#beer can and tire house amirite?

[amalgamasreal]

It’s always cool to see documentaries about the type of house that you yourself live in.

It’s not for everyone but I wouldn’t change anything about it.....except all the shit I’ve got planned to change in the near future, but we’ll ignore that. 🤣

[shirtlesssammy]

7x01: Meet the New Boss

Then:

Cas is God now, and I’ve never been more devout.

Now:

We start right where we left off. Cas wants the rest of TFW to love and respect him but they only fear him. Well, dude, you can explode them with a snap of your finger. Dean asks if he’s going to kill them. He has no need; They’re powerless against him, so they’re not going to try anything. Dean pleads with Cas again. But all Cas says is that he hopes, for their sake, this will be the last time they see him, and he’s gone. 

Dean asks Sam how he’s doing. Sam falls, cuts his hand, and sees visions of Hell. So, peachy. 

God!Cas is really taking the whole God Complex to a new level. He kills off a ton of angels in Heaven. “It is a new day on Earth and in Heaven. Rejoice.”

Dean’s soul Baby is once again in a sad state of disrepair. Sam’s resting while Bobby and Dean discuss trying to find where God II is chilling. Bobby suggests looking for a trenchcoat on a tortilla and I sometimes love watching episodes I don’t rewatch a lot because that was funny. Dean has no clue how to deal with Cas, but he can fix his car, and when Sam wakes, he can work on fixing him too. 

Later, Dean’s grabbing a beer when Sam walks into the kitchen. He’s okay! Okay enough, at least. Dean tells him to come help with the car and they’ll talk about what to do about Cas. Sam starts to walk out when.

A homophbic preacher is giving a shitty sermon when God walks into the room. I will always stan the God!Cas that says, “I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.” I mean, God!Cas is completely out of control, but just like our Cas, he was trying to do his best in a world that’s far too easy to do your worst. 

Cas kills the minister and then hears a whisper of his name. He stumbles but walks out of the church. 

Sam’s in the basement getting some tools when he starts to have visions of Hell. Bobby finds him. 

There are news reports that 200 different religious leaders are dead in an “act of God.” One eyewitness reports: “We all saw him. No beard. No robe. He was young, and sexy.” WHooEE. (Sidenote: Chuck has a beard and a robe. Lol.) The Ku Klux Klan is forced to disband. New Age motivational speakers: Gone. I mean, God!Cas, bby, these two are not the same. Sam thinks they should try talking to Cas again. Dean has closed that door. 

Cas healed leprosy? Bless the God that overrides pharmaceutical companies and their greed for profit. 

Cas finds Crowley hiding out in a trailer park. 

He tells Crowley that he will remain King of Hell but Cas will control where the souls go. Crowley has no say in the situation so he graciously accepts. 

Sam is up late reading when he has a nightmare vision of getting choked by a chain. He wakes and calls for Dean and Bobby. 

They’re busy in the shed with Baby and the 5000th beer of the episode. Also, Dean’s wearing his cute blue jumper and why can’t they bring that back? 

They discuss Sam. Sam overhears their conversation. Sam and Bobby really want to find something to get to Cas. Dean does not want to poke that bear. Dean does suggest summoning Crowley. 

They want a spell to bind Death. 

Cas is out and about healing true believers while he is deteriorating. 

Then he opens his shirt (YAY!) only to reveal a roiling belly full of something that wants out (NAY!). 

Bobby gets a Fedex from Crowley: The binding spell for Death. They have a lot of the ingredients but they still need “an act of God, crystallized.” Bobby found something at a house about 9 hours away. 

That night after some quick thinking on Dean’s part, (“Excuse me, do you have any Grey Poupon?”), they head inside the house to steal their act of God. 

The residents of the house interrupt their burglary (they keep the fulgurite in an actual glass case smh). Dean turns around to see a shotgun pointed at him and has ZERO concerns. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail he has the homeowners trussed up. After a polite introduction, they begin preparing for the ritual. Sam and Bobby work on spell ingredients while Dean does the real heavy lifting and carefully arranges a bag of greasy takeout and a soda on a side table. 

The ritual begins. The building shakes. “Um, hello? Death?” Dean peers around nervously and comes face to face with newly bound Death. 

Dean immediately fetches the bag of greasy food - the best fried pickle chips around! Hey, Death, if you won’t eat those please pass ‘em over here. 

“This is about Sam’s hallucinations, I assume?” Dean’s jaw drops down the ground. WHAT hallucinations, Sam? I can’t believe you are keeping something from your brother! 

Dean files this new piece of information away and they get back on track. They need Death to kill God. Because “we said so and we’re the boss of you.” Dean. Honey. 

Our poor Dean-tastrophe gets saved from himself by the appearance of Our Lord and Hot Guy on a Tortilla, Castiel himself. Death is utterly unimpressed. 

“You look awfully like a mutated angel to me,” Death snarks, and informs Cas that he’s due to explode soon. In addition to a major overload of souls, Cas has also swallowed Leviathan - ancient hungry monsters that predate angels. They’ve been locked away in Purgatory for time out of mind, but now they’re just a step away from a delicious new world and their doorway is Cas’s gut. 

Cas brushes away this concern.

“Where is he?” Cas asks Death about God!God. “I did a service taking his place.” Oh honey no.

Dean quickly gets tired of the Death versus Castiel snark-off and orders Death to “kill ‘im now.” 

Death lifts his hand with grim amusement to smite Cas, when Cas snaps his fingers and frees Death. Uh. Wherps. Death strolls over to the pickle chips, reassures the frightened homeowners, and Castiel flaps away to…

A political campaign headquarters. Cas heads in to kill the senator running for re-election who has caused “poverty and despair in God’s name.” His stern facade cracks and he starts to laugh wildly. Uh. Oh no.

Death berates Dean for not preventing Castiel’s catastrophic god complex. He warned him, after all! About the souls! It wasn’t a cryptic clue at all! “Maybe you should find somebody better to tip off,” Dean suggests with rising ire. 

Death suggests that his own time is better spent on another planet. At the time, I pictured Death swimming with our tentacled interstellar friends in a sea of stars but now I like to think Death planned a jaunt to a parallel world to talk to jetsetting Dean and Sam instead. 

Sam tries to smooth it over and asks for a smidge of help. Death tells them that if Cas returns it all to Purgatory, that will be enough to save their world. He arranges for another eclipse as well to help them build another door. Finally, he warns Dean about ever trying to bind him again and compliments him on the pickle chips. 

Cas wakes up. He’s covered in blood, lying in a pool of blood, and he’s surrounded by...the dead bodies of the political campaign workers. Cas killed everyone, and he killed them bloody. Viciously. 

Back at Bobby’s, Dean has his boots kicked up on the table with a drink in hand. Sam tries to rally him to fight to get Cas back from the brink. Dean isn’t buying it - not from the guy who’s been hiding his hallucinations from everyone else. (Okay, but pot kettle black, Dean Bean.) 

“It’s under control,” Sam insists. Dean would still rather escape into a life of porn and alcohol binging. He then finds news footage of the campaign office and sees the demented smile on Cas’s face. Erm. Not good. 

Sam doesn’t give up, though! In the junkyard, he prays to Cas to let them help him. Back inside with Dean, Sam’s ready to sink into a chair and give up when Cas appears. 

He looks...rough.

Cas asks for help. He talks Dean and Sam through setting up the ritual while he slumps on the floor. “I feel regret,” he tells Dean, wishing that he were strong enough to fix Sam’s wall before he dies. Dean’s not ready to hand out any hugs. BUT I AM.

Sam’s off getting blood for the ritual when he runs into an old face. Lucifer confronts him and tells Sam that he’s still trapped in the cage with two archangels and has been hallucinating everything since. “This is my best torture yet. Make you believe that you’re free and then yank the wool off of your eyes.” Yeesh, that’s clearly a move Lucifer would’ve learned from Michael. Who learned it from Chuck, right? 

Dean heads off to find Sam and discovers a jar of blood in the hallway...and no Sam. Pressed for time, he rushes back to paint the sigil on the wall. They prop Cas up and start the spell. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas gets out just before the spell ignites. 

The wall rips away and then light blasts out of Castiel. 

Mood, amirite?

Cas lies on the floor, unresponsive. He’s cold and not breathing. He’s DEAD, JIM! “Damn it,” Dean mutters as sorrow steals over his features.

And then Cas blinks awake. And insta-heals! He sits up, blinking. “That was unpleasant.” Cas has his usual half bewildered half sorrowful expression. He swears that he’ll redeem himself to Dean, and Dean seems at least halfway receptive to that plan! He won’t push him away!

Except...Cas suddenly pushes Dean and Bobby away. He crumples in on himself and shouts that they’ve held on! The leviathans! In a moment, any trace of Cas is gone as Leviathan!Cas grins maniacally and tosses Dean across the room. 

“This is going to be so much fun,” Cas says...and knowing how it ends up we agree! Pining, baby. Pining!

These Quotes are the Monster Under Your Bed:

What a brave little ant you are

Miracles, mass visions, trenchcoat on a tortilla? I don't know what I'm lookin' for

I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation

We all saw him. No beard, no robe. He was young...and...and sexy. He had a raincoat

Who feels like hog tying death tonight?

You know how I'm gonna deal? I'm gonna stuff my pie-hole, I'm gonna drink, and I'm gonna watch some Asian cartoon porn and act like the world's about to explode because it is

I'm gonna find some way to redeem myself to you

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[wincestisasincest]

Murder in the Blue Morgue -- Part 5

Trigger Warning: Death

With a warning like that, how can you not click on this?

Last part I’m posting for tonight, and be on lookout for a masterlist.

First chapter: https://twincestforthewincest.tumblr.com/post/181730682110/murder-in-the-blue-morgue-part-1

Second chapter: https://twincestforthewincest.tumblr.com/post/181756574650/murder-in-the-blue-morgue-part-2

Third chapter: https://twincestforthewincest.tumblr.com/post/181756696770/murder-in-the-blue-morgue-part-3

Fourth chapter: https://twincestforthewincest.tumblr.com/post/181756885220/murder-in-the-blue-morgue-part-4

“Alright, kid, where are we off to?” Russel had been quick to rush them out of the house and onto the streets, leaving 2D and Kathleen to discuss whatever matters befell them. He knew that it might end up with some physical violence, but he just wanted to get Jo out of the house, because it would’ve been more violent with someone who more easily provoked her. “Um, I mean, you were thinkin’ a diner, right?” She was still a little awkward around the band, as, though she would never admit to feeling a little overwhelmed that they all showed up, it still was a change of pace. “Preferably one with a hot waitress.” Murdoc stumbled behind them. It takes more than one beer to get Murdoc drunk, of course, but that was assuming that it was his first beer of the day. “I can get you one with an easy waitress,” She started to walk on the right side of the street, with the band, minus 2D, trailing behind her through the unfamiliar streets, “So, you just casually flew all the way out here, huh?” 

“Needed a break, y’know? And, we never really visit other places unless we’re on tour. Just wanted to see casual New Jersey,” Noodle was looking to make conversation again, “Besides, I don’t know if ‘D would’ve been able to face that woman without our encouragement.” “He won’t, y’know. We should’ve stayed.” “Nah, he’s actually pretty capable, we just needed to push him to actually see her in the first place.” Noodle made sure to leave out the part where they purposely taken the painkillers out of his suitcase so he could stay focused.” “Also, you need to get outta that house. That woman is a massive bitch. Dunno how she ever got any, even Dents has standards.” Murdoc, though not considerate, wasn’t stupid. And he made sure everyone knew that. “Yeah, sorry about that. Trust me, we saved the bad stuff for when people aren’t in the house. But normally I don’t stick around for that long anyway.” “Yeah, my parents were shitty too. More advice? Your birth doesn’t determine your family, and for your sanity you need to move out as soon as possible.” Murdoc once again threw in his 2 cents, spewing things that, while unsolicited, were at least relevant. And, for once, he was happy to share his life experiences. “Again, I already got that. But, thanks. Oh, look, we’re here.” She turned into the glass doors of a sparsely populated diner. The bell rang above them that alerted the attention of a waitress with dark, black hair and a large smile. “Hey! Joey! How’ve you been?” She approached the group with a couple menus in her hand. “Y’know, the usual. Break’s over. School’s shit.” Jo shrugged and looked at the floor. “Ever the optimist. And you brought new folks!” “Yeah, luv, we’re scouting out the best girls of Jersey.” Murdoc shoved his way to the front, sensing someone just as eager as he was. “Well, you came to the right spot! But I’m not off work for a few hours, so we’ll see what I can do for you now, and you can come find me after hours.” She gestured for them to follow her to the corner table, with Murdoc’s eyes trained on her ass the whole time. “Y’know, Jo, I can’t remember the last time anyone but you and your buds sat here.” She and Jo shared a laugh. “Well, you’ve worked here for two months. Just wait for spring, that’s when all the crackheads start to show up.” The group took seats around the table as Jo continued her conversation, with the girl passing out the menus. “Dear, it is Jersey.” “Hey, going to college doesn’t count as living here. Only I get to insult Jersey. Not that it needs help.” “Alright, you folks take a look at those menus and I’ll be back in a minute.” The waitress sashayed off into the kitchen, leaving the group in a decided silence and Murdoc slightly stunned as his eyes followed her. “What’s her name?” “Gina.” “Damn.”

//The meal passes, because transitions amirite folks//

“And they invited you the next year?” “Everyone knows you can’t have a party without Murdoc Niccals.” Murdoc leaned forward, a french fry in one of his hands, or ‘chip’ as he called it, obviously way too invested in the telling of his many holiday stories. “Even though he was in prison next year.” Noodle hadn’t spared any expense in going outside of her comfort zone with this meal. In all her time living in England and Japan, she couldn’t deny that she had gotten both her best and worst food experiences in America. However, the greasy, juicy burger that had sat in front of her an hour ago was definitely one of the better ones. “Wouldn’t be the last time either.” Russel had to admit that he’d been missing classic American food, even if it wasn’t like what he’d had in Brooklyn. Of course, New Jersey pizza, especially with the yelling in Italian that he’d heard from the kitchen, was nothing to sneeze at. “Damn.” Jo leaned backward in her seat, feeling her pancakes already beginning to digest in her stomach. Diner food was always fantastic, and it practically ran through her blood at this point, but it never ceased to make her incredibly tired. “Hey, now, I was only guilty once, and I was just caught because that goddamn brothel wanted me back.” Surprisingly, even though he, at one point, had been one of the most immoral people that England had ever known, most of the reasons he had gone to prison were fairly tame. False checks, contact breaches, etc. The boring crimes were the only ones where he cared to get sloppy. “Well, no, gettin’ in trouble with the cops is nothin’, you’re only really in trouble if you get caught.” Jo munched on one of Noodle’s fries, similar to Murdoc, wholly invested in the conversation. “Little young to be robbing stores, are we?” Russel could remember back to his own childhood, even in private school. One of the best parts of being a kid, of course was doing illegal things and knowing how illegal they were while you were doing them. “Nah, robbing stores is trashy. Just trespassing. But again, you’re only really in trouble if you get caught, so I’m clean.” “Alright folks!” Gina returned to the table, slamming the receipt in the middle of the group, “It’s been a pleasure having you all here tonight, and I do hope to see you again. Especially you,” She blew a kiss to Murdoc, “Jus’ give a yell when you’re ready, the place is practically empty.” She was right. The diner was completely vacant, and most of the lights were off as the staff had begun to clean up. The group had spent more time at the diner than they’d originally intended, getting caught up in conversation while slowly gnawing away at the food, which was admittedly delicious. Even Noodle, who would normally ask for dessert at this point, was completely stuffed. “Alright, so mine was 7 bucks, and-“ Jo had pulled some of her babysitting money out of her back pocket, and begun flipping through the cash.” “Wait, mine was only 6 dollars?” Noodle had pulled out a 20-dollar bill, ready to cover the expenses. “Well, yeah. We don’t just like diners because they have good food, they’re also cheap.” Jo had forgotten that not everyone was familiar with having delicious food this readily accessible. “Uh, Noodle, I only brought pounds, can you cover me for, uh, 15 dollars?” Murdoc had insisted that he had brought dollar bills when the rest of the band was going to the exchange counter, and that his time would be better spent ‘discussing’ music with one of the cashiers at the gift shop. “Damn, Murdoc, what did you buy?” Russel, too, was thumbing through his wallet. “Only, like 2 beers.” “No problem, Mudz.” Noodle sighed. The group had left their cash on the table, including a rather generous tip considering the racket that they’d made, and cleared out into the empty, dark streets. The buzz of cars was in the distance, but any populated roads were at least three blocks up. All of the streets with the most popular food or shops were almost entirely ones where people would walk. “So, um, are do you guys wanna go back to the apartment, or…? Because, like, if you’re curious about the nightlife I can give you directions or somethin’.” Jo was never good at ending meetings, especially when they resulted in her having to return home, but she couldn’t keep them here all day. “Actually, yeah, are there any bars around-“ “We’ll head back with you and see if 2D is still busy.” Russel interrupted Murdoc, yet again, legitimately curious if 2D had turned out alright. “Where would ‘D have gone if he was done? Back to the hotel, right?” Noodle was just beginning to realize how chilly the night could be, even in the city, slowly rubbing her arms. “I hope so.” Russel lead the way this time, vaguely remembering the way that the group had taken on their way there. He and Noodle continued up front, with Noodle gawking at some of the lights while chatting with Russel about some of his memories from living in the area. “Psst.” Jo whispered into Murdoc’s ear while they continued down the street. “Yeah?” Murdoc copied her whisper instinctively, his attention grabbed. “2 blocks up from the apartment, on 419 Edgebrook Street, it’s free drinks with karaoke that night. And there’s a strip club just down the street. Just tell ‘em you know Marty and they’ll let you in.” “Who the bloody hell is Marty?” “I know the son of the guy who runs it. Marty is his dad.” “Hm. Thanks, kid.” “No problem.” Sirens blared down the street, closing up just behind the group, and slowing down as they passed the group, making them halt in their tracks. The cop driving the car pointed his flashlight out at the group, finally landing it on Jo. “Josephine Powell?” “That’s me.” “You’re gonna have to come down to the station with us.” The group began looking at each other, slightly panicking. “I didn’t do it.” Jo didn’t know that trespassing could land someone a police chase. “What? No, you’re not being arrested, it’s your mother?” “What happened?” “She’s been murdered.”

DUN DUN DUN!!!

Thanks to all of y’all who got this far.

Be on the lookout for more chapters!

[hokkaidodo-blog]

there’s snow business like hoe business

In my life so far, there have been many things that I have started to do. Many things that have interested me greatly and captured my intrigue and thus,  I have made it my mission to accomplish said things. This process usually includes equal parts of both impulse buying tat from the Internet that I am convinced will be beneficial to me in some way for my new hobby and also developing slightly obsessive behaviours with regards to the aforementioned new hobby and putting every second of my spare time into it. This undoubtedly all occurs before the dawning realisations that I was, in fact, unfortunately born with the attention span of a goldfish and that either 1) I’m bored shitless of my new hobby and can’t believe I was ever interested in it in the first place,  or 2) I have a huge tantrum because I’ve started something new and difficult for 10 minutes a week but somehow I’m not automatically a pro at it immediately. The third step is the abandonment of my new hobby never to be seen, mentioned or eluded to in any way, shape or form for the rest of my fickle existence. My current list of personal pathetic pursuits includes – but is by no means limited to – the following things:

Learning German. Ask me what I ate for breakfast and as long as it’s cereal or an apple, I can tell you in German.

Dance aerobics classes. Lol.

Intricate adult colouring books. My eyes go fuzzy after colouring one leaf and my friends think I’m mad when I turn around and “hey guys, look at this cool art-nouveau squirrel I just spent three hours colouring in 47 shades of brown.”

Going to the gym. Cried for two weeks solid when I pulled a toe muscle and then was appalled and disgusted when I didn’t wake up the next day after one mild workout with a toned tummy and arms like Popeye.

Eating healthier. People who say they prefer a green smoothie over a share-bag of pretzels and a pot of cheese and chive dip are fake. Steer clear and do not trust.

THIS BLOG. Somehow, it’s been two months since I last posted my last post which ALSO started out similarly by saying something along the lines of “omg lol how has is been so long since I’ve written?!” lol.

Anyway, this time I present to you another smattering of pictures and verbal diarrhoea (is this still verbal?) digital diarrhoea and stories and stuff and a bunch of I-don’t-even-know-what from the past two months.

To start with, the season here turned faster than my stomach when sometimes I would get home from a terribly draining and emotionally tiring day at school of playing with poster paint and lentils in GSCE Art BTEC and ask Mum what we’re having for dinner, to which she’d reply with the dreaded: “mackerel salad”.  One day I was still in my T-shirt and jumper, walking to campus wading through piles of golden foliage and then suddenly two days later and I’m skating to school on sheet ice covered in bruises from spectacular tumbles and a good three feet of snow on either side of me. A lot of my friends in sunny Spain or France or even Tokyo say to me (whilst surprising smug giggles) “how’s Sapporo, Ross? Enjoying the snow?” to which I adamantly reply, “It’s not that cold!” and then rummage for a third pair of socks and my thermal undies. It’s beautiful though and I don’t regret a thing!

Snow business like hoe business, amirite

As for Christmas, – and no I am not a Scrooge – I am not feeling at all Christmassy this year. People still work and have classes on the 25th - which is gross for me - but there are still decorations and huge light displays up until midnight on Christmas Day, when as soon as it is over every trace of the festive season is torn down and everybody gets ready to welcome in the New Year.

“can you take a picture of us, we’re a couple”

This being said, I will definitely miss getting plastered with my Grandma on Christmas eve by glugging a bottle Amaretto and then waiting for her to request that the entire family sings “O Come Let Us Adore Him” in five part harmony whilst accompanied by Grandpa on the stylophone; sitting around in my pajamas on Christmas morning, laughing for thirty minutes because the puppy gets present opening priority and then Mum gets the black bin-sack out because he’s covered the living room in wrapping paper confetti and glitter; and then also eating Iceland out of their entire supply of frozen duck spring rolls, mini pizzas and garlic mushroom bites on Boxing Day, before complaining about how full you are yet still continuing to inhale a quarter pound of the leftover turkey, half a block of cranberry Wensleydale (with pickles), some coleslaw, a pile of bubble and squeak and some Mingles whilst the same annual festive episode of Top of the Pops lulls you gently to sleep with Fairytale of New York and Slade.

OTARU

I didn’t realise how much I missed the ocean until I hadn’t seen it for a couple of months and the sea was longer than a 15 minute drive from my house. Luckily, the seaside town of Otaru is just a train ride away from Sapporo and it felt so good for my soul to be back by the water. (Hippie child alert.)

Otaru is a picturesque little town famous for glassblowing and its beautiful canal which is lit up with candles every year for it’s winter festival. Ironically (yet gruesomely hilarious to me), after visiting the aquarium which is apparently super famous, and admiring all of the fab fishies and strange creatures, we went to a seafood restaurant and had some of the best sushi and sashimi that I have eaten so far. In other news: the demolition of a seven-tier soft-serve ice cream that left me questioning my lactose tolerance; the discovery of yet more face-cut out standees that left us all with a questioning outlook on Japan; and a two-storey shop stocked full of music box pieces. Who knew the demand for that was so high?

“Hey guys, can one of you Google whether or not you can die from eating too much ice cream because I don’t feel all that hunky dory right now”

A bear in his pants holding tissues! Japan!

Yes! It’s meant to be a penis! Awesome!

Why is it that when it comes to telling people about what you’ve been up to that your brain just turns to porridge and you can’t help but reply with the bog-standard “Oh the usual; you know, not much”.

RANDOM THOUGHTS

So, three months in (eek) and what are my thoughts on Japan? Well…

1)      Japanese people (in general) seem to be very organised and structured. Take for example, the rush hour on the underground. In London it wouldn’t be unusual to have an unwashed armpit of a local hipster thrust under your nose on your morning commute whilst a lady next to you gossips loudly on the phone to her girls about the chlamydia disaster that happened with Tony last night. This may or may not be accompanied by the gentle pitter-patter sound of some 90s trance music seeping out from underneath some headphones somewhere; twelve people standing on your foot; a distinctive scent wafting from the gentleman opposite you who forgot to eat breakfast so decided to delight everyone with his loud munching of a Lamb & Mint from The Traditional Cornish Pasty Company; and occasionally the fleeting anxiety that comes with frantically patting yourself down and hoping that you haven’t dropped your wallet.

The Japanese subways are deathly quiet, however. Sometimes it’s peaceful in the morning, and sometimes it’s unnerving. You’re awkwardly scared to breathe in case it tickles someone’s neck and you’re all in a line facing the same way and you daren’t get in the way of the station attendant with the big wooden shield who squeezes you in so the doors can close. There’s no crazy rush or crowd on platforms, just two neat lines and an unsettling calmness for someone who is used to (and who quite enjoys) mild chaos and hecticness.  

 2)      Went to the Asahi Beer factory; the most lit class field trip ever. With free beer. 10/10 would recommend.

3)      Japanese staff in restaurants, ticket offices, libraries etc absolutely will NOT speak Japanese with a non-Japanese person. It’s incredibly frustrating. As someone who’s main focus here is to improve my language skills, it is tough to do so when you struggle to get natives to treat you like anybody else. Whether some Japanese people just assume that there is categorically no way that a non-Asian person could become conversational in Japanese, I have no idea. For example, you will order in a restaurant in near-perfect Japanese to which you are just started at blankly. The waitress turns to my Japanese friend who repeats word-for-word and accent-for-accent exactly what I just said, and everything is fine. This usually continues for a few minutes and each time leaves me questioning my intelligence, my language competency and my foreigner-ness, and also just what do I need to do to try and win over the Japanese? (Video link)

I think that’s it for now. I’m sure I had more thoughts so I’ll try and write them here more often when I remember them (part 2 of me saying that). Nothing much is happening in the next few weeks, it’s that kind of winter jaded-ness that happens every year. BUT – everything is beautiful, I’m still smiling and I’m still in Japan and very lucky to be alive. I’m looking forward to January where things will kick-start again, and I can start travelling and exploring some more. Just got to finish 2017 with as much love as possible and give it a good end.

BONUS PICS: Some pretty skies at the Hokkaido Historical Village and me riding a humpback whale at the museum. You’re welcome.

Every single typewriter stamp from an old Japanese printer press.

I'm putting on my shades to cover up my eyes, I'm jumping in my ride, I'm heading out tonight ;)

[anythingstephenking]

The House of The Setting Sun

There is a house // In Wisconsin // they call the…. Black House // A serial killer lives there // oh and also it’s a portal to Mid-World.

Ok, doesn’t really roll off the tongue. But after getting somewhat tired of miscellaneous Dark Tower references in mostly unrelated novels, we’re back to being squarely Dark-Tower-Adjacent in Black House, the much awaited sequel to one of my most prized reads so far, The Talisman.

I could. not. wait. to read this. I devoured The Talisman in two days, and humbly equated it to Harry Potter levels in my write-up. It was that good. I may revisit The Talisman again before I finish this project, because the details are muddled in my mind and I miss it so very much.

Well I suppose that’s a lot of pressure to put on a sequel, and I should have realized I’d end up dissatisfied and scratching my head. Because Black House is sadly, not The Talisman.

It took me 2 months to plow through the 600+ pages. 1.5 of those months were getting through the first 200 pages; I finished up the last 400 or so over the last few days. We’ll get to the why in a bit.

Let’s start at the beginning. Jack Sawyer, our hero who saved his mom and the world to boot on an epic journey 17 years ago is now all growns up and a successful detective. He remembers nothing of his past adventures, but his connection with the talisman is a large contributing factor of his success. Touch a magical orb once when you’re 12, blessed forever - that’s how the saying goes! He retires at 31, as one does (sigh), and moves to small town Wisconsin to settle down in an old farmhouse. Dude is LITERALLY living my dream.

But turns out there’s a serial killer on the loose, operating in that same small town (what are the chances, amirite?) and Jack’s pulled in to help solve the case. This guy is killing AND eating children, so like, kinda hard to kick back with a glass of wine and ignore all that I suppose.

If I had known that Black House would be more of a serial killer cat and mouse than a journey back to The Territories, I may have been more prepared. But I wanted another epic quest, and there are no quests to be seen for miles here.

The problem is that the language here is so fraught and overworked. One book review I read claimed that King and Straub appear as two divas on stage, striving to out warble each other and ending up looking like morons. Ok, well I added the “morons” part, most book critics wouldn’t use the word moron. But they did say divas, and I wholeheartedly agree. Where The Talisman wove their writing styles together seamlessly, Black House is like a ham-fisted ham sandwich (TM - me).

I can pretty clearly guess what passages are Kings and which are Straubs, or at least I decided all the stuff I didn’t like was Straub to feel better about the whole situation. The first section of the novel, called “Welcome to Coulee Country” is over a hundred pages of us flying alongside a crow, popping in and out of locations that may matter later but does little in orientating you to anything other than too many words to describe things.

Exhibit A:

“We enter. Mild sunlight filtering in through gaps in the eastern wall and the battered roof paints luminous streaks across the gritty floor. Feathers, dust, eddy and stir over animal tracks and the dim impressions left by many long-gone shoes. Threadbare army-surplus blankets speckled with mold lie crumpled against the wall to our left; a few feet away discarded beer cans and flattened cigarette ends surround a kerosene-burning hurricane lamp with cracked glass housing.”

It keeps going like that for what seems to be about 5 years until we get to the fact theirs a dead child there and her foot’s gone cause some monster fucking ate it. It’s 100 pages of adjectives to get to the crux of it all - there’s a bad guy on the loose and Jack Sawyer is gunna do something about it. Black House kicked around the best seller list for a long time back in 2001, but my guess is that only the most loyal / dark tower nerds made in through the first few chapters.

The book does pick up steam about halfway through once the true purpose comes to life; one of the boys, Ty Marshall, was taken by the serial killer, not for a midday snack but for a higher purpose. He’s a “breaker” and is being carted off to The Crimson King to assist in his evil plans of breaking the beams and ruining not only his world, but all worlds.

And thus we have our purpose - save Ty, save the world. We do get a wonderful cast of accompanying characters, including a handful of college educated bikers, a blind radio DJ, a somewhat bumbling chief of police, a helpful colony of bees and of course Jack.

If The Talisman was an epic coming-of-age tale of adventure and intrigue, I suppose this could be its grown up, darker older brother. Serial killers that eat kids can hardly be considered anything other than super dark. While we dance around who the killer might be (for a loooooong time) we inch towards answers that won’t come until Jack remembers (with some help from his pal Speedy). Un-satisfyingly, we’re told not to care about who the killer is, but why is Ty important, so like WHY HAVE WE BEEN ON THE HUNT FOR HIM FOR HALF THIS BOOK. Sigh.

So, we do get back to The Territories (on page 426, but who’s counting?) which is about the point where the story should have started. We get what we’ve anxiously been waiting for - not a quest per-se but a high-risk rescue mission with a (mostly) satisfying King Konclusion of “Good Guys Win.”

While the story is firmly planted in King’s mythos, it feels rude to pin the bad stuff on Straub because it’s not his universe, but I’m going to anyway because I can and that’s the end of it.

King and Straub promised a trilogy, so there may still be more to come. There were 17 years between the two, which would have put the third on our bookshelves last year. Will keep holding onto the dream.

7/10

First Line: Right here and now, as an old friend used to say, we are in the fluid present, where clear-sightedness never guarantees perfect vision. Last Line: “My heart, my life and my love: welcome back.”

Adaptations:

None - thank goodness. Word on the street is that The Talisman may see the light of day, but I’ll #believeitwheniseeit.

Will leave this here, posted without comment.

[awed-frog]

Regarding Dean/A Tale of Icebergs

[Disclaimer: I wasn’t a fan of the other Meredith Glynn episode, and I’m not sure how much i liked this one either, so if you’re striving for zero negativity, feel free to skip this entire meta.]

The most obvious thing about this episode is, for me, the complete and utter disconnect between what the show’s saying on the surface and what’s going on in the subtext. Which, I don’t know - some of it is normal, because if you’re passionated about something you will notice different things and know more about it and that’s okay, and some of it I even like - the classic I can decipher this secret message, I must be a genius thing shared by anyone who’s ever learned a language and also anyone who was into treasure hunts as a kid, and as for that last bit - yeah - that’s where the problem is. So, well - let’s play.

Nice on the surface: Rowena’s backstory

Which is actually not so nice because as much as I want to know more about her, what the general audience will see as closing and minding the gap (why did Rowena even come to the US, and so on) I see as a) yet another villain being queer-coded and b) a tantalizing glimpse of a world I’ll never get to know being thrown into my face. Let’s get to the queer-coding first, because this is the main issue and man, I can’t believe they did it again, and it doesn’t even matter Rowena was offering herself up as a sex slave to all three Loughlins siblings out of necessity, does it, because everybody loves some woman on woman action, including all women, har har, so coercion doesn’t count. No, Rowena was willing to roll around in the hay with Catriona, which makes her bisexual, which brings the total of queer villains in Supernatural to - is that all of them? All the revelant ones, surely. And as we all know, the message this sends is disturbing, to say the least. And secondly - I could happily have watched a whole season about the BMoL, because they are new and didn’t we all wonder what was going on with hunting in other countries and man, look at those spells and that knowledge and those complicated moral questions and now it turns out they’ve got a beef with Rowena and what - and instead, we still don’t know anything about them. They pop up and then disappear. Sam and Dean are mostly ignoring them, unless there’s a deep and meandering conversation going on in the background we know nothing about. And by the end of this season, Mick and the band will probably be gone, and that will be it - like Jesse the Antichrist, like the hunting community, like a hundred other plot ramifications which could hold on a series on their own and instead are just an undeveloped afterthought. 

Nice on the surface: Dean being all goofy

Which is actually not so nice because we know about Dean’s history, and his childhood, and how much free will means to him. So seeing him like that - I think this is where you notice how weird this show is, and how it’s read so differently depending on who’s watching. And this actually hurt, so, ugh.

Nice on the surface: Dean x Larry (Darry? Lean? Deanry?)

Which is actually not so nice because here was a classic example of in your face dogwhistling - once again, Dean is being coded as bisexual, and once again, his attraction to women is good and wholesome and shown on screen without any ambiguity whatsoever (the one thing we don’t know is whether she blew him in the bathroom or if they actually did it), while his attraction to men is played off as a joke, because this Larry Dean was riding last night - not a guy, duuuur, but actually a mechanic bull. Isn’t that clever! A mechanic bull, imagine that! Cue long sequence of Dean bouncing up and down the damn thing, Sam smirking about it, a relcuctantly impressed waitress and Dean being all wide-eyed and heartbreaking, because the one thing he cares about? ‘Was I good?’ Of course, that’s what Dean ‘everybody leaves me’ Winchester would want to know. Women, men, his dad, his mom, his brother, his pet angel - the only thing Dean cares about is earning his keep so he doesn’t get left behind. 

(All this talk about Cas feeling like ‘just a tool’ - guess where he learned that.)

Nice on the surface: Lookie here, a discussion about consent

Which is actually not so nice because, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, what Dean’s conversation with that waitress implied is that guys can’t get raped, and they sure as hell can’t get raped by smokin’ hot 20-year-olds, amirite, because check out the rack on that chick - she can take advantage of me any day of the week, mate. Now, I have complicated feelings about this whole issue and this is neither the time nor the place to discuss them, but the bottom line is, enough with this bullshit. The idea men want to have sex every hour of every day with any hot woman who comes through the door - next. Sexual behaviour is both personal and fluctuating - what turns you on one day can leave you meh the next, and that includes getting blown by waitresses in Old West-themed bars. Also, this may be a novel idea, but men are human beings as well and they have, uh, feelings? So, sure, sometimes they just want to have fun, and don’t we all, but probably not all the time? And Dean - look at him - dad bod or not, he could probably talk his way into anyone’s bed, and yet he hasn’t and doesn’t. He never touched anyone for months and months, and that was a choice, not circumstances, because we know Dean is tired of the adios and wants to try new things and have a meaningful connection for freaking once, which means this - this was him worried and angry and frustrated and unable to talk to anyone about it, yeah, because Mom’s off somewhere and it’s not like she cares, and Cas is on the verge of suicide as it is, and Sam’s apparently done with his caring ways and We got a case to work, so get it together, alright?, so what is Dean supposed to do here? And yet, this moment, which - to me - is actually sad af, first becomes an example of what the right kind of masculinity is like, and second gets played off for laughs, because, man, you can’t take advantage of me, babe, look at you, and I’m just bummed I can’t remember. Ugh.

Nice on the surface: Sam being all concerned

Which is actually not so nice because I should probably stop trying to guess what’s going on with Sam, except what the fuck is wrong with Sam? He used to be - well, he’s a complicated person, but lately he’s just - like, apparently he doesn’t talk to anyone, right? and that’s been canon for some time - that he’s got no connections, no friends, no nothing (and that’s not painful at all) but the fact he texted both Mary and Cas to give them the heads up about Dean’s broken phone throws this into sharp relief, again: Sam doesn’t talk to anyone. Dean is the one playing silly phone games with Mary and calling Cas at random moments to say nothing at all, and I bet (this is offscreen stuff, but still) that he’s got a whatsapp conversation open with Claire and Alex and he bickers with them about music and he may even talk to Jody or Donna or some other hunter from time to time (remember in Baby, when he’d texted that woman we never heard of because she might be around and want a beer?), and Sam - Sam is still so traumatized, perhaps, or feeling unclean after his latest brush-up with Lucifer, that he isolates himself. And not only he doesn’t want to talk about what’s going on with him, but he flat-out refuses to hear what’s going on with Dean, as well. That bitch face he pulled in the car, that snarky ‘we got a case to work, so get it together’ - that was well beyond the line of mean, and if we consider how Kumbaya Sam used to be in earlier seasons, a huge character shift. Also one that’s been building and simmering for so long, we might actually have to consider if it’s a character shift at all, or if this is simply who Sam actually is.

Nice on the surface: The Winchesters save the day, again

Which is actually not so nice because okay, now I’m sort of convinced the Winchesters’ sloppiness is on of the themes of the season? First of all, there was the way the first few minutes were framed - a man running through the woods, frantically calling his loved ones - I totally thought that would be a victim of some kind, and instead, nope. As Rowena points out later in the episode, Dean is a killer, and I’m always slightly uneasy during witching episodes - on the one hand, I get why the show is so hard on witchcraft, and I like that, but on the other - these are humans, right, and what’s the difference between killing someone with a gun and killing someone with a hex bag? And, sure, later we do learn the Loughlin family is Moste Ancient and Evile, but Dean didn’t know that when he started chasing after Gideon, did he? He was slightly drunk, and he simply started shooting at someone who’d used mild magic against him in a parking lot, without waiting to hear if there was a good explanation for it (maybe the guy had dangerous and vengeful accomplices somewhere, maybe he had nothing to do with the murder, maybe the murder was sort of justified, maybe maybe maybe). If Gideon’s siblings and been sensible and had skipped town for a few years (the whole Rowena story implies they’re supernaturally long-lived, right? and this is something fiction never gets quite right about immortal creatures - what’s the difference in switching safe houses for ten or twenty years, and why would you risk staying in one place at all?), Dean would have died, along with countless other people. Next we’ve got Sam calling Rowena (wtf?), Sam not telling anyone Dean’s got hours to live (why bother?), Sam leaving a dangerous witch who hates them both to care for his severely debilitated and mindless brother, Sam storming an ancient Den of Wicked Wisdom on his own...let’s be honest for a second - can’t you sort of sympathize with the BMoL’s concerns? Because I’m starting to think we might have an Indy Paradox on our hands here.

Nice on the surface: The brotherly love

Which is actually not so nice because come on, I understand it’s difficult to get over a childhood like that, and by now we’ve got so many metas about Dean being Sam’s parent even Sam’s probably heard about it (we still don’t know what he does online all day, right? so there), but this episode was a whole other level of weirdness. Because, uhm, so they’re in town to hunt a dangerous witch who’s already killed once, and Sam is in his motel room ‘looking into the lore’ (I don’t even want to know what that is code for) and Dean goes out to get himself a burger and never shows up again and Sam’s, like, fine with it? And, sure, this is what used to happen with John, but it doesn’t make it right. And next, it turns out Dean blacked out and, again, Sam’s fine with it? Uhm, hello? We haven’t seen Dean get wasted in a while now, and even when he did, Sam was generally not happy with it, because, I don’t know, that was an alternative reality where Sam recognized that getting blind drunk was Not Okay? And not for moral reasons, obviously (no - we know why, right? right). And finally - despite the state Dean’s in - he can’t even tell apart his damn keys! - Sam doesn’t even offer to drive, because this is what you do around parents, right? You assume they’re okay and self-reliant and that they know what the hell they’re doing, because anything else in unthinkable. So, sure - maybe it’s time for Dean to stop parenting Sam, but it’s also time for Sam to grow up.

Honourable mentions

The doggie!!

That spell Gideon used sounded like the Irish name Diarmaid, which means ‘without envy’ - kind of fitting for a memory spell.

Dory!

The geography - Eureka Springs and Carroll County!

The torch!!!!

LET DEAN USE THE GRENADE LAUNCHER!

THAT FUCKING SONG AT THE END - GAAAAAAAAAH

[kaleidoscopephilosophy-blog]

The (Not-So)-Secret Life of a Weirdo

I hate parties.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I dislike having fun; in fact, many would say I have fun too often.  It’s just… I don’t drink.  I don’t smoke.  I don’t do drugs.  I mean, I won’t even take medicine unless I’m physically dying!  I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid to mess with the natural inner workings of my body.  Call me a dork, a nerd, a weirdo, whatever term you prefer.  I don’t mind.  I am a nerd.  I am weird.  I’m not afraid to be myself, but… it’s just hard sometimes.

It’s hard when everyone around you is either drinking or smoking, or both.  It’s hard when they tell you they respect that you don’t drink, but the judgement in their eyes betrays their true feelings.  It’s hard when you can see that they’re clearly trying their hardest to be nice to you, to include you, to understand you, but they can’t possibly understand you.  They want to, but they simply can’t.  You’re just too… different.  You see the world through a completely different lens than they do.  You know there are people out there like you, but those people are equally antisocial and introverted, and even if by some miracle you were to meet them, you know they could never open up to you because you also know you will never truly open up to them.

But really, what choice do you have?  Sitting in your bedroom alone somberly strumming your acoustic guitar gets old pretty quickly.  You can either go out to a party and try to fake your way through it, or you can stay in, alone, and over-think every single aspect of your life.  I suppose over-thinking is inevitable, and after a series of successive nights alone, the allure of distraction becomes overwhelming.

So, lo and behold, you go to a party.  Great.  Wonderful!  Pray to Yahweh it’s not a frat party, because those abominations are unbearable.  The blatant sexism and rampant desire for “bros” to display their masculinity is enough to make you gag.  As they say, don’t knock it ‘til you try it, but if you’re like me, I guarantee you’ll knock it immediately after you try it.  Let’s assume you get lucky and your friends decide to go to a regular house party instead.  Good!  Chances are, your hosts won’t be total {insert-your-own-word-here}bags, and usually the girls have to pay to get into these parties, just like the guys.  Cheers to equality!

Walking up the stairs toward the sound of the music, you have high hopes.  You enter the room where the party is going on and see that there’s a live band.  That’s a great sign!  They could be better, but at least it’s not that stupid glam rap or EDM shite that all the young kids love.  It’s just like the ‘90s in here!  Or, at least, how you imagine the ‘90s would be.  A frat bro stumbles over and complains that this party sucks because there aren’t enough girls and the music blows.  You smile.  It’s already going better than you had anticipated.

Be careful!  Don’t get too excited.   Before you know it, the band is packing up their equipment.  They’ve been playing for an hour, and it looks as if they’ve run out of material.  Not to fear, though, frat bro!  A DJ appears out of thin air, and that garbage noise pollution that turns off the rules and makes it okay for guys to grab girls and fight other guys starts blaring through the speakers.  Suddenly, the place is packed with people you recognize from that god-awful frat party two weekends ago.  You’re pushed into the corner.  Some girl spills beer on your shoe, then goes back to making out with that short, stocky guy who really needs to shave.  Your friends are yelling and jumping and chugging alcohol, becoming hysterical when their cups become empty.  The night just took a total 180, and you’re still standing frozen in the corner, wondering why the band couldn’t have taken the time to learn four or five more songs.

You trade the oppressing heat of the packed house for the bitter outdoor cold and embark on the trek back to your dorm room, vowing never to go out again.  It could be worse, you reason.  At least you won’t have a pounding headache until you wake up the following morning!  Your roommate reminds you that your friends are planning to “post-game” in a nearby dorm in half an hour.  Right, because as if drinking until you can’t walk straight before the party even starts (the “pre-game”) isn’t enough, there’s still more drinking and smoking to be done after the party.  After all, you only drank eleven beers during the party.  Alcohol poisoning or bust, amirite?  Oh, and don’t forget to post every minute of it on Snapchat!  If your friends can’t see how much fun you’re having, what’s the point of even having fun at all?

Obviously, you don’t want to go to this “post-game” shindig, so you tell your friends you’re tired and explain that you’re just going to stay in for the rest of the night.  Gotta remember to put that condom you had in your pocket back in the underwear drawer.  Better to be prepared than be plagued by anxiety for weeks, am I right?  You laugh at yourself for thinking you would actually need a condom tonight.  Your friends remind you all the time that you don’t get girls; why in the world would you think otherwise?  Silly you.

Oh, well.  Time for bed.  At least you’ll fall asleep right away-- that is, after a few hours of thoughts and ideas racing around your head at the speed and volume of a NASCAR race.  Gotta get out of bed and write this one down.  Maybe this idea will actually turn out to be a success!

The next day, you have loads of homework.  You pour your heart and soul into that ADV 206 project, aware all along that you’re going above and beyond the requirements, but you expect that of yourself.  You want it to be absolutely perfect, because anything less is disappointing.  Gotta stay on the Dean’s List.  You used to think grades only mattered when you were trying to get into a “good” college, but after accomplishing that, you realize that only students with 3.9 and 4.0 GPAs get the “good” internships and the “good” jobs.  Awesome!  Good thing advertising is definitely the one and only thing you want to do with the rest of your life, right?  Writer, songwriter, comedian, musician, POTUS-- those were just silly pipe dreams, weren’t they?  Now you can move onto the pragmatic stuff.  No more philosophy classes-- let’s get you enrolled in statistics and business courses instead!

You need a job that will make good money.  Right, because money makes the world go ‘round.  Money is everything.  Really, it’s nothing; just thin green rectangles comprised of linen and cotton.  But in this life, it’s everything.  It’s your status, your happiness; you are defined by a number.  You are a number.  You don’t have to love your job, as long as you make money.  That way, you can retire comfortably-- maybe.  Probably.  Well, probably not, with the impending implosion of social security.  Let’s say you do retire comfortably.  Great!  You have, what, ten years, twenty years, thirty years to live?  To reflect on your difficult, painful life, bored out of your mind?  At least you have money.

Before you know it, you’ll be thirty.  Then forty, then fifty, then sixty.  The years get shorter as you get older.  Actually, so do you, as your spine gradually curves and deteriorates.  You’ll look back at those days before you turned twenty-two, before you had to get a job (hopefully, an enjoyable one), find your soulmate, and start a family.  Hopefully, you’ll have met and formed close bonds with friends who see the world through the same bizarre kaleidoscope lens as you.  A lifelong weirdo.  An outcast, no longer cast out for his true nature.  And in the end, when all is said and done, when the messiah comes (or returns), or Buddha appears out of thin air, or Shiva the Destroyer shows up and destroys the world, or-- Allah forbid-- nothing happens and you simply cease to exist, all of which would be disappointing in one way or another, you will still hate parties with a burning passion.