#class of 09 christopher

[yung-christopher]

guys this is lowkey urgent do y'all think these look good for a boquet for someone who i'm not naming

apparently she likes these flowers but like. HELP???????

[yung-christopher]

tag yourself i'm Cable Cat

[ceyanabbiolo]

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [09]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: arguing

Chapter 09: You Ain't my Boyfriend, and I Ain't your Girlfriend

── .✦ CHRISTOPHER

By the end of the long weekend, I found myself already heading back to Vivianne Hall. The break had passed in the blink of an eye—just two extra days off, barely enough time to breathe, let alone reset. It wasn’t long before the quiet mornings and slow afternoons were replaced by the steady rhythm of campus life once again.

Before I knew it, I was back in the gym, the familiar scent of sweat and floor polish hitting me the second I stepped inside. The sound of sneakers squeaking against the hardwood, whistles blowing, and balls hitting the rim filled the air like a soundtrack I hadn’t realized I’d missed.

The coach didn’t waste any time either. The practice was in full swing—drills, laps, and all. My body was still trying to shake off the weekend haze, but there was no room for sluggishness here. We had a game coming up next week, and the pressure was starting to build.

I stepped onto the court and fell into rhythm with the others. I was focused—or at least I tried to be—but no matter how hard I pushed, my thoughts kept drifting. My body was here, running plays and listening to the coach bark out orders, but my mind? It was somewhere else entirely.

Every time the ball left my hands, I saw her. Jules. That night at her house played on repeat in my head like some movie I couldn’t shut off. The way her voice trembled. The look in her eyes when she finally let her walls slip, just for a second. I couldn’t stop remembering the way I was mere inches away from her. 

I hadn’t meant to stay that long. I hadn’t meant to care that much.

But I did.

"Yo, Chris!"

I snapped out of it just in time to catch the ball flying toward me. I barely got my hands up before it smacked into my chest. A few of the guys laughed, but I just shook it off, trying to pretend I wasn’t out of it.

"Get your head in the game," Coach barked from the sidelines.

I gave a nod, but my jaw clenched.

Get your head in the game.

Easier said than done when part of you’s stuck in a quiet bedroom, watching a girl fight to keep herself from falling apart. 

By the time practice ended, I headed straight back to my dorm, sweat clinging to my shirt and legs already aching. I had just enough time to shower and change before my first class.

This was my final year. No room for mistakes, no time to waste. I’d already had one slip-up earlier in the semester. That was the wake-up call. From here on out, I had to be locked in. If I wanted even a shot at getting noticed by NBA scouts, I had to be sharp, disciplined, and dialed in—on the court and off.

After a quick shower, I pulled on a clean hoodie, black jeans, and grabbed my bag. I slammed the door behind me and started walking across campus. 

Fall had officially settled in—crisp air, golden leaves scattered across the sidewalk, and students crowding the walkways with coffee cups in hand. I was just about to push open the door to the lecture hall when something caught my eye.

Off to the side, near the bathrooms, Jules stepped out, her hair a little messy like she’d been rushing; however, her outfit was perfect as usual. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, glanced around quickly, and then popped a mint into her mouth.

I paused.

Something about the way she moved didn’t sit right. The way her shoulders were slightly hunched, like she didn’t want to be seen.

I stepped away from the door and walked over to her. 

"Did you just throw up?" I asked, my voice low.

Her eyes snapped up to mine, like she didn’t expect to see me. "What? No," she said quickly, almost too quickly. Then she paused. "Why... does it look like that?"

I tilted my head slightly, studying her. "Kinda."

She looked away, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and letting out a dry laugh. "I’m fine, Chris."

But I didn’t believe her. Not even a little bit. 

She turned on her heel without another word, her heels clicking softly against the tile. The hem of her skirt swayed with each step, purposeful and sharp, like she was trying to leave the conversation—and me—behind.

But I wasn’t done.

I caught up to her easily, falling into step beside her as we approached the lecture hall doors. She didn’t glance at me, but the way her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw tightened told me everything I needed to know—she was still annoyed. Still trying to pretend I wasn’t there. 

Didn’t stop me.

“You going to that party this weekend?” I asked casually, slipping my hands into my pockets. “Nick’s throwing it. Nothing crazy. I heard Eden’s going, so I figured that might be enough to get you to show.”

She let out a sigh, not quite annoyed but definitely uninterested. “No idea.” A beat passed, then she added, “But I do love Nick and Eden. So maybe. I haven’t decided.”

We stepped inside the building and made our way down the aisle toward the middle rows. She slowed a little, eyes scanning for open seats, and let out a quieter sigh.

As we stepped inside, we walked down the big room, and she let out a quiet sigh.

"Why are you sitting next to me?"

I just smiled slightly, shrugging as I slid into the seat beside her and didn’t reply to her question. She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t move or tell me to leave either. 

I could sense the tension radiating off her as we sat side by side. Even though she didn’t say anything, the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers tapped anxiously against her notebook, and how she hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction—it all gave her away.

I leaned over slightly, lowering my voice. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, eyes still locked on the front of the room. “Why?”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “You haven’t looked at me once.”

She gave a small shrug. “I don’t have a reason to.”

I watched her as she kept her gaze glued to her notes, pretending like I wasn’t sitting right next to her. Her handwriting was neat—almost annoyingly perfect. Every bullet point was underlined, every heading boxed in, her lines straight like they’d been measured.

But what caught my attention were the margins—delicate little flowers sketched in the corners of the pages. Tiny daisies, roses, and vines curling around the edges. It was subtle, but there was something so her about it. Soft, even when she was trying to be sharp.

Jules didn’t look at me the whole first half of the lecture, but that didn’t stop me from nudging her foot under the desk every now and then—subtle enough not to get caught, but enough to pull a tight-lipped sigh out of her.

"You're tapping your pen like you're trying to send Morse code," I murmured after the third time she flicked it against her notebook.

She didn’t look at me. "Maybe I’m trying to tell you to shut up."

I smirked. "And here I thought you missed me over the weekend."

She finally glanced my way, one brow raised. "Don’t flatter yourself.".

We didn’t talk much after that, but the silence wasn’t cold anymore. It wasn’t awkward either. Just… familiar.

When class ended, Jules stood, gathering her things, and without thinking, I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked out with her. No planning, no invitation—we just fell into step like it was natural.

“Yo, redhead.”

The voice cut through the chatter around us like a sharp snap.

I turned instinctively, and so did Jules.

A guy stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the brick wall outside the lecture building, one hand tucked in his hoodie pocket, the other waving lazily like we were old friends.

I recognized him immediately.

I didn’t know his name, but I didn’t need to. The smug tilt of his head, the cocky way he carried himself—I’d seen him before. That night. The party. He was the one who tried to drag Jules down the hallway when she could barely stand.

“Are you talking to me?” Jules asked, brows drawn tight in confusion.

He grinned like she’d just made his day. “Yeah. You don’t remember me?”

She blinked, lips parting slightly. “No?” she said uncertainly.

“That’s alright,” he replied smoothly, taking a step forward and extending his hand. “I’m Ben.”

Jules looked hesitant but polite, beginning to lift her hand.

Before she could, I reached out and gently pushed her hand down, stepping in between them without a word.

Ben’s smile faltered as his eyes shifted to me—and the second our eyes locked, I saw it. He remembered.

“Chris,” he said with a low chuckle, his tone turning mocking. “Heard you got benched for throwing punches at me. Guess your temper still needs work.”

Jules glanced between us, clearly trying to piece together the sudden tension.

I didn’t answer him. I didn’t need to. The moment didn’t belong to words.

Ben shrugged and turned his focus back to Jules like I wasn’t even there. “Anyway. You’re gorgeous. Can I get your number?”

“No,” I said sharply, stepping forward again until there was barely a foot between us.

Jules put a hand on my arm, trying to ease the tension. “Chris…” she murmured, her voice calm but confused. “Don’t be rude.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What? You her boyfriend or something?” He let out a bark of laughter. “Would explain the attitude.”

I didn’t say anything. I wanted to. God, I wanted to say yes.

But before I could open my mouth, Jules shook her head. “No, he’s not.”

Ben’s face lit up. “Perfect,” he said, grinning like a wolf. “So, red—how about that number?”

I stepped fully in front of Jules now, my voice low and cold. “Did you forget what I told you that night?”

Ben blinked.

I didn’t give him time to respond.

“You don’t touch her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t even think about her. Got it?” Those were my words for that night, they rang in my head this exact moment as well. 

His smirk faded, the memory clearly hitting. His mouth opened slightly, but I wasn’t done.

“I know exactly who you are now, and if you don’t back off, I’ll go to admin, title and name. And this time, maybe you’ll get worse than being benched.”

That was just a threat, the admin wasn’t doing shit. We all know how my conversation with the dean went. 

His jaw clenched, and he let out a dry, forced scoff. “You’re overreacting, man.”

“Am I?” I leaned in just a bit. “Because I remember already telling to never look at her again.”

He stared for a long second, then rolled his eyes, huffed out a breath, and backed away slowly, muttering, “Whatever. Not worth it.”

He turned and walked off down the sidewalk, pulling his hood up like that made him invisible.

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep the rage down. My knuckles were still tight, my jaw sore from how hard I’d been clenching it.

I started walking again. Fast.

Jules hurried beside me. “Chris,” she said, breathless. “What the hell was that?”

“Nothing,” I muttered.

“Don’t give me that. You knew him. And he knew you. What was he talking about—that night?”

I kept walking.

“Chris.” Her voice was firmer now, trying to catch my eye. “What night?”

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

She grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop just outside the quad. “You just threatened to report him to the school. You got benched because of him? You threw punches over me and didn’t even tell me?”

I looked at her then. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide—not angry, not ungrateful—just searching. Trying to understand.

But I couldn’t say it.

I couldn’t tell her that when I found her that night at the party, she was barely conscious, slurring her words, eyes unfocused—and that Ben had his hand up her skirt and was trying to drug her. 

I Couldn’t tell her that if I hadn’t walked by at that exact moment, she might’ve…

My chest tightened.

I looked away. “I handled it. That’s all that matters.”

She was quiet for a second. “Chris… won't you tell me?”

I stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed ahead like if I just kept walking, the conversation would vanish with his footsteps.

But Jules wasn’t letting it go.

“Chris,” she pressed again, her voice sharper now. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? You told him to stay away from me. That doesn’t exactly sound like nothing.”

I finally stopped, jaw clenched. “It’s complicated.”

Jules stared at me like I’d just said the sky was purple. “Complicated? How?”

“I’m telling you to drop it.”

“No,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You can’t just say nothing happened and then act like you’re protecting me from some guy I barely remember. You already made it clear—he’s dangerous. So why are you suddenly walking in circles about it now?”

My jaw tightened again. My voice came out lower, quieter. “Because it’s better if you don’t know.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Better for who? Me? Because I’m standing here, confused, clearly out of the loop, while you act like you’ve seen a ghost. I don’t even remember the party, Chris. Whatever happened—I want to know.”

I looked away. “You don’t.”

“You can’t just make that decision for me!” she shouted, her voice cracking at the end. “You don’t get to shield me from something that involves me.”

I turned back toward her, my eyes harder now. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

“And I’m asking you to be honest!”

There was a beat of silence. A cold, tense pause between us, like neither of us was sure what would break first—my silence or her patience.

Then she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You know what? Fine. If he’s not that bad, maybe I’ll just go find him and give him my number.”

She turned sharply, spinning on her heel to walk in the direction Ben had gone.

“Jules.”

She ignored me.

“Jules, don’t.”

She didn’t even slow down. This woman was driving me insane day by day. 

And that was it—my restraint snapped. I reached out and grabbed her arm, firm but not rough, just enough to stop her.

“Don’t,” I said, eyes locked with hers. My voice dropped, raw and tight. “Don’t do that.”

She looked up at me, hurt flaring across her face. “Why not?”

I froze. My grip stayed on her arm, not tight, just steady—like I was holding her there not just physically, but emotionally, keeping her from walking straight into something she didn’t understand. And for a second, I considered saying nothing again. Shutting down.

But the way she was looking at me—raw, betrayed, confused—it cut through whatever wall I had left.

She stayed silent, watching me like she was bracing herself.

I looked down, jaw clenching. My hands were shaking before I even realized it.

“Fine.” 

I finally gave in, the way her curious eyes were looking at me made something in me unable to say no.

“That party, the one after the first week of classes,” I muttered. “You were drunk.” 

She nodded, I can tell she recalled the night. 

I forced myself to keep going. “I saw him take you into a room. I was confused and I followed” I paused, forcing the words out even as my stomach churned. “When I walked in you were unconscious, he drugged you i’m guessing, he was all over you Jules. In ways you shouldn’t have been while you were in a state like that.”

I looked her in the eyes, hoping she understood what I meant. Jules didn’t speak. She didn’t move either, but I knew she understood.

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to breathe through the heat building behind my eyes. “I hit him. Twice. Maybe three times—I don’t even remember. I got benched from practice that week. They didn’t ask questions, and didn't want the mess.” 

I looked at her finally, really looked at her. Her face had gone pale, her eyes wide and glassy, like she was trying to keep herself from unraveling.

“You got benched because of me?” she asked softly, barely above a whisper. Her voice was fragile, like she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

I shook my head, the weight of the memory heavy on my shoulders. “No, Jules. Not because of you. I got benched because I broke protocol… and punched another student in the face. That part was on me.”

The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating. The breeze around campus carried the faint rustle of leaves, but everything else felt far away—like the world had narrowed down to just this moment.

Jules looked down at her feet for a second, like she was grounding herself, then slowly raised her gaze to meet mine. “Were you the one who… brought me back to my dorm?”

I didn’t speak. I just nodded. Once.

She stared at me, the realization sinking in, slowly settling into her chest like something heavy.

Her eyes flickered away, then back again. Her expression softened, but there was still confusion in it. Pain.

“You stayed?”

“For a bit,” I said quietly. “You were barely awake. I couldn’t leave you like that, so I stayed till you fell asleep.”

She nodded slowly, taking that in. Her hands were clenched in front of her now, knuckles pale.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I just… I woke up in bed, and I felt sick, and I thought maybe I’d just had too much to drink or maybe blacked out or something—” Her voice cracked, and she looked away, swallowing hard. “I was so confused… I remembered going into a room with some guy. I couldn’t see his face, just flashes. Me and Eden… we thought something bad might’ve happened.”

She paused, her voice barely holding itself together.

“But my body felt fine. Nothing hurt. Nothing was… wrong.” Her eyes slowly lifted to mine.“And now I know why.” A weak smile touched her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “ You helped me.” 

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep the pressure in my chest from rising again.

“I didn’t do anything special, Jules,” I said, shaking my head. “I just did what anyone should’ve done.”

She stared at me for a long second, like she was trying to measure whether I believed that or was just trying to be modest. 

There were slight tears in her eyes I wanted to wipe away. She stared at me for a long second, like she was trying to figure out if I really believed the words coming out of my mouth or if I was just saying them to avoid the weight of the truth. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between heartbreak and something softer.

Then, without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.

I froze.

Her head rested against my chest, her fingers lightly gripping the back of my hoodie like she needed something solid to hold onto. 

I stood still for a second, stunned. Jules wasn’t the kind of girl who let her guard down like this. Especially the guy she claimed she hated with her guts, 

She didn’t reach for people—not physically, not emotionally. But right now, she was holding onto me like she didn’t care who saw.

Slowly, I brought my arms around her and held her back.

She whispered into my chest, voice trembling, “Thank you.”

I exhaled, eyes falling shut for a moment. “No need, Jules. Anyone would’ve helped you.”

She shook her head gently, her cheek brushing against my shirt. “I don’t think they would’ve,” she murmured.

I sighed. It was a cruel world we lived in.

"Just don't talk to him," I muttered into her hair. Which, in fact, smelled heavenly.

She nodded, slowly pulled back from the hug, her arms slipping away from around me, but she didn’t move far.

Just a few inches.

Her hands lingered at my chest, and when she looked up, her face was right there—closer than I’d ever seen it.

We both froze.

Her eyes met mine, wide and still shining with what was left of the emotion between us. She didn’t back away. Didn’t flinch. Just stayed there, searching my face like she was trying to read something she hadn’t let herself see before.

And suddenly, all I could think about was how close her lips were to mine.

I’d always known Jules was pretty—that kind of effortless, magnetic kind of pretty. But this… up close, it was different. There was something about the curve of her mouth, the soft flush still on her cheeks, the way her lashes framed those big, vulnerable eyes. Something unguarded. Real.

And for a split second, the entire world around us dropped away.

I couldn’t help it—my eyes flicked down to her lips.

Just once.

Then back up to her eyes.

She noticed. I knew she did.

Because she didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

And all I could think about—all I could feel—was this overwhelming pull to close the gap.

To kiss her.

But I couldn��t, because deep down there was still this fire between me and Jules. It's always been there. My breath hitched slightly, and the moment hung between us—suspended, fragile, electric.

She hesitated for a beat. Then—just the smallest movement—she leaned in.

Barely an inch.

But it was enough to make my heart lurch, enough for the world to go completely still again. And just when her lips were close enough that I could feel her breath brush against mine…

I backed away.

It wasn’t dramatic, just moved my head. Small. Instinctive. Like something in me panicked at the last second. 

Her expression shifted instantly. The flicker in her eyes dimmed. Her lips parted just slightly in confusion, and I could see the rejection settle into her shoulders like cold rain.

She blinked and took a step back. Then another.

Embarrassment was painted all over her face. Fuck. 

“Okay,” she said, voice quiet, trying to mask the crack in it. “Um… thanks again. For everything.”

“Jules—” I reached for her arm, but she was already turning.

She walked fast—too fast. Her heels clicked against the pavement, and she didn’t look back.

“Jules!” I called after her.

She didn’t turn around. 

She was speed walking across the quad now, hand pulling her bag up higher on her shoulder, her hair swinging behind her like she just needed to get away.

I stood there, frozen.

What the hell just happened? Why the fuck did I back away?

My hands were still warm where she’d touched me, and my chest felt hollow, like something important had just slipped out of my reach and I’d let it go.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to kiss her.

I did.

More than anything.

But something in me… panicked. Maybe it was the timing. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. I didn’t know what I felt for Jules, but I knew at this moment I wanted nothing more than to feel those plush lips against mine.  

She looked so hurt and embarrassed. I knew I messed up.

I also knew the chances of Jules trying to do that again were slim to none.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[a/n: next chapter is going to be GOOOD! you can trust me *winks* - like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @angelicsturns @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @cupiidsbows @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt @mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @sturnsblogs @mattsdivaa

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

[cyberstar2005]

Hello ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

I am ☆chris☆ and in this blog I will share my videos/edits,art,publications that I see whether related to some of my obsessions or interests, if possible I will talk about some topics based on the fandoms I am in and the controversial things that happen.

Basic things about me:

Christopher (I won't say my death name)

Latinoamerican (Bolivian)

18 (09/10/2005)

Trans/gender fluid (he/him)

antrosexual/pansexual

I have many interests that I talk about, draw or make videos and small animations but these are the ones you will probably see the most on my blog:

Sonic the Hedgehog

vocaloid

Invader Zim

Don't hug me I'm scared

The owl house

Gravity falls

Bendy and the ink machine

John Doe game [all Yanderes]

Junji ito

GASA4 (ROBLOX)

OCs, AUs or Personal Projects

Headcanons/ selfship

Traumacore / cybercore / weirdcore

Creepy/ horror things

Animation, Cartoons and Art in General.

BYF(Before You Follow):

I am a masochist And most of my fetishes are usually related to that, whether it's blood, knives, spanking, soft BDSM whatever. The point is that this is a warning, Why I rarely (almost none) comment or publish content of this nature

While the content I post will never contain any type of direct graphic NSFW content, there are likely instances where my blog contains things that may not be appropriate for younger audiences (swearing, blood, heavy themes, suggestive jokes,etc.)

I am critical of many things, including my own interests, and I tend to rarely talk about it but I will put warnings for that if you don't want to read opinions from a stranger.

There are times when I use this blog to vent about my traumas, mental health or current life situations and some of them can become heavy, I am aware that this can be very uncomfortable so I always put a big warning for that type of publications

[Regarding the warnings, I will create some labels so that they can identify the publications and thus they can censor the labels for those who are uncomfortable with that type of content]

DNI (Do Not Interact):

Basic DNI criteria, Anti-LGBT+, Racists, Enablers, TERFS / Transphobic, Pedophiles, Zoophiles, (let's be honest, if you are a predatory, you are instantly not welcome here)

Shotacons/Lolicons

[toxic] fujoshis

Aro/Ace Exclusionists

Truscum / Transmeds

Anti Neopronouns / Xenogenders

DDLG/CGLG kink blogs (Being someone with masochistic practices, I do not consume that content since for me it is an allusion to pedophilia )

Regarding Proships/Compships, my opinion is quite ambiguous. I only ask that they not be toxic and that they do not spam about some fart ship or one that involves real people's

Headcanons/selfship Likewise my opinion is ambiguous, Just please don't have toxic behaviors!

Just don't make me uncomfortable

I apologize if I don't connect for days, the problem is that since I'm in class, I don't have time to draw and connect to networks.

That's all Byeee (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

[weerd1]

On this anniversary of a film that I wanted to hate but immediately fell in love with, I want to take a moment and wax poetic about the Kelvin Timeline. There was a lot of consternation then (and probably with some fans still) about there seeming to be differences to the timeline BEFORE the Narada incursion; the Kelvin had 800 people on board in a time a decade before the Constitution Class which only had 200 people on board under Pike. Things like this.

Now, do I know it's because JJ Abrams did no thave the encyclopedic knowledge of Trek I do and just thought George Kirk saving 800 lives sounds a lot cooler than a hundred? Sure. But...

There's no way in Star Trek to make a single incursion in a timeline. Think about this: Nero goes back, changes how the Enterprise will interact with the galaxy three decades later. So now, does the Enterprise go back in time and work with Gary 7 in 1968? Does Captain Christopher encourage his son to grow up and lead a Saturn mission? Do they go back to San Francisco in 1986 and invent transparent aluminum? Later on, does Sisko go replace Gabriel Bell?

(On a side note: I thought this would be the plot of Picard S2. The altered timeline kept the Bell Riots from being affected by Sisko and causing a closed temporal loop...why else put it in California in 2024 and talk about Sanctuary districts?)

We know there are other changes to the prime timeline caused by time travelers because Strange New Worlds tells us so; but THOSE changes aren't necessarily reflected in the Kelvin timeline. The Eugenics Wars are delayed almost half a century in the Prime Timeline now (possibly early on; even in TWOK Khan says he was from 200 years earlier...in a film that takes place in 2285)...but in STID Khan is from 300 years earlier, so still in the late 20th Century roughly.

Basically, once a temporal incursion hits a timeline, it doesn't just change those specific events; it alters any OTHER temporal incursions that were otherwise caused by that future. Brannon Braga said as much about ENT, that the incursion from the Borg in FC affected how Cochrane did things, and potentially changed whether the history we see on that show is exactly what preceded TOS.

I suppose I'm just saying that Star Trek is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff...and I think that's ok. Just gives me more trivia to memorize.

Thank you and Happy Birthday Trek '09.

[yung-christopher]

bold of you to assume i'm getting to college LMFAOOOOOOO

Group Question!!!

What are you gonna major in if you go to college?

For me, I think I'm going to art school, where I'll probably meet a really cool art major who sells Adderall on the side and doesn't take any shit. She'll take me under her wing and teach me how she uses layers in Photoshop CS4, and she'll show me how to draw hands better, and then we'll be in her dorm room smoking pot with the fire alarm batteries taken out, and she'll put her hand around my shoulder, and I'll smell cigarettes on her lips. She'll kiss me, plunging her hand into my low-cut top. It'll be great.

Okay, that went to kinda a weird place, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't weird enough that I should delete it before posting?

So, uh, anyway, the question's open for anyone to answer. What're you thinking for your major?

[yung-christopher]

just busted my fucking wrist at the tennis club i'm so pissed off oh my god.

[charlie-grusin]

To Live and Die in L.A. (1985) : Movietalk # 09

When’s the last time the soundtrack ever sold you on a movie? If we’re talking more recently release-wise I’d say it was The Empty Man, though that was mainly based on the final Christopher Young pieces (“Where Sentence Is Served”, “In a Prison Built Out of Lies”) and not the album as a whole (p.s., it’s a good score!), but if we’re talking wholeness, if we’re talking about cleaning the whole plate from top to bottom and running through the runout groove, then I have to talk about The Long Good Friday. This is what happens when you recklessly surf on KPM music tracks, kids! – one moment you’re drifting across the moods and shuffling through the names (groovy and heavy, smooth and dynamic … Mansfield and Gray and Hawkshaw and Bennett) and next thing you know you’re looping Francis Monkman’s murderously high-class synth album that just so happens to come with a little equally excellent tragi-drama crime epic that would please the great Bard of Avon. And it makes for an interesting viewing experience when you finally decide the record isn’t cutting it, you gotta see it for yourself, because when it’s something as grand as LGF you first become entranced by its mystery, by all these threads beginning to grow dark and heavy and sink through the surface like some enfolding web (or an enclosing noose, rather) then long before we ever come to realize just how royally numbered everybody is we’re at an airport, various jets and trucks scattered along the freeway as the drooped-needle nose of a Concorde pierces across the screen, dwarfing every thing beneath it in the frame as the red carpet is tossed, the sinister low-keys make their way down, and the drums roll out the triumphant return of big boss mobman Harold Shand, walking casually along the terminal checking his surroundings for a familiar face or perhaps a recognizable danger but you can’t really judge him for that (it comes with the profession) yet the music never forgets the high he rides in that moment with all that iron coolness (the man comes before his fiefdom like it’s Saturday night yet he never demands to strut, never had a need for a pair of ruby slicks) and with all that sax-and-string combo going on he not only becomes the coolest motherfucker to ever gentrify the streets of working-class London but at the very same moment you, who have surely been scrolling back and forth across the Monkman tracks at this point, are taking this moment in through another frequency buzz like Holy shit, that’s the middle cue from “The Scene is Set”!

It may not seem much, at least not casually so – merely a musico-cinephiliac eccentricity, more like it – but even if you believe yourself far from the “weird” there is the likely possibility the earworm got you good once or will soon get you yet: to the best of my experience it may’ve been about a half or a fourth of us who were hyped about that Daft Punk Tron record Down South, but I could bet you hell’s bottom dollar nearly everybody was jazzed about the O Brother, Where Art Thou?, Armageddon and Twister albums well way before we checked them out on VHS, and even though I feel the album for Twisters is as much a vapid atrocity as the film itself I’m also just as sure this hadn’t stopped anyone from buying a copy or two from the local Wal-Mart entertainment department with the world-renown Mike and Ike and Dots and the five-dollar movie bin. We may stroke different, tango in asymmetrical aisles, but as beings in the purest sense of the word we can and do react the same (shocker, I know) – we love finding these things, seeing these relationships between one seemingly distinctive medium and another follow through and fall perfectly in place, a revelation of context and meaning that’s three-dimensional in comparison to how film music seems incredibly taken for granted nowadays by producers and populaces alike – and isn’t that the draw, the attraction of cinema? this ongoing attempt to bring forth the living through the mechanically-digitally flattened processes of the visual and the audible to make the past the present and the present more “alive”?? It’s good shit, and deep down each and every one of us, right in the nooks of the brain putty, we know it.

But what we should also know is that William Friedkin and Wang Chung ruled this thing like tigers in an apartment complex (gimme that range and gimme that speed and if you don’t do that I’m gonna wreck my way outta there (seeya wouldn’t wanna beeya)). It was easy for them to catch onto the pulse of the eighties straight from ground zero, of course – after all those were Wang Chung’s dance hall days, and Friedkin basically made this turbo-baby in the same breath he made the Laura Branigan “Self Control” video – yet this was not done in total submission to the Eighties scene, no matter how many kabuki dance clubs and glistening skylines you can track on your fingers. And although Ozploitater maestro Brian Trenchard-Smith would veil himself in MTV and Billie Jean and a dash of high octane Miller-esque action to covertly sneak in a damnable ridicule on the inevitable stupidity and fascism of the neon punk youth just a year later, Friedkin wouldn’t play so cloy with their parents oh nonono – if there is an image, one singular static motion to encapsulate this movie perfectly, it’s a hand pinned tightly against the throat and another posed into a fist, an anticipation of terror held at the decisive point of a pendulum. It’s not as meticulous and procedural in the grime and the dirt as was The French Connection but it is still an ugly, monstrous thing, a seagull writhing on the shore of the angels in a deep thick pitch just begging to be lit ablaze – a film that announces God is not in Heaven with Reagan in the White House right out of the gate and not a minute in then proceeds to introduce our two dueling characters proper by showing how they contemplate death (a meditative self-immolation, a bungee-rush from the top of the world to the cold hard waters), and an atmosphere where you could most definitely find someone spinning “Dance Hall Days” at a topless joint some place but not before those New Wave Brits sign your first-class tickets to the Resurrection. Is there any other reason why one of the tracks here is called “Black-Blue-White” besides this, that red-in-neon-red turns into an inescapable abyss that always turns out to be our very own?

Anyone familiar with Friedkin’s two back-to-back classics should know his M.O. by now: here in America we have Drugs and Religion, our two classics in the national hot-button topic genre many of us have tried to settle in the dirt but which many more (the riches and the bitches, mainly) have succeeded in tormenting them even further into our demented collective consciousness, finding new ways and more ways to weaponize and politicize these way-overblown matters towards some financially-satisfactory fiefdom above whatever moneymaking green hell machine lies in the sandbox. From what I could tell Friedkin seemed like a neat guy (RIP) but that’s besides the point – when it came to discussion he didn’t “give a flying fuck into a rolling donut” which side of the soapbox he stood on – for him that’s not what the movies are for. What he was fascinated by the most was the methodicals, the day-by-day rituals that pertain to these subjects as they were and are given in our modern society, whether it be a surprise bar bust (where and how do the fine and lovely denizens of this establishment hide their hash and speedsters, what kind of mini-capsules and gizmos do they conceal them in (what’s Popeye’s idea of a milkshake?)) or a literal rite of exorcism (the passages and the holy water, the inner-diligence and the strength of belief). It’s an approach that would seem completely dry and clinical on paper and you’d be half-right (or, rather, a third-right really); these moments may seem detached and broken from whatever entangled rhetorics may possess them, but they are not completely devoid of the visceral – they’re shot and framed so crystal close, presented as “hands-on” to the subjects in question that one could never shake their immediacy too easily whether it be a long shot or a quick-cut, and because this is Friedkin we’re talking about he always likes to go for something that plier-plucks at the nerves: the wholesale dismantling of the Lincoln from The French Connection gets so deep into the mechanical fabric and interior carpentry dust you’d want to clear your throat and toot on a tissue before they even get around to the goddamn rocker panels, and the surgical ordeal Regan undergoes in The Exorcist always manages to be the most easily unsettling moment out of the entire film due to how cold and vulnerable we feel alongside her on the medical bed (I may be easy on the needles by now but I don’t know if I will ever find solace in the possibility of being put under that). Yet that is also half of his M.O., because it’s oh so easy to elicit a wide guttural response and keep it hanging long enough to form into something soundly reactionary, we mustn’t be left alone with the prospects of international drug routes and demonic possessions anyway – we must instead consider what these things bring onto us and what it could mean by our very actions as the result. We may’ve come to side with Popeye Doyle’s crusade against Frog One’s dope enterprise but at the end of the road we never truly find him a hero nor his vendetta fulfilled, only instead to wonder whether his means of mania could ever be excused at best or justified at their worst; and we may’ve found a greater grasp on faith through Father Karras’s sacrifice, but those thought-strands of potential belief are never fully granted to us – we may’ve felt we’ve become more “enlightened” by this act of selfless love, and yet we stand on the same exact material square as once before (if that was indeed the devil – and he being vanquished in such a brutal battle – what forces then are we really beholden to in that great up above … how then do they perceive of us, we who have made ourselves the roamers of this desolating rock?). Ambiguous yes, but it is ambiguity with a purpose although it is silent, one that Friedkin’s work succeeds the most by aiming us towards some unspoken finality that only we must discover for ourselves – for it is through uncertainty that dares to break the shackles, and then and only then shall the truth set us free.

To Live and Die could only be a way of life if you’re a sadistic voyeur who perceives himself an upper-class Buddhist or you’re a suicidal streetcar named Bluto-prick with a badge, but it’s funny how Friedkin preceded Frankenheimer in the chase a mere thirteen years before Ronin because if there was ever one film to truly deserve the title of French Connection II it’s the one that knows the only clear end in sight for the rat race is demolition derbies and apocalyptic ruin. It’s steadily paced but you wouldn’t know it at first – not without Wang Chung’s bass-drum beats cutting through ethereal airs of suspicion and Friedkin’s touch for the vicious hooking you up on that mean adrena-lean – and although it’s a kind of momentum that could easily warrant the label “coke-fueled” (because it’s from the eighties and everyone and history and nostalgia has shoved to you about it up the nasal I suppose) it’s a descriptor that seems out of place even if we are speaking figuratively; maybe a few lines were shared now and then on set (hardy har har) but let’s not get too carried away from the big picture here because you would’ve thought they’d be a moment in this mid-eighties “coke-fueled” underbelly-city thriller when someone (anyone) would’ve maybe dabbled in a bit of that white horse or cocainum off a bed cabinet or something like I dunno: Willem Dafoe, Debra Feuer, Dean Stockwell… John Turturro!? But the thing is drugs are easy and drugs are cheap – give any character a needle or a baggie or even just mention it near close proximity and no matter what else you do there is bound to be some discoloration in the works, a lousy maneuver in vilification that only seems to work on an American mindset because it has worked far too well enough in reality because the loudest voices in the room have always been Pavlovian panic dogs constantly running on rabid guano fever pitches, and if there’s anything this film wants of us it’s more likely nothing to do with topical key-chain gazing (besides, we were well on our way in losing the war at this point even if this country would want you to believe otherwise – at least Hiroo Onoda was willing to surrender). Nosiree, the only sustenance you’ll find being partaken in this art-scene dump are burgers and booze and Marlboros (nothing more nothing less amirite) and the only utterance you may’ve overheard about drugs may’ve come from some shady-sided lawyer over the same bowl of counter-top peanuts because just like The French Connection it really isn’t about the drugs and it’s as much about that as this was about the cheat money – only a system so megalomaniacal and schizophrenic in preserving a “neutralized” status-quo that it will enact grotesque, paranoidal and ever-brutish measures against the people it claims to serve can believe its decaying carcasses could only be the result of some exterior, outside force of influence.

This system can wax as lyrically as it wants about the “invaders” seeping through the drugs or the “disintegrations” of some moral compass, but it can never in a million years convince us its money problems are our money problems. In a bank and a box Money Talks, and if there were any way to push ahead of the game against the wishes of the grinder-masters no matter how flimsy or how false we may just as well take that goddamn cookie with no guilt and all pride (because being raised in a game like this can’t help but make us all skewered and fucked) and if it just so happened that twenty you tried to use for gas was unbeknownst to you an all-along full-time phony there will always be the lingering wish that bill still counted and you were still twenty-shy rather than the forty, and perhaps you would even go so far as to wonder why the hell it even mattered and what was the point, paper is paper and money is money and the system just made a damn good way to fuck you over for it once again because it wants you living and available but never alive and free so why wouldn’t you take a hobby in the printing press and the arts? Any and either of these things don’t matter to Richard Chance, not a dice; he is merely a government errand boy let slip to wherever the system wheels him to on impulse, a thick-headed cog left unchecked because if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? But Richard Chance is a bastard, a thief and a rapist tyrant whose principles are based solely on instant gratification and who is willing to go to extreme and lower depths of depravity to get it, and anything involving counterfeits or even the slaying of his veteran partner are absolutely divorced from what the man truly seeks they may as well be excuses written on rain-sogged notebook paper – he wants to nail Rick Masters and wipe the smug dead off his face because He Is There and he’s a target and if there was a single need Chance and the agency and the whole damn armada ever shared in earnest it’s that they seek Dominance, they seek Control of the beat and the lifeline of the cities so that the running streak of the machine can advance into history unrevoked and irregardless of its true intentions– if you’re okay and commander’s okay we shall keep on bashing heads; kill ‘em if they move, fuck ‘em if they cry.

And yet even in a single death the terror never ends – the system merely retreats, reorganizes, fills back those missing inches before the snake can slither back to momentum, a tail twisting and rattling anew. And it makes sense in a world enforced by double-crossing cannibals with no authority in sight that the one we relate to the most is Ruth. Her final look says it all: we are all trapped and we can hardly wait.

[peppers-ghost-posts]

A rough drawing of Christopher Wolfe. Pencil on practise exam (he’d be horrified). 19/09/22

I was thinking about Wolfe in class because I read @gay-otlc​‘s newest fanfiction “Too Much Love Will Kill You” this morning.

[yung-christopher]

OH SHIT THAT WAS YOU?? PRETTY SURE THE GUY'S STILL LYING AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS LMAOOOOOOO

Who did you catapult and why? How the hell did you even manage that?

I flung a thick-ass hairband at them and they tripped down the stairs. it was some guy with a bandana

[nouraalali]

The Progress of LGBT representation in American

Before the events of Before Stonewall that took place in 1969, members of the gay, lesbian and transgender community endured constant attacks and harassment from police raids. At the time, members of the LGBTQ did not know that their sexuality had political implications or that there would ever be a new way of life other than in hiding in shame and wishing the police did not attack them. However, since there was little to no media coverage at the time because the LGBTQ community was not yet identified and categorized, the media did not spend their time, technology, and space covering their events in footage or writings in newspapers or magazines. During the early 1960s, even the word lesbian hardly surfaced in mainstream conversations. Gayism, on the other hand, was considered slang, and the term homosexual had not been coined at the time. The first known use of the term homosexual was in Charles Gilbert Chaddock’s 1892 translation of Richard von Krafft-Ebing's Psychopathia Sexualis, a study of sexual practices. During the 1960s, there was old-fashioned homophobia that revolved around homosexuality, and this would explain why there was little to no media coverage of such topics by the media despite the LGBTQ community's continued harassment by members of the police force. The grassroots riots by the drag queens, butch lesbians, male sex workers, and androgynous youths were deemed so insignificant that neither the Life magazine nor the Time magazine dared to cover them. Even the three main TV stations at the time bothered to send camera operators to record the riots.

In 1969 at a dingy, Mafia-owned bar in Greenwich Village, the LGBTQ community reached a breaking point due to their continued harassment by the police. Unlike previous raids, on this day, they refused to be herded into a police van for their umpteenth arrests. This was the beginning of a six-day route that started in Stonewall Inn to Christopher Street and the neighboring areas.

With such an outbreak, the media could no longer turn a blind eye to the LGBTQ community. The media coverage started helping the public visibility of same-sex sexuality. By airing and publishing interviews and protests of famous LGBTQ members, the public started to accept same-sex orientation as part of their societal sexual preference, and names like gay and lesbian were not as frowned upon as before. The media made it easier for the LGBTQ community by increasing same-sex orientation's visibility and perceived legitimacy. At the time, the idea of being LGBTQ had begun to gradually weaken the predominance of the heteronormative discourse and the formation of homonormative lessons. This means that the media was at the forefront of portraying how gay and lesbian individuals should appear and behave.

Identity Politics and Impact of Grassroots Organization in Redefining the Status of LGBTQ

The post-Stonewall gay liberation movements restored radical energies seeking to align politics with radical social change in American society. Legendary activists such as Barbara Gittings from Philadelphia and Franck Kameny from Washington DC understood that there needed to be a radical change that was big enough to overturn the laws that kept embers of the LGBTQ stuck in their second-class status. After the uproar of the Stonewall resistance, it became a symbol that would inspire solidarity among many homosexuals’ groups worldwide. While historians agree that the Stonewall riots were not the first to initiate the gay rights movement, they agree that it did serve as a catalyst for a new era of political activism, especially those campaigning for equal rights for members of the LGBTQ.

Historians recognize older groups such as the Mattachine society founder in California and flourished in the 1950s. Lilli Vincenz and Frank Kameny, two members of the Mattachine Society of Washington, participated in the discussions, planning, and protection of the first Ride along with activists in New York. Additionally, the Mattachine were enlisted as stalwart Cold Warriors, and they used these anti-communist credentials to push for citizenship rights. However, since the riots, new groups appear such as the Gay Activists Alliance (GAA) and the Gay Liberation Front (GLF). These groups launched numerous public demonstrations whose main goal was protesting the lack of civil rights for members of the LGBTQ. Although the lesbian community was not as affected as the gay community, they shared the desire to have a secure place in the world community at large. Unchallenged by the fear of violence, they ganged up with the gay community to voice their desires for equal treatment under the law and their unwillingness to be considered second-class citizens. These alliances, in many cases, resulted in such tactics as the disruption of public meetings and public confrontation with political officials to force them to recognize members of the gay community. Unlike before, when gay protests were frowned upon by both the media and the public, members of the gay community demanded respect and acceptance after the Stonewall uprising. Many gay and lesbian communities’ members demanded equal treatment in employment, public policy, and housing. Through continued radical activism, a new motion was set in place, one that discourages discrimination against members of the LGBTQ by government policies. I

t was not until December 1973 that the vote to remove homosexuality from its Diagnostic and Statistical Manual was cast, and the motion passed. Historians consider this one of the most significant early achievements of the post-Stonewall LGBTQ movement, especially since the new law undercut all forms of discrimination against members of the LGBTQ. The nondiscriminatory trend was also forced to educate society on the significance and contributions of the gay community. In response to their activism, any jurisdictions in the United States enforced laws banning any form of discrimination against homosexuals. They also increased the number of employment and agreed to offer "domestic partner" benefits similar to life insurance, health care, and in some cases, pension benefits to heterosexual married couples.

AIDS Crisis in Redefining the status of LGBTQ

In the United States, AIDS was particularly prevalent in the urban gay community, especially during its first discovery phase. For this reason, the public developed a somewhat negative perception of lesbians and gay individuals. Although there were not publicly prosecuted, bt members of the lesbians and gay community were singled out and discriminated against, particularly because they were blamed for the transmission of HIV. Gay and lesbian couples were losing their loved ones to this new disease that only seemed to affect the gay and lesbian community; it drove a shockwave of fear of death from contracting the disease in the community. As a result, there was an increased stigma, violation of human rights, discrimination, and physical violence against members of the LGBTQ. Most of the LGBTQ members at the time adopted "social homophobia." They unknowingly contracted and lived with the virus for fear of societal discrimination whenever they thought of testing or healthcare treatment. One research reports that due to this "social homophobia," members of LGBTQ exhibited adverse mental issues such as depression and anxiety, and many were driven into substance abuse and addiction.

For this reason, gays and lesbians were at the forefront of advocacy for research into the disease and the provision of better support for its victims. One such group recognized for this effort was the Gay Men's Health Crisis located in New York City. AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP), founded by Larry Kramer, was another group that actively campaigned to promote political action against the disease through his writing in local chapters in cities such as Washington D.C, Los Angels, Paris, San Francisco, and New York.

Many members of ACT UP were sick with the virus themselves, and they engaged in civil disobedience in protest for increased research on HIV/AIDS in the attempt to find a cure for the virus. Activists such as Kramer made good use of the media when they established AIDS organizations. These organization's central role was to increase media exposure on the risks that members of the LGBTQ were facing as well as encouraging them to come out in huge numbers to fight for their rights. Through such organization and media coverage, it forced the government and private drug companies to pursue research that led to the discovery of ARVs as a treatment for HIV/AIDS and saved the lives of not only the gay community but infected heterosexuals as well.

References

Butler, I. (n.d.). This remarkable history of the fight against AIDS is a guide to the battle yet to come. Slate Magazine. https://slate.com/culture/2016/12/david-frances-how-to-survive-a-plague-reviewed.html

Corry, J. (1985, June 27). Film: Documentary on homosexuals (Published 1985). The New York Times - Breaking News, US News, World News and Videos. https://www.nytimes.com/1985/06/27/movies/film-documentary-on-homosexuals.html

Heiko Motschenbacher, H. (2019, November 18). Language use before and after Stonewall: A corpus-based study of gay men’s pre-Stonewall narratives - Heiko Motschenbacher, 2020. SAGE Journals. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1461445619887541

History. (2018, June 1). How the Stonewall Riots Sparked a Movement | History. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q9wdMJmuBlA

Holden, S. (2013, February 20). They wouldn’t take no for an answer in the battle against AIDS (Published 2012). The New York Times - Breaking News, US News, World News and Videos. https://www.nytimes.com/2012/09/21/movies/how-to-survive-a-plague-aids-documentary-by-david-france.html

John-Manuel, A. (2019, June 14). Film: "Before Stonewall" Explores LGBTQ pain and resilience. Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/stonewall-strong/201906/film-stonewall-explores-lgbtq-pain-and-resilience

Lecklider, A. S. (2021, June 10). The push for LGBTQ equality began long before Stonewall. The Washington Post. https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/2021/06/10/push-lgbtq-equality-began-long-before-stonewall/

Weiss, A. (2019, June 30). Creating the first visual history of queer life before Stonewall. The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2019/06/before-stonewall-documentary-archives-history-invisible/592675/

Winik, M. (2016, November 28). David France’s eyewitness account of AIDS activism. Newsday. https://www.newsday.com/entertainment/books/how-to-survive-a-plague-review-david-france-s-exhaustive-history-of-aids-activism-1.12667430

[cheshirelibrary]

Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes, reviewed by Ali A.

Flowers for Algernon is one of my favorite books of all-time. The main character is a man named Charlie Gordon, who is 32 years old and has an IQ of 68, meaning he is intellectually challenged. Charlie Gordon goes to class at a school for intellectually challenged people and due to his positive attitude towards learning, he was chosen as a test subject for an experiment/operation that makes intellectually challenged people into geniuses. Throughout the book readers can watch the progress Charlie goes through on his quest to becoming a genius...

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, reviewed by Ali A.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is a great book about Christopher John Francis Boone, a brilliant but autistic 15-year old boy living in London. Christopher is heavily gifted in math and takes A-level advanced courses at his school. However, Christopher does have some behavior issues, including the time he punched a police officer and was arrested and also when he and his father had a small fist fight. When one of Christopher’s neighbor’s dog turns up dead with a garden fork next to him, Christopher is automatically blamed without any evidence. Christopher then decides to clear his name by secretly investigating who actually committed the dog murder...

...

Read more on The Cheshire Library Blog.

[pearlposts]

The Best of Soft Rock: More Than A Feeling

 SONG TITLE                                ARTIST       TIME

Lowdown                                     Boz Scaggs    5:18

Whenever I Call You “Friend”  Kenny Loggins    3:18

Piano Man                                    Billy Joel         5:40

Longer                                     Dan Fogelberg    3:18

Miracles                                Jefferson Starship  3:33

Lost in Love                              Air Supply          3:55

More Than I Can Say              Leo Sayer            3:39

Rosanna                                         Toto              4:03

More Than a Feeling                  Boston              3:26

Take It on the Run               REO Speedwagon  3:37

Make Me Lose Control           Eric Carmen         4:48

Total Eclipse of the Heart       Bonnie Tyler         5:35

Living Inside Myself              Gino Vannelli          4:25

The Flame                            Cheap Trick            4:50

Sara                                        Starship               4:23

SONG TITLE                                  ARTIST                   TIME

Livin’ Thing                         Electric Light Orchestra        3:34

This Is It                                   Kenny Loggins                 3:59

Africa                                                Toto                          4:59

Eye In The Sky                      Alan Parsons Project          4:35

Look What You’ve Done to Me       Boz Scaggs                5:18

You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling Daryl Hall & John Oates  4:36

All Out Of Love                              Air Supply                    4:03

Can’t Fight This Feeling           REO Speedwagon            4:55

The Search Is Over                        Survivor                       4:14

All by Myself                               Eric Carmen                    7:11

Without You                               Harry Nilsson                   3:21

Year of the Cat                           Al Stewart                        6:38

Dust in the Wind                         Kansas                            3:27

Vincent                                    Don McLean                       4:01

Please Come to Boston         David Loggins                     4:09

SONG TITLE                                    ARTIST                                  TIME

Baby I’m-a Want You                           Bread                                   2:32

A Horse with No Name                       America                                 4:09

Diamond Girl                                    Seals & Crofts                          4:04

I Saw the Light                                 Todd Rundgren                         3:01

Blinded by the Light                Manfred Mann's Earth Band              3:51

It Might Be You                               Stephen Bishop                          4:14

She’s Gone/Sara Smile/Rich Girl        Hall & Oates                           3:29

Minute By Minute                         The Doobie Brothers                     3:28

Sentimental Lady                                Bob Welch                              3:46

How Much I Feel                                 Ambrosia                                 4:44

Everybody’s Got To Learn Sometime The Korgis                               4:12

If You Leave Me Now                          Chicago                                   3:57

Sailing                                        Christopher Cross                             4:17

Waiting For A Girl Like You             Foreigner                                     4:52

Against All Odds                            Phil Collins                                    3:25

SONG TITLE                                    ARTIST                                              TIME

Ride Like the Wind                        Christopher Cross                                  4:32

Saturday in the Park                          Chicago                                              3:57

Sister Golden Hair                              America                                              3:20

You’re So Vain                                Carly Simon                                            4:18

If                                                          Bread                                                  2:35

Ooh Baby Baby                              Linda Ronstadt                                        2:42

Him                                                Rupert Holmes                                         3:40

You Are the Woman                         Firefall                                                    2:45

All I Need                                       Jack Wagner                                             3:32

Walking In Memphis                       Marc Cohn                                                4:19

Making Love Out Of Nothing At All  Air Supply                                                5:01

I Want to Know What Love Is        Foreigner                                                   5:00

The Living Years                    Mike + the Mechanics                                       5:33

Drive                                               The Cars                                                   3:57

One More Night                           Phil Collins                                                   4:48

I’ll Be There                             The Escape Club                                             4:57

SONG TITLE                                                     ARTIST                                TIME

Summer Breeze                                           Seals & Crofts                             3:26

Key Largo                                                     Bertie Higgins                             3:19

Make It with You                                                 Bread                                    3:12

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?     Chicago                               3:22

Dream Weaver                                           Gary Wright                                  4:18

Hello It’s Me                                            Todd Rundgren                                3:52

Sara Smile                                      Daryl Hall and John Oates                       3:12

Chuck E.’s In Love                             Rickie Lee Jones                                  3:28

Black Water                                  The Doobie Brothers                                 4:16

Still the One                                             Orleans                                           3:56

Hurt So Bad                                      Linda Ronstadt                                      3:18

Cool Change                                  Little River Band                                      4:08

Biggest Part Of Me                            Ambrosia                                              5:27

Never Be the Same                    Christopher Cross                                       4:41

You Can Do Magic                           America                                                 3:57

SONG TITLE                                    ARTIST                                                TIME

The Guitar Man                                 Bread                                                   3:45

Tin Man                                           America                                                  3:27

Wildfire                               Michael Martin Murphey                                     4:50

25 or 6 to 4                                  Chicago                                                     4:52

Lotta Love                               Nicolette Larson                                             2:43

What a Fool Believes         The Doobie Brothers                                          2:27

Steal Away                              Robbie Dupree                                              3:31

You’re the Only Woman              Ambrosia                                                   4:22

Sexy Eyes                                Dr. Hook                                                       3:00

Kiss You All Over                       Exile                                                           3:30

Even the Nights Are Better   Air Supply                                                       3:59

Arthur’s Theme                  Christopher Cross                                             3:55

Dance with Me                       Orleans                                                         3:21

Beautiful in My Eyes            Joshua Kadison                                              4:10

Black Velvet                        Alannah Myles                                                 4:48

SONG TITLE                        ARTIST                                                         TIME

California Dreamin’      The Mamas & The Papas                                       2:54

Kokomo                        The Beach Boys                                                     3:36

Ventura Highway             America                                                               3:32

Listen to the Music      The Doobie Brothers                                               3:27

I Can See Clearly Now     Johnny Nash                                                     2:43

It Never Rains in Southern California  Albert Hammond                             3:38

Thank You For Being A Friend            Andrew Gold                                   4:45

Everything I Own                                    Bread                                           3:07

When Will I Be Loved                     Linda Ronstadt                                     2:10

I Keep Forgettin’                         Michael McDonald                                    3:41

Baby Come Back                               Player                                                2:16

Circle in the Sand                       Belinda Carlisle                                         4:27

Hold On                                     Wilson Phillips                                            3:41

I’ll Be Over You                              Toto                                                        3:50

Just the Way It Is, Baby          The Rembrandts                                           4:09

 SONG TITLE                            ARTIST                                                     TIME

We Don’t Talk Anymore       Cliff Richard                                                      4:13

Baker Street                       Gerry Rafferty                                                     2:13

When Your in Love with a Beautiful Woman  Dr. Hook                                  2:56

Fool (If You Think It’s Over)       Chris Rea                                                     3:33

You’re No Good                     Linda Ronstadt                                                 3:46

Reminiscing                        Little River Band                                                 3:17

The Air That I Breathe           The Hollies                                                       4:12

Sad Eyes                            Robert John                                                        1:55

I Go Crazy                          Paul Davis                                                           5:23

Hearts                                Marty Balin                                                           4:19

These Dreams                     Heart                                                                  4:17

Jessie                           Joshua Kadison                                                         4:22

Release Me                   Wilson Phillips                                                          3:54

The Doctor                 The Doobie Brothers                                                    3:45

SONG TITLE                    ARTIST                                                               TIME

Maggie May                Rod Stewart                                                               5:15

Higher and Higher      Rita Coolidge                                                             4:01

Whatcha Gonna Do?  Pablo Cruise                                                              4:15

I’m in You                   Peter Frampton                                                           4:11

Drift Away                     Dobie Gray                                                              3:56

More Love                   Kim Carnes                                                               3:37

Babe                             Styx                                                                         4:01

Into The Night        Benny Mardones                                                            4:31

It’s a Heartache       Bonnie Tyler                                                                 3:45

While You See a Chance   Steve Winwood                                                 4:06

Show Me the Way       Peter Frampton                                                        2:30

Fooled Around and Fell in Love    Elvin Bishop                                           4:37

Lonesome Loser           Little River Band                                                     3:54

I’m Not in Love                10 CC                                                                    6:07

I Just Wanna Stop         Gino Vannelli                                                           3:37

SONG TITLE                    ARTIST                                                              TIME

Daniel                          Elton John                                                                3:53

I Need You                   America                                                                    3:07

I Can Dream About You    Dan Hartman                                                       4:11

Escape                      Rupert Holmes                                                            3:54

I’d Really Love to See You Tonight  England Dan & John Ford Coley          2:38

On and On                 Stephen Bishop                                                          3:01

Tempted                        Squeeze                                                                  4:01

The Things We Do For Love   10 CC                                                           3:31

The Best of Times           Styx                                                                      4:18

Cry                       Godley and Creme                                                          3:55

Your Wildest Dreams   The Moody Blues                                                    4:51

Higher Love                 Steve Winwood                                                       5:46

More Than Words           Extreme                                                               5:36

I’d Do Anything for Love    Meat Loaf                                                          5:17

Do You Feel Like We Do      Peter Frampton                                              7:20

SONG TITLE                      ARTIST                                                          TIME

So In to You             Atlanta Rhythm Section                                             4:23

Fly, Robin, Fly           Silver Connection                                                     3:50

Sentimental Lady        Bob Welch                                                              3:46

Show And Tell             Al Wilson                                                                 3:29

Wild Flower             The New Birth                                                             3:59

Delta Dawn             Helen Reddy                                                               3:09

American Pie          Don McLean                                                                8:35

Rock Me Gently      Andy Kim                                                                     3:29

Go All The Way      The Raspberries                                                          3:22

Mr. Big Stuff            Jean Knight                                                                 2:49

Oh Babe, What Would You Say     Hurricane Smith                                   3:26

Hooked On A Feeling     Blue Swede                                                         2:53

 Having My Baby           Paul Anka                                                             2:33

Last Song                     Edward Bear                                                          3:13

The Streak                   Ray Stevens                                                           3:18

SONG TITLE                  ARTIST                                                               TIME

Rhinestone Cowboy   Glen Campbell                                                         3:16

Too Late To Turn Back Now  Cornelius Brothers And Sister Rose             3:20

Boogie Fever             The Sylvers                                                              3:30

Reminiscing            Little River Band                                                         3:17

I Just Want To Celebrate    Rare Earth                                                      2:54

One Bad Apple           The Osmonds                                                         2:43

Have You Never Been Mellow   Olivia Newton-John                                 3:33

Magic                            Pilot                                                                      3:05

Boogie Oogie Oogie     A Taste of Honey                                                  3:38

Right Back Where We Started From   Maxine Nightingale                        3:15

Sad Eyes                        Robert John                                                        1:55

Gonna Fly Now                Bill Conti                                                            2:48

My Sharona                  The Knack                                                            4:02

You Sexy Thing          Hot Chocolate                                                        4:05

Puppy Love               Donny Osmond                                                       3:06

SONG TITLE                 ARTIST                                                              TIME

Love Train                  The O'Jays                                                              2:58

Knock Three Times     Dawn                                                                      2:55

Brandy                    Looking Glass                                                             3:04

Little Willy                  Sweet                                                                       3:12

Baby Don’t Get Hooked on Me    Mac Davis                                              3:06

Take Me Home, Country Roads    John Denver                                         3:13

It Never Rains in Southern California   Albert Hammond                           3:38

Brand New Key                Melanie                                                              2:26

Come and Get Your Love       Redbone                                                      3:32

More. More, More (Part 1)      Andrea True Connection                              3:02

I Can See Clearly Now         Johnny Nash                                                  2:43

Everybody Plays the Fool     The Main Ingredient                                       3:22

Indian Reservation             Paul Revere & The Raiders                              2:52

The Cover of “Rolling Stone”   Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show                2:55

When Will I See You Again      The Three Degrees                                     3:00

SONG TITLE                           ARTIST                                                      TIME

Rich Girl                    Daryl Hall and John Oates                                        2:23

Lady Marmalade                    LaBelle                                                         3:21

Best of My Love              The Emotions                                                      3:41

Fire                             The Pointer Sisters                                                  3:28

Miracles                        Jefferson Starship                                                 3:33

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing    Leo Sayer                                            2:51

Here You Come Again         Dolly Parton                                                   2:58

Disco Lady                        Johnnie Taylor                                                  4:25

Saturday Night                Bay City Rollers                                                  2:56

Rock On                           David Essex                                                      3:26

Wildfire                  Michael Martin Murphey                                              4:50

You Take My Breath Away   Rex Smith                                                    3:15

I Go Crazy                      Paul Davis                                                         5:23

Stumblin’ In        Suzi Quatro and Chris Norman                                      3:31

Torn Between Two Lovers    Mary MacGregor                                         3:44

SONG TITLE                      ARTIST                                                          TIME

Bad, Bad Leroy Brown     Jim Croce                                                         3:00

Don’t Pull Your Love     Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds                          2:41

Love Will Keep Us Together  Captain and Tennille with Neil Sedaka        3:24

Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song  B.J. Thomas             3:22

She’s A Lady                 Tom Jones                                                           2:51

How Do You Do?       Mouth & MacNeal                                                   4:07

Black and White        Three Dog Night                                                      3:51

Escape                      Rupert Holmes                                                        3:54

Drift Away                 Dobie Gray                                                              3:56

It’s a Love Beat     The DeFranco Family                                                 3:09

I’m in You               Peter Frampton                                                          4:11

The Candy Man     Sammy Davis, Jr.                                                      3:10

Spiders & Snakes   Jim Stafford                                                              3:05

Billy, Don’t Be A Hero  Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods                       3:40

The Morning After     Maureen McGovern                                                2:20

SONG TITLE                                   ARTIST                                          TIME

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves          Cher                                               2:36

Maggie May                                Rod Stewart                                         5:15

Baby Come Back                            Player                                              2:16

I Just Wanna Stop                   Gino Vannelli                                           3:37

Jackie Blue                 Ozark Mountain Daredevils                                  3:37

Higher And Higher               Rita Coolidge                                              4:01

I’m Not in Love                           10 CC                                                   6:07

Y.M.C.A.                               Village People                                            3:45

Will It Go Round in Circles     Billy Preston                                              3:46

I Just Want to Be Your Everything   Andy Gibb                                        3:44

Do You Wanna Make Love        Peter McCann                                        4:01

Signs                            Five Man Electrical Band                                    4:02

Disco Duck                              Rick Dees                                                3:14

Montego Bay                       Bobby Bloom                                               2:55

If I Can’t Have You            Yvonne Elliman                                              3:00

SONG TITLE                         ARTIST                                                     TIME

Play That Funky Music      Wild Cherry                                                    3:16

One Toke Over the Line    Brewer & Shipley                                            3:21

Afternoon Delight          Starland Vocal Band                                           3:14

Life is a Rock                      Reunion                                                        3:31

I Can Help                         Billy Swan                                                       2:57

My Maria                       B.W. Stevenson                                                  2:31

Magnet and Steel            Walter Egan                                                     3:25

Beach Baby                    First Class                                                         2:42

The Rapper                   The Jaggerz                                                        2:45

Brother Louie                  Stories                                                               3:57

Precious and Few            Climax                                                              2:46

O-o-h Child               The 5 Stairsteps                                                      3:15

Playground in My Mind    Clint Holmes                                                     2:57

Put Your Hand In The Hand   Ocean                                                        2:53

Please Come to Boston    David Loggins                                                  4:09

SONG TITLE                      ARTIST                                                         TIME

Turn The Beat Around    Vicki Sue Robinson                                            3:24

Ring My Bell                     Anita Ward                                                        3:31

Sometimes When We Touch   Dan Hill                                                      2:22

Rose Garden               Lynn Anderson                                                      2:49

In The Summertime      Mungo Jerry                                                         3:37

Seasons in the Sun      Terry Jacks                                                           3:30

The Night Chicago Died   Paper Lace                                                       3:32

Rock The Boat            Hues Corporation                                                  3:09

Don’t Give Up on Us        David Soul                                                        3:39

Kung Fu Fighting         Carl Douglas                                                         3:17

Love Grows                Edison Lighthouse                                                  2:51

Sweet Mary              Wadsworth Mansion                                                 2:42

The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia   Vicki Lawrence                     3:36

TSOP             MFSB featuring the Three Degrees                                   3:35

Feelings                    Morris Albert                                                            3:45

[arcticdementor]

But this is not the only threat that incoming students face. Universities are front and centre of the new culture war and the dominant culture in the humanities and arts is soaked in an anxiety-ridden politics of negation. It is a world with which I am all too familiar, from many years’ involvement in the far-left, which — stripped of materialist analysis and class content — increasingly finds its base in the university. I had come to see those years as misspent but essentially inconsequential and a little embarrassing.

What is remarkable is not that I found these politics wanting — most who move through these scenes eventually do — but that, shorn of their economics, they now appear culturally hegemonic and unassailable. Today these politics represent what Wesley Yang described as the “successor ideology”, the default politics of a new elite coming of age, and this language is the currency of the professional managerial class in the English-speaking world. They do not seem so inconsequential anymore.

I spent my teenage years immersed in Marxist and anarchist circles and literature, at protests and occupations, squats and reading groups. I would listen to ageing Cockneys give talks on class interest and exploitation in the backrooms of dusty pubs. It may not have been much, but it did at least feel like we could lay claim to the heritage of a genuine radicalism.

…

Some blame academics for the radicalisation of students, but in truth self-selecting mechanisms ensured many of us arrived pre-radicalised, and from there it spread memetically, not didactically. The internet was a far bigger radicaliser than Left-wing academics. The handful of academics involved with the political scene were outliers and most were political liberals.

The next three years played out predictably. The organiser of a gay night was denounced for playing a song by Katy Perry because another song of hers was deemed problematic. A rare working class boy had his Union Jack flag stolen and set on fire during a commemoration for the Queen, while students (many of whom from one elite international school in Geneva) denounced him as a racist. We queued round the block for Judith Butler and we tried, sometimes successfully, to get others blocked from public platforms altogether.

Rumours would circulate about people who were “problematic”, often socially awkward men whose problem was that they interrupted people. Talks on sex work and the radical possibilities of kink proliferated. One of my more sordid memories is of person after person taking turns at a public assembly to declare themselves “disabled”, presumably by nature of their mental disorder, and therefore oppressed. A good friend was condemned in a public blog by his ex for the crime of suggesting that her new activist friends might not have been making her very happy.

At first, there was a rush — the feeling of belonging to a community, particularly one defined so clearly against an other, gave meaning and purpose to life. Taking part in “action”, the more covert the better, strengthened this sense of conspiracy. But over time the world darkened and lost colour. Our intellectual world shrunk and everything was subjected to the same dreary analysis. Real conversation became impossible, replaced with irony, intersectional bromides and endless talk of mental illness.

The college was a bucket of crabs and happiness itself suspect, a mark of privilege, as with the rugby lads who had the audacity to actually enjoy themselves. When there was laughter it was heavy and jarring, filled with irony and bitterness, never light or free. The elitism of the university discounted even appreciation of the beauty of its buildings or the surrounding countryside, although by then we were probably too far gone to notice. Though we were aware of our enormous privilege we contrived to see our time at Cambridge as some grim fate foisted upon us.

…

Few have described this process as well as Philip Roth in American Pastoral. The lifelessness of it all and the impossibility of any lightness or dialogue, as he put it: “The monotonous chant of the indoctrinated, ideologically armored from head to foot — the monotonous, spellbound chant of those whose turbulence can be caged only within the suffocating straitjacket of the most supercoherent of dreams. What was missing from her unstuttered words was not the sanctity of life — missing was the sound of life.”

Roth wrote of the manipulative potential of compassion, the only recognised virtue: “There may not be much subtlety in it, she may not yet be its best spokesman, but there is some thought behind it, there’s certainly a lot of emotion behind it, there’s a lot of compassion behind it…” On top of this there was the moral certainty that erases any concern about means. “Rita was no longer an ordinary wavering mortal, let alone a novice in life, but a creature in clandestine harmony with the brutal way of the world, entitled, in the name of historical justice, to be just as sinister as the capitalist oppressor Swede Levov.”

…

Social theorist Mark Fisher described from first-hand experience the manipulation of this scene as a Vampire Castle which “feeds on the energy and anxieties and vulnerabilities of young students, but most of all it lives by converting the suffering of particular groups — the more marginal, the better — into academic capital. The most lauded figures in the Vampire Castle are those who have spotted a new market in suffering — those who can find a group more oppressed and subjugated than any previously exploited will find themselves promoted through the ranks very quickly.” The Vampire Castle recruits on the promise of community and self-healing. The reality is an ouroboros of emotional manipulation, stripped of the political and of all that makes life interesting and worthwhile.

…

Undergraduate wastefulness, self-absorption and misery are nothing new, but the form they took presaged what was to come. In another age, we would have been conservatives — frightened of the outside world, haunted by anxiety and guilt, unafraid to speak or think freely. But instead, the politics of my old friends set the national agenda.

We would have laughed at the idea we formed an elite and we certainly didn’t act like one. But we were the vanguard for a movement that has swept the English-speaking world in the subsequent decade. We still professed to be fighting the old powers — patriarchy, white supremacism, the nuclear family, colonialism, the university itself. But in truth we represented what Christopher Lasch called psychological man, “the final product of bourgeois individualism,” and were being trained in elite formation for the therapeutic age just as surely as our forerunners had been for the previous, paternal age.

[mahaliasobers]

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