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#i love art and especially music so much for its ability to strike up conversation about everything
hetacon · 3 years
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Prom Queen: Chapter 1
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Word Count: 1,500
Pairings: Endgame Prinxiety, Eventual Platonic LAMP, more could be included at a later point
Warning: The teeniest bit of swearing, slight food mention, Remus is mentioned briefly
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Summary: “Oh shut up,” he grumbled to it as he turned off the alarm before checking the date and sighing lowly.
It was exactly the day he had been thinking. The first day of school.
(Don’t miss the notes I have at the end of this post if you’d like to hear some additional details! There is a prologue to this story by the way, be sure to check it out!)
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The alarm blared loudly from across Virgil’s room. He tried hard to the best of his abilities to ignore it but he did make it loud for a reason.
One of those reasons being that he knew himself well enough to know that he would ignore it if he could and shut it off and go back to bed if he couldn’t. Going across the room to get it had always proved to have a higher chance of success in his experience so he had gone for that option last night.
The second reason though was because of today. Virgil shot up upon remembering and went over to his phone charging across his room, squinting at the screen.
“Oh shut up,” he grumbled to it as he turned off the alarm before checking the date and sighing lowly.
It was exactly the day he had been thinking. The first day of school.
The first day of high school in fact, the event of the decade that he and Roman had been waiting for in anticipation. Well, that was being generous but either way, they were both anticipating it for different reasons as they always seemed to do.
Virgil was not thrilled at the prospect of a new school. He would be required to learn a new campus, new classrooms, new classmates, and new teachers. Within the first week, he knew he’d be accustomed to at least the rooms for his classes but the other ones could take some getting used to. He knew that either way, he wasn’t going to get along with a majority of his classmates and he’d be too nervous to get to know any teachers or do much more than answer the occasional question or take role until they’d learned their students’ names. The campus was another issue too. Where would he be waiting in the morning? Where would he eat lunch? Did he and Roman even have the same brunch schedule? How was he getting home again? What time did his day end?
After shooting a text to Roman about one of those questions, namely in terms of the schedule, he got ready. After pulling his hoodie on over his head, he brushed a hand through his bangs to push them back before frowning at his reflection, letting them fall over his face again. He didn’t look better per say but he could see less which was always a plus in situations he was dreading. His mom had come in at some point to make sure he had actually gotten up and he was out of the house with his backpack and phone as soon as Roman bounded up his driveway.
“Virgil, it’s finally happening!” his best friend squealed, linking their arms as Virgil was tugged along down the route to their new school. “Finally, we’re high schoolers now, can you believe it?”
Virgil snorted, feeling a weight lift off his chest. One of them at least. “Can I believe it? Yeah. Do I want to? Hell no,” he muttered out with an edge of grumpiness to his voice only to have Roman laugh.
“I promise that I’ll be with you as much as I can the whole day! We’re going to have brunch and lunch together too and then I’ll take you over to my place after school!” Roman explained. He honestly made it sound so simple but really, he usually did. It even usually was, at least when Roman told him so. He just always knew how to make awful situations... easier.
“Eh, I guess I’ll take it. Though I’ve gotten a horrible end of the deal for compensation,” Virgil jeered a little, laughing to himself as Roman gasped and shoved him with an obvious smile.
“Shut up, you love me and you know it!”
Virgil’s smile came easily as they kept walking. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say,” he snorted.
Roman talked about theater, asking what productions Virgil thought they should put on, how he hoped to get some good roles this year, and then listed off some of his personal favorite musicals that he hoped he’d get to do at some point. Virgil filled in the gaps and spaces of the conversations and Roman did the rest. It was comfortable, it didn’t seem like this year would feel so bad now with things going just as they always had.
The day started off pretty alright honestly, much better than Virgil would’ve expected. Luckily he’d done a walkthrough of his schedule during registration so he knew vaguely where to go and he made it to his second period class early.
A lot of them were standard class introductions, icebreakers, and syllabuses. It seemed like exactly what he was used to in junior high, just at a different school. Some of his classes seemed pretty boring but he knew he didn’t have much of an option on the basic ones he had to take. He texted Roman between classes to see how he was fairing. He wasn’t very surprised that it was going off without a hitch.
It was a relief by the time that Virgil got to his English class right before lunch, the one class he and Roman shared together. Roman rushed in right as the bell rang and collapsed into the seat next to him, breathing out with a smile.
“Cutting it close, huh?” Virgil whispered.
“Sorry, I was a bit preoccupied,” Roman merely offered as explanation before the teacher got up and started talking, cutting their conversation short.
“Man, I am so excited for theater today! I can already tell it’s going to be so amazing!” Roman chattered excitedly as they walked out of English, making their way over to one of the more secluded areas of the campus Virgil had been able to find, setting up to eat lunch.
“Yeah, totally didn’t see that coming,” Virgil said with a slight shake of his head, smirking a bit. “It’s not like you’ve been talking about it all day. Oh wait! You have.”
“Alright alright so I will admit that I might be a little more excited than one would expect!” Roman relented, shrugging. “But! It’s just so amazing, I got into 7th period theater, Virge! I’m going to be in the actual productions!! That’s a big deal for a freshman, usually people don’t make it until maybe sophomore year, you know?”
“Well the director would’ve been an idiot if he didn’t want to put you in them, yeah? I think so anyways,” Virgil said as he took out his sketchbook.
“I suppose but still, I’m just...” Roman laughed to himself, bouncing in place. “I’m so excited, I can’t wait to meet all the new people there,” he giggled.
Virgil nodded, starting a sketch of Roman which Roman immediately posed for, knowing the drill.
“Soooo, have you met anyone interesting today?” Roman asked as Virgil was working out the shape of Roman’s nose, their eyes making contact for a second before Virgil was back to sketching.
“Nah, not really. Though somebody just kinda... Gave me a cookie during art. He said I looked like I needed it. He’s my table partner now so there’s that, you know?” Virgil said with a shrug. “He’s pretty cool I guess. Liked one of my drawings of you.”
“And you didn’t strike up a conversation? C’mon Virgil, you could be set on baked goods and a person with great taste for the rest of your life!” Roman exclaimed, shifting out of position as he threw his arms out to which Virgil gave a half-hearted glare.
“You’re dumber than I gave you credit for if you believe I can talk to people.”
“Well I may be dumb but I take it with pride like a Prince should!”
“Your brother is the smarter of the two of you,” Virgil mused.
Roman pouted. “He is not!”
“Pretty sure he is,” Virgil hummed out.
As the two conversed a little more, Virgil didn’t feel up to eating anything.
Lunch ended and the day finished up with Virgil waiting outside the auditorium for Roman to be done with theater. The two walked home with Roman going on and on about the rest of his day, telling him about all the people he had met and all the things that he had gotten up to. Apparently there was already some idea of what the fall play would be so Roman talked about it at length.
“But seriously Virgil, it was so nice of them! Two of the juniors gave me a card to welcome me, it had my name on it and everything, I can’t wait!”
Virgil merely nodded as Roman continued.
Virgil didn’t have much to say at that point, just letting Roman keep going. Virgil just listened on, focusing silently on his best friend as they made their way home.
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A/N: Hey hey hey guys, here is the first official chapter of Prom Queen! I don’t have an especially strict schedule for this story but I do try to post every other day and it works out fairly well! I’ll try not to make it be more than a couple weeks between chapters but life might get funky so if anything happens, I’ll try my best to handle it and get more chapters out!
That being said, I hope you are enjoying the story and are excited for future chapters! Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglists, either this one or my writing/art taglists in general and I’ll catch you guys next time!
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Taglist: @spookijam, @its-the-cat-queen, @virgils-paranoia, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog, @tssidesfamily, @shapa-likes-art, @isabelle-stars
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passionate-reply · 3 years
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Great Albums is back for a third time! This week, we discuss Dazzle Ships, the avant-garde masterpiece that was so infamously weird, it almost “sank” the pop career of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Or did it? As usual, you can find a full transcript of the video under the break, if you’d like to read it instead.
Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums. Today, I’ll be talking about an album that many would consider OMD’s best, and many would consider the last great album they ever made: 1983’s Dazzle Ships, their fourth studio LP. It has a reputation that precedes it, as a strange, experimental, and avant-garde album. And I can’t argue with that too much, when it has tracks that sound like "ABC Auto-Industry."
The most obvious thing one can say about Dazzle Ships is that it’s dense and rich with samples. You’ll hear found sounds ranging from a “Speak and Spell” toy to a radio broadcast from Czechoslovakia. It’s a magpie’s nest constructed of garbage and baubles, collage-like and conscientiously artificial. And OMD’s Paul Humphreys and Andy McCluskey managed to make it before sampling became easier and hence more widespread later in the 1980s, thanks to advancements in digital technology. In its own day, it was, famously, a huge flop, baffling even the critics, which makes it tempting to argue that the world simply wasn’t ready for it. Popular legend says that Humphreys and McCluskey were essentially forced to make increasingly soft, pop-oriented music for years afterward, usually at the hands of their label’s higher-ups.
Is that story really true? Well, I don’t know, and I’m not sure if anybody really does. But I think it’s important that we entertain some doubt. Regardless of its actual veracity, this legend is offering us a simplistic narrative of art and capital butting heads, and one that we see repeated all too often in music journalism. It’s a story that expects us to believe that experimental music is good by default, and the natural goal of music and all the people who make it--and, conversely, that accessible music is bad, and anyone who writes a song you can dance to is always after profit, never craft.
Ultimately, though, the most important reason why I’m asking you to leave this question at the gate is that it’s simply a less interesting way to think about art. What I think is truly ingenious about OMD is their ability to combine a pop sensibility with that bleeding-edge experimentation, and vice versa. I don’t think of Dazzle Ships as just an inscrutable, esoteric musical ready-made, but rather something capable of animating and enriching a bunch of otherwise mundane sounds. A word I might use for it is "challenging," because it isn't simply off-putting--it has a certain charm that invites you to stick around and work through it, and you don't feel like it's a waste of your time. I think the underlying pop DNA offered by Dazzle Ships is a big part of that.
In “Genetic Engineering,” the samples from that Speak & Spell are contrasted with a more traditional chorus, which rises above the chaos, stirring and anthemic. It’s a song full of friction, not only between these musical ideas, but in ideas about technology and our future. Like many great works of electronic music, especially earlier in its history, Dazzle Ships is deeply concerned with science and technology, and the ways they’ve structured our world. These guys wrote “Enola Gay” a few years earlier, sure, but there’s much more than Luddite, dystopian thinking here! Dazzle Ships walks a tightrope between romantic adoration of the promise of a better tomorrow, and the tempered uncertainty we’re forced to develop, when we witness the devastation our most horrifying inventions have wrought already. Something that helps sell the former is the motif of childhood: in addition to the Speak & Spell, “Genetic Engineering” also features a children’s toy piano, and prominently references “children” in its lyrics. And “Telegraph,” the album’s other single, sees fit to reference “Daddy.”
Touches like these, and the centering of not-so-new technologies like telegraphy and radio, carry us backward in time. Dazzle Ships has a sense of nostalgia for the technological explosion of the Midcentury, when household technologies were improving in ways that saved time and labour, and faith in “better living through science” was high. It’s not a wistful or introspective nostalgia, but rather one that taps into the bustling excitement of living through that era. That retro styling helps us situate ourselves in a childlike mindset: optimistic, but somewhat naive. Children are highly imaginative, and become enthralled with possibility, but don’t always understand every implication their actions have.
But, as I said, “Telegraph” and “Genetic Engineering” were the album’s singles; the typical track on *Dazzle Ships* sounds more like “ABC Auto-Industry.” The track listing is structured such that these more conventional songs are surrounded by briefer, and more abrasive, intrusions. They become signals in the noise, as though we’re listening to them on the radio--or ships, rising above some stormy seas. Several tracks, such as “International,” also feature a more dissonant intro, on top of that, crowding their main melodies inward.
Over the years, many critics have been quick to contrast Dazzle Ships with OMD’s other albums, but I actually think it has a lot in common with their preceding LP, 1981’s Architecture & Morality, and seems to me to flow naturally from the direction the band had already been going in. Architecture & Morality is a lively mix, with moody instrumentals like “Sealand,” guitar-driven numbers like “The New Stone Age,” and catchy, intuitive pop songs like “Souvenir.” Architecture and Morality proved to be their most successful album, when its title track sounds like this. I fail to see how it’s tremendously different than the title track of Dazzle Ships, which leads us on a harrowing sea chase, with radar pings quickly closing in.
That nautical theme is a great segue to discuss the album’s visual motif. Like all of OMD's first five albums, its sleeve was designed by Peter Saville, most famous for his stunning work for New Order. The cover and title were inspired by a painting Saville had seen, Edward Wadsworth’s *Dazzle Ships in Drydock at Liverpool,* which portrays WWI warships painted in striking, zebra-like geometric patterns. These sharply contrasting “razzle dazzle” designs weren’t “camouflage,” but rather served to confuse enemy forces’ attempts to track them, and predict their motions. Dazzle ships were killing machines that fought dirty...and they were also beautiful. It’s a potent, complex symbol, and it’s a natural fit for an album that’s also capricious, perplexing, and captivating in its uniquely modern terror. Saville’s sleeve design features both a die-cut design as well as a gatefold; peeking through the cover’s “portholes” reveals the interior, where we find a map of the world, divided by time zones. It’s yet another reminder of how technology has reshaped the planet, connecting the human race while also creating divisions.
Earlier, I argued that Dazzle Ships isn’t that different from OMD’s preceding LP, and I’d also suggest that their follow-ups to it aren’t all that different, either. It’s easy to see the influence of Dazzle Ships on their most recent work, made after reforming the group in the late 00s, and informed by the critical re-evaluation and cult acclaim of their alleged masterpiece. But even in the 80s, they basically continued the pattern of layering easy to love, “obvious single choice” tracks alongside more experimental, sample-heavy ones. Compare the title track of their sixth LP, 1985's *Crush.*
Even the greatest of pop hitmakers can't maintain a streak in the charts forever--it's not the nature of mainstream pop charts. Not even in the 1980s, when you could get away with quite a lot of electronic weirdness...at least for a while. Looking back and listening to "Maid of Orleans," it's almost hard to believe it was one of OMD's biggest hits. Is it really less weird than something like "Telegraph"? Perhaps they had simply reached the end of their imperial phase...whether they really had that stern talking-to or not.
It's not so much that Dazzle Ships isn't weird, so much as it is foreseeable that a nerdy, left-of-center band like OMD would have come up with it. Dazzle Ships IS excellent--it’s a Great Album! But it's good enough that I think it deserves to be heard and valued on its own terms. The album is too goddamn good--too compelling, too spell-binding--to be reduced to "that one album the plebs were too dumb to really get." I'm not clearing the air because I think this album is overrated, but because I think it deserves better, deeper discourse than it gets. A truly great album is great whether it sells or it doesn't, right? My advice is to never let art intimidate you, no matter how obtuse people say it is. Send your ship on that plunge into the dark waters of the unknown--you might find something beautiful.
That said...my favourite track overall is “Radio Waves,” an irresistibly fun cut that could easily have become a third single. Since “Genetic Engineering” and “Telegraph” live on side one of the record, “Radio Waves” is really the only “reprieve” we get on side two, smack in its middle. It really stands out, in context--almost like the opposite of how a more conventional album might have one out-there track that catches you off guard. Aside from all of that, though, the song also stands perfectly well alone. I have a real soft spot for music about music, how it’s made and transmitted, and “Radio Waves” is simply one hell of a ride.
Thanks for reading!
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d-criss-news · 4 years
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Darren Criss acts as playwright when he writes songs. He’s far more confident, and certainly more vulnerable, when he allows himself to play the part. In such a way, songwriting opens up a whole new world that pulses with untapped potential. So much of what he has accomplished in 15 years resides in his willingness to expose himself to what his imagination and intuition have in store. He steps into a playwright’s shoes with considerable ease (just look at his resume), and always one to put on plenty of bravado, especially during our Zoom face-to-face, it’s the natural order of things.
“As I get older and write more and more songs, I really recognize that I’ve always preferred to write for another context other than my own,” Criss tells American Songwriter. He speaks with a cool intensity, gesturing emphatically to accentuate a sentence, and when you let him go, he’s like the Energizer Bunny 一 “I can tell by just how quiet you already are that you’re fucked,” he jokes at the start of our video chat. But he remains just as engaged and focused when listening.
He soaks in the world, taking astute notes about behavior and emotional traits he can later use in song. His storytelling, though, arrives already in character, fully formed portraits he can then relay to the world. It’s not that he can’t be vulnerable, like such greats as Randy Newman, Tom Waits, and Rufus Wainwright, who have all embroidered their work with deeply personal observations, it just doesn’t feel as comfortable. “I’ve always really admired the great songwriters of the world who are extremely introspective and can put their heart and soul on the chopping block,” he muses. “That’s a vulnerability that I think is so majestic. I’ve never had access to it. I’m not mad about it. It’s just good to know what your deal is.”
Criss’ strengths lie in his ability to braid his own experiences, as charmed as they might be, into wild, goofy fantasies. In the case of his new series “Royalties,” now streaming on Quibi, he walks a fine line between pointed commentary on the music industry, from menial songwriting sessions to constantly chasing down the next smash, and oddball comedy that is unequivocally fun. Plotted with long-standing friends and collaborators Matt and Nick Lang, co-founders of Team StarKid, created during their University of Michigan days (circa 2009), the show’s conceptual nucleus dates back more than a decade.
If “Royalties” (starring Criss and Kether Donohue) feels familiar, that’s because it is. The 10-episode show ─ boasting a smorgasbord of delightful guest stars, including Mark Hammill, Georgia King, Julianna Hough, Sabrina Carpenter, and Lil Rel Howery ─ captures the very essence of a little known web series called “Little White Lie.” Mid-summer 2009, Team StarKid uploaded the shoddy, low budget production onto YouTube, and its scrappy tale of amateur musicians seeking fame and fortune quickly found its audience, coming on the heels of “A Very Potter Musical,” co-written with and starring Criss. Little did the trio know, those initial endeavors laid the groundwork for a lifetime of creative genius.
“It’s a full circle moment,” says Criss, 33, zooming from his Los Angeles home, which he shares with his wife Mia. He’s fresh-faced and zestful in talking about the new project. 11 years separate the two series, but their connective thematic tissues remain striking. “Royalties” is far more polished, the obvious natural progression in so much time, and where “Little White Lie” soaked in soapy melodrama, the former analyzes the ins and outs of the music world through more thoughtful writing, better defined (and performed) characters, and hookier original tunes.
“Royalties” follows Sara (Donohue) and Pierce (Criss), two struggling songwriters in Los Angeles, through various career exploits and pursuits. The pilot, titled “Just That Good,” features an outlandish performance from Rufus Wainwright as a major player in dance-pop music, kickstarting the absurdity of Criss’ perfectly-heightened reality. As our two main characters stumble their way between songwriting sessions, finally uncovering hit single potential while eating a hot dog, Criss offers a glimpse into the oft-unappreciated art of songwriting.
In his own songwriting career ─ from 2010’s self-released Human EP and a deal with Columbia Records (with whom a project never materialized) to 2017’s Homework EP and Computer Games’ debut, Lost Boys Life, (a collaboration with his brother Chuck) ─ he’s learned a thing or two about the process. Something about sitting in a room with someone you’ve never met before always rang a little funny to him.
“You meet a stranger, and you have to be creative, vulnerable, and open. It’s speed-dating, essentially. It’s a different episode every time you pull it off or not. All the big songwriters will tell you all these crazy war stories. Everyone has a wacky story from songwriting,” he says. “I slowly realized I may ─ I can’t flatter myself, there are tons of creative people who are songwriters ─ have prerequisites to just put the two together [TV and music]. I’ve worked enough in television as an actor and creator. I can connect the dots. I had dual citizenship where I felt like it was really time for me to go forth with this show.”
But a packed professional life pushed the idea to the backburner.
Between six seasons of “Glee” (playing Blaine Anderson, a Warbler and lover to Chris Colfer’s Kurt Hummel), starring in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” on Broadway, and creating Elsie Fest, a one-day outdoor festival celebrating songs of the stage and screen, he never had the time. “I was lucky enough to be busy,” he says. “As Team StarKid’s star was continuing to rise with me being separate from it, I was trying to think of a way to get involved again with songwriting.”
At one point, “Glee” had officially wrapped and his Broadway run was finished. It appeared “Royalties” may finally get its day in the sun. “I went to Chicago for a work pilgrimage with the Langs. We had a few days, and we put all our ideas on the map: every musical, feature film, show, graphic novel, and animated series we’ve ever thought of,” he says. “A lot of them were from the Langs; they were just things I was interested in as a producer or actor. We looked at all of them and made a top three.”
“Royalties” obviously made the cut.
Fast forward several years, Gail Berman’s SideCar, a production company under FOX Entertainment, was looking to produce a music show. Those early conversations, beginning at an otherwise random LA party, showed great promise in airlifting the concept from novel idea to discernible reality. Things quickly stalled, however, as they often do in Hollywood, but Criss had at least spoken his dreams into the universe.
“I finally had an outlet to put it into gear. It wasn’t until two to three years after that that things really locked in. We eventually made shorts and made a pilot presentation. We showed it to people, and it wasn’t until Quibi started making their presence known that making something seemed really appealing,” he says. “As a creator, they’re very creator-centric. They’re not a studio. They’re a platform. They are licensing IP much like when a label licenses an indie band’s album after the fact.”
Quibi has drawn severe ire over the last few months, perhaps because there is a “Wild Westness” to it, Criss says. “I think that makes some people nervous. Being my first foray into something of this kind, Quibi felt like a natural partner for us. If this had been a network or cable show, we would’ve molded it to be whatever it was.”
Format-wise, “Royalties” works best as bite-sized vignettes, charming hijinks through the boardroom and beyond, and serves as a direct response to a sea of music shows, from “Nashville” and “Empire” to “Smash.” “Those shows were bigger, more melodramatic looks at the inside base of our world. I’ve always been a goofball, and I just wanted to take the piss out of it,” he says. “This show isn’t about songwriting. It’s about songwriters… but a very wacky look at them.”
“30 Rock,” a scripted comedy loosely based around “Saturday Night Live,” in which the focus predominantly resides around the characters, rather than the business itself, was also on his mind. “It’s about the interconnectivity of the people and characters. As much of the insider knowledge that I wanted to put into our show, at the end of the day, you just want to make a fun, funny show that’s relatable to people who know nothing about songwriting and who shouldn’t have to know anything.”
Throughout 10 episodes, Criss culls the “musicality, fun, and humor” of Fountains of Wayne’s Adam Schlesinger and Max Martin, two of his biggest songwriting heroes, and covers as many genres as possible, from K-Pop to rap-caviar and classic country. While zip-lining between formats, the songs fully rely on a sturdy storytelling foundation ─ only then can Criss drape the music around the characters and their respective trajectories. “I wanted to do something where I could use all the muscles I like to flex at once, instead of compartmentalizing them,” he says. “I really love writing songs for a narrative, not necessarily for myself. I thrive a little more when I have parameters, characters, and a story to tell.”
Bonnie McKee, one of today’s greatest pop architects, takes centerstage, too, with an episode called “Kick Your Shoes Off,” in which she plays a bizarro version of herself. “She has her own story, and I’ve always been fascinated by it,” says Criss, who took her out to lunch one day to tell her about it. Initially, the singer-songwriter, known for penning hits for Katy Perry, Taio Cruz, and Britney Spears, would anchor the entire show, but it soon became apparent she would simply star in her own gloriously zany episode.
In one of the show’s standout scenes, Pierce and Sara sit in on a label meeting with McKee’s character and are tasked with writing a future hit. But they quickly learn how many cooks are in the kitchen at any given moment. Everyone from senior level executives to publicists and contracted consultants have an opinion about the artist’s music. One individual urges her to experiment, while another begs not to alienate her loyal fanbase, and then a third advises her to chronicle the entire history of music itself ─ all within three minutes or so. It’s absurd, and that’s the point. “Everyone’s been in that meeting, whether you’re in marketing or any creative discussion that has to be made on a corporate level by committee. It’s the inevitable, comedic contradictions and dissociations from not only rationality but feasibility.”
Criss also draws upon his own major label days, having signed with Sony/Columbia right off the set of “Glee,” as well as second-hand accounts from close friends. “There are so many artists, particularly young artists, who famously get chewed up and spat out by the label system,” he says. “There’s a lot of sour tastes in a lot of people’s mouths from being ‘mistreated’ by a label. I have a lot of friends who’ve had very unfortunate experiences.”
“I was really lucky. I didn’t have that. I have nothing but wonderful things to say,” he quickly adds.“It wasn’t a full-on drop or anything. I was acting, and I was spreading myself really thin. It’s a record label’s job to make product, and I was doing it piecemeal here and there. I would shoot a season [of ‘Glee’] and then do a play. I was doing too many things. I didn’t have it in me at the time to do music. I had written a few songs I thought were… fine.”
Both Criss and the label came to the same conclusion: perhaps this professional relationship just wasn’t a good fit. They parted ways, and he harbors no ill-will. In fact, he remains close friends with many folks from that time. So, it seems, a show like “Royalties” satisfies his deep hunger to make music and write songs ─ and do it totally on his own terms.
“I still say I want to put out music, and fans have been very vocal about that. I feel very fortunate they’re still interested at all,” he says. “That passion for making music really does come out in stuff like [this show].”
“Royalties” is Darren Criss at his most playful, daring, and offbeat. It’s the culmination of everything he has tirelessly worked toward over the last decade and a half. Under pressure with a limited filming schedule, he hits on all cylinders with a soundtrack, released on Republic Records, that sticks in the brain like all good pop music should do. And it would not have been the same had he, alongside Matt and Nick Lang, not formed Team StarKid 11 years ago.
Truth be told, it all began with a “Little White Lie.”
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artemishphm · 3 years
Text
ARTEMIS LUNA GREY
IDENTITY
Name: Artemis Luna Grey
Nicknames: Temis, Art, Artie, Mis, Moonie, Pip, Honey, Lunetta
Gender: Female
Age: 11 - 17 (in-game, 1984-1991); 47 (present day 2020)
Birth Date: 31st August 1973
Species: Human
Blood Status: Half-blood
Sexuality: Bisexual
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Ethnicity: Caucasian/White
Nationality: Half Italian, Half British
Residence: London, England
Myer Briggs Personality Type: ENFJ-A
THE MAGE
1st Wand: Acacia, Unicorn Hair, 12 inches, pliable
Garrick Ollivander found that wands made from Acacia were difficult to match with a wizard. Acacia wands generally refused to produce magic for anyone but their owners, but conversely, seemed to withhold their full power from all but the most gifted wizards.Owners of Acacia wands were generally subtle wizards, as wands made from this wood were generally unsuitable for what Ollivander termed "bangs-and-smells magic".             
Wands with unicorn hair cores produced the most consistent magic, were least subject to fluctuations and blockages, were most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts, and were the most faithful of wands. However, they do not make the most powerful of wands (unless the wand wood compensates) and are prone to melancholy if mishandled.
2nd Wand: Laurel, Phoenix feather, 12 inches
A laurel wand cannot perform a dishonourable act, although in the quest for glory (a not uncommon goal for those best suited to these wands), laurel wands have been known to perform powerful and sometimes lethal magic. Laurel wands are sometimes called fickle, but this is unfair; the laurel wand is unable to tolerate laziness in a possessor, and it is in such conditions that it is most easily and willingly won away. Otherwise, it will cleave happily to its first match forever, and indeed has the unusual and engaging attribute of issuing a spontaneous lightning strike if another witch or wizard attempts to steal it.
The Phoenix feather his is one of the rarest core types. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn hair or dragon heartstring cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance is usually hard won.
Animagus: American Staffordshire Terrier
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(Real footage of Barnaby playing with Artemis, Rowan rec)
Misc Magical Abilities: 
Parselmouth
Just like her brother Jacob, Artemis is a Parselmouth. She realized she was one when learning about Vipera Evanesca in her fifth year, a snake told her all about his life and she talked with him about her friends.
Seer
Artemis can see the future with her inner eye. She rembers giving prophecies since she was born and how she cried when she couldn’t see her brother’s future anymore, she can’t also see her own future. Artemis hates having prophecies at the most random times (example: when Barnaby was about to kiss her for the first time).
Animagus
Artemis can switch to a dog. She learned to do it with Talbott, even though they aren’t really close. She is not registered in the ministry.
Legilimency
Artemis was born with the ability to read other people’s minds.
Wandless and nonverbal magic
Artemis learned to cast nonverbal and windless magic with Rowan during their second year while they got bored during one of their sleepovers.
Boggart Form: Rowan’s dead body waking up and telling Artemis that it was her fault that she was dead.
Riddikulus Form: Rowan laughing with the fun that she bought with with Artemis 
Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Rain, Cookies, Vanilla and Fire
Amortentia: (What do they smell?) Snow, Shepherd’s pie, Fresh Laundry and a hint of sandalwood
Patronus: Unicorn
Patronus Memory: 
Dancing her heart out at the end of the fourth year with all of her friends in the courtyard thanks to a muggle stereo Jae had managed to smuggle in the castle
Mirror of Erised:
She sees her whole family just being there with her smiling, telling her how much they love her.
Specialized/Favourite Spells:
Flipendo
Episkey
Riddikulus
Depulso
Protego
Colovaria
Arresto Momentum
APPEARANCE
Faceclaim: Amanda Arcuri
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Game Appearance:
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Height: 5′5 (169 cm)
Weight: 110 lbs
Physique: Slim
Eye Colour: Green
Hair Colour:  Natural: brown, but she changes it every two weeks
Skin Tone: Ivory
Body Modifications: 
Her mother pierced her ears when she was born. During her years at Hogwarts she got a lot of other piercings on her ears.
She got a septum when she was 15
She also has a small sun stick & poke on her wrist. She got it with Rowan when they were 13 & bored. Rowan has a moon in the same place.
Scarring: 
She has small scars on her fingers due to failed spells
She also had a scar on her lower belly but she doesn’t remember how she got it.
Inventory: (what do they carry on them?)
Popcorn (”you always have to be ready to watch Merula fail at duels”), her mother’s necklace, candy, eye-liner, one of Barnaby’s rings and a dugbomb (”just in case”)
Fashion:
Converse are a must, she’s always wearing them (even when she shouldn’t). During the weekdays when she is not wearing her uniform you can find her sporting an old hoodie and some sweats around the castle. When she’s outside or on special occasion she has a 90s style,
I’ll link her Pinterest style board here once I do it.
ALLEGIANCES
Hogwarts House: Gryffindor
Affiliations/Organizations: The Grey family, The circle of Khanna, House of Gryffindor, British Ministry of Magic, Order of the Phoenix
Professions:
Gryffindor prefect (1988-1991)
Auror (1992-present day)
HOGWARTS INFORMATION
Class Proficiencies:
Astronomy: Outstanding
Charms: Outstanding
DADA: Outstanding
Flying: Exceeds Expectations
Herbology: Outstanding
History of Magic: Outstanding
Potions: Outstanding
Transfiguration: Outstanding
Electives:
Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding
Divination: Outstanding
Muggle Studies: Acceptable
Quidditch: TBD
Extra Curricular:
-Duelling Club
Favourite Professors:
Minerva McGonagall
Severus Snape
Sybilla Trelawney
Silwanus Kettleburn
Least Favourite Professors:
Patricia Rakepick
RELATIONSHIPS
Brother:
Jacob Apollo Grey
He used to be Artemis’ best friend, but after his disappearance she couldn’t help but think that their bond would never be the same
Father: 
Xavier Grey
Xavier left when Artemis was 3. He never came back.
Mother:
Jennifer Bane
A very cold woman, she never know how to show her love to Artemis. After Jacob left she became verbally abusive towards her daughter.
Love Interest:
Barnaby Lee
Penny Haywood (one-sided love, 1985)
Best Friends:
Rowan Khanna
Jae Kim
Nymphadora Tonks
Tulip Karasu
Penny Haywood
Rival:
Merula Snyde
Ismelda Murk
Andre Egwu (friendly bc of quidditch)
Enemy:
Patricia Rakepick
R
Acromantula
Dormmates: (Who’s in your MC’s dorm with them?)
Rowan Khanna
Skye Parkin
Barnaby Lee (when he doesn’t get caught, sneaked in)
Pets:
Niffler named Plato
Abraxan named Achilles
Fairy named Roger
Closest Canon Friends:
Badeea Ali
Charlie Weasley
Bill Weasley
Liz Tuttle
Skye Parkin
Murphy McNully
Closest MC Friends:
Lizzie Parker ( @lizzieparkerhphm​)
Luna Powell (currently 2nd year, one of my MCs)
If u wanna be friends with Artemis just dm me! I’d love to!
PERSONALITY
Artemis is kind, loyal and funny. She’s a bit bossy sometimes but she always everyone’s best interests at heart. She would literally do anything for her friends. She’s really impulsive and that often puts her in very dangerous situations. She’s also really smart.
MISC
Artemis started dying her hair during her second year, after Tonks pulled prank on her and put dye in her shampoo. She loved so much her green hair that she decided to always change her hair color (Colovaria helped, a lot too)
None’s ever seen Artemis with the same hair color for more that three weeks. Her friends often don’t recognize her from behind when she has a new dye
Artemis and Tulip throw the best parties. They got caught only once.
There’s an unwritten rule at Hogwarts, what happens at their parties stays in their parties.
Artemis loves muggle music, especially Queen and David Bowie.
Even though Snape is always pretty harsh, he’s one of her favorite professors (and deep down he has a soft spot for her).
Rowan and Skye found her during OWLs week at three am crying her heart while singing “love of my life” to a piece of paper where she had written “outstanding OWLs” and a bowl of ice-cream, probably stolen from the kitchen. They never talked about it.
Artemis is in love with the moon. She doesn’t know why, but she’s always felt connected to it. That’s why you can often find her in the astronomy tower just staring at the moon.
She ofter sneaks Barnaby in her room because the feeling of his arms around her helps her ease her nightmares and, when she has her visions, he’s able to calm her down almost instantly.
When Rowan died, he slept with her for two months. None of the professors said nothing.
Thanks to @hogwartsmystory​for the template <3
8 notes · View notes
thepencilnerd · 5 years
Text
𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 || 𝐦.𝐲.𝐠.
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coup de fou·dre- noun; derived from the French word for a strike of lightning, it describes a sudden unforeseen event, often in reference to love at first sight
➳ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
➳ Summary: Love at first sight didn’t exist. To you, this was a fact. Living in the city of love and lights, therefore, couldn’t have been more ironic. Paris wasn’t just the destination for hopeless romantics and tourists alike, but it was also home to hundreds of hidden treasures that were nestled around ecah street corner. Fate and destiny weren’t exactly concepts that you ever believed in, but how many times does it take for a chance encounter to turn into something even the universe couldn’t explain? 
➳ Genre: AU! Fluff, star-crossed encounters, barely a soulmate AU 
➳ Word Count: 9.5k
a/n: a few phrases in French but they will be translated in italics, and my French is very extremely rusty so please forgive me 
Waking up to the Parisian sun was one of the many things you cherished about living in the city. The open balcony window allowed an ambient breeze to blow into your studio apartment as sunlight streaked through the untied curtains. 
Reluctant to part from your disheveled bed sheets and scattered comforters, you took a glimpse at your alarm clock that read 8h47. Forcing yourself to come to terms with the fact that you had to get out of bed sooner or later, you threw your legs over the edge of the bed and hauled yourself up.  
It was a lazy Saturday in your quiet apartment, but the impending doom of going back to work on Monday motivated you to enjoy as much of your weekend as possible. When you applied for your university’s Study Abroad for a Summer program, you never imagined that you’d end up transferring to and graduating from Sorbonne, let alone living in Paris to this day. California never really had anything for you to begin with, and you’d lost contact with your parents after you moved out at 18. 
From infancy into adolescence, your family began falling apart at the seams. Your mom was barely home, and instead found more pleasure in placing bets and melting the plastic off of her credit card at casino resorts, while your dad couldn’t deal with the stress he got from watching her ruin their entire bank account. He didn’t care much about her livelihood, but when money was thrown into the equation, he went manic. 
Being on the dean’s list actually paid off in helping you form close relationships with your counselors and teachers; ones that your parents could never give you. As they had grown well aware of your situation at home, they made sure to take your work ethic and mediocre grades into account when you handed them your transfer application forms. Putting in a good word for you, they helped you realize that family wasn’t confined to blood relations, but rather the extensive bonds that you formed with those around you.
When the opportunity to move out presented itself on a silver platter, you took it without a single ounce of hesitation. Life was hell with or without your family, so why not just get away from it all together? 
It was no secret that France was a timeless country. While cities around the world began to construct office buildings and fall into the trend of modern sky-high architecture, France itself was a living and breathing historical artifact. Most buildings had been left untouched and undemolished since the Renaissance era, and they were constantly being maintained and restored like fine artwork.
Passing through each and every street, there wasn’t a single spot exempt from being anything but breathtaking. Even the street art was a sight to see. One of your favorite “touristy” spots was the Parc du Champ de Mars. The first few weeks into spring was when the flora in the park was at its peak. Nestled just behind the Eiffel Tower, the long field was a hotspot for tourists, families, friends, and couples all the like. Throughout the entire week, the park was full of vibrant and lively energy as people gathered to celebrate in the lush green grass. 
The Eiffel Tower was unquestionably your favorite place. Nestled in the 7th arrondissement, or sector of Paris, the Tour Eiffel was an icon in and of itself. Known as a culturally recognizable historic monument around the world, it wasn’t just all talk. Although the climb up the tower was grueling and enough to meet your monthly exercise requirements, the view from the highest observation deck was unrivaled. 
From the top, you could feel the clean air coursing through your lungs as you took in the view. The Arc de Triomphe was at the heart of the city, with the arch being the center median for twelve streets that ran through it. On the rare occasion in that you’d take the lift up to the deck at night, the whole city came to life as lights that beamed from lampposts, streetlights, and cars illuminated the entire heart of Paris. To describe the sight in words was impossible, and it made you feel like a tourist in your own city. 
Every morning before you left the house, especially on days that you didn’t feel like doing anything, you prayed silently and reminded yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to live in a country that some would sell their left kidney just to visit. Thankful for waking up to breathe another day in this reverie of a city, you trudged to the bathroom and washed up. 
Once you had settled into the city and stabilized living like a somewhat put-together adult, you had made it your goal to explore as much of the city as possible through any means possible. Most of the time, however, it involved stopping by at the most tourist clustered destinations. Although there were hundreds, if not thousands, of hidden treasures like restaurants and rustic flea markets, you found much more joy in hopping on the metro and letting it fate decide where it took you. 
Wrapping a scarf around your neck, a necessity when the spring air was still in its early beginnings, you gathered your remaining things into your bag and hurried out the door into the awaiting city outside. 
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Weekends typically started off late, as you had formed a habit of sleeping in on Saturdays and crashing early to wake up early on Sunday, but your morning routine always consisted of some kind of coffee to jump-start the day. Your cozy apartment building nestled in the 7th arrondissement of Paris was not only home to the Tour Eiffel but was also a hotspot for trendy cafés and restaurants all-the-like. On almost every street corner and turn of the road, a bistro or eatery occupied the lot, and outdoor seating made them all the more inviting. With a warm and homey atmosphere, even admiring the happy customers was a delightful experience. 
About a block or two from your flat building was one such café– Maison de Raphaël. You had heard stories of the original owner, Raphaël Beaumont, had fallen in love and met his wife at a café and was inspired to start his own business with her; a sign of their new journey as lovers and partners until their passing. The business was then inherited by his children and his children’s children to carry on, a constant reminder of how cooperation, understanding, patience, and hard work had the ability to build something magical. 
The familiar ring of the chimes on the door was like music to your ears as the scent of freshly ground coffee and steaming hot baked goods rushed to flood your senses. Not to mention the bustling customers, golden colored hanging lights, and rustic feel that made the place feel like a second home. 
Distracted by the hectic atmosphere, you tripped on your footing as you bumped into a random person. “Sorry!” Ducking your head and murmuring a quick apology, you immediately that your English slipped out accidentally. Before you could get a chance to rephrase your sentence, you found yourself at the front of the counter in the presence of your best friend. 
“Y/N!” Amélie shouted, reaching over the counter to envelop you a bear hug. “Quoi de neuf? / What’s up?”
You couldn’t help but smile in return at her constantly vibrant and bright personality. “Rien de nouveau / Nothing new,”  you shrugged. 
“Mademoiselle?” another voice rung from the kitchen. A nickname you had earned your first visit to the café as the “lost American,” you craned your neck to the buzzing kitchen, quickly waving to Amélie’s uncle, Pierre, as he gave you a toothy grin before resuming his cooking. 
“Still learning English?” you asked intuitively. 
Clearing her throat meekly, she stood with her chest puffed out and chin held high as she began speaking in English with a faint accent. “The weather is quite nice today, wouldn’t you say?” 
“Very nice,” you complimented her choice of sentence topic. “Je parle pas francais, désolé / I don’t speak French, sorry.” Holding your hands up jokingly, she giggled kindly at your submission to the French language. 
In the years that you had lived in France, you were still in middle school level and more than uneasy with verb conjugations. You were also eternally grateful that your job didn’t require that much face-to-face conversation, as everything in this age was done digitally, therefore, virtually. 
“Come on,” she scoffed. “You’re fluent enough.” Scrunching your nose at her unbearably kind nature, her French accent still laced her words as she spoke English, but it was one of those things that non-French speakers swooned over. 
“Whoever invented verb conjugation is the devil,” you groaned. “Can I have—”
“One café au lait coming right up,” she hummed, knowing your order by heart. Zipping around the tiny back bar like a dancing fairy, her quick hands crafted an award-worthy latte within minutes. Signaling you to find a spot on the swivel stools that lined the window, you maneuvered through the crowded groups of people waiting in line and met her halfway. “L'heure du déjeuner! / Lunch hour/break!” she shouted, her voice ringing through the back kitchen.
Sitting comfortably on the vintage seats, the sunlight hit your skin softly as light from outside peeked through the glass. A tray with two large cups was placed on the table as the scent of fresh coffee and steamed milk immediately found its way to your waiting nose and eager mouth. However, you always took the time to admire the steamed foam artwork that Amélie meticulously painted. Every day was a different masterpiece; some days were tulips and vines, while other days were cats and feathers. Today, it was a perfectly swirled and classic rosetta. 
Plopping herself down on the stool and raising it to meet your taller stature, you giggled lightly as you lowered yours, helping her in her efforts. Patting her frizzy curls down, she swept the bangs from her eyes and gave you a sheepish grin. 
You had met Amélie almost as soon as you had moved to France all those years ago. A quiet and bashful girl, your coffee addiction was fed by none other than the great-granddaughter of Raphaël Beaumont himself. In a flurry of terrible French and broken English, the two of you quickly bonded after your first turmoil of an encounter, sharing common interests in the world of fashion and cultures from your respective birthplaces. While she helped you pick up French, you began to teach her English and fuel her dream to move to New York to start her own clothing line; a dream she had apparently had since preschool. 
“Don’t tell me,” you hummed, quirking your lips into a smirk and knitting your eyebrows as you gestured to her vibrant red top. “New fabrics from the flea market?”
Nodding proudly, she smoothed out the lace overlay that decorated the bodice and patted it appreciatively. “I couldn’t help myself. As soon as I saw them laid out, I had to make a new blouse.”
“Prototypes are supposed to be a rough outline, not perfect products. If your mother were working a shift today, she might snatch it right off of you.” Tracing your fingers over the delicate blossoms and her impeccable handiwork with stitches, her talent never ceased to amaze you. “What am I going to do without your coffee when you leave?” 
“You’ll have your boyfriend to keep you company of course,” she retorted, flipping her hair back in an exaggerated manner. “But I won’t be going for a while, so don’t get your—how do you say it again? Panties in a twist?” 
“Oh my god, please never say that ever again,” you gawked, trying not to blush out of embarrassment. “Where did you even learn that?”
Shrugging nonchalantly, she raised her cup and took an indulgent sip. You also couldn’t wait any longer and snapped a picture before reluctantly ruining the beautiful artwork. Sighing in relief at the bitter taste that coated your tongue, nothing at that moment felt better than this. 
“Anything on la carte / the menu for you today, mademoiselle?” she asked thoughtfully, the nickname that her mother gave on your first visit to the café sticking like tree sap and rosin. 
Swirling the already half empty cup, you furrowed your eyebrows. “I might take the metro to the Notre-Dame. Maybe make a wish at Point Zéro and pray for a good workload this month?”  
She facepalmed and rolled her eyes at your dull response. “Mon dieu / oh my god, live your life a little. If I had today off, I’d go with you to wish for your boyfriend to come along already.” 
The legends of Point Zéro had been spread few and far between standing there with a loved one or paying pilgrimage to the journey in the city, but mostly revolved around the tale that if you stood on the brass plate in front of the cathedral and made a wish, it would come true.  
“Come on,” you snorted. “You know I don’t believe in any of that ‘coup de foudre’ stuff.” 
The term which literally meant “lightning strike” was an expression often used to describe a fated or unexpected occurrence such as love at first sight. Both of which you didn’t exactly believe in. 
“It’s not ‘stuff,’” she mocked your tone. “C’est vrai! / It’s true! You live in the city of love, for goodness sake. Stop killing yourself with your job and enjoy life.” 
Swallowing the last of your cold coffee, you propped up your elbow and rested your chin on your hand, studying the small potted plant that was placed on the wood table. “Love is stupid,” you huffed under your breath. “Everyone’s just desperate for a partner who’ll give them everything and not ask for anything in return. What kind of love is that?” 
“The stupid kind,” she jeered, flicking your forehead with her index finger to snap you out of your negative thoughts. “There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around.”
After chatting about the upcoming spring fashion walks in New York and getting scolded by her uncle, you agreed to visit her after her shift so you could hang out at your place for the weekend. Bidding Amélie and her family goodbye, you returned to the bustling streets that awaited you. 
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Despite the sometimes overhyped atmosphere of Paris, it was a sin to deny the fact that the city was a glimmering gem. Aboard the ferry that passed across the River Seine, you were currently en route to the Cathédral Notre-Dame. Resting your elbow on the metal rail, the cool breeze glided across your face, making your sigh in contempt. Weekends were truly the best. 
The usually crowded boat was relatively empty today, especially considering it was a weekend. Although there were a few families and tourist groups here and there, the entirety of the boat was overall calm. Drifting off into the vast scenery of antique architecture and busy streets, you noticed that you were just coming up to Pont Alexandre III, a monument bridge that connected the Les Invalides buildings with the Champs-Élysées. Adorned with bronze statues of nymphs and gilded phemes, they stood to represent the arts, agriculture, commerce, and war; the concrete foundation and rich values on which the country was built on. It never failed to make you feel honored to live here.
Pulling your phone out to snap a picture (as per your routine ritual whenever you passed by the bridge), you noticed a white beanie stand out in the photo and in the crowd. Although the weather could be considered chilly enough for extra outerwear, you noticed that out of the people that you had walked past in the last hour or two, this person was the first to don a fuzzy knit cap. Grinning to yourself, you ignored the silly thought as the ferry came to its stop. 
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The cathedral was busy as always. With the line of entry starting from the inside trailing all the way to the middle of the sidewalk, you were lucky if you could waddle through the crowds. Trying to navigate through the swarm of people, you found yourself a relatively empty spot around the brass plate that officially marked the exact center of the city. Throughout the years, the words and engraved patterns on the plate had worn off, but the central 8-pointed star was still mildly visible.
Standing beside the plate that was centered perfectly with the front of the cathedral, you admired every little detail that your eyes could drink in; the rose windows that were arranged in concentric circles, the stone statues of biblical figures, and the timeless gothic architecture that formed the entirety of the epochal construction. 
You didn’t plan on lighting a candle inside today, and the number of people that were pouring outside proved your point. Maybe next week? Staring down at the timeworn brass plate, you shoved your hands inside your pockets and closed your eyes to make a wish. 
“Live your life a little. There’s someone out there for you. It’s just a matter of having to wait for the right time to roll around,” Amélie’s words echoed loud and clear in your head. 
Huffing out in slight frustration, you pressed your eyes shut and wished for the one thing you had worked so hard for all your life. 
I just want to be happy.
Silently praying and repeating the mantra to yourself for a few seconds, you were snapped out of your daze by a kid running headfirst into your thigh and toppling over like a Jenga tower. Gasping in shock, you immediately crouched down to help the little boy up and brush off the dirt from his plaid sweater. 
“Désolé! / Sorry!” you cringed, tensing your face into an expression that screamed guilt. “Est-ce que ça va? / Are you okay?” 
The seemingly unaffected boy simply nodded, making you find it odd that he wasn’t crying or wailing. Instead, he chortled as if nothing were wrong in the world. “Est-ce que ça va, mademoiselle? / Are you alright, miss?” 
Smiling endearingly at his mannerism with a hint of worry knit in your brows, you gently brushed over his wavy tresses and double-checked to make sure he hadn’t scraped anything. 
Pressing up onto his tippy toes to raise himself to your height, the boy whispered in your ear. “On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux. / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eyes.” Before you got a chance to reply, he skipped off and disappeared into the crowd. 
You stood frozen as you tried to think about the words a random child had just re-iterated to you. You had no problem recognizing the quote from your favorite book of all time; Le Petit Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Trying to think of all the possible reasons why a stranger, let alone a child, would reference that particular quote out of nowhere, you ignored it and settled on the fact that maybe he had been reading too many fantasy books for his own good. Even though the boy had run off somewhere, worry overcame you as you realized you hadn’t even asked him if he was lost. 
Squinting your eyes as you scanned the herd of people to see if you could spot him, you were able to make out his tiny plaid sweater amongst the generally darkly clothed adults. He was standing in the entrance line with an older woman you assumed was his mother.  The boy turned to the man behind him and tugged on the edge of his beige coat, pointing his finger to somewhere in the crowd. Your eyes began trailing up the tall figure whose back was turned towards you, but you recognized the white beanie from earlier like a red wine stain on linen. 
He must have gotten off at the same stop as me. 
Unable to see his face from your angle, the man crouched down and ruffled the boy’s hair as a toothy grin appeared on the child’s face. Lightly chuckling to yourself, you quickly snapped a picture, reminding yourself to tell Amélie all about it when you went to visit her later. Checking your watch, the hands read 12:57 and meant that lunch was just around the corner. Glancing at the eroded star once more, you turned to the spot that the boy was standing, only to find that he and his mother were already walking inside, and the man from earlier was now nowhere to be seen. 
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As with most major city, restaurants in urban districts could be found scattered around every block like street signs. After walking across the Pont Notre-Dame to find the nearest bistro, you stumbled upon a crêperie just short of the Tour Saint-Jacques; another landmark that was the only remaining structure of a 16th-century church that was destroyed during the revolution.
Entering the small and cozy eatery, you were greeted by the friendly hostess behind the bar, currently occupied with wiping down the glasses and silverware. Sitting down by the window booth, she brought you a menu and a glass of water to start. Ordering their special, strawberry creme crêpes with a café au lait, you sat patiently as your stomach began to growl from the long walk. Years in the city and you still hadn’t gotten used to the daily on-foot commute. 
Gazing outside the window, you always found yourself magnetized by the most insignificant details about this city. Sometimes, you even found yourself staring at the cracks of old brick walls until a person tapped you on the shoulder asking you if you were alright. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you were the type of person who found joy in strolling around flea markets for hours without boredom. 
After a few minutes, a plate of freshly flipped crêpes made its way to your table, the thinly sliced strawberries and fluffy whipped cream seeping at the edges practically begging to be devoured. Bordering the edge of drooling, you cut a bite-sized portion but couldn’t bring yourself to eat at a normal pace for the fear that it would all be gone too soon. This might be your new favorite place, which didn’t bode well for your old faithful crêperie two blocks down from your apartment. 
Taking time to savor the light and airy texture of the filling, you paced yourself in between bites and sips, reminding yourself to eat as slow as you could to make the experience all the more worthwhile. Once you downed your last mouthful and a final sip of coffee, you handed the waitress the check as she returned to go get your receipt. 
Drawn to the light outside the once more, you saw that the sun was still shining bright, remembering that it was still early spring and the sunset didn’t come until around dinnertime. Shifting your gaze to the crowded patio seats, you couldn’t help but draw your attention to a couple sat in a pair beside the rose bushes that lined the seating area. 
They appeared to be in their late thirties and were bantering back and forth while eating, letting a few giggles slip here and there. It’s not that dating or commitment scared you, but it was the idea of giving yourself completely into a relationship and not knowing if the other person might leave you at any moment that seemed—vulnerable. You despised nothing more than being blinded by love, and half of the time, the romance that books and movies talked about wasn’t even real love; it was just lust. Libido-driven physical one-sided lust. Still, you couldn’t help the wishful gaze that began to form. 
Would you ever find a love that was even half as passionate as what they had? 
Receiving the receipt from the waitress, you quickly thanked her and slung your bag over your shoulder as you got ready to leave. However, before you stood up, a familiar figure was sat two booths down from you. The same back-turned position, white beanie, beige coat, and this time, you could make out the edge of an ivory-colored scarf that was wrapped around his neck. Blinking to make sure that your contacts weren’t just drying up, you shrugged it off as the first coincidence of the day. 
You paced yourself out the door and convinced yourself that it was just that; a coincidence.
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Venturing down to the 1st arrondissement in a spontaneous act of curiosity, you were drawn to the petite floral shop that was a few blocks from the bus stop. Marveling at the newly made arrangements and bundles of in-season vines that lined the floors and shelves, the kind elderly lady of the store instantly sparked a friendly conversation with you about the meanings of different flowers. 
As the conversation carried on with her effortless French and you struggling to decipher her quick tempo, you understood the gist of her speech but still blanked on a couple verbs and idioms here and there. Roses were tokens of love and devotion, calla lilies symbolized beauty and purity, and lilacs represented innocence and confidence. Nodding your head to make sure that you didn’t show how clueless you were in between her complicated sentences, she gave you a heartwarming smile before clasping her hands over her mouth with a gasp, scrambling to reach for something under her workspace. 
Ducking down her counter and shuffling through floral wires, foam, and a few cardholders, she found a small cylindrical glass vial necklace and handed it to you tenderly. Looking at it up close, you saw that it was a burgundy rosebud encapsulated in a clear resin of some sort.
"Pour votre aimé / For your loved one." Clasping her hands around yours, she gave you a firm look of sincerity, bordering on the verge of urgency
"Non, s'il te plaît, / No, please," you urged, trying to hand it back to her but receiving a pouted lip and a wagging finger in return. Shaking your hands embarrassingly, you denied her conclusion as quickly as the words had left her mouth. “Je n'ai pas d'amant. / I don’t have a lover.” 
“Pas encore, mais bientôt, / Not yet, but soon,” she emphasized her words, laughing at your blank and confused face before waving her hands and telling you to get home early. 
When you tried to hand her a few euros in exchange, she nearly bit your head off and ushered you to take off and come back again. Sighing in defeat and surrendering to her persistent nature, you thanked her once more before leaving the shop with a jingle of the windchimes sounding behind you. 
Pausing to open your clutched hand and inspected the perfectly preserved bud,  completely in awe at how intact and still life-like it was. Frowning slightly, you wondered why she had suddenly been struck with the idea of giving a rather pricey looking necklace to a random customer; mind you, you hadn’t paid for it either.
Feeling guilty for not at least buying a small bouquet or desk succulent, you bit your lip and debated whether you had time to go back inside and buy something before the next bus came. Scanning over the buckets that bordered the outside of the shop, you tried to see if there were any small buds you could bundle together yourself or a small cactus you could quickly buy, but it was a fruitless effort, as most of the displays and pre-made potted plants were too large for you to carry home. 
Exhaling in slight annoyance you decided that it was better to come back tomorrow and catch the bus, but not before taking a quick snapshot of the colorful row of blooming petals. Examining the picture you had just taken on your phone, your eyes widened at an all too recognizable figure at the edge of the picture. Wearing that same white beanie, ivory scarf, beige coat, black jeans, and with his back still turned to you, the same man from earlier today was currently standing over the array of flowers. 
Looking up, he was still facing away from you in a way that you couldn’t make out his appearance, but you could clearly hear the shutter of a camera going off as he gazed at the freshly blossomed roses. Pondering over the possibility that this was just another coincidence, you reminded yourself that you would just come back tomorrow and buy a full-size arrangement instead. 
Returning back to the direction of the bus stop, you almost screamed when you read the time. Nearing dinner time, you dashed down the street as if your life depended on it and tried to catch the last bus home. 
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The good news was that you ran faster than you had in your entire life and could probably skip cardio for the next few months. The bad news was that you missed your bus and were out of breath, freezing, and hungry. 
Your watch read 4:40, making you groan as reality struck. Internally facepalming yourself and saying a prayer to your bank account, you swallowed your pride and told yourself that this was a foreboding from the high heavens as motivation to work harder. A white lie never every once in a while never hurt anyone, right? 
Stumbling across a somewhat affordable diner combined brasserie, the enticing smell of roast beef and freshly baked dinner rolls wafted you inside. Since it was a peak hour for early diners, you were lucky to find yourself a spot in the back patio seating. Eyeing the rather empty area oddly, it clicked when you pieced together how full the front and indoor seating area was. Following the waiter to your table, you sighed in relief when your legs came in contact with the leather cushions. With tired legs finally being able to leisure and be limp on the ground, your tired out-of-shape muscles bid you a wordless thank you. 
Gulping down the jug of water the kind server had brought you, he chuckled before giving you a break to catch your breath, clearly noticing your exhaustion as you struggled to form proper sentences. If your day to day French was awful, imagine what it sounded like when you were fatigued beyond words. 
Deciding on a bowl of bœuf bourguignon with pommes frites / beef stew with fried potatoes, the waiter jotted down your order and excused himself. Closing your eyes and trying to control your growing hunger, you almost fainted when you rolled your head back and turned to two seats down to your right. 
“Beanie boy?!” you shrieked, widening your eyes and cupping your hand over your mouth when you realized how loud you had just shouted. The same boy from earlier jolted from his seat, dropping his pasta entwined fork and yelping as well. Coughing to clear his throat from his near-choking experience, you couldn’t believe your eyes. How did he get here?
“Pardon?” he choked, grabbing his napkin to wipe his mouth. Noticing his choice of English, you raised your finger shakily and pointed to him as if he were a zombie that had risen from the dead.  “You speak English?” you asked with your jaw agape. He simply blinked and nodded. 
Right before you could continue, the waiter walked into the seating area and looked at both of you with bulging eyes before hastily setting your food down on your table and scurrying off. 
“Have you—do you—have you been following me?” you mumbled. Your mouth was still agape in shock, periodically opening and closing like a fish out of water. 
Cocking his head and furrowing his eyebrow softly, his lower lip jutted in a pout and he shook his head. “I could ask you the same thing.” 
Jaw dropping entirely, you blinked harshly and checked once more if your contacts were dried out, but gulped anxiously when he was still in front of you. “No. No, I’m not, I just—how?”
“May I sit?” he peeped politely, his extroverted statement contrasting with his outwardly introverted appearance. Nodding unconsciously for the fear that you’d be an awful person if you denied someone eating dinner alone a companion, he got up and shuffled through the chairs and sat down in front of you. 
The dim light now illuminated his features, making his face thoroughly visible. Under his knit cap was coarse dark brown hair that framed his round yet angular face. His soft eyebrows drew attention to his brown eyes, while his lips seemed to be formed a perpetual pout.  
“I guess this is all just one big coincidence, right?” you forced out an awkward laugh in order to diffuse some of the tension and pry your staring eyes off of him. Maybe it was all in your own head.
Pressing his lips into a thin line, it looked as if he were holding back a laugh. Barely narrowing your eyes to try and analyze his micro expressions, he resumed speaking. 
“If you want to call it that,” he chuckled lightly, his voice now emphasized crystal clear. “I’ve had a pretty weird day today.”
Feeling yourself relax at his ability to make casual talk with a stranger like yourself, you felt a grin tug at the edges of your mouth. “I’ll raise you on that bet.”
Eyebrow lifting at your challenge, you raised your eyebrows at him tauntingly, a sudden surge of confidence rushing over you that you had never felt before. He eyed you wearily before raising his fork to his mouth and poking his chin with it, his aim inadvertently ruined by your locked stare. You coughed to hide a snort. 
“So what brings you to the 1st arrondissement on this fine Saturday night?” he asked speculatively, deep-set eyes never leaving yours as you replied. 
Chewing slowly to think of an answer, you shrugged shyly and gave him your honest answer. “Just another boring Saturday, I guess...” He nodded understandingly, seeming to accept your plain response. “What about you?”
It was his turn to shrug. “I didn’t feel like sitting around in my living room again was the most productive way to spend the weekend, so I thought it’d be a good idea to work on my portfolio.”
Holding your spoon as it came halfway to your mouth, you set it back down and grew interested in his occupation. “Photography major?” 
“Photographer, actually,” he smirked playfully, emphasizing the last syllable ever so slightly. “But I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who got mistaken as a student.” 
“You thought I was a post-grad?” you scoffed, amazed and flattered that you could still pass off as a woman in her very early twenties. 
He grinned widely at your surprise, showing off a gummy smile that made your stomach feel weird. Did they cook the meat all the way through? you thought. 
“I guess we have more than one thing in common,” he remarked, winding another mouthful of pasta around his fork neatly before engulfing it like a child.
“You mean ferry rides and flower shops?” you joked. 
“Don’t forget cathedrals and cafés,” he reminded, shooting you a cheeky wink. 
Shaking your head at his bold nature, the two of you broke into giggles, unable to hold back the recollection of strange concurrences that had occurred in the single day alone. The waiter stopped by the table to refill the water jug, making you both shift in your seats and try to tone your laughter down. Whispering something in the waiter’s ear, he shuffled his hand under the tablecloth, but you assumed your eyes were just deceiving you again. 
“So you’re a photographer, are you?” 
Quirking the edge of his lip and a brow into a pondering expression, he couldn’t give you a definitive answer. “It depends—am I still a professional if I don’t think my work is particularly that good?” 
“Touché,” you hummed. “May I be the judge of that?” 
His eyes ducked down timidly, indicating that he was genuinely unconfident in his work. “How about we make a deal of some sort?” he offered.
Jutting your chin down and pressing him to continue, he smiled coyly. “Let me spend the evening with you as reimbursement for dinner, and I’ll show you my portfolio.” 
“Is that a euphemism for something I don’t want to know?” your mind urged you to ask apprehensively, noting the kind tone that laced his voice.
“No, I promise,” he raised his hands in defense. 
“What do you mean ‘reimbursement for dinner?’” you air-quoted, still not sure of what his intention was. 
“Considering I already slipped the waiter my card,” he whipped out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “—and I’ve already signed the receipt, I’d say that this boring Saturday just turned into a spur of the moment hang out between new acquaintances.” 
Suppressing a scoff at his daring personality that emitted sheer confidence and shamelessness, you caved in and agreed. This was considered a “blind date,” right?
Continuing our discussion and jumping randomly from topic to topic, the flow of the conversation never stopped, continuing along effortlessly as hours seemed to pass by like seconds. The playful banter was exchanged with teasing comments and jokes, making the rumbling of passing streetcars become drowned out by the combination of your hearty laughter; a sound that you had unintentionally begun to memorize note by note in your mind. 
Before you knew it, the sun had already begun to set and was falling fast. A mutual look of understanding crossed your faces when you checked your watch again, the dreaded hands that you had grown to dislike throughout the day clearly reading 8:05. 
“I live in the 7th arrondissement. Is it alright I walk you home?” he asked softly, a tone of reluctance lacing his quiet voice. 
Blinking your eyes rapidly and coming back to your senses, you nodded, wondering for a split second how he knew which district you lived in, but remembered that he boarded the same ferry as you this morning. Telling yourself that nothing lasted forever and that the night had to come to an end eventually, the two of you rose from your seats and slowly dragged your feet to the exit.
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The view from the Pont Alexander III bridge was beautiful during the daytime, but the lampposts that illuminated the pathway at night was an entirely different experience. The ornate and extravagant bridge that you had seen glimmering during the daytime was now toned down, making the statues appear to be asleep. 
Considered the golden hour by many, you understood why the lavish name had been given to the spot at this time. The line of the sunset followed the arch of the bridge, skimming it lightly as the sun itself disappeared beneath the skyline. The pastel blue, warm orange, and vibrant red-yellow gradient skies were accentuated by the very golden street lamps, making it the perfect destination to stop by before the end the evening. 
“Do I get to see those pictures yet or was this all just a grand scheme to spend the evening with me?” you remarked coyly, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a grin when you saw a light blush fan across his cheeks. Darting his tongue out to wet his lower lip, he still seemed a bit nervous. 
“I promise you that my pictures are worse,” you assured. “You looked pretty professional around the roses though, so I wouldn’t really worry.” 
Face surrendering into his grin, he pulled out his camera from his satchel and stood beside you, both of you resting your elbows behind you on the rail of the bridge. Handing him your phone and exchanging it with his camera, you each began scrolling through the gallery pictures. You were absolutely spellbound. 
He had managed to capture each setting of the landmarks in Paris perfectly. From the Louvre to the Museé d’Orsay and the Arc de Triomphe all the way up to the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, his shots were somehow able to encapture the pure essence and splendor of the city. 
“These are—” you gaped. “I don’t—”
“They’re pretty mediocre,” he admitted guiltily as his hand began rubbing the back of his neck instinctively. 
“No!” you defended. “They’re just—wow. They’re amazing...”
“Thanks,”  he blushed at your compliment. “Your pictures are pretty good, too.”
Rolling your eyes at his makeshift compliment, you accepted it nonetheless. “They’re mediocre,” you mimicked.
He ruffled your hair jocularly, taking your mind back to when you saw him at the cathedral. “Did I mention that I make a great model?”
Your head tilted in confusion at his query but your eyes widened when it dawned on you; he had seen the pictures you’d taken of him. Showing you your phone, he began swiping across the screen, exposing the few pictures that you had snapped of him covertly. 
“Oh—” you stuttered. “Those were just—I thought it—I thought it would be a funny story to tell my friend. My best friend. She loves movie-plot stuff like this. Coincidental situations, accidental encounters, you know. Stuff like that?”
Hoping he would understand and look past your rambling mess of words, he burst into a fit of laughter as he showed off his gummy smile again; one you had already begun to grow fond of a little too quickly for your liking. 
“Keep scrolling,” he giggled, pointing to his camera in your hand. Following his directions, your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as they caught images of the places you had visited earlier today—with you as the central subject of the pictures.
The first was of the ferry ride; you were holding your chin up from your elbow on the rail and gazing across the river with a serene and tranquil expression. The second was of you standing on point zero; your eyes were shut tight and concentrated firmly on the brass plate, making you remember your wish that you had prayed for. The third was of you at the crêperie; your mind flashed back to the moment when you were staring out the window at the lovely couple. In the captured photo, your wistful gaze conveyed the definition loneliness. 
The fourth one at the flower shop was the one that stood out from the rest. 
In the other ones, you seemed like you were lost in the haze of your mind and constantly living out of the moment; whether it was thinking about your past or the future, this one was one of pure joy as you were gazing at the beautiful colors and delicate scents of the flora. A repressed grin slipped past your lips, turning into a full-blown expression of awe. 
“Do you mind if I take another one?” he asked delicately, rubbing the back of his neck again, a habit you deciphered as one that stemmed from nervousness. Nodding your head as warmth flushed your cheeks, you handed him the camera and panicked, unable to think of a pose. 
“Just relax and smile,” he encouraged, giving you a heartfelt grin as he adjusted the lens. 
Narrowing your eyes at the ground for a brief second, you retreated to your accustomed position of propping your elbow up and resting your chin on your hand. You looked out across the rippling river and now dark sky as the once bright colors had grown dusky and dim. The shutter clicked once, making you turn to him and click again. 
“Aimer, ce n'est pas se regarder l'un l'autre, c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction. / Love doesn’t consist of gazing at each other, but in looking together in the same direction.” He spoke in a near whisper to himself as he repeated another quote from Saint-Exupéry, making it the second one today. 
Taken aback by his words, you struggled to find words yourself. “Did a boy—a little boy tell you that, by any chance?” 
He looked up from his camera display and at you with widened eyes. “I told you today was a weird day,” he stared at you in disbelief. Feeling at ease around his amusing reaction, you shook your head and let out a nasal snort, staring thoughtfully at the river.  
"I’m guessing you’re an Exupéry fan too?” you added. Fiddling with his hands, he simply nodded, the edges of his lips curling into a carefree grin. 
“Le Petit Prince is a classic tragedy,” he sighed. “I cried for days when my mom explained the ending to me.” 
Patting his back and comforting his pouty face, you accidentally let out a giggle. “I thought I was the only one.” 
Standing beside each other and glancing at the rippling waves below, you found your eyes drift to a couple on the street that bordered the bridge. Oddly enough, they seemed to mirror the pair of you with their similar taste of clothing and friendly bond.
“Do you think the rose was selfish?” you wondered aloud, not expecting a response from him. It had been an odd question that plagued your very existence ever since you had read the book as a child. 
“No,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. “They were so blinded by love, they didn’t understand what it even meant. Would you still call that love?” he pondered, his voice coming out just shy of a whisper. 
Your head shifted to him, studying his features as he continued to look across the water. Changing his position to mirror you, his lips relaxed before forming a sympathetic smile. 
“Love is easy to find if you look hard enough, especially in a big city like this— but it’s the good kind; the wholehearted, selfless, and genuine devotion that makes everything worthwhile. That’s the one that’s almost impossible to find.” 
Feeling his eyes pierce through you, you shyly averted your gaze away and returned to the view of the sky, which was now completely enveloped in darkness as the day was finally at its end. 
“That kind of love isn’t something you find; it’s something that comes to you,” he iterated softly, his captivated eyes never leaving you. “But I couldn’t agree more.” 
“On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur, / It is only with the heart that one can see rightly,” you started, curious to see if he were as passionate and borderline obsessed with the children’s fable as you were. 
“L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux, / What is essential is invisible to the eyes,” he continued, completing the second half of the quote. 
Diverting your attention back to the streets below, you swore you felt your heart hiccup. 
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Within the few hours that you had spent together, you felt as if you’d known each other all your life. There was some kind of connection, a bond, that neither of you could explain. Whether it was your mutual inarticulate French speaking skills or the fact that you had delved deep into the past circumstances that resulted in moving to Paris, time didn’t seem to exist when he spoke to you. To say that you felt comfortable around him was an understatement; you felt like you were home.
Thankfully, Maison de Raphaël was just around the corner from the bridge. You didn’t notice how much time had passed until you checked the time again; it was already 9:30, meaning Amélie would be off work soon.
“I guess this is my stop,” you exhaled, trying not to show your discomfort from all the walking you had done today. Even though the sky was now a deep navy blue, flecks of light constellations began to peek through the dim clouds.
“Time flew by too quickly,” he noted, his hands instinctively returning to stroke the nape of his neck.
Puffing your cheeks to stifle a cheesy grin, you could only nod curtly in agreement. “Way too quickly.”
A few awkward seconds passed before each of you found the courage to speak.
“I—” he started.
“Do you—” you tried to ask.
Cutting off each other’s words, he gestured kindly for you to start first. “You should get home,” you insisted, feeling the guilt grow inside you the longer you kept him here.
He blinked a couple times, opening then closing his mouth as he tried to form a response. 
Why oh why of all the things to say did you have to say that stupid sentence, you groaned silently, mentally scolding yourself for being so brusque.
“Oh—yeah. Of course,” he replied while forcing out a cough. “Thanks for tonight.” 
Laughing warmly, he couldn’t help but look at you with that same gummy smile you had already known by heart. “Will I get to see you again?” you asked, worried for a second that you might’ve sounded too hopeful. 
He considered the realistic possibilities. “It’s a pretty big neighborhood, but judging from the day we’ve spent and the places we both like to visit, I would say the odds are in our favor.”
Holding his hand out, you shook it tenderly, afraid that if you let go too quickly, the universe would find a way to make sure that you’d never see him again. It’s not like you ever believed in fictional concepts like the power of the universe or romantic deities, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The air around you grew cold with melancholy, the two of you more than clearly able to feel the tension as you were forced to accept the reality of parting ways. 
Not even a few seconds after walking in the opposite direction, you turned around and bid him one more but hopefully not last farewell. 
“Get home safely!” you shouted through cupped hands. He hadn’t moved far from the previous spot he was standing in. Only when you were at the entrance of the café and saw his still unmoved distant figure did you understand that he waited there to make sure that you arrived at your destination safely. Peering through the glass pane, you saw him give you a final wave before his shadow faded into the night.  
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“So you just left?!” Amélie’s jaw dropped to the ground. “And you didn’t even get his phone number?”
“Yes!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands and slamming them down onto the counter by the cash register. “Don’t rub it in.” Somehow, you had managed to compress in your entire day’s worth of events into a five-minute rant. Breathless at the end of your makeshift speech and in a fugue state, she brought you a glass of water, still gawking at you as you chugged it in four gulps. 
“Punaise... / Damn...” she whispered. “Are you alright?” Sniffling slightly, you didn’t realize that tears had begun to flood your eyes until her hands rubbed your back soothingly. 
Why were you crying? 
“You two must have really had something special going on,” she sighed, still stroking your shoulders tenderly.
“Don’t start with that fate and destiny crap—” you whined but were cut off by her abrupt hush.
“Do you know how starstruck both of you would have been to not even ask for each other’s names?” she dragged out the last word, craning her neck and raising her eyebrows so high they looked animated.
Tears pricked your eyes again as the lump in your throat returned. You broke into full sobs now. “I didn’t even get his name!” Tangling your hands into your hair, you wondered if all those years studying for school actually grew your practical intelligence or just made you dumber. 
“Amélie!” Pierre hollered from the empty kitchen. “Un café au lait!” 
“On est fermé! / We’re closed!” she groaned, rubbing her temple as she tried to think of a solution to your predicament. 
“Vingt minutes! / Twenty minutes!” he barked back. 
“Who in their right mind orders coffee at night...” she grumbled a few profanities. You shot her a quick smile and shooed her off to quickly finish her shift so that the two of you could go back to your place. Sleepovers were more fun as adults, especially when champagne was added to the equation. 
With your head buried underneath your scarf and crossed arms, you could barely hear the muffled exclamation of Amélie’s cheer as she greeted the last customer of the night, judging by the tone of her voice to come to the conclusion that they were also a regular.  
You didn’t even know his name. You didn’t even get his stupid freaking name and you were beating yourself up over how absurd the entire situation was. It’s not like you really knew each other, right? You were appalled at your own desperation. You couldn’t believe actually crying over some random guy. 
It was just a fun day with some random stranger. A random stranger who you just happened to click with. A stranger who you coincidentally ran into multiple times, just as luck would have it. An unknown guy who shared the same interests as you and admired the beauty in little things. 
A person who you were wholeheartedly and completely mesmerized by right down to the last bit of fluff that was stuck on his beanie. 
“Love at first sight my ass—” your obscenity was interrupted by a forceful cough that belonged to none other than your best friend. 
“Last time I checked, you were the ‘innocent’ one of us two?” she hummed, raising her brow in a comical manner. Rolling your eyes and wiping the edges of your eyes, your tears finally started to come to a slow. All that remained was a pink flush on your cheeks and a red nose Rudolph would be jealous of. 
Noticing the plate of coffee in her hand, you eyed her skeptically and asked her what she was doing watching you cry like an infant instead of serving the last customer so you could go home to your emergency ice cream stash. 
Clicking her tongue mischievously, she set the porcelain cup down in front of you. “Pour vous, / For you,” she bowed dramatically. 
“What?” you hiccuped. 
“Special occasion?” her lips formed into a quirky grin. Nudging her head to the design she had etched into the cup, it was a new pattern. The base was a classic rosetta, but rather than have the buds of the leaves extend and thin out at the tip, she had drawn a plump heart. It was unusual. Out of all the different designs she had drawn on hundreds of cups, you’d never seen her draw a real heart, counting the number of times she had remarked how “cheesy” and “cliché” it was. 
“I didn’t order a—” you stammered.
“I guess we have more than a few things in common...” a soft-spoken voice trailed from behind you. 
Feeling your breath hitch in your throat, you felt your entire body tense up in shock, too anxious to turn around. Slowly turning your chair to the source of the voice, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes and a beaming smile. 
“I forgot to ask you if you wanted to get a cup of coffee with me,” he grinned. 
In a heartbeat, you found yourself throwing yourself into in his arms as they enveloped you in a tight embrace. Fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, you nestled your head into his chest as he held you close. It was the first heart fluttering hug you’d felt in years. 
“I could’ve sworn I recognized the person I bumped into this morning,” he chuckled deeply. 
Your eyes widened to the size of flying saucers. 
“You didn’t tell me you knew Y/N, Yoongi” Amélie peeped from the counter, ogling the both of you while waggling her eyebrows impishly. 
“Y/N,” he repeated slowly, your name rolling off of his tongue like honey.
“Yoongi,” you greeted with a giggle. His name felt like words you had been waiting an eternity to say. 
Amélie read your facial expressions, making hers contort into one that resembled Munch’s painting of The Scream. “You have got to be kidding me,” she drawled out with her hand cupped over her mouth. 
Yoongi’s hands wrapped around your waist and pressed you closer into him, sighing in content at the feeling of fulfillment that washed over both of you. 
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he looked down at you, introducing himself formally and taking the opportunity to accentuate your name once more. 
“The pleasure is all mine,” you beamed, never feeling more at home than in the arms of Yoongi in this exact present moment. 
Maybe this whole coup de foudre thing wasn’t a total fairy tale after all.
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devinclaire · 5 years
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Taurus- Moon Cycle Horoscope
Curious to read a Moon Cycle Horoscope? As a birthday gift to all the Tauruses out there, below you’ll find your Moon Cycle Horoscope for the Taurus New Moon. Not a Taurus and looking for your sign? You’ll find it in the Shop, or consider joining the New Moon Social Club to receive your horoscope every month.
New Moon Social Club
Re: Taurus during the Taurus New Moon Cycle
 All Times are Pacific Standard Time
 With all this metaphorical lightening striking in your life these last two months a New Moon in your sign feels like solace after clawing through the forest unable to find a path. Now you have a moment to look up and see the stars. It’s peaceful.
Enjoy a deep breath of pine air while you can as there is very intense, destiny altering energy afoot. Does it make sense now, that all this turmoil was training for this exact moment? When the choice really matters, you’re able to stand in the eye of the storm.
Did I forget to mention that it’s your birthday? Forgive me. The energy of chaotic Uranus threw me off! Yes there’s adventure taking place right in your own backyard, but that doesn’t mean we can forget we’re celebrating the season in which the Sun travels to the exact spot where it shone the day you were born. If you’re a Taurus Rising this season honors the constellation that crossed over the horizon the moment you took your first breath.
It’s so much to marvel over, so many fragments of space rock and clusters of gas had to align in all the right place, willing you to come about to live that stellar frequency in the form of a human. The Universe applauds that you decided to show up, and over the next 7 years is giving you opportunities to let your genius take you to new realms.
I know there’s a part of you that’d love to lounge in the fields of flowers with Ferdinand the bull, and there’s a lot of value in that, but like Ferdinand, you’re being called to do something completely revolutionary. I didn’t say it would be easy, but it definitely won’t be boring!
So, what is this destiny challenge you’re being asked to complete? Your spiritual side is needing more and more space to be free and out in the open, you find more and more that you need to have the ability to say to someone, “This is my opinion on this matter,” and not be worried about having the exact right response before you speak.
This new practice may come easier as Mercury, the planet of communication, travels into your sign on Monday, May 6th. Everyone’s words will come slower as if the letters are sticking to their ribs. This will give you a chance to get your thoughts out into the open where they can fly. Those around you have no excuse when they claim they didn’t hear what you said. They certainly heard what you said, and it shook them to their core.
Do you need extra proof that this is a good idea? There’s been movement in your 11th House of your hopes and dreams. The energy is one that doesn’t want to listen to any master. It’s the energy of Lilith, the first wife of Adam. Since she wouldn’t lay beneath Adam and obey him, she chose to run wild through the forest, claiming her autonomy. You’re being called by the wind to run away with abandon with nothing but the breeze moving through your hair.
You’re known for being solid, and this means that it’s highly likely that someone has overstepped their boundaries with you, grabbing at the security they saw you could offer them. That burbling sense of annoyance or resentment you feel sometimes? That’s a very good indicator someone is making that grab. Lilith is calling you to come run wild and naked through the woods. Leave anyone who can’t take care of themselves without needing you to constantly comfort them.
Don’t think you have it in you to branch out on your own? You’ll see what you’re really made of on Wednesday May 8th. It’ll be like fireworks coming out of your mouth. This is definitely a time when you want to speak exactly what’s on your mind. This is the kind of energy you want to get out in front of and use it on others rather than have it be used on you.
Getting clear on your truth will come up again the next day on Thursday, May 9th. It’s time to talk about your passions, even if it’s just a very honest conversation you have with yourself. It might feel scary, but the Truth of your soul is your biggest priority. Especially during your birthday season when it’s time for new, invigorated beginnings.
All this speaking your Truth may lead you to stop believing an outlandish lie someone’s been telling you and passing as fact. On Saturday, May 11th you watch the foundation around this lie crack and crumble to the ground. With the fall of a false idol, your soul feels stronger, guided by passion, grounded in knowing.
Monday, May 13th asks how you can build creatively from this experience. You’re very in tune with the energy today. You’re recovering from the leap you took earlier this month in speaking your wants and needs. You may also be recovering from others not taking your newfound opinions very well. This is a nice day to create a piece of art around this experience, releasing old energy as you transfer it into the piece.
You bloom and open toward love the way a flower yearns for the Sun. Wednesday, May 15th Venus travels into your sign. You place your flower crown on to dance barefoot amongst the moss and ferns. During this time (until June 8th) love will be experienced in a very sensual way. Do you shiver when they touch you? It just very might well be love.
Mars also floats into Cancer on this day as well. Again, supercharging your ability to communicate. This will also give you extra psychic superpowers. Remember to get your point across you need to speak it, you can’t rely on telepathic communication.
On Thursday, May 16th you’ll definitely find the words to say what’s on your mind, or if you’ve been speaking up already, this is the day when your words manifest into a desired entity. Notice how this thing or person matches the frequency and tone of your words. It doesn’t only matter what you say, it matters how you say it.
The Moon beams coming down from the Scorpio Full Moon on Friday, May 17th are some for the ages. As a lover of music, you’ll see and appreciate the harmony in the atmosphere. This is about the sprouting of a long-anticipated project, perhaps a romance that blossoms into deep commitment.
It can also be the realization that something has come to its emotional end, and that you’re in a new space, even if the location you find yourself in doesn’t quite reflect that yet. Maybe you don’t always get around to doing a Full Moon releasing ritual, if there was a Full Moon to make some time for a ritual, this is the one. This time it’s destiny.
Taurus season begins to come to an end, as all things must, the following Tuesday, May 21st when both the Sun and Mercury travel into Gemini. You may feel a little uprooted, like you started out as a potted fern and you’ve suddenly been freed from your soil as an air plant. Conversations speed up and it feels like a general sense of confusion has resumed. This is why you did all your training during Taurus season. You’re clear on your values and this keeps you calm as a frenzy whips up around you. If you do find yourself stumbling at any given time, bring the conversation back to community. This is the common ground.
Expect the affects of you’re Full Moon releasing ritual to start popping up on Wednesday, May 22nd. Emotions may feel extreme, or that you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Know these are messages from your spirit guides. They’re trying to make something clear.
Continue with the strategy of using this releasing energy to get closer to what you desire. On Wednesday, May 29th you may find that speaking about your dream results in those you thought were friends leaving your life. They want a certain version of you, a version that doesn’t include your new pursuit. This can feel painful, but know that you may one day want to thank them for their ignorance as they’re creating a void space in your life that can be filled with the next person or experience bringing you to the next level of being.
Friday, May 31st will be a powerful day. Imagine an abandoned city covered with vines and branches, to the point you could no longer see the structures that once existed. The vines grow bigger and more tangled, they bloom. Where are you getting back to nature in your life? Where is a stark structure beginning to grow lush?
Alright, we’re in the dark of the Moon, the day before the New Moon in Gemini. Let’s reiterate the theme of how you’re pulling lots of punches this year, throwing lots of lightening bolts! The very last day of your Moon cycle, on Sunday, June 2nd is no exception. As a Taurus, you’re known for your beauty inside and out, and in this time of reflection you’re being encouraged to take this to the extra mile, to apply it in a way you never have before, to make a deal with your devils to make your life better, to continue on the journey of self-actualization.
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girlsbtrs · 3 years
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Growing Up One Step Behind Lorde
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Written By Lila Danielsen Wong. Graphic by Paula Nicole. 
It’s late July of 2015. It’s a little past two a.m. and I’m in the basement of my parents house. My parents left me home alone for a night, so I did what any newly 16-year-old would do; I got a bottle of cheap vodka from someone’s older brother and threw my very first small party. Two of my closest friends are sleeping inches away. Out of my cheap drugstore headphones come a slow synth build, sounding distant and underwater. It erupts into a pulse, just too fast to be a heartbeat. Lorde’s “Ribs” pushes on in all its teenage glory. “Mom and Dad let me stay home,” she tells me before confiding “it drives you crazy getting old.” In the next pre-chorus this morphs into the more tender, “I’ve never felt more alone, it feels so scary getting old.” 
Before a live performance of “Ribs” in 2014, barely 18-year-old Lorde tells the audience that she wrote this song about a big party she had when her parents left town when she was 16. She was with her best friend afterwards at 4 a.m. unsuccessfully trying to go to sleep. He asked her what was wrong, and she said, regarding the party, “There’s something really crazy about throwing a party like this and doing something this huge. It feels grown up, and it feels like a rite of passage, and that's cool. It's cool to do stuff for the first time, but it also really freaks me out because once you do something that feels grown up it's really hard to come back, and if you've only ever been a kid the thought of having to be an adult is really terrifying.”
Three years after Lorde had this conversation with her friend, I’m sitting in my own basement all the way across the world after my own party listening to that very song and letting every word vibrate through my entire self. It feels so scary getting old, but hearing a girl from suburban New Zealand say exactly what I was thinking makes me feel a little bit less “so alone.”
In 2013, Ella Yelich O’Connor wrote an EP called The Love Club with local musician Joel Little and put it on Soundcloud under the name Lorde. To the surprise of both of them, it blew up. After collecting 60,000 downloads, UMG released it commercially and it managed to hit the charts in New Zealand and Australia. However, it was the release of “Royals” as a radio single that put Lorde on the international radar. 
“Royals” was penned as a sort of wry defiance to celebrity culture and a call out to it’s disconnect from the general public. She noticed that many popular musicians based their clout on trashing hotel rooms and diamond watches, and this was so removed from her and her friends, at a house party not knowing if they would get a ride home. “Royals” and The Love Club EP were followed by Lorde’s debut album, Pure Heroine, a collection of songs about “the feeling of being [her] age” and “the weird social issues that come with being a teenager.” 
After her global success made her visible worldwide, those who would be attracted to listen beyond “Royals” and become fans were fellow teens at fellow parties who also were “counting dollars on the train to the party”. 
In 2017, Lorde released Melodrama. If  Pure Heroine is about what it’s like to be a teenager, Melodrama captures life as a fledgling adult. Lorde has said that Melodrama is an album about a break up. She also has called it a concept album about a house party, telling The New York Times “it’s a record about being alone. The good parts and the bad parts.” 
This release coincided with my high school graduation. It was the soundtrack of my final months of childhood and what I listened to through the transition to the next phase of life. 
I spent my first year after high school in my hometown. I remember sitting in my house in September after all my friends had left for college and listening to “Liability”. My parents had left for a weekend trip and I was home alone, this time with no one to invite over. “Liability” is the second single from Melodrama. It’s a stripped piano ballad about the depths of insecurity, driving people away until you find yourself startlingly alone. “Every perfect summer’s eating me alive until you’re gone,” she sings; getting older comes stark changes in social circles and lifestyles, some of which can leave periods of time in which you find yourself startlingly alone.
I related to these feelings of disconnect and isolation and felt the song intimately just as I had felt “Ribs” two years earlier. Whereas the loneliness in “Ribs“ was the feeling of distance from everything you know when you’re on the cusp of adulthood; this loneliness comes from the other side of this cusp, when you look up and everything has changed. Melodrama ushered me into adulthood, and Lorde was like a voice from the future reassuring me that this was normal. If two years ahead of me Lorde the international star was sitting in a taxi feeling the exact same way I was feeling, then perhaps this happens to everyone and is just part of growing up. 
The following summer, after a party I helped someone else host, I put on “Ribs” before I went to bed and was surprised to find that it didn’t “vibrate through my entire self” anymore. That stage of coming of age had come and gone for me. 
The parties in Melodrama had grown up too; we’re no longer worried about getting caught by our parents. “Green Light,” the lead single, Lorde described as a song about the girl at the party who is a crying mess but doesn't seem to care. “Sober” asks about the morning after; “But what will we do when we’re sober?” “Liability” is looking in the mirror and not feeling so great about who you are and where you are. Growing up is reframed as self-discovery, mainly through the common young adult experience of a house party. 
Sometimes, this is where I lose her. 
In “Sober II” she cites the “glamour and the trauma,” and my life is nowhere near “glamourous”. The desperate feverishness of these more grown up parties of Melodrama are not what my life looked like. At the end of the day, I was reminded that she’s a pop star who already has her life financially set for her, and I was a college student with a limited social life and a whole lot of homework. 
I wonder if I am just ready for the next album to usher me into the next phase of my life, or if this is this where our paths diverge.
Although the reception of “Solar Power” has been relatively positive, some fans noticed that the new single was missing some of the, well, angst of her previous catalogue. This is especially striking because for a lot of us this year has been somewhere on the spectrum of angsty to agonizing. Her most recent release, “Stoned at the Nail Salon,” ponders the nature of being settled. This second release contextualized not only “Solar Power,” but also why some fans may be feeling a little disconnected from her newest era. I listen to Lorde talk about how she loves her quiet, stable life, with “the vine hangin' over the door, and the dog who comes when [she] calls” from the corner of my sublet of someone’s living room, which I rent as I apply for yet another job that isn’t really hiring because of covid or is going to be taken by one of the millions of 2020 and 2021 graduates who got a serious delay on their quest for the peace and stability Lorde is talking about. This is not to say that me or any of her other listeners won’t relate to her new music, especially as she sprinkles in lines such “as all the music you loved at sixteen, you'll grow out of”, but it’s still up in the air whether or not the fact that she is a wealthy pop singer from New Zealand will finally effect her ability to “vibrate souls” of her younger fan base like she once did. 
Lorde’s fanbase is just enough younger than her that, so far, once she has written an album about whatever phase of life she just went through, they are on the cusp of experiencing it. Teenagers are known for their “no one understands me” angst, and growing up one step behind Lorde reminded me how deeply universal the feelings and experiences that came with growing up are. Whether it’s coming from a teenage girl from suburban New Zealand (who must have been way cooler than me because her first party topped mine by about 100 more people) or a full blown star crying in a New York taxi, Lorde captured the most intimate moments of youth, offered them as a preview of the next age to her young fan base, and gently reassured them that these glimpses of fear and loneliness are perhaps what unites us as humans who are slowly but somehow rapidly getting older. However, how much longer will her experiences be this universal? As an artist whose fan base is largely built around her ability to connect and relate, will she be able to maintain this intimate connection as her life looks significantly different from most of the people she entertains? Perhaps the appeal of the Solar Power era will be more in the preview of the growing security of your mid-late twenties. Perhaps none of the differences of her lifestyle and her fan base will matter, because she will continue doing what she does best, stripping memories down to their universal truths, and feeding them back to a slightly younger generation with just a bit of dramatic lighting. 
Sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lorde
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88oR5GjjZ6k
https://genius.com/Lorde-royals-lyrics
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/arts-and-entertainment/wp/2013/10/24/5-things-to-know-about-lorde/?utm_term=.1072aea0ec9c
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/04/12/magazine/the-return-of-lorde.html
https://www.thenation.com/article/lorde-grows-up/
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chiseler · 3 years
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A Ragtime Mind
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Watching Bob Milne perform is like seeing the next step up in humanity’s progression, but realized in the form of a man you can engage in a friendly chat. He is the most phenomenal piano player I’ve seen or heard – for accuracy, speed, dexterity, emotion, sensitivity. His staples are ragtime and boogie-woogie, with a smattering of blues. He claims he never practices, but he plays some 250 gigs a year around the world. He owns no recordings or sheet music; he has no need for them because he can assimilate and reproduce any piece of music after hearing it once (putting him, perhaps, in a class with Mozart as far as that ability goes).
He was a French horn player in his late teens, but quit because the horn does require practice to keep the lips in form. So why doesn’t he play classical piano? He started out in honky-tonk bars in Detroit, playing what people wanted to hear and also trying to duplicate the speed and complexity of piano rolls – a supposedly impossible endeavor, since the rolls were reproduced by combining multiple players (Milne succeeded). Many say that ragtime is the most complex of all piano music. So maybe it’s the ultimate, continuing challenge.
But the simple fact that Milne was coming up to northeastern Pennsylvania – to Lycoming College, about which I knew zilch, though I live only fifty miles away – was not the clincher that drew me to hear him; it was the fact that his brain apparently functions like no one else’s. The neurologist who’s been studying him, Kerstin Bettermann from the Hershey Medical Center, would be giving a talk about his mind before he gave his concert.
Both Bettermann and Milne are delightful human beings, and Bettermann is an excellent presenter. Using functional MRI, she had documented the unique ways in which Milne’s brain works and proved that he can indeed do what he claims he’s been able to do all his life: hear, process and view three or four orchestral productions in his head at the same time.
For her testing, Bettermann had used Bach, Beethoven, Mendelssohn and one other that I can’t recall. As a control, she also tested an orchestral conductor who would likely have the closest sort of musical mind to Milne’s. She played them a specific rendition of each piece, then asked them to repeat them mentally while she timed their progress. She would interrupt randomly and ask them where they were in the score, checking their progress against the timing of the recording. The conductor, while able to visualize and accurately reproduce the unfolding of a single orchestral piece, could not manage two, much less three or four, as Milne clearly could.
And the differences in brain connectivity Bettermann discovered between the two were striking. She flashed schematics to show how the two brains had functioned under fMRI during the test. Milne used fewer neural connection systems, made more equal use of the two brain hemispheres, and mostly ignored (or suppressed) normal inhibitory feedback. With Milne’s internalization of music, there is apparently almost no “waste” brain activity – no neural searching, no misdirection.
Milne himself – quiet, charming and funny as hell in an offhand way – answered audience questions after Bettermann’s presentation, before his concert. Yes, he’s always had these abilities, and until his teens assumed everyone (or at least all musicians) did. No, he had no particular offsetting problems in other areas of schoolwork, though math bored him – “maybe because it was too easy” – and “I just hated social studies, what awful stuff."
He has no interest in puzzles, is good enough at chess to beat three players simultaneously behind his back while playing the piano, but obviously doesn’t take any of this sort of thing seriously. Amateur players at festivals are nasty to him, probably because it all comes too easy for him.
When he sat down to play, Bettermann used a back-lit screen to highlight his hands, giving us a close-up yet bird’s eye view of something I didn’t expect I’d see again: a combination of delicious motion, fluidity and certainty. He talked to the audience casually while playing, explaining the elements of music with superb clarity. He gave little demonstrations of how to introduce different, overlapping time signatures into the same piece, playing them off against each other while his thumb – his thumb! – carried the melody. There seemed to be no effort involved in doing something that few alive could accomplish, no matter the time they might put into it.
Not long after the Lycoming evening, our local arts council was setting up its first Ultimate Musical Theater Weekend, in 2015, and we needed to fill a performer slot. Milne was the immediate choice. He arrived from Michigan in November, traveling with a trailer that he and his wife slept in. For his concert, he played a wide variety of ragtime, boogie and blues, some standards, some unknown to most of his audience. He interwove tunes, turned medleys into quiet explications of musical theory and technique. Playing at floor lever, rather than on a stage as at Lycoming, he seemed even more at living-room ease, in quiet rapport with his audience, chatting back and forth.
He played one piece at almost blinding speed (he’s equally effective with slow numbers) while maintaining crystalline clarity. An audience member asked how he could rampage through the music like that. "What, I didn’t play fast enough?” and, standing, he leaned sideways to play a few bars twice as fast.
I’ve nearly always found descriptions of a musician’s technique and effectiveness to fall flat, and I’m sure that’s been the case here. One of Milne’s caliber has to be experienced. Fortunately, there are entrancing videos of Milne online, especially those conducted at the Library of Congress.
During intermission, I was one of several who had the chance to chat with him as he fielded questions sitting in the back row. Does he have an overall eidetic memory? He doesn’t think so, hasn’t considered it that much. Does he think his rare mental and physical abilities are necessarily linked – that he couldn’t have one without the other? He answers with a sort of mental shrug. In general, he doesn’t seem to feel that such things are worth a great deal of bother.
Yet beyond his performance, there’s an immense amount to be learned from Milne. Because of his singular brain functioning, he raises interesting questions about art – what it is, how it’s produced, the relation between the mental (creative) and the physical (production).
Suppose we consider artistic creation as a continuum from abstract impulse to concrete realization:
• Can someone have the abstract impulse toward a particular form of artistic creation but not the physical ability to realize its execution? (Milne’s playing flows without clear distinction between the two. I love music but can’t master repetitive motion to play even the simplest instrument.)
Suppose we consider the production of art as a physical continuum from neural brain processes to bodily execution:
• Should we then say that art can legitimately be described in terms of science? Also:
• Can we call someone an artist who can produce no external art?
• Can one have an “advanced” mental state – artistic or otherwise – but not be able to communicate it because it cannot be realized in action or not recognized by the individual in isolation?
• Conversely, can one have latent physical ability like Milne’s but not the internal creative impetus to produce art? There have been savants who could identify prime numbers up to nine digits long, yet their stunning (and incomprehensible) ability produced no external beauty or usefulness in the real world.
But, for the moment, forget all that and go visit Bob Milne at the Library of Congress.
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by Derek Davis
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kazdumps · 3 years
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Our Nature
A peculiar fellow is Mr. Angle but all groundskeepers of a cemetery ought to be. Working along with the dead under you is not something a "normal" person could do. At least the people who pass by him say those things. Once, which is only a few moments ago, he heard a group of teens talking about his unusual behavior. He confronted them, as he was not a man scared to speak when he heard unjust talk (though he's not social by any stretch of the imagination).
"And what exactly is normal?" He smiles a wide grin exposing crooked blackened teeth. Mr. Angle's hair was greeseily in tangles upon his head. The teens had not heard him creep up behind them ("Creep?" He would later be appalled by the word being used to describe how he surprised the youth. "Appeared, is more accurate old friend," He'd correct but it would be ignored) and swiftly ran away. Mr. Angle never got his answer but he's sure they would've been wrong anyway.
"Normal is what society deems and it changes constantly. Rapidly even. There is no consistent variable," Mr. Angle answers still grinning. They weren't bad kids and they'd either grow out of being judgmental or keep it to themselves.
"If they grow up; you never know when I may strike," Angle's companion arrives in the same method of which he creeped ("I did not-") behind the kids (" So if you say I've crept then you must've as well!" He would later exclaim. "I always creep. I'm rather creepy" the friend would respond").
"Time is up already? What a shame; also I thought I told you not to read my mind. It's for me and Her and no one else. Not even you, Death"
"I wouldn't read it if your mind wasn't shouting all the time. You wear nothing on your sleeve but part of you is desperately trying to reach out. Luckily, or unlucky, I can hear your true voice. And do you know what I think?" Death says; he, to human standards, is more appealing then Mr. Angle (at least the Mr. Angle as a groundskeeper who wore ragged clothes and kept his his appearance as untidy as can be) even if he changes his form constantly (as society changes along with it). His hair,on this occasion, is a flowing red waterfall. His eyes at first glance may be blue but another will argue it's green. Purple, someone will shout but they're quickly shut up; who in this world has purple eyes. Most agree on that he wears contacts but a clever few will delve into various superstitions. Death's favorite is when they call him a ghost; funny that people can grasp mortality but don't think it applies to them. For if you see Death's eyes, you won't have much time to contemplate them.
"I don't intrude on other people; so no,"
"You need to talk to more people! Even I talk to humans before I release them! All of them have something to say and there's bound to be at least one with something nice," Death says tugging on the string on his dark hoodie. Hoodies were much more comfortable then cloaks and attracted less attention.
"I talk to some others-" Mr. Angle begins to defend himself, as he always does.
"You don't talk to mortals; you've spent so much time stalking them I bet you can't even hold a conversation with one,"
"You use such cruel words, old friend, stalking- how horrid. You make me sound like a sinner,"
"Well you aren't the most pleasant person in thier eyes. Both mortal and not,"
"Are you saying other Angels don't believe I'm pleasant? I can assure-"
"Don't get your wings in a flutter. Other immortals whether that be me, angels, or any other being like us," Death sighs, placing a hand on his companion's shoulder (he didn't get physical touch often but with someone like Angle it wouldn't hurt either party). "I must depart someone...please consider at least some of my words," With that Death has disappeared just like how he arrived. In a blink of an eye.
"I talk to people," Mr. Angle stares outloud glancing at his watch. His work day is over and it was time to attend to his next job. One not even Death knew he has. "At least they're like people. They're rebellious like them and have free will and everything that people have. They're just more...evil,".
Dr. Grey is just as peculiar as Mr. Angle but for a completely differnt reason as he always is rather pleasant. Dr. Grey has never lost a patient that was in his care. Everyone is relived in hearing he'll be thier surgeon. He's delivered in the most helpless of cases and the mothers with new babies are in perfect health. Many other medical professionals look up to him. He is the definition of "The Good Doctor".
"Even the most skilled has lost someone- But Dr. Grey you've performed what most can only consider miracles; how do you do it?" A reporter asks as he tries to head toward his car. He just performed another successful heart transplant and the press crowded him.
"I guess it's just luck and practice- and I'm sure there are other doctors who are just as-or better then I am," Dr. Grey says scooting around the crowd but still answering questions to the best of his abilities. 'To the best I'm allowed' he slightly says to himself. He loves to talk to people but not about his own accomplishments; it makes his stomache twist in guilt and fear. Pride is a deadly sin and he'd never went to indulge in it.
"Dr. Grey! Some people are calling you the god of medicine; what do you think of this honorable nickname?" Another reporter asks shoving a microphone at his face.
"Honorable yes- but not accurate. I'm no god! Trust me on that!" He gives a smile but underneath layers of fear pile on. He wonders if these people were sent to make him break the rules. If any minute when he slipped up they'd push him into a fiery death. Or at least he would.
"Dr. Grey! Dr. Grey we need to-" Voices drown out each other trying to hold the good doctors attention for a little bit longer. Even if he is popular among the community people rarely heard about his methods.
A boy, only about fourteen or fifte inen, is the final one in his way. He stands at his car door not budging from his postion.
"I'm in a bit of a hurry to get home; I have to meet someone today. If you or a family member have any medical concerns you can call my office. My receptionist will make an appointment for you," Dr. Grey explains.
"Don't need none of that. Just a question wanted to ask ya. Nobody can do what you do. Did you sell your soul to the devil or somethin' ".
He opens his mouth to say something but promptly shuts it. What was there to say? He wasn't sure if what he has done counts as selling your soul but either way this wasn't the reason he helped people (nor the reason he was famous) and it wasn't Satan who controls his every move.
"My Dad said that a boy sold his soul to play the guitar real good so I thought maybe you did with yours?" Before Dr. Grey can think of a suitable reply the boy is pushed out of the way of the door. Taking the opportunity he gets in the vehicle letting out a breath of relief.
He has to meet that angel today and he'd rather not anger him by being late; it could cost him his life.
Dr. Grey drowns out his anxieties by turning on his radio. Music, he long ago decided, is man's greatest art form second only to literature. Instead of melodies though the radio crackles a lone person talking about all the negatives of the world. It seems to be all that newscasters want to talk about, even in times of relative goodness; they'd always find a way to spin a twist for a more "interesting" report.
"I witnessed a mother giving birth to her daughter while her wife waited outside. I saw a waitress get paid a tip of sixty percent and it was enough to pay her bills on time. I see time and time and time again people hold doors for the others before them. Everyone is filled with so much joy and yet you imbeciles never report any of that!" It's unusual that he feels such anger, especially over something that has happened since the dawn of its creation.
This building up anger is due to several reasons. The first of which being that he was running late. Untimelyness isn't a sin per say but sloth is; Grey is certain that angel has been looking for a reason to smite him out of existence since they first met. So being late is definitely a no go.
The second reason for all this tenseness (even though it came out as anger his feelings were rather mixed) is the press. It seems every day Dr. Grey gets more and more popular. Pride is a sin and pride comes around with popularity. It's the reason most celebrities think they're all that. Not only that but envy could come from him being popular too. He already noticied how his coworkers look at him with admiration. Surely, though, one heart would be poisoned with vanity. If he lead a human too hell- Grey shakes his head at the notion. There isn't hint of doubt in his mind that would lead to destruction too.
Then there is his anger- anger making him angry if this was I one of his books he'd find it quite funny- which leads to wrath. Not that he couldn't accuse the angel of holding wrath in his heart, a bitter hypocrite is Heaven, but that would do no good and hold the same result.
The last thing that troubles him, besides the annoying radio (why a predomintly talking channel was on in the first place is a mystery itself), has to do with his most recent patient; Ashely Sage. A lovely girl who has been dealt all the wrong cards in life. She's only fourteen and is two months pregnant. Dr. Grey did not press her on the matters but picked up that she did not "sleep" with this man by choice. Now that is enough to tug on his heart strings but her unpleasant tale doesn't end there. No the worst part of this all is because of her parents flawed thinking she will be forced to carry out the pregnancy.
He couldn't help her and that's what pushes his mood over the edge; no her life wouldn't be perfect with an abortion but keeping an unwanted baby doesn't help her any more. On top of that he's pretty postive the child won't even been given up for adoption. The poor girl has barely lived her life and now is forced into a role as a mother.
It sickens him- the rapist, the parents, a the flawed ideology under the guise of being "True Cristians". True Conservatives more like it- he knew an Angel and he would be horrified if he heard how humans interrupted and use the word of God. Or maybe he already knew of people like that and ignored it. He doesn't talk to people much.
Dr. Grey finds it a cruel sort of irony, that he knows more about good and would rather people participate in good, then most. Being a Demon and all and finding this very horrific always held irony. In some cases, where he was drunk and felt brave, he'd laugh at it. That he had a sound moral compass yet the ones who "served god" didn't. This case though? He just feels a very deep pang in his chest. One that stays with him the entire drive home.
Mr. Angle is finished with his "mortal" job which means he ought to be finished with his appearance. As he sits down in his vehicle his teeth were no longer black nor rotten, his ragged hair is slicked back, he smelled pleasantly of pine, and he dons a dark blue polo complete with kakhi pants. In colder months he may have worn his tinged pink sweater but the heat prevents that today.
"Kept me here ten minutes past, Death, damn your conversations- always keeping me late," He curses under his breath starting his car up. Car might not be an accurate description for his pitch black long vehicle from 1958; a retired hearse is better. It bore a scratch along it's left side but beside that it's perfect. Not only that but it kept most people off Angle's tailend.
He turns on the radio only to turn it back off. A stupid sob story was being told.
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anamnesis-archive · 4 years
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faculté en grève contre la réforme
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Before jetting off to France, I was aware of a transport strike affecting train travel and I contemplated the major inconvenience that this caused.  How was I going to make it from Paris to Tours? or do any other inter-city travel?  [I had done a summer exchange to France when I was in high school and had already experienced the country’s so called ‘love’ of striking.  The day I was supposed to head back home, Air France went on strike and caused havoc for my return plans.] Strike woes continued as I arrived in Tours.  That first week, people led three marches in protest, causing traffic pileups around the city.  People chanted, music blared, flares and smoke were detonated.  Then came time for classes to begin and students, solely at the Tanneurs site (that of the Arts and Social Sciences faculty), had barricaded all entrances; their way of joining the political conversation.  Again, I told myself what a major inconvenience -- I just wanted to attend my classes!
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According to NPR, this has been the longest lasting strike in French history and has been detrimental to small businesses who are now in a dire survival period.  It began December 5th 2019  -- forty-five days later (January 20th 2020), transport in inner city Paris has finally been re-enacted on an almost back to normal basis. The current strike stems from a proposed retirement reform launched by the French Prime Minister, Édouard Philippe.  Key points include  raising the retirement age from 62 to the ‘pivot age’ of 64 (to obtain a full pension) and reducing the forty-two different pension plans to a singular system.  The ultimate goal is for the government to cut back and save money as life expectancy is increasing, and so, there is a simultaneous increase on the dependance of retirement benefits.  Transit workers are particularly at a disadvantage with this proposed reform as they currently have the ability to retire younger and do not want to lose this privilege.  
I’ve come to ask myself why do the French strike so much? How is there so often something that causes upheaval and discontentment? and in this instance, why is it only the liberal arts students that are en grève? The polytechnic, the medical school, the Deux-Lions law campus, none of them have student organized impediments.  Is it because liberal arts students are woke and empathetic and have a grasp on the larger scale of humanity and the repercussions that this reform will have on themselves and other generations?  
This post has been composed along multiple days, and throughout the process I’ve continuously gained more insight on la grève.  In my contemporary art course, my prof, instead of going ahead with her lecture, opened the floor to the students to discuss what is happening.  I was very thankful for this opportunity to hear from my French peers their take, opinions and knowledge, as I solely have the views and perceptions of a bystander, not fully aware of the magnitude or severity of the situation.  
January 22nd, ‘des forces de l’ordre’ forcibly broke the picket line at the Tanneurs site, dismembering the group of students who had been there since the beginning of the month.  My prof asked: pourquoi la fac des Tanneurs? To which people responded that it was chosen for visibility reasons as it’s centrally located downtown.  Furthermore, the retirement reform proposes a merit points system based on the number of hours you put in over your career.  As students of the humanities, there lies incertitude regarding future jobs and the necessity to continue with education, which converts to less hours on the work force when compared to other disciplines.    
More controversy surrounds the reform and the notion of sexism present.  Women who choose to have children and take a maternity leave will consequently miss out on point accumulation when off nurturing and raising her child(ren). Women aren’t doing payed work during their mat. leave, yet it’s “le travail reproductif, du travail pour la société”, as my prof put it, when it comes to motherhood.  
There are inklings of another possible strike due to a proposed government reform regarding university mobility.  Research funding will be cut and “une précarisation du personnel”, contract work, will become a more dominant mode of staffing.  It is a constitutional right to strike, and the French choose to act upon it to express their disdain in the hopes of a better outcome.  I must revel and take it all in as it’s part of French culture and a common experience while living in France :)
The country is no foreigner to mass protest movements.  In May 1968, the youth were fed up with the war in Vietnam and the patriarchal society under Charles de Gaulle and sought a change.  Beginning at l’Université de Nanterre, on the outskirts of Paris, men invaded women’s dormitories and vice versa to break down the anti-sexual statutes imposed by the institution (Matthews).  “On May 3, students at the Sorbonne University in Paris rallied to support their Nanterre colleagues by occupying an amphitheater. They were brutally dispersed by Paris police. Hundreds were beaten and 400 arrested in a night of rioting. The Sorbonne was closed” (Beardsley).  Students at l’École des Beaux Arts joined the movement and created political posters as a response. Their work was a collaborative effort; “[i]t’s a collective creation in the sense that someone would draw an image, sometimes would devise a slogan to go with it and sometimes the slogan was provided by someone else" (Hird).  Blue collared workers joined the protest alongside the students.  I’ve included one of the posters from the period of political upheaval.  It can be seen as an appropriation of Eugène Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People.  Possibly taking inspiration from the 1968 events, ‘un collectif Tourangeau de profs’ devised political posters in response to the 2020 strikes.  We studied some in my History of Design course, analyzing the graphic design and the implications and influences of the images and text combination.  Both in 1968 and 2020, the artwork remains anonymous.  The artists are creating to get messages across and not for personal recognition; they are working for something larger than themselves.   
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The Situationist International group took part in and were influential leading up to the 1968 upheaval.  They considered themselves “anti-state communists: they were heavily influenced by Marx and did not identify with the anarchist tradition, yet shared the anarchist opposition to the state” (Matthews).  The group, in collaboration with the University of Strasbourg, wrote De la misère en milieu étudiant considérée sous ses aspects économique, politique, psychologique, sexuel et notamment intellectuel et de quelques moyens pour y remédier in 1966, fuelling the protests of 1968.  In explaining the current educational system that commodifies students, they state that “[the student’s] own life is totally out of [their] control — life itself is totally beyond him” (Situationists International and the University of Strasbourg), controlled by the ‘masters’ that run the institutions.  This text urged students to exercise their revolutionary drive to make a change.
Works Cited
Beardsley, Eleanor. “In France, The Protests Of May 1968 Reverberate Today - And Still Divide The French.” NPR, NPR, 29 May 2018, www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2018/05/29/613671633/in-france-the-protests-of-may-1968-reverberate-today-and-still-divide-the-french?t=1582021856596.
Hird, Alison. “Culture in France - France May 68: the Art of Revolution.” RFI, RFI, 5 Apr. 2018, www.rfi.fr/en/20180404-culture-france-may-68-posters-show-where-they-were-made-beaux-arts-paris.
Matthews, Jan D. “An Introduction to the Situationists.” The Anarchist Library, 7 May 2009, theanarchistlibrary.org/library/jan-d-matthews-an-introduction-to-the-situationists.
Situationists International and the University of Strasbourg. “On the Poverty of Student Life Considered in Its Economic, Political, Psychological, Sexual, and Especially Intellectual Aspects, with a Modest Proposal for Doing Away With It.” Translated by Ken Knabb, Situationist International Online, www.cddc.vt.edu/sionline/si/poverty.html.
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tavrosian-disaster · 7 years
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Headcanons About Hiveswap Classpects
Yes, yes, I know that they aren’t playing Sburb/Sgrub and that Classpects will likely play no role what-so-ever in Hiveswap/Hauntswitch, but still, I can’t help but analyze.
Here’s a hecka long post about why I think these Classpects fit our four main characters. (I directly use the classpect analyses by @dahniwitchoflight​ here and I have added my own thoughts and opinions in (italicized parentheses), so, there’s that.)
Also, spoilers ahead! Read at your own risk!
Joey: Sylph of Life: One who Invites Creation of Life or one who Invites Creation through Life
Sylphs will calmly, analytically and happily give their opinion all about their Aspect. They meddle, healing or fixing any lack of it they notice. (Joey is extremely enthusiastic about healing and helping, and she herself has noting that loves “especially the healing.”) Their challenge is act upon their opinions instead of waiting by the sidelines
A Sylph of Life is one who definitely encourages the people around to live and grow and enjoy the life they are given and live it to the fullest of their ability! (Having experienced negative emotions herself, she is dead set on telling Xefros that he is brave and kind and all about how worthwhile he is.) They have an infectious kind of joyous energy about them and often have large domineering personalities. (Boy, yes.) They might have all kinds of ideas and suggestion for how to live life to the fullest and often try to get their friends and family to join in these things and activities with them. They always have a cheerful suggestion to offer, or a comfort food, or a cute plant or any number of cuddly animals they found wandering in the streets. (This is so Joey, don’t talk to me if you disagree.) They have this pure optimism and confidence and willingness to help others achieve the happiness that they have.
They also have an enormous power or strength, being unafraid to break down walls (literally and figuratively) pick you up from your depressed state and slap some joy and happiness into you. (Again; Joey and Xefros’ ending conversation in Act 1.)  They’ll physically pick you up and shake the sad out of you, like GET A GRIP YOU. They are also very effective in their optimistic methods and very efficient at creating possibilities or luxuries that the sad person cannot resist. They always have an answer or possible solution to your problem or “oh maybe you should try this? Have you thought about this? What about this?” And may not know when to quit and just mind their own business.
On the other side though they will not hesitate to tell you that they think you are enjoying yourself the wrong way and really you should do it the way the Sylph of Life would do it. They can get pretty picky about the details in this respect. Maybe they will share something that they enjoy very much with you, like a song or a TV show, and if you blink at the wrong part or talk through another or just plain don’t enjoy it the way the Sylph does they can get pretty stubborn about it and ask all kinds of questions and try to get to the very root of WHY you don’t like it? “Its amazing, it has all these good points etc.,” and may try to force you to enjoy it over and over and over until you admit its actually pretty good. (Joey seems this way towards a lot of Jude’s interests. “Why are into this? It’s not something I’m into, so I don’t get it.” i.e. Pogs, conspiracies, guns, his “pet”, etc.)
Jude: Heir of Space: One who Invites Manipulation of Space or one who Invites Manipulation through Space
Heirs naturally gravitate towards their Aspect or unconsciously seek it out. (It is heavily hinted at that Jude discovered the pieces/blueprints for and built the portal. I wonder how he came to this discovery, and why he choose to assemble it?) They huge amounts of Aspect related strength as well. Their challenge is to not get stuck on one thing, to know when to move on and adapt.
An Heir of Space would have a very strong sense of intuition and precision. (Jude is very detailed about his plans, even though it comes off as a playful act. And his intuition is off the charts and helped Joey a lot throughout the first part of Act 1.) They unconsciously seek out and gravitate towards the origin of things that interest them. They want to know how and when and where it all started. They are very likely to be history buffs due to this. (Conspiracy nerds double as history buffs often. And Jude is very fixated on the origin of things, thus his interest in conspiracies; they work with potential reasons for unsolved or mysterious events. And Jude wants to know all about it.) They may seek out art or fashion because it interests them, or they may have fixations on strange objects they find and wonder where they came from. (Absolutely Jude, just look at his tree house.)
They flit from interest to interest, being very changeable and impatient in nature, and nothing probably holds their interest for too long before they move onto the next thing. They may even wonder about the origin of abstract concepts like legends and myths and ancient stories. (Fits in with his interest in conspiracy theories again.) They may be very easily manipulated by others egging them on with rewards of their favorite object or obsession. They might even be manipulated by their random and changeable nature making them very willing to try new things.
They tend to like to share their varied and changeable interests with others as well. They are naturally very impatient with those not willing to try new things and may use their stubbornness to let others be manipulated, kind of like going “well if you’re not going to do it or listen to me then HMMPH to you! *crosses arms and looks angry*” cue adorable guilt trip. (Literally Jude. He is extremely passionate that Joey listen and believe him and everything he says. Even if it is a little silly sounding.) They might be small physically and easily pushed around, or easily led into anything that seems new or fun. It brings to mind the image of a child with a passionate hobby or a small socially awkward bookish nerd. (JUDE.)
Xefros: Page of Time: One who Invites Exploitation of Time or one who Invites Exploitation through Time
Pages start with a deficit in their Aspect that they confidently overcome through obvious overcompensation. (Literally doesn’t have enough time to work on his sports, music, and butler training.) Their challenge is to keep at it, even if they fail and the journey is slow, for they become the strongest players. (I want to note that Xefros’ lusus is a literal sloth and also that his theme was specifically noted as “plodding”)
A Page of Time would then actually like they totally got a grip on Time, when they really don’t. They may act like they understand the concepts of fate and destiny, but will more than likely be a little off. They may try very hard to seem to be patient and understanding when really you can see they feel impatient and don’t understand. (Makes very clear remarks about being confused about a lot of concepts Dammek has taught him and also gets a little irked on occasion with Joey during their first interaction.) Pages at first give the impression that they’re not really trying hard enough to get the obvious stuff, even if they are. They might have horrible singing or musical skills, but be totally convinced that they’re actually pretty good. (Xefros makes a comment that Dammek’s mic gift might have been a hint that his voice wasn’t that good. He also mentions that Dammek probably wouldn’t let him compete in a deadly singing competition without the autotune mic, probably because, he would likely not win, and thus, be culled. Yet still, Xefros is very much into his singing.)
They might at first not grasp the concept that eventually everything ends or leaves or goes away sometime. They may even have very bad instincts about things and even bad memories. (This boy has bad instincts; he thinks being under a pile of rubble is “ok” and, honestly? I’m surprised he wasn’t frightened of Joey being an alien, the boy really is too trusting. Speaking of! Xefros even says Dammek said he “needs to stop being so trusting.”) They might let their own fates or destinies be used against them. (Seems pretty hung up on being stuck as a Rustblood and is overall compliant with whatever Dammek wants him to do. He doesn’t put much effort into control over his destiny.) Pages of Time may be a bit over destructive in their attempt to overcompensate for not really knowing when the right Time to strike really is. (I have a feeling his whole ‘putting the batteries into the portal without being explictly asked to by Dammek’ may be a good example of Xefros’ poor timing and how he is prone to jump the gun. Also, how he immediately jumps to conclusions a lot in his and Joey’s conversation.) Picture someone playing whack-a-mole, constantly missing and saying ‘I got this! I got this!’ unintentionally destroying things in their one-track minded attempt to win. (He has too many burdens to handle and not enough hands.)
They might be totally convinced by someone using horribly fake fortune telling bullshit that their destiny was one thing, and then head towards it full speed ahead destroying their chance at their real destiny. (Xefros going blindly along with Dammek’s endeavors at teaching him butlery and even getting him into their band, pulling away from his true interest, cueball and sports.) Their challenge is pretty straightforward, don’t be discouraged and practice makes perfect. (“Practice makes adequate. That’s the Burgundy way.”) Pages have the unique ability to keep trying without really getting discouraged even its obvious their failing horribly no matter what they do, but eventually all that practice and failure is going to make them masters of their Aspect. (Xefros might be overly anxious and concerned, but Lord knows this child doesn’t necessarily seem discouraged. He’s pretty brave despite his submissiveness!)
(Also, the boy has a lot of Dave Strider references in his home. You know, Dave Strider? Knight of Time?)
Dammek: Prince of Breath: One who Destroys with Breath or Destroys Breath
Princes ghost their opposite Aspects as they destroy theirs. (The opposite of Breath is Blood. Dammek is all for communism it seems, which definitely more adhering to Blood- groups and connections- than Breath- indivualism and freedom. What a way to start this analysis: Alien Communism.) .They are violently stubborn pessimistic people that stop at nothing to reach their goals. Their challenge is to not destroy themselves along their destructive path. (We don’t know enough about him yet, but from context clues, Dammek seems to be a stubborn individual and also headstrong and a natural born leader. A leader with a bit of a narrow view. Not to mention paranoia can often lead to pessimistic viewpoints.)
A Prince of Breath would ghost Blood as they destroy Breath. (Dammek is very attached to keeping Xefros attached to him. He’s all about connections and Blood, and not so much freedom and Breath. I mean, the dude has cameras in Xefros’ room, he definitely doesn’t acknowledge personal space. This is probably due in turn to his paranoia, and he is likely paranoid about being left alone I imagine, so this may be why he is so set on keeping eyes on Xefros and on keeping him at his side.) They might be passionate and committed to some cause or purpose and would very stubbornly focus on some sort of single-minded goal. (The rebellion.) They are good at using their connections they have as a means to an end and can be very good at working as a team with a group of people. (Using Xefros to a bit of an overreaching extent. You took his hoverpad and re-painted it as your own, man.) They are very stubborn people like I mentioned before, always making sure they do what they want, being simultaneously committed to their pursuits and unwilling to let anyone hold them back from them. (This will probably prove to be true in Hauntswitch.) But in this way they can also be somewhat reliable in the sense that they are predictable in what course of action they are likely to take and when.
Just as easily as they work with others, they can instantly separate themselves to move forward in their own goals as they deem it necessary. I can see them being very flexible fast moving fighters, dancing twisting and jabbing at opponents from every angle with their own bodily strength. They can also be good at trapping others, or binding them together in attachments or obligations towards them, creating a mutual interdependence with everyone involved. (Well, he’s certainly made Xefros feel extremely dependent and hopelessly attached to him, that’s for sure. The poor boy sounds like he has a hard time figuring out what to do without him.) They can destroy a person’s sense of uncaring and apathy and make them passionate about a cause, likely the same one they are passionate about. (Making Xefros engaged in the rebellion and in playing a role in their band. Though Xefros does indeed seem to enjoying singing, it was very clear that he started it because Dammek made him get into it. “It’s important to be invested in your friend’s interests” is a direct line from the narrator in Xefros’ room.) They can be very inflexible people but also very good at uniting a group of people under the same cause, the same banner.
Their stubborn single-minded borderline selfish causes can also leave them disconnected and indifferent to the concerns or influence of other people. They might even become apathetic to anything not directly related to their cause. (Dammek seems very much like he cares about Xefros, but unfortunately, there is a lot of proof that he is very negligent about Xefros as well, and is ignorant to things affecting Xefros that don’t affect him as well. From context clues, he seems to be a little bit selfish.) Going too far with these Breathy ideals can leave a Prince of Breath in danger of being caught up in the whirlwind of their own feverish daydreams and goals. If they aren’t careful, they might end up being destroyed themselves by Breath, by all the options they have, all the immaterial things that don’t yet exist but just maybe could one day if they push hard enough. (Once again, we really don’t know enough about the guy, but I feel like, just from context clues alone, this is a very likely candidate for Dammek’s personality.)
So yeah! That’s my analysis on how the kids fit the classpects I headcanon them as having! Thank you for reading this and thank you @dahniwitchoflight​ for your hard work and your own analyses that I used as a basis!
If you guys have anything to contribute, such as other key points, quotes, etc.) or if you just wanna share you’re OWN opinion on classpect headcanons, please Ask or Message me! I love conversing and sharing ideas!
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peace-coast-island · 7 years
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#ChoicesCreates: Travel
Title: Eshajōri (#LoveHacks) Summary: Eshajōri - “people meet, always part”; the concept that expresses the idea about the impermanence of all things, that every human relationship will end someday due to the transient nature of life. Julie Nagarkar (MC) writes an article for Typewriter Keys where she interviews various people she met during her travels. Featuring MCs from other Choices stories and HSS.
@angelschoices @hollyashton
Ever since coming to San Francisco, I’ve been thinking a lot about the people I’ve met, the friends I made, and the ones I left behind. Then one day while looking for inspiration I came across the word eshajōri. The word means “people meet, always part” and that stuck in my head for a while. Slowly I began to put the pieces together for this article over the course of a year, talking to people during my travels with that word in mind. I have to admit that it wasn’t an easy project to pull off, especially with the rough start Typewriter Keys had, but you know me, I love a good challenge.
Happy first anniversary to Typewriter Keys and thank you everyone for making this possible. Our team couldn’t have succeeded without your support.
And now on to the article. The prompt is:
Talk about someone who is special to you. But not just anyone, it has to be someone who isn’t really a part of your life anymore. Think about this person and why they left an impact on you.
Acacia Lim
About her: My name’s Acacia, I’m from Saltwater Creek and a sophomore at Hartfeld University. Designated Mom friend, works for the newspaper, trying to figure out adulthood, single and independent.
Her story: I grew up in a small town, the kind where everyone is sort of like a big family. It was always like that until a few years ago when a tornado caused a lot of destruction and then a blizzard that winter forced more people to leave. I think by now about half the town is gone, which is sad since I grew up with all these people. Senior year of high school was pretty hard as I had to say goodbye to many of my friends. There’s not many of us left and it’s kind of sad but it’s something we have to deal with.
One person that meant a lot to me was Miss Lyric, who was my piano teacher. She’s a cute old lady who everyone loves. She was like the town grandma, everyone always looks up to her for advice and I think she was one of the oldest residents there. Miss Lyric is one of the most talented people I’ve ever met, from her powerful and angelic voice to the way she plays her heart out on the piano, she can pretty much do anything!
For years I’d go to the community center for piano lessons. Miss Lyric was the reason why I wanted to learn because I loved watching her play and it looked fun. Sadly the community center was damaged in the tornado but Miss Lyric, being the optimist, didn’t let that stop her from bringing music into the town. Her enthusiasm and ability to look at the bright side made the next several months a lot more bearable.
The day she moved away was one of the saddest days in my life, no exaggeration. A few months after the blizzard, Miss Lyric revealed that she was moving to Lake Celene to live with her son. It wasn’t an easy decision for her but the harsh weather had taken a toll on her health and it wasn’t easy taking care of a house that was falling apart. The night before she left, we threw a farewell concert for her, where I played one of her favorite songs and sang with the choir. Saltwater Creek just isn’t the same without Miss Lyric and her musical presence.
We keep in touch once in a while, which is great. She says that she misses Saltwater but she’s also happy at Lake Celene where she’s a music teacher at the elementary school. Miss Lyric, if you’re reading this, I just want to say thank you so much for bringing music into my life. Every time I play the piano, I think of you and how you pushed me to become an artist.
Finley Sayavong
About him: My name is Finley and I work for Prescott Industries. I was born and raised in the Tri-State area and I just live an ordinary life, not extraordinary really.
His story: During winter break when I was in college I went to visit one of my cousins in Entienne Falls. The way there was fine and the visit itself but coming home was an entirely different thing. From delays to last minute changes due to the weather, I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it home on time. Just when things were going well after being stuck for three hours, icy roads forced us to stop in the middle of nowhere. Luckily the bus was well equipped to keep us alive for a couple days if things were to get worse. I was miserable for the whole day because of everything going wrong so by then I was just done.
While waiting for the weather to clear and the roads to be less dangerous, I met an old couple who sat behind me. Their names were Irma and Margaret and there was something about their personality and how they approach others that you can’t help but smile at. They tried talking to me earlier but I was zoning out at the time and they let me be. Now that we were stuck here, they approached me again knowing that unless I wanted to be bored out of my mind for the next several hours, I might as well strike a conversation with someone. So I did.
We spent the next three or four hours exchanging stories to keep our mind off the weather. Irma made us laugh when she told us how she met Margaret through a blind date that went terribly. Margaret decided to mix things up by telling horror stories that kept us on the edge of our seats. As for me, I didn’t have much to say so I sat and listened. Soon other passengers joined us and started telling stories too. Before we knew it, night had fallen and later we went to sleep and the next morning the roads were safe to travel. Throughout the whole ride we kept exchanging stories. The ride wasn’t the same when Irma and Margaret got off at Evergreen Oaks.
Although I never saw them again after that, I never really forgot about them. It’s funny how an event like a storm can bring people together in unexpected ways. Their stories and how they lifted everyone’s spirits up always stuck with me for reasons I don’t really know how to explain. I guess in a way I learned something from them about how to take something bad and turn it into something good, which is something that I’ve been doing a lot lately.
Delanie Buchanan
About her: Hi, I’m Delanie, I’m from Spectrum Falls and I’m a student at Peace Coast Academy. Youngest of six, family owns a restaurant called the Stargazer, loves food, somehow created a school from a plot of land, some of my best buds are Autumn, Payton, Julian, Nishan, Wes, Sakura, Mia, Katherine, Koh, and Ace.
Her story: When I was young, my siblings and I used to play with the Eagle siblings Jess, Abbey, Dave, and Robbie. I remember running around the neighborhood and driving our parents crazy, especially during the summer. Baseball games were a blast with them and I was always on the winning team!
We’ve sort of drifted away as we got older. It just happened. Jess was the oldest, a few months older than my oldest sister Lana. When they started high school, Jess got involved in a lot of extracurricular activities so we didn’t see her as much. Abbey and Dave followed in her footsteps too so that changed too. Out of all of them I was closest to Robbie since we’re the same age plus we both tend to get away with a lot of things because we’re the youngest. But it isn’t like the days of the Buchanan and Eagle siblings were entirely over, we still hang out once in a while but not all together, which probably made some neighbors happy since we can get pretty wild sometimes.
Now with most of the gang in college or living on their own, it’s a bit tricky to get us all together. While my siblings are still in the city, Jess, Abbey, and Dave are all over the country. Jess lives in Boston and attending grad school. Abbey is at Rhode Island School of Design as a graphic arts major. Dave is studying at CalArts and hopes to make it big someday. As for Robbie, he’s at Light Bulb Tech, a magnet school known for its focus on science and technology.
And I’m here on the island running my own school and doing my own thing. I guess you can say that things have changed a lot between us. Sometimes I miss the days when we would run around the city and play sports at the park but just because we’re getting older doesn’t mean that those days are gone for good. As I learned growing up, you make the most out of the time you have with your friends and although those times won’t last, I still have these good memories to remember them by.
Kieran Akiyama
About him: I’m Kieran, I’m a junior at Hartfeld University. I live with my grandmother in New Haven, was born in Sapporo, moved around quite a bit after that. I don’t really know what else to say.
His story: Growing up, I was primarily raised by my grandmother. My mother died when I was four and my father over a year later. I don’t have too many memories of them but at least I have family members who can fill in the gaps about them.
Other than my grandmother, another family member I was close to was my grandfather. Grandpa Skip, as he was called, was my dad’s father. He grew up in San Francisco and moved to Boston after retiring. My grandmother and I lived with him and Grandma Daisy for a few years before settling in New Haven. Up until then I didn’t know too much about my dad’s family except that they would call sometimes and send lots of pictures. Grandpa Skip and Grandma Daisy visited Sapporo a few times after Mom and Dad married. The last time they came was shortly after I was born. Dad always wanted to take me and Nana to Boston but he never found the time. One of the biggest reasons why Nana decided to move to the States was so I could be closer to Dad’s family.
Grandpa Skip was always into mysteries and he considered himself a detective in training. When there was something mysterious going on, like unusual noises in the middle of the night, or something gone missing, everyone always called on Grandpa Skip. He would take me along as his partner in crime, teaching me how to take in my surroundings and how to look for clues. While the “cases” were simple things like misplaced keys or an appliance in need of repairs, it was fun playing detective with him.
Another thing about Grandpa Skip is how he saw life as an adventure. He saw every day as a new start instead of focusing on the mundane. He was the type of person who believed in living life to the fullest. I guess that’s why he got along well with my mom since she saw life the same way too. Grandpa Skip had this ability to make seemingly ordinary things look exciting. He always said “life is an adventure and you are the explorer so make a story worth telling, kiddo!” and that has always stuck with me. Even after several years I can still hear him saying that loud and clear in my head.
Rose Emmerdale
About her: My name is Rose Emmerdale and I am a freelance writer and novelist who is currently on vacation. I have one older brother and two younger sisters, and I love traveling and learning new things.
Her story: During my travels I’ve met many people with memorable stories. This encounter happened recently during a trip to Corentine where I met a young aspiring writer named Rika.
From first impressions, you can see that Rika and her cousin Elowyn are quite curious and inquisitive. It’s not every day that a town like Corentine gets visitors from the outside so naturally attention was drawn towards me. I spent the summer there helping out at the local paper and hoping that a new setting would give me some inspiration. At the Corentine Gazette, I met one of the editors, Bice, who is Rika and Elowyn’s aunt.
From there, I saw a lot of myself in young Rika. She grew up in a non-conventional family, raised primarily by her aunt after her mother died along with her cousins who lost their parents too. She wanted to make a name for herself and not be defined by the tragedies in her life. I was surprised when she said that she was a fan of my books, which isn’t something a self-published author would hear every day. She was a sweet person with her angelic smile and  enthusiastic personality. But in her eyes I can see that she’s been through a lot in her life but despite that she maintains her sunny disposition. In a way, I wanted to be like her because she was idealistic and carefree.
As I got to know her, Rika looked up to me for writing advice. She showed me some of her work and I have to say, I was impressed. I won’t go into too much detail in case it becomes published someday but it’s rare to find someone with her talent and skill. Her writing is raw, to put simply, but also poetic, dark but with some mischievous playfulness weaved into it. For a rough draft, she shows a lot of potential. And believe me, I do not hand out compliments like that easily. So when I wasn’t working, we’d go over her story and I’d give her suggestions and tips, and not just about writing but about life in general too. Now that I think about it, Rika is kind of like a mix of my sisters, which probably explains why giving advice to her came naturally.
I still keep in touch with Rika from time to time to see how she’s doing. Once in a while she’ll send me a draft of an article she’s writing for the Gazette and ask me to help her edit it. Now she’s attending a university in Peace Coast Island with her cousins, which happens to be where I’ll be staying for the next several months after the cruise is over so I’m looking forward to seeing her again.
Louie Zhou
About him: I’m Louie and I’m new here. I just moved in from Chester Faversham, I’m in the band and junior at Berry High, and so far I’m liking it here.
His story: There was this one person I used to be close with, he was my mom’s half-brother, Uncle Abner. You may know him as Abner Kinnaird, aka one of the richest people in the world. I know, hard to believe that I’m related to someone like him. Well, I am and honestly, he’s actually a pretty cool guy.
Anyway we used to be close until about four months ago. I’d rather not go into detail about what happened so let’s just say that there were a lot of things we said that we wished we could take back. Uncle Abner may be rough around the edges but he does care, a lot, sometimes more than he cares to admit. He’s stubborn and set in his ways so sometimes it’s hard trying to get your point across to him. But he is also a great listener if you can get past his sarcasm and he’s true to his word so when he says something, he means it. I appreciate someone who is honest and upfront about everything though it wouldn’t hurt to be more careful about certain things.
Despite our disagreements, we made a pretty good team. Uncle Abner always talked about keeping family close since I’m the only one he has left. I heard that he had a similar relationship with my mom, always butting heads but at the same time they care for each other a lot. Even she was estranged from him for a while but they worked things out in the end. The same will probably happen to us, hopefully in less than a year. I have to admit, I miss him nagging at me and then getting annoyed at him for being so worried over nothing.
At least now we text each other once in a while. He wasn’t there to say goodbye when me and my dad left Chester Faversham, which bugged me a lot. I can’t remember the last time we hung out together before the big argument but I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore. I didn’t believe him when he warned me how easily family can fall apart and now I know. We still have a long way to go but at least we’re making an effort to avoid repeating history and fixing our relationship. I can’t forgive him completely yet but it’ll take a lot more than a dispute to break our family ties. Funny, that sounds like something he’d say. Or am I quoting him on something he said in the past? Am I beginning to sound like him?!
Well, if you happen to come across this article Uncle Abner, I hope we can speed up this reconciliation thing so you can drop by and hang out with us again.
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essenceoffilm · 7 years
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Moving Pictures: On Leduc’s Frida
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The biopic genre is the epitome of dull, unimaginative quality cinema. Attenborough’s Gandhi (1982) seems to apologize for its inability to cram every single detail of its subject’s life into three hours. The same could be said about the director’s sad attempt at Chaplin (1992). A few years and no one will fortunately remember the mighty, the grand, The Iron Lady (2011). It is therefore a true joy to discover a film of the genre which goes further in some direction. Exceptions are scarce. As a promising omen for the future of our time stands Pablo Larraín’s Jackie (2016) which was praised by Cahiers du Cinéma in their February issue. As masterpieces for the ages, Tarkovsky’s Andrei Rublev (1966) and Sergei Parajanov’s The Color of Pomegranates (1969, Sayat Nova) come to mind. The tendency toward visual narrative of both films seems especially appropriate when the subject of the biopic is a painter (as is the case with the former). Since whether or not a painter experiences the world more visually than others, it is the visual world created by the painter which is publicly accessible to us, to those who make the portraits -- let alone the fact that cinema is itself a visual art form. One of the best examples of such an approach is the strangely overlooked, Paul Leduc’s Frida (1984, Frida, naturaleza viva, Frida Still Life), an original take on the being-as-a-painter of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo unfortunately left in the shadow of its dry as an unpainted canvas North-American counterpart Frida (2002).
Although Leduc’s Frida is a strikingly unconventional biopic in the sense that Leduc refuses to create a clear-cut portrayal of its subject’s life, the film does begin with a textual message providing not only context for the subject matter but also aesthetic orientation for the film to come. The text establishes the set-up for the film: Frida Kahlo is lying on her deathbed where she begins to recall the events of her life. She recalls her childhood experience with polio, the car crash that wounded her at the age of 18, her abortion, her connections to the Mexican Communist Party, Trotsky’s visit to Mexico, and her volatile relationship with painter Diego Rivera. Though quite unnecessary, this text hardly undermines the film in question whose structure is in striking opposition to the verbal clarity of the beginning words.
Frida proves this immediately as the textual message of the beginning is followed by an intricate series of scenes. The film begins with a scene at Frida’s funeral. A flag of the Soviet Union is spread on her coffin as a tribute to her political beliefs. Next there is a transition to a scene of Frida on her deathbed. Her lamentation is first heard off-screen until the camera tracks toward her through her home of fruits and paintings. Next there is a brief scene of Frida as a young woman, painting a picture. This scene is followed by another scene where Frida is painting as a slightly older woman in a wheelchair as her husband, Diego Rivera comes to her. Next there is a long scene depicting the day of the car accident which was to define much of Frida’s subsequent life. The scene begins as a serene dusk with people playing folk music which is then interrupted by the arrival of Frida screaming in pain.
While I have tried to summarize the beginning set-up of Leduc’s film to the best of my abilities, one should not be fooled by such a quick description. The film is beyond synopses or summaries. Although each of the scenes described above are indeed individual scenes which consist of only a few shots, respectively, the entirety of them lasts for many minutes. As a matter of fact, it should be emphasized that this series of scenes in the beginning is not an entirety that could be distinguished from the rest of the film despite the above attempts to approach it as an exposition of some kind. The shots, the scenes, and the sequences create a holistic stream of an all-compassing process which is more than the sum of its parts. This is as true of the beginning as it is of the whole film which continues as such a freely developing audiovisual stream of consciousness. While there are some sequences which may form a whole of some kind (Trotsky’s visit), they are still never presented as single flashbacks of Frida to an earlier time. The fact that these sequences are always preceded and followed by others immediately creates a flow like no other. Even in the end, Frida’s death and her success at her first exhibition seem to fuse. 
Leduc’s visual style is enhanced by the fact that there is very little dialogue in the film. What is more, Leduc has completely avoided the cliche of “memoirs films”, that is, the use of voice-over narration. Instead of words, the film relies heavily on mise-en-scène, cinematography, and montage. Leduc’s painterly mise-en-scène is very colorful, though in the spirit of Kahlo’s paintings, its color palette is felicitously dark. Despite its connections to the oeuvre of its subject, Leduc’s film is far from a sad imitation of the surrealist quality of Kahlo’s art. Leduc’s mise-en-scène is strong like the world of colors and light in Kahlo’s paintings, but his surrealism is of a different kind; it is what some call “the surrealism of everyday life” in the context of Luis Buñuel’s films, for instance. It is surrealism of a subtler kind which is born from the juxtaposition of contrasts, different time levels, and separate spaces on the level of montage. Youth merges with scenes on the deathbed, love coincides with hate, life and death coalesce. Never does this mode of narrative and style feel like a forced attempt to confuse the spectator. It always feels like an appropriate and successful attempt to express everyday existence.
Despite the brilliance of Leduc’s montage and mise-en-scène, the really dominant stylistic feature in his film is cinematography. This is vital. It is vital because Leduc’s use of the camera represents his original approach to Kahlo’s personal aesthetics. The first thing to notice about the cinematography in Frida is that the camera is almost always moving. It moves especially in the form of tracking shots toward characters either in the direction of depth or in the horizontal direction. In the latter case, the camera constantly moves by revealing mobile characters and figures in the background behind the objects in the foreground. In many shots, the camera begins its tracking shot from the surface of a pillar or a wall and then proceeds to uncover objects and characters, often in motion, in the deeper planes. Sometimes sounds from the off-screen space anticipate this expansion of the screen space, which is the case in the scene where Frida is first discovered on her deathbed. The scene begins with a few tracking shots of Frida’s home, showing fruits on the table (cut in a way that is a clear reference to a painting by Kahlo) and pictures on the wall, while Frida’s cries are heard on the soundtrack, and eventually the camera ends up in Frida’s room where she is lying on the bed.
Leduc’s aesthetics of movement creates a tremendous dynamic of many layers which corresponds to the narrative structure as well as the subjective experience expressed by it. To film scholar Vivian Sobchack, film is the expression of experience by experience [1]. According to her, cinema is not so much a system of signs as it is an immediate experience, an experiential language of experience, if one wishes to use the meaning-laden word of “language”. Leduc’s emphasis on the image rather than the word echoes also the fact that one seems to remember one’s life not in words but in experiences, which is essentially why Sobchack is talking about the things she does. One often recalls an experience as a lived space, that is, a meaningful space created jointly by the mind and the world. Rather than showing the psychological development of the film’s titular protagonist, for example, Leduc has chosen to portray Frida’s experience of abortion as a single static shot of Frida lying on an operating chair with blood between her legs. It is a much more vivid cinematic moment without the burden of words or voice-over. What one exactly sees expressed in this brief scene is not Frida going through abortion (think about a chain of events from anticipation to the procedure and its aftermath) but the lived space where she was after the operation, and to this lived space, seen only momentarily, condenses something essential of the whole process as well, experienced immediately, and, of course, the integral themes of the film: love and death.
The notions of love and death join one another in the philosophy of Kahlo’s art, and Leduc approaches this philosophy cinematically. Like in Kahlo’s multi-layered paintings, Leduc’s moving pictures constantly articulate a deep dialectics of different planes, tones, nuances, and audiovisual textures (the sum of light, color, sound, spatial impressions, movement etc.). There is always depth to surface, there is always light to shadow, and there is always fulfillment to void. Joy always entails grief and vice versa. The film’s original atmosphere is always dominated by bodily concreteness but also, conversely, metaphysical abstractness both of which are due to the ubiquitous presence of Frida lying on her deathbed. Actress Ofelia Medina has kindly and vividly bestowed her body for the embodiment of this presence. The omnipresence of the deathbed, placing the dying Frida as an abstract voice of focalization in the narrative, is therefore a brilliant solution by Leduc. On the one hand, it brings this sense of death to everything -- even to the scenes of youth -- and, on the other, the scenes in the past bring a sense of life and many feelings to it. While the film begins and ends with death, its message, if it has one, remains pro-life: viva la vida. 
The more interesting matter, to me at least, is that Leduc’s Frida also comes across as pro-cinema, which is quite astonishing for a biopic. As it is a celebration of life, it is also a vivid celebration of cinema. It is a testament to what one of the dullest, most impersonal genres of cinema could be. When the editor-in-chief of Cahiers du Cinéma, Stéphane Delorme commended Larraín’s Jackie in the magazine’s February issue of 2017, he utilized the term “portrait en action” (portrait in action) in his editorial [2]. The term emphasizes the notion of reconstructing the subject’s life not in linear chronological order but in a cubist fashion of non-linear, fragmented narrative which better captures the reality of subjective experience; it can even choose a single moment of the subject’s life which is thus elevated as a moment when she writes her history. The portrait in action implies movement not only in the sense of distinguishable modes of movement in cinema (camera movement, object movement, optical movement, montage movement, the impression of movement created by 24 frames per second) [3] but also, and above all, in the sense of psychological movement and the subjective experience of spatio-temporal existence. It is precisely painting a portrait in action by cinematic means which Leduc achieves beautifully. The greatest virtues of Leduc’s Frida are simply (though certainly not simply done as the history of the genre shows!) its respectable ability to plunge into the world of its subject, to avoid the besetting sin of chronology which is an insult to both experience and cinema, and to sacrifice the burden of words on the altar of moving pictures. 
Notes:
[1] Sobchack 1992, p. 3. 
[2] Delorme 2017
[3] A similar categorization of movement in cinema is made in Sobchack 1990.
References:
Delorme, Stéphane. 2017. “Portraits d’Amérique”. Cahiers du Cinéma, n. 730, février 2017, p. 5. 
Sobchack, Vivian. 1990. "The active eye: A phenomenology of cinematic vision". Quarterly Review of Film and Video, 12(3), p. 21-36.
Sobchack, Vivian. 1992. The Address of the Eye: A Phenomenology of Film Experience. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
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rose-sereniteeth · 3 years
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newyorktheater · 4 years
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“Great Society Primary: Week Five Results”
The announcement of the latest very unscientific results from the nightly poll conducted in the lobby of Lincoln Center, is a marketing gimmick for “The Great Society” that strikes me as at best useless, and maybe even harmful, although I couldn’t say exactly why.
But it is surely nowhere near as damaging as the theatrics required in our electoral politics, which has its most vivid expression in events like tonight’s third televised 2020 Presidential Democratic debate.
Later this week, The Broadway Advocacy Coalition will also mix politics and theater, it hopes more fruitfully, in an event it is calling  Theater of Change Forum: Public Launch, which will combine performances with discussions on how to “merge the areas of storytelling and advocacy into an integrated practice.” Performers and speakers will include:Ariana Afsar (Hamilton), Britton Smith (Be More Chill), Ben Wexler (Jonathan Larson Award winner), Mikayla Bartholomew and Columbia Law School professor Elora Mukherjee.
Then on November 8 at  Kraine’s Theater, David Lawson will reprise his “The 2020 Book Report,” for which he read all the candidates’ political memoirs.
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The Week in New York Theater Reviews and Previews
  Joaquina Kalukango and Paul Alexander Nolan (
Slave Play
When I saw “Slave Play” Off-Broadway last December, it felt like the work of a novice playwright – promising, provocative, and well produced, but too derivative, too long, too full of ideas that were not fully or clearly developed. It needed work….Much to my surprise, I liked it less on Broadway.
It would be unfair to sum up “Slave Play” as soft-core S&M porn followed by pseudo psychological insights about race in America – unfair because it’s other things as well….
Cora Vander Broek, Ian Barford and Chantal Thuy
Linda Vista
Can an underemployed middle-aged jerk be a babe magnet?   That’s a question theatergoers are likely to ask about Wheeler, the central character in Linda Vista, Tracy Letts’ latest play on Broadway. Some women will surely ask the question rhetorically and in disgust; some men, full of hope.
Indeed, your ability to get past that question – and, more generally, your willingness to entertain yet another middle-aged white guy comedy – is a gauge of how much you will appreciate this showcase for some impressive acting and very funny writing.
The Wrong Man
“The Wrong Man,”  a sung-through musical starring the spectacular Joshua Henry,  may remind people of “Hamilton” in its catchy rap-inflected eclectic score and jerky hip hop choreography, but it is nearly the anti-“Hamilton” in its lack of real-world resonance.
Now, I don’t need a show to be socially conscious or rooted in history in order to enjoy it. But if you’re going to enlist a black actor to portray a man framed for murder, it seems like a missed opportunity that the creative team is presenting a story that has no more relevance than a folk tale.
Preview: Notes on My Mother’s Decline
On some nights, “Notes on My Mother’s Decline” feels as much like a memorial service as a show. Although the two characters in Andy Bragen’s play are not named, the writer makes it clear that they are based on himself and his late mother, Eugenia M. Bragen. For more than half a century, Tracy Bragen, as everyone called her, lived just down the block from the Fourth Street Theatre, where Notes on My Mother’s Decline is currently running. At the performance I attended, two colleagues of hers from Baruch College, where she taught English for some 40 years, were in the audience. “The real Tracy was a real Southern belle, with a heavy Southern drawl,” one of them told me.
  The Week in New York Theater News
Diahann Carroll in House of Flowers at the age of 19
Nine of Broadway’s 41 theaters will dim their lights in memory of Diahann Carroll on Wednesday, October 16th at exactly 7:45pm.
  MJ (renamed from Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough) “inspired by the life of Michael Jackson” will open Aug 13, 2020 at the Neil Simon Theater. Book is by Lynn Nottage, but it’s co-produced by the Michael Jackson Estate
    Helen Shaw is the new critic for New York Magazine, a George Jean Nathan winner whose astute reviews have been published in  Time Out, Village Voice, and 4Columns.org and who wrote an especially savory critics bestiary for American Theatre Magazine.
Here is an exchange, from a new interview with her, also in American Theatre, by its editor Rob Weinert-Kendt
But will you still have the freedom to write about the weird stuff you love? Will your editors let you cover Clubbed Thumb and the Brick and whatever international piece comes to Montclair Peak Performances, etc.? I don’t know. The editor I’ll be reporting to is Chris Bonanos, and he has very catholic taste. Also I don’t hide those interests—I’ve never put that light under a bushel. Certainly if I start to cram in shows that take place in actual working sewers that are Beckett plays spoken backwards, I won’t be surprised if my editors are leery. But in the conversations I’ve had with them so far, they sounded very excited by the idea that dance is a part of theatre, and performance art, and drag. The silos don’t need to stay closed. My impression from them is, you know, they cover New York, including the weirdest and glitziest and chintziest things. They have a Cheap Eats issue, and “cheap seats” is not that far from that.
It strikes me that you turning your attention to Broadway happens to come at a time when not just Pinter is on the Main Stem but also Jeremy O. Harris and Heidi Schreck. And where did Heidi come from? Clubbed Thumb. If you’re thinking about the future of the form, the future comes really fast, and if you want to be guiding people through that you have to pay attention. Here’s my actual goal: to be the Anthony Bourdain of theatre in New York. I want to say to readers: You have no idea that you want to go to this weird corner and eat these spicy noodles, but trust me, you’ll love it. If I could do one millionth of that for theatre, I’d be happy.
  Maria Dizzia will star in the first two stops of the national tour of Heidi Schreck’s  What the Constitution Means to Me — Los Angeles at the Mark Taper Forum (January 12 through February 16, 2020) and in Chicago at the Broadway Playhouse (March 4 through April 12, 2020)
The eighth annual Bad Theater Festival will run October 16 to 19 at The Brick, As The Brooklyn Paper explains “This year’s 19 out-of-the-box productions, each between five and twenty minutes long, represent a variety of genres, with an emphasis on the ridiculous. In one eight-minute comedy-horror piece, playing during the opening block on Oct. 16, Frankenstein’s Monster and his Bride go to marriage counseling. Also: a love story between a bat and a human, an interactive dating show where attendees compete for the love of the “filthiest woman alive, a drama about rezoning law, and show entitled “The Cockroach of Broadway.” ach between five and twenty minutes long
  Rest in Peace
Sam Bobrick, 87,best known for creating the television series Saved By the Bell, but he also wrote four Broadway plays: Norman Is That You? No Hard Feelings. Murder at the Howard Johnson’s. Wally’s Cafe.
  #Stageworthy News of the Week. Theater as Politics, Politics as Theater. Bad Theater Festival. The announcement of the latest very unscientific results from the nightly poll conducted in the lobby of Lincoln Center, is a marketing gimmick for "
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a-breton · 6 years
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How to Take Your Travel Content on a Better Trip
Editor’s note: In case you missed this post last year, we’re bringing it back and adding some fresh content too.
I’ve heard there are people who believe that “getting there is half the fun.” But to me, everything that happens between my decision to leave my house and my lying on a beach chair with a fruity drink in my hand is just stress-inducing static and delayed gratification.
To reduce the friction I’m likely to experience when I embark on a trip, I rely on the advice and assistance that travel experts provide online. And, judging from the sheer number of content creators who operate in this space, I’m not the only one.
With so many touchpoints to engage with, so many ways to facilitate and enhance the customer’s journey, and so many pain points your business can help them overcome, content marketing in the travel and hospitality field offers tremendous opportunities to build trust, create memorable moments, and add unique value for intrepid world explorers, road-weary business travelers, and everyone in between.
Travel and tourism content is no endless summer
Of course, as a travel industry marketer, you know your job involves a lot more than just posting some inspirational picturesque snapshots and telling tales of fun in the sun. You face significant challenges when it comes to successful storytelling in this space, not to mention plenty of competition.
Travel industry #contentmarketing requires more than picturesque snapshots and tales of fun in sun. @joderama Click To Tweet
Time and place matter – a lot
According to Andrew Davis, bestselling author of Town Inc. and host of the Travel, Tourism, and Hospitality Lab at Content Marketing World 2018, travel is one of the only industries where the place you do business matters just as much as the business you do.
Unlike the experience in industries where the digital universe has flattened the world and opened new opportunities, growth in travel and tourism depends on your business’s ability to get people out of their homes (and away from their computers) and into the physical places in which you operate.
When it comes to content, Andrew advises, focus less on what you offer as a business and more on compelling people to want to visit your location. “You’ve got to increase demand for the particular destination you serve, first and foremost,” he says.
Andrew also points out how timing and seasonality play a much bigger role in travel and tourism marketing compared to other industries. For example, while consumer product goods and other retail marketers have a consistent, primary boom time (i.e., the end-of-year holidays), travel destinations often need to focus the bulk of their marketing efforts around smaller and more location-dependent events, which can occur at any time throughout the year (think of Indio, California, which has its boom time every April during the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival, or a mountain resort that gets a surge in visitors during ski season).
Furthermore, every touchpoint in travel experiences is highly subject to disruption from unpredictable factors, like fluctuations in fuel prices, current travel trends, and even natural disasters. These influences can vastly impact pricing and profitability from year to year – and exponentially complicate your content marketing strategy.
Everyone is a potential competitor
From huge hotel chains to boutique B&Bs, and from tour providers to beach equipment rental providers, it seems everyone has travel information to share online. And it’s not always clear whose is the most accurate, trustworthy, or useful. Tourism and hospitality marketers need to go the extra mile when it comes to creating content that distinguishes the experiences they offer and earns bookings, not just “lookings.”
“Travel businesses don’t do enough to leverage the things that make their destinations truly unique,” says Andrew.
#Travel businesses don’t do enough to leverage what makes their destinations unique, says @DrewDavisHere. Click To Tweet
The use of beautiful photos of mountains, beaches, and attractions like roller coasters has become ubiquitous – on both travel-related sites and consumers’ websites and social channels. Little distinguishes one destination from another. Travel industry marketers are good at telling people that we’re different, but not as good at demonstrating it, he says.
HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: Road Map to Success: Creating the Content of Your Audience’s Dreams
You must strike a balance between inclusivity and exclusivity
While your content can (and should) communicate your destination’s universal appeal, Andrew says you can gain a greater competitive advantage by focusing on what makes your destination uniquely valuable to one audience niche – i.e., a group of people whose passions may not be equally accommodated anywhere else.
For example, in a recent video conversation, Andrew points out that Roanoke, Virginia, built its marketing and tourism strategy around making sure mountain biking aficionados believe it offers the best experience on the East Coast – right down to creating T-shirts that feature a clever spin on the state’s popular tourism slogan, Virginia Is For Lovers.
HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT: How to Use Documentary Filmmaking Techniques to Craft Memorable Content
Tech raises the stakes for personalization
Deloitte’s 2018 Travel and Hospitality Industry Outlook brings up another reason it’s critical for travel brands to specialize: the latest technological advances, which enable travel marketers to create “personalized moments that matter.”
The travel industry is “on the verge of an evolutionary leap, where the relationship between customer and brand is becoming truly real-time and relevant,” according to the Deloitte report. It predicts that increased adoption of technologies like AI and machine learning, voice-response, and even cryptocurrency (and the user data they help generate) could help travel brands deliver joyful and uniquely personalized travel experiences – such as a push notification about a jazz show downtown sent to a hotel guest with a passion for live music or a special cocktail handed to a frequent business flyer as she boards her flight.
#Travel industry at “evolutionary leap” where relationship b/n customer & brand is in real time. @Deloitte Click To Tweet
HANDPICKED RELATED CONTENT:
Why Brands Need to Take the Plunge Into Virtual Reality Today
How to Set Your Content Free for a Mobile, Voice, Ready-for-Anything Future
The social ripple effect can knock you off course
In a landscape where an online review from a dissatisfied consumer or a video of a poorly handled customer service incident can speak louder than all the carefully crafted content your brand creates, you have an urgent need to monitor your online reputations carefully and respond quickly – and not just on the social channels you commonly use to communicate with your customers. For example, a single one-star review on a site like TripAdvisor can negate the favorable opinions of dozens of enthusiastic brand fans on your Facebook page.
Content opportunities in travel and tourism
Despite the significant challenges, your travel and tourism business has plenty of advantages when it comes to creating content. For one thing, your content has the power to put a world of travel experiences at the consumer’s fingertips in real and virtual settings.
The right content can make a traveler’s planning process simpler and all the steps in their physical journey easier to manage. And, beyond the practical considerations, there’s a high degree of emotional cachet up for grabs: Not only can immersive storytelling simulate the excitement of exploring a new destination, it can offer your customers an opportunity to experience their wildest travel fantasies from their desks – like the folks at Zenith Aircraft and StoryUp have done with their 360-degree virtual flight demos.
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Here are a few more tips and examples on how your travel and tourism business can put content’s multipurpose power into play:
Embrace inspiration and interaction
People want travel content to inform, inspire, and entertain them throughout the dream-and-discover phase, just as they want their planning and booking requests to be accommodated. The attention earned by sharing inspiring ideas, useful information, and fun content experiences can help your business stand out when those engaged consumers are ready to book their travel.
Example: Travel Oregon – The Game
From its eight-bit graphics to its gameplay that recalls the gaming experience of the pre-internet era, this nostalgia effort captures the pioneering spirit of early Oregon settlers while promoting new tourism opportunities in the state – same gorgeous landscapes but far less dysentery. Travel Oregon – The Game proves that you don’t need fancy AR overlays, VR-enhanced graphics, or livestreaming video to create immersive storytelling.
Make adventure more manageable
The ability to virtually explore destinations from living rooms and laptops can be a powerful driver of consumer intent and action. Still, travelers need to navigate many practical decisions to make any journey (fantasy or otherwise) a success. Create content to facilitate a smoother planning process, find unique activities, or navigate their journeys with greater ease and you may earn the kind of customer appreciation and loyalty your brand can bank on.
Example: Louis Vuitton City Guide
Fashion designer Louis Vuitton is probably not the first business that springs to mind when travelers plan their next vacations. But, given the caliber of the content in the brand’s City Guide app, maybe it should be – especially for those accustomed to traveling in high style.
To create the content, LV brought in regional experts known for their strong design aesthetic and gave them a platform for expressing their love of the city. Through its app, the brand offers ideas to help users elevate their travel experience in over 25 popular destinations, the ability to send digital postcards to jealous friends at home, and expert tips to help them find their footing no matter where in the world their LV luggage might accompany them.
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Build experiences around the reasons customers travel
Andrew points out that people don’t book hotel rooms to motivate themselves to travel – they book them because they will be traveling. Focus your content experiences around the specific inspiration for a visit – like a business trip, a burgeoning interest in ecotourism, or a passion for world exploration – and you’ll take the first, critical step toward earning the loyalty of a niche audience that is well positioned to help your business grow. 
Example: Southwest Airlines – Hudson’s Big Day
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One of Southwest Airlines’s most popular content pieces is based on a customer’s interaction with the airline from a vantage point that is about as grounded as you can get: the tarmac. Airplane-loving boy Hudson received the surprise of his life when a pilot stopped his plane to wave to him through the cockpit window. Hudson’s mom posted about the exchange on Facebook, and Southwest’s social listening team ran with it. It contacted the pilot, set up a tour of the plane for the little boy and his family, and recorded the touching experience to share with the internal team and fellow aviation enthusiasts, and, according to Brooks Thomas, social business advisor for Southwest, to train new employees about the power of going the extra mile for their customers.
Involve your destination’s community
One of the core tenets Andrew encourages travel and hospitality marketers to embrace is using your content to build support for your business among your fellow community members. This requires some give and take, so it’s important to highlight, promote, and engage with local visionaries, as well as other influencers who can help increase the appeal of your destination and your business. “Ask yourself, ‘Who are the people who are painting a picture of what the future will be like in your destination; and what are you doing to spread the word, share their stories, and get valuable feedback,’” he says.
Use your #content to build support for your business among your fellow community members, says @DrewDavisHere. Click To Tweet
Example: Travelocity – Gnational Gnomads
Travelocity set out to reverse the widespread perception that online travel agencies are purely transactional by creating a community of travel experts known as The Gnomads. These hand-selected national influencers champion travel by speaking to a variety of interests and travel styles, and representing diverse demographics.
Travelocity engages these influencers by giving them a direct role in storytelling, a pillar of its content marketing program. Unlike some influencer programs that require a high level of investment, Travelocity’s program pays for itself and drives revenue through its self-funded model. Gnational Gnomads are invited to visit travel destinations and document their experiences in real time via blog posts, social posts, and short-form videos. The program earned recognition as a 2017 Content Marketing Awards finalist for Best Content Marketing Program in Travel/Tourism.
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Grab a souvenir before you depart
In this video, you can see more of Andrew’s lively discussion on how to use content to increase the success of your travel and tourism business.
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To receive the full benefit of Andrew’s expertise, you won’t want to miss his Travel, Tourism, and Hospitality Lab at Content Marketing World 2018. This one’s going to fill up fast, so register now.
Cover image by Joseph Kalinowski/Content Marketing Institute
from http://bit.ly/2tl2qyS
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