#twenty seven hours

[mywifeleftme]

364: Various Artists // Israfel

Israfel Various Artists 1997, Ape

A 1997 vinyl benefit compilation of mostly Middle American grindcore / powerviolence / emo acts, assembled in an edition of about 1000 by Bloomington-based DIY label Ape Records (active 1995 to 2002), in handmade sleeve with a recent release catalogue, a substantial zine, and a few priceless gag inserts (incl. YOUR HARDCORE SELL OUT DECODER RING). I’m not an aficionado of any of the genres Israfel covers by any means, but you’d have to be a real head to know most of these: in terms of notoriety, the Locust (who contribute a 47 second blast of lo-fi outrage) are basically Led Zeppelin compared to the rest of the acts, most of whom topped out with a couple of EPs and compilation appearances.

Of course, hearing music that would otherwise be basically lost to time is the appeal of taking a flyer on a comp like this. One of my favourite tracks is “Untitled” by Roanoke, VA’s the Weak Link Breaks, supposedly the first thing the band ever wrote (and, judging from their discography, nearly the last too). It begins with a very, very quiet spacy-Fugazi-style amble (the vocal harmonies couldn’t be more Ian and Guy) that explodes into a brief screamo-style D-beat section, and then some big heaving riffs that make me want to exaggeratedly lift and stomp my feet like a giant trying to keep his balance. I also dig Murfreesboro, TN’s Serotonin, an emo / post-hardcore act with a steely '80s shred band guitar tone who play like they want people in the pit to twirl around ecstatically instead of slam dancing. A lot of the other nasty yowling cat speedballs on Israfel don’t really catch my ear, but that’s okay—I’m weirdly proud of them 27 years after the fact for being themselves and getting out whatever they needed to get out through this violence.

The package’s tone is all over the place. The zine opens with a haunting description of the compilation’s beneficiaries, the family of a pair of little girls with spinal muscular atrophy (a common birth defect) whose condition worsened until they perished, leaving their parents distraught and financially ruined—and the 21-year-old compiler racked with guilt that he didn’t somehow do more to help. From there, it whips through his heterodox thoughts about the hardcore scene (despicably self-absorbed; unresponsive to requests from label operators); the state of emo (too abstract); the best way to bring about change (working within the capitalist system); rape (it’s bad; consent is black and white; can we stop litigating this in the scene?); calling the cops (fine to do); disrespecting the American flag (played out; tacky); and drinking/drug use (“when did self-destruction become rebellion?”). After he finishes up, each band (that got their artwork in on time anyway) gets a page to talk about themselves. This section is full of old school punk zine/leaflet treasures, with designs that mimic motel newspaper ads, postcards, messy handwritten perzines, and Xeroxed 7” grindcore sleeves.

It's funny reading his scornful words about pseudo-rebellious drunkards stumbling toward “the day when punk rock is shelved for an 8 hour workday, Budweiser, and television” and then finding his LinkedIn, where he describes himself as “driving omnichannel excellence” and as “whimsical (after coffee).” You wouldn’t believe it from the splenetic angst of the Israfel zine, but the guy seems like he turned out happy and normal, with a few kids and a successful career. I wonder how the 21-year-old would see the 48-year-old, if he’d call him a sell-out or feel relieved that things worked out; if the 48-year-old would pity his former self, or feel ashamed about losing his edge. More one-time zinesters and hardcore kids end up looking square from a distance than you’d think (I certainly do if you catch me during the workday), because you usually stop hearing about them when they drop out of the scene. For most, the quiet part of life is the larger portion by far. It’s your choice whether to embrace that, mourn it, or seek your own alternative. But if Israfel reminds us of nothing else, it’s the importance of having a good scream at least once in your life.

364/365

#the locust #ape records #the panoply academy #architects of the new christ rebellion #criswell #harriet the spy #thenceforward #locust #inept #the weak link breaks #serotonin #old hearts club #twenty seven hours #eurich #the judas iscariot #reversal of man #screamo #post hardcore #d beat #grindcore #sasscore #zines #diy #selling out #'90s music #music review #vinyl record #emocore

[tacit-semantics]

FREE

#TWENTY SEVEN HOURS

[softpine]

i’m not gonna lie it’s kind of adorable to see a universe where asa was immediately wanted & loved without any contention ;-;

#don't ask why caroline gave birth in the middle of the night in the street. she was in labor for TWENTY SEVEN HOURS!!!!!!!!!! #i'll admit it. i miss danny and cara even if it's irrational #too bad i'm about to split them up again </3 #it's funny though because even the game says they have bad compatibility #caroline & beth have good compatibility and danny & mikaela have the best compatibility #i didn't even cheat that i literally just put their traits and likes/dislikes in there as best as i could #growing together gameplay #<- none of these pics will be edited or anything i'm just chilling #pregnancy tw

[kanalaure]

had a thought when i was in the shower, and the thought was 'maglor dual-wields bc he and maedhros learned to use a sword left-handed at the same time' and it started turning the wheels in my head

the thing is. it was, as his brother's regent and someone who lost three family members (three kings) to morgoth in quick succession (the last time bc morgoth is a sore winner and couldnt resist sending an army to a meet up), the best choice to make with the resources and information they had. leaving him, i mean. they didnt even know for sure he was alive until he was hung from the mountain, and the noldor literally could not have survived losing a fourth leader that soon (not to mention this would have put celegorm in charge, and..... well. well.................)

but

you cant tell me he didnt want to. you cant tell me that didnt eat at him to leave his only older brother, his king, hanging there while he lead their followers as best he could. but after everything............ really, how do you apologize to someone for failing to save them while proof it could have been done was dangling in front of your face?

and when i was thinking about all that i got this image. that when maedhros limps his way to the practice grounds for the first time, maglor is there. he stares at him across the field, and draws his sword with his off-hand.

"it's fair," he says, and nothing else

it's the only apology he knows how to make

#i on sheer instinct wrote 'nelyo' in that first paragraph bc in my head thats what mags always calls him as default #and apparently my brain has been on maglor so much lately ive started thinking of his brother by that nickname #maglor #maedhros #silmarillion #silm headcanons #silmarillion headcanon #feanorians #no shade to celegorm its just that he is an even worse candidate for king than kano is. bc i dont think he has any more native talent at #leadership. but that doesnt mean he doesnt want it. and that is a hella dangerous combination #this is sort of half meta half fic and god it took so much to keep it this short yall have no idea how much i deleted #i could really go on for about twenty pages about how i feel about their dynamic changing over the years #im gonna cut myself off tho bc its midnight and i have to be up for work and classes in....... seven hours

[weird-unlimited-ramblings]

I love all of you dearly, but Terry is definitely getting multiple messages a day from Ron. Like it’s been 25 years since Lark summoned the doodler. So to Ron it’s been daily and he hasn’t seen Terry in 27 years. For Terry it’s probably been like 12ish, and every couple hours he gets a message from Ron. Also Ron is canonically alive when Terry is like in his late teens (?) at the throne of the doodler. Idk time lines are confusing.

#dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndaddies #genuinely sorry if this makes you more or less upset #every time I see someone be like Terry has been getting messages from Ron for twenty seven years I just #also sorry if this post annoys you #Ive been holding back for two weeks #it could also totally be a continuity error #that’s 100% true #terry stampler #Ron stampler #I’ve relistened to season 2 episode 1 too many times for this to be ignored #also technically means that every couple hours Terry was reminded of how much Ron loved him #it’s sweet #if they go to heaven I imagine it will be ignored #hells time worked differently too

[granny-griffin]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

text paraphrased from this podcast at [1:18:45–1:19:00]

#bnha #midoriya izuku #chizome akaguro #salt and light #bnha fanart #bnha art #my fanworks #cw blood #this podcast episode is scrambling my insides #its the end of a seven part series #i listened to seven hours thinking I could be normal #and then I got destroyed in the last twenty minutes #I couldn’t even finish it in a sitting #i had to turn it off I was losing the ability to use language #anyway not to be misleading its like a bible analysis podcast its not about bnha #i kind of just threw colors at my phone screen maybe I’ll clean this up later

[cas---2y5]

todays the last day i can post this ✧₊˚⊹

#the passage of time rlly be fuckin me up ngl #twenty fucking seven in a mere few hours #i didn't think i was making it to 20 tbh #and now im like a whole ass person with a career and a girlfriend who is the loml and like....i don't even know where the time went #ferris bueller rlly wasn't kidding when he said life comes at you fast #im trying not to freak out sooooo hard rn #this is fine #its all fine

[mossflower]

loki season two has me screaming crying throwing up trying not to get dragged back into the mcu trenches

#i am stronger than this. i am better than this!! #by the trenches i mean consuming fanfiction at an unhealthy rate. fourteen year old me was insane i think i was on ao3 more than i slept #that’s not exaggeration. i was getting four hours of sleep on school nights and frequently went to bed at 5am on weekends #it is ONE good story. one. literally not worth it. i don’t even care about ninety percent of the mcu characters #i will ignore the little voice in my head reminding of the sheer amount of fanfiction. this was my pre-tumblr days #so my fandom interaction was like. youtube and ao3. maybe instagram posts sometimes. it was so much fun like. zero drama zero discourse #i was honestly living my best life. got less interested when i joined tumblr and went full doctor who mode #and after endgame i watched i think wandavision and loki and that was it. just didnt care anymore lol #i know exactly why this is happening tho. currently the thing i am insane about is my own damn project. which i am in the process of writin #for obvious reasons no fandom there. bc it lives in my mind twenty four fucking seven #i do wonder if i’m kind of growing away from fandom anyway? the closest i’ve got since toh ended was homestuck tbh #i want to feel obsessed with something again!! everything i’m into now - tma tlt and the like - i love them #but it doesnt hit like it used to. i don’t know it’s hard to explain #like video essays that i would have loved a few years ago!! the hour long ones about representation and queer media #they just irritate me now! i got halfway through one last week and had to bail i just could not care less #how did 2020 social media have me convinced that x character being gay was super important politically economically socially etc #ofc the answer is that i was a baby lesbian getting even less social interaction than normal #like representation is important obviously but also. sometimes it was not that deep #i don’t know if i’m making sense tbh but you get my drift #morganposting

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whump drabble!! in which caretaker is trying to take care of a sick whumpee who is an absolute stranger to them

cws: fever, brief mention of vomit (it does not actually happen), whumpee is pretty disoriented, vague wound care, lmk if I missed anything

~~

"Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?"

He doesn't answer, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it.

"Yeah, that's kind of what I figured. I've got a little bit of medicine to help that fever and then some broth. You've got to be just about starving by now. And I've got to keep fresh bandages on that wound."

By now, I've propped his head up, lifting the cup of medicine to his lips. "Alright, honey, we're gonna try to drink this now, okay?" I know he isn't really hearing me, but somehow, it still surprises me when he coughs and sputters on the drink.

"Breathe, it's okay," I murmur, lifting him up more to pat his back. "Everything is going to be fine, just breathe."

He's gasping for air as soon as he's done coughing, and I think he's more awake, but no more aware of his surroundings than before. "That's it, you're doing great," I tell him, and it doesn't matter that he doesn't really listen. I think he's reacting more to the tone of my voice than what I'm saying, which is okay as long as my tone stays calm and gentle.

I dab the spilled liquid off of his face, and I think he would slap my hands away from him if he were stronger. As it is, he's crying silently, though I can't quite tell if it's from pain, confusion, humiliation, or a combination of the three.

I wipe his tears away gently and shush him. "I know, honey. I know. I'm sorry. But we've got to get this down. Do you think you can try again for me?" At least he's sitting up. He's miserable, but he's sitting up, and this is my best chance of getting liquids in him without any choking since he got here. So I keep a careful hand on the back of his throat when I tip the cup into his throat.

He makes a small noise. It’s close to a whimper, and the tears never stopped in the first place. But he's not choking. I move a careful thumb to rest on his throat, and I can feel his muscles working to swallow. I imagine it's probably hurting him to do so, especially with how thick the medicine is, but he's getting it down. "You're doing so good for me, bud," I say quietly, moving a hand to his forehead. His fever is still bad, but maybe not as bad as yesterday.

I pull the empty cup away, and he leans into my hand on his forehead. He looks like he’s struggling to stay sitting up, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. I remember when he showed up, thinking that a loud noise or sudden movement might scare him away. Honestly, it probably still would. It took him falling unconscious for me to get close enough to help in the first place.

He looks upset when I pull my hand away. I look away to grab the broth, because I'm not sure I can stand seeing that expression much longer. "The broth should help soothe your throat," I say. I don't say that I'm not sure how much good it can do at this point, especially if he refuses it again. I don't say that, because I don't know what else I can do besides offer it.

He doesn't refuse it. He coughs once, but he finishes the entire bowl.

He doesn't have the strength to get to the bathroom, or remember where it is. The broth might come back up later, or he might piss himself, and I'll likely have to clean it up either way. But when he catches my hand, clinging as tightly as he can manage and not letting it go, I can't bring myself to care.

"I'm gonna help you lay back down, honey, alright?" I shake his hand off mine, putting my hands on his shoulders and back instead. "Just lay back for me. I've got you." I'm not sure he's listening, but he lets me push him into the bedroll. "There you go, that's it. I'm just gonna put new bandages on you now."

He won't like me touching his torso while he's awake, I don't think, considering how he acted last time he was awake. But this is the only way I know how to help him, so I peel his shirt up despite the small noise of protest.

He hisses as I unwrap the bandages. The cold air can't feel good on the wound, which is hot to the touch, but he doesn't move, so I continue. The infection looked better. The skin around the wound still looks red and angry, but less so. There's no colors that shouldn't be there, and it's not bleeding. I suppose that's why he was able to wake up tonight, even if he's not all here while awake.

I am not an apothecary, and I can't afford to be sloppy, so I run a wet washcloth across the red line on his torso, even though I'm not entirely sure if I need to keep cleaning it or not. I murmur an apology as he tries to twist away, but I don't even have to hold him down, he has so little strength. The water that the washcloth was dipped in was boiled, so I know it's clean, but it was an hour ago, so I know it's cold and uncomfortable.

I wrap his torso in a new set of bandages. If we're lucky, whatever hit him missed his internal organs. If we're lucky, there's no internal bleeding. If we're lucky, it will be able to heal without stitches, because I don't know how to stitch things. If we're lucky, the apothecary might return soon and tell me what to do.

If we're lucky, he might survive.

I'm not sure if anyone has quite that much luck, but all I can do is hope.

I squeeze his hand softly and move to stand up, but he surprises me by clinging to my hand again.

"Stay," he croaks, and if the rest of the house wasn't deadly quiet, I might have missed the tiny sound.

He's speaking, giving requests. That has to be a good sign.

I'm pretty sure it's not a request he'd give if he were lucid, which might not be a good sign.

But he's scared. And it's such an easy request to fill. So I sit right back down on the floor next to him and brush a lock of hair out of his face. "Okay," I whisper back. "I'll stay, but you have to get some rest. Deal?"

His eyes slide shut. Maybe it's my imagination, but he looks a fraction less miserable than before. I think I'd waste all my time sitting next to him if it meant that he might be slightly more comfortable than before.

#whump #whump drabble #whump writing #caretaker #whumpee #rainbow's whump #rainbow's drabbles #my six month accidental break from tumblr made me forget how to tag things properly sorry #i wrote this seven hours into a twenty four hour drive. if it's shitty i'll blame it on that #before writing this i'd been holding my cat for like all seven hours because she was scared of the car. which. fair #first person pov

[phoenixyfriend]

"It's in the negatives right now!" Okay but is it like a real negative or. You know. Celsius.

#I lived in CO for seven years and did a lot of skiing because the mountains were a short drive away (american short so two hours) #so when someone says negatives I think it's like... -5F or something #not -4C #I mean -4C is still cold but it's not 'the negatives' to me #it's mid-twenties #whereas -5F is -20C and that is The Negatives #fahrenheit #celsius #imperial measurements #metric #metric vs imperial #imperial vs metric

[pjisskullourful]

I‘m like 99% ssure they have arrived or will shortly arrive in Sydney their photographer and mua both posted stories from the plane

OMG SERIOUSLY?!?

my babies in my city?!?!?!?!

no cos seriously how long ago?

#incase anyone is keeping score #my gig is in TWENTY SEVEN HOURS

[ziracona]

“He traded himself for someone else’s future. Even the worst thing about him was born from love. What better thing could possibly be said about any of us?”

#Aymon Keydi #it’s loving Aymon Keydi hours twenty. 👏 four. 👏 seven👏👏 #d&d #dungeons and dragons #tryggr homeborn malakeith

[spotsupstuff]

this cake-trocity has gone too far, and you know you must do something about it.

like Gandalf facing down the Balrog in the Mines of Moria you plant the stopsign with a mighty roar

"You shall not bake!"

but as the sign contacts the ground you feel a *squish*, and you look down in horror to find that the sign itself was cake all along.

fucking spot-insert fic snippet in my inbox

#spot says stuff #horrid start to the day today lads... not even this question but yanno what i see first when i check my inbox to see what was sent in- #-durin the night? two fuckin transform€rs art request. some fucking cretin. cant read the inbox title apparently #i had tf requests open in JANUARY. SEVEN GODDAMN MONTHS AGO. for TWENTY FOUR HOURS. #sometimes i wish i had no sense of consequence n was a shit person so i could just spit slurs all over the place im so fucking mad #not even the swag of robot wizard sona can calm me im in some deep shit ah hell maybe the bird ask will instill some tranquility within me

[fecto-forgo]

sighhh always lost songs that sound so good.if they ever post a missing emo band song nobodys able to find i might actually die

#DUDE IF THAT HAPPENS SAY GOOD-BYE TO ME IM DISAPPEARING UNTIL I FIND THAT SHIT #TWENTY FOUR HOURS SEVEN DAYS A WEEK OF WATCHING OLD VIDEOS N LOOKING THROUGH ARCHIVES #ID STARVE IF NECESSARY. #analiceoriginal.txt

[ohninefive]

my entire fucking day is gone bc my mom doesn't know how to properly plan a move like bitch let's GOOOOOOO 😭

#em text #like i woke up #i went to her apartment to help her move and then it's just been stupid shit since #seven hours of bullshit i'm so tired bro like i was able to move in one day with like next to no issues and i was traveling twenty miles #and she's just moving WITHIN HER OWN TOWN why was it so hard bro?????

[deadkenndy]

holy frick I got a B, I thought I'd get a C or less.

#ooc. #TWENTY SEVEN HOURS... #probs more than that #60 saves lmao