#sylvia plath festival

[lovingsylvia]

Sylvia Plath Literary Festival 21st - 23rd October 2022 Hebden Bridge & Heptonstall

The blood jet is poetry, / There is no stopping it.

https://plathfest.co.uk/

...

ONLY ONE WEEK LEFT!

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

WHAT LOVE DID THEN, LOVE DOES NOW ─── rowan laslow ☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “What love did then, love does now: gnaws me through.” — ‘Dialogue Between Ghost And Priest’, Sylvia Plath.

pairing. rowan laslow x vampire!reader

summary. after you find rowan bleeding out in the woods, you have no choice but to turn him. (1) (2) (3)

warnings. swearing, mention of blood + death, spoilers for wednesday s1

word count. 2.3k

i. 

You’re picking a piece of grass off your shirt and begrudgingly picking up the cotton candy you dropped on the floor, when you smell something. 

It’s sweet as syrup, rich like chocolate and absolutely delectable. You haven’t smelt this much of this thing in a long time; at least not for the last two and a half centuries or so. 

It’s blood. And a lot of it. From the sweet taste on your tongue, you know it’s human. 

If it was this much blood, and from a human… it dawned on you that someone had probably died, one of the other Fangs had drank for too long — or both. If it's both, you thought, fang digging nervously into your bottom lip, the normies might burn you all to a crisp in the morning. 

You began to run towards the smell. 

The origin of the blood is far, much deeper into the forest than where you’d begun running — just near the popcorn booth at the Harvest — and when you finally skirted to a stop, leaving a trail of dust behind you, you couldn’t see the familiar festival lights anymore. 

“Hello?” You called out, cupping a hand around the side of your mouth to maximize the volume. “It’s [Name] [Last Name]! You know me!” You said, edging closer to the scent. “You don’t have to be scared! I can help you!” 

If one of your fellow vampires had accidentally killed a normie, they’d be skittish, prone to escaping. You didn’t want to frighten them. 

Finally, you appeared from behind the multitude of trees crowding you, and stumbled into a clearing. 

However, instead of seeing a scared vampire and a dead or unconscious normie like you thought, there lay an unidentifiable mass, bloody and twitching. It was on its stomach, limbs flayed out in various positions. Blood gurgled all around the body’s middle half, quickly oozing out. 

The smell was so sickly, so saccharine and cherry, it didn’t smell good anymore. It felt almost diabetic. Nauseating, even.

However bloody, however sweet, it didn’t matter. The corpse felt like nothing more than a cruelly murdered slab of meat.

The sight of the corpse made all the hairs on your body stand up. You barely withheld a scream. It begged to tear out of your throat, terror thrumming through your bones. Instead, you held your breath, leaning down near the corpse, and lifted it onto its back. 

Still with his familiar glasses — now cracked and tangled in his hair — lay Rowan Laslow, lips turning blue. His face, barely identifiable, was covered in long scratches, one particularly long one stretching from his right cheek down, disappearing into his shirt. 

His stomach was positively destroyed. It was what could only be described as a large tangled mess of various organs and escaping blood, because although he had been a telekinetic, he had still been mortal. 

You willed yourself not to shriek; not to run away. 

Firstly, you checked for a heartbeat. 

Your cold fingers found Rowan’s limp wrist — which had begun to freeze similar to yours, except he wasn’t going to heal — and you wrapped them around. 

After a second: a faint heartbeat pulled through. But it was ragged, dragging along like feet on the sidewalk, almost inaudible and entirely weak. 

Just barely - just barely he was alive. But you couldn’t even begin to know how to save him. 

Atleast, not in the typical way. Not in the human, medical definition of saving someone. You only knew one way you could save someone with this severe of wounds. 

You knew you’d have to turn him. 

The mere thought rendered you still. You sat frozen, fingers still curled around his skinny wrist, mind whirling. 

You couldn’t turn him, you couldn’t - you couldn’t subject a human to the life you’d been born into. To top it all off, vampires hadn’t turned people in centuries. Most of you hadn't even dranken blood in the last three centuries of your life.

You couldn’t do that. 

Suddenly, Rowan’s hand gripped your own, fleeting strength pouring into the desperate way his nails dug into your dead flesh. 

“…Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “please … help… help me…” He cried out in pain, his tone the definition of misery. His shrieking ended with weak, sniffling tears.

It felt as though lightning had shot through your brain. What were you doing, sitting beside a dying man and thinking about how you couldn’t handle him dying? 

In one fell swoop, you lifted him up onto your lap, pushed aside his mussed hair, and positioned your fangs along the crook of his bloodstained neck. 

Then, you bit. 

And you felt your teeth sink into his flesh, carefully, slowly, the tips of chiseled bone curling into his frail, thin skin. His shallow breathing quickened, and when your bottom fangs bit him parallel on the other side of his neck, he whimpered. 

You grimaced, tasting his bloodstained skin on your lips, and you held your bite there. You let your saliva enter his blood stream, waiting long enough until you were certain you had infected him.

Then, you pulled back, and watched as his body began to repair itself. First, your bite wound on the left side of his neck let one rivulet of blood slip out, before it went through every stage of healing tenfold fast: fresh wound, scab, pink scar, then two dark brown dots artfully positioned were all that were left. It looked like he had merely gotten a tattoo.

After that, came the big stuff: the monstrous scratches on his face healed in mere moments, leaving behind barely visible scar stripes; his organs untangled themself, pulled back into his stomach and were put together like a puzzle; his abdomen grew muscle and flesh and skin, stitching itself together until he was complete, again. Several patchwork scars ran horizontally down his stomach — where… whatever had killed him, had attacked. 

Soon enough Rowan was completely whole, barely scarred with regular breathing.

You tentatively picked out a shard of glass out of his hair — from his decimated glasses — and the energy in your body escaped you. Your shoulders slumped, and came to your feet, carefully hoisting Rowan onto your shoulder. 

Despite now being a vampire himself, his weight still amounted to nothing. Soberly, that mere fact made you remember how you’d just turned him. 

You had just turned him; one of the mortals you saw be born and grow up and die in a matter of decades that felt like minutes to you; a human being. 

You felt like you could throw up. Instead, you traveled through the shadows back to Nevermore. 

-

He’s gasping, gasping like he’d been drowned. Then he’s coughing, a worrying mix of asphyxiate and dry throat, so you hand him a glass. 

Without looking, he downs it, expression softening with relief, the sweet liquid satiating his senses. 

However, when pulls the glass away from his lips, he lets out an ear-striking scream. 

Rowan drops the glass. And it explodes on your dorm floor, thick, cherry coloured blood splattering beneath your feet. Blood slips off his lip, onto his shirt, and you can see the blood climbing the cracks of his teeth as he shrieks. 

You press one hand to his mouth, silencing him, and your other hand reaches up to your own, a single finger in the middle of your lips. 

“Shh!” You say, and his eyes go even wider. Buggishly so. You gesture around the room: it’s your dorm in Karnstein Hall, a place he is very obviously not allowed to be. Thank god your roommate graduated last semester on early admission to university. 

Rowan’s eyes follow your hand, circling around the room. After a moment, he calmed completely, lying lifeless and faint like you’d sedated him. 

Relieved, you pulled your hand back, and leaned back in your plastic desk chair, sighing. “Do you remember what happened?” You said hesitantly, watching Rowan blankly stare at his hands. 

There came no response. Instead, Rowan suddenly jumped up from his place on your bed, tripped over the sheets and scrambled for the door, voice calling out for help like an animal’s dying cry. 

As quickly as Rowan had jumped up, your left leg made an aim for his abdomen, sending him rolling across your dorm floor. His back hit the wall with a light thump, and your hand balled up the fabric on the back of his blood stained t-shirt. You lifted him up by the scruff, bringing him to eye level. 

“Okay, I’ll tell you what happened. You almost died. Do you not remember the Harvest Festival? The forest,” You say, boring your eyes into his own. 

Still there was no response, but when he went limp, fighting spirit quickly escaping him, you set him down on his feet. 

Then, his eyebrows shot up, climbing higher when he hastily pulled up his shirt — revealing nothing but bare, pale skin, and completely intact flesh. 

“But— I thought I—“ Rowan stuttered over himself, an alarmed expression tugging at his delicate features. 

“I saved you,” You said in a mumble. His expression turned immediately curious, as well as awed and thankful, but you felt anything but deserving.

“I saved you, Rowan, and you’re not going to like it.” Prepared for this, you snatched the cheap handheld mirror off your desk and lifted it up at him. 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could say, shamefully looking at your feet. 

His face paled, even moreso than it had been before he’d turned and after he’d died, and he looked ready to faint. 

There was nothing in the mirror. Absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t see his reflection, and he certainly couldn’t see the scars casing his entire being. Before, he had looked flimsy and demure; now he looked positively ruined. 

“You turned me?” He said, tone a mixture of disbelief, despair and ire. It all culminated in his familiar shaky whisper. His face however, was desperate; a certain melancholy mirrored in his eyes, a direct opposition to how his voice wavered.

“You almost died,” You repeated, leaning closer to him. “I found you choking on your own blood for fucks sake.” 

Your fingers found themselves on Rowan’s neck, and he flinched, before squeezing his eyes shut gingerly as you traced the bite wound you’d made just the night before. “I’m sorry.” You said again, avoiding Rowan’s eyes. 

“But it was either this,” You said, finally looking up at him, “or getting hoisted six-feet into the grave.”

At the mention of ‘six feet’, something dawned on Rowan. “Something — something attacked me that night.” He climbed onto the edge of your day bed, contemplating. 

“What?” You said, brows twisting together. “Attacked you? In — in Jericho? Do not tell me it was a bear, Rowan, you are a telek—“

Skillfully, his powers pushed you back, a frown on his face. Without knowing the new extent of his powers, he threw you against the wall — which he had never been able to do to Vampires, at least not while he was still alive — and the both of you were rendered speechless.

He paused, mouth hanging open. You rolled around  on the floor for a moment, recollecting your dizzy vision. “Same powers. New limits, Rowan. You’re a vampire.” Was all you said. 

“I…” Rowan’s mouth opened and closed, “I — it — it wasn’t a - it wasn’t a bear, okay?” he decided on saying instead. “It was - I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t so simple as an animal.”

You bit your lip, and sat up from the floor. “You’re right. No bear does what it did to you last night,” You said, painfully remembering the image of Rowan’s destroyed abdomen and clawed out face. 

Rowan flopped completely flat on your mattress. “Besides… that thing, Wednesday Addams was there. She — I,” he sighed looking suddenly ashamed, “I tried to kill her, and she was trying to tell me I was in danger. She was talking about the thing that attacked me and I…”

“Back up,” You said, incredulously, “you tried to kill her?”

He grimaced. “Not my brightest moment. My mother, she… she was a seer — a powerful one at that — and she drew a picture, thirty years ago, of Nevermore destroyed. Wednesday was in that picture — as well as Crackstone, for whatever reason — and I just… went ballistic.” 

You pressed two fingers between your eyes. “Okay. Okay, you had your reasons. Totally fucked up ones nevertheless, but still, reasons.” 

“She thinks I’m dead.” He said numbly. 

You shook your head. “We can deal with that stuff later. Right now,” You said, getting up, “We need to explain away all of this.” You gestured to his bite and being in your room in Karnstein Hall.

“Not the truth?” Rowan said hesitantly, slipping off your daybed. 

“Gods no, Rowan. At least not for now.” You bit your lip, tapping your feet. “I know, and you know, that Weems isn’t going to do anything about… whatever that that thing was, even if we did tell her.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding. “Alright then. You got any bright ideas?”

“I have something in mind,” You said, hesitant, “but you’re not going to like it. I mean, you’re really gonna fucking hate it.” 

Rowan rolled his eyes, “Shoot. You already fucking turned me, what’s the worse it can get?”

-

Turns out, it gets worse. 

You sat positioned extremely close to Rowan, hands dancing suggestively across his thigh, face inching closer to his. “We want to spend eternity together,” you said, a toothy smile stretching across your face. 

“Right, sweetheart?” You said, winking at Rowan. 

Extremely perturbed and trying harder not to show it, Rowan smiled tightly. “Of course, my love.”

“So… you turned him?” Weems said, incredulous.

“He asked first,” You said with a shrug. 

“I asked first.” Rowan conceded painfully, grimacing so much he hoped Weems thought it might be his disgusting, lovely joy. 

Weems' right eye twitched, and Rowan shared the sentiment. 

[hanafarook]

"Poetry Was Always Evolutionary"

I always held a deep seated angst about poetry being a dying artform and me   honing my skills in the said dying artform.

The more waves of constant technological upgrade and fast paced lives that required less and less attention span came about, the more convinced I was and (wholeheartedly even) that I was on a tragic cruise ship bound to sink much like titanic. 

I could've been an artist who painted or something that engaged people long enough but noooo I had the sheer audacity to run around like a bull in a Spanish festival aka I was too charged with the fervor of old fashion ideas of literature and writing. 

There was no going back, if you're knee deep sinking in a quicksand, flailing your hands around is an even quicker way of upgrading your demise but of course if you couldn't stop Matthew McConaughey from his interstellar trip, you most certainly couldn't stop me. 

I, of course didn't realize the tragic quicksand-titanic trip until much later on and when I did it was too late to back out anyway. So I wanted to make it work like a mad scientist in a science fiction movie.

Poetry was kryptonite, it was both poison and medicine. It opened and sewed wounds, sunk people to its depths and also kept them afloat. The question isn't What was poetry? Where was poetry? The question is, what wasn't left untouched by it?  Everything that ever existed in this world and everything that could exist at any point in this world was all poetry and it was everywhere in every form.

Numbers were poetry, words were poetry, colors were poetry, sounds were poetry and the absence of those were also poetry.  All the ways of living and All the ways of dying were poetry - All tangible and intangible was poetry.  

That poetry changed so much throughout time and still carried with it, its essence that It moved people and created movements that were powerful enough to shake nations and bring the ordinary to the streets making it an extraordinary moment of history

That poetry scared me. 

It was a wave that took everyone and everything along with it, that wave was what engulfed me after which whether I was drowning or floating I wasn't the same again.  

All I ever thought was how poetry was going to die on me like a friend dies on you in a crucial moment in a zombie movie 

Come to think of it, poetry is either tardigrades or like hammerhead worms, somehow it just doesn't die and for the record, thinking that maybe artists were in a far better place than writers turned out to be somewhat wrong.  With, I'd like to call it, “the invasion of Ai” everyone that had any creative dwelling was doomed. 

What google bard would have the emotional capacity of …well, an emotionally wrecked Sylvia Plath ? What chatgpt could paint the madness of Picasso?  No matter how far and the speed with which we're catapulting into the future - I have hopes that poetry and Art  will evolve rapidly and exist like the science fiction tardigrade it is. 

(Ps: tardigrades are real, don't be stupid! And cute if you squint through a microscope.)

- Haná Farook, "Poetry Was Always Evolutionary"

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday the Scottish actress Neve McIntosh.

Born as Carol McIntosh on 9th April 1972 in Paisley, McIntosh grew up in Edinburgh, where she attended Boroughmuir High School. She was a member of Edinburgh Youth Theatre in the late 1980s, appearing in Mother Goose and Doctor in the House. She moved to Glasgow to attend the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, after which she was in repertory companies at Perth and at The Little Theatre on the Isle of Mull.

She next played in a Glasgow stage production of The Trick is to Keep Breathing. She then played in the RSC production of Dickens’ Great Expectations in Stratford, and starred as Portia in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice at the Lyceum in Edinburgh. In summer 2009, she performed in the Sylvia Plath play Three Women at the Edinburgh Festival. Her career coninues on stage both here and in the US.

Neve appeared in American director Mark L. Feinsod’s first film, Love And Lung Cancer. Alongside her many TV appearances, too many to put them all on here without it looking like a shopping list, the ones of note, to me anyway, include the brilliant Psychos, with Dougie Henshall, Trial and Retribution, Dr Who, New Tricks and again with Henshall in Shetland series four. McIntosh also teamed up with two other Doctor’s in an episode of Sky 1’s 10 Minute Tales playing the wife of Peter Capaldi’s character, and alongside David Tennant, in Single Father, a BBC drama. She portrayed the part of Anna, the sister of the dead wife of Tennant’s character.

In 2017, McIntosh played Kay Gillies in the BBC One drama The Replacement she came back home to team up with Martin Compston in Traces and recently put in an appearance in the excellent Tin Star and the podcast series Getting Better - The Fight for the NHS.

Neve's latest role, according to INDB was in the reboot of All Creatures great and Small playing bookkeeper Miss Harbottle

Neve has said that she’s proud to have been consistently acting throughout her career, speaking in The Sunday Post she says, “It’s nice just to be consistently working. There was a time when I had a bit of a wobble, but a lot of acting work had dried up and I think loads of people thought they wouldn’t work again, but it’s building back.

[gorbalsvampire]

Tag Nine People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

FAVOURITE COLOUR(s): Dark, rich purples and reds. Greens: British racing, chartreuse. Bottle greens and browns. Black and white contrasts. Glasz eyes are the most beautiful on Earth. Love a check or tartan pattern. I paint all my miniatures in cold blue/bronze or warm purple/brass contrast unless physically prevented from doing so.

FAVOURITE FLAVOUR(s): Rock salt and woodsmoke and paprika in a thin batter. Rich thick curry sauce - warm and textured, not hot-like-burning. Whole milk and sour cream. Fresh carrots and tomatoes - just chomp those fuckers down. Sourdough and soft cheese. Tea with an undertone of citrus or an abundance of honey. Mulled apples. Dirty chai. And above all, peppermint.

FAVOURITE MUSIC: Tradgoth and post punk (basslines you can slink to), trip hop (take me somewhere far away), post rock soundscapes (the more elegiac the better), prog (but more the Pink Floyd pomp rock than wildly experimental stuff), anything Jim Jarmusch or Polly Jean Harvey ever touch, sad country and sleazy swamp rocks. Music for people who want to crawl into a swamp, cop off, and drown each other.

FAVOURITE MOVIE(s): Franklyn. Withnail & I. Only Lovers Left Alive. I detest busy plotting and spectacle and run on vibes. But also, because sometimes I'm From The Nineties And Also British, Guy Ritchie's entire oeuvre. Sin City has a nice vibe even though it's a nasty piece of work. Possession (1981) and Nosferatu (1979) - I'll watch Isabelle Adjani in anything. Or Eva Green. Give me pale, deathless, insane women.

FAVOURITE BOOK(s): UGH! Anything by Terry Pratchett. S T Gibson's vampire stories. Anything by Susanna Clarke. Earthsea. The first four books of Anno Dracula. Anything by Laura Shepherd-Robinson. Alis Hawkins' Oxford novels. Seth Dickenson's Masquerade and Tamsyn Muir's Locked Tomb. The Wolf Hall trilogy. Sherlock Holmes and weird post-Holmes stuff from Obverse. T. S. Eliot, William Blake, Edgar Allen Poe, Sylvia Plath, and a raft of contemporary Welsh poets - Cath Drake, Katherine Stansfield, Christopher Meredith. If I had a guilty pleasure, Black Library novels (John French, Matt Farrer and Aaron Dembksi-Bowden) would be it.

FAVOURITE SERIES(es): Doctor Who, Lock, Stock..., The Biederbeck Trilogy, What We Do In The Shadows, LA By Night, The Thick of It and... Taskmaster. Taskmaster is my religion. I like seeing the Bit all comics do get tested to destruction. And podcasts: Poorhammer, the 40K Badcast. I get my hobby chat fix from those.

LAST SONG: :Of The Wand And The Moon:, 'Hold My Hand'

LAST SERIES: The Thick of It (rewatch).

LAST MOVIE: Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (comfort rewatch, I've been poorly)

CURRENTLY READING: Viriconium by M. John Harrison.

CURRENTLY WATCHING: nothing

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: ideating a festive V5 one-off and new chronicles for next year, but otherwise taking it easy (I've been really poorly)

TAGGED BY: @silkenred

TAGGING: @heywizards @biomechanicaltomato @gwenynen-bach @gingerbeer-queer @robotslenderman

[kulturegroupie]

“I was very much into the poetry and music scene that was going on at the time. A vinyl EP of Christopher Logue’s Red Bird was something that I listened to frequently. So when Royston Ellis invited me to accompany him on guitar I knew exactly how to play textual music around his poems.

I knew about the Beats using music behind their writing. Jack Kerouac read from On the Road with a piano backing him on the Steve Allen Show. Royston did some stuff with the Silver Beetles (the Beatles). Royston was going to be reading poems, and I could play guitar behind them, not with just abstract content, but with melodic passages as well.

I did three events with Royston in 1961: a Heretics Society talk at Cambridge University in March, the British Poetry Festival in July and a TV programme in September.

The British Poetry Festival was a massive, week-long event in London with various literary luminaries such as Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath. There were even poets I had read at school such as William Empson, alongside actors from the Royal Shakespeare Company such as Dame Flora Robson. It was a huge honour to take part, courtesy of Royston.”

— Jimmy Page

[werewolvestolovers]

During antiquity, the maenads were not merely the priestesses of the god of wine. The women who took part in Bacchic revelries and secretive festivals were considered a danger to the order of the city, and when possessed, exhibited superhuman abilities. As most of their rituals took place in the wilderness, without male supervision, politicians and husbands were powerless to control them[*].

The Maenads - Dan Albergotti // Maenad - Sylvia Plath // La danse des bacchantes - Charles Gleyre // The Death of Orpheus - Emilie Bin

[handmadenostalgia]

Lana Del Rey’s First Summer

Elisa Carini & Vincenzo Grasso

As in a Orthodox Christian service, Lana Del Rey turns her back to the audience. Having consumed the first half of the concert, she pauses for a few minutes in the feverish atmosphere at the Bussoladomani Park, in Lido di Camaiore. It’s July 2nd, 2023, and we are on the last day of “La Prima Estate” Festival. The monologue that accompanies the music video of one of her best-known singles, Ride, starts on the screen, projected at the back of the stage. Her recorded voice recites:

I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer…

One after the other, in snapshots, Lana’s thousand summers come to life: the Lana-before-fame, when she was Lizzy Grant and had platinum blonde hair; Lana in Video Games, the 2011 YouTube phenomenon that changed everything with a homemade video clip and a chorus backed by her smoky timbre impossible to replicate. As she told the Daily Mail in 2011: ‹‹If I’d known so many people were going to watch it, I would have made very different choices››. And yet, it may have been precisely these choices – the low-resolution webcam pointed at her face; the lips stretched out like a canthus – that marked the trajectory of an artist destined to become a cult figure in the contemporary music scene. And then again, in a coast-to-coast journey through her catalogue of records, she shows all of her transformations. While we’re at it, we wonder why such an artist would choose Lido di Camaiore as the venue for her only Italian date, announced just six days before.

Perhaps, this exemplifies an aesthetic of subtraction, one that Lana has pursued throughout her career. Her stage-fright, the terror of the spotlight, perhaps even an awareness of the inability to live up to the expectations placed on female artists in pop music. So, she also deletes her social media. The music can “speak for itself”, no promotional strategy other than the vicarious marketing of her own fanbase.

The location is certainly not easy to get to, but today we’re 17,000.

When the monologue ends and Lana returns to our gaze, we wonder what her next move will be. When will the Lana we see now become part of this celebratory carousel?

Handmade nostalgia

Red heart-shaped sunglasses, white flowers in dark hair, mullets and mustaches, cherry coke and peyote T-shirts, cowboy boots, denim shorts, ethereal dresses. Cameras capture an excited, eager crowd. After a sunny afternoon it starts to wind up. Reflected on the large screens, a boy holds up a sign that says "MOMMY?", he smiles.

Through a vast repertoire curated over the course of a decade, Lana has created a complex, distinctive and, for the early 2000s, innovative narrative universe. Her references include some of the cornerstones of American literature and music: Walt Whitman, Allen Ginsberg, Tennessee Williams, Sylvia Plath, T.S. Eliot, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis Presley, Joni Mitchell, not to mention covers of songs such as Blue Velvet, Summer Wine, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood and Chelsea Hotel No°2. Lana has taken a bygone aesthetic - that of 1950s’ USA - and made it her own, enacting it with the grace of poetry.

Think of Lolita – Nabokov’s novel – which, like herself, has often been misunderstood, accused of romanticizing abusive relationships. It is almost impossible to think of Lana Del Rey without certain literary references coming to mind, or other iconic images such as Marilyn singing Happy Birthday to JFK, Jackie O’ and her pink Chanel suit. And these images live together with the California of the early 1970s, with “jazz singers” and “cult leaders” (Charles Manson and the family), with life “on the road”, being on a Harley Davidsons with your cheeks resting on the leather vest of much older man, with half-empty motels in the middle of the desert and abandoned gasoline stations.

It’s impossible not to think of her religious references too: Tropico, the 2016 short movie, the blue veil over her long dark hair and her hands clasped in prayer. Lana’s world is made up of her passions, of aesthetics that speak to her, of "handmade nostalgia". Quotes and references are never an end in themselves, but serve to create atmospheres, to evoke feelings. Lana tells stories, sometimes even her own, with extreme sincerity and vulnerability, a perhaps unconscious courage that we could call authentic: she cannot and does not want to do otherwise.

Lana has created a world for herself and has nurtured the worlds of others. Think of a novel like The Girls, by Emma Cline, and a song like Freak; think of the many artists inspired by her, who are already collecting her legacy. Laila Al Habash and Maria Antoinetta themselves - who opened the concert and were wonderful, telling stories and building worlds - reaffirmed the importance of an artist like her for the contemporary scene. It’s also impossible to think of Lana without thinking about the era of Tumblr, when it was still popular among the younger generation and full of photos of her: Lana in front of the American flag with honey-brown hair winking at the camera, Lana in her red Ferrari jacket. It’s impossible not to think of the hours spent sharing her photos and videos, trying to recreate her aesthetic. It is impossible not to think back to the time when you first discovered her, Lana.

There’s still light, but not for long. We look at the big screens. A sign reads: “YOU DID MORE FOR ME THAN MY THERAPIST”. The girl we befriended smiles. We ask her if she remembers the first time she heard Lana. She recounts that it was the summer of 2012, that she was on holiday at her grandmother’s country house. ‹‹There was nothing to do,›› she says, ‹‹Me and my cousin used to spend the days sitting on the lawn talking, drawing, and listening to Born To Die. He made me discover it.›› She smiles: ‹‹We were sixteen. I listened to Summertime Sadness crying every night because my boyfriend had moved out. We were living on Tumblr››. She takes a sip of her beer: ‹‹It's been ten years and we still write to each other sometimes heaven is a place on earth with you.››

A Motel Room of One’s Own

Throughout the concert, Lana is accompanied by the band, a corps of dancers, and her three backup singers. As she performs her most famous songs - Young and Beautiful, Ride, Born to Die, Blue Jeans, Summertime Sadness and Video Games - the crowd overwhelms her voice.

On the songs that are less well known to the general public, such as the newer ones from her latest Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard, the crowd calms down and Lana’s vocal performance comes out strong and mature. Long gone are the days when she was harshly criticized for her musical inaccuracies resulting from a seemingly uncontrollable anxiety.

In Lana’s early days, the American and European media portrayed her as the result of a Frankensteinian operation between the stereotype of a movie diva and a 1940s torch singer. In a 2014 interview with The Guardian, the singer, often accused of a kind of ingratitude towards life because of the recognisable sadness that still characterizes her music, confessed: ‹‹I was hoping I was already dead››. That same year, upon the publication of her most controversial work, Ultraviolence, she was torn to shreds by critics for “glorifying” domestic violence.

Reality or fiction? In this case, the search for an answer is less interesting than the question itself. In fact, Lana has often hovered on the liminal specter of autofiction, and it is only recently that she has begun to indulge to the practice of ruthless autobiography.

In the first half of the concert, Lana sings The Grants, a single from her latest album in which talks about the fear of losing family members. It is a eulogy to emotional memory: she mentions the birth of her niece, her grandmother’s last words - in short, what she intends to take away with her when her time comes.

When she sings an intimate version of the title track from Ocean Blvd, the question is reversed and becomes an invitation to her audience: ‹‹Don’t forget me.›› Thousands of arms raise their mobile phones, their flashes on. But the truth is, it is hard to forget an artist who has irrevocably changed the course of pop music by narcotising it; before her arrival, pop music was dominated by the obsessive and sweetened rhythms of the early 2000s.To paraphrase a passage from her own song, even today, here on stage in front of thousands of people, there is a girl locked in a motel room, humming. If you have found the entrance to this hidden world, don’t leave it.

[akaanonymouth]

I went to Hebden Bridge recently for the first Sylvia Plath literary festival (it was really good, hope it's an annual thing) and omg. The vibes of this place! It was like walking through a Hallmark movie; there was a Pumpkin Festival, everyone and thing was autumn incarnate, it was beautiful.

And obviously. Obviously! My mind went to fandom and fanfic. It was like I was part of a construct of a perfect fic, lives were playing out before my very eyes, and I can't do mood boards, but here. I think you get the gist

[tracydimond]

I’m thrilled Dr. Tonee Mae Moll selected IT WORKS, THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH IT, a poem about performance & gender, titled with a Sylvia Plath line, for the AMPLIFY issue of Yellow Arrow Vignette.

The issue features Trish Broome, Barbara Westwood Diehl, Tracy Dimond, Kay White Drew, Jennifer Martinelli Eyre, Katherine Fallon, Robin L. Flanigan, My-Azia Johnson, Diane Macklin, B. Morrison, Sierra Offutt, Christine Pennylegion, Anna Slesinski, Laura Taber, Brigitte Winter, and Cherrie Woods (aka Cherrie Amour).

Read everyone’s work here & stay tuned for our reading in the CityLit tent of the Baltimore Book Festival: https://www.yellowarrowpublishing.com/vignette/amplify-2024

[lizzygrantarchives]

Billboard, August 22, 2019

With her new album, 'Norman Fucking Rockwell,' the singer makes her most adventurous and candid music yet -- and leads Billboard's list of the 38 most-anticipated things about music this fall.

YOU’VE GOT TO CLIMB THE HILL BEHIND the Chateau Marmont to get to the office where I’m meeting Lana Del Rey, which feels appropriately on the nose on this early-August day: The hotel is Hollywood’s ultimate nexus of glamour and doom, the keeper of 90 years of celebrity secrets that touch everyone from Bette Davis to Britney Spears. It shows up in the homemade visuals for Del Rey’s breakout single “Video Games” and in the lyrics of songs like “Off to the Races.” She lived here while writing her Paradise EP in 2012. Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski lived here, too, in Room 54, before moving to Cielo Drive where — exactly 50 years ago, as of midnight tonight — the Manson Family arrived.

But these kinds of connections are standard in the Lana Del Rey multiverse, where nods to Bob Dylan, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Elton John and Henry Miller can coexist in a single chorus and not feel overdone. (No, seriously: Play her 2017 duet with Sean Ono Lennon, “Tomorrow Never Came.”) And if the Lana of five years ago radiated significant Sharon Tate circa Valley of the Dolls energy, the 34-year-old singer-songwriter has more of a Summer of Love thing going on now. The songs she has previewed from her fifth album, the exquisitely titled Norman Fucking Rockwell, are far more Newport Folk Festival than femme fatale — meandering psych-rock jam sessions and slippery piano ballads that shout out Sylvia Plath. The narrative thread throughout all of this can lead listeners down an endless rabbit hole of references, but you can sum it up like so: The music Lana Del Rey makes could only be made by Lana Del Rey.

That means songs like the nearly 10-minute-long “Venice Bitch,” the most psychedelic tune in her catalog, or the title track, a ballad rich with one-liner gems like, “Your poetry’s bad, and you blame the news” — songs that represent the best writing in her career yet have almost zero chance of radio play. Norman Fucking Rockwell, out Aug. 30, is a “mood record,” as Del Rey describes it while perched barefoot on a velvet couch in the new office of her longtime management company, an airy pad way up in the Hollywood Hills with platinum plaques scattered about that no one has gotten around to hanging up yet. There are no big bangers, just songs you can jam out to during beach walks and long drives. This is not exactly a surprise: Del Rey’s only top 10 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 was a raving Cedric Gervais remix of her song “Summertime Sadness.” But in the streaming era, when success often means getting easily digestible singles on the right playlists, making an album that’s meant to be wallowed in for 70 minutes isn’t just inspired — it’s defiant.

Yet it’s an approach that has worked for Del Rey: Her songs, even the long, weird ones, easily rack up tens of millions of streams, and overall they have amassed a solid 3.9 billion on-demand streams in the United States, according to Nielsen Music. Collectively, her catalog of albums has sold 3.2 million copies in the United States, and all of her full-length major-label studio albums have debuted on the Billboard 200 at No. 1 or No. 2. The first of those, 2012’s Born to Die, is one of only three titles by a woman to spend over 300 weeks on the Billboard 200. (The other two: Adele’s 21 and Carole King’s Tapestry.) Born to Die also has spent 142 weeks on Billboard’s Vinyl Albums chart — more than Prince’s Purple Rain, tied with Michael Jackson’s Thriller and just behind Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. It’s an indication that, as broad as her fan base is, it also runs deep, with a ratio of hardcore devotees to casual ones that even stars with inescapable radio hits might envy.

Credit Del Rey’s strong aesthetic and singular throwback sound that, as it has moved away from its initial pop and hip-hop influences, has kept young fans interested and allowed them to grow up with her. “When we sign [an artist], it’s not necessarily what everyone was listening to, but they had real vision,” says Interscope chairman/CEO John Janick. “Lana’s at ground zero of that. There have been so many other people who’ve been inspired by Lana. She’s massive, she has sold millions of albums, but it always has been on her terms.”

This has been Del Rey’s deal from the jump. “Some people really are trying to get in the mix of the zeitgeist, and that is just not my MO — never cared,” says Del Rey, cradling a coffee with sky blue-painted fingertips. “My little heart’s path has such a distinct road that it’s almost taking me along for the ride. Like, ‘I guess we’re following this muse, and it wants to be in the woods. OK, I guess we’re packing up the truck!’ It’s truly ethereal, and it’s a huge pain in the ass.”

Del Rey’s instincts are what led Interscope to sign her to an international joint-venture deal with U.K. label Polydor in 2011 and what compelled her managers Ed Millett and Ben Mawson to create their company, TaP Music, with Del Rey as their first client in 2009. “It was at that moment of peak piracy when no one in the music business was making money, so labels just weren’t taking risks,” recalls Millett. “You’d play one of her songs at an A&R meeting, and they’d be like, ‘You know what’s selling at the moment? Kesha.’ But we were lucky with Lana because she knew exactly who she was. Our job was about making sure everybody understood that.”

That battle for understanding has followed Del Rey for much of her career. “People just couldn’t believe she could be so impactful without some svengalis behind her. I still think there’s a tinge of misogyny behind all that,” says Millett, referencing the endless debates about Del Rey’s creative autonomy. “She realized very quickly, being at the center of that storm, you’re not going to win.” So she went deeper into her own weird world, and somewhere between her third and fourth records — the haunted jazz of 2015’s Honeymoon and the new-age folk of 2017’s Lust for Life — it felt like people finally got it. Or, at least, the people who were meant to get it got it. After all, Del Rey never had intended to make popular music, even if she now headlines festivals. It just kind of happened that way: a poet disguised as a pop star.

In many ways, Norman Fucking Rockwell feels like a fulfillment of the groundwork she has spent nearly a decade laying: She is now free to be Lana, no questions asked. “People want to embrace her lack of formula,” says Millett. “And now she can do whatever the hell she wants because people have accepted that, well, she’s brilliant.” Though she has sold out arenas in the past, the North American leg of her upcoming fall tour has her playing amphitheaters and outdoor venues that feel especially suited to the style of her music. And if her songs feel lighter, it’s because Del Rey does, too.

“I mean, God, I have never taken a shortcut — and I think that’s going to stop now,” she says, feet kicked up on the coffee table. “It hasn’t really served me well to go by every instinct. It’s the longer, more arduous road. But it does get you to the point where, when everyone is just copying each other, you’re like, ‘I know myself well enough that I don’t want to go to that foam rave in a crop top.’ ”

Although that does sound kind of dope, now that she’s thinking about it. “Yeah, never mind,” she says, laughing. “Google ‘nearest foam rave.’ ”

IN PERSON, DEL REY’S VIBE isn’t noir heroine or folk troubadour so much as friend from college who now lives in the suburbs. Her jean shorts, white T-shirt and gray cardigan could’ve easily been snatched off a mannequin at the nearest American Eagle Outfitters. A couple of times in our conversation, she lets out a “Gee whiz!” like a side character in a Popeye cartoon. Between the tour announcements and Gucci campaign shoots, her Instagram consists mostly of screenshot poetry and Easter brunch pics with her girlfriends. For the most distinctive popular songwriter of the past decade, she appears disarmingly basic.

“Oh, I am! I’m actually only that,” agrees Del Rey, eyes gleaming. “I’ve got a more eccentric side when it comes to the muse of writing, but I feel very much that writing is not my thing: I’m writing’s thing. When the writing has got me, I’m on its schedule. But when it leaves me alone, I’m just at Starbucks, talking shit all day.” Starting in 2011, when her nearly drumless, practically hookless breakthrough single “Video Games” blew up, the suddenly polarizing singer found it hard to move through the real world unbothered. But something changed a few years back; she’s not sure if she chilled out or if everyone else did. In any case, she’s happiest among the people, whether that’s lingering in Silverlake coffee shops or dipping out to Newport to rollerblade. “I’ve got my ear to the ground,” she says with a conspiratorial wink. “Actually, that’s my main goal.”

Somehow this only makes Del Rey weirder and cooler: the high priestess of sad pop who now smiles on album covers and posts Instagram stories inviting you to check out her homegirl’s fitness event in Hermosa Beach. You could feel the shift on Lust for Life, which enlisted everyone from A$AP Rocky to Stevie Nicks and traded the interiority of her early songwriting for anthems about women’s rights and the state of the world. She even seemed down to play the pop game a bit, though by her own rules: She worked with superproducer Max Martin on the title track, even as it quoted ’60s girl groups and cast R&B juggernaut The Weeknd as the long-lost Beach Boy.

Among those entering Del Rey’s creative fold on Norman Fucking Rockwell is Jack Antonoff, the four-time Grammy Award-winning producer who has become a go-to collaborator on synth-pop heavy hitters for the likes of Lorde and Taylor Swift. Enlisting Big Pop’s most in-demand producer doesn’t seem like a very Lana Del Rey move, and she knows it.

“I wasn’t in the mood to write,” she admits. “He wanted me to meet him in some random diner, and I was like, ‘You already worked with everyone else; I don’t know where there’s room for me.’ ” But when Antonoff played her 10 minutes of weird, atmospheric riffs, Del Rey could immediately picture her new album: “A folk record with a little surf twist.” In the end, Antonoff wound up co-producing almost the whole project, alongside longtime collaborator Rick Nowels and Del Rey herself.

Most of Norman Fucking Rockwell follows similar whims — or, as Del Rey puts it, “Divine timing.” Though artists like Billie Eilish and Ariana Grande have taken the creation of pop music to a more informal and impulsive place — Eilish recorded her debut album with her producer brother Finneas O’Connell in his childhood bedroom, while Grande wrote most of Thank U, Next in a weeklong blitz — Del Rey’s approach seems even more casual. “She doesn’t follow any kind of plan beyond what she feels is right, and it works every time,” says Millett.

That includes the cover of Sublime’s sleazy 1996 hit “Doin’ Time” — essentially the “Summertime Sadness” of the Long Beach, Calif., ska band’s discography — recorded out of pure fandom, yet somehow a perfect complement to the album’s beach bum vibe. “We were involved in executive-producing the [recent] Sublime documentary because their catalog is through Interscope, and Lana was talking about how big a fan she was,” says Janick. As it happened, her earliest producer was David Kahne, who had worked with Sublime in the ’90s. “So she ended up doing that cover, which turned out amazing. But then she felt like it fit the aesthetic of the album.”

The album title was just something she came up with when she randomly harmonized the name of the American illustrator while recording “Venice Bitch,” though she recognizes that she and Rockwell — an idealist whose cozy depictions of Boy Scouts and Thanksgiving turkeys graced magazine covers for half the 20th century — have both explored big questions about the American dream in their work. And then there’s the artwork she has been using for the record’s singles: bizarrely casual iPhone photos that feel a bit tossed-off because, well, they are.

“Every time my managers write me, ‘Album art?,’ I’m just like, send!” she cackles, pantomiming taking a selfie. “And they just send the middle-finger emoji back to me.”

THE WEEK OF OUR INTERVIEW, JUST a few days after two consecutive mass shootings took place in El Paso, Texas, and Dayton, Ohio, Del Rey recorded a song called “Looking for America.” She hadn’t planned to write it, but the shootings affected her on a “cellular level,” as she phrased it in an Instagram preview, which also included a sharp disclaimer: “Now I know I’m not a politician and I’m not trying to be so excuse me for having an opinion.” Over Antonoff’s acoustic guitar, she sings softly, “I’m still looking for my own version of America/One without the gun, where the flag can freely fly.”

The quiet protest song is a move you can hardly imagine her making five years ago. It wasn’t until Lust for Life, she acknowledges, that she felt brave enough to have an overt political opinion. “It is quite a critical world, where people are like, ‘Stick to singing!’ ” she says. “They don’t say that to everyone, but I heard that a lot.”

With that sense of permission has come a kind of peace and an acceptance that evaded Del Rey in her early career; she has never indulged her critics, but it’s nice to be understood. “Sometimes with women, there was so much criticism if you weren’t just one way that was easily metabolized and decipherable — you were a crazy person,” she marvels, noting a shift in the perception of female pop stars that happened only recently (one catalyzed in large part by her own career arc). She recently recorded a song for the soundtrack to the upcoming Charlie’s Angels reboot with Grande and Miley Cyrus — stars who also have faced criticism for the ways in which they don’t conform to the expectations of women in the spotlight.

Her newest songs are some of her most personal, particularly the album closer, “hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have — but i have it” (a title only Del Rey could pull off). It also hovers anxiously on the margins of the #MeToo movement, though never in such broad strokes. “It was staggered with references from living in Hollywood and seeing so many things that didn’t look right to me, things that I never thought I’d have permission to talk about, because everyone knew and no one ever said anything,” she says in a tangle of sentences as knotty as the lyrics themselves. “The culture only changed in the last two years as to whether people would believe you. And I’ve been in this business now for 15 years!

“So I was writing a song to myself.” She exhales deeply, sinking back into the sofa. “Hope truly is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have, because I know so much.” Del Rey pauses. “But I have it.”

Del Rey has been thinking a lot about hope and faith lately. She has been going to church every Wednesday and Sunday with a group of her girlfriends; they get coffee beforehand, and it has become something to look forward to. She likes the idea of a network of people you can talk to about wanting something bigger — just another extension of her fondness for pondering the mysteries of the universe. (Fittingly, she studied metaphysics and philosophy at Fordham University in New York.) “I genuinely think the thing that has transformed my life the most is knowing that there’s magic in the concept of two heads are better than one,” she says.

That has crept into her music, too. Del Rey says she hadn’t realized until recently how isolating her creative process had been for so long. These days, studio sessions feel more like cozy jam sessions, according to Laura Sisk, the Grammy-winning engineer who worked closely on the record with Del Rey and Antonoff. “Something I love about Norman is how much of the energy of the room we’re able to record,” says Sisk. “We often don’t use a vocal booth, so we’re sitting in a room together recording, usually right after the song was written and the feeling is still heavy in the room.”

Even the cover of Norman Fucking Rockwell, Del Rey says, was designed to cultivate a sense of community. For the first time in her discography, she’s not pictured by herself. She’s on a boat at sea, one arm wrapped around actor Duke Nicholson (a family friend and grandson of Jack), the other reaching out to pull the viewer aboard. As she explains the idea, Del Rey rifles through her sizable mental rolodex of quotations and offers this one from Humphrey Bogart by way of Ernest Hemingway: “ ‘The sea is the last free place on earth.’ ” A place, in other words, where you can finally just be you.

Del Rey says her album covers tend to be self-fulfilling prophecies — whatever energy she puts out tends to shape the next chapter of her life. She’s eager to see how this one, with its open arms and sense of adventure, manifests itself. “We’re going somewhere,” she says with a mysterious grin. “I don’t know where we’re going. But wherever it is, my feet are going to be on the ground.”

Originally published on billboard.com with the headline Lana Del Rey on Finding Her Voice and Following Her Muse: ‘I Have Never Taken a Shortcut’, and in the August 24, 2019 issue of Billboard with the headline Lana Del Rey Speaks Her Mind.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 10.27

Holidays

Big Bang Day (London, UK)

Boxer Shorts Day

Černová Tragedy Day (Slovakia)

Cliche Day

Crack-Nut Night (a.k.a. Nut-Crack Night)

Cranky Co-Workers Day

Dress Purple Day (Ontario)

Etiquette Day

Good Bear Day

Heliotrope Day (French Republic)

Infantry Day (India)

International Be More Toddy Day (UK)

International Day of Text Corrections

International Mentoring Day

International Panda Day

International Religious Freedom Day

Kashmir Black Day (Pakistan)

Mishinden (Mouse Feastday; Bulgaria)

National Black Cat Day (UK)

National Civics Day

National Day of Action Against Antisemitism

National Electricity Day (Indonesia)

National Henry C. Ramos Day

National Hostage Awareness Day

National Mentoring Day

National Tell a Story Day (Scotland)

Navy Day (unofficial) [also 10.13]

New York Subway Day

Occupational Therapy Day

Radio Broadcast License Day

Read for The Record

Scanderberg Commemoration Day

Sylvia Plath Day

World Day for Audiovisual Heritage (UN)

World Occupational Therapy Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

American Beer Day

National American Beer Day

National Cheese Toastie Day (UK)

National Potato Day [also 8.19]

Sandwich Day

4th & Last Friday in October

Bring Your Jack-O-Lantern to Work Day [Last Friday before Halloween]

Education Communication Day [Last Friday]

Frankenstein Friday [Last Friday]

Global Champagne Day [4th Friday]

International Champagne Day [4th Friday]

Mokosh Day (Ukraine) [Last Friday]

National Bandanna Day (Australia) [Last Friday]

National BETA Founder’s Day [4th Friday]

National Breadstick Day [Last Friday]

Nevada Day (Nevada) [Last Friday]

Red Friday [Friday of Last Full Week]

World Lemur Day [Last Friday]

World Teachers’ Day (Australia) [Last Friday]

Independence Days

Mount Henadas (Declared; 2011) [unrecognized]

Saint Vincent & Grenadines (from UK, 1979)

Soda (a.k.a. Bicarbonate of Soda; Declared; 2021) [unrecognized]

Suverska (Declared; 2013) [unrecognized]

Wyvern (Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Abbán (Christian; Saint)

Abraham the Poor (Christian; Saint)

Buffon (Positivist; Saint)

Clam Sauce Day (Pastafarian)

Diwali, Day 4 (Hindu, Jain, Sikh), a.k.a. ... 

Day of Cowdung (Krishna)

Day of Oxen

Day of Self (Newar)

Gobardhan Puja (Krishna)

Goru Puja

Goru Tihar

Mha Puja (Newar)

Elesbaan (Christian; Saint)

Festival of the Conspiracies (Church of the SubGenius)

Frumentius (Roman Catholic Church)

Gaudiosus of Naples (Christian; Saint)

Kaleb of Axum (Christian; Saint)

Lee Krasner (Artology)

Mary Moser (Artology)

Mice Wedding Day (Pagan)

Namatius (a.k.a. Namace; Christian; Saint)

Nekhebet’s Day (Pagan)

Oran of Iona (Christian; Saint)

Quackers (Muppetism)

Roy Lichtenstein (Artology)

Silly Walks Day (Pastafarian)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sakimake (先負 Japan) [Bad luck in the morning, good luck in the afternoon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [50 of 57]

Premieres

All Quiet on the Western Front, by Erich Maria Remarque (Novel; 1928)

The Americanization of Emily (Film; 1964)

Andersonville, by MacKinlay Kantor (Historical Novel; 1955)

Back to Black, by Amy Winehouse (Album; 2006)

Barbara Broadcast (Adult Film; 1977)

Buddy the Woodsman (WB LT Cartoon; 1934)

Come See About Me, recorded by The Supremes (Song; 1964)

Crocodile Rock, by Elton John (Song; 1972)

Don't Give Up, by Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush (Song; 1986)

Foyle’s War (UK TV Series; 2002)

Fun with Mr. Future (Disney Cartoon; 1982)

The Gathering Storm, by Robert Jordan (Novel; 2009) [Wheel of Time #12]

Godzilla (Film; 1954)

The High King, by Lloyd Alexander [Chronicles of Prydain #5]

Jesus Christ Superstar (Soundtrack Album; 1970)

The Last Ship, by Sting (Musical Play; 2014)

Leaving Las Vegas (Film; 1995)

Lego DC Comics: Batman Be-Leaguered (WB Animated Film; 2014)

The Matrix Revolutions (Film; 2003)

The Moonspinners, by Mary Stewart (Novel; 1962)

National Velvet, by Enid Bagnold (Novel; 1935)

1989, by Taylor Swift (Album; 2014)

1999, by Prince (Album; 1982)

Rebel Without a Cause (Film; 1955)

Rescue Squad Mater (Pixar Cartoon; 2008)

Romeo + Juliet (Film; 1996)

Skylarking by XTC (Album; 1986)

Stand By Me, recorded by Ben E. King (Song; 1960)

Waiting for the Barbarians, J.M. Coetzee (Novel; 1980)

Wideo Wabbit (WB MM Cartoon; 1956)

You Bet Your Life (Radio Series; 1947)

Today’s Name Days

Christa, Sabina, Wolfhard (Austria)

Nestor (Bulgaria)

Bartol, Florijan, Gordan, Namat (Croatia)

Šarlota, Zoe (Czech Republic)

Sem (Denmark)

Eila, Eili, Häili, Hälli, Heili (Estonia)

Hellä, Helle, Helli, Hellin (Finland)

Emeline (France)

Christa, Sabina, Stefan, Wolfhard (Germany)

Louppos, Nestor (Greece)

Szabina (Hungary)

Delia, Fiorenzo (Italy)

Irita, Lilita, Lita (Latvia)

Ramojus, Sabina, Tautmilė, Vincas, Vincentas (Lithuania)

Sture, Sturla (Norway)

Frumencjusz, Iwona, Sabina, Siestrzemił, Wincenty (Poland)

Dimitrie (Romania)

Sabína (Slovakia)

Bartolomé, Florencio, Sabina, Vicente (Spain)

Sabina (Sweden)

Nestor (Ukraine)

Cale, Caleb, Feodor, Isaac, Isaak, Issac, Izaac, Kaleb, Ted, Teddy, Teodor, Theodora Theodore (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 300 of 2024; 65 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 43 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Gort (Ivy) [Day 25 of 28]

Chinese: Month 9 (Ten-Xu), Day 13 (Wu-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 12 Heshvan 5784

Islamic: 12 Rabi II 1445

J Cal: 30 Shù; Nineday [30 of 30]

Julian: 14 October 2023

Moon: 98%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 20 Descartes (11th Month) [Buffon]

Runic Half Month: Hagal (Hailstone) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Autumn (Day 34 of 89)

Zodiac: Scorpio (Day 4 of 29)

Calendar Changes

Hagal (Hailstone) [Half-Month 21 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 11.10)

[brookston]

Holidays 10.27

Holidays

Big Bang Day (London, UK)

Boxer Shorts Day

Černová Tragedy Day (Slovakia)

Cliche Day

Crack-Nut Night (a.k.a. Nut-Crack Night)

Cranky Co-Workers Day

Dress Purple Day (Ontario)

Etiquette Day

Good Bear Day

Heliotrope Day (French Republic)

Infantry Day (India)

International Be More Toddy Day (UK)

International Day of Text Corrections

International Mentoring Day

International Panda Day

International Religious Freedom Day

Kashmir Black Day (Pakistan)

Mishinden (Mouse Feastday; Bulgaria)

National Black Cat Day (UK)

National Civics Day

National Day of Action Against Antisemitism

National Electricity Day (Indonesia)

National Henry C. Ramos Day

National Hostage Awareness Day

National Mentoring Day

National Tell a Story Day (Scotland)

Navy Day (unofficial) [also 10.13]

New York Subway Day

Occupational Therapy Day

Radio Broadcast License Day

Read for The Record

Scanderberg Commemoration Day

Sylvia Plath Day

World Day for Audiovisual Heritage (UN)

World Occupational Therapy Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

American Beer Day

National American Beer Day

National Cheese Toastie Day (UK)

National Potato Day [also 8.19]

Sandwich Day

4th & Last Friday in October

Bring Your Jack-O-Lantern to Work Day [Last Friday before Halloween]

Education Communication Day [Last Friday]

Frankenstein Friday [Last Friday]

Global Champagne Day [4th Friday]

International Champagne Day [4th Friday]

Mokosh Day (Ukraine) [Last Friday]

National Bandanna Day (Australia) [Last Friday]

National BETA Founder’s Day [4th Friday]

National Breadstick Day [Last Friday]

Nevada Day (Nevada) [Last Friday]

Red Friday [Friday of Last Full Week]

World Lemur Day [Last Friday]

World Teachers’ Day (Australia) [Last Friday]

Independence Days

Mount Henadas (Declared; 2011) [unrecognized]

Saint Vincent & Grenadines (from UK, 1979)

Soda (a.k.a. Bicarbonate of Soda; Declared; 2021) [unrecognized]

Suverska (Declared; 2013) [unrecognized]

Wyvern (Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Feast Days

Abbán (Christian; Saint)

Abraham the Poor (Christian; Saint)

Buffon (Positivist; Saint)

Clam Sauce Day (Pastafarian)

Diwali, Day 4 (Hindu, Jain, Sikh), a.k.a. ... 

Day of Cowdung (Krishna)

Day of Oxen

Day of Self (Newar)

Gobardhan Puja (Krishna)

Goru Puja

Goru Tihar

Mha Puja (Newar)

Elesbaan (Christian; Saint)

Festival of the Conspiracies (Church of the SubGenius)

Frumentius (Roman Catholic Church)

Gaudiosus of Naples (Christian; Saint)

Kaleb of Axum (Christian; Saint)

Lee Krasner (Artology)

Mary Moser (Artology)

Mice Wedding Day (Pagan)

Namatius (a.k.a. Namace; Christian; Saint)

Nekhebet’s Day (Pagan)

Oran of Iona (Christian; Saint)

Quackers (Muppetism)

Roy Lichtenstein (Artology)

Silly Walks Day (Pastafarian)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Sakimake (先負 Japan) [Bad luck in the morning, good luck in the afternoon.]

Unfortunate Day (Pagan) [50 of 57]

Premieres

All Quiet on the Western Front, by Erich Maria Remarque (Novel; 1928)

The Americanization of Emily (Film; 1964)

Andersonville, by MacKinlay Kantor (Historical Novel; 1955)

Back to Black, by Amy Winehouse (Album; 2006)

Barbara Broadcast (Adult Film; 1977)

Buddy the Woodsman (WB LT Cartoon; 1934)

Come See About Me, recorded by The Supremes (Song; 1964)

Crocodile Rock, by Elton John (Song; 1972)

Don't Give Up, by Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush (Song; 1986)

Foyle’s War (UK TV Series; 2002)

Fun with Mr. Future (Disney Cartoon; 1982)

The Gathering Storm, by Robert Jordan (Novel; 2009) [Wheel of Time #12]

Godzilla (Film; 1954)

The High King, by Lloyd Alexander [Chronicles of Prydain #5]

Jesus Christ Superstar (Soundtrack Album; 1970)

The Last Ship, by Sting (Musical Play; 2014)

Leaving Las Vegas (Film; 1995)

Lego DC Comics: Batman Be-Leaguered (WB Animated Film; 2014)

The Matrix Revolutions (Film; 2003)

The Moonspinners, by Mary Stewart (Novel; 1962)

National Velvet, by Enid Bagnold (Novel; 1935)

1989, by Taylor Swift (Album; 2014)

1999, by Prince (Album; 1982)

Rebel Without a Cause (Film; 1955)

Rescue Squad Mater (Pixar Cartoon; 2008)

Romeo + Juliet (Film; 1996)

Skylarking by XTC (Album; 1986)

Stand By Me, recorded by Ben E. King (Song; 1960)

Waiting for the Barbarians, J.M. Coetzee (Novel; 1980)

Wideo Wabbit (WB MM Cartoon; 1956)

You Bet Your Life (Radio Series; 1947)

Today’s Name Days

Christa, Sabina, Wolfhard (Austria)

Nestor (Bulgaria)

Bartol, Florijan, Gordan, Namat (Croatia)

Šarlota, Zoe (Czech Republic)

Sem (Denmark)

Eila, Eili, Häili, Hälli, Heili (Estonia)

Hellä, Helle, Helli, Hellin (Finland)

Emeline (France)

Christa, Sabina, Stefan, Wolfhard (Germany)

Louppos, Nestor (Greece)

Szabina (Hungary)

Delia, Fiorenzo (Italy)

Irita, Lilita, Lita (Latvia)

Ramojus, Sabina, Tautmilė, Vincas, Vincentas (Lithuania)

Sture, Sturla (Norway)

Frumencjusz, Iwona, Sabina, Siestrzemił, Wincenty (Poland)

Dimitrie (Romania)

Sabína (Slovakia)

Bartolomé, Florencio, Sabina, Vicente (Spain)

Sabina (Sweden)

Nestor (Ukraine)

Cale, Caleb, Feodor, Isaac, Isaak, Issac, Izaac, Kaleb, Ted, Teddy, Teodor, Theodora Theodore (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 300 of 2024; 65 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 43 of 2023

Celtic Tree Calendar: Gort (Ivy) [Day 25 of 28]

Chinese: Month 9 (Ten-Xu), Day 13 (Wu-Wu)

Chinese Year of the: Rabbit 4721 (until February 10, 2024)

Hebrew: 12 Heshvan 5784

Islamic: 12 Rabi II 1445

J Cal: 30 Shù; Nineday [30 of 30]

Julian: 14 October 2023

Moon: 98%: Waxing Gibbous

Positivist: 20 Descartes (11th Month) [Buffon]

Runic Half Month: Hagal (Hailstone) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Autumn (Day 34 of 89)

Zodiac: Scorpio (Day 4 of 29)

Calendar Changes

Hagal (Hailstone) [Half-Month 21 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 11.10)

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Happy 50th Birthday the Scottish actress Neve McIntosh.

Born in born Carol McIntosh on 9th April 1972 in Paisley, McIntosh grew up in Edinburgh, where she attended Boroughmuir High School. She was a member of Edinburgh Youth Theatre in the late 1980s, appearing in Mother Goose and Doctor in the House. She moved to Glasgow to attend the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, after which she was in repertory companies at Perth and at The Little Theatre on the Isle of Mull.

She next played in a Glasgow stage production of The Trick is to Keep Breathing. She then played in the RSC production of Dickens’ Great Expectations in Stratford, and starred as Portia in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice at the Lyceum in Edinburgh. In summer 2009, she performed in the Sylvia Plath play Three Women at the Edinburgh Festival. Her career coninues on stage both here and in the US.

Neve appeared in American director Mark L. Feinsod’s first film, Love And Lung Cancer. Alongside her many TV appearances, too many to put them all on here without it looking like a shopping list, the ones of note, to me anyway, include the brilliant Psychos, with Dougie Henshall, Trial and Retribution, Dr Who, New Tricks and again with Henshall in Shetland series four. McIntosh also teamed up with two other Doctor’s in an episode of Sky 1’s 10 Minute Tales playing the wife of Peter Capaldi’s character, and alongside David Tennant, in Single Father, a BBC drama. She portrayed the part of Anna, the sister of the dead wife of Tennant’s character.

In 2017, McIntosh played Kay Gillies in the BBC One drama The Replacement she came back home to team up with Martin Compston in Traces and recently put in an appearance in the excellent Tin Star and the podcast series Getting Better - The Fight for the NHS

Neve has said that she’s proud to have been consistently acting throughout her career, speaking in The Sunday Post she says, “It’s nice just to be consistently working. There was a time when I had a bit of a wobble, but a lot of acting work had dried up and I think loads of people thought they wouldn’t work again, but it’s building back"

We last saw Neve in the Paramount TV Series The Chemistry of Death, but the good news is she is returning as Vastra in the DR Who spin off The Paternoster Gang: Trespassers. Again, it is expected to be released in October.

[lamilanomagazine]

Tenda / 3 - Largo alla parola, da Calvino al "Poetry slam"

Tenda / 3 - Largo alla parola, da Calvino al "Poetry slam". Modena, per la nuova stagione 2023/2024 La Tenda conferma uno dei principali focus sulla “parola”, in continuità con il percorso intrapreso nelle due stagioni precedenti. Ampio spazio è dedicato, così, ad associazioni e gruppi che fanno della parola scritta e recitata il filo conduttore della propria attività culturale e artistica. In questo contesto, quindi, si collocano gli incontri di “Dai Margini – La letteratura di genere legge il mondo”. La rassegna curata da Natalia Guerrieri e Giorgio Raffaelli, in collaborazione con Casa editrice Zona 42, propone una panoramica sulla letteratura di genere, oggi fra le modalità espressive preferite per rappresentare la realtà contemporanea, proponendo chiavi di lettura inedite e sorprendenti. La kermesse ritorna alla Tenda con tre incontri dedicati ad altrettante forme espressive: mercoledì 4 ottobre “Cinema e narrazione”, sulla differenza tra la scrittura per un romanzo e una sceneggiatura e sulle interconnessioni fra i due stili (serata in collaborazione con Reggio Film festival); l’11 ottobre “Gioco e narrazione”, sulla combinazione fra la narrazione dei giochi-videogiochi e altri linguaggi, che spesso portano a un dialogo tra un media e l’altro; il 18 ottobre “Fantasy e poetry slam”, dalle proposte young adult alle nuove tendenze del fantasy contemporaneo, una panoramica sulle mille declinazioni di questo genere (a seguire poetry slam in collaborazione con Mutuo soccorso poetico). Altra conferma di valore è quella di una rassegna ormai “storica” de La Tenda, ovvero gli incontri letterari de L’Asino che vola. Mantenendo come fulcro delle proprie scelte artistiche l’attenzione ai giovani scrittori e alle case editrici indipendenti, anche per questa stagione l’associazione culturale porta sul palco di viale Monte Kosica numerosi “dialoghi con l’autore”. Nei primi mesi le presentazioni già in programma sono quelle di “Il nome che diamo ai colori” di Ivan Sciapeconi (13 ottobre), “Sognando la rivoluzione” di Flavio Giordano (20 ottobre, recupero della presentazione annullata ad aprile), entrambe all’interno della rassegna “Anni scomodi. Incontri e letture sulla nostra storia recente” in collaborazione di Biblioteche comunali di Modena. Seguiranno poi “Io, bambino cretino” di Salvo Cotrino (3 novembre), “La saggezza gentile” di Beatrice Balsamo (9 novembre) e “Stella di mare” di Piergiorgio Pulixi (14 dicembre). Significativo ritorno anche per le serate di reading e musica proposte dal Collettivo SquiLibri, che questa stagione mette in scena un percorso intitolato “Se una notte d’inverno alla Tenda”. Il primo appuntamento è con “A Sylvia: Poesie e musica per Sylvia Plath”, dedicato alla poetessa e scrittrice statunitense (e inserito nel contesto di “Màt - Settimana della salute mentale”), venerdì 27 ottobre. I successivi appuntamenti sono dedicati a figure del calibro, per esempio, di Italo Calvino ed Edgar Allan Poe. In programma, nel corso della stagione, c’è pure una serie di “repliche” proposte in origine da Collettivo SquiLibri a La Tenda durante la pandemia: si tratta di un’occasione per nuova vita a spettacoli che, per ragioni dovute alla capienza dello spazio e al distanziamento, in origine non hanno potuto avere l’accesso di pubblico auspicato. Un’ulteriore proposta legata alla parola è costituita dalla poetry slam di Mutuo soccorso poetico, altro ospite ormai fisso della programmazione. In continuità con le passate stagioni, l’associazione presenta “PoeTenda - Torneo di Poetry slam”, gara di poesia performativa tra i migliori poeti d’Italia che si sfidano a colpi di versi scritti di proprio pugno, senza oggetti di scena o accompagnamento musicale, solo un microfono. Il torneo è affiliato alla Lega italiana poetry slam (Lips) per cui il vincitore diverrà finalista regionale. Una novità è rappresentata, invece, dalla serie di “Story slam”, prevista per il 2024: serate del tutto simili a quelle già note di poetry slam ma dedicate, in questo caso, a racconti brevi.... #notizie #news #breakingnews #cronaca #politica #eventi #sport #moda Read the full article

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Happy Birthday, Robert Smith (The Cure!) da Kirstie Shanley Tramite Flickr: It was actually Robert Smith's birthday on Friday but Eternal Vampire Prince won out. Anyway, this was actually taken from the crowd. Even though I had a photopass for the music festival he was headlining, he decided sort of last minute he would not allow any photographers in the pit. I am not sure why but maybe it had something to do with a hairspray issue (that's my wild stab at a guess and/or my attempt at humor). ANYWAY, I have been a Cure fan since I was a cool goth teenager before all my high school classmates discovered that poser Marilyn Manson and thought it was also cool to wear black and then suddenly I was not the only one in my school looking like I had spent all night reading Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton and I stopped wearing black for awhile because I was so annoyed but I didn't ever stop listening to The Cure. Anyway, I hope he had a nice birthday on Friday. There was recently some drama about the cost of concert tickets and I wish people like Robert Smith and Taylor Swift who actually have some pull would put their foot down or just cut out Ticketmaster all together. Then, we could all enjoy the glorious hairspray. And, also the music. I realize I am not funny. **All photos are copyrighted**