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Smoke and Annie study :]

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the women of Sinners

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Music in Film: Sinners (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

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can't stop thinking about how Remmick had a black eye after fleeing the Choctaw vampire hunters. Forget stakes and holy water and garlic; they were just straight up beating his ass

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Ryan Coogler explained in an interview that Remmick was partially inspired by the character Death in Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (2022), noting both his eyes and demeanor.

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Women of Sinners - Sinners (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler

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That was the last sunrise I ever saw. Perhaps the kindest thing the dark gift has given me. // It was the last time I saw my brother. It was the last time I saw the sun. It was the only time I ever felt free.

Interview with the Vampire (2022 - ) // Sinners (2025)

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‘you put that cig out, you can hold her’

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we are all sinners

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the choctaw vampire hunters in sinners, photographed by eli joshua adé, smpsp.

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The problem with playing smash or pass is that there's a lot of characters which I'm not sexually attracted to but I would fuck in a heartbeat out of sheer curiosity and ego, like I don't find Mickey Mouse attractive at all but if he approached me at a bar and went "Hey sexy, want me to show you my mouseketool?" I would say yes because then I get to tell my friends I fucked Mickey Mouse

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Edgin whacking people with his lute

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It's Juneteenth, I'm a Black Texan, descendant of enslaved Black Texans. Texas is the only state that fought two different wars to protect slavery and chattel slavery ended the last for it. Juneteenth to me is to celebrate that part of overt white supremacy coming to an end, but it was not the end of white supremacy. It did not stop, with the lynching, the police violence, the redlining, the environmental racism, the segregation. Juneteenth represents a good win aganist the fight against white supremacy, but it's not over.

And for this Juneteenth, I ask for help for my friends that are the victims of this same US white supremacy. Not just today, but everyday Gazans deserve any type of help that you can give them. The technology that is used to segregate and attack and police and destroy Palestinians is the same technology that is sold to Texas to be used for the border patrol and to harass and control immigrants and border communities. This is one, connected fight aganist white supremacy and US control and destruction of Black and Brown bodies. So I ask today if you could donate this, or share, to help provide for a mother and her 2 now fatherless children in Gaza, or anyone else in Gaza who needs help. Like this family with a sick baby. Just do something, especially if you got the day off.

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I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

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some of y'all didnt grow up as the person nobody has a crush on and it really shows