#though a lot of stuff that year blends together horribly so its also confusing

[horse-girl-anthy]

New to Ikuhara. Last year I decided to watch RGU and became obsessed with it. I went in completely blind and walked out surprised. I think I have a general understanding of it.

I watched Penguindrum recently and I'm even more confused about it. House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski and War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy are easier for me to understand than Penguindrum. How do you even begin figuring out what any of it means? I understand about the economy and shit and when the shoe dropped, the cult stuff, and I really like your video, but I still struggle to understand it. I struggled with RGU, but Penguindrum is on a whole different level.

I don't believe in God, ghosts, the zodiac, etc., which I think adds onto my hard time understanding Penguindrum. It's hard for me to conceptualize things like "God" and "fate."

Reading through your posts often makes me feel dumb for not catching onto things. I guess my question is, how the hell am I supposed to make sense of the whole of Penguindrum?

hey, thanks for the ask!

first of all, don't feel bad. I watched Penguindrum in 2020, and I didn't even like it until 2022. at first it grated on me, until eventually it finally clicked. I've had a long time to stew on the series, which is why I'm able to write about it :)

Penguindrum is scattered. you can see this in its aesthetic (god it's all over the place) and in its plot (so many weird rabbit holes). it may not be possible to "make sense of it" entirely, though I do think that its thematic elements blend together by the end.

Penguindrum's excess of "noise" may be related to the difficulty of its production. for one, Ikuhara was all over the place creatively as it was being made, at least according to staff members. also, its chaos may have been employed purposefully to disguise its controversial subject matter.

this interview pre-dates Penguindrum, but Takemiya Keiko told Ikuhara that she ended up deciding that she couldn't understand Utena intellectually and would just have to "feel it" instead, and Ikuhara took this comment as the "highest praise." I read a lot about Penguindrum and its historical background, but that didn't make me like it--only gaining an appreciation for its emotional landscape did that for me. don't feel pressured to come up with a grand theory, just try to feel what the characters feel and experience the catharsis of the finale.

as to the supernatural/spiritual elements, you don't have to take them literally. "God" in this context is just a personification of the way things are--the idea that some entity must be deciding the outcome of events (a very human way to understand the world). to conceptualize the idea of fate, I would think of it in terms of time.

time is one of RGU's major themes, but Penguindrum deals with it too. are we bound by the past? is the future already set in stone?

I've had some strange experiences in my life which I feel are echoed in Ikuhara works. it's very difficult to put into words, but here goes. I think that the characters in Penguindrum feel trapped by an inexorable sense that they're moving towards a disaster, something they cannot prevent. they try to fight against this, or they give up and resign themselves to it. the idea that "there is only one way things could ever be" seems frightening.

but by the end, they come to see fate in a different light. the truth is, "the past," "the present," and "the future" are all divisions made by the human mind, based on how we experience the world. these "time periods" are actually co-existent. this means that it is the case that there is only one way things could ever go (fiction is an interesting way to explore this, since a story as experienced by the audience has a predetermined beginning, middle, and end). however, once you see this as truth, it is no longer a horrible thing. it doesn't mean that we have no free will, because "the past" is no longer this separate thing which determines our lives, but instead is something still existent.

this isn't the same thing as omniscience or omnipotence, because we still live life sequentially and we are still constrained by the laws of the universe, by the actions of other people, etc. it's just that once you've had this realization, you no longer feel trapped by the continuity of time.

Shoma is the best character to demonstrate this with. he feels doomed by his fate, by his parents' actions. he can't stop being their child, he can't protect his siblings from the consequences of what they did. he thinks this means that he will never "get out of his box."

in the final episode, Shoma sees fate for what it truly is, telling his siblings "our love and our punishment too. we'll share it all. it was our beginning. it was our fate!" as in, fate isn't something to be resisted, it is there with you all along. the siblings' relationships began with a cycle of sharing the good and the bad, and it ends with it. that is what was bound to happen all along.

consider this imagery from the second Penguindrum opening:

this illustrates two ways of looking at time; is it a straight line, or is it circle? if you see time as a line, as linear only, then it is deterministic. but if it is cyclical, everything that happens, including suffering, is all a part of a great pattern. it's not going anywhere, but it should show us that everything that's ever happened and everyone that's ever lived are all one, one great process, and no piece can be separated from any other.

[haljathefangirlcat]

Okay, pls tell me about this: "heartfic au"

As you MAY have already guessed ;) it’s a fic inspired by @janiedean’s beautiful ASOIAF heartfics. 

For those unaware: one day, an anon suggested Janie write an ASOIAF fanfic set in an AU where, after suffering too much pain and trauma, people’s hearts (represented by glowing spheres of light) may crack and bleed and, eventually, spontaneously disappear from their owners’ chest to reappear wherever their soulmate is. Said soulmate then takes care of the heart, trying to heal its wounds and/or stop its bleeding, until they’re finally able to give it back. And then, ofc, romance and (more) hurt/comfort ensue. I think the initial prompt was JB, because iirc that’s what the first heartfic was? But Janie also wrote similar fics about other ships, like Davos and his wife getting Stannis’ heart or Sansa getting Sandor’s.

Janie has said on a couple of occasion that she’s fine with other people using the same concept, since it was that anon who came up with it. I decided to write Arthurian fic about it because the whole idea was just screaming GALAHAD/MORDRED!!!! over and over at me. 

Basic plot is “kid!Galahad gets a cracked, bleeding heart and figures it’s that of a damsel in distress he will have to save one day because ofc, he’s Miracle Boy and everything, but oh no, all the ballads say brave noble knights marry the damsels in distress whose hearts they heal, and he has to stay Pure to find the Grail!! ... but hey, maybe they can be just friends?? Then he grows up, goes to Camelot, starts this weird friendship (?) with Mordred as the two Local Subtly (Or Not So Subtly) Ostracized Awkward Prophesized Bastards Of Very Important People, and realizes it was never about a damsel at all. Cue DRAMA on both sides (”WAIT HOW DOES IT WORK DOES THIS MAKE IT BETTER OR WORSE I MEAN CAN WE HAVE LIKE A PLATONIC VIRILE FRIENDSHIP OR DO WE HAVE TO --” “OH GREAT I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH EVEN FOR MY GD SOULMATE NOW” and a bunch of other stuff) until Galahad leaves on the Grail Quest and experiences a lot of horrible shit until his own heart goes to Mordred to protect itself, proving they truly ARE meant to be together and prompting Galahad to refuse the Grail and ascending to Heaven (after a lot more internal turmoil, probably) so he can come back to him.”

Here’s a peek from a scene I’m particularly proud of:

As it turns out, he wasn’t lying.

Mordred can’t deny it as he stares at the thing Galahad took out of the chest under his bed, the thing that was in the leather pouch, the thing wrapped in wool like it was fragile and precious. The thing in Galahad’s hands, held gently, shivering like a branch in the wind, glowing like live coals, pulsating – no, not pulsating, beating.

The void in his chest longs for it, aches for it, covets it. No. No, it’s more than that. It’s not just desire but a need, a hunger. It makes him helpless before it, pulls him towards it like a riptide, and it’s all he can do to struggle against it and resist it, holding his arms rigid by his sides and not moving an inch from his position.

«It’s yours,» Galahad say, uselessly, and he opens and closes his mouth and lowers his gaze like he doesn’t know what else to say.

«Yes. It’s mine,» Mordred replies, just as uselessly. Then, after a moment, he adds: «Those are even my colors.» More because he’s just noticed than for any other reason. His bewildered tone probably makes his words sound even more foolish. But he won’t blame himself for that too much, not right now, because the first thing he noticed was the redness – the blood. The splotches of blood and the many, ragged scars. Hard to notice anything else, after seeing that.

His heart is an ugly thing. That’s not surprising, at all, but he chokes back bitter laughter all the same. 

Galahad’s head whips back up at the sound, and he looks startled and a bit confused. «Uh. Ah, yes, that’s true. I hadn’t thought… or, mh, noticed…» He stops, frowning.

Right then, a thought strikes him like a slap across the face, part hope and part dread and entirely stupid. «Gaheris has silver and purple in his arms, too.» Mordred hesitates and bites his lip, feeling inexplicably like a child about to confide some secret that’s at once all too important and too silly to be exposed, and then continues: «Not only that, but the silver reminds me of Orkney’s sea in winter… and that purple, of a flower that blooms sometimes on the heaths near the sea. My brothers and I all used to play on the coast as boys. They already did it long before I was even born.» Another pause. «As for the flower, I think we all picked it for our mother at least once.» And now, its color is dirtied and muddled by bloodstains.

Galahad shakes his head. «I’ve never thought too much about what the colors might mean. But I’ve also never felt like it could belong to any of your brothers.» There’s a light flush on his cheeks, now, a thin note of something that’s almost stubbornness in his voice. Mordred is aware that he could use that to tease him.

He doesn’t feel like teasing him. «Still… how can you be so certain?»

Galahad blinks and then stares him right in the eye, and suddenly his chest is tight, full of something that itches and stings and prickles under the other man’s calm, blue gaze. «Aren’t you? Don’t you feel it’s your heart?»

He does. He does, and that’s just the problem. The itch grows more intense, more unbearable with every moment he keeps his mouth shut to avoid answering. He drops his gaze to the thing that’s still in Galahad’s hands, the thing that’s calling to him and only him and seems to be beating faster and brighter the more he looks at it and does nothing else, almost like it’s yelling at him in its own way for making it wait so long.

«What if I don’t want it,» he says, and his voice sounds rough and weak to his own ears.

«Why wouldn’t you want it?» Galahad asks that like he honestly can’t think of any reason why, like this is the first time anyone in the whole world has ever said anything like what Mordred, not-so-secret bastard prince and prophesized kingslayer and kinslayer of Camelot, has just said. Maybe it is. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard any songs about any beleaguered damsel who simply told the dashing hero at the foot of her dreary tower, oh no, my good sir, you may keep it, I was fine without it and I will not need it anytime soon.

But Mordred is not a vulnerable maiden or locked up against his will and at the mercy of a cruel brother or uncle or eagerly waiting to be rescued since he was half his current height, so he steels himself and tries again: «What if I’m just fine the way I am now? What if I don’t need it, after all? I’ve spent years not feeling anything, I’m used to it.»

He looks up in time to catch the flash of naked hurt that crosses Galahad’s fine features, briefly replacing startled incredulity before it turns into barely concealed worry. «Are you sure?» Then, he seems to really think about it… and the fingers of his right hand start stroking the thing, lightly and unthinkingly. «I… I can imagine something has happened that you may not want to remember. Maybe you’ve felt things you don’t want to feel again. But is this really better? Would you really keep living like this?»

The spark of anger mixed with spite that flares up in his gut – at Galahad’s questioning and his assumptions that he can imagine and that he knows what living like this is like, those soft caresses that feel so impossibly familiar and intimate when at most they should be irritating or even disturbing in their presumptuousness, the way he feels himself ache for entirely new reasons – tempts him to say that yes, he would, and yes, this is better. It has to be. Has to be better than this ridiculous, confusing, terrible mess that Galahad’s dragged him into. Had he never come to Camelot, or least, had he never come to him with truths that sounded like bad jokes and his honest, open gaze and their stupidly engaging arguments and the quiet evenings spent together hiding away from everyone else and…

«Aren’t there things you’d like to feel? For your family, or your friends, or…»

Mordred sighs. There were lots of things, back when he had first given up his heart and spent his every waking moment wishing to get it back somehow. That was years ago, though, and after some time had passed and he had finally figured out that wishing never helped with anything, all of them had started to seem less desirable, less important… just, less. They didn’t matter anymore, and so he didn’t want them then and doesn’t want them now. And yet… it seems foolish to even think about it, like he’s slipping back into stale old fantasies and half-forgotten, senseless hopes, but… maybe there are a couple of new things, now.

He sighs again, this time trying for a slightly exasperated but mostly careless tone, and holds his hands out in front of him as soon as he’s sure they’ve stopped shaking. He swallows and says: «Alright, I think I’ll give it a try. But know that I might just throw it out again and then you’ll be stuck with it.» He tells himself that he’s not afraid. He is, of course, but he’s such a convincing liar, he knows he can convince himself. It can’t be too hard, right?

Galahad grimaces, and that’s not too encouraging, even if he’s quick to school his features before he slowly, almost gingerly reaches his hands out to him, too. Mordred has half a mind to snap at him and say, look, I was only jesting, I’m not saying you’ll really have to keep it or that I’d care if you left it on the wayside or threw it into a well, but then he worries that the bile might blend with actual pity and so he says nothing except for: «How am I supposed to do this, then?» The songs, of course, skip the boring technical details.

Galahad fits the glowing sphere between his palms like he’s putting a newborn into the cradle, touches his fingers to make them curl over it as if he’s afraid he’ll drop it. The sphere is light as a breath, yet somehow solid, and warm like a living thing… which it truly is, all things considered, although that thought still feels a little absurd. Galahad’s skin is warm, too. «I’m not sure,» Galahad admits. «I’ve… never done this before.»

«Yeah, well, neither have I.»

[fridgevent]

god. 2017 in general was just... really bad. cus i suspect that my depression didnt just 'suddenly' appear that yr (bc im p sure there were traces of it long b4 then), but it definently aprung up quickly and was just. Really Bad

im not entirely sure why it popped up when it did. i can place the exact moment it became noticable though. it was like... july 11th (just checked smth that i associate w it and that says the 14th so close enough), and smth had upset me but like. that feeling just never went away and just kept getting progressively worse i stead of dying down, and just. thru the yr i just kept feeling worse n worse, and visiting my cousin for a week did not help. sometime in late august, i think, i remember it started getting super bad cus i had ac summer hw (which, one week into it i dropped out cus i Just Couldnt Do It) and i couldnt get myself 2 do it, so id get stressed and end up in an agrugemnt w my mom cus i wasnt doing the EXTREMELY time sensitive hw, and sometime during that i think it was like. a Certified First Suicidal Thought, n then school started and i alao ended up moving, and like. id ended up in at least one friend group but constantly felt like they were mad at me and aomeone said a mildly conxerning thing once and i was so so nervous for the next like. day or so and it probably wasnt even anything that bad but i rememeber being Rly Fucking Nervous.

then i ended up in another feiend group which was rly epic! and i think the reason my brain smth of latches onto 2017 in some ways (2015-2016 for others, for separate reasons) is bc b4 then ive never rly had more than 1 friend at a time (ive gottwn close 2 more but looking back it was still heavily distant) and i was just :D!!! cus poaitive interactions!!!! but then my mental health was STILL getting worse and reached im p much an all time low around october, n i was getting heavy suicidal thoughts like. constantly, every day, and i didnt know what to do abt it, and im actually p sure i was alarmingly close 2 doing smth, but i found some dumb game and foe some reason, despite most things like this working the OPPOSITE way, it gave me a reason not to, and i think thats the only reason i has, but i didnt do anything bc of it (tho i dont tell ppl the reason bc im overly nervous abt the fact that its... not the best reason and could backfire horribly in the specific xircumstances and i get nervous abt ppl doing smth). still was doing horrible, but just had smth preventing me from doing smth (tho that just made me super nervous cus i felt like i didnt have an out. i think. after like july of 2017 a lot of things blended 2gether. i have a hard time differentiating 2017, 2018, and 2019)

and then some stuff happened that i dont feel confident enough saying! bc attempts to bring it up on any of my bloga have ended up in disasters (for me personally)

but basically my mental health felt like shit since then, but i still consider 2017 my Ultimate Low, probably bc at the time i had nothing else to compare it to and it felt so sudden

[gkingoffez]

The Sun Comes Shining In My Eyes

Fandom: Star Wars Rebels

Words: 1,858

Summary: Kanan asks Ezra to describe the sunset to him. It doesn’t quite work out that way.

AO3 | FFN.Net

The sun was setting over Chopper Base. Kanan knew this not because he could see it, but because a dusk chill was starting to creep under his clothes and he could feel the long warm dying fingers of the sun sliding down his mask-less face. He also knew it because Ezra was standing at his shoulder, trying and failing horribly to describe it to him.

“Well really, it’s all just a whole lot of orange,” Ezra was saying, and Kanan could sense his arms flailing about as if to punctuate his words, the effect, of course, entirely lost on Kanan. “Well, orange and yellows and pinks, but there’s also a bit of blue and purpley stuff in there as well. And it’s all kind of… smushed in together, really, bluer colours on top and orangey ones on the bottom. What’s that word? When more than one colour all blends in together in a line?”

“An ombré?” Kanan supplied helpfully, raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s all an omber thing. Ombré? Ombré’s everywhere you look, but the colours are all soft and making everything else like the sand and the rocks look like they’re glowing. It’s putting all those big plant things in shadow and makes them look bigger and darker and more ominous than they actually are. And that other planet’s up there as well, in the blue bit. All blue and shadowy and… big? Is this any good at all?”

“I would say no, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” Kanan replied, turning to grin and bump his shoulder playfully against Ezra’s.

Kanan expected a snarky reply, but instead Ezra sighed, long, frustrated and tired. His next words were slightly muffled, as though he’d scrubbed a hand down his face and kept it there.

“I’m terrible at this. You should have asked Sabine to do it, she’s the artist. She could probably use all those fancy art words and describe it so good you’d get the perfect image of it all in your head. I’m useless.”

There was a note of bitterness in Ezra’s voice that Kanan recognised immediately. How often over the years had he felt like he wasn’t enough, not strong or talented enough to help someone he cared about, even for the smaller things like making Hera the perfect cup of caff on a rough day or describing a simple sunset to someone who couldn’t see it.

Ezra sighed again. “It’s just so beautiful, Kanan, all the colours are amazing. I wish you could see what I’m seeing,” Ezra said with such longing in his voice it made Kanan’s heart ache.

Besides the shining light of the holocrons, Kanan hadn’t seen anything other than impenetrable darkness since he’d lost his sight. He’d made peace with it some time ago and had even found a new and different sight in the Force, but there were occasionally moments he wished he could experience through his own eyes.

Today, the sunset had become one of those moments- he’d found himself earlier that day wistfully regretting the many setting suns that had gone by without proper appreciation in his life before Malachor. That was why he’d dragged Ezra along with him to Zeb’s hangout spot (apparently the best place to watch it on the base, or so Zeb bragged), and why they now stood side-by-side in the dying light. Perhaps he could have asked Sabine to accompany him, and maybe he would do just that another day to get her more artistic perspective, but for that evening he had wanted nothing more than to hear Ezra’s view.

Kanan reached out and gripped onto his padawan’s shoulder. “Okay. How about we come at this from a different angle- forget how it looks. How about you tell me how it feels.”

Ezra shifted under his hand, confused.

“Feels?”

“How does the sunset make you feel? When you look at it, what emotions does it evoke?” asked Kanan. “Tell me what you feel… I want to know,” he added softly.

He felt Ezra’s gaze on him for an extended moment, before it shifted back frontwards. Kanan kept his own sightless stare firmly on where he knew Ezra’s face to be.

“It feels… um. Warm? Comforting? But also a little cold, like the warm is being taken away? I mean, it is, but... no, that’s stupid.”

Ezra paused there, clearing his throat, and Kanan knew he was frowning from the tension in his shoulders. The kid stayed silent for long while, long enough that Kanan started to feel the need to try and break the awkwardness that had settled between them.

However, Ezra beat him to the punch.

“It feels different than on Lothal. The sun is warmer here, and there are probably different things in the atmosphere, and obviously there’s so much less green in the landscape. But it’s still mostly the same, the same colours, anyway. A lot of things are different here, but the oxygen is breathable and I have you guys here with me so it’s not bad-different. The sunset feels… well, it does feel comforting to watch. It’s soft and bright and hopeful, and- I feel hopeful when I look at it.”

Ezra drew in a deep breath and noisily released it before continuing.

“It’s like- Kanan, there are so many terrible things out there in the galaxy that want to kill us, but here we are now watching the sun go down and it’s so beautiful. It makes me feel peaceful, it reminds me that beautiful things still exist in the galaxy, natural things that the Empire can never destroy because it’s impossible. That’s a good thing to know, that not even the Emperor himself can stop a sunset being beautiful.”

Kanan found himself smiling, a swell of pride burgeoning in his chest.

Ezra broke out his reverie with a shake of his head, and barked out a laugh. “Or maybe I’m looking too deep into it. I mean, it is just a sunset. They happen every day on nearly every planet in the galaxy.”

Kanan knitted his eyebrows together and turned his head away. Behind his eyes, there was nothing but blackness. The sun could be dancing a cantina dance and drunkenly sauntering towards the horizon for all he knew. It was a big galaxy, who’s to say that couldn’t happen.

“Not for me,” he whispered.

There was a heavy silence. He couldn’t tell what Ezra was thinking, but he knew his words had upset him.

Ezra’s next words were tentative.

“Do… do you want me to show you how it makes me feel?  Might be better than me trying to explain it with words, anyway. You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” He laughed awkwardly. “Actually, you know what, forget I said anything, never mind. It’s stupid.”

Kanan considered the offer, reaching up to stroke at his beard. It was a kind proposition to be sure. Immediately, he thought of turning it down. There was no point in an exercise where he would only feel envious that he couldn’t experience a feeling for himself, and besides, it wasn’t fair for him to try and live vicariously through Ezra.

But that other part of Kanan, the part that wistfully missed sunsets, rainbows and Hera Syndulla (also known as The Most Beautiful Sights In The Entire Galaxy) ached for it with all the fierceness of an exploding supernova.

The second part won out, and he sighed, nodding. “Actually, I’d like that very much, Ezra. But only as a one-time deal, there’s no point in making it a habit. That wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

Kanan felt a hand touch his shoulder and then an arm reach around his back and grip onto his waist. He obliged by lifting his own arm up and completely wrapping it around Ezra’s shoulders, locking their sides together, before allowing his padawan to direct both their attentions to the space in front of them.

“Open yourself to the Force,” Kanan instructed. ”We are all connected by it, you and I most especially. Find me in the waves of energy that surrounds us, and forge the connection so I can see what you feel. You’re good at connection, Ezra, I know you can do it.” Kanan wasn’t exactly sure when this had turned into a lesson.

The warmth was starting to fade with earnest from the air, the sunset probably fading with it. Ezra nodded in understanding and began slowing down his breaths to a meditative pattern. Kanan mirrored him, closing his eyelids out of habit more than anything else.

They stood there breathing in unison for a short while.

At first the feeling was slight, approaching timidly through the ebb and flow of the Force, and Kanan opened himself up to its embrace eagerly. Suddenly, he was swept up in a tide of feeling; it was warm and tingly, and safe. Hopeful, like Ezra had said, and awash with the feelings of soft bright colours- blues and oranges, pinks and purples. Kanan felt almost overwhelmed by how beautiful the feeling was. He missed sunsets like a long lost old friend. He missed a lot of things he’d never be able to see again.

As quickly as it had come, Ezra’s sunset receded back into the folds of the Force, and Kanan was almost surprised to find himself back on Atollon, Ezra on his side and Zeb’s hideout of stacked crates and chairs behind him.

“Kanan? Kanan, is that okay, was that too much?” Ezra asked, voice thick and concerned.

Kanan chuckled, feeling warm all over despite the bite of cold in the air. “No, it’s fine,” he said breathily, “Ezra, thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ezra sniffled quietly, and Kanan felt him furtively try to reach for his face. He probably thought he was being sneaky about it, but Kanan knew without needing to see that Ezra was crying. He gave the boy’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay. You’re right, you know. The Empire will never be able to take things like this from us. They can’t take our hope, no matter what they do.”

Kanan turned towards and reached around with his spare hand to ruffle at Ezra’s short, slicked back hair, before gently cupping the boy’s cheek. He used his thumb to wipe a tear away. Ezra ducked his head, probably in embarrassment, but didn’t push away Kanan’s hand by any means.

They both turned back frontwards and stood there for a few minutes, until Kanan could feel the last rays of sunlight travelling down his legs towards his toes. The approaching night time had most likely already dulled the bright hues of the sunset, so Kanan shifted his attention to merely enjoying half-hug that neither Ezra nor he had yet broken off from.

The sun must have been gone completely over the horizon by the time Ezra suggested they head back. Kanan didn’t see it, but he felt it in the chill in the air and heard it in the chattering of Ezra’s teeth.

“Thank you,” he said again as they headed back. He imagined Ezra grinning in response.

So this was intended as both a soothing balm for that last fic I published and as something nice because I don’t know about ya’ll but I’m really sad Rebels is ending.

This started with just wanting to have Kanan wipe away Ezra’s tears, and for some reason it became beautiful fluff instead of angst like all the others????

(An alternate title for this fic is ‘Fucking Nerds Watch The Sunset And Cry Like Losers And It’s Really Cliché’.)