#plain!mathieu | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dear-indies · 1 month ago

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hello! could i get fc suggestions with tattoos? poc, any gender is good, just... tattoos. thank you!! 🩷🩷

Non-binary:

Lizeth Selene (1997) Mexican [Black and Unspecified Indigenous] - is genderfluid and queer (she/they).

Kaiit (1997) Papuan / Gunditjmara, Torres Strait Islander - is non-binary (she/he/they).

Two Spirit:

Kali Reis (1986) Wampanoag, Nipmuc, Cherokee, Cape Verdean - is two spirit and queer (she/her).

Shawnee Kish (1987) Mohawk - is two-spirit (she/her).

Geo Soctomah Neptune (1988) Passamaquoddy - is two spirit (they/them).

Coyote Park (1999/2000) Yurok, Korean, White - is two spirit (they/he).

Women:

Gong Hyo Jin (1980) Korean.

Dichen Lachman (1982) Tibetan / White - in Supergirl.

Levy Tran (1983) Vietnamese.

Aaradhna (1983) Samoan / Gujarati Indian.

Maika Harper (1986) Inuit.

Shotzi Blackheart (1992) Filipino and White.

Slick Woods (1993) African-American - bisexual.

Deb Never (1993) Korean - is gay.

Mia Khalifa (1993) Lebanese - is bisexual - has spoken up for Palestine!

Lina Ahn (1994) Korean.

Kim Ah-hyeon (1994) Korean - in Mask Girl.

Coty Camacho (1995) Mixtec and Zapotec - is pansexual.

Sasha Lane (1995) African-American, White, and is said to be part Māori but not confirmed - is gay and has schizoaffective disorder.

Gigi Zumbado (1996) Cuban - in The Rookie.

Myha'la (1996) Afro Jamaican / White - is queer - has spoken up for Palestine!

Mei Pang (1996) Chinese.

Han Jae-in (1997) Korean - in Melo Movie.

Rico Nasty (1997) African-American / Puerto Rican.

Tia Wood (1999) Plains Cree, St'at'imc, Whonnock.

Lovisa Lager (?) Thai / White.

Male:

Danny Trejo (1944 )Mexican [Unspecified Indigenous, White, small amount of African].

Benjamin Bratt (1963) Peruvian [Quechua], White - in DMZ.

Thomas Smittle (1970) Paiute, Blackfoot / Cheyenne, White.

Robbie Magasiva (1970) Samoan.

Clint Lowery (1971) Lumbee, White.

John Cho (1972) Korean - in The Afterparty.

So Ji-sub (1977) Korean.

Joe Naufahu (1978) Tongan, Samoan, White.

Gong Yoo (1979) Korean - in The Silent Sea.

Miyavi (1981) Korean / Japanese.

Kaiwi Lyman-Mersereau (1983) Kānaka Maoli, Chinese, White.

Bobby Wilson (1984) Sisseton Wahpeton Oyate Dakota Sioux.

Clayton Cardenas (1984) Mexican, some Filipino.

Rahul Kohli (1985) Indian - in House of Usher - has spoken up for Palesitne!

Seo In-guk (1987) Korean - in Project Wolf Hunting.

Tyler Lepley (1987) African-American.

Chang Ryul (1989) Korean - in My Name.

Yamada Yuki (1990) Japanese - in Tokyo Revengers.

Stan Walker (1990) Ngāi Tūhoe, Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Ngāti Ranginui, Tauranga Moana.

Tyler Posey (1991) Mexican [including Zacateco] / White - is queer and sexually fluid.

Kasamatsu Sho (1992) Japanese - Tokyo Vice.

Vic Mensa (1993) Ghanaian.

Yves Mathieu East (1994) Afro Asian - is queer.

Aaron Pierre (1994) Jamaican, Curaçao and Sierra Leonean.

Lee Do-hyun (1995) Korean - in Exhuma.

Jack Francis (1995) Black British - has Tourette's Syndrome.

Keshi (1994) Vietnamese.

Lim Jino / jjinnno on IG (1996) Korean.

Leo Sheng (1996) Chinese - is trans - has spoken up for Palestine!

Travis Thompson (1996) Navajo, White.

Evan Mock (1997) Bisaya Filipino / White - in Marked Men: Rule + Shaw.

Murakami Nijiro (1997) Japanese - in Tokyo Revengers.

Zion Clark (1997) African-American - is a congenital amputee.

Do Hanse (1997) Korean.

Michael Cimino (1999) Puerto Rican [Taíno] / White.

Yoon Jin Young / Ash Island (1999) Korean.

Lim Yoonseok (?) Korean.

Bappie Kortram (?) Black - is trans.

Marcus LaVoi (?) Ojibwe.

Quinton “Yung Trybez” Nyce (?) Haisla - has spoken up for Palestine!

Adam Pu (?) Cambodian-Chinese.

If I'm missing anyone please let me know, I'm also a sucker for tattoos. ✨

#fc help #rph #rpc #tattoos #tattooed fc

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journaldenimportequi · 1 year ago

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Lundi 8 juillet 2024

Comment lui dire adieu

Ce n'est pas la grande forme. Je veux dire, mentalement, parce que physiquement, je vais pas trop mal, enfin, je grossis, les gens pensent que je ne fais rien de mes journées mais c'est faux : je grossis.

Mais je déprime pas mal, épisodiquement. Là ça m'a encore repris hier, dans la nuit, envie de crever. J'ai réfléchi et j'ai pensé qu'il fallait que j'aille manger, alors je suis allé manger du Saint Nectaire avec du saucisson, ça m'a remonté le moral, la bouffe, ça fait du bien.

Je souffre un peu, oh, c'est rien par rapport aux gens qui ont de vrais raisons de souffrir (malades et handicapés, je les surnomme les infortunés lorsque je les croise, et je que me réjouis d'être bien portant). Mais voilà, c'est la misère affective qui provoque mon désarroi. Quand est-ce que je vais arriver à être heureux tout seul ?

J'essaye de rencontrer des filles, ça me coûte même pas mal de pognon, sur Tinder... je match avec des filles et puis on discute, quand elles daignent me répondre mais ça ne va jamais plus loin. Mais enfin, de quoi je me plains, après tout cela ne fait que 10 mois que je suis célibataire ! Whatever...

Je me suis forcé à écrire ce soir, j'ai eu raison, parce qu'au fur et à mesure où s'écrivent ces lignent ma peine s'envole, le pouvoir de l'écriture...

Il faut que je vous dise, le mois dernier, il est arrivé un malheur, malheur prévisible hélas, mais voilà, Françoise Hardy est morte.

Et, un peu sur un coup de tête, j'ai décidé de me rendre à ses obsèques.

Alors me voilà une semaine plus tard à Paris, où j'ai loué un Airbnb, et je suis allé au Père Lachaise (que je commence à connaître, parce que ce n'est pas la première fois que je m'y rendais).

Que dire de l'événement... au début, j'ai trouvé que c'était un peu un cirque digne de Cannes en période de festival, tous ces gens qui commentaient l'arrivé des people... il en est arrivé un paquet, de Nicolas Sarkozy (avec la fidèle Carla) à Mathieu Chedid, en passant par Etienne Daho qui est passé à côté de moi, arrivant par le côté du public, reconnaissable malgré son bonnet et ses lunettes noires, et puis la première dame, Brigitte Macron, et puis bien sûr Thomas et Jacques Dutronc, qui ont été applaudis.

Et puis le cerceuil est apparu et en l'apercevant ma gorge s'est serrée, je l'avoue.

Ensuite retentit une musique : Et Si Je M'en Vais Avant Toi, j'ai trouvé ça très beau.

J'avais acheté une fleur, une rose blanche, et je me trouvais un peu bête parce que je ne savais pas où la déposer, de plus, bizarrement, quasiment personne n'est venu avec des fleurs... J'ai fini par la déposer quelque par à côté d'une photo de Françoise et de quelques fleurs qui avaient été accrochées là.

Je ne me suis pas éternisé. J'ai dû rester une heure et demi. Et puis je suis reparti, après la cérémonie. Je n'ai pris aucune photo, je pensait bêtement que ce serait indécent en telles circonstances mais j'avais probablement tort puisque la plupart des gens prenaient des clichés à tout va.

Quelques temps plus tard après ma sortie, j'étais sur un banc non loin de l'entrée du Père Lachaise, lorsqu'on m'a abordé. Il s'agissait de Benoît, une homme que je connais via les réseaux sociaux (et particulièrement par le forum « Sugar Montain »). Cela fait trois fois en un an que je me fait accoster comme ça par une connaissance des réseaux. C'est plutôt agréable, parce que ça me fait socialiser. Benoît était accompagné d'un jeune ami à lui et ça m'a permis de faire aussi sa connaissance. Depuis, nous nous suivons mutuellement sur Instagram.

J'avais parlé de Berlin, ici, il y a quelques temps. Ce projet est tombé à l'eau, comme souvent, en fait. Avec mes amies on fait des plans excitants et au final ils ne se réalisent pas, c'est une habitude. Mais je garde cette envie de voyage. J'ai réfléchi et il me semble qu'en économisant seulement quelques mois (c'est à dire en cessant de dépenser des centaines d'euros en bouquins chaque putain de mois) je pourrais facilement me payer un autre séjour à New York. Ca me trotte dans la tête depuis un moment. J'ai rêvé de New York pendant toute ma vie, et puis j'y suis allé, et depuis, je ne rêve que d'y retourner. Ce projet se concrétisera t il ? Ou sera t il empêché par ma tendance maladive à procrastiner ? J'aurai voulu y aller avec mon frère, histoire qu'il s'occupe de régler toutes les choses pratiques que j'ai la flemme de prendre en main, mais selon lui, il ne peut plus se rendre aux USA pendant plusieurs années parce qu'il a fait un voyage à Cuba. Cette idée me semble surprenante mais c'est en tout cas ce qu'il prétend. Et si j'y allais seul ? Justine, ça ne l'intéresse pas. Mais peut être que Canel serait encore enthousiasmé par cette idée, alors je pourrais y aller avec elle...

On verra, mais en tout cas si ça se fait ce sera en 2025.

Je me suis rendu qu'on d'une chose, récemment : je suis un artiste sans œuvre, et ça, c'est une vraie tragédie.

Dans 3 jours je me rendrai à nouveau à Lyon pour le concert de Cat Power, donc je vous parlais dans la dernière note, vous savez, celui où je suis censé rentrer gratuitement sur invitation en échange d'un papier. Ca me remontera peut être le moral.

Allez, je vous laisse, j'ai écris deux pages, c'est déjà pas mal, non ?

Bande son : The River, Bruce Springsteen

#diary #journal intime #cat power #paris #françoise hardy

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gratisdiamanten · 1 year ago

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ears perked up like a dog's when i saw apokastasis ichmfs and go in fear of the sun in there... are you still working on them? would love to hear about die middag als een open wond...

I poke at these every so often still because they've got so much narrative meat to them that it would be a waste to abandon them, you know?

Die middag als een open wond (english: that noontime like an open wound) is kind of a very very refashioned version of I Could Hear My Father Sing that's more grounded in the version of the Netherlands I've seen in person than the version I'd made up in my head before I lived here. It has a consistently darker, more plain and muted tone than how I'd written ICHMFS, and centers on different characters and different familial dynamics (this fic centers on Mathieu van der Poel/Christoph Roodhooft, and focuses more on the later rehabilitation of his relationship with his brother David after the disintegration of the family).

For those who followed me after my F1 stint, the short form of ICHMFS is 1) Jos sexually abuses Max, kills himself when he is confronted by Sophie with the prospect of being caught, 2) a couple of years later, Sophie begins dating Daniel who moves in two years after that, 3) Daniel grooms Max, and at 17, they run away when Sophie finds out about their relationship, 4) after a stretch of horrible mental health, they manage to build a life, marry in the early 00s, and adopt a daughter, 5) the daughter finds out in her late teens, confronts Daniel who dies in the ensuing few months, and she, Max, and Sophie are left to pick up the pieces and reconcile.

More symbolic hand-waves and explanations of the differences below if that's interesting at all.

In the NL, autumn-through-early spring is all brown and gray in the cities and even small towns with few reprieves of bright color. I haven't seen many personal gardens at all compared to the US. And then in the spring you get the green you've been praying for. The countryside is all green. It's the only real "color" to speak of, and it's mind numbingly vibrant. I'm a storyteller with a strong emphasis on color, so it's probably one of the biggest notable differences I lean into with this new version.

More than that though, it's the tone, which really doesn't serve the setting I'm trying to create, which is much deeper isolation with regard to Mathieu in die middag als een open wond. The method of suicide is more brutal, the surrounding not a tightly coiled small town with everyone pressed ear to ear (like the Verstappens and Schumachers in ICHMFS). They're in the Kapellenbos, and while neighbors aren't too far everyone takes pains to feel like they're far from each other. There are cultivated rows of enormous trees in front of the houses, hedgerows. Mathieu is a restless and difficult child frustrated by what is being done to him, and after his father's death, he is annoyed by all the grief. The Mathieu that Christoph abuses is a vulnerable and angry Mathieu prone to age-inappropriate self directed tantrums (biting his hands, hitting his thighs and stomach). He is easily cowed by praise about his athletics. It's the only place that gives him adequate direction.

Anyway, a small bit of what I'm trying to show:

Additionally, despite Max being a man, ICHMFS is ultimately a 3-generation mother-daughter story, with his daughter Mirjam coping with the reality of her parents and the pains her father suffered, pains that were necessary for the life she knows now. Mirjam had up to that point largely only known a kind home life.

Die middag is ultimately about brothers and the ugly bits of two siblings experiencing a trauma very differently. Mathieu, who was sexually abused, is angry and indifferent to his father's death, and later resistant to demands, constantly dissatisfied, self destructive, with unbearable ambition (that drives him to a career ending injury at 18). David resents how Mathieu draws attention, doesn't grieve normally, for reasons he can't understand. How he does better despite his unruliness. And eventually, for not only tearing the family apart, but for leaving him behind to clean up the mess without ever contacting him. In their mid to late twenties, they're reconciling. To me, that's the emotional meat of the story.

#die middag als een open wond #asks #cullthedeer #my fic

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years ago

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National French Dip Day

Celebrated and enjoyed today on National French Dip Day, a French dip, also known as a beef dip, is a hot sandwich made with roast beef (usually thinly sliced) and a French roll or baguette. It may be served plain but is usually served with au jus, which is French for "with juice" and consists of beef broth—or something similar, like beef gravy or stock—usually from the cooking process. French dips may also have other toppings, with Swiss cheese and onions being the most common. Beef may be substituted with roast pork, pastrami, turkey, lamb, or ham.

Philippe the Original (commonly called Philippe's today and known as Philippe's Restaurant when it opened) and Cole's French Dip (also known as Cole's Pacific Electric Buffet), both located in downtown Los Angeles, have a rivalry as to who is the originator of the French dip sandwich. National French Dip Day was initiated by Cole's French Dip in honor of its 110th anniversary on November 12, 2018. They offered a $10 French dip and martini combo all day. They had a similar offer the following year. Ironically, a "French Dip Day" had previously been celebrated by Philippe the Original, on October 6, 2008, in honor of their 100th anniversary. French dip sandwiches were priced at their original ten cents listing, and coffee was five cents.

Cole's and Philippe's both opened in 1908—Philippe's first and Cole's about a month later. While Cole's claims to have created the French dip at that time, Philippe's claims to have created it in 1917 or 1918. Philippe's uses the phrase "Home of the Original French Dip Sandwich" and calls the French dip their "specialty of the house." Philippe's French dip is served "single-dipped," "double-dipped," or "wet," with the bread being dipped in beef juices when it is put together. Philippe's and Cole's both have a spicy house mustard that patrons traditionally put on the sandwich.

Philippe's was founded by Philippe Mathieu, a French immigrant and cook who had arrived in Los Angeles five years earlier and opened a delicatessen. He sold Philippe's in 1927, and the descendants of those buyers changed the name of the restaurant to Philippe the Original. In 1951, on account of the construction of the Hollywood Freeway, it moved to its present location at 1001 N Alameda St.

There are several accounts as to the start of the sandwich at Philippe's. Among others, two are the most common or credible. The first comes from Philippe's website, which says:

One day in 1918, while making a sandwich, Mathieu inadvertently dropped the sliced french roll into the roasting pan filled with juice still hot from the oven. The patron, a policeman, said he would take the sandwich anyway and returned the next day with some friends asking for more dipped sandwiches. And so was born the 'French Dipped Sandwich," so called either because of Mathieu’s French heritage, the French roll the sandwich is made on or because the officer’s name was French. The answer is lost to history.

The second is a first-hand account, coming from Philippe Mathieu himself in a Los Angeles Times interview from 1951, written at the time of the relocation of the restaurant because of the Hollywood Freeway:

One day a police officer asked me if I would mind splitting one of these large loaves of French bread and filling it with 'some of the delicious roast pork.' I was not too busy, so I said, 'Sure.' Then he asked me to 'please cut it in half. I've got a friend outside who can eat it.' Then he asked for some pickles, onions and olives.

Mattieu went on to say:

Then we started making French-roll sandwiches for those who had smaller appetites. One day a customer saw some gravy in the bottom of a large pan of roast meat. He asked me if I would mind dipping one side of the French roll in that gravy. I did, and right away five or six others wanted the same.

So, by the supposed creator's own account, the French dip started out as a pork sandwich, not a beef sandwich, and was eaten with pickles, onions, and olives.

As for Cole's, one of Los Angeles's oldest bars, several stories have passed down through employees over the years. Records cannot be found of Cole's French dip being mentioned before Philippe's was known for them, and because of both of these reasons, its claim is not as strong as Phillipe's. An interview in the Los Angeles Times in 1997 of Gitti Beheshti, then co-owner and manager, says the following:

Mr. [Henry] Cole was German. He had a friend that was a chef working here. He was in the kitchen when someone wanted a sandwich, then the bread fell into the beef juice and they liked it. The other customer in line behind him asked for the same sandwich.

Another account claims that a chef by the name of Jack Garlinghouse made the sandwich for a customer who wanted a roast beef sandwich but had sore gums, so he dipped the sandwich in beef juices before serving it, softening the bread to make it easier to eat.

It's unknown why this Los Angeles-born sandwich has "French" in its name, but there are several plausible explanations. It could be because a French roll is used. It could be because it is dipped au jus—a French phrase for "with juice." It could be named for Philippe Mathieu, who was a French immigrant. Or, as mentioned in the first Philippe's story above, it could be because the officer who received the first French dip was named French.

Finally, it could be based on a pun. In the early twentieth century, a "French dip" was also a dress style—also used in men's and women's jackets—that dropped the waist to below the belt, to give the wearer a thinner appearance. The sandwich name could be poking fun at the fact that when one thinks about slimming down, they usually don't think of a sandwich made with meat and gravy. No matter why it has the name it does, or who its creator was, the French dip is not just beloved in Los Angeles, but around the world, and we celebrate and enjoy it today on National French Dip Day!

How to Observe National French Dip Day

Have a French dip at Philippe the Original or Cole's French Dip, or at one of the other best places in the United States to have one.

Enjoy a French dip from a chain restaurant like Arby's or McAlister's Deli.

Have a French dip at a local restaurant.

Check for special offers in honor of National French Dip Day.

Make a French dip.

Source

#Big Dipper #National French Dip Day #fries #food #restaurant #Canada #horseradish #summer 2023 #travel #original photography #vacation #12 November #onion #bell peppers #NationalFrenchDipDay #sandwich

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revclations · 2 years ago

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open to: @lvciddreamt

featuring: mathieu dahan, thirty-six, queer, hacker, he/him.

plot: following a supposed accident that took multiple lives, valerie went to mathieu with the request of hiding out at his apartment till the heat of the police looking for her died down.

"overly complicated is an understatement. it was hard to see anything through that blanket of smoke." mathieu had a tendency to exaggerate but it was all meant in good spirits, if he actually held any ill will towards valerie then she wouldn't have been on his couch in the first place, she'd probably be behind bars or in the back of an ambulance covered in a white sheet. people often came to him seeking refuge, he knew how to hide in plain sight and his specific set of talents were favoured amongst the down on their luck, though it didn't mean it was always happy about the revolving door of misfits who made themselves at home at his place. it was different with valerie, she wasn't quite as grimy as the others, which would have been surprising to anyone else if they had learned what it was she was so desperate to hide away from. he raised an eyebrow at her callout and bit back a smile, he appreciated the sudden pair of balls she'd grown in the face of his persistent teasing. "you're right, but a snitch is better than a killer, so i'd still be winning." he wouldn't actually hand her over, if people didn't trust him then he lost any kind of credibility and he was good as dead. it was fun to tease her though, and they had to pass the time somehow.

#𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖞 𝖘𝖆𝖐𝖊 › closed starters.#𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖓 › mathieu dahan.

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agencehdz · 6 months ago

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VALIDATION DU SCÉNARIO DE L'ÉTUDE PRÉ-OPÉRATIONNELLE DE LA BRICHE

Mathieu Hanotin, Maire de Saint-Denis et président de Plaine Commune, et Hervé Chevreau, Maire d'Epinay-Sur-Seine et vice-président de Plaine Commune, ont arbitré un scénario dans le cadre de l'étude urbaine confiée au groupement HDZ.

Le projet est intégré pour la révision du PLUi qui sera approuvé en 2025. L'étude a été réalisée avec TN+ (paysage), Vizea (développement durable), Transitec (mobilité), Attitudes Urbaines (programmation culturelle) et la SCET (montage, foncier).

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mathieumafillefoundation · 1 year ago

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AIMONS-NOUS VIVANTS

Cirque exotique (c'est aussi une chanson de François Valéry)

🌴

CRÉATION 🥳

Pôle national cirque Agora de Boulazac / Nouvelle Aquitaine

21 MARS 2024

20h00

Cube cirque / Plaine de Lamoura (24)

50 minutes

À partir de 12 ans

+ D'INFOS ICI

AIMONS-NOUS VIVANTS

Duo Théâtre / Cirque (toujours aussi bavard)

COIFFÉ DE PALMES DE COCOTIER LE MÂT N'A PLUS RIEN DE CHINOIS NOUS L'APPELONS DÈS LORS : LA PERCHE ANDALOUSE

CONCEPTION : MMFF – Arnaud SAURY ÉCRITURE ET INTERPRÉTATION : Arnaud SAURY & Samuel RODRIGUES COLLABORATIONS ARTISTIQUES :

Suzanne JOUBERT (Textes)

& Marie VAYSSIÈRE (Dramaturgie)

COACH MÂT CHINOIS : Kinane SRIROU LUMIÈRE : Jean CEUNEBROUCKE & Alix VEILLON RÉGIE GÉNÉRALE : Paul FONTAINE, Marius BICHET & Benjamin CAMBRONNE PRODUCTION / DIFFUSION : Déborah BOËNO & Laura GUILLOT

Faisant corps (et âme) avec son complice, le circassien virtuose Samuel Rodrigues sur lequel il s'appuie au propre (jusqu'à lui faire mal) comme au figuré (magnifiques échanges), Arnaud Saury explore de nouvelles dimensions propres à titiller son désir d'éternel explorateur. Lui, l'ex-danseur, insatiable découvreur de nouveaux espaces à partager avec ses complices – on a tous en mémoire l'épopée fabuleuse de "Dad is dead" sur le vélo de Mathieu Despoisse – se lance ici à l'assaut de l'inaccessible culminant à près de cinq mètres.

Yves Kafka La revue du spectacle

Comment deux pensées, deux corps aussi différents peuvent-ils parvenir à un cet accord inattendu de gestes et de mouvements ? Quelle attention infinie a-t-il fallu à celui qui est le maitre en la matière pour conduire l'apprenti jusqu'à son art, c'est à dire jusqu'à lui. Lui, Samuel, si indéniablement bâti pour la force et si délicat pourtant dans sa façon de travailler. Lui, si patient à transmettre ses figures complexes qu'il écrit au scalpel le long d'un mât. Ce mât posé sur la page d'un monde qui oscille entre chute et exploit. Lui, si jeune encore et l’autre qui pourrait être son père, ouvrant avec lui le champ d'une parole en mouvement. Comment, en voyant cette improbable traversée, pourrait-on imaginer un seul instant, que cette aventure aurait pu être menée sans une entière confiance et un indéfectible respect. Imaginer le contraire ce serait ne pas avoir perçu l'élan qui est en jeu ici : aller l'un vers l'autre et inventer ensemble. Pour que l'eau devienne vague il faut bien que s'en mêle le vent.

Suzanne Joubert

PRODUCTION MMFF - Mathieu Ma Fille Foundation COPRODUCTIONS Agora - Pôle national cirque - Boulazac - Nouvelle Aquitaine // Pôle Arts de la Scène - Marseille // ONYX - Scène conventionnée de St Herblain // Le Prato - Pôle national cirque - Lille // Théâtre des Halles - Scène d’Avignon // Archaos Pôle national cirque – Marseille // Le Palc- Pôle national cirque - Châlons en Champagne - Grand Est SOUTIENS Espace Périphérique - Paris // Cirk'Eole - Montigny-lès-Metz // La Cascade - Pôle national cirque - Bourg-Saint-Andéol // Cheptel Aleïkoum - Saint Agil // iddac, agence culturelle du Département de la Gironde, Atelier des Marches et Festival Trente Trente - Bordeaux métropole // Ministère de la Culture - Direction Régionale des Affaires Culturelles - Provence Alpes Côte d’Azur // Région SUD // Département des Bouches du Rhône // Ville de Marseille.

Mathieu Ma Fille Foundation Fond d'écran n°05 Mars 24 © MMFF

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mathieuschue · 10 months ago

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Would it be presumptuous to ask if one of your dream roles is in Waitress? Welcome to PSU, May. I'm Mathieu, and after years of trying to convince myself I liked plain back coffee, I've learned to embrace anything hazelnut flavored. Any recommendations?

i think i'm finally all set for this semester at school. a little daunting as the new girl, but i think that is just something that will end up being okay in the long run. hi! i'm may rhodes, future broadway princess and baker extraordinaire. if you don't find me in dance studios, or at vocal lessons you'll find me at the bean where i'm a barista.

i'd love to learn more about you all! who are you and what is your coffee order?

#dash: may r.#int: may r.#dash: all.

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deepartnature · 2 years ago

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Four Figures at a Table, by the Le Nain Brothers, c 1643

"It often seems the art of pre-modern Europe is a cavalcade of kings and queens and aristocrats. Yet in the age when Van Dyck was painting silk-clad cavaliers, Antoine, Louis and Mathieu Le Nain painted the French peasantry. This is a typically blunt and bleak example of their unvarnished records of real life. An older woman looks right at us, despairing, while a younger woman also casts us a melancholy glance. She is holding a plain ceramic water jug, to go with the dry bread the young boy in the picture is eating. Life’s no picnic for these country folk – it is an all but bare table. Dull brown light adds to the atmosphere of plainness and poverty. About 150 years before the French Revolution, the Le Nain Brothers reveal the injustice that sustained the brilliance of upper-class life."

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simplyamplex-a · 7 years ago

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for @heartxshaped-bruises based on the 4th bullet

“I know you’re in there. I can literally hear you walking around.” he said through the door. He looked at the wood as if he could see through it until he saw her face, which he imagined was scrunched up in annoyance. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out of town, but I brought you gifts to make up for it.” She had every right to be angry with him, he wasn’t blaming her. Mathieu was simply here to make amends since his father’s business had called him away suddenly when the two of them had had plans. For anyone else, he wouldn’t have cared, but he cared about Donia. Surprisingly more so than anyone else he knew, but he tried not think about it.

#mathieu #plain!mathieu #[because i blame you for his existence]

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grem-archive · 3 years ago

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Seeker

“And once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you would return.” – John Hermes Secondari, Saga of Western Man

Just a young man's passion for the sky and the stars. Fly onward, ever upward.

[view on ao3]

Liberating are the heavens.

And after all, why shouldn’t they be? For what, pray tell, is more freeing than the winds themselves. Vaulted ceilings of changing skies and constellations would live eternal as Alfred’s chapel, his choir the billowing gusts through leaves, his bell the pealing thunder of a spring storm, the very stars mere embellishments upon the walls. Untethered like a wisp of cirrus on a blue morning was where he aspired to be.

Dressed in his darkest clothes Alfred pressed against the wooden slats of the town’s houses. He ducked his head to keep his unnatural eyeshine out of sight from the night watch as one of them drew close, orange lanternlight bobbing steadily. The young boy tried to walk on his toes lest the clack of heel on stone gave him away. Alfred was determined to make it to the crest of hills outside the quiet town, far from tavern voices and revealing light. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held; Alfred sprinted the moment the watchman disappeared around a street corner. Quicker he had always run when there was no sun, no eye of any divine to watch him. Further he ran from the warm lights of home and into the velvet embrace of night. Chilling breeze licked at the boy’s heels and appeared to propel him. He only stopped once he surmounted a grassy knoll, immediately letting himself fall back into the prickly green carpet below. Wide oceans met the dense ether above and Alfred smiled to himself. Pictures played out in the silver inkblots above better than any manuscript or chart could hope to achieve. Here he would stay until God’s judging rays turned that sacred blue into gray.

Empires rise and fall, such is the cycle of those fiercely burning suns as the Earth turns so. Humans come and go; such is the view of a creature often untouched by time. How quickly Alfred had tried to move from the shadow of those before him and form an empire of his own. Where better to start than his own open plains, he had decided among the voices of others. Young and boundless energy flowed just as waves of green prairie and amber wheat lulled like rhythmic seas. Glorious loneliness in the face of discovery. Glorious kinship in his only friend upon the ceaseless landscape. Free of eyes and voices altogether as he made rapid progress.

A horse was all Alfred needed. There was no rush here. Freely he flitted from frontier town to rolling hilltops upon wishful wings of his own feather and four sturdy legs of companionship. He would scale the cliffs and bathe in the creeks if he so pleased. Several times a day he would check the position of the sun as it manipulated his cool shadow. Only the sun had such a privilege. Cotton clouds streaked the safe blanket above his head and the boy, now barely a man, pressed onward. How Alfred had scoffed when last he’d talked with his brother. Mathieu was still under their father’s thumb. Alfred had begged – rather, demanded – that Mathieu come with him and escape since he was so seemingly bent against joining his brother in excellent independence. His brother had refused. No one ever gave Mathieu credit for being stubborn when it suited him. Well, it was Mathieu’s loss, Alfred thought as he watched the heavens morph in real-time. Dusty hills covered in scrub broke the horizon, framing a lone mesquite tree in relief upon a backdrop of soft lavender and orange sky. Pink limned long clouds, outstretched fingers over the landscape. The only hand Alfred cared to hold. The first glimmers of early evening stars were the only audience the rowdy teen cared to entertain, for the moon was gone, and would be for two days. Whooping and spurring his horse into motion down across the sparse scrub, Alfred performed for the theater above him without reservation.

Flight, oh, wondrous flight. To leave the ground and soar. Had Alfred not dreamt of flight since childhood? Hours he had spent observing birds in their twists and spirals, butterflies in graceful meandering, and the sharp snaps of the rare bat to his home. Imagining the world buoyed up by wings of his own fed him like no other. If Icarus had flown too close to the sun, well, Alfred would show him how it should be done. To float, to fly, to fall. And how reluctantly would Alfred remember the three words Arthur had impressed upon him for years: onward, ever upward. He would show them and make those words his. Onward, ever upward. That was how it had been. That was how it must be.

Alfred’s lungs stung with cold air. He would not trade this feeling for all the warmest summers his home had to offer. The muffled sound of the engine in front of him, the whirring of a propeller, the glare of bright light against his canopy. Music, sweet music. Loosing a laugh of pure joy into the tight space he only pushed his aircraft further, harder, higher. Resistance came as the plane could no longer climb, a weightless sensation stalling Alfred in the endless stratosphere. He tipped the control stick and hung there, waiting for gravity to enact her oppressive law upon his being. Like clockwork she came for them both and Alfred kicked his aircraft into a controlled spiral. White light flared off his wings as he spun back toward Earth. Slowly the duo turned their noses down. Gloved hands perilously left the joystick to pet the marvel of engineering that the young man controlled. His protective glasses swirled with ribbons of blue and white, pure as a spring and real as his own flesh. This was where he belonged. Alfred’s heart shrieked, racing as he regained control of his trajectory and watched the solid ground speed toward him. Pulling hard on the stick, he once again felt a moment of weightless bliss when the plane around him strained against momentum and pitched skyward once more. Though his energy was stretched, he brought his steadfast steed into a wide barrel roll before straightening out low. Euphoria bloomed through the young man’s body and only then did he perceive the harsh reprimand coming through his radio. Alfred didn’t care, he only wanted more.

Humanity soon sought ever higher reaches and Alfred lived for it. No longer could mere flight satisfy the curiosity of hundreds, thousands, millions. Longing for the celestial had never left any of them. How often Alfred had seen stories of the sidereal, the yearning for things beyond reach. That yearning was one of his own. Onward, ever upward, past the clouds, the atmosphere, and even the Earth herself. Curiosity drove him like incessant spirits. What more was out there? And who could stop him if he tried to jump for it? Why wouldn’t anyone want to see it?

Tears had welled in the man’s eyes the first time he saw the Earth from three hundred kilometers up. Alfred would never admit it, but he had cried at seeing their patchwork marble from so far away and looking so uncharacteristically peaceful. That NASA had selected him for the astronaut candidate program was already a miracle for him. The fact that he had passed to be allowed onboard Columbia for this mission, STS-55 or D-2, was downright mystical. Seven other crew members sat aboard the Space Shuttle, two of them German astronauts from the ESA. Alfred’s seat was mid-deck beside them. Their goal was to reach Spacelab for experiments and – what Alfred was even more excited for – the testing of the SAREX II radio system. Average civilians would be allowed to speak to them from miles away as they touched the stars. Experiments were cool and all – and the American was riding high on the thrill of anticipation and discovery, there was no mistake of that – but knowing that he could speak to someone from the edge of the vast universe might just cause him to burst. Truly weightless, what a feeling! Seeing a storm swirl above the Earth with such a view compared to nothing else. Coming back to land had saddened Alfred more than he wanted to let show. The things he would do to go back again.

Liberating are the heavens. Alfred had experienced them firsthand. And why shouldn’t they be? Being alone in the sky was more freeing than anything he’d felt before. The space to be himself without thought, to become lost in too much thought, and the space to simply see unbidden, with no judgment or nattering voices that weren’t his own. He had run past the winds, flown higher than the thunder, and seen the stars with his own eyes. Justified was he in believing in their unchained opportunity. And dare he would fly ever higher.

#hetalia #aph america #hws america #alfred f jones #very self-indulgent in a way #one of my greatest heroes growing up was sally ride #my mom once wanted to be an astronaut and so did i #this was inspired by nothing special #just a boy and his love for the heavens #this has always been a part of alfred's character that i've loved and related to #i think it encapsulates so much of him #please be gentle #papa echo november #writing #i did not have anyone beta read this my apologies in advance #alfred f jones // daring to fly

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linaselandbasil · 3 years ago

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He's a feminist because-

Nevra: he has a sister. (Look up Madonna whore complex)

Valkyon: he was put on this mortal plain to look pretty and eat ass, being a bigot is not on his agenda.

Ezarel: he's a man of science

Lance: he doesn't respect men either. Yay equality!! Also, he wishes he was aborted so he's totally pro choice

Leiftan: why the hell would he not? *bats lashes murderously*

Mathieu: he thinks he is, but he really isn't because he's in this to get bitches. (He doesn't get bitches)

!Bonus!

Kassvin: he's a socialist with a cooter of course he's a feminist

#eldarya #unhinged #lance eldarya #valkyon

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rabbitcruiser · 7 months ago

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