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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years

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#8yrsago David Byrne's How Music Works

Former Talking Heads frontman and all-round happy mutant David Byrne has written several good books, but his latest, How Music Works, is unquestionably the best of the very good bunch, possibly the book he was born to write. I could made good case for calling this How Art Works or even How Everything Works.

Though there is plenty of autobiographical material How Music Works that will delight avid fans (like me) -- inside dope on the creative, commercial and personal pressures that led to each of Byrne's projects -- this isn't merely the story of how Byrne made it, or what he does to turn out such great and varied art. Rather, this is an insightful, thorough, and convincing account of the way that creativity, culture, biology and economics interact to prefigure, constrain and uplift art. It's a compelling story about the way that art comes out of technology, and as such, it's widely applicable beyond music.

Byrne lived through an important transition in the music industry: having gotten his start in the analog recording world, he skilfully managed a transition to an artist in the digital era (though not always a digital artist). As such, he has real gut-feel for the things that technology gives to artists and the things that technology takes away. He's like the kids who got their Apple ][+s in 1979, and keenly remember the time before computers were available to kids at all, the time when they were the exclusive domain of obsessive geeks, and the point at which they became widely exciting, and finally, ubiquitous -- a breadth of experience that offers visceral perspective.

There were so many times in this book when I felt like Byrne's observations extended beyond music and dance and into other forms of digital creativity. For example, when Byrne recounted his first experiments with cellular automata exercise for dance choreography, from his collaboration with Noemie Lafrance:

1. Improvise moving to the music and come up with an eight-count phrase (in dance, a phrase is a short series of moves that can be repeated).

2. When you find a phrase you like, loop (repeat) it.

3. When you see someone else with a stronger phrase, copy it.

4. When everyone is doing the same phrase, the exercise is over.

It was like watching evolution on fast-forward, or an emergent lifeform coming into being. At first the room was chaos, writhing bodies everywhere. At first the room was chaos, writhing bodies everywhere. Then one could see that folks had chosen their phrases, and almost immediately one could see a pocket of dancers who had all adopted the same phrase. The copying had already begun, albeit in just one area. This pocket of copying began to expand, to go viral, while yet another one now emerged on the other side of the room. One clump grew faster than the other, and within four minutes the whole room was filled with dancers moving in perfect unison. Unbelievable! It only took four minutes for this evolutionary process to kick in, and for the "strongest" (unfortunate word, maybe) to dominate.

I remembered the first time I programmed an evolutionary algorithm and watched its complexity emerging from simple rules, and the catch in my throat as I realized that I was watching something like life being built up from simple, inert rules.

The book is shot through with historical examples and arguments about the nature of music, from Plato up to contemporary neuroscience, and here, too, many of the discussions are microcosms for contemporary technical/philosophical debates. There's a passage about how music is felt and experienced that contains the phrase, "music isn't merely absorbed above the neck," which is spookily similar to the debates about replicating human consciousness in computers, and the idea that our identity doesn't reside exclusively above the brainstem.

The same is true of Byrne's account of how music has not "progressed" from a "primitive" state -- rather, it adapted itself to different technological realities. Big cathedrals demand music that accommodates a lot of reverb; village campfire music has completely different needs. Reading this, I was excited by the parallels to discussions of whether we live in an era of technological "progress" or merely technological "change" -- is there a pinnacle we're climbing, or simply a bunch of stuff followed by a bunch of other stuff? Our overwhelming narrative of progress feels like hubris to me, at least a lot of the time. Some things are "better" (more energy efficient, more space-efficient, faster, more effective), but there are plenty of things that are held up as "better" that, to me, are simply different. Often very good, but in no way a higher rung on some notional ladder toward perfection.

When Byrne's history comes to the rise of popular recorded music, he describes a familiar dilemma: recording artists were asked to produce music that could work when performed live and when listened to in the listener's private playback environment -- not so different from the problems faced by games developers today who struggle to make games that will work on a wide variety of screens. In a later section, he describes the solution that was arrived at in the 1970s, a solution that reminds me a lot of the current world of content management systems like WordPress and Blogger, which attempt to separate "meaning" from "form" for text, storing them separately and combining them with little code-libraries called "decorators":

[Deconstruct and isolate] sums up the philosophy of a lot of music recording back in the late seventies. The goal was to get as pristine a sound as possible... Studios were often padded with sound-absorbent materials so that there was almost no reverberation. The sonic character of the space was sucked out, because it wasn't considered to be part of the music. Without this ambiance, it was explained, the sound would be more malleable after the recording had been made. Dead, characterless sound was held up as the ideal, and often still is. In this philosophy, the naturally occurring echo and reverb that normally added a little warmth to performances would be removed and then added back in when the recording was being mixed...

Recording a performance with a band and singer all playing together at the same time in the same room was by this time becoming a rarity. An incredible array of options opened up as a result, but some organic interplay between the musicians disappeared, and the sound of music changed. Some musicians who played well in live situations couldn't adapt to the fashion for each player to be isolated. They couldn't hear their bandmates and, as a result, often didn't play very well.

Changing the technology used in art changes the art, for good and ill. Blog-writing has a lot going for it -- spontaneity, velocity, vernacular informality, but often lacks the reflective distance that longer-form works bring. Byrne has similar observations about music and software:

What you hear [in contemporary music] is the shift in music structure that computer-aided composition has encouraged. Though software is promoted as being an unbiased toold that helps us do anything we want, all software has inherent biases that make working one way easier than another. With the Microsoft presentation software PowerPoint, for example, you have to simplify your presentations so much that the subtle nuances in the subject being discussed often get edited out. These nuances are not forbidden, they're not blocked, but including them tends to make for a less successful presentation. Likewise, that which is easy to bullet-point and simply visualize works better. That doesn't mean it actually is better; it means working is certain ways is simply easier than working in others...

An obvious example is quantizing. Since the mid-nineties, most popular music recorded on computers has had tempos and rhythms that have been quantized. That means that the tempo never varies, not even a little bit, the the rhythmic parts tend toward metronomic perfection. In the past, the tempo of recordings would always vary slightly, imperceptibly speeding up or maybe slowing down a little, or a drum fill might hesitate in order to signal the beginning of a new section. You'd feel a slight push and pull, a tug and then a release, as ensembles of whatever type responded to one another and lurched, ever so slightly, ahead of and behind an imaginary metronomic beat. No more. Now almost all pop recordings are played to a strict tempo, which makes these compositions fit more easily into the confines of editing and recording software. An eight-bar section recorded on a "grid" of this type is exactly twice as long as a four-bar section, and every eight-bar section is always exactly the same length. This makes for a nice visual array on the computer screen, and facilitates easy editing, arranging, and repairing as well. Music has come to accommodate software, and I have to admit a lot has been gained as a result.

Byrne is well aware of the parallels between music technology and other kinds of technology. No history of the recording business would be complete without a note about the format wars fought between Edison and his competitors like RCA, who made incompatible, anti-competitive playback formats. Byrne explicitly links this to modern format-wars, citing MS Office, Kindles, iPads and Pro Tools. (His final word on the format wars rings true for other media as well: "Throughout the history of recorded music, we have tended to value convenience over quality every time. Edison cylinders didn't really sound as good as live performers, but you could carry them around and play them whenever you wanted.")

Likewise, debates over technological change (pooh-poohing the "triviality" of social media or the ephemeral character of blogs) are played out in Byrne's history of music panics, which start in ancient Greece, and play out in situations like the disco wars, which prefigured the modern fight over sampling:

The most threatening thing to rockers in the era of disco was that the music was gay, black and "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings.

Like mixtapes. I'd argue that other than race and sex, [the fact that disco was "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings] was the most threatening aspect. To rock purists, this new music messed with the idea of authorship. If music was now accepted as a kind of property, then this hodgepodge version that disregarded ownership and seemed to belong to and originate with so many people (and machines) called into question a whole social and economic framework.

But as Byrne reminds us, new technology can liberate new art forms. Digital formats and distribution have given us music that is only a few bars long, and compositions that are intended to play for 1,000 years. The MP3 shows us that 3.5 minutes isn't an "ideal" length for a song (merely the ideal length for a song that's meant to be sold on a 45RPM single), just as YouTube showed us that there are plenty of video stories that want to be two minutes long, rather than shoehorned into 22 minute sitcoms, 48 minute dramas, or 90 minute feature films.

And Byrne's own journey has led him to be skeptical of the all-rights-reserved model, from rules over photography and video in his shows:

The thing we were supposed to be fighting against was actually something we should be encouraging. They were getting the word out, and it wasn't costing me anything. I began to announce at the beginning of the shows that photography was welcome, but I suggested to please only post shots and videos where we look good.

To a very good account of the power relationships reflected in ascribing authorship (and ownership, and copyright) to melody, but not to rhythms and grooves and textures, though these are just as important to the music's aesthetic effect.

Byrne doesn't focus exclusively on recording, distribution and playback technology. He is also a keen theorist of the musical implications of architecture, and presents a case-study of the legendary CBGB's and its layout, showing how these led to its center in the 1970s New York music scene that gave us the Ramones, Talking Heads, Television, and many other varied acts. Here, Byrne channels Jane Jacobs in a section that is nothing short of brilliant in its analysis of how small changes (sometimes on the scale of inches) make all the difference to the kind of art that takes place in a building.

There's a long section on the mechanics of the recording business as it stands today, with some speculation about where its headed, and included in this is a fabulous and weird section on some of Byrne's own creative process. Here he describes how he collaborated with Brian Eno on Everything That Happens Will Happen Today:

The unwritten rule in remote collaborations is, for me, "Leave the other person's stuff alone as much as you possibly can." You work with what you're given, and don't try to imagine it as something other than what it is. Accepting that half the creative decision-making has already been done has the effect of bypassing a lot of endless branching -- not to mention waffling and worrying.

And here's a mind-bending look into his lyrics-writing method:

...I begin by improvising a melody over the music. I do this by singing nonsense syllables, but with weirdly inappropriate passion, given that I'm not saying anything. Once I have a wordless melody and a vocal arrangement my my collaborators (if there are any) and I like, I'll begin to transcribe that gibberish as if it were real words.

I'll listen carefully to the meaningless vowels and consonants on the recording, and I'll try to understand what that guy (me), emoting so forcefully by inscrutably, is actually saying. It's like a forensic exercise. I'll follow the sound of the nonsense syllables as closely as possible. If a melodic phrase of gibberish ends on a high ooh sound, then I'll transcribe that, and in selecting the actual words, I'll try to try to choose one that ends in that syllable, or as close to it as I can get. So the transcription process often ends up with a page of real words, still fairly random, that sounds just like the gibberish.

I do that because the difference between an ooh and an aah, and a "b" and a "th" sound is, I assume, integral to the emotion that the story wants to express. I want to stay true to that unconscious, inarticulate intention. Admittedly, that content has no narrative, or might make no literal sense yet, but it's in there -- I can hear it. I can feel it. My job at this stage is to find words that acknowledge and adhere to the sonic and emotional qualities rather than to ignore and possibly destroy them.

Part of what makes words work in a song is how they sound to the ear and feel on the tongue. If they feel right physiologically, if the tongue of the singer and the mirror neurons of the listener resonate with the delicious appropriateness of the words coming out, then that will inevitably trump literal sense, although literal sense doesn't hurt.

Naturally, this leads into a great discussion of the neuroscience of music itself -- why our brains like certain sounds and rhythms.

How Music Works gave me insight into parts of my life as diverse as my email style to how I write fiction to how I parent my daughter (it was a relief to read Byrne's discussion of how parenting changed him as an artist). I've been a David Byrne fan since I was 13 and I got a copy of Stop Making Sense. He's never disappointed me, but with How Music Works, Byrne has blown through my expectations, producing a book that I'll be thinking of and referring to for years to come.

Byrne's touring the book now, and as his tour intersects with my own book tours, I'll be interviewing him live on stage in Toronto on September 19th, at the Harbourfront International Festival of Authors.

How Music Works

https://boingboing.net/2012/09/12/david-byrnes-how-music-w.html

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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years

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At the Opera (Part one)

Pairing: Brian May x F! Singer! Reader.

Fluff! Lot’s of fluff! A bit of angst!

Word Count: 2,000

Content warning: swearing, mentions of boners, Reader and Brian being twice shy, nervous little beans

Context: Brian see’s you make your first big opera debut at school. He falls immediately in love with you. He’s scared of seeming like a creeper, though, and hopes he doesn’t...Switches between his perspective and yours.

Note: I am so excited about this fic I can’t stand it!!!!

First off, I imagine this takes place in the early seventies after Queen I or Queen II and before A Night at the Opera (heh) is released. Secondly, though is written to identify as female, use she/her pronouns, an opera singer, a student, and a soprano, if requested, I can make and send a different version to you. Maybe a reader who is in a musical! Or a straight play! Or is singing a mezzo role! Or a male reader! (etc.). Message me ASAP and I will message a version to you! with your desired version! A second part will be up in time and will probably stop there unless another idea comes. Enjoy and please leave feedback!

Brian had absolutely nothing else to do on a Friday evening except go by himself to an opera by a local University. It was a night where nothing was happening. No work. No papers to grade. No rehearsal. Nothing planned between the band members or his friend. He had those nights before. He was unusually restless. Instead of dwelling in his loneliness he thought he might as well go out. Get his mind from any sadness. And something a little different then heavy drums would be appreciated.

He looked down at the program once he got his seat. “Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi.” According to the summary in his encyclopedia it was only an hour long. If he didn’t like it, it would be over in a wink. After all, when he visited Freddie’s place once he noticed a record of it standing on top of a pile. If it was good enough for Freddie, then it was worth the ticket.

(You)

“Five minutes until the top!”

“Thank you, five!”

You stay still. You don’t really feel like talking to the other cast members. You smooth some of the white skirt and pray that the food crumble from the pre-performance snack doesn’t show. You were nervous. Tonight you were singing Lauretta in Schicchi for the first time- Lauretta! All of the sopranos in the school who it could have been and it was you! It didn’t matter that it was not one of the mainstage operas put on with a budget of millions and the biggest stage offered. It was one of your first major roles and you were doing everything you could not to burst. You had barely slept last night from the anticipation and the toll of exhaustion mixed with excitement were bubbling.

Any wishes of good luck from the cast and crew were forgotten.

“What if the high c’s at the end sound like crap because I was stupid enough not to be able to sleep last night and what…”

“Places for top!”

You took a deep breath, listened to the slow beginning of the overture, and did your best to focus on the story and telling it.

You could still smell the hairspray from your curled hair. The director asked for a more “natural” look to contrast Lauretta from the more exaggerated commedia-esque stock characters and yet it took you longer to do your hair and make-up because your hands were shaking so bad. You wanted to look like the flawless ingenue, but you felt briefly that you were just a toad in lipstick. How could anyone onstage believe you?

It was a while before you entered. Yet you stayed backstage, focusing on the meaning of every last note and word. The singer playing your onstage father, the titular Schicchi, walked up to prepare for your first entrance. You both didn’t appear until twenty minutes in, but it was getting close.

He smiled and winked at you and then went into character with his smart, cynical frown. You took my place next to him, held the skirt of your white medieval gown as demurely as you could muster, and prepared for the sound cue to enter.

Once you entered, you carried on, just like in rehearsal. Reacting in the moment and singing with the clearest Italian you could and with as much focus on breath as possible. At one point, when Rinuccio, your onstage lover, held your hands, you both began to wail beautifully about how you both could not be married on May Day. You indulged a look away from the conductor to the audience.

It was a smaller theatre-actually the smallest theatre on the campus that could still allow a piano and a string quartet. Plenty of old couples, college girls with long hair and red lips, and close to the middle, there was a very tall, thin, young man with a lion’s mane of curly, brown hair. Ironically, he seemed to be more into the opera than anyone else.

You were back in a second to the opera. You heard Schicchi’s “Non! Non! Non!”

Naturally, you begin singing your aria, “O mio babbio caro...”

(Bri)

Though Brian was delighted by the opera by the first note and laughing at the onstage family’s antics and allowing the music to charm him.

Then you entered onstage.

“Her eyes are so pretty and expressive…and she’s so small, she’s like a baby bird, oh, if only she was a little bird or even a cat I could hold in my hands for just a minute and her hair seems so soft, and, oh…that smile, oh she’s smiling, that fucking smile, she’s so beautiful and adorable, oh hell, oh hell. Oh fuck, and that voice, oh fuck, that voice. It’s so gorgeous and warm and genuine, oh, I’m so sorry Fred, but oh fuck, that voice, if only she could look at me, please look at me, please look at me and sing for me, just one word, please”

You crossed to a man - who was supposed to be her lover. Brian suddenly felt his stomach drop and his face twist to a frown.

“You git, it’s make believe. They aren’t together in real life...I hope they aren’t

He tried to peel his eyes away to another cast member to see what else they would do onstage that would amuse him. But he kept finding he was stealing quick glances.

When you began your aria, he felt tears well up in his eyes. It was so sweet sounding.

“O mio babbino caro! Mi piace, e bello, bello!”

He looked down at the translation program:

“Oh my dear papa! He pleases me, he is handsome!”

Brian had a sudden wish he was that boy. He felt the tears fall once he heard of Lauretta’s wish to die if she could not marry him.

“No , no, not you, the boy…”

(You)

You finished the aria. Looking into the audience, You were shocked to see a standing ovation.

Well, that is, one standing ovation. From the tall man with curly hair. And he was applauding like his life depended on it. A few others decided to follow suit and stood up to applaud and cheer. You did your best not to smile. Then once it had died down, Schicchi continued with his line- “Datemi il testamento!”

(Bri)

Brian sat down. He was flushed with embarrassment. How could he have been so…so much? But it was just so wonderful.

He was sighing once Schicchi sent Lauretta away and you left the stage.

He kept staring at the space where she left. He liked the plot of the opera well enough, but he felt himself leaning forward in his seat with impatience.

Once you appeared onstage for the last duet of triumph with Rinuccio, He was wondering if that man realized how lucky he was.

“I would wrap my arms around her l. I would hold her so tight that she would know she is safe, and everything is alright, now. I would look into those eyes looking up at me, I would pull her in, and then I would lean down so I can reach her lips and kiss…”

He pinched his own hand. “Focus, focus, the story is ending…wait…oh god, what if I have a stiffy! Shit! Shitshitshithshitshit!”

He looked down at his pants. Nothing was showing…that was obvious, at least. He had stopped himself before letting his fantasies go further. Still, he undid two buckles on his belt, just to be safe.

He looked down at the program, flipping to the cast list on the second page.

“Lauretta…(Y/F/N Y/L/N)”

(You)

The cast and crew gathered in the lobby for everyone to say their congratulations. You felt a ping of sadness that your family and friends could not make it. The most they could do was send some flowers, dangling in your arms.

You saw him stand a little in the corner, awkardly. He seemed very quiet. You glanced up at him and felt him glance up at you and your eyes shot back down. Then you looked back up and saw him look down. He was definitely close to your age.

Finally, you locked eyes for a bit. He swiftly walked to you and the flowers trembled in your arms. You wanted to run behind the stage door and slam it shut, yet at the same time you didn’t.

He walked up and said “Hi, I’m Brian, Brian May.”

“Hi Brian, I’m Y/N.”

Is someone actually approaching me???? And starting the conversation??

“ I just wanted to let you know, you were astounding. Your song was my favorite part…and this was my first opera!” Brian said

“Oh wow! Schicchi’s a great first opera.” you say, swallowing. “It’s a comedy, after all, and most people don’t think of opera’ as funny.”

“I loved it! I laughed so much! How do you keep from laughing onstage?”

“I breathe really slowly and focus, Brian.” You dropped his name and froze.

Wow, I must seem forward. But I don’t want to forget it...

“That’s wonderful, and the music is just, just incredible! What is it like to sing it?” he asked.

Your brain began to spiral from your shyness and desperation to seem confident.

“It’s very…it’s, I don’t know, it’s intimidating. My voice is rather small for Puccini, he likes bigger voices, so I was really nervous doing this role. My legs were shaking all the time onstage.”

It struck you how handsome Brian really was. His height and hair made him seem intimidating, but his smile and eyes were soft, nonthreatening. His hair framed his cheekbones in a way that made him beautiful, in his own way. And when he reached his hands out and stretched out his fingers, they moved as fluidly as a dancers. His speaking was gentle, almost quiet, but clear. Like a kindly fairy prince.

“I couldn’t tell!” he said. He added a smile that made you feel like you were hit by a train.

“It’s the dress! Really! Our costume people were geniuses” you say.

You began feeling self-conscious-didn’t want to appear weird or snobby or ugly to him.

“But you seemed so…so calm and confident. I’m a musician, but uhm…I’m not a classical musician, you could say. But my friend loves opera, so I decided to try it. So I know what it’s like to be nervous about how you do, you were incredible.” Brian adds, folding his arms.

“A musician! Do you play anything or sing!?” You say, it would be polite to steer the conversation towards him.

“Both…uhm…” he crawled in a little “I do sing, and there’s a lot I play, but the guitar is my favorite.”

Guitars, guitars, what can I say to him that would be interesting about guitars?

“I…I like guitars. It’s such a soothing sound.”

Brilliant, you idiot girl

“Do you play?” you add, hoping for a save.

He just said he played, crap, he’s gonna laugh at me.

“Er, yes, yes I do!” He smiled genuinely

“I play in a band, and I do lots but usually it’s electric guitar. Is there any instrument you play, Y/N?”

“I struggle with piano. I love the sound, but I don’t know how to really play it. Most of the time, I pluck out melodies. It’s partly how I learned this role.” you say. Your face got hot and you felt red as an apple.

“I could maybe…”

There were some clicks, the lights in the back were going out. People were clearing out of the lobby.

“Well, it’s closing…we have another performance tomorrow.” you add on.

“Any others?” Brian asked. He began to stroke his chin in fascination.

“No, just two… You could tell your friends about it.” You said,

“I will” Brian said.

“Same time, same place.” You remind him, feeling a tiny, shy grin on your face.

There was a little pause.

“Thank you for talking with me, Brian, it means a lot, since it’s my first big role” you blurt quickly. You didn’t want to get locked out of the theater by accident.

“I enjoyed tonight a lot, Y/N...”

“Goodbye, Brian.”

Goodbye Y/N.”

You turned around and walked out. You realized you were the last to turn in your costume, change, and leave the theater. You were happy with how you sang, but you felt sad. You wished you could see that kind, handsome man again...Maybe you never would.

(Bri)

Brian couldn’t go to sleep and kept tossing and turning in his bed.

Just one more performance…

He had to go. But he was… was frightened. You were so beautiful and caring that he didn’t know if he could survive a second meeting without exploding from nerves. You would think he was a creep and the thought of it made him nauseous. He couldn’t go.

At least, not alone.

There was rehearsal tomorrow. He could leave a little early and still arrive to the theater on time. There was enough time to talk one of them, at least, to go...

Deacy would shy away. He would be too worried and his worry would pile onto Brian’s worry until they were a mess.

Roger?

- rather be shot than go to an opera.

Besides, Roger would guess the real reason Brian wanted to go. The thought of Roger wolf-whistling at you during your aria made him want to crawl under a rock.

That left only one member of the band, then. The one that could help him.

And naturally, the opera fan among them.

#queen #queen fanfiction #brian may x reader #brian may x you #brain may #freddie mercury #brian may fluff #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody movie #classic rock #reader fanficiton #brian may x female reader #queen fluff #all queue wanna do #brian may fic

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missjanjie · 5 years

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Branjie Fic | Take Me Back to the Start (4/?)

Title: Take Me Back to the Start Summary: Everyone remembers their first love. Not everyone carries those feelings from childhood to senior year. Yet Brock is starting his last year of high school while still longing for the relationship he lost five years ago. Meanwhile, José is at the top of the food chain and seems to have it all together. But maybe their story isn’t over yet. Word Count: ~3.1k (this chapter) / ~12.7k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: T (so far)

Read on AO3

“Are you stupid?”

José pouted and looked down. “I feel like that’s a trick question, ain’t it?”

Not long after the argument at the hospital, he sought out a fresh perspective. He and Silky were very close – even though he’d been using that nickname for so long that he’d get sincerely confused when a teacher used his real one – if there was anyone he thought he could confide in, Silky was that friend.

Silky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your mans went and had a whole ass fight with Brock and you still didn’t find that shit inexcusable?”

“I’m gonna break up with him!” he snapped before recoiling back into himself. “But then everyone’s gonna think he was right, that me and B got something going on.”

He tilted his head. “And why’s that so bad? Cause y’all had a thing as kids?” His tone softened a bit. “That ain’t a big deal.”

José sighed and tucked his knees under his chin. “It ain’t like that. I just don’t want him to look bad, like a rebound or the ‘other man’ or whatever, even though nothin’ happened between us.”

“Do you want something to happen?”

That brought the conversation to a sudden halt. He hadn’t really thought about it. Or at least, he hadn’t wanted to think about it. It would be embarrassing, he thought, to go back to someone he liked as a child. Why? Well, he didn’t have an answer for that either.

Finally, José shrugged. “I dunno,” he reluctantly confessed. “I mean, it’s cool or whatever that we still get along but like… ain’t that kinda lame? You can’t find someone new so you go back to your first boyfriend… pathetic.”

“I think it’s romantic. Like in a Nicholas Sparks type of way, and I know you a sucker for that corny shit.” He let out a quiet laugh. “You know that’s a white people Hallmark movie somewhere.”

He cracked a smile and looked down. When Silky put it that way, it didn’t sound bad at all. In fact it was kind of romantic. Maybe he had been looking at this all wrong. “I don’t wanna go after him just ‘cause it’s a cute story, though.”

“Then it’s between you and you to figure out how the fuck you feel.” Silky shrugged. “‘Cause if you don’t want him, I’mma shoot my shot. He fine for a white boy.”

José laughed and shoved him playfully. “Bitch, shut the fuck up!”

------

José sat Kyle down on his sofa before sitting down as well, pointedly leaving more than a solid foot of space between them. As confident as he was in his decision, he was anxious as well. He had linked so much of his social persona to this relationship – it was as if he was breaking up with part of his identity. “You know what’s gonna happen next.”

Kyle just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “It’s really some fucking bullshit that you’re taking his side in this,” he huffed.

“He didn’t do nothin’! You jumped him ‘cause you don’t trust me, even though I’m not the untrust- mis- the one that can’t be trusted!” His cheeks flared red and his eyes appeared to darken – now he wished it hadn’t taken so long to reach his breaking point. “I’m so fucking tired of you making everything someone else’s fault.”

“Oh, so it’s always my fault now?”

“Well it sure as shit ain’t never your fault!” José took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of getting overemotional. “Just leave, Kyle. I’m done with yo’ ass for good.”

Kyle scoffed as he got up. “For good, right. You’ll come crawling back around once dancer boy gets sick of you. Not just anyone can put up with that attitude,” and with that, he left, slamming the door shut behind him.

He waited until he was certain he was alone before he allowed his emotions to take hold. Tears were flooding from his eyes and strangled sobs forced their way from his throat. It was a terrible feeling he wanted to avoid – he didn’t want to shed a single tear for him, let alone break down like this.

And this didn’t mean he was ready to address his relationship with Brock yet. There was only so much emotional turmoil he could subject himself to at once. He was so tired of feeling everything so intensely, exhausted after every time he was sent down a spiral. It was something he envied about Brock, he supposed – he could handle so much without faltering, even when he got angry, it wasn’t even close to being on the same scale of Kyle or himself. Maybe everything would be clearer if he had an even temperament, but that was too far fetched.

But now José was left in limbo, and it didn’t take long for it to start driving him crazy. He needed something, anything to distract himself, and he went up to his room in hopes of finding just that.

His eyes fixed on the pile of presents he’d never gotten around to opening. In the days following his birthday, the wounds were still too fresh for him to let himself go through them, but now was as good a time as any. Besides, he knew it’d probably be mostly cash, and there was never a bad time for that.

Overall, his guess wasn’t too far off – he’d accumulated plenty of money, gift cards, and Rihanna merchandise, but something stood out to him. There was a neatly wrapped box with a gold bow on top - it shone and sparkled in a way that stood out among all the paper and plastic. Granted, it didn’t stand a chance against José tearing through it, but the real prize was on the inside.

The box contained a gold, iced-out pendant necklace with a ‘J’ embossed on it. It was eye-catching in a way that some people would find garish or over the top, but not José. To him, it was beautiful, perfect. It was the type of bling and flair he lived for. In fact, he was so caught up in fawning over it that he’d nearly neglected the card.

In contrast to the shiny gift, the card was simple and to-the-point. It was a standard birthday card on the front. “Dear José,” he read, “I hope you have a great birthday, I definitely missed going to them, and it’s so fun hanging out with you again. Sincerely, Brock.”

Oh.

Well, there went his decision to ignore sorting out his feelings. It wasn’t that Brock got him the best gift – that would just be shallow. Rather, it was that outside his immediate family, no one else had gone out of their way to put effort into picking out a gift for him, no one had invested that much care. Shit, Kyle had only gotten him one of those gift boxes from Lush (which would have thrilled him at the time, perhaps).

Before José let this train of thought go any further, however, there was one important thing to figure out. He had to know where he stood with Brock in the wake of everything that had transpired. There was no point in indulging these feelings if they were one sided, and there was only one way to find out the truth.

------

Gym class was José’s only opportunity to set his course of action. With Brock now at cheer practice, this was the only time he would be able to talk to Courtney unaccompanied by her two friends. He waved her over, leading off to the side by the bleachers. “Does Brock hate me? You know, after the fight and whatever?”

Courtney blinked, processing the rapidly asked question. “He definitely doesn’t hate you,” she was able to quickly assure. “He’s… I don’t know, maybe a little confused, I’d even go as far as to say frustrated. You know he’s never been in a fight, this is totally new for him.”

That was fair, certainly nothing he could complain about. If anything, he was relieved -- he had braced himself for the worst. “I did break up with Kyle,” he quietly confessed. “He really chewed my ass out for that.”

“Well… can you really blame him for that?”

“‘Course not. Don’t mean I ain’t hoping he’s not still ignoring me, you know?” José pressed his lips together and looked away. He couldn’t articulate what he was feeling, but he hated it.

Courtney didn’t want to smile as he was obviously upset, but she was more excited about the opportunity to bring the two boys back together. “Why don’t you come sit with us at lunch? You guys can hash everything out and hopefully move past this whole thing.”

Even by José’s standards, that seemed a little too simple. But he didn’t see any other option, so he agreed. “I’ll see you guys then.”

The time between gym class and lunch was filled with anxiety and uncertainty. José paid even less attention than usual in class -- figuring out what to say to Brock took precedent. Most everyone knew he didn’t have a way with words -- he often just said as many as he could in one breath and hoped they made sense. But if nothing else, he owed him an honest, well-thought conversation.

By the time the bell rang, he didn’t feel confident per sé, but he felt better knowing that he wasn’t going in blind. He walked into the cafeteria with a deep breath, stopping only to get his lunch before making his way past his usual table to the much less-populated one. “Mind if I sit here?”

Courtney slid over on the bench and patted the vacant spot between her and Brock. “Sit, sit.” She gestured him over.

Brock looked up, his sandwich still in both hands and in the middle of chewing the big bite he’d taken out of it. “H’lo,” he managed to say, blinking away the surprise in his expression. He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “To what do we owe the honor?”

“I ain’t been feeling right about what happened since it happened,” José decided to dive right into it before he chickened out. “I shoulda seen how fucked up Kyle was and dumped him on the spot. And I did, but not soon enough. I dunno if you’re still mad at me – and I get it if you are – but I’m real sorry.”

Brock took a moment to actually absorb his apology. Part of him wanted to say it was too little, too late, but it wasn’t. It probably never would have been. He strummed his fingers on the table and chewed his lip. “I’m glad you finally came to your senses. I accept your apology,” he finally answered.

José exhaled deeply, a massive weight lifting off of his chest that allowed his entire body to relax. He didn’t realize just how much Brock’s forgiveness meant to him until he got it. “Thanks, B.” He managed to get himself to make eye contact with him. “Really does mean a lot.”

“You can stay and hang out with us, if you want,” Courtney offered when everything seemed calm and quiet. She looked over at Brock for confirmation, but it was clear she wouldn’t be able to get his attention with the way his gaze was fixated on José.

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Brock observed with a soft smile.

José’s hand instinctively went to the pendant, gently clutching the letter. “Yeah,” he smiled softly and looked down. “It’s really… it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You should’ve seen him at the mall on a wild goose chase for it. Thought we’d be there til closing,” Steven chimed in, then winced as he was kicked under the table. “What? It was like a really intense treasure hunt.”

Red-faced, Brock looked down and chewed on his bottom lip. “It looks good on you,” he said, effectively ignoring his friend’s commentary. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it.”

Suddenly feeling like third wheels, Courtney and Steven shifted off to the other end of the table - not that the other two noticed, of course. They exchanged broad grins and nods of approval as things seemed to finally start to fall into place.

“You still coming to practice today, right? Routine’s finally starting to, you know, shape up.”

Brock nodded, still beaming warmly. “Of course. Can’t let the team down, right?” He nudged José lightly. He still wasn’t a choreographer, but they’d both grown a confidence in his ability to pull something together in time.

José nodded, then cleared his throat. “Coach wants us to have somethin’ to show by next week. Not like, the whole damn thing, but we gotta show we not just fuckin’ around or whatever.”

The pressure was on then, and Brock had to make a conscious effort to not seem affected. If he started to stress, José would feed off that energy, and everything would fall apart before it even had the chance to come together. “We’ll just have to work harder; you and I can fit in some extra time, right?”

“Yeah. You busy later? We can meet up after school. Gym’s gonna be in use though, so I don’t know–”

“Oh, just come over then.”

It seemed like a reasonable, obvious suggestion. But José felt his heart jump into his throat and his cheeks tint red. “Sure!” he answered before his silence seemed suspicious (silence in itself for him was practically out of his character).

Luckily for him, Brock didn’t seem to notice. “Okay, great.” He smiled.

Not long after that, the bell rang and the two of them had to go their separate ways. Once alone, Courtney and Steven caught back up to Brock, both grinning broadly.

“Don’t say it.”

They didn’t need to – their shit-eating grins were enough to make him groan and roll his eyes. “Look, I’m just glad we’re on good terms. That’s it, okay?” he insisted, regardless of how unconvincing it was.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t convinced of it himself. He had really thought he was getting over his crush, only to realize he couldn’t even go a week without falling right back into it. The only thing that was different this time was the glimmer of hope that it wasn’t completely one-sided anymore.

------

José pushed his hands into his pockets as he looked around the bedroom. While there had been some obvious cosmetic changes since his last visit, he was still hit with a wave of nostalgia.

“Aw, you still got that dent in the wall!” He crouched down and ran his hand over the spot. It was the result of Brock attempting to teach him some of his competition dance moves with less than ideal results.

Brock chuckled and sat at the edge of his bed. “It adds character.” That, and he was the sentimental type. Even if the memory would damage the potential resale value of the house, he wouldn’t want to erase it. “That said, we should probably be careful if we practice the routine in here,” he added with a laugh.

“Hey! I know what I’m doing now!” he huffed, though he couldn’t stifle a laugh. “‘Sides, you don’t get to the top without some damage.”

“From what I hear, you’re not a top at all,” he retorted.

José’s face flushed red. “Don’t worry ‘bout what you been hearing,” he said, then muttered “even if it’s true.”

Truth be told, Brock hadn’t heard it anywhere - it was just a hunch that turned out to be right on the nose. Not that it mattered to him or anything, of course. It certainly wasn’t something he had thought about more than once or twice. “I won’t go around talking, don’t worry,” he assured as he got his notebook out. “Now, what the hell are we gonna pull together by next week?”

“Don’t look at me, you the brains of this little operation here.”

Brock frowned and reached out to tug at his arm and pull the smaller male to sit beside him on the bed. “That’s not true, you’ve got plenty of smarts in this field. You said it yourself, you made your way to the top, collateral damage and all.”

That made José turn redder than the ‘top’ comment had, albeit for a different reason. He had been complimented for a variety of things over the years, but never for being smart, even when it came to things that he knew he excelled at. That sort of word just didn’t get associated with him. And for the most part, it didn’t bother him - it wasn’t even something he thought about very often. But hearing that - hearing that from Brock - caused a pleasant warmth to spread through him, a warmth he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

“Guess I can’t argue with that.” He shrugged, doing his best to play it off nonchalantly and focusing his attention on the routine. With the background they had built up, they had actually made significant progress in their outline, leaving them right on track to be able to turn something in with the coach on time.

It did come at the expense of taking up the rest of their day - not that either of them seemed to notice, until José finally looked out the window. “Oh shit, it’s dark out. Told my mama I’d be home for dinner, better haul ass home,” he chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet.

Brock nodded as he got up. “Understandable, tell her I said hi,” he hummed as he helped him gather his things.

“We’ll do this again tomorrow, we did good,” José threw his bag over his shoulder and started towards the door.

But then he stopped. He stood in place. Then he turned to face Brock’s direction, his body otherwise frozen in place.

“Did you forget something?”

“Yeah,” José suddenly broke into a brisk walk towards him, an impulse propelling him forward. “This,” he grabbed Brock by his shirt, pulling him in and kissing him hard.

Brock’s eyes went wide, then shut completely. One hand rested on José’s shoulder, the other on the back of his head. He kissed back, losing himself in the moment and allowing years of longing to pour into that one moment.

Neither of them wanted to be the one to break it, leaving them both breathing heavily when they had no other choice. A few quiet moments followed, both of them grinned from ear to ear.

“I really do gotta go,” José finally said, turning to leave and, with his hand on the doorknob, turned his head back to him, offering a wink and a smile before making his exit.

#branjie #branjie fic #rpdr rpf #rpdr fanfiction

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aspinelikeasword · 5 years

Text

A Voyeur of My Own Body

*CW: mention of sexual trauma, dissociation

I want to feel, in my body, my own growing beliefs. I want to feel and embody the boundaries I create and the accomplishments I’ve made. I really want to feel the love people give me, the compliments, the pleasure, the acts of service. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t live solely in my head, viewing the world, myself, and my experiences through a convex perspective of dissociation.

The conditioning to repress and hide my feelings is a destructive narrative that I grew up with; that other people will be pulled down, disgusted, and not want to be around me. That they might even die if I cried or expressed hurt. Everything was made out to be a catastrophe when I was little, and I felt like the smallest person with the greatest negative influence.

I grew up divorced from my emotions, rationalizing everything, which trapped me in this neural pathway that I run deeper and deeper when I feed the same thought patterns, making it increasingly difficult to switch tracks. This endless etching triggers feelings that trigger actions. I then overthink those actions which compound into an endless cycle of behaviours that go down to a cellular level.

My healing feels like honey has been poured over my head and it is settling; moving slowly downward and around. Trickles are starting to move into my chest, wrapping warm, golden tendrils around my heart. My mind activates at this foreign feeling and the thoughts start to tangle in the sticky cloud in my head.

I’m trying to take care to come into my body, to stay with myself as much as I want to flee, to feel my emotions, and try to locate their presence. This is so damn hard but I know it’s where all my healing needs to happen. I need to move the rocks at the bottom of the depths to allow the sediment to filter to the surface. I’ve come to this place because nothing else is working. My mind, while quicksilver, is not a place to find my higher self. My physical being is starting to exhibit palpable pain and discomfort. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I owe it to myself to find out how good it can be, how secure, how happy.

------------------------

I recognize that my inability to allow anyone to touch my body, especially with tenderness (other than safe hugs from people I trust) is rooted in sexual and physical trauma. I learned that it wasn’t safe to occupy my body; that I couldn’t carry it without shame, without fear, or a sense of looking out of my eyes through the male gaze, like a voyeur of my own body.

So I built those walls out of self-protection, but I built them so high and so thick that it’s turned against me and now few can get in and I can’t find my way out.

Maybe the walls serve another heart-breaking purpose. Maybe the barrier I created not only keeps me away from the threat of abandonment, of rejection, of hurt and abuse, but it keeps my own body out; divorce my mind and change the locks. My physical self was a tool that turned into a weapon used against me and I’ve grown to hate the violence it holds, the remnants of all the people who intruded upon my body and the space around it.

There is a term in forensics called Locard’s Exchange Principle that says that anytime you make contact with a person, place or thing, you take something with you and leave something behind. Traditionally, this means stuff like DNA, clothing, and fingerprints. But what about all the stuff that can’t be bagged and tagged?

How do I remove from my body the essence, the words, the energy, the social conditioning? How do I reclaim a body that seems so far away that I can’t even feel it? How do you reclaim what you can’t touch or grab onto and pull back? And how do I grieve so much lost time, lost pleasure, lost feeling, lost evolution? I’m so close to all of this, my face pressed up against the glass with such force, trying to find the answers, that I can’t see a hand in front of my face.

------------------------

Something that I’ve held onto for years, something that soothes me is the scientific fact that every 7 years, every cell in your body is replaced with a new one. That means that you have a new physical self at 7, 14, 21, 28 etc.

It also means that people from your past haven’t touched the body you have. They haven’t felt your skin, they haven’t looked into your beautiful eyes. It’s like they never existed, as though it never happened, which can be comforting if you don’t look deeper. My physical body fell away, but the energy left behind is still there; the stain on the floor, the imprint on my heart. It’s mingling with those new cells and I don’t want them casting impressions.

I want so badly to heal RIGHT NOW because I feel like everything I want, everything I want to be and do is on the other side of the roadblock of trauma I can’t seem to move or see around. But it’s a honey-drip. It’s a slow, subtle warming that burns my skin on contact, like standing in the shower when you have a fever. It acclimates with time, a willingness to feel, and with trust in myself and the process. I’m working on this.

------------------------ For now though, there is one thing I come back to that makes me feel solid and held down by gravity, the great weighted blanket of the universe: dancing. When I got sober, I didn’t go out dancing for two years. I was scared I’d be bad at it, that people would stare, and my social anxiety would choke me out because I had only ever danced in public while drunk out of my mind. I was a good dancer then (or at least that’s what I told myself because I didn’t care who saw me, I didn’t care about much to be honest). When I finally went out dancing with friends two winters ago, it felt like a spiritual experience. I moved with abandon and realized that I actually am a good dancer. Or I genuinely no longer cared what anyone thought of me.

So I dance wildly, taking up space because I made myself small for so long and it hurt so bad. I dance with my eyes closed now, not because I’m self-conscious, but because it helps me come into my body. And my god, I feel free. I feel exhilarated, like I’m experiencing my highest self. I move about the room like a butterfly, testing out my integrated self, dancing on my own or with random people who respect my personal space. I’m in the moment and nothing hurts.

But I haven’t danced in a while. For all the self-confidence I have developed and the self-care I prioritize, I still struggle with pleasure (sexual or otherwise) and feeling like I deserve to feel good so I don’t do the very things I know will help me heal. I’m also working on this.

-----------------------

I wrote this early one morning when everything was quiet and I was shot through with inspiration. Then as I strung together the sentences the fear started to set in that it would be too much, too scary, too triggering for anyone who might read it. That people would think I’m broken beyond repair and who could ever love all this?

Fuck that voice. That’s not my voice. So I’m putting it all down here, a proper place to honour these feelings, to make them real and valid. I’m doing the opposite of what my mind wants me to do and I can’t stop crying. It’s that deep, feral outpouring, the kind that feels like my body is trying to speak, so I’m letting it. I’m practicing radical honesty, vulnerability, and compassion by sharing all of this, by standing on top of the shame and planting my flag of resilience.

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krackheadkulture · 6 years

Text

OUR MIDNIGHT

Pairing: OC X Han Jisung Word Count: 12k+ Genre: Fluff, Romance, Dance AU

[FIRST PERSON PERSPECTIVE]

My mother was not a smart lady nor was she one that was respected by many. People often looked down at the ragged clothing of hers whenever she was on the streets selling bread. However, she was the one who taught me many things that I needed in life more than what the schools could offer. When I first started working at the age of 16, she only gave me one advice without a look of concern or worry in her eyes: ‘If anyone dares try to hit on you, tell them that you have plastic surgery’. The 16 year old me would look at my mother as if she was crazy but after some tries, it did work like a charm! It was very helpful indeed for the next two years, especially since I started working at a small café near a university where male teenagers or young adults would visit often. It did work well, but no plan can ever succeed without a tiny flaw, and that was also how I met him.

It was a quiet Monday evening, finally ending the first week of working at the café. My job was easy in the evening since many people have ended school and have headed home or to the Internet cafes to play games. The café was partially empty, with only a couple of students huddling together to study quietly amongst themselves.

Since there were not many customers, instead of making coffees, I was cleaning the tables until I heard a quiet ring of the bell hanging just above the door to notify me that a customer had entered. I paused at my place and immediately headed to the counter to take the customer’s order on cue.

“Hello, welcome to Heaven’s café,” I greeted with a small smile as I looked up, seeing my customer for the first time. He was a boy around my age. His face was hidden behind a black cap, a black disposable mask and a pair of round thin gold-framed glasses. He was wearing a white t-shirt paired with a black leather jacket and black pants. “What would you like to order?”

The boy looked down at the menu and glanced at me. His brown eyes made a short eye contact with me before pointing to a beverage on the menu. “A tall iced Americano, please,” he replied. His voice was a little husky. I gave him another smile before noting down the order onto the register.

“One tall ice Americano,” I repeated. “That will be 3,000 won.” The boy nodded his head before handing me the money from his pocket. I quickly placed the money into the cash register and handed him the receipt. “Thank you. Please take a seat and wait while I get you your drink ready immediately.” I turned around to start making his coffee, filling the café once again with the bitter yet amazing aroma of the fresh coffee beans. It did not take long for me to finally make the cup of Americano and headed to the table that the boy was seated at. I made my way to the corner right of the café that was hidden away from many people’s eyes and settled the coffee in front of him with a smile. “There you go,” I said before turning around.

“Are you new here?” The husky voice asked, causing me to halt at my feet. I turned around and raised my eyebrow at the mysterious looking boy. “I haven’t seen you before,” he explained.

“Yes,” I replied carefully. “I just started a week ago.” “That’s why…” he replied with a nod. “You caught my eye for a moment.”

I raised my eyebrows. Was this a sign of flirting? I asked myself before deciding on my new response. “I had plastic surgery,” I cut in immediately, using my mom’s advice, which now forced him to look confused.

He stared hard at me for a couple of seconds, unhinged by my response before finally breaking down into a laugh. “What are you trying to say? Is… is this perhaps your way of rejecting guys that hit on you?”

My face reddened a little when he realized my method. I nodded my head reluctantly. “Yes,” I whispered.

“That’s a very interesting way of rejecting guys, I have to admit it but don’t worry, I was just curious because this café is the one that I normally visit,” the boy said. His voice sounded muffled through the mask.

“My mom taught me that,” I explained. “She’s nothing much but she is my role model.”

“Then I respect her,” the boy smiled. His eyes bent into crescents. It actually looked adorable on him.

“Me too,” I nodded my head, suddenly sadden as I thought of her but the sadness vanished almost immediately as I faced him. “But why would you ask? I didn’t know any customers that were interested in knowing the staffs.”

He gave me a quiet smile without saying anything. I glanced at him for a moment, observing him, and then the clothes he wore. I opened my mouth, almost regretting the words that came out of my lips. “But since… I told you a little about myself, let’s hear a little about you then. What’s with the mask and the… cover up?”

“I only asked you if you were new,” the boy laughed. “But I should return the favor then. However, if I told you, you might get shocked.” “Why?” I raised my eyebrow. “Are you… some kind of celebrity or something?”

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrow. “How did you know?” He asked, finally pulling down his mask to reveal his face. His cheeks puffed up as he spoke. I shrugged my shoulders.

“I have… a way with things,” I replied shortly. Looking at him made me smile a lot because god, he was actually really good looking. His smile made his eyes brighten up.

“My name’s Han,” the boy finally introduced himself.

“Han? I’m Miyeon,” I replied with another smile. “Would I be seeing you anywhere on the news soon, Mr. Celebrity?”

He chuckled before shrugging. “Who knows,” he smiled and looked down at his fingers before slipping a ring out of his index finger, placing it on the table. “Well, let me know if you finally see me on the news.” He stood up with his drink and started to walk away.

“Your ring!” I stared at the ring and then back at him.

“Give it back to me once you see and know me,” he smiled and winked at me before disappearing through the doors. I wrapped my hand around the silver ring and stared at it, sighing. I was not even sure if there were any chance of me ever meeting him again.

I normally worked at the café every other day except for Sunday. During the weekdays, the working hours for me started at 4pm, an hour right after I finished school- that was enough time to fetch my brother from my neighbors whom kindly offered to pick my brother up from primary school back home- until about 11pm. Monday and Friday were the only days that I was able to finish work at about 7pm so I was able to do my own personal matters and that was mostly dancing. A few weeks ago, before I have even worked at the café, I had always enjoyed dancing and when one of my friends introduced me to this major dance competition, I thought it was finally a chance to live for what I loved and joined the competition. So the two days were always the only days including half the day of Sunday to practice.

However, after the meeting with the mysterious man, my mind was so distracted- filled with curiosity about Han- that it lead to me completely missing the appointed time with my dance partner by an hour. I cursed at myself once I finally looked at the clock, the first time I ever looked away from the silver ring in my hands. I quickly headed back to the staffs’ resting room and grabbed my bag from my locker before dashing out to the dance studio.

It took me about twenty minutes to reach the dance studio after spending the rest of my remaining energy running for my life. I took two steps at a time up the stairs to the second floor of one of the many blocks and barged through the glass doors of the dance studio’s entrance.

The receptionist tilted her head slightly at the door and nodded her head in acknowledgement when she saw me. She pointed at the corridor to her left side. “He’s waiting for you in studio 5. What happened today, Miyeon? You’re usually not late at all.”

“I got carried away by accident,” I explained, trying to catch my breath as I dashed past the receptionist to the studio that she had mention. “Thanks a lot, Miss Jang!”

As soon as I reached the dance studio, I pushed opened the wooden brown door that opened up to a gigantic space. Lights were lit everywhere in the room, making everything brighter. The large mirror that was on the opposite of the door reflected all the light illuminated and in the middle of the room, a boy about a year or two older than me sat on the polished wood floor.

The boy looked up from the ground to see me through the mirror. His hair was wet from the sweat and it covered his eyes, making his expression unidentifiable. “You’re late,” his voice echoed across the room. “What happened?”

“Sorry,” I tried to smile weakly as I closed the door behind him. “I… I got carried away.” The boy pushed his black hair away from his face and gave me a smile.

“It’s okay, Miyeon. I get it,” he explained. “You must still be thinking how being late might affect me since I have a tight schedule but don’t worry. Mondays, Fridays and Sundays are always dedicated to our dance practices no matter what my group has to do.”

“Thank you so much for understanding, Minho,” I said gratefully. “I just… feel bad for stealing you away from your group and your members.”

“Stray Kids can live even for a few hours without me,” Minho grinned before standing up. “And while you weren’t here, I took the initiative to order food for you because I have a feeling that you have not eaten.”

I smiled at my friend. Lee Minho had been my childhood friend ever since I was about 6 and him about 8. We met one another in a dance camp and we instantly clicked together as soon as we were placed in the same group. I watched him grew as he watched me grew as well. I knew how important dance was to him. He had gotten into a career out of dance, starting from being the backup dancer for BTS to breaking out of his shell to becoming a trainee of JYP. It had been so hard for him. He had been pushed down onto the ground and had spent his time at the lowest during the period of time but he remained strong and stayed determined and alas, finally debuting into his group: Stray Kids.

I did not knew Stray Kids well enough but from what Minho had told me, they seem to be really supportive for one another and have a lot of passion in what they did, which I truly respected. They were all so close that they treated one another as family members instead of just colleagues or friends, and that was definitely one of the beauty I saw in the group; they were able to sacrifice anything just to help their family.

I glanced at Minho’s face and smiled before looking at the food he had order. The floor was covered in different delicacies ranging from street food to restaurant-made, all which were my all-time favorites. “You didn’t have to,” I blushed. “You could’ve just gotten me a convenient store sandwich and I’ll be satisfied, happy and full!” I pouted.

“And make sure you’re malnutrition? Not on my watch, sister,” Minho said, earning a laugh from me.

“But how can we finish all of these food? You should’ve brought Jisung along! Did you not say that he couldn’t live without you? And from what I have heard from you, he loves to eat,” I giggled.

I have never met any of Minho’s members but I could grasp their personalities and characteristics just by hearing Minho’s stories about them. “Well, it’s true that he can’t live without me but I shouldn’t bring him here since today’s the day for just the two of us,” he wiggled his eyebrows at me, making me burst into laughter.

“Stop it!” I tried to stop myself from laughing more.

“You stop it! Hurry up! Finish the food and let’s get dancing already,” Minho rolled his eyes before pushing me onto the ground, in front of all the food.

“And vomit on the floor from eating too much and doing too much excessive exercises?” I raised my eyebrow again before earning a punch on my shoulder from the latter.

The days passed by very quickly as work and school started to pile higher, but there were no signs of the mysterious man. He stopped visiting the café and I realized I was starting to think of him more and more, so much more that it overtook my mind. I remembered every detail of his face, from his soft crescent shaped eyes that sparkled whenever he smiled, his smile that made his cheeks puffed up to look like a squirrel to his silky blond hair that was hidden behind the black cap. Everything about him was so interesting that I started to crave wanting to know him more. And because of that, I was late to the dance studio again.

I was dashing through the busy crowd at 7pm. Everyone was heading in different directions: some heading home from work, some hanging out with friends and many just returning from their tuition centers. “Excuse me,” I repeated as I swiftly passed many bodies crossing past me, trying not to bump into anyone. It was going rather smoothly, until I just had to hit someone’s shoulders really hardly. “Whoa!” I said, trying to remain calm as I stopped on my steps. “I am so sorry. I really did not see you and it is completely my fault-“

“It’s okay,” the person replied quietly. His grey cap was covering his eyes from my view so I could not see his face. His voice sounded familiar but I was unable to grasp it quick enough when he started to walk away and people started to fill up the empty space that he had left. But alas, he was completely out of my view and that was when I remembered that I was also rushing to somewhere as well.

It took me approximately 10 minutes to reach the dance studio quickly. I was completely out of breath when my hands touched the glass doors that lead into the dance studio. Minho had constantly called my phone to make sure that I was arriving, which was very rare. “I’m here, I’m here,” I chattered really quickly as soon as my phone rested on my ear for the nth time today, opening the door to the receptionist and giving a nod at Miss Jang who kindly pointed to the dance studio Minho was in.

“Hurry! I don’t think Jaemyeon wants to be with me,” Minho groaned at the other end of the call as I finally reached the dance studio and pushed the door opened, revealing Minho with a small boy clinging onto him. Minho turned to look at me and mouthed at me. “Get him off me!”

I ended the call and slipped my phone into my pocket before crouching a little and opened my arms. “Hey there little monster!” I smiled as I looked at the boy next to Minho. The boy turned around quickly and grinned as well, finally releasing his grip on the desperate looking Minho and ran straight to me, giving me a hug.

“Where were you, noona?” My little brother asked. His grip in the embrace remained firm. “I missed you.”

“Did Minho hyung not treat you well?” I raised my eyebrow, looking at the older boy who was looking awkwardly at our short embrace.

“Hyung didn’t want to play with me!” He pouted, now looking at me. “All hyung wanted to do was to come here and wait for you!”

I laughed and patted my little brother’s head. “But he did fetch you from school, right? And also feed you, right?” I asked him and he pouted again.

“Fine! But I thought that I was going to be a boring kid if I become quiet,” Jaemyeon explained.

“Well, I rather you be a boring kid than be an exhausting kid,” Minho commented, walking to us now. He looked at me before awkwardly patting my brother’s head. “And since we’ll… be busy dancing, I brought one of my members along so that Jaemyeon here can be cared for and might also give us some comments for our dance.”

I raised my eyebrow. Minho had never ever introduced me to his members ever since he entered the company so it was weird that he wanted to show me them out of nowhere.

“Who is it?” I grinned. “Is it Chris? Is it Woojin? Oh! Is he Jeongin? You know maybe Jeongin is good with my brother since he has a little brother as well-“

“No, no,” Minho cut in, laughing. “It’s someone I’m sure that will take great care of Jaemyeon. So great that he can get a certificate for being one of the best ‘nannies’ on this world! And currently, he’s buying food for Jaemyeon since this little monster says he’s starving- don’t worry! I did feed him a couple of hours ago!”

“Don’t say it’s Changbin!” I took another guess. “Or would it b-“

“It’s me,” someone interrupted our conversation. I paused; startled at the sudden voice before turning around to find the same grey cap man I had bumped into. He held up the bags of food he was holding. “And I got food.”

I swear, at that moment, my entire muscles tensed up and my mind went blank. The moment my eyes finally met his eyes under the gray cap, I did not thought that it was possible that I finally met him once again.

“Han?” The name slipped from my lips before I could stop myself.

The boy gave me a tiny smile and nodded his head. “I see we meet again.”

“You two know one another?” Minho interrupted quickly, barging into the space between the both of us, turning to Han first. “Jisung, why on earth did you not tell me you know Miyeon?” And turned to me. “And you, Baek Miyeon, why was I unaware that you have befriended Jisung.”

“Wait,” I cut in. “Jisung? Isn’t this Han? He said his name is Han. Are you sure that’s not the boy you always mentioned about? Are you hallucinating?”

Minho raised his eyebrow at the other boy. “Did you really have to tell everyone your stage name?”

“Why not,” the other boy asked. “I thought it was easier to remember than Jisung.”

“Wait, so Jisung and Han are the same person?” I commented looking more confused than I was ever once again.

Jisung raised his arms and looked at me with a smile. “That’s me!” He said. “And yes, I had no idea you were the girl Minho mentions everyday but it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Jisung hyung!” The tiny voice that I had forgotten about erupted from behind me. The small figure rushed past me, heading straight into Jisung’s embrace. “You’re finally back!” Jisung laughed and ruffled Jaemyeon’s head before touching his nose softly.

“I was gone for only five minutes, did you miss me that much?” Jaemyeon glanced at Minho quickly before turning back to Jisung.

“Yes,” he said extremely quietly, earning another chuckle from the older boy and a protest from Minho.

“Now, let’s go eat your food at the back of the studio shall we, Jaemyeon? While we watch your noona and Minho hyung?” Jisung gently lead the small boy across the room to the back where they settled quietly and started eating. Minho glanced at me.

“Ready?” He asked, heading to the speakers and pressed the play button. And in a couple of seconds, the soft melody of our song started to play.

I looked up from the ground… to see your sad and teary eyes…

I quickly got into character as Minho approached me from behind and lifted my head up gently as his hand brushed past the space under my eyes before spinning me around to face him. Our steps moving in sync with one another as the next lyrics were sang.

You look away from me and I see there’s something you’re trying to hide…

My eyes quickly diverged from Minho’s, trying to look away. My legs dropped and he caught me by my arms and before spinning me around for the second time again. Our moves became more and more fluid, moving together as one and understanding one another’s feelings throughout the entire dance routine. I forgot everything around me, and was only focused on the boy in front of me as we moved and controlled our bodies to tell our story using the song.

The dance soon ended quickly as the melody started to slow down and down… and finally the last lyrics were sung.

It’ll… be alright…

Minho held my hand. His grip on mine loosened as I pulled away, walking away from him. The silent remained for a couple of moments before I heard applause coming from our two audiences that I had completely forgotten about.

“Bravo!” My little brother cheered as he started jumping up and down in joy. Minho approached behind me and trapped me into his embrace as he leaned his head onto my shoulders, all sweaty.

“Was it that good, kiddo?” He winked at the little boy.

“Ew, get away from me, Lee Minho! You’re sweaty!” I gasped as the sweat from his face dripped down slowly. I tried to escape his grasp but he refused to budge.

“How was it, Jisung?” Minho now diverged his attention to his friend who was still seated. I could see a slight smile from the latter.

“It’s… It’s great,” he replied quietly.

Minho grinned and turned me around, shaking me by grabbing my shoulders. “Yes! We have our perfect routine!” Minho cheered before enveloping me into a hug. “But as you know, we have to keep on practicing in order to make this work! We only have… how many more days?”

“Seven…” Jisung replied instead of me. My eyes widen when I realized how close the competition was from us now.

“A-are you sure?” I looked at the eyes beneath the gray cap. I could not read his emotionless face as he nodded quietly.

“Oh god,” Minho dragged me to the middle of the dance floor again. “We have to continue practicing and practicing if we were to win this entire thing.” I rolled my eyes at the energetic older boy, unable to protest as the music started to play again and I was drawn back into the world between the both of us, not realizing the audience that had remained there with us.

It was already midnight by the time we finally finished our dance practice. My legs were sore and I was panting. Sweat was dripping down from both Minho and I.

“Noona… are you done now?” A drowsy voice called me and I realized that my brother was still with us. “I…. I’m… I’m sleepy.”

“Myeon-nie!” I called out as the tiny boy came into my arms and wrapped his arms around my neck. “I’m so sorry! I forgot that you were here with me and how fast the time has flied!” I carried him in my arms and turned to Minho who nodded at me.

“Go now,” he said as he handed me my bag. “I’ll just hang in here for a while more.” I quickly slipped my bag onto my shoulders while carrying my sleepy brother and quickly headed out of the dance room, not realizing someone was following me until he spoke aloud.

“Are you going to go home alone?” The voice made me stop. I turned around to find Jisung looking at me quietly from the practice room’s door.

“I have my brother along. So I’m not alone,” I replied with a soft smile.

“Well, I’m not leaving the two of you alone to go back home. I’m following you,” Jisung said, approaching me as he carefully removed Jaemyeon from my arms and securely carrying him in his arms. “Let’s go,” he motioned me in his low voice as he started to walk down.

“Where are you going? You don’t even know my house!” I called after him. “What about Minho?”

“Then lead the way and… he’ll be fine,” he replied without looking back. I rolled my eyes and quickly caught up to the duo as the three of us took off through the darkened outside.

The journey way back home was quiet. Except for the rustling leaves that fluttered along with the wind, everything was still and silent. Our footsteps echoed along the concrete ground as we walked through the once busied streets of many stores. The way back usually took about 15 minutes from the dance studio but walking along with the once mysterious man made it thrice the time longer. My hands would play with themselves under the sleeves of my jacket out of awkwardness.

“Are you cold?” Jisung’s voice spoke out, breaking the silence between the both of us. I looked to my right to see his handsome face hidden under a black mask. “Your hands have been twitching ever since we exited the studio.”

Oh snap. He noticed as well, I thought, mentally smacking myself. “No,” I replied softly. “It’s not even freezing-“

“In the middle of December, yeah right,” Jisung cut in. Before I knew it, he removed my hand from my other hand and grabbed it in-between his large free hand that was not holding Jaemyeon. “You lied. Your hand is freezing.”

“It is?” I raised my eyebrow as I quickly removed my hand from his. I could feel heat rising up to my cheeks as I diverted my attention from him. “I… I didn’t… know that.”

“Do you mind taking my hot pack?” Jisung suggested, searching for his before handing it to me.

“Why would you even have a hot pack with you?” I asked before taking it quickly, placing the small pack in between my hands.

“Minho gets cold easily so I would carry one for him at all times despite the weather or the season we are in,” Jisung explained. “But he hasn’t been asking me because… maybe you have been the one supplying him with the hot packs?”

I grinned. “You’re absolutely correct but unfortunately, I forgot to bring one today.”

“You know, we share a lot of things in common because of that one guy,” Jisung suddenly changed the subject as the two of us continued walking down the street. He turned to look at me before focusing back onto the road. “You were basically the only person he talked about to us and… I admired you from the way he talked about you.”

“What did he say… so highly about me?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Nothing much, just how pretty you are and how talented you are,” Jisung chuckled. “And after seeing you for the first time, I actually agree with him.”

“I plead to object. How am I pretty and how am I talented?” I asked.

“And I decline your objection. You only see yourself with all your flaws,” Jisung explained. “And you shouldn’t, because you wouldn’t realize how amazing and beautiful you look. No matter what everyone tells you, you would only say negatively about yourself.”

“Like how you thought yourself as the most handsome until Hyunjin showed up?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Don’t tell me he told you that too,” he groaned before bursting into laughter. “But well, that’s an example! Be true to yourself no matter what.”

“But I do agree with you. You are handsome,” I smiled.

“Don’t I agree with myself too,” he commented with a nod, earning a groan and an eye roll from me. Our short conversation ended shortly as we continued to walk down the street. We passed many shops and restaurant and finally reaching a big park where he spoke again. “And you are talented you know…”

“How so?” I asked quietly.

“You can dance… you can… bake… you are a role model, you know that too? You take care of your brother while managing to balance between school and work,” he said. “Gosh, you can even rap.”

I groaned at that immediately as my face reddened for the second time. “Did… did Lee Minho secretly recorded me again?”

“With video… but your entire face was blocked,” Jisung added. “But you are good at rapping and acting as if you were on show me the money.”

“How about you, Mister Han? Don’t think Minho didn’t boost about you to me too,” I interjected. “I can even write a book about all the things you’re good at.”

“Let’s hear about them then, shall we?” Jisung challenged me with a chuckle.

I smirked. “Let’s see…” I started to think, looking at Jisung now. “You are good at rapping, GREAT at singing. God, you can literally sing the highest note I have ever heard of, you write your own songs and you have such a great cute smile-“

“I don’t think that’s something I’m good at but I’ll just take it,” he commented.

“I’m not done yet!” I pouted. “You’re also great at dancing and giving the best fan service with Minho. You also work nonstop and left your family just to train to be in Stray Kids and you are also the most awkward squirrel that drinks coffee I’ve ever known.”

“And maybe the only awkward squirrel you will ever know,” he cut in.

I rolled my eyes again and nodded my head. “Yeah, you’re correct,” I said.

“And is there anymore?” He asked, finally pulling his mask down to show me his puffed up cheeks.

“Your puffy cheeks?” I raised my eyebrow. He chuckled before pulling his mask up to cover his face again. I did not even know how much the time had passed after our second mini conversation until we reached a tall building. “Oh…” I drifted off. “We’re… here.” I turned to Jisung and motioned him to let me carry Jaemyeon now but he refused to budge. “I can bring him inside myself now.”

“No. How are you going to open the door while holding a kid? You’re going to wake him up.”

“I did it a lot of times before-“ I tried to say but was cut off by Jisung again.

“Let’s go up now!” He said stubbornly before entering the building. I stared after him and smiled softly.

“Wrong entrance!” I shouted after him before entering the apartment through the correct entrance with him trailing behind me as well.

We quickly entered the elevator to the fifth floor and reached the front of my apartment. I tried my best to allow myself to carry my brother but as Minho had said, Han Jisung definitely was very stubborn. So, I had to open the door so he could settle my brother into his bed in his room. He took off my brother’s shoes and tucked him nicely into his bed as I watched from the doorway. I was impressed at how familiar he was to do all those.

Once he was done, he exited Jaemyeon’s room. I smiled at him as he walked up to me. “How do you know to do all these?” I asked in a whisper. He raised his eyebrow in confusion. “I don’t see many people knowing how to settle a kid quietly into bed, but here you are, doing something else you’re good at.” He chuckled.

“My older brother settles me into bed like that as well… and maybe just because I always wanted to try being the older brother for once.”

“I’m impressed. Very impressed,” I commented before walking with him to the front door. “Well, thank you for today. Thank you for taking your time to walk my brother and I back to our home and for finally meeting you after so long. It has been long overdue.”

He grinned. “I’m just glad I was able to help. It was actually fun to talk you. Let’s be friends, shall we?”

“Aren’t we already friends?” I asked with a laugh. “I never know spending a midnight walking with you could be that fun.”

“Then let’s continue our midnight adventures, shall we?” He suggested.

I nodded and smile. “We shall.” With that, he waved at me and bid me a goodnight as he entered the elevator down and I closed the door behind me. However, the smile that was plastered on my face melted off as I remembered the one thing that I forgot to return to him.

The ring.

Jisung was nowhere to be in sight for the next few days, but there was no time for me to think about him anymore as the date for the dance competition neared. Minho unfortunately at that time was having a comeback so he got more busier that he was unable to make it to the dance studio, so instead, we spent the rest of our remaining time at the JYP building.

It was the third last day before the competition and I was getting a lot tenser. Minho was long gone from the vacant practice room that we had found since he was all tired from promoting and I was left all alone in the room, dancing and sweating profusely. I had long switched off the music to the song the both of us were dancing to and my sneakers squeaked across the polished floor, trying to rehearse through all the steps that I had went through with Minho, but it was too tiring.

Instead, I flopped onto the ground and quickly rubbed my sweat away from my face as I stared myself in the mirror in front of me. Reflecting from the other side was a sweaty little girl with her straight hair tied into two braids, her baby hairs stuck to her face but she did not seem to care. I crawled my way to a corner where my bag was sitting and grabbed my water bottle, gulping down the water quickly before fetching my phone out from the small purple bag.

I switched the phone on and the screen illuminated before me. 12am, my phone read. I quickly slipped it back into bag and stood up, walking back to the speakers where the song was supposed to be played. I was supposed to switch the song on but I had soon forgotten when another song attracted me. It was not coming out from the speakers in the practice room I was in. Instead, it was coming from a neighboring studio.

I took a step towards the door but stopped. Was it a good idea to check on the sound? Or was it safer to stay in the practice room instead? I asked myself, my inner self debating against one another. I was curious because the melody was so catchy and it attracted me a lot, but the only thing that was refraining me from going was the warning from the staff to not loiter around the building.

I took a deep breath before making my mind up immediately. I pushed the glass door open so I could slip out. Making sure there was no one around, I quickly darted around the corridor to look for the room the sweet melody was coming from and it took me no time to identify where it came from since there were less rooms on the corridor.

My head peeped a little to look into the glass door that was blocked by a long curtain. I could not see anything, so I tried to press my ear through the thick glass panel to only have the door swing open since it was not properly shut.

“Ah!” I screamed as I fell onto the ground. I closed my eyes and slowly regretted making my decision for coming after the sound. I realized that whoever was in the room realized that I was there as the melody they were playing stopped. “I’m sorry!” I immediately apologized as I stood up, my head hung down, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Miyeon?” The familiar voice that I had missed entered my ears. “What are you doing at this hour? Especially at JYP?”

“Jisung?” I lifted my head to find the same boy that I had met twice at the café and at the dance studio, sitting in front of a lot of computers staring at me. Unlike both time where he had a cap on and a mask that covered his face, he was sitting in front of me barefaced, his blond hair messy. He was so adorable I swear it could make my heart drop at that very moment immediately.

“Hi there,” he greeted me with a tired smile. “You haven’t answer my question yet but please do close the door before you answer.”

I quickly and quietly closed the door behind me and sat on the couch next to the door. “I… Minho couldn’t make it to the dance studio anymore so we decided to come here to make it easier for him, but he left and I decided to stay a little longer to practice.”

“It’s midnight already, you know. How long have you been practicing?” Jisung asked growing concerned slowly.

“Not long… I started at… 5pm,” I replied quietly.

“That’s 7 hours. Aren’t you tired?” Jisung commented, earning a shake from me. He sighed. “You have to rest, Miyeon. How are you functioning without rest?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Han Jisung,” I added in. “Why are you working now?”

He gave me a weak smile and ruffled his hair. “I was suppose to finish this a couple of hours but I fell asleep so now’s the best time for me to complete it.”

“And not get any sleep? Don’t you dare pull a Bang Chan,” I warned. “What are you even working on?”

“Nothing much… just some lyrics to this song,” he rubbed his eyes and tried to cover his yawn. “How did you even know I was here anyways?”

“You left the door ajar and the melody really captured my ears… so maybe, after seeing you here, I was thinking that I can… help you?” I suggested.

“I would appreciate all the help I can get since I’m stuck,” Jisung nodded his head. “I’ll just play you the track first and maybe you might have an idea?” He quickly pressed the play button and the song started to play. It was soft before it started to become more upbeat and happier. The song finished quickly and I was unable to hide my amusement at the boy in front of me after the end of it.

“Did…did you make that track yourself?” I asked. “Because that was amazing.”

“It’s… my first time,” he answered, feeling a little shy after saying that. “I was no sure if it was something that the company would want but-“

“Jisung, just try,” I smiled. “I love it and if I do, I’m sure everyone else would do too. Let’s get started shall we? What are we focusing on?”

“Thanks… for giving me such support, Miyeon,” he beamed. “I’m writing based on my real life experience.”

“What is it about?” I asked.

I could see his face flushed a bright red but he moved away so I could not see his face anymore. “It’s about something I never knew I would feel until a few weeks ago.”

“And that is?”

“Love,” he answered quietly. “I want to write my feelings down about this girl I have been thinking about.”

“Oh…” my face soon darkened without me realizing. I could feel my heart starting to beat slower and slower. “That’s… that’s great. I’m so glad someone was able to make you feel that way.” I refused to look into his eyes as I walked up to him, facing his computer. “Let’s get started shall we?”

For the next couple of hours, I started to share my ideas with him about how I felt and expressed love. I knew whatever I was telling him about was actually based on him. I did not know that as the time went past by us, the more I would become more intrigued in the boy sitting next to me. I never knew my heart would start beating quickly whenever I glanced up to look into his focused face… until now as he sat in front of me, talking about his feelings that I knew were never meant for me. But, we were done with the lyrics after these few hours that we had shared.

“And… we’re done!” Jisung smiled as he clapped his hands together. He reached over and patted my head, out of my surprise, still holding his smile. “Thank you for your hard work today, Miyeon.”

“I’m glad I could help,” I replied quietly. “But what are you going to do with it next? You can’t keep it in here forever! You need to let others know and acknowledge your skills and talent.”

“That’s a bit too fast, especially since it might sound crazy if I sang the song alone… unless, you want to join me?” Jisung suggested.

My eyes widen and I shook my head quickly. “No way, Han Jisung! Have you forgot how horrible my voice is?”

“And have you forgot not to doubt yourself?” He replied back with a small smile. “Come on, Miyeon! Just try it… for me? Once? I bet no one can convey the message in the song as well as you since it is also based on your own experience.” He wriggled his eyebrow at me. “Right?”

I could not help but burst out laughing. “I don’t help but for you… fine… only this once,” I said before earning a smile from him.

He jumped up from his chair and wrapped me in his arms, hugging me as tight as he could. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Let’s head into the recording room now!” He wrapped his fingers around my wrist as he pulled away, dragging me along with him through another door that lead into another small room.

There was a microphone and a pair of earphones in the center of the room, and in front was the glass door that showed the room we were in. He carefully placed the earphones over my ears and lowered the microphone just so I could reach it.

“Heh, you’re short,” he commented with another smile before exiting the room, avoiding my stare. He quickly slipped onto the chair that he had sat and spoke into another microphone just in front of him. “Mic test. Are you ready, Baek Miyeon?” He spoke in a low voice that made me giggle.

“Whenever you’re ready,” I replied just as the sweet melody that I had remembered exactly from a few hours ago entered into my ears. I closed my eyes and parted my lips open as the words flowed out of my mouth fluidly, and I finally sang.

The song ended quickly and before I knew it, I heard applause coming from the other side of the room. “Bravo, Miyeon!” Jisung started clapping quickly with a smile plastered on his face. “Your voice is a gift itself!”

“Are you sure I don’t need a retake?” I asked the beaming boy that started coming into the room to envelop me into another hug, crushing me. I gasped for air and he immediately released his grip on me.

“A retake? I suddenly don’t remember this word after hearing your voice,” Jisung replied. I rolled my eyes and smiled at him too. Looking at him closer made my heart beat faster and faster than I realized. I was staring into his eyes, and his smile. He was just too perfect, but he was in love with someone else. I quickly diverted my gaze from him and took a step back.

“I… I’m flattered,” I stammered. “Thanks… for giving me your support.”

“And thank you for agreeing to sing with me,” he answered, still keeping the smile on his face. “Your voice… you shouldn’t keep it from everyone.”

“I can say the same about this song,” I replied before smiling softly as well. “Thanks for allowing me to help you with the song…” I drifted off as I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I glanced at Jisung who realized the situation, remaining silent. “Hello?” I placed my phone onto my ear.

“Noon…Noona? Where are… you?” A drowsy voice greeted me from the other end. “Are… are you not back yet?”

Oh no! I mentally scolded myself. “H-hey Jaemyeon, noona will be home soon! Go back to sleep, okay?” I tried to keep my facial expression blank but hearing my little brother’s voice made me concerned. I quickly ended the call and shoved my phone into my pocket once again. “I’m sorry, Jisung,” I apologized. “I have to go now, I forgot I-I left Jaemyeon alone at home. How long have I been here?”

Jisung glanced at his phone. “Three hours,” he said as I started to walk out of the room we were in to the practice studio where my bag was, with him tailing behind me. “I-I can accompany you home.”

“Jisung, you’re too kind already,” I turned around to face him, not realizing how close we were standing next to one another now, so I took a step back. “But you have been awake since… maybe 5am and I don’t know how you’re still functioning but please, go back to your dorm instead and rest instead of accompanying me or staying up late again to record it.” I placed my hands onto his shoulder and gave him another smile. “Han Jisung, you’re one of the most hard working person I know and I would hate to see you tired and not resting at all.”

He kept quiet as soon as I finished what I wanted to say. He tried to read my expression but soon retired. “Fine,” he sighed with a pout. “I… I’ll go back home to rest… just for you.”

I smiled before wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him into another hug. I had to tiptoe to reach his neck. “Thank you,” I whispered. “And I’m still sweaty.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine by me. Thanks for spending another midnight with me.”

“It’s always my pleasure,” I replied before walking to the door, turning around to look back at Jisung who was still standing there. “I shall see you again.”

How time flew fast. It was finally the last day before the dance competition, and being the stubborn person I was, I decided to stay back in the practice studio after the promised hours set by Minho and I. This time, Jaemyeon was staying with Minho and his members for a while so I did not have to worry about anything as I continued to practice and rehearse. It was already 11:45pm when I rehearsed the dance moves for the tenth time. It was frustrating; to dance to the same song over and over again but it was annoying to constantly get it wrong when your partner is not present.

“God! Why do I always need Minho here to get this move correct?” I groaned, sitting on the floor now. I wanted to give up but I knew it was never an opinion.

“Why would you need Minho? Minho’s mine, you know,” the same familiar voice that I could recognize from far away asked. I shifted my body so I was facing Jisung. This time, he was wearing a red flannel over his plain white shirt with a pair of black jeans. His blond hair was parted in the middle.

“To dance?” I rolled my eyes, brushing my hair to the back of my head as I groaned again. “I don’t even know why my arm is in a weird angle whenever I try to practice alone.” I pouted and covered my face in my hair in frustration. I could feel his footsteps coming closer to me but I refused to move. They died as soon as he stopped right in front of me and crouched down so he could see me eye to eye.

“Hey,” he released the grip of my hands to my hair and pushed my chin up so I was looking at him. “You know, I can help you if you want.”

“It’s not that easy,” I replied with a pout. “Well, I wished it was that easy…”

“Hey! If you helping me with the recording was considered hard, then dancing with you will be a lot more easier!” Jisung argued.

“How is it easier? There’s too many moves… and you can’t even remember them at all,” I pouted.

“Ah… I see you have forgot that I am Han Jisung, the best friend of Lee Minho. Do you think he doesn’t practice in the dorms without you? Well, he does. He uses me as you and explained the dance to me so I would move as ‘fluid’ as you would,” he groaned as he remembered what he had done. “And not to forget, all the times I’ve watched the two of you dance. I think it’ll be easy!”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” I asked him, now beaming. He chuckled and pulled me up from the ground. “Let’s get dancing now shall we?” And it did help.

Dancing with Jisung for only one time immediately made me realized my mistake compared to the multiple times I had tried alone. And it did surprise me, how good he was at dancing and at knowing the steps to the entire routine just from our one dance.

“Keep your arm straight, Miyeon!” He called out at the mistake that I had repeatedly messed up. “Yes!” He shouted in delight when I finally understood what he meant. “You’re a natural!”

“I am a dancer just in case you forgot,” I reminded him with a chuckle as our legs moved in synchronization. Our feet tapped across the polished floor above the music that played softly from the speakers.

“And I’m Minho’s dance partner when you’re not here,” he joked as we continued the routine. I rolled my eyes as I focused on our routine. “And here comes the hard part, do you think you can do it?” I twisted my face so I could see him as I remembered the routine we were going to do soon. “It is hard and you need a lot of strength for it-“

Jisung smirked. “I am Han Jisung! What can I not-“ And he could not do it. As I jumped high up into the air, he was supposed to catch me but instead, his arms missed my entire body flying right to him and I knocked him straight onto the ground. I fell on top of him with a groan, my arms pressed against the floor to decrease the impact the both of us were going to experience.

“Jisung!” I groaned, trying to roll away from the boy but it was impossible since pain was spiking up from my arms. “You said you could do it!”

“Well I thought I could but you should’ve given me a word of war- whoa,” he cut himself abruptly.

“What is it?” I asked, looking at him now, only realizing how close our faces were. I held my breath immediately as I tried to move away but it was impossible to since the pain started to numb my arms, preventing me from moving around. “I… I can’t move… I’m sorry.”

“Has anyone ever told you how your eyes were so pretty that they sparkle?” Jisung asked out of nowhere.

“W-what?” I looked at him again, just to divert my attention from his. “Why are you even ranting about? Can you just push me off you-“ In a heartbeat, I was rolled away from Jisung. I wanted to say my thanks for his help when he suddenly rolled on top of me, cutting the words that I wanted to say from my lips. My eyes widen as I glanced at him. “W-what are you doing now?” I asked him quietly. “This is not funny, Han Jisung. Have you not heard of personal space?”

“Let me tell you something, should I?” He ignored my question and my request. “It’s so funny that no matter how much I stared at you, I keep thinking of how you would doubt yourself. Have you seen your face before? It’s beautiful.”

“And since my face is so close to you, can you not see all the scars and pores on my face?” I asked.

“And that is what made me realized that you are so much more beautiful,” he concluded.

“Why are you even talking about this?” I asked, finally looking into his eyes. My voice had long disappeared into a thin whisper. “Jisung, don’t scare me.”

“I actually knew you before I came into the café,” he suddenly confessed, using the same tone I was talking in. “Minho has been talking about you for such a long time that I could not help but see you for myself. I know he wouldn’t like it but my temptations were too hard to resist. When Minho went to meet you, I could not help but follow him and that was when I first recognized you as the girl that was from my school. I didn’t know you were the girl that Minho talks all day about because I have never seen you. But as the time goes by, I started to notice you and relate you through the stories Minho had long told me… Remember that day when someone handing you an umbrella when you were heading home from school and it started raining? That was me. I couldn’t stand watching you there planning to run under the rain and get sick.”

My mind travelled back to the time that he had especially mentioned. It was the memory that I was the most fond over. It was the last day of school, the last Friday when it started to rain harshly. I stared at the rain dully and turned to my bag, trying to find the umbrella that I had kept all the time in. However, instead of finding the umbrella, I found nothing in the solid five minutes. I glanced at my phone and frowned. I was going to be late to fetch my brother if I waited for the rain to stop. I glanced around and found students streaming out of the school one by one, some holding umbrellas, others wearing raincoats… there were even some that were running in the rain, all except for me, rushing out of the school altogether. I sighed and shoved my hoodie above my head, preparing to run in the rain to fetch my little brother. My legs started to take off but I was stopped when a hand grabbed my wrist, forcing me to stop.

“W-what?” I turned around to find another student in front of me. His pink hoodie and black mask covered his face.

“Here,” he replied in a low voice, handing me a transparent umbrella. “Don’t get cold.” With that, after he left the umbrella in my hands, he ran off into the rain and disappeared through the thick rain and fog.

“T-that was you?” I stammered. “You never gave me a chance to thank you…”

“You didn’t need to because seeing you already made me thankful enough,” he replied softly, giving me a slight smile. “And I could not forget the day where everything went downhill… the day before Christmas last year…”

At the reminder of the day, my face started to harden. That day was the hardest for me through the year. I only remembered crying and crying over and over because of that day. I had so many negative thoughts going on in my mind. However, the only thing that kept me going was the soup Minho had sent me…

“It was you,” I whispered, realizing everything now. “You were the one who made the soup… not Minho.” Jisung gave me a weak smile as he nodded.

“Bingo,” he whispered. “You were without a mother’s embrace and was I going to allow you to suffer through? I stopped seeing you in school after a few days and Minho finally told me what had happened. He didn’t want you to see me yet but he knew I wanted to help so he gave me your address to deliver the soup.”

A tear accidentally slipped from the corner of my eyes as I started to recall everything that had happened the past year. “Then… why have you decided to tell me all these? Why did you keep them from me before?”

He gave me another weak smile. “Because I was afraid… the all-mighty Han Jisung was afraid… afraid that I would never have you to myself when Minho’s the only one who was there throughout your life. Who was I to suddenly enter into your life and take you all to myself?” He whipped the tear away from my face. “The reason why I have finally told you after so long is because Minho decided to finally introduce you to me and since we were so closed to one another just now… or now, I thought I should take this chance to tell you instead of waiting until the opportunity is gone.”

“Jisung…” I started.

“Oh, god. You must hate me now for suddenly confessing my feelings,” he said, diverting his attention from me and pulled away from me. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Jisung…” I said again, trying to call him but he refused to look at me. “Look-“

“I’m an idiot right?” He asked abruptly, looking at me.

“No! When are you ever an idiot?” I stated. “Other than right now where you are saying you’re an idiot, Han Jisung, you are the smartest person I ever know… and… to be very honest, my heart beats too fast when I’m around you. It’s not as if you have some superpowers or anything but you’re just… you.” Unknowingly a tear started to fall from my face as my voice continued to break. “But you… you just can’t be with me. You’re in love with someone else.” “I-in love w-with someone else?”

Jisung’s eyes widen. “The only person I had ever had my eyes on were-“

“Save it,” I whispered. “Nothing matters now.” With that, I pushed him away from me, quickly grabbing my bag and headed out of the company. Oh God, so much for breaking down right before a competition.

“Are you ready?” Minho stood next to me as he rubbed his hands in between one of mine, creating friction that warmed my hand up.

“If you count ready as in not sleeping at all, yeah!” I covered my mouth with my palm to conceal my yawn. Minho rolled his eyes and flicked my forehead.

“That’s because you spent the entire night thinking about Jisung,” he replied quietly.

“Yah!” I slapped his wrist and sighed. Well, yes, I did tell my best friend everything about what had happened the night before because it was comforting. “Why did you not even tell me about Jisung at all? Why does he even look out to me?” I pouted and quickly turned my attention away from my best friend, trying to look crossed.

I realized he wanted to say something to me but instead; he closed his lips and said nothing. It was silence for the next couple of minutes as we waited for our turn to get on stage. Minho held my hand in his quietly, fiddling and playing as the two of us continued to sit in the waiting room with many other dancers, all either rehearsing their routines again or praying over and over again, started streaming out of the room one by one.

“Lee Minho and Baek Miyeon?” A producer entered the room, holding a clipboard as she read the name out. The both of us stood up immediately, with Minho still holding onto my hand. “You’re up next,” she said as she retreated out of the room, with the both of us following her closely. She brought us down the corridor into another room that only had a curtain and a couple of stairs. “Wait here until I signal you to go to the stage,” the producer said as she stopped in front of the stairs. I closed my eyes. My hands gripped onto Minho’s tighter.

“It’s finally here,” I whispered.

“Yes it is,” he replied. “But don’t worry. I’m here for you, so you don’t have to get scared. You got this.”

“Lee Minho? Baek Miyeon? You’re up now!” The producer broke our short conversation and motioned us up the stairs and through the curtains.

We quickly went up the stairs onto an empty plain stage up in the dark. I could hear the soft murmurs in the crowd. I looked around quietly as I stood in my position. I felt a cold small metal object on my palm. “Take it,” Minho said before I wrapped my hand onto the object. I opened my palm and found a ring, hanging on a long and thin metal chain. I realized what it was: the ring that Jisung had given me in the café. I felt my heart beating quickly as I looked at the small metal ring before I decided to quickly wear it around my neck as the stage lighted dimly. As the light shone gently, my eyes could not help but fall on the boy that sat right in front of me. His familiar face forced me to freeze up. “He’s here for you too,” I could hear Minho’s whisper in my ears as he drifted off, walking to his position.

My face reddened a little as I looked up into his face beneath the black cap he had on. The cap… it was the one that he had wore when he first talked to me. I stared at him for a couple of seconds as he maintained the eye contact with me.

“Good luck,” I could see the words formed on his lips as the lights dimmed down again and the spotlight appeared in the center of the stage. I could not help but smile at the small word of encouragement even though I knew it was going to hurt eventually and with that cheering me on, the music played and I got into my character, slowly dancing into chemistry with Minho by my side. I was not afraid or nervous anymore because I knew, he was there by my side, watching me like a guardian angel.

The song went on and I was so shocked at myself for being a lot more focus than last night. My mind played the parts where Jisung had helped me in and executed the dance moves perfectly and it was not long until the performance ended. It was quiet for a couple of moments before the entire audience ended in applause. I took a deep breath and looked at Minho, embracing him into a hug.

“We did it!” He smiled as he ruffled my hair. I broke the embrace and looked over my shoulders to find Jisung standing at his seat, smiling as he continued clapping along the audience. I could feel the heat rising up my cheeks so I diverted my attention away to Minho who pulled me to the end of the stage as more performers filled the stage. And that was when I realized; we were actually the last to perform.

As everyone was arranging themselves onto the stage, I stared at the small ring hanging above my collarbone and touched it gently. “Where did you find this?” I asked quietly at the older boy standing next to me. “It’s in my house and you have never stepped into my house at all these few weeks.”

“I know,” he replied. “It wasn’t hard for Jaemyeon to find it since you left it on your vanity table, exposed to so… so many dangers!”

I rolled my eyes and nudged him. “How did you know about this then? And why did you give me this?”

“Because Jisung asked me to? I knew where you would put if I were you and asking Jaemyeon for help was as easy as getting Changbin to do aegyo,” he explained.

“But I don’t get it,” I frowned slightly. “Why… did he ask you to do it? He likes someone else, that someone else is suppose to be the one to get this ring instead… of me.”

“You’re an idiot, Baek Miyeon,” he whispered, leaning his head on my shoulders. “Tell me, do you like him?”

“Why is this topic suddenly about me now?” I asked, refusing to have eye contact with him. My eyes searched for Jisung instead in the crowd. “He doesn’t even like me.” To that, Minho rolled his eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the speakers blared out, cutting short of Minho and I’s conversation. “The judges have finally made their decisions after a couple of minutes discussing and we finally have a winner!” I could feel everyone’s breath was held and as for mine, my heartbeat started to increase. “We would like to welcome to the middle of the stage our fifth annual Korea’s dance champions!” The host was saying. “Please welcome…. LEE MINHO AND BAEK MIYEON!” At the cue of the announcement of the winners, a couple of poppers exploded, welcoming confetti.

I screamed in joy as I wrapped my arms around Minho’s neck, jumping in joy as the both of us started to make our way to the middle of the stage where they presented us both with a crown each and a bouquet of flowers, along with a cheque of 5,000,000 won.

“We did it,” I breathed as I smiled at Minho. A celebrative song was heard as everyone started talking to one another, hugging and taking pictures with one another. Even though none of them won, they were still happy. I turned around to find other dancers approaching me, talking and complimenting me as I started to talk to them as well, until I felt a tap on my shoulders that made me turn around. In front of me was the same person whom I had first ‘officially’ met at café, wearing the exact clothes as I had seen him entering the café.

“Hey,” he smiled softly as I finally looked at him, still grinning. “Congrats… I- I knew you could do it and… I see your wearing the ring that I left you…”

“It’s all thanks to you, you know that?” I asked, tilting my head. “And… Minho found the ring instead of me after constantly forgetting it for the longest time ever.” My face fell into a frown. “But… why did you ask him to give me the ring instead? Don’t… don’t you want to give it to someone else? Have you forgot about the person you liked?”

“I don’t have to,” he said. “Because that person is standing right in front of me.”

My eyes widen. “Me?” The words escaped my lips as I continue to stare at him with disbelief. “The person…. The person you… like… it’s-“

“It’s you. It has always been you. There was no one else that could ever replace you,” he whispered, taking a step closer to close the gap between us. “You were the crazy one to not see that I am falling hard for you that it hurts so, so much.”

I let out a soft chuckle. “And all this time, I thought I was the one crazy in love with someone who doesn’t like me back…” I stared at him again. Looking at him really gave my heart a lot of abnormal conditions. He was the only one who managed to make my heart race crazily, the only one who made me smile despite all my troubles, the one who has always been there to help me through all my struggles and troubles without me knowing, the one who I was happy to spend midnights with… That person was Han Jisung all along. I glanced down at the ring hanging on my neck and held it between my thumb and index finger. “This ring… I think it’s time for it to be returned to its rightful owner now,” I whispered, slipping the ring off my neck and handed it to him.

“You’re wrong. I have always loved you… and you’re still wrong about the rightful owner,” Jisung said and wrapped my hands around his. “The rightful owner of the ring is you. Because you have taken a part of me when I first saw you and I would so desperately want to call you mine… if… if you want.”

“Han Jisung… was there ever a time where I stopped thinking about you?” I asked. “You are the source of my happiness. You brighten up my day immediately especially during midnights when I’m struggling. Is it crazy to say yes because I am so in love with you and I want to know you so much more?”

“Is it crazy to say no to your craziness, because I also can’t stop thinking about you and would be so grateful for you to say yes?” Jisung asked me back and I laughed.

“Han Jisung, I’m all yours… all yours from the first time we met,” I whispered before wrapping my arms around him, bringing him into my embrace.

“Oh god… I’m so relieved,” he sighed as he wrapped me tighter in his arms. “And is it crazy if I say I want to kiss you that badly?”

I smirked. “No,” I replied before quickly pressing my lips to his soft ones and that was the only moment I needed to feel whole again. He was the one who I had always wanted and I finally had him.

“Thank god you finally know who Han Jisung likes now,” Minho interrupted us as we moved apart from one another. I glanced at Minho and found the rest of the boys with him. Some jumping in joy, some closing their eyes and some smirking.

“That’s great and all. Miyeon, congrats and as for you, Han Jisung, you’re in trouble for not telling me about you liking Miyeon,” another boy commented and I recognized him for his very pale blond hair as Bang Chan.

“And maybe it’s time for you to realized that everyone except for you knows about Jisung’s little crush… or as I would like to put it, MAJOR crush,” the boy next to Bang Chan replied before earning a couple of laughter from the other boys.

“Wait… all of you… know about this already?” Bang Chan’s eyes widen as he stared at his band mates again and groaned. “Fine! I am outdated! But as for you, Han Jisung, YOU’RE GROUNDED!”

“Is he always like this?” I asked Jisung before earning a nod from the boy.

“Yes,” he chuckled before pressing another kiss onto my lips. “Now let’s get out of here before they realized we’re gone by the time their bickering end.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice again… Han,” I chuckled as he pulled me away from everything else so that only the two of us were finally alone.

A/N: Hello guys! This is my first ever story on Tumblr and I hope all of you enjoyed it! I am new to posting on Tumblr so if you have any tips or tricks to posting stories, please do tell me because I spent almost an hour trying to put a space every paragraph so yeah. Anyways, I hope all of you have a great day ahead of you and stay safe! <3

-Xin

#stray kids #hanjisung #han jisung #stray kids imagine #bang chan #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #stray kids au #stray kids imagines #straykids

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atamascolily · 7 years

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Okay, I know people love to hate on ROTJ, but I, personally, love it and it's my favorite Star Wars movie. Here are some reasons why:

-Luke is a badass throughout the whole movie. Full stop. -Threepio's reactions to pretty much everything at Jabba's palace -R2's nervous whistle in Jabba's throne room -The random light music as the droids enter. Also, Jabba eating frogs. -Han as a decoration. -Subtitles for alien speech. YESS. -I don't like that Oola, the Twi'lek dancer dies--"Oola lives!" fics are an execellent Star Wars AU subgenre--but it's masterful from a storytelling perspective the way her death foreshadows a) what Jabba has in store for Luke with the rancor and b) makes a space for Leia as Jabba's prisoner/establishes Jabba's kink for humanoid female slaves, all without intelligible dialogue. -Luke in a black cloak. Also full stop. -Luke in black in general, actually. -Not knowing what the hell is going on with the rescue plan or if Luke is actually evil for a while. -"Someone who loves you." BAM. -That little creature outside of Jabba's palace that eats another random creature while the suns sets. -Salacious Crumb - the little monkey-lizard creature - being fascinated by Jabba's wriggling tail. -The sheer audacity and confidence of confronting Jabba and demanding to get his way in the throne room. -...and right before execution. "Jabba, this is your last chance. Free us-- or die." -R2 serving drinks on the sail barge. -Luke outfacing the Rancor with no weapons. -the sobbing rancor keeper, sobbing over the death of his murder monster -That flip off the gangplank - followed shortly thereafter by the flip (which Yoda trained Luke to in ESB). -Green lightsaber for the win! -Luke gets shot in his artificial hand, yowling in pain, but keeps going -Leia strangling Jabba with her chains -The way the music swell as we cut from the Tatooine rescue to space -Luke coming back to Yoda after all -Double entendre in "I've got a promise to keep to an old friend". -RD-D2's welding the X-wing while Yoda is dying -The way Luke says "Obi-wan..." when the spectral ghost of his former teacher emerges out of the Dagobah mist -Obi-wan actually explaining something for once -Luke's dogged insistence that there is still good in Vader -General Lando!! -How utterly chill Mon Mothma is -Luke waltzing in right at the most dramatic moment possible to join the strike team -The background music while they're attempting to land the shuttle. -The Endor outfits -The speeder bike chase -OMG REDWOODS, EVERYBODY! -Luke trying hard not to laugh at Han when they are confronted by Ewoks -Luke's calm suggestions to Threepio... and using the Force to convince the Ewoks that Threepio is actually a deity -Leia meeting Wicket and offering him food - and Wicket deciding she's okay, and stabbing that trooper in the leg -Leia picking Wicket up and going off with him! -The contrast between the quiet music as Leia and Wicket vanish into the jungle and the abrupt cut to awesome starfighter music as the Alliance fleet gears up for battle -Ewok tree dwellings -Tiny Ewok babies! -Threepio narrating the story of the previous two movies - with sound effects. -Lando thinking on the spot and not giving up when the situation looks hopeless. -"It's a trap!" .. and Ackbar in general. -Callback, but with role reversal! "I love you." "I know." (!!!) -R2 getting the call to open the door and moving fast; Threepio's utter bewilderment -that poignant scene where a dying Ewok mourns a friend -all the creative ways the Ewoks have to kill people -How many times our heroes get in and out of that bunker -Luke's utter calm when confronting Vader on Endor -That awkward elevator scene on the Death Star -"Soon I'll be dead, and you with me." Cold, son! -Luke hiding under the catwalk, unwilling to fight Vader -Luke's rage when Vader taunts him about Leia -Luke chopping off Vader's artificial hand and looking down at his own. -Luke tossing away his lightsaber. -"You've failed, your highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me." "So be it." -Luke being right about the good in Vader -Luke carrying his father's body to the shuttle. -Han's utter confusion about Luke and Leia's relationship -Poignant death scene/redemption -The solo funeral pyre burning the armor -everybody dancing with the Ewoks -Ewoks banging on stormtrooper helmets -Luke on the edge, before Leia draws him back in -The trio of Force ghosts smiling at Luke!!

...so, pretty much the entire movie.

Everyone likes to hate on the Ewoks, but when I was a kid, I thought they were AWESOME because they lived in trees and had their own society and gave zero fucks, and I wanted to do that. Also, they are the ultimate definition of "looks like a cinnamon roll, but will totally kill you" meme, as the subsequent battle proves.

Basically, the Rebellion won the day because the Empire didn't think a bunch of non-human "primitives" could possibly beat them or be worth engaging as allies... and Leia decided to be kind to them and get them on her side (and feed them ration bars she had in her pocket) and won the battle as a direct result of their aid.

So just as Luke's mercy ultimately redeems Vader - a personal triumph - it's Leia's kindness that ultimately wins the war and the larger picture. And I love that.

Also, while I am super uncomfortable with some of the dynamics and Unfortunate Implications in this movie, especially around Leia, Lando and the Ewoks, most of those went over my head as a kid and I still love this movie despite its flaws. Looking forward to re-watching it again as "fic research".

#star wars #star wars feels #return of the jedi #character insights #i love this

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divasdamselsandsmudgedmascara · 6 years

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Actress Spotlight: Fredi Washington in “Black And Tan”

There's a great deal of class, talent and beauty loaded in this short film from the early days of "talkies", 1929′s Black And Tan. Man, this is a GEM. We're talking Duke Ellington flyin' high in his legendary career as a jazz pianist, composer, and bandleader and the beautiful pioneer of cinema, Fredi Washington, as his wife and doomed dancer. Film fans know Fredi best as the conflicted racial passer 'Peola' in the soapy melodrama from 1934, Imitation of Life, where she plays a girl who rejects her Black mama, pretends to be White and who ends up flinging herself on her mother's coffin in a veil of cinematic shame (yes, these are spoilers. A full review will be forthcoming on this infamous little saga at some point soon), but Fredi was actually quite a unique presence in film at a difficult point in its history for Black folks.

It was pretty difficult to catch a break in Hollywood if you weren't White. The stereotypes were running amuk using the face of a manufactured Blackness the movie industry created because of a racism, ignorance and contempt for humanity shown towards Black performers that was practically ingrained in the national culture, particularly in the segregated South where the mere sight of a Black person in a non-submissive role was incredibly taboo. This was the messed-up landscape talents like Fredi Washington entered as an actress and performer and was the major reason why a potentially promising career was cut short. However, here, her biggest role in Imitation was yet to come, the role that would unfairly define her to both Black and White filmgoers, and one that was as far removed from her thinking and personal life as a character could get.

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In Black & Tan, Fredi has a fresh and natural presence from the moment she walks onscreen, with a hint of pain that flashes across her face in a brief scene, subtly showing the danger threatening to overwhelm her. She’s a dancer wed to a struggling musician (played by the super-suave Duke Ellington, of course), but she has a weak heart ticking brokenly and winding down what’s left of her life.

It’s a simple almost rudimentary plot but Fredi’s earnestness and style make it work, and pulls the action together. After being out of work, she’s landed a coveted dancing job and insists on helping her hubby catch a break with his band. Happy ending? Oh no. It leads to a sad, sad climax.

What I really like about the short is the confidence and skill of the performers. There’s a cool little scene where Ellington on the piano, and Arthur Whetsol on trumpet are having practice time, and it becomes a bit of a jam session. Fredi’s standing beside the keys with a radiant smile on her face as she listens to the men getting down to what they did so well. You can tell in the moment these guys seemed to be having fun. Opportunities were few and far between for Black creatives to dazzle the film audience and show what they were really capable of, so when the spotlight was there for the taking, they really didn’t waste it! They represented some of the best parts of themselves.

It’s also one of my favorite roles for Fredi Washington, although just a short, because the naturalism and ease of her screen vibe is a lovely indication and hint at how placed in a dignified cultural framework, she simply had more to work with creatively and in my opinion, emotionally. Imitation Of Life may have been her breakout role, but from my perspective, the way her screen image in this particular film was unfairly manipulated as a woman of color floating disconnectedly in a hostile and indifferent White world, lent to cliches, reducing a woman’s existence to an ‘abnormal’ other. In Imitation, there was a constant compare and contrast of her passing for White character to the privilege of the White counterparts who had no such struggle for social and economic clout. Although Washington does meet a tragic end in Black & Tan, there’s a confidence she exudes, a familiarity, that’s refreshing. And a sense of grounding that was likely a lot more realistic for light-skinned African American women rather than the rootless desperation of a Peola.

As for the nightclub scenes where Fredi spirals downwards into a total collapse, it’s actually a fine piece of acting!

Decked out in a dazzling number, Fredi’s vision is blurring and she sways on her feet as the smooth melody of the music plays. A bunch of Ellingtons fill her sight and the dancers multiply. Bad things are sure to come. Tragedy is near.

The way the club scenes are filmed is very interesting. The artistic manner of this young woman’s impending doom visually grabbed my attention. Black & Tan may have been only a musical short, not a full-length film, but the details is what make it great!

Fredi is draped in a costume that on many other actresses would make them appear high-glam and exotic. On the body of a frail and sick performer, it almost overwhelms her frame. She sinks into it. You can tell she’s teetering on the edge and working on what’s left of adrenaline. There’s a burst of it as she kicks into hyperdrive and does a frenetic dance, her final performance, to the beat of the band. Fredi was a fantastic performer, showing an intense energy. She is wonderful at first, but on her last leg in these few remaining moments of her life. Carried off the stage after crumpling in a heap on the floor, the last things she sees and hears on her deathbed is her beloved husband and the masterpiece of the film, the lush and hypnotic Black And Tan Fantasy.

Her deathscene was artfully filmed, heartache, regret and tenderness etched into the face of a woman cut down in her prime. With very few lines in this short and a basic premise, Fredi steals the show. She shows glimmers of what she could’ve been as an old movie queen, if given the chances of a Claudette Colbert or Myrna Loy. She’s luminous and never crosses the line into hysteria or camp. She’s just a girl in love and watching what she’s treasured slip away as she fades into darkness.

In 1929, the African-American presence was limited but there were reflections here and there in Hollywood-land of the magic of the Black female performer. The same year, Nina Mae McKinney had burst onto the scene as the exuberant ‘Chick’ in King Vidor’s Hallelujah!, a Black musical production which broke a bit of new ground.

Women like Nina and Fredi were rare in the fact that they presented a different aspect of Black womanhood, Nina going on to become the very first bonafide glamorous Black female star and Fredi continuing in a career that while unfairly stunted, encompassed stage and screen, starring in a Broadway production in 1939 with screen legend Ethel Waters in Mamba’s Daughters. The problem was the scarcity of roles; they were coming at a time when the White audience wasn’t quite ready for cherished stereotypes to be challenged.

Fredi Washington stayed in the game for some years later before departing Hollywood for advocacy and marriage, while her counterpart Nina Mae’s parts got smaller and smaller until she left film altogether, dying in relative obscurity in the late 1960′s.

The careers of women like her and Fredi shared something special, however. And while they did not get the careers they probably deserved, their presence onscreen helped to work towards changing the film presence of women of color in general. Without Fredi, there likely wouldn’t have been Lena Horne, without Lena, maybe not an Eartha Kitt or Diahann Carroll. Who knows if they helped knock the doors down a bit more for Halle Berry a few decades later! It was maybe not so much the reaching of the golden rings of fame and cinematic glory in the moment for these truly gifted ladies, but a ripple effect which could still be felt today.

Modern Hollywood has more Black female representation than they’ve ever had in its history. Yet there’s still so much work to do and progress to be made.

But for a magical moment in 1929, performers like Fredi Washington had cracked open that door to the future. Just a little bit.The short’s one of the most interesting glimpses of Black talent and glamour of the era. I enjoyed it so much! And appreciated the heart Washington put into what might’ve been a simple throwaway character. Check it out and be taken back to a different time where the struggle was a lot harder, but the determination to carve out a rightful space in history shone bright.

Fredi Washington and Duke Ellington sparkle in...Black And Tan!

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reedthisone · 8 years

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The Hollywood Politics Paradox

Here we are again. Another celebrity causing a stir by speaking out. Another person of privilege bringing politics into art. Another round of public outcry at the audacity of an artist who would say something controversial. And this time, like every time, the irony seems to escape us. Augusto Boal wrote that “all theater is necessarily political, because all the activities of man are political and theater is one of them. Those who try to separate theater from politics try to lead us into error — and this is a political attitude”. Art is politics is humanity. There is no separation, they are all part of the same whole. We can call anything of social or judicial consequence political, and our feelings around them are at the very core of what we believe and who we are. It is only reasonable then, that those whose lives have been dedicated to the expression of those interpersonal and institutional ideas would have some pretty developed politics. Artists exist in a field that by its very nature forces them to connect more deeply to the human condition. This is a major reason why art always seems to be the place for outsiders. It exists in openness and empathy and oneness and differentness and curiosity and compassion, by necessity. Those always seem to be the attitudes ascribed to the “liberal” community, mostly because it requires a profound resistance to judgement. Actors, for instance, often take on roles portraying people, attitudes and scenarios they have little to no personal experience with. They can not judge the motivation or character of the individual they embody in the way an outsider might. They instead must accept those actions and attitudes with openness and fragility in order to do their job. Those are the things that make great performances. The kind of performances Americans spend tens of billions of dollars consuming every year. The kinds of performances that occupy our small talk and social media. Empathy and entertainment cannot exist without one another. By its very nature it requires us to experience things from another perspective. But we decry those presenting it as soon as we see that enacted in actual real life. Like men who expect women to look a certain way but then bemoan what it takes to get there. They want to date a model but never want to know she wears makeup. To expect empathy from performers while decrying their empathetic natures is equally hypocritical. We use the term “hollywood” because it’s an easy scapegoat, but it is the fact that we continually direct this anger at a nebulously likeminded group that shows that it’s really just contempt for the idea of this collective of “others” that angers us. These others who we deem elitist, while we go to the theaters to be moved by their portrayal of human experience. Who we deride as out of touch while we turn on the radio to find ourselves in tears by their expression of human emotion. The same others we read about on the cover of every magazine in the grocery store checkout aisle. The same others we pay money to read gossip about and learn the secrets of. The same others we feel emotionally connected to when they break up or have children or die; whose bodies we lust after, whose faces we covet, whose riches we envy. we worship their status so we can feel vindicated by their fallibility. Or perhaps we just worship our own disdain. Ironically so many of the people I see condemning the “liberal hollywood elites” are the same people who are eager to forward memes of celebrities of various fields expressing ideas that support their own views. So really, it’s not that you don’t care what they say or don’t think they deserve to say it. It’s that you don’t want them to get away with publicizing an opinion that you don’t agree with. So before jumping on the “celebrities are here purely for my entertainment” bandwagon, ask yourself, who are you to tell someone they can express their thoughts if you agree with them or get something out of them. To say I’ll use you at my leisure, but don’t you dare speak out of turn or say something I find controversial or unacceptable. Express yourself through film, express yourself through music, express yourself through canvas or clay or concrete, but don’t you dare express yourself as a human person. We fight and claw and work and strive to express ourselves constantly and once someone finally gets to a place where they’ve got a platform, where their words and work might have impact, you tell them they must be silent? that their opinions are no longer valuable or valid? We don’t get to allow someone the right to expression only when it’s convenient for us. Lastly, it’s important to end, once and for all, the fallacy that art has no place in politics and politics no place in art. Art is the study of the human condition and politics is the enactment of it. How many times, in just the history if the United States, have the two overlapped. Aside from the fact that no one seems to mind that we’ve just elected a billionaire reality TV star to be the president, or notice how many politicians have moved to the punditry of infotainment, or count how many Bushes are celebrity reporters — there have been presidents and mayors and governors and congresspeople who have transitioned from the world of entertainment to the work of governance for no other reason than that both realms, when done right, require us to understand one another in great complexity. Giuseppe Verdi garnered fame composing sweeping operas and beautiful music that still resonates. He was also in the Italian Parliament and instrumental in the unification of Italy from a nation of disparate states to the singular country we know today. 300,000 people gathered to pay respects to his funeral procession, singing the slave chorus from Nabucco as he was carried to his burial spot, such was the influence of his art and his politics. When Nichelle Nichols was brought on to the cast of Star Trek to play Uhura, she recalled, “there were parts of the South that wouldn’t show ‘Star Trek’ because this was an African American woman in a powerful position, and she wasn’t a maid or tap dancer”. She broke ground on many levels and became an inspiration for all those who were now able to see themselves represented in a positive and exciting way, not just as a performer, but also as a scientist and explorer. Her real life efforts brought a slew of women and minorities into the space and STEM programs. This diversity is credited by NASA as instrumental in advancing the success of the whole space program. In addition, the on air interracial kiss between Ohura and Kirk (though not technically the first, arguably the most influential) helped normalize and legitimize racial equality in American culture. Nichols herself said of Star Trek, that “it not only changed the face of television, but it changed the way people thought of each other. It was a[s] big [a] contributor to uniting the races on this planet as anything.” Violetta Parra birthed the nueva canción movement in Chile, giving voice to the people, the masses who found themselves at odds with dictatorial governments, with it’s pointed political messages. It strengthened the folkloric traditions of Chile, igniting a revival of indigenous music and instruments throughout Latin America that has inspired generations. Artists of this genre had a history of “disappearing”, being imprisoned, tortured or killed by fascist, right wing governments. This led to Victor Jara, who, as a leader in the nueva canción movement, a professor, and theatrical director, was in one of the first groups targeted after Pinochet overthrew the Allende government. Jara played guitar and sang, he wrote songs of peace, of representation, of love and of strength of community. Because these were a threat to the new regime, artists inspiring people and challenging authority could not be tolerated. Jara was dragged to a large stadium with 6,000 other artists, professors, students, intellectuals and dissidents where he was publicly beaten and, in front of this stadium of people, had his face pummeled and his hands chopped off with an axe as he was told to try to sing now. Then he was shot repeatedly and his body discarded with the hundreds of other artist agitators. Pussy Riot Winter On Fire Yan Zhengxue & Ai Weiwei Do not tell me art is not political. Disagree with sentiment or significance all you like, but never relegate a person to an organ grinders monkey or parlor entertainment existing only for you pleasure. Differ in opinions, that’s what makes humanity work, but do not treat other people as if they have no value other than what you assign them or no autonomy beyond your whims. The arts do not exist just to entertain you and artists are not here to coddle you. Art has always been political and it always will be. Art is subversive and revolutionary and challenging. Art is a weapon against tyranny and conformity and complacency. It always has been and it always will be. That is why it is always so desperately needed. That is why it is always the first to be targeted. Certainly, there are varying levels of importance, sacrifice and urgency, but art, as a tool or a pastime, should make you uncomfortable. It should hurt and it should inspire, it should aggravate and it should console, it should mirror and it should move. Art is politics is humanity. It always has been and it always will be.

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leighnetwork · 5 years

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‘Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside'… of Blackpool.

Ever since I read about the elegant dances that took place in Blackpool Tower, I’ve wanted to go there. With its ornate ceiling and live music, the fresh sea air tinged with salt, the hustle and bustle of a seaside town in the height of its heyday of 1950’s Britain- and the fashions! I loved the descriptions of the frothy skirts that fluffed out as characters twirled, jumped and danced the night away. I’ve wanted to taste the air and hear the laughter of kids as the Irish sea tickles their feet for the first tine...

I’d imagined going up with cousins, but, of course, they grew too old for things like funfairs- preferring more exotic trips abroad. I’d envisioned a girly weekend with those friends who I’d known my whole life, who had stuck by me through moving across the country aged 11, had sent letters that kept me going when in hospital aged 12, who weren't ashamed to be seen out and about with me- a wheelchair user- as so many school friends were.

They stuck by me throughout the Leigh’s diagnosis, with only one drifting slightly. They supported Leigh Network with gusto! However, the test of friendship came when I lost my sight. In the blink of an eye, I lost what had, up to then, been a very good friend. I never thought she'd be the one to turn her back on 15+ years of friendship. But she was. Lol, it still niggles me that I never had a thank you text from her for the birthday gift I sent, nor a reply to my emails enquiring about how she was. Anyway, I hope she is well, and if she ever does want to nudge the door of friendship open, I will gladly welcome her back. I am, of course so, so grateful and thankful to those friends who have stuck by me as I face this new challenge of negotiating life blindly. I hope people see I am still the same funny, creative me I always was…

…Anyway! Wandered off on a tangent there, didn't I? Back to Blackpool!

When our Mito/ Leigh Network friends asked us to join them for dinner in Blackpool, how could we say no? When my mum and I began researching hotels in the area, we discovered a peculiarity on the internet.

A room is advertised at, say £45. But, when you phone up to check the access (we learned to do this as in the past, one B&B called itself ‘Accessible’ although it had 2 steps to get in!), when they hear the phrase 'accessible room', a £45 room becomes £70! I really do not know why businesses feel they can charge an extra £25, just because a person is V.I. and/ or a wheelchair user. Have they not heard of government cuts and the way the ill and disabled are being penalised for their health? We had no choice but to pay the additional charge for space to turn my wheelchair.

We arrived at the station on the hottest day of year: the sun was shining, and the temperature was rising, so we decided to stroll to The President Hotel.

The warm temperature dipped as we walked along the prom that stretched out across the Irish sea. Grey clouds tumbled across the sky turning the pristine blue sky dark, grey and foreboding as silvery clouds worked with charcoal ones to scrub the blue sky. As light rain speckles turned into pelting rain splodges, thunder growled angrily above us. We had found a shelter to huddle under, but as the rain got a bit lighter, we darted out to carry on our journey of finding the hotel. Racing along, I glanced up and saw it - a crackle of white lightening. 'Can you go any faster, Faye?' my mum called over the roaring thunder.

I picked up speed as the grey clouds cleared to white and the temperature rose again. What a beautiful storm.

The street access was very good, with dropped kerbs and beeping traffic lights aplenty. As I steered up the ramp of the hotel, an irony hit me - on the hottest day of the year, when London was bathing in 38 degrees, we were bathing in rain, being drenched in a storm, lol.

We checked in then squeezed into the small lift, but were glad for the lift, as so many places simply don't consider it. Our room was nice, despite being directly next to a staircase (with no signage to warn guests). The positives were: it had friendly staff, a turning space in both the room and bathroom and free WIFI. And the dining room overlooked the sea!

After relaxing with an audio book, we heard from our friends. They were on their way, so we headed out too. A warm breeze picked up, giving the grey-blue-golden sky a dusty glow. We were about halfway to the pub we were meeting in, when I felt little pricks on my bare arms and legs . ‘It’s raining!' I called to mum, as the little needle-like pricks turned into big, fat raindrops. My mum hurried to put up the umbrella. In the distance, I heard thunder rumble deeply. But, just as quickly as it had started, the sun came out and a warm calm returned.

We have met with Dave and Christine at the last few Newcastle Mito Patient Days. They are a lovely couple. We have known Cheryl, Gary and their 28-year-old daughter since they came and attended our Leigh Network meeting in Liverpool in 2014 and since then, our friendship has grown.

As we all caught up on each other’s news in the Weatherspoon’s seafront pub, or meals arrived. Alex's baby niece and young nephew provided us all with entertainment- bouncing and dancing round our table. Like a rocket, H zipped around and E had us all laughing with his boundless energy!

After finishing our meals, we strolled along to the funfair on the pier. The sun was out again now, and a warm breeze blew as we chatted on our way to the pier.

Shrieks of laughter and fear filled the air as fairground music sang. The colourful rides whooshed and bounced, swinging through the sea-salty, candyfloss sweetened air. Cheryl's husband took his thrill- seeking grandson on the rides, Dave, Cheryl, Alex, my mum and I cheering him on as he gleefully squealed, whilst the other kids cried to get off!

We slowly ambled back along the prom, our evening with friends coming to a close. As the temperature dropped slightly, we all hugged and said, ‘See you later’.

We picked up a portion of chips on our way back to the B&B and my Mum noticed the fairy lights along the prom that lit up, changing colour as night fell.

The following day, we explored the famous Blackpool Tower. Although the lift lacked an audio announcer, the general access was good- though staff could do with being aware of invisible illnesses- and an audio-described tour would be appreciated.

We went up to the very top. Out of the window, I could just see an expanse of beautiful blue sky. It seemed endless yet confining and imposing. At the very bottom of the window, I could just make out a strip of golden-brown colour, which I assumed to be sand. The tower has a skywalk- it’s a floor made of see-through glass- to give you a new perspective on the sea-view. Below, it just looked grey and cloudy to my V.I. eyes.

We then headed down to the well-renowned and internationally recognised Blackpool Tower Ballroom, where the Strictly Come Dancing Special takes place.

The cosy, warm, darkly lit ballroom felt like we had stepped back in time, with its ornate, intricately tiled ceiling and the pink and orange sign that adorned the wall behind the dancefloor to remind us of where we were. On the dancefloor, the atmosphere intensified as a couple of professional dancers tangoed and rhumba’d their way around in time to the organ being played- live- by the musician.

Whilst my mum watched and I listened, we were reminded of my Nan, who spent much of her youth and married life in dance halls.

When the professionals took a breather, audience members were invited onto the dancefloor. We were reminded of the past times and courtesy of my Nan’s generation, when an elderly gentleman asked my mum to dance the waltz. Unfortunately, due to my mum’s lack of dancing experience, she had to turn his kind offer down (she was also scared of standing on his toes).

After being unable to convince her, he walked off to ask another who did fulfil his dancing dream. We sipped the remainder of our drinks, watching/ listening to the scene. At the end, the organist thanked the dancers and audience, before, as if by magic, disappearing into the stage, as a pianist appeared. We enjoyed a few more performances then headed off to catch our train after popping to a few shops.

We really enjoyed our first trip to Blackpool and look forward to returning!

Since then, we at Leigh Network were delighted to hear Blackpool Tower took part in Global Mitochondrial Disease Awareness Week by glowing green for mito! Well done Blackpool Tower!

#greatbritishsummertime memories friends leighnetwork mitochondrialdisease blackpool blackpooltower disabledaccess lightupformito

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

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#7yrsago David Byrne's How Music Works

1. Improvise moving to the music and come up with an eight-count phrase (in dance, a phrase is a short series of moves that can be repeated).

2. When you find a phrase you like, loop (repeat) it.

3. When you see someone else with a stronger phrase, copy it.

4. When everyone is doing the same phrase, the exercise is over.

The most threatening thing to rockers in the era of disco was that the music was gay, black and "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings.

And Byrne's own journey has led him to be skeptical of the all-rights-reserved model, from rules over photography and video in his shows:

And here's a mind-bending look into his lyrics-writing method:

Naturally, this leads into a great discussion of the neuroscience of music itself -- why our brains like certain sounds and rhythms.

How Music Works

https://boingboing.net/2012/09/12/david-byrnes-how-music-w.html

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

Text

#6yrsago David Byrne's How Music Works

1. Improvise moving to the music and come up with an eight-count phrase (in dance, a phrase is a short series of moves that can be repeated).

2. When you find a phrase you like, loop (repeat) it.

3. When you see someone else with a stronger phrase, copy it.

4. When everyone is doing the same phrase, the exercise is over.

The most threatening thing to rockers in the era of disco was that the music was gay, black and "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings.

And Byrne's own journey has led him to be skeptical of the all-rights-reserved model, from rules over photography and video in his shows:

And here's a mind-bending look into his lyrics-writing method:

Naturally, this leads into a great discussion of the neuroscience of music itself -- why our brains like certain sounds and rhythms.

How Music Works

https://boingboing.net/2012/09/12/david-byrnes-how-music-w.html

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 years

Text

David Byrne's How Music Works #5yrsago

1. Improvise moving to the music and come up with an eight-count phrase (in dance, a phrase is a short series of moves that can be repeated).

2. When you find a phrase you like, loop (repeat) it.

3. When you see someone else with a stronger phrase, copy it.

4. When everyone is doing the same phrase, the exercise is over.

The most threatening thing to rockers in the era of disco was that the music was gay, black and "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings.

And Byrne's own journey has led him to be skeptical of the all-rights-reserved model, from rules over photography and video in his shows:

And here's a mind-bending look into his lyrics-writing method:

Naturally, this leads into a great discussion of the neuroscience of music itself -- why our brains like certain sounds and rhythms.

How Music Works

https://boingboing.net/2012/09/12/david-byrnes-how-music-w.html

10 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 7 years

Text

David Byrne's How Music Works #5yrsago

1. Improvise moving to the music and come up with an eight-count phrase (in dance, a phrase is a short series of moves that can be repeated).

2. When you find a phrase you like, loop (repeat) it.

3. When you see someone else with a stronger phrase, copy it.

4. When everyone is doing the same phrase, the exercise is over.

The most threatening thing to rockers in the era of disco was that the music was gay, black and "manufactured" on machines, made out of bits of other peoples' recordings.

And Byrne's own journey has led him to be skeptical of the all-rights-reserved model, from rules over photography and video in his shows:

And here's a mind-bending look into his lyrics-writing method:

Naturally, this leads into a great discussion of the neuroscience of music itself -- why our brains like certain sounds and rhythms.

How Music Works

https://boingboing.net/2012/09/12/david-byrnes-how-music-w.html

30 notes · View notes