#Tarra takes notes

[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 9, misc. notes

Honestly I should probably retire feeling as I do that I have finally reached the Ultimate M*A*S*H note,

“Must you have every conversation nude and wet?”

— — —

For reasons I COULD NOT TELL YOU, the first episode of Season 9, but just the first one, has its own solo horn theme song orchestration, and when I tell you I was not prepared!!!

Here have an indicative video of my reaction from when I immediately alerted Jody to this

I promise I’d only had (2) gin, Suze, & lemon things

“What about BJ? He’s gotta be a bridge player, he lives in the suburbs!” Must feel so great to just get bodied by Father Mulcahy.

Oh, Margaret & BJ in this casually collaborative daydrunk register is VERY fun. This is what you guys get trying to corral a pair of flirty blondes.

We just got a product placement for this. Allowed.

Honestly, who was like, it’s gonna be raining, hard, whole episode. Amazing. And They Were All So Damp.

……Klinger has a pair of gay chinchillas. This is not extrapolation this is real.

Any time they turn Hawkeye into Dr. W.H.R. Rivers, that’s the business.

I will someday have to go down the entire imagination rabbit hole of them actually moving camp. Hawkeye just indicated they moved 5 months ago. That’s wild.

Can’t believe I’m only just now asking, but what on earth are they winding on this phone? Update: it's powering the battery!

New Season Nine Theme Song II is actually maybe the most similar to Theme Original Era and it’s giving me some emOTIONS THAT ARE NOW BURSTING FORTH AT THIS CONTINUING JAZZY BACKGROUND MUSIC INTO THE OPENING SCENE LIKE WE USED TO OMG

Idly tracking what light makes Alan Alda’s hair look the most grey and which the most dark is a foolish errand, but one to which I apply myself. Natural lighting is a factor.

“Any father of Margaret’s is a father of mine.” Hawk you already have two dads, easy.

“Educational materials” is such a good euphemism

Sometimes I have to stop and think about how Sherman Potter is a doctor, and then my heart kinda melts over him. He’s regular army who went medical <3

BJ is now wearing the pink shirt WITH the vermillion suspenders AND the patched hat. Best with/and credit I’ve seen in a while.

Oh Mike’s doing a winter episode, hey!

Helmet cloche over the snacks…this speaks to me

Interesting, I find this time of death plot more morally dubious than you all seem to!

Having it suddenly be December 31, 1950, THE earliest we’ve ever been stated to be, is so deranged. :) Hold on let me pull up my Wikipedia history notes titled “KOREAN WAR FUCKING TIMELINE”... okay, yes: the front was so chaotic at that time

NAVY BLUE PARKAS????!

Okay good the coats are a plot point

HILARIOUS to now immediately skip forward a month and a half

Never mind, INCREDIBLE to be like, time is meaningless here 😎 all of 1951 in one episode

Not tan Margaret’s 1980 feathered hair too….

Everyone uses BJ to wind yarn. This we love.

The meta irony of them pretending to be cold while it’s canonically hot……..yes.

“You blow one more kiss, Pierce, and those lips will never walk again.” Been TOO long since a line like this and a gay little draw-back from Hawkeye, particularly at a senior officer.

I kind of like everyone calling him Max, now. Feels cozy.

BJ waking up and mildly going heyy, what’s going on, do I need to go with you to wherever these large Marines are taking you---strong shades of BJ Part One

Twice now in the last two seasons I’ve seen Hawkeye pull on a pair of pants and belt them over his T-shirt, and then the next time we see him full-length his shirt is its usual untucked. They simply refuse to change the established character design silhouette any more, and I’m like, just once?? Haha okay, just realized part of why I get amped about the dressy uniforms.

Appreciate that Potter has NO patience for Wagner, on, hilariously, purely political grounds. I mean valid.

Klinger finally meeting his Canadian friend from the radio :: me finally meeting a mutual from the internet

Charles: “Noo, you chimney sweep.” INCRedible

I will take Harry Morgan’s pronunciation of “Au revoir” tenderly to my grave. “Ohhh reh-vore”

BJ is so annoyed. He does not like Hawkeye soliciting sexual favors with wine. Which is funny as his opening remark was to offer sexual favors for the wine. In many ways, this episode is shaping up to have such a "Season 1" effect, for good or ill.

AND Klinger in a dress again! “your coquette look” coquette…Potter….

Oh okay it was the Season 1 Commentary episode lol

Just so simple and effective and timeless to predicate a whole episode on “one of our characters is injured”

BJ curling away from everyone like a dog with a hurt paw, oh boy

Strudel, I do not think you are “BJ’s doctor” in any way except that you would like to be

EXTREMELY in love with ~*A Potter Production*~

Specialist: “Way to find out fast is to lift that middle finger, see how bad it hurts.” BJ, at Hawkeye’s hesitation: “Go on, you’re just following doctor’s orders.” OH GODDD

We gotta…..we gotta not be filming up Alda's bare thighs again. Now it’s a pattern.

BJ lying on his back, eyes open in the dark, not even pretending he’s falling asleep just thinking his thoughts in the new Night Thoughts time he’s been granted by circumstance: me my two summers without AC in New York City. He's got it right.

Margaret, respectfully: cute buns

Gonna need to do a real “Computer, enhance” on this postcard pinned by Hawkeye’s bed that does not appear to be to him.

Okay definitely is this addressed to a Mr. John Murdock, in Seattle, Wash. It appears to be from Victoria. Set dressing department, no one wanted to write an absurd fake postcard to Hawkeye? Are you kidding? That’s the best assignment!

Oh my god, Margaret’s cute buns are a plot point!

Klinger’s striped pantaloons...

BJ, you’re 6’4”. Or nearly.

A type of humor that will always get me is when the person stuck listening to someone fret over a situation they are entirely imagining just pivots along with whatever it is this minute. "No wonder Peg is leaving you!" just killed me.

This is not the kind of joke that normally makes me laugh, but I’m losing it. I think it’s that everyone is so baffled, just silently listening to this surreal butt rash talk echoing in the middle of the night, peering quizzically up at the speakers like…….wat

Madly in love with this episode description that feels exactly like those fake Star Trek: TNG synopses that writer was posting. I think it’s the incongruous A plot/B plot paired with a qualitative value judgement, something that’s usually more the purview of an audience.

What you must love about Klinger is that he always gets the right outfit for the job

Ding ding ding, our second “SNAFU”

It happens so rarely that I've never gained any protection against it, I am simply NEVER ready for Hawkeye to mention Trapper. GOD. I freeze! Heart and limbs! And then to just go on, depressedly: “Trapper John goes. No problem, there's plenty more where he came from. BJ Hunnicutt---same size, same shape.” Ha ha YIKES? YIKES to all of you and me!!!!!! Wooow!!!!!

And they took Frank Burns, and sent you Winchester. You snap Henry Blake’s in half. Hawkeye….! Alan. (dir.)

EXCUSE ME HIS NAME IS IGOR STRAMINSKY? LOOOOOLLLL

Just love Hawkeye in this mode, intent and askew with a strange fey air. Trapper would be spending this whole episode keeping tabs on him [DON'T touch me]; BJ is basically nowhere to be found. Perhaps understandable given earlier Hawkeye said that he was just one warm body replacing another. LORDT, lately this show is really getting like, have you considered Hawkeye/BJ, bleak? And I’m like …..huh! Oh???

Innncredibly discomfiting for you to be calling him Ben, reporter

Wow Potter I’m obsessed with this painting where you’ve rendered Hawkeye as a wry and definitely dead little ghast! Sherman hello???

Charlie is like, genuinely plotting how to maim or murder this man.

Must you have every conversation nude and wet?

BJ....[short sigh], there's no need to be so combative about missing your family. Again.

Hawkeye, tired: “Well look at the bright side: at least you have me.” BJ, also tired: “You’re gonna have to shave.” Honestly the more they make Hawkeye/BJ into something rather grim and downtrodden and transactional the more I can believe it's happening, haha uh oh! Oh no!

This scene is perfect. This is a perfect scene. Ogden Stiers delivering his recorded will in exactly the right tone, Alda and Farrell listening out of focus in the door window with exactly legible enough reactions...

Whoooo is your tall card friend, Margaret! Who calls you “kid” 👀

Oh another odd tone this episode that I am so interested in, what’s going on!!

Of this and the other "Hawkeye's jokes are a symptom of his complex traumas" episode, this one is hitting him SO much harder about it, positively You're In A Narrative shit. Elated. Alan. Again.

Just self-identified as Ben Pierce. Everything’s going, excuse me, bottoms up.

“Our own clean-cut, adorable, soft-spoken BJ is a perverse genius.” When are we??!! This was still true in early S6 at the ABSOLUTE latest. This has not been true at all for nearly three years. Clean-cut! What! Soft-spoken. At this point BJ yells in every third episode.

Waaaait a minute, don’t malaria pills give you weird ass dreams? Well this has incredible potential. Perhaps not here, but for me.

Thank you for the return of Margaret & Hawkeye: Buddies. Hawkeye: “Alright that does it, I’m putting him on report. How do you do that?”

Okay is this gonna be the only M*A*S*H episode that ends with a scientific note about medical advances since the 1950s?? Can all of them???

I have been wondering for nine seasons now about the PA announcer we have never seen. Wonderfully banally surreal. This comes entirely from the same realm as Radar's clairvoyance and I support it with all I am.

Hawkeye has phantom allergies and after their tests are inconclusive it takes all of no seconds for them to start offering garlic and essential oils. NOTHING IS NEW UNDER THE SUN.

Continuing to glimpse Margaret hovering outside and hollering in suggestions whenever they open the door to the showers is SUCH GOOD STUFF

I appreciate the uh, SEVERITY of how badly Hawkeye has deteriorated in one scene cut. I did play a game later with my therapist friend called When Would YOU Call The Psychologist, and she also would not have picked Sidney over like, an ALLERGIST, at this moment. Granted I would like them to call Dr. Freedman every episode on the grounds of I love him.

Well I am deeply enjoying the psychological detective show this one has turned into. It’s so tactile! Will Sidney find an meaningful object in one of these boxes that explains Hawkeye’s psychosomatic sneezing?? Haha what a House M.D. episode.

Ah so your mom was still alive when you were six. Your mom was gone by the time you were what, 10? Oh honey…

Of course little Hawkeye almost drowned. I don’t know why that fits for him but it does. I guess because we've seen him experience quite a number of upsetting things while sopping wet. Hawkeye, dripping water and distressed, is a regular visual feature.

Gooodddd one of the best odd little things this show does sometimes is give us lines that don’t make sense, and we think we must have misheard, and then realize we didn’t, and then the floor feels a little loose.

Wow so we’re just gonna open this one directly with Swayze, huh

Wait okay, in the space of showing up for his second scene this ep I’ve come around to Rizzo. I think it’s that he’s always been crouching. It makes his deep raspy voice so funny from this angle. You just come around a corner and aw JEEZ it’s that baritone rat again with his little rat craps game. I thought we told you to clear outta here!

“Don’t think of it as a den, Father, think of it more as a…rec room.” Ogden Stiers….

You know who else’s characterization has moved more into a realm I find less interesting as the years have gone by? Father Mulcahy. He’s more what you might expect from a priest in a MASH unit now, usually around just to get righteously worked up over things. In the early seasons he was kind of lost and unsure and dorkily funny, askew from everyone else, but sweet and loved. Henry Blake tumbling into the Swamp and nearly hitting him with the door, swearing, then going “Oh I’m sorry Father I thought you were a regular person,” and him just cheerily, bashfully going “Quite alright!” as he ducks out. He was, above all, a model of empathy and forgiveness. He loved them, as Jesus loved, and so forgave them all their ridiculous, drunken, horny goings on, and was worried but content to just be kept as their sort of pet chaplain. Mulcahy in the later years has a MUCH much stronger sense of judgement, and is frequently quite caught up in his own even rather self-aggrandizing issues, to the point of sometimes being blind to the struggles of those around him, like is going on here. And he always figures it out, but like, I don't know it just feels more typical to me.

“Tasteless but at least it’s not funny.” Haha Margaret

Radar??! Hawkeye, misty: “That little twerp, just when I thought I’d gotten over him.” </3

“Just cuts and bruises—I’ve come home from dates in worse shape than you.” Hawk, don’t toss more kindling on this low-burning fire in the corner of my mind.

I kind of adore Margaret befriending the optometrist. They both LIKE each other a lot, in a completely platonic way.

I ADORE MARGARET AND THE OPTOMETRIST PRETENDING THEY’RE HAVING AN AFFAIR AS A BIG OL’ LARK

I also like Hawkeye and BJ taking bets with each other where they bet the same thing and then just exchange their money

Mulcahy: “What time is it in Iowa?” Charles: “1882.” I laughed so long.

Kellye holding the injured nurse’s hand. <3 They’ve been pals for seasons on seasons. I don’t know her name!

This felt like, appropriately war-is-hellish, while still maintaining their wry humor. This was real good.

Hawkeye’s French toast recipe has so many textural components...

Reeeally love the strange, moving simplicity of Charles just desperately asking this dying soldier, “What is happening to you?” Yeah, good episode!

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay.

He was brought up within a family and community immersed in Gaelic language and culture, particularly song. Sorley studied English at Edinburgh University from 1929, taking a first class honours degree and there encountering and finding an affinity with the work of Hugh MacDiarmid, Ezra Pound, and other Modernist poets. Despite this influence, he eventually adopted Gaelic as the medium most appropriate for his poetry. However, it should be noted that MacLean translated much of his own work into English, opening it up to a wider public than the speakers of the Gaelic language.

During the Spanish Civil War, MacLean was torn between family commitments and his desire to fight on behalf of the International Brigades, illustrating his left-wing - even Marxist - political stance. He eventually resigned himself to remaining on Skye. He fought in North Africa during World War Two, before taking up a career in teaching, holding posts on Mull, in Edinburgh and finally as Head Teacher at Plockton High School.

It is often said that what Hugh MacDiarmid did for the Scots language, Sorley MacLean did for Gaelic, sparking a Gaelic renaissance in Scottish literature in line with the earlier ‘Scottish Renaissance’, as evinced in the work of George Campbell Hay, Derick Thomson and Iain Crichton Smith. He was instrumental in preserving and promoting the teaching of Gaelic in Scottish schools. Through the diverse subject matter of his poetry, he demonstrates the capacity of the Gaelic language to express themes from the personal to the political and philosophical.

MacLean’s work was virtually unknown outside Gaelic-speaking circles until the 1970s, when Gordon Wright published Four Points of a Saltire - poems from George Campbell Hay, Stuart MacGregor, William Neill and Sorley MacLean. He also then appeared at the Cambridge Poetry Festival, establishing his fame in England, as well as Scotland and Ireland, where he had become something of a cult figure thanks to a fan base including fellow poet Seamus Heaney. A bilingual Selected Poems of 1977 secured a broader readership and a new generation began to appreciate his work.

Latterly, he wrote and published little, showing his concern with quality and authenticity over quantity. Never a full-time writer, he was also a scholar of the Highlands with a vast knowledge of genealogy, and an avid follower of shinty. Amongst other awards and honours, he received the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1990. He passed on in 1996 at the age of 85, and was survived by his wife and two daughters.

I have posted many times about Sorley, and probably overused Martyn Bennet’s Hallaig, but if you haven’t heard it, please go to Youtube and search for it, you won’t regret it.

Todays poem is Tràighean/ Shores, the Gaelic version first, followed by the verse translated by his fellow bi-lingual poet, Iain Crichton Smith.

Nan robh sinn an Talasgar air an tràigh

far a bheil am beul mòr bàn

a’ fosgladh eadar dà ghiall chruaidh,

Rubha nan Clach `s am Bioda Ruadh,

sheasainn-sa ri taobhn na mara

ag ùrachadh gaoil ‘nam anam

fhad ‘s a bhiodh an cuan a’lìonadh

camas Thalasgair gu sìorraidh:

sheasainn an siud air lom na tràghad

gu `n cromadh Priseal a cheann àigich.

Agus nan robh sinn ciudeachd

air tràigh Chalgaraidh am Muile,

eadar Alba is Tiriodh,

eadar an saoghal `s a’bhiothbhuan,

dh’fhuirichinn an siud gu luan

a’ tomhas gainmhich bruan air bhruan.

Agus an Uibhist air tràigh Hòmhstadh

fa chomhair farsaingeachd na h-ònrachd,

dh’fheithinn-sa an siud gu sìorraidh

braon air bhraon an cuan a’ sìoladh.

Agus nan robh mi air tràigh Mhùideart

còmhla riut, a nodhachd ùidhe,

chuirinn suas an co-chur gaoil dhut

an cuan ’s a’ ghaineamh, bruan air bhraon dhiubh.

’S nan robh sinn air Mol Steinnseil Stamhain

’s an fhairge neo-aoibhneach a’ tarraing

nan ulbhag is gan tilgeil tharainn,

thogainn-sa am balla daingeann

ro shìorraidheachd choimhich ’s i framhach.

If we were in Talisker on the shore

where the great white foaming mouth of water

opens between two jaws as hard as flint –

the Headland of Stones and the Red Point –

I’d stand forever by the waves

renewing love out of their crumpling graves

as long as the sea would be going over

the Bay of Talisker for ever;

I would stand thee by the filling tide

till Preshal bowed his stallion head.

And if the two of us were together

on the shores of Calgary in Mull

between Scotland and Tiree,

between this world and eternity,

I’d stand there till time was done

counting the sands grain by grain.

And also on Uist, on Hosta’s shore,

in the face of solitude’s fierce stare,

I’d remain standing, without sleep,

while sea were ebbing, drop by drop.

And if I were on Moidart’s shore

With you, my novelty of desire,

I’d offer this synthesis of love,

grain and water, sand and wave.

And were we by the shelves of Staffin

where the huge joyless sea is coughing

stones and boulders from its throat,

I’d build a fortified wall

Against eternity’s savage howl.

As well as Hallaig I enjoy listening to Somhairle by Niteworks, an Electronic Celtic fusion band from the Isle of Skye who put some of Sorley’s words to music. Listen to it below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PgWqrxa_-Y

[25centsoda]

An Unintended Side Effect, Part 2/?

This time when Luke woke up his mind was clear and the Force came readily when he called. He breathed deeply, savoring the clear connection to the energy of the universe for a moment before drawing shields tight around himself, ensuring Vader couldn’t reach him. He sat up, scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, and sighed, looking out over the room.

He really was stuck on the Executor with his father, wasn’t he?

Well. Nothing for it. He would have to find a way to escape, as soon as possible. He had friends and a Rebellion to get back to, after all, and he would not turn to the dark side.

Luke stood and stretched, again noting the lush carpet and wondering just how out of it he’d been the previous day to not have noticed where he was immediately. Now able to actually process things, he took in the room properly. Deep red carpet, grey durasteel walls, no closet that he could see but three doors broke up the monotony of the walls, along with...was that…

Luke crossed the room in wonder, staring open-mouthed at the view of the stars outside his viewport. A viewport, in starship quarters!

After admiring the view for an indeterminate amount of time, Luke mentally shook himself and went to explore the rest of the room. On a small nightstand by the bed he hadn’t noticed before was a chrono, brightly declaring the time and date on its face. Luke grimaced. Two days since he’d seen his friends, what they must be thinking about his disappearance… Had they seen Vader take him? Or did they think something else happened to him?

One of the doors led to ‘fresher, fully stocked with anything he could need, plus water settings in the shower. He looked critically at the long handle on the shower door; could he rip that off and use it as a weapon? Something to come back to later. Maybe the mirror shards would make good improvised weapons as well, if it came to that.

The second door led to the closet he’d been looking for yesterday, but of course instead of Rebel fatigues it was filled with black outfits, both with and without the Imperial cog stitched to a sleeve or breast pocket. From here Luke took a pair of boots - new ones were hard to come by, in the Rebellion, best to take them whenever you can - and a belt with weapons holsters.

The third led into a hallway, which ended in another door. Luke looked back to the door he came from; looked like it could be locked from the outside. Lovely. He tucked that piece of information away, resolving to escape the ship before it became something he had to work around.

The door at the end of the hallway opened as he approached, into a larger room containing a couch and desk, lots of open floor space, and another door with a large keypad next to it, the small light on top glowing firmly red. He couldn’t quite get that open on his own, it was too complex a mechanism to tease open with the Force without knowing anything about how it was supposed to work - likely Vader had deeply considered the place he was going to stash his son - but he could sense the energy of two Stormtroopers just outside it.

Banging on the door, using the Force to make each blow as loud as possible, Luke shouted, “Hey! Please, I need help!”

“Quiet in there,” came the reply.

“Please!”

Luke could only hope Vader had given them instructions to keep him not just alive but well, otherwise this wouldn’t work and he’d have to try something else.

His suspicions were confirmed moments later when the door slid open to show two Stormtroopers as expected. He smiled.

Perfect.

---------

Vader kneeled before a hologram of the Emperor in his private chambers.

“And the boy is cooperative?” the Emperor asked.

“Yes, master. At the very least, he has not yet opposed me.”

“Hmm. Ensure that he does not. Remember that you have already failed to bring him to heel once; I will not be so forgiving of another failure. Next time, the boy will come straight to me, and I will put him to rights.”

Vader strengthened his shields and held himself still, even as Palpatine’s words brought a most unwelcome image to his mind. His anger blazed, and he fed the flames behind his shields, vowing to never let Luke near Palpatine if he could help it. In this the son would not follow the father; he wouldn’t allow it.

“I understand, my master.”

“Good. I’ve allowed you to keep the boy, but you must not neglect your duty to wipe out the rest of that pathetic rebellion.”

“They shall not be a plague on our galaxy for much longer, master.”

“See that they aren’t, Lord Vader. Dismissed.”

The hologram winked out and Vader stood, wincing at the strain holding such a position for long periods of time caused his prosthetics. He ached for the day he could give the empire he’d built to his son, but they were in no position to attack Palpatine yet. That day would have to wait until he could find a way to train his son without the Emperor finding out, for he had no doubt that as soon as they began Palpatine would find an excuse to spirit Luke away from him, preventing them from joining together to defeat him.

Stalking out of his rooms into the hallways of the Executor proper, Vader found Piett and said, “Admiral, report.”

Admiral Piett snapped a salute and fell into step with his commander. “My lord, we will be arriving at Tarra soon to refuel. All aspects of the ship are running smoothly, and after refueling we should be en-route to Coruscant within the cycle.”

“And what of my...guest?”

“The last report I saw some fifteen minutes ago said all was quiet on that front, my lord. He’s not been an issue.”

As soon as Piett finished speaking, the hum of stun shots echoed down the corridor along with aborted screams. Vader threw his awareness out in the Force, seeking his son’s bright energy, but it was like looking at the surface of a lake in the sunlight; the image shimmered and flickered away from him, impossible to make out. He cursed and began moving quickly - not running, Sith Lords did not run - towards the quarters his son was housed in. The boy could hardly have been awake much longer than an hour, how could he already be causing trouble?

By the time Vader arrived at the door outside his son’s quarters, the boy was already gone, leaving both troopers who had been posted outside collapsed on the floor in his wake, presumably the recipients of the stun shots he’d heard. He growled low, the vocoder in his suit picking it up as crackling static, and tried to reach for his son again. This time, he was able to pick up a sense of the boy in the vague direction of the hangars. Of course he would immediately try to reach the ships.

Suddenly Vader remembered the ship was about to dock at a planet, and his heart seized in fear. If Luke was still loose when that happened, he would actually stand a chance of getting off the ship.

“Lock down all hangars, no one will leave this ship until I give the order,” Vader said into his comlink, moving to follow the faint light of his son’s Force signature.

There is no escape, my son, he sent along their fledgling bond. He felt Luke flinch in response, and smiled in satisfaction under his mask. The boy’s shields had slipped just enough in that flinch to give him a better location.

“Send a detachment of troops to Hangar Bay Three, and have them set their weapons to stun. A prisoner is loose; he cannot be allowed to escape.”

Vader strolled into the aforementioned hangar bay, casting his awareness out, scanning the room for his wayward son. The boy’s shields deflected his senses, but it was that refraction of light that gave him away, a distortion in the Force in a corner of the hangar.

“It is no use hiding, young one,” he boomed. “Come out before I am forced to stun you.”

The spot of refracted light in the weave of the Force shifted, drawing tighter about itself, but it was no use. Vader had already located it.

He motioned to a small group of troopers, directing them to surround the crate that Luke was hidden behind, and they took up positions in a loose semi-circle, guns aimed at the crate.

After a moment, Luke emerged, scowling, his hands behind his head. Without a word, two troopers surged forward and none too gently dragged his hands down behind his back, clasping his wrists in binders. He purposefully avoided his father’s gaze as he was marched back to his quarters. Vader watched him go.

----

Luke broke out of his quarters twice more, managing to disable the lock on his door, and after the sickening way the boy’s head hit the durasteel floor collapsing from a stun shot the second time, Vader decided he couldn’t take any more risks.

His son was a lot quieter and easy to contain with a drug tailor-designed for Jedi coursing through his veins, living in Vader’s quarters.

-------

Luke was falling asleep again, leaning against his father on the couch as various Imperial servants flitted about the room taking his measurements, proposing outfit and fabric ideas. He tuned them out. Vader was just going to choose what he felt was best anyway, and Palpatine got final say. Luke had picked out several of the main fabrics. That was enough.

Without realizing it, he had fallen completely asleep. When he woke, it was to Vader gently pulling him into a sitting position and beginning to apply a thick white powder to his face. Luke blearily looked down at the table filled with cosmetics, then tried to lean his head on one hand, but he was prevented from doing so by Vader pushing him back up.

“You’ll smear the Nubian makeup, Luke,” he chided.

Luke made a face at him. “I wouldn’t be so tired if you didn’t keep drugging me, father. Either let me sleep or let me think clearly.”

“It’s this or giving you to Palpatine for training, my son, and neither of us want that for you. Especially in light of your many failed escape attempts.”

Luke made another face, then an effort to sit up straight and stay awake. At least being paraded around as the Imperial Prince sounded like a cushy job…

“Why am I being styled after the Naboo, anyway?” he asked, hoping a conversation would help him stay awake. Vader paused, frozen, and Luke could just pick up the edge of a maelstrom of emotion from his father before the Force slipped from his grasp again and he sighed quietly.

“It was your...mother’s home planet.” Vader said carefully. “As well as Palpatine’s. He believes using the style will serve to endear him to the galaxy, and use you to evoke his own image.”

Luke hummed, closing his eyes for a minute. Vader prodded him gently with a tendril of the Force and as he opened his eyes again Luke thought longingly of being able to do more than passively sense it, himself. He would throw all this finery about the room and steal a ship, return to Han and Leia and Chewie, R2 and 3PO.

Deciding he definitely needed something to focus on to keep himself awake, Luke tried to reach out to the Force himself, clumsily brushing against his father’s signature. He felt the edge of his father’s amusement and Vader reaching back to him in response, like holding their hands up to opposite sides of glass.

“My Lord, you are needed in a meeting about introducing the Imperial Prince,” Piett said, shattering Luke’s meager focus. He sighed and gave up, leaning his head on a hand while Vader too distracted to tell him not to.

“Why?” Vader demanded, standing. “He is to be announced in a few hours, what more is there to discuss?”

“There are some last minute security concerns they want to go over, my Lord.”

Vader scoffed, then looked down at his son for a long moment, thinking. Looking back at Piett, he said, “I leave you in charge of the boy, Admiral. Stay here with him and ensure he does not attempt another escape.” Piett seemed like he very much doubted that would be a concern, but nodded anyway. To Luke, Vader said “I will return as soon as I can and help you finish getting ready, my son.”

“Whatever,” Luke said.

With a sigh, Vader swept out of the room.

[pargolettasworld]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYLqZ4cvVIw

I was recently at an (online) conference where I was introduced to this lovely video and the backstory behind it.  This is a Canadian klezmer brass band (a rare enough thing on its own; not the Canadian part, the brass band part) called Oktopus.  They are currently engaged in a fun pastime for modern klezmorim, which is trying to answer the question:  How the hell do you play a doina?

It’s harder to answer than you think.  The doina is a klezmer sub-genre that used to be a Romanian folk song, but got adopted into the klezmer repertoire as sort of an extended slow showoff moment for the lead musician.  Very few of them ever notated their doinas, and it’s entirely possible that they were all playing variations on only one or two main doinas anyway.  Playing a doina properly involved a lot of extended improvisation, decorating the melody, drawing it out, repeating it in different keys, playing around with a B section, maybe adding a pre-composed prelude or interpolating some popular hit song, wandering back to the A section to play around more with that . . . doing all of this could take upwards of fifteen minutes.

The problem with this was that, at the time that the great American klezmer masters like Dave Tarras were playing, they only had 78 rpm discs to record on, and those discs only held about three minutes of music.  So no one ever managed to record Dave Tarras actually playing a full, extended, improvised doina like you’d hear him do at a party.  The klezmer revivalists of the 70s kind of had to figure out on their own how to play a doina.  Some of them just transcribed Tarras’s old recordings and play them note for note.  Others just go off on their own.

Oktopus takes the third option.  They’re using The Doina Melody and are trying to re-create what Tarras would do to it.  There’s a little introduction, then they play around with The Doina Melody for a bit . . . and remember how I said that Tarras would interpolate bits of popular tunes?  Yeah, if you thought you heard a bit of the “Force” theme from Star Wars in there, you are correct, and it’s supposed to be there.  It’s not nearly as long as something that Tarras or Naftule Brandwein would have done, but you do get the basic flavor of The Doina.  And you get Star Wars.  Win-win!

[virgobydcsign]

task 001 -- who do you love?  

The most obvious answer would be their mother, but she’s not the only one. Maybe not even the most prominent anymore. Many fit this category in a million tiny ways. They love the florist who remembers they like the pink daisies not the white; they love the boy they met on the street who said he liked their bracelets, they gave him one to prove it; they even love their father’s wife, in a way, for the honesty that comes with her dislike of them. But none of those are who come to mind when the question is asked. 

Tarra Flatleaf (capitol, formerly district seven)

A stalwart presence throughout their childhood, the avox Tarra is Virgo’s weakness. On the nights where their mother worked and they woke from a nightmare, he would bring hot chocolate and stand guard by the door until their fear subsided. Though there seemed to be a revolving door of staff in their youth, Tarra was the one constant. Virgo assumed for a long while that he was as much their mother’s favourite as their own.

As Virgo grew, so did their curiosity. They’d never given much thought to how or why Tarra came to be in their service, having an avox around was nothing unusual in the circles they ran with. He rarely showed them a face that wasn’t a happy one. Only once in their memory can Virgo remember a real switch. 

They were ten, and watching the coverage of the 65th Games. Virgo hid behind a cushion while the girl onscreen did her brutal work. A strange, guttural noise startled them. When they looked up they saw Tarra, stricken, the bright light of the screen reflecting twin tracks of wetness down his cheeks. Instinctively they wanted to call their mother, because she’d know what to do. Fire him, or worse, and Virgo knew that but didn’t really understand. They were young, and easily distracted. The sound of a canon from the screen was enough that they forgot in an instant and flipped to annoyance that they’d missed the action.

Eight years on and Tarra was still with them. Virgo was older, braver, determined to solve a problem whose consequences eluded them. They’d always thought it unfair that for everything they’d said to Tarra, they’d never heard a word back. So they took a notebook, a pen, and their patience, and got to work. Simple notes at first, left under their pillow in the morning. It was a few weeks before they tried prompting Tarra to write in response and another month before they got their wish. Slowly but surely, they began to learn the story behind the silence. 

Taking a cue from their closest friend, Virgo has never told a soul.

[geoconsult]

tell me about your view on zhongli and each of his old godly pals ! guizhong, havria, osial and azhdaha (or any of those four if you dont wanna do all of them)

SLAMS MY HANDS DOWN I have so many feelings about Zhongli’s past relationships that stem into current ones and I think all of them are neat and I’ll die in hell for all of them!

I’ll start with the most important one to Zhongli In particular: Guizhong.

Morax (named Zhongli I want to assume inspired by her name) and Guizhong are so very important because Guizhong was the first god that wasn’t an adeptus that showed Zhongli how to be kind and sympathetic towards humanity. Before, there are a couple of depictions on Morax being ruthless and how many were terrified of his power before the archon war- but Guizhong always seemed to get through to him and even taught him many things he now knows! It was so very important, the two of them were best friends and the fact that Morax REVERED her is an understatement on how much he truly respected and admired her.

She had him laugh, she had him feel, and the both of them understood each other unlike any other human, god, or adepti. Morax in the end honored her promise from her passing to the current present, for 3,000 years, and if that isn’t powerful enough then I don’t know what is.

My friend Lime convinced me that because of Guizhong, that Morax could understand the pains of what humanity had to go through, and potentially perhaps even felt love for her. Of course that can be a stretch but I’ll die on this hill for the both of them, Morax doesnt show his true self a lot but god he cared enough to take the people of guili plains into his own hands after her passing and I cry every time I think of how much it pains him to remember her and her not being around anymore since the archon war broke everything :^(

Next is: Harvia

I don’t think Morax knew Harvia personally but he did recognize her as a god before and during the archon war. He doesn’t seem to mind her, In my opinion. I actually don’t think he would’ve wanted to harm her since he (and guizhong) were busy with far stronger gods than her.

I feel that in the end, he regretted not being able to do anything for her when she was betrayed, which is why when he and the traveler went into Sal Tarrae, he opted to unite her precious treasure with the overlord of the vortex.

I think they would’ve gotten along even though he was busy defending the people of Liyue, but I think he also noted how people are towards Gods and that he foresaw that happening to him at some point in the future if he did not act with the traveler conveniently there.

Next is: Osial

Osial and Morax are really interesting because based on the story on how Morax defended Liyue, it sounded like Osial was egging Morax on. As if challenging him if he really wanted to protect the people of Liyue or not, and Zhongli did state that he and Osial were somewhat rivals and wasn’t entirely angry with him.

So I assume it’s the relationship between Gods and monsters, where Osial DIDNT want Morax on the side of humans and felt betrayed, but Morax’s contract with Liyue wouldn’t budge until a thousand more years later.

I don’t know if there is anything Morax can say or do to appease Osial after sealing him, but I do know that he purposefully didn’t kill him, either.

In a way, Morax probably didn’t want to destroy him? But also did not want Osial to become corrupted any further, hence sealing him off was the best choice compared to destroying Osial.

It’s definitely complicated, since Osial has every right to be angry and wrathful at Morax. One things for certain, and it’s that I don’t think Morax would like it if Osial was used to create a mechanized god.

Lastly: Azhdaha

Lastly, Morax’s long lost friend. It’s very bittersweet since Morax allowed Azhdaha to see and come to the surface- perhaps not so much pitying him as much as yearning for a companion.

Despite Azhdaha’s erosion clouding his mind and forgetting his deeds alongside Morax, Morax himself would still think of Azhdaha as a friend- but won’t hesitate to put him back in the seal when he is thundering around.

My guess is that he doesn’t want anyone messing with his seal because he doesn’t want Azhdaha destroyed entirely either- but also does not want Liyue to become a ruin either. It’s a hard and necessary decision for him to take, but god I wish Zhongli could have had more time to talk with Azhdaha in the end. It really was nice seeing him see an old friend who would approach him without hostility.

Me holding them all, I just wish they all could get a happy ending :^(

[darkveryhumanteacher]

The fear wendigo log book made by John Lee white

They have beem around for many many years since early 1900s there were records of their kills humans thought ot was some kind of demon due to the brutality and horrific state of their victims. They are a very strong race of wendigo and usually called the most terrifying. They can be made in 4 ways. Goddess of wendigos and of mother chooses you. She watchs over many and if she feels a bond with you when you die she'll turn you(also making you one of children and yes. You must call her mother), if you die in fear in true fear your soul will not move on and you will turn into one, this one is the rarest and possibly most frowned apon in life people feared you and you. You hurt them made them feel scared so when you died you were punished and become one of them

They have many different powers depending on who you are your death and past life but the main theme is always one thing. and you as guessed it's fear. It also depends on how much human you have eaten. Eataning many frequently well give you strongwe power's.

You look the same as you died once you eat your wounds form your death heal fear wendigos are hard(for humans) to kill Normal waepons do nothing to them if you stab them they'll just rip out the knife or leave it in fire can hurt them but not kill them. Just kinda put them down for maybe a hour or so then they'll juat be pissed but artifactual weapons can kill them but theses waepons are rare and only in a few holy places and if you don't kill them they will heal form it.

They have two forms they can choose form one is a human look witch most chose to stay in because it's safer their wendigo form looks humanoid they have long tails that are usually always sharp and have something at the end(note: it seems they can change their tails to have spikes or not at will) they have razer like claws that can rip through skin and other things easily they're legs become deer like with claws thick they can have fur depending on how wendigo they want to look, their fur is always very dark and soft also very sensitive (note: they rarely let anyone touch it because of its sensitive even in a fight) they can have ears usually cat like they are very long and can hear anything in a 2 meter radius (loud noises seem to cause them much pain) their teeth are black and sharper then a knife they have slit pupils.

They all seem to have this scream that us unique to them so others know that there near and other fear wendigos can even communicate like this they're tarra scream is ear pricing i think people have even bleed form it.

They have this...scent it doesn't seem to have a smell no..its like a scent like aurora of some kind that can make you feel fear uneasiness no matter how brave or fearless you may be it always works even only a little bit..

They are very gracefully and acrobatic they jump and climb masterfuly they are fast and quit when doing this.

I have discovered why they must eat..if they do not they're mind slowy falls apart till they're a husk of who they once were..

They do seem to have mating seasons and ruts/heats (note: they seem to still female cycles) they become very animal like in this time if they have a mate(be it their kind or not) they become very protective and almost possessive they will keeo their mate near them at all times for when they must take care of their ruts\heats if they do not have mates they seem to hide in their nest(note: their nest doesn't always seem to be their home but their nests ate usually found near their homes and are underground, in a cave or somewhere they deem safe and comforting) i belive it is to hide form other wendigos. It seems more mindless wendigos will do anything to have a mate even if it means they could die is is apparently common for them to forcefully take a mate..

They get very emotional and cuddley when hurt be it and their emotional sate is a big factor on their form if they have a mental scar that is attached to a physical scar form their pasr life it will stay even after they turn. If they die at a young age(7 8 9 10 12 13.) They continuet to age till they are a adult(20) then stop

They seem to not like humams that much and must of them used to be humans (agreeable)

They seem to make some animal noises such as: growling hissing purring yelping. And more

They seem to smell fear only a hint though it isn't a enough to find their pry but enough to know they're in a 10 meter radius

End...of log for now

In conclusion fear wendigos truly live up to their name

[ask-beacons-finest]

I love the poly babies, pls guys talk about your weapons! But don't let Ruby hear it ... She .. yeah.. Ruby ... (sent by anon)

Parsley, in her mid- to late-twenties, standing in the living room of her own home, a fussy baby rocking in her arms: Shhhhh, shhhh, I know our love, I know. Daddy will be back soon, don't you worry. I miss him too.

Parsley, glancing up, then back down to the child: Our weapons have always remained the same, two knuckle dusters. Brass and Bronze. They've served us well all these years, and they continue to serve.

Parsley, with a quick tap on her scroll as it starts ringing: Hey, are you nearly done? I'm tired of babysitting.

Parsley, on the other end of the phone line: I know, I'm sorry. The mission got a bit...complicated. If it's getting too much you can always call Tarra, or Moms.

Parsley, the one in the home, sighing: No no, I've got it. Just hurry up for the love of it all.

~~~~~

Clove, in her late-teens, tumbling across rocky ground with a heavy thump, coughing in pain as she strains to push herself up: D-...Damn it...Almost...

Clove, surprisingly catching a staff thrown directly at her with ease, then uses it to pull herself up to her feet, her breathing heavy with exhaustion: I'm not...done yet...

Clove, slamming the staff down onto the ground twice, the top of it shifting into a spear point: Today's the day I win. I promise.

Sun, casually cracking his knuckles at the challenge with a wide smile: Well then, prove it.

Clove, charging towards Sun with her polearm, shouting: I WILL!

~~~~~

Basil, standing on a stage with his arms crossed, a stern look on his face: ...

Glynda, speaking out to a whole team of four opposing him: Are you four ready for this? Standard match rules apply. The victor is decided when aura reaches the minimum allowed amount. Any more strikes after that will be met with disciplinary action. Ready? Go!

Basil, slowly stretching out his arms, flexing his razor-sharp clawed fingers, a smile spreading across his lips that reveal feline-esque teeth, speaking with almost an animalistic growl: Bring it.

~~~~~

Ash, leaning over onto a desk within a normal looking dorm room, her voice a playful purr: Oh, Doctor, I just feel so baaad. I think I'm in need of an...examination.

Tarra, sitting in said desk with a few open textbooks and notes, trying to hold back on laughing: Ash Howlite I swear I'm going to fight you.

Ash, with a giggle: Suuuure, you and what army. But hey! When's Willow getting back?

Tarra, flipping a page in one of the textbooks: she has a lab on fridays, babe you should know that. She'll be back in like...two hours.

Ash, with a smile as she clasps her hands onto Tarra's cheeks, pulling her attention away from her studies: Oh hush, you know that the only thing I won't forget is that I'm dating the two prettiest, smartest girls in the world! And hey...that means we have two hours to ourselves...wink wink.

Tarra, sternly, but still with a hint of laughter: I. Am. Studying.

~~~~~

Thyme, sitting at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean, a large sword with a clock face built into the. Ase of the blade stabbed into the earth behind them: So, where to next?

Magnolia, sitting beside them, shrugging: Perhaps we should visit home, see the family. Maybe even tell them the news.

Thyme, chuckling a bit as they stand up, grabbing the sword from the earth: Yeah. Yeah we should. Heh, it's just sort of funny, isn't it? In other timelines they've gone to our weddings as friends and allies...but now they're finally going to be what they should be, mothers.

Magnolia, nodding, a small smile on her face as she takes Thyme's hand to stand: I'm looking forward to it. Before we do that though, you might want to turn around.

Thyme, their face growing confused, turning around: Turn around? What do you-

Thyme, face to face with an incredibly large ursa, which lets out an rib-shaking roar, muttering reluctantly to themself as they pull the sword up to a combative stance: Oh you've gotta be fuckin kidding me...

[serpentes-lupus]

OC Interview: Tarra Lyall

Repost, don’t reblog

Tagged - By no one

Before Year 6, Chapter 18

name ➔ Tarra let out a long yawn before rubbing her eyes. “Can I go back to bed? It’s too earlier.” She grumbled before sighing. “Fine. My name is Tarra Lyall.”

are you single ➔ At the question, the young girl blushed a bit and averted her gaze. “I...think so? Like Talbott and I have been on two dates now and he did kiss me on the cheek. He does know how I feel and I guess he has admitted the way he feels for me in his own manner. But we haven’t gone on any other dates nor made it official. Well, with the Cursed Vaults going on and Talbott preferring his privacy, I think it would be best to keep our relationship on the down-low for now.”

are you happy ➔ Tarra looked a bit confused before taking a few seconds to think about her response. “Yeah. I mean, I found my brother and he’s alive. I have friends who care for me and my parents are still around. Like, things could be better but I can’t complain.”

are you angry ➔ Again, Tarra became confused and even more off-guard. “Yes. I am angry. I’m angry that Jacob just up and left without making an attempt to stick around. I’m angry about what Rakepick did to him and us. I’m angry that...that I’m not strong enough.”

are your parents still married ➔ “They sure are. Happy at that too. Especially after they got over Jacob’s disappearance.” She said before realizing how she said then frantically waved her hands. “Nononononono! I didn’t mean that they were happy to get rid of him! Like, it broke their hearts and they were...rather apathetic with each other. But after accepting what happened and that Jacob was, probably, never coming back, they moved on.”

-

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ “I was born in Cuenca, Spain. I currently live in Dumfries, Scotland. I moved when I was a baby but I would visit Cuenca during the holidays.”

hair color ➔ “Obviously, it’s dark brown,” she grinned as she twirled one of her curls with one finger. 

eye color ➔ “Hazel brown. Although, I’ve been told by various family members that they look bronze.” Tarra hummed before lightly shrugging. “Must have gotten it from my father’s side of the family because none of the Lyalls has my eye color.”

birthday ➔ “March 10th.”

mood ➔ “Eh? Like what I’m feeling right now? Tired. You did wake me up for this bloody interview...”

gender ➔ “I identify as androgynous. I have both masculine and feminine traits, and my style says so as well.”

summer or winter ➔ “Summer!” She exclaimed excitedly. “I visit my family in Spain during the summer, and I spend time at my uncle’s ranch and play soccer with my cousins! Celebrate birthday parties and go to festivals! Travel around Scotland, visit the grandparents and explore the old Lyall manor. I’ll probably get some souvenirs for the gang this upcoming summer. They’ve given me gifts before and I have returned few but I always enjoy sharing my cultures.”

morning or afternoon ➔ Tarra laughs before answering her question. “Strangely enough, I prefer the morning. I don’t know why but I like the stillness of dawn. Where it’s quiet and you have that momentarily peace to yourself. Now I can understand why Talbott prefers his privacy.”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ Tarra become so flustered that her glasses fogged up. “I eh..ah..um..” she struggled to say before shaking her head. “Yes!” She exclaimed in embarrassment. 

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “To a certain degree. You might have an attraction to someone but it might not be love. Perhaps it’s until you start to learn more about them, befriend and such that your feelings might develope to love.”

who ended your last relationship ➔ “I didn’t have a previous relationship.”

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ Tarra looked down in shame. “Yes. It was Barnaby’s. It was when my love note was read by Professor Snape and Barnaby confronted me about it. He thought I had a crush on him because I went to the Ball with him. I thought I fancied him but it was not romantic love. I should have been honest after that. I know that he didn’t take the rejection well. His cries still haunt me.” 

are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Who isn’t? But if you truly love that person, then you have to conquer your fear!”

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “If I did, I guess that it was Barnaby. Especially after he talked to me after the love note was read out loud.”

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “Yes.”

-

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ “What kind of bloody question is that? Love, of course!” Tarra exclaimed, a deep blush on her cheeks. 

lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Lemonade! I like that sweet taste with that pinch of citrus. Tea is just bland and bitter. Blah!” 

cats or dogs ➔ “I like both of them! They can be equally as goofy and playful. And each serves different purposes in different circumstances. You get to see a lot of their personality while they live on a ranch.”

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “To be honest, I prefer a few best friends. Too many regular friends might just cause trouble. Like, I’m glad that I have friends in my life right now, but I believe a few of them I would consider my best friends.” Tarra said before scratching the back of her neck. “I don’t like the idea of choosing one over the other though.” 

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Depends on who I’m going with. A wild night out would be with my friends. A romantic night in would be someone that I fancy, like Talbott. And if it’s a wild night out, then I have to be careful about which friends I go out with.”

day or night ➔ “Day. Despite me saying that I enjoy the stillness of the morning, I do like the activities and hustle of the day. The night doesn’t offer much for a teenager.”

-

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ “Yup. By Professor Snape, no less. He destroyed Andre’s broom! I still owe him one but I saw that he got another one. Still, best to have a second broom in handy just in case!” 

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “Like I’m gonna tell you.” Tarra huffed. 

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Maybe a toy when I was a kid? But I can’t really recall.”

wanted to disappear ➔ “Who doesn’t? There have been times that I just want to be left alone, especially with all of the recent events.” 

-

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ Tarra softly blushed. “Oh, we’re getting personal again. I guess a smile would be my preference.”

shorter or taller ➔ “That’s a tough one. Either height is okay with me. But if you want me to be specific, I guess if I’m dating a boy, then I would prefer them being taller. And if I’m dating a girl, I guess either height is no issue for me.”

intelligence or attraction ➔ “I guess intelligence? Super attractive people make me intimidated. Intelligent people might be playing a gamble though since they can be self-centered with their smarts. Or they can just be humble about it.” Tarra grumbled in frustration. “I don’t know!”

hook-up or relationship ➔ “Relationships, of course! Hook-ups may be fun for others, but not for me.”

-

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ Tarra softly sighed, becoming quiet before answering. “Well, depending on the family members. I get along just fine with my parents if that’s what you were wondering. My relationship with my mother’s parents is good too. They’re a bit uptight but know when to ease up. The same goes with my cousins on my mother’s side. As for my father’s parents....that’s a different story. I get along with my uncle, my father’s younger brother, and his kids but that’s it. I know that I have more relatives on that side of the family but I never met them.”

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “Not really? I mean, all is good back at home but after Jacob’s disappearance, things became rocky and lots of wizards and witches gave me and my family a hard time. Then again, muggles still too due to being mixed blood. Then there’s Rakepick and the “R” organization. But I wouldn’t consider that a “messed up life”. In fact, I really have myself to blame since I decided to seek out Jacob by unraveling the Cursed Vaults.” 

have you ever ran away from home ➔ “I have no reason to.”

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “No. Wait...I faintly remembered being with my parents. We were visiting someone but I can’t recall who it was. I might have been too little. But I remember shouting and screaming, and then, we were all ushered out. I guess we were kicked out. Does that count?”

-

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “How could you ask such a question?! I don’t hate any of my friends!”

do you consider all of your friends' good friends ➔ “I think so. Many of my friends are good people with good intentions. Although, it is true that I do talk to some more than others. But overall, they haven’t done anything to wrong me.”

who is your best friend ➔ “My best friend? That would be Rowan. She was the first friend that I ever made coming to Hogwarts. She was the first to give me a chance when everyone else was quick to judge me because of the lies that the Daily Prophet had said about Jacob and my family. Honestly, if it wasn’t for her, I might not have had any friends today.”

who knows everything about you ➔ “That might be Penny. I wouldn’t be surprised since she’s a popular kid in Hogwarts. It’s her job to know everything and everybody. It feels weird knowing that she might know about you before ever meeting her. It seems like an invasion of privacy. Aside from her, then the next person would be Rowan.”

[zebedeerox]

The Hoax

This story first appeared in Secret Attic Booklet #20, November 2021.

The full brief appears below this story.

The Hoax | Jason Darrell

"Thanks for the invite and picture opportunity," Jefferson said, taking the proffered seat in the lounge. Noting that the two long-haired sisters weren't about to offer him a drink, he began the interview.

"The message I got was ambiguous," he explained, "so I'll relate my understanding of the article's premise, committing it straight to tape. Answer my questions as honestly as you can, in the direction of the recorder." To demonstrate, he depressed the record button on the old-fashioned machine.

The sisters turned oddly robotically to face each other, nodded, then turned back to face the reporter in the same slow manner. Jefferson could have sworn he heard the unusual ticking of an engine, so looked at his tape reels. They were running, he shrugged, then began.

"Well, thank you, Carra, Tarra, for speaking to us, today," Jefferson said, enunciating clearly towards the microphone, leading by example.

"Us?" the sisters grated in unison. "Who's 'us'? We specified to your editor you come alone,"

"By us, I, mm, mean the magazine I'm freelancing this article for. I assure you, I am very much on my own, today," the reporter answered, barely keeping the nervous edge from his usually steady voice.

Carra and Tarra almost smiled as their heads inquisitively inclined 45 degrees towards each other, drawn together as if by magnets. The grimace disappeared as the magnetic field faded, their heads springing upright.

Taking their continued silence as a signal to continue, Jefferson asked, "So, you informed us - my editor - that you have information about the thousands of fuel thefts reported over the last few weeks. How so, when constabularies everywhere have had fuel inexplicably stolen from gas tanks right beneath their noses?"

"It would be wrong of 'us' to comment on the capability of your law enforcement officials," started Carra.

Without a hair's breadth pause, Tarra added, "but we know what's happened to your petroleum mixture."

"Go on," said Jefferson, discomfort beginning to creep up his spine.

"It has been vapourised, left Earth through holes in the Ozone Layer and is now on an inter-galactic cruiser travelling at 300 times the speed of light toward a distant solar system," the sisters said, this time each saying each alternate word to make a perfect sentence.

With that staccato delivery, Jefferson thought he'd misunderstood. He waited. They stared right back at him, silent, still.

"Oh, come on," gasped Jefferson, questioning both the veracity of their statement and the way they delivered it.

"You think us untrue?" Carra and Tarra said in unison.

"D'uh, yeah! What type of country idiot do you take me for?" he asked.

"Close," said Tarra.

"I'd have thought it obvious," Carra said.

In unison, they droned, "The kind of undeserving idiot who populates this jewel of a planet in its billions."

"OK. I'm winding this shambolic interview up. You're both obviously as deranged as you look," Jefferson said, to the tape machine as much as the sisters. "Nice turn, by the way, that little double act. You ought to be on Netflix."

At that, he folded his notepad, pocketed it, his pen, and exaggerated pressing the tape recorder's stop button: clack!

"Aren't you in the least curious, Jeff?" Tarra asked.

"What? That aliens are pilfering our fuel?" he asked.

"Problem with aliens, Jeff?" they asked as one.

"Only in that they don't exist," he chuffed. "Unlike my peers, I try to retain a modicum of fact in my reports."

"Yes, we've seen your stories in The World, National Enquirer and The Global Snooper," said Tarra.

Carra followed, "That's why we contacted your editor, not any other."

Confused, Jefferson quickly tried to scour his mind for how this assignment came about. The penny dropped: his old editor, the swine!

"But I worked those rags in another lifetime. I can see, now. You just want your 15 minutes of fame. Well, I've moved on from the supermarket tabloids!" he said, slamming the tape recorder away in his briefcase.

"And if you should ever speak to that no-good editor again," Jefferson ranted, "tell him I owe him. Big time!"

"Such a pity," sighed Carra.

"We so wanted you to convey our story to the Men in Black. Now, you've exceeded your use for us," Tarra added.

"The Men i…wh-what? You surely don't believe those guys exist?" Jefferson stammered.

"Oh, we know they do," Carra said, bitterness punctuating every word.

"And we want revenge," Tarra spat, "Agent J killed our brother, Jarra!"

Now Jefferson was getting angry. Angry, and scared.

As he began to back up, the two women rose in unison from the sofa. Not a natural rise from a sitting position: straight, vertical elevation.

The engine sounds came again. Jefferson instinctively looked at the table upon which his tape recorder had sat; of course, it wasn't there.

It did begin playing, though, from inside his briefcase. Jefferson listened, horrified: the muffled replay bore no resemblance to the interview he'd just conducted.

Instead, the conversation in his simulated-but-passable voice detailed how the sisters were smuggling petroleum off the planet in a bid to destabilise the economy and start a nuclear war.

"H-how, how…?" he stammered, looking up. What his gaze met terrified him further. The sisters had disrobed, their heads perched upon tiny bodies implanted into tiny flying saucers, whirring seven feet off the ground.

Jefferson's innards turned to water. He turned to escape through the front door, but the alien plant he'd passed on the porch had quadrupled in size, blocking his egress. Its waving fronds had developed sharp-toothed, chomping mouths, all snapping Jefferson backing into the room.

"Good story, huh? Though, the bit about the petroleum's true," Tarra said. Jefferson's vacated sanity had taken his voice with it.

"Do you think J will bite after the story's printed?" Carra asked her sister.

"Oh, yes. But not as hard as Serleena's apt to bite, now!" Tarra answered.

The maniacal laughter was the last thing Jefferson ever heard.

© Jason Darrell, 2021

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[wellntruly]

M*A*S*H - Season 7, misc. notes

New approach on this assembly: no just repeating something I like (that way forever lies), observational/contemplative remarks Only.

And you know what, I mostly stick to this!

— — —

Even besides updating his opening credits appearance immediately (I was mid-martini sip, I was not ready), that we then started with a scene of Potter talking about the mustache, erotically, (yes), before we’d even seen it live yet, is really giving 'cultural moment'

I’ve just checked and my suspicion was correct: ‘Commander Pierce’ was not originally intended to be the seventh season premiere; that would be what ended up airing second, ‘Peace On Us’, which feels more like a first episode in every way, down to the cast reestablishing roll call at the end. But for someone who has two thumbs and is wild for chain-of-command drama, me, starting with this one had me like, Hello & welcome!! By the time we hit the mid-episode act-out and Captain Pierce, pressed, is having his snippy interpersonal orders in surgery mockingly “Whooa-oh-oh!”ed by his two best friends & best enemy all in synchrony against him, I was positively kicking my heels.

I also think it’s worth noting the dramatic irony that Hawkeye’s greatest strength as a manager, as seen first in ‘Officer of the Day’ back in the third season, has always been his atypical decision-making skills, which always prioritize life and are also almost always outside the box in doing so. Acting Commander A Secret, Third Thing. Which is why I think if BJ had actually followed the procedure to bring this to him first, rushed up saying that there’s someone out there who is dying and he can save him, it would have been highly likely Hawkeye would have come up with a way to do both, possibly even still sending BJ out, but with admonitions to hurry, more wounded are coming who will you need you, too. But BJ is so hung up on Hawkeye being the leader that he’s forgotten they’re still a team, that Hawk’s weird creative mind can help him, and Hawkeye is so resentful of being the leader that he too has forgotten they’re still a team, that BJ’s steadfast sense of what’s right can help him. Neither of them are listening to each other, and it’s hobbling some of their strongest assets.

Also, as the leader, whether anyone wants that or not, Hawkeye is supposed to be the one to break procedure, if breaking is what is needed. That’s what being a manager truly is. To take the responsibility, to say, it’ll be on my head—go. And Hawkeye hasn’t learned that. Potter has learned that. Potter knows that well, because he IS a good manager, which he comes back proving immediately. Thank god for you, Sherman <3

I’m not imagining it, they’ve added some sort of WHISTLE to the opening theme, like some PICCOLO or something. I’m gonna kill ‘em.

The discovery that Alan Alda, Irish-Italian Catholic, is also Jewish-in-law by his wife, truly explains so much. The Yiddish, for one.

Y’know I guess I probably do understand why ‘Peace On Us’ did not ultimately hang on to its opening spot with the network, despite also, I am just realizing, supplying the Origin Story for the Mustache--as it does end with a sequence that truly made me feel like I was having an out-of-body experience. When BJ ambles out of the tent…well I really thought I’d lost my mind.

First edible looking foodstuff on this show goes to: this muffin Hawkeye is eating standing in the sunshine talking about how he’s stalking his best friend. I would actually bet $5, 1950s money, that this muffin just came from craft services.

Reprising the black & white period interview conceit but making it a clip show, and two of them, is a remarkable miscalculation, and I hated watching both of these, even with an And They Were All So Cold package (even with!!), but admittedly I did clasp my hand to my mouth at the reveal that they’d be including Trapper and Henry. Also, BJ, in the new stuff, says, “When you share the horror that we do, day in and day out, you don’t just feel close, you cling to each other,” and I would like to say, Beej oh my god.

Oh, well this is interesting. Disassociation always is! My college bestie the psychologist, benevolently: “Ahh, cinema’s favorite disorder presentation. Looks so good, happens so rarely.” It sure does look good! And I mean, any reason’s a good reason to see Sidney.

God NEVAR FORGET Abercrombie & Fitch used to be like, outdoors outfitters. And are old. They set up Teddy Roosevelt before he went tromping west with John Muir.

My order to myself to not just quote lines in the notes is being severely tested by ‘None Like It Hot’, which is breaking me every scene. Okay okay just one from Charles: “Your middle class sense of decency and fair play will overwHelm the malice you now bear me, and soon I shall be luxuriating in that canvas Xanadu.” I mean where to BEGIN.

I would like to know how Loretta Swit just keeps getting more beautiful. What kind of Gillian Anderson genes…

BJ’s vermilion suspenders, Hawkeye in a check flannel…so they’ve just fully started dressing like gay lumberjacks, huh. Maybe this is the point of the mustache. I'm sorry I'm so sorry! I am on record as being SO pro mustache boyfriends, I’m just not pro this particular mustache. :/ I just think it kinda makes Mike Farrell look like that pumpkin. You know the one.

Okay dialogue again but it’s because I have a sincere question: Hawkeye: “I’ll be there with bells on. You’ll love me in bells.” Nurse Bigelow: “Shall we say about 8?” Hawkeye: “7:30, I like a half hour to warm up.” Bigelow, leaving with a grin: “Gotta run!” Hawkeye, turning back to BJ: “I envy her tonight.” [this video voice] Whaat does That meean?!

The way I feel about BJ’s kimono and I don’t know why it’s just his and not Margaret’s is that it’s the first glimmer of the ‘80s advancing, and I do not appreciate it.

I really like that Charles is actually strictly honest, even to his own detriment. The trick is that you have to go through a tremendous amount of effort to prove to him that his wrong stances are wrong, as his default position is that of course he is right, but once he sees the evidence plainly, then he flips and will not stand for anyone shirking that truth, least of all himself. This is a cool character trait, and they’ve been pretty consistent about it.

I am entranced by the freezing ground constricting the mines and setting them off in the field in the night. AT MO SPHERE.

Radar baby tell us your weird idea.

A warm soaking tub out of a coffin!!! BABY I LOVE YOU & YOUR WEIRD IDEA.

Lordd, imagine being this soldier. You’ve just literally landed at the remote hospital station, weakly bleeding, and it's just like

Not sure if this utterly adorable BJ-Klinger-Radar welcome, charming and efficient as it may be, would have me feeling any more certain that I’m living, but definitely certain this is one of the best places I could die in, with these benevolent fruitcakes.

Ah, lovely, as I’d want: Hawkeye is reassuring precisely because he’s so odd. He’s wearing a crimson bathrobe, he’s asked someone for a unit of whole blood, neat, for him, he's telling your smiling blonde fellow to "Step into my office"—a patch of floor two yards away to confer. This benevolent fruitcake is weird in a different way, and suddenly I'm starting to feel like maybe I am gonna live.

Oh I completely believe Colonel Potter makes it a point to meet everyone who comes through his hospital, headcanon accepted, Ken Levine & David Isaacs.

[Ringing a dinner bell] SNAFU, first recorded instance of “SNAFU” in M*A*S*H! World War II slang acronyms, finally fucking present and accounted for!

Hawkeye very clambering astride things this season. Things he has slung his leg fully over in Season 7: - Jeep door slash steering wheel - Charles’s thigh - multiple patients’ waists to perform CPR - the barrel of a Howitzer

I cannot explain why it should be this way given that’s also where it is on those little caps, but Charles wearing his major leaf pinned right in the center of his turned up parka hood dissolved both me and my mom, visiting, into helpless giggling.

OMG THEY’RE ALL GETTING LIGHTHEADED FROM USING ALL THIS ETHER. sickos.png ha ha yeess….

Probably one of the best things this show has ever decided to make a continuing thing, as of ‘Out of Gas’, is that Father Mulcahy is on the black market. Knows how to use it, gets desperately needed supplies for themselves and the orphanage this way. Definitely his black market nickname is like, Pops.

Everything Margaret merrily does to hungover Hawkeye at breakfast, and his reaction to it, is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen. Sorry this is so borderline me just saying I like it, but I like it SO much.

Father Mulcahy at the Officer’s Club deliberately playing the barkeep you tell all your problems to because he misses confession, is suuuuuch a good idea, Alda. 

When I say Potter is one of Hawkeye’s two dads I mean him lowly muttering “Leave it…” to Pierce’s cheerily foreboding energy around generals.

‘Inga’ absolutely incredible for watching Alan Alda attempt to distract us with an overt showing of his getting dragged in public kink from remembering that we’ve been seeing him air Hawkeye’s sexual submission kink this entire dang series. Dollface I don’t believe for one second that Hawkeye “Don't just stand there, I’m yours,” Hawkeye “Someone’s gonna have to get me pregnant,” Hawkeye “Would you [kick me]? With high heels?” Pierce would not go giddy at the knees if a woman pushed *him* back on the bed, had *her* way with him. Hawkeye DOES measure women by a three-letter yardstick and you’ve nailed that squarely & beautiful (and gave the whole blazing speech to Margaret <3), but Hawkeye getting uncomfortable if someone else is the top? Oh honey we all know that’s not Hawkeye's problem!

Anyway, once again though, my god Alan Alda loves Loretta Swit & Margaret Houlihan SO much. Even just their button on the end of this, like all their little closing scenes he writes for them, is all for her and just perfect, killer. Sweet, her teasingly, sparklingly dragging him off to the showing of Casablanca, buying him popcorn..!

Potter: “Tell your nurses not to be shy about hauling a litter if they have to. Some of them are stronger than I am.” Hawkeye: “Can I have their names?” I mean, [laughter], this is exactly what I was just saying. We’re all seeing this!

Her arm tight around slumped BJ making sure he doesn’t fall off his stool, Hawkeye already collapsed flat on the bar at her other elbow, taking another shot above both their heads—as Hawk said, long live the queen.

Margaret smooching snoozing Potter’s ear in thanks in the most platonic weird little way, wow yes

Whenever they bring in the stooges at I-Corps refusing to believe they’re being bombed it’s just so Heller. To be clear I adore this.

The thing about these Army helmets is they tend to make everyone look incredibly boyish, gender neutral, and it pangs my heart a little

Ha ha ha, I’m so into this. So into it. Hawkeye is, for narrative purposes, one of the frailer cast members, because things happening to him can be the plots of episodes. But I guess that’s it, usually things are happening TO him. His claustrophobia is striking as it’s this surprise vulnerability that didn’t come from the war, and so it takes us beyond it.

Hey: what on Earth is this card game?

Handheld camera? Harry?? Let’s do it why not!

I really like the implication that you say “commie” five times and Colonel Flagg just vappears in your bathroom mirror

Ohhh one of those those

….Oh my god. That Flagg doesn’t work on Charles…I am closing my eyes in a delighted grin. His particular brand of superiority makes him like Teflon to this! Aah! “One, you cannot afford my price, and two, what are you talking about?” I’m elated.

Meanwhile, maybe this is the episode where we try to figure out:

What's Going On With BJ Hunnicutt?

He’s been changing, this season and if I look back Season 6 as well. Markedly more chaos and a kind of lightly irascible antagonism shot through his once notable calm. If I’m applying apologetics, I’d say he’s fallen too into a habit of trying to pull other people’s malcontented energy to himself, as he told Nurse Donovan about doing with his wife in Season 5—too often metaphorically bumping into people, trying to be the thing they're mad at, something more manageable than an entire war. But it’s not working so well as a consistent practice. What I miss, what I think is missed, is that steady, quiet care that characterized BJ in his first couple season. That was something new for this show, a really interesting balancing energy, with another fascinating new effect of kind of melting Hawkeye a bit. And this practice isn’t working so well for BJ either as of late, as we see in him hotly springing on this patient threatening Hawkeye, threatening him with violence of his own. From the very start, he has cared about Hawkeye tremendously (god remember him about gnawing his thumb off when he goes missing last season), but more and more lately it’s coming out all jumpy and rough. Captain Hunnicutt, honey, it’s okay to be quiet and safe again. You won’t be overlooked. There are means of influence other than fireworks.

That’s the first explanation. The other is that earlier days BJ won’t come back from the war, because this is what the war has done to him. The serenity Sidney envied irrevocably rumpled by this cavalcade of senseless wounded.

Well, I’ll be thinking about it! Feeling feelings!

Meanwhile, the impeccable character development of Major Margaret Houlihan, outstanding in its field. One element that’s really illuminating itself right now: she’s still immediately smitten with a handsome officer, that’s still Margaret all over, but these days she turns them right off her plate as soon as they reveal themselves to be bad news. She used to not notice. Our Margaret now, oh she notices.

Hooooo the amount of dark rooms ‘Preventative Medicine’ is just flinging doors open! Hoo boy!!

Ohhhh Very important question actually: didn’t Hawkeye and Trapper remove Colonel Flagg’s appendix together that one time just to waylay him from doing something stupid and cruel? Oh wow if that’s part of this………O wow.

Goddd that gesture, reaching up to grasp his forearm where his hand rests on his shoulder…BJ’s arm like an anchor line. Ahh now this bit is recalling that tireless kindness of BJ, what I wanted, oh less temper and more of this please. Jesus and with this dark undertow still too—are you dragging him back, or is he dragging you down. [shiver] Yes yes yes…

Hey I just replayed these last two scenes in my head with the quiet, watchful BJ of ‘The Late Captain Pierce’, gentle and urgent and scared and not leaving, all the same dialogue and Hawkeye’s performance basically the same tenor just visibly pulling more against the tethers this BJ tosses out, and it was HAUNT-ING.

Line readings award for the one at Rosie’s bar: David Ogden Stiers no question

Mike Farrell, Director, immediately being like hey, wanna literally climb the furniture? And Alan Alda’s like, :) you know I do

He’s LITERALLY being BJ’s little gargoyle, just like, scampering, clambering, up on the doorjambs. This is tremendous stuff, Mike.

Hey Mike sorry but I have more blocking I enjoy: the amount of time we're spending watching Hawkeye floss his teeth on camera. How does Alda looks so cute doing this, is my question, and is that why

This banner reading “Father Mulcahy presents: Bingo Night” has added a year to my life

Really fascinating actually seeing them move camps, different trees around, re-setting up the Swamp. I'm THROWN but not necessarily in a bad way? Yet? Would this possibly last??

Nope never mind, we’re bugging right back! WELL I did expect you wouldn’t want to lose that set haha

YELL Hawkeye’s dad addresses him in his letter “Dear Ben.” HE WAS THE ONE WHO DUBBED YOU HAWKEYE.

— — —

Season Viewguides

These

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay.

He was brought up within a family and community immersed in Gaelic language and culture, particularly song. Sorley studied English at Edinburgh University from 1929, taking a first class honours degree and there encountering and finding an affinity with the work of Hugh MacDiarmid, Ezra Pound, and other Modernist poets. Despite this influence, he eventually adopted Gaelic as the medium most appropriate for his poetry. However, it should be noted that MacLean translated much of his own work into English, opening it up to a wider public than the speakers of the Gaelic language.

During the Spanish Civil War, MacLean was torn between family commitments and his desire to fight on behalf of the International Brigades, illustrating his left-wing - even Marxist - political stance. He eventually resigned himself to remaining on Skye. He fought in North Africa during World War Two, before taking up a career in teaching, holding posts on Mull, in Edinburgh and finally as Head Teacher at Plockton High School.

It is often said that what Hugh MacDiarmid did for the Scots language, Sorley MacLean did for Gaelic, sparking a Gaelic renaissance in Scottish literature in line with the earlier ‘Scottish Renaissance’, as evinced in the work of George Campbell Hay, Derick Thomson and Iain Crichton Smith. He was instrumental in preserving and promoting the teaching of Gaelic in Scottish schools. Through the diverse subject matter of his poetry, he demonstrates the capacity of the Gaelic language to express themes from the personal to the political and philosophical.

MacLean’s work was virtually unknown outside Gaelic-speaking circles until the 1970s, when Gordon Wright published Four Points of a Saltire - poems from George Campbell Hay, Stuart MacGregor, William Neill and Sorley MacLean. He also then appeared at the Cambridge Poetry Festival, establishing his fame in England, as well as Scotland and Ireland, where he had become something of a cult figure thanks to a fan base including fellow poet Seamus Heaney. A bilingual Selected Poems of 1977 secured a broader readership and a new generation began to appreciate his work.

Latterly, he wrote and published little, showing his concern with quality and authenticity over quantity. Never a full-time writer, he was also a scholar of the Highlands with a vast knowledge of genealogy, and an avid follower of shinty. Amongst other awards and honours, he received the Queen’s Gold Medal for Poetry in 1990. He passed on in 1996 at the age of 85, and was survived by his wife and two daughters.

I have posted many times about Sorley, and probably overused Martyn Bennet’s Hallaig, but if you haven’t heard it, please go to Youtube and search for it, you won’t regret it.

Todays poem is  Tràighean/ Shores, the Gaelic version first, followed by the verse translated by  his fellow bi-lingual poet, Iain Crichton Smith.

Nan robh sinn an Talasgar air an tràigh far a bheil am beul mòr bàn a’ fosgladh eadar dà ghiall chruaidh, Rubha nan Clach `s am Bioda Ruadh, sheasainn-sa ri taobhn na mara ag ùrachadh gaoil ‘nam anam fhad ‘s a bhiodh an cuan a’lìonadh camas Thalasgair gu sìorraidh: sheasainn an siud air lom na tràghad gu `n cromadh Priseal a cheann àigich.

Agus nan robh sinn ciudeachd air tràigh Chalgaraidh am Muile, eadar Alba is Tiriodh, eadar an saoghal `s a’bhiothbhuan, dh’fhuirichinn an siud gu luan a’ tomhas gainmhich bruan air bhruan. Agus an Uibhist air tràigh Hòmhstadh fa chomhair farsaingeachd na h-ònrachd, dh’fheithinn-sa an siud gu sìorraidh braon air bhraon an cuan a’ sìoladh.

Agus nan robh mi air tràigh Mhùideart còmhla riut, a nodhachd ùidhe, chuirinn suas an co-chur gaoil dhut an cuan ’s a’ ghaineamh, bruan air bhraon dhiubh. ’S nan robh sinn air Mol Steinnseil Stamhain ’s an fhairge neo-aoibhneach a’ tarraing nan ulbhag is gan tilgeil tharainn, thogainn-sa am balla daingeann ro shìorraidheachd choimhich ’s i framhach.

If we were in Talisker on the shore

where the great white foaming mouth of water

opens between two jaws as hard as flint –

the Headland of Stones and the Red Point –

I’d stand forever by the waves

renewing love out of their crumpling graves

as long as the sea would be going over

the Bay of Talisker for ever;

I would stand thee by the filling tide

till Preshal bowed his stallion head.

And if the two of us were together

on the shores of Calgary in Mull

between Scotland and Tiree,

between this world and eternity,

I’d stand there till time was done

counting the sands grain by grain.

And also on Uist, on Hosta’s shore,

in the face of solitude’s fierce stare,

I’d remain standing, without sleep,

while sea were ebbing, drop by drop.

And if I were on Moidart’s shore

With you, my novelty of desire,

I’d offer this synthesis of love,

grain and water, sand and wave.

And were we by the shelves of Staffin

where the huge joyless sea is coughing

stones and boulders from its throat,

I’d build a fortified wall

Against eternity’s savage howl.

The photo of the cairn is a  Memorial Cairn at Hallaig dedicated to   Shomhairle Macgill-eain,, the cairn also commemorated the people of Hallaig and other cleared crofting townships.

As well as Hallaig I enjoy listening to  Somhairle by Niteworks, an Electronic Celtic fusion band from the Isle of Skye who put some of Sorley’s words to music. Listen to it below

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PgWqrxa_-Y

[tulunnguaq]

Linguistic Excursions (4): Irish / An Ghaeilge

My next linguistic excursion takes us west to Ireland. Previous excursions took us from Greenland to Scotland, Wales and the Isle of Man. Something like this:

This post is an extract from the opening chapter of the novel Gafa (Hook), by Ré Ó Laighléis, an Oireachtas na Gaeilge*  award-winning novel, which deals with a teenage boy’s addiction to heroin, covering both the impact on him and on his parents. An English version has been published under the title Hooked . As might be expected it's not a literal translation, and there a few divergences in the passage I’ve selected below, presumably with a view to finding a more natural turn of phrase in English.  

*(Assembly of the Gaelic language – an annually held Irish-culture arts festival)

Text

Caibidil a hAon

Leathnaíonn súile Eithne i logaill a cinn nuair a fheiceann sí na giuirléidí atá istigh faoin leaba ag Eoin. Sean-stoca atá ann, a shíleann sí, nuair a tharraingíonn sí amach ar dtús é. Ní hé, go deimhin, go gcuirfeadh sin féin aon iontas uirthi, ná baol air. Tá a fhios ag Dia nach bhfuil insint ar an taithí atá aici ar stocaí bréana an mhic chéanna a aimsiú lá i ndiaidh lae, seachtain i ndiaidh seachtaine ar feadh na mblianta. Ach iontas na n-iontas – é seo. Nuair a osclaíonn sí an t-éadach, a cheapann sí ar dtús a bheith ina shean-stoca, ní thuigeann sí go baileach ceard tá ann dáiríre. Sean-tiúb ruibéir is cosúil, agus dath donn na meirge air – é scoilteach go maith nuair a dhéanann sí é a shíneadh. Tá cinnte uirthi aon chiall a bhaint as sin ar chor ar bith.

Vocabulary

caibidil (f) - chapter

a haon – one. aon is one but cardinal numbers by themselves have an introductory a (+ h- before vowels, i.e. aon and ocht)

leathnaíonn – broaden. Root form leathnaigh. Cf adjective leathan broad. In the present tense, verbs take an –(a)nn/-onn ending in the 2p and 3p singular and plural.

súile – eyes, singular súil (f)

Eithne – mother’s name, here in the (unmarked) genitive. súile Eithne Eithne’s eyes. In the English translation of this book, this name was changed to Sandra, for some reason.

logall (m) - socket (of eye). Plural logaill

ceann (m) – head, genitive form cinn

a – his, her. When meaning his, it lenites (aspirates) the following word. When meaning her, it does not. Hence i logaill a cinn in the sockets of her head. You get the sense here but clearly this doesn't translate literally as an expression.

nuair – when. Derived from uair hour, time

a - relative conjunction, that, which (+ lenition).

feiceann sí – she sees

na giuirléidí – the implements. Singular giuirléid (f)

atá - which is/are. Relative form of tá with fused a-

istigh – inside. Here the implication is perhaps of being pushed inside/tucked inside.

faoin – under the. Fused form of faoi under + article an.

leaba (f) - bed

ag – at. ag is used to mark possession in Irish, i.e. “to have”, as in Tá leabhar agam I have a book, but also as an alternative to the genitive as here: leaba ag Eoin – Eoin’s bed.

sean old. Note that the adjective sean usually precedes the noun it describes, as shown in sean-stoca old sock (and lenites the noun, where possible, but not in this case). Note plural stocaí socks

ann – in it. Tá ann can mean there is/are. But I think here the meaning of ann here is of 'occupation/description', see explanation below on ina.

síleann sí - she thinks, from root síl think, intend

tarraingíonn sí – she pulls, from root tarraing pull, draw

amach – out(wards)

ar dtús – at first, from tús beginning

é – it, in the object form here.

ní hé it is not . Negative form of the copula is é

go deimhin indeed, from deimhin certainty

go gcuirfeadh - that (it) would put, 3ps conditional form of cuir put. Note the eclipsis of the verb caused by the particle go that (conjunction).

sin that (demonstrative)

féin (one's) self. sin féin that (fact) itself

aon one, but here any

iontas (m) wonder, surprise

uirthi = ar + í on her

ná baol air. nor (any) danger of it. ná nor. baol (m) danger. air = ar + é on it.

tá a fhios ag Dia God knows. fios knowledge. Lit. Its knowledge is at God or God has its knowledge.

nach bhfuil that (subject) is not

insint - tell(ing) (of), verbal noun form of inis.

taithí (f) experience, custom, habit

atá aici that is at her, that she has

bréan foul, rancid. Plural form bréana

an mhic of the son. mac (m) son, genitive mic, masculine nouns being aspirated in genitive case after the article.

céanna the very, same. Here also aspirated, as required after genitive singular masculine noun.

aimsiú – aim, hit, hit upon, find. a aimsiú to hit upon

lá i ndiaidh lae day after day. lá (m) day, genitive lae. i ndiaidh after, lit. in the back(?) of, so this prepositional phrase takes the genitive.

seachtain (f) week, genitive seachtaine

feadh (m) extent, duration. From which ar feadh + genitive throughout

bliain (f) year. na mblianta of the years. Genitive plural marked by na + eclipsis.

ach but

iontas na n-iontas wonder of (the) wonders. In English this phrase has a positive connotation, but as the meaning here is clearly negative, I would perhaps translate with to [her] great surprise

é seo it [is] this [thing]. 

osclaíonn sí she opens

an t-éadach (m) the cloth. Note the epenthetic t- which is added to certain words beginning with vowels or s, which reflects a t which in an earlier form of the language existed within the article itself but which now only appears in these 'fossilised' situations, and is otherwise lost. The same process occurs in Scots Gaelic and (I believe) in Manx so it clearly predates the separation of these languages.

ceapann sí  she thinks

a bheith to be

ina in his. In Irish a state of being or occupation is expressed by being 'in one's' state. tá sé ina mhuinteoir he is a teacher . Hence ina shean-stoca in this case.

ní not, negative particle in present tense main clause.

tuigeann sí she understands. From root tuig understand. Note the British Isles colloquial form 'twig' with similar meaning, which may be a loan, eg 'when did you twig that something was wrong?'

baileach exact. go baileach exactly

ceard what. In this case, ceard tá ann 'what it is'

dáiríre really

tiúb (f) tube

ruibéar (m?) rubber, ruibéir (gen) of rubber. This spelling wasn’t in my dictionary, which instead lists rubar (m) (gen. rubair)

is cosúil it appears (that) (lit. (it) is like…)

agus and

dath (m) colour

donn brown

meirg (f) rust, na meirge of the rust

air on it

scoilteach cracked

go maith well. Here perhaps a good amount, considerably

déanann sí she does

é a shíneadh to pull it. Note the word order “it-to-pull”

cinnte certain

ciall meaning. Here aon chiall [not] any meaning. A negative meaning is implied here.

baint verbal noun of bain extract, release. Bain as take from, get from, make of here in infinite form a bhaint as. From this ciall a bhaint as make sense of. With uirthi on her denoting (I think) that the lack of understanding here is affecting her.

ar chor ar bith at all

Translation

Caibidil a hAon – Chapter One

Leathnaíonn súile Eithne i logaill a cinn nuair a fheiceann sí na giuirléidí atá istigh faoin leaba ag Eoin.

Eithne’s eyes grew wide [lit. broadened in the sockets of her head] when she sees the implements tucked under Eoin’s bed.

Sean-stoca atá ann, a shíleann sí, nuair a tharraingíonn sí amach ar dtús é.

There’s an old sock, she thinks, when she pulls it out at first.

Ní hé, go deimhin, go gcuirfeadh sin féin aon iontas uirthi, ná baol air.

Not that that, indeed, would be a surprise to her, far from it.

Tá a fhios ag Dia nach bhfuil insint ar an taithí atá aici ar stocaí bréana an mhic chéanna a aimsiú lá i ndiaidh lae, seachtain i ndiaidh seachtaine ar feadh na mblianta.

God knows, she was well used to [lit. not to be speaking of her experience of] finding his [lit. the very same son’s] dirty socks day after day, week after week all through the years.

Ach iontas na n-iontas – é seo.

But to her great surprise [lit. wonder of the wonders] – it’s something else.

Nuair a osclaíonn sí an t-éadach, a cheapann sí ar dtús a bheith ina shean-stoca, ní thuigeann sí go baileach ceard tá ann dáiríre.

When she opens the cloth, which at first she thinks is an old sock, she doesn’t quite understand what is really there.

Sean-tiúb ruibéir is cosúil, agus dath donn na meirge air – é scoilteach go maith nuair a dhéanann sí é a shíneadh.

An old rubber tube, apparently, with a brown rusty colour – it is quite cracked when she stretches it.

Tá cinnte uirthi aon chiall a bhaint as sin ar chor ar bith.

She certainly can’t make any sense of this at all.

-----------

Now it’s inconceivable that I haven’t made any mistakes above… so comments very welcome, as ever! Hope you’re enjoying the trip so far!

[extremelymanlyman]

Spotify

@bertongbigtime 

Ang, Rafael B.

Disclaimer: This is for a class discussion.

A Podcast is one of the most tuned into content that has attracted the likes of not only the current youth, but even older generations, sharing their thoughts and understandings of what the current trends are, providing the people with interesting and thought-provoking info. Journalist Tarra Quismodo’s pilot episode of her newest podcast was an interesting listen. It focused mostly on the trend of scammers from other countries catfishing innocent young females, pretending they were some caucasian, middle-aged, single dads from America or Europe then scamming these women of their money. The episode was a 27 minute listen, starting from her introducing her show, to giving us info about these heartbreak scams, then ending with her talking about her radio show and how to tune into her podcasts. Stated by Miss Quismodo, love scams are one of the most infamous scams focusing on people mostly from Africa preying upon young women, earning their trust and siphoning money from them.

Listening to her podcast, I found it formidable how she never let a single moment go by with any dead air. She started by discussing what love scams are and how vulnerable we can be, spoke about the identities of these scammers, the lies they speak, the things we must take note and lastly what we must do to avoid being victimized by these scammers. With an interesting topic in hand and with her being able to provide both entertainment and information to the listeners without difficulty, the show would undoubtedly sell to the common people. Podcasts are one of the most trending content to be consumed today, and allowing it to be played in Spotify, one the most popular music and podcast playing platform, people all over the world would be able to eye her content and be provided with the entertainment they wished for. With more than 201,000,000 dollars scammed from victims reported in the US, love scams are truly a menace to society, and with her speaking relevant info and providing the audience with sufficient advice, her show would definitely become a hit.

[i-hate-myself-for-my-complaints]

On a serious note

I have bottle things up for so long I don’t know where to begin. In march of 2017 I gave birth to the most amazing, loving, sweetest baby boy. He’s my life my world and I don’t know how I knew love before him. His father my fiancé is the love of my life and he’s honestly so amazing. Sounds wonderful right? That’s how i feel but honestly I have never felt so lonely in my life. I have always struggled majorly with depression and anxiety. In ways I have gotten better since I met my fiancé and I’m ways I’ve gotten worse. Me and him are so different. His family and how he was raised is so drastically different from mine it’s mind blowing. I have always tried to be a loving kind person. I try to be understanding and helpful to those around me. Sometimes I would get taken advantage of but I didn’t care. I loved to love and be loved in return. He on the other hand is so loving towards me but so cynical to everyone else. It’s hard to explain and sometimes I feel so out of place with his family and I live with them. So it gets hard. I feel like an outsider and literally since I had my son EVERY single one of my friends have abandoned me. All of them. It’s fucking heart breaking. One of my best friends moved to Oregon and it’s hard to talk with her she’s going through so much on her own I feel like a bother. My other friends have jobs and are getting on with there life I feel like I’m stuck and can’t go anywhere. My best friend which is my fiancé works all the time so I am normally alone. Sometimes I get so angry. All the bullshit about “I can’t wait till your baby is here he’s gonna know me” literally you have seen him like 5 times and he is almost one. Anyway all the people I loved and held close are gone. Some are easier to forget some aren’t and since nobody will read this those people are my friend shi which I have already said why we don’t talk. My friend Sam, we work completely opposite schedules and literally can’t see each other. And it breaks my heart because she was one of my closest friends throughout school. My friend Blake he’s an interesting one because I actually met him on tumblr and we connected almost instantly. He lives a ways away but we met it was cool as fuck and our relationship just kinda broke off. We talk from time to time but never like we did. And I also felt like he meant more to me than I did to him. If that makes any sense. And lastly my friend Tarra. I tell everyone she’s my sister and I adore her. She’s such a calming presence and we have been friends for so long. Now this isn’t all there fault, being a mom has changed me. I never have time for shit. Literally anything. It fucking sucks. Sometimes I have hard days where I want to collapse into myself and start over. Feels like I can’t breathe and I want to give up. And what makes it so hard now is I can’t cope the way I use to. When I get sad I want to drink, I want to cut literally every inch of my body. I want so badly to do so but I look at my son and I can’t give anyone any reason to take the best thing away from me. So I suffer. I cry until head throbs and I get that hole in my chest. My fiancé always try’s to console me but he doesn’t understand how bad I really am. When we met I was dangerously close to being an alcoholic. I drank all the time. I drank when I got home from work until I would black out and mind you I had a day job so I worked 5:30am to about 3pm so I would get off and go home and be passed out by 5. He saved me. But he can’t always save me and I try to talk to him but he can’t understand. How alone and out of place and disgusting and useless I feel 24/7. This is so fucking long and I didn’t mean for it to be. So I’m going to end it here and I’ll be back later. B

[ask-beacons-finest]

Tarra, sitting in the very back of an average looking lecture hall, her chin resting in her hand as she stares off into space, mumbling to herself: Basil and Clove start at Beacon today...I wonder if they're having a more fun time than I am...

Tarra, sighing, looking down to her bag, filled to the brim with textbooks and notes: Maybe I should've just toughened up and became a Huntress...but noooo...I wanted to be a Doctor.

Tarra, stretching, the cat ears atop her head twitching: Oh well...guess I'll just-

???, a chippy voice from Tarra's left, causing her to jump: Hi! I love the shirt!

Tarra, having nearly thrown herself out of her seat, panting to catch her breath a bit, taking a moment to regain her composure before glancing downward to see the large eye on her shirt: O-Oh! Tha-....thanks...thanks so much...you're a fan of, "Welcome to the Night, Vale" too?

???, a girl around the same age as Tarra, nodding with a smile: Yeah! Been a fan since it started! Check it out!

Tarra, looking down as the girl lifts up her shirt to reveal her stomach, a crudely made tattoo of the same eye on Tarra's shirt on her side, Tarra quickly getting flustered and covers her eyes at the sight: O-Oh! H-Haha! That looks like it hurt! Aha...

???, shrugs, putting her shirt back down: Eh, not too much. My name is Ash, Ash Howlite. Nice to meet you!

Tarra, freezing: ...tree...gemstone...

Ash, nods, oblivious to the odd comment: Yeah! And this pretty shy thing behind me is my girlfriend!

Tarra, a slight wave of sadness crossing over her at the sound of the word, looking past Ash to see another girl shyly waving: Hi, nice to meet you both, what's your name?

Ash, answering for her: Her name's Willow Carnelian, she's a bit of a shy one. To be honest she's the only reason we came over here, I didn't notice your shirt from where I was sitting.

Tarra, rubbing the back of her head, a bit embarrassed: I-...I see, well I appreciate the hello! It's nice to meet you both...with your...tree first names...and...gemstone last names...

Tarra, muttering to herself with a bright red face: Alder Obsidian...Magnolia Jade...Cedar Malachite...Cypress Sunstone...

Ash, awkwardly letting out a whistle: Sooooo, what's uhh...your name by the way?

Tarra, perking her head up, embarrassed: H-Huh?!?!? OH! Oh...I-I'm sorry! My name is Tarra, Tarra Belladonna.

Ash, her eyes widening for a second: D-...did you say Belladonna? As in Blake Belladonna? As in RWBY?

Tarra, rubbing her arm, even more embarrassed: Y-Yeah...one of the legendary team RWBY's children...a younger sister of the up and coming legend that is Parsley Xiao Long...I get that a lot.

Ash, nodding, silent for a moment as she stares at Tarra: Hmmm.......must be annoying as all fuck. Hey, we were wondering if you wanted to go to lunch with us after class though?

Tarra, again nearly stumbling out of her chair: Wh-What!? Really? But why me!? Why would you wanna-?!

Ash, waving a hand in Tarra's face, dismissing her protests: Yadda yadda yadda, we can all just sit together for class and then head out after! Sound good?

Tarra, her face burning red, dazed: I-

Ash, cheerfully: Perfect! It's a date!