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tsyvia48 · 6 months

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Author & Mensch: Reflections on the impact of @neil-gaiman on my life, in essay and doodle

As a woman of a certain age, I am a well-practiced overthinker. Nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual, the names have been biting or praise depending on who wielded them. They’re all true, and I embrace them.

In the early days of adulthood, when I was a wee 20-something overthinking nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual (20+ years ago), I became deeply interested in image and text and text-as-image. While friends were watching and arguing over Survivor, I was obsessing over Peter Greenaway’s The Pillowbook and Prospero's Books and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. (To this day my copies of the Sandman graphic novels and the English translation of The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon are proudly displayed on the good bookshelves—you know, the ones I want people to peruse.)

Sandman isn't merely good storytelling and good art, it teases at some of the fundamental questions to which my religion-major heart was consistently and reliably drawn. It modeled a way of rendering the questions—and suggested answers—I would never have imagined on my own.

In those days, I created an artist's book: an altered gift edition of Hamlet. I explored Ophelia’s femininity and the inevitability of her break with her mental health, caught as she is between Hamlet and her father. I imagined her story if she’d had true agency. I investigated the way art (fan art?!) had shaped my understanding of the play and my relationship to it. I layered in my story—my resonance and dissonance with hers—and my art, along with images of famous and not-so-famous paintings of Ophelia. I proudly named Greenaway and Gaiman as influences.

I imagined myself an artist. And, truthfully, I suppose I was one.

I read Good Omens back then, too, delighting over the religious tropes and subversions, the humor, and the fundamental faith in humanity that shone through.

In the two decades since then, below the din of “responsible” choices (that have mostly moved me away from imagining myself an artist) there has been a melody quietly bringing me comfort, shifting my perspective, and reminding me who I want to be. When I stop to listen for and name the music, I realize much of it generates from Neil Gaiman.

The Graveyard Book gave me comfort and hope as a new parent.

Ocean at the End of the Lane reminded me of the layers and the depths⏤the archetypes and metaphors⏤present in everything around me, if I am willing to seek them.

Neil’s anecdote about meeting Neil Armstrong has been a talisman against imposter syndrome. Or, more precisely, it has been a permission slip for forgiving myself when the imposter syndrome inevitably surfaces.

The episode of Dr Who he wrote (“the Doctor’s Wife”) changed the way I understand the entire Dr Who experience before and since.

Lucifer (tv), which his work inspired, gave me joy, comfort and distraction through a tough time in my life.

When, a few years ago, I realized he is Jewish, I had that swelling of pride and resonance that I always get when someone I admire shares that identity with me.

And now there’s the Good Omens tv series. It has opened something in me I didn’t realize was closed. Crowley and Aziraphale are helping me better understand myself, and love, and gender, and storytelling, and, believe it or not, Torah. I am writing again for the first time in ages. I'm drawing more often and with more joy than I’ve known maybe since childhood.

I’ve been getting back into my gratidoodle practice, drawing and writing what I’m grateful for. And when I decided to add Neil Gaiman’s face and some words about my appreciation for his work to my sketchbook, I realized he’s brought me full circle.

Text and image and text-as-image + Neil Gaiman + story is an old constellation for me. And once again, I find my thoughts dancing, shifting, blossoming to the quiet melody of (one of?) the greatest storyteller(s) of this generation.

And now that I am actively engaging with other Gaiman fans, I see how responsive and kind and encouraging he is to those of us who love his work, and his name is permanently etched on my heart: a benefactor, a teacher, a role model.

How satisfying and fitting that such a powerful and resonant voice, miraculously, thankfully, beautifully, also seems to be a genuine mensch.

B”H (thanks to God) that I am alive at the same time as such a one.

#I didn't realize I was going to write AND draw when I started this #but I felt I needed both #I wish I had a flatbed scanner #this photo doesn't do it justice #there's greater nuance in the color in person #Stories matter #Art matters #like, really matters #Neil Gaiman is a gift to this world #Good Omens #Crowley and Aziraphale #Ocean at the End of the Lane #The Graveyard Book #Neil Armstrong and imposter syndrome #The Doctor's Wife #So grateful for tumblr

#crowley x aziraphale #good omens #neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen #ineffable husbands #jewish good omens #aziracrow #jumblr #my art #ocean at the end of the lane #the graveyard book #the doctor's wife

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timetravellingkitty · 1 year

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SAPPHIC ARTISTS TO LISTEN TO

(instead of writing your 69th essay about how Taylor Swift is a closet lesbian)

Starting off with my holy trinity:

Rina Sawayama (she/her, bi/pan): if you follow me you're probably aware of what a huge Rina fan I am. Lots of pop and rock, with a chunk of her earlier songs being R&B. Her debut album SAWAYAMA (my favourite album of all time!!) was her major breakthrough moment as it received critical acclaim and her sophomore album Hold the Girl made her the highest charting Japanese artist in the history of the UK. Known for her musical versatility, she made her acting debut in John Wick 4. I recommend: Cherry, Frankenstein and Bad Friend

Janelle Monáe (she/they, bi/pan): pop, funk, neo-soul and psychedelic. They have an entire series of concept albums about an android named Cindy Mayweather (her ALTER EGO?!) as she commits the crime of falling in love with a human. Lots of social commentary. Her album Dirty Computer comes along with a narrative film and a book taking place in its world. She's starred in movies like Antebellum, Glass Onion and Moonlight. I recommend: Electric Lady, Django Jane and Pynk

Raveena Aurora (she/her, bi): Experimental pop, R&B and soul. Her second album Asha's Awakening is a concept album following the journey of Asha, a Punjabi space princess, as it explores Aurora's South Asian identity and past relationships. Such a beautiful and soft voice to die for. I recommend: Headaches, If Only and Kathy Left 4 Kathmandu

Moving onto some other artists I like:

Boygenius: a band comprising of three sapphic women- Phoebe Bridgers (indie darling™), Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker (the first two are bi while the third is a lesbian). Indie, folk and alternative rock. Very melancholic. I urge you to check out their individual projects too (especially Phoebe's, I love her Punisher album). I recommend: Emily I'm Sorry, Satanist and True Blue

Kelela (she/her, queer): R&G, electronic and alternative R&B. Her debut EP Hallucinogen covers the beginning, middle and end of a relationship in reverse chronological order. Her second album Raven showcases Black futuristic art, which I fuck with. I recommend: Contact, The High and Bluff

Zolita (she/her, lesbian): dark-pop, R&B and electropop. She incorporates witchcraft into her music and mvs. She literally has an EP called Sappho what more could you want? I recommend: Holy, Ashley (the sapphic Speak Now) and Bedspell

Victoria Monét (she/her, bi): pop and R&B. She's written songs for artists like Ariana Grande (7 Rings) and Chloe x Halle (Do It). Go stream her Jaguar EP you will thank me later. I recommend: Touch Me (erotic sapphic song), Cupid and Love U Better

And finally some honourable mentions (can't make this post too long now can I): mxmtoon, Michelle Zauner, Arooj Aftab, Sir Babygirl, Dodie, Chloe Moriondo, Lauren Jauregui, Baby Queen, Sara and Teagan, The Butchies, Sofya Wang and Melissa Etheridge

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honeytonedhottie · 2 months

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for rest and relaxation⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎐

GIVE YOURSELF TIME ;

give yourself time to rest and relax and focus entirely on yourself and feeling better. choose a specified amount of time to just rest. this frees up time for inner work, healing etc. during that time identify the "why" to which u feel the way that you do.

identifying the issue helps you, after the rest and relaxation, to understand what it is that u need to focus on the most. therefore u can formulate goals suited to deal with the issue. set some ground rules before you start your resting period so that then your not going to be moving backwards on your goals.

RESTFUL MOVING ;

when u rest its important to not just sit at 0%. what i mean by that is always do at least a little something. when u make it a habit to just give 0% and do absolutely nothing, you'll find that things that u worked for will start to deteriorate and ur health both mentally and physically will be worse then when u started which isnt the point of rest at ALL.

im not saying that while ur resting and relaxing you have to be doing a whole workout or running x amount of miles. what im saying is that whilst resting do 1% of that. an example of restful moving could be...

dance when u wake up - i saw this in a tiktok and basically the logic behind this is that when ur dancing ur giving your body freedom and fluidity that translates to ur brain as well. so that then ur not so stiff and rigid and it improves ur mood.

DURING THE ROT ;

something that i find interesting to do is that while ur rotting, document it and write out what u do/did while rotting. that way when ur done with ur rest and relaxation you can look back and see what u did. doing so can also help u see what u needed or easily identify what was wrong/what sent u into rot.

ways i spend my resting time : setting aside time to think, write in my journal. spending time girlblogging, working on projects and formulating ideas. spending quality time with my dog. watching shows that i have on my watch list. reading lots and lots of books, manga etc. taking frequent naps and writing down the dreams that i've had. doom-scrolling on tiktok. watching true crime video essays.

AFTER THE ROT ;

if you haven't read my post the feel better formula, i rly recommend that u do so that then u can see the how to get out of that rot. but if u haven't read the post i'll quickly go over the points here.

listening to music and dancing

listen to songs that give you dopamine and just songs that you'd feel comfortable dancing to. in the feel better formula post i mentioned that twice gives me lots of dopamine so whenever i need some i listen to their songs.

practicing self care

getting ready everyday has been a game changer for me. even if ur not going out after ur rot just get ready as though you were. get into some cute clothes, practice self care, do ur makeup

a nice long journalling session

my journalling routine is update my diary 2x a week and do a shadow work session 1x a week. but for my longer journaling sessions i'll do an extended shadow work session and journal and get out whatevers on my mind onto paper.

(self care activity + something that engages ur mind + REAL rest + movement + hobby = feeling better).

SOME WAYS TO RELAX ;

sound bath ; sound healing is something that’s been interesting to learn about for me. so the concept of a sound bath is just relaxing and bathing yourself in sound frequencies as a way to relieve stress, healing, and general wellness.

how i like to do it, is i’ll just look up “sound bath” on youtube and while im stretching or just laying down i’ll listen to it and it’s so soothing! or i listen to these subliminals by i want it i got it and they have frequencies in them so i do that as well.

at home spa day ; reference this post bcuz it gives a little at home spa day routine.

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paper-crab · 6 months

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3 times

summary: 3 times Matt helped you, and 1 time you helped Matt

warnings: exhausted college students, lots of crying, sleep deprivation, mentions of not eating, basically the college experience.

wc: 2291

for a chris girl i sure can’t seem to write anything about him

If you were to go back to the beginning, it’d make this an incredibly long story. In your sophomore year of college, you had decided living in an off-campus apartment would be a good idea; financially speaking. You were determined to get out of your parents basement and live your life for the most minimal price possible.

That’s how you ended up with Matt, in a homey 2 room apartment.

Matt was an environmental science major whose brothers had dropped out of college, leading him to finding a new place with one less room and with a new roommate to cut down on costs: you. It was convenient, and out of the candidates he’d interviewed, him and his brothers liked you the most.

He was a quiet roommate, and that made it easy to study without getting overwhelmed with your surroundings. The only time he made noise was when he invited his brothers over, and he was always sure to ask.

In turn, he expected the same of you. Environmental science isn’t an easy route to take, so calm work conditions were appreciated.

Despite your best efforts at improving each other's study time, things happen. You’re human; sometimes you get overwhelmed.

Three times Matt helped you, and one time that you helped him.

One

It was a random Tuesday evening of your first semester. You were stacked with homework for a music class; a required elective credit that was far too demanding. You were juggling an essay on the history of jazz, a report on a classical concert the college orchestra had done, and a small quiz on musical notation.

To put it simply, you felt fucked.

You were itching to take a break, feeling the tears flood your eyes, but you just opened the next tab- opting to finish your jazz essay rather than prioritize your well being. It’s funny how college does that to you.

You start typing, the clacking of the keys feeling entirely too loud. They were sticking in odd places, and the words just wouldn’t flow smoothly.

When you reread what you’d typed, it just felt wrong; like when you trip over a tiny pebble instead of smoothly kicking it to the side.

You switch tabs, to the concert report. A minimum of 3 pages accepted, and you have half of a page. Seriously, what are you even supposed to say? You only have so many ways to describe the resonance of the string section before it becomes entirely too repetitive and meaningless to your report. Now it’s not just the keys that are wrong, the brightness of the screen is beginning to bother you, but if you turn it down you can’t seem to see well enough.

It felt wrong; like when you see a perfect pile of leaves and go to step on them, but rather than hearing the satisfying crunch of leaves, you’re left with some wet mush stuck to the bottom of your boots.

You switch tabs, the tears threatening to spill out. Your vision blurs slightly as you open the quiz and begin reading the questions.

What the hell does this even mean?

Still, you trudge through, clicking random answers and praying to some god that you get about 80%.

When you finish with only 10 of the 15 questions being right, you’re a push away from breaking down.

“Can I come in?” Matt knocks. You want to nod, not trusting your voice to carry your words, but he can’t see you. “Yeah.” You say, voice slightly cracking. He opens the door, not expecting what he sees; you, sitting at your desk, an abundance of tears about to tip over.

Surprised, he hesitates, then asks, “What’s wrong?” in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. That’s all it takes for the sobs to begin, while you choke out some form of an explanation.

“Everything’s just… not right. I’m overwhelmed, I don’t understand my assignments; I’m lost.”

He listens attentively, stepping closer to you as you pour out your feelings, offering a comforting presence. “I’m sorry,” You say, too upset to be embarrassed to be seen in this state.

“It’s okay,” He says soothingly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “We can figure this out together. What class is it for?”

When you tell him, his eyes light up. “I think Chris took that one before he dropped out! Let me ask him to send over some of the work.”

“You don’t have to do that,” You start to say, but when he sees the tears get a little lighter, he decides it’s worth it. “I want to help.” His expression softens more, as if that’s possible. “Now relax a bit, we can do this.”

Two

The second time he helps you, you’re cramming a week before midterms. Realistically, you know you have time before it becomes a critical do or die situation, but that doesn’t do much to quell the panic rising in your chest.

You’ve done the required work, you know, so you should pass your midterms without a hitch. You reflect on the work you’ve done, hoping it’d help you gain some confidence, but it manages to do the opposite.

‘Maybe I should have done more?’ You think, self doubt and anxiety begin to creep into your head. Your hands start to feel clammy, and the pages of the textbook stick together a bit; it makes it that much more difficult to read.

You just feel stuck, like a jammed zipper in your favorite hoodie.

“Hey,” Matt walks in, not looking up. “We’re ordering Wingstop, you want something?”

“No.” You sniffle, expecting him to turn around and leave.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He says, sweetly, pocketing his phone. You wipe away a little tear, trying your best to chuckle and lighten the mood. “Stressed over midterms. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I get it. You’ve got time for a break though, right? Choose your favorite flavor, my treat, and come watch a movie with us, okay?”

You stand up from your squeaky desk chair and shoot him a smile. “That sounds nice. I could use a break, thanks Matt.”

“Of course.” He tells you, outstretching his arms. “Any time.”

The gesture makes your heart melt, and you feel overwhelming gratitude. “I appreciate it. Let’s make it a movie night then.”

Three

The third time Matt helps you is the one you hold closest to your heart.

You’re struggling with a group project for a business class you took; regrettably. You’ve messaged the group chat you made at least three times to no avail.

“There’s a frat party tonight, can’t make it” or “I’m not feeling well today, won’t be there.”

All you’re trying to do is get the group together so you don’t have to assign work to them like a kindergarten teacher. So, on top of your regular coursework, you’re stuck dealing with 3 other adults acting like 5 year olds.

You’re ready to rip out your hair.

Making one last ditch effort to save your sanity, you send out another, more pushy, text to the group this time. When you’re left on read by all 3 members, you groan loudly. You check over the assignment and do the work of putting it into parts, allocating each member of your group a task.

You give yourself the hardest part, because obviously, these people are incompetent. You shake your head, drafting a second message to the group chat that informs them of their role.

Suddenly, the two week deadline doesn’t feel like it’s closing in as quickly. You allow yourself to relax, receiving some thumbs up from your group members.

A week and a half later, you feel ready to assemble each part into a final project. It could be postponed, but if everyone was done, why not turn it in early? You send a message asking for everyone’s part of the assignment, and only one person responds, sending her part of the assignment.

You try not to stress about it, reasoning that there are 3 more days until it’s due. Maybe they’re just a little behind; so, you ask the next day, and the next, with no replies.

The night before it’s due, you realize you’re going to have to do the 2 slackers parts yourself. You text the other girl who did her part, asking if she can do an extra one. When she tells you she doesn’t have time, you want to explode.

“I don’t have time either jackass!” You say out loud, resisting the urge to type out a strongly worded text.

Your professor is known for being ruthless, especially when it comes to group projects, and you can’t afford anything lower than a C+ on it without your overall grade being tanked.

You break out in a cold sweat, opening several tabs on your computer as you begin to work on the missing pieces of your homework. There’s a reason you were given 3 weeks and not just one day to finish the work, and that was as a group.

You can’t help but begin bawling, still trying to see through the screen. The words were all fuzzy through the hazy mist of tears veiled over your eyes.

Your sobs aren’t even choked at this point, the familiar feeling of being overburdened taking over again.

Matt can hear, and feel, your frustration from his spot on the living room couch. He immediately stands up, concernedly making his way to your room.

He offers three quick knocks. “It’s me,”

“Come in.” You tell him, your voice quiet and strained.

Matt enters with a tender look. “How can I help?” He asks, not even questioning your distressed state.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t need to make your life harder too.” You try to sound confident in your decision, but your voice falters.

“Just tell me what’s going on, I’m positive that I can help you. That’s what friends are for,” He offers a gentle smile, stepping closer to you. When you explain the situation, he feels angry for you. “That’s dicked,”

“Tell me about it. Now I’m stuck doing it all, and it’s so much work.”

“Let me do half of it.”

“Matt, I really can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do.”

“Nothing better to do than help you.” He says, grabbing one of your hands. “Let’s get comfy and finish this shit.”

Matt stayed up with you until 3 in the morning to finish that god forsaken assignment. When you were done with the work, you turned it in and cuddled into Matt, falling asleep quickly.

“Thank you,” You whispered

“Of course.”

One

To put it lightly, Matt was stressed. He was juggling his regular coursework, along with the added pressure of finding applicable internships. His dark circles were getting worse, making his lack of sleep apparent. His hair was messier than usual, and he was sure his clothes were beginning to stink. He had been glued to his bed, several textbooks scattered on the surface.

His laptop was open, overflowing with tabs containing internship applications, and the smell of coffee and abundance of energy drink cans was not helping to clear his mind.

You didn’t know what to do to help him.

“Hey, I’m going out. Can I bring you anything back?” You ask, eyes roaming his face and body.

“No, I’m good.” He says, not even stopping to look up at you. You frown.

“Okay…” You say skeptically, dragging out the ‘y’. You leave the house, still struggling to get Matt’s pitiful appearance out of your mind. Your friends can tell you’re far off, in another world. You’re distracted, thinking of what you can do to help alleviate some of the weight on Matt’s shoulders; like he always does for you.

“I’m gonna head out,” You tell your friend, offering her a sympathetic look. Normally, she’d stop to argue with you, but you’ve been off. On your way home, you stop by Matt’s favorite restaurant, taking extra care to order his meal exactly the way he likes it.

When you get back, he’s in the exact same position as he was earlier, give or take a few new energy drink cans. He looks miserable, and you’re willing to bet he feels even worse.

“I got you some food,” You say in a sing-song tone, trying to get him to acknowledge you.

“Great.” He says, nose still buried in one of his many text books. He still doesn’t look up.

You place the food on his nightstand, leaving the room to grab a trash bag so you can pick up his litter. He doesn’t even notice that you entered the room.

“Matt, you need to eat. It’s going to get cold.”

“Can’t.” He mumbles, voice weak with exhaustion.

You throw the trash bag out of the room, turning back to face Matt.

“Matt, please? When was the last time you ate, or slept, or moved from this spot.” You ask, concern shining through. When he finally looks up, you notice how bloodshot his eyes are, as they begin to fill with tears. “I don’t know,”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” You say, crawling over to him, careful not to mess up his organized chaos. He buries his head in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist as he audibly begins to cry.

“It’s okay, Matt. Take a break, you need to eat and drink some water, and take a nap.” You tell him, “You’re not a failure for needing to pause and take care of yourself.”

“I don’t have time,” He tells you, lifting his heavy head from your neck. “I can’t.”

“You do have time, Matt. Let me help you like you help me.”

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader

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cleolinda · 8 months

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(For our purposes, listen to it without the visuals first.)

I wasn't going to keep posting about Unreal Unearth, but something happened yesterday.

It's been five months since I first heard this song, and I'm still astonished by it. You know the tiktok skit about the Star Wars wedding music, and the guy is grooving along until the Imperial Death March filters in, and then he's kind of alarmed, like, wha—? And then he realizes it slaps anyway and he keeps dancing? That is "Eat Your Young."

It's the morning of March 17th. The EP with the first three singles from the new album has dropped. I've got my phone blasting the song on the bathroom counter, I don't understand half what the man is saying nor did I expect to, I'm cheerfully mumbling along in the shower, grooving along,

wait they did what for a war drum

Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

What the fuck, this song goes so hard. That's the chorus. The conceit of the whole album is that it loosely follows Dante's Inferno, so this is the third circle of hell, gluttony. Hozier himself says that he wasn't specifically thinking of Jonathan Swift's A Modest Proposal—

“I don’t know how intentional the reference to Jonathan Swift was in this. That essay [Swift’s 1729 satirical essay A Modest Proposal in which he suggests the Irish poor sell their children as food] is such a cultural landmark that it’s just hanging in the air. I was more reflecting on what I felt now in this spirit of the times of perpetual short-term gain and a long-term blindness. The increasing levels of precarious living, poverty, job insecurity, rental crisis, property crisis, climate crisis, and a generation that’s inheriting all of that and one generation that’s enjoyed the spoils of it. The lyrics are direct, but the voice is playful. There’s this unreliable narrator who relishes in this thing which was fun to write.” [Apple Music album notes]

—and I believe him. The song's not a suggestion, a proposal; it's an invitation to atrocity in progress. I also believe he probably wasn't thinking of Greta Thunberg's iconic speech at the UN Climate Action Summit, not specifically, but that's what I hear in the song, like the flip side of a coin:

You have stolen my dreams and my childhood with your empty words. And yet I'm one of the lucky ones. People are suffering. People are dying. Entire ecosystems are collapsing. We are in the beginning of a mass extinction, and all you can talk about is money and fairy tales of eternal economic growth. How dare you! [...] You say you hear us and that you understand the urgency. But no matter how sad and angry I am, I do not want to believe that. Because if you really understood the situation and still kept on failing to act, then you would be evil.

I feel like on some level, even coincidentally, "Eat Your Young" is the answer to the question, what would you sound like if you were that evil? Who would you be? I can think of a dozen possibilities just off the top of my head or looking around my blog, from something as petty as studio executives mangling trees to deprive striking workers of shade (while hoping they lose their homes), all the way up to the US school-to-prison pipeline. The National Rifle Association keeps politicians in its pocket while the US has more mass shootings than days in a year, Nestlé fucks shit up around the world as a way of life, even ChatGPT sucks up water while threatening jobs—and for what? And yet, I promise you most of these things weren't the inspiration for an Irishman’s song—some of them hadn't even happened yet. There's just that much fresh You Would Be Evil to go around. I am certain that Hozier wrote the song partly about (as one article puts it) "Ireland's housing crisis: Millennials, a generation sacrificed," given that time back in the day when he helped occupy a building—a housing crisis happening in multiple countries. There's so much of the world I'm not touching on. I can stuff a paragraph with links and it's utterly inadequate.

I haven't even mentioned war.

There's an overwhelming sense this decade of the future being fed into a meat grinder. That sense is in this song. What would it sound like to be in the head of someone who didn't give a shit about anything but profit? Well, it might sound like this.

And if you haven't heard it, well—I'm going to sound absolutely out of my mind after saying all that, but "Eat Your Young" has a beat and you can dance to it. It's sexy. And I'm certain that's on purpose. You get seduced into the sound of it, as if by something demonic, something that enjoys sucking down the future and is not going to stop. And the sheer fucking catchiness of the song keeps you listening to it—thinking about it—when maybe you push away the dry headlines we get everyday. If you let this song stay in your head, it becomes a lens. Five months later, I still think about it when I read the news. Maui was on fire and tourists stayed. Within days, the prospect of developers swooping in to buy up land reared its head. If there's something still to take, there is ground to break, whatever's still to come. Get some.

I was born in 1978 —I'm late Gen X. In my forties, I'm young enough to worry about the future still; I’m neither so rich that I can just plan to retire to Mars, nor so old that I can know I'll be safely gone before the world might go up in flames. But I'm also not my nephew, whose school year just started back up, or the neighborhood kids who race him home down the sidewalk in the afternoons. Yesterday, he had his very first mass-shooter lockdown drill. He’s six.

I think music can put the feeling back into numb fingers, and I think that's why "Eat Your Young" works so well—Hozier calls the song fun and playful, and I think you have to have that, something you can live with rather than just switch off for your own mental survival. We need music to feed spirit at protests; we need something to keep our feet moving. Don’t give up, don't close your eyes and slip away. Those kids, they have dreams we could try to steal back for them.

Since I mentioned Maui:

Why Hawaiian sovereignty has undeniable context for the Maui fires

The Climate Crisis and Colonialism Destroyed My Maui Home. Where We Must Go From Here

How You Can Donate and Help Support Maui Communities Right Now

The Maui Strong Fund

#music #music discussion #hozier #long post #eat your young #Spotify

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