#also. for like the second kiss i've ever drawn this isn't half bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purplehoodiesimon · 2 years

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hello 👀 touch 45: feeling their temperature and also hands 13: linking hands together during sex :) :) :) :) :) you’re welcome 😌😏😘

You absolute fucking menace, ily💜, and you only get this for inventing the funniest name I have ever heard someone call me in my life, though honestly as someone who's been subjected people teasing me with Jupiter since my peers could talk, the bar isn't very high.

Touching 45. feeling their temperature

Wille pulls the covers over his head as soon as he wakes up. Being a functional person today sounds like a terrible idea. His head aches and his throat is sore like he's swallowed glass. Evidently, Madison's cold has gotten to him. Wille gets out of bed exactly once to use the bathroom, grabbing a granola bar out of his schoolbag on the way back for a mid morning brunch. It hurts so much to eat right now, but his stomach feels like it's literally shaking and choking down the dry bar feels like the lesser of two evils here. The door bangs open around noon, when Wille's in the middle of rearranging the blanket he's wearing like a robe. Simon stands in the doorway, with a tupperware of soup and a concerned expression. "Good morning," Wille says, hating how hoarse his voice sounds. Simon enters, setting the soup on Wille's desk and climbing onto the bed to sit next to Wille. "Nej, nej. You'll get sick too." "Please," Simon snorts. "Have you seen the group chat? Half our friends also woke up with it, I've already been exposed." "I haven't seen it." Wille sighs, feeling miserable. "Light hurts." "Well that explains why you aren't answering texts." Simon studies him for a second before leaning in, placing his hand on Wille's forehead. "Well that's good, you're not hot." "Ouch," Wille deadpans, snuggling down into his blankets and laying his head on Simon's thigh. "Breaking news, this just in: my boyfriend doesn't think I'm hot. What a—" He breaks off, coughing as a sudden tickle in his throat appears. Simon's concerned frown deeps and he checks Wille's head again. "Well you might be a little warm..." he says, and prods Wille in the shoulder. "Move over, I'll keep you warm." "Oh? And how are you—ow." Wille clutches his forehead, grimacing as a hammer bangs on the inside of his skull. He shifts, letting Simon slide under the covers next to him. "Okay, no flirting, it hurts. No talking either."

"You should get some rest," Simon says, already sounding halfway to sleep himself as he curls around Wille, tangling their legs together. He slides his hand over Wille's waist and slightly up under his shirt to softly stroke Wille's side. Wille snuggles back against him, falling asleep wrapped in Simon's warm arms.

The next day, it's his turn to check Simon's temperature, his boyfriend's teeth chattering even as he vehemently insists he's not feeling that bad.

Hand holding 13. linking hands together during sex (because you waited so patiently for this, I gave you married wilmon with it😌💜)

Warning: NSFW

There's not much Wille likes more in the world that taking Simon apart with his fingers. Simon's laugh, maybe, and the way he smiles at Wille each morning they wake up together. Even after years of loving Simon, he's never tired of the soft gasps and moans he can draw from his husband's lips.

Simon writhes under his hands, fingers clenching in Wille's hair as he strokes a finger over the firm little spot deep inside Simon. He presses down, massaging gently and pulling a long, drawn-out moan from Simon. "Wille, please."

"Patience." Wille hums, placing a soft kiss at the base of Simon's cock. You can't rush perfection. And Simon coming apart underneath him is the dictionary definition of it. He presses down with his fingers again, as his tongue darts out and licks a stripe up Simon, collecting the hot, salty taste of him before pressing another soft kiss at the tip. Simon cries out, yanking hard on Wille's hair as his hips buck up, sending a streak of precome across Wille's cheek.

"Please, älskling, fuck cariño, please," Simon whines, trying to push his body further down on Wille's fingers. Wille reaches up with his free hand, untangling one of Simon's hands from his hair. He brings it down to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the metal band that glints on Simon's fourth finger.

"Patience," he repeats, and twines their fingers together, pinning Simon's hand down to the bed as he does. "Other one, please."

Simon makes no protest as he releases his grip on Wille's hair, crossing it over his body so Wille can have both at once, holding them tightly against the sheets. Wille grins and licks up Simon again before swallowing him down, scraping a featherlight finger over the area that can make him scream for Wille. Simon half-sobs, his entire body tensing as he so lovingly makes an effort to not choke Wille by shoving himself down his throat. Wille taps a finger twice on that sweet spot inside him, their non-verbal signal for 'good boy' and Simon lets out another string of curses and endearments in various languages.

Wille keeps his hand there as he starts to bob his head, linked with Simon's hands and keeping them under his control. He starts stroking rhythmically inside Simon's body, fingers curling into him as his tongue twists around Simon, the ache in his own body unimportant as Simon squirms, his heels digging into Wille's back.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, cariño por favor, te necesito..."

Wille loves reducing Simon to a babbling mess, loves it even more when he makes Simon revert fully back to his first language. It's him making Simon feel this good, it's him seeing Simon fall apart. And if anyone asks, Wille would gladly tell the entire world that he's the one who gets to touch Simon like this. No one else.

But luckily, he doesn't have to. It's just them in this room, intertwined on the bed, a mess of limbs and love. The rings on their fingers touch as Wille holds Simon's hands down, proof to everyone that Simon is the man he loves. Simon is the man he's loving.

Because that's what he's doing as he picks each piece of Simon apart and covers it with kisses before putting him back together with sweet words and a warm bath. He's loving Simon, with everything he is. And honestly, loving Simon like this—loving him with kisses and fingers and breakfast in bed, moments shared over dinner and walks in the park and laughter, the times when things are harder and there's anger or sadness but there's also hugs and promises to change, to make things better—that's what he loves most in the world.

Send me a number with the list type and I'll write a little drabble for it!

#ngl this linking hands one might be my favorite drabble ive written #sweet loving sex: an informational novel on how to write smut when you barely have in over 4 years by kailighter jones #coming soon to bookstores near you #young royals #young royals netflix #wilhelm young royals #simon young royals #wilmon #wilhelm x simon #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson #wilhelm yr #simon yr #simon x wilhelm #asks #abc kais the alpha btch

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dog-day-morning · 3 years

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The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021

#your financial transactions

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shawnpetermuffins · 5 years

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I Miss You

A/n: I hope this is good because I put this off for so long wanting to do it justice. And this is based very loosely off I Miss you.

Summary: you two broke up recently, and it's not sitting well with Shawn, even though he's the reason you broke up.

Requested by @it-isnt-in-myy-blood: Hi, I recently listened to the song 'I Miss you' (Clean Bandit, Julia Michaels). Maybe you could write a fic based on the song, angsty but with a fluff ending? Thank you... ❤️

***

Kinda_yourname

2,158 likes

Kinda_yourname Cabo sunsets >>>> anything else

•

It may have only been a week, but I'm missing it here! 😭

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I shut my phone off and toss it to the end of the bed. I should have been with her on that trip, but tour got in the way. I got in the way. It's crazy to think that if you asked me three weeks ago, I would have said that my girlfriend and I could overcome any obstacle thrown at us. But ask me again a week later, and I would tell you I was wrong. That being away from her for months at a time was too much for me and I broke it off because I thought it would be what was best for both of us in the end.

Now ask me if I still believe that.

I don't.

I haven't told anyone about us yet. I mean, everyone probably suspects because there haven't been Amy preshow FaceTime calls for good luck, and I'm not texting like a madman during dinner or when we're on our way to the venues. And I know she hasn't said anything to anyone either. How? Because for one, she hasn't blocked me on any social media - I know, I've checked at least ten times just within the last two hours. And two, she hasn't deleted the three pictures of us that she has on her Instagram. They're still there for everyone to see, me included.

Now my fingers are hovering over the keyboard and I'm staring at her name on my phone which is still My Love 😍, and I'll probably never change it. Because she is my love, and to strip her of that title because I'm an idiot just isn't fair.

Hey... I miss you

I type and backspace and type and backspace at least ten times. Because I want to text her. I want so badly to text her, but what if she doesn't want to hear from me? I wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to. I was the worst. Breaking up with her over the phone, no less because I was hurting being away from her. Never once did it occur to me that, yeah, she was hurting too. Or maybe she's with someone else. Maybe she's found somebody new. I want her happy, sure. But I selfishly still want to be the one that makes her happy.

Y/n I miss you.

I delete it one last time and open my photo gallery. I have an album saved for photos of us. Photos that I never got to post because she wanted to keep us as private as possible without being a secret. Which is why both of us only have 3 photos of each other on our Instagram. One for our six months, a year, and a year and a half. Two more months and we would have had a fourth picture.

I'm swiping through the photos landing on one I took of her when we were flying back to Canada after our first trip together. We're on a private jet because this was before we went public with our relationship. Andrew made sure that we weren't seen together in the airport or anything. She's sitting in the seat across the aisle from me, legs up to her chest, earphones in, head resting on her knees as she smiles brightly at me. There's another one of us curled up together on this tiny chair in a green room in the UK that Andrew sent me. She's literally curled into a ball on my lap, sleeping peacefully and my legs are spread in front of me, arms wrapped tightly around her body, head resting against the back of the seat.

The next one Brian took. We were at my place for a very impromptu new years party. It was just gonna be me and y/n, but she insisted we invite the guys over. And we did. It was one of the best nights of my life. We're watching the ball drop, with her in my lap, arm around my shoulder. I have one arm behind her back, the other on her thigh. I think Brian knew something was going to happen because at ten seconds to midnight he pulled his phone out and captured out first new years kiss. She's holding my face and I'm practically leaning her back against the couch. It looks like I'm seconds away from crawling on top of her, and it be honest, I probably was. She's just too perfect for me to resist.

Then there's one that Josiah took of us just a few months ago at the studio house. I had y/n on the kitchen counter, she was in these jean shorts that I loved her in and a button up that she'd stolen from my suitcase. Not that I was complaining. It looked far better on her than it did on me. I stood between her legs, my hands on her sides, slipping under the shirt a little bit, leaning her hips exposed. Not that either of u cared with her fingers threaded in my hair as casually as they were. My face is blocked by her figure, but there isn't a doubt in my mind that I was smiling entirely too wide standing between her legs.

The video that follows knocks the breath out of me. She giggling like crazy, but the camera isn't on her, it's on me. On my back, more specifically. She laughs even more when I wince at the feel of her fingers on my red, raw skin that is now home of her fingernail scratches.

"Baby? What happened to your back?" She asked, amused.

"Don't know," I said, turning to face her, my cheeks still holding a slight blush. "But I think the real question is, what happened to your neck, missy?" I pluck the phone from her hands and turn the camera to her where she's trying to cover her face. I manage, however, to take her hands in my free one and the camera focuses on the flourishing bruises that litter her beautiful neck, my favorite place to rest my head.

I close my eyes, the memory of that night filling my mind. Watching her come down from her high, my face still buried between her legs. The weight and cold touch of her hands as she pulled me up to her, into her, because she needed me closer. I can hear myself murmuring the words 'I love you' all over her skin, still remember the way her back arched when I hit the right spot again and again and her finger ran down my back over and over, once more and she probably would have drawn blood. And I may not be home, but I can smell her on the sheets, that constant aroma of warm vanilla penetrating my nostrils. God, do I miss her.

I'm only making it worse for myself by doing this, I know that. But I should feel bad. I lost the greatest thing in my life and I didn't need to. So I got back to our messages, but instead of going to type a new one, I scroll through, reading through our old texts. There's countless paragraphs of us professing our love for each other. Lots of random pictures sent, most from my side. There's conversations about getting a home together, and a dog. And her telling me how much she loves my family and me telling her how much they love her, how much they ask about her. It's all hitting me too hard right now.

And it doesn't help that im literally sobbing at 2 in the morning, in Paris. The city of love. The place she told me was her favorite trip to ever take with me. Where we stood atop the eiffle tower and I gave her a promise ring, a ring that said I would love her and keep her forever. A promise ring that was now probably in the ocean in Cabo because I tore us apart so easily.

I sit up suddenly, struggling to catch my breath. It takes a few minutes, but I'm able to pull myself out of this empty bed that would only be comfortable with y/n laying next to me. I'm scrambling through the room, picking up the pair of jeans I threw off my body earlier and slipping back into them. I find a torn work out shirt in the bottom of my back and push my head and arms through before throwing my youth hoodie over my already overheated upper body. My passport is sitting in my guitar case, and I grab both things without a second thought. My suitcase trailing behind me.

It's difficult booking a flight and carrying a suitcase and guitar all at once, but I get along just well enough and adjust myself in the lobby while I wait for a taxi. I don't text Andrew until I've made it to the airport and am in my seat on the plane, ready for take off.

Emergency... had to fly home. Promise to make it back in time for the Paris show.

And I turn my phone off before he can text or call me back. Because there isn't a damn thing that he could say that would keep me there in a city that's meant for lovers, when my lover is across the world instead of laying in my arms the way she should be.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know there is someone out there who is better for her. Someone who isn't constantly on the move. Someone who can come home to her every night and help her make dinner. Someone who can cuddle her until she falls asleep when she's having a particularly bad day. I know there's someone who can do those things.

But I also know that he won't love her the way I do. He won't know all the little things that I do. Like how she only uses a blue toothbrush. Always has. And he won't notice the tiny scar that she has on her right middle finger from when we tried to make dinner together one night and she cut herself. He probably won't know that she wakes up at 3:34 every single night, because she hasn't been able to sleep fully and soundly through the night since she was four years old. And he'll mess up the way she likes her tea, using tea bags instead of leaves. (She like the herbal taste that you get when you use the leaves. And she likes when you do two scoops of them, and two scoops of sugar, but just cane sugar, the rock sugar makes it too earthy. And of course, she drinks it on ice because she hates burning her tongue with hot drinks.)

I'm thinking way too much as I get off the plane, reluctantly turning my phone back on only to see texts from just about everyone I know. They're all asking where I am, but I ignore them, because what I'm about to do is far more important than anything they threaten me with. I have to make things right.

Standing in front of this door that I've stood in front of hundreds of times should make me feel at ease. Remembering all the times I had her pressed against the other side of the door because I just couldn't wait to have her all to myself. But if anything, it's making me more nervous. So nervous that my hands are shaking, palms sweating, my breathing is jagged and I know if I don't knock right now I might never get the chance again and I can't lose her for real this time. So without giving myself the chance to rethink, I knock on the door three times and I wait, handing in the pocket of my hoodie.

I wait a solid thirty seconds, which feel like an eternity, before the door finally opens and I see my beautiful girl. Her face is bare, hair only halfway straightened, and she's in those shorts I love and my old Led Zepplin t-shirt.

"Shawn," my name still sounds like heaven spilling from her lips. "What are you doing here?" She crosses and then uncrosses her arms, shifting her weight from one leg to the other before standing completely straight.

I didn't even realize I was crying until I sniffled and heard my voice crack with just three words, "I miss you."

"Shawn," she shook her head.

"I tried not to," I insisted, still standing like a fool on her door step. "I swear I did. But I couldn't stop. I looked through all our pictures and texts, and I couldn't stop myself from missing you. And I know I have no right to because I broke things off. But I was in Paris and I was miserable because Paris was your favorite place, and that was where I promised to love you forever, and I'm still keeping that promise. I was an idiot," I continue to ramble. "If there's a better word for that, then I'm that too, because I thought it would be easier if I broke things off. This tour was going to be so long and to go that long without each other, I was scared that it wouldn't be enough for you. But it's not what I wanted, y/n. It's not, and I just-"

"Shawn, stop."

I shut my mouth instantly, ready for her to tell me to leave. But what she does instead throws me completely off guard. She pulls me into the apartment and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her head deep in my chest.

"I miss you, too." She mumbles and I exhale slowly, only to inhale that scent that I love so much. The scent that is naturally her. She starts to pull away, and even though I don't want her to, I let her but she only leans back enough to take my face in her hands and before I even have time to blink, her soft lips are on mine and I'm whole again.

She's mine again and I'm never letting her go.

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @bbellbagel

This took me longer to write than it should have, but I kinda really like it. I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you Wednesday for more content! 💙

Like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes one shot #shawn peter raul #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #smfsource

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marjorierose · 6 years

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Two events that had nothing in common

Except the location and the set, a huge decaying theater interior with dusty seats and a chandelier lying askew on the ground:

1 - Indecent by Paula Vogel at the Guthrie

This is the first post-Broadway production of this play! It's about Sholem Asch and his 1906 play The God of Vengeance, which toured Europe in Yiddish and then, when it transferred to Broadway in English, got the whole cast arrested for obscenity. I haven't read The God of Vengeance, and I regretted that a little--it was obviously groundbreaking, with the first lesbian kiss on Broadway and what seems like a ruthlessly complicated take on Jewish life. But enough of that play was included in this one that I never felt lost. And there's a lot going on here. From one perspective it's a show about representation of oppressed communities, particularly in times of heightened oppression, when any kind of negative portrayal might be considered unwise. ("Do you know what a minyan is?" Asch asks at one point, when his play has just been read in a salon for the first time and everyone is up in arms about it. "It's ten Jews standing in a circle accusing each other of anti-Semitism!") From another angle it's really a story about fandom, and about art belonging not to its creators but to the people who need it most. Asch gets tired of The God of Vengeance; he doesn't think he speaks English well enough to get involved with the obscenity trial, and when people come to talk to him about it later in life he would rather discuss his novels. He isn't really the main character of this play--that's the stage manager of Vengeance, Lemml. Being at the first reading of the play is obviously a revelation for him, and he uses it as the guiding line through everything that happens to him after that point. That ardor comes from a wholly different place than the argument about good and bad representation. Half the characters in this play are arguing about whether Vengeance is bad for the Jews, and Lemml keeps responding with tears that it changed his life, that it's genius, that it's incredibly important to him; and while that's placed into a very specific world-historical context, it's also something particular and precious and offers him as an individual a way out of where he is.

2 - Béla Fleck and Abigail Washburn in concert at the Guthrie

This played on a Monday night when Indecent had a day off, and they did their best to inhabit the set (they each took a turn sitting back on the theater seats within the set to watch each other). This is the second time I've seen these two perform. Here's the funny thing about Béla Fleck. He is an acknowledged genius, arguably the greatest virtuoso his instrument has ever had; and also his instrument is a popular joke. Both of these things are evident when you see him live. They raffled off a banjo ukulele at this concert, and he went over and autographed it while the number was being drawn, in the manner of someone who assumes you want his autograph. When he really digs into a solo the audience goes absolutely wild; his fingers are more capable than I really thought was possible. At the same time he and Abigail Washburn like to joke that when their first collaboration topped the bluegrass charts, it must have sold at least seventeen copies. I once wrote an essay that essentially blamed the Flecktones' greatest hits album for my decision to leave New York, but I probably would not notice if I passed Fleck on the street. They have neither high-prestige respectability nor pop-culture cool. But they do have buckets and buckets of skill.

Fleck and Washburn come from slightly different banjo traditions, which you can loosely identify as "he's bluegrass and she's country," though a big part of it is that she's also a singer. Their collaborations are less jazzy and include a lot more vocals than Fleck's stuff with the Flecktones ever had, and sometimes this makes it seem less sophisticated--you wouldn't have found a cover of "I've Been Workin' on the Railroad" on one of those albums--but again, that's mostly a matter of cultural positioning. Washburn is an incredibly nimble artist, first singing a song she wrote in Chinese based on an ancient poem, and then clogging along with her own vocals, and then modulating her performance of "Bright Morning Stars" to be both sadder and more wistfully triumphant than you've heard it before.

I don't remember how I found the Flecktones (some algorithm from early Pandora or iTunes, I think) but I got interested for the complicated highfalutin stuff, and at that point I would have loudly disavowed any interest in music that could be called country. I managed to get over that at some point in the last ten years, and that's good, because otherwise I might have missed the opportunity to see the banjo the size of a double bass that came out in this show, or to hear these two bantering over a dumb bit about how they met on BanjoMingle.com, or to hear them trading off the lead while playing "Big Country" as a duet, and that would have been a sad loss, because that duet was astonishing and intricate and all the deeper for how I have been led places by that melody before, and how happy I was to let it take me somewhere new.

#music #theater #bela fleck #abigail washburn #paula vogel #indecent

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