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amispnrewatch · 3 years

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SPN 1x06 “Skin”

Okay, I’m gonna try to type while I watch this time instead of forgetting this blog exists until the episode is almost over.

You can tell the footage for the previously on segment was saved on a VHS copy instead of the original film that the show was shot with because even in the HD iTunes version I have it looks low quality as fuck. And jumpy in the way that brings me back to my teens watching the WB all the damn time.

I love this song. WTF is this song. Shazam says “Good Deal” by Mommy and Daddy. I… have no comment, except that it sounds like everything I was listening to in college at the time this shit was airing.

Aaaaand not!Dean turns around to face the SWAT team after obviously torturing some woman. THAT is a cold open.

I wanna know what that car is in the background. It’s pretty. Maybe a convertible Impala? They have similar grills. This is not at all important.

Also, I love that with these higher definition versions of the episodes you can see that Sam’s email is lawboy and whatever dot com and that people in the fandom have started calling him Law Boy. It’s hilarious.

DEAN: Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?

SAM: I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with my big brother. I tell ‘em I needed some time off after Jess.

DEAN: Oh, so you lie to ‘em.

SAM: No. I just don’t tell ‘em….everything.

DEAN: Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man, I get it, tellin’ the truth is far worse.

SAM: So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life? (DEAN shrugs.) You’re serious?

DEAN: Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.

Aaaaand now I have Dean and Cassie feelings again and we haven’t even gotten to her episode yet.

SAM: No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.

DEAN: Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.

Aaaaaand now I have Dean and Lee feelings and we’re nowhere near Lee’s episode in season 15.

YOU JUST BLEW THROUGH A STOP SIGN DEAN WTF.

Little Becky. Oi with the reusing of names.

Of course Sam made friends with a bunch of rich kids while he was at college in a desperate attempt to try to be normal.

SAM: You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.

DEAN: We could.

REBECCA: Why? I mean, what could you do?

SAM: Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop. (DEAN laughs.)

DEAN: Detective, actually.

I love that Dean was like “how dare you call me that.”

Okay, after a bit of research, I totally want to take a day trip to Bisbee, Arizona, but it’s already in the 90s here in the desert and it’s not even May so that trip is going to have to wait until… winter or something. There is no way in hell I’m going deeper into the desert when the weather gets hotter.

It’s a historic mining town tourist trap looking place now which is exactly the kind of shit I love.

SAM: Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.

I mean, not technically, technically you would 1) NOT FUCK WITH A MURDER INVESTIGATION YOU’RE NOT LEGALLY INVOLVED IN BECAUSE ANYTHING YOU FIND WOULD BE INADMISSABLE IN COURT 2) find evidence to provide a reasonable doubt for the jury that he did commit the crime. You know, like a lawyer would need to do, Law Boy.

DEAN: I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.

When I made my husband watch this show with me (he’s seen it all at least once now over the years) this is the recurring thing that drove him crazy.

You guys can’t even go in through the back door? Or shut the front door behind you? Really?

REBECCA: (tearfully) Well, there’s no sign of a break-in. They say that Emily let her attacker in.

Yeah, that doesn’t even really mean that she knew her attacker. Just that it was someone she let her guard down around or got in some other way. See: The Son of Sam and Nightstalker, etc.

Love the pinup magnet on the fridge. I’d throw shade at that, but I have a pinup magnet on my fridge too so… pot kettle and all that.

Okay, both people in the next couple are gorgeous.

And oh wow those special effects changing eyes… wow.

This poor couple. I feel so bad for them in this episode.

How… how are the police gonna explain the way he was able to beat himself over the head with a bat??? I…

I love that 5:30 in the morning on TV is clearly like… 10 AM.

Okay, this is a really unrelated point, but the graffiti on the dumpster here reminds me of the Teen Wolf fandoms use of the name Void!Stiles when Stiles Stilinski was possessed by a Nogitsune… I just spent way too long digging through YouTube and my Tumblr tags from back when those episodes were airing looking for a few specific videos and couldn’t find them. The TL;DR reason I bring it up here is goofball, bi-coded main character guy getting possessed by an entity set on destroying the people he loves. SOUNDS LIKE THIS EPISODE AND A WHOLE LOT OF SPN RIGHT. I love that all these monster hunting shows call out to each other.

This scene haunts me years later and I don’t even WATCH Teen Wolf. I just watched the fandom on Tumblr collectively lose it’s shit then tripped down a Hale Pack fanfiction rabbit hole.

ANYWAY

Back to Supernatural, a show that also treated its fan base, cast, and characters like garbage! Huzzah!

DEAN: Well, there’s another way to go—down. (They look down and notice a manhole.)

I’m gonna be mature and ignore the double entendre there…

But I love that Dean thinks of the world in 3D. Which sounds like a dumb statement to make, but this is honestly a good example of that in action.

SAM: I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too.

Really Sam, sewers run by houses? SO WEIRD. I WOULD HAVE NEVER GUESSED.

DEAN: You know, I just had a sick thought. When the shapeshifter changes shape—maybe it sheds.

SAM: That is sick. (DEAN puts the bloody pile back on the ground.)

Guys, there is a WHOLE ASS EAR in that pile of yuck you’re looking at. I think it’s pretty safe to assume the shapeshifter indeed sheds its skin like a snake. A much… gooier snake.

Sam’s friend is rightfully pissed at him for fucking with the crime scene.

This is before the pearl gripped guns?! Wow. I never noticed that before.

Also, this whole episode gives me feelings.

++++

Cool. Tumblr mobile ate a whole section of my notes on this when it crashed for NO APPARENT REASON. Love that.

It always boggles my mind that actors can trust the people they’re working with enough to let people “tie” ropes around their neck or put them in actually dangerous positions in a scene.

SHAPESHIFTER: He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. You don’t think I had dreams of my own? But Dad needed me. Where the hell were you?

SAM: Where is my brother? (The shapeshifter leans in close to SAM.)

SHAPESHIFTER: I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous. You got friends. You could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me. (He backs away.)

SAM: What are you talkin’ about?

SHAPESHIFTER: You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothin’, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks. (He laughs.) I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens. (He smiles and covers SAM with a sheet.)

This exchange is just… so much. So many feelings. And I will forever (unless we magically get a fix-it fic mini season someday…) be SO MAD that none of this got resolved in that pointless, trash heap of a finale.

REBECCA: Okay, so, this thing—it can make itself look like anybody?

SHAPESHIFTER: That’s right. (She chuckles.)

REBECCA: Well, what is it, like a genetic freak? (The shapeshifter laughs.)

SHAPESHIFTER: Maybe. Evolution is about mutation, right? So, maybe this thing was born human but was different. Hideous and hated. Until he learned to become someone else. (REBECCA looks around, uncomfortable. The shapeshifter’s eyes glint silver, and he smiles.)

It always amazes me how much of this show is a pile of accidental queer allegories parading around in an ill-fitting toxic masculinity suit.

Vulcan mind meld! I love nerd!Dean. Also, I’m rewatching Star Trek: TOS with my husband, because that is what my life amounts to these days, rewatching comfort TV and flailing over the bits I love.

This post does a better job than I can do of pairing up screen caps with the dialogue of this next scene. SIX EPISODES IN. They’re dumping all of this character depth SIX EPISODES IN. FUCK THIS SHOW FOR NOT EMBRACING ITSELF.

Okay, I love that he screams back in her face after he threw the phone. It’s not something to laugh at because the situation is horrifying, but I can’t help laughing at it every time.

AND THE WAY THEY CUT THESE SCENES. Going from him winding his hand back to backslap her directly to him dropping the chains on the table to show how hard he must have hit her without actually making the actors hit each other. Good job editing department!

I… don’t understand the shifter’s motivation for killing people. If he can take over people’s identities without killing them, why kill them? Is it just because he’s a homicidal, rapist piece of shit? Cause that’s all it seems like.

How did the SWAT team even know she was being attacked? Why can the snipers aim no better than Storm Troopers?

Ugh, these kind of transformation body horror scenes are exactly why werewolf stories have never really appealed to me much. Like, I could do without watching your ribs move and teeth fall out, dude.

BUT.

THIS FUCKING SCENE.

I looked up the song that’s playing over shapeshifter!Dean being caught by the SWAT team and then going through the grotesque transformation. (And as far as I know, the iTunes version has the original music from the episodes.)

It’s a song called “Mary” by The Death Riders

Who's your mother, who's your mother here boy // Who's your mother, whos your mommy dear // Who's your father, who's your father here boy // Who's your father, who's your daddy dear

Silently screaming // Where everyone knows // Daddy's always watchin' // Where everywhere - everywhere I go

I don't wanna be a freak show pretty boy anymore // I don't wanna be a full time slave // I don't wanna be your midnight cowboy anymore // I just want to be Mary

This is… a fascinating choice. Here are the rest of the lyrics. The song as a whole has a weird incesty kinda vibe to it? Kinda like when SPN tries to straight-wash itself and misses the mark wildly. (Like Dean’s male siren episode.)

The midnight cowboy line reminded me of 12x11 and the bull riding scene with “Broomstick Cowboy” by Bobby Goldsboro playing over it

Dream on, little Broomstick Cowboy, // Dream while you can; // Of big green frogs, // And puppy dogs, // And castles in the sand.

For, all too soon you'll awaken; // Your toys will all be gone. // Your broomstick horse will ride away, // To find another home. // And you'll have grown into a man, // With cowboys of your own. // And then you'll have to go to war, // To try and save your home.

And then you'll have to learn to hate; // You'll have to learn to kill. // It's always been that way, my son; // I guess it always will.

Because, you know, why not add tons of feelings into the lyrics, right?

Props to the people who can embrace their rewatches and reclamations of the show with ease. Because every episode seems to remind me of how hollow and tragic Dean’s ending was and I just… struggle all over again.

Anyway, back to the episode so I can move on with my day.

REPORTER: An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home. (A sketch of DEAN appears on the screen.)

DEAN: Man! That’s not even a good picture. (SAM looks around cautiously.)

SAM: It’s good enough. (He walks away.)

DEAN: Man! (He follows SAM.)

(CUT TO: Alley. DEAN and SAM are walking. DEAN steps into a puddle.)

DEAN: Ugh, come on.

I love that we get two tiny little back-to-back vanity moments for Dean here. One commenting on the sketch artist rendition of him being broadcasted on the news and the other tripping in the puddle. There is literally someone running around the city trying to kill people while wearing Dean’s face, but Dean is still concerned with how he looks appears to others. He’s still concerned with keeping up his own performance. The shifter left him with just a t-shirt, so he doesn’t even have his usual comfort layers on and at any moment someone could spot him and call the police or try to kill him for assaulting Sam’s friend. His life is wildly out of control in that moment and the only thing he can try to focus on is his appearance (something semi-controllable) and finding the shifter before any of that other shit can happen.

One day I want to put together a like top 10 episodes focusing on / explaining each TFW character from the series. Like the kind of list you could show someone who’s never seen the show, but has OPINIONS about the characters (or who hasn’t seen the whole show and seen the growth they went through… you know, like the people responsible for the travesty of 15x20). This episode would be on that list. I’m not sure how I could manage to make a list of only 10 episodes to understand Dean Winchester by, but eh.

SAM: What are you gonna do to me?

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, I’m not gonna do anything. Dean will, though.

SAM: They’ll never catch him.

SHAPESHIFTER: Oh, doesn’t matter. Murder in the first of his own brother? He’ll be hunted the rest of his life. (He picks up a sharp knife and examines it.)

Speaking of season 15 in general, this right here. This was Chuck’s villain story arc thesis statement. AND THEY DROPPED THE GODDAMN BALL WITH IT. I think that’s the thing that honestly pisses me off the most these days (about 5 1/2 months from when the finale aired) is that they tried making the whole thing a tragedy but did such an awful job with it that it just ended up like a deflating condom balloon at a dive bar concert. Disappointing and gross. The finale for season 14 set them up SO FUCKING WELL and it just… didn’t get there.

Becky’s parents are gonna be pissed at how torn up their house is after all this shit…

And you’re not shooting him when you first see him strangling Sam because…?????

I like that he took the necklace back. Also, is this kinda Dean death number .5 of the show? Like it wasn’t him but it was also kinda him. Eh.

At least they left the windshield on Baby this time. Reflections are better than tearing her apart.

#SPN 1x06 #amispnrewatch #reclaiming spn #performing!dean #lawboy #bi!dean #dean x cassie #dean x lee #stiles stilinski #void!stiles #teen wolf #dean deserved better

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eponymous-rose · 5 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E88 (Dec. 17, 2019)

It’s the last show of 2019!

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Announcements: Issue 4 of Vox Machina: Origins is out Wednesday, December 18th! The cast will be hosting a fireside chat tomorrow afternoon on Twitch at 5PM Pacific (and the VOD will be up on YouTube on Friday)! After Thursday’s episode of Critical Role, the next episode will be Thursday, January (Mighty) 9th!

There’s a long digression about ox farming, featuring new crew member Kyle!

We’re 13 minutes into this hour-long show, so it’s probably time to talk about...

Episode 88: Unwanted Reunions

Stats for this episode: this is the only episode across both campaign to not use any party spell slots! Caleb rolled his 1,000th roll, which was Deception against Trent, and also rolled his 50th Natural 20, which was a History check (Liam: ”On worms!”). 40 minutes and 21 seconds passed between Sam touching Laura’s dice bag and her arrival. Liam: “Meryl Streep left, too, to go to a Pathfinder game.”

Caleb/Liam regrets how his reunion with Trent went. “I always imagined that we’d run into him on the streets, or on a mission somewhere. I was stunned at how I stepped on a rake.” On motivation: “I’m not sure it’s revenge that he’s going after. I think that Caleb wants to fix it, to not let that happen anymore, but I don’t know how that related to that.”

Sam: “I think the cool thing is that everyone is concerned about Caleb now. Used to just be Nott, but now Beau is invested, Jester checks in, even Fjord seems to be concerned. Everybody wants to make sure that Caleb’s okay, and that’s a new thing.” Nott’s more aware that Caleb has a full support network now.

Caleb’s “still Bren, but I think he wishes he were more. He’s never going to let go of his past, even if he rights those wrongs that he’s obsessed with. If someone’s going to call him Bren, he feels he deserves it. He must always be reminded.” Liam thinks of it as “dual residence” for the names of Caleb and Bren in his head right now.

Nott feels terrible to be considered a “tame goblin” rather than just another citizen of the Empire. “Every time she’s reminded of it, it’s another little jab, another stab in the back. I don’t think it gets any easier.” She’s especially feeling on edge after having spent so much time around her friends and in Xhorhas, where it was less of a factor.

Liam: “It’s not like Bren was the chosen one... he’s just a nail that needs to be hammered back down. If Trent’s going to do something, he’s going to do it later, when people aren’t paying attention. I think he sees Bren like a fly that needs to be swatted. We’ll see.”

Sam on Astrid: "Nott is just trying to get Caleb laid. Everyone who sees Caleb has to know that this guy needs some fuckin’. Loosen this guy up!”

Cosplay of the Week: Pinup Gilmore! (KP11Photos on Twitter)

Liam thinks they should come up with “a sensible plan that doesn’t involve fuckery”. Sam: “Since when have we ever done that?” Liam points out that the Martinet was lying, too, and they really don’t know who they can trust.

Caleb is “extremely moved and doesn’t feel entirely worthy” over his friends offering to kill Trent for him. “He doesn’t process it very well. It’s a lot.”

“Nott is of the Empire, but she grew up in a farming area, sort of a far-flung District. It didn’t really affect her day-to-day life, so she doesn’t have a strong sense of patriotism. If given the choice, I think she’d 100% choose the Dynasty, doesn’t trust these Empire folks, especially not in this city.”

Everyone tries to work out which plots have and haven’t wrapped up thus far. Liam: “You know who’s really at the middle of this? The Tal’Dorei Council.”

Liam on seeing Eodwulf again: “I mean, he’s only been thinking about these people for years. It felt out-of-body, like it wasn’t real. The last time he saw this dude, he was seventeen years old.” Sam pries for more info on the three of them: “They had regular classes, but every week they had three or four days in a row where they were off on their own. They had a little bit of downtime together and they’d run about Rexxentrum together.”

Fanart of the Week: Trent and the Nein! (Feralkingspeil on Twitter)

Sam notes that Ludinus was there in Felderwin, “so Ludinus is not 100% innocent in this. Probably has seen Yeza, or heard of Yeza, and at least tacitly approved of Yeza’s confinement and experimentations-on.” (Sam did also get confused about the characters. “As with most things, I do think I was right.”) Nott is definitely suspicious of all the Assembly. “They’re all fuckers unless proven otherwise.” Caleb’s also trying to suss out who all is corrupt.

“I think the only sense that Caleb has of the fact that he missed a huge portion of his life is seeing Ikithon and Eodwulf. He doesn’t walk around thinking, oh, I’m Tom Hanks in Big, I’m the wrong age for my size. He more just feels like he lost time, he doesn’t feel like a 15-year-old piloting an adult’s body or anything.”

Sam came up with the idea of Nott’s crush on Caleb “pretty early on. When I stared in your eyes during some of the scenes we had together... It makes sense, two people on the road together, away from their mutual lives. Of course that thought’s going to cross her mind. And this man could be her salvation!”

Dani, in reaction to a long string of sexual innuendo: “What is this episode?” Liam: “This is it. This is the worst one. We did it.”

Caleb believes the Nein are in “way, way over their heads, that Ikithon is a spider in the middle of a web. This guy has been working his craft for decades. That’s how Caleb sees it, anyway, at this point.”

For Nott, the money they’ve been making has seemed like “a means to an end. It hasn’t really changed her outlook, I guess. It’s just security.” Liam: “I would agree with that. It’s the logical progression of both of their determination.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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matildainmotion · 4 years

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Rejection, Failures and Fxck Ups – A New, or Very Old, Approach to Loss and Losing

“It’s okay to make mistakes – that’s how you learn;” “It’s the taking part that counts -the playing, not the winning;” “If you can learn to lose that will be a huge achievement.” I hear myself saying these and similar truisms when my daughter comes last in a race with her impossibly long-legged brother, or breaks a cup, or spills her drink, or when my son’s carefully planned prank goes awry, or the drawing he is trying to do does not come out right. In such moments of acute vulnerability my daughter howls – a cry of deep and terrible anguish, that can go on for a great many minutes after the original loss. I noticed even when she was a baby that falling, for her, was failing, an injury not so much to her body as her soul- as if the ground had deliberately struck her, undermining her upright dignity. My son, on the other hand, does not howl, but rather bares his teeth, makes fists, swings punches at me or anyone else who might have witnessed and therefore in some way contributed to his sense of failure. In both instances, when they weep and wail, gnash teeth - because on a child-scale their circumstances seem serious and awful - I have comforted them and then come out with some version of the above statements. They are trite but I have believed that the basic message – ‘it’s fine to fail’ – was a sound one. At least, that’s what I thought until last week.

Last Friday I experienced two forms of failure which, on an adult-scale, were really very minor. One was the culmination of a writing competition, run by a literary agency – the prize: mentorship and representation. I had not entered it to win – I had entered it in order to have a focus, a deadline, to practice submitting my fiction, rather than hiding with it in a secret corner. The winners were due to be announced on Friday. Despite being clear my primary motivation for entering was not winning, despite being certain I would not be selected, come Friday morning I was nervous. I was checking Twitter for the announcement and felt a strange mix of repulsion and respect for those on there who were frank enough to tweet, with nail-biting gifs, about their angst, their aspirations, their hope. Hope - Dickinson’s feathered thing but, despite the feathers, the only item not to fly out from Pandora’s box- a quiet, little creature with wondrous and terrible tenacity. On Friday I wanted to get the damn thing out of the box. I wanted it to fly away. I tried hard to shake it loose - it wouldn’t budge. I was feeling hopeful.

Meanwhile, down the hill, at our allotment, there were some other little things in a box, that did not yet have feathers, only fluff: chicks. I hadn’t been hopeful about the eggs. We had collected them from a faraway farm – in theory they were fertilised but the woman who sold them to us did so for half price because, she said, “It’s late in the season and I can’t be sure. I’ll give you a variety to give you a better chance.” And then, on top of that, our broody hen (the Star Wars-inspired ‘Princess Layer’), at first rejected the pale blue ones that did not look like hers, and only later started sitting on them, so I thought they had probably got too cold and nothing was going to hatch. But Thursday morning, four weeks after she first went broody, sitting day in day out in the dark of the nest box, I lifted up the Princess and lo and behold there was a broken shell, and a tiny, wet, cheeping chick. Friday morning, after checking Twitter, I pedalled down the hill to the hens. Chick number one had fluffed up to full yellow cuteness and been joined by chick number two. Little wings, dark eyes, pale pink claws. I thought that was it, and began to take the other eggs, the pale blue ones, away. But as I lifted an egg, I saw a black spy hole in its shell, and behind the hole – motion - someone inside. I felt small, in awe, as if whoever was within knew things I didn’t, couldn’t. Breath held, heart fast, I put the eggs back. Here was hope in action. An actual hatching - the Easter pinup – the most famous of images for spring, for life returning.

By Friday evening I had not won the competition and the chick was dead. It had hatched after hours of work – who knew hatching could be so like a human labour in its length and intensity? Yet it had managed, had come out whole -a bold bundle of breath, blood, beak, incontrovertible evidence that whichever came first – chicken or egg – the result was the same: life. But then it had been weaker than the others, who had had a head start, and the broody hen was growing restless – when I came back to check on them before bed, I found it lying, limp, still warm, thin eyelids down, little claws unclenched, half buried in the straw. If I had come earlier, if I had separated it, if I had cleared out the straw…maybe it would have lived.

I have been very lucky – I have never had a miscarriage or a still birth. This was only a little chick. Nonetheless I felt broken. I tried out the truisms that I have used on my children a thousand times - they did not cut it. Worse than that – they seemed offensive. I wanted to howl like my daughter, and rage like my son. They knew something I didn’t. Just like that chick did. So I gave up trying to teach my children how to lose with grace and decided to consider instead what I might learn from them.

My son goes from one obsession to the next, as many children do, but he does so with particular, on-the-spectrum intensity. Feb to April was My Little Pony. April to June was Beast Quest. He is now onto the Greek myths. To be fair there is some consistency through this- believe it or not both My Little Pony and Beast Quest draw heavily on Greek mythology for inspiration. This is the first time his obsessions have overlapped with mine - in my writing I am also working on a Greek myth. What strikes me as I study the stories through my son’s eyes is that they are full of characters, divine and mortal, who fail, fall and fxck up royally, who lose face, lose their lovers and their loved ones, and that when they do, they are terrible losers. The heroes and heroines in these myths don’t hold back on their howling and their raging. They cry for weeks, years even. They cry so hard they change shape or change the world around them. They swear vengeance for their losses, plan awful punishments, wage long and horrible wars. No one tells Hector, Achilles, Paris: “Never mind mate – it’s the taking part that counts.” Now I am not proposing to use the ancient Greek myths as a new model for mothering, but there is something relieving about their heroes unashamed and often moving melodramas, about their sense of seriousness and ceremony. Inspired by these myths, my son held a burial for the chick, by the raspberry bushes on the allotment. He knelt and said a prayer to Zeus, and then to Hades and Persephone, asking them to welcome the little creature when it arrived with them, to let it fly free. This was after he had railed at me for an hour – crying, shouting, trying to punch me, beating the wall, accusing me of murder – full on, proper grief, worthy of those ancient Greeks. It struck me I could have done the same with my writing disappointment: printed out the webpage announcing the happy winners, then wept upon it bitterly. Built a ceremonial fire, burnt the paper, whilst sending off my prayers for the Herculean stamina and strength required to keep writing. What I’m trying to say is that I’m aware I have been guilty of that crime our culture commits daily- tidying disappointment and loss away too quickly, making it constructive, sidestepping the difficulty, heading straight for claiming: “I’ve learnt my lesson. I’m fine. I’m over it.”

In the modern mythic classic, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, written by Michael Rosen, illustrated by Helen Oxenbury, a book more befitting my daughter’s than my son’s age bracket, each time the children encounter a new obstacle in the landscape – long grass, mud, a river, a snowstorm- they chant:

We can't go over it. We can't go under it. Oh no! We've got to go through it!

This is the insight that my children, a small chick and some Greek gods have reminded me of in the last week: you’ve got to go through it. Not over it, not under it, not round it, but through it. I did know this before – I know how excruciating it is when someone tries to teach you a lesson, give advice, instead of being present with the pain of where you are. But I had not recognised the extent to which I have been doing this with my children, because their losses seem so slight, so trivial when I hold them up against the stark losses in the world. I see now that I’ve been getting everything the wrong way round: I’ve been comparing the children’s worries to the world’s, instead of the world’s worries to theirs, instead of recognising that they hold some wisdom that I and the world need now. Ours is the age in which it is clear that we have made some cataclysmic mistakes, that we keep making them, that we are a generation of losers and those that come after us will inherit a whole lot of loss. There is no way round it. We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. A global pandemic. Racial injustice. Climate change. Oh no! We’ve got to go through it! This means weeping for weeks. Howling for months. Raging for years. But doing so consciously and creatively. When my children do this, I think they are rehearsing themselves, rehearsing me. This is not about being hopeless. I believe that going through it, with full feeling and ceremony, is the most hopeful thing we can do – the thing that will earn us feathers. Maybe we can weep enough to change ourselves, a metamorphosis as marvellous as that of a Greek god.

To go through it, there are some things we are going to need. Two of these things are the stuff of the gods: care and creation, or, to use other words, mothering and making. In all myths, in all traditions, this is what the gods do- they make stuff and they look after stuff. The two go together: we look after things because we made them, and we make things because we care. Arguably ‘Mothers Who Make’ is a terrible tautology, and caring and creating may even be the same – they both involve a kind of holding. When the chick died, I had to hold my son while he tried to hit me. Later I had to hold a ritual with him. At a time when all the theatres are closed, it seems to me, we need theatre more than ever. Be it online or outdoors, we need to build symbolic fires, stages to hold our grief, our rage, our fear, our hope. We need to perform these things- it is what will get us through. Secret creations and collaborations got people through the concentration camps. The late and legendary civil rights activist John Lewis said: “If it hadn’t been for music, the civil rights movement would have been like a bird without wings.” Art is not a luxury, a nice diversion – it is the way through, not round.

So, what will I do next time my daughter falls over, or my son messes up his drawing? I hope I will pause and consider this: maybe there is a point to crying over spilt milk. Maybe next time it spills we will weep the same weight in tears as the milk that is pooling, white, across the kitchen table. Maybe we will lie in it, mop it up with our clothes, then run outside and do a dance to the milk gods, to celebrate the milk and say sorry for its loss, and then we will run to the river, dive in, wash our clothes and ourselves, while we sing a song of cleansing, and then we will walk back, dripping new. I am playing with this so as to bring it home to myself, so that when the next rejection, mistake, failure, loss befalls me or the children, I have the courage not to mop it up too fast. Instead of my teaching them to lose with acceptance, I hope that we may discover together how to lose with passion and imagination.

So, here are my questions for you for the month of August (coming to you at the end of July): Tell me about your rejections, your failures, your losses- your own? your children’s? What do you do when loss comes? Do you weep? or rage? or both? Can you do so more, as if you were inside a Greek myth, do so consciously? And what ritual, ceremony or creative act can you perform to get you through it? What can you do to earn your feathers?

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sparkesink · 4 years

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Chapter 15:

Tales Untold

What Would You Say?

(If I Told You,)

I’m Writing A Musical.

A Love Story,

(Written In Real Time…)

An Ever-changing Adventure;

(A Documented Script,)

Provided Immortality…

(Aboard Poetry Guided Ship.)

Would You Respect Me?

Protect Me?

Save Me?

(When I’ve Fallen Far From Shore?)

Would You Hug Me?

Could You Love Me?

Thank Me?

(Providing Eternal Lore?)

Could You Believe In Divine Providence?

(A Journey Toward Divinity…)

A Story,

One In Which,

Assigned…

Long Before My Time.

Given This Task,

Chosen To Heal…

Survived Such Turmoils,

(So Another Can Feel.)

Have You Ever Desired To Change Your Name?

Dilute The Face?

Become True,

(To Fame?)

Start Anew?

Build An Empire,

(Sprout Within Previous Burnt Roots?)

I Have.

If I Asked You,

“Are You Him?”

If I Screamed,

“IF NOT, TELL ME THEN!”

“I HAVE NO MORE PATIENCE TO WASTE!”

(Lost In Hymn.)

Would You Tell Me You Could Fly?

(Or Maybe To Swim Is More Your Taste.)

Would You Be My Ride Or Die?

Could You Hack The Dark Paths…

(Within A Lost Forest’s Face?)

Could We Be Perfect For One Another?

(Or Concoct Emotional World War?)

Would You Dote Upon My Bedside?

When Bugs Come Sneezing,

(Throughout The Lore?)

Could You Emotionally Care For Me?

Raise That Darling Pitt Bull, Pazuzu?

Could We Work Together?

Would We Build A Team?

Could We Sleep All Day Beneath The Clouds?

Dance Upon Hours Within A Day Dream?

Could We Speak Upon Politics?

(Without Provoking Distaste?)

Would We Provide Stability?

Within Healthy Intentional Space?

Could We Breathe Together?

Relax Within One Another?

Could We Drop The Face,

And Face Fact?

Would My Distaste For Washing Dishes,

Receive Comfortable Slack?

Could You Recognize My Waves,

Surf Their Crest To Safety, Back.

And If I Find Myself Lost At Sea,

Would You Cry To The Heavens To Help Me?

Or Maybe You Swim With Stamina And Pride,

Promising,

“You’ll Always Find Me...”

(Far And Wide.)

What Would You Do?

If I Gave You A Second Beginning?

Disregard Manipulative Sinning?

Would You Catch Me?

(Or Let Me Fall?)

Gripping My Toes,

(Along Such Creases,)

Within This Platform….

(A Hundred Years Tall.)

Could We Concoct Conversation?

Would We Feel That Beautiful Goo?

Learn To Become Loved?

(Me And You?)

What Would You Say:

If I Told You I Was No One.

If You Never Knew,

(Dirt Upon My Shoe.)

What If We Never Landed?

Those Days It Just,

(Me And You;)

Those Unwashed Travelers,

(We Hadn’t Had A Clue.)

What If You Never Promised,

(The Hospital Staff,)

My Captivity?

What If We Flew Through Divinity?

Took The Wrong Path?

False Doors,

(Perhaps,)

The Wrong Task.

How Are We To Know:

Love Is Truth,

Openly Shown.

“Watanya Cicilla”,

Was The Name,

(Presented Youthful Fame…)

Lost A Father To Pneumonia,

(Motive To Hunting Game.)

Paid Off Her Mother’s Home By Fifteen;

Joined “Buffalo Bill’s Wild West”,

Shot The Ashes Off A Held Cigarette,

None Come To Detest,

“Little Sure Shot”,

No Target Superior,

(Stood Within Her Test.)

Split Playing Cards From Thirty Paces,

Hit Dimes Tossed Upon The Air…

In One Shot,

Snuffed The Flame Of A Dull Lit Candle,

I Attest, I Saw It There:

I Watched Her Knock Corks Off Bottle Tops…

(She Hit One Hundred Clay Targets At Sixty-two.)

She Entertained A Tournament,

(Young Girls Were Slim And Few,)

She Beat Out Little Frankie…

(His Heart Did Swoon.)

Her Skill Never Offended Him,

They Were Equal,

(Them Two.)

They Married And Traveled,

Two Perfect Parts Of A Crew:

When Inevitable Death Guided Them Part,

He Refused To Eat,

Took Death Over Life,

(Without Her Gracing His Heart.)

What If I Told You,

I Never Miss My Target,

What If I Told You,

“I Chose You?”

What If I Superior Within Such Competition?

Could You Settle A Gnarling Ego, Too?

(Through And Through?)

Would You Be My Mr. Butler,

Support My Talents With Opinions Few?

Could We Become Love?

(Immortal By An Eternally Written Dove…)

Or Shake,

Crackle,

Break…

Within A Securely False Stake?

I Love The Way In Which The Clouds Roll Amongst The Hills,

Pondering,

Projecting,

Shadows Crawling,

Establishing Mysterious Thrills.

The Earth Feels Bright,

Each Color’s Vibrant:

Pondering Life,

Projecting Urges Of Tyrant In Severe Strife.

I Expect Logical Evaluation,

Nothing Gold Sprouts Within Temptation.

I Put My Hand Upon This Table,

(My Menu Openly Crude;)

I Write This Lovely Fable,

(Shake Such Shriveled Mask Turned Shroud.)

May I Entice Your Mind?

Create Complex Conversation?

May I Wiggle My Psychological Curiosity,

Within Your Suffocating Contemplation?

May I Take Your Hand?

Run As Lions,

Dredging Unstable Quicksand?

The Faster You Move…

The Quicker It Consumes:

Will You Become Lost Within Your Mind, Too?

Could You Allow Me To Slip Past Suppressed Lands?

Locate That Sacred Little Boy,

Caught Within Eternal Sands,

Poisoned Conditioning Of Such Sensual Hour Glass?

What Would Healthy Look Like?

Are We Bound By Our Shame?

Could Be Become Happy?

Leave The Battles To Memories, Bandaged And Maimed.

Let Me Tell You A Story,

One Of A Girl Brought Up In Shame,

(Second Best,)

A Life Consistently Overlooked,

(Tamed;)

Invisible Amongst The Rest.

Molten Lava Encased:

A Butterfly Interlaced,

Desperate For Light,

Practicing Flight,

(Entrapped Within Chrysalis Strife.)

This Girl Learned Quickly,

She Studied What It Felt Like:

She Listened To Martyrs,

She Knowingly Chose To Abandon Life.

She Was A Modest Girl,

Desiring To Become Porcelain:

She Thrived To Be Noticed,

(Within Distant Infatuation.)

She Consistently Fell,

(Coddled Toward Failure.)

A Girl Needs To Be Tested,

(If Her Light Shine Allure.)

Rarely Encouraged,

(There Always Better:)

“Her Dreams Are But A Waste,”

She Fought The Universe,

(The Ultimate Toll To Receive SI. Splatter.)

She Knew I Had Killed The Person She Had Come To Dress…

She Knew Not Of The Name She’d Been Given,

(I Digress...)

This Girl Lived Within Such Sensual Reality,

Her Heart Removed From The “Test”.

She Knew She Struggled With Lust…

(Not Physically,)

Though,

Intellectual Seeds Infest.

She Claimed,

“I Could Dim It…

No More Than Temptation Of Gest…”

Thought As A Virus,

Took Captive,

(Wildfire,)

Spread Through…

This Seed Was No Cancer,

Implanting Emotionally,

(Growing Roots.)

I Sat Inquisitive Beneath A Comforting Douglas Fir,

I Had Created An Entire Life…

Out Of Fairy Tales And Far Off Dreams,

(As It Were.)

Gripping My Wood Backed Words,

I Can’t Help But Say…

“Why Have I Come?

(I Cannot Stay.)”

You Have No Intellectual Data To Inform You Of Such:

This Book Is My Love,

(Buried Deep Within Muck.)

I Had Insufficient Integrity,

To Return Love,

(I Hadn’t Felt For Myself.)

You Cannot Give Someone Something,

(In Which You Lack From Within:)

You Can Only Love Them,

(Heart Scorched Bandaged By Hymn.)

You Cannot Love Someone,

(For Which You Can Give Them.)

You Cannot Take Such Love,

(And Disregard As Emotional Sin.)

You Cannot Help Anyone,

(When You Cannot Help Yourself.)

You Cannot Live Beautifully,

(Encased Upon A Shelf.)

How Am I To Know What Love Is?

Does It Have Eyes And A Mouth?

Does It Grin Snarling Teeth,

(When Respectful Intentions Shift South?)

A Girl Would Never Know,

(She Never Loved Herself…)

I Remember Forcing My Hand Down My Throat,

(Before I Tall Enough To Aim My Bow.)

These Intestines Tremble In Trepidation,

Eleven Years:

Self Destructive Temptation.

Why Do We Sit Here?

Pretend We Give A Shit Toward Salvation?

Hemorrhaging Upon The Path;

To Foolish Not To Take…

He Showed Me The Final Test:

“You Do Not Need to Always Follow The Rabbit,”

(Graffiti Sprayed Amongst The White And Red.)

I Should Have Seen It Coming;

(The Toll For My Pride.)

I Thought I Was Receiving Payment,

I Knew Was False Deep Inside.

I Could Have Taken The Cut,

Followed That Instinct Wreathing,

(Within My Gut…)

Instead,

I Coward Within My Head.

Lying Upon the Moss,

(Dead.)

I’ve Spent Three-Hundred Sixty-five Days,

(Lost Within This Forest.)

I First Met A Path,

Similar To Before:

Guarded By Rabbit In Sly Mask,

This Path Gifted My Shore.

I Crouched Amongst The Leaves,

At Night I Heard An Astonishing “RAWR”…

It Was A Big Brown Bear,

Coward Within His Cave;

Salivating Amongst My Lore…

I Paused…

(As I Could Not Recognize His Tuft…)

I Found A Black Bear Instead,

(Hiding Amongst Dreamer’s Fluff.)

The Black Bear Lowered His Narrow Glasses:

He Pretends To Play Such Part,

“According To My Map,

You’re Accordingly On Route!

Trudge Fifty Paces Left,

Three-hundred To The Right…

Seventy To The Front,

And Three To The Side…

Got It?”

This Bear Made No Fucking Sense…

Though,

I Followed;

Through This Thick Forest,

(Cursed Dense.)

Fifty To The Right…

Three-hundred To The Left…

This Is Where I Found That Little Witch…

(She To Protect Us From The Rest.)

She Was Cunning And Kind,

Such A Slender Little Doll…

“Come, Come Vivian…

We Shall Watch The Gold Leaves Fall.

A Vandal A Day,

Keeps The Cold Winds At Bay…

Come Miss, Miss…

Come And Play!”

I Paused,

Understanding The Nature Of Wonderland…

This Doll Was So Sincere,

Long Black Hair,

Knobs For Knees:

“Compare?”

I Showed Her My Wounds,

She Showed Me Hers Back…

“My Name Is Katherine Wood,

(Don’t Mind The Pine,)

I’m The Same As You,

Your Wounds Are Deep As Mine.”

Her Material Made Up Pine,

Softly Delicate,

Manicured And Oiled Fine.

Gothic Pinup,

(Devine.)

“You Know Everything About Me,

And Me With You…

Together We Survive,

Just Us Two.”

She Took My Hand,

Led Me Deep Within This Dusk Stained Forest:

The Trees Began To Dance,

Creatures Seeping From Within The Foliage.

“Let Us Play,

Sweet Sweet Baby…

Do Not Become Timid,

This Wonderland Sparkles,

(Though Holds Strict Limit.)

Please,

Drink The Fermented Fruit,

My Beautiful Lady:

Don’t Forget To Dress The Part,

(The Ring Leader’s Suit.)

Come,

Come Now My Baby:

Let Us Scour For Loot!”

I Fell In Platonic Love,

That Day We Compare Wounds…

“Don’t Stay…

Don’t Stop And Stare…”

(Vivian Ringing Throughout My Ear.)

I Shake Her Warn As Insanity Spread Fire,

(I Hadn’t Expected:

This Witch Be Professional Liar.)

I Followed Miss Wood,

(Through The Paths Within This Dark Face.)

Fifty Steps Right,

“Don’t Loose Pace!

Make Haste!”

These Creatures Were Glamorous,

(Awe Struck By The Game.)

They Climbed From Within The Paintings,

Etched In Oil Amongst The Bark;

They Danced Within Sin,

Pretty Pills Finalize A Tormented Soul’s Mark.

The Creatures Can Mutate,

Morph Before Your Iris:

“Do Not Stop, Nor Stare…

Their Sin Manipulates Tempting Virus”

“It’s Just A Little Fun,

Don’t You Understand?

I’ve Been Drowning In Lifelong Muck,

These Friends Prove A Struck Of Luck.

Go Bother Your Own Kind,

Vivian,

Let Me Play Within My Mind.”

Her Silence Creep,

“Ask And You Shall Receive…”

I Demanded She Go,

So She Granted My Leave.

Babies In Faces Of Grown Individuals,

A Significant Supply Of Hetero/Bi/Homosexuals:

A Slew Of Bodies,

Lines Plentiful,

(White As Snow:)

Spidy-Sippy Encased In Tequila,

“TJ, Keep Your Mind Low.”

“Vivian, Are you Ill?

I Said, Just Go!”

“A Party Is Not A Pleasure,

While Masked In Complaints…

Don’t Let This Muck Devour You,

Cast Within Constraints.”

This Cast Was Transgender,

Beauty-Queens With Testosterone In Their Chest…

“TJ, Take Head…

Your Chosen For Divine Test.”

“I’ve Been Stripped Of My Dignity,

Laid Each Buck I Set My Crosshairs Upon…

I’m Tainted,

Can’t You See?

No One Could Ever Want Me.

I’m Raped And Tangled Within A Head Full Of Muck…

At Least Here:

I Choose Who I Fuck.

I Line Them Up,

Pretty To Kind;

Then The Humorous Ones,

Followed By Talent Of Mind.

They All Turn To Stone Once Completed With Me,

At Least I Choose Which Parts They See Within Me.

I Can Give Them My Body,

It’s A Game Katherine And I Play:

It’s Target Practice,

Though…

(Toads Don’t Stay.)

It’s Miss Molly Popping Raindrops,

Kiss The Prince To Make Him “POP”…

Drag Queens Galore,

What A Colorful Sight Of Lore!

We Danced And We Sang,

And We Fucked Until The Sky Rang…

We Ate Mushrooms,

Filled Our Heads With LSD:

We Laughed And Played,

Smoking Bowls And Drinking Tea.

“I’m The Good Witch!

And All You Bitches;

Y’all Are My Lollipop Guild!”

What A Hollow Family Build.

The Music Vibrated The Hairs Along My Neck,

And When I Awoke…

I Left Nothing More Than Human Dreck.

Katherine Was Gone,

No Sight To Be Seen,

The Party Had Become Tar:

Splattered Across The Scene.

I Began To Sob,

Tears As Multnomah Falls:

“You Mustn’t Cry Dear,

Duty Calls…”

A Voice Familiar,

Though,

Unseen At Best.

“You’ve Just Begun,

Now Onto The Test.”

A Little Beatle Crawled Within My Ear,

He Whispered All The Things I Wanted To Hear…

His Insecta Titled “Lust”:

Buried Himself Deep Within This Conch Crust.

I Discovered A Pick,

No Larger Than Pacific Tick…

I Planted Beneath A Moss Written Fir Tree:

Plucking Each Of His Hanged Feet Out From Within Me.

The Fog Settled In As I Stared This Beatle Within His Face,

“Find Another, Young Beetle…

You Don’t Belong Within My Mind-space.”

“I’m Not Invasive,

Young TJ…

Though You Mustn’t Surprise If We Meet Again,

You Haven’t An Idea Of Real Love While Lost Within.”

He Tipped His Hat,

Scurried Amongst This Forest Mat.

Finding Traces Of Friendship,

Now Tattered Remanence,

(Memories Dulled Upon Coexistence.)

“Excuse ME!

Forest?

I’m Searching For An Emerald Eye?

I’m Sick Of Being Tourist!”

The Witch Was Gone,

She Only Used Me For Her Own Fame,

And When I Fell…

She Laughed Then Found Another To Claim.

I Had Been Left For Dead,

Blacked Night Turned Blue:

I Had Been Slipped Non-consensual Drugs Too…

All These Creatures…

All Turned Lead…

Then Disintegrated;

(Amongst The Goo.)

I Was Left Alone,

A Cold And Lonely Tone.

They Hadn’t Cared For My Well-being,

Only Themselves In Sin-kissed Scene.

I Stumbled Amongst The Trees,

Barefoot And Tore:

Sweet,

Whispers Of Hymn,

Guiding My Lore.

The Beatle’s Feet Leave Sticky Poison,

Injected,

Absorbed Amongst The Skin:

My Chest Begins To Slumber,

Winded Upon A Whim.

My Sight Flashed,

Deep Before My Eyes:

Tangled,

Morphed Between The Lies.

“You Know What,

Fuck This.

Fuck All Of This.”

Vivian, Trudging In Stage Left:

“You Thought You Have Choice?

This Has Been Written Long Before,

You Weren’t Even A Concept.

I Engage My Right To Percept,

Intercept This Attempt:

You Fuck As Thought Your Exempt,

(Your Soul’s Torment.)

You Deserve To Be Drudged Within This Muck,

You Lit The Sea Of Slime.

You’re A Creature Of Rare Find,

Do Not Disregard Your Mind…”

*Running Miles*

“What A Pretty Girl…”

Vivian Muttering Beneath Her Breath:

“Eyelashes Reaching Toward The Sky,

Perfectly Framing Such Masterpiece Of An Eye.

Shimmering Blue And Gold,

Waltzing With Vibrant Green;

(Camouflaging Grey.)

Trickling Down Your Nose…

(Only The Best Tear To Stay.)

Lips And Teeth Mastering The Act:

Failing To Admit…

(The Ugly Unexposed Fact.)”

Playing Her Game Of Illusions,

(She The Most Talented Musician.)

The Smooth Pick Of Perfection,

(Her Appearance,)

Nothing More Than a Mask,

A Façade To What Appears;

(Within This Forest’s Task.)

“To The World,”

I Express Upon a Whim:

“You Are Beautiful…

(No Need For Doubt.)

The Porcelain Within Your Tub:

Carrying Your Secrets Thin,

(In And Out.)”

I Find It Extraordinary,

(Baffling,)

How Complex The Human Existence Is:

Ever Take Five Seconds:

(Listen To The Heart Beat,)

Faster,

(Faster,)

Slower…

(Depending Upon Such Situation,)

It’s Conductor Is Forced Within.

“Listen:”

Vivian Shook Me From Both Shoulders,

Pleading I Take Caution;

(Swallowing The Roach As It Smolders.)

“The Intellect Of A Girl Coward Within A Corner,

Preferring To Observe:

Is An Encased Reality, Too Confined For Her.

People Such As You And I,

Wish For Nothing In Love…

A Partner To Co-exist Amongst,

(A Perfect Fit Glove.)

However:

If We Symbolize Perfect Representations,

(As The Other Perceives “Ideal”.)

Can We Actually Mutate Our Own Ways?

(To Accommodate Each-other,)

Into Our Own Self Revolving Universal Sways?

We Are The Images Of Your Fantasies.

*Whispers*

We Are The Ones That Are Gonna Last Forever.”

Staggering,

Coming Down From A Lustful Poison:

I Take A Rest,

Gathering The Shatters Of My Emotional Cloisonné.

“If This Reality Revolves Around Your Assumptions;”

Expressed In Shared Artistic Galleria,

“Is This Test But Based Upon Idea?

As Everyone Is,

Exactly What Time Can Reveal Themselves As.

What Makes Anyone Believe Any Presumptions?

Assumptions That Haven’t Become Placed As A Distraction?

A Labyrinth Of Obstacles,

(Used In Defense,)

To Confuse,

(Anyone,)

From Actually Finding:

What Is…

Are You Expressing There’s Beyond Doubt, He Exists?

(An Intellectual Understanding; Lacking Chastisement.)

Able To Distinguish Lies;

From Personality Detachment?”

She Pierced My Soul;

A Response Projecting One Single Look To Engulf.

“Do Not Group A Sheep With A Wolf:

Nothing Is Ever What Is Seems With A Bull.

Think, Be, Live, See What You Wish.

Deduct Your Reasoning:

The False Aptitude You’ve Been Given Is But A Jellyfish.

Propped Up Upon Your Self Proclaimed Thrown,

(Pieced To Perfection,)

It’s All You’ve Ever Known.

It’s What You’ve Always Wanted:

(Right?)

Welcome To The American Dream:

When The Job Becomes A Wife,

(And A Love Your Mistress.)”

As We Sat Beneath The Foliage,

(Burning Leaves To Catch Our Breath,)

Vivian Jumps Before Me To Proclaim Her Death;

A Lullaby To Sing Post Miscarriage, Inept.

“Once Upon A Time:

There Was A Princess,

A Bull In a China Cabinet,

(Rather.)

Though Rare And Difficult To Attain;

(At Perfect Harmony,)

A Determined Bull Will Always Be Enticing.

Though,

The China Cabinet May Ruin;

In The Slightest Scare You Walk Away…

(Fear Of Blood.)

You Always Return To Repair The Glass.

For A Sheep Will Never Fulfill,

Stimulate,

(Satisfy,)

To The Extent Of The Bull.

A Painted Dresser Will Never Appeal;

Toward The Eye,

Which Once Adored A Now Broken Glass,

(Devine Toll.)

This Unsatisfied Longing Will Lead A Prince To Become Mad:

Picking Up Every Last Sliver To Attain The Anomaly,

(He Once Cherished.)

The Bull Will Great Him,

With The Up-most Dazed Eye;

(Patiently Awaiting His Gentle Diligence.)

And As Stunning Rays Of Gold Shout,

(Within His Pupil,)

Stretching Their Beauty From A Hazel Eye;

Through The Last Parcel Of Glass.

The Mess Will Become Forgotten,

(Mistakes Overlooked,)

Leaving Nothing:

A Boy And A Girl,

A Prince And His Fragile Princess,

Tattoos…

And A Bull In A China Cabinet.”

She Takes Her Bow,

Pleasantly Comparable;

(Within An Imaginary Stage.)

I Chuckled,

She Inhaled Toke Remarkably Slow.

Vivian Snapping In Response,

“If Your Audience Only Knew:

These Flashy Lights And Sparkle?

(A Well Polished Blanket, Scenting Burnt Sage:)

The Cinderblocks You Hide Yourself Behind,

Forgetting You Were Born For The Stage?

A Jaded Child,

(The Best Act In The Business!)

Your Tricks And Mirrors:

(Reviled Only By The Intelligent;)

Push Past The Faux,

*Whispers*

Discover Your Truth,

Keep Your Mind Low.”

Sober Consequences For Inebriated Actions,

(Haunt Me.)

She Smoked Up Real Close,

Extricating Lust From Claiming My Conscience:

“Life’s Too Short To Live Suppressing Your Desire.

One Day,

It Will Be to Late:

A Lipstick Stain,

On The Lip Of An Empty Coffee Mug.

Run Away, Tonight:

Chase Me Down The Rabbit Hole.”

She Point Her Body Toward A Fog Covered Path…

Vibrations Of Hymn,

“You Afraid?

(The Earthquake’s Aftermath;)

Force Yourself, A Laugh.”

I Came Upon An Opening Within The Trees:

A Platform In Time,

(Hazed In Bind.)

A Silhouette Arrive Within The Mist,

The Elephant Man Appeared With A Twist:

This Prophet Had Become Broken,

(Lost,)

Within This Dark Forest’s Face.

Disheveled,

Drunken,

A Sad Light Encased,

(Within Muck…)

Avoiding Potential Luck,

(For Taste.)

The Mist Of Ego Prevent Clear Vision To See,

(Spiritual Beings Dim Dark As Can Be.)

I Laid Down A Gift Amongst The Green:

A Letter To Match,

(Attempt To Become Seen.)

Little Boxes,

Boxes Upon The Hilltop,

Presented Pleasantly Keen:

Yellow, Blue, Purple, Green…

Not All Boxes Are Equal,

(Some Require Divine Intervene.)

To Know Even One Soul Has Breathed Easier:

(Because You Have Lived.)

This Is To Have Succeeded:

This Is To Become Revived,

(To Have Lived.)

I Believe I Have Decided:

I Shall Become A Frog.

A Rainbow Colored Frog:

With Aqua Eyes And Bright Green Pupils.

Beauty Is The Worst Curse One Could Aquire.

I May Not Have Much:

I Have Love To Give Eternal Lore,

(That’s All Anyone Can Dream For.)

There May Be Plenty Of Fish In The Sea,

Though,

When Your Heart Is Set On A Lionfish…

(A Tuna Could Never Suffice Thee.)

Sometimes:

I Ponder How The World Works.

A Never-ending Cycle Of Knowledge I Crave,

(To Wrap My Brain Around.)

No Day Is The Same:

Continue Looking For New Aspects Of Our Existence,

(Disregard Projected Blame.)

An Accumulation Of Cells,

Eternally Growing To Reproduce;

Combined With Conciousness…

(And Tact Of Use.)

To Know The Connection:

Between Scientific Makeup,

Verses Spirituality,

Is Fascinating…

At Least It Is To A Frog;

(Dreaming Amongst The Sea.)

I Told Him I Was A She-wolf;

He Only Saw The Sheep Crouched Within.

While Counting Orchids,

Her Hummingbird Pays Visit:

(The Key Unjustly Misplaced By Sin.)

She Can Read My Thought,

She Flows Within:

Entering My Iris With Ease,

(Slithering Smoke, Taught.)

“A Life Spent Attempting To Impress:”

She Digress Within My Chest,

“Worrying Amongst Others Impressions?

This Is No Life At All, You’ll Find.

Live Fast,

Die Wise.

Do Not Dwell On Past Love-Drenched Lies:

If One Cannot See Unique Beauty,

(Another Will.)

They Will Accept Your Weird Antics,

(The Skeletons,)

The Struggles…

Cast Out Those Keeping You Small.

Let Your Heart Become Free:

Love Unconditionally Tall,

Share And Listen…

You’d Be Surprised;

(How Simple It Can Be To Fall.)”

Today:

There Was You,

And As The Sun Crept Across The Mountain,

We Were Intertwined…

(Our Chests Bare, In Tune.)

Little Girls Are Always Filled With Pansies,

(Dreams Of Love…)

Until The Rain Never Comes…

Her Dreams Fall As BBs Through A Dove;

(A Lost Favored Glove.)

Should You Misjudge Her Generosity?

(That An Act Of A Harlot;)

In Reality,

‘Twas Mistrust Within Dead Thought.

These Things,

(Those Which Keep Life Beautiful,)

They’re Often Overlooked.

The Majestic Array Of Sienna And Gold,

Stretching Across The Horizon:

The Sun Lay Down,

Dressing It’s Land Bedizen.

The Esthetic Sound:

Morning Birds Harmonizing,

Within Darkness Of A Newborn Morn.

The Sexual Beauty Of Lipstick Stained

Upon The Butt Of An Unlit Crutch,

Knowing The Simplistic Pleasure

Within That Woman’s Relaxation.

These Are The Things That Keep Me Breathing:

These Are My Prized Possessions.

“She Doesn’t Know:

She’s Beautiful…

A Golden Heart Filled Plentiful.”

(Vivian Piping In From Amongst The Foliage.)

I’m A Walking Disaster:

You’ll Regret You Made Me…

It’s To Late To Save Me.

Vivian’s Snarling Teeth And Red Lips Hiss:

“To Speak Of Things!

Out Of Ignorance!

A Narcissistic Addiction,

(To One’s Own Lack Of Esteem.)

I Bumble:

“I Swear, There Is No Perfection Within My Words.

(No Certainty Within My Thoughts,)

Little Confidence Within My Actions.”

She Straightens My Spine,

One Last Time.

“Just Remember:

Those Who Doubt,

Will See.

Black, White, Blue;

Betrayal, Ignorance, Selfishness…

(And Greed.)

Those Who Question,

Are Bound To Learn:

A Narrow Scope Leaves Little Room,

(Whilst Preparing Such Turn.)

This Beautiful Symbiosis Creates:

(Mutual Understanding.)

Never Underestimate Those Who Bleed,

(Within True Color;)

The Masks,

(And The Faces Beneath,)

Do Not Faultier The All Seeing Eye…

(Of Truth.)

*Vivian Whispers Within My Conch*

I Always Get What I Want…

And You’re No Exception.’”

She Vanished Before My Eyes,

Once Again ‘On My Own’ For Size.

I Sat Next To A Rushing River;

Counting The Ripples,

Simultaneously Crashing Within One-Another.

It Was Water Flowing Toward The Sea:

Welcoming Loneliness,

(Branded Inside Me.)

I Sat And Observed:

All The Pallid Bubbles,

(Floating Above My Head.)

I Lowered My Tone,

“Can I Express Myself?

(Excuse Me For The Intrusion:)

Could One Plus One Equal Two,

(Endless Nights Have Turnt Me Blue.)

I’m Just A Face Within The Crowd,

Singing Toward A “Wounded Healer”:

My Shredded Heart-Strings Screech…

(Blushingly Loud.)

I’ve Found:

Isn’t It A Pitty?

This Turmoil?

(Fucking Shitty.)

The Highs Are Godly:

(The Lows Near Death.)

Stalled:

(I Sit Here…)

Gasping To Catch Breath.

The Ups,

(The Downs…)

It’s A Goddamn Deadly Coaster Ride.

A Piece Of Discarded Plastic,

(Ebb And Flow…)

Synchronized Tide.

And I Fucking Cried…

I Cried Until The Sea Spewed Jealousy.

My Mind Blank:

(Perfectly Placed,)

Shards Of Glass,

(Installed Ever So Delicately…)

Within My Heart,

(Live Fast.)

I Begged For Rock Bottom:

(I Desire To Paint Love.)

I Dropped My Guard,

(Emotions Shoved;)

Within A Pretty Little Box…

Placed Amongst A Shelf,

Lost Within An Assortment Of Discarded Clocks.

How Does One Write A Love Story?

(It Never Seems To Unfold,)

Failed Attempts:

All Stories Are Untold…

Until They Aren’t.

Thank You For Saving Me.”

I Turn To Coward:

The Elephant Mumbles,

Beneath Drunken Hiccups And Depression Slime;

(Covered In Muck.)

My Newly Shifted Spine;

Claimed A Ringing In Time.

“Excuse Me?

(I May Promote Distaste:)

Have You Dulled Yourself Incapable;

(Recognizing Divine Gifts?)

Your Soul Begged the Universe For Just This.

Why Patronize?

Did You Enjoy It?

(Back When You Were I?)

Mustering Courage To ‘Keep Going’…

(Accumulating Judgement Of Your Potential;

You’ve No Idea,

The Artistic Baggage I’m Towing.

I’m Developing A Publishing Platform:

(One Based On Truth And Heart,)

“Freedom Of Thought”.

Untangling My Own Mind,

(An Audition Of Love:)

Written And Published,

(In Real Time.)

A Test Of Divinity,

(Against Each Deadly Sin…)

Proof Of My Own Eternal Worth:

Avoid “The Game”,

(Love Festers From Within.)

I Broke Myself,

(Year 25,)

I Begged To The Heavens,

“Please Do Not Take Me.”

I Made A Promise That Day:

Sacrifice My Own Life…

A Soldier;

(Against Human Decay.)

“Sell My Soul,”

(Or So You Could Say.)

You Could Not Understand,

(Elephant Man,)

I’m A Trilogy From A Musical…

(A Story Unlike Any Before,)

For This Story…

Is Me:

(Written In Rhythmic Lore.)

You Wanna Play Tit For Tat?

I’ll Challenge A Profit,

(I’m No Longer A Door Mat.)

You Know That Itch?

(I Feel It Too…)

I Hope You Recognize,

You’re On A Deadly Spiral,

(Noticeable To Few.)

The Green Bled Grey Within Your Eyes,

Could You Know What It’s Like?

(Hidden Deep Within Lies?)

So Deep,

Your Mind Begins To Play Games:

Are You Ignoring Such Important Self Work?

Remain Tamed?

(A Beating Heart Saturated Of Toxic Stains…)

Or Maybe,

Could You Be Hiding Behind Complaints?

Claiming:

“No One Could Understand Me…”

Unable To Express Yourself;

(Without Constraints.)

It’s Lonely Up Here…

The Price To Pay:

“Hyper-Intellectuality.”

It’s The Curse Of Mediocrity To Stay…

(Isn’t It?)

I Dote Upon My Own Talent Within A Full Moon…

Talk To You Soon.”

His Mind Was Wrapped In Soup Bowls,

One On Each Side Of The Head:

Enthralled In Playing With Spiders,

Swimming In Toxic Lead.

I Found A Little Box,

Similar To Before:

Next To A Psychedelic Fungi,

I Peered Within, Once More.

The Writing Unscripted;

Within Lay Plugs For Ears.

Harmony Flows In:

Insecta Forced Out,

Lay To Rest Old Fears.

I Hear The Shore:

A Beating Of My Heart, Sound…

“See You Around.”

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trashayfanfiction · 5 years

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Fluffy smut I promised

PLZ tumblr don’t ban it. Rated M, but not Explicit. Slice of life, light comedy, uncomfortable situations.

Prompt 1 for smut week. “Video taping”

Ash goes to japan and finds some hardcore 'american twink' porn in Eiji's room. ....he is unsure how to react.

"LOOK I WATCHED THOSE BEFORE I EVEN MET YOU"

Ash makes him a custom porn tape.

Idk if I like this one well enough to post to AO3, so might be a Tumblr only thing. I feel the quality of my work is suffering due to the frequency I’m posting. My diction is lacking and all of my works explore the same ideas. #uninspired but working on it.

..................................................

He was already stressed about visiting Eiji’s parent’s house. He was a man. What if they didn’t like him. What if, what if….

And then he found this little gem tucked in the back of Eijis bookcase behind some comics. “American Twink Railed Hard Gangbang’ the ‘Engrish’ scrawled across the cover in weathered white letters.

He’d thought it weird that there was a video tape behind the comics.

Eiji was out in the kitchen with his family. Ash wondered if his mom ever found his porn, this wasn’t a very sneaky place for it. Maybe she gave him privacy ‘boys will be boys’ and such. Eiji was nineteen when he first came to America. Men have needs.

The boy on sleeve was pretty and blonde, tied up in black shibari on top of a muscular man who’s face wasn’t pictured. The boy looked younger than him….

….but Eiji was still young. It’s normal to desire someone close to your own age. And Japan has different ‘age of consent’ laws didn’t it? He still felt his stomach shift.

He looked at the back of the tape; images of the boy tied up in a grimy subway car, wrists attached to the overhead bars. Large men surrounding him.

That…… hit a little close to home. But that correlation was interesting. This was Eiji’s first trip back home, so it was unlikely these were new.

He removed some of the other comics, a single shelf of tankobons. Behind them there was a another video and a few magazines. By no means a sizable porn collection. He could hold all of it in one hand. It was actually pretty pathetic.

Shorter had two milk crates of playboy magazines he’d swiped over the years. A truly impressive feat, seeing that almost all of them were shoplifted or stolen. He used to joke ‘when I die, you can have my porn collection,” To which Ash always responded with disgust.

His dad had ‘motorcycle’ magazines that Ash knew about before he ran away, it’s not like they were hidden. The house was only men; him, dad, and Griff. Of course Griff had some pinup girls from Sports Illustrated on his walls. Ash supposed Eiji’s small collection was part of living at home. …but a significant amount of it was pretty white boys getting fucked.

At least he didn’t need to worry about his boyfriend being attracted to him or not. ….now that they were at a point where attraction was acknowledged and welcomed. If he’d seen this when he first met Eiji, he could have been convinced there were ulterior motives.

He flipped through the magazines out of curiosity. One was relatively normal ‘straight’ man stuff; female models, cute Asian schoolgirls. Sweet innocence the primary sex appeal with provocative voyeuristic camera angels and demure poses. This is what he was expecting, not the other magazines full of kink. A slim blindfolded blonde boy with cum on his face. Another image of a Caucasian boy tied open over a Spanish horse, wood pressing into his groin.

He knew his hair was irrationally standing on end. The images were only shocking in relation to who owned them. Eiji was in the kitchen talking to his family, catching up. After introductions and talking, stumbling over Japanese and English. Ash had turned in early due to jetlag. The details of Eiji’s childhood room fascinated him. A tidy study area. No sports posters on the wall, the image Ibe took was framed in the family room though. The comics had drawn him in with their touch of color and personality….. Finding this was….stash… entirely unexpected in contrast to the clean normal exterior.

But he supposed that was normal. Most people didn’t broadcast their sexuality, let alone desires like these. Honestly, at the beginning of their relationship he was curious if Eiji even liked guys, his “Do you have a girlfriend?” question testing the waters. Eiji’s cautious “No, no girlfriend,” giving him a glimmer of hope to entertain an idea and fantasy he knew he shouldn’t have.

But Eiji’s awful flirting, and terrible dick jokes, bravery and earnest attitude….. and somehow they ended up here. He was doomed to fall for such a sheltered honest guy who laughably wanted to protect him and didn’t want anything in return. An equal he didn’t deserve.

But still…. Leather?

He had never needed to do much S&M thankfully, it wasn’t the primary draw to him…. But he’d done it.

Ash flipped through some more pages. A boy in a spidergag. Asian this time. This seemed to be more of a leather magazine than anything. The photography highlighted the young men in various restraints.

The last two magazines were ‘Hardcore White Boy’, and he was a bit scared to open them. This might be a secret that Eiji didn’t want to share, but curiosity got the better of him.

It was exactly what he expected. Bondage and gangbangs, and red marks, and…. He put the papers down.

He tried to forget that the boys looked very similar to him. None quite had his shade of blonde, and eye color wasn’t visible in most images, but the correlation was there.

He decided it was time to put the porn back and stop poking in his significant other’s personal business. …but he kind of wanted to tease the man.

He left the girly mag out. Opening it and posing it over his T-shirt covered chest when he heard the creak of Eiji finally opening the bedroom door.

He gave his best overexaggerated sexy stretch, showcasing what he’d found. “This is the kind of thing you like?” He tried to pout, “Am I not your type?”

Eiji froze as he saw the magazine in Ash’s hand. Evaluating the Caucasian in front of him for anything more than the shenanigans being currently pulled.

“D-! Where did you find that?”

Ash rolled over, mischief overriding his system. “In your comics,” Shit-eating grin.

“I- is that all you found?” Dread crept up Eiji’s face…. It was adorable.

“Does a good boy like you have more?” He flipped through the magazine, “I think she’s pretty,” He teased. A pretty girl whining and covering her breasts as the camera ‘interrupted’ her changing.

“You know I’m not a ‘good boy’. Stop being a dick,”

His stuttering and flushing were amusing. ….Ash wanted to unbutton that pajama shirt and see how far the pinkness went…. But they were at Eiji’s parent’s house, and Japanese walls were thin.

Eiji set up his futon next to Ash. Letting a hand creep out to hold his friend’s fingers.

The night was normal.

………………………………………..

The trip was normal.

He still couldn’t forget the video tape and magazines.

He wondered if Eiji would ever bring it up. The other always knew when he was lying.

Nothing was mentioned.

They had been messing around a bit beforehand…. It was still weird. New. Hesitant in a way that was annoying, but not unwarranted.

……………………………….

They had been moved into their new apartment about a week now. Eiji was out. The visible camcorder gave him an idea…..

It was easy to go to the sex store and find the things he wanted a few days earlier. Ash had been debating this for a while.

He wanted to see what would happen.

It couldn’t possibly hurt anything. Either Eiji would be turned on or it would be humiliatingly hilarious, both weren’t horrible outcomes.

…………………………………………………………..

Ash struggled more than he’d like to admit setting up the camera on the tripod…. He’d never needed to do this himself.

The camera’s presence still made him nervous. He denied that he was shaking.

He checked the viewfinder and lay out his implements.

He thought of who he was doing this for.

……………………………………………

“Hey! I’ve got a present for you,” Ash pecked him on the cheek as he returned.

Everything was cleaned up. The only evidence was the small cassette he’d titled ‘**Special XOXO’ with permanent marker.

He plugged the camcorder into the TV.

Sounds of his own moaning filled the apartment.

“Y-you can take something that bit,” Eiji sputtered. The disbelief was delightful.

Ash licked the shell of his ear, brushing his soft hair. “Yeah, does it turn you on? I’ve still got rope marks on my legs, you wanna see?”

No reaction, but the older boy’s body was rigid under his touch.

His hand cupped his boyfriend’s erection. He flinched away from the contact. “I’m still loose if you want to do it now. Watch me on screen, and have me here.” He trembled at the suggestion, fought the urge to bolt and leave the one person he trusted more than anything. He licked his lips to cover up that reaction.

Would Eiji take the bait?

Was this bait? He just wanted to know Eiji’s reaction……

“So you did find it…..?” his voice was low and resentful.

Ash traced a finger along his boyfriend’s face, lightheartedly. Eiji refused to look at him, even going as far to hide his face in his hands.

“You must think I’m a terrible pervert.”

“I don’t think that at all. Do you want to do that to me?” He pulled his tank top to the side, pink nipple poking out of the thin cotton…. “You seem to be interested,” A frisky squeeze to the groin…. Eiji was hard… Ash felt his stomach turning. ….please say ‘no’, please say ‘no’…..

“Look, I watched those before I even met you,” He brushed Ash’s hand away, defensive. Angry? “Stop being cruel. I will not do stuff like that with you unless you want to.”

“I just thought you’d like it.”

“I don’t think you like stuff like that, so stop.”

Ash shut off the TV, quickly killing his practiced sounds of pseudo ecstasy. He left. The tension in the room was unbearable.

Eiji slumped farther into the couch, head in his hands.

………………………………………………………………

Cautiously Eiji entered their shared bedroom. “I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn’t think I should have let you know. It is embarrassing, you know?”

Ash stirred from under the covers, feigning sleep, “It’s not what you want from me?”

“….…you are very attractive. But I do not like you only because you are attractive,”

“I’m glad that you won’t do stuff like that to me. …. But I don’t think I mind if you have it.”

#asheiji #BFsmutweek #fanfiction #banana fish

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starsailorstories · 5 years

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When An Unstoppable Force Loves An Immovable Object (Finally a Rugsy/DT Playlist)

If you can’t tell from the title, this one was complex because their dynamic is absolutely wild, and very few songs made the cut to truly capture it. And I have commentary about every single one, because I’m obsessed with them.

Playlist here

Hunger//Florence + The Machine | “And it’s friday night and it’s kickin’ in, I’m getting dressed, they’re gonna crucify me. And you, in all your vibrant hues? How could anything bad ever happen to you. You make a fool of death with your beauty.”

The process of creating both Rugsy and DT was incredibly organic. I felt like they just WERE a certain way, and I was just observing and getting to know them. One of the biggest shifts in that process was realizing that they’re both self-destructive, but in ways that look very different; and at first they imagine the other one as someone who’s okay with herself, and in their initial infatuation that’s what they’re really yearning for. At their introductions in vol. 2 they already know each other quite well as comrades in the rebellion, but they don’t have any intimate understanding of each other--they’re just political rivals within their ideology who are weirdly obsessed with each other, which is not really something there are many love songs about. I feel like this gets under the skin of that dynamic to both of their healing processes since escaping, and to what they’re truly reaching out for.

Elevator Love Letter//Stars | “I’ll take her home after midnight, and if she likes, I’ll tell her lies--how we’ll be in love by the morning. I don’t think she’ll know that I’m saying goodbye.”

A veritable classic of Rugsy/DT ship songs, first conversations about it circa I wanna say spring 2016. Not every word is perfect, but the words that are perfect are so perfect I haven’t been able to forget them. The pining going on here! The way it captures how that simultaneous self-destructiveness has evolved into a melancholy mutual fear of intimacy masking a much deeper mutual fear of being alone! The imagery of “My office glows all night long, it’s a nuclear show and the stars are gone” when applied to these two and their heartbreaking steadfastness: they love their cause, and they love a girl who loves her cause, and they live so close to the edge that they’re afraid to feel that interpersonal love fully. The way it breaks into “don’t go, say you’ll stay” suddenly at the end, like that need is finally being admitted.

Shrike//Hozier | “I was housed by your warmth, and I was transformed, by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. Remember me, love, when I am reborn, as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.”

Oh ho doop de doo I’m a white lesbian on tumblr in 2019 and this is my obligatory ship playlist with Florence and Hozier on it. ANYWAY. For me this song exemplifies a very particular moment in Rugsy and DT’s relationship--without spoilers, there comes a point where they both know they’re in love with the other but are sure they’ve blown it with her, and of course this is a song about knowing you’ve blown it, though not without its echoes of hope. But it’s a song about more than that--it’s a song about romance with challenge, romance that produces its nourishment via lethal impact, and also about synergy and sacrifice--about being the thing your beloved needs to do that thing she does. The title of the playlist says it all here, really.

Greens of June//Case/Lang/Veirs | “And all the greens of June come blowing through the door. They make me want to live like I never have before.”

I usually don’t like the whole “I was borderline suicidal and falling in love made everything okay” theme in a ship song. But I had to include this for the following reasons:

I friggin’ love that it’s basically a tango from a musical standpoint

I feel like you can read it as acknowledging a decision to actively work on healing, and Rugsy and DT’s deciding to be a steady couple coincides with a decision, which they make together, to stop dancing a treacherous dance around their own (and each other’s) scars and actively on towards healing, together

They make this decision while tangoing, actually

Lyrics pointedly mention a rug for no obvious reason

The Good That Won’t Come Out//Rilo Kiley | “They’d see all of it, all of it, all of me--all of the good, that won’t come out of me, and all the stupid lies I hide behind. It’s such a big mistake, lying here in your warm embrace.”

The whole thing about Jenny Lewis being Dialtone’s voiceclaim came in equal parts out of her songs that combine a driving aggressive energy with a sort of pursed-lipped old-fashioned siren’s delivery--your “See Fernando”s and your “Portions For Foxes”s--and her songs that feel inspiring and noble and cathartic--your “A Better Son/Daughter”s, your “Godspeed”s. Those are the two sides DT shows to the world, the pinup-turned-hustler and the wartime leader on the radio urging her people to carry on through the assault of their oldest enemy, despair (btw, listen to either of those latter two and imagine them as some ragtag caravan of scared escapees’ very first radio contact with Bell Town any time you feel like crying). THE POINT is, I wasn’t thinking of this--and I was totally blindsided by it, because this performance, with its honesty, its vulnerability, its softness, its tenderness-in-spite-of-everything, is the part of DT that only Rugsy sees. I don’t even need to talk about the lyrics, because so many of them land perfectly, but special honorable mention to how much the bridge just sounds like Rugsy/both of them???

Anything We Want//Fiona Apple | “We don’t worry anymore, ‘cause we know when the guff comes we get brave. After all, look around--it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening now.”

Just listen to it, it’s flirty, it’s fun, it’s delightfully off-kilter, it’s just like them. I am so into how much all this romance taking place “when we find some time alone” evokes their lives together as very busy leaders of a burgeoning, hopeful new future, all the allusions to light, how joyful it is in its portrayal of healing (”I looked like a neon zebra shakin’ rain off my stripes”), and ESPECIALLY the refrain being “And then we can do anything we want”--because in addition to, and by virtue of, being a song about healing and healthy equal love, this is most importantly a song about freedom. And I think in a lot of ways DT and Rugsy’s relationship is a microcosm of freedom--it’s an interplay of empathy and dissent, it is a constant struggle, but it’s a joyous struggle, because it’s motivated by real love and unconditional acceptance.

#sweet chariot #dialtone #rugsy #rugsy/dt ship tag lmao #playlists #i'm just goin for it i'm too excited

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thenewhorizon · 3 years

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Week 5 - History of Design

Both of these items scream mysticism, one more geometrical than the other. The ability for shapes to have character is one of the things that makes architecture so interesting to me. The former is two dimensional in nature vs three dimensional (form) for the latter. The Magic: The Gathering card has the connection to the lore of the card game as well. Maja is from the realm of Kaldheim and all life has origins from The World Tree.

The outline of the card is where I see the resemblance to the poster from the book (“Graphic Design: A New History” Stephen F. Eskilson pg. 77). Both have a stamp look and feel to them. The card would have the black area carved out of the rubber material. While the poster would have the colored (white area) carved out.

Both use a type of serif font (at least in the titles). The “tails” of the text aid in the design of mysticism. Serif gives a much different feel than sans-serif font. Sans-serif fits the computer age quite well. It feels efficient. While serif fonts have the addition of these tails to play with. In these cases they have a whip to them, a curve. The curve is connected to nature. As compared to straight lines. These are typically connected to the human touch. Which you can see these straight lines in the formal use of both of these products. The displaying of information connected to the magazine and the text for game-play purposes of the card.

The mysticism comes from a natural element in the poster. The forest feels as if its from a “Little Red Riding Hood” fable. It almost feels like you’re traveling through the forest. If it weren’t for the information on the right side of the poster, it might give an even better impression that you were doing so. The card’s design is more abstract in nature, at least in the name of story creation. The story is less adventure driven, but mystical just the same. Kaldheim draws heavy amounts of inspiration from Norse mythology. You can feel the stories of their belief structure and the history of their battles in the line work and geometry. These stories are branches of intertwining fates of gods and soldiers on the battlefields. All taking place within the realms of The World Tree.

When the design works so well that it allows the viewer to “SEE” a/the story, it is a good design. It allows for the growth of the imagination and with it the growth of our spirit.

Symbology and illusions are tools used by those who aspire for the power to control, ie authority. In a democracy, you may agree or disagree with the figure’s plea for authority, but most have made their life’s goal conspiring for authority. The focus of design can be this authority and not a style within the design itself.

The poster was created to advertise the election of 1864. The reading (“Graphic Design: A New History” Stephen F. Eskilson pg. 44) mentioned the criticism of the overuse of symbology in the poster. Some of these had an appeal to pathos. The American Civil War was in motion and the emotional impact on a nation was surely at its strongest in the midst of the war. This leads to the poster’s appeal to ethos. The eagle, the statue, the Romanesque pavilion. All appeals to symbols of authority. This election and these candidates will protect you.

The book also infers that this design approach is inherently bad or wrong. Which is wrong in of itself. Design is not inherently about collecting the largest group of people possible that find something visually pleasing or agreeable. Using lots of symbols (more is more) approach, especially in a time with much less “distractions” as ours, can help the viewer dive into their own mind and imagination, to help them dream. The specific message of the poster may not be agreed upon, but its style is no less valid than any other.

The dollar bill has symbols and mottos all over. The more is more approach may be heavily connected to prevention of the production of counterfeits. It is none the less the approach that is being used. It is also a perfect example of an illusion. The piece of paper is not worth much in material worth. Not like gold coins of the past. The expectation that we all have that if we go into a store and the owner will give the same value to the piece of paper is the illusion. Symbols and their references to authority create the foundation for this thought. Wreaths and architecture of the past, and whatever material used to “fill in” the canvas, are just appeals to items or ideas that resonate with individuals within the current era. It gives credibility to the focus of the piece. That is the design’s focus.

We all need a little convincing sometimes. Using patriotism to get people to enlist is common among military advertisements. Even using an image of masculinity is popular. Especially in the marine and army type advertisements. Even PETA ended up reusing the popular “I WANT YOU” phrase along with an appeal to a male audience (not solely, but undeniably). A model who had posed nude in a magazine and wearing the same clothes as Uncle Sam, along with a very nice pinup style swimsuit. Sex sells as they say.

In today’s day and age, you get the appeal to the greater good. Culture has definitely shifted, more for the better in my own estimation. Most posters are going to be advertising something. The design of the poster is going to reflect foundational motive nine times out of ten. Designing something with the intended or expected audience is one of the more important things when it comes to these designs. The average person wants to be supportive and helpful. It makes sense that signs advertising the requirement for people wear masks within an establishment would inject the concept that it is beneficial to everyone much like Uncle Sam appeals to “the manly man” and well the same goes for Lauren Anderson.

Our world is filled with advertisements and that is the focal point for a huge part of our world. The design of posters or advertisements is going to have the message behind its creation that has to get out. Some posters will be more extravagant than others in their design decisions. These examples use fairly simple lettering along with the good amount of white space, keeping to the modernist approach of “less is more”. The book examples have attention grabbing elements in the characters on the poster and the enlarged and color change of the “YOU”. The mask mandate sign feels very governmental in its dulled display of information both in colors and images. Of course you still get the snuck in copyrighted symbol of Walgreens.

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dweemeister · 7 years

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Wonder Woman (2017)

It might surprise you that DC Comics characters have been appearing in live-action films for over seventy-five years. That tradition began with Republic Pictures’ Adventures of Captain Marvel (1941) – a twelve-part film serial (serials released a new part in cinemas every week or so in a time when moviegoing was a communal, weekly tradition and when a ticket gave you admission to two feature-length movies and whatever serials, shorts, or newsreels in between). Since then, Batman, Superman, and even characters like Swamp Thing and Congorilla/Congo Bill have had their standalone films. One superhero in DC’s trinity had never appeared in her own standalone film.

That changed earlier this month when director Patty Jenkins brought Wonder Woman to theaters. The fourth film of the DC Extended Universe (DCEU) – following the suffocating Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) and the incompetent Suicide Squad (2016) – Wonder Woman is a much-needed course correction with its earnestness and good intentions (albeit with problems with Wonder Woman’s origins and depiction of World War I). Whether the maligned DCEU reverts to Zack Snyder’s twisted fantasies will be seen later in this year’s Justice League. For now, considering the history of women directors and women-driven superhero movies in Hollywood, Wonder Woman is worth rejoicing over.

Following a brief moment where Diana Prince/Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot as an adult, Lilly Aspel and Emily Carey as younger Diana) is gazing on an old photograph, we see Diana and her early years on the island of Themyscira. Themyscira, long protected from the presence of humans, is inhabited by the Amazons – a race of warrior women created by the Ancient Greek gods. In this incarnation of Wonder Woman, all of the gods but Ares, the god of war, have been slain, and the Amazons are wary of any of his attempts to return. When American spy Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) crash lands and brings a pursuing German warship with him. Diana and the rest of the Amazons spring into action and defeat the pursuing Germans. Steve informs the Amazons of the Great War, and implores that he be released so that he might thwart a German attempt to engineer a hideous mustard-based gas. Diana, believing that Ares is behind WWI, takes herself, a sword and shield, and Steve away from Themyscira and to Europe. She will soon find herself at the Western Front, later realizing that warfare need not divine intervention to unleash the worst in humanity.

Also starring in Wonder Woman are: Robin Wright as Amazonian General Antiope; Connie Nielsen as Diana’s mother, Queen Hippolyta; Danny Huston as German General Erich Ludendorff; David Thewlis as British PM Patrick Morgan; Elena Anaya as Doctor Poison. Ewen Bremner, Saïd Taghmaoui, Eugene Brave Rock, and Lucy Davis round out the cast as Steve’s partners-in-crime.

When she appeared in Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice, Gal Gadot was one of the few redeeming aspects of that shipwreck of a movie. And she, as Diana, provides a stupendous, complex portrait of her character. From a requisite stiffness at home in Themyscira to her wide-eyed curiosity the first moments she visits London for the first time to a combination of compassion and horror approaching No Man’s Land, Wonder Woman is a demanding role for Gadot and may be as demanding as Hugh Jackman’s final go-around as Wolverine in Logan (2017). But where the seasoned Jackman was acting almost entirely on physical intensity, the relatively inexperienced Gadot rises to the challenge of nailing her physical and verbal acting, along with some sharp comedic moments. If Gadot watched Christopher Reeve’s performance as Clark Kent/Kal-El in Superman (1978) for inspiration and guidance, it would come as no surprise. Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman, as she was crafted by creator William Moulton Marston and written for this film by Allan Heinberg, is what humanity could be, rather than what it is now or in 1918.

Nothing encapsulates that more than Wonder Woman’s introduction to humanity. It occurs in a scene somewhere in Belgium as she emerges from the trenches, her iconic costume revealed for the first time. The No Man’s Land scene is one of the most effective superhero introduction sequences one could ask for – from Jenkins’ sense of timing to the stakes involved. Rupert Gregson-Williams’ (an acolyte of Hans Zimmer at Remote Control Productions, but more on Gregson-Williams later; the name of this cue is “No Man’s Land”) score is lacking any discernible secondary themes apart from Junkie XL’s Wonder Woman electric cello-driven action motif that was established in Batman v. Superman and his own Wonder Woman motif, but it accompanies the grimy violence of this moment brilliantly. Here, Wonder Woman is acting on her convictions that something larger, something beyond the pale of even her own mythos, is operating in this nightmarish grove of dead, uprooted trees, mud, and untended corpses. In retrospect, those convictions underestimate the scope of human agency – which will provide greater irony in the film’s concluding act.

World War I is one of the least understood conflicts of the twentieth century. Patty Jenkins, in an interview, notes:

World War I is the first time that civilization as we know it was finding its roots... the way that it was unclear who was in the right of WWI is a really interesting parallel to this time. Then you take a god with a moral compass and a moral belief system, and you drop them into this world, there are questions about women's rights, about a mechanized war where you don't see who you are killing.

And yet Jenkins and Heinberg squander an opportunity to explore those complexities. The world apparently needs evil Germans, it seems, and the one-dimensional portrayal of German soldiers and officers without paying attention to the militarists spurring the war on at the time is contrasted with a mostly rosy view of the Allied Forces. Even when Steve Trevor’s potential deceptions with Diana are hypothesized, there is not even a question that such a dashing blue-eyed American is ever in the wrong. The entire conceit that Allied spies and politicians would pilfer German plans to create an even deadlier mustard gas and choose not to replicate such a chemical weapon is laughable. It is irresponsible, delusional. Though the Central Powers were first to use lethal chemical weapons in 1915 (the French introduced tear gas in 1914), the British, French, Americans, and Russians responded with their own lethal chemical weapons. All sides were culpable in this new form of slaughter we are still reckoning with in contemporary warfare.

What helps the film in this regard is that it does not hide the fact that Steve Trevor is coding Diana’s thinking to make her believe that she is fighting for the “correct” side. But this conflict that arises in the final third of the film is attached to their romantic chemistry. Jenkins and Heinberg seem afraid to complicate the good-versus-evil dichotomy that might be better established in a film taking place during World War II (perhaps they wished to distinguish Wonder Woman’s ethical dilemmas from the straightforward timeline found in 2011′s Captain America: The First Avenger?). All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) it is not, Westfront 1918 (1930, Germany) it is not. Yet Wonder Woman attempted a narrative of the most calamitous war ever seen at that point in history and a sincere commentary on the nature of violence within the confines of a superhero’s story. The filmmakers are responsible for such portrayals, as all too often history is rewritten in reckless fictions.

By film’s end, Diana realizes that though humanity’s capability for violence needs not activation from Olympian gods. Simultaneously, humanity’s capability of love of understanding is in continuous conflict with its darker tendencies, which makes living profound. What struck me – a twentysomething male who does not consume superhero comics, but has seen a share of superhero television and movies – about this depiction of Wonder Woman is that, unlike many recent superhero (male and female) depictions, that this is largely not a tale rooted in some sort of vengeance. Wonder Woman’s motivations for coming into the human world is not a retaliation to violence against her. Yes, the final fight – without venturing into spoilers – has some element of vengeance, but it is not the primary operating emotion. Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman, too, is the master of her own future. Too many times female superheroes in today’s movies and television are depicted within the contexts, frameworks, and stories of a male superhero. Of course, Wonder Woman follows Steve Trevor around quite a bit at the Western Front. But she is still there on her own initiative, with motivations that are hers and hers alone (if you don’t count the Amazons, but they are all women, too).

Because Wonder Woman has not been as widely depicted in film and television as Superman or Batman, her origin story is more susceptible to change. Wonder Woman in the DCEU is a demigod, not just an Amazon. The Amazons, framed as a matriarchal society meant to spread peace among humans, have secluded themselves in paradise. Usually, a contest among Amazons takes place to decide which one of them will accompany Steve Trevor back to the human world; this is not depicted in Jenkins’ film. Though the bonds between Amazons are decently established, this contest’s inclusion could have provided greater emotional linkages to the Amazons at large. Upon departure, Diana, in most incarnations including this film, undertakes a coming-of-age journey to a place which might not accept her. Her vulnerability is most compelling when she arrives as an Amazonian. That feminist resonance is weakened when she is portrayed as a demigod with powers derived from Zeus as this film does or as a disempowered pinup figure or a Goddess of War. At its purest conception, Wonder Woman is an empowering narrative that requires no support from men or gods; this cinematic treatment does not completely fulfill those demands, but it came far closer than many of Wonder Woman’s fans believed it would.

Despite a push to have a female composer score Wonder Woman (female composers are an extreme rarity in Hollywood), Rupert Gregson-Williams of Hans Zimmer’s Remote Control Productions – which is close to monopolizing film scoring among tentpole blockbusters for the major studios, partly resulting in the sameness heard in film scores today – was ultimately tasked to write the music. His score to Wonder Woman is, from the first few minutes, far more orchestral than Zimmer’s percussion-crashing, synthesizer-deafening, one-dimensional superhero scores. Stylistically, Gregson-Williams’ work is more reminiscent of the compositions in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) – with their reliance on orchestras grinding away at repetitive ostinatos without harmonic depth or variation – but that is not necessarily a compliment. Where “No Man’s Land” (provided earlier in this write-up) is the score’s pinnacle of action scoring, “Amazons of Themyscira” introduces a motif for Diana (at 2:26, but listen to the whole cue) that did not appear in Batman v. Superman. The rise-and-fall of Diana’s motif – also well-used in “Angel on the Wing” – is layered with brass primarily, with winds and strings providing harmonic texture that is absent almost throughout the score. More of this layering, this attention to harmonies could have resulted in a more memorable film score.

Wonder Woman has taken a circuitous route to reach cinemas. Though the final product is imperfect, the very fact that her standalone big screen debut has finally navigated through the maze that is today’s Hollywood studio politics is a remarkable achievement. In the last several years, superhero films have pounded cynicism – social, political, personal – without respite. Wonder Woman steps back, kicks ass, and inspires. It dares us to wonder. And it’s one of the best superhero films of the last decade.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

#Wonder Woman #Patty Jenkins #Gal Gadot #Chris Pine #Robin Wright #Danny Huston #David Thewlis #Connie Nielsen #Elena Anaya #Ewen Bremner #Said Taghmaoui #Eugene Brave Rock #Lucy Davis #Allan Heinberg #William Moulton Marston #Rupert Gregson Williams #My Movie Odyssey

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mang-x · 7 years

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Survey Time

Do you believe in aliens?: Yes. I don’t think they’re green.. Who are your favorite people in the world?: BTS. Lisa. What is your favorite dog breed?: Husky Do you enjoy reptiles as pets? why or why not?: I want a snake. They're so cool. Do you prefer the beach or the mountains?: Mountains Indoor gardens or outside gardens?: Outside. I don't like being inside. But I would like to have both gardens. Do you like long hair or short hair?: Starting to prefer long hair since people keep cutting theirs. What is your favorite thing right now?: Nature. What is your dream vacation?: I want to go to Hokkaido Japan and go snowboarding. Visit their snow festival and visit the Ainu. Do you believe in zodiacs/horoscopes?: Most of them, no. I just look at them for fun. TheZodiacCity.com is almost always right about me, though. I believe that. Do you know how beautiful you are?: I’m average. What is your favorite feeling?: Adrenaline. Excitement. If you could spend a day with anyone, who would it be?: Lisa. BTS. Kya. Do you like anons? why or why not?: No. When people can hide behind Anon, they are more likely to bully. Anons are cowards. I like nice people who have courage. That's not to say every Anon is an asshole. I just prefer not to allow that option. When you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?: I don't add milk to my cereal. Do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?: Yes. I enjoy the cold. Do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?: All over. What's something that made you smile today?: Spending time with Kyla! What color do you really want to dye your hair?: Blue. Do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?: Positive quotes. What makes me feel better. What I've achieved. It's just a lot of things I use to try and make myself happy. What's your favorite eye color?: Bright blue eyes or Brown with green. Are you a morning person?: I enjoy the mornings. I'm usually sleeping at that time. I want to wake up earlier. It's just that when I do, I end up sleepy the whole day. What's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?: Go outside. Is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?: Lisa. Sunrise or sunset?: Sunset What is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.: I like socks. I just don't like wearing them. What's your fave pastry?: Pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls. Tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?: It's a pink and white bunny. I don't have a name. It's still on my bed. What color do you wear the most?: Black. When was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?: March 23rd, when I was at the BTS concert. Do you trust your instincts a lot?: Yes. What are some things you find endearing in people?: Confidence. Motivation. Effort. Passion. Respect. Compassion. Are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it?: Yes. What are some of your worst habits?: Picking my skin and nails. Can't keep a sleeping schedule. Bad memory. Taking forever to reply to people. Sometimes even forgetting to. Self harm. Is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't?: Sleeping. Are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?: I want tattoos of my favorite animals (wolves, bears, snow leopards, bunnies..) together with a quote that says something about how we are all equal and they deserve to live just as much as humans do. I also want to get a pinup girl. Maybe flowers, too. I don't know if I'd go through with all of this. But who knows. Are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?: Drown it! As long as I can taste the sauce, too. If you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?: I want to go to the future. Maybe I'll finally have my life together by then. I also enjoy growing as a person.

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thesinglesjukebox · 7 years

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KATY PERRY FT. SKIP MARLEY - CHAINED TO THE RHYTHM [3.77] Maybe Katy should take her Jamaican Guy and go back to the Private Life.

Thomas Inskeep: Full disclosure: I came into this not expecting to like it, but trying to keep an open mind. But then Katy decided to show off how "woke" she thinks she is. Ooh, we're "all chained to the rhythm," but clearly should be doing more to change the world, just like Katy Perry. Some of us, however, still haven't forgotten the likes of "Ur So Gay." She can claim she's progressive etc. all she wants, but I don't buy it for a minute; Perry will do whatever she thinks will sell sell sell her records. Bizarrely, she seems to think that a cod-reggae beat is the answer in 2017? (Or more accurately, that could be the fault of co-writer Sia, who's predisposed to such notions.) Because you know what's awesome? When white artists show you how much they know about "rhythm" by featuring -- oh, I know! Let's get a member of the Marley family in here! Great idea! Perry's screechy, barely-in-tune voice doesn't help matters, of course. Here's hoping this is the beginning of the end of her career: she's like the Paula Abdul of the '00s/'10s, only without the half-decent songs and pleasant personality. There is no pop star today worse than Katy Perry, full stop. [0]

Cédric Le Merrer: Katy Perry is my mainstream barometer. When she made "I Kissed a Girl," showy but defensive female bisexuality was totally where people were at. When she made trap-pop, it became the new normal. Now Katy Perry is confusedly woke, and you can't tell me that's not the norm in 2017. Her terribly heavy-footed scansion even works in her favor thematically, as she's completely chained to that stomping rhythm. Incapable of taking any liberty from the beat, she moves around like Link wearing his iron boots. So as usual, it's a bit terrible but it also makes things easy for us weak singers wanting an easy song for karaoke, and whatever my reservations, in the end Katy and Max Martin always win me over. [8]

Megan Harrington: Who but Katy Perry would turn three minutes of arena pop into a very, very, extremely literal call for wokeness? Even her obviousness is obvious. Of course she's pivoted away from the lusty pleasure of her early hits and toward a crude attempt at "real" meaning. "Chained to the Rhythm" is, ultimately, not a very good song, but Perry is familiar, even comfortable, in her clunky movements. We'll never know that utopian future but Perry would be there, no matter the sleight of fate's hand. And "Chained to the Rhythm" in a good year is -- unsurprisingly -- the exact same song as "Chained to the Rhythm" in a bad year. She is a coin with only one side. [7]

Claire Biddles: Like a latterday Daft Punk song that's been cloned over and over again until its defining features are completely flattened out, "Chained to the Rhythm" is so insubstantial that I swear it stops existing after it finishes playing. The lyrics are full of self-drags -- she MUST have known asking "Are we tone deaf?" would be used against her in a review -- and there's something particularly desp about the way she references "your favourite song" knowing that this could never be it. [2]

Maxwell Cavaseno: The inexplicable pivot of the cheesiest, most banal to trying to edge upon wokeness is certainly not the career move you'd expect from Katy Perry off-hand but at the same time, it's been brewing. She's moved from the goofiness into a sea of power-ballads of vague ambition and motivation, so to create an anthem meant to parse through a sea of bullshit by feeding vague lines about utopia and what have you is not improbable. And not for nothing, for all Sia's weird reggae mining and her bullshit fake patois voice she built for playing Trojan RiRi, she's only just recently bothered to put an actual Jamaican on a record or get them writers' credit. And so the awkward promo-featuring of Tuff Gong's grandson is maybe a weird gesture for authenticity from someone so unlikely, but I can't be too upset given this surprisingly rare accommodation. If there's anything to say about this in particular that's a flaw, it's that in many ways it feels too calculated, in a way that Katy Perry used to never bother with. As unflattering or at times infuriating as her lack of foresight could be sometimes, there was something to be said for being so brash. [6]

Anthony Easton: When your entire genre is founded, and continually plays, with notions of black authenticity, does it mean anything that Perry plays with patois, and if it doesn't--why does she have Skip Marley, and if it does, does it mean anything that she doesn't fully commit (rhythm instead of riddim). Minus a point for talking about distortion without having any of it at all, plus a point for sneaking the word empire in. [4]

Alfred Soto: My delight at the "distortion" in a dance pop tune is mitigated by Katy Perry's odd stresses; in this case they land on the last syllable, which has the effect of howling when someone digs a high heel into your big toe. A similar travesty happens in the phrase "to the rhy-THM, to the rhy-THM." Still, the gloss suits her: if any performer would revel in being chained to a rhythm, it's Perry, who in some bars sounds like Toni Braxton. [6]

William John: She did not get away with the grating elongation of "unconditionally", so I have no idea how Katy Perry has been permitted to transgress again with such klutzy abandon; once again, we are faced with an extreme case of the wrong emphasis on the wrong syllable. As to the song's alleged "woke-ness", I proffer no comment save that it's unlikely any slumbering apoliticals will be roused by a track with empty platitudes and such narrow dynamic range. [2]

Will Adams: The trendification of aligning with social justice causes has made it easier than ever for people like Katy "Artist. Activist. Conscious." Perry to market themselves as woke with just a modicum of effort (all while continuing to act as shitty as they always have). The idea that "Chained to the Rhythm" and its vague politics have any potential for significant impact is one of the more insulting concepts the pop machine has lobbed at us in recent memory. But even if Perry had any insight, we'd still have to contend with this torpid mess of recycled Weeknd disco, indulgent Sia-isms, and Perry outdoing the awful scansion on "Unconditionally" a million times over. There's no bite to this, no feeling, and no reason to dandandance. [1]

Katie Gill: American pop music can't be THIS starved for bangers, can it? [3]

Mo Kim: Katy Perry is so bad at being radical that she needed to hire a black reggae artist as a temp for this. [3]

Scott Mildenhall: After all that apocalyptopop a few years ago it's weird that now, with the Doomsday Clock actually closer to midnight than at any point since 1953, Katy Perry doesn't sound that arsed about the walking daymare she's describing. It's not like she's known for her subtlety -- if anything it's like she's trying to undersell the hugely unsubtle "makes you think"-type statements in the lyrics. Weirder still is that "Wide Awake" already did all this without any obvious allusions to infer (and thus better), but at the very least it avoids the weirdest possibility: being completely terrible. As it's akin to an inessential Sébastien Tellier remix, it really isn't that, but it is strangely bloodless. [6]

Katherine St Asaph: One point for every point I'm not giving this: 1. I did not expect Melanie Martinez to be where Katy Perry was positioning herself. 2. If you told me Katy Perry was doing Pleasantville, I would have expected a pinup theme. 2a. Though it's remarkable that the cover art doesn't show her face, and yet still manages to showcase her boobs. 2b. I'm sure Vigilant Citizen is on that photo. God, for the days of obscure cranks. 3. Sia still doesn't do subtext, at all. If she feels zombified, the lyric will have shambling goddamn zombies. 4. Or maybe she does, because this is a subtext-free "Chandelier," down to the isolatable "dance, dance, dance!" and "DRINK!" interjections. 4a. Someone get those ornaments out of her picket fence. Get the lens out too. 4b. Disco balls-and-chains aside, I actually don't think anyone involved was trying to avoid "Slave to the Rhythm." This is the exact kind of tweak-a-word that's Sia's main writing trick, and besides, Katy Perry did "E.T.," she doesn't care. 5. How is Katy Perry one of the few singers who doesn't sound exactly like Sia's demo vocals? Is this a sign of her being a distinctive singer, or too limited to try? 6. I blame Max Martin for the Swedish reggae. Ali Payami probably did the prechorus. 6a. Because they just had to get the funk guitar in somewhere, didn't they? This sounded much better at the Grammys, where it sounded like a more straight-ahead Martin/Payami track. 6b. With a line like "dance to the distortion," would some distortion be too much to ask? 7. I have no idea what Skip Marley is doing here and neither does anyone else. 8. Why does Woke Katy Perry just sound like the late '90s, the time of Fight Club and The Matrix and endless plaints by landfill alternative bands about the pathetic emptiness of our meaningless, consumer-driven lives? Sia was also a product of the '90s; I bet if she released "Chandelier" today that would be called political too. 9. In these days of our Pigmask Putin we're going to see a lot more of these political-shaped but anodyne "protest" songs, aren't we? Please extradite me to wherever it is that I did whatever it was to deserve this. [1]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#Katy Perry #Skip Marley #Chained to the Rhythm

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topicprinter · 7 years

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Hey Entrepreneurs,I'm not sure how this will do but thought I'd take the time this Friday evening to write it up anyway. Maybe it will help 1 or 2 of you.So first off, while it’s been covered a ton around here, I thought I’d share some advice on getting started if you haven’t yet. Secondly, for those of you running marketing companies -- or wanting to -- I wanted to share my two cents on the model I see rising around me and hopefully inspire some of you to start something better, and more lean. This may help others as well -- many of the tenants here likely apply to numerous concepts.A promise: I will not share or link to my own company. I've also deleted any posts pertaining to it for now. If any of you want to talk about marketing (digital or traditional) I welcome you to reach out and my partner and I would be happy to talk. But we'll skip on that for now.The Basics:If you've been playing the 'wantrepreneur' game for a while, there are few basic tenants that I strongly encourage you to follow. These are based on 5+ years of failed endeavors (small successes, inevitable abandonment or dissolution) and a lot of learning.Rule 1:The John Lee Dumas method: F.O.C.U.S. -- Follow One Course Until Success.When I was getting started in the 'break out on your own' journey, I threw a lot of ideas at the wall. These included a dance pole dropshipping company, a medical startup that did fine for a few years but inevitably went out due to regulations, learning to code iOS and releasing a relatively successful app with NO plan to monetize, multiple blogs, info sites, etc. None of which made me rich.What I was ignoring all along were my core competencies. I got started in my 9-5 career doing marketing and rose in the ranks at my agency. I was good with clients, confident in my guidance, honest.... I also didn't see much upside in that field for me.After all those failures above, one thing I hadn't done was try to be a marketer on my own. When I finally did this -- with full focus and an honest swing every day -- I did better than I ever had before. I was able to stack up clients within just a few months and working for myself (ahem... 'freelancing') I was able to create a portfolio that netted me nearly $20k/month by the time things were fully in gear. This was 100% full time me working. While this allowed me to finally start saving and putting some real dollars towards the 'next big thing', it also reminded me of Rule 2.Rule 2:The E Myth. Believe in it.If you haven't read (or in my case, scanned through) The E Myth by Michael Gerber, head down to your local Half Priced Books or Amazon and pick up the paperback. This is invaluable if you're considering starting a business where YOUR OWN SKILLS are the core product.The basic takeaway for me from The E Myth was as follows: Selling your own skills as a business is no business at all.Yes, you can make money, but it becomes incredibly difficult (impossible) to scale such a model. As clients or customers begin to see the sheer quality of your work, if you can't figure out a way to train others and sell that business at an equal pace, you're stuck. Nobody can buy a business from you if you're the only valuable asset -- if you yourself are the product. There are no vacations in that model, there is a cap on income, there is the always lurking dread of burnout.Freelancers can (as I did) do well on their own. And in today's world, businesses are more and more open to hiring skilled freelancers as well. The struggle, then, is when those freelancers begin thinking themselves to be Entrepreneurs. I'm sure I'll get heat for this but personally I don't see freelancing as true entrepreneurship. It's -- at least -- rarely a viable business "model".Which brings us to Rule 3:Rule 3:Visualize a model.Yes, putting a pinup on your wall may help motivate you but of course, I'm speaking about a business model. If you find that you're highly skilled in providing a service, it's crucial that every day you dedicate time to exploring how to remove yourself from that service. This is done with a model.Every component of your successful service -- from onboarding, defining SLAs, establishing KPIs, day by day execution, etc. -- should be replicable. Now, this may still require skilled people to replicate (and that's fine if so) but it should still inevitably be a model that you'd be comfortable handing off if you knew the person following your steps was going to do just that.By having a model, you can begin to scale. Sure, you may be a fantastic PPC specialist, SEO, social marketer, landscaper(?), etc..... and it's okay if you just want to keep doing that -- I'm sure there are always clients you can find -- but to reach that next step of being a bonafide business owner, it's important that you understand how you could bring on ONE MORE CLIENT and go past your own time limitations. This means hiring. And to hire, you need a model.Rule 4:Have a brand.Stop rolling your eyes you successful readers. I know many of you see this one as pretty damn obvious. Even having a personal website listing your services is a start -- but for me it wasn't enough.Taking the time, the days and weeks, to construct a brand including domain, logo, website, pages, contact info, ethos, and most importantly, unique value proposition, is a major step up for establishing trust and it's a sign of your own skill-sets for your future clients.For me, this meant the following to get it done: Namecheap Domain & Hosting, Wordpress (installed via 'cPanel' from that hosting), a theme from ThemeForest (~$60), design using my own chops along with some free tools (Pexels, FlatIcon, etc.), and a hell of a lot of elbow grease. You probably have seen this on here, but you may like this site as well: growthsupply.com.Now, I personally have years of experience in web marketing so none of this was exactly French for me. But I also believe anybody can do this. Much of what you'll do is just a matter of taking a minute to read an FAQ and start. There's no coding involved and you can do this.Final rule.Rule 5:Just start, Jackass. If it takes you a year to get things ready to show somebody, fine. Next year you wont have to think about all that anymore, it'll finally be behind you and you're on your way.Now On to Marketing as a Service.My Personal Thoughts on Agencies, and Why I'm Writing This:Talk to most business owners who have worked with agencies and you’ll find that there is most often (80/20 rule) a bad taste in their mouths. Telling people you run a ‘marketing business’ almost comes out like a dirty word.The issue is this: Most marketing companies – by model – can’t inevitably provide a very high tier of service to clients when utilizing employees. The basic reason is salary caps (and therefor experience caps) by model… Here’s why.Consider that by some estimates, over 50% of small businesses spend less than $300/month on marketing. Not that that means those are your target customers, but it’s worth keeping in mind. In my experience, an average client at an agency who accepts a range of monthly spends ($3k - $50k+/mo.), is still just around $5k.Let’s say a small agency has 20 clients spending $5k/month. That’s $100k/month average. That agency likely has at least 10 employees to manage that $5k/month average client spend so that leaves $10k/month in total per employee revenue. Calculating CEO and other executive salary, costs of doing business, taxes, etc…. there is an obvious cap on how much that company can inevitably pay any individual employee.The problem becomes a bit more clear here… When you consider that the median salary for a marketing specialist today is around $60k ($5k/month), the agency model where employees are utilized to handle most of the lifting (strategy, client management, and execution) becomes untenable. Eventually, those employees become skilled and want a raise that the company just can’t meet – especially in more expensive metros where agencies tend to thrive.The result? High employee churn and entry level employees managing the execution for a client.Yes, many agencies do well but many that are beginning to establish themselves as the next generation of agency rely on technology (like brand mention monitoring for example) instead of traditional service work to make their dollars.Here’s Where I’m Heading:I personally started my freelance career in a WeWork location here in Austin. I met over 100 amazingly skilled and passionate marketers who had left their agency due to career stagnation to run their own business. The future of marketing lies in this workforce.Now, you probably immediately jumped to questioning the quality of oDesk, Fiverr, etc. It’s so easy to claim marketing expertise. There aren’t professional degree requirements here and, often, marketers allow for that ‘magic’ belief on the client end to get by with doing shoddy work.I’m not talking about those people, I’m talking about using the new workforce. My company has been striding forward by using exactly these people to do the work, at a pay that is baked into our model (by not having all of the overhead and being transparent about how we pay the people we bring into our collective) and by leading internally on the client management and goal setting side.Which brings me back to my opening rules. My belief is that the new agency model will rely on internal executive level strategic leadership (essentially consulting and relationship management) and allowing the distributed workforce – under watchful eyes – to bring power to the operation.This means that skilled freelancers can do less client search and client management and more sheer execution. For enterprising companies (and of course, I’m a bit biased) it means a scalable model that relies on a bulletproof methodology for client onboarding, goal-setting, project management, and reporting. More transparency all around, less internal execution necessary.I know that the ‘marketers’ around here are only a fraction of our community but I really hope some of you found this helpful or at least interesting food for thought. I’ll do my best to reply to comments and respect the critical feedback in advance. Thanks for reading.

#/r/entrepreneur #reddit

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littlesift · 6 years

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10 weight loss transformation

For years, viewers have watched TLC's My 600-Lb Life, witnessing morbidly obese patients completely transform their bodies and lives. The patients profiled on the show all start out hundreds of pounds overweight, with the devastating health and emotional problems that come with that. From being unable to walk and do everyday tasks to being homebound, the patients suffer the most extreme physical and emotional consequences of obesity. But all of them have something in common — hope and a desire to change. In comes the show's central figure, Dr. Younan Nowzaradan. "Dr. Now," as his patients call him, is a bariatric surgeon who performs weight loss surgeries on his patients and coaches them along the road to a healthy weight. Over the seasons, dozens of people have made a complete turnaround, going from barely mobile to active and fit. And while most patients on the show lose weight, there are some that really stand out. Check out some of the most stunning weight-loss success stories to ever be chronicled on

Amber Rachdi's transformation is one of the most jaw-dropping. When she first appeared on the show at age 23, she weighed 657 pounds and said she felt like a "nasty, yucky monster." Her legs carried a great deal of her weight, and, as a result, she said she couldn't stand for more than 30 minutes at a time. After losing 20 pounds in order to qualify for gastric bypass surgery with Dr. Now, she underwent the procedure and ended up getting down to 377 pounds within a year! But she didn't stop there, she ultimately lost over 400 pounds and kept it off, profiling her journey with glamorous pinup-style selfies on Facebook and Instagram, where her profile once read: "I spent a long time not liking me, so I'm documenting moments I feel pretty." Rachdi, who confessed on her episode of My 600-Lb Life that her weight prevented her from being intimate with her then-boyfriend, now has a lot to celebrate when it comes to her personal life. She got engaged in 2016 and has since tied the knot.

Brittani Fulfer's story is nothing short of remarkable. She started out weighing 605 pounds at only 5 feet, 1 inch tall. She was so motivated to change that she and her husband, Bill, moved from Oregon to Texas in order to be near Dr. Now's office, where she underwent weight loss surgery. According to Women's Health magazine, she lost almost 400 pounds and dropped down to 222. She explained her reason for having surgery to the mag, "I felt I had more to offer myself, friends, and family than just having them help take care of me. I was too young to feel so old." She said she is cherishing every moment of her new life, and she told Women's Health, "I knew when I started this journey that my life was going to get better. But, I had no idea that my life was going to be this amazing! My weight was my prison. Now I am free, and I can do whatever I want whenever I want."

Angel Parrish weighed 570 pounds when she first appeared on the show, riding in a wheelchair and relying on her boyfriend, Donnie, for everyday needs. She said that her eating habits had been triggered by the trauma of placing a baby for adoption at age 14, and the situation got worse when she later experienced postpartum depression after giving birth to a son with Donnie. Donnie went so far as to say (via the Daily Mail) that she "just stopped living" after their son Andrew was born. He threatened that if she didn't get help, he'd have to leave her and take Andrew with him. Parrish rebounded in a big way by losing over 150 pounds through diet changes, and then undergoing weight-loss surgery with Dr. Now. She adopted a fitness routine and ultimately dropped over 300 pounds. After losing the weight, she reflected, "It's been a long time since I could look at myself and see someone that I thought was beautiful." After slimming down, she was able to be a more active parent, and said, "I wake up and it's not to eat — it's to get Andrew ready for school!"

Melissa D. Morris was one of the first people to be profiled on the show, and she started her weight loss journey over a decade ago. She began her journey at 653 pounds and was forced to ride around in a scooter to carry out basic tasks like grocery shopping. After undergoing weight loss surgery, she dropped down to a stunning 137 pounds! And to make things even sweeter, after 12 years of trying to get pregnant, she finally became a mom, welcoming three children over the years. She struggled with her weight after her pregnancies, but still weighs significantly less than she did when she began. She told TLC in 2017, "I weigh myself every single day. I am so fearful of gaining all my weight back, especially because it was so easy for me to gain [weight] while pregnant." She also shared some advice for people who might want to change their lives like she did. "I advise others that the first step towards a healthier life is identifying what you're doing wrong. You must first figure that out because you cannot fix what you don't acknowledge," she said.

Christina Phillips weighed in at 673 pounds at only 22 years old when she first visited Dr. Now, and said that she was so embarrassed about her weight that she only left the house at 3 a.m. when she was unlikely to see many people. She told Women's Health, "Getting up and walking just a few feet made me feel like I was going to die. I couldn't drive, walk far, or go out with friends and family. I was miserable, and I knew I had to do something." With the help of Dr. Now, Phillips had weight loss surgery and experienced a shocking transformation — her weight loss ended up being so extreme that she actually lost too much weight! The doctor advised her to gain 15 pounds in order to be at a more healthy weight. In 2017, she told Women's Health that she weighed in at 171 pounds and said, "My life has changed so much since the weight loss! I can do things I never imagined possible… I've been able to try indoor skydiving and… I can walk miles without getting tired."

Nikki Webster is one of the most notable success stories on the show. She originally weighed in at 649 pounds, and her weight was affecting her career in costume design. Luckily, she had strong support from her family (her dad lost 40 pounds in solidarity) and was able to undergo gastric bypass surgery with Dr. Now. According to People magazine, she ultimately lost 450 pounds. In 2017, she told the mag, "It's hard to imagine now how I used to live. It's just become so vastly different. … It has been the hardest two years of my life, but it's been the most victorious and exciting." She explained how she stays fit, telling People, "I do a lot of walking, that's my favorite thing to do. I'll walk at least 2 to 3 miles a day or I try to. I'll also try to do weight training and that kind of thing. I go to the gym every now and then and do those sorts of things." In 2018, Nikki revealed on Facebook that she'd gotten married, writing, "I kind of got married. He's the absolute best, and I honestly couldn't be more happy…It's been a busy few months."

When Paula Jones decided to lose weight, she had a powerful and tragic motivation — her husband had died from weight-related complications from weighing over 600 pounds. A year after he passed away, Jones herself weighed 542 pounds and worried that she too would suffer a life-threatening complication from obesity, leaving her four children on their own. She decided that it was time to change and paid a visit to Dr. Now, but she was stunned when she set foot on the scale and saw her weight. "I'm huge. I look like a monster," she said sadly. Jones followed through with her commitment to trim down, moving her family from Georgia to Texas in order to have surgery. According to Woman's World, it paid off and she experienced amazing results, ultimately losing 400 pounds! The mag reported that her relationship with her kids has improved, with Jones saying, "I can be more active with them. I've learned how to be emotionally healthy as well as physically healthy." Chuck Turner weighed in at 693 pounds when he first appeared on the show. He said that he started gaining weight years earlier after his first wife was murdered. He eventually married his second wife Nissa and they adopted a son together, but his marriage became strained when his obesity prevented him from helping her with anything around the house. According to In Touch Weekly, his situation had grown even more complicated because a 40-pound growth called a lymphedema had developed on his leg, hindering his movements even further. He told TLC producers, "I'd rather be a dead man than have to live like this for the rest of my life." Luckily, he was able to have weight-loss surgery with Dr. Now, and he ended up losing 433 pounds! Unfortunately, he and Nissa eventually split up, but, according to In Touch, he said in a reunion special that he was looking for love again Zsalynn Whitworth's story is remarkable due to all that she had to overcome to lose weight. On her episode of My 600-Lb Life, she described joining a fat-acceptance organization and flying around the world to party with men who enjoyed the company of large women. Unfortunately, by the time her weight had crept up to over 600 pounds, it wasn't so fun anymore. Now a mother to a young daughter, she found it hard to move around and spent up to 8 hours per day watching TV. She said she now "hated being this size" so she embarked on a journey with Dr. Now, and just a year after her weight loss surgery, she had lost 247 pounds. But unfortunately, according to the Daily Mail, her husband Gareth liked larger ladies and wasn't a fan of her slimmer frame. He encouraged her to eat unhealthy foods so that she could gain weight. She had to decide whether to stay with someone who was actively trying to sabotage her weight loss success, or get a divorce, and she reportedly ended up opting for the latter. https://ift.tt/2Ngg02r via IFTTT

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