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sinceileftyoublog · 1 month

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Waxahatchee Album Review: Tigers Blood

(ANTI-); Album art credit: Molly Matalon

BY JORDAN MAINZER

On Tigers Blood, Waxahatchee's long-awaited follow-up to 2020's career-best Saint Cloud, Katie Crutchfield trusts her gut and doubles down on the styles of music she grew up listening to. Written while on tour in 2022, during which Waxahatchee opened for many of her musical heroes like Lucinda Williams, Sheryl Crow, and Jason Isbell, Tigers Blood is an album at ease with general unease. Saint Cloud was the first album Crutchfield wrote newly sober and in love with her current partner Kevin Morby, and it glowed. Tigers Blood, then, sees her fully entering a new phase, channeling life's trials and tribulations into poetry, finding new ways to appreciate old things.

Perhaps it's hindsight, but "Right Back to It", the lead single from Tigers Blood, exemplifies what the album does best. Crutchfield considers it the first love song she's ever written, and it's one of her strongest, both in terms of vocal delivery and lyricism. She's able to subvert traditional rhyme schemes by unexpectedly bending syllables, packing in just as many words as emotional punches when setting the scene. "Photograph of us / in a spotlight / on a hot night / I was drifting in and out / Reticent on the off chant / I'm blunter than a bullseye / Begging for peace of mind," she sings over Phil Cook's circular banjo and Spencer Tweedy's gentle drums. The chorus, then, is simply classic, a paean to rediscovering intimacy in a relationship. "I've been yours for so long / We come right back to it," Crutchfield sings in harmony with guitarist MJ Lenderman, her coo in perfect contrast with his nasal twang. "But you just settle in / Like a song with no end," they continue. That many of the songs on Tigers Blood employ a certain breeze, free of time and place, is a feature, not a bug.

More than ever, Waxahatchee's songs are easy to sing along to; despite complex turns of phrase, Crutchfield keeps her words metaphorical enough to stand out, abstract enough to be relatable, direct enough to be iconic. The qualities, in conjunction with her and her backing band's performance, lead to some breathtaking moments. "You drive like you're wanted in four states / In a busted truck in Opelika," she sings over Tweedy's drum roll on the rolling "3 Sisters", right before the song's forbearing beat drops. On "Bored", she belts the song's chorus--"I can get along / My spine’s a rotted two by four / Barely hanging on / My benevolence just hits the floor / I get bored"--alongside Lenderman's sharp riffs, Tweedy's pummeling drums, and Nick Bockrath's wincing pedal steel. In context of the song's inspiration--a friendship that ended badly--Crutchfield's admissions hit harder. "Lone Star Lake", meanwhile, has no chorus: It just choogles along between verses as Crutchfield reflects on her faults with wry humor: "Shirk every rule of thumb / I got more where that came from."

Crutchfield's voice, too, has never been more expressive. For every song like "Right Back To It" or "Crimes of the Heart", where her flow is deft enough to rival your favorite rapper's, there's a song like "Crowbar", where she stretches out "I" into so many syllables you can feel the shaking vulnerability. "365", a song about codependency and addiction, places her falsetto high in the mix, emphasizing her susceptibility: "I catch your poison arrow / I catch your same disease / Bow like a weeping willow / Buckling at the knees." Fittingly, Tigers Blood ends with everybody in the recording studio--even assistant engineer Natalia Chernitsky--singing the chorus, suggestive of the universality of Crutchfield's prose. Ultimately, she knows that there's strength in numbers. When she tries to take shortcuts alone, the chickens come home to roost. "Throw a brick through the window, leave your mess at my door," she sings on "Tigers Blood", "Lord knows sooner or later it'd wash up to shore." Tigers Blood lays it all bare.

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#album review #waxahatchee #spencer tweedy #tigers blood #anti-#anti- records #molly matalon #saint cloud #katie crutchfield #lucinda williams #sheryl crow #jason isbell #kevin morby #phil cook #mj lenderman #nick bockrath #natalia chernitsky

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mywifeleftme · 5 months

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242: Lonnie Holley // Oh Me Oh My

Oh Me Oh My Lonnie Holley 2023, Jagjaguwar (Bandcamp)

I’ll open with the caveat that I’m only passingly familiar with Lonnie Holley’s biography and past sculptural and musical work (though friend of the blog Jack C. says Holley’s debut LP Just Before Music has moved him to tears), so I’m missing some context that might help make what is obviously a deeply-felt project stick with me more than it has to date. But I can’t escape the sensation that Oh Me Oh My will not age well.

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The septuagenarian Holley alternates between an untrained but powerful gospel wail and talk-singing, which gives the music an outsider-tinged extemporaneous quality. His lyrics deal with heavy subject matter, from his destitute and abusive upbringing in Jim Crow-era Alabama to the loss of friends and family with age. Despite this, he evinces an intense commitment to living, and at its best Oh Me Oh My glimmers with the same strange joy I find in the work of a Howard Finster or an Alfred Wallis. Producer and principal instrumentalist Jackknife Lee has made his bones making the least interesting records by legacy bands (R.E.M., U2) and bands that sound like the least interesting records by those legacy bands (Snow Patrol, Editors). In what is clearly a passion project, here he turns in some perfectly cromulent beats in that chamber jazz/trip hop vein that has become the go-to mode for musical elder statesmen who want to try something a bit daring.

So, what’s the issue? I think where Oh Me Oh My loses me is that these productions ultimately feel a little bit too “tasteful” for the type of guttural sorrow and rawboned uplift Holley traffics in. Whatever your opinions of gospel, soul, or folk music, they have built-in melodic conventions and decades of emotional resonance that could provide Holley’s vocals with more than these dense but somehow anodyne exercises do. I can’t help but think Jamie xx’s album-length Gil Scott-Heron remix We’re New Here was a conceptual touchstone, but xx had the wit to see how the verve and swagger of Scott-Heron’s poetry could swing with his own colourful but introverted club music. Few of the big-name guests add much either: Moor Mother’s rote spoken word poetry on “Earth Will Be There” gave me acid flashbacks of sitting through collegiate slams (where grandma’s hands come in bouquets), and Justin Vernon’s voice might as well be Chris Martin’s to me at this point.

I’m not upset to have given Holley (or his very chill label Jagjaguwar) money by buying a copy of the record, but it remains to be seen if this one grows on me at all. I think once the initial enthusiasm for this one has dissipated, it will be seen as a respectable but dated entry in his woolly artistic oeuvre.

242/365

#lonnie holley #'20s music #2020s music #experimental music #jackknife lee #jagjaguwar #justin vernon #michael stipe #outsider art #outsider music #music review #vinyl record

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crowtrinkets · 2 years

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I posted 2,908 times in 2021

770 posts created (26%)

2138 posts reblogged (74%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 2.8 posts.

I added 2,019 tags in 2021

#fictif last legacy - 421 posts

#fictif - 396 posts

#the arcana - 365 posts

#last legacy - 156 posts

#crow asks - 151 posts

#fictif felix - 137 posts

#fictif sage - 120 posts

#fictif anisa - 111 posts

#the arcana game - 99 posts

#crow rambles - 63 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#fun fact my art history professor said when she went to the pantheon when she was in college there was a mcdonald’s across the street

My Top Posts in 2021

My Partner Reacts to Arcana Characters with a Little Context

A few of you asked and you shall receive 😌

I’ve talked about Arcana quite a bit with my partner so they know lil bits here and there

We’ll start with the main 6

See the full post

255 notes • Posted 2021-04-11 03:36:40 GMT

When your whole family is emo but you

281 notes • Posted 2021-04-23 17:51:06 GMT

See the full post

295 notes • Posted 2021-02-15 02:54:29 GMT

Analysis of Vesuvia :) Pt 1

No one asked for this yet here I am

Part 2, Part 3A, Part 3B,

This all started cause of @helpiminhell ‘s post

I started thinking about this last year while playing Julian’s route. At the very beginning it has a scene where the Apprentice finds Julian and says he’s “standing at the aqueduct” which confused me because Aqueducts traditionally look like this

This is a Roman aqueduct, more specifically the Pont du Gard, in France. Now I’m not saying that the only the Romans had aqueducts, there are ones that exist in other parts of the world, I am just more familiar with this one. And it resembles the Vesuvian aqueducts.

Aqueducts are built at a slight angle so that mountain water can be transported to cities to provide fresh water. So they’re VERY tall and VERY high up.

Ok first of all lets start by looking at Vesuvia itself

See the full post

398 notes • Posted 2021-03-19 20:41:51 GMT

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412 notes • Posted 2021-03-01 02:36:47 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#Bro Im so glad my art history post made it on here that series took days off my lifespan lmaaoo #been back on tumblr for nearly a year now #love yall <3

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mooswords · 3 years

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OKAY MOO, I’M CURRENTLY READING UR FIC “Home” AND I’M— THE END OF THE FIRST PART WAS SO BEAUTIFUL. “he always comes home” -> IT’S SUCH A BEAUTIFUL CONTRAST TO THE BEGINNING!!! he gets lost in his OWN fields, and that’s saying something. however, despite that, the reader still being reassured (or as much as she can reassure herself) that he always comes home = he has the red string to BRING HIMSELF BACK TO THE READER = ALWAYS COMING HOME. I’M!!!! and i love the silly banter that opened the story. aLso HIS HESISTATION OVER TELLING THE READER THE JOB HE WAS ASSIGNED... BECAUSE HE WAS WORRIED ABT THE READER.... AKDKSKKSKS. the fact he didn’t accept the offer immediately DESPITE being so in love with the sea and waited for reader’s permission is such a SMALL thing, but when you describe his love for the sea as superior, that action shows he loves the reader even more and i just- SLKDKAKDKSK. i might be over-reading and i apologise if i do bUT DO COMMENT ON IT THANK U!! 🤩💜 - ava

u sent me these eons ago and i promise i wasnt ignoring you ive just been working like 10 hour days and i am Exhausted 😭😭 but all of these messages legitamately give me life, i am so incredibly grateful! <3 im so so glad you enjoyed this fic!! and you are NOT OVERREADING I LOVE TO SEE YOUR INSIGHTS!!!! it makes me fall back in love with the fic all over again! <3

i am SO glad that him always coming home comes through! because it gets kinda dire in the middle of the fic so i wanted there to be that hope at the back of your mind that knew he always came home. but i wanted you to be stressed about it still so :) and silly banter is my favourite part of writing this guy, i had so much fun with it alskdf.

and ok i love u, you got everything i was trying to do there <33 like i was struggling to find the balance between her reluctance and supportiveness. thats a fun (and tricky) thing about established relationship fics i find... theres that depth of understanding that can make the interactions more interesting, but so much of it is unspoken. it was a good challenge! so its so GOOD to hear that it vibes right hehe

THE WAY KUROO PLAYS WITH THE STRING!!! THAT WAS SUCH A FOND MOMENT OMG AKDKSKDK. and it’s so interesting that it appeared before kuroo even left 👀👀👀

she already missed him 🥺🥺 i originally had him tug on her hair and then i went!!! wait!!!! we can do better than that!!!!!!!!

READER IS LOST WITHOUT KUROOO!!!! AKDKSKSK and i also love the little addition where despite it being a POUT, she holds it close to her heart. with the context of their banters + that little scene, it just shows me how much each appreciate every ounce of the other party which makes me SO SO SO SOFT AKDJSKDKSK. and then hitting me with the scene where reader is eating a meal alone??? a punch in the gut. when she realised she’s alone I TOO remembered that kuroo is gone and that softness established in the previous scene is sUCKED OUT—ASKDKSKSKSK.

im just a little obsessed with the little things and gestures that make u fall in love with someone? like the specific way my friend twirls her pen while were in lectures, or how my dad has that one little smile when hes amused himself with his own joke... and for that to be a last lifeline for her to hold on to before he leaves :’))) I JUST LOVE EST RELATIONSHIP FICS OK?!

hehehe yes im sorry about that puch to the gut oops 😇 that was a scene i had super clear in my head before i started - the bright, bright string against the relative drab of the table and room.

i’m at the part where reader gets lost and let me tell u, the fact they have a WAY to communicate via string pulling alone is SO ENDEARING and just subtly hints they have been at this whole red string thing for AGES (or at least enough to form such an understanding). that’s ADORABLE and really strengthens the bonds they have together

yessssssssssss as soon as i thought of this idea i knew it had to be an established relationship. i have it in my brain they have been married maybe 2-3 years?? i am such a sucker for unspoken understanding relationships :’)

“You push hurriedly through the crowd, ducking between market stalls and wagons. There’s no string to follow, but you don’t need it to find him today.” THIS SENTENCE WAS SO BEAUTIFUL in the context of the entire story. and what a perfect way to describe/show the reader that it’s THE DAY. MOO, you’re really serving such great kuroo x reader stories please continue AHHAHA

this entire fic was so self indulgent please dshlfkljadsb but im glad u like this line!! i tend to try visualise the scene like a movie first? and then write it, and this was also one of the first scenes that was super clear in my brain :D

402 DAYS!!!! I SEE WHAT U DID THERE 👀👀 also, is this is a little hint to how u had to wait until the end to see timeskip kuroo? HAHAHA that wld be adorable

WAIT YO THATS CLEVER? I DIDT EVEN- ava when i say that is a COMPLETE coincidence... i literally just picked a number that was longer than 365 days... breaking news i am a secret genius JKBDSCN

i also really liked the “in-between”: of reader’s life without kuroo. u can really see how integrated they are to each other’s lifestyle, and not only that, the scene where reader handles a twin’s birth (to me) strengthens how they’re reallllly soulmates. there is a low chance that kuroo knew reader was in a desperate situation, yet he pulled on the string at the time reader needed it. it’s just—telapathy but not really + soulmate system = SOULMATES. do i make sense? and i really love the details, like how we can trace back kuroo’s scar to a moment of reader’s life in the fic. putting it at the end sort of makes me reflect on their situations that happened simultaneously yet not really. it sort of fills me in with this,,, space. that the earth is so wide. i understand deeper what reader means by “oh he’s going to be gone for so long”. it’s just. wow. the earth is so big yk.

YES YOU MAKE TOTAL SENSE!!! it's such a lovey way of looking at it :') can they communicate and understand eachother like this cuz theyre soulmates? or just because they love each other and have learnt the other inside out?? hhnn this is why i love soulmate aus, theres so much to pull apart!!!

and ok yes on the topic of how big the earth is... im so glad u mentioned this, its my favourite part because (not to get like... super sappy or anything) i was writing this through the toughest stages of our second lockdown. our restrictions got to the point we werent allowed further than 5km from out homes, so writing about freedom and big spaces and exploration of far off places was such a nice escape for me :’) this fic has ended up very close to my heart. (plus i was reading @/w-yuren’s hq0819 series at the time so i had travel and adventure on the brain hehe)

THE ENDING.... THE ENDING.... THE WAY KUROO ASKED READER TO KI** HIM—IT’S LIKE THE KUROO IN MY HEAD YESSSSS. Gosh, this line too “when he kisses you he tastes like the sea; like salt-spray and dry rations and freedom.” may i have a director’s cut abt it :3 AND AKDJSKSK. i really love how the string appeared even tho they were together (the scene before kuroo docked on the ship) and once again, they are together, but none of them are lost because they r together-together. do i make sense? am i overreading things??? again, i have to comment on the banter. it’s simply amazing. kuroo’s replies are so,, KUROO, and they are filled with such FONDNESS I’M SO AKDKSKSK.

IM SO GLAD HE VIBES THANK U I THINK THE FONDNESS IS MY BIAS SHOWING BUT SHHHHH ;P you have picked one of my favourite lines out heheh it was one that just flowed out and wasnt one i particularly had to think about which is always nice. but i think it is a combo of me trying to be fancy lol and me being a huge fan of fantasy-books-set-on-ships. think like explorers or pirates, some rag tag bunch who have to set off on some quest and come back with some of that wildness imbued in their very being... yeah this line was definitely born from me Yearning i think :P

ooo do you mean the wedding scene? that was me trying to hit the ‘feeling lost in a crowd’ idea. you know when youre surrounded by people and joy and laughter and you just feel very small and disconnected? that.

ALSO READER’S DYANAMICS WITH KARASUNO CHARACTERS IS ADORABLE AKDKSKSKK. the festival scene was such a breather and it was adorable to see her interact with those characters. it feels like a snapshot in her life i simply adore that :3

ahh yea! i wanted her to have a life, you know? shes not the type to mope around, like life goes on. that doesnt mean she doesnt miss him oof but theres a whole community around to support her too!! and im very fond of takeda in this scene :’) he takes care of his crows <3

I RAMBLED SO BAD BUT THANK U AGAIN LOVELY I CANT EXPLAIN HOW AMAZING THESE ARE TO RECIEVE <3

#ava <3 #i know u are offline rn but i hope everythings going well with u!#i cant believe ur out here validating all my anxieties oof <333

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strawberryishness · 5 years

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memes of 2018

So since there are already so many of them and I’m on this hell hole 365 days a year, I decided to keep a list of all the memes 2018 has to give to somehow give myself a reason to procrastinate even more. Now it might not be a full list, so feel free to add more.

The memes of 2018:

- ‘The first meme of 2018 is’

- Why Would You Say Something So Controversial Yet So Brave?

- the guy who said this made a comeback in which he shoots someone on a chair behind him

- Do you know da wae?

- Tidepods (god, this... I’m, I’m lost)

- Gordon Ramsay: Finally some good fucking food

- Somebody touche my SPAGET

- The road sign one

- oh haven’t you heard?

- Lesbians applause

- gorilla channel

- you so fucking precious when you smile edit

- the bowling alley one

- FBI agent

- We been knew

- change my mind

- actually no, you didn’t

- evil Patrick

- #Aliendance

- […] is braver than any US marine

- Krusty Crab vs Chum Bucket

- Gru memes (update: it got a comeback in April/May, with hey gorls)

- but go off I guess

- presentation guy is back with you guys are just mean

- brackets (made a comeback later in the year)

- if you don’t love me at my, then you don’t deserve me at my

- panting spongebob

- then perish made a comeback

- This face from free real estate

- charts

- [...] lives in infinity war

- is this a pigeon? man (resurrected)

- what’s [month]’s mood?

- Hewwo?

- what’s happening on Twitter 😂

- nah, I’m not with it. Fuck that.

...

- it’s more likely than you think woman had a comeback as well

- hard to swallow pills

- Tom (from Tom and Jerry) dailing

- Kim Kardashian sipping a drink

- my last two brain cells

- yanny and laurel

- the alphabet according to [blank]

- top ten

- That’s so sad, Alexa play despacito (or any other song really)

- annoyed birb ft a crow

- Trojan horse

- this gal:

- big dick energy

- bold of you to assume that [...]

- in my feelings challenge

- Nike commercial

- johny johny Yes papa

- Do you remember? The 21st night of SEPTEMBER (this is not a meme per se, but it is important)

- 👌

- every meme that died because the react channel reacted to it

- bongo cat

- 1 thing 2 say 3 words 4 you [...]

- flip phone guy

- OKTOBER IS HERE

- moth memes

- presidential alert

- the creation of Adam kinda made a comeback? Idk I saw it a lot in different contexts

- Best pirate ive ever seen…

- we are number one guy replacing the drake meme

- shaking hands

- surprised pikachu

- voting 2016 vs voting 2018

- one taught me love, one taught me patience, one taught me pain

- 👀 (Mayhem Miller)

- whatever a mess tik tok is

- brain (don’t say it)

- Scarlet Johansson casted as a poc

- tumblr banning the titties

- honestly there were a lot more but this year has been too tiring and if that’s not a mood I don’t know what is

#2018 #memes #people might even say...#dank memage #happy holidays everyone #and a happy new year and all that #peace ✌️✨

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unfortunate-rp · 5 years

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Congratulations, CLAIRE! You have been accepted as your original character, KITTY OSWALD. Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the NEW MEMBER CHECKLIST and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?

OOC INFORMATION

Name: Claire

Age: REDACTED

Pronouns: she/her

Time zone: cst

Activity Level: 8 (I will endeavor to be on at least once every day.)

Tumblr account (for contact purposes): REDACTED

How did you find us?: search through the tumblr rp tags

Triggers: none

Anything Else?:

IC Information:

Name: Kitty Oswald

FC: Chloe Bennet or Phoebe Tonkin

Date of Birth: September 5th

Age: 24

Character Quote: “She was like the moon – Part of her was always hidden away.”

Pronouns: she/her

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Biromantic

Occupation: waitress at Hungry’s Diner, mechanic, car thief

Affiliation: Civilian

Neighborhood: Downtown, apartments above Black Cat coffee

Personality: (charismatic, resourceful, pragmatic) (Stubborn, tempermental, vindictive)

Biography:

Kitty Oswald was born in the Hinterlands. A place which here is synonmous with prison, or with hell. There were three things she loved about her home. Her mother, her uncle, and a blue toolbox with chipped paint. The first of these boarded a train two week after her tenth birth. The second taught her work a car. The third she took with her when she left home at eighteen. The identity of her father was a mystery her mother never revealed and rarely spoke of. After her passing (as they would come to call it) she became the responsbility of her Uncle Otto.

She grew up with greasy hand, overalls, and a pragmatic head. Work came first, then homework, then dinner, and occasionally (on third sundays and fourth thursdays) there was ice cream. She tutored well under Otto’s instructions, leaning how to fix a car up like new and how to mess up the job just enough that the customer returned one month later. In that junkyard with her uncle, she blossomed. Blossomed is a word that here means grew into a headstrong, occasionally visious, and confident young woman. One that had outgrown the hinterlands. So on her eighteenth birthday she got carrot cake (courtesy of a neighbor), stamps, and a bus ticket to the city.

Ambition was for others. Kitty spent her years waitressing, occasionally searching for her parents, and avoiding drama. She took up rent in a one bedroom apartment, adopted herself a (vicious) cat, and spent her days in Hungry’s Diner. Her nights were spent in a much less noble profession of procuring stolen vehicles for her uncle to sell or breakdown into parts. And, in bed some nights, she could not shake the sensation that she was missing something, something obvious, and it was just out of reach.

Connections:

Daughter of Jefferson Oquassa

This is a fact that is unknown to both father and daughter. They had not even met until Kitty was nineteen and came in Kakao. As a chocolate fiend, she is always splurging at the restaurant and has made passing acquaintance with the owner. If anything his staff finds her a bit annyoing as she loves the food, but does not make enough to tip them well.

Acquaintaince of Farrah Abassi

A regular customer at Hungry’s Diner, Kitty enjoys bantering with the woman and can sense that she’s not your typical late night guest. She makes sure to keep the woman’s coffee topped off and finds time to sneak across the booth and snatch a few minutes of easy conversation with someone who wasn’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

Friend of Cassidy Cantrell

Originally a professional arrangement to garner insights into the families in the city and possibly her own heritage, Kitty has grown actually fond of Cassidy. They share a similar thirst and stubborness that endeared her to the woman. When she needs someone to bounce ideas off of, Cassidy is her go to gal.

Headcannons:

She is allergic to bees and once got rushed to the hospital after being stung. Doctors say if she is stung again she could die in less than a minute.

She doesn’t know how to swim. Growing up in the Hinterlands there was little options for swimming lessons. This is a fact she hides and is ashamed to admit.

She can do long division in her head and like her mother has a head for numbers. Multiplication, calculus, whatever it might be she can do without paper or pen. From the age of ten, she managed the books for Otto’s Auto Sales.

Plans: I’d love for Kitty to be recruited into the VFD and have her flirt with the ideals of the firestarters, even join their ranks. She is the daughter of two VFD volunteers, raised literally at their doorstep and I think it will take time for her to find her footing in that world. Eventually I’d like her to be swayed into the status of a volunteeer and to become Jefferson’s protege.

Roleplay: Kitty, despite her pragmatism, is a bit of a loose cannon. She’s smart talking, confident, and yet more vulnerable than most. She has built herself up on quicksand and when the time comes she will find out about her family and her history. I hope to bring someone that evolves over time, that grows and strengthens from being able to access her truths and flex her muscles.

Writing Sample

OO,

Midnight. Orion’s Observatory. Bring chocolate.

Secretly,

She’d found the note pressed between two random pages in Uncle Otto’s books. It was yellowed, worn at the edge, and still bore the marks of being folded twice. At twelve, only two years removed from her mother’s passing, she’d held the message reverently. She’d traced the long dried ink, and felt along the creases. The date on the bottom, written in the man’s spidery scrawl was exactly 365 days before she’d been born. As Oona Oswald had been fond of pointing out, there are no coincedences only people to blind to see the connections.

She’d slipped the note into the back pocket of her overalls and then into a drawer in her bedside table. Uncle Otto would be none the wiser. The books, the numbers, the mathematics of a business were beyond him. He lived for greasy hands, sticky fingers, and warm bathes in the evening. He was always saying his big sister Oona had passed, always collecting sympaty, and never explaining more. In this context, passed meant less death and more packed suitcase, train ticket, and no goodbyes. She’d stuck around long enough to fill Kitty’s head up with something other than gasoline and then made for the hills.

Never one for attachments that Oona Oswald. And yet she’d kept that message.

She rolls back into the Hinterlands that weekend with minestrone soup, oysters, truffles, and vehicle relieved of her plates. (and her previous owner) The shop looks empty, with crows perched on the rusted sign, and dirt encrusted on the front door. But she sees a pair of legs in jeans and mismatched boots poking out from under a car. As she idles to a stop in front of the garage, her Uncle slides out squints in the yellow evening sunlight. She slips out from behind the wheel, gifts in hand, and nods a greeting.

“Uncle.”

“Not much Hinter left in you is there?” He spits and stands. Six years since she left to go live in the city. They haven’t been kind years on him. He’s greyer, fatter, wrinklier. “You look like a posh city girl.”

She snorts. She doubts any of the uptown girls she sees could pop open a cars dashboard and jumpstart it in less than four minutes. “And you look like a rotting piece of fruit,” she bites back.

There’s a pause. She stares and him, he stares back and then …in a flash he tips his head back and laughs. The Oswald laugh. Head tipped skyward, neck bent back, hands on hips, one leg tilted forward. A family trait shared by them all, and offered only sparingly. “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.”

She steps forward, wraps and arm about his shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve brought you gifts you old bastard.”

“You got it all?” She nods. “Soup?” She nods. “Oysters?” She nods. “Chocolate.” Eye roll and a nod. When have I ever forgotten something. “And what about the wheels.”

She tilts her head back. “The owner won’t miss her. She’s got four others just like it.”

“What about her heart?”

She smiles. He means her engine. She took a look last night after stashing the car in an empty parking lot three blocks from her apartment. One hand on the warmth of the battery and she could tell just how young the model was. “Young,” she says. “Strong. Expensive.”

Maybe she should feel bad about stealing cars for her Uncle’s shop, but she doesn’t. Next month when she rolls in for her monthly visits he might have gutted the beauty and tossed her parts into many different cars scattered about the junkyard. He sees dollar signs in every part and she can rattle them off in her head with just as much ease. And yet, she’d much rather take her apart, get at her mechanics and then stich her back together. Uncle Otto would say that’s the city’s influence, making her soft. Or her father’s blood.

“Christmas in July.”

She nods, looking to her boots and the dirt below them. “I spoil you rotten.”

He guides her gaze back to him with a hand beneath the chin. “You ain’t still looking for him are you?”

“No.” But that’s a half-truth. The thing with having a mystery in the place of a parent is that you are always looking for them. Even when you’ve given up, even when you’ve put the puzzle pieces down they are still there. Here’s what she knows:

His initials are JO

He lives/lived in the city

He once snuck into Orion’s Observatory with her mother at midnight.

That’s not much to go on. When she first moved out and into the city she looked up every James O'Brien, Jeffrey Ocasto, and Joseph Owens in the phone books. Now the urge comes to her like a rising tide. She’ll look at some gentleman in uptown with a suit and top hat and think, is that him? It’s not. It never is. It never will be. But still …

“Or for her?”

She huffs under her breath. “She can be eaten by the Lachyrmose Leeches for all I care.”

#mystery rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #city rpg #crime rpg #accepted

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abitoflit · 7 years

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Jean Toomer’s Work

As were many of the authors that came before him, Jean Toomer was a product of his times. He, like many other writers, chose to relay his positions on political as well as social matters through the use of his work. However, unlike some of his contemporaries, Toomer, I feel, wrote in a more general sense of the plight of various groups. For example, Toomer often spoke of the plight of his own people- the African Americans- as well as that of women.

In “Karintha,” Jean Toomer paints the picture of a young girl, so beautiful, that she attracted the attention of many men, including those much older than she. These men lost interest in women their own age, on account of Karintha’s physical form, and like their younger counterparts, often counted down the days until Karintha was old enough to be bedded. For they wished to “ripen a growing thing too soon,” (Toomer 18). Each of these men, as well as those who knew of her, clothed Karintha in both an illusory mask and veil. Every living person who knew of Karintha glamorized her, which rendered them incapable of formulating a negative view of her and served to heighten her sense of beauty within each of their minds. Thus, even when she acted out, Karintha remained a “golden child” who could do no wrong in anyone’s eyes. Having spent the entirety of her life as an objectified individual, who could not be seen for her character, but only for what she was on the outside, Karintha grew into an individual who deemed her inherent worth as lying in nothing more than her looks. As a result, she “played home” and slept with many different men. She bore a child to one of them, and her “husbands” continued to bring her money. But none of these things brought Karintha any happiness; instead, she felt empty. Toomer claims that it’s because she has “the soul of… a growing thing ripened too soon,” (Toomer 19). In other words, because all of the men in her town kept Karintha from a “true childhood” on account of their endless and often explicit desire to possess her sexually, she grew to be an adult who could not appreciate anything. This stems in part from the fact that she simply didn’t understand the true meaning of a “home” or what it meant to have a family. By writing this work of fiction, Toomer is expressing how women are negatively impacted by their objectification by men.

In “Blood-Burning Moon,” Jean Toomer relates the story of how two men learn of the other’s interests in “their gal,” and then fight over her. On the surface, his tale seems like a simplistic story of a love triangle, broken into three numbered sections, (to represent the love triangle that exists within the story). However, I believe that the tale is far more complex than that, and is meant to be symbolic. Louisa is meant to represent something desirable, or the rights that may be awarded to any group of people. Bob is meant to represent all whites, and Tom, all blacks. Bob’s last name, Stone, may be reflective of the fact that many of the whites that lived within America during the early 20th century, (when Toomer wrote his work), were unwavering in their convictions, like stone. While the blacks should have been gaining ground, (on account of legislation such as the Emancipation Proclamation), the whites were preventing them from doing so with the Jim Crow laws, numerous murders, etc. Frustrated with their treatment, the blacks, or “Tom,” fought back against his oppressors, the whites, (AKA Bob). In order to “fight back,” Tom gets into a physical altercation with Bob over Louisa, and manages to wound him; but, Bob escapes and relates what happened to his fellow white man. A mob forms, and they capture Tom. He is bound to a stake. “His breast was bare. Nails scratches let little lines of blood trickle down and mat into the hair,” (Toomer 27). Then, Tom is burned for his crime of harming a white male.

The instant I read of the manner of Tom’s death, I began to think of how Jesus Christ was crucified on the cross. Christ died so that man may be relieved of his sins, and was considered by members of many major world religions to be a martyr after the time of his death. I believe that Toomer uses similar images to describe the manner of Tom’s death within “Blood-Burning Moon,” because he knows that they are easily recognizable, and will most likely cause his readers to think of the manner in which Christ was killed by Pontius Pilate. In so doing, Jean Toomer relates Tom’s death to a martyr, demonstrating how the character was meant to express how many African-Americans have become martyrs on account of their beliefs, and have died in their attempt to obtain the rights that they not only desire, but deserve to have as well.

Jean Toomer’s poem entitled “Harvest Song,” reminded me of a pantoum, since the lines repeat themselves rather frequently. However, it isn’t one, since the lines are grouped into couplets, instead of quatrains. When a reader first uncovers the work, it may appear rather straightforward if one were to take it simply at its face value. Clearly, the poem is telling the story of a tired reaper, who suffers from a dry throat and hunger. While it is true that many slaves and field hands were underfed, and therefore, malnourished, I doubt that Toomer’s poem was meant to be so simplistic. By saying “my throat is dry,” or “I hunger,” I believe that Toomer is referring to how a person thirsts or longs for certain things. Given the context of the poem, I would guess that the poem is meant to reflect the fact that many African-Americans long for something more in their lives- better food, a new way of life, knowledge, etc. Furthermore, it is meant to relate how they have grown tired of the way they’ve been made to toil in the fields and the status quo, and desire something more, or at least, something different.

In “Song of the Son,” Jean Toomer appears to be saying that out of adversity, (in this case slavery), new life and opportunity may grow. By writing, “one plum was saved for me, one seed becomes/An everlasting song,” (Toomer 367), he is expressing his belief that there may be hope for the future. Although the history of the African-American people has been fraught with social injustice, many of those who came before him have fought against this injustice, and planted the seeds that will allow for Toomer and future generations to have a better life; a new life, which is unlike that of their ancestors.

In “Cotton Song,” Jean Toomer at first, relates the hard work that slaves performed in the cotton fields. When he writes, “shackles fall upon Judgment Day,” (Toomer 367), it appears as though he is relating his belief that the slaves will be rewarded after the time of their death. Due to the many social injustices that they faced in the form of slavery, and given all of the hard work they carried out without pay, the black race will be rewarded on judgment day. When they stand before god, they will be awarded with life in heaven, on account of their miserable existence on Earth. However, a second thread runs through the poem, describing how they shouldn’t wait. I’m far more unsure of my analysis of this poem than Toomer’s other works, but if I had to guess, I imagine he is suggesting that African-Americans seek their reward prior to their death. In other words, they should try to find their “heaven on earth,” and their own form of happiness, long before they are awarded with life in paradise after their death.

Work Cited:

Chapman, Abraham. “Blood-Burning Moon.” Black Voices: An Anthology of African-

American Literature. New York: Signet Classics, 1968. 19-27. Print.

Chapman, Abraham. “Cotton Song.” Black Voices: An Anthology of African-

American Literature. New York: Signet Classics, 1968. 367-368. Print.

Chapman, Abraham. “Harvest Song.” Black Voices: An Anthology of African-

American Literature. New York: Signet Classics, 1968. 365-366. Print.

Chapman, Abraham. “Karintha.” Black Voices: An Anthology of African-American Literature. New

York: Signet Classics, 1968. 17-19. Print.

Chapman, Abraham. “Song of the Son.” Black Voices: An Anthology of African-

American Literature. New York: Signet Classics, 1968. 367. Print.

#short story #poems #writing #literature #jean toomer #african american literature #karintha #song of the son #harvest song #cotton song #toomer #reading

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lets-write-something-tonight · 5 years

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Daily Writing 2/365

Prompt: Ritual

It is such an odd word: ritual. In one context it is mystifying and in another it is comforting. I think it depends on the doer. What is comforting to you is mystifying to those around you. What is route, routine, ritual to you is baffling to the outside world. Your little prayers to unseen and unheard deities, always listening, always watching, never answering. Why do you still pray, they wonder. Why do you offer time and energy and blood to those who hear you but do not wish to answer? What is the point of this rituals?

Do not let their doubt unsettle you. You know you are on the right path. The answer is not important in this life, only the next. They will all burn, slowly rotting as you and your gods laugh from above. You know why they do not answer now. They cannot, not with the small amount of power they hold in this world. Their power comes from death and dying, of things not in this realm. Your answers will come in the next. Until the day comes when they can respond, you feed them, with your time and with your energy and, most importantly, with flesh and blood.

Sometimes it is yours, but not always, not usually. Often it is that of the crows and ravens or perhaps the squirrel or mouse. On the holy days, you offer real feast, of deer and calf and sheep. But those days are few and far between. These gods, your gods, they rely on you. You are among the few left who offer them sacrifices and prayer. They are indebted to you. They are yours.

So they will answer, though they have not the strength to do it in this life. But in the next, all of your rituals will reap their rewards, as the gods you own worship you instead.

#january 2 2019 #january 2019 #michaela writes #horror #no established universe

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chocolateharmonysandwich-blog · 6 years

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Efficacy of Telehealth in Australia

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doctoroo

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thethursdaythree-blog · 7 years

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March 30, 2017 • For the Birds

There's a good chance I'll run into something. If I don't run into something, I'll probably trip and fall. I've been lucky so far.

It all started two Saturdays ago when I woke up before the sun, rolled out of bed, grabbed my rain jacket, laced up my Bean Boots, and drove to the parking lot of the Wild Bird Center in Chapel Hill. I pulled in – legitimately surprised that people actually did this – turned off the engine and stepped out of the car.

"Hi, I'm Brent," I offered. "I'm here for the bird walk. I've never done this before. Am I in the right place?"

One-by-one, the others gathered in that parking lot greeted me – each of us standing in a steady mist.

"I'm Tom." "Tommy." "Verne."

"It's nice to meet you." I was in the right place.

From there, the nine of us set off for Mason Farm Biological Reserve – a 367-acre plot of forests and fields home to birds and trees and bugs and all kinds of wildlife. We spent nearly four hours that morning walking a total of three miles – stopping every few minutes to listen and wait and watch. We'd take a few steps. Pause. Look around. Take a few more steps. Someone would hear something and point, and everyone else would simultaneously raise the binoculars to our faces and focus (in a super cool way) to try to spot the birds.

It was cold and rainy… and exhilarating. I know. It sounds ridiculous. And as I've shared with "friends" that I went on a bird walk, the responses have been hilarious:

"Are you fifty?" "Where's your stamp collection, Grandpa?" "There's no way that's cool."

But I'm hooked. I've signed up for two more bird walks already. (Let me know if you want to come.) I've upgraded my binoculars, too, and purchased a field guide that stays in my man satchel.

And I'm constantly walking around now with my eyes upward, moving from tree to tree, trying to catch a glimpse of a bird I've never seen before. That's why there's a good chance I'll run into something.

That day, we saw over forty species of birds. Thrashers and woodpeckers and pine warblers. I left my phone at home. (Unintentionally, but still.) And I was caught up in my new friends' excitement about seeing something rare. I was in awe of their ability to identify a bird from afar based simply on its song or how it was flying. Mostly, I was glad to be doing something that didn't involve staring at a screen.

As I've geeked out over the last week-and-a-half, I've experienced the joy of being able to name things around me that, until recently, had been hidden in plain sight. This amateur birder can now pick out a mockingbird call, tell the difference between a crow and a grackle, and never knew how many cardinals there were in his neighborhood (which is annoying for this Cubs fan). I've started to notice how rare it is to walk outside and not hear a bird singing. It's literally a whole new world.

So this week's Thursday Three is for the birds.

"The Tweetest Thing" – a 22-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Bird Man

I read this piece from Longreads about two weeks before I signed up for my first bird walk. Eva Holland tells the story of Noah Strycker who got into birding as a teenager. In 2015, he traveled the globe to set a world record, identifying over 6,000 species of birds in 365 days. The article is good for that story alone, but the author also describes how for so many, bird watching "satisfies a 'bone-deep, soul-deep need to classify and organize the world around us.'"

The term umwelt comes from the German word meaning, roughly, "environment" or "surroundings." But in this context it refers to a given species' way of perceiving the world around it: dogs organize their world by smell, bees by ultraviolet light, and so on. Carol Kaesuk Yoon, a biologist, proposed in her 2009 book, Naming Nature, that we humans, in turn, navigate through and organize our world via a system of ordering and classification of other natural beings, and that this system is remarkably consistent across history, languages, cultures, ecosystems, and societies. Our umwelt is "our shared human vision of life."

To categorize our world is to know our world. And – for better or worse – it's part of what it means to be human. We eat, sleep, breathe, and put things into categories.

Click here to enjoy this article from Longreads.

+ Invisibilia: Outside In

Last year's season finale of the _Invisibilia_ podcast featured an episode called "Outside In." The episode detailed stories of transformation by people who took on something and hoped it stuck �� sort of a "fake it 'til you make it" approach. For instance, one of the stories describes how an ordinary guy fakes being a celebrity and is mobbed by "fans" who have no idea who he is.

But the story that caught my ear came near the end of the episode. The hosts interview Jim Verhagen who runs the blog, _Readings from the Northside_. Jim set out to spend more time in nature with the hope of experiencing transformation. So he went to the Jersey Shore to watch the birds. But that's where it gets a little weird. Jim would take pictures of the birds (normal) and then start making up stories about them (what?). He gave them names and personalities – Mac Daddy, Mr. Handbersome, Jack, Tufters – and then wrote about them and their "drama" on his blog. From the transcript:

This is not your average isn't Mother Earth amazing - photography blog. No, what Jim does is essentially create the TMZ or Perez Hilton version of a nature blog because alongside shockingly clear and intimate shots of Mac Daddy and the other animals on the beach, Jim is writing these really kind of gossipy reports.

The blog explodes. And the way Jim is transformed is surprising and real.

See, when you see it in animals, when you see the kind of constant anxiety as we'd describe it that they have to live with, you realize that it's natural, that that's - that that state of constantly being kind of alert and a little concerned and watching your back…

Is my wife going to wind up falling out love with me? Am I going to lose this big customer? Constantly putting out fires. That's actually the natural state for a lot of animals. And so in a way it is for us.

Observing these creatures and making up these ridiculous stories helped Jim find a semblance of peace with his own stuff. It helped him find some comfort in his own skin. Click here to listen to the episode. Click here to read the transcript. Click here to visit Jim's blog.

+ Such Singing in the Wild Branches

For your soul's comfort, Mary Oliver's poem, "Such Singing in the Wild Branches," rounds out this week's Thursday Three. May it leave you listening – wondering – "is it spring? Is it morning?"

It was spring and finally I heard him among the first leaves— then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade with his red-brown feathers all trim and neat for the new year. First, I stood still

and thought of nothing. Then I began to listen. Then I was filled with gladness— and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float, to be, myself, a wing or a tree— and I began to understand what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass stopped for a pure white moment while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising, and in fact it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing— it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers, and also the trees around them, as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them

were singing. And, of course, yes, so it seemed, so was I. Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments. It's one of those magical places wise people like to talk about. One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there, you're there forever. Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song may already be drifting away.

As always, thanks for reading and subscribing to the Thursday Three. I'm grateful you make this email a part of your weekly rhythm. If you dig it, I'd love if you'd tell your friends. Perhaps you'll consider forwarding it to your friends or using the share and tweet buttons below. And I'm always open to feedback, suggestions, or friendly correspondence. Just hit reply and write something. You know where to find me. Until next Thursday, find some birds.

Peace,

Brent

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