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handeaux · 2 years

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A Passel Of Curious Cincinnati Street Names, Part One (A to E)

Annwood Street (East Walnut Hills) Most Cincinnati streets that memorialize people recognize men, but there are several honoring women. Anne (Bryan) Wood (1780-1867), for whom this street and a connecting lane is named, is also responsible for the nearby Wold Street, named for her estate. A native of England, Mrs. Wood and her husband James arrived early in Cincinnati and made a fortune in merchandizing. Their daughter Ellen married Judge Timothy Walker, one of the founders of the Cincinnati Law School. Although she died 30 years previously, warm memories inspired the neighboring community to preserve her name through the street signs.

Arcadia Place (Hyde Park) Soon after this 47-lot subdivision was platted in 1916, the new residents formed a neighborhood association that survived for decades. Every family on the street was automatically enrolled in The Arcadians, an organization devoted to fostering neighborhood pride. The Arcadians sponsored annual Halloween and Christmas parties as well as regular gatherings. They elected officers annually. When the subdivision was first constructed, none of the houses had addresses, so the Post Office refused to deliver mail. The residents adopted addresses based on the lot number of the parcel on which they had built their houses, so today’s addresses don’t match the standard city system.

Back Street (Over-the-Rhine) When Back Street was first scratched out of the northern reaches of the city, it was literally a “back street,” and that is apparently how it got its name. That’s according to Ray Steffens, a Cincinnati Post reporter who penned an invaluable series of articles, “How Was It Named?” that are treasured by local history buffs. So invaluable are these articles that they were collected by a dedicated librarian at the Cincinnati Public Library, where they occasioned a bit of a literary spat. Steffens pooh-poohed the idea that Hamilton-born novelist Fannie Hurst drew any connection between Cincinnati’s Back Street and the titular “Back Street” of her 1931 best-selling pot boiler. Apparently, on one of her trips through Cincinnati, Miss Hurst paged through the library’s scrapbook of Steffens’ columns, because this handwritten note is scrawled through the clipping for Back Street: “Not correct. Miss Hurst researched here, because I am Miss Hurst.”

Belsaw Place (Clifton) For reasons perhaps known only to the family, the estate of Thomas Sherlock in Clifton was named Belsaw and was uniformly praised for its beauty by the newspapers of the day. Mr. Sherlock immigrated from Ireland and made a fortune in Ohio River shipping and insurance. He died in 1895. Two years later, a short street on the southern side of Ludlow was renamed Sherlock Avenue in his honor. (Sorry, Baker Street Irregulars!) When Thomas’ widow, Nancy, died in 1899, the rural estate in north Clifton was bequeathed to the couple’s five daughters along with all the jewels, horses, carriages and artwork. When the estate was subdivided in 1921, it was announced as the “most exclusive” development in the city, with no houses allowed to be constructed for less than $20,000.

Boudway Lane (Westwood) Perhaps the most maladroit street name in all of Cincinnati sprang from the unrelenting necessity of police paperwork. Right on the border of Westwood and West Price Hill lies a minuscule stretch of pavement with no addresses, but lots of traffic accidents. In the early 1990s, the police appealed to the city’s public works department to slap a name on this anonymous wreck magnet. Since the tiny strip of asphalt, no more than 250 feet long, connected Boudinot Avenue and Glenway, the poets at City Hall coughed up a portmanteau word and christened it Boudway Lane. A few years later, the dolorous Boudway was subsumed as an extension of the equally mellifluous Glenhills Way.

Calhoun Street (Corryville) In 1843, John C. Calhoun, United States Senator from South Carolina, was very popular among the Democrats of Cincinnati. A proponent of states’ rights and limited government, Calhoun fiercely defended slavery and the interests of white supremacy. A group of Cincinnati Democratic businessmen wrote a public letter to Calhoun that year, inviting him to visit Cincinnati. One of the signers of the invitation was William Corry (1811-1880), among the children of William Corry (1778-1833) who owned all the land that was later known as Corryville. The southern boundary of Corry's property was a road named Calhoun Street in the 1840s, apparently in homage to the Southern firebrand.

Camargo Road (Madeira) A lot of folks, mostly men, are memorialized in Cincinnati street names. We have lots of streets named for presidents, governors, generals, businessmen, property owners and so on. Camargo Road – although its origins remain somewhat obscure – is likely the only street in this area named for a ballerina. Marie Anne de Cupis de Camargo (1710-1770) was known as “La Camargo” and lived the extravagant life of an Eighteenth-Century sex symbol. She was the first ballerina to wear slippers instead of heeled shoes and she is often credited with adopting the shortened skirt for the stage. As her name indicates, she had Spanish roots – Camargo is a very small village in northern Spain – but indications are that it is the dancer, not the municipality, that gave its name to our road.

Carrel Street (Columbia-Tusculum) When Columbia was annexed by Cincinnati, that venerable old town (older than Cincinnati) had its own Main Street and, of course, that duplicate name had to go. Reaching into history, the city fathers renamed the street in honor of Hercules Carrel, a legendary boat builder, whose operations were based nearby. Mr. Carrel also had a riverboat named in his honor, but don’t you wish the city would have named that street for his first name? Hercules Street! Now, there’s a name to be reckoned with!

Catawba Valley Drive (Columbia-Tusculum) Readers of Dann Woellert’s exhaustive history of Cincinnati winemaking know that most hillsides on the north bank of the Ohio were given over to vineyards in the decades before the Civil War. That was certainly true in the area around Alms Park. One remnant of those long-gone vines is a little street named Catawba Valley Drive, honoring the Catawba grapes that once grew here. At one time, Wine Press Road ran nearby, but was later incorporated into Alms Park.

Cross Lane (Walnut Hills) Walnut Hills was platted by the Reverend James Kemper, pioneering Presbyterian minister, who built his own residence there in 1794. That log house is now preserved at the Heritage Village Museum inside Sharon Woods Park. As an energetically religious man, naming a street after the cross would not be unusual, but Kemper’s intentions had nothing to do with his proselytizing zeal. He named all his east-west streets “Cross Lane” and numbered them. The only lane retaining that designation was originally named “Cross Lane No. 1.”

Dublin Court (Dillonvale) It’s a mystery why Cincinnati’s annual Saint Patrick’s Day shenanigans aren’t scheduled out in Dillonvale. Joseph Dillon, a proud son of the Auld Sod, platted the Sycamore Township community that he would christen with his own name in 1951. He remembered his birthplace by naming streets for Dublin, Belfast, Antrim, Killarney, Wicklow, Donegal, Wexford, and Limerick, and that’s no Blarney!

Elberon (Price Hill) With the popularity of J.R.R. Tolkein’s fantasy novels in the 1960s, folks could be excused for believing that this street was named for some elvish prince. In fact, capitalizing on that association a (very good) Cincinnati folk-rock group took Elberon as their band name. The actual origin of this street traces to the assassination of President James A. Garfield in 1881. After being shot in Washington, DC, Garfield was moved to Elberon, New Jersey, along the Atlantic shore, where it was hoped sea breezes would help him heal. That treatment failed and Garfield died in Elberon. Cincinnati was devoted to Garfield and commissioned a statue, still standing on Vine Street. Boyle Avenue was renamed Elberon in 1889, shortly after the statue was installed. Which only begs the question: How was the New Jersey town named? Turns out it has nothing to do with elves, nor (as believed for a long time) Native Americans. “Elberon” is a contraction of L.B. Brown, among the early settlers of that little seaside resort.

Eppert Walk (Mount Washington) Josephine R. “Josie” Eppert was 60 years old when she died in 1939. She had been a schoolteacher her entire adult life and was beloved by generations of children who attended Mount Washington Elementary School. She lived at the corner of Plymouth and Oxford avenues and walked home along a footpath that was later paved. Clifton Merriman, local real estate broker, suggested memorializing Miss Eppert by placing her name on the route she had traveled for decades.

#cincinnati streets #cincinnati street names

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poetwriterme · 7 months

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Boiler House Poets Read Saturday 11am, Sept. 30 at Bear and Bee Bookshop

The Boiler House Poets, part of the Annual Residency at MASSMoCA, will do a collective reading on Saturday , September 30, at 11 am at Bear and Bee Bookshop, 28 Holden Street, North Adams, Massachusetts. It looks like an exciting reading. I will continue to blog on Thursdays. If you have an upcoming reading or art exhibit, let me know and I’ll blog it.

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#poetryparty publications #Books #poetry #poetry and art

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kaggsy59 · 8 months

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"Great writing out-wits Time and Death" @neglectedbooks @bhousepress #genevievetaggard

I’ve featured the Recovered Books imprint on the Ramblings before; published by Boiler House Press, their books are inspired by Brad Bigelow of the Neglected Books blog, and I’ve covered three marvellous titles so far. Now, they’re issuing a marvellous new anthology by a lost American poet, and it’s a fascinating and involving read. The author is Genevieve Taggard, and the book is titled “To Test…

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#boiler house press #genevieve taggards #neglected books #to test the joy

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cppsheffield · 8 months

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Centre for Poetry and Poetics, Sheffield as its first reading into the Autumn 2023 Series presents: a reading with CUT COLLECTIVE; a collective of writers of poetry, prose, hybrid and experimental texts. We will hear readings by Mark Lindsey, Ethel Maqeda, Amber Whitham and AJ Moore. The four readings will be preceded by short readings from some of our fresh MA in Creative Writing Sheffield graduates: Heather Beier, Harley Riley, Milly Winston-Jacques and Mina Miller.

Mark Lindsey was awarded his MA in Creative Writing from the University of Sheffield and is currently working on his first full collection of experimental, hybrid poetry. His writing uses prose, poetry, poetic essays and collage to explore issues of fiction and truth, politics, history, misogyny, psychology and trauma. His research includes explorations of grief, the importance of the physical and its relation to truth in poetry and non-fiction and use of erasure as a method of exposure in the works of contemporary women poets. His work has been published by “independent, cross-cultural, multi-lingual experimental publisher” Pamenar Press and in print and online editions of the University of Sheffield’s creative writing journal Route 57. His first book NEXT TO NOTHING and THIS WAS MEANT TO BE A STORY was published by Beir Bua Press and is a winner of the 2021 Laurence Sterne Prize and was nominated for the Seamus Heaney Poetry Prize for First Full Collection 2023.

Amber V Whitham’s writing is often concerned with the relationships and parallels between animal, plant, and human bodies, intertwined with Dadaist concepts of consciousness, illness, trauma and the corporeal condition. Her work consists of hybrid writing which ranges from narrative prose to traditional verse; often blending the two to emulate a stream of consciousness that is both physically and metaphorically represented on the page.; symbolising the erosion that trauma has upon both the body and mind and how mental and physical illness might affect the natural world. She completed both her BA in English Literature and her MA in English Literature and Creative Writing at the University of Sheffield, where her research focused on modern women’s poetry and its treatment of illness. Having had her work featured in Route57, Amber is currently working full-time as a copywriter, whilst writing in her spare time and working on her newest collection.

Ethel Maqeda is a Sheffield-based Zimbabwean British writer and graduate of the University of Sheffield’s MA Creative Writing program. With a passion for foregrounding unheard narratives, her work draws inspiration from African women’s experiences, at home and in the diaspora. She uses prose fiction and non-fiction to explore issues of home, black womanhood, African women’s struggles, and triumphs over experiences of racism, colonialism and global exploitation. She is currently writing a creative non-fiction collection exploring Southern African women’s practice of Ubuntu in the diaspora. Ethel’s stories have appeared in various journals, including Short Fiction: The Visual Literary Journal, Isele Magazine, Wasafiri Magazine, and the University of Sheffield’s creative writing journal Route 57) and in anthologies, Volume-3 (Palm-Sized Press), We are not Shadows (Folkways Press), Wretched Strangers (Boiler House) and Verse Matters (Valley Press).

A J Moore is a Creative Writing PhD candidate at the University of Sheffield, researching the archive, intertextuality and identity. Work in Route 57, Blackbox Manifold, D.O.R (LJMcD Communications), Eyeland (c22 Press), For The Love Of, Beir Bua Journal and The Babel Tower Noticeboard. Chapbooks M(P)atriarchive (Beir Bua Press) and Zeitgeist (c22 Press).

Twitter: @AJMoore_70.

Further info:

Futher info on the collective: https://www.cutcollectivewriters.org/

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francesca-lisette · 6 years

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sub rosa: The Book of Metaphysics

My second book, sub rosa: The Book of Metaphysics will soon be available from Boiler House Press! It’s officially released on Guy Fawkes Day - November 5th, 2018 - & you can pre-order it here.

From the Boiler House Press website:

“sub rosa: The Book of Metaphysics is a three-part interrogation of love, gender, ritual and the body. It heralds a new kind of poetic thinking, one that seeks to articulate and enact a mode of resistance to the obstinacy of present conditions, by focusing on embodiment, tenderness and optimism. It wants to break new paths and contribute to a collective imagining of a different future. It is a record of and a practice towards healing.”

#sub rosa: the book of metaphysics #sub rosa #francesca lisette #boiler house press #poetry #new poetry #ritual #performance art #healing #uk poets #uk poetry #experimental

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 years

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This is interesting- Poet Heli and her husband Miikka live without an inner toilet, a TV and sometimes wear three pairs of wool socks on their feet. Their 140-year-old farmhouse in Finland has few amenities. They saved as much of the old as possible, as the spirit and beauty of the old house is most valuable to the couple.

A complete gray wooden floor was revealed under a 1970s plastic mat attached with a few nails. Wall paneling, roofing and molding are also original. They have been kept clean and last painted since the wars.

In winter, there is always a fire in the wood stove and often in the baking oven. Large red-yellow boiler pots act as heat accumulators filled with water.

The kitchen corner is original, but the original beige was painted over with green.

Around the old folding table, the chairs are not only different pairs but also uncomfortable in different ways, but they like the style.

Heli is covering an exercise ball that she found with crocheted potholders that she got at the flea market.

The thresholds are worn.

Heli collects beautiful objects from horse harness to string ropes. The contemporary Madonna by Heli has been sold and is waiting to be picked up.

More of Heli’s collections and art.

There is little light in the library room, but it is good to paint around noon. In the background is one of the ten bookshelves in the house, made by Miikka.

There is a rare cork rug replacement left in the library.

The summer hall is only admired to this day- The door had been closed by previous residents.

Miika's photography room has a ring cabinet purchased from a flea market. There are old jars of cold glue on top of it. The wall was painted yellow in the 1970s.

The wool socks sent by the readers of Heli’s poetry. These are for guests to wear.

Miikka made handsome iron animal sculptures on the sides of the birch trees. The porch of the house was built after the wars. The doors and porch were painted a few years ago. Very unusual home and way of life.

https://www.meillakotona.fi/artikkelit/runoilija-heli-laaksosen-koti

#old farm living #old farmhouse style #long post

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

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Tuesday 19 February 1839

7 50

12 5

thick snow on the ground – hazy morning F34° at 8 50 inside and 25° outside at 9 5 Mr. Holt here and had brought Mr. John Wood mason to agree about resetting the boiler – they waited till I had breakfasted in about 20 minutes – ended in taking his estimate and agreeing to pay him £15 for resetting and £6 for pulling down and rebuilding and enlarging the boiler house = 12 roods walling at 7/. walling and 3/. pulling down and dressing – total £21 + 10/. allowed for taking down the present door into the engine, walling up after it, and refixing the door when wanted – the job to be paid for a fortnight after being completed ----- all this and talking to Holt afterwards for a little while took about 11 – then with A- a minute or 2, till Booth came and afterwards Joseph Mann about the flue – settled that it should turn into the chimney at this end – A- had Turner to settle about (pay for) the time he had Miss Norths’ house at Mr. Walkers’ expense (his landlord) – Rent 12 guineas A- paying rates, the tenant paying window tax – to call again and bring A- receipt for the taxes, and then A- would settle for the 8 months – but having said Turner should have the house 3 months rent free, she would settle about this – she did not know it was Mr. Walkers’ concern – he had no claim upon her – It appears SW. had said nothing to Turner about the 3 months gratis – He ought to have explained to A- she had mentioned the gratis concern before I saw her, or should have said she would see SW. before she could settle -

SH:7/ML/E/22/0128

A- came to B- and Joseph Mann in the housekeepers’ room to settle with the latter about where to lay the Landymere stone-water drift stuff – would be about 200 cube yards or more B- calculated it would take 300 yards super of ground to lay it on – A- to go on to the ground as soon as the snow is off to decide upon this matter – B- had before told me he thought Woods’ estimate much too high – the boiler setting had cost B- £10 and a ten-horse boiler the engineers had said was worth £10 setting – B- said 7/. per rood for walling was too much – Wood asked this prince in his estimate for walling new house at Little marsh – B- said 6/6 per rood were sometimes given but 7/. too much I said perhaps the whole was £5 too dear but the getting the job done in time might easily save me that – the fact is, I believe the job will be in fact as cheap as B- would have done it – his delays etc. are always to be taken into calculation – left B- (shewed him Robert Whartons’ bad job – narrowing the door-way into the wine ante cellar) to dine in the servants hall at 1 40 and then with A- till I came upstairs at 2 ½ and she rode off to Cliff hill at 2 50 – talking over SW. – she pays him and does the business herself – wrote all the above of today till 3 – in the west tower and cellar and about in the house till 4 ¼ - afterwards had Booth again – he had been at H-x – the old wood gables of the old houses in the main or crown street all broke to pieces in pulling down – so an end of it – Mr. Isaac Green had asked ten pounds – had told B- to offer for it – wrote a little to Lady S- de Rothesay – dinner at 6 10 – A- read French in the dining room – tea – read the newspaper till 9 ½ - morning Herald of yesterday – p. 2 col. 3 the anticornlaw agitation i.e.

Causes of the disruption of Roman society antagonism of the money power against native industry and settled proprietors rights.

‘the claims of foreign trade against native industry – the power of money against the rights of labour ......... the struggle is now struggle - ....... a struggle which never yet terminated in favour of the money-power, without ensuring the downfall of the state in which the strife was waged..... the poet Lucan has furnished a truer account of the causes which led to the great disruption of Roman society , than any of the contemporary historians have done.......... those causes were connected with the encroachments of the money-power on the rights of honest industry, as well as on the rights of settled propriety. after describing the movements of the men, whose pursuits, like those of one exporting manufacturers’ [owned] no allegiance to the soil ‘of Rome Lucan observes

‘Hinc usura vorax, rapidumque in tempore fœnus;

Hinc concussa fides, et multis utile bellum!’

Hence voracious usury, and the rapid return (frequent turning over) of money;

Hence broken faith, and civil broil useful to many.

a canal from the Danube to the Black sea is to be carried into execution next spring by the common agreement of England Austria and Turkey – morning Herald of yesterday p. 2, col. 5

Mr. Heath late a director of the India Iron and steel co. claims for India the 1st use of iron and steel - prior to their use of them, they used an alloy of copper for their cutting instruments – a small mass of Indian steel presented to Alexander as a valuable gift – Ehrenberg of Berlin discovered fossil insects in the iron ore employed in the fabrication of the celebrated Berlin castings – Different states of iron (according to Mr. Wilkinsons’ statement to the Royal Asiatic society) dependent upon their electrical characters. vide morning Herald of yesterday p. 3 col. 6 – wrote so far – then looking over my Journal (commencement of this volume) till 10 55 when went up to bed – several snow showers during the afternoon but fine over head till one p.m. F35° at 11 pm inside, and 29 ½° outside five minutes afterwards

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tulaladd · 3 years

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世界最遅tulaladd2020best DL list

年間ベストを始めて以来、初の事態。

なんと9か月遅れのポスト。あと3か月で次の年ベスの発表時期じゃないですか…唯一にして最大の理由が、もちろんあるにはある。

暗夜行路のような唄声が車内から眺める某庁舎前の雪景色と甘酸っぱい感情を喚起させるRY Xや、このリストには登場しない自分用に作ったプレイリスト（日本語ラップ編、シティーポップ編）をひとりで何度も諳んじては胸を焦がした。それらの音楽が本来持つ資質にプラスして思い出補正でランクインした作品がいくつかある（最たるものがサントラ部門かな）。そんな変化があった2020年でした。

それを除けば、音楽ライフは基本的に前年を踏襲。つまり引き続きapple music依存型で、DIG活動もほほ休止（荷物の山に埋もれたタンテをセッティングし直せるまともな精神状態じゃなかった…）。落第生の体たらくをここ何年も続けてるわけです。とはいえ昨年と比べれば、リスト入り作品の数が格段に増えた＝それなりに楽しい音楽生活が営めていたのも事実。その充実を支えたものがアルゴリズムって点がものすごく納得はいかないけれど。（毎年書いてるけど、手当たり次第サブスクを横断する中で「もう一度聴きたい」と思えたものが以下のDLリスト。感覚的には昨年より緩い5枚に1枚。それでも昨年比3倍の約250枚！）

いつまで延命できるか分からないローカルラジオを継続できたのもラッキーだった。相変わらずみんなとあーだこーだ言いながらいろんな曲を聴く時間が音楽ライフを豊かにしてくれました。感謝。過去最高に音楽への熱が薄いテキストになっちゃうけど、9か月遅れだと致し方なしか。

三ツ星評価のうち、エル・ミシェルズ・アフェアのシングルはラジオの一戸くんレコメン、今年も熱量が持続しているサウスロンドン・ジャズ・シーンのマンスール・ブラウンEPはおなじみWOZNIAK星くんのオススメ、ほかにも人から教わってお気に入りになった作品が少なくないのは、サブスクじゃ届かないリアルの強みが感じられて、そこだけは希望があるのかな。

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特筆するとすれば、Bartosz KruczynskiのEARTH TRAX以来追い続けてきたリズムセクション・インターナショナルが、旬のサウスロンドン・シーンと地下ハウス/テクノ・シーンのメルティング・ポットだったことが分かって興味が再燃させられた個人的な事件。そのセンセーションのグラウンド・ゼロにあたるTHE COLOURS THAT RISEの発見が今年No.1の成果かな。

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唯一職場で音楽談義ができるために相互レコメンに特化したLINEを展開中のT氏に教えられたエディ・チャコンのアルバム、そのエディの復活劇を手掛け、若林恵さん経由でずっぽりハマったソランジュ『A Seat At The Table』の禅的ミニマリズのデザイナーでもあることが事後に発覚したジョン・キャロル・カービーの2人は、今年ならではの幸福な時間の中で何度も繰り返し聴いた一生の思い出確定盤。ジョンなんか3カテゴリーに分かれてのランクインだもんな。　

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さて2021年。あと3か月しかない。今年はやる？やらない？いろいろ越えるべきものが多くすぎてそれ以前の問題かもしれないなけど。

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【TECHNO / HOUSE / (NU)DISCO / ELECTRONICS】 ★★★THE COLOURS THAT RISE / Grey Doubt ★★THE COLOURS THAT RISE / 2020 EP（2017） ★★THEO PARRISH / Wuddaji ★★Machinedrum / A View of U ★Kuniyuki Takahashi / Flying Music EP ★Oneohtrix Point Never / Magic Oneohtrix Point Never ★VLADISLAV DELAY / Rakka ★LUKE SLATER / berghain fünfzehn ★Jayda G / Both of Us / Are U Down EP ★TSHA / Flowers EP ★DISCLOSURE / Energy ★DARKSTAR / Civic Jams ★Chari Chari / We Hear the Last Decades Dreaming ★HUNEE / Boiler Room : an hour with HUNEE（DJ Mix） ★Autechre / SIGN Arca / @@@@@ BURIAL / Chemz FOUR TET / Sixteen Oceans JAMES BLAKE / Before EP GLOBAL COMMUNICATION / Transmissions Sampler JOHN FRUSCIANTE / Maya TRICKFINGER / She Smiles Because She Presses the Button EP TRICKFINGER / Look Down, See Us EP 60 Miles / Swamp 2 Sea EP EARTH TRAX / LP1 EARTH TRAX / LP2 BIG YAWN / No! HIATT dB / Palimpsest EP GL / You Read My Mind DJ SOFA / Elsewhere Junior I - a Collection of Cosmic Children’s Song Mr President / One Night feat.Celia Kameni & Cindy Pooch J.A.K.A.M. / ASTRAL DUB WORX Inner Science / Made パソコン音楽クラブ / Ambience EP LOCUSSOLUS / Locussolus（Expanded） Various Artists / South DAN KYE / Small Moments OFF THE MEDS / Off The Meds BASSO / Proper Sunburn - Forgotten Sunscreen Applied By Basso（2019） Copenema / Dexia a Musica Tocar（2019） Seahawks / Eyes of the Moon（2019） Jayda G / Significant Changes（2019） MMM / Que Barbaro（2013）

【HIPHOP / R&B / BEATS / FUNK】 ★★★EDDIE CHACON / Outside（Laraaji Remix） ★★EDDIE CHACON / Pleasure, Joy and Happiness ★★Lil Narnia / Pain Extract ★★VHOOR / Baile & Sauce ★AG CLUB / Halfway Off the Porch ★MAC MILLER / Circles ★THUNDRCAT / It Is What It Is ★WILMA ARCHER / A Western Circular ★OXP, ONRA & POMRAD / Swing Convention ★DJ KRUSH / TRICKSTER ★BENEDEK / Bene’s World（2017） JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / High feat.Eddie Chacon & Nailah Hunter THE WEEKND / After Hours DRAKE / Dark Lane Demo Tapes POP SMOKE / Shoot for the Stars Aim for the Moon IVAN AVE / DOUBLE GOODBYES MOSES SUMNEY / græ PETER COTTON TALE / CATCH NNAMDI / BRAT Yves Tumor / Heaven Ta a Toutured Mind Teebs / Ardour（10th Anniversary Edition） Wajatta / Don’t Let Get You Down Lapalux / Esrevoinma EP Kutmah / New Appliance THE HELIOCENTRICS / Telemetric Sounds VULFPECK / The Joy of Music, The Job of Real Estate JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Lazzara（2019） Various Artists / Kutmah presents : Sketchbook Radio Archives, Vol.1（2018） Invisibl Skratch Piklz / The 13th Foor（2016） D-STYLES / Phantazagorea（2002）

【JAZZ（the New Chapter） / WORLD】 ★★★MANSUR BROWN / Tesuto ★★★JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / My Garden ★★KAMASI WASHINGTON / Harmony of Difference EP（2017） ★JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Love Theme ★MANSUR BROWN / Shiroi ★JEFF PARKER / Suite for Max Brown ★CHICAGO UNDERGROUND QUARTET / Good Days ★TOM MISCH & YUSSEF DAYES / What Kinda Music ★KAMAAL WILLIAMS / Wu Hen ★ROB MAZUREK & EXPLODING STAR ORCHESTRA / Dimentional Stardust: ★ORLANDO LE FLEMING / Romantic Funk : The Unfamiliar ★SAM WILKES / WILKES（2019） ★YUSSEF KAMAAL / Black Focus（2016） ★ZSOFIA BOROS / Local Objects（2016） JYOTI & GEORGIA ANNE MULDROW / Mama, You Can Bet! BUTCHER BROWN / #KingButch BRAXTON COOK / Fire Sign PAT METHENY / From This Place Fabiano do Nascimento / Preludio SAM GENDEL / Satin Doll SAM GENDEL / Pass If Music（2018） SAM WILKES / Live on the Green（2019） BRANDON COLEMAN / Resistance（2018） KIEFER / Superbloom（2019）鈴木良雄 / モーニング・ピクチャー（1984）鈴木良雄 / ウイングス（1987） JOHN EBERSON, BJ0RNAR ANDRESEN, PAAL NILSSEN-LOVE / Mind the Gap（2001）

【（INDIE）ROCK / （INDIE） POP / SSW】 ★★★EL MICHELS AFFAIR / Reasons feat.Bobby Oroza ★★EL MICHELS AFFAIR / Adult Themes ★★THE FLAMING LIPS / American Head ★★SUFJAN STEVENS / The Ascension ★★FLEET FOXES / Shore ★★COLDPLAY / Everyday Life（2019） ★★RY X / Unfurl（2019） ★★THE WAR ON DRUGS / Lost in the Dream（2014） ★PHOEBE BRIDGERS / Copycat Killer feat. ROB MOOSE - EP ★Mk.gee / A Museum of Contradiction ★PEEL DREAM MAGAZINE / Agitprop Alterna ★BLAKE MILLS / Mutable Set ★THE STROKES / The New Abnormal ★CHS / Jungle Sauna（2019） ★KINDNESS / Something Like A War（2019） ★〝Blue〟Gene Tyranny & Peter Gordon / Trust In Rock（2019） ★STATE RIVER WIDENING / Early Music（2003） BIBIO / Sleep On The Wing Jonsi / Shiver JEFF TWEEDY / Love Is The King REAL ESTATE / The Main Thing ANIMAL COLLECTIVE / Bridge to Quite LITTLE DRAGON / New Me . Same us JAGA JAZZIST / Pyramid TAME IMPAlA / The Slow Rush TRAVIS / 10 Songs SORRY / 925 JOSEPH OF MERCURY / WAVE Ⅱ Khruangbin / Mordechai Various Artists / Hiding From the Landlord HOWLING / Colure DEVENDRA BANHART / Ma（2019） LANA DEL REY / Norman Fucking Rockwell（2019） DAVE GROHL / Play（2018） CRITERIA / En Garde（2003）

【PUNK / HEAVEY / EXTREAM】 ★★envy / The Fallen Crimson ★★lang / There is no reply, but sweet wind blew（2018） ★envy / LAST WISH（Live at Liquidroom Tokyo） ★SLIFT / UMMON ★HORSE LORDS / The Common Task ★coriky / coriky ★Sans Visage, Look at moment / Split Single ★Sans Visage / moments（2017） ★LIGHTNING BOIL / Sonic Citadel（2019） ★Harvey Milk / Courtesy and Good Will Toward Men（2006） DEFTONES / Ohms Converge / Endless Arrow JESU / Terminus JESU / Never JESU / Ascension（Delux） KRUELTY / A Dying Truth XIBALBA / Anos En Infierno Various Artists / Speedy Wunderground Year 4（2019） RUSSIAN CIRCLE / Russian Circle Audiotree Far Out（2019） EARTH / Live at Third Man Records（2017） THE ARMED / Only Love（2018） THE ARMED / Untitled（2015）

【AMBIENT / NEW AGE / DRONE / MINIMAL MUSIC / EXPERIMENTAL】 ★★JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Conflict ★★Dukes of Chutney / Hazel ★HEATHERED PEARLS / Cast ★SAM PREKOP / Comma BING & RUTH / Species FRANKIE REYES / Originalitos IAN WILLIAM CRAIG / Red Sun Through Smoke WINDY & CARL / Allegiance and Conviction JONNY NASH & SUZANNE KRAFT / A Heart So White JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Tuscany（2019） JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Meditation In Music（2018） JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Travel（2017） ALEXANDER RISHAUG / Shadow of Events（2011）【CLASSIC / OST】 ★LUDWIG GORANSSON / Tenet OST ★JOHN WILLIAMS / Double Trouble ※from OST of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban（2004） DUSTIN O'HALLORAN / Ammonite OST KAMASI WASHINGTON / Becoming（Music from the Netflix Original Documentary） DUSTIN O'HALLORAN / Lumiere（2011） BETH GIBBONS, The Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra & Krzysztof Penderecki / Henryk Gorecki: Symphony No.3（2019） ANTONI WIT, Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra(Katowice) & Polish Choir of Krakow / Henryk Gorecki: Symphony No.2（2001） ZSOFIA BOROS / Local Objects（2016）【DOMESTIC（without HIPHOP）】 ★★★METAFIVE / 環境と心理 ★★GEZAN / 狂（KLUE） ★★downy / 第七作品集「無題」 ★★岡村靖幸 / 操 ★★崎山蒼志 / ソフト　※FEVER LIVE ver. on YouTube ★★SILENT POETS / dawn（2018） ★WOZNIAK / Vegetable Home Run ★Ai Aso / The Faintest Hint ★jan and naomi / YES ★mei ehara / Ampersands ★ディーン・フジオカ / Neo Dimension ★LUNA SEA / Make a vow ★坂本慎太郎 / 好きっていう気持ち / おぼろげナイトクラブ ★Cuushe / Waken ★sassya- / 脊髄（2019） ★小袋成彬 / Piercing（2019） ★She Her Her Hers / stereochrome（2014） WOZNIAK / Lost WOZNIAK / Double Face mouse on the keys / Arche 5kai / Untitled #2 KAN SANO / Susanna Ovall / Ovall（2019） mabanua / Blurred（2018） D.A.N. / Aechma ふさえ / そのまま相馬智行 & 鳴海徹朗 / 春の闇 jan and naomi / Neutrino 王舟 / Pulchra Ondo 春ねむり / LOVETHEISM 井出健介と母船 / Contact From Exne Kedy And The Poltergeists（エクスネ・ケディと騒がしい幽霊からのコンタクト）吉田一郎不可触世界 / えぴせし岡田拓郎 / Morning Sun blgtz / Feature EP Coff / Tiny Music（2019）【DOMESTIC（HIPHOP）】 ★★DJ CHARI & DJ TATSUKI / GOLDEN ROUTE ★★Weny Dacillo / Hapitable Hotel ★Hideyoshi / Dead End Adventure ★GG UJIHARA / WEAKNESS EP（2018） ★DJ CHARI & DJ TATSUKI / Time feat.Yo-Sea & KEIJU（2019） ★GG UJIHARA / WEAKNESS EP（2018） KOHH / worst KEIJU / T.A.T.O. Sauce81 / S8100 MARTER / Weltraumasthetik 2020 Normcore Boyz / MEDIAGE なみちえ / 毎日来日徳利 / REVOLUTION starscream & Page Hiiragi / Ghost(s) DJ CHARI / GAME（2019） YOUNG HASTLE & GG UJIHARA / YOUNG UJIHARA EP（2019） Weny Dacillo / AMPM EP（2017）

#tulaladd2020best

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rossodelgiorno · 3 years

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2020/ Chain of Fools

2020 was the year I adopted a boiler suit and gas mask as a daily uniform. The world had gone into a global lockdown to combat the COVID19 virus which meant we were only allowed to leave our house for essential reasons such as grocery shopping and exercise. When outside, we were government mandated to wear face masks to prevent the spread of the disease. They made me feel like a muzzled dog and I resented no longer being able to smile with strangers on the street. Feeling like a prisoner in his own home and under extreme stress from job insecurity, my boyfriend Jake’s amphetamine addiction began to spiral out of control.

As a result of Jake’s addiction, we had accidentally befriended a posse of drug dealers and prostitutes- bonded by our love of having a good time and a general disregard for consequence. We met Dani through a call girl friend of mine who had realised the difficulty of making a living through writing online fashion content. Dani had big brown eyes, fat, botoxed lips and dressed only in high end labels like Gucci and Balmain. Born into a wealthy family, she had acquired a taste for expensive things but lacked the work ethic to maintain this taste without selling her body for sex. Dani began to visit more throughout the lockdown to deliver Jake drugs, hidden in a bag of a groceries. One night, she played Carole King on our old vinyl player, while Jake rolled us a joint to share. I flirted with them both, knowing that it would lead to a threesome. We smoked Jake’s joint, snorted lines of cocaine off each other and then took turns going down on each other.

A week later, Dani introduced us to a crew of “script kiddies”- long haired, internet hackers with a love of mumble rap, cryptocurrency and ketamine. I made cocktails for everyone and established that one of these kids shared a mutual friend with Jake. They seemed fascinated by the genuine sexual chemistry between myself, Jake and Dani and expressed gratitude for our generous hospitality. Eventually I came to the conclusion that by associating us with this crowd, Dani had managed to successfully pray on the vulnerable- trusting junkies like us who were lax with internet security and keen for a good time. In retrospect, I wish I had known that Dani was a hustler at heart- making money in any way she could without considering the impact of her choices. At the time however, I felt like we were fully living life in the moment- something I was certain would bring me happiness, meaning and didn’t question her motives for a moment.

Ella, Dani’s best friend, had a boyish pixie cut, high cheekbones and was tall and slim. She had gradually joined in on our shenanigans, along with Mark, a dealer with a steady supply of the best gear available north of the river. We all hung out together in our plant-filled, converted warehouse listening to electronic music and sharing stories about our favourite mind-altering substances. My stories were consistently focused on MDMA. As a notoriously private person, I’d discovered MDMA helped me open up and allowed me to dance, free of fear of judgement. It had also helped Jake open up about the sexual abuse he experienced as child, a fact I doubted would have ever come up without the influence of a truth serum and something which I was certain had driven him to substance abuse in the first place.

While we laughed, chatted and danced with Dani and Mark, Ella, who claimed to be a part time poet and part-time model, entered a viral script virus onto our wireless network by requesting our wifi password. Something we provided willingly, without second thought. This meant remote access to every digital device we owned and access to all stored personal information including scanned copies of our passports and birth certificates.

The issue with Mark, despite his criminal lifestyle, was that he was excellent company. Intelligent, engaging and a DJ in his spare time- we thrived off his love of hip hop and old-school funk. Similarly, he thrived off our property location in the Inner North- close to his regular customers and discrete enough from the prying eyes of authority. We welcomed him into our home with open arms, deprived of social contact through social distancing practices enforced by the pandemic. We held COVID19 illegal gatherings where we got high off Mark’s supply, enjoyed each other’s company while Ella hacked our electronic identities. When you’re lonely, it doesn’t really matter if others are using you and you’re using them. As long as everyone is filling a clearly defined role, the maladaptive social ecosystem continues to function.

It’s unclear exactly how many international drug smuggling routes were established using our stolen online identities before Jake clued on that something wasn’t right. He told me that he had been locked out of his email account, that the speed of his phone had slowed and that he could hear clicking noises during his phone calls. He was certain that his was a breach of online security and started to question the motives of our new friends. I wrote him off as crazy, blaming his excessive use of amphetamines and the psychological effect of social isolation. I was determined to keep my online identity public, obsessed by the idea of becoming the next millennial therapist and too blinded by Dani’s beauty to believe that she would want to harm us in any way.

Eventually Jake’s distress became too extreme to ignore and he shook me violently one night, yelling at me to believe what I had assumed was a paranoid conspiracy theory. A sinking feeling in my gut became apparent when he started to coherently piece together his concerns about his online security issues. I realized that my sense of reality had been clouded by my lust for Dani and by a dark depression that had developed through my work as an essential worker during a pandemic. Based on Jake’s erratic behaviour, I knew we had to get out of the warehouse immediately, but I had no idea where to go and was fearful of drawing attention to any law-breaking activity when police presence was so prominent.

We agreed to seek refuge with our friends Trish and Rick, former 90s British ravers who had channeled their drug-fuelled benders into successful and respectable careers. I called them panicked that night, shaking and rambling about what had happened. Without hesitancy, Trish told us to come over right away. Rick’s brother back in the UK had recently killed himself and they were struggling too. Trish and Rick lived in an affluent area in the inner East which meant we needed to blend in quickly through a disguise of expensive athleisure and an almost painful sense of normality. It appeared that our efforts at disguise were successful and it seemed to result in freedom from any unusual online activity on our devices. We bought new phones, changed our phone numbers, email addresses and disconnected from the outside world for an entire week. We spoke about going to the police, however we both agreed that this would place us at too much risk to the criminal world to be a viable option.

When your online identity is stolen, you quickly start to daydream what it would be like to steal someone else’s identity. For example, what exactly would you do with those proceeds of crime? Which tropical island would you escape to, what designer clothes would you wear, which car would you drive? I quickly became entranced and jealous at the thought of this fantasy life, but then spent time reflecting on my own morality and these feelings subsided. Instead, an intense anger developed at the thought of others taking advantage of Jake and his mental illness. High on a sense of ethical superiority and new found fury, I decided to employ my favourite psychological defense mechanism, repression, to cope with my latest traumas. May you rest in peace, memory, I said to myself before engaging in my daily mediation ritual.

While repressing my consciousness, I also began to focus on the importance of social support. I knew this shit was important but didn’t fully understand until Trish brushed my hair one night, my arms too frail from fear and stress to function. Trish and Rick played familiar Britpop, drank tea and encouraged us to embrace the therapeutic benefits of music through use of the guitar and keyboard that we had brought to their house. We took turns cooking for each other, played board games and counselled each other through each personal problems, one at a time.

Jake and I stayed with Trish and Rick for two weeks until we could establish an exit plan from the city. We migrated to rural Victoria like many other Melbournians, traumatized by the lockdown. The pace in the country was slow yet calming and people genuinely seemed to care about your welfare when they inquired “How you going, mate?” After such an extended period of social isolation, many of us forgot how to interact with others. We valued and craved human connection more than ever, and yet we seemed scared of what we might connect with. We continued to develop our own deformed version of sign language to communicate through the face masks and focused on re-developing social skills that had been lost through extended disconnection.

Jake and I continued to battle through the challenges of online identity theft and the consequences of his addiction issues. Jake’s substance use had subsided substantially without the influence of Mark and Dani and we eventually adjusted to living normal, routine driven lifestyles. He had cycled through periods of problematic use before, however I still felt somewhat shell shocked by the intensity of his most recent relapse. However, one day late in December I found myself wandering through the tranquility of the Otways, fully freed from the constraints of the lockdown which had finally lifted and contemplating my progress in life since leaving this place as a teenager. The rainforest sounds were vivid and the smells of the ocean salty in my nostrils. I wasn’t where I had planned to end the year 2020, but I was alive and I had Jake. And for that, I felt eternally grateful.

Rosso Del Giorno

Your journey starts here.

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devonellington · 2 years

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Fri. Oct. 14, 2022: Cats are the Key

image courtesy of Claudia Wollesen via pixabay.com This looks a LOT like my Tessa. Friday, October 14, 2022 Waning Moon Saturn, Neptune, Chiron, Jupiter, Uranus Retrograde Rainy and cold Yesterday was not as productive as I’d hoped, as far as words on paper (or screen). But there was a good bit of planning, outlining, etc. I drafted a dozen ideas for an upcoming project and finished the…

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#Advil Dual Action #back #Boiler House Poets #cats #cooking #fishmongers #January 6th hearings #LEGERDEMIAN #logo #Meet cute #Moosewood #Nancy Pelosi #outlining #planning #reading #script coverage

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lifeinpoetry · 5 years

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Are there any options for me if I wanted good quality poems but I don't have the money to subscribe to lit mags?

I’m not sure what you mean by good quality since that is subjective but here’s a list of online lit mags and some pay lit mags with free online content. Also, some poem of the day/week sites & some big sites that post work from the books of contemporary poets and poetry from lit mags.

Lit Magazines/Journals

The Felt

The Offing

Winter Tangerine

The Adroit Journal

BOAAT

Black Warrior Review

DIAGRAM

ANMLY

Tinderbox

Auburn Avenue

Asian American Writers’ Workshop

The Rumpus

Cosmonauts Avenue

wildness

Triangle House

Poetry Northwest

SWWIM

The American Poetry Review

The Baffler

AMP

Blood Orange Review

Glass: A Journal of Poetry

Figure 1

The Puritan

Guernica

Nat. Brut

Big Other

Blackbird

The Pinch Journal

Four Way Review

Scoundrel Time

Lunch Ticket

Thrush

Sixth Finch

Inverted Syntax

Bennington Review

Small Orange

Tupelo Quarterly

Quarterly West

New Delta Review

Literary Hub

AGNI

Vinyl

Underbelly

Underblong

The Poetry Society

Puerto del Sol

Aster(ix)

Blush

jubilat

Kenyon Review

Parenthesis

West Branch

Granta

Waxwing

The Boiler

Washington Square Review

The New Yorker (articles/poems limited)

The White Review

London Review of Books

Poetry

32 Poems

Third Point Press

The Indianapolis Review

Duende

The Brooklyn Rail

Pidgeonholes

Southeast Review

Burning House Press

Queen Mob’s Tea House

Alegrarse

HEArt Online

tenderness lit

The Believer

Hairstreak Butterfly Review

Frontier Poetry

Yes Poetry

Nashville Review

New England Review

Columbia Journal

Gigantic Sequins

Territory (seizure warning)

Entropy

Whale Road Review

Kissing Dynamite

Rascal

Quiddity

Honey & Lime

Yalobusha Review

Harana Poetry

Passages North

The Threepenny Review

Homology Lit

Rogue Agent

Poem of the Day/Week, Etc.

Split this Rock

The Slowdown

Poetry Daily

Poetry Society of America

Griffin Poetry Society’s Poem of the Week

Poem-a-Day

poets.org

Poetry Foundation

The Missouri Review’s Poem of the Week

Dusie’s Tuesday Poem

Vandal Poem of the Day

Poem of the Day

Love’s Executive Order

#Anonymous #asks #poetry #recs #lit journal recs #lit magazine recs

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matildainmotion · 3 years

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My Cure for the Blues, thanks to my Daughter who Loves Pink: What Might Yours Be?

I am blue. I don’t know why. There are many blatant reasons for blueness in the world right now - more than there have ever been in my lifetime - yet still I don’t know why. If I did I wouldn’t be blue. I would be sad with purpose. Or angry. Or upset. But what I have is a slightly pointless feeling. Being blue is vague. Vaguely low. A big wash of a dark colour, devoid of detail.

Meanwhile my four year old daughter is definitely not blue - she’s pink. “What’s your favourite colour today?” She asks, everyday. I find it a hard question to answer with accuracy, perhaps because of my vague blue feeling. She does not: “What’s yours?” I say. “Pink,” she replies with absolute certainty, “And gold.” Another favourite question of hers, that she poses most evenings at supper: “What are you the fairy of?” The grown-ups round the table come up with various quips in answer: Daddy is the fairy of mashed potato; Granny is the fairy of hearing aids; Mummy is the fairy of tiredness.

“And you, Tenar?”

“I’m the fairy of beauty, sparkly things and everything I like,” she replies, while skipping up and down beside the dinner table, because the fairy of beauty is much too busy to pay any heed to the fairy of meal time manners. Her favourite Christmas present was a gold princess gown, which she dons daily, and Snow White-like, checks in the mirror to see if she looks suitably fair. She wants to grow her hair down to just above her bottom.

This all comes as rather a shock to me because I was not a pink girl - my favourite colour as a child was navy blue, no pastels please. I refused to wear dresses. I had a party boiler suit- dark blue - for birthdays. I climbed trees, ran along garden walls and lived in trousers. I was inconsolable when my father once brought me back a kilt as a present from a trip to Scotland - imagine being given a skirt! Despite being told this was a skirt meant for men, despite the photos in the family photo drawer of my father, a proud soldier in a Black Watch regiment kilt, I remained unconvinced. I have stayed relatively consistent in my tom-boyness into adult life. As a mother my children rarely see me in dresses, hardly ever in make up. Mummy has long hair under her armpits and on her legs but often shaves her head.

Given the version of womanhood I have presented to my daughter, I assumed her predilection for pink princesses was a result of the vicious marketing to which children, especially girls, are subjected - the bright pink magazines with plastic toy lipsticks and hair curlers sellotaped onto the front, placed at just her height on the wracks near the supermarket check out. This is just one example of the many things about the world that make me blue so, when her pink princess phase began, I set to work.

I had already consistently switched pronouns around in books - mostly from he to she - or had discussions with my daughter about the absence of active female heroines. More recently, her questions such as “Why is it girls that have long hair?” Or, “Which one of these princesses is the most beautiful?” lead to long discussions about the history of fashion, gender as a colourful spectrum, and how peacocks are just one example of a species in which it is the boy that gets to wear the gorgeous feathers. None of this seems to make the slightest difference to my daughter’s commitment to pink, but two developments recently have eased my concerns and made me think that there is more than 21st Century patriarchal capitalism at work in her choices, and that the pink thing - or the thing for pink -that is sustaining her spirits through this hard time might actually contain within it a clue to the medicine I need for my blues.

Firstly, last weekend, after a day on which I had had to work and so had resorted to letting Tenar watch Disney’s Cinderella (the 1950 animation) she ran back and forth during supper and told us her version of the story. In her rendition, she played the part of the fairy godmother, and having magically rustled up a stunning dress for Cinderella, she thought she should be the one who got to enjoy it. So it was she, the fairy godmother, who danced the night away with Cinders. And what of the prince? No princess for him - he was left with a slice of pizza. After three nights of dancing together, Cinderella married Tenar, the fairy godmother, and they lived together happily ever after, with an ever-expanding wardrobe of fabulous dresses. The prince married the pizza, and was, apparently, content with his lot.

I was reassured by this that my daughter is in no way either a passive consumer of pink-ness or likely to become an easy victim of social norms. Soon after marrying Cinderella, she came up with the second thing which allayed my concerns, and made me question my fast feminist assumptions as to what is at work in her psyche. She announced, seemingly out of the blue (that colour again), that one day she wants to acquire a white, calm, mare.

We have some chickens, but on the whole we are not an animal-focussed family. No cats. No dogs. Certainly nothing as large and demanding as a horse. My daughter accepts the fact that owning a horse is a big deal - you need a stable, a meadow, and various other bits of kit, so she is going to be patient - not a quality that comes to her easily - and wait, but it is important that she gets the mare when she is still young, she says, by the time she is twelve. By then her hair should have grown to her full desired length and both she and the white mare can ride over the fields with their locks streaming behind them. She is also keen on a cart to go with it, which will, she says, make shopping much easier and less boring. She will look after it very well: she will dress it in garlands of flowers, feed it hay and apples and exercise it daily. Its stable will be right beside the pink, gold and violet-painted bedroom of her own, into which she will also have moved by the time she turns twelve.

I am not entirely sure from where this horse has ridden into her mind. She has a sticker book of white unicorns, but much of the dream seems to be of her own invention. I am not about to surrender to an essentialist narrative and suggest that all little girls harbour a horsey dream - how could I when I myself never have?- but it has touched me, this sudden passion for a white horse, the oddly mature way in which she discusses the details of it, and it makes me think there is more than magazine marketing at work in her.

My husband plays Tenar the theme tune to White Horses, the 1960s TV series, whilst I remember all the stories I know that feature a woman and a horse. One of my favourite Ted Hughes’ tales concerns the first woman complaining to God that she is bored - she wants a playmate. After trying out various creations and getting it horribly wrong, God finally gets it right when, out of the crests of the waves, he conjures a horse, who rides ashore to greet the waiting woman. Going further back in time, there are the tales of Epona and Rhiannon, Celtic horse goddesses which I know of thanks to mother-maker, Jackie Singer, who made a brilliant show about them that explored women’s power and sexuality - both its repression and liberation. Rhiannon in particular, who can outride any man with ease, is no passive princess. Whilst the image of a girl dressed in pink is no more than eighty years old, the image of a woman riding a horse is clearly a good deal older. However, irrespective of age (simply using the fact that something has been around for a long time is a highly dubious reason for justifying it - patriarchy, for example, is ancient!) it seems to me, listening to Tenar, that she has somehow tapped into an image-geyser - it has sprung up mysteriously, and with tremendous energy. It feeds her. Life is tough, we are confined in a tiny house, while we try to stay well, stay sane, shield Granny, but my daughter is buoyant, not blue, because she is dreaming of horses- I need some of what she’s got.

But I never dreamt of horses. They don’t do it for me. I think back to when I loved navy blue and try to recall what else I was dreaming of then. What made me run around the kitchen table with delight like my daughter does? And then the answer comes: I wanted a meadow too, but not for a horse. I wanted a cabin in one corner - I was going to run across the meadow, barefoot, marvel at the wonder of the world and then head into my cabin and write. I didn’t want to be a princess, I wanted to be a poet. With the same passion, the same weird mix of realism and fantasy as I see in my daughter and her horse ambitions, I made plans for my poetry cabin. I remembered this when I watched the amazing Amanda Gorman, not dressed in pink or blue but brightest yellow, reciting at Biden’s inauguration - a young poet woman warrior. I can feel it does me good to summon up this archetype, this image. It starts, slowly, to dispel the blue. It’s a dose of a meaning-of-life medicine, the first iteration of it that I ever brewed for myself and so, because of this, it still holds a certain potency. As Victor Frankl argues in his classic Man’s Search for Meaning a sense of purpose, of meaning, is what we (man, woman, or betwixt and between) need to survive the hardest times - a holocaust, a global pandemic, or, closer to home, just a tough day of schooling with the kids.

So, here are your questions for the month - actually a mix of my daughter’s questions and mine:

What is your favourite colour today? What are you the fairy of? What do or did your children, if you have them, dream of? And what were your own childhood dreams? And can your answers to these questions change the colour of your days?

As I type this, Tenar is sitting on my lap, and she has asked for the last word. I have said she can dictate and I will type. Over to Tenar, then, to finish this off:

“I ask my mum so many questions that I feel in my body and I say my heart is the thing that controls my feelings. I ask every night to my mum, why she was a tom boy? And I say that I love you as much as I am going to love everything around me, and I love my heart, and my horse. And I am a girlie girl, not like my mummy. I love princesses, I say, every night.”

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welcometothepenumbra · 5 years

Text

JUNO STEEL AND THE PROMISED LAND (PART ONE)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra. Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

The junction lies just ahead, Traveler. If you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

(CHUCKLES) Well, next stop? Hyperion City.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

A career of ending cases has made Detective Steel very aware of what a closing should feel like. And this case should be a closing. With the mayor cornered and the clues gathered, the mystery that has dogged Detective Steel for months should be in its final act. But the end of any story is only the beginning of another; and, for that matter, the prologue, epilogue, and table of contents for a dozen more, some of which run deeper and deadlier than Detective Steel is prepared for.

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES. DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

Our next stop: Juno Steel and the Promised Land.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

MUSIC: STARTS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It was two hundred years ago when the day came that Erin Marshall D’Arc decided the world just wasn’t worth saving anymore.

Can’t blame her, really. D’Arc had seen the worst humanity had to offer: a squabble on some other planet turned into a galaxy-spanning barroom brawl, the beginning of the war that would be humanity’s self-destructive story for the next two centuries. And, if you asked most people at the time, they’d probably tell you it was the beginning of the end, too.

Faced with that – the creeping panic that everything’s about to end, or worse, like we’ve all just proved that everything should end – D’Arc came to the only conclusion left: the world just wasn’t worth saving anymore. So, she decided to go make one that was worth saving.

You’re probably wondering how I know all that. But when you’re at my level, beating back ancient aliens and political assassinations, uncovering centuries-old conspiracies is just part of the job. Hell, maybe you’ve heard of me: my name is Juno Steel, I’m a private eye—

ALESSANDRA STRONG: Private eye, yeah, I get it. I am too. Not exactly impressed.

JUNO: Not impressed? I uncover a conspiracy two hundred years dead, and you’re not impressed?

STRONG: I never heard of it.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO: Of course you’ve never heard of it. That’s called a “hook,” Alessandra; first you start off with something big and eye-catching to get people in the door, and then—

STRONG: Alright, fine, it was real pretty, Steel. You’re a poet and an inspiration or whatever. But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know I needed all that money?

JUNO: Oh, sure. So you want to talk about your apartment?

STRONG: My apartment– how did you know?

MUSIC: ENDS.

JUNO: Then we can get back to Erin Marshall D’Arc and the Free Dome later. Let’s talk about your apartment.

Bottom line: you need money because you want to buy your apartment, and you need it now because your landowner’s selling it out from under you at the end of the month. And I know that because you’re not alone: the fact of the matter is that people have been getting kicked out of their apartments in Hyperion City for months – maybe even as far back as the last time you and I worked together. The letter you got from the company that owns your place looks a lot like a letter a lot of people have been getting, from places named things like Babbling Brook Realty. A couple of cops I was working with the other day were both getting calls from Clearskies Real Estate; your bogeymen are from Crystal Falls Housing. And I’ll admit, that part Rita got for me.

STRONG: So this is all connected, somehow?

JUNO: I can’t get any specific paper trail, but real estate isn’t the only thing getting bought and sold in this city: so are real estate owners. Within the past year all those corps I just mentioned have all been bought by the same conglomerate.

STRONG: And you think Mayor Pereyra’s behind it.

JUNO: I do.

STRONG: Proof?

JUNO: Oh cool, you’ve got some? Maybe in that big backpack of yours? That’d be great.

STRONG: Steel—!

JUNO: I don’t have any, Alessandra. If I did, we wouldn’t be down here. I don’t know exactly how all this connects; I just know that it does. Because just over a month ago, Pilot’s piranha-faced right-hand crony was working for Babbling Brook Realty, trying to make their end of these evictions go off without a hitch. That connects Babbling Brook to Pilot. And just a few days ago she helped Pilot rob the Museum of Colonized History to get a map leading down here – which means all of this is connected. Somehow.

And also, the closer we’ve gotten to this little adventure in the subway, the faster the selling’s been happening. Oldtown’s getting hit the hardest, but so are the Boiler and Satan’s Diner. In poor neighborhoods, the evictions are spreading out in clusters. And now we’re after Pereyra, and where do they go?

STRONG: Underneath Oldtown.

JUNO: See? There’s definitely a connection in there, somewhere. We just gotta find out what it is.

STRONG: Okay. I think I’m following along. The mayor is trying to kick me out of my apartment. Why not? Everything else is going wrong. Why the hell not?

But that’s… I don’t know, normal mayor stuff? Barely a politician goes through Town Hall without trying some sort of con, and compared to the last few, real estate’s pretty tame, honestly. What the hell’s that got to do with the old subway system?

JUNO: Well, I was gonna tell you, but then you interrupted me.

STRONG: That story about… what’s-her-name from 200 years ago?

JUNO: What’s-her-name was what’s-her-named Erin Marshall D’Arc. And I told you, she was the first Free Domer.

STRONG: You keep saying that. Fr-free Domer… why does that sound familiar—

Oh, no. You’re kidding me. Steel!

JUNO: Could you do me a favor and just un-remember that for a second? I was really hoping I’d have time to make it sound convincing.

STRONG: The Free Dome?! Really? You dragged me down into the subway because you want to look for Martian Atlantis?

JUNO: No.

STRONG: Good, because—

JUNO: I dragged you down here because Pilot is looking for Martian Atlantis. Also, I always thought of it more like an El Dorado or a Floating City of Jupiter’s Eye kind of thing.

STRONG: Yeah, neither of which exist! I like knowing what I’m getting myself into, Juno, and you just told me I have to prep for a fairy tale! A lost city!

JUNO: Look, what do you care? If Pilot’s wrong, then hey, this is a short case after all. They take their Free Domer codex that I guess just exists for no reason, head to a dead end somewhere down here, we nab ‘em, and we’re done.

STRONG: That’s not the problem. I don’t care what Pilot thinks. I care what you think.

JUNO: I haven’t said anything about what I—

STRONG: No, but it’s all over your face.

(SIGHS) Listen, Juno, if I’m edgy it’s because that’s the only way I’ve figured out how to survive. Okay? You figure out what you’re getting into, and you prepare for it. And all these tall tales or whatever, they just distract you from seeing what you actually have to prep for.

JUNO: So you ignore the evidence all around you instead. Nice.

STRONG: What evidence? We haven’t seen anything except abandoned stations and busted-up old subway cars. There is nothing. Down. Here.

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BUZZES & BLIPS.

What the hell—?

VOICE 1 (FROM SPEAKER): There’s nothing– down here.

Please– turn back. There’s nothing for you here. Go away. Please, turn back. Turn back.

SOUND: BUZZING ENDS.

JUNO: (AFTER A PAUSE) So that’s basically confirmation, right?

STRONG: Fine. Tell your stupid story. But I’m not convinced yet.

JUNO: Ooookay. So. Erin Marshall D’Arc.

MUSIC: STARTS.

She was an engineer drafted into working on Solar military weaponry back in the start of the war. And back then that was bad news: it was a free-for-all, kill-where-the-tech-takes-you kind of thing, and working on the sort of weapons they had back then… tended to loosen people’s screws a little. A lot, actually.

And D’Arc was feeling it. All that pressure, all that panic. It just made her want to run away, find someplace where she wouldn’t have to kill anyone anymore, find someplace she could really be free. Just one problem: that place didn’t exist.

STRONG: So she built it. The Free Dome. Right, I get it.

JUNO: She didn’t just build it, Alessandra. Where the hell would she? Mars only has a couple cities and a few desert outposts ‘cause the radiation will bake you like a potato if you stay out there for more than a few hours, and Domes can’t be built just anywhere. So if you want a new city, you’ve got to figure out how to build a place to build it. You have to invent a better Dome.

STRONG: Which is impossible.

JUNO: D’Arc did it. She stole the tech from the military—

STRONG: Oh, give me a break.

JUNO: —escaped into the old subway system, and built the Free Dome! There was an investigation, Alessandra. It was in the papers two hundred years ago. They never found her!

STRONG: You were a cop, Steel. You’re telling me you’ve never been sent on a wild goose chase before?

JUNO: I mean, yeah, but—

STRONG: Okay, so someone named Erin Marshall D’Arc committed some crazy-unlikely crime and then ran away. Of course it turned into a whole urban legend thing: it’s exciting, and it sounds impossible, so why not throw in a few more impossible things for good measure?

But this is just a story, Juno. You can’t just make a new Dome anywhere. If you could, Mars wouldn’t be ninety percent desert. The conditions have got to be perfect, or something.

JUNO: Yeah, well, I bet whoever invented neon got told that a lot, too. “You can’t have light when it’s dark outside!” “Yeah, well look at this.”

STRONG: They figured out light before neon.

JUNO: What I’m saying is it’s not impossible, alright? If that tech really is down here and we stop Pilot from getting it? It would be huge! Losing your home would never be a problem again – there’d be so much open space you could live anywhere.

MUSIC: ENDS.

STRONG: Again: really nice story. Will be great if all that’s true. But I’ve got stuff to do that doesn’t include dying. So I’ll help you nab the mayor, which is all you’re paying me to do, but I’m not gonna go on some underground treasure-hunt without prepping ahead of time, just ‘cause you got attached to an adventure story.

JUNO: (PFFT) You-you-you have stuff to do? What the hell kind of stuff is more important to you than keeping people in their homes?

STRONG: I’m engaged, Juno.

JUNO: Oh.

Got engaged in… seven months, huh? That’s… fast.

STRONG: We were in the Solar Military together years ago. I thought she was dead, but… the paperwork finally went through and a bunch of PoWs just got released from the former Outer Rim. She was one of them, and she found me. Seems kind of rude to die after all that.

JUNO: Cool. Cool.

Is she… uh, nice?

STRONG: Not really.

JUNO: Oh.

STRONG: She’s smart, though. And tough. And ambitious. And funny. I like funny, as it turns out. I like pretty, too.

JUNO: That’s great.

Wow, that’s, uh… really great. So you got your happy ending, then.

STRONG: Except for the whole about-to-be-homeless thing, I feel pretty good about it, yeah. But. my point is it’s not an ending. More of a happy middle.

JUNO: “Happy middle.” (SNORTS)

STRONG: That wasn’t a joke.

JUNO: Yeah, it was. Nobody tells stories about happy middles. Well, not unless they’re about to end horribly, anyway.

STRONG: You know, this is exactly what’s wrong with the way you think, Juno.

JUNO: Just one thing?

STRONG: It’s always heroic sacrifices and blazes of glory with you. Taking that stupid pill, this case in the subway, your big “woe is me” speech when you and I—

JUNO: I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. The reason there aren’t any stories about happy lives that stay happy is because they’re boring.

STRONG: As stories, yes. But damn it, life isn’t just some story, okay? Death and suffering are not impressive. Dying’s easy: you’ve only got to do it once. You can never stop surviving. You’ve got to get up and do it all day, every day. That’s what’s hard.

JUNO: Hard doesn’t mean the same thing as worthwhile. Running on a treadmill’s hard, but at the end you still haven’t gotten anywhere.

STRONG: Just… let’s drop it, okay? I didn’t want to talk about this with you anyway. God, I forgot how depressing you are.

JUNO: At least we agree on something.

Hang on, stop, stop.

STRONG: What? Do you want to look for fantasy-land or not?

JUNO: The Theia’s been tracking Pilot and the Piranha’s footsteps, but here they just… end.

STRONG: So your cyber-eye is busted, too. Great.

JUNO: I don’t think so.

Last case I was on where footsteps just stopped like this, there was…

SOUND: CLICK. DOOR CREAKS OPEN.

Bingo. Still think it’s just a story?

STRONG: Yeah.

SOUND: INTERCOM BLIP. STATIC.

VOICE 2 (FROM SPEAKER): Testing, testing. This thing on?

JUNO: Who the hell is that?

VOICE 2 (FROM SPEAKER): Where are my goddamn headphones… Test! That’s better. (CLEARS THROAT) Listen, I probably only have a few seconds before her recording cuts in. The old lady might’ve had her head in the clouds, but she could write a hell of a security protocol. I can’t delete a second of her audio, and—

SOUND: BUZZ, JINGLE STARTS.

—oh GOD damn it, it’s about to start – okay, don’t listen a word she tells you, it’s all outdated—

SOUND: JINGLE ENDS.

VOICE 3 (FROM SPEAKER): Seekers of the Free Dome. Those of you who believe a better life can be made out there, away from the greed, the war, the disease. My new neighbors. Welcome.

VOICE 2 (FROM SPEAKER): Just ignore her! And go through the stupid tube, that’s all she’s gonna say at the end of this shpiel anyway. Marshall out.

SOUND: INTERCOM BLIP.

VOICE 3 (FROM SPEAKER): I am Erin Marshall D’Arc, and I am the founder of your new home: the Free Dome. Please. Come through the passage and join us. Everyone is welcome. Together, we can make a paradise on Mars. I know we can. We’ll be waiting for you, neighbors.

SOUND: STATIC ENDS.

JUNO: Alessandra?

STRONG: No thanks. I think you can go first.

JUNO: Don’t mind if I do.

SOUND: GRUNTS, RUSTLING.

STRONG: You see anything up there, Steel?

JUNO: About to find out.

SOUND: THEIA BEEP.

THEIA: Command received. Commencing full environment scan and database research.

Electromagnetic sequencing shows machinery within the walls. Recently active. Heat signatures appear to resemble those of password pads most commonly in use circa one hundred and seventy-two years ago. They have been. Deactivated.

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Wow, that was a hell of an update. Barely need to do any of the detecting on my own anymore.

STRONG: What was that? I can’t hear you.

THEIA: The tunnel will end in twenty feet. An entry button has been detected. Please be advised that the material appears to be. Of a different composition. Than the doors we’ve passed.

JUNO: Thank you, Theia.

THEIA: You are. Welcome.

STRONG: (QUIETLY) Now he’s having conversations with himself. You can’t have one normal case, can you, Strong? It’s always super-drug gang wars this and doomsday cults that—

JUNO: I’m hitting it. Get ready.

SOUND: CLICK. INTERCOM BLIP, STATIC.

VOICE 2 [MARSHALL] (FROM SPEAKER): So, look: my old lady probably just blew you some smoke about the Free Dome being for everyone, or whatever. She had a lot of big ideas like that. It’s why she never got nearly as much done as she said she was going to. But, lookit: I spent a whole childhood watching her mess our Free Dome up, and I’m not gonna let it happen again. I’m Marshall Erin D’Arc. Her kid. Boom! There’s a twist. You think you’re gonna get Good Cop and there’s Realist Cop, here to make you earn your keep.

But hey, you heard that? I’m not Bad Cop; I’m Realist Cop. Also: not a cop. This is a metaphor. But, I’m gonna drop the flowery language for a sec and get real with you, because that’s what Realist Cop does. Gets. Real.

‘Cause Ma? Might’ve had all that crap about everyone being her neighbor or whatever, but guess what? She’s dead. Marshall only takes the best, the brightest, the most loyal. So if you want in on paradise? You better be able to prove you can help make it paradise. I’ve got a full slate of tests lined up for you, and if you can pass ‘em, welcome to utopia. If not? Welcome to fertilizer. Alright, go ahead. Press the button. Come on in. What are you waiting for? Press it.

STRONG: (AFTER A PAUSE) Steel? He said press it.

JUNO: Hang on.

STRONG: Please tell me you’re having second thoughts. It’d imply some first thoughts that until right now, I wasn’t convinced existed.

JUNO: It’s just a hunch, but… the recording didn’t cut. Wait a second.

MARSHALL D’ARC (FROM SPEAKER): (AFTER A PAUSE) Ha ha! See? That’s test one. Test of Patience. You press that button, BOOM! Shrapnel. Pieces. But you listened to me, and you listened to my codex. Nice. Nice.

Now, is that true, that I was gonna kaboom ya? You don’t know. But you sure as hell aren’t about to test it, are ya? Call that test two, the Trust-Test. BAM, I’m knockin’ these out. Eat it, Erin! (PANTS)

She’s got another message for ya in the next room. Just ignore her, hit the button by the tracks, and wait for the pod. Might take a while ‘cause, y’know, she built it. Marshall out.

SOUND: INTERCOM BLIP, STATIC ENDS.

JUNO: Now do you believe—

STRONG: Just press the button and let’s go.

JUNO: If you say so.

SOUND: CLICK. GEARS WHIRRING, THEN CLUNK.

Oh… huh. That’s not great.

STRONG: What? What is it?

PIRANHA: For an abandoned subway this place makes a whole lot of noise, don’t it?

JUNO: That’s… worse.

PILOT PEREYRA: You might as well check on it. The pod isn’t here yet.

PIRANHA: Me? How come I—

PEREYRA: Do I look like the spooky noise-checking type? You begged to come along. Show a little gratitude.

STRONG: Damn it! Steel, get us out of here!

JUNO: (STRAINING) I’m trying, but the door… didn’t open all the way!

SOUND: METAL CREAKING.

PEREYRA: Besides, this is… I just want to check this out by myself for a minute. I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time, buddy. You can respect that. …Bye now.

PIRANHA: Fine. (GROWLS)

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

STRONG: Can you close it, then?

JUNO: It’s a smooth piece of metal, Alessandra, what do you want me to grab it with, my teeth?

STRONG: Just stop whining and move aside!

SOUND: METAL CREAKS, GRUNTING.

PIRANHA: Whole damn place is falling apart…

STRONG: (GRUNTS)

PIRANHA: (GASPS) The hell was that?

STRONG: (WHISPERING) Move, Steel! Behind the support column, go!

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.

PIRANHA: Anybody out there?

SOUND: PANTING.

If you don’t come out quiet, I’m gonna make you and every one of your fingers I don’t bite off regret it, see?

SOUND: GUN COCKING. INTERCOM BLIP, STATIC.

MARSHALL (FROM SPEAKER): I’m Marshall Erin D’Arc. BOOM!

SOUND: REPEATED CLUNKS & MOTOR WHIRRING.

BOOM– BOOM– BOOM– BOOM– BOOM– BOOM– (CONTINUOUSLY LOOPS IN BACKGROUND)

PIRANHA: Oh, son of a…

Y’know, for keepers of some kinda ancient supertechnology the Free Domers couldn’t build a bunker worth a damn. Now this door’s broken, too.

PEREYRA: Well, fix it. It’s giving me a headache.

PIRANHA: Yes, your highness.

Ey, shaddup, you— (GRUNTS)

SOUND: BANG. RECORDING SKIPS.

I said shaddup! (GRUNTS)

SOUND: MORE BANGS. RECORDING SKIPS, THEN CUTS OUT. MOTOR DIES.

And unless you want some more’a that you’ll stay quiet. Creep.

PEREYRA: The man you’re threatening is about a hundred years dead, pal. You haven’t lost it on me, have you?

PIRANHA: (GROWLS) Could’ve sworn I heard something.

PEREYRA: Hearing things, huh? When we get back I’ll take you out to a nice padded cell I know. My treat. (CHUCKLES)

PIRANHA: (GROWLS)

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

(QUIETLY) Just you wait, Pereyra. This ain’t the only mouth my boot’s gonna close… Close yours so hard it falls off its hinges, see…

JUNO: That… was close.

(CLEARS THROAT) That was pretty slick, Strong. Glad I brought you with me.

STRONG: Yeah, well, you should be. Wanna see if we can get a closer look?

JUNO: Fine. You lead the way this time.

STRONG: I was planning on it.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The columns on the pillars said “Oldtown Station.”

I didn’t even know Oldtown had a station. The room we were in was all faded paint and old posters, advertising movies I’d never heard of with actors centuries dead wearing fashions I’d never seen before – a world long gone. This place was so old it must’ve already been ancient history when Erin D’Arc set the Free Domers up in here.

We climbed to a second floor landing to get an angle on Pilot and the Piranha, standing over by the tracks. Pilot was sizing up the place like they were thinkin’ about moving in. The Piranha was tapping her fingers on the desk, looking like she still had something in her serrated craw about all that noise.

PIRANHA: What the hell is taking so long? You sure that stupid pod is coming?

PEREYRA: Give it time. Wine improves with age. Engines, not so much.

Lot of space in this subway. I wonder why I never built anything down here. Some housing or something.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

PIRANHA: People lose their marbles if they live under Martian ground too long. Radiation burns, brainswell…

PEREYRA: Probably cost more to tear all this down than you’d ever make on it anyway.

PIRANHA: Yeah, well, onto bigger and better things or whatever. (COUGHING) Where the hell is it? Damn dust’s got my asthma up.

SOUND: DISTANT HUM APPROACHING.

PEREYRA: Well, look at that. Saddle up, pal, because I think our ride is just about here.

SOUND: BUZZ, JINGLE PLAYS. STATIC.

VOICE 3 [ERIN D’ARC] (FROM SPEAKER): Thank you for waiting, new neighbors. In a galaxy gone so bitter, so violent, safety and peace are our highest priorities. We hope you understand.

PIRANHA: (SNORTS)

ERIN (FROM SPEAKER): Now, if all of you will please step up to the pod, it will bring you straight to your new home.

SOUND: STATIC ENDS.

PIRANHA: Damn it. Stupid door’s busted, just like everything else…

SOUND: STATIC.

ERIN (FROM SPEAKER): The journey to the Free Dome takes some time, and so for your safety, these doors will not open until all initiates within the station stand before the pod.

SOUND: STATIC ENDS.

STRONG: Steel… I’ve got a bad feeling about this…

JUNO: You and me both.

SOUND: STATIC.

ERIN (FROM SPEAKER): Currently – two – initiates stand before the door. Would the remaining – two – initiates please step forward?

SOUND: STATIC ENDS.

JUNO: Uh-oh.

PIRANHA: (GROWLS) You’re kidding me.

PEREYRA: Shhh! Let’s just… hang on. Why don’t we step into my office for a second?

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

PIRANHA: Into your what? Oof!

STRONG: I can’t make out what they’re saying. Steel?

JUNO: If I can’t see their lips, the Theia can’t help. Besides, I don’t think we need to hear ‘em to know what they’re talking about. Pilot’s thinking there are two more people in here. Only reason they’d have to keep their voices down.

STRONG: Damn, damn, damn.

Alright. We’ve got to pull the plug on this thing, Steel.

JUNO: What? Why?

STRONG: Because the price for going deeper, as it turns out, is giving up the only edge we have. So: no thanks.

JUNO: You’re scared of them? Alessandra, they’re harmless!

STRONG: Harmless? You told me she tried to kill someone by blowing up their cat!

JUNO: Yeah, well, do you see any cats right now?

STRONG: Knock it off. You do not go deeper behind enemy lines unless you have an actual plan – and you don’t. You don’t even know what’s in there!

JUNO: There’s a pod! She just said there was a pod!

STRONG: And then what?

I know you want to rush in and make this a big hero story or whatever, but guess what? Going out in a blaze of glory still means going out. And that’s not on the table with me.

Okay. I think this is the plan: we go down there together to scope out the situation. Then we each head around the monitor they’re hiding behind and cut off their exits, stun the two of them, take their weapons, and high-tail it out the front door with two sleepy crooks over our shoulders before this place finds another way to break.

JUNO: But… can’t we just… wait and see what happens? A little longer?

STRONG: You might be alright with gambling with your life, Steel, but I’m not. I’ve got someone who needs me. Now let’s move.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So we split up. And I felt bad for Alessandra, going off into the dark alone. At least I had backup.

THEIA: Scanning for footprints.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The Theia outlined every bootstep and heelstep our targets had taken, and for a second it was nonsense, just a big golden scribble. But even that could be taken care of.

SOUND: THEIA BEEP.

THEIA: Command received. Organizing footprints based on order of creation.

JUNO (NARRATOR): It was like looking at flashing signs, highlighting footprint after footprint, reliving old steps. They started in the dark corner we’d seen Pilot and the Piranha duck into, then slid out, separated, and the Piranha’s big bootprints went straight through an office doorway right beside me.

Miracles of modern technology: an eye that solves mysteries for you. She was in there, laying out a trap for us. But, with the Theia boosting my reaction time, Piranha-face didn’t stand a chance. I pressed myself up against the door, closed my hand on the knob, and called in the troops.

THEIA: Sight focused. Pulse accelerated. Fast-twitch muscle fibers boosted to maximum percent. Action recommended in three. Two. One.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I threw open the door. For just an instant, I saw the Piranha, and what followed should’ve been the flash of my gun.

Instead I got a flash of something… else.

SOUND: GLITCH. REPEATED BUZZES.

THEIA: Error – error – error—

VOICE 4 (WITH THEIA FILTER): Little MONSTERS!

THEIA: —error – error—

JUNO: AHH!

PIRANHA: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: PUNCH. THUD.

Thought I’d bump into you again sooner or later, P.I. Didn’t think you’d be even more of a pushover on round two, though.

JUNO: (PAINED GROANS)

PIRANHA: I’ll be taking that gun, see? And just so you don’t try anything funny…

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT.

JUNO: Ahh!

PIRANHA: A stun-blasted hand might not do any lasting damage but it sure hurts, don’t it? Give a nasty burn, leave a little scar…

…right around here.

JUNO: Ahhh!!

PIRANHA: Now get up. Next time I shoot you it won’t be on stun.

JUNO (NARRATOR): She pulled me up to my feet, and distantly I could feel my hand throbbing. But it was nothing compared to the feeling in my head. Like roots spreading backward from the Theia into my skull and down my spine. Until… suddenly I didn’t feel it at all.

SOUND: THEIA BEEP.

THEIA: The Theia Spectrum is now online.

JUNO (NARRATOR): And in an instant it was over. The pain was gone, and I was just a beat-up, washed-up hack being dragged out the door by a gangster with my own gun held to my head.

SOUND: RUSTLING, FOOTSTEPS.

PEREYRA: Back off!

STRONG: Stay still! Damn it, stay still!

PIRANHA: Don’tcha know anything about respect? The mayor tells you to back off, you better back off!

STRONG: Who the hell are you? Where’s—

Steel. You’re kidding me.

JUNO: What?

STRONG: I take my eyes off you for two seconds and you get caught?

PIRANHA: You’ll notice I already decided to let some’a the air through one’a Deadeye Dip’s hands here. And unless you want me to punch enough holes in him so you can feel a strong breeze coming from the other side, I’m gonna recommend you put the mayor down.

STRONG: (GROWLS)

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

PEREYRA: (COUGHS) Alright. About time. She’s armed, by the way. You might want to take care of that.

PIRANHA: Drop the gun and kick it over here, Big-Eyes.

STRONG: Steel, you and I are gonna have some words about this later…

SOUND: CLUNK. SLIDE.

PIRANHA: Take it, Mx. Mayor.

PEREYRA: Not that it was much danger in her hands. She has a gun and she still goes for the headlock. Hope reliving the glory days of high school wrestling was worth it, lady, ‘cause it’s about to kill you, and your friend here.

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

JUNO: What?

STRONG: That fast? Why would you bother taking our guns if you were just going to—

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT. GLASS SHATTERS.

PEREYRA: You stay quiet, or the next shot tears something more vital than your sleeve.

So, buddy? You brought them in. I’ll let you pick which one dies first.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The Piranha’s breath was warm and damp as a wound. I heard her run her long, long tongue over her teeth. And then, sounding a little disappointed in herself, she said:

PIRANHA: Y’know… I hate to admit it, but I’m not sure we kill either of ‘em yet.

PEREYRA: Well, aren’t you full of surprises today. Getting soft?

PIRANHA: Well, it’s like you were sayin’, see? It’s all about that personal benefit. And so long as these two were so hard to come by, well… whaddaya say we make use of ‘em?

PEREYRA: Yeah, yeah, keep going.

PIRANHA: That recording, D’Arc’s kid – he said something about some tests. Might be dangerous. And even if they ain’t, this place is crumbling all around us, Pilot.

PEREYRA: The door worked fine. Better than fine, in fact. It found two snakes-in-the-grass that even we didn’t.

PIRANHA: But that tunnel was busted and you know it.

No matter how fancy D’Arc’s tech turns out to be, getting to it’s already been harder than the codex made it seem, and I’m guessin’ it only gets hairier from here. But what if – follow me on this – what if we didn’t have to risk a single hair on your pretty head with that danger? After all… we got two right here to disarm the traps for us. Two ways to clear a minefield, after all – either give an expert two years and a hell of a lot of overtime, or you schedule a relay race on top of it and bring an umbrella.

PEREYRA: (LAUGHS) Forget the gang, buddy: keep having ideas like this and I’ll find a spot for you in my cabinet. (CHUCKLES) Good thinking. Very good thinking. Now, come on. Let’s get them into the pod.

SOUND: PNEUMATIC HISS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Under her breath, quiet enough that Pilot couldn’t hear it, quiet enough that even she might not have been able to hear it, the Piranha muttered:

PIRANHA: (QUIETLY) I’ll show you some good thinkin’, pal… gimme a few days and we’ll see how much you like it.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Was that for me? Just for her? Was it the underground stir-crazy in all of us? I didn’t know.

God, this was supposed to be an ending, but everywhere I turned I felt like there were four more things staring me down that I didn’t understand. And just the weight of that, knowing that there were more problems than I could fit in my head… it made me exhausted before we’d even begun. Hopeless. If I couldn’t understand what the hell was going on, what chance did we have?

STRONG: Steel.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at Alessandra Strong, who had every good reason in the world to live and who I’d probably just killed, again.

STRONG: Steel. Look at me.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So I looked.

And… she didn’t look angry. Not with me, anyway. She just looked tired. …But ready for a fight.

STRONG: I need you to remember what I told you earlier. Dying is—

PIRANHA: Shut up and get in the pod.

JUNO (NARRATOR): According to Alessandra Strong, surviving is what’s hard, because you never get to take a break from it.

You never get to stop. No matter how tired you are, how confused. You’ve just got to keep living… and you’ve got to have faith that, eventually, you’ll be glad you did.

I knew that was true. But, knowing you’ll want to live and feeling it… those are two different things.

MUSIC: STARTS.

Dying is easy. And sometimes, when things get bad, when nothing around you makes any sense, death seems like the only option that does.

STRONG: Steel.

PIRANHA: I said knock it off!

JUNO (NARRATOR): And when it gets that bad you just have to look at the people who rely on you, who think you’re worth… somethin’, and you have to believe they can’t all be wrong. It sounds crazy, but people believe in all kinds of crazy things. Promises and politicians. Love and… lives worth living.

SOUND: INTERCOM BLIP. STATIC.

MARSHALL (FROM SPEAKER): So. You’re on your way. (PFFT) Don’t think I’ll go easy on ya just ‘cause you got this far.

ERIN (FROM SPEAKER): The Free Dome is just ahead, neighbors. We are so excited to welcome you home.

SOUND: STATIC ENDS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So… no matter how confusing this was getting, I had to think it would all make sense eventually. Because otherwise, being trapped down here with the mayor and their mobster, hearing generations of sermons and shouting and whatever the hell that was—

SOUND: ELECTRONIC BUZZES & BLIPS.

VOICE 1 (FROM SPEAKER): I’m telling you, go home. I only have a few seconds, right now, please—

SOUND: BUZZING ENDS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): —you could lose your mind that way.

So, instead: believe. Believe in the Free Dome. In Alessandra Strong, believe in whoever the hell and whatever the hell, just do it, and then, against your better judgment: survive.

Even if it feels like the last thing you wanna do.

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actors Joshua Ilon, Kat Buckingham and Simon Moody, and co-creator Sophie Kaner:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

KAT: …it makes sense for her, though. Because, like, she’s very much of, like– full survival and also like, logic, so like she’s like, “Oh. Oh I found this person that I really like. Oh I love this person. Cool. Great. Alright. Let’s keep doing that.”

SOUND: LAUGHTER.

SOPHIE: It’s so romantic!

KAT: It’s– it’s very romantic.

SOPHIE: Like it is, though.

KAT: Yeah, yeah yeah. And then she’s like, “Okay cool. So how many times do I have to… carry you over the threshold, bef– like over my shoulders, before we’re married?”

SOPHIE & JOSHUA: Aw!

KAT: Like, that’s kind of how I pictured it, of like…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Vron, Charlie Spiegel, Minchowski, Jaimie Gunter, and the Princess and the Scrivener for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Promised Land, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Kat Buckingham as Alessandra Strong, Simon Moody as Mayor Pilot Pereyra, and Sophie Kaner as the Piranha.

This tale also featured: Lauren Shippen of The Bright Sessions as Erin Marshall D’Arc, Zach Valenti of Wolf 359 as Marshall Erin D’Arc, and Rich Wentworth of Hadron Gospel Hour as the mysterious voice in the walls.

On staff at The Penumbra: Kevin Vibert is our lead writer and recording engineer. Sophie Kaner is our director and sound designer. Grahame Turner is our script editor. Noah Simes is our production manager. Alice Chung is our designer and financial manager. Kat Buckingham is our publicity director. Original music by Ryan Vibert. Promotional art by Mikaela Buckley.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

#juno steel

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