auradesignandconstruct

[jujitto]

⠀ㅤᓭི༏ᓯྀㅤ ㅤㅤ𓂂⠀𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 ! — 𝗓𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗈 « 𝟣.𝟤𝗄 »

★ ! 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 · everything between you two was wrong. as much as you two try to pretend that everything was OK it wasn’t. you could dance all night long, but it wouldn’t help you to fix the problem you had.

★ ! 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 · zhang hao x reader

★ ! 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 · angst, some fluff

I don't want a friend…….just someone to give me that feeling. That feeling of being wanted. I want my life in two.

The dark filled the room……..waiting to get there. Waiting for you. A hand gripped yours. Fingers caressed your hand and your arm, you felt his warmth on your bare skin. His fingers sliding up your arm and then you felt his fingertips on your collarbone, the warmth of his palm on your cheek.

When I'm around slow dancing in the dark, middle of the night. You've been on my mind, you've been on my mind.

He pulled you into him. Your bodies pressed against each other, the feeling of his hard chest. He put his lips on yours and you melted. Don't follow me, you'll end up in my arms.

"I have no regrets."

"Not even me?"

"You're my greatest regret, and my greatest love."

His hand ran down your back, pulling you tighter. His other hand held the side of your neck, his thumb running across your jaw.

"This will be the last time I ask. Will you stay?"

"I'm scared."

"You can leave at any time. I will not stop you."

"Why not?"

You done made up your mind……..I don't need no more signs. Can you? Can you?! Can you see? See the way we shine?

Give me reason to believe that it's not over.

You took me by the hand and led me through the dark room. Your body swaying with mine, our eyes locked on each other. You pulled me close, our faces so close I could feel your breath.

As the music filled the room with its haunting melody, you found yourselves drawn to each other, moving in sync as if guided by an invisible force. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as you swayed gently to the rhythm.

With every step, every turn, you felt a deeper connection forming between you, transcending words and doubts. His touch was reassuring, grounding you in the moment as you lost yourselves in the dance.

The soft glow of candlelight illuminated your intertwined figures, casting flickering shadows against the walls. In that moment, there was no past, no future, only the present shared between two souls entwined in a dance of longing and desire.

As the music reached its crescendo, he pulled you closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

Give me reasons we should be complete. You should be with her, I can't compete. You looked into his eyes, "It was a mistake to come back."

He leaned closer, his breath was hot against your face, "If you don't want to be here, I can take you back." You shook your head. “Zhang Hao.” You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well. Can't you see?

I've been a fool, but still I have to wonder.

His lips brushed against mine. The kiss was sweet, soft, and passionate. The world disappeared. His lips on yours. Your hands held onto the sides of his neck, pulling him closer. I don't wanna slow dance. In the dark, dark. Give me one more chance.

To show you that it won't be the same. When you gotta run……just hear my voice in you.

You could feel his body heat through his shirt. He pulled back slightly and you both paused. "I know I've hurt you." You looked into his eyes. Shutting me out, you. "You have a habit of hurting people."

"I can't change the past." He whispered. Doing so great, you. You looked at the wall and saw the time on the clock, 2:30am. I don't wanna slow dance, I'll make this last. Used to be the one to hold you when you fall…..yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

You closed your eyes. "Hao, I've tried to hate you but I can't." Zhang Hao's eyes were filled with pain. He looked down at his hands. "I've loved you for years. I was happy with you, even when I wasn't."

He looked at you. I don't fuck with your tone. I don't wanna go home. He could tell that you were hurt by his words. His eyes filled with sadness and regret.

He pulled you close. Your lips inches apart. You felt his warm breath against your skin. You closed your eyes and kissed him. It was a long kiss, one that felt like an eternity had passed before he pulled away. Can it be one night? Can you? Can you?

"You are everything to me."

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not? I don't know what else to say."

I can't live without you. He put his hand on the side of your face and looked at you with a soft gaze. Give me reasons we should be complete. You should be with her, I can't compete. "We will never be complete without each other."

"Don't you have anyone else?"

"I love you, you idiot."

"Don't lie to me."

"You're the one who keeps running."

"You keep chasing."

"I'm not chasing anymore. If you want to leave, I won't stop you."

"You will."

"I won't."

"Yes you will."

You looked into his eyes and saw the pain and regret there. You looked at me like I was someone else, oh well. Can't you see?

You could see the anguish and the torment in his eyes, and it tore at your heart. You had never seen him like this before. It was as if he was seeing a part of himself that he had kept hidden away from the world, and now he was showing it to you.

Can't you see?

"I can't be what you need. You need someone else."

"You're the only person who can make me whole."

"You'll always need more than just me."

"I will never need more than you."

You were silent. "What about her?"

"I told you, it's not the same."

You were quiet, and then you started laughing. Zhang Hao looked at you, confused. You shook your head, and continued to laugh. You could feel the tears falling down your face, and you tried to stop yourself, but the laughter wouldn't stop.

Zhang Hao reached out and wiped away the tears. "You are so damn confusing."

You looked up at him, and he leaned in and kissed you. "I love you." He whispered, as he pulled away. You shake your head pulling away. He's not gonna be the one to make you stay. And I can't pretend that we're okay. Give me one more chance. To show you it won't be the same. When you gotta run.

"I can't stay."

"Then go."

You could feel the tears running down your cheeks. He was holding onto you so tightly, but you knew that he wouldn't let go. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You opened your eyes, and looked up at him.

"I'll always love you." You say. You turned and walked away. You couldn't look back, because if you did, you would break down.

You're gonna be the one that saves me. You're gonna be the one that saves me. You're gonna be the one that saves. Zhang Hao watched as you left, his heart breaking. He knew that he had lost you forever. I don't wanna slow dance…..In the dark, dark. In the dark, dark.

[kyouka-supremacy]

Thoughts on odazai? I wondered if your reasons for disliking dazai apply to this ship since it doesn't seem to function the same way other popular dazai ships do

Mmmmhh okay first off, I'm afraid my dislike for Dazai transcends all ships (╥﹏╥)

But I do think odazai is very enjoyable for its own uniqueness!! Oda is the only person Dazai respects, literally, and that's bound to make their relationship distinctive and unique. I feel like respect should come with every healthy relationship, so you see the appeal here? Odazai is the only ship that shows a side of Dazai that finally feels authentic– it shows a side of Dazai that is willing to care. For the rest of the franchise Dazai's character is pretty much up to interpretation, there's the mystery element of never being able to tell what's going through his mind, but Oda's existence alone is enough to show us a true face of Dazai for once– which is nice, because Oda showed us a side of Dazai that is capable of love. Which wasn't exactly predictable given Dazai's nihilism, cruelty and apparent disregard of human life; and yet even him is capable of love. And he truly is! Even if you don't like them romantically, Dazai's love (platonic, if you prefer) for Oda is undeniably there, and it's nice, it's miraculous to get to witness it. In a way, Anon, maybe you're right! I don't like Dazai, and still odazai has the power of making Dazai feel sympathetic: because it shows you a man who cares about another person, and who would do anything for them; and then that person is taken away from him. You just can't not feel sympathy for that, it's inherently human to relate to and be touched by another man's suffering, and a thousand times more so when such suffering is moved by love. Odazai is the only ship that makes me want to ship it because I think it would make Dazai happy, and makes me feel happy for him.

Odazai is a sweet, tragic, comforting ship. People have definitely put it more eloquently and in detail than me, but it's just the completely lack of judgement on both sides which is SUCH an appealing aspect. They can be their true authentic selves with each other, and it must have been so staggering and exhilarating and overwhelming for Dazai specifically who probably didn't even know who he himself was– how much human he could be. There's the mutual respect, the genuine admiration. There's the feeling of being accepted and understood like they aren't by anyone else– they both share this morally grey view of the world, and they are the only ones who aren't judgemental of the other's lack of morals; they get each other. In a world that results meaningless to them, they can be each other's reason to live. Then there's the making each other better?? Seriously, what other ship makes Dazai even slightly better. Oda canonically changed Dazai's whole existence prompting him to do good for the rest of his life with six words. And again, the fact alone that Oda is the only person to ever make Dazai capable of love– that's as good as it can get! Dazai is the best he can be as soon as he allows himself to be vulnerable and emotional and soft and honest, and Oda prompted him to do exactly that. And I know that's very arguable, but we literally do not know if Dazai ever truly loved anyone after joining the good guys, or if he's just doing good things because Oda asked him to instead of having an innate will to do good for a genuine love of human beings– maybe he's really doing all of that solely because he loved a man and he will never love anyone else; we really have no way to know, and it's up to interpretation. My take, while we're at it (because I'm drunk on tiredness and I can't stop talking), is that Dazai, even if coming from a place of having no fondness for humans and exclusively doing good because he was asked to rather than for a true conviction, got so accustomed to doing good, he actually... Became good (Aristotle and moral virtue being something you can get better at by practicing it). In that case, Oda would be someone who literally taught Dazai to love, and that's beautiful in its own way.

I didn't get much into Oda's side of the relationship; I feel like I don't know Oda a lot, I only watched the Dark Era episodes of the anime once ten months ago and even Beast doesn't feel like giving away much of his personality. But I do like to think he would love Dazai; if else, I feel like Dazai too is a special person to Oda like no one else is.

Also like, there's the fact that they're quite literally canon. Like I don't know what to tell you it's literally there. Not that many men out there Osamu Dazai would literally abandon everything he's ever known, completely turn his life upside down, start doing good without even believing in good, for. Characters who aren't canonically gay but who's actions don't make any sense until you interpret them as gay and stuff. It barely even count as queerbating tbh like it's just right there.

[kleenexwoman]

Ship it/Don't ship it:

Steve/Bucky

Steve/Tony

Steve/Peggy

Loki/Tony

Stucky

What made me ship it: Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan's longing glances and general chemistry. Before that, it was a side dirtybuthot ship. Taking away the inherent power imbalance really made it take off in general--people are very reluctant to ship hero/kid sidekick that openly right now--and it gave them a sense of shared history and interdependence that a Bucky who met Steve when he was bulked up wouldn't have.

What I like about it: I had a lot of crushes on my friends when I was a kid, and the idea that someone could have reciprocated that as deeply as Steve and Bucky is a nice one. It's really cozy to pair someone with their best friend growing up. And there's a lot to be said about someone who has seen you at your least appealing and still adores that version of you.

My unpopular opinion: Steve would never, ever have been the first one to make a move. He's aware that he's not a conventionally appealing partner, he sees Bucky as a brotherly type he has a guilty crush on, and he doesn't want to do the wrong thing and change things, so he's always going to repress the shit out of it until Bucky makes a clear move. I think Bucky's a lot more okay with his own feelings for Steve than Steve is with his feelings, and tbh I think Bucky sees Steve as a lot more--what are the kids calling it?--babygirl-coded. You know, when you want to act like you're someone's partner, but you're not actually together, so you just treat them kind of like it? And sometimes it can be toxic, or can be sweet and loving, depending on how self-aware you are and how well you deal with your feelings.

Steve/Tony

Why I got into it: It was one of the many, many ships surrounding Tony in the wake of the first wave of Marvel movies and before the Avengers movie. There wasn't that much good fic with Rhodey, I was the only person who liked Justin Hammer, everyone was writing Stony because they had been such good friends for so long in the comics. Nobody thought Joss was going to... Joss that.

What I like about it: JOSS WHEDON TOOK IT FROM ME. *deep breath* Okay. I like all the shit I liked before Avengers (2012) and their stupid bickering. I like the idea that Steve can help Tony get past his daddy issues by existing in the flesh as a person who stands in opposition to all the lies that Howard told Tony. And I like when Tony delights in introducing Steve to modernity and treats him to a lifestyle that boggles him. I like that they help each other heal from the past and understand the future. But I also like messy party monster Tony who can't keep it in his pants and enjoys going wild to relax and is one manic coke binge away from building a death ray, and I like clean-living, frugal Steve seeing the good in Tony past all of that.

My complicated opinion on it: My wife had this boyfriend who was a lapsed Catholic asshole. He had a lot of Catholic problems, like the whole guilt over feeling good about literally anything problem, and a stupidly rigid moral standard by which he would judge others without communicating it until he blew up about it, but he also had this whole transcendent artist's mystique that my wife really liked. He had a messiah complex, too. I mean, the people I know who thought, "Hmm, I wonder if I'm the second coming of Jesus", including myself, I could count on two hands. But this dude fucking externalized it, you know what I mean? And his girlfriend (not my wife, his live-in girlfriend) was this loud, sarcastic, ebullient bipolar alcoholic who was a lot of fun sometimes and just unstable as shit in general. She shipped Stony really hard and had framed pictures of Captain America and Iron Man as a diptych on her wall. It's hard for me not to think about them when I contemplate Stony long-term.

Steve and Peggy

1) I rarely ship the Hero and their Designated Love Interest. Often it doesn't matter, because the Love Interest is portrayed as episodic or incidental. It's really easy to ignore Napoleon Solo loving any girl, because they're all gone by the next episode. Peggy is not that. Peggy is a crucial part of Steve's MCU backstory. She shapes the world Steve wakes into. And he ultimately goes back to her at the end instead of staying with Bucky. I can't avoid Peggy and Steve; it is there, incontrovertible. I cannot discount it; I must ship around it, as it were.

2) Peggy is more than a person in Steve's mind. Peggy is The Girl Who Saw Him. She's like his mother, she's Not Like The Other Girls, she's Home and Country and Winged Victory and Steve's North Star--and oh fuck she's shooting at Steve because the blonde woman kissed him. Oof. I love that even Hayley Atwell figured they'd have massive house-shaking fights and Steve would have to leave to "go fishing" (this IS going to be something that happens in "Every Breath That I Held For You", btw). Likewise, Steve is Peggy's Ideal Man because to her, he is LITERALLY the Ideal Man. Because she's a crypto-fascist. I want them to be so, so unhappy together. I want Steve to feel trapped and to fuck other guys on the down-low and let Peggy whale on him for spilling her tea because he feels guilty for fucking the guys. Everyone assuming the fast-healing bruises are because he stopped a mugging. Y'know? Sometimes I really enjoy reading about people in terribly unhappy relationships, and I just like watching Captain America suffer in general. Endlessly, if possible.

With Bucky the suffering must have an end, and more intense suffering means I can imagine more intense comfort. But Cap must be tortured, mentally, emotionally, endlessly. It is a fight he can never win, the Captain, and the fact that he wins individual battles against foes only serves to obscure the reality of the endlessness of the oppressive systems that he labors inside of, that he ultimately defends. God, is that what they mean by "one must imagine Sisyphus happy"? Am I having a philosophical breakthrough here? I'm starting to understand why Batroc feels so sorry for Cap upon learning that they are but fictional.

3) There is a sense of symmetry to it, a feeling that Steve ended up right where he started. It's not, as the Russos intended, an evolution from selfless to selfish. Instead, it's the story of a person being taken from a body and a time that's small and slowly killing them, finding a new world, shaping that new world to fit them... And then coming right back home, better. It's Dorothy back from Oz, Sam back in the Shire. It feels like going back into the closet. It's a heterosexual narrative, upholding the status quo you escaped from. And there's a sense of meta-narrative closetedness about it because of the sudden change in the way the cast and crew addressed the Stucky vs. Peggy ships as Endgame approached, the storyline spurred on by Disney's corporate concerns.

Wanda is the vehicle by which this change occurs; the dreams she sends to each of the Avengers seems to not just spur their fears into action but also fundamentally change their priorities as people. Wanda, scarred by Tony's bombs, sends him back to his old coping mechanisms, which result in Ultron; Wanda, seeking comfort in the heteronormative sitcoms she watched, gives Steve a sense of longing for a heteronormative and idealized past. Wanda's magic comes from her emotions, from within, instead of Strange's technical and practiced magic--stripped of her science-fictional "probabililty-altering" backstory that made her unique in her original comic appearances, she's just another Disney magical girl, souring from sad princess to wicked witch. Shave your beards, move in on Main Street, learn to square dance, and wish upon a fucking star! Her mind-altering magic represents this algorithmic Disney influence, straightening out the gays and looping the war racketeers back into constant conflict. The Celluloid Closet meets Smedley Butler.

Anyway, I would ship it the normal way a little more if Peggy was actually Cynthia Glass, the Nazi spy, and she repented of her Nazi ways and then DIED about it.

Loki/Tony

Why I started shipping it: Peer pressure!Nah, just kidding, you convinced me :P

Why I like it: I love the idea that Tony thinks he's going to get into this complex, passionate battle of wits and hearts with a centuries-old being who can rival his intellect... and he's dating the developmental equivalent of a spoiled, brilliant, and rather bullied 19-year-old with Daddy issues. Loki can spend an entire month floating around in the pool drinking pina coladas and reading fluffy romance novels. He's not plotting anything, he's just chilling out.

Unpopular Opinion: I already said I like Tony best when he's a messy party monster trying to do good. I love the idea that he's trying to be responsible and clean up his life, but he's STILL dating a teenaged heir(ess) who nearly burns down the city with one good party. I like Loki when he's fucking around, too.

[downbytheriversside]

something you think that's underrated (show, music, ship, habit, animal, absolutely anything. can be multiple/a list. go wild)

Oh get ready to be here a while here we fuckin go...

Wind. It reminds me what it's like to be alive

Matt Maltese. Sad boy music that's so so good and makes me feel so much pain and catharsis. Also a lot of his songs are byler/Mike coded. You deserve an Oscar, shoe, everyone adores you, outrun the bear (byler will pov), as the world caves in, strange time (its second or third line is literally "and we'll both gladly lose our minds LIKE!!). Also paper thin hotel is tom wambsgan's song, and tom wambsgan's alone.

Lucas GODDAMN Sinclair. Need I say more? Doesn't matter cus I'm gonna- I genuinely believe he's the best written and performed character in the whole show, he's my sweet child ray of sunshine I love him dlfkgkfdn and he would NOT be the same without what Caleb brings to the table in his performance. And since day ONE he fucking ATE I keep putting EMPHASIS on so many WORDS but I digress. I do understand the problems with some of his writing which sucks but he is still incredible and you can tell that Caleb cares so much about him which I always love to see

The oh hellos album dear wormwood. Omg. Omfg. It's fucking TRANSCENDENT. ANYONE READING THIS WHO HAS GONE THROUGH/IS GOING THROUGH A TOXIC OR ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP OF ANY KIND LISTEN TO THIS IT IS SO HEALING. Not only is it cathartic asf but it depicts the anger and regret and pain and resignation and fucking every emotion under the sun that you experience in those kinds of relationships. And just how connected all of the songs are. The album itself is a loop, seriously. The last part of Thus Always to Tyrants (the final song on the album) leads right into the beginning of Prelude. And while we're on the subject of thus always to tyrants can we talk about how fucking impactful it is to end the album on that note? On a bittersweet toast to the people who hurt us because there is no getting rid of what they did, only making yourself stronger from it and healing?!!? About the notion that what they did was terrible but that is something you'll never forget because you can't but you're moving on to better things, wondering if they will change/have changed from who you knew them as?!??! ARE YOU FUCKNG KIDDING ME!!!!! AND just how connected the lyrics and melodies are in all of the songs. I've listened to the whole album easily over a hundred times and I still notice new lines that relate to each other or when bg melodies in one song are the main motif (?) of another. You can tell how much care and thought and love and emotion was put into its creation and I love it so so so much. Also if you dear reader do not want to spend 40 min listening to the album please please please just listen to Pale White Horse and Where is Your Rider. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Jesus fuck these songs. I'm just typing about them and I got chills like. I'm not joking at all when I say these songs actually changed my life. And the interconnectedness of them (sorta like a horse and its rider?) is just so special. They're whole fucking experiences to listen to and I will never get tired of it. Aaaaaaaahhh I wanna keep talking about this album but we'd be here for a long long long time but I might make a post about it if anyone was actually interested on my music blog @lyricsdumblikethelinoleumfloor at some point so. Stick around for that ?

Forehead kisses. We need more of those pls

Sincerity. For the love of the night sky. BE EARNEST! BE SINCERE!! BE GENUINE I WILL FUCKING STAB YOU-

Little thumb rubs while holding hands

My mutuals all of you deserve love and appreciation and tenderness every one of you fuckers I love you all <33333

Cucumbers. Shit fucks

LIBRARIES! Please if you can visit your local library, it'll be so lovely I prommy

Humans committing to silly bits together. And just like building off of each other's energy. One of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed and that I'm so grateful to have experienced

Introspection. For the love of fuck pleaaaase more people need this. Everyone needs to practice introspection idc just do it it's not some shameful act it just helps you grow

Peach flavoured things. They're yummy 😋

My ever growing gnome figurine collection pretty underrated imo kinda flying under the radar imho

Burger King foot lettuce

Laying on the floor and doing nothing. 10/10 activity honestly. Especially when you're in a sun spot shit fucks

And that's m'list! Glad you made it to the end, sorry for the long post

[aulel-process]

Helmut Newton

The one thing that pleased me about ☝️this image is it has a little bit of the flash photography lighting effect. I like the flash look a lot. I think Nan Goldin also uses it a bit:

In retrospect, maybe it's obvious: dim background lighting, bright single light in front close to the subject. I stumbled upon it by accident by moving my 3D lights around. I've been meaning to take some courses on the technical aspects of lighting in photography (it turns out it's the same in 3D software as in photography, makes sense, we're simulating in 3D after all)... it surprises me how much of a difference lighting makes to an overall work of art!

Also unrelated thought... discernment (or the ability to see nuance) in I think any discipline comes from repeated exposure to a variety of elements in a discipline. It's difficult to appreciate that an algorithm is "elegant" if you've only seen one algorithm, even more so if you can't understand an algorithm at all. I think early on in my consumption of visual imagery, I probably did not consciously notice differences in lighting... but repeated exposure means forming mental categories and preferences and associations with moods and energies...

I don't know that I want to address the not fully formed thoughts that are floating around in my head.. it returns to the... I can't seem to solve the moral dilemma of having awareness of how "taste" is socially complicated... I think I used to believe that there is a universal agreement to what makes a work of art "great"... I still think there are universal elements to what makes a work of art "great" (the most important aspects of being human (seeking meaning, seeking purpose, seeking love) transcend time, place, class, race etc which is why Greek epic poetry can still resonate today)... details change though...

I think I'm coming across more disagreement in visual preferences... I like Nan Goldin's Amanda in the Sauna a lot:

And someone else might dislike it and prefer that people in a pool have this composition/lighting/overall look:

( 1 ) and I wonder if I prefer Nan Goldin because I've simply seen a lot of imagery of a similar aesthetic and taste is shaped by exposure... maybe Nan Goldin does not have an aesthetic which is somehow universally "good"... maybe I'm biased because Nan Goldin appears in a museum and the couple in a pool is a stock image... maybe the aesthetic I aspire to create makes me a jerk? I feel like aspiring to be the "best" in any other discipline doesn't make people feel guilty...

I'd like to finish by saying.... anyone is allowed to have any aesthetic preferences that they like... and we don't need to agree on what we like... the problem happens if someone prefers differently but needs more than my agreement, they need that I make what they prefer... inspiration, like love, can't be forced... you cannot show me an image and somehow force me to feel inspired by it... I know what I want to create... I know how to make progress on what I want to create... artists inspire me everyday... but I can't make myself feel a certain way about any such image... but how I feel shouldn't change how someone else feels... we're all allowed to feel and like anything that we prefer.. to each their own.

[onewomancitadel]

Sorry I keep my blog mostly to fandom nonsense but this does sort of speak a little to writing about depicting relationships so like whatever... anyway saw this ostensible anti-capitalist call all relationships transactional by nature (and is a good thing) and it made me laugh but in a really sad way. It's true that you need fundamental values that you can ground your beliefs in so you're not just randomly buying into whatever the algorithm or some nonsense clickbait is selling you lol.

Relationships aren't transactional, they're only transactional when someone is using you that way... it's a poisonous conception of a relationship and it's worth considering whether people view you that way but certainly not universalising about the absolute ideal model of a relationship.

I don't really know how much this fracture speaks to the inability for people to understand storytelling isn't an in-out transaction and the same is especially true for romance... like treating relationships in media as just the equivalent of figuring out the best household appliance on the market, or even the same conception of personal relationships, like nonsense pseudo-deep 'the only reason you're with the person you are now is chance, you could fall in love with anyone so it doesn't really matter' lol k I'm sick of absurdists universalising their belief systems. I hate when those 'the universe means nothing so make a difference!' posts go around like I know you guys think you're freeing yourselves from religion but you're universalising your beliefs in a way that suggests you are really really not lol.

On this webbed site or indeed other webbed sites people will make the same kind of nonsense cynical claims about romance and ideals in fiction like 'nothing happens for a reason these characters could be with anyone' and I have to wonder if it's all connected? Like is there genuinely some social shift into absurdism (and relatedly nihilism) which is impacting the way people relate to stories and other people? Because sometimes I feel like it transcends media criticism and the type of commentary that's valued online and it's speaking to something more fundamental in peoples' attitudes, and I wonder if a whole system of anxiety (nothing matters/everything matters to an extreme degree of toxic anti/purity culture!!!!) is operating here lol.

Sometimes I feel like the whole 'things that happen in story matters in an intelligible logical way' is like a microcosmic argument I have with absurdism asserting itself as like the ultimate philosophical discourse which is uninteresting and boring but like whatever. I feel like it can be a really silly move to relate the way people personally relate to each other to the way they engage with fiction because it's not 1:1 but it's hard not to when fandom politics are entangled with shifting politics and manners of relation online.

Anyway I didn't quite know how annoyed I was to see 'relationships are transactional' asserted so unironically. The whole point of romantic relationships, friendships, and family is that they're about human connection and vulnerability. They can't be summarised in an easy way because they're like the root of how you interact with the world from when you're born, whether or not you continue to cultivate those relationships or whether or not there wasn't the sufficient presence of them... they're not a transaction because you can't buy them and because you don't need to, they're something that you put effort and care into which turns into something really special worth more than anything? I don't get tired or annoyed helping my friends, it brings me joy? That joy is not self-serving?

You can see how it relates back to what I write about on here because like... the complex relationships that people have with each other is something you can never really exhaustively describe. It's a never-ending font of intrigue and magic.

[apoptoses]

"Stumbled into Armand’s bathroom and washed his face, brushed his teeth with the toothbrush Armand had purchased out of habit over a decade ago. He’d been so used to shopping for Daniel whenever he moved into a new home that he’d picked up all the things a mortal lover would need and put them in his medicine cabinet despite the fact that Daniel had been gone from his life for years." In a chapter full of lines that made me INSANE, this one sent me to my grave. Of course Armand would keep getting all the stuff mortal Daniel would've needed, and would keep it in his bathroom unused for years, despite the fact that Daniel was neither mortal or actively involved with him at the time. And of course Daniel would find it there during his first night back in Armand’s bedroom in over twenty years. I’m fine this is f i n e 🥹

Armand avoding the word "dildo" and then Daniel being like "I know what you're trying to say pls stop trying to sound so formal" lmfaoo peak characterization moment 😮‍💨 if you ever decide to expand on this, please know that I'd be there in a second. It would feel extremely in character for them to continue exploring each other's (now both immortal) bodies in every way, shape and form after their reunion. Picking up right where they left off and all that.

Also, whenever I finish reading a chapter I usually read through the comments and nod my head in agreement all the way through and this time I noticed you mentioned Fareed's drugs in one of your replies and I was like 👀 I know it’s a popular trope in the fandom these days (and with good reason too lmao, Anne really did that huh) and I would LOVE to read your take on it some day if you're feeling up to it. It’s specially interesting when it comes to these two because there are definitely some vampires who’ve never explicitly expressed sexual desire for another or even the need to have a sexually intimate connection with their partners. It’s sensual/romantic without being overtly sexual and Anne was particularly great at writing that. But I don’t think it's the case with Daniel and Armand who were very explicitly erotic with each other and whose intimacy was one of the main driving forces of their relationship (and their relationship most likely suffered a great deal when they lost that element). And lbr neither of them would pass on the opportunity to smash like god intended them to. Even if only for old times’ sake like Daniel said. Armand would probably get sanctimonious about it for like two seconds and then would jump right into it. They're not NOT taking turns in fucking each other is what I'm trying to say lmao but I'll stop before I'm horny on main again!

Perfect chapter as usual, can't wait to see how you wrap it all up xoxo DA ❤️

Dungeon anon, I was wondering where you went!! 🥹

You're welcome for the suffering! Old habits die hard and idk i love to hurt over the idea of Armand still buying Daniel's favorite soaps and shampoos and stuff in the hopes that he'll come back to him one day and be comforted by seeing all these things. And Armand using them in the mean time as a way to feel close to the man he misses. I'm fine everything's fine I'm not miserable over this at all

I would LOVE to do a fic of them trying Fareed's weird ass vampire viagra out, like it's deifnitely on the list because you're right, Armand and Daniel do have a physical component of their relationship that seems to transcend typical vampire relations. Armand says over and over in TVA how much he believes in the good that is found in pleasures of the flesh, he's a carnal being and I see him hopping all over any new physical ways he could bond with Daniel.

(also not to get off track, but sometimes I do wonder how much of the intimacy seen in VC books is a deliberate choice about what happens when one becomes immortal, and how much of it was formed by 'it's the 70s/80s if you write mlm sex scenes that go beyond kissing these books will be hard to sell'. Because Anne had no qualms about that stuff in the sleeping beauty books, and finally in the late 90s started pushing that limit in VC with some of the scenes in TVA but. Anyways. Side bar over.)

But! As far the ~implement~ goes, just wait, it makes an appearance before the end of this story. And they are definitely flip fucking- everyone gets their turn in this universe, thank you very much 😌

(and please, DA, I think I speak for all of armandblr when I say you being horny on main is always a gift haha)

The last chapter should be out this weekend and I really, really hope you enjoy it ♥ I just gotta finish editing it.

[buffysummerslay]

my favourite type of ending to a tv show i love is the ending that feels right. i can find comfort in cheesy happiness, i can see beauty in tragedy, and i can find solace in bittersweetness. when i love a tv show, i trust the writers to tell me a story and i believe that the ending they choose is the ending they feel they need to tell.

lucifer isn't a fluffy show. lucifer is a tragic character. millennia of pain and self-hatred and loneliness have made that tragedy too real, even in the promise of hope for a better tomorrow. lucifer and chloe's love story is tragic, too. the way he always leaves and she always waits for him to come back is tragic. the way that the time moves differently around them and that the only way forever can last equally long for both of them is in either heaven or hell, is tragic. it is sometimes hard to remember this in the midst of humor and softness and moments so intimate that they feel more like a memory than fragments of fiction.

i never expected lucifer to have a soft, happy ending. for me, lucifer has been about learning and growing and doing better the next time around. about taking control over your actions and your life. about finding hope in places you would least expect to find it and about finding miracles in simple, everyday things. about self-worth and about loving and being loved in return exactly for who you are - the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. and, from my experience, this never comes easy. this never results in everything you have ever wanted coming true, it results in the ability to make better choices and finding peace in them because you believe in them. these types of messages are never about the end, they are always about the journey.

i believe that the ending that lucifer and choe got is a good ending for a story they have been telling us through six seasons. a story about acceptance and worth and love, and a story about sacrifice and choices and doing the hard thing because it feels right. i would never have accepted an ending where lucifer becomes mortal or where chloe becomes immortal because a charming devil and a human detective is who they are - i have watched these two people grow to accept and love each other for who they are and i would never want them to give that up simply because the story is ending. them living on earth and loving each other and raising their daughter together would have been fulfilling, however, chloe's mortality would remain an issue and i can't help but wonder if chloe got to spend a human lifetime with a man she loves, raising a family, would her idea of heaven still remain the same? if she had a home with him on earth, would her eternal home still be in hell with him? for me, the ending we got was chloe choosing lucifer one more, final time, choosing their partnership to last for eternity and that, imo, transcends any other type of promise or devotion that we know of, e.g. a marriage.

i don't regret the decision that they have made. do i wish that it happened differently? yes. i wish that there weren't as many illogicalities in the time travel/time loop storyline. i wish that they didn't feel the need to pull the parallel between lucifer and god. i wish that lucifer and chloe had more time to process their decision instead of making peace with it in ten minutes of screentime. i wish that they didn't focus that much on lucifer's calling as a reason why he can't be in their lives, but rather on rory asking him "dad, please, don't change who i am". because this is something i can get behind. for millennia, lucifer believed that he is who he is because this is the life his father chose for him. that his father abandoned him because he wasn't worthy of his time or love. so of course lucifer would never do this to his own daughter and that he would do anything in his power for her to get to choose who she becomes instead of him choosing that for her.

i didn't get attached to rory as a character and honestly it isn't because of the character, or the actress, or the writing. i was too focused on lucifer and chloe's pain and the idea of losing them to focus on rory's pain and anger. to me, she was only a million of different possibilities of who their daughter could be and a catalyst that drives the characters i love away from one another. but she was very real to chloe and lucifer. they saw her and touched her and hugged her and loved her. her, not the idea of her. she was the daughter chloe raised and both of them loved her for it. and even though lucifer wasn't there for her while she was growing up there is still so much of him in her and chloe saw to that - she never told her anything bad about her father no matter how much rory instested, she got her to nurture her love and talent for music, she got her to drive his car. if lucifer had stayed, him and chloe would spend years raising a different version of their daughter, completely erasing the daughter they have come to know and love all those years ago. and i don't think that's something either of them could forgive themselves for or live with. that day, they chose to be parents and they chose their daughter over themselves. it was their last act as partners on earth. lucifer never chose to leave chloe, he chose to keep a promise he made to his daughter knowing that one day, they will meet again.

is it unfair? is it painful? yes, it is, but life can be like that sometimes. however, another thing i got from this show is that there is always hope and that there is always a chance for a better tomorrow. hell wasn't hell for lucifer anymore, it wasn't a place of torment, and he wasn't unhappy. he made his choice, he believed in it and he stood by it, no matter how hard it was and, in the meantime, he helped people. chloe got to raise her daughters, help people, and live her life surrounded by people she loved and who loved her. and yeah they didn't get to raise their daughter together on earth and lucifer missed her childhood, but parenting doesn't stop at a certain point. chloe made sure that rory grows into a good human and lucifer can still make sure she grows into a good angel - she is a baby in celestial years and there is still so much he can teach her. and in the end, he was there for her when she needed him the most, when she was about to let her anger consume her and change her as a person. and because of who he is, because of who he came to be, lucifer listened to his daughter and accepted her feelings instead of invalidating them. he made sure that no matter what happens they can have a healthy relationship in the future, which already makes him so much different from his father who had eons to realise this and didn't.

this way, their story goes on forever. there are so many unlived moments that they can have together and so many memories they can still make. for lucifer, the most formative years of his whole existence were the five years he spent on earth surrounded by chloe and their friends. and that feeling didn't leave him simply because he wasn't with them anymore. he took everything he had learned on earth and applied it to hell and turned it into a home, waiting for her to come back to him.

and in the end, chloe chose him. again. one more time. years apart didn't diminish her love for him and her idea of home remained the same - him. lux, penthouse, heaven, hell - those are only places she was coming to in search of him. when there was a choice to be made, she chose to come back to him.

it is never too late to change. it is never too late to become the person you want to be. it is never too late to accept yourself for who you are and find worth in your existence. no one is unredeemable and everyone is worthy of love in someone's eyes. it is never too late to find love and to have a family. we all have a choice and even when those choices are hard, they are ours. and the idea that this, our life on earth, is only a part of the journey makes those choices a little bit easier. knowing that, after we die, there are still choices to be made and that there is an afterlife where we still get to live and love. this is what this show has been about for me and i believe that the ending cemented that.

it took devil several millennia to find the woman he loves. and she chose to love him back - she loved him so much that she turned hell into heaven to be with him.

[brokethedrawer]

I love your blog!! :D I hope these are fun questions for you; (1) what are your favorite tracks of each album? (2) what are your favorite lyrics from TFF?

Thank you! Also, exciting! This is the first time anyone has asked me anything. Let's see--my favorite tracks off each album are:

The Hurting

Pale Shelter: I don't even know how to start explaining how much I love this song or why. It's pure heaven.

Memories Fade: This one moves me EVERY SINGLE TIME. It's just SO GOOD, lyrically and vocally.

Ideas as Opiates: I love this song so much that I have learned to sing/harmonize along with it. Listening to it is cathartic. Singing it is cathartic. It's just . . . pure emotion.

Watch Me Bleed: Not everyone's favorite, I know, but this one literally helped me work through some serious psychological damage. This song is better than the three years of therapy I paid for.

Also....I love every other song on the album. It stands permanently as one of my holy-grail-perfect-albums. (Note: I would list "Mad World" as a favorite, too, but at this point it feels as if "Mad World" has become like "My Way" -- a song that is everywhere, in the air, a part of human life on this planet.)

Songs From the Big Chair

Again, where do I start -- every track is amazing. But if I have to choose, there are three absolute stand-outs:

Shout: This one needs no explanation. It's the most platonically perfect, quintessential TEARS FOR FEARS track ever. Period.

Head Over Heels/Broken: If "Shout" is the best thing TFF has ever done, then "Head Over Heels" is a very close second (and truthfully, my personal favorite). It purely sends me, right from the start. Every part of this track is so spot-on, and the layering is perfect. And the way the segue works (from "Broken" before this track, and then back into "Broken" at the end of HOH) is wonderful.

I Believe: As opposed to "Shout," this doesn't seem like a TFF song; it's Roland's song . . . Roland's heart. It's Roland-as-crooner, and it is heart-wrenchingly-lovely.

Seeds of Love

Sowing the Seeds of Love: Indulgent, emotional, over the top--one of those songs that grabs me at the start and holds me all the way through. Also, I can't even begin to fathom the sound engineering that went into this; the end result is stunning.

Woman in Chains: Simply put--brilliant and transcendent.

Famous Last Words: I love how it starts out quiet and soft -- then builds and builds -- then ends soft again. As with many TFF songs, it takes me on a journey.

Elemental

Elemental: Hands down, my favorite track on this album.

Mr. Pessimist: I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something about this song that captures and keeps my attention every time.

Fish Out of Water: I think I love this one because it has purpose and direction; it's clear that it means something to Roland, and so it means something to the listener (if that makes any sense). Some of the tracks on Elemental don't really work by themselves, but this one does.

Raoul and the Kings of Spain

Raoul and the Kings of Spain: I mean, the vocals...just incredible. Also, this feels like the song Roland was destined to write/perform.

Secrets: Exceptional from start to finish. And again, it's clear that it means something to Roland.

Sketches of Pain: An elegant, eloquent, emotional combination of beauty and darkness.

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending

Closest Thing to Heaven: There's a certain sweetness to it; something about it that makes me want to sing along. I also love "Secret World" for similar reasons.

Size of Sorrow: Lyrically, it's fairly simple...but when I hear it, it hits my heart every time.

Who Killed Tangerine: I'm crazy about this song. This whole album is excellent, but this track stands out to me as the best.

Now...as for your second question (favorite lyrics), that's a lot harder to answer. I could spend hours combing through lyrics and trying to arrive at a proper list, but the two specific lyrics that come immediately to mind are:

Pale Shelter: Lyrically, the entire song is ace, but the first two lines hook me every time:

How can I be sure? When your intrusion's my illusion

Head Over Heels: Again, lyrically this entire song is stunning, but the opening verse is just PERFECTION:

I wanted to be with you alone And talk about the weather But traditions I can trace against the child in your face Won't escape my attention

Again, thanks for asking me something! This was fun 😊.

[sardonicnihilism]

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 5 The Older Woman

Chapter 5

The rest of 2018 and 2019 passed in fairly unremarkable fashion. The kids kept seeing the counselor, Jerry's behavior and grades improved until he was one of his grades top students. Tabatha, likewise, did extremely well academically. Jerry joined the school soccer team and took up violin, and Tabatha took up piano, guitar, and drums. While life continued with its normal ups and downs, it really did seem like the worst was behind them.

Even when 2020 hit like a meteor, it still didn't affect Shannon and her family that much. Both Sam and Shannon were deemed essential workers, and therefore kept their jobs. The schools shut down, but Shannon did home lessons over the summer and the kids did remote learning in the fall. Jerry struggled, having a hard time staying focused, but Tabatha did exceptionally well.

It was November when things started to go to Hell for them personally. Shannon started noticing a pain in her right chest and shoulder. It would constantly ache, and if she moved too fast, bolts of sharp, white hot pain would shoot through her body. At first she thought it was just muscle strain from lifting too much (she had gotten back into weight training to lose weight), but when she had taken a week off and there was no improvement, she knew she had to see a doctor.

Here appointment was in December, the week after Christmas. The doctor checked her out and then chewed her out. She was 47 years old and had never had a mammogram. Shannon reluctantly agreed to have one and her doctor made the appointment.

Shannon got her mammogram the second week of January at 8:50 AM. By 3:30 PM, she had three messages saying she should contact them immediately. Shannon had breast cancer. More than that, it had already spread to other parts of her body. After a consultation with the entire family, they decided on an aggressive treatment plan. Unfortunately, it was too late.

Shannon's health declined rapidly. Most of her hair fell out and she shrank from 252 pounds to 110. She was week and tired all the time. She mostly laid in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom; usually to vomit. It was decided that she would enter the hospital for her final days.

Sam would visit everyday. At first he brought the kids with him every time, then every other day, and then they would only come once a week on Sundays. By the end of April, it was clear it was only a matter of days.

Sam's last visit was on a Sunday. It was a perfect spring day. It was so warm and sunny that it made Sam angry. It seemed like a cosmic insult to everything he and Shannon were going through. However, he had managed to purge himself of his bitterness by the time he had gotten to Shannon's room.

She was staring out the window, a contemplative smile gracing her gaunt face. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked almost transcendent.

"How's the most beautiful woman in the world doing today?" he asked with forced happiness as he entered her room.

Shannon turned to him and smiled as happy a smile as she could. "I don't know. I haven't seen her today," she joked back in her weak, hoarse voice.

Sam grabbed a chair and sat beside her. "How're you sweetie?" he asked with a hushed sadness.

"I'm ok. Best as possible I suppose. I was just thinking I beat mom by a month. She passed in April, I made it all the way to May. Of course she beats me on years though." Shannon's sense of gallows humor was not only still there, but had become stronger than ever.

"I tried to get the kids to come out, but they just couldn't," Sam said apologetically.

Shannon just waved her hand. "It's ok, my family never did do death well."

She turned back to the window and started talking as much to herself as to Sam. "I was going to ask you to make a recording of me saying my farewells to the kids, but then I thought if I really wanted this to be the last and forever image of me; a sad, shriveled up husk of a human being - an image of sadness and loss? That just seems too cruel. I'd rather be forgotten if that is the case."

"You'll never be forgotten," Sam tried to reassure her.

She turned back to him, smiling even more. "We're all forgotten eventually darling." She then reached out and took his hand. "It's been a life, hasn't it?"

"It sure has," he said, trying to smile, but tears were already starting to run down his cheek. "And I thank you for being the love of mine."

"As you are with mine," she said in a peaceful voice.

"No, you don't have to say that. You don't have to pretend." He shook his head as he spoke. He didn't want their potentially last moments to be filled with lies.

"Who's pretending?" Shannon said, sounding almost happy, like he had just told her a joke. "What? You think because I'm not romantically or sexualy attracted to you, that means you're not the love of my life? People put so much emphasis on romantic love. Darling, you were far more than a lover. Being a lover is easy. You were a friend." She then brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it.

Sam was now weeping heavily. "The first time I met you in the library, I knew I loved you," he choked out.

"When I was a little girl, I asked my grandfather why he kept the dogs outside. He said because animals don't belong in the house. That night, my biological mother, left me in her car while she went into the bar. I was alone, freezing. I wondered if maybe I was an animal and that's why I was being left alone.

"My entire life I felt alone, unloved, unlovable. I was angry and bitter and I hurt anyone or thing I could so they would feel what I felt. I caused so much pain.

"Then I met Jen and I thought I found love. I loved her and I thought she loved me, but she only loved what she thought I was. When I turned out not to be that, she turned her back on me and I went off the deep end.

"And then there was you. You made me laugh. I could talk to you about anything. I felt safe around you; not physically, but emotionally. I became a better person because of you.

"Even when I came out to you, you didn't turn me away, throw me out, which I would have understood if you did. You never stopped being my rock, my shoulder to cry on, the clown to make me laugh when I was crying. You never stopped being my friend."

"And I never will," Sam barely choked out.

"And that is why you're the love of my life."

Sam got up and they embraced. He gave her a kiss on the forehead and she gave him one the cheek. They spent the next five hours just reminiscening and joking.

"I better get going, I suppose," Sam said reluctantly. "I can't leave the kids alone all day, but I don't want to leave you alone either. Not to die at least."

"We all die alone honey, even if we're surrounded by people," she said with a smile. "Go. You're a father and your kids need you. I'm already dead. The only thing the dead need is rest. Just, just tell the kids I love them."

"Always," he said tearfully.

A couple hours after he left, she began to feel really tired, her fingers and toes started going numb. She knew the time had come.

She started thinking about tombstones. A name, a dash, and another date. Everything she was, everything she had been, reduced to a small line, carved in a stone that would survive long after she had been forgotten. It seemed unfair, cruel even.

She then thought about something else, something she had learned back in college. She thought about quantum entanglement, how two atoms can become entangled, linked forever across time and space, eternal mirrors to each other.

Her mind then darted to the concept of the multiverse. How there might be infinite universes out, each with their own version of her. What if two versions could be linked somehow? Entangled? What if her mirror was out there? Could she reach her? Could her mind link across dimensions to one of her other selves to share her story?

*Please, please, if can hear me, please tell my story. Please don't let me be forgotten!*, she thought over and over to herself, trying to reach out to anyone who might hear until her brain ceased to function and she passed away.

**************************************

Shannon Brown was born on November 22, 1975 to a single, alcoholic mother. He was taken in by his grandparents and his aunt Mary who raised him as her own. It is Mary who he considers to be his real mother. His biological mother, Kathy, would have two other children, a girl named Tracy (1977) and Paul Jr. (1979).

By about 4 or 5, Shannon knew that he wasn't a he, but a she, but having no language to express this, she kept this to herself. Shannon grew up alone, morbidly obese for most of her life, she never really had any friends and was constantly bullied and picked on. This made her angry and she would often act out in horrible and usually, self destructive ways.

She did manage to lose weight and was thin from 19 to 24. It was at this time she met her future wife, Samantha Hopwood online. Samantha, an Australian citizen, eventually moved to the United States and they got married in 2001. In 2009, their first child, Joshua was born.

It was after that, Shannon came out to Samantha as transgender. It caused a lot of pain and anger in their marriage, but they were able to work through some of it so that they had their second child, Tara, in 2011. In 2020, after years of being partially closeted, Shannon came out to everyone on Facebook (much to the horror of her wife).

It was about this time that Shannon discovered an app called FaceApp. It could change your photo to look like a child, old person, even the opposite physical gender. Shannon took a picture of herself, femininized it, and then took that new picture and reaged it from a little girl to an old woman. As Shannon stared at the pictures, she couldn't help but marvel over how real they looked! These looked like real pictures of an actual person.

"Who are you?" she said to herself. "Who are you, what is your story?" The more she stared at the pictures, the more she could almost hear this stranger call out, "Please, please, tell my story." It was then Shannon knew what she had to do. She opened her Tumblr app, hit the write symbol, and began-

A Biography of the Woman Who Never Was

Part 1: The Girl

Chapter 1

*This story is dedicated to the memory of H.P. Lovecraft; a horrible man, but great world builder. This wouldn't exist without him.*

[frankiefellinlove]

This is it! The whole article where John Landau writes that Bruce “is the future of rock n roll”. Long but so worth the read, to see that quote in context.

GROWING YOUNG WITH ROCK AND ROLL

By Jon Landau

The Real Paper

May 22, 1974📷

It's four in the morning and raining. I'm 27 today, feeling old, listening to my records, and remembering that things were diffferent a decade ago. In 1964, I was a freshman at Brandeis University, playing guitar and banjo five hours a day, listening to records most of the rest of the time, jamming with friends during the late-night hours, working out the harmonies to Beach Boys' and Beatles' songs.

Real Paper soul writer Russell Gersten was my best friend and we would run through the 45s everyday: Dionne Warwick's "Walk On By" and "Anyone Who Had A Heart," the Drifters' "Up On the Roof," Jackie Ross' "Selfish One," the Marvellettes' "Too Many Fish in the Sea," and the one that no one ever forgets, Martha Reeves and the Vandellas' "Heat Wave." Later that year a special woman named Tamar turned me onto Wilson Pickett's "Midnight Hour" and Otis Redding's "Respect," and then came the soul. Meanwhile, I still went to bed to the sounds of the Byrds' "Mr. Tambourine Man" and later "Younger than Yesterday," still one of my favorite good-night albums. I woke up to Having a Rave-Up with the Yardbirds instead of coffee. And for a change of pace, there was always bluegrass: The Stanley Brothers, Bill Monroe, and Jimmy Martin.

Through college, I consumed sound as if it were the staff of life. Others enjoyed drugs, school, travel, adventure. I just liked music: listening to it, playing it, talking about it. If some followed the inspiration of acid, or Zen, or dropping out, I followed the spirit of rock'n'roll.

Individual songs often achieved the status of sacraments. One September, I was driving through Waltham looking for a new apartment when the sound on the car radio stunned me. I pulled over to the side of the road, turned it up, demanded silence of my friends and two minutes and fifty-six second later knew that God had spoken to me through the Four Tops' "Reach Out, I'll Be There," a record that I will cherish for as long as [I] live.

During those often lonely years, music was my constant companion and the search for the new record was like a search for a new friend and new revelation. "Mystic Eyes" open mine to whole new vistas in white rock and roll and there were days when I couldn't go to sleep without hearing it a dozen times.

Whether it was a neurotic and manic approach to music, or just a religious one, or both, I don't really care. I only know that, then, as now, I'm grateful to the artists who gave the experience to me and hope that I can always respond to them.

The records were, of course, only part of it. In '65 and '66 I played in a band, the Jellyroll, that never made it. At the time I concluded that I was too much of a perfectionist to work with the other band members; in the end I realized I was too much of an autocrat, unable to relate to other people enough to share music with them.

Realizing that I wasn't destined to play in a band, I gravitated to rock criticism. Starting with a few wretched pieces in Broadside and then some amateurish but convincing reviews in the earliest Crawdaddy, I at least found a substitute outlet for my desire to express myself about rock: If I couldn't cope with playing, I may have done better writing about it.

But in those days, I didn't see myself as a critic -- the writing was just another extension of an all-encompassing obsession. It carried over to my love for live music, which I cared for even more than the records. I went to the Club 47 three times a week and then hunted down the rock shows -- which weren't so easy to find because they weren't all conveniently located at downtown theatres. I flipped for the Animals' two-hour show at Rindge Tech; the Rolling Stones, not just at Boston Garden, where they did the best half hour rock'n'roll set I had ever seen, but at Lynn Football Stadium, where they started a riot; Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels overcoming the worst of performing conditions at Watpole Skating Rink; and the Beatles at Suffolk Down, plainly audible, beatiful to look at, and confirmation that we -- and I -- existed as a special body of people who understood the power and the flory of rock'n'roll.

I lived those days with a sense of anticipation. I worked in Briggs & Briggs a few summers and would know when the next albums were coming. The disappointment when the new Stones was a day late, the exhilaration when Another Side of Bob Dylan showed up a week early. The thrill of turning on WBZ and hearing some strange sound, both beautiful and horrible, but that demanded to be heard again; it turned out to be "You've Lost That Loving Feeling," a record that stands just behind "Reach Out I'll Be There" as means of musical catharsis.

My temperament being what it is, I often enjoyed hating as much as loving. That San Francisco shit corrupted the purity of the rock that I lvoed and I could have led a crusade against it. The Moby Grape moved me, but those songs about White Rabbits and hippie love made me laugh when they didn't make me sick. I found more rock'n'roll in the dubbed-in hysteria on the Rolling Stones Got Live if You Want It than on most San Francisco albums combined.

For every moment I remember there are a dozen I've forgotten, but I feel like they are with me on a night like this, a permanent part of my consciousness, a feeling lost on my mind but never on my soul. And then there are those individual experiences so transcendent that I can remember them as if they happened yesterday: Sam and Dave at the Soul Together at Madison Square Garden in 1967: every gesture, every movement, the order of the songs. I would give anything to hear them sing "When Something's Wrong with My Baby" just the way they did it that night.

The obsessions with Otis Redding, Jerry Butler, and B.B. King came a little bit later; each occupied six months of my time, while I digested every nuance of every album. Like the Byrds, I turn to them today and still find, when I least expect it, something new, something deeply flet, something that speaks to me.

As I left college in 1969 and went into record production I started exhausting my seemingly insatiable appetite. I felt no less intensely than before about certain artists; I just felt that way about fewer of them. I not only became more discriminating but more indifferent. I found it especially hard to listen to new faces. I had accumulated enough musical experience to fall back on when I needed its companionship but during this period in my life I found I needed music less and people, whom I spend too much of my life ignoring, much more.

Today I listen to music with a certain measure of detachment. I'm a professional and I make my living commenting on it. There are months when I hate it, going through the routine just as a shoe salesman goes through his. I follow films with the passion that music once held for me. But in my own moments of greatest need, I never give up the search for sounds that can answer every impulse, consume all emotion, cleanse and purify -- all things that we have no right to expect from even the greatest works of art but which we can occasionally derive from them.

Still, today, if I hear a record I like it is no longer a signal for me to seek out every other that the artist has made. I take them as they come, love them, and leave them. Some have stuck -- a few that come quickly to mind are Neil Young's After the Goldrush, Stevie Wonder's Innervisions, Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey, James Taylor's records, Valerie Simpson's Exposed, Randy Newman's Sail Away, Exile on Main Street, Ry Cooder's records, and, very specially, the last three albums of Joni Mitchell -- but many more slip through the mind, making much fainter impressions than their counterparts of a decade ago.

But tonight there is someone I can write of the way I used to write, without reservations of any kind. Last Thursday, at the Harvard Square theatre, I saw my rock'n'roll past flash before my eyes. And I saw something else: I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen. And on a night when I needed to feel young, he made me feel like I was hearing music for the very first time.

When his two-hour set ended I could only think, can anyone really be this good; can anyone say this much to me, can rock'n'roll still speak with this kind of power and glory? And then I felt the sores on my thighs where I had been pounding my hands in time for the entire concert and knew that the answer was yes.

Springsteen does it all. He is a rock'n'roll punk, a Latin street poet, a ballet dancer, an actor, a joker, bar band leader, hot-shit rhythm guitar player, extraordinary singer, and a truly great rock'n'roll composer. He leads a band like he has been doing it forever. I racked my brains but simply can't think of a white artist who does so many things so superbly. There is no one I would rather watch on a stage today. He opened with his fabulous party record "The E Street Shuffle" -- but he slowed it down so graphically that it seemed a new song and it worked as well as the old. He took his overpowering story of a suicide, "For You," and sang it with just piano accompaniment and a voice that rang out to the very last row of the Harvard Square theatre. He did three new songs, all of them street trash rockers, one even with a "Telstar" guitar introduction and an Eddie Cochran rhythm pattern. We missed hearing his "Four Winds Blow," done to a fare-thee-well at his sensational week-long gig at Charley's but "Rosalita" never sounded better and "Kitty's Back," one of the great contemporary shuffles, rocked me out of my chair, as I personally led the crowd to its feet and kept them there.

Bruce Springsteen is a wonder to look at. Skinny, dressed like a reject from Sha Na Na, he parades in front of his all-star rhythm band like a cross between Chuck Berry, early Bob Dylan, and Marlon Brando. Every gesture, every syllable adds something to his ultimate goal -- to liberate our spirit while he liberates his by baring his soul through his music. Many try, few succeed, none more than he today.

It's five o'clock now -- I write columns like this as fast as I can for fear I'll chicken out -- and I'm listening to "Kitty's Back." I do feel old but the record and my memory of the concert has made me feel a little younger. I still feel the spirit and it still moves me.

I bought a new home this week and upstairs in the bedroom is a sleeping beauty who understands only too well what I try to do with my records and typewriter. About rock'n'roll, the Lovin' Spoonful once sang, "I'll tell you about the magic that will free your soul/But it's like trying to tell a stranger about rock'n'roll." Last Thursday, I remembered that the magic still exists and as long as I write about rock, my mission is to tell a stranger about it -- just as long as I remember that I'm the stranger I'm writing for.

[thegodgaze]

Devil Like Me

You've ruined all my fantasies...because you proved to be their reality, that I would find myself finally understanding what the end of all this longing looked like - I'm nearly...offended. Offense presents itself because of the outcome and it's not like I can just undo this at any time or...not even like I should. I don't like this feeling but I barely understand it. It'd be so easier to be of one mind, whether in full on tireless love or overgrown distaste, but as my truth I cannot suffer either of these. It's not even in between them, it's leaning right a bit, enough that all that warmth in memory doesn't come with brain melting flashbacks.

Everyone around me stays with their transgressor. Once again, I'm an unhappy anomaly for the grand scheme. There's a load of big talk, a moment of quiet resolution, or many of them, then the revert - because there isn't enough time in a life to waste it being alone, or some absolute bollocks I can't possibly fathom.

"Just wait...you'll see...and when you heal-"

Go fuck yourself. I've spent over a decade feeling like my word, my truth, my intuition aren't worth shit - so much self loathing, I don't expect anyone to comprehend. Anytime I see a pretty face, all I got left to say is "Wow...that's just looks like a lot of fucking work I don't want to deal with."

"But whoever she might be, she'll come around and you won't have to put any wo-"

It just makes me want to die. The lines, the rules, the considerations, the tenets of basic human decency that aren't always followed but always expected of me, the lies, the double speak, the secrets, the fears, the signs of malicious intent that are often confusable for things conveniently harmless, my overactive paranoid mind wrestling with a completely separate overactive paranoid mind - it gives me the shakes and everyone...every one...is like this. People just aren't straight with each other, and when they are, no one believes them. I'm fucking guilty of it myself - but lo and behold... they just go back to it. For all the times my brother proclaimed that I was a dog returning to lap up his own vomit; he can't turn that abuser away. Tried to cut it off and wound up coming right back - what fuckery is that? For all her insight, my mother intends to stay with the very thing making so miserable, something she fought so hard to get just to realize that it's much worse than what she left...way too late. These bickerings between these gals, small conflicts over little things masking larger problems, that resistance to change and the herald for it...despite the drain she takes her back, and this hasn't even been the first time.

Communication is key and cutting people off is bad - I spent nearly a decade trying to unbind myself from someone, and it proved effective, but anyone looking in would think I failed. There's a sustained heartbeat in the idea that none of these parameters matter, and the meaning most cherished and beloved is the one that notices how bright the sunset has gotten this evening. I didn't come back here because I always meant to, I didn't really do it for her either - the squid just has a few perspectives that I vibe with and I'm thinking her circle will have more angles like hers. Just some people that might be able to transcend my hopeful expectations and it could mean I actually have people now.

It has the least to do with the faces, and more to work with the spirit moving through these halls right now.

But I can't stop thinking about how you ruined my fantasies. I guess its not a question of if you were worthy of pulling it off, but just a confusion as to how, nonetheless. I guess it's still soon, still recent - how I'd never tire of coming home to you, of hearing that voice, and good god, that laugh.

"What do you care to die for, what do you care to die for..."

Just a handful of those memories alone push me to wonder if I'm an idiot for not following along with everyone else, but I didn't pull any of it off with the intent of going back. I knew my weaknesses, and planned accordingly, and now that life blocked off. Sure its all rosy now, but she just really shouldn't be wasting time on someone who could only give her a half measure, not by circumstance or timing, but by function - I just didn't feel for her like she needed me to. I loved the way she addressed me and loved me and supported me, but all of that is a separate thing from the person herself. I don't have any logical reasons for it, I just don't feel it and its... its been incredibly infuriating against myself for how long and how hard I tried to make that change in me.

"What do you care to die for..."

It's a question I have to keep asking.

I guess...right now, is that I keep me and these beautiful people I've had the honor to get to know... alive. We could all be together...in...some fantasy, not...like that...but just a little village where strange and delightful people go to feel not so bad about it all. Its not the fantasy I started mentioning here, but...I guess when I said its been ruined - it's not necessarily a bad thing.