#I tagged this as Shadow Puppets because it's their dynamic

[the-cosmos-withinus]

Texts from Last Night

[sourrcandy]

KNIGHTS ; an update ↳ bc it's been 2 years since i began this wip

psd by @destimnesia

draft status. draft 1 ver 3 (aka the hoedition)

act 1 wc. 40,849

total wc. 51,709

more under the cut. bc goddamn this turned out to be a long post

the synopsis.

citizens of arkridge city call them puppeteers, rulers, monsters. fear is a weapon the round table wields with ease, but when the godfather of arkridge is murdered, the city is reminded that they, too, are only human.

with a multi-billion dollar inheritance and the fate of their father’s kingdom on the line, the nine clemonte children must navigate this elaborate arkridge game before the killer brings the city to its knees.

major updates.

i'm posting 2 different word counts because i write out of order and some scenes are done ahead of time since i have inspiration for those chapters!! the outline is planned for 3 acts so knights is predicted to be around 120k words in total.

after a long think (i wrote it down on actual paper instead of my notion) about all the characters and their motivations, i have decided to keep SELENA away from the main plot and only mention her briefly with she is 'out of town'. because she contributes nothing, her motivations are the same as aredhel's, and her actions can be covered by other characters.

so far our character motivations are :

serafine — to become ceo of clemonte corporations without the responsibility of her father's dirty empire + out of reginald's shadow

theodore — to be free from his promise / responsibility to reginald and forge his own path

aredhel — to prove her worth to being part of the family

violet — to tear down the clemontes' long legacy of being the roots of arkridge city's underworld and rebuild it in her own image

maribelle — to find the truth behind reginald's murder and change the city for the better with her experiences in the less wealthy districts before she was adopted

colette — to support her family no matter to cost and use the clemonte's influence to grow into herself

sage — to renovate the family and surpass her father's legacy

storm — to prove her worth to sage and simultaneously find her individuality away from sage

selena — in her overseas exchange era oops

side character updates.

blackbird — nothing major changing!! he is still going to be playing his part with bringing storm out of her shell while achieving his own means through her. act 2 is going to be more focused on why the round table and the kumiho gang have butted heads continuously and explain his motives on teaming up with storm

kit — he is going to be somewhat like sera's younger self -> hopeful, over-achieving, and taught to be accountable. BUT he is going to have a much more strict moral code and helps sera stray away from the cruel path knights usually take

morgan — i think i wrote her out to be more insane than she should, almost comical ngl. so i'm going to explore more of her genius / intelligence in act 2 to show that she is not just an insane person and delve more into her past with reginald

marcus — i have been pretty vague about marcus in act 1 bc it is mainly showing his dynamic / relationship with aredhel. he is going to enable a lot of aredhel's actions later on so i'm hoping to explore his motives subtly through the main characters before act 3

some of my favourite lines from knights so far.

finally. thank you to everyone (and ppl in wtw) who continuously showed interest in knights and for motivating me!! i know it's been a long ride and trust me, it's going to be a longer journey bc i am a slow writer. also kudos to mole and nicole for all your help / comments on my hoedition draft, it's what keeps me going <3

general taglist. @kazino @serpentarii @seasteading @lasbrumas @sympathyhouse @halcionic @janaisvu

knights taglist. @redbloodprose @writeblrfantasy @innocentlymacabre

— send an ask / put in tags to be added/removed.

[dreamerwithapen1]

heyyy I'm the same person from a few days ago and I finished shadow puppet! I love love love the story so far and the dynamic between killua and illuru makes me melt because it's so cute 🥺 I can't wait for when we get to chapters where killua and friends start chipping at her assassin shell, killua bites kurapika for liking his sister and I'm Lowkey hoping illuru goes feral at illumu in the final part of the exam or when they go back to the mansion

Just curious, are you going to make an ao3 account? The search filters there work better for readers

I’m so happy that you’re enjoying it!! Thank you so much!! 😭 It honestly still boggles my mind that SP is probably my most popular and most viewed fic considering the fact that it’s the one that I wrote impulsively and was the least thought out 😅

There are so many dynamics in this fic that I love writing, but Illuru/Killua does hold a special place in my heart, I’ll admit. Kurapika will definitely be one of the first people to start breaking her down a bit and teach her how to be more ‘human’ for lack of a better term, but it’s going to be a loooooong process. My girl has years upon years of trauma and bad teachings to try and undo.

As for Illuru/Illumi…. that’s a bit more of a complex relationship that will absolutely be explored throughout the fic. And while I can’t say that she’ll go feral during the hunter exam/zoldyck mansion arcs, the post chimera ant/alluka arc will be a different story 😉

And yes! I do plan on making an ao3 account sometime soon. Honestly I just have to work up the energy to learn the tagging system and what not. It lowkey intimidates me, not gonna lie. But I do plan on making an account and posting my fics there as well. I’ll make sure to make a post on here when that happens!

~ Dreamer

[black-kefta]

Book Recommendation: Harrow Faire Series by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

So i know this isn’t what i usually post and is probably a one-off, but i just had to talk about this YA book series i just finished binging. It’s a YA fantasy series set in modern day (2020) where the protagonist -Cora Glass- is thrust into a dark mystery revolving around the bustling circus/carnival that arrived in town seemingly overnight despite all logic indicating otherwise. The series has romance, mystery, a little horror, found family and deep existential questions. I’ve tagged Shadow and Bone because i went into that series assuming it would include some of the tropes Harrow Faire actually explores on satisfyingly. 

Cora Glass is, like Alina Starkov, reluctantly thrust into this bizarre magical world without much warning and expected to fill a role she doesn’t want. However, unlike the Sun Summoner, she’s actually curious by nature and confidently pursues answers rather than wait for someone to hold her hand through everything or drag her kicking towards the plot (*cough* Mal, Darkling, Genya, Baghra, Mal, Nikolai, Mal again *cough*). Cora, despite suffering from tremendous chronic pain, is witty, sarcastic, brave, fun and clever. She's no-nonsense without being disrespectful. She can acknowledge when she's wrong about someone/thing without re-writing her whole perspective everything relating to them/it. She listens to others but doesn't let them think for her. She also has relatable moments where she's consumed by confusion, anger or fear and needs support from others to pull her out of it. Her character arc is done so well because she is the one who tries to figure what she really wants, what she's willing to sacrifice and how she's going to get there. 

Although if the thing you look for in a love interest is serious brooding stoicism then these books definitely aren't for you. The dynamic between the two is at the heart of the series and Simon “The Puppeteer” Waite is undoubtedly, unapologetically insane. While he is outgoing, charismatic and funny, he is not some misunderstood bad boy with a secret heart of gold. His behaviour is unsettlingly cruel and erratic and, excluding the few area's he draws a vague moral line, he will obsessively go to any lengths to get what he wants- and his wants are always selfish. What's more is Cora is fully aware of this from the start and is drawn to him because of it. While they mostly banter back and forth, on a deeper level she's the only one who can truly push/challenge him and vice-versa. You truly get the sense that they bring out the most in each other and root for them in spite of how terrible a person he can be- another thing i was disappointed with in Darklina that this series fulfilled.

The setting is also incredibly dynamic and thoroughly explored- mostly taking place on the carnival grounds where everything is somehow surreal and grounded. Every single character from the faire meshes with it so well in their own way it makes the world feel alive. No matter how small, every background character is unique and interesting.

The villain(s?) are also incredibly compelling and feed in to deeper themes of good vs evil and what it means to live/survive. At no point does it fell like the author is grabbing you by the hair and saying 'SEE THEM? SEE HOW EVIL?!' DON'T YOU HATE THEM? NO?!! YOU'RE DISGUSTING!'

These books will sometimes subtly hint at the chance to include an annoying trope only to immediately shut it down. Some examples include; the hot mean girl out to sabotage the protagonist for no reason, unrequited love interest, love triangle, high-school cliques in an adult setting, bad guys motives going completely unchallenged and (most importantly) characters who ignore every red flag under the sun for the sake of plot convenience. 

All in all i finished these books in a couple of days and will probably return to them soon. If you do decide to give them a go feel free to message me your thoughts- there's virtually no fandom around them yet and i just think that's a shame considering how good they are. You can comment/message me any questions and i'll try to respond quickly to the best of my ability.

TL;DR- If you'd like to read a compelling fantasy series set in a magic Carnival with a fun-but-dark love story and a proactive protagonist, give the first book- The Contortionist- a try and trust me when i say it only gets better.   

[deathordemise]

kachow hello everyone here’s a writing piece i’ve been working on since god knows when. i started it when tommy was still in exile, so the recent events kinda threw it into the non-cannon compliant, lol. anyway , this entire thing is based off the concept of dream wanting a ‘family’. dw, turned on auto cap to write it lmao. send asks regarding this if you wanna :)

here’s the one person who wanted to be tagged : @head-fullof-clouds

trigger warnings: looking down on someone based of age, imprisonment, gas lighting, one sided family dynamics (?), forced found family (??)

mainly tubbo and dream centric, but mentions of others. there’s more under the cut!!

Dream stands with his hands on his hips, surveying his past hours of work.

“Would you like Ranboo to room with you guys as well? You and him get along very well, and it’s nice to see you hang out with kids your age other than Tommy.”

Tubbo shakes his head, sitting on the edge of his bed. The adult sighs and shrugs.

“Okay, if you’re so sure.” He turns back to the other barrels full of things . Tubbo finally speaks up when he begins to assemble another bookcase.

“ I don’t want Tommy in here either.”

Dream straightens immediately, looking genuinely confused.

“But you guys are best friends! I would have loved sharing a room with my best friends when I was younger. I know you boys had that little fight during his exile, but surely you’ll get over it? I mean, I did spend all this time decorating his side of the bedroom.”

“This isn’t a bedroom,” Tubbo stands up and lunges at the bars. He grips it in an attempt to shake them, but the metal poles remain sturdy. “Dream, this is a prison cell!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scoffs. Tubbo remains glaring and hostile.

“You know I’m right. You know you’re making us all prisoners. It doesn’t matter how nice you make the cells, how good you make the meals, how lovingly you hand stitched these blankets. You’re holding us here against our will, with no escape. You’re nothing but a jail guard.” His tirade is cut off when Dream slams his fist into the crafting table.

“Stop!” Dream pauses to collect himself. He shudders, voice cracking is desperation.

“Stop it. You’re twisting my words. You’re making it wrong. You’re making it ugly.”

Dream finally takes a seat, pulling off his mask in the process. He sits with his back against the wall, facing Tubbo again. His head tilts back and he presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, then smooths his hair back.

“Why do you guys always have to make it all ugly? This is my land, you know? I can deal with you guys terraforming, I expected it. I can deal with you guys building whatever the fuck you wanted with my permission. I could have even let the whole drug thing slide! But then there was the thing with the discs.”

“Tommy’s discs.” Tubbo corrects,but he doesn’t acknowledge the teen’s input.

“It was such a simple thing to do. Hand me the discs. Maybe I would have given them back eventually. But you had to fight back. You had to separate yourselves, and start a war. You made it all ugly, and by making me the bad guy, you made me ugly too. I don’t understand. I just wanted you guys to listen to me.”

“You wanted to control us” Tubbo protested, “Like puppets on a string. You wanted us to bend at your will. We’re our own damn people, Dream. We’re not dolls for you to play ‘house’ with.”

“I know you’re too young to understand.” Dream sighs, giving him a small smile.

“It's okay . I forgive you. I forgive each and everyone of you.”

“What about George and Sapnap? Do you think this is what they want?” Tubbo switches tactics, desperate to make the man see reason. Tired of gripping the metal, he too sits on the cold netherite floor.

“George and Sapnap don’t know what they want.” Dream snaps irritatedly. Seemingly hitting the nail on its head, Tubbo plows on.

“Oh,really? Do you think Bad would let you do this? You think he’ll come in here willingly?”

“He goes wherever Skeppy goes.” He waves dismissively.

“Ah,yes, because Bad is so down with Skeppy being tossed into jail.”

“I’m not tossing Skeppy into the jail! Tub- Tubbo, you know this isn’t a jail, right?”

“Then what is it, Dream? What is this, with the iron bars and doors and obsidian? Sam himself built it, and he says it’s a prison. What is it?”

He doesn’t reply at first, fiddling with the cracked and damaged mask in his hands.

“I’m pretty fond of the moniker Pandora’s Vault.” He smiles softly at Tubbo, sending a chill up his spine.

“Vault?”

“Yeah. A vault is where people store valuables.”

“I- I do know what a vault is! That’s not my… did you just completely miss the part where I said we’re people? We’re not like those shiny things that you’d stuff into an enderchest.” He sputtered indignantly, at an almost loss for words. Dream wheezes and hauls himself up, dusting off his pants.

“Enderchest is actually kind of a cool name for it. I might just consider rebranding! I like to call it a vault, Tubbo, because a vault is where you store precious things. And to me, there’s nothing more precious than family.”

He walks back over to the crafting table, unaware of the other slowly losing his composure.

“You’re not my family.” He whispers.

Dream picks up on the dread and terror in Tubbos voice. He sets the planks back down gently.

“Remember when we were in the same team competing in MCC?” and how can Tubbo forget that? Standing side by side with your sworn enemy, wearing the same colours with undeniable pride.

“Remember how I helped you train? How we trained together, and I gave you advice and support? Didn’t you like that ? I was like a mentor to you, like an older brother! Don’t you want an older brother? You won’t have to be alone anymore.”

“I’m not alone! I have an actual family, Dream. I don’t need you. I’ve got my whole cabinet. Do I need to remind you that I’m the bloody president, not some weak baby you need to soothe? I’ve got Phil, and Wil-Ghostbur, and I’ve got Tech… I’ve got Ranboo and Niki, and Tommy. No, not…I don’t…” he protests.

“Tommy? Wilbur? Technoblade? You think Technoblade is better than me ? The people who destroyed your country ? Some fucking family you got there. You know what? Fine. Fine! They’re going to be in here with you anyway. I don’t fucking care. We’re going to be one big happy family whether you like it or not.”

“You’re not my fucking family!” Tubbo screams.

“And you are a child!” Dream roars.

“You’re a little boy playing dress up! Do you think you can fill Wilbur’s shoes? You can barely even measure up to Schlatt! At least Schlatt did something. What have you done with your presidency, Tubbo? What have you done ?”

Tubbo finds himself cowering on the floor as Dream's figure looms above him, face pressed against the bars, jeering.

“Answer me, Tubbo. What have you done ? What have you fucking done?!”

Tubbo sobs.

“I’ll tell you what you’ve done,” he continues.

“You’ve exiled your best friend. You’ve surrounded yourself with a so-called cabinet full of people more kniving and ambitious than you. They think you’re an idiot, no, they know you’re an idiot. You weren’t the first choice, you weren’t even the second.”

Silence reigns once again as Dream walks back to the crafting bench. Tubbo manages to haul himself into the bed, trembling the whole time. He only looks up when the iron door swings open and a shadow is cast over him.

“Hey.”

He’s calm again. He’s kind and gentle and nice again as he holds out a wooden box like it’s a peace offering.

It’s a bee hive.

“I know I broke your first one and killed all your bees but I really didn’t mean to.” he sounds apologetic, as close to a ‘sorry’ as Dream can get. When Tubbo doesn’t take the box, he sets it down on the beds edge and then clambers on as well, sitting next to him.

“I didn’t mean to raise my voice either. I was just,” he gestures vaguely “,frustrated.”

He smiles when Tubbo picks up the bee hive and fidgets with it, looking everywhere except for Dream's face.

“There we go! I hope you like it. I’ll pick up some bee’s for you later today or tomorrow, yeah ?”

“Yeah.”

Dream laughs, pulling the teen into a quick side hug.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He reassures.

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

[orlha]

Title: Trembling Hearts, Echoing Souls Chapter: 22 - Sasori 1 Fandom: Naruto Genre: Adventure, Family Characters: Hatake Sakumo, Hatake Kakashi, OFC Triggers(s): – Rating: T Additional Tags: Quest Fic, SI-OC, Pack dynamics Summary: Tsukimi wakes up in the hospital as a 4 year old, as a Hatake and definitely not in her world.What happens next, what she does, is all up to you.

Notes: Any choices selected by reader on Tumblr is not counted. If you would like to participate, please comment on Ao3. You don’t need an ao3 account to comment.

AO3

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Tsukimi calculates her chances of succeeding. Perhaps if she was a Nara with shadow jutsu, she might have a better chance. She’s not and has no binding jutsu or seals to talk about. She has one explosion seal, one barrier seal and a half-full storage seal. If she followed them willingly, she might have a chance of escaping.

She stares out of the cave entrance, watching the skies pour more water than she had seen in the Naka river. Is it already monsoon season?

Outside the rain thrum noisily on the ground and leaves and she falls into an uneasy sleep.

✥.✥.✥

Waking up isn’t any better. It’s still raining. This time Sasori is on watch, taking the time to oil his puppets or whatever he is doing to his puppets. Tsukimi didn’t know anything about puppets to begin to guess what he was doing.

His eyes flicker to her and he sneers at her.

“If you hate me so much, then why rescue me?” Tsukimi couldn’t help but ask. Privately wondering if it is even rescuing.

“Humph. Can’t expect you shitty Konoha-nin to keep up to date.” He turns back to his puppet.

“What—” She half rises in anger.

“What he so clearly can’t seem to say, is that our Kazekage has changed sides. An alliance treaty was signed between our kages two weeks ago,” Kurara explains as she pushes herself off her pack. She stands, stretching herself. “Is it time?” she asks Sasori.

“Not yet. Team Viper is still driving them back.”

“So another hour?” Kanko yawns. She starts a set of warmups that is close to what Tsukimi had seen Higure-sensei had done before. At that time, Higure-sensei had told her that her flexibility and chakra control hadn’t been good enough for this kind of katas. It had inspired her to attempt some form of chakra control exercise, but she had never made much headway with it. Genma, on the other hand, had flourished with it.

“Best you start warming up too, kid,” Kanko tells her. “We’re going to do a mad dash from the borders down to Chiyoda.”

If she remembered correctly, Chiyoda is a major shinobi city on the east of Hi. Close enough to Tanzaku quarters to provide support should their local security need more firepower. Her team had been heading to Fire Temple that is north-west of Tanzaku quarters.

“Where are we currently?”

“Do you not even know your geography?” Sasori scoffs.

“Why do you even hate me so much? Because I’m a Konoha-nin?” Tsukimi asks, irritated at his constant barbed words.

Sasori stared back at her. He stands, his puppet clattering to the ground. “You are Hatake Tsukimi.”

“So? Bingo book headlines! There are plenty of Hatakes around. What you hate Hatakes? You got plenty of other Hatakes to hate too. I have at least twenty other aunts and uncles.”

“You are the daughter of Hatake Sakumo,” he spits the words out, his fist clenching so tightly that she can hear his knuckles pop. “Hatake Sakumo killed my parents.”

[felldragxn]

Songs of a Dead Dreamer Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Songs of a Dead Dreamer. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, nihilism, unreality, mannequins, dolls, puppets, and some body horror.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: Grima (Impossible Odds Verse) Tagged by: nobody i just found it on a meme blog Tagging: NOBODY BECAUSE I WOULD NOT WISH THIS FATE UPON ANYBODY

The Frolic

Absolute madness paired with a sharp cunning / an expression of sky-blue peacefulness / the indistinct happiness of the future / a piece of moon above the opulent leafage of spring trees / a broken-down kingdom of miracles and horrors / a Neverland where dizzy chaos is the norm / a cosmos of crooked houses and littered alleys / a slum among the stars / a jolly river of refuse / jagged heaps in shadows / a phantasmagoric mingling of heaven and hell / a moonlit corridor where mirrors scream and laugh / dreamy back-drops / ice cubes in an empty glass / shifting expressions on a lean face / vague suggestions and subtle jokes / an Aphrodite sculpture / the wind, cold and dead / a crumbled piece of paper / black-foaming gutters / the dank windowless gloom of some intergalactic cellar / starless cities of insanity / a bright freezing scream of laughter / a passing anecdote of some obscure hell

Les Fleurs

sorrowful flowers / lilting blossoms for a loved one’s memorial / a florist shop / flowers which open only at night / a hothouse warm smile / night-blooming cereuses / a sleek ocelot / well-preserved old places / plants resembling birds / white picket fences / flower-printed curtains / liqueur tasting of flowers from open fields / cool, clean offices / invisible wings whipping the warm air in darkness / the sounds of black orchids growing / the flower-bedded earth / a ripple of empathetic insight / a gorgeous kingdom of glittering colors / velvety jungle-shapes / contorted rainbows and twisted auroras / hyper-radiant hues / a marvelous arcana / tongue-like floral appendages / tongues flowering

Alice’s Last Adventure

Volatile years when anything might go wrong / the embodiment of topsy-turvydom / pools of rainwater / tarnished mirrors / moonlit windows / a thousand misshapen marvels / a universe handed over to new gods / stoic tolerance of a second-rate reality / two complete strangers gawking at each other / a shiny, pearl-grey casket / black orchids / a strange combination of relief and confusion / a delayed echo with oblique origins / a chain of occurrences with links as weak as smoke rings / a sunny autumn morning / a sense of duty, vanity, and other less comprehensible motives / the seas of the moon / costumed kids / the cries of bedlamites / the clamor of rambunctious kids / a half-cocked oration / jack-o’-lanterns glowing orange and yellow / masked children / a plastic cup of cider / shadows wavering against two-story facades / a lamp with a shade of Tiffany glass / a disciple of the bizarre / an autumn moon hanging in the blackness / demonic giggling / the moon / a clock / shadows in the window

Dream of a Manikin

A mostly tacit but somehow complete biography / a marvelous trick of the mind / jeweled lamps along the walls / lights shining on an intricately patterned carpet and various pieces of old furniture / star-clustered blackness / a starry abyss / an iciness drifting in from a starscape / a horrible truth / a legend written somewhere at the bottom of a dream / echoing voices bouncing here and there around the room / a motto printed on fortune cookie-like strips of paper and hidden in bureau drawers / a broken record repeating itself on an ancient Victrola / an alighting flock of birds / a field of dynamic tension / a dry sibilant voice / people dressed as dolls / shaking with tremors of the uncanny / a manikin dresser / astral ambience / occult studies and depth analysis / delving into speculative models of reality / cosmic static / harassments of the self / the boundaries of the self / a Bigger Self terrorizing its little splinter selves / cosmic ennui / a serendipitous discovery / this dream of flesh / guilty until proven otherwise / valerian and camphor baths / cryptic impudence / softly glowing display windows / the divine bonds of unreality / a medium-intensity shower / display-window dummies / rain-spotted glasses / a car with rain-blinded windows / a moment of self-terror / the mythical conspiracy of a treacherous universe / a galaxy of constellations / a vaporous glowing / a whitened hallway / dolls made up to look like people / eyes shining in the white darkness / a powerful psychic metaphor

The Chymist

Daydreaming in the key of Rosicrucianism / bubblegum and beer / a chalice in a church / a serum vial in a laboratory / the tartness of one’s smile / a very keen appreciation of diversity / decrepitude / the withering heart of the deceased / bastardized nostalgia / the putrescence of things past / arching mirrors / chrome chandeliers / second-hand fantasies and out-of-date distractions / one strange thing next to another / a genius of vulgarity / a lawless paradise /  violence without violation / a smoke-gray sky / city-soiled clumps of snow / fluxing clouds that swirl above the chimneys and trees / alchemical transmutations / the glamour and sanity of former days / a new mask of rats and rot / a hopeless stroll along the path to hypothetically higher worlds / a body whose true outline remains unknown /  the whims of chemistry / the caprices of circumstance / the enigma of personal taste / a leather vessel with a void inside / the skeleton of a dream / lights outlining the different venues and avenues below / a bottle of powdered light / pulverized diamonds / the flesh and blood kaleidoscope of one’s imagination / a prodigious insurrection of entity / a tempest of transfiguration

Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes

The full powers of a master hypnotist / a mesmeric wilderness / marked by fate’s stigmata / crystal twinkling under a chandelier’s kaleidoscopic blaze / power and prestige socializing / a pair of metronomes / a glossy black cabinet / two bluish gems in an alabaster setting / a tiny sequined outfit / mesmeric stunts / intact and unbloodied / routines in defiance of death and pain / a jaw-dropping finale / a blare of heavenly horns / a labyrinth of light / a gossamer veil / snow-white wings / the angelic luminary beneath the human beast / the eyes of the audience / mock-death and bogus-pain / sinking deep into a downy darkness / pillows stuffed with soft shadows / a sun at the center of a drab galaxy / vacant and full of grace / a business card with a cloud-gray pearl finish / riotous rococo / a chair of blinding brocade / flowery fabric / a shelf of delicate figurines / tall smoky mirrors / a bottomless pool / a sky wiped clean of clouds / dispassionate elegance / postures and poses like frozen roses / pajama-clad legs dangling /a shiny chrome-plated pen / a very soft but not condescending tone / a mazy wallflower / cartwheels of agony / somersaults through fires of doom / nosedives of vulnerable flesh into the meat grinder of life / serene constellations / sweet nullities / a spell-binding, snake-eyed charmer / high society vulgarians / eyes recessed in their sockets, sunken into a rotting profundity / labyrinthine depths / dancing clothes all clotted with putrescent goo

Eye of the Lynx

Missing girls in Gothic garb / amber going on red / a reddish haze / a crazy purpurean tapestry / a fair-haired girl / denim slacks and a leather jacket / bloody moonlight / a long sip from a can of iced tea / persecutions and imperilments as glamorous as those of any Gothic heroine / violet eyes / the machinations of an evil-hearted malefactor / haunting second-hand shops / a strip of dark velvet seized by a pearl brooch / a frail chain from which dangles a heart-shaped locket / a whirlpooling lock of golden hair / gloves, long and powdery pale / the shoulders of heavy capes lined in satin that shines like a black sun / enveloping hoods / capes with deep pockets and generous inner pouches for secreting precious souvenirs / capes with silk strings that tie about the neck / capes with weighted hems that nonetheless flutter weightlessly in midnight gusts / doll-size in a dark doll’s costume / quivering bones and feverish blood / fear’s funereal plume / carriage wheels rioting in a lavender mist or a pearly fog / nacreous fires twitching beyond the margins of country roads / cliffs and stars / a blur of crimson shadows / vast regions of sublime desolation / mountains hulking in hazy twilight / a rather large animal collar at the end of a chain leash / a light the color of fresh meat / a page in a depraved story book / a single candle glowing through red glass / little zippers and big zippers / a moth-eaten cloak / enthralling cruelties / spangled eyebrows / a brow of glittering silver / glistening with tiny flecks of starlight /  the velvet embrace of one’s favorite cape / the tall candles one lights on stormy nights / chains of raindrops whipping against one’s windows / places where raging storms and brutal subjugations never end / the hardships of traveling to strange faraway places / frail little dolls / wild-wind nights and sadistic villains / corridors of scarlet darkness / a captive of one’s heart and its infinite chambers

Notes on the Writing of Horror: A Story

Something magical / something timeless / something profound / a sooty basement / the putrid members of a man who is decomposing / a plain brown package marked Hope, Love, or Fortune Cookies and postmarked: the Edge of the Unknown / a helter-skelter universe where things are ever threatening to go abnormal and unreal / a normal, real love / impermanence and decay / evils sent out under various covers / sublime and terrifying conflict / fearsome, fantastical, and inhuman / moon-trimmed shadows / lunar landscapes of craggy peaks / skeletal wastelands of jagged ice / a brooding Gothic hero / an ethereal Gothic heroine / a castle-like skyscraper / an extra dose of obsessiveness / the Gothic tale / a militant romantic / waves of bombast / winds of ecstatic hysteria / a partially shattered window, its surface streaked with a blue film of dust / a sublime sense of desolation / the diluted glow of twilight / night’s enveloping cloak / grimy azure dimness / bluish semi-luminescence / tears of confusion / turquoise haze / blue shadows of silence / liquefying legs / an old storyteller / the voice of a tiny insect crying for help from inside a sealed coffin / a piercing, crystal shriek that lacerates the midnight blackness / a haunter of spectral marketplaces / Gothic glory / a horror writer / an ardent consumer of the abnormal and the unreal / a visitant of discount houses of unreality / subject only to the rule of demonic forces / puppet-shadows / a hell so excruciating it is bliss itself / bony wings rising out of one’s back / jaws that are a cavern of dripping silver / rivers of putrescent gold running through one’s veins

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elsie

Diamond-paned windows / a thick December fog / a serene congregation of colors / holly, both fresh and artificial / a pale purple ribbon / a ritual forever reenacted without hope of escape / a large chair beside a fogged window / crackling logs / a foggy winter’s night / bright Christmas lights shining through the fog / always dead with darkness / always alive with lights

The Lost Art of Twilight

A streak of iodine red / a spattering of flat black / the early autumn sun / silver hair / a gray suit / a long envelope, neatly cesareaned / the charnel house creeps / a silver shield / crepuscular radiance / an offspring of the dead / the progeny of phantoms / the big green eye of an EEG monitor / De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal / a rainbow of insects / the science of superstition / the Provencal countryside / a pantheon of gargoyles amid the splendor of a medieval church / a holy soldier of the living / a monster of the dead / the astral banquet of Art / the rotting flesh of rainbows / the sonar screech of a bat / vampiric origins / the oncoming onyx of a storm / shadows and sunshine / glare and gloom / bright clouds and black / iron-red leaves / tentative drops of rain / blue bears and yellow rabbits / neither a blood-warm human nor a blood-drawing devil / oceans of blood / the ravenous life of the undead / an authoritative impatience / eternal life in an eternal death

The Troubles of Dr. Thoss

Pale gray pajamas / thick sheets of paper / a bottle of black ink / a shapely black pen with a silvery nib / strands of blond hair, almost white / a sudden salty breeze / silhouettes and shadows / unreflecting windows / metal hinges squeaking somewhere in the wind / a sleepless night / constellations beyond the window panes / star-filled hours / the pure whiteness of the page / a flung shoe leaning toe-up against a bedpost / nothingness unstained by inner conception / white snow in a white sky / dark lines and vacant spaces / vast expanses of frozen whiteness / a church in a foreign town / assorted devils and demons / ice-mad mountains / a spirit of malicious abandon / nightmarish anatomies / a sickle-shaped scar of moon / sea-licked shores / dark letters / feeding one’s troubles to the sea / brown-leafed trees / a forest of memorials / clumps of crosses / groves of gravestones / dark, cowl-shaped windows / unblemished by shadows / the sound of crashing waves / bending dawns into twilights / static from a broken radio / breaking waves / seaside air / a gleaming crescent moon / a bone-white cicatrix / chronic insomnia / a blade of moon / white night, white noise

Masquerade of a Dead Sword: A Tragedie

The confusions of carnival night / gyrations of squealing abandon / lines between pain and pleasure / a rainbow of rags / a startling length of blade / pale pages elegantly dappled by somber verses / a pair of strangely darkened spectacles / the toneless voice of one who is dead to all appeasement or mercy / mounds of snow that had been sown with ashes / eyes as dark and swirled with shadows as the raving night itself / a constellation of designs / mad games of flesh and steel / a forbidden madness / dense forests of tall pikes planted in the earth / shadows rolling in empty sockets / lacerated mouths / the darkness of dreams / to see the world drown in oceans of agony / visions of butchering the angels / a god of deceit or illusion / chaos at feast / black with scars of madness / darkly clouded glass / the brightest and highest of stars / shimmering halls / unnaturally colored wine / red-smeared forms / many-taloned claws / the velvet fingers of a tightly gloved hand / a pair of leviathan leeches / a lord of the sword made mad / the dark powers which we cannot understand but only hate / rhapsodic voices in the streets / a privileged doom / the face of the soul of the world / the cool marble of the floor / an onyx-black knight / a face flushed with crimson glory

Dr. Voke and Mr. Veech

A scribble of lightning engraved upon a black sky / a long, brightly colored coat / noisy jets of blue-green light flickering spasmodically / life-size dolls hanging suspended by wires / wetted strands of a spider web / shiny satin legs / a beautifully pale hand / pulverized stars / dismembered limbs of dolls and puppets / the repose of ruin / an oily red glare / a well-dressed dummy / a white high-collar shirt with silver cufflinks / a billowing cravat which displays a pattern of moons and stars / wood waking up / a sleep that should have never been broken / something too painful for tears / the false fire of the moon / two faces sharing a single head / faint, hollow screams from high above / a dummy’s silence / leftover tears of berserk laughter / bluish-green irradiance

Professor Nobody’s Little Lectures on Supernatural Horror

Mist on a lake / fog in thick woods / a golden light shining on wet stones / a little trickle of suspicion in the bloodstream / the solar brilliance of a summer day / supernatural horror / a corner alive with cool drafts and fragrant with centuries of must / a rancid world rife with things smelling of the crypt / a sower of vice / mad winds / wan moonlight / pasty specters / the vividness of pain / the lasting effects of fear / natural-born puppets whose lips are stained with their own blood / dead bodies that walk in the night / living bodies suddenly possessed by new owners and deadly aspirations / the sepulchral pomp of wasting tissue / compassion for human hurt / a humble sense of one’s impermanence / an absolute valuation of justice / a demented innocence in the face of gruesome facts / the horrific reprisals of affirmation / the Cosmic Macabre / the shudders of a thousand graveyards

Dr. Locrian’s Asylum

Gray walls pocked like sponges / nights of futile tears and screaming / an expression of almost paternal forgiveness / the supreme delirium of the planets / bright puppets dancing in the blackness / a golden speck of magic / the silent, staring universe / something as pathetic as a puppet and as exalted as the stars / something at once dead and never dying / autumn constellations in the black sky above / harshly brilliant eyes / the remote places where truth had been shut up and abandoned

The Sect of the Idiot

Extraordinary joy / extraordinary pain / the great hollow of dreams / an infinitely secluded place / a world that both menaces and surpasses this one / a holy madness / infinite stillness on foggy mornings / miracles of silence on indolent afternoons / the strangely flickering tableau of neverending nights / deceptive depths of shadow / heaps of clouds like dust balls / a fluorescent map of the cosmos / medieval autumns and mute winters / kaleidoscopic windows / a kind of cataclysm of empty space / an earthquake of the invisible / strikingly clear eyes / a dusty trunk of dreams / a maze of streets / an abyss of stars / a great reaching blackness / a stale gray dimness / an alien order of being / an icy blackness / starry blackness / a great round moon / deep aquatic blue / the voids of astronomy / a state of both paralyzed terror and spellbound curiosity / whispering figures / stagnant moonlight / withered, wilted claws / drooping tentacles / the spinning legs of spiders / the greedy rubbing of a fly’s spindly feelers / the darting tongues of snakes / the triumph of the grotesque / whispering effigies of chaos / putrid arcana / an ecstatic horror / horrific ecstasy / the demonic elements of which all creation is composed / corruption in disguise / a cache of unwonted offerings stored out of sight / currents of fear / dark tremors / splendid scenes broken with malign shadows / the lurid and the lovely forever lost in each other’s embrace / the arch of an old street / tunnel-like hallways / sickly light shining through unwashed, curtainless windows / atmospherics of infinite melancholy and unease / a decayed paradise / the everlasting residue of some cosmic misfortune / a solemn, mechanical intentness / a smooth and solid cube of black glass / a malignant puppet of madness / dazed in darkness / embarrassed throat-clearings / reproving looks / words which could only have meaning in a nightmare / a thing of strange degeneracy / a quintessence of hellish delirium / freakish, echoing laughter / the whispering of strangers / twitching tentacles / a horror which cannot be helped  

The Greater Festival of Masks

The old and new / the real and imaginary / truth and deception / shops of costumes and masks / an incautious curiosity / shredded rags that are easily disturbed by the wind / a poster stuck to a crumbling wall / strange pathways of caprice / the outsized moon / silvery windows / doors which are elaborately decorated yet will not budge in their frames / massive shutters covering blank walls behind them / faces of dreams / sardonically grinning / innocence and excuses / a reddish glow of fire / a wad of bubbling blackness / smooth and faceless faces / the speaker in the shadows / the soft creaking of new faces breaking through old flesh

The Music of the Moon

Breaking the quiet of a moonlit room / enchantments that nearly make amends for one’s stolen slumber / some unusual shape leaping across steep roofs / a bewildering agility / many nights of sleepless hell / a knife / rope / a poison vial / an exploit of uncommon decisiveness / blank nights of insomnia / a handbill / ashes mixed with grease / a door with a faint yellow aura leaking out at its edges / small, shadowlike things moving in corners and along the floor molding / a quartet of musicians / a voice which sounds both exhausted and malicious / pale, ragged clouds of hair / sonic abnormality / an empty shaft of blackness / spherical lamps caked with dust / the silence of a dark, lifeless world / black silhouettes of human heads visible only in the moonlight / slow music in the soft darkness / a single note wavering in a universe of darkness / a incalculable proliferation of slightly dissonant harmony / the light of a quiet gray dawn / completely helpless, and yet content to be so / thick layers of webs / gazing at nothing with bleeding sockets / the moon all fat and pale, glaring down from its gauzy webs of clouds

The Journal of J.P. Drapeau

Unstained by any habits of the human / the ideal of everything alien to living / some molding backwater of the earth / the city of Bruges itself / a corpse of the Middle Ages / bony bridges / the black veins of old canals / a lonely evolution in shadowed streets and beside sluggish canals / the music of graveyards / a resonant chorus that fills the air and sometimes drowns out the voices of those who still live / layers of cobwebs floating about the near ceiling / a burst of resistance / the pealing of church bells / the language of whimsy / the force of stars tugging away at various points / the dark waters of a canal / shiny black hair parted straight down the middle / a low table covered by a red velvet cloth / a world that applauds trumped-up illusions while denying or demeaning those that create the very lives they are living / a spectral thing full of strange suggestion / an untenanted room filled with the echoes of nothingness / the eyes of certain crudely fashioned dolls / a greenish glow from a mirror / placid meandering canals / enwrapped in mist / close crumbling houses / odd arching bridges / innumerable church towers / narrow twisting streets / queer little courtyards / everything gone forever / an empty mist / an eternal twilight

Vastarien

Candles in a cloistered cell / shapes beneath the shadows / tall buildings whose rooftops nod groundward / wide buildings whose facades follow the curve of a street / buildings whose windows and doorways tilt like badly hung paintings / stairways that wander off-course into useless places / caged elevators that urge unwanted stops on their passengers / a sequestered civilization of echoes flourishing among groaning walls / thin ladders ascending into a maze of shafts and conduits / the dark valves and arteries of a petrified and monstrous organism / a desolate serenity / silvery cinders / the mouths of great chimneys / shadow-puppets / cluttered gardens and crooked gates / the purling waters of black canals / faded masks concealing profound schemes / a place of supernatural clarity and stillness / the crystalline glare of a lantern / moonlight through a curtained window / darkened windows / souls who believe that the only value of this world lies in its power—at certain times— to suggest another / a scattering of stars and lights / a coveted paradise / the most gauzy phantom of another place / a shadowy mimic / the anatomy of a great dream / everlasting echoes / a rectangle of smudged glass within another rectangle of scuffed wood / crowded shelves / remnants of a luxuriant autumn / an obscene reality / to dwell among the ruins of reality / shadowed volumes / scripture that would begin with the portents of apocalypse and end with the wreck of all creation / to become the wind in the dead of winter / to howl the undoing of all that would abide in warmth and light / an enticing verse in a volume of esoterica / the dream of attaining some untainted good / a disastrous enlightenment / some hypothetical state of pure glory / the revelation that nothing ever known has ended in glory / some strictly demonic enterprise / something about one’s presence that makes one think of a crow / a scavenging creature in wait / a large, two-headed shadow / the sad frustration of the uninvited, the abandoned / the brilliant rectangle of a doorway / hopes and curiosities of an indeterminable kind / free-standing bookcases / pages and bindings of uncommon texture / abstract diagrams suggesting no orthodox ritual or occult system / a chronicle of strange dreams / an invocation of a world in waiting of genesis / days distilled into dreams and nights into nightmares / a deliverance by damnation / nightmare made normal / a horror uncompromised by any feeling of lost joy or a thwarted searching for the good / a nightmare transformed in spirit by the utter absence of refuge / a utopia of exhaustion, confusion, and debris / a dialogue of mystification, and possibly one of lies / the edge of a dreamless void / a dark and devouring bird / shadows and moonlight / an unbending web of heavy wire / unjust confinement / a slender syringe crowned with a silvery needle

[chaoscheebs]

RULES - Tag nine people you want to get to know better.

Relationship status – deliberately a cat lady and not looking

Lipstick or Chapstick – Technically neither?  Sometimes I do something with a tint, but mostly go with novelty flavored lip things or fancier beeswax ones, no in between.

Last Song I Listened To – “With Me”, Crush 40.

Last Movie I Watched – Probably something on an MST3K episode. “Outlaw of Gor” being made fun of by a guy and some puppets, maybe?  Or was the last one I saw  “Mittens” “Mitchell”...?

Top 3 Characters – Princess Peach, Amy Rose, Bayonetta.  The theme: be kind, be femme, and absolutely take no shit.

Top Three Ships – ... uuuuuuuuuuuuh...  That’s a damn hard one. The ones that I will ship in hell are all furry ones (Amy/Shadow, Bunnie/Antoine).  

The ones probably most relevant because someone in the FFVII fandom tagged me for this is however, are Aerith/Cloud/Zack (together or broken down into smaller ships where the third person is still friendly with ‘em), Cloud/Genesis because they could have a really fun as hell dynamic if they ever met, and the ship I had as a teenager that still refuses to sink, Vincent/Yuffie.  >.>;;;;

(Also many ships that involve Cloud because I like to imagine him as an awkward poly bi who loves everyone too damn much and everyone knows he is not a good enough liar to fake the sincerity of his love.)

tagged by: @up-sideand-down tagging: I am bad at this do what you like?????

[riting]

Body Bags by Jmy James Kidd

devika v. wickremesinghe on Body Bags

My belly bottomed out when TJ hit the bass, and the floor of PAM sunk 200 feet below-down beneath the building, the concrete, the dirt, and I peered off the edge of the bench to get a look at the deep crevice below. I braced myself for vertigo and almost fell off my perch, but the deep sluice filled with a fluid that somehow refracted the bodies of the two yellow creatures, so that while I was looking into the depths I could see their slippery skins in clear detail and they seemed somehow larger and closer. 

I was curious to see how they lived and moved. They crawled, backstroke, ate up space with butts and bones. The deep fluid sloshed back and forth, PAM lilting like a ship, and as the waves got bigger the bass resounded.  Not at the will of the tides, nor directing the flow, but expertly riding the curves, Perin and JMY’s incessant traversing propelled forward by hunger and desire, mouth and buttholes reaching, had a rhythm that my cells recognized. Their thin transparent fabric hugged and sagged and my subdermis nodded. My cytoplasm was seduced and cells serenaded-only to be suddenly surprised by the evolution of a flicker of an emergent limb. Some sense in me remembered growing my limbs. In this way this tide pool was an exposition but also a reflection.  

I was not perceiving JMY and Perin dancing “like” anything. Metaphors and anthropomorphic descriptions are tempting me (Yes, salamanders yes snakeskins, cidacas, anenomes, sure, but… ) but a description of an animal has a delayed separation to it, and the experience I am talking about had no separation. On hands and knees, backs and bellies, JMY and Perin generously carved out rivulets of timespace to show an expositionmeditation on layers that dance dynamically Inside Of Us. Masterfully wild movements rose out of the depths. Perin’s arms flung out like tentacles, shattering the glass of the windows and knocking out the traffic light on Figueroa. JMY’s legs grew three times the size, whipped around three times and kicked off the roof. That giant chicken statue ran for cover. It was then when the floor started to bounce and breathe like a giant fleshy trampoline, and I realized they had been dancing on PAM’s pelvic floor, resilient and rebounding. 

Tag from Jmy:

Oh devika! My time life in Los Angeles is laced with devika dancing, teaching, living, being, friending, eating. She came to this place and went feral. This is our life. dev is my community.

devika v. wickremesinghe is a los angeles expressive.

Brian Getnick on Body Bags

COMPLAINT: All dancers practice but do all dancers have a practice?

Most dance that I see in Los Angeles on largish proscenium stages are dances of achievement: medleys of dance representations which reference a dance history that ends prior to the conceit that dance can be any intentional movement. In Los Angeles, this conceit has long been taken up by performance artists in gallery spaces, artists for whom the rehearsal process is anathema to the representations of the so called real, and whose work is more often than not, evacuated of the displays of strength, flexibility, and precision that are the privileged qualities of the ubiquitous dance of achievements. At Pieter Space, founded in 2009 by dance artist Jmy James Kidd the ethos of training the body to be physically skilled and the possibilities of receiving all movement into ones dance making, are invited to merge. What happens then, when a dancer, with years of training, takes “any intentional movement” as an invitation to see all impulses towards moving, all the reverberations in the body that movement causes, and all the staggers, falls, misses, (often discarded inelegant movements) as their crucible? This fine-tuned looking and trying takes more than practice, it requires “a practice”.

BODY BAGS AT PAM

Outside PAM's largest window, palm fronds could be seen sailing down in the wind. Inside the room, the movements of the two dancers were overlarge, outsized, extra, decadent; a massive dance in a bedroom. The audience sat between these two storms. Dressed in gauzy ochre jumpsuits and shot through with an alternately storming and oceanic base composition by Tara Jane O’Neil, Body Bags, created by Jmy James Kidd and performed by Kidd and Perin McNelis, was a dancer’s practice on display. Body Bags is broken up into five or six large passages of movements that Jmy or Perin initiate and then layer in staggered time. I will analyze two of them and recount where I began to see a practice emerge.

After an initial crawl in from the bathroom (Perin) and the hallway (Jmy) the first passage explores space by bullying the thin envelope of air between dancer and witness. It called for delicate unfurling hands, giant steps countered by arched backs that harkens to the melodrama of Isadora Duncan. In the dance of achievement this would be enough, the dance signifier would remain a citation, but for Kidd and McNelis, the formal and associative qualities of Duncan (arms outstretched and leading / high minded elegance) are overcommitted to: They relish in the absurd beauty of the Duncan-dance-artefact to the degree that it decays in front of us. In other words they commit themselves to repeating and re-interpreting in real time an earlier dance signifier until the tiny stumbles, the near misses, and broken patterns switch from being the precarious details of a imperfectly achieved representation to the thing itself. This is where “the practice” first starts to show itself: a perceptual switch from recognizing and thereby judging the achievement of a form into being present to concretely executed material. The hick-ups and near misses are the chosen texture. Smoothness and symmetry are, for the time being, out the door.  

In the next section, Jmy broke from the enormous steps and ponderous elegance and began a slow decline, her legs pumping at the knees, her arms outstretched, her gaze fixed on a lucky witness. She lowered down until she was finally squatting on her calves, her arms still in a "T". It takes about 2 minutes and she holds it there, her body quivering with focus and teetering on collapse. Yet she stays. Jmy once said to me something to the effect of "Failure is boring" and yeah, failure is a boring thing to put on a pedestal when succeeding means showing off a fine tuned exploration of energy, elevation, sexuality, a hearty feminine energy and connection between performers. Perin for her part while seeming to follow and look to Jmy for cues also is a free operator, you see her make choices that are distinctly hers: where Jmy’s expression is interior and placid, Perin stares wide eyed and ferocious, where Jmy transitions from shape to shape in bows and curves, Perin’s transitions are quickly angular. You see that this practice highlights difference. Their contrasting inclinations are their distinct modes of thinking, they’re of two minds about how to move and yet remain adjacent in a game of chasing shadows.

This basic structure of one dancer falling into a task, then the other picking it up again before moving on has the effect of a distorted echo, it gives you time to see the  "how" of the task and it clues us in that the work that came behind it a thing of value. The process of looking into what happens in the leg joints during a transition up or down shows the witness that these large phrases are also stages for much finer, small motor dances: the quivering lending a dramatic tension to hydraulic lift while the delicacy of the fingers, floating in space, perform a sly weightlessness. The practice on display here is that every part of getting into the conditions of the phrase have both a boastful engineering and an element of fantasy.

Between the 6 big passages are six or so sequences where Jmy and Perin flatten themselves to the floor. Sometimes they wriggle on their backs up and down the corridor like eels, or kick their legs up in a slow motion jog but mostly what these events on the floor feel like is a brief respite into an image. Most of this dance does not allow images to be apprehended and stabilized because the proximity of their bodies blurred our vision and the staggered, refracted score keep us constantly shifting gaze from one dancer to another, enthralled in the procedure.

CONCLUSION: A dance practice is an ongoing research into the possibility that movement produces its own, sometimes prelinguistic meanings. The intensity of discovery, association and affect are greatest in the studio and the public showing is a glance down a well into the depths of an ongoing exploration. When dancers, and other artists who use movement in their work witness dance, they hunt for information to absorb into their creative process. Since artists of all stripes comprise the majority of the public that witness dance in spaces like Pieter, and PAM the performed practice is as materially important in reading a live work as the costume, language, sound and extraneous media. The “how” is therefore also the “what”.

END

Tag from Jmy:

Brian Getnick is PAM. PAM is residencies. Residencies are people. Brian makes puppet sculpture beings that are meant to be touched, grabbed, cuddled, tossed because they want to be alive. 

Brian Getnick is an artist, curator and writer about contemporary performance in Los Angeles. He is the director of PAM Residencies, a showcase and residency program for performers making long form work (30+ minutes). He is the founder and co-director with Tanya Rubbak of Native Strategies, a journal documenting performance art in LA since 2011.

Anastasia Baratta on Body Bags

Contemplation of containers, ephemeral nature of such a capsule meant to hold something temporarily. Reminder that most things must be held, suspended within something else.  

Beyond that, is there....there?  

I think about these bags…the holder of things precious or not, kept safe or instead, cast away.  

I used to put people in rich leather body bags. I would zip them up and reinforce it with ties, ropes and belts. They were captive and at my mercy. A package of flesh within flesh, waiting for connection.  

Now, I contemplate the bags we live in such as the skin bag, the muscle bag or the ultimate fascia bag, that encompasses the corporeal and possibly the essence of us. The body bag we carry is maybe just a vessel to contain the spirit on this temporal plane. A package of flesh within flesh waiting for connection.  

These highly organized bags that contain us and at times distort us. When I move my body bags, it can feel cumbersome or exuberant. My gut bag, my bone bag, my mind bag…is that your bag?  

Sometimes, its all I can do to get my bag out of bed and other times the bag carries me in swirls and twirls and laughter. It’s just a bag to be eventually discarded…and when I die, I want to be put in a mushroom shroud bag into the soil bag and then maybe, free of containers. 

Tag from Jmy:

My friend and pilates teacher Anastasia Baratta says she was a dancer in a past life. "Pilates" is just a container for the work she does. for me she senses the beyond of bodies. Her work is a huge influence in the organization of my Now body (bag). I make dances and live with and within this body which I inhabit. "Body Bags" is a regurgitation of the things I put in it, like other people and their questions and ideas. I am a subjective creature.

Anastasia Baratta is a self defined body geek, movement coach and witch. Her background is in Education and has multiple certifications in various modalities of movement and healing. She lives in LA and philosophizes about bodies, life, death and healing more than most.

Body Bags by Jmy James Kidd happened at PAM Residencies on April 12 & 13, 2018.

Body Bags was performed by Jmy James Kidd, Perin Hailey McNelis, and Tara Jane O’Neil.

Jmy James Kidd (b. San Francisco, CA) designs dances and clothing and makes watercolors. Her dance history includes ballet and RUG Cunningham technique. Over the last decade she has developed a healthful studio practice with a spiritual body in Los Angeles, where she founded the nonprofit dance studio Pieter as a response to her repressive dance training.

Perin Hailey McNelis is a dancer and restoration horticulturist based in Patagonia, AZ. She holds a BFA in dance from NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and her work has been presented by the Fourth Arts Block’s FAB Festival (NYC), Machine Project, Home LA and Pieter.

Tara Jane O’Neil is a musician. Since 1992 she has released 9 solo albums and collaborated with musicians, dancers, filmmakers and artists. She performs in rock clubs, festivals, DIY spaces, museums, and wilderness areas. Her visual art hangs on walls and sits in stacks or bookshelves. She makes salve.

Film stills from footage shot by Angel Alvarado.