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#we talked about Jack Kerouac
postnuclearophelia · 5 months
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“Sometimes during the night I'd look at my poor sleeping mother cruelly crucified there in the American night because of no-money, no-hope-of-money, no family, no nothing, just myself the stupid son of plans all of them compacted of eventual darkness. God how right Hemingway was when he said there was no remedy for life - and to think that negative little paper-shuffling prissies should write condescending obituaries about a man who told the truth, nay who drew breath in pain to tell a tale like that! ... No remedy but in my mind I raise a fist to High Heaven promising that I shall bull whip the first bastard who makes fun of human hopelessness anyway - I know it's ridiculous to pray to my father that hunk of dung in a grave yet I pray to him anyway, what else shall I do? sneer? shuffle paper on a desk and burp rationality? Ah thank God for all the Rationalists the worms and vermin got. Thank God for all the hate mongering political pamphleteers with no left or right to yell about in the Grave of Space. I say that we shall all be reborn with the Only One, and that's what makes me go on, and my mother too. She has her rosary in the bus, don't deny her that, that's her way of stating the fact. If there can't be love among men let there be love at least between men and God. Human courage is an opiate but opiates are human too. If God is an opiate so am I. Thefore eat me. Eat the night, the long desolate American between Sanford and Shlamford and Blamford and Crapford, eat the hematodes that hang parasitically from dreary southern trees, eat the blood in the ground, the dead Indians, the dead pioneers, the dead Fords and Pontiacs, the dead Mississippis, the dead arms of forlorn hopelessness washing underneath - Who are men, that they can insult men? Who are these people who wear pants and dresses and sneer? What am I talking about? I'm talking about human helplessness and unbelievable loneliness in the darkness of birth and death and asking 'What is there to laugh about in that?' 'How can you be clever in a meatgrinder?' 'Who makes fun of misery?' There's my mother a hunk of flesh that didn't ask to be born, sleeping restlessly, dreaming hopefully, beside her son who also didn't ask to be born, thinking desperately, praying hopelessly, in a bouncing earthly vehicle going from nowhere to nowhere, all in the night, worst of all for that matter all in noonday glare of bestial Gulf Coast roads - Where is the rock that will sustain us? Why are we here? What kind of crazy college would feature a seminar where people talk about hopelessness, forever?” ― Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels
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cowgurrrl · 8 months
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OKAY WAIT
late night talks with college!joel - how reader and him came to date. they were studying they got distracted talking about something and stayed up all night taking. now joel can get her off his mind. 😉
thank you harry styles <3
I’ll kiss you on the mouth dude I love this idea
UPDATE: I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT AND IF IT WASNT FOR MY MELATONIN KICKING IN I WOULDVE CONTINUED IT
She’s got a book for every situation
Pairing: college!joel x fem!reader
Summary: this ask
Author’s note: typed in tumblr and not proofread so god speed slayers 🫡
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, Joel being The Biggest Flirt, June your BA in English is showing, I think that’s it??
Working at the writing center on campus has its perks. You get unlimited printing, editing experience, and free coffee. Granted, it’s from a pot that had been simmering for several days but it’s free nevertheless. You’ve even managed to get in good with a few professors who would recommend their students come to you if they need help. Normally, they don’t take the advice until finals week and they all scramble into your office all at once. So, when a tall guy with curly dark hair walks into your desolate lobby, you’re a little surprised. He looks lost with a stack of papers piled in his hands and visibly relaxes when he sees you peek your head out.
“Hey there. Can I help you?” You ask, approaching him.
“Maybe. ‘M from Dr. Phillips class and she said to come to the writing center and ask for…” He trails off as he glances down at his paper before saying your name. “Said she might be able to help me with my paper.”
“Yeah, I think she can help you with your paper.” You say and hold out your hand to grab the red inked paper. It’s a paper on Kerouac who’s never been your favorite. In fact, you wrote an entire paper about how pretentious and privileged Jack Kerouac actually was but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that you know how to write a paper professors are looking for. You feel his eyes scanning your face as you read his thesis and try to ignore the blush creeping over your cheeks.
“I take it you’re the brilliant writer Dr. Phillips likes so much.” He says. You smile but don’t take your eyes off his words so you don’t get distracted by his presence.
“Dr. Phillips doesn’t like anyone.”
“She seemed to like you. Told me all about how smart you are,” he says. “Never mentioned the pretty part, though.” Finally, you look up and meet his gaze.
“Technically Dr. Phillips isn’t allowed to recommend one student editor over another. It’s against our policy and makes things a little fairer for everyone. So, can we keep this little secret between us…” you let your sentence end, realizing you never asked his name, and he holds out his free hand.
“Joel.” He says and you shake his hand.
“Well, Joel, I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to help you get your paper in order if you agree to not get me fired. Fair deal?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He says politely.
You spend the rest of the day walking Joel through essay structures, grammar mistakes, and thesis issues. His argument is strong but it needs to be more concise and punchier. When you try to explain it to him in those terms, he looks at you like you’re from Mars. Eventually, after a little too much flirty small talk, he tells you about his dad’s construction company and you learn to put flowery, over dramatic writing advice into clean, neat boxes that he understands completely. Unfortunately, you don’t end up finishing the actual essay before the center closes.
“You’re free to come back tomorrow morning so we can finish this.” You say as you gather your things and stuff them in your backpack. Joel stretches in his chair, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a gorgeous sliver of tan skin and you have to force your eyes away from the sight.
“D’you live far from here?” He asks, standing and throwing his own backpack over one shoulder. You waffle for a moment, unsure if you want to tell this almost perfect stranger where you live.
“Maybe a ten minute walk. It’s not bad for Austin.”
“Can I walk you home? Since I kept you so late,” he asks. Once again, you hesitate. Joel doesn’t seem like the typical frat guy you’ve come to fear since your time at school. He actually seems gentle and genuine. You turn the thought over a few more times before he throws his hands up. “‘S just an offer to make sure you get home safe. I’ll even carry your backpack for you if you want.” He offers and you smile. You take another second before handing him your heavy backpack. He slings it over his free shoulder and walks to the door to open it for you, keys jingling in your hand as you lock up the writing center for the night. The humid Texas night suffocates you the second you step out into the fading daylight.
“You always carry girls’ backpacks home?” You ask as you start walking in the direction of your apartment. Campus is mostly empty this time of night, everyone crawling home after class to pregame or cry or both. Squirrels patrol the sidewalks for any students who may want to hand them a piece from their bagel or sandwich. Someone honks their horn in distant standstill Austin traffic, and the sun slowly slides behind the Capitol. It’s peaceful.
“Only when I make ‘em read my shitty writing.” He says and you laugh.
“Your writing’s not bad, Joel. It’s actually very good. Essays are just the worst to write.”
“You like ‘em enough to work at the writing center.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I actually care about,” you shrug. “At this point, I’m a warm body with a clicky pen.”
“Woah there, Kafka. I think you’re a little more than that,” Joel laughs and you have to laugh too. Not only for the perfectly on brand joke but for the tone in his voice. The playful lilt makes your head feel fuzzy. “Alright then, if you don’t like essays and you don’t like Kerouac, what do you like? What do you wanna write?” He asks and you take a deep breath. It’s a question you’ve fielded more than enough times in your college career to know that not many people like your answer.
“I’m not sure yet. I like a little bit of everything.”
“Have you written anythin’ I would’ve read?”
“No,” you laugh. “Probably not.”
“Why’s that funny?” He asks and you shake your head.
“Because nobody wants to publish my work. It’s too… rough.”
“Rough?” He raises his eyebrows at you.
“Yeah. Publishers either want the next Great American Novel or nothing at all, and I am not next Great American Novel material.”
“How do you know?”
“Because nobody’s publishing me.”
“Maybe, you’re not lookin’ in the right places,” he says. “‘M just sayin’ someone as smart as you has to have somethin’ someone will wanna take.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go holdin’ your breath on me, cowboy.”
“Why do you do that?” He asks suddenly and you stop to look at him.
“Do what?” You ask.
“Try and play it off whenever someone compliments you.” He says with glaring honesty. It sets you back in your heels but you quickly recover.
“You’ve only known me for a few hours. How do you know I’m not just incredibly humble?”
“I guess I don’t,” he says. “Could I buy you a drink and figure it out?” It could be the way he, somehow, sees right through you already or the way his brown eyes look in the sunlight but you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach. You purse your lips together and dare a step closer to him.
“Tell you what, if you get an A on this paper, I’ll let you buy me a drink.” You say.
“And if I fail?” He asks and you shake your head.
“You won’t fail.”
“But what if I do?”
“If you do, you have to…” you search your brain. “Carry my backpack home for me for a week.”
“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am.”
“But I take it Joel Miller’s a bettin’ man.”
“See, smarter than you think.” He quips and you roll your eyes.
“One thing at a time, lover boy.”
Joel ends up getting the highest grade on his essay out of anyone in his class. Dr. Phillips commends his dedication to bettering his first draft and tells him to keep up the good work. “Whatever you did to change this, keep it up.” She says when she places his graded essay on his desk. When he presents the A to you at the writing center, all you can do is applaud him and smile.
“I told you you’d pass.” You say, poking at his firm chest.
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a little motivation.”
“Oh, yeah? What was that?”
“I think I was promised a date.” He says cheekily and you nod.
“You were, and my mama raised me to be a woman of my word,” you smile. “Jenny, do you mind closing up for me tonight?” You ask the receptionist and she shakes her head.
“Not at all, darlin’. Have a good night.” She winks at you when Joel turns his back and you stick your tongue out at her.
Say what you will about the writing center but you think a date with a broad, tall, handsome cowboy is the best thing that could’ve come out of that hell hole.
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redpanther23 · 18 days
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GREETINGS FROM MEOWTER SPACE.
In my travels I've come to find that I have an extremely strange family background. I'm going to be talking about it in some essays, which may contain descriptions of abuse and neglect. Here's the first one (it's long as fuck.)
On my mom's side, my great great grandmother was Creek. She was alive when I was born, and we briefly met. She was over 125 years old (nobody knows how old exactly.) The men on that side, who were all Scottish, died in their early 40s, except for my grandfather, who left when my mom was a kid. (I met him once, but my mom didn't want me to be around anyone Christian as a kid, so I never met anyone else on that side of the family.) I barely know anything about my Scottish ancestry, although growing up we called the native grapes "bullises," which is a Gaelic word for plums (they're also called muscadines, but I don't know what the truth is anymore.)
My family were subsistance farmers since before colonization, until my grandma became a schoolteacher. Our family moved to what would later be the Free State of Jones from what would later be Alabama, though I'm not sure why. During the Civil War, people in Jones county refused to fight, since nobody owned slaves in the area, and it was declared a Free State. My grandma lives in the Free State, in abject poverty with my uncle and his wife, who just scream at each other and beat their kids and neglect their 15 hoarded dogs all day. And if they have a problem with me saying so, they can eat shit and die.
My mom went to school for anthropology, and taught geology at the University of Southern Mississippi. She was extremely ashamed of how poor our background is, and I wasn't allowed to visit family much, although I wanted to very badly. I got to live with my grandma and my two adopted uncles who are around my age for a little while when we were kids, and they're some of the only positive childhood memories I have. I was extremely isolated and abused, especially by my step dad, who is currently (to my knowledge) employed as a programmer at a major video game company, as well as being a child molester starting when I was 2 or 3 years old (some of my earliest memories.) His name is Rigel Cameron Freeman. I ran away when I was 16 to live with my dad. When I told my mom what he did, she called me a liar and quit speaking to me, and that was the last I heard from her directly. So far as I know, she's been in mental hospitals pretty much since I left.
My dad's mom, whose first name was Ellen, was Ashkenazi Jewish, descended from a family who left Germany before the holocaust. She was a beatnik who was friends with Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsburg, and she had personal beef with Grace Slick over a boyfriend. My dad's first guitar was a gift from Cat Stevens, although this was something he was a little embarrassed about and only mentioned to me once. She was especially close friends with Tiny Tim. She was in California trying to break into acting, and almost got a part in the Godfather allegedly (actually all of this is alleged by my dad, I only met her once. He really didn't like her, so I don't think he would make it up.)
Then she met my grandfather, Bob Marshall, who was probably in California to do drugs (sacred family tradition.) I have reason to believe he was mostly Choctaw and possibly Irish, although on that side of the family it's traditional to claim to be "French or Italian" unless you're very drunk, and then it's okay to be Indian. They moved up to Alaska and lived on the Athabaskan reservation, where my father, Rogan Russell Marshall, was born on April 19. Later, my grandfather became a civil rights lawyer, and he defended the right for prisoners with AIDS to be desegregated (basically anyone with AIDS would die in solitary before that.)
My dad got into Emerson, dropped out because no one could afford textbooks, moved to Mississippi and started this crazy punk band, and then went ahead and wrote some movies anyway. My favorite is called the Attic Expeditions, it features Seth Green, Jeffery Combs, and Alice Cooper, and it's very trippy and fun. Unfortunately, he became disabled from the same autoimmune condition I have, ankylosing spondylitis, which, if you're born male, has much more severe symptoms (which is why I chose not to start testosterone.) AS used to be thought of as genetic, but has recently been linked to environmental pollutants, and I was likely exposed to something released by one of our many chemical factories (my uncle who abuses his kids and dogs is adopted, I mentioned earlier, grew up in my grandma's house when we were kids together, and has the same symptoms, and multiple people who lived on the same Hattiesburg street as my dad in the 90s were diagnosed.) He was living in Massachussetts in his mom's basement when he married my step mom, a public defense attourney, to get health insurance, and they lived in Miami for eight years together until she left him, shortly after I moved in.
After that, I had to drop out of high school, and I lived in hell for about seven years while I worked full time, usually multiple jobs, to take care of us, and all the cats he would bring home (as many as 13, but I ran my house like a cat ranch and it was kind of beautiful.) His physical and mental health was dogshit, he wouldn't stop doing hard drugs, and our relationship was so hopelessly abusive that I had to quit speaking to him as well. My feelings are complicated because, while I love and admire his work, and he taught me a lot of extremely valuable and positive things, the things he did to me would put him in prison if I believed in the law. I owe him everything, and at the same time, I almost wish we'd never met (I'll have to talk about that in another post as well, because it's a lot, and exremely heavy.)
My third parent, Scott Panther, I honestly don't know very well. According to local legend, and there are many about him, he's Scottish and Cherokee. He was close friends with my parents before I was born, helped start Rong (and probably came up with the best ideas for it.) He was my mom's boyfriend for a long time before I was born.
My mom met Scott and Rogan at a Rong show, I was conceived after a Rong show (Scott drove Rogan to her house), and the night I was born there was a Rong show. Scott was overdosing when my mom went into labor, and I was born at 4 AM while multiple tornadoes passed through town. Later that night, he was ready to play the show (hats off). No one told Rogan I was born, though in the full video of the show he mentions the other people in town who were born on April 18. Unfortunately, the video is probably lost - he gave all the Rong tapes to someone I don't know, and he didn't say who (he may have even been lying and threw them away.)
I inherited a lot of personality traits from Scott, as many people who know us have noticed, although I gained them not through direct teaching, or through any modern understanding of genetics. I've read that before colonization these kind of things were more common and better understood.
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divorcedfiddleford · 4 months
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ok last thing i SWEAR im gonna shut up after this but i just wanted to post michael rianda's outline for the jack kerouac wendy episode that i mentioned. it definitely needed a lot of work but i do like it in concept. image ID/transcript below the cut (warning it's LONG)
[image 1 ID: a screenshot of a tweet from michael rianda. it reads: "I Found a Lost Wendy Episode of Gravity Falls! We were always trying to crack a Wendy episode. This was my favorite. I love the teenage feel of wanderlust + getting excited about reading "On the Road." I love the backstory and flaw. It didn't work but I always liked it." end image 1 ID.]
[image 2 ID: a screenshot of michael rianda's outline. from here i will simply transcribe what he has written, only fixing typos that interrupt screen readers.
Episode 3. Wendy's "On the Road" This is the first in a series I did where I wanted to get to know a character better, and I started with that desire, and followed it through.
Cold Open: A woman answers a phone at a Wal-Mart type superstore place. Wendy's on the other end with Dipper and Mabel. She asks to be transferred to extension 234. Extension 234 connects them to the stores loudspeaker speakerphone. Wendy starts making joke announcements over the loudspeaker: Wendy: "Clean up to aisle 6, customers seem to be projectile vomiting all over eachother." Mabel and Dipper are laughing hysterically. The woman can't hang up on Wendy so she calls the cops. Wendy's still going. Soos asks if she could get in trouble for it. Wendy brushes him off. Then the cops show up. Stan sees Wendy arrested and swells with pride- "she HAS been learning from me (quietly weeps) I'm so proud."
Act One: Open on Manly Dan... by his age it must be the past- he teaches his boys to chop wood and they're all struggling. A huge tree drops in the distance. When the dust clears... it's little Wendy. He tells her to climb aboard his shoulders my little axechild! They happily gallop off. They love each other. It's very sweet. Cut to present day: A confrontational Manly Dan is bawling Wendy out for getting in trouble for the prank phone call. He tells her not to be so impulsive and do the first thing that pops into her head. Wendy insists Manly Dan is the most impulsive person she knows, besides the cops left her off with a warning. She brushes it off by saying she has to go to work.
B story. (Not sure what)
Wendy's reading On the Road at work. She's getting progressively more pumped about this book. Mabel asks what it's about. She explains it all and the kids are pumped. They're swept up in this romanticized teenage vision of hitchhiking on the open road. Stan has to leave for some secret portal reason and Wendy's like: "Let's do this right now!" (Secretly she just doesn't want to go home and deal with her dad.) "Let's do it let's just hitch hike. Leave town! Start a new life! Like Jack Kerouac!" Mabel is enamored.
End image 2 ID.]
[Image 3 ID: picking up from the transcript of the previous image:
Soos is wary of leaving the shop at first. But Wendy talks them into it. A couple of her friends come. Lee, Nate, Thompson, and Tambry. They get on the road and are immediately having fun. Things are looking up. Soos is worried. Wendy: "Easy Soos, we're in Oregon... it's just going to be a bunch of nice hippies..." Cut to a terrifying crazy red eyed driver without a face driving towards them. Act break.
Act Two: Wendy and Co are having fun just like you should on a road trip/vagabond adventure. They're stopping at mini-marts and getting lame snow globes- and making fun of them. Things are looking good. It's like a road movie. They all relate to each other about problems with their parents. Wendy doesn't say much but she has a flashback to her and her dad drifting apart.
Stan B Story.
The scary faceless driver comes by and offers them a ride. (they can't see his ghoulish faceless self) Wendy immediately says yes before anyone else can decide. People are like "I don't want to go hitch-hiking." "Wendy: It'll be fine! Come on- this is the adventure of our lives. People in those stories never said, no I'm scared." She makes them all go in. It's creepy and tense in the car. Eventually the guy reveals himself to be a horrifying ghoul face and locks the doors. They all go screaming into the distance.
Act Three: He takes them to the "End of the Road" Diner. Or you hang a lampshade on it and have it be Bob's Big Boy but with a David Lynch head on the outside. There are other people that get taken there and stay forever and are sort of these lost souls that are stuck there. From all different eras. It's like this terrifying Lynch-ian dark version of an idyllic road trip stop. Basically it's a Lynch parody fest with Soos and Mabel. Like these little creepy old couple are walking in fast motion out of a wall and Soos is pushing them back in. "Whadda you doin grandma and grandpa... get outta that mouse hole. Get back in that mouse hole you goofs." (Probably too insane) Anyway, everyone wants them to have "the special" and after you eat the special, you stay there forever. Wendy's really guilty that all this is her fault.
End image 3 ID.]
[Image 4 ID: the last of the transcript:
Wendy wants to impulsively react, but remembers her dad. She thinks carefully what to do and comes up with a plan- and chops down a tree on the driver. They all come home- relieved to be back in Gravity Falls, and her dad is chopping wood in the back- he's still mad at Wendy.
Wendy: Hey... Dad? Manly Dan: (grunts) Wendy: Can I chop some wood with you? Manly Dan just nods and waves her off. They fell the tree. Manly Dan: Haha! That's my little axechild! Wendy smiles and keeps chopping.
Something like that- obviously a lot of variables to be figured out- but I love the teenage feeling of this and love that it gives Wendy a story and a flaw. Still needs work to make her better but it's a start.
End image ID.]
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therealnightcity · 3 months
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[Subject Interview: Ares]
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NICKNAME: Ares is a nickname, actually. My full name is Arisa, but it's only ever that when I'm in trouble for something.
GENDER: Female
STAR SIGN: I'm a Tarus. (Bet you thought I was going to say Aries huh?) It says I'm dependable, and logical but also stubborn and set in my ways. I hope I'm the first, but I don't think I'm that stubborn, unless it's something that matters a lot. And that I'm attracted to people who make me feel safe and comfortable. I don't know who wrote this, but 'safe' isn't exactly in plentiful supply in Night City, or the Badlands.
HEIGHT: 6'3, (or 191cm for those of you across the pond)
ORIENTATION: Women please, not that I have anything again men. They're just not for me, thanks.
NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: I was born in the Badlands, but my mom was from Brazil, and my dad was Japanese. I never met him, he ran off before I was born. I never met him and yeah I wonder what he was like, but if he was a nice person, he'd have stuck around. I have two amazing mom's though, and I can't complain.
FAVE FRUIT: I love cantaloupe! Dakota grows these melons that are the best thing I've ever tasted. Watermelon too! Or cactus fruit (but its's even better as liquor, at least till the next morning.)
FAVE SEASON: Spring is my favorite--when it starts to get a little warmer, and the flowers start peeking out again. Everyone makes the Badlands sound like it's devoid of life, but they've never been to the places where the wildflowers have been growing back.
FAVE FLOWER: I've always liked California Fuchsia. It has these little red flowers, and soft green leaves, that look like they're brushed with frost. I try to take a sprig home with me when I find it.
FAVE SCENT: It'd have to be campfire smoke. Always reminds me of summer nights, and the smell of something good roasting over the coals. I also love the smell of oil--I'm sure it's not good for me, but it's familiar, and there's comfort in that.
COFFEE, TEA, HOT CHOCOLATE: Coffee for me, no milk or sugar, and preferably over a campfire.
AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: I try to get at least 8, but let's be honest, that's a goal and not a given.
DOG OR CAT PERSON: Dogs for me! Not that I don't like cats, but I've always grown up with dogs. I have two, Luna and Jiji (who's the size of a cat anyway, so I think he counts.)
DREAM TRIP: I'd love to go back to Colorado. We traveled through the area when I was younger, and I've always wanted to stay longer. Or further up the coast would be nice too. Anywhere with nature, or open spaces. The cities have always been a little too much.
FAVE FICTIONAL CHARACTER POET: I can't pick a single character (there's too many I like) so you get my favorite poet instad. I love Jack Kerouac--there's this passage--
“As I was hiking down the mountain with my pack I turned and knelt on the trail and said ‘Thank you, shack.’ Then I added ‘Blah,’ with a little grin, because I knew that shack and that mountain would understand what that meant, and turned and went on down the trail back to this world.”
I don't know what his world was like, but I wish I could have seen it. One with "beautiful blue sunshine sky" or "hundreds of miles of pure snow-covered rocks and virgin lakes and high timber".
NUMBER OF BLANKETS THEY SLEEP WITH: I sleep with one, if the dogs don't steal it in the middle of the night.
RANDOM FACT: I know how to fly a plane! Not a big one, but my mom taught me. She's...a little weird about it when you ask her where she learned, but people have their secrets, I guess.
---
Happy to talk again, if you ever feel like it. Sure you don't want a drink? I think I have a couple beers if you've got a while.
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thestylesindependent · 10 months
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We haven’t seen an artist like him since David Bowie
I’ve always considered myself to be somewhat of a music purist.
I still listen to albums from front to back, usually on an old record player I keep next to a collection of EPs that produces a lovely scratchy sound as original masterpieces from Revolver to The Queen Is Dead turn on its table.
Those albums aren’t just important because they are musical triumphs, they’re important because they had a profound impact on the industry and influenced cultural movements that impacted society as a whole.
Without the Beatles there is no Pixies, Nirvana or Oasis. Without The Smiths there is no Stone Roses, Radiohead or The Libertines. But what those bands did for women’s liberation, gay liberation, environmentalism and working class movements is equally profound. Both are bands whose popularity was supplanted by their artistry, giving them a unique position in the annals of music history.
For me, ever since the X Factor aired on our screens, fronted by Simon Cowell with his pearly white teeth, pristine T and Twickers jeans and shoes combination, it has been the absolute antithesis of all that.
The public flogging of people out to chase their dreams has seen huge audiences flock to the show over the years as they crown acts who manage to not butcher classic covers. As Michael Rosenberg (AKA Passenger) once put it, the show “murdered music” at the altar of a few “money-grabbing pricks”. It robbed us of an original Christmas Number 1 for decades until a countermovement propelled Rage Against The Machine to the top spot. And quite right, too.
But the show has, quite miraculously, given birth to a musician who, in my view, belongs in the same category as The Beatles, The Smiths and, pertainantly, David Bowie in status.
Harry Styles, formerly of One Direction fame, is quite obviously a popular bloke. He is about to perform in front of 90,000 people at Wembley for the fourth night after completing the highest selling Scottish stadium tour ever. He has 48.9 million followers on Instagram and his 2022 hit ‘As It Was’ was the most streamed Spotify song that year.
But his popularity should not be confused with his artistry.
Styles is more than just the hoards of screaming teenage fans and strings of celebrity endorsements we’ve come to know him for. He’s actually an icon both in music and in style, and increasingly an icon in modern movements of inclusiveness and self-worth.
During a concert in Houston, Texas, in 2018, he interacted with a ten-year-old boy in the crowd who had become overcome with emotion. Styles assured the young boy, “Crying is very manly. Being vulnerable is manly”. That is fucking classy, man.
His debut album artwork, which depicts the least tattooed area of his naked body half-submerged in a pastel pink bath, similarly conveys vulnerability, femininity, reflection, and intimacy, all of which are buzzwords for new youth movements that will only grow in acceptance and popularity.
When I look at his Love on Tour show I don’t see a teenage heartthrob. I see the Beatles. I look at his fashion and I see Bowie. I look at the messages he’s sending out to kids and I see Jack Kerouac and the Beat Generation. And I see the fact that nobody is talking about him in those terms as proof that he is actually woefully underrated.
Now bring on the hate…
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compacflt · 11 months
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my apologies if this is too simple or juvenile or personal a question but HOW did you become such a proficient writer? and do you have any tips or pointers to keep in mind? i know you must do a lot of reading and a lot of writing, but your skill is just incredible to me. your prose!! your cadence!! when we get around to talking about it is genuinely one of the best things i've ever read and i'd eat it if i could!!!
this ask was so sweet thank you!! rly made my day when i needed a boost. Hope you don’t mind i took a couple days to think about it cause no one’s ever asked me for writing advice before
idk how i became a “proficient” writer bc I really don’t write that much. something about my fic gave me brainworms and i went into overdrive but that’s…not my usual MO. which is why it’s weird for me too. admittedly i am studying english/creative writing as my second major at uni, but i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes you couldn’t learn by just reading and writing on your own. honestly i should’ve stuck with my IR major instead, i find structured cw classes a complete waste of time. but here are some little tips i thought of that would’ve helped ME:
This is more a “do as I say not as I do” because I’m really bad at habits like this, but keep a diary. You can write about the big events (went to the store, did homework, got laid etc.) but that’s boring—focus on the details (watched someone at west side market throw a glass bottle of olives at a rat, broke a pen and permanently stained my dorm desk and won’t get my deposit back which pissed me off because I move out in a week, this guy’s breath smelled like lemon pledge and it made me wonder if he drank window cleaner before kissing me etc.). Real life is really interesting! How can you write about interesting real life in an interesting way? It’s a good way to practice. You don’t have to do a big reflection at the end of the day or anything. It’s okay to jot down something you saw & then immediately forget about it. It’s the act of figuring out how to translate life into words that’s important
If you type, learn how to type FAST. This is just my experience, but I think typing faster makes your cadence, clause length, dialogue, IDEAS flow better/more naturally. We think in words/sentences, not letters.
This is a super lame tip that’ll make you roll your eyes, but read poetry. Poetry is all about how words/ideas/images sound and interact with each other. Don’t get hung up on one poet—im not really recommending any for precisely this reason—read poetry you love (for me, Ada Limón, Jack Kerouac, Frank O’Hara, ghazals etc) AND read poetry you hate (for me, Rupi Kaur, Emily Dickinson, Whitman, etc)! Read all genres you can get your hands on. (I think there are like “great poetry anthologies” you can find for free online if u don’t know where to start. Also you can’t go wrong with subscribing to/reading a variety magazine like the NYer. It’s pretentious but it exposes you to all kinds of weird topics, ways of writing about them, etc.) Figure out how certain combinations of words and punctuations make you FEEL, and why, and why the writer chose (or not) to make you feel that way. Figure out which literary sounds you like and which ones you don’t. For me, i figured out that I REALLY like alliteration, comma splices, zeugmas, the rule of three, and
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“he’s [verb]ing again… yeah compacflt’s characters are [verb]ing again… big shocker”
If you have an idea for a piece, figure out what it is you really want to get out of it—to say something? to experiment with a different style? to see your fav characters do something? to have fun?—and then figure out how, on a technical level, you should write to match that goal (this is where the poetry training comes in handy). If you’re just writing to have fun, don’t listen to any writing advice (incl. mine), because most of it is bullshit and over-generalized and will make you feel bad about yourself. Just take the advice that you think will work for what YOURE trying to write.
But if you’re writing to explore some political idea, then you should think about HOW to best write about that idea. What would be a convincing story/allegory/scene to engage with this idea vs. not convincing. I talk on this blog all the time about how disappointed I am that my very-adult-grown-up attempt to deal with the dynamic of “immovable internalized homophobia vs unstoppable falling in love anyway” is rendered a little childish/immature by some pretty unconvincing plot points like the characters buying a house together—I really should have considered how that plot point would interact with the characterizations I’d built already (hint: poorly). You can think of writing as kind of a military structure if that helps—you have strategy on the overarching campaign (plot/character growth/allegory/theme) level, the battle (scene that advances the above) level, and the tactical (sentence-level construction/syntax/wording) level. They all have to work together. If a scene is failing to properly engage with the idea you’re trying to convey, you’re losing a battle that will weaken the overarching campaign. Same thing if you choose a weird word in a sentence/write in a style or tone that’s weirdly out of place with your idea—it makes your engagement with the theme/idea less convincing. just try to be purposeful and consider your strategy on all levels of your work as you’re writing it!! At the very least it’ll make editing easier lol.
But then again when I read my own writing from just a couple months ago I cringe out of my skin, so like—just also accept that it’s a process and we’re all just making it up as we go along. Be proud of being embarrassed of your old work, because it means you’re growing. Own that shit. When I finished writing WWGATTAI i thought it was the best thing I’d ever written, and maybe it was. But since the day I finished working on it, it’s the worst thing I’ve written since then. That’s a great feeling. Not to be like writing grindset obviously bc it’s supposed to be fun—but if what you want is to get better at writing, the strategy is to WRITE a whole bunch of shit, and then own your embarrassment about how much you’ve grown since you started. And know you’re still always growing and learning. there should never be any “goals” where skills are concerned 👍🏽
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nix-whythisfilm · 1 year
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Movies on Writers and Artists
For the writers and artists. Might update it if I find or remember more...
Little women (2019)
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An absolute classic of literature, with Jo March being the prime writer in the film. The film covers the domestic life of five women where they all move into their own directions through the course f the story. They start out being artists and writers amongst themselves and then branch out due to various life circumstances. The people who do move into art successfully are Amy being the painter, Jo being the writer, and Beth being the pianist despite her early death. The movie has a strong message for women that they can endure and do anything they put their minds to.
Something I personally liked in the movie is her writing spree at the end. She was driven, by strong feelings and more. The scenes that added up to her writing were something really inspiring to have the writing flow. It often helps me to write whenever I rewatch the movie.
Kill your Darlings (2013)
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The film was based on real writers Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and William Burroughs through their journeys at Columbia University. This film seems like a pinnacle moment that went on to influence their lives during the modern and post-modern eras of literature. Most English Literature degrees around the world cover the Beat movement and Literature by at least one of these writers. In my undergraduate degree we had the poem "Howl" and studied the Beat movement and the spirit it encompassed.
The movie I felt was incredibly inspiring. It hits like a motivational speech, making you want to grab a piece of pen and paper, making you itch to write something and be a part of the history of English Literature. Their stories are something that people would love to call fictional and completely reckless. But they had a point, they made it a point to establish that writing necessarily does not have to be formatted and traditional. They wrote something revolutionary and made sacrifices that were personal. The movie itself stuck a personal chord in me.
Dead Poets Society (1989)
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The movie is obviously very old compared to the movies that are easily watched by the majority of the audience. The film, old as it is, is bound to a certain level of ancient traditions and beliefs that may be considered old-fashioned. There was a time when it faced quite a few allegations that it was misogynistic and male chauvinistic. I will not completely disagree, but it does have a spirit that can be enjoyed without being entirely conscious of the offensive remarks that sound mild. The film itself is a story about a group of boys in a boarding school and an inspiring teacher who wants to awaken the humanity in his students while fighting against the norm of monotonous career paths.
The movie is a personal favourite, considering that I came from a family struggling to accept that I was a student of the Humanities. It had a very important lesson that I often want to preach to everyone around me, with the majority of people I know very casually insulting and degrading artists and writers. It is a hard choice of career, and most struggle to achieve a balance in their life while also contributing to the field of Literature. With so many people so close-minded, a person of humanities is often ridiculed for having an open mind despite it being something helpful, rather than not.
Colette (2018)
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The film is based on the true story of the writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette in France. The woman was talented in more ways than one, and the film itself speaks about her journey as a writer and mostly through her marriage with Henry Gauthier-Villars. The story talks of a harsh relationship where he often forced her to write for him, along with his other faults, while she only endured them and even went along with his schemes to be the power couple they both quickly became.
Something remarkable in the film is her fiery spirit. Kiera Knightly has played her part excellently, not sure how accurate it might be to the actual story. The film moves in a quick fashion, showing her attitude of taking everything for the better and quickly adapting to any situation she is in and making the best out of it. Her rage and her various frustrations, she somehow always channelled into something she can present to the world and profit from it. That itself was what made the movie so memorable to me.
Frida (2002)
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This film stars Salma Hayek and many other significant actors of that time. While the film covered the life story of Frida Kahlo, it also shows much about the working of the world around artists and how they are spun into the web of politics. This film spoke a lot about how people are involved in politics or drama, casually.
The artist itself was an enigma to the audience and the world with her indomitable spirit and being a force of nature in her life. She had tragedies in her life since the beginning but they never stopped her from doing what she wanted or from experiencing her life just like any normal person would. Her art, which was discovered relatively late in her lifetime, became a technique and style of its own. The film also shows how her life was full of scandal and much like a cinematic story.
The Guernsey Literary and the Potato Peel Pie Society (2018)
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This film was adapted from the book of the same name, based on studies on the German occupation of the island of Guernsey. The story is about the life of a writer Juliet who wrote about an artist in the times of war. While struggling to live in the city after having been a victim of the war herself, she constantly is shown to be out of place in social gatherings. And while a majority of artists in this industry are shown, and even are, introverts, Juliet here is an extrovert who has grown weary of society.
The film moves into the story quickly, showing the residents of the island becoming penpals and acquaintances of Juliet. There she tries to learn more about the effects of the invasion on the people who lived there. But somewhere in between the journey, she finds her home. The movie was truly enlightening on how the writers of different times fared against the tides of the world and made their way in their life.
Crimson Peak (2015)
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Also a book adaptation, Crimson Peak is an extraordinary film directed by Guillermo Del Toro and starring Jessica Chastain and Tom Hiddleston. The movie has intense colouring and a very heavy presence of music and dramatic mystery. The film has some gore, and maybe some bad CGI with horror elements. But it is a good watch, and one with something that keeps you curious to keep watching.
It's interesting how this film too shows another writer, the main character, who is the daughter of a self-made businessman in America after the wars. The story moves quickly in the obvious direction of her falling in love with the European man who is looking for investors. But mystery surrounds him and his sister, and her father questions his integrity. The film itself is a visual treat with a strong plot.
Luckiest Girl Alive (2022)
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The film, in the beginning, is a pain to watch. It drags and feels pointless, her inner monologue is borderline creepy and feels like so much drama. It surprised me that it was based on a book. But the more you watch the film, the more the pieces fall together. It is a challenging piece of media that expects the audience to have the patience and open mind to completely accept it. Mila Kunis has a very unique role in this, where she keeps switching her personalities.
The film is gripping and sounds so normal in the beginning, but the more we watch the more the false layers fall off. It is one of the slices of life movies based on a true story and strikes a chord among so many people around the world. It speaks of an experience that is so intimate but also something that leaves you so distant and unfeeling for yourself. It surely is an excellent watch. The only thing that anyone needs to watch out for is the assortment of swear words.
Hymn of Death (2018)
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The mini-series is based on the stories of real-life artists and writers. The film is made in Korean but has a considerable amount of Japanese in it. The story covers the life of the playwright Woo-Jin and the soprano Shim Deok during the Japanese Occupation of Korea. They both meet in an institution in Japan where they have gone to pursue their studies, which is where they both fall in love.
As with any other situation, their lives get complicated quickly with their personal situations getting entangled and leaving them with some hard choices to make. The series itself has a streak of melancholy throughout while also showing the lives of the artists in that era and the culture. It is interesting to watch how some things exist across cultures and affects people despite their race, age, gender, or the society they live in.
Our Beloved Summer (2021)
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This series has an extremely strong bias in my mind for the artist's work that has been put in for the direction. It stars Choi Wooshik who starred in the Oscar-winning film 'Parasite', and the character is nothing like the one he has played before. The story covers the life of the artist before and after ten years, the difference it had in his life and the romance of his high school. It is a specific genre of romance, comedy, and mild drama that is appealing for a comfortable watch.
Their personalities are a treat to watch as they mingle and spar over words. The series shows the flow of life that is easy and fulfilling though it might not always have everything we want. The protagonist is an easy-natured man who has been the same since he was a boy, but it also speaks of the way an artist thinks. It necessarily does not mean all artists are the same, but I was much like him when I was growing up. It is beautiful to watch, so many relationships blossoming through the journey, not devoid of pain and breakups.
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souryogurt64 · 1 year
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hi everyone about six months ago i wrote this essay about take this to your grave and jack kerouac and i dont know if its a coincidence and just happened this way or if those two things were related. but the literal exact next day my zine got this email saying EMBARGOED in huge massive red letters which means dont tell anyone until youre supposed to or you get sued. and it took us like actually three days of rereading it to understand what this email was saying because it was so insane our brains kept bluescreening every time we tried to read it
so anyway once we finally figured it out . for some fucking reason i dont understand my zine got asked to write about the launch of pete wentz and mark hoppus' record label which was really really exciting for me personally for obvious reasons. i am pretty sure we were the smallest publication to cover it by a LOT so it was really nice they trusted something so small and independent with something actually serious alongside actual real publications like variety and radio stations. it meant a lot because ive worked with 200 bands and no one had ever demonstrated that level of confidence and trust in my zine before lol and this was something like actually serious lmao
but anyway thats not the important part, the important part is that my zine interviewed the first band signed twice (once in january and once in october) in addition to writing about the label launch in may and we got to go to their show and my cohost photographed it. and we chatted with them for a bit over pizza afterwards and i wrote an eight page editorial piece.
this happened a little while ago and ive kind of hinted at it a couple times but i didnt feel ready to share it here right away. but i feel ready now! anyway i genuinely think the band makes really good music and i really enjoyed the first interview we did and thought they were really fun to talk to and seemed genuinely really dedicated and intelligent.
and in my article i made sure to mention petes shrooms haha. and jxden whoever the fuck that is apparently hes famous is liked the instagram post so <33333 everyone go read it and look at the photos
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aestheticvoyage2024 · 18 days
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Day 70: Sunday March 10, 2024 - "Under Market Lights"
This post contributed by Audrie as she ships off into a six day work week this week.
The come and go and ebb and flow of this life has upward and downward swings.  The best part of all of it are William’s warm hugs, and wet kisses (sometimes even his well intended booger wet kisses).  As a family and as partnering parents of a terrific toddler we have been in the thick of some tricky rapids along our life river these last few weeks.  Some emotional developments in William, some illness with cold and flu season, and on the heels of jury duty duties, and one car choreography, its been interesting and pretty tiring around the Finca.  And then there is my work, and the constant come-go-nature of this two headed beast.  I've been pretty sideways with my feelings about Southwest these last 6-12 months, and now even more upside down and feeling buried with the burdens of the big dramas at Boeing, and some sleepless nights wasted on things bigger than my control that nonetheless greatly impact me, and my loveliest loved ones deeply.  So my home time spent with my 3 boys is always paramount in joy — joy that comes on a simple Sunday night, drenched in gratitude for our market light lit patio, the perfect AZ springtime breeze, sweet snuggles from my boisterous little boy, and perhaps more than anything, gratitude for the loving care of an adoring partner that mindfully captures these moments, attends to me when I’m depleted, and does so much for our family to keep the wheels on this wild life train rolling forward.  We had some really delicious turkey burgers tonight made by the daddio of the patio, and I just found myself in awe of the love I’m always surrounded by when I’m near and even when I must also be far away.    
Song: Carly King - Mountains Alone
Quote: "Get yourself a hut house not too far from town, live cheap, go ball in the bars once in awhile, write and rumble in the hills and learn how to saw boards and talk to grandmas you damn fool, carry loads of wood for them, clap your hands at shrines, get supernatural favors, take flower-arrangement lessons and grow chrysanthemums by the door, and get married for krissakes, get a friendly smart sensitive human-being gal who don't give a shit for martinis every night and all that dumb white shit in the kitchen." ~ Jack Kerouac
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palmtreepalmtree · 1 year
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Alright charmers, farmers, and idiots. It's a brisk 60 degrees in Los Angeles so don't forget your booties, because it's coooooooold out there. And I'm back with another edition of...
The Worst Movie on Netflix Right Now™
This week's feature was by request of @anasandorpygoscelis. I think. I mean, I'm pretty sure there was a post somewhere. Anyhow, on this marvelous Monday, we're doing...
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The Noel Diary. This is a movie starring Justin Hartley (This is Us) and Barrett Doss (Grey's Anatomy) and it's directed by Charles Shyer who is best known for writing and directing some rom-com classics from the late 80s and early 90s like Baby Boom and Father of the Bride.
The film is based on a book by Richard Paul Evans who apparently has a whole series of "Noel" books, so he's really the smartest person involved in this whole production because my bet is this dude is CASHING in on the whole Christmas concept (to the extent that any writer anywhere can cash in on anything, but you know what I mean).
THE PLOT
Alright, so this movie is about a best-selling novelist, Jacob Turner, who returns to his childhood home to handle the affairs of his recently deceased estranged mother when he meets Rachel, who has come to his mom's house in search of her birth mother. ...don't worry, it's revealed early on that her mom was the nanny, so there's no weird Folger's bro/sis thing happening here. But that's the plot.
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Anyhow, my favorite part of this fucking movie was how the filmmaker actually used visual storytelling to communicate characters. Like for once we actually get some thoughtful set design - as in woooooooow this is actually trying to show me something other than generic-American-handsome man!
But like, siiiiiiiiiiiigh, nice effort, but did you have to make this dude out like some sort of Esquire magazine wet dream? As the camera pans-and-fades around his Moody Bachelors Anonymous pad, it lingers just long enough to let your eye catch a few key things: books by Bob Dylan and David Sedaris, a bulletin board with handwritten notes and black-and-white travel photos (the Eiffel tower obvs), multiple antique typewriters (an Underwood), an Edgar Allen Poe funko, a record player, and a stack of LPs with the only record showing being Nina Simone. Like... daaaaaaamn. This is the guy I wanted to date when I was twenty and was still trying to be a writer.
And of course his house is this beautifully furnished mid-century, eames-chair-sporting, ready for its Vogue walk-through drool-property. Can I just stop at this point in the movie? Job done. You've sold me. He's hot, rich, and lives in a gorgeous house with real actual art and a cute dog (that's just big enough to not be a small dog but not so big it's cliche). Like... FUCK. OH and then he tunes an actual transistor radio to... you guessed it... the local jazz station. Dating this guy is like dating an OC moodboard on tumblr.com.
This whole scene is only bested by the next set-decorating moment where he returns to his childhood bedroom: Drugstore Cowboy poster (unframed), basketball and football trophy (both???), Larry Bird signed jersey (framed), French New Wave poster (framed????), stack of miscellaneous board games with TRIVIAL PURSUIT GENUS I on top, another antique typewriter, bedside reading featuring On the Road by Jack Kerouac and A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway (like, of course), and another bulletin board with various concert ticket stubs.
Fuck, I need a cigarette.
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Honestly, that's it, that's all I want to talk about. An hour and 40 minute movie and I'm done with it 12 minutes in. He's THE MOST INTERESTING MAN IN THE WORLD. This dude is too perfect. No amount of trauma makes this guy suddenly undateable. He's an unbelievable character not because we didn't get enough detail, but because the detail is just too perfect. Jesus, he's walking out of a Restoration Hardware catalogue dragging a brass telescope behind him and asking if you want to look at the stars (I do).
Anyhow, here's the thing about this movie - it's actually pretty well done, but FUCK it's really fucking sad. Unlike most Christmas movies that look like they spent too much time at fucking Hobby Lobby, this movie sort of side-swipes Christmas. Like all this shit is happening, and oh yeah, it's Christmas time. This is good because it avoids the cliches, but it's bad because ISN'T THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A CHRISTMAS MOVIE!?!? WHERE IS SANTA!? You can't have an entire Christmas romance movie and the only comic relief is on the dog. That's too much pressure for a pup!
Anyhow, one of my common gripes about these movies is that by the end of the movie you want to think the couple belongs together. The way this movie tries to sell you on it is essentially two key details: Rachel (the love interest) has a tattoo of Billie Holliday on the inside of her forearm and once Jacob starts playing a jazz classic on the piano (OH YEAH HE PLAYS PIANO TOO) and Rachel immediately starts singing, beautifully, along. Seeeeeeeee? They're fucking perfect for each other.
Rachel is also an interesting character in a too-perfect sort of way (she's a language major who speaks fluent Italian on screen HOTTTTTTTT!). It's still a moodboard it's just got black and white photos of Italy on it instead of France. I bet her childhood bedroom has a framed poster that says ITALIAN NEW WAVE. Annnnnyhow... are they perfect for each other?
Nah, they're still not. This entire movie is a lot of sorting through some fucked up childhood trauma and I think that would bond most people. But do they belong together? Naaaaaaah.
Rachel shows some insane amount of patience for the men in her life in this movie and I don't really want to get into the plot too deeply (even though it's a little fucked) cause it's too fucking sad. Jacob apparently suddenly decides he no longer wants to be a permanent bachelor and he's all in for Rachel and we don't know really why. But like... sure, I GUESS.
If your jam is sad Christmas vibes, then this is the movie for you. These two live sadly ever after.
Last note: Bonnie Bedelia is in this movie and she is as radiant as ever.
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Where is her movie? Bonnie Bedelia is the nosy neighbor artist next door and I have never felt so in need of a bi rom-com starring her. LET'S GO, NETFLIX. FUCK THIS SAD SHIT. GIVE ME HOT BONNIE.
Alright, that's all I got.
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postnuclearophelia · 1 year
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Sometimes during the night I'd look at my poor sleeping mother cruelly crucified there in the American night because of no-money, no-hope-of-money, no family, no nothing, just myself the stupid son of plans all of them compacted of eventual darkness. God how right Hemingway was when he said there was no remedy for life - and to think that negative little paper-shuffling prissies should write condescending obituaries about a man who told the truth, nay who drew breath in pain to tell a tale like that! ... No remedy but in my mind I raise a fist to High Heaven promising that I shall bull whip the first bastard who makes fun of human hopelessness anyway - I know it's ridiculous to pray to my father that hunk of dung in a grave yet I pray to him anyway, what else shall I do? sneer? shuffle paper on a desk and burp rationality? Ah thank God for all the Rationalists the worms and vermin got. Thank God for all the hate mongering political pamphleteers with no left or right to yell about in the Grave of Space. I say that we shall all be reborn with the Only One, and that's what makes me go on, and my mother too. She has her rosary in the bus, don't deny her that, that's her way of stating the fact. If there can't be love among men let there be love at least between men and God. Human courage is an opiate but opiates are human too. If God is an opiate so am I. Thefore eat me. Eat the night, the long desolate American between Sanford and Shlamford and Blamford and Crapford, eat the hematodes that hang parasitically from dreary southern trees, eat the blood in the ground, the dead Indians, the dead pioneers, the dead Fords and Pontiacs, the dead Mississippis, the dead arms of forlorn hopelessness washing underneath - Who are men, that they can insult men? Who are these people who wear pants and dresses and sneer? What am I talking about? I'm talking about human helplessness and unbelievable loneliness in the darkness of birth and death and asking 'What is there to laugh about in that?' 'How can you be clever in a meatgrinder?' 'Who makes fun of misery?' There's my mother a hunk of flesh that didn't ask to be born, sleeping restlessly, dreaming hopefully, beside her son who also didn't ask to be born, thinking desperately, praying hopelessly, in a bouncing earthly vehicle going from nowhere to nowhere, all in the night, worst of all for that matter all in noonday glare of bestial Gulf Coast roads - Where is the rock that will sustain us? Why are we here? What kind of crazy college would feature a seminar where people talk about hopelessness, forever? — Jack Kerouac, Desolation Angels
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rustbeltjessie · 11 months
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from Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Bill Morgan & David Stanford)
Allen Ginsberg [n.p., New York, New York?]
to Jack Kerouac [n.p., New York, New York?]
after May 18, 1948
Monday Night : 1:30
Dear Jack:
I got your letter Sat. evening—I had been in Paterson for a few days. I will be in this weekend (in N.Y.).
You seemed overly proud that it was “ancient material.” What I was saying   in part (lesser part) was that it was not recognizable (to me in your prose) but but but. This is not the same old maturity that I (as [Bill] Gilmore) have been talking about before. This is something I wouldn’t have the slightest idea if Gilmore would understand and don’t care much. But you are right, perhaps it’s under my nose in you. This is a kick I don’t want to continue.
School is over and I have been reading Dante, which I have found very inspiring. I finished the Divine Comedy during the term, and am reading books including The Vita Nuova (New Life) [by Dante Alighieri]. I dreamed up an enormous tentative plan tonight, which I will tell you about. My interest in reading is the profit by other men’s experience. I sometimes find (only “lately) authors talking directly to me, from the bottom of their minds. I think I am going to write a sonnet sequence. I want to read Petrarch and Shakespeare, Spencer and Sidney, etc. and learn about sonnets from beginning to end, and write a series on love, perfectly, newly conceived. I conceived the whole idea all at once seeing the first word in a title embedded in a page of the Vita Nuova: my poems have always been prophesied by their titles. That is, a poem often has a single “transcendent, personal, and serious idea” behind it, as a novel—a single image. I want to celebrate my “lovers” in all various manners, intellectually, wittily, passionately, raptly, nostalgically, pensively, beautifully, realistically, “soberly,” enthusiastically, etc., every possible perception fitted out in inwrought, clear, complex stanzas—including the one as yet undefined or un-stated mood, or better, knowledge, that I have and that at times you are aware that I have, no matter how silly I get. The title of this is: “The Fantasy of the Fair.” Just repeat it aloud, it carries the whole idea in it. One of the major ideas is the dynamic sense of “Lucien’s “Face” which you once propounded to me and which I half understood at the time. I want to formulate it poetically, if possible as the end of the poem, but without any private or subjective, or N.Y. idea of L.I. [Long Island] use the name to bridge at the moment. I am talking about humanity, and beginning to try to write in eternity.
I have been enduring a series of troublesome dreams lately about Neal [Cassady]. Your notice comes at about the crisis of them, though it is not a passional crisis and is accompanied by no tempests of intellect. I wonder what he is doing in his eternity. I feel so far away from people, without loneliness, that I am rather happy now. [ . . . ]
I’m not worried about the theory of writing, I am only just vering the practice. The Doldrums are antiquated. For that reason I am sending poetry out for the first time. I got my first rejection slip from Kenyon; a note from J.C. Ransom, editor and poet: “I like very much this slow, iterative, organized and reflective poem. At times it’s like a sestina. Thank you for sending it. But still I think it’s not “for us exactly. I guess we need a more compacted thing.”
I had sent them “Denver D. [Doldrums]” but, as luck would have it, I have some compacted things around that he will get next week.
Your season sounds beautiful. I particularly wish I had seen Lucien so drunk. Make what you want out of that.
No, it sounded like you. (Some one is singing a ditty “So please pass a little piece of pizza”) and it makes me wish I were alive, that’s why I can’t say any more.
Everybody’s fine, but it’s sweet, beautiful, but not so dumb, this world. Lucien means dumb because we don’t know what we know. I mean, won’t admit how much we know.
White said that Scribner’s rejected you, too, just like the goil. Can I see the novel [The Town and the City]? But don’t worry, it really don’t mean a thing. That’s my opinion.
Grebsnig
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lesbian-i-ching · 4 months
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book ask! 6, 10 or 11 just fave book from this year, 24, 3 but it doesnt have to be top 5 <3 just the books you found the most fascinating this year.
Hi!❤ those are a lot of questions and sadly i didn't read as much as i wanted to this year😭 i'll try to do my best shshjs
6: classic horror. I've had on my nightstand the tales of terror by edgar allan poe since july, but i read just 2 short stories😅 i'll have to finish it someday.
10: i am not one who follows new releases tbh. To me a novelty may be written in 1960s and i choose my books based on vibes mostly, so i've not been updated on new releases xhsjjs
11: this is kinda linked to #10, because i was actually talking about desolation angels by jack kerouac. There are a few slurs and it is thinly coated in typical period misogyny. However. I never catched a hint of malice and he writes about life in a all consuming way, touching every aspect of individual interiority. And he writes about thebothers, friends or not, in a very "man, we are on the same shitty boat" way. Sometimes his style might seem confusing but it just reflects thoughts for what they are and as they happen. Like the 1920s stream of consciousness but way less pretentious and that's why i love it. I can't wait to read on the road!!!
24: i dnf pollyanna. My god it was unbearable. I was 14-15 at the time but with every word i died inside dhdhjsjs
3: this year, well, as if it wasn't clear enough hehehehe... ofc "desolation angels" by kerouac, "howl, kaddish and other poems" by allen ginsberg and mehhh, the list stops there sadly. On the contrary, i found the other books i read underwhelming (poe and nôtre dame de paris). I can't say more bcs, as much as i love reading, i am actually a slow reader 😅😅 but veeeery slow
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divkazkdovikde · 5 months
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(autumn in the city, random photos from the last few weeks)
saturday, 21. october 2023
i’m home, came back for the weekend to my hometown after a few weeks, to recharge batteries a bit, (to wash my laundry, since we still don’t have a washer at the flat), to breathe the clean air of the countryside for a change, to have a quiet night and a dreamless sleep
because i had a rough week or so, and it got bad in my head, i need to write down a few of the good things,
events:
catch-ups with my friends over the weeks: the boys, anna, jakub, terezie, karolina
5sos concert (12.10) (the best concert ever) (they were absolutely amazing and i’m so glad i impulsively bought the ticket)
signal festival prague (14.10) (so cool, met new people)
louis tomlinson concert (19.10) (he played chicago? oh my god?!) (still not over it) (the best concert ever, emotionally)
things i’ve treated myself with:
ring and earings at vietnamese sapa market (so pretty!)
five new books (i’m supposed to be on a book buying ban, but eh, ehmmm), the picture of dorian gray and selected plays by oscar wilde, diaries and the complete stories by franz kafka, and lastly, on the road by jack kerouac
salmon slices on sale (yummy)
steak tartare (tataráček) and beer at the pub near our flat with my flatmate after a long monday (the czech aesthetic, you wouldn’t get it)
bought me a louis tomlinson merch tshirt at the concert (so cool, my little bro approved)
fluffy scarf
honorable mentions:
my mate nomi, love her for always being down to skipping useless classes with me (it’s always like “u wanna skip?” “do u even have to ask?”) (or texting “not going to the first class, hold me a seat for the next one?” “not going either” “lmao nice”)
the phonecall with my little brother, when i helped him fry an onion for meat dumplings and he still buggered it at first, and before he finally managed it, i catched a bus from public laundry, had a 10’ ride, then walked to the flat, and even managed to hang the wet laundry (made my day, truly)
my flatmate kaja, for being my partner in crime, our texts when we’re only in the next room, our late night coffees at the kitchen, and for our understanding for each other because we’re the same mentally ill bitches
the one spliff with my best friend, dunno what we put in it other than normal, but it was goodah
fics i need to recommend because holy fuck:
written on the heart by who_la_hoop
pathological people pleaser by rweoutofthewoods
(and basically whatever fic those two wrote)
current songs on the loop:
ghost of you and take my hand by 5sos
quick reminder: to take care of yourself, to talk about your feelings, to try to enjoy the moments even when you’re not feeling great, to always try to get up from the bet in the morning, because it’s worth it, you’re worth it. and it’s hard, but it’s okay to struggle, you’re not alone.
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also feel free to slide into my asks!
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afreakingdork · 6 months
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Miss dork, if you think about it, even if you have headphones on, Donnie would still hear everything, same with reader singing in the shower (I am a shower singer alas, and a loud one, so I just shower when I know I'm alone and have my music super loud while I scream trying not to have a voice crack (I fail)). But like, if I needed to know what two people in the distance are arguing about would he tell me? I need to know. It's just so fun to hear conversations of random people on the streets.
Also I have a question, will Casey ever appear in weak spot? (Either Cassandra Casey jr or both I'm just curious, but if it's a secret or something ignore it <3)
Anyway have a good whatever time it is Miss dork <3
-formal anon
Yes! Also heyo, Formal! This is actually mentioned in chapter 9! If you recall, Donnie explains to reader what people at the other dinner tables are talking about when he's going into more detail about his senses. For my writing style, things are happening, even if they aren't 'onscreen' so to speak. Basically what that means is if something is important, you will 'see' it happen as in, it will occur in the story. If something has already happened and the characters liked it, you can assume that is going to happen again because they are still living their lives even when we don't see them. These scenes just don't serve the greater narrative and are a bit redundant! So yeah, he'd totally tell if if he thought it'd be interesting or you asked.
No one has asked me about Casey yet, but that is something I've thought about (not enough, need to work on it). I'll be keeping a buttoned lip on that one just in case for the time being. Junior, however, is not planned to appear in Weak Spot, but I do know what he's up to! After saving the world, he did some growing up and adjusting in New York for many years before he was urged by the family to go out and travel. He went on a very On the Road by Jack Kerouac type trip and ended up doing community college out west. I hear he does minor league hockey and visits home on the holidays!
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