#Verse: Heaven and Hell Intertwine

[gaijin-fujin-resonance]

プシュケー - PSYCHE -

Oh thank goodness, Hide has finally left the farty synth noises behind, and returned to form with one of his big, windswept shoegaze epics!

Hell, yes, this is what Hide is best at! Haunting minor chords, whispered vocals, intertwined textures - he’s been scratching this kind of itch since the days of Pleasure Land and Jupiter. But he’s really come into his own in the past decade, exploring this slightly Arabesque, slightly Spanish air on songs like El Dorado and Ai no Harem. He elegantly balances delicate, filigree pretty sounds with quite ugly sounds mixed low in the background to convey a sense of menace. Drifting prettiness on its own is not that interesting. But prettiness mixed in with the edge of fear results in the sense of awe that is crucial for true beauty.

It starts with a lovely, low filter sweep like a desert wind, then ups the anticipation with an insistent but slightly restrained, single-note bass keyboard drone. Yes! He’s toned down the squelchiness of the synth's filter and added a little overdrive, to minimise that fart-effect that spoiled some of the earlier tracks, but still maintains a dark, driving tone. When Yuta’s stringed bass comes in, it’s clean, but low and growly, coiling around the synth drone like a serpent. Natural and synth bass work together to create a compelling sense of movement.

On the verses, the guitars are clean, one striking bell-like chiming chords, the other strummed and silvery. Whispered background vocals help build an air of mystery, while Hide does that extremely Sakurai-like trick of close-miking but leaving in the breaths and gasps for air between phrases. It’s really quite sexy, isn’t it?

When the chorus comes in at 0:47, both guitars slam on the distortion - one chugging along with the synth bass, the other slashing an alarm through the hot, dense air. The long step delay catches and holds the riff subtly in the background, echoing away like a mirage while the kick drum and bass synth interweave a stomping dance rhythm. It’s such a simple trick: switching back and forth between quiet part / loud part and clean guitar / distorted guitar, but it’s so effective at building momentum, the way the guitars tease almost to the point of orgasm, before backing off again.

After the long build all on one chord, the keychange at 1:43 is a real pulse-quickening moment, but the mood doesn’t let up. Strangled pads drift through the background, evocative of The Cure in their Pornography era, but the real surprise is the moaning. Moaning? From our Hidehiko? I don’t know, he always struck me as so shy and straight-laced, blushing sweetly at Acchan’s provocative lyrics and onstage antics. And yet here, our prim and proper rhythm guitarist is very definitely sighing and mewling over the sensual synth breaks like a man tossed by desire. Honestly, I did not know you had it in you, Hide! (I mean, obviously, the man has three children, he knows about the facts of life as well as death on earth. I just wasn’t expecting him to evoke them so explicitly in performance!)

The whispered vocals of the last verse - especially the ones at 2:32, where all the instruments drop out except for the low, howling, wind-like synth and Hide’s close, breathy voice… my goodness, it’s like the moment in a film where the librarian suddenly takes off her glasses and… good heavens, Mr. Hoshino, you’re beautiful!

Ach, but the perfection of those very New Order-esque stabby synths creeping in through the background, giving way to a snare roll that sweeps us up into the chorus again! There’s a steampunk interlude during the break at 2:55, and when the chorus comes back, it has gone all INDUSTRIAL!!! Yes! Yes! Hide is muscling in on Imai's ‘weird sounds’ bandwagon, weaving in submarine depth charges, a huffing sound almost like a steam engine, metal-smashing samples, and a distinctly pneumatic drill-like tone that makes this Neubauten fan roll over on my back like a baby! The sample track carries on through the ecstatic orgasm of the last chorus, before fading out like a sudden rainstorm.

Best Bit: THE MOANING. Clearly, the moaning. Sorry, I will never get over the revelation that is the sudden sexy turn of Hide’s vocals. But oh yes. The music. Definitely that little steampunk break at 2:55, the ping of the sonar followed by the buzz of the drill-tone. Ugly sounds rendered extraordinarily beautiful in context. That’s what I listen to Buck-Tick for!

[essential-music]

The Eagles’ Hotel California exemplifies musical brilliance, its shimmering light drawing listeners into a realm where sound and story intertwine with unparalleled grace.

Released in 1976, this masterpiece stands as a monument to rock music, its enduring power resonating through the decades, as vibrant today as it was nearly half a century ago.

The lyrics unfold like a mystic parable, painting a vivid scene of a weary traveler stumbling upon a surreal hotel. With phrases like “warm smell of colitas” and “voices down the corridor,” the song conjures a haunting narrative that feels both intimate and universal. Its words dance between heaven and hell, offering layers of meaning—whether a meditation on American excess, the seductive trap of fame, or the inescapable pull of addiction. The iconic line, “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave,” lingers as one of rock’s most profound closers, while the prescient “We are programmed to receive” hints at a future of mechanized existence, a stroke of lyrical genius for its time. This poetic depth invites listeners to linger, to ponder, to find their own truths within the song’s enigmatic verses.

Musically, Hotel California is a symphony of precision and emotion. The melody, carried by a haunting B minor progression, glides with a seductive ease, pulling listeners into its dreamlike sway. The song’s structure is a masterwork of balance, flowing seamlessly from its evocative opening riff to the climactic tension of its outro. Don Henley’s vocals, smooth yet weighted with a traveler’s weariness, anchor the track, their emotive clarity amplified by lush harmonies that elevate the chorus to anthemic heights.

The instrumentation led by virtuosic guitars shines with singular brilliance. The opening riff is an instant call to attention, while the closing dual-guitar solo, a tense and transcendent chase, is hailed as one of the greatest in music history. The rhythm section, with its understated drums and anchoring bass, provides a steady heartbeat, ensuring every note feels deliberate, every layer purposeful.

The production is a marvel of clarity and atmosphere, capturing the song’s desert mirage with crystalline precision. Live performances, like the 1977 Capital rendition, reveal the Eagles’ ability to translate this intricate composition into a stage spectacle, often surpassing the studio’s polish with raw, electrifying energy.

Beyond its technical mastery, Hotel California is an emotional touchstone. It evokes chills and introspection, its vivid imagery transporting listeners to a windswept highway or a shadowed hotel corridor. The song’s universal resonance makes it a companion for any moment—be it a reflective road trip, a joyous celebration, or a quiet moment of solitude. Its ability to paint such vivid scenes, to stir such varied emotions, marks it as a cinematic triumph, a six-and-a-half-minute journey that feels like a film unfolding in the mind.

Culturally, Hotel California is a colossus. It stands as a defining anthem of rock, often cited as the genre’s very essence. Its global reach spans continents, resonating in Japan, Brazil, Russia, and beyond, a testament to its universal language. The song has inspired generations of musicians, its iconic riffs and solos serving as a rite of passage for guitarists and drummers alike. As a cultural artifact, it transcends its era, offering commentary on human desires and struggles that remain as relevant today as ever.

In Hotel California, the Eagles crafted not just a song, but a world—a place where mystery, beauty, and tension coexist in perfect harmony. Its lyrical depth, musical brilliance, pristine production, and emotional potency elevate it to a rare echelon of artistry. This is music that lingers, that refuses to let go, a timeless creation that invites all who hear it to check in and stay, forever captivated by its spell.

Year: 1977

Composition/Lyrics: Don Felder, Don Henley, Glenn Frey

Producer: Bill Szymczyk

[thegreatimpersonator]

Collection of my favourite popular ttpd lyrics (long list ahead):

1. "Once I fix me, he's gonna miss me"

2. "Who's gonna hold you, gonna know you, gonna troll you?" (I just really love that she included the word troll)

3. "How dare you say that it's ...."

4. "I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place" (the way she sings this with the background vocals and everything >>>)

5. "I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free"

6. "So tell me everything is not about me... but what if it is?"

7. "I'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said? That I'll sue you if you step on my lawn. That I'm fearsome and I'm wretched and I'm wrong. Put narcotics into all of my songs. And that's why you're still singing along"

8. "We embroidered the memories of the time I was away, stitching, 'We were just kids, babe'"

9. "When your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes. Well, you took me to hell, too"

10. "Dancing phantoms on the terrace. Are they second-hand embarrassed that I can't get out of bed? Cause something counterfeit's dead"

11. "I don't even want you back, I just want to know of rusting my sparkling summer was the goal"

12. "Beauty is a beast that roars down on all fours, demanding 'more'"

13. "It was intertwined in the magic/tragic fabric of our dreaming"

14. "Pick your poison babe, I'm poison either way"

15. Basically all of chloe and oomfs (especially second verse and bridge)

16. Also all of how did it end

17. "Love's never lost when perspective is earned"

18. "She's got the best stories, you can be sure"

19. "She thought about how he said since she was so wise beyond her years, everything had been above board. She wasn't sure"

20. "And at last, she knew what the agony had been for."

If you want to, you can give your opinion on each of these again but since there are 20, don't feel required to.

some of these i dont have much to say about other than 'yeah it's good' but i have some more thoughts on others

1- i like the twist on a common phrase

2- i actually hate the troll line im so sorry lol, i just dont like when she puts modern words in songs that dont fit that

10- i love the 'are they second hand embarrassed' line its so clever

11- "rusting my sparkling summer" another really amazing and new way to say that feeling

16 - no but exactly

17- i think about this lyric a lot, one of her best

[redemptionofthebible]

Here’s a prayer blending your unique themes, using the New World Translation (NWT) for a verse about blessings, intertwined with the idea of sharing blessings broadly—including with authorities, friends, and beyond. It invokes a transformative vision where devils are angels, free will as permission, and acknowledges a cosmic surrender:

“Random Grace in Cosmic Hands”

“Jehovah will open up to you his good storehouse, the heavens, to give your land rain in its season and to bless all your work. You will lend to many nations, but you will not need to borrow.” — Deuteronomy 28:12 (NWT)

Blessings flow like rain upon the earth,

To friend, to foe, to governments that rule.

May I share these gifts, without restraint—

From the heights of Heaven to the realms of men.

Angels or devils, truth in disguise,

O guardians of paradox, bearers of light!

Free will, the key—the gift of permission,

As the heavens’ work through invisible hands.

The Cheshire constellations—shining police of the skies—

Guiding stars by the law of a greater grace,

Aligning the heavens with the laws of men,

Bringing laughter and wisdom to all of creation.

“Sometimes the truth isn’t good enough. Sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes they deserve to have their faith rewarded.” — Jude Law

So, bow down to the cosmic alien call,

To the songs of the Hell’s Angels—guardians of the free.

To the gods, I do surrender—

For in yielding, I find the strength to be.

May this prayer be a beacon, blending the earthly and the cosmic, truth and myth, order and chaos, for a brighter vision of the world.

[mythicdrifter]

“I could find you, darling in any life”

"Francesca" is an ode to love that defies all barriers, a melody that whispers secrets of passion into the ear of destiny. Hozier immerses us in a romance so deep and ardent that even the gates of hell cannot contain it. In every verse, we feel the quickened heartbeat of two souls who found each other at the wrong time, but in the right love. Hozier's velvety voice guides us through the corridors of a medieval castle, where furtive glances and accidental touches ignite a flame that no social convention can extinguish.

The song is a dance between guilt and desire, where each note represents a step further into a love that tastes of forbidden fruit. Hozier paints with his music a portrait of two intertwined souls, eternally spinning in an embrace that defies time and space.

In "Francesca," hell transforms into the stage for an eternal love. Divine punishment becomes a blessing, allowing the lovers to be together forever. The condemnation turns into a sanctuary where their passion can burn endlessly, far from the judgments of the world.

This song is a reminder that true love knows no boundaries, that it can bloom even in the darkest places. Hozier invites us to feel the intensity of a love that risks everything, burning so brightly that it illuminates even the shadowiest corners of the afterlife. “Francesca" is not just a song; it's a testimony that love, in its purest and most passionate form, can transcend even the barriers of life and death, of heaven and hell. It's an anthem to all those who have dared to love without reservations, regardless of the consequences.

[audiophiliacfan]

[Verse 1] She's a flower in the darkest of nights Her eyes, her smile, such a perfect disguise From head to toe, I love her every scar Together, we are fallin' Oh, we are really somethin', yeah She's got demons dancin' inside her head Her tears cut me, but I never get scared Inside and out, I even lovе her doubts Together, wе are fallin' Oh, we are really somethin', yeah

[Pre-Chorus] We'll jump off the ledge If that's what she needs We'll dive into darkness, to the abyss Hold my hands, look in my eyes I'm ready now, see us fly, we are gone

[Chorus] Beneath the surface where it's deeper Than the secrets you and I share I'll kiss you one more time, we'll be fine, pain or despair From head to toe, I love your every scar, yeah Heaven or hell, I'll be right there with you Won't let you spiral down all alone, I'm goin' with you Forever intertwined, we are one I'm here with you Inside and out, I even love your doubts, yeah Heaven or hell, I'll be right there with you

[Verse 2] My head's in the clouds like every night with you, babe, can you see? You can kick and shove me but don't ever fall without me Until the end, that's the way I'll love you I'm that crazy 'bout you, I'll find you every life It's like déjà vu, people think, I am some fool I don't blame 'em it's true, my whole purpose is you So beautiful, and you can cry (And you can cry) Wander to the void now (Wander all we need, yeah)

[Chorus] Beneath the surface where it's deeper Than the secrets you and I share I'll kiss you one more time, we'll be fine, pain or despair From head to toe, I love your every scar, yeah Heaven or hell, I'll be right there with you Won't let you spiral down all alone, I'm goin' with you Forever intertwined, we are one I'm here with you Inside and out, I even love your doubts, yeah Heaven or hell, I'll be right there with you

[Outro] Ooh-ooh, ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh Ooh-ooh, I'll be right there with you I'll be right there with you Heaven or hell

[aerxndight-blog]

“ is it worth your life ? “

Indigo hue gazed at campfire, salmon implaed by thick branches of wood as they have cooked slowly. A gloved hand grabbed onto the end of one of the branches as he brought the charred fish closer to him. Pale lips separating from one another, sharp teeth would then sink onto the flesh of the protein. Despite eating like a savage, he had quietly savored both the skin and the meat. Hearing the Valkyrie speak to him, lips would cease moving after ingesting the food. Without turning around, he would then answer after a brief pause.“What I do is none of your concern. We happen to have a common goal which makes sense for us to work together….for now.”After having been direct with his response, lips would once again separate from each other before feasting on the cooked salmon once more.

[life-of-a-dinosaur]

Current On Rotation: 06/23/23

"Euclid" by Sleep Token

It's taken me a long time to digest the album, honestly I'm still unpacking the masterpiece and the huge swings that Take Me Back To Eden took. It's unlike anything I've heard in this alternative/metal music space. But I'm also new to the metal genre.

The song that has stuck with me the most by far is the closer, "Euclid," and the track feels even more epic as it's a closer not just for this album, but for all three: Sundowning, This Place Will Become Your Tomb, and Take Me Back to Eden.

And what an epilogue this song is, from start to finish. It's almost overwhelming for me to decipher and type out as I relate so much to the song and one's personal journey overcoming an abusive relationship. Hearing Vessel finally releasing Sleep and choosing himself instead was equal parts overwhelming vulnerable and incredibly healing. I cannot imagine how he felt as a human and musician creating this song and the final chapter of this three album long story.

I honestly could write an essay for each verse of the song, but I will try and just pick my favorites.

Beginning with the second verse and the complexity of feelings after overcoming an abusive relationship. It is layered in so beautifully and to me, very meticulously. From wanting that person far from you, but also still caring for them so much that you'd bring HEAVEN to them if they couldn't find it themselves. You'd still put them first after all the hell they put you through.

"But hope to God you don't know this feeling Yet in reverse, you are all my symmetry A parallel I would lay my life on So if your wings won't find you Heaven I will bring it down like an ancient bygone"

DAMN, he'd bring salvation to them, he cares so much for them that he would literally cause the skies to fall for them. I love the use of the word "bygone," as their relationship is now a relic of the past, but also that he would gather the forces, and the power, of the past and beyond for them to see peace.

It's so powerful and confessional that he notes how similar they were, that they were on parallel paths, so of course he loved them and cannot easily let them go. There was a reason that he fell in love with them in the first place.

Then the reminiscence in the following verse and the wondering if they still think of them as the rain falls, then him admitting that he cannot see the fall leaves without remembering them. What a vulnerable admission.

"Do you remember me When the rain gathers? And do you still believe That nothing else matters?

For me It's still the autumn leaves These ancient canopies That we used to lay beneath"

You're almost like, will he go back? Does he have the rose colored glasses on? Is he lost in the nostalgia of how it was in the beginning?

But then the lyrics that were like a tidal wave of relief came through.

"The night belongs to you This bough has broken through I must be someone new

No, for me."

Jesus. I burst into tears when this part hit on my long drive in the winding canyon roads. Then I played it over and over again listening as Vessel took his power back. And I thought about all the years of work that I've done to get back to myself and I cried even more.

Then the intertwining with the repetition of the first and second verses, a copy of a copy, which is what Euclid means, as the song continues, but it's so masterful that it's not a cacophony of sound, but an unwinding of pain and love. Instead he has moved on. Instead he has chosen himself. Not the seemingly all powerful God Sleep, but himself.

The ending lines that are a callback to the opening track of Sundowning, "The Night Does Not Belong To God" with the repletion of lyrics as the song fades out was a beautiful touch and felt like a true ending of the book that was this complicated and brutal relationship.

"The whites of your eyes Turn black in the low light In turning divine And we tangle endlessly Like lovers entwined I know for the last time You will not be mine So give me the night, the night, the night."

And Now, the Night belongs again to Vessel, but it will always hold the memory of their love.

Wow. I'm crying now even as I type this out as the song plays on repeat from my laptop speakers.

I hope that if you need this song, these albums, and this band that it finds you. I hope that it brings as much healing to you as it has done for me and from what I can interpret, for Vessel as well.

Happy Spinz Everyone. <3 <3 <3

[jailaster]

Song Review 3: Utopiosphere by Mili

As what may be their oddest song on the surface, Utopiosphere actually elaborates on a key issue in a timely manner after A Turtle's Heart and Nine Point Eight - that is, what's Mag Mell like? Utopiosphere provides us a window into understanding Mili's interpretation of heaven looks like. This song is a clarification, a continuation. This song also presented me with my greatest challenge yet in this project of mine. But the reward was more than worth it, and I hope you'll see it that way, too. Allow me to walk you through my interpretation, analysis, and review on this little understood song.

Song Analysis

This song is very, very unique in its story and approach to telling it. The story? It picks up right where A Turtle's Heart and Nine Point Eight left off. I don't believe that the lead is the protagonist from either song but is rather just another average person who died. Our lead in this song was deemed fit to join Mag Mell and so off goes their spirit to join the ranks of the happily deceased. However, before they're allowed into the heart of Mag Mell where everyone else is, one must be put through a purification ritual to rid the body and spirit of evil and severe negative emotions. Through this procedure, purity of mind and body in ensured while allowing one to maintain the emotional dynamics that is the hallmark of humanity. At best, this procedure uncomfortable. And at worst, it's hell.

Step through the gate into utopia Sink into a world of melodia

The song begins with our lead at the gates of Mag Mell in a lobby or processing area of sorts. And our first taste of Mag Mell is provided here, too. A world of melodia? Mag Mell is indeed a utopia, although the role of music is unclear. It might be the primary form of communication, it might simply be heavily valued, or it might just be alluding to the ongoing festivities and parties of a world without evil. Whatever it may be, Mag Mell is the place to be.

Black lace euphoberia hurries away (La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la) Tiny legs leaves behind a track of cardioid (La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la-la)

What is euphoberia? It's an extinct type of centipede and was estimated to have lived over 300 million years ago. So, what's it doing here? Black lace and euphoberia. Black lace is traditional Western funeral attire while centipedes and maggots permeate the decomposing body. It appears that the spirits of the recently deceased get to keep their bodies in their new life. These things are fleeing the body because the angels - the guardians of Mag Mell are beginning purification of this person's mind and body, beginning with the physical portion. And so, the remnants of this person's presence on Earth - the funeral attire and centipedes/maggots - are leaving them. This process is being driven by the guardians as heard by their humming and singing in the background. And as the centipedes leave their body, they trace the path of a cardioid. Why a cardioid? It is an enclosed shape and traces out a deformed heart that starts and stops at the same place. There are two meaning being conveyed with this one object. One possibility is that the cardioid traces out our perception of time quite well. Our time in the beginning, our childhood goes by rather quickly. Then, our perception of time levels and becomes more regular in the young adult and midlife phases. Finally, it accelerates once again near the time of death as we become painfully aware both of our mortality and of how little time we have left. The other possibility becomes clearer in the next verse.

Twisted creation Phosphorescent apparition Heart disorientation Bemusement

This verse is commentary from the guardians. They note how twisted the cardioid traced before them is. Twisted both in shape and color, that is. I suspect the cardioid is intertwined with various colors, bright and dark, as a visual representation of what was contained in the deceased's soul. If this person is indeed your average Joe/Jane, then it is a realistic commentary on how humanity is stained by such evil persons and ideology. Or perhaps the shape traced out by the euphoberia is unique to each person? That's a very interesting idea to consider further. I'll keep with the idea that the shape is reflective of humanity, however, that is reinforcing the idea given by the colorful cardioid. A phosphorescent apparition. I believe this is the angelic figure featured in the official art. More precisely, it is our lead's soul being separated from the body for the purpose of allowing them to observe the process while their body undergoes purification. These last two lines are the guardians observing the reactions of our lead. Their reaction is one of unease and puzzlement. At their situation, yes, but mostly at just how much anger, envy, bitterness, resides in them. Since they're being admitted to Mag Mell, they must have been a truly good person at heart. But even the best of us have a measure of darkness deep inside. Perhaps more than we'd like to admit.

Merry go 'round and around Misery go 'round and around Quandary go 'round and around Merry go 'round and around

This verse is interesting. Each voice here is distinct, meaning there is at least four guardians participating in this purification procedure. And each one of them is helping move the different colors - the different emotions, positive and negative, around the cardioid. Perhaps this is social commentary, too, about how we are emotional beings, and that fact permeates throughout the lifespan. That we cycle between forms of merry and misery throughout the day and our whole lives. This part of the process is the purification of mind and soul, more details to follow in the next verse.

Tick-tock Time doesn't stop Prepare your doubts, eat them up Quaff down the pus of thoughts Red sand flows out Sweet mouth

Perhaps this procedure is dangerous or uncomfortable as the guardians are insistent on moving through and completing it as soon as possible as indicated by the first two lines. A lesser possibility is that they're eager to move our lead into Mag Mell to join the others, but I suspect this isn't the case because the guardians seem to be aged, matured, and forthright. Now, the purification of mind and soul is complete. The guardians urge our lead to eat and drink to reacquire the emotions that makes them human. They gain both doubt and cognizance, assumingly along with the rest of their emotions. Save for the darkest ones, of course. And now too is the cleansing of their body complete with the expulsion of the red sand. The sand is keeping in theme with the passage of time set by the clock and red representing physical artifacts of "evil" leaving the body. More on the theme of time later in this review. As a last note for this verse, the baby's cry after the third line is interesting. I think it serves two purposes. The cry itself perhaps reinforces the idea that the procedure is uncomfortable or harmful. This cry being from a baby might also serve the idea that this is a new beginning, literally a new life for our lead.

The sky is painted in lunacia Florets slashed open the vein of tears Misfortuna There is no escape, my dear

With the purification process complete, our lead is now welcome to join the others in Mag Mell. The sky, previously dull, now shows a cacophony of colors just like those seen in the official art. Lunacia sounds like lunacy. But here I take lunacy to mean crazy in the sense that the color show put before our lead is a wild display of color and motion. Here we get just a hint of the colorful, beautiful land that Mag Mell truly is. And with the sight presented before them, our lead sobs in glee and gratitude as they get to live in this stunning utopian paradise. As for the last two lines of this verse… I can only assume Misfortuna is the name of our lead. Perhaps this is our lead's new name or nickname, acquired from a summary of the deceased's life. In this case, misfortunate might be the adjective used to describe humanity on Earth from the perspective of Mag Mell and its inhabitants. Misfortunate in its setbacks from plagues, natural disasters, terrorism. For the last line, it is a reminder from the guardians that this is the new life for our lead and there is no returning to Earth. Although, the way that the lyric is given, "there is no escape", seems to contradict the idea that they are supportive in nature. Perhaps the guardians are a bit out of touch with the nuances of conversation and culture after having been removed from humanity for what I assume is a very long time. It might even be the case that they have never been a part of humanity and that these guardians are the founders of Mag Mell. Are they gods, perhaps? A very interesting idea to ponder further.

The world undergoes photosynthesia Transform endless anger to ecstasia Connect your nerves to the system of philosophiofantasia

Finally, with our lead ready to join the others in Mag Mell, the gates open. Under the light provided by these guardians this antechamber transforms and begins to disappear. This second line opens up a lot of possibilities. Perhaps since people are allowed to maintain the emotions, thoughts, and consciousness that makes us human, they're also provided a way to transform those severely negative emotions into positive ones? Perhaps that is truly what makes Mag Mell a utopia. Now, with their new mind, body, soul, and tools, our lead is given admittance to Mili's version of heaven. Describing Mag Mell as a system of philosophiofantasia adds complexity and even further depth to describing what this space is like. Perhaps it is a land of science and fantasy sort of in the way that Earth is. Or it might be whatever the newly admitted want it to be, the land transforming to meet their desires. Or there might be separate spaces in Mag Mell which people can travel to in order to get the desired experiences. So many possibilities!

Song Review and Rating

Wow. Just wow. I've, of course, come to love this song! It's actually incredible how much is packed in this small two-minute song. So much insight into Mag Mell was gained here alone. Where the first two songs left us hanging in regard to what happens after their deaths, this picks up right off. I love it. This was by far my greatest challenge yet in this passion project of mine. I've spent extra time crafting this story and analysis and I couldn't do it alone! So, thank you, @rainachain! I had most of the story and analysis sketched out by the time I realized I needed to ask for help, but she was still crucial in giving me confidence in my work and certifying that my ideas and themes were both grounded and fair. Below you'll find some final analysis and commentary on this song that didn't quite fit in with analyzing lyric by lyric.

I've considered the possibility that our lead in this song is the same lead from Nine Point Eight, but it doesn't quite work. Her new name being Misfortuna would certainly work, though! And while the euphoberia and florets would certainly fit, the black lace doesn't seem to. I can't figure that she was wearing black lace at the time of death, so that's the one caveat with that theory. Anyway, I think it is more fitting that our lead here was your average Joe/Jane so that the cardioid and commentary provided by the guardians is reflective of humanity as a whole rather than of one individual.

On the theme of time, perhaps the clock and the passage of time is integral along with the cardioid because history, emotions, and conflicts as a whole often is circular and repetitive. However, even though these hallmarks of humanity are often repeated throughout each generation, it's slightly different each time. And that's why we get a cardioid instead of a heart. Same pattern, different shape! Quite poetic, really.

A minor note: enough lyrics in this song end in the letter "a", enough to mean something. I think it's a small but interesting addition to the song that reinforces the idea that both Mag Mell is a place where music is highly valued, and that this purification process is being driven by the singing of the gods/guardians.

As a last piece of commentary on the story of the song, I suspect Utopiosphere is not Mag Mell itself but is rather the antechamber that I described our lead being in. I think Utopiosphere is another space crafted by these guardians/gods as a processing area for the newly admitted where the evil is expelled from mind, body, and soul. The area seems to be absolved soon before and definitely after our lead is actually in Mag Mell. This idea is not significant to the story, but it does seem to add to the idea that these guardians are gods of sorts, perhaps the founders of Mag Mell themselves. Maybe it is they who decide who gets in? An idea worth thinking about.

I rate this highly potent song an extremely well deserved 9/10

Author's Note

Thank you, thank you for reading all of this! As I said, this is only song number three, but it was still a very difficult challenge in crafting a plausible story. I expect to face a similar level of difficulty in the future, though! And perhaps even in this album with "Witch's Invitation". This song has strengthened me, however, and I'm ready to face whatever challenges I will encounter.

Truthfully, I wasn't happy with last week's analysis. I could blame the song for not giving me much to work with, but I still could have told a better story. This week, however, I'm elated! It's certainly not perfect in both storytelling and analysis, there are inconsistencies, but it's still coherent enough to make sense and be defensible.

Anyway! I again thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and liking these analyses. It means the world to me. This Thanksgiving, I'm grateful for my followers, readers, and new friends I've made along the way thus far. I hope you all are enjoying the holiday season with your friends and family! And I will see you all next Friday!

Jailaster

[bocadelicate]

The Voice AU

Introduction 1 2 (you are here) 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Summary: Adrien and Marinette audition for The Voice UK.

Author: @bocadelicate

“So you’re saying a whole year after we started making music, your dad wants us to stop now?”

Adrien nodded slowly as he looked at his girlfriend’s face.

“...Why?”

He shrugged. “He thinks that it’s ‘detrimental’ to the brand and my education, or something.”

Marinette snorted. “He can’t be serious, right? If anything, your-”

“Our. ”

“Our careers have only helped the company! How is this negatively affecting him?”

“I really don’t know, he just doesn’t like me being happy.” Adrien sighed before arranging the sheet music. “He did give me an ultimatum though.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

“Do you know what The Voice is?”

“Ariana Grande was on it, of course I know what it is.”

“He said that if we hypothetically won The Voice in the UK, then we could continue to make music. If not, I have to go back to business school.”

Marinette gasped before grasping his shoulders, shaking him. “Adrien, we have to do this!”

“What do you mean?”

“This is your dream, Adrien. If your father’s trying to take away something you love, you sure as hell know he needs some common sense.”

Adrien chuckled before resting his head on hers, exhaling loudly. “Do you really think we could win?”

Marinette’s eyes softened and she gently turned around, caressing his cheek. “With you? I’m sure we can do anything.”

He smiled before pressing their lips together. “And I feel the same way, Princess.”

“Wait—”

“Yes Mari?”

“You do realize that you’re going to have to sing , right?”

He flopped his hand. “No problem! I can do that.”

Adrien had a big problem.

He hadn’t realized that he’d have to sing. He thought he could play the piano and be okay!

Marinette was a beautiful singer. He couldn’t compare to her, no way in hell.

“There’s no way in hell, but there’s probably a way in heaven!”

He shook as his girlfriend appeared next to him on the piano, a bright smile on her face as she giggled. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know that you think you can’t compare-”

“I didn’t lie!”

Marinette groaned, shaking her head. “Adrien, your voice just needs time . You’re so used to only playing the piano and singing subtly on special occasions. You need to..” She gestured with her hands wildly. “.. let the music bring you to a flow, you know? Like with the piano!”

“Okay, I guess it’s worth a shot if we want to win this, right?”

She grinned widely before smacking a kiss onto his cheek. “That’s the spirit! I thought of a song for us to sing for the auditions too!”

“What is it?”

“Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran. Since you’re still in the baby stages of being a singer, it shouldn’t be difficult, but still good enough to get us into the show!”

“I love Taylor Swift!”

Marinette smirked. “More than me?”

“Well-” He laughed at her dramatic pout.”Of course I love you more than her.”

She grinned before patting his shoulder. “Anyways, the song has to be one minute and thirty seconds long, with a verse and chorus, and I know you like Taylor Swift-”

“You chose it for me?” She nodded and Adrien’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really. What do you think about this verse with the chorus?” Marinette’s eyes crinkled cutely as she squinted, pointing to each part of the paper. “I was thinking we could sing this part together? It’s pretty easy.”

Adrien squinted, rubbing the end of his shirt on his glasses before putting them on again.

'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello"

And your eyes look like comin' home

All I know is a simple name

And everything has changed

All I know is you held the door

You'll be mine and I'll be yours

All I know since yesterday

Is everything has changed

“This song kinda reminds me of us.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” Adrien intertwined their fingers. ”When’s the audition?”

“...Next week?”

For arranging a piece that was originally four minutes long to a small one minute and a half snippet in seven days, they had to admit they did a pretty good job.

Adrien and Marinette had practiced for hours on end, and the end product…

The only word that could really describe the warm feeling in his chest was proud.

“Are you ready?”

He grinned before holding her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Whenever you are.”

Marinette lifted the lid of her MacBook, pressing her index finger to the Touch ID Sensor as it unlocked the Audition Room. “What was the username for the artist account again?”

“Adrinette.”

Marinette groaned as he laughed. “You could’ve chose anything-”

“I could’ve.”

“Adrinette?”

“Alya and Nino would be proud.”

She lightly thonked him on the head. “You dork.”

“Your dork.”

“My dork.” Marinette smiled before lightly puckering her lips and he smirked, leaning in as well when all of a sudden..

“Your 10 Second Countdown is beginning now. 10, 9, 8..”

Adrien groaned before quickly adjusting his hair, rolling his chair back to the guitar. They had adjusted their practice room to have an area for them to record their audition, as there was a microphone with a stand for Marinette and a guitar stand for him. It was small, but cute and presentable, and that’s all that mattered to them.

“Your audition starts NOW!” The robotic voice played and they were met with a virtual room, with only them and a camera.

“Hi there,” Marinette said, her straightened hair moving as she spoke. “I’m Marinette, this is my boyfriend Adrien, and we’re from Paris, France!”

“We’ll be singing Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, so we hope you enjoy it.” Adrien smiled before clicking the Begin Audition button.

It was now or never.

Adrien began strumming his guitar as Marinette vocalized, harmonizing them perfectly.

“I just wanna know you better now..”

*

“I feel really good about that. I’m not gonna lie.”

“Yeah?” Adrien said, his voice muffled by the mouthful of salad he was chewing. “I feel really good about it too.”

“Do you... Do you think we’ll be in the running for the blinds?”

He put down his fork to rub his thumb against the back of her palm. “Of course I do, Mari. It’s you and me, and no matter what, we’ll get through it together. We always do.”

Marinette chuckled. “Yeah, we do, don't we? It’s us against the world.”

Adrien squinted. “How do you know about that phrase?”

“Well.. you know that one superhero anime thing you told me to watch but I was persistent not to?” She questioned, smirking at his shocked expression

“Don’t tell me you-”

“I may or may not have watched the first two seasons.”

“Mari!” Adrien whined as she giggled, “We should’ve watched it together!”

Marinette grinned. “We should’ve.”

“Can you at least watch seasons 3 and 4 with me?”

Marinette nodded eagerly and walked into his arms, letting him rub her back gently.

He loved her so much, and he was so happy she felt the same way.

It was 2:21 in the morning on a windy September day when Adrien heard an extremely loud swoosh notification.

Adrien groaned before gently turning away from his very comfortable cuddling position and grabbed his phone, raising it to unlock his phone with facial recognition, tapping on the rectangular blue sector to view the email.

From: casting@thevoiceuk.co

To: adrienandmarinette21@gmail.com

Subject: Congratulations!

Dear Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng,

The casting team has found you suitable to be on the show. Congratulations on being selected to be considered during the Blinds! We have included some information on the London venue.

Adrien dropped his phone on his lap.

There was no way in hell.

He turned to his side and shook his girlfriend carefully. “Mari, we did it.”

“Did what?” she asked groggily.

“We did it. We’re going to be on The Voice. ”

[erac12]

Since i had been on a really bad place the last few months and i experience a huge writer block that kept me away of continuing my multi chapter fics (I am so sorry), I took the decision to work on small segments (Becuase my attention spam is so fucking short right know).

Hence, me publishing series of small drabbles or one-shots to keep me going and keep the writer genie working as much as it can. So, after this long explanation that you didn’t care about, here it’s me self promoting bone of my series:

These series is an AU of my Star Wars!Omega verse “Intertwined” and it kind of follows the canon (except when it doesn’t because i don’t care about the canon) and it’s centered on one of my favorite ships: Kalluzeb Aka Alexsandr Kallus/ Garazeb Orrellios from the show ‘Rebels’.

Our little heaven (Rated T)

Building the nest was one of the things that were contradictory in Lasat culture since, for humans and near humans, the omega was the one who were supposed to build it but the lasats, when a carrier was part of a couple, usually left the building of a safe space to the sire. As he didn’t want to overstep Sasha’s boundaries, he asked him and the omega had shyly admitted that he had never built a nest in his life but he didn’t mind if Zeb build it; he really would prefer if the lasat did it.

More that just an omega (Rated T)

“How do you want your eggs? Poached, scrambled or fertilized?” The Alpha said again and the others cheered him up.
Kallus had to contained his own disgust towards these acts and ignored them. He didn’t feel afraid anymore by these assholes; he had faced with some of the worst beings in the galaxy so, he could deal with any immature alphas. However, he wasn’t comfortable with it and he wouldn’t tolerate that any other omega would feel attacked by them. He stopped his search for his mate and his friend and started to look around for the possible victim of the catcalling.
“They are…” Cassian stared to say when he didn’t smell any other omega in the hangar except the ex-spy.

Trauma (Rated M)

“ Might be one of these days, you would be the one who surprise us with a baby lasat, Captain” Wedge had joked as he contemplated with adoration Jacen who slept in Sabine’s arms.

It was just a comment but it awoke a lot of the memories the former ISB agent would prefer to keep hidden. The flashbacks were so livid and they were too many as well. It was funny how just a few words were necessary to freed the hell inside his head.

[mckennacbaker]

So Alright, Cool, Whatever (A Marauders One Shot)

**this story features the song So Alright, Cool, Whatever by The Happy Fits, I recommend listening to the song before reading, or even during the parts of the story that have the lyrics. Happy reading!!**

Remus winced as he felt Sirius’s boot come down on his toe again, “Why did we all have to get so bloody tall?” Sirius chuckled, “Sorry, Moony m’love.��� It was November of the marauder’s 6th year at Hogwarts, and they were crammed under the invisibility cloak sneaking out for Sirius’s birthday. They were going to an open mic night at the Madame Rosmerta’s, which had been Remus’s idea. He had casually slipped the idea to her and insisted that it would bring her tons of business. He even convinced her to use muggle microphones and instruments, to add to the experience. He had something special planned. “Stop complaining, Moony. We’re almost there,” James whispered as they approached the one-eyed witch statue. Once they got the secret passage opened, the three boys slipped inside, and James took the rat out of his pocket and placed it down on the ground, where it transformed back into Peter Pettigrew, “Can’t someone carry me to Honeyduke’s too?” Peter whined. “No complaining on my birthday, Wormtail. We all have to walk together,” Sirius shoved the boy and took off down the tunnel. Remus groaned, “Sirius! Slow down, you know I can’t run with my hip.” Sirius reappeared next to his boyfriend with an apologetic look and wordlessly intertwined their hands as they walked the length of the tunnel. James pulled out a bottle of firewhisky to pass around during the walk, and the four boys drank, talking rapidly about their plans for the night. Remus hadn’t told anyone that he planned to perform tonight. He had found a song and picked it especially for Sirius. Remus was secretly a very good performer, and at home he would go to muggle pubs with his mom and sing with her. She had been one of the first to realize his talent. He wasn’t shy about it; it just hadn’t come up at all with the marauders. With them, he would sing under his breath, or along to the record player, but that wasn’t the same as what he was about to do tonight. A surge of excitement washed over him as he thought of how his boyfriend might react. Remus couldn’t wait to get to the pub.

  As the boys approached Madame Rosmerta’s, Remus could practically feel Sirius buzzing with excitement. They entered, and all of their eyes went wide. The place was completely transformed. Most of the tables were gone, and there was a small stage in the corner. The room was aglow with tiny lights strewn about, leaving everything looking warm and happy. “I got first round, yeah?” said James Potter, ever the gentleman. The other three boys found a high top to stand at and began chatting about who might perform tonight. Five minutes later, James returned with a dazzling smile on his face, “Gentleman, look who I found,” he stepped aside, revealing Mary, Marlene, Lily, and Dorcas. Lily’s face was rather flushed, and Remus gave her a suggestive smirk as she stuck her tongue out at him. Remus was the only one of the marauders who could clearly see that Lily’s feelings had suddenly changed, and she was now head-over-heels for James Potter. It was no coincidence the girls were out tonight. The four girls chorused “happy birthday” to Sirius, before settling around the table. Everyone sipped on the drinks James brought, and chatted excitedly. No one noticed when Remus popped over to the stage to talk to the band. When he came back, he nuzzled his face into his boyfriend’s neck, “Are you having fun?” He said softly, so only Sirius could hear. Sirius gave Remus a kiss on the top of his head, “Of course I am, what more could I ask for?” He looked lovingly around at all of his best mates. Remus stepped back and looked at his boyfriend, the love of his life, the only person for him, “I have a surprise for you.” He disappeared into the crowd, leaving Sirius with a rather confused look on his face.

Madame Rosmerta appeared on the stage and tapped the microphone a few times before exclaiming, “Now, ladies and gentlemen let the open mic night, commence! Our first performer is REMUS LUPIN!” Remus shuffled onto the stage, a nervous energy flowing through his body. He grinned as he saw how baffled all of his friends looked, “This song is for my boyfriend, Sirius Black. We’re celebrating his birthday, so I wanted to sing him something. I would say I hope you all enjoy, but this is just for him so I could give a shit if anyone else likes it or not.” His whole table of friends burst out laughing, while the rest of the audience looked around, unsure if the remark was a joke. His friends ran up to the front of the stage to watch the performance, abandoning the drinks at their table. The music started and Remus ran a hand through his hair, preparing for the first verse, “After you leave, I'll be so alright, it's true

It's not like I've got something grand to say to you

Like, ‘You'll be the only ever one,’”

Remus lifted his eyes to meet his boyfriends as he continued to sing into the chorus,

“I wanna be with you, I wanna be with you

I wanna be barely hanging on

I wanna be with you, I wanna be with you

I wanna be barely hanging on

I wanna be with you all of the time

I wanna be loved by you every night

I wanna be dancing, dreaming, bawling and weeping

For you all of my life,”

At this point, Remus was jumping around the stage, hyping up the crowd. Sirius had tears in his eyes. In this moment, Sirius felt that Remus would never be able to top this birthday present. He felt like jumping on the stage and tackling Remus right now, but then he wouldn’t be able to hear the rest of the song. Remus started on the second verse,

“Now your name makes all the life inside me shake

But, I guess God wants us apart for heaven's sake

But, how could you ever really know?

If you never look, you don't know what you'll find

I've got an effervescent glow

If you'd show me all the dark parts of your mind,”

Sirius laughed at Remus’s hint to their past relationship troubles. This song was perfect. Remus was perfect. Sirius slung one arm around Mary and the other around Marlene as they all jumped around scream-singing the lyrics with Remus, “I wanna be barely hanging ONNNNNN!” Sirius gave the girls a twirl, and they all continued to dance around like lunatics. When the song finally ended, Sirius vaulted onto the stage and snogged his boyfriend in front of the whole bar. A cheer erupted throughout the crowd and someone called, “I think he liked it!” Remus pulled away, blushing profusely and grinning madly. He put mic back and called, “Thank you!” as he grabbed Sirius’s hand and led them off the stage. Before they got back to their table Sirius pulled Remus’s arm to stop them, “Where the bloody hell did that come from?” Remus turned to Sirius and simply shrugged, “My mom taught me.” Sirius laughed and planted a kiss on Remus’s mouth, “Next time, give me warning before you bust out a secret talent. You’re going to outshine me.” Remus rolled his eyes, “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you, my gorgeous and thoughtful boyfriend, for the performance in my honor.’” Sirius smirked and planted his hands on Remus’s chest, “Oh, I’ll certainly be thanking you later,” he winked, before turning and sauntering back to the table. Remus just chuckled, and started after him.

[goodomensblog]

Parched

This one is for lovely Emily! ( @sunshineandchemistry )

Happy Birthday you beautiful effervescent pineapple! I hope you are having the BEST birthday aaaand I hope that a little bit of ineffable husbands kissing will make it all the better.

Parched

Seventeen days, twenty hours and eleven minutes after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, an angel and demon, following a luxurious dinner at Le Gavroche, stroll along a crowded London promenade, their hands intertwined. 

For Crowley, strolling with the sunset sky bleeding pastel and their interlocked hands swinging between them, it is impossible to conceal the bounce in his step - nor does he try. And it is only his dark glasses, perched diligently on the bridge of his nose, that stand between his pleasure-creased gaze and outright discovery.

As they arrive back at Crowley’s apartment, the demon holds open the door. Once inside, Crowley shrugs out of his jacket and then helps Aziraphale with his coat. As the angel settles, Crowley procures a bottle of wine, and it really is shaping up to be an excellent evening when -

“Crowley, my dear. You never told me you had a collection of poetry!”

Crowley’s arm snaps back, and he forcefully wrenches the cork free of the bottle. It bounces across his immaculate kitchen.

Aziraphale is kneeling in front of the exposed stash of poetry, and with his hands braced on his knees and his lips pursed in interest, he appears positively delighted by the discovery.

Crowley, is decidedly less so.

Because Crowley, owner of said poetry, failed to properly conceal the cache of contraband verses within their designated cupboard prior to Aziraphale’s arrival;  and so, at the sight of Aziraphale kneeling in front of his very best kept secret, Crowley pours himself a brimming glass of wine.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of the poetry collection. They are quality works. He is of course, a demon of impeccable taste. 

But he does have a certain image to maintain. 

Sure, he’s not technically speaking, working for Hell these days. But he is a demon, and they generally don’t go around waxing poetic. 

And they especially do not collect The Art of Pining: 101 Love Poems by Pablo Neruda. 

Taking a deep swig of wine, Crowley props his hip against the counter and slouches into a rather elaborate shrug. 

“They’re, er, not mine.”

Aziraphale pauses in brushing his fingers over aged spines. Arching a brow, the angel conveys, without using a single word, that he believes Crowley to be rather full of shit.

“I mean,” Crowley starts, stammering, “I uh, stole them?”

“From whom?”

“I - er, a sweet old lady. Was a dastardly business, angel.”

“Honestly, dear.”

“Fine. I didn’t steal them. But I didn’t go out collecting them either! They were gifts angel. You of all people should know it’s rude to refuse a gift.”

Crowley is prepared to go on - about how he had sent the thank you notes weeks later than was polite - but Aziraphale is no longer listening. He’s already turned back to the shelf and is, once more, running reverent fingers over knobbly spines. Plucking one from the shelf, he flips through the pages. It’s a Shakespeare.

Swallowing the rest of his wine, Crowley miracles the glass full and stalks around to the bookshelf.

The collection is comprised largely of gifts. They had been sent in thanks for the sizable donations made in support of the various poets. Despite its reputation, Crowley had always thought poetry, at heart, to be an incredibly demonic endeavor. Yeah, sure, it’s beautiful, but there’s no rule that says demonic traits can’t be beautiful. And besides, some poetry is so beautiful, the writing and reading of it has been known to stir up all kinds of impulses. Not all of them good. Just ask Byron. 

Crowley decides that he is going to tell Aziraphale exactly this, when the unimaginable happens. 

The angel is pulling an aged collection of T.S. Elliot’s poetry from the shelf, when a single leaf of paper slips from the pages, flips once, and flutters down, onto his lap.

The tea-yellow page is vaguely familiar, and taking a fortifying sip of wine, Crowley bends, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

As Aziraphale’s curious fingers unfold the page, the memory of precisely what the page is strikes Crowley with all the force of a freight train fueled by Hellfire.

A half empty bottle of wine lingers, forgotten on his desk. Wrinkled papers crowd the surface, and ink spots sprinkle polished wood. Amidst it all, Crowley sits, hair mussed and tongue pressing between his lips as he glares down at ink smeared words. It is 1863 and the last time he’d seen Aziraphale, it had been at St. James’ Park. They’d argued. Thunder clouds had gathered on the horizon and it smelled of rain, but even so, the sun had played about Aziraphale’s hair, catching the blue in his eyes - and so Crowley scribbles on the page, because if Shakespeare and Dickinson and Byron could do it, surely he can; because he feels too bloody much and it hurts because Aziraphale is gone and not talking to him, and Crowley loves, he loves-

Crowley glimpses smeared ink, and knows with a sudden, intense clarity, exactly the manner of writing the angel will discover on that page.

Red wine pours, like a waterfall, from the glass dangling loose in Crowley’s grasp.

Yelping, Aziraphale scrambles back, barely avoiding the splatter of red.

Glancing incredulously between Crowley and the pooling wine, Aziraphale purses his lips, and with a curt gesture, miracles the spreading puddle back into the bottle.

“Really, Crowley. Sober up a bit, darling. You’re making a mess.”

“M’not drunk.”

For the second time that evening, Aziraphale treats him to the look.

“Really, I was just, uh,” Crowley sets the empty glass aside and folds his arms, attempting to look as though he’s not seconds away from discorporating from sheer mortification. “What’ve you got there? Can I have it?”

Aziraphale looks from the innocuously folded page to Crowley, and then back to the page. Curiosity is settling into the angel’s bright blue gaze, and Crowley's stomach turns over.

“...what is it?”

“Nothing. Just old stuff. Trash, basically. Might as well get rid of it,” Crowley says, and presses thumb and middle finger together to banish the humiliating creation for good.

Aziraphale is faster.

With a single blink, Aziraphale and the paper wink out of existence. They reappear on the other side of the room. Aziraphale is seated in Crowley’s overlarge desk chair and the paper is open on the desk. With a snap, the angel’s reading glasses materialize on his face, and when he glances down, his eyes go wide and bright.

“I had no idea you wrote, Crowley!”

Crowley is across the room before Aziraphale can so much as take a second glance at the page. He slaps a hand over the paper. 

As if drawn by the movement, Aziraphale’s eyes flick down, and they are automatically tracing the first line -

“Aziraphale, stop!”

It comes out choked, and there is no concealing the raw edge of panic in his tone.

Aziraphale jerks back, retracting his hand as if burned. 

Snatching up the page, Crowley clutches it, pressing it to his chest. And the room sinks into a heavy, uncomfortable silence.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says at last, gently breaking the quiet. 

Crowley can feel the angel studying him, taking in his tense shoulders, pale countenance, and white-knuckled hands clutching at the paper.

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, guilt heavy in his voice, “I didn’t mean - oh, I shouldn’t have. It’s yours. And it’s clearly private. I hardly saw anything, I promise. And I won’t attempt to read any further.”

And then Aziraphale is rising from the chair, circling the desk. Crowley blinks and careful hands are brushing up his arms. Relaxing at the touch is as simple as breathing; dipping his head, Crowley leans into it.

The apocalypse has come and gone. They survived it. And then survived the wrath of both Heaven and Hell which came immediately after. And now, against all odds - in a twist of fate Crowley hadn’t dared to dream of, he and Aziraphale have a life together. A life where touches like this are allowed. 

And with Aziraphale there, knuckles gently tracing the backs of Crowley’s hands as whispered apologies and assurances blend together into a single soothing murmur, Crowley comes to the abrupt and startling realization that he is acting like a twat.

“Forgive me,” Aziraphale says, soft fingers brushing over Crowley’s clenched hands.

Crowley’s fists unclench, and Aziraphale’s fingers immediately tangle with his own.

“Nothing to forgive, angel,” Crowley replies, running fumbling thumbs over the backs of Aziraphale’s hands.

And he is being foolish, because this is Aziraphale. They shared bodies for someone’s sake. After all that, sharing a bit of poetry should be a simple thing.

“It’s, ah, it’s okay,” Crowley finally manages. “Just - let me read it to you, yeah? A bit easier for me that way.”

Aziraphale pulls back, his concerned gaze tracing Crowley’s expression. 

“Really, you don’t have to do anything you don’t-”

“I want to,” Crowley interrupts. Against his chest, the paper feels warm - and he has to glance to check he hasn’t accidentally set it ablaze. “Just...take a seat?”

Aziraphale does. Folding his hands in his lap, he perches in Crowley’s high-backed chair.

Swallowing once, Crowley glances over the paper. How many times has he imagined reading this very page to Aziraphale? Of course, in his fantasies, they both wore gilded doublets and elegant ruffs - and Crowley often pictured himself delivering the poetry in a verdant, flowering garden, with Aziraphale listening, enraptured, from a moonlit balcony above.

But this works too.

Rubbing his uncomfortably moist palms on his pants, Crowley grimaces, glancing up.

“Dear, if this is too stressful-”

“It’s fine, just - the poem - it’s, um, about you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, and leans back, cheeks pink.

Smoothing the abused paper, Crowley takes a fortifying look at Aziraphale, and begins.

“I dreamt, once,” he starts, and hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet. He can feel his heartbeat - which, physiologically speaking, he doesn’t strictly need - a staccato rhythm against his ribs.

A glance up -

Aziraphale waits, hands folded in his lap. His lips curve in a gentle, patient smile.

It’s just a poem, Crowley reasons. And besides, with Aziraphale right here, looking at him - smiling - it is ridiculous to be afraid.

Clearing his throat, he begins again.

-

“I dreamt, once

I was earth - summer dry,

Parched

And you, my heart,

An afternoon storm.”

-

Golden eyes flick up. A nervous tongue brushes dry lips.

-

“Lush drops,

Cut summer soft air

Striking earth

As I shed dust and drank in

Your every inch.

-

And if you were the gale,

I was the grass

Shivering

As I waited

Wanting.”

-

Crowley can feel Azirphale’s gaze, a prickling pressure, but he won’t look up from the page. If he stops, he fears he may not have enough courage to again start.

-

“And you, darling,

Rent the very air

Electric 

Engulfing earth, 

Me,

Everything

Everything.

-

Alone,

I woke

In a bed too large

With thunder groaning

And rain 

Pattering on the window 

Soft as you.”

-

He finishes, his voice little more than a croak.

Aziraphale rises from the chair.

Lowering the poem, Crowley presses his lips together, and nods once, looking at the floor. “It wasn’t much, I know. Not really much of a poet-”

Aziraphale interrupts him with a kiss.

“Hush,” Aziraphale says, kissing the frown from his lips. “It was lovely. You are lovely, my dear.”

Laid bare before the angel, Crowley feels reduced to his origins - a scattered constellation of fractured, burning lights. And yet, here, in Aziraphale’s warm, gentle arms, he is pulled together; made whole. 

When Aziraphale’s hands rise to cup Crowley’s face, the poem slips through his fingers. As they kiss, Crowley shifts a hand to Aziraphale’s back; and when he carefully presses Aziraphale against the desk, he makes sure his hand is between the hard edge and Aziraphale’s back.

Crowley kisses the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, and then a slow, lingering path down the angel’s neck.

“You do remember that we confessed to, ah, a rather mutual love in the days following the whole Tadfield business. You really needn’t be embarrassed by - ah, um, a bit of poetry, dear.”

Bending, Crowley presses his face into the curve between Aziraphale’s shoulder and neck and admits, “...wrote it after that day in St. James’ Park. You know, the fight. Hadn’t seen you in quite a while and I,” he heaves a breath, “really missed you.”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says, voice soft as a caress. And then fingers are stroking up Crowley’s neck, brushing soothing trails through his hair. “You weren’t the only one who spent a good few decades pining away.”

Sighing against Aziraphale’s skin, Crowley parts his lips and presses a delicate kiss against the freckles nestled in curve of his neck. “Worked out in the end, at least.”

“I daresay it did. And I learned you are quite the poet.”

Crowley presses a hand up over Aziraphale’s mouth. “Shh..”

Aziraphale chuckles and brushes feather-soft kisses against his fingers. “As I said before, dear - it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Retracing his way back up Aziraphale’s neck, Crowley mutters, “I’m a demon. Demons don’t wax poetic.”

“Oh they most certainly do. Have you ever listened to yourself speak?”

“Angel,” Crowley murmurs, kissing a path from Aziraphale’s jaw to his softly parted lips.

“Just, ah -”

Crowley hesitates, fingers stroking over Aziraphale’s waist.

“I’d like to hear it. Again,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley’s eyes flick up.

“Your poem.”

As Aziraphale reaches for the dropped page, Crowley grasps his hand. Massaging circles into his angel’s palm, Crowley brushes his lips over Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“I dreamt, once, I was earth. Parched...”

- - - - - - - - -

I am NOT a poet and probably severely overextended my writing abilities attempting to create the poem for this. I sincerely hope it is not embarrassingly bad, and if it is - maybe all of the kissing made up for it? :D

[asernolonger]

Canvas Event: Beautiful Howls

While she'd grown accustomed to making a living by bringing the dishes of her realm to this one, and only occasionally having to actually get serious in combat (the average thug she'd have to contend with when she spotted them usually only took a punch or two before they'd fall on their faces, out cold), rarely did anyone pay attention to her singing anymore. Granted, she'd never sung all that much to begin with-it was more just an idle habit she'd picked up, and it wasn't as if she could actually read any sheet music presented to her, she learned entirely by ear-but she still did occasionally sing nonetheless. But it hadn't really been noticed by anyone else on the island, until recently, in which a customer at the cafe had caught wind of her voice, and very much insisted she show off something at this new place being built, in the music hall. She'd really only agreed just to shut the bastard up, but it wasn't as if it was an unpleasant experience for her.

She'd occasionally be joined by other musicians, usually playing instruments, though for the moment, she was alone in the music hall. A pianist was supposed to come by later, as well as some brass, but not quite yet. They'd heard her singing that strange song she'd first started hearing via her Echo when she abandoned her previous life as a member of the Dragoon order (though she'd forever fight like one-it's what she knew best, and she'd even improved on it over time), and had become more clear once she had no choice but to return after being framed for the Sultana's supposed death, and only continued to become more and more clear as she continued fighting to end the Dragonsong War, eventually becoming the most clear as she went to cut down the reborn Nidhogg.

She later concluded it was a song the actual Shiva was imparting to her, though why in the seven hells she would choose to impart that song to a war veteran who still had a taste for battle and tended to prefer solving her problems with her spear rather than her tongue, Selenie would never know. Maybe it was because, out of everyone she'd met with the Echo, Selenie was the only one who had the proper Blessing of Light as well? She didn't know, and quite frankly, it didn't matter anyways.

All of that in mind, sitting on a large wooden platform they'd brought out, she sang the song anyways...

Children of the land, do you hear?

Echoes of truth that once rang clear...

Two souls intertwined, one true love they did find,

Bringing land and heavens near.

But flames that burned full bright soon fell dark,

Memories dimmed by shadowed hearts.

In the waxing gloom did wane the lovers' moon,

Watching as their worlds drifted apart.

Before she could continue with the next verse, her keen ears picked up on footsteps approaching. She turned to look in the direction of the footsteps, and blinked a few times when she saw a familiar face walk in.

"Seven hells, do my eyes deceive me, or is that really you, Gaius? I never really took you for one to visit this sorta place, so what brings you here?"

@baelsarwolf

[youngboy-oldmind]

ALBUM REVIEW- Born Sinner

“Spinning in circles, live my life without rehearsal/ If I died today my n***a, was it business, was it personal?/ Should this be my last breath I'm blessed cause it was purposeful/ Never got to church to worship lord but please be merciful/ You made me versatile, well-rounded like cursive/ Know you chose me for a purpose, I put my soul in these verses/ Born sinner, was never born to be perfect”

After the lackluster debut Cole World: The Sideline Story, J Cole follows up with his sophomore album Born Sinner, a top 3 album in his discography. Flooded with soulful production, homages to his idols and influences, and more mature lyricism and writing, Born Sinner introduces J Cole as a major artist to emerge from the 2010s.

Born Sinner illustrates J Cole in the middle of his evolution from hungry, Jay-Z/B.I.G./Nas protege to an observant prophet. This is seen by his own reflection on immaturity and materialism in tracks like “LAnd of the Snakes”,  “Let Nas Down”, and “Chaining Day”. Using biblical metaphors and the ongoing theme of being a “born sinner”, J Cole reflects on society and himself. Instead of the preachy tone about mature themes on his previous release, the emotions on these songs and topics feel genuine. Songs like “Lights Please” and “Lost Ones” on Cole World: The Sideline Story felt overly in-your-face woke. Here, Cole uses subtlety and meaningful commentary to express his thoughts and feelings on lost love, self worth, materialism, shady behavior, temptation, and living as a born sinner.

Cole stays thematically consistent, with nothing being too on-the-nose and nothing diverging too far from the central theme. He mirrors this consistency in the production as well. J Cole, being his own main producer, mixes his own original instrumentals as well as samples old hip hop tracks from artists like A Tribe Called Quest and Nas. He uses a jazzy, soulful foundation with a modern enhancement, exemplified the best on “Forbidden Fruit”. 

I also should note J Cole’s use of vocal layering choirs are executed amazingly. On the choruses of Power Trip, “Chaining Day”, “Rich N****z”, “Forbidden Fruit”, we hear Cole on the chorus, harmonizing with himself and giving his own words a hum. The choir singing on “Crooked Smile”, “Trouble”, and “Born Sinner” were excellent as well. The thematic elements of sin and heaven/hell matches the use of a choir in the musical style. Props to J Cole for utilizing this well.

Along with solid production, he interpolates a couple skits that transition excellently into the next track; “Kerney Sermon” transitioning to “LAnd of the Snakes” and “Where’s Jermaine” transitioning into “Forbidden Fruit”. In addition, he includes two intermissions which exist as bare boned displays of lyricism. They have intertwining topics: the good and bad of money. “Mo Money” paints a rounded image of the effects of money on different socioeconomic levels in society in a more negative tone. Meanwhile, “Aint That Some Shit” expresses a more braggadocios connotation to the impacts of money. We get to see a transition from negative to positive reflection between these two.

The album as a whole transitions from negative to positive as well. Born Sinner starts with more gnarly, moody pieces like “Villuminati” and “Power Trip”  and ends with more upbeat tracks “Crooked Smile” and “Born Sinner”. This is a great way to express his evolving positivity as he observes his life and society around him.

There are only a few things I dislike about this record. I think both “Runaway” and “She Knows” were both weak on this project. The choruses on both are a bit obnoxious. The only other songs I dislike were the five attached to the end of the deluxe version of this record. I highly recommend if you listen to this record, use the original instead of deluxe. The songs added to the deluxe do not add anything and create a drag on a project that has a solid final track “Born Sinner”.

As a whole Born Sinner is great instrumentally, lyrically, and conceptually. J Cole definitely upgrades from his previous record, reorienting his musical career and setting the stage for his future projects. With only a few flaws, this album is a great go-to for anyone wanting to be introduced J Cole.

Top 3 Tracks:

1) Forbidden Fruit

2) Born Sinner

3) Chaining Day

Overall Grade: B

[roadtohell]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both really like to use religious imagery.

They enjoy and return notable amounts of wlw love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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* I am legally obligated to include all these adjectives.

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

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

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