#the long standing and unanswerable question: what ARE shapes

[wraithsoutlaws]

how thE FUCK do you DRAW TRICORNE HATS

[puckrph]

STARTERS TAKEN FROM POEMS I’VE WRITTEN - PART TWO

feel free to change pronouns!

' i think the whole world is within you. ' ' trauma is insidious. it sticks like a shadow, like mortar; the only thing holding our disparate shards together in the shape of a person. ' ' what are we, if not the echoes of insults and disappointments, the ghosts of the people our parents used to be? ' ' what are we if not the space in the skyline where something used to stand? the afterimage of a flashbulb lit in the quiet moment before roaring tragedy? ' ' i watch you standing in the sunlight laughing, harsh and beautiful, something more than our parents or this nation could ever hope or deserve to behold. ' ' you're the one lucky creature in this world of ashes. ' ' i feel myself decaying with every wasted minute. ' ' i think if you took my chest and split me open, you'd find soft black rot where my ambition used to be. ' ' if i cannot be happy, let me be free. if i cannot be free, let me be mad. ' ' i think of nothing but poems, and all the poems come from you. ' ' i'd ask to run away with you, but i never learned how to drive. ' ' i'd apologize for staring at you, but you captivate me as the night sky. ' ' when i was a child, i'd tilt my head back far enough that the only thing i could see was that stretching firmament, thinking: i might fall into those galaxies. ' ' you are allowed to be angry at those who hurt you—you are allowed to feel rage over what was done to you—you are allowed— ' ‘ we burn, and our blaze tears away the veil of ignorance. ’ ‘ faith lies as charred or as changed as the city skyline. ’ ‘ we break out of rubble, claw our way to sunlight, wipe the dust from each other’s faces with hands sick of fighting and digging. ’ ‘ we will tear down their walls and build our homes atop the wreckage. ’ ' i marvel at how you might lament a life like this. ' ' you may whisper to yourself: do i dare disturb the universe? and i will twine my hand in yours and say: you have—you do— ' ' you are a fool, perhaps. but so are all—men, women, everyone. ' ‘ we measure our pride with watch-chains; measure our hearts with half-torn dancing-slippers worn on walks over rough streets, places they were never made to tread; measure ourselves with love-poems. ’ ‘ you are the might-have-been story of a boy grown into a man grown into the best mind of his generation. ’ ‘ you are the best mind of your generation which, coming upon the overwhelming question, turns it over like a diamond and, finding it unanswerable, sets it in a ring upon my finger. ’ ‘ perhaps it was not worth it, after all. or perhaps it is no great matter. ’ ‘ if i put my foot to the floor or take the turn just right, the horizon will swallow this ought-to-be-ghost town. ’ ‘ he prayed at the altar of machinery until the factory god gasped its dying breath. ’ ‘ i stand in the light of uncountable divinities and by them chart my westward course. ’ ‘ i was always more than the sacrificial lamb of the american dream. ’ ‘ in my memories you are gold-filigreed. ’ ‘ you became god when you breathed your first tale. ’ ‘ some things are best learned from the passenger’s seat. ’ ‘ amid the ache of beauty, and amid my wonder-love, i forgot i am a sinner. ’ ‘ i forgot that we ought to be bound for ruin, i forgot every cruel thing the world has ever flung our way, because the dawn made you holy in your sleep. ’ ‘ when i am bound for eternity, will you mourn for me? ’ ‘ i was only worth loving in your darkest hour, is that it? ’ ‘ i am a siren call, not sustenance: there is no meat left in me to feast on. ’ ‘ somewhere in me there is a living girl/boy/person, locked in the casket of my heart for safekeeping, buried beneath the silt of our solitude. it has been piled on for so long that i cannot find her/him/them when i try. i cannot even remember laying her/him/them to rest. ’ ‘ you told me you loved me and looked at me like i was holy. ’ ‘ you should have known i loved you when i asked you to take a road trip with me. ’ ‘ i love you, and because i love you i will put aside my relentless terror. ’ ‘ if i am your moon, do not take the sky from me. if i am your heart, do not take the cavity in which i beat ceaselessly, deaf and blind to all but you. ’ ‘ do not tear me from your chest while you still live in mine, so close that your breath is my breath and your words are my words. ’ ‘ who am i that you should love me? ’ ‘ i did not know with what words i spoke, what language, what voice; i knew only that i loved you, as soft and ever-present as breathing. ’ ‘ if you opened your mouth, the true name of god would spill from your lips. ’

[divineangelix]

Known By You

Pairing: Din Dijarin x Reader

Warnings: None

Word count: 2k+

Summary: You have been traveling with the Mandalorian and his child for a long time and throughout that time many feelings went unsaid. After three tiresome days of being away Din returns with the intent of making all his feelings and feverish desires known.

The bright day had fallen into immense darkness as heavy rain fell from the darkened sky — droplets swiveling softly down the windows of the cockpit. As the sounds of rain bouncing off the ship’s medal fills the air you sat comfortably in the pilot seat, your legs tucked under you as the child sat perched in your lap. Small coos left him as he saw the rain drizzle down, putting his small three fingered hands up against the chilled glass to catch them. His innocence and curiosity caused you to chuckle quietly, your eyes glazing over in admiration.

The sun's rays shined dimly from behind the grey, fast moving clouds and from this observation you could assume that it was late in the evening. This would mark the third day that your companion, the Mandalorian, had been gone after a highly desired bounty.

"Looks like it will be just the two of us tonight, little one."

He didn't verbally respond, he only looked up at you with wide eyes, seemingly understanding what you were saying. As if sensing the absence of his father the situation caused his eyes to droop slightly as if he were burdened by the lack of his fathers presence.

While trying to comfort him, and yourself, your soft and reassuring words reverberated off the cockpit's steel walls, "He'll be alright. Din will come back to us — he always does."

Moments passed and soon you realized the child in your arms was slowly but surely falling into the clutches of sleep. With your lips curled into a small smile you stood to your feet with the drowsy child in your arms, "Time for you to rest, ad'ika."

Though the conversations were always one sided you never felt lonely when Din left you and the child on the Razor Crest. The child always seemed to understand what you were saying and seemingly nodded along to contribute to the words that would leave your lips. The child curled further into you, soaking in your body heat as if it were his own. As you made your way down the ladder his small hand gripped tightly onto the material of your shirt, clutching it in his tiny fist. Though the cracks of barely opened eyes his dark orbs watched you intently.

As you walked your mind wondered, coming to the conclusion that you envied the small child whom held tightly onto your shirt. A sigh left your lips as you opened the compartment that harbored the child's small hammock and the Mandalorian's small bed. As you tucked the child into his swinging hammock your eyes fell onto the unmade bed behind him. The blankets were in disarray and a singular pillow was still scrunched up from its last use. Your breaths became uneasy as you were plagued with only one question: what if something bad really did happen to Din?

What would you do then?

Nothing but worries clouded your better judgment as you slowly but surely fell into a panic. Your body tensed as you gazed onto the child and in seeing that he was fast asleep and swaddled in his blankets you back away and pressed the button, watching as he disappeared from sight behind the steel door. If something truly did happen to Din you couldn't stand to be on this ship anymore — not without him. Looking around there were so many memories, happy memories. You couldn't bear to shift through the silent and never ending confines of hyperspace if he wasn't by your side.

You knew what emotions you were feeling within yourself and it scared you more than you were willing to admit. But, in some twisted way, the fear of losing him made this feeling more prominent.

With heavily burdened footsteps you came to the cockpit ladder, pausing your strides as you sighed quietly to yourself. You were tired, not just physically but mentally as well. Your worries did you no good as it only made you fall faster into fatigue and weariness. The comlink in your pocket felt as if it was weighing you down.

There would be no harm in checking in, right?

He only wanted the comlink to be used in an emergency and your worries were no emergency. Making the finale decision to leave well enough alone, you pushed the thought of the comlink from your mind as you continued to climb up the ladder. With a grunt you heaved yourself up into the cockpit and made your way to a compartment and opened it. Once the small compartment was opened it revealed a stash of blankets and such which cause you to smile. Pleased with your findings you managed to reach out with trembling hands to grasp the thin fabric. Though the fabric of the blanket wasn't much, it was something.

Carelessly you made you way to the pilot seat once again, unraveling the blanket and tugging it under your chin to enclose your shivering body. Glancing out the window you continued to watch the rain drizzle down, leaving trails of water cascading down the glass. While entranced by the scene in front of you, your eyes began to flutter closed as you watched the planet become darkened by the shadow of nightfall.

You allowed your tired body to sink deeper into the seat, the seat that your companion would normally sit in. You sat in his chair as you drifted off, your thoughts sailing along the tide of a stream to him. While you pictured him your worries withered away, causing your chest to rise and fall as a content breath blew out from between your parted lips. While your mind painted a mural of him you fell into the veil of slumber and for a moment you were at peace.

The night's shadow slowly drifted on as the bounty hunter walked up the ramp and into the cargo hold of the Razor Crest. There was muddied water sloshing inside his boots, his clothes were soaking wet, and his cape dripped droplets onto the steel flooring. The tanned skin that hid underneath the beskar and underclothes began to regain body heat as he stepped into the familiar warmth of his home. As he stood there he closed his eyes, relishing in the heat that filled the air around him. Short seconds went by before the armored man decided to open his eyes and in doing so he noticed the lack of activity happening around him.

Knowing that the child and you were tucked away and asleep, he decided to take his helmet off. Once he did so he was greeted with air brushing against every inch of his face. In feeling this sensation it caused him to release a content sigh. His body lost its tense stance when he set the helmet under his arm and brought his hands to his eyes, rubbing them gently to rid them of their drowsiness. He needed to get off this planet, he needed to get away from the stormy weather, he needed to see you, and he needed to make sure the kid was alright. His mind was on a constant loop of needs and he wasn't all too happy about the protective instinct that kept hold of him.

He slipped his helmet back over his head; once again concealing his identity from the world and its inhabitants. Once he heard the hiss of his helmet latching securely to his armor he began his walk to the cockpit. When in the cockpit he noticed a small figure curled up in his chair. Under his helmet his eyebrows were knitted together in an almost bewildered expression. While looking you over he felt a tug from within him, something trying to push him towards you.

Though he tried to resist this pull that was luring him to you, he couldn't find the strength to abandon its selfish yearnings.

With cautious steps he made his way to you, his knuckles barely brushing against the outer ridges of your cheekbones. His breathing was uneasy as it projected through his modulator. With carful hands he brushed the stray hairs that fell onto your face. Though no one could see it, under his helmet he smiled softly at you while he studied your face that seemed to contort into a look of contentment during your slumber.

As if your body could feel the heat of his gaze, you began to stir awake. When you allowed your eyes to flutter open you were met with a shadowed outline of a familiar t-shaped visor.

Din

Neither of you made the decision to move or question the close proximity that you had awoken to. Your eyes followed the outer curves of his helmet wondering about the face that lies beneath. You have already seen so much of him underneath all the beskar because you've seen his heart. You see the way he treats the child, how he treats you. You know under all that armor he has a habit of caring too deeply. He's not the heartless and malevolent bounty hunter that so many thought him to be.

He was unknown to them but to you he was known. Maybe that's what drew him to you. Maybe that's what makes him want to show you things that his creed forbids him to reveal.

In your eyes he was a protector, a father to the baby sleeping down in the belly of the razor crest, and he's someone who you have fallen completely and helplessly in love with, "You're back."

He nodded, not allowing words to squeeze out from his tight throat. He felt as if you were intoxicating him with your presence, your compassion burrowing deep within him, making him feel confused and timid at the warm feeling. He was raised to be fearless, to be a warrior. Yet when he's in your presence he fails to remember much when he meets your eyes. You lay siege to him causing all conscious thoughts to dissipate from his mind.

The room was dark when Din decided to reach out to tenderly cup your cheek. As his hand rested on you he could feel your body relaxing under his touch. His breath hitched as he felt your lips leave a quick kiss on his palm, making him feel the heat of your lips through the leather of his gloves.

Before he could force himself to pull away a soft question slipped from your lips, "What do you want from me?"

That question, at the moment, seemed unanswerable but nevertheless the Mandalorian decided to respond, "I don't know."

His voice sounds soft and gentle but when you hear it you could sense some uncertainty lamenting his crackled speech as it came through the modulator. He removed his hand from your cheek and brought his palm to cover your eyes, "Keep your eyes closed." He whispered softly.

Without hesitation you followed his gentle plea, sealing your eyes shut until he directed you to do otherwise. His hand left you completely and you felt nerves bubble up within you, silently begging for his touch to return. You could hear nothing but the the sound of a hiss filling the room and you slowly came to the realization that Din had removed his helmet. Your silent need for his touch was answered as you felt his bare index finger slowly began to trace up your windpipe then ever so slightly he moved to trace your jaw. 

A sharp intake of breath seeped past your lips as you felt the warmth and tenderness of his actions. His hand halted its journey as he soaked in the sight of you, mesmerized by the way his gloveless hand felt against the warmth of your unexplored skin. His thumb was mere inches from feeling your lips and in this moment he knew exactly what he wanted from you. Din Djarin's hand held a slight shake to it as his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips.

"Can I. . is it okay if-."

"Yes."

You now understood what he wanted and you were willing to give him what he desired. Without sight you simply sat, awaiting the feel of him that you knew was to come. His lips, when they met yours, held nothing but love. The kiss started out slow causing your mouths to meld together in a perfect rhythm. You now know exactly how the Mandalorian feels because now, as his lips are on yours, he's showing you everything he failed to express with his words.

[samuelandthewilburbots]

One Year in Music: Week 12

Howdy folks, happy Spring! This week’s track is called, Worthless. I started this song on January 9th, 2013. At that time it was just a keyboard chord progression and some weird synths I was trying out, and it was called Casino Floor because some of the synths reminded me of slot machine noises. It sat on my computer untouched and unopened until this winter. Finishing an old song that was forgotten about feels good, I feel like a detective erasing the victim’s name from a whiteboard after solving the case. Did I do it properly? Did I do it justice? Was it all a giant waste of time because nobody will ever even listen to it? Whose to say!

Inspiration:

I got the idea for this song while re-listening to the keyboard progression on a loop. It was after a long day of teaching and I was feeling frustrated.  I let my stream of conscious take over. I kept returning to the phrase, “So, I guess, it sucks, when you don’t listen to me, when I’m here, upfront, with my guts, and they’re spilling out of me”. That was me reflecting on the day, standing in front of a classroom and looking around and half of my students are on their phone or talking over you. It’s definitely a shitty feeling. I know not to take it personally, but that is always what it feels like.  Maybe I’m just being needy. Then I think back to when I was a student and I was always playing games on my graphing calculator and not listening, so it checks out. Kids don’t want to listen to adults, especially when they have a device where they can play Fortnight, Madden, talk to their friends, listen to music, or watch Rick and Morty. It’s hard to compete with that kind of entertainment. All I had was Tetris, Uncle Worm, and Fall Down on my Ti-83 and that was infinitely better than listening to any adult.

The rest of the song is about dealing with your legacy. Will you be remembered, will you quickly be forgotten, will you be filled with regrets on your deathbed? My favorite line of the song is, “Do you remember life before your born, can you sense your loved ones mourn, or does it all  resemble just a dream? I want my purpose to have meaning.” I love to ask questions about death because they are unanswerable, but you can make some connections. I don’t remember anything that happened before I was born, is that what death will feel like? That’s the closest I’ve been to experiencing death, not being a live. If that’s what death is like, then all of a sudden, it doesn’t seem so scary. I’ve already experienced that. In fact, I was not living for billions of years. It was pretty chill tbh. It was way less stressful than being alive and being a teacher. That brings me to the last line, “I want my purpose to have meaning.” I desperately want my life’s work to be validated. I want the hard work I’ve put in and the good deeds I’ve done to be worthwhile, I want their to be a payoff. I want to see the fruits of my labor, I want to have made a difference, I want to leave this earth in better shape than I found it (not flat).

Process:

The Verses melody formed within the first 5 minutes of re-examining this song. Usually I can come up with a few different melodies for a verse but I couldn’t escape the first thing that came to my head. It felt very natural, so I embraced it. The chorus and the bridge however took weeks. I found multiple progressions that worked but nothing felt big like a chorus should. I eventually stumbled on the Chord progression Dmaj, f#min, bmin, Amaj and it sounded cool. I then came up with the chorus riff which I think is really catchy. However, the song is in the key Amaj and the chorus is Dmaj. I feel like the transition works, but it definitely shifts the tone and vibe of the song when the chorus hits. The chorus is also a little out of my vocal range so I tried it at two different octaves, and I still don’t know if I found it. This song doesn’t excite me as much as some of the others this year, but there are definitely some really cool instrumental parts and I love lyrics about death and the afterlife.

Lyrics:

So I guess it sucks You never got to dream The best out of luck Well I never disagree I respectfully disagree

What am I gonna leave behind If I live, and when I die What will all of this really even mean I look back on the life I've lead I'm filled with hope and filled with dread When I wake up in my death bed out at sea I hope my purpose has a meaning I'm not a worthless human being Something I had never seen before today You were drowning I was drowning off the coast of LA Something was missing, somethings was wrong baby I could tell You were drowning I was drowning, yeah we both needed help So I guess it sucks When you don't listen to me When I'm  here, up front, with my guts       And they're Spilling out of me I guess I'm really needy From here we move to the after life Without conscious without sight You can make it whatever you want it to be Do you remember life before your born   Can you sense your loved ones mourn Or does it all resemble just a dream I want my purpose to have meaning

I had never told you a lie You promised me It's something that we never would try You promised me, We were still both traumatized You promised we would stay You promised me we'd stay

Something I had never seen before today You were drowning I was drowning off the coast of LA Something was missing, somethings was wrong baby I could tell You were drowning I was drowning, yeah we both needed help 

Thanks to the 4 people who listened to my last song! I really appreciate it. If you got any feedback, comment or DM me! Thanks again!

[wildegreenlight]

Perspicacious

A little Father’s Day gift inspired by the amazing artwork of  @blvnk-art which confirmed a headcanon of my own. A companion piece to Of Bros and Babes. I hope you enjoy! Again a nod to @callieskye for editing advice and to @jenn582 & @idearlylovealaugh for motivation and support (Jenn I promise there is some smut coming, just not today)!

The early morning light was just beginning to filter into the bedroom, but Ron Weasley had no trouble seeing his wife clearly. His clear-sightedness, both literal and figurative, was legendary in the Auror corp. Perspicacious, that’s the word Hermione taught him; she said she loved the way he could always see the things no one else could.

Now more than ever he was seeing clearly: his heart full as he watched her sleeping form. He gently moved an errant curl from her face, careful not to wake her. She needed her rest: a lopsided grin broke over his face she’s resting for two now.

The news was so fresh that it still bore the weight of unreality. It was hard to imagine, almost impossible to wrap your mind around, really. He ghosted his fingers across her abdomen with awe. Their child was in there, right now. A child that they had made, together. A child that would have his sense of humor and her sense of determination. A child that would have her nose and his hair.  Poor kid…the Weasley hair…at least we can always see you in a crowd.

Ron’s thoughts began to run into a future full of firsts: first smiles, first laughs, first words, first steps. He was wise enough to know that parenting would not be without challenges. He chuckled at the memory of the panicked patronus Harry had sent him the first time Ginny left him alone with James. He was sure the Daily Prophet would have paid handsomely for pictures of the wizarding world’s toughest Aurors scrambling under the demands of a colicky baby.

In a weird way, he was looking forward to those moments too, terrifying as they might be. He wanted to be the kind of dad their child deserved, the kind of partner Hermione deserved.  The image of her holding this baby in her arms was so vivid that he could almost reach out and touch it. She was going to be an amazing mum, and he would make damn sure that they were safe and happy.

 Safe. His brow furrowed at the thought. He had dedicated himself to that goal for as long as he could remember. Shell Cottage had been the first time he had vocalized it to her: first in broken sobs as she remained unconscious in the small bedroom that faced the ocean, later in fervent whispers as she tried to assure him that he had in fact saved her that day. Promised you I would always keep you safe. But if he were being honest with himself, it really began long before that day. He had been so young and naïve at the time, assuring himself that his desire to defend her to Malfoy, to walk into a forest of nightmare inducing arachnids for her, was nothing less than he would do for any of his family. It was true, in a way. His career path had been largely shaped by his need to look out for Harry. After seven years, it had been a hard habit to break. Paired with his “war hero” Merlin I hate that! status developed into the idea that joining the Corp was the ultimate way to keep Hermione and everyone he loved safe.

 That was the idea that kept him going: through the agony of training. All those long weeks of being away from Hermione, days full of grueling physical and emotional agony. So much had been expected of him and Harry that even the most common of rookie error felt like an epic failure. But, they had made it. Foolishly they had thought that the hardest part was behind them, but they were just then being placed into the crucible: testing their strength through fire.

 Those first years had been rank with the ugliness of life. Crimes too horrible to talk about in polite company; victims who haunted his dreams, especially the ones that he found too late, or that were too afraid to leave the violent lives in which they felt trapped. He supposed it did get better with time. He very rarely had nightmares anymore, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt truly shocked at even the most disturbing cases.

 Everyone loved to ask him how he liked his job. He always replied with, “I like making the world a safer place.” It was a true answer, a safe answer, but not a satisfying answer. He and Hermione had talked about it more and more frequently in the last year.

 “I want you to be happy, Ron,” she would always say.

 “I am happy,” he would always reply, kissing her soundly.

 “You know what I mean; you don’t have to do this.”

 “I made you a promise, Hermione. I haven’t broken a promise to you since I made that one.”

 “But the promise was to keep my safe AND happy. You are what I need to be happy, and we keep each other safe, that’s just how it’s always worked.”

 “But what about Harry?”

 “He has his own Weasley, I’m tired of sharing,” how dare she use his own tactics against him!

 “You know what I mean. I can’t just abandon him.”

 “Oh Ron, get out of that tent, come off that chess board, Harry is a grown man and he can take care of himself.”

 “Since when,” he grumbled, but they both fought to suppress a smirk at the thought.

 “Listen, I will support you no matter what you decide, you know that. I just want you to do what YOU want to do. Not what you think other people need or expect you to do. You’ve earned that much at least.”

Hermione’s little sleep-hum, one of the many little things he had learned about her over the years, brought him back to the present. He really did know that she would stand by him no matter what he wanted to do, knew it with a certainty born of love and experience. He also knew, though they were careful not to talk about it, not really talk about it, that she was afraid for him. It wasn’t easy to be an Auror’s wife-the crazy hours, the dangerous assignments, the calls from St. Mungos- were enough to test any woman. She deserves better.

 If he were being completely honest, he would admit that he thought about the danger more and more. Part of him, of all of them really, was so used to the chaos of war and intrigue that he worried that he might not know how to live without it. Isn’t it worth the try? For Hermione? For our child? George had made him a very attractive offer to return to the shop, to the business. Ron did enjoy working there when he helped out over the years: seeing the smiles, hearing the laughter. He always felt especially close to Fred when he was there, not in a mournful way, but a little bubbling of happiness. George admitting feeling it too, but they had both been a little pissed on Firewhiskey at the time.

 He knew that he could go round and round with this indefinitely using his strategic mind to plan his best course of action; but from the moment Hermione told him, just last night, that he was going to be a father…logic and strategy seemed to have been eclipsed by a far more powerful force. The thought of getting out of that bed and going to a job where there was a better than fair chance that he might not return, seemed like the most mental thing in the entire wizarding world. The whole of the universe was, in that moment, contained within that bed-so small, yet he felt the immensity of it with reverence. Questions that had seemed unanswerable just days ago were now elementary in their simplicity. He could see the future clearly: a future where little bushy-haired toddlers would crawl into this bed with them on Saturday mornings; a future where precocious freckled-faced children would doze off in between them during thunderstorms; a future where they would all be safe and happy.  

 Decision made, Ron gently got up and dressed with an Auror’s speed and stealth. If he hurried, he could catch Harry. If he hurried, he could explain it to him. If he hurried, he could be back before she woke, and he felt sure he could convince her to take the day off to celebrate.

[spiteweaver]

People You Will Encounter On a Normal Day in Feldspar:

Two shape-shifters, one of whom a demigod. They are made of dream matter. You don’t know what that is, but it sounds made-up. The elder of the two is a force to be reckoned with, but you’re more skittish of the younger. He is far less merciful than his progenitor.

A very timid and softhearted Emperor. You take one look at him and think twice about causing any mischief. He may not look like a threat, with eyes puffy from crying over something trivial and meaningless, but you know better.

A mated pair of demons, one a half-breed, the other another shape-shifter. They have five children, with more on the way. At first blush, you find them a comforting presence--but demons are demons, and you soon get the sense that they don’t really care whether you live or die.

A young magical theorist who leaks Arcane magic from his very pores. You cannot fathom how or why such an immense amount of Arcane energy isn’t warping everyone and everything around the man. When he speaks to you, it is with great kindness.

The magical theorist’s son, who, contrary to his father, cannot reliably use magic at all. It dispels itself through the Opal patchwork across his skin, but not at the same constant rate as his father’s. He does not speak, only observes. You turn to leave, and he whispers something into his father’s ear. For some reason, you are extremely unsettled by him.

A stranger from a foreign land. He wields weapons beyond your comprehension with great efficiency. You try to purchase one from him, but he says you’re not yet worthy. Maybe you will be someday. He smells like blood and ash. Even when he’s busy assembling his wares, you know he is watching.

A minor lunar deity, clothed all in white and followed always by an entourage of desperate men. They smile at you as they pass, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You’ve never met a deity before. You aren’t sure you want to meet one now. The way they carry themself is too unfamiliar.

A Wendigo, dripping black drool, who guards the borders of the kingdom. You never saw him on your journey, not until you were well past the border. You felt as though you were being watched, and turned back to gaze down the path. He was standing off to the side, partially hidden from you in the shadows of the forest. He watched you until you reached the village. You feel as though you only narrowly escaped a gruesome end.

A boy wearing a grinning, moon-like mask. He is charming in his earnestness, but his companion is much less so. He calls it a grimoire, one of thirteen. You don’t know what a grimoire is. You ask him why he wears a mask. He tells you it’s none of your concern--not unless you want to cross him. You decide not to ask again.

A stunning man with a loud voice and a personality to match. When he enters the village, he is greeted boisterously by everyone in the vicinity. You think you must have finally found someone ordinary--then you notice the shine of his skin, and the metal seams at his joints. At least he’s friendly.

An eldritch abomination, undoubtedly handcrafted by a cruel and unloving god. He has mouths all over his body, and they’re all grinning at you like you’re their next meal. He treats everyone around him as if they are all a part of some elaborate game--but when the village is threatened, he devours the perpetrator whole right before your eyes.

A man who, when you look at him, you can’t quite fully discern. He follows the young heir of the kingdom like a shadow. His skin is dark, but covered in pale yellow runes that glow intermittently. You draw too near to the heir once, and feel the man’s aura flare. You have never experienced such pure malice in all your life.

A sociable man who seems to know when you’re lying. You tell him you’re from a quiet village to the west. He tells you you’re full of it--not in words, but by tracing his thoughts upon your open palm. You have skeletons in your closet, and you get the sense he knows every one of them by name.

At least three living dolls. No one knows how they can possibly exist, and when you ask their creator how he made them, he throws you out of his shop for being rude and invasive. You feel their eyes on you until you leave the village. You feel their eyes on you even long after.

A poor lost soul, semi-transparent, who introduces himself as the clan’s spiritual consultant. He tells you that you have a terrible dark energy hanging over you, and that you should seek cleansing as soon as possible. If you don’t, he warns, the consequences will be dire. You resolve to ask the clan founder about the clan’s cleansing services.

A man who laughs like a hyena. You meet him when he manages to con you out of several pouches of gold. A dire hyena rests panting at his side. It watches you with disquieting intensity. When you look up, you realize the man is watching you, too, through those same pale eyes.

A young man in a wheelchair. He is possibly the most personable individual you have met thus far. Unfortunately, in the middle of your conversation, he goes limp and comatose in his chair. His caretaker, the clan’s general practitioner, assures you this is nothing out of the ordinary, but you’re shaken by it all the same.

A violinist playing on a street corner. You ask him if he can play something quiet, to soothe your nerves. He plays the most haunting melody you have ever heard. There is pain in his eyes, so fathomless and deep that you fear you may fall into it. At song’s end, he returns to his old self. He informs you that he’s expecting letters from his daughters today. You can’t get that endless sadness out of your mind.

The local houndmaster, who treats you firmly and solely as a nuisance. His hounds seem to understand him. More bizarre is the fact that he seems to understand them equally as well. You do not spend long in his company, because he threatens to put you in the ground if you don’t shove off, but you learn later that he is a lycan. Once again, you feel as though you have only narrowly escaped death.

A woman carrying mushrooms. She whispers reassurances to them. Their new home will be far lovelier than their old one, she claims. She catches you eavesdropping, and stares at you in total silence until you leave. You don’t want to think about it, but you know she smelled of something dead.

A being shrouded in golden mist. You can make out parts of them, when they wish you to--a hand adorned with glittering gold, a wild shock of mulberry hair, and eyes. Rich, violet eyes that pull you in and make you want to act out of character. You want to risk everything, just for this person’s favor.

The clan’s forgemaster, a witch of immense skill and ill temperament. He tells you that loitering is not permitted, and to get out if you aren’t planning on buying anything. As you watch, he belches molten gold, and begins to shape it with his bare hands. You oblige his demands and leave. If you stick around, you’ll only end up with more unanswerable questions.

A priest who talks at length with you about his religion. It’s fascinating at first, but it soon turns dark. He believes in rebirth through disease and death. The fervor with which he speaks of these things unnerves you. Before you can escape, he touches your cheek and assures you that you will understand one day. You don’t sleep that night.

The owner of the clan’s most popular tavern. A shrewd businessman, but an excellent conversationalist. You find yourself lost in his voice. He refills your cup, over and over. His smile drives you mad. You think that you cannot live without it. Then his eyes stray, and the spell is broken. He tells you to be careful on your way home. He calls you dear. You fall a bit more in love with him.

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Today we’re happy to bring you part two of our “In the Spotlight” feature. We’ve got another group of 25 artists that we think are worthy of your time and ears. Our contributors have made their picks, put together blurbs, and pulled out recommended songs.

If you missed part one, you can find that here.

MUNA

by Jason Tate

MUNA are a three piece out of Los Angeles that craft a dark synth-pop sound right in my musical wheelhouse. They released their debut LP, About U, earlier this year and it’s been in constant rotation as the weather shifts in Rain City between annoyingly wet and cold to slightly less annoyingly cold. The pulsating percussion over well-weaved vocal melodies mixes perfectly with the season. It’s the kind of music that can sit in the background at a party and at one point or another you’ll find all of the guests nodding along, or it can be experienced between headphones alone in a dark room with a stiff drink.

Recommended Track: “Winterbreak”

RIYL: Lany, Banks, Fickle Friends

Mandolin Orange

by Craig Manning

Playful, tongue-in-cheek band name aside, Mandolin Orange write and perform some of the most beautifully understated and intimate music out there these days. A folk duo featuring singer/songwriters Andrew Marlin and Emily Frantz, Mandolin Orange have been around since 2010, but have really started to pick up steam in the past two years. Their most recent record, last year’s Blindfaller, was a socially-conscious set of folk tunes that rings even more true after what happened in November. But the band’s crowning achievement at this point is 2015’s Such Jubilee, a record that has sneakily become one of the most-played albums in my vinyl collection. Marlin and Frantz’s songs are gentle and pleasant enough to play in the background—whether you are working, chatting, or sleeping—but they also have the power to enchant and entrance when you listen closely. Case-in-point is “Blue Ruin,” a song about the Sandy Hook shootings that avoids self-righteous sloganeering in favor of tortured resignation, quiet rage, bottomless sadness, and unanswerable questions. It’s one of the most haunting songs written this decade.

Recommended Track: “Blue Ruin”

RIYL: The Lone Bellow, Nickel Creek, Field Report

Milkshakes

by Aj LaGambina

Milkshakes, hailing from Connecticut, are an alt-rock/power-pop powerhouse that released their first LP, Juvenilia, in November of last year. Focusing on huge, 90’s throwback instrumentation and relatable musical themes, the band stands out as one of the gems of the CT music scene.

Recommended Track: “Past Tragedies””

RIYL: Basement, Superheaven, Microwave

IDLES

by Kyle Huntington

Very rarely will a band be both tied to their influences in a way that allows them to exist on their own platform whilst simultaneously feeling very worthy amongst said classics and also come along at just. the. right. time. Bristol, England based band IDLES released their debut album Brutalism in March and it’s the most perfect call-to-arms, the rally-round, the gang mentality against the injustices and divisions so prevalent in the world lately. Spilling over with angry fuck yous, relentless rhythm sections and wired guitars whilst maintaining a sense of humour throughout, there’s few albums as directly raw sonically and as on-point culturally as this in 2017.

Recommended Track: “Mother”

RIYL: Pissed Jeans, Iceage, The Fall

Weller

by Deanna Chapman

Weller is a recent find for me. It’s the solo project of Harrison Nantz out of Philadelphia. He came around after I had already left the city, and it left me a bit bummed. Weller’s music, however, is well worth a listen. The Philadelphia music scene does not disappoint. Weller fits right in with the bands that have come out of there. Career Fair has bouncy melodies that you just want to jam out to. The music is well-crafted. The most recent release is a split with Rue from October 2016 and I’ll just be over here waiting for more.

Recommended Track: “Buck”

RIYL: Sorority Noise, Pinegrove, Modern Baseball

Post Modern

by Zac Djamoos

While the might have one of the least-Googleable band names ever, Post Modern’s music more than makes up for it. Their 2015 EP The Current was promising, displaying a knack for crafting hard-hitting post-hardcore. They’ve released a string of singles since which have only built on that promise. They’re gearing up to release a new record this year, and if it’s as good as the singles suggest, Post Modern is name we’ll be hearing for a long time.

Recommended Track: “Speak Soft”

RIYL: Thrice, Circa Survive, Have Mercy

Sonnder

by Craig Ismaili

This Philadelphia area band has drawn attention from alternative radio stations in the region, including Radio 104.5. This is in part because their music displays a boundless ear for melody that belies a pop act underneath the wall of sound of an alterntive act. It’s also in part because their live sets are at once filled unbridle exuberance and yet still remarkably polished. But perhaps the biggest asset Sonnder displays is their malleability. On their debut album Entanglement, released a little over a year ago, they display the ability to shape-shift to fit different perceptions of the band seamlessly, from the hard-charging “New Direction,” the opening track off Entanglement and also often the intro to their live performances, to the harmonic balladry of “Late October,” to the dance-pop of “Siren Calling.” In an era where the biggest single on the radio could be anything from a bubblegum pop song, to a piano ballad, to a folk-pop track, their ability to make an immediately captivating song in any genre will serve them well in the future. They are working on new music now which should be released later this year.

Recommended Track: “New Direction”

RIYL: Smashing Pumpkins, Silversun Pickups, Toyko Police Club

The New Respects

by Greg Robson

Nashville quartet The New Respects offer up a confident slice of soul-based rock with equal amounts of R&B, funk and even radio-ready pop. Vocalist Jasmine Mullen has a natural charisma and swagger but draws on the strength of her bandmates (drummer Darius Fitzgerald, guitarist Zandy Fitzgerald and bassist Alexis Fitzgerald) to do much of the heavy lifting. Their new EP Here Comes Trouble (Credential Recordings/Caroline Distribution) is sleek, sexy and scintillating. The strongest of the EP is the soon-to-be pop smash “Trouble” and the sultry ballad “Come As You Are.” The band’s youth is probably their greatest asset and their rise to larger stages seems almost inevitable.

Recommended Track: “Trouble”

RIYL: Alabama Shakes, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, St. Paul and the Broken Bones

King Neptune

by Becky Kovach

Singer/songwriter Ian Kenny has been a part of the New York scene for a while now – his previous band NGHBRS began in 2010 and made waves in 2013 with their album 21 Rooms – but it’s with his latest project King Neptune that Kenny seems to have finally found his footing. I was initially drawn to the band by “Black Hole,” the first song released under the new moniker. It’s dark and angry, fueled by static-y guitars and a volatile chorus about no longer knowing a person you once loved. Kenny’s voice is rich and gritty – the kind that can go from growling to smooth and back in a single measure. King Neptune’s debut EP A Place To Rest My Head has been out since last October and is still in constant rotation on my iPod/Spotify/stereo.

Recommended Track: “All Night”

RIYL: Envy On The Coast, Cage The Elephant, Heavy English

Crystal Clear

by Aj LaGambina

Crystal Clear are a six piece based out of West Haven, CT that focus on a bright and energetic indie-pop sound. Their debut EP, Rough Draft hit bandcamp at the end of March and provides a perfect soundtrack for the New England springtime. The three original songs, and a unique take on Britney Spears’ “Womanizer” make for a breezy listen, though there’s plenty of musical layers to dive in to if critical listening is more your thing. The title track especially, with it’s big chorus and bouncy, ukulele-driven instrumental begs for sing-alongs in the car.

Recommended Track: “Rough Draft”

Souvenirs

by Zac Djamoos

Souvenirs’ 2014 debut You, Fear, and Me was a pleasant slice of indie rock, but it’s their sophomore outing that’s really going to turn heads. Posture of Apology finds the Carpinteria, CA, band leaning more heavily on the indie than the rock, trading in the booming choruses and distorted guitars for sparkling keys and spurts of electronics. And, hell, it pays off. “Bend and Break” feels like a poppier take on latter-day Copeland, and “Proof” is proof (ha) that Souvenirs are just as good at writing subtle, slowburning pop songs as they are at writing massive, shout-your-lungs-out ones. Even still, you might want to shout your lungs out to a song like “4th and Holly” anyway.

Recommended Track: “Roman Candle”

RIYL: Death Cab for Cutie, The American Scene, Mansions, All the Day Holiday

Danny Black

by Jason Tate

Danny Black is the project name for Good Old War’s Daniel Schwartz. The music is instrumental and guitar based, but it inhabits an atmosphere of driving on a backroad in the middle of summer. Dream-like, carefree, and uninhibited. Danny Black’s debut (and perfectly titled) album, Adventure Soundtrack, came out earlier this year and is impossibly easy to get lost in.

Recommended Track: “High Tide”

RIYL: Days Away, Good Old War

Steve Moakler

by Craig Manning

What does Steve Moakler’s music sound like, you may ask? Like the greatest summertime soundtrack you’ve never heard. With his breakout 2017 album, Steel Town, Moakler is slinging the sunniest choruses in country music—and that’s saying something, for a genre whose mainstream stars really, really love their summertime. The songs on Steel Town range from wistful heartbreakers (“Summer without Her,” with a vibe reminiscent of Dashboard Confessional’s “Dusk and Summer”) to pure song-of-the-summer pop tunes (the undeniable “Suitcase,” which needs to be on your playlist come June). Moakler, like many of Nashville’s brightest talents, hasn’t yet broken through in his own right—though he has penned a few songs for major stars like Dierks Bentley. But between Steel Town and 2014’s Wide Open, Moakler’s got pop songs that will appeal to country fans, country songs that will appeal to pop fans, and enough heartfelt, nostalgic lyrics to fill any summer night. Check him out now—before he’s one of the biggest names in music.

Recommended Track: “Suitcase”

RIYL: Will Hoge, Matt Nathanson, Twin Forks

Black Foxxes

y Zac Djamoos

Sometimes you want to drop the pretenses and just rock, and that’s what Black Foxxes do best. The Exeter, England trio delivered one of the best no-frills rock albums of 2016 – a year that saw no shortage of great rock albums. I’m Not Well stood out due to the raw energy Back Foxxes bring to the table. Whether it’s an unexpected scream breaking through a quiet verse or the sudden drum fill that introduces the title track’s massive hook, there’s always a burst of energy to keep you on your toes. With Black Foxxes racking up festival dates left and right, they’re showing no signs of slowing down. Trust me, you’ll want to be able to say you were a fan before they take over the world.

Recommended Track: “River”

RIYL: Brand New, The Felix Culpa, Manchester Orchestra, Microwave

Phoebe Bridgers

by Craig Ismaili

“Smoke Signals,” the first song Bridgers released from her as of yet unfinished debut album is a remarkable achievement in a song transporting the listener to a specific place. You see, the world within “Smoke Signals” is lived in. This is not a love song in the abstract. The etching of the passage of time is written all over it, from the tragic passings of Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead and David Bowie memorialized in song, to an entire verse about The Smiths’ “How Soon is Now.” The celebrity deaths speak to some innate desire to transform one’s life for the better, or just to escape the enormity of it while (“It’s been on my mind since Bowie died / Just checking out to hide from life / and all of our problems / I’m gonna solve them.”). So it’s not at all an escapism fantasy, as so many other songs are, no it’s a journal of a life “lived deliberately” as Thoreau would say in the name-checked Walden. It’s a remarkable testament to the power of Bridgers as a songwriter and a storyteller that she can paint a picture so vividly in just a few simple phrases. The singer/songwriter, who has recorded with Ryan Adams and is signed to his Pax Am label imprint, is a rare, once-or-twice-in-a-generation talent, and I urge you to get aboard the hype train with me before it has passed you by.

Recommended Track: “Smoke Signals”

RIYL: Julien Baker, Elliot Smith, Ryan Adams, Gillian Welch

Hippo Campus

by Kyle Huntington

An early blueprint for this Minnesotan band’s music was seeing people having fun at their shows and continuing to create music that engaged a crowd into a sense of joy and elation. This serves as a great and inclusive foundation, but it’s on their debut album landmark where Hippo Campus evolve and flourish in the nuances and more sombre tones. These moments ice the top of every portion of the album and consequently deliver an outstanding debut. Each song is its own entity whilst remaining a part of a cohesive whole. Bon Iver collaborator BJ Burton handles production duties allowing transitions between tracks to be sequenced thoughtfully and there’s diverse soundscapes from piano-led tracks to more heavy guitar-driven songs that are relentless in their force – but nothing is ever confused or lacking in an identity, in fact landmark boasts a very authentic stamp. Lyrics, handled by guitarist/vocalist Nathan Stocker, are reminiscent of a young Morrissey in their self aware and often humorous ‘coping mechanism’ style and they’re delivered with the heartfelt, floaty vocal tones of frontman Jake Luppen for truly effective measure. landmark is an indie-rock album that doesn’t have a weak moment, consistently great from start to finish with some of the most memorable musical compositions I’ve heard in some time.

There’s that rare type of hype around the band, a non-claustrophobic buzz, which allows their unique breed of infectious, outrageously pop-sensible and intelligent indie music to bloom.

Recommended Track: “Way It Goes”

RIYL: Bombay Bicycle Club, Vampire Weekend, Bleachers

Creeper

by Becky Kovach

There’s no replacing My Chemical Romance. However, British newcomers (or at least new to me) Creeper are giving the kings of the goth scene a run for their money. The band’s debut Eternity, In Your Arms, is drenched in the same dark and theatrical nuances that MCR became known for. If you missed them on tour with Too Close To Touch and Waterparks, have no fear – they’ll be back this summer on the Vans Warped Tour. Time to break out the eyeliner.

Recommended Track: “Misery”

RIYL: My Chemical Romance, Alkaline Trio, AFI

Shallows

by Anna Acosta

You’d hardly know synth-pop duo Shallows are newer faces on the LA music scene to look at the year they’ve had. Marshall Gallagher’s meticulous production combined with front-woman Dani Poppitt’s hauntingly addictive vocals peppered 2016 with festival-ready singles. The lyrics dance around themes of longing with no shortage of clever wordplay, transmitting their message so effectively that the listener can’t help but want to hear more. With Poppitt at the helm, Shallows have achieved that ever-so-elusive feat: to embody everything current about the LA music scene, while feeling in no way derivative. The good news? They’ve got an EP coming out later this year. One thing is for sure: this band won’t be underground for long.

Recommended Track: “Matter”

RIYL: Lorde, Lana Del Rey, Halsey

White Reaper

by Craig Manning

White Reaper aren’t quite a hair metal band, but they sure sound like they could have been hustling up and down the Sunset Strip 35 years ago. Situated on the musical spectrum somewhere between Van Halen, KISS, and Japandroids, White Reaper tear through one party-ready rock song after another on this year’s (un)ironically named The World’s Best American Band. Loud, raucous, glammy to the nth degree, and loaded with arena rock signifiers—chugging guitars, ripping solos, pounding drums that reverberate through your entire chest, bellowed vocals, and sugar-rush melodies that double their enjoyment factor with every beer you drink—this record feels tailor-made for loud-as-hell car listens this summer. If you thought that Japandroids LP from earlier this year was too overproduced or too stuck in a mid-tempo rut, White Reaper have the antidote.

Recommended Track: “Judy French”

RIYL: ‘80s hair metal filtered through a modern alt-rock prism

Posture and the Grizzly

by Zac Djamoos

Posture and the Grizzly are a puzzling band. I Am Satan contains a nearly even split of pop-punk and post-rock, sometimes within the very same song (see opener “I Am Not a Real Doctor”). They manage to combine the best aspects of both genres to create an impressive and expansive album that’s also just fun as hell. There’s beauty and space in “Star Children,” there’s catharsis in “Acid Bomb,” there’s a monstrous earworm in “Kill Me,” and there’s a great record in I Am Satan.

Recommended Track: “I Am Not a Real Doctor”

RIYL: blink-182, Runaway Brother, The World Is…

Blaenavon

by Kyle Huntington

There’s a danger with debuts that are a long-time coming, a momentum can be lost. A spark can fade a little or fickle fans can just lose interest. The Hampshire, England band may have taken five years to produce their debut album That’s Your Lot, which was released in April, but it’s so self-assured in its brooding wonder and euphoria that any potentials pitfalls another band may encounter are bypassed without a second glance by Blaenavon. Produced by Jim Abbiss who has a masterful touch on so many staple indie-debuts (Arctic Monkeys, Bombay Bicycle Club, The Temper Trap and…Adele) the record is best summed up by frontman Ben Gregory himself: “That’s Your Lot is five years of our lives condensed into 59 minutes of yours. Youth, capriciousness, duality, duplicity, love, bitterness, fate. Songs from the human core: some malleable, long considered – others pure, direct, cruelly honest. An album to bathe in and appreciate the inevitable end.”

Recommended Track: “Orthodox Man”

RIYL: Bombay Bicycle Club, Foals, The Maccabees, The Temper Trap

Lindsay Ell

by Craig Manning

Lindsay Ell built her following on YouTube, covering songs by other artists. For the past few years, though, she’s been slowly making a name for herself in mainstream country music, releasing hooky one-off pop-country singles like the bubblegum kiss-off “By the Way” or the infectiously ebullient “All Alright.” It wasn’t until this spring, though, that Ell really showed the world what she was capable of. With the release of her debut EP, Worth the Wait, the 28-year-old Canadian country singer has cast off the usual constraints of pop country for a soulful, versatile set of songs. Her producer, Kristian Bush of the band Sugarland, encouraged her to pick her favorite album and record a cover version of the whole thing, to get a better sense of what makes the songs tick and what she wanted to accomplish with her own music. Ell, a whiz of a guitar player, chose John Mayer’s 2006 masterpiece Continuum. Unsurprisingly, the influence of that record is splashed all across the songs that make up Worth the Wait—and not just in the closing cover of “Stop This Train.” Still, the most intriguing moments here are all Ell’s, from the soulful blues-pop of “Waiting for You” to the kinetic “Criminal,” all the way to the goosebump-inducing title track. Trust me: this girl is one to watch.

Recommended Track: “Worth the Wait”

RIYL: John Mayer, Sheryl Crow, Logan Brill

Sam Outlaw

by Craig Manning

A former ad executive turned country singer, Sam Outlaw sounded charming but somewhat limited two years ago when he released his first LP, 2015’s Angeleno. The songwriting was very solid, and Outlaw’s voice—not far removed from Jackson Browne—was butter. However, most of the songs were so old fashioned—with sweeping strings, mariachi horns, and more than a few hat tips to classic California country—that the record didn’t engage me quite as much as other more forward-thinking roots music records from that year. Outlaw’s second disc, this year’s Tenderheart sees the singer/songwriter breaking out of his traditionalist mode a bit, widening the palette for something that feels more his own. The highlight is lead-off track “Everyone’s Looking for Home,” an aching slow-burn that modernizes Outlaw’s sound a bit without sacrificing intimacy. But the whole record—from the title track, which calls back to the melody of Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” to “Look at You Now,” the Ryan Adams-style ballad that sits in the closing slot—is the direct opposite of a sophomore slump.

Recommended Track: “Everyone’s Looking for Home”

RIYL: Dawes, Jackson Browne, other Laurel Canyon country/folk acts

For Everest

by Zac Djamoos

I think there’s a For Everest song for everything. Want something snappy and infectious? Listen to “Autonomy.” Something slow and building? “Vitamins.” Want to shout along to something angry? “I’m in a Boxcar Buried Inside a Quarry.” Their debut We Are at Home in the Body runs the whole gamut of human emotions in nine songs, and toys around with just about every style. The two songs they’re released on their upcoming split with Carb on Carb only have me more convinced that For Everest can do no wrong. They’re one of the most creative and refreshing new bands around, and they’re only one album in. Strap yourself in and start singing along.

Recommended Track: “Autonomy”

RIYL: The World Is…, Dowsing, Everyone Everywhere, Paramore

Nikita Karmen

by Craig Manning

If you’re looking for a “song of the summer” candidate, Nikita Karmen’s new self-titled EP has two of them. “First” is the most obvious pick, an instantly hummable song about the kind of vindictive, petty jealousy that sets in when your ex moves on before you do. But “Love in a Thrift Shop” is sunny and sugary-sweet, too, with a big hook that sounds exactly like something Nashville radio could latch onto. Karmen’s wheelhouse is pop-country, but her music is refreshingly bare, with sparser and more organic arrangements than what you’d hear from many of her (overproduced) contemporaries. “First” starts out with nothing more than a lightly picked guitar and Karmen’s voice. It’s reminiscent of Adele’s Max Martin co-write, “Send My Love to Your New Lover,” only way catchier. And Karmen’s ballads—wrenching girl-next-door tales like “Curfew” and “Nobody with Me”—are similarly understated, allowing her pleasant voice and impressive songcraft to shine through. Pairing the pop-country cuteness of early Taylor Swift with the take-no-shit attitude of Maren Morris, Karmen might just be the next big thing.

Recommended Track: “First”

RIYL: Kelsea Ballerini, Maren Morris, Colbie Caillat

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Headlines

Inspirational messages bloom amid outbreak (AP) Inspiration is contagious, too. The coronavirus pandemic has brought an outpouring of messages from stranger to stranger—in windows, on front doors, across walls, and colored onto driveways and sidewalks. Some messages offer encouragement: “Strong Together.” “Always Look at the Bright Side of Life.” Others are spiritual: “Have Faith.” “Jesus Loves You Always.” Some offer humor: “United We Stand—6 Feet Apart.” “Send Toilet Paper!” And there are rainbows. So many rainbows.

Coronavirus Quiets Global Protest Movements (NYT) Tear gas no longer chokes Hong Kong’s skyscrapers, while protesters’ tents in downtown Beirut have been dismantled. In Delhi, the odd plastic fork and tattered blanket are all that remain of the sit-in that once throttled one of the city’s busiest highways. Around the globe, the coronavirus pandemic has stilled the anti-establishment protests that erupted last year, bringing months of marches, rallies and riots to a sudden halt. Now, like everything else in the world, the protests face the unanswerable question of what happens next. How long the pandemic lasts, and how governments and activists respond, will dictate whether the interruption represents a fleeting pause, a moment of metamorphosis, or an unceremonious end for some of the most widespread mass mobilizations in recent history.

Jobless Numbers Are ‘Eye-Watering’ but Understate the Crisis (NYT) Nearly a month after Washington rushed through an emergency package to aid jobless Americans, millions of laid-off workers have still not been able to apply for those benefits—let alone receive them—because of overwhelmed state unemployment systems. Across the country, states have frantically scrambled to handle a flood of applications and apply a new set of federal rules even as more and more people line up for help. On Thursday, the Labor Department reported that another 4.4 million people filed initial unemployment claims last week, bringing the five-week total to more than 26 million. “At all levels, it’s eye-watering numbers,” Torsten Slok, chief international economist at Deutsche Bank Securities, said. Nearly one in six American workers has lost a job in recent weeks. Delays in delivering benefits, though, are as troubling as the sheer magnitude of the figures, he said. Such problems not only create immediate hardships, but also affect the shape of the recovery when the pandemic eases.

Immigrants, hard hit by economic fallout, adapt to new jobs (AP) Ulises García went from being a waiter to working at a laundromat. Yelitza Esteva used to do manicures and now delivers groceries. Maribel Torres swapped cleaning homes for sewing masks. The coronavirus pandemic has devastated sectors of the economy dominated by immigrant labor: Restaurants, hotels, office cleaning services, in-home childcare and hair and nail salons, among others, have seen businesses shuttered as nonessential. The Migration Policy Institute found that 20% of the U.S. workers in vulnerable industries facing layoffs are immigrants, even though they only make up 17% of the civilian workforce. The economic meltdown has forced many immigrants to branch out to new jobs or adapt skills to meet new demands generated by the virus.

Coronavirus hits Mexico’s economy where it hurts most: Oil, tourism, remittances and trade (Washington Post) The Mexican economy was already in recession, having contracted in 2019 for the first time in a decade and projecting more losses in 2020. The peso was among the worst-performing currencies in the world. Then came the coronavirus. The pandemic is wreaking financial havoc everywhere. But in Mexico, it’s taking specific aim at the pillars of the Mexican economy: trade, oil, remittances and tourism. Economists here are now predicting an economic collapse worse than the “tequila crisis” of the 1990s, when inflation soared, poverty deepened and migration surged. “Mexico is like someone who was about to fall down the stairs, and then coronavirus came and pushed him,” said Valeria Moy, an economist at the Instituto Tecnológico Autónomo de México. “He was going to fall anyway. But now he’s going to fall farther and faster.”

Ecuador’s Death Toll During Outbreak Is Among the Worst in the World (NYT) With bodies abandoned on sidewalks, slumped in wheelchairs, packed into cardboard coffins and stacked by the hundreds in morgues, it is clear that Ecuador has been devastated by the coronavirus. But the epidemic is even worse than many people in the country realize. The death toll in Ecuador during the outbreak was 15 times higher than the official number of Covid-19 deaths reported by the government, according to an analysis of mortality data by The New York Times. The numbers suggest that the South American country is suffering one of the worst outbreaks in the world. The figures provide a dire indication of the damage the virus can do to developing countries, where it can quickly overwhelm health care systems and even the government’s ability to keep count of how many people are falling to the disease.

Argentine peso sinking (Bloomberg) Argentines are flocking to buy black-market dollars as real interest rates sink below zero and fears mount of yet another chaotic sovereign debt default. The peso weakened to a record 118 pesos per dollar in informal exchange houses known as “caves” Thursday, up from 107 the previous day, according to people with direct knowledge of the matter.

U.S. aid to Greenland irks Danes (Foreign Policy) The United States increased its engagement with Greenland by granting the island $12 million toward education and energy projects and by announcing it would open a consulate. The island, which is an autonomous Danish territory, is strategically significant to the United States as it competes for Arctic dominance with Russia and China and already includes a U.S. ballistic missile early warning system. Denmark’s Foreign Minister Jeppe Kofod welcomed the investment, “I think it’s encouraging that it is the United States, a neighbor and close ally, who is making this grant,” he said. Karsten Honge, a member of the opposition in Denmark’s parliament, was less pleased, “They have clearly crossed the line,” he said. “It’s completely unheard of that a close ally tries to create division between Greenland and Denmark this way.” Trump famously proposed purchasing Greenland from Denmark last year. If the funds are intended to butter up Greenlanders ahead of a potential purchase, the United States will have to up the ante: Denmark’s annual block grant to the territory, which constitutes two-thirds of Greenland’s budget, amounts to $520 million annually.

Nursing homes linked to up to half of coronavirus deaths in Europe, WHO says (Washington Post) Up to half of coronavirus-related deaths in Europe are occurring in long-term-care facilities such as nursing homes, the World Health Organization said Thursday, an assessment that suggests public health authorities may have allowed the pandemic to rage among some of their most vulnerable populations as they focused on hospitals and other aspects of their response. The United States also has struggled with the pandemic inside homes for the elderly. A Washington Post analysis this week found that nearly 1 in 10 nursing homes in the United States have reported cases of the novel coronavirus, with a death count that has reached the thousands.

Israel’s ultra-Orthodox Jews take to internet in coronavirus lockdown (Reuters) Israel’s religiously devout Jews, who traditionally shun the use of internet or smartphones, are increasingly going online to shop, study and video chat as the coronavirus outbreak forces them to stay largely home. Ultra-Orthodox rabbis restrict internet use among their followers to avoid exposure to sexually explicit and other religiously objectionable material, a policy that helps to keep their communities largely isolated. But densely populated ultra-Orthodox Jewish neighbourhoods have been particularly hard hit by the virus, with the Tel Aviv suburb of Bnei Brak forced into a complete lockdown to prevent the spread of the disease. The result is a 40% surge in online traffic in these neighbourhoods since March 15, according to Bezeq, Israel’s largest telecoms group. “An existential need is leading to one of the fastest processes of internet adoption we have seen,” said Bezeq’s vice president for marketing and innovation, Keren Leizerovitch.

Yemen: Cuts in aid (Washington Post) Dozens of U.N. programs that assist millions of impoverished Yemenis could shut down by the end of the month largely because of major cuts in U.S. aid, humanitarian officials warn, just as the country has seen its first confirmed case of the novel coronavirus.

Warnings of worsening hunger, malaria emerge as coronavirus cases spike 40% in Africa (Washington Post) Africa’s reported number of coronavirus cases soared by more than 40 percent in the last week, stoking concerns that the continent could become a new hotbed of the pandemic at a time when hunger is rising and doctors fear a resurgence of malaria deaths. Confirmed cases have surpassed 25,000 among Africa’s 1.3 billion people, and the death toll has exceeded 1,200.

[writingcommons-blog1]

“Forgotten Goodbyes” by K.T. Curry

As I sat across the woman I admired most in this world, I couldn't help but scrutinize at what time had taken so quickly. The white curls that once perfectly shaped her face had grown loose with time. Her eyes appeared to be lost, as if she were in a daze, perhaps somewhere else, with someone else. Even her infectious smile had lost its spark, a disease I was no longer able to catch, but still longed for. But I found comfort in the fingers that intertwined my own. Her grip was unchanged; strong, protective, warm. On the outside they looked frail, full of wrinkles, worn with time, but the inside was unalike. They screamed life, nurturing love, hard work, and wisdom beyond my age. Her hands told the stories of her past, but somehow gave mystery to the future. Her future, my future, our future. 

More slumped than usual, her shoulders provided insight to the sadness that had begun to succumb her delicate body. Overtaking any strength that remained left from the life she had endured; my body went numb with regret for missing what had changed right before my eyes. Something my mind had begun to lack in acknowledgement, or perhaps feared to accept. As we sat near the window on this picturesque spring afternoon, the sun was undeniably radiant. Shining ever so perfectly, it hit the top of my grandma's angelic white hair and seem to bounce off in rays circling her body. As if time had stopped, I became transfixed. She was a miracle; an angel, my angel.

For a brief second, I wondered if the heavens would part and gently sweep her to the sky and leave me here alone. Panic surged through my veins. Memories of the past flooded my thoughts. She couldn't leave. I wouldn't let her. I needed her. I fought back tears as I began to stare deep into her eyes. Her angelic beauty had awakened the pain I knew would arrive with her exit. The time had come. I had to tell her.

"Grandma, I know the big man upstairs is going to call you someday, but I ask of you one thing; don't forget me. Send me a sign, something; just let me know you make it up there safely." I tried to express the words light-heartedly, but the more I talked, the more the atmosphere around us began to thicken. "I need to know that you haven't forgotten about me," I mumbled under my breath, only wishing I could say it louder.

A wave of sadness washed over her face, and she slowly lifted her head to meet my eyes. Gathering the words that had also been weighing on her shoulders, longer than I feared to know, she began to speak.  

"My dear," letting out a long sigh she gently continued. "I could never forget you, I love you so much more than you'll ever know. So, so much. Don't you ever forget that."

Reaching my hand tenderly to her worn face, I wiped the soft tears that lined her cheeks. Glistening from the sun, her tears appeared to be touched by an angel. How could something so raw be so breath-taking?

My thoughts were interrupted when her voice began to fill the small space between us. "I need you to do something for me," her voice began to shake with each word. Squeezing her hand tighter, I hoped to give her reassurance. But maybe I was the one that needed the reassurance. Suddenly feeling alone, I leaned in even closer. Our noses softly met, and the warmth of her body gave me the strangest sense of security, as if talking about her being gone was amongst the normal in this world.

This was the moment. A moment in time I knew I would never forget. I was seconds from hearing what was to become my most valued promise. One I could never break; would never break.

"I need to you to watch after my family, our family. I'm scared to leave them behind. I want to know that they will be taken care of and loved."

More tears began to drift from her eyes, with mine mirroring quickly after. I had never seen my grandma so worried, so scared, but yet so relieved to had finally spoken the words that haunted her.

Torn from the haze my tears had masked me in, I felt her hand caress my cheek. "And to you, please don't be sad. You truly are a blessing, and you have so much promise in this world. Find your happiness; for me, for yourself, for the both of us." "But how can I not be sad?" I stammered through my endless tears. "I don't want you to ever leave me. My heart swells each day knowing you're in my life, knowing I get to see you. You have been the greatest thing this world has ever given me." The room began to close in around me, and I parted from my grandmother. Breathing heavy, I began to wipe my tears. My hands roughly swiped my cheeks, offering no sympathy to the feelings that had taken over my body.

Hurting inside, I reached for her hand, anything. But like me, she needed more, and her body melted against mine into a hug. Without thinking words began to stir from my mouth as I whispered in her ear, "Don't leave me without saying goodbye."

*  *  * Reaching for my phone, a smile crossed my face. Of course, my mother was calling me, always checking in. Apparently bombarding your daughter's phone during her first year of college was the thing to do.

"What's up? Still missing me?" Her answer wasn't the usual. Far from it.

"Oh honey, it's grandma…" cracked tears filled her voice. My ears began to ring. "No, no, no, no, no, noooooo." My pleas turned into a cry. She didn't have to tell me, I knew.

"Let me see her, she can't be gone. She wouldn't leave me, not yet. She knew I wasn't ready." My palms were sweaty. My heart was racing. A moment I thought I had prepared for suddenly felt so foreign.

Trying to protect her young bear cub, my mother denied my request.

"Mom, I am not going to ask again, I need to see her. One last time, please. We never said goodb…." My voice was interrupted as our FaceTime connected. Negating every part of me that was trying to pull me back, I stared at the screen. Trying to capture every last detail, I continued to gape. Her skin was pale, eyes and cheeks sunken, mouth drawn to a frown; nothing of the woman I once knew remained. I didn't see my grandma. I saw a dead stranger.

My mother reverted the camera back to her face filled with tears encased in red, swollen eyes. I said nothing and hung up the phone.

Fifty-four seconds. That's how long it took for my world to come crashing down. Not enough time to process the fact that my best friend was no longer with me. Not enough time to prepare for the hurt my heart was about to endure. Slowly gathering the courage to stand, I began to pace my room. Out of breath and wheezing from a mixture of tears and a lack of oxygen, I bent over and rested my hands on my knees. Moments later I found myself curled on the floor exiting more tears than my body could produce. My grandmother wasn't the only one that died that day. A piece of my heart crashed to the pit of my stomach, leaving me empty and broken. And what was to remain of my heart would never be the same; would never recover. The sting of her absence would never go unnoticed. And so, I laid there; for what felt like an eternity, I didn't move an inch. *  *  * Our conversation played over and over in my head, silently set on repeat. I couldn't find the stop button, but I didn't want to. The hurt was what kept her nearest to me. It was all I saw. The pain in her eyes that day began to mirror the pain I now wore in my own each day. Day after day was filled with darkness, longing for one more time I could hold her hand. Or one more infectious smile I could catch from being in the same room.  

Maybe one day I would look past the pain and reminisce on what once was so rare and unjustifiably beautiful. The precious bond between a ninety-seven-year-old great-grandmother and her eighteen-year-old great-granddaughter. The good, not the bad. Maybe. But for the time being, my heart wanted to ache, wanted to keep her close. A haunting October call almost two years ago still left with me an unanswerable question. How could she forget to say goodbye?

[experimentalnarratives17-blog]

Narration: Final

There’s something that I have to tell you.

I’m afraid that I haven’t been completely honest with you.

Or rather, you haven’t been completely honest with you.

It’s something I think you’ve known for rather a long time now.

It’s time you admit it to yourself.

*Dark screen. (Off camera - person walk towards other w/  flashlight). Slowly, the person standing still is illuminated. They’re facing backwards on the right third of frame. The light stops moving. Looks left (face turned downwards). Looks forward again.

Did you know that your eyes see everything upside down?

It’s the occipital lobe that flips the image.

So, in short, what you see is not what you see.

The question then becomes: which is the true image?

The original? The perception of the original?

Alternately, is the answer both? Or neither?

Since we are looking for truth, and this is an unanswerable question, let’s remove this uncertainty completely.

Do you know how difficult it is to truly deprive yourself of all visual stimuli?

We are constantly and inescapably surrounded by light,

and our eyes are very good at seeing even when there is very little of it.

If you find yourself in complete darkness, remain with your eyes open, and you will start to see.

Only vague shapes and shadows at first, and then, great detail.

You wonder how this space ever seemed invisible to you.

It takes coming to a place like this,

50 miles from nowhere in every direction,

to have even the slightest chance.

Turn it off.

Allow time for the residual image to fade away.

Most people don’t understand that what we see is a kind of reverse image of reality.

The colors we perceive are a result of the light not absorbed by a certain object.

We see the leftovers - the residue of the rejected.

Leaves are not green, rather they absorb everything but green.

Black, on the other hand, is the absorption of all colors.

No light is reflected off of a black thing.

Of course, light is still present when you are looking at a black thing, otherwise, how would you see it?

These people, who claim black as the absence of all color, have not seen what you will soon begin to see.

*glitchy footage here*

There’s something that I have to tell you.

I’m afraid that I haven’t been completely honest with you.

Or rather, you haven’t been completely honest with you.

It’s something I think you’ve known for rather a long time now.

It’s time you admit it to yourself.

Our brain tells us that the world is not, in fact, upside-down,

and our eyes tell us that color exists where there is none.

What, then, can you trust, if not your own eyes?

They do not tell us what is real. Our minds create their own realities as well.

Who’s to say then, that one perceived reality is less real than another?

Dreams are as real as our waking lives.

The delusions of the disturbed are as valid as our own perceived sanity.

What I find the most enlightening, the most truth preserving method of perception,

is seeing nothing at all.

[hollywoodjuliorivas]

YESTERDAY by: Simon Kuper “The history of the world is but the biography of great men,” wrote the historian Thomas Carlyle in 1841. This so-called Great Man Theory of History has long since been discredited. Most historians now believe that kings and presidents have relatively little impact on ordinary people’s lives. Demography, climate and technology matter much more. But the Great Man Theory of History lives on in journalism. Read the news these days and you’d think that Donald Trump and his entourage were the key forces shaping the future. Likewise, the coming French election is being reported worldwide on the presumption that the next president will change history. This focus on personalities instead of trends is fun but misleading. Just as the smartphone probably did more than Barack Obama to shape the past few years, so tech and not Trump should shape the next few. The debate about the future is currently monopolised by the unanswerable question of whether robots will take away human jobs. But so much else will happen. Imagine that Trump rules for eight years, as is entirely feasible. In that time, life will change. By 2024, virtual reality will be mainstream. Put on your VR glasses and you will be able to step (virtually) into your boss’s office in another country. Just as the internet changed the mating game, so will VR. You can meet your new date virtually in a Hawaiian beach bar or in outer space (though old-fashioned exchanges of fluids will still require physically leaving the house). New forms of entertainment will emerge: soon you will be able to stand (virtually) on FC Barcelona’s field watching Lionel Messi dribble towards you or see the late Laurence Olivier star in a new film.  Today we live between digital and physical worlds — think of a father toggling between his smartphone and child. VR will let us inhabit the physical and virtual worlds simultaneously. Younger people could fall victim to a new psychological disorder: “reality disassociation”. “They won’t know what’s reality any more and what isn’t,” says Liisa van Vliet, a biochemist at Cambridge university. VR will change life for the fastest-growing cohort of humans: the old. Life expectancy is already rising for almost every group in developed countries except the American white working class. South Korean women could soon become the first people with an average lifespan of 90 (presuming there is no North Korean missile strike). Personalised medicine should accelerate the upward trend. Sensors in your body will tell you when you need to take your medicine, and warn you before your heart attack happens. Rich people will pay to replace bad genes and failing body parts. Already, many countries cannot care for all their oldies. As China struggles with the rising cost of ageing, you could imagine it making exercise compulsory. But soon even nativist governments may have to let in migrant carers. The forecaster George Friedman predicts that, by 2030, rich countries will be offering bounties to lure immigrants. Once robots replace human drivers and cashiers, many western working-class people may move into care jobs. More likely, though, are robot carers (already being built in Japan). When grandma’s robot signals that she hasn’t boiled her kettle at the usual time, then a VR carer — a coming new profession — will step into her flat to check on her. One VR carer could “visit” 30 elderly people a day. Many people will find old age unbearably long and lonely. Dutch politicians are now arguing about a possible new law on “completed life”, which would let healthy oldies commit euthanasia. Just as the Dutch pioneered gay marriage and legal marijuana, this idea, too, could go global. Meanwhile, Germany and California are pioneering the shift to wind and solar energy. The Energiewende, as Germans call it, won’t stop climate change. Miami could be the first western city to depopulate, as hurricanes and the rising ocean make home insurance unaffordable. (Trump will have little impact on climate, given that other governments aren’t taking sufficient measures either.) The Energiewende may decimate Russia’s fossil-fuel economy. Still, Russia will remain a big power because military technology is shifting too: from human combatants to cheaper robot soldiers and cyber warfare. The Irish Easter Rising of 1916 centred on the capture of Dublin’s General Post Office, notes Dan Plesch of London University’s School of Oriental and African Studies. “We are gradually getting our heads around the fact that cyber is now the equivalent.” This could render most of the US’s human soldiers redundant. Trump will need to find other ways to make America great again. He has increased the frequency of drone strikes by 432 per cent from Obama’s presidency, and is developing an earlier American interest in the idea of limited nuclear strikes (which could “take out” thousands of people by way of warning). But Trump won’t create this future. He may imagine himself as the rider guiding the horse of history. In truth, he’s hanging on to the horse for dear life as it carries him in directions he never imagined.  simon.kuper@ft.com @KuperSimon

[benikoumori]

The Fate of the Phoenix 6

CHAPTER 6 THE COMMANDER rode her varal to fling the white lance down to quiver in the sand, denoting the challenge-not-to-death. Flames burned in the arena fire pit. The challenge gong sounded. The great-horn played its distant note, speaking of forgotten gods. The Doyen rode her great varal at a gallop, its single-homed head dancing like an echo of her lance, and cast her own lance to sing its quiver-note not an inch from the Commander’s. The lances were scarcely less white than the faces of the two men who stood under guard by the Headsman: James—and what could be seen of the face of Trevanian. The Commander did not blame either of them. If it had been James whose life was now in his own hands… She much preferred to have her own life in hers. She wheeled her white varal to face the Doyen. They wore the leather briefs, leg greaves, vests of the light chain-mail armor, and the shaped, slim-shields on their left arms. They picked up the trial-lances now—long, slender, flexible, with slightly blunted points. The lances were not intended to be lethal—a fact which would not prevent them from killing unless both parties exercised great skill, daring, and possessed more than reasonable luck. Without preamble the two challengers rode at each other. It was a simple contest No rules. One objective: one’s opponent unable to proceed, or under control. The standard procedure would be the lance-charge, which might be deflected, with luck, by the slim-shields. Or it might end the contest abruptly with one or both dead. The Doyen leveled her lance. She was taller, heavier—in a brute crush she would have the advantage. The Commander kept her long-lance leveled until the last instant Then she dipped it to the ground and vaulted on its long, flexible length, swinging to take her opponent out of the stirrups with her legs. But whether it was an instant response or a similar plan to get outside the phalanx, the Doyen was with her, swinging in a shorter vault, meeting her in the air. They struck with the shields, but blocked each other, then dropped to the ground, breath knocked out by the impact. But they turned and squared off with the long-lances like quarterstaves. The Doyen attacked and the Commander caught it on her lance, and for a moment they looked at each other warily and with some approval. “You will do,” the Doyen said through her teeth. Then they dissolved into action and for some moments were only concerned with blocking, parrying, attempting to find a moment for the disconcerting battle-vault. Then the Commander did get in a half-vault and took the other’s lance out with her feet, and bore her down to the sand. The Doyen was out of it in a moment, and then they were meeting in the Second Challenge, hand-to-hand. The Commander knew at once that she had never fought a more formidable opponent of either sex or any species. Omne would have been more formidable, Spock would. Short of that she would have taken her chances with any male opponent, as compared to this. The Doyen was better trained and less vulnerable. She would be top-rated in the Romulan unarmed combat skills, ancient and modern. And she was very strong. The Commander was feeling the height-weight advantage; and it took every scrap of her strength and training to stay in the fight. She knew at once that the Doyen had that indomitable quality of will which would not lose, and which had always been the Commander’s own chief advantage. Now she found it matched. And the Doyen was fighting for Trevanian. Without effort the Commander could have been undermined by sympathy. But she hardened her mind with the more abstract knowledge that this was for James’ life. She could have ended the fight, perhaps, with a lethal blow, as could the Doyen. And the Commander knew that both of them were tempted. No action would be taken—probably not even against the Commander. Accidents happen. Challenge is frequently lethal, even when not so intended. One blow, and Trevanian would remain free—or James’ life would be guaranteed. And does honor stand against that? Briefly at intervals the Commander caught the faces of Trevanian and James, strained, wondering, barely held from somehow intervening. But the fatal blow did not fall, and the Commander did not raise her hand to give it. Then she managed to cut the Doyen’s feet from under her and had her down in an arm lock which would snap the arm if she moved. Now it was a question of whether the Commander could hold it, and for how long—and of whether she could use it to force the Third Challenge. She pressed her fingers into the nerve centers of the Doyen’s face and reached out… Then their minds were locked. They met as a sheet of fire, and the Commander knew the Doyen’s searing, utter determination to keep Trevanian. It was matched only by the cold flame of her own determination that James should live. In the mind lock both absolute resolves had a lethal intensity, and the Commander knew suddenly that the two challengers could both leave their bones on this sand, minds burned out by the deadly inner clash. She felt the Doyen realize it too. And yet the only alternative was surrender. The Doyen had never surrendered. In the link the Commander got a sudden vision of what this woman was, how she had forged an effective political unit out of a loose hereditary league of planets, moving worlds. The power was hers not merely by right of birth, but by right of what she was. And she had moved always by honor, intelligence, passion, until she found her own passion in Trevanian. The Commander allowed some vision also of what she herself was, but she blocked recent events, and James. She caught a hint of Omne from the other’s mind, but knew that the Doyen was blocking that, too. What danger might be in that secret? Would the Doyen stand with the dark giant, finally, and plunge the Empire into civil war again? Would she betray James to the dungeons of the Empire? The Commander found power in the fear, and suddenly she was bearing down with her mind and with a power which did not seem to be her own, which rose from some depth she had never touched or needed. The power was beyond resistance and yet the Doyen was resisting, from her own depths. They were locked into it now, and the end was death. And yet the Commander could not yield. She would have lost, publicly, and she would have no cover for James. He would die, while Trevanian, if she won, would live. She tried to project that to the Doyen. Yield. We will all live… Suddenly someone was with them, kneeling beside them, his hands touching the Doyen’s face. ‘Let me go. Don’t die. Do it for me—’ Trevanian projected in the link. The Doyen was distracted, undermined. She did not surrender. But suddenly the balance had shifted. The Commander’s fixed will was unanswerable with the Doyen’s attention divided. Suddenly they both knew that it was over. ‘For you—’ the Doyen projected to him bitterly. ‘I will take care of him,’ the Commander sent. ‘If you fail, it is war to the knife…” ‘While I succeed—peace and alliance.’ ‘Yes. You have won.’ The Commander slowly released the mind lock—and barely found the strength to release the Doyen from the arm lock. They were helping each other up. Then Trevanian seemed to be lifting them both. And from somewhere there was James, drawing the Commander away. His strength was sufficient unto that. And he had not broken her concentration. The four of them walked out of the arena together, past the baleful look of the War Minister, and the—perhaps—relieved looks of the Council. The Council’s judgment had been upheld. Peace had been ransomed with royalty. It was a Romulan tradition millennia old. And each time it must have been new. CHARTER 6 <<指揮官>>が乗ったバラルから勢いよく投げた白い槍が砂に震えた、それは決闘が死を意味する物ではないとの仕草であった。 アリーナのファイアピットで炎が燃えがった。 決闘のゴングが鳴り響く。 大きな角笛が遠く忘れられた神についての話しをしている様に奏でられた。 自身の巨大なバレルで駆けて来た長老が投げた槍が指揮官の物から1インチと離れていない場所で歌い踊るかのように震えた。 その槍の白さは死刑執行人の元に留め置かれた2人の男の顔より白くはなかった。 ジェームズと -- そして恐らくトレヴェニアンの顔もだろう。 指揮官はそれらのどれも非難はしなかった。 ジェームズの生命が今彼の手の中にあるのだとしても... 彼女は自身の生命が自分の手にある事を大いに楽しんでいた。 彼女は自身のバラルと動かし長老と対面した。 彼等は革のジョッキーショーツに脛あて、軽量のチェインメイルアーマーを纏い左腕にスリムシールドを持っていた。 そして彼らはトライアルランスを取り上げた -- 長く細身で柔軟な、先端が僅かに鈍くされている物を。 それは致命傷を与える事を目的にしている物ではない -- 実際の所は当事者が型破りな素晴らしいスキルを発揮したり、感情的になったり幸運に恵まれなかったりでもない限り死を妨げる物であると言う事だった。 2人のチャレンジャーは口上も無く互いに乗り出した。 それはシンプルなコンテストだった。 ルール無しの。 目的はひとつ、一方が対戦者を続行不能とするか支配下に置くか。 スタンダードな手順は槍で突撃しそらす、運が味方に付けばスリムシールドで。 いっぽう若しくは双方が死ねば即刻中止となるだろう。 長老は槍を水平に構えた。 彼女の方が背が高く体重もあった -- 押しつぶすにしても彼女に有利に働くだろう。 指揮官は長槍を最後の瞬間まで水平にしていた。 そして、彼女は地面にそれを突っ込み長さと柔軟さを支えとして飛び出し敵の足を鐙から外した。 即座の反応か密集軍を崩す慣れたプランなのかどうか、長老は素早く跳躍に移り空中戦となった。 シールドで殴りあった彼等は互いにブロックし地面へ落ちた衝撃に息を詰まらせた。 だが彼等は長槍を六尺棒の様に構え向き直った。 長老が仕掛けた攻撃を指揮官が槍で受けた、瞬間、彼等は油断なく薄く微笑みあった。 "やるな " 長老が歯の間から言った。 彼等が行動しようとしていたその瞬間、ブロックすべきか、受け流すか、面食らわせる様な跳躍をするかどうかのみを気にかけていた。 その時、飛び上がった指揮官の足が相手の槍が捉え彼女を砂に引き倒した。 長老は即座に逃れ彼等はハンド.トゥ.ハンドとなるセカンドチャレンジへと移行した。 指揮官には分かっていた、種族としても性別としても彼女が決して戦った事の無い恐るべき敵と戦っていると言う事が。 より恐ろしいのはオムネでありスポックだろうが。 こちらと比較すれば男が敵であった方が彼女は僅かなチャンスを作れるのだ。 長老はより良い訓練を積み弱くはなかった。 彼女は古今のロミュラン格闘技でトップクラスだった。 そして彼女はとても強かった。 指揮官は体重が利点となる事を感じていた。 それは戦闘訓練と彼女の強さを砕いてしまう物だと。 彼女には分かっていた、常に指揮官の利点であった負けないと言う不屈の意志が長老にもある事を。 今彼女のそれが合致している事を。 長老はトレヴェニアンの為に戦っていた。 同情は難なく指揮官を挫けさせる。 だが彼女はこれがジェームズの生命となるのだと言う思いで意志を硬く持った。 長老に出来た様に彼女には闘いを終わらせる事が出来た、恐らくそれは致命的ないち打となるだろう。 そして指揮官には分かっていた、2人とも誘われている事を。 行動してはいけない -- 恐らく指揮官とは互角ではないのだ。 アクシデントが起きてしまう。 決闘はしばしば致命的な物となるのだ、それを意図したのでないとしても。 一撃でトレヴェニアンは自由なまま -- 若しくはジェームズの生命が保証される。 それに名誉は抵抗出来るか? 一瞬のインターバルで指揮官はトレヴェニアンとジェームズの顔を捉えた、緊張し、迷いつつ介入を辛うじて留まっていた。 致命的ないち打は降って来ず指揮官も手を挙げなかった。 何とか長老の足を取った彼女だったが引き倒され動けば腕を折られるだろうアームロックを掛けられた。 今の疑問は指揮官がどれだけ長くそれを耐える事が出来るかどうか -- そしてサードチャレンジで彼女に強制する事が出来るかどうかだった。 彼女は指を長老の顔の神経中枢に押し当てた... その時、彼らの精神がロックされた。 彼女達は炎だった、そして指揮官には分かっていた、長老を燃やしているのはトレヴェニアンを留めおくと言う断固たる決意と言う事を。 それはジェームズを生かさねばと言う彼女自身の断固たる決意による冷たい炎と互角だった。 絶対の決意によるマインドロックは強烈な物で指揮官は突如として悟った、2人のチャレンジャーは内面の衝突により精神を焼き尽くされこの砂に骨を残す事になると。 長老もまた理解した事を彼女は感じた。 そして選択肢は降伏のみである事も。 長老は決して降伏しない。 その時、リンクを通じ指揮官はこの女性のビジョンを得た、どうやって彼女が緩い遺伝惑星同盟から効果的なポロティカルユニットを創り出し、世界を動かしたか。 彼女の力は単に生まれながらの権利によってではなく、彼女こそが権利だった。 そして彼女は常に名誉と知性と情熱によって動いていた、彼女がトレヴェニアンへの激情に気付くまで。 指揮官は幾つかのビジョンを彼女自身の物として受け入れたがジェームズと先だっての出来事はブロックしていた。 彼女がいっぽうの精神からオムネを微かに感じ取ったからで長老もまたそれをブロックしている事も分かっていた。 その秘密にはどんな危険がある? 闇の巨人の横に立つ長老、それが帝国を内戦に突き落とすのか? 彼女はジェームズを地下牢へと売り渡すか? 指揮官は恐れの力に気づいた、彼女が決して触れる事のなかった、若しくは必要としていなかった深みから立ち上がって来た彼女自身の物とは思えないその力が突如として彼女の精神を圧倒した。 長老は自身の深みでまだ抵抗していたが力は抵抗を凌駕した。 今彼等が閉じ込められているそこの終わりは死だった。 だが指揮官には許すことは出来なかった。 公然で彼女が負けると言う事はジェームズの擁護が出来ないと言う事だ。 彼が死ぬと言う事はトレヴェニアンもそうだと言うことだ、彼女が勝てば生きるのだ。 彼女は長老に何とかそれを伝えようとした。 叫んだ。 皆が生きる為に... 突然誰かが彼等の傍に跪き彼の手を長老の顔に当てた。 ' 行かせて下さい。 死なないで。 私の為に -- ' リンクにトレヴェニアンが送ってきた。 長老の気が散り弱々しくなった。 彼女は降伏しなかった。 だが突然、バランスが崩れた。 注意を割かれた長老では指揮官の不変の意志に答える事が出来なかったからだ。 突然、彼等2人は終わりを悟った。 ' お前の為に -- ' 長老が苦く彼に伝えた。 ' 彼の事は私に預けろ ' 指揮官が送った。 ' もし貴女が失敗したなら、血闘となるぞ... ' ' 私が成功している間は -- 平和と同盟を ' ' よかろう。 貴女の勝ちだ ' 指揮官はゆっくりとマインドロックを解いていった -- そして長老のアームロックから力が抜けている事に辛うじて気づいた。 彼等は互いに手を貸しあった。 その時トレヴェニアンが2人を持ち上げた様だった。 そして何処からかそこに居たジェームズが指揮官を引き取った。 彼の強さは充分にあった。 それでも彼は彼女の集中を妨げる事はしなかった。 彼等4人は共にアリーナから出た、悪意に満ちた軍事大臣と -- 恐らくは -- 安堵の様子の議会を置いて。 議会の判断が維持される事となった。 平和は王族により賠償される。 それが古来よりのロミュランの伝統。 そして各時代毎に新たになされなくてはならない物だと。