up! ” He called towards her but she didn’t stop

Devi cast a look over her shoulder, her voice was muffled when she spoke, “Uh, Hi Paxton, I can’t talk.” her voice cracks, “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Paxton slows down for a second as he takes in the situation, Devi speeds up.

“Are you okay?”

Devi breaks into a dead sprint and Paxton doesn’t think, he just follows.

Devi was doing okay. Today was harder than most for a reason she couldn’t name but Devi was making it through. That was until last period art class. The teacher gave a simple assignment, and that was to paint your happiest memory. Immediately when the words left his mouth, a memory came flooding into Devi's mind like a tidal wave.

Devi was 8 when her father convinced her mother that going to a Californian beach as a family would be an adventure. Devi barely remembers the build-up, it was a haze of packing sandwiches and equipment. Leaving the house, only to discover something had been forgotten. A car ride that seemed to stretch into forever. But the beach was magnificent. At least it was in Devi’s memory. It was a gloomy day, the threat of rain looming, so the beach’s visitors were far and few in between. Devi remembers that feeling of warm sand under her feet. She remembers those first fragile steps into the tide, only to rush back as the ocean crashed forward chasing her back to shore. She could see her mom, in the distance, setting up their makeshift camp for the day. She was more content watching her family than participating. The ocean was vast and blue and terrifying. Devi could not urge herself to take more than a few steps. Devi doesn’t know how her dad saw her distress but it was like he could read her mind. He grabbed her and lifted her high then settled Devi on his shoulders. He insisted that she was safe there, she was too high for the ocean to ever reach. He held her hand as he walked slowly but confidently further into the waves. He stopped just as the water kissed her mid-calf but it was enough. From way up here, with her father by her side, the ocean wasn’t anything to fear, it was something to marvel at.

Devi had a firm picture in her mind of her happiest memory and it was her family’s adventure at the beach. But Devi couldn’t make a move to make this image a reality. Sadness crept up on her and got a vice grip on her heart. Her vision blurred and she couldn’t breathe. How had she ever breathed before? Was it always this hard? The bell rang, signaling the end of the day but Devi was on autopilot. Eleanor and Fabiola felt miles away, whenever they’d focus in the daze of her mind, the grip on her heart tightened and dragged her back to darkness. Devi doesn’t know if she said goodbye to her best friends,

She blinked, band began

She inhaled, band was over

She stood, the sun was setting

She gazed, the stress stiffened her movements as she walked around campus. Where was she headed?

Devi was desperate for light, for clarity.

“ Hey, Vishwakumar, wait up! ” The sudden noise broke the muddle, if only for now, she was again aware of the devastation and loss weighing on her mind and on her heart.

She recognized that voice and it was getting closer, she glanced over her shoulder. Paxton, no no no, she didn’t want anyone to see this least of all her newest and most popular friend, “Uh, Hi Paxton, I can’t talk.” Why was her voice cracking? “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Devi finally knew where she wanted to go as she increased her speed.

“Are you okay?” Paxton’s question was the final straw, she couldn’t stop her tears and they fell uncontrollably past her cheeks. Paxton was going to catch up, and Devi was crumbling by the second. So Devi did the only thing she could. She ran, ignoring the echo of the beating steps behind her.

Nalini could hardly comprehend the scene playing in front of her. Devi, her only child, her entire world, looked so small folded up on the floor in front of her bed. Devi was always so strong, with a personality larger than life. She always seemed bigger than her stature, always taking up more space. Nalini's anger from the day deflates, leaving no trace it was ever there to begin with. Nalini tears her eyes away from the form of her daughter to take in the room. It was dark but the other figure inhabiting the room was clear as day. Paxton sat before Devi, his body language soft. He had one hand on the arms Devi wrapped around herself as he spoke to her gently. Paxton’s volume was soft as a whisper, any louder would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Witnessing this scene felt like a secret and the longer Nalini stood there the guiltier she felt. Devi never expressed emotions this deeply to her. Everyday problems with her friends or tests or Ben Gross, yes. But Devi never shared this.

Nalini's mind was going a million miles an hour as he crept back down the steps and began cooking dinner. She knew Devi would refuse but she needed to have something ready, just in case. When everything was mostly done, she was quiet as she moved around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal. Nalini knew he was trying to walk silently but she still caught Paxton as he descended the steps. Nalini kept her back to him as she called, giving Paxton an out if he needed.

“Paxton?”

“Um...yes, Hi Mrs. Vishwakumar” at the acknowledgment, Nalini felt comfortable enough to turn around.

Paxton was standing in the doorway, shuffling in obvious discomfort. What he expected her to say she didn’t know. Gods, neither did Nalini. Questions flew through her mind faster than she could catch them. She didn’t want to ask him about what happened, Nalini wanted Devi to share when, if, she was ready. Nalini realized, amongst these questions, that she didn’t know Paxton. Here was this kid, late in the evening comforting her daughter. She couldn’t even be upset that they were home alone when she recalled how broken Devi looked. All Nalini had done thus far was judge Paxton, he looked like a jock so she thought him dumb. She made these assumptions about him, that he’d peak in high school or that he was shallow or that he was a walking STI, but they were just that. Assumptions. This kid stayed with her daughter for she didn’t even know how long, she’d been cooking for close to an hour so it was at least that.

All these guesses and judgments were useless when she stood in front of him. Paxton had a rigid set to his limbs, Nalini thought it was probably from sitting in one position for so long, and he was still dressed in gym clothes. Paxton looked new in Nalini’s eyes and she regretted never wanting to know him before now. Nalini didn’t know where to begin, she wondered if he’d eaten.

“Would you like something to eat?” Nalini's silent prayer must’ve been heard because he accepted. She was being given another chance. She quickly worked around the familiar space, grabbing one of the good containers and piling more food than necessary, successfully straining the unyielding plastic. She was handing the meal over when she paused, they both had a hand on the object between them but Nalini couldn’t let go, not yet.

“Thank you, Paxton, really, I don’t know what happened and I won’t ask but I saw what you did for Devi.” Paxton had the decency to look a little shocked. He hadn’t heard anything. Paxton was too absorbed before. His mind was a broken record repeating only, Devi.

The moment shatters when the front door opened, “I’m home!” Kamala’s voice fills the silent home. With the trance broken, Nalini’s hold on the container falters and she drops her hand allowing Paxton to leave. Words were failing him so all Paxton could give was a tightlipped smile in response.

“Thanks for the dinner.” Paxton’s smile was looser now and that gave Nalini courage.

Kamala was unloaded the day around her but Nalini was focused on making this right, “You’re welcome to come by Paxton, anytime.” She could only hope Paxton knew just how much she meant those words. His smile was burdened but bright, he nodded strongly and then he was out the door.

Kamala was fixing the table for a very late dinner when she called for Devi to join, Nalini hoped she would. “Who was that? And why was he here so late?” Pure curiosity laced Kamala’s voice.

“Paxton is one of Devi’s friends. He’s a good kid.”

Those details were all she could provide before Devi came bouncing down the steps. Nalini couldn’t be sure if it was the fact of what she saw or reality but Devi’s movements looked heavier than they normally were.

“What’s up guys?” Devi’s voice feigned casualness, “Dang mom, isn’t it late for a thousand-course meal?” She questioned as she took in the lack of clear surfaces on the dinner table.

Nalini just brushed it off, indicating for everyone to take a seat. “So how was everyone’s day?”

Nalini wasn’t looking for Devi to share but this was her family. She would always want to hear how they were, plus it was tradition. As they consumed insane amounts of food they were bound to regret eating this late at night, everything felt so normal and easy. But something had shifted in Nalini today and even though it was new and she was scared to death of this person entering Devi’s life with the propensity to hurt her. Nalini can’t say she minded too much because it was Paxton. He had proven himself worthy of a chance, and Nalini wouldn’t soon forget it.

[diethercordova]

ANCIENT ART :

Sarcophagus of pakal (683 A.D.) the great King of Palenque.

• The large carved stone sarcophagus lid in the Temple of Inscriptions is a unique piece of Classic Maya art. Around the edges of the lid is a band with cosmological signs for sun, moon, and star, as well as the heads of six named noblemen. The central image is that of a cruciform world tree. Beneath Pakal is one of the heads of a celestial two headed serpent. Both the king and the serpent head on which he rests are framed by the open jaws of a funerary serpent, a common iconographic device for signaling entrance into, or residence in, the realm(s) of the dead.

• Pakal, the great King of Palenque who had ruled for almost 70 years, died. Pakal's time had been one of great prosperity for his people, who honored him by entombing his body inside the Temple of the Inscriptions, a pyramid that Pakal himself had ordered built specifically to serve as his tomb. Pakal was buried in jade finery, including a beautiful death mask. Placed over Pakal's tomb was a massive sarcophagus stone, laboriously carved with an image of Pakal himself being reborn as a god.

• The Maya city of palenque had risen to greatness in the seventh century A.D., only to mysteriously go into decline. By 900 A.D. or so, the once-mighty city was largely abandoned and the local vegetation began to reclaim the ruins. In 1949, Mexican archaeologist Alberto Ruz Lhuillier began an investigation at the ruined Maya city, specifically at the Temple of the Inscriptions, one of the more imposing structures in the city. He found a stairway leading deep into the temple and followed it, carefully breaking down walls and removing rocks and debris as he did so. By 1952, he had reached the end of the passageway and found a magnificent tomb, which had been sealed off for more than a thousand years. There are many treasures and important work of art in Pakal's tomb, but perhaps the most striking was the massive carved stone that covered Pakal's body.

MEDIEVAL ART :

Christ of Mercy between the Prophets David and Jeremiah (between c. 1495 and c. 1500) by Diego de la Cruz

• This devotional, eucharistic image was the central panel in the predella of an altarpiece. Christ is depicted as the Man of Sorrows with the crown of thorns and displaying the wounds of his Crucifixion. The texts on the scrolls refer to his Passion. The artist worked in Burgos, in northern Spain, and collaborated with Gil de Siloé, a sculpture by whom is shown in this room.

• Middle Ages paintings were rich with religious symbolism and imagery. Medieval artists and their paintings predominantly portrayed holy figures and biblical narratives. These narratives had a hierarchy, which was predominantly dictated by the spaces the paintings would occupy. The Medieval artwork that depicted scenes considered to be more important would occupy notable focal points in a church or altarpiece, whereas less significant scenes would radiate outwards.

• Diego de la Cruz was a Spanish painter who may have been of Flemish origin. He was active in Burgos and the neighboring region.His artistic personality is largely defined by two works: Cristo de Varón de Dolores entre la Virgen y San Juan, at the Museo del Prado; his only signed work, probably created between 1475-1480, and the Estigmatización de San Francisco de Asís at the Iglesia de San Esteban de Burgos (1487-1489). Based on an analysis of these works, it has been possible to make other attributions: notably, Cristo de Piedad entre dos ángeles at the Colegiata de Covarrubias , and the Cristo de Piedad entre los profetas David y Jeremías, the central tableau of the predella of an altarpiece and companion to two other tableaux (of the prophets Isaiah and Daniel) in the collection of the University of Liège, which have been attributed to the German painter, Hans Leonhard Schäufelein.

RENAISSANCE ART :

The Last Judgment by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1535–1541)

• The painting is about the second coming of Jesus, the day when God shall judge all humanity. Michelangelo has painted Jesus in the center surrounded by saints. The top portion of the painting shows the resurrection of the dead to heaven and the bottom portion shows the descent of sinners into hell. The use of colors and excellent brushwork make this painting of the most revered painting in the world.

• The Last Judgement is the name of the fresco located on the wall behind the altar of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. It was designed and realized by the Renaissance master Michelangelo Buonarroti between 1533 and 1541. Michelangelo’s masterpiece was inspired by Dante’s Divine Comedy and is mentioned by Dan Brown in his Inferno.

• Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni was an Italian sculptor, painter, architect, and poet of the High Renaissance. Born in the Republic of Florence, his work was inspired by models from classical antiquity and had a lasting influence on Western art. Michelangelo's creative abilities and mastery in a range of artistic arenas define him as an archetypal Renaissance man, along with his rival and elder contemporary, Leonardo da Vinci. Given the sheer volume of surviving correspondence, sketches, and reminiscences, Michelangelo is one of the best-documented artists of the 16th century. He was lauded by contemporary biographers as the most accomplished artist of his era.

MODERN ART :

Radiant Baby by Keith haring (1990)

• Using chalk, he etched his signature designs onto the walls. One of these was his Radiant Baby, which to him was one of the purest and most positive human experiences. It became a recurring visual idiom of Haring’s throughout the years and is now considered the artist’s signature tag. The image represents a pure and positive experience of human existence and is symbolic of Haring’s hope for the future. Although Radiant Baby derives its origin from Christianity it has been used in many of Haring’s other works associated with racism, drug addiction, AIDS awareness and tolerance. 

• Keith Allen Haring was an artist and social activist from Pennsylvania whose work was influenced by the New York City street culture and graffiti art of the 1980s. A 1997 Vanity Fair article states that "some of his most characteristic imagery involved figures twirling around and playing together, happy but never aimless." Since Haring's death from AIDS-related illness in 1990, images he created that speak about racism, drug addiction, AIDS awareness and tolerance have become iconic.

CONTEMPORARY ART :

Still face you by Njideka akunyili crosby (2015)

• The artist, wearing a yellow dress, is seen with her husband (in the red shirt) and other family members gathered around a table in an interior. The artist has said that in this painting she was reimagining bringing her husband, a caucasian American whom she met at Swathmore, to Nigeria to meet her family for the first time. The stately rendering of her body in contrappasto evokes both classical sculpture and Old Master painting, The wholly blank expanse in sunshine yellow behind evokes the more contemporary world of abstract painting. The Xerox transfers from Nigerian magazines and from old and more recent family photographs line the walls, articulate the frame of the balcony and animate the patterned dresses worn by the other women present and the checkered upholstered chairs.

• Njideka Akunyili Crosby is a Nigerian-born visual artist working in Los Angeles, California. Through her art Akunyili Crosby "negotiates the cultural terrain between her adopted home in America and her native Nigeria, creating collage and photo transfer-based paintings that expose the challenges of occupying these two worlds". In 2017, Akunyili Crosby was awarded the prestigious Genius Grant from the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation.

• When painted in pairs or groups, Akunyili Crosby’s figures rarely meet the viewer’s gaze. Instead, they seem bound up in moments of reflection left open to interpretation by the viewer. Akunyili Crosby’s subjects appear resigned and calm, showing few emotions. Her works render the characters’ mood more than any specific facial features. There is a balance between intimacy and longing, between pleasure and nostalgia.

1:29 pm / Nov,19,2022

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)