#and every time i listen to an excerpt i go insane. i have so many thoughts about these people and their interpersonal relationships

[thevampirescene]

can i be insane on main for a second

[contemplatingoutlander]

The former Republican David French does a good job of explaining what keeps MAGA folks continuing to support Trump. It's all about the "culture" of MAGA and the sense of "belonging," combined with years of propaganda that have painted anyone even slightly on the left as being "bad" and "out to get" conservatives and their families.

And if we don't understand that, we won't know how to combat it. Here are some excerpts:

I live in Tennessee outside Nashville, a very deep-red part of America. According to a New York Times tool that calculates the political composition of a community, only 15 percent of my neighbors are Democrats. I’ve been living here in the heart of MAGA country since Donald Trump came down the escalator. This is the world of my friends, my neighbors and many members of my family. That is perhaps why, when I’m asked what things are like now, eight years into the Trump era, I have a ready answer: Everything is normal until, suddenly, it’s not. And unless we can understand what’s normal and what’s not, we can’t truly understand why Trumpism endures. [...] It’s no coincidence that one of the most enduring cultural symbols of Trump’s 2020 campaign was the boat parade. To form battle lines behind Trump, the one man they believe can save America from total destruction, thousands of supporters in several states got in their MasterCrafts and had giant open-air water parties. Or take the Trump rally, the signature event of this political era. If you follow the rallies via Twitter or mainstream newscasts, you see the anger, but you miss the fun. When I was writing for The Dispatch, one of the best pieces we published was a report by Andrew Egger in 2020 about the “Front Row Joes,” the Trump superfans who follow Trump from rally to rally the way some people used to follow the Grateful Dead. Egger described the Trump rally perfectly: “For enthusiasts, Trump rallies aren’t just a way to see a favorite politician up close. They are major life events: festive opportunities to get together with like-minded folks and just go crazy about America and all the winning the Trump administration’s doing.”

[See more below the cut]

[...] Why do none of your arguments against Trump penetrate this mind-set? The Trumpists have an easy answer: You’re horrible, and no one should listen to horrible people. Why were Trumpists so vulnerable to insane stolen-election theories? Because they know that you’re horrible and that horrible people are capable of anything, including stealing an election. At the same time, their own joy and camaraderie insulates them against external critiques that focus on their anger and cruelty. Such charges ring hollow to Trump supporters, who can see firsthand the internal friendliness and good cheer that they experience when they get together with one another. They don’t feel angry — at least not most of the time. They are good, likable people who’ve just been provoked by a distant and alien “left” that many of them have never meaningfully encountered firsthand. Indeed, while countless gallons of ink have been spilled analyzing the MAGA movement’s rage, far too little has been spilled discussing its joy. Once you understand both dynamics, however, so much about the present moment makes clearer sense, including the dynamics of the Republican primary. Ron DeSantis, for example, channels all the rage of Trumpism and none of the joy. With relentless, grim determination he fights the left with every tool of government at his disposal. But can he lead stadiums full of people in an awkward dance to “Y.MC.A.” by the Village People? Will he be the subject of countless over-the-top memes and posters celebrating him as some kind of godlike, muscular superhero? [...] Trump’s fans, by contrast, don’t understand the effects of [the MAGA] fury because they mainly experience the joy. For them, the MAGA community is kind and welcoming. For them, supporting Trump is fun. Moreover, the MAGA movement is heavily clustered in the South, and Southerners see themselves as the nicest people in America. It feels false to them to be called “mean” or “cruel.” Cruel? No chance. In their minds, they’re the same people they’ve always been — it’s just that they finally understand how bad you are. And by “you,” again, they often mean the caricatures of people they’ve never met. In fact, they often don’t even know about the excesses of the Trump movement. Many of them will never know that their progressive neighbors have faced threats and intimidation. And even when they do see the movement at its worst, they can’t quite believe it. So Jan. 6 was a false flag. Or it was a “fedsurrection.” It couldn’t have really been a violent attempt to overthrow the elected government, because they know these people, or people like them, and they’re mostly good folks. It had to be a mistake, or an exaggeration, or a trick or a few bad apples. The real crime was the stolen election. It’s the combination of anger and joy that makes the MAGA enthusiasm so hard to break but also limits its breadth.  [...] The battle and the booze cruise both give MAGA devotees a sense of belonging. They see a country that’s changing around them and they are uncertain about their place in it. But they know they have a place at a Trump rally, surrounded by others — overwhelmingly white, many evangelical — who feel the same way they do. [...] During the Trump years, I’ve received countless email messages from distraught readers that echo a similar theme: My father (or mother or uncle or cousin) is lost to MAGA. They can seem normal, but they’re not, at least not any longer. It’s hard for me to know what to say in response, but one thing is clear: You can’t replace something with nothing. And until we fully understand what that “something” is — and that it includes not only passionate anger but also very real joy and a deep sense of belonging — then our efforts to persuade are doomed to fail.

[brainrotarchive]

‘cause reading is what? fundamental! (15/30)

I’m at the halfway point of my 2024 reading goal so here’s the unserious book review nobody asked for! I’m so proud that I read that many books already despite the all consuming urge to read fanfiction every single day.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde: 4/5 ✨

objectively an amazing read I just went through a rough time and didn’t enjoy it the way I could’ve?

The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman: 4/5 🦇

kind of the same problem here but I also didn’t fully get it. I still had a really good time while reading and some scenes seriously shocked me. like sir, this is a children’s book. I was scared.

The Big Reveal by Sasha Velour: 5/5 💅

This was artistry at an insane level and it came to me at exactly the right time. A wonderful read and also beautiful to look at. I got to see the live show as well and it was everything I could’ve wished for and more. knowing this book has changed me. no notes, go read it!

Coraline by Neil Gaiman: 5/5 🪡

do i have to tell anyone that neil ATE with that one? my only issue is that I got really sad because I never read it when I was a kid. groundbreaking, stunning.

Narayama by Shichiro Fukazawa: 3.5/5 ⛰️

very short read and very different to what I’m usually into but I still enjoyed it. interesting read for sure but it didn’t have an impact like some of the others.

If Cats Disappeared From The World by Genki Kawamura: 3.5/5 🐱

It was all in all a fun read, a bit funny a bit sad but sometimes a bit cringey. Don’t want to imagine a world without cats.

Die Physiker by Friedrich Dürrenmatt: 5/5 👨‍🔬

reread this because I love it. the superior german classic, funny, murderous, critical. the best book I was forced to read in highschool.

How Much Land Does A Man Need by Leo Tolstoy: 4/5 💸

interesting, short, anti-capitalist - slay.

This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mothar & Max Gladstone: 4/5 ⏰

lesbians in time and space? I live. I will probably read it a second time instead of listen to it as an audio book and savour it more. It’s beautifully written.

The Fall of Icarus by Ovid

impossible to give a star rating for me. It was a nice excerpt from the metamorphoses and a nice literary translation.

Sister Outsider by Audre Lorde: 5/5 🔥

I’m obsessed with this book, I think about her words all the time and can’t stop talking about it. My most stimulating feminist read in a long long time, maybe forever. I will write an essay about this and I’d slither over just to watch this book eat cake.

Lessons by Ian McEwan: 3.5/5 🎹

I finished it today and I was trying to get through it since march. my rating might change but it didn’t have to be that long. Ian McEwan is my nemesis ever since I read nutshell. his style is good and i can’t deny that but his mind is twisted. I found some of the themes in the book fascinating but overall I think a book about a man’s life will just never actually speak to me personally. I’m very conflicted because despite all that it did trigger some thinking and during some scenes I was invested.

Rubinrot/Saphirblau/Smaragdgrün by Kerstin Gier: 💎

no star rating because I will never be able to look past the obsessive love I felt for this book series when I was 10 years old. kerstin but crack for my brain in between these pages. Revisiting the story brought me so much joy and I was mothering my inner child. sadness is temporary, enemies to lovers time travel romance is forever. go read your childhood favourites, it’s so much fun!

feel free to recommend books for the second half of the year and fight me if you want.

[agustdiv1ne]

i want to get into writing but have a hard time feeling inspired. i have so many good ideas in theory but have such a hard time finding the write words to use.

i guess what i am asking is how do you create the atmosphere of your fics. every time i read one of your stories i am completely immersed and am left wanting more. what inspires you to keep going?

omg hello!! first off, thank you! <3 idk if i'm the most qualified person to answer this question, but i will try my best to :') (everything under the cut bc this got a little long)

please remember that these are the things that work for me. the writing process itself is super holistic, so what works for me may not work for you,, let's get into it !

personally, writing involves a lot of trial and error. trying stuff out, seeing what resonates with me, implementing those elements into my writing...rinse and repeat, basically. sometimes, finding the words i want to use is hard; i've been stuck in ruts where i'm only able to jot down a phrase or two. at the same time, that's something to be proud of because hey, you created something! creating anything in the first place is big!! having ideas is big!!! it's good to have some grace for yourself as you write. roadblocks may arise, but try not to get discouraged by them. they're very real and normal

outlining an idea is a great way to get started. there's no pressure to write anything outstanding, so this generally helps me just get everything i want to write down on a page. from there, i may flesh out more parts of the story that i'm excited about. the "right" words don't need to come out at this time. for example, here's an excerpt of my outline for ticket to nowhere:

as you can see, it's extremely far from perfect (it's...really bad, actually), but it was a good start! my outlines are always informal as that is what flows the easiest

talking to someone about my ideas also helps get me motivated to write them. my dms are always open to anyone who would find that helpful!

as i write, i often search around for words that may lend itself well to the Vibes™. onelook thesaurus is great. it can help you find words that relate to others, as well as words that are on the tip of your tongue but can't seem to remember. a general thesaurus has also helped me out a bunch because i like using fancy words for absolutely no reason

in all honesty, the atmospheres of my fics often stem from my media consumption...music is a huge source of inspiration for me, as are books, tv shows, and movies. i often find that books help me try out new writing styles and play around with my voice. for example, after i read bunny by mona awad (insane book btw, totally recommend), i tried including a lot of imagery in ticket to nowhere !! in terms of music, i like to make playlists and listen to it while i write ^^ it helps me get into the zone for sure

the fact that i get to share my ideas and not keep them locked away in the dark basement of my google drive is probably my biggest motivator!! i'm creating things!!! i get to share them!!!! art is wonderful!!!!! it doesn't matter if it's a short drabble or a 100k word multi-chapter fic, every piece of writing that you create is something to be proud of :) it's also important to note that i have taken longgg breaks from writing throughout my time on this blog (like. upwards of six months at a time throughout 2021-22), so stepping away from an idea, even if it is for a few minutes, a few hours, a few months, etc., may help in regrouping and finding inspiration again !!

i think this is kind of a mess, but i hope it helps,,, i'm always here if you need any advice ^^

[shesey]

Excerpts from The Summer Without Men by Siri Hustvedt

What IS does not HAVE TO BE

I had to get out of the apartment because being there hurt. The rooms and furniture, the sounds from the street, the light that shone into my study, the toothbrushes in the small rack, the bedroom closet with its missing knob-- each had becomes like a bone that ached, a joint or rib or vertebrae in an articulated anatomy of shared memory, and each familiar thing, leaden with the accumulated meanings of time, seemed to weigh in my own bod, and I found I could not bear them.

Some people just take the room they need, elbowing out intruders to take possession of a space.

Loss A known absence If you did not know it, It would be nothing, which it is, of course a nothing of another kind, as acutely felt as a blister, but a tumult, too, in the region of the heart and lungs, an emptiness with a name: You.

Insanity is a state of profound self-absorption. An extreme effort is required just to keep track of one's self, and the turn toward wellness happens the moment a bit of the world is allowed back in, when a person or thing passes through the gate.

But it was my mother herself who I had come home to. There is no living without a ground, without a sense of space that is not only external but internal -- mental loci. For me, madness had been suspension. When Boris abruptly took his body and his voice away, I began to float. Blowing up is not the same as breaking down, and as we've said before, even breaking down can have its purpose, its meanings. You held yourself together for a long time, but tolerating cracks is part of being well and alive.

We find ourselves in the faces of others, and so for a time every mirror reflected a foreigner, a despised outsider unworthy of being alive.

Indifference was the cure, but I couldn't find it in myself. The actual cure was escape. It is impossible to divine a story while you are living it; it is shsapeless; an inchoate procession of words and things, and let us be frank: We never recover what was. Most of it vanishes.

Nothing is repeated exactly, even words, because something has changed in the speaker and in the listener, because once said and then said again and again, the repetition itself alters the words.

Then I said that sometimes a small thing, even a bit of debris, can come to signify a whole world of feeling.

Had I been clinging to an idea of wretchedness while I was secretly enjoying myself?

You think if your anger had power, paternal power, you could shape things in your life more to your liking.

Is it perhaps that you felt your father's emotions had power in the family, power over your mother, your sister, and you, and you were always stepping around his feelings, trying not to upset him. And you've felt the same thing in your marriage, perhaps you've reproduced the same story, and all the while you've gotten angrier and angrier?

I never thought it was right to turn people into paragons of virtue after their deaths either.

Rejection accumulates.

After all, dear reader, I ask you how many men have thanked their wives for this or that service.

Widowers marry again because it makes their lives easier. Widows often don't, because it makes their lives harder.

Hypersensitivity to the atmospheric nuances around the table.

Perception is never passive. We are not only receivers of the world; we also actively produce it.

Shorn of intimacy and seen from a considerable distance, we are all comic characters, farcical buffoons who bumble through our lives, making fine messes as we go, but when you get close, the ridiculous quickly fades into the sordid or the tragic or the merely sad... the merely sad business about me was that I wanted to be admired.

I wondered why I wanted him myself. Had Boris left me after two years or even ten, the damage would have been considerably less. Thirty years is a long time, and a marriage acquires an ingrown, almost incestuous quality, with complex rhythms of feeling, dialogue, and associations. We had come to the point where listening to a story or anecdote at a dinner party would simultaneously prompt the same thought in our two heads, and it was simply a matter of which one of us would articulate it aloud.

I will write myself elsewhere, I thought, reinvent the story in a new light. I am better off without him. Did he ever do a domestic chore in his life besides the dishes? Did he or did he not tune you out regularly as if you were a radio? Did he not interrupt you in mid-sentence countless times as if you were an airy nothing, a Ms. Nobody, a Missing Person at the table? Are you not "still beautiful" in the words of your mother? Are you not still capable of great things?

She was right. We cannot wish our worlds into being. Much depends on chance, on what we can't control, on others.

I meditated for a moment on the imaginary and the real, on wish fulfillment, on fantasy, on stories we tell ourselves about ourselves. The fictive is an enormous territory, it turns out, its boundaries vague, and there is little certainty about where it beings and ends. We chart delusions through collective agreement. The man who believes he's emitting toxic rays while nobody around him seems to be the least bit affected can be safely said to be suffering from one pathology or another and put away in a locked ward. But let us say that same man's fantasy is so vivid, it affects his neighbor, who then begins to suffer from headaches and vomiting spells, and a contagious hysteria ensues, and the whole town retching -- isn't there some AMBIGUITY here? The vomit is real.

There are times when the fragility of all living things is so apparent that one begins to wait for a shock, a fall, or a break at any moment.

There is no future without a past because what is to be cannot be imagined except as a form of repetition. I had begun to expect calamities.

Yes, it would have been nice if he had been a little different, but he wasn't, and there were so many good days along with the bad days and sometimes the very thing I wanted to change about him one day was the thing that made another thing possible another day that was good, mot bad, if you see what I mean.

It is wrong that it has become prevalent through custom that these changes are called growth and diminution. It would be appropriate that they should instead be called creation and destruction, because they oust a thing from its established character into a different one, whereas growth and diminution happen to a body that underlies the change and remains throughout it.

When I was mad, was I myself or not myself? When does one person become another?

Not telling is as interesting as telling, I have found. Why speech, that short verbal journey from inside to outside, can be so excruciating under certain circumstances is fascinating.

The lesson here is that extreme relaxation promotes pleasure and extreme relaxation is a state of nearly complete openness to whatever comes along. It is also thoughtlessness.

And who is to measure suffering? Which one of you will calculate the magnitude of pain to be found inside a human being at any given moment.

I thought of her mother; it is worse to have a cruel child than one whose vulnerability allows attack.

Having little to divert attention or diversify thought, they find themselves uneasy when they are apart, and therefore conclude that they shall be happy together.

This is not the voluntary blindness of new attraction; it is the blindness of an intimacy wrought from years of parallel living, both from its bruises and its balms.

Commentary: the instruments of darkness tell us truths. What are they? Boys will be boys: rambunctious, wild, kicking, hanging from the trees. But girls will be girls? Gentle, nurturing, sweet, passive, conniving, stealthy, mean?

If I were carrying my reproductive organs on the outside, I'd be pretty damned nervous about that delicate little package, too.

Maybe that was my problem. I read too much, and my brain exploded.

It is not that there is no difference between men and women; it is how much difference that difference makes, and how we choose to frame it. Every era has its science of difference and sameness, its biology, its ideology, and its ideological biology, which brings us, at last, back to the naughty girls, their escapades, and the instruments of darkness.

The entire letter turns on three sentences: It has been a black period for me. I even called bob. I have missed you.

If a man opens a novel, he likes to have a masculine name on the cover; it's reassuring somehow. You never know what might happen to that external genitalia if you immerse yourself in imaginary doings concocted by someone with the goods on the inside.

A book is a collaboration between the one who reads and what is read and, at its best, that coming together is a love story like any other.

Yes, we (women) certainly do not forget you so soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions.

For months, I had drowned in anger and grief, but over the summer my mind had unconsciously, incrementally begun to change. Dr. S had seen it. Reading Daisy's letter, I felt those subliminal, not yet articulated thoughts rise upward, form sentences, and lodge themselves securely somewhere between my temples: Some part of me had been getting used to the idea that Boris was gone forever. No one could have been more shocked than I by this revelation.

After all, we, none of us, can ever untangle the knot of fictions that make up that wobbly thing we call a self.

But there is nowhere for us to go, nowhere in the world because no one will have us as we are, and there is nothing to do except to embrace the secret pleasures of our subliminations, the arc of a sentence, the kiss of a rhyme...

A comedy depends on stopping the story at exactly the right moment.

[47crayons]

so, you want to write a musician?

about me: i play viola and have experience in symphony orchestras, string orchestras, string quartets (+ a few other small ensembles), and solo performances. i've done some light composition, and have friends/family who play other instruments. while my musical history is extensive, by no means do i know everything or speak for everyone.

this guide will focus on classical music/how to portray classical musicians and things that aren't as easily researched.

quick overview of instruments in a typical symphony orchestra

upper strings (violin, viola), lower strings (cello, (double) bass; i've seen viola included here too, but it's more commonly classified as upper strings)

strings also technically includes harp and piano

woodwinds (flute, oboe, clarinet, bassoon)

depending on instrumentation, they may also have piccolo, english horn, bass clarinet, contrabassoon

saxophones are not traditionally in symphony orchestras due to it being a relative newer instrument! but this is changing because more contemporary composes are including sax parts

brass (trumpet, trombone, bass trombone, tuba, euphonium)

percussion (depends heavily on instrumentation, but common instruments are bass drum, timpani, snare, crash cymbal, xylophone, marimba)

some things you should research

where the hands are supposed to go!! i'd recommend you look at pictures of professionals in orchestra settings (ny phil, cso, berlin phil are all top tier). some musicians *coughs at yoyo ma* have less than perfect posture when they're performing solos (for the same reasons famous authors can break "rules")

necessary equipment including reeds, rockstops, different kinds of sticks/mallets, rosin, mouth pieces for whatever instrument you're writing

common misconceptions

loose/photocopied sheet music is not aesthetic—it's annoying and impossible to keep organized. folders and binders are fairly common especially when managing multiple ensembles.

original copies are often expensive and required to perform a piece (legally) for profit or otherwise (though i know a few people who have bent this rule)

not all performers are good composers (i myself have very little formal music theory training), but many composers have performance histories.

not all musicians can sing.

perfect pitch is both a blessing and a curse. notes can be slightly lower/higher but in tune with the context of the piece, which drives people with perfect pitch insane.

having perfect pitch does not guarantee someone will be a prodigy, and people don't need perfect pitch to be a talented musician.

drama in ensembles does exist, but it rarely gets in the way of rehearsal. same thing goes for good friends: if your characters have even a shred of common sense, they aren't going to be talking/messing around during rehearsal.

instruments (especially good ones) are extremely expensive. people very rarely store instruments on the wall or other displays for fear of falling.

instruments are very picky and require tuning every time. every time! it doesn't take long anyway. temperature and humidity can and will make instruments go out of tune or damage your instrument if not properly stored.

some people listen exclusively to classical music, but in my experience, that's definitely not the majority

like with anything, most musicians struggle with self doubt at one point or another.

musician culture

getting excited when we hear a piece we recognize

getting frustrated because we can't remember the name of the piece (after all, no lyrics to search)

being horrified when a non-musician actor is playing a musician. yes, we notice. yes, it's obvious.

if people are joking, it's likely to be about: violas (a quick search for "viola jokes" will tell you all you need to know) or trumpets (a reputation for being overly loud, playing and not)

putting stickers (places they toured, their orchestra, or just purely decorative) on cases is common, but not for everyone. same goes for pictures (of family, past concerts, or anything) on the inside.

scrambling for a pencil when the conductor says to mark something. pencils are a musicians best friend :D

asking (and forgetting) how to split double stops/two parts at the same time. sometimes one stand partner will play the top while the other plays the bottom, and sometimes this is split stand by stand.

this has NEVER resulted in a sexual top/bottom joke. please just. don't. also no g string jokes. it's just unrealistic.

awaiting the obligatory "it's one week before our concert, and you sound like this?!" lecture

not talking about music 100% of the time!!! they have lives outside of music (most of them, at least /j). especially to close friends, music is probably not going to be a conversation topic unless something is out of the ordinary (high stress, something funny from rehearsal, etc.)

bragging/talking about how often they practice is generally not welcomed. great, but other people don't need to hear it!

stages are hot and bright. there's no way a performer can see someone in the audience with the possible exception of the first row.

practicing

three words for you: love. hate. relationship.

slow practice (like really slow lots of people recommend half speed; good for focusing on the right notes, tone, phrasing, smooth transitions)

metronome practice (while playing, it's not annoying at all! it's helpful and requires a lot of focus; when NOT playing, it's annoying and loud because it needs to be heard over the playing)

drone practice (having a machine/website/another person play one note in the background; good for tuning and scales)

and too many more for me to detail

auditions

ensembles may have entrance auditions to determine who gets in and seating auditions to determine placement within the section.

adrenaline does not make us play better; it just makes us make mistakes. and then thinking about those mistakes causes more mistakes.

some instruments, especially those with less repertoire, have common excerpts that come up frequently (i can think of one in particular that i've played for three separate auditions this year).

stopping/starting over is not recommended ever, but if you do, it has to be 10x better. most audition judges aren't looking for perfection!! they want to see how your character can keep going after messing up.

sight reading (being given new music, having ~30 seconds to look at it, being asked to play) is never perfect. i don't care how talented your character is; if they think they nailed it, they aren't experienced enough to see all the phrasing/dynamics that they didn't incorporate. no one gets sight reading perfect!!!

perhaps most importantly, musicians are not all the same! they enjoy it for a number of different reasons and have diverse and interesting lives outside of music!!! more information about specific instrument groups under the cut :)

strings

callouses. with the exception of pianists, most string players (and especially professional ones) have callouses where they press down/pluck the strings. i also have one on my right thumb where i hold my bow. cellists and bassists might have them on their left thumb from playing higher notes in thumb position.

hickeys are also fairly common, though only some people get them. upper strings will get these by under their left jaw. cellists may have one from the wooden body resting on their sternum. some people (including hilary hahn and many many others) use a cloth for comfort and to prevent hickeys.

few people want a hickey, but it might suit a character who is constantly trying to prove themselves.

our fingers do not "glide" anywhere. you can get cuts/"string-burns" from pressing down too hard when shifting. cuts like those are the only reason someone's fingers will bleed, and it's rarer than you think.

upper strings are more prone to back/neck problems from the way they hold their instruments on one side. see also: shoulder pain.

finger cramps happen. they aren't too common, but most if not all strings have experienced at least one.

pianos require tuning every few years or else the chords will be out of tune. few pianists can tune their own instrument because of how complicated it is.

piano parts/accompaniments will have so. many. pages. a page turner may sit on the right of the pianist to turn the page.

woodwinds & brass

spit. so much spit. some instruments clean afterwards with a cloth; others have a spit valve which is as gross as it sounds.

proper embouchure, or how a musician uses the muscles in their face/lips, is tiring, and people actually get strong cheek muscles. they can also easily turn red, but it varies based on a person's facial complexion. see also: good lung capacity.

flute and piccolo are not dainty. piccolo requires as much air as a tuba. an old teacher of mine almost passed out playing piccolo when she was in college.

flutes and piccolos are high, but often not shrill depending on the level of the ensemble.

reeds last a few weeks (less if your character plays for hours a day) and can be expensive to buy.

keys and valves can get sticky especially on older instruments which can result in the wrong note or bad tone.

saxes, clarinets, flutes are more likely to "honk" on low notes.

oboes are more likely to feel "wispy" on high notes.

articulation comes from the tongue, especially for brass instruments, and conductors may ask for "tah" "pah" or "wah" sounds depending on the style of the piece.

percussion

callouses from the friction between hands and sticks/mallets.

there are so many types of sticks and mallets!!! make sure to take a look at what materials are good for what instruments/sounds.

cymbals, triangle, and bass drum are not easy to play, even though they look simple.

percussionists with the exception of timpani may play more than one instrument during a piece, and they're constantly moving around in the back during their rests.

percussion instruments are too expensive for most people to have everything they ever play. practice pads are very common in place of these instruments.

ability to play one instrument doesn't translate to different instruments. for example, many percussionists don't have experience playing set/drum set.

some of the things detailed here are heavily glossed over, so if you have any questions, i'd always be happy to talk about it with you; i may not have answers, but i will try to help as best i can!!!

since you read this far, have my favorite viola joke.

what's the difference between a violist and a large pizza?

a large pizza can feed a family of four :)

tagging some people who showed interest: @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @kg-willie @owilder

[bomberqueen17]

yes a chapter update

i haven’t discussed on here that i’ve been at my office job this week but i have been doing manual labor there, which just seems unfair. i’ve taken an off-white hallway and painted it white, which sounds really deadly dull and in fact is, and unrewarding, and it needs a third fucking coat of paint which is just incredible to me but. anyway. i’m emotionally and spiritually and physically done with painting, but alas, i am not actually done with painting. boo.

despite that i have managed to... well i wrote other things this week, entirely, but this chapter as it happens was actually already done and just waiting for extremely minor revisions so i can actually post it.

It’s Fit For Pearls’s turn, and we’re on chapter ten, and finally we get the scene with Morvran and Luliana that I came up with ages ago and have probably excerpted on here a zillion times because I’m so fond of it.

Bonus: also Geralt realizes that Yen is going to want an accounting from him of what he got up to while amnesiac after all.

A minor conundrum-- I have some scenes written where Yennefer is in Vergen and I don’t know where to fit them in, they don’t fit here. Hmph! I have to think that over. It’s extra-confusing because the Vergen stuff is several weeks earlier and I haven’t reconciled the timelines.

Listen I’m having a hard summer, just like every summer I have, LOL. And the next couple of weeks will be, as usual, insane, but like, more so. And all the shit I’ve been writing lately hasn’t... been working out, so I don’t have next chapters lying in wait for any of my WIPS. So we’ll see, but barring a miracle I’ll be way off my schedule for at least the rest of the month. *deep weary sigh* I know I’ve been bad at answering comments too but please believe I read them voraciously, and if you’ve ever been on the fence about talking to me about things I write please feel free to come tell me things because I am having a hard time.

Anyway, this chapter we get a Geralt-and-Yennefer reunion-by-megascope.

By the time her eyes came back up to his face she had composed herself somewhat, and regarded him with a familiar sparkling archness that went right through to the middle of him. “Well, well,” she said, mouth curling in sly delight. “I am certainly going to make you a token to carry so that I know where you are in future, Geralt. I was very annoyed not to be able to ascertain your whereabouts, these last two months.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think it would be alarming, after everything we just made it through all right.”

“Mm,” she said. “Secondly. I am finding out a lot of fantastic things from these friends of yours. I expect we’ll have to have a… detailed conversation about that.”

Ciri laughed and squeezed his arm. “Ciri,” he said, not taking his eyes off Yennefer, “I might need you to give me a moment alone with Yen here.”

“No, no,” Yennefer said, “It’s going to have to wait, dearest. I have too many things to tell you, and I can’t do them at a distance like this.” She looked at Ciri, and laughed. “Don’t look like that, child.”

Ciri had her face scrunched up with distaste. “I’ll have to arrange a reunion for you two at some point,” she said, “just so I don’t have to watch this.”

[londonspirit]

After the pandemic delayed its highly-anticipated release, the In the Heights movie is finally coming to very thirsty fans this Friday - and, to make the premiere even better, a special behind-the-scenes look at the movie is hitting bookshelves. In the Heights: Finding Home is a joint venture with Lin-Manuel Miranda, screenwriter Quiara Alegría Hudes, and Jeremy McCarter - it combines never-before-seen photos and oral history style-storytelling to take readers onto the Washington Heights set, spilling all sorts of filming secrets. Here, in an exclusive excerpt, read along as the cast battles record heat to complete the "Carnaval del Barrio" number.

Washington Heights is dense enough, and lively enough, to offer a distilled version of the New York paradox: Life is a nerve-fraying ordeal that you miss terribly as soon as it's gone. (According to local custom, people don't just double-park here, they triple-park.) Everybody knew that shooting a movie there would be difficult and expensive. But Jon [M. Chu, the director,] couldn't imagine doing it any other way.

For all of its fantastical touches-what Jon calls its "sing-to-the-stars-y" energy-Heights has always drawn power from its realism, a depiction of life as it's actually lived. The sweet spot for the movie, Jon felt, would be offering "a very truthful take on living in Washington Heights, then upping it."

In other words: No matter how fraught the process might be, the cast, the crew, and all of their gear-up to and including their fake sun in the sky-were going to spend the summer of 2019 in Washington Heights.

"The essence of a movie dictates where you shoot it," explains Kevin McCormick, a Warner Bros. executive who was integral to Heights. "And there's no way you could not have made this in Washington Heights. To have a movie about this community and not film there would be such a lost opportunity."

The first thing they did there was listen. Members of the production team, particularly Samson Jacobson, the location manager (born and raised in the area-a definite plus), and Karla Sayles, the director of public affairs at Warner Bros., met with community leaders to field questions and respond to concerns. Once again, Luis Miranda was a vital resource, drawing on relationships he had built over decades to make introductions.

The producers vowed to do all they could to limit the physical footprint of the shoot. Cast members shared trailers that they might otherwise have kept to themselves. The production hired people from the neighborhood for roles onscreen and off. Instead of catering every meal, they encouraged actors and crew to buy lunch in area restaurants. They even funded a student production of the show at George Washington high school.

What you see onscreen is a two-hour-and-fourteen-minute record of movie professionals falling in love with a place and its people. They arrived uptown to discover that Washington Heights really was different from most places in New York. Locals opened the hydrants on hot afternoons and played dominoes on the sidewalks. The piragüeros really did park their carts on the sidewalk to hawk their flavors of the day. The fascination seemed to be mutual: Actors got used to seeing whole families-little kids and their abuelitas-watching from their stoops at any time of the day or night.

Which is not to say that it came easily.

To Alice Brooks, the director of photography, the weather problems were "insane." If a storm popped up on the radar anywhere nearby, they had to suspend production. This happened with schedule-wrecking regularity. They expected to be free of such interruptions when they went underground to shoot "Paciencia y Fe" on the subway. Instead, they experienced a torment familiar to every New Yorker but with a twist: They weren't waiting for the train to appear so they could ride it to work, they just needed the garbage train to pass by so they could go back to shooting their movie.

The need to solve the endless riddles of New York filmmaking had led the producers to add Anthony Bregman to the team. At this point, he reckons, he's filmed in just about every corner of his hometown, always looking for ways to capture the authentic look and feel of a place-even when the movie is surreal. (He produced Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a valuable point of reference for the reality-bending frame of Quiara's screenplay.) So he wasn't especially rattled when, on the night they filmed "Alabanza," a nearby building caught fire, or when, on another night, gunshots rang out nearby.

"You want the life of the city?" Anthony asks. "The life of the city is complicated."

The production lost valuable shooting time on both of those nights. They found ways to make it up later. But other days offered no second chances. Anthony remembers looking at the calendar before summer began, getting a feel for what lay ahead. Some days seemed manageable; some days seemed tough. Then there was "Carnaval del Barrio."

"That day," he says, "was impossible."

What turned out to be a defining episode in the whole long history of In the Heights almost didn't happen at all. Many a movie executive had suggested over the years that there wasn't enough plot in "Carnaval del Barrio" to justify a song that was very long and very crowded, which made it very expensive. But the song's power doesn't come from the plot, it comes from the theme. The characters rally one another's spirits amid a citywide blackout. They raise their flags and celebrate their heritage-and their humanity-in defiance of every force telling them not to.

That community-fortifying aspect of the song is "essentially the DNA of In the Heights for me," Quiara says. Beneath the joy, there's a legacy of struggle and resilience. " 'Carnaval' unearths that history. All we have is our fight to be here together, the testimony to our spirit."

To help ensure that the number would remain in the movie, she hooked it into the plot more securely, situating it as a farewell number for the salon ladies, who have been priced out of the neighborhood. But the budget wasn't the only limiting factor. "Carnaval" is unique in requiring virtually every member of the cast to be present at the same time.

The actors' complicated schedules meant that Jon wouldn't get all the filming days he wanted. He would get only one.

Which meant it was time for the hard, slow, unglamorous legwork of moviemaking: planning, organizing, rehearsing, designing, equipping, and rehearsing some more-months of it, all to give themselves the best possible chance to "make the day," to film the whole gigantic number in the time available.

In the world of making movies, "day" is a flexible unit of time, especially for a scene that would be filmed outdoors- in this case, a courtyard between two apartment buildings around the corner from where Lin went to preschool. They scheduled the shoot for a Monday, when union rules would let them start the earliest. And they picked June 24, one of the longest days of the year.

They didn't realize it would also be one of the hottest.

The song would be filmed more or less in order. Which meant that for the production, as for the characters, the salon ladies would lead the way.

Some of the movie's actors were new to musicals. Not Daphne Rubin-Vega, who plays Daniela. When Rent blew the mind of seventeen-year-old Lin-Manuel Miranda, she was onstage, playing Mimi. But when she arrived for hair and makeup on "Carnaval" day-at 4:30 in the morning-even she was feeling nerves. The uneven concrete floor of the courtyard wasn't like where they had rehearsed. The prospect of filming a seven-page song before nightfall seemed crazy.

She began to hear a voice of doubt in her brain, one that's encoded in a specific ugly memory. After wrapping her first film, she had gone to the airport to fly home to New York and mentioned to the woman at the ticket counter that she had just acted in a movie.

"That's funny," said the woman, who Daphne believes to have been Latina like herself. "You don't look like an actress."

Worries about how they looked, questions about what they were wearing, a general feeling of negativity-Dascha Polanco was feeling them, too. She always loved arriving on set to play Cuca, one of Daniela's fellow salon ladies, because it felt so much like coming home. She was born in the Dominican Republic and while growing up in Brooklyn used to make frequent trips to the Heights with her friends. ("Washington Heights is a small Dominican Republic," she explains.) Now she, too, wondered if she belonged. Am I capable of remembering the steps? she asked herself.

She decided to stop those doubts-for herself and the other salon ladies. She grabbed the hands of Daphne and Stephanie Beatriz, who played Carla, and formed the women into a profane prayer circle.

"Shake that s--- off," she told them. "I'm not going to let anyone or anything interfere with my performance today."

Daphne laughs as she tells the story. "She was so hilarious and said we were going to protect each other from that insecurity. That was such a beautiful thing-going in there with that determination to represent."

By 5:30 A.M., when the sun rose over Queens, sixty dancers had arrived. Christopher Scott, the film's choreographer, tried to prepare them for what was coming, backed by his full team of associate choreographers: Emilio Dosal, Ebony Williams, and Dana Wilson, as well as associate Latin choreographer Eddie Torres, Jr., and assistant Latin choreographer Princess Serrano. By six A.M., dozens of crew members had joined them, making the thousand careful adjustments needed to help a movie look spontaneous.

It was almost nine A.M. by the time Jon called "Action." The cameras started rolling, Daphne started singing, and the clock kept ticking.

Arrange the actors, position the cameras, do a take, reset everybody, do it again. As the sun climbed higher that morning, the temperature rose to what one crew member estimated to be nine hundred degrees. Look closely-see the sweat on people's bodies? Most of it didn't come from the makeup department. But there wasn't time for extra breaks to cool off.

"Please be quiet," a voice on the loudspeaker boomed at one point. "We gotta go."

At one point that morning, Jimmy Smits got his turn to shine. Playing Kevin Rosario wasn't his first Height experience. He had seen the show Off-Broadway and been "blown away" by it, he says. He had offered to help in any way he could, eventually recording a radio ad for the show.

His devotion to Heights carried into rehearsals for the film. As they got underway, he told Chris Scott and the choreography team, "I know I'm playing the dad, but the last thing I want to see is myself in the background, just waving my hands. I want to go all in." They obliged him. He sometimes hobbled home from the dance studio to ice himself for hours.

His payoff came on "Carnaval" day. He had a featured moment in the song: an intricate, whirling combination. The cast and crew watched him do it again and again, cheering him on. He could feel "a lightning bolt of energy" around the set, something he'd experienced only rarely in his long career.

Over the applause after one take, a voice rang out, ricocheting off the walls: "That s--- was crazy! For our ancestors!" It was Anthony Ramos. He, too, had a long history with Heights, but it wasn't as happy as Jimmy's.

Very early in his career, he had tried to get cast as Sonny on the show's national tour. It meant taking a bus into Manhattan from a gig he was doing in New Jersey, going through round after round of auditions. At last he made it to the big moment: a callback in front of Tommy Kail, Alex Lacamoire, and Lin himself.

He gave the song everything he had. He didn't get the part.

He thought he'd missed the one chance he would get to work with Lin, the writer who'd evoked Anthony's own world, Latino New York, so beautifully on a Broadway stage. He needn't have worried. A few years later, the same guys would hire him to originate the roles of John Laurens and Philip Hamilton, Alexander's son, in Hamilton.

When Anthony got to know Tommy and Lac well enough, he asked if they remembered not casting him as Sonny. They said they did.

"You weren't ready yet," Lac said.

Anthony knew he was right. "Only a homie would tell you that," he says.

But he needed one more break to make his way back to Heights and find himself sweating in the courtyard that morning.

In 2018, Stephanie Klemons, an original cast member of both In the Heights and Hamilton, directed a production of Heights at the Kennedy Center in Washington. The night before rehearsals were set to begin, she lost an actor to an injury. She reached out to Anthony: Could he step in with zero notice?

He didn't feel physically or mentally ready, and was about to pass, but decided to do it. That's how he got a second chance to show Lin what he could do in Heights-not as Sonny this time, as Usnavi. In a series of tweets, reproduced on this page, Lin commemorated how overwhelmed he was watching Anthony step into the role he once played. He, Quiara, and Jon all agreed that when the cameras started rolling, Anthony should be their Usnavi.

The bond between Anthony and Lin added to the drama of filming "Carnaval." Lin played Piragua Guy, so he was in the courtyard, too-or, rather, directly above it, on a fire escape. It meant that the whole cast and crew had a clear view of the brief duet that he and Anthony sing in the middle of the number. To people who knew their history, the sight made time go all swirly. Anthony had originated the role of Lin's son in Hamilton, and now he was playing the role that Lin had originated, and somehow the two of them were singing a duet in Washington Heights.

A quirk of the production process made the moment even stranger and more potent. All day, the actors had been singing along to prerecorded versions of "Carnaval" piped over the loudspeakers. But somehow they hadn't gotten around to recording Anthony's side of his duet, so they had to fall back on the only other version on hand: the Broadway cast album. Which meant that Lin wasn't just singing with Anthony that day, he was harmonizing with himself at age twenty-eight, when every bit of what was happening around him would have seemed like a ludicrous dream. "It was like time travel," Lin says.

By three p.m., when everybody had returned from their lunch break-blood sugar bolstered by the ice cream truck that Stephanie Beatriz had hired-time was growing shorter, the day hotter. Now when choreographer Chris Scott talked to the dancers, many listened with hands on hips, hands on knees.

From his fire escape, Lin did his bit to keep up morale. He joined in the clapping that broke out between scenes; he made silly faces; he pulled up his shirt and did belly rolls. Guests watched from the edges of the shoot: Lin's dad and wife, Quiara's sister, Chris's mom, Anthony's sister and mom. Anna Wintour stopped by.

Jon is not the type to direct through a bullhorn, barking orders from the shade. When they'd filmed "96,000" earlier that month on a couple of unseasonably frigid days, he had jumped in the Highbridge Park pool with the cast.

On this day, he darted around the courtyard, giving notes to actors, framing shots, conferring with Alice. He is also not the type to speak in mystical terms, but when he thinks back on that day, he remembers "the sun shining down like a laser-it was like the sun was shining out of everybody."

By late afternoon, the boundary between the make-believe world of the movie and the real world of the shoot had all but melted away. They had reached the part of the song where Usnavi and Daniela try to call forth their neighbors' pride in where they come from. Anthony climbed onto a picnic table and faced the whole cast, rapping, "Can we sing so loud and raucous they can hear us across the bridge in East Secaucus?" Daphne stood near him, arms wide apart, raising them up, willing everybody to stand tall, to keep going.

Both of them were throwing all their skill and commitment into their performances, the stars of two of Broadway's epoch-making musicals doing what they had trained to do. But they also weren't acting.

"To raise the flag for your country, to dance and recognize that we're all here together, and belong here, we don't need to be forgiven for it, or ashamed for it," says Daphne of what she was feeling. "There's a pride in being here from Colombia, or Panama, the D.R., Puerto Rico, Cuba, wherever."

At eight o'clock, with the sun sinking toward New Jersey, the dancers were still dancing. Eleven hours had passed since Daphne had belted out "Hey!" to start the song. Now Jon was trying to get the right take of sixty-plus voices shouting "Hey!" to finish it. In the movie version of the scene, the blackout ends when the song does, so a voice on the loudspeaker would announce, "The power's on!" That's how the actors knew the right moment to cheer that it was over.

After one such cheer, it really was over. Not just the take-the song.

They had done it. They had made the day.

Jon jumped into a swarm of dancers. (Ever see a baseball player hit a walk-off home run, then leap onto home plate into the waiting arms of his cheering teammates? That's what this jump looked like.) People were clapping and shouting and hugging and crying. Alice thought the whole thing was a miracle.

"You know when you see people at a concert cry, and you're like, 'I would never do that'?" asks costume designer Mitchell Travers. "That's what I did." He thinks it's the most sheer human energy he has ever been close to.

Anthony Ramos, in the middle of the crowd, launched into a speech. He can't remember his exact words. He hadn't planned what he was going to say-he hadn't planned to speak at all. He just felt that something needed to be said.

"I might have said, today we made history," he recalls. "This was for our ancestors who didn't get the opportunity to do this-who were fighting to have a chance to do what we just did. It was for love of the culture. It was for our kids, who look like us, to be able to see themselves on the big screen, to see us singing about our pride. Some s--- like that."

Somewhere in the crowd stood Dascha Polanco, cheering with the rest. She was sweaty, tired, tear-streaked-and beginning to feel the spirit move.

"I looked down and saw that concrete floor," she says, "and I saw those fire escapes up there, and I was like, 'New York.' "

She began a chant. It was slow and pitched low: "N-e-e-e-e-w York, N-e-e-e-e-w York." In seconds, the whole crowd took it up. "N-e-e-e-e-w York! N-e-e-e-e-w York!"

They were pointing to the sky. They were dancing.

"N-e-e-e-e-w York! N-e-e-e-e-w York!"

"It wasn't like chanting, 'Oh, I love New York,' " Anthony says later-meaning it wasn't a casual thing someone would casually say. "It was"-he drops his voice an octave and leans in-"I motherf---ing love New York. I'm proud to be from New York. I'm proud to be Latino from New York. That was the chant."

Lin, on his fire escape, was overwhelmed. Quiara, in the courtyard, guessed that people could hear them all chanting for blocks around. "It was the sound of joy and survival," she says. "And the sound of people who were really proud to be artists in community together-all our stories braided and interwoven at that one moment."

The long months of preparation had yielded the thing that movie people dream of creating: the burst of real emotion, the flash of genuine spontaneity. Some of it infuses what you see in the finished version of the song, but some of it can't be recovered now. It's an experience only for the people who got to be part of that impromptu celebration, the carnaval that followed "Carnaval."

That long day and its joyous finale capture, in miniature form, a lot of the Heights experience-what's powerful about it, what's rare. Instead of expecting little from the actors it featured, Heights demanded everything-not just what they could do, but who they were and where they came from. By fusing them with dozens of other artists making the same commitment, it gave them the feeling that Lin had wanted so badly for himself when he started writing the show: a sense of belonging, of being part of a group of people working toward a goal they all hold dear. That's why Anthony, looking back on filming "Carnaval," says, "That was one of the greatest days of my life. Period. If I never do another movie again, I did this."

"Something that arises in 'Carnaval' is a feeling of, 'There's a place for us,' " says Quiara. "But the place is not one that says, 'Oh, I definitely fit in' or 'I definitely don't.' It holds those questions. It allows those questions to exist."

Those questions, she has come to see, are universal.

"People are like, 'What is my place in the world?' That question is actually part of your place in the world," she says. "There's something about In the Heights. It takes such a burden off to hear, 'Yeah, there's a place for you. Here it is.'"

[foulserpent]

ive been on about this before but ive been listening to horror narrations again recently and so im going to be on it again: it literally drives me INSANE how like online horror people are so averse to writing from the proper perspective

like so many stories include what are supposed to be like, excerpts from newspapers, but the writing of whats supposed to be an article is like “they said it had unnaturally long arms, with eyes that felt like the were staring into your very soul in a way that crushed every drop of hope out of you.” or like it will be supposd to be a transcript of someone talking in an interview or conversation, and the person talking will be speaking in purple prose like “i felt my soul slowly being crushed the longer i looked at it... its unnaturally wide smile and needle-like teeth were unlike any creature ive ever seen”. they dont write in the proper tone or in the way people actually talk, and the kicker is it would be a lot SCARIER with the more vague details or fragmented description youd get from actual conversation

or the story will set the stage that the narrator is frantically typing this out as some monster bangs on their door and they open the story with “i dont have much time left. itll get me soon. i wish it could have ended differently but all hope is lost for me. i can only just hope that my death will be quick and that ill be able to write this all in time, but by the way its banging on my door im not sure it will.” and then launches into a detailed prose-heavy story while still expecting you to believe that its being typed in a desperate rush

[lemonerix]

Anthem of the Heart and Mind

Day 2: Crush or Pining/ Soulmate AU

Word count: 4152

[Warning: slight cursing ahead]

Soulmates aren’t unheard of in our world, but are very rare. There are many ways that two destined souls find each other, some ways are unique and strange, while others are simple. You could have a red string tied to your finger that would lead you to your soulmate. You could have the first thing they say to you written on your wrist. Some people even have watches that countdown to the moment they meet their soulmate. But having a someone meant for you makes your life a bit harder. You would have a lot on your mind, you would constantly think about them, wonder what they are like and wonder if they would like the kind of person you are. That kinda sucks, but it would be worth it when you finally meet “the one”.

Finding your soulmate also requires time and chance. There are some who find their soulmate a little bit too late and end up living the rest of their life with regret. There are some who aren’t just that lucky and miss each other before they could even have the chance to meet. That’s what scares me. I worry that I might’ve missed the chance to meet “the one” for me, or that I’m too late to find them. I overthink too much, I know. It’s one of my annoying quirks that hopefully my soulmate would tolerate.

This leads us to why I’m talking about soulmates and destiny. A month ago, I began hearing a melody. It wasn’t too loud to be distracting, but it was loud enough for me to hear it like a song being played a few rooms away. The tune was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, it was melancholic and longing, yet loving and hopeful. At first, I thought that I was going insane, but after consulting my friends and discussing about it in internet forums, I concluded that this might be how I meet my soulmate. I followed an anonymous advice on the web and wrote down the melody I heard; it was probably the best advice I got. But there was one problem, the song wasn’t complete. The melody in my head played in an endless loop and I was itching to hear the end.

.

Students were already heading to their first periods when I arrived at school. I headed to my locker to get a few things that I needed for my class. Gilbert was waiting for me by my locker, he gave me a small wave as I approached him. “Dude, don’t you have class right now?” I asked him. “We don’t have Home Economics today, after the incident with Kirkland yesterday.” He told me.

In our school, the Seniors begin their classes an hour earlier before the lower grades. Gilbert was a year older than me (I was in Junior year), he became a close friend of mine when I joined the Classical Music club in our school in my 7th year. I raised an eyebrow as I closed my locker and asked, “What happened yesterday?” Gilbert hummed before answering me, “Remember the exchange student I told you about, like a month ago?” I nodded, motioning for him to continue, “Well, that guy is definitely not gifted with culinary skill. Can’t cook for shit and can burn water for some reason. This wasn’t the first time he set something on fire, but it was the first time he blew something up. I can’t believe that he wasn’t expelled for it!” my friend laughed. “That guy must be a riot, huh?” I chuckled, seeing Gilbert’s delight as he reminisced the events of yesterday, “Heh, not really. Oh yeah, remember the text I sent ya earlier? Mr. Edelstein is going to introduce us to a new club member.” He told me.

“Oh yeah, I remember that. It’s rare for him to handpick students to join the orchestra. That guy’s standards are super high.” I remarked, Gilbert nodded in response. A smirk formed in his face, “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, kid?” I blinked for a moment, trying to figure out why he asked me that question. I felt my blood run cold when I realized I was late for class, I swore and sped down the hallway.

“Language, and no running in the halls, Alfred!” Gilbert cackled behind me as I hurried to my first period.

.

The day was very exhausting, all I wanted to do was flop on my bed and play video games all weekend. Unfortunately, the Classical Music club just had to ruin my weekend plans. I entered the club room and greeted my club-mates. Gilbert waved at me and frantically pointed to the seat beside him. I only rolled my eyes as I walked towards my friend, I bumped his fist as a greeting before the two of us engaged in a conversation. “Who do you think the newbie is?” I asked him, he only shrugged. The room was noisy with the conversations of students, we talked and laughed and joked.

“I heard that the new member is a prodigy.” I overheard someone say, “It seems like Gilbert is going to have some competition.” Another giggled. If Gilbert heard this, he didn’t show it. I know how egotistical he is (very much like me) and how he is very protective of his pride. All my years in the Classical Music club, I learned that Gilbert was the only prodigy that Mr. Edelstein introduced since the formation of the club. He could play the flute like some kind of flute god. He’s so good with the instrument that sometimes I don’t even believe that he’s actually human, maybe that’s why I looked up to the guy.

The whole room hushed when Mr. Edelstein walked into the room. We all straightened in our seats and listened to what he had to say. The man cleared his throat, “I guess you all know why you are called so suddenly out of the blue. I’m here to introduce a new member of the club,” he turned and gestured at the open door, “come now, don’t be shy.” All our heads craned to the door, where a young man walked in carrying a violin case. Something inside of me shifted when I laid my eyes on him, I watched him as he walked across the room. His hair yellow like butter, his skin was pale like porcelain, and his doll-like features took me aback for some reason. But his eyes struck me the most, they were like glittering peridots as they swept through the crowd, momentarily landing on me before returning their gaze on the floor.

I looked over at Gilbert and saw that his jaw was slack, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I probably had the same expression on my face, but I was more enchanted than surprised.

“My name is Arthur Kirkland, I’m an exchange student from England. I hope we can all be friends.” He said formally. “Now that you have properly introduced yourself Arthur, why don’t you show us what you can do?” our teacher clasped his hands together and nodded at the boy. Arthur pulled out his violin, he tightened his bow and applied rosin on it before he began playing an excerpt of Vivaldi’s Winter. Everyone in the room were silenced in awe as we watched him play, his fingers moving gracefully on the instrument, hitting every note with perfection. But there was something else with him that I alone noticed. The little changes of expression on his face as he played, the way his body moved with the melody, and the way he played reminded me of something at the tip of my tongue. The song in my head gradually grew louder as I saw Arthur’s performance, but I paid no attention to it. All I saw was Arthur, and all I heard was the singing strings of his violin. I was ensnared by the music that I didn’t even notice that he was finished, no one made a sound as he bowed.

“HOLY SHIT, KIRKLAND?! YOU PLAY THE VIOLIN?!” Gilbert shot up beside me, grinning from ear to ear. Arthur’s face flushed, Mr. Edelstein glared at Gilbert and told him to sit down. Everyone in the room cheered and applauded for the new member, Mr. Edelstein roused everyone in the room and told us to sit in our respective groups. We were going to rehearse our newest piece; it was a piano concerto that Mozart composed, but I didn’t bother to remember the name of the piece. I was the only one who played the piano in the orchestra, so I had the most important role to play.

I made my way to the piano, humming a melody to myself. The room was filled with the sounds of instruments being tuned and students warming up. I cracked my knuckles and did some warm up exercises on the piano, making sure that I have my music sheet ready, and went over the measures that I needed to practice. In the middle of that cacophony of music, Mr. Edelstein hushed everyone in the room. I noticed that Arthur was standing by the chalkboard, observing the orchestra before him. Our maestro made us play the do-re-mi routine as warm up before we play the piece. He gave us the signal to stop, then he began to move his arms.

The winds and brass played the intro softly, gradually growing louder and faster. The strings followed, providing the counter melody of the winds and brass. When my part finally came up, I let the music lead me. My hands pressed the familiar keys as the tune I had practiced hundreds of times filled my ears. I couldn’t help but be seized by the music, a small grin tugged at my lips while the orchestra backed up my melody. I realized that we were almost at the end, so I had to look up at Mr. Edelstein to make sure I don’t miss the signal. I couldn’t help but steal a glance at the boy standing by the board. He regarded me with some kind of respect, before I returned my gaze at the conductor, narrowly missing the signal to stop. I accidentally hit a wrong key just as the song ended, and immediately everyone groaned at me. “Are you fucking kidding me, bro?” Gilbert raised his hands exasperatedly. “Mr. Beilschmidt! Another peep from you and I won’t hesitate to give you detention.” Mr. Edelstein warned the young man. I heard him stifle his laughter before clearing his throat and (not sincerely) apologizing to the older man. Our teacher only rolled his eyes and praised us for the job well done, and told us to practice over the weekend.

.

Mr. Edelstein made Gilbert stay behind and clean the room as punishment for his behavior earlier. I felt a little bad for him so I stayed behind and waited for him to finish cleaning.

“Sucks to be you, man.” I laughed, he glared at me and threw a broom at my general direction, making me laugh even more. “Mr. Edelstein is lucky that I like cleaning, but fuck him for ruining my plans for the weekend! Antonio and Francis probably hung out without me!” Gilbert groaned as he stacked the last of the chairs in the room and pushed them to the side. He then moved on to the music stands, folding them and placing them in their bags. “Does he even understand what we even go through? The stress we have to deal with? The deadlines we have to meet? Did he not go through high school himself?” He ranted. I was being a jerk by laughing, it wasn’t my fault that he sounds ridiculous while doing it. He glared at me and crossed his arms, “What’s so funny?” he asked irritated. I calmed myself down and told him that it was nothing. Gilbert only rolled his eyes and went back to his duty.

When he finally finished with cleaning up, I remembered something I meant to ask Gilbert earlier. “Oh yeah, I just remembered!” I rummaged through my bag and found the folder I was looking for. My friend’s eyebrow was arched as I showed him the composition I was working on, “What’s that?” he pointed at the folder. “Remember about the stuff I said about soulmates and junk last month? I decided to write it down, but I don’t know how it ends.” I showed him the contents of the folder. His ruby eyes skimmed through the pages, then he looked at me, “So you want me to finish it?”

“What? No! I just want some advice, dude. This is my soulmate we’re talking about. You can’t finish it for me.”

“Advice, huh?” Gilbert tapped his chin thoughtfully, “My advice is that you play it. Your soulmate might hear the song and the two of you could finally meet each other.”

I blinked, I never thought of actually playing it. Just more proof of how stupid I can be. “Oh my god, why haven’t I thought of that?” I grumbled to myself. Gilbert let out a boisterous laugh, “No need to thank me, Alfred, my boy. I am a genius, after all.” He ruffled my hair, making me grin. He can be an egotistical asshole sometimes, but Gilbert is like an older brother I’ve never had. Just another reason why I looked up to him.

I waved goodbye to Gilbert as we parted ways at the school gate, he waved to me before running to his two friends, planning to get into trouble once again. I headed the opposite direction, humming to myself. Dusk was near, the streetlights had already turned on and I couldn’t help but slow my pace and enjoy my walk home. The little town I was in wasn’t much, but it had so many things about it that made it charming, I realized that most of the time, I didn’t even appreciate its peaceful atmosphere.

Then something broke the quiet evening.

A singing violin echoed through the dusk, I stopped in my tracks and felt my heart leap inside my chest. I immediately whipped my head upwards as the familiar melody filled my ears. There, by a window on the third floor of the apartment, was Arthur. Playing his instrument with such grace, I felt compelled to go up the metal staircase on the side of the building to get closer to him. The music he played was almost like the melody in my head, but his song was brash and fast, it was an upbeat and wilder version of the melody I kept hearing. Then the music stopped, I saw him peering outside of the window and glance below. I panicked, if he sees me here, he’d think I’m a creep! I scrambled away from the building and down the street, hoping that he didn’t see me running away like a madman.

.

The year passed by so quickly, and before I knew it, classes were about to end. We were going to have a year-end recital, and a farewell party for our club seniors. The past several months, Arthur and I became acquaintances, then walk-home buddies, then friends (thanks to Gilbert). I also had a growing suspicion that there was a chance Arthur was my soulmate. Gilbert, my ever-loving friend, noticed that I was crushing hard on the Brit, and kept on finding ways to get me and Arthur together. At first, I tried to deny it, but in the end, I had no control over destiny. If he was meant to be with me, then he was. Not that I had any complaints. I also noticed that he had grew a liking to me, because he treated me a little bit differently than other people. In short, he’s just nicer to me. I also enjoyed the little things I noticed about him, and the small things that he would do for me. Fuck, I might be falling for him. Fuck that, I fell for him the moment he played in front of me.

“Alright! We’re going to wrap up the show with…Arthur and Alfred’s duet!” Mr. Edelstein shouted in the noisy backstage, he pointed to the two of us and gestured at us to get ready. I fixed my hair and straightened my bow tie, “Hey Artie, we’re up next!” I reminded him. “I know that, and stop calling me Artie!” he yelled at me, then he muttered something about the noisy room while he was trying to tune his violin. “Al, Arthur, side of the stage, right now!” I heard Gilbert shout over the noise. I walked towards the Brit and told him that we were up. He sighed and reluctantly followed me to the side of the stage.

We made it just in time as the school’s Glee club finished their song, the choir bowed and exited through the other side of the stage. “Hey, your bow’s a bit crooked.” Arthur said as he straightened my bow tie for me. I thanked him, he replied with a soft smile before we were pushed up the stage to perform. The audience clapped as we made our entrance and bowed. I sat by the piano, hands hovering slightly over the keys and Arthur stood beside me, already poised to play. The whole auditorium fell silent, I breathed in and out lightly, clearing my head from distractions. Then, I began to play.

Arthur soon followed, and the music from the two instruments joined to form a beautiful song that echoed throughout the building. It was perfect, it sounded like the two instruments were made for each other. The violin leads the piano’s melody, while the piano guided the violin’s rhythm and tempo. I let the music flood my senses, my hands were flying over the keys, like how Arthur’s fingers flew on the strings. We locked eyes and gave each other a knowing smile as we did the finale of the song.

The auditorium exploded with claps and cheers as we bowed once again and got off the stage. We were jumping like little kids on Halloween when we were off, “Holy shit dude, you were amazing out there!” I grinned at him. Arthur laughed, “No, the whole performance was brilliant because of you!” he and I continued to gush and praise each other for a job well done when someone interrupted us, “Alright, sorry for interrupting you two lovebirds, head over to the other side of the stage. We’re gonna do the closing remarks.” Gilbert told us nonchalantly and left without another word. I felt my ears grow warm when he called us “lovebirds”, he can be a good friend sometimes, but he’s a total jerk at the moment. Arthur cleared his throat, “We should go.” He said, I nodded in agreement and the two of us went through the backstage.  

We did the closing remarks, everyone who performed got to bow on the stage as pictures were taken and farewells were said as the night grew deeper. Mr. Edelstein told us to stay behind for a little while, because the farewell party was about to begin. Most of the younger students and a few older students left early, because they didn’t want their parents to worry or were too tired to party. I decided to stay behind, because I wanted to see Gilbert and Arthur off before they leave high school. I was gonna miss Gilbert big time, he was like some kind of parent-figure I had in school, and he taught me more than I could ever let on.

The farewell party was to be held in the auditorium, a few rows of the plastic chairs were moved to the side to make room for the dance floor and for the snack table. The seniors have already begun to make the most of the night. Several of them were dancing to the music roaring from the speakers, a few were standing on the side chatting with each other, while others were just enjoying the music, snacks and punch. I decided that I won’t dance that night, because I had one final thing to do before the seniors leave. I made my way back to the stage, where the piano was still set up. Arthur must’ve saw me walk to the stage, because when I got there, he was right behind me. “Hey, why aren’t you over there dancing on the dance floor?” He asked. “I’m a little worn out to dance tonight. Besides, I was just grabbing something from the backstage.” I told him. He asked me if he could come with and I just nodded, I wanted for him to come with me after all.

After I spotted my bag, I took out the folder containing the unfinished composition. “What’s that?” Arthur asked me, “It’s something I’ve been working on. It’s not finished yet, but I want you to listen to it and give me advice on how I should finish it.” He took the folder from my hand and studied the notes carefully. His eyes widened momentarily before he asked me to play it.

We went to the stage where the piano was at, I sat on the seat and placed the notes on the piano. Arthur watched me carefully, as if he was expecting something brilliant to happen. My heart was now racing, it was now or never. I played the first measure slowly, then gradually went faster as I progressed. The melody was no longer looping in my head, but was surrounding me. I could feel it touch my skin, I could almost taste the sweetness and bitterness the music had. It was just a sensation too ineffable to describe. Then, I stopped. That was where the song ended abruptly. I turned to Arthur to ask what he thought about the song, only to find him with tears brimming in his eyes. I opened my mouth to say something before he grabbed my arm and pulled me backstage.

He engulfed me in a hug as he sobbed into my shoulder. I was shocked and confused, I stood still as he continued to cry. “It’s you. I’ve finally found you.” He said, his voice breaking a little bit. “Arthur…what are you—?”

“You are the song in my heart. The one I’ve been looking for since I’ve learned to play music. Your song clouded my heart every single day. I’ve spent so long searching, and now I’ve finally found you.” He laughed, tears still streaming down his cheeks. I began to finally piece together the events that happened so quickly, everything finally became clear, all of my doubts and suspicions were finally silenced. Arthur is my soulmate. He is the melody in my mind. The song that kept repeating over and over, finally had an ending to complete it. I did not notice the joyful tears in my eyes as I hugged him back. We both laughed and cried like madmen as we were wrapped in each other’s arms. We finally calmed down from the joy and ecstasy we felt, he had lowered his arms to my side as I wiped away his tears with my thumb. Our foreheads rested against each other, noses almost touching and I could feel his heart beating against my chest. I wanted to make the first move and kiss him, but I guess Arthur had the same idea. His lips captured mine and pulled me towards him, I pressed him against the wall where he began to grind his hips against mine. We were so caught up in the moment that we did not notice someone enter the backstage.

“What the—? Oh, god. I’m so sorry for interrupting.” Mr. Edelstein apologized and briskly walked out of the room. Immediately, both of us flung each other away like two magnets with the same pole. I heard running footsteps and Gilbert sprinted to see what was going on, “Holy shit, what the hell were the two of you doing back here? Mr. Edelstein just walked out of the building, red as a cherry!” Gilbert, the jerk he is, wiggled his eyebrow. I groaned as other students came to see what happened. I glanced at Arthur, who I caught was staring at me. His lips were swollen, his suit disheveled and his face the color of strawberries, he looked godly. Arthur let out a small giggle, then it turned to laughter. I couldn’t help but smile and laugh with him. Gilbert and the other students stared at us in confusion, like they missed some kind of inside joke.

I didn’t care, tonight was the night that changed my life forever, and nothing’s going to ruin it for me.

***

I was inspired by some stuff that happened to me in my junior high, I’m part of a school band (it’s not really classical, we focus on traditional instruments most of the time. Our school’s marching band is something else entirely.) and it’s really something that I’ve always wanted to write about. Anyway, sorry for feeding ya’ll this useless info about me. I hope you enjoyed the story!

[snippydippy]

Whoops cringe culture is dead and I wrote a Hazbin fan-fic excerpt.

I mean, technically I wrote it back in November, but whatever. Am I embarrassing myself? Probably. Do I care? Marginally. Will I get over it if I just drink? Absolutely. Like what you like, cringe culture is dumb.

Description of hotel layout might be inaccurate, I hadn’t actually looked at the correct layouts for the place until after (thanks VRchat). Oh well. Also a little long for an excerpt but oh well!

———-

Leanne had died recently. Just about a year ago on the day if her tracking of time could be trusted. It was nearly impossible to tell how many hours, days, or weeks had gone by down in Hell. There was no day or night. Just the perpetual, sinister red glow of the pentagram symbol carved into the rock sky that encased every sinner inside this final destination.

Her tracking of time was rough, but she did suspect a year. A year of unending misery, anger, and confusion.

Leanne didn’t understand why she was dammed here. She died young, barely 21, due to circumstances she herself wasn’t ready to face quite yet. Thinking about it made things worse. Her death was an accident, and that’s all she felt comfortable telling others and herself.

She had truly believed herself a good person in life. Sure, she swore like a sailor, and perhaps told a few small lies in her years, but who hadn’t? She had never done anything with the intention of hurting anyone. Never done anything heinous enough to deserve...This. Sharing an afterlife with ruthless thieves, pedophiles, and murderers.

She often tried to cope by telling herself that the criteria for heaven was just impossibly strict. No one got in up there. One must have had to be a perfect cherub who never left their home from birth to make it on that list. Surely. Obviously. There was no other explanation.

Leanne heard about the Happy Hotel on the news like everyone else. She had been sitting at a bar with a mysterious substance in her glass for two hours, not taking a single sip. She would never choose to drink whatever liquid it was they poured into these mugs. She simply didn’t have anywhere else to go that felt any safer. A bar was neutral ground for demons and sinners. No turf wars happened here. You couldn’t die in hell, but you sure could feel everything, so she had been careful to avoid fights.

The idea of the hotel seemed ridiculous, an idea reaffirmed by the laughter that filled the building after the Princess of Hell, Charlie, had given her foolishly passionate speech. A place sinners could go to better themselves? A second chance at redemption? Yeah, right. No one got second chances down here. Your one and only chance was the life you lived. How ridiculous. How absolutely insane. Impossible! Leanne thought all of these things as she hurriedly paid for her drink with the pocket change she had, gathered her tattered coat, and headed for the door.

It could never work. You didn’t leave hell once you got here. There was no way. But...maybe. Just maybe. Leanne didn’t belong here anyway, right? So going through this “program” at the Happy Hotel could actually (but probably not) make things right. She could explain to her majesty that there had simply been a mistake anyway, so staying at the hotel would just be a formality until it was all resolved. That’s exactly what would happen once she arrived. It would have to.

———

Leanne’s doubt only grew the closer she got to the hotel itself. On her way, she had passed by a group of Demons huddled by a radio, listening as closely as they could to the static ridden channel. It seemed the Princess had more to deal with than folks around here laughing at her ideals. She had gotten into a fight with Katie Killjoy, the news anchor on the station. It had started with what sounded like more laughter at her idea, then yelling, then what could only be the sounds of a smack-down.

Leanne drew in a deep breath, let it out with a grimace, and kept walking. It would probably take her a while still to reach the building. Two days, maybe more, but it’s not like she had anywhere else to be.

———————-

When she arrived at the towering building, she was both surprised at its sheer size and confused with the sign alight on top. The bright bulbs held up by wooden frames read “Hazbin Hotel”. Leanne could’ve sworn Princess Charlie had said it was called the Happy Hotel.

She glanced in all directions to see if she had missed anything. Though, based on the fact that this was the only building standing for miles of this size, and the only hotel she knew of that existed in Hell in general, she had to assume she had the right place.

Once she walked up to the front doors, Leanne’s hesitations nearly took over her. Behind those doors, decorated with stained-glass images of apples, was either the solution to all her woes, or the confirmation that she had, in fact, been sent to the right place. And that there was nothing anyone could do about it. Proof that she belonged in Hell.

She touched the golden handle with a hand that had once been human. She closed her eyes, hating being reminded of what her body was now. Her once delicate hands with smooth, human skin had turned into a dark blue, scaled and clawed nightmare. Spreading across her temples now were the same colored scales, and right above her ears now sat a pair of wicked, black spiraled horns. Her nose that she had hated so much in life now looked more akin to a bear’s. Her skin that had once been a healthy tan, now a dull grey, lifeless in hue. A long and thick lizard like tail nervously swished behind her. Even though Leanne was a beast, she supposed she had been more fortunate than others. Most of the dead down here you’d hardly recognize as anything that had ever been human. At least Leanne got to keep her basic human shape.

Enough thinking. Leanne pushed open the door and was met by the smell of an old floral perfume and the sound of a charming tune playing on a piano somewhere deep within. She had stepped inside and waited to hear the door click behind her before opening her eyes once more.

Once she did, Leanne was amazed, frozen in shock for a moment. The place was impossibly clean, practically immaculate. Not a single spec of dust, cobweb, or splatter of blood in sight. The long hallway in front of her seemed to stretch on for half a mile, painted comforting shades of deep red with gold trimming. It was far too nice to be a place in Hell. Leanne even noticed how the temperature was the most comfortable she had felt since she died. Warm enough that she could take her coat off, but cool enough that she wouldn’t sweat with it on.

Dozens of portraits of Princess Charlie, her family, and their associates covered the halls. Leanne stepped over to a painting of who she assumed was Charlie’s father. The name etched into the wood frame at the bottom read “Lucifer~1789”. He looked friendly enough for the ruler of hell. Very pale skin, deceptively rosey cheeks complimenting a charming smile, well coiffed blonde hair, and deep black eyes. He looked so much like the images Leanne had seen of Charlie.

She moved on from the picture, searching for any kind of check-in desk, not quite brave enough to call out for assistance. The first opening to her left thankfully read “Concierge” above the open door frame.

Inside the room were a few old, but comfortable looking chairs that sat empty strewn about, a fire place to the left radiating a calming glow, and at the far end of the room was the concierge desk. Three deer skulls hung on the wall above the desk’s canopy, and below them three signs that struck Leanne as very odd. The middle read “Welcome!” while the two on either side read “Gambling!” and “Booze!”. Wasn’t this place supposed to be about avoiding sin? Maybe they were just a gag.

Leanne couldn’t see anyone at the desk. She saw a silver call bell and instinctively went to ring it, her hand stopping to hover over it. She suddenly thought about bailing right then. There was no guarantee that this place could help her. No knowing for sure if the Princess was even really looking to help anyone. She could just be looking for souls to collect. This whole thing could be a trap-

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of the bell she had tapped without realizing. She heard an annoyed groan from underneath the counter.

“Fuck, what? I already wiped down the god damn counter.” A demon with a husky voice pulled himself to a standing position to face Leanne. He looked like some sort of cat and owl hybrid. Mostly grey fur with a white face and chest. He had large eyes with dark red scleras and yellow irises, long red eyebrows that extended off his face on either side, an amusing heart shaped nose, and lovely red wings protruding from his back that had what appeared to be card suit markings along some of the feathers. Between his two tall and slender feline ears sat a top-hat of equal height, and a black bow tie rested in the fluff of his chest. He looked at Leanne for a moment in confusion. She couldn’t find the nerve to say anything. He croaked out, “Well, you’re not my boss. You here to check in?”

Leanne felt her tail nervously wrap around her waist as she fiddled with her hands at her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, but instead only quietly cleared her throat and nodded.

The cat-owl demon raised an eyebrow at her before producing a clipboard and pen from the drawer in front of him, “I’m gonna need your name first, lady.”

“Uh..I-It’s, um..Lee. Leanne.” As the man started writing her name down on the paper, Leanne’s head suddenly exploded with questions.

Wait! How does this all work? Was she going to need to tell him how she died? Confess her sins? Would there be some kind of test to see if she could stay? She remembered she had no money. How was she going to pay for this? Had she thought anything through at all!?

Just as Leanne sucked in a panicked breath to tell the other demon to wait, both of them jerked their head towards the sound of a squeal in the doorway. A young girl stood there wearing a white button up shirt with black suspenders, and a smile Leanne thought didn’t belong down here. She was very pale, with beautiful rosey cheeks complimenting a radiant smile, long and well kept blonde hair, and deep black eyes.

Princess Charlie rushed over to Leanne in the blink of an eye. She practically bounced as she spoke, taking Leanne’s hands in her own, “Are you checking in?? Please say yes!”

“Y-yes! Uh, I mean..I-I think so? I would like to?” Leanne bit the inside of her cheek. She’d ramble on forever if she didn’t get a grip, “I-Um. I just have a few questions.”

“Of course! Whatever you need we are here to help with!” Charlie let go of Leanne’s hands and snatched the clip board and pen from the other demon. He grumbled, but didn’t seem too bothered to have his job done by someone else. “What was your name?”

Charlie’s infectious positivity made it impossible for Leanne not to give the faintest of grins, “It’s Leanne, your..majesty? Highness? Princess?” Leanne had no idea how to address royalty of such a place as Hell. It didn’t help that Charlie seemed so different than what she reasonably should be.

The demon princess laughed without a hint of malice, “Just Charlie is fine, Leanne.”

Charlie was madly writing unknown information down on the clip board, and Leanne couldn’t help but notice the other demon eyeing her suspiciously. She tried not to make eye contact, just wishing for Charlie to talk again.

“Okay! Since you are one of our first patrons,” her voice shifted into a sing-song tone, the friendliness a sound Leanne didn’t know she had been craving until this moment, “I put you in one of our sweets!~ Room 331.”

“U-Uh, sorry, but I don’t have any money.” Leanne pulled her hands back to her chest, her tail tightening ever so slightly. She laughed joylessly, “I didn’t really come prepared for this, I guess.”

Charlie tucked the clipboard underneath one arm and took Leanne’s arm in the other, “Well then it’s a good thing you don’t have to pay for this! Husk, hand me her keys please?”

The husky voiced demon who now had a name went to the wall of keys behind him to find 331, tossing them to Charlie when he did.

Leanne was about to speak when Charlie tugged her along to the doorway and out into the hallway. The princess was pulling her toward the sound of the piano, “You’re going to LOVE it here! I’m so happy that my little, ahem, argument issue on the news didn’t keep you away!”

“Right.” Leanne didn’t have the heart to tell her it almost did. “S-So, uh, the questions that I had?..mainly about how I pay for this-“

Charlie held up a hand to silence Leanne, letting go of her arm to lead rather than pull, “You don’t! As long as you are showing progress towards your goal of redemption, you don’t owe anything! Just keep showing us your best behavior! Sound fair to you?”

“Sure,” Leanne tried to sound trusting, smiling the best she could remember how to, “Sounds fair.”

They had finally reached the source of the piano music. It was coming from behind two heavy doors with ‘Ballroom’ written on a sign above them. Along with the instrument, a voice could now be heard. It sounded as though someone was listening to an old 1930s radio host singing a song while playing along to it.

“I’m going to introduce you to my co-manager. He’ll be excited to see we have a second patron!” Charlie sang and pushed the doors open while Leanne thought about how there were only two guests in this ginormous place.

“Alastor, we have a new guest!”

The music stopped abruptly as Charlie spoke, and the one playing the piano stood from the bench and turned towards the two she-demons.

Leanne was terrified of him. Instantly and morbidly. Something about him sent a sub-zero chill down her spin that then went cascading out through her limbs. Her hands felt numb, her mouth felt dry, her head swimming. It was not unlike the feeling right before you wake from a terrible, horrific nightmare. Her tail coiled back around her waist as she tried to calm herself

Alastor was very tall, handsome, and incredibly thin. He wore a deep red pinstriped suit with a black tie in the shape of an upside down cross. His hair was shaggy, red on the top with a line of black around the bottom. Atop the Demon’s head were two small deer antlers, along with two tall tufts of hair that looked like they could be deer ears, matching red with the rest of his hair and tipped black on top.

His eyes were huge, dark red sclera with light red irises. His smile was even bigger, sharp yellow teeth stretching sinister from ear to ear. His skin was a grey similar in dullness to her own. He adjusted the monocle in front of his right eye as he looked over Leanne. His eyes glowed dimly.

Alastor suddenly threw his arms up in an exaggerated show of glee, “That’s wonderful news, my dear!”

His voice was the host Leanne thought she’d heard before. The demon spoke with a transatlantic accent, and it sounded as if there were an old radio transmitter in his throat. “The more the merrier as they say!”

He stepped forward, the sound of tap dance shoes clacking against the floor accompanying his footfalls. Leanne wanted to run away from him. Her mind was screaming at her to leave, forget this whole idea, and never come back. However, her body wouldn’t cooperate and Alastor had an arm around her and Charlie’s shoulders before she could do anything anyway, “We’re so delighted to have you, sweetheart! This place has been so very dull lately with just the few of us mucking about!”

He seemed friendly enough, so what was it about him that made Leanne’s heart feel like it was going to pound out of her chest? She hated him. His energy felt...bad. Wrong. Dangerous. She’d never felt worse about anyone, and that included the other demons she’d met down here. Her hands had gone from numb to sweaty, and yet she felt terribly cold now. This fear was all consuming, and it was touching her shoulders.

“So, what’s your name, mystery doll?” He tilted his head in the most uncanny way, staring down at her with sharp teeth and eyes unblinking.

Leanne’s tongue felt like a lead brick in her mouth, “I..uh...I-It’s-I’m, uh-“

Charlie gave a concerned chuckle, “Her name is Leanne.” She slipped out from under Alastor’s arm and gently touched the other girl’s shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Leanne was thankful to look at Charlie instead of him, and even more so to feel Alastor’s arm drop away from her as he took a step away.

“Y-Yes. Sorry. I’m just..” She glanced at Alastor, and instantly regretted it. His eyes were focused hard on her, his grin wide and full of teeth. Leanne could tell he knew she was feeling this way, “I just, um, g-get nervous around new people. That’s..that’s all.”

Charlie opened her mouth, but Alastor boomed over her, “Well that’s perfectly fine, sweetheart! I was being rude anyway. My name is Alastor, and I’m the co-manager of this fine establishment! I’m sure being here long enough will help you burst right out of that pretty shell of yours!”

“Yes it will!” Charlie clapped her hands together with a little hop, “We have so many activities planned for everyone who comes to stay here! Ice breakers, games, classes, you’ll never be bored and you’ll never not have people to talk to!”

“Assuming more folks do come by, of course!” Alastor added smugly, causing Charlie to shoot him a look.

“More will come, Al. Have a little bit of faith.” She walked passed Leanne to the door way, “If you follow me now, Leanne, I can show you to your room!”

“O-Okay.” She didn’t need to be told twice, grateful to get away from that radio-voiced Demon. She went to follow the princess out the door.

“I can already tell by looking at you, dear.” Alastor started, causing Leanne to stop for a moment. She wouldn’t look back at him. The static in his voice cleared as he spoke, “You’re going to be a very entertaining guest.”

[arr-jim-lad]

So I've been asking around 'cause I'm really curious to hear people's thoughts-we all know how much you love Dio, but do you have any heroes-from whatever series/media-who you love to think about just as much? Like, which characters do you find the most intriguing to you, because of motive, personality, or the themes they represent (ie Miles Morales and how he represents the pressure of expectations, something along those lines?)

While DIO is probably for SOME BLOODY REASON my #1 comfort character to draw, as well as the first character I ever gave the prestigious title of ‘waifu’ to, he’s not actually my favourite Jojo character, as I still love Kakyoin much more.

The reason I don’t write as much about Kakyoin (though I have posted meta stuff about him a few times) is because I think he’s much more straightforward of a character than DIO and there isn’t that much to explain. I assume people understand Kakyoin because he feels more like a real person, unlike the absolute unhinged batshit insanity that is DiO’s tWiStEd MiNd lmfao

However, no character surpasses Basara Nekki from Macross 7, who I devoted an actual shrine to; (not depicted: the other 4 production cels I own)

He’s an extremely introverted, extremely stubborn musician pacifist, and one of my favourite characters of all time and I wrote an actual 15+ page essay analysis of him. People dismiss Macross 7 often and judge Basara in extremely shallow and unfair ways, purely because he’s not a character who’s openly friendly or extroverted enough for them to understand how he thinks and functions - which feels very personal to me because him and me are VERY alike (though I have grown since then and became much more openly friendly, but so did Basara in the sequel OVA, Macross Dynamite 7!!).

People on MFC (a figure collecting forum that I frequent) are so familiar with my love for Basara that, when he FINALLY got his first proper figure announcement last year, the entire comment page on that figure’s entry page was flooded with people being incredibly excited and happy for me specifically lmao

I wrote many other shorter pieces on various aspects of his character and the plot of the show in general, and one time I wrote a pretty long post on MFC specifically about why he’s such an important character to me. Here are some excerpts from it that I think answer your question pretty well;

I think that Basara is a character type you rarely see as a main protagonist, especially one that is this well executed. His flaws and strengths are wonderfully balanced. It really felt like watching a kindred spirit in this show and it just meant a lot to me to see a character like this written so well. 

But there’s one more extremely important thing to Basara.It’s something a lot of people criticize, but I think it’s one of the most important and well chosen aspects of his personality, and another reason as to why I was so moved by his character: Basara doesn’t change.

He grows a little here and there, he learns a thing or two like everyone does, but he largely remains the same character throughout the series, because the series starts off with him already having developed his ideals and chosen his path. Some may call this poor character writing but to me, that’s one of the most inspiring things about him.

​Growth and change are not one and the same. You don’t always need to change in order to grow. Sometimes you are perfectly fine the way you are. Sometimes you are right and those telling you that you need to change are plainly wrong.

Basara doesn’t change because he doesn’t have to change. He was right from the get go and he knew it.He failed again and again, and again and AGAIN, nearly every episode throughout the series was essentially another failure, and he faltered once or twice, but picked himself back up and he tried again.

There is a reason why “Try Again” is the song that saves the galaxy.

(…)

The message Basara tries to send through with his music is also very similar to the one I try to send with my art;His songs are songs of understanding, togetherness, peace, happiness and passion. Of leaving your past behind and working on your future, and of never giving up.

I’ve seen complaints that he doesn’t act like a person who would try to send such a message, but these people act like they’ve never met an introverted artist. I’ve been told I’m blunt, distant and sometimes intimidating because I don’t like to spend time among people, but that’s just the nature of an introvert. My art speaks for my soul - just like Basara’s music speaks of what is truly within his heart.

He is a positive, passionate and good-hearted person, and by actively telling people to listen to his song it’s clear that he wants them to know this.

If you are familiar with my mascot / fanstand, Luv, its full name is actually Charging Love Heart, which comes from Totsugeki Love Heart, a Fire Bomber song that I believe to be one of Basara’s first, as well as favourite songs.

The song is incredibly cheesy, but in such an epic, positive and genuine way that you can’t help but really feel the message that Basara is trying to get across with it, and it remains one of my absolute favourite songs of all times. I like to imagine that my art is a visual representation of the same kind of feelings.

PS; I know I said no character surpasses Basara but actually I think him and Kakyoin are on a roughly the same level tbh I really do absolutely love Kakyoin

[calleo-bricriu]

Sometimes I start to think I might read a little too much.

So, I found this particular Muggle author in one of those, "It looked weird on the shelf and why not?" sort of ways that I often find books in Muggle shops.

Did a little bit of digging in to the author, William Lee Howard; apparently he was a fairly widely disrespected doctor that most other doctors viewed as a joke but that people who were not doctors thought was somehow brilliant.

Off to a good start.

The majority of the guy's books have to do with--not so much medical things but more, "Why everything is your wife's fault, trust me, I'm a doctor,” and by occasionally shouting in text about how he’s not a quack.

There were also two aimed at teenagers and I found a few chapter names completely self aware in one of them:

"Self-Abuse--How to Stop it--The Quacks" - Written as though he wasn't one.

"Environments and Diseases Which Rust Brain-Tools" - I'm going to start using Brain-Tools, I don't care that it's ridiculous. I like it because it's ridiculous.

Anyway, onto the book I'm mostly through.

It's the only one he published that wasn't--well, probably wasn't--intended to be some kind of medical book and it's the first one he had published.

No, it’s a story. A rambling, poorly written story.

The Perverts, 1901.

It's a bit difficult to read, not because it's as shocking as claimed but, because this guy just...rambles in a horribly disjointed manner that makes it difficult to follow what the hell is going on in his little story.

But, fine, I've read worse, just needs more focus; about halfway through, I stopped because it struck me that I've read this before.

Not this book specifically, the story, the entire plot, only the version I've read, while still written by a prose-y, rambling whackjob, was coherent and had much better flow to it.

Also, you could pretty easily follow the plot, as flimsy as it was.

In fairness, that one also probably could have been accurately titled The Perverts but there's always been a lot of unnecessary filler and prose in de Sade's writing (and he was at least self aware to the point that the last page of one of them essentially invites you to throw the book into the fire if you found reading it unenjoyable; tempting, but it's a heavy book and makes a good paperweight).

This man clearly read Justine (or The Misfortunes of Virtue) at some point; some similarities between bizarre things like that are bound to happen, pun intended given the topic, but this? This was very close to being the exact same book, just with renamed characters and a different time period setting.

de Sade wrote his in two weeks while in prison (and it shows) and this idiot somehow made it worse in terms of readability.

Oh, and the dedication? "To the memory of Edgar Allan Poe as a tribute to his genius, and in recognition of his struggles with a psychic incubus."

Okay.

I'm most amused by the fact that his last book was a book on "how to live long" and he died before he was 60. Must not be very good advice in that book.

And then I started skimming his other books and this has got to be one of the most unintentionally funny things I've read in awhile, "It has been my fortune――for so I consider it――to have been brought into intimate relations with men who are failures."

Good way to start.

"Many of these despondent and useless men have been guided into places where they fit." He's stopped using his brain-tools and it's not even chapter 8, which is where he talks about not letting your brain-tools get rusty.

(( Just a warning, there’s a short excerpt from the book that has some very literally, direct, and violent homophobia in there. ))

"teachers forced much useful and also useless stuff into unwilling brain cells" - I'm not entirely sure a man who blatantly ripped off one of de Sade's shortest works should be speaking poorly of teachers.

"How frequently have I heard the remark, after explaining to a young man who came to me a complete failure: “Why didn’t my father see all this?”" - You know, at this point, I'm almost certain that the only patients he'd ever seen were ones he made up or, more likely, ripped off from other case files and just changed the names.

"THE OUTSIDE LUNGS――THE SKIN" ...no.

He seems to think the skin does the same thing as the liver? What in the hell kind of medical school did this man attend?

"If a healthy boy should have his body――up to his neck――wrapped in tin foil, or any similar substance which would completely close the pores of the skin, he would soon have headache. This would become very severe, followed by loss of consciousness and finally convulsions――fits followed by death. Now this would occur even if he were in the open air. You can see by this fact that the lungs cannot alone cast off the poisons in the body" - First, weirdly specific scenario. Second, what he's describing is heat stroke not poisoning.

If people were listening to ridiculousness like this and taking it as valid health advice, no wonder so many died before they hit 30. I just went through an entire chapter of this idiot explaining how the skin is the body's main detox organ with only passing mention to things like, you know, your liver and kidneys, and that everything is caused by your dumb ass poisoning yourself by not bathing three times a day, constantly drinking water, then "exercising violently".

"Now it may sound funny to you, but the truth is, that if the boys in the past had really known as much as the chipmunks, we should have very few asylums for the insane or hospitals for the horrible diseases." - At this point I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually reading this or if I'm hallucinating it.

"About fourteen years of age you may feel a gradual soreness in the nipples. This will increase and sometimes be a little annoying. Now don’t become frightened and try to recall some blow you have received there." - This feels like a very, very specific panic that I'm pretty sure only happened to the author.

"Of course the HABIT of self-abuse means ruin to both brain and body. It is degrading to your true self, causes a loss of self-respect and makes a coward of every boy and man." - I get the feeling, by this point, that everything this person writes is just projecting.

"[...] bubbling spring of manly life." No.

"So never sleep with a man, except your father." - How is that less weird?

And we go from, go ahead and sleep with your dad to, "If you should be so situated that you find yourself in bed with a man, keep awake with your eyes on something you can hit him with. At the slightest word or act out of the way, HIT him; hit him so hard that he will carry the scar for life."

Just sleep on the floor if you're that damn paranoid.

"Keep your goat by and in you always." ...what? There are no circumstances whatsoever that would result in me wanting any part of a goat in me.

"CHAPTER VIII ENVIRONMENTS AND DISEASES WHICH RUST BRAIN-TOOLS" - I'm definitely stealing brain-tools. Based on everything else, I'm pretty sure mine are considered rusty somehow.

I don't think I'd take advice about brain-tools from someone who spent entire paragraphs talking about how he thinks people who live in far Northern climates hibernate.

What else have we got here? Dance hall women will ruin your life, you might be a man but you'll be a MAN in big letters if you go into the navy somehow, the navy should be bigger so it can consume more lower case men--I guess that makes sense as this was written in 1911.

"Don’t think that you know more than your mother about what is best for you. You don’t." - Wow, okay.

"I saw the girl, or rather woman, when she was twenty-four years of age, and recognized her by the peculiar conformation of her face. It was the face of a girl giggler. Her facial muscles had become so developed by her uncontrolled girlish habit that nothing could be done for her. " - What on earth is the "face of a giggler"?

"Don’t kiss anyone but your mother and father." - ???

"Don’t use arsenic in any form for your complexion or to give your face a plump appearance. Some of you will tell me of a girl you know who has a nice plump face from the use of arsenic wafers." - Maybe don't eat rat poison. Eating rat poison seems like a bad idea just in general.

Apart from don't giggle, don't kiss anyone, and don't take arsenic what is wrong with you? The entire book aimed at women seems to be a lot of, "For the love of everything don't touch ANYTHING without wearing gloves and also maybe burn your gloves every night and just use new ones the next day, the world is made of filth and full of diseased people. Try to stay outside in the sun without touching anything instead."

Interesting to read in the context of not having vaccinations available for all of the diseases mentioned; I don't know why it bothers me to see tuberculosis written as consumption though but I DO know why it bothers me that this idiot keeps saying sunlight will cure all of those diseases.

It really won't, you'll just die in a brightly lit room instead of a dark one.

"Don’t try to keep awake either by mental effort or that injurious resort of drinking coffee." - Well, I've been failing at that since I was about 15.

"Sleep always alone. Sleeping with another person is unsanitary." - ...uh huh.

"The hair should be washed frequently in water with a little powdered borax, but remember you wash the hair only to clean the scalp, nothing should be applied to the hair directly."  - Borax is corrosive, and how in the hell do you clean your scalp without also getting something on your hair, you can't just remove your hair and put it back later.

"Cold baths will keep your flesh firm and hard; will take off fat if you are too fat, and put on flesh if you are too lean." - Cold baths just sound unpleasant. There was also this whole section where he talked about how women specifically sweat fat out through their hands. I don’t have much for formal medical training but I’m confident that that’s not a thing that happens.

Speaking of, I particularly like that, in the book aimed at women, he's very adamant about daily bathing and in the book aimed at men it's more, "Eh, once per week is probably fine."

"EAT PICKLES AND CANDY IF YOU CRAVE THEM." - Unnecessarily aggressive sounding there, "Doctor". All I can picture is this quack screaming that in someone's face.

I guess it's kind of good to know that I have more extensive and accurate medical knowledge than someone who somehow got through school and earned the title of Doctor.

Oh, and I'm most amused by the fact that his last book was a book on "how to live long" and he died before he was 60. Must not be very good advice in that book.

Kind of want to read that one next.

[applegelstore]

My sis and I are through with the actual main plot of KH3, so I can officially go back to scheduled ToZ fangirling now. …Well, I promised Cray a bit of fix-it-fanart, so after that, I guess.

Hit the cut for a resume. It got super long and has endgame story spoilers, so you might not want to stumble upon it by accident.

Another extra big shoutout (again!) to @crazayrock for bearing my liveblogging on Discord, screaming without context and occasional spoilers. And linking me fluffy Soriku doujinshi. Here, have my favourite, spoiler-heavy excerpt of our conversation:

Okay anyway, let’s get started: GAMEPLAY

Kingdom Hearts 3 is BEAUTIFUL. The gameplay is so smooth and intuitive that you can immediately get to playing like you’d never done anything else; in fact so smooth that I doubt I will ever be able to pick up the first game ever again. It’s always been fun, but the looooooong years’ gap actually did wonders to the gameplay.

The keyblade form changes are fun and keep things fresh, you can do flashy triangle button shit every other minute, and shotlock is still insanely useful without being a game-breaker.

It seems easier than the first two main games, though?

The gummi ship is still a pain in the ass to steer, but I do enjoy the open world-like travel options (even if there’s not… much to discover except heartless lasering the shit out of you). I’m also eternally grateful that they kept the gummi ship thing from KH2 where you can just use a new gummi ship once you got the blueprint and don’t buy actual fucking legos as in the first game.

Thank you, Square. Not thanking you for the dumb cherry flan game, though.

The Caribbean being basically an open world stage was delightful! Apparently what our resident island kid needs is a big ship and tropical islands to plunder.

VISUALS AND STUFF

PRETTY LIGHTS EVERYWHERE

The long gap between the games also did wonders to the visuals.

There’s finally, FINALLY a few towns with actual NPCs you can talk to. Why it took the team so many years and the Gods know how many games is beyond me. The magic effects are beautiful, the animations smooth (honestly you can hardly tell apart cutscenes and fully rendered CGI scenes in this day and age of the PS4. I’m probably the only person still amazed by this because the only games I played on PS4 before were a few hours of Child of Light and of course Tales of Zestiria and Berseria. No, I still haven’t played FFXV but that’s a topic for another day). How far videogames have come.Even space finally looks like space, lol. Not really high-end what the PS4 can do I assume but god, it’s such an amazing and much needed upgrade from the terrible textureless colourful tubes you flew through before.

No excuse for the terrible battleship thingy before the Keyblade Graveyard, though. I got lost and beaten up so many times and crashed against more walls than I can count.

Nothing beats the World that Never Was, but the Keyblade Graveyard also has creepy cool potential, as does the beautiful but ghosted City in the Sky.

Still not getting what’s with JRPGs and very Definitely Final Dungeons (TM) that are basically space. …………or heaven. Or nothing. I’m getting the bad kind of original NGE TV series ending vibes. But. Okay.

The soundtrack is splendid

.……I miss Traverse Town and Radiant Garden, however.

Which brings us to:

THE WORLDS

I guess I can live with no more Final Fantasy characters being there (although I always loved that), and the meta jokes in Toy Story world really got me. Seeing Disney characters calling the KH villains call out on their shit was delightful. …the KH characters lampshading their own games’ sloppy dialogue writing was delightful.Still, those Disney worlds are always so much more in my head than what I actually get to play. This has been bugging me ever since the first game and it still does. I do not expect or want to replay the entire movies, but would it hurt to give the cutscenes some goddamn background music? Whenever there’s cutscenes, either the world’s usual BGM keeps playing or the music stops altogether. Together with the shortened dialogues and generally drastically shortened plots with odd cuts, that leads to scenes that are awkward at best. They never even remotely have the impact the movies had. You just sit there and think “oh wow that is so silly and awkward”.

Dancing scene in Corona? My favorite scene in Tangled. Zero impact on me without the lovely BGM (at least they made it a minigame so the moment isn’t over after 3 secs). Just for example. You can ask me like, world by world, but I can think of only exception off the top of my head and it’s not helping:

Let it Go of course. Listen guys, I actually love the song. But it’s so overused (and Frozen is an overrated movie at best that doesn’t deserve its hype in the slightest) that I can’t even really enjoy it being there. Like.


IF THAT’S OKAY WITH YOU,WHY DIDN’T YOU INCLUDE LITERALLY ANY OTHER ORIGINAL SONG FROM THE ORIGINAL MOVIES. Instead of BGM just not being there entirely, or in odd, cringey re-renderings that nobody wants to listen to (*cough* Atlantica *cough*).

Why torture me and not give me the one good scene from At World’s End (the up is down scene) when you had the chance?Kingdom Hearts is also prone to super lazy level design and wasting chances at wonderful scenery for no apparent reason other than I suppose empty cliffsides are quick to render. All games before did that, and KH3 is, sadly, no exception. We get to see a bit of Corona and Athens and they finally have NPCs, too, but you cannot even get near Arendelle. You cannot enter Elsa’s palace. You spend the entire time there climbing around in the snowy mountains of Norway, and unfortunately it looks less interesting than one would expect from the lovely concept art that the film unfortunately never used.You cannot enter Rapunzel’s tower although Sora can apparently parkour his way up even without her help.

………In short, the places you can go are, again, very limited, and a lot of interesting places and scenes you never get to see.

And to follow the plot you still only need the stuff that does NOT happen in those Disney worlds because they’re all beach filler episodes. It’s always been like that, but I keep wondering whether I’m the only one bothered by that. I’m also still salty they didn’t introduce a single new world from a 2D animated movie.

Also, as I said, I miss Traverse Town, it felt so warm and welcoming and beautiful.

And I get behind The World that Never Was missing although I loved it there, but why not give us back Radiant Garden? Destiny Islands since they’ve been restored? Disney Castle?

As much as I love the series, it never fucking lives up to its own potential. Idk whether it’s made more difficult by copyright issues or whatever, I just know that it bugs me.The first two games also had like twice as many worlds.

PLOT

I mean it’s never been deep; however, it’s complicated. No analysis or whatever from me because plot analysis and meta writing bore me like seven hells, just my emotional reaction: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 
Okay, bad news. I got into it expecting nothing, and still got disappointed. I don’t actually enjoy the prospect of writing essays about it, but here’s my tea with it; in not particular order:

1) the pacing is terrible. Nothing happens for like 30 hours and then suddenly like 20 characters’ arcs are (naturally poorly) resolved within the last few hours of cutscenes. Build up anyone? At least they actually did pick up Maleficent and the box thing again. …In the epilogue.

2) Speaking of build ups, Sora’s breakdown could have been developed nicely and steadily over the game to feel natural, and instead it’s hinted at in the beginning by everyone picking on him, but then it’s never further developed and comes out of fucking nowhere. Like. For real? It felt terribly OOC.

3) Why on earth have they shown 90% of the plot in the trailers already, and why are those scenes so massively disappointing in context

4) Kairi. Oh god, Kairi. What are we gonna do with you. I want to love her, I really do, but she’s a prime example of shittily written female leads. Mostly because she’s not leading. It’s not her fault. She’s just a fictional character. But honest to God, Nomura, why. Her screen time is almost nonexistent, and she’s entirely use- and helpless whenever she’s on screen (which isn’t often). Her ONLY point in the plot is being rescued because she is fucking useless. Why. Just why. Why waste her character like that. All we know is that she’s shoehorned into being the token love interest, but she has zero plot relevance and there is even less build up of her relationship with Sora. It’s all tell and NEVER show; and not even much telling, either. She has literally zero direct interaction with in the entire game before they share their paopu. The question remains: why are straights like this

5) On a related note: look, I don’t even ask for (or expect, or even hope) my ship to be canon. Squeenix doesn’t exactly have a rich history in queer representation. I’m totally fine with Sora and Riku being best friends. BUT. Building up Sora as the most important person in Riku’s life (and arguably, vice versa) over the course of several games, just to then hardly have them interact in the finale and then SUDDENLY bring back Kairi into the equation, who hasn’t interacted with him since the ending of KH2 (except for one unsent(?) letter) is just piss poor writing, period.I actually love Cray’s suggestion she gave me over Discord: let Sora, Kairi and Riku all share a paopu together (and let them group hug, too, you cowards). It would have been the perfect message to send (Sora as truly all-loving hero, and loving all your friends equally; romantic love isn’t more important than platonic love and doesn’t need to be singled out). Really sad that this isn’t what happens. Apparently that wouldn’t have been no homo enough.

LET THE DESTINY TRIO GROUP HUG YOU COWARDS


Do Riku and Kairi even interact once in the whole game?


HOW IS THIS A TRIO, IT’S JUST A SHITTILY WRITTEN LOVE TRIANGLE

6) Time travelling is a bitch, Christ. It doesn’t solve plotholes or can be played for drama, it just adds MORE plotholes. It just got WORSE. The cloning blues and people not aging doesn’t help, either.

7) Just so you know, I care absolutely zero for wild fan theories. You’re not Nomura. I want a statement from the man who wrote this shit himself why on bloody earth Sora dies when he apparently successfully found and brought back Kairi (and since nobody aged a day, apparently it didn’t even take that long lol). DUDES, THIS IS KINDA PART OF THE PLOT, AND YOU DON’T BOTHER TO EXPLAIN IT INGAME???? And how was Ienzo/Zexion able to revive Naminé while Kairi was still missing/dead/whatever…?

Okay so in short the writing is worse than ever and that’s saying something.

However, let’s try to find something good in this trainwreck; it wasn’t all bad. There’s some really nice scenes which sadly are better enjoyed without any context at all.

So, guess my favourite scenes.You had time enough, here’s the solution:

1) Purifying uhm er rescuing Aqua. Poor girl. She deserves the rest. Poor, poor Aqua. The only properly wirrten female in the whole damn franchise. Also the only person other than Riku who fucking gets shit done.

2) The Gayblade (TM)

3) Happy Axel in the reunion with his kids. Oh god, the poor chap deserves it so much. Thank you, Nomura. I don’t care that it makes pretty much no sense. Make him happy. Give him his friends back. Just give Axel all his friends and let him happily set things on fire. Hi I love Axel

4) The party at the beach cutscene before the credits roll. Axel and Xion get clothes. Half the organization is on our side now. I almost teared up at the Wayfinder trio saying goodbye to Eraqus’ forceghost. Hey come on he’s the voice of Luke Skywalker

5) Sully yeeting Vanitas

6) Woody calling out Xehanort that nobody loves him

7) Jack Sparrow bad breathing Luxord

I wish we had gotten:

1) justice for Kairi

2) a happy Zexion, the poor emo kid. Well maybe now he will be, with all the orga members who changed sides now, lol.

3) I will never trust mobile games ever again so I don’t want to play KHUX but I would have loved to learn about the Keyblade Wars :;))))


WHAT WAS THE KEYBLADE WAR ABOUT CAN WE SPEND MORE TIME IN THAT COOL CITY IN THE SKY WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH MIKLEO
I MEAN THAT EPHEMER KIDDO


WHAT’S WITH THE MASKED DUDES AND DUDETTES FROM THE MOVIE


WTF WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM AFTER THE MOVIE???? WHERE THOSE KEYBLADE USER NAMES ACTUAL MOBILE GAME PLAYER NAMES??? Next game? PLEASE?

I really, REALLY hope the epilogue means we will get Xiggy/Luxu as our new big bad and we learn more about the five dudes and dudettes from the movie. Please. PLEASE. I’m so up for it. Them finally pickung up the bit with Maleficent and the mysterious box again? Hell yeah.

The secret movie was really unexciting in comparison, although I laughed very hard at the “Verum Rex” scene in Toy Story world. Maybe that’s why it was much cheaper to unlock than in KH1 and KH2.

4) give Ven a drink

DLC ideas I would actually pay for because I’m a sad human being: 1) more Disney worlds 2) Japanese audio 3) at least one of the following as permanently playable characters: Riku, Kairi, Axel, Ven, Aqua. At least as a guest member as in KH2. THIS SUCH A BIG STEP BACKWARDS I’M FUMING

FINAL THOUGHTS

Kingdom Hearts 3 is a hella lot of fun, beautiful, and also moving when it sets its mind to it. Unfortunately it doesn’t always do so. I don’t feel like it wasn’t worth the wait; it was. However, I’m very salty how rotten the writing is. I do not mind logical fallacies, I do not mind the cheesiness and cringeyness; however, I do mind how so many interesting characters do not get the screentime they deserve, and Kairi is a very bad joke.

I’ll probably find more to nitpick about (Gods. Just. Don’t come up with dub excuses why Sora is lv 1 in each game. JUST LEAVE IT BE. You don’t explain why Donald and Goofy are lv 1 again, either. JUST. LEAVE. IT. BE. The sacrifice was dumb and not even moving, I’m just still furious that Kairi’s ONLY point in the plot is being so useless that it’s literally getting herself KILLED and she needs constant rescuing to the point that Sora has to sacrifice himself for her, effectively. Kairi deserves better, Sora deserves better, I deserve better than to think about this absurdity.…I’m just… gonna cherry-pick the good bits from the lore and try to pretend the finale didn’t exist, I guess. GODS.

[sea-anon]

Pretty long excerpt from the book I’m writing

Ch 11.

“If you keep bringing people home we’re going to have to expand.” Bravo sat on the bed. Everyone else had gone to bed ages ago. She had been going through some of the other rooms and found a purse with a few balls of yarn and a crochet hook inside.

Delta sat next to her and watched her hands deftly work through the yarn. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making a blanket. It’ll get cold soon.”

“It’s July.”

“Which means it’s almost August. And that means it’s almost October, which means it’s practically Christmas.”

Delta sighed, smiling. “You’re insane.”

“That so?” Bravo raised an eyebrow. She put down the soon-to-be blanket and stretched her arms, “What are you gonna do, lock me away in some asylum?”

“A tower, more like. ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your… crocheted… blanket thing.’” Delta shrugged, leaning back on her hands. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Your stories would put the Grimm brothers to shame,” Bravo tipped her head onto the other girl’s shoulder and Delta froze. Bravo, however didn’t notice and kept talking. “Of course they have a good 200 stories on you.”

Delta smiled a little, still unmoving even though her wrists hurt from the awkward position her hands were in. “Well at least, uh,” Damn it. She couldn’t think of anything witty to say. Bravo shifted a little bit to look at her, and Delta smiled apologetically, “I don’t have a comeback for that.”

Bravo sat up straight and Delta immediately missed the contact. Bravo turned to sit cross legged on the bed facing her, “I think the other thing I miss is romance stories.”

“What?”

“Like romantic comedies and stuff. Even when you felt like you were alone in the world, you could watch some shitty Adam Sandler rom-com and think ‘Boy, if he can fall in love, so can I.’”

She nodded, “Another thing I miss is community theatre.”

Bravo looked surprised, “You miss community theatre? You?”

“Yeah. I did a lot of that stuff before I went in the army. I was pretty damn good at it, too. Singing, dancing, pretending to be someone else for a few hours always made me feel better.” She sighed. “The family I was with the longest always hated it. They always said ‘I don’t want you turning into a faggot like all those other dykes.’”

“Jesus…”

“Yeah. But, turns out, I am gay so take that dad number five. I don’t think it’s theatre that did it though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought I was straight for a long time. I thought every girl thought boys were nasty. I thought I liked holding hands with girls more because, you know, friendship. It wasn’t till I turned 18 and went out with my friends to celebrate that a drunk girl kissed me and everything snapped into place.”

Bravo laughed. “Yeah I get that. I knew when I was fifteen, playing spin the bottle with my friends. This girl, I remember she had blue hair because it matched her eyes so well, she was a year, maybe two older than me. She was really gentle. She held my face in her hands and asked if I was comfortable with being kissed.” Delta looked down at her lap and smiled. “ ‘Course she’s probably dead now. But it’s still a nice memory.”

They were quiet for a minute. When Delta looked up, the other girl was staring at her with a strange expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

She snapped out of her reverie immediately. “What?”

“You look upset.”

“Oh… no. I’m just thinking. Do you ever wonder what could’ve been if we’d met before all this happened?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think we’d’ve been friends?”

Delta bit her lip. She’d often imagined what they could’ve been if they’d met before and none of this had ever happened. She thought about them a lot, but never as friends. “Yeah.”

Bravo stood up and stretched her back. She cupped Delta’s face with one hand and kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep tight.”

She turned to leave, but Delta caught her wrist. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying her voice. “Will you stay with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

The other girl smiled, “Of course.”

Ch. 12

Holyshitholyshitholyshit she asked me to sleep with her jesus christ and angels above thank god. Bravo grinned. Delta had given her a pair of shorts to wear to bed before going to take a shower. Her hands were shaking, what if she snored? What if she talked in her sleep? Would Delta make fun of her? She took off her bra without taking off her shirt and stripped out of her jeans. It might be July but damn was it cold in here. She pulled the shorts on quickly and moved her crocheting to a chair instead of the bed. She sat down, trying to look nonchalant and started crocheting again. Her hands were too shaky and she couldn’t concentrate. She wondered if Delta was a big spoon or a little spoon. She wondered if she didn’t like to cuddle at all. That would be an issue, although there were enough pillows on the bed she was sure she could hug one of them. Oh god what if she drooled in her sleep? She leaned her head back against the wall, barely registering that the shower had turned off and the door opened.

“You ok?” Her head snapped up. Delta was wrapped in a towel, her hair wet from the shower. Holy shit she was practically naked. Bravo blushed and Delta must’ve noticed her staring because she apologized, “I left my clothes out here. Bad habit, I know.”

“N-no, sorry I just…”

She struck a flirty pose, “Like what you see?”

Shit. She laughed, blushing more furiously than ever, “No, that’s not it, I just, sorry. I’ll turn around so you can get dressed.”

She smirked, “Alright then.”

Bravo faced the wall and covered her red face with her hands. Why me?

“You can turn around now,” she said. H o l y s h i t. She was wearing the Hayley Kiyoko shirt and-- was she wearing shorts? Bravo swallowed hard, feeling her face heat up again. The other girl pulled down the covers on one side of the bed and sat down. “You better come lay down unless you wanna walk over here in the dark.”

Bravo sat on the bed opposite her and Delta blew out the candles illuminating the room. The room felt tiny without light or sound. Bravo had wished so often and so hard for just this opportunity, sometimes imagining the other girl pulling her close and their breath mingling sweetly until she couldn’t take it anymore and pulled her in for a kiss. Sometimes she imagined just enough moonlight streaming into the room that she could see her and Delta would prop herself up on her elbow and just look at her, silhouetted by a blue glow. They would barely be able to see each other and she would smile, just happy to lay next to her. Other times though, she would imagine Delta over her with one hand on either side of her head and their kisses would be sweet but rough and desperate, her lips soft but chapped, capturing hers over and over.

“It’s quiet tonight.” she settled for whispering like teenagers at a sleepover.

“Mmhmm. They must still be down the street at the department store. I don’t think they saw us come back here.”

“Good.” Bravo laid her head on the other girl’s chest. This time she did notice when Delta froze up. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhm.” She wrapped her arm around Bravo, who listened to her heart beating a mile a minute in her chest.

“Are you sure? Your heart rate’s really high.”

“I‘m ok. Really.”

She could’ve stayed right there forever. But when she put her arm around the other girl and she flinched, she knew something was up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She sat up, “Come on. You can’t lie to me.”

Delta sighed and relit the candles. “Promise you won’t make a big deal?”

She blinked, “No?”

She tried to sit up but Bravo pushed her shoulders back to the bed and straddled her hips. She pushed her shirt up and gasped. Delta had a huge gash on her side. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? Jesus Christ, Delta! This could be infected. You could have gangrene! Or worse, you could have what they’ve got!” She gestured to the window.

“Relax honey. It happened when we went and got the girl. If I was gonna turn it would’ve happened already. Besides, it’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“Don’t move.” Bravo ran out of the room. She went upstairs and grabbed a roll of gauze, pads, a sewing needle, thread, and some rubbing alcohol. She muttered to herself as she rushed back to Delta’s room. “Fucking idiot, could’ve got herself killed.”

Delta was sitting where she left her. “That was fast.”

“Shut up.” She tugged on Delta’s shirt, not wanting to hurt her, “Take this off.”

“You know, if you wanted to see me topless you could’ve just asked.” She grinned, but Bravo’s glare shut her up fast. She pulled the shirt over her head. Bravo took a deep breath. Of course she wasn’t wearing a bra. She hadn’t known Delta had so many tattoos. A large sunflower on her shoulder with a number underneath it. On either side of her shoulders, Bravo could just barely see feathers.

“This might hurt a little.” She took a towel from the bathroom and laid it doubled up under Delta’s side. She poured a little bit of alcohol over the wound. The other girl hissed in pain, but Bravo ignored it. “This is definitely going to hurt. A lot.”

She threaded the needle, dipped the whole thing in alcohol and started stitching the gash closed. Delta practically sobbed, so Bravo stopped for a second and looked at her, eyes softening. “I’m sorry. It has to be done or it won’t heal properly.”

“I didn’t ask you to play doctor like I’m some sort of-of child. I don’t need your help.”

“Deep breath. I need to finish stitching you up.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Bravo glared at her. “That’s not going to stop me from taking care of you.”

She winced each time she pushed the needle through her skin and pulled the thread through after it, closing the wound stitch by stitch. When she finished, she poured a little more alcohol over it before pressing a cotton pad over it and starting to wrap gauze around her waist, “I need you to sit up.”

She did. It was amazing how little pain showed on her face. Bravo wrapped her up until she thought the bandage would hold. She looked into the other girl’s eyes, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Delta laid back down and covered her face with her forearm, “Because I knew you’d freak out.”

The bandage was a stark white against her olive skin. She tried not to look at the other girl’s breasts, she really did. But she couldn’t help it. It was only for a second as she reached across her to get her shirt so she could put it back on, but the image would stay with her forever. They were round and bigger than she would’ve expected. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stop thinking about that. She turned the shirt right side out, “Sit up.”

Delta moved her forearm up to her forehead, “What?”

“Sit up, I need to put your shirt back on you and you need to go to sleep.”

“You’re still gonna stay with me, right?”

“If you want.” Bravo bit her lip and looked at the wall, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea though.”

“Why not?”

“Because-” Because she wanted to her to hold her close and kiss her. Because she was afraid that if she stayed she might say a million stupid things. Because a thousand things could happen, but mostly because if she stayed she’d never want to leave her side again. But she couldn’t tell her that. “Because you need to rest.”

“I can rest just as well if you’re next to me. Better, even because if I need help you’ll be there.” She’d never seen this side of her before. Bravo held up her shirt. “I don’t need to wear it.”

“I need you to. I’m not sleeping with you half naked.” Delta grinned and put the shirt on quickly. “Hey relax. I just patched you up. I’m not doing it again.”

She blew out the candles and crawled over the other girl, laying close. “Hey Bravo?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me a secret.”

She smiled, saying the first thing that popped into her head, “I’m a libra.”

“Bravo?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I be the big spoon?”

@fandomssaremysoul this is the one I was telling you about

[secretradiobrooklyn]

That Gingerbread Feeling | 12.19 & 12.25.20

Secret Radio | 12.19 & 12.25.20 | Hear it here.

That Gingerbread Feeling edition

1. Irving Berlin - “Snow” 

I really enjoy picturing Rosemary Clooney beelining for a snowbank with a bottle of shampoo in one hand, blissfully mashing clumps of snow into her hair.

2. Christie Laume - “La musique et la danse”

The payoff holler in this song is like hearing an unknown animal call from the palm trees over there. 

3. Gedou - live 1975

This is a straight-up holdover from the last broadcast. We were delighted to discover Gedou’s Japanese glam rock glory — especially in the context of the videos, where you can see how extremely unlike their world they are. In this one, a crowd of excited teens watches and claps along, and you can tell that they’re the rockers of their peers — they all sport variations on early rock pompadours. Gedou, however, has blown right past that style and is going full-orchid Spiders from Mars. They appear to be loving the shit out of every second onstage, and it’s completely infectious. This take also has a killer lead-in to a great live “Scent,” the song of theirs we played last week. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdAP9ud-uEQ

4. Mannequin Men - “Private School”

I would like to shout out the rich music life of Chicago’s rock world, specifically from 2002-2008 but extending in both directions on the calendar. I feel truly fortunate to have been in Bound Stems, on Flameshovel Records, for most of those years. James and Jesse worked from an office above the Empty Bottle, sharing the space with a young Riot Act Media, and that label was the center of so much great music. Paige and I both especially loved Mannequin Men’s “Fresh Rot” album — I always think of me and Paige in the Stems band van on Milwaukee Ave, headed gradually northwest toward Midwest Buy and Sell aka the best amp shop in Chicago, with “Private School” cranked, watching the train pass the other way, feeling like the city went on forever.

5. Ed Blaszczyk, Rock Band Himself - “Hully Gully Neurasthenique” from “The Quirky Lost Tapes 1993-1995”

Born Bad Records is the hottest of spots. I don’t know anything about this guy but I am under his control.

- Five minutes of a pink oyster mushroom playing modular synthesizer

A sincere thank you to Kevin Vlack for introducing us to the mesmerizing thoughtwaves of a pink oyster mushroom, as expressed by a wickedly set-up synth. By any objective measure it sounds random and unmusical, but my subjective experience is that it is incredibly smooth and welcoming to hear. It feels almost like an aural massage or something. I feel an autonomic response to it. In any case, we both immediately listened to it a bunch, and it only gets more appealing. 

6. William Onyeabor - “Hypertension”

We still haven’t seen “Who Is William Onyeabor?,” so all I know about him is that his rhythmic approach is always totally absorbing. The cascading phrase that happens throughout the song feels like water being poured out of a jug. I especially dig how they split the vocalist between “hyper” and “tension,” kind of not unlike The Fall. 

7. Renato Carosone - “Tu Vuó Fa’ l’Americano”

You want to be American — in Italian. Fun is being poked. It gets so surprisingly intense in the instrumental middle passage!

“Whiskey soda rock & roll”

8. Star Feminine Band - “Rew Be Me”

Another return performance from last week! Star Feminine Band’s new album is so freakin awesome. “Rew Be Me”’s rhythms are so fascinating on every instrument. Also, they’re made by girls between ages 11 and 17. This song is so many songs in one!

9. Ros Serey Sothea - “Kom Kung Twer Evey (Don’t Be Mad)” - “Cambodian Rocks”

More jaw-dropping ’60s Cambodian rock full of epic melodies and major-league parts from every member of the band — above all Ros Sereysothea, who was pronounced the “Queen with the Golden Voice” by the King of Cambodia. 

Like every musician of her generation in her country, she was killed in the Khmer Rouge genocide. 

10. Lohento Eskill et T.P. Orchestre Poly-Rythmo - “Mireille”

11. Mohamed Mazouni - “Ecoutes moi camarade” 

A scenario that we’re just starting to consider is Algiers, which was a French territory in North Africa with as many Europeans as Africans. Before and after the revolution in 1962, Algerians are expanding the definition of French citizenship. An intoxicating version of the two cultures having equal input on the song’s palette and reference points. 

- The pink oyster mushroom 

12. The Fall - “Free Range”

This 7” came from a visit to a record shop in London that had an entire wall of Fall albums and singles and I just goggled at it. Kind of picked this one at random and it hits just so hard. For some reason this song sometimes reminds me of Self-Help Seminar, good friends from Seattle who we played with from early on. Harvey Danger did a version of their song “Heroine with an E.” 

13. Les Poppys - “Non non rien n’a changé”

A pretty large chorus of garçons just kind of beautifully swarming around, I don’t really know where to put this song in my head. I love the “Hey Joe” style bassline in the finale passage so much!

14. Mahmood - “Soldi”

This is driving around Cambridgeshire to London, again and again, listening to this music and shouting “Fregherai!” This trip’s soundtrack was exclusively the 2019 candidates for Eurovision’s top prize. This was Italy’s contender. It was considered controversial, I was told, because they’re drawing on a musician who is speaking in Italian and describing the world from a minority’s experience in Italy. That’s pretty bold to use as your country’s champion — I thought that was pretty cool.

15. John Williams - “Home Alone Main Title”

Merry Christmas! We time-traveled in this moment up to and through Christmas. It was a quietly wonderful Christmas, I must say, and included viewing “Home Alone” for the first time in decades. “Feeling that gingerbread feeling” indeed. We’re thankful for so much this year even in the middle of all this giant mess.

16. The Fall - “Jingle Bell Rock”

My preferred Santa voice.

17. Lithics - “Hands”

Sure do like this band more than ever. “Tower of Age” has been nothing but awesome so far. 

18. Samba Negra - “Long Life Africa” - “La Locura de Machuca”

Happy holidays to Ryan, who just got this album! Analog Africa is one of the flat-out most amazing record labels on Earth, and they put out this album this year. The cover art is insane, and the music is — also insane. This is the setup: “One night in 1975, a successful tax lawyer named Rafael Machuca had his mind blown in Barranquilla’s ‘Plaza de los Musicos’. Overnight he went from a high-ranking position in the Columbian revenue authority to visionary production guru of the newly formed record label that bore his name, Discos Machuca, and for the next six years he devoted his life to releasing some of the strangest, most experimental Afro Psychedelia Cumbia and Champeta ever produced.”

I mean, right?!

19. Meridian Brothers - “Salsa Caliente: Versión Aumentada”

This came to us via Francis Bebey, in the big ol’ stream. I definitely see the relationship. That’s what I’ve been really appreciating recently, how musicians from all over the globe seemed to be in musical communication with each other in the ’70s. There was such a wild explosion of music happening worldwide, influencing each other in a way that must have been at least partially psychic.

20. The Little Rabbits - “Yeah”

I got this CD in an armful of albums from Harvey Danger’s French distributor. I put this one on and was just… it was fascinating. This song is a definite high point, but the whole album is a complete jam. It’s clear to me (though I’ve never done a lick of study on this) that the Little Rabbits worked with Beck on “Odelay,” because you can hear whole passages of music that you associate with Beck songs stitched inside this album. I always want to know more about what happened there and I never 

21. Orlando Julius & the Afro Sounders - “Alo Mi Alo (Parts 1 & 2)”

Another example of that international ’70s kismet! This horn passage reminds us strongly of Adriano Celentano’s “Prisencolinensinainciusol,” written in faux-English for a French audience in 1972. This song was written somewhere between 1969-72, in Nigeria! 

I also love how the song has this sort of geologic dynamic going, where instead of bouncing between parts, it changes flavor gradually over the course of many minutes, until it ends far from where it began — not unlike a film.

- Bug Chaser - “Christmas Van”

We miss Bug Chaser, St. Louis lords and legends. We played some magic shows on the City Museum rooftop with them, and danced our faces off at their shows all over town. If you lived in St. Louis in the last ten years, I hope you went to Bug Chaser shows, because they were the realest of deals.

22. Half Japanese - “Swept Away”

I hadn’t revisited Half Japanese in a long time, for no good reason at all. It’s part of what I have loved about Yo La Tengo and Daniel Johnston and Jonathan Richman and what I love about Jad Fair, so giant and so sincere all at once. 

23. Thomas Roebers & Floris Leeuwenberg - excerpt, “FOLI (There is no movement without rhythm)”

Speaking of sincerity, this is an excerpt from a 10-minute movie called “FOLI.” I don’t know how it came to be made, but this section in the middle immediately grabbed me and feels super African and somehow refracted through a Western lens as well

24. Ayalew Mesfin - “Zebeder (Mesmerizing)”

The thing about Mesfin is that his band seems to set up the song in a Western tempo and pattern, and then Mesfin lays an Ethiopian melodic count across the top of the phrases they play, creating a third pattern from the intertwining. It creates a sense of the exotic and the familiar at the same time, which sparks into a dreamlike feeling, where you remember something you know you never experienced. I feel like that opens up some capacity to appreciate his melody’s deeply human quality. 

- “Tuneup #1” from “Rent” / Glenn Miller - “Moonlight Serenade” 

25. Ella Fitzgerald - “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?”

Consider this an invitation! Send us a message however we normally talk and we’ll send a link. Or not! In any case: here’s to making it through 2020 (chin chin), and here’s to a productive, restorative 2021 (chin chin)