#we all were cataloging everything d+p | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

let-it-raines · 6 years ago

Note

So a follow up to the baseball kiss cam prompt??? 😘⚾️🏟🎥

And the great prompt-a-thon (that seems like an appropriate name for it or maybe the prompt project…that doesn’t have the same ring to it...prompt and circumstances?) continues! It’s Thanksgiving week here, and I’m currently sitting in my parents’ house looking out at the place where I grew up while other people watch my kid because they think running around with a toddler for hours is still a novel idea. lol. Anyways, the Kiss Cam prompt from last week strikes again thanks to several people but mostly @kmomof4 and this anon. Hope you guys think this one is a home run too :D

“So can I hear the story of you getting a drink thrown on you? I feel like I know you well enough now to get that privilege of hearing of this bad date of yours.”

Killian’s drawing lazy patterns against her back, his nails leaving temporary marks as he moves across her skin. It’s got to be somewhere near four in the morning, the sun setting so long ago that it’s almost time for it to rise. After the game was over yesterday, Killian had offered to take her out to diner, but her sweater was absolutely soaked from the water Walsh had thrown on her, the damp material seeping into her skin and causing her to shiver as the temperature outside continued to cool. So he’d bashfully, scratching his ear the entire time while his cheeks reddened below his slight sunburn, offered to have her over to his place to change clothes and eat takeout since he lives near Fenway. Well, he’d actually phrased it as “So, Swan, my dugout or yours?” and she’d chosen his.

And him offering her a dry shirt pretty much got the ball rolling off the mound for them to fall into bed together.

And while they were there, there were no strikes. Only home runs, and at the end of each inning, a damn grand slam.

She’s going to talk and think in baseball innuendos for the rest of her life.

Or maybe just until she gets some sleep. She’s been up for almost twenty-four hours and has taken part in some rigorous activities in the past few of those. Totally worth it, but she’s starting to get delusional.

She hums when Killian moves his fingertips over her shoulders and up to the base of her neck, drawing lines right at her hairline that send vibrations through her boneless, sated body. “You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Is this the getting to know you equivalent of you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

“Considering I’ve already shown you all of mine,” she turns her head to look at him, tracing her eyes up and down his still bare body, “and you’ve shown me all of yours, I think we can do the same for bad dates. Plus, you were a real live witness to an actual, historical bad date.”

“Me and a couple other thousand people. And a few million if they showed it on the television…which Liam tells me they did.”

Well, she was not expecting that. And she’d also totally blocked out the fact that her kiss with Killian had been seen by everyone in the stadium. J.D. Martinez probably saw her make out with Killian, and she’s just not sure how she feels about that…not that she personally knows Martinez. And who is she kidding? He’s trying to win the World Series. He doesn’t care about who she’s swapping spit with.

Strike that (strike out).

Swapping spit is a horrible way to describe a kiss. Martinez is trying to win the World Series, and he doesn’t care who she’s kissing…or stealing bases with. Okay, that’s a slightly better thought.

“Holy shit. Are you serious?”

“As the plague. You’re a bit of an internet sensation, Swan. Though no one knows who you are.”

“When did you even find time to talk to Liam?”

“While you were in the bathroom after round,” he counts his fingers, exaggerating his movements, and she rolls her eyes, “two. He’d texted me several, well, several different versions of ‘what the hell, brother’ and then links to a bunch of articles online. His job is more PR management for the team than anything else. So when we trended on Twitter, he was all over that.”

Holy shit. Did he just say they trended on Twitter? That is something she never thought would happen to her. Ever. That doesn’t even feel real. This entire day doesn’t feel real.

She doesn’t even have a Twitter.

Does that make this a…no hitter?

“Is he…is he going to release our names?”

She doesn’t think it would be the end of the world, but her friends are never going to let her live this down.

“No, though there’s no guarantee the masses of the internet won’t find us out. I’m a public servant related to someone who works for the team, and you’re supposedly a nutritionist. We’re online.”

“What do you mean I’m supposedly a nutritionist? I am one!”

He pokes her in the side, causing her to jump a bit, her stomach convulsing at the surprising warmth of his touch. “You ate half of a pizza tonight. That’s the exact opposite of what a nutritionist would suggest.”

“Yeah, but I don’t always eat like that, and I’ve gotten quite the workout today. And it’s like that hypocritical thing parents used to say. Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Fair point.”

He leans over to kiss her, and just as his lips touch hers, she remembers how this conversation started. “Hey, what was your worst date?”

“This one.”

She rolls her eyes, and she’s got to be dreaming. This isn’t her life. She’s never connected with someone this easily, and it has to be a dream. A really good dream. ��Shut up. What was it really?”

“It was really this one, love. Because nothing is ever going to compare to it.”

What a smooth talker, and she’s totally falling for it…well, almost.

“That’s sweet and super cheesy, but I still want to know your actual worst date.”

He sighs before flopping down on to his back, the mattress bouncing under his weight while she lays down next to him, propping herself up on her fisted hand and pulling the comforter over the two of them to keep the fan from causing her skin to break out in gooseflesh.

“I was twenty seven and – ”

“Wait. How old are you now?”

“Thirty-two. You?”

“Twenty-eight. It was my birthday a few days ago. Go on.”

“Happy birthday, love.” He kisses her brow before settling back down in his spot, a soft smile gracing his face that causes butterflies to rise up in her stomach. “So I was twenty-seven, and my last serious girlfriend and I had just broken up. I wasn’t really ready to date again, but my mates were on my arse about it. So I asked a lass I knew through Liam out, and it was just…horrible. It’s not like anything dramatic happened where my date was an arsehole and ignored me, but I was still so upset and heartbroken that everything was doom and gloom. And she and I just had no connection. Like, none. We sat at a restaurant forever and didn’t talk for thirty seven minutes. I timed it because words were not forming in my mind. It was like torture. And then she asked me out again when we were leaving, and I had to turn her down.”

“Why would she ask you out again if it was so awkward?”

“No bloody clue. A glutton for punishment obviously. So do I get to hear the drink story now?”

“I was at a football game.”

“You obviously shouldn’t go to sporting events for dates, lass. Take me out to the ball game should not be a part of your song catalog.”’

He waggles his eyebrows before smirking at her, and she can’t help but reach over and playfully hit his shoulder. Their batting average with each other is not the best. Or maybe it is. She’s not sure how that works in this particular situation.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have me in your bed right now.”

“Too true.”

“So I was at a game in college, and I, too, was starting to date again after a relationship. The guy I was with apparently had an ex who was pissed at him, so she dumped her drink on us. It was definitely an interesting experience.”

“Maybe one day I can take you on a date where you don’t get a drink spilled on you.”

She smiles, and her stomach does that thing with butterflies again. Maybe it’s fly balls if she’s sticking with the baseball theme, but that seems like it might be painful. She hopes that this isn’t painful.

“I’d like that.”

She leaves around seven in the morning after getting approximately an hour and a half of sleep, and while the night was a whole new ballgame to what she’s used to, she’s really feeling it now as she walks into the office in her jeans and her sweater from yesterday. She’s going to need all of the coffee in the building as well as the Boston area for how her body is dragging, and she just has to make it until four before she can go home. She can do that, can’t she? She’s survived worse, and she doesn’t have any appointments today, so she can avoid people.

Or at least she thought she could until her office phone starts ringing before she even manages to sit down.

“Emma Swan’s office. How may I help you?”

“Whoisthemanwhoyouwerekissingonthejumbotronyesterday?”

The words come out of Mary Margaret’s mouth so quickly that Emma almost can’t make them out, but she’s been interpreting her friend for years. Plus, she figured that before the world discovered who the girl was who made out with a stranger on television, Mary Margaret would see the video and call her. Crap, she didn’t even call to tell Mary Margaret about her date. She’s going to be so confused. And probably a little pissed.

“His name is Killian. Also, breathe, Marg.”

“What happened to Walsh?”

“He was an asshole. Why did you think I would like him?”

“He’s been nothing but nice to me.”

“Well, he was lying.”

Mary Margaret is silent for a few seconds, and Emma knows that she’s debating whether or not to follow up on the Walsh situation or to just drop it.

“So who’s Killian?”

So she tells Mary Margaret the story of how she met Killian, leaving out the part about going back to his apartment because as much as she loves her friend, she can be a little judgmental. She can’t talk long, as Mary Margaret did call her why she was at work (I knew you wouldn’t pick up if you could see the caller ID on your cell), so she gets out of having to share too much. The day passes like a game with extra innings. At one point, you just want it to be over. You don’t care how.

Okay, maybe she cares a little bit.

Ruby: So I hear you slept with the hottie you made out with on national TV. You want to tell me about his wood? His baseballs? There are two, right?

Emma: How do you know that? And no.

Emma: I mean no to telling you about his baseball bat. There are definitely two balls, just to clarify.

Ruby: Mary Margaret read between the lines. Or the chalk or whatever. So did you round all of the bases?

Emma: I’m never talking to you again.

Ruby: Let me know before you get married in Fenway.

The next few days are pretty busy, her life getting back to normal, but she does text back and forth with Killian. They’re in that weird state of “hey we slept together and kind of talked about going on a date but we’re not really doing that.” So they just kind of text randomly throughout the days, making sure to update each other any time they hear or see something about the kiss cam make out and, of course, talking about the World Series. It’s after Boston wins game four that she gets her first call from Killian.

“Swan.”

“Jones?”

“Can you get Monday off of work?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“How would you feel about going to game five free of charge?”

“What?”

“My brother can hook us up with tickets. Says all we have to do is do a promo thing.”

“A promo?”

“Yeah, apparently they’re using us in promos and stuff, and he wants us to record a video. And then maybe you can see the Sox win the world series in person. And, you know, go to LA.”

Well knock her sox off. She doesn’t care if she’s used that pun before. It’s a good one.

“Killian, I’m not sure I can do that. I don’t really know you or Liam. This feels weird.”

“I’m not going to murder you, Swan. If I was, I’d have done it in my apartment where no one knew where you were.”

“Creepy.”

“I’m trying to make a point.”

“So it would cost no money? I’d just have to lose a bit more of my dignity?”

“Exactly.”

And that’s how she’s ended up sitting in the visitors’ locker room in the Dodgers stadium in LA decked out in Red Sox-provided team gear with Killian sitting right next to her as his brother interviews them, a camera with a bright light flashing in her face. She’s never been one to do spontaneous things like fly across the country to go to a baseball game with someone she barely knows, but really, how could she pass this up? It was a free plane ride, a free hotel room (she does plan on staying in her own room tonight, but things could change now that she’s with Killian again if she’s honest with herself), and a free ticket to what could be the Sox winning the World Series. So while it may not have been the most sensible decision in terms of, you know, safety, she doesn’t think she’s going to be murdered or something.

She at least hopes not.

The only murdering that’s going to be done is on the baseball field.

Okay, so maybe that’s a little violent, but she’s new at this trash talk thing.

The interview they do is, in one word, embarrassing. For one, she has to talk about how she met Killian and how she really did make out with him after knowing him for a few hours (obviously she leaves out what they did afterwards because…logic). There’s also a game played where she and Killian wear those headbands with little notecards on them and have to describe to each other which MLB team they are without saying the mascot, the city, or any of the words in the team’s name. But the real kicker is that Killian flirts with her the entire time while his brother interviews them. She’s meeting the guy’s brother, and while it’s not like he’s introducing her to his family because they’re seriously dating, it kind of feels that way. You know, if they weren’t in a locker room with a bunch of professional baseball players and their managers.

But it’s kind of fun once she gets over herself. Killian Jones is still the same man she met less than a week ago, and he puts little puns into their interview every time that he can. Whenever he messes up or curses, he says “strike that,” a giant grin on his face that cause her to giggle under her breath. At a point in the interview, Liam asks Killian if he has anything he’d like to say to Emma, and without any emotion in his face he said, “Are you in the outfield? Because you’re an angel.” Liam muttered “fuck you, Killian” under his breath, and they had to redo the entire scene from how hard they were all laughing. Okay, maybe not Liam. Apparently, Killian has annoyed Liam with baseball puns ever since he got this job.

She can respect that. She doesn’t have any siblings, but from what she can tell, they are incredibly close. Like their own little team.

Eventually she is allowed to be released from the torment of their little promo video, and she and Killian make their way to the box their seats are in. She’d rather be near the field, but is she really going to complain about watching game five or the World Series from a team suite?

Hell no.

She is going to complain, though, when the kiss cam finds she and Killian after the top of the second inning after showing the video they made earlier today on the jumbotron, and she already knows this was all Liam Jones’s doing. Maybe there will be a murder that’s not on the field.

“You don’t have to kiss me, love.”

She smiles before leaning over and pecking him on the lips as chastely as possible. She has a feeling this won’t be the last time the kiss cam finds them, so they might as well start off slow.

She doesn’t really want to start off slow.

“I mean, this is kind of like our second date, right? I obviously like you, even if my feelings on your brother are wavering.”

He laughs before nodding, and when his fingers intertwine with hers later, she doesn’t mind at all.

The kiss cam continues to find them throughout the rest of the game. No one has scored in three innings, so when she and Killian aren’t watching the game, they’re getting to know each other a little more. If you’re going to travel across the country with someone, you might as well get to know them. And she’s glad that the man she’s getting to know is Killian because he seems like a good man, nice and funny and like he won’t throw her screwball after screwball when she’s expecting a simple pitch straight down the line.

When the Sox win, she and Killian both go ballistic, jumping up and down and hugging everyone around them until Killian cups her face and kisses her like it was the two of them who actually played the game. If she’s on the jumbotron again, she doesn’t care. His lips are soft against hers, and her heart is so loud in her chest that she can’t hear anything else except for the groan that emanates from the back of Killian’s throat that she thinks she’ll remember for the rest of her life. Probably more than she’ll remember witnessing the Sox winning the Series, and that’s a pretty big deal.

This kiss seems like a pretty big deal, too.

“I hope you’re good at catching because I’m starting to fall for you.”

“How long have you had that one prepared?”

“About a day and a half, love.”

So Emma thought she’d always be someone who had bad dates, someone who never got to have that really good one that she remembered for the rest of her life. And then she had another horrible one which transformed into a great one that she and the internet will remember forever. And that great date turned into a year and three months of even better dates. Nothing ever topped getting to see the Sox win the series in terms of excitement, but when you love someone like she loves Killian, things like grand gestures don’t always matter. Every dinner date, whether that be out at a restaurant or in one of their apartments, is wonderful because they get to be together. She enjoys doing simple things like going to the movies, walking around the commons, exploring Boston and the surrounding areas, a yes, going to a few baseball games here and there. It’s not that things are perfect and that she and Killian don’t fight. They do. But they work through those things so that they can be better.

She’s happy, and Killian’s happy. That’s all that really matters to her.

Okay, so why Killian has her blindfolded and is walking her somewhere matters to her, too.

“Babe, where are we?”

“It’s a surprise, darling. We’ve been over this.”

“I know, but I don’t like being in the dark. Literally.”

He laughs, and she can feel him kiss her hair before moving to kiss her temple, his lips soft against her skin.

“Just a few more steps, okay?”

She’s got no clue where they are, but she knows the moment they go from being inside to walking out into the bitter chill of a Boston winter, the air nipping at her uncovered nose as Killian leads her to wherever they’re going. The ground stays solid until the feeling of grass is underneath her boots, but that doesn’t help her know where they are. Then, all of the sudden, Killian stops moving them and moves to stand behind her, his body heat invading her as his right hand finds purchase on her hip while his left hand takes off her blindfold while he rests his chin on her shoulder.

She’s in…they’re in Fenway park. A very empty Fenway park to be specific, standing on the pitcher’s mound, and Killian’s grabbing onto her left hand and pointing her arm just over one of the dugouts…where they met.

Oh. Ohhhh. Oh wow. This is…this is about to be a big moment, isn’t it? Her heartbeat starts pounding in her chest, the pace so rapid that she thinks Killian must be able to hear it, let alone feel it, and can she say yes right now? That’s what’s happening, right? Killian is about to propose. Why else would he get them alone on the field in the evening in the middle of January?

“So you see those seats right there, love?”

“I do. They look oddly familiar.”

“They do. You see, I met a girl in those seats, a girl who was on a horrible date. Not with me, of course.”

She chuckles under her breath, and she’s surprised she can even speak right now. “Of course not.”

“And this lovely lass spent an entire game with me, and near the end of it, she gave me the best bloody kiss of my life.”

“The best, huh?”

“Well, we’ve had some better ones since then, but I’ll remember that one forever.”

“Forever?”

“Aye, it’s on the internet, you see, and the internet is forever.” He kisses her cheek, his lips soft and warm in comparison to the hardness of the bristles of his scruff and the iciness of the air. “You know what else is forever?”

“Tattoos that you get when in college and are too scared to remove?”

“Not what I was going for, but that’s true in case of you and your buttercup.”

“What were you going for then?”

She knows, but he’s obviously planned this thing out. Who is she to do anything but play along? Killian releases her waist and her arm before turning her and getting down on one knee, a bright smile on his face even if his hand shakes a bit when he reaches into his jacket, a small black box emerging with his hand.

“I was going for marriage, specifically between you and me. So what do you say, Emma Swan? Will you marry me?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

He doesn’t get a chance to slide the ring onto her finger before she’s pulling him off the ground and slamming her lips into his and wrapping her arms around his neck. Killian almost immediately moves to pick her up, allowing her to jump into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist, the ring box digging into her ass. It’s so much like their first kiss, but this is better. So much better.

“I love you so damn much, Killian.”

“I love you even more, Emma.”

“You just have to one up me, don’t you?”

He almost drops her then, a small scream emanating from her lips until he gently places her on the ground, letting go of her so that he can finally slide the ring on her finger…sliding it home.

That’s a baseball pun she’s okay with.

“Well, I’ve got to make sure I’m never one of your bad date stories.”

“You won’t be.”

It’s only later that she realizes that Killian proposed to her with a diamond inside of a baseball diamond.

She’s okay with that, too.

And that’s a ball game.

#cs prompt #cs fic #captain swan #not even gonna apologize for these puns haha

65 notes · View notes

westakoasta · 6 years ago

Text

P-MINUS - 2019

Where are you from? And what’s your first memories linked to hip hop?

I’ve lived all over - Belgium, Germany, Ohio, Missouri, the Virgin Islands, San Francisco, and now Los Angeles. But I spent the most years, including high school and college, in Missouri, so I feel like that’s where “I’m from.” I first remember hearing hip hop while living on St. Thomas (in the Virgin Islands) and the three songs that started me on this journey were “I Need Love,” by LL Cool J, “You Be Illin’” by Run-DMC and “Fight For Your Right To Party” by the Beastie Boys. I must have heard them on the radio, so that would have been 1987 - the year of my hip hop birth. In 1988, I moved back to Missouri and a neighbor of mine had a ton of rap tapes so I’d borrow his tapes all the time or listen to them in his car on the drive to school. I believe that the first tape I ever bought was Schooly D’s “Smoke Some Kill” (1988).

What got you started with Atak Distribution, how and when did it begin?

Fast forward to 1994 - I had graduated from college, where I had been the Hip Hop Director at the school’s radio station, and moved to San Francisco where I began an internship at Gavin, a music magazine that curated Top 40 lists for radio programmers. Somehow through that job, I met DJ Stef (editor of the Vinyl Exchange) and started writing record reviews for her. And on one fateful day, I received a copy of Sacred Hoop’s “Demo” tape for review and I thought it was the freshest thing in the world and in 1996 I officially became an underground hip hop junkie.

Were you a hardcore music collector before you started Atak?

Before Atak, I had a decent cd and record collection, full of ‘90s “golden era” major label releases, but hardly any tapes and barely anything considered “indie” or “underground.” Back then I wasn’t a collector, just a music fan, because all this incredible music was just sitting at the record stores for $12.99. I shopped a lot at Amoeba and Rasputin’s and a few other smaller stores in the Bay area, plus a few record labels and artists would send me promos for review.

How did you choose what would be in your catalog? How did you make contacts with the artists?

Starting with Sacred Hoop, I was certain that this amazing group wasn’t getting the exposure it deserved, so the seeds of Atak were first planted. I then started soliciting for more submissions through the Vinyl Exchange and some other Bay area rap magazines, such as 4080. I think that the Hoop started spreading the word, too, because I soon started getting tapes from the likes of FTA, Megabusive, San Francisco Street Music, Jedi Knights Circle, 99th Demention and others from the South Bay and SF. Somewhere in there, I met up with the Mystic Journeymen, bought some tapes from them, and was eventually exposed to Berkeley and Oakland artists such as the Living Legends, Hobo Junction, Zion-I and Illa Dapted. If I liked your tape, it would get in the Atak catalog. The first printed mail-order catalog had 12 tapes in it and the very first tape sold was Mystik Journeymen’s “Escape Forever” on August 10th, 1996.

Was the mail-order a full time job or did you have other occupations (studies, other job?)?

During the first few years I had several jobs: the Gavin internship became a paid job, I worked at a grocery store and then later at a vegetarian cafe. Eventually, since my rent was cheap and I was starting to sell more music, I was able to do Atak full-time. All the storage and shipping was done out of my bedroom.

Did you have many overseas/international customers and what role did that play in the business?

It looks like I started getting my first international orders (from Finland!) in 1997. I don’t know how they found out about Atak, but they were serious fans of West Coast underground so word spreads fast amongst those folks. Fans in Finland, Australia, Canada and Japan were my strongest supporters, with a few folks in France and Germany, too. This was before I started selling online, so these folks were trusting me with their cash and money orders and I will be forever indebted to them. Through these customers, I was exposed to international hip hop and eventually started selling music from the likes of Ceebrolistics, the Sebutones, mcenroe, Mary Joy Recordings, Muphin and the Hilltop Hoods.

What was the « peak » year in terms of sales and in terms of quality of music?

After a year or so of mailing out catalogs and setting up tables of merchandise at shows, Atak finally got online with the help of one of my earliest customers, Todd (aka Vic aka Celph Titled), who was extremely active on hip hop message boards, and he really helped spread the word around the U.S. and the world, so Atak started getting more non-Bay area music in the catalog and I started getting orders from everywhere. I think that the music quality was strong start to finish. I was listening to everything before I put it in the catalog, and if it wasn’t dope, it didn’t get in.

Did you ever wanted to make Atak a bigger thing, like UGHH or such?

There was a time in which I would have loved for Atak to get really big, because it was all so much fun - all the shows, meeting the artists, hearing a ton of new music, even the packing and shipping was fun for me. But in hindsight, it is clear that I was better at being a huge fan of the music rather than being a savvy businessperson. At the point in which digital music started taking off, I didn’t have the technical knowhow to adjust accordingly, and a big part of me still simply loved selling physical copies. As a fan, I didn’t want everything to go digital, but as a businessperson I should have dived in headfirst to keep up with the other big websites. I admired what the other sites were doing, and what friends like Shane (aka Kegs) was doing with Below the Surface - putting out records, putting on shows, opening a brick-and-mortar storefront. But part of me liked keeping things small and simple, but that clearly pushed me into smaller and more obscure corner of the online hip hop biz and eventually bumped me out of it altogether.

You did some cd-r reissues as well as a couple of mix-cds. Any temptation of launching a proper record label (as in: « new release, no reissue ») at some point?

I’d been wanting FOREVER to start a label and put out records! I made a feeble attempt to put out an Atak compilation in the late ‘90s, full of all the folks that were in my catalog at the time. I was able to get maybe 7-10 crews over to my house one night to talk about it, but since I had no idea how to really put it all together, I ended up getting one original song, from Nitrous Ox, out of that great big idea. More recently, I’ve been hoping to help folks put out releases but nothing has materialized just yet. Nowadays almost everyone is really good at getting this stuff done themselves, so I’m happy that they are taking control of their destinies and getting their music out to the world.

Can you give us your personal Top 5 favorites in your sale catalog? Also one that you think was dope and didn’t have the recognition it deserved?

In no particular order, I’ll list a few of my favorites, but I’m obligated to mention Sacred Hoop’s “Demo” (aka “Sacred Hoop” aka “Runny Poop”) first since that tape inspired everything. I was also thrilled to be able to pick up indie music from the Hieroglyphics (“Hiero Oldies”)and Saafir (Hobo Junction’s “Limited Edition Compilation”) since I was such a fan of their major label stuff. I really liked Red Tide’s “Rogue MCs” tape. Disflex6’s self-titled debut (aka “1984”) was great. The Kracken’s “Abstract & Cognac” left me wanting much more. The Sebutones’ “50/50 Where It Counts” blew my mind! Early stuff Dose One and Why? showed me that hip hop had no boundaries. This is an extremely abbreviated favorites list - as I look back through my old catalogs, I realize that I loved them all. It was all so new and so fresh and I think these artists all deserved more recognition than they got. I’m glad that I could help expose them a bit but I wish I could have done a lot more.

Did you developed friendship with artists/crews over those years and do you have interesting stories/ anecdotes linked to that?

My anecdotal memory is terrible so I’ve sadly forgotten a ton of great stories, fantastic show moments and hilarious conversations. Looking back, I should have kept a journal or taken a million photographs, because we all had so much fun and did so much back then. But, luckily for me, I’ve been able to keep in touch with a few of my very favorite people, emcees Luke Sick (Sacred Hoop/Grand Invincible) and Roughneck Jihad (Third Sight), and producer Deeskee (who has probably produced more songs in the Atak catalog than anyone else). And luckily for everyone else, all three of these guys are still making incredible music, more than 20 years after giving me tapes to review. A few weeks ago I got to hang out with The Grouch for a bit and he gave me a copy of his “F...the Dumb” double vinyl, 20 years after I first sold that tape in the catalog.

Why (and when) did you stopped Atak?

Atak started to slow down around 2004. I had recently moved from the Bay area down to Los Angeles, gotten married, bought a house, and started another job that was able to pay the bills more reliably. I was still getting orders and submissions from new artists, but wasn’t able to give Atak the focus it required to really push new artists and releases. I didn’t have time to go to many shows anymore, and all my hip hop buddies were still up in the Bay. I had ambitions to reboot the website, but then my web host got hacked and I had to shut down the site...and then I never got it back online. I eventually moved my inventory onto some other online platforms and kept selling, but for the most part, Atak was done. I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to the artists who submitted music around this time. I was getting some great music but just didn’t have juice to do anything with it.

Any thoughts on the evolution of hip hop? What about the the come back of the cassette? Is it possible that Atak would make a comeback in the future, in some form or another?

Tough question, because I don’t keep up with much truly “underground” music anymore, so I really hope that there are a ton of dope kids putting out dope music out there, and I’m sure there are plenty of them. I love 90’s hip hop so much, both major label and my Atak stuff, that that is what I still listen to the most, digging in my records, tapes and cds or bumping music in my car. I agree with most true heads that a lot of today’s hip hop is junk, and though I’m happy to see rappers get big and make money, I’d much rather that it be good, original and compelling hip hop. I’m stoked to see everyone buying and releasing tapes again, because of my love for the physical copy (though I agree that a free or cheap digital download is an essential part of that sale). And in regards to Atak’s great big comeback, I don’t think it will happen - it would require too much time and energy to do it right. But if I can still help out a few people, promote a few records, maybe even sell a few for my old pals, I’m happy to contribute.

A specific question from the homie Age: do you still want to reissue that Hi-State album?

I bugged my man Mr. E about that tape FOREVER and at least he finally put it up on Bandcamp (https://eightarrow.bandcamp.com/album/hi-state-project-demos-n-shit-vol-1) and we chatted about putting out a cassette reissue. I’m sure he wouldn’t have much trouble selling a short run of 100 tapes, so I’ll remind him about it. But I’m happy that fans can at least take a listen or buy it online.

What do you think was the most special in the 90's underground scene, and do you believe something like that would ever happen again?

I’ve never really tried to analyze that scene, but in retrospect, I bet that a lot of these emcees, producers and deejays were inspired by all the incredible major label releases that kept pouring out in that decade. So much quality hip hop was coming out and it was easy to see on “Yo! MTV Raps” and BET and the good stuff was even getting on the radio! It was everywhere and it was so damn good! I’m sure that these kids just wanted to be a part of that magical time, and a lot of the underground music was super fresh, too, because it wasn’t easy to make beats and put out cds - they had to commit to it and create a whole scene and they had to be dope to do it. Granted, I’m a old nostalgic rap dude now, but I don’t think the major or the underground scene will ever be that saturated with fantastically innovative, powerful, creative and inspired hip hop. Nowadays there isn’t enough inspiration in the scene for there to be an onslaught of great new hip hop like there was for me back in the days. There will always be a lucky few who can inspire themselves to be original and make great music, and hopefully these kids will get a chance to be heard.

Interview conducted by Kaliyuga Pro & Pseudzero with a bonus cameo by Age, february 2019.

12 notes · View notes

felinehypocritical · 8 years ago

Note

Could you write a prompt whenever you have time where Bill gets Stan a book about birds for Hanukkah and Stan is sososo happy?!

indeed i can babe

Stan sat in his living room, sandwiched between Bill and Mike, smiling from ear to ear. It was December 9, 1961, and, in one lone house in all of Derry, Maine, it was also the seventh day of Hanukkah. Stan Uris’s household happened to be that home. The house could hardly be described as lonesome, though. There were, indeed, nine smiling people sitting together in a circle, laughing and sharing good conversation, happy and content.

And Stan seemed to be the happiest of all. He was looking around at his friends and his parents. His two favorite groups of people in the world.

He’d coerced his friends to coming over for Hanukkah- after all, he’d argued, it’s only good manners to invite the Lucky Seven over on this, the seventh day of Hanukkah. How often do you get seven days of a holiday, much less eight?

“Sure, I can name one for ya, Stanny. It’s called the twelve days of Christmas, maybe you’ve heard of them?” Richie had shot back, earning himself a clout over the head from Bill, who was already nodding his head in agreement with Stan.

“I th-th-think that’s a gruh-great idea, Stan,” Bill had responded, shooting Stan a grin that warmed him to the tips of his toes, just as he saw Stan’s previously wide smile begin to falter at Richie’s remark. “And eh-anyway, most p-people don’t do ah-all the d-d-d-days of Christmas. Richie’s j-just a bruh-brat.”

And so he had smiled and said that’d be fine, just fine, Bill, and there the plans were set. The whole gang had turned up at around five, and it was already getting much too dark and much too snowy, so Mrs. Uris had taken them inside amidst a numbers of admonishments to Richie about getting too skinny and a flurry of compliments for Bill (she seemed to have a soft spot for him), and sat them down on the parlor couch. As Stan helped his father in the kitchen, she began drilling them for information of everything- how school was, how their parents were, and by the way, Mike, had his mother liked the casserole recipe Andrea had given her? Jessica Hanlon had, and she had a dish to give back to her soon, and that was peachy, just peachy, Mike.

Stan had finished up with the glasses as quickly as humanly possible, knowing how intense his mother could be, and practically ran to sit down with the rest of his friends. His mother thanked him for helping with the dishes, and everyone could see the adulation he had for his mother when she kissed his cheek and smoothed her skirt out, heading back into the kitchen to “leave the boys to their own devices” for a while, as she had put it.

Richie cleared his throat, saying, “gee, Stanley, if you wanted to go with your parents, you could have just told us…” They all laughed at Stan’s affronted expression, before lapsing back into their conversation beforehand. Stan simply watched as they laughed, taking in their appearances as he waited for an in to the conversation.

Mike and Ben could’ve made a singing group had they one more person- they were dressed simply in their white shirts and navy slacks, although Ben’s looked a little less borrowed in his than Mike did. Richie was in his usual cords and loud button up, though this one looked as if a drug addict attempted to dress formally, instead of Richie’s usual, ‘drug addict walking in a fashion show’ look. Stan snorted at the idea of Richie walking on a runway, tripping over his laces and yelling at the audience in all his different Voices, and passively noted Beverly’s pretty dress, her hair shimmering in a plait down her back as if incandescent dust from crushed diamonds had been tossed over her. Her pretty shoulders showed in the cold-sleeved cutouts, and Stan knew instinctively that Ben appreciated and despised them simultaneously.

Beverly and Bill really do have similar freckles, he thought passively, letting his gaze drift to Bill in a way he usually didn’t allow. He took careful note of Bill’s jaw and the sharp of his cheekbone which, even at fourteen, were already becoming more defined. He was wearing a pair of slacks, as well, but these were a bottle green that Stan’s artist’s eye noticed went perfectly with his eyes. His shirt was a whitish cream, and he’d rolled it up above his elbow so that his freckled wrists and forearms showed. It was a striking look, indeed, against Bill’s pale skin, and Stan thought bitterly that Bill probably didn’t even have to work that hard to find what looked nice, that lucky son of gun.

Bill said something to Stan that he didn’t quite hear, finishing with, “-d-do?”

“Pardon?” Stan watched carefully as Bill looked down at his hands, saying embarrassedly, “s-sorry, it’s just- I-I’ve nuh-hever done Hah-Hanukkah before. What d-d-do you…?” He made a vague gesture.

Stan perked up. “Oh! Well, usually you just light the menorah and say the blessings and open presents.”

The others all breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Ben said, “oh, thank God.”

Stan cocked an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

Richie ruffled his hair, saying, “well, we’re your friends, aren’t we? We got you presents and we were worried we wouldn’t be able to offload them on you and we’d have to keep all the dreidels and hotel soaps in our cupboards, so-”

“I got yuh-you a present, Stan,” Bill interrupted. “They dih-didn’t know whe-hether to or not, but I got yuh-hou one anyway. B-b-because I’m a good fruh-friend.” He flashed a charming smile to show he was joking. All of them were the best friends a guy could ask for.

Beverly shook her head. “No, Bill, Ben and I got one, too.” She produced a small parcel from her overcoat and smiled at Stan. She and the smaller boy shared a special kinship- not a large one, not one that signified friends for life, but they got along fine and understood each other well.

Richie suddenly got on his knees in front of Stan, holding his hands in front of him as if praying. “Oh, gee,” he said in a fake-sorrowful tone. “I’m sorry, dear Stanley, I didn’t get you a gift on this day! I’m sorry! Will you ever forgive me?” As he tended to, because he was Richie, he began to salaam wildly in front of Stan before Bill drew him up and sat him back down as they all giggled.

“Yes,” Stan said drily. “Yeah, I can forgive you this once, Rich. But I expect two gifts at Christmas. Two!”

“Eh, convert and I’ll think about it, toots.”

“Eh-Anyway,” Bill interrupted before Stan could even formulate a response. “Duh-do you want to open it right now?”

Stan blinked. “Well, sure, if you want, Big Bill.” He was still used to taking marching orders from Bill, and wasn’t used to Being His Own Person. Ever since he was a kid, he’d been taking orders from his parents. Then, when he was out of the house, it was teachers. When it wasn’t school, well, then it was Bill. Stan wasn’t a natural follower, but he couldn’t help but trust Bill with everything. Even his life. And especially the order of things, as long as it didn’t conflict with Stan’s own.

Bill nodded, picking up a little wrapped gift and setting it in Stan’s lap. “H-Here.”

Stan looked at Bill with luminous eyes. He somehow valued this little package more than any present he’d gotten before- and he’d gotten a telescope for his bar mitzvah! Bill nodded in a ‘hurry up’ fashion, and Stan hopped to it. He carefully peeled back the tape, putting the shell on Mike’s lap, where Mike unceremoniously crumpled it, much to his distaste.

He flipped the thing, which was now obviously a book, over, and his eyes lit up even further. The book was a pale green thing, with red gilding and a beautiful sparrow pressed in. ‘A Field Guide to the Birds’ gleamed up at him, seemingly calling to Stan with the likes of which he’d never had happen. He ran a finger over the spine of the book, taking it in with a smile as wide as he himself was long.

“Gee, Bill, this must be fifteen years old! At least!” Stan had a lot of bird books. A LOT. But he’d never seen one quite as beautiful or ornate as this one, he realized as he flipped from page to page. The works were hand drawn and the script loopy, and Stan felt his old soul longing to leap back to the time this was from.

“Ih-It’s actually oh-only f-f-fourteen years old, if th-that’s okay.” Bill looked anxiously at his small friend. “I c-c-couldn’t find an older one.”

Stan laughed loudly, a short burst of happiness that sent a jolt up Bill’s spine. “Are you kidding me? This is awesome! Bill, look at the drawings!” He seemed lost in his own world, and he pulled the book onto Bill’s lap. “Look at the heron! That’s so delicate!” He laughed again, and Bill laughed along with him. Stan looked up at Bill with earnest stars in his eyes. “Thanks so much, Big Bill. This is so nice.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Well, now I feel bad, ‘cause Bev and I just got you a catalog.”

Stan laughed at Ben’s worried expression, and patted his shoulder. “I think I can forgive you, Ben. I didn’t even think about gifts, you guys.” He looked apologetically at the rest of the Losers. “Sorry.”

Richie slung an arm around Stan’s shoulder as well as Mike’s in the process. “Don’ worry about it, Stanny, my man. We don’t want your stinkin’ trash.”

Stan hits in arm good-naturedly. “Beep-beep, Richie.”

The gang broke up again, before Andrea called them to dinner and they all got up, slowly, talking amongst themselves about tests and dates and the school play, and didn’t Richie get a lead in that? Homework was quickly forgotten, though, when they got to the table and Richie’s eyes fell on the plates of potato latkes before them.

“Oh, dear, gawd, someone squashed a bug and it’s on my plate!” Richie squawked, earning another slap from Stan.

“They’re potato pancakes, you klutz,” Stan chastised, taking a seat next to Bill. “Don’t be rude. They’re good.”

And good they were. They were so incredibly salty and well fried that no one could have denied that this Jewish staple, at least, was not one to scoff at. The applesauce was cinnamony and the sour cream crisp, although everyone made faces at Richie for putting so much on his. Richie had a ball mixing them together and they all moaned when he dropped the cream into the applesauce,, but he only cackled and told them to grow a pair. Beverly made a sound of delight upon her first bite and shook a surprised Ben’s shoulder frantically.

“Oh my god, Ben, these are amazing! Try them!”

Ben complied and he did, indeed like them, saying kindly, “you know, Stan, I think this is the present we needed. Your mamma’s cooking, I mean.”

Stan smiled and thanked him and appreciated Ben’s unabashed sweetness even more than usual. He was beginning to feel run down from his long day at school and Richie’s antics and now all six of his friends over. He was an introverted person, after all, and he would need to recharge soon. He’d hate to be disappointing, but-

Mike stretched, yawning. “Well it’s been fun, but I’d better get home, Stan.” He stood up, smiling graciously at Stan before tapping Richie’s shoulder. “Let’s go, Rich. Night, Stan!” He trotted out the door with Richie at his heels and Stan waved.

“Night, Mike.” He felt himself become more grateful for his empathetic friend by the second.

Ben stood up as well, with Beverly on his arm. He looked absolutely pink. “Us too. I’m driving Bev home.” Stan rose to meet him and gave them both hugs before they headed out too.

Soon the sound of the two cars leaving were gone and Bill and Stan were the only kids left at the table. Stan looked nervously at him. He could hear his parents talking quietly in the kitchen, but he also knew that they would be coming in soon, and he didn’t want to have to deal with them right now. Not while Bill was here, looking so handsome and content, leaned back in his chair with his eyes slitted.

“You tired?” Came Stan’s quiet question, and Bill smiled lazily at the low-hanging chandelier.

“A l-little. Can we s-s-sit on the couch?”

“Sure.”

Stan pushed his chair in carefully, cringing at the noise it made as it scraped hardwood in the echoing quiet of his house. He padded after Bill to the loveseat (how ironic, he thought absently) and sat down primly next to his much more comfortable counterpart.

He looked at Bill, saw Bill was looking back, and glanced away, his cheeks coloring under Bill’s green gaze. “Thanks for the book, Bill.”

“Sh-Sure thing, Stan.” Bill looked a little red too, come to think of it. He said, much quieter, but in a way that said he was hoping Stan wouldn’t think he was dumb: “Wuh-hanna show m-me? Show me s-some, I mean.”

Stan nodded eagerly, scooting much closer to Bill than he honestly needed to and opening the book between their thighs. “For sure. Okay, so first, this one’s a cowbird, and it’s-” Stan’s long, thin finger curled away from it’s spot on the page as Bill Denbrough quickly leaned over and pressed a kiss onto his lips, barely missing and hitting his cupid’s bow and nose. He tried again, getting it right this time, and smiled into it. The kiss was chaste, just a short one, but Stan could feel himself melting into it.

“Ooh-oops. Missed.” Bill said, smirking apologetically.

Stan was bright pink by now, from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. “Y-yeah. Oops.”

Bill looked accusingly at the embarrassed boy. “H-hey. I’m the o-one who stuh-stuh-stutters.” He put an arm around Stan’s shoulder and drew him in again, putting his chin on Stan’s head. “H-happy Hanukkah, Stuh-Stan.”

“Yeah,” Stan said faintly. “Happy Hanukkah to you too, Bill.”

It was December 9, 1961, and, in one lone house in all of Derry, Maine, it was the seventh day of Hanukkah.

#it #stephen king's it #stan uris #bill denbrough #richie tozier #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #i love stan so much im gonna cry?!?!?!#stanny.txt

47 notes · View notes

kitig88-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Mastery 4.4.1

Effective Copywriting has been the most difficult course so far on my mastery journey due to the amount of writing in a short amount of time. This course not only taught me about creating and developing concepts for an ad campaign that is able to hold the same voice/tone but, how communication through writing is just as important as verbal communication. In Advertising Concept and Copy, Felton (2013) states, “Even if that message has no literal spokesperson, it always has a consciousness, and people’s response to this frequently invisible but everywhere apparent speaker becomes central to the success of the message and the brand behind it” (p. 93). The simple statement stuck with me all through this course when working on the testimonial ads and campaign paper for the Performing Animal Welfare Society (P.A.W.S).

Before I began to develop my concepts, I pictured what voice they needed to be in and if that voice would move me into action. I wanted to make sure the voice and tone were detected throughout the whole project campaign. To do that, I had to do what Smallish (2013) said in Developing Ideas and Design Concepts about working with the client and building a solid foundation to build the creative process on. I researched everything I could about P.A.W.S organization and learned everything about their mission to create the perfect voice and tone for the nonprofit. From there I moved to the target audience.

After deciding on the tone and voice to adopt, I began brainstorming on who would be targeted by these ads. “The Frame of Today- presented by Chaco and Huckberry” video helped me in this portion of the concept development and with deciding the target audience for the testimonial ads. I looked back at the list in Advertising Concepts and Copy, and one that I worked with throughout the project was nurturance: the need to provide care for others (Felton, 2013). The purpose was for the audience to feel a sense of a need to do something for animals falling victims to abuse. When I figured out my target audience, I began to do sketches.

“Rough sketches function as the first full visual prototype” (Smallish, 2013). I started by producing quick sketches. An example of my reasoning is I chose to test out all testimonials and eliminated the ones that didn’t connect with my organization or aimed demographic. For example, with the expert ad, I played around with different ideas of how to display abuse. Would it bring a shock factor or play it down? Most of the testimonials I made targeted people around their 30s. Two of the concepts where based off of family movies. I didn’t really stick to a pattern for the ads, I needed to layout all my ideas without limiting myself to a single pattern or category. Once the visual concept was developed I was able to move along to add the written copy to the ads.

My experience in writing copy was excellent. I worked on each ad slowly so once I produced a good concept for that testimonial voice I worked on a headline that would be just as impactful. I started by just writing down whatever came to mind, so for example, the testimonial had generic headlines like “no excuse for their abuse” and “trained but not tamed”. After I jotted down a variety of word combinations, I moved onto body copy because I knew the verbiage would better help me decide on a perfect headline. I made sure there was a balance of imagery and copy (Smallish, 2014). Each ad concept had one impactful image, a powerful headline, a sub-headline, the company logo. In week 3 I forgot to add the call to action but have updated it since.

Target Audience Profiles

In week two, the professor covered personas and target audiences. Being a self-taught graphic designer, I know little about this, through the intense research in this course, I learned the many essentials of copy. In Advertising Concept and Copy, Felton (2013) talked about Settle and Alreck’s 15 Catalog of Needs and knowing who finds the benefits of a product or service important when trying to sell said product or service (p. 31). Meaning, before I could begin my testimonial ads, I had to know who would find donating to P.A.W.S important and who would benefit from its services. From this research, I concluded my target audience is anyone who owns or works with animals, and people who no longer want to live in a world where animal abuse is allowed. I connected the research to my personas by determining which of the needs would speak to my target audience. I deduced that nurturance (the need to provide and care for others), succorance (the need to receive help from others), and security (the need to be free from fear) would speak loudest (Felton, 2013). With this knowledge, I not only could create my testimonial ads but, I also could decide the full message for P.A.W.S Born to be… ad campaign. I had a clear direction and specific people to speak to with the campaign.

Six Testimonial Ad Sketches

For concept one I used Felton’s (2013) expert testimonial (p. 241). The voice is from an animal trainer telling the viewers they get paid to beat animals. This is followed by a circus fact about trainers. In concept two the target market would see a celebrity as the speaker (Felton, 2013). With the celebrity as the voice, the viewer sees what famous people like them can do for animal welfare. Using a celebrity victim can also be looked at as an expert testimonial ad concept that Felton (2013) mentions. Concept three worked with what Felton described as using something associated with the person (Felton, 2013). Ruby slippers and phrase are some of the things associated with Dorothy from the wizard of oz, and a person has no change against one animal let alone two. This ad uses the shoes and memorable catch phase to show the audience that the animals aren’t the only ones that can get hurt. Concept four is what Felton (2013) called the wrong person and can also be unreal people. The viewer sees the iconic Cruella Deville and her hot line. As child we knew this person was a villain for kidnapping and abusing animals, as adult we need to be reminded. Using something familiar can create a connect with the viewer. The fifth concepted I used just plain folks which Felton (2013) stated was a person really helped by the product or service (p. 246) The purpose is to make the viewer do a double take. The onlooker sees a circus flyer event with a kids’ head in the middle instead of an animal. This helps people realize if it’s morally wrong for a child to be on display shouldn’t it also be for a defenseless animal. The sixth and final concept is historical figures used for their attention-getting quality (2013). The viewer is hearing the voice of the abused animal asking honest Abe a question he can’t answer. In the end they were all rejected because they didn’t have the shock, compassion or impact on the audience needed. I started from scratch and came up with these three comps.

Three Initial Comps

When I began developing my concept ideas, I focused on looking for the imagery that would catch the viewers eyes. Craig Smallish (2013) taught me all about hooking the viewer in through the use of great imagery combined with a headline. I looked for images that worked for the organization. Unfortunately, in week 2 there was a misunderstood with the assignment and the same sketches where turned in without formatting them on InDesign. It was hard to play catch up but the imagery along with the headline ended up turning out better than planned.

Three Revised Comps

I had to rework the body copy, imagery and headline to reflect the testimonial concept, not to mention adding the call to action. The body copies were circus animal fact that got straight to the point, so the viewers wouldn’t decide it was too much to read. A hint of color used from the logo was used for the copy making the viewer eyes move around the entire ad. The call to action started with a question “Entertained yet?” This made the viewer question themselves and want to make the change. I felt it was mastery level to create a campaign without a pre-sketched testimonial that had been thought out. A professor or boss can’t always be around to make decisions, and it is left to the media designer. It was problem solving on the fly and made my project unique and cohesive.

Takeaways

How to write body copy. I came into this class not understanding the importance of copywriting and writing body copy. Through this course, I have gained a better knowledge and feel much more confident in not only writing copy but editing copy as well.

How to use voice and tone throughout an ad campaign. I always knew what voice and tone in design were. But with this course, I understood how to apply it to a full-fledged campaign. I believe the reason I did well this course design wise was that I acquired this skill and applied it in my work.

Skills in advertising. I had the basic know how with advertising or what was needed to create a great ad. Through effective copywriting, I learned how to write headlines and taglines that mean something. I learned how to combine all this information together to create a multi-media ad campaign.

Use graduate-level problem-solving skills. As I stated in three revised comps, I ran into an issue with the organization I was working with. This experience taught me how to take a problem and use graduate-level problem-solving skills to reach a solution.

References:

Adams, D. (2011, February 14). What is Copywriting and How is it Important for a Designer? Retrieved February 2, 2019, from http://www.instantshift.com/2011/02/14/what-is-copywriting-and-how-is-it-important-for-a-designer/

Felton, G. (2013). Words I: Establishing Voice. In Advertising Concept and Copy (3rd ed.) New York, NY: Norton & Company.

Smallish, C. (2013, August 16). Developing Ideas and Design Concepts. Retrieved February 2, 2019, from https://www.lynda.com/Design-Business-tutorials/Developing-Ideas-Design-Concepts/126121-2.html?org=fullsailold.edu

Smallish, C. (2014, May 27). Designing a Print Ad. Retrieved February 2, 2019, from https://www.lynda.com/Design-Page-Layout-tutorials/Designing-Print-Ad/155264-2.html?org=fullsailold.edu

0 notes

tinymixtapes · 7 years ago

Text

Interview: Sun Araw

Keeping it real these days is no easy feat, and finding something original to say is even harder. So it’s a blessing that we have folks like Cameron Stallones still out there, wading freely into the deep end in search of radical new visions to wrangle from the innersphere. It’s been a long journey he’s taken down the twisting pathways of Sun Araw, and musically it might seem like he’s come about as far as one can come from his early days of shredding echo loops into the psych-tropic canister. But mentally, he’s just been getting closer and closer to the point. Lately, Stallones has been flexing his Texas roots out with a shimmering question mark of an LP, The Saddle Of The Increate. It’s a deep and divine slice of frontier majesty, an unclassifiable and homespun Herculean epic as interpreted by a single grain of sand caught between your teeth. Stallones had a lot to dish about it, so we had the following chat over pupusas and a few games of pool, and as you can see, the conversation tended to shift about, like the colors of clouds hanging sweetly over a balmy Utah sunset… --- So before we dive into the new record, I have to ask what’s going on with Alex Gray? He seemed like a really big part of the project for a few years, but I haven’t seen you two play together in a minute, and it seems like he’s done making music as D/P/I. Well he and Jessica [Smurphy] actually just moved to the Yucatan. We might do some European touring together soon, because getting him a flight over there is easy, and we don’t gotta rehearse, me and him. But for playing anywhere else, he’s a bit out of the zone. He’s an extremely passionate dude, and when he goes in a direction, he goes in the direction. He’ll definitely keep making music, and you can quote that [laughs]. He might not share it with anyone else, but it’s in his bones. He’s literally one of the finest musicians I’ve ever met in my life, and in a way that’s so natural and organic. As an instrumentalist, he can play circles around me on anything, except maybe keyboards, which I can’t really play either. But on guitar, and sax, and drums, he’s insane, and it just comes from his natural mojo. It’s part of his being, you just watch it unfold. When we had to stop playing when he moved, it was tough to readjust. Because we had been playing together for almost six or seven years at that point, and I hadn’t realized how symbiotic what we were doing had become. When he was gone I all of a sudden had to rebuild the structure, and be like, ‘What do I want the live thing to be like?’ And I hadn’t had to think about that when he was there, because our minds would just meet and then become something. There are definitely two distinct phases of Sun Araw in my mind, where before there was all the early Not Not Fun fuzz, and now there’s this new wave that’s driven by these sparse, blippity rhythms, and it does feel very symbiotic with what he was doing as D/P/I. He really inspired me to start using a laptop, because now I use a laptop live and I don’t think I’ll ever go back. I might find other ways to integrate it, but… it’s always been a looping band, and I think we got it to a really cool place, me and Alex, where we were doing audio looping but it really didn’t sound like it or feel like it. But once you move to MIDI looping, the possibilities are literally infinite. Once you’ve tasted that, I can’t imagine wanting to go back. I just don’t understand on a physical level how you actually make music like you do now. Granted, I don’t really have experience working with MIDI controllers, but your music just doesn’t even sound like looping anymore. It’s so changing, it feels like it never truly repeats itself, even for just one loop. I mean a lot of it on Belomancie and the new one isn’t looping, really. But it’s still sort of psychologically looping, if that makes sense? It’s like, I’m hearing the loop in my head, but I’m playing something different. I think I still structurally think about music that way. I think that’s forever burned into me, for better or worse. And it can be kind of limiting compositionally — you’ll notice not a lot of Sun Araw songs have like, chord changes [laughs]. More recently some of them do, but that was always by design. It was always by seeking after a certain trajectory. Well the new one definitely has some notable chord changes in there. It feels like these may be the first true ‘songs’ in the Sun Araw catalog. I definitely knew when I started seeing what was happening when I was making it, that that was going to be part of it. You might ask, who rides in the saddle? It’s a very interesting question. It’s like a koan. No one. No one rides in the saddle. But no one is something. Nothing is demonstrable. So, why cowboys? What got you riding on the honky tonk train? There are honestly three things that came together that made the record what it is. There was this one day where I was watching these four Q.E.D. lectures that Richard Feynman gave in New Zealand in the mid 70s, and that was a big part of it. Then there was this Alice Bailey book that I was reading about the Zodiacal interpretation of the Labors of Hercules, which I had never considered, but there are 12 labors of Hercules, and then there are the 12 signs of the Zodiac, so it’s a book showing how the story is just a walk through the Zodiac, among other things. And then there was this really profound… there’s this restaurant in Alhambra that’s the only restaurant in L.A. I think that serves food from Borneo. I was going there a lot, and just eating this super-thin, super-spicy, hot, seafood egg noodle soup, you know? And I jokingly started calling it a South Asian cowboy record to myself. But the cowboy thing really came from this realization — the Hercules thing was interesting to me, because I had never really thought about the Hercules myth or cared about it at all, or even seen it as deep, and then it was like, ‘Oh, well here’s an in-road to understand it.’ And it’s all just like herding cattle. He has to rope these horses, then he has to go catch this boar, then the last one, the Pisces one, is he has to herd the Cattle of Geryon, and Geryon is this monster, this three-bodied, three-headed, three-everything monster that guards these cows. And Hercules has to get these cows and put them in a golden cup and sail them across the ocean. It’s a cool story. So the record does have a narrative, which is a first, and it’s the story of that. Me trying to retell that story, but then also in the midst of this investigation I discovered that there’s this group of people called the Toraja, a tribe on the island of Sulawesi, Indonesia. They’re mostly known for these incredibly elaborate funerals that they do, where the funeral bankrupts your family for generations. You build a whole village, and you raise money for the funeral, which can take 20 to 30 years, so you keep the dead body preserved in your house, and you bring it to dinner and you put food in front of it, you live with it for all that time, for years, with this corpse. And then you have this huge festival where you invite the whole island, and you spend every dime you have on it, and some that you don’t, but then everyone has to bring tributes, so you kind of get paid back, I think. And it’s just wild, it’s this week-long ceremony that goes on and it’s multifaceted. But what I got really interested in was that they have these temples that they build, and the temples are shaped like saddles. So like, “Heaven is a saddle” is one of the refrains of the record, and you might ask, who rides in the saddle? It’s a very interesting question. It’s like a koan. No one. No one rides in the saddle. But no one is something. Nothing is demonstrable. It’s interesting to me how cowboys are this old-fashioned, mythical thing in America, usually associated with an older time, but you’re bringing it up while your music is easily as far out as it’s ever been, easily as non-referential to anything that’s come before it. That’s really flattering to me, because those are two of the things that I care about the most when making music. I want it to be as futuristic as possible, and I don’t want it to sound like anything I’ve ever heard before. And it’s a struggle to do those things, and sometimes you ask real hard questions. Sometimes I’ll make something for hours and listen back and go, “Am I crazy? What is this?” But I’m really satisfied with how everything came together on this one. There is a logic to it, and I think part of what becomes interesting for me as an artist is to cast that logic further and further out, or deeper and deeper inside the music, so what you’re actually listening to is generated by the logic, but you’re not hearing the logic. You’re not hearing the bassline like it really would be played in a certain sense, you’re hearing an abstraction of it. It’s like making a sketch of a sketch, it’s a really curious sort of process. I feel like your music has always had a really strong sense of humor to it too, all the MIDI presets, and riffs that are so simple and off-the-cuff that they sound almost amateur, there’s always some goofiness afoot. But The Saddle Of The Increate does feel much more upfront about this. Yeah, it’s a comedy. I felt like I had to say that too because I felt like people might not realize that it is supposed to be funny. Like, just so you know [laughs]. It’s okay to laugh at this. I’m definitely laughing at it. I know improvisation is a big part of what you do, but with these explicit narratives and more complex instrumental styles that you’re into now, do you think there’s less of that on Saddle than before? No, it really is improvised actually. I just jam in a room. I jam a keyboard for nine minutes, and then I jam a guitar on top of that for nine minutes. I just sit there and record every track. So it’s really very, very improvised, and almost never forethought. Sometimes I’ll be like, “Oh, I want a transition in this song!” So maybe I’ll surgically insert something that isn’t originally there, but that’s very rare actually. It’s interesting that you say that because this album especially, whether it’s improvised or composed, it does feel more constructed compared to your previous work. I think that’s true. I was trying that, I think it’s much more compositional. I wanted the compositions to be really strong and to be elaborated in a certain way. But it’s interesting because it really is generated from improvisation, and I only harp on that because it’s very important to my understanding of inspiration. I really don’t feel that inspiration is a thing that people have, I think it’s a place people can go. And I think that we share large pieces of emotional territory, like we all know sorrow, right? It’s like a countryside full of stuff. And as it gets more and more fundamental to the human existence, it becomes more and more in common, the things that we all share. I think that inspired art comes from those places, it comes from psychological space. If you go deep into psychological space and your imagination, you can pull out these things. But the reason it can resonate across centuries, the reason Hercules can make a difference to me, or Alice Bailey who wrote that book in 1917, is that they’re touching something that’s held in common. You recognize it. It comes to you, and maybe it’s in a different format than you’ve ever seen before, because you don’t look at Byzantine painting or whatever, but you recognize something, and that’s why you feel something. And you might not be able to articulate it — usually when it’s at a really high level, you definitely can’t articulate it, because it’s happening in a space that is above the duality of language. But I think for me, improvising is the way that I practice figuring out how to go to that country all the time. Because I think that almost everyone gets kind of a free ride there once or twice, that’s why a lot of people can make a great album, or a great painting. But to continue that over the course of a career, we all see our favorite artists take pits and falls. It’s a windy road. But there are people that I see where I can tell that they’ve maintained, and the practice becomes, “How do I get a free ticket back to inspiration? How do I get there on a regular basis with my will?” It makes you a servant of the muse, that’s what they used to call it. And I’m about that. Servant of the muse, for sure. So that’s the ticket is always playing, always recording it? I think for me, it’s the way I can push myself out of my intellectual mind. Because I don’t think the intellectual mind has the deepest root in a person. I think there are parts of us that are not intellectual that are actually much more fundamental and generative of our experience. So when it comes to composition, plotting a chord change versus playing one in a moment, they’re completely different things. Because one is being generated from the intellectual mind, which is cool and it can do all sorts of stuff, but what it’s really good at is craft, and inspiration is not craft. Inspired art is not craft. I would say that most music is craft, it’s the recreation of a form, or the working out of a genre or a form or something. And obviously because of how I’m saying this and the context in which I’m saying it I’m gonna sound like I’m being judgmental of that, but actually a lot of my favorite music is craft. A lot of reggae and dub is craft, it’s taking fixed forms and experimenting and extrapolating, but really crafting these objects, crafting dubs, you know? And that’s part of the creative practice, all art involves craft at some level of its production. But before that comes the inspiration. And then obviously you see art that’s committed to finding new territory, and not crafting objects that are recognizable, but creating something totally new. That’s a totally different part of the mind that is able to do that, it’s the sort of thing that makes you dream, and all that stuff. Having like 50 guitar amps and five distortion pedals is a certain kind of power, but a single digital koto note played in silence is a totally different kind of power. This is sort of a non-sequitur, but do you listen to classical music much? I do, more and more. Especially early 20th century like Górecki, Varése is really huge for me, Charles Ives, a lot of that stuff has become really interesting to me. Kind of just creeping backwards from Stockhausen and people like that, and seeing, ‘Who were their heroes?’ I just read this book called Give My Regards to Eighth Street, it’s a really amazing collection of essays by Morton Feldman just all about that time, about all those dudes just chilling and hanging, and it sounds groovy dude. They were up to some business in New York. It was really inspiring to imagine a creative group of people all sharpening each other, and seriously discussing the principles of what they were doing. The reason I bring it up is just because recently, like specifically the last couple of days, I’ve been making a push to actually dig deeper into classical music and understand it more. Because I’ve listened to a lot of that 20th century stuff, a lot of minimalism and Stockhausen and the crazier music from the past century or so, but I’m still a total stranger to… Yeah you’re talking like, Mahler. That’s sick dude, Beethoven is crazy. Exactly. But we’re on this subject of craft, and I just can’t imagine that sort of music being improvised. Listening to that music, it’s so put together. But also, also: Mozart and Beethoven both describe the experience of being able to perceive their compositions outside of time. They both talked about hearing it all at once, and then they would have to write it out. There’s documented writing of them discussing that. And that’s very interesting, because to me, in the framework that I just laid out, that implies that that shared psychological space is outside of time. So the perception of time is something that is maybe produced by our senses, but isn’t fundamental to mind. Like mind is not necessarily inside time. And that’s an experience, and that’s one experience among many sorts of experiences that humans express from time to time that have that quality, of being able to experience something, just for a moment, that doesn’t exist linearly in time. That doesn’t express itself in duality of now and later, and this and that, and hot and cold, you know? And then the difficulty of bringing that thing back and transcribing it into your 7th Symphony or whatever. It’s interesting to me. But you’re right, that transcribing part of it is the craft, that’s the chisel. And for me, it’s mixing. The playing is all inspiration, and then the mixing is all craft. And this record I mixed the longest I’ve ever mixed. This record took me the longest any record’s ever taken, almost three years, and the mixing was really deep because it’s the first the record I’ve ever made that was completely MIDI-generated. So basically when I’m recording, I’m recording data, not sounds. So I’ll pick a synth and I’ll jam on it, but then deep into the mixing process you can be like, ‘I wanna try a different synth.’ And with MIDIs you just have the data of what you played, and you can apply different synthesizers to it, and re-trigger stuff. Which to me was something I had never explored, so that made it take a lot longer. Because usually it’s like, ‘Well, it sounds kind of shitty, but I’m stuck with it!’ But with this it’s like, I can really tweak it forever. What do you think the ultimate difference is between your earlier music compared to what you make now? I just like clarity now. I think clarity is much more psychedelic. Obviously I think with the early stuff, it’s cool to create atmosphere with reverb and all that, and used well it’s really important, and I still like the way my old stuff sounds, I really do. But I don’t have any interest in doing that anymore. Because to me, when you say you want it to be as far out as it can be… I really am interested in psychedelic music, like psychedelic music as an active principle. Psychotropic music, music that when you listen to it, it changes the way you feel, and the way that maybe the room looks. And that was really what Belomancie was all about. In the writing for that album I said, “These songs are like corridors and chambers.” And I could tell you which song on there is which. Some of them are like corridors, and some of them are like chambers, where you sit and it’s in the room with you. And that’s something that I think has become super important in the way I create music now, I just want it to be extremely transformative to the space that it’s in. And being in a crazy psych-rock band like Magic Lantern or whatever, having like 50 guitar amps and five distortion pedals is a certain kind of power, but a single digital koto note played in silence is a totally different kind of power. And it’s, in my feeling, way, way more powerful. But also more delicate, and harder to hold together. And because of that I think sometimes the shows, when they go bad, it’s really hard. And it could just be the space, that you have to really fight something, because it really is hanging together on a thread. Photo: Iria Dust It does feel like your music needed time to eventually get to the level that it’s at now. Because all the earlier stuff, even though it is experimental, you can see how it might have a more wide appeal in the general psych-rock circuit, and make it onto popular video game soundtracks. That’s actually what’s really cool about it, it’s profound in its own way but it’s also easy to just hang to — but your newer music definitely raises the bar for the listener. Totally man, thank you. And that’s where I was at, that’s what I wanted to hear, and I’m really proud of that. That record especially, I mean all of them, honestly, but On Patrol in particular, I’m really proud of that record. When I listen to it now, it still has a quality where I think the way it was recorded — which was really crazy, I mean I still record in a similar way, but it was extremely primitive — but it sounds great to me. I wouldn’t really change anything about it, except maybe remaster it or something. But yeah, I think Inner Treaty was a line, where a lot of people didn’t cross that line. My albums have been progressively less “successful” in a music industry sense since that zone, and I totally understand that. It doesn’t surprise me, and I’m not bitter about it. But my interest is in making what I find interesting to make. That’s my priority. You’ve talked about the psychedelic experience, and how important it is in your work to convey that, but what does ‘psychedelic’ actually mean to you? It’s a word that gets tossed around a lot. Yeah, it means like, fuzz guitar, right? [laughs] No, it doesn’t mean fuzz guitar. It’s like how I was saying with the word ‘psychotropic’ — for me a psychedelic is something that you ingest in some way and it alters your perception. And of course demonstrably, everything does that. Water does that, the color of your shirt does that. Everything changes your experience. But the human mind has certain patterns that it follows normally when it’s left to its own devices, and the will isn’t being used in a really strong way. And it’s possible that there are other patterns, right? I mean you can breathe weird, like when you were a kid you ever do those things? Lean over and do the head rush, you can do all sorts of stuff [laughs]. To me, psychedelic is something that has a profound effect of cracking, breaking, giving space, or giving transformation to that normal brain function. Obviously unto that definition, anything can be psychedelic. Music, food, I mean dude Szechuan? Go have a crazy Szechuan dinner in San Gabriel, tell me that’s not psychedelic dude. You walk out of there tingling. You’re in a fire brass brassiere, it’s crazy. It is about change in a sense, and movement. The sense of not just staying on one unmoving path. Well some people would say that part of the problem is that we always change, but the problem is we don’t realize that. We pledge allegiance to a part of our self that actually is not the main part of our self. Change allows you to notice. Like, you don’t notice what apps are running on your phone until you look. And then suddenly you realize, ‘Oh, all these apps are running, it’s slow,’ and it’s like, yeah, well you got 10 apps running! I mean, I don’t like to compare the mind to a computer, but it is a decent analogy, right? You see some people who sees things like they’re just running an app, it’s just a filter between them and the world. And the mind is that, the mind is like a filter, it takes in stuff and interprets it. So when you know that, there’s not a problem. When you don’t know that, it’s a problem. Because then you’re like, ‘Well that’s just how it is!’ And it’s like, well, for you in this exact moment of space-time, which was actually different five minutes ago but you didn’t even notice because you’re not even aware that you’re changing. The person that wanted to go get a snack is not the same person that is talking to his wife on the phone, you know what I mean? They’re different people. So I think change is cool. I got really ratified by [Marshall] McLuhan at a young age, which is weird [laughs]. He was the first media theorist, ‘the medium is the message,’ that was his deal. It’s deep, but his vibe was that it doesn’t matter what’s on TV, TV is TV. TV is the medium, TV is the message. The medium is the message. And it’s the same thing, people don’t realize that just watching TV changes the way you think about everything. It changes the way you experience the world, it changes everything about you. So he was really about eliminating the Western-European idiom from early philosophy to now, which has been based on this idea of the objective third-person point of view, that there’s an objective reality. And that’s not demonstrably true! [laughs] Whose is it? What does it look like? It’s all being experienced by someone and therefore interpreted. There’s not one world, there’s thousands and thousands of worlds. I don’t think the intellectual mind has the deepest root in a person. I think there are parts of us that are not intellectual that are actually much more fundamental and generative of our experience. I know you’re originally from Austin, did that play into the vibe you had making this album? Definitely, I love country music. To me the pedal steel guitar is literally the most beautiful instrument in the world. There’s nothing that I want to hear played more than a pedal steel guitar, someone that can really play that thing is like… I can’t describe the way it makes me feel. So that’s always been something I’ve wanted to include in the band, and for whatever reason the time was right for all this love to come out. I also have to give a shout-out to discovering Terry Allen’s records. He was a huge inspiration for these songs. Someone handed me Juarez maybe two-and-a-half years ago and it blew my mind. And the writing thing with this record, the lyrics, I spent much more time on them than I ever have before. I was really interested in stretching that part of it. Because I like to write, I enjoy writing, but I’ve always had a hard time because there are certain words that I don’t want to hear myself sing, you know what I mean? [laughs] I’m not confident with my voice, so I can write things that I think are great, but it could never be a song because I won’t sing the word, like…whatever [laughs]. I just can’t stand it. The thing about the Terry Allen records is the scope. Like Juarez, it’s funny because that album is literally just piano and voice, and that’s it, but the scope of that record feels so immense because of the way it’s written. And I was really inspired by that and I wanted to challenge myself to do something like that, because I had never tried to write something that felt really generous and lengthy and that you could really go into in some way. And I don’t know what you would get out of it, because I think it’s not clear what it’s really about [laughs]. At least in a certain way, I think the sentiment is present. There’s a lot of specificity in the writing for me, but that’s meaningless to anybody else. And it’s not actually worth sharing because it’s totally meaningless, it was just what I used to generate the thing, but the thing is now its own thing. Do you miss Austin at all? I really do because my parents don’t live there anymore, so I never get to go back. I would go back for SXSW, which was just the fool’s errand of fool’s errands. I went there three times in a row always promising myself, “This is the last time I’m ever coming to this fucking psychopathic…” It’s like the worst tumor of Western culture, the idea of what fun is. Like a music festival? It’s like, brought to you by Skynet! You can’t imagine worse circumstances to play or listen to music. If you sat a team of people down to be like, ‘What’s the worst imaginable venue situation to watch music and to play music?’ they would come up with SXSW. It’s beyond reason. And I had a really good time there in the early days when there were all those parties you could play, cause those were always great. But then they cracked down on that shit. It’s like, ‘Why don’t you come and play for 250 bucks,’ it’s absurd. And obviously there aren’t 700 sound men and women in Austin, so it’s just some poor bartender who’s pissed, and you walk in the door and you’re unrolling your first cable and they’re like, ‘Hurry up man you’re cutting into your set time!’ And then all the PA’s are on limiters because you can’t have a show here and a show next door and a show next door because of the sound bleed, so everyone has to play really quietly, so artists are always trying to turn themselves up more because it’s so quiet, so they’re always distorting through the PA because they’re maxing out their levels and they’re fighting some bitter-ass drunk bartender who’s just like ‘fuck you bro.’ It’s totally insane. I’ve never been before and that’s definitely the vibe I get, it doesn’t really make me want to go. It seems like the music is just the label they put on the package. It’s just hardly noticeable, and hundreds of thousands of good bands play there every year, and no one knows. I mean I’ve seen some powerful performances there, there’s places where you can control the vibe a little more. But for the most part, for someone like me, it’s just like eating dog turds. It’s like, I’m not gonna punish myself like this. I’m not gonna present my music in a place where it’s bound to fail, that’s just being irresponsible. On the flipside, how do you feel about L.A. these days? I really, really, really love L.A. It’s complicated, but I really love it, and I have a hard time imagining leaving it. I think if I left I would probably just leave the country, because that’s the only thing that would be attractive enough. But I truly love this city, the proximity to nature first and foremost, and the food secondmost… San Gabriel Valley is a gift to humanity. I never dreamed Chinese food could make me feel that way. It’s kind of my biggest hobby, eating noodles in the San Gabriel Valley. I’ve talked about it at other times so I don’t want to repeat myself too much, but it really is a city unlike New York or Chicago or the other major cities in America, where it had no modernist planning, really. Outside of the downtown area, which is the catty-corner, it’s its own little grid, but the city isn’t laid out on a grid, it’s sprawl. It’s like the first really major sprawl, and it was generated by all this crazy immigration. Where I live, in Glendale, there are more Armenians in Glendale than there are in Armenia. And it’s this strange diaspora that happened, I think mostly due to the tragic goings-on there at the beginning of the century. Even the San Gabriel Valley for that matter, it’s this busted, faded, SoCal 70s suburb that’s turned into this hopping, super-deep Chinese neighborhood where you go to places and there’s no English anywhere. But it’s in a place that used to be a Taco Bell in the 70s, with the old Taco Bell architecture. The good Taco Bell architecture [laughs]. And it’s just totally psychedelic and crazy. And then there’s the film industry obviously, which is the main, maybe not originally, but quickly became the main financial power here. And that’s literally the manifestation of imagination. That’s the industry. The manifestation of imagination and all the cancerous calcification of goo around that, around people who are inspired and those who try to take advantage of that, to get a piece of it. That is the other main sort of architectural force here, so it’s a really, really cool place to live. Especially on the East, it’s so green, there are so many parks I can go to so close to my house where after five minutes of walking I can’t see or hear the city. And of course, the weather. Yeah I love it out here too man, it’s such a fascinating city. Even though it does have these terrible aspects to it, it all still plays into what’s so special about it. I mean there are parts of it that feel like hell. Also, because of the nature of it, and this is the film analogy, Los Angeles makes you the editor. You edit your version of the city, because it’s so big. I’ve got my zones, and they get bigger and they expand and you add new ones all the time, but there are places I never go. Like, I never go to Olive and Highland, unless I’m trying to see a movie at the Kodak or something. But yeah, it’s crazy. And dude, California? Because I love Texas, I really do, I have such a warm and deep blood-level resonance with central Texas just because it’s where I’m from, but the High Sierra? Yosemite? Joshua Tree? Anza-Borrego? The ocean, up and down, Big Sur? I mean it’s psychotic, it’s like, can’t let too many people find out [laughs]. I went on a backpacking trip for the first time this year. I’d done tons of hiking, like really extensive day hiking even, like 20-plus miles a day, but I had never done a backpacking trip. So I went on a 10-day trip across the High Sierra, from Sequoia over to Mount Whitney, and it was just like… it’s so necessary. To be in a place where you have to walk three days to get there? That’s the only way you can get there is to walk three days. I had never experienced a place like that. A place like that feels super-different from a city. And it does things to you. If you’re responsive to it, it tunes you. Because you’re there, and you can’t relate to it the way you relate to the city, so you start to relate to it in a different way, and then you start to feel really good. And then you realize, oh wait, people are supposed to relate to nature, but on a regular basis. Because it makes you behave differently and think differently and feel differently, it’s psychedelic, you know? And then you come out and it’s transformative, it’s really important. You recognize something, and that’s why you feel something. And you might not be able to articulate it — usually when it’s at a really high level, you definitely can’t articulate it, because it’s happening in a space that is above the duality of language. But I think for me, improvising is the way that I practice figuring out how to go to that country all the time. You mentioned how green it is out here, and I think that might be part of the reason why I’ve always liked your music. I’ve always been really drawn to the color green, and just in terms of the sounds you use and your artwork, I get a lot of green vibes from it. Woah. I get it man, greenery is big for me. Like, lush. Central Texas is very green, it’s not like West Texas or North Texas, it’s lakes and rivers and hills and big, old Cypress trees and oak trees. That’s deep in me, and then also obviously the jungle has always deeply held fascination for me. There’s always been a heavy jungle vibe in the stuff I’ve done, and I’ve tried to explore that and expand that a lot. I don’t think that most things sound that way necessarily, but yeah, it’s a deep color man. It’s the biggest part of the spectrum. I didn’t know that, someone recently showed that to me. Because it’s the middle, ROYGBIV, right? And it’s because the spectrum is parabolic, so as you approach ultraviolet or whatever, and it goes from green to blue, etc., it changes faster. So it’s green for the longest in that bottom of the halfpipe, and then as you go up the half-pipe the colors change really fast. Oh my god dude, that’s good. It’s good, right? It’s really nice. http://j.mp/2rGVsEA

1 note · View note

wanderingblackdragon · 8 years ago

Text

The Ed-Venture Auditions Chapter 1

Foreword and Author's Notes: Well, never thought I’d be posting here. I’m here on a friend’s suggestion that I try posting fanfiction on this site. I’ve been trying to write fanfiction, particularly of Ed, Edd ‘n Eddy for years, with varying success. But, with FF.net’s Ed’s section being taken over by the yaoi fangirls and its increasingly restrictive rules. Perhaps that site is dead already. And so, he we are.

There are many reasons why I'm here, writing this. For one,I've promised myself that I would finish a series of fanfiction before moving on to more original works. Secondly, I always liked the interactive nature of story-telling on the internet, since it's a platform for people not only critique someone's work, but also discuss and trade ideas... As rarely as the latter happens.

The series is about several things. But, chief among them will be potential. I want to take some of my (and hope yours as well) favorite characters and showcase what (I think) they're truly capable of. Another theme is Evolution. I want to show how that potential can lead people, places, relationships and so on to evolve. With this series, I hope to use a variety of settings and scenarios to explore various themes with our favorite Eds & friends as the front-men.

Finally, this series is an AU in which the events of Big Picture Show did not occur. The reason I'm doing this is because I feel the ending of the series was not only contrived, but also messed up some things in continuity; such as the reason for Eddy's behavior and what his brother is actually like.

Acknowledgements:

Cocobean3: The only beta reader who's proven helpful, even if most of your ideas ended up being scrapped. I look forward to our continued interactions. I also still need to get back to reading your stuff.

Voodooknight & Kingcobra: My friends from Enclave and Skype. Thank you for letting me rattle on about my ideas and giving me someone to bounce ideas off with. Even if Voodoo spent most of it talking about his imaginary sexlife with his waifu :P

SuzumeCA: One of my favorite writers, and a big inspiration for me for a long time. I hope you're doing well. And when are you gonna update?! I WANT MY YURI! (JK)

Riiser: Host of WebcomicRelief on youtube and possibly my harshest critic. Thank you for your help and giving me the criticisms I need to get my head together.

BathVader: If it wasn't for you, I would've given up on this site and left months ago. Thank you for still trying to breathe life into this and I hope more people follow your example!

Disclaimer: I don't own squat. Everything the light touches still belongs to Danny Antonucci, that glorious bastard!

"Summer rains: You can never predict them."

With the first day of summer vacation, came the first rains of the summer season. From his living room window, Eddward Marian "Double D" Vincent, watched his neighbors scurry out of the thick downpour and into their respective dwellings. Except two that scurried towards his front door. Which was why Edd rose to retrieve towels, rather than return to his reading.

He counted the seconds as he ascended the stairs, retrieved a blue and green towel, basket and a hair dryer from the linen closet, then descended the stairs just in time to open the door. On the other side, stood Ed Horace Hill and Eddy Skipper Sampson, with their hands up to pound on the Vincents' front door.

"Good morning, gentlem-!"

"Can you believe this shit, Double D?!" Snatching the green towel and hand dryer, Eddy pushed passed his friend, kicking his shoes off into the "Designated shoe area" between strides and already began drying himself off before Edd could complain.

Edd winced. "What I can't believe is your language, Eddy!"

"Hey, we're outta middle school now, so I ain't gotta worry about standards anymore! Besides, What's more mature than swearin'?"

"Eddy, don't you know profuse profanity is the sign of immaturity and/or limited vocabulary?" Edd lectured with a wagging finger, "Furthermore, it's far too early for such course language!"

Finding a spot to plug in the hand dryer, Eddy turned its hot breeze on himself.

"Are you kiddin'?!" it's the first day'a summer and it friggin' rains!" Eddy complained.

"Well, Eddy, you know how the weather can be. The rain will stop in about an hour from now." Edd explained. Suddenly, he noticed Ed had laid his towel on the floor, crawled on it on all-fours and proceeded to shake himself dry. "Ed!" Edd cried and ran after him with a sponge and a bucket.

"An hour?!" Eddy gasped, "The hell are we supposed to do 'till then?!"

"Oh, I know! We can count teeth! I've been trying to break my record since last year, Eddy!" Ed said.

Edd was beginning to wonder when this lovable oaf would stop bewildering him. "You have a record for counting teeth, Ed?" he looked at Ed whilst his hands still worked the sponge against the splattered walls.

Ed nodded, his typical grin taking up his face. "Yep! I got all the way up to four last year, Double D!" With no further prompt, Ed opened his mouth as wide as he could, and his elastic blue tongue began to prod over his (admittedly) crooked and plaque-ridden teeth. "One... Twoooo... Threee-"

"Ed, might I suggest something more enlightening?" Edd cut in. With the wall (re)cleaned, he moved to lift his book from the coffee table and presented it to the other Eds.

They stared at it. Edd's hopeful grin drained away.

Ed craned his head to one side and tried to read the cover. "M-My... Those-and..."

"A book, Double D?!" Eddy snapped, "To hell with that! It's summer time! School's out! We shouldn't be reading anything!"

"Yeah, books make my brain hurt!" Ed added.

Edd rolled his eyes,; not like those comic books are doing it any favors. He turned the book's cover to face him. "There's a lot one can learn from books, fellows! For example, this book, titled "My Thousand miles" written by Andrew McDonald. It's about the tale of a factory worker who decided to take a trek of one-thousands steps, on a spiritual journey of self-discovery!" Edd explained. "In fact there any many fascinating anecdotes about social commentary, family, friendship, politics and the human condition! In fact one of my favorite passage..."

There Edd went lecturing again. With the bookworm's excitement dribbling through one ear and out the other, Eddy's glazed eyes wandered for something more interesting to look out.

"... Why in fact, it's a Los Angeles Times Bestseller, and-"

"Oh, a bestseller, huh?" Eddy feigned interest, "I'll bet this guy's just rolling in cash!"

"Well, authors who tend to become bestsellers aren't exactly living off peanuts, Eddy!" Edd confirmed, "It's also won an award for best Non-fiction last year"

Bestseller... Something about that term grabbed Eddy's brain. Bestseller meant that lots of people bought it. That meant it made money. And if it was featured in a major newspaper like L.A Times, then meant more people would buy it. Which meant more money. And an award? That meant people really liked it. Which meant more people would buy it. Which meant more money.

More money

If that book took Eddy's attention before; it was now holding it hostage. Eddy never cared for books. They were huge bundles of boring that adults made him read just to piss him off. Double D loved them because he was a boring sap who loved to please adults. Oh, Eddy should slap himself! The answer to a lifelong quest was right in Edd's hands, staring him in the face. In fact, hasn't it always?

And from the look setting itself into Eddy's face, Ed and Edd watched him with an oblivious smile and an arched brow respectively.

"I think Eddy's got another idea, Double D!" Ed cheered.

Edd frowned, "That's what I'm afraid of, Ed."

"THAT'S IT, GUYS!" Eddy burst. He jumped up to stand on the easy chair, thrusting a finger at the ceiling, shouting "We should publish a book!"

And just as quickly, Edd's fears evaporated. "That's a wonderful idea, Eddy! Why, producing a literary work of our own should be an excellent way to flex our creative muscles- not to mention actually doing something constructive for once!"

"What was that last bit, Double D?" Eddy asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" Edd covered

"Anyway, so what's our bestselling novel gonna be about?"

Ed's hand immediately shot up and waved about. "Oh, I got an idea, Eddy! I got an idea!" He didn't bother to wait for a response, "Our book is about the time we were kidnapped to the underground lair of a mad scientist, where he performed wicked experiments to turn us into mutant butterflies...!" And to demonstrate, Ed had climbed atop of the sofa and began to flap his arms about.

Edd already knew how this would end. The coffee table was right in front of Ed too. "ED, NO-WAIT!"

Ed jumped from the sofa, trying to flap his arms to fly. Mercifully, gravity allowed Ed to "fly" over the fagile glass table, then Eddy's head before it yanked him to the floor with a THUD. Face to the carpet, Ed continued to flap his arms haplessly, whilst impotently wiggling about the floor. He went on, "... After a daring escape, we find that we must suck the bone marrow of Major League Baseball players in order to survive!"

Edd and Eddy watched at the boy pounce on a couch pillow and reeled his head back to drain the hapless furniture of its bone marrow, just before Edd managed to snatch, re-fluff and replace the pillow in its assigned position.

"Perhaps something more down to earth, Ed?" Edd suggested, "Instead; I suggest a memoir in which we camp out in the forests, exploring its lush nature landscapes, cataloging and studying the diverse and fascinating local wildlife?"

The way Eddy glared at him was answer enough.

In the brief moment Edd prepared to plead his case, Eddy's finger thrust to the ceiling and his voice blared, "We're gonna make a-..." Eddy snapped his fingers. The word was on the tip of his tongue, "... A...!" Come on, vocabulary, don't fail him now! "... Damnit! What's it called when you write a story about yer'self, Double D?"

"Autobiography, Eddy." Edd supplied.

"... Yeah! We're gonna write an auto-biology about our totally awesome and kickass adventures!"

"Cool!" Ed said.

Edd merely quirked his brow, his fears returning with a vengeance. "Surely, you're not referring to the innumerous failed attempts at conning the other children out of their allowance, and/or gain their acceptance as peers? Who in their right mind would want to read about that?"

"Psst! That's kids stuff, Double D...!" Eddy dismissed with a wave.

"So, you admit your hair brained schemes were, in fact, hair brain-" When Eddy beaned Edd with the pillow, he didn't expect the sock-hatted one to fall over from the force.

"As I was sayin'!" Eddy barked, "All that's just kid's stuff! These adventures are gonna be big time, boys! I'm talkin' an action-adventure-kung-fu-political-thriller-heist-porno-comedy!"

By then, Edd had recovered from Eddy's assault with a pillow and moved to place it back from where Eddy had grabbed it. Once it was properly re-fluffed and placed back in its designated position, he asked, "Eddy, what events in our lives have ever met the standards of such a convoluted and ridiculous genre? Have you and Ed learned nothing from that school newspaper dabocile?"

"'Course I have, Sock-head!" Eddy answered, "And that's why we're gonna do it for real first!"

"It's adventure time!" Ed added

"Am I the only one who can see how this would go wrong?" Edd wondered to himself more than anything.

"Whatcha on about this time?!"

Edd took the momentary silence to construct his case. "For instance: One of the genre you listed was "Kung-Fu", implying it will involve martial arts -and knowing you, combat-. However, the only martial arts experience any of us have was a dojo scam -which failed-, and your ill-fated attempts to make Jimmy a sumo wrestler -which was doomed from the start, admittedly-."

"What, I never told you I know the deadliest style around, Double D?"

"Oh, and I still remember those sumo moves from TV, Double D!" Ed chimed in. He never realized they weren't watching him slip out of his clothes, tie his jacket into a makeshift Mawashi and begin to range about the living room, felling imaginary enemies with deadly belly thrusts. "SUCKY-YUCKY!"

"... And what, may I ask, is this "Deadliest style around", Eddy?" Edd wearily challenged.

"Outta my way, Samurai warrior! For I'm a mission! TOYOTA!"

Eddy hopped off the chair and extended his arms in some unidentifiable pose. "It's a secret and deadly technique known as..." Edd thought the pause was an invitation to speak, "... Whup-ass!"

What could Edd say to something so ridiculous? Whup-A$$? The name in itself told him all he needed to know. "Pardon?"

Meanwhile, Ed's imaginary battle had taken him to the kitchen "HA! Thought you could sneak up on me, deadly cyborg ninja of the Wasabi clan! Your exploding taser shuriken are no match for my Burr-head Bump! MITSUBISHI!"

THUD

"Whupass, Double D, is the fighting style my brother invented it after he won the world kickboxin' championship when he was eight! He taught it to me when I was five! I managed to get my quadruple black belt before he left!"

Ed's battle with his imaginary nemeses had taken him outside into the rain. "Release Princess Momo, evil tentacle monster from the Makai dimension! For I, Yokuzuna Ed will not allow you to molest her with your tentacle-ness...! Oh, no! It's got me! It seems I have no choice...! SEGA!"

CRASH

"Barring the obvious..." Edd began evenly, "Firstly, Eddy: black belts are ranked by degrees, not multiples. Secondly: It sounds like your brother was simply pulling your leg again. After all, what professional fighting circuit in their right mind would allow a child to compete against grown adults?"

"The kind that knows my brother's the man, Double D! Just like I'm gonna be when this book becomes a bestseller!" Eddy gloated.

"Right. Just, what would we be doing in this overly elaborate and I'm assuming dangerous adventure of yours?" Edd asked.

"Obviously kickass stuff, Double D!" Eddy answered, "With car chases and gun-sword fights with ninjas while rescuing the President! Followed by debriefing 'n cocktails where I make out with his hot daughters!"

Where to begin? "And for what purpose would we be doing any of this?" Edd questioned

"'Cause that's what badasses do, Double D! Like Jack Bauer, and Jason Stathem!"

"That's not answering the question, Eddy!" Edd sighed, "Why would we be doing any of these things? Who is chasing whom in these car chases? Why we are getting into -as you put it- gun/sword fights with ninja assassins? Why would it fall to us; three average middle school graduates to rescue the president rather than, say, the secret service, C.I.A., military, or even law enforcement, who, such a task would rightfully fall upon? And from what threat?"

Eddy sucked his teeth, "What, don't you see the movies, Double D? Those hacks couldn't keep a cheeseburger from gettin' eaten at a vegan convention!"

"That's a strangely specific analogy..." Edd mused.

Eddy shrugged, "Hey, they can't all be gold."

"But, in that case, look at it like a movie. What is the plot, the goal? There's a reason James Bond is getting into car chases and fights and lurid one night stands: and that's to attain a singular goal of stopping whatever terrorist is threatening the world at the time!"

"What, you mean the boring shit that happens between the good stuff?" Eddy shot back, "Nobody cares about that, Double D! It's just there to pad out the movie and shut up soccer moms who keep bitchin' about "It's too violent and sexualized"!"

"Like your mother, Eddy?" Edd quipped. Yet, there was a better point to make, "Liste; even Ed's idea had a plot! Plot is the driving force of the story! It breathes life into it! Plot gives the events meaning through context! Plot gives the characters motivation through conflict! It's the glue that holds everything together!"

"Oh, and what's the "plot" to your idea, Double D?" Eddy snapped, "We go out to look at birds 'n flowers 'n crap, 'cause you're too big a wuss to go on a real adventure!?"

"There's far more to it than just observing bird and plant life, Eddy!" Edd shot back, "It's about the adventure of traversing beautiful landscapes and exploring the simple wonders of the natural world, the deepening bonds of friendship that we share and the spiritual journey we take within ourselves to discover who we truly are!"

"I can sum that up in two words: Snores. Ville!"

Edd deflated in a huff. "At this rate, we're not even going to make it to the foreword."

"Well, where are we supposed to get a "plot" from, Double D?" Eddy snapped, "Outta the mailbox?!"

As if on some cue, Edd's front door swung open, as Ed had used his head to jar it open. In his hand was a flyer. "You've got mail!"

The three Eds were seated around the coffee table. Edd had spent the five minutes prior inspecting the strange letter with a magnifying glass. On the sofa across from him sat the other Eds. Ed took another crack at his teeth-counting record. He almost made it. Eddy on the other end, busily drummed his fingers over the armrest. He had finally mastered the baseline to James Brown's "Big Payback"

But, he'd waited long enough. "So, what's it say, Double D? I'll be it's from the president! I told you my idea was gold!"

"Actually, I've yet to read it, Eddy." Edd pointed out. Setting the magnifying glass on the table, Edd flipped the sheet over to give it one last glance over. "I find it strange that there's no return address..."

"So, what's it say?" Eddy urged.

Edd cleared his throat,

To Mr. Eddward Marian-

Ed and Eddy's snickering broke his concentration. A frown quickly silenced them. But, not without Ed getting a quick "That's a girl's name!" out.

Edd rolled his eyes.

To Mr. Eddward Marian "Double D" Vincent.

Please excuse the frankness of this letter, and the dubious circumstances upon which it had been delivered. However, time is of the essence and I lack the ability to grant you the delicacy this situation requires. First and foremost, I am a representative of a network of explorers, scientists, philosophers, artists, activists, and those of the inclination to use their talents for the betterment of good and the on-gong pursuit of knowledge! It is my utmost honor to extend to you an invitation to join this illustrious, and ever expanding network; by taking part in our upcoming summer training camp.

It is an intensive program, open only to those with great potential. In this camp, you will have the opportunity to study advanced scientific fields such as quantum physic-

"Lemme see that!" ignoring Edd's cry of protest, Eddy swiftly snatched the letter away and nearly sundered it. A skim later, Eddy looked up at Edd with a flat stare. "You should getcha eyes checked, Double D! It doesn't say anything about some "Advanced scientific fields"!"

"Is that so?" Edd replied, "Because that is clearly what was stated in the letter, Eddy!"

"No it ain't! It actually says..."

Are you a bad enough badass to take part in the most manliest, badass-est, explosive, and most exclusive camp ever made?! Forget the Urban Rangers! Only the toughest, most awesomest badasses ever are invited!

Rub elbows with famous and important people from all over! Hang out and "study" with the hottest, vivacious babes that'll make that girl next door look like Jane Plain 'n Tall! Learn the tricks of the trade from the world's most elite spies, assassins and men of dange-

"Oh my turn, Eddy!" When Ed grabbed the letter...

"Ed, you be careful with that!" Edd whined,

Ed ended up catapulting Eddy into the wall behind him, before perusing the letter proper. Then he stopped, and nearly twisted his head a full one-hundred-eighty degrees to shake his head at Eddy. "Tsk, tsk, Eddy! That's not what the letter says!"

"Yes, thank you, Ed." Edd sighed, "I was wondering where Eddy got that ridiculous-"

"It actually says..."

Hark, adventurer! For there is evil afoot! Are you brave enough to face that which goes bump in the night? Are you ready to journey into the depths of the final frontier to take on the Borg Collective and save the universe from assimilation? Then do not hesitate to join this year's Adventurer's Training Camp!

Train with the toughest, hardest and most fearless superheroes, space outlaws, demon hunters and vikings from across the multiverse! Learn about the many strange and exotic creatures unknown to man! Learn how to rescue princesses from evil mutant turtles, and become the hero you were meant to be!

Oh, and there'll also be snacks!

"Ed, if I may?" Edd asked at length.

When Ed handed back the letter, Edd skimmed through what he read until he landed where he left off. He glanced up at Eddy picking himself from the floor and storming back to the couch, then followed his glowering to Ed's empty headed smile, then back to the letter. What on earth were they reading? Sometimes people will see what they want. Ah, here's where Edd left off.

… Quantum Physics, chronology, archaeology, investigative psychology, astronomy, to name a few. However, I must also inform you that this invitation is only valid if you come as part of a group of six. Please have your group assembled and call 843-362867 before June 2nd.

Regards.

But who's regards? Setting the letter down, Edd paid little attention to Eddy snatching it from the table, and juggled the whole thing in his mind. For one, that phone number only had nine digits; a standard phone number, including the area code, had ten. The rest of this letter was written exquisitely well, so why would the sender allow it to be sent with this typo? Furthermore, the prerequisites were most unusual; shouldn't the sender also send invitations to those other five? Of course there was still the fact that the letter lacked a return address, and now a name.

"June second?" Eddy parroted, making Edd look up and watch him strain to answer his own question.

"That's tomorrow, Eddy." Edd supplied.

"TOMORROW?! HOW THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIND THREE MORE PEOPLE BEFORE THEN?! ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S RAINING?!" Sometimes Edd wondered how Eddy's voicebox didn't give out from all that yelling.

"Well, as I stated, Eddy, the rain ought to stop soon." Edd explained, "However, don't you think we should be more concerned about the mysterious circumstances of this letter?"

"I told ya, it's from the president!" Eddy dismissed with a grin.

Of course, only Eddy would think that. However, Ed's finger rose to draw the other Eds' attention and halt any doubting retorts Edd thought up.

"I think I just thunk, guys!" Ed announced, and Edd winced at that butchered grammar, "We should do tryouts and stuff, like that one time we had a talent show and my eyebrow started growing all over me!"

And so Eddy's grin made room for thought. He nodded, "Yeah, not a bad idea, Lumpy!"

"Or..." Edd interjected, "The Urban Rangers are holding a meeting today. Perhaps, we ought to invite-"

Eddy's laugh was the fourth time he interrupted Edd, and all the answer he needed. "Ha ha hell no!"

An hour later, the downpour had indeed ended. The endless grays painting the skies broke into soft patches of white, and a vengeful sun worked to dry the lands. When the three Eds stepped out of the Vincent house, Ed was armed with a stack of fliers nearly as high as he was tall. Edd nearly worked his father's printer to death to make those.

Throwing his palm up on the oaf's shoulder, Eddy coached him, "Now, remember, Ed: Put those fliers anywhere 'n everywhere in town! Got it, lumpy?"

Balancing the wavering stack in one hand, Ed saluted Eddy, "Roger Wilco!" then broke into a mad dash. A litter of fliers followed Ed as he rounded the corner out of the cul-de-sac. He could last be heard shouting "I'm on a mission, beeyatch!"

The spectacle tickled Eddy, making him hunch over as he laughed. Edd could only shake his head; Eddy's sudden preference for profanity had infected Ed as well. Edd could only hope this wouldn't become an epidemic. But, the decline of clean language would have to wait, as there was a stand that needed building and a junkyard full of materials to raid.

Of course, Edd would get his exercise for the day, as he was made to drag the pile of plywood and a discarded kitchen counter back to the cul-de-sac by some miracle. The construction of the actual stand would prove less strenuous, if arduous, since Eddy burdened himself with a most important task: Lounging on a lawn chair and soaking up the sun's fury.

Perilously perched on a rickety ladder, Edd had to steady every fiber of his being as he nailed the sign, reading "Eds' Adventurer's Auditions" in his meticulously tight print, to the top.

Occasionally Eddy would shout some encouragement, "C'mon, Double D! I ain't getting' any younger!"

"You kno- OH!"

With a jolt, Edd managed to grasp the half-secured sign as the ladder slipped from under him. Trapped, Edd's arms squeezed into the splintering wood, his body fighting to still itself.

"Eddy! Help me!" Edd wailed.

With a reflector blasting bright white rays into his face, Eddy even couldn't burden himself with looking up. "You got it, Double D!" He shouted back.

"Eddy! Eddy, the sign's slipping! I'm going down! I'M GOING- AAAH!" The sound of Edd's lithe frame smacking against pavement could be heard across town, evident by Plank poking his head from a distant tree to observe the commotion.

Yet, Eddy hardly noticed. "Christ! Am I the only one that works around here?"

Once Edd had recovered from the impact of his fall, it took him half an hour to procure the necessary helmet and safety padding before attempting to attach the sign again. Mercifully, that rickety old ladder chose to hold still long enough for Edd to nail the sign to its spot.

Once Eddy was crispy enough, he put his tanning equipment away and slipped back on his bowler shirt just in time to see Edd gingerly climbing down the ladder. "Took ya' long enough!" He spat then missed Edd's wide, twitching glare to admire the stand.

"Thing's a beaut, Double D" Eddy complimented.

"Why, thank you Eddy!" If only Eddy noticed the trembling and grating in Edd's voice, "And to think it only took two hours, forty-three minutes, several scrapes and bruises and a concussion!"

Eddy suddenly glanced about the cul-de-sac. "The hell's takin' Ed so long?"

"Well, I certainly hope he didn't ge- ACK!"

The manhole cover besides Edd's foot popped up, sending the boy jumping into Eddy's arms... Right before Eddy dropped him on his butt. With said manhole cover sitting atop his head, Ed poked his head from the sewers and hastily scanned his surroundings. Edd could've sworn Ed looked frightened before he smiled and blathered,"HELLO!"

"Yes, hello, Ed." Edd wearily returned.

"'Bout time you got back!" Eddy groused, "We're gonna start the auditions! Did ya' put up all the signs?"

Climbing out of the sewers, with the manhole cover now acting as a hat, Ed gave a thumbs up. "I put'em anywhere 'n everywhere, Eddy! Just like ya' said!"

Picking himself up and rubbing the sting from his coccyx, Edd shot a glance at Ed's unusual point of ingress. Hopefully Ed's confirmation didn't mean the sewers were now covered with fliers. Matter of fact, "Ed, why pray tell were you in the sewers in the first place?"

Taken aback, Ed suddenly glanced over the hole in the street then whipped his head about. Snapping his fingers, the big oaf promptly yanked what looked like a trash can from his coat and plugged it into the manhole.

"There, my tracks are covered!" Ed turned to answer the obvious question,

When Eddy suddenly cut in front of him, "C'mon! We're burnin' daylight here!"

Thus, the Eds took their place behind the stand and waited.

Waited.

And wai-

"C'MON ALREADY!" Eddy's voice blasted the silence and sent a flock of birds scrambling for the skies. " WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?!"

"Eddy, it's only been two minutes." Edd pointed out.

"ARGH! It's like watchin' paint dry!" Eddy growled.

"Oh, this is just like when I watch the gravy in my tub ferment, Eddy!" Ed chimed in.

That earned a sideways glance from the other two Eds. It took Edd a considerable amount of effort to force his breakfast grapefruit to stay put with the way his stomach wreathed at the thought. "Thank you for sharing that, Ed." He managed, then turned to Eddy's scowling, "Now, Eddy, patience is a virtue! But, might I suggest we go speak to the Ur-"

"SOMEBODY'S COMIN'!" Eddy announced and his pointing directed the Eds' eyes to Kevin's garage door opening. Could Edd please be allowed a complete statement today?

Strangely, Eddy's excitement blinded him to the fact that the gait riding up to them on his bike belonged to his next door neighbor, neighborhood jock, and lifelong nemesis. When Kevin Barr did in fact skid to a stop and kick his kickstand down, that fact slapped Eddy upside his head and a sneer formed to match Kevin's.

"Oh, it's you!" Eddy spat.

"Hi, Kevin!" Ed greeted.

Kevin's sneer only had eyes for Eddy, "Alright, what scam are you dorks runnin' this time?!" He demanded. From his pocket, Kevin yanked out a crumpled copy of the Eds' flier. "I found this littered all over my lawn!"

"Well, before anything, Kevin, I would like to apologize for Ed's advertising methods. Now, addressing your concerns, I can assure you this venture is perfectly legitimate -as are most of them are, admittedly-. We're preparing for an adventure, of which we intend to publish an autobiography about. However, we require some extra participants, hence we're holding auditions to determine who would come with us!" Edd explained, then threw on a smile he hoped would convince Kevin.

The jock in question rested his chin over his hand. Between the sign, the flyer in hand, and the smiling, nervously smiling, and sneering Eds, he test the thought in his mind. "... So, if I make this audition; you dorks'll write a book about me?"

"Well, not strictly about one parti-"

"In yer dreams, Kev!" Eddy snapped over Edd, "These auditions are open only to the most elite, hardcore baddasses around! Besides, who the hell would wanna read a book about you?" With his sneer cracking into a smirk, Eddy shook to contain his laughter.

"Oh, like you Jackass rejects are so noteworthy?!" Kevin spat, "I'd pretty much carry this "Adventure" of yours! For one, I'm better lookin'..."

"Better lookin' than Ed, maybe!" Eddy cut in.

Kevin's ranting tripped over itself. In the brief silence, his sneering sharpened into a glare that cut Eddy's snorting to a halt. "... Anyway...! I got the best chance of getting' with Nazz..."

"Not even in yer dreams, Kev!" Eddy broke into a full laugh that bent him over and smacked his head into the stand's counter top.

Despite Eddy smacking himself to silence, Edd couldn't help noticing the fury staining Kevin's skin red, and his teeth gnashing with enough pressure to make a diamond. Edd had been dragged into this situation enough times to know Eddy mustn't anger him again, lest the Eds be served a knuckle sandwich each.

"As. I. Was. Saying...!" Kevin seethed then settled. "... Besides all that, I got wicked BMXin' skills, which also landed me the record for the longest skid mark!" He let that last one hang in the air, letting just a little of his glowering show. The whole time, Kevin's eyes focused on Eddy, watching, begging him to laugh, to quip something smart, any excuse to use the little loudmouth for a punching bag.

And all parties could see Eddy fighting it. Wavering eyes meeting Kevin's and the beads of sweat running down his sun-scorched skin. Eddy wrestled with hips to be still as they twisted and turned in protest. Finally, Eddy's face straightened and Edd released a baited breath.

"Whew." The sock-hatted one turned to address Kevin, "Now, Kev-"

"More like longest skidmark on yer underwear!" Eddy was so close. So close!

"Burn!" Ed added.

And so the last straw broke and Kevin hopped off his bike to stomp a B-line for the Eds. "That's it! I'mma make a skidmark outta you, Dork!" He barked.

Now, Eddy regretted his mockery. But, despite an exit literally right next to him, Eddy could only watch Kevin advance as if caught between a rock and a hard place. "W-Wait a sec, Kev...!" And fear choked the rest of Eddy's pleas from him.

"Look out, Kevin! Eddy's a quadruple black belt in Whupass!" Ed cautioned.

"Not helping, Ed!" Edd cried.

"I'll give ya' a double black eye in getting yer ass whupped!" Kevin snapped.

He was almost there. Eddy should run. He wanted to run. But, damn his legs for taking the instinct for flight as a command to quake impotently. The jock with a fist reserved for Eddy's face was at the counter, cocking back a haymaker. Eddy squeezed his eyes shut.

"Kevin, wait!" Edd cried.

Nothing. No familiar agony of fist merging with Eddy's face. As Eddy eased his eyes back open, he saw Kevin holding his pose, eyes on Edd who bargained for Eddy's well being, "Perhaps a non-violent display of your "wicked BMXin' skills" would be more appropriate?"

When Kevin's light green eyes flicked to Eddy, the shorter boy flinched. Looking back to Edd, the jock settled for folding his arms over his chest.

"Whatcha got in mind?"

Finally, Eddy could breathe again.

"Kevin, you forgot to beat up Eddy!" Ed pointed out.

Ignoring protests and rants from Eddy, Ed and Edd displaced their stand from the middle of the street, to the curb in front of Jimmy's house. The following hour and a half had been spent assisting Kevin in collecting, then working another pile of plywood into a serviceable ramp set in front of Ed's house. Left to stand alone at the stand, Eddy followed his friend and mortal enemy's work with a glare that made the sun jealous.

Occasionally one would say something that actually coaxed a laugh from the other. What were they laughing about? Was it about Eddy? Of course, in Eddy's paranoid mind, Kevin was the benefactor of all of Eddy's setbacks; it would only be natural for that asshole jock to try to turn the brains of his trio to his side.

The presence of the ramp, and the commotion its construction caused managed to beckon the attention of Ed's little hell spawn, Sarah Hill, and the cul-de-sac sweetheart, Nazz Van Bartonschmeer. For a moment, the fact Rolf, Jimmy and Jonny were absent was odd, until someone remembered they were holding an Urban Rangers meeting.

For the occasion, Nazz and Sarah dusted off their Peach Creek Cobblers cheerleading uniforms, complete with pom pomps and a stereo blasting some crappy pop song Eddy couldn't be hassled to remember. Nazz held Eddy's eyes, dragging his attention where ever she pranced and jumped and cheered. Every jump birthed the hope Nazz's skirt would flutter high enough to make this farce worth his time.

The fifth time Eddy's hopes were dashed, his gaze broke away to Kevin, perched on his bike on Jonny's driveway, strapping on his trusted -if rarely used- red and flame decorated bike helmet.

When Edd finally appeared beside him at the stand, Eddy's ire fell to him. "Done helpin' the enemy, Double Crosser?" He seethed.

"Oh, Eddy, get over yourself!" Edd shot back, "By assisting Kevin, not only did the set up take less time, but it also presented an opportunity to get use-"

"Oh, can it, Sockhead!" Eddy snapped. Even looking right at him, he failed to notice to darkening expression Edd's face took. "'N what's with the cheerin' section anyway?! What makes this bazooka chinned bastard so special?!"

Edd rolled his eyes with a huff. "You know, Eddy. Something like this takes a considerable amount of courage and effort! You ought to show a little more appreciation!"

"What, this?!" Eddy shot back, gesturing to the ramp, "I can do this with my hands tied behind my back on a unicycle!

"Just like the time ya' lost your voice!" Ed chimed in, "Right, Eddy?"

"You wish you had the balls for this, dork!" Kevin shouted across the street.

Blue eyes batting between his fellow Eds, then the spectacle across from them, Eddy finally huffed a sigh of defeat, "I'm gonna get a Coke!" He announced, "Lemme know when Evel Kneivel over there's done snuffin' it!"

"Will do, Eddy!" Ed saluted.

Eddy managed two struts towards his house before Edd cried after him, "Eddy! Don't walk in front of the ramp!"

When Eddy did stop, Kevin had already squeezed the brakes shut and pedaled with all his might, kicking dust and the stench of burning rubber into the air. Looking back at Edd, Eddy waved him off then continued strutting. It was the exact moment Kevin released the breaks and peeled out into a streak that turned Eddy into a skidmark.

Every bulging, unblinking eye watched the collision flip Kevin over and his momentum drag his face up the ramp, before flinging him over Ed's house. A sigh of relief blew out of Sarah as Kevin cleared her backyard. Instead, the jock flipped end over end until gravity tugged him into the baking, unyielding asphalt in the construction sight. The next moment, his faithful bike landed atop of him in a heap of broken limbs and twisted metal.

"Ouch, dude!" Kevin wheezed.

Back in the cul-de-sac, the onlookers didn't see, but felt Kevin's crash.

Amidst the cringing, Edd said, "Oh, dear! Well, thankfully I always keep an emergency first-aid kit in the event of-"

KA-BOOM

The impossibility punched Edd's gut. Kevin's bike just exploded? Why did Kevin's bike explode? After all, it isn't gas powered in an-

"OH MY GOD! KEVIN!" Nazz screeched. Pompoms discarded and forgotten, the blonde made a mad dash for the construction sight, a pillar of black smoke marking Kevin's location.

Of course! Assess now, agonize later. Thankfully, Edd also kept an emergency fire extinguisher for such situations. With it in hand, Edd fell behind Nazz, chanting "Notgoodnotgoodnotgood!" All the way.

Suddenly Sarah snapped out of her trance and followed suit. "Holy shit!" she cried.

Now it was Ed's turn to run. "Sarah!" he shouted after his sister, "Watch your language!"

Alone and in great pain, Eddy had little to do, but stare off into space.

"Why is my life pain?"

Once Kevin's injuries were properly treated and the EMTs loaded him, and a worrying Nazz unto the back of an ambulance, Edd was left to tend to Eddy's medical needs before Kevin's ramp had to be dismantled and the Eds' auditioning stand returned to taking up the middle of the street. When this task finished, the clear skies glowed a waning orange as the day slowly burned out.

With Ed beside him, taking another crack at his teeth counting record, Edd used the lingering silence to contemplate the day's events. That letter of invitation sitting in his pocket still teased his thoughts. Now that he had time to think about it, that letter's promises seem-

"Stupid asshole Kevin 'n his stupid asshole bike jump!" Eddy grumbled. When he joined the other Eds at the stand, his bowler shirt had to be replaced and a fresh strip of road rash ran from his forehead to far below the confines of his clothes.

Edd shook his head. "Serves you right, Eddy!" He admonished, "This should serve as a lesson about observin-"

"Oh shut up!" Eddy barked. "Let's get to our next audition!" And his glowering lightened into a grin, "I'll bet it's Nazz! I know she just can't wait to go on an adventure with me!"

"Eddy, Nazz went with Kevin to the hospital." Edd interjected.

Eddy's head nearly twisted off, it turned to Edd so fast. "What?!" He gasped, "Then who the hell are we gonna audition next?! Sarah?!"

"Sarah bad for Ed!" Ed whined.

"Or..." Edd made sure he had Eddy's attention, "... Perhaps we can go speak to the Urban Rangers, now?"

Eddy's wide eyes and aghast mouth was answer enough. But, non-verbal cues were not Eddy's style, "What, those badge-hoardin' good-for-nothin's?!

"I've failed to see why we shouldn't, Eddy!" Edd insisted, "After all, with their skill sets, they would be uniquely qualified for an endeavor such as this!"

"Oh, like that one time you went to them for help gettin' Ed back from the Kankers 'n they botched it?!" Eddy countered.

"Oh, he's gotcha there, Double D." Ed nodded.

True, but Edd's counter was right beside him, "Well, in their defense, Eddy. The rangers' tactics would have succeeded if not for Ed's blustering, exposing their attempts to The Kankers in the first place!"

For a moment, Eddy's gaze shot over to Ed, who offered a shrug. "Yep, sounds like me alright!"

Eddy's lip caught between clenched teeth. Edd had him, perhaps the short one would see reason and-

"Yeah? Gimme one good reason why we should invite'em!"

Three good reasons appeared several paces from the stand. With their attention fixed on one another, Edd and Eddy couldn't see them. And the sight of them rendered Ed mute with fright.

"Hiya, boys!" They chorused.

Chills slithered up each Ed's spine and lanced across their limbs. They knew that chorus. The end times had come. Their plan went on spoken. Don't move. Don't even breathe. No sudden moves. Just

"RUN AWAY!"

Stand abandoned, the Eds only managed four paces before something pounced on them and this sticky thing pressed them to the street and then into a bundle. All forward moment died, gradually becoming backward momentum as they were reeled in. It took the Eds until they were dragged to The Kanker Sisters' feet to realize they were in a net, and the nightmare trio steadied a long fishing pole they used to reel them in.

"Seems like we got the catch of the day!" Laughed Lee Kanker

Resentment pushed fear's grip for Eddy's throat, "What the hell're you doin' here?!" He demanded.

"We came to answer your invite!" Marie answered.

Each Kanker produced a familiar sheet of paper; their flyer for the auditions.

The implication clubbed Eddy over the head. He strained to turn his head, his ire on a quaking Ed. "Why the hell did you put fliers up in the trailer park?!"

"But ya' said to put'em anywhere 'n everywhere, Eddy!"

And that implication punched Eddy in the chest. At least that explained Ed's strange entrance earlier. Of course, only Edd noticed they were being moved again. Through the netting, Edd watched as the entrance to the forest loom to welcome them.

The Kankers intended to drag this out.

The approaching dusk set the forest into a contrast of light and shadows. Since they arrived, the Urban Rangers had been scouting, planning and waiting. Hidden among the trees, Rolf Kelamis, leader of the Urban Rangers, son of a shepherd, scanned the wilderness through a spyglass. Teeth, green from his motherland's delicacies, gnashed and ground at each other as he did his umpteenth sweep.

"See anything, Rolf?" Hissed Ranger Jonny "Two-by-four" Grove behind him. "Plank's got nothin' either."

"The forest remains as empty as Rolf's great-nano's eye socket!" Rolf hissed back.

"Um, gentlemen?" Peeped Ranger Jimmy Christensen from below. Looking down and across, the other rangers found him blending into a bush that shivered with him. "Are you sure that intel was good? We've been out here for hours and my-"

"Enough, Ranger Jimmy!" Rolf grunting might as well have been a shout.

Both rangers promptly lost their voice. Rolf had always been strict, intense. But, none of them had ever seen him so on edge before. When the rains stopped and the Urban Ranger's meeting moved back to Rolf's farm, they were greeted by a man in a brown coat. The thought of that mysterious British gentleman brought a smile to Jimmy's face, before a rustle whisked them away.

Up in his tree, Rolf spied their prey; the dreaded Kanker Sisters laughing to themselves with the lead, Lee, knocking a fishing pole to her shoulder. The moment those scourges from the trailer park appeared, Rolf's mind went back to that man and their exchange.

"... So, why should we do this?" Rolf asked.

The man smiled, leaning in to whisper, "What if I told you that you'd have another chance at that pewter medallion? What if, by doing this, you'd not only get redemption, but a chance to become Runesalvie?"

Rolf reeled back and the stranger in the brown coat smiled, leering. That name carried a terrible weight. The elders of his villages would sometimes speak of them in hushed tones. Alas, the Runesalvie were gone. Their hermitage in shambles, their tongues dead, their legacy only myth and speculation. Who was this stranger to speak as if that which had been lost was simply found in a cupboard? This was a trick, a rouse to rival those damned Ed-boys! Even as it tugged at Rolf's heart so!

"Do you take Rolf to be a Merry Andrew, “Time Lord”?!" Rolf snapped.

Still smiling, still collected and sure, the stranger paced about Rolf. "I was told much about you Rolf Kelamis; Son of a Shepherd! They say you're wise, possessing the spine of an ox and nerves of steel! They say you are a born leader, a man that can not deny a challenge! Oh, you're many things Rolf Kelamis; a Merry Andrew is not one of them!" His pacing brought him beside Rolf, face a breath from the boy's ear.

"Were they wrong about you?"

"Look! Eds at Eleven ‘O Clock!" Jonny whispered.

Snapping from his trance, Rolf jammed the spyglass to his eye and made The Eds trapped in a net covered in some substance and being dragged behind the Kankers by some witchery. It took Rolf's mind a moment to register the line connecting the poor sod's bonds to a fishing pole Lee hefted. Rolf lowered the spyglass with sweating palms. So sweaty, the instrument nearly slipped from his grasp.

This was a jest. It has to be! The so-called “Time Lord” is in league with those trailer park witches; tempting Rolf with sweet promises of redemption and legend! A lure to drag the proud rangers to more demise and disgrace! They should turn back. They should flee and... And...

"Were they wrong about you?"

This isn't fear. The sweating, the quaking, Rolf's heart pounding in his ears and his guts dancing isn't fear

"Take your positions!" Rolf hissed to his subordinates. He barely finished before they slipped away.

Rolf was alone.

This isn't fear. This is Rolf's body stoking the flames of his fury. Grasping his weapon, Rolf too slipped away, the forest covering his transit.

"Laugh while you can Kanker witches. For retribution is at hand!"

The Dwindling distance to the Park 'n Flush trailer park had ignited the Eds' panic. As Ed and Eddy strained fruitlessly against their bindings.

"NNNGH! What's this shit made of?!" Eddy grunted!

"It's enchanted with the power of the dark side, Eddy!" Ed strained.

"Nope! This fishin' net's coated with out special Kanker rubber cement!" Lee said

Despite it all, a sardonic smirk crossed Edd's lips. At least they were consistent. Still,

"Ladies, please! We were in the middle of auditions!"

For the first time since their appearance, the Kankers actually looked at the fliers. Then broke into laughter.

"Ha! Can you imagine these wimps tryin' to go on an adventure?" Lee said.

"I know right? 'N then tryin' to make a book out of it?" Marie added, "Hey, how about the time Oven-mit over there got his ass kicked by the queer kid?"

Oh, Marie. Always cutting deep.

"Or that time we whupped their asses in that rasslin' match?" May added.

Another cut.

"Oh, and the time we wreck their little cruise and took their first kiss?" Lee added

How could they?

“And the time we wreck their gay little cowboy game?”

Stop it

“... Or the time we locked them in the basement ‘n played footsies?”

Please

"And the time we tricked them into coming to our wedding?" Marie said

No more!

"And let's not forget when we made'em pull our wagon to our honeymoon!" Lee laughed, "Now, if that ain't love; I dunno what is!"

All of it, the traumas, remembered agonies, the nights Edd would wake in cold sweats, paranoia making him see these sisters where they weren't there. Nerves rattling and his breaths scarce, Edd curled into a ball. Trying to shut out the laughing, trying to push the painful memories from his mind. Just wanting some peace.

"Hey, here's a book people'll actually wanna read...!" Lee suddenly suggested.

Ed and Eddy's thrashing stopped. What little breath Edd had pushed out of him.

"I can see it now! After another one of their stupid ideas fail; Ed, Edd 'n Eddy-"

"Ha! She said it!" Ed giggled, until Lee beaned him with a tire iron.

"As I was sayin'...!" Lee growled, it took her another stroke of that single chin hair to find her spot, "Oh, yeah...! Ed, Edd 'n Eddy are whisked away by their lovely wives and taken on a dirty, raunchy, homoerotic journey to discover their inner bottom bitch!"

"Oh, I like that one!" Laughed May.

"We'll call it, "Fifty Shades of Ed"!" Lee finished.

When the three Kankers turned, the Eds were met with a slight twinkle in their hooded eyes, a slight trickle (or in May's case, a cascade) of drool rolling off the corner of their lips before their tongue washed over them. They feared that look since the first time they saw it.

"Looks like you get to have your adventure after all, boys!" Marie purred.

Fear had a way of delaying proper responses. For the several paces the Eds were dragged, the implication hung over their heads, waiting. In time, the trailer park gradually faded into the horizon, and now implication struck the wind from each Ed.

"OH FUCK NO!" Eddy screamed.

And with that strike, desperation blazed and the Eds thrashed and kicked and clawed and screamed with all the futile power that desperation granted.

"BAD TOUCH! FIFTY SHADES OF BAD FOR ED!" Ed blared

"NOT LIKE THIS! ANYTHING BUT THIS!" Edd cried. "HELP! SOMEONE! ANYONE!"

Seeing this, the Kankers cackled again. "Oh, I just love watchin'em squirm!" Lee laughed.

And then they stopped.

For all their kicking and screaming, the Eds didn't notice the rest in action until a trash can, courtesy of Marie, bounced off their heads. When The Eds did stop, they followed the Kanker's gaze to something standing in the brush of the forest.

"What's that?" May finally asked.

"It's a statue, dumbass!" Marie answered.

"Hey, y'know who that looks like?" Lee wondered, "That weird Indian guy! What's his name?"

"Hiya, Rolf!" Ed greeted.

Focusing passed the net, Edd could indeed see the statue took the likeness of Rolf. Dressed in his Urban Rangers uniform with arms pressed to his sides, the statue cast a scornful glare towards the Kankers staring at it. Edd couldn't tell, with this net in the way, but he could swear there was something in the statue's hand.

"I think it's starin' at us!" May said.

Before Lee cracked her palm upside her head. "Statues don't stare, retard!"

"That's why they're statues!" Marie added.

"Now c'mon!" Lee ordered, "Our husbands have some husbandly duties to fulfill!"

The moment The Kankers took their attention away from the statue...

"SHAKLAVAH!"

They turned and the statue was on Lee, clubbing her over the face with a fish. As she stumbled back,

"GERONIMO!"

Above Marie a blur of blue and yellow descended from the trees and pounced on her, while something spun into May's face.

With the net, the poor vantage and the chaos of limbs, The Eds could hardly see what was happening. It didn't help when a familiar blue vest over a yellow T-shirt appeared in front of them.

"Outta the way, Jimmy! I can'-" Eddy stopped. "Jimmy? Is that really you?!"

"Hold still, fellas!" Jimmy hissed and from a backpack, he produced a pair of hedge clippers. Breath and hope bloomed in their chests. Here were the Urban Rangers, coming to save them! However, Jimmy found himself struggling. Even with his whole body on the lever, the clippers stuck into the line.

"Jimmy!" Edd called to him, "The Kankers treated this net with their rubber cement! You need to use Acetone to dissolve it!"

Jimmy blinked. "Acetone?"

"The honor of the Urban Rangers shall be avenged Kanker witch!" Rolf roared behind them.

Edd bit his lip, having enough view to see Lee catch Rolf's mackerel then use is to throw him against a tree. With a wheez, Rolf crumbled to the ground. Hurry up, Eddward! Edd wracked his brain: Various cleaning products had that crucial formula; Laundry detergent, a particle board, paint remover, fingernail polish remov- That was it!

"Jimmy, have you any nail polish remover?" Edd urged.

"What?!" Eddy snapped behind him.

"This is no time for a makeover, Double D!" Jimmy strained, those hedge clippers still weren't clipping.

"No! Nail polish remover contains acetone, which should dissolve the rubber cement!" Edd hastily explained.

"Hey, get this thing off me!"

Every eye turned to see May's wrestling match with a hunk of wood go to the ground. Rolling about, May could only keep Plank at arms' length in the brief moments she was prone. The whole time, cold crayoned eyes stared, smiling. Always smiling.

The chaos stopped for a moment.

"Really, May?" Marie sighed.

The fighting resumed. Meanwhile, Jimmy fished out a bottle of nail polish remover, nearly fumbled with it, then dumped its contents over the net. As Edd predicted, the formula already began its work and Jimmy's clippers bit then severed the bonds. The three Eds dug their way from the net, Eddy pushing Edd aside before Ed grabbed the sock-hatted one on his way out.

"FREEDOM!" Ed cheered

Finally able to see the fight proper; they could see Lee charging at Rolf while the farmer pushed himself to sit crossed legged. With a roar, Lee hefted the fish up and swung down all of her force right into... Rolf's feet?

"What th-" Lee barely had time to be shocked.

Rolf rolled back, allowing the force of Lee's strike to yank her into the tree supporting his posture. A subtle CRUNCH carried over to the Eds, who winced. When Lee stumbled back on unstable legs, the onlookers could make out a splatter of blood where Lee's face kissed the tree.

At the same time, Marie had caught Jonny in a headlock. Yet, the nature-lover took to pounding into her mid-section the moment her arms circled his neck. Wincing and gritting her teeth, Marie struggled through the blows until one of them sunk into her lower abdomen.

Edd, despite everything, nearly shared her pain. Did Jonny know he just struck her ovaries? Regardless, Marie's hold slacked and the boy spun behind her, locking arms against that same spot (perhaps he does) then bent backwards, lifting the gasping, groaning Marie up, back and suplexed her head into the soil.

May finally had the presence of mind to simply throw Plank away. Yet, having thrown the aspiring floorboard sideways; Plank simply made a U-Turn and the edge of his head clocked May across the temple. She stumbled, teetering towards Marie who finally yanked her head from the ground, and fell on her, shoving it back in.

Lee, with her hand staining red from covering a broken nose recovered, only then registered Rolf stalking her.

"Why you no good, dirty, motherfu-"

Her cocked fist left her open, and Rolf simply swung the mackerel up into her chin. A thick SPLAT confirmed his counter, with Lee sent floating backward. Despite having May's weight on her, Marie's head emerged from the earth a second time. Then Lee joined the Kanker pile and Marie was made to continue her ostrich impression.

The dust settled. Jonny caught Plank as he flew back to his lifelong friend and Rolf flicked the dirt from his weapon. They all took a moment, looking at the crumbled pile of limbs that once had been the bane of their existence.

"Holy shit! They did it!" Eddy wasn't sure he believed his own words.

"NO RAPE FOR ED!" Ed cheered

"Yes, the honor of the Urban Rangers has b-"

Marie's head plucked from the earth. Her sisters stirred back to consciousness. One by one, the sisters rose. Marie shook her head, and the dirt from her blue mane. Lee set her bloody nose straight, not even wincing as it popped into place. May sprung to her feet and menaced a tree behind her sisters. Marie back handed her and she turned.

“And they’re getting back up.” Jonny said.

The Kankers took a step forward.

“Time for Phase Two.” Rolf nodded

Phase Two? The Eds turned wide, dilating eyes on their rescuers... And watched them sprint in the opposite direction. Aren't they going to...

"Quick!" Jimmy urged from behind them, "Come with us if you wanna live!"

No one had to tell The Eds twice. With hell hot on their heels, fear became fuel and fatigue was a myth. They didn't look back. They must never look back. To look back was to invite capture. To look back was to resign yourself to a fate that made death seem like a vacation.

Okay, perhaps one look wouldn't...

"GOOD LORD!" Marie was barely a breath away from snatching Edd's hat. "STEP ON IT FELLOWS! THEY'RE GAINING!"

Suddenly, Rolf whistled and ahead of him, his goat, Victor, his pig, Wilfred, and his cow... His cow burst out from the brush parallel to the runners and fell in beside them. With a hop, Jonny and Rolf mounted Victor and Wilfred with a practiced easy.

When Jimmy prepared the same, a rock stubbed his toe and inertia planted his face in the dirt. His desperate flailing managed to catch the cow's tail, leaving the wailing, crying sod to be dragged against the dirt. Every once in a while he was flipped and turned and the trees carried his cries across the forest.

"Hold on, Jimmy!" Jonny shouted.

"Turkey Eyes Ed-Boy!" Rolf addressed Ed, "Throw your companions to us! Quickly!"

"But what of Jimmy, Rol-"

Edd, along with Eddy were quickly collected in each of Ed's hands before they were thrown flailing and screaming towards the rangers. Jonny only had to hold up Plank for Edd to grab before he was flung unto Victor's back -who bleated a protest- behind him.

"Nice catch, buddy!" Jonny complimented Plank.

Plank just smiled.

Eddy's screams halted cold when Rolf's hand snatched his cowlicks from the air and slapped the boy over his shoulder. When the stars faded and his breathing reset, he stared down at Rolf's "steed".

"Why I gotta ride the pig?!"

Jimmy's cries snatched everyone's attention. With every rock, and uneven terrain and exposed root bumping him up, his grip slipped lower.

"Oh curse my dainty, baby smooth palms!" Jimmy cried.

"Do not let go, Ranger Jimmy!" Rolf shouted.

"Ed, do something!" Edd cried.

Ed's eyes sharpened. "MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE!"

Ed's sprint became a charge. Jimmy's grip slipped away, leaving the screaming boy to sprawl right into Ed's hands. Using the momentum of the catch, Ed then swung his arm and catapulted Jimmy in an arc, where he landed on his back over the cow's back.

He could barely feel May's fingers on his skin when he pitched forward unto all-fours and sped up behind, then under the cow.

"Moo?!" The cow, Jimmy and all, was suddenly hefted unto Ed's back piggy-back style. The bovine stared at the boy, then up at Jimmy. At least she didn't have to carry both of them.

"Ranger Jonny...!" Rolf shouted.

Jonny nodded then turned to Edd. "Take over, Double D!" He said then swung around to switched places with the sock-hatted boy.

Suddenly holding Plank in one hand and Victor's horn in the other, Edd's gaze frenzied about the goat. "Oh, dear! I'm driving without a license! How do I steer? Are there turning signals? Where are the brakes?!"

"Just keep'em steady, Double D!" Jonny instructed and twisted at the waist to face the Kankers.

"YER NOT GETTIN' AWAY YOU HOMEWRECKERS!" Shrieked Lee

The angry, battered and bloody hags-in-training were still three paces back. Jonny shook his head; they just don't know when to quit.

"GET BACK HERE WITH OUR HUSBANDS!" Demanded Marie.

Jonny took a trio of acorns and a slingshot from a vest pocket, bit the stems off then knocked them in the sling and drew it back.

"'N GIMME BACK MUH BACK-SCRATCHER!" May screeched.

"Scratch this!" Jonny spat.

The acorns landed in each Kanker's mouth and went down to their throats. Their pursuit tripped over itself, the Kankers clutching their throats, gagging. Lee tried to force herself up before the three of them each vomited up a tree that shoved them up into the treeline before branches and leaves bloomed, and pushed them off and back to the earth.

The Eds and Urban Rangers were too far away to hear the resounding BOOM their impact made, and the wheezes rushing out of them when the impact stole their breaths. Silence settled and as twilight cast the forest into shadows. Yet, Lee's eyes burned like the morning sun. With a roar she hefted her sisters on her shoulders and dumped them aside, then charged face first into the tree.

With Lee nursing her crushed nose, her sisters took note of the new trees blocking their progress.

"Hey, these trees are in the way!" May complained.

"No shit, Einstein!" Marie spat.

"C'mon! We'll go the other way and cut'em off at the pass!" Lee barked. And her sisters fell in behind her berserker's pace, blood flying from her destroyed nose.

SNAP

May stopped. Then her sisters stopped and marched right up to her.

"What the hell, May?!" Marie demanded.

If the two had only looked down, they would noticed the severed rope at May's foot. Instead, a eerie creak brought their attention west as a log swung into their faces and brought the stars to their eyes. Grunting and yelling, the Kankers sprawled across bushes and branches then down a hill, until finally a hole swallowed them.

In a pile, yet again, Lee once again forced herself to her feet and her sisters tumbling to the ground. Her head whipped about to observe darkness, whisking blood this way and that. Thankfully this hole was in a clearing and the moon and stars greeted them from the heavens. It would serve as a beacon, one that would direct Lee and her sisters out of this hole and lead them to their new prey. If her rabid clawing could get her out of the hole instead of tossing dirt about.

Annoyed, but fatigued, May and Marie gave their surroundings a more detailed look. For instance, the moon highlighted a small, solitary creature who watched the sisters with a hollow gaze.

"Hey look! A possum!" May pointed out.

Marie looked at the creature who canted its head, staring at them still. From the light, she made out a body of mottled grays, and a white face striped black. She turned a flat stare at her sister then slapped the blonde idiot upside her head. "You idiot! That's a-"

"WHO CARES ABOUT SOME STUPID SKUNK?!" Lee should have turned around. Should have seen the "Skunk" get taken aback by her shouting then snarl, its mouth frothing with bubbling outrage. "... We need to get outta this hole 'n hunt down those husband steal- AAAAH!"

And a furry torpedo sunk its foam-saturated jaws into her neck.

Author's note: And now for a little game.

1: You notice on a phone that the digits also have letters attached to them. Sometimes they're used to dial a word. What word does the phone number in the letter spell?

2. What animal is currently mauling the Kanker Sisters?

Whoever can guess these correctly will get a cookie!

#ed edd n eddy #viktor & rolf #Jimmy #jonny 2x4 #Plank #kanker sisters #Kevin #Not KevEdd #not yaoi #demetori #john wick #rolf #eene fanfiction #eene eddy #eene double d #double d #eene ed

4 notes · View notes

scienceblogtumbler · 4 years ago

Text

Out With the Old Blood

There is great promise in 2020 that we might be able to make our bodies young without having to explicitly repair molecular damage, but just by changing the signaling environment.

Do we need to add signals that say “young” or remove signals that say “old”?

Does infusion of biochemical signals from young blood plasma rejuvenate tissues of an old animal? Or are there dissolved signal proteins in old animals that must be removed?

For a decade, Irena and Mike Conboy have been telling us removal of bad actors is more important. But just last month, Harold Katcher reported spectacular success by infusing a plasma fraction while taking away nothing. Then, last week, the Conboys came back with a demonstration of the rejuvenating power of simple dilution. [Link to their new paper]

Dilution procedure

They simply replaced half of the blood plasma in 2-year-old mice with a saline solution containing 5% albumin. What is albumin? Blood plasma is chock full of dissolved proteins, about 10% by weight. About half of these are termed albumin. Albumin is the generic portion. It doesn’t change through the lifetime. It doesn’t carry information by itself. But albumin transports nutrients and minerals through the body.

The Conboys took care to show that albumin has no rejuvenation power on its own, and had nothing to do with their experimental results. Rather, they had to replenish albumin in diluting blood, because the animals would be sickened if half their albumin were removed. Replacing the albumin in a transfusion is akin to replacing the volume of water or maintaining the salinity.

In preparation for this experiment, the Conboys have invested years in miniaturizing the technology for blood transfusions, so that mice can be subjected to the same procedures that are commonplace in human hospitals.

Dose-Response

The Conboy lab replaced 50% of mouse blood plasma. They got spectacular results with a single treatment, based on a lucky guess. They have not yet experimented with 30% or 70%. They don’t know yet how long the treatment will last and how long it needs to be repeated.

Evidence of rejuvenation

As with previous papers from the Conboy lab, the group focused on repair and stem cell activity as evidence of a more youthful state. Three separate tissue samples were taken from liver, muscle, and brain.

“Muscle repair was improved, fibrosis was attenuated, and inhibition of myogenic proliferation was switched to enhancement; liver adiposity and fibrosis were reduced; and hippocampal neurogenesis was increased.”

They measured nerve growth factors in the brain, and detected a more robust response, typical of young mice

They lacerated muscles and showed repair rates typical of much younger animals

They examined microscope slides of liver tissue, and showed that it is less fatty and striated than is typical of older mice

Figure 2. Rejuvenation of adult myogenesis, and albumin-independent effects of TPE. One day after the NBE, muscle was injured at two sites per TA by cardiotoxin; 5 days later muscle was isolated and cryosectioned at 10 µm. (A) Representative H&E and eMyHC IF images of the injury site. Scale bar = 50 µm. (B) Regenerative index: the number of centrally nucleated myofibers per total nuclei. OO vs.ONBE p = 0.000001, YY vs ONBE non-significant p = 0.4014; Fibrotic index: white devoid of myofibers areas. OO vs ONBE p = 0.000048, YY vs YNBE non-significant p = 0.1712. Minimal Feret diameter of eMyHC+ myofibers is normalized to the mean of YY [9]. OO vs. ONBE p=3.04346E-05, YY vs. YNBE p=0.009. Data-points are TA injury sites of 4-5 YNBE and 5 ONBE animals. Young and Old levels (detailed in Supplementary Figure 1) are dashed lines. Representative images for YY versus YNBE cohorts are shown in Supplementary Figure 6. (C) Automated microscopy quantification of HSA dose response, as fold difference in BrdU+ cells from OPTI-MEM alone (0 HSA). There was no enhancement of myogenic proliferation at 1-16% HSA. N=6. (D) Meta-Express quantification of BrdU+ cells by automated high throughput microscopy for myoblasts cultured with 4% PreTPE versus PostTPE serum and (E) for these cells cultured with 4% of each: PreTPE serum + HSA or PostTPE serum + HSA. Significant increase in BrdU positive cells is detected in every subject 1, 2, 3, and 4 for TPE-treated serum (p=0.011, <0.0001, <0.0001, 0.0039, respectively), as well as for TPE-treated serum when 4%HSA is present (p<0.0001, <0.0001, <0.0001, =0.009 respectively). N=6. (F) Scatter plot with Means and SEM of all Pre-TPE, Post-TPE, +/- HSA cohorts shows significant improvement in proliferation in Pre TPE as compared to and Post TPE cohorts (p*=0.033), as well as Pre+HSA and Post+HSA cohorts (p*=0.0116). In contrast, no significant change was observed when comparing Pre with Pre+HSA (p=0.744) or Post with Post+HSA (p=0.9733). N=4 subjects X 6 independent assays for each, at each condition. (G) Representative BrdU IF and Hoechst staining in sub-regions of one of the 9 sites that were captured by the automated microscopy. Blood serum from old individuals diminished myogenic cell proliferation with very few BrdU+ cells being visible (illustrated by one positive cell in Pre-TPE and arrowhead pointing to the corresponding nucleus); TPE abrogated this inhibition but HSA did not have a discernable effect.

What’s missing? They did not test any measures of physical or cognitive performance at the level of the organism.

Evidence of behavioral changes (learning and memory, endurance, strength)

Inflammatory markers

Blood lipids

Methylation clock (Horvath, UCLA) or proteomic clock (Lehallier, Stanford)

Some of this is planned for future research. Mike and Irina plan to submit tissue samples for analysis by the Horvath mouse methylation clock.

Clock?

I am a committed enthusiast for the methylation and proteomic clocks that are the best surrogates we have for aging. These technologies can tell us whether anti-aging interventions have been effective without having to wait for animals (or humans) to die before reporting results. But the Conboys still regard these technologies as unproven, and they bristle at the word “clock”. The closest they come is to catalog the entire proteome of treated mice, comparing it to untreated young and old mice.

Multi-dimensional t-SNE analyses and Heatmapping of these data revealed that the ONBE proteome became significantly different from OO and regained some similarities to the YY proteome. Supplementary Figure 4 confirms the statistical significance of this comparative proteomics through Power Analysis, and shows the YY vs. OO Heatmap, where the age-specific differences are less pronounced than those between OO vs. ONBE, again emphasizing the robust effect of NBE on the molecular composition of the systemic milieu.

Translation: As controls, they had mice that underwent plasma exchange with mice of similar age. YY were young, positive controls, and OO were old, negative controls. Treated mice were ONBE=”Old—Neutral Blood Exchange”. Rather than relying on “clock” algorithms that compute an age from the proteome, they compared the entire proteomes of test animals with those of old and young animals, and foud that they resembled the young animals more closely.

Aging and epigenetics

I was an early advocate of the theory that aging is driven primarily by changes in epigenetics. Other proponents include Johnson, Rando, and Horvath. This theory is now mainstream, though its acceptance is far from universal. (The main reason people have difficulty with the idea is the question, “why would the body evolve to destroy itself?” I present a comprehensive answer in my popular book and my academic book.)

On the face of it, the new Conboy result is powerful evidence for the epigenetic theory. They have shown that there are proteins in the blood that actively retard growth and healing. Remove half theses proteins and the animals are able to grow youthful tissues and to heal better. The obvious conclusion is that, with age, there are signaling changes in the blood that weaken the animal and inhibit repair.

There are, however, other ways to interpret the changes. Aubrey de Grey has said (personal communication)

“When everything in the blood except the cells and the albumin is replaced by water, the body will definitely respond by synthesising and secreting everything that it detects a shortage of, whereas the bad stuff will not be so rapidly replaced, since by and large it was only there in the first place as a result of impaired excretion/degradation.”

The Conboys don’t embrace the programmed aging perspective, but neither is their understanding of what they see the same as Aubrey’s. The way Irina explained it to me is that the age of the biological of the body is simply a measure of how much damage has accumulated, but that cycles of epigenetics and catalysis are self-reinforcing.

“Epigenetic, mRNA, and protein are steps of one process, regulation of gene expression. And none of these steps are permanent they all actively and constantly respond to cell environment — tissue and systemic milieu…With aging there is a drift which is re-calibrated by a number of rejuvenation approaches…When an auto-inductive age-elevated ligand is diluted, it cannot activate its own receptor and induce its own mRNA, so ligand levels diminish to their younger states for prolonged time.”

The Conboys theorize that these harmful proteins are part of a positive feedback loop, in other words, a cycle that is self-sustaining

epigenetic state ⇒ gene expression ⇒ translation to circulating proteins ⇒ feedback that alters the epigenetic state

With age, the body has slipped into a dysfunctional, self-sustaining cycle, and with the shock of disruption, they are able to nudge it back into a more robust and youthful cycle, also self-sustaining.

Figure 6. Model of the dilution effect in resetting of circulatory proteome. System: A induces itself (A, red), and C (blue); A represses B (green), C represses A. A dilution of an age-elevated protein (A, at D1: initial dilution event), breaks the autoinduction and diminishes the levels of A (event 1, red arrow); the secondary target of A (B, at event 2 green arrow), then becomes de-repressed and elevated (B induces B is postulated); the attenuator of A (C, at event 3 blue arrow), has a time-delay (TD) of being diminished, as it is intracellular and was not immediately diluted, and some protein levels persist even after the lower induction of C by A. C decreases (no longer induced by A), and a re-boot of A results in the re-induction of C by A (event 4 blue arrow) leading to the secondary decrease of A signaling intensity/autoinduction, and a secondary upward wave of B (events 5 red arrow and 6 green arrow, respectively). alpha = 0.01, kc = 0.01, beta = 0.05, epsilon = 0.1, ka = 0.1. Protein removal rates from system: removalA = 0.01, removalB = 0.1, removalC = 0.01, Initial values: initialA = 1000, initialB = 400, initialC. = 700

For me, the surprising thing in Irina’s account is that there is no hysteresis in this system. The reprogramming responds to changes in the blood levels of signals within minutes. There is no homeostasis in such a system. I wonder how that can be. Life is all about homeostasis, and intuitively, we all imagine that negative feedback loops are more common than positive feedback loops. (Negative feedback loops lead to homeostasis; positive feedback loops lead to runaway, exponential change.)

Is there a clock somewhere? Is the brain special?

In the Conboy view, signals in the blood are emitted from all over the body, and not especially from the hypothalamus. If brain tissue responds in a seemingly exceptional way to proteins in the blood, it is because of selective passage of those proteins by the blood-brain barrier.

The authors remind us that in past parabiosis experiments (where blood is exchanged between old and young mice), the brain tissue of the young mice grew older but brains of the old mice didn’t get younger. This was an indication that brain aging is caused by affirmative action of “bad actors” in the plasma, and that these are able to penetrate the blood-brain barrier. This observation was part of the inspiration for the current experiments.

The corresponding procedure in humans is already FDA approved

Therapeutic Plasma Exchange (TPE) is a well-established medical procedure, and has already been performed on an experimental basis by co-author Dobri Kiprov. There is anecotal history of suggestive results, which I will write about in my next post.

Comparison with Katcher’s Elixir

This week’s announcement from the Conboys and last month’s preprint from Katcher/Horvath come from the same school of thought: that aging is coordinated through the body by signal molecules in the blood. Both demonstrated dramatic rejuvenation in rodents based on a short-term intervention, and both have plans for commercialization and human trials to begin ASAP.

So it is curious that in other ways, the programs of Katcher and Conboy are so different.

While both approaches are rooted in differing compositions of blood plasma between young and old, the Conboys focus exclusively on removing species that are inhibiting youthful regeneration, while Katcher’s approach is to add back the proteins that formerly kept the animal young.

The Conboys have fully disclosed all aspects of their experimental protocol, whereas the content of Katcher’s elixir remains a trade secret.

Katcher is on the fringe of academic research, and the Conboys’ lab is at one of the premier academic institutions in the world.

Katcher is a year further along, having experimented with different dosages and timings. Neither Katcher nor the Conboy lab has yet demonstrated life extension.

The Conboys demonstrate rejuvenation with wound healing, tissue structure, and renewal of nerve growth. Katcher’s claim is based on physiology (especially inflammation), cognitive performance, and methylation clock algorithms.

In fact, Katcher regards restoration of youthful methylation patterns as the best evidence he could offer for rejuvenation (I agree), while the Conboys are reserving judgment about the importance of methylation, and bristle at the language of a methylation “clock”.

Katcher understands the effects of plasma transfusions in terms of a broad theory (which I support). Aging is an epigenetic program, governed and enforced by a “clock” that operates via a feedback loop between circulating proteins that govern gene expression and gene expression that generate those proteins. The Conboys recognize they are working this feedback loop (their Fig 6) but they resist the theory that it is the essential cause of aging.

My guess is that a combination of their two approaches will be necessary for full remediation of aging, and that a combination of their resources, credibility, theoretical foundations, and contacts would be a transformative event for medical science, for biotech industry, and for biological theory. It is my fervent hope that Katcher and the Conboys might work together.

source https://joshmitteldorf.scienceblog.com/2020/06/08/out-with-the-old-blood/

0 notes