#Gillespie Approach

[kimosterholzer]

To Facilitate an Unwinding

There’s little in life that means more than to be able to be part of soothing and healing those who need to be soothed and healed ♥ Those who practice CFT do just that ♥♥♥ I shared a post recently about The Gillespie Approach’s Craniosacral Fascial Therapy commonly known as CFT. It was penned by Betsy Richards, our practice’s senior student and wonderfully gifted CFT practitioner. Betsy…

[vermilionsun]

Based on this post by @2imi

This fic is build upon pure delusion, determination and desperation.

Headcanon! Vere has a disorder similar to gillespie syndrome, thus why he needs medical check-ups every now and then.

(AO3 version here)

Word count: 4.8k Rating: Explicit Fandom: Touchstarved (Red Spring Studio) Categories: M/M, Multi Relationships: Kuras/Vere, Ais/Vere, Ais/Kuras, Ais/Kuras/Vere Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dirty Talk, Top Kuras, Bottom Vere, Switch Ais, Top Ais, Making Out, Shameless Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Medical Examination (it started as), Kuras is So Done, Vere is a little shit, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M

Kuras pinches the bridge of his nose in a fruitless attempt to ward off the headache he knows is coming. He was already on edge this morning, and this is about to make things so much worse. He lets out a breathless sigh as Vere approaches his desk.

"What do you need?"

A smirk plays on Vere's lips as he saunters over to Kuras's desk, his eyes glittering with the same eagerness as a dog that’s been locked up for months without any walks. His tail flicking behind him, swaying back and forth lazily. He rests his hip against the desk, leaning in a bit closer than is perhaps necessary, and peers up at Kuras.

"You know why I'm here," Vere says with a knowing smirk. "I specifically requested the appointment be moved to today."

Kuras sighs, tapping on the pile of paperwork. This is the last thing he needs today. He rubs his temples, hoping that somehow the headache will go away if he simply pretends hard enough that Vere isn’t here. "And I assume you'll be wanting your usual remedy?"

He already knows what the answer is going to be— he just knows.

Vere bats his eyelashes, looking at Kuras with a faux-innocent expression, as if this same scenario hasn't occurred many times before. "Oh, you know me so well, darling." He leans forward in his chair, resting his chin on one hand.

Kuras's gaze snaps up from the files he was looking through—no doubt more patient applications. His eyes flash in annoyance.

Darling.

Kuras grits his teeth, taking several seconds between sentences to reign in the urge to throttle him. He signs the last form with a sharp flick of his quill, then sets it on top of the stack. When he finally speaks, the words are strained. Every single one is coated in an icy, barely controlled irritation.

"Sit up. Let me see your eyes."

Vere pushes himself up from his seat, inevitably settling down on the examination table with a nonchalant air that only serves to further rile Kuras.

Kuras braces himself for the onslaught of irritation.

He can handle Vere. He has to.

Kuras approaches him with a clinical detachment, his hands expertly checking for any signs of infection or injury. He cups Vere's chin in one hand, gently tilting his face upwards as he peers into the man's eyes. They're slightly unfocused, a sure sign that Vere's "condition" is getting worse again.

"You're long overdue for a refill."

Vere lets out a soft scoff as Kuras scrutinizes his eyes, trying to look anywhere but at Kuras. "And whose fault is that, hm? I told you I was feeling the effects a week ago, and you made me wait."

Kuras's hand tightens on Vere's chin, forcing him to look up. "You've said you were starting to feel the effects of withdrawal at least a dozen times. Only half of those were true. And each time, you just wanted an excuse to try and get your hands on more." As always, Vere seems to derive immense entertainment from seeing Kuras riled up. Their eyes meet, and Kuras’s glare could probably melt stone. "We've discussed this. Multiple times."

Vere reaches up to lightly grip Kuras's wrist, preventing him from moving his hand. "But where's the harm in indulging me a little? After all, I’m suffering." His fingers trace over the pulse point.

Kuras's eyes widen slightly at the touch, and he tries to tug his hand away. But Vere's grip is deceptively strong.

"Don't play that game with me."

He tries to ignore the way his heart spikes at the touch and the way he has to bite back a shudder. This is no time for his traitorous body to react like this.

Vere tilts his head, feigning an expression of confusion and innocence. He squeezes Kuras's wrist gently, giving him an imploring look. "Have some compassion. Can’t you see how much pain I’m in? All my bones ache and my head hurts and…" He feigns a shiver and lets out a dramatic and exaggerated sigh, resting his forehead on Kuras’s shoulder. A cetrain darkness lingers in his eyes. It is a mask he wears well; he always did.

A vein twitches in Kuras's temple as he listens to Vere's over-the-top display. He’s fallen prey to this particular act before. He's not falling for it this time. He's not.

He lets out a huff and pulls his hand back, putting some distance between them. "Stop that. Your acting is atrocious, and even if it wasn't, I know better."

He glares down at Vere, crossing his arms over his chest.

Vere's eyes widen, his lips pulling into a pout that's just a little too theatrical to be sincere. He leans back in the chair, running a hand through his hair and crossing his arms defensively, though his expression soon turns into a smirk again.

"I'm appalled that you could accuse me of such a thing. I'll have you know that I’m a phenomenal actor, thank you very much." He looks up at Kuras with a faux-sweet smile and a hint of irritation in his pink eyes.

Kuras has to bite back another scathing insult. The urge to throw something at Vere's head is getting stronger by the second. But he can't—won't—let him get under his skin. This is exactly why he put off this appointment for as long as possible. But it couldn't be delayed much longer without the Senobium catching on.

"And I am hurting, darling. Can't you tell?"

Kuras grabs Vere's chin again, forcing him to lock eyes once more. His fingers dig into Vere's skin, probably leaving indents. His knuckles are white from how hard he's holding on. If looks could kill, Vere would probably be six feet underground right now.

"You’re going to be hurting a lot more if you call me ‘darling’ one more time," Kuras says through gritted teeth. His patience has worn thin, and Vere can see the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

Vere makes an involuntary, quiet noise, somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. He doesn't try to squirm away—Kuras's grip is too strong—and he finds himself unable to break eye contact. There's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a hint that he might have pushed a little too far this time. The smug expression has faded from his face and has been replaced with apprehensiveness masked by a look of defiance, making him look almost... human.

For a moment, Kuras's gaze softens. The sight of Vere looking this vulnerable—almost like a cornered animal, so unlike his usual smug smug self—is enough to throw him for a loop. But he quickly catches himself and shoves the unwanted feeling away. Vere is not some defenseless creature in need of protection.

"There you go. That's a much better expression on you."

Kuras lets go of Vere's jaw, but not before giving it one final, firm squeeze, as a subtle reminder. He takes a moment to compose himself, clearing his throat and adjusting his coat.

Vere rubs at his jaw, trying to act like that moment—the brief flicker of weakness exposed for all of the world to see—didn't just happen, and gives Kuras a wounded look. He seems to have regained some of his earlier confidence, and he leans back on the table, arching a brow and fixing Kuras with a teasing grin, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, possibly another sarcastic remark, but a knock at the door interrupts him.

Kuras closes his eyes and counts to five beneath his breath, trying to calm his racing heart and reign in the emotions that Vere constantly pulls to the surface. He lets out a sigh, silently thanking whoever is on the other side of that door for the interruption. "Come in," he finally calls out, his eyes not leaving Vere's.

Ais walks in, carrying three seemingly heavy boxes in his arms, his muscles flexing under the strain. The two watch as Ais sets the boxes down with a grunt. He looks over to Vere and quirks an eyebrow. "Oh, didn't expect you to be here."

"Vere’s here for his monthly refill," Kuras says tersely.

Vere shoots Ais a charming smile, seemingly relieved to have a distraction. "Ah, Ais, looking as handsome as ever." He stands, stretching his arms above his head in a rather feline manner, before sauntering over to Ais, peering into the boxes with a curious expression. "Ooo, what do we have here?"

Ais leans against a wall, rolling his eyes at the compliment. "Don't flatter me with your sweet talk." He sighs, looking over to Kuras and then back to Vere. "It's just some stuff needed for the clinic—nothing interesting. Unless you're into chemicals."

“Yes, I’m sure Vere will find it positively enthralling,” Kuras says dryly before standing up. "If you'll excuse me for a moment , I need to check on something in the back." He gives Ais a knowing look before disappearing behind a door, not before murmuring to himself, "I should have known that I wouldn't be spared today."

He trusts Ais enough to not let Vere demolish the room while he's gone.

Ais nods at him as Kuras leaves before he turns back to Vere with a somewhat blank look. "So, monthly refill, huh?"

Vere sighs dramatically, his expression turning weary. "Oh, yes. The joy of having to endure this shit show every month. I’d say it’s like getting put on a leash, but, well…” He tails off, running his fingers over the leather ring encircling his neck. "He's making me wait longer this time, the bastard."

"Aww, poor little foxy has to wait a longer time than usual. Such a tragedy." He lets out a scoff of amusement.

Vere puts a hand on his chest as if deeply offended by Ais's words. "You wouldn’t know suffering even if it bit you on the rear end, you brute. I'm absolutely withering here. Just look at me. I'm wasting away as we speak." He moves closer to Ais, batting his eyelashes with a mock-pout.

Ais huffs a laugh. He puts a gentle hand on his face, cupping it lightly and turning it as he pretends to inspect it closely. "Yes, I can see how you’re practically at death's door. Wasting away indeed."

Vere's expression softens at Ais's touch. He leans into it, letting out a sigh and closing his eyes for a moment. "You're supposed to be on my side here. Where is your sympathy for my plight?"

"Oh yes, how inconsiderate of me. How will you ever pull through?"

Vere playfully swats Ais's hand away.

He quickly pulls his hand away with a smirk. "Rude."

Vere grins, a hint of mockery in his tone, moving a little closer to Ais. "Why, I might perish. Can you imagine the anguish I'm experiencing right now? I don't think my poor heart will survive much longer; it's just too much to bear." With a flick of his wrist, his tail reaches out to wrap around Ais' leg, the chains clinking softly as it does so. His touch is light, but the action is deliberately intimate.

Ais shrugs, a small smirk on his face as he leans closer to him, his hands slowly moving to Vere's waist. "Oh, how terrible. You might just pass away right here, in my arms."

Vere lets out a soft hum and leans closer, draping his arms over Ais's shoulders and pressing himself against him, his breath barely grazing Ais's ear. "Oh, yes, it would be a dreadful fate..."

Ais slowly tightens his hold on Vere's waist and lets out a low chuckle. "You poor thing, forced to spend your last moments here with me. Alone..."

Vere throws himself dramatically onto the side of Kuras’ desk, sprawling across the papers that are still scattered there, and pulls Ais down with him. "I can think of worse ways to go," Vere murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he gazes up at Ais. "At least I'd have the pleasure of your company until the end."

Meanwhile, in the back room, Kuras takes a moment to collect himself. He leans back against the door and takes a long, steadying breath, closing his eyes, silently cursing himself for almost losing control with Vere. That man has a special kind of talent for pushing him. If one were foolish or unobservant enough, it almost could have been considered charming.

The room itself is narrow, lined with shelves full of vials, herbs, and medical equipment. He makes a beeline for the medicine cabinet tucked away in the corner onto the wall, filled with row upon row of neatly organized pills and tubes of all shapes and colors. His hands tremble slightly as he rummages through the supply shelves, scanning the labels and bottles for the one he needs—the tonic that will hopefully buy him at least a few months of peace.

He finally finds and grabs it, heading back towards the office, only to stop short at the sight that greets him.

When their eyes meet, Vere tries to give Kuras a look like he isn't plotting multiple homicide charges. Ais, for his part, looks like he's questioning all of his life choices.

Kuras is frozen at the doorway for a moment, speechless. He stares at the two men with an almost deadpan expression, as if mentally resigning himself to his fate. He takes a deep breath to steel himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dare I ask what you two are currently doing?" His tone is carefully measured, but the vein in his temple starts twitching again, and he has to make a conscious effort not to crush the vial still clutched in his hand.

Ais glances over at Kuras with a smirk, arms on either side of Vere, keeping him in place between him and the desk. "We’re just having a friendly chat."

"And that requires pinning my patient to my desk... how, exactly?"

Kuras raises an eyebrow, his glare fixed on Vere, silently daring him to try something. But Vere just grins back, pretending to be completely and absolutely innocent. Which he is not.

"Don't you think you're being a tad bit paranoid, doctor? You can't blame a poor, suffering soul for seeking some comfort," he teases, expression resembling that of a cat who's just been caught knocking over a priceless vase.

Vere is absolutely insufferable.

Kuras is going to strangle him sooner than he planned.

"Comfort? Is that what we're calling it?" His voice is low, dangerous.

Ais snorts, obviously enjoying this far more than he should be.

Vere grins and places a hand on Ais's chest, the glint in his eyes predatory. "Suffering so greatly... I just need a strong pair of arms to hold me up. Or should I say, pin me down?" His voice is practically dripping with condescension.

Kuras takes a step closer. He knows that smile far too well—knows that the words and expressions are carefully crafted to rile him up, to get under his skin, and to make him react. And it works, all too well.

Kuras looks like he's seconds away from having an aneurysm. He is going to kill Vere. Actually kill him.

Ais remains quiet as he watches the back and forth between Vere and Kuras with obvious amusement. He keeps his grip firm on Vere’s hips, both to keep him pinned to the desk and to prevent him from doing anything stupider.

"Cat got your tongue?" Vere taunts.

A flash of annoyance crosses Kuras's face as he stomps across the room, until he is standing directly in front of Vere. He sets the vial on the desk with a bit more force than necessary, resisting the urge to grab Vere's arms and shove him aside. "Oh, no, my darling," he retorts, practically spitting out the word. "My tongue is preoccupied with thinking up the many ways I will strangle you if you continue to be this annoying." He's had just about enough of this. "So don't. Push it." His voice has dropped to a low growl.

Vere has the audacity to let out a low, sultry laugh, unfazed by Kuras's threat. He leans even further against Ais, who's now firmly planted next to him.

Surely Kuras wouldn't attempt to strangle him in front of witnesses. But Vere's smirk suggests he might just be daring him to try.

Kuras opts for the next best thing and leans in so they're practically nose to nose. "Go ahead," he says lowly, his voice a dangerous, quiet murmur. Every muscle in his body is tense, and his hands clutch the desk so tightly that the wood creaks under his grip. "Push me to the limit, just one more time—see what happens."

There's a brief flicker of uncertainty in Vere's eyes, but it's quickly replaced by a defiant glare. He cocks his head to the side and leans forward slightly, as if inviting a reaction. "Oh, the great doctor is threatening me? How terrifying. I'm absolutely shaking in my boots."

Kuras's eyes narrow to slits. How dare he—there's that damn smile again, looking too pleased with himself. This smug, insufferable, irritating, ridiculous, infuriating—

Kuras's self-control snaps.

He'd move faster than the human eye could follow, grabbing Vere by the lapels of his shirt and pushing him against the wall, pinning him in place with one forearm against his chest—

—Or that was what he planned to do, yet one damn slip caused him to fall forward, crashing into Vere instead.

Kuras freezes, his body pressed against Vere, close enough to feel the man's hot, labored breaths. The sudden change in position has caught him off guard, his heart hammering against his ribcage. Every muscle in his body is burning, and there's a dull ringing in his ears.

He's too close—far too close.

Vere lets out a winded gasp as the air is knocked out of his lungs. He's frozen for a second as well, but of course, the bitch can't hold the silence for more than a few fucking seconds before he grins. "Now that's a very compromising position, isn't it?"

Vere's leans in even closer, his breath grazing Kuras' lips.

Kuras can feel every inch of Vere's body against his own—the heat from his chest, the subtle scent of jasmine, the way his breath brushes against his skin. Every nerve ending is on fire, and for a brief, maddening second, he wants nothing more than to shove that damn smirk off Vere's face.

He acts on instinct, surging forward and capturing Vere's lips in a bruising, hungry kiss. All the pent-up anger, frustration, and tension that has been building up for months finally explodes, channeled into a desperate, messy collision of lips, teeth, and tongue.

Vere is caught completely by surprise, his mind short-circuiting for a brief moment as Kuras’s lips crash into his. But it only takes him a second to regain his composure, his tongue darting out to tease at Kuras’s mouth, a soft, needy noise escaping his lips as he pushes closer, practically clinging to the doctor.

Kuras responds immediately, his body moving on its own as he deepens the kiss. The hand gripping Vere's shirt tightens, practically balling up the fabric as he pushes him further back against the desk, seeking more.

Vere breaks away from the kiss for a moment, panting lightly as Kuras moves his mouth to the side of Vere's jaw, planting scorching kisses along his jawline. His hands come up to grip Kuras's wrists, digging his nails into the other man's skin as he lets out a soft, needy whine.

Kuras barely registers the sting of pain, too caught up in the moment to care. Kuras has always prided himself on his self-control, but this... this was something else entirely. His fingers release their grip on Vere's shirt, moving to grip his hips instead.

Ais leans back, watching the two of them with a smirk, enjoying the show. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find the whole thing incredibly entertaining.

Kuras spares a glance at Ais, and a sly smirk spreads across his face. "Feeling left out?" He teases, his tone breathless.

Ais chuckles at Kuras's comment, folding his arms in front of his chest in an attempt to hide the fact that he found the whole scene quite enjoyable (read: very enjoyable). "Are you inviting me to join in?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

The glare that Kuras shoots Ais' way is half-hearted at best, his eyes still glazing over as his fingers dig into Vere's waist.

And then he grins.

"Why not? He's done worse, after all. And who knows, maybe this will finally shut him up for a while."

Ais circles around the desk, stepping closer to the pair with a cocky smirk on his face. Crimson red eyes round on Vere.

"Well, when you put it like that... "

He takes a moment to admire the scene in front of him. Kuras and Vere look like they're about to rip each other's throats out, all tangled up together.

Vere lets out a soft moan, his eyes fluttering open to look back and forth between the two men. "You're both utterly impossible..." He shifts against Kuras, his hips pressing flush against the doctor's.

“You are impossibly irritating," Kuras corrects, punctuating his words with a nip at Vere's neck.

Vere's breath catches in his throat as he involuntarily leans into the touch. "And yet here you are, still here," Vere replies, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Come closer," he instructs Ais, as if he's asking him to do another job for him.

Ais grins, taking one more step forward and now standing directly opposite Kuras. "Always so demanding, aren't you, doc?" He says, tilting his head to the side as he looks over at him with a sly grin.

Kuras huffs out a low chuckle, his breaths coming out in quick, ragged gasps. "You know you like it."

He takes a moment to assess the situation, eyes flitting between Ais and Vere, before a devious smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "You're wearing too many clothes," he murmurs, raising an eyebrow at Ais.

"You're one to talk," he replies before slowly starting to unbutton his shirt, taking his time with each button.

One of Vere's hands suddenly slips under Kuras's shirt. The latter's expression gives nothing away, but his body betrays him; he flinches, torn between wanting to smack it away and wanting to feel more of it.

"Damn tease," he mutters.

Vere runs his hand up the man's chest in a slow, teasing manner. "You started it," he breathes out, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

"And I fully intend on finishing it," he rasps in response, his fingers making quick work of the buttons on Vere's shirt, parting the fabric apart and revealing soft, tanned skin. He runs his palms over the man's chest, feeling the heat and the quick, erratic pulse of his heart beneath his fingertips. His mouth follows the path of his hands, pressing bruising kisses along the column of Vere's throat and the lines of his collarbone, down to the dip of his sternum.

His gaze flicks to Ais, who's still taking his sweet time undressing, his eyes tracing the planes of muscle and pale skin. "Hurry up," he says impatiently. "Or I'll rip it off you."

A delicious shiver runs through Vere's body, and he lets out a soft, needy whine. He arches into the doctor's touch, his fingers tangling in Kuras's hair.

Kuras takes advantage of Vere's momentary vulnerability, his hands gliding down to the waistband of his pants and pulling them down.

Vere yelps in surprise, but the sound quickly morphs into a moan as Kuras's hands move to his dick. He lifts his hips, meeting Kuras's touch eagerly, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"I wondered how long it would take," he murmurs, his voice low and ragged. "To finally see you like this."

Vere lets out a breathy laugh, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, thighs quivering slightly as Kuras's hands move over them, spreading them apart. The latter moves his mouth to the soft skin of his inner thigh, peppering kisses and hickeys along the sensitive flesh.

At the same time, Ais reaches out a finger to run along Vere’s jawline, tracing the sharp edge. He lifts his chin, his lips moving against the foxian's in a gentle, lingering manner, his fingers carefully stroking his cheek.

Vere craned his neck, chasing the touch of Ais' lips, practically purring with contentment.

Without warning, Kuras thrusts inside Vere.

Vere lets out a noise that's somewhere between a gasp and a moan, arching off the desk at the sudden, deep intrusion, his hands scramble for purchase, gripping the edge of the desk as he struggles to adjust to the sudden fullness. "S-shit—"

Kuras braces himself, his own body trembling with the effort to keep still. "Damn... you're tight," he breathes out.

"Fuck you."

"As you wish," he replies, a sly grin on his face.

He starts moving, setting a slow, languid pace that has Vere letting out soft, breathless noises with each thrust. He keeps a steady grip on the man's hips, holding him flush against him.

Ais, being the little opportunist fucker that he is, runs his fingers along the redhead's hair, twisting the strands around his fingers as he frees his cock from its confines and pushes it inside Vere's mouth.

Vere moans around Ais's cock, the vibrations sending a shiver down Ais's spine. Kuras tightens his grip on Vere's hips, increasing the pace of his thrusts as Ais's fingers tangle in the redhead's hair, pulling him closer as Vere eagerly takes him in deeper.

Vere's tail slowly wraps itself around Kuras's leg, snaking its way up his thigh. For a moment, it's almost comforting.

Almost.

Kuras's eyes snap down at the damn thing wrapped tight around him. He is not in the mood to deal with this man's bullshit, especially not when he's so close to reaching his peak. He snatches Vere's tail and wrenches it off his leg, pinning it to the desk with a firm hand.

Vere wanted to protest, snap a scathing retort—how dare the asshole touch his fucking tail—but his traitor of a material body bucks against the other's grip involuntarily, and a muffled—because of Ais'—dick—moan escapes him as a wave of mingled pleasure and pain shoots through his body.

At the same time, Kuras shifts his position slightly, the angle of his thrusts just changing enough to simultaneously drive another moan out of him.

Vere wanted to tear Kuras into pieces, bite the fucker's neck until the bastard bled to death.

"Careful, Doctor," Ais comments. "He might enjoy that a little too much."

Kuras's responding chuckle reverberates through the room. "Believe me, I know him well enough to know that," he says, his eyes never leaving Vere's face. The flush on his cheeks, the parted lips, the hooded eyes… all so damn pretty.

"He'll say he hates every second of it," he continues, moving his hand to wrap around Vere's neck and give it a gentle squeeze. "But he knows he craves it more than anything."

Vere tries to say something, to deny the doctor's words, but all that comes out is a strangled gasp. The feeling of Kuras moving inside him is overwhelming, and his body trembles with every thrust, his thighs quivering around the doctor's waist, while this throat convulses around Ais' dick.

"You’re not proving his point very well.” Ais murmurs, his voice low and taunting. "You look absolutely ruined."

He can feel Kuras's hand wrapped around his neck, his thumb gently pressing into his pulse point, and Ais's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just the slightest bit too hard.

He knows they're right, and he hates how much he loves it.

Vere's eyes flutter shut, and he surrenders completely to the mind—numbing sensations coursing through his body.

With one final, hard thrust, Kuras comes undone, spilling himself inside Vere with a low groan. Ais lets out a guttural groan as his body shudders with pleasure, finding his own release down Vere's throat.

The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the scent of sweat and sex, leaving Vere feeling utterly spent, boneless, yet strangely satisfied, like all his energy has been sapped out of him in the best possible way. He practically collapses against Kuras, feeling the aftershocks of euphoria wash over him consecutively.

"God damn, that was good." Ais pulls out and slumps back slightly, trying to catch his breath as he comes down from the high.

Kuras lets his head fall back, his gaze meeting Ais's over Vere's shoulder. "Remind me to lock the door next time."

[transgenderer]

The 2014 Bundy standoff was an armed confrontation between supporters of cattle rancher Cliven Bundy and law enforcement following a 21-year legal dispute in which the United States Bureau of Land Management (BLM) obtained court orders directing Bundy to pay over $1 million in withheld grazing fees for Bundy's use of federally owned land adjacent to Bundy's ranch in southeastern Nevada.

On March 27, 2014, 145,604 acres (589 km2) of federal land in Clark County were temporarily closed for the "capture, impound, and removal of trespass cattle." BLM officials and law enforcement rangers began a roundup of such livestock on April 5, and Cliven Bundy's son, Dave, was arrested.[2] On April 12, 2014, a group of protesters, some of them armed, approached the BLM "cattle gather." Sheriff Doug Gillespie negotiated with Bundy and newly confirmed BLM director, Neil Kornze, who elected to release the cattle and de-escalate the situation. As of the end of 2015, Cliven Bundy continued to graze his cattle on federal land and still had not paid the grazing fees.

as far as i can tell, bundy just like...continues to illegally graze his cattle? its weird. he got briefly arrested cuz he tried to go help out those people who seized that govt building. but he got out

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 42, 2023

The contribution of the basal ganglia and cerebellum to motor learning: A neuro-computational approach. Baladron, J., Vitay, J., Fietzek, T., & Hamker, F. H. (2023). PLOS Computational Biology, 19(4), e1011024.

Beta Oscillations in Monkey Striatum Encode Reward Prediction Error Signals. Basanisi, R., Marche, K., Combrisson, E., Apicella, P., & Brovelli, A. (2023). Journal of Neuroscience, 43(18), 3339–3352.

Inhibitory neurons control the consolidation of neural assemblies via adaptation to selective stimuli. Bergoin, R., Torcini, A., Deco, G., Quoy, M., & Zamora-López, G. (2023). Scientific Reports, 13, 6949.

Measuring memory is harder than you think: How to avoid problematic measurement practices in memory research. Brady, T. F., Robinson, M. M., Williams, J. R., & Wixted, J. T. (2023). Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 30(2), 421–449.

How synaptic strength, short-term plasticity, and input synchrony contribute to neuronal spike output. Buchholz, M. O., Gastone Guilabert, A., Ehret, B., & Schuhknecht, G. F. P. (2023). PLOS Computational Biology, 19(4), e1011046.

A double dissociation between savings and long-term memory in motor learning. Hadjiosif, A. M., Morehead, J. R., & Smith, M. A. (2023). PLOS Biology, 21(4), e3001799.

Dynamic synchronization between hippocampal representations and stepping. Joshi, A., Denovellis, E. L., Mankili, A., Meneksedag, Y., Davidson, T. J., Gillespie, A. K., … Frank, L. M. (2023). Nature, 617(7959), 125–131.

The features underlying the memorability of objects. Kramer, M. A., Hebart, M. N., Baker, C. I., & Bainbridge, W. A. (2023). Science Advances, 9(17).

Neural spiking for causal inference and learning. Lansdell, B. J., & Kording, K. P. (2023). PLOS Computational Biology, 19(4), e1011005.

Purely STDP-based assembly dynamics: Stability, learning, overlaps, drift and aging. Manz, P., & Memmesheimer, R.-M. (2023). PLOS Computational Biology, 19(4), e1011006.

A key role of orientation in the coding of visual motion direction. Moon, J., Tadin, D., & Kwon, O.-S. (2023). Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 30(2), 564–574.

Oligodendrocyte-mediated myelin plasticity and its role in neural synchronization. Pajevic, S., Plenz, D., Basser, P. J., & Fields, R. D. (2023). eLife, 12, e81982.

Metabolic activity organizes olfactory representations. Qian, W. W., Wei, J. N., Sanchez-Lengeling, B., Lee, B. K., Luo, Y., Vlot, M., … Wiltschko, A. B. (2023). eLife, 12, e82502.

Efficient coding of natural scenes improves neural system identification. Qiu, Y., Klindt, D. A., Szatko, K. P., Gonschorek, D., Hoefling, L., Schubert, T., … Euler, T. (2023). PLOS Computational Biology, 19(4), e1011037.

A shift in the mechanisms controlling hippocampal engram formation during brain maturation. Ramsaran, A. I., Wang, Y., Golbabaei, A., Aleshin, S., de Snoo, M. L., Yeung, B. A., … Frankland, P. W. (2023). Science, 380(6644), 543–551.

Perceptual Difficulty Regulates Attentional Gain Modulations in Human Visual Cortex. Sawetsuttipan, P., Phunchongharn, P., Ounjai, K., Salazar, A., Pongsuwan, S., Intrachooto, S., … Itthipuripat, S. (2023). Journal of Neuroscience, 43(18), 3312–3330.

Goal Choices Modify Frontotemporal Memory Representations. Srinivasan, A., Riceberg, J. S., Goodman, M. R., Srinivasan, A., Guise, K. G., & Shapiro, M. L. (2023). Journal of Neuroscience, 43(18), 3353–3364.

Diverse role of NMDA receptors for dendritic integration of neural dynamics. Tang, Y., Zhang, X., An, L., Yu, Z., & Liu, J. K. (2023). PLOS Computational Biology, 19(4), e1011019.

With Bayesian estimation one can get all that Bayes factors offer, and more. Tendeiro, J. N., & Kiers, H. A. L. (2023). Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 30(2), 534–552.

Early-Life Stress Impairs Perception and Neural Encoding of Rapid Signals in the Auditory Pathway. Ye, Y., Mattingly, M. M., Sunthimer, M. J., Gay, J. D., & Rosen, M. J. (2023). Journal of Neuroscience, 43(18), 3232–3244.

[a-mag-a-day]

"It’s always nice to hear that my hometown is not entirely devoid of odd occurrences and eerie stories." Honestly, I believe him. Imagine being traumatised at a young age and no one ever believing you. Then you go into research mode and learn more, you're trying to understand it all. Then you learn that - yes - your hometown has had other occurrences as well. It must have been both horrible and validating to be confronted with the fact that there had always been more around. Overall, this episode had me think a lot about trauma theory, I had a recent class about it. It focused heavily on Cathy Caruth's approach that focused on the connections between trauma and memory. It's an interesting read and I'm excited to re-listen to this with this in mind. Let's be honest. Joshua Gillespie is a MVP and the example of what Jon had hoped to accomplish by denying every supernatural occurrence. In a way I think of it as validation for Jon's own endeavour and denial. However, I think the main differences is that Joshua also did not try to know or understand, while Jon kept searching for the answer. I really enjoyed this episode.

These are very good points I love the idea that Jon feels validated by Joshua Gillespie's experience here, I've never considered that before, thank you!

[chloe-doust]

Chloe Doust’s Dedication to Personal Injury and Consumer Advocacy

Chloe Doust stands as a beacon of hope and resilience for individuals facing personal injury and consumer rights issues. As an attorney at the esteemed Gillespie Law Firm, Chloe's dedication to her clients extends across North Carolina, Alabama, and Minnesota. Her commitment to justice and unwavering support for those in need make her a standout figure in the legal community.

A Passion for Advocacy

Chloe Doust's legal career is rooted in her profound passion for helping people. Specializing in personal injury and consumer rights law, she navigates the complexities of these fields with expertise and compassion. Her firm handles an array of claims, ensuring that every client receives the attention and justice they deserve.

Expertise in Personal Injury Law

Personal injury cases often bring emotional and financial turmoil to the victims and their families. Chloe's expertise covers a broad spectrum, including automobile, truck, and motorcycle accidents. She meticulously investigates each case, ensuring that every detail is accounted for to build a strong claim. Her clients find solace in her thorough approach and her relentless pursuit of fair compensation for their suffering.

Championing Consumer Rights

In addition to her personal injury practice, Chloe is a staunch advocate for consumer rights. She tackles issues such as unlawful eviction and property law claims, safeguarding her clients' rights and ensuring they are not taken advantage of by powerful entities. Whether drafting lease agreements or fighting for consumer protections, Chloe's legal acumen and dedication shine through.

Beyond the Courtroom: Supporting Small Business

When she is not in the courtroom, Chloe Doust turns her attention to her small business in South Carolina. Her experience and knowledge in international trade law, bolstered by an LLM from Nottingham School of Law in England, equip her to handle the complexities of business negotiations and day-to-day operations. Her dual role as a business owner and attorney provides a unique perspective, enriching her ability to serve her clients with a well-rounded understanding of both legal and business landscapes.

A Heart for Service

Chloe's dedication to service extends beyond her professional obligations. She volunteers at Baptist South Church, offering her legal expertise to those who might not otherwise have access to it. Her commitment to pro bono work underscores her belief in making legal services accessible to all, irrespective of their financial standing.

Free Consultations and Compassionate Care

At the core of Chloe's practice is a genuine desire to help. Her motto of offering free consultations and services whenever possible is a testament to her selflessness and dedication. She believes that everyone deserves quality legal representation, and she strives to provide that to the best of her ability.

Conclusion

Chloe Doust's dedication to her clients and community is inspiring. Whether navigating the intricacies of personal injury and consumer rights law, supporting her small business, or volunteering her time and expertise, Chloe's impact is profound and far-reaching. She exemplifies what it means to be a compassionate advocate, tirelessly working to ensure justice and support for those in need.

[unveilhq]

congratulations on your acceptance, spoop, dan, & rider ! please make sure you check the next steps here

charlie carver, homosexual, male + he/him→ isn’t that callum bane? i’ve seen them hanging out with the siphoners. i hear they're 28, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 2 years. they seem to be calm & knowledgeable, but also calculating & critical. it’s cool that they’re capable of chlorokinesis, healing and psychometry!

max carver, bi sexual, male + he/him → isn’t that mason bane? i’ve seen them hanging out with the witches. i hear they're 28, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 2 years. they seem to be charismatic & strong, but also stupid & devious. it’s cool that they’re capable of electrokinesis, teleportation, photokinesis, and smoke manipulation! 

brant daugherty, homosexual, male + he/him → isn’t that karter ashcroft? i’ve seen them hanging out with the half ghosts. i hear they’re 32, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 1 year. they seem to be athletic & playful, but also reckless & erratic.

david lee mcInnis, pansexual, cis male + he/him/his → isn’t that casey callahan? i’ve seen them hanging out with the dragonkin. i hear they’re 242, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 53 years. they seem to be caring & passionate, but also misanthropic & violent. it’s cool that they’re capable of pyrokinesis! 

boyd holbrook, homosexual, cis male + he/him/his → isn’t that wolfram wagner? i’ve seen them hanging out with the incubi. i hear they’re 376, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 1 month. they seem to be carefree & flexible, but also greedy & ruthless.

patrick wilson, gay, male + he/him → isn’t that aksel forsberg akeselric ogemseren? i’ve seen them hanging out with the merfolk. i hear they're 246 (but look 50), but they’ve only been in alexandria for 13 years. they seem to be inquisitive & approachable, but also indulgent & unrestrained.

charlie hunnam, gay, male + he/him → isn’t that rictor attano? i’ve seen them hanging out with the witches. i hear they're 39, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 7 months. they seem to be righteous & chivalrous, but also jaded & world-weary. it’s cool that they’re capable of technopathy, resurrection, photokinesis, and divination!

josh dallas, bisexual, he/him → isn’t that audric uvanov? i’ve seen them hanging out with the vampires. i hear they're 1492, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 34 years. they seem to be charming & decisive, but also manipulative & possessive. 

adam senn, pansexual, he/him → isn’t that wren bailey? i’ve seen them hanging out with the witches. i hear they're 35, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 5 years. they seem to be ambitious & empathetic, but also aggressive & cocky. it’s cool that they’re capable of astral projection, chlorokinesis, geokinesis, atmokinesis!

ricky whittle, "straight", male + he/him → isn’t that carston gillespie? i’ve seen them hanging out with the humans. i hear they're 43, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 3 years. they seem to be steadfast & flexible, but also hot-tempered & vindictive. they are not heightened!

matt barr, gay, male + he/him → isn’t that tyler bristol? i’ve seen them hanging out with the were-creatures. i hear they're 40, but they’ve only been in alexandria for 7 years. they seem to be loyal & attentive, but also territorial & dominating. it’s cool that their animal counterpart is a wolf!

[didierleclair]

Mary Lou Williams is a jazz force to be reckoned with. She was a child prodigy and played to make ends meet in her family when she was as young as 6 years old. Mary Lou Williams became a professional at 15 years old.

This jazz pianist knows her craft and plays with confidence. I love her spiritual approach to jazz. She can use the blues or the stride style like Fats Waller. She was a composer, an arranger and collaborated with Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman. This friend of Dizzy Gillespie influenced great musicians such as Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk.

I would recommend “A Grand Night for Swinging” as an introduction of her groovy skills. But she has other great numbers. I personally love “Dat Dere” a Bobby Timmon’s composition. She takes it and makes it her own with ease. It has the rhythmic touch I love and a cool and melodic fingering at the same time.

She’s the Maestra that all jazz musicians of quality revere.

-----

Mary Lou Williams est une pianiste hors pair. Elle a été enfant prodige et a joué pour arrondir les fins de mois de sa famille alors qu’elle n’avait que 6 ans. Elle est devenue professionnelle à 15 ans.

Cette pianiste de jazz maîtrise son jeu et joue avec assurance. J’aime son côté spirituel. Elle peut avoir des influences de blues ou des tendances liées au style stride comme Fats Waller. Elle était compositrice, arrangeuse et a collaboré avec Duke Ellington ainsi que Benny Goodman. Cette grande amie de Dizzy Gillespie a influencé de nombreux musiciens comme Miles Davis et Thelonious Monk.

Je recommande « A Grand Night for Swinging” comme un morceau d’introduction à son répertoire. Mais elle a d’autres morceaux aussi brillants. J’aime en particulier « Dat Dere ». C’est une composition de Bobby Timmons mais elle a réussi à la rendre sienne sans difficulté. Ce petit bijou a un rythme entraînant mais également on sent un doigté maîtrisé et relaxe en même temps.

C’est la Maestra que tous les musiciens de jazz de talent admirent.

[ghostflowerdreams]

It’s October! The month in which I watch even more horror movies than usual. Each year I tend to have a theme to help narrow down what to watch. So far I’ve done Zombie Films, Werewolf Films, Vampire Films, Slasher Films and Ghost Films. This year’s theme will be Cosmic/Eldritch Horror (or as most know it as Lovecraftian Horror.

This list isn’t going to contain every film in the world that is base on H.P. Lovecraft's works, have elements of it or is inspired by it. These are just the ones that I liked the most (that doesn't necessary mean they're all good though) and would recommend to others if they’re interested in this subgenre. So, in no particular order check out these films...

In the Mouth of Madness (1994) -- is an American supernatural horror film directed and scored by John Carpenter and written by Michael De Luca. It stars Sam Neill, Julie Carmen, Jürgen Prochnow, David Warner and Charlton Heston.

When horror novelist Sutter Cane goes missing, freelance insurance investigator John Trent scrutinizes the claim made by his publisher, Jackson Harglow. He's to retrieve a yet-to-be-released manuscript and ascertain the writer's whereabouts. Accompanied by the novelist's editor, Linda Styles, and disturbed by nightmares from reading Cane's other novels, Trent makes an eerie nighttime trek to a supernatural town in New Hampshire.

In the Mouth of Madness pays tribute to the works of author H. P. Lovecraft in its exploration of insanity, and its title is derived from the Lovecraft novella At the Mountains of Madness.

Color Out of Space (2019) -- is an American science fiction Lovecraftian horror film directed and co-written by Richard Stanley, based on the short story "The Colour Out of Space" by H. P. Lovecraft. It stars Nicolas Cage, Joely Richardson, Elliot Knight, Madeleine Arthur, Brendan Meyer, Q'orianka Kilcher and Tommy Chong. 

The Gardner family moves to a remote farmstead in rural New England to escape the hustle of the 21st century. They are busy adapting to their new life when a meteorite crashes into their front yard, melts into the earth, and infects both the land and the properties of space-time with a strange, otherworldly colour.

The Void (2016) -- is an Canadian Lovecraftian horror film written and directed by Steven Kostanski and Jeremy Gillespie, and produced by Jonathan Bronfman and Casey Walker. It stars Aaron Poole, Kenneth Welsh, Daniel Fathers, Kathleen Munroe, and Ellen Wong.

In the middle of a routine patrol, officer Daniel Carter happens upon a blood-soaked figure limping down a deserted stretch of road. He rushes the young man to a nearby rural hospital staffed by a skeleton crew, only to become trapped by a gathering of hooded cultists, and grotesque creatures.

The Lighthouse (2019) -- is an American film directed and produced by Robert Eggers, from a screenplay he wrote with his brother Max Eggers. It stars Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson as nineteenth-century lighthouse keepers in turmoil after being marooned at a remote New England outpost by a wild storm.

Cold Skin (2017) -- is an French-Spanish science fiction-horror film directed by Xavier Gens and based on the 2002 novel of the same name by Albert Sánchez Piñol.

On the edge of the Antarctic Circle, a ship approaches a desolate island, far from all shipping lanes. On board is a young man who is on his way to assume the post of weather observer and live in solitude at the end of the earth. He finds no trace of the man he has been sent to replace, just a deranged castaway who has witnessed a horror he refuses to name. For the next twelve months, his entire world will consist of a deserted cabin, trees, rocks, silence and the surrounding sea.

Note: I wasn't gonna include this but after watching The Lighthouse I figured why not. It certainly fits with the theme.

Underwater (2020) -- is an American science fiction action horror film directed by William Eubank. The film stars Kristen Stewart, Vincent Cassel, Jessica Henwick, John Gallagher Jr., Mamoudou Athie, and T.J. Miller.

After an earthquake destroys their underwater station, six researchers must navigate two miles along the dangerous, unknown depths of the ocean floor to make it to safety in a race against time.

Offseason (2021) - is an American supernatural horror film written and directed by Mickey Keating. It stars Jocelin Donahue, Joe Swanberg, Richard Brake, and Melora Walters.

Upon receiving a mysterious letter that her mother's grave has been vandalized, Marie quickly returns to the isolated offshore island where she's buried. Just as she arrives, the island closes for the season as the bridges get raised until springtime. Left stranded, Marie soon realizes that something is not quite right as she has one strange interaction after another. She must now unveil the mystery behind her mother's troubled past to make it out alive.

Annihilation (2018) -- is an science fiction psychological horror film written and directed by Alex Garland, based on the 2014 novel of the same name by Jeff VanderMeer. It stars Natalie Portman, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Gina Rodriguez, Tessa Thompson, Tuva Novotny, and Oscar Isaac.

The story follows a group of explorers who enter "The Shimmer", a mysterious quarantined zone of mutating plants and animals caused by an alien presence.

Lena, a biologist and former soldier, joins a mission to uncover what happened to her husband inside Area X -- a mysterious quarantined zone that is expanding across the American coastline. Once inside, the expedition discovers a world of mutated landscapes and creatures, as dangerous as it is beautiful, that threatens both their lives and their sanity.

Event Horizon (1997) -- is an science fiction horror film directed by Paul W. S. Anderson and written by Philip Eisner. It stars Laurence Fishburne, Sam Neill, Kathleen Quinlan and Joely Richardson.

Set in 2047, it follows a crew of astronauts sent on a rescue mission after a missing spaceship, the Event Horizon, spontaneously appears in orbit around Neptune, only to discover that a sinister force has come back with it.

The Mist (2007) -- (also known as Stephen King's The Mist) is an American science-fiction horror film based on the 1980 novella The Mist by Stephen King. The film was written and directed by Frank Darabont. The film features an ensemble cast, including Thomas Jane, Marcia Gay Harden, Nathan Gamble, Andre Braugher, Sam Witwer, Toby Jones, Frances Sternhagen, Buck Taylor, Robert Treveiler, William Sadler, Alexa Davalos, David Jensen, Chris Owen, Andy Stahl, and future The Walking Dead stars Jeffrey DeMunn, Laurie Holden, Melissa McBride, and Juan Gabriel Pareja.

After a violent storm, a dense cloud of mist envelops a small Maine town, trapping artist David Drayton and his five-year-old son in a local grocery store with other people. They soon discover that the mist conceals deadly horrors that threaten their lives, and worse, their sanity.

The Cellar (2022) -- is an supernatural horror film written and directed by Brendan Muldowney. It's an international co-production between Ireland and Belgium. It also starsElisha Cuthbert and Eoin Macken.

It follows a family whose daughter mysteriously vanishes in the cellar of the large estate they have just moved into.

Glorious (2022) -- is an American comedy horror film directed by Rebekah McKendry, and starring Ryan Kwanten and J. K. Simmons.

The film involves a heartbroken man who encounters a strange, all-knowing entity in a rest stop bathroom stall.

Bonus:

These are either based on Lovecraft's works, have Lovecraftian influence and references or gives off strong feels like one (even unintentionally).

Guillermo del Toro's Cabinet of Curiosities (2022)

The Rig (2023)

Stranger Things - Season 2

True Detective - Season 1

[camedownonamoonbeam]

Handsome Brit as a countryside cop > Max Brown won't be seen in the new Downton Abbey film, but a crime series in the spirit of Father Brown got the actor excited. "It's a beautiful weather right now even though it rained all night. The sun is shining again!" Actor Max Brown, 41, chats casually over Zoom.

The handsome Brit is remembered not only from The Tudors but also as the sensation kisser in Downton Abbey. Brown's character Richard had Thomas Barrow smiling with a surprise kiss.

"Unfortunately I'm not in the new Downton film. It'll still be fun to see whether Barrow might have another meeting with Richard in store. I think we touched on something really beautiful and delicate/sensitive. Maybe Julian Fellows still has something up his sleeve for those two."

Now the star is fully focusing on his new series Sister Boniface Mysteries. The Britbox streaming service's series is a spin-off of the (audience) favourite Father Brown, which you can follow on Yle Areena, Elisa Viihde Viaplay and Cmore. Father Brown (Mark Williams) also visits Sister Boniface Mysteries.

The jolly nun played by Lorna Watson scorches on her moped solving colourful murders in the countryside milieu. Brown plays Detective Inspector Sam Gillespie.

"I haven't been in a lot of crime shows but I'm a huge fan of detective novels (stories?). For example Sherlock (BBC) is a favourite of mine. I also read a lot of murder mysteries. The world of murders is not unfamiliar to me."

"Lorna and Jerry are amazing. I hadn't met either of them and it's always hard to know in advance what kind of a relationship you'll form. The first time together is like a first day at school: I'm nervous about what each of them will think of me. But we liked/loved each other right away! We spent a lot of time together - as much as the covid restrictions allowed. We enjoy doing things together and can’t wait to film the next season. You couldn’t ask for a better team.” Is there romance in store for Sam? “He doesn’t quite know how to approach such feelings as love or having a crush. For him his career is the best wife material! Sam rather solves crimes than the mysteries of his heart. Of course there’s a little bit of flirting. There might be something going on with Ruth, the reporter. We’ll see what happens!” Max Brown confesses that he’s never been to Finland. “I did use to know a guy who went to the same university with my sister’s husband, and we used to hang out a lot together. I know it’s very beautiful up there. And very dark. I’ve probably also watched Finnish TV series as I’m an avid watcher of Nordic productions.” He hopes Nordic viewers will be excited about Sister Boniface Mysteries. “This series has a universal comedicness to it, and I believe Nordic viewers will find a lot of good in it. The crimes are inventive and full of twists (/complicated), and the script is really clever!” translator’s notes: apparently these two languages are very different lol. idek if he said they enjoy or enjoyed working together because the word is the same in written finnish regardless of the tense lol. when he talks about meeting lorna and jerry, the more literal translation is "infatuated" but I doubt he actually said that lol. also the reporter made him sound kinda weird by using really short sentences, why?? and yes she really called him handsome twice lol

[kimosterholzer]

The Gillespie Approach's Craniosacral Fascial Therapy (CFT)

Betsy Richards, our practice’s senior apprentice, recently completed her Craniosacral Fascial Therapy training with the Gillespie Approach! She’s able to work with babies, children, and adults and, as a client of Betsy’s myself, I can say she has a lovely touch and does truly excellent work! Here’s what Betsy has to say about it! Have you ever seen a spiderweb and noticed how each of the strands…

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Republicans would rather rationalize away Herschel Walker's alleged abortion scandal than ever admit they backed the wrong candidate, a GOP strategist said of the Georgian's too-late-to-bail-out predicament.

"Conservatives will look at it as he's still the lesser evil on policy," the GOP fundraiser, who requested anonymity to speak freely about the fast-approaching midterm elections, told Insider of race between the embattled Trump-backed candidate and incumbent Democratic Sen. Raphael Warnock.

The GOP fundraiser rightly predicted that MAGA supporters would rally around Walker by arguing that if he gave an ex-girlfriend money in 2009 to cover a single abortion that's still better than allowing Warnock to divert taxpayer dollars to funding all abortions.

"They'll say that Warnock wants to take YOUR money to pay for abortions … which makes him a bad person and unfit for the Senate," the GOP fundraiser said, adding that the political shamelessness is "just a continuation of Trump."

Less than two hours later conservative commentator Dana Loesch advanced that very narrative.

"IF true, Walker paid for one broad's abortion compared to Warnock who wants your tax dollars to pay for EVERY broad's abortion-as-birth control with no limitations," the former NRA spokeswoman wrote online, adding, "This isn't a difficult choice and conservatives shouldn't look to the left to validate their vote."

Other Walker supporters skirted the abortion issue altogether, casting blame anywhere else.

"Herschel Walker has denied these allegations in the strongest possible terms and we stand firmly alongside him," Mallory Carroll, a spokeswoman for Women Speak Out PAC, a super PAC associated with anti-abortion group Susan B. Anthony Pro-Life America, said in a statement. Carroll added that her organization would continue campaigning against the "extremism of Sen. Warnock and Stacey Abrams," the latter being the Democratic gubernatorial nominee challenging incumbent Republican Gov. Brian Kemp this fall.

The Georgia Republican Party billed the allegations against Walker as political theater.

"Democrats will do anything to distract from their own abysmal record of rising inflation, an open border and a decimated middle class," Georgia GOP spokeswoman Danielle Repass told Insider.

'WALKER CAN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT ABORTION NOW'

Andra Gillespie, an associate professor of political science at Emory University, said the Supreme Court's reversal of Roe v. Wade this summer opened up new lines of attack for Georgia candidates.

Gillespie said Walker's campaign had leaned into painting Warnock as a hypocrite for using his position as a minister to preach abortion rights from the pulpit. But she suspects that strategy is done for.

"Walker can't say anything about abortion now," Gillespie told Insider, adding that she fully expects to see Christian Walker's scathing social media posts denouncing his father dominating the airwaves through election day.

"I'm almost certain if there will be some type of digital ads that will include Christian Walker's Twitter rants," Gillespie said.

The Senate race stands out not only because of Walker's sky-high name recognition as a former University of Georgia football standout who won the Heisman Trophy in 1982, but also due to the implications of a GOP win in the state — which in recent cycles has been more receptive to backing statewide Democratic candidates.

Walker's opponent, Democratic Sen. Raphael Warnock, is running for his first full term in office after winning a Senate runoff election last year to fill the remaining term of GOP Sen. Johnny Isakson, who stepped down in 2019.

In capturing the Senate seat last year, Warnock defeated then-GOP Sen. Kelly Loeffler, who had been appointed by Kemp and was seen as candidate who could appeal to both Republican women in the Atlanta suburbs and conservatives in the more rural parts of the state.

But Democrats had compelling candidates in Warnock — the senior pastor of Atlanta's historic Ebenezer Baptist Church — and former investigative journalist and 2018 House candidate Jon Ossoff.

Buoyed by President Joe Biden's victory in the state over Trump in 2020 — the party continued to use their robust turnout operation in the 2021 runoffs, allowing Warnock to unseat Loeffler and fueling Ossoff's win over then-GOP Sen. David Perdue.

Republicans, stung by the losses, are eager to regain their dominance in the state, and a Georgia Senate win represents one of their best ways to get there.

[brushandneedles]

Thelonious Monk: Architect of Jazz Innovation and Uniqueness

In the rich tapestry of jazz history, the name Thelonious Monk stands as a beacon of innovation, unpredictability, and sheer artistic brilliance. Born on October 10, 1917, in Rocky Mount, North Carolina, Monk emerged as one of the most influential figures in the world of jazz, leaving an indelible mark on the genre with his distinctive approach to composition and improvisation. Step into the enigmatic world of jazz with our Thelonious Monk-inspired T-shirts, a sartorial ode to the timeless eccentricity and musical genius of the legendary pianist.

Early Years and Musical Upbringing

Thelonious Sphere Monk's musical journey began in his early childhood. Raised in New York City, Monk's exposure to music came primarily through the church, where his mother, Barbara, served as the church organist. Monk's early interest in the piano was nurtured by his family, and by the age of 11, he had already begun to showcase his prodigious talent.

Innovations in Jazz Harmony and Rhythm

Monk's impact on jazz is perhaps most prominently felt in the realm of harmony. His unique approach to chord voicings and dissonant intervals challenged the conventional norms of the time. Monk's compositions, such as "Round Midnight" and "Blue Monk," are characterized by their unconventional harmonic structures, marked by angular melodies and unexpected chord progressions.

His use of dissonance, often incorporating clusters of notes played in close proximity, created a sense of tension and release that was revolutionary in the jazz landscape. Monk's harmonic innovations laid the foundation for future generations of jazz musicians to explore new possibilities in tonality and expression.

The Pianistic Genius

Monk's distinctive pianism is immediately recognizable. His percussive and angular playing style, coupled with his penchant for dissonant chords, created a sonic signature that set him apart from his contemporaries. The rhythmic complexity of Monk's playing, characterized by unexpected accents and pauses, added an additional layer of intrigue to his performances.

His influence on piano technique and style extended beyond his compositions. Monk's idiosyncratic approach to the instrument, with his use of staccato accents and unexpected pauses, challenged the conventional norms of jazz piano playing. His innovations continue to resonate in the work of countless pianists who have drawn inspiration from Monk's groundbreaking style.

The Birth of Bebop and Monk's Role

The 1940s saw the emergence of the bebop movement, a revolutionary shift in jazz characterized by rapid tempos, complex harmonies, and intricate improvisation. Monk played a crucial role in shaping the bebop sound, collaborating with pioneers such as Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. His compositions, including "Well, You Needn't" and "Epistrophy," became emblematic of the bebop era.

While Monk's contemporaries were often at the forefront of the bebop movement, Monk's own unique contributions were sometimes overshadowed. His compositions, though revered by fellow musicians, did not always find immediate commercial success. Nevertheless, Monk's uncompromising commitment to his artistic vision and his refusal to conform to established norms set him apart as a true innovator.

The Legendary Monk Quartet

In the mid-1950s, Monk formed the legendary Thelonious Monk Quartet, a group that featured John Coltrane on tenor saxophone, Wilbur Ware on bass, and Shadow Wilson on drums. This quartet, often hailed as one of the greatest in the history of jazz, produced some of Monk's most iconic recordings.

The partnership with Coltrane, in particular, was a meeting of two musical giants. Coltrane's fiery and expressive playing complemented Monk's idiosyncratic compositions, creating a synergy that elevated both artists to new heights. The recordings from this period, including the album "Thelonious Monk with John Coltrane," are celebrated as masterpieces of jazz collaboration.

Monk's Compositional Legacy

Thelonious Monk's compositions have become an integral part of the jazz repertoire. His tunes, characterized by their memorable melodies and intricate harmonic structures, continue to be studied and performed by musicians around the world. "Round Midnight," arguably Monk's most famous composition, has been recorded by countless artists and remains a jazz standard.

Monk's compositional style was rooted in a deep understanding of the blues, and his ability to infuse bluesy sensibilities into complex harmonic settings contributed to the enduring appeal of his music. His compositions often featured unexpected rhythmic twists and turns, keeping both musicians and listeners on their toes.

The Jazz Vanguard: Monk's Impact on the Genre

Beyond his contributions as a pianist and composer, Monk played a pivotal role in shaping the broader landscape of jazz. His unapologetic commitment to originality and innovation encouraged other musicians to explore their own unique voices. Monk's impact extended beyond the confines of bebop, influencing the development of post-bop, free jazz, and avant-garde jazz.

Monk's insistence on individual expression and his rejection of musical conventions opened doors for future generations of jazz artists to embrace their creative instincts. His influence is evident in the work of avant-garde musicians such as Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman, who drew inspiration from Monk's fearless approach to musical exploration.

Challenges and Recognition

Despite his undeniable genius, Monk faced challenges in his career. His unorthodox playing style and sometimes unpredictable behavior led to periods of public misunderstanding. In 1951, Monk's cabaret card was revoked in New York City, a setback that restricted his ability to perform in local venues for several years.

However, Monk's fortunes began to change in the late 1950s and early 1960s. With the support of fellow musicians and growing recognition of his artistic contributions, Monk experienced a resurgence in his career. In 1964, he appeared on the cover of Time magazine, a significant acknowledgment of his status as a jazz innovator.

Later Years and Recognition

In the latter part of his career, Monk continued to tour and record prolifically. His later albums, including "Monk's Dream" (1963) and "Criss-Cross" (1963), showcased his enduring creativity. Monk's impact on jazz was further recognized when he was awarded the prestigious Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1997, a fitting tribute to his lasting contributions to the genre.

Monk's Persona: Quirks and Eccentricities

Thelonious Monk's persona was as distinctive as his music. Known for his distinctive sense of style, which often included distinctive hats and sunglasses, Monk's onstage presence reflected his offbeat approach to life. His penchant for abrupt pauses during performances, as well as his sometimes enigmatic behavior, only added to the mystique surrounding the man and his music.

Legacy and Influence

Thelonious Monk's legacy endures not only through his recordings but also through the impact he had on the evolution of jazz. His uncompromising commitment to originality and his fearless exploration of musical possibilities continue to inspire musicians across genres. Monk's influence can be heard in the work of pianists ranging from Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea to modern innovators like Brad Mehldau.

Monk's compositions remain a rite of passage for jazz musicians, a testament to the enduring power of his musical vision. His contributions to jazz harmony, rhythm, and composition have left an indelible mark on the genre, ensuring that Thelonious Monk's legacy will resonate through the ages as a testament to the boundless possibilities of artistic expression in jazz. Embrace the avant-garde flair of jazz with our Thelonious Monk T-shirt, embodying the quirky elegance and groundbreaking creativity of the legendary pianist.

[the-celluloid-correspondent]

Dumb Money Move Review

Directed by Craig Gillespie

Dumb Money is the ultimate David vs. Goliath tale, based upon the insane true story of everyday people who flipped the script on Wall Street and got rich by turning GameStop (yes, the mass video game store) into the hottest item on the market.

Who couldn't remember the GameStop Stock frenzy in 2020 and 2021. Not only was it less than three years ago, but it showed the world how horribly rigged the stock market is. So adapting this real life David vs. Goliath to the big screen was going to be no small task and enemies will most likely be made on Wall Street. Thankfully, Dumb Money succeeds in this absurd tale. It's similar to The Big Short but embraces its Reddit humor that drove one of the wildest stock market craze since the 2008 Financial Crisis.

Throughout the film we follow YouTuber/Day Trader Keith Gills from his humble beginnings to becoming a millionaire by creating what we now call "meme stocks". We witness how the top one percent of the one percent try to screw over the little guy time and time again, but to no avail. This madness of a story is constructed well and relatively concise in this 100 minute run time. The story embraces the Reddit memes and humor that drove to this stock market craze with impeccable precision. Nearly every single joke lands and the film is just a fine time to watch. The writing is sharp and the dialogue is witty. Witty enough that is might earn an Oscar nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Paul Dano character of Keith Gills, is the films heart and center. He becomes the anchor to both the narrative and the characters of the film. Dano holds his ground here as the films leading man. We watch him guide fellow traders into the short squeeze, and drain the uber rich of their money. His wide eyed followers played by American Ferrera, Talia Ryder, Myha'la Herrold, and Anthony Ramos, play working calls American struggling to make ends meet, to which all of them succeed. We also watch those in a position of power manipulate the game to their own advantage, played masterfully by Seth Rogan, Nick Offerman, Vincent D'Onofrio, and Sebastian Stan. Each perfectly portray the ego and the greed driving this horrible businessmen. All of these eccentric characters are very well balanced, which each character having their moment to shine, but never outshining one another.

However, within this insanity, the film is never given a chance to dig into certain events and characters due to its broad stoke when approaching the story. Which works for the film, but you can't help but with that the film dig a little deeper into this craze. Overall, Dumb Money is a very fun film that explores the insanity of the stock market game. It never talks down nor lectures its audience on the politics at hand, but instead chooses to show the events that happened in a smart and comedic manner. By the film ends, it gives a glimmer of hope that the everyday man can take down Wall Street because we now have the key. All we need to do, is to be together.

My Rating: B+

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Seen Part II

Just before Mary Sue had thought herself to tears, Steven finally mercifully engaged her after a couple hours of sitting through the rumbling white noise that he and his gaggle counted as conversation. “We’re gonna head down the block to the Lower Loft.” Another wannabe edgy, ironic name for another bland place that catered to bland people, she thought. She shoved her phone into her jacket pocket as she slid her arms into the sleeves and exited one stuffy bar into a brief respite of fresh night air before, she assumed, walking right into another, virtually identical one except for the name. Her first breath outside the door was cool and awakening, not only from the open space and temperature drop, but because of the change in sound. She heard music. She turned her eyes to a trio of bearded buskers; a battery powered keyboard balanced on a lap, a slouching trumpet player, and a single snare drummer sitting in cheap latticed folding lawn chairs on the corner of the street Mary Sue was prepared to cross with this gang she didn’t belong to. She recognized the song and stepped away, drawn almost magnetically to the thick nostalgia in the tune. She decided to put money in the upturned hat sitting between the trumpet player’s heavy-booted feet. He reminded her so much of Joe, even beyond the conspicuous shoes, and the trumpet, not a common instrument to play at all, much less play for change on a public corner. It was the way he sat with his knees spread wide, and terrible, too relaxed, seemingly lazy posture. He’d never make it in an orchestra with all of its formality, or even a semi-serious jazz ensemble, although he clearly cared for his instrument and the music and played it beautifully. It was the way he involuntarily kept time with the heel of his left foot; the way he guarded the money without looking menacing. No one was going to steal that money from in front of him, but no one would be nervous about approaching him to drop more in, either.

Some wistful semblance of happiness must have crossed her face, obvious enough to be noticed by people who barely paid her any attention. “It’s probably a scam of some kind. Those people are one step up from begging for money, Ems. They’re panhandlers with instruments instead of sob story cardboard signs.” Steven clutched her elbow, holding her back from what she wanted. He could never just let her be happy and like anything.

“They’re talented. I love this song. Haven’t you ever heard La Vie En Rose?”

“No. Of course you know French instrumentals. It’s honestly cliché that you like every piece of highbrow art you come across. Oh classical music; oh art museums; oh ballet. Like...you’re trying too hard, Ems. But how do they know a French instrumental? It’s probably the only song they know so they can entrap bleeding heart wannabe connoisseurs like you and weasel them out of some money.” Now he implied her music taste was too haughty and high class for who she was, on top of impugning the musicians, whom he didn’t know at all. More evidence that he didn’t know her at all, nor did he care to; her music taste was all over the place. He didn’t see her. He looked right through her all the time. And the realization struck her then that she didn’t want him to see her anymore; she didn’t want to see him anymore.

“French instrumentals? It’s a Louis Armstrong classic. You’re such a nasty classist cynic sometimes. Who says a hard working guy in work boots can’t love music? Can’t know how to play an instrument well?” Joe could (and did) play jazz from Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie and he could play symphonic pieces by Haydn and Tchaikovsky and he could play ska from Save Ferris and Reel Big Fish. By ear. He’d never had a music lesson beyond his grandfather giving him that trumpet and showing him which buttons to press to make which notes. That contented look must have spread over her again.

Steven increased the intensity of his hold on her elbow. “I mean it, Ems. Don’t give those people any money.”

Mary flashed back to meeting Steven’s family after their first couple months of dating. They’d suggested McDonald’s. At first, Mary was a bit affronted, thinking they’d chosen something so common and inexpensive as a comment on her and where she came from, but Steven had never divulged anything about her background to his parents. Perhaps he never considered her background as anything to consider beyond teasing and critiquing her himself, which, she supposed, was enlightened, for him, anyway. After her initial mild offense, she used McDonald’s as a point of commonality. She really wasn’t that different from Steven and his family and his crowd of peers, after all; they both chose McDonald’s as the place to go when they weren’t eating at home. But McDonald’s was a treat for Mary Sue growing up because that’s all her family and friends could afford as a splurge, while Steven’s family chose to eat there because they didn’t have to tip. Over the past year, more and more differences in values presented, and because of the make-shift band outside the bar, Mary at last reached her tipping point. She pulled away from Steven’s pinching grip on her arm with a rumpled five dollar bill in her hand and scampered to the hat, already brimming with small bills and coins when the song ended. As the trumpet player thanked her in his gruff but sincere mumble, she locked into eye contact with him and saw that it was Joe. Her Joe. She didn’t recognize him looking at him outside from inside that pretentious downtown bar with the beard he never used to wear and his hat pulled down low over his tender brown eyes, and she felt idiotic and ridiculous for not seeing him from a distance anyway. She did still see him. Something drew her back to him; something about how he sat and how he played and how he was called out to her despite the disguise that time and place and facial hair and strained connection tried to hang on him in her upward-mobility-blurred eyes. Even when she thought of the ugliness that split them apart; even when she thought of how mad at each other they were; how defeated they were; and how hopeless any eventual reconnection seemed after that catastrophic explosion (the one she felt was justified and understandable now in its entirety), and the drunken disappointment, she still saw him as Her Joe.

A slow, welcoming smirk of pleased recognition further warmed his face, already reddened from the exertion of breath control and a breezy night playing outside. “Hey, stranger,” he said.

“You look like a stranger.” He stroked his beard, still palming the trumpet in one hand, and shrugged in acknowledgment.

“You don’t.”

“I don’t wanna interrupt your...gig.”

He laughed. “My ‘gig.’ That’s...so you, Rice Chex.” He shook his head with lingering snickers before he continued. “Hat’s full now, and it’s getting a little windy, so we were gonna pack up. Louis Armstrong’s a strong closer. Gig’s...finished. Unless you got a request,” he hinted.

“You already played La Vie En Rose. I mean...” she impishly rolled her eyes to the sky and puckered her lips in a restrained grin.

“Right? Earned us five bucks and me a breakneck ride down memory lane. I made the guys learn that song for you.”

“You’re so fulla shit, Joey,” she giggled in spite of herself and turned away from the other young men and more toward Joe with some heady mix of modesty and elation. She was certain he was kidding her, but even in jest it was a firmer link and keener awareness of her and who she was at her core than anyone else she’d been anywhere near in the past several years.

“Nah, he’s dead serious,” the keyboard player said as he watched the drummer split the money from the hat in as close to even thirds as he could without losing any. There was no sarcasm in his statement, and Mary Sue was imminently even more flattered.

“Guys, this is Mary Sue Rice,” Joe said, not looking away from her.

“We figured, man. We’re not stupid,” the keyboardist scoffed.

“That’s Ethan on drums and Will on keys. When we play, we always play La Vie En Rose. ‘Cause that’s...you.”

“And the original. But we hardly ever play that one,” said the drummer, pocketing his share of the money. The keyboardist mirrored him.

“You wrote...a song?! I wanna hear the original,” Mary Sue spouted. The two musicians she’d just met looked uneasily to Joe. Joe still looked up at her from his seat as he cased up his nearly 70 year old trumpet. She figured that meant ‘no,’ and her eyes fell closed with miscalculation and discouragement.

“Mary Sue Rice wants to hear ‘See Me,’ guys. Think we can do just that one encore before we pack up?” Joe asked, knowing they’d agree, and still not moving his eyes from hers. Ethan tapped out a gentle rhythm and Will began the melancholy melody of a ballad with a few soulful notes before Joe began softly singing, intentionally quiet so other passers-by kept on passing them by.

See Me

Shoulda known when I met her. And looked it up in reference text. Though she'll always be better Than whoever's coming next. Mary Sue means perfect, you know. I finally got the definition. So I surrender, babe. I'll leave, I'll go. I'm finally out of ammunition.

I'm settling for memory. Gonna be the bigger man, and let her be free. But I wish she could see me.

Still no place I can travel, No book to read between the lines of, And every plan I watch unravel Makes me think of our almost love. Still feels like a crime, But I know I didn't hurt her. Still wish to turn back time Try again, just to be sure.

But I'm settling for memory. Gonna be a better man and let her be free. Still wanna scream, “See me, see me!”

I couldn't put enough light in those dark brown eyes. And I know this dull ache will never go away. But I'd grown weary, giving her old college tries, And I just didn't have it in me to stay. She was right, I guess. Without me she was best. I was kidding myself to think we'd last. I'm always gonna put her a little higher than the rest. But I know there's no future living in the past.

I'm settling for memory. I'm trying to be a man and let her be free. But I still wish she would see me.

Joe’s voice had gone hoarse and halting. “Ahem. We don’t usually do that song because...y’know...no trumpet. Trumpet’s weird and loud and draws a crowd. It sets us apart from all the other street musicians...couldn’t ask Will or Ethan to sing that one anyway...” He cleared his throat again and chewed the insides of his cheeks, stifling a cry.

“I see you, Joey,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion as she choked back tears herself. “I see you...everywhere. All the time. I...I only see you. Can we...go somewhere? I mean unless...unless you guys all came together and now I’m just...messing everything up. Again.”

Joe looked to the other guys and nodded, some code about future plans the three of them understood without speaking. “You’re not messing anything up. Where you parked?”

“I actually...kinda need a ride,” she admitted after looking around to see she’d been deserted. She smiled. Being left behind...trapped...stuck...without a way out would normally spin up panic and anger, but she felt happy and safe at the moment. Fortunate. Blessed.

“Okaaaay. Good thing you ran into me,” he laughed. “We never come to ‘gigs’ together...that word is still cracking me up. No room in the cab of the truck for a drum and a keyboard plus both Will and Ethan. But there’s room for just a trumpet case and you.” They approached a hidden spot tucked into an alley where Joe’s old truck sat, unbothered by parking meters or garage attendants.

“You’re still driving this?”

“Uh...yeah. Guess you got a new...something...”

“Nope. Still driving the Civic, but I don’t think I’ve driven my car anywhere but the occasional trip to meet Mom somewhere, to someone else’s house for them to drive, or back to the old apartment in four years. It’s usually...not what my accompaniment wants to travel in. Plus my apartment’s so close to school now, I usually walk anyway and...”

“You’re...local again now? Back home...I mean...here?”

“Been here a little more than two years now. Doctoral program is here. Civic still runs so why get rid of it, right? I’m a little surprised you’re still in the truck.”

“It’s my main motivation to earn enough money to get a house with off street parking as soon as possible. I am never letting it go, even when it dies.”

“Strange attachment to an old beat up pick up truck.”

“It’s still got an original Rice Chex ass print on the roof. Why would I ever get ridda that?” He opened her passenger door and she stood for a moment, resurrecting that first kiss one more time. “The passenger door’s pretty fucking great too,” he added. She raised her eyes to him, pleading and permissive and he licked his lips. “Not now, yeah? Fucking...almost impossible not to, but...fuck.” He exhaled hard, creating a cloud of condensation that dissipated around them, seemingly as reluctant to leave as they were. “Where we going?”

“You know Gaslight Cafe?”

“The name of the fucking place is seriously Gaslight Cafe? That’s a real place?”

“Yeah. Like Mary Sue’s a real name.”

“Mary Sue is...not like that. Some dipshit who knew what they were doing chose to name their place THAT. On purpose. Fucking hipsters,” he breathed, and ran an exasperated hand over his face before starting the engine. “Where’s the goddam Gaslight Cafe?”

“Pleasant Ridge.”

“Of course it is. At least there’ll be a parking lot and I won’t have to scope out another free spot on the street.”

“You’re never getting rid of this truck?”

“Don’t plan on it.”

“Not even if my actual ass is in your life instead of an old and likely inaccurate impression of it in the roof?”

“That’s a bold and generous deal on the table.” He made a curious facial expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I thought so.”

“I’d definitely negotiate a deal like that.”

“You wouldn’t just take it?”

“I’d have to be sure it wasn’t just gonna disappear. The ass print might not be perfect but it’s permanent. Not giving that up unless I’m sure it’s for something I can count on.”

“Gotcha. What can I do to get you in this car today?” she joked, doing her best impression of a used car salesperson, but couldn’t fully shroud the sincerity of intention.

“I mean, it’s not gonna be a hard sell. You’re in the truck. We’re going to some dipshit place in the snotty burbs...”

“Because it’s open until two in the morning.”

“Penciled in a late night, did ya? With no ride?”

“I ditched my ride.”

“You really walked away from a ride home to drop a small bill in a tip hat for somebody who kinda reminded you of me?”

“Yep. How’s the car sale going?”

“Sold.” Joe stopped the truck and looked to her triumphant face. “This joint is full of the same cars I’m sure you rode out in tonight. I’m pretty outta place with Ol’ Cherry here. That why you wanna get rid of her?”

“I don’t really wanna get rid of her. Just wanted to let you know getting rid of her doesn’t get rid of me anymore.”

“I’m sure you’ve been out with guys who took you out in nicer rides to nicer places since...”

“You know those guys are all trying to capture what you really have, but they can’t do it because the introspection and reality sort of shorts their circuits. They don’t have the guts; just the shell. Like...a car isn’t a car if it doesn’t have an engine in it. You can dress up a rock inside a car chassis but that doesn’t make it a car. They wear the boots and grow the beard and some of them even drive a truck, but it’s shiny and spotless and just to perform some weird part in some unscripted play we all seem to know the lines to anyway. Some of them act like they’re a tough guy, not afraid to get their hands dirty and shit, but it’s really conditional. Like...I’ll get sweaty...at the gym. I’ll get dirty...if it’s in a mud run or a rugby game...”

“Jesus. You went out with a rugby player, didn’t ya? Was he a Brit?”

“Nope. American as shit. But you know...football is for thugs. Baseball and basketball aren’t tough enough. Hockey’s too seasonal. So rugby. It’s European and niche, but still tough; the perfect thing to do to look down on almost everybody.” They squeezed into a corner table barely big enough for two people. Joe ordered a black coffee and crossed his fingers under the table, hoping the server wouldn’t ask him to elaborate on it. He wasn’t one of those cranks who ridiculed someone else’s flavored nonfat latte or whatever, but he didn’t want to have a discussion with someone who tried to make him feel inferior about his simple tastes. “Same, but leave room at the top for about four ounces of milk and seven or eight sugars.” Joe raised one amused eyebrow at her as the server walked away. “Light and sweet.”

“You never drank coffee...before.”

“I still kinda think it’s gross unless you really doctor it up. But grad school sort of necessitates it.”

“Was it the rugby player you left tonight?”

“No. He was the first guy after...”

Joe smirked, satisfied with himself that she’d tried to find the closest approximation to his outsides she could. “Didn’t work out with him either, huh?”

“He was a rock.”

“Ha! In a pickup chassis?”

“More like a Mercedes S Class one. Dude wore Tommy Hilfiger everything. Socks! Socks, Joey. Tommy Hilfiger SOCKS.”

“That’s some serious...I dunno what, but it’s definitely something.”

“Posturing? Overcompensating? Conspicuous consumption? Flat out stupidity?”

“Yeah.” He sipped the coffee laid before him and watched her load hers with extras and furiously stir. “Hey. I really am...sorry...that you seem unhappy. I mean...now.”

“Oh you misread that, cupcake. I’m ecstatic NOW. I was unhappy...” she paused to look at her watch before concluding, “...about eighty minutes ago. And for the four years before that. Now though? Pretty happy.”

“I meant that...you like school, right?”

“I love school. I bury myself in school, kinda. When I’m reading and writing, it all goes away. The rest of it. The world everyone else our age that I’m ever around seems to live in. It’s so disillusioning to see how phony all of it is. My parents got sold on this shit and now they’re poisoning my brother with it too. He’s gonna get out there just like me after busting his ass at fucking math academy and see that none of it’s real. They’re all just playing dress up to be us and paying more for it, and no meaning gets absorbed while they’re doing it. I find myself living in the fiction a lot. That fiction is better than this weird pseudo-reality.”

“You give up on finding something better?”

“I’m never gonna stop on ‘better.’ But that shit’s not ‘better.’ I’m sorry I ever thought it was.” She wanted to reach across the table to touch him, but all she could muster the courage for was shifting her legs beneath the table to rest her dangling right foot from her apprehensively crossed legs on the top of his left boot toe. No skin contact; he probably couldn’t feel her there at all, but he didn’t pull away, and that comforted her. “What are you doing playing trumpet on the street?”

“I’m not only playing trumpet on the street. Like...I don’t need the twenty-ish bucks I made tonight to pay rent and shit. Not gonna lie; I’m using it to pay for this coffee, but...I’m still working at Gilford’s. With like...about everyone else.”

“I didn’t think you were only playing trumpet on the street, and I wouldn’t even care if you were. I always kinda thought you might...do something musical. For a living.”

“What? Like I’m gonna be first chair trumpet at the Cincinnati Symphony, or something even bigger than that, when I can’t read music. Ska is kind of dying if not dead now. I couldn’t make a living off that flash in the pan even if some band would have me. There’s only room for a few of them and they all already got trumpet players. Multiple trumpet players. I could probably pick out what to play, but they definitely want somebody who reads music and they probably want someone who does ‘proper fingering’ and whatever. Even in a ska band. Main and 9th is just the only place I really get to play my trumpet at all anymore. Fucking neighbors will call the property manager, and once the fucking police, for playing it at home in the apartment. Even with the mute. TRYING to be quiet. I gave up. Bought a guitar. Which Mom still gives me shit about as a waste of money. Because if you can’t eat it or wear it and it doesn’t make you money, it’s a waste of money, right?” He paused to roll his eyes. “Neighbors never say shit about the guitar. So far. But I’m never gonna totally give up playing the trumpet, so...Main and 9th every other Friday until I can buy a house with no neighbors sharing walls to call some authority on me for living. Picks us all up an extra twenty. Gives us something to do. We can’t all be hanging out in Jen’s mom’s basement anymore.”

“How is Jen? And...everybody else? Mom never says anything...”

“Why would she? Your mom never liked any of us when you were actually livin’ there,” he snickered.

“Thought she’d tell me about big shit at least.”

“Jen’s got a girlfriend. Penny. She gets like fake pissed at Chris Hines for referring to them as Jenny and Penny.”

“How’s Chris?”

“Haley and Chris had a baby last year.”

“What?!”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe Mom didn’t mention a wedding or a baby.”

“No wedding. They can’t afford to get married unless one or both of them gets a better job where they don’t have to game the system a little bit and/or her family takes their heads out of their asses.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah. Her dad went after Chris and everything. All that shit about mixed race grandchildren ending racism in a person is super false.”

“That’s terrible. They’re ok, though, right?”

“Yeah, except Hayley never sees her folks. Which...that’s how you gotta be if your folks are gonna be like that, but...” He sighed heavily. “That guy you ditched tonight isn’t coming after me now, right?”

“He thinks you’re a homeless vagrant who somehow has an antique trumpet, so good luck to him if he tries, but no.”

“Did you think I was a homeless vagrant with an antique trumpet?”

“No. I was hoping you were you.”

“I’m not homeless. 400 square feet in not-the-best neighborhood and maybe three missed paychecks away, but not homeless.”

“Joey, I didn’t think you were homeless. You don’t look homeless. That was a comment on the shitheads I was out with, not one on you. I’m sure your apartment is...”

“I won’t ever take you to my apartment.”

“Never?”

“OK, maybe when I’m moving out. If you’re still around.”

“Permanent ass. I’m telling you. No way Steven comes after you. So many reasons. First, he’s a wimp and a prejudiced, entitled piece of shit, so he’s straight up afraid of you based on how you look and that you were playing music on the street. But also because he doesn’t care enough about me. Maybe not at all about me. You have to give at least a partial shit about a person to fight for them.”

“There’s no way I’d have been ok with you approaching three strange dudes without me on a night out, much less leave you alone with no ride home. Even if you had told me to fuck off. I could never leave you without a way home.”

“I know.” He raised the toes of his left foot to touch the bottom of her right foot. They both smiled, content in the solid knowledge that the other one was there.

“Tell me about your big deal...what do you call it?...at school.”

“You want to hear about the thesis?”

“Thesis! That’s the word. Yes, of course I want to hear about it. What’s it about? Doctor Rice Chex.”

“Not yet. Almost. It’s an analysis of Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.”

“Somehow I didn’t expect that to be the book you’d focus on.”

“Have you read it?”

“No. Read Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn in school because we had to. But I’ve seen some movies...”

“The movies are...not like the book. The book is radical commentary on monarchy and oligarchy and an indictment of their exploitation and mistreatment of the working class.” He raised his eyebrows with evident surprise. “Did I lose you already?”

“No, I’m...kinda riveted. Keep talking about it. How are you...like what is the summary? Of your work. I’ll read the whole thing if you’ll let me, but for over late night coffee...what’s Cliff’s Notes?” Mary Sue took a deep inhale, stemming tears of emotion. Joe was the only person other than her academic adviser to ask about her doctoral thesis; the thing she spent nearly all of her time and passion on for the past two and a half years. Her parents didn’t know what book she was writing about. None of her acquaintances at school and definitely not Steven or his friends ever asked after it.

“The narrator’s dilemma in the book is that he’s ahead of the royalty and aristocracy he’s thrown into, intellectually and with social enlightenment, but unable to get them to make progress because they seem incapable of self-examination and so focused on and steeped in their own privilege. They are sometimes impressed with his skills and knowledge, but they’re all still fixated on how they outrank him. They’re nobility; royalty; and he’s Just a Guy, even if he’s the smartest, kindest, whatever-est guy around. He’s still Just a Guy. He so clearly doesn’t fit into that world, but after a time, he realized he would no longer fit inside the world he came from either. The world he came from romanticizes and lauds the past, nobility and royalty, all of that as some foregone time and people of high ideals, like they’re better; some goal to aim for in the common present. People he knew before would be envious and resentful and intrigued that he had been there and been a part of things there for a patch of time, but he knows from real experience that it wasn’t better at all. It was worse in a lot of ways. The new world changed him and he couldn’t put a noticeable dent in it. He couldn’t really get the king and knights and nobles to understand where he’d come from, and he could never convince the people he’d known before how wrong things were with that royal world. So he just doesn’t really have anyone to connect to at all. And I’m sort of comparing that to the struggle of a working class kid going to college. That kid has no frame of reference with his new peers, but when he returns home, he’s lost his frame of reference with his former peer group simply because he’d been around the new one.” She took a rickety, choppy deep breath and raked her teeth across her bottom lip, unable to hold eye contact with Joe anymore. She was back to staring at the center of the table, but it was a much smaller table, and it didn’t have the distance she needed to adequately isolate herself.

“That sounds really personal.” He clumsily stretched out under the restricting tiny table to cross his feet at the ankles around Mary Sue’s bouncing left leg; the only one still planted on the ground. She uncrossed her legs and slid her right foot down to nestle between his shins too. The grazing touch and warm closeness relaxed her.

“It is. I’ve felt stuck between two worlds where I don’t fit into either one of them too. I don’t belong here at this coffee bar. I feel just as out of place as you do. But I feel like I can’t go home again, either.”

“Home hasn’t felt right to me since you left. I’m still me and all that, and I still don’t think I’d cut it in college. But I figured out in like ninth grade that I can really only be happy with a smart girl who uses big words when she talks, and you are hard pressed to find someone like that driving a forklift at Gilford’s.”

“I was looking for a guy in university life who wasn’t afraid to get dirty or get into a little trouble, but I’ve found once you step so far outside the working class, that just means a guy’s mean.”

“Was the guy you left tonight mean?”

“Yeah. Dumped his ass because he didn’t want me to give you the money.”

“That’s my girl,” Joe claimed, wearing a wide, prideful smile.

“That is your girl, Joey,” Mary Sue affirmed.

“I dunno. He’s clearly been taking you out to some pretty nice places.”

“’Nice places.’ First of all, we go to these done up ‘gastro-pubs’ or whatever, and I don’t drink, and we end up paying for bland knock-off food...like fried mozzarella sticks I know came out of a bag in the freezer at the ‘Italian’ place tonight. Made me think of you as soon as we walked in the door.”

“Because I’m a bland, knock-off Italian?” he laughed.

“Because of what the word means. Dispetto is Italian for mischief.”

“My name’s Disibio, but you know I don’t speak Italian. Shit do you speak Italian now?”

“No, I can only limp through ‘where is the bathroom’ and shit in Spanish and French. Barely.”

“Hell, even I can do ‘donde esta el bano?’” he chuckled. “How do you know what the name of the bar means then? I thought it was a last name.”

“It might be a last name, but the meaning’s printed on the fucking napkins if you miss it on the door.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “And so we’re at these places paying too much for overplayed pedestrian crap and then he doesn’t tip. I’ve compensated for a three percent tip probably fifty times this past year. It’s why I always carry cash.”

“What a piece of shit!”

“Right? Leaves trash on the table and shit even when we’re at a ‘non-tip’ place and says, ‘That’s someone’s job,’ if I start picking up after us. These rich people are cheap as shit. I went out with his family once...to McDonald’s...and his dad seriously got into an argument with his mom that she didn’t need her own fries.”

“Christ, how did you stay with that guy?”

“I dunno. No one else in my vicinity could cut through the bullshit because they’re all basically full of the same bullshit. La Vie En Rose broke the spell. Why would you play that song every time you play? Surely you weren’t hoping for this freakishly unlikely and specific happenstance.”

“I wasn’t. At all. I thought that was beyond all hope. I thought you were still a couple hours or farther away. Maybe you’d totally forgotten me by now. But you kept a piece of me somewhere that’s attached to that song on the trumpet. And grad school’s here. Lucky me.” She blushed and looked down at her fingers squeezing the coffee cup, and he flooded with gratification. “It’s my favorite song to play on the horn. It’s you. Life in pink. Looking at the weary world with rose colored glasses on. I miss looking at the world like that. I only manage to do it with you.”

Servers began maneuvering through tables, casually informing customers how close it was to closing time. “Shit, are we getting kicked outta here?” she mourned.

“Looks that way. We still have the drive home.”

“We have more than that, I hope. Right? This wasn’t ‘bum a ride home; catch up a little’ to me. Is that...is that what you thought it was? W-what you wanted it to be?”

“No. I don’t know what I wanted it to be, but I know it wasn’t ‘check she’s ok; drop her off; end.’ Who’d read that story?” he kidded. “W-what did you want it to be?”

“I wanted...I want… Are…will you still be My Joe?”

“Yeah. I’ve never not been Your Joe, Rice Chex.” He pulled his solid block of a cell phone out of his pocket. “Just got this fuckin’ thing. I wasn’t gonna get one, but Mom and John got some plan where they had another phone and...”

“I get it. I’m on the ‘extra phone; just give us twenty bucks a month’ plan too.”

“I’ve only figured out how to make phone calls so far. Which I rarely do, because I’m afraid to cost my folks money and I don’t understand the fucking rate structure.”

“I don’t think anybody does.”

“Mostly it’s for Mom or Nanna D to feel better, calling to check on me when I’m out playing to make sure nothing bad happened to me. Nobody got me. You know. Too bad they didn’t call to check tonight. ‘Cause...you got me. I coulda told ‘em somebody got me,” he joked. She sighed, and took out her own phone to exchange new numbers. He saw she was becoming emotional, so he clarified himself without the humor, because it didn’t make her laugh the way he wanted it to. “I like that I can hold new phone numbers in this though. ‘Cause I’m gonna call you. Sober. I’m gonna call you sober. I...I haven’t had a drink at all in two years. That...that was the first and last time I got drunk.” They walked out to his truck in sticky, electric reticence. He once again stopped at the passenger door, and opened it, and she didn’t get in, again. “You’re not talking anymore. I kinda need ya to say something now. Things feel...I dunno. My head’s buzzing like I’ve been drinking and I haven’t been, and I just told you big scary truth about drinking, and it’s making me really nervous...”

“I’m...I’m so glad I found...so glad...this happened today,” she stammered out in restless, breathy exhales.

“Me too. So it’s not over. Even after saying...even after I drive you home. Right?”

“Not over. Will probably be really hard not to invite you in to stay.”

“We shouldn’t. Tonight.”

“I know. And we won’t. But I want to.”

“Wanna get to know your new world changes a little. I’m in the same old world, but I’ve changed a little too.”

“I’m nervous about that.”

“Why? Old us didn’t work. New us might. Maybe we made all the right changes.”

“’Everyday words seem to turn into love songs...’”

“What are we doing here?” he asked, echoing her words lost in time, and tentatively reached out to interlock their hands the same way he had the first time he’d kissed her.

“I really hope you’re gonna kiss me now.” He leaned in, completing the replay, and a rush of rightness flooded through her body. She’d kissed other guys before and since Joe, but none of those kisses ever made her feel like she was flying but also totally safe the way his did. “Now I need you to say something,” she whispered after a few moments of renewed soundless electricity.

“’Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be ‘La Vie En Rose,’” he softly sang into her ear.

“Done,” she said. “Yours.”

“My Rice Chex.” He rubbed her chin with his thumb and brushed the tip of his nose against the tip of hers. “Take ya home now?” She nodded, her eyes still closed, seeing nothing but pink, and folded herself from muscle memory into the familiar passenger seat.

[byneddiedingo]

Yuzo Kayama and Toshiro Mifune in Red Beard (Akira Kurosawa, 1965)

Cast: Toshiro Mifune, Yuzo Kayama, Tsutomo Yamazaki, Reiko Dan, Miyuki Kuwano, Kyoko Kagawa, Tatsuyoshi Ehara, Terumi Niki, Akemi Negishi.  Screenplay: Masato Ide, Hideo Oguni, Ryuzon Kikushima, Akira Kurosawa. Cinematography: Asakazu Sakai, Takao Saito. Production design: Yoshiro Muraki. Music: Masaru Sato. 

The influence of American movies on the work of Akira Kurosawa is well-known. His viewings of American Westerns, for example, helped shape such classics as Seven Samurai (1954) and Yojimbo (1961). But Red Beard seems to me an instance in which the influence wasn't so fortunate. It's a kind of reworking of MGM's series of Dr. Kildare movies of the 1930s and '40s, in which the ambitious young intern Dr. Kildare tangles with the crusty older physician Dr. Gillespie and thereby learns a few lessons -- a dynamic that persists today in TV series like Grey's Anatomy. In Red Beard, ambitious young Dr. Noboru Yasumoto (Yuzo Kayama) is sent to work under crusty older Dr. Kyojo Niide (Toshiro Mifune), known as "Red Beard" for an obvious facial feature. It's the 19th century, the last years of the Tokugawa shogunate, and Yasumoto, having finished his studies in Nagasaki, expects that the influence of his father, a prominent physician, will land him a role as the shogun's personal physician. He's angry when he finds that he's been sent to a rural clinic that mainly serves the poor. There is one affluent patient at the clinic, however: a young woman known as "The Mantis" (Kyoko Kagawa) because she stabbed two of her lovers to death. Her wealthy father has built a house for her on the grounds of the clinic, but only Red Beard is allowed to approach and treat her. Yasumoto initially rebels against the assignment, feeling disgust for the patients: When he asks the physician he's replacing at the clinic what smells like "rotten fruit," he's told that that's the way the poor smell. But eventually (and predictably), he learns to respect the work of Red Beard and to value the lives of his patients. Red Beard is hardly a bad movie: Kurosawa brilliantly stages the first encounter of Yasumoto and The Mantis, who has escaped from her house, in a carefully framed sequence, a long take in which the doctor and the madwoman begin at opposite sides of the wide screen -- it's filmed in Tohoscope, an anamorphic process akin to Cinemascope -- with a tall candlestick between them. Gradually, accompanied by slow camera movements, the two approach each other, the doctor trying to gauge the motives and the sanity of the young woman. Finally the calm framing of the scene is shattered into a series of quick cuts, as she attacks with a pair of scissors, and the scene ends with a brief shot of Red Beard suddenly opening the door. Red Beard was shot by two acclaimed cinematographers, Asakazu Nakai and Takao Saito, both of whom frequently worked with Kurosawa, and the production design was by Yoshiro Muraki, who fulfilled Kurosawa's exacting demands for meticulous faithfulness to the period, including the construction of what was virtually a small village, using only materials that would have been available in the period. But what keeps Red Beard from the first rank of Kurosawa's films, I think, is the sentimental moralizing, the insistence of having the characters "learn lessons." Yasumoto, having learned his initial lesson about valuing the lives of the poor, is given a young patient, Otoyo (Terumi Niki), rescued from a brothel where she has essentially gone feral. (During the rescue scene, Kurosawa can't resist having Mifune, in his last film for the director, show off some of his old chops: The doctor takes on a gang of thugs outside the brothel and single-handedly leaves them with broken arms, legs, and heads. It's a fun scene, but not particularly integral to the character.) When Yasumoto has succeeded in teaching Otoyo to respond to kindness, it then becomes her turn to teach others what she has learned. The moralizing overwhelms the film, leaving us longing for the deeper insight into the characters found in films by Kurosawa's great contemporaries Yasujiro Ozu and Kenji Mizoguchi.