#green acknowledging red AND leaf in the new years event

[sexysilverstrider]

hehe i like this picture

[cosmiceverafter]

My @malexsanta Secret Santa gift for @gra-sonas 🎁🎄 I was thrilled to give you a Malex gift this year. You're one of my absolute favorites and such a dear friend. You wanted all the holiday cheer: Christmas ornaments, cookie recipe, market, and FLUFF! I hope this domestic fic truly delivers, brings joy to your holiday season, and fills your heart with warmth during the hiatus. I love you, hun! Xoxo.  ❤️️💚

(PS: there's a little surprise in this fic, just for you, inspired by you)

***

Christmas Cookies & Holiday Hearts 

"You know, this will be our first Christmas together. Officially." 

As Michael says the words, Alex glances over at him, and his heart skips a beat. How is it that his alien still manages to take his breath away after so much time? 

Alex smiles and gradually runs his fingertips up and down Michael's strong arm, feeling the smooth skin there. "You're right, even though I know you've tried to get me under a mistletoe for years." 

"I mean, yeah...." Michael beams. His tan shoulders shrug as he kisses Alex's chest softly, "You aren't wrong, babe. Who could deny those luscious lips?" 

Michael's fingers slowly trail up Alex's chest, which currently has imprints of his lover's glowing handprints left lovingly due to their intimacy with each other.

When he sees them, Alex knows with certainty that their love can move mountains and is capable of expanding through galaxies. 

As Alex feels the calluses of Michael's hands on his body and now his lips, he closes his eyes to embrace the effect it manages to bring. It's as if a spark of electricity courses through his veins and ignites his soul. That's the only way he can explain it. 

Nothing ever compares to this—what they have together in these silent moments. Alex will always cherish this peace with his loved one. 

After a moment of soft loving caresses, Michael's smile disappears. Alex knows he's traveling deeper into that intelligent mind of his, the way he always seems to do these days. "But here's the thing, I want it to be special, meaningful. Christmases were never something to be excited about for me, you know? Just another shitty day."

Alex holds his breath but nods. Unfortunately, he knows precisely what Michael means. Though different, the events of their past, parallel each other in many forms worth forgetting. Alex's upbringing was painful in its way. Still, Alex wishes Michael, his sweet, brilliant alien, could have been spared the misery. 

All Michael Guerin has ever wanted was a home, to feel like he belongs on this planet, and Alex wants to spend the rest of his life giving him precisely that. 

"So, you've never done anything memorable during the holiday season? Not once?"

Michael raises an eyebrow as if to announce come on, but then he suddenly laughs as a memory resurfaces, "Well...there was that one time Sanders and I attempted to bake Christmas cookies for his customers." 

Alex smirks as he imagines how that scene played out. A younger Michael Guerin, who was in-and-out of the foster system, and the older man with one good eye, baking in a small trailer. "And uh, how did that turn out?" Even though he can take a wild guess.

Michael shakes his head as his golden curls bounce and sway. He holds up his arm, "Badly, I have a battle scar from the process."

There is a slight white mark on the inside of Michael's arm, which looks a bit like a four-leaf clover. Alex has always wondered about it. "Damn, and here I thought that was a lucky birthmark."

"Darlin', the only good luck charm in my life is you. Never forget that." Alex feels his heart flutter in his chest at Michael's words, and Michael gently kisses Alex's forehead. But before Alex can return the sentiment, his love continues, "But yeah, Sanders' oven was old as hell at the time, and I guess no one taught me not to stick my whole damn arm right on the rack. Sanders felt awful about it. Poor guy." 

"Were the cookies at least good?"

There's a sparkle in Michael's eyes as he says, "You know what? They were. I need to find that damn recipe—it has to be somewhere. Then maybe I can take the old man one, even though you are the better baker." His fingers lace together with Alex's, and Alex gives him a loving squeeze. 

"You're right, I am," Alex smirks as he wiggles his eyebrows. "But I would be happy to help you. Sanders would seriously love that!" 

Alex looks down at their hands still together. He is so happy that Michael now spends so much time with Walt. It is not a boss-employee type of relationship, but more of a familial one. After everything they had both been through, this progression felt natural. And if he's honest, Alex loves seeing Michael finally opening up to others, the way he does with Alex. 

Michael nods and grins, "Done." His caramel eyes gaze at Alex, and he turns over to his side. "But I want new memories, too. Truthfully, besides the cookie disaster, I've never had anyone to share the holidays with."

Again, Alex knows all too deeply what he means, "I know the feeling, my love. I've always admired Christmas from a distance, and it seemed...well, always on the outside looking in." He squeezes Michael's hand tightly through the sheets once more, "I'm thankful to have you by my side. We're both on this journey together." 

"Baby, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather share the memories with." Michael brings the back of Alex's hand to his lips, "Always and forever." 

****

The next day, Alex and Michael decide to go Christmas shopping for their friends, who were more like their found family at this point. 

Roswell had turned festive overnight, and it warms Alex's heart as if he were sitting by the crackling embers. 

Truthfully, he loves the magic that comes with Christmas: The twinkling lights aglow; the cheerful, upbeat, and often, repetitive music; the smiling faces of those who don't wait till the last minute to shop; the smell of cinnamon sugar baked goods; and the falling snow—when they were lucky enough to get some. 

For the first time, Roswell has even set up a Christmas Market like the ones you'd see in Europe. Alex's desert town has turned into a quaint storybook village.

Somebody has strung up multicolored lights between the small buildings, with brightly colored booths, side-by-side. There are reindeer attached to strings high up in the air, and a magnificent tall Christmas tree is sparkling within the town square. Above the tree is a halo of orange lights, symbolizing their golden desert sun. 

It brightens both their spirits to witness the magic created. As Alex and Michael walk around, they hear the soft holiday music surrounding them, which only rekindles their melody passion. 

They travel to each booth as they look for treasures to buy for their loved ones. Alex also keeps his eyes open for something unique he can get his Michael, but nothing quite captures his glance. 

"Look at this!" Michael calls in the distance. He's standing in front of a lovely booth with peppermint designs on the awning and dangling glimmering white lights.

Alex sees what Michael is holding—it's a beautiful guitar ornament. Painted on the guitar are swirls of green, blue, and black, sparkled with stars symbolizing the night sky. 

"Wow..." he says in response. "It's breathtaking."

Michael winks and bumps his shoulder lightly into Alex's, "Pretty cosmic, eh?"

"I'll say," Alex agrees as his grin widens. 

"It was clearly made for us," Michael acknowledges as he wraps a strong arm around Alex's waist, "I think it would be the perfect ornament for our first tree together." 

Alex kisses Michael softly on the lips, "I couldn't agree more, my love." 

****

"So, you have no idea what you're getting him?" 

Michael looks over at Isobel feeling exhausted, not at all how he felt when shopping with Alex, "Obviously not, that's why we're here, Iz." 

"Michael, Christmas is less than one week away, and we're sitting in some random store, shopping for the love of your life, and you don't have a clue about a special gift for him?" 

"Yup, that sounds about right."

Isobel shakes her lengthy blond hair back-and-forth. "Have I taught you nothing over the years?"

Michael groans, "Remind me again why I asked you to come with me?" 

His alien sis just shrugs, "Because I'm brilliant, and it's obvious you need me. I would even add the word 'desperately.'"  

"No...I don't recall that being the reason," Michael teases as he slings his arm lovingly over her shoulders. "You just love this stuff." 

"You're right, I do. It's the best holiday these humans celebrate!" They both laugh, but Isobel kisses his cheek, "Listen, deep down somewhere underneath that dirty white tee of yours, you've gotta have an inkling of what you want to get him." 

Well, if he had a clue, he would know it, wouldn't he? 

But then Michael freezes as he sees something across the store, "Um, wow...that was fast, but you're right, I do."

 Isobel pops a hip out, "Told you so." 

"Yeah, the only problem is I'm not sure how he'll react to it." 

Isobel smiles genuinely, "You know your man; you always have. Go with your instinct, Michael. I mean, word around this town is that they call you a genius or something." She gives him a look as she ruffles up his curls. "But pull away from that mind for once and go with that heart of yours. I, for one, know it's a pretty damn good one." 

Michael snickers but truthfully feels loved, "You could write a self-help book, you know that?"

She winks and bites her red-stained lip, "Who says I haven't already?"

"Give your brother a signed copy. He'll appreciate it." 

"As if," Isobel rolls her eyes, "You know Max wouldn't read it. That poor miserable fool who I love dearly." She pauses but adds, "So, Mr. Guerin, what'll it be? You going to listen to your heart?"

Michael narrows his eyes at the prize. Already knowing the answer to her question, he decides to let his heart follow the lead.  

****

"A little to the left, babe!" Michael calls out to Alex as they attempt to fit the oversized tree through the cabin door. "Darlin', my left." 

They spent the evening looking for the perfect tree, as it was their official first Christmas together. However, they ended up going with a taller sparse, and lopsided pine because, truthfully, life wasn't perfect, and neither were they. 

Life is what you make it, and Michael is confident they can make this tree as bright as his heart feels when he's around Alex.   

"There, perfect spot by the window," Alex smiles beautifully, pulling Michael back into the present moment as he nods in agreement. 

"I should've tried harder not to get it through the door, though. Those muscles of yours are worth staring at a bit longer." 

"Well, hold that thought, Guerin, because I'm hungry for food at the moment," Alex replies as he wraps his arms around Michael. "I'm thinking of soup; it's chilly tonight. Maybe it'll even snow." 

Michael runs his fingers on Alex's thick biceps, feeling hungry for something else, "I doubt it. The forecast didn't show it. And knowing our little city, we'll probably end up having a heatwave tomorrow." 

"Hey now," Alex remarks, looking deeply into Michael's eyes, "you never can know future outcomes." 

Michael smiles mischievously, "I dunno...I think your future looks pretty damn bright tonight, babe." 

"Is that a promise?" Alex asks, clearly flirting back. 

"Always, darlin'.'" 

They lean in to share a long lingering kiss, but before it turns too heated, Michael's belly moans in betrayal. Alex pulls back as he chuckles, "Raincheck for later, okay? I'm going to start dinner. Can you set up the tree so we can decorate afterward?"

Michael glares down at his stomach for the interruption but nods, "Absolutely." He moves his fingers, "I do know how to use these hands."

Alex grins in that sexy way of his as he walks into the kitchen, "Don't I know it." 

Michael loves this. He loves that he decided to take the leap of faith and move in with Alex. This cabin has become their oasis, his true home. And here with Alex, he feels like he finally has a place here on earth. 

Everything they had been through, even the pain, was worth it to get to this moment. Michael can't help but feel tears form in his eyes as he feels overwhelmed in gratitude. 

While Alex moves around in the kitchen, Michael cheats a bit to get the tree set up. His powers hover the pine in the air as Michael uses his hands to set up the tree stand. As he moves the small box of ornaments and lights over from the closet, Michael smiles as he hears Alex humming a new song as he cooks. 

Michael wants to live here in this domestic bliss forever.

Alex brings out his home-cooked meal, and damn, Michael thinks as he eats, his man knows how to cook. After they eat the delicious soup, Michael scrubs the plates as Alex makes them each a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows, just the way Michael likes it. When the kitchen is clean, they sip on the chocolatey warmth as they string lights and decorate their tree. 

"Here's our new one," Alex says as he holds their new cosmic ornament in his hand. 

"That's a special one that needs to go right in front," Michael replies, as he hangs it up, hand-in-hand with Alex. "There." 

Alex leans over and kisses his cheek, which warms Michael's heart. "It's perfect." 

"You're perfect," Michael states as he leans his head onto Alex's shoulder. Alex slides his arm around his waist. Their movements are continuously in sync, and they are always somehow touching. 

As Alex's fingers softly graze over the skin on his hip, Michael knows what kind of touch he desires right this moment, "Now, how about we curl up by the fire, and I show you just how talented my hands can be?" 

"Yes, I could use the reminder," Alex responds with a slow grin.

They quickly light the fire, then Alex gives Michael the look as he pulls him towards the couch. 

Being so helplessly caught up in each other, they miss the first few snowflakes that fall in Roswell. 

****

It's cold out, but worth the trip. Alex gives the nod towards Michael, who taps gently on Sanders' trailer door. 

Michael shifts uncomfortably, but Alex is proud of him for facing the emotions he knows his love feels inside. 

After Sanders admitted to trying to adopt Michael, it indeed did something to Michael's heart. He opened up more, and Alex knew that Michael slowly realized he was always wanted and truly loved where it counted. It did something to Sanders too. Alex could almost see the young boy Walt coming through when they spoke now. There was a twinkle in his eye, and he would share memories with a smile instead of sadness. 

They felt like a family. 

That's why they had talked before coming to the old man's house with the cookies. There is something big that Michael wants to do, but Alex knows he's scared. 

Alex is by his side the entire time. 

Sanders opens the door with a smile, "Oh, Michael! Alex! Welcome! I wasn't expecting you." He shakes his shirt with a look of embarrassment. 

"We wanted to surprise you!" Alex says with a grin. He shakes the old man's hand. 

Sanders pats the back of his hand lightly, "I'm glad you did. Please, come in, you two. It's actually cold out." 

Michael takes a big breath and follows Sanders inside. 

When inside, Michael hands him the cookies, "Merry early Christmas." 

"Oh! These look delicious," Sanders says admiringly. 

"I'm not sure if you remember, but these are the exact cookies we made that one Christmas together." 

Sanders looks up at Michael with surprise, "Truly? The... 'burn on the arm' year?"

Michael nods with a jokingly wince, "The very one."

Sanders blows out hard, "Well, it always pained me that you got burned on that damn old oven of mine, but I must say, those cookies were superb, weren't they?" 

"They were, burned and all." 

"And you baked these all by yourself? Uh, should I be scared?" Sanders teases with a nudge. 

"Nah, I had some guidance," Michael mentions as he casually puts his arm around Alex. 

Alex shrugs, "I barely helped at all. Michael here did an excellent job. I tried one, so I can promise you that you'll survive." He winks at Michael. 

"Oh, phew! That's a relief," Sanders chuckles. "Michael, where did you find the recipe?" 

"In the garage, it was in a wooden box on one of your shelves. The one that's slightly tilting. I remembered you putting it in there." Michael taps his head, "I'm pretty observant if you haven't already noticed."

Sanders sighs with a lopsided grin, "You get it from me, I think." He pops one in his mouth. "Wow, absolutely delicious." After he chews, he looks towards Michael with an expression of gratitude. "Well, thank you, son, this means a lot to me."

Alex knows what the word son does to Michael, its effect on him, and Michael shifts awkwardly. He looks over to Alex for reassurance, and Alex holds his hand, comforting him the best way he knows how.  

His strength, after all, is linked to Michael's. They go together in every way that matters. 

"That's not the only thing I brought for you," Michael whispers. He reaches into his back pocket and hands Sanders the envelope. 

"Oh, a Christmas card?"

"Um, well, not exactly," Michael replies as he squeezes Alex's hand tighter. 

Sanders puts on his reading glasses and switches the lights on brighter in the trailer. He opens the envelope and starts to read. The small smile on his face begins to fall, and he becomes nonplussed.

Alex acknowledges that Michael gets uncomfortable, maybe even nervous, but Alex knows that Sanders is touched. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Sanders looks up, and his eyes are full of tears. His voice comes out raspy and hoarse as he asks, "You sure? You want that?"

"More than anything," Michael responds, his voice also full of emotion. "If you'll have me, of course." 

"It would be an honor, son." Sanders sets the adoption papers onto his small wooden table and pulls Michael tightly in his arms. "You've always felt like mine, anyway." 

"I think my mom would be happy about this," Michael cries, letting the tears fall down his face. It's the most beautiful sight to witness, and Alex can't help but let go, too. 

Sanders nods and closes his eye as he holds his son, "You know, my boy, I think she would." 

****

A few days before Christmas, Alex and Michael decide to throw a little festive party at the cabin. They spent the morning stringing up lights outside, getting the drink station ready, and preparing their friend's gifts around the tree. 

It was perfect. 

Isobel is the first to arrive, of course, and she brings so many gifts, she can hardly get through the door, "Hello? A little help here, Michael?" 

"I'm coming. I'm coming!" 

Alex finishes up in the kitchen, and even though the feast smells delicious, Michael's man looks good enough to eat. 

Soon after Isobel has her martini in hand, the others follow suit. 

Liz and Kyle come together, hand-in-hand, and Michael prays it won't be awkward with Max. Gregory shows up, and Isobel immediately wraps her arms around him. Michael and Alex share a knowing smile, especially when she holds a mistletoe above his head. Then Maria and Mimi head inside with a few bottles of wine. With holes in the top, Rosa brings a large box inside, making Michael wonder what it is, but Arturo follows with a banana cream pie from the diner, and the rest is history. Sanders joins, of course, and Michael can't help but hug him longer than the rest. And finally, his boy Max. 

Luckily everyone gets along perfectly. The group has been through so much together that they make a toast for a fresh new beginning. 

Everyone at the party finally knows about the aliens being, well, aliens, and swore to protect them. The secret has bonded and united them in ways Michael never expected.

The group mingles as they sip their drinks, and Michael looks around the room at his friends and family, feeling lucky. He made a life for himself in Roswell, and as he looks towards the love of his existence, Michael knows it's time. 

He takes a moment to just stare at Alex, and suddenly he's beyond grateful he listened to his heart. 

Alex is the one for him. Michael now understands that this human was his reason for coming to this planet—they were written in the stars long ago, destined to be together. 

This is why Michael stands up bravely, walks towards Alex, and gets down on one knee. 

Michael opens the little black box he got in the store with Isobel and reveals a silvery gray tantalum band, one he knows will fit Alex perfectly. 

Isobel hushes everyone down and clasps her hands together as she sends Michael a wink from across the room. Max also gives Michael an encouraging nod, which provides him with the strength he needs at that moment. 

Michael stares up at the man he adores, and Alex's perfect mouth falls open. Taking his love's hand, Michael finally finds his voice, "Alex Manes, you are my whole world. When we were teens, you looked at me in music class and sparked something deep inside me; something I didn't quite understand, but it was there with me all along. And when we kissed for the first time, you woke me up to the life I had always dreamed of having. You are that dream, Alex. You are my family, and you've given me a place to call home. I have loved you from the beginning, and I'll love you to the very end." Michael takes a deep breath, "I would be the happiest alien on earth if you would yes. So please, darlin', will you marry me?" 

Alex gleams as tears fill those beautiful eyes, "We truly are linked...." 

"What...what do you mean?" Michael whispers, but Alex immediately joins him on the floor, kneeling in front of him. 

Alex pulls out an emerald velvet box and opens it. Inside is an engraved bronze band that matches the color of Michael's eyes. He holds his breath as the rest of the world fades away. "I mean, you beat me to it even though I've had this ring since we officially got together." Alex places his hand to Michael's face and strokes his cheek gently. "I was waiting for our first Christmas together because I wanted to give us both a happy memory to erase all the bad ones. The plan was going to ask Walt for his approval, which he wholeheartedly gave." They both look at Sanders, who nods with a loving grin. "And then I'd get down on one knee in front of all our loved ones and ask if you'd continue to create this life together with me, a true home." Then Alex holds Michael's hand again, "All I can say is that I love you more than I could ever begin to put into words, and I'm asking you if you'd do me the honor in marrying me?"

Michael doesn't realize he's crying until he feels the drops land on his outstretched hand. "Oh my God, Alex...." 

"Is that a yes?"

Michael laughs softly as he strokes the back of Alex's hand gently, "I believe I asked you first, darlin'." 

Alex nods with a breathtaking smile, tears flickering those beautiful dark eyes, "Of course I will. A hundred times, yes!" He leans in closer to Michael, "And you?"

"That would be a hell yes, baby!" He hears a whoop from one of his friends in the background, but then Michael gets serious. "It's always been a yes for me." Michael cups Alex's face, "You're my human, Alex Manes." 

"That's Alex Sanders if you don't mind."

Michael looks over at his adoptive father again, who's now wiping his eyes and positively glowing. Michael kisses Alex's lips, "I don't mind a bit." 

As they finish their first engaged kiss, their friends cheer, cry, and hug them both tightly, then Isobel giggles, "Is now a good time to give you two our gift?" 

"Go for it, Scooby Squad," Michael exclaims as he takes Alex's hand in his own, never wanting to let go. 

Isobel looks to the room they had closed, "Okay, Rosa, bring her out!" 

Michael and Alex exchange a look. Bring who out?

And before Michael can overthink it, Rosa comes out holding a beagle puppy. "It's a rescue. The shelter I volunteer at found her abandoned on the side of the road." 

"We thought it would be perfect for you two, plus, remember that dinner we had a couple of weeks ago?" Isobel says as she looks towards Alex. "You practically said you were going to start looking for one. I remember you saying, 'the cabin is much too quiet, I think we need to get a dog.'"

Alex laughs and takes the small puppy into his arms, "I don't recall those were my exact words, but it doesn't matter; she's perfect."

"Lost without a family," Michael says, petting the puppy's long ears, "sounds like the two of us all right."

"You mean a found family!" Liz calls out. "Just like all of us."

Alex looks at Michael and nods. Michael smiles back, "We love her. Thank you, everyone!"

"I knew this pup would be a part of your future," Mimi exclaims, and Michael watches Alex wink at her. "She's a gentle soul. I'm happy she'll have you two." 

"Best dog daddies ever," Maria smiles happily. Everyone in the room has what seems to be permanent heart-eyes. "We will miss her, though! She's been staying with us." 

"Well, you know you all are welcome here anytime!" Alex says. 

"What will you name her?" Gregory asks as Isobel leans back into his arms. 

"How about Kyletta?" Michael laughs as he looks towards Kyle. "Kyletta Barklenti." 

"Real funny, alien boy," Kyle responds, as he rolls his eyes looking reasonably amused. He looks over at the food, "How about Bagel? You seemed to be pretty obsessed with those today, Guerin. I mean, how many did you actually eat?" 

"I was hungry!" Michael retorts, "You didn't bring nearly enough to share." 

"Okay, okay," Alex intervenes as he shakes his head. Michael enjoys ruffling Kyle's feathers, but Michael doesn't mind the guy beneath his human annoyances. He's a good friend to Alex, making him a good man in Michael's book. 

"So, what are you going to name her then?" Max asks from across the room.

"Yeah, I mean, you don't actually have to name her after a food," Kyle teases. 

"No," Michael grins, "you know what, Doc? I like it. Bagel. It has that—" 

"Bagel! Yes, call her Bagel. I love it!" Isobel interrupts. 

"Not again..." Michael groans quietly. Isobel + anything bagel = interruptions, which is a no-go, especially when it comes to Alex. 

After they finalize the name, everyone gushes over the puppy and their rings. They eat, share stories, and finish opening gifts. 

The day is perfect in every way. Even on the Hallmark channel, they don't make them better than this.

Michael holds Bagel in his arm and takes a break from the crowd. He sits on the couch in the living room, and the puppy folds up into his lap, falling asleep as Michael rubs her ears. 

After a moment or two, someone strokes his shoulder lightly, and he looks up to see his fiancé's beautiful face. Michael feels immensely grateful, not for the first time this holiday season.

Alex scoots in close and whispers in Michael's ear, "So, my love, would you say this Christmas is worth remembering?" 

Michael pulls Alex in his arms, "Yes, darlin'. I've never been happier in my life." He takes Alex's hand with the ring and kisses it. "Our family is already growing."

"It sure is," Alex says, putting his forehead against Michael's as he strokes Bagel's soft fur. 

They sit there for a while, just the three of them, with the comforting hum of loved ones surrounding them. 

"Wow...Look, Michael." Michael looks out the window to see it snowing.  The snowflakes fall to the ground in a swirling dance. It reminds Michael of their life together, new and old memories, coming together in a story of love. 

Michael feels complete peace in his heart as Alex says, "Merry Christmas, my love."

It was merry, and their future, well, Michael knows it will be very bright as long as they always have each other. 

"I love you," Michael answers. 

Alex's reply is the kiss they share and would continue sharing for the rest of their days. 

[minmotl]

Chapter 54: How Sui Zhou Ends Up Managing Tang Fan’s Salary (& How Tang Fan Lets Him)

Context: After the events of the case in the previous chapter, the case is wrapped up properly. While the White Lotus Sect is still in the wind, it was revealed that the Nan Cheng Bang’s case is connected to Wan Tong (Royal Consort Wan’s brother and Sui Zhou’s superior) and the man is punished (lightly). Wang Zhi is praised by the emperor for handling this well, but Consort Wan chides him for not protecting/helping Wan Tong.

On the other hand, even though Tang Fan contributed the most to this case, he does not get rewarded (because the emperor is not fond of him), while Sui Zhou is promoted for his part in solving the case.

Embarrassed, Tang-daren says, “We’re not even halfway through the month yet, but my salary is almost gone.”

So that’s what it is. Sui Zhou is a little speechless, and the tension on his cold face is palpable.

“… where did your money go?”

Introduction Post | Masterpost

—

Highlights under the cut

Originally, Deng Xiu Cai would have had to go through a ‘waist cut’ penalty, but because he was frank and honest, an exception was made for him to first die by ingesting poison. A suicide void of pain, and they would behead him after. A waist cut is incomparably excruciating, so in order to die comfortably, Deng Xiu Cai spared no effort in spilling everything he knew.

Before Ah Dong and the children, who knew how many other children landed in their hands? Even that puppet Ding Yi Mu was also heavily involved. No one knows how much fresh blood stains their hands, so it is hardly a travesty that these people are put to death.

Everyone’s efforts as they busied themselves working through most of the night were not in vain, and the case finally came to a close. They can almost call this a perfect ending.

Throughout this whole case, aside from those injured in the battle against the members of the Nan Cheng Bang, the person who was injured the most is definitely Tang Fan.

He was first knocked out with a wooden stick to the head and it was verified after, that he did bleed from that. Then, when his hands were restrained back in the cellar, he bled then too, and after that, Xin Shi Tou shoved him once. His hands were still tied then and he was unable to move, so his knees immediately suffered from abrasions as they bruised and bled, and then he was cut by the porcelain piece on his neck and more…

Although not severe, Tang Fan can be considered as marred with injuries all over his whole body. Thankfully, he was injured on the job and thus, Tang-daren is able to request for half a month’s worth of medical leave with a peace of mind, and also help Sui Zhou to celebrate in this time.

Yes, Sui Zhou has been promoted yet again.

This time, however, is purely an accident.

After heading to Jiang Xi previously to deal with the Huang Jing Long case, Sui Zhou was already promoted to fu-qianhu and technically would not be eligible for any promotions in the short term, but due to the missing children’s case and with the Emperor upset at Wan Tong for colluding with the bandits, he invited Yuan Bin back to lead the Embroidered Uniform Guards.

And Yuan Bin’s background - His meritorious contributions include saving the Emperor, and the person he saved was the previous Emperor.

That year of Tu Mu’s Rebellion, Yuan Bin accompanied the Emperor, protecting Ying Zong. He was even caught hostage together with Ying Zong and took care of him. The both of them went through so much hardship and thus, their relationship was not like that of the relationship between the Emperor and other officials. Afterwards, Yuan Bin helped the previous Emperor to regain the throne, and thus, can be considered to have made major contributions.

Due to this history, when today’s Emperor ascended to the throne, he too, treats Yuan Bin with immense respect. The only thing is that as Yuan Bin grows older, he no longer handles any actual tasks and was the Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guards in name only. This time however, the Emperor intends to teach Wan Tong a lesson, and thus invited Yuan Bin to return to his former post.

With Yuan Bin’s accolades and reputation, even the Emperor of today needs to show him some respect. This is something that Wan Tong, this cheap relative, will never be able to amount to no matter how much he tries to flatter his way into the Emperor’s good graces.

These years, because of Wan Tong, the Embroidered Uniform Guards is now a place rife with corruption where despicable men can do as they like. Those who pander to Wan Tong will be able to become the Wan family’s important and esteemed guests, while those who oppose him, Wan Tong uses the power he has in the Embroidered Uniform Guards to pressure and attack. For example, the supervisor that Sui Zhou spoke of previously tried to impeach both Royal Consort Wan and her brother, and this led to his family’s demise.

Once Yuan Bin arrived, the atmosphere suddenly changed.

Although Yuan Bin is old, he is still in good shape and is firm in handling things. The moment he arrives, he gets rid of the Embroidered Uniform Guards’ Southern and Northern Administrative Courts leaders, who are also Wan Tong’s trusted men. Wan Tong grits his teeth in resentment, but is unable to do anything to him. He is unable to complain in front of the Emperor as well, all because Yuan Bin was sent by the Emperor precisely to reform the Embroidered Uniform Guards.

With this, no one dares to say anything when they see Wan Tong now. All those troublemakers naturally have to back off and turn over a new leaf obediently, lest they be implicated and dragged into more trouble.

Although it seems as if these happenings have no direct relevance to Sui Zhou, due to his position and how competent he is, he quickly loses the ‘fu’ in his title, and rises to become a real qianhu.

Qianhu is a Rank 5 title, but don’t look down on the rank or his role as a military official, as a qianhu from the Embroidered Uniform Guards has no small amount of power. There are five official posts under both the Northern and Southern Adminstrative Courts, and qianhu commands one of them.

More importantly, because Yuan Bin recently removed the previous Northern Administrative Court in-charge, the position currently sits empty, so Yuan Bin let Sui Zhou take over the role temporarily. This is also out of consideration of Sui Zhou’s sudden promotion as Yuan Bin is afraid that the other men in the Embroidered Uniform Guards would not acknowledge or recognize Sui Zhou’s authority, so the man did not directly push him into the position. Instead, Yuan Bin is giving him the role as a deputy.

Things are indeed different once a veteran like Yuan Bin steps forth, and even on matters such as these, he is meticulous - if Sui Zhou performs well, he can expect to formally transition into his new position in the near future, but if he does not, Yuan Bin can remove him at any time. There are no lack of people eyeing his position, and this inadvertently serves as motivation for Sui Zhou to work his hardest.

So Sui Zhou is now receiving that of a Rank 5 qianhu’s salary but sitting in that of a Rank 4 position. The speed at which is he progressing at is met with the red eyes of jealousy by others, but what Sui Zhou is about to face are multiple obstacles and pressure that comes with thinking about how to win the loyalty and hearts of others, how to convince others and get them to acknowledge him, and how to ensure that people working under him will listen to his orders.

Regardless, this is still something worthy of celebration. In order to celebrate for Sui Zhou, Tang Fan and Xue Ling, together with some of Sui Zhou’s long-time subordinates, decided to host a meal. Not in Xian Ke Lou as it is too expensive there. Since everyone is familiar with each other and there are a lot of restaurants in the city, they do not have to head to an expensive one.

Tang Fan chose a time-honoured food stall called Yang Ji Mutton. The mutton here is most famous and he reserved a room in advance, called a few of his colleagues from Shun Tian Prefecture, and along with Sui Zhou, Xue Ling and some others from the guards, they gather around a table to have hot pot mutton.

There are four pots on the table and four large plates of tender and fat mutton slices on the side. In addition to that, there are green vegetables, mushrooms, noodles and assorted side dishes, garlic, soy sauce, spring onion, sesame oil, pepper and other condiments. Everyone can personally customize and do it themselves as they get into the food.

This time it is not just Sui Zhou, but Xue Ling and the others, because of Yuan Bin, were promoted as well, and this is naturally cause for joy.

On the other hand, Tang Fan, who solved two consecutive cases and made two meritorious contributions - firstly helping Royal Consort Wan to prove her innocence and secondly finding the children of those officials, heading into the bandit’s cave and battling the Nan Cheng Bang with both courage and wit - as he spared no effort and even putting his own life on the line, did not get even the slightest bit of a reward. His rank remains unchanged. Tang Fan does not think much of this personally, but close friends of his find this unfair for him.

After indulging well in both food and alcohol, Xue Ling stands up from his seat, walks over and pats at Tang Fan’s shoulder with great force, assuring him, “Run Qing, I don’t think that you are this unlucky. I’m sure you’ll definitely be able to become a high ranking, major official in the future, do not be discouraged!”

“That’s right!” Pang Qi adds, “It’s just your time has yet to come, don’t be upset.”

Both Xue Ling and him are still working under Sui Zhou at present, but they have already been promoted to baihu rank, going further in their careers as officials. Not just the both of them, but also Sui Zhou’s long-time subordinates, they have all risen up the ranks. With this, everyone knows that if they follow the big boss, they will be taken care of, and thus are now even more loyal to Sui Zhou.

Sui Zhou sees that Xue Ling has drank too much, and is now leaning unsteadily on Tang Fan. He cannot help but reach out and pull him away, and chides lightly, “Stand properly!”

They are not currently on duty and everyone has indulged in some alcohol, so Xue Ling is unafraid of him. Instead, he giggles and jokes, “Da-ge is really so good to Run Qing-xiong, even us brothers who have accompanied you for a long time cannot compare to him!”

A chorus of ‘that’s right’ rings out amongst everyone else.

Sui Zhou says, “I still have some empty space at my place, how about you move over and stay with me, and I’ll be good to you everyday?”

Xue Ling laughs sheepishly, and immediately shuts up.

What a joke; although he has not yet married a wife, he has concubines at home too, not to mention his frequent visits to brothels. If he has to face Sui Zhou’s stoic face every day, it will probably be more miserable than death itself.

Tang Fan laughs, “Everyone wants to be promoted, but I would not want that.”

Xue Ling yells, “You obviously do not mean that, who would not be happy at a promotion?”

“That’s right!” they chorus.

Tang Fan pretends to be pained, “Just think about it. I’m only Rank Six right now, and already I have to infiltrate a bandit’s nest, be struck with a wooden stick and almost died. If I inch even further upwards, wouldn’t I have to confront the White Lotus Sect leader myself? If that happens, by this time next year, none of you will be able to sit with me and have a drink!”

His explanation is indeed interesting and everyone bursts out in laughter. They intended to reassure him initially, but seeing that he is so open-minded about this, everyone does not say anything more.

After the banquet and celebration, everyone heads home and goes on to do what they are supposed to do.

On the way home, Sui Zhou sees that Tang Fan’s brows are tight and troubled, and thinks that while Tang Fan presented himself as rather nonchalant earlier, he must still be bothered by it on the inside, and says, “Sometimes good things can come out of bad things, and in the same way, bad events can lead to good things. You may not have been promoted this time, but it may not be a bad thing, and who knows, better opportunities are lying ahead of you.”

“I’m not worried about this…” Tang Fan says.

Sui Zhou asks, uncomprehending, “Then what is it?”

Embarrassed, Tang-daren says, “We’re not even halfway through the month yet, but my salary is almost gone.”

So that’s what it is. Sui Zhou is a little speechless, and the tension on his cold face is palpable, “… where did your money go? You guys treated me to a meal today, and the portion you contributed was only a few hundred coins?”

Helplessly, Tang Fan replies, “Yesterday, Pan-daren looked me up and the both of us had a meal outside, and who knew that when it was almost time to pay, my shixiong said he was having a stomachache and ran to the toilet, and so I ended up paying for it all first. He wanted to pay for his portion when he returned, but how could I have taken his money?”

“You guys couldn’t have gone to Xian Ke Lou to eat, could you?”

“Of course not. It was at a dumpling stall near Shun Tian Prefecture’s court, we had fish dumplings and pork and cabbage dumplings. Speaking of which, that stall’s skills is comparable to those located in the north of the city, and now that the weather is getting colder, when spring comes, there will be dumplings with chicken fillings, that is truly a delicacy…”

“… you have gone off-topic.”

Tang Fan goes ‘oh’, and continues, “This meal came up to a 100 coins or so as well.”

Upset, he adds, “But a few days ago, when I visited a colleague’s house, I realized that he was so poor that he couldn’t come up with his next meal, and so I treated him to one. I spent 50 coins on this… it is not as if I used a lot at one go, why does it feel like I spent everything at once?”

The more Sui Zhou hears, the more suspicious he gets, “Didn’t you receive 500 taels from that White Lotus Sect lady? Even if you gave me half of it, you couldn’t have used up 250 taels that quickly?!”

This is something that made Tang Fan feel happy for at least half the day. He didn’t tell anyone else about this, only Sui Zhou, and he ended up splitting the money up with him, the both of them each getting a portion.

Sui Zhou refused to take it, but Tang Fan insisted and shoved it into the other’s hands, forcing him to accept it.

Speaking of this, Tang-daren becomes even more embarrassed, “I saw how terrible the conditions were at my colleague’s. He has four children along with elders waiting to be fed, and the rent on the house he is living in is due very soon, but he is unable to come up with the money, so I ended up giving him all 250 taels.

Sui Zhou, expressionless, says, “You’re really generous.”

Thinking that Sui Zhou is praising him, he says humbly, thick-skinned, “Not at all, not at all. Helping the poor is the duty of people my age, and anyway, the money came easy, so it doesn’t pain me to spend it.”

Still expressionless, Sui Zhou continues, “How did this money come easy, did you go steal it or rob someone?”

“…”

“Did you forget that you almost lost your life in the bandits’ cave? No matter how difficult your friend’s situation is, giving him 100 taels would have been more than enough. How are you so intelligent at everything else but on your own matters? You do things without planning and spend money too easily!”

Tang-daren, being lectured as a child would be, does not dare to raise his head. Ashamed, he says, “Yes yes yes, I’ll get Ah Dong to supervise me when I go back!”

Seriously, since Sui fu-baihu became Sui-qianhu, and also gaining power over the Northern Administrative Court, his authority grows increasingly day by day. Before this, Sui Zhou was already rather adept at lecturing others, and now when he gets this fierce, Tang Fan does not dare to make a sound.

Sui Zhou says, “How will Ah Dong be able to restrict you? From now on, after you exchange your salary for cash, submit half of it to me, I will keep it for you. Next time, after you finish spending the money you have and need more, you will have to tell me, and only after I agree can you use it.”

He has never liked to put his nose into someone else’s business, and the only unrelated things that Sui Zhou interferes in are mostly Tang Fan’s. And fortunately they are this close in their relationship, otherwise if outsiders heard him, they would definitely find him hard to understand and may even get into an argument with Sui Zhou.

However, for an eccentric person like Tang-daren, he instead nods gleefully, “That’s great! With you watching me, I will no longer be such a spendthrift!”

And since then, aside from dealing with the tasks of the Northern Administrative Court, Sui-qianhu now has to handle Tang-daren’s finances when he gets home. He commands power both at home and in public, and also the envy of others.

===

Notes:

*副千户 fu qianhu

Qianhu is the rank that Sui Zhou officially bears, while fu 副 means vice.

*仙客楼 xian ke lou

This is the very expensive restaurant that Wang Zhi brought Tang Fan to in previous chapters.

*万通 Wan Tong 

As Royal Consort Wan’s brother, he is head of the Northern Administrative Courts, but is demoted due to his involvement in the missing children’s case.

[its-not-team-dusk]

TL;DR Concepts for the players and rivals in the vanilla Duskverse

(Copied and pasted from its-team-dusk, originally written in 2017)

______

✝️ means deceased.

🆘 means missing.

🍎🍏🦋🍃🔥KANTO🔥🍃🦋🍏🍎

Red (Gen I male player): The famous hero of Kanto, who nowadays is a high ranking league member. He went mute after a traumatic event as a boy, namely Blue's death. He is married to Green.

✝️Blue (scrapped Gen I female player): The female of Red and Green's friend trio as children. She was a genki girl who served as a happy medium between Red and Green's clashing personalities. She died when they were young children, causing Red and Green to have a falling out.

Green: Another former Kanto champion, who helped stop Giovanni along with Red. He served as Viridian gym leader for a few years, which was actually a front to help him find the disappeared Red. After 3 years of searching, he got a tip from Gold, and convinced Red to come down from Mt. Silver after some coaxing. The pair were eventually wedded in 2017.

Fire (FRLG male): In 2004, 8 years after the Kanto incident, a pair of twins living in Pallet town embarked on their journey. Fire was one of them. Due to severe trauma, he became obsessed with Red, to the point of dressing up like him and pretending to be him and wanting him to acknowledge him. His obsession will sometimes get to the point where he wants to battle the elder for the 'right' to be the champion of Kanto. Underneath all of this though, he truly loves his sister and wants her to be happy.

Leaf (FRLG female): Fire's twin sister. Quiet and ladylike, she was sometimes neglected by their parents due to her brother's illness. She has a striking resemblance to Blue. Try as she may, she can't help but resent her twin.

🛎🗡💎💛🛐JOHTO🛐💛💎🗡🛎

🆘Gold (GSC male player): ???

✝️Crystal (GSC female player): One of the kids from New Bark town who set out on their journey. A cheerful and tomboyish girl, she loved jogging in her spare time. She was killed in the 2002 Pokécomm center disaster.

Heart (HGSS male): A world renowned Pokéathlon athlete.

Soul (HGSS female): A cutesy model who is actually an emotionless International Police agent.

🚳🌊❇️✳️🔺🔻HOENN🔻🔺✳️❇️🌊🚳

Ruby (RS male): One of the heroes who stopped Team Aqua and Magma. A former pro skateboarder who was famous worldwide. Unfortunately, a tragic accident broke his hip and ruined his career, leaving him bitter and disillusioned. Son of Norman.

Sapphire (RS female): Daughter of Professor Birch, and an aspiring fisherwoman. She loves being out on the water. After the accident with Ruby, she longs for him to smile again.

Malachite (Emerald male): A bandit who hangs around in the mountains with Peridot and intimidates people into giving him their stuff.

Peridot (Emerald female):

Omega (ORAS male):

Alpha (ORAS female):

💍🐚📀🎱SINNOH🎱📀🐚💍

Diamond (DP male):

Pearl (DP female):

Onyx (Platinum male):

Platinum (Platinum female):

⬛️⬜️🔳🔲UNOVA🔲🔳⬜️⬛️

Black (BW male): A singer who participates in musicals with his Pokémon.

White (BW female): A singer who participates in musicals with her Pokémon.

Lack two "River" (BW2 male): An former member of the international police. After (correctly) deducing that Augustine was the real identity of Ajna_Reloaded, he came forward with his accusation. Augustine was able to feign innocence though, and he was fired to protect the International Police's PR. He is now an apprentice actor at Pokéstar studios, being taught by Whi two/Shale. He is also a member of Team Dusk, and is still investigating the team despite no longer being an officer. He is determined to prove that Augustine is Ajna, and clear his name. Shale may very well be the key to that...

Whi two "Shale" (BW2 female): A bitter and disillusioned child actress. The pressures of her job, plus her films fading into obscurity and various other things, has left her depressed and filled with rage. She still poses as an innocent genki girl for her fans, though. The girl is also a Team Dusk agent, and has been assigned to investigate reports that River may be a police officer who is threatening Team Dusk.

↔️↕️KALOS↕️↔️

X/Calem (Male XY): A depressed teen who lives next door to his friend Y. He holds a grudge against Team Dusk, and is planning revenge against them for harming his family in some way.

Y/Serena (Female XY): A disillusioned teen who lives next door to her friend X. She holds a grudge against Team Flare, and is planning revenge against them for harming her family in some way.

☀️🌙💥🌕ALOLA🌕💥🌙☀️

Moon (Male SM): A quiet boy who recently moved to Alola with his family.

Sun (Female SM): An outgoing girl who recently to Alola with her family.

Sonora (Male USUM): A famous blogger who is currently posting about his travels through Alola.

Luna (Female USUM): A major league Mantine surfer who is currently catatonic in the hospital after a very strange incident. The trial attendants at Wela Volcano Park were startled by her rushing up to them, begging for help and hysterically claiming that some unknown assailants just tried to kidnap her and were coming for her. Her Pokémon were all badly injured from battle. She collapsed after screaming for Kiawe to run.

⚔️🛡GALAR🛡⚔️

Shield (Male SWSH): A wealthy young man with a timid disposition and a posh noble accent.

Sword (Female SWSH): A poor young woman with a fiery temper and Scottish accent.

✅🛑EARTH🛑✅

GO (Male Go):

STOP (Female Go):

[tipsycad147]

Samhain, The Witches New Year

Leandra Witchwood

Samhain

Thy soul shall find itself alone

‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone;

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,

Which is not loneliness — for then

The spirits of the dead, who stood

In life before thee, are again

In death around thee, and their will

Shall overshadow thee; be still.

An excerpt from Spirits of the Dead

Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 – 1849

Time of the year/Date: October 31 – November 1

What is Samhain? It’s only my favorite festival!

If you are a Witch, you feel it; we are well into what is called The Season of the Witch. Many of us feel something that can’t be described. Mysteries are present, doors open, Magick is easy to manifest, and we feel things more deeply than we might at other points in the seasonal calendar. Like the trees bursting with color, we too seem to be emanating and receiving an abundance of energy. Perhaps this energy is present to help us through the long dark winter, or maybe it is because the veils are thin. Perhaps it is a little of both. Undoubtedly, the wheel of the year has once again turned, and we are where we need to be.

Samhain (usually pronounced Saa-wn, Sa-ween, or Sa-ven) is the Gaelic festival honouring the darker half of the year when the harvests are complete or at their very end. It takes place at sunset on October 31 through sunset on November 1. It is time to honour and remember our ancestors, departed loved ones, and recognise the thinning spiritual veils. It is also a time to prepare for and acknowledge our own spiritual, needs, renewal, and introspection.

Cultures (modern and ancient) all over the world have their own similar celebrations to honour the dead. Many observances seem to take place around the same time of the year and are known by many other names. Some common names are The Witches’ New Year, Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Feast of the Dead, Day of the Dead/Dia De Los Muertos (in Mexico), etc. I am sure you can name much more on your own.

Some festivals are dark and mysterious, while others are bright and cheerful. One great example of a lively celebration is Dia De Los Muertos in Mexico. There are parades, colourful paper flowers, elaborately decorated sugar skulls, candy, and more. An excellent example of the darker side of this festival could be taken from here in the USA. It is common to find attractions featuring gory scenarios staged in corn mazes and or modified buildings.

It is easy to see why Samhain or Halloween could instil fear and reluctance in most. In our conventional society, we are taught to fear death, fear the dark aspects of humanity, and fear the unknown. Samhain teaches us to recognise then and asks us to face these fears. Conventionally to compensate for our concerns we exploit them, making them larger than life. other tend to hide from them and pretend they do not exist.

When practising a spiritual path, the balance of light and dark is essential. To many, this is an uncomfortable road to venture. We must accept our own mortality along with the mortality of those we love. When the wheel turns to Samhain, we are reminded that all good things must end, which leaves many feeling scared and empty.

Although many would portray this holiday evil and mischievous, I have to disagree. In my experience, I have come to understand that the darkness of this festival is necessary and helps bring spiritual balance. Without death, rot, and darkness, rebirth cannot happen. After all, a flower will not germinate without adequate nutrition. Many of the things we might consider foul and disgusting are the very ingredients that provide nourishment for cherished spring flowers. I am speaking literally and figuratively, of course. As a Modern Traditional Witches, we have been passed down a long tradition of walking straight into the darkness as we allow the silence of these dark places to teach us. It is in this capacity, we realise that the darkness is the sacred mother’s womb from which we will emerge, renewed and rejuvenated come springtime. That is if we stay the course and learn the lessons at hand.

The Season of the Witch is when we prepare for this gestation and rebirth. As Samhain marks another turn of the seasonal wheel, we realise and honour death, darkness, and the unknown. This is a time of cleansing and remembering. It is a time for knowing our roots. It is also about having fun, maintaining relationships, and preparing for winter. In the spiritual sense of Witchcraft, winter is our time of gestation. Winter is the womb of the mother, where we regenerate and renew ourselves. This means we often are beaconed to let go of something that doe snot serve our progress. Maybe this thing is a bad habit, attitude, or relationship. That is for you and your guides to decide.

As we follow the laws of nature and the examples nature provides, we can see that the Earth is preparing for sleep and rebirth will come in the spring with new leaves and flowers. If we are in tune with our Mother we will see how she is easing herself into rest, which for us can be symbolic. This is a time for preparation as we look within to discover our truest potential and plan for the coming year. I follow this model. This is an opportunity to take time yourself. Shed the burdens you feel weighing your shoulders. Fill yourself with merriment and sorrow, experience all there is for this season. Meditate, reflect, and find the areas in your life and spiritual path that need work and prepare to work on them. As we ease into the darkness of winter, we realise we have time to mend ourselves, as long as we grant ourselves the space and attention we deserve.

Samhain is the counterbalance of Beltane when the trees display their brilliant colours of orange, red, brown, and gold – rather than pale green leaves and flowers. Both festivals are seen as times of liminality, a time when the veils between the living world and spirit/Fae worlds are at their thinnest. It is during this time when spirits, fairies, and other-worldly creatures can effortlessly pass through. Some traditions include covering mirrors to prevent spirits from becoming trapped in this world. This is an important concept as many people find it fun or entertaining to call upon spirits using various devices like Ouiji boards. A rule I teach and respect is this, Do NOT summon what you cannot banish. If you insist on calling spirits into this realm it is important to know what you are doing and exactly who or what you are dealing with.

The tradition of carving pumpkins into lanterns, speaks directly to the belief that spirits and fae pass through the thinning veils. This belief has brought us the Jack ‘O Lantern. Originally apples, gourds, turnips, and other bulbous root vegetables were carved. Today we use large pumpkin which proves to be easier to carve and tasty to eat. The faces carved into root vegetable and gourds were thought to distract vengeful spirits from entering your home when the lanterns were placed on your doorstep or porch or carried with you in the night. There is also a traditional belief that when you carve lanterns you are also calling home your ancestors and recently departed.

Masks are also a long-lived tradition for Halloween and Samhain. Wearing a mask on Samhain was thought to confuse spirits so the wearer could avoid possession or discovery by the Fae and spirits. These Fae creatures were not considered to be very helpful so it was essential to trick and avoid them. Now wearing masks and painting our faces is just fun!

My traditions shared

I have two sides to my Halloween/Samhain practice. Like most American families we celebrate the traditional American aspects of Halloween, we dress up in costume, carve pumpkins, visit pumpkin patches, corn mazes, decorate our home, Trick or Treat, and watch movies.

As for Samhain, I have my own traditions that help me commemorate the season. I host a Samhain tea which is much like a Dumb Supper. I bake up some eerie treats & bread. My coven members and I serve traditional foods associated with Halloween/Samhain, I make my Sugar Skull Sugar Cubes, brew some seasonal tea, and we sit out under the stars to commune with nature and to enjoy the season. When you sit and enjoy someone’s company in silence, you obtain a new way of perceiving and knowing them. It’s quite remarkable.

Divination is also part of our tradition. I use Medicine Cards and do full spreads at this time.  I will also offer tea leaf readings for those who want them. After our tea, we sit by our “balefire” and read cards and tea leaves. As the bats fly overhead, we listen to the fire crackling and the leaves in the breeze. When we are done with the tea and cards, we like to do Fire Scrying or a fire meditation. This is often when the more intense messages surface.

in the past, I hosted a large Mystery Meal. It was a game as well as a feast where ordering your food was a game. It was a fun event everyone enjoyed.

Since Halloween and Samhain are so vast in their symbolism, celebrations, and observances, it is difficult to cover everything in one post. Below is a highlight of common rituals and traditions I enjoy each year.

Magickal & Spiritual Aspects of Samhain:

Banishing

Personal Sacrifice

Divination

Past-Life Recall

Spiritual contact/Séances

Meditation

Cleansing

Introspection

Associated Deities:

All death and underworld Gods: Cailleach, Hecate, Lilith, Hel…

All Crone Goddesses

Festivals, Observances, and Ritual:

Sacred Feasts

Costume parties

Trick or treats

Storytelling

Canning, preserving, drying herbs, and foods from the last harvests

Bon or Balefires

Divination & Scrying

Ancestor work

Foods:

Baked items like bread, desserts, cookies, etc.

Apple

Pomegranates

Corn

Pumpkins

Preserved/Canned/Dried Foods

Wine and Cider

Plants, Spices & Herbs

Mugwort

Gourds

Sage

Allspice

Cinnamon

Catnip

Anise

Wormwood

Decorations:

Pumpkins & Gourds

Corn stalks

Dried fruit, herbs, and plants

Colourful leaves

Skulls

Candles

Handmade brooms

The Cauldron

Besom

Masks

Mums

Traditional Colours:

Orange

Black

Purple

Green

Wine Red/Burgundy

Brown

© The Magick Kitchen, 2014

http://www.themagickkitchen.com/samhain-witches-new-year/

[icefloecontemporaryartjournal]

Rod Penner and Photorealism In the New Digital Era

By Lawrence Nassau

In the early 1990’s, Rod Penner arrived in New York City from out of nowhere.

From outside of Houston, specifically.

By car, transporting a painting he’d done.

The work, measuring about 24 x 36 inches, depicted a suburban home with a verdant front lawn.

The painting astonished gallerist Ivan Karp and his staff at O.K. Harris Works Of Art.

When asked about his background, Penner said…

- He was originally from Vancouver, Canada.

- He had studied art at Oral Roberts University.

- And, from the beginning, he had aimed to be a photorealist painter.

Penner didn’t emerge from an academic, beaux arts tradition or merely a precisionist milieu.  

He looked at photorealist books and learned from them as points of departure.

At one point, Penner was asked why the blades of grass in this particular painting were expressively articulated.  "Because, in real life, they are thick and coarse,“ he replied.  

It was the last work of art that Penner had ever done that was a hybrid representation of both nature and photography.  

Since then, Penner has been purely a painter of photographs.

Primarily of the exteriors of small town and suburban homes, storefronts, and commercial buildings of no particular note.

Except for how they are visually represented - factually and evocatively -  by the artist

Also of roads and intersections.

Upon which the only discernible activity is that they catch sunlight and cast shadows during the middle of the day and reflect artificial light during the middle of the night.

Occasionally, the rising or the setting of the sun suggests the possibility of the passage of time in his paintings.

So subtly so that, by remarking upon the occasion, one would have to also note that the event is equal in weight to everything else in the composition.

Noticeably - and fortunately so for his audience - Penner has refined and updated his approach during each and every phase of his career.

This is what he has in common with the earliest painters of photorealism, who were acknowledged 45 to 49 years ago for perceiving realism in new ways and, along with the earliest minimalist painters, for producing the most extraordinary works without revealing the touch of the artist’s hand.

One can comment on Penner’s technique in achieving this effect.  It’s been noted that he uses "brushes as small as #000, [as] he renders each worn brick, pavement crack, and fallen leaf in precise detail.”

However, it all starts in the mind.

The mind that motivates the artist to identify views.

Which prompt him to pause.

With his camera.

And record them.

And to which he has no emotional attachment.

Penner has stated “that ’…having grown up in Canada, I’m thankful I don’t have any childhood memories of these small Texas towns that might interfere with my observations.’”

Penner, of course, edits each source image in order to achieve the effects that he is after in creating each composition.  

Minimizing.  Amplifying.  Cropping.  And pulling back in order to establish broader views and/or to allow for a store sign, a length of a parking lot curb, or a pair of inflatable snowmen to appear - but for a moment - as a feature of interest in a painting.

Most notably, it is Penner’s choosing to paint small-scale works that is of significant interest now.

During a solo exhibition of Penner’s paintings at Ameringer | McEnery | Yohe, New York, from April 27 to May 26, 2017, viewers could encounter an extraordinary body of works, each of which measured either 5 x 7-½ inches or 6 x 6 inches.

In regarding each work up-close, one could immediately detect a sense of expansiveness in the small, Texas town settings that Penner has chosen to depict.

It’s all very harmonious.

“Commie’s Tacos,” for example, is really about the space surrounding the eatery, which is partially - and not entirely - depicted towards the right of the composition.  The street in front of the establishment sets the building back for the viewer.  The street at its side vertically bisects the image, and, the utility pole (and the wires emanating from it) functions as a visual tent pole for the work.  The wires are connected to several buildings further to the rear and off to the side and to a more distant pole, and they call attention to and amplify the physical presence of the sky, itself a mixture of cloudiness and blueness.

“G & R Grocery” depicts the eponymous store, which is set back in a parking lot of what may be a shopping strip.  The long, deep cracks in the asphalt run towards the shop.  The parking area directly in front of the store is paved with red brickwork; its horizontal orientation - as well as that of the concrete sidewalk immediately before the store - very subtly brings the viewer closer into the scene but also act as a sort of boundary between where a driver presumably enters the lot and the store itself.

In “Yard Inflatables,” a pair of tall decorative inflatables - a somewhat sagging, bearded toy soldier with a drum and a snowman - flank the sides of the front yard of a suburban home.  Bare trees buttress the jolly inflatable figures.  The grass is green, albeit with barely noticeable brown patches, and its horizontality draws attention to the the black asphalt road before it and the white house behind it.  The white paint is conspicuously peeling, but the front porch is tastefully, yet simply, adorned with white Christmas lights and a wreath.  The sky, which is visible behind the tallest and slenderest of the trees’ branches, is a blend of blue skies and white clouds.  On the roof, one can say that the antenna resembles a cross.  Although “Yard Inflatables” looks optimistic, it is not sentimental.  It is, however, one of a number of works by Penner that is characterized by romantic tendencies.

Penner’s small-scale works - in the age of Instagram and a world with hand-held smartphones and tablet computing devices - seem to be in synch with how, in the current decade, pictures are viewed and also how reality is perceived.  Landscapes in these sizes have existed for centuries, and Penner has produced many medium and large paintings throughout his career.  Nevertheless, his most recent works are most timely and relevant.

New York, October 2017

Bibliography

Hillings, Valerie L.  “Picturing America : Photorealism In the 1970’s.”  New York : Guggenheim Museum Publications; Berlin : Deutsche Guggenheim, 2009.  

“Rod Penner,” Ameringer | McEnery | Yohe, New York, April 27 to May 26, 2017.

[7r0773r]

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard

We don’t know what’s going on here. If these tremendous events are random combinations of matter run amok, the yield of millions of monkeys at millions of typewriters, then what is it in us, hammered out of those same typewriters, that they ignite? We don’t know. Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle, curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what’s going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise. (Heaven and Earth in Jest, p. 10)

***

I am an explorer, then, and I am also a stalker, or the instrument of the hunt itself. Certain Indians used to carve long grooves along the wooden shafts of their arrows. They called the grooves “lightning marks,” because they resembled the curved fissure lightning slices down the trunks of trees. The function of lightning marks is this: if the arrow fails to kill the game, blood from a deep wound will channel along the lightning mark, streak down the arrow shaft, and spatter to the ground, laying a trail dripped on broad-leaves, on stones, that the barefoot and trembling archer can follow into whatever deep or rare wilderness it leads. I am the arrow shaft, carved along my length by unexpected lights and gashes from the very sky, and this book is the straying trail of blood. (Heaven and Earth in Jest, p. 14)

***

When her doctor took her bandages off and led her into the garden, the girl who was no longer blind saw “the tree with the lights in it.” It was for this tree I searched through the peach orchards of summer, in the forests of fall and down winter and spring for years. Then one day I was walking along Tinker Creek thinking of nothing at all and I saw the tree with the lights in it. I saw the backyard cedar where the mourning doves roost charged and transfigured, each cell buzzing with flame. I stood on the grass with the lights in it, grass that was wholly fire, utterly focused and utterly dreamed. It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance. The flood of fire abated, but I’m still spending the power. Gradually the lights went out in the cedar, the colors died, the cells unflamed and disappeared. I was still ringing. I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck. I have since only very rarely seen the tree with the lights in it. The vision comes and goes, mostly goes, but I live for it, for the moment when the mountains open and a new light roars in spate through the crack, and the mountains slam. (Seeing, p. 35)

***

This is the sort of stuff I read all winter. The books I read are like the stone men built by the Eskimos of the great desolate tundras west of Hudson’s Bay. They still build them today, according to Farley Mowat. An Eskimo traveling alone in flat barrens will heap round stones to the height of a man, travel till he can no longer see the beacon, and build another. So I travel mute among these books, these eyeless men and women that people the empty plain. I wake up thinking: What am I reading? What will I read next? I’m terrified that I’ll run out, that I will read through all I want to, and be forced to learn wildflowers at last, to keep awake. (Winter, p. 44)

***

When I was in elementary school, one of the teachers brought in a mantis egg case in a Mason jar. I watched the newly hatched mantises emerge and shed their skins; they were spidery and translucent, all over joints. They trailed from the egg case to the base of the Mason jar in a living bridge that looked like Arabic calligraphy, some baffling text from the Koran inscribed down the air by a fine hand. Over a period of several hours, during which time the teacher never summoned the nerve or the sense to release them, they ate each other until only two were left. Tiny legs were still kicking from the mouths of both. The two survivors grappled and sawed in the Mason jar; finally both died of injuries. I felt as though I myself should swallow the corpses, shutting my eyes and washing them down like jagged pills, so all that life wouldn’t be lost. (The Fixed, p. 56)

***

Nature is, above all, profligate. Don’t believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place? This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital. Extravagance! Nature will try anything once. This is what the sign of the insects says. No form is too gruesome, no behavior too grotesque. If you’re dealing with organic compounds, then let them combine. If it works, if it quickens, set it clacking in the grass; there’s always room for one more; you ain’t so handsome yourself. This is a spendthrift economy; though nothing is lost, all is spent. (The Fixed, p. 66)

***

This is it, I think, this is it, right now, the present, this empty gas station, here, this western wind, this tang of coffee on the tongue, and I am patting the puppy, I am watching the mountain. And the second I verbalize this awareness in my brain, I cease to see the mountain or feel the puppy. I am opaque, so much black asphalt. But at the same second, the second I know I’ve lost it, I also realize that the puppy is still squirming on his back under my hand. Nothing has changed for him. He draws his legs down to stretch the skin taut so he feels every fingertip’s stroke along his furred and arching side, his flank, his flung-back throat. I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feeling save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator—our very self-consciousness—is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends. I get in the car and drive home. (The Present, p. 80)

***

My mind branches and shoots like a tree. (The Present, p. 90)

***

If you analyze a molecule of chlorophyll itself, what you get is one hundred thirty-six atoms of hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen arranged in an exact and complex relationship around a central ring. At the ring’s center is a single atom of magnesium. Now: If you remove the atom of magnesium and in its exact place put an atom of iron, you get a molecule of hemoglobin. The iron atom combines with all the other atoms to make red blood. . . . (Intricacy, p. 127)

***

What if God has the same affectionate disregard for us that we have for barnacles? I don’t know if each barnacle larva is of itself unique and special, or if we the people are essentially as interchangeable as bricks. My brain is full of numbers; they swell and would split my skull like a shell. I examine the trapezoids of skin covering the back of my hands like blown dust motes moistened to clay. I have hatched, too, with millions of my kind, into a milky way that spreads from an unknown shore. I have seen the mantis’s abdomen dribbling out eggs in wet bubbles like tapioca pudding glued to a thorn. I have seen a film of a termite queen as big as my face, dead white and featureless, glistening with slime, throbbing and pulsing out rivers of globular eggs. Termite workers, who looked like tiny longshoremen unloading the Queen Mary, licked each egg as fast as it was extruded to prevent mold. The whole world is an incubator for incalculable numbers of eggs, each one coded minutely and ready to burst. (Fecundity, p. 169)

***

I have to look at the landscape of the blue-green world again. Just think: in all the clean beautiful reaches of the solar system, our planet alone is a blot; our planet alone has death. I have to acknowledge that the sea is a cup of death and the land is a stained altar stone. We the living are survivors huddled on flotsam, living on jetsam. We are escapees. We wake in terror, eat in hunger, sleep with a mouthful of blood. (Fecundity, p. 177)

***

Either this world, my mother, is a monster, or I myself am a freak. (Fecundity, p. 179)

***

Is this what it’s like, I thought then, and think now: a little blood here, a chomp there, and still we live, trampling the grass? Must everything whole be nibbled? Here was a new light on the intricate texture of things in the world, the actual plot of the present moment in time after the fall: the way we the living are nibbled and nibbling—not held aloft on a cloud in the air but bumbling pitted and scarred and broken through a frayed and beautiful land. (The Horns of the Altar, p. 230)

***

I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them, under the wind-rent clouds, upstream and down. Simone Weil says simply, “Let us love the country of here below. It is real; it offers resistance to love.” (The Horns of the Altar, p. 245)

***

I stood at the window, the bay window on which one summer a waxen-looking grasshopper had breathed puff puff, and thought, I won’t see this year again, not again so innocent; and longing wrapped round my throat like a scarf. (The Waters of Separation, p. 265)

[rainb0w-ph0enix]

New Moon November 2017 Astrology The new moon on Saturday the 18th of November 2017 is at 26 degrees Scorpio. New moon November 2017 is almost exactly opposite a planet new to astrology. Minor planet Sedna was only discovered in 2003 so astrologers have only just started to understand it’s meaning. Most interpretations seem to be based on the mythology of the arctic goddess of the sea because the planet was named after her. Due to the orbital history of Sedna I am sure it’s associated with climate change and rising sea levels. The November 18 new moon links a new awareness of climate change to the most important planetary aspect of 2017, Saturn trine Uranus. This major aspect will help you make positive changes in your life in response to the threats posed by climate change. New moon November 2017 will help you find practical and creative ways to save energy, while making your life more efficient and productive. New Moon Meaning A new moon represents the end of one cycle and the beginning of another new 28 day cycle. Sun conjunct Moon gives an invigorating burst of energy and initiative. This is an excellent time for making a fresh start and turning over a new leaf or starting a new project. You can also question old habits, behaviors and beliefs as you search for new and inventive ways to make progress. The effects of the November 18 new moon lasts four weeks up to the December 18 new moon. The best time for making a fresh start and for beginning new projects is during the first two weeks of this new moon cycle. This waxing phase of the Moon lasts from November 18 to the December 3 full moon. New Moon November 2017 Astrology The November 18, 2017 new moon at 26°19′ Scorpio makes three very tight planetary aspects. It is a little too far from any major fixed stars to fall under their influence. The three aspects are not common ones and many astrologers would not include them in a moon phase reading. I think they are very significant because of the tiny orbs of the aspects and the increasing importance of the minor planet Sedna. 26°19′ Scorpio – conjunct New Moon 26°22′ Sagittarius – semisextile Saturn 25°23′ Aries – quincunx Uranus 26°13′ Taurus – opposite Sedna The astrology chart for new moon November 2017 below shows two major aspects – the new moon opposite Sedna in red, and Saturn trine Uranus in blue. First of all, the flow of energy from the new moon starts with the challenging red aspect to Sedna. The aim is to get to the harmonious blue trine between Saturn and Uranus. The unstable green aspects help you get from point A to point B, from the tense and highly strung red aspect to the relaxed and harmonious blue aspect. New Moon November 2017 Astrology Chart New Moon Opposite Sedna Minor planet Sedna was only discovered in 2003. It has an exceptionally long and elongated orbital period of 11,400 years. Sedna is nearing its closest approach to Earth (perihelion) in mid 2076. The last time Sedna was this close to earth was in 9400 BC, coinciding with a sharp rise in temperature over 50 years. [1] This led to inundation of low-lying areas of our planet – sound familiar? I believe Sedna is linked to climate change – hotter temperatures, rising sea levels, more extreme weather events and mass extinction of species. It happened at the start of the Preboreal Period 11,400 years ago and it is happening again now. New Moon November 2017 Astrology Sedna Orbit 11,400 year orbit of Sedna New Moon opposite Sedna should give some perspective on how climate change is beginning to impact your life. It means you cannot ignore the effects of climate change anymore because it’s starting to cause problems that affect your way of life, your finances, your future, and especially your children. I expect the rise in temperature and sea levels to continue over the next 60 years until Sedna reaches its perihelion. New moon November 2017 opposite Sedna should also highlight the widely opposing opinions about climate change. This ranges from greenies who want to ban coal, to skeptics who deny climate change is real. The opposition aspect forces you to acknowledge the polarities, or opposites in your life. Do your actions, your goals and your plans for the future take into account hotter weather, superstorms, and food shortages? You may believe climate change is real but what are you doing about it? How are these rapid changes in your environment affecting your physical and mental health, or the growth and development of your children? Quincunx Adjustments New Moon quincunx Uranus and to a lesser extent, new moon semisextile Saturn, give some answers to these questions. They can help you move from the tense fear and anxiety of the opposition to the reassuring harmony of the trine. New moon quincunx Uranus can make it hard to settle and relax as your intuition senses change or some drama on the way. A build up of energy in your system can feel exciting but also a little scary. Pressure to change can come from someone or something with power over you. An unexpected event, accident or change may force you to change your routine, behavior or plans. It is important to be flexible and adapt to changing conditions. If you resist change and become arrogant or disruptive you will suffer losses or miss out on important opportunities. An adjustment is needed whether you are forced to make changes or you find a different way forward yourself. Doing something a slightly different way could make all the difference, making life easier for yourself and those around you. Saturn Trine Uranus November 2017 Saturn trine Uranus made it last exact aspect one week before the new moon on November 11. The November 18 new moon is the last activation of this year-long major aspect for the next thirty years. It seems to be significant that this harmonious blend of change and stability is directly related the Sedna and climate change. This aspect means you can experiment with new ideas and lifestyles without too much disruption. You can incorporate positive change in your life while still working within the rules and regulations of society. You can experiment with traditional ways of doing things without being rebellious. This means the changes you make will be accepted and earn you respect. You can find practical ways to increase productivity and live more efficiently, saving time, energy and money. Saturn rules discipline and restriction while Uranus rules electricity and innovation. This is an energy-saving aspect. New moon November 2017 will give you the opportunity to act responsibility and show your leadership qualities. Adapting to serious changes means initiating changes at home and in your workplace. This aspect is good for working with groups and bringing together people from a variety of background and skills. New technologies and innovations will be available to help you adapt. You can use the internet to connect to like-minded people, to learn, to share information and eventually to teach and guide others. New Moon November 2017 Summary The November 18 new moon will make you more aware of climate change because of its near exact opposition to the planet Sedna. I make this assumption because the last time Sedna was this close to Earth 11,400 years ago, there was a sharp rise in temperature over 50 years. Rapid changes in the environment are threatening your way of life and now is the time to do something about it. By following your intuition and taking the lead, you will find practical ways to save time, energy and money. You may decide to have quicker showers or you might decide to buy an electric car. Every bit helps and new moon November 2017 is a good time to start. Saturn trine Uranus means you will cope very well in a calm and patient way. You can be a steady hand in this time of change and bring order out of chaos.

[kylanrice]

Day 4, 5, 6

I have been unable to find time to write for three days. I have written, but not in a diary. After seeing the National Gallery in London on the 19th, and after looking there at the anonymous Flemish painting “Cognoscenti in a Room Hung with Pictures,” I have been eager to work on a world that takes after that piece.  I am compelled by the desire that has precipitated it, an epistemological thirst. It is a painting that wants to be several paintings; it tries to contain, index, profile. If each painting inside this painting is a logic and a world, this work worlds itself with these as its lineaments, acknowledging the work of art as more than subject matter: as matter itself. Art retro-architects reality. “Cognoscenti” is essentially a form of praise, too, showcasing the virtues of appreciation, abundance, knowledge, and the limits of knowledge. I want to write a series of embedded essays that work chiastically through world, into art, and back into world again, showing the ways in which transferences redeem the real. Mediation is reality—or rather, reality is always already mediated.

I will return to the National Gallery. I have to take this slowly. Monday the nineteenth begins at Abney Park, a cemetery in the Hackney borough in which I am residing.  I am brought here by a book I’m reading called “Lights out for the Territory” by Iain Sinclair. My new unofficial handbook to the city. It perverts the figure of the flaneur into that of a stalker. My walks are like Sinclair’s in this: anxiety, hunger, and paranoia gyring into each other, a sense of non-belonging, voyeurism. I am here to observe, subvert, contain, vivisect. Sinclair’s walks through Hackney take him to Abney, where he notices a spray-painted pyramid-and-eye symbol scrawled in an unused non-denominational chapel at the heart of the park. I’m there before nine and it’s already broiling, one of the hottest days on record since the 70s. The inside of the cemetery is overwhelmingly green, dense, clotted with grave stones. Arborists and wood-cutters haul machinery through the overgrowth. What is overgrowth and what is undergrowth and what is a memorial to the dead is impossible to disentangle or set straight. Everything strays here. Death is no straightforward terminus. Indeed, one of my favorite aspects of Abney were the signposts scattered throughout identifying the various trees on site. The signs record the curious and mazy longevity of silver birches, common ashes, service trees of Fontainbleue, and horse chestnuts, among others, as though offering veiled metaphors for grief and earthbound afterlife: “SILVER BIRCH (Betula pendula, planted around 1930) / This tree appears to have been struck by lightning about 30 years go. It is not know exactly where this avenue of birch trees was planted, but birch rarely live more than 100 years. Lightning is the most likely cause of the long wound down the north side of the tree. You can see decayed wood inside, with fungi and beetle holes. Healthy wound wood has grown around the cavity but it is so big and deep the tree has been unable to seal the gap. The tree remains healthy and should live for another decade or two.” From the trees of Abney I learn that the material for our dearest metaphors are present already in the fabric of our lives.

Other things about Abney: the chapel is the oldest non-denominational church in Europe. The carved stone urns partly draped with veils. Extras of these piled beside a Simplyloo. The Egyptian style entry columns.

A long walk to the National Gallery, as the tube is unexpectedly expensive. I pass over canals, Kingsland graffiti, vertiginous mash-ups of architectural history and new construction. On Stoke Newington high-road, Arabic men drinking red coffee from tiny glass cups in front of bars and barbering establishments. Memorials displaced by bombs in the Barbican. Ornate underpasses. Smithfield wholesale market, whose sprawling industrial galleries are tastefully domed with glass and hinged with arcade glass. I have lunch at Fabrique. Ham sandwich on rye. Live flowers in glass milk jars on the tables. London Review of Books Cake Shop later on for afternoon refreshment. At last, two hours later, the National Gallery. A room full of still life floral arrangements, stray curves, diagonal axes. Closed peonies in shadow. I am an anachronist and miss in today’s world the understated ambition on display; again, the desire to contain all, the burgeoning thrust of the catalogue, the encyclopedia, the enlightenment era reach and grasp. The transparent wing of a dragonfly laid over a half-concealed leaf laid over a panted leaf on a vase. Palimpsest. My attention turns to the other museum visitors. A woman on a bench, having unconsciously adopted a Marian pose, arm over her backback, eye-shadow, Adidas, double rings on her wedding finger. Repose, in the gallery. Turner, Dido building Carthage: construction, development, empire, the empire of scope. The return again and again the judgement of Paris. This pairs well with my interest in Enlightenment era observational painting: anxiety regarding accuracy, discernment. Are these available to us? Is the illusion of possible accuracy even available anymore? I feel Cassandralike, intuiting a dark truth, completely bereft of a capacity to speak it or even explain it to myself. Agamemnon gets murdered off stage. What is mine is not knowledge but an inarticulate shriek in the shape of knowledge.

A beautiful painting by Meindert Hobbema called The Avenue at Middelharnis. Arbors, cranes in the backdrop, husbandry. Order (arrangement) and its derangement—that is, its warping. Hobbema excised two trees from the foreground of his painting to clear up the sky, giving it visual priority. You can see evidence of this on x-ray. Elsewhere: shipping scenes, ports, fleets. Trade and spectacle and confluence. Claude Lorrain, his lit backgrounds and shaded foregrounds: a curious sense of closure, lateness. Beautiful work by Beuckelaer: his four paintings make up a group illustrating the four elements: Earth, Air, Fire and Water. The elements communicated by way of market scenes as frame narratives for Christological imagery. Densely layered. The main event or subject as peripheral (in both cases). The Ambassadors. Again, epistemological ambition. Measurement, efficiency, death. Despite wayfinding technology: memento mori, pushed into the periphery to see the skewed skull rightwise. In many of these paintings of Christ and martyrs, the body is there to suppurate, gush, anoint.

At the end of the day, a long walk through St. James park and alongside Buckingham palace. Dinner on the steps of Westminster Cathedral, a beautiful striped, squarely Venetian building across from the malls near Victoria Station. The apartment buildings nearby match this decorative scheme. I listen to the nearby sounds of the wind in the maple, a roundabout with mopeds and bikers at its foot. Westminster has exquisite marbling on the interior, like being inside a shell discovered on a beach, creamy and lit from the outside in.

The next morning I call an Uber to get to Victoria station at 5 in the morning. The stillness and quietude of his Prius. I navigate to Gatwick and onto my first Easyjet to Lyon. I admire the Saint Expury TGV station for the structural integrity of its concrete arches and lattices. Once in the city, I take lunch at Ludovic B.—a restaurant about halfway through my walk toward Parc de la Tete d’Or. They’re confused at first but ultimately amenable when all I want is bread and cheese: with sweet balsamic reduction a demi Saint Marcellin, which has a pungent, good, bitter, indoors (interior?) taste. Again the sound of maple leaves beside a primary school as I leave the restaurant—refreshed, amorous for this place—and make my way toward my AirBnB beside the Rhône. At the park, where I linger until 2 pm, check in scheduled for 2:30, I walk through a fin-de-siecle wrought-iron greenhouse. Superheated. Camellias, the emblematic flower of romanticism, immortalized by Alexandre Dumas in his novel the Lady of the Camellias. Polynomial and Riemann equations graffitied in the public bathrooms.

I chat (in French!) with my AirBnB landlord while he finishes cleaning the place. He teaches literature at a university in Paris. We talk about my upcoming entrance at North Carolina and he points out that the study of American literature is one without any intertexts, so young and new as a literary epoch. The apartment is perfect. Windows with a rotting balcony overlooking the massive, wide celadon Rhône river. Multiple rooms to myself. Fourth floor. I leave to explore in the afternoon: the excruciatingly steep and winding upward staircases, the two hills of the city, old stonework built into the mountainside, the narrow pastel-colored riverside buildings wedged into each other. Stone reclining chairs by the waterfront, where I read for a while. A girl next to me is paging through Levinas in paperback. Saupers pompiers practice their diving in scuba gear in this summer heat. I wander through galleries and ateliers, trying to get a feel for the city, feel through its shirt to its skin to its spine. I follow signs toward Parc des Hauteurs. Ascend endlessly in 90 degree humidity. Like a pilgrim to a temple. Continued on into my misdirection, upward, plateauing, discovering the ancient Gallo-Roman theater ruins. Labyrinthine stone passages. Boys playing in their corridors. Sprays of summer flowers, purples and whites where grass springs between the ancient stones. Torpid bumblebees. A magnificent view of the city, its white buildings. Musicians practicing for the evening entertainment below, the drifting sound of saxophone, piano. Old heat of a late afternoon. I sit and read Faulkner and think on the vista and realize I may be experiencing a perfect and golden moment. Sometimes my ambling pays off. I buy bread and butter and a viennoise on my way home, dine in.

The next day—today—Lyon was less forthright with me. I started the morning at the mall, a dead hive experience, looking for a cheap t-shirt to get me through the day. I hadn’t planned for Europe’s heat wave. I went west, away from old town, until noon, and found Lyon in commercial merchant squalor. I walked through an indoor market, the smells of fresh fish, bread, doggish smell of hard sausage. Swallows all day, urgent cries overhead. Delighted by the high-pollarded avenues of trees I see from time to time—like the stilt legs of Dali’s surreal elephants. Into and out of cathedrals on my way: these are spectacular to look at, and each different in its own way (its own light), but curiously similar and banal, too. You tire after a while of vaults and stained glass. Women everywhere with hand fans—quaint. Back toward the river near 11 am. Shallow pools, a biker dragging through slowly them in rings, a wood boardwalk, strange metal plaques drilled onto 450 meters of the wood pontoon ramp. Research reveals it is an art installation by Philippe Favier called “J’aimerais tant voir Syracuse.” The wood ramp reminded Favier of an infinite “table d’orientation”—a semi-circular table you might find at an overlook or panorama. He came up with a series of literary terms for fantastic or fabulist places, inscribed these in metal plaques, and drilled them into the surface of the wood. Others, on their own accord, have added their own. La piscine du Rhône nearby, 60s style, space-needle architecture. Took a street lined with Arabic food shops and stores where you can buy traditional Muslim dress. The pastry-shops feature glittering caverns of tiny gem-like confections, glazed and square as ornate snuff-boxes. Purchased a pear tart for lunch and ate it in the courtyard of the old ESSM (École du service de santé des armées de Lyon-Bron). There, you can find a museum on the resistance and deportation. I wasn’t originally planning to visit, but I felt compelled, as I usually do when visiting France, to understand the complex European relationship with the second world war. Especially enlightening to learn that Lyon was included in Vichy France. Old propagandistic images of Petain. Narratives of racism, exclusion, turmoil. As if the shroud of Turin, a fragment of the parachute used by Jean Moulin to drop secretly into Southern France, where he was tasked by de Gaulle with uniting the resistance. An exhibit on the extensive food rationing in Vichy France. The ration stamps called “tickettose d’angoisse”—or “anxiety tickets,” for fear of losing them. Petain encouraged his populace to grow their own food. Steep increase of home gardens during the war years in places like Lyon. The countryside encouraged to donate excess to the cities.

Above all, the important lesson from the museum and today is how crucial the medical industry has been in Lyon. I get the impression there has been some kind of mandate to this end, and near the Grange Blanche later in the day I discover an austere statue of a robed woman with a sword and sheaves of wheat standing on a plinth that reads: “À la gloire du service santé,” which translates: to the glory of health services. The plinth features a frieze of figures at work nursing and ministering to the sick. At the Musée des Confluences, I encounter a “fermenteur Frenkel,” a large vat with clamps and dials used in the process of vaccine production. By way of prelude, the accompanying plaque informs me that Lyon has been backed by a long tradition of health and veterinary institutions, which led to this flourishing of the health industry in the 19th century. During the war, the ESSM was dismantled of its military status by Germany, but continued educating young men in the medical arts. Grange Blanche, which is near the Lumiere institute (more on this in a moment), is a veritable etoile of specialized hospitals.

Another industry central to the development of Lyon is silk production. My plan is to dedicate today to learning more about Lyon’s canuts, or silk-weavers. At the Musée des Confluences, I see large taxidermy displays that catalogue the components of the industry: large white braids; fat, gold-translucent moths; cocoons in various stages of  unraveling. Also at the Confluences, which is where I go after the Centre, I also see a fiberoptic wedding dress, fringed with light, woven using Brochier technologies, which have been adapted from the original Jacquard loom types. The dress making technique was designed for the Olivier Lapidus haute couture fashion show in 2000, and the present artifact was made in 2014 by Mongi Guibane. Jacquard loom technology was used to develop the punchcards that supported the development of the computer and film industry.

In all, the Musée des Confluences is astonishing, and often painful to look at. Its exhibits are dizzyingly ambitious in scope. Permanent exhibitions include: “Origins, stories of the world,” “Species, the web of life,” “Societies, the human theatre,” and “Eternities, visions of the beyond.” The attempt here is to track a story of the world—a dubious aspiration, given the rigid warping porosity of historiography. The methodology here for engendering an epistemic experience is completely indiscriminate, much like the old-fashioned, original museums or curiosity cabinets. Indeed, there is a temporary exhibit at Confluences regarding the acquisitive spirit—a display of cabinets, carnets, colonization, observation, exploration. The latter exhibit teaches me that museums of natural history in France were often the outgrowth of imperial activity in colony nations—a strategy for understanding, and thus subverting, containing local populations and epistemes. I am overwhelmed here. Nothing is stable. I can’t concentrate on anything I see. A vast display of varieties of microscopes, magnifying glasses. Equally vast the glassed-in case of beetles, butterflies, shells of all kinds. I am desperate to concentrate, to core down to the heart of one of these objects. My mind does not operate on the basis of this kind of expansivity. I am wrecked by the curatorial attempt here to encompass all the world and all of human understanding—a cross-sample that asks its visitors to ask themselves: is there a duty to remember? A good question. I remember thinking on my walk today back to the conversation I had with my landlord, Thierry. We assume that literature is intended to amuse, entertain, or educate. But I think we forget the preservationist function of the medium, too. To safeguard in language language itself, the means of transmission of human learning and love. I can think of no holier obligation. This doesn’t mean just writing—this means writing in a tradition. I am sick and tired of literary peers who have no regard for the acquisition of or immersion in tradition, since this is the most important task for any artist. What you have to make or say is only possible as it relates to a long history of expressive force.

At the end of one of its permanent exhibits, a plaque declares: “The objects and specimens preserved in the museum’s stores and show in this exhibition constitute our common heritage. They are inalienable—they cannot be assigned or sold.”

Objects of note at the Musée: a Volva volva shell—a false cowry—unwrapping like a lily bulb, or a twist of angelic candy; a simple microscope designed by Dutch astronomer and physicist Christian Huygens, high performance, easy to use, made and engraved by Jean de Pouilly for wealthy clients. The privatization of accuracy for amusement’s sake.

The museum was designed to look like a crystal and a cloud by Coop Himmelb(l)au, Austrian studio known for deconstrutivist architecture.

After the museum I walk out to the point of confluences, where the Rhone and Saone flow into. It was originally a trafficked port area. The point hosts a submerged rail track for offload. Concrete pillars indicate incoming ships to pass “Gauche” and “Droite” (left and right). Now the area is under heavy construction, a rebuilding phase intended to urbanize the area. The regional governmental seat is nearby. Construction of apartments and other highrises. A mall.

I do a crash course in public transit and leave for the Lumiere Institute, which I learned about in a temporary exhibit at the Confluences on the Lumiere brothers, pioneers of the cinema and film industry, and lifelong locals of Lyon. Developers of a special dry plate for making photographs in the late 19th century. The institute used to house a factory for manufacturing these, and the brothers created their first film by recording end-of-day closing-time at the factory doors, the workers squeezing out, back into the world of their lives. The brothers, as the museum points out, were dyed-in-the-wool industrialists. There is something tautological about the development of this new medium: their first film (and so the first cinema experience) is an outcome of photographic plate development at the Lumiere factory. Later this factory would be converted into a studio production space. Here, the subject of film is film’s production; then the film eventually colonizes and magnifies the industrial context that produced it. No wonder the Best Picture Oscar goes every year to a film about film.

Watching early Lumiere films, I get the sense that what the brothers sought was movement, sheer motion. Their narratives were simply frameworks or pretexts for acrobatics, destruction, rising dust, consequence.

I eat a raw ham sandwich with goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes in a little margin of grass near Grange Blanche. Delicious and sweet. On my way home, I stop at Place Bellecour (featured in a Lumiere film, as well as the Centre on resistance and deportation), then walk home from the Hotel de Ville. Music in the streets. Solstice is always la Fete de la Musique in France. For the last three years, every 21st of June I have been in France, where the streets at night fill with discos and trumpeters and opera soloists.