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saltygilmores · 2 years

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls Season 1, Episode 21 ("Love, Daisies, And Troubadors"). Part 1

WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS EPISODE: We're on the last episode of Season 1! Luke "Fixes Lorelai's Porch Rail" and wakes the neighbors. Lorelai asks Luke to Pound One More Thing while he's out there. Lorelai has a dirty conversation at work with Max. Max watches Lorelai suck on a ring pop. Luke breaks in Lorelai's back door. Clara Forrester needs a foster home. Rory pours her heart out at a town meeting and everyone pity claps.

"Ms Gilmore, I'm here to fix your porch rail.* "Well, my porch rail does need a lot of screwing, hammering, nailing, and pounding Mr Danes." *porny music begins playing* (disclaimer: this conversation did not actually happen). "You're gonna wake the neighbors." (this was actually said)

STOP LOBBING ME SO MANY SOFTBALLS! If you keep making all the dirty jokes for me I'll be out of a job reviewing a 22 year old tv show to 3 people on a dying social media platform! Luke disappears as Rory shows up causing Lorelai to loudly exclaim "He was banging on something!" about 4 times. You wish.

Michel Wisdom: "I've made peace with the fact that everyone who calls here is a notch above brain dead, and the pennies I am thrown each week are in exchange for me dealing with these people in a nonviolent manner and usually that is fine, but today, sorry lady, I have ennui." Max calls Lorelai at work and they have a converation insinuating some kind of roleplay situation recently took place and they also talk about having sex withdrawals. Remember the time Max called Lorelai at work and they had a conversation about removing each others pants? Poor Sookie, already suffering from ennui, and the rest of the kitchen staff have to hear Lorelai and Max talk about how someone should write a novel about their Sex. Does she know about Archive of Our Own? Does she know that in the future a number of people will have written novels about her Sex with Luke? But not ol Max Medina.

Oh no, Rory found the DeanBox that she told Lorelai to throw away. Of course Lorelai didn't throw it out. Let's be real. Who's the one who really wants to hang on to pieces of Dean here? Lorelai explains that Rory "Is gonna want some of that stuff one day, when you're old and married, and you can look back and say "I certainly had an interesting life!" I'm sensing a theme here, which is that Dean's lot in life is to make Rory's life more interesting for her mother. Sure, Rory is going to want to keep her Dean box until she is old and married. Girls always keep boxes of their high school boyfriend's random shit for decades. "You can pull out all your old boyfriend boxes." I DON'T CARE THAT HE'S STILL 5 EPISODES AWAY, WHERE IS THE JESS BOX?! What was in the ChristopherBox? The box of expired condoms that led to Rory? I KID. I KID. Contents of the DeanBox Full Of Garbage Pointless Crap were as follows: Idk what the first thing was supposed to be-a dress? A stuffed chicken. Box of corn starch. Quarter on a string ("medallion"). OH WHAT PRECIOUS MEMORIES!

I love the Caboodles case in the background. When you're all grown up and married to your StepCousin Jess and open up your Deanbox, maybe the quarter will have appreciated in value. Rory is hesitating to enter Doose's because Dean will be working there. We're STILL doing this? Boycotting small businesses, hurting the local shopkeep every time you break up with a boy? Oh, the shopkeep here is Taylor, carry on not giving him your money.

Lane starts jumping up and down OMG'ing and freaking out just because Rory is going into the market. She didn't even have a plan yet. Everyone in this town has rotting fish carcasses for brains. The "this" is Dean & Rory getting back together. God help me. Time and time again, we see the primary lesson of Gilmore Girls is this: Don't date someone who lives in your small town. After your inevitable break up, you'll be doomed to wander the streets, unable to enter any businesses, and eventually you will starve to death. Don't shit where you eat, as Milo would say.

Honestly though I love Lane. How could you not? Taylor accuses Rory of looking like a shoplifter. The nerve! Like Rory would ever steal anything!

Mikey's an improvement from Dean! Go for it Rory! "He took Thursday afternoon off. He must have met one of those Thursday afternoon girls. They're slutty girls who get guys to switch their Thursday afternoons with another checkout guy so they can go do slutty Thursday afternoon things." It's fine if you want to calling hypothetical girls you don't know sluts, so we'll just keep calling you Mary, it only seems fair. Rory: Lane, you'd tell me if you ever saw Dean with another girl at school? Well, she never told you when Jess stopped showing up for class, so idk how reliable this girl really is.

"Suck my left nut" is my catchphrase of the week, and Diet Logan can suck my left nut.

Classic Diet Logan. DL lies to Madelyn and Louise by telling them Rory agreed to go with him to the PJ Harvey concert, which enrages Paris, who is still infatuated with Tristan, apparently, for some reason.

Shut up Rachel, can't you see there is a dalmatian behind you? Show some respect. Rachel: Luke's been at your place alot. Lorelai: Yeah, well, he's been fixing some things. The porch rail. Some roof shingles, then the porch rail again. Luke's been spending an awful lot of time "fixing the porch rail" Eh? Eh? Heh heh.

A Troubador War is a brewin'. Luke scares Lorelai when she unexpectedly finds him in her house. The following exchange requires no further commentary from me: Lorelai: How'd you get in here? Luke: I came in through your back door. Lorelai: My back door's locked. Luke: Well that's why I came through it. Your back door lock was broken. Lorelai: My back door lock is fine. Luke: Your back door lock is cheap. (this exchange goes on way too long). #BackDoor Nitpick Time! My favorite time! Same episode:

Lorelai Gilmore, Milk Denier. And a cracker denier as well. (She once said she didn't keep crackers in the house when a box of Saltines was clearly visible in her kitchen in the same episode). "I'm a loner." "I don't want to hear about the romance of being a loner." "Some guys are just natural loners." "Yes, lonely guys." "Independent guys." "Sad guys." "Maverick guys." "Lee Harvey Oswald." "John Muir." "The Unabomber." "Henry David Thoreau." "Jess Mariano." Okay you got me. I made that last one up.

Being a Milk Whore is more honest than being a Milk Denier, Lorelai. But is being a Milk Whore more respectable than being a Thursday Afternoon Supermarket Slut?

The House Of Forrester. House of The Damned.

Sure she's annoying as hell, but how did Dean's parents spawn an otherwise normal child? Honey, I have some news. I think you were adopted.

Apologize at once, Rory Gil. Poor Clara didn't ask to be born a Forrester. She doesn't need you traumatizing her too. Lorelai's bringing Max to a town meeting to pop his Town Meeting cherry. And oh boy, it's gonna be a good deflowering.

You have to admire MaxMedina's earnest enthusiasm about Ring Pops, like he just discovered the wheel. I was eating Ring Pops in the early 90's. Stars Hollow is at least a decade behind the times for everything, so I guess it checks out.

A sea of weirdoes. I'd say that if you packed any more oddballs into that tiny room you'd open up some kind of vortex to another dimension, but Stars Hollow is already not of this Earthly realm.

The American political landscape.

Piece of literal human garbage. I haven't dunked on Dean in a bit so I had to let it out. I get all backed up otherwise. Subjecting minors like poor Clara to one of these meetings should be classified as child abuse. Anyone want to open up their home to an incredibly annoying but sweet foster child?

Boring old MaxMedina just soaking up the weirdness and sipping his drinkydrink.

How does a Town Troubador make a living? Is this a volunteer gig he takes too seriously? Taylor somehow didn't know he existed, so this is not some local government-sponsored initiative. Clearly no one is going to pay him in tips. No one even pays for their food at the beloved local restaurant. Taylor asks him "what do you do for a living"? to which he responds "I don't want people to know those things." Ah yes the old Jess Mariano approach. A gigolo? A WalMart worker? A "messenger" for a guy named Todd? Miss Patty: He doesn't accept money. I tried. So not a Gigolo then. Taylor: This troubador act is a money making scheme! Prett-y rich coming from Taylor Doose who spends 7 years putting together "Fundraisers" to repair a tiny wooden bridge and is totally not pocketing the money. Taylor's the type of guy who says things like "no one wants to work these days!" but then this nice gentleman is out there trying his best probably hoping for a few bucks thrown into his guitar case, which is a pipe dream since this is Stars Hollow and no one pays for anything, and Taylor calls him a vagrant and a scammer. Taylor: Watch out Morey, after that anatomically explicit epithet your wife yelled at me earlier, you're both on probation. Oh Babette! I'd love to know what she called him. A cocksucker? A dickhead? Did she tell him to suck her left nut?

Pervy old Max Medina only bought Lorelai a ring pop for one reason and he's thinking he got his money worth.. Looks like Lorelai returned the favor and bought him a hot dog to suck on. The speech to follow is one of my all time favorite Rory moments and I truly enjoy it (ironically). Enjoy. "I have something to say!" *awed hush falls over the town hall* "Sometimes you have something to say but you can't because the words won't come out! Or you get scared or feel stupid! If you could just write a song and sing it, then you could say what you need to say and it would be beautiful and people would listen and you wouldn't make a complete idiot of yourself! All of us can't be songwriters, we'll never be able to say what we're thinking so we'll never get the chance to make things right again! Ever!"

I was about to type "And then everyone clapped" as a joke. And then everyone actually clapped.

Honestly, Barfbag's puzzled reaction to Rory's speech is the most reasonable one. Where the fuck that did come from Rory Gil? She took one look at that soiled mattress Dean Forrester and suddenly a prepared speech comes flowing forth?

Yeah. Everyone briefly pity-claps for Rory. Lorelai gives her a small hug. No Babette yelling "you go Sugar!" or anything of the sort. We see another brief shot of Dean looking confused. The meeting concludes. I applaud Rory's lack of social anxiety. If I gave an impromptu speech like that in front of what I would expect was a supportive crowd and no one even reacted, the humiliation would be a debilitating weight I would carry around for at least the next 15 years.

"Let's go home and you can suck on my Ring Pop." Tumblr only allows you to post 30 pictures per post, but just like Rory Gil, I have a lot to get off my chest, so I will continue this in a second post/ part 2. See you soon...

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #max medina #luke danes #anti dean forrester #dean forrester can suck my left nut #diet logan can suck my left nut #gilmore girls season 1 #love daisies and troubadors

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

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i was thinking about reader being a peasant but she starts traveling with yennefer. it's reader's first time amongst nobility, she's nervous she'll embarrass yenn. and yennefer doing anything she can to help reader just enjoy the night

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Yennefer x Reader Word Count: 712 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: I went in a slightly different direction but I would dearly love for someone to circle around me like a dragon guarding its hoard and make everything bad fuck off for a bit and that overtook the story. Thank you for the prompt! Also there may be a cameo from a certain troubadour. xo

Wolves.

That’s what they reminded you of as you stood in front of them, practically cowering away to blend into the tapestries that decorated the main hall. They weren’t doing anything egregious, just embracing the gaiety around them. But you knew it was only a matter of time before someone finally approached. Most had been giving you curious glances all night, intrigued by the unknown woman who had walked in on Yennefer’s arm. But now Yennefer was off doing whatever she needed to do, you didn’t pry, and you were thrown to their mercy.

You rolled your eyes at your own dramatics and took another sip of wine, the goblet clutched like a lifeline as a man finally broke from the crowd and approached you. He was tall and lithe, with curly dark hair that bounced slightly as he walked and the most wicked emerald green eyes you’d ever seen. And those eyes were focused intently on you.

“My lady, you must do me a kindness,” he began, his accent charming and genial.

“Oh?” you asked cautiously but not unkindly.

“Indeed,” he insisted, “For I find myself in a strange position. I pride myself on knowing all of the people worth knowing and yet you have somehow escaped my attention. Not, I see, the attention of another mysterious being.”

You smiled placidly, fully aware of the question he begged with his quirked brow and the way he lowered his voice and moved in closer to whisper conspiratorially.

“Tell me, fair maiden, from what tower did the mage steal you and how may I steal you from her in turn?”

His words, brushing against the shell of your ear, would have turned many a lady’s head, but you were used to his kind. A peasant didn’t survive long without learning about the ways of the nobility, even if this one was a musician by trade as evidenced by the lute on his back. You bristled slightly, both defensive because of his insinuation of nobility (then again, that was why you were dressed in such finery, to portray that very façade) and the audacity of suggesting anyone could pull you from Yennefer’s side. You opened your mouth to reply but felt an arm snake around your waist, pulling you tightly against a familiar form that you gladly sank into. Yennefer’s cool, violet eyes met the troubador’s but instead of looking cowed they only twinkled more.

“Sweet lady Yennefer,” he said with a sweeping bow that she barely flitted a downward glance at, “I do confess you find me in the midst of a devious scheme to steal this sweet morsel.”

Yennefer smiled, an unpleasant, dangerous smile that sent a thrill up your spine. Her gaze was almost predatory and you felt her fingers dig into your side like claws and you sunk farther in, happily helpless in her clutches as she shot a fierce look.

“She is more than you could handle,” she said, sweet words tinged with a sharp threat. You knew people were staring but you could hardly blame them. She was magnificent, long dark hair and flashing violet eyes and an aura of utter control like none you’d ever known could wield. Contained. Fierce. Yours.

Finally the man relented, offering his hands up in surrender. He hazarded a quick touch of your hand to bow once more to you and then a parting one to the mage before turning and walking back towards the crowd to offer his report, though they had all heard you plainly in the tense silence.

Slowly the murmur returned and the music grew loud again and the din overtook the room as if nothing had ever happened. But her embrace never slackened and when she looked down at you her eyes softened.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Not yet,” you replied.

“Jaskier performed here once. He spoke of the cheese in particular. Shall we?”

She relaxed her grip and you missed her closeness as she moved apart, holding out her arm in offer. You eagerly slid yours through it, closing the distance again, rewarded by a soft smile that lit up her face. As you walked together towards the tables your head rose in pride and you looked every bit the noblewoman you pretended to be.

#chaoticlizardactually #Yennefer x Reader #Yennefer fluff #Yennefer drabble #reader request

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seanfalco · 5 years

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6!!!! WHATCHA GONNA GIVE OUR BOY??? OR VICE VERSA???

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 1210

Rating: T (swearing & mild violence)

a/n: So I had a few different ideas of how this could go, and while somewhat run of the mill they would have been full of fluff and good, but then my bastard brain was like “what do you give a man that doesn’t seem to have many material desires?” and i was like, “oh right, remember his first wish?” >_> I hope you enjoy!

Prompt: Wild Breathless Kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift

——

While he’d been loath to admit it, something was bothering Jaskier. Keen to his moods and acutely observant, you knew straight away something wasn’t right. It wasn’t until you heard Valdo Marx’s boastful voice echo through the tavern’s common room that you knew why.

The bard was explaining loudly, so that his voice was sure to carry, that he would be the only one worthy of watching perform there that night, before going on to denounce certain other bards, read: Jaskier’s “subpar” voice and lyrical skills, even going so far as to insinuate he was nothing more than a sellout.

Your anger beginning to simmer you glanced over at Jaskier at the bar, his shoulder tensed, bitterly drowning his frustration in a mug of their strongest mead, and you made up your mind. Pulling Geralt aside you instructed him to keep Jaskier busy while you slipped away; needing to take care of some important business.

The witcher merely grunted, yellow eyes following your gaze to the pompous Valdo Marx, making his way toward the privvy, before nodding.

“Whatever you’re up to, I don’t want to know,” Geralt said dryly. “Just don’t leave a mess.”

“Don’t worry,” you quipped, snorting softly and throwing him a wicked grin, “there’ll be no mess, except perhaps in ol’ Valdo’s drawers,” you added under your breath, swearing you saw Geralt roll his eyes as he walked away.

You approached the man in the secluded hallway as he was strutting back toward the main hall; plastering a flirtatious smile on your face and batting your eyelashes at him. Sure enough that was all it took to catch his attention and the bard stopped, leaning jauntily against the wall in front of you.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a little minx,” he remarked, favouring you with his signature self-assured smirk. “Were you looking for me, sweetheart?” he asked and you forced a vapid giggle, playing along; deliberately eyeing him up and down to set the hook.

“You could say that,” you purred, taking a step closer and running your hand up the front of his silk doublet. Your skin crawled at being this close to the arrogant prick, but reminding yourself just who you were doing this for made it all worth it.

“Aren’t I lucky,” the bard murmured, slipping a finger under your chin and lifting your face. “You look rather familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”

While he was distracted you retrieved one of your hidden daggers from your belt and in the blink of an eye the blade was pressed against his throat, just close enough that he could feel the razor sharp edge when he swallowed.

“What the fu–” his exclamation turned to a startled yelp as you forced him back against the wall. “Wh-what do you want?” you asked instead, fear flashing in his eyes.

“I’ve come to ask a little favour of you Valdo,” you said, your grin turning cold.

“Fuck you,” you spat, wincing as the dagger pricked his skin, drawing blood. A single red droplet beaded up, rolling down his neck to stain his lacy collar.

“That’s a shame, I’d hoped you’d be a wee bit more cooperative, else I’ll have to employ a different sort of persuasion.”

Valdo’s eyes grew wide and you could practically see recognition dawn on him. “Wait! I do know you. You’re the wench that travels with that second rate wastrel, Jaskier.”

A strangled sound left his throat as you drew another dagger, this time positioning it near his groin.

“Take care what you say Marx, I would hate for my hand to slip and… oopsie, you know?” you purred, enjoying yourself perhaps just a little too much.

“Alright, alright!” Valdo conceded, eyes bulging as he tried to catch sight of the blade at his throat. “What do you want from me?”

“Don’t worry, it’s simple really,” you said, leaning in to whisper your demands in his ear.

——

As you returned to your seat at the bar, Jaskier was still clearly brooding, salting at Geralt who gave a sigh of relief at your presence. Cocking an eyebrow, the witcher glanced at you, clearly trying to read from your expression how your “business” had gone.

Flashing a grin back at him you grabbed Jaskier’s mug out from under him as he was reaching for it and brought it to your lips, despite his spluttered protest.

“It’s all taken care of,” you said, answering his unspoken question and catching Jaskier’s attention, who looked from you to Geralt in confusion.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Hmm,” Geralt merely grunted as you smiled.

“You’ll see.”

As you were speaking Valdo Marx climbed to the small raised stage and you turned your eyes to him, leveling him with a meaningful look and purposefully reaching for your dagger. “Ah, this should be interesting,” you murmured, but Jaskier’s expression soured.

“Actually [Y/N], Geralt, I’ve changed my mind. I want to leave.”

“Jask wait,” you exclaimed, grabbing his hand, but Geralt was quicker, snatching him by the scruff of his collar and pulling him back to his seat.

“Wha– hey! Alright, alright!” he gave in, flashing you a curious glance before turning his attention back to Valdo, who was clearly fidgeting with the collar of his doublet, which you knew was hiding the nick from your dagger.

“Ahem. I, Valdo Marx, the renowned troubador from Cidaris, have an… announcement to make,” he said loudly, though he looked like he wanted to be sick. “I will not be performing here tonight as previously stated, due to some… unforeseen circumstances.” The glare he shot you was unmistakable and you smirked back smugly; Jaskier perking up with interest.

Valdo sighed heavily – it was obvious this next part was about to physically pain him to say. “I must inform you, good people that…” he paused to nervously wet his lips, “tales of my prodigious skill are grossly over-exaggerated and that my rival and fellow bard, whom I will shortly be turning to stage over to, Jaskier de Lettenhove, is unequivocally more talented than I in every way,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Once he’d finished you smiled sweetly at him, nodding once and letting your hand fall to your side. The incredulous delighted laugh that burst from Jaskier’s lips as Valdo Marx sulked away was like music to your ears.

Before you knew what was happening Jaskier had pulled you into his arms and was kissing you, not caring who saw. Grinning against his insistent lips, you snaked your arms around his waist and tilted your head, opening your mouth for him to explore with his tongue; the sweetness of the mead he’d been nursing earlier permeating your senses, and he eagerly swallowed the soft moan that bubbled up from your throat.

When he finally pulled back to catch his breath you collapsed against his chest, gasping for air as well.

“I don’t know - how you - managed to get him to do that, [Y/N],” he exclaimed breathlessly, his blue eyes alight, “but that was quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Gods, I love you.”

Dissolving into laughter, you caught his face between your hands and pressed another kiss to his swollen lips.

“You’re welcome.”

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #the witcher fic #reader request #prompt #jaskier #geralt #valdo marx #my writing #hermeowyn #<333 #requests are open!

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american-satanxx · 4 years

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Animal in Me//Chapter 18

You guys might want to be tagged if you don’t want to miss an update.

Tag list: @SCARECROWMAX @KINGNIAZX @LEATHERANDHEELS @IJUSTWANTTOKISS70SROGERTAYLOR @TAMRARAE

MASTERPOST

And You're A Very Sexy Girl, Very Hard To Please

June 1985 “I feel like I don’t see you anymore!” Lena whines as she dramatically collapses on my bed. “Since that night, you’ve been distant.” “I’ve been actively avoiding Motley Crue, it’s no offense to you.” I bite my lower lip. “Mick, I know he doesn't have beef with me. He knows the articles I write are for work. Tommy is slowly starting to see my as the enemy. He doesn’t realize I’m writing these articles about Vince and the trial for work. He thinks it’s just a vendetta I have against Vince. I may have disliked him before the accident but Tommy thinks I blame Vince for Razzle’s death.” “But he is at fault, though.” Lena counters. “They were fucking plastered and had no business behind the fucking wheel. Your articles are for work. Tommy needs to grow up and realize that.” “You’re telling me.”I sigh. “I hate the idea for Tommy hating me forever. He’s like a little brother I never wanted.” “Have you been avoiding Sixx?” “That’s complicated.” A humorless chuckle escapes my lips. “He understands the articles and shit like that. He knows this is my job. I’m a journalist. My job is to report the truth, no matter how bad I make Vince look. It’s just…” “Sex is starting to suck?” “We can’t have sex without drugs involved.” I reply. “He constantly has to be fucked up on shit. And I think he’s expanding his drugs to some harder shit.” “Like?” “I started to find used needles in his bathroom.” I sighed. “Look, cocaine is one thing. Heroin is another.” “He could be shooting up coke.” Lena offers, trying to be helpful. “If it was just coke, he wouldn’t be hiding it.” I counter. “Plus it doesn’t smell like it. I’ve been around enough coke heads that shot up, I know the smell.” “Have you talked to him about it?” I scoff. “He response was and I quote ‘You’re not my fucking mother.’” I roll my eyes. “And that’s how I came to the conclusion that Nikki Sixx is starting to dabble in heroin. He never snapped at me like that. He would have called me a prude and laughed it off before pushing me up against the nearest wall and fucked my brains out.” “You know if you ever want to hang out, I’m sure Mick would have no problem leaving and allowing us to have a girls night.” Lena smiles. “Or he’ll stay. He misses you too.” “Mick is the least problematic member of Motley Crue, I swear.” I chuckle. “But I’ll keep that in mind. I miss you guys, it just sucks that I’m no longer welcomed by the 3 assholes of the apocalypse.” “Want to hang out tonight?” She suggests. “It looks like you can use a night in.” “Wish I could but I’ve got a show to get to at The Troubador.” I frown. “Remember me telling you about my friend Tracii?” “Guns?” She asks, earning a nod from me. “What about him?” “He founded a new band and he wants me to check them out, even if he’s not their lead guitarist anymore.” I reply. “They are playing tonight in West Hollywood. I know you don’t usually go out, but you’re right I could use a girls night. Can you come with me?” “Is that why you called me here?” She laughs. “I don’t have anything to wear.” “Raid my closet!” I squeal. “You’d have to anyway, you literally have no clothes perfect for a night out.” “Because I rather be home!” She whines as I pull her up off my bed and towards my closet. “You owe me Summers!” She exclaims as I push her into the walk-in closet. “Oh I know!” I laugh. “Make sure you look hot Lena!” I yell to her before disappearing into my bathroom to do my hair and makeup. ** “So what band are we seeing?” Lena asks as I push our way up to the stage, earning glares from several girls. I just smile sweetly at them before returning my attention to my shy friend, who is clearly uncomfortable about being here. “Guns N Roses.” I reply. “Tracii mentioned he formed this band with another upcoming band here on Sunset. He just didn’t tell me which band.” “Think he did that on purpose?” “This is Tracii so it is possible.” I chuckle just as the house lights dim and stage lights come on. One by one the band members come on and stage and my eyes instantly fall upon several of the members. I instantly recognize Izzy, Saul and sadly the redhead staring right back at me…”Axl…” I whisper causing Lena to snap her head at me. “Your ex?” “Remind me to kill Tracii after tonight…” ** “Look what the cat dragged in.” Izzy exclaims as he pulls me into a hug once I walk backstage alone since Lena bailed after the show ended. “Didn’t think I’d see this beautiful face again!” “Trust me, I didn’t think I’d see you again either gorgeous!” I chuckle as I part from one guitarist and pulled into the body of another one. “Hey Saul!” He cringes, “Slash in public please!” He whines but that quickly turns into a laugh. “How have you been? I heard you're a journalist now.” “I am.” I part from him. “I work for Rolling Stone and have been for a little over two years now.” “I read your article about Razzle’s death!” A blond man states. He’s their bass player I believe. “I’m Duff by the way.” “Aria!” I introduce myself with a smile. “That article was pretty hard to write. I was close friends with him and the boys of Hanoi Rocks. I lived with them for two weeks, covering their lives on tour.” “And you probably fucked every single one of them.” Axl spits at me, earning an eye roll from me. “Just because I’m a natural flirt doesn’t mean I screw everyone I meet, Rose.” I point out. “I’d hate for you to paint a bad picture of me in front of my two new friends.” I point to Duff and the other blond. “I have no idea your name by the way.” “It’s Steve gorgeous!” He smirks, causing me to laugh. “You really need to let our breakup go.” I tell Axl. “You left me, not the other way around. You let your fragile ego get in between us. You knew I was a flirt when you got together with me.” “Fine, you didn’t sleep with anyone from Hanoi Rocks.” He rolls his eyes. “Because why would you be, you were already in bed with Nikki fucking Sixx from Motley Crue.” “Jealous?” I smirk. “So you admit to sleeping with him during the article?” I roll my eyes at the question but I find myself walking over to him; getting right in his face. “Who I sleep with is none of your fucking concern William.” I stress his real name. “And Nikki and I didn’t hook up until after I left the tour. I am a professional after all.” “Come on, I don’t want tonight to be a repeat of the last time we saw you.” Saul states as he pulls me away from his lead singer. “Even though I'd love to see you punch him out again.” A laugh, a genuine laugh, escapes my lips for the first time in months. “I missed you, Hudson. Truly missed you.” “Let's not drift apart again then.” He shoots me a smirk. “You know the phone works both ways.” “I do now.” I assure him with a smile. “Come on, rockstar. I believe you owe me a drink…” “I believe you are right.” He chuckles. “Come on, let's get you a Jack and Coke shall we?” “You remember my drink of choice.” I gasp in mock disbelief. “I can’t believe that.” He just laughs before guiding me to the bar. I guess this night didn’t totally suck…

#motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #motley crue fanfic #nikki sixx #nikki sixx fanfic #nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx imagine #douglas booth #douglas booth fanfic #douglas booth fanfiction #the dirt #the dirt fanfiction #guns n roses #gnr fanfic #guns n roses fanfic #slash #saul hudson

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bunyipsims · 5 years

Text

Rise of a Playwright

Any good kingdom needed a skilled bard to tell tales of heroic deeds and magnificent struggles. The Kingdom of Spora was no exception. Would Troubadour Quintus have what it took to become a bard whose tales and songs would be remembered throughout history?

Approach: Hard Work

To get to the essence of meaningful creativity, one must pay their dues. Exploring the dark depths and high peaks of the soul is a sure path to creative inspiration. It won’t be easy, but the personal and professional rewards will pay off in the long run.

Primary Hero: Troubadour Quintus

THREE AM. THE OCEAN.

If this doesn’t inspire a fellow, then what will.

The poem is written. It is called ‘Ash On Our Crowns’. It is ready to be performed before Art Critic Gaspar. There is nothing to fear -- the ocean has held the pen with us. This poem is perfect.

The poem was not perfect.

Ocean, you’ve let us down. Let’s try an inspirational forest stroll.

Mauled by a bear. Can we even hold a lute now?

But... feeling more alive than ever before! WE ARE AN ARTISTE.

WE MUST DRINK TOO MUCH AND EAT TOO MUCH AND KISS PEOPLE WE SHOULDN’T KISS.

The first two turned out to be a lot easier than the third. But we GOT IT DONE.

Does it count if it’s through a face mask?

Surgeon Stacia is literally praying that these two idiots will just get a room.

UNFORTUNATELY:

There’s only one room at the clinic. And it’s hers.

That’s all the highs of life in Spora: now for the lows. We must starve. We must FIGHT.

“SEAMSTRESS ALBREDA. THERE ISN’T ROOM FOR BOTH OF US IN THIS TOWN!”

“YOU KNOW WHAT -- JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE ONE DOESN’T MEAN YOU’VE GOTTA ACT LIKE ONE -- IF I WERE YOU I’D SUE MY PARENTS --”

“-- THEY WERE CALLED JUMPOLINES UNTIL YOUR FATHER JUMPED ON ONE -- AND I’M GLAD WE HAD THIS TALK BECAUSE YOU’VE REMINDED ME TO TAKE THE TRASH OUT. GOODNIGHT.”

I think we may have deserved that.

Honestly, we probably deserve this, too.

We’ve experienced all there is to experience. We’ve loved, we’ve fought, we’ve drunk and been merry -- we’ve starved in the stocks. Now’s the time to do it.

To write the poem of a generation. The poem of a kingdom. The poem that is True.

It is called “Capricorn” and it is time... to Perform.

Art Critic Gaspar... you know not what you do.

Time to sail.

And then return immediately when the ship is grounded for Troubador related reasons.

“Eat the bread, Troubadour Quintus.”

“It’s... super moldy. It’s more of a chemical than a food at this point.”

“Eat the moldy bread, Troubadour Quintus.”

Whoa... the ghostly apparition of our father... here in broad daylight... leading us toward the cemetery.

“Where are your shoes, papa?”

“Gooooooooo to the wooooooooods.”

“But I already tried that -- I got mauled by a bear, see, look at my arm --”

“The wooooooooooooooods.”

We go the woods. The bear is there. The bear says, in the voice of our father:

“Yooooou goooooot thiiiiiiiis.”

She is right. We got this. It is time to write a play.

Our BFF Barmaid Rosalyn thinks we’re taking this Art Critic way too seriously, but she agrees to perform with us.

She is a good egg.

The play is called “Glass Face”. It is time.

“Wow,” Troubadour Quintus said to himself as the critic staggered away from Spora, “I guess the play was a hit!”

#The Sims Medieval #Spora

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ariaste · 7 years

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I love your addenum to the hopepunk post but arthurian legends are not like that though, outside of the ones for little kids. and even then, the ones for kids still usually keep the cheating.

I love that you love the addendum to the hopepunk post but you should know that I was an English major and that I *AM* a mythologist and a professional storyteller, and hardly anybody challenges me on my homebase trivia category anymore so LET’S HAVE AT IT SHALL WE :DDDDD

Before we get into “the cheating” as you call it, first we have to lay out some cultural differences between our current perceptions of romance and the perceptions of people over the last millennium. First of all, a little something I like to call 0th-wave feminism, or Feminism: The Prequel, which occurred in loffly 12th century France in the royal courts when all the idiot men were off fighting in the Crusades.

The center of 0th wave feminism was the concept of courtly love (aka the beginnings of Romance as we know it today). Courtly Love was invented by Eleanor of Aquitaine and further developed by the troubadors who wanted to gain her patronage, and the essence of it was “What if, like, men worshipped us? That’d be rad.” To which all the ladies of the court replied to Eleanor, “omg yas queen” (queen here is used both in the literal and figurative sense) Courtly love laid out RULES for romantic interaction like movements of a dance. It outlined what virtues each party was required to espouse, what vices they were expected to reject. When the men came home from the Crusades and discovered this Amazing New Meme all the women had spent years obsessing over and refining, they did what white men have always done since time immemorial: they appropriated it and made it about themselves. This was annoying but fine, because everyone was overall just so relieved to feel like they knew what they were supposed to be doing and how they were supposed to be doing it.One of the things courtly love outlines is the virtue of Chastity. You were ABSOLUTELY allowed to have courtly love with a lady who was married, or if you yourself were married, or if both of you were married. Courtly love was a Different Thing and Not Like That. It was, in the most CLASSIC, dictionary sense, more about holding this woman up as an object of respect and admiration and inspiration, and doing great deeds of honor and heroism to glorify her name.Did people get jealous? They sure did! Humans have been human since the dawn of time, jealousy is human. Did people PRACTICE courtly love in the perfect dictionary sense? I would wager that most of the time they really really did not (unless both parties were asexual). But we’re not talking about real people, we’re talking about fictional people. We’re talking about the stories they told about How To Be Good.

In Arthurian myths, when you are Good, you are tall and strong and are Dreamy™ and blond and somehow the light of God is always shining on your hair, you are BEAUTIFUL. This is your Lancelot, this is also Gawaine, this is HELLA Galahad, the three biggest Babes of the Round Table according to literally every scholar. When Good People fuck up in Arthurian legend, which they do pretty regularly bc that’s how stories work, the fuckups aren’t usually that bad, and the Good Person who perpetrated the fuckup is 1) remorseful and repetent, and 2) forgiven. Because by then courtly love had been appropriated as Catholic propaganda, u see what I’m saying? It’s supposed to make you Better in the eyes of God, and worshipping the lady is kind of practice for worshipping the Virgin Mary, hence the requirement for chastity. Cause wanting to fuck the Virgin Mary would be unspeakable.

Which brings me at long last to your use of the word “cheating”, where I must object heartily. Courtly love would be, by our modern definitions, cheating. We have looped back to a cultural place where having a romantic attachment to someone means you feel like you own them emotionally. You own all their feelings. They can’t have any romantic feelings of any kind, even if they’re Chaste and Virtuous, unless they’re directed towards you, or they’re being a Bad Person. So we hear about Lancelot and Guienevere having Courtly Love and we go “eeechhhh that’s skeevy, wtf guys, you were supposed to be Good, you’re both so Beautiful.”

Except I hold that they WERE practicing chaste courtly love for the majority of Lancelot’s service in the court. Why? Because of the hieros gamos.

What’s the hieros gamos, you ask? It is a literary trope which translates to “sacred marriage” which draws a parallel between the relationship between the king and the queen and the relationship between the king and his country. If the king’s literal marriage is happy and calm and fruitful, then the kingdom (the king’s figurative marriage) will flourish and prosper as well. If their marriage is unhappy, the land falls into chaos and ruin. For the ENTIRETY of King Arthur’s rule, his land flourished and prospered. We remember the reign of King Arthur as what’s known in mythological studies as a “strongtime” or a “dreamtime” – which is a variety of Fake Nostalgia along the lines of “Ah, things were better then, back in the Good Old Days.” We still know Arthur as the Once and Future King; we were promised that he’d return from Avalon one day, like Jesus, and lead the world back into goodness and light from the chaos and ruin that it has fallen into.

Everything started going wrong for Arthur’s court when he and Guinevere both broke the hieros gamos and cheated on each other: 1) Guinevere and Lancelot consummated their courtly love and made it erotic (and therefore unclean and broken) instead of chaste and pure2) Arthur got his half-sister Morgause pregnant with Mordred and therefore sealed his own downfall, since Mordred was the one who murdered him

Yep. That happened. It sure did. And it only proves my point about noblebright even more. The world was clean and good and pure, and at the end someone broke the social contract and noblebright was over. But in the height of it, in the heyday of it, when most of the stories take place, people are Good or they’re Bad, and you just do the right thing and you’re Beautiful, and you never have to make any hard ethical choices– Gawain and the Green Knight!!!!! Which is all about a hard ethical choice! And involves cheating! Except it’s really just the framework of a temptation fable for reminding us how Good and Virtuous (and therefore Bangably Hot) Gawain is. Also as I recall, nobody actually cheats on anybody? Lord Bertilak sends his wife to seduce Gawain three times and she fails, but he IS forced by the code of chivalry to accept the girdle she gives him as a gift, and feels HELLA guilty about it blah blah blah Gawain’s fuckup isn’t really that big a deal and he feels repentant and remorseful about it later and earns forgiveness and everybody lives happily ever after.

But see, there are indeed INDIVIDUAL exceptions which support the allegation that Arthurian myths are “not like [noblebright]”, but we’re not looking at individual exceptions, we’re looking an an overarching theme, a CULTURE, a philosophical worldview.

Noblebright’s philosophy of the world IS the dictionary-perfect definition of courtly love. It IS the benevolent, pious, and kindly King-as-Father-and-Intermediary-to-God. And Noblebright is all the Waterhouse paintings – for example, “Lady of Shalott”, an Arthurian myth which boils down to “Girl, you were told not to do the thing but you did the thing and then had a Vagina Feeling and therefore you were icky and had to die to redeem yourself, but it’s fine because your corpse was super hot and everyone went ‘ooooooooo’ and thought you must have been a Good Person because of how Beautiful you were, which is really #deathgoals, amirite”. In noblebright, Evil is vanquished by Merciful But Righteous Good and is forgiven after death, or it repents in life and are redeemed, both of which align with Christian moral philosophy. (See also: Narnia)So, in essence:Noblebright: Things start out fine, things vary from being fine, equilibrium is restored when things end up fine again.Grimdark: Things are not fine, it looks like there might be a vague chance of scattered fine next week, nope nevermind, everything is still awful.Hopepunk: Things are not fine, things start changing, sacrifices are made, things end up not totally fine but better than they were at the beginning, and we have to keep pushing to reach increasingly higher states of Fineness because that’s the best thing you can do with your time on earth.

#hopepunk #noblebright #Anonymous

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fe8meta · 7 years

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The Sacred Twins and their Mythos

Anyone who looks into the names of FE8′s Sacred Twins will know that all but two of them have basis in Norse mythology. The two outliers, Latona and Excalibur, have basis in Roman and Arthurian legend, respectively. Why? Because they can.

Mind you, even I can’t make much sense behind the names of these Sacred Twins. The only one that makes a margin of sense without heavy extrapolation and theorizing, is a margin of sense that people blow out of proportion in favor of a certain pairing, so that’ll be discussed at the very end of this meta. (Yes, I’m talking about Sieglinde and Siegmund, but the reference is most likely only a surface-deep reference to them being twins and nothing more.)

Excalibur, as many people probably know, is the sword of the legendary King Arthur, after which legends surrounding him are named after. In the Fire Emblem series, FE8 included, Excalibur is... a wind tome. FE8 at least grants it the epithet “wind blade Excalibur” to acknowledge the whole sword part of its original namesake. I don’t know why FE8 reused the name Excalibur, considering it was technically only used in the Archanea games and Gaiden before that; FE7′s Excalibur was named Gigascalibur in the Japanese version.

Latona, meanwhile, is the Roman name for the Greek goddess Leto. For some reason, the writers of FE8 really couldn’t find a Norse name to use for them, I guess. It’s especially odd when one background character, Saaga (the court troubador who inspired L’Arachel to go on her journey), shares the Japanese spelling of their name with Sága... a Norse goddess.

All I’m really gathering, from what I can find about (Roman) Latona, is that (Magvel) Latona was probably foreign to Magvel, and that’s why their name isn’t rooted in Norse mythology. We really can’t even say that Latona was a woman, despite the name’s female origins. The Japanese script didn’t assign Latona a gender, but used 司祭 to talk about Latona. (The word translates to “priest,” specifically Christian priests, who have traditionally been men.) The English script referred to Latona as Rausten’s “most holy father” due to that. There aren’t any references or possible ties to Roman Latona other than the name, so...

For the next several I will talk about, I have come up with a wholly self-indulgent explanation for their names. It probably doesn’t make complete sense, but it's more than the game’s nonexistent reason for the references. The Sacred Twins in question are Nidhogg, Vidofnir, Garm, and Audhulma.

They’re all from Norse mythology, and more specifically, creatures from Norse mythology. My explanation behind their names is that the weapons were used to defeat especially powerful monsters created by the Demon King, then had parts of those monsters forged into those weapons.

(As it so happens, Shadows of Valentia did something similar, with the Blessed weapons being able to be forged into Regalia. I didn’t notice this parallel until after I came up with this explanation, though.)

Nidhogg, the Serpent Bow. In Norse mythology, Nidhogg is indeed recognized as a serpent or dragon. (On that note, the word for “dragon” comes from, at its furthest root, the Greek drakon, which means “serpent.” Dragons were also originally depicted as serpentine creatures before gaining legs and becoming more lizard-like, at least in Western media.) In FE8, dragons gained a weakness to bows. (In the Elibe games, dragons had no such weakness.) So it would be appropriate for the bow that slew Nidhogg to become known as the Serpent (Slaying) Bow. It could also explain why it belongs to Frelia, the country with pegasi—pegasus knights could take the battle to the skies instead of having to remain rooted to the ground the whole while, making the battle against the great monster easier. (FE14 introduced Kinshi Knights, fliers who can use Lances and Bows. Like FE15, it’s giving me some precedence to support my theory.)

As for Vidofnir, it is a rooster in Norse mythology that sits atop Mímameiðr (often taken to be the same as Yggdrasil, the tree whose roots Nidhogg gnaws on). Vidofnir is referred to as the “tree snake,” harking back to serpent symbolism. By stealing Vidofnir’s tail feathers, the giantess Sinmora will grant a person the sword Laevateinn, which can then be used to slay Vidofnir. After doing so, one can take its two wings and serve them to Odin’s hounds, Geri and Freki, to sneak past them. In-game, Vidofnir is referred to as the Winged Lance.

Garm, the Black Axe, is named after the hound that guards Hel’s gate. Garm’s howling heralds the coming of Ragnarok; after Garm’s first howl, Fimbulvetr (the great winter) puts an end to life on earth. (Fimbulvetr, in FE, is a tome that attacks the enemy with a blizzard. Already more accurate to its source than the rest of the Sacred Twins.)

Finally, Audhulma, the Ice Blade. In Norse mythology, Audhulma is a primeval cow who licked an ice block until she unfroze a man named Buri. I have no idea what this means for the FE8 weapon, as Audhulma is not capable of summoning a Fimbulvetr-like attack and only grants a Res boost. It’s further proof that whoever picked out these names probably just skimmed a Japanese book on Norse mythology and went “oh look, there’s an element referenced here, let’s use it.” I mean, the best thing I can say for “why a sword” is that Audhulma was a cow, so the blade was... a glorified butcher knife, I guess?

(When I was discussing this theory with someone else, they mentioned that some of FE8′s monsters could also, at least loosely, tie back to the respective creatures. Necrodragons for Nidhogg, Gargoyles for Vidofnir, Mauthe Doogs for Garm, and Tarvos for Audhulma.)

For some more “shit that just works,” we have the Dark Tome Gleipnir. It’s also from Norse mythology, but it is neither a person nor a creature. Rather, it is the chain that binds Fenrir until Ragnarok. As it so happens, Fenrir is a tome in the game: specifically, it’s used by Lyon in Chapter 17. So there’s a bit of symbolism in Gleipnir being the tome left behind by Lyon, which is then acquired by the heroes in their attempt to stop him and the Demon King.

(As for Naglfar, while I’m at it: in Norse mythology, it’s a boat made by the fingernails and toenails of the dead. Commanded by Loki, it carries the undead on their assault on the gods. As for “why fingernails and toenails,” apparently some Indo-European beliefs state that improperly disposing of hair and nails will “threaten the well-being of” the cosmos. Make of this what you will.)

As for Ivaldi, I genuinely have no clue how its legend is supposed to inspire it. In fact, the character Ivaldi himself is barely referenced in Norse mythology itself, as his name is referenced through his sons, who crafted some cool stuff for Freyr, Odin, and Sif. The closest thing I can dig up regarding Ivaldi’s in-game epithet as the “Glorious Light” is the fact that the Sons of Ivaldi made... golden hair to replace the hair Sif lost to Loki.

Finally, the notorious use of Siegmund and Sieglinde as Renais’ Sacred Twins. In all honesty, they were probably only used because those two characters are twins in Norse mythology, nothing more. I’ve seen claims that the incest between the twins at one point in the legends is “proof” that Eirika/Ephraim is basically canon, but said “evidence” runs into problems.

The first issue is the fact Siegmund and Sieglinde in-game have zero similarities to their legendary selves outside of their names. In lore, Siegmund used a sword, and there is no association with him to fire whatsoever. So how it becomes the Flame Lance in FE8 is a mystery. In fact, fire would be associated more with Sieglinde—who kills herself by burning to death with her husband, Siggeir, as penance for making Siegmund murder her own children and tricking him into an incestuous affair for the sake of revenge. Sieglinde in legend isn’t depicted using a weapon ever, and has absolutely no association with thunder. So her name being attached to the Thunder Sword came out of IntSys’ booty.

The second issue is the implication that the writers actually knew the contents of the legends they were referencing. If they knew what they were doing, they wouldn’t be using Excalibur, Latona, or Ivaldi. Considering that I just came up with my theory for Nidhogg, Vidofnir, Garm, and Audhulma, and there’s no actual in-game basis to suggest any of it, those names may as well have been picked out of a hat too. As mentioned above, IntSys completely made up the Flame Lance and Thunder Sword epithets, and they have no ties whatsoever to Sieglinde or Siegmund’s tale. So there’s no reason to assume that the writers knew, or cared about, any part of the legend outside of “they’re twins.”

Considering all the other Norse references in FE8, the reference to Siegmund and Sieglinde would also be rooted in Norse mythology more than Wagner’s Die Walküre. The Norse version of their story makes the incest a lot less consensual than Wagner’s version; Sieglinde tricks Siegmund into sleeping with her by disguising herself as someone else. Siegmund doesn’t find out until he and their son kill Siggeir. It is then that Sieglinde reveals the truth, and walks into the fire to burn to death as penance for her deeds. Then Siegmund goes and marries another woman. Oh, and before Sieglinde had her affair with Siegmund, she had Siegmund kill the “unworthy sons” she had with Siggeir since they didn’t prove themselves strong enough for the revenge she wanted. It’s because Siegmund refused to keep killing innocent children that she gets desperate enough to sleep with him. Eugenics, I guess. So the whole “Siegmund and Sieglinde are incestuous twins” thing is a lot more complicated than just that.

TL;DR: The names behind Magvel’s Sacred Twins basically have no connection to their namesakes at all.

#FE8 #magvel #worldbuilding meta #renais #frelia #jehanna #rausten #grado

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tonguetiedmag · 6 years

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interview: Joel Taylor

Combining undeniable musical talent with a charisma that lights up every room he enters, Joel Taylor is truly everything you could want out of a singer-songwriter. Since the Sydney-born, LA-based musician came out with his debut singles, Two Sides and What Good is Love? in 2017, he’s quickly established himself as a force to be reckoned with in the genre. With the release of his new single, Moment’s Notice last week that features his bold vocal melody being intertwined with the voices of an entire gospel choir, Taylor revealed a whole new side of his ability that is sure to keep fans coming back for more.

Before his performance at Rockwood Music Hall here in NYC on November 7th, I was lucky enough to spend a bit of the evening catching up with him on where he’s at right now and what he has planned moving forward. Here’s what he had to say:

Let's start from the very beginning. How did you even get started in music?

So my dad was a jazz singer in the 70s, my mom was a piano player, and my grandfather was a piano player as well. He played for Roy Orbison, the Beach Boys, and the Everly Brothers so he played for a lot of people. The whole family’s always been into music and I grew up playing just for fun really. I wanted to be a professional tennis player actually. I think it was when I was about 12 that I started to do music properly and started actually caring. By the time I was 17, I was so far down the music rabbit hole that I chose it over tennis. I then moved to America straight away! So yeah, it was always something I was pursuing.

How did physically moving from Sydney to LA affect your sound?

You know what? I’m going to say it didn’t affect my music that much actually. I grew up listening to so much classic American music. My grandfather and my mom love New Orleans blues and so much classic gospel and soul, so I was like ten and listening to Stevie Wonder and Billy Joel. I definitely have had a huge influence from American music. But, I didn’t really know how deep it got though until I moved to LA because I could really see that there are so many great musicians everywhere. You throw a rock and you hit an incredible musician. That depth of skill everywhere really put everything into perspective for me. You really have to be good or nothing happens.

What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned about the music industry while pursuing a career in it?

I always had this idea that I’d move here and have a record deal in six months and I’d be some famous singer. So definitely patience. I think that there’s no such thing as overnight success, just a lot of gigs and practice. I think I really learned not to rush myself and expect that everything should just happen. You don’t necessarily deserve it, you just have to be lucky enough and ready for it. I definitely had to learn how to slow down and just be more prepared so that if things did start to go my way I’d be ready.

Whether they’re people you knew personally or people you generally look up to, who do you think really helped instill that advice in you?

I came here and studied music when I first moved to LA and I had a bunch of great teachers that were really hard to impress. They definitely gave me a bit of a kick in the butt because I could already play and I already had a sound. I felt like I knew what I was doing but I didn’t. At least not like these guys. They really let me know that there’s a lot to figure out. One of those teachers was my jazz piano teacher Kyle Schroeder who played with Frank Sinatra and was incredible. He knew if you were faking it so it was definitely a bit of a wake up call to put in serious effort.

What shows have you found to be the most memorable of your career?

There have been some really great shows, like when I played the Troubador earlier this year and it was sold out. It was kind of electric feeling and it was one of those nights where it really just couldn’t have gone better. I was a little stressed because it’s the Troubador but it really just flowed.

On the other side of things, I remember I completely train-wrecked a show when I was like 16 back in Australia. We do this concert where all of the schools in the country are a part of it. About 15,000 people go and its on TV for about a million more. I train-wrecked my song with an entire 80-piece orchestra. Something happened where I got a little lost in the middle and we were just in different points in the song. It was hilarious and terrible. You need a nice train-wreck to humble you a little bit.

The video for “Give Myself Away” was worked on by some pretty notable people like Courtney Cox and Murray Cummings. How did that all come about and what was it like to work with them?

Bizzarely enough, I’m actually just friends with both of them. I met Courtney at a party and we became really good friends. She really loves my music which is great and she filmed a live video of me playing Two Sides about a year ago. She was always like “I want to do a real video!” and had this concept that had all of this artwork that came to life through drawings and animations. She was good friends with Murray Cummings, who's done all of the Ed Sheeran things, including the Songwriter Documentary. So they both just did it with me! It was so fun and its really cool since they’ve been around their fair share of successful people.

What’re your goals for the next year in terms of your career?

There will definitely be plenty of shows! I just did a mini tour up the west coast that was really fun. Moment’s Notice came out on Friday and I’ve been sitting on that one for a while. It’s been finished for about six months but it’s been written for over a year and I couldn’t wait to get it out. Its one of those songs that I feel really close to. To get it in some TV or a movie would be amazing because it’s very cinematic. There’ll be shows from LA to Georgia to New York and we’re going to SXSW. I’ll have an EP with a couple more songs and then a full album so I want to build momentum to do all that. The next six months are going to be really packed and it’s very exciting!

Can you explain the story of the new single “Moment’s Notice”?

Funnily enough, I had a publishing meeting and at the meeting before, I had given them all of my songs. It was probably like 28 or 30 of them that I’d written at that point. A couple days before that meeting, they said “oh, can you play us a couple new songs?” and I had already given them all of my songs two weeks ago. So, I stayed up all night the night before the meeting and I wrote two songs which are actually two of my favorite ones. One of them is “Eyes Set On You” which isn’t out yet and the other was “Moment’s Notice.” I wrote them at about 5 in the morning on organ, in maybe 30 minutes or something and produced a demo with a whole choir of just me singing. It came about kind of out of nowhere. Just an inspirational, middle of the night kind of crazy time.

The song is really about me moving from Australia and starting again and realizing that I was on the right path all of a sudden. It kind of hit me the second that I landed because I felt like “oh, I can start again.” I had a bit of a tumultuous childhood in some ways and when I moved to LA it was like I wiped the slate clean completely. It honestly felt like this weird rebirth. The song’s about putting all that shit behind you and starting again.

If you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would you choose?

I’ll give you a fake answer and then a more real one. I’ve always thought about this, like the deserted island thing and I think if I had a Motown Greatest Hits album I would never go crazy. Honestly, I would be totally fine. I could also take a Beatles album and be great forever. So that’s a version of what you asked I guess. I think one song I could listen to forever would probably be “I Want You Back” by the Jackson 5. It’s kind of a weird one, but every time I listen to it, I feel great. I have never not listened to it and felt awesome.

Tongue Tied Signature Question: How would you describe your music to a deaf person?

I would say it’s rustic and earthy. I don’t know, I think it’s also a little like the ocean because a lot of my songs are very deep and super intense and emotional. I’ve always loved those sorts of songs. I like ballads and really thought-out songs. But I also have a bunch of more wild songs and I feel like the ocean is an overwhelming beast. Sometimes I feel like a lot of my music is simple and deep like a calm day on the ocean, some of it is really all over the place. I would also say woody, like a tree. I play piano and a play guitar so it’s kind of like an old tree in that way.

Check out Joel Taylor online:

https://www.thisisjoeltaylor.com

https://www.thisisjoeltaylor.com/about/

https://twitter.com/joeltaylormusic?lang=en

https://www.instagram.com/thisisjoeltaylor/

Photos by: Mae Krell

Article by: Kasey Gelsomino

#mae krell #Kasey gelsomino #Joel taylor #music #interview #photos

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originaldetectivesheep · 6 years

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Tales of the Missing 12 - Keep the Porch Light Burning

Others may have other definitions, but surely there is little better understanding of the Romance of the troubadors than this: the emergence, unexpected, of the long ago and far away into the here and now and alive.

Keep the Porch Light Burning

The letter came with a scent of its own, like an anonymous love letter ought to: a dusky, heady scent, dark and rich like a burned-down candle in a jack-o-lantern. The letter came folded up and sealed with a blotch of purple wax – the scent from there, the candle that had dripped on, maybe, or from the paper itself, heavy and rough to the touch, a spidering blue copperplate scratched in with a nib pen: archaic, romantic, and definitely impossible for Toni to connect to anyone's handwriting she knew. The whole thing was unreal, like something out of one of those impossible nineteenth-century romances in English class, and the scent most of all, like an invitation out into another world of secret meetings under sultry, starless skies – far, far away from the sharp dazzling sunlight and golf-green-cut lawns of May in suburban Massachusetts.

That was why Toni kept it – because it was so different, so strange and faraway and miraculous – and why she read it only in her room, the doors closed and the covers up, by flashlight. Dearest Antonia, the letter read, like a sending from a world where its writer might kiss her hand and request the honor of the next waltz, I love you – I have loved you. And because I love you, and expressing this love in person might be troublesome to you and yours, might be unwelcome in its coming, I consider your position, and speak only as such. I am content to write: to convey my heart to you with these words, that I may testify that you are loved. If this message is troublesome to you, if I annoy you, the please: discard it and think about it no more. Our lives shall pass like ships in the night – that was definitely an English-class phrase there, definitely – and you shall not hear from me again.

But if there might be room for one like me in your heart, the letter continued, without any indication of what the writer was like, and you should wish to see me with your own eyes, hear my suit with your own ears, then please: give me such a sign. Should you wish to meet, to judge myself and my love, then from tonight, Monday the 18th, leave your porch light burning for seven nights the night long. Should you reconsider – should you consider, as normal and appropriate, that this request is outrageous and dangerous and can't be made justly to a modern girl – one night dark, any night, and the chain shall be broken, and I should withdraw to trouble you no more. But if you should wish, and that wish should endure, then when the seven nights pass with that light burning, I shall reveal myself to you: I should tell you plainly, in my own voice, and stand or fall with your judgment to take or leave me as I am.

I remain, as ever, your devoted servant & worshipper, &c, &c, and it trailed out from this strange and ancient adieu into a twisting, curling, swipe at the base of the paper where a signature might have been. The letter was unsigned; it obviously hadn't been posted, no stamp, no address let alone a return address, just her name in the same swirling blue ink on the outside opposite the wax, and whoever wrote this got really, really lucky that Toni happened to get home ahead of her mom today and take the letter in at the bottom of the other junk and bills stuffed through their mailbox. If mom saw this she definitely would have opened it – mom was always getting into her stuff – and then she definitely would have called the police.

Calling the police, Toni thought, reading it over again, might not be a bad idea. Someone who sent a letter like this was at least a little bit of a crank or a weirdo, a little bit, no matter what they were like otherwise or what their intentions were, and you didn't want to get mixed up with someone like that – didn't want to give them ideas. But if it was some harmless goof who just got their ideas about courtship from English class, did you really want to give them a police record for being dumb? It could be a stalker, but weren't stalkers always in denial about stalking, sure that the girl they were stalking them was secretly into them, and wasn't this letter the opposite, so sure that it was troubling her and giving her every chance to get out, to say no, to break things off just at the weird letter? And she was seventeen and sure that Julie and Sarah and Nicole were in much better with their boyfriends than she'd been with Eric or Bryan or Matt, who'd all gotten bored or been interested wrong, and this was the last summer of high school that was just breathing in from the window, the breeze wrapping softly around her bare feet poking out from the covers. Toni folded up the letter, and slipped it into the top drawer of her dresser. She would keep it, and in the worst case it would be evidence. And slowly, quietly, so as not to disturb her parents across the hall, she sidled out her half-open door and down the stairs to the front room, and the light switch, and the first real adventure of her own.

The ice cream stand at the park was open early on the weekends, and Toni had an early shift Sunday; she should have known, but she hadn't ever had a secret love letter to hide before, and she'd gotten up a little late, and didn't realize that she'd kind of just left it on top of her socks until she came home, and opened the door, and there was mom standing in the middle of the front room floor holding it, arms folded with a thunderous scowl on her face. Toni stopped short in the door. "Mom – I –"

"I wondered why the light was on this morning," her mom started, her voice starting to build like the air raid siren at the ball field cranking up, "and when I thought I heard you sneaking around in the middle of the night for a couple times this week. Antonia Livia LaRoche, what on EARTH do you think you're doing? What is this? Who is it? Who are you sneaking around after?"

Toni just shook her head, mouth open, struck dumb. "Mom, it's – it's – I – look, it's just the letter –"

"Then you don't know? YOU DON'T KNOW? You don't even know who this is from, if it's from a sixty-year-old man, if it's from a murderer, if it's burglars, and you think you can just turn on our lights, signal to the whole entire world about it, and that's okay? Where are your brains, little lady? What is wrong with you? Whatever it is, this is The End of it – you are grounded. Grounded – till the end of the school year. Phone privileges – gone. Your father will drive you to school and work, and pick you up after, and if we hear about you seeing anyone, A-NY-ONE without getting permission from us first you will stay grounded like this even longer. And so help me God, that porch light will stay turned off tonight if I have to chain you in the cellar with my own hands! Go to your room!" Toni started, a little, opening her mouth like she was going to speak, and her mom pointed up the stairs, her arm trembling with rage. Toni swallowed her pride, and went up.

Maybe this was for the best. Maybe mom was right, and it was a stalker after all, maybe it was better to break it off – like the letter even practically told her to break it off – and not take the chance. But it was the seventh night – the last night – and she'd come this far, and her mom had read that letter and felt nothing, didn't think her daughter could take care of herself enough to have her own romantic adventures. Hadn't she done crazy things when her parents weren't looking, when she was younger? And if she had didn't that make her a hypocrite, and if she hadn't didn't that mean that Toni was just rolling down the rails to also be just a homemaker for an insurance adjuster in a little nowhere town? Whether the letter was from a RenFaire goof that she'd laugh about later, or a pervert that she'd have to fight off with a knife, or an actual honest-to-god romance that was starting romantic, it was different – it was adventure – it was anywhere but here, and it was hers and hers alone.

Toni slid her door open onto the dark hallway. She could hear her father's breathing, slow and even; he'd been yelling about sitting up with a shotgun – did dad even have a gun? – while she'd been cooped without dinner, but now he was asleep like he was always going to be. As quietly as she could, looking and listening around for her mom, who was less likely to fall asleep on the job, Toni made her way to the landing, looking down the stairs to the light switches by the front door.

Mom was standing there, back against the wall, right by the switches, arms folded and holding a rolling pin. She was looking at the door, and seeming to listen out through the windows into the dark, and she didn't notice Toni up at the head of the stairs. Toni backed up, quietly, making sure not to rattle against the pictures along the wall, before she noticed and went after her daughter with the pin. Somewhere outside, somewhere in the distant still dark of the suburban night, there was a sound – engine sounds, a car somewhere coming down the road. It was him – whoever it was, it was him, and he would go by in the dark and Toni's chance would be gone forever.

She ducked quickly back into her room, flashlight, where's the flashlight, digging apart a drawer onto the floor, and – how on earth was she going to get it out? It was the porch light, not a light in her room – it had to go down. Toni cast wildly about for a string, or a rope, or a belt, or something – ribbon? A spool of satin ribbon from Aunt Pat that she was never going to make sewing projects with because it's 1998, who does that, get real, one end tied around the light as tight as she could manage and then Toni was out her window, onto the porch roof, the rough tar shingles strange and unsteady under her feet, and she played the spool out, slowly, lowering the light down by the side of the porch. Hoping and praying that the light would be shining out at the road, that it wouldn't slip and fall, that her mom wouldn't notice her scrambled out her window, desperately hanging a flashlight off the side of the house. The car went by, dazzling headlights breaking up its shape in the pitch-black night, and didn't stop – didn't even slow – and went on along the curve, back into the trees, and was gone. No sign, no signal – if it worked, if the seventh night counted, or if it hadn't and now this was the end, Toni had no way to tell.

Since nothing happened in the next week, Toni was almost sure that it hadn't worked, and nothing would come of it, and she should just get over it and move on – until Shahid bought an ice cream with a two-dollar bill. Because it was a two she stopped when she picked it up, and looked at it, and saw the writing on it, the same purple ink and the same narrow copperplate hand. I sent you a letter, it said, and you sent me seven lights. She looked up, and he looked around. "I know it's cheesy," he said, almost flushing, "and I don't mind if you tell me to bug off, and you're at work –"

Toni shook her head, and picked up a marker with the napkins for his cone, leaning on a french-fry box so she didn't blot the counter. She handed him the cone and the napkins, looking him in the eye, and Shahid unfolded the smudgy one. I'm on break in 10 mins, it said, and he nodded. "Is – by the swings, by the pond, is that okay?" Toni thought for a second – the playground by the pond would be empty this late, so they could have some privacy, but there was a path right by there, people always jogging or walking their dogs, so it wasn't like he was dragging her off into the bushes. It would be okay. It would probably be safe. She nodded, and he nodded back and turned away.

Ten minutes later Toni was smoothing down her work shirt as she walked across the park, pretty sure that Beth and Vanessa would cover for her if she was out a little too long and would only call the police if she like disappeared, trying to think about what she knew about Shahid Diwan. He was a senior; his family came from India or somewhere over there, even if he didn't have much of an accent; he was in honors classes; he was on the football and basketball and lacrosse teams, even if people said he was only there to bring up the team GPA. He had buddies on those teams, but not a lot of friends, maybe; he dropped in and out of parties just to prove he wasn't a stick-in-the-mud; when he wasn't studying, he was working, and there wasn't anyone he was really close to there either. And he was in love with her, apparently: he'd written her a crazy anonymous love letter and now here she was going to meet him, in person, for the first time.

He saw her coming, and stood up from where he'd been squatting next to a bouncy horse, looking out at the lake, and threw something away like he'd been smoking a cigarette to settle his nerves. She stopped, and he stood still, silhouetted against the twilight reflecting off the water, and there they were, twenty feet apart and just looking at each other, waiting, nobody sure where or how to begin. Shahid broke the silence first. "I – I almost didn't think you'd come," he said. "I thought I'd scared you off – anyone would, with that letter, but –"

Toni took a step forward, her eyes dipping to the ground for a second. "No, I – I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling – just a feeling, like it was so crazy that – you know, that if it was something bad it wouldn't be like that – like you wouldn't be so scared so bad that I would get freaked out." She took another couple steps forward, off the path, past the swingset. "But – since, like, you're not dragging me out to murder me, why? Like, why didn't you just, like, ask me out like normal? And – why me? I mean, I don't really know you – I don't know how you know me at all."

Shahid rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I – I mean, you know, you stick out – I couldn't stop seeing you, around school, and whenever I saw you I just couldn't look away. I didn't want to say anything for the longest time because I wasn't sure you were single; I mean, like, there had to be other guys who saw what I was seeing, there had to be somebody. And when I was sure that somehow someone as wonderful as you didn't have someone, I wasn't sure about myself – would you want a brown kid? An honors nerd? A guy who hangs out with the football team? I – I didn't know you, and I want to get to know you, but worse than that I didn't want to scare you, to freak you out, to make you have a bad time." He squatted down and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

"So I put everything I had into that letter, but when I thought about it for a second it was just crazy and it was going to make things worse but I'd already put it in your letter box Sunday night so I had to come by and my heart just about jumped up through my throat when I saw the light on the first day. Every night I'd bend some route around coming back from a delivery and I'd dread that your house would be dark, that you'd thought better, that it was crazy after all, that I didn't have any right to be with someone like you, and every night it was still on – and then you didn't tell me to get lost tonight, when you found out who it actually was instead of Brad Pitt or somebody." He stood up. "I mean it – I love you. And even if all you were here for was to get an explanation, to find out what my deal was and go on with your life, I'm beyond honored that I got to say it to you myself – that you humored me this far, that you haven't pushed me away yet."

Toni took another step forward, glad that it was so dark that she didn't look as pink as her cheeks were feeling. "I guess you don't notice because you're used to it, but Shahid, I don't think anyone would push you away. You're popular – you're on the football team and you're in the honor society and you're cute and dark and mysterious like people can't get close to you. I – I certainly don't mind a brown guy if – if it's you; my parents might, but –" she giggled "– but my mom was already sure you were a sixty-year-old pervert, so there." He smiled a little at that, and took a first step, a first half-step forward. "It's easy to see how someone would have a crush on you – even if she didn't know to be interested until you came to her work tonight. I just don't see how someone like you could have a crush on someone like me." She took another step, and now she was so close that she could almost reach out and touch him, make sure that he was real, that this all was real and not a daydream.

Shahid shook his head. "I guess you don't notice – you're used to it, just used to everyone looking at you, and you don't notice why. You're pretty, and you're always cheerful; you're in charge of yourself and you know what you're doing. You're – sexy –" Toni could see that he was blushing, even as dark as he was, even as dark as the night was around them "– and –" he looked away, staring at the ground, "and I like taller girls. It's not a big thing – it's just a thing. It's just my thing. There aren't many tall girls back in Pakistan – but I still feel like it's better if you're with someone you look in her eyes, like you're not looking down all the time." He was still looking down, though, staring furiously at his feet. "If – don't –"

"I'm not going to make fun of you," Toni said, reaching out to stroke down his arm. "I think it's sweet. And – I like guys who like taller girls, too." Her hand traced all the way down to his hand, and folded around it, holding tight. "But – just, why did you send the letter to my house? Why didn't you just put it in my locker?"

Shahid looked up at her, his eyes till bashful. "I thought about it – but I thought that I didn't have time. And – I made a mistake."

Toni froze. "What?"

He raised his other hand between them, palm out, trying to calm her down. "No – not about you. It still has to be you – you and nobody else. But I thought you were a senior, too."

Toni unclenched, still confused if she was less shocked. "If – but – what – why? Why would it matter?"

Shahid shook his head and let go of her hand. "If you were a senior, if you were going to be on your own, I'd ask you to run away with me. We'd go to New York – we'd go to L.A. – we'd get the hell out of here and go somewhere far, far away and never come back." He looked back at her. "But if you're a junior, if you're not done school yet, I can't ask that – I can't rip you away from your family, your friends, everything here, when you wouldn't be going on your own."

Toni folded up her hands on her chest. He was right – that was crazy, that would be crazy, and evn if he asked her she wouldn't go. Even if she was graduating this year instead of next – there were some things that were just too far, no matter how romantic it would be. "I – I can accept that, but – but why? Aren't you going to college? Don't you have your own whole future?"

Shahid squatted down again, his back to her, looking out at the lake, the stars starting to spark in the ripples. "They're sending me back to Pakistan," he said. "There are – there are family things and I'm not going to college here. My father's already declined my acceptances. I'm going back to Pakistan and I'm going to learn my uncle's cement business and I'm going to marry some girl I've never met. Everything is already decided – everything was already decided long ago. I don't want it: I want to stay in America, and I want to be with you and I want to live my own goddamned life for myself." His shoulders were trembling, and his voice was shaking.

Toni knelt down beside him, settling her arm over his shoulders, taking his hand in her other hand and knitting her fingers with his. "If – if you could stay –"

"If I could stay, I'd stay with you as long as you'd keep me around; I'd go to Fitchburg State if it meant I could see you four days a week rather than going to Harvard and seeing you for three. Nothing matters – nothing else." He leaned his head into hers, and Toni could feel his tears wet on her forehead. It was real – he was real and his love was real, just as real and just as fantastical as his letter, just as little able to survive in the face of the real world. But while it lasted it was real, and they were alone on the sand, and the stars were coming out up above them.

"I won't ask you to stay if you can't," she murmured, the scent of his skin, his shirt, his old tobacco filling her head, "but I want you not to forget me – because I'm not going to forget you. And if you can get free, and if you can come back, you can find me – I'll wait for you. I'll write to you – and I won't forget. She kissed him on the cheek, and he turned, taking her in his arms.

"Beloved – it may be a long time – bad things will happen and bad things are already happening and I'm so afraid that I won't ever see you again, but I will never forget you. I will never forget you. I will never not love you. And if I can ever return to this country I will move heaven and earth to see you again." He squeezed her close, and she was already turning her face, her lips seeking his, pushing and pulling on him to settle them down into the hollow of the bank, where it would be only them and their love, and the moon and the water and the high, drifting stars.

Her phone blinked green, and Toni reached over to unplug the cord; no sense charging it past 100% and hogging the outlet when everyone else had flights to charge for and there were so few outlets around the gates. She checked her messages – nothing else from Jon, nothing from the kids – and then checked the time: she was probably still good, but she should probably be getting back to her own gate before they called for boarding. She pulled out the handle on her bag, and tugged it back towards the central walkway, and then stopped as she saw him.

His hair was thinning on top, and he had a bit of a paunch now, and he and his wife – it had to be – were herding a swarm of four kids and their luggage, trying to keep everyone tucked in and together, not in anyone's way in the midst of the traffic of the terminal, but she wasn't wrong: fifteen years turned into a lifetime and everyone changed, but it was Shahid, still alive and it looked like he and his were thriving despite everything, despite all the awfulness that had spilled out around Pakistan, between Pakistan and the United States, in all that time, and despite the ten-year-old rings from Jon on her hand, Cameron and Jaycey on the lock screen on her phone, Toni had to stop, had to drink him in. And then he happened to turn back across, and his eyes caught her, and Shahid stopped too, because even in a sea of white faces and she was wearing glasses now and had most of ten years of motherhood hanging off her hips, he, also would have recognized her anywhere and couldn't do anything else.

It was only a second, because they were both grown and not teenagers any more and airport traffic waits for absolutely no one, but when Shahid broke the spell, he broke it by motioning his family forward, to the side of the gate, forwards toward her. "Toni!" he said, "Toni – it is you, isn't it? How have you been – it's been so long – it's been so long – how are you?" He reached out, and she reached out, and he shook her hand with both hands and she laid her other hand over his, too; she wanted to wrap herself around him and crush him close and pretend she was seventeen and on the shore of the pond in the park again, and she could feel that he wanted to, too, but they were grown and he had his whole family with him – his whole life and the strangers in the airport to consider.

"Shahid – it's so good to see you again! It's – it's been absolutely forever – but you're looking well. Your kids look so darling – are you doing well?" He nodded, beckoning everyone in, especially his wife, hanging back a step, her hijab tucked close into her collar, a guarded look in her eyes. Whoever you are, whoever you were, he's mine now, and these are the proof.

"Yes – I'm doing well. We are all doing very well. Toni, this is Zeba, my wife; Zeba, this is Antonia, an old friend – my high school girlfriend." Toni extended a hand, tentatively, and Zeba took it, barely touching.

"How do you do, Mrs. Diwan; I'm Toni Delaney, and, well, it was a high school fling. Such a long time ago – your children are beautiful; what are their names? These are mine – this is Cameron, and she's Jaycey." Toni flicked her phone open, pointing them out – her own happiness, her own life that wasn't going to try and walk on Zeba's.

She smiled, and herded one back out from behind her skirt. "The little one is Nergis, she's not good with strangers yet. Ayesha, Suleman, Kumail, say hello to your father's friend." Zeba's English was as accentless as her husband's – maybe that was it, that she, too, had been torn away from her first love and had to rebuild her life in a strange land. The kids nodded and waved, mumbling; they, too, weren't good with strangers, or maybe they weren't sure how much of a stranger this strange woman was.

"Do you live out here now?" Shahid asked, ruffling Kumail's hair offhandedly. "We are just passing through – visiting some of Zeba's relatives in New Jersey."

Toni shook her head. "No, I'm just going the other way; one of my great-aunts passed and I was back in Massachusetts for the funeral. Jon had an important project to finish, or he and the kids would have been here too – I wish you could have met them. We're living out in California now."

He nodded. "Yes; I think we know some people in California, too. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime. But, even if not, it was good to see you again." If Toni wasn't hearing things, there'd been a catch in his voice – the shadow of something gone that could never return. "Now, come on, we've still got to go to the plane; let's go. Toni, be well, okay?"

She nodded. "Yes, it was good to see you; Shahid, Zeba, everyone, take care!" Shahid barely looked back as he herded his family away, and from over by the gate, the attendant at the counter garbled into her microphone: flight 1119 to Sacramento is ready for boarding. Antonia reached down for her bag, and turned back, and turned out, at last, the porch light in her heart.

further Tales of the Missing ...

#fiction #talesofthemissing

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yesdelectablyverycollection-blog · 7 years

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10 Indications You Should Invest in Ways to Musically Scream.

7 Aspects of How you can Get Musically Fans Your Boss Wants to Know. https://www.behance.net/nervousbiz4555

Welcome to the Golden Joystick Awards presented with PROPHECY by HP! I am the oldest of 6 children, and also I remember my Mom collecting us all together to sing while she played the guitar. 's new songs and art collection North/South/East/ West, out December 1, provides a collection of photos (actually and also musically) of four regional scenes at the forefront of the present avalanche of blunted beat music. Qbadisc drifts far from the typical Cuban canon - which commonly consists of either pre-Castro Cuban dancing orchestras or later things taped in the States, or the glossiest of the modern-day Cuban bands ... Not that I necessarily have a problem with any one of that product, however it behaves to hear another thing, and young boy, do these collections deliver the goods! This is a jaw-droppingly excellent document, and also a version historic collection. Finding master tapes for a great deal of old songs is next to impossible, yet tidy records that are meticulously recovered can appear great, so obtain digging. There are some great percussive performances on a number of tracks, yet additionally a lot of weak vocal efficiencies as well as average arrangements ... hardly the slam-bang funkfest indicated by the cd's packaging as well as instead sporadic liner notes. Although the term shows up to come to be of unclear origin with typical presumptions suggesting it represents a contraction of footwork" or perhaps a portmanteau from the words spin" and jerk", the Oxford Dictionaries blog mentions the probably theory is it is definitely a distinction in work, because that word has past getting used in similar ways, with professional dancers being asked to function it". Vlax Records, the upstart imprint run by newbie compilers Philip Knox and Nathaniel Morris, is an ideal example of this emerging Do It Yourself society. my site Coping with partner of Three Decade, Olga, that remains to be the motivation for all his love songs, as well as two excellent youngsters, Jason and Danielle, Rich Pirone has been creating tunes for several years collaboratively as well as solo.

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Its 10 brand-new tracks-- picked by Reduced Limit, half of the woozy electronic-dance duo Lazer Sword-- come from a loosened team of show more alike geographically (all are from-- wow-- North America) than musically: Ghosts on Tape are bleepy electro, while HxdB & Self Evident make cartoony bass music of the Evening Slugs selection. It is essential to me that we have a high quality item to supply not only to our fans, however also to sector folks who determine just what songs gets placed throughout the globe in movie, TV, and also or else. Click the Share" switch and also you can conveniently publish your collage to Twitter, Facebook, or anywhere else online you want to share your music love. The first brutal reality to get your head around is that for the most parts, a musician will not possess the civil liberties to their very own recordings. However with each other they produce a charming pay attention, highlighted by" Whatnot," made by Machinedrum, a.k.a. Travis Stewart. That goes beyond songs: YouTube celebrities like Felix PewDiePie" Kjellberg, Tyler Oakley, Zoe Zoella" Sugg and also Alfie Deyes have all released bestselling books in recent months, which have actually offered strongly in print form. While the collection is neither a 'best of' nor a rarities set, it is an ultra-vivid picture of the band's prodigious result and single musical vision. Work in numerous cover bands, and as a Mae West imitator at Universal Studios, to Jim's performances at such prominent LA clubs as The Troubador, Gazarris, Madame Wong's West as well as a job as a team author at Criterion Songs, they feel the most crucial element of their music background is what they are doing now: creating, executing and also telling the story of miss that have actually been there, done that," often via no fault of their very own or digging in their heels completely down the slope. Here you can Browse, Play, Share and also Download And Install Music Albums & MP3 data, we also have a large database of Songs Artists. It is essential that you read this section to ensure your music as well as artwork are correctly scratched and also shown.

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houstonlocalus-blog · 7 years

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Album Reviews: Mac DeMarco, Slowdive + more

Slowdive — Slowdive

Let’s say that Slowdive put out albums before and that is your primary interest in being curious about this album. Let’s just say that. It helps but doesn’t matter whether you have or have not heard them — this album fucking rules. Dream pop, not sure what it means, but I associate it mainly with delay and echoed instrumentation, which is a trite simplification. However, Slowdive’s name is mentioned in correlation with this notion. “Slomo” opens the album, it crescendos and fades, disappearing into a red hued cloud. “Don’t Know Why” is more pulsed movement but also grand, it is a sea of birds overhead, the close shot of the person looking out of a window, memories or possibilities; you are swept up in the emotion. “Falling Ashes” is a beautiful occurrence, a starlit sky, it expands outward, it covers you in sound and emotion. Don’t call this a comeback, this album is as relevant as anything this band or any band is doing at the moment, and it is constantly beautiful.

Bonnie “Prince” Billy — Best Troubador

Bonnie “Prince” Billy, like Nina Simone or Sinatra, is a great interpreter of song. He is able to embody the spirit of the song and re-introduce it in a way that exalts not only the song, but also calls for a possible reexamination of the covered, who in this case is Merle Haggard. Haggard, without this particular attention, has an amazing catalog and is a viable artist in his own right, so the task is brave. “I’m Always a Mountain When I Fall” is Haggard as Motown sung by Billy: “Losin’s always been a way of life for me, but I’m always a mountain when I fall,” a common trope of country and blues is self deprecation, but losing never jammed this hard. “I Always Get Lucky With You” is a wedding song in the salacious and the romantic, something you might drunkenly grope a date to, endearing but slightly foul, it is romance. “Some of Us Fly” is another gem; “Some don’t give a damn, some give it their all, some us fly, but all of us fall.” This should be played at graduations and funerals, sobering yes, but true. Bonnie “Prince” Billy brilliantly plays and displays these songs in tribute, but also showcases the mastery of Merle Haggard and the players assembled to put this album together. I love it immensely.

Mac DeMarco — This Old Dog

Mac DeMarco is seemingly a purveyor of the easy living aesthetic. His latest, This Old Dog, is a mellow affair, not in the sense of excitement, but in the way that the songs are laid bare, sparse in arrangement and instrumentation; but a song’s impact is not dependent upon the addition of oboe or second guitar. The titular track “This Old Dog” is a wonderful example of this, a proclamation to maybe a lover or maybe owner of a dog to their dog; its sentiment is mainly this world of duty and distraction may take parts of my attention but will not take me away. “For the First Time” is a funky slow jam, reminiscing on love in its infancy, another separation reference, “just like seeing her for the first time again,” we’ve been apart but are no longer. “Dreams for Yesterday” is another jam; live today, be here now, all that you’ve left is your fault, embrace your dreams, moments, loves, etc. This is a good album for these coming summer days with ideas of cocktails and hammocks and long walks.

Moon Duo — Occult Architecture Vol. 2

Some albums benefit from the innovations of sound and stereo. Their Occult Architecture albums work best in full sprawl of sound. The sound is large, it is to feel inside the song as the roar and fog surround you. “Mirror’s Edge” is a psychedelic funk voyage, it is the the neon lights, the passing cars, the stars hidden by the glow of the downtown, it is the sound of the seduction of danger. “Lost In Light” is what the title suggests, it lifts and suspends you. All that will be is revealed, the voice an ethereal choir; why are my teeth chattering? “The Crystal World” is the helicopter ride, observe in wonder, then land, walk amongst it. Marvel at its glow and dance, the groove is effervescent.

Aldous Harding — Party

“I broke my neck dancing to the edge of the world, babe.” Aldous Harding’s last album was once categorized as goth folk, and I don’t know what either of those things are, because the idea of creating an idea or purposely perpetuating an idea is crazy and only makes sense when attempting to make sense of it. The album Party does not need this simplification and in many ways cannot be simplified in that fashion. “Imagining My Man” was the first glimpse of this record for me, a love song, about love and all it’s scars and uncertainties, because essentially isn’t all imagination first, idealism? “All my life, I’ve had to fight to stay;” even as this lyric is punctuated by a “hey” that sounds like it came from a child’s choir, it still expresses love, but it proposes the actual and the imagined. “What If Birds Aren’t Singing They’re Screaming” isn’t dark in sound, but “I got high and thought I saw an angel, but it was just a ghost making wooden posts of my family” doesn’t exactly bring in the sunshine. But that is Harding’s lane, and it is a lane she plays superiorly. Brevity underscores the power; when it sets in, it’s over, and you have the space between songs to gather yourself. “I’m So Sorry” is another light beam, possibly about addiction. It contextualizes the life of dependency despite better judgement: “Everyone is looking on, why in the world would I risk this now.” It is the woozy thought, laid out on the floor burping up the whiskey, family and friends, audience, waiting for your arrival, you are not ready; “Freedom, balance, so many friends wish that for me.” The excellence of this album is the stillness, the calm. Throughout the many characters of the songs, Harding presents them as composed and resigned to this. “Horizon” is the retreat from love as rescue to the lover: “Here is your princess and here is the horizon.” You may feel that you want this, you do not know what this is. I am way into this album, it shakes my core.

Bill Mackay — Esker

“Aster,” the opener of Bill Mackay’s album, is all that this album is in 1 minute and 31 seconds. It is mystery, it is tradition, it is magic. Bill Mackay has created a superior guitar driven album in a time when music, ideas, people, have become disposable. Like many of the greats — Jack Rose, John Fahey, Glen Jones, Marisa Anderson — this album melds the ideas of tradition and the mystique of the unknown. “Candy” is a wonderful ragtime-y bluegrass-ish piece, but the expression and voice which Mackay brings are unrivaled. “Persona” is something else altogether, the picking juxtaposed by the winds of sound that decorate the song make this song as much highway as they are space and beyond. “Wail” is something of a ballad, it is a sunset or sunrise, it is long stare, it is the sheet on the clothesline blowing in the wind, it is life and emotion. This is one of those albums you live in and with, it becomes and embodies different things dependent upon setting and mood, but it wears each accordingly.

Album Reviews: Mac DeMarco, Slowdive + more this is a repost

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