#did I write this while listening to the descendants soundtrack? maybe

[highlyincorrect]

Diego: What’s going on?

Klaus: I’ve been showing Five all the things he missed while he was in the apocalypse

Five, halfway through his fifth rewatch of Descendants: SHUT THE FUCK UP IDIOTS, CARLOS IS ABOUT TO OVERCOME HIS FEAR OF DOGS

[hannah-deactivated20220725]

Lyrical Shorts: Bumper Cars

This song is powerfully sad and always makes me want to cry.

So naturally I’ve gotta write about it! :p

So here is a story based off of the song Bumper Cars by Alex & Sierra.

Here’s a video of the song in case you wanna listen while you read or before or after:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHk8HEgl0lQ

As always with these, the parts in bold & italics are the lyrics to the song.

Can't help wondering what you're thinking, wherever you are. Late night movies, careless drinking to cover these scars...

Every time I stay up, flashes of memories race through my head. Memories of happier days, times when I laughed instead of cried. Times when we held each other instead of wanting to beat each other. Times when you stayed up with me instead of going to bed so early I didn’t want to go, or I stayed up with you instead of going to bed to cuddle with our animal until I passed out to the soundtrack of my handheld video games.

I listen to a song and let it carry me away, let it wash thoughts and memory over me... let it remind me of times lost long, long ago...

And as much as I wanna be with you, I know - you and me, we're bumper cars, the more I try to get to you, the more we crash apart, no. Round and round, we chase the sparks, but all that seems to lead to is a pile of broken parts. We're bumper cars, bumper cars. The more I try to get to you, the more we crash apart.

Screaming echoes in my ears. It’s coming from me but I can’t seem to make it stop. My mind is begging for me to stop before I do irreparable damage, but if I’m honest with myself, the damage was already done. Not tonight, not yesterday, not even a month ago, but a few years ago. Our relationship has been stagnant, unhappily so, for a long time, and the nightly screaming matches is exactly the proof of that.

I’m sure all of our neighbors loathe me. I’m sure he does too, but I can’t stop. I can’t make myself stop cursing his name, stop spitting it out with disgust. I can’t stop the fire in my eyes or the flaring of my nostrils or the way that I pant with rage.

I can’t stop... I want to. I want to be close, like we once were, but the more I remember, the more that I feel... the more the rage builds inside of me.

Good intentions, all these questions... we're sitting alone.

Everyone asks what happened. Why’d we end things? Why is our marriage over? Why don’t they ever see us together anymore? Why don’t they see our animal anymore? I just brush them off. I know they ask out of concern, but the more they ask, the more I feel buried by my regret and pain. My chest won’t stop hurting. My stomach won’t stop heaving.

I puke blood every night from the intensity of my anxiety and depression. I just curl in a ball and wait for everything to go dark.

That sweet... blissful... darkness...

All roads since you are wrong directions. I'll never get home.

I gaze out the window. I know I made a mistake. I chose wrong. I thought I hated him but I also knew I loved him. I thought it was irreparable, but did I really try? Did I really put forth the effort necessary to run a successful marriage? Did I truly do everything I could to fulfill us both to the best of my abilities?

Tears race down my cheeks as I hug myself, shivering against the winter’s cold. Normally, I’d be pressed against his searing hot body right now, running my fingers through his hair and smiling at his beautiful eyes. I’d be feeling him press close, cooled by my marble cold skin and wrapping an arm around me to keep me warm.

Normally, we’d be keeping one another at an acceptable temperature, but right now I’m so cold... so very cold, and so terribly alone...

... I wonder if he’s feeling too hot right now...

And it's making me wanna be with you. I know you and me, we're bumper cars. The more I try to get to you, the more we crash apart, no. Round and round, we chase the sparks, but all that seems to lead to is a pile of broken parts. We're bumper cars, bumper cars, the more I try to get to you, the more we crash apart, no.

I rock and hug myself as I cry uncontrollably at the memory of his lips, his body, his breath... the way he’d look at me. Every smile, every turn of his head. The way he’d spank me every time I passed by. The way he’d hold me late at night when I’d start to miss the ones I’ve lost. The way he’d comfort me when I felt so alone... what have I done? What have I done?

... and now it’s too late to salvage the mess that I have created.

This was supposed to be fun; this was supposed to be the one. Maybe we stayed too long, maybe we played all wrong. This was supposed to be good, but I know, I know...

I start to fiddle with my phone, flashing back to when we met. Flirty glances, smiles and blushes. Light touches to let me know he’s interested but I was so shy in those days. I wouldn’t accept his advances for another couple of weeks. Some said I played hard to get but I just couldn’t believe that someone so beautiful wanted me of all people.

I gaze out the window into the darkness. Small flakes of white begin to slowly descend from the bright white sky and I blink away the tears, finally filled with... what was this? Was this acceptance? Was this... clarity? I wasn’t sure, but suddenly, I knew it would be okay.

After all, the harder we fought for each other, the further we drifted. So maybe, just maybe, if I accepted it, we would find our way back to each other.

One can only hope, one can only dream.

So accept, I shall learn to do.

[leojfitz]

30 questions tag game

tagged by @lukefromsunsetcurve thank you Lauren ♥

Name/Nickname: marta

Gender: female (she/her)

Star sign: sagittarius

Height: 1.63cm (that’s 5'4” according to google)

Time: 09:22am (me? working? nope)

Birthday: december 10th

Favourite bands:  the who, the beatles, pinegrove, camp cope and clearly julie and the phantoms (that’s an actual band right?)

Favourite solo artists: george ezra, phoebe bridgers, and i’m sure there are others but i mostly listen to bands so i’m blanking out rn 

Song stuck in my head: it has been a different song from the jatp soundtrack every day for the past two months 

Last movie: descendants 3 (i’m also listening to the soundtrack right now) 

Last show: finished watching this cute christmas-y norwegian show called home for christmas 

When did I create this blog: 2015 but i had another blog before this that i made in 2009 maybe??? (copying your answer lauren because same! we’re ancient akjdlaksjd) 

What I post: jatp, one tree hill, nbc sitcoms, beatles 

Last thing googled: something related to a fic i’m writing 

Other blogs: i used to have a that 70s show sideblog ages ago but never cared about making sideblogs, followers have to go through all my hyperfixations with me akjdljak 

Do I get asks: not often lmao 

Why I chose my url: because it’s one of my favourite songs from the who and it’s about a girl who’s basically a fangirl so i thought it fit and it’s a way to avoid changing my url anytime i get obsessed with something different 

Following: 187

Followers: 510

Average hours of sleep: 7-8 (i used to be able to sleep more during the weekends but apparently being 30 also means waking up earlier) 

Lucky number: wish i knew 

Instruments: i had a guitar since i was 13 and i took classes for a while and then gave up. in march when we went on lockdown i started playing it again and now i’m having fun with it! 

What am I wearing: a grey dress w/a yellow cardigan. 

Dream job: tv show writer i guess! 

Dream trip: brazil/south america in general 

Favourite food: i’ll be a stereotypical italian and say pizza

Nationality: italian 

Favourite song: what kind of question is that? according to my last.fm it’s a quick one while he’s away by the who and i’m not going to question last.fm’s stats 

Last book read: this time next year by sophie cousens (such a cute romance!)

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: jatp, roadies (a show i probably only care about but akldlajsk), gilmore girls.

@anditwaslegendary i’m tagging you before you hate me bye ♥

[youcanblogifyouwantto]

Biff’s Year in Music

2020 what can I say… I feel like this meme summed up the first half of it pretty well.

https://cheezburger.com/12209157/ant-man-meme-gives-a-recap-of-all-the-horrors-of-2020-so-far

Then to top it off this last week my son developed a spontaneous pneumothorax which basically is a collapsing of his lung for no apparent reason other than he is a tall thin white adolescent. To make matters worse he is 18 and COVID is raging in all the hospitals.  Thankfully my wife is an RN and should have been a lawyer as she was able to argue her way into staying with him.  Good thing she did because one the doctors fucked up so bad she gave him another Pneumothorax by turning a valve a wrong way.  Needless to say it has been a very rough year and especially rough week for me and my family.  Music has been and always will be the only constant positive release for me.  2020 had some great music and being home for almost an entire year now has led to a lot of music consumption.  The only other thing I did almost as much as listen to music was drink and cook food to match what I was drinking.  I’ve always loved beer and wine and dabbled in Whiskey but this year was the year of the cocktail for me.  I would discover a new alcohol type and then plan crazy elaborate dinners that cocktail would either be an aperitif of digestif for. Fun yes, healthy? …That is yet to be determined. I did take up running again to counter the amount I was drinking and eating and I would say that I have consistently worked out more this year than any other year so my liver might be fucked but my heart and lungs are strong.

So to start it off, this year saw releases from some of my all-time favorite musicians that I found nice and good even but never clicked or haven’t yet.  I had been eagerly anticipating Matt Berninger’s solo release all year and I dig it but strangely not enough to return to it unless I purposely tell myself to.  The same goes for Bright Eyes, Real Estate, Sylavan Esso, Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever minus Cars in Space (I played the shit out of that song), Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Car Seat Headrest, Dirty Projectors, Sufjan Stevens, Laura Marling (on first listen I thought easy top for the year then Fiona Apple came out and I haven’t returned to Laura Marling since), Damien Jurado, Jason Isbell, Neil Young (Homegrown had a special place in my heart for a month but again haven’t returned since August), Future Islands, Kevin Morby, and Busta Rhymes. All of these albums I do not hate or even dislike in fact some I liked a lot at first but just didn’t have staying power.  The following list are albums I loved that some stayed all year in rotation. Not in particular order but kinda like a Coachella poster if it’s near the top it’s one of my favorites of the year. I can be very longwinded on paper and very brief in person so I will try my antisocial tendencies to describe these albums. I will say for the most part the albums that hit this year are like comfort food music for my soul.

Waxahatchee  - St. Cloud – Home, comfort, introspective

Phoebe Bridgers – Punisher – Witty, production, great voice

Run The Jewels – RTJ4  - best running album ever. My favorite from these guys and best rap album I’ve heard in a while.

Jeff Tweedy – Love is the King. Maybe blasphemy but I like better than Warm. Perfect example of music comfort food. His biography is great too and so is the Summer teeth deluxe reissue.

Fleet Foxes – Shore – Beautiful, peaceful everything I needed from them and more. Side note Helplessness Blues was the first album review I ever wrote for ATR and I’m so glad I found those guys! Thank you for continuing the tradition.

Jeff Rosenstock – NO DREAM There was some good punk rock this year but this was the best also great running music. Rosenstock is now my go to for punk

Taylor Swift- Folk Lore- Story Telling, Sweater music, more music comfort food. And now Evermore continues the greatness. Dorothea might be my favorite track from both records. If you would have told me a Taylor Swift album would be in my tops for the year a couple of years ago I would have laughed you out of my face and now she has two albums in my tops. 2020 is one crazy year!

The Avalanches- We Will Always Love You- I’ve loved every single and was waiting for this to drop before posting this.  Well Worth the wait. I like it better than the Gorillaz release and that is saying a lot. It’s hard to have this many spot on features and keep a cohesive vibe! Johnny Marr meets MGMT is another need more of this collab.

Loma  - Don’t Shy Away- If 2020 could be articulated through music disorienting but also working from home has some perks. Good balance of weird and comfort

Adrienne Leckner – Songs- She writes great songs and performs them immaculately

Muzz- ST – The last show I went to before shutdown was Morrissey with Interpol opening and I forgot how much I love Bank’s voice.  This album is highly underrated in my opinion especially Evergreen.

Gorillaz –Song Machine – Best since Demon Days and Robert Smith/Damon Albarn Collab was never anything I thought I needed but now want more of. When Tony Allen died I went through a deep Tony Allen dive that was quite enjoyable. Great Drummer!

Dinner party – ST – The title explains it better than I can

Against All Logic – 2017-2019 – Kelly Lee Owens and this were the only electronica to stay all year both great running albums and If you can’t do it good do it hard is worth the price of admission alone

Hamilton Leithhauser- The Loves of your life- I love this man and I loved the walkmen. I feel he for me is like Frank Sinatra was for my mom. Not as sweet as a voice but can sing the hell out of a song.

Walter Martin – The world at Night- Another Walkmen member, this is another comfort food album it just feels right in my soul

Ka – Descendants Of Cain – Criminally underrated for too long this dude paints lyrical mood pictures like GZA.

Perfume Genius – Set My Heart On Fire Immediately – Beautiful Authentic Elegant

Fiona Apple – Fetch The Bolt Cutters  - Lyrically and sonically slays me. You have to like spoken word and weird rhythm texture but she nails both of those.

Bonny Light Horseman- ST – Great folk indie I just knew this was an album for me on first listen

Rose city band - Summerlong �� Best new discovery, feeds my jam band meets indie soul

Strokes - The New Abnormal – I don’t know why this didn’t get more love? I loved it and The Adults are Talking is top five best Strokes songs.

Pinegrove- Marigold – More indie comfort food music

Bartees Strange – Live Forever – Second best new discovery. This dude is all over the place but in a good way. If you like this check out his singles where he covers many National songs.

Kelly Lee Owens – Inner Song- My Friend Antony described this better than I can at the current moment. Inner songs indeed.

The Killers – Imploding the Mirage- Most surprised album of the year, I’ve never been a big Killers fan but this one just wrapped it hooks inside me and didn’t let go all year

Young Jesus – Welcome to Conceptual Beach- Avant-garde or experimental music stretches me in ways that are very good for my soul and this one was such an album

My Morning Jacket – Waterfall II – Took a trip up to Humboldt in Early August and this was the soundtrack of the trip. Very much needed social distance return to nature vacation.

Hum- Inlet – I rocked out to this many a summer early fall evening sitting on my dock fishing and drinking beer.

Haim- Women in Music Pt. III – Best Haim yet and yes they are maturing into great song writers

Nation of Language- Introduction, Presence – Third best new discovery.. My friend Spencer at Shadows and Noise (a blog I’ve contributed to on occasion) accurately describes this album nicely. My wife loves Depeche Mode, New Order, and Erasure so this album is a new version of that genre that she and I can love together.

Coriky- ST – Half of Fugazi with a female drummer that sounds like classic Sleater Kinney in fact Fugazi meets Sleater Kinney is how I would describe this and that can’t be wrong!

EP’s Singles

James Blake- Before (Great marriage of his old and new)

Kruangbin & Leon Bridges- Texas Sun

Local Natives – Sour Lemon

Radio Dept – The Absence of Birds

Leon Bridges – Sweeter

Tom Berlin – Projections

Father John Misty – To S/ To R

Rostam- Unfold you

 Mank is one of the only great movies of 2020!

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Thirty Three: Leisure

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Thirty Three: Leisure

Note: Wow current events really put me behind on my schedule this week! The anxiety is real, folks! I’ll be okay though. Maybe. Also, I found out that I could actually listen to the DMC5 soundtrack through one of the streaming services and IT IS A BOP. I never realized how good some of that music is! I was too busy trying to achieve Smokin’ Sexy Style! Totally gonna be using that to write to from now on. And also, l now officially consider listening to Legacy as a form of self harm because the feels are too real!

 (-~-)

In all truthfulness, the botanist couldn’t remember the last time that she’d spent so much time around other people that she held dear, her relationships with the rest of her family having been on thin ice for nearly two decades now. Conforming to tradition at all costs was encouraged in her little corner of the world, and as such, deviating from her family’s wishes in the way that she had wasn’t smiled upon. But then again, she had never been one to do what other people thought was right, only truly able to trust her own judgement at the end of the day.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t terribly lonely. Perhaps the crushing silence was what had made her and Vergil such fast friends back in their youth, even if their idea of friendship was a bit unconventional. Most casual passers by would probably assume that they couldn’t stand one another, but anyone who spent any meaningful time around them could tell that, at the end of the day, they had one another’s backs no matter what, no questions asked. It could be tenuous at times, especially when Vergil showed up at her door after two decades to ask her to bend the laws of creation a little to help reclaim a wayward soul, but then then that just meant that even after all of this time, she was still one of the people he knew he could fall back on. There was a part of Magnolia that was actually flattered by that idea. He was legendarily difficult to gain the favor of, and the fact that he had still been able to trust her after so long was a testament to how well they got along, at least on most days.

Magnolia took a moment to collect her thoughts as she took a peak at the skillet brownie that she and V had been working on for the past hour or so. In all honesty, she got the impression that V wasn’t accustomed to spending this much time in close proximity to others. From what she’d come to understand about him, he was more or less solitary, and that was something that she was able to relate to, albeit not due to her own preference. She was far from an extrovert, but one thing she could tell was that something had made both of them decide to just avoid people as a whole at some point. And she had a feeling that his reasons were deeply personal. Which was why she’d been so pleasantly surprised when he’d asked to join her in the kitchen. Be it a result of boredom, or out of a desire to not be alone, she couldn’t tell, and she was not going to ask. At the end of the day, she didn’t really care. She was just happy to see that both V and Vergil were starting to come out of their shells a little. It seemed that everyone in the Sparda family had unfortunate baggage, and she intended to do anything she could do to help them. She didn’t want to see another family end up like she had with hers.

“... I can get that for you.” V said almost offhandedly as he leaned against the window in her kitchen. He was so quiet that she nearly forgot he was there. In that way, he and his father were very much alike. They both had a tendency to blend into the background in a domestic setting, quietly combing through their thoughts or simply day dreaming. She couldn’t be sure. What she was sure of was the fact that there was a key difference between the two white haired descendants of the Dark Knight Sparda. While they were both quiet, V lacked the -was bitterness the right word?- that his father possessed. Perhaps despair? While Vergil was more brooding and dejected, constantly lost in what had to be less than healthy thoughts, V was just… solemn in an almost despondent sort of way as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Both of them had been through entirely too much in proportion to the time they’d lived, and it showed. The question was where did they both go from there? Perhaps they could meet in the middle and their pain would cancel each other out in some sort of collision of mindsets? Wherever they both went from here, she could only hope that it was better than where they'd been prior to this, physically and mentally.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself dear! You're barely staying on your feet as it is. I’ve got this.” Magnolia said with a pleasant smile as she removed the pan from the oven. V smirked slightly at the comment, painfully aware of how true that was. Due to the lingering weariness he was experiencing, his balance wasn’t the greatest at that given moment. He was fine until he attempted to either bend over or lean downwards. Something about the shift in stance sent all the blood rushing to his brain. But aside from that unfortunate fact, he actually felt just fine, and was sure that by the next morning or so, he’d more than likely be back to normal. Or, at least what he considered normal. 

In all honesty, he was genuinely tired most of the time, but not in the same sort of way that he was now. It was more of a case of being low energy as opposed to being sleepy. Maybe he needed to move to a less dreary climate?

Ah yes, moving. 

How had he forgotten so quickly?

“While we were away, I had ample time to consider your previous offer, Magnolia.” V said as he watched her search for a knife. Surely she wasn’t actually going to try and eat that so soon? Unless her mouth had a better coating in it than that very hot cast iron pan, she was going to burn every inch of her mouth. But then again, that was her prerogative, and he wasn’t in the habit of reminding a grown woman what her limitations were.

She glanced over at him as she produced a knife and an odd shaped metal spatula that was reminiscent of a large nail file. She then began cutting segments off of the large brownie and used the second utensil to pick up two of the sections and place them into a plate, placing them on the tray next to the tea they’d fixed. She then gestured for V to follow her, picking up the tray and heading into the living room.

It had genuinely never occurred to V that she didn’t own a TV until now, the part devil taking a moment to consider the fact that she seemed to have a plethora of books but never touched digital media. In fact, she even owned a record player. It was actually interesting to him how much their tastes seemed to be in sync with one another. While he wasn’t exactly a Luddite, he tended to lean more towards more vintage solutions for things, simply enjoying their overall style and form factor. But he couldn’t say that he was very interested in watching TV, either. In fact, he couldn’t name a single show that had come on in the past… well, ever really. He honestly didn’t care.

As soon as they both sat down, a perplexed look crossed Magnolia’s face as if something seemingly just occurred to her. She practically leapt up and into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with two small glass dishes filled with a scoop each of vanilla ice cream. V resisted the urge to laugh slightly at the sight, settling instead to just smirk and be quietly entertained by the ridiculousness of the situation at hand. As foregn of a concept as it was to him, he was relatively sure that he actually enjoyed spending time with Magnolia. Her quirky yet lovable personality was comforting in a way that he found unfamiliar but welcome, almost as if he’d subconsciously been looking for something like this for a while but had never known it.

“How in the world did I manage to forget this.” She said, placing the glasses down on the tray. The botanist shook her head as if she were deeply insulted by her own actions, her entire face pinched into a disapproving squint as she scooped the frozen treat onto her brownie.” What kind of heartless monster bakes a giant brownie and then eats it dry?! Simply unheard of! I ought to be burned at the stake for the wicked witch that I am.”

At that V couldn't’ help but snicker a little. He was positive that she was more upset about this than she had been to see the amount of blood he’d tracked all over her pristine house just a few short days ago. It was pure poppycock, and he loved it. “Yes, it seems you're far overdue for a reckoning of some kind. Sins of that magnitude can’t simply be ignored.”

Magnolia raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his statement. “Oh, so the young dearie does possess a sense of humor after all! Good thing, too. I was starting to worry!” She smiled and failed in her attempt to hold back a heartfelt laugh, shaking her head slightly as she did so.” In other news, what did you decide to do?” V leaned back slightly, exhaling before remembering that he could probably actually eat the brownie now. A soft smile briefly spread across his face as he looked at Magnolia, trying his best to make eye contact but then flaking out at the very last second.

“... I’ve decided to take you up on that offer.”

(-~-)

There were brief moments in the lives of every living being when they committed to a plan of action, and then immediately regretted their decisions when they came to grips with the outcome. Fleeting things that, in most instances, had far reaching consequences that even the most powerful of beings were powerless to do anything about. But thankfully, this was one of those rare instances in which the consequences were largely inopportune, but also insignificant, aside from the monumental and disproportionate amount of over-dramatic misery that they resulted in. 

In all honesty, there was no sufficient answer as to why Vergil had decided that going to a museum would be a riveting occasion. Although intelligent and well versed, Vergil didn’t really care that much for human history, aside from what he already knew. Learning from the past wasn’t one of his strong suites, but lingering in the past was, both metaphorically and literally. Somehow, some way, he’d just ended up in this place with no hope of understanding why. Aside from the fact that he’d talked himself into this mess, and didn’t really feel like being there any longer, Vergil lacked a sufficient excuse as to why he should leave, for both himself and his youngest son. 

On an impulse, Vergil had attempted to contact Nero via a phone booth near a frankly disgusting nightclub that sat just a block or so from Dante’s office before venturing to Fortuna to seek out his wayward son. The last time that he’d failed to answer the phone he’d been at Fortuna Castle with V, and the two of them had nearly gotten themselves killed. It was something that the two of them were proficient at when left unattended for long periods of time. But then again, getting several layers deep into an ocean of issues was something that ran in their family. Perhaps they were simply continuing the tradition. Regardless, the younger man had agreed to come with him, albeit reluctantly as he had other more interesting things to do like literally anything else other than going to a museum on a weekday.

A quick glance over at the oversized clock that adorned the third story of the museum wall confirmed the Darkslayer’s suspicion: there was still another hour until the establishment closed. Re-adjusting to the flow of time in the human world was proving to be an ongoing task, but despite the fact that it flowed much quicker than many places he’d occupied in the Underworld, the Darkslayer couldn’t help but feel as though time was standing still or going incredibly slow. He assumed that he was late to everything, only to find out that he was actually early, and it was starting to become taxing. 

For a brief moment, he considered mentioning this to Magnolia in an effort to try and figure out what was causing this lingering sensation of temporal displacement before deciding against the idea. He didn’t feel like dealing with that at the moment. It was probably best that he do one thing at a time and not dwell on it. His current guess was that his lack of action was what had caused such a strange phenomenon to occur. Being much more accustomed to an active and high octane lifestyle as opposed to a sedentary one, Vergil was almost positive that he simply didn’t know how to relax. What a strange problem that was to have.

“Okay, so here me out.” Nero said casually as he made his way over to Vergil, letting out a small yawn as he closed the distance between them.” This place is super boring, and I can feel myself ageing literally every second we spend here. Either this place has a spell over it, or it’s just the world’s boring museum. I don’t care either way. Your call, but I think we should leave and go literally anywhere else.”

Vergil considered Nero’s statement for a moment before giving a single nod. He agreed, this place was almost soul crushingly dull. While museums were not exactly the most lively of places to begin with, for a place to be so full of people and still be so silent was just unsettling. And that was before the approaching storm gave the entire place an extra gloomy ambience. At this point, he was inclined to agree with his youngest son. There was no compelling reason to linger in this giant, echo filled building any longer. If Vergil desired an empty space to occupy, there were plenty of options that didn’t test his sanity in such an egregious manner. After all, the city was practically overflowing with places to see. Staying where they were any longer was simply illogical, all things considered.

“I’m inclined to agree with you. I didn’t leave the Underworld just to continue to linger in hell.” Vergil glanced over at the door as Nero sighed in relief and headed towards it, not needing to hear anything further. Neither of them needed the other to spell it out for them. How in the world had Vergil even managed to locate such a desolate place?

Was he actually boring like Dante had said?

Absolutely not. Dante wasn’t allowed to be correct. There was simply no way!

The pair left the building and simply walked a ways up the road, no particular destination in mind. As long as they were not inside of the building, then they were fine. Vergil shook his head slightly at the ridiculousness of the situation they had ended up in, the almost grim hilarity of it not lost on him. Part of him wondered if the place might actually be cursed or under some kind of spell like Nero had joked. It was possible.

“Funny thing is that I actually like museums. Sometimes. It depends.” Nero said as they walked along in the direction of who knew what. He didn’t really care. At least he was out doing something and not at home. Kyrie and Nico were doing something at the orphanage with the kids, so he’d just been hanging out doing nothing of particular note. He was kind of surprised that Vergil had bothered to ask him over in the first place. From what he could tell, his father didn’t tend to like to hang out with other people, least of all in public. What had gotten into him?

Vergil listened to Nero, somewhat surprised to hear him admit that he was interested in that sort of thing. While Dante had made a passing joke about it before he’d left, the idea of it actually being true was somewhat surprising to him. It wasn’t so much the fact that devil slayer in blue was surprised that his brother might know more about Nero than he did. That was almost certainly true, regardless of whether Vergil liked it or not. No, he was simply surprised that Nero was interested in things like museums. The younger devil hunter didn’t come off to him as the sort to hang around those sorts of places.

“Is that so? I… wasn’t aware that you had an interest in such things.” Vergil raised an eyebrow slightly, genuinely impressed with this revelation. Although it was a small thing, it was something they had in common, and he derived some level of reassurance from the idea that he and his younger son were not so different after all. Perhaps if he made more of an effort to speak with him sooner, he would have figured this out already. There was a part of him that felt as though he hadn’t given Nero the time that he deserved, and he desired to change that. He just wasn’t entirely sure how to go about doing so just yet.

Nero nodded, shrugging slightly as they continued up the street.” Yea, I like that kinda stuff sometimes. Even read that whole damn book after you gave it to me to keep an eye on. What the hell is it with you two and books?” Nero trailed off towards the end, something clearly occurring to him.” … You said that V was awake. So what happens now? What’s the plan?”

Vergil’s lack of diction belied his vested interest in the conversation they were having. For once, they were actually getting somewhere. It was a refreshing change of pace between them, especially when he took into account the fact that Nero had barely been able to stand in the same room as him when he’d first returned. It seemed that he was gradually warming up to the idea of being around him, but he couldn’t quite place what he had done to help facilitate this? Had it been the incident at the castle? Perhaps when he’d saved the two of them during their tragically short vacation? Did it have something to do with V or Dante? There were certainly several possibilities, but he didn’t honestly care at the moment. The fact that the two of them were on speaking terms at all was enough for him, at least for the time being.

“You actually read?” Vergil paused for a moment, mentally kicking himself when he saw the slightly irritated look on Nero’s face. He vaguely remembered V telling him something about the way he tended to phrase things at some point during their trip, and he was starting to comprehend what he’d meant by that. He needed to find a way to make that insult less insulting.” I’m fully aware of the fact that you are not illiterate. That isn’t what I intended to convey in that statement. I’ve just never seen you actually read anything.”

The youngest of the devil hunters shrugged nebulously, less irate now than he had been a moment prior.” That’s probably because you never come over and visit or anything. I told you that you could eat dinner with us. That wasn’t a one time thing.” Nero closed his eyes for a moment as if irked by the fact that he was having to say this for a third time. He’d never met anyone this adverse to spending time with their own family before. It was as baffling as it was disheartening, and he really was trying his best.” You’d probably have to fight V for all the extra food though. He eats a staggering amount of food. It’s genuinely shocking. I have no idea where he put it all.”

It was Vergil’s turn to scoff slightly as the mental image of Nero being eaten out of house and home by literally everyone he lived with aside from his tiny girlfriend passed through his mind. Somehow he wasn’t shocked that V could eat his body weight in food every day if given the opportunity. He’d do the same thing if he lived with that friendly little woman. Her cooking was exquisite, and she did tend to make excessive amounts of it from what he could tell. That, and their inhuman appetites were not easily tamed. Dante’s frankly appalling relationship with pizza was a perfect example of this phenomenon.

He desperately needed his twin to start a love affair with some other type of food…

“... Then perhaps I will drop by as I did today more often.” The Darkslayer noted that Nero seemed almost relieved to hear this. Had he genuinely just wanted him to do so in the first place? Was that part of the tension between them? The idea that such a little thing could mean so much to him was a bit of an eye opener as far as Vergil was concerned, and he had no way of reconciling the fact that he’d overlooked this.

A small smile dared to make itself known as they crossed an intersection, still not paying much attention to their destination. At this point, they were purely on this trip for the conversation, and that was something that Vergil could see himself getting used to. He’d come to realize that talking to both of his sons made him slightly less sick than it did when he was forced to deal with everyone else, possibly because he generally chose to do so of his own accord.

“Okay then. That’s good. So where are we going? Because I’m pretty sure we're lost.” The young demon hunter glanced around them, noticing for the first time that he didn’t actually recognize any of the buildings around him. That didn’t really bother him, all things considered, but he couldn’t help but notice that they were quite a ways from where they'd started out.

For a moment, Vergil fell silent. He considered all the possible options available to him in regards to what he considered acceptable answers to that question. This had been an eye opening experience for him in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps he’d been too quick to write Nero off as uninterested in pursuing any sort of meaningful relationship with him, opting to talk to V as he assumed that they had more in common with one another than either of them did with Nero. Even if that had been the case, he still found it fascinating that his youngest son possessed a more intellectual side to him that he’d failed to notice in the past. While he hadn’t thought of Nero as unintelligent by any means, he’d never considered the fact that they might like the same things as one another. 

Now the concept of Yamato allowing Nero to wield it made much more sense to him. 

They might not be as dissimilar as he’d originally assumed. 

A part of him couldn’t help but wonder how his beloved blade would react to V if given the chance. He’d never seen Nero wield it, but considering the fact that it had bonded with him so thoroughly, Nero seemed to be relatively well versed with it. And as for V’s prospects, Vergil had the distinct feeling that he might actually be able to wield the blade, at least physically. That was, of course, if he didn’t swing it and then fall flat on his face. But the idea of what he might be capable of if given the opportunity was admittedly fascinating to him.

It was settled then. He would have to find some excuse to get V to try and use a devil arm once he was in better condition. For now, he needed to allow him to fully recover and actually build up some measure of strength. The cult seemed to be eradicated, and due to the time gap between the underworld and the human world, they had at least a few weeks before Belial could do anything, especially with the majority of his cult decimated. They still needed to visit this island that Dante had spoken of, but the urgent need to do so was suddenly less at the forefront than it had been previously. They would wait for at least a week or two and plan their next steps carefully, lest they spring a trap that they didn’t know was there. And in the meantime, Magnolia could worry over V, and Vergil could attempt to get to know his son a bit better.

The realization that he’d been briefly lost in thought suddenly hit Vergil as he stopped walking and took a moment to collect himself before speaking. Yes, he had the distinct feeling that he now knew where they should be headed.” You asked where we should go next.” Vergil watched Nero nod, clearly wishing for him to hurry up and get to the point. The sun was starting to fade below the horizon, and he was eager to get out of the light rain that coated them as they ventured up the murky streets.” … Is that invite for dinner still valid?”

Nero looked surprised for a moment before allowing a rare, genuine smile to briefly cross his face. He was surprised to see Vergil take him up on his offer so soon. It was a good thing that Kyrie always made extras. “What, you gonna make me ask you a fourth time? Sure, let's go. Since V;s not there right now, we might actually get to eat something!”

Vergil nodded and gestured towards the alley they were nearest to. He wasn’t keen on attracting unnecessary attention from the general public by drawing Yamato in full view of the now rightfully paranoid populace. At first glance, he could almost swear that it was the very one that he’d excited though when he’d returned to the human world with his younger twin brother just a month ago. Well, he’d been kicked, but that was neither here nor there, and he would never let Nero know that Dante had managed to get the drop on him.

As they entered the alley way and he drew his blade, Vergil couldn’t help but feel a strange feeling of contentment at the fact that he actually had somewhere to be for once. Perhaps this was something he could do more often if things went well. He swung the blade, making his signature mark in the air as a portal opened. The Darkslayer then gestured towards the opening that his blade had manifested as if to invite Nero to go ahead of him. The younger man nodded and stepped through, Vergil following closely behind him.

Perhaps the idea of belonging somewhere was something that he could get used to.

(-~-)

Wow, it’s been a while since I wrote a chapter this long! I thought that considering current events, we could all use a little bit of hope in our lives. It’s a scary time, at least where I live. This toxic hellhole that I live in can’t get it together, but maybe the Sparda family can. I don’t know, maybe a few good moments between everyone is what I need to keep my anxiety down right now. This story is my emotional support project, and I hope it’s a safe place for all of you, too. Everyone is welcome here :D I won’t bring all that scary stuff into this. Take care everyone! I’ll see you next week. It’s gonna be interesting since I go back to work for the first time since the pandemic started on Wednesday at 4pm. I’ll try my hardest to get the chapter uploaded by then. Just gotta keep myself sane until after 8:30pm and hopefully I’ll be alright! Curse the holiday season. UG! Stay safe!

[all-hail-the-witcher]

really funny and stupid soulmate au request: whatever your soulmate is singing, you automatically join them in a duet wherever you are (any ship is good)

okay full disclaimer, I have n o i d e a what this is, the words just kinda happened and its really memey but somehow works ??

_______

ship: ralbert

genere: meme floof with a side of theater nerds

warnings: mikeys dog, too many bill wurtz references, comrades, an obscene amount of winking, Albert is a disaster lighting technician and race has no respect for lighting gels, high school musical

words: 1832 wat

editing: nah comrade

_______

If anyone knew anything about Albert it was that he always carried a packet of rosemary in his left pocket “in case he ran out of weed,” that he was trying to get excommunicated from the catholic church “just for lols,” and that he hated high school musical. The last one was particularly damning because all of his friends were theater nerds. (Albert prefered to yell at all of them from the lighting booth and assert his dominance by randomly having people shine the spotlight into the wings where people made out during rehearsal.) He had even gone as far to ban the soundtrack from ever being sang in his presence. Spot said his unrequited hatred for the movies were directly related to the fact that he had not yet found his soulmate and he didn’t like them because it portrayed love he had not yet found, but Albert loudly disagreed saying that the plots were merely just “shit on a stick.”

Cue Racetrack Higgins, the hot new kid in town.

When he showed up to the audition for the school musical, some dumb title that Albert hadn’t taken the time to note (he only had two brain cells and one of them was reserved for figuring out where he was gonna get his weed from and the other was reserved for coming up with new ways to get excommunicated), he had not expected to see a literal angel.

Alright so maybe it wasn’t an angel. Rather, a blonde kid who looked kinda vaguely like a beanpole. And quoting Bill Wurtz. Couldn’t forget that.

The ethereal beanpole had introduced himself after a particularly memorable incident about ten minutes before the audition started. Somehow, he had ended up on the catwalk holding a stack of painstakingly organized gels over the edge as if he were about to drop them.

Now, Albert was not the most organized lighting technician and he did enjoy a bit of mischief every now and then, but only if he was the one pulling the mischief. Plus, he had just organized all the gels and didn’t want to do that again. He’d much rather hide Spot’s keys in the janitor’s closet. So he did the natural thing.

“HEY BEANPOLE! IF YOU DROP THOSE I WILL CUT OFF YOUR HAIR AND FEED IT TO THE SPIDER IN THE BROOM CLOSET!”

The kid’s head snapped up. But, instead of looking like a squirrel about to be chased by a hungry seal shaped pitbull that smelled vaguely of thai food and cheese like the freshman did, the boy winked mischievously and let the gels dangel further over the edge. Then, in a singsong voice that Albert could only describe as the one belonging to his true Lord and Savior, Bill Wurtz (take that catholic church), said: “how bout I do anyway?”

Albert’s next insult died on his lips and he settled instead for glaring at the sexy beanpole with all the power of a pissed off techie.

“What?” The boy pouted, “can’t think of a good comeback?”

“Listen beanpole-”

“It’s Race.”

“Whatever.” Albert stomped down the catwalk in his black timbs, being sure to make as much noise as possible in order to attract the scattered actors below them. “Let it be known that while I did appreciate your history of japan quote, I do not appreciate your presence on my cat walk. And, if you to continue to dangle my gels over the edge like that, I will make sure you never get cast in Wanda’s World-”

“Its Animal Farm.”

“-and that you never get your clammy little paws on a single ounce of weed during your time in this hellhole. Capisce?”

“Weed is for losers,” Race said, thwacking the pile of gels on the catwalk with a muffled bang, scattering the top ones, much to Albert’s dismay. “I prefer vape myself, much more sleek and trendy.” Then, much to Albert’s surprise, he winked, turned on his heel, and exited the catwalk, tipping an imaginary hat before descending the stairs back down into the auditorium.

“Well fuck him right in the nipple,” Albert cursed to himself as he scooped up the pile of gels and stalked back to the lighting booth where he threw them unceremoniously on the ground - he’d sort back through them later. Instead, he sat on his beloved spinny chair that he had stolen from his history teacher back in 9th grade, wrapped the blue fuzzy blacket around himself he’d stolen from Spot last year, threw his feet up on the lightboard, and resolved himself to watching the auditions.

Race, apparently, had been correct, the musical was a rendition of Animal Farm. Although, why someone would write a musical version of a book about a bunch of patronizing pigs making everyone call each other comrade was beyond him.

Albert gradually began to tune out the auditions eventually pulling his beats from around his neck onto his ears and playing random indie songs instead of listening to the screeching below him.

However, once Race took the stage he paused his music out of curiosity. If he was going to have to deal with this kid all year, he might as well see if he had any talent. However, when he heard the opening chords of what was unmistakably a High School Musical song, he groaned and pulled his beats back on, cranking up the volume to drown out the atrocities of the shitty song.

This plan, however, was foiled when he found himself somehow singing a song that was not the one that was playing through his headphones. Initially, Albert ignored it, too dead set on his own blocking out of Race’s singing to care what his mouth was saying. But as it got progressively louder he ripped his beats off in frustration to see what exactly was going on.

To his utmost horror he realized that he was singing a duet with Race.

Albert’s stomach dropped. He knew exactly what this meant. And there was no way that it could be tue. It had to be a glitch. There was no way in hell that his soulmate was the same kid who had tantalized him on his very own catwalk with his precious lighting gels and a horrendous yet perfectly wonderful Bill Wurtz quote not a half hour before.

And there was absolutely no way that he was going to discover his soulmate by singing a high school musical song infront of all of his friends. No fucking way.

In a panic, Albert clapped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds coming from it. That way he could play it off as if it had never happened and continue living his perfectly happy soulmate-less life.

Much to his relief, Race stopped singing mere moments later and he pulled his hand away from his mouth, taking a deep breath of relief. However, this was immediately converted back to anxiety as he began to sing the second verse of the song against his will.

“Take my hand, I’ll take the lead

And every turn, you’ll be safe with me

Don’t be afraid, afraid to fall,

You know I’ll catch you through it all”

Race’s head snapped up and a bright smile formed on his face as he continued to sing, heading toward the steps to the lighting booth. A hush had fallen over the auditorium. Albert briefly wished that he had not tried so hard to get excommunicated because maybe some divine power would have been able to save him from the embarrassment that he was about to experience.

“And you can’t keep-”

“Even a thousand miles can’t keep us apart

“Us apart, cause my heart is-”

“Cause my heart is wherever you are”

Vaguely, Albert heard the familiar clang of someone slowly mounting the steps to the catwalk and he attempted to duck his head further into his black sweatshirt to no avail.

“It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you

It’s one in a million the chances of feeling the way we do

And with every step together, we just keep on gettin better

So i can i have this dance, can i have this dance?

Can i have this dance?”

Then, as if being in such close proximity to Rae had some profound influence on him, Albert felt his legs begin to carry him toward the catwalk and, subsequently, the annoying beanpole himself.

“Oh, no mountains too high and no oceans too wide

Cause together or not, our dance won’t stop

Let it rain, let it pour

What we have is worth fighting for

You know I believe that we were meant to be, yeah”

And then, somehow, it was one of those Dramatic Theater Scenes™ that Albert usually hated so much, but somehow he didn’t mind this time. This must have been the feeling that his friends had so often described to them upon finding their soulmates: complete euphoria, as if nothing in the world existed except for them.

Albert found himself getting closer and closer to Race until they were practically ontop of eachother, his hands clutching at Race’s green minecraft shirt as they continued to sing, oblivious to the audience that they had accumulated.

“It’s like catching lightning the chances of finding someone like you

Like you

It’s one in a million the chances of feeling the way, the way we, we do

And with every step together, we just keep on gettin better

So can I have this dance, can I have this dance?

Can I have this dance?

Can I have this dance?

Can I have this dance?”

The auditorium below them erupted in a chorus of cheers and Albert felt his face blush bright red under his black beanie, causing him to pull away from Race as he returned to reality. Startled, Race looked at him, but then his face transformed into the mischievous smirk that Albert was beginning to suspect was customary for him.

“Guess you wanna save face in front of all your friends, huh? A badass like you can’t have feelings and all that.” He winked and Albert rolled his eyes. “That’s okay, you don’t have to kiss me now if you’re uncomfortable with it.”

Now it was Albert’s turn to roll his eyes as he hovered his lips mere inches from Race’s and said the same thing that he had been told not too long ago: “how bout I do anyway?” and smashed their lips together, earning a loud round of applause from the crown below and one lone whoop from Spot.

As Albert was passionately mushing his lips against his soulmate, he couldn’t help but think to himself, maybe high school musical wasn’t so bad after all.

_______

im actually low key proud of this like maybe I still know how to write lol

feedback is always appreciated, hmu to be on the tag list

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan@well-the-kids-do-too@racetrackcook@ughwaitwhat@aw-jus-let-em-try@tommy-s-s0cks@voice-foundshoe-lost@stopthe-presses@ridin-in-style@pinecovewoods@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing@bencookisagod@be-more-chill-evan-hansen@stellar-alpaca@saxoph-ella@smolcanadiankid@disney-princess-sized@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog@insane-tomato@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn@have-we-got-news-for-you@thatfancyclam@myidkwhatmynameisblog@legoflambwrites@not-a-scab@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

@seasickdolphin

@auspicioustarantula

@newsies-of-ny

@mrs-higgins

@sunshine-e-cigarettes

@spot-me50-papes

@papesdontsellthemselves

@deathcast-s

@the-poodles-of-pulitzer

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@humanracoon

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@nico-nat

[thesinglesjukebox]

LIZZO - GOOD AS HELL

[7.55]

We look forward to "Juice" hitting the top 40 sometime in 2021..

Katie Gill: It is infinitely amusing that with Lizzo's career trajectory, her songs that are 2-3 years old are getting the radio play instead of her current work. Granted, "Good As Hell" is an absolute banger. But it's an absolute banger that is obviously a product of Lizzo's earlier work, especially when compared the the musical evolution she shows on Cuz I Love You. It's also an absolute banger that seems tailor-made for inclusion in movie trailers or makeover montages but hey, get that bread Lizzo. [7]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Lizzo singles don't expire after three years; they're just like chardonnay, get better over time. [8]

Thomas Inskeep: Goddamn, Lizzo can wring every bit of strength out of a female empowerment lyric, can't she? And she nails the rapping/singing combo like no one since -- I dunno, Lauryn Hill? In fact, maybe she's the rightful heir to L-Boogie's throne? And she does it all so damn joyfully to boot. Talk about fresh air on the radio. [8]

Joshua Copperman: After enjoying Big GRRL Small World, I remember hearing that Lizzo signed to Atlantic, working with the insufferably goofy producer Ricky Reed. It felt like a classic "sell-out" moment even if the term has lost all meaning. This song felt destined to blow up, but went nowhere. Neither did "Phone," and neither did "Truth Hurts." Cuz I Love You could incorporate her earlier, more political work in ways that felt authentic... but then "Truth Hurts" got massive, and "Good As Hell" is well on its way. There's a sense that Lizzo will go further in the shouting party anthem direction. She's a great interview, and a fantastic live performer, but it's disappointing to foresee a Bruno Mars-style trajectory when there's so much more to offer. At this rate, Big GRRL Small World could see a rerelease as the darker, more ambitious follow up, but she's still clearly happier making mindless party music. If she saves the thoughtful political commentary for when Terry Gross calls her "brave", that's okay. [6]

Stephen Eisermann: It is so hard to fault Lizzo's older material. While it's very easy to be cynical about self-empowerment anthems today, Lizzo has consistently shown that she excels at putting herself, a plus-size black woman, first and showing other people how to put themselves first. It's hard to separate her past hits from whatever current story she is involved in (like that horrid Postmates debacle), but, fuck, you are full lying if you say you don't smile on even your worst day when you play this chorus. The background vocals, the energy, the personality -- no part doesn't hold up. There is no chorus like a Lizzo chorus, no matter how long it has taken people to notice. [8]

Alfred Soto: Lizzo released a terrific album this year, you know, on which her sense of rhythm and how a star in waiting presents her material meshes wit the body-positivity messages. [6]

Tobi Tella: Sometimes the strength of a song is enough to push past any factors trying to stop it from entering the public conciousness. "Good As Hell" is a little corny, sure, but it's also empowerment without pandering, an uplifting song that doesn't feel the need to insert generic platitudes. Most of all, it's fun, which is something I think 2019 music totally misses most of the time. [8]

Kayla Beardslee: Personally, I'm looking forward to a couple singles from now, when Lizzo's team will be looking so far in the past for singles to push that they'll arrive at a point before her music career began and encounter a time paradox. If "Truth Hurts" can go #1 two years after its release, anything is possible, and why can't that include Lizzo deconstructing our understanding of time as a linear concept? Oh, and I'm supposed to review the song, too. Yeah, "Good As Hell" bops, will bop, has bopped, bops in the subjunctive, etc. The vocals are fantastic, and the piano riff gives the song a constant feeling of forward motion. It's the kind of track that makes you want to sing along, and even if (like me) you fail at imitating Lizzo's attention-grabbing vibrato, "Good As Hell" is so relentlessly fun that you'll feel happy about it anyways. [8]

Kylo Nocom: The power of hindsight is very strange. I used to see talk go around about how "Good as Hell" sounded like it could have been a hit, and now that it is one, is that underdog appeal still here? I used to think that her being compared to Natasha Bedingfield in Pitchfork's review of Cuz I Love You was unfair, but in hindsight, it's not really that far off. Values PSAs had "Where Is the Love?" then, and the soundtrack to them would be "Good as Hell" now. That's not a condemnation: corny stays in fashion, and with sounds as lovely as the ones Lizzo selects (namely, the drum kit of the chorus and the sampled vocal belts) it's easy to ignore how ultimately juvenile the message feels. [8]

Jackie Powell: Right now as we speak, "Good as Hell" sits at number 30 on the Billboard Hot 100. It was featured in the third film in the cult series "Barbershop," which starred fellow women in hip-hop Eve and Nicki Minaj, both whom Lizzo currently eclipses in relevance. Like the film, this track came out three years ago. This sleeper hit, along with Lizzo's career, has emerged from the ashes. They are a collective rising like a phoenix but with slightly more swagger and chock-full of sass. How is all of this possible? Lizzo's entire being defines what it means to be living in 2019. Self-care, inner strength, and an IDGAF attitude. That's why "Good as Hell" hit harder in 2019 rather than three years earlier. Zane Lowe has referred to this track as an "instant vintage vibe" and that's due to clean but predictable production from Ricky Reed. Lizzo's delivery functions in between a bounce in the verses and sweeping call and response in the pre-chorus and the hook. Her magic remains in the way she works to make her raps more digestible for listeners who live on the throwback playlists on Spotify. She's creating a similar product to Mark Ronson in that they both aim to bring sounds from then and now together in a triumphant union. Thank goodness for Lizzo, someone who has the secret recipe to make anyone feel "as good as hell," a task far from effortless. [7]

Vikram Joseph: It seems kind of fitting that I'm writing this before work on a wet Monday morning, because "Good As Hell" is transformative in a way that's hard to resist. Taylor Swift might have recently claimed that she "want[s] your dreary Mondays" (ok, not yours, Joe Alwyn's), but "Good As Hell" simply will not allow them to exist -- at least for 2 minutes and 37 seconds. It achieves this mostly because of the melancholy that lurks in the corners of the song, and because of the way that classic descending chord progression confers a sense of unconditional positivity in the face of chronic adversity. The delivery of "baby, how you feeling?" should win awards -- most singers would sell it as uncomplicated celebration, but Lizzo sounds incredibly empathetic, concerned even, like she half-expects the answer might be "like shit, Lizzo, I feel like shit." And the song's instant meme -- "hair toss, check my nails!" -- is actually a performance piece in putting your best self out there when your heart feels bruised and tired. The strange, wonderful alchemy of "Good As Hell" is that, through method-acting feeling good as hell when all of your instincts tell you that you really don't, it actually makes you feel fucking incredible. [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[kariachi]

”So, we’re gonna start today’s Martin Mystery rewatches with The Vampire Returns. Should I have listened to more of the Young Frankenstein soundtrack during lunch in preparation? Probably. But here we are instead.

I love how this show always specifies the exact time shit starts going down. For instance, in this episode, 10:32 pm CEST

~~

Good on Lady Soulsucker’s date for paying enough attention to notice when the girl he’s out with grows fangs and her eyes start glowing. You don’t see that often enough.

Aw and then she takes the daintiest bite of apple with teeth bigger than Date-Dude’s face.

I wonder how they got out without being noticed... can’t remember if the vampires in this episode can do the ‘turn to fog’ thing. Sure I’ll find out later.

~~

Diana sitting there with a book and a crowd of impressed young ladies. What are you showing them, Diana? Did you make this book yourself? Did you mother write it? I can’t think of a reason for the ooo-ing and ahh-ing going on otherwise. Either that or you managed to attract a pack of lesbians and they are trying to get in your pants.

...ya know I’m kinda all for the idea that Diana has unwittingly attracted a chunk of Torrington’s lesbian population and they are all trying to smooze in the awkward way that only a young gay can manage.

Also hello Tonio, it’s nice to see you. I’m going to have to include you in this in some way, I believe, given the location and also that this is a fic for nix.

Martin, Martin, sweetie, no. You are not getting that girl. There were actual sparkles coming off her, you don’t deserve that sort’ve quality. Plus, ya know, she sounds like your brand of nerd isn’t her style. I know the saying is “aim for the moon, if you fail you’ll land among the stars” but let’s be realistic for five seconds

Tonio can see this disaster coming from a mile away.

Amber is not having it, solidly unimpressed. I’m shocked.

You think the girls at this school ever rate the boys and just, give Martin a solid 6/10 for effort and moxie alone? “We wouldn’t date him, but at least he’s entertainingly stupid.”

Amber’s look of shock and concern at the idea of Martin enjoying studying. Like she’s about to call in the Psi Psi Psi girls and Diana, clearly their moron has fallen ill. Diana, meanwhile, is just pissed and I can’t decide whether the idea that this is because Martin is lying to get a date or because ‘has he been lying for the past our entire lives’ is funnier.

Though, given we’ll be working with witch!Martin for this it’s not like he’s lying. He just doesn’t like studying, well, anything they teach at Torrington. (Although I am still a big fan of the idea that he’s perfectly bright and just doesn’t apply himself like, at all.)

Martin don’t growl at your sister, you’ll get enough chances to in season 3.

And Amber trying to let him down easy.

~~

“Very rare, and totally irreplaceable” and you, all the way into season 2, are going to work with them, in your office, immediately after calling in Martin- known disaster and Destroyer of Projects? I swear you’d think MOM wanted her crap ruined. After a point you have no one to blame but yourself.

Martin no.

I repeat, MOM, no one to blame but yourself. Most people with an ounce of sense would stow away the shit they didn’t want destroyed when the guy who keeps destroying shit was called in.

Diana no. You’re being sent on a mission not a fucking river cruise.

~~

Introducing, the world’s scariest tunnel of love. First condoms in the water, now people going missing, this dude is just done.

Well Lady Soulsucker just fucking demolished that place didn’t she. Godsdamn, forget shutting it down because people disappeared, shut it down because it’s officially a safety hazard.

Okay, access hatch in the ceiling, that explains that.

...Okay but Martin isn’t entirely wrong with his assessment here? Something strong and nocturnal is right on the nose, and while the werewolf and half-beast-half-humanoid (and I love he uses that word specifically) hybrid guesses aren’t quite right, they aren’t far off the mark. He brought his A game today.

Diana, darling, kids playing practical jokes generally don’t leave fair rides completely demolished in their wake. That is not a normal occurrence.

Java about to eat half-consumed food off the floor like child did Diana not teach you better than that? I wouldn’t be surprised Martin didn’t but Diana?

500 year old saliva. This is the sort’ve ridiculousness I expect from this show. What, did Lady Soulsucker not swallow, spit, or brush her teeth since she escaped her coffin? Was she going around with 500 years of no brushing on her breath? Of course she’s got vampire hypnosis it’s the only way she could get a date.

Vampire goes rwar at children, flees into the sun to escape capture. Also he may need some heavier clothes, those don’t seem to be keeping the sunlight out.

~~

Martin no.

Billy making himself useful. Helping them follow the massive flashing clue that is the vampire’s clothing.

Martin slow your jock-ass down

Martin no, purple isn’t your color.

Okay, can I just say here that Lady Soulsucker looks fucking weird? She looks like a haunted porcelain doll. Or a shitty oc. Here, a theme song to go with her.

Question, why is there a surf shop in the middle of Paris? Is Paris big for surfing? A true French sport?

Oh, yeah, Simone, I forgot her name. It’s very French. Also dude chill.

Diana will not be stopped by some weird hyper-jealous dude.

She also, ya know, looks like a fucking corpse. But yeah, the reflection thing is your first clue something’s up.

He doesn’t see her, he doesn’t hear her, he doesn’t smell the 500-yo morning breath. I claiming him as an anosmiac by the way, the flag is in.

Welp. I can’t decide whether this feeding was more or less extreme than the last one. I mean, this time was pretty fucking hardcore, but last time she demolished an entire fair ride.

Simone, sweetie, have you considered that if you are looking for a specific guy maybe, just maybe, the way to go about it isn’t to just eat whatever random dude happens to be within hypnotizing range? Just a thought?

“He needs help, I’m going in” Martin says right after watching a guy get eaten by a vampire, proving that while he may not be the moron we deserve, he’s the moron we need. Diana, on the other hand, is a voice of reason and doesn’t deserve this shit.

Lucky those clothes were there to break your fall, Martin.

Martin, after dropping from the ceiling into a vampire’s feeding ground, alone: Don’t make me fuck your shit up! Simone, seeing this: Oh yay it’s my moron! Speak of the devil!

Am I saying Gerard was probably just as much an impulsive dumbshit as his great-x-grandson? Yes. Yes I am.

“Clever, and brave.” And a complete moron of a dork. “Just like my Gerard.”

“And just as handsome” it’s nice to see the looks keep in that family? I don’t believe Gerard got the floaty hair though, but his hair looked stupid so really Martin has the advantage there.

Vampire minions are strong, holding back Java with one hand.

Vampire true love is apparently very sparky.

Well Diana, at least you saved the watch.

~~

Martin gets abducted by vampires, Billy immediately must run to the scene.

I’d be impressed with your strength, Java, if those doors hadn’t looked 70% fallen in before you got to them. You could’ve probably gotten the same result from a hearty cough on them.

Gerard=Martin w/o floaty hair or modern fashion. Don’t know why the portrait is in black in white.

You’d think Billy could’ve taken the thirty seconds to read a brief overview about the woman while he waited for Diana and Java, but no.

No wonder Gerard looks weird, there’s not even a splash of warm color in that outfit. And warm tones don’t do Simone any favors. Coordinate your fashion better, people, you’re vampires for fuck’s sake! What would Mike say!

How do we know about genes from a 15th century vampire? Also I note she says ‘relative’ and not ‘descendant’, but I’m not in the mood to dig into that.

Billy you are literally a galactic conqueror, but your big boy underwear on and get in the basement.

Let’s be real, Diana, that’s just a sibling thing. You go into horrible places to save them so you can give them hell about making you go to a horrible place to save them.

How many minions has Simone gotten together? Like, the clan hasn’t been renewed yet, so... When did she get the time? It’s been like 24 hours

Okay, that explains new guy A, what about B and C over there, who look like they stepped out of Robin Hood? where they sealed in with you? Is this the old crew?

Simone, queen of the night and motivational speeches.

Martin you can’t just call on a specific guy, poor thing probably had a heart attack. “Fuck, my Lady’s new consort has beef, fuckfuckfuck” but no, you just want some fucking fries. And Simone is fucking loving it.

~~

Okay, so we know some of them sleep upside down.

It’s nice to see vampires can still be active sleepers.

Hissy vampires on all fours

Vampire!Martin is perfectly fine with being an evil trophy husband

Vampire!Martin standing there like “yeah, you rule the underworld, babe, rocking it!”

~~

“Do you know how much grief I’ll get at Torrington if my stepbrother comes back a vampire?” Would it really be that much more than you get just for having him as a stepbrother in the first place?

A vampire lord consort and yet still, at heart, an annoying brother

Simone: Get me back my fucking moron and we’re all screwed!

Tell me that’s like, Diana or Java’s dirty sock because I’m fairly certain even Martin doesn’t deserve to have his own stuffed in his mouth

And Simone becomes a massive fucking bat beast. Fur, muzzle, little winglet-dealies, big ears, big teeth, no tail...

Okay, yeah, Java’s sock, cool

Those are some seriously dirty windows. Or, well, were.

Sunlight burns everybody but also burns Simone to fucking ash right quick. Which then removes the curse on her victims.

Also I wanna know more about this apparent vampire gene. It is of much interest, especially given next episode will be dealing with werewolves and in some folklore werewolves when killed become vampires, so...

~~

Martin. No.

Amber really. Either you were setting him up or you yourself are dense as teak.

Oh Martin... stick with spies and monsters, honey

[tracies-tales]

oh my gosh, if no one has requested it already, can you do #60 "sing to me" with egobang?? I love your writing so much and holy FUCK if that isn't the perfect prompt for them I don't know what is,,, and I know you'll make it even more perfect ❤

well dang i’ll certainly try to!! no one has requested it unless the tumblr staff are eating my asks, so thank you for the prompt!! buckle up kids:

Dan whistled to himself as he approached the door of the Grump House; he’d been overwhelmed with the positive response to his newest drop, “Danny Don’t You Know,” and it had left him in a giddy mood since watching the number of hits climb so quickly throughout the course of only the first day. 

He was smiling broadly as he entered the house, as always bringing a ray of sunshine into the building with him wherever he went. He’d already seen Arin’s car in the drive, so he knew Arin himself was present somewhere within. “Aaarin?” he called. There was no immediate response, so Dan tried again, “Awin, come on out you siwwy goose! We can’t do a show if you’ve been kidnapped for ransom.”

Dan quieted down to listen, still not hearing a reply. His face scrunched up in curiosity, knitting his brows together as he wondered if Arin had headphones on or maybe had a late night and was napping at nine in the morning. He shrugged it off and assumed Arin was too wrapped up in something or another. 

The whistling started up again as Dan twirled his car keys on his finger, hanging them on a hook and skipping into the kitchen. He grabbed a bag of Skittles from the top shelf, which only he and Arin could easily reach, before he glided down the hall to descend into the basement.

As Dan munched on the Skittles with gleeful abandon, he came to a halt at the bottom of the stairwell when he thought he heard the groan of an office chair. “Arin?” Dan said, mouth still full of candy. 

Dan frowned as he heard a distinct sniffle, followed by Arin saying, “Oh, hey Danny,” with a hoarse voice.

The response had come from the editing room, and if Dan wasn’t mistaken, Arin had been crying or was currently extremely ill. Either way, Dan jogged down the hall to the proper door and slowly pushed it open, noting the lights were all off save for the glow of the computer screen. He didn’t miss the fact that Arin had just closed a window so that Dan couldn’t see whatever it had been. Now that they were in the same room, it was painfully clear which of Dan’s two guesses had been right.

Tissues littered the desk and surrounded the trash can from failed attempts at tossing them out. Arin’s eyes were rimmed with redness, and he hastily tried to wipe a tear off his cheek. 

“Jesus, man,” Dan’s own mood plummeted at seeing Arin so distraught, “what happened?”

“It’s stupid, dude, don’t worry about it,” Arin rubbed at his eye.

“Oh fuck no, I will worry about it,” Dan retorted, moving to rub Arin’s back soothingly. 

“It’s dumb,” Arin repeated, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll get over it in like…thirty minutes,” he tried to force a chuckle, which turned into a gross, gooey cough.

Dan made a disgusted face at the sound but said, “Well I can get you over it in like…twenty nine, if you let me.”

Arin managed a real chuckle at that, “As always, you are infinitely helpful, Daniel.”

“I know I am,” Dan chirped, straightening and practically glowing with pride. “Now come on, let’s move to the couch and you can let me in on your secrets,” he bopped Arin’s nose with a finger.

Arin snorted just before his expression fell again. He stood and picked up a new tissue to blow his nose in, grunting a, “Blegh,” at his own mucus before they moved to their recording studio. When they’d both plopped onto the couch, Arin said, “So, like…it isn’t even about me, first of all.”

Dan raised a brow, “What, did you watch a video of a kitten making those mewing sounds while eating? I told you that’s dangerous shit, Arin,” he gently scolded with his mother-like impression.

“That was yesterday!” Arin snapped with a grin, making Dan glad to see he was at least responding well to humor.

“Well we can sit here with our thumbs up each others’ asses, or you can tell me what’s up straight.”

“Not us,” Arin made finger guns at him.

“I know that,” Dan drawled dramatically, unable to suppress a giggle. “But what’s wrong?” he asked, setting a hand on Arin’s knee to rub his leg.

Arin took a deep breath and said, “I was kind of reading the comments on your new video.”

“Oh fuck, don’t tell me. Some fucker decided to give his two cents about how I’m wasting my talent as a singer?”

“More or less,” Arin mumbled. “There were so many positive and supportive people, so I was already emotionally compromised, but then there was just…one major asshole. Told you it was dumb.”

Dan shook his head, “It isn’t that dumb. People can be hurtful. I’m just wondering why it impacted you so bad. I mean, you know not everyone can like my band.”

“Well yeah, but why can people not just leave their goddamn negativity to themselves? Just because they don’t like your style doesn’t mean they have to come at you like that.”

“Arin, you’re the only one that comes at me,” Dan smirked and wiggled a brow. Arin rolled his eyes and shoved Dan’s shoulder. Dan made a musical chuckle, then sighed, “I appreciate you looking out for me, man. Just don’t let those idiots get to you. Let them waste their time.” Dan slung an arm around Arin’s shoulders and drew him in for a hug, rocking them back and forth slowly.

After a moment of silence, Arin sheepishly said, “Hey, Dan?”

“Yeah, Big Cat?” Dan raised a brow at him.

“…Sing for me?”

Dan smiled, taking a moment to settle on a song and going with the mellow version of “Take on Me” from the Deadpool 2 soundtrack. Dan rubbed his hand along Arin’s arm, letting Arin tuck his head up under his chin. He shut his eyes as he lost himself in the song, noting that Arin’s breathing had evened out slowly but surely. 

When he trailed off the final lyrics, Dan kissed Arin’s head and said, “Your support for my career means more than anything in the world. It totally overrides asshole spew.”

Arin snorted and began to laugh, choking out, “Asshole spew,” into Dan’s shirt.

Dan burst out laughing as well, as that hadn’t come out as intended but now they were here. “Your support is the Clorox Wipes to their asshole spew,” Dan managed to say through the laughter.

Arin was crying anew again, but this time it was tears of mirth still due to the new phrase. Dan wrapped his arms around Arin and pulled him down to laugh in a tangled pile on the couch; he was just glad he’d managed to make Arin smile again. It was all he ever needed.

[rosienth]

Ghost Story

I wrote this piece for my college science fiction class in response to Octavia Butler’s, “The Book of Martha”; there are also a few references to Ted Chiang’s, “Exhalation,” and to Chen Qiufan’s, “Smog Society.” It’s not the best thing that I’ve ever written, but it’s best read when accompanied by the Gone Girl soundtrack–my favorite movie soundtrack to date–specifically, “What Have We Done To Each Other.” 

My wife is as transient to me now as the fog is to everyone else. She comes when the fog opens, like curtains, revealing the face that appears so familiar to me, yet not, at the same time—and she goes when the fog thickens, closing off my view of her and her world in all of their foreign familiarity.

Space travel had not been successful in the earlier years: it took longer than we could afford to wait amidst the famines and the riots, and the astronauts—“our pioneers of the future,” as the last of the grimy government officials liked to call them—went missing, often, much to the public’s horror. Those were the days when my wife was still writing for the papers and leading protests and coming home to talk to me about how things were going to get infinitely better, Emily. As it always did, her doe-eyed optimism rubbed off on me with time, and so we, as in my naive colleagues at the lab and I, went looking for more efficient means—a shortcut that would bridge great spatial distances—of transcending time and space. No more primitively launching ourselves out of orbit. We were arrogant enough to tell ourselves that this project would not only be our redemption, but also the revival of the scientific world. The advent of the Second Enlightenment. When we presented our abstract to our prospective patrons, we called the theory something long, pretentious, and technical—a title that I could not even bother to remember later, when the fog arrived and settled. My wife called it “closing the gaps”—that’s a much more digestible term, Emily—which seems so appropriately ironic, in retrospect. I would have laughed if I had known better then.    

There is no telling or predicting when the fog will clear and there is no demanding or manipulating the fog into clearing. For the first time in a long time, we had to wait to get what we wanted from what was left of our planet. I cannot say whether or not this was good for us, or even if the fog had produced more patient, less self-serving people. It certainly did produce the most devout of religious fanatics, though. First, came the prayer circles; they were mostly secretive and inconspicuous in the beginning. Then, followed the chanting and the singing that echoed throughout the day, into the desolate alleyways and into the brittle corpses of fallen skyscrapers, and bled deep into the night. They—most likely because my wife had gone missing by the time that the Fog Societies multiplied and infiltrated the cities—didn’t bother me as much as they had bothered those who eventually attempted to silence their “disruptive nonsense” through violence. Their singing soothed me and helped me to drown out the sounds of regretful memories: dishes crashing against the kitchen floor, doors slamming in faces, empty curses shouted from across equally empty hallways. I didn’t like being told that I was being greedy; she didn’t like being told that she was being jealous. I was officially granted my own research space at the national lab; she was discharged from her position as editor-in-chief of the local paper.

Public distrust of science was rampant long before my team and I even started our experimental trials, and rightfully so: our predecessors took advantage of science’s promise of absolute objectivity and absolute truth to justify eugenics—among other inhumane acts. Scientists like me were scarce and poor, so naturally, the prize money was the objective of our project; the fog, of course, was the unintended, unnatural consequence—to some, a godly blessing—of our hasty curiosity and desperation.  

What emerged from the tear that we made in the atmosphere was not expected. I thought that you were closing the gaps. There was no kaleidoscopic storm that threatened to devour the city and the oceans; there was no ominous black hole to rip us apart and pull us into the fabric of the universe and end all human life as we knew it; there was no loud, cinematic climax, only a potent, viscous slowness. The fog materialized in waves, ever so subtly, before it was everywhere and before it became everything. It clouded our vision as it snaked through the uprooted streets and penetrated the thin walls of our homes, lulling the city into a gradual hibernation: it dimmed the street lamps, it eclipsed the stars, and it silenced the birds and the children in the parks. The fog became the air that we breathed and it, too, seemed to move—to clot and to dissipate—with the rhythm of our lungs: the exhale, the clotting, was deep and exaggerated, while the inhale, the dissipation, was brief and euphoric.  

Strange, inexplicable things happened during the inhalations, during the fleeting moments when fog cleared. There were miracles and there were tragedies; the two merged into one. My wife was the first to notice the differences that emerged from underneath the fog. At first, they were small, insignificant differences. The wedding album cover was royal blue instead of the seafoam green that my wife swore on her right hand that it was. Peach rose bushes bloomed in places where there should have been dirt and cracked concrete. Grandma Kay’s gilded antique music box disappeared from my wife’s bookshelf and was never found.

“This is a cruel prank, Emily,” my wife had assured me one morning before I left for work at the lab, her voice hoarse from last night’s yelling match. She must have also found it cruel when people began disappearing, too, but she retreated to her room without a word when the first headliner showed up at our door: 25 Missing, No Leads. They were never found.  

I spent the weeks leading up to my wife’s disappearance tossing and turning in the bed sheets, only occasionally getting up for nutritional biscuits and water from the kitchen. It was difficult to cope with the immobility during the exhalations; they were such agonizingly long periods. You could not see the hand in front of you when you stepped foot outside, let alone travel, because the fog was so opaque when it thickened and descended upon everything. My wife liked to joke that we were living beneath a large fleece blanket, though I suppose it wasn’t much of a joke given the bitterness in her tone. Ironically enough, we were safest in the darkness, when we were blind to everything outside of that large blanket. At least, people didn’t go missing during the exhalations.

The city is mostly quiet now because people had given up on hypothesizing and rationalising and instead, surrendered, shut up, and listened to the soft humming of the fog. You cannot sleep because the noise is so incessant, omnipotent, and it is usually at its loudest just before the fog lifts for the next inhalation. You can hear distorted, almost palpable voices muffled in the fog, some of them foreign, some of them so eerily familiar that they make you pause to stare at your reflection in the mirror at night, as my wife so often did. She said that she saw the ghosts of another family living inside of our house: one mother who goes to work—A scientist, Emily!—another mother who stays at home with the giggling baby. She witnessed the welcoming of the new family cat, reflected in the bathroom mirror. She was there for the baby’s first birthday celebration; she watched them dancing around together in the window panes. It made her uneasy, at times, the voyeurism of it all, but she could not bring herself to look away.

It was not long before the rest of the city saw their own ghosts, too. Behind the fog, we saw glimpses of different versions of ourselves. Some of them were brilliant, others, not so much. We got to see the ones that never broke up with our first loves, the ones that pursued the internships that we had been too afraid to in college, and the ones that found solace in opium and lived in dingy spaces on the edges of town. The fog gave us new vision, new eyes: we saw life and we saw death, living and dying, all at once. For some, the gift was too overwhelmingly colorful; it drove them down the rooftops of skyscrapers and down the flights of apartment building staircases. For others, the gift seduced them into stagnance. Sometimes, they formed new religions like the Fog Societies did in order to evoke more frequent inhalation periods. Sometimes, they sat still in their living rooms, inhaling the sounds of their potential lives and choices. My wife sleep walked through empty rooms and traced the spines of nonexistent books that she did not own, at least not in this life. Not here and not now. All of these things were ultimately just different forms of waiting and postponing action. People were tired of working and protesting to deaf ears. Waiting felt good.

One night, sometime after my wife went missing, a stranger joined me in bed. This was an inhalation. The woman resembled my wife in almost every way: she shared the same waist-length curls, same pointed nose that I used to teasingly poke, same bright, hazel eyes. I watched the panic grow and then plateau in those eyes at the realization that I was not at all who she thought that I was.

“You’re not Cara. Where is she? Where is the baby?”

This wife-imposter did not stay for very long. She left just as quickly as she had arrived, when the fog came back and swathed us in its great arms. I don’t think that I ever saw her again. There were other wife-imposters, certainly, but all slightly different; a minority of them recognized me—probably a different version of me, maybe a better me that didn’t abandon my wife when she needed me the most—and I pretended to recognize them too. Most of them reacted similarly to the way that the first one did, by bombarding me with questions, to which I answered as honestly as I could. The questions that I asked myself tortured me more so. Was my real wife starving somewhere on the side of some nondescript road? Was she happier with whomever she wound up with than she was with me? Was she still alive? The first few times the women appeared were frustrating and disorienting; I just wanted to get past the formalities, past those shrill, hysterical questions, and find out for sure if this was indeed my wife from here, from now. My increasing loneliness and guilt softened me, however, and I found myself hopefully waiting for these awkward visits from these strange women that ghosted in and out of our house. I wanted for just anyone to distract me from that harrowing loneliness and guilt.  

These days, I wait out on my flamingo pink lawn chair, half-heartedly pretending to sunbathe, but mostly I’m focused on my breathing. I’ve stopped going to the lab and I’ve stopped communicating with my colleagues altogether, not that either of those things would have mattered, anyway; some of them don’t even remember my name or why they’re even working at the lab. I can’t blame them, though. My own memories feel more like distant childhood bedtime stories than they do reality. Perhaps we are all too intoxicated to tell the difference. Perhaps the fog has suffocated us all in our own daydreams; I don’t know. For now, I know that I am perfectly content waiting around for the fog to churn out the next dazed stranger. I know that she’ll have a lot of questions that I can’t answer, but maybe one day, she won’t have any. She’ll know exactly who I am and she’ll know that she is home.

[floggingink]

Riverdale, “Chapter Eighteen: When a Stranger Calls”

good afternoon, this episode made me lose sleep

Jughead doesn’t even have his framing narration voiceover, because he is in too much pain, RETROACTIVELY, to WRITE IT DOWN

this is a great episode, but it’s especially a great episode for Betty’s left eyebrow, Alice’s left eyebrow, and Jughead’s pecs

there’s a very STEALTHY ticking clock sound in the background of Betty and the Black Hood’s phonecall, taken in spirit, I hope, from Hans Zimmer’s Dunkirk soundtrack, where you don’t notice it but the protracted effect makes you feel like you’re going crazy

Jughead is Betty’s “mystery-loving boyfriend”

Alice was fond of Jughead so long as he was on Betty’s newspaper staff and showed Alice compassion when her family life was crumbling, but now that he lives in a different zip code she’s over it

Archie in green is always his best choice

Archie of course walks Betty to school and of course promises not to tell a secret before he hears it

does Betty enlist Archie as her handmaiden because he’s the best choice (will do as she says, will not branch out on his own, will refuse on moral grounds to abandon her) or because she can do so with the least amount of fanfare?

“BETTY, YOU HAVE TO TELL THE POLICE, EVEN IF IT’S NOT HIM.” Archie drops some vintage bon mots today!

The Blossom spawn: it’s incredible that the Black Hood knows where Polly is when it seems like Betty doesn’t even know

Dilton Doiley is a canonically great dancer: Dilton’s stunt got the southside into more trouble, which seems like exactly the amount of power he wants to wield

remember last season when Dilton caved to Jughead’s threat of exposing him as a gun-loving loon? Dilton has purged his life of all semblances of normalcy, out in the open, so no one can do that again

apparently now we can all chill in Hiram’s study with him

Veronica was rich: Hiram’s true crime is gentrification! sounds about right!

Certified pedigree: Veronica perks up and Hermione and Hiram look at each other and agree to the same game plan silently: pimp her out

Sweet Pea is, I think, showing commendable patience towards Jughead, for someone who does not necessarily have to, for still having this particular girlfriend and best friend (“your boy, Andrews”) after day after day of southside-reasons not to. Jughead is like….I know….I don’t control them….

Jughead did not see Veronica shooting a gun coming! poor Jug is so out of the loop!

I guess Fangs earned his stripes? was it by getting an engineering degree?

What damn high school in America: okay wait, I missed before when they explained that “Fogarty’s cousin” is “in the Army” and was “going to build us something.” I can’t believe they actually FUCKING EXPLAIN IT

Sweet Pea did not know who he was talking to when he tried to hit Jughead with “It can’t get any worse.” Jughead is like, LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING—

“You can’t be half a Serpent”: it’s FASCINATING TO ME how the actual on-the-ground Serpents deal with Jughead, who is familially a Serpent but not an indoctrinated one, who has been baptised but not confirmed, if you will, who keeps telling them to knock it off with the gang stuff, and yet they’re like, very careful about giving him latitude to move around in their world without having paid his membership fee, you know? I just think it’s amazing how, and I know it’s a TV show and not like a documentary, but I think it’s an interesting choice how Sweet Pea isn’t just like, Get fucked, Jughead. he hears Jughead’s objections. he explains himself

These students are legally children: the grown-up Serpents either ghost-endorse the Serpent kids taking matters into their own hands or have no idea it’s happening. either way, these kids may not have flashy extracurriculars, but they have moxie

Toni calls Sweet Pea an idiot, which is great

Veronica says she and Nicky were the “will-they-or-won’t-they” of her old “jet-set”

admirably, she immediately tells Archie not to worry about him

Betty is barely hanging on to patience for absolutely anything

I want it on the record that Jughead not wearing his fleece jacket is slightly jarring after all this time and that he still looks great in the leather one

Sweet Pea calls him a “northsider” when he walks in, which seems like a callback to a World War II sergeant calling everybody “ladies”

I’ve seen Brick like thirty times: Jughead is lit from behind by one of the yellow lamps, casting a glow around his hat like a fucking Renaissance painting

Gay?!: SERPENT DADDDDDYYYYY is going to “initiate” Jughead, because Riverdale loves me

Toni is looking at Jughead like she truly regrets his death, which is probably right

Archie, chilling out with Betty in her bedroom, totally without sexual pretence and just there to listen to the phone call on speaker, is GOOD ARCHIE

when Betty parries the Black Hood’s demand with her own, Archie mouths “WHAT ARE YOU DOING,” because he set a game plan

Betty is blue is her best choice

“Wait...is that…” ...VINTAGE TWIN PEAKS-ERA MÄDCHEN AMICK??!

the baby Serpents lined themselves up classically, in descending order from the middle, for Jughead’s aesthetic benefit

is it possible Toni is the only one who knows Jughead’s name is Forsythe?

Archie is pretty okay with Betty building this relationship with the Black Hood, as you will remember Archie is just as obsessed with him. also, Archie is taking it pretty well that it turns out BH is into Betty instead of him. he’s not insulted or anything

he’s SO RIGHT about Alice always ragging on all of them, too! Archie’s sudden flashes of insight are revelatory

the St. Clairs are appropriately fur-covered and smug, and Nicholas St. Clair, AKA ZACH FLORRICK FROM THE GOOD WIFE, is adorable and that actor has looked exactly like that for the past seven years

why didn’t Nicky and Veronica ever sync up? they’re both schemers and that’s a difficult needle to thread? like Blair and Chuck?

I am insulted on Betty’s behalf that Alice would think Betty would write the cipher herself, in that I would hope Alice would know Betty would have more sense than to be so obvious as to use a Nancy Drew code

Jughead is officially Betty’s “Serpent boyfriend”!!!! we have arrived, Alice!

50 Shades of Betty: Betty straight destroys her mother after getting eye-rolled at

Archie does bicep curls on his bed because he’s THAT good-looking

Toni’s FLANNEL TIGHTS are great

Jughead calls Sweet Pea an idiot too, after Toni opened that gate

OF COURSE Jughead is only joining the Serpents to try and keep the peace, because he finally found a cause to martyr himself to that is as grungy and doomed as possible and with no goshdarn way he can succeed

I’m down with the six rules! but I don’t think the show has told me exactly what being a Serpent entails yet. like what do gangs do? the Serpents aren’t a particularly druggy gang, apparently, like the motorcycle dudes in True Detective (the Ghoulies) or anything. it seems like they mostly exist to get ragged on and take care of their widows, like a very sad union

Jughead is truly scared to stick his hand in that tank and if Kevin were there he would have burst into tears

in fond congratulations, Toni calls him “Juggie,” which set off a synaptic transmission in my amygdala first time around. Jughead does a double take at it and Toni herself looks kind of like, Whoops, but then sort of pleased at her own daring

POP DOESN’T JUDGE. HE WAS HERE DURING THE RIOTS AND HE DOESN’T JUDGE

Betty having her own fucking newspaper makes me so fucking happy. I fucking love Betty goddammit

Betty’s splash of sparkles on her sweater is great too. YOU’RE ALWAYS SO PRETTY BETTY

Hermione made a flan. Hermione kind of cooks! ...unless it was Andre

Nicky’s bullet is kind of cute, in a stupid way

Archie was blindly terrified to drink rum, so I don’t think he’s going to snort cocaine

in the beginning of this episode, in the beginning, Nicky basically IS Veronica. just watch it and pretend Camilla is reading all his lines. he calls Archie “Big Red” and everyone “country mice” and says things like “What a brave new world it is” and thinks it’s hot Veronica is in a band with a sexy name. and Veronica knows this, and it makes her uncomfortable

“Damn good coffee”: the retro “Lollipop” ringtone is psycho by only the second time you hear it. Dilton would love it

“How does it feel, Betty?” FEELS GREAT!

Black Hood out here really believing Veronica is complicit with her father’s crimes??? maybe if it was for getting that girl to drink gutter water

Betty and Jughead haven’t seen each other in 24-48 hours and their meetup kiss is like if Jughead like, immigrated to America and sent money back home FOR YEARS while he worked in THE MINES until he saved enough for Betty to join him and they just met on the pier during a glorious sunset, I didn’t get a lot of sleep!!!!! the kiss is really good. is it the best kiss? it’s because it’s like their first kiss but over the other shoulder. was their best kiss in the trailer park with the God light?

THEY FEEL “UNMOORED” WITHOUT EACH OTHER, GOOD EVENING DEATH

obviously the best kiss was when Jughead tossed her up on his countertop like she was a black truffle salad at the Grill Room and bit her collarbone

Jughead: “I just wanted to make sure you were still alive.” Betty: “KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN.”

Jughead read the Blue & Gold article online and glowed with pride. he showed Sweet Pea: “SEE. SHE writes stuff like THIS.”

aw, they’re both sitting there, holding hands, lying to each other

I love Jughead wanting to literally leave Riverdale. Season One Jughead was obsessed with Riverdale. Season Two Jughead is like FUCK Riverdale

I hate how Jughead is gazing at Betty from across the table when she cries her single tear because it was so beautiful I had to punch through a window like Josh Lyman and it hurt and I retroactively hate Jughead for that

Betty calls them “Romeo and Juliet, but we live happily ever after instead,” because she doesn’t know she’s only eighteen minutes into the episode

Nick’s white cardigan? sure

he gets another Veronica line with “You Pussycats are pearls before the swine of Riverdale.” is this how people in Manhattan talk now?

Cheryl’s a chaos angel from hell: Cheryl gets herself invited to the party by introducing herself, which would not work if this were Jane Austen, unless Nick were Henry Crawford, but Cheryl’s got this like black romper thing going on and posed in the doorway like one of the “Cell Block Tango” girls and at this point is a walking Riverdale legend

“Ten o’clock you said? I’ll be there at eleven.”

Archie crashes gently into someone while he chases Betty, which is a callback to Archie constantly falling over shit in the comics

Veronica probably went to the Gilded Lily after one of those Met Galas she keeps comparing things to

I think Gal Gadot’s last name is more like “Gadought” (not really like that) than like in Waiting for Godot, but whatever Cheryl wants

God bless jingle-jangle: my man hooked him up!!!

Veronica’s layered floral dress is like what my ten-year-old self being dressed by my mom for church wished one day I would be cool enough to wear. I don’t go to church now, but I still hope one day I will be cool enough to wear it

Cheryl’s sheaths: Cheryl’s art deco dress is really good too

Melody is in a GREAT ruffly red jumpsuit

Kevin in like, Don’t mind if I do!

Melody is like DON’T MIND IF I DO

Reggie and Josie are making out when they’re high, because they’re contractually obligated as the two most beautiful people in the room

Betty is miserable, like a teacher chaperoning a dance where the kids are allowed to grind

Cheryl’s hair: Cheryl whips her hair around like Beyoncé in the video for “Baby Boy” and I had to punch another window

it took me a second to remember that Betty had to alienate Veronica and that that was why she was suddenly talking to her like Drunk Alice and that it wasn’t just Pissed Betty

Betty’s read is pretty good! exactly what Veronica is afraid of: that she has been performing as a good girl this whole time. or that people only think she is performing it. “You’ll always be a bad person.” but Veronica is very measured for someone a little drunk and high! (are you “high” if you’re on jingle-jangle?) she calmly tells Betty to leave. BECAUSE SHE IS A GOOD PERSON

damn this episode is so low-lit. like, Hannibal dark. I can barely fucking see Jughead in this trailer. Toni is half-lit by the mysterious blue trailer park light and is beautiful, so we can see her laced-up jeans

Jughead doubts it: Jughead has a very Jugheadian response to the Gauntlet: “It’s whatever.”

Toni wants to be clear that if Jughead joins this gang, everyone else will abandon him. Jughead is like...This one time...I choose not to believe it...

Summer + Blair = Veronica: Veronica still thinks Betty is her best friend and that something weird just happened that she will investigate later. Veronica is so fucking LEVEL-HEADED

Veronica unfortunately has to engage in the dance of “Mmmm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…” when Nick just like strokes her thigh, like she isn’t clearly happily with Archie or just a person who may not want a thigh-stroking right this minute

Nick calls Archie a “hayseed yokel”

good slap! GOOD SLAP, ZACH

Betty dragged herself out to this, the world’s most suspect bus stop, in a staging not even Alfred Hitchcock would have dared pitch to Grace Kelly

Lili Reinhart does something shockingly good every episode, but Betty’s breakdown, especially her shudder-shiver breath when her phone rings, is so far beyond what the CW deserves

when BH is like “JUGHEAD,” and Betty is like “[gasp] NO,” and I’m like “I’M OUT OF WINDOWS”

...you know what the greatest trope of all time is?

—no. the greatest trope of all time is Make Him Think You Don’t Love Him. solidly, confidently, signed, sealed, delivered, the greatest, most delicious, stupidly painful thing one character can do to another. it combines SO MUCH lurid goodness: two people who, apparently, shouldn’t be together; desperate heroic measures; lack of communication—for safety reasons!; selflessness; self-torture; “I DON’T UNDERSTAND”; BRUTAL WORDS; hitting him where you know it hurts; the heartbreaker is always a GREAT actor suddenly; turning the corner after going through with it and weeping abjectly; DANGER AVOIDED BUT SOMETHING EVEN WORSE HAPPENING!!! just like—just like in Moulin Rouge! like in Twilight for god’s sake! you loved that part!

I do like how BH has no particular objection to Jughead as his own person but rather just to his father and his circumstances. Jughead’s a good kid, says BH

Archie’s Captain America Henley is back and better than ever

who is Archie calling? endless possibilities, but I hope Veronica

Archie gets EVEN MORE little moments of greatness seeing Betty spiral (is she spiralling?) and being like, Betty, this is not sustainable: “How are you going to put yourself through that?” I know there are like 12 Archies on this show, but this is one of the sweet ones

I don’t even know if it’s totally clear that Betty is telling him to “break up” with Jughead inasmuch as just keep him away from her for a couple days or so. is it possible Betty just wants Archie to be like, “Something’s happening but we have it under control, so stop coming to Pop’s”? how much credit am I giving these two?

Archie > Dawson: Archie has never been wiser than with “You HOPE we can.” and the look he gives her? devastatingly fleeting sagacity. he knows Jughead is Soft Grudge Boy

Betty knows what she’s doing using a sports metaphor on Archie’s conscience

okay what the fuck does “SoDale” mean. South Riverdale?

Best costume bit: Hermione’s white cutout dress and top knot are Academy-worthy

Veronica’s “charm offensive”

OH YEAH, FRED’S STILL THERE

ooooh Hal certainly stepped up with Alice gone, did he not?

when Alice strides in in the Outfit, there are some prop-girls at the tent entrance in denim skirts and hard hats, like as pretend construction workers

Mädchen Amick, MÄDCHEN AMICK: Alice’s, I don’t know what to call it, flowy snakeskin cape-suit is either something she had stashed or something she bought on Amazon Prime that morning. is this what FP meant when he said she didn’t dress like the southside anymore? is this the other option, besides flannel? ...Toni? JUG?

the eyebrow? “Shove it, Hal”? Cheryl walks in too late, if you ask me

is Nick’s bowtie like .5% too big?

Veronica is in the midst of deciding whether or not to say “I DON’T GIVE A SHIT” when she sees her parents talking to Nick’s parents and feels the pull of her father telling her she was a real part of Lodge Industries now

poor fucking lonely Cheryl. Cheryl is ALONE. Cheryl looks good!

ARCHIE TAKES A TURN in this scene from the upcoming Hostel III: My Favorite Characters. was I ready for the greatest moment in the history of television Wednesday night? I was not. nothing else measures up: “The hardest thing to do in this world is to—” —who? “Cruciatus in crucem” what? who shot JR? I don’t even care. Jughead thought Archie was here to save him. don’t talk to me

The female gaze: Jughead’s tank top is back, because on top of everything else he should be physically vulnerable (direct quote from Sweet Pea)

I’m writing a scene where it’s gay.: Jughead SO GENTLY puts his hands on Archie’s shoulders to try and communicate by Morse code how urgently Archie needs to leave

Archie was going along with Betty’s instructions up until Sweet Pea & the Gang strolled up, and then it turned into him breaking up with Jughead for Betty and breaking up with Jughead for Archie, because Archie explodes when he’s angry and he just got like really angry

“thugs” is a terrible thing to say, when Archie obviously means “like-minded young men who want to protect their clan, as I do my own, like I did that one time”

the wrongness of calling Reggie and Dilton Jughead’s friends is blatant, but implying that Veronica got attacked is either Archie being a garbled storyteller or Archie rounding up to make Jughead’s crime, or whatever, even worse, as if Jughead is being a bad friend. Jughead is practically THE BEST FRIEND ON THIS SHOW

Jughead (I just took my glasses off, for a visual of the unplumbable depths of my emotion) asking Archie if Archie came to warn him that the Serpents are dangerous, because Archie loves him, is so motherfucking sad, it’s sadder than like, like anything else, it’s sadder than the end of Homeward Bound when you’re eight and you think Shadow fucking died in that trainyard (before he comes back; spoilers for Homeward Bound: the Incredible Journey)

Archie’s follow-up is that Betty doesn’t want to be with him anymore, and in fact hasn’t wanted to be with him for a while, which, on top of everything else!, is mortifying to a certain kind of person, that someone you enjoy being with has been rolling their eyes at you behind your back

Gay.: okay Sweet Pea looking back at Fangs, who’s like, Mhmmm, when Archie’s doing his thing, is really good

Sweet Pea is really good throughout! he’s standing there but he doesn’t step in, even at the “dark side” stuff. he’s kind of minding his own business!

Jughead is apparently so wretched about himself that the incongruity of this attack isn’t even a blip on his radar. he’s not like, Archie, respectfully, this is coming out of nowhere. Archie, what? What the hell? instead he’s like, The day has come

Archie’s pornographic cruelty here (which is precisely what Betty told him NOT TO DO) is to include the “agonizing over it” detail, which is a REALLY GOOD detail, and then his AMAZING bluff about “CALL HER.”

Jughead’s internal certainty about Betty’s unimpeachable conduct starts to crack

“She saw where you were headed. We all did.”: it’s not enough that Betty, the creature he loves most in all the world, thinks he’s trash and wants him gone, but it’s all of us, and Jughead buys it because he’s conditioned to expect that everyone will tolerate him up until the point they realize he’s trash and want him gone, as the Powers That Be, like he put it, keep telling him over and over and over (his mother, his father, Reggie, Sheriff Keller, Fred Andrews, the Rockland County school system, Alice, Sweet Pea, Toni, Archie)

Archie knows he might’ve put a toe over the line (obliterated it?) when Jughead looks like he’s about to cry, and Jughead tells him he got it and he just quietly says “Yeah,” and walks away, through the Serpents, who leave him alone

I honestly don’t know what Sweet Pea was about to say before Jughead cut him off! something bracing? he was definitely AT LEAST going to be neutral. there’s no “I told you so,” which is good otherwise Jughead might’ve Gauntleted himself. he changes the subject!

“I’m choosing to blame Betty’s Britney-esque meltdown.”

Cheryl isn’t fucking around with baby sips

GOD!!!!!!! I hope Lodge Industries razing the entire southside BRINGS BACK how it destroyed Jughead’s drive-in and FINALLY MAKES JUGHEAD AND VERONICA YELL AT EACH OTHER

The 2001 Josie and the Pussycats movie was a masterpiece: the Pussycats and Veronica looks incredible (the corset-like back of Veronica’s dress?) and perform the only song from Rent that I like!

Fwoopy hair is the best hair: VALERIE

Riverdale brings back one of their very good things: somebody cheerfully singing over top the visual of something horrible happening

Please protect Betty: Betty unrestrainedly sobbing in her windowsill while Jug cracks his neck (something he does now) in CrossFit mobility training for running the gauntlet is better than anything Alice predicted would happen when they started dating

Archie deserves to sit alone at Pop’s counter for a little while

Josie is so...fit. she’s tiny and she’s all muscle

okay LOVED Jughead’s smoky silhouette before he starts walking, loved

Cheryl’s sparkly boots???

Veronica and Josie take note of Nick leading Cheryl away IMMEDIATELY, because as you recall Veronica is a feminist superhero and senses when sketch is afoot

the gauntlet was good until it was GREAT. YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT:

Sexy, aesthetic Southside: Sweet Pea probably breaks Jughead’s fucking cheekbone with that. Jughead doesn’t really have cheekbones, but he has cheek bones and it’s probably fucking broken, and it was, IT WAS EXACTLY the kind of sexy, bloody, homoerotic standoff I crave. that lighting? Sweet Pea’s FACE? Jughead standing there with his shoulders back, daring him to go harder? Jughead is not having a good time, but I’m having a great time. I fucking love the Serpents

the real gauntlet looks like it would be lying on the floor while Josie and the Pussycats kick the shit out of you

Sweet Pea and Toni and the Daddy are SO PROUD OF JUGHEAD!!! SO AM I!!!!!

it’s possible Betty seriously no longer cares if she lives or dies, is the only explanation for her going to an “abandoned house on the edge of Fox Forest” by her own damn self

I will say the wallpaper in this house is more or less the same as in Betty’s bedroom, and that is a very Betty mirror

Archie could literally kill someone tonight, so it’s probably for the best he didn’t make the leap the Nick went back to HIS HOTEL ROOM

Josie keeps slightly fixing the warm orange knit over Cheryl’s legs

“It’s not your fault, Veronica.”

Jughead got the tiniest little Serpent tattoo, because he is just a child

I LOVE Toni’s headband wrap

Every triangle has three corners, every triangle has three sides: is it kind of tacky for Toni to kiss him right now? yes. is it BAD? no. he’s developing another layer of trauma as we speak, but he’s single. somebody wants him!

OOOOOOOOHHHH BETTY!!!!!!!

NEXT WEEK: Cheryl in round sunglasses

[strangegatewaysbeckon]

Adam Zaars (Tribulation) interviewed 2013

I’m trying to put a finger on The Formulas of Death, but I can’t. Was the intention to make an album that’s hard to fit into one easy category? Adam Zaars: No, that wasn’t the intention, but I’m not surprised to hear the question. The intention was just to create flowing music. It would have been hard not to do it in the way we did it, we just let it happen. We didn’t have an agenda to stir the pot or anything, although it seems now that we did.

My initial impression is that it’s a bit of a time-span record. There are bits from the ‘70s, ‘80s, and ‘90s throughout the soundscape. What was it like writing music for The Formulas of Death? Adam Zaars: We take inspiration for the atmosphere and the song and riff structures from anywhere, so I’m not surprised to hear that either. I know I just said that it was easy to write the album, but it also took time. We always waited for the music to come to us rather than trying to force things out. Trying to make sense of everything was at times a bit confusing, but in the end I think we managed to do just that, I think the music is very coherent.

I mean, I notice all kinds of things happening on the record. Like “Spectres” could be a descendent of Unanimated, but then you throw in the black metal reggae part at 2:36. “Rånda” has that old Opeth bounce. “Spell” has that old Bathory peel to it. Are purposefully referencing the music that you like? Adam Zaars: No, we are not and we always get compared to bands that we don’t listen to (except from Bathory in this case). I still don’t get that reggae thing either. I think that’s a narrow-minded comparison, or maybe I’m just so far removed from that genre that I just don’t hear it. I hear we have disco beats in the album as well. I mean, come on, are people so imbedded in their own cultural pattern that they can’t even take a beat for what it is? It’s a beat! It’s got nothing to do with any style of music, it’s just a beat. Listen again, and forget what you have heard before. I know that can be hard, but I really think those beats on our album are just there for the right reasons and we certainly didn’t put them there to be outlandish or anything, you know.

What role do the instrumentals play? Each one is vastly different from the other. Adam Zaars: The whole album could have been instrumental really. Instrumental music has that 'free' way that I was just mentioning, it can just flow freely and that’s an inspiring thing to me. "Laylah" and "Ultra Silvam" were originally intended to be one song, but it turned out that we needed to make two! I don’t know why really, we don’t really analyze it while we do it, we just go with what feels like the right way.

I’m curious where the inspiration to “Ultra Silvam” came from. I know it’s an old term for Transylvania, but the song’s not creepy or dark. It’s more of a groove, shake your money maker-kind of thing. Adam Zaars: It’s a beautiful area with a lot of history and myth that relates to the band to a certain extent. That said the title is a metaphor rather than a hymn to a piece of land. And I have to say that to me that song is very dark. I think it has got a lot of what I would call Swedish darkness in it. I always start humming on other old Swedish songs when I have listened to it, songs that are dark and somber yet beautiful to me. It’s all in the eye (ear) of the beholder I guess, and this time it might be my cultural background that getting me to that conclusion, although I have a feeling that it isn’t.

Back in 2009, you told me Morbid Angel’s Altars of Madness was tops. Do you have movie soundtracks or scores that you feel are exemplary and, as such, part of Tribulation’s fabric? Adam Zaars: It still is! In particular the (Herzog’s) Nosferatu and Suspiria scores.

Was it important to keep things aggressive? For all the experimentation and curveballs, The Formulas of Death is still very much a death metal record. Adam Zaars: Our music is emotional to us and it carries a range of emotions to us, and aggression is a strong emotion hence it’s not surprising to me that it’s still in there. Again, we really just did it without too much analyzing, we didn’t go, "We should really have an aggressive one as well." Because of the time it took to get the right feel of everything I’m not surprised to hear that people have so many different thoughts about it and feel so many things about it. It’s varied, I guess.

What is death metal in your eyes? Adam Zaars: If I could name one album that is death metal to me I would say Covenant. But that’s not all there is to it, of course. I never really listened that much to death metal, except for the albums and bands that really stood out, and they were always so good, like Morbid Angel. When death metal isn’t creative it might be the dullest genre there is. I have more patience with old heavy metal bands than I do with death metal bands, because it seems like it’s very hard to make anything at all that’s the least interesting. To me that is. I don’t really care to be honest. Good music is good music, bad music is bad music. It’s obvious isn’t it? I don’t get why you have to be loyal to a certain something that someone once upon a time made up. We weren’t there; there is no nostalgia in it for us. Genres seem like a good thing for journalists, something that makes their job a bit easier, and for people that make documentaries about music and for people that have to fit in to a, again, certain something that someone made up.

Lyrically, where are you taking the reader? There are all kinds curious things. The intro title, “Vagina Dentata,” for example. The Hebrew titled, “Night.” Or, the Lovecraftian “Wanderer In The Outer Darkness.” Adam Zaars: The lyrics are personal and purposefully dark, obviously. They are metaphors and they are literal. I don’t want to get into too much detail since I find it nice to hear that people really make up their own minds about what they are about and that doesn’t really matter to me since I know what they mean to me. "Vagina Dentata" doesn’t mean what most people think about when hearing the title, it’s about a passage way and an opening, an initiation. That’s mostly what the rest of the album is about as well. It’s about spiritual death and rebirth and about becoming. The Hebrew title paints a picture for people that don’t know Hebrew, it’s a beautiful set of letters isn’t it? For the people who do know their Hebrew it might have even more depth and suggestions.

Would you say the lyrics are tied into your spiritual outlook? Adam Zaars: Yes, they are. They are a part of it, the music is as well. I would say that it’s the output of a spiritual life. They don’t fully reveal it, that’s for sure, but I find spirituality and creativity very much intertwined. I can almost go as far as saying that I couldn’t be creative and stand for what has been done if it wasn’t. Art is spiritual for me, and to us what we do is art. 

Describe your spiritual outlook. It’s not like it’s obvious as Glen Benton’s burned-in forehead cross. Adam Zaars: What is he? An inverted non-spiritual Christian? I don’t know the guy. It’s quite difficult to make sense of my views in a short space like this because I can never say a thing like “I’m a Satanist and I follow these rules,” or “I’m a Shaivite and my heart strives for union with the blabla” mainly because I find it hard to put a name to it as easy as that. I mean, except for the superficial namedropping and attitudes towards life there isn’t that much difference between the goals of a Western Satanist and a Hindu ascetic. It’s a quest for the ending of the life-cycle and either a union with something you put a name to or a dissolution from whatever it is you put a name to. Some may argue, of course, but I look at it from a wider angle. At the same time I’m not saying that certain names are not important, they certainly are, but I think it’s the intent and the belief and the will and maybe even the history behind it that is very important. My spiritual outlook isn’t tied to any religion, but I do find what could be called Indian philosophy appealing, maybe because of its vast variety, but it’s also based in Western as well as “new world” thoughts and ideas. I think pretty much all religions could be useful as long as you know how to approach them and as long as you see all the external bullshit, I also think that many religions can be useful if you fully embrace them. Paradoxes are always a part of spirituality, I guess. In a western environment I have always found the “left hand side” of things more attractive and I would probably be called superstitious. It derives from both faith and experience with an emphasis on the latter.

Where’d the cover idea come from? Kind of reminds me of a dark post-punk album cover. Like something The Chameleons might’ve done after Script of the Bridge. Adam Zaars: Funny thing, I just heard The Chameleons last week actually, maybe a bit too "nice" for me. The cover was drawn by Jonathan, the guitar player, and the original image he made it from is from an old fin de siècle magazine. I find it perfect for the album really, we couldn’t have used anything else. I like how it has this uncertainty to it that I think the album has as well. It’s folkloristic in a way that is in accordance with the album. It has got that dark old fear of the unknown that still lingers in man, it’s also very sensual and it has a divine quality to it as well. Not that farfetched, I guess.

It was done at Necromorbus Studios, correct? It’s probably the best recording to come out of the studio. I feels vintage but not detrimentally so. Adam Zaars: We needed the freedom of having a lot of time and we needed to do it in an environment that was nothing like a big city where we could make the studio into our own. We did the drums in Necromorbus (Tore also did the mixing and mastering), then we relocated to our home town in the western parts of Sweden to do the rest with Jonas Wikstrand. We had two rooms and pretty much rearranged them completely into what felt comfortable for us. It was an inspiring time, I never really wanted to leave the studio. It was great working with both guys really, and I am really pleased with what they both contributed.

As for current happenings, what did drummer Jakob Ljungberg bring to the table? I like his switch between hard rock pounder and progressive rock creativeness. Adam Zaars: It’s great playing with him, he’s a great addition in a lot of ways. We’ve know each other since we were kids and we have always played together, so to have him in the band is great. He adds his kind of drumming which isn’t the typical death metal way of drumming and that’s exactly what we needed.

Alright, final question. Plans for 2013? Domination or sit quietly back and let the music do the talking? Adam Zaars: We have plans. Hopefully we can make them happen!

[thepeakmoment]

Early Peak Returns

Lynch is easily in the pantheon of the great directors of all time. If Mullholland and Inland didn’t clinch, the new Twin Peaks does. As have been saying from the outset, this was going to be Lynch’s magnum opus and a definitive masterpiece. Though I must say, I didn’t expect Peaks to be this exactly. I read a piece just before Sunday that alluded to what Peaks might look like based on his past few films. Very abstract yet artistic — a true auteur for sure. Now a cinematic genius on par with Kubrik? The visuals alone are striking. All the shots look like his paintings come to life, especially the tree in the Lodge with flesh for brains.… I love the panning across the Lodge floor in the opening, gets the viewer disoriented from the start. I only watched P1+2 Sunday night, watched P3 Monday, and tonight I’m rewatching P1–3 before watching P4. So I’m Peaking out tonight. Might watch again before P5 on June 5.… I read Lynch didn’t want Showtime to dump all the parts at once for people to binge watch. After all that effort preplanning for years and then the long production and edit times, plus the build up of anticipation and keeping a tight lid on any leaks, Lynch didn’t want the audience to blow their load so quick binging. Lynch wants us to watch and digest for a period of time before consuming more. The series is so dense now, I would actually prefer a week in between showings. It will end in September.

On May 23, 2017, at 4:37 PM, Erik wrote:

It's hard core Lynch to say the least… I'll do a pro's con's list.

PRO's We now know what happened to Cooper after ep 23. And it's unexpected and interesting. YES. And a revelation in phylosipy, even though he had Bob in him when he exited the Lodge, We also know his doppleganger is on the loose, which is NOT BOB inhabbited. So which is which?  Muahahah.

Ben & Jerry are still together and in their character. Love Jerry's new persuit. doesn't he say most of the Hotel profits come from his pot sales? Something like that. Next time around, I am gonna watch with subtitles on. Good to see the Log Lady, but sad as well. She looks very sick. Albert looks pretty good, knowing how sick he was.

Watching Catherine so frail takes me right out of the moment. Al Strobel, too. And Carl the Giant. But that works in this story because it’s 25 years later.… There was a nice onscreen pause right after Hawk and Catherine hangup. Lynch lingers on Hawk a good 5–10 seconds, I can’t help but believe intended as a moment of silence to Catherine Coulson — somewhat in line with Judge Sternwood’s aside, taking a brief moment. I bet Lynch intended that while editing, since Catherine had died by then. Just a thought.

Watching Catherine so frail takes me right out of the moment. Al Strobel, too. And Carl the Giant. But that works in this story because it’s 25 years later.… There was a nice onscreen pause right after Hawk and Catherine hangup. Lynch lingers on Hawk a good 5–10 seconds, I can’t help but believe intended as a moment of silence to Catherine Coulson — somewhat in line with Judge Sternwood’s aside, taking a brief moment. I bet Lynch intended that while editing, since Catherine had died by then. Just a thought.

Denise Bryson in charge of the FBI  YES! LOLOLOLOLOL what else can I say? Lynch is free to Paint Nightmare images on screen again. This all surpasses anything in Fire Walk With Me. Much more like Lost Highway and his Short Films. And his revenge on Michael J Anderson (who said, "I want a million dollars, I'm irreplaceable"). the Arm has "evolved" into A Failed Art Project Tree!  LOLOL

Lynch is a painter, filmmaker, and also makes music — Twin Peaks is all of his artistic vision in one medium. This series will be talked about for quite a while, and this singular work will make grand fodder for many film scholars. I think Peaks will stand up to one of the best TV series of all time, mostly because of this recent Series 3.

We are hearing back story about Philip Jeffries (if only Bowie had lived) Helps me believe there is a story thread deep under all this that connects things together. May be hard to follow, but it's there. It's like the X-files on outdated acid. Beautifully shot and sound designed.  But we knew that was always going to be true. Not seeing a lot of Snoqualmie yet though.

Love the drone over the Falls shot… dissolved into the wavey red curtains — like a river flowing. Curtains in Blue Velvet intro, too, right?… I notice the titles have more horizontal spacing between characters, undoubtedly adapted to fit widescreen ratio.

New intruiging characteres..  I am liking most of them, though Coop killed some very pretty girls already..(Marsha Marsha Marsha!!) lol  Sorry I had to. :P   There are so many it's hard to keep track. (how many Coopers are there?)  IMDB has updated the Peaks page with all the Actors and their character names. I printed it out and have it on hand while watching now.

Good idea.… On my iPad. Check.

Findingout what some classic characters have been up to.  Bobby? Wow...that was a twist. Natural place for Hawk to be. Lucy Lucy, a career receptionist. Jury is still out on Jacoby. Expanding the story beyond the Northwest. They did so in the film a bit, and we are not stopping now. We have a LOT of ground to cover to find these new locations.  Coop has even gone into Space...or did he?  WTF?  LOL … A return to Glastonberry Grove.  We saw Hawk up there, but then the story just skips the rest. Did he see the curtins? Did he try to go in? He doesn't even mention it when we see him later (Bobby's Reveal). I could not tell if it was the same place they shot the Grove for the series. I will try to get down there and see if the area has been disturbed. But I see numerous shots in The Return that could have been shot up at Franklin Pond.

I looks to me that Hawk saw the curtains, but knowing the Black/White Lodge mythology knows not to fuck with them. I see Hawk having a significant role in bringing Cooper back, I bet he’s directly involved at some point.… Is that what Peaks is officially being names as, Twin Peaks: The Return? I’ve read that a bunch in reviews.

CON's Where the HELL is all the awesome music??? I mean, for real? you got Angelo hired and you are scoring entire scenes with Dave Brubeck's Take 5?  And the Angelo music we do hear is straight off the Original soundtrack or the Twin Peaks Archive. Very strange. That is what is missing for me the most. I want the drums shuffling under the scenes damn it!  Even the movie had this.

I was thinking the very same thing — where’s new soundtrack music and sounds? I only seem to hear a low bass rumble in varying degrees of difference and tone. And it looks like each part is going to end at the Bang Bang Club featuring a different band each night. I get the idea, kinda a good way to feature new music but hope they are atleast songs written for the series and not cherry picked from existing albums. I mean, if Lynch handpicked each performer to appear then ok, I can tolerate that. But why not a Bang Bang house band that played Badalamenti arrangements each night — original compositions of new music for The Return. There would be a slightly more elevated buzz about the series if Lynch graced us with new Badalamenti music.

Ben & Jerry appear for 3 or less minutes in part 1 and it has nothing to do with anything at all and then they are gone. (same with James and Shelly and Mrs. Palmer, even Leland had no purpose).  Where is Audrey, Norma, Big Ed & Nadine, Doc Hayward and the rest? I will wait patiently, but I am missing the RR. (NO pie or donuts references yet at all, one coffee moment so far)

…One coffee moment so far that leads to death! Or is it the act of sex that leads to death?! I don’t know… maybe one and the same. But I agree, I really wish there is more conventional story line featuring the characters of TP, because that’s what made Peaks, as well — not only the Lodge, Giant, Dwarf, BOB, et al. It was the quirky characters that we all enjoyed. Even if the storyline plays us new ones, I’d like to see a narrative that I don’t have to decipher or wait until the scholarly writings appear.

The Music Video endings. Sorry, but really? The songs and cinamatography are not even all that special. It's like listening to KCRW in the morning.lol  When Julie Cruise was on stage, it was special. The music was special, the atmosphere was special. It was an important moment in the story.  But I guess it's a good way to segway into the end credits, but also seems like a waste of story telling time. Where is Mark Frost's influence and dialogue? We may never know. But it's never gonna be all that quirky funny abusrd character dialogue. It's almost like there are TOO many characters. (Mullholand Drivesh) 

I was thinking this a lot, too, yes. Did Frost sign off on all this? Doesn't he know Lynch is very imaginative and has a penchant for tearing up scripts and shoots whatever he wants?? What’s the script for all the Lynch imagery that has only sound, no dialog?

And his scenes in the Casino? Priceless. But I hate seeing Cooper as a total idiot, unable to speak or compreihend his surroundings after he fell out of the sky.  Oh well, I know he is coming back soon.  So all of this adds up to a Solid A rating from me. VERY strong and VERY engaging. I am on board for the run. Hope we get to watch at least one episode together this summer! PS...Better get your arm checked out.  lol

Let's descend on Dom for a Sunday viewing and dinner. 

On Mon, May 22, 2017 at 7:33 PM, Dom wrote:

So I have now seen each of the 4 episodes at least twice. I am fucking living it. Here are some random thoughts....if you have not seen all 4 episodes you may want to stop reading now. `Those shots of New York City were the most beautiful I have seen taken of NYC. Fucking Epic.

In some reviews I’ve read, there’s been several mentions about the NYC shots, how impressive they are.… Dom, I knew immediately as it was playing out onscreen that you were loving the couple getting decimated! And with good reason —it was easily as terrifying as the White Walkers. 

`All the scenes in NYC are fucking brilliant. `Evil Dale is fucking awesome. Another fucking grand entrance.

I frickin’ luv the new Dale! What a fucking bad ass. Kyle plays him well, too. I totally believe him as (big bad) BOB Cooper. 

`Weird they went out of their way to say James has always been cool because its universally known James is weak sauce.

`Will every episode end in with a musical performance at the Roadhouse?

`What the fuck is Jacoby up too?

`So happy Jerry is in the weed business.

`The first scene with evil Cooper in that trailer with those weirdos was awesome. What did Ray and Darya give to the freak in the wheelchair as they walked by?

`The last 10 - 12 minutes of the 4th episode with Gordon and Albert is maybe my new favorite sequence of all Peaks. Fucking perfect. Fucking awesome acting by Lynch there too.

`The beginning of the third episode with that chick with her eyelids sewn shut was also hardcore Lynch. Love it.

`I honestly felt Bobby Briggs was going to turn to the light side and join the Bookhouse Boys based on the dream his father had about him 25 years ago. I did not expect him to be a fricking deputy though. I wonder if he is a Bookhouse boy now though?

I'm about to go watch some more. I truly hope you two are enjoying it as much as I am. Channel 33 "The Ringer" did a great break down of the return of Peaks today. Worth the listen.

Peaks TV Entertainment Weekly A Twin Peaks Podcast Twin Peaks Unwrapped Twin Peaks The Return: A Podcast

I woke up today and could barely move my right arm. No joke. Its still kind of numb. Thank god its not my left arm or I would be freaked out.

Cant wait for episode 5.

June 4

[intimate-analysis-blog]

Jackie, a portrait in pieces.

This story has already been told a thousand times, including parts of it being televised, with live broadcast. There is nothing new in its events. We all know of its outcome - JFK was brutally killed with a bullet in the head. A US president was therefore murdered. We are tired of seeing the images of this fact. The Kennedy family has become an icon.

What is important in the narrative of this film, therefore, is not what, but how. We start the movie with the image of Jacqueline Kennedy, a recently widow, downcast, walking down the beach. Then she receives in her mansion a journalist who will do a report on her and her husband a week after the murder. This will be the thread of history. The ex-first lady's report to this journalist will serve to unite the fragments. We have seen this format before. Someone tells a story to someone else and from that on, we, viewers are taken to the characters, their conflicts, and the drama takes place. Most of the time, however, this happens in a linear way. In "Jackie," screenwriter Noah Oppenheim takes care of shattering the story into several fragments, such as a broken mirror, or a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces are putted together at random, with not a well-defined beginning, middle, or end. The end, incidentally, is before the beginning and appears again at the end, because what we see as climax is the image of JFK being shot and his wife, desperate, trying to collect the loose pieces of his brain. There is nothing we have not seen at other times on television in this particular scene, but nonetheless it impacts and thrills again. The desperation of the first lady moves. And throughout the entire film we see her still trying to collect those loose pieces of her story with John F. Kennedy, or rather the murder until the final burial. This is perhaps the shrewdest choice of the whole film, because instead of trying to tell a whole biography of the first lady, it focuses only on a brief moment of her life, but that was certainly eternal in her memories while she was alive.

The plot, therefore, comes and goes, as an emotional tangle driven by this downcast, angry and depressed first lady. However, she is still strong enough to realize the importance of this moment in history, and more important than what happened, is to know how to relate it in the most effective way possible so it’ll remain in the imaginary of people over the years. Jackie is thus concerned about the legacy she will leave, not straining for it, being able at any moment to intervene in how her husband's funeral and burial will take place, never avoiding the cameras. Even when she is still in her iconic pink dress stained with blood, she descends through the front door of the plane that drives her. She also intervenes in what tells the journalist, making it clear from the beginning that this interview will be edited by her, and she continually remembers it, telling him that, after saying something controversial, he will not be able to write about it, or when he insinuates to make it public that she smokes, she corrects him, with a drag, "I do not smoke".

Everything is controlled by this powerful woman, but at the same time she is constantly questioned by men who surround her. They do not consider her capable of making the best choices at that moment. Her voice is always intermediated by another man, whether the journalist, her brother-in-law, a priest, or even, why not the voice of the director of the film, Pablo Larraín, and the screenwriter himself. It is the story of a woman told by men. The issue of gender thus becomes important, being crucial at all times, but this power is never given to the first lady in its entirety. After all, she must play the role of a beautiful quiet woman, a housewife. This is not what we see in Natalie Portman's Jackie, who, although beautiful, does smoke, and yes screams when necessary to assert her voice, running after what she thinks is best for her, for her family, for the imaginary of her husband, and for the whole American Nation. So, not so quiet and housewife. But she constantly finds herself trapped in this image that she has to preserve, trapped in her bedroom, choosing the clothes she will wear, changing herself over and over, unable to decide on the dress, distressed, smoking, drinking and listening to "Camelot," this song that marked her widowhood and quoted by her later to the Life magazine's journalist, "Do not let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot." Thus, her story would be like a fairy tale, but with a princess who tragically loses her prince. There is no happy ending in her story. But it is a fairy tale always highlighted by the historical fact, by the power historiographic narrative has and by its legendary aspect. Her protagonist has nothing to lose, as her most important thing in the world has already being lost. So the best she can do is to collect the shards of that broken picture, putting together the best pieces in an impressive emotional journey.

This emotion is duly highlighted by the strong performance of Natalie Portman who studied the minutiae of her character, her mannerisms, her accent. All of that impress by the similarity at the same time that causes a certain strangeness by the artificiality, since it is an accent built not by the actress, but by Jacqueline herself. Back in the day, there was a concern of high-society women to speak just like that, almost blending American English with British, and in Jackie's case in particular with that from Long Island. There is certainly a meticulous research work done by the actress, but that is precisely what may prove to be a defect, since over too much and too preoccupied on the surface of the character. It goes from the outside to the inside, instead of doing the opposite movement, and for this reason the performance may present a stereotyped tone in a way. Despite all this, one must recognize Natalie's effort that knows very well how to thrill the unskilled spectator. After all, she's a celebrity just like the first lady was and there are times when this separation from outside and inside is diluted, and the inner emotional life of the character proves stronger, likes when she has to tell her kids their dad is gone. Maybe Natalie Portman just makes the same mistake that Jacqueline Kennedy committed in her life – that of worrying way too much about appearances. To appear as the first lady would be more important than to be.

Another factor that stress this emotive aspect is the soundtrack composed by Mica Levi, newcomer but already known for her work in "Under the Skin." Unlike her previous work, full silence and minimalism, Mica here becomes grandiloquent, resorting to various musical nuances to build an emotion capable of impacting the viewer. However, once again, this will be her biggest fault. The greatness of her chords ends up suffocating the emotion way beyond, making it overflow into an exquisite and artistic melodrama. Subtlety and silence are missing to the film that, when not loaded with dialogues, is filled by this eloquent music. So, maybe this is not Mica's fault, but the director himself, Pablo Larraín, who did not know how to measure those moments. At the same time, it is doubtful whether the troubled mind of a widow would be quiet enough, as she is a woman who has just seen her husband being murdered and has to immediately recompose herself to make the right decisions on how to proceed. Was there room for silence and subtlety in Jackie’s real story? So let's say no and thus respect the choice of the director as accurate, even though that excess of sound does not stop suffocating at the same time that it enchants us with the lyricism of this well-constructed emotional daydream. by Daniel Martins

Jackie, um retrato em pedaços.

Essa história já foi contada milhares de vezes, inclusive partes dela chegou a ser televisionada, com direito à transmissão ao vivo. Não há nada de novo em seus acontecimentos. Todos sabemos de seus desdobramentos – JFK foi brutalmente morto com um tiro na cabeça. Um presidente dos EUA fora, portanto, assassinado. Cansamos de ver as imagens desse fato. A família Kennedy se transformou em um ícone.  

O que importante na narrativa desse filme, portanto, não é o que, mas como. Começamos o filme com a imagem de Jacqueline Kennedy recém viúva,  abatida, caminhando pela praia. Em seguida, ela recebe em sua mansão um jornalista que irá fazer uma reportagem sobre ela e seu marido após uma semana do assassinato. Esse será o fio condutor da história. O relato da ex-primeira dama a esse jornalista é que servirá para unir os fragmentos. Já vimos esse formato outras vezes. Alguém conta uma história para outra pessoa e, a partir disso, nós, espectadores somos levado aos personagens, seus conflitos, vemos a narrativa se transformar. Na maioria das vezes, entretanto, isso se dá de maneira linear. Em “Jackie”, o roteirista Noah Oppenheim se encarrega de despedaçar o relato em vários fragmentos, como um espelho partido, ou um quebra-cabeça cujas peças pouco a pouco são montadas, aleatoriamente, sem começo, meio ou fim bem delineados.  O fim, aliás, é anterior ao começo e aparece novamente no final, pois o que vemos como clímax é a imagem de JFK sendo baleado e sua esposa, desesperada, tentando recolher os pedaços soltos de seu cérebro. Não há nada que não vimos em outros momentos pela televisão nessa cena, mas mesmo assim ela chega a impactar e a emocionar novamente. O desespero da primeira dama comove. E ao longo de todo o filme a vemos ainda tentar recolher esses pedaços soltos de sua história com John F. Kennedy, ou mais bem o seu assassinato e até o seu enterro final. Está aí talvez a escolha mais sagaz de todo o filme, pois ao invés de buscar contar toda uma biografia da primeira dama, concentra-se apenas num breve momento de sua vida, mas que com certeza foi eterno em suas lembranças enquanto esteve viva.  

A trama, portanto, vai e vem, com em um emaranhado emocional conduzido por essa primeira dama, abatida, com raiva e deprimida. Porém, ela ainda é forte o suficiente para perceber a importância desse momento para a história, e que mais importante do que aquilo que aconteceu, é saber relatá-lo da maneira mais eficaz possível para que permaneça no imaginário do povo ao longo dos anos. Jackie está, assim, preocupada com o legado que vai deixar, não medindo esforços para isso, sendo capaz de a todo momento intervir em como se dará o funeral e o enterro de seu esposo, nunca evitando as câmeras. Mesmo quando ainda está com seu vestido rosa emblemático manchado de sangue, ela desce pela porta da frente do avião que a conduz. Ela também intervém naquilo que conta ao jornalista, deixando-lhe claro desde o inicio que aquela entrevista será editada por ela, e continuamente ela o lembra disso, dizendo-lhe que, ao acabar de dizer algo polemico, ele não poderá escrever sobre aquilo ou ainda que, quando ele insinua colocar que ela fumava, ela o corrigi, dando uma tragada, “eu não fumo”.

Tudo é controlado por essa mulher, poderosa, e a frente de seu tempo, mas que ao mesmo tempo é constantemente questionada pelos homens que a cercam, pois não a consideram capaz de fazer as melhores escolhas naquele momento. Sua voz, assim, é sempre intermediada por outro homem, seja o jornalista, seja o seu cunhado, um padre, ou até mesmo, porque não a voz do diretor do filme, Pablo Larraín e o seu roteirista. Trata-se da história de uma mulher contada por homens. A questão de gênero assim se faz importante, sendo crucial em todo o momento, mas esse poder jamais é entregue à primeira dama em sua totalidade. Afinal, caberia a ela o papel de mulher bela, recatada e do lar. Não é isso o que vemos totalmente na Jackie de Natalie Portman, que, apesar de bela, sim fuma, sim grita quando necessário para fazer valer a sua voz, correndo atrás daquilo que acha ser o melhor para ela, para a sua família, para o imaginário de seu marido, e para toda a nação estadunidense. Portanto, nem tão recatada e do lar assim. Mas sim constantemente ela se vê presa nos limites dessa imagem que tem que preservar, presa em seu quarto, escolhendo a roupa que vai usar, trocando-se várias e várias vezes, incapaz de se decidir pelo vestido, angustiada, fumando, bebendo e escutando “Camelot”, essa canção que marcou sua viuvez e citada por ela posteriormente ao jornalista da revista Life, "Don't let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment, that was known as Camelot" [Não deixe ser esquecido que era uma vez um lugar, por um breve iluminado momento, conhecido como Camelot]. Assim, sua história seria tal como um conto de fadas, porém com uma princesa que, de maneira trágica, perde o seu príncipe. Não há final feliz em sua história. Mas se trata de um conto de fadas em que sempre está marcado pelo fato histórico, pelo poder que a narrativa historiográfica possui e pelo seu caráter lendário. Sua protagonista não tem nada a perder, pois o mais importante ela já o perdeu. Então o melhor que pode fazer é recolher os cacos desse retrato quebrado, e juntar os melhores pedaços em um recorrido emocional impactante.

Essa emoção é devidamente marcada pela forte atuação de Natalie Portman que estudou as minúcias de sua personagem, seus trejeitos, sua maneira de falar. A sua fala chega a impressionar pela semelhança ao mesmo tempo em que causa certo estranhamento pela maneira artificial que é dita, já que se trata de um sotaque construído não pela atriz, mas sim pela própria Jacqueline. Em seu tempo, havia uma preocupação das mulheres da alta sociedade em falar dessa maneira, quase que misturando o inglês americano com o britânico e, no caso de Jackie em particular, com o de Long Island ainda. Há com certeza um trabalho minucioso de pesquisa feito pela atriz, mas que é justamente aquilo que talvez se revele como um defeito, já que excessivo e preocupado demasiado na superfície da personagem. Ela parte de fora para dentro, ao invés de fazer o movimento contrário e, por isso mesmo, a sua representação pode estar marcada por um tom de certo modo estereotipado. Apesar disso tudo, há que se reconhecer o esforço de Natalie que sabe muito bem emocionar o espectador não especializado. Afinal, ela é uma celebridade tal como a primeira-dama o foi e há momentos em que essa separação de fora e dentro se dilui, e a vida emocional interior da personagem se demonstra mais forte. Talvez Natalie Portman apenas cometa o mesmo erro que Jacqueline Kennedy cometeu em vida – a de se preocupar demais com as aparências. Parecer-se com a primeira dama seria mais importante do que a ser de fato.

Outro fator que marca o caráter emotivo diz respeito à trilha sonora composta por Mica Levi, compositora novata, mas já conhecida por seu trabalho em “Sob a pele (Under the Skin)”. Ao contrário do trabalho anterior, marcado pelo silencio e o minimalismo, Mica aqui se torna grandiloqüente, recorrendo-se a várias nuances musicais para construir uma emoção capaz de impactar o espectador. Entretanto, mais uma vez, essa será a sua grande falha. A grandeza de seus acordes acaba por sufocar a emoção além da conta, fazendo-a transbordar em um melodrama requintado e artístico. Falta sutileza e silencio ao filme que, quando não está carregado de diálogos, está preenchido por essa música eloqüente. Assim, talvez isso não seja uma falha de Mica, mas sim do próprio diretor, Pablo Larraín, quem não soube dosar esses momentos.  Ao mesmo tempo, fica a dúvida se não seria justamente assim a mente conturbada de uma viúva que acaba de ver seu marido ser assassinado e tem que, imediatamente, se recompor para tomar decisões corretas em como proceder. Haveria espaço para o silêncio e para a sutileza assim? Vamos dizer que não e, desse modo, respeitar a escolha do diretor como acertada, mas que não deixa de asfixiar ao mesmo tempo em que nos encanta com o lirismo desse devaneio emocional bem construído. por Daniel Martins