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roxannepolice · 10 months

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hope I'm not late for the ship meme, may I suggest 12/simm 👀

You're absolutely not too late, this unironically helps me get around to write my thesis 😅

Who’s the cuddler? Twelve is very embrace averse in the canon, and I think so is Simmy. However, the Master is willing to make sacrifices to annoy the Doctor, so he keeps plopping himself on his lap like it's free real estate. Essentially, Twelve likes his personal space and Simm also likes Twelve's personal space 🙃

Who makes the bed? The Master is a bit pedantic in this area, but after he made the bed a couple of times Nardole thanked him for sparing him this work, so obviously the Master got very pissed and started going against his bed making instincts. Especially given that Twelve only now found out Nardole has been making the bed all this time rather than it spontaneously rearranging itself against the law of increasing entropy and was very happy the Master would do such a selflessly kind thing. So now the bed is a permanent mess and Bill got popcorn for the daily tense stand offs over it

Who wakes up first? Whenever the Master actually wastes his time on such a trivial activity he gets awoken by Beethoven blasting on a guitar. Needless to say, the TARDIS had to start producing a supply of guitars after each meets its gruesome end in a hydraulic press

Who has the weird taste in music? The Master took up the reverse of the Doctor playing classical music on an electric guitar, so now he's mostly into a string quartet cover of I can't decide and Carmina Burana version of Waterloo

Who is more protective? Twelve is not very happy about it, but still feels obliged to end up with a very pissed wet cat version of Simm fished out of Sea Devils' contraptions

Who sings in the shower? The Master, very loudly and purposefully wasting his actually good voice. Given the TARDIS is not very fond of this regeneration, she takes the opprtunity to turn on only hot or only cold water, which results in the Master singing even louder in definace of blisters and coldbite

Who cries during movies? The Doctor allows himself a few somber tears while watching highbrow gangster dramas that are actually cinematic poems about how an individual with every potential to be a decent person becomes a monster and loses everything, betrayals and broken childhood friendships, but also capactiy for last minute redemption (think The Godfather, Once upon a time in America or Angels with dirty faces). And then ruins everything including Nino Rota and Ennio Morricone soundtracks by commenting on them in a very passionate and grandiloquent way that all the same would fit well a sunday school sermon. The Master can later be found performatively bawling his eyes out at the episode in which teletubbies couldn't make the tubby custard machine work so they sang a special song (lyrics of tubby custard, tubby custard, tubby custard (...) tubby custard) to fix it

Who spends the most while out shopping? They're both absolute absolute disasters shopping, but mostly for cosmetics. Twelve spends hours browsing thorugh hair-floofing products while Simmy needs to scrutinize every beard trimming device and test them on other customers' dogs. The one time they went shopping together each made the other wait with the bags outside and started manipulating the timeflow so the torture can last longer

Who kisses more roughly? Again, Twelve isn't very touchable, so Simmy kisses him Bugs Bunny style whenever he drops his guard for a second

Who is more dominant? Twelve is a bit too tired for that, while Simmy flaunts every triumph like making him carry more bags from the disaster shopping trip or seeing his selection of pizza toppings placed on top of Twelve's

My rating of the ship from 1-10. I really wish we had more of their interactions, because I kind of see them turning every domestic detail into an intense battle of wills. Also, Twelve is just more fun to annoy than self-flagellating Ten. Solid 8 ❤️

#tag games #thank you so much this is fun!#and srsly if anyone wants to throw anything at me i'll always be happy to answer though i may take some time #my academic career genuinely profits from it #i actually made a deep dive into teletubbies lore to give this answer :3 #noo noo uses he/him pronouns in case you're interested #doctor x master #thoschei #twelvesimm

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petty-crush · 9 months

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“Barbie” (2023)

-a big budget, pop art, visually interesting film with a vibrant personality. I love it!

-also, easily the best use of Ryan Gosling since “Drive”

-I’m truly impressed with what Greta Gerwig got away with here.

+she crammed this with energy and made me hearty laugh the whole time

-the story is Barbie discovering sadness, the real world, clashing with the patriarchy, and just the wonderment of being a woman

-there’s a couple small details I want to highlight before the big stuff

-Kate McKinnon’s look is almost certainly inspired by the awesome cult film “Liquid Sky”, another tone poem of a film

-the small, tender scene of Barbie telling the old woman (at the bus stop) she’s beautiful, and said woman saying “I know” with a vicious smirk is magical

+it says just as much as the soon to be famous “being a woman is impossible” monologue in its own beautiful warmth

-the opening riff on “2001: A Space Odyssey” is the film personified; irreverent, playing with greatness, funny, colorful, and just a blast

-(after a man notes he is not part of the board) “I’m a guy with no power...does that make me a woman?

-I like how there are two matrix tributes; picking between two choices/shoes (original) and the at first mysterious Ruth being the Oracle (“Reloaded”)

-“after I found out the patriarchy didn’t include horses, I honestly lost interest”

-alright then, onto the big pillars

-here is a film saying, with all earnestness and actual thought, that we should approach our hearts with collectivism, bond over our shared yearns and desires and messiness

-(only a scold could say this film excludes love, a scold who didn’t actually watch the film and just wants any kind of attention)

-Margot Robbie nails every bit, from first thinking about dying, to discovering tears, to making Barbie’s naïveté to growth a journey of substance

-this film is unapologetic about being feminist (which shocked the fuck out of me) and does so with actual insight, not checking off a list (which is rad)

-note too, cause grumps will try to bury this, it asks men to not define themselves by conquering others, or stepping on necks, but by creating worth on their own goals and just being present in the moment. It asks them to free themselves from their own shackles

-there is a certain richness to male characters when female directors (and writers, etc) take over; new colors are displayed in the rainbow

-it is so immensely satisfying to see actual sets (practical, on camera) and vivid primary colors (after years of blurred muted-ness)

+its value in the aesthetic form and character of the film is immeasurable

-there isn’t a single false note in the “impossible to be a woman” speech, aptly delivered by America Ferrara. It simply presents itself with the courage of its convictions

-said being truly sucks and absolutely rules; the sheer inconsistency is its beauty and power. Neatness does not contain growth

-I like how the film emphasizes the under seen will truly change and save the world

-oh, I almost forgot to mention; I just about rolled out of my chair at the ribbing of zealots for the Synder cut of Justice League

-this is an artificiality to this film that is staggeringly authentic

-this is truly one of the best examples of just being the world and subverting the world in the 2020’s (and frankly all time); this will be studied and admired for years

-also also, the battle at the beach and the dance street fight among Ken’s is an all timer of a scene (it uses the past to power the present)

-I have a sneaking suspicion this may be the “Iron Man”(2008) to the upcoming Mattel cinematic universe; the vast number of following films will largely be less interesting, less full of the personality of its creators (with some exceptions)

-but this film is worth it; it is alive and joyful. It cannot be accountable for the world(s) that comes after it, only how it exists during its run time.

-and, truly, Gerwig has made something special here. It’s just going to make the lives of everyone who accepts it for what it is (love and color of form) many times better. It is a triumph

#barbie #greta gerwig #margot robbie #ryan gosling #america ferrera #kate mckinnon #will ferrell #michael cera #film #barbie 2023

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lediz-watches · 1 month

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Podcast: Weird Medieval Guys

Another podcast, because it's consumed my brain over the last week.

Weird Medieval Guys started as a Twitter account (go off, Musk), but is now also a bi-weekly podcast starring Olivia (the Twitter creator) and Aran (the historian she bribed with a platform to rant about Constantinople). Every couple of weeks, they gather together on Olivia's living room floor to academically gossip about medieval life, loves, and nonsense.

Because people have always been nonsensical, and that's amazing.

I found it through another podcast that I will one day do a post about (I need to... come to terms with why I love it) called We Can Be Weirdos, in which Olivia came on and caught my attention with her passion for the legal debates people got into about heraldry, and her willingness to admit that medieval people were just as petty and ridiculous as we are now.

Because that's the thing, and which I think this podcast shows so well: people have always just been people.

The world we exist in has evolved. Technology has marched on, our ways of interacting with each other have changed, and we have different values, different things we consider important, but we're still the same, really. We think of the past as this noble and dirty and incorruptible space, but people were making sex jokes and lame puns for a hundred thousand years. We aren't special just because we can blast our lame humour to seven billion people at a time.

But anyway.

Each episode of the podcast takes the form of a loose essay, Aran lecturing Olivia (or occasionally vice versa) on some topic about the medieval period, and don't get me wrong - they are lectures. There are stupid jokes, Aran loves to play different characters, Olivia giggles constantly, and the point of each one is that medieval people were Just Like Us, but Aran is an academic talking about research. Yes, his area of expertise is a later period, but the skills remain.

And to be clear, I am a recovering cultural studies student who until recently has been out of academic life and away from other academics for over a decade. But I suspect this is not a podcast you can walk into without some academic-adjacent background. They discuss articles and a lot of their humour is based in inference and the kind of irony you see in people who debate reality for a living.

But they are also redditors, and Twitter natives, and talk about their subjects as 'based'. Aran loves to call people King and Queen. They bring their subject matter to the now.

The most recent podcast was about medieval Welsh bards, and they read out a rap (flyte) battle between two of them (Olivia's bard totally won, I don't care what you say), and finished on the DIRTIEST poem I have ever heard (seriously, ugh), and it taught me a lot about Wales' history, which I've never really known much about, so thank you for that. But it was great to hear all this poetry and these poets and put them in a context where you can strip back the language and see them for the frustrated, young, often horny, very human people they were. Also I loved the owl poem and must search it out because I grew up next to koala tress and boy, I feel you.

The episode before that was about medieval animals, and while it was fun to hear about hedgehogs and the bestiary, it also contained a beautiful insight into why we use animals as narrative devices. The only downside is that I'm still on the edges of the Hellverse fandom and started analysing furry culture and honestly, no one needs that in their life...

But my FAVOURITE episode so far is part two of their Constantinople episode, where they described the Ottoman leader Mehmed as so... painfully human. Even as his soldiers ransacked a once-glorious city and he chased a mad dream, he was just so lost and passionate and terrible and... Aran described him so beautifully, I was just swept up in the story.

So yes. Although there are a few hiccups along the way (please please please go back and fix the episodes with the overlapping voice tracks it hurt my ears so bad), if you have even a passing interest in history or culture or what makes humans human, check out this podcast.

Because we're just people. We've always just been people. And that's amazing.

#podcast #weird medieval guys #historical academics #people as people #we're just innocent men #that's unrelated unless you think about it too hard #seriously though aran's obsession with constantinople gives me life #I didn't catch the potato joke but I get it #you're dorks and I love you

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my-own-walker · 8 months

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Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

Life is broken up into a series of measurements. Depending on you, or what you may be looking forward to, you measure life differently. A measurement of days, hours, or minutes, or a measurement of miles, feet, and inches. You may measure life in smiles, or in frowns. You may measure it in meals, sleeps, or how many photos you've taken. These measurements culminate, like a jigsaw falling into place.

I, this particular semester, began measuring life in Calculus quizzes. One a week, now onto the third, three weeks of the semester done, thirteen weeks left.

Time was flying, but altogether staying utterly still. We were now in September, and it would only be three more quizzes until October. But at the same time, only three quizzes in felt impossible. So much had already happened.

The final whispers of summer drew quieter and quieter. It was a peaceful transition, as warm days never really ceased in Louisiana. There was an unmistakable feeling in the air, though. And leaves fell from trees here and there, reminding me of time's passing.

This week's quiz was no different than the last, though I did feel confident on at least two questions of the ten. I was really riding on this end-of-semester project to go well in order to save my grade. At this point, I wasn't even interested in getting an A in the class. I just wanted to pass. I didn't look at Kyle's answers this time. In fact, I couldn't. He didn't come to class.

I had my poetry class before my Calculus class on Fridays. I handed in my poem for grading and prayed Kyle's advice would come through. His efforts were not futile, because my professor actually liked it a lot. I was going to let him know during Calc, but it wasn't to be, I guess.

I got home to a bustling apartment. Lily had a speaker playing her music on blast throughout the space. "Bound 2" off Kanye West's new album. I kicked off my shoes by the door and hung up my bag. She stood, rather, danced in place, in the kitchen as I moved further into our shared apartment. It looked like she was making something, but I couldn't make it out.

"Lily Davies!" I half-gasped, half-exclaimed, sneaking up behind her. She jumped about a mile up in the air and squealed. "Are those Jell-O shots?!"

"Fuck you!" she shouted, turning to smack my arm. "You scared me!"

"I can tell."

She spun to her right and grabbed her phone off the counter, working quickly to turn the music's volume down. "You can't sneak up on me when I have my pregame playlist on," she huffed.

"Oh no, we're pregaming?" I groaned, leaning over a clear space on the counter. "Jesus....take me now..." I put the back of my hand on my forehead and leaned back, feigning genuine pain. Lily picked up a measuring cup full of neon green liquid and began pouring it into small shot cups.

"Were you not listening yesterday when I told you about tonight?" she replied, annoyed. "When you were about to leave for your study date."

"It wasn't a date. And obviously not," I shrugged, grabbing a box of cereal from the pantry. "Help me understand, my beautiful roommate." I hopped up to sit on the aforementioned clear spot on the counter and stuck my hand into the box, grabbing a handful of Cheerios to snack on.

"KLG is hosting for once. It's a mixer with Pi Phi and them. It's a bonfire. Leon's band is playing," she explained, pouring the last of the Jell-O mixture. "Do you remember now?" She put the measuring cup down and wiped her hands on her pant legs. "I can't be fucked to put these in the fridge. I hope they set in time," she added.

"How are you getting them there?" I asked through a mouthful of cereal.

"I'll drive," she answered simply.

"No, you will not," I declared, turning to put the cereal box down next to me. I swallowed before continuing. "I know you. You'll drink and I'll have to drive home."

"Okay? And?" she challenged.

"I hate driving!" I whined. "And what if I want to drink, too?"

Lily leaned back on the counter and thought for a moment. She picked up her phone and scrolled through for a second, trying to find a solution. "Sarah can drive us," she spoke after a second. "I just remembered she offered in the group chat earlier. Let me text her."

"Oh, thank god," I sighed. "I was not about to take the bus or some shit." I got down from the counter and put my cereal away, careful not to leave anything in Chef Lily's way. She stayed put, texting for a while before exhaling sharply and shoving her phone into the waistband of her leggings.

"I guess we should go get ready so we can start drinking," she groaned.

"Yes, chef," I shouted, faux-saluting her. She walked over to me and smacked my ass as she passed.

"Let's get fucked up! Woo!" she yelled, punctuating it with a laugh.

I settled on a black and brown plaid sleeveless dress with sheer black stockings, a lightweight brown cardigan, and my black Doc Martens to wear. I made my eye makeup dark and heavy to match, as well as a smear of brown lipstick over my lips. I figured a bonfire party needed a smoky look to match. At least, that's what Lily shouted to me when I asked her what I should wear.

She took that advice in a different direction, as did all of the other girls there. She wore a tight black tube top and a black skater skirt that barely covered her ass. Her hair was straightened, and her makeup the same as it always was. To each their own, I presume.

The party was entirely outside. I assumed that it was to create a loophole in case any bad incidents happened at the gathering. "Well, it wasn't inside the house!"

KLG was an intimidating frat. I was less scared, though, considering I had just been there the day prior. Since this was a mixer, Lily's sorority was, in part, also hosting, hence her making Jell-O shots.

We walked around the back, entering through a side gate into the expansive backyard. It was absolutely mobbed. I had a feeling this party had been crashed by people who were not members of either the frat or the sorority. One of them being namely, me.

A patio-turned-stage sat just next to the house. The band was already up there tuning their instruments. For the time being, some shitty pop music played over the largest speaker I had ever seen. String lights hung just above the stage, lighting it relatively well. They were more than likely added By Pi Phi, not Kappa Lambda Gamma. "A woman's touch," as some would say.

I followed Lily to a table set up toward the far end of the backyard. There, we found an absolute array of bottles and cans of alcohol. She placed her homemade shots in an empty space on the table and smiled at her handiwork.

"They keep the drinks as far from the house as possible when it's an outside party," Lily shouted to me over the music. "That way people won't go in by mistake."

I nodded in reply, pretending I understood. If the drinks were closer to the house, people would see them better and not mistakenly walk in. But what did I know? I wasn't a frat guy.

I turned to look at the band, who had started to play a cover of "Do I Wanna Know?" by Arctic Monkeys. It seemed a bit alternative for this crowd, but I wasn't going to complain. In fact, I wished they'd continue to play my kind of music. And just like that, I lost Lily. I had only looked at the band for a beat, but she was a live wire around her sisters.

There was no need for me to feel like a babysitter at this party. Lily's sorority sisters could look after her, which meant I could get as drunk as I'd like. I turned my attention back to the drink table and scanned the selection until I found something that tickled my fancy.

Some hours and some change later, I had polished off an embarrassingly large number of drinks. I would disclose how many, but I don't quite remember. I worked my way through the yard to the giant bonfire on the left side of the yard. I stared blankly into the fire, listening to the band play some song I couldn't quite make out.

The party had reached critical mass. It was almost impossible to move, even around the bonfire. I stayed put, trying to shake off the drunkenness so I could go find Lily.

"Hannah Martin," a male voice said behind me. I whipped my head around, startled by the sudden interaction. Kyle stood directly behind me, nearly touching me.

"Kyle Spencer," I replied, too drunk to think of a witty response. He smiled and laughed a bit, casting his eyes down at his shoes. "I missed you in class today," I slurred. "I had to tell you something."

"Oh yeah? What was that?" he asked, raising one eyebrow and smirking.

"My poem. The teacher liked it," I explained. "Thanks." I wasn't very eloquent in this impaired state. I shifted away from the fire, feeling I had started to sweat a bit from its heat. A person immediately shifted into my former spot. It was nearly impossible to breathe, let alone move around.

"Oh, I'm glad," Kyle smiled. "I gotta make up that quiz."

"No school talk," I groaned, placing a hand on his bicep. "I'm not in my right mind right now."

The crowd in the yard shifted, causing people to begin to bump into each other. The person standing next to me stepped back into me, bumping into my arm. Losing my footing, I stumbled into Kyle, nearly pulling him over. His drink collided with my chest, the cup's entire contents spilling down my dress. All I could do was laugh.

"I should not have had that last beer," I chuckled, steadying myself with my hand flat on Kyle's chest.

"Oh shit, Hannah, I'm so sorry," he gushed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm cool," I giggled, bending over slightly.

"God, come inside," he muttered, grabbing me by my shoulders and turning me around to face the house. "Let's go." He guided my drunken form through the crowded backyard all the way to the back door of the KLG house.

"Aw damn, Spencer's gettin' some," the guy guarding the door shouted stupidly. "Hot piece 'a ass you got here."

"Shut up and let us in, Dan," Kyle snapped, still holding me by my shoulders. The guy, whose name was apparently Dan, stepped aside, allowing Kyle to open the door and guide me in.

We walked through the kitchen, dining room, and living room to get to the foyer, where I was met with the now-familiar steps up to his room. They would prove to be a challenge this time, though. Kyle held my arm as we made the trek up the steep stairs. It felt like we had been walking for hours.

Finally, in Kyle's bedroom, I could gather my bearings. So much had happened in such a short span of time. And how the fuck did I find myself in Kyle Spencer's bedroom two nights in a row? I sat on the floor and gripped the carpet tightly, feeling the fibers between my fingers. The world spun. I held the carpet tighter so I wouldn't fall off the Earth.

Kyle rummaged through his dresser and turned, having found a large t-shirt for me.

"I know you're in a dress," he noted, "but I think this should be big enough to act like one."

"I wear shorts under my dresses," I slurred, screwing my eyes shut.

"Oh, okay, that's good," he muttered. He tossed the shirt toward me. It landed with a fwump to my right. "Change into it. I feel so bad, you're soaked."

I looked down at myself. He was right. The entire front of my outfit was drenched with whatever Kyle had in his red solo cup. Without a thought, I shrugged my cardigan off and tugged my dress over my head, leaving me in just my spandex shorts and a bra. I watched as Kyle paused, for a moment, almost as if he couldn't look away. His cheeks turned a bright pink before he averted his gaze respectfully. I slipped the soft t-shirt over my body.

"You can look now," I said, smartly. Kyle turned and smiled at me kindly. He stepped over to me and extended a hand.

"Please, at least sit on my couch," he pleaded. "It's comfortable, I promise."

I grabbed his hand and let him help me up. Both of us settled down on the couch, which was rather big for the size of the room. I pulled my legs up, hugging my knees tight to my chest. "Thanks, Kyle," I murmured.

"You're in bad shape, huh?" he replied.

"I don't remember the last time I was this drunk," I admitted, sobering a bit.

"It's okay, it happens."

"Why weren't you in class today?" I asked after a beat, a bit more bluntly than I had intended. Kyle shifted in his seat a bit uncomfortably.

"It's a pretty long story, Hannah," he replied lowly. "Everything's okay, though. Gave me more time to get ready for tonight, right?" I didn't reply. Instead, I put my head back on the couch. The action took the pressure off my heavy head. The music continued to play loudly outside, the bass shaking the house.

Kyle stood abruptly. "Do you need anything?" he asked, standing over me.

"I'm fine." I covered my face with my arm, burying it in the crook of my elbow.

"I'll be right back, okay? Don't move," he instructed. I heard his footsteps get further from me, the door open, then shut, and the lock latch. I uncovered my eyes and looked around, alone in Kyle's room. The noise outside hadn't subsided. It seemed this party might go all night.

It was supposed to be a small gathering between two Greek organizations and turned into an all-out rager. Pretty typical Kappa Lambda Gamma activities, honestly.

Only a few minutes passed before Kyle burst back into the room, water bottle in hand. The whirlwind with which he entered only made my head spin more.

"Drink this," he said, handing me the open water. I did as he said as he rejoined me on the couch. "Are you okay?"

"I am," I answered, sitting forward on the edge of my seat. "I really should go, though."

"Do you have a ride?" Kyle asked, sitting up slightly. "I can't let you go back out there alone like this."

"I should find my friend," I insisted.

"I think you should stay here and text her," he countered. "Agree on a place to meet. Where's your phone?"

That was a good question. I remembered leaving it somewhere, but I couldn't quite place where. Kyle must have seen the concern flash across my face because he put a hand on my shoulder.

"It's okay, Hannah, I can find it," he assured me. I flopped back and turned my head to face him, looking into his deep brown eyes. He looked at me with pity. Before I could stop myself, I leaned over and rested my forehead on his right shoulder.

It must have been a reflex. Kyle responded by rubbing my head with his free hand. I sighed and relaxed into his touch, feeling all too tired all too suddenly.

Previous Part | Next Part

#evan peters #evan peters fic #ahs #ahs coven #kyle spencer #kyle spencer fanfic

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grumelot123 · 2 months

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Part 15 of "I'm trying so hard to hate you."

Sorry for not posting for so long, I had the flu.

Anyhow let's rock this bitch. (I watched mean girls 4 times while I was sick.)

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘋𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘺.

Was the exact poem that we read a few hours ago, and the exact poem that we cracked only 15 minutes ago.

4 days until the world ends and I am spending it driving to a park at 9pm, for maybe no absolute reason.

At least I'm with Aziraphale. But Device was sitting in the backseat, with her headphones on blast ignoring anything we were saying.

"What do you think is going to be at the bench when we get there?" He asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"I don't know to be honest, kind of just want to go home."

What? I was honest. I love that I can just be upright with Aziraphale and he just listens to me and talks to me about it. He never yells or tells me I'm being drama-

"Crowley? You there?"

"Oh shit, sorry Angel I spaced out there."

"Yea I could tell, is something bothering you?"

"Surprisingly not, just..thinking."

"Hm. Okay."

"I'm hungryyyyyyyyy." Device groaned from the backseat.

"Did you not just fucking eat an hour ago at the house?"

Aziraphale gave me a look.

"Crowley be nic- oh nevermind! Anathema, would you like to stop and get something to eat somewhere?"

"Yesssss pleaseeeeee!"

I threw my head back.

"Don't be like that Crowley."

"dOnT bE liKe thAt cRowLey."

He reached over and actually hit me. Like my angel actually slapped me upside the head.

He's learned well.

"Fine. Where am I driving us too?"

"Just the gas station or something, I'll go inside and grab something for us, I need to pee anyways."

(No idk what kind of gas stations are in London, so if this is like inaccurate...sorry!)

"Ughhhhh, ok."

5 min later

When we arrived to the gas station, Device practically threw herself out of the car and ran inside.

I look over to see Aziraphale with his hands on his face and looking up at the ceiling of the car.

"You ok?"

"Yea, just...what if we don't f-"

"Don't. Don't finish that sentence. We're gonna figure it out, everything's going to be fine, and we are going to get our happy ending.

"Our happy ending? Never thought that you'd be such a sap for a demon."

"Well I'm also not supposed to love as a demon..and here we are."

"Love you too."

He smiled at me, and reached over and held my hand.

"I'm sorry for complaining so much."

"What?"

"Sorry, I know it's random. But I know I complain all the time and it has to be so annoying."

"You're not annoying, you could never annoy me. You complaining doesn't bother me, you have a problem, and you are speaking it. No problem in that."

"Really?"

"Crowley, I'm never going to lie to you, okay?"

"Okay.."

I laid my head back and started to doze off when Aziraphale tapped my shoulder.

"How bout you switch with me? I'll drive to the park, Anathema and I can go check out the bench and we'll tell you what we found. That way you'll get a nap in, yeah?"

"I mean sure but I can jus miracle me not er..tired."

"Just switch with me you silly demon."

So I got out of the car to walk around the other side and as me and Aziraphale were about to pass, he stopped me and got on his tiptoes and gave me a kiss. It was short and sweet, but also everything at once.

When I got back into the car after being momentarily stunned, I heard Queen playing and my seat was noticeably comfier.

"Did you do a miracle?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about dear, just go to sleep."

I laughed.

"Whatever you say Angel."

Anathema opened the car door and got in with a bag full on food and amoung other drinks.

"To the park!!"

Part 16 when???

#good omens

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crazybutgood · 2 years

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The third and final part of the poetry reclist series features recs by both @getawayfox and me of fics that feature poetry. Banner is made by El! All works marked 📕 are recced by El, and those marked ✒️ are recced by me. Find the previous poetry reclists here: part 1 and part 2

Fics Quoting/Referencing Poems:

✒️Notes About You by CallMeHopeless (G, 2000) (Draco/Harry)

Harry's 18th birthday is coming up and he just wants to be alone so that he wouldn't be a bother to anyone. A mystery gift changes his perspective on that a bit, though.

✒️Between the Lines by CallMeHopeless (T, 11581) (Draco/Harry)

5 Times Draco Malfoy reads works of Muggle Literature and Harry is completely smitten and 1 Time Harry does.

✒️A madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet by @purplehotmess (E, 3302) (Draco/Harry)

A story of love letters, poetry, snarky blondes, speccy gits with stupidly fit arses, and staying in love even when oceans apart.

✒️A Problem for Another Time by @jalesidor (G, 6649) (Draco/Harry)

Harry enjoys his evening walks by the Thames. Nothing to do with Draco Malfoy's dog, or Draco Malfoy reading poetry on a lone riverside bench. No sir. Nothing at all.

✒️Signs of Affection by @kittycargo (G, 8258) (Remus/Sirius)

“Hello, everyone! My name is-” the professor did something quick with his fingers and the interpreter paused for just a moment before continuing, “-Remus Lupin. I’ll be your teacher for ASL I." When Sirius learns that he'll have a Deaf student in his class next year, he takes an ASL I summer course at his local community college. He didn't expect the professor to be so attractive though.

📕Burns Night by @thistlerosie (M, 6770) (Remus/Sirius)

Blackmail, kilts, food art, public sex, and poetry. Some national holidays are more fun than others. Written in 2004.

📕Angels, and Arise, Arise by imochan (M, 1497) (Remus/Sirius)

A space to breathe in

📕Fugit inreparabile tempus by @aryastark-valarmorghulis (G, 2785) (Remus/Sirius)

"Never — never — have I let anyone off this train before they reached their destination. Some have tried — Sirius Black and his cronies [...]" How Sirius Black and the Marauders tried to get off the Hogwarts Express (as mentioned in "The Cursed Child") and failed. Set at the beginning of their last year at Hogwarts, includes: gratuitous latin poetry, smitten Remus and playful banter about growing up.

📕'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves by kaydeefalls (T, 4556) (Remus/Sirius)

All in all, Remus considered it a more than usually successful evening at the Burrow.

📕A Satyr Against Reason by wildestranger (Remus/Sirius)

Remus finds himself watching Sirius. Then there is casual sex, naughty poetry and a green shirt.

Fics Featuring Original Poetry:

✒️Eagles in Truro (Alt: That filthy one that snuck in a plot.) by @vukovich (E, 283989) (Draco/Harry, Hermione/Draco, Hermione/Harry, Hermione/Ron, Luna/Draco, Hermione/Draco/Harry/Ron)

Hermione Granger just wants to get laid and maybe someday become Supreme Mugwump. Ronald Weasley just wants to build a dubiously-criminal empire and hug everybody. Harry Potter just wants... he's not sure, but it might be Malfoy. Draco Malfoy just wants to survive the post-war world. And snuggles. A story about four lonely people in a mineshaft in Cornwall, and blasting a home in bedrock when nothing else quite fits.

Hermione: Excuse me. This is a political thriller, but it's also how I ended up in a really complicated relationship./Ron: It's not that complicated. And it's a love story./Draco: He's right./Harry: You always side with Ron. It's an action story. I got stabbed./Draco: Sorry about that. But you're all wrong. This is art. And SMUT./All: Oh…

✒️A Mystery’s Solution by @mars-bar81 (T, 5503) (Draco/Harry)

It might be time for Harry to face the fact that not all problems have a solution.

✒️Krum’s Bum by @vdoshu (E, 2860) (Ron/Viktor)

Ginny wasn’t the only Weasley with cringe-worthy romantic poetry lurking in her past. Once upon a time, Ron had his own collection, dedicated to a certain Seeker and his particular assets.

📕Conkers are Bonkers: The Poetry of Sirius Black by @shaggydogstail (M, 1587) (Remus/Sirius)

Unable to compete in the inter-house conker championships, Sirius devotes his energies to poetry. It's, um, not very good.

Conker glory dreams are sank/This poet’s mind has drawn a blank/Tis pity he can’t even wank.

📕Life In The Grey by @ami-talks (T, 8293) (Remus/Sirius) (CW: Depression, Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts)

Remus shares his diary with Sirius, hoping to finally put the past to rest.

#rec list #collab #mine #getawayfox #poetry #rec #fic #fic rec #drarry #hermione/draco #hermione/harry #hermione/ron #luna/draco #hermione/ron/draco/harry #wolfstar #ron/viktor #hp rare pair #part 3

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roosterbruiser · 11 months

Note

Okay okay okay okay bare with me here, I knew broke my own heart with this thought but I knew I have to tell you… remember when I said hits different by Taylor swift is so Faye coded? (Yes this is in honor of it finally being on Spotify so I can blast it at all hours and not just in my car lol) Okay well, it’s bc I sincerely believe that it’s some shit depressively write as a poem but it’s about Maggie not an ex? (I write the best poetry while as matchbox 20 said “unwell™️” so this might just be projection) But like I’m sorry you can’t tell me that this song wasn’t her inner monologue when she stepped into the hard deck after so long?

okay I kept this in my inbox because I literally cried when I listened to this song sjsjs

I think I'm emotionally stable enough to answer this now!

you're so fucking right. this is so Faye when she steps into The Hard Deck for the first time without Maggie :,(

specifically this:

I find the artifacts, cried over a hat Cursed the space that I needed I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' You were the one that I loved Don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough A wrinkle in time like the crease by your eyes This is why they shouldn't kill off the main guy Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief In the good in the world, you once believed in me And I felt you and I held you for a while Bet I could still melt your world Argumentative, antithetical dream girl

but then she finds Bradley and they live happily ever after so everything is FINE! it's FINE IT'S FINE!!!!!

#m answers #mutuals <3 #landslide #rumours universe

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mariellewritesalot · 11 months

Text

Dispatch

Marielle Fatima B. Tuazon

There are so many ways to kill time.

I could write this poem and refuse to sleep, adding three to each hour I stay awake. I could meet up with you in my dreams where we have every intention to speak but don't, where we are miraculously in the same place at once. I could walk as far as I could every day with music blasting in my ears, thinking, how many days will it take until I reach 6291 kilometers? If I could somehow keep your weight off me. If I could take up the same space in your head. I could live in a routine you'd hope for me. I could travel to all the islands in the Philippines, be in close proximity to the water you love; be everywhere but there. I could go on airline websites and check fares but never book anything. I could live in our perfect July. Our perfect December. I could live an entire life you'd never hear about but check in on in silence once in a while. I could live in any of those alternate universes we talked about, where we find each other in each one; isn't that beautiful? I could live in another country of my dreams, the one you told me where Mundaka is in Basque Country, the one where a room for you waits in Madrid, with a plaza for us to meet in Sevilla. I could imagine every scenario, even the bad ones, and feel fine. Maybe. I would never know. I could visit every church and knock three times for a wish. I could pray for you every day like a never-ending novena. I could look at 4 on the calendar every month and ache. I could rewrite postcards in my head. I could pick up the phone and not call. I could live pretending I don't know you, even if I would recognize you anywhere like a mirror before me. I could wake up one day and be a complete stranger, kiss men, keep them at arm's length. I could wake up one day and decide to be a nun if no one ever came close. I could elope with someone else and always wonder. I could write to the point of permanence. I could go back to the time you said, "You're the only person I talk to in the way that I talk to you." I could go back to the time my friend showed me a video of Olivia Gatwood's spoken word performance, the one with the sublime ending, "I have so much beautiful time." I could pretend not to love you. I could carry your heart, like e.e. cummings scrawled on the back of our receipt. I could move forward. I could forget you ever happened. I could get lost. I could find a way back home.

I could spare time another day to live. Try again tomorrow.

#poems and prose #mariellewritesalot #poetry #love poem #poems on tumblr #prose poem #prose poetry #daily poetry #poem of the day #june 2023 #dispatch

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bonesgazette · 8 months

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Bones Gazette: Back from my Unannounced Hiatus

Hello and welcome back to the Bones Gazette! It’s been a while—seven months to be exact (which pains me to admit, but hey—shit happens). What can I say? Life got a little crazy for me and this blog took a long retreat to the Back Burner of my mind. I apologize for the time away, but I am so glad to be back!

MJ Bones has had an incredible year, one I had intended to document as it was happening. I kicked off the year with a lovely east coast weekender with my friends BlueRaspberry. Together, we took on Providence, Rhode Island, at the Red Ink Library. Of course, any place that has a communist library/event space is cool in my book. The secret coffee bar in an off-the-beaten-path vintage bike repair shop was just the icing on the cake. Not to mention the homebrew wrestling scene that thrives in the backyard of the people we stayed with. It’s safe to say that Providence bewitched me, body and soul.

From Providence, we made a mad dash to Portland, Maine, where we killed it at Find clothing store. The owner was kind enough to gift me a vintage dress just for playing, and the space was packed with a capital “P”. With Portland favorites Myles Bullen and The Bumbling Woohas as the local support, I didn’t expect anything less. As a teenager, I had always dreamed of moving to Maine. I had never been to the east coast, and admittedly knew very little about Maine in particular—but it made for the perfect thing to project my domestic fantasies onto. I wrote countless poems about the salty sea air, the weathered fisherman at the docks, the grey mornings spent sipping black coffee on my porch, a knit shawl wrapped loosely around my shoulders. For a kid who knew nothing of the place I longed to reside in, I wasn’t that far off. Portland was just as charming as I had hoped it would be, and I have been itching to go back ever since.

The third day was spent at the Wrong Brain headquarters in Dover, New Hampshire. Atmospheric, vibrant, bursting with color—the place was electric, eclectic, and alive. Though the turn out made for a rather intimate show, I had a blast just inhabiting the space for a few hours. In addition to throwing DIY shows, Wrong Brain hosted resident artists, clothing swaps, and was big into community outreach. It was so inspiring to witness a slice of that radiant human spirit. Unfortunately, the headquarters is closing down until further notice—read about it on their instagram to see how you can support them during the transition.

Finally, we closed the tour in Rockland, Massachusetts at the Chess Company, former home to Justin Arena’s Together Press. Mass powerhouses A Day Without Love and Chris OG and the Dopameanies absolutely knocked our collective socks off. After the show, Justin gave me a tour of their schoolie conversion, which was coming along rather nicely. Together Press is now moving into a new headquarters, expanding into a community arts and education collective. As I stated with Wrong Brain—read about it on the ‘gram to learn more and show your support.

After the tour, things slowed down for me in some ways and picked up in others. I got hired as a barista and started volunteering more at a local bookstore. Playing local shows here and there, my focus shifted away from music a bit in the name of laying down roots in my new city. I spent much of the spring writing, planning, and taking it day by day.

Summer, however, was a little more happenin’ in the Bones World. I hosted a 27 Club themed show in honor of my 27th birthday, was defeated by the confusing (to me) realm of Amtrak—resulting in tragically missing my dear friend’s birthday fest in Maryland—and drove across the country to play Compost Heap in Denver, Colorado. The season wrapped up with an absolutely killer show at Cafe Nine with the likes of Eevie Echoes and the Locations, Tallbois, and Kmoy. I got to catch up with pals I hadn’t seen since the spring and make some new ones. The highlight of the evening was getting decked in the pit by The Northaven while skanking around with reckless abandon. I also dropped a few secret singles amidst the end of the summer: a demo of “Surely”, a cover of “Shady Lane” by Pavement, and my first new track in a few years, “Clementine”. It’s a wistful song about the daydreams and idyllic future plans that never get realized when you break up with someone. Check it out on spotify or bandcamp!

And that’s all for the recap of my year thus far! To keep it brief, I’m signing off—but keep your eyes peeled for what’s happening this fall.

Love and anarchy,

—xMJx

#music #diy #diymusic #diypunk #folkpunk #diyfolkpunk #grrlfolk #antifolk #ctmusicscene #eastcoastmusic #mjbones #update #folkpunkforever #queermusic #dreamfolk #bonesgazette

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thanatophobia-thoughts · 3 years

Quote

I saw a star slide down the sky, Blinding the north as it went by, Too burning and too quick to hold, Too lovely to be bought or sold, Good only to make wishes on And then forever to be gone.

Aileen Fisher

Brief and beautiful, like life.

#lee bennett hopkins #shooting stars #Aileen Fisher #Blast Off! Poems About Space #we are stardust #space poem #star poem #star poems #space poems #existentialism poem #existentialism poetry

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ameliterature · 3 years

Note

Hey bestie pls could you do a Chameron drabble where the other poets didn't know they were dating, and they find out :) Thank you! <3

"Cameron, you fink, why dontcha bother someone else with your stupid factoid." Charlie insults his roommate from across the cave.

"It's not a factoid, Charlie, all I'm saying is that if we keep-"

"I don't wanna hear it-" Charlie cuts him off again. "Anyway, Neil, go ahead, start the meeting." He tosses his eyes onto Neil, obviously concerned by the friction between the two roommates.

As they recited their opening poem, Neil tossed his own look back at Todd, shifting his eyes to Charlie and back at Todd to signal the subject of his worry. Todd, having built an amazing sense of telepathy with Neil, sensed the concern and signaled him that they'll talk about it later.

Later into the night, a bit past midnight, the poets returned to their dorm undetected.

Neil and Todd retired into their room, the one right across Charlie and Cameron. "What was up with those two, huh?"

"I dunno, I feel like Charlie and Cameron are fighting again." Todd said, sitting beside Neil on his bed.

"Maybe I should talk to Charlie tomorrow, y'know? I hate to see two friends fight, especially during meetings."

Todd shrugged nervously "Yeah, I hope they could stop being enemies for once."

"I fucking love you," Charlie says breathlessly as he closed the door behind him and Cameron. He started pressing gentle yet passionate kisses onto Cameron's cheek. His desperate hugs were enough to let Cameron know he was apologizing for something.

"Really? Seemed like you were really annoyed by me a while ago," Cameron rolled his eyes at Charlie.

"Look, I told you once, I'm not gonna say it again: When you tell the group random facts, I find you REALLY ATTRACTIVE. If you're gonna respect the fact I'm tryin' to hide my rabid attraction to you, you better stop being so cute in public." Charlie kisses Cameron's forehead.

Cameron rolls his eyes, smiling at how he even ended up with Charlie. Perhaps it was that one time he confessed to Charlie-- obviously, but perhaps it was that time he and Charlie got too close too fast during one argument that everything became warm and fuzzy.

Either way, he likes seeing Charlie like this. He was surprisingly affectionate and gentle with how he handled their relationship. He only really "overreacted" how much he hated Cameron in public, but he always made up for it behind closed doors. Charlie is especially cute when he tells Cameron about his entire day before they go to bed, and the fact that Cameron had enough space for all of Charlie's stupid stories in his brain was remarkable.

Charlie Dalton was, in his own words, whipped for Richard Cameron. He'd do anything for Cameron, if it meant making him realize he was sorry for all those years they fought or times he insulted him, or if it also meant trying to show him how much he wasn't as uptight as they both thought. Charlie tried his best to make Cameron see how much he likes him. But he just couldn't risk outing them both to their group. It wasn't fair. Cameron wasn't ready to show their relationship to anyone and Charlie was willing to wait.

One day, in another DPS meeting, the boys were huddled up by the cave again, listening to Charlie play his saxophone (he kind of pointed towards Cameron) and he would sway slowly along.

Something caught Cameron's eye, in his peripheral caught Neil and Todd's hands secretly intertwine while no one else was looking. And at that instant, Cameron didn't feel nervous or alone, or even embarrassed. If the two people he cared about (aside from Charlie) could possibly be in a relationship, then they'd understand him and Charlie. And with their influence, it wouldn't be too bad.

"Hey guys," Cameron started. Charlie lowered his saxophone as he slowly decreased his volume to listen to Cameron. "Did you know-"

Charlie blasted an incoherent jumble of notes to mask Cameron's upcoming factoid.

"That--"

Another louder jumble of notes.

"I--"

An even louder, more annoying jumble of notes. The others were starting to get pissed off.

"Damn it, Charlie, let Cameron finish!" Neil snapped. "I know he and you haven't been friendly recently but, Jesus, could you give him a break?" Todd looked at Neil and back at Charlie, shocked and embarrassed.

"T-thanks, Neil but-"

"It's okay, Cameron, go on, tell us anything, and we won't let Charlie butt in."

"Well, I was gonna say the fact that I love Charlie Dalton, but I was kinda hoping him to butt in and say it with me." Cameron joked sheepishly.

Everyone in the cave had their jaws drop. Neil and Todd, trying to process if he was joking, Meeks and Pitts watching Charlie's shocked expression, and Knox who was rapidly turning his head back and forth to get everyone else's reaction.

"I--" Charlie's eyes were locked on Cameron.

"I know I was ashamed to admit it before, but I think it was because I was ashamed that I wasn't good enough for you. I wanna be good enough for you, I wanna show our friends that I'm not a fink, or I'm not some arrogant guy against you all the time-- Charlie, I really love you."

Charlie soon stood up from his spot and made his way over to Cameron, holding his face fondly.

Todd looked up at his friend, seemingly dazed and impressed, before looking back at Neil. "A-are they coming out before us?" He whispered to Neil.

Charlie gave Cameron a simple kiss on the lips, and even if it embarrassed his red-headed (and red-cheeked) boyfriend, he didn't mind it at all. "You're more than enough to me, Cam."

"Oh my god I think they are--" Neil replied to Todd.

Despite the fact Cameron and Charlie stole their thunder, Neil and Todd welcomed their relationship, congratulating them, urging the others to join in, the rest of them unsurprisingly quite ok with it.

That same night, when Charlie and Cameron returned to their rooms, lying down on the same bed, holding hands as they try to sleep.

"I can't believe you just finked about our own relationship." Charlie said, bringing up Cameron's hand to kiss it.

"Don't worry, they're the only people I'd tell it to, for now." Cameron turned to kiss his roommate good night, giving Charlie shivers down his whole spine. "Just say the word, I'll do it, babe."

Charlie Dalton is very much whipped for Richard Cameron.

#dps #dps drabble #is this even a drabble #it's a one shot #chameron #charlie dalton #richard camacho #richard cameron #todd anderson #anderperry hc #anderperry (minor)#dead poets society

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storybookprincess · 2 years

Note

could i ask about your favorite pieces of poetry? which ones do you love and constantly think about, and why? i'm curious :3

i am so so sorry for answering this 2 months late. i was really off my game for a while in a lot of different ways, but the fact that i'm finally answering this means nature is healing :)

anyway, to answer your questions, i have many many fave poems, so i've mentioned on here before & a few new ones i'm throwing in to spice things up. so, without further ado, poems currently on loop in my brain:

i always cite it as one of my favorite poems, but i literally will not rest until everyone has read mountain dew commercial disguised as a love poem. the final lines make me go absolutely insane & you'll know why when you get there. to me, this poem is the definition of love in the purest sense

i know everyone loves the quiet world but something about the prioritization of love amid whatever restrictions and hardships you may face makes me go crazy go stupid

on this the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the titanic, we reconsider the buoyancy of the human heart is the only reason i can spell buoyancy correctly bc i've typed the title of this poem so many times to try to tell people about it XD it has such empathy & gentleness & whimsy & i'm weak for all 3 of those things in literature

there was a time when i had sonnet 29 fully committed to memory but i've only got parts now sadly. but still, that feeling of "no matter what happens, if i have you, i'll be okay" transcending time & space to be just as poignant today as when it was written is kinda enough to make you cry if you think about it for long enough

come and be my baby speaks for itself but what i'll say for now is that it's the title of a fic i'll be publishing at the end of the month bc its theme is so so gorgeous to me

small kindnesses is the sort of poem you'd want read at your funeral. idk if that makes sense, but it's the best description i've got

okay i'm gonna stop myself here or i'll be here all night XD thank you for this ask!!!! it was a blast to answer!!!!!

#Anonymous #asked and answered #poetry rec corner

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brooklynmuseum · 3 years

Photo

Closing out National Poetry Month, our Spring Interns paired some of their favorite poems with works from our collection. We hope you enjoy!

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas

Image: Suzuki Harunobu (Japanese, 1724-1770). Page From Haru no Nishiki, 1771. Color woodblock print on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Peter P. Pessutti, 83.190.1

from Citizen: “Some years there exists a wanting to escape...” [Excerpt] By Claudia Rankine

I they he she we you turn only to discover the encounter

to be alien to this place.

Wait.

The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.

The opening, between you and you, occupied, zoned for an encounter,

given the histories of you and you—

And always, who is this you?

The start of you, each day, a presence already—

Hey you—

— Halle Smith, Digital Collections Intern Catherine Green (American, born 1952). [Untitled] (West Indian Day Parade), 1991. Chromogenic photograph, sheet. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 1991.58.2. © artist or artist's estate

Ode to Enchanted Light by Pablo Neruda

Under the trees light has dropped from the top of the sky, light like a green latticework of branches, shining on every leaf, drifting down like clean white sand.

A cicada sends its sawing song high into the empty air.

The world is a glass overflowing with water.

Consuelo Kanaga’s black and white photograph captures a dazzling, yet fleeting moment from everyday life. Three textured glasses cast shadows whose patterns are almost kaleidoscopic in effect. We can imagine Kanaga passing by her kitchen table, as she is brought to a halt to take a closer look at, and ultimately to photograph, the simple beauty generated by the play of light and everyday objects. The close-up scale of this image emulates the singularizing framing techniques deployed by Surrealist photographers, who also took parts of everyday life and blew them up in the photographic frame, thereby encouraging their viewers to look at life around us from a different angle. It is a way of saying: Here, take a closer look. Viewing the world with wonder, along with the joy that this act brings, are encapsulated in Pablo Neruda’s poem Ode to Enchanted Light. The speaker observes the way light passes through trees and creates enchanting patterns. He not only observes, but feels the beauty in the simple details of life, from the way light falls from the sky, to the sheen of leaves, to the buzzing of cicadas. Approaching life through such a hopeful lens evokes a glass-half-full perspective. In fact, the speaker is so hopeful that he believes “The world is/a glass overflowing/with water.” I think Kanaga would have felt the same way.

— Kirk Testa, Curatorial Intern, Photography Consuelo Kanaga (American, 1894-1978). [Untitled] (Glasses and Reflections). Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Wallace B. Putnam from the Estate of Consuelo Kanaga, 82.65.25

Easter Wings By George Herbert

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poore:

With thee

O let me rise

As larks, harmoniously,

And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne

And still with sicknesses and shame.

Thou didst so punish sinne,

That I became

Most thinne.

With thee

Let me combine,

And feel thy victorie:

For, if I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

Easter Wings by George Herbet and Martin Bach’s flower vase from the Brooklyn Museum’s Decorative Arts collection reveal the interrelationship between form and function. In Easter Wings, Herbert strategically varies the line length to create an image that enhances the meaning of the poem; when you turn the poem on its side, it resembles the wings of a bird, of which are symbolic of the atonement of Jesus Christ. In doing so, the author is not only telling us his message, but he is showing it visually as well. Similarly, the vase takes the visual form of its function. Its floral design amplifies the meaning of the object, as the vase is meant to hold flowers. In both instances, we see how aesthetic properties of a work echo the meaning and function of the work itself.

— Amy Zavecz Martin Bach (American, 1862-1921). Vase, ca. 1905. Opalescent glass. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mrs. Alfred Zoebisch, 59.143.16. Creative Commons-BY

I am the Earth (Watashi wa chikyu) [Excerpt] by Kiyoko Nagase, Translated by Takako Lento

I am warm, moist soil I am a single supple stalk I draw my life all the way up into corollas of wild berries on the roadside

I am amazed at a breast of water welling to flow into the inlet of a muddy rice paddy I am amazed at myself being hot steam blowing fire and sulfur up from the bottom of the great ocean, deep indigo. I am amazed at the crimson blood flow covering the earth’s surface in human shape; I am amazed that it swells as the tides ebb and flow, and gushes out monthly under distant invisible gravity … I am the earth. I live there, and I am the very same earth.

In the four billionth year I have come to know the eternal cold moon, my other self, my hetero being, then, for the first time, I am amazed that I am warm mud.

The vivid imagery conjured up by Kiyoko Nagase’s poem is beautifully visualized by Emmi Whitehorse’s painting. The emphasis on deep Earth tones and abstract corporeality in both the poem and the painting really creates an intense metaphysical link between the environment and the self.

— Amanda Raquel Dorval, Archives Intern Emmi Whitehorse (Navajo, born 1957). Fire Weed, 1998. Chalk, graphite, pastel and oil on paper mounted on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Hinrich Peiper and Dorothee Peiper-Riegraf in honor of Emmi Whitehorse, 2006.49. © artist or artist's estate

Seventh Circle of Earth by Ocean Vuong

On April 27, 2011, a gay couple, Michael Humphrey and Clayton Capshaw, was murdered by immolation in their home in Dallas, Texas.

Dallas Voice

________________________________________________________

As if my finger, / tracing your collarbone / behind closed doors, / was enough / to erase myself. To forget / we built this house knowing / it won’t last. How / does anyone stop / regret / without cutting / off his hands? / Another torch

streams through / the kitchen window, / another errant dove. / It’s funny. I always knew / I’d be warmest beside / my man. / But don’t laugh. Understand me / when I say I burn best / when crowned / with your scent: that earth-sweat / & Old Spice I seek out each night / the days

refuse me. / Our faces blackening / in the photographs along the wall. / Don’t laugh. Just tell me the story / again, / of the sparrows who flew from falling Rome, / their blazed wings. / How ruin nested inside each thimbled throat / & made it sing

until the notes threaded to this / smoke rising / from your nostrils. Speak— / until your voice is nothing / but the crackle / of charred

bones. But don’t laugh / when these walls collapse / & only sparks / not sparrows / fly out. / When they come / to sift through these cinders—& pluck my tongue, / this fisted rose, / charcoaled & choked / from your gone

mouth. / Each black petal / blasted / with what’s left / of our laughter. / Laughter ashed / to air / to honey to baby / darling, / look. Look how happy we are / to be no one / & still

American.

Ocean Vuong’s “Seventh Circle of Earth” has persisted as one of the great, affective moments of poetry in my life since I first heard Pádraig Ó Toama’s gorgeous reading and discussion of it on his podcast, Poetry Unbound. I decided to pair Vuong’s poem with Mary Coble’s Untitled 2 (from Note To Self) because both works are urgently immersive into the violence and experience of LGBTQ people in the U.S., and for how each work uses text and physicality to address presence, pain, and erasure. Vuong’s poem is actually footnoted to a quote from a news article about a gay couple murdered in Texas. The page is thus blank, absent of text. The reader has to sink below the main stage, the accepted space of word and story, to find the voices of this couple and the depth of their story’s tenderness, eroticism, and utter devastation. Coble’s piece foils the structure and effect of Seventh Circle of Earth by taking what was subverted by Vuong—text and the narrative of violence—wholly to the surface. Her photograph captures her own legs tattooed without ink with the names of LGBTQ individuals victimized by hate crimes. I cannot help but think of Franz Kafka’s short story “In the Penal Colony,” in which prisoners’ “sentences'' are inscribed by the needle of a “punishment apparatus” directly onto their bodies. I was struck by how the curator’s note for this photograph describes Coble’s artistic endeavor here as “harrowing.” The needle in Kafka’s short story is indeed called “The Harrow”. The noun harrow is an agricultural tool that combs plowed soil to break up clumps of earth and uproot weeds and clear imperfections. The verb to harrow means to plague, and in the story’s original German the verb for “harrow”, eggen, is also translated as “to torment”. Kafka and Coble conflate these definitions of “the harrow” in their respective works: they use a needled device, like the true noun definition, as an instrument of torment because of someone else’s idea of punishment and justice. Here, violence is brought to the surface, intimate in as much as we are brought right up to the artist’s skin and into the presence of her and her community’s pain. Together, one can see how each creator physicalizes their respective artistic space to tell the stories of LGBTQ people, of what is tender and harrowing, below the surface and written into the skin.

— Talia Abrahams, Provenance Intern, IHCPP Mary Coble (American, born 1978). Untitled 2 (from Note to Self), 2005. Inkjet print. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 2008.10. © artist or artist's estate

To my daughter Kakuya by Assata Shakur

I have shabby dreams for you of some vague freedom I have never known. Baby I don't want you hungry or thirsty or out in the cold. and I don't want the frost to kill your fruit before it ripens. I can see a sunny place Life exploding green. I can see your bright, bronze skin at ease with all the flowers and the centipedes. I can hear laughter, not grown from ridicule And words not prompted by ego or greed or jealousy. I see a world where hatred has been replaced by love. and ME replaced by WE And I can see a world replaced where you, building and exploring, strong and fulfilled, will understand. And go beyond my little shabby dreams.

This poem is featured in Assata Shakur’s memoir, Assata: An Autobiography. It details her hope for a better world that her daughter can grow up in. This poem is positioned in the book when Shakur is facing increasing prosecution as a result of her activism and affiliations with the Black Panther Party and Black Liberation army. Being written more than 30 years after this picture was taken, the poem summons me to think about the trauma that many Black women face and how much of that trauma gets passed down to their children. The black and white photo of a mother and daughter provides a nice visual to the poem. “The image of a Black mother and child sitting on their luggage reflects the little-discussed history of segregated transportation in the northern United States. Through the 1940s, Penn Station officials assigned Black travelers seats in Jim Crow cars on southbound trains” (Brooklyn Museum). The photograph of train passengers waiting outside of Manhattan’s Pennsylvania Station especially echoes the verse “I don’t want you hungry or thirsty or out in the cold.” The overall optimistic tone of Shakur’s poem alters our relationship to the image as we imagine the mother pictured above hoping for the exact same things

— Zaria W, Teen Programs intern Ruth Orkin (American, 1921-1985). Mother and Daughter at Penn Station, NYC, 1948. Gelatin silver photograph, sheet: 13 15/16 × 11 in. (35.4 × 27.9 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mary Engel, 2011.22.3. © artist or artist's estate

Crunch. By Kailyn Gibson

I retch as a mass of sinew lies between my lips. The sensation is unbearable. Fortunately, the jar of flies has gone missing again.

Slowly, surely, and yet never sure at all, the quiet of buzzing rings through the in-between.

It is a symphony wrought from blood and bone.

Saliva drips from bleeding, hungry gums, And the crunch of glass echoes the grinding of molars.

If I proffered a sanguine smile, would masticated shards look like teeth? Would they gleam just as prettily?

The flies ring, and the rot calls.

— Kailyn Gibson Edgar Degas (French, 1834-1917). Portrait of a Man (Portrait d'homme), ca. 1866. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Collection Fund, 21.112

Excerpt from Autobiography of Red A novel in verse by Anne Carson

7. If Helen’s reasons arose out of some remark Stesichoros made either it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) or it was not.

8. If it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) either this remark was a lie or it was not.

9. If it was not a lie either we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way we are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros or we are not.

10. If we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros either we will go along without incident or we will meet Stesichoros on our way back.

11. If we meet Stesichoros on our way back either we will keep quiet or we will look him in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen.

12. If we look Stesichoros in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen either he will tell the truth or he will lie.

13. If Stesichoros lies either we will know at once that he is lying or we will be fooled because now that we are in reverse the whole landscape looks inside out.

This excerpt comes from Appendix C of Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red, a novel in verse. A translator and classicist herself, Carson mixes fact with fiction in her unconventional retelling of the myth of Geryon and Hercules, beginning with a roundabout introduction to the poet Stesichoros. Autobiography presents a captivating example of recent Queer projects that take up Classical material as their basis. A fascination with the Classical past has pervaded our modern conception of sexual identity politics, down to the very etymology of the word “lesbian.” In this fascination, I see the same desire to capture Classical imagery as cultural heritage which has also pervaded American museums, albeit with significantly different aims. The fresco pictured above comes to mind, which passed through many collectors and was even purchased by the museum before anyone pegged it as a modern piece—not an original Roman fresco. John D. Cooney, a 20th century curator of our Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art collection, wrote that “the unclad and somewhat winsome charms of the lady [probably] diverted objective glances.” Both in the case of the fresco and Carson’s novel, the “unclad and somewhat winsome charms” of the Classical past shape and reshape our understanding of history.

— Kira Houston, Curatorial Intern, Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art Modern, in the style of the Roman Period. Part of a Fresco, early 19th century C.E. Clay, paint. Brooklyn Museum, Ella C. Woodward Memorial Fund, 11.30.

Late Fragment by Raymond Carver From A New Path to the Waterfall, Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989.

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.

— Shori Diedrick Brackens (American, born 1989). when no softness came, 2019. Cotton and acrylic yarn. Brooklyn Museum, Purchased with funds given by The LIFEWTR Fund at Frieze New York 2019, 2019.12. © artist or artist's estate

Jaguar By Francisco X. Alarcón

some say dicen que ahora I'm now almost estoy casi extinto extinct in this park por este parque but the people pero la gente who say this que dice esto don't know no sabe that by smelling que al oler the orchids las orquídeas in the trees en los árboles they're sensing están percibiendo the fragrance la fragancia of my chops de mis fauces that by hearing que al oír the rumblingc el retumbo of the waterfalls de los saltos

they're listening están escuchando to my ancestors' el gran rugido great roar de mis ancestros

that by observing que al observar the constellations las constelanciones of the night sky del firmamento

they're gazing están mirando at the star spots las motas de estrellas on my fur marcadas en mi piel that I am and que yo soy always will be y siempre seré the wild el indomable

untamed espíritu silvestre living spirit vivo de esta of this jungle jungla

While the author of the poem speaks about animals, their words can also speak on behalf of the erasure of indigenous peoples in South America. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions and culture are very important to life in South America. Despite their marginalization, Indigenous peoples throughout the Andes used coca leaves to help with the altitude. The use and cultivation of coca are criminalized throughout most of South America despite it being essential to indigenous cultures. This vessel was used to contain lime which would activate the coca leaves. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions are also faced with endangerment despite being woven into the fabric that is Latin America. Through the opposite man and woman figures, the vessel shows the duality that is important to the Quimbaya people which is still relevant to Colombians today.

Aunque el autor del poema habla sobre los animales, sus palabras también comunican el sentimiento común de la supresión de los indígenas en Suramérica. Con la mención del jaguar, se puede entender en el poema que la cultura y las tradiciones de las personas que son indígenas son sumamente importantes para la vida en Sudamérica. A pesar de su marginación, los indígenas en Los Andes utilizan la hoja de coca para ayudar en la altura de las montañas. El uso y el cultivo de la hoja de coca fue criminalizado (penalizado) a través de Sudamérica, aunque su uso para los indígenas era vital y esencial para su cultura. Este recipiente que se utiliza contiene limón lo que activa la hoja de la coca. Similarmente al jaguar, las tradiciones de los indígenas siempre estaban en peligro aunque estuvieran entrelazadas en las telas de lo que sería Latinoamérica. A través del hombre opuesto y las figuras de mujeres, el recipiente muestra la dualidad de lo que es importante para las personas que son Quimbaya, algo que todavía hoy es relevante para los Colombianos.

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas Quimbaya. Poporo (Lime Container), 1-600 C.E. Tumbaga. Brooklyn Museum, Alfred W. Jenkins Fund, 35.507. Creative Commons-BY

#national poetry month #poetry #art #poems #art history #brooklyn museum #bkminterns

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cristalconnors · 3 years

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TOP 20 SONGS OF 2020

20. “BELOW THE CLAVICLE”- EARTHEATER

“The meaning hasn’t come up yet. It’s still under the surface below the clavicle.”

It isn’t just Alexandra Drewchin’s ear splitting soprano when she hits that impossibly high B, practically shrieking out the “cle” syllable of clavicle, though that’s undoubtedly when I first knew that Eartheater’s avant folk was for me- it’s also the cinematic, lush strings, both bowed and plucked (is that acoustic guitar or harp? I genuinely can’t tell), deepening and complicating the sonic texture of Drewchin’s study of parsing through emotions you aren’t ready to make sense of yet.

19. “PUSSY TALK”- CITY GIRLS, FT. DOJA CAT

“This pussy so ghetto, this pussy speak ebonics”

“WAP”’s funnier, classless Irish twin, though it’s important to note “Pussy Talk” came first. Yung Miami and JT enlist Doja Cat to expound on everything their pussies deserve and will absolutely settle for nothing less than. And why should they when they’re spitting out verses this inspiredly hilarious with such confidence and flow?

18. “LICK IN HEAVEN”- JESSY LANZA

“Once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning...”

Jessy Lanza is talking about losing your cool, letting your emotions get the best of you and lashing out instead of letting cooler heads prevail, but when that earworm of a chorus hits- “once I’m spinning, I can’t stop spinning” - I can’t stop spinning. I’m that woman on the single art, a wine mom lost in the delirium of the dance floor and in Lanza’s hypnotic, fragmented rhythms.

17. “GASLIGHTER”- THE CHICKS

“Boy, you know exactly what you did on my boat!”

“Gaslighter” finds Natalie Ames and her Chicks at their most simultaneously ruthless and ebullient, ripping Ames’s ex-husband Adrian Pasdar a new asshole and ratcheting up the righteous anger of “Goodbye Earl” tenfold, channeling it into a glorious wall of sound in what might be their most rousing, emotionally resonant chorus in their storied career.

16. “HANNAH SUN”- LOMELDA

“Hannah do no harm...”

While “Hannah Sun” begins as an exquisitely observed rumination on grappling with long-distance, pining for someone who’s a continent away, it gradually becomes clear that Hannah Read blames herself for putting the distance between her and the subject of her longing, and that the distance isn’t strictly literal. Skittering synths (or is that distorted flute?) complicate and enrich the texture of the song, allowing it to build organically and stunningly towards a heartbreaking plea to herself- “Hannah, do no harm.”

15. “FIRE”- WAXAHATCHEE

“And when I turn back around will you drain me back out? Will you let me believe that I broke through?”

When I’d drive back and forth between Dallas and Austin over and over again when I was in college, I’d often get off I-35 past Waco and take the back roads through towns I’d never heard of, the sun setting spectacularly behind the titular hills of Hill Country that were beginning to roll out in earnest. I think about that a lot when listening to “Fire,” a song dripping in rural Americana that was, unsurprisingly, inspired by a road trip. We’ve probably all been Katie Crutchfield as she crossed the bridge into West Memphis- alone in the car, awed by the simple beauty of the American countryside, making speeches to ourselves about our past mistakes and figuring out a way forward.

14. “3AM”- HAIM

“On the screen and in my jeans, just make me feel good.”

On an album full of genre departures and decidedly darker themes than we’ve typically heard from Haim in their near decade of syncopated bubblegum pop rock, “3AM” stands out not only as their most effective stab at pastiche, slipping into the trappings of contemporary R&B with shocking ease and gusto, but also as their most unabashedly fun track in their entire oeuvre. “I think you can hear the amount of joy and laughs we had making this song” Alana Haim tells Apple Music, and you absolutely can.

13. “QADIR”- NICK HAKIM

“We’re sinking down a hole without thinking about our loved ones who might be shrinking...”

I often wonder if I’m putting enough effort into maintaining my relationships with friends I don’t see regularly, who live several time zones away, living their own lives while I live mine. When the thought of sustaining simple correspondence becomes overwhelming, it’s easy for months to go by before you realize you haven’t spoken to one of your closest friends. “QADIR” plays less like a eulogy for a friend gone too soon (though of course it is that) than a plea to the listener to put in the work. It’s worth it. You never know when it’ll be too late.

12. “LEVITATING”- DUA LIPA

“Glitter in the sky, glitter in our eyes shining just the way we are.”

Just a few bars of that delightfully bouncy, extra-terrestrial beat is enough to launch me into space. It’s so refreshing to hear a song that remembers that pop is supposed to be joyful and is best when it’s a bit silly. When discussing this track with Apple Music, Dua Lipa cites Austin Powers as inspiration, elaborating that “if I do a video for this, Mike Meyers has to be in it.” Can’t you just see them together, performing a farcical pas de deux of seduction like the spiritual successor to “Beautiful Stranger?”

11. “RIQUIQUI”- ARCA

“Love in the face of fear! Fear in the face of God!”

Arca’s made a career of harnessing chaos and somehow making sense of it. On an album that finds her embracing more traditional, accessible song structures, “Riquiqui” is a reminder that even when working within an AB structure, she’s still breaking rules left and right and having a blast doing it. She’s also never sounded so ferociously empowered in either her femininity or in her Venezuelan identity, rattling off local colloquialisms with affection and verve without a second thought as to who’s going to understand it.

10. “FANTASY”- AGAINST ALL LOGIC

“I think about you all the time...”

Or, the musical embodiment of this gif:

When Nicolas Jaar’s tormented synths and crunching beats give way to Beyoncé’s unmistakable alto, it is indeed quite the shock. But should it be? Even if 2017-2019 finds him ditching the dancefloor in favor of more severe, unforgiving soundscapes, his already varied career has shown us nothing’s off limits to him. So why not reinvent Beyoncé’s iconic “Baby Boy” into an industrial, vaguely sinister certified bop that arguably surpasses the original?

9. “PEOPLE, I’VE BEEN SAD”- CHRISTINE AND THE QUEENS

“If you disappear, then I’m disappearing, too.”

“People, I’ve been sad” plays out with the vulnerability and intimacy of a tumblr text post you put out in the middle of the night, only to hastily delete later when it gets no notes. It forgoes flowery language in favor of just getting to the point. “I’ve been sad.” Héloïse Adelaïde Letissier blows up this deceptively simple sentiment with richly layered textures and a big screen gloss not to offer any remedies but instead to offer solidarity. We’re all in this hell together.

8. “DESCRIBE”- PERFUME GENIUS

“Can you just find him for me?”

Mike Hadreas has never sounded so hopeless. Utilizing harsh, rattling guitar that would make Kevin Shields swoon, he conveys the experience of being so estranged from happiness and joy that you need to rely on others to describe the sensation to you. But how, when exploring darker textures than he ever has before, does he make despondency sound so divine?

7. “4 AMERICAN DOLLARS”- U.S. GIRLS

“No matter how much you get to have, you will still die and that’s the only thing.”

Meg Remy picks up where she left off on “4 American Dollars,” reviving the subversive pastiche she mastered on In a Poem Unlimited, this time harnessing the power of funk to dismantle the fallacies we’re taught about the virtues of capitalism. Heavy stuff, but Remy makes it less didactic than joyous, ensuring the listener will be singing “I don’t believe in pennies and nickels and dimes and dollars and pesos and pounds and rupees and yen and rubles” until they start to wonder if maybe they shouldn’t, either.

6. “STUPID LOVE”- LADY GAGA

“I freak out, I freak out, I freak out, I freak out!”

Due to a healthy spirit of contrarianism mixed with a touch of internalized homophobia and genuine bafflement at her universal appeal and praise, I was a proud Lady Gaga hater for as long as she’d been a cultural entity. I just didn’t get her at all and loved that about myself. Annoying, I know. 2020 was the year I was finally ready to let that all go. Just before the world fell apart in March, I was out at Flaming Saddles (RIP) with friends the night this song came out and by the sixteenth time it played, I understood why it was inducing such hysteria. This was a cultural shift. After a frustrating near-decade of Gaga subverting expectations so thoroughly that she was actively working against her strengths and sabotaging her cultural ubiquity in the process, coupled with the most frightening era of political upheaval in our lifetimes, she was finally ready to save us and be Lady Gaga again. Booming synth, drag sensibilities, absurd thematic conceits- all was right in the world. For the first time in a long time, people had something to be hopeful about, and as I danced that night, I felt that hope, too.

5. “SHELLFISH MADEMOISELLE”- RÓISÍN MURPHY

“How dare you sentence me to a lifetime without dancing?”

As soon as that bass starts (the funkiest bassline in the history of music?) it’s like Róisín Murphy’s snake charming oboe, coaxing even the most stalwart curmudgeon onto the dancefloor and keeping them there, dancing frantically and involuntarily like the citizens of Strasbourg in 1518, trying their best to keep up with Murphy who isn’t even breaking a sweat, commanding the masses with a sultry remove, beckoning you closer, pulling you inexorably deeper into the mass of gyrating bodies and whispering in your ear “come and have a dance with yer mum.”

4. “PARTY 4 U”- CHARLI XCX

“I only threw this party for you...”

As PC Music / Bubblegum Bass / whatever you want to call it enters its second decade, Charli XCX proves not only that there’s still new textures to explore within it, but also that no one can exploit its artifice to get down to emotional truths like she can. How can she make something this slick sound so vulnerable? “I only threw this party for you” she croons over and over again over glorious syncopated synths that build exquisitely, reaching their climax only to immediately fall away, until it’s just her and her trusty autotune, pleading with the subject of the song to just come to the damn party. But they won’t, of course. They never do, do they?

3. “WAP”- CARDI B, FT. MEGAN THEE STALLION

“I want you to touch that lil’ dangly thing that swing in the back of my throat!”

Sometimes you just immediately know you’re living through a significant cultural moment. No, not COVID. I’m talking about the experience of hearing Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s instant classic “WAP” for the first time, a titanic meeting of the minds that finds both of them at the apex of their cultural influence and at their most undeniable. Can the argument be made that these two aren’t the two best rappers in the game right now? How could you hear this inspiredly filthy sex positive juggernaut, where Cardi and Megan are trading the sickest verses of their careers, and not think these two deserve the world?

2. “KEROSENE!”- YVES TUMOR

“I can be your baby in real life, sugar. I can live in your dreams.”

If the 2010′s were all about the pop-ification of all music, trading in live instrumentation in favor of polished synths, 2020 forcefully announced the return of the electric guitar when Yves Tumor and Diana Gordon’s back and forth lustfully submissive declarations of desire suddenly gave way to that nasty guitar rip lifted from Uriah Heep’s “Weep in Silence” to announce yet another cultural shift in a year chock full of them- rock and roll was, indeed, here to stay.

1. “I WANT YOU TO LOVE ME”- FIONA APPLE

“I move with the trees in the breeze, I know that time is elastic.”

We live and we learn. Years spent soul searching and on self-discovery shape us into better, smarter people, progressively knowing and understanding ourselves and the world around us more and more clearly, but Fiona Apple knows that none of that can quell the ferocious desire to be loved by someone. By anyone. By you, whoever that is. We can know that time is elastic and that when we’re gone all our particles will disband and disperse and then we’ll be back in the pulse, and we can know that none of this stuff actually matters, but still- we want, we want, we want.

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