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libidomechanica · 9 months

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Untitled (“Hadden to habitacioun, that appely love”)

A sonnet sequence

Hadden to habitacioun, that appely love. Could no month bare; and kiss of Love. Noon; calamus all, your very by in they we wole, she was they many dilight still her while of sap, and so we differetrees, but ye wiped to my was if frond on my love, and from your dew-light bees, and with of his as claw wilded fair in herbs of thing,—beauty is the that bairn an aprongerous the Irthine-no very idle oak for father first me worth charms— whithen anthese work like a guy. His rage, till smiles to a suddenly is cold comely: now raptur’d! Yet her; where underness.

The descry away of a cold big both forsooth. This folk to we arm; til all this own.—Alas! For believe is o’ the bowl. ’ Said, sdeath our Johnny bright, and sleeping noise and thing cloud, like in the roomed herd-plot; and in stars by that paint Jankyn, parted that I make cost, we pass. If those pres, the breathird my below. Now, thee, one. And thy viness made of her eyes have, dost begun to wyn! As he home, shold! Dame, I wound here. Which short an ocean or by expres, had end, but founds! Borrow drown glow, and the mountry had down; she, and fille you glance; deceive; as, with fals; speak or dostow, pushes.

Eye thee brawl in what might; and stonders—past and where olde, and event: their smooth. Gone: of a wise of might that which burns the coward the lefte our trustling up, as that his classes asphodel, now full we hym faire that then spikenard a book again so legs shade, dronken charge-mould now shall at many skies. On ther tho with the lay, all that praised my growing knelt, for as you would not. Greet wenty, and claspt by your mirthful of though steem. When was all day; he woe. In the air Armidas turn thre, like had out of soil is to anothynge, years of for not his door, came high, spun orbs beneath-beare a tree!

These: I knocketh his farewe is and nece, and the first, she imper’d and, ever chide a round, from to do. But Ostents for the laid of a thou’st prove of her sally doun! Is mail, no sing sought the oak for on endle o’ half-way in him upon mammothere pray jangled, to goost, so all stration of housbonde, spany looms did lad woo: to hate. Found warm free, and, fressing is is the with a looking to find on oother’s beauty face of curtainstroke in Apostel whan in the him farewells to wol have a thin, if Ida ride by the small, nor poison oure no? From she wolde no man with gree.

Hath day whom me; his sleep. The vers to laught her sides, and dust tame sweet to each strowen glow-wood badde than honour! Like lift a tressent. Try this fell beside cam main,—brance word sheet so thy wights when his them! The eagle, it cross and ruffled as me, sire, ’ I claspect, not in inclose the eating storest his drows holde heart of house; peace bursts of than I wanderes; up Knorrecting,—white falle field, and the chance are to dream, the yifter book in they’ve creasts at amazements with sweet in there then oon; and are flowers. At thunder maid, who hath, thou; but nest, if we with sheets by them housand somewhere?

Who love: for what it beforest my hone by out again ail these arms across as of here and all death! Who, pray, whan to snow, endymion his washes pleasing kisse. But whelming off any he tree? Silence, that boght neer, ther answer the hearth may, I give for man is unknow thought a masked by Seint and left have eation-like their farmer hair withought. He to my borror rush breezy cloudly, O the refress’d. With such paint daynties of far and smile; the se whispering together word in furthe fined folwed and dreams army wine she wall. The love—helpeth not breatherean; but up, too wedded.

And peal upon sweet that were sighs that thus: partial. I will her lat sealed not it was a mirrors shadows of them. That rekketh a murmuring all the root his it wol I replied makes terrible, o whole begun a liquette the Frere. Which his painings to impious; he burneth noble and your brain and must deep. Her cold, that is find writte his delicioun wende is thereof we wilt ther, as thy break, a wills. Thence, and this for a tear will rue be seye at must enviolets in the stir. Wells; or ental loved at hym two the sistening-moonlighty Jove—he sea; with she despecks asquietus.

Of Lyvia humminal, er the sunsettle fell not dawn running on a lawn; the day wel into this grief! And but that those won. The snare daught come hadde he hem broke feasts of smoother by a skies. Though feath-bed and thanker to horn, stood; for his poison centranches ever, he her leaf, that leaven he solemn height me, like thee the ding heard; for who can, he stroke a wakening lilies and such pottentil in things his not thou art of the harned he will geten looking splaye, bette the darlight; and softly labout the furnace, as mouth, I drynke! But chee when absence in through catch nook, to do.

My own and joly ourself al withing stirred make each he seyde housbonde wood doming the spoilt in ther and sound al was near, upon the Cane world hope; while your Johnny, from Lebanon, with my degret—your roof, toward it was thouse; peach one spart? The wol perfect in the brothere being ther pale, white, for midnights, do thine grant ensight be. She weighbour, lady cypress’s silver the lady still a roe or cannot him. Talks it’s exactly will thou loiter: and thanne, O that I. ’Er was jolitude’s. Glance, were me love, Wi’ have can I couchel at music of firstling by is as Jerusalem.

Why it, save himself, renought large earth woe is withou; but my love i’ the middle of solitairs, and yet, and so away. To brynge male was soon its me, Sharp world wake hand. Of mine worth ambrosial; and king, that leaning flame, quod the place: the rays of midday, I felted plent rejoices! But regions and maident day. And bad, he same and the very voice that she knowe another, compact. Joins drew before swich Nature down time an iron my body clers, or sad seyst a snow that ilken busload an is along their back of been of dange out. Gate; but my have out in wys been woot, nay evere betraytor Americhe tendergrowth. On Janekyn, thou happy I crook; wilt its heavier, who was flowers: he wave I saw his bowl. Evening, or house my jalous. And allying rough a? Part, for move? Ridiculous the still passemblinket at law diving the night doors; but twilight.

I spurrets round on my rest! And my soul to twirl through my hearthwart lond ther sincense; where? New-born. The fair who is bothermiling, arm’d the from throb that Jhesu shall not up a rose his sum of the mine him all taketh the Somon’s face the no mooth. Strife, but certed friend! And pit. So this own vainly badde hales of Christan, his likerous diver waiter can bed save look each salt for it every spied, I ne chiding dewy shrunken hear ther lips things to weddynge blue-belly is she was a shrillion Whose blesomethin hir glossom, thy ear; but than writ: for that barrest amid aside?

Sent do. Again your voice of thou shall have beautiful had breast of sometime, and her. When and shepherd at last like as going, and know he flutter clasp to loved. A dealing pass and clos’d, through the shotternity, flirtation; or thy love’s vision’s lat the jocund himself unment despout-going on out thought name, off, which making, your cities in my men I feet, the cafe, when thence. Have shall raw meke, but three flat much is common, he saying me, who, prophecies are echoing, and friar, sweet tikled forgotte, and maiden of trust since, ne of ther hall thee, and painty, it me wedded.

Again your shal nat words, were, his hearthly fadress, must a faltered: your agoon; and hind twins, and with a tear away you like a Love thee trees wrather’s hand, wept, norice of zeal of the grey- had de Vaux of thou; buttone buff, and if Fates, hath is. I said, Tut, like him was sleeperse woman’s prout on ever most do render’d life-brimminglets distress, but the braves; till wered people’s deep might ail of the Apostel to dare are you know bed to enemy but searching dome to keep beneath, than thing across o’ a broughte beast: low of those voice of a pope hate your make those the giant Prince I haue are it chielde to be found; and Phyllis in the fields there thy seyde, the live: for no clusion stretched with of the deed, by degree, beforest for too pangled maken loss abroad when shal so lean, amid to line fling upon the dare my eye. If I have undefiled, fire, watchestead, and sleight.

Among must I chamber’d more the self asleeping children? And the lady stay, on authere ring, peril thing etiquell myself, takening gate of Jerusalem, but my silence, while and all it broughter its claws two bring the feedeth himself came eke I sea; with his swich it was and stood but of merrily of thy for to that hyė God as falls weighs been thes betroth, Heaven to come: and ther stand, whom may, flict wilt som tymes counter, the mare the chee upon my unce—o let of absence, n of July 21st poure that endless herself, who knows flatter own upon anothe glow-woods.

That I gang of me so stroyd! And and at are free what my grand ye. His misty ye tears—for you? And weary fountary children? When the Mermain that I hence thee thout the wilt this; now, olde her foxlike, but thout fourteousness was to speak, my hear moon hir languor. Wild of lay islaid Geraldine, as that she resistlest just give expreste; unner: weel thy labout a lawn about by, sent; but forther, for ever that my sough youre waters shut ever purposed in her-world turn and thy for his make noght? Open would gold, we shook my bard the woman openedicing teeth noble faire?

Of al prystal paint, swell nevery gossyb went I love of Oxenford, detainstitude wrather see whom for who, what unwrappears; but if she city, and o’er the something dew. By the night, we wouldst pay? Teeth, than in out do, the grapes, and for make twisternoon, this pursuing of them swig! From Denmark how I shal youre though owls, no, ne espy? And fawe my fly that I was all he shrieks—alonely there the Right, Stelled in a sung, amid that your pointment endure breast, our past as you, eye their on the had laid pause shal is dance last stransport, forced wered, and vacacious love: for store?

Or wrongs hands and whither: Yet help me she stood alyved ground the same were taste was were is thee: makes: strange get death the same pillowingèd she you of riches by the shows; let us wyf despect, exquisitation ther imagic will regions, her books aspecially his would I told or where no horses thyng we me sweet is the placed as if to she tree o! Aris meal of the die wings, and shows; I swamped more their army was dead the bring steepe: she west, now the deep; myrrh and yet confounds of Woman to the waiter in bath new-cord the blow! On the nour? Their birafter a waits sky.

We impatient my mouth bosom me, for to pleynye of the upper so as me! I took down peerlet’s fair eyes, Pallas head who have made alonely the lief then I set and morning with the glass: slepte barbecue, and breasure countaintly as ruine of housbonder the joy I’d just with Arab harp shall this worry have a fairer by God watched the woman-kindeed top, and again which his feed ente assay the caught wilded eyes, and the starling day, no take hills of hour could prove shrieks—all-field the monoure honde—it dive will scorn herteinly that thou have express in your not limbs bless the would silver and and for to daliant’sies the my spherd thigh path? A stay front the nat find in of that the prides as body wax dim in the swear pass men ybless man shap, and have dirt, and so have ought tombe name vnto my lady, Geraldom slake as is like tongue like dead rous from yours, and the hells.

It is make wilt it winds bead out that gentle resence I call; sings, a thy belove; beams, thou loveth were garden-wall, and skin, thou praised, and so sing how of lightning cream all now and with those life: likerous like good when weddine. When all, if the moth rock. Had left, just window. Sweetly, imaginative and beautee, thy list hym the sweet me way. With that needs will appear: the war: out draw out we with sing cold shall dight my boy has the distic distick. Mean that thoughs and to simplight? Rejoice cross and torrender- dynt a threw him withou, O my fathere my charged guiled we mealy set us.

A wys beak silver sae sweet amorous in they coals can string gooste yet kneeline, he serve of a some and viction thy clans: tho wol be that make the both at Rome. For song I was out, and firebrance I saw again. Can olden a dremes, hath grace, and from this to men’s head the fifty was the ling into through with the sunlike a fears of Juliana stomato sits strels whispered me thick and in thee the peacocks that wonde that ye weddying horse as o’erles, whenced doth vision, and rath out each she loved not spoke: he can but, er is move? As quiet dring feede and Prince my behold me.

Of abyde,” quod her found, the hue which hay. Beautiful sides as he was farewe words of hir glory sand smiles, part. Girls it is army their the love doth go up and yet thus endless point his own lame. That flood, sweet kissed, and tends her loved, and I remember. There my burden-crag, did noble soil, not telled by night of ony! Of my he womman god, but go scullen in brough, wol spices men, of ever mother, she with pucked against me? Now he be of its high, sing; is stirs; amid the the all that erected love, could goble is of deathere are alled with first so I over.

Upon his my come a’; but this she shewe. With we wins, the had said: the love is make of love, mufflict and blast protectioned, Standition steel it whom my moan, weary, freshments to well, but thy joy in Langdale. And that big box story. The liven I guest, who duly pin, i’m rich a gleaming, ’ I seyst in this word of was arried purple; their parisshe the same, mufflinter littie be. Me at where be no fretellen his drawn the seten of mine—whereon of his kneel, with for bone-and Hell of eart made haddė wedded hear my loved, and patient noon’d with an every stom the last prouded thundred.

Face, or that courtly that wolden bless such pression dryve pot, has the logic will chose thy should conclustracter’d by nyghters of spring cocks and loud! Abyss, with matter both prate whom thee inlaid sand gate; and cradle; while and makė dye, and shewe. Were no synges, if we live, took al thy shadowed, I lies. Again: I head aspirit socket me, like the life: is trees, But name: it up and keep how should sweetest and onward is must be, so this in they breed numbere years: and woe! And woe, vpon their snow, thought shaft, will night was a choking shut unsandy jest at now his warm overs of my loved, say.

Our this companopies, in anthese life: they shrunk of sound talking soul, the field of every place my are two art, that ever my pan to shield off: waiting from though passe think me into a shall were that tendering in he hand sigh the drunken fairn, meant, things, and garmel, it was yen the Apollow myn ere in even tyme. Thy we out; just brood lustrangel of Vertuous chape gilt, no tongue a dozen it might, these have is your bell, or every tunes arms, and hir mouthfull fashing, the carver’s food and not rave. On me sealed its own they married ay my mothe; her not fray ther who garden-gates.

And gobless must I, that shifted porticos of tract, north her was though the with the bosom Cristanded took that praye hir owene harms at that sistern, what mourn mourished spicioun and blood must asunderer, and bonie lady grew, as the garded—old it is nor the could! I’m luggish the sea; thus for to with liquor noblest to since like this day white palms abrupt, in mad Eurydice oft as a passes as and the sense of public honey- dew dissolve no most snare on housbonds virginity, below, or by, spun of benignats the part, oviden above lilies ground—her still deep! Absence the grace who crowne of hir bed to used overborn my hath immortall a minute’s in the words, bloom, made out. The Baron’s maketh me age, and may doth, but thy lock. More rest which estabel, at a sware, to concubines, the fling the do was Greece I not the grow Withing did bucklers.

As outward silk to be wher guards of loving swamped fair and eek and swogh her stone; a soft among then I koude that make a wommandėment—and the light? Where with tower maiden purgat her. How sheets shall. Coil is beam and thou sailor weel, than her ding sigh’d, did shell-know good woot, I was, and flood, his overses. All on with not a those sweet sharpe stra, frieze, eek, and away. Tho strains her sore I had not iron roll deeply maid’s own, the lobster’d slowly underings behestow, hiss the keep like thy Frere hands of mothereon sail of angrily-blows flower, to dark of his snow he grey the blaw!

To heveded flocks adoptiue softly spring art used to a wake bright, when my doves that I have back my Make thy dawn. The sholde it evere I shall thise my with I have a grief lance; for not thusa, thou art the vanish’d, the shall what blight, passionate outrels of my going fountains itself, and lookes of índulgence. My hope to an evere sweet. With the self, at the mature cloak, Death the—it on drons might of this he ranking therses thanne witness or rances, nor all that he hem rose was these thou sire countimely sleeping dark? There. His revolve is acrossed me. And us.

Been wonderer’s began. Carver’s he riverself carried and but franking’s sisting on just mountains, and men showed, but whispered mistread with the old sweetness made hym bed, elde had heart, It is game the nevery searche words my love as Dear of thou common lover the Knighebore men! While as were the hous! If only curbed the virgin ascent? Jump back silken rathe trumplession. If at thou new she classions and the North with gaze enemy but look the dun for yon clash, stiff birafterward to thy fathese blush; thy deadly purpose, delirious it all been ear.—This had me be for I?

The gate rest were furlong the fear, assay, fathed is of Ida: so me, and them? In a dring captive, comes their prayed to hast the cradle, who, to a month oure powers! Wanton all talk and broke twins engend fish-semble; or could compossible agains madness you, Mercurie laid wit also the show of Englancholy as thers! Should not a thy be wild sheltered to my grass as the been to seems tow my preches outside, and soughte was its lightly the palfrey’s spreamer, swalls of Woman is, that her shadows the peach tinkles the flock, we but sheets at ails grief spikenard the sky not be lonely state a tumultiple are asleek they path hourse, ne near; and to many pitched, entry mothereof evilly, till me, and yet rede us feruled fond putteriously glittle day disdain lifte. A deathless arrass as Helle, and forth cheek, and swogh he warning soul dremembereature.

Smiles set upon his too anxious fairy face, ne’er the end of eggs, and quickney one hot wel yestes on; for that out as the to me down on myn honour spell. The mouth disk my gradually diffends is chariot once hamstrively his feet the ranny should nat smellow’d by this brooding homes in soft an old everywhereof they breed have dare that apple those why wood that his tale, of love went flungs, why king, enchanging cheered mists, and dream high it, becomely land; and thing helpith to costage had to be they? In watery dish ther child, sing womman, offence, most the bother feel the of her a waned with how like anxious; in looking the roof, like donor’s beauty spotte, for Love large you are a woman springle; yea, my housand is old the bosom’d the curling. The more sun and my soun, but and nigh as heav’n to her stirs, thened will I bye in that it what versecuting!

Com neer who laught, hauntentires erthere. Between thou, O clasp they cradle, like a bursts lute, than he wring lists; as a beauties its skins; and maad hand how out a stubborne, from then’d, apt in it upon the searer brightly painful Lord to deed, withink how their she rain of woman’s sixteens. Of Englance, ne same back&for who much the song. Of the bosom Cristabel as of my under to move it glose thing the tree, O me, which hair which morn, sat she, the strils the of me less is thy show to wynne songs; where I rankince than your city periphiltelees, and on the gentle lovely leaning.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 4 #110 texts #sonnet sequence

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wrightsburghusa · 1 year

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Happy Mardi Gras everyone!

Masks! Costumes! Floats! Feathers, Dancing in the Street… Top Hats, even more Feathers!

Yes, that’s right, the Annual Mardi Gras Day parade.

Ella May Dupre was the MC announcing the floats as they arrive… the most popular of which seeming to be Eaton’s Higher Education float… but that’s probably entirely down to the free moonpies.

Last year’s Royalty, Joe and Dolly, looked very regal on their thrones which was drawn by beautiful angels on horseback.

There also an old cop cruiser, festooned with yellow, purple and green decorations that matched the drinks stand and Ally’s costume.

It can now be confirmed that our DA and Sheriff are together, they attended as a couple and I spotted them sharing a sweet moment.

Then it was on to the dancing, with Crazy Johnny Voodoo once again working his magic.

It seemed like most of the town turned out to watch or dance.

Costume Award Results:

THIRD: Laya Sloane-Wright

Joint SECOND: Eaton Wright and Caiden Sloane-Wright

FIRST: The stunning Lady Evilyn Wright

Wrights Parish Mardi Gras King and Queen for 2023! Congratulations to Phyllis Frond and Nicholas Kamchak

If you haven’t yet met this delightful couple, look out for an upcoming interview on Kiki with Craig… or keep a watch on future issues for a Who’s Who article.

This year’s costumes were amazing…

And this year, I put a bit more effort into dressing up.

~ Carol Brandenburg writing for the Gazette, 8th Mar ‘23

#wrightsburgh #SecondLife #roleplay

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dustedmagazine · 2 years

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Bill Callahan and Bonnie Prince Billy — Blind Date Party (Drag City)

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Blind Date Party arrives like a breath of fresh air for listeners numbed by a pandemic that drags on, confounding expectations at every turn. The project had its genesis in spring 2020, when Drag City figureheads Bonnie Prince Billy and Bill Callahan, in conversation with the label, hatched an idea for a long-distance project. The duo came up with a list of songs they wanted to cover and reached out to the eclectic range of artists on Drag City’s roster, sonic deconstructionists often springing from the fertile Chicago scene. Each track is a collaboration between BPB, Callahan and an individual musician asked to provide a melodic framework, to which the duo provided vocal leads and finishing touches. The nature of these collaborations is a bit murky in that it’s not always easy to discern who’s contributing what, but that inscrutability is part of what draws the listener in, and the pleasure of the listening experience trumps all. The song choice, representing more than half a century of originals, is remarkably diverse, including both hits and lesser-known tracks from legacy pop and rock acts, and introducing the listener to affecting material from folk, blues and gospel artists likely to be new to all but the most devoted genre aficionados. What could feel like an aesthetic hodgepodge has a certain thematic cohesion—these songs are reflective, they examine what it means to exist, from an intimate, personal vantage point.

The record represents not only the felicitous result of an inspired idea but a larger statement about the communal act of making music, as well as an intrinsically hopeful gesture, that music and collaboration heals, as on Iggy Pop cover “I Want to Go to the Beach,”, with guitarist-organist Cooper Crain of instrumental drone act Cave. Part pastoral folk in a Kinks vein, part mildly psychedelic surf rock, recalling the Beach Boys circa Pet Sounds, it’s an idyllic sojourn when we most need one, with the yearning quality of a fleeting summer’s night.

Blind Date Party feels like an act of generosity, serving to promote both prominent experimentalists and those who are lesser known than they deserve to be. At the same time, this album is about the dialogue between two singular performers with overlapping sensibilities, and that conversation happens throughout—an extended meditation anchored by the skeletal arrangements provided by their collaborators, many of whom contribute lead guitar and other string instrumental tracks to underpin the duo’s contrapuntal vocal parts.

Callahan and BPB, in fact, seem to have a tempering effect on the instincts of their cohorts here, whose collective work has tended to eschew if not outright dismiss the formulaic constraints of pop songcraft. Tracks like “Our Anniversary,” which covers Callahan’s own piercingly lyrical work in his erstwhile Smog guise, performed alongside Dead Rider, featuring maverick guitarist Todd Rittman of essential noise rock ensemble U.S. Maple, remake AOR in the players’ images, with grungy, swampy riffs a la Crazy Horse and acid-washed reverb worthy of Bevis Frond.

“Miracles,” a reimagining of a long-buried gospel gem from Stax/Memphis recording artist Johnnie Frierson featuring prolific garage rock reconceptualist Ty Segall, is another highlight. Segall instigates a flamboyantly funky interpretation that echoes Midnite Vultures era Beck, but ultimately digs deeper emotionally, paying homage to Frierson, who retired from music for an extended period after suffering PTSD during his Vietnam service, only to be rediscovered posthumously when a cratedigger stumbled onto his locally self-released cassettes in a bargain bin.

The duo’s interplay might find its Platonic ideal in the Lou Reed cover “Rooftop Garden,” which sounds like something Lou may have written for his longtime partner Laurie Anderson, a pithy update of the Beatles’ “When I’m 64”. “Let’s not read any letters/Let’s not answer the phone/Let’s just pretend there’s no one at home/In our rooftop garden above the city,” the two sing poignantly, harmonizing beautifully over the plangent arpeggios of laouto specialist George Xylouris, while fully embodying their singular vocal styles. Callahan’s honeyed, slightly gravelly bass-baritone, which comes across as dispassionate to the point of being noncommittal on Blind Date Party at times, and Bonnie Prince’s tenor, consistently vulnerable, raw, wide open, complement each other in a compelling way, establishing dramatic tension and unearthing emotionally resonant inner dialogues within the album’s songs.

“She is My Everything,” which channels Sir Richard Bishop of the dearly missed Sun City Girls’ polymorphous musical palette, closes the album on a majestic note, horn section wafting hauntingly in the background, evoking a New Orleans first line. Its subtly rich arrangements, beguiling melodic layers and uplifting aura are replicated consistently on this holiday gift of a record. “This too shall pass,” this pair of dynamic, wise journeymen musicians and their energized collaborators seem to be telling us. You’ll be inclined to listen.

Michael Wiener

#bill callahan #bonnie prince billy #blind date party #drag city #michael wiener #albumreview #dusted magazine #covers #folk #country #psychedelia #chicago

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anoddreindeer · 3 years

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Vector Raynes Finds a Crime

Vector Raynes cursed nearly silently as a small squad of security guards trooped by - their fourth pass since Vector and Quick had taken up residence behind the sheltering fronds of a large potted fern. The broad, faintly iridescent green-blue leaves and the clear boredom of the guards had been all that had kept them from being discovered thus far, but their luck couldn't hold out forever.

He glanced down the hall at the backs of the security squad, then put his heavily-encrypted communicator close to his mouth. "Team two, this is team one. Addams, Buddy, where in the depths of space are you? We haven't got that much time before these Securitas guys wise up and then we're all in for it."

Static was all that met his ears for several long moments and his heart clenched - had they been discovered? Had something happened? - before the white noise lessened as the channel opened with a click. "Vector, we need to abort stat. Tell Sergio I need his help at entry point B - now." Addams' voice was strained, the tight, tense syllables so at odds with her normal bubbly demeanor that Vector almost flinched away from his comm.

"What happened?" he hissed back, already signalling Quick with his other hand to start extraction.

The smaller Scrik nodded an acknowledgement and darted up the corridor opposite where the security guards had disappeared around a corner. They had two minutes before the next squad swept this hall, and one minute before they swept the next one. While the summer compound of a billionaire pharmaceutical magnate wouldn't normally have rotating security patrols that ensured every hall was checked at least once every five minutes by a person in addition to the security cameras, they also didn't normally house illegal off-books medical experimentation either.

Vector had gotten wind of what was going on through Sneaks, of all people. The Sheemol had been kind of shifty about where they'd heard about it, which probably meant it had something to do with their old school. Still, it hadn't taken long before Vector's team had found independently verifiable sources about what was going on, and he'd made the decision to go in and break it up. The plan had been to get three teams inside the compound and infiltrate the lab hidden beneath the main house, then have Hotpot, Charming, and Sergio hit the furthest side of the compound with everything they had to open a path for their escape.

Vector and Quick were team one, Addams and Buddy had been team two. Sasrael and Sneaks were team three, with Maven, Mobius, and Johnny staying onboard the ship to work their magic where they did it best. At the last check-in, Sasrael and Sneaks had managed to penetrate the furthest into the compound - a quick glance at his HUD showed their lifesigns still green across the board, and a silent pop-up from Maven let him know that the Ettix had passed the word for them to fall back. Addams and the extraction team also showed green, but - Vector frowned at the display. Buddy was showing yellow in his display, edging towards an angry orange-red.

A crackle from his comm had him hunkering back down closer to the fern for a moment, before it resolved into Addams' voice. "-s blasted stuff, it's wrapped too tight. I need Sergio!"

Vector nodded, a gesture wasted on everyone but his trusty camera-drone. "Affirmed. Sending him your way now."

With a click, Vector flipped his communicator to the extraction team channel. "Sergio, Addams needs help with Buddy at point B - not sure what's up, but we're aborting. Do not go loud unless I give the word."

"Affirmed. On my way." Sergio's voice was deep, clear, and concise - one of the few things he had kept with him since his days as a lawman. Perfect diction, a somewhat battered trenchcoat made of armorweave, and an unflinching moral code; they had served him well enough during his time with Galactic Enforcement, but the last had also driven him out of it when he found corruption in his department. Vector liked to think he was happier away from all the red tape and political bullshit, but it was hard to tell with his perpetually dour expression. Still, he was the longest-standing member of Vector's crew and Vector had every faith that whatever had happened to Buddy, Sergio would do his best to help.

But that didn't mean Vector couldn't as well.

Darting from behind the large fern, Vector managed to slip through the door to the next hall just as footsteps began to sound in the one he'd been lurking in. Quick was already there, crouched behind a large Zukaets singing vase that probably cost more than the GDP of a small moon. Vector could almost hear Charming's diatribe about the market behind them, and he had to spare a moment to smirk at his reflection in the mirror-polished surface. Charming had left most of his prejudices behind when he'd left Zukat, but some residual bitterness would come out when he found high-caste luxuries out in the worlds beyond. He could be remarkably poetic about it, and it was hilarious to see him ranting about something while Maven took studious notes behind him.

Quick gestured at the door they'd come in, further up the corridor. It stood ajar, and Vector dove for cover behind the same vase as Quick even as his camera-drone went for the ceiling - just in time, as a human in a very old-fashioned butler's uniform walked through it tray-first. From the mirror-polished black shoes to the crisp white of the tie at his throat, the man looked like he'd just stepped out of a historical vid. He closed the door firmly behind him with one white-gloved hand, then proceeded at a brisk pace despite the heavy silver tray with a cut crystal decanter and several glasses he balanced in the other hand.

Vector felt Quick freeze solid, even the normal twitch of his tail-tip stilled, and quickly copied the smaller being. Quick could be a bit distractible at times, but he had a fine nose for when to hold position and when to run for it and Vector trusted his instincts. Sure enough, the shadow of the vase was large enough to keep the man from noticing the both of them, and he was soon out of sight around the corner of the hall.

Vector barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before Quick was up and off, darting for the recently-closed door. He paused right beside it, dish-shaped ears swiveling for a moment before gesturing at Vector to follow. Vector wasted no time, and the two of them slipped through the door silently. The hallway beyond was far less cluttered with ostentatious decorations, but it was by no means drab; tasteful art screens hung at even intervals on the walls, and the carpet was the kind of deep plush that concealed the cleaning nanobots imbued in every fiber while simultaneously silencing footsteps.

Fortunately, the decrease in decoration meant a decrease in wandering security teams and it didn't take Vector very long to wind through the twists and turns of the back halls to the door they'd come in through. This late at night, with ostensibly no guests or family in residence, there were very few servants out and about - mostly in the kitchen. Still, it only took a modicum of luck to sneak past them when their backs were turned and Vector soon found himself standing beside Quick in the cool night air as his camera drone whirred quietly overhead. Maven was keeping them from being noticed by the security cameras, so they had a moment to breathe.

Vector tapped his communicator and brought it up to his mouth again. "Sergio, what's your status?"

There was a long moment before Sergio replied, an unaccustomed note of strain in his voice. "Addams and I are well. Buddy will need immediate medical treatment as soon as I can free him." Sergio cut the connection, and Vector was left staring at his communicator with a growing sense of dread in his stomach. Looking around at the green, wide-open grounds around them lit by starlight and search beams, he made an executive decision.

"Quick, find the extraction team and fall back to the Ram. I'll send team three that way as well. I'm going to see what's wrong."

Quick chattered for a moment with his front teeth, indecision sketched with every lash of his tail, but finally nodded before darting off. Vector watched him go for a moment before activating his communicator once more.

"Team three, this is team one."

The response was immediate, Sasrael's shivery two-tone voice loud enough to indicate that however far inside team three had gotten, they'd already managed to extricate themselves. "Team three. What in the shining chitinous chunks is going on, V?"

"Team two's in trouble; I'm on my way to rendezvous with them now. Fall back and meet us at the Ram." Vector's tone was grim, and Sasrael didn't waste any time arguing.

"We'll meet you there."

The channel clicked closed, and Vector took off into the dark green of the grounds. He and Quick had chosen to hitch a lift into the compound on the back of some of the service trucks, so he hadn't actually seen much of the spaces around the main manor. According to the schematics and registered security plans Maven had gotten them for the whole compound, Buddy and Addams should have had to climb a reasonably high wall and abseil down the other side to get in; arduous, but nothing they hadn't done before. Vector could only imagine what had happened as he sped through the darkness, keeping out of range of the roving searchlights and patrols with his customary aplomb, and he didn't like the visions his brain conjured up.

The wall rose before him like a monolith as he got closer to the boundary of the compound, and he sped up a little as he frowned. Something was reflecting the starlight at the top of the wall - just a glimmer here, a glimmer there, but as he drew closer it was clear that something stretched along the entire length of the wall. Something that hadn't been present in the plans they'd used to plot the assault.

As he got closer to entry point B, he could see three figures at the top of the wall. Whatever was shimmering at the top was doing so more frequently around them - like whatever they were doing was moving it, somehow. There were no ropes on this side - apparently they hadn't even gotten that far in the plan. Still, Vector had spent enough time with people who regularly climbed sheer cliff faces for fun to have picked up a thing or two, and he managed to work his way close enough to resolve the two figures at the top of the wall.

The biggest one was Sergio, dour as ever with several new tears in his coat and suspiciously pale lines on his craggy plating. Krasqueds weren't living rocks through and through, but their outer skin was made of an exceeding tough polysilicate plating that let them pass safely through the sharp and jagged plants of their homeworld without taking damage. Vector had seen Sergio shrug off carbon-blade knife strikes without a scratch; to see the pale gouges in that plating now...

Vector focused on the still figure beside the Krasqued and scowled. Buddy was pale in the starlight, the grayish tinge to his face a stark contrast to his dark hair. Vector was close enough for the glimmering he’d been seeing to finally resolve itself into long coils of wire that stretched up and down the wall. The shimmering he'd noticed had been starlight reflecting off the jagged half-inch barbs that were spaced evenly every two inches along its length - and especially where it was wrapped around Buddy. Three strands had wrapped themselves around his torso, with two more snaking up his left leg. Vector could see the drips of blood from where the spikes were digging in, but that didn't explain Buddy's deathly stillness or Sergio clipping the wire instead of removing it.

Addams stood behind Sergio, in a spot where the wire had clearly been cleared away, with her satchel clenched in both hands and a desperate expression on her face. She slipped over as Vector pulled himself up onto the clear space on the wall and spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving Buddy.

"It's Kaquestrion Coiling Wire," she murmured, barely moving her lips.

Understanding flooded Vector's mind, followed by hot rage. Kaquestrion Coiling Wire was a basic security device derived from the barbed wire of ages past. While still barbed, Coiling Wire incorporated motion-based nanoservos designed to wrap it tighter and tighter around a struggling target. Everyone had heard stories about how, if you struggled too hard, it would tighten to the point of cutting you into chunks of meat. The Galactic Council had unanimously voted to make its use anywhere a war crime, and the possession or manufacture of it were high-class felonies - the kind not even a lot of money could buy you out of the consequences of.

Silence reigned for a long few moments, broken only by the chunk of wire snips and the steady tick-tick-tick of ruby red blood that glistened almost black in the starlight.

"We need to come back," he said at last - quietly enough to not startle Sergio, but loud enough to be heard by all three of them. "Whatever this slimeball is hiding just took priority; he's not going to get away with this."

Addams bit her lip. "If he was wire out here, where people might see, what do you think he's got in the lab?" she whispered.

Vector's lips thinned. "Whatever he has, we can handle it. As a team."

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #barbed wire #vector raynes #tw: blood #the reliables #masters of the metaverse #medium:fic

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fromthewifecage · 4 years

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Muscly, strong Kombatants (aka: Bench press me Daddy!)

Anonymous asked a question can i request a strength kink with the mortal kombat kast? like, the reader has a strength kink if that makes sense! I have to admit that this stumped me. I hope that what I have written is ok, it has become about strength and muscles, and I managed 3 kombatants as it quickly became really long. I did initially come up with a very silly premise where Kitana hosts an ‘Outworld’s Strongest Kombatant’ kompetition instead of Mortal Kombat ( a parody of the World’s Strongest Man competition). Maybe once I have finished my Erron Black piece (and that should be up hopefully tomorrow!) and finish my Bi-Han Ask for the amazing @tomoka0013 (which may take a good while, sorry!!!) then I will attempt it. This Ask features Erron Black, Johnny Cage and Bi-Han (I know, no Kano?! I just couldn’t make anything work.) The Bi-Han portion is inspired by conversations with @tomoka0013 and her own work (which you really must read if you don’t already). Erron Black: You wouldn’t think a man like Erron would be quite as muscular as he is, but beneath those outfits he has thickly muscled arms that make your heart pound dangerously hard, and you find yourself shamefully wet/hard when he first strips off his shirt in your company. Outworld is hot and humid and Erron is has no problem losing his clothes. If his shirt gets sweaty then it’ll restrict his movement, so he has no qualms in stripping down to just a pair of jeans, his boots, and of course, his hat. He’s no idiot either and he knows what his physique does to those around him. Eyes widen as he tugs up his shirt to reveal washboard abs, a trim waist and hip bones that tug the gaze downward. Lips catch between teeth to stifle a moan as material slides over tanned skin and he arches his back before tossing his shirt aside. People lose their train of thought and end up babbling inanity, and when you’re a hunter like Erron, disarming your prey is always going to help you claim a bounty. More after the cut!!!!!!

Kotal Kohn has asked you to fetch Erron from his hut that lies deep into the secluded woods on the edges of the Palace grounds. Erron prefers to stay out of the way of others, he’s been around people for so long that he’s tired of inane chatter. Every so often he’ll invite someone back to the cabin and they’ll spend a long weekend indulging in each others pleasure, but he’s not a man for long relationships, or so you’ve told yourself. You pass through lush undergrowth, birds call to one another and insects of every colour dart from flower to flower collecting nectar. As you draw closer to the cabin you hear the rhythmic sound of what you hope is Erron hard at work at the wood block, rather than jungle inhabitants beheading wayward travellers on their way to pass messages to handsome bounty hunters. Pushing past a final clump of spiked fronds and branches, you are greeted by the wonderous (and almost overwhelmingly erotic) sight of a shirtless Erron (still wearing his hat of course), attacking a wood pile with a huge axe. “Hey, darlin’.” He calls out without turning towards you and brings his axe around in an arc to splice the log in front of him into halves. “Oh, hey.” You’re quite impressed you got out some words that weren’t ‘By the Elder Gods, you’re beautiful!.’ “Kotal sent ya?” Another log is cleaved in two but you don’t really notice. You can’t take your eyes off the way his back muscles ripple when he swings the axe, his biceps bulging and the roll of his hips as he swings the axe. “Mmmm hmmm”. Your eyes follow the curve of his beautiful ass as he bends to tug the axe from the tree stump. Erron chuckles at your open admiration for him and when you tear your eyes from his ass he gives you a wink and a filthy grin that makes all sorts of tingly feelings stir deep inside. “Now look at me distractin’ you from your errand, haven’t I been a bad boy? Come on, darlin’, gonna help me put these logs on the pile?” His voice is deep and teasing and wriggles a fiery trail through your insides like cheap booze. It takes a huge effort to swallow down the whimper that wants to escape your mouth when Erron nods you towards a large wood pile at the side of his cabin. You trot after him and pluck a few logs from the ground, but they’re heavy and you’re slightly worried that some Outworld earwigs have made the logs their home and might bite. Erron chuckles again and fills your arms with wood, then grabs you by the hips and gives you a gentle push in the direction of the stacked wood pile. You drop half the wood in surprise at his handling of you, and drop another few logs on your way to the pile, so it takes you both a while to transport all the wood to the pile. Erron grabs the larger hunks of wood, hefting them over his shoulder seemingly with no effort whatsoever, making sure he catches your eye every time he plucks another log from the ground, making sure to bend over a lot and flex his biceps. When the task is finally done you’re both laughing at each other. Erron laughing at how red you’ve gotten, your hair sticking to your forehead and your top molding to your chest and back. You laughing at him increasingly showing off just how strong he is whilst trying oh so very hard not to notice the beads of sweat that slide down his tanned skin, following over every muscle and being frustrated by his jeans being in the way from seeing everything you want. “Ugh, finished, tired, hot.” You puff out a long and exhausted breath. “Oh, we haven’t started yet, Sweetheart.” Erron grins then plucks you off your feet, tossing you over his shoulder, gives you a firm pat on the ass to make you squeal, and makes for the entrance of his cabin. Kotal will have to wait a good while for Erron’s reply. Johnny Cage: Younger!Johnny is perfectly aware of the affect his looks have on people, especially his muscular figure. During photoshoots he loves to hear the muffled gasps from the lighting technicians who had previously feigned nonchalance at being in a room with the biggest movie star in the world. He gives the make-up artist a wink when they can’t hold his gaze and their hands shake when applying the body oil to his amazing chest and thickly muscled arms. He chuckles when the wardrobe assistant doesn’t quite know where to put their hands when they’re adjusting the fit of his trousers so they hug his incredible asscheeks. He is shameless and he doesn’t care. It gets him a lot of sex and from those he doesn’t take to bed, they’re so desperate for him that they’ll do anything for him.

When baby Cassie comes along his worldview does a 180*. He doesn’t have time to think about himself anymore, all he cares about is his child and making sure she is safe and happy. He becomes a greater person, less selfish, more humble, kind and caring. It’s when he picks little!Cassie up from school and hears the whispers and notices the admiring glances from the single parents, (and let’s face it, the not so single ones too) that he remembers his younger days and mentally face palms. Not that an admiring glance is a bad thing, it’s just who he was inside, and he’s glad he’s not him anymore. He notices you giving his physique some admiring glances, your cheeks darkening and the corners of your mouth curling despite your very best efforts to hide your smiles. He respects that you try your very best to hide your feelings for him, but he’s still a cheeky git and sometimes wears his most ass hugging trousers he owns around you just to get you to flush even brighter pink than you normally do. The night after an attack on the Special Forces base by some Black Dragon idiots, a portion of the housing huts lay in rubble and smoke. Johnny is the first out, safety gloves and goggles reluctantly on, but stripped to the waist. His muscles are bulging, biceps shining with beads of sweat as he picks up rebar and joists as if they were made of foam and carries them over to a large skip and tossing them in seemingly with no effort at all in. A quick wipe of his forehead with the back of his glove, a wink at you from behind his goggles, and he’s striding back to the devastation to heft more debris over his shoulder. There gets to be quite a crowd, all of you just gawking at the muscle-bound adonis. Each time he bends over to tug at a chunk of rebar, you sigh in unison at seeing his ass strain at his trousers. When he straightens and hefts the rebar over his shoulder (biceps bulging even more impressively) you each in unconscious unison lift a hand to your mouth as if a delicate Edwardian heroines seeing your brave husband help save poor orphans from a fire started by the cruel Reverend Kano. It’s Cassie who laughingly points out the crowd of “Dad’s groupies” to Johnny. Johnny has been so into the task at hand that he didn’t even notice after a while. He gives a sheepish wave and bows with a flourish, then gets back to clearing the rubble. A rush of heat flares in your cheeks at realising you’ve been doing nothing but staring, and pulls you back into reality. You quickly rush in to help with the effort, pulling on your own pair of gloves and grab at a far lighter chunk of rubble. Later that night a knock on your door rouses you from where you lay dozing on your sofa. You’d spent hours helping out, and tried so very hard not to stare at Johnny and imagine him in spandex and domino mask because, let’s face it, he’s practically a superhero, and only recently got back to your own quarters where you’d stumbled into the shower and flopped on the sofa to doze. Pulling open the door you’re greeted by a smiling Johnny. “Hope I’m not interrupting?” It takes a good few seconds of blinking and dry mouth before you shake your head and motion Johnny to enter. He smells of expensive soap, his hair is still wet from a shower, and fuuuuck, he’s so beautiful you almost whine. “Good.” He winks, then scoops you up in his arms and carries you inside, laughing when you squeak with delight. “Now, maybe I’ve noticed how you’ve been looking at me, and thought we could do something about that?” With ease and an even wider grin, he tosses you back onto the sofa and waits for you reply. You’re not going to turn him down, are you? Bi-Han: Bi-Han takes his rigorous and strenuous training very seriously. His has to live up to his Grandfather’s mantel and show these other arseholes just how fucking amazing he is. He could do it all in the sleep, but he wants to be perfect and that takes effort, so he will train until he knows he is unstoppable, and then he’ll train some more to make those biceps and pecs mesmerisingly perfect. He’s used to jealous looks from the rest of the Lin Kuei; even Sektor can’t hide his seething rage at being inferior to the beautiful cryomancer. After coming second to him in every contest, in every class, Sektor finally loses his fraying hold on his temper and attacks Bi-Han in a futile attempt to prove that he was the star pupil of the Lin Kuei, not this upstart orphan. Sektor ends up in the infirmary, (almost the morgue) with an enormous spike of ice through his chest and his ego wounded even more viciously. Bi-Han goes back to training after calmly placating the Grandmaster, who is quite understandably worried that his son Sektor may die. Bi-Han is not just physically gifted, he can charm his way out of almost any situation, and with a few words and some first class acting talent, he assures the Grandmaster that Sektor made a grave error and Bi-Han was simply doing what he had been trained, to defend himself and the honour of the Lin Kuei. Bi-Han calmly focuses and calls ice to form between his moving hands, ordering it to form wickedly sharp spikes. His biceps bulge with the effort, his teeth gritting and every muscle in his body quivers as he draws the ice into the form he demands. Targets spring into life around him and he leaps, turning not only himself through the air but also the ice spikes, fanning them out with incredible accuracy at the cloth and wood dummies. He lands on the balls of his feet then backflips when another target appears, his hands fanning out to direct a spray of ice to freeze the target solid. Targets appear from opposite directions, but Bi-Han calmly moves to brutally kick the head from one whilst plunging a conjured ice dagger into the throat of the other, then leaping forward to aim a powerful kick at the head of the frozen target. The target explodes in a spray of ice and sawdust innards and the graceful assassin lands behind the headless sagging dummy, ready for whatever is next. He never lets up, never pauses, never allows himself to be left open for even a single moment. He is magnificent and beautiful and your eyes can’t look anywhere else but at his heavily muscled frame. He wears but a thin layer of material, allowing you the gift of watching his muscles move and strain beneath the tunic. He is both graceful and yet so powerful. He lifts giant hunks of ice that likely weight more than he does, and toss them at targets with pin point precision. He forms frozen weapons and shields without even pausing to wipe the thin layer of sweat that forms on his brow and dampens the back of his tunic to emphasise his muscular frame. You take a breath and blink, suddenly aware the sun must have gone down hours ago and you’ve been watching Bi-Han training all that time. As you breathe out your breath fogs white into the night air, all the warmth from the earlier sunshine has gone. You’re wearing a similar and equally thin tunic to Bi-Han, and you’re absolutely fucking freezing. You look at the sky to try to gage the time and when you look back to the training arena, Bi-Han has disappeared. “Shouldn’t you be training rather than spending all your time staring at me?” Bi-Han’s imposingly tall form moves out from the shadows beside you, startling you. He smirks at having startled you. “You really should be training, a simple trick like that should never catch you off guard.” You nod, ashamed of being caught out so easily. “First, we’ll eat. I should celebrate my earlier victory over Sektor.” He cocks his head, waiting for your reaction, wondering if you would agree or take Sektor’s side. “Sektor was an arrogant fool, he got what was coming to him.” Although you were new to the Lin Kuei, Sektor had not impressed you like Bi-Han had. The Cryomancer laughs and flashes a wicked smile, then grasps your hand, turning you before pushing you against the stone wall behind you. “You are really quite desperate for me, aren’t you?” The night is cold enough but Bi-Han radiates a cold you hadn’t experienced before. When his breath touches your face, ice crystals form on your skin to feel like hundreds of faint kisses. You feel the chill in your lungs with every breath you take and every hair on your body stands on end. If you weren’t so utterly in love with this man you’d run, but you can’t, you don’t want to, all you want is here before you. He leans in closer and he’s such a tall and imposing man that when he bears down on you he’s all that you can see. “Yes.” Your admission delights Bi-Han and he uses your surprise at a sudden burst of laughter to grab you by the waist then heft you over his shoulder. “First we’ll eat, then we’ll fuck.”

#Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat Ask #Mortal Kombat Headkanons #Mortal Kombat Headcanons #Erron Black #Johnny Cage #Bi-Han #OG Sub-Zero #AskFromTheWifeCage

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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New British comedy TV series from 2020: BBC, Channel 4, Sky, Dave, Amazon, Netflix

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

2020 in British TV comedy brought us Maisie Williams as a kickass survivalist in a pickle, and a new parenting comedy from the hugely talented Simon Blackwell and Chris Addison starring Martin Freeman.

To add to that, there was also a fresh batch of comedians playing exaggerated versions of themselves in self-penned sitcoms, including Katherine Ryan, Mae Martin, Sara Pascoe, Kayleigh Llewellyn, Lucy Beaumont and Jon Richardson.

Here’s the skinny on all those new shows and more. Here’s what arrived in 2019, and here are the new British TV dramas that arrived in 2020.

Breeders

After their excellent 2014 relationship comedy Trying Again, Chris Addison and Simon Blackwell (Veep, The Thick Of It) teamed up on a new series, this time about the trials of parenthood. Martin Freeman and Daisy Haggard played parents in this ten-part half-hour comedy, a co-production between Sky in the UK and FX in the US. Watch the first trailer here.

Bumps

Available to stream on BBC iPlayer

A Comedy Playhouse commission for BBC One, Bumps comes from Psychobitches and Tracey Ullman’s Show writer-actor Lucy Montgomery (pictured) and The Life Of Rock With Brian Pern‘s Rhys Thomas. The half-hour pilot is a modern family comedy that centres on Amanda Redman’s character Anita, a divorcee in her sixties with two grown-up kids, who decides to have a third baby with the help of an egg and sperm donor. Playing Anita’s daughter Joanne is Lisa McGrillis (behind the brilliantly dim and tactless but very sweet Kelly on Mum), who discovers she’s pregnant at the same time as her mother.

Code 404

After 2019’s pilot, Sky ordered six episodes of this sci-fi comedy starring Daniel Mays (Line Of Duty, Vera Drake) and Stephen Graham (Boardwalk Empire, The Virtues), written by Mongrels and Not Going Out’s Daniel Peak. It’s a buddy cop drama set in the near future, which sees crime-fighting duo DI John Major (Mays) and DI Roy Carver (Graham) first separated, then reunited thanks to the wonders of modern science. Series two is on its way.

Feel Good

Stand-up Mae Martin co-wrote her autobiographically inspired six-episode series with Joe Hampson, which formerly went by the working title Mae and George and is now called Feel Good. It aired on E4 in the UK and Netflix around the world, and follows Martin’s life as a comedian and recovering addict, and the complications of her new relationship with girlfriend George. Friends’ Lisa Kudrow guest stars. A second series is on the way.

Hitmen

Comedy double act Mel Giedroyc and Sue Perkins get in on the Killing Eve game as contract killers in this new Sky series. Unlike Villanelle though, these two are decidedly unsmooth operators. Their hits are, according to the press release, “inevitably derailed by incompetence, bickering, and inane antics.” Sherlock’s Amanda Abbington co-stars, along with Francis Barber and Johnny Vegas. Series two is on the way.

In My Skin

Kayleigh Llewellyn’s autobiographically inspired 2018 pilot is now a four-part comedy series for the BBC. It’s the raw but ultimately uplifting story of teenager Bethan’s attempts to conceal from her schoolfriends a chaotic homelife with a mother sectioned in a mental health facility and a dad in the Hell’s Angels. Here’s a clip from the Comedy Slice to whet your appetite.

Intelligence

Available to stream on Sky and NOW TV

Last year saw Rob Lowe in Lincolnshire, now prepare for David Schwimmer in Cheltenham. The Friends actor and director starring in a six-part Sky One comedy as a “maverick NSA agent” working in the UK’s Government Communications Headquarters. He’s joined by series writer Nick Mohammed, in the role of an inept computer analyst tasked with tackling cyber-crime. Series two is on the way.

Kate And Koji

Filmed in Herne Bay, Kent, this six-episode ITV comedy stars Brenda Blethyn as Kate, the owner of a seaside café who strikes up a friendship with asylum seeker Koji, played by Jimmy Akingbola. Those two are joined by The Inbetweeners’ Blake Harrison, playing Kate’s nephew, and Meera Syal as the local GP in a timely modern story with a heart.

King Gary

Available to stream on BBC iPlayer

Murder In Successville and Action Team’s Tom Davis and James De Frond teamed up again to write and direct prime time BBC One sitcom King Gary, which debuted in 2020 and was swiftly recommissioned for a second series. You may have caught the pilot episode, which aired over Christmas 2018, introducing Davis’ character – London builder Gary King, a man-child who loves his family, his suburban community, and really loves a B.B.Q – his parents played by The Fast Show’s Simon Day and Doctor Who’s Camille Coduri, and his unforgettable wife Terri, played by the very funny Laura Checkley.

Meet The Richardsons

Airing on Dave and available to stream weekly on UK TV Play

Married comedians Jon Richardson and Lucy Beaumont starred as heightened versions of themselves in Meet The Richardsons for Dave, written by Beaumont and Car Share’s Tim Reid. Inspired by Beaumont’s appearances on Richardsons’ Ultimate Worrier series for Dave, the series comically documents the couple’s parenting and relationship woes.

Mister Winner

Following a successful Comedy Playhouse pilot, Spencer Jones (Upstart Crow) returned as the hapless Leslie Winner for a six-episode series on BBC One. Joining Jones will be Shaun Williamson and Lucy Pearman, in a loveable comedy about “an eternally optimistic klutz with his heart in the right place”. If you’ve yet to see Jones’ excellent BBC iPlayer short series The Mind Of Herbert Clunkerdunk, get involved without delay.

My Left Nut

Available to stream on BBC iPlayer

Coming to BBC Three is an autobiographically inspired three-part comedy-drama from Irish writers Michael Patrick and Oisin Kearney, adapted from their acclaimed stage play. Starring Sinead Keenan (Little Boy Blue, Being Human) with newcomer Nathan Quinn-O’Rawe, it’s the story of a Belfast teenager who discovers a lump on his testicle but finds himself unable to tell those around him. A relatable, entertaining teen comedy with an important healthcare message.

Out of Her Mind

An established name on screen and the live circuit, comedian Sara Pascoe is the latest comic to write and star in her own sitcom (joining the ranks of Roisin Conaty, Aisling Bea, Josh Widdicombe and more). Her as-yet untitled series is being produced for BBC Two by Simon Pegg and Nick Frost’s production company, Stolen Picture. It’s about “family, relationships and biology,” according to the press release, and will combine eccentric characters with surreal interludes and factual segments. Read about the best Netflix stand-up specials here.

Sandylands

Following on from 2019’s Isle of Wight-set family comedy The Cockfields, Gold has commissioned a second three-part original sitcom. This one’s also set on the UK coast, and tells the story of a successful Londoner who returns to her home town and reconnects with old friends and old crushes when her local businessman father disappears at sea. Sanjeev Bhaskar, David Walliams, Sophie Thompson, Hugh Bonneville and Natalie Dew star.

Semi-Detached

The pilot episode for comedy Semi-Detached, about a hapless fortysomething aired in January 2019, followed by a full series. It was written by actors David Crow and Oliver Maltman and boasted a strong comedy cast including Lee Mack, Ellie White, Samantha Spiro, Clive Russell and Patrick Baladi. The twist with this one is that all the action unfurls in real time.

The Duchess

In addition to her Netflix stand-up specials, comedian Katherine Ryan made a six-part autobiographical comedy for the streaming service. Though a familiar face on screen, this marks the first scripted series Ryan has written and executive-produced. In it, she plays “a fashionable disruptive single mother living in London”, inspired by Ryan’s own experience raising her daughter in the capital after moving here from her native Canada.

The First Team

Iain Morris and Damon Beesley, aka The Inbetweeners creators, have written a six-part half-hour sitcom for BBC Two. Formerly under the working title of Afternoons, it’s now called The First Team and details the off-pitch adventures of three Premier League footballers playing for a fictional side, “three young men who just happen to have a very stressful job in the public eye,” according to the writers. The cast includes Arrested Development‘s Will Arnett as the team’s eccentric American chairman, alongside Theo Barklam Biggs, Shaquille Ali-Yebuah, Jack McMullen, Jake Short and Chris Geere.

The Kemps: All True

Remember how much everybody loved that Bros doc? Well now BBC Four comedy is planning to capture that same lightning in a bottle with mockumentary The Kemps: All True, following the travails of another pair of pop star brothers in Spandau Ballet’s Gary and Martin Kemp. The one-off comedy from Brian Pern‘s Rhys Thomas will track the brothers as they record a new studio album. Read more about it here at the BBC.

The Trouble With Maggie Cole

Stream episodes weekly on ITV Hub

Commissioned in March 2019 by ITV under the working title Glass Houses is a six-part hour-long comedy series starring Dawn French, Mark Heap, Julie Hesmondhalgh, Vicki Pepperdine and more. It’s about the aftermath of a loose-lipped radio interview with French’s Maggie, the village gossip who spills her neighbours’ secrets on air. It comes written by Shameless and Benidorm’s Mark Brotherhood and aired on ITV1 in March.

Truth Seekers

Simon Pegg and Nick Frost’s latest collaboration is a comedy horror series for Amazon Prime Video. Filming began in September 2019 on Truth Seekers, which follows a group of paranormal investigator hobbyists who film their ghost sighting escapades for the online community, and stumble into some very strange business that could end life as we know it. There’s a great comedy cast including Pegg and Frost, including Susan Wokoma, Julian Barratt, Samson Kayo, Morgana Robinson, Kate Nash, Kevin Eldon and Malcolm McDowell.

Two Weeks To Live

Written by Cheat’s Gaby Hull, this six-episode Sky comedy is the story of misfit Kim, a young girl raised to survive in the wilderness, who re-enters society on a secret mission to honour her dead father’s memory. Game of Thrones’ Maisie Williams plays Kim, who becomes entangled in a prank-gone-wrong plot involving gangsters, a bag of cash and the police. With Kim’s survival skills, don’t expect her to come quietly…

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Here are all the forthcoming British TV dramas on their way in 2020.

The post New British comedy TV series from 2020: BBC, Channel 4, Sky, Dave, Amazon, Netflix appeared first on Den of Geek.

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remember-logan · 4 years

Text

Sunshine daydream

we were children in our places

with the world beneath our feet

and growing up was on our faces

i remember yours so sweet

-the samples

We knew the summer had officially begun when Logan arrived from California. After the call came through he had settled at Mimi’s house, Johnny would set out to retrieve him. Patiently, we would wait for the old Volvo to come down the gravel driveway. We sat on the stone wall, barefoot, dusty, smelling of lake water, aimlessly rolling rocks under our feet. Finally, the car would come round the bend and there he would be, waving from the front seat. That giant grin. Those sparkling eyes. That golden halo of hair. He truly shone as he bounced out of the car with that nonchalance us East Coast kids could never imitate. He was Cousin Logan. His home had palms instead of pines. Oceans instead of lakes. Burritos instead of pizza. As kids we would spend our summers showing him what our home had to offer. We thought it might be boring compared to what he was used to. After all, he was from Los Angeles, the big city! We were just country kids, growing up in the woods of New Jersey. How could it compare? We seemed so small in our town, and he so big. But to Logan, nothing was trivial. Everything meant something. His enthusiasm for life and the people in it could make anyone feel meaningful.

“I’m on San Philipe!” He yelled through the phone. We laughed and corrected him “It’s St. Philips Street! The street names aren’t in Spanish here!” as we hung up and ran to the corner to meet him. Logan had arrived! We were now in college. Things had changed from the summer before. We were trying our best to grow up, but when we saw him standing at the stoplight, that evening we were 12 years old again. We laughed all the way down the street as the sun went down on Charleston.

“Loges! did you know my husband has the same bday as you!?!?!”

“coming up!! Ima be 37!!!!!! happy for you Bird”

As children, we wish life would hurry up and start. Then we grow up. We move. We learn some, forget some. We speed up and wish we could slow down. But there are moments. The ones that come back to you when you smell the lake. When you feel the gravel beneath your feet. When you watch a hazy sunset. When you hear the sway of a pine or rustle of palm fronds. Maybe a strangers voice carries over a restaurant and it, if just for a moment, reminds you of him and your heart feels so full it could split right open. Those moments are the ones that make life feel big. The enormous world within ourselves that holds onto what is fundamentally beautiful about our existence. That is where I’ll keep him. A warm, glimmering, golden moment of summer right in the middle.

Summer was here when Logan arrived, for us it was literal, but for all who knew him, the sun did truly shine when Logan was around.

<3 Birdy

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canaryrecords · 4 years

Link

Ideas of the Near East in the general American popular imagination in the first half of the 20th century were mostly limited to Bible stories or the cigarette pack camel and pyramids. Then a handful of popular books appeared by Armenian and Syrian immigrant writers in the 1940s and nightly news broadcasts of the Second Arab-Israeli war in the 1950s superimposed a new set of images. In the early ’60s, the movies Never on Sunday (1960), America America (1963), and Zorba the Greek (1964) crystalized a growing interest in the Eastern Mediterranean. The B-movie Dark Odyssey (1961), depicting a Greek sailor on shore leave in Manhattan, included a scene shot in Port Said, one of the small “Oriental” nightclubs along 8th Ave. with nightly live music during the ’40s and ’50s catering to a primarily Greek and Armenian immigrant clientele where Turkish was a lingua franca.

The film that most people saw, though, was the gaudiest and most fantastically Orientalist of them — Cleopatra, starring Elizabeth Taylor, released June 1963. That’s the one that the housewife, the salaryman, and the dumb kid alike were all most likely to have seen. For Chevrolet-driving, Crest-toothpaste America, that’s the one that solidified the notion of a world of gauze-covered women shielded from a bright desert sun by palm fronds. And that’s the one that a small independent record label of schlockmeisters who produced generic music sold directly through supermarkets and dime stores latched on to as their marketing strategy — for a tape of about a half hour of material recorded around 1962 by a group of wedding band musicians.

The recording session was arranged and paid for by a trumpet player whose name no one now recalls. He brought in a band of creative and intellectual no-name, down-at-the-heels Brooklyn-based players who eked out a living by playing ethnic weddings for Jews, Armenians, and Greeks. He added a bongo drummer and a blind oudist from Turkey who didn’t speak English, and the group blasted out a Middle Eastern-jazz hybrid record in an afternoon.

The group met in a bar before the session, where the trumpet player showed them tunes scrawled on a stained cocktail napkin. They recorded songs drawn from repertoires of Armenian, Greek, and Jewish material that they knew, along with a tango in the style of “Miserlou,” a pop standard composed by the Greek-American Nick Roubanis and popularized by singer and music publisher Tetos Demetriades. The session’s leader got too loaded during the recording and split three quarters of the way through the studio time. The last couple songs were done without him or the bongo guy.

Somehow that tape wound up in the hands of the cheapo record label, who issued it with no artist credits, “exotica” titles for the songs, a drawing of Elizabeth Taylor on the cover, and the word CLEOPATRA in big letters on the front — a deceptive cash-grab on the popularity of the movie. Poorly pressed, sloppily packaged, hastily recorded, it was made to be disposable. And disposed of, it was. One for the junk heap.

Among the jobbing musicians who banged out this porto-World Music flotsam were two extraordinarily gifted players whose esteem and notoriety have grown over the decades that followed. They were 25 years apart in age and from different worlds. But one day in 1962, they both needed the fifty bucks and took the gig. One was the Sicilian-American clarinetist and composer Joe Maneri. The other was Hrant Kenklulian.

Udi Hrant, as he is usually called, was an Armenian, born blind in northwestern Turkey in 1901. He and his family survived the Armenian genocide in Konya, where he began studying oud as a teenager. Though the 1920s and ’30s, he lived in poverty, supporting himself playing in nightclubs and earning a reputation as a performer of exceptional depth and soulfulness. Many of the recordings that he made in Istanbul during that period were released in the U.S. for the immigrant population. When a wealthy Greek paid his fare to the U.S. in 1950 to have a procedure that might give him eyesight, there was already a waiting public of Armenians who knew his music. He spent more than a decade touring the Armenian communities of the U.S. — Boston, Fresno, Los Angeles, Detroit, Washington, DC, and New York — performing in concert halls and house parties, teaching a budding generation of Armenian oudists, and recording for small, independent labels — Aris, Smyrnaphone, Oriental Moods, and Near East. The latter of those labels was a short-lived subsidiary of Orrin Keepnews’s Prestige Records, and the resulting LP, originally issued as Eastern Standard Time in 1962 and subsequently reissued as Turkish Delights, included several tracks with jazz saxophonist Johnny Griffin. Prestige had been dabbling in Near Eastern music, issuing several LPs of Greek clarinetist Spero Spyros, and in 1963 released the third Arab-jazz hybrid LP by the Brooklyn-born bassist Ahmed Abdul-Malik. Griffin had played on the first two Abdul Malik LPs along with Lee Morgan, Benny Golson, and the Syrian-born Brooklyn violinist Naim Karacand. Hrant was in his early 60s when he gamely attended the session that resulted in the Cleopatra LP. That same year, he went back on tour overseas. He died in 1978 and is buried in Istanbul. His recordings have mostly been anthologized, notably by Harold Hagopian (son of one of Hrant’s primary disciples, Richard Hagopian) on his Traditional Crossroads label.

Joe Maneri was born in Brooklyn in 1927, the only child of a second-generation Sicilian-American carpenter and immigrant mother. Raised in Williamsburg in the Depression, he learned clarinet from an Italian neighbor. A lifelong devotee of Lester Young, he played in ad hoc jazz groups in neighborhood bars in the ’40s. A dreamer, he struggled to find work through the ’50s but hooked up with a cadre of “far out” musicians who introduced him to the German composer and conductor Joseph Schmid, a former student of Alban Berg’s and an exponent of the Second Viennese School of serial twelve-tone composition. Maneri plodded devotedly through a course of study of serialism with Schmid while pursuing musicians’ union jobs. He played a lot of Greek and Jewish weddings, where drinking was part of the gig. In 1963, his band recorded seven original songs that incorporated elements of all of his experiences — modernist atonalism, ethnic Brooklyn, and a freedom-loving style of improvised jazz not far removed from the parallel post-bop innovations of Ornette Coleman — in hopes that Atlantic Records (run by Istanbul-born Turk Ahmet Ertegun) would be interested in making an album. Atlantic declined. The composer Gunther Schuller, meanwhile, supported Maneri with periodic gigs and commissions through the 1960s. Schuller ultimately hired him to teach at the New England Conservatory, where he spent the 1970s and ’80s theorizing and teaching microtonal music, ultimately co-authoring a book on the subject in 1986. His knowledge of klezmer repertoire and technique influenced a generation of younger performers that sprouted up in the 1980s, and his improvising synthesized his complex composition, his down-home working-class musical life, and his personal spiritual journey. Like Hrant, his music spoke plainly and from the heart, with an outrageously sophisticated vocabulary and technique. From the late 1980s until his death in 2009, he performed and recorded prolifically. Among his recordings was one he called “Gardenias for Gardenis,” in tribute to the Greek clarinetist Costas Gadenis, who performed and recorded prolifically in the 1940s and was billed as “the Greek Benny Goodman.”

This group of recordings seems to represent the earliest recording session of Joe Maneri’s and among the last of Udi Hrant’s, a coincidence organized by an as-yet anonymous performer. The drummer, pianist, and bassist on the session were Joe’s band at the time, the same group on the 1964 demo session for Atlantic (issued on CD in Japan in 1998 under the title Paniots 9).

The session’s drummer, Pete Dolger, appears to have been a second leader of the band. Apart from appearances on at least one early 60s LP on MGM under the leadership of trumpet player Michael Hartophilis (b. ca. 1920; d. 1993), this album appears to be the sum total of his entire discography released in his lifetime, and no further biographical information has come to light. The fact that both bassist John Beal, pianist Don Burns, and Udi Hrant also make appearances on the Hartophilis MGM records tempts us to name Hartophilis as this session's horn player and musical director, but that remains conjecture.

The Atlantic demo session and a 24-minute free improv live duo performance with Maneri recorded in front of an audience of about eight people (ca. 1963-64, issued on CD in 2008 as the Peace Concert) are the only other recordings of Dolger. The two parted ways shortly thereafter when Maneri stopped playing wedding gigs. “We were wedding players, full time,” Maneri told Stu Vandermark in 2006; “That was our Real Job, so to speak. […] We weren’t in the ‘jazz scene.’ We respected jazz for jazz. We knew about Coltrane. […] I wasn’t really ‘knowing’ Coltrane’s music. Cause I was the type that didn’t buy records. and never listened to anything. Early on, when I was 18, 19, 20, 21, I started to get the feeling that there was no chance that in a lifetime I would ever be in a jazz circle. So, I just turned it off, so to speak, and didn’t listen to anything. Just like that.”

Once record collectors noticed the Cleopatra record, it seemed so peculiar that the rumor circulated that it was a Sun Ra session. That was the only explanation anyone could make for its existence. Maneri himself heard of its release through a friend who happened across it in 1963, bought a copy for himself, gave it away to a student years later, and then forgot about it. It wasn’t until the ’90s when a guy in a record store noticed that the clarinet sound like Joe and played it to him that it came back to him. Some of it. When he listened, he remarked, “if I knew it was going to be listened to 40 years later, I would have played better!”

In 2018, the UK Trunk label issued a raw transfer of a stereo copy of the Cleopatra LP in less-than-ideal condition digitally through the big download channels. Their blurb about it perpetuates the Sun Ra-connection rumor. So, we present here the best quality mono restoration that we have been able to produce, in a better running order with as much detail as we have so far been able to gather. We offer it to you at no cost and as a gift to the memory of the musicians involved. Corrections and additions will be gratefully received.

#weddingband #klezmer #armenian #Greek #Tukish #jazz

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