#holy water is a bop

[thefreakandthehair]

my fiance walked into the kitchen last night to me in a rolling stones tee shirt and sweatpants, glass of wine in hand, bopping around to linkin park while cooking for easter. and it gave me a cute lil idea! enjoy!

It's a strange thing, holidays with a large family.

Eddie and Wayne don't really do Easter, it having been just the two of them for so many years. Sure, Eddie had woken up to baskets with plastic grass of various pastel colors when he was a kid, when Wayne was determined to give Eddie as normal of an upbringing as possible, but they've never had to plan a meal. There've never been assignments, or coordination, or questions like Who's bringing the mashed potatoes? Either Wayne grabs them at the store, or they don’t have them. Easy peasy.

This year is different. Easter 1987 brings friends, family, and a list that looks a lot like a menu on Steve Harrington's refrigerator. Eddie's name is scrawled in Steve's handwriting next to mashed potatoes, which explains why there's a huge pot of water on the stove and five pounds of potatoes glaring at him on Steve's counter. 

It doesn’t take much to convince Steve, who’s lovesick beyond words unbeknownst to Eddie, to let him take over his larger, better-equipped kitchen for the occasion. A simple pout and the fluttering of his eyelashes as he makes his case: "Please, Stevie? Take pity on poor ol' Eddie with his lack of a stand mixer and counterspace?” 

So he finds himself at the counter, music blasting at what feels like a soothing billion and five decibels, cutting potatoes like the cookbook he finds in the clutter of the trailer illustrates and bopping around to Dio’s Holy Diver. He isn’t much of a cook but there’s something comforting about the monotonous repetition of peeling and cutting, and plopping them into the pot of water. Comforting enough, in fact, that he doesn’t feel Steve’s eyes on him from the doorway, watching with a warm, fond smile. 

Steve watches and lets his thoughts drift, just for a moment, to future holidays. Of Memorial Day picnics, and Fourth of July pool parties, of birthdays, and Thanksgivings, and Christmases, and in all of them, every version and every iteration his hysterical, lovesick brain can conjure in that doorway, he wants this. He wants Eddie with wild hair just barely holding onto the elastic tying it back, with sweatpants that show his level of comfort around Steve, that show he can relax and not put on all of the airs he typically does for his look. Shit, he even wants to hear fucking Dio playing in the kitchen from the goddamn garage if it signals Eddie being present. 

He’s not sure when he started moving, but his body pulls him into the kitchen like the magnet holding the menu to the refrigerator door. 

“Hey,” he says, striding up to stand next to Eddie at the counter. “Need some help?” 

Eddie smiles and takes a sip of the beer Steve hasn’t seen until now, another indicator of Eddie making himself right at home. 

“The King assisting the lowly cook here? In the Castle kitchen? I’m honored.” Eddie fakes what Steve assumes is supposed to be a courtesy. He chuckles and hip bumps Eddie when he straightens back out. 

“Oh shut it and scoot over.” Steve’s voice betrays him, too syrupy and sweet to carry any annoyance, and Eddie notices. He turns just slightly, watching as Steve rummages through a drawer for a second knife. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually want to spend your morning making mashed potatoes with me, Steve.” 

He’s caught. Steve’s caught, hook, line, and sinker, and something about the genuine curiosity and hope in Eddie’s voice makes that okay. He doesn’t mind being caught when he’s in the safety of this domestic bubble with Eddie, because that’s what it is. It’s safe. 

The first round of potatoes don’t come out well. Their first kiss over the gloppy, gummy potatoes though? That goes perfectly.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs #i'm gonna be late getting ready because i just needed to get this thought out lmao #easter

[ratskinsuit]

OMG your velvety eye friendship headcanons were so cute!!! Can you also do some with angel dust?? Like him and the reader are besties and the reader has a contract with Vox. I think it’d be so cute if Angel stood up to Vox for her since she’s a total pushover compared to him and is super protective of his bestie 😤😤

Angle Dust And Bestfriend!Reader

———————————————————————

A/N: I’m so glad you liked the Velvette headcanons! I also love the idea of reader being in a similar situation as Angel but with Vox. I have been so exited to do this assskkkk! Ahhh I just love this idea!

———————————————————————

You and Angel had first met (before he went to Hazbin Hotel) when you found him high and passed out in an alley way.

You took pity on him and were worried that something would happen to him, so you took him back to your apartment.

When he woke up he was so confused until you explained.

He was so suprised you didn’t do anything and just took care of him, and my boy is SO THANKFUL.

Like you gave him food and water and let him take a shower, and you two just talked talked and you eventually became friends.

Your probably the person that convinced him to try the hotel out in the first place.

He goes to you for advice, or just to talk about struggles and lets you do the same. (VENTINGG BUDDIES)

Your one of the only people he lets babysit Fat Nuggets while he’s out for like a shoot or something because he doesn’t have many people he trusts :)

MATCHING OUTFITS MATCHING OUTFITS MATCHING OUTFITS

You better not be insecure or you will get a 3 hour lecture on how amazing you are, he knows what its like to be insecure and so he never wants you feel that way.

You two will regularly go hang out together.

Gets so happy if you join the Hazbin Hotel with him.

You honestly give him some more faith in humanity.

If you ever express romantic interest in someone expect him to be on you in a SECOND because he will be asking alll the questions (unless you don’t experience that then that’s okay too)

If you end up dating someone expect him to force you to let him meet them

Will be like a judgmental brother towards them.

He has to make sure they are good enough for you lol.

The most supportive person of you and your goals (surprisingly more than Charlie)

Like you boots eachother up so mucchhhh

(So wholesome)

You two would be best friends, with a hint of sibling relationship vibes

If your in a similar relationship with Vox like he was with Valentino, expect him to go crazy

While with Valentino he took a while to stand up to him, but with you he will not HESITATE

He will be so pissed. Will go confront Vox.

Will literally put his life in danger for you 😭

It will be the angriest angriest anybody would have ever seen him, anybody

Screaming, yelling, my guy is so protective of you holy moly.

Does not care about his own safety when it comes to you, because he knows you would do the exact same thing for him.

You helped him get away from Valentino now it’s his turn to fuck someone up.

SHORT DRABBLE

———————————————————————

Angel dust was chilling on the couch of your apartment. You and him had planned to hang out after you came home from work. He’s listening to music with one earbud in, bopping his head up and down to the tunes, his leg kicked over the couch.

He hears the lock turning and smiles, leaning over the couch as you walk in.

“Heyyyyy! Your finally home! How was…” He begins to say, happy to see you, yet he trails off short as soon as he sees the bruise and the dejected look on your face.

“Oh my god are you okay!?” He asks, immediately getting off the couch to go to you, fat nuggets trailing behind him.

You goes up to you, and you flinch a bit as he takes a hand and moves your hair to see the large bruise over your eye, concern written all over your face. Fat nuggets oinking below you, rubbing against your legs. “Yeah uhm… I’m.. fine..” You say quietly.

He frowns, obviously seeing your not, and he drags you over to the couch, sitting you down. “Okay what the fuck happened?!” He demands, as you sit there quietly, your hands in your lap.

“Vox just got a bit mad today that’s all, it’s nothing I haven’t handled before” You say, not wanting to worry him. Yet Angels face scrunches up in worry.

“Excuse me!? What do you mean; “nothing you haven’t handled before” is he hitting you?” He asks, sitting next to you.

“Just… s..sometimes… b-but only when he’s really pissed!” You say, trying to save yourself at the end, but it obviously not working.

Angel just stares at you silently for a second, before grabbing your hand. “……how long…..? How long has he been doing this to you..” He asks quietly.

You hesitate, “Since I started…” you murmer.

Angel looks at you sadly, glancing down. And he notices your arm. Before you can say anything he pulls up your sleeve to see dark bruises on your wrists, and his face twists in anger.

“I’m gonna fucking kill that stuck up asshole.” He says, standing up, beginning to walk. You stand up after him, grabbing his wrist. “Angel don’t! He’s is much much more powerful than us, and I don’t want him to hurt you!” You beg.

He turns around, and places his hands on your shoulders. “I will not let anyone, not even a stuck up prick like Vox, hurt my best friend.” He says, hugging you.

You try to speak, tears welling up in your eyes, and tears begin to fall down your cheeks as you bury your face into his shoulder. “P-lease don’t… I- can’t see you get hurt..” you sob.

He rubs your back soothingly, before he says. “You helped me before. Now it’s my turn.”

———————————————————————

A/N: Would anyone be interested in my continuing this where we get to see Angel Dust confronting Vox? I’ve never written a confrontation/fight scene before, but I could try! But anyways, hope you enjoyed! Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#Angel dust #hazbin Angel dust #Angel dust headcanons #hazbin headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanons #Angel dust and best friend reader #headcanons #Angel dust platonic #platonic #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel tv show #Angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel angel dust #Angel dust hazbin

[solarmorrigan]

Steddie and #12 on the prompt list pleaseeeee 😭

Hello! Thank you for the prompt, I had fun writing this one!

Prompt from this list: 12. Things you said when you thought I was asleep

-

When Eddie wakes, he’s comfortable and warm. These are the second and third best qualities of Steve Harrington’s bed. The best quality of Steve Harrington’s bed, however, appears to be missing.

Eddie rolls over, checking the spot beside him, and finds that, yes, it’s definitely missing. Steve is not there.

If he listens, though, he can hear signs of life coming from downstairs, echoing through the quiet house. The rush of a sink running, the clatter of dishes, the soft murmur of a radio – sounds like Steve is making breakfast.

Eddie sighs and slithers reluctantly out from under the covers, hunting for his t-shirt on the floor, where he’d tossed it last night before getting into bed.

It’s not– it’s not like that, of course, between him and Steve. The shirt had gone, but the boxers and sweatpants had definitely stayed. They share the bed in an entirely platonic manner, just as a way to deal with nightmares and trauma and that sort of fun shit. But sleeping next to Steve is like sleeping with a furnace, and he’s said he doesn’t mind if Eddie loses his shirt; he doesn’t wear one himself half the time.

God, Eddie wishes this could be as gay as it sounds.

He’s not gonna knock what he does have, though. He’s not. Whatever his relationship is with Steve, it’s special, and Eddie’s not going to let his dick (or worse, his feelings) ruin it.

Quietly, he slips out of Steve’s room (the hinges on the door don’t creak. The floor barely creaks. Steve’s house is spooky as shit sometimes, silent and airless; Eddie gets why he doesn’t like being there alone) and heads down towards the kitchen.

Whatever’s playing on the radio becomes clearer as Eddie approaches, and he can hear Elton John singing about sitting on a roof and kicking off the moss. Even closer, Eddie can hear Steve singing along.

There’s already a smile forming on Eddie’s face when he gets to the door, and that’s before he’s treated to the sight of Steve standing in front of a waffle iron, bopping to the gentle beat of “Your Song.”

“Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean,” Steve murmurs, distracted as he cracks the waffle iron open and tilts his head to take a look inside, “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen…”

Eddie might melt a little bit. That’s his own business.

“Okay, no, this is pathetic,” Steve says, startling Eddie as he breaks from the lyrics. “I mean, this is really sad.”

For one heart-stopping moment, Eddie thinks Steve is speaking to him, but Steve never looks up, instead using a fork to pop the waffle out of the maker and add it to the nearby stack.

“I hate making waffles. Waffles are a pain in the ass,” Steve mutters, contradicting himself entirely by grabbing the bowl of batter and pouring more into the iron. “But Eddie likes waffles and now I’m up at too early in the goddamn morning making waffles.”

Eddie jolts again to hear his name, but Steve still hasn’t seen him in the doorway (or maybe skulking sort of at the edge of the doorway – not eavesdropping! Just… satiating his curiosity). He’s noticed Steve’s tendency to talk to himself when he thinks no one else is listening, but it’s usually just little reminders, or running commentary on what he’s doing.

This – this is interesting.

“Of course I’m making him waffles, what else am I going to do? Not make him waffles? Not let him in and not let him sleep in my bed and not… really like it? Stupid.” Whatever Steve says next is drowned out by the sound of the faucet as he fills the empty batter bowl with water and leaves it to soak, but when he shuts the water off Eddie manages to tune back in. “…because I’m an asshole who can’t just tell him that I think he’s smart and fun to be around and really hot and that I really like him. No, he’s gonna come downstairs and say good morning and I’m just gonna say– holy shit.”

Now Steve’s spotted Eddie.

They’re both frozen in place, and all Eddie can really think to do is give a little wave and say, “Good morning.”

Steve continues staring at him. “I… thought you were asleep. Still.”

“I am not,” Eddie says, and then immediately wishes he’d said literally almost anything else and avoided sounding like an idiot.

“I can see that,” Steve replies, slightly strangled.

There’s another frozen beat of silence.

“I think the waffle is burning,” Eddie says, glad for the momentary distraction as Steve swears and rushes to save their breakfast.

While Steve is wrestling with the waffles, Eddie decides that some kind of action is warranted. You don’t just hear the guy you’ve been crushing on admit that he thinks you’re smart and fun and hot every day.

Eddie enters the kitchen.

“Not burned,” Steve announces, flipping the waffle onto the plate, “just crispy.”

“Crispy is fine,” Eddie says, approaching the counter where Steve has been cooking. “Anything is fine. Waffles in general are great, I like… waffles.” Stop talking about waffles, holy shit. “I like you.”

That is not better.

In spite of the level of awkward Eddie is currently rocking, Steve turns to look up at him with a small smile ticking at the corners of his lips, uncertain hope behind his eyes.

“Yeah?”

Eddie nearly has him cornered against the counter now, close enough to reach out and touch. “Yeah.”

“More or less than waffles?” Steve asks.

“Tough call,” Eddie murmurs, raising a hand to rest on Steve’s shoulder, sliding it over to brush at the crook of his neck, the side of his throat, the edge of his jaw. “Lemme think.”

It’s at that point that Steve closes a fist in the front of Eddie’s shirt, drags him across the minute distance between them, and leans up to press his lips to Eddie’s.

After that, Eddie finds he can’t think about much of anything at all.

(He doesn’t have to, though. He’s pretty sure the way he leans heavily into Steve’s space, the way his hands curl around Steve’s hips and the way his mouth slides eagerly against Steve’s own lets him know where he ranks in relation to waffles.)

#mxnson13 #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #listen steve's little mumbly monologue as he prepares to apologize to nancy in s2 is my favorite #and I need more of steve talking to himself #eddiesteve #solar wrote #answers from solar

[ghostboy-art]

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

By: Queen

anytime i refer to them as gay I mean that with our silly human terms. obviously. an angel and a demon dont apply to our silly little terms.

im so gay :>

this is filled with typos and ramblings. i wrote this at 2:00am. apologies.

this is a surface level rant on my part. honestly if i had the time and research skills id look up the context of why this was written and how its been used in media up till this point. honestly i might. either way its fairly surface level.

This song is heard when Crowley is going back to Aziraphale in season 2 after he found out about the book of life erasing thing. After listening to this song I have to say. THIS IS AMAZING. obviously the song is good its queen.

Crowley's songs are always queen songs and given the title and given Aziraphales regular dress and general pop culture knowledge i think we know who the “good old fashioned lover boy” is.

This is obviously a romance song but similarly to “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.” the lyrics fit their relationship so nicely!!! (as well as being an absolute bop. LISTEN TO THIS GODDAMN SONG. i like the part at 1:44. so cheery!!!)(also this is why Neil Gaimen is AWESOME such small details in the fucking SONG a fucking BENTLEY plays.)(its like 1:09am and im still up after not getting sleep last night and prob none today so ima go on tangents like this hehe)

“Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine

(One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine o'clock) precisely

I will pay the bill, you taste the wine

Driving back in style, in my saloon, will do quite nicely

Just take me back to yours, that will be fine

Come on and get it”

like come on man. “Dining at the Ritz” its Aziracrows THING. their whole routine is dine at the ritz, Aziraphale eats and crowley drinks copious amounts of alcohol, Crowley is always seen paying the bill (or doing something of the sort), they drive in a cool fucking bentley (with a James Bond bullet hole window screen insert), and they go back to Aziraphales bookshop. and the “that'd be fine” matches Aziraphales general attitude when inviting Crowley back to his place in the 1st season and in older flashbacks. Now thats the most obvious. there are many other examples of lyrics that very conveniently match to them.

“Say the word, your wish is my command”

throughout history when Aziraphale and Crowley met up they did favors. whether it be making Hamlet successful, performing magic on the west end stage, getting holy water (“You go too fast for me Crowley.”YOU MF AZIRAPHALE WHYYYY) or magicing away some paint on a very old well kept jacket. they always do things like this for each other. focusing solely on Crowley's perspective he, throughout history, has always been the one to accept Aziraphales requests with little to no complaints. (until Armageddon i suppose)

even in season 2 he lets Aziraphale use his bentley. Although there is some bickering there, he still lets it happen. He doesn't sell books while Aziraphale is away and he even carries them around (the sleeve garters are a whole other thing in this scene)

now realistically the “good old fashioned lover boy” is, im sure, referring to both of them. also the song just feels gay. just listen to it. its gay. i swear.

Now. not saying it matches perfectly. obviously it doesn't but even the GO fandom links the two pieces of media on occasion(see second link). they are inexplicably connected, whether its false pattern recognition (i have currently forgotten the proper term for that. T-T) or intended by mr gaiman i think its so intriguing that the songs picked to play fit so nicely into the deeper narrative. this. is good media

“Write my letter, feel much better

I'll use my fancy patter on the telephone”

Essentially means smooth talking on the phone. Which you have to admit Crowley does to Aziraphale quite often. And Aziraphale writes letters. honestly its cute. specially im thinking of season 1 when Aziraphale is writing a note to Crowley while they are on the phone. its later in the season in the last ditch rush to stop the antichrist.

I used the bit of lyrics that fit them the best in the beginning of the rant. and time for my least convincing point. the vibe just fits them so well. the slightly old school beat with simple romantic lyrics. Its not anything overtly sexual. just the simplicities of romance. IT FUCKING FITTSSS!!!!

There is so much more but i dont want to make this 10000000000000000000 paragraphs long and i have other good omens stuff i want to rant about:>

just my opinion on a silly song that appears for like a minute in the show!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #queen #i am not okay #bad at tags #ineffable idiots #these two are going to be the death of me #it did this and got 2 days in a row with no sleep #this show is so good #song analysis #media analysis? #essay rant thing #i might be reading too much into it #but as a fandom that is what we tend to do #i suppose #Youtube

[quensty]

tagged by @enterprisery to put my spotify “on repeat” playlist on shuffle and list off the first 10 songs i get.

unfortunately my playlist hasn’t changed much since the last time i did this, so instead, i’m gonna put my “discover weekly” playlist on shuffle and rate the first 10 songs i get. so thank u for the tag babe but i will not be following a single rule.

🪸 erghan diado (song of schopsko) by bulgarian state television choir: we are starting off this list so insanely strong. i have no idea what made spotify assume i would like this but they were 100% correct. apparently this choir performs modern arrangements of traditional bulgarian folk melodies, and this song is from one of their most recognized projects. four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 choreomania by florence + the machine: i was surprised to see this song was written before the pandemic, but it turns out that welch based this off of the dancing plague of 1518, where 400 women danced themselves to death. what a cool coincidence that she released a song based on a phenomenon ppl theorize occurred as a result of plague-related stress post-covid. obsessed with the behind-the-scenes info, and the song is catchy. four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 becky by be your own pet: HOLY SHIT. ohhh no. “i heard u talked a lot of shit abt me / to ur new best friend / but it doesn’t matter anyway / cos i’ll find a new best friend / … but, you know, i gotta say / i loved going to your slumber party” this is fucking me up. childhood friends are like runaway cats u keep hanging up missing posters but u’ll never get them back. “he doesn’t miss carol not really or rather he doesn’t miss the woman she’s making herself into. kid carol tho … he misses that version of her sometimes” etc etc. this is reminding me so much of those homoerotic friendships i had at 8 with other girls that always ended in catastrophe, but i still remember their landline numbers. five stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 bury a friend by pomplamoose: i’m pretty positive this was recommended to me based on my obsession with loveless’s version of happier than ever. i love a good cover, and that one is fabulous. it adds a brutal new dimension to an already angry song. they bring a great alt rock/emo pop twist to it that i adore. despite how good a cover this one is, i can’t say i love it—i might be a little biased; eilish’s original is haunting and nightmarish and it puts everything it can into creeping u out. i don’t think this cover adds any new flavor the way loveless’ does. it mostly makes me want to listen to the original again. one star ⭐️

🪸 the ghost of chicago by noah floersch: this song is appealing to my love of the midwest. it wasn’t what i was expecting going in but i like it! it’s cute. i know it’s meant to be a “i like this girl so much that she haunts me” kinda ghost song, but tbh i like the idea of the narrator falling in love w an actual ghost much more. it reminds me of this wip i have where—no. i shan’t say. it’s a secret. three stars! ⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 old cape cod by patti page: … idek what to say abt this. i’m sure white ppl in the 50s thought this was a bop but i do not. zero stars :(

🪸 dizzy in sunlight by the blasting company, ashley nguyen dewitt: now THAT is how u make a dreamy, sunday-afternoon-esque song. the lyrics remind me of a mary oliver poem. “wade in the water / mud covered feet,” “the wind and my mother / they both hold me upright / …oh what a feeling / as the waters / rush over me,” “my sister riding her bike from the store / my grandfather smoking his pope out on the porch / …this life spills over me / and rocks me to sleep”. completely and utterly lovely. five stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 in dreams by sierra ferrell: i love the country and folk elements in this. i’m currently on a country music fixation and this is right up my alley. such a sweet-sounding love song, i added it to one of my playlists right away. four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 neutral spirit hotel by local news legend: omg this reminds me so much of some of my favorite penelope scott songs—sweet hibiscus tea comes to mind; both of these songs are folksy and have this self-deprecating element to them. “i think i say i’m quitting drinking every other week / but it’s so hard to stop / when it’s the only thing that let’s me sleep” dean winchester type shit (sorry). three stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️

🪸 down in the willow garden by the kossoy sisters: HELL YES a strong finish!! this is a traditional appalachian murder ballad about a guy facing the gallows after poisoning his sweetheart and throwing her body in a river. is me liking this song a loss for feminism? IDK. but i like it </3 four stars ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

i’m tagging @keepoffthetardis, @cabeswater, @youthbleeding, @minimyz, and anyone else who wants to do this! consider urself tagged

#this was extremely fun!! and it forced me to listen to new songs :D #mentioned #mutuals

[styrmwb]

Favorite Final Fantasy Music (FFXIV - Shadowbringers)

It is finally time for the best expansion. From the moment the first trailer dropped, to logging into the expansion for the first time, you know this part of the soundtrack is different. A lot of heavy songs, both in genre and in meaning, for an amazing combination of bangers and tearjerkers that I'm sure everyone who has played this expansion appreciates.

Like Stormblood, I would regret putting in any of the past game/other game remixes in here in lieu of XIV original tracks, but know they're all amazing (that fucking cover of Force Your Way dude. Holy shit)

5. Knowledge Never Sleeps In a way, this is kinda also a spot for Tomorrow and Tomorrow, but I just personally really like this version specifically. This is the music for the Crystarium, but only during night time (which is a big thing for the story so it has like, significance, rather than just being a nice night time theme). The song starts with a really nice piano/orchestra version of the Shadowbringers theme, but then once the actual Tomorrow and Tomorrow motif comes in, that's when I really love it. The violins playing it up, then the song getting more lighthearted with the harpsichord and other strings, and finally the ghostly, yet beautiful choir. The song is already really emotional, but this version gets to play a lot more frequently, and so is like a reminder of your journey, as well as still being a great theme for the city it plays in.

4. The Black Wolf Stalks Again This is a really interesting song. The previous weapon fight was hard rock into choir of death, and now here, against Emerald Weapon, it starts again with the Primals cover of Ultima, but then in the second phase, you get something a lot more subdued. A slower tempo, yet still a song that goes hard. That intro guitar on top of the reveal that "Oh shit it's installed with Gaius" gives you that chill down your spine, and then it goes into the empire theme to really create that menacing aura. The song overall is not AS in your face as some songs are, but give you a heavy beat to bop your head to during the fight. I love that really cool metallic bouncing sound that plays, that to me sounds like echoing metal in the water, perfect for a fight against Emerald which originally was in the water (I choose to believe this was on purpose). I also love the more bitcrushed sounds as well. Finally, that fucking final guitar feature where it just SHREDS on you, is just beautiful. The last point I want to give to this song, is the title. The Black Wolf Stalks Again is so fucking raw, that even just reading it alone gives me chills.

3. To The Edge The only reason this song isn't higher is because I was the last person in my raid group to get the Gwiber of Light and NO I'M NOT STILL SALTY ABOUT IT. That aside, this song is beautiful. The fight is beautiful. my fucking reaction when I saw we were facing off against the actual original FFI box art Warrior of Light? aaaaaaaaaaaaa! The clock ticking in the background echoing Amaurot? AAAAAAAAAAA! The percussion in this entire song is so good, I love how it's really subtle compared to some of the other rock songs, but unique enough to bring attention to itself. The way the vocals start with a whisper and the main Shadowbringers theme, into a sort of low quality radio sound, feels like it's supposed to represent Elidibus's fading memories. Also, you gotta love the Riding Home sound whenever it comes in. All of this leading up to the build up to the chorus and the actual chorus itself, giving you this hard rock version of the Amaurot theme is enough to make the screen somehow really wet and blurry and I don't know why I can't see the boss guys??? This song is a perfect end to the overall Shadowbringers story, and it just gives you that Little Extra Gutpunch when you find out it was written when Soken was at the peak of fighting off his cancer. Shit man. (DEEP INSIDE, WE'RE NOTHING MORE, THAN SCIONS AND SINNERS!!!!!!!!)

2. Shadowbringers Like I said at the start, the moment that first trailer dropped, you know this soundtrack was gonna be something else. This was my first expansion release for FFXIV, and I craved the longer and longer versions more and more (Dawntrail's doing that to me right now goddammit). That solemn intro with the visuals of death and darkness and fire, the Exarch's words playing in your head whenever you listen, but also this part of the song used for a lot of the heavier parts of this story has its own legendary energy... but then the guitar starts. The guitar and the rising orchestra. Those whispery vocals. It sounds like a barren desert, perfect for the WoL walking forward, exhausted. The vocals in general alone make this song addictive, Jason Charles Miller fucking slays this whole song. The band getting more involved, which can I just say is VERY unlike the previous trailers, hypes you up like no other, especially with this losing battle on the screen as the WoL goes through all of his previous jobs. Then the song reaches its peak. The whole section starting with "AUTHORS OF OUR FATES" is so hype, but then that fucking CHOIR. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOME! RIDING HOOOOOOOOOOOOME! SHIT MAN! THAT'S MY GODDAMN FAVORITE PART. I MISS LOGGING ONTO THE GAME EVERY DAY AND HAVING THAT HEAVENLY CHORUS BLAST INTO MY FACE, IT'S LIKE THAT GIF OF LOUISOIX GETTING BAHAMUTED. IN THE PRIMALS VERSION THEY ADD THIS SICK GUITAR SHREDDING IN THE BACK WHICH JUST LIKE, HOW DID YOU MAKE IT EVEN BETTER?????? Then the song goes into Eternal Wind???? OH SHIT IT'S FFIII TIME! I stand by what I said when I said Eternal Wind is the greatest thing FFIII did for the world, and this is the peak of that point. I also still get shivers, again, the Exarch's lines always playing in my head when I hear it. That finale, the WE FAAAAAAAALL, with the sight of the light sky being cut in half showing the dark, and the reveal of the Dark Knight? Dude. This was as much of a "I love this song" as it was an "I love this trailer", because the two are intertwined.

1. A Long Fall This song, is the pinnacle of "What the fuck." Because, this is the song, for just a Random Dungeon. Like we've had dungeons go hard before! But this is another level. That intro beat goes absolutely insane, and the song does not chill out at any point, you are bopping and banging 100% of the time. It's also like, absolutely perfect for what this dungeon is??? It's a combination of eScape, Omega's battle theme, representing the Garlond Ironworks, and the Crystal Tower theme, cause duh, you're in the Crystal Tower (also a little bit of the Prelude cause why fucking not???), and it's all just expertly weaved together to make an amazing song and an amazing storytelling device. I know I'm not ranting and raving about it as much as Shadowbringers, which might seem weird that it's a place higher, but I truly do not have more to say about this song. You can listen to it, you'll probably fucking understand! I can listen to this song on repeat for hours, and I still won't sick of it. It also gets bonus points for the meme (shoutouts to TheTwinning.mp4) and it getting official fucking recognition in the actual Primals music video. This song is legendary, and again, it's just for a random fucking dungeon. Soken who LET YOU COOK BECAUSE THEY SHOULD LET YOU DO IT AGAIN

Honorable mentions go to: Four-fold Knowing, Rencounter, Insatiable, What Angel Wakes Me, In The Belly of the Beast, Full Fathom Five, Neath Dark Waters, Mortal Instants, Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Blinding Indigo, Landslide, Floundering in the Depths, Primal Angel, Return to Oblivion, The Queen Awakens, Wrath of the Harrier, and Seven Flames, as well as all of the FFVIII and NieR remixes.

#final fantasy #final fantasy xiv #textpost #jared's final fantasy music opinions

[awkwardsapphic]

The RWBY soundtrack is not released yet, but it is already such a good one. 

Each songs in the volume gave me a different emotion and I think it’s so powerful to be able to that. 

Long post about me saying how much I love the songs :

Inside is giving me the chills dude, I had a running gag with a friend but everytime we started an episode we just told each other “Oh, the banger opening” and for reason ! The composition is so incredible and I’m just banging my head for 4min straight. If I don’t scream at the chorus consider me dead. When all the voices are on each other, oh boy, followed by the chorus again. Yeah I’m eating it.

Checkmate is such a bop, the first notes start playing and you already know you’re in for a good song, a good fight and a good moment. Try not to dance challenge : impossible. I don’t have a lot to say about I just love it very much.

Chatterbox omg, we only have 1min of it and it’s why I’m waiting for it the most. The way Casey sing the first word, I’m on my knees. I can guarantee you it’s a song going full volume, sorry for my Neighbors but it’s for the best. (Bonus point at the “I said I wasn’t done with you yet!” from Yang but that’s because I’m a lesbian).

Worthy. It’s... yeah... I feel so fine listening to it. I mean, I’m so light-hearted everytime. I could talk so long about it to say the same thing again and again because it is just a “don’t worry, everything is going to be alright” song. I can listen to it without crying now tho ! (well not when I’m seeing the scene, the confession really is my favorite moment of the volume) But yeah, Worthy is relaxing and hopefull, I love it, really do and it’s playing at my wedding idc.

And a total change of atmosphere with Trapdoor but oh man I love this song too ! It’s such a powerful song and I am getting the chills (yes again), the tempo is so great. I can’t even put into words what I feels about this song because it has such an impact on me. Yeah this is a masterclass.

I’m listening to Quiet when I’ve an insomnia. That’s it. This song relaxe me so much, I’ll just be lying down and I stop thinking about anything. Quiet is peace, nothing else, feels like an happy dream, an old blurred but nice memory. 

RED LIKE ROSES FILLS MY DREAM- Anyway, Guide my Way uh ? Yeah, I’m acting cool, it’s not like it’s something I waited a long time. No but for real, my expectations were high but holy shit it managed to be even better than my most amazing dream. I’m telling you I screamed when I heard the first notes, everything is perfect, nothing else to say. 

The Edge giving me the same feelings than Worthy and Quiet combined. It’s such a good closure, it’s hopefull, peacefull, relaxing and amazing. It work so well as a goodbye, as a “we’re seeing each other again soon” and I love that so much. The It’s just beginning/It’s just ending crying my eyes out brb.

I just wanted to rant about how I love the songs in this show and how it’s really a big part for me. If you read all that, well hope you liked this punch of positivity because I really have nothing bad to say about it. It was just really me trying to spread as many love as I can. Have a good day, or night, don’t forget to drink water, eat and take your meds if you need to. 

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby9 spoilers #Casey Lee Williams you're insane (flattering) #I'm emotional again #long post #textpost

[chasingfictions]

also uno reverse card-ing florence back at u <3

THANK YOU KING.

on that note:

fav song: KING. i cant describe what this did to me when i heard it for the first time. most insane song in the world . listen to the live at msg version and try not to have full body shivers it;s impossible

least fav song: ok i have certain songs that i have listened to less over the years but lately ive been coming back to them and being like wait does this actually fuck??? which is to say my answer is probably strangeness and charm but now im kind of into it. also toxic opinion i did not enjoy cosmic love for a while like i think it just feels like a song i get fatigued of more? but lately i listened to it again for the first time in a while and i was like OH!! this FUCKS!! holy shit!!! which is to say fatm has the same principle as btvs which is no bad songs / no bad episodes. all good. even when it's bad it's good.

fav album: genuinely dance fever is the best album ever made. like. i think it combines everything that works abt the sound of the lungs/ceremonials era and everything that works abt the sound of the hb3/high as hope era into one perfectly balanced album. NO SKIPS ALBUM. like florence has no bad songs but she does have songs where im like ok im not feeling this right now. im always in the mood for every song on dance fever. she said i am making an album about vampires and mental illness and being queer and god and dancing. and i said HEY!!! HEY I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!! I LVOE YOU!!! i have this album on vinyl also it's the only album i own on vinyl shout out to @ho-tato for buying it for me on vinyl

least fav album: ok dont hate me but i think high as hope is one of her weaker albums. like i still LOVE high as hope i love that whole era when it came out i listened to it on repeat for like 3 weeks. BUT idk for me i think the songs are a little less distinctive ? still obviously bops. 'no choir' is insane. literally she is out here making songs that speak to the rest of her discography. 'no choir' is cousins with 'restraint'. and like if u asked me abt any individual song on high as hope i'd be like yeah it FUCKS. but as a whole album i think it's a little too muted? or maybe i just wish it was longer? idk. i love you high as hope. youre my cherished baby high as hope im sorry i said all this.

song that got me into them: ok this is so hard to say bc i have loved fatm since like. the 7th grade. but the first song i remember getting REALLY into is 'landscape-demo'. EVERYONE GO LISTEN TO LANDSCAPE DEMO. SHE'S JUST LIKE THE WEATHER! CANT HOLD HER TOGETHER! BORN FROM DARK WATER! DAUGHTER OF THE RAIN AND SNOWWWW. oh my god. shrimp emotions.the right way to listen to that song is when ur 13 and on the bus to middle school and it's a dark morning shifting into daylight and also you just started practicing witchcraft .

seen live; YES!!!!! ive seen her 3 times!!!!! for the first time at a music festival during the hb3 era, and then at a free concert for a talk show also during the hb3 era and then i saw her in CONCERT during the high as hope era every single time changed me as a person. i couldnt go to her concert in my city during the dance fever tour bc it was the same weekend as my brother's wedding. im fine about it. im FINE. i just wish her and my brother had planned better. would some cross communication have been so hard. and also i know her intimately from my whole chest and my spirit so in that sense i see her live every day.

rating: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10  !!! one million!!! ten billion!!!!!!!!! there is no numerical value for her she transcends that. i want to be ejected into outer space with her.

#ask #fatm

[talsgarthewanderer]

Hello, followers! If I started posting more about my ESO adventures, would you be interested in them?

Like, I play ESO a lot. I play on my own account with 10 characters AND my sibling's account with their 6 characters AND occasionally on our parent's account with THEIR 6 characters. (I'm keeping my family gender neutral here because I dont know whether they'd want me putting them on blast to all of you)

I mostly just think that it would be fun to talk about the lore and environment and stuff as though Talsgar himself is traveling around Tamriel. There's so much content in ESO and very little of it conflicts with what we're familiar with from the main elder scrolls games (in that, there is definitely stuff that conflicts, but when you compare it to everything else that is lore-compliant, it's really quite a small amount), so I think it would be fun.

Plus, maybe I could convince some of you who are on the fence about playing to make an account next time they have a free-to-play event where you don't have to buy the game or any of the DLCs just to bop around and see the sights. I've put the story of how I, personally, got into playing ESO under the cut, so you dont have to read it if you dont want to lol

What got me into ESO was seeing a post on here with gifs of the city Shimmerene on Summerset, the biggest island of the Summerset Isles. Those gifs made it look gorgeous--the colors were vibrant, the water looked realistic as heck, the plants also looked realistic as heck, and the architecture was compelling to me as someone who studies classical antiquity.

Then, when I was getting a tattoo a few weeks later, I was able to chat with my tattoo artist about ESO and its pros and cons. He had recognized me as an elder scrolls fan several months earlier when I had gotten the Oblivion mages guild seal as a tattoo, so I figured he was a good person to talk to and thus I made an appointment specifically with him for another tattoo. And during my actual appointment, man was tattooing my spine and gushing about how fun the game was, how intuitive the gameplay is for someone who was used to playing Dragon Age games and could never really get hooked on Skyrim, and how ESO actually motivated him to go back and give Skyrim and Oblivion a try. It was super fun talking with him and I realized that if ESO can attract non-Skyrim folks, then it must be at least a decent game. Of course, it then took 2 more years of me researching the game to figure out if it was still a subscription-based model to play the base game.

Luckily, by the time I was doing this research, they'd actually switched from a subscription for the game itself to a subscription for a thing called ESO+, and the base game was actually available for just a single purchase of the game. I brought the idea up to my parent, who was almost 60 at the time and needed something other than skyrim or fallout 4 to play, and they were like, "we'll just get ESO plus because you want to see Shimmerene and it's part of a DLC that's included in ESO+ that we would have to buy separately without it."

And I gotta say, in person, Shimmerene is better than those gifs. My parent and I ended up going all over Tamriel in the first hour of playing, going to random places just to look at them, new and familiar alike. We went to Anvil and I was mad that Benirus Manor was a BANK, and not a house for sale. We went to Windhelm and I was like, "damn, everything's made of wood and the citizens are so much nicer to my dark elf." We went to Vivec City and I was like, "hold on there are only 3 cantons, wtf," and then we went to Balmora and it looked almost exactly the same.

And then we went to Elden Root and were like, "holy shit, thats the biggest tree I've ever seen in my life," which, we live in california and have seen the actual real life redwoods. The devs of ESO somehow made the elden root tree absolutely towering and evoke that same majesty that the redwoods evoke.

We went to the city of Daggerfall and it was delightfully medieval european, and then we went to Wayrest, and it was essentially just a bigger Daggerfall. We went to Rivenspire and immediately left because it was a blasted hellscape of dead trees and vampires.

We saw the swamps of Shadowfen, the jungles of Valenwood, the Alik'r Desert of Hammerfell, the snowy tundras of Eastmarch and Wrothgar. And ash-covered Vvardenfell and southern Morrowind.

Going to Mournhold and seeing the tribunal temple again was WILD. And Almalexia NOT in a murderous rage chasing me through the place.

Going to Vivec City and seeing them floating serenely above their throne.

Seeing Sotha Sil in the Clockwork City alive!! and talking!!!!

Seeing the cherry blossoms of summerset and auridon, the stuck-up high eleven nobles turning up their noses at my little dark elf not for being a dark elf but for not being a high elf, which was weirdly refreshing after skyrim.

Seeing several different kinds of Khajiit furstock! Big senche-rahts! Tiny alfiqs! Towering pahmers! Absolutely mind-blowing.

Also having to walk everywhere? because you gotta discover places to fast travel back to them, like in skyrim? Arduous as heck, because the land is so big and you are so small, and there are so many places to visit, and you have to explore them all. You just have to.

Anyway, thats my propaganda for playing ESO.

#ESO #elder scrolls online

[jackinalex]

I fell asleep around like 9 pm and then woke up at 1 only to realize the album was out and I had to immediately listen. I have many thoughts, but I only compiled my thoughts on the ones that weren’t yet released.

• Are You There? - I think it’s a bop, but Jack’s friends rlly got Alex through that separation, so it’s kind of weird that he’s constantly bringing them up in a negative way. Like the drugs part is so obviously about them?

• Calm Down - Vocals!!! It SEEMS like it’s trying to be political in some type of way, but it’s vague. The “micro plastic submarine” was not something I expected, though.

• English Blood // American Heartache - Separation song, FULLY. I wish “fuck ‘til the pain don’t hurt” didn’t affect me like it did, bro. Also, “There's no changing who I was and you know exactly where I've been” yeah we knOW y’all are annoying.

• The Sound of Letting Go - Separation song x2 with “My best friend says I need to find something new” 👀 UM JALEX??? LISTEN TO JACK!!!! I like these songs better when I don’t think about what’s inspired them.

• New Religion - Horny bop, of course. I get the concept, but “your sweat is my holy water” is kinda gross lmfao. Anyway, I will be imagining this is about Jalex for obvious reasons. 😌 I like Teddy’s voice.

• The Way You Miss Me - This is literally Alex describing how toxic his and Lisa’s relationship is…..this is so annoying. I mean, I do like that he’s somewhat acknowledging it, but like??? Also callback to how the story ends. Regardless, I like how this song sounds. He just irritates me with how he KNOWS they’re ridiculous and he just doesn’t care???

• I’d Be Fine (If I Never Saw You Again) - I’m sure this is just another separation song. I do not like imagining lisex’s sex life and he just keeps making me do it. Also, if he’d be fine if he never saw her again, wtf is he doing with her again Jfc.

• Kill Ur Vibe - Now this is super duper separation song. Reminds me of when Alex was sad boy-ing and Lisa was just so happy on her farm with her creatures and going out with her rich friends for $400 wine. The last chorus made me 🙄

• The Other Side - omg not Alex mentioning Lisa’s secret boyfriend. Also, another callback to how the story ends. “I swear I died a thousand times” is a lyric I should love but 🙄 not when I know the context here. Like stfu.

• Lost Along the Way - Love the space imagery bc that’s so Alex’s brand. Also had me actually tapping my foot along, so I guess it’s a bop. The melody almost reminds me of basement noise.

#anyway at this point not my favorite album but I know it will grow on me #especially when I get over these songs being what I wanted but also not what I wanted #careful what you wish for I guess #tldr this would be much more fun if lisex hadn’t reconciled for the 80 millionth time #but now I’m going to go research which songs jack helped write to make myself feel better #I do like every single song though it’s too early to tell which one is my favorite #kalina talks

[whileiamdying]

Howl

BY ALLEN GINSBERG For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland    where you’re madder than I am I’m with you in Rockland    where you must feel very strange I’m with you in Rockland    where you imitate the shade of my mother I’m with you in Rockland    where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries I’m with you in Rockland    where you laugh at this invisible humor I’m with you in Rockland    where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter I’m with you in Rockland    where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio I’m with you in Rockland    where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses I'm with you in Rockland    where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica I’m with you in Rockland    where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx I’m with you in Rockland    where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss I’m with you in Rockland    where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse I’m with you in Rockland    where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void I’m with you in Rockland    where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha I’m with you in Rockland    where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb I’m with you in Rockland    where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale I’m with you in Rockland    where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep I’m with you in Rockland    where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself    imaginary walls collapse    O skinny legions run outside    O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here    O victory forget your underwear we’re free I’m with you in Rockland    in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

San Francisco, 1955—1956

Notes: Read “A Footnote to 'Howl” here. Allen Ginsberg, “Howl” from Collected Poems, 1947-1980. Copyright © 1984 by Allen Ginsberg. Used with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

#irwin allen ginsberg #allen ginsberg #howl #beatnicks #beat generation #Youtube

[jdaviswords]

One lemon zest baguette

One lemon zest baguette

and you’ll forget

the rest

One lemon zest baguette

mic test

two three four

Hodor

or forklore

I mean folklore

just an inspiring

William Faulknore

I mean Faulkner

Deterred

by being burnt

ba ba ba

Bacchus burp

a chickadee chirp

slushies I slurp

sometimes I’ll say yerp

to my boy Derp

but I really just mean yep

across the second bag

with a two step

Double play

at Yankee stadium

third base

oh yeah he’s out

and he pouts

head down

returning to the dugout

looking for some water

except the bottles a drought

Dried up raisins

stirring in some oats

stomach goin through changes

because you know me

it’s always about the changes

and ripped pages

with frayed edges

It’s a pledge

like the one in the can

spray it on your table

and it’s brand new again

and again

it’s me my friends

and again

and again

and again

In comes the pen

my holy scripter

I mean scripture

amen

Amend to ascend

or despise to demise

lend a hand or two

and speak with precise

I mean precision

for I have risen

and fallen

enough to declare

our minds equal

the true prison

It’s yard time

so I dial long distance

beep boop bop

hello?

I’m mimicking a phone call

in case you missed it

the resistance

is in the air

like an arch in a prism

Natural skepticism

of surface level

appearances

because underneath the soil

is where the nutrients is

I mean are

gahlee

sometimes I get my mix

all talked up

like Patar

talking like Squag

referencing Leif Erickson day

hingadurgadar

Ha

Yanno

I can take things a bit far

like the land

in Shrek

hardy har

Alright

enough

recoup now

that’s probably smart

One more lemon zest baguette

please

before I restart

#words #writing #poetry #thoughts #word #poem #creative writing #life #spilled words #writers on tumblr #slam poetry #button poetry #word play #freestyle #friends #spoken word #spoken poetry #spilled prose #spilled ink #spilled writing #metaphor #rhyming #repetition #write for the sake of writing #writer #I’ve run out of hashtags to use

[moonlightchess]

I am trying really hard to celebrate the parts of myself that I actually like instead of emotionally abusing myself all the time internally, so I just want to say now that it's popped into my head completely at random: goddamn, my musical tastes as a child were minted. All of my friends loved the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears, and I won't lie they had some major bops but as a small child, I gravitated toward my grandmother's old 45s that she gave to me as she was cleaning out her shed one day. I danced in my bedroom to Chuck Berry, Otis Redding, Martha and the Vandellas, Muddy fucking WATERS! I'm so old I'm sorry but holy shit that was some MUSIC. Little me had REFINED taste, and I like that about me. Catch me walking to work with "Dancing in the Streets" flowing from my earbuds.

[doll-in-the-walls]

Charming Eternity - Chapter 25

Chapter Sum: Sam and the Frogs take matters into their own hands and Maeve has to adjust her plans. 

A/N: Sorry it’s taken forever for me to update this. I’m also sorry this chapter is short, the next one is longer.

Words: 1317

Warnings: None

(Previous Chapter)

The next morning, Cal woke Maeve by tapping her face, repeatedly. 

Mae… Mae… Mae… Cal thought with each bop on the forehead.

“What?” she mumbled as she turned her face into her pillow.

Just thought you should know Thing one and Thing two showed up about an hour ago and Sam left with them, he thought to her. It’s also past noon… She hummed into her pillow. They also borrowed Gramp’s car.

“What?!” Maeve sat up quickly making the cat fall off the bed with a loud yowl. He jumped back up to sit beside her and looked up at her.

I did not care for that, he thought. Maeve rolled her eyes with a smile and pet his head as she stood. 

“I’m sorry. Where’s Mike?” she asked as she moved to quickly get dressed. 

He’s the one driving, Cal thought as he stretched then laid down on the bed.

“Well, that makes me feel a little better. Where are they going?”

They didn’t really discuss their plan before they left. Maeve moved to her desk and began to write on a loose sheet of paper. Writing a strongly worded letter?

“Shut up,” she said with a chuckle.

I still think you should punish him specifically. He’s the one who wanted your cousin dead.

“Not helping.” Maeve muttered. “I can be mad at him all I want later,” she added as she folded up the paper. “Ciri?” The raven made a small noise as she shifted on her perch. “I need you to bring this to the boys, make sure they get it and that they read it when they wake up.” Circe made a sound like a hum of acknowledgement and took the paper in one tallon. Maeve opened the window so the bird could take off before moving to the closet. 

After rummaging around in a chest for a few moments she popped her head out of the closet, eyes falling on Cal. 

“I need a favor.” He lifted his head to look at her.

No, he thought. Don’t make me. Anything but that!

…

Calcifer grumbled to himself, hands in his pockets as he skated down the street. He had to do a double take when he saw Grandpa’s car heading his way with Sam driving. He saw Star in the back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Calcifer muttered as they drove past. “Shit…” He kicked off on his board to skate faster down the road.

In the back of her mind she could hear Nanook start barking but only faintly. A few minutes later Sam was pounding on her door.

“Mae! Open up! Come on, Mae!” She opened her eyes, first looking down at the four marble sized orbs floating in a shallow bowl in front of her. One of the orbs had cracks scattered through the center branching outwards, not quite reaching the outer edges, while the other three remained untouched. “Maeve!” Sam shouted. She waved her hand and the door unlocked.

“What?” she asked as he threw it open. 

“We got one!”

“What?” Maeve stood and noticed the Frog brothers’ standing behind him. “Wh-?”

“The little one,” Alan said, as his brother passed by, before the two headed downstairs. Maeve had to take a breath, glancing at the bowl again, and quickly followed Sam out of her room, making sure to close and lock the door behind her.

“We didn’t know which one was which, so we took a shot and it wasn’t the right one,” Sam said. “Now we have less than two hours before the sun goes down! Star and a kid are with Michael in his room.” She followed the three outside.

“Wh- You went and got Star? Sam-!”

“I know, you said you’d handle it! It’s too late for that now. Are you gonna help us or not?”

“Sam, of course I’m-”

“Then you need to get Grandpa out of the house for the night.”

“And where are you three going?” The two brothers grabbed their bikes, as Sam ran to get his.

“Hey, you can’t make holy water can you?” Alan asked.

“I’m 100% offended you just asked me that; no, I can't make holy water!” she snapped. The two brothers mounted their bikes as Sam rode his bike out of the garage. 

“Let’s go!” The three took off down the driveway.

“Sam! Where are you going?”

“We’ll be back soon!” Sam called back. 

“That’s not an answer!” Maeve threw her hands up with a huff before going back in the house. She opened Grandpa’s workshop door, he didn’t turn around but hummed,

“Hmm?”

“In the hopes of avoiding an actual massacre at the house, I need you to leave before the sun goes down.”

“Didn’t listen to you, did they?” Grandpa asked as he finished what he was working on.

“Nope,” Maeve said, popping the P sound. “I can make this work. Sam just gave me 50 extra steps, but I can make this work.”

“Oh, I know you can.” He stood, taking off his head equipment. “Strongest witch in the family.”

“...I’m the only witch in the family,” she pointed out as he walked by her.

“Still a compliment.”

Calcifer jumped down into the cave and looked around.

“Damn it, this is actually pretty sick,” he muttered. “Ciri!” he called out. A few moments later the raven flew into the room. “Well?” He held out an arm for her to land on.

“Marko!” she said. “Marko!”

“Shit, did it work?” Calcifer asked. She took off and flew back the way she came. “Alright, lead the way.”

He had to change into a cat for most of the way but changed back before he jumped down into the large opening. 

“How ya feeling?” he asked as he approached where Marko sat on the ground; Ciri sat on his knee so he could pet her. The blond frowned in confusion since the room was pitch black; he of course could see but didn’t expect Calcifer to be able to. “I’m a cat, remember? I can see in the dark, mate.” He crouched in front of him. “Well, it worked, then.”

“Problem,” Marko said and held up the note Maeve had written earlier. “Ciri brought this to me, the others didn’t read it yet… and I couldn’t reach them to let them know I’m okay.” Calcifer tilted his head.

“Well, that’s cause they’re right there, innit?” He nodded his head to where the other three lay, unmoving. Marko looked over at them before looking back at Calcifer who reached out and pulled the chain of the pendant out of Marko’s shirt. He held it up enough so they could both see that it was now cracked and the colour had dulled. “Well, that’s one less thing she has to focus on.” He let the chain go. “You feel anything?”

“For a second but it wasn’t painful… more like a pressure.” He put a hand to his chest. “If she hadn’t…” He picked up the pendant and looked at it.

“Yeah, you can thank her later.” Calcifer held out his hand. “Can I see that?” Marko handed him the letter and he skimmed over it. “Yeah, you weren’t supposed to read this until you all woke up in here anyway,” Calcifer said. 

“Why can’t I let them know I’m okay?" Marko asked, his voice breaking. Circe let out a small trill and Marko pet her head in an attempt to distract himself. 

"Simple answer? It makes things easier for Maeve. Makes it easier for her to do the same thing she did for you for them, while also making sure Max doesn’t know the truth." Calcifer sat down and leaned against the wall. "By the end of the night, this should all be over… well, if all goes according to whatever new plan she had to come up with. Get some sleep, mate.”

A/N: Not sure when I'll update this next since I'm focusing on the Stranger Things fic but I'll try not to make it be super long.

___________________________

(Next Chapter)

___________________________

Hey if you wanna be added to the tag list for this fic (or removed, don’t feel bad about asking to be removed from the list for any reason.) please just reply on any chapter (or send me an ask) and I’ll tag you in the next one. ^_^

Tag List: @ilikechocolatemilkh @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame​​ @espurrisfabulous @coochiethrobbberrrrr @notwithawhimper ​ @mackenzielee4 

#Charming Eternity Fic #Poly!lost boys x original female character #The Lost Boys 1987

[miranda-javid]

Howl

BY ALLEN GINSBERG

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,   

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,   

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung-over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steam-heat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipsis catalogue a variable measure and the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smoke-stacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

   where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you must feel very strange

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you laugh at this invisible humor

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

   where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

   where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I'm with you in Rockland

   where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of the actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

   where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

   where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

   where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

   where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself    imaginary walls collapse    O skinny legions run outside    O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here    O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

   in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

[madeimpact]

𝐌𝐔𝐍 𝐀𝐁𝐂𝐒 !

tagged by :   👁️👁️ tagging :   👁️👁️  

a    —    age : 23

b    —    birthplace : California

c    —    current  time :  9:30 PM

d    —    drink  you  had  last : ...Water I’m boring

e    —    easiest  person ( s )  to  talk  to :  Is it a cop out to just say my friends generally. Especially a bunch of y’all

f    —   ��favourite  song ( s ) : Oh gdi it’s so hard to pick especially in the wake of me discovering a bunch of new songs for muse playlists lately — uhhh I got rlly into Ranking of Kings so rn BOY is a bop, Teo - Omoi, also literally the whole Hadestown soundtrack

g    —    ghosts ;    are  they  real ? : Yes imo! Not every floating speck of dust or creaky door is a ghost tho.

h    —    horror  yes ,   or  horror  no ? :  Psychological / existential horror ABSOLUTELY yes, I will watch analyses of whatever Local58 copycat is popular atm like nobody’s business. I fuckin hate being jumpscared though and intense gore makes me squeamish so y’know, fun! Literally the only reason I was able to get into ddlc enough to muse Sayori was by watching other people play it and laughing at their overdone reactions to jumpscares lmao

i    —    in  love  ? : Nope

j    —    jealous  of  people ? : Probably in passing but not actively jealous of any one specific person atm? If that even makes sense

k    —    killed  someone ? : No?

l    —    love  at  first  sight ,   or  should  i  walk  by  again ? : In high school I used to have this rlly pretentious thing about how love at first sight is just infatuation and not actually love. I’m not that insufferable anymore but it’s still a no from me dawg

m    —    middle  name ( s ) : JAYDE, yes my parents did the whole “put in a Y and it’s a unique new name now” thing

n    —    number  of  siblings :   Two brothers, one older one younger

o    —    one  wish :  Anxiety begone please holy fuck

p    —    person  you  last  called   /   texted :  @fairymint​ hiiii

q    —    question  you’re  always  asked :  “how tall are you” :’)

r    —    reasons  to  smile : CUTE ANIMALS!!! And random acts of kindness!

s    —    song  you  listened to  last : Looks at my spotify. Oh dear. Angel of Darkness. Really exposing myself and the dp playlist rn

t    —    top  three to four fictional  characters : Shinji Ikari, Lucas (Mother 3), and my two feathered scrimblos on here.

u    —    underwear  colour :  Black. Also, gross?

v    —    vacation : I guess my last vacation was for AX? Even though it was literally just me and my cousin crashed in my apartment since it was nearby. If that doesn’t count then I went to Chicago to visit her and work on cosplay stuff a few weeks prior

w    —    when’s  your  birthday ? : March 23rd

x    —    x - rays :  I can’t even remember the last time I got an x-ray of like, a major body part, but I feel like I did at some point when I was really young. The last one I got was probably at the dentist but that’s not exciting info.

y    —    your  favourite  food : Salmon!

z    —    zodiac  sign :   Aries

#❛ OOC: dash games. #icb that didn't have a tag before wtf