#37!! look at him! and he’s pulling this off in the 19th century what is his secret… listen I’m asian too that alone won’t cut it

[daguerreotyping]

Ambrotype of two handsome men in kimonos, dated on back Meiji 16 (1883)

#auction also noted that though the writing on the back does not identify the sitters it does say the man on right is 37 #37!! look at him! and he’s pulling this off in the 19th century what is his secret… listen I’m asian too that alone won’t cut it #to be clear I have no knowledge of Japanese and cannot confirm seller’s translation accuracy but I enjoy believing in this baby-faced 37yo #19th century #1800s #1880s #meiji era #19th century fashion #fashion history #historical fashion #men's fashion #menswear #19th century photography #ambrotype #19th century men #vintage men

[survivorwildwest]

Episode 1 - Still Hot, Still Sandy, Still a Buncha Liars

Jeff begins his narration as a train bends around the rocks of the Mojave Desert. He says, “Since humanities inception, societies rise and societies fall. Societies evolve. Societies change. And so, Survivor is once again changing things up!”

The camera pans to Jeff on horseback standing over the Grand Canyon, “Welcome to Survivor: Wild West! We’ve brought back some of your favorite Survivors from west of the Mississippi. They’ll be stranded outside an old ghost town in the Mojave Desert with only the supplies on their back and whatever they can scavenge in the remains of this town.”

“People forget, a lot of the first cowboys were black.” Carl says in a talking head before adjusting his hat.

Probst rides his clydesdale to the middle of an intersection. He looks around the skeletons of buildings and notices a saloon on the corner. He ties his horse to the hitching post outside and walks inside. The spurs on his boots spin as he steps in front of the cast. The 20 castaways sit around the saloon, at the bar stools and the poker tables, on the stairs and the piano bench. Jeff welcomes the cast of returnees to the new season. He first calls out Cao Boi, “Cao Boi, obviously, you’re the first person we call when we start to think about a Wild West theme.”

“It’s not the Wild West without a cow boy,” Cao Boi says.

“From one Cowboy to another, Colby, our first season in America, we need to get Colby Donaldson.”

“Yeah, I guess I was America’s Favorite Son for a while,” he answers.

“Still are,” Jerri interjects from the other side of the room.

“Jerri,” Jeff says turning his attention to her, “Why are you here on the Wild West season?”

“Well, I’ve already got the hat,” Jerri jokes as she tips her hat, “but, I’m just here to bother Colby. Same as always.”

Colby rolls his eyes and looks back to Jeff.

“Not excited to see Jerri, Colby?” Jeff asks.

“How could I not be excited to see Jerri Manthey? It’s been 20 years,” Colby says, presenting a purposeful smile.

Jeff then turns to Michaela, “Michaela, how old were you when Colby was first on Survivor?”

“I woulda been eleven, Jeff.”

Colby laughs at his own age.

“So, was Colby an idol of yours at that age,” Jeff asks.

“Honestly,” Michaela says, “not really. I mean, it was cool that he was from Texas and all cause I’m from Texas, but no I couldn’t relate to him. To hear you call him the proto-American, I just have to ask, ‘Who’s America?’ I just don’t see what makes Colby Donaldson any more American than Michaela Bradshaw.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Michaela,” Jeff says, “And with that, the season begins. Teal tribe, you are Suhtai,” he tosses the tribe to his left a satchel with their buffs and a map to their camp in some nearby hills. “Orange tribe, you are Tsitsistas.” He does the same for the tribe to his right.

“Your tribes are named after two Native American tribes who travelled together until the early 19th Century, the two tribes came together, or merged, and became known as the Cheyenne people,” Jeff explains, “Now, you have 30 minutes to scavenge this town. There are supplies hidden throughout these ruins. As of now, Survivor: Wild Wild West is on.”

Jeff leaves the saloon and the hunt for supplies begins. A few people dive over the bar for any bottles of alcohol they can find. Some whiskey, gin and red wine are found by Wendy Diaz.

“I don’t even really drink,” Wendy says in a talking head, “but I noticed the label on the wine bottle was a little... oh i don’t know... curled up in the corner, so I took it!”

Wendy runs off to a corner away from everyone else to unfurl the wine bottle. She crouches under a table to avoid any witnesses when she sees Russell and Brandon Hantz enter the room to chat.

“But then,” Wendy continues in her talking head, “Russell and Brandon showed up! And Russell is on my tribe!! And I hate Russell.”

Russell tells Brandon he’ll take care of him, he just needs to get to the merge. “Find an idol if you can,” Russell advises.

“But then,” Wendy’s narration continues.

Wendy removes the wine label when the Hantzs leave.

“There’s Gold in them thar hills!” She exclaims, reading the label in her talking head.

Wardog opens a crate of supplies behind the saloon where he finds rations, kerosene and a small tube he suspects is an advantage.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a coyote sits on the porch of a saloon.

After the scavenging of the town, each tribe hikes to their camp. At the Tsitsistas Camp, Colby builds a fire and Ben gathers everyone around, “Alright, so let’s all introduce ourselves. My name is Ben Driebergen. I’m 37 years old. I have a wife & kids. I fought in the marines and then I played in Survivor: Heroes vs Healers vs Hustlers and again last season in Winners at War. Who’s Next?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m Lauren, 23, I played in Edge of Extinction. No kids. No significant other. Just… little ol’ me,” Lauren says with a grimace.

“Uh, I’m Kass, Chaos Kass, you may have heard, I played in Cagayan and again in Cambodia… or Second Chances I guess”

“Hey, I’m Ken. I played Millennials vs Gen X. I was on the Gen X tribe. I am also single.”

“Hey everyone, yeah, I’m Brandon. I’m Russell’s nephew.“

Everyone stares at him and nods slightly.

“Hi, I’m Kim-”

“And, I just want you all to know,” Brandon continues, “I know last time I played, things didn’t look so great. I want you all to know, I’m good now. I’m not gonna throw any tantrums or any fits or anything. I’m gonna be good. I’m good now.”

Kimmi Kappenberg says, “Alright, I’m Kimmi, I played in Season TWO” she holds up two fingers, “And then again in Second Chances.” She mirrors the peace sign she made on the other hand for “Second Chances.”

“Hi, I’m Bi. I played in David vs Goliath but had to leave early because of an injury.“

“And I’m Lisa! I played in the Philippines like a hundred years ago.”

After a few minutes of small talk, people begin to go their separate ways. Ben, Brandon, Kass, Lauren, Ken and Kimmi use some wood they’d taken from town to build a shelter. Lisa pulls Bi aside to lend a shoulder if Bi wanted to talk about losing her opportunity. Colby continues to work on the fire as Michaela sits with him.

As the desert sun beats down on him, Colby rubs two sticks together. He sweats through his shirt. Michaela reaches in her pocket, “Colby,”

He looks up. Sweat drips from his eyelash into his eye.

“You think these might help,” and she pulls out a dry box of matches, “I found them next to a stove back in town. They’re old and they don’t look like they’ll work but it’s worth a try.”

“Sure. You know,” Colby says as he places the dusty match against its dustier box, “I don’t think of myself as more American than you.”

The match lights and he brings it to the kindling to ignite. He looks back to Michaela, “After everything going on, you know, the world’s fucked right now. Honestly, living in the desert for a month and a half sounds alright right about now,” Colby jokes.

“The world certainly is fucked right now,” Michaela laughs, “You’re not wrong, Colby.”

“It’s been fucked for you guys for a while though, right?”

“’You guys’ meaning black folks?”

“Well, yes and no. I just mean, people who don’t look exactly like me.”

“Ha,” she laughs, “sure, that’s true.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s alright. You’re learning.”

“I know. I just feel bad.”

“I’m not asking for your pity, Colby. Just asking for your assistance.”

“You know,” he says, “I’ve been doing a lot of listening since everything started and what I keep hearing is ‘Listen to black women.’ So, that’s what I’m gonna do. I really do want to help, however I can.”

She looks at him, taking in his intention. She sticks out her hand for him to take and they shake hands.

“Colby’s a good dude,” Michaela explains in a talking head, “He means well. That’s good. ”

“Okay, so, with us working together now,” Michaela asks, “who would you recommend we go for first?”

Colby looks down toward Bi and Lisa, then at the group building the shelter, then back at Michaela, “How about Ben?”

“I don’t see why not. He’s already won. Have you won?”

“Not once. In 20 years, never once.”

“Me neither.”

The two of them stare down Ben from across the camp.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a desert collared lizard scurries from the shade of one rock to the shade of another.

At the Suhtai Camp, everyone drops their things. Jerri immediately turns to Russell, opens her arms and says “Russell, my old friend!”

“Jerri, hello again,” he says.

“I saw your nephew is here.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he chuckles.

Carl calls everyone to the center of camp and introduces himself, “Hi everybody, I’m Carl, I played in David vs Goliath, along with Elizabeth.”

“Oh, hi, yeah, Carl’s right, we played David vs Goliath together. We were on the Davids tribe.”

“Oh! I played my season with Taylor!” Hannah Shapiro exclaims.

“Hey everybody… I’m Taylor, or Tails. We played uh…”

“Millennials vs Gen X!” Hannah finishes.

“Well, I think I’m the only person from my season, I’m Todd,” Todd says.

“What’s up, man,” Taylor says.

“I’m the only representative from my season too. I am Cao Boi, obviously. I was on Cook Islands.”

“I was on the same tribe as Wardog!” Wendy exclaims.

“Wendy!” Wardog shouts, as if no one would have figured it out.

“We were on the Edge!” Wendy explains, “of Extinction!”

“Wendy’s funny, man,” Taylor says in a talking head, “She’s kinda uhh cooky but she’s fun, man.”

“Do you want to go get water,” Jerri asks Russell.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “Grab one of them young kids.”

Jerri looks over the crowd of people getting to know one another, then looks back at Russell and grins, “Let’s go.”

As they make their way through camp, Jerri turns to Wendy, “Do you want to come get water?”

Wendy nods and follows Jerri and Russell.

“So,” Russell starts with his deceptively charming southern grin, “What do you think of everyone so far?” 

“Well, so far everyone seems cool! Although, maybe I’m not the best judge of character. I didn’t make it far my first time out.”

Russell and Jerri make pouty faces at each other outside of Wendy’s view. 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that this time, honey,” Jerri promises.

“Yeah, you’re with us now,” Russell assures her.

Wendy nods in agreement to Russell and Jerri, but in a talking head yells, “Who said I wanted to be in an alliance with you, RUSSELL?!”

The three of them find the camp’s well. It’s nestled amongst a rock formation. Overhead, there’s a sign deeming the well, “The Oasis." Wendy eyes a small hill on their way back, then explains in a talking head, “There was a little crease in the rocks where it looked like something could be hidden and the sand around it looked... weird... So, after we all got back to camp and sat around the campfire, I got up to use the bathroom aaaand…” she pulls out a two and half inch tall gold nugget, “There’s gold in them hills! It’s the idol!”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a coyote surveys the landscape.

When he has a moment alone, Wardog sneaks off to open the advantage he found in the scavenge. He reaches a finger inside and finds a note reading “Extra Vote” and one voting parchment.

“Holy shit. Alright. Alright. That’s good.”

The next morning at the Suhtai camp, each survivor wakes from their tent and makes their way to the fire. Kass is the first person awake and begins to tend to the fire. Lauren wakes shortly after her and yawns for what feels like eternity, then sits near the fire with Kass.

“How long you been up,” she asks through the remnants of her yawn.

“Oh, just a little bit.”

“You go looking for an idol?”

“Please, Lauren, it’s far too early to worry about that.”

Ken saunters his way around the campfire from the tent.

“Morning folks, What’s on the docket for today?”

“There’s a challenge,” Kass tells him.

“Oh, right on. I think we’re pretty strong, so we should be alright. Didn’t you play soccer, Lauren?”

“I-- yeah, I did.”

“So you’re probably pretty strong. Michaela’s strong, Brandon’s probably strong, Bi’s a boxer so she must be strong.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a lone desert cottontail rabbit hops over and under the rocks, looking for shelter.

At high noon, both tribes head to their first immunity challenge. Jeff explains, “Each tribe will have a conestoga wagon. You must move your cart through various obstacles, disassembling and reassembling pieces throughout. Along the way, you will collect puzzle pieces. Then, two people from each tribe will solve the puzzle. First tribe to complete the puzzle wins immunity.”

Kass and Michaela are chosen as the puzzle solvers for Tsitsistas. Todd and Cao Boi volunteer for the puzzle on Suhtai.

Both tribes fumble a bit as they figure out how to situate themselves around their large conestoga wagons. Once they finally do, Tsitsistas takes a slight lead. Lisa is slow getting back to her position after the reassembling portion of the challenge. Brandon starts yelling they’re “not going to win” until Michaela yells from the puzzle, “Bro, just shut up and get it done.” The disorder causes Suhtai to catch up and take the lead, inciting Brandon further.

“We got it on the puzzle,” Michaela promises, “Be cool, Brandon.” 

Suhtai makes it to their puzzle first and begins working on it, but Tsitsistas is only a few steps behind. As soon as Kass places a tile, Todd is right behind her, then Michaela is right behind him, then Cao Boi next. The four of them are finding pieces with no trouble. When Suhtai goes up by a piece, Tsitsistas is right behind and vice versa. Todd and Cao Boi slam their final piece in and call Jeff. He checks it as Kass and Michaela continue working. “Suhtai thinks they have it,” he places one hand on the puzzle as he looks it over, “That is not right!”

Kass and Michaela clamor for Jeff. He does the same to their puzzle and announces, “Tsitsistas wins immunity!”

In a talking head, Todd blames the loss on Cao Boi after he placed two pieces in their opposite places, “I just don’t understand why you would volunteer yourself and then miss something like that!”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a purple-throated hummingbird hovers over a nest.

Back at the Suhtai camp, the first vote scramble begins. Todd goes to Taylor first, “Look bro, we shoulda had that challenge.”

“Yeah, man.”

“Cao Boi fucked us,” Todd says, mimicking Taylor’s cadence, “He misplaced two of the pieces.”

“Why would he do that,” Taylor genuinely asks.

“I don’t know, man, but we gotta get him out.”

“You got it man. Let’s do it. I’ll talk to Hannah.”

Taylor wanders over to Hannah, who’s sitting with Wendy, “Han.”

“What’s up, Taylor?”

“So, I was just talking to Todd, he said it’s Cao Boi’s fault we lost. Yeah. So, we have to take him out.”

“Tonight?”

“I mean, yeah. Are you down?”

“Yeah, I mean, sure. That works for me.”

“Wendy, are you down to vote Cao Boi?”

“Sure!”

After Taylor leaves, Hannah asks Wendy if she’s got Wardog. 

“I think so. At least, I can get him to vote with us this time.”

“Okay, That’s good. Wardog’s good.”

“Wardog!” Wendy yells from across the camp.

“Wendy, hey, what’s up,” he asks as he walks over.

“What do you think of Cao Boi,” Hannah asks.

“I’ve got no allegiance to Cao Boi. You guys want to do Cao Boi tonight?”

“Yeah,” Hannah says. 

“Alright, let’s do it,” Wardog says.

Meanwhile, Cao Boi recognizes he’s being targeted. He goes first to Todd and explains, “Everyone here on our tribe has played with someone else on our tribe. Some people have played with people on the other side. You & me, though? We haven’t played with anyone else. Why don’t you and I start something?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Jerri and Russell, that’s a strong connection. They went far together in Heroes vs Villains. You know who else they went far with? Colby. Is there a better story in Survivor history than Jerri and Colby?”

“So, Jerri?”

“I’m just saying. With Jerri gone, Russell and Colby aren’t working together. With Jerri there, they might.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a bushel of daisies blow in the wind.

Wendy goes to Russell and Jerri to tell them the Cao Boi plan. They hear the plan, then Russell asks, “Who came up with this?”

“Todd,” she tells them, “Hannah and Taylor already agreed to it. And Wardog.”

“Thanks, Wendy,” Jerri says.

“This is very helpful information,” Russell says, sounding more condescending than he realizes.

In a talking head, Wendy is exasperated, “He talks to me like I’m a child. I can’t stand him. I wish we were taking him out tonight.”

After Wendy leaves, Jerri points out to Russell that Todd and Cao Boi are going to team up to take out the other couples. She believes she’s the target.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a mantis prays.

Cao Boi approaches Carl and Elizabeth and gives them his pitch for Jerri. They hear him out and agree to the plan. He then finds Wendy shortly before Tribal Council. “Wendy,” he says, “We’re voting Jerri tonight.”

“Okay,” she agrees without question.

As the sun sets over the horizon and the temperature drops, the Suhtai tribe join Jeff around a campfire outside a cave. Unlike previous tribal councils, this season’s has only one row of seating around the fire so everyone is in full view of one another the whole time. The voting booth is inside a small cave in the nearby hills. “So,” Jeff begins with his infectious grin, “Here we are. Survivor 41. Tribal Council. How does it feel, Wardog?”

“Honestly, Jeff, it sucks. No one ever wants to be here.”

“How about being in the desert, Russell? Any different?”

“It’s still hot, still sandy, still a buncha liars. Don’t matter if it’s Samoa, Nicaragua, Fiji or right here in the Wild West. It’s still Survivor and I’m still the best at it.”

“Haha yeah, alright, dude,” Taylor laughs.

Jeff and Russell turn to Taylor to finish.

“You’ve never even won, dude. How can you call yourself the best?”

“Gotten a lot further than you, bro.”

“Alright, bro. We’ll see.”

“Are you voting for me tonight?”

“No,” Taylor laughs.

“Who are you voting for?”

“Cao Boi! He fucked us in the challenge! Todd said!”

“Alright,” Russell says with a quiet grin before he turns back to Probst.

“Alright, with that, It is time to vote. Taylor, you’re up first.”

Taylor gets up and proudly votes. The other nine make their votes. Jeff tallies the votes and returns to read the votes. “If anyone has the hidden immunity idol and you’d like to play it, now would be the time to do so.” No one stands up. Jeff reads the votes. “Cao Boi, Jerri, Cao Boi, Cao Boi, Cao Boi, First Person voted out of Survivor: Wild West: Cao Boi.”

Read Episode 2 Here

#Survivor #Wild West #Jeff Probst #Survivor Wild West

[borisbubbles]

16. SERBIA

Balkanika - “Nova Deca” 19th place

Out of all the positive morphs I experienced this year, Serbia was the one that I suspected the least. I never hated them the way others did, but eh, I didn’t think highly of them either. Especially when the backstage clips showed them enterting the stage dressed up like members of some inauspicious fertility cult. “Oh.” I thought. “Another Genealogy. Except it won’t make the final. Whatever, NEXT”

How wrong I was though, because it did qualify and caused me to re-evaluate all I knew about life and come to the fucking conclusion that... this is really fucking good??? HOW is an exaggerated mess that has accurately been described as “Balkan Megamix Volume 3″ this great? 

I actually don’t have a clear answer for this as i’m writing this down (we haven’t reached the songs I would spam the replay button on yet), but the core of it is that Balkanika tried REALLY hard to condense 900+ years worth of Balkanic musical tradition in a mere three minutes and fucking pulled it off by... striking battle poses like some Ethno-Power Rangers

GO GO BALKAN RANGERS!!!

The choreography as a whole is just so extra and beautifully overacted. The entire way through, the members of Balkanika strike poses as if in Madonna’s “Vogue”, guided on by the beguiling tunes conjured by Ljubomir’s magic whistle-wand [ed.: here’s the best gif i could make of Old Rasflutin’s background flailing, but it’s way funnier if you pay attention to his presence as you watch “Nova Deca” unfold, so SCROLL UP AND REWATCH RIGHT NAO!!!]:   

Such a beautiful presence we’re not worthy of, y’all. All while the rest of Balkanika are either serving some epic 90 Percussion realness:

or chanelling some Project: Waters of Life sillyness

This could have so easily turned into a San Marinese goopy mess (which I don’t think too highly of, as you know), and briefly it looked like this would be the case; Instead, we found something better.

The plain answer however, lies in that Balkanika didn’t try to be funny and that makes a massive difference. Every piece of overacting, from Mladen’s creepy stares to Ra-Ra-Rasflutin (Serbia’s greatest love machine) prodding the action on from the background, is the product of intense belief and dedication, which... makes it hysterical, but in an endearing sort of way. Balkanika really just can’t help themselves. <3 

However, as I have to take things into account other than just act, I can’t really drag Balkanika much higher than this. Their song, while cool in concept, is kinda a bit too overloaded with quirks, which are largely lost to me because you know, show-stopping staging. (lol I just realized this is such a reverse “O jardim”, how neat they will now be forever ranked next to one another in this ranking). “Nova Deca” also suffers from the fact that I already had a large slew of other faves before I started to love them. As a whole, I think they have the least to offer of those left in the ranking. Oh well, at least we’ll forever have this: 

<3

RANKING SO FAR:

16. Serbia (Balkanika - “Nova Deca”)

17. Portugal (Cláudia Pascoal - “O jardim”)

18. The Netherlands (Waylon - “Outlaw in ‘em”)

19. Ukraine (MÉLOVIN - “Under the ladder”)

20. Macedonia (Eye Cue - “Lost and Found”)

21. San Marino (Jessika ft. Jenifer Brening - “Who We Are”)

22. Sweden (Benjamin Ingrosso - “Dance You Off”)

23. Austria (Cesár Sampson - “Nobody but you”)

24. Latvia (Laura Rizzotto - “Funny girl”)

25. Azerbaijan (AISEL - “X my heart”)

26. Israel (Netta - “Toy”)

27. Norway (Alexander Rybak  - “That’s how you write a song”)

28. Montenegro (Vanja Radovanovic - “Inje”)

29. Armenia (Sevak Khanagyan - “Qami”)

30. Poland (Gromee ft. Lukas Meijer - “Light me up”)

31. Greece (Yianna Terzi - “Oniro mou”)

32. Georgia (Iriao - “For you”)

33. Belgium (Sennek - “A matter of time”)

34. Italy (Ermal Meta & Fabrizio Moro - “Non mi avete fatto niente)

35. Romania (The Humans - “Goodbye”)

36. Ireland (Ryan O'Shaughnessy - “Together”)

37. Croatia (Franka - “Crazy”)

38. Belarus (ALEKSEEV - “Forever”)

39. Russia (Julia Samoylova - “I Won’t Break”)

40. Spain (Amaia & Alfred - “Tu canción”)

41. Iceland (Ari Ólafsson - “Our choice”)

42. Australia (Jessica Mauboy - “We Got Love”)

43. Czech Republic (Mikolas Josef - “Lie to me”)

FOOTNOTES (optional)

1) I decided not to credit Sanja Ilic simply because he wasn’t on the stage and I feel it’s kinda unfair to credit him just based on his merit as a composer, while Isaura composed AND performed second fiddle to Cláudia, without a letter of on-screen credit. 

2) Re: Intentional vs Unintentional humour: The reason why intentional humour rarely works for me is that it comes with the built-in pressure to laugh, which... makes me less inclined to find something funny because it kinda takes away the choice element of it. Like, I think I have a fairly okay sense of humour, I can decide for myself what I find funny, you know? This is why intentional humour rarely works for me, while unintentional humour nearly always does. For reference, dial back to where I ranked Israel and Norway and Czechia and San Marino (or “Yodel it” and “Space” from last year), all acts that piggybacked on scripted humour

3) DoReDos are one of the few instances this year where intentional humour totally worked for me, although I also realize they’ve largely been hit-or-miss. But we won’t be discussing that soon.

4) Me being a history nerd, I also think the idea of “weaving a song out of literally every Serbian musical quirk ever” is a really cool song concept. It really comes close to an earnest, Balkanic version of “Swedish Smörgåsbord”  <3 5) “Nova Deca” is a way more accurate representation of what actual balkan music sounds like (as opposed to the tiresome, tedious, boring Balkan Ballad). The Folk music channels in Bulgaria, for instance play “Nova Deca”-esque songs all day.   6) A funny argument between my mom and I occured during this song. My mom, who is Bulgarian, argued that Balkanika plagiarized their song from Bulgarian Polyphonic Singing. When I pointed out the song was based on the Byzantine musical traditions, she claimed that the Byzantines stole them from the Bulgarians, which is historically implausible (see note 8). This is one of many reasons I think little of ethnocentrism and nationalism, especially from the Slavs and Greeks. Everyone accuses one another of cultural appropriation (see again: Macedoniagate), when in fact, their geographical proximity exposed them to similar cultural ideas and their geopolitics (warmongering) turned it into a mutually unintelligible wash. 

7) Besides, the entire point of the Balkans is that they support each other due to their cultural similarities in spite of wishing horrific, painful deaths on one another.  <3

8) HISTORY LESSONS WITH BORIS #1: Polyphonic Singing.  Polyphonic singing evolved as a Byzantine response to Roman Catholic liturgical chanting (instituted by Charlemagne, who as Holy Roman Emperor, took measures in making the religion more accessible to the common folk. How do we make the Bible popular? By teaching rich people how to read! What a genius. <3 ). Thus, polyphony spread as Byzantine Christianity spread, which would later become Eastern Orthodoxy after the East-West Schism in the 11th century AD. (hence why polyphony is such a big cultural benchmark all Eastern Orthodox nations, including Russia and Georgia, but not Armenia until their annexation by the Russian Empire in the 19th Century AD (since Armenian Christianity is a cadet branch of Oriental Orthodoxy, which split from Catholicism in the 4th century AD).  Anyway, Bulgaria historically played a massive role in spreading Christianity and its liturgical chanting to their pagan Balkan neighbours, after the Bulgarian Knyaz (a fancy way of saying “Khan”) Boris I converted under the pressure of Byzantine Emperor Michael III. Boris (whom, as you might have guessed, I was named after) used Christianity to pacify the squabbling lords of his realm (which included both pagans and Catholics) and oversaw the creation of the Glagolitic (liturgical) and Cyrrilic scripts to speed up the spread, paving the way for Bulgaria’s Golden Age under his son Simeon. During that Golden Age, btw, much of what is now Serbia came under Bulgarian control, including Belgrade.  So while the Serbs probably did learn polyphony from the Bulgarians, the Bulgarians absolutely, totally, learned it from the Byzantines, who invented the damn’ thing, in their own spin on Charlemagne’s popular church choirs. Mum, you’re WRONG. O:-)

#Eurovision #Eurovision Song Contest #Eurovision 2018 #Serbia #Balkanika #Sanja Ilic #Nova Deca

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 34 - 37

Because Chapter 38 is a... doozy, today we’’ll be covering some extra chapters. My treat.

She was a liar, and a murderer, and a thief, and Aelin had a feeling she’d be called much worse by the end of this war.

Pfft, I’ve called her worse during these chapter reviews.

Securing this alliance was only part of it. The other part, the bigger part … was the message. Not to Morath. But to the world.

“I mean yeah innocent people might die but who cares I just want attention from the whole world because I’m so ~special~ lol!”

[Aelin] was not a rebel princess, shattering enemy castles and killing kings. She was a force of nature. She was a calamity and a commander of immortal warriors of legend.

No, you’re a selfish asshole who cares only about herself and throws tantrums whenever someone doesn’t immediately bow down to you. Also, love that final nail in the coffin to the original concept of t0g. May the first two books rest in peace.

Gavriel was still too busy staring after Aedion, who hadn’t so much as glanced at his father before fastening his shield and sword across his back, mounting a sorry-looking mare, and galloping for the watchtower.

I S2G SJM, leave Gav alone.

People were panicking in the streets as the dark force took shape on the horizon: massive ships with black sails, converging on the bay as if they were indeed carried on a preternatural wind.

See Alien you fuckin’ prick, innocent people live here!!! And you’re totally okay with them all dying if it means everyone knows what an uber powered snowflake you are you piece of shit!!!!!

Rowan’s hatchet gleaming while he hooked it at his side

Again, total nit pick, but.. why do both Lorcan and Rowboat use hatchets? I mean it’s totally okay, I love other kinds of weapons getting used other than swords, but they both have hatchets? Let’s get some battle axes, maces, and other cool weapons in here!

Aelin strode for them. “Anchor them to the mainmast and make sure there’s enough room for them to reach right … here.” She pointed to where she now stood in the heart of the deck. Enough space clear of everyone, enough space for her and Rowan to work.

I’d point out she doesn’t have authority here, Rolfe does because it’s on his ship, but I might as well talk to a wall. Alien is putting the iron there in order to steady herself while using her magic, FYI. She has so much snowflake power she literally needs restrains lmfao SJM you’re killing me.

[Aelin] flicked a glance toward either watchtower to see Dorian arrive—then Aedion’s golden hair racing up the outer spiral staircase to the enormous mounted harpoon at the top. Her heart strained for a moment as she flashed between now and a time when she’d seen Sam running up those same stairs— not to defend this town, but to wreck it.

I despise Alien but the callback here works pretty well. Whereas back then, Alien was wrecking this town, she is now defending it, even without Sam at her side which highlights how much has changed and how much she’s gone through since her previous visit here. I mean, she is also the reason this town is in danger, but regardless.

Lysandra jumps into the sea and transforms into a sea dragon. I’ve already complained about her OP shifting powers, but I’ll admit, this scene is pretty cool.

Lysandra dove, and she let them see the long, powerful body that broke the surface bit by bit as she plunged down, her jade scales gleaming like jewels in the blinding midday sun. See the legend straight from their prophecies: the Mycenians would only return when the sea dragons did. And so Aelin had ensured that one appeared right in their gods-damned harbor.

Like c’mon, that’s pretty bad ass. Lysandra is a cool character in spite of her shitty powers, and that’s really only the fault of SJM’s crappy magic system. We transition into Assdion’s POV.

Aedion chucked off the shield from his back and slammed into the seat before the giant iron harpoon, its length perhaps a hand taller than him, its head bigger than his own.

So like.... a harpoon cannon, essentially? Because those were invented in the late 19th century. Consistent world building who?

Well, at least [Aedion] now knew what secret form Lysandra had been working on. And why Aelin had insisted on getting inside Brannon’s temple. Not just to see the king, not just to reclaim the city for the Mycenians and Terrasen, but … for Lysandra to study the life-size, detailed carvings of those sea dragons. To become a living myth.

How does this make any sense?? So Lysandra can perfectly replicate the system, the anatomy, and the size and powers of a beast by looking at a drawing of it? The fuck??? She doesn’t even need to see it in real life?

Gonna pull from Animorphs again; the kids have to see the animal in real life and actually touch it to absorb its DNA. They can’t turn into animals they haven’t touched even if they know what they look like. This makes sense in a sci-fi fantasy setting. Lysandra’s shifting powers do not.

Lysandra had studied the carvings of the sea dragons at the temple, once Aelin had burned away the dirt on them. Her magic had filled in gaps the carvings didn’t show. Like the nostrils that picked apart each scent on the current, the ears that unraveled varying layers of sound.

HOW DOES MAGIC DO THAT??? We’ve received several hints magic is its own sentient being but it’s never explained or expanded upon?? Lysandra’s magic is only as old as her, how can it know all these details about a beast she’s never seen? SJM I’m not asking for an amazing magic system, I just want things to be consistent and make sense!

Next chapter!

Perched on the rail of the Sea Dragon, gripping the rope ladder flowing from the looming mast, Aelin savored the cooling spindrift that sprayed her face as the ship plowed through the waves.

Even though the sudden pirate and adventures on the seas element is... well, sudden, I’m all for it. Gimmie some awesome pirate battles!

Tightly grasping the rope, Aelin leaned out, the vibrant blue and white below passing in a swift blur. Not too fast, she’d told Rowan. Don’t waste your strength—you barely slept last night. He’d just leaned in to nip at her ear before sliding onto Gavriel’s bench to concentrate.

You’re in a battle. You’re sailing into almost certain death. Can you not be fucking horny for five seconds please I am b egging. Why couldn’t he have done something pure and sweet like a kiss on the cheek?? Why does everything have to be ~sexual~, SJM?

Aelin again looked ahead—toward those black sails blotting the horizon. The Wyrdkey at her chest murmured in response.

You know what? I’ll take this over “The Wyrdkey between her breasts” any day.

Alien puts on the iron chain to restrain her magic. Rowboat kisses her ass for a bit, then we get this.

“I’ve recovered, I’ll have you know. So this morning’s little display…” “A way to take off the power’s full edge,” [Aelin] said wryly. “And make Rolfe piss himself.”

I hate you.

[Aelin] lifted her head to study [Rowan’s] face, the harsh planes and the curving tattoo. He leaned in to brush a kiss to her mouth.

If Ratlin starts making out during this battle I am actually going to quit. No joke. I’m warning you, SJM.

All anyone on deck saw, she knew, was two lovers embracing. But Aelin tunneled down, down, down into her power, felt him doing the same with his, felt every ounce of ice and wind and lightning go slamming from him into her. And when it reached her, the core of his power yielded to her own, melted and became embers and wildfire.

The actual reason SJM didn’t make a magic system was so she could pull this and justify her OTP making out in the middle of a battlefield. You cannot convince me otherwise.

[Aelin’s] magic whispered to start digging through that ash and silt. But Rowan’s grip tightened on her waist. “Easy,” he murmured in her ear. “Easy.”

If this was a ship I actually liked I’d be living because I love the “loved one helps protag with their uncontrollable magic” thing, but I hate Rowboat and Alien. I can’t even win when SJM uses my favorite tropes.

Alien shits out a huge column of fire out after Rowboat lends her his magic.

Aelin was ripped from his arms with the force of it, and Rowan grabbed her hand in a crushing grip, refusing to let her break that line of contact. Men around them stumbled back, falling onto their asses as they gawked upward in terror and wonder.

Higher, that column of flame swirled, a maelstrom of death and life and rebirth.

Oh my god I get it, Alien is the most powerful snowflake ever

So apparently this fire shit isn’t even burning or attacking their enemies, it’s literally just a display to the world. So Alien is burning (no pun intended) all of her magic just for a pretty fire display for everyone to fear how ~special~ she is? Holy shit. People actually stan this shitstain.

The flames winked out at the same second [Aelin] reached into Rowan with burning hands and tore the last remnants of his power from him. Just as she ripped her hand from his. Just as her power and the Wyrdkey between her breasts merged.

JHNDSJKAHDSKAHDKAHDSAJ SJM STOP YOU FUCKING HORNY ASSHOLE I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD YOU CANNOT WRITE AN EPIC MOMENT OF YOUR PROTAG DISPLAYING HER MOST POWERFUL MAGIC AND THEN STOP TO FOCUS ON HER BOOBIES FOR NO REASON KAHFKHSKFHDSJKFHKSD

So apparently Alien gets possessed because she was wearing the Wyrdkey. Idiot, why’d you go and do that, then? So who is possessing her?

“Deanna,” Rowan whispered. [Possessed Aelin] flicked her eyes to him in question and confirmation.

So for those who didn’t know, Deanna is a goddess mentioned in some of the other books. So the gods have gone from actual gods that were briefly mentioned to spirits who can possess people.... huh.

We switch into Alien’s POV again as she is unable to do anything while Deanna struts around in her body.

And those flames—her flames and her beloved’s magic … they belonged to the Other now. To a goddess who had walked through the temporary gate hanging between her breasts and seized her body as if it were a mask to wear.

Okay, guys, can we be completely honest with each other here? Tumblr user to Tumblr user? Does this bother anyone else?

Am I over reacting? Because I find it completely undercuts the tension of the moment when I’m suddenly forced to picture a Wyrdkey jammed in between Alien’s boobies. IDK maybe I’m just going crazy after being exposed to this book.

Alien busts a nut after hearing Rowboat’s voice and it’s enough for her to gain the willpower and strength to kick Deanna out. Not enough for her to not immediately fuck everything up though.

The ship beneath her, the center and left flank of the dark fleet beyond her, and the outer edge of the island behind it blew apart in a storm of fire and ice.

God job, Alien! If any innocent people died it’s all on you. Fuck you.

My god. We’re only on chapter 36. I... I’m going to break.....

Aelin drifted down, as she had drifted into her power, the weight of the Wyrdkey around her neck like a millstone— Deanna. She didn’t know how, didn’t know why— The Queen Who Was Promised.

Hm.. that sounds familiar.... lemmie just Google it to see if-

INCH RESTING...

Didn’t SJM once claim she hated Game of Thrones? Lmfao she’s so full of shit.

What had she done what had she done what had she done—

Later. Later, [Aelin]’d deal with that rutting goddess who had thought to use her like some temple priestess. Later, she’d contemplate how she’d shred through every world to find Deanna and make her pay.

Okay, but.. is this just Alien fuming or can she, like, actually do that? What are the gods in this world? Are they just spirits who can teleport between worlds I’m?? so confused???

Fenrys takes Alien, since she’s such an idiot who couldn’t save herself from drowning in a puddle, and jumps from the remainders of Rolfe’s ship. Good fucking job, Alien. Can’t wait to see how the narrative justifies this.

Think of that later. Aelin shoved through and ducked under larger bits of debris, past… Past men. Rolfe’s men. Dead in the water. Was the captain among them somewhere?

She doesn’t even give a shit she killed dozens, maybe even more, of innocent people on her side! But I have no doubt she’ll angst about it later but only so Rowboat can fuck her and convince her it’s not her fault even though it fucking is.

While Alien is busy wailing for someone to comfort her poor feefees, Lysandra actually makes an effort to save Rolfe and his first mate even though the sea wyverns are an issue.

Blood laced the current. And not the puffs that had been staining the water since the ship exploded. Great, roiling clouds of blood. As if massive jaws clamped around a body and squeezed.

Ain’t that edgy. We all know SJM is gonna forget all this gore and death took place once the porn kicks in.

[Lysandra] was so tired. Shifting afterward might not even be possible for a few hours.

So amassing the power to shift into a huge ass dragon doesn’t tire you out.... but destroying a few ships with your dragon form. Okay, SJM, okay.

tl;dr Lysandra kills the two sea wyverns and the chapter ends. One more to go for this review... one more....

Assdion’s POV opens up this chapter, where it’s revealed the two sea wyverns Lysandra killed were just juveniles, and there are three adults.

Faster and faster, those three bulls closed in. Lysandra remained at the mouth of the bay. Holding the line.

Even though her magic pisses me off, I think I’m about to stan Lysandra. Here she is, weakened with no magic left, and she’s willing to make a final stand and protect her friends.

The three wyverns spread out, so huge Aedion’s throat went dry. And for the first time, he hated his cousin. He hated Aelin for asking this of Lysandra, both to defend them and to secure the Mycenians to fight for Terrasen.

WHAT THE FUCK??? ASSDION NOT PRAISING ALIEN’S EVERY ACTION???? This can’t be right. This can’t be the Assdion who is only a plot device to kiss Alien’s ass...

Lysandra destroys the last warship and traps one of the wyverns into impaling himself on the remains. Then she leads the other two near Dorian’s tower, where he freezes one of them.

Dorian loosed a battle cry. And Aedion had to admit the king wasn’t that useless after all as the catapult behind Dorian sprang free, and a rock the size of a wagon jettisoned into the bay

Lmao bitch you thought! You've literally done nothing this battle while Dorian is out here killing a sea wyvern so you can climb off your high horse, Assdion. Also, Lysandra loses sight of the final wyvern.

Aedion scanned the bay, rotating in the gunner chair as he did, searching for any hint of that colossal dark shadow— “YOUR LEFT!” Gavriel roared across the bay, magic no doubt amplifying his voice.

Hate when dialogue is typed in all caps. Also magic can now be used as a megaphone? Lmfao aiight.

“SWIM,” Aedion roared, even if she couldn’t hear. “SWIM, LYSANDRA!”

Assdion doesn’t even have Gav’s megaphone magic powers, so you have no excuse for this shit, SJM.

Lysandra swims for the beach and Assdion rushes to her while everyone celebrates. This is a good concept, so like, can anyone write this but with a good ship? Might have to make a self indulgent AU for one of my ships just to scrub away the filth of this novel.

“Open your gods-damned eyes,” Aedion snarled. [Lysandra] snarled back but cracked open an eye. “You made it this far. Don’t die on the rutting beach.” The eye narrowed—with a hint of female temper.

Why the fuck is temper gendered now? SJM, you saying a woman’s temper is somehow different than a man’s? You implyin’ all women have bad tempers and they should be shamed for it? What the fuck is the point of this?

Aedion drawled, even as his relief began to crumble his mask of arrogant calmness, “The useless sentries in the watchtower are now all half in love with you,” he lied. “One said he wanted to marry you.”

Uh... why you lyin’ Assdion? I think he’s trying to compliment her, but this is kinda weird?

“But you know what I told them? I said that they didn’t stand a chance in hell.” Aedion lowered his voice, holding her pained, exhausted stare. “Because I am going to marry you,” he promised her. “One day. I am going to marry you. I’ll be generous and let you pick when, even if it’s ten years from now. Or twenty. But one day, you are going to be my wife.”

FUCK I would like (some of) this scene if it wasn’t for Assdion..... Someone rewrite this but with a good ship please.

Those eyes narrowed—in what he could only call female outrage and exasperation.

... I’m done. We’re packing this chapter up.

Alien and the others show up and Assdion realizes that Alien used the Wyrdkey and nearly killed all of them. He’s understandably mad but criticism against Alien? Rowboat’s Fae peen says no!

[Assdion] was shaking now, that rage indeed taking over. But Rowan snarled at him, low and vicious, “Save it for later.”

Oh fuck you, Rowboat. You know damn well you’ll never let anyone criticize Alien. This entire fucking narrative sucks up to Alien so much and I’m pissed. If your characters make stupid ass mistakes, punish them for it! Let them know! Don’t pretend they’re perfect uwuu unproblematic babies and let others criticize them without being portrayed as villains for it GOD I’M SO FUCKING DONE

As if SJM is trying to throw me a bone, there’s this.. actually decent scene afterwards. Gav watches Assdion as he watches over Lysandra until she has the energy to shift back. SJM refers to Assdion/Gav as the Wolf and the Lion though, gets kinda repetitive.

Sand crusted [Lysandra’s] naked body, and she tried and failed to rise. The Wolf moved then, slinging his cloak around her and sweeping her into his arms. The shifter didn’t object, and her eyes were again closed by the time the Wolf began striding up the beach to the trees, her head leaning against his chest.

In a better world where Assdion wasn’t an ass to Lysandra and he was a good character... I would ship this. Fuck. Just gonna go casually write this scene but with one of my OTPs  so I can get this sweet gesture without Assdion’s shitty personality.

The Lion remained out of sight and held in the offer of help. Held in the words he needed to say to the Wolf, who had downed a sea-wyvern with one arrow. Twenty-four years old and already a myth whispered over campfires.

Fuck... the way Gav describes his son as an outsider, since Assdion hasn’t accepted him yet... it’s really good. I love this. Damnit why can’t the rest of the novel be like this?

If you guys thought these chapters were bad, buckle up. Because the next chapter is the long dreaded it.

Yup, next time we’re covering the Ratlin sex scene.

#the worm talks #the worm reads: eos #anti sjm #anti eos #anti tog

[oltnews]

Death metal starts at 2:43 p.m. It's strong. And it comes from inside the church. The noise is a proud and unmanageable fury, like a pricey bull dragged to the slaughterhouse by its copper nose ring. The idyllic calm of the countryside in the south of France, the gentle friction of the cicadas and the warm breeze that sweeps over the Mediterranean is torn along the spine by lamentations, demonic voices and distortion of the pedals. Everyone outside, some drinking small glasses of Marseille pastis in the heat of the 37 ° C, turn to look at the church door and then towards each other.Despite the break, the broken peace, it is a positive sign for those who want an audience with our host. The man would have slept inside the small walk-in chapel - his original denominational space transformed into a cupboard, his cloister now used as an artist's studio with large unfinished canvases leaning against the perimeter - must surely be awake. No one could sleep through what sounds like Satan's alarm bells.Two weeks ago, there was an invitation, confirmed late yesterday, to come to Johnny Depp's villa and speak openly and without reservations. If you get up at 5 a.m. in north London, take the first British Airways flight to Heathrow around 7:45 a.m. and take an hour east taxi along the burnt yellow coast after Cannes , in front of Fréjus and not quite towards Saint-Tropez, you will find yourself in the rural town of Hameau De Gassin, lined with rows of young short vines, forming tracks like natural tresses, their bruising fruits begin all just to inflate and sag with new weight.The Depp complex, made up of around seven or eight small stone houses, stands above this calm and unprecedented old town, with a view that extends over the undulating Ligurian Sea. On a clear day, you can walk to one of the area's many high rocky outcrops, squint, and see the island of Corsica and beyond, the waters rich in fables and myths, where scholars believe that the Ulysses of Homer ordered his crew to attach him to his own mast to hear for himself the song of the sirens.Squint louder and you could see the west coast of Italy sparkle, with Pisa, Genoa and, beyond, the beauty and corruption of Florence. Earlier, I arrived at the gates of the complex, passing by director Tim Burton and his family, who had gone on a boat trip with various children, kissed by the sun and smiling. Burton has stayed with Depp for the past few weeks, enjoying the private baked utopia.After being buzzed, a golf cart driven by a native by the name of Daniele takes me to the main complex of buildings. Daniele - a man in his late sixties with an impressive whipped cream mustache and a long ivory ponytail who, it should be noted, looks surprisingly like Asterix by René Goscinny and the famous French comics by Albert Uderzo - the man from whom Depp bought the original 19th century land and houses 20 years ago. It was bought by Depp and Vanessa Paradis, his partner at the time, as a sanctuary, a place to escape with the children, to play freely away from the beams of Los Angeles and Paris.When the estate was listed on the market in 2015 for $ 63 million - a wake-up call to the actor 's financial troubles - many reports described the property as a "village complex." As our tires make their way down the wide gravel path to the collection of stone buildings, it's easy to see why.There is a modest main house with patinated blue shutters, almost entirely covered with wavy and bright green foliage. There is a hidden pool, a gazebo, a stone deck with a wooden shade and a clutter of about four or five bedrooms and bathrooms. The sloping, almost flat roof is terracotta, while on the lower side a heavy wooden door leads to a wine cave, now transformed into a cozy one - if you find the crypts comfortable. The space is dotted with candle drops and cowhide throws.From there we turn right, pulling inside what looks like the main courtyard of the estate, or the village square, a place where the road widens and reaches a natural meeting point, a plot of gravel with a small tree in its center. In front of us, 30 feet away, is the silent church with its locked door, while to our left is what appears to be a quintessential French cafe, a building that was originally intended for to be a garage. The brown fabric blind of the café has a name in an Art Nouveau style, "Chez Marceline", which refers to Marceline Lenoir, Paradise's long-time agent.At a polished wooden table in front of the cafe, two men are sitting sipping Evian. Their names are John Evans and Daniel Rolle and they are waiting for us. The looks of Evans and Rolle are Mayfair's hedge of the road one on an external site: crisp pale blue shirts (tucked in), narrow but not too thin indigo jeans, a woven belt at the hips and a Rolex vintage on the wrist. It's clean, tasteful and quietly refined, rather than something ostentatious or flashy.Evans and Rolle have been the benchmarks for logistics today. They work for a London company called Hawthorn, a public relations firm that, among other things, specializes in crisis management for businesses and wealthy individuals.One of Hawthorn's partner companies in the United States consulted on the sale of The Weinstein Company, but it should be noted that Evans himself advised against such a move, despite the "ridiculous fees" offered. Companies like Hawthorn don't do minor skirmishes or call editors to get corrections in the entertainment pages; it is a business that calls exceptionally wealthy customers if there is no one else to call. They are the Harvey Keitels of this world: wolf men, repairers, specialists in adjusting the public image, polymath corporate strategists.Ben Elliot, nephew of the Duchess of Cornwall, is co-founder and partner of Hawthorn. He also created Quintessential, the concierge service for the wealthy elite - consider heli-skiing off Everest's Hillary Step or a suite with balcony overlooking the Monaco Grand Prix. It was Elliot who made the first contact to ask if GQ would be interested in meeting and talking to Depp.Although Depp was someone who had long pointed out his contempt for the media - someone who chased paparazzi with a wooden board in front of a London restaurant to photograph his children - we were informed that he wanted to speak.It's about two months after the publication of a widely read article Rolling stone interview, entitled "The problem with Johnny Depp". It's an article Depp will talk about later, tackling it as he does on most subjects, with a kind of vengeful nonchalance. He is a man, I will come to understand, who will be happy to spill his guts all over the table, while remaining casual about the causes and effects. This "freshness", we suspect, is his armor. The actor refers to the Rolling stone article as "a sham". In fact, it goes much further. "I was deceived. The guy [journalist Stephen Rodrick] entered with absolutely an intention. And I could see it and I thought maybe I could help him understand, you know?"I trusted Jann Wenner[co-founderandeditorof[cofounderandpublisherof[cofondateuretéditeurde[cofounderandpublisherofRolling stone], as I knew him from Hunter [S Thompson, the late writer and a mentor of Depp]. I trusted what the magazine represented or what it represented. I wanted Jann to see if he could write, if a song could be written ... to put things in perspective. That's it, just to put things in perspective. "Perspective can be a treacherous thing. He can be deceived. It can be manipulated. Perspective, after all, is inherently subjective. Yet Depp was right to be belligerent. Anyone who didn't know better would have read this Rolling stone profile - with a digital silo of clippings and bait that has been piling up regularly on the star's life in recent times, her financial troubles, her savage and hostile divorce from American actor Amber Heard, accusations of domestic violence that in a libel case in the UK, and this videotape - and walk away with a pretty dark photo of the 55-year-old man.The article said that Depp was on the verge of bankruptcy: having made $ 650 million on films that made about $ 3.6 billion, but "almost everything is gone". Just a few weeks ago, Depp was suing his longtime business partner, Joel Mandel, and Mandel's brother, Robert (and their company, The Management Group [TMG]) for negligence, breach of fiduciary duty, fraud, forgery and theft.The lawsuit claimed that as a tax filer, TMG failed to pay Depp's taxes on time for the 16 years of its representation, which cost Depp more than $ 8.3 million in penalties. Depp's trial also highlighted TMG's conflicts of interest, their alleged wrongful investment of the star's money in companies with which they had a relationship, and the fact that they allowed Depp's immediate family members to spend his fortune without authorization or knowledge. TMG filed a counterclaim against Depp for breach of contract and fraud, claiming that the actor was responsible for any financial crisis he was in. Last summer, the Wall Street newspaper and others have said that former Depp business leaders are under investigation by the US IRS, the Department of Justice, and the Securities and Exchange Commission for bank fraud and money laundering.By the time I reach Depp in his French villa, the dispute has settled and later this month, in August, he will win the first step in a separate case against his longtime lawyer Jake Bloom, more than $ 30 million paid to the former Depp. Bloom Hergott lawyers by former business leaders without any contract. The latter seems to be a kind of justification for Depp. "Hollywood rocked," reported an industry headline.Sitting with hawthorn leaders at Chez Marceline, waiting for Depp to emerge from his picturesque and non-denominational hideout, there are also emerging stories about Heard and the acrimonious separation of the couple. Heard filed for divorce in May 2016, just 15 months after the couple's marriage in February 2015. Heard court records cited "irreconcilable differences", with a temporary restraining order granted to Depp, whom Heard accused of violence domesticated. A widely circulated leaked video purported to show Depp "tossing a glass of wine" to Heard and the 32-year-old lawyers had previously claimed that Depp had "violently attacked" her. Heard herself was arrested for domestic violence against a previous partner in 2009. Heard denied the charge and no charges were laid.The statements then range from disturbing to downright bizarre. Although the couple's divorce settlement was reached in August 2016 - with Depp paying $ 7 million and the restraining order lifted - even this morning, on my way to the Depp complex, history la The strangest thing to date has emerged from their volatile relationship, that Heard is said to have defecated in the star's bed after a particularly unpleasant argument in April 2016. Heard released a statement last night saying the incident was far from dirty protested on his part, but instead attributed the deposit to his dog, a 4 lb Yorkie teacup called Boo, who suffers from intestinal problems.When I hear the satanic noise gushing from the church of Depp in France, that makes me wonder: who, or what, will I meet today, at his home, inside his sanctuary? An actor paralyzed by fame, money and excess? A relic of an old system of Hollywood stars that is broken and shamefully aging? Someone who just doesn't fit into the brave new era, a time when scandal and stories can no longer be hidden or buried under an avalanche of imposed NOA?"Are we going to sit in the sun, talk, get heatstroke, throw up and die?" May be later'Or is Johnny Depp just a man who has been wronged and has a genuine desire to protect his name and his past work so that he can begin to recover from what was a period of his life that he would no longer forget early? Does he seek revenge on an industry - and of certain individuals - which, according to him, profited from his naivety? Is he a man who still believes in trying to be the underdog, an artist who desperately wants to be free from responsibility, something that could be confused with isolation and eccentricity but who is in fact something closer to a belief in the romantic rebellion?"It's time. He's ready."As I head for the church where the demonic wall of noise has finally been silenced, I realize, perhaps for the first time, that I have no idea who or what will appear. , flashing in warm white light. It is like getting into the eye of everything that revolves around this man and his amazing life. As the church door opens and I hear a cough, I wonder: where does the myth of Johnny Depp end and where does the truth of who Johnny Depp really begin?"Are you a John or a Jonathan?""I'm Jonathan," I say. "You must be Johnny.""Johnny, John ... I'm a John. Is it Jon-a-than or Jon-a-thon? I'm John Christopher Depp II. I have a number after my name that makes me noisy ... I don't know, bigger than I should be. "Immediately there is that smile, the one that oscillates between charm and mischief, heroic and mean. His eyes will remain behind a huge pair of reflective aviator hues for the next four hours. "Shall we sit in the sun, talk, get heatstroke, throw up and die?" Pause. And then the head comes back immediately with laughter. "May be later.Come on, Jonathan, there's a really cool little corner I want to show you ... " Depp emerged from his sleep looking if not healthy, then certainly healthier than I thought. Friends I have spoken to about my mission have expressed concerns about Depp's mental and physical state - most with little or no actual factual knowledge, it must be said - many referring to a recently taken image of the star during a tour in Europe with his group, Hollywood Vampires.The photograph, taken by a fan, showed Depp lean, pale and needing a little sleep - or at least a big green juice and once around the block on a SoulCycle. Not only that, but, perhaps more disturbingly, her usual battered fedora had been replaced with a baseball cap, a baseball cap with the word "fugly" on it. Johnny Depp? In a baseball cap?Today, however, Depp's skin is clear and without bloating or puffiness. It should be added, however, that his clothes are less intact. He is wearing a baseball cap and his shirt in particular seems to have had his arms removed, as if he once belonged to Bruce Banner, an anger management course before anger. In fact, the shirt is unlike anything I've ever seen before: partly a dress shirt, but with a mandarin collar, but no sleeves. On his shirt is a blue vest with fine stripes and around his neck are various chains, trinkets and talismans.At the end of a necklace is a silver "gonzo fist", the icon characterized by two thumbs and four fingers holding a peyote button originally used in the 1970's Hunter S Thompson campaign for the county sheriff. from Pitkin, Colorado. Thanks to Thompson's prolific life and writing style, the fist has become a symbol of gonzo journalism as a whole. For Depp, it's both a memory of his late friend, someone he once lived with in a basement at Owl Farm, Thompson's base camp in Aspen, Colorado, and a reminder of the way of working and living, with a strong sense of the individual and detached from business or tax systems. As Depp says so often, "Beat the system from the inside out."The jeans are loose and a patchwork of blues, holes that have been repaired and sewn countless times. The history of wearing Depp's pants has always been, to say the least, uneven, always as if he had just broken up with a werewolf. He was taking a child to a birthday party in Los Angeles when he realized that his jeans had a hole the size of a hubcap on the back. Rather than change, which would have made sense, he grabbed a roll of silver ribbon and shaped his own load.Depp's belt is something else. It is in worn brown leather, but the buckle is attached to the side rather than the front. This is unusual, I note, as we head to a huge stone table where we will sit and talk in the shade for the afternoon. "This? Well, it's not a Texas belt buckle. You know what the Texas belt buckle is?" I have to admit, no. "Well, a Texas belt buckle is where you have to pull your scrotum over the top of your jeans without undoing them. All along and again. Oh, the horror of it all ... You have to bring your dick back and stick it ... Your dick has to go around the elbow in a sort of half fruit basket and then, well, then you're fucked. You pull your testicles over and let them sit there. It's a Texas belt buckle. Then, of course, there is a Dirty Sanchez, which is something else entirely. "Dirty Sanchez", in which I managed to sneak Pirates... "For those who don't know what a Dirty Sanchez could be, all you need to know is that it's a term that originated in the LA porn industry spitter, something that could be occur when certain projecting members are stuck in certain holes, then in certain other holes. I'll give free rein to your imagination, but let's just say it's unfathomable and a term for an obscene sexual act that could not be less appropriate to be included in a 300 million dollar Disney movie about a pirate, himself family-based ride in a theme park in Florida."Yes I [said] in Pirates and they never caught him when he went to the movies, "chuckles Depp as he sits across from one another. "They caught him when he went on DVD. I did it because I wanted to see who Disney would be to find it ... "As for why Depp wanted to know who would be the person who reported such a thing, it is not clear, even if the fact that he is still proud to have included the obscene term in this first blockbuster - although as a mumbled, almost incoherent entry - and the eyeballs (and ears) of past companies are not negligible.It serves to illustrate what has been and is still, at the moral heart of Depp, a conflict that bubbles and foams under the surface of the actor: the fight to be faithful to his artistic sensitivity while being a voluntary participant and a billion dollar figurehead - free of dollars. This is the age-old problem faced by many successful creators, that of art versus trade.Jack Sparrow was for Johnny Depp what Iron Man would eventually become for Robert Downey Jr: a world hit which made the actor rotate - or at least his image - that of a somewhat gruff young indie who had already illustrated the disgust of being a teenage pin-up (via 21 Jump Street), wore oversized vintage leather jackets and smoked Marlboro Reds while passing wild fashion cats like Kate Moss, to a global megastar with its own line of merchandise, including a 10-inch tall pirate figure with removable cutlery and leather slippers.It was the time when the man who played Ed Wood became Mickey Mouse, although Mickey Mouse had a penchant for a bottle of Château Calon Ségur (2014). "I was freaked out by that," he admits when he realizes where the game is going to take him, rather than the music, which had always been his main creative outlet. "I mean, at first I really didn't care. But I started to enjoy it. I liked creating these characters up there, being in the trenches and facing collaborators, actors, directors ... The problem with working with these big studios is that they may feel uncomfortable with some of the creative decisions you make. Pirates. I think if the studio is not worried, I am not doing my job properly. "Did Disney try to change its Pirates performance? "Disney hated me. [They were] thinking of all the means to get rid of me, to fire me. "Oh, we're going to have to caption it." "We don't understand Captain Jack Sparrow. What's wrong with him?" "What's wrong with his arms?" "Is he drunk?" "Is he mentally stunned? "" Is he gay? ""I ask Depp directly: did Disney ask if Jack Sparrow was being played as overtly gay in Pirates? “They asked me, 'Is he gay? And I answered the question over the phone. It was a lady named Disney's Nina Jacobson at the time [Jacobson is herself gay, it should be noted, and has long campaigned for greater diversity within the all-male club of old Hollywood boardrooms] and she asked me a few questions, then said, "What is it, Johnny? Is he gay? "My tendency, of course, is to be irreverent so I said," Nina, didn't you know that all of my characters are gay? "It was a fairly brutal end to the conversation. And I continued to shape Jack as I thought best."Was Depp mad at Disney for his lack of vision? His lack of confidence? "No. I told them," Look, you don't like what I'm doing, fire me. You hired me to do some work and play the character and that's what I want to do. "C "is work. I mean, hadn't they seen the work I had done before? You might want to take a look at it before hiring a motherfucker, you know?"Did he feel justified once it was clear that his treatment for Jack was going to work, when the audience fell in love with him? “I knew I was right. Even the very first time when they came back to me and said, "No, no, what is it? Even when the other actors looked at me like I was an absolute threat, I stayed with it. I mean, the older actors probably thought, "Jesus Christ, he sank." Because I would tear up the script on set. I would be a thug. I would fly a little to see where things happened. And not everyone appreciates this way of working. Oliver Stone didn't like it when I changed all the lines he wrote for me in Section and that's probably why most of my stuff ended up on the cutting room floor. "Depp and I sit under what can only be described as a tent or canopy of green vines. We are approximately 150 meters from the main house. Inside the tent is a huge table and monolithic stone benches that look like something from the Paleolithic age, marked and grooved with years of wear and deterioration. Depp bought it when they acquired the house. "I made a film with Roman Polanski[[[[The ninth door]in Paris with Vanessa. We had to stay two months and we ended up staying ten years. " While we are talking, Depp keeps his cap and sunglasses. From time to time, he seems a little asleep, stifling a yawn, although after a while he falls asleep and is engaging, consistent and certain. He twists and moves rarely, perhaps folding his legs sideways or sitting cross-legged like some kind of skater / war veterinarian / yogi. Otherwise, it is entirely stationary. He takes care of his answers, expressing himself at a regular rate, without fear of being patient and waiting for the right word to come from his conscience and escape into the ether.A man, perhaps a cleaning lady, brings us refreshments in one of these light blue plastic laundry baskets: sweet tea, green bottle, Coca-Cola, water. No alcohol. Later, I ask Depp if he thinks he has a problem with alcohol: "Do I like a drink?" Yes. Do I need a drink? No. "The only visible defect is the rolling tobacco that he smokes in the licorice papers; he will roll up one every 20 minutes or so and often will not light it immediately. He lets it hang from his mouth, the paper sticking to his lower lip as he talks and answers questions. He has all the warnings on tobacco, all the pictures of blackened lungs, scribbled by an assistant. His fingers are cluttered with rings and his arms are full of black ink.The tattoos have been much discussed: the "Wino Forever" on the upper right bicep being perhaps the most infamous, a modification of what was originally "Winona Forever", which Depp got when he came out with Winona Ryder, the pair who worked together on Tim Burton Edward Scissorhands in 1990. A more recent tattoo said "Slim" in a Gothic font, a letter on each of the proximal phalanges (the bones of the fingers closest to the palm of the hand). Slim was the name Depp called his ex-wife Amber Heard. After the divorce, he changed it to "Scum" and more recently to "Scam"."The truth will come out of this and I will be on the other side of the roaring rapids. I hope other people will too. "There is something in the torments of recent years that, intentionally or not, shakes the surface of such thorny subjects - its breakdown, its reputation, its financial problems. Quite simply, they are in the air. I can feel it. Depp can feel it. And without even being pushed, the subjects fall on the table and ask to be chosen.Depp, it can be said, feels that he has suffered, sometimes resembling an injured animal that has healed and is now ready to bite. He is also, although he can deny it, angry - angry at many things - and he is vengeful and absolutely, categorically certain of his position and his position.“The last three or four years have been felt like a perverse situation that has been inflicted on me. It hurts. "How did the actor take the claims of his long-term managers eviscerating his trust, their relationship, this way?"It is rude to talk about money but, I mean, when I discovered the Pirates 5 the movie had just ended, just before the business owner started saying, "Oh, you have to sell the house in France! Oh my God! Shit hits the fan!" Now my entrance fees - I I'm even embarrassed to say it - for Pirates 5 35 million pounds sterling alone. And then I went on honeymoon after this film and while I was on honeymoon, it was when I got the call from the guy and I said to myself: "What? I don't understand? How is it possible? ""TMG claimed that they had done what they could to manage Depp's finances responsibly and repeatedly warned him that he was spending too much, but he had a different perspective. “My belief was that I didn't need to get wrapped up in the notion of money, how much I made, how much there was. I just knew that I was earning enough money in salary and back-end for everything to go well. Nothing should have gone so sideways. And when I found out, that was when the war started. C'était sous tous les angles. Le juge, vous savez, les a appelés sur toutes les petites allégations personnelles et a dit que vous essayez de décapiter cet homme dans un forum public. Ce n'est pas ce que vous faites. "Depp a une théorie, cependant, sur une conspiration plus large alimentée par les problèmes entourant ses finances et la détérioration du mariage, une théorie qui pointe vers l'industrie hollywoodienne elle-même, "ce vil putain de cirque", comme l'appelle l'acteur. «Mais cela a-t-il empêché tous les marchands de pouvoir à Hollywood qui étaient intéressés à me faire taire? On jetait beaucoup d'argent. Les gens me poursuivent à chaque occasion. Je veux dire, tout est si évident. Écoutez, je sais que je n'allais jamais être Cendrillon - je le sais et je l'accepte. Mais c'était comme si, dans un très, très court laps de temps, cette version - à défaut d'un meilleur mot - de Cendrillon s'était soudainement transformée en bête. Il est Quasimodo.«Je pouvais sentir les gens me regarder différemment, à cause des accusations contre vous. Et puis les gens commencent à mettre des choses dans des magazines: «Il est fou. Il doit passer un test de santé mentale ... "Vous savez, des trucs ridicules. Mais la seule chose que je pouvais faire était de savoir ce que je sais encore. En fin de compte, la vérité éclatera dans tout cela et je me tiendrai du côté droit des rapides rugissants. J'espère que d'autres personnes le seront aussi. Je connais la vérité et si je devais m'éloigner de tout cela aujourd'hui, du travail, de la carrière, de tout cela, et aller au toodle-oo, alors très bien.«Je n'ai rien à prouver à personne, car je n'ai jamais été en compétition avec personne. Je n'achète pas dans cette merde. Je ne suis pas intéressé à recevoir des figurines peintes à la bombe. Vous savez, peut-être quoi que ce soit, quoi que je laisse, vous savez, mon héritage à mes enfants ou aux gens, je n'ai pas regardé 98% de cette merde. Cela peut être complètement fou. Ce peut être de la merde. Cela peut être intéressant. Je ne sais pas ce que c'est. Mais ce que je sais, c'est que j'ai fait quelque chose, et j'ai essayé quelque chose de différent, pendant des années. Cela a-t-il fonctionné? Qui diable sait? Mais je l'ai fait et je vais bien arrêter.«J'adore le processus de création d'un personnage. J'adore la sécurité, vous savez, d'être ce personnage. Je veux dire, il y avait une grande sécurité à être aussi ouvert que possible sur Edward Scissorhands et pour essayer de voir des choses, des choses banales, normales, aussi belles et nouvelles, vous savez? Le capitaine Jack était un animal différent, Ed Wood, un animal différent, Mad Hatter[de[from[de[fromAlice in Wonderland], Willy Wonka[[[[Charlie et la chocolaterie]..."Pourtant, il y a un fil conducteur qui traverse tous ces personnages. Il y a un filament qui les relie. Même s'ils sont tous très différents, ils sont tous très similaires, parce que tout doit provenir d'une sorte de vérité, vous savez? Et la vérité est qu'ils sont tous des putains de inadaptés. Ce sont tous des inadaptés et ils sont tous mal compris. Et jugé de manière condescendante, dans le mauvais sens. »Le message est fort et clair quant à ce que Depp pense être descendu avec sa gestion à long terme et ses partenaires commerciaux. Je me demande: s'inquiète-t-il de sa réputation, de son héritage, notamment en ce qui concerne les femmes? Est-il préoccupé par le fait que tant de ce qui a été publié dans la presse, autant du scandale, a causé une érosion irréversible de sa réputation? Ou ne s'inquiète-t-il simplement pas parce que, comme il le dit, il n'a jamais voulu être mis sur un piédestal ou prétendre être un modèle, une figure de Cendrillon?"Savez-vous ... je vais vous dire ..." La pause suivante est longue. Depp et moi sommes assis en silence. La question plane sur nous. Ensuite, il semble simplement décider de parler.«Il ne s'agit pas d'être un modèle. Non, ce n'est pas ça du tout. La bande qui est sortie ... "Il s'arrête et glousse et répète ses mots," La bande qui est sortie, ou la bande que quelqu'un a faite, qui est apparue miraculeusement sur YouTube, prise du téléphone de quelqu'un. Ce n'était pas le centre-ville [LA, where he lived with Amber Heard]. Elle [Heard] voulait faire comme si c'était récent. C'était une vidéo plus ancienne et [what happened in it] avait à voir avec le fait que j'avais perdu des centaines et des centaines de millions de dollars. "La vidéo en question, floue, clandestine, montre Depp remplissant un grand bécher de vin rouge, puis saisissant le téléphone de Heard après avoir vu qu'elle enregistre. The video was “leaked” or released by showbiz gossip channel TMZ in the States, although compared to Heard’s other allegations against Depp the video content seems unexceptional or certainly the least disturbing.Although the pair have now settled out of court, what Heard alleges to have happened in April 2016 still reverberates throughout my meeting with Depp. Heard alleged that on Saturday 21 May, Depp attacked his wife and threw an iPhone at her face. Heard phoned the police, who found “no evidence of any crime”. However, Heard claims to have taken a selfie later that day showing bruising around her right eye and cheek. The following Wednesday she filed for divorce. Depp is currently suing the Sun for alleging in a headline, since altered, that he is a wife beater.I feel like I have to broach the subject with Depp. Does the actor consider himself a violent man? An aggressive man? Can he lose his temper or is he prone to if intoxicated? “The thing that hurt me is being presented as something that you’re really as far away from as you could possibly get, you know?“Then there was that time when the paparazzi were trying to take a photograph of Vanessa and she’s pregnant with Lily-Rose and I was not going to let them make a circus out of it. So I did what I had to do. Got her in the car, they didn’t get the picture, and I said, ‘Take a fucking picture because then I’ll stove your fucking head in. You’ve got your cameras out. First one click. Let’s go.’ And that’s just the truth. I would’ve. I’ve even said before, if a paparazzo gets a shot, they’re far away and they get a shot of me and my kid, whatever, that’s their thing. But if I catch you, I will eat your nose. I will eat your nose, chew it up and swallow it in front of you and then you’ll fucking think about it next time. I fucking mean it. But to...”Depp goes quiet again. It seems like he needs to take stock every so often, to recharge, to get back into a specific lane or mood every time the conversation veers into talking about the volatile relationship with Heard and the results of its breakdown. “To harm someone you love? As a kind of bully? No, it didn’t, it couldn’t even sound like me. So, initially, I just kept my mouth shut, you know? I knew it was going to stick on me and it would get weirder. Keep going, you know? Go nuts. I ain’t going to get into a pissing contest with someone about it. Spit out what you need to spit out and, you know, my attorneys will take care of the rest. I never went out and spoke about the shit.“But of course I care what my family and my kids think. I mean, you realise right away, essentially, that what is being done is the commencement of what they hope is to be your funeral.” Depp is still talking at a measured pace, in his low, cool tones, but his words are just a little clipped at the ends. His vowels just a little firmer.“And worse than that, to take away future earnings that are for my kids, you know? I do this shit for my kids, man. How could someone, anyone, come out with something like that against someone, when there’s no truth to it whatsoever? I’m sure it wasn’t easy for my 14-year-old boy to go to school, you know what I mean? With people going, ‘Hey, look at this magazine, man. What, your dad beats up chicks or something?’ Why did he have to go through that? Why did my daughter have to go through that?” I tell Depp I can see how that would anger him. “She didn’t...” Depp is often all too aware that some of the intricacies of his and Heard’s relationship need to be put in the third person. This is why, at times, he will start off using a subjective pronoun but switch to something more objective, swapping a “she” for “that person”.“Why didn’t that person speak to the police?” continues Depp. “I mean, they spoke to the police, but the police saw nothing and they offered her an emergency medical technician. She said no. Police see nothing on her. Police see nothing broken in the place, no marks, and then they offer her an EMT to have a look at her and she says no and I don’t know if it was the next day or a couple of days later, but then there was a bruise. There was a red mark and then there was a brown bruise.”A day after the alleged phone-throwing took place, Heard was seen at a party, specifically Amanda de Cadenet’s 44th birthday party. De Cadenet posted a picture of herself, with Heard smiling brightly on her right and model Amber Valletta to her left. Heard is tagged in the photo; her hair is brushed over her left eye and cheek. At some point, however, the image was deleted. Depp is emphatic about his version of events. “She was at a party the next day. Her eye wasn’t closed. She had her hair over her eye, but you could see the eye wasn’t shut. Twenty-five feet away from her, how the fuck am I going to hit her? Which, by the way, is the last thing I would’ve done. I might look stupid, but I ain’t fucking stupid.”To suggest that a woman, a man or anyone might have made up such a serious allegation is a tremendously dangerous and damaging thing to do. If we as a global community are striving for equality and acceptance to run through every part of our lives, through all races, cultures and genders, then we need to believe those who stand up and claim to have been subjected to physical or verbal abuse. Let me be clear: this is not a piece of investigative reporting. It is merely a snapshot, a chance to sit down and talk to a person of immense interest and talent, who has, it must be noted, brought joy to millions of film lovers all over the world, ever since he moved from Kentucky to LA and a friend, Nicolas Cage, told him he should go and see his acting agent.This isn’t a piece claiming to know with any authority about what happened between Johnny Depp and Amber Heard in May 2016 or at any other time between the pair in private. All I wanted to do was come to Depp and ask him to give his side of the story, which up until now has not been properly heard. Before we met, it was agreed with his advisors at Hawthorn that both parties would go into this meeting with one simple aim: to record what happens candidly. From my side, this is what I saw and this is the conversation we had.“We probably shouldn’t be talking about this,” continues Depp, “but I am worried. I worry about the people that bought it and I worry about her. It’s just not right. I will never stop fighting. I’ll never stop. They’d have to fucking shoot me. An episode like this takes time to get over. It’s a mourning for someone you thought was...”Again, a pause and quiet. All I can hear is the blood rushing about my skull, nitroed by adrenaline and the swirling white nicotine clouds.The love of his life?“Well, something. I did marry her somehow.”Is he single now?“Yeah,” he says, chuckling and sounding somewhat relieved.Does that feel good?"Ouais."Does he think about wanting to find love ever again?"Non."I need to take a leak. Depp tells me I can use his bathroom and that I’ll find it back at the church. He gives me a set of instructions and directions, although with the electricity of the conversation we have just had still pinging about in my hot skull I nod and smile but when I actually arrive at the church I realise that I wasn’t really paying attention. I walk in through the main door and that’s when I realise I am standing slap bang in the middle of Johnny Depp’s bedroom. Alone. With a full bladder.Actually, I am not quite in his bedroom yet. I am in a small kitchenette. There’s a sink and a box of tissues on a small table and beyond that a door that leads to the bedroom. I can see it’s the bedroom because I can see the huge four-poster bed against the far wall. I venture further in, thinking that there must be an en suite somewhere and now I really am in the middle of Johnny Depp’s bedroom, inside his church, which he had built in the compound he bought with his ex-partner 20 years ago. It makes one’s head spin to be alone in someone’s private space. It’s so intimate, like climbing inside their head or diary and riffling through their thoughts without telling them you’re doing so.I take a quick scan of the room. There’s a jumble of family photographs, a guitar on a stand and clothes strewn about like a teenager just home from school. Down the far end, towards the main church door, which is blocked, two sofas face one another. On the sofa closest to me, down the right-hand side is the most intriguing object of all: a black vintage typewriter with round, silver keys. To the left of the machine is a pile of notes and typed pages. I had heard a rumour that Depp was writing a memoir, a book of his life, and had been doing so for the past few years. It’s a book about the abuse he suffered at the hands of his junkie, desperately violent late mother; about how, in anger, he used to take a baseball bat from the garage as a kid and just spend an hour wailing it against a palm tree in their yard; a book about the work, the films that never made it; about his relationships, his friendships; about when Allen Ginsberg called the actor as he was dying; about Bob Dylan, his friend; about Edward Scissorhands; about the industry, the circus; about the corruption, the excess and the sordid beautiful truth about it all.There’s a page spooled into the machine already. There are a handful of sentences typed, the black ink speckled and smudged on the grained, ivory paper. What is written is private. It’s also eloquent. It reads like someone trying to write vividly, someone desperate to get it out, get it down, so he might hold it up and scream, “Look! This is what happened!” This feels like snooping. I make a swift exit and go back to the bathroom in the café. Eventually I wander back to Depp, the smoke signals from his cigarette indicating he is still where I left him.“You know, on the road with the band, it’s impossible to bring oil paints,” explains Depp. “Mineral spirit stinks up the fucking place, you know? So I’ve just been doing watercolours and odd drawings. I’ve also been doing a lot of writing. I kind of started a book, a couple of months before I broke up with Amber.”Fiction? Memoir? A play?“I’ve written around 300 pages. I have about 300 more pages more to go. I am halfway. They are more memories. And some of the beauty and the knowledge that I’ve been able to glean or sponge off of some of these magic fucking people I know, from Brando to Hunter to Patti Smith to Dylan to Ginsberg. I have been so lucky to have met all these folk. I don’t have cards or make notes really. No structure is blocked out. I have reminders. I’ll make a list of reminders.”Of events he wants to remember?“Yes, but it’s not written in any kind of linear form. It should be more like the unplanned telling of a story around the campfire.” I ask Depp if he finds it hard writing about some of the more painful memories.“Sure. I mean my childhood was dark. My mum wouldn’t edit. There was no editing. She would say what she meant, what she felt, in that instant. No matter how wrong it might have been even, or how hideously evil it was in the moment, she didn’t edit. It came out: bleurgh! She was out of her mind, obviously, and she didn’t know what the fuck she was doing. She got four kids and she hated the world. Was there fuck loads of verbal abuse? Yeah, man. Was there fuck loads of physical abuse? Yes. And never-ending, to the point that pain, physical pain, was just a given. But the last four, five years that I was involved, let’s say... Well, that was quite a dark time too.“I mean, you can write about those things and what’s interesting is you write about those things early on and once you’ve had a few years away from that chapter you go back and reread what you’ve done so far. And then you realise that you do feel the same way you did, but you’re so far beyond it. It puts everything else into perspective. Because at a certain point one must be able to say, ‘What the fuck else can any of you do now? What else can any of you do to hurt me?’”The patter has changed. He is still calm, still warm, but the emotions are right here on the table with us, right in our faces. Maybe it’s just Depp’s natural charisma, but the intensity of the conversation feels like lifting weights. Not because it’s difficult to talk or that it isn’t natural, but simply because of the rawness, the emotional density of the topics. We sit in silence. Depp doesn’t move, not a single muscle flinches. It’s like he’s looked into the Gorgon Medusa’s eyes to see for himself life’s savage reality.The cigarette hangs unlit, like a stogie to be chewed on or soaked with spit. “What was it that Dylan Thomas said, ‘To begin at the beginning,’ right? And Ernest Hemingway, ‘All you have to do is write one true sentence’ – one of the hardest things in the world to do. And [Allen Ginsberg’s] ‘First thought, best thought.’”Depp has taken his writing lessons from brilliant yet often difficult men. He has strung them together like bunting: to begin at the beginning, all you have to do is write one true sentence: first thought, best thought... Much like Ginsberg, Depp has that ability to perform, to unspool himself and all his kinks. A drive into Depp’s memories, one suspects, would be like trying to control a car on a winding mountain road with its brakes cut, thrilling yet perilous.“And Hunter. Hunter! He was right in the centre of every story. And all those stories were true. I have all the tapes and the napkins. Hunter wanted me to buy his archives, but I’m its custodian. They belong to Hunter’s grandson, Will. I think we are going to take it on the road, to show people, to show people the reality, the madness and the goddamn beauty of it all.”For the first time, Depp takes off his shades. He rubs his eyes, which aren’t bloodshot or kohl-lined, but are clear, backlit and luminous. “I want the truth. That’s really my biggest obsession in the world. It’s just the fucking truth.”Yet to live on impulses, to put down all the raw facts unedited as they come out, well, that’s a powerful type of storytelling. As Hunter himself warned of such precision reporting: “Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity.”The truth has no time for perspective. Or rather, truth is not about perspective as a point of view. But to see the whole truth? The whole story? Now, that sort of perspective will allow you to get the entire picture: the correct height, depth and position of all the facts in relation to one another, something that is absolute.There is no doubt Depp is seeking the truth. That is his mission. One day, maybe he will find the right words, in a conversation or in a book, and when he does they will be simple.Subscribe now to get six issues of GQ for only £15, including free access to the interactive iPad and iPhone editions. Alternatively, choose from one of our fantastic digital-only offers, available across all devices.Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes Of Grindelwald is out on 16 November.The print version of this story includes errors by inaccurately attributing a quote to Johnny Depp, as well as certain factual inaccuracies. GQ apologises and has amended the online version accordingly. https://oltnews.com/johnny-depp-will-not-be-buried-british-gq?_unique_id=5e9d9d1d5bac7

[theliterateape]

Hope Idiotic | Part 37

By David Himmel

Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.

OUTSIDE OF THE CONDO, he called Mark.

“You around?”

“Yeah, just eating a pizza and watching some documentary about some guy eating nothing but McDonald’s for a year. What’s up?”

“I’m coming over. Just walked out of Michelle’s place for good.”

“Great.”

Lou drove straight down Ashland Avenue to Mark’s Bucktown apartment running only one red light.

“You okay?” Mark asked.

“Nope. But it has nothing to do with her. Come on, we’re going to a bar. ”

“What bar?”

“Any bar. Closest one.”

Mark’s choice was only a block from his place. It used to be the usual spot for tired drunks, union guys and neighborhood folk in need of a shot and a beer. Recently, however, it was bought by two spoiled twenty-somethings using mom and dad’s money. Following the trend of irony being cool, the new owners turned the old dive bar into a new dive bar.

They rebranded Zigler’s Tavern as Zigler’s Dive Bar. There was a bit of media frenzy around it, thanks to the culture-shallow editors at The ChiEye and style-obsessed producers of local news. The things that make a bar a dive are not supposed to be the things that are celebrated as a way to attract new clientele. But because of the rotting wood bar, torn bar stools, slanted pool table with a missing 2-ball and a CD-spinning jukebox, Zigler’s was the latest and greatest dump in town. The new owners brought in a chef who not ironically referred to himself as a “tastemaker” to rebirth the long-unused kitchen turning it into a destination for what one reporter called, “must-have bar-and-grill chic.” It was gentrification for alcoholics. Zigler’s was no longer a familiar and charming neighborhood dump, having become a place for other trendy twenty- and thirty-something go-hards to flock south to and pat themselves on the back for slumming it at a bar that charged six bucks for a can of ordinary beer. All this style over substance and jacked-up prices, when what so many people really needed at that time was a quiet place to hide from the crumbling economy and drink their fears away, if only for a few hours. The new Zigler’s was an insult to the hard worker down on his or her luck.

Lou and Mark shuffled their way around a line of people, and Lou pulled open the door. A large bouncer pushed it shut in their faces.

“Line forms out there,” the bouncer said.

They turned and looked. “There’s a line? For what?” Mark asked.

“To get in,” the bouncer said.

Mark looked through the window next to the door. “But there’s plenty of space in there. There are even empty seats at the bar. What gives?”

“Line forms back there,” the bouncer said again with even more authority.

“What the fuck…” Mark said.

“You ever been to this place?”  Lou asked him.

“Yeah, maybe a year ago or so. Came here with some girl. Place was a total shithole. I don’t get it.”

“Fuck it. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“No. I want to see what all this is about.”

They waited in line another twenty minutes before finally reaching the door and the bouncer again.

“IDs,” the bouncer demanded.

“You’re new here, huh?” Mark said. “When did you start?”

The bouncer looked over the IDs then at the guys before handing the cards back and giving them the okay to enter by grunting, “Have a nice night.” They secured seats at the bar and ordered Miller Lites and shots of Jameson.

“Well, I have to say, although I’m not happy with this bouncer or these new prices, the girls in this place are far better-looking than before.”

“I’m not taking that shot,” Lou said.

“Shut up. You just broke up with your girlfriend. You deserve a shot.”

“I can’t do shots. You know that. My body won’t allow it. I’ll puke it up instantly.”

“You drink scotch and bourbon neat all the time. It’s the same thing.”

“I sip those.”

“I’ve seen you drink, Lou, you don’t sip. Come on. Sláinte!”

Mark gulped the whiskey down. Lou drank his slower and a moment later, spit up a mouthful of puke onto the floor.

“Jesus!” Mark said.

“I told you.”

Mark looked around. “You done? You’re lucky no one saw that.”

“I’m a professional puker. I can puke in public without ever getting noticed. Phantom puker.”

“We’re going to change that.” Mark ordered another round of shots.

After a couple hours of drinking beer and whiskey shots—with only the occasional vomit from Lou—and striking out with several of the pretty and prissy girls finding the broken pool table ever so charming, Lou and Mark decided to call it a night. Plus, Lou was barely keeping his faculties in check. If the adrenaline from the break-up hadn’t been at full throttle, he’d have passed out long ago.

“How much cash do you have on you?” he asked Mark as they walked back to the apartment.

“I dunno. Twenty, thirty bucks, why?”

“We’re going to an ATM. We’re buying whores.

“Shut up.”

“There, that 7-11. Let’s go there and get cash.”

“Dude, we’re not getting whores. There are no hookers in Chicago.”

“Gimme your iPhone.” Lou searched Chicago Escort Service, which resulted in a list of agencies and phone numbers. He pointed his find to Mark, then dialed the first hit. “Hello, I’d like to purchase an escort—no, two escorts for this evening. Yes, right away. An apartment in Bucktown. How about brunette and athletic. Yes, both of them, thank you. We can pay cash. How much? No problem. The address is—Hey, what’s your address?”

Mark relayed the address, adding,

“Okay, we’re looking forward to meeting the lovely ladies. Bye-bye.”

Lou gave the phone back to Mark with a disturbing amount of pride.

“Have you done that before?”

“Nope. First time.”

“How did you know?”

“There’s always a hooker at the ready, my friend. Now, let’s go get that money.”

“How much?”

“Cheap. Three hundred bucks.”

“Do you even have that much?”

“I need to borrow three hundred bucks.”

✶

AT THE APARTMENT, THEY EACH DRANK ANOTHER BEER and straightened the place up so that the hookers wouldn’t feel like they were dealing with scumbags. They turned the spare bedroom, which Mark had been using as the TV room, into Lou’s love palace by opening the couch that really was a sofa bed and throwing a few blankets and pillows on it. Lou found a large glass candle of Saint Casimir that Mark’s religious aunt had sent to him and used it as mood lighting.

When the escorts arrived, the guys were disappointed that they were not what had been promised. Both girls were brunette, but neither was athletic, and both had the dentistry of a 19th-century English servant. One was tall and thin with a flat chest and no ass; the other was short and squishy with enormous tits and a gigantic ass. Mark and Lou looked at each other.

“You take the tall one, since you’re taller than me,” Lou said.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“And you paid for it.”

They paired off and went to their respective rooms.

“It’s very nice,” the girl said to Lou as she looked around the room. “What do you want to do tonight, sweetie?”

“What do you think?”

She laughed. “You’re cute. How do you want it. What do you want me to do for you?”

“Just pretend to care.”

All of the drinking made his dick numb, so they screwed for over an hour. Lou wept the entire time.

Across the apartment, Mark acted impressed with his girl’s trick of applying the condom with her mouth. She screamed like a bad actress in an even worse porno while faking an orgasm. Mark laughed a little. Because he wasn’t as drunk as Lou, his whiskey dick was more in tune with sensations, and he was done sooner. Plus, he just wanted to get it over with. He and his girl sat on the couch watching the rest of the documentary while the other two finished up.

Immediately after coming, Lou passed out. The girl emerged from his room and the other quickly stood up ready to leave. “Your friend is very said,” Lou’s girl said.

“Yeah. I know,” said Mark. “We’re working on that. You don’t happen to know whether your company is hiring any copywriters, do you?”

The girls giggled politely and left. Hearing the giggles, Mark wondered what they might have thought a copywriter was.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX Part X Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36

#Bildungsroman #Hope Idiotic #Fiction #Chicago Fiction #David Himmel Fiction #David Himmel Novel #David Himmel Author #Dark Humor #Carbon Monoxide Poisoning