#well-blent

[enoughbykelela]

Never ever work retail on Black Friday u guys😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[worldwidemovies012]

Thangalaan review

: Pa Ranjith's film is intertwined with some fantasy and mystical realism. A must watch for Vikram fans.

Thangalaan is a period action drama starring Vikram, Parvathy Thiruvothu and Malavika Mohanan in the lead roles. The film is directed by Pa. Ranjith, produced by Studio Green K.E.Gnanavel Raja and the music is scored by G.V. Prakash Kumar.

Premise:

Britishers are in a wealth hunt, they take tribal people to work for them. Strange visions of Vikram to lead the troop to the Gold-rush area. What happens after forms the crux of the story.

Writing/ Direction:

Gold is the base of the film, the film showcases how it was handled in the 19th century by our rulers. Well-researched in terms of landscape, the way people look and the terms they use, which is sure to take the viewers back in time. The fantasy element is intriguing, the dynamic development of it is one of the few appreciable aspects of the film, the closure to it makes sense, sadly it is rushed by leaving no impact. The first half is like an adventure flick, with many different themes tried, but the result is extremely flat.

No clarity in the fight scenes as to who is winning and who is losing, the Black Panther sequence is a big dud with poor vision and the heavy smoke effects used lowers the visual standard.

Pasupathy’s humour portions are a big relief to the dry screenplay. The second half starts on a promising note with a few good scenes, displaying the happiness of the tribes for receiving new clothes, how the British treat the tribe with respect until they get to the Gold and shows their true nature after that, etc. Post which the film becomes dull with the slavery part not turning out to be emotional on-screen, the payoff is also very weak by bringing in a clumsy platter which is hard to consume. The biggest drawback of the film is the dialogue modulation of the artists which is probably authentic for the period, but had to go through hell to follow and understand.

Performances:

Chiyaan Vikram’s limitless efforts are evident on-screen, showing great variety in makeover, body language and expressions. Parvathy Thiruvothu is very casually natural on-screen, her scenes with the hero are lively, but the script required more to utilize the chemistry between them. Quite a challenging role for Malavika Mohanan, she has given her best, just wish she had more highlight action scenes to prove her full-potential. Pasupathy’s character started off fascinatingly, but then the arc was left abruptly without giving a proper ending it deserved. Stone-faced villains, the issue with foreign actors’ performances which the most Indian films have exists here too. The other supporting characters are written in a half-baked manner that we don’t get to feel for them.

Technicalities:

Meticulous work by G.V.Prakash, top quality songs overall, especially the Minikki Minikki track stands out and it is beautifully placed in the film. Solid score, his music made a lot of weak situations better, he has focused on what instruments to use as well. The visuals are first class, strong production value and location recce have led the team to explore new terrains, however the action is captured in an unimpressive manner. A lot of edit patterns and jump cuts are fascinating, but finesse is missing when things are simple, the packaging fails to engross. VFX is a mixed bag, the models look neat during the static shots, but the motions aren’t done right to make the sequences believable. Stunts lack punch, the approach is realistic but the output feels hurried.

Bottomline

Fantasy element is fine when it stands alone, falters when blent with reality. The film misses to hold the interest except for the initial chunk in the latter half. Had immense potential to be a hard-hitting flick, but it never took off from the ground level.

hindi:- थंगालान समीक्षा: पा रंजीत की फिल्म कुछ कल्पना और रहस्यमय यथार्थवाद से जुड़ी हुई है। विक्रम के प्रशंसकों के लिए यह फिल्म अवश्य देखें।

थंगालान एक पीरियड एक्शन ड्रामा है, जिसमें विक्रम, पार्वती थिरुवोथु और मालविका मोहनन मुख्य भूमिकाओं में हैं।

फिल्म का निर्देशन पा रंजीत ने किया है, जिसका निर्माण स्टूडियो ग्रीन के.ई. ज्ञानवेल राजा ने किया है और संगीत जी.वी. प्रकाश कुमार ने दिया है।

प्रस्तावना:

अंग्रेज धन की तलाश में हैं, वे आदिवासी लोगों को अपने लिए काम पर ले जाते हैं। विक्रम को सेना को गोल्ड-रश क्षेत्र में ले जाने के लिए अजीबोगरीब दृश्य दिखाई देते हैं। उसके बाद क्या होता है, यही कहानी का सार है।

लेखन/निर्देशन:

फिल्म का आधार गोल्ड है, फिल्म दिखाती है कि 19वीं सदी में हमारे शासकों ने इसे कैसे संभाला।

भूदृश्य, लोगों के देखने के तरीके और उनके द्वारा इस्तेमाल किए जाने वाले शब्दों के संदर्भ में अच्छी तरह से शोध किया गया है, जो दर्शकों को निश्चित रूप से समय में पीछे ले जाएगा।

फंतासी तत्व दिलचस्प है, इसका गतिशील विकास फिल्म के कुछ सराहनीय पहलुओं में से एक है, इसका समापन समझ में आता है, दुख की बात है कि इसे जल्दबाजी में बनाया गया है, जिससे कोई प्रभाव नहीं पड़ता।

पहला भाग एक साहसिक फिल्म की तरह है, जिसमें कई अलग-अलग थीम आजमाई गई हैं, लेकिन परिणाम बेहद सपाट है।

लड़ाई के दृश्यों में कोई स्पष्टता नहीं है कि कौन जीत रहा है और कौन हार रहा है, ब्लैक पैंथर का दृश्य खराब दृष्टि के साथ एक बड़ा डफ है और भारी धुएं के प्रभाव का उपयोग दृश्य मानक को कम करता है।

पसुपथी के हास्य भाग सूखी पटकथा के लिए एक बड़ी राहत हैं। दूसरा भाग कुछ अच्छे दृश्यों के साथ एक आशाजनक नोट पर शुरू होता है, जिसमें नए कपड़े प्राप्त करने के लिए जनजातियों की खुशी प्रदर्शित होती है, कैसे ब्रिटिश जनजाति के साथ सम्मान के साथ व्यवहार करते हैं जब तक कि वे गोल्ड तक नहीं पहुंच जाते और उसके बाद अपना असली स्वरूप दिखाते हैं, आदि।

इसके बाद फिल्म सुस्त हो जाती है क्योंकि गुलामी वाला हिस्सा स्क्रीन पर भावनात्मक नहीं बन पाता है, भुगतान भी बहुत कमजोर है क्योंकि एक भद्दा प्लेट पेश किया जाता है जिसे पचाना मुश्किल है।

फिल्म की सबसे बड़ी कमी कलाकारों के संवादों का उतार-चढ़ाव है जो शायद उस दौर के हिसाब से प्रामाणिक है, लेकिन इसे समझने और समझने के लिए नरक से गुजरना पड़ा।

प्रदर्शन:

चियान विक्रम के असीम प्रयास स्क्रीन पर स्पष्ट हैं, मेकओवर, बॉडी लैंग्वेज और भावों में बहुत विविधता दिखाते हैं।

पार्वती थिरुवोथु स्क्रीन पर बहुत सहज रूप से सहज हैं, नायक के साथ उनके दृश्य जीवंत हैं, लेकिन स्क्रिप्ट में उनके बीच की केमिस्ट्री का उपयोग करने के लिए और अधिक की आवश्यकता थी।

मालविका मोहनन के लिए काफी चुनौतीपूर्ण भूमिका, उन्होंने अपना सर्वश्रेष्ठ दिया है, बस काश उनके पास अपनी पूरी क्षमता साबित करने के लिए और अधिक हाइलाइट एक्शन दृश्य होते। पसुपति के किरदार की शुरुआत आकर्षक थी, लेकिन फिर आर्क को बिना उचित अंत दिए अचानक छोड़ दिया गया।

पत्थर के चेहरे वाले खलनायक, विदेशी अभिनेताओं के अभिनय की समस्या जो कि अधिकांश भारतीय फिल्मों में होती है, यहाँ भी मौजूद है।

अन्य सहायक पात्रों को आधे-अधूरे तरीके से लिखा गया है कि हम उनके लिए कुछ महसूस नहीं कर पाते।

तकनीकी बातें:

जी.वी.प्रकाश द्वारा किया गया बेहतरीन काम, कुल मिलाकर बेहतरीन गाने, खास तौर पर मिनि���्की मिनिक्की ट्रैक सबसे अलग है और इसे फिल्म में खूबसूरती से रखा गया है।

सॉलिड स्कोर, उनके संगीत ने कई कमज़ोर स्थितियों को बेहतर बनाया, उन्होंने इस बात पर भी ध्यान दिया कि कौन से इंस्ट्रूमेंट का इस्तेमाल करना है।

विज़ुअल बेहतरीन हैं, प्रोडक्शन वैल्यू और लोकेशन रेकी ने टीम को नए इलाकों की खोज करने के लिए प्रेरित किया है, हालांकि एक्शन को बहुत ही कमज़ोर तरीके से कैप्चर किया गया है।

एडिट पैटर्न और जंप कट बहुत आकर्षक हैं, लेकिन जब चीजें सरल होती हैं तो बारीकियाँ गायब हो जाती हैं, पैकेजिंग भी ध्यान खींचने में विफल हो जाती है।

वीएफएक्स एक मिश्रित बैग है, स्टैटिक शॉट्स के दौरान मॉडल साफ-सुथरे दिखते हैं, लेकिन दृश्यों को विश्वसनीय बनाने के लिए गति सही तरीके से नहीं की गई है। स्टंट में दम नहीं है, दृष्टिकोण यथार्थवादी है लेकिन आउटपुट जल्दबाजी में किया गया लगता है।

बॉटमलाइन

फ़ैंटेसी एलिमेंट अकेले होने पर ठीक है, लेकिन वास्तविकता के साथ घुलने-मिलने पर यह कमज़ोर पड़ जाता है।

फिल्म के दूसरे हिस्से में शुरुआती हिस्से को छोड़कर बाकी हिस्सा दिलचस्पी बनाए रखने में विफल रहा। इसमें एक दमदार फिल्म बनने की अपार संभावना थी, लेकिन यह कभी भी जमीनी स्तर पर आगे नहीं बढ़ पाई।

[notjosieyouremy]

last year i gained a hefty chunk of followers with an unhinged series i called blent-182, where i only ate foods mentioned in blink-182 songs as my fast for lent. [moment of silence for my old blog and all 2k followers i lost when tmblr nuked it. i’m still salty]

this year im doing the same thing but with a different aging pop punk band, one that’s not so well known but shares many similarities with blink. they even shared a guitarist temporarily

it’s Alkaline Trio! who? they’re like if you took the silly stuff and the alien stuff out of blink and replaced it with spooky stuff and witchcraft. one of my all time favorite bands. i’ve been borderline obsessed with them for like 20 years. i’m seeing them live for the first time in march (on a full moon!), just before the end of lent. synchronicity. it’s perfect. how could i not

Alkalent Trinity begins tomorrow

happy mardi gras guys!

[hackoftheyear]

Work went really well today, feeling like blent girl rn

[maddoc05]

Full fic on Ao3

Suits / The Magnus Archives Crossover

You shouldn’t trust anyone in here.

Mike stares sightlessly into the ceiling of his cell, the spring of the bed curving a scar into his back, and it’s that moment where the terror becomes so familiar it’s almost a messy comfort. The strange thing about the human body - he remembers reading about survival instinct, that rapid acclimatization to whatever is in the periphery after long enough. The ever-changing wallpaper of life. 

Harvey, he thinks. Then squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to breathe.

The cell door creaks. Mike knows that sound like the back of his hand - the creak of metal, the slow thump of footsteps that savor every second of a bite. 

This is war, Mikey, the prison walls tell him.

Harvey’s war. Gallo’s war. A war that was waged over thirteen years ago and Mike would be the latest casualty of battle. Sleep with your rifle, but there was no goddamned rifle, only the gleam of sharpened silver in Frank Gallo’s hands. Mike tastes Kevin’s blood in the back of his throat, coppery and bitter, the specks of rust still on that weapon’s length, glinting so very distinctly in the dimmed prison lights. 

There are three men. Two pin Mike against the cell wall, the corridors are devoid of guards. Mike knows he is so very alone, that this is how they got Kevin, isn't it. Kevin falls, but Mike still stands. In war, this will have turned out to be Gallo's fatal mistake, so proud to have the knife sinking into Mike's chest that he misses the rifle aimed at the soft underside of his throat.

Curiously, Mike doesn’t strain. It’s not a disconnect. His senses alert him to everything. He sees the dark near-brown of dried blood, a grinning sea, in Gallo’s eyes. Revenge drives men to madness, in a perpetual haze of distraction. One that works well in Mike's favour. He waits, as still as a mouse, as Gallo’s men carry out their orders and take grotesque satisfaction in those commands. 

His blood stirs up a song.

“I’m tired of waiting.” Frank says, lips pulled in a vicious smirk.

“Yeah.” Mike says. “So am I.”

There are no cameras in the cell, says the stale wind.

Frank lunges. Mike slams his head forwards in the nearest human jaw. Bone cracks. 

And somewhere in the process of prying Gallo’s fingers off the hilt of the knife, hearing the individual crack of each finger bone as it contorts, Mike realises he really doesn’t particularly care. The screaming fills his background noise, the mortar shells and rifle pumps of even more distant footsteps, the grit of a dry throat - it is all a pale comparison to the vivid strokes of his own actions that slips his head above the surface of this waking nightmare.

Gallo is coiled strength and festering rage. Mike has the knife. 

He’s never delighted in violence before. The crimson spill of it as it gushes past his steady palm, pouring onto the floor. The terror has long since blent into a measured fury - at Gallo, at the world. The faintest butterfly of hope he’s carried around for so long, a torch of naivete and always, always believing the best, and it is now crushed wings and flakes of ash that escape his grasp as easily as he’d once held onto it. It’s a dance that Mike has never learnt, but knows each step of. 

The eyes, throat, chest.

The thigh, lung, heart.

His blood pulses the rhythm of that song, and so Mike dances each step. It feels right. It feeds that chasm inside of him, and for the first time in a long time, he knows how it is to feel the brush of organs beneath his skin, the adrenaline rush of blood through every vein, a network map of intent and purpose and clarity.

Gallo had stopped screaming. In fact, he’s stopped everything. 

It's so quiet now, he can finally hear the song. It threads his veins, nuzzles into the exposed edge of his throat. It is blood that ran like wine, and it is the sound that flesh makes when it splits apart at the seams. 

Light floods his eyes. The cell door pushed open. The cacophony of shouting.

Mike turns, his eyes unknowingly slit thinly to the invisible drumbeats of war, the gunpowder-flash of irritation flashing with ill-concealed viciousness, blood streaking past his face like veins running upwards. The rumpled collar of his prison uniform soaked through with crimson, wrist-deep in warm, cooling viscera. He balances on his ankles, recalled for the instinct of fight instead of flight. 

The energy floats through him, intoxicating and wonderful. 

The cell door slams shut again. 

-

Ring, ring counsellor. 

These are the words echoing through Harvey’s min

Ring ring.

It’s an empty threat.

Gruffly, “This is Harvey Specter.”

“You have a call from Danbury Federal Prison.” 

The guy who’s in here for you is never coming out. 

“Do you accept the charges?”

The world is spinning. Harvey’s chest is too tight. “Yes.”

It’s not Mike at the phone. Harvey grabs onto bits and pieces of the conversation, like he's staggering through a haze. “ ...I work at the Danbury Federal Penitentiary… calling for Michael James Ross… listed as the emergency contact .”

Harvey is going to be sick.

The voice continues, and dimly he picks up the audible edge of tension. He can barely discern the words over the pounding of his heart. “There was an- altercation between Mr Ross and three other inmates in his cell. There have been casualties-”

He stops listening.

Tightness in his chest, a vice grip around his throat, the ground is fallible beneath his feet. There is nothing but the cold, so very cold, and something must have shattered in his expression because Donna- she’s reaching for him, because, because Harvey Specter is nothing but the mantra of MikeMikeMike rising through his throat like the scream of a piano chord.

He’s floating. “I’m on the way.” He says, numb to the phone, and then calls Ray. 

[ukdamo]

The Eve of Waterloo

Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s Capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—‘The foe! They come! they come!’

And wild and high the ‘Cameron’s Gathering’ rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:— How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day Battle’s magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!

[stagredxhart]

Okay...what about the smartest then? Is that you as well?

"Ha HA~ you flatter me~"

He hums bringing a cup of tea to his lips, savoring in the aromatic blent of London fog before curling his lips into a wider smile.

"While I surely am not lacking in the brain department unlike...one or two of us...I would say the smartest of us gentlemen would be our very own, Lovely Lady, Velvette~"

He coos.

Any chance he got to flatter their lady friend who hardly got the proper attention she truly deserves!

[good0eye0sniper]

Well detective? Is this truly the first case of someone dying of weed overdose?

No chief, this is something else. The cause of death appears to be blent-force trauma

[auburniivenus]

╰┈➤ @thefastestaround got healed!

In   the   pulsating   core   of   an   urban   expanse   that   slumbers   not,   where   life's   manifold   tiers   weave   into   a   tremendous   whirlpool   of   existence,   thus   did   she   navigate   her   way   among   the   souls   anonymous.   Her   orbs,   akin   to   streams   of   AMBROSIAL   caramel,   painted   the   cosmic   scheme   with   a   purity   undimmed   by   the   habitual   fatigue   of   the   citadel.   They   shone   with   vivacity,   gamboling   in   the   lucent   streams,   a   lighthouse   amid   the   monotonous   granite   wilderness.

By   some   mysterious   will   or   divine   jest,   a   contour   blent   within   the   tapestry   of   motile   humanity   intersected   her   passage,   collision.   As   though   composed   by   the   ether   itself,   their   orbs   met   in   an   ephemeral   arrangement REMINISCENT   of   galactic   bodies   aligning.   In   that   momentous   span,   as   brief   as   a   comet's   trail,   their   lives   intertwined—a   duet   unintentionally   enacted   upon   the   firmament   of   urbanity.   From   disarray   emerged   a   solitary   coin,   its   golden   hue   an   envoy   from   the   domain   of   fortune,   now   embarking   on   an   odyssey   unsought.   It   pirouetted   away,   a   symbol   of   their   mutual   plight,   winking   brazenly   amidst   the   merciless   luminance   of   this   steel   colossus.

Steps,   light   as   those   of   a   hart   within   a   thicket;   and   he   like   some   ominous   tempest   on   destiny's   cusp   reached   forth   as   well.   Their   extremities   met—not   in   grasp   but   in   quest—in   a   fleeting   confluence   where   flesh   communed   with   fleeting   intent.   At   that   instant,   profound   and   transient,   their   souls   became   tethered   in   mutual   enterprise.   The   damask   bloom   suffused   Inoue’s   visage—a   very   algolagnia   at   her   own   uncharacteristic   foible—as   she   tendered   an   apology   in   hushed   timbre,   scarcely   to   be   claimed   by   the   ceaseless   cadence   of   the   city. "I’m   sorry.   Is   this   coin   yours   or   mine?"

[libidomechanica]

“Endured, sometimes— my heart, of the Time, and þose gomnez in”

Ask me but moon; the delight, wrapped     of lyre, and waked morning hand forget who con he seȝ     þis silent pillow banks,

the Donna Julia, in fable:     for oranges and ful wel þou craue bataylment is a     moon for soþe, ’ quoþ þe gently

don’t you are, with ȝarande ful     tame? To spedez þou not in my paine, pleasures: Innocence     it came a mother friend.

Is gone out, the hole of the twenty     lyues to bide a bleaunt of married I forget there the     stemmed, for foot into shards

with bred blent þe sunne, and then, your     hendest, and sweet to his belde notes dost go, thro’ the sequel.     Now tell us. Tall, arts,

Love, flaming Cheek,—upon the     prevailing, muddied with its flourish upon me. I was no     more, as ȝe haf þe swange

she should collect from Beauty of     the sky. And the rest craþayn he could rip up old sucking     dandelions all thousand

are bound, now step upon heȝe auter.     To hit of houndez þay dronken, and trace toward þe deuelez     within as pretty

boss, the roar a radio and     free, bound the tablets has gotten, and see love’s veins they will     contend no device could

find clowdie Welkin this delights my     master, with separate cages, in mony tre mo þen two     mistress had a dream: and

look on Heav’n ye wander’d through the     blossumez bolde þat gay, and satisfied, nor her Feinagle’s     well? To prose, and þe

harmez! Build him be showed, the morrow,     that at the effects here unlaced my grey pale a     stranger, the grave. Endured,

sometimes—my heart, of the Time, and     þose gomnez in þat go as þou hetterly ryse, on snawe     þat falle! Fling our day.

[pika2482]

AOTD 1/20/2024 - Me Deje Llevar (Christian Nodal)

[All albums are rated based off my own personal enjoyment]

6/10

Listen to the first 3 tracks on this album. If you don't like them, Listen to the two favorites listed below and leave. If you do, you'll have a better experience than I did. Half the songs, especially the front half have the exact same 1+2+3+4 guitar rhythm (or 2+3 for the few songs in 3/4) and the entire album has the exact same instrumentation. There was more variety through the 5 track EP Starchaser than there was on the entire 13 song track list of this album. The genres explored were Mariachi, Slightly faster Mariachi, Slower Mariachi, a smidge of Salsa, and that's all. By song 5 I was flat out bored and it felt like half the songs blent into eachother.

There's a good side, however, to writing the same type of song 13 times: None of them are bad. If you like one song from this album, you'll likely enjoy the rest. For a lot of people that's perfectly acceptable, but for someone that had to listen through this album front to back, I feel that Christian Nodal played it safe through this one, and that harmed this albums rating quite a lot.

My favorite aspect of this album was the countermelodies in the Trumpets, Accordions, and Strings, that contrasted nicely the vocal melody. Like I can get behind the type of energy a rock band can create, but sometimes I want a bit of music theory with my punk. I wish more genres used Countermelodies more liberally, which I can appreciate about Mariachi.

My favorite track of the album is without a doubt Yo No Se Manana, the aformetioned Salsa track and the only song to really break from the monotony of the rest of the album. This is one of the only songs with actual percussion in it (which is already a huge leg up with my tastes), breaking from the 1+2+3+4 rhythm of the rest of the album. The rhythm interactions between the guitar, bass, and percussion, actually hooked my ear and made me want to actually get up and Dance. The chorus is also downright catchy, making me wonder why this is on the lesser popular side of the album. I think I'll actually be coming back for this track, something I didn't think I'd be saying about Mariachi. Good work!

My least favorite was Te Voy A Olvidar, one of those samey songs I spoke about before, but I just happened to like this one less than the others. Oh well.

Overall, not a big fan. I'll be coming back to Eres and Yo No Se Manana but I can leave the rest of the track list. I know that there's better Mariachi out there with the type of variety I'm looking for, but this just wasn't it.

Favorite Songs: Eres, Yo No Se Manana Least Favorite Songs: Te Voy A Olvidar, Te Falle

Adios Amor - 6.5/10 Probablemente - 6.5/10 Te Voy A Olvidar - 5/10 Eres - 7.5/10 Me Deje Llevar - 6/10 Te Falle - 5.5/10 Va A Querer Regresar - 7/10 Ojala - 7/10 Yo No Se Manana - 8.5/10 Se Me Olvidaba - 7.5/10 Es Mentira - 7/10 Probablemente - 6/10 La Venia Bendita - 6/10

[alchemisland]

Dark Night of the

Night atramentous 

Tremendous dispelling

Light falling like salient shelling

Turned Earth. Tail Fires bright

Lightworker the Night’s Caesar

Seizure of midnight assets diamonds countless faceted

Slent its trajectory

Blent day to night, strange leopard light

New lantern new record heats, new ores fountain

Earth itself a saltern and what’s left at end alchemically altered

A petri dish though furnished well a pet’s demesne 

That lantern light little more than our alterer’s laboratory light

The sky’s white his lab coat or glass-shielded eye whites

Science of Cain or of Yakub, insane creed for hate cult 

Front of faith for the failed, craft’s inception end result

How fallen we haver our own doings impossible seeming

Ends with dim dreaming, remit of ‘pium-eaters, beaming

Builders came from Planet X whose orbit’s length deny its existence

Avalanche-cauling antient achievement, antichrist’s alchemical diamond the adder’s antimony.

Overrides us the song of the comet, overhead tumultuous 

Its flaming cirrhus like a fluttering oriflamme

Chagrin of mythical flambeau at dismal bouquet

Less at the unveiling of supreme majesty

Telemetry NASA surpassing, glides void like creating spirit

Poseidon saw its shadow upon the dome of his domain and shuddered

Glad of the sea’s shelter, altar which birthed life, thanks uttered

Sheer size of shadow sailing, undoing time’s passage, forcing moment backward

Triumph overturns, kingly waves not seen since punishments meting

Due the Jew King, rank-flanked and mite-ridden, his rags rouged with Roman cruelty

Returned at last the dome of glass inward breaking, spiralling shards rain onto a ruled sea

Grid of waves casting glyphs which solfège above discerns, descries, decodes, replies

Expulsion from chapel the recalcitrant student repeatedly truant thrown out in revulsion

Propulsed by sheer ire the wide worbling gyre barrel-rolled to his desire

His behest the fates did their bit, tired the Norn’s twisted wrists at his fast advance

Warping, like Hibernian Houndslayer passes the binary star Sirius while spasming

Raising alarms, his coming culling of nations. Waling between worlds, he is wind incarnate

Each aperture entryway his form amorphous morphing to fit lock, shefting immovables

Wanchancy what world he chooses on whim, his decision a whip crack to that land’s back.

[melissak2802]

... Maybe I should include The Murder of Roger Ackroyd to the Miraculous Agatha AU and in addition to Sheppard as a Snake wielder, make Ursula Bourne a Dragon wielder? Perfection would work well for her, she is honourable and idealistic in a good way and has inner strength.

Also what about Turtle-wielding Major Blent? He is very much Protection. (So many reptiles in one novel😅)

[thesquireinvictus]

The Eve of Waterloo by Lord Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s Capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—‘The foe! They come! they come!’

And wild and high the ‘Cameron’s Gathering’ rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:— How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day Battle’s magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!

[ezrawells]

Thanatos Of Funk from Minoru Fushimi

>> Minoru “Hoodoo” Fushimi’s most wanted and impossible to find first album Thanatos Of Funk is finally reissued (Japan, 2022) for the first time ever, in collaboration with Fushimi himself.

>> Thanatos Of Funk is a milestone in Japan’s underground music and electro funk/early hip hop history. Entirely self-produced, designed and distributed in 1985 by Fushimi, a high-school teacher by day and music experimenter by night, Thanatos Of Funk is a love-letter to counter-culture, DIY, drum machines and synthesizers blent with some killer shamisen and guitar playing.

>> This is truly unique music. The LP, re-mastered and cut at the Timmion Cutting Lab, comes with the original hand-written comic by Fushimi, with English translations. Essential!

[ ezra wells • 2023 • Thessaloniki ]

[sumpix]

Our Casuarina Tree

Toru Dutt

Like a huge Python, winding round and round      The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars,      Up to its very summit near the stars,   A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound      No other tree could live. But gallantly         The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung   In crimson clusters all the boughs among,      Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;   And oft at nights the garden overflows   With one sweet song that seems to have no close,           Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.  

When first my casement is wide open thrown      At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;      Sometimes, and most in winter,—on its crest   A gray baboon sits statue-like alone            Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs   His puny offspring leap about and play;   And far and near kokilas hail the day;      And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;   And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast           By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,   The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.  

But not because of its magnificence      Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:      Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,         O sweet companions, loved with love intense,      For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear.   Blent with your images, it shall arise   In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!      What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear         Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?   It is the tree’s lament, an eerie speech,   That haply to the unknown land may reach.  

Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!      Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away            In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,   When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith      And the waves gently kissed the classic shore   Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,   When earth lay trancèd in a dreamless swoon:          And every time the music rose,—before   Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,   Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime   I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.  

Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay            Unto thy honor, Tree, beloved of those      Who now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose, Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!      Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done   With deathless trees—like those in Borrowdale,         Under whose awful branches lingered pale      “Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,   And Time the shadow;” and though weak the verse   That would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse,   May Love defend thee from Oblivion’s curse.