#bohemian muse

[jakobbach]

Prague mural lapidary of the bohemian muse (archive of socialist sculptures from Prague) location: Lounských street client: Prague City Tourism, GHMP

[radianttruthsii]

Artist Vali Myers in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris, 1951, photo by Ed van der Elsken

[violetcreatura]

Vali Myers by Ed Van Der Elsken

[fritzllang]

a few days ago spanish newspaper el país published an article titled '25 songs that should be erased from rock or pop history' where they asked a bunch of music journalists to each pick a popular song that they dont like. and okay, this type of articles are obviously made to create controversy and i shouldnt fall for the provocation. BUT I DID. because yeah some of them were overplayed or overrated songs, i wouldnt mind not listening to lennon's imagine ever again, and everyone's entitled to their opinion. BUT. but. one of those so called journalists chose Bohemian Rhapsody.

HE PICKED BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY AS A SONG HE WOULD ERASE FROM ROCK'S HISTORY (translation under the picture)

"OK, Freddie Mercury was a great frontman and vocalist, that's beyond doubt; but musically, Queen's contributions to rock history have been more pernicious than positive. Bohemian Rhapsody, their most iconic song, is a pretentious, operatic rock hassle, and a demonstration that the path of excess does not always lead to the palace of wisdom. It is grotesque, camp and, at the same time, grandiloquent. Pure onanistic artifice without any content. But the worst is what came after: dozens of even heavier imitators (Muse, My Chemical Romance, etc.), tribute bands everywhere, musical theatre extravaganzas and legions of fans who, looking at you with a superior, quizzical look, identify Queen with the epitome of good music".

CONGRATULATIONS BUDDY EVERY WORD YOU JUST SAID IS WRONG

[wren-of-the-woods]

I choose to believe that if Jaskier had been in that prison cell with Gordon for a while longer, he would have invented Jailhouse Rock by Elvis Presley.

[inshelliesworld]

[earthjournalbyawildrose]

I walked until I could see no one else. I sat and watched the birds play in the air, gliding on the currents, resting in the oak trees. I earthed barefoot on the sand all the way to the mud sand, where my feet began to sink. We rested, we smiled, we played, we foraged. The clouds rushed hurriedly overhead, somewhere else to go across the sea and the sun danced below on the ground in shadow.

In a few weeks our art studio vision will become a reality. As we build it, I wonder what Earth transmissions will be born from this new space. How will I feel in a large space open to creativity? We go to her, Mother Earth, we return to our nest to think, to feel, to reflect on all that she teaches us daily. To portray those feelings on paper. I know who I am. I know what I am. Now I paint all that I am. Wild Rose

source

[lebohemianmuse]

“Introducing Her,” the newest @belladonnaartiste collab that was a commission for one of my patrons on @patreon . #nft #winter #celebrateblackcreativity #creativity #renaissance #california #murals #muralist #streetart #muse #bohemian #artistsoninstagram #art #sanfrancisco #womenempowerment #womeninbusiness #womenartists #blackart #blackartist #bayarea #missionart #blackgirlmagic #abstract #abstractart #abstractexpressionism #abstractpainting #lebohemianmuse #blackownedbusiness 🎈❤️🌹 https://www.instagram.com/p/CppzNYer45k/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue]

Beboptober Day 14: Checkmate

Thanks to @thestarlightsymphony​ for the prompt list! I’m considering putting these all up on AO3 after Beboptober is over—either as a single work with each oneshot as one chapter, or as a series with each oneshot as a separate work. What do you all think?

Ed’s love of chess had started around four years ago, with an anonymous donation that arrived at the Earth orphanage in a big cardboard box—probably some odds and ends from the home of someone who’d died, which no one could figure out what to do with. The children of the orphanage crowded eagerly around the box as Sister Clara unpacked its contents: a few long winter jackets for the bigger kids, some plates and china for mealtimes, a weird mechanical clock that no one could figure out how to operate. (This was given to Cain, who loved mechanical doodads and immediately began taking the thing apart.)

The last thing in the box was a wooden chessboard, with a small velvet drawstring bag containing the pieces. The whole set must have been decades old; its wood was chipped, the squares on the board were so faded that the black ones were nearly indistinguishable from the white, and several of the chess pieces were missing. It didn’t even connect to the net, as some boards did. Nevertheless, the kids descended upon it like ravenous beasts, fascinated by new things and desperate for some entertainment.

Some of them began to take the pieces and play pretend with them—little dot guys on horseback fighting atop horses to defend their castles—until Sister Clara stopped them. “Children!” she said in her most authoritative voice. “These aren’t dolls. This is a game of strategy. You capture each other’s pieces by moving your own pieces on the board a certain way, according to the rules.”

The moment she said the word rules, most of the kids lost interest. “I like my way better,” one grumbled as he walked away.

But to Clara’s vague surprise, Ed stayed. “Rules?” she asked, fingering a bishop and looking up at Clara with wide eyes. “What kinda rules?”

Of all the kids Clara had expected to be interested in playing chess, she wouldn’t have pegged Edward as one of them. The small, skinny nine-year-old, who had randomly wandered into the orphanage about a year ago, seemed to constantly be in motion—running or spinning or hanging upside down, exploring the orphanage’s nooks and crannies, and even rocking and humming in her quietest moments while working on her beloved computer Tomato. Clara vaguely associated chess with hoity-toity intellectualism and silence, two things that seemed the furthest from Ed that one could get.

But she appreciated the kid’s interest, so she did her best to explain. “Well, the black player and the white player each have sixteen pieces—I guess there’s supposed to be more than there are here—and you’re trying to capture the other guy’s pieces by jumping into their spot. You’re really trying to corner the other guy’s king, which is this tall piece here. That’s called ‘checkmate.’ That’s when you win.”

“Checkmate, checkmate,” Ed said, trying the word out in her mouth. It felt good. Decisive, triumphant.

“But each piece moves a different way to get to the others,” Clara continued. “The pawns can only go one square forward—except on their first turn, I think, and maybe also when they capture—and…I think the knight goes in a kind of…L shape? And bishops can only move diagonally…or is that rooks?” She shook her head. “Oh dear, I don’t remember all the rules. You might have to find them yourself. On that computer of yours.”

Luckily, Ed was good at that.

From her net-diving on her trusty Tomato, she quickly found an informational page listing all the rules of the game. Sister Clara read over her shoulder, nodding—“Oh yes, oh yes, I remember that—oh, so that’s how they move!”—and finally turned to Ed. “How about it? Want to try a game? I can remind you of the rules if you forget them.”

Sister Clara was a fast learner. But Ed was faster.

She’d committed all the rules to memory on her first read-through of the webpage. She wasn’t sure how. Somehow, they’d just stuck. And now that she knew where all the pieces were supposed to go and how to use each one, she was already imagining how they could be used in an actual game, hopping them around her mental chessboard: the bishop goes here, the pawn goes here, then the other pawn goes here…

The two of them set up the board, using rolled-up scraps of paper for the missing pieces. “You’ll just have to pretend this is a pawn,” Sister Clara said apologetically as she put one on the board. “Use your imagination.”

Luckily, Ed was good at that too.

As the two of them played, she found herself pretending she was the commander of a big army, trying to capture the king of the bad guys. She mentally gave them faces and personalities. The pawns were a bunch of little soldiers, steadily marching forward; the bishop was a sneaky spy, going all askew to reach its destination; the knight darted unpredictably all over the board. And Ed was in charge of it all. She felt a strange thrill in her heart at the idea.

The best part was that she could use her imagination to think a bunch of steps ahead—if she went here, then maybe Sister Clara could go here, and then Ed could go here and take that—and come up with moves her opponent would never be able to predict.

“Bing, bam, boom!” she said triumphantly, slamming down a white pawn. “Checkmate!”

Sister Clara looked surprised.

“That’s some remarkable beginner’s luck, Edward,” she said as she folded up the chessboard and put the pieces away. “I’m impressed.”

But Ed knew it was more than just beginner’s luck. She was good at chess, the way she was good at net-diving. It gave her a thrill of victory, of accomplishment, that fluttered in her chest, and she couldn’t help but giggle.

She wanted more.

Sister Clara quickly saw that she was nurturing a little chess genius, with an obvious passion for the game. The kid got the same twinkle in her eye when she played it that she got when she was doing who-knew-what on her computer. She learned and memorized moves with remarkable speed and acuity, often using Clara’s own moves from previous games against her. She could stay focused on it for remarkable periods of time, longer than Clara had ever seen any of these kids focus on, well, much of anything—sometimes even neglecting food and sleep.

And it was impossible to resent her when she won—she’d always giggle cheerily, but never meanly or in a gloating way, even though she was obviously aware of her own ability. One got the sense that she was simply happy to have played a fun game. Her joy bubbled up from inside of her, and Clara had to admit, it was infectious.

Her strategy developed in leaps and bounds—if you could even call it strategy. It was certainly unconventional. After all, it wasn’t like Ed read long analytical works on chess theory or even had access to them; if you mentioned the word “fianchetto” to her, she’d probably just stare in confusion (or, more likely, repeat it to herself a bunch of times and giggle). She just did what came to mind, and who knew what went on in that mind? But whatever she did, it worked. Incredibly well.

Ed always tried to play with the other kids at the orphanage, but when she tried to explain the rules of chess to them, they’d either get bored halfway through or confused by Ed’s unusual diction; either way, they’d usually leave. So most of her games were against Sister Clara or the occasional visitor to the orphanage, assuming they knew how to play. She maintained an undefeated record until the day she left.

Once, an old man who’d been visiting the orphanage threw his hat down on the floor in shock and outrage at the end of a game with her. He’d apparently never been defeated at chess in his entire life, and now this kid—this random skinny orphan, who bounced up and down and swung her limbs and hummed through the whole game, obviously not taking it seriously in the least—was the one to break that record? It was her humming, he declared to whoever in the orphanage was listening. That and her strange, nonsensical chants. It had distracted him, thrown him off course.

Ed grinned as she reset the chessboard. She knew it wasn’t that.

After a while, the few kids at the orphanage who did agree to play with her began to play less and less. “It’s no fun when you always win,” one of them had said. “It’s no fair,” another had agreed. Eventually, her games against other kids stopped entirely. She didn’t really mind. She still had Sister Clara, and sometimes she’d play against herself, just for the fun of it. She always won.

But she missed having opponents, trying to predict what they could do. She could always know what she was going to do. It got boring after a while, and Ed hated boredom more than anything.

She wished she had one of those holographic chessboards and a cartridge with some games in its memory, so she could play against opponents over the net. But it was a miracle that the orphanage even had a regular chessboard, and try as she might, she couldn’t scavenge even a broken holographic chessboard in the junk piles around her. So until she had access to that, it was more games against herself, in her mind.

Her passion remained stagnant for a while until one day, aboard the Bebop, she encountered a few things. A cartridge, found by Jet during a bounty hunt, in the shape of a chess king. A holographic chessboard, buried and forgotten somewhere on the ship until Ed found it and hooked it up for the first time (and nearly electrocuted herself in the process!). And, when she connected the cartridge to the board and the outernet, a player—a master, named Hex—looking for an opponent for a game of chess.

Luckily, Ed was really good at that.

[erabundus]

𝐓𝐎𝐏  𝟓  𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ...       share  the  top  songs  in  your  playlist  that  most  inspire / represent  your  muses  the  most.    bonus  points  if  you  include  lyrics  to  go  along  with  it.

𝟎𝟏.          ...  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇  𝐓𝐎  𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

it  starts  with  the  unexpected  loss  of  something  dear.  the  warmth  that  comforted  and  cradled  just  disappears.  and  in  its  place,  there's  nothing ...  just  an  endless,  empty  hole.  the  light  that  showed  the  way  is  gone  and  darkness  takes  control.  bitterness  and  anger  are  quick  to  fill  the  void.  the  path  to  isolation  is  littered  with  the  dreams  that  lay  destroyed.

𝟎𝟐.          ...  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃

sometimes  the  ones  we  love  the  most  have  the  worst  things  to  hide.  sometimes  the  monsters  turn  out  to  be  those  who  stood  there  by  your  side.  so ...  keep  it  locked  up,  keep  it  sealed  tight,  shut  it  down  and  turn  away  —  (  "please,  think  of  the  fragile  things ..."  )  NO.  nothing  good  is  meant  to  stay!

𝟎𝟑.          ...  𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄  𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄

feed  the  fire  all  you  want,  you  won't  take  me.  knock  me  down  all  you  want,  watch  it  save  me.  somehow  i'm  moving  on  and  it  pains  me.  they  all  may  want  me  gone,  let  it  chase  me!

𝟎𝟒.          ...  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐆𝐎𝐓  𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓,  𝐊𝐈𝐃

you,  you  keep  screaming  from  the  top  of  your  lungs.  mister  who-gives-a-shit,  just  shut  up.  the  podium  is  all  yours,  go  right  ahead!  the  plastic  king  of  castle  polyethylene!  go  on  time  to  be  a  good  little  pig!  you're  worth  it,  or  you're  so,  so...  'cause  when  the  rug  gets  pulled  out  from  underneath  just  embrace  the  fall.  oh  you  got  spirit,  kid!  you're  number  one!  go  on  living  that  farce.  'cause  nobody  gives  a  fuck  who  you  are.

𝟎𝟓.          ...  𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘  𝐈'𝐌  𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

so,  with  advice  of  the  dead  and  a  halo  over  my  head.  at  last,  "honey  i'm  home!"  three  voices  come  all  alone.  a  vivisection  of  me,  done  by  god  for  all  to  see.  say,  "hello!  honey  i'm  home!"  three  voices  come  all  alone.

tagged by:  stolen  from  @nulltune​ !  tagging:  if  you’re  reading  this,  consider  yourself  tagged!  it  was  super  fun!

[sebastianvettel5]

Everyone talking about Spotify wrapped meanwhile I'm trying to pick 35 songs to vote for the Top2000

[the-nysh]

The moment he actually gains the name One Punch Man is the moment the series will end doesn’t it? Well, we don’t have a way to know but I think that, as you say: that’s the story. Once he gains that recognition… the story is done being told.

Also on the topic of an ending I reading a Harry Potter fan fiction about Harry being immortal and then I saw the Eternals, and then my mind started cooking some ideas on how OPM would end on a somber darker tone and in my mind I just saw Saitama jumping towards the sun after outliving all his loved ones (including Genos who still had a human brain) and I made my self sad (granted me thinking he was immortal although I think that not on board of ONE’s ideas for him)

Maybe! Or perhaps not....especially in the case Saitama discovers the value of something else he's grown to want more in life, beyond just recognition, and makes peace with that. From finding a different (humble) type of fulfillment and self-satisfaction from a place he originally did not expect - like the important human connections he had once overlooked or taken for granted, for example. The story could also continue the whole bait n switch thing where another character ironically takes credit or inherits/honors that hero title instead. :P (Which would be wild, but not unlike ONE to pull either.) Wc Saitama still curiously has a lot of work to do to even earn/change his proper hero 'name' there too. So much is still possible before it 'ends.'

But aaaaah, on the tangential theme of 'immortality.' I feel like every story (that I've come across) that tackles the concept often turns it into some fucked up tragedy where they lose or outlive everyone they love (without reincarnations or multiple lifetimes), or it leaves off on some empty unfulfilled/unsatisfying note without fully resolving things that the character must eternally suffer ('trapped' forever)...or at least without some huge thematic sacrifice or morally weighted choice the character must ultimately make. Hhhh, To Your Eternity and Blade of the Immortal being some of the recent ones I've read. (And it's been like 10yrs since I've read Meteor Methuselah to remember how that one turned out.) However, I feel like one of the few that played with the pseudo 'immortal' concept in a good/satisfying way (as in: whew! oh thank god a happy ending ;o;) was Golden Kamuy. :'D ahaha

But...a future Saitama having to make some important choice or sacrifice - where he must weigh, does he want to continue to live in (his perceived) detached alienation Like This? or assert what he actually treasures/wants more? Searching his feelings to make those steps to actively engage even despite his alienating strength, and even if he doesn't receive widespread recognition/fame/notoriety, he still chooses to protect and/or live for what else might matter more to him...? Where those who know and care about him share 'his story' thru the ages in his stead? It's possible.

[bloodcrosses]

Ben Hardy edit x

[meowrainsong]

🧡🌟 **A Heart Full of Thanks: Gratitude's Gentle Embrace** 🌟🧡

Hey radiant souls and grateful dreamers! 🌈✨

As we stand on the eve of Thanksgiving, let's unfurl the petals of our hearts, allowing the gentle breeze of gratitude to sweep through. Today is a celebration of thanks, a day to pause and reflect on the myriad blessings that have graced the landscape of our lives. 🍂💖

**Day 1: A Heart Full of Thanks**

Imagine your heart as a garden, each beat a testament to the moments that have colored your days. Today, let’s cultivate the soil of gratitude, acknowledging the blooms of joy, the rain of challenges that brought growth, and the ever-present warmth of love. 🌺💭

In this sacred space, share the reflections that flutter through your heart. The laughter that echoes in the chambers of memory, the friendships that paint the canvas of your days, and the simple joys that bring a soft glow to your spirit. Today is a canvas for expressing thanks, a celebration of the beautiful symphony that is your life. 🎨💕

May your heart overflow with the gratitude that comes from recognizing the precious threads that weave through your journey. Share your thoughts, your moments of thanks, and the gestures of appreciation that have illuminated your path. Tomorrow, on Thanksgiving Day, we'll gather around a digital table of shared stories, laughter, and the warmth of a collective heart full of thanks. 🧡🌟

With heartfelt gratitude, radiant spirits, and the joy of a thankful heart,

Meow 🍁💖

[none-ofthisnonsense]

I just mass downloaded Muse songs + a few Queen songs and I have gained a new appreciation for Under Pressure and Don't Stop Me Now

(I'm also reminded that my piano teacher would have a stroke if she knew that I haven't Bohemian Rhapsody in 2 months)

(Seriously though. Under Pressure is great. THIS IS OUR LAST STAND. THIS IS OURSELVES.)

[moonspiracy]

Selling fashion mags (Vogue, Love Magazine, more obscure high fashion magazines) as well as rock/emo mags like Kerrang! Please check out if you like My Chemical Romance, Green Day, Jared Leto, 30 Seconds to Mars, Slipknot, Panic! At The Disco. Also, Rami Malek magazines.

https://www.ebay.co.uk/sch/i.html?sid=oldem-39&_pgn=1&isRefine=true&_trksid=p4429486.m3561.l49496

Oldem-39