#apostrophe album

[jellyaibo]

fuuuuck bro

[fionaapplerocks]

OK time to try and answer yesterday's quiz question "How many apostrophes should there be in the FULL title of the Fiona Apple album: 'When The Pawn…"

The key thing about this question is what do we mean by The FULL Title? Does that mean the title exactly as printed on the front of the CD, in which case the answer is 6. But you could also argue that the apostrophes are abbreviating some of the words, so the FULL non-shortened title would have zero apostrophes.

Then again, not all apostrophes are equal, I think you could make the argument that expanding 'fore into before is reasonable but changing you're right into you are right or won't matter into will not matter would completely ruin the meter of the whole poem, so in that case 1 is the right answer.

But what about he'll win the whole thing vs he will win the whole thing, I'm not sure but I think either of those could work.

Lastly, if more than one of these options has some merit, then the right answer should be the last option 'it depends'

[new-albums-daily]

Frank Zappa – Apostrophe (') (1974)

9 tracks, 31 min 59 sec

Rating: 9/10

Top Track: Cosmik Debris

Today, I get to listen to one of my dad's favorite artists. Obviously, this means I've had some degree of casual exposure to Frank Zappa, although not a whole lot, and I think to some extent the subject matter of a lot of his work is to blame for this. At any rate, this tends to be his most popular album, so giving it a shot today. Only song here I'm particularly familiar with is Don't Eat the Yellow Snow.

This was a really fantastic album and one of those that is really close to a 10, it's just missing a little something that would bump it up there for me. Honestly, side 1 on its own might just make it to a 10? Not sure, but it's definitely the better part of this album. Side 2 drags it down just a tad, though it's still rather good in its own right. Overall though, a really good listen and a surprising amount of jazzy influences? Not something I really expected for some reason, but it comes together really well. Top tracks here are Don't Eat the Yellow Snow and Uncle Remus.

[rattyjol]

1, 51, 101

1: wild blue yonder - the amazing devil

51: take us home - alan doyle

101: georgia law man - poor mans poison

[the-cards-she-wont-show]

TTPD Twin Storylines weaved together & double meanings throughout! ✌️👯‍♀️💕

Attention ALL Swifties (particularly Gaylors) and associates of the Tortured Poets department

PLEASE READ!! (and read with an open mind!!)🤍

Listening to the amazing TTPD on repeat this past week, I am certain that I have made an important discovery that I haven't seen talked about anywhere else yet and would like to get the coversation going, in hopes that Taylor will see that we are all finally listening to her! I'm still piecing everything together, as there is so much to unravel and am far from calling myself an expert on her exact timelines and dates, so am looking forward to hearing thoughts from others that are more knowledgable in her history.

I have been of the belief for a while now that Mastermind and Dear Reader were foretelling of her future, and also that the album title had a double meaning (evidenced by the lack of apostrophe in 'poets'). That the tortured poet would be departing. Note that I am also a believer that she has been closeted by those closest to her and is preparing to ruin her name and perceived reputation, give up the false public version of herself and come into her own true self. Everything as we know it will be destroyed and it is all playing out now, coming together as part of her plan.

Falling in line with all of the two's - the double album, the double meaning in the album name, the two sides of taylor etc, I have found that there are two intertwining stories told throughout her tracklist, AND that all songs also have a double meaning!! None of which are about the perceived muses of Travis, Matty or Joe. The 'evidence' for those relationships are all red herrings (for example 'putting narcotics into all of my songs' - but only in the songs with obvious reference to her beards), to make it seem ambiguous and open to interpretation of who the songs may be about, which is seen often throughout her discography. She uses an incredible amount of metaphors and we must look beyond those to decipher her lyrics - do not take anything at face level with Taylor. Most should realise that she is so much smarter than making obvious songs about whichever male muse she is 'dating' at the time. She has always played into that public view to cover her true self. Many songs have themes of secret and hidden love, which juxtaposes with the public 'relationships' she is seen as having.

She tells us in 'The Manuscript' that "lookin' backwards might be the only way to move forward". Therefore we must listen to TTPD in reverse, from track 31 (13 reversed!) to track 1. I believe The Manuscript also acts as a bookend for both of her stories and should be listened to as a closer after the last song of the story 'Fortnight' ends, to get a complete picture. Once we have listened to the album in reverse order, can we see so plainly that each song tells a different story of a period/situation/muse/love/heartbreak in her life - beginning at her parents meeting in The Manuscript, to current day. I think the songs may also actually have a sister song from the corresponding album/period in time, with similar sound, lyrics or theme that connects them. I believe that each song also has a double meaning and can be interpreted as messages to her fans about things that have happened to her over the years or that are about to happen, and she is trying to communicate her feelings of being trapped, which is honestly so heartbreaking. Many relate to her being caged and forced to hide her true self, in particular by one person closest to her - her father. It is devastating to listen to.

The really brilliant part I discovered next, is that The Anthology tracks also have another hidden storyline being told which intertwines and intersects in the exact right place to fit in with her life story. It includes all of the "THE" songs and is in reverse order from the parallel life story and vinyl variants order of issue (but chronological track list order).

The Tortured Poets Department

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

The Alchemy

The Black Dog

The Albatross

The Prophecy

The Bolter

The Manuscript

Rather than presenting my interpretation of the timeline and each story told in every song, I urge everyone to listen to both stories, in these exact orders, with an open mind as to what she could possibly be describing! My mind was completely blown when I figured this out!! Her mind is incredible, there is no other way to describe the album, other than a masterpiece! I feel so much for the pain she has gone through. This album explains her feelings and reasons for hiding her true self over the years for any fans that will inevitably be feeling upset and deceived. We all need to show compassion for everything Taylor has sacrificed and give her what she needs. She truly deserves love, honesty, happiness and peace. ✌️💜

I'm in the process of creating a document trying to piece all of the hidden connections together just to wrap my head around this amazing body of work, so may possibly link this when I have it completed, otherwise I will add it to this post for anyone that might be interested.

I have a couple of extra personal thoughts, theories and hopes for anyone still reading…

The manuscript of her life story may possibly be the manuscript for a future book/film.

I think one meaning of "Fortnight" is a foretelling message to the fans that havent been noticing any of her many hair pin drops - she has been trying to get the message across but they aren't listening. For the fans she loses when she comes out - she touched them with this album for only a fortnight, before she lost them. She loves the fans but staying in the closet is ruining her life. I think something big could be happening a fortnight after release? Friday 3rd May is International Sun Day. ☀️ Karlie Kloss was always 'sunshine' to Taylor. According to Karlie, their first meeting was at the 2011 Met Gala on May 2, however, there is a possibility that they could have met at the afterparty - after midnight, making the anniversary May 3! 2024 Met Gala is a few days later, could they both make an appearance? If nothing big occurs, perhaps some seeds of doubt will be planted on the 3rd? Or.. It could also be a surprise rep TV (with or without Karma and Debut - surprise triple drop?) with wlw vault tracks?! Who really knows.. I honestly have no idea, but whatever happens, I know Taylor has it all meticulously planned out and everything will happen when it is supposed to.

Taylor is chairman of the Tortured Poets department - the leader of the mass coming out we are about to see. As Chely Wright put - 'we need someone at the top' to come out and pave the way for others to do the same, and to stop the forced closeting in the celebrity world. I think Travis and the majority of her former beards are also queer and there will be many more 'tortured poets' that will join 'the department'.

Karma will be album 1 (TS12) in the 3,2,1 countdown, TS13 is 0 - the album in which she gets all of her full colour back, reclaims her glitter gel pens and finally can sing her truth proudly! She has destroyed her own name and reputation, burnt down the lover house and all her former selves.

Last of all, PLEASE BE KIND! If anyone has made it to the end of this and doesnt agree, I'd love for you to have a listen to the songs in the orders above before commenting. If not, lets just agree to disagree! We all have our own personal takes on Taylor's lyricism and I would never dream of being unkind to another just for having a difference of opinion. 🫶

For Taylor - if you somehow happen to see this - please know you are truly a mastermind, you are loved and we've got you!

🌈💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛🌈

❤️ gerimegs

[an-insignificant-flower]

Namonaki Watashi

名も無き = lit. "without a name," pre-noun adjective that can mean "anonymous," "ordinary," or—as I believe befits this song—"insignificant". Notably, 無き is an older form of ない, but while the latter functions as a complete clause, the former requires a noun follow it.

Verse 1

一雫雨を　一雫ください hitoshizuku ame wo　hitoshizuku kudasai 一雫愛を　一雫ください hitoshizuku ai wo　hitoshizuku kudasai

One drop of rain, please give me one drop One drop of love, please give me one drop

The dictionary puts 一滴 (いってき, alternatively ひとしずく) as more common than 一雫 (ひとしずく). However, the latter seems to be more literary, used for sake labels, restaurants, and a 2002 hit song by the female J-pop group, Zone.

Additionally, 雫 is distinctly a kokuji, or "country character," one of Japan's creations without a Chinese equivalent. It's purely hieroglyphic as such, literally depicting that which falls from a cloud.

Prechorus 1

名も　無い　わたしは　あなたと　出会いました namonai watashi wa　anata to deaimashita 名も　無い　わたしにも　蝶や　風や　夢が‥ namonai watashi ni mo　chou ya kaze ya yume ga...

I, who am insignificant, met you (for the first time) Even I, who am also insignificant, (the) butterflies, (the) wind, (the) dream...

Sakurai uses the older form of Namonaki in the title only, but uses the more modern form in the lyrics themselves. In the Japanese, the difference is extremely subtle, with only one phoneme changing from -ki to -i. The grammatical implication in English is far more clumsy, but worth exploring to see the difference: The title reads "Insignificant Me" while the lyrics read "I, who am insignificant,..."

The line ends with ellipses, leaving the thought unfinished, and the use of ya for "and" implying the list is only a part of all that is in the scene give the verse an impressionistic feel.

Chorus

狂い咲く　花たちよ　今は　咲き乱れよ kuruizaku hana-tachi yo　ima wa sak'mi dare yo 狂い咲く　命共　乱れ　乱れ　乱れ kuruizaku inochi domo　midare, midare, midare

Fellow flowers blooming out of season, bloom profusely now! Fellow flowers blooming out of season, together live wild, wild, wild!

I adore the use of kuruizaku here. Of course, kuruu is a familiar verb in Buck-Tick's lyrics, whether it refers to going mad with love or at the state of the world or simply "going crazy." Here it's used in a set phrase referring to off-season blooming. And as with kemono-tachi (from "Beasts of Night"), the narrator includes himself among those he is speaking to: outcasts and others who "don't fit in."

Sakimidare, another set phrase, lends itself to the imagery of endless fields of blooming flowers so thick that you can't see the green leaves beneath them, or even the peak day of cherry blossom season when the world is awash in pink.

I've used an apostrophe unconventionally here to refer to Sakurai's pronunciation. The word has five full mora (sa-ki-mi-da-re), but Sakurai sings it in four (sa-k'mi-da-re). I actually could not make it out in the album version of the song; only upon listening to the "Taiyo to Ikarosu" B-side at high volume could I hear the separate consonants distinctly fitted into one note.

As a lone verb midareru means "falling into disarray," but as a repeated call lends itself better to "lapsing into chaos," and I was tempted to choose "riot" as a command due to the character's more direct translation. However, following the previous line with the set phrase sakimidare, there is an implication that it attaches itself to inochi domo the same way, meaning a closer translation might be, "together, live exuberantly." Think Carpe diem ("Seize the day") with the raving enthusiasm of Scrooge on Christmas morning.

Verse 2

ありがとう　愛を　陽だまりの　日々を arigatou　ai wo　hidamari no hibi wo 一輪の　花を　髪飾り　君に ichirin no hana wo　kamikazari kimi ni

Thank you, for the love, for day after day in the sun For the single flower adoring your hair

Prechorus 2

名も　無い　わたしに　あなた　と　お別れ　来た namonai watashi ni　anata to o-wakare kita 名も　無い　わたしにも　赤や　黄の　夢が‥ namonai watashi ni mo　aka ya ki no yume ga...

You and I, who am insignificant, bid farewell Even I, who am insignificant, (the) red and yellow dream...

Although the lyrics imply simply that the flower speaking (perhaps the very one in the listener's hair from the previous line) was discarded, it's hard to listen to this line as one of the last lyrics in the last song presented to us on Sakurai's last recorded album.

As before, ya implies there are more colors, though red and yellow are noteworthy for the line. I don't know whether it was intentional, but it calls back the first line of "Gessekai": Aka ki iro himawari, "red, yellow sunflowers".

Instrumental Bridge Chorus Chorus

Sakurai often wrote lyrics from the point of view of a particular character in his mind, performing a role on stage. However, I am tempted to read this one assuming less use of the figurative mask. It seems very in his character to express such humility, to refer to his fans (and/or his family, as I have also suspected of other songs of his) as the source of his sunshine and objects of his gratitude, and to plead us all to live our lives to our fullest.

[lottiecrabie]

rockstar girlfriend – matty healy

tired of being treated like the girlfriend and not like the rockstar, you decide to pull a very rock move in the studio

warnings: 18+, oral (male receiving), fingering, soft dom!matty, praise, bit of degradation, drug use

2696 words

The New York Times calls you ‘everyone’s favorite rockstar’s girlfriend’. Twitter fan accounts gather a curated four picture reel of your best candids and caption it ‘rockstar bf it girl gf’. E!News’ periodic articles updating the world on all your recent outings read ‘Matty Healy and his girlfriend’. (Matty Healy and his girlfriend enjoy a steamy kiss outside a club in Manchester. Matty Healy and his girlfriend spotted in New York City with Coppola Cafe to-go cups. Matty Healy and his girlfriend hold hands as they wait for the London underground.) MusicoCritics title their deep dive on you ‘Matty Healy’s girlfriend’s album is a surprising masterpiece’. 

Nevermind that it’s your fourth critically acclaimed album. Nevermind that your living room shelves ⁠— clustered with flower-pressed poetry books, esoteric trinkets found in thrift stores worldwide, potted plants on the edge of death ⁠— hold multiple well-earned awards. Nevermind that you’ve been singing for fifteen years, scribbling incoherent lyrics in the corner of books for longer than that. 

Nevermind that you’re a fucking rockstar yourself. 

You are Matty Healy’s girlfriend; you are the appendix of a musician. Your boyfriend’s name collects apostrophes while yours dust away, forgotten under aliases, rotting from underuse. 

And, well, you’re fucking pissed. An entire career, fifty-seven songs, countless of voice-killing concerts, and it pales to practical inexistence for a nine months relationship. 

Not that you don’t love Matty. It’s just⁠— You want to be more, you want to be whole.

You’re in your rented studio, sitting on the dirty couch, reading countless Reddit comments asking ‘who’s Matty’s gf’ and ‘i didn’t knwo she made music lol’, fuming. You should be working on your fifth album, the idea of a ballad lingering in a corner of your brain, but you are too busy driving yourself nearly insane. Injustice grips your guts, twists up around it. You want to scream.

Matty sits beside you, lighting up a joint. His hair is unmade, falling messily around his head. Smoke pours out of his lips. “Stop reading that bullshit,” he says, not unsmartly. 

Your lips purse. “I know, I know.” You groan, head falling on the back of the couch. “Fuck, I just can’t help it. This is actually fucking shitty.”

In an effort to distract you, or perhaps loosen you up, Matty passes you the joint. He has two rings, silver and chunky, and chipped nail polish. There is something incomprehensibly attractive about his hands, callused and masculine; long, dexterous fingers around waxed paper. Desire pools in your stomach. You lick your lips, looking away, taking a hit. 

“You should go crazy. Be a fucking cliche rockstar just in spite.” Matty grins. “Smoke a ton, do even more drugs. Destroy your voice. Show up late. Be too drunk to play.” 

You snort. “Fuck groupies.” 

“I might have something to say against that.” 

“Die young.” 

“You’re already past 27. You’ve lost your chance.” 

A smoky laugh leaves your lips. Still, you consider his words, cocking your head. An idea half-blooming somewhere in you. “I think you’re onto something.” 

“What?” 

“I should make a rock album,” you say. “Be super fucking obnoxious about it, too. Make all these references, interpolate all the greats.” You smirk, giving him a teasing glance. 

A curl of hair falls over his forehead. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a drag of his joint, cheeks digging it, brown eyes closing in ecstasy. He’s so fucking hot. You’d tell him if it wouldn’t go straight to his head, blow it up until he couldn’t fit through the door at all. 

Cheekily, you throw a leg over his legs, straddling his lap. He welcomes you easily, a lazy hand holding onto your hip. “I’ll be the rockstar. You can be my eye candy,” you continue, fingers hungrily climbing to his shoulders. 

“Is that so?” His fingers tighten, dragging you closer to him. Your hips roll over him with precision, clever hand working you at just the right angle. Your mouth parts, a strike of pleasure climbing up your spine. You stare at him through your eyelashes. He’s entirely too casual, too pleased. Cocky as he watches you, makes you rock your hips again. 

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless. 

You grind slowly, teasingly. As soon as you try to speed up, a powerful hand halts you. A puppet to a cruel man who smiles as you fail to get any real action going. The pace is torturous, lighting up your body until all parts of you are aware of him, of his hardening cock. You feel him most of all in the ache between your thighs, in the absence of him. 

Frustratingly, your hands dig in his shoulders, clawing at the cotton. It’s unfair how little he reacts, how put-together he seems in his white button-up shirt, watching you grow desperate. Brattily, you add, “Yeah, you’re almost pretty enough.” 

Matty laughs, but you can tell he’s a little peeved; overblown ego shot down with your cheeky smirk. He adventures a hand under your band tee, pinches your side, digs his nails into your back, encouraging your hips to rock faster with a rough, ruthless hand. Victory feels like a wave of toe-curling pleasure. Heat spreads under your skin, tightening your muscles. A small, self-indulgent whine leaves your mouth. 

A grin breaks his face, cocky and pleased. How quickly the upper hand slips from you. Huffing, desperate to wipe it off, you crash your lips against his, swiping it away with a greedy tongue. 

The kiss leaves you hungrier. Matty has always known how to coax the wanton need from you. How to leave you rocking furiously against him, hot and desperate, thoughtless except for the overwhelming need to get off. Throbbing and uncomfortably wet, a high-pitched moan slips into his mouth. 

You break away to pant in his parted lips. Your hands hide in the mess of his hair, tugging at the roots, vengeful, careless. Still, Matty groans, rolling his head backwards. You smile too, just as cheeky, just as proud. He puts out the dwindling joint on your sofa, throwing it thoughtlessly in the studio. Finally free, he slips under your shirt, grabbing a handful of your breast. 

You bury yourself in the side of his neck, licking and biting under his jaw. With expert fingers, you undo the buttons of his shirt until pearls of breathy, pained moans spill out of him. It sounds like a song, like the rhythm of your favorite melody. You’d bottle it up if you could, burn it on a CD to listen for later.

You sit up, spine straightening, practically ripping your mouth from him. The movement is so sudden you feel it reverberating in your head. Your hips still as thoughts spin in your soupy brain. Matty whines unhappily, hand digging in your back. 

It takes five seconds. Once the idea fully forms, you look back at him with a mischievous smile. You start your rolls again, tantalizingly slow. You whisper, half to him but more to yourself, “I’ll be the rockstar, alright.” 

Matty frowns. Out of breath, he says, “What?” 

You don’t bother explaining. Instead, you stand up, leaving another moan to fall from his lips.  Hands tumble from your shirt. Turning around to your mixing board, you hit the record button.   

He’s even more confused when you come back to him, standing between his open legs. You take your time, racking two hands through your sweaty hair. Towering over him, you feel power gather around you, a heady mixture leaving you wetter than before. 

You’re drunk on him, on the taste of weed and toothpaste, on the look of his thoroughly destroyed hair, of his red, swollen lips hanging onto your every possible word. His chest rises up and down in quick succession. A tempting tent in his slacks draws your eyes lower. 

You ignore the throb. You ignore the need. You ignore the coil of building tension. You say, “I’m gonna make you scream.” You fall to your knees. 

His legs widen, hips rising in excitement. “Fuck,” he groans just from the sight of you. Mesmerized, he watches in sacred silence as you work on his belt buckle. “Fuck, love, look at you.” 

Matty’s own hand helps at his pants, ring twinkling in the low light. Finally, you manage to free his cock, hard and up, begging. You stare at it for a second, appreciating its glory. Your eyes snap back to his. 

You follow every expression as it overwhelms his face when you first wrap your hand around it, allowing one slow stroke. His eyes close, his lips part, his head falls. He’s an atheist experiencing religion for the first time. He’s breathing your name, he’s worshiping it. 

You smile. Your lips wrap around his tip, sucking on it. His hips jump in surprise. Matty’s eyes snap open, staring at you with a gasp. Exactly what you wanted. 

“I want you to look at me,” you say, licking up his shaft. “Don’t stop looking at me.” 

You could tease him. A part of you wants to, hand burning to slow down. A bigger part of you wants to ruin him. 

You swallow him down. Matty’s breath comes out in heaving puffs amidst the scattered moans. You feel his thighs flex under your hands; his open shirt reveals a taut, tattooed stomach, muscles rippling with ecstasy. 

You bob up and down, an electric pace that has you swallowing back a gag. Whatever you can’t fit, you stroke with deft fingers, twisting your wrist just like he likes. Feeling particularly devilish, you moan around his length just to hear him mutter a pained, “Shit.” His hips rise, but you push him back pointedly. Payback is salty and lingers on your tongue. 

Feeling yourself choking, you release him, spitting on his dick to lube it up. Matty thrusts up in your hand, eyes rolling back until he remembers your order.  

You lick at his tip, swirling your tongue around it, before taking him back in your slick and swollen lips. “You’re so pretty,” Matty says, voice hoarse. “Fuck, you were made for this, weren’t you?” You moan in agreement. “Yeah, that’s right. Made to be drooling on your knees for me.” 

Perhaps embarrassingly, you feel a pool of arousal gather in your stomach from his words. Your thighs clench, hips rolling against nothing in hope of relieving that burning ache between them. Your clit feels criminally ignored. 

Matty’s hands fly to your hair, racking through the mess he’s made of it. “Show me your tits,” he orders. Your eyebrows shoot up, but he’s only peering down at you with challenge. 

Releasing him with a bop, saliva stringing from your lip to his dick, you take your shirt off. You can’t bother to unhook your bra, lowering the cups down and grabbing one of your nipples with your free hand. You pinch meanly, just like he would, and the pleasure spreading through you feels heavenly. A broken groan leaves your lips. “That’s it,” he breathes. “What a good girl, giving me a show.” 

You whine. You can feel the control slipping from your hands with every ticking second, but your thighs are so sticky, your clit so swollen, your climax so far. 

He gathers a handful of your hair, bringing you to his dick. Your head stings, but you welcome him back with an open mouth. This time, you do none of the work, letting him thrust himself in your throat. Your eyes water as he goes deeper. 

“Shhh,” he sighs as tears stain your cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re doing so good, baby.” You nod, coaxing a desperate groan out of him. “What a good, little slut. Taking my dick so well.” Again, you nod, mouth full. Your hips shift, moving left and right uncomfortably. You can’t seem to get any real friction going, but you feel your insides throb against nothing. 

“Poor baby,” Matty coos. “You want to come too?” Needy screams muffled by his cock. Matty sneaks his booted foot between your thighs, pressing so deliciously against your clit you cry out. “There you go, baby. Grind.” 

And so you do, furiously rocking against his boot. Your hand not busy playing with your nipples wraps around his leg, gripping his calf. The pleasure is so pure your eyes roll back in your skull. 

“Eyes on me,” Matty’s rough voice rings through the room. You open your eyes, locking with his darkened ones. “That’s right. I want you to look at me.” His face breaks with a victorious grin. Payback probably tastes like sweat and sweet moans to him. 

You can feel both of you grow frantic. Matty bucks into you with a merciless, frenzied pace. His hold onto your head is ruthless; his fingers dig into your scalp, but you only scream more. Your hips follow his rhythm, each leather drag over your cunt making sweet euphoria grip your stomach. 

“Gonna come for me?” He thrusts with abandon, practically choking you. Tension builds in your core, pussy clenching. “Gonna come all over my boot?” Bold words coming from a man just on the edge of an orgasm. 

To prove your point, you hollow your cheeks, watching with glee as cries break out of his throat, eyes scrunching tight, cum spilling out of him. You suck on his tip indulgently as he comes in your mouth, cock still pulsing while strings of incoherent promises fall out of him. He strokes your hair tenderly as he slowly comes to himself. 

Matty cracks an eye open. He falls out of your mouth and you swallow his seed, watching him as you promised as you lick your lips. Another rough moan leaves him, half stitled by a chuckle. Ringed finger swipes your chin, gathering a forgotten rope of cum he shoves back in your mouth. You suck on it. 

He seems to realize then you still haven’t come. Face grimacing in shame, he grabs you by the armpits, putting you back in his lap. “Poor baby. You’re so close, aren’t you?” 

“Please,” you whine. 

Matty pouts, nodding indulgently. “It’s okay. I got you.” 

He sneaks two fingers in your pants. You should be ashamed by the amount of wetness; sticking thighs greeting him home. You’re too gone for that, of course, just sighing happily as he rubs tight circles on your clit. 

Your head falls on his shoulder. “I know,” he says, imitating your spineless whine, thrusting two fingers inside of you. You’re so wet there’s not even any resistance, cunt opening to let him in easily. 

His thumb continues his drawings on your bundle of nerves. He fucks his fingers into you, rapid and wild. You’re close again before you have time finishing a coherent thought, moaning in his open mouth. 

“Right there,” Matty encourages. “Come for me.” 

Your body shudders as you scream. You finally lose the tyrannical strings holding your body together. Euphoria spreads to each limb, making your head fall back as the edges of the world blur around you. Tension leaves your body in wiping waves. You flutter around his fingers, clenching and unclenching as you cry out his name. 

It takes you a few moments to come back to Earth. Matty takes his fingers out of you, wiping the wetness on the couch. You slap at his shoulders, but he simply laughs. “I love you,” he whispers in your hair, bending down to kiss you. 

When you finally regain control of your legs, you stand up to reach your mixing board. Hitting pause, and then play, Matty’s needy groans fill the studio. You throw him a look over your shoulder, but not even a pornographic recording of him could make Matty Healy blush. 

And, maybe your fifth album features a song named Blow You. Maybe deep, masculine sounds of pleasure accompany the chorus ⁠— just out of reach enough for people to be incapable of pinning it down. Maybe countless news outlets try to figure out, articles upon articles attempting to elucidate if it really is your boyfriend, Matty Healy, moaning on the track. Maybe they call you by your name. Maybe they even call you a genderbending, masterful, classic rockstar. 

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

We need to do most nonbinary cars next. Because it's obviously the NB miata. I mean come on

Alright then, let apostrophe s!

So, we already have one candidate - two if you split them between pre-and post facelift...

...but let's see if we can do better.

The first course of action was to ask an expert in nonbinary, my nonbinary ex. They suggested "that asymmetrical car from the commercial", and I immediately realized, oh right, the Hyundai Veloster!

Literally rejecting the binary between hatchbacks with rear doors and hatchbacks with none, as illustrated by quite a commercial if I do say so myself.

As the ad hints, yes indeed the Veloster's rear door was always opposite the driver's side, including in right hand drive cars - meaning yes, the Veloster's rear door changes side with the market it's sold in...

...a bit like what my ex was actually referring to: the third generation Nissan Cube, another asymmetric vehicle with two symmetrical versions, as explained in my Pike Cars post (and indeed, the Cube also got a spectacular campaign - you really gotta go have a look at that post right there).

So, having gotten their suggestion (and another unrelated pick that they did however approve...)

...I set about hitting up the Discord for completion's sake, where @chevyventure gave a couple suggestions of his own: the Kia Soul.

And let me tell you, the commercials just keep getting weirder.

And this is not even about the commercial itself, it's how long they kept rolling with the idea, and really, how far they took it too. From its debut...

...to its small restyling in 2012...

...to its redesign in 2014...

...and more: that's not even most of them! But I'll stick to suggesting you look them up on YouTube because we still have to get to our friend's other suggestions.

Luckily, the 5th generation Camry will be quick work, since the main argument for its nonbinariness is that swinging either particular way would imply some sort of characteristic, thus violating the spirit of the Camry, a car so committed to the bland that for years the most interesting thing about them have been their dents.

And so we get to the final suggestion, the second-gen Scion xB.

Okay, so, storytime, I was looking to get some pictures of the car going on, right? So I found this one which is of good quality, a well-representing angle and a color that compliments its enbyness, so I clicked on the Car And Driver article this is from to browse its gallery and find a rear shot and what do I not see as the first picture in the album.

I mean, that is on the nose for my standards.

And I'm not the only one who made interesting finds looking for these pictures...

So, what'll it be?

"But wait", I hear you think because not only can I hear the sounds you make yes even the farts but also your thoughts, "what was that Discord you were referring to, does this blog have a- wait even that silent one from a minute ago?". And, setting aside the serious work your definition of 'silent' needs, yes it does!!!! Click that blue link to find out more!

Links in blue are posts of mine about the topic in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

[spade-riddles]

Spade, I think 🎁 Anon was telling us to look at the volcano messages again. That there's something hidden. "The hint is in the words."

🌋 anon was mostly lines from poems, right? But there was that message about the typo, implying it mattered and they had to correct it. One misplaced apostrophe got a whole message to correct it. As if it would throw something off unless it was fixed.

"Don't you love a good puzzle?"

Is anyone good at puzzles? I'm sure there's a hidden message we're just not getting. 🎁 Anon talks about the 🌋 anons like they sent them too. And remember this? "This is not the manuscript". The Manuscript ended up being the last track on the secret second album released with TTPD. That's pretty compelling evidence to me. It seemed such a weird choice of word at the time. We were wondering if it was a book of poems or something. Now it makes sense, of course.

But I really think 🌋 spelled something out for us and we're just not getting it 😅

[somethingvinyl]

Three great albums celebrating birthdays today, including the FIFTIETH anniversary of Apostrophe!

[jalwyn21]

The way sweaties are shitting on everlore bc joe cowrote them and they’re “pretentious” is so funny. I can’t wait for them to do backflips trying to explain why the poopy dept is tooootally different and thiiiis one is super deep and intelligent unlike those other albums that we thought were deep at first but no actually we lied to not hurt her bfs feelings. Pretending they werent up both their assholes lmao. If the lack of apostrophe and her perpetual lack of any intelligence is an indicator, this album is going to be horrific. I hope critics will speak honestly. Fans would never let it bomb though, they’ll get every variant and claim it broke every record and put every other woman to shame. And then they’ll somehow drag Beyoncé in for the usual racism.

I hope critics will speak honestly.

I don't think anyone can speak honestly about her. The pressure from her cult is unbearable.

[fionaapplerocks]

People are arguing about the possible missing apostrophe in “The Tortured Poets Department”

OK so without looking it up:

[iwanthermidnightz]

Without meaning to sound pedantic, surely Tay's new album should be The Tortured Poets' Department, with an apostrophe after the Poets? Like when she sings 'If I was a man' on The Man, instead of 'If I were a man' which is grammatically correct. Taylor has such a way with words and built a reputation as a great lyricist, but these small things seem such an oversight to me!

like to fix it for grammars sake over sound or aesthetic? because it would just look weird if it were Poets’… i wouldn’t correct it. this type of media i feel like should be free of that… we know taylor knows how to write correctly 🙃

[cultureconnoisseurs]

Now watching Classic Albums Frank Zappa - Apostrophe (') / Over-nite Sensation

[rastronomicals]

12:55 AM EDT September 13, 2024:

Led Zeppelin - "Achilles Last Stand" From the album Presence (March 31, 1976)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under:    Bands That Were, Like, Really Into Bullfinch

Also: Where's that confounded apostrophe?

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