#Mike Shiner

[onscreenkisses]

BIRDMAN or (THE UNEXPECTED VIRTUE of IGNORANCE), dir. Alejandro González Iñárritu (2014)

requested by anon

[funnycomputer]

birdman edit ⁉️

[allagashed]

aaron stampler has the kind of sadness in his eyes u only see in precious moments figurines

[downthetubes]

2000AD “Ronald MacDonald” prog and more in latest Phil-Comics auction

A controversial copy of 2000AD and the first issue of a short-lived imitator of Oink!, TV Help, are among items up for grabs in the latest Phil-Comics auction on eBay

[brewsterispunkk]

THE TUTOR

part 3/4

pairing: eddie munson x reader, eddie munson x f!reader

WC: 3k

summary: eddie and reader check something off their list: drunken confessions ensue. also: queer!eddie. if you don’t like it, get the hell out!

a/n: yall I wrote half of this high out of my mind lolz ALSO—you may now know: the tutor will now have FOUR parts. I couldn’t squeeze all I wanted into three, so here you go! as always: pls give me feedback!!!

THE TUTOR

You walked into the cafeteria with a mission: to make Eddie Munson rue the day he was born.

It’d happened five minutes before. You’d been walking to your locker, half looking over your shoulder to see if Thomas Reed would rear his head again, when you saw it.

There he was, Thomas Reed, head bent down toward the floor, trying (and failing) to hide a bruised eye and bloody lip. He wouldn’t meet your eyes as you passed. In fact, it almost looked like he was cowering.

You would’ve enjoyed it too, had you not known exactly who had given him the shiner and had you not explicitly asked that person not to get involved.

Thomas was a jock. He ran in the same circles as people like Tommy Hagan, one of Steve’s old buddies, and Jason Carver, who had some kind of personal vendetta against Eddie. So not only would this mean repercussions for him, but it would mean repercussions for you. And the last thing you needed was more of what Thomas and his friends had already put you through.

So, yes. You were going to rip Eddie a new one.

You heard the heavy doors shut behind you as you scanned the bustling cafeteria.

It was sixth period lunch—the most busy time of the day—but you didn’t care. You could feel the anger rise in you.

Your eyes snapped to the far side of the cafeteria where Hellfire club sat every day.

You narrowed your eyes.

You gripped the straps of your backpack as you made a beeline toward the table of misfits and nerds. Eddie sat at the head of the table like some kind of metal Jesus, his hair a halo around his head in the sunlight. You’d have thought it was cute had you not been so mad.

“Eddie Munson!” You growled as you approached the table, your hand gripping his shoulder tight.

“Jesus—hello to you too,” he looked over his shoulder at you, alarmed.

The rest of the Hellfire club looked at you like you’d grown a second head.

Right, you thought. They had no idea you and Eddie had ever even spoken, nevertheless were friends.

You recognized a few of the kids from classes over the years; you knew Jeff from gym class, and Gareth had been your lab partner last year. Then, there were Dustin, Lucas, and Mike who were more surprised than all of them.

You didn’t have time to think about that, though. All you could focus on was how mad you were at Eddie.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You hissed, yanking him out of his seat by the arm.

“What are you—oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Eddie’s eyes glazed over with cockiness, and a smirk made its way onto his face.

“Some of my best work, honestly.”

You pushed his shoulders back.

“Eddie, what the fuck?”

“What?” He shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Why are you so mad? He’s an asshole. He’s lucky I didn’t call the cops—”

“I asked you not to do anything.”

“I—what?”

You took a breath.

“I asked you not to get involved,” you said levelly. “Now, who knows what he’ll pull.”

Eddie stared at you wide-eyed, before darting his eyes to the table of boys beside him, still staring wide eyed at the two of you. A few others from neighboring tables had turned their heads to look at you as well.

Eddie sighed.

“Care to take a walk?” He asked, side-eyeing the rest of the lunchroom.

“Fine.”

- - - -

The wood of the picnic table was cold against your thighs.

“I’m sorry, you know.” Eddie rubbed his chin. “I didn’t know you’d be so upset. And I didn’t think about Jason and his goons.”

You huffed.

“To be completely honest, I’ve been looking for an excuse to beat that guy’s ass for a while,” he plopped down on the bench next to you, too close. Not close enough. You could smell the cologne he’d put on this morning.

Every time Eddie got too close to you, all you did was want, want, want.

“He was my lab partner sophomore year,” he offered, shoulder brushing yours. “He told everyone I was a fag because he caught me kissing Chase Whitaker behind the bleachers.”

You turned to him, surprised. He smiled at you and elbowed you gently.

“C’mon,” he leaned into you. “You can’t tell me you never heard about that.”

“I did, I just never thought that—”

“---it was true?”

“Well,” you balked, feeling your stomach sink. Not because he was gay, but because you’d fallen completely besotted for someone you could never have. “Yeah.”

“Well, they got one part about the Freak right.”

“Don’t call yourself that.” You nudged him. “Who cares if you like boys, I still—”

“I like girls, too, you know.” He said quietly, mouse-like. He sounded more quiet than you’d ever heard him. “Like Bowie.”

“Like Bowie,” you laughed a little.

“Hm,” he peeked at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Call it pent-up rage or something, but the moment I saw him with his hands on you, I—”

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you leaned into him, causing the two of you to sway in the late autumn breeze. “I overreacted. I don’t know, sometimes I’m just afraid…”

“...the worst is going to happen?” He added for you after a moment.

“Hmm, yeah.”

You didn’t know how to answer him. Because, yes, that was true, but it was so much more than that. It was your entire world being turned upside down and Russians interrogating you and billy Hargrove being practically ripped to pieces in Starcourt and—

“Hey, you okay?”

You frantically blinked, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I’m just cold. It really is freezing out here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Eddie laughed, standing up. He rubbed his hands together and breathed into them. “Here, take my coat.”

“What? Eddie no–”

“Don’t be a martyr,” he rolled his eyes, thrusting the leather jacket into your arms. “Take the damn jacket.”

You smiled, slipping your arms into the coat. It was still warm, and his scent clung to it. It was deep and woodsy and smelled a little bit of weed and a lot of boy. You wanted to crawl inside and make a home there.

“We should probably be heading back,” you said. “What time is it?”

Eddie looked at his watch, then at you, sheepish.

“12:50,” he squinted.

You contemplated. You were already twenty minutes late to class: what was the point of going anyway?

“Hm,” you sighed. “Wanna just skip the rest of the day?”

“God, yes.”

- - - -

“I don’t know about this,” Eddie actually looked nervous, his dark hair spread around his head as he laid on the floor of your living room.

You’d decided to move tutoring to your house a few weeks ago, now that winter had hit. It was two weeks before winter break, and Ms. Taylor’s midterm was coming up. You’d been studying tirelessly for days at your house while your mom worked nights, eager for someplace other than the library for peace and quiet.

“What?” You leaned over your textbook from your place on the couch. “Since when am I the one who has to convince you to do things?”

“Since those ‘things’ require me to rub elbows with Steve Harrington for a whole evening.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic!” You laughed.

“I’m a theatre kid, sweetheart.”

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes. “It’ll be a part of the deal, anyway. I wanna get absolutely plastered this weekend. Steve and Robin will just happen to be there also.”

“I don’t know. I don’t like him.”

“He’s my friend.” you stated. “Don’t you trust my judgment?”

“Well, yes–”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just don’t know,” he picked at a string on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Ed, he’s been wondering why I keep bumming rides off of you instead of him. And Robin will be there too.”

“And did you tell him about our little arrangement?”

“No,” you scowled at him. “I told him we’re friends.”

Eddie blinked in surprise, sitting up to face you. He was close enough like this that you could smell his cologne, the cigarettes on his breath.

“We’re friends?”

“Well, uh…” you all of a sudden felt insecure. What if you’d misread this? What if you’d been wrong, and this was purely transactional?

“Yeah, I mean, aren’t we?” You squeaked.

There was a beat of silence, before his lips stretched into a grin.

“Yeah, honey, we are.”

“Then why won’t you go to this party with me?” You pushed.

“Ugh, fine!” Eddie threw himself back on the floor. “If you will stop nagging me.”

“Yes!”

“---and, you order us a pizza.”

“Done.” You smiled, walking over to the landline in the kitchen.

You dialed the number to your favorite pizza place and Eddie came to lean on the counter beside you. The phone rang as you waited for the call to go through.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Will you let me do your eyeliner for the party?”

You looked at him in surprise, expecting to find the usual look on his face that he made when he was joking. Instead, you found curiosity. Sincerity.

“Hell yeah,” you nodded. “As long as I don’t look like a member of KISS.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and you laughed, excited for the coming weekend.

- - - -

You were two drinks in, and were absolutely positive Eddie hated Steve.

You’d known you didn’t like him, but you didn’t think it was this bad.

When you and Eddie had arrived, you’d made a beeline for your two best friends, who were standing near the bowl of jungle juice in the kitchen.

The party was at a friend of Robin’s this time—a girl from band whose parents were out of town. She was cool; in that edgy, artsy, punk way that all of Robin’s other friends were. So, you’d had her help you pick out your outfit earlier in the week.

You knew Eddie would be doing your eyeliner, so you wanted to dress to match it. Robin had picked out an off-the-shoulder band tee from her own closet. It was a Fleetwood Mac shirt of her father’s that she’d cut up. She paired it with fishnets and a pair of chunky boots. You silently thanked God that you were the same shoe size. You’d thrown on a sheer pair of black tights and finally, she’d convinced you to wear the jean skirt again. And, it had taken some convincing, especially after what happened with Thomas. But, you wanted to turn heads. Particularly Eddie’s.

After a quick and awkward greeting between the four of you, you and Robin excused yourself from the stilted conversation to use the restroom. Robin held your arm as she dragged you behind her to the bathroom.

“Excuse me, coming through,” she narrowly dodged another kid you recognized from band.

Once you made it to the bathroom, she shoved you in before shutting the door behind her.

“Oh my god, that was the awkwardest moment of my life,” she sighed, leaning against the bathroom door.

You leaned against the counter.

“Seriously,” you scoffed. “I mean what the hell was that? ‘Long time, no see,’ really, Steve?”

“God, he’s hopeless.”

“I’m gonna tear my hair out.”

“I don’t think Mr. Munson would like that,” Robin smirked at you. You balked.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

She gave you a once-over.

“You look hot. That’s what that’s supposed to mean. And Eddie definitely noticed.”

“You’re crazy,” you shook your head, turning to inspect yourself in the mirror.

“He was practically frothing at the mouth.”

“Ew, Robs.”

“Just saying.”

She moved beside you, fixing her lipstick. Your eyes trailed over your reflection.

You looked… striking. Your hair was teased up and voluminous, thanks to whatever magic Robin had worked with the blow dryer. Your lips were painted a light berry color, and Eddie had penciled your eyeliner to perfection. You felt dangerous—in a good way.

“Whatever. We’re just friends, unfortunately.”

“Hmm,” Robin patted her cheeks, before looking at you. “‘Just friends’ don’t look at each other like that.”

Your breath stuttered. Was it that obvious?

You threw your hands over your eyes, cringing.

“Oh god,” you groaned. “Don’t tell me I’m that obvious.”

“You are,” she leaned on the counter. “But only because it’s me. Him on the other hand…”

“Don’t play around, Robs.”

“I’m not!” She assured you. “I swear I could feel the tension myself. He’s into you. Trust me.”

“No, it’s not that simple. He’s only hanging out with me because of the—”

Because of the deal.

There it was. Underneath it all, you were terrified the only reason Eddie was giving you the time of day was because he felt bad for you. Because he felt like he owed you. You cringed.

“Because of what?”

You sighed.

“Because I’m tutoring him. Because I’m a recluse. Because the only reason anyone knows who I am is because of my formerly-popular best friend.”

Robin rolled her eyes and pulled you into a hug.

“You’re so dramatic.” She said. “We both know Harrington isn’t the reason either of us are popular.”

“Or not popular.” You corrected.

“Look, for real?” Robin pulled back, hands on your shoulders, locking her gaze with yours. “That’s bullshit. All of it. And don’t think anyone could give less of a shit about what they ‘should’ do than Eddie. If he’s hanging out with you, it’s because he wants to.”

You smiled at her, wishing she was right.

“Besides, he was practically undressing you with his eyes,” she added nonchalantly.

“What?”

“Seriously, it was hard to watch,” she eyed your legs. “Can’t blame him, though. The skirt was a good choice.”

You snorted, before grabbing her arm and pulling her out the door with you.

- - - -

Two hours later, you were drunk.

Sloshed, if you will.

You’d had two beers, a shitty vodka cran, and three rum and cokes. Long story short: the room was spinning, and your chest felt light and giddy.

You giggled to yourself as you stumbled into the brightly-lit kitchen.

Guess me and Eddie can cross this off my list, you thought, leaning on a countertop.

Across the kitchen island was Steve, leaning his elbow on a counter and towering over a short girl with braids.

You smirked to yourself—this was his conquest-stance. The confidence in his shoulders told you he liked this girl. He was making a move.

You turned to your right, eager to tell Robin. The two of you had been practically begging Steve to go on a date for the better part of a month; you’d had enough of his complaining about being single.

But when you turned, Robin wasn’t there. You frowned, before looking back over to Steve, who was kissing braid-girl. Around them, the room seemed to spin. The yellow light cascaded off of the light fixture above the island and you blinked rapidly.

You frowned harder, turning on your heel to leave the kitchen. You needed to find Robin. You needed to find—

“Woah,” two warm hands caught your shoulders as you stumbled into a tall man with a white tshirt on. “There you are.”

Your forehead bumped his chest, before you jerked away from the stranger.

“Eddie,” your own voice sounded far away to you. “I have to go.”

“That so, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you were steadfast, anxious. “I have to leave here, I have to find Robin.”

“Woah, woah, what is it?” He looked upset, eyes darting over your shoulder before hardening.

Why? You thought. What’s going on? Why is he mad—

Suddenly, you felt a wave of nausea rise in your stomach. You doubled over, into Eddie.

“Oh god,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Okay,” Eddie sung, pulling you by your arm with him toward the bathroom. “Excuse me, out of my way.”

When you reached the bathroom, you lurched over the toilet, your stomach jerking in your abdomen. You felt the nausea leave you like a cool spring as you vomited the now sour, rank flavor of the vodka cran.

“Okay, that’s it,” Eddie mumbled to you from behind you. Away from yourself, you felt his hands pull your hair back from your face and neck. You lurched again, throwing up more.

“Ughh,” you moaned, before leaning your cheek on the toilet seat, facing him. You were too drunk to care about the germs. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, princess.”

“There is, though,” your bottom lip wobbled a bit.

It was as if all the emotions of the night were catching up with you; the excitement, the fear, the insecurity. It made your heart race and your eyes water.

“I threw up and you had to help me and now I can’t find Robin—”

“Hey, hey,” he put his hand to your forehead. It felt nice on your clammy forehead. You looked at him and your breath left you for a second.

It was now you realized his hair was tied back, away from his face, and that his jacket had vanished. His biceps were perfectly shaped in the tight material of his tshirt.

“Robin’s sitting in the living room with that girl from band, remember her? Vicky?”

You sniffed.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Eddie swallowed. “So, she’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

You nodded, sniffing. As you did, the fabric at your knees caught your eye.

You’d torn your new, sheer tights. At the knee, the fabric was split, and along your thighs were irreparable runs. You felt your eyes water.

“And I tore my tights,” you all but whined. You inwardly cringed at your tone. “These were new.”

“I like ‘em better that way, if it means anything,” Eddie mumbled, eyes wide and brown on you.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he half-smiled. “It’s metal.”

The side of your mouth twitched.

“Metal.”

“Metal,” Eddie smirked, his thumb tilting your chin up.

Your eyes went glassy, looking at him in all his flushed, disheveled glory.

“Eddie?” You breathed, staring into his dark, black eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

Eddie blinked, taken aback, and opened his mouth to respond, but as he did, you lurched again, emptying your stomach into the toilet.

[doubledyke]

How do you believe Eddy actually is without his Bro mask? I mean, I don't believe he would be radically different or anything- he probably still has his hotheadness, stubborness and egocentrism- but he would also be a bit more chill, more openly caring and more helpful and friendly towards his buddies and another people?

Still quite flawed and bratty, but also much more of a nice guy at the same time, summing up.

brother you just opened a whole ass can of worms on this here page

eddy angst and eventual fawning below

even after bps i imagine eddy's guard is gonna be allllllll the way up for a long time. nonetheless, he's ecstatic to be welcomed into the in-crowd. finally, an excuse to wear all those clothes he keeps in that closet o' dreams. his shoulders loosen up a bit over time, he's cool, he's getting invites to all the shindigs. he's chasing this conditional acceptance so much that he might even drift away from the eds for a while- ed and edd not exactly being the partying types.

but he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop. right on his neck. waiting for the moment he says or does the wrong thing. or the moment his searing rage burns through this newfound passivity. he's just doing what everyone else does, what everyone wants him to do. asking someone how they're doing even if you don't really care, laughing when someone tells what could be construed as a joke. and standing up real straight, since double dee's always talking about "posturing" for some reason.

keeping up that front is exhausting though.. some nights he'd rather stay home, but if he did that he might never get invited anywhere ever again. and another of kevin's easyriders anecdotes, jonny's weed-fueled conspiracy theories, rolf's political proselytizing, and nazz's aggressive dancing sure as shit beats spending time with his own thoughts.

yup. this is the life.

the ticking time bomb explodes when someone accidentally bumps into him at one of these parties, and the uncomfortable laughter this elicits from his peers plunges him further into a sea of red, his ire hopping from one head to the next as he drunkenly gives them all what for. he lays into his peers in a way he's only ever seen edd do, then storms off into the inconveniently well-lit night, never to be seen or heard from again... until the next day at school, where to his horror, everyone is still being cool towards him? they're asking him if he's okay?? he should be fine, once he's picked his jaw up off the floor.

but they were supposed to hate him, give him a shiner to go along with the bruises he left on their collective ego. somethin' don't smell right, and it's not just the mix of mike's hard and last night's supper embedded between his shoelaces.

the only solution is to isolate, of course. out of sight out of mind. he starts showing up for school less and less, and when he's there it's not like he's paying attention. what's the point? as far as he can tell, his options were laid out before he was off his mom's tit: join dad at the dealership, or end up in a seaside trailer, running two-bit scams to supplement the part-time income he'd get as a ride operator. you don't need no stinkin' degree to push a button.

graduation comes and he doesn't go cuz you wouldn't catch him dead in one of those stupid ass hats and matching tablecloths. plus "getting older" is depressing. really depressing. as such, he becomes depressed. i wrote in painfully dumb detail what i think that might look like in the fic i was working on, so i'll spare you a rehashing of that.

anyway, his depressive episode subsides a bit and for the first time in his life he's looking inward. what does he want to do? who does he want to be? better yet WHO IS HE??? that's the thing with eddy, he has no idea who he is, and is terrified to find out. it was easy enough to mirror his brother when he mistook fear for respect. but no one is scared of him, and no one respects him, especially now that they see what a loser his brother is. so what does he have to lose by being himself? whatever that means.

at the forefront is that big lavender question mark that's been looming over his head since he was in diapers; the only "mental illness" his dad acknowledges as real.

he has another mini crisis when he is forced to accept that he's gay. followed by a torrent of relieved tears. relief mixed with horror, as it all makes an embarrassing amount of sense now. admitting that everyone was right SUCKS, but he'll look past that for the time being, and enjoy the fleeting lightness in his chest. it feels eerily similar to the day everyone found out the truth about his brother- minus the agony of cracked ribs.

his brother... oh shit, his FATHER. wipe those tears away mary. you better not be caught puffy eyed and red faced in this house son, 'less you been brawlin'.

anyway if i continue i'd be spoiling that fic i mentioned cuz i do plan on continuing it in some form or fashion eventually. the point of that fic is to pretty much go over what i think happens to eddy to get him to the point that he FIRST realizes and accepts he needs to heal at all, and then can begin the long, non-linear process of restoring what was taken from him by the hands of people who were supposed to love and protect him. that's the only way he'll be able to learn who he is and gradually let that take place of the caricature that was forced upon him.

accepting that he's gay is gonna seem like a breeze once he starts digging in to the real ugly shit. but it absolutely has an affect on his personality both as a kid before he realizes it and going forward as an out and proud adult. if you think he's flamboyant in the show...

but yes, his true personality is still, as you said, cantankerous, boisterous, egomaniacal, etc. perhaps becomes a bit more sophisticated with age lmao. take the way he acts in season one and a dash of season three in there for the best example of what i imagine he might be like on an average day in his adult life.

he'll always deal with anger management issues and depression, he's gonna have days, weeks, months where he's season 5 levels of unhinged. but like we all do, he learns to cope in ways besides bashing his skull into the nearest wall and/or tree. but don't get me started on that.

just as a side note, and not because you implied this or anything, but people who struggle with anger aren't bad people, and anger isn't inherently bad. he has every right to feel the rage he feels imo. i feel like removing those less "desirable" traits from him entirely really detracts from his fantastically complex character.

as far as how he treats the people closest to him go read @gettingfrilly's analysis of eddy and empathy for a much more informed, concise and well worded take than i can provide. my opinion is that it's a struggle for eddy to show kindness and consideration but he will get there in time with the right support. his fear of intimacy and vulnerability is something i hope to touch on in the fic too, so i'll save my ramblings on that topic for a later time.

overall, most of eddy's personality i wouldn't want to change, but it will mature and take on different forms as he gets older. his brashness, his humor (dude is so goddamn funny), his low tolerance for what he considers bullshit, his stupid charm, his ridiculous vanity. they all make him who he is and i wouldn't change them for the world!!

he's not going to get along with everyone and there will be people who simply don't like him, but once his barbs have been sanded down a bit, i think eddy would be really well liked by the people around him whose personalities and interests jell with his. his snark and gallows humor would be easily integrated into the many kitchens and bars he works in, and he'd have no trouble making friends. he's charismatic as all hell, and surprisingly cultured. i feel like people don't give him enough credit for how smart he is, but i see it. his confidence and resilience ensure that he WILL be successful in the things he sets out to do, it's just a matter of time and a little luck.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Choices

Summary 👇

Chrissy enters a brief relationship with Eddie that ends in heartbreak for him.

Y/n is there to pick up the pieces and her and as Eddie grows close, she beings to fall in love with him.

Then Chrissy decides she wants Eddie back.

Warnings: Heavy angst, fluff.

Like, Comments, reblogs are always greatly appreciated ❤️ I do not give anyone permission to copy my work

She wakes in Eddie's arms, sunlight filters through the window and she groans because she does not want to get out of his tight embrace.

Eddie sleeps peacefully, his arm wrapped around her and she settles back down for a moment just keen to savor this time together.

It's been nearly six weeks since she and Eddie grew close, they already knew of each other because of Dustin, Mike and Lucas being in Hellfire but didn't exactly hang out.

That all changed the minute Dustin brought him to hers, his shirt was torn, knuckles blooded and a shiner on his left eye.

Chrissy Cunningham his girlfriend of a brief few weeks had went back to her ex Jason resulting in a fight between him and Eddie.

She knew Chrissy from being on the cheer time and y/n really did think she was a sweetheart except right now she was pissed because Dustin was upset about Eddie being heartbroken.

So, she patched Eddie up and they talked a lot, it turns out that they both loved Metallica and were obsessed with their new song Master of Puppets.

Dustin was delighted the pair got on so well and she was pretty sure the little shit engineered some of their chance meetings after that night.

She was pretty sure he was trying to play Matchmaker which was very sweet and she couldn't deny that Eddie was handsome with his beautiful brown eyes and dimpled smile.

The tats were pretty hot too.

Slowly, they grew close and friendship grew into something... More. Being there for him, the long talks. Holding him while he poured his heart out to her formed a bond.

They hadn't had sex or anything, not that she didn't want to because she was very attracted to him it's just their bond was an emotional one as well as teetering on the edge of being physical.

She spent nights, sleeping over with him. Laying entwined and loving the closeness they both had.

His eyes flutter open and her stomach flutters at his lazy, sleepy smile.

"Hey beautiful". She hides her face in his arms and he chuckles warmly.

"Should really get up huh?". She pouts and he softens stroking her bottom lip with his thumb, electricity crackles between them.

"Gonna make me give you anything you want with that little pout sweetheart".

She grins at him and takes his hand.

"Do you think people realise how close we are?". They don't exactly hide it.

Eddie shrugs and strokes her hand with his thumb.

"Dunno, to be honest I like this. Just us, it kinda feels like you're mine". Oh, shit could she fall any more for this man?

"I am yours Eddie". She tells him truthfully and he moves closer to her... She never finds out what's going to happen because Eddie's uncle Wayne knocks on the door telling Eddie to get ready for school.

Maybe she can find out what would have happen later? Her body tingles at that thought.

🖤

At lunch, Eddie takes her to their spot in the woods so they can chill together and talk, sit together with entwined hands and identical shy grins...

"Eddie?" they both turn to see Chrissy approaching them and y/n's heart sinks because she has a bad feeling.

Eddie looks confused and gets up asking her what she's wants.

Chrissy walks up to Eddie and touches his cheek.

"I want you back Eddie, I should have never went back to Jason". He gapes and y/n feels like her heart has been crushed because she kkows what's going to happen.

Eddie steps away from her angered and his brown eyes flash furious.

"Why now? After all this time?". She swallows and takes his hand.

"Jason is... He's just an ass and I miss you, do you miss me?". He doesn't answer and y/n decides to slip away and give them some privacy and finally let the tears she's holding back come out since Chrissy showed up.

"I really should go and leave you two to talk".

Eddie's head snaps up and he pulls her back.

"No, wait please". She fakes a smile and squeezes his hand hoping he doesn't notice the heartache in her eyes.

"I'll see you later okay?". She leaves before he can say anymore and sobs as soon as she's far enough away for Eddie not to hear.

🖤

Eddie manages to find her as she's heading home, his eyes are red and he looks lost.

"Hi". He pulls her into a hug and she holds him tightly wishing they could stay like this forever.

"Where's Chrissy?". She asks him waiting to hear his answer and expecting what is coming...

"I sent her away, fuck my head is all messed up sweetheart". Heart aching for him she pushes down the hurt she's feeling determined to be there for him.

"I understand Eddie if you want to go back to her". His expression turns agonised and he sniffs.

"What about us huh? This isn't just friendship y/n and you know it. Waking up to you in my arms every day. That feeling that you're mine. How can we lose that? ".

She cries with him and strokes his cheek knowing she has to be strong.

"I know what she meant to you Eddie". He chokes out a sob and it makes her cry again.

"I don't know what to do". He whispers to her tears in his eyes as his forehead rests against hers.

"It's okay, she tells him sadly. I always knew that she could want you back, it was always in my head. I get it Eddie and I just want you to be happy, however that is. I'll still be your friend. Do what makes you happy".

She gently kisses his cheek.

"I'm gonna head home, got uh to cram for finals, I'll see you tomorrow okay". He looks like he wants to say more but she kisses his cheek and walks away dreading and knowing what's to come.

🖤

Truthfully for Eddie it didn't take long for him to decide, he knew in his heart who he loved truly.

He knew who he couldn't live without.

He heads to Chrissy's and knocks on the door, she answers and gives him a shy little smile.

"Hey". She invites him inside and he motions her to sit with him on the sofa.

"I thought a lot about what you said Chrissy and honestly if you came back right after the break up I might have said yes... but then I fell in love with this beautiful, kind, angel and she has my heart fully, I'm sorry Chrissy but no, only one woman has my heart".

Eddie expects her to get angry but she doesn't, she looks like that's what she expected all Along.

"Y/n? It's okay Eddie. I understand". She really does. Deep down she always knew it was a long shot.

Chrissy squeezes his hand understandingly.

"I'm sorry Eddie. If I knew you and y/n were together I would never have done this, honestly I think because Jason and I aren't working I panicked and ran back to you and that's not fair".

"You deserve to be loved fully not by half. I don't even think I truly wanted to get back together it's just you were a safety net you know".

He listens nodding and she turns to him smiling.

"You go to her okay, you go to y/n and you tell her how you feel and I am still going to break up with Jason, be single for a while".

He briefs a sigh of relief, it's went better than he ever expected but now all he wants to do is find y/n.

She's his heart and his home.

🖤

In her bedroom she tries to take her mind of the thought of Eddie and Chrissy together but it needles at her.

She's kinda waiting for him to come and tell her the inevitable, that it's Chrissy who he wants and not her.

He arrives at seven pm, he's holding a bunch of red roses and her heart is racing with the anxiety.

"Baby...

She cuts him off and swallows back her tears.

"It's okay, I know what you're going to say. You have to be with the person you love Eddie, it's okay".

There's a beat before he answers her, he kneels down and looks deeply into her eyes.

"I am".

Two words. Two words make happiness explode inside of her and she throws herself on Eddie, he laughs and she feels elated

"What about Chrissy?".

"We talked, she was understanding and told me to come and find you, you're my future sweetheart, there was never a choice. You are my heart".

He kisses her then and utters the words she longs to hear.

"I'm in love with you". She kisses him crying happy tears.

"I love you, I love you".

His gaze turns hot and she feels drawn to him, knowing what's going to happen.

"I love you and right now all I want to do is make love to you".

Oh, yes. She pulls him to her and giggles as he kisses her face, her neck and worships her whole body long into the night.

🖤

[adamwatchesmovies]

Doctor Sleep (2019)

Doctor Sleep is a sequel to The Shining 40+ years in the making. Taking its cues from the follow-up novel by Stephen King and the Stanley Kubrick classic, it’s a different but robust sequel nonetheless. Rather than try and recreate what worked about the first film (an impossible task, the 1977 horror classic is a one-in-a-million kind of movie), it tells its own story while paying homage to its predecessor and giving the fans what they want to see. Yes, it’s long at 152 but there’s an even longer director’s cut I’d love to visit sometime.

31 years after escaping the Overlook Hotel, Dan "Danny" Torrance (Ewan McGregor) is haunted by childhood trauma and struggles with alcoholism. When a young telepathic girl named Abra Stone (Kyliegh Curran) reaches out to warn him of a group who “Shine” and feed upon people with psychic abilities, he chooses to work with her to stop them.

Unlike The Shining, Doctor Sleep isn’t a horror movie. It’s more of a drama/thriller, with action-y bits coming in the later half and some horror sprinkled on top. For a good chunk of the story, we’re following a traumatized, ruined Danny Torrance trying his best to hold at bay the lingering ghosts of the Overlook Hotel while getting over his addiction, finding his place in the world and befriending Abra. There’s a lot of great material as Danny talks to his AA group about the way he relates to his father more than ever now that he is also a prisoner of the “demon in a bottle”. The way he and Abra’s childhoods differ make for great character-based moments.

And then come Rose the Hat (Rebecca Ferguson) and the members of the True Knot cult. If there’s one area where the film bites off more than it can chew, it’s with the villains. There are too many of them and several wind up being nothing more than generic baddies but otherwise, they’re the kind of villains you love to hate. As Rose the Hat puts it, the “steam” they steal from other shiners tastes best when the victim is young, terrified and in pain. If seeing kids die is something you can’t handle, know that writer/director Mike Flanagan has no mercy regardless of his characters' age.

The members of the True Knot gang who are fleshed out make for great, complex characters. One of the best examples is Snakebite Andi (Emily Alyn Lind). Under normal circumstances, she would be heroic but when she joins a group of psychic vampires who prey on children just so they can expand their lifespans… the support your initially support for her evaporates. These vampires act high and mighty but when it comes down to it, they’re just as prone to petty emotions as the rest of us, which makes every victory Dan and Abra score feel extra good.

So far, none of this sounds anything like The Shining. Psychic vampires? That’s far removed from a haunted hotel. You’re right, but Doctor Sleep makes it fit. It isn’t merely people that can shine; it’s the dead - such as the ghost from Room 237 - and places - like the Overlook - too. What we thought was a haunted building is actually much more and if that makes you wish we could get just one more look at that iconic location, the film obliges. This is where it feels most fanboy-ish, as we get pretty much every single prop and shot recreated: the blood flowing from the elevator, the twins, the tricycle down those corridors with the weird carpet, etc. Before we start docking points, however. I’d like to see anyone who didn’t want - even a little bit - to see the Overlook again. That's what I thought.

What makes these references and recreations work is how well they’re done. We see Dan confront Lloyd (Henry Thomas), who says he’s merely the Overlook's bartender but looks strikingly like Jack Nicholson. It isn’t an exact match (obviously) but even this inconsistency works. It’s a twisted memory, a ghost held captive by the Overlook looking to use a familiar image against the now grown boy who narrowly escaped its clutches years ago. The resemblance is so uncanny and the flashback and callback scenes so well done (Alex Essoe does a spot-on impersonation of Shelley Duvall) they don’t feel self-indulgent.

While we didn’t need Doctor Sleep, Stephen King felt the characters were worth returning to. Based on this effort, it’s hard to disagree. This sequel is telling its own story AND giving us more of what we enjoyed before. The performances are strong, the characters compelling and the callbacks are so well done that it makes the overlong running time feel… merely long. (December 17, 2021)

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

Oops (Joe x Reader)

(I genuinely didn't think I started this that long ago, but I started this at the end of 2020 and it sat for a long time until I finished it last fall. Oh dear... a long time to wait for a dumb little hurt/comfort)

Words: 1,464

Prompt: 1984, Dublin. You're part of the DL entourage that's playing some scrimmage football matches with a local band. You end up on the opposing team, causing some accidental consequences...

-----

Disorient and a sharp, throbbing pain were the only things you could feel. While you heard other people surrounding you- urgently trying to talk to you- all you could think to do was press your hands over your right eye, writhe, moan, and wait for the pain to subside.

"Hey, hey-" Mike's voice indicated he was kneeling by you on your left, "Easy now, how bad does it hurt?"

Joe was the next voice you heard as you felt him collapse to your right, "Fuck, Y/n! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

"Is she alright?" Mutt sounded like he was running to your location.

You were still focused on what Mike asked, and you groaned angrily at him, "Uggh- fuck...!"

"Shit!" Joe cursed again, "I'm sorry Y/n, it was an accident, I swear!"

"I knoooow-!" you growled at him. Not wanting to sound angry at him was your goal, but the sudden shock of the injury kicked your adrenaline up.

"Lemme see, can I see?" Mike tenderly touched one of your wrists. He let his other hand rest on your shoulder to keep you still.

Everyone now sounded like they were surrounding you; the rest of the band, the band's extended friend group, and even the opposite team. The game had obviously been put on pause the second you fell to the grass.

"What happened?" Phil had finally reached the scene of the action.

Joe immediately confessed, "My fuckin' elbow hit her- but I dunno how!"

You opened your healthy eye, and with a hiss, you allowed Mike to remove your stiff hold from your injured eye.

All those surrounding you hissed in return once the sight of your developing bruise was visible.

"Oh my god-" Joe's voice went higher and an intensely guilty frown piloted his facial expression.

Mutt noted, "That's only gonna get worse."

"Can you open it?" Mike asked.

"Nooo..." the whine was accompanied by you cautiously pressing a hand back to your injury, "I don't wanna try..."

Sav, who was nearby, turned on his heels and began to run towards the sidelines, "I'll grab some ice-"

"She's gonna have a shiner from that; we should probably get her to the hospital just to be safe- make sure nothin' broken," Phil was crouching down while warning them.

"I'll drive," Joe wasted no time to volunteer himself, "It's my fault she's hurt."

Mike stepped up also, "You're not going alone- someone's gotta be there in case she kills you."

"Yeah, she'll do it with one eye closed, too." Steve remarked. You wanted to laugh,  but found it hard to show anything other than pain.

"How bad is it, Y/n?" Rick was directly at your feet in front of you. He held up a few of his digits, "How many fingers?"

"Four," you grimaced.

"Well, she's not THAT bad."

"Y/n, I'm so sorry-" Joe helped you sit up with great caution- as if he were terrified of injuring you again, "I'm so sorry- I don't know how it happened! One second we were fightin' for the ball and the next-"

"Ughh just shut up, Joe!" you snapped at him, the throbbing in your head getting the better of you, "I know you didn't mean it- can't you just let it go for now?!"

"Kind of hard to not feel guilty when your eye's turnin' into a grape right in front of me-!"

You took your right hand off your swelling eye, and fumbled around to find his shoulder. Your nails dug into him almost instantly when you snarled, "Just shut up-! Help me now and I'll kill you later!"

Joe hissed when your nails broke his skin, "Alright-! That sounds like a deal..."

***

Mike and Joe sat next to each other in the ER waiting room some time later. Each were looking down at their hands, but Joe was looking more at the contents he held in his hands. Every flower and half-wilted flower in the bouquet he grasped nervously glared up at him, mimicking his anxiety and remorse.

"I elbowed Y/n in the eye." he declared to no one in a tone of unfortunate acceptance, "I gave my sweetest and most tender friend a black eye."

"C'mon, Joe," Mike tried to cheer him with a little sarcasm, "Do you really think she's still your friend?"

The singer looked up at him with guilty horror lacing his eyes. 

"I'm kidding!" Mike assured him with a chuckle, "But seriously, you're gonna have to get more than flowers for her if you think you can patch this up with a present or two."

Joe gazed back downwards at his bouquet like a lost puppy, "Don't rub it in. It was an accident- and I'm STILL not sure how it happened!"

"I briefly saw it, actually. You were both scramblin' for the ball, Y/n slipped, and at the same time you were 'tryna nudge her away with your elbow, you just so happened to catch her eye while she fell."

Joe let his head hang in shame. 

"It was a one in a million accident, mate" Mike patted his back, "I'm sure she understands. In fact, she does, and she already told you so. So there shouldn't be any hard feelings."

"I'll believe that when she proves it."

Just then, a nurse approached the pair of them, "Y/n said she'd like to see 'The King of Offensive Offense'?"

Joe sighed, standing up with his head still lowered, "That would be me."

***

The nurse opened the door, and your head lifted up to see Joe walk in with a bouquet in both hands. He was reluctant to look at you, but after a brief lingering second, he lifted his head. For an instant, you saw his guilty green puppy eyes staring up at you.

Immediately, however, he let out a short cackle and covered his mouth right away. 

You just stared at him with disappointment, arms crossed. The eyepatch on your face limited the invisible pain you wanted to send to him. 

"I'm sorry-" Joe tried to mitigate his laughter and failed, "I wasn't expecting the-"

Instead of saying anything or smacking him like you wanted to, you simply lifted up your eyepatch. That seemed to shut his happy ass up.

"...eyepatch," he gasped with his now-fallen face. He stared in horror at the large, purple, swollen mess over your eyelids. 

He watched you stare at him with intense contempt, and saw your face slowly contort as you began to cry.

"No, no-!" he panicked and rushed to your side, tossing the flowers aside in the process, "No, don't cry, Y/n!"

Taking you in a side hug, he kept sputtering off as his own voice cracked, "Please don't cry-! I didn't mean to hurt you- I swear I didn't- and I'm so fucking sorry this happened-! I'll do anything I can to make it up to you, I'll do anything to..."

Joe lost his train of thought, as he noticed something different about you; your "crying" had turned into laughter. He broke the hug and watched you cackle to yourself, black eye and all. 

"I'm sorry-" you laughed to him, "I just had to make you feel a little worse!"

He only sighed with relief and put his face in his hands, "Yeah, okay... I definitely deserved that."

"I know it was an accident, hun," you patted his shoulder, "But I'm never playing football with you again."

"You're really good, you know."

"At football?"

"No," he shook his head, "At acting. You almost had me cryin', too."

"That was the point." 

"I know, I know, I deserved it," he nervously rubbed the back of his head, "But are you okay, though? Is anything wrong with your eye?"

You gently smiled and shook your head, "No, everything's alright, miraculously. You get to live another day."

He sighed in great relief, "Oh thank god- I mean that you're alright- not that... you're not gonna murder me for this."

"Get my other eye and maybe I will."

Joe picked up the bouquet he'd carried in and handed it to you once more. You took it this time and squinted down at the blossoms in it, then squinted up at him.

"Of course you picked these flowers."

"What makes you say that?" his head innocently tilted.

You deadpanned to him, "...I'm allergic to these."

He gasped and snatched them away from you, "Fucking- are you serious!?"

You began cackling this time, "I'm kidding! I just love messin' with you. Give em here."

Joe hung his head and outstretched the bundle of flowers again, "Oh boy, I'm in for a long guilt trip, aren't I?"

Taking the flowers and holding them under your chin, you grinned from under your eyepatch, "Yes, yes you are."

[parallel-awhite]

#Slump #Lump

Slump at Lump Gallery / Curated by Jerstin Crosby based on conversations with New York-based artist and LabSpace gallery co-director Julie Torres

SLUMP. Some words do more heavy lifting than others, and I am rather in awe of the sheer tonnage this single-word title manages to bench-press, with meanings that cover "slack," "flaccid," "weak", "defeated," "pathetic," "depressed," "low ebb," and "doldrums" not to mention "bad posture" and "a period of time marked by failure."* This is a show that registers high on the coherence-of-curatorial-intention meter. A show with this title could have ended up as a zone of airless claustrophobic overwhelm, gallery as hoarder space, due to the sheer surfeit of potential work that could have been slotted within the “Slump” rubric. Instead the show is edited with drum-tight precision, each work positioned in the space for maximum flow and impact. This is a show that breathes. Good feng shui. It’s thus paradoxical: a show called "Slump" that is in itself highly articulated - crisp, concise, highly engaged and engaging. Go figure.

An overall note on influence: Mike Kelley's splayed societal/ cultural/ subliminal abjections have inoculated the bloodstream of the body politic of contemporary art, a tribute to the necessary-ness of that artist’s efforts, the validity of which is evidenced by the spectral array of vital and meaningful work that has been made and likely will continue to be made in its wake: artist as shiner-of-light on psychic detritus that has been relegated to the societal dust heap due to collective denial, blindness, greed or best practices. It is thus no surprise that much of the physical [and nonphysical for that matter] material employed in Slump is multiplex and often recycled, repurposed or reconsidered.

Raymond Padrón’s revelatory “Tube Sock” (2023), while made of painted wood (and not literal recycled material), embodies “that which has been lost or discarded.” The single sock that evades capture holds near-mythical status in the unwritten history of laundry. The highly visible tube sock reclining on someone’s floor is another well-known trope. I will add that while “Tube Sock” in its supremely casual and might I add believable pose [why not anthropomorphize a sock?] (as for said pose, I buy its slump-ness, its nonchalance, its actual real-life tossed-ness – it’s a sculptural tour-de-force) as Padrón has rendered it appears clean enough, I cannot stop the onslaught of sock associations, which include dirt and smell. This sensory response to a monumental relief work aggrandizing a single item of bit-player clothing is a win.

Another win: the placement of “Tube Sock” adjacent to Julia Gartrell’s indelible sculptural work “Rib” [undated]. These two works by two artists working within their own bubble of slumpness manage to converge in uncannily similar shaping and sense of weight distribution. “Rib” is a work that manages to immediately attach to the mind like a parasite. I mean this admiringly. Like “Tube Sock,” it is both hilarious and beautiful, surreal and gritty, utterly evident in what it is and yet also deeply mysterious. The premise of “Rib” is simple: a single boot [(the artist’s boot) that carries questions about and signals a uselessness similar to Padrón’s single sock] with a Ruth Asawa-esque reed basketry leg figuration that sort of floats off into nothingness – no body – tethered to no world in particular, to sudden, unexpected abstraction.

Bill Thelen's untitled limp wrist project covers much of the Drawing Room annex wall. These are interactive drawings based on photos people sent to the artist in response to his request for shots of their limp wrists. The project is a canny power move by Thelen – up there with the reclaiming of the term queer in the 80s. The visual reclaiming of body-language cliché epithet celebrates and recalibrates what has historically functioned as a denigrating trope of [specifically gay, male] flamboyance** by creating what feels like a solidarity wall papered over with drawing upon drawing of images of limp wrists en repose, i.e., held aloft, hand and fingers relinquished downward to gravitational pull. The works are not gender-coded, and they’re not color coded; they’re disencoded.*** There is an expanded iteration of the project as part of the exhibition proper, a single outsized limp wrist outlined in relief with woven embroidery floss, tape and pins.

I could write in-depth on each of the works in this substantial and generous show, which was appropriately allowed to inhabit both gallery rooms. But given that it’s the last day of the show and would be nice to post it with at least a few hours left – and in light of inherent limitations of the person writing this – will list the artists here:

Amanda Barr

April Childers

Bill Thelen

Brandon Boan

Celia Gray

Conner Calhoun

Ellen Letcher

Fred Smith

Jasmine Best

Jessica Langley

Julia Gartrell

Julie Torres

Maria Britton

Nico Smith

Rachel Bernstein

Raymond Padron

Skully Gustafson

Terry Hoff

Tonya Solley Thornton

A few final thoughts: As in the conundrumical universe of curatorial practice, every piece in this show held the potential to live within infinite other parallel universes of thought. The “Slump” mindset, however, focuses the mind like hunger – or a strong need one did not know held sway within until it was met. The clarity of intention in this show was so strong it felt like I was walking around the space wearing one of those museum guided-tour headsets.

Can I just add: Slump also works as a riff on the gallery name: Lump. I read this as a kind of evolutionary equation whereby Lump [L] = Lumpen/Unformed ∆ Lump + S/ = S/lump = Slump [SL]

And another thing: A slump is a temporary condition. That will at some point turn around. Hence it posits an undercurrent of hope. With the evolutionary outcome not being verticality or a *straightening* [aka devolving / attaining regressive rigidity] but some mode of as-yet unidentified [fluid] expansion.

April Childers / Brandon Boan

Bill Thelen / Maria Britton

Amanda Barr / Celia Gray

Jasmine Best / Skully Gustafson

Tonya Solley Thornton / Tonya Solley Thornton

Ellen Letcher / Lump Gallery (installation view)

Raymond Padrón / Julia Gartrell

Bill Thelen / Bill Thelen [Drawing Room]

Skully Gustafson / Skully Gustafson

Fred Smith / Fred Smith

___________

* I typically write about work before reading gallery copy and have only just now encountered a list of related salient adjectives supplied by Crosby, which are available elsewhere. However, the fact that there are few overlapping terms in the two lists underscores the fertile elasticity of the premise.

** A word that pings in my head thusly: [flimsy/ flim-flam/ flambé/ flaming/ boy/ buoyancy/ bouyance/ clairvoyance/ (disco ball) dance].

*** My text my rules yes I just made up that word.

[lifewithaview]

Michael Keaton in Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014)

Dir.Alejandro G. Iñárritu

Actor Riggan Thomson is most famous for his movie role from over twenty years ago of the comic book superhero Birdman in the blockbuster movie of the same name and its two equally popular sequels. His association with the role took over his life, where Birdman is more renowned than "Riggan Thomson" the actor. Now past middle age, Riggan is trying to establish himself as a true artist by writing, directing, starring in and co-producing with his best friend Jake what is his Broadway debut, an adaptation of Raymond Carver's story, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. He is staking his name, what little artistic reputation that comes with that name and his life savings on the project, and as such will do anything needed to make the play a success. As he and Jake go through the process of the previews toward opening night, Riggan runs into several issues: needing to find a replacement for the integral supporting male role the night before the first preview; hiring the talented Broadway name, Mike Shiner, for that role, Mike who ends up being difficult to work with and who may end up overshadowing Riggan in the play; having to deal potentially with a lawsuit based on one of his actions to ensure success; needing to be there for his daughter, Sam, who he has hired to be his production assistant and who has just come out of drug rehab; and pleasing the New York Times critic, Tabitha Dickinson, who wants to use any excuse to give the play a scathing review which in turn would close the show after the opening night performance. But Riggan's biggest problem may be his own insecurities, which are manifested by him constantly hearing what he believes to be the truth from the voice of his Birdman character, who he often battles both internally and externally.

*Mike Shiner: Popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige.

[goalhofer]

2023 In Memoriam Part 40

María Villafañe, 34

Bishop Antoine Scopelliti, 84

Dave Courtney, 64

Janina Dawidowicz aka Janina David, 94

Tom Walker, 74

Bishop Enrique Macaraeg, 67

Tasha Butts, 41

Mervin Shiner, 102

Richard Roundtree, 81

Prof. Hans Albert, 102

Marcel Berthomé, 101

Niels Holst-Sørensen, 100

Mike Lashuk, 84

Prof. Wanda Półtawska, 101

Ray Brown, 74

Jérôme Christ, 85

Bobby Guindon, 80

Ed Sandford, 95

Robert Smith, 77

Denis Carufel, 69

Ángel Martín, 105

Adam Johnson, 29

A.B. Smith, 103

Jerzy Mruk, 85

Tony Rohr, 84

Sam Ball, 79

Peter S. Fischer, 88

Frank Howard, 87

Tim Parenton, 61

Sr. Dr. Lea Ackermann, 86

[allagashed]

i genuinely cannot physically be normal about characters i literally have to distance myself from the fandom if they misinterpret the character im obsessed with

[guiadelrock]

ROYAL BLOOD publican esta semana su nuevo álbum 'BACK TO THE WATER BELOW'

‘Back To The Water Below’ es el esperado nuevo álbum de Royal Blood, que se publicará el Viernes 1 de Septiembre, en diferentes formatos (Vinilo, CD y Digital), en todo el mundo. Previamente el dúo ha presentado inquietantes anticipos como el adrenalítico video de “Mountains At Midnight” y “Pull The Through”, con un impresionante y acuático videoclip dirigido por el sorprendente nuevo cineasta londinense Polocho.

Los últimos meses Royal Blood se los han pasado llenando estadios en toda Europa, como invitados especiales de Muse. 2023 también será recordado por su triunfal set en el Festival de Glastonbury donde antecedieron a los aclamados Arctic Monkeys. Y claro, han participado, como cabezas de cartel en festivales como Truck Festival, Y NOT? Festival, Brighton Beach, Kendal Calling...

EL ALBUM: “BACK TO THE WATER BELOW”

El lanzamiento de 'Back To The Water Below' presagia un nuevo e interesante escalón a subir para Royal Blood. Su historia es la de dos amigos de toda la vida, Mike Kerr y Ben Thatcher, cuya pasión compartida por el Rock y el Hard Rock con guitarras y a toda velocidad, los ha llevado juntos a una extraordinaria aventura: una historia de tal éxito que aún no se ha repetido, lo que los llevó a una sucesión de logros que son tan increíbles como notables. Pasando del circuito de pubs en su Brighton natal a encabezar las listas de álbumes del Reino Unido, ganando el Premio BRIT al Mejor Grupo Británico y consiguiendo que grandes como Lars Ulrich (Metallica) y Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin) hablen maravillas de la música de Royal Blood. Su carrera ha sido ascendente y coherente desde que con sus anteriores álbumes 'How Did We Get So Dark?' y 'Typhoons' llegarán directamente al N#1.

ROYAL BLOOD – “BACK TO THE WATER BELOW”

Tracklist

1. Mountains at Midnight

2. Shiner in the Dark

3. Pull Me Through

4. The Firing Line

5. Tell Me when It's Too Late

6. Triggers

7. How Many More Times

8. High Waters

9. There Goes My Cool

10. Waves

[gavinsmg24]

Nect ep S2 ep4

Damn!! Mike came back fukt up!

Jimmy showing commercial. Oh boy.

Spaced out watching but

God.. poor Kim.. what has Jimmy done! Now he’s at chucks

Also! Woah! Nacho wants Tuco dead before his crazy ass kills him!

Back to chuck. He was mad but now he’s taking care of sick chuck. Good bro Jimmy

Mike didn’t want a gun! Second thoughts?

Chuck wakes to Jimmy. Pleading his case to chuck about Kim. Jesus! Chuck said Kim’s biggest mistake was believing in Jimmy. Ugh. Chuck being right but also a jerk

Jimmy tryna make chuck a hypocrite. Grrr. Tensions.

Oh god. Now Tuco. The lie detector 😂

Oh boy.. bet this is how the shiner comes up! Uh ohhh. Mike riling Tuco up. Oh! It worked!? Cops there! And daaaamn that last hit even tho cops there 💀

Daaamn only 25k but. Nachos right. Tuco getting out eventually 👀

Good ep! Done for now. Gaming with chase when he’s home. Soon. I’m smoking then we’ll game. Mwah!

[gabrielpardal]

Birdman - Prestígio vs Popularidade

Em seu quarto filme produzido nos EUA o diretor mexicano Alejandro González Iñárritu expõe sua opinião sobre a indústria do cinema americano, muito provavelmente a partir da sua experiência por lá. Birdman conta a história de Riggan Thomson, um ator que no passado fez muito sucesso no papel do personagem título, um super-herói que se tornou ícone cultural e comercial em todo o mundo. Desde que ele recusou a filmar o quarto filme da franquia, sua carreira começou a cair. Em busca de refazer sua fama como ator, ele decide dirigir, roteirizar e estrelar a adaptação de um conto do Raymond Carver no teatro da Broadway.

Acontece que a poucos dias da estreia a produção vem enfrentando alguns problemas. Um dos atores se acidentou e foi substituído pelo talentoso e problemático Mike Shiner (Edward Norton); uma outra atriz do elenco, Laura (Andrea Riseborough), revela que pode estar grávida dele; Lesley (Naomi Watts), outra atriz, está insegura na sua estreia na Broadway; seu agente e amigo Jake (Zach Galifianakis) está desesperado com o possível fracasso financeiro do espetáculo; sua filha Sam (Emma Stone), recém saída de uma clínica de recuperação de drogas, sente a falta do afeto paterno e parece estar próxima de uma recaída; e a maior crítica de teatro (Lindsay Duncan) do maior jornal americano mostra-se determinada a escrever uma péssima resenha. Junto à isso, Thomson é constantemente atormentado pela voz de Birdman, que após ter sido abandonado pelo interprete, permanece presente em sua cabeça, lhe atormentando, provocando sua auto-estima, tentando lhe rebaixar.

Há tempos que alguns cineastas americanos vêm se mostrando preocupados com o rumo que suas produções tomaram. Essa preocupação também passa pelos realizadores daqui, já que nosso modelo de produção e exibição é chupado do deles. A internet fez com que os estúdios perdessem dinheiro ao disponibilizar cópias piratas de graça para download. Para não perder dinheiro os estúdios acabaram privilegiando produções que não tivesse risco de lucro como continuações de filmes de herói, filmes 3D, desenhos animados, fazendo de tudo para prender os espectadores na telona. Graças à isso, um outro tipo de filme, considerado mais “artístico”, sofreu junto com seus realizadores e público.

Se antigamente um ator se gabava por nunca ter feito um trabalho taxado de comercial, hoje não é o que acontece. Nem os considerados grandes atores da arte performática escaparam, Ian Mckellen, Cate Blanchet, Jeremy Irons, Samuel L. Jackson, Tilda Swinton, Michael Fassbender, Robert Downey Jr, Philip Seymour Hoffman — assim como também Michael Keaton, Edward Norton e Emma Stone (que estão no elenco de Birdman).

O filme de Iñárritu é uma crônica sobre isso. Não a toa que o seu protagonista é o Michael Keaton, que há duas décadas atrás se eternizou no papel de Batman e que após ter recusado participar de suas continuações deixou de ser convidado para papéis relevantes no cinema. Keaton faz Thomson, ator que não quer ser eternamente conhecido por usar a máscara de um herói, que sente que suas ambições artísticas vislumbram outros trabalhos e, portanto, decide correr atrás disso. É um filme que fala sobre existência, sobre a busca por um lugar e um objetivo na vida — e em como nos enxergamos em nossas próprias vidas.

O objetivo de Iñarritu é discutir a questão Arte versus Entretenimento. Existe mesmo esta divisão? Todos os personagens estão marcados pela dualidade, parecem estar divididos entre duas direções. Mike Shiner é um ator do Método, não quer que o gin seja substituído por água no palco e sugere que usem uma arma de verdade em cena, para dar mais realidade. Em um momento do filme Shiner diz que se sente como que interpretando na vida real enquanto no palco ele é mais livre. Lesley, Sam, Jake e outros também parecem desconfortáveis em suas personas, dando a impressão de que tudo pode despedaçar de uma hora para outra. O filme nos faz acompanhar Thomson no esforço para se reerguer através do prestígio concedido pelo teatro, se relacionando com os outros que buscam a mesma vitória prometida pelo sonho americano.

O desejo de ser amado, inerente ao ser humano, pode ser um elemento auto-destrutivo para o artista embora também possa ser um combustível para a realização de seus trabalhos mais ambiciosos. É a necessidade em ser admirado que move todos os personagens do filme. E no caso de Thomson, através da sua peça ele almeja o reconhecimento ao invés da fama. Não é a peça que lhe interessa, nem o seu conteúdo ou o que ela comunica, mas sim ele mesmo. Na sociedade do espetáculo em que estamos inseridos a imagem é o grande valor e a vida passa a ser um jogo no qual só o que importa é a construção dessa imagem e a transformação do nome de alguém em grife. O avatar se torna mais importante do que a pessoa.

A fama se relaciona com o avatar. Já o reconhecimento, com a pessoa. O famoso é conhecido mas não necessariamente reconhecido. Reconhecer é poder conhecer-se no outro, é se colocar no seu lugar, é aceitá-lo e defender seu direito de existência. Não é simplesmente aceitar, mas compreender e respeitar. Para isso é preciso enxergar no outro algo que seja digno de compreensão e de respeito. Daí existe mesmo a diferença entre Celebridade e Artista. Não são a mesma coisa. O desejo de ser famoso é um fim em si e acaba se tornando um negócio. A imagem é mercadoria e é dela que vivem as celebridades — pessoas para as quais o ser não está em jogo, mas apenas o aparecer.

Em uma cena do filme, Shiner fala para Thomson “A popularidade é a prima promíscua do prestígio”. São dois personagens diferentes mas ambos arrogantes e movidos pelo ego, pela vontade de serem mais importantes do que os outros. O que Shiner tem (prestígio artístico reconhecido por críticos), Thomson não tem e quer. O que Thomson tem (popularidade e poder), Shine não tem e quer. O detalhe precioso é que mesmo com toda arrogância, eles são inseguros. O primeiro é impotente sexual e o segundo frágil em suas convicções artísticas.

O filme escrito por Iñarritu, Nicolás Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris e Armando Bo não é uma sátira. Em outras mãos poderia ser uma comédia debochada cheia de ironia que acabaria resultando nos mesmos filmes a que critica. Birdman é um filme necessário e não foi feito unicamente para divertir, é um filme que emite uma opinião de assuntos contemporâneos. Um filme para artistas e também para consumidores de arte.

Em um diálogo estupendo Thomson discute com sua filha no salão do teatro. Ele diz que está tentando construir algo importante e ela rebate que o que ele faz não é importante. Thomson reage, “É importante para mim. Talvez não para você ou para seus amigos cínicos cuja única ambição é produzir um viral, mas para mim, para mim é Deus. Essa é a minha carreira, essa é a minha chance de fazer um trabalho que é realmente significante”. A resposta de Sam ao pai é um dos melhores momentos de Emma Stone no cinema: “Significante para quem? Você teve uma carreira antes do terceiro filme do herói dos quadrinhos, antes das pessoas começarem a esquecer quem estava dentro da fantasia de pássaro. Agora você está fazendo uma peça baseada em um livro que foi escrito há 60 anos atrás para umas centenas de ricos e brancos que só estão mesmo preocupados em onde eles vão comer depois. E encare, pai, não é pela arte, é porque você quer se sentir relevante de novo. Tem um mundo inteiro aí fora onde as pessoas lutam para serem relevantes todos os dias e você age como se ele não existisse! (…) Você detesta os blogueiros, você detesta o Twitter e você nem tem um perfil no Facebook! Você não existe. Você faz isso porque tem medo de morrer. Como todos nós. E você quer saber? Você está certo. Nada é importante. Você não é importante. Se acostume com isso.”

Outra cena marcante é da discussão entre Thomson e Tabitha, a crítica de teatro que quer conservar a pureza na arte — parecida com algumas que vemos por aí. Mesmo sem ainda ter assistido a peça, ela diz que vai escrever uma péssima resenha e vai destruir seu trabalho, justificando que Thomson está ocupando o espaço de alguém que poderia ter algo importante para dizer. “Eu vou escrever a pior crítica que alguém já leu e vou acabar com sua peça. Sabe por quê? Porque eu odeio você e todos que você representa. Egoístas, crianças mimadas, despreparados para exercer a verdadeira arte. Entregando uns aos outros prêmios por desenhos e pornografias. Bom, aqui é o teatro e você não pode vir aqui e fingir que sabe escrever, dirigir e atuar na sua própria propaganda sem passar primeiro por mim.” Embora tenha alguns pontos interessantes, a opinião de Tabitha é ultrapassada. Por isso a resposta de Thomson é mais violenta e contundente. Ele a acusa de ser preguiçosa e produzir apenas rótulos. “Você não consegue ver uma coisa se não rotular ela antes. (…) Não há nada sobre técnica, sobre estrutura, sobre intenção! É apenas um monte de opinião de merda. Você apenas escreve uns parágrafos que não lhe custam nada. Seu risco é zero. É nada. Eu sou um ator e nessa peça arrisco tudo!” Ao que ela rebate “Você não é um ator. Você é uma celebridade.” Boa discussão.

A cinematografia concebida por Iñarritu e pelo diretor de fotografia Emmanuel Lubezki (Gravidade, A Árvore da Vida) é espetacular. Filmado para parecer um único plano-sequência, evoca uma continuidade temporal característica do teatro. Aliás, ele é quase que inteiramente filmado num teatro, nos mostrando seus bastidores, coxias, camarins, sala de máquinas, justamente revelando o que há por trás de produções para discutir as produções. Colocando em contraste o Cinema e o Teatro. A trilha sonora do Antonio Sanchez parece improvisada e executada ao vivo. Os atores estão insuperáveis. Edward Norton faz o seu melhor trabalho desde “Clube da Luta”. Emma Stone em uma carreira ainda curta faz seu melhor papel até agora. Zach Galifianakis faz um personagem diferente de tudo o que Zach Galifianakis já fez.

Mas o filme é mesmo de Michael Keaton, corajoso ao usar sua biografia e seu envelhecimento para construir Thomson, se expõe como em uma das cenas em que remove a peruca que esconde sua calvície e fala sobre seu medo de ser esquecido “Você sabia que Farah Fawcett morreu no mesmo dia que Michael Jackson?”. Keaton interpreta parecendo que foi mordido por um mosquito e passa o filme inteiro atrás desse mosquito. Mas não é só ele que está atrás deste mosquito, como também Riggan Thomson. Este mosquito é um pássaro, que é ele mesmo. E todos temos esse pássaro super-herói que pode nos destruir ou nos levar aos céus.