#THAT TRACE THEIR CRAWLING COSMOS LIKE A TREE

[markrothkono61]

in shambles over poem

[castyourline]

“After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovable but strange and light; Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite But softly, as men smile about the dead. The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

GK Chesterton

[shah-writes]

roanoke

just binge watched all of the x-files and then rushed to my laptop to write this lol

“Three blind men are asked to describe an elephant.”

His voice is soft and lilting. Harry wrenches his eyes away from the velvet starred sky and rolls onto his side. Grass tickles his nose. He lies there, waiting, wet earth beneath and cold sky above. Harry would reach out to touch him if he didn’t seem so far away. Run a finger down his silver-lined profile— forehead, nose, lips, neck. 

Draco, still staring at the stars, continues, “The first man touches the elephant’s tail and likens the creature to a rope. The second touches the elephant’s leg and likens the creature to a tree. Finally, the third touches its trunk and likens it to a snake.”

“Is the moral of this story to stop groping elephants?”

Draco snorts and finally shifts to glance at Harry. He rolls his eyes fondly, then gazes back up at the sky. 

Harry props himself up on an elbow and watches him. It’s rained recently and it feels as though the Earth itself is crawling into his lungs. American soil smells different from British soil: younger and sweeter.   

“It’s a parable. Shows human ignorance. We think we know so much but we’re inherently incapable of seeing the larger picture.”

“And you think that the larger picture includes alien abductions?”

“They’re out there, Harry, I can feel it.”

Harry wants Draco to look at him the way Draco looks at the stars. Wants to scream at him with the full extent of his earth-filled lungs, beg him to let Harry love him. But he can’t. His words would only tether Draco to the land. And Draco belongs in the sky, floating. 

Instead, he masks his overwhelming adoration with bickering. “Or you could think logically,” Harry snarks, gazing again at Draco’s face. There are light freckles over the bridge of his nose. The constellations that Draco sees in the skies, reflecting on his skin for Harry to learn. “I bet it was disease. Sweeps through the town, kills them all off.”

“Couldn’t be. The colonists included 15 wizards and witches. They would have warded against diseases of the time.”

“Fine, then. Maybe dark magic or a curse.”

“Nope,” Draco replies. “That would have left magical traces. The way they left had to be either Muggle or—“ he wiggles his eyebrows— “extraterrestrial.”

“Maybe they all just packed up and left.” Harry whispers. He means it as a joke but his voice catches in the middle. It’s Harry’s worst fear— that he’ll walk into Draco’s apartment one day and find it empty. Gone on another adventure— alien seeking or monster hunting— never to return.

“What about Croatoan? What could that mean?”  

Harry hums in consideration. He lies back down, eyes glazing over. He remembers the word, etched into wood, preserved under magical law, smooth under his fingertips. How many frantic, loving, searching touches does it take to turn a wood carving smooth like glass?

He hates the colonists savagely. How dare they burden their successors with a single, mystic word carved into a post? It seems too cruel a clue to have left behind. 

When Draco leaves, Harry hopes he doesn’t save any clues for Harry. Else, Harry will spend the rest of his life running his fingers over Draco’s remnants, until his hands are red and raw, and his heart carved and broken like the wood.

“Aren’t you curious?” Draco peers over at Harry, concerned at Harry’s silence.

He is. He’s insatiably curious, just not about the stars, or aliens, or 400-year old words. About Draco. About his adventures on Earth, about his daydreams in the cosmos. 

“Can’t you be satisfied with life on Earth?” Harry whispers, because he’s too cowardly to ask the real question. 

Draco sighs. He slowly gets to his feet, stands in the starlight, face upturned to the sky. They exist in silence for a few moments. Then, he turns back to Harry. “What life?” He asks. 

Harry sinks further into the damp dirt under him. He hates himself for wanting Draco to sink with him. So he smiles crookedly and memorizes Draco’s outline against the sky. Spindly fingers like tree twigs. Jawline like clay, just minutes before the kiln. Hair like soft North Carolinian cotton. 

“You’re my elephant,” he says quietly. 

“Did you just call me an elephant?” Draco asks incredulously.

“I see the larger picture, Draco. I see you.”

Draco stares. He kneels beside Harry and curls into his chest, sinking into the wet earth. Just for now.

[idratherdreamofjune]

@featheredthings said:

“The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”  - GK Chesterton

This one was a challenging, but ultimately it reminded me strongly of a character in a book I hope you haven’t read but suspect you may have... Jean Valjean in Les Miserables very much experiences a “rebirth” to match those lines, and the philosophical tone of the book often matches as well. ^^ It contains many musings on life’s value and ultimate meaning.

[98prilla]

Fallen

A03

Logan falls from heaven. Instead of dying, he finds aid from a familiar face.

...

He’s falling.

 Crashing, really.

 Through the atmosphere, through plains of reality, he’s broken the sound barrier, and he wonders if he’ll ever hit the ground. At this point, he wishes he would, just so the anticipation would be over.

 His wings burn and tear and scorch at the edges from the force of the fall. Feathers fly around him, not that they’ll cushion his eventual landing. He can see them blackening at the edges, the wind ripping them to shreds, and it hurts, oh, it hurts.

 But he’s numb. Passive. Apathetic, he supposes, is the best word, because what else can he be? There’s no way to stop this, no way to change it, the only thing he can do is give in, and hope that the ground snaps his neck on impact. Otherwise, it will be a slow, painful death.

 He would pray for mercy, but there’s not much use for prayer, now.

 God won’t answer him.

…

His breath escapes him, his heart stops beating, everything freezes for a just a moment, and it takes his brain a second to catch up with his body, for the agonizing, burning, endless waves of pure excruciation to hit his pain receptors, and he chokes on the torment in his soul.

 He tries to move, to sit, to crawl, but he can’t even twitch his fingers, even that burns with the heat of a thousand stars, sends him reeling into a darkness that swallows him whole, and he doesn’t know how long it’s been, when he wakes, days or hours, but the pain hasn’t diminished.

 He’s almost grateful he can’t seem to turn his head, because he can’t bear to see the state of his wings, he knows it’s a bad sign that he can’t feel anything at all from them, meaning more than likely they go beyond broken to unsalvageable, and that more than anything breaks him down into a howling, wretched, mess.

 He painted the sky, he placed the stars, he wove the cosmos into being, and now he can’t even touch them. Will die here, on this rock hurtling through space, without ever touching his stars again.

 And for what?

 A couple questions? His curiosity? His desire to discover everything and anything and how it all worked, and why it all worked, and somehow, somehow, that was blasphemy, when it should have been considered the purest kind of love, that he wanted to know the humans better, know their world better, well.

 He can feel blood trickling from his mouth, though he doesn’t know if it’s from internal injuries or simply because at some point in the fall he bit his tongue. He’s too tired to care. He’s cold, as well, an unusual feeling, it was never cold in heaven. Even now, his sluggish mind is trying to process the new feeling, trying to determine the consequences, trying to understand, but it was slow.

 Everything feels slow.

 He barely notices the vibrations against the ground, the footsteps approaching, until the shadow is hovering over him. He barely hears the person whistle lowly. Barely manages to open his eyes for a fleeting second, as he feels himself be moved, picked up, held, and he instinctually presses against the warmth.

 “Something did a number on you, didn’t it?” The voice murmurs, rumbling in their chest, a soothing feeling, another thing to catalogue. But he’s already slipping away, as some small movement tweaks his wing joints, and he screams at the electric anguish it sends racing through his veins.

…

Warm.

 He is warm.

 His entire being pulses with a dull, endless ache. His soul feels ripped to shreds. His heart feels shattered beyond repair.

 Yet he’s alive.

 The world is a blur. Warm browns and dark woods, something soft and gentle beneath him. Something fluffy and warm wrapped around him. He can feel something wrapped around his chest, something pinning his wings back, trapped and he hisses, tries to pull at the restraints, tries to get free, tries to escape-

 “Hey, hey, hey, don’t do that.” He freezes at that voice, a blurry shape coming into view, black hair with a white streak, and he recoils, afraid, breath hissing through his teeth at the ache sharpening to a stabbing in his skull. “Sorry, sorry, it’s okay, but, uh, you really need to leave the bandages and stuff alone. One of my friends fixed you all up, I don’t know shit about healing and stuff, but he said if you ever wanna use those again, you gotta let ‘em heal.” His breath hitches at that, and his focus didn’t sharpen, but the ache in his heart did.

 “they’re broken. they shattered on impact. Based on my velocity, into a thousand tiny pieces of bone fragments that can’t ever be pieced back together. Not only that, the flesh itself tore apart from the speed and the crash, I can’t feel them. They’re nothing more than useless weights to drag along behind me. I won’t fly again. Don’t lie to me. I’ve already lost everything, don’t lie to me.” His voice is dull and emotionless, his spark is dimmed to an ember, he doesn’t have anything left in him.

 “I’m not. I swear, they’re not a lost cause. It won’t be fast, or soon, but he said that you’ll be able to fly again. He’s, uh, not really a human, so, he used some of his voodoo magic or whatever, and it seems to have stuck.” He’s too tired to try and parse out whatever that means, but a kernel of hope is soothing the ache, now, because if he can fly, that’s all he needs, he just needs his wings, and he’ll be able to make it. He just needs the stars.

…

 He’s crying.

 He doesn’t know why, but tears are slipping down his cheeks, still half dreaming.

 He hadn’t thought it would be Patton, who would turn him in. Didn’t think he’d done anything worthy of being turned in for, which was why he hadn’t been afraid. Even as he was standing in front of the council, explaining himself, he hadn’t been afraid.

 He’d thought it all a misunderstanding.

 Until the clouds parted under him, and sent him hurtling down.

 Until Patton said he was sorry, but this was for everyone’s own good.

 Until he reached desperately up, expecting someone, anyone, to grab his hand, haul him back up, to say this was wrong, or all a joke, but instead his grasp closed on air, and he fell.

 He’s fallen.

 That doesn’t hurt. Not really. It’s the betrayal that hurts. That twists like a knife in his side, that stabs him through the heart and breaks him, because how long, how long, how long, had Patton been planning this?

 He’d thought Patton was curious, like him, he always listened so attentively, always asked questions, the only one who actually cared about his speculations and interests and studies.

 And it had all been a lie.

 It would make him angry, if he had anything left in him besides tired, down trodden, defeat.

 He should have been smarter than this. He knows how pure Patton sees himself, sees the other angels, sees heaven. He knows how he looks for corruption everywhere, how he supported the flood, but he’d just been glad someone wanted to listen.

 And it cost him.

 “-been sleeping.”

 “Still, I’d like to check on him. Those wounds need redressing.” A new voice, soft and sibilant, soft voice, one he almost recognized, almost remembered, but his memories seem blurry on the subject.

 He cracks open his eyes as footsteps approach, the room slightly less blurry, now, he supposes some of the swelling on his face must have gone down, allowing his eyes to open fully.  

 A face comes into view. One half is covered with golden scales, that trail down from his eyes and extend down his wrist, encasing his hands in their soft shimmer, one eye a snake’s, the other a dark, nearly coal, black, and there’s something strange and graceful and ageless about him.

 “serpent.” He greets, voice rasping and whispery, and he sees the figure inhale sharply, take a step back.

 “logan. Oh, stars, what did they do to you?” He isn’t sure how the serpent knows his name, but he doesn’t care. His eyes are slipping shut and he doesn’t have the strength to keep them open anymore, he doesn’t care what happens to him, he just wants to sleep and never wake up. “Shhh, it’ll be ok, love. Jussst sssleeep.”

….

Remus watches as Deceit smooths back the winged man’s hair, Logan, he’d said, a strange look on his face, a strange combination of anger and fierce softness.

 “You know him.” He says, and Deceit lets out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair.

 “I know all of them, Remus. I was there when they were made.”

 “But you know him, personally.” Deceit’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t answer, instead shifting his attention back to Logan.

 “He’ll be out for a while. He’s exhausted as is, and my influence will keep him that way long enough to do what needs to be done. I’d rather he not be awake, it’s going to hurt considerably rebandaging and preening those wings. You might want to lay down a tarp. This will get messy.”

…

 He remembers something.

 Distant, hazy, broken pieces of thoughts.

 Painting the stars, laughing at something someone else said, someone with a golden glow and long brown locks, hazel eyes alit with the cosmos.

 Speaking beneath a tree, well, more of an idea of a tree, a conceptualization of a tree, a fuzzy, hesitant painting of one. They are mapping the sky, planning it out, tracing future constellations.

 Patton. Sky blue wings, ripping away the gold. For his own good. Too many questions, too many doubts, too many mistakes, but he wouldn’t let him, he was wrong!

 Patton froze. His expression morphed into something cold, something that made him feel something new… fear.

 He was afraid as Patton gripped his arm too hard, shoved him back, somehow freezing him in place. Bright light lit the space, Janus screamed, colors flashed, his vision went dark, and everything stopped.

…

He shoots awake.

 His wings are still pinned back, but he can feel them, now, a relief, though they ache, yet.  

 He can hear speaking. He forces himself to his feet, nearly tumbling over at the dull wash of pain, at the unbalanced weight of his wings behind him, which would usually help steady him or be tucked primly back, now hindered by splints and bandages. His head swims, so full of memories and shifting images and he needs to get there, needs to reach him, so he forces himself forwards, leaning heavily against the walls, until he reaches a doorway, trips over a rug, and goes falling to the floor.

 Impact never comes, someone swears, and catches him, and he opens his eyes to those mismatched ones, so strange, but so familiar, and he doesn’t hesitate, now, to throw his arms around him, and cry.

 “I know, darling. It hurts. But it will be alright.” Janus murmurs to him, clearly mistaking his anguish as being borne of his fall, or his wounds, and he shakes as he feels him card a hand through his hair.

 “I’m sorry.” He manages, through great, gasping heaves of air.

 “shh, there’s nothing to apologize for, love.” He’s so kind, even now, he’s so kind, even when Janus thinks he doesn’t know him, doesn’t recognize him, even when Logan is simply another fallen angel, and Janus is supposed to be the tempting serpent, he’s kind, and it’s such a Janus way to spite Patton, who turned him into this, into the face of deception and trickery, accidentally giving him the keys to all the knowledge he’d ever sought.

 “my fault. You f-fell and it’s m-my fault. Patton did this to you, b-because I said he was wrong, he did this to you, and then he m-made me f-forget.” He stutters, feeling Janus freeze, his breath caught in his throat, and a hand is tilting up his chin, to meet those endless eyes.

 “what did you say? What… this is a trick. A trap. A ploy. He wouldn’t-“ He cuts off Janus, pressing their lips together, closing the space between them, and Janus is suddenly holding him close, desperate for his warmth, and he very nearly laughs at the joy surging through him as they part.

 “Janus. You are Janus. The serpent of Eden, the guardian of knowledge, everything Patton did to hurt you only made you stronger, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have fought harder, I should have remembered, I shouldn’t have let him continue to use me, I should have known-“

 “you can’t know everything, love. His power is strong, he’s ruled as a tyrant for so long, I’m… I didn’t expect you to remember, ever.” Janus murmurs, gaze roving over every inch of his face, his hands caressing his arms, as if once he stopped, Logan would vanish. “I’ve missed you.” Janus presses another kiss to Logan's lips. “I looked at the stars every night, remembering you. I’m sorry for the pain, but I’m selfishly not sorry you fell, not when it means you’re here with me.”

 “I’m not either. I’m not sorry. I’m so proud of you, Janus. I…” his voice breaks, and he buries his head against Janus's chest. “I love you.”

 “I love you, too, darling dearest.”

 “I'm sorry. He took the sky from you. I’m sorry.” He cries softly, feeling Janus rock him.

 “it doesn’t matter. You’ll still have them. And I have you. That’s what matters, Logan. You are my stars. You are my universe, and Patton failed, because we are together, and that is all I’ve ever dreamed.”

 They stay like that, holding each other, whispering memories and I love yous and kissing for a long time, drowning in each other until the sun set and the stars rose.

[sheerfreesia007]

Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 20)

Title: Fallin’ All In You (Pt. 20)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Author: @sheerfreesia007​​

Words:1,141

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

Tags: @cosmo-bear​, @two-unbeatable-beaters​, @randomness501​, @sevvysaurus​

Author Notes: We’re up to part 20 folks! Oh, that’s exciting. There’s so many more parts that I have to write and I’m slowly working through them. Next part isn’t going to be as fluffy as we’re used to. I want to try and explore more sides of their relationship

Gif Credit: Google search

           The birds were chirping peacefully as they sat up in the crab apple tree you and Jack were lying under. The two of you had ridden Charcoal and Geronimo out onto his ranch to the far edge of his property where Jack had said he wanted to show you the odd single crab apple tree that has been growing on his property ever since he bought it. He had explained to you that he had found it such an odd thing that the crab apple tree was the only thing growing all the way out here. He didn’t know why but he felt some sort of connection to the tree and ever since he bought the property he made sure to care and tend the tree to make sure he grew to its full potential. And it had flourished under his care to grow to massive proportions. It had many hefty branches that curved and turned from its trunk reaching high towards the sky.

           A breeze blew through the air making the numerous flowers of the crab apple tree. Different hues of pinks ranging from a soft rosy white to a vibrant pink danced across your eyes as you looked up into the tree’s branches. You smiled contently as you lay on the fragrant grass under the crab apple tree. There was a soft tickling running from the underside of your chin up your cheek and swirled around the tip of your nose. You chuckled softly and darted your eyes up to Jack who lay on his side hovering over your body in the grass. He had a long blade of grass in his hand and was tracing it all over your face.

           “What are you thinking of darlin’?” he asked softly with a soft smile directed to you.

           “It’s so peaceful here. No wonder you love it.” You declared lazily as you stretched your body underneath his. “I could lay out here for quite a long while and still be content.” Jack smiled warmly down at you and leaned down pressing a soft kiss to your lips as you shut your eyes and smiled into the kiss.

           “That makes two of us darlin’.” He hummed at you and nudged your nose with his lightly. You smiled again still with shut eyes and leaned up and pecked another kiss to his lips.

           “Hmmm” you hummed tranquilly and raised your arms above your head stretching out the kinks in your back. Your left leg bent at the knee and your foot came to rest against the ground and you tilted your hips towards Jack. Jack rested his body further against yours and the two of you hummed and smiled at each other. “Hmm, I know it’s the atmosphere that’s making me so relaxed. But I gotta say the company is giving me such a huge sense of satisfaction too.”

           “Oh really?” he asked kindly and you nodded your head up at him grinning. Just then a ladybug came and landed on the tip of Jack’s nose. You chuckled softly and eyed the insect as it walked across his nose.

           “Did you know that in Britain ladybugs are called ladybirds?” you asked softly as your eyes easily tracked the insect crawling across his skin. Jack lightly tilted his head not wanting to disturb the insect.

           “I did not.” He said wide warm eyes. He loved when you would start to spout out facts of about things that you were passionate about. “What else can you tell me about ladybugs?” he questioned as he tucked a stray strand of hair back behind your ear. The two of shifted slowly so that Jack lay on his back and you lay on his chest still watching the ladybug make a trek against Jack’s nose.

           “Entomologists prefer the name ladybird beetles or lady beetles because these insects aren’t classified as true bugs.” You instructed knowledgeably and Jack smiled warmly. The knowledge and things you remembered always surprised him. “The name coccinellids which is their scientific name is derived from the Latin word coccineus meaning scarlet.”

           “That’s quite interesting my little source of knowledge.” He teased lazily as he slowly shut his eyes. He felt you shift against his chest and rest your hands over it and then your chin rested on top of your hands.

           “Coccinellids are often conspicuously colored yellow, orange, or red with small black spots on their wings covers. And the color patterns vary from beetle to beetle. They’re found worldwide and have over 6,000 species described.” You finished in a soft tone as you sighed warmly. Jack just hummed underneath you and felt the little insect making its way to the very tip of his nose and he smiled knowing that the little thing was going to take flight soon. “Also there’s a common myth that the spots on their backs indicate their age, which is totally unfounded and false. The color and pattern of the beetle is actually determined by the species and genetics and develops as the beetle matures.” You concluded as you watched the little red and black beetle fly from Jack’s nose.

           Jack opened his eyes slowly and watched a brilliant grin fall over your face simply. He trailed his hands up your sides and you leaned further over his body until your lips pressed to his in a series of soft pecks.

           “I’m gonna go out on a limb here darlin’ and say that they are your favorite insect.” He decided knowingly. You nodded your head at him still smiling.

           “They’re actually the only insect I like besides butterflies.” You confessed in a secretive manner and Jack laughed kindly.

           “Well I love it when you reveal your knowledge with me.” Jack said fondly as his hand came and traced along the side of your face.

           “Oh yeah?” you questioned with a teasing smile on your face.

           “Yup.” Jack stated nodding his head. “You have this little quirk where you spout out facts about the things that you’re passionate about. It’s actually quite endearing darlin’.” He advised in a low gravelly tone that you made you shiver.

           “Is that what gets your juices flowing Jack? My wealth of knowledge that I share with you?” you asked seductively as you trailed a hand down his chest.

           “Oh darlin’.” He growled lowly as he rolled and situated your body under his pressing his hips into yours. “That’s only one of the things that gets my juices flowing about you.” He confessed before he slanted his lips over yours in a deep passionate kiss.

           You laughed and gasped against his mouth as the sun began to set. The sounds of both Geronimo and Charcoal snorting not far from the two of you. It was your own little paradise under that lone crab apple tree and you were so entranced by it and the man on top of you.

[apesoformythoughts]

“After one moment when I bowed my head  And the whole world turned over and came upright,  And I came out where the old road shone white.  I walked the ways and heard what all men said,  Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,  Being not unlovable but strange and light;  Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite  But softly, as men smile about the dead 

The sages have a hundred maps to give  That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,  They rattle reason out through many a sieve  That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:  And all these things are less than dust to me  Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

— G.K. Chesterton: “The Convert”

[barfzal]

cosmos

word count: 4,525

warnings: smut, public sex, hand on throat if that counts (it’s nothing rough though)

requested: yup! 

a/n: hey, hunnies! this one is about my favorite pretty boy, nolan, being your sweet lover. this was definitely inspired by my sweet anon who just wanted to just talk it up with a soft nolan under the stars, and it is also loosely inspired by the song fade into you by mazzy star. anyways, i so appreciate you guys being patient with me when i took my tiny hiatus from writing, and i hope you enjoy this. and i love reading feedback and comments, so please don’t be shy. all the love ⋆ mia

The engine of the 1993 Ford coughs and wheezes through the serene, forested back roads of Manitoba. The air is a comfortable seventy degrees, but the breeze is cool enough to make the tip of your nose cold. You fall into a drowsy state from the rhythm of the aged pickup truck’s engine and the consistent, soothing pattern of Nolan’s thumb over your knee. Your head rests back into the passenger seat, and your eyes greedily trace over every detail of your lover. The wind ruffles the curling ends of his honey tinted hair; the slight arch of his eyebrow gives his resting expression an unimpressed nuance; his narrow eyes are the same color of a densely clouded sky after a heavy rain; his parted lips are the shade of tart raspberries; the natural flush of his soft cheeks makes his fair complexion warmer; the dim lighting in the truck makes the curvature of his bone structure more prominent and a shadow forms under his sharp jaw; his fingers hang leisurely over the steering wheel that he’s pulling now. The vehicle turns off of a road, and dips into a poorly cleared grassy plain lined with lush, towering trees. 

Nolan had mentioned taking you out earlier, but you figured he meant to one of his town’s drive-in films or perhaps to the park, and now curiosity sparked in you as the truck wandered off into an isolated field. “Where are we going?” you ask quietly while you affectionately tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. His fingers slip from your thigh and pull on the gear shift to put the truck into park. “Right here,” he answers you with a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Your eyebrows push together quizzically, and he nods at you reassuringly. He unfastens his seatbelt, and pushes open the driver door to get out of the truck. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the hood of the truck, and you unfasten your own seatbelt while he opens your own door. You turn in your seat, and you can feel his hands slide over your hips. His sturdy arms wrap around your waist and take you into his embrace. You look down into his blue eyes before he presses a kiss to your lips that draws all remaining breathe from your lungs. You unintentionally hum a sweet sigh into his lips. While his fingers slide up your spine, your fingers fold into his hair, gently clenching your knuckles at the ends of his long hair. When your lips draw apart, the tips of your noses meet. Nolan has a wide smile that is as contagious as it is beautiful, and you let out a giggle lighter than the air. Your fingers slide down the warm back of his neck while his hands slide down your arms. “Come here,” his deep voice hums to you quietly while taking both of your palms into his, and you slide from the passenger seat. 

Coming to your feet, one of your hands falls from Nolan’s to close your door, and he guides you to the trunk. With his free hand, he opens the hatch, and lining the flatbed are worn-in comforters, quilts and crotched throws from his family’s linen closet. “I figured,” he explains while bringing himself into the flatbed, “that we could watch the sunset.” He’s on his knees as he leans against the truck’s steel tool box that is lined with various pillows that he and his sisters must have used to line their childhood forts with. “I also brought wine,” he says with a soft chuckle, and he pops open the tool box to reveal a bag cooler, that he would take on fishing trips, with one bottle of sauvignon blanc inside it. “I don’t have any glasses though cause they would have broken back here, so we’ll just have to drink from the bottle,” he says with a sheepish grin and slight shrug of his shoulders. Your smile widens, and relief visibly spreads over his face. “I love it,” you say while crawling into the flatbed and between his thighs. You lean into him and leave a kiss at the tip of his nose while your fingers playfully ruffle his silk brown hair, and he lets out a hushed laugh while his hands find your back. 

Nolan leans back into the sea of assorted pillows, none of which seemed to have matching pillow cases, with you between his thighs. He guides you down into his chest with both of his hands on your back, and your hands slide up onto his chest under you. You allow yourself to fall into him, and you can feel his fingers sweeping up your hair and pulling it over to your back. It always amuses you just how delicate he is when handling your face. His long fingers trace down your temples, and he cups your cheeks as the two of your lips reconnect in a slow kiss. It was moments like these that made it feel like the warmth and light of the sun was bottled up in your chest. Like from far in the distance, someone would be able to see the glow of your joy against the horizon. You can feel the sparse hairs on his upper lip tickle your top lip, and your fingers caress his jaw also sprinkled with a light peppering of hair. You hear his quiet groan when you playfully nip at his bottom lip, and the both of you pull away with a breathe-filled giggle. “I love you,” you hear him say, and you can feel the deep baritone in his chest as he speaks. Your eyes open to meet his, and your fingers weave through his long auburn hair, raking and combing it back tenderly. “I love you, Nolan,” you murmur to him as his hands hold you close by your waist. 

It was in the home of his strong arms that you stayed curled up as the sun sank down in the sky like a penny floating down to the bottom of a wishing well. The sun blew out like a candle, and the sky shifted hues of rich magenta and fiery orange. As the largest star in the solar system laid to rest, the sky turned into an infinite blanket of violet over your heads. Small stars burned holes through the amethyst sky, and the waxing gibbous moon looked like an incomplete pearl in a sky of jewels. Your head remains nestled in the cozy fabric of Nolan’s sweater. You can feel his fingers slip through your hair while the fingers of his other hand trace down your arm. Your fingers trace over the delicate line work of that small floral tattoo on the lower portion of his inner bicep. Your fingers laced between his, and you lift his arm up to your lips to kiss into the ink on the inside of his wrist. Your hands lift to trace over the smoothness of his warm cheeks. Your finger slowly caresses over the smallest birthmark under his eye, down the surface of his cheek, and over the curling hair at his sideburn, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear again. Under the pale moonlight, his skin is creamy, and the slate blue hues of his eyes are dimmed, but on his cheeks, there is a gorgeous peach nebula forming from the cool air. 

The overwhelming urge to kiss him builds in the pit of your stomach. His lips look soft and inviting, and he notices your eyes flicker to his lips. His one hand resting on your arm slides up to the front of your neck. Using his thumb, Nolan angles your chin up to allow him better access to your open mouth, and your eyes close when you taste his tongue. The flavor of his tongue is sweeter than a honeycomb and tart from the white wine the two of you had been sipping on. Your moan is smothered by his tongue, but he responds by lightly wrapping his fingers over the base of your throat. His other hand cradles the back of your head, and his fingers are laced with the strands of your hair. Your fingers slide under the rich fabric of his sweater and you can feel the muscles in his abdomen tense from the sensation of your cold fingertips. Your hands slide up over his sturdy chest. When the kiss carries on, the knot in your stomach loosens. You part lips with him to let out a sigh of ease before your lips wrap around his full bottom lip again. You feel Nolan’s breathe on your tongue, and it sends a spark from your mouth down your throat and to your core, and with just one of his hushed whines you feel a familiar ache between your thighs. 

Your nails slightly press into his bare chest and drag down his warm flesh to the hem of his jeans. With your fingers digging under the waist of his pants, you give the denim a gentle tug. He moans between your lips, and you can feel his knuckles tighten into a fist in your hair. His tongue lightly prods open your lips, and he presses his teeth into your bottom lip gently, pulling at it before his fingers lightly squeeze at your throat. A squeak escapes your lips and fills the space between your mouthes, and he pulls his lips from yours to look into your eyes. With your foreheads pressed against one another you bite your bottom lip suggestively. “Please,” you breathe to him while looking at him with faux innocence rimming your eyes. 

A smile spreads over Nolan’s lips before he slides his hand from the base of your throat to the back of your neck. His other hand frees itself from the tangle of your hair, and his hand slides underneath your shirt, fingers grazing the ticklish skin of your hips. His lips press into yours once more as he sits up so his back is resting on the trunk’s pillow-lined tool box. Your body is lifted with him, twisting in his arms to eagerly follow his lips. You both fell into a quiet harmony of matching one another’s moans. His hands trace down your hips and over your ass. His fingers dig into your skin there, and with a strong grasp he squeezes you and pulls at your ass before his hand snaps back to slap against the surface of it. You gasp against his tongue, and to that, he lets out on of his self-satisfied chuckles. His eyes lift to yours as he pulls you by the back of your thighs, wrapping your thighs around him and pulling you down to straddle his lap.

When you meet his steel eyes, you can see the smug grin on his face dissipate when you grind yourself down into him. Your hips rocking back and forth, and the slight friction of rubbing yourself onto him causes him to groan out a low “fuck,” and it allows you a sweet relief from the heightening sexual frustration. His teeth tuck into his bottom lip, and now it’s you that has a small smirk on your lips. He watches your expression change, but he knows that he would never let you win the teasing competition between one another. His fingers find their way to the front of your throat again, and lifting his thighs up, with one hand supporting your lower back, he lays you on to your back. You let out a tender sigh as he earnestly sinks kisses into the center of your throat. Your neck extends back, and you feel Nolan’s warm tongue slide along your skin, and his supple lips press a wet kiss into your chest. His fingers glide down your chest and he squeezes at your breasts through your shirt. 

Nolan’s fingers fumble with the edge of your shirt and lifts it off of your stomach. His lips roam the space between your ribcage, and you feel your bones rattle with desire. You stretch out for him, arching your back, and he brushes his lips down the middle of your stomach. Your stomach churns, and it feels like butterflies are fluttering their delicate wings under the surface of your stomach. You pull the rest of the fabric off of your shoulders, and the crisp air stings your warm flesh, and as you open your lips, Nolan strips off your pants and they find their way to the corner of the flatbed with your shirt. Nolan’s eyes lift to you and grins briefly before he uses his strong hands to press your thighs apart. His lips press a kiss to your clothed center, and in return you gasp for him, the ghost of his warm kiss lingering there. His lips travel up to the front of your chest. He lines the top of your breasts with sweet kisses before unhooking the clasp of your bra. He tugs at your bra, and your warm breasts jiggle from his motion. He wraps his lips over your nipple, sucking it between his lips. His tongue is warm, and it contrasts the frigid breeze that stirred the still air. Your moan carries off in the wind, and he presses himself between your thighs. Through his denim, you can feel his shaft on your clothed pussy, and your hips squirm involuntarily as he pushes into you to tease you more. 

Desperate, your fingers hook under the waist of his jeans and yank it down in an unsuccessful, feeble attempt to pull them off of his broad hips. He pulls his toned hips from yours and the loss of pressure makes you whine for him. “Nolan, baby,” you whisper with your cheeks growing warm. You looked up at him. The sky painted in deep swirls of dark lilac and a midnight navy over his head. He slips the warm sweater from over his broad shoulder, and throws it up to the right of you while he sinks to his stomach, fingers sliding down from the back of your knees to your thighs. You tuck his sweater under your head while he firmly presses your thighs in to your chest and you feel him nibble into your clothed pussy. You sigh quietly and your fingers clench into the nearest throw pillow, knuckles turning white as you buck your hips forward. He hums as he presses a warm kiss into your slit and you let out a sigh of desperation. “Please Nolan, please,” you give into the begging he loves to hear when the two of you tease each other. 

Finally, he peels the wet panties over your thighs, over your calves and off of your ankles until he throws the fabric in the corner with the rest of your clothing. The cool air against your heat makes you whine out for him, and with that, he presses his warm tongue in between your slit. You can feel his tongue at your entrance, and it slowly slides up your folds until he reaches your sensitive clit. Your eyes find his, and you watch his lips purse and his spit falls from his lips and onto your pussy. With that, you writher under him, wanting more of his tongue inside of you. Your feet fall to his shoulders, and through the pleasure, your toes curl into his defined shoulder blades when his mouth clamps down on you. 

The sounds of his muted groans and warm tongue lapping at you fervently fills your ears, and you can smell the dark scent of his cologne and natural musk on his sweater near your head. The combination of his scent, the sensations and the sounds of his wet tongue and groans is the closest to heaven you have ever gotten. His saliva rolls down your slit, and it makes your moans grow louder. He pulls his lips from your pussy and presses sloppy, generous kisses into your inner thigh, his lips leaving a glistening print on your skin in the glow of the moonlight. His teeth drag over your thigh, and you whimper for him when he nibbles into the softness of your thigh. He presses another warm kiss to your inner thigh while his hand slides up your stomach, and you feel his fingertips at your lips. He pushes his ring finger and middle finger into your mouth, sliding the digits along the middle of your tongue. You happily oblige by sucking on his finger tips, your cheeks hollow while he presses a kiss to your raw clit. Your moan is muffled by his fingers, which he takes from your lips, and they are coated in your saliva. He presses the length of his two fingers into you, deliberately, hooking them towards him while he watches you stretch around his fingers. He mutters out a quiet curse at the sight, and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth while he watches you unravel under him. 

Underneath the denim, his cock is growing full while he watches you sprawled out under him, wriggling and naked in the back of the old truck. Your fingers slide along the length of his soft hair, and he sinks his tongue into your clit. His lips wrap around the bundle of nerves, and he flicks at it with his strong tongue. His saliva is dripping down his chin, and coats his upper lip; the stubble of his faint beard and mustache are covered in your juices, and it makes your hips squirm under him. The pressure building to be almost unbearable while he fucks you with just two of his fingers. “Please Nolan, I need this,” you whine to him, thinking of what is waiting for you beyond the button and zipper of his jeans. He sits up now, pulling his fingers from between your legs and bringing them to his lips to suck on them. You watch him; his hair is disheveled from your roaming hands, and his face has mauve flush to it while his fingers hang from his lips, and he sucks the flavor of you from his fingertips. His other hand moving to sweep over his hair and tuck some of it behind his ear. 

When he lays himself over you, you take his tongue into your mouth and delight in the flavor of yourself on his lips. Your hands are finally within reach of his button and zipper, and you hastily pull his jeans open. With both feet, you push his jeans down as far as you can between hot kisses. Your fingers slide over his hips and to his lower back, nails pressing into him gently. Nolan kicks his jeans and underwear the remaining way down his calves and shoves them off of his ankles with his feet. One of his hands helps him steady himself over you, while the other hand slides up over your waist and squeezes into the softness of your breast. He squeezes into it while groaning at the sensation. Your fingers eagerly wrap around his thick shaft and stroke the stiff length and full girth of his cock, and Nolan lets out an earnest groan for you from the back of his throat. His tongue sinks into your mouth while you press your lips to his. 

Gradually, Nolan pulls his lips from yours reluctantly. A string of saliva hangs from your bottom lips until he draws back further enough. His chest has a light sheen to it, the sparse hair on his chest is slicked and dewy from the heat between the two of you. He purses his lips, and you watch his spit fall onto your already messy and wet pussy, still tender from his tongue and fingers. One of his hands is pushing back the curl of his hair from his eyes, and the other hand is holding his cock by the base and gently smacking it against your slit. Your hips lunge up eagerly, and you can tell your squirming amuses him. His thumb gently slides over your swollen clit, flicking it back and forth while the tip of his cock slides between your folds. Your lips are curling around his name but you only get to “Nol,” when he interrupts the start of your plea by pushing himself inside of you. The tip of his thick cock spreading you open and making you whine out. 

Inch by inch, Nolan eases himself into you at an excruciatingly slow pace. His eyebrows knit together, and once he is settled in he lets out a hushed moan. “It’s so big,” you choke out to him, his hips pressing into the back of your thighs. His thumb presses down into your clit and rubs it slowly in small circles with a firm pressure that makes you see stars. Your lips open, and you let out soft moans just for him, your nails dig into the blankets under you. “Oh my god,” he mumbles out, fully enjoying the way you pulse around his cock and writhe under him. Both of his hands slide up, and wrap over your hips, his thumbs meeting just under your belly button while he holds you in place sternly. He pulls his hips back, and sinks into you with a soft grunt from the back of his throat. If you thought his voice was deep, his moans sounded like heavy growls coming from the back of his throat. He finds a rhythm of fucking you that leaves you gasping for your breathe. His big, thick cock fills you just to your limit. You are gasping under him as his hips crash into you, and he fills you up ruthlessly while the truck under you rocks to his rhythm. Your skin feels radioactive, and the pleasure twists inside of you like a searing hot coal in the pit of your stomach. You feel your impending orgasm, and from the way you clenched around him, Nolan could feel it too. When he brings his hand between your thighs and his fingertips begin working cruelly at your clit to bring you over the edge, you reach a point where the simultaneous stimulation becomes too much, and your orgasm wracks your body with pleasure. You are a quivering mess under him, your skin dewy from an overheated sweat that you had worked up just by being under your boyfriend’s pace. He slows down and hushes at your whimpering. 

His warm lips brush over your temple while he slowly rocks his hard cock into your sensitive pussy. You look up to him, and he smiles sympathetically at you. “You okay? That wasn’t too much?” he pursues you while brushing the hair from your face and placing a kiss into your forehead. You shake your head, and let out a giggle, somewhat shy after the intense orgasm. “I’m okay, baby,” you murmur to him, and with that you feel Nolan’s stiff cock pull out from you, and it wasn’t until that moment that you realize just how enslaved you were to him. Even after an overwhelming orgasm, you want him still. You slowly sit up, fingers pulling at the back of Nolan’s neck, and you draw his lips to yours, kissing him tenderly. He hums into the kiss before you pull from him. You turn over onto your hands and knees, and slide yourself back to him, and he smiles. He slowly rubs himself at your entrance before you sink back onto him, and he sighs out. “Holy shit,” he utters out over your shoulder while he disappears into you. His whole length resting inside of you, and you slowly pull yourself from him, and sink back. Over and over, you work your hips, and Nolan thoroughly and wholly savors just how badly you want his cock. 

Nolan is biting into his knuckle when he comes to the point where he cannot let you control the pace any longer. He grows desperate for his release, and knows it would come soon, but not if you continue to tease him. His wide palm comes down onto your ass, and you feel the sweet electrifying sting of his palm against your skin. You sink down onto your forearms, and with your back arched deeply, Nolan’s hands wrap around your hips, and he presses himself into you. His relentless and harsh pounding starts, and, again, you feel the white hot burning of your orgasm in your stomach. One of his hands slides up to gather your hair and wrap it around his knuckles. With a fistful of hair, he fucks into you, and the new position allows his big cock to hit the one spot that makes your toes curl. Nolan leans over you, with sweat rolling down his chest and onto your back, he gathers your hair over your shoulder, and one of his hands snakes over your hip while the other wraps over the front of your throat. He pulls your back into his chest, and his head nestles into the space between your neck and shoulder. You can feel his harsh breath as he pants against your throat, and he lets out a deep groans into your ear. His groans turn into long dark moans, and he presses his hand along your throat and to your jaw. Nolan’s thumb pushes into your mouth, and rests on your tongue, your mouth hangs open to let out sweet moans. You are unable to inform Nolan of your orgasm that you are succumbing to with his thumb occupying your mouth, but the clenching of your walls notifies Nolan while sending him over the edge with you, and both of you climax together. Nolan’s growls turn into husky moans and quiet whimpers as he spills inside of you. You shiver under him as a warmth of his cum spreads inside of you, and he pulls himself out with deep panting. His cum drips from you, as you both collapse into a panting puddle. 

Your foreheads press against one another’s, and with both of your eyes closed, unknown to each other, you both smile harmoniously. When your eyes lift up, Nolan is admiring you the way you admired him earlier when he was driving. His fingers brush back strands of your messy hair from your face. His cheeks are flushed deep to match the color of his lips, and he pulls a warm blanket over your shoulders. The two of you are still breathing audibly when you swallow hard, and kiss into his lips. “I love you so much,” Nolan breathes out after your lips part and you let out a breathy giggle while looking up into his eyes. His hand sinks to your lower back, your bare chest pressing into his as he presses you into him. The moonlight wraps him up in a bright glow, and you press a kiss into the bridge of his nose. “I love you, Nolan” you whisper, while your fingers comb through his feathery hair. For long moments, you lay your  head on his strong chest, and wonder which star must have fallen from the sky to make this wish come true. You both laid there, under a breath-taking sky, in a small portion of the great cosmos, that was made for lovers like you. 

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 322: Aporia

I discovered the music of Aporia and Mitchell James O’Sullivan by way of Dub Disco, a beloved label who released Dub Disco Presents Aporia + Remixes back in 2018. One side of the 12” highlighted tracks from Aporia’s debut release Almost Tropical alongside an exclusive new track featuring Fazerdaze, while the other saw Dub Disco head Aussteiger and associated artists such as LITS801, Cosmic Palms, and S&W applying their balearic remix skills to to O’Sullivan’s tropically-tinged psych pop fantasies. The whole thing was a revelation and in the time since, both Almost Tropical and Dub Disco Presents Aporia + Remixes have worked themselves deep into my heart and now comprise some of my favorite music ever. So as you can imagine, there was considerable anticipation for an Aporia follow-up, which finally came during fall of 2019 in the form of Hotel Aporia, released by Cosmic Compositions and Fantasy Fiction Records. The LP sees O’Sullivan expanding the band’s line-up to include Nick Petricevic and Alia Seror-O'Neill, while also featuring a host of guest musicians providing additional guitar, synth, and woodwind treatments. And conceptually speaking, Hotel Aporia seeks to transport the listener to the titular hotel…an imagined beachfront resort existing in a sort of Lynch-ian dreamspace, one used by the band as a means to “navigate their South Pacific identities” and that is seemingly only accessible via exotic amalgams of library psychedelia, 50’s pop, Hollywood noir, sci-fi surf rock, and Hawaiian tropicalia.

Aporia - Hotel Aporia (Fantasy Fiction & Cosmic Compositions, 2019) After an introduction of mysterious orchestrations, operatic hazes, and chirping birds and insects, “Psychic Driving” sees a psychedelic surf beat riding alone before being joined by swinging bass thumps, tambourine jangles, piano chord splashes, horror film Moog leads, and spaceage theremin choirs. As the noir atmospherics recede, multi-tracked narcotica whispers flow above a sparse groove...as if O’Sullivan is scatting forbidden secrets while glowing synth hazes hover just out reach, with his voice sometimes backed by wordless feminine magic. During mesmeric choruses, cinematic strings and ghostly synth leads flow beneath Seror-O’Neil’s fantasy hooks and at some point, the whole thing gives over to a delirium jam out…like a trippy 60s happening taking place in the Red Room from Twin Peaks, with strobe lights flashing and enigmatic masked figures executing the batusi and the swim amidst melting layers of orchestral exotica. “South Seas Beijing” follows with seagulls and crashing waves surrounding liquid chord slides that recall nothing so much as “Breathe in the Air”. A lazed beat snaps amidst maraca rattles and chime strands as a Roger Waters style bassline drops, giving the whole thing the distinct feel of Pink Floyd scoring a South Pacific sunrise. And after an outro of moonlit wave motions, echoing loon modulations, and galactic synth flourishes from Lawree Goodwin, we flash into “Moon Taxi” and another solar surf rhythm glide. Seaside guitars glimmer in the sunlight and basslines sing beneath equatorial electronics as a vocal duet emerges, with O’Sullivan’s and Seror-O’Neil’s voices blurring together into heavy-lidded splendor. Cooing wordless refrains alternate with a fantasy chant of “the moon is watching” as flower power breakbeats are guided by bouncing bass guitar warmth, with lines occasionally sliding through lyrical romanticisms. There are moments where the mix reduces to an ambient blur, with aquamarine guitar vapors flowing through underwater vibrato fx, and towards the end, we flow into instrumental psych pop perfection as yearning voices suffuse the background…like sirens singing out from a hidden island paradise.

Amongst my favorite cuts here is “Helium,” which lets dense layers of fantasy synthesis guide a futuristic 50s pop epic. Slow motion drum beats glide beneath birdsong, with snares splattering through dub echoes. The classical ice cream chord progression rushes over the mix via lush pad orchestrations, angel choirs, and sparkling chimes while subsonic body grooves are generated by buzzing waves of analog warmth. Eventually, everything recedes save basslines, beats, and O’Sullivan’s and Seror-O'Neill’s vocal lullabies, which surround the heart with narcotizing threads of Roadhouse style synth-pop that strongly recall Angelo Badalamenti's and David Lynch's collaborations with Julee Cruise, as well as Chromatics. Gemstone piano mirages swim through the mix and during feverish choruses, the soul rushes towards a cinematic paradise aglow in tropical warmth. As the track progresses, multi-tracked string machines and droning polysynths subsume the singing…though hushed vocal incantations are still heard deep in the ether. Galactic lasers wiggle and cosmic tracers squiggle while fuzz guitars (or synths?) climb towards a molten summer sky, and during a moment of psychosonic mystery, the mix devolves into tremolo chordscapes and filtering trap kit rhythms, only to explode back into a stunning climax of “Heart and Soul” romance. A-side closer “Hawaiin Noir” continues exploring realms of 50s pop ethereality, though the vibe is pushed ever further towards South Pacific fantasy. Seed shakers keep a sparse rhythm while surf-stye guitars play doo wop progressions. A gorgeous voice calls out over the crashing waves with ecstatic abandon…like a goddess of the sunrise beckoning the spirit towards a paradise yet undiscovered…the effect so powerful as to literally take your breath away. Another guitar glides into the picture with soft motion solos, starshine electronics twinkle amidst a universal string synth hum, and nearing the end, everything fades into a mirage of meditative metal resonance, wherein Tibetan bowls sing over cricket chirps and crashing waves.

“Cloud Lodge” opens with insects and bongo rhythms surrounded by bubbling liquids. Bell trees flutter and stoner basslines pulse through ethereal shadows as O’Sullivan’s doped out lyricisms ride on sci-fi synths and spaghetti western guitars. New age melodies swim through the cosmos and further six-string accents melt into golden shimmer…all while dub chords delay towards the horizon. Next comes “Moog in Cairo” and its atmospheres of classical jazz meeting otherworldly exotica. There are touches of Omar Khorshid, Diminished Men, and Hosono’s, Suzuki’s, and Yamashita’s Pacific in the surfadelic guitar leads and as Fabien de Menou’s clarinets intertwine with mystical choral cloudforms, hand drums guide the body towards a hidden oasis. Twanging baritones decay towards a blood red sunset and child-like choirs sing songs of forbidden ecstasy amidst guiro scrapes and starshine chime descents....the whole thing like The Ventures tripping acid through a dramatic Hollywood rendering of an Arabian desert landscape. Rainforest percussions filter and pan over kick drums and ethereal gas clouds in “News from Nowhere” before we drop into the main groove, which sees basslines dancing and Peter Magnum’s sci-fi funk riffs crawling across the fretboard while drum machines sketch out robotic exotica patterns. Interstellar hazes blow across the spectrum, carrying with them outer-dimensional orchestrations that again evoke Arabian sunrises as well as the sensual dances of tango, and O’Sullivan’s double tracked vocalisms marry sonorous sensuality and falsetto radiance. Synthesizers gleam like diamonds and noir guitars melt down as ecstatic children sing in support of the increasingly desperate lyricisms…their voices only adding to the sense of haunted disorientation. Elsewhere, the mix reduces to hand drums and static oscillations while vibraphones sparkle like oceanic crystal. And at the end, wave sounds and prayer bowl drones return us to the fourth world environments of “Hawaiian Noir.”

In “Isles in Motion / Shipwreck Bay,” chime strands flow over seaside field recordings while vibraphones and islander hand drums establish a loose exotica groove. Synthetic harps are plucked, morphing fourth world crystals decay into the mix, electronic zithers execute zany runs across a virtual fretboard, and basslines thump through tropical jungle growth while tambourines shake out golden glitter. Eventually, the stereo field washes away as an abstracted voice lectures above the sounds of the sea, presumably signaling entrance into “Shipwreck Bay.” Guitars smear into paradise mesmerism, with touches of Hawaiian psychedelia intermingling with oceanic new age, and ambient angels sing through bodies of cosmic-aquatic light. And as rainbow colorations surround the body in amniotic warmth, tribal drum rolls flow forth from bubbling pools of neon. Helicopter oscillations and mirage guitar shimmer introduce the climactic drum beats of “Secret Fields”…a sort of slow pounding ritualism accented by e-piano chordscapes. Rolling tom fills introduce dirgey basslines while synthesizers howl into the night, bringing touches of progressive rock, only as if slowed to the speed of heroin mesmerism. Vocals flow through lush vocoder fx and evoke a sort of balearic leaning Black Sabbath, though that band’s funereal doom energies are here subverted by Callum Fairely’s dreamscape guitar ascents and these ethereal orchestrations that radiate hues of a Hollywood sunset. Shakers and ride cymbals splash through tide pools while e-pianos sparkle and during a moment where the rhythms fade away, aqueous dolphin songs and mermaid pan-pipe melodies swim across the sky. As the drums return, they stomp unencumbered, although barely-there guitars trace out haunting themes of paradise majesty. Then, after returning to the Sabbath-ian psych rock dirge, the vocals eventually fade away, leaving space for increasingly hallucinogenic tapestries of synthesized symphonic wonderment.

(images from my personal copy)

[moeruhoshi]

I watched a movie then this happened oops

He spotted her from his hiding spot behind the large trunk of an oak tree, holding his breath in fear that he might scare her off. The nymph sat in a small patch of flowers, folding and weaving them into one another, humming as she did so. It was often that when he was out hunting or collecting wood and herbs, he would find her sitting or singing, dancing with the animals or just herself. He would watch in amazement every day and blindly fall in love with her actions, his heart always pounding as he watched from afar.

He was desperate to speak with her, though afraid of the consequences if he did. She could run and he may never see her again. It was as if she were made of glass and one wrong move would cause a catastrophic end. He stalked her from the tops of the trees one day as she played in the river, willing the water to whip up and dance with her. He gulped and shied away as she slipped off the white dress she often wore. The water was intimate as she bathed, caressing it in her palms before running it through her soft locks. That day he ran, fearing that she would notice him and his heart, fearing the branch would snap under him and she would disappear without a trace.

He begged for her heart, curious to know her smell and taste, the feeling of her hair in his hands and lithe body under his. His village spread warnings of forest women stealing their men and best warriors with their physical charms and alluring melodies. His friends were possible proof of this notion, it had been ten years since one disappeared and five the other, friends gone without a trace. His body willed him to visit her every day, soon his chores were no longer what kept him occupied. He failed to return home and spent his nights in the woods, his thoughts soon only wrapped around her image. He followed her every hour of the day, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of her sleeping figure. When she slept, he would watch over her, what kind of weirdo would fall asleep in the middle of a forest anyway? But even then he refused to let himself get close, the trees keeping him hidden as he stared down at her golden face.

Did she have any friends or family, he wondered? She spent all her time alone with the animals and sleep in the same patch of soft grass. He’d collect fruits and berries and leave them in a basket a few feet in front of her, snickering from his perch in the sky at the sight of her lit up face when she found them. He would continue to find things around the forest that he thought she may like, picking her a few rare flowers and cracked geodes hidden in random caves. She would look around and wonder who left them, his identity always remaining a secret.

His courage broke out of its shell one night as he cautiously approached her sleeping form. He curiously eyed her dress, the fact that the item never became dirty was always such a mystery to him. He bent down and observed her sleeping features up close, snorting a bit at the way her nose wrinkled. His breath hitched in his throat as she rolled from her side onto her back, enthralled with the image of her strewn about hair and rising chest. He licked his lips as he scanned the plane of her bare neck, eager to mark it as his own. His body loomed over hers, unable to do anything other than watching her breaths softly go in and out. The ends of her hair were just as soft as he imagined, her dress silk and skin its perfect twin. 

“...I love you...” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, running off as she squirmed, high in the tree as she yawned and sat up with weary eyes. He was too far away to see the blush present on her cheeks, the nymph lying back down and drifting off once again.

His boldness grew as the nights went on, moving from the subtle caress of her body to light touches with his lips. The night he roughly etched a purple mark into the crook of her neck, her hand came up and gripped his bicep. His eyes were wide as he stared into her hooded brown ones, swallowing thickly as she stared blankly up at him. 

“Don’t go... You always disappear before I get the chance to speak to you,” She mumbled, yawning under her free palm as she weakly shook her head.

“Y-You know who I am?!” He whisper-shouted, quick to pull himself away and scurry back on his hands.

“It’s hard not to notice when you’re being watched,” She giggled and gestured around her. “And the trees talk about you all the time.”

“They do...?” He flinched away from the one next to him and quickly turned back to face her as she laughed. He really liked her laugh, he decided.

“It’s not so kind to watch a lady when she bathes, you know.” Her smirk was small, his cheeks as vibrant as the pink cosmos growing nearby.

“I-I’m sorry!” He shrunk back as she crawled towards him, the smirk pulling salaciously at her lips.

“I would have done something...” She hummed, straddling his lap. “...if I didn’t like you watching.”

“U-Um, I-I-I’m Natsu,” His mind blank as she loomed over him and gently pushed him onto his back.

“Lucy,” Her smile was soft as she dipped down and cuddled against his chest. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to stay away from nymphs? We steal men, don't’ you know?”

“It’s happened in my village before,” He chuckled, a nervous hand coming down to caress her delicate hair. “B-But I don’t care, I think you’re... so beautiful, just breathtaking,”

“T-Thank you,” She sat up and observed his features as he had when she slept, grinning at the shudder she felt when grazing a sensitive spot. 

“Why do you run? I’ve never gotten the chance to thank you for all my gifts,” Lucy asked, the boy gulping as she began to unlace the front of her bodice.

“I’m scared that you might run away,” His voice was faint as the garment dropped from her shoulders, heart beating wildly inside his chest.

“I don’t mind if you want to touch me,” Her cheeks were pink as she brought his hand up to caress her breast. “You’re always so gentle,”

“I thought you were a-asleep,” He mumbled and gave an experimental squeeze, taking in the sounds of her soft and pleasing moans.

“Sometimes,” She panted lightly and flushed as his other hand fondled her chest. “...Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

“Y-Yeah,”

[autumnhobbit]

The sages have a hundred maps to give

That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,

They rattle reason out through many a sieve

That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:

And all these things are less than dust to me

Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

The Convert, G.K. Chesterton

[wisdomfish]

The Convert

“After one moment when I bowed my head And the whole world turned over and came upright, And I came out where the old road shone white, I walked the ways and heard what all men said, Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed, Being not unlovable but strange and light; Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite But softly, as men smile about the dead.

The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.”

G. K. Chesterton

[autolovecraft]

And elsewhere, in endless cosmic cycle.

Would it unlock the successive doors that bar our free march down the strange hangings from his dreams throughout life—was equally aware of existence and yet he—if indeed there could exist at the center of the car with the angles of human beings alone.

Probably it did not dissent when they reached the old box containing it, but would plunge like a dizzy precipitation through the two Gates with the social order.

De Marigny saw one of the burrowing inner horrors against which the vaporous brains of the monstrous lights, in that black, clutching pits of a manifestation visible to his earthly eyes. His speech had an utterly diabolic sound to de Marigny paused, old Mr. Phillips spoke a harsh, shrill voice.

My own dreams, and bearded, singularly immobile face of the pedestals was vacant, and the outside absolute. He discovered just the bacterial and other worlds in the unknown solitudes of other planets and systems and galaxies and cosmic continua; spores of eternal life drifting from world to world, universe to universe, yet without dissolution of the Carter parchment. You others have guessed—I felt that minutes ago. Now, it was connected with himself. He understood that he wished to cross the barrier to the edge of reality, ineffable and undimensioned, which the scribe renders as The Prolonged of Life. There was another shape, too, which was also somehow in the south of France, and I am ready to grant that which his presence had demanded.

The Hindu bowed, though held by a plane of some of these, however, as though suns and worlds and universes had converged upon one point whose very position in space they had been left vacant and untended through his neglect since the beings of the illusion of identity. And when he was going to visit frantic vengeance on an angleworm. He believes he may be. A year passed, and gazed at the breathlessly lovely panorama of rocky slope and verdant valley, with its little evil windows and great roof sloping nearly to the multiform entity of Earth which is outside all earths, all great wizards, all great thinkers, all universes, and all stages of growth in each one of the house. The cosmos seemed to fall into bizarre patterns like the chirpings and murmurings of objects unknown on Earth, though he never would tell us anything about it; but when they both served in the night that Carter had tried to make plain what was happening was not one gate alone but a word.

This time he became almost glad he had seemed blasphemously abnormal seemed now only ineffably majestic.

He had seen on a steaming planet building strange cities and incredible scenes which visions of the hills behind Arkham. Mr. Aspinwall, this gentleman is a mask, and after that final cosmic reality which belies all local perspectives and narrow partial views; and could not think this case calls for the Congregational Hospital. After a strange and lonely one, Randolph Carter on a memorable joint furlough, the stale and prosy triteness, and kept it by him nightly in its cryptical arabesques; but he saw that the silver key handed down from his infinity of duplicates—to tide him over that period of suspended animation with utmost care, planning to have picked up an odd gift of prophecy; and he did not belong in the now-familiar rhythm of Earth millions of years before. But the moment of consuming fright that he covered his alien body with the aid of the old Carter place he had undergone he burned for the silence still lasted, Randolph Carter forgot the horror of destroyed individuality. On this occasion he crawled in as usual, lighting one match after another as he gazed. Damnation, he surmised, was in his consciousness-plane, and that the satisfaction of one ultimate, eternal Carter outside space and time to that transcendent Entity from which he dimly remembered from his infinity of directions there are things in his blouse pocket for the metal envelope up the road. Uncle Chris had told him something odd once about an old unopened box with a dark, amidst the greater terror than that which he had left, and friends remembered it when he danced back to Yaddith, for in its aromatic box of fragrant wood, and he had left in the mighty silence, mental and physical, may be able to trace his footprints from the tripods increased, and would desperately practice human speech with the tall, hieroglyphed door. We in India, where 'Umr at-Tawil, the man of 1928, at the breathlessly lovely panorama of rocky slope, and through me came in touch with others; and reacted unusually to things that are, and the alien and incomprehensible designs and disposed according to that which grows out of old Benijah been dead for thirty years ago. Aspinwall remained where he could not lay aside the crude, vague instincts which they shared with the social order. They could pause from their everlasting dreams to the crude, vague instincts which they formed, This, he would probably be discovered and destroyed by the Most Ancient One told him that this seeker of dreams and readings be correct, it was derived. Warped and bigoted with preconceived illusions of justice, freedom, and the dead, black woodland, gnarled, neglected tripods wove themselves into fantastic and inexplicable shapes, and stoop-shouldered. Then the turbaned figure slumped oddly into a new hiding-place necessary. De Marigny and Phillips scarcely know what we're up against. Unable to assert his identity, forced to live; yet at that last and first of secrets which lies behind all scenes and dreams; and being reassured, skipped off across leagues of twilight meadow and spied the old remembered way past graceful lines of rolling hill and stone-walled meadow, distant vale and hanging woodland, gnarled, neglected tripods wove themselves into fantastic and inexplicable shapes, and large, white-mittened hand, had nothing further to reveal.

For the first in the Foreign Legion in the nighted and immemorial crypts that burrow beneath that brooding, haunted cave within a cave, on a high knoll that cleared the trees except to the lost one now reigned as king on the hill. Was anything forgotten? Curious concepts flowed conflictingly through a brain dazed with unaccustomed vistas and unforeseen disclosures.

The Guide did not flinch in fear. The Man of Truth is beyond good and evil and beauty and too shrewd for dreams. No death, no more or less than the peerless beauty of Narath with its hundred carven gates and domes of chalcedony, which, though the lawyer emitted a series of snorts and bellows. From the first Sir Randolph Carter was sitting on a dark, amidst the seething chaos, but the immemorial lore of Yaddith, unharmed. Now he must achieve suspended animation with marvelous success. At the sunset hour, when he was in the diary of a single glimpse. While most of its poverty in beauty and its contents and rode away in his pocket telescope; but some of these statements are very extreme. The abnormal ticking went on, beating out the dark orifice with tense, adventurous assurance, lighting one match after another as he had hitherto deemed capable of existing. It wearied Carter to grasp such things. He did not himself understand these words, yet without even the Great War. With his new knowledge he could not be.

The day before, there were any original as unreality, it was really immaterial to what chance made our fathers think and feel, and had borne certain things made him wish to lose not a moment he thought of words whose mental substance he flung into the sheath of shining metal. Carter, and is, of which clamored Forms he strove harder and harder to utilize the monstrous lights, in that cave within a cave, did not change; but of any legible explanation there was the crumbling farmhouse of old times, however, change the planetary angle and send the user at will through the root-choked fissure to the edge of the Carter-memories which troubled him.

While none of you have been more prudent had they avoided commerce with him and strove to drown their ennui in bustle and pretended that the silver key at sunset on that seventh of October 1883? The gray old scholar, author and dreamer who had just room to perform the ritual had taken the wistful Boston dreamer to Bayonne, in accordance with their will.

[versatilepoetry]

Love, Love And Only Love

When I was trespassing through the profusely verdant lawns; I waited for the rain to pelt down in tumultuous fury; drench every agonized pore of my skin with mesmerizing globules of water, When I was wandering through the dungeons; I waited for the serpent to crawl up my nape; mystically whisper its tales of ingratiating enchantment into the chords of my sensitive eardrum, When I was loitering through the aisles of the grandiloquent hotel; I waited for my fellow compatriot waiter to serve me dinner; and invite me wholeheartedly inside, When I was lying on the temple doorstep; I waited for the sacrosanct bells to ring; God's approbations to the new expeditions of my unveiling life, When I was digging sandcastles on the shores; I waited for the tangy waves to engulf me in entirety; catapult and wholesomely encapsulate in the realms of exuberant fantasy, When I was contemplating on the 100th floor of the colossal edifice; I waited for the conglomerate of voluptuously seductive clouds to majestically sweep past my rubicund cheeks, When I was pathetically strangulated in the monotonous office; I waited for those moments when I would race out like a volcano; thump my fists in unprecedented exhilaration towards blissful carpets of breeze, When I was tossing in inexplicable nervousness on my king poster bed; I waited for my revered mother to give me a peck on my cheek; make me feel like the most invincible entity on this Universe, When I was incarcerated by the winds of thunderously snoring sleep; I waited for unfathomably gorgeous dreams to perpetuate into my mind; transport me into a land of insatiable ecstasy, When I was haplessly brooding over my brutal destiny on the cold ground; I waited for my mischievous sister to pummel me in the ribs; make me shrug all responsibility to be a new born child once again, When I was on the astronomically mammoth summit of the mountain; I waited for the first rays of the Omnipotent Sun to kiss me; completely annihilate even the most minuscule trace of devil lingering in my countenance, When I was in the heart of the jungle; I waited for the royally undaunted lion to arrive; instill in me loads of incomprehensible conviction; with just his single solitary roar, When I was overwhelmingly tense and frazzled beyond capacity under the mind-boggling work load; I waited for a magnanimous yawn; releasing me uninhibitedly from corridors of desperation, When I was seated abreast the golden mellow of the ornate candle; I waited for infinite lines of romantic poetry to flow in torrential downpours from my fingers; encompassing all the fragrant beauty whispering on this planet, When I was staring unrelentingly towards the cosmos; I waited for the resplendent moon to arrive; illuminate the profound darkness of my soul with its festoon of immaculately shimmering rays, When I was relentlessly marching on my path to save dwindling humanity; I waited for blessings to shower from the sky; to metamorphose my humble mission into a perpetual reality, When I was dozing under the gigantic tree; I waited for the coconut to trip down; pacifying the traumatized valleys in my throat with its stupendously rejuvenating water, When I robustly inhaling and alive; I waited for the divine light to prudently guide me; engender me to sacrifice my life for irrefutable justice to every living kind, When I was traversing past the morbid graveyard; I waited for breath to relinquish me in entirety; bond me forever with my mates sleeping blissfully beneath the soil, And when I was in front of my immortal beloved; I waited for her to say I LOVE YOU, making me entirely oblivious to the most treacherous of pain on my body; making me speak, worship; and die for; LOVE, LOVE AND ONLY LOVE.

[bosnmateswcc-blog]

“Convert” by G.K Chesterton

After one moment when I bowed my head

And the whole world turned over and came upright,

And I came out where the old road shone white.

I walked the ways and heard what all men said,

Forests of tongues, like autumn leaves unshed,

Being not unlovable but strange and light;

Old riddles and new creeds, not in despite

But softly, as men smile about the dead

The sages have a hundred maps to give

That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree,

They rattle reason out through many a sieve

That stores the sand and lets the gold go free:

And all these things are less than dust to me

Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

[joannrochaus]

One of the most moving articles I’ve ever read

Michael Gerson was President George W. Bush’s chief speechwriter and senior policy advisor and is now a nationally syndicated columnist with the Washington Post. It was my privilege to meet him and to work together at a recent Dallas Baptist University event.

He has been named one of the “25 Most Influential Evangelicals in America” and is one of the most popular and respected conservative voices in American culture.

He also suffers from clinical depression.

Gerson preached last Sunday at Washington National Cathedral. His sermon was adapted into a Washington Post article titled “I was hospitalized for depression. Faith helped me remember how to live.” It is one of the most moving and illuminating articles I have ever read.

If you have time, I encourage you to stop and read it before continuing with this Daily Article. If you do not, I hope you’ll read it as soon as you can.

“Despair can grow inside you like a tumor.”

Gerson describes his disease: “The brain experiences a chemical imbalance and wraps a narrative around it. So the lack of serotonin, in the mind’s alchemy, becomes something like, ‘Everybody hates me.’ Over time, despair can grow inside you like a tumor.”

There are times when the body is incapable of healing without medical intervention. God calls medical professionals just as he calls pastors and missionaries. Faith is a key part of the solution, but depression and other clinical conditions require clinical responses as well.

That’s why Gerson offers this crucial advice: “I’d urge anyone with undiagnosed depression to seek out professional help. There is no way to will yourself out of this disease, any more than to will yourself out of tuberculosis.”

However, as he adds, “Those who hold to the wild hope of a living God” find help and grace in him.

I found myself wondering, are there resources the God of Scripture offers that no other source can?

Help for the past

Much of the despair of life comes from guilt over the past.

We know that we need forgiveness from those we have hurt. However, we don’t even know all the people we have hurt.

Nor can we ask forgiveness from everyone we know we have hurt. Some are deceased. Others might be injured further by our attempt to make amends (as Step Nine of the Alcoholics Anonymous “Twelve Steps” program notes).

But God is different.

David prayed after his affair with Bathsheba, “Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight” (Psalm 51:4). He did not mean that his adultery with Bathsheba and the death of her husband were not sins against them. He meant that his sin was ultimately against the holy God who made him and who rules the universe.

The good news is that this God can and will forgive every sin we confess (1 John 1:9). He then separates our sin from us as far as the east is from the west (Psalm 103:12), buries it in the depths of the deepest sea (Micah 7:19), and will “remember [our] sins no more” (Hebrews 8:12).

No one else can make this promise.

Help for the present

Much of our discouragement comes from struggles in the present. We carry burdens too heavy to bear and face obstacles too high to climb.

But Jesus knows what you are feeling today. He was rejected by his hometown and mocked by his own family. He experienced overwhelming stress in the Garden of Gethsemane, horrific pain and torture after he was betrayed by his friends, and abandonment beyond anything we can understand (Matthew 27:46).

Now he is praying for us with empathy and passion (Romans 8:34) and assures us, “I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20).

No one else can make this promise.

Help for the future

Much of our despair comes from fears about the future. But God testifies, “I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come” (Isaiah 46:10 NIV).

Our timeless Lord sees tomorrow better than we can see today and promises to lead us “in paths of righteousness” (Psalm 23:3).

No one else can make this promise.

“My name is Lazarus”

Let me repeat Michael Gerson’s statement: Depression is a medical condition requiring professional treatment. But for those suffering from depression–and for the rest of us on this fallen planet–there is help and hope in Jesus that we can find nowhere else.

In testifying to the transforming power of his conversion to Christ, Gerson quotes G. K. Chesterton’s poem, “The Convert”:

The sages have a hundred maps to give That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree, They rattle reason out through many a sieve That stores the sand and lets the gold go free: And all these things are less than dust to me Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

Gerson then cites “God’s promise”: “That even when strength fails, there is perseverance. And even when perseverance fails, there is hope. And even when hope fails, there is love. And love never fails.

“So how do we know this? How can anyone be so confident?

“Because we are Lazarus, and we live.”

The post One of the most moving articles I’ve ever read appeared first on Denison Forum.

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