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pushyourlackofchestout · 25 days

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| “it smells like chocolate” | george daniel | angst oneshot

TW: mentions of suicidal ideation, drugs, (weed, cocaine) and overthinking

Nightfall seems to be a time where you’d expect people to not really be awake. Sure, you had insomniacs, you had caffeine addicts, you even had those with sufficient brain space for nightmare, in which they couldn’t sleep it off and pack up to Bedfordshire for just a few hours to rid the woes..

Yet, not everyone was asleep. Not everyone was necessarily in the right mind for rest, or for just cocooning up in his house with his pet dog for his comforts, or calling his friends about the band shit they’d necessarily pull. George in fairness, seemed to be content in some alley, posing unusual for most people, especially as a near peak millenial. Alleys weren’t the place you’d hang out at, and stay quite content at. They were dank, dirty, smelling of cigarettes or piling up rubbish from overflowing bins, offering the streets of London that more of sewage scent more than urbanised society. However, despite all the negatives in this small town, he’d be in a casual outfit of a black hoodie blanketing his slim build, while his blonde tousled hair poked out in straggly ends that seemed to be more hedgehog like rather than nestled on his scalp before the hood covered it.

He wasn’t a stranger to the smell of nicotine, weed, cocaine. He was a Belgian, if anything, weed was the equivalent to cloud nine for George, as he’d then feel aimlessly by his jeans for a light so he could get the first bout of fixture, making him grumble and squint in the dark building up his tensions which frustrated quite easily given he’d not smoked yet, and his body jittered without. It was like an orgasm but in reverse, or getting off and not finishing. It was edging him, it felt unbearable until finally his fingertips ran the outline of a lighter, and he could finally have silent triumph as he’d pick it out and find himself lurching for the blunt a second time, and the flick of orange alight, oh how it made the man grin with such eagerness.

“Fuck yes, fuck yes.” He’d mutter, his dull voice coming out more reverberated rather than straightforwardly, while he’d watch the curl of the white paper shrink and disintegrate partly, leaving new ashes to wisp away into the darkness, with the fresh glow of ignition enticing him further, up until he’d place the stick from between his index and main finger, poising it into the crook of his mouth and feeling his previously abused respiratory become jacked up and caked in tar once again, with the bitterness of it running the tip of his tongue.

Again, while he’d be puffing on his cigarette, George looks out to what feels a dismal sighting, seeing as no one was really around him or his place of surrounding alleyway, — I mean who could blame them? Watching a Belgian just puffing away on some nicotine in the darkness, as he’d sit and watch the night pass by in stages, like the world saw him as pariah, and distasteful. Because, being George was distasteful here. Being not born there, was his issue. Not relating, or at least not on cultural grounds.. was a pain in the arse. The only thing jokingly in which he and Matty would share, was the love for a weed fix or doing the occasional line at a pub in the back where the boys were concealed, Ross and Hann watching them with their minds on speed dial a thousand miles an hour.

But, there was no Matty. No Ross, and sadly no Hann. Just, the lone George, and a half pack of cigarettes as he’d been smoking some on the way to this alley, which he’d not remembered until getting the most recent smoke out which was occupying his lips, feeling that highness just carry his sense elsewhere to his brain and what he’d puff out like a chimney through the nose. Smoke slow, and through his nose, and George adored his smokes like a child. A poorly cared for child, that was.

But, on the other side of this situation, his friends were worried back. They’d texted with solid left on read, they’d call with nothing but a voicemail response which was far from George’s rumbling vocals which they’d adhered to. And this for the boys back at Hann’s at the time, finally would spark back up with concern.

“I think we should check on George, it’s been over two hours without no contact from him. Bloody worrying over here..” Hann starts, while he’d watch over a partly distracted Matty playing with his son on the sofa beside him, and jokingly lifting him up and down with a cheeky grin. “Hann, you said that like half an hour back. Y’know George, he’ll find his way to us with his tracker, ‘cos we all have each other’s places on our locations.”

But, Adam wasn’t so sure. Neither was Ross by the look of things, as they’d share nervous uptight glances, all while Matty lay oblivious to everything, and only Hann’s child was in the picture.

“Has a point though.. he usually would go for a quick drag and then come back. He’s not usually this late out. Maybe one of us should go find out where he’s got to and go from there?” Ross would then ask, as he’d move from his partly recline on the sofa to sit up and ask openly to the other two, in which Hann was secretly begging for even without notice.

“Belgians do love a smoke, he told me that when going Brussels in 2016, even I still remember him sayin’ it like yesterday.” Matty responds unhelpfully, as this would cause Ross an instant standup.

“Next thing you’ll say is that because George is from Brussels, it makes more sense.” Then, you could see while Ross would pick up his once discarded jacket in which he’d worn before making it inside into homely warmth from a new radiator Adam and Carly bought to help with their son as well for in the nights. “One of you is gonna come with me too, I’m not prying George out alone.” He’d state after his jacket was now on his shoulders and running down the sides of his waist.

“What’re you being like? Acting like a dad for George’s sake?” Matty sneers, looking with a playful smirk at what Ross meant firmly and that’s when Hann would seem to side with their bassist on that matter. “Fucks sake, be serious Matty.” It was also a little bitter, as the frontman just exhaled and would finally make his way to his feet after placing Hann’s child down on the sofa to crawl to his actual dad.

“Fine, Ross you wanna go and find him?” He’d start, partly defiant from the light blows they’d given before about not being serious. “To be fair I have an idea of where he could be, but that’s just me being me.” And again, the usual forward thinking Matty was just being as vague as possible, while trying to also get his jacket on, while Ross seemed to act with the patience of a saint.

“Yeah. We’ll find him, and Hann stays here with his son. Don’t want him getting all worried for his dad.” Ross would then turn himself to crouch down to ruffle his friend’s son’s hair and watch as the light smile formed as he extends back up. “You’re alright mate, we’ll be back soon, hopefully with a Daniel if we find him.” He’d joke, but you could tell he was feeling nervous, while the other who was joking was now waiting for his cues. “C’mon, I’ll have to babysit you too on the way so let’s go out now so it won’t be too much trouble.”

Matty would just squint and look up to Ross, exactly proving that point of acting like a child, and clicked his tongue. “Oh shove off Ross.. let’s just go. You wanted to find George so damn desperate, so I’ll push ya around for it.”

————————————————————————

Being out in the cold though, it really did feel more of a test. Sure, Ross and Matty knew the cold like a friend you couldn’t rid no matter what time of day, however, knowing it was dark and their friend George was nowhere to be found. “Ross.. I’ll give it to you. I genuinely am a bit scared shitless for where he’s at right now.” Matty spoke, partly through chattering teeth from the cold that enveloped his body plus his puffer in nothing but anxiety, with Ross feeling the cold through to his chest in the same way, looking out to darkness like lost cause.

“It feels dead.. what if George didn’t come by here? What if the track was wrong all this fucking time?” Ross felt angry, but he didn’t project it to anyone in particular, while Matty would feel his own heart slow and sink down while they’d share breath of cold like given, a joint of weed. Another reminder of what George could be doing to himself right now with them none the wiser.

“What the fuck do we do now?”

“Well I don’t bloody know, it’s been nearly an hour and a half, and this dark is clearly not helping us find any person, is it?” Matty mumbles, looking quite anguished himself, like he’d probably encountered a dead body on the street. “Wait, the alley.” He’d then look over to said dank alley, which causes Ross to also look over where Matty’s hand gestured, and not having much to go off, Ross seems a bit puzzled.

“Mate, being cryptic won’t get us farther than we already have now.” He’d seem unimpressed with the sudden splutter, squinting over at Matty for a moment, with the headlight they neared just catching the mid of his iris and causing his dark eyes to flicker for a split second, which got Matty’s attention to finally elaborate, not necessarily with words but with motions, as he’d be trudging past his friend then, and heading to said alley.

“Put your faith in me for once, knobhead.” The other responds sharply, still walking with somewhat confidence that George may be there, and leaving Ross in a cesspool of either doubt or relief, or even regret for letting their friend wander and not come back, like he’d despised housing. It felt, so alien.

Eventually after a short plod on, the two men found themselves at the foot of said alleyway, as the musty smells of cigarettes, malty beer cans, and whatever else toppled rubbish bins seemed to produce, that stirred their determinations, yet again for finding George.

“It looks even more dead than the street did we were just on, bloody hell.” Matty would say, a little exhaled out rather than spoken, while the pace of the two walking down now was significantly slower and more calculated, skimming the sides of the alley and would just see blacked out silhouettes and shadows from lingering bins, and there were times that they thought it was George’s shadow. Face it, they were getting more desperate by now, as the day has just kissed the borderline of dusk and is now being enveloped by asphalt beginnings.

Just as they’d give up, or at least turn back for Hann’s abode, Ross spotted something himself in the dark, which was a flicker of light. Although it was unclear, the colour seemed to briefly reside between an orange and yellowish, like a flame. “Wait, could be him.” Again, being vague to Matty in reciprocation while he’d take the lead now and watch while the frontman would trudge on behind and would be blowing air into cold palms.

They’d not take long to trace where the sparks were coming from, and there was a hooded guy, puffed hair. Knees up to his chest with his socks pulled up, a trait that George had for his mannerisms. His trainers were also the giveaway with the black and the custom flames design on the soles. “George?” A shocked but relieved Ross asks, waiting to see if he’d look up.

“Wait,” he’d laugh. “Ross, the fuck are you doing out here?” George seems almost dumbfounded but smiling with perplex, as his head tilts and his cigarette matches the rotations, still glowing faintly as he’d blow back more nicotine. Only then would Matty look over and almost give a childlike finger guns. “That’s how a smoker goes, Danes got it in the bag.”

“Shut the fuck up Matty.” Ross snaps unintentionally, caught off from what he’d actually come out with now that Matty veered off the trail of thought needed in this situation. “Mate it’s nearly been three hours.. we needed to find you. Why’ve you been out here so long?” He’d look down to again a puffing George, using one hand to fix his hoodie, bundling his legs up farther to his chest.

“Called having a smoke, you know I can’t go without my smokes Ross.”

“Becoming worse than me at this rate, Jesus George.” Matty would notice how his drummer’s pockets were littered with cigarettes and butts from used ones, almost half a packet used up within three hours. “Your lungs must be like your balls, bloody steel.” Again, he was joking to cover up the fact both him and Ross had visions of seeing George dead in the streets.

“Listen, it’s late. Hann’s worried, I’m worried, and Matty was. Your smoking has gotten worse since you’ve been touring. Plus, you’re not discreet with Jamie with you sneaking off after sets to take a smoke or blunt. Just saying for your benefit.”

He’d brush it off, again with a soft grin like it was all just a funny joke Ross said, dragging out his cigarette. “Listen it’s not that bad.. might be a Belgian born and bred, doesn’t mean I’m addicted to weed.”

“But that’s a cigarette, not a blunt?”

“I’m so fucked on these, blunts wouldn’t get me further, trust me.” George puffs out more smoke, some filing from his nostrils as the rest clouded out his mouth, while he’d finally give it in and stub out the ashes beside himself. “This is my chocolate.. Matty’ll get what I’m saying.”

And that, Matty got almost immediate. Their song ‘Chocolate’ was a flat out reference to weed, and knowing George’s nationality as well.. made the joke, well the song more apparent, in being Belgian with chocolate being quite popular. “Your hair probably smells like chocolate.” He’d gesture the air quotes when he’d accentuate the word chocolate, before his trap kept unwinding with more rant.

“And we all remember the Brits 2017.. ah yeah definitely not hypocrisy either.” Matty jokes, obviously recalling how George smuggled not only a blunt, but also a half bag of cocaine, to only then egg Matty on to duck under the desk they received their award, and do lines without being seen to. Except George busted them when the crack covered all of his formal wear with white powdery substance coating nearly every part of his torso and crotch.

“Oh fuck off Matty..” George seems to exhale, as you saw him bear another smile to accompany a snigger. “But, did we get caught?”

“Barely, more like near miss.” Ross interjects, exhaling and smiling softly at that seeming lost memory. “Can we just be a bit serious though for a moment, and just say that smoking in quantity like that isn’t gonna get you anywhere?”

“Back in the tour bus to Brussels-”

“George, don’t you dare.”

Matty watches as Ross cut off George by shushing him brief with a finger to the other’s mouth, soon removing it and watching as the drummer’s shoulders slumped down with sigh. “No need to shush me up, that’s a bit of unneeded dominance.”

“George, I’m looking out for you. As much as Matty might be joking about the tours..” he’d look over to said Matty, looking a little sheepish now as his hands ran through his hair raking his scalp a little. “We can’t have you fucked, like, it’s just a gimmick. It’s not meant to be how it goes.”

“Right, fine no smokes for a bit. Just, lay off from just a bit of anger from me. I’m fine, my lungs might be dying but I’m not dying, yet.” George jokes, but you could again watch as Matty and Ross both sigh in unimpressed notion.

“Let’s just get back to Hann’s it’s freezing out and I’m pissed about being in the cold.” Matty spoke again to most likely break building tension

The pair would just let out light laughter at watching their frontman shiver in his seeming heavy puffer jacket, and would then prod to make yet more banter, however when the sound of Ross’ phone could be made out, they knew they’d have to calm down the probably frenzy of Adam. “We can have more banter back at Hann’s.. for now let’s just get the child out of the cold.”

“Hey, I’m 35 you twat!” Matty exclaims, again lightly dithering in the cold that was getting more brisk out. “Besides, George is the child, he’s the youngest out of all of us. Ross tell him off, don’t have a go at me for Britain’s shit weather.” He’d conclude, huffing like said toddler when they couldn’t get a game they’d demand, or maybe if something broke that couldn’t fix.

“Well, I’m not even from here and I’m not complaining with cold, plus my hoodie is thinner material than your coat.” George would then bend down to get his cigarette pack back in his pocket, and Matty stores his hands in his pockets far in the crooks. “Shut the fuck up, you’re the reason we got in the cold in the first place.”

By now, they’d all start to walk back, and then they’d be greeted with yet another buzzing from Ross’ phone, in which he’d answer as the trio made their way.

“Where are you guys it’s fucking late out, even Carly got worried for you.” A rather flustered Hann stammered, seeing Ross and Matty’s faces only on the screen. “Did you find George or were you just pissing round all night?”

“Woah woah, calm your tits..” Matty slips into view to calm a clearly stressed Hann, and would beckon George to come into the camera shot so he himself could see they’d found him on their travel.

“Hi Hann.” Simple response from George, as he’d give a light chuckle, obviously not appeasing toward the seeming tired dad, with a child babbling in the background. “I’m fine mate, we’ll come home then talk. Matty’s complaining too much of the cold.”

“You know that gave me some heart attack, you’re gonna pay me back for it Ross.” Hann would say that loud enough for George to retract the phone to Ross, and watch as Hann sighed pinching his nose bridge.

“I’ll buy you a pint when we get back, or when we next go out.“ He’d respond, now laughing himself while the others walked alongside, as you could hear Matty and George chattering faintly. “I’ll pay you back for being an ass pain.” Again, you could tell it was a light poke at himself while Adam now seems to just laugh softly and shaking his head.

“You guys, you can be nutters but.. I love you for just being around.”

“Right, well don’t beat us up when we’re back.. maybe you can beat Matty up but I wanna be safe from Hann.” Ross laughs out, while catching Matty’s attention as he’d call out, “Piss off, it’s not me all the time.”

“Just.. get back here in one piece and not too high in the clouds. My wife and I want you guys together, and my son wants his uncles to behave.” Adam informs satirically, before soon adding. “See you when you’re back. Glad to see you George.”

But if George was even happy was hard to even feel. The smokes dying out, made his spirit die out. But, alas.. his friends wouldn’t know unless this all unfolded again, maybe for fatal.

— hope you lot enjoy this! although it is rather angsty, i kinda wanted to manipulate the concept of the song Chocolate and indeed make maybe a joke or two of George’s Belgian nationality, (not intended purposely🙏) but, yeah! hope you like this, and send me more prompts for the rest of the boys! love you all sm, you’re all such awesome people <3

(feel free to respond with your ideas or prompts in comments or dm, i’ll do my best to read them and convey them out in reality!)

#fanfic #the 1975 #george daniel #matty healy #ross macdonald #adam hann #angst

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jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear · 2 years

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What each Scarecrow Smells like

Year One: Cigarette Smoke and Peaches

BTAS: Fresh cut wood / grass

TNBA: The swamp

Arkham Asylum: Energy Drinks and NyQuil

Arkham Knight: Very Pungent Sewage mixed with a littler box that has never been cleaned

HHSD: Axe Body Spray

Salecrow: A dead raven and rotting cinnamon

Lego Scarecrow: Pumpkin pie

Alex Ross: the scent of an abandoned flower shop

Scarebeast: Wet Dog / Cat Pee

Yellow Lantern: Orange Flavored Vape Smoke

New52: Your grandfather’s corpse

Silver Age: Straw and hay

Fear State: Chemicals and bleach

#Jonathan Crane #Scarecrow #The Scarecrow #what scarecrow smells like #DC Scarecrow #Batman Scarecrow

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viksalos · 2 years

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Castrator at Cattivo 11/23/22, via Ross Sewage @.sewage666 on twitter

#castrator #metal #death metal #women of metal #women of noise

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olko71 · 6 months

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New Post has been published on All about business online

New Post has been published on https://yaroreviews.info/2023/12/thames-water-says-turnaround-will-take-time

Thames Water says turnaround will 'take time'

PA Media

By Nick Edser

Business reporter

Thames Water has said that reviving the business will “take time” as it reported sliding profits and an increase in its huge debt pile.

Profits for the first half of its financial year more than halved to £246m, while debts rose 7% to £14.7bn.

Thames Water secured extra funds in July, but questions have been raised over the nature of the support.

The head of the Environment Committee said he could recall the firm’s boss to be quizzed by MPs over the deal.

Concern over Thames’ financial strength earlier this year led to speculation it might be taken over by the government.

But the company’s two interim chief executives have said that will not be necessary, as it has more than £3bn in cash and recently got a £500m cash injection from its shareholders.

However, the Financial Times reported recently that the source of that money was a further loan to its parent company, Kemble Water Holdings.

The chairman of the Environment Committee, Sir Robert Goodwill, has questioned whether Thames has represented its finances accurately.

Speaking to the BBC’s Today programme, Sir Robert said: “The question I think we need to ask Thames Water is… how will that debt be serviced, because unless they increase dividends, to enable Kemble Water Holdings to service that debt, they could end up in an even more difficult situation.”

Sir Robert said he was meeting Thames Water later. “My suggestion will be that we invite the chief executive, Cathryn Ross, back to the committee to just explain why it is that although they say they’ve had more equity introduced, the FT report suggests that it is actually more debt piled upon the debt that’s already there.”

The company has already written to Sir Robert saying that the £500m “does not increase the debt burden” on Thames Water.

Investors have also said they will pump in an additional £750m but that is contingent on the regulator agreeing to bill increases of 40% by 2030.

Thames Water’s co-chief executives, Cathryn Ross and Alastair Cochran, said: “It is clear that immediate and radical action is required.”

They added: “Turning around Thames will take time. We simply cannot do everything that our customers and stakeholders wish to see at a pace and for a price that everyone would like.

“We will continue to make the tough choices required to deliver what matters most to our customers and the environment.”

A spokesperson for Thames Water added the company was “in a robust financial position and are extremely fortunate to have such supportive shareholders”.

Last week, the auditors of Kemble Water Holdings warned there was a “material concern” over its future.

This was partly due to uncertainty over how a £190m loan, which is due for repayment in April 2024, will be refinanced.

Thames’ latest results show that the number of pollution incidents increased during the six months to September.

It admitted performance had “deteriorated”, with the number of category 1-3 pollutions – where category 1 is the most serious – had risen to 257 from 217 in the same period last year.

The company said its three-year turnaround plan “addresses and mitigates the major drivers of pollutions across our wastewater network and sewage treatment works”.

“We are committed to tackling the root causes of pollutions to meet the expectations of our communities and the needs of the environment.”

Earlier this year, Thames Water was fined £3.3m after it discharged millions of litres of untreated sewage into two rivers near Gatwick in 2017, killing more than 1,400 fish.

Later on Tuesday, Labour will table a motion calling on the government to give the water regulator, Ofwat, powers to ban the payment of bonuses to water bosses if their companies are discharging “significant” levels of raw sewage into UK waterways.

More on this story

Thames Water nationalisation ‘not the way forward’

12 July

Thames Water secures £750m cash injection

10 July

Ofwat complacent over Thames Water affair – MP

9 July

Water should be a simple business – why isn’t it?

29 June

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theliterateape · 1 year

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The Final Stage of Grief

by Don Hall

Prior to recording a recent Literate ApeCast, Himmel and I talked a bit about the Kubler-Ross Five Stages of Grief. In regards to the demise of my third marriager and subsequent demolishing of the life I thought I was living, it turns out that I have mixed them up some, skipped one step altogether, and am now in the final act.

The stages are Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. I think I went through Denial and Depression at the same time during the four months hiding in my one bedroom apartment in Vegas. I skipped Bargaining altogether and only recently got to Anger. So, what does Acceptance look like?

Before Apple got all on top of things photos-wise, I used Google Photos a lot. I got rid of it a few years ago because Google has become a predatory feature in the world of data sales but apparently had not deleted the cache of pictures taken over the years.

My iCloud only goes back as 2012 with exactly one photo of me getting a key lime martini in a high end bar with Vanessa Harris. I don't know why I kept it but I like the look on my face as well as the odd spectacle of having a bright green cocktail in hand. Looking at the shot reminds me of a day when Harris and I were wandering around together, telling stories, getting drunk in the day with booze and words. It was a good day and I suppose this one photo expands in my recollection.

The Google Photos account is less curated and more like a giant photo dump. A fair amount of duplicates exist in this digital desk drawer or suitcase and there are over 8,000 pictures of bits both large and small littered in the mix. The timeline went as far back as 2006. Eighteen years of my path suddenly thrust in my face.

As I did eight months ago when the sordid details of my third wife's secret life blew up in my face like sewage suddenly shooting straight up out the shower drain, I decided to cull every photo of her, of any hint we had been together, a purge of memories that revealed to me what a sham the whole thing was in effort to do something that felt like emotional chemotherapy. Kill the cancer, grow your hair back, reframe existence.

I used to keep screenshots of plane tickets as a backup and, in this moment, each represented the beginning of a hundred little getaways and vacations, holiday travel, and work related journeys. Before 2014, there were a lot of pictures of me. An embarrassing treasure of Narcissus, gazing into the pool of selfies, reveling in my transformative weight loss of that time when I dropped 80 pounds in 2007/2008. Also in tow were hundreds of inspirational phrases laid out on stock photos as reminders I suppose.

"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see." "Do no harm. Embrace possibility. Live to tell about it." "Live the Dream. Endure the Nightmare." and one of my favorites that seems to encapsulate both my desire for reminders to avoid being bogged down in convention and my tendency toward treating obstacles with unfettered aggression: "Life is Short. Can you really say you've lived if you haven't punched a stupid person in the face?"

A shot of my friend Matt sleeping on my couch the summer he crashed for three months waiting for his fiancé to return from France. Carl Kasell posing with a bunch of the Carl plush dolls I ordered to sell for Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me!. A panorama shot of me standing on a Michigan beach taken by Alice.

Countless pics of performances of The Moth, BUGHOUSE!, LitMash, and the myriad events I produced for WBEZ all around Chicago. Family photos from Christmas and the Fourth of July—the shock of seeing my nephew (who died from a fentanyl overdose in 2020) when he was alive and happy was bittersweet but lovely. Joe and I roadtripping it to Kansas for my grandma's funeral.

Apparently, from 2008—2016 I had some bizarre desire to take brochure shots of bathroom graffiti in seedy bars all over Chicago.

Along the way I deleted photos of people who were friends at the time but ended up enemies. "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see." Up until 2014, I saw a lot of me, a lot of my friends, a lot of life as it unfolded in the form of events and shows and pledge drives and time in the gym. I had already culled through the Alice pictures but strangely managed to still have a few shots of Katie whom I only dated for six weeks.

Sunday, May 11, 2014 was the day things changed. All of the inspirational phrases, carefully set in creative fonts, became pronouncements of love.

"She's mad but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire." "And suddenly, all the love songs were about you." "What we find in a soulmate is not something wild to tame but something wild to run with." "You're kinda, sorta, basically pretty much always on my mind."

The tone shifted in the Google Photos slog through nostalgia. All of a sudden there were scores of pictures of her. The third wife. The fiancé after three dates. Out of the 8,000 stored images, nearly 5,000 were of her or us.

One of her quirks, I'll call it, was that she seemed to be living every one of her failed relationships as if each one had ended the day before. She was still angry at the high school boyfriend who dumped her, the blonde dreamboat who moved to D.C. leaving her behind, the porn photographer who "lost his sexual mojo." She would routinely rant about the frequently homeless guy she dated before meeting me who fetishized her, had a horse cock, and tried to smother her with a pillow once out of jealousy. The frustration of thwarted expectations sat within her all the time to be dredged up in random moments on random days to foul her mood and revisit that which still felt fresh and bleeding in her mind.

I never really understood this quirk as I can barely remember any of the bad times in my past relationships to the point that, when I do think about them, the simple narrative of why it worked and why it failed obfuscates any remembrance of anger or pain. The first ex-wife and I married too young and out of sense that that was what we were supposed to do. We did our best but, in the end, couldn't sustain it. The second ex-wife and I got married out of a transactional artistic arrangement and when I stopped producing shows for her to direct, she found someone else. Alice, while not a wife but a four-year off and on battle, couldn't get enough of sex with me but fundamentally didn't like me much. I stopped ruminating on the specifics of how's and why's and could see more good than bad within each failure.

My past is represented in scars, I thought. Hers are perpetually bleeding.

So I culled my Google Photos of the memories as thoroughly as I could. Countless pictures of the two of us on vacation—Jamaica, St. Thomas, New Orleans, Paris, London, Edinburgh, places in Michigan, Reno, Flagstaff, Harrisburg. Countless pictures of family holidays. Countless shots of her playing drums with various bands in various venues around Chicago. Poetry readings. Storytelling events. Medieval Times. Cirque du Soleil. Pub crawls with flights of beer. House parties.

There were at least several hundred pictures of her nude modeling she'd sent me. At least several hundred of the two of us posing for a couples selfie all over the place. An entire album of our Vegas wedding.

Through it all, I kept expecting to be overwhelmed by grief or anger or disillusionment. I wasn't.

On the day after we decided to divorce but the day before she confessed she'd been working as a prostitute for nearly three years, I told her that, while things didn't work the way we thought it would, ours was the best marriage and the most loved I'd ever lived. I meant it, it apparently meant a lot to her, and we both cried. The next day she unveiled the unthinkable and all of that sentiment was forgotten.

That's the thing about shock. If you're at least a little bit emotionally healthy, it wears off. Sure, it takes time to heal up, to get those bloody cuts to scab over and eventually scar, but it does wear off. "It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."

What I see was what everyone else saw. A strange but lovely couple. I was ridiculously and wholly in love with this woman. For five years in Chicago, we had an extraordinary partnership even with the personal quirks and curveballs thrown by life. What I see is a man in love and a woman doing her best to love him back. I see joy and laughter. I see mutual support. I see my family embrace her and she embrace them.

I see, for five years, between 2014 and 2019, the best marriage I'd ever had.

When my nephew died, I put together a video in memoriam for my sister. It included pictures of him from birth until shortly before he passed. One of the awful things I noticed in putting it together was that as his life got closer to the day of his death, his eyes started changing. He looked like someone going downhill. It was stark and obvious when no one really saw it at the time.

The Google Photos from the time we arrived in Vegas until the day I knew she decided to live her lie and then until we split reveal something similar. There are fewer pictures of her and the ones that were taken show her flipping the camera off or looking annoyed that I'm taking a picture at all. She starts wearing more and more makeup. Her clothing, which was always sort of a grunge 90's aesthetic, became more tattered and trashy. We took a day trip to Rhyolite, NV and there are forty pictures of the place and only three of her, six of me, and one of the two of us together. She looks unhappy in the four she's posing in.

Another quirk of hers was to subtly adopt the local accent of any place we visited. I first noticed it when we honeymooned in Jamaica. As soon as we got off the plane, her normal speech was suddenly musical in that Jamaican way. When she spoke to locals it became more pronounced. She did this in France and in London, too. Perhaps this assimilation was deeper than the accents but with the place. Las Vegas is a place of easy money, flexible morality, and an influx of tourists coming to have a fine, filthy time before going back to their homes and cubicles.

I'll never know what the truth was and it likely doesn't matter if I do. Getting rid of her photos from this specific digital dump felt more like packing up the clothing of someone who died to go to Goodwill. The woman for whom I collected hundreds of excerpts from Pablo Neruda and lovesick sayings died in February of 2020—I just didn't know until much later. I'll confess that I miss her but who she was rather than who she is and that's some Grade A mindfuckery.

I didn't see the change in her until it was long past the expiration date. I was looking but wasn't seeing what is now completely obvious through the photographs through our time together. I wouldn’t change a day with her for those first five years because I was in love and was with the person I was in love with. The person she chose to be once we got to Vegas is no one I ever wish to see again and so I delete all memory of her as completely as I can. I suppose that’s how all split ups are and the duality of our memories pervades the path forward.

Funny that, as I deleted thousands of reminders of her, I'm keeping all the inspirational sayings and even a few of the romantic ones because you never know who’s coming around the corner, right?

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ghostcultmagazine · 2 years

Video

youtube

We caught up with solo Technical Death Metal artist Justin Pierrot of @Stormland! His new album "The Human Cost" is out now. We chatted about his career in music, a layman's explanaition of @GundamInfo, death metal guitar, guests on his album such as Ross Sewage of Exhumed and Leda Paige, and much more! Interview by Keefy (https://ift.tt/V0jrY1B). Video editing by Omar Cordy of OJC Photography (https://www.instagram.com/ojcpics). Theme music by Salted Wounds (https://ift.tt/agy6eZY). Buy the album here: https://ift.tt/Jwkdj0z Watch Stormland reacts to Stormland! https://youtu.be/NPAspneBKME Follow Stormland: https://ift.tt/6Yi2sk1 https://ift.tt/fEmvoPA https://twitter.com/stormlandband Buy us a @Ko-fi and help us keep the lights on: https://ift.tt/3jN6yGb Gear we use: (These are affiliate links and Ghost Cult makes a small profit from a sale) Set up A: Sony A7 III - https://amzn.to/3tQm422 Tamron 17-28 - https://amzn.to/3ePrlTd Tamron 28-75 - https://amzn.to/3fqCjgY Desview Mavo-P5 Monitor- https://amzn.to/33LlTub Manfrotto Befree Travel Tripod - https://amzn.to/3hxbL0e Set up B: Canon 80D - https://amzn.to/3ye8WqV Sigma MC-11 - https://amzn.to/3brZdU2 Sigma 18-35 - https://amzn.to/3tLlEd7 Tokina 11-16 - https://amzn.to/3bty9Uk Feelworld T7 Monitor - https://amzn.to/2Re9hta Audio: Sound Devices MixPre-3 - https://amzn.to/3tKkJd2 Gearlux XLR Mic Cable - 3 Pack - https://amzn.to/3w3zN6Y Deity D3 Microphone - https://ift.tt/Mn8dxT2 Usb Mic - https://amzn.to/3w8JHEG Lighting: YONGNUO YN600L - https://amzn.to/2QkNrn5 YONGNUO YN300 Air - https://amzn.to/2QjN5gu Dfuse Softbox - https://amzn.to/3uQq4AN Aputure MC - https://amzn.to/3oirFgx NanLite PavoTube II 6C - http://bit.ly/NanLitePavoTubeII Lightstands - https://amzn.to/3uSBl3x 5 in 1 Reflector - https://amzn.to/33KHdjo And our iconic Rope Light https://amzn.to/3ycdmyz For the full list of Ghost Cult gear: http://bit.ly/OJCPicsKit This video contains a shoutout to Unfyros (https://ift.tt/WcnU9pB) Get your shoutout by visiting our pinned post on Twitter! https://twitter.com/GhostCultMag/status/1142861626590355456

#IFTTT #YouTube

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disposableunderground · 3 years

Photo

Impaled playing Maryland Deathfest in 2008.

#impaled #maryland deathfest #mdf #death metal #disposableundergroundphotoarchive #ross sewage

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someguywriting · 1 year

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ROSS SEWAGE

#ross sewage #ghoul band #ghoulunatics #we are ghoulunatics #ross sewage!!!#cremator

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wookiee-monster2 · 4 years

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The Walking Dead Akira homage

art by Ross Sewage

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #ross sewage #akira #homage #amc #mashup

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lord-worms-shakespeare-class · 5 years

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Ross Sewage appreciation post

#metal #death metal memes #death metal #deathgrind #goregrind #exhumed #impaled #ghoul #ross sewage

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sinceileftyoublog · 5 years

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Live Picks: 11/20

Son Little; Photo by Shervin Lainez

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Comedy, deathgrind, and soul. The fan overlap is me.

Nick Kroll, Vic Theatre

The Big Mouth co-creator is currently on his Middle-Aged Boy tour; tonight is the first of three sold-out shows at the Vic Theatre.

Exhumed; Photo by Orion Landau

Son Little, Old Town School of Folk Music

We were big fans of Son Little’s sophomore LP New Magic; when we previewed his opening set for Dr. Dog last May at the Riviera, we called it emotive, raw, and crisp. Little doubles down on those qualities on his recent EP invisible and upcoming album aloha, the latter due out in January 2020. The album was, incredibly, written after Little’s hard drive, with initial drafts and demos, died, but starting over proved to be productive. Recorded in Paris with Renaud Letang producing, the albums feature Little on almost every instrument, increasingly reflective and socially aware while continuing to bend funk and soul to fit his story and artistic profile. invisible and aloha share two tracks, the slinky “hey rose” and psychedelic soul jam “about her. again.”, the EP containing a downtrodden, bass-heavy, gurgling remix of “hey rose” via Quantic. The other two tracks on invisible are “i’m a builder”, whose layered vocals are an effective preview for the harmonies that appear on aloha songs like “mahalia”, and a cover of Love’s “Skid”, which trades the original’s rolling percussion for a centerpiece of falsetto, pulsating synths, and syncopated, jabbing guitars.

As expected, aloha is the more cohesive effort. Songs like “bbbaby”, “that’s the way”, and “don’t wait up” cement Little as a troubadour of slow-burning soul, while “3rd eye weeping” and “belladonna” are more friendly to dancing, the former combining burnt keyboards and choppy synthesizers in a way that recalls Steve Wonder’s “Boogie On Reggae Woman”, the latter employing percussive, earworm Afro pop melodies to illustrate the sometimes undeniable power of lust. Still, the standout of aloha is lead single “suffer”, wherein Little mourns the suicide of his uncle. The song effectively alternates between its verses, Little’s emotional voice barely held up by a three-note guitar line, and its shuffling and percussive uplifting chorus. “We don’t have to suffer, you and I,” Little sings to the deceased in solidarity as a co-player in the game of life.

Asheville songwriter Christopher Paul Stelling opens.

Exhumed, Empty Bottle

The latest Exhumed album Horror begins with a blast of riffs, impossibly fast drums, and a five-second long scream--but that could describe a lot of Exhumed songs and albums. Spiritually, the more apt synecdoche is the 8-second track “Utter Mutilation of Your Corpse”, which consists solely of those words screamed in conjunction with the same explosion of drums and guitar. The point is that Exhumed are ridiculous. “You’re the victim of his fucking gore attack,” they sing on “Slaughter Maniac”, the idea that there is gore in a slaughter at once both obvious and entirely the point. The songs on Horror, never longer than three minutes, involve everything from cannibalism and necrophilia to being a victim of infection and torture. What’s truly terrifying, then, are the songs that deal with going absolutely mad, like the tremendously catchy “Playing With Fear”, “Shattered Sanity”, and standout “In the Mouth of Hell”. “No one hears your death knell,” they sing on the last, as if to present it as so much worse than the gruesome acts and images that comprise the rest of the record.

Phoenix death metal band Gatecreeper co-headlines. California’s Necrot & Texas hardcore band Judiciary open. Alexi Front of Scorched Tundra will be DJing all night.

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